#and either leave the job or knuckle down

[greatooglymooglyyy]

Attitude Adjustment (Chris Sturniolo)

matt version?

contains: angst, bickering, relationship arguing, smut, softdom chris, hair pulling, fluff, kissing, protected sex, female receiving, 1.7k word count

a/n: based on this idea i had. sorry it took so long i couldn't figure out how to end it. i still kinda hate the ending but fuck it we ball.

“It’ll only be for like an hour and a half-”

“Chris-”

“Baby. We’re out of video-”

“So you basically invited me over to fucking abandon me here?” I ask, unable to hide the irritation I feel bubbling up. I sigh deeply, rolling out of Chris’ arms and grabbing my phone. Out of my peripheral vision, I watch him rub his hand over his face and sit up.

“Babe, we’ve been together all day. Just give me an hour." He gets out of bed and stretches before heading into his bathroom. I know I’m being a bit of a bitch to him but I can’t help it. Our schedules have been so crazy lately that every hour I get matters these days. Seems like I never get him to myself anymore and it’s starting to grate on my nerves.

Chris comes out of the bathroom and heads to his closet, stopping to scoop his favorite sweatpants off the floor. I roll my eyes and grab my Airpods, popping them in my ears and turning my music on full volume.

After a couple of minutes, Chris comes over and leans down to kiss me but I dodge it, not ready to stop being petty yet. He rolls his eyes and reaches to pull my headphones out. “Can we please not do this? This is my literal job.”

I kiss my teeth and Chris takes a deep breath and steps away. Nick calls his name from the top of the stairs and he yells back that he’s coming before grabbing his wallet.

“Alright. I love you, baby. We can talk about it when I get back.” He says over his shoulder as he reaches for his door handle.

“Whatever, Chris. Just leave me the fuck alone. I don’t even care anymore.” I snap. Chris pauses his movements and gives me a look that has me squirming. He walks over to the bed and squats down in front of me, the intensity of his eye contact making me lean back.

“Stop talking to me like you’re crazy, bro. Am I speaking to you like that?”

“No,” I mumble, crossing my arms and refusing to meet his eyes.

“Alright so watch your fucking mouth.”

I nod, struck silent, and he leans in to press a quick kiss on my temple before he stands, finally heading out the door.

I sit there for a minute staring at the wall contemplating my sanity. Because there’s no reason why that was the hottest Chris has ever been to me.

*******

It’s quite possible I’ve never been this bored in my life. I’ve started three different TV shows on Netflix, started doing handstands, and scrolled until my for you page started getting weird. I’m half lying on the bed, half hanging off, when I hear the boys come back. I spring up and turn off the light, throwing myself into bed and pretending to be asleep.

A few minutes later the door opens and Chris comes in, hesitating for a second when he sees it’s dark. I squeeze my eyes shut, listening to him move quietly through the room. When he gets in the bed, I feel him lean over me and run a knuckle over my cheek.

“You know you’re a terrible actress right?” He laughs, reaching over to pull me into his arms. I smack my lips and yank away, sticking to my plan of being a brat. He sighs, dropping his head back on his pillow.

“How do you still have an attitude after two whole hours?”

“Thought it was only going to be an hour and a half?” I mock, turning over on my stomach to face the wall.

“Okay.” Chris sits up and turns on his lamp before flipping me over to face him. I blink at him rapidly, startled by the sudden movement.

“This is what we’re not gonna do.” He says, gesturing between us. “Either talk to me or let it go. Those are your only two options.” His tone is harsh but with his thumb smoothing over my arm, it doesn’t feel as mean.

I sit up and face him, crossing my legs. “I just want a day or two where I don’t have to fight for your attention,” I say quietly. Chris nods slowly, tilting his head like he’s thinking.

“Okay.” He says, pulling me into his lap. “I hear you. I’ll try not to film on nights when you're here. At least until I can see you more.”

I look up at him and smile, placing a kiss on his collarbone. “Thank you.”

“That was easy, huh? Talking and shit like we’re adults-”

“Don’t ruin it,” I say, reaching up to pull his face down to mine.

I kiss the corner of his mouth and it pulls up in a lopsided smile. I keep going, kissing the other corner before both his top and bottom lip. His eyes trail my face, darkening as he waits for me to kiss him fully. But instead, I slip off his lap, rolling back to my side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” He asks with a frown, leaning so he’s hovering over me. I smile and wrap my arms around his neck.

“Just wanted to see how much you want to kiss me,” I say casually, tangling my fingers into his hair.

Chris leans down and presses his lips to mine roughly, pushing my head into the pillow and anchoring a hand on my hip. His other hand dips under my shirt, sliding higher as we deepen the kiss. He pulls away to start lining kisses down my neck, driving me crazy.

“I always want to kiss you. Even when you're really fucking annoying." He says as he slides down my body, stopping to place a kiss above my belly button. He runs his tongue back up the trail of my body before he stops to yank off my shirt and bra. The light from the lamp makes me a little shy and I reach to turn it off but Chris stops me. “Leave it on, I want to see you.”

He slides back up to kiss me again, sweeter this time and full of love. I smile against his lips and mumble low, “You’re such a softie.”

Chris breaks the kiss and raises his eyebrows, giving me a challenging smirk. “Oh yeah?” Before I can respond, he sits up and grabs my panties, ripping them off in one motion and tossing them over his shoulder.

“I always wanted to do that.” He says, sliding down to run his tongue over my hip.

“I’m going to kill you.” I breathe out as he moves closer to my core.

“I’ll buy you some more.”

“It better be Victor-” I cut off my complaining with a moan as he swirls his tongue over my clit. He pushes open my legs and leaves one hand running up and down my thigh gently.

I lace my fingers back into his hair and he looks up at me as he slides a finger inside of me. He picks up his pace, thrusting inside of me roughs and adding another finger while matching his tongue motions to his fingers.

I tighten my grip on his hair and moan out his name, squirming up until my head hits the headboard. Chris moves his arm to spread across my stomach and pins me in place, never pausing his movements.

I throw my head back and rock my hips up as I call out his name and tell him I’m close. He only stretches me out more, curling his finger up to hit the spot that always takes me out.

I turn my head and moan into the pillow as I ride out my orgasm, still calling out Chris’ name. He presses a final kiss to my clit and then pushes himself up my body. He kisses me hungrily before he leans over to his nightstand.

“Still got an attitude or what? Let me know.” He teases as he stands to take his clothes off and slip the condom on.

“Shut up, Chris,” I say, rubbing my hand over my eyes.

“Alright, so we’re still working on it. Got it.”

He flips me over onto my stomach and hops on the bed behind me, pulling me up until I’m arched where he wants me. I look over my shoulder at him as he lines himself up to enter me, his tip rubbing against my folds, and he meets my eyes as he pushes in.

He gives me barely any time to adjust before he’s hammering into me, both hands gripping my hips and pulling me to meet his thrusts. I grip the sheets, whimpering, but Chris doesn’t slow his strokes for a second.

“Wow, you’re quiet.” He says ruggedly. “Where’s all that fucking mouth you got?”

I open my mouth to talk shit back but he readjusts, pressing his hand into my back and pushing me into the mattress. Somehow he picks up his speed, digging deeper into me than I thought possible. I try to say his name but all that comes out is a series of unintelligible sounds and he laughs roughly.

I reach a hand back against his hip but he grabs it and pins it behind my back, using it as leverage to pull back and slam into me again. “You feel so fucking insane.”

The breathy candace of his voice makes me moan out louder and Chris gathers all my hair into one hand and uses it to pull me up against his chest. The new angle has me seeing stars and I throw my head back on his shoulder as he places sloppy kisses on my neck. He reaches down to rub his thumb over my clit and I buck against him, my body shuttering from the intensity.

I’m so close now and he can tell, gripping my face and tilting my head so he can meet my eyes. “Go ahead, baby. Give it to me.”

I do exactly as he says, maintaining eye contact, as I fall again. He throws his head back at the feeling, muttering a low, “fuck,” and moaning out my name as he comes.

He drops his head against my shoulder for a second, breathing heavily, before he pulls out slowly. I fall back onto the bed while he heads to the bathroom to clean up. I’m still lying motionless when Chris comes back out and sits on the edge of the bed. “Come on. Take a bath with me.”

I smile over at him and slide out the bed, following him into the bathroom. I sit on the counter as he runs the water and pours in my bubble soap.

He comes back over to me and stands in between my legs staring at me. “You didn’t say you loved me back when I left.”

“I just let you break my back. I think we’re good.” I say as I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Not the same.” He states matter of factly, leaning closer and brushing his lips against mine. I smile and then pull back, giving him a mock-serious face. “Christopher Sturniolo, I love you so much.”

He grins and kisses me again, deeper this time. “One more time?”

“I love you,” I whisper, chasing his lips but he pulls back.

“Again?”

“Alright, fuck off.”

He laughs and steps back so I can slide off the counter and head over to the tub. I get in after turning the water off and Chris follows, sliding in behind me.

I sigh contentedly, letting my head lay against his chest as he tells me about how filming went. I laugh at his stories and chime in softly, wondering how the hell I could ever be mad at a boy this sweet.

Well, at least until tomorrow.

#sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo oneshot #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #maggie b writes #matt sturniolo angst #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff

[cordeliawhohung]

imagine being mafia!Price's wife. (HORNY horny thoughts ahead)

he'd be the don, of course, always in his office puffing away at his cigar. dark chest hair is visible due to his half exposed sternum as he was too lazy to do the top few buttons of his dress shirt, and there's a mouth watering taper to his waist with the end of his shirt tucked into his belted pants.

as always, he can't go without his favorite accessory; you. always insists that you need to be sitting on his lap while he does paperwork, but it's mandatory when he's meeting with someone, especially a potential business partner. tells you that he'd love it if you were to wear that little black skirt and your cute, blush pink blouse that starts out buttoned up but somehow gets loosened throughout the meeting.

price is handsy with you in general but becomes even more so during those meetings. rough fingertips gently digging into the plush skin of your thighs, tugging at the hem of your skirt, gliding past the collar of your shirt... and his guests gawk and eat it up as they try and keep their tongues in their mouth long enough to speak and answer his questions.

make no mistake, he has no intention of sharing, but he doesn't mind showing you off if it keeps his guests distracted long enough to agree to a deal in price's favor. you know this too, of course, and like a good wife you make sure to keep eye contact with his guests as you shift in your husband's lap, a hand pressed against his bare chest. you don't bother to adjust your skirt when it slips up a bit further than it should, either.

his guests hardly have time to leave his office before price's hands are fully slipping up your skirt, fingertips gliding along the hem of your panties. "good job, darling," he croons into your ear, lips brushing against your skin. "got 'em right where i need 'em."

his fingers dip between your legs, feeling the slick wetness that's built up, nearly soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. it was hard not to get worked up during his meetings knowing that there was a reward waiting for you, even if he didn't quite get what he wanted.

"what should my sweet wife get for bein' such a doll, hmm?" he asks as he slips a single finger into you. hardly past the second knuckle, not enough to be jarring but enough to get a gasp out of you. your clothes are still on and you're already arching your back for him.

"your fingers," you breathe out, attempting to grind down on his hand. assisting you, he slips another finger inside, and this time pushes deeper. you stretch and pulse around him as he lazily begins to pump his fingers in and out of your cunt.

"just my fingers?" he repeats before gently shaking his head. "tsk... no, i think you deserve more than that. don't you, darling?"

it isn't long before you're bent over on his desk, skirt hastily shoved up over your ass and panties halfway down your thighs. price had spent what felt like hours on his knees behind you, fucking you with his fingers and tongue before finally giving you his cock. not even the thick wood of his desk could hold up under the force in which your husband fucked you. pens and other stationary items rolled around in the drawer underneath your head as the wood squeaked with his rhythm.

and he's growling like a hungry animal as he plunges his cock into you, whispering praises to you as he bends forward, chest pushing against your back. "so fuckin' perfect. such a sweet thing, helpin' me like you do. fuck darling..." he had already made you cum once on his tongue and fingers, so it doesn't take long for that searing heat to build up in you once more. he drinks up every single moan and the catch in your breathing as he pushes you over the edge once more.

when he finishes, he makes sure it's inside of you; always inside of you. hips flush against your ass and he just holds himself there, cock twitching as he empties himself, filling you full. when he pulls out, he notices you're dripping. both with your own essence and his cum, so he takes care to gather it on his fingers before pushing it back inside of you, drawing a breathy whimper from your lips.

"did so good for me today," he praises. he stands to his feet, fingers still inside of you, using his cum and your wetness as lubricant to continue thrusting inside of your poor, spent pussy, leaving you a writhing, cock-drunk mess on his desk. "i think you deserve another one, yeah? c'mon, one more darling, s'all i want..."

fact is, he could do that all damn night long.

masterlist

originally the first version of this was going to have some impact play (spanking) but my brain is fried so enjoy slight(?) exhibitionism price instead <3

#john price smut #cod smut #john price x reader #captain price smut #captain john price x reader

[macfrog]

jet

🎉 thank u guys so much for 1k followers 🎉 i don’t know how we got here but i love you all endlessly and can’t thank you enough for all the love n support. here’s some smutty joel to celebrate 🤩 this might become something, it might not. i dunno. wanted to try it out tho. lmk your thoughts ✨

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, pining i guess?? when don't i pine for this man, praise kink, light bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (don't u dare), creampie, dom!joel, soft!joel, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), cursing, cute horsies

word count: 6.9k

main masterlist

Somewhere between Missouri and Illinois, last time you checked. Joel has the map, and you don’t bother asking him to see it much. You’ve been following the Mississippi north, on his orders, looking to hit St. Louis sometime tomorrow. Provided you don’t run into any trouble, that is.

It’s been three days with no safe refuge. Camping out in deserted houses with wood for windowpanes, stores infested with rats, office buildings with infected roaming. Joel figures the outskirts of the city are a good spot to stop for a couple nights, regain your strength, find supplies.

You’re a few paces ahead of him, only turning your head slightly when you notice an offramp, and looking back ahead when he doesn’t give any direction. You weave in and out of abandoned cars, hips swaying with the clipping of your horse’s hooves on broken asphalt, Joel’s horse in time at your heels.

You’d untethered the pair of them on a farm back in Nebraska. Joel had told you to stay put while he cleared the house, but you’d wandered over to the field when you spotted them. Timid, skittish, starving.

Five minutes hooked over the fence and they were both eating grass you’d pulled from the earth, right out of your hand. Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching had spooked them back a few steps, but you’d petted their muzzles and when he did the same, they soon warmed to him, too.

He’d jerked his head in a nod and muttered, “Good job,” before finding two saddles, strapping them on, and helping you onto the chestnut brown one – who you’d named Jet.

Joel had found tins of food in the farmhouse, and a switchblade for you to carry. He had a new stain on his shirt.

“Infected?” you asked.

He grunted in reply. Then rolled the tins into his backpack and hoisted himself onto his own horse, giving her reins a tug.

You knew that meant that yeah, there’d been infected inside. And recent, too, going by how well-kept the horses looked. It can’t have been longer than a week.

Joel’s silence as you both wandered down the farm track probably meant that there weren’t just adults in the house, either.

You’d glanced over to him, giving him a small smile. Bent over and reached for his horse’s ears, scratching where her soft black coat met her mane. The reins lay loose around Joel’s knuckles.

Protecting and providing for you was more important than some infected kids in a farmhouse. Joel had made that more than clear over the time you’d been with him. But somewhere, buried deep underneath years of fighting and killing, tucked away under a dusty flannel shirt, you knew his heart was hurting.

That was two weeks ago. Joel hasn’t talked about it, and you’re not interested in bringing it back up. Y’all got to the farm, took everything it had to offer, and you left.

Jet clicks her way along the highway somewhere south of the city. It’s still bright out; Joel reckons probably a few more hours of sunlight, so you know he’ll be scouting for places to camp out soon.

You lean back to stretch your spine, hand steadying yourself on Jet’s rump, her tail swishing as she walks. Her head bobs, looking from left to right, from the trucks with smashed windows sprouting moss, over to the trees losing leaves in the fall breeze.

It’s peaceful. Not much is, these days.

It’s quiet enough that Joel can listen for any sound of oncoming threat, and quiet enough that you can shut your eyes and pretend like you’re on some trail in the Texas country, on a warm summer evening; not exhausted, covered in dirt, weeks since you washed, days since you slept.

You’re humming gently to yourself, imagination taking you down by a creek where Joel pulls you by hand off the horse and you sit down to a picnic or something. He’d bring a basket. Maybe a bottle of wine, or a cheese board. Maybe he lays you back and kisses you on the blanket. Maybe his hand starts to wander up your thigh, skirt ruffling as he goes…

“Not much out here, is there?”

His voice startles you, bursting the seams of your daydream. He isn’t much of a talker, not unless you start it. You sit up straight and give your head a shake, as if dislodging the fantasy from your mind.

You twist around to look at his face; squinting under the bright white sky. Tired, same as you, lined, flecked with years and sun and survival.

“Hm?” he asks when you still don’t reply.

“Not a lot,” you finally say, clearing your throat and turning back to the road.

Finding the horses isn’t the only thing that’d happened two weeks ago.

Joel hadn’t wanted to camp in the farmhouse, hadn’t wanted to have to shift the bodies. Too much effort, or too much for you to see, maybe. You’d protested, heart set on a night’s sleep in an actual bed, but he hadn’t budged.

And you knew not to push him.

The sun was setting, though, so Joel led you down a dirt track toward a barn and burst the padlock. He tied the horses up just inside the door, used bundled up hay as a makeshift mattress upon which he laid out a blanket for you.

He barricaded the door as you lay back, did a walkaround of the place just in case any infected – or worse – were waiting to surprise y’all, and then sat down next to you.

Your head by his thigh, you put a hand on his knee.

“You can lie down, too, y’know.”

He grunted in response, breathing deep and steady.

“Joel.”

You took his shoulder and tried to pull him down to you, but the man is stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, even in his late forties, and you were convinced he’d only pretended to be yanked toward you so as not to hurt your feelings too much.

He remained upright. “Just want to keep watch for a while.”

Joel’s like this when you’re on the road. He’s cautious. On high alert. Always watching ahead, always listening out for whatever he thinks he might hear in the distance. Sometimes you can say something to him and have to give his leg a kick for him to answer you.

You’d sighed and pushed yourself up to lean your bicep against his. He furrowed his brows and scanned you from your jeans to your jaw.

“If you’re up, I’m up,” you told him.

“You need sleep,” he replied flatly.

You shrugged. “So do you.”

“What good is both of us tired?”

You sighed again and shook your head. You weren’t gonna argue with him.

Good thing he didn’t feel much like arguing, either. Ten minutes later he was on top of you, jeans loose on his thighs, head buried in your shoulder, fucking you senseless. Grunting and groaning into your skin.

You’d scored marks into his shoulder blades with your nails that you’re sure, if you peeled back his shirt right now, would still be there.

It’d tired you both out enough that Joel settled with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, eyes trained on the barn doors. You don’t know if he slept a wink. You never know if he sleeps these days.

Joel hears the hoarseness of your voice and knows that you’re tired, ‘cause he clicks to his horse and she trots up alongside you and Jet. He pulls the map from his backpack. You tilt your head to take a look.

“Keep ridin’ for another hour,” he mumbles. “’m sure we’ll find somewhere soon. Looks like we’re still a little way out of St. Louis.”

You nod, rolling your head back. The cloudy sky burns your corneas as you watch a bird fly overhead. Joel slips the map back into his bag and you feel his hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

“Mhm. Tired,” you whisper.

“Only a little while longer.” He gives your leg a small squeeze and his hand returns to the reins. He doesn’t fall back, instead, stays ambling along by your side. It feels like company. Feels nice. Feels…normal.

Two weeks is a long fucking time. Especially when your adrenaline peaks on the regular, sometimes multiple times in one day, and you’re alone with Joel all day and all night. Trusting each other, relying on each other. Saving each other time and time again. It was only natural that you began to rely on each other for…more than just survival.

You can’t remember when you found him. It was in the QZ, back when you believed in stability and structure. When you believed in people. Now, the only thing you believed in was Joel. Broken, hurt, shut-off Joel, who’d grumbled an apology when his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway and changed everything.

You like to think you were something new to him, something different. A challenge, maybe. Something worth holding onto, anyway, for reasons he was yet to let you in on.

He had an apartment of his own, with a bed of his own, which was something you weren’t used to. You shared a cramped apartment with Luce, a single mom with a two-year-old. Joel’s was where you went when the tantrums, the screaming in the middle of the night, the ration cards being destroyed either by ripping, by eating, or else by other means, became too suffocating.

Joel didn’t believe in anything or anyone, either. That’s what kept you coming back.

He’d just open his door and step aside to let you in. Barely a word. He’d ask if you’d eaten, and share his plate with you either way. Wordlessly picking away at the same food, making sure you got the last spoonful of soup, the last strip of jerky.

Most nights he’d fuck you until your mind went blank, nothing but the smell of him, feel of him, sound of him. No talking, no kissing, no touching. Just the sound of the bed springs, Joel’s soft groans as he bottomed out inside you. The feel of his hot skin, hips rubbing against the inside of your thighs. The bare, cracked brick walls of his apartment would fade away with each thrust, and then slowly seep back in when your orgasm began to wash away.

You knew it was time-wasting, for both of you. Scratching an itch. But some nights, it felt like more. The nights when he’d be so caught up in what he was doing, so caught up in you, that he’d forget to pull out. The nights his hips would snap messily and suddenly he was spilling inside of you, a deep groan humming against your skin between his teeth.

He wouldn’t care to ask, and you wouldn’t offer the information for free, but you remember every fucking time he did it. Where it’d happened, the position he had you in, how long it took for him to finally peel his body off of yours.

And afterwards, he’d let you sleep with your head on his chest. Let you play with his fingers. Let you talk to him; let you ask questions.

Didn’t mean he answered all of them. Didn’t even mean he answered much. Some, he’d give away more openly than others, but you soon got used to clocking when he was keeping a secret. Make a mental note of it, remember to chip away at it.

He trusted you, though; you knew that. Knew it by the way his fingers knotted safely in your hair, the way he’d lie naked with you until the sun came up. The way his breathing would slow, the way he’d mumble in his sleep.

You never talked to him about the incoherent words he’d breathe – but you could piece them together well enough to understand him better than his waken self would ever reveal.

When you brought up leaving, one rainy night weeks ago, he thought about it maybe twice over. Asked how he was supposed to keep you safe.

You do that already, you told him.

‘s different outside. You don’t understand.

It can’t be any worse than in here.

You’d taken a step forward, and he’d flinched, but allowed you to take his strong jaw in your hands. You tried to form a sentence, and when your throat closed up, eyes flitting between his, he took your wrists and lowered them. The shadow of a rain-spattered window doused in a sickly amber glow across his face.

You’d wanted to kiss him. And had he left your hands where they were just a few seconds longer, you think you might’ve. Joel saw it in your eyes, and stopped it.

Whatever. It had still convinced him. He packed his bag and you snuck down the fire escape the following night. Joel’s fingers were hooked around your belt loop the entire time, keeping your hip in stride with his all the way until you were at least a hundred feet away from the QZ wall.

His other concern was his age. Why someone like you would want to run away with someone like him. Forty-something, graying, past his peak. He has, like, twenty years on you. Once he made some reference about Bruce Springsteen and, when your face blanked, he sighed and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I know who Bruce Springsteen is, asshole, you’d said, just didn’t get that reference.

He’d shaken his head and given you a sly, twisted smirk, then pushed you out the door of the apartment block you guys were searching.

Still, despite the years between you, you have one major thing in common.

You’re both good at getting each other…there.

Joel knows exactly what to do to make you tick. You know exactly how to push him until he does it. It’s in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. Things you say that make his stony eyes flit once down your body, and then you know you’re in.

It’s a little harder to do while on horseback, you gotta admit. The best you can do is look at him, say a sentence or two laced with want and need. Hope that he reads through the lines.

It’s worked a few times, when Joel’s suddenly found a shed or basement you can camp out in and then made it difficult for you to walk for the next couple days.

Right now, you feel too tired to even bat your eyelashes at him, never mind coming up with lines to turn him on. You’ve been on the highway for a few hours by this point, little sign of shelter anywhere nearby. Joel holds his hand out and you bring your horses to a stop in view of a hospital a couple miles ahead.

“That’s gotta be teemin’ with them,” you say, looking over to study his expression.

“Hm,” Joel agrees, and glances to the right.

“What you thinkin’? Sun’s getting lower.”

He takes a deep breath, pulls on the reins. “Know somewhere nearby.”

He heads off the highway with a click of his teeth, and you follow. You shut your eyes, chin burying beneath the collar of your shirt. You’d kinda hoped that he’d offer to clear even a small part of the hospital for you to rest up, maybe more, but you trust him enough to lead you somewhere safer, somewhere quieter.

That trust begins to wear thin, though, when the sun disappears behind the trees, drowning you guys in a low dusk, and the temperature begins to fall. Joel’s using what’s left of the gray light to guide him, slowing down to take a hold of Jet’s reins and line her up with his own horse.

“I thought you said an hour,” you mumble, grip becoming slack on the leather.

“Changed my mind,” he replies. “Almost there.”

Your eyes start to roll with exhaustion, hips aching from the position you’ve been sat in for hours now. It’s not until you notice the silhouette of a tall sign in the clearing, black against the fading purple sky, that you blink yourself awake.

Joel pulls you and Jet off the road to a deserted parking lot, shadowed by a motel. He slows the horses down, listening for any signs of life, leading them to the side of the building.

“Easy,” he whispers, pulling on the reins. Both animals come to a halt.

He slides off the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud. He takes your hands, pulling you down to him, and you glance around.

“Stay here,” he tells you, and you don’t have the energy to argue back.

He makes off, pulling his gun from his holster. You stand with a hand on each horse’s muzzle, gently petting. Joel’s gone for a decent amount of time, his silhouette slowly sneaking in and out of every room, spending a couple minutes in each before he clears it.

He returns with a box of pills, some gauze, and a bottle of water, which he hands to you. You take a long swig and pass it back, and he does the same.

“What will we do with Jet ‘n…?”

“Huh?” he asks, replacing the cap on the half-empty bottle.

“What’s your horse called?”

“She ain’t got a name.”

You tsk. “Bad owner.”

“We ain’t their owners.”

“Mine’s is Jet. Pick a name.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, but you know he’s gonna spend all night thinking up some name to go with yours. “We’ll tie ‘em up out here.”

“What if something happens to them?”

“Well,” he says, leading them toward the shelter, “if somethin’ happens to them, it only means it’s about thirty seconds away from happenin’ to us.”

He jerks his head toward the first room as he ties them up, and you know the conversation is over.

You wander into the small, dingy room, pulling your jacket from your shoulders. It smells of damp, the wallpaper’s peeling off the wall above the bed. The sheets are in disarray, a little dusty, but they look clean enough. The bathroom walls are covered in grime. Drawers empty, closet doors missing, entire place ransacked.

It’s as good as you get, these days. At least it has a solid roof.

Joel settles the horses and closes the door gently behind himself. You’re already tugging your boots off, sat at the foot of the bed.

He rests his gun on the nightstand and straightens up, stretching his back with a quiet groan.

“’s cozy,” you offer, and he nods.

“Better ‘n risking that hospital.”

The bedsprings creak when you shimmy up the mattress, resting your back against the hardwood headboard. It ain’t the most comfortable, but then it’s not meant to be, is it? It’s only meant to be safe, which Joel’s made sure of.

He stands at the bottom of the bed, watching you as you bounce up and down a couple times, laughing quietly at the sound of the springs beneath you. His expression clouds over under low brows.

“Y’okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods again. Eyes flitting up and down, from your face to your neck, back up, and then lower still. Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs. You feel your heartbeat quicken when he takes a step forward.

“Just had to find somewhere better.”

“Better?” You smile. “Have you seen the world, Miller?”

He leans his knee against the foot of the bed. His brown eyes darken even more, and his jaw tenses.

“Had to find somewhere better,” he mutters, “so I could fuck you in peace.”

Your breath catches. You stare from his lips back up to his eyes. His fists are balled tight. His chest heaves with steady panting. There’s something flickering in the depths of those warm eyes; an ember, drawing you in. Tantalizing you.

You sit forward, pushing onto all fours, and crawl down the groaning bed to him, rising onto your knees when your hands meet his shirt. Your chest against his stomach, you look up into his eyes.

His rough hands knot in your hair and he pulls down, yanking your head back and your chin up to him. He studies your face, outlined in the moonlight seeping through the window. Then he lowers his jaw and lines his lips against yours.

“That what you want?” he hums against your mouth. You swallow his words – they claw at your throat as they go.

“Uhuh,” you breathe back, trying to connect your lips. He doesn’t allow you; steadily dodges your jaw like you’re a pair of negative magnets, repelling off one another. You moan.

“Needy girl,” Joel whispers. “Two weeks too long for you?”

“Mhm.”

You’re not tired anymore. You’re fucking desperate. You feel your cunt dripping, seeping through your underwear, worsened when Joel’s hand reaches down between your legs and cups you through your jeans.

You gasp and grab his arms to steady yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, hand tensing around your core.

Your lip trembles as you watch the way his mouth moves, how he shapes the words. His teeth locked between soft lips, dappled with brown hair, ends singed gray. The way he almost spits the words.

Your chest meets his torso when you breathe in, a deep, shaky breath. Joel notices; the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back a smile.

“Want you to…want you…”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. He pushes you back and falls on top of you, strong body pinning you against the mattress, hand still clamped to your crotch.

His head dips to your neck where he bites, scratches and sucks, mumbling against your hot skin, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

Your head begins to swim, body starts pulsing with electricity. Baby. Joel’s pet names are limited to one thing. One activity.

“Want you to f– fuck, Joel – fuck me.” Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

His hand begins wrestling with the button of your jeans. Thick fingers fumbling with your zipper, taking your waistband with both hands and hauling it down. The force of it pulls you down the mattress too, squealing as Joel rips the denim from your legs. You lower your hands to help him, but once they’re tossed to the floor, he bats you away.

He’s shaking his head, tsking, then takes both your wrists in one of his huge hands. Fingers twisted around your delicate skin, pinning them above your head. The bed sighs around you when he pushes your hands into the mattress. Your back arches, your chest rising to meet his.

Your legs part, knees settling either side of his waist. Of course they do. It’s what you know now. It’s basic fucking instinct at this point.

His free hand returns to cup your sex, feeling how wet you are through your now soaked underwear.

“Baby,” he coos, “this all for me?”

You nod a little too eagerly, not that you’re present enough to care. But it beckons a smug smile from Joel, who begins sliding your panties down your thighs.

Your hips lift to let him drag the fabric down, biting your lip, not willing to wait another fucking second for him. Lace meets denim on the torn-up floor, and you sigh, settling back against the rusty bedsprings and mottled sheets.

Joel’s free hand ghosts from your wrist down to your elbow, teetering along the sleeve of your t-shirt over to the collar, where he pulls it so far down into the valley between your breasts that a small noise passes your lips.

“Hm?” he asks, fingers pausing against your breastbone.

“’s my only shirt. Don’t…”

He kisses his teeth. His gaze never lifts from your heaving chest, skin damp with sweat right underneath his fingers. You can see him tossing it over in his head. What he wants to do, versus what he probably shouldn’t.

He blinks. Decision made.

“Give you one of mine,” he growls, and hooks his fingers, dragging the fabric of your shirt lower and lower until the collar tears open and it’s another scrap lost to the motel room floor.

And then there you are, naked and writhing underneath him. He’s still in his dusty flannel. There’s sweat lining his forehead. He holds himself over you, hovering, taking every inch of you in and storing it behind his eyes.

You jerk your hands, trying to break free just to touch him, feel him, but he pulls away again, tutting.

“No, pretty girl,” Joel coos, “gonna take my time with ya.”

You moan in protest, still wriggling under his body. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen, not even when his free hand dips to undo his belt. The cold metal kisses your naked thighs when he pulls it through his jeans; the leather drags up your torso and across your face as he lifts it.

He takes your hands individually, careful and yet rough, urgent, and slots them between the slats of the headboard. Your head turns up to watch what he’s doing. The silver of his belt buckle knocks against the wood as he slips it under your wrists, feeding it between your skin and the mattress, wrapping it around the slat between your hands.

Then he slips the belt through the buckle, and pulls. Tight. Your hands come together, wrists kissing, the leather burning your skin the tighter he pulls. You whine, head rolling back to meet his gaze, fixed on yours.

“Since you don’t wanna listen.”

The drip in his voice, sweet like honey, smooth as whiskey, forces your legs open wider. Joel smirks, pushing himself down the mattress and out of your view.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, you’re left just to feel him. Feel him as his palms splay out on your knees, pushing them into the bed. Feel his stubble graze the inside of your thigh as he drags his tongue up, leaving a trail of wet behind.

Feel when he breathes a whisper across your aching cunt, something you can’t hear over the ruffling of sheets around your head as you toss around. And feel when his fingers part your lips, opening you up wide for him to really fucking see.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, and you find the strength to lift your head to watch. He’s leant over you, one arm hooked around your left thigh, holding it open, the other fucking…playing with you. Like you’re some fancy gadget. Like you’re brand new to him.

“So,” he runs two fingers from your clit through your folds, “fuckin’,” lines them up at your entrance, “pretty – for me.”

He pushes up into you, and your head hits the pillow with a stifled groan. You’re panting through your teeth, back arching the deeper he goes, stretching you out and rocking waves of sparkling heat through you. Waves that hit the other end of your stomach and come rippling back, throbbing around his thick fingers.

His arm bears down on your thigh, forcing your legs wide open for him. His hand cups your clit and you buck your hips, rutting against the base of his palm. Joel laughs softly.

“Patience, darlin’. Don’t want it to be over ‘fore it’s even started.”

Your head rocks back and forth, eyes tight shut. It’s all you can fucking do, tied tight to the bed. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third when you’re wet enough, thumb never leaving your clit.

You can feel your orgasm brewing in your stomach. Feel the tension between your hips. You’re chasing it, eyes shut, focusing only on Joel’s hand fucking in and out, in and out. You’re coming close, body pushing into the mattress, legs widening even more to let him slip a fourth finger inside you.

“Feel good?” he asks, almost with a laugh. There’s a smirk painted across his lips, you know it, even though you can’t find the energy to open your eyes.

You whimper in response, some small, muffled sound roughly shaped like yeah.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, and his wrist flicks harder.

You moan every time his fingertips kiss the edge of your cunt, pushing against the soft walls. You moan when he drags them out, leaving you empty. Again, when he pushes them back in, rough and fast. And then when he lowers his lips to your ear and tells you how good you’re being, how pretty you look, how hard he’s gonna…

It’s like he changes his mind in an instant.

Withdraws his hand, slick-covered and still hooked. Pulls it away as quickly as he pulls your orgasm from your body. It drains from you; reduces back to an ache you can’t reach.

Joel slips his fingers between his lips as he readjusts himself, repositioning on the squealing mattress. Sucks them clean as casually as he would at a cookout or something, then takes your hips in both hands and straightens you up.

His jeans are tugged down barely past his ass. He’s not prepared to waste any time ripping his own clothes off like he did yours. Just leans forward, pulls his solid cock from his boxershorts, and spits into his hand.

You watch through eyes glazed with lust as he strokes himself a couple times, eyes always on your swollen cunt, groaning as his spit coats his shaft. Then he lowers himself to you and does the same, only running his length through your folds.

You whine, feeling that familiar thickness separate you so close to where you need him, and yet so fucking far.

“Joel…” you whisper, but he’s not listening.

Transfixed on the sight of his cock moving against your soaked cunt. Listening to the sweet, wet sounds the pair of you make. His tip catches on your entrance a couple times and you gasp. Just fucking do it already.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath, and then…

It’s been months. Might even be years. But the feeling of him pushing inside you for the first time is still the same. Every. Fucking. Time. He’s bigger, thicker than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. And he knows it, because every single time, he glides into you without hesitation. No time for you to adjust. Just fills you up straight away, lets you deal with it later.

He’s cocky like that. Too careful when you’re on the road, and too careless when you’re between the sheets. Not that you’re fuckin’ complaining.

Your mouth falls open in a choked moan. Your lungs are gasping for air. Joel’s all you can feel.

Your elbows lift into the air, arms desperate to break free just to grab onto him, ground yourself, feel him close against you. Your wrists lock against the hardwood, leather digging into your skin as punishment for trying to break free. You’re stuck; nothing but the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs, filling you up and leaving you empty over and over again.

“Good girl,” he’s panting, still watching where his cock lines up with your cunt, and then disappears inside.

He leans down and his lips find home on your shoulder, sucking sweet marks into the skin like he always does. His tip bumps against your cervix, jolts of sensitivity pushing through you each time he bottoms out causing you to whine into his flannel.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know, I know. I got you. I’ll get you there again, baby.”

You had a routine. Follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. Deviate slightly from that routine, even for a minute, and you threw the whole agreement into jeopardy. One misstep on a crowded street dotted with cars once had a sniper open firing at you both for nearly two hours until Joel found him and put a bullet between his eyes. That time your curiosity got the better of you and Joel almost lost a hand stopping you from walking down an alleyway and straight into a wire trap.

Repeat it, Joel had said that night. Crouched by his apartment window, rain battering off the glass. Hands on the frame, ready to hoist it up and let you slip out any second. Repeat. It.

Do as you say, you whispered back. And only then did he pull the sash.

This is not the fucking routine. This is not the agreement. You fucked, of course you did. But that’s all it ever was. Hungry, touch-starved, desperate sex. Bored sex. We-almost-died-today sex. Not this.

Not: clear an entire motel just so nothing within a two-mile radius gets to hear you fuck me senseless. Strip me down, tie me up, push me to the edge with your hands, but don’t let me go without you. Curl your lips around my ear while you’re buried inside me and whisper praises. Whisper baby. Whisper…anything you like. Anything you wouldn’t say when the sun’s up.

This feels like it means something. To both of you. Feels like Joel’s looking for something in you, asking something of you. And you want to give it to him, whatever it is.

And maybe that’s the point.

He’s proving that he could make you do fucking anything. Let him tie you to a bedframe, push you close enough to the edge that you can feel the pressure of release beckoning you forward like the wind circling your ankles.

And you’re proving that you’ll do it. You’ll do what he says. Follow him to the edge, refuse to jump. Pull his body into yours, make it feel like home for a night.

He’s proving that he’ll take care of you, and you’re proving that you’ll let him.

Your wrists are burning. Leather digging marks, searing skin, then rubbing over it again and again to cut it deeper. It’s starting to hurt, if you’re honest with yourself. Your face probably gives it away.

Probably, possibly. Definitely.

Joel notices you quieten and lifts his head from the crook of your neck. Studies your face for a fraction of a second and knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up. He loosens the belt with one hand whilst still deep inside you, hips thrusting slowly just as a place marker.

When your hands slip free, Joel’s clasp gently around your wrist, fingers delicate over the sensitive, reddened skin. His eyes almost glisten at the sight.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“’s okay,” you reassure him, loosening his grasp on you and settling your shaky hands on his jaw. “I’m okay. Liked it.”

Joel lowers his forehead against yours and picks his pace up again, and you moan into the space between your lips. Your legs lift higher, knees bumping against his shoulders. His hips snap into yours, his jeans rutting against the inside of your thighs, the bed creaking with each messy thrust.

“Close, baby,” his voice vibrates against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whine, chest pushing against his. “Fuck. Right there. Fuck.”

Your arm drapes over his shoulder blades, nails dig into the rough cotton of his shirt. Your left hand is still at his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek. Joined together at your hips and your brows, gaze never really meeting for longer than a second, but still. You’re right there. Joel – he’s right there.

It’s new, it’s intimate. It’s almost…sweet.

“Gonna cum with me?” he asks, sincerely. He’s not trying to coax it out of you. He’s checking that you want to fall over the edge. Not for him, not because of him, but with him.

You nod and he returns it, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead.

With his eyes on you, flitting between your parted lips and your batting eyelashes, too scared to settle on either place for too long, he lifts your hips and fucks into you fast. Deep. Fucking – hard. Skin slapping against yours, breath hot and tangling with yours between your lips.

The pressure between your hips begins to build again, rapidly, Joel adding to it with every movement. Every push of his thick cock against your walls only draws them in tighter, closing around him, holding him closer to you with each moan escaping both your lips.

“Darlin’…” he murmurs in a broken voice, and you know. He’s starting to falter. Thrusts weakening.

“’m there too,” you reply, gasping for breath.

“Let me – feel you,” he says, “pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t normally talk. Maybe the fact he never touches you the way he has tonight. Maybe it’s him wanting you to cum first, before he will.

Or maybe it’s pretty girl, that finally sends you over.

You look so good to him. You’re being so good for him. ‘n he can’t help it, has to let you know. Has to let every thought that passes through his head slip out past his tongue.

Pulling his chest flat against yours, you throw your head back to the pillow with a moan so filthy, so guttural that you’d be surprised if you don’t have company in five minutes.

Joel’s at your heels, face buried between your breasts, groaning into your chest as his cock twitches deep inside you and you feel him fill you up.

Your orgasm’s still knocking you senseless, every nerve in your body electrified. You’re holding Joel tight to your body, his ear flat to your chest, and you know he can hear your heartbeat. Know he’s listening to it throwing punches from behind your ribcage.

He’s still groaning through his breaths, heavy and thick with his release. Cock still deep inside you, still, softening. You lay like that for…well, you’ve no idea how long. But after a bit, Joel pulls himself up off of you and wanders into the bathroom.

You sit up on your elbows, taking deep, steady breaths, and let the stars in your vision dissipate. Joel emerges a couple minutes later and finally tugs his jeans down. He lifts both his shirt and the tee underneath off in one motion, tossing them onto the sideboard, then slips back under the covers, wordlessly hooking a hand around your upper arm and pulling you down onto his chest.

Your legs intertwine with his. There’s cum seeping out of you onto his thigh. Both of you, mixed up as one. His fingers sift through your hair, doing little to untangle it but trying all the same. His breathing in time with yours, his lips pressed safely to the crown of your head.

Before you know it, you’re sleeping.

Dawn breaks early. Too early. You’re still tangled up in Joel, feeling his chest rise and fall. Listening to his heartbeat – slow, calm. The drapes – not that there’s much left of them – are too thin to stop any light from flooding in. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up.

The rough sheets sting against your wrists – red marks scoring them where Joel’s belt had been. You wince, running light fingers over the grazes, hissing at your fingertips as they go.

It hurts way less than it thrills you. This little reminder of what you did last night. What Joel did. The pain subsides the longer you touch the scars, knitted brows melting into a smile.

You slowly lift your head, propping yourself up on your elbow. Just watching him. The dust in the room frames him in a sea of white glitter, the slow-emerging sun lights across his face and dips where the scar on his nose sits.

His arms are still around your waist, cradling you. Holding you to him. You know he’s stirring when they tighten, and then fall loose. Façade back up. Walls slowly rebuilding.

You dress yourselves in silence. Run out of words to say. There ain’t nothing to say – nothing that wasn’t said last night. Joel sinks into the mattress beside you to tie his laces, and your arms brush against one another a couple times. It’s like fire on ice.

He’s first to leave the room. Just pulls his jeans over his boots and stands, unlocks the door and lets the light flood in. You check once over for anything left behind, and slip out. The air is cool, twilight still slowly washing away. You sling your jacket over Jet’s back and pull yourself up.

Joel’s t-shirt is loose over your shoulders. He gave you a fresh one from his bag. It smells like him, but you don’t let him see when you bury your nose into it to breathe him in. The hem bunches up over the top of your thighs once you’re sat on the horse.

His eyes scan down you once, surveying you in hisshirt. Then he swerves off back toward the road, silhouette cutting between the rays of sun streaming between the pine trees.

“Ghost,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Huh?” You click to Jet to follow.

“Horse’s name. Ghost.”

“How come?” you ask when you’re side by side with him.

He shrugs, upper lip turning. “When it’s dark, you can’t hardly see her. She’s like a ghost.”

Joel’s hand surfs gently across Ghost’s mane, fingers scratching her shining coat. Your bodies rock in time with the sway of the horses’ walking. The echo of their hooves on the asphalt masks the silence for a few moments.

“Alright,” you eventually accept, turning away to watch the sun lift above the prickly treetops.

And to hide the smile tugging on your lips.

----------

taglist: @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel the last of us #the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fic #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #no outbreak #soft!joel miller #dom!joel miller #post outbreak joel miller #post outbreak joel

[goosita]

attending a gala with young!politician!snow is both more and less terrifying than you’d imagined

he’d picked you up at 7pm on the dot, waiting outside of his car for you. coriolanus was dressed in all black, a departure from his usual red color palette. the moment you’d stepped outside to meet him in the dress and shoes (as well as necklace) he bought you, he’d smiled charmingly at you and offered his hand.

“you look absolutely enchanting, miss y/n,” he breathed, tone full of sincerity. you could feel your cheeks blaze at his compliment, giving a timid grin.

“thank you, coryo.”

coriolanus brightened even more, opening the back door of the car with his free hand and keeping you steady with the other as you slid in. he followed just after you, settling in beside you on the seat. now here you were, on the way to a big fancy party full of people who made more money in an hour than you did in a whole year.

“are you nervous?” he asks, glancing at you.

“absolutely terrified,” you admit with a soft laugh. “i’ve never been to anything like this. i don’t want to do or say the wrong thing.”

“you’ll be fine, i promise. just follow my lead, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

you nod, but still can’t force down all of your nerves. aside from this whole event being unfamiliar to you, you’re still jittery and unsure with coriolanus. he’s been so hard to read lately. you’re not sure if he’s just toying with you, but it feels too bold to think that perhaps he has a real interest in you either. too indulgent of your daydreams, your fantasies. you can’t seem to stop the fluttery drumming of your fingers against your thigh, until coriolanus is taking your hand and sliding his fingers between yours to stop their incessant tapping. your gaze snaps up to look at him, surprised by the touch.

“everything’s going to be okay. trust me,” he says gently, giving your hand a soft squeeze. for someone who’s last name is snow, his hands are so warm. his thumb brushes over your knuckles soothingly, looking down at you with a calm expression, and you nod. you do trust him. he adds, “i’ll be right beside you all evening.”

his promise makes you feel better, some of the tension leaving your body at both his words and his soothing touch. you glance down at your interlocked hands, his so much bigger than your own. his fingers are so long, pale and beautiful as if they were carved from marble. the veins along the top stand out, raised little rivers of blue that crawl up into his sleeve. his silver watch band rests against the delicate skin of both of your inner wrists.

once you arrive, it feels like a whirlwind of colors and lights and sounds. you find yourself dissociating from most of it, from the moment coriolanus leads you inside with a hand at the small of your back. you try to focus on the way his cologne catches your nose when he turns or moves, the familiar scent helping to ground you. the event passes in a flurry of coriolanus’s voice chatting pleasantly with Very Important Men, fond introductions of you at his side by your name and never your job title, being handed flutes of posca that you only sip on here and there. your date, however, seems to have no trouble at all socializing and sharing drinks with these people.

he’s a natural people-person. coriolanus charms and wins over just about every person he speaks to. the men respect him and listen to what he has to say, while the women giggle and let their eyes wander his face and body. you don’t like that the latter bothers you enough to sling back an entire flute of posca at one point while some district 8 office holder’s wife practically undresses coriolanus with her eyes. if he notices the female attention at all, he doesn’t show it. coriolanus simply keeps one hand planted firmly along your spine, occasionally stroking the exposed skin there softly.

finally, finally, the night comes to an end. coriolanus is loose from the bubbly drinks he’s had, making him a bit more smiley than you’re really used to. his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink that spreads over the bridge of his nose and makes him glow.

“did you have fun, darling?” he asks as he gets into the car with you. while he waits for an answer, he fumbles until he finds the button that raises the privacy screen between you two and the driver.

“fun is…certainly a word,” you offer, unable to stop your grin. coriolanus seems younger like this, spine less rigid and jaw less tense. he looks his age right now, you realize.

“hm. yes, well, i don’t have much real fun these days,” he laments, undoing his tie and shrugging off his suit jacket. “especially not with a beautiful lady on my arm.”

he glances sideways at you as he says it, sly smirk making his smile line in his cheek stand out. you resist the urge to reach out and touch it, instead looking down at your hands in your lap. you never know what exactly to say when coriolanus says things like that. you’re not sure if he’s being sincere, or if it’s just meaningless flirting to him.

he says your name softly when you avert your eyes, gingerly lifting your chin. “look at me, darling,” he whispers. he’s turned his body to face you fully now. his eyes search your face for a long moment before they trail down, landing on the snowflake pendant resting between your collarbones. his finger trails a path down your throat before tracing around the charm.

“it suits you,” he murmurs. the air in the car is suddenly so very warm, electric with the energy between the two of you. he’s so close to you, you wonder if he can hear your heart racing right now. if he knows its because of him.

“coryo,” you exhale, breath trembling slightly. you feel his touch again against your cheek, cradling it softly in his palm. his eyes seem to almost glow in the low light, the streetlights you pass making them appear almost translucent when they reflect off his irises. you both lean in simultaneously, eyes fluttering closed.

the first brush of coriolanus’s lips is soft, curious even. as if he’s giving you the chance to push him away. instead, you sigh and melt into him. his free hand comes to rest on your waist, squeezing softly as he kisses you more firmly when you don’t pull away. his mouth is plush and slick against your own, tasting like the sugary posca he’d drank.

you lose yourself to his kisses, slow and languid and indulgent, making you dizzy with how good it feels. coriolanus slides his hand down from your waist to your hip, then further down to tease at the slit in your dress that splits over your thigh. his teeth nip at your lip playfully, and he smiles against your mouth when you gasp at the way his fingers curl behind your knee to hitch your leg up over his own.

he encourages you to move so you can straddle him, sitting pretty in your silky dress on his lap. your hands land on his broad shoulders while his lips parts from yours, pressing hot, open-mouth kisses along your neck. his tongue drags along the side of your throat, making you shiver and moan softly.

“there’s a good girl,” he mutters, hands smoothing up and down your thighs that splay over his. “you make such pretty sounds for me.”

coriolanus’s words make you feel lightheaded, paired with his wandering touch and exploratory kisses. you shift in his lap just slightly, gasping softly when you feel how hard he is beneath you. his cock presses into the apex of your thighs, his hips pushing up subtly. he lets out a quiet groan, the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. the uncontrolled noise spurs you on, gives you the nerve to cup his jaw and bring his mouth back to yours and demand more of his heated kisses.

“stay with me tonight, my darling,” he pleads, panting against your mouth.

“yes.”

#ehehehe i PROMISE next part is when i’ll stop edging u guys and give u what we all want #i just love a slow build #its about the yearning 🤌🏻 #politician!coryo x secretary!reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #tbosbas #coriolanus snow smut #tom blyth

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: Your best friends promised never to tell you about their dangerous job. However, all goes to shit when you find out another way.

Genre: Angsty fluff (happy ending)

Warnings: protective!Tangerine, home invasion, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, sexual innuendo/implying sexual harassment (really not as bad as that sounds lol i would just rather put a warning)? murder, violence

Tangerine always knew you were too kind for the life he had chosen.

He wonders if he hadn't known you so long or if you weren't as much Lemon's best friend as his, then perhaps it would have been an easy decision to cut you out of their lives.

Only, the decision wasn't easy. It was selfish and it eats him up inside, but both him and Lemon had agreed they couldn't lose you. So, they'd made a deal that they wouldn't tell you the true nature of their job. That way, you would be safe. 

You, on the other hand, aren't as innocent as they think. You've known them long enough to know their expressions and whenever you mention their profession, they become eerily silent and tense. You've seen the blood under Lemon's fingernails and the bruises on Tangerine's knuckles when they visit you after one of their so-called "work trips".

However, after countless evasions on their part, you've stopped asking questions. Now, you stay content without knowing because you don't want to lose them either. 

One evening, you hear a knock on your apartment door and your smile widens. He's early. He's usually never early. You stand up from the couch, pulling up your fuzzy sock as you rush over the wooden floorboards to open the door for him. "Hi," you start but your throat locks when you're met with three burly men in black, threatening, masks. 

You don't have time to scream out as one of them presses his hand against your mouth and forces himself inside. The other two follow quickly and you stumble backwards. The man holding you presses his gun into your side and you whimper, tears falling down your cheeks as your mind races. 

Another man hands you what looks like a burner phone from his pocket and says, "Call him."

Your vision is blurred by your tears and when the man's hand leaves your mouth, you ask. "Who?"

"You know who, girl," the last man laughs and your chest tightens. Your hands are shaky when you type out Tangerine's number. You have an icky in your stomach telling you he hadn't been the one to ask you to hang out this evening.

Hesitantly, you hold the phone to your ear and whimper when the man with the gun pushes you over to your couch. He sits closer than necessary and teasingly moves the barrel against your cheeks and up into your hair.

"Hello?" Tangerine answers, his voice hoarse. Your heart leaps hearing him. It doesn't matter how mad he sounds because it's his voice. He'll make sure no one hurts you.

You turn to the men, as if asking them what you should say. All three of them smirk and the one holding you just shrugs.

"T-tan," you whisper, your hold tightening on the phone. Your voice comes out as shaky as your hands. You want to scream but as the seriousness of the situation sinks in, you can't make your mouth work properly. 

"Y/n? Is that you, love?" Tangerine sounds much more awake now, the annoyance in his tone completely gone. 

You're the only person who calls him Tan. 

"I-I don't know who — and I don't know what they want from me, but t-they have a gun," your word vomit tears a whimper from your throat and you hear curses and movement from the other side of the line. "And I'm so scared. Please, h-help me. I need you."

Suddenly, the phone is ripped from your hands and you let out a shriek of surprise and then another whimper when the gun is pressed to your temple to shut you up. The man chuckles darkly and his arm slides around you so you don't dare make another sound.

"Yes, yeah, we know—mmhmm, yes, we will be waiting with your little friend here," the man holding the phone grins at you, "She's a pretty one, ain't she? Such gorgeous eyes when they're all glossy with tears—" he chuckles, "well shove one up yours too. Don't fucking make us hurt her. You know what we want, bring us the money and she'll survive. Yeah, yeah." 

He grunts and throws the phone across the room, causing you to jump as the other man holding you presses the gun harder into your temple.

The man who was just on the phone pinches his nose and mutters, "Bloody fuck," he turns to you and points his index finger accusingly, "You're a lucky girl, you know. Because, if we didn't really need that money, you would have a bullet stuck in that fucking pretty head of yours for the way your boyfriend speaks to me."

You shiver, wincing. You can tell the man means it. "He's not my boyfriend," you whisper. 

"Whatever, darling," he rolls his eyes and leans forward to take your arm, "Just be a good girl for us and shut up."

* * *

Tangerine feels like he's living his worst nightmare. As soon as he heard your voice on the line, from a masked number, he couldn't think straight anymore. He's currently trying to unlock the drawer where he keeps his gun, fumbling as furious tears prickle in his eyes. 

He can't shake the sound of you crying out his name. He sees you, your skin bruised and bloody as tears stream down your cheeks and he wants to punch his fist through the drawer.

He should have protected you from this. He should have known. 

Lemon walks into his room, frowning when he sees how distressed his brother is. "Woah, mate, what's wrong?"

Tangerine finally thrusts the drawer open and shoves his gun in the back of his pants. He stands and runs a hand through his hair, rushing towards the door. His voice is strained when he says, "Someone has Y/n. They're hurting her." 

Lemon's entire face drops. "W-what? H-how?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Tangerine snaps, "Now, are you fuckin' coming or not?"

* * *

You shift your hand, the ropes burning against your wrists, as you sit on the ground of your bathroom. Blood trickles down your eyebrows from when one of the men hit you and slammed your head into the sink.

The gag they had used cuts painfully into the sides of your mouth. The men had used a pair of your panties they'd found in your dresser and bound the lace around your head, finding it hilarious. You didn't find it funny, the embarrassment still lingering as you sit in the darkness of the bathroom.

Suddenly, the faint laughter from the men in your living room stops and, after a moment, you hear loud crashes. You jump, squeezing your eyes shut as you listen intensely. You hear the slamming of doors until the bathroom door opens and you hear a familiar, "Fuck."

Your eyes snap open and Tangerine kneels in front of you. He quickly unties your panties from around your mouth, his eyes dark with anger and his eyebrows scrunch with worry. You whimper, embarrassed by him seeing you like this. He tosses your panties to the side, not commenting on them but fuming inside as he cups your cheeks gently and inspects your injuries. 

"Shit, does it hurt, love?" he asks, looking at the cut on your forehead and the bruises littered across your skin.

You train your eyes on his appearance. Sweat beads at his hair and splatters of fresh blood adorn his cheeks. It doesn't look like it's his considering he looks unharmed. Tangerine looks you over quickly. "I- did they touch you?" he asks hesitantly, insinuating something from the panties in your mouth and he is clearly a little nervous to know the answer. 

You shake your head and his eyes soften. "Oh, thank fuckin' god. I'm so sorry," he says and unties your hands, wasting no time scooping you up into his arms. You lean your head on his chest, still too shocked to form any words. Tangerine places his hand over your eyes as he walks into the living room and you hear shuffling and curses from what sounds like Lemon.

You turn to look but Tangerine keeps your head still and soothes you, "Shhh, you're okay, c'mon," 

Cold air hits you and you hear Tangerine open the door to his car. He places you inside and kisses your forehead. He kneels next to the car and his thumb touches near your cut, his eyes still dark with anger. "I have to check something with Lemon," he says again and his heart breaks when you grab his arm, 

"Please, don't l-leave me," you manage to ask, your voice hoarse.

Tangerine rests his hand on yours and tries to explain, "I won't be long, darlin'. I can't leave Lemon in there alone but we'll be quick. Trust me."

On any other day you would wait for a better time to bring this up, but your mind is still all fuzzy so you whisper, "Trust you? H-how can I trust you after what happened?" you see the hurt and guilt written on his face as the truth in your words sink in. 

Tangerine has never been good with strong emotions. He doesn't like them. They make him feel weak. You watch as his expression hardens and he looks into your eyes. "I'm sorry, Y/n," he says but mechanically closes the car door on you. You hear a lock and Tangerine disappears into your building again. All you can do is bury your face in your hands and cry.

Later, Tangerine is pacing his room. He hasn't changed out of his bloody clothes and he hasn't calmed down since they'd showed you to the guest room.

You'd asked to be alone and while that was understandable, he's worried sick. Lemon is sitting on his bed, which would usually annoy him because he'd made it that morning, but Tangerine couldn't care less about that right now.

"I basically slammed the door in her face! How could I have done that?" he's obviously panicking. 

"You had to come help me clean the scene. You did the only thing you could think of," Lemon tries to reasons, something he's been doing for the last twenty minutes.

"I- I shut her out. She probably hates me."

"Y/n could never hate you. She loves you."

Tangerine lets out a groan of frustration and turns to look at Lemon, his eyes round. "Don't you understand that's the fuckin' problem? I love her. I fuckin' love her and I've been lying to her all these years and now she's hurt because of it. It's all fucked, fuck, fuck, fuck."

Lemon stares at his brother with a deadpan look on his face. "I cannot believe you just admitted you love her."

"Pardon?"

"You're in love with her. It's been eating at you for years now. It's fucking obvious, I just didn't think you were this self-aware," Lemon rolls his eyes and stands up.

He walks over to Tangerine and crosses his arms. "Shit, mate, what are you even doing in here? Y/n was just attacked in her home and she doesn't understand why. She's probably scared shitless and tending to her wounds all alone —

After you disappeared in here like a baby I asked if she needed help and she said no, but you aren't the only one who is her best friend. I know her. She doesn't want to be alone, you idiot, she just didn't want me. She wants you." 

Tangerine feels like his heart has been beaten up to a pulp and he can barely breathe. He doesn't speak and he leaves his bedroom in a hurry.

As he walks to the guest room, he feels like he's in a daze. He knows he should but he doesn't knock on the door when he rushes in. He finds you sitting on the ground, dressed in one of his shirts he must have left in the guest room by accident, applying some alcohol to the wound on your head.

Your tears have dried but when you look at him, he sees how bloodshot your eyes are and he wants to kill those men all over again.

He doesn't speak as he crouches down and pulls you into a hug. He wraps his arms around your body and holds you tightly. He hears your small sigh as you wrap your arms around his torso. Tangerine doesn't care when you unconsciously climb into his lap and hug him closer. He nuzzles his head in your neck and kisses your exposed shoulder. He's never given you this type of intimacy and while his head is screaming at him to run from you, his heart won't let him. 

"It was so scary," you whimper against him. 

He cups your head with his hand as he soothes you, "I know, darlin', I know it was. I promise you're safe now. I'm here. 'm not leaving you, doll. I'm so sorry this happened," he pulls away and caresses his large hands down your face, brushing some hair from your eyes. 

"Why'd you open the door, darlin'? You'know you can't open the door to strangers, mm?"

He isn't blaming you, he just wants to know. 

You avoid his eyes. "I thought it was you."

Tangerine frowns.

"I think they somehow sent me a text from your phone and it said you wanted to come over and I-I said yes," you feel your cheeks burn and Tangerine anger bubbles. They'd used him to hurt you. He leans his forehead on yours as you continue. "I did think it was a little weird, but I—"

Tangerine wipes at your new tears with his thumb, interrupting you, "It's okay. You couldn't have known. I'm so sorry."

"I should have known," you whisper.

"No," he shakes his head, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I should have prepared you for something like this. Lemon and I should have warned you."

You lean your head on his chest again, your breathing harsh. "I knew your job was dangerous, but I didn't think you were killing people," you whisper and you feel Tangerine tense. He rubs his hand up and down your back. 

"I-" he doesn't know what he can say to you. 

You pull away and look into his eyes, "I don't want to know," you say, "not today. Not now. You can tell me later but now I want you to hold me and tell me it'll be okay." Tangerine nods, you sound a little in shock, but your voice is serious. 

"And I want you to kiss me."

Your words almost knock Tangerine out.

"Fucking pardon?" he says, instantly regretting cursing.

You move to hold his cheeks in your hands, leaning in closer. You wait for him to make the first move, your heart beating as quickly as his is.

You don't care about his job, or that he'd lied to you, and you know he's probably not an honorable man like you'd wished him to be, but none of that matters because you need to feel his lips on yours.

You need to know he's here.

Tangerine closes his eyes and kisses you. His entire body feels like it's on fire and if he thinks too hard, he might combust into ashes. His hands find your waist and his head tilts so he can kiss you better.

Fuck this. He's so in love with you.

You kiss him back with more passion and he almost loses his mind. If he had lost you today he would have burned the entire world to make those men pay. Killing them would have never been enough.

You pull away, tears streaming down your cheeks. You look into Tangerine's blue eyes. You want to tell him you love him. You're in love with him. However, no words can leave your lips.

Tangerine sees your expression and wipes his thumb under your eye. He stands and pulls you up with him as he whispers, "Shh, you don't need to talk. You need sleep."

He looks at your wound again, making sure it's clean and then cups your cheeks and tilts them upwards so he has your attention. "Lemon and I are just around the hall, okay? I- I lo-," his sentence dies and he starts a new one, "I lo-oked over your injury and it shouldn't hurt that much anymore but if it does, you know where my room is."

Tangerine leans down and presses one last kiss to your lips. He pulls away and says, "You're safe now, my darlin'. Okay? Nothing will ever happen to you again. I promise."

He says it with such security, you nod again. Your lips tingle from his and you savor the moment, wrapping your arms around him. Tangerine is surprised but he kisses your head and whispers just quietly enough for you to miss it, 

"I love you," 

And for the first time in his life, those three words don't stay clogged in his throat. Tangerine's shoulders relax and he sighs. One day soon he'll be able to say them loud enough that you hear him. And, hopefully, you'll say them back.

#tangerine bullet train #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine angst #tangerine fic #tangerine smut #bullet train tangerine #bullet train fanfic #bullet train #aaron taylor johnson fic #aaron taylor johnson #lemon and tangerine #tangerine #bullet train movie #lemon bullet train #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #bullet train lemon

[cheriladycl01]

My girlfriend jousts! Charles Leclerc x SouthKoreanOlympicFencing! Reader

Plot: Charles Leclerc finally dates outside of his friendship circle, nobody in the paddock has met you yet. He invites you to your first race and tries to explain your job to everyone...

Credit to givemegifs for the GIF

You walked next to your boyfriend F1 driver Charles Leclerc. It was your first time in the paddock with him and you were very nervous. You'd never met his team-mate Carlos Sainz, or any of the drivers for the matter.

You reached out to take his hand which he took happily, pulling it up and kissing the top of your hand.

"There's no need to worry! Everyone's going to love you!" he smiles down at you, you rub your thumb over his knuckles as a comforting gesture for yourself.

You both swiped in and he didn't leave your side, no matter how many people came up to talk to him. Weather it was the likes of Will Buxton, wanting to talk to him about the car, or a fan asking for a signature on a Ferrari cap or one of his fellow drivers offering him quick good lucks for the weekend as they rush off to whatever media duties they have.

"Come on, lets go find Carlos! I'll introduce you to Rebecca" he smiles as you both head over to the Ferrari motorhome. You can tell everyone really is like family there, Charles walks you round introducing you to all the mechanics and the social media staff. Literally anyone he can find he goes up to, and he knows their names and is asking them about their families.

"Oh! Yes this is my girlfriend Y/N. She's much cooler than me... she jousts for her job!" he exclaims using the worst way possible to describe what you do.

"Excuse me?" the man laughs, not really understanding what Charles was trying to explain your job as.

"I'm a South Korean Olympic Fencer. I competed in the 2021 Olympics in Tokyo. Charles just finds it funny to tell people i joust like some medieval brute!" you smile at the mechanic who laughs nodding.

"I knew i recognized you from somewhere, just couldn't put my mind too it where I support Italy!" he smiles and you nod at him.

"So what's it like being a fencer?" he asks.

"I enjoy it, there's obviously a certain level of talent too it and dedication but i've also found its rather artistic" you smile while explaining how you've linked your training schedule up to Charles' with Joris so you can get fitter before the next games.

You'd placed silver which had been incredible but like most olympians or people in sort you wanted that gold. You'd noticed major improvements in the way you'd fenced since you'd gone to training with Charles. You basically copied his everyday routine. You ate what he ate and you exercised like he did.

Next up Carlos came jogging over Rebecca as graceful as ever floating behind him greeting everyone that she passed.

"Omg hello! You must be Charles girlfriend. He and Carlos have told me all about you!" Rebecca smiles but you struggle to understand her because of the strong Scottish accent. It took you months to get around the way Charles spoke that you actually found it easier if you both spoke in French, which you'd learned at school. But you eventually both got around that curve-ball.

"Hello. It's nice to meet, both of you. Charles has also told me lots about you!" you admit smiling at her, she pulls you into a hug which you kindly accept and try to not make the first contact awkward.

You all ended up having lunch together in the Ferrari hospitality talking about everything and how you'd be flying back to Korea next week. Carlos said how he was upset that the Korean International Circuit wasn't on the roster anymore and that he'd never driven round it and might never get too.

Charles was very touchy all day, every time he left you to go do something team related he either held onto you while you walked him to wherever he needed to be. You'd wait and he'd rush straight back out pulling you into a hug kissing your neck and burying his head into the crook of it.

"What's wrong Jagiya (Baby)?" you asked looking to him and holding him.

"I just want to go home with you" he sighs, you can tell its not been a good day with the media considering they kept asking about his DNF in last weekends race.

"Mmmmm and we will. But I think you have some more friends to introduce me to" you grinned at him.

He introduced you to Lando and Oscar, who you both enjoyed their vibe. You found it easy to make conversation with Lando and his upbeat energy and Oscar had very funny and comedially timed inputs and ad libs to the conversation but also had a comforting silence you enjoyed.

He also introduced you to Pierre saying how they'd been best friends since they were very young and they'd come all the way through Karting together.

Pierre asked his girlfriend Kika to come over and introduced the two of you. Being similar ages you both got on having similar sense of humors and were into the same things.

You spent the rest of the day walking round the paddock with her, until someone caught you for an interview. It seemed to be Sky News, you'd been privy to Sky News before when they captured you in the Olympics.

"So Y/N it's your first time here! How have you found the energy of the paddock?" he asks.

"Yes, it's been very faced pace I think I've met and spoken to more people today than i have in my 23 years I've been around!" you joke laughing with the presenter.

"And how does it feel, as a Silver Olympic medalist to be around a sport like this?" he asks.

"Yeah, I mean from a very young age I was active and enjoyed different types of sport. My mum really wanted to pursue Taekwando as it's our national sport but I was never an aggressive person. I tried football and then when i was sent to a boarding school I was enlisted for fencing and I just stuck with it!" you answer politely.

"So, as i'm from the UK I would assume that your Premiere League Team is Spurs?" he asks hoping you liked football still to this day.

"Yes, I do. I try watch them at any opportunity i can! Sometimes and don't tell Charlie but I've skipped qually to watch them play" you say biting your lip a little.

The quick interview wraps up and it was safe to say that afterwards Charles Leclerc was now having to share his girlfriend with everyone online who had fallen in love with her personality.

"You look cute here!" Charles says latter that night a still from your interview on the TV where he'd paused it. You were laughing at something the interviewer had said and you hand was over your face covering it while your sharp eyes crinkled from your smile.

"Mmmm today was fun! I'd like to come to this more often!" you smile at him, flopping down onto the bed and playing with the collar of his red team shirt.

"Yeah? You would?" he asks and you nod before pulling him into a hug.

y/user

Liked by charlesleclerc and others

y/user: Amazing weekend at my first race! The Scuderia was very exciting. Thank you for the time @scuderiaferrari

View all 127 comments

charlesleclerc I love you ❤️ thank you for coming 🔥

2 hours ago

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0

A/N: sorry this is my first try at some kind of social media! Im sorry if it’s bad!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #charles leclerc #charles lecrelc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine

[theotherbuckley]

7x07 coda

Eddie knows that what he’s doing isn’t right. He knows that. That’s why he lies to his best friend. That’s why he lies to his son.

I mean, what is he going to say? “I saw someone who looks like your dead mum and now I’m going on a date with her.” He knows Chris would call him out. But he can’t not do this. She looks so much like her. Sounds so much like her. He gets the same feeling, the connection, the longing he had for her. 

He knows shes not her. He does. He tells himself one hundred times in front of the mirror after he sees her for the first time. She’s not Shannon. The hair’s all wrong. What he’s doing is wrong, he’s using her to fix some broken part of him that’s stuck in the middle of the street, lying on the road of the pedestrian crossing. So he knows it’s wrong, but he can’t make himself stop. When she asks him out for dinner he doesn’t say no. In fact, he says yes faster than he can even process her question. She smiles at him, her eyes crinkle at the edges exactly like Shannon. She tells him she can’t wait. He nods, smiles back. He can’t wait either. He ignores the way his insides squirm, begging him to think about his actions. He’s done thinking. This is his wife! How could he ever say no?

He wears the cologne that Shannon bought for Christmas. The last Christmas. She enters the restaurant and sits down in front of him. He tells her she looks beautiful, because she does, she always did. She’s wearing clothes that he knows Shannon would never pick herself but this isn’t Shannon, this is Kim. She’s close enough. 

She talks about her job, about her favourite things, and how much she likes the beach. Shannon always did like the beach. Eddie tells her about Chris. He cracks jokes he hopes will make her laugh and they do. He tries not to focus on the way her laugh is just slightly off in a way he can’t explain. 

Eddie pays for dinner, he pays as though he’s trying to make up for all the times that he let Shannon down. He walks her to her car. Lets her take his arm as though she belongs there. He kisses her good night. Ignores the way her perfume smells all wrong, smells too strong, almost pungent. Shannon always preferred muted scents, a floral hint. He kisses her anyway. Kisses her hard, like he’s trying to consume her, consume any piece of his dead wife that he can. 

She tells him she had a great time. She’d love to do it again. He nods and smiles as she leaves. Ignores the way his heart beats a little too fast. He watches her walk away.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and it startles him, his attention quickly turning from her. He wonders if it’s Buck. If maybe something happened to Chris. He can’t stop his mind from going there. 

It’s not him.

Marisol asks him if they’re still on for tomorrow. They had plans to try out the same restaurant he just left. Maybe that’s why that place had been on his mind. Eddie inhales. He ignores the tightening in his chest. It was his wife, he didn’t cheat. He’s already married. 

He’s sends his girlfriend a thumbs up. He bites his lip, wills the ringing in his ears to quiet. Tries to think of jello.

There’s jello in his veins, smoothly flowing. His legs are jello, arms are jello. Breathe breathe breathe.

He can’t breathe.

He closes his eyes shut tight. Clenches his fist until the nails dig into his skin. He inhales. Holds for four. Exhale. 

Opens his eyes. He can see the parking lot, the black jacket he’s wearing, his hands, knuckles white. He can see the dark night sky, a couple walking down the street.

He can feel the label of his shirt itching at his neck. Feel the cold air on his fingertips and the wind running through his hair. He can feel the weight pressed firmly on his shoulders.

He can hear his heart beating loud in his chest. The sound of someone laughing softly in the distance. A car beeping its horn.

He smells his own cologne. He smells hers too. 

Tastes the regret on his tongue 

He takes out his phone with shaky hands. The phone rings not even three times before Buck’s unmistakable voice sounds through the screen. “Buck, I—I think I’ve made a mistake.”

#911 abc #911 fandom #911 spoilers #eddie diaz #911 spec fic #911 coda #911 7x07 #911 7x07 coda #purple writes #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 ficlet

[pasukiyo]

Hi! I love your work and was wondering if you could do potions teacher Tom falling is love with herbology teacher reader or just student Tom falling in love with this sunshine girl if you don't want to write them as adults/teachers. Thanks!

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 | tom riddle

potions master tom riddle x herbology teacher f!reader 2,253 words warnings: nothing but fluff notes: kind of grumpy x sunshine summary: professor riddle was notoriously blunt and took everything very seriously. he couldn’t think of one single time when he was nervous or insecure— until now.

 The Gryffindor third year trembled as Professor Riddle approached his cauldron, peering down into its contents. The Gryffindor’s eyes paced between Professor Riddle and his cauldron, suddenly insecure of his potion making skills. Professor Riddle pursed his lips together and stood straight up again, eyeing the blonde Gryffindor below him. 

 “It seems it’d do some of you well to pay attention in my class,” Professor Riddle said in a low voice, his fingers locked behind his back as he turned on the Gryffindor. A group of Slytherins in the corner of the room snickered amongst themselves as the blonde Gryffindor boy sank further into his seat in shame, his cheeks glowing a very visible shade of maroon. “Oh well,” Professor Riddle waved a hand. “Perhaps you’ll find an essay on the correct way to brew a Wideye Potion more intriguing. I expect you to turn it in by the end of the week, Walker.”

 The room was silent save for the clicking of Professor Riddle’s heels against the floor, as well as the snickering Slytherins in the corner. Professor Riddle circled around his desk and set himself down into his seat, sliding a stack of ungraded parchments before him, his quill between his thumb and forefinger. 

 “You all may be dismissed,” he said. “Do not forget to bring me  your samples of Wideye Potion before you leave. And do not forget to write your name, I’m saying this because of you, Weasley.”

 Professor Riddle peered up at his class through hooded lids as Weasley’s cheeks burned to match his hair, the group of Slytherins practically howling in laughter as they came up to his desk and placed their samples there. Professor Riddle paid them no mind as he sifted through each ungraded piece of parchment until finally, he was done grading essays, and he tossed his quill back into its ink bottle. 

 He leaned back in his seat and stared at the vials of Wideye Potion on the edge of his desk, a surge of fatigue rushing through him. Tom Riddle blinked and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, hard enough that he could see stars. He suddenly felt no desire to inspect his students’ potions, in fact, he suddenly felt no desire to do anything to do with potions at all. 

 Tom took his job seriously as he did everything, he wouldn’t dare show weakness, wouldn’t dare give Professor Dippet any reason to believe that his performance as Potions Master was less than exemplary. Tom Riddle had way too much pride in himself, but he knew he deserved better than this. 

 He knew he deserved the occupation as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. 

  He had the best marks out of any student in the class during his time at Hogwarts, which was why he simply could not understand why Professor Dippet would not give him the job. At first, it was because he was too young. And now it was because Hogwarts already had an exceptional Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in Professor Lynch, and the year before that, it was Professor Huxley, and the year before Professor Flint. 

 He had jinxed the job for a reason, so why couldn’t Professor Dippet just see that he was perfect for the job?

 But he digressed.

 He needed some fresh air. 

 Tom Riddle sighed as he pushed himself out of his seat and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, slipping it on either of his shoulders as he exited the Potions classroom. As he made his way down the hallway and into the Central Hall, students left and right scattered to clear his path, staring at the school’s handsome yet fierce Potions Master as he strode towards the doors leading to the Grounds. 

 He narrowed his eyes as they adjusted to the sunlight after being stuck in his dark, dimly-lit classroom for the better half of the day, welcoming the outdoor air into his lungs. One his eyes had adjusted to the brightness, he scanned the Grounds where students roamed, some arm in arm with one another, some throwing chocolate frogs at each other, some Ravenclaw Quidditch players soared in the air, throwing a Quaffle back and forth. 

 Tom slipped his hands into his trouser pockets as he strode absentmindedly around the circular path, nodding at the students who greeted him. Tom tried to ignore his frustrations as he made a half circle around the fountain in the middle of the Grounds, letting his feet carry him wherever they pleased. 

 “Please be careful with your lacewing flies! Handle their jars with care!”

 At the sound of the voice, Tom perked his head up towards the Grounds’ entrance where a very familiar figure strode through, leading a class behind her. Tom stopped and stood in his place, watching as she led the laughing students back towards the castle, jars of lacewing flies in each of their hands. When the Herbology teacher glanced up, tucking hair behind her ear, she smiled when her eyes fell upon the Potions Master and she nodded as she walked by. 

 “Nice to see you, Professor Riddle!” She exclaimed, and Tom nodded in reply. “Nice to see you too, Professor,” he murmured as she walked off, and he watched as she disappeared inside of the castle, along with the rest of the students trailing behind her. 

 Something fluttered in his chest, something he had only just recently acknowledged as his heart. Tom wasn’t used to this, to feeling infatuated with someone else. At first, he ignored it altogether. For all of his life, he insisted that love was weakness, and that he could not love. So when his heart stuttered in his chest and the wind knocked from his lungs the first time he saw her, he dismissed it. 

 But then it kept happening. 

 Every single time he caught a glimpse of her in the halls, every time he saw her during meals, when she sat beside him during feasts, when he so much as heard her name, warmth would spread throughout his chest, engulfing his heart in flame. He couldn’t stand being around her because of it at first, even though he found himself yearning for the next glance he could sneak at her. 

 Eventually he convinced himself that this could be what love was, that he, Tom Riddle, could in fact be capable of falling in love after all. 

 He was never the same after he acknowledged how he felt. 

 He found himself growing more and more attached to her, in fact, it seemed the fact that he’d see her at breakfast was the reason he got up out of bed every morning. Whenever he felt frustrated, whether that be with the Headmaster or with his students or anything in between, his mind would turn to her, the pretty Herbology teacher who always seemed to be smiling. 

 And he’d feel content again. 

 Tom peered back over his shoulder to look at the castle entrance, and he glanced down at the time on his watch. He knew she would have a free hour next to make time for lunch, and perhaps if he left now, he could catch her before she left for the Great Hall…

 Tom circled the fountain and made haste as calmly as he could back inside the castle, pushing between the sea of students crowding the Central Hall. He strode through the hallway leading to the Greenhouses, pushing his way through the double green and gold doors, stepping inside. 

 “Do you think we’ll be able to keep the lacewing flies?” A Ravenclaw student with short brunette hair asked her friend, a tall and lanky boy with dark skin. He shook his head, “doubt it. Riddle will probably have us use them in Potions… speaking of which…”

 The two Ravenclaw students bowed their heads when they noticed the Potions Master standing by the entrance, hurrying past. Tom paid them no mind, hands in his pockets as he ventured further in the Greenhouse, nodding when students greeted him. He approached the entrance to the Herbology classroom, where over a crowd of students’ heads, he could see her, smiling and waving goodbye to her class. 

 His jaw clenched as his heart stuttered in his chest, and he cleared his throat when a Slytherin girl smiled at him. “Afternoon Professor Riddle!” She exclaimed, and he nodded in reply. “Afternoon.”

 “Professor Riddle?”

 Tom blinked and he looked up where the Herbology teacher still stood in the back of the classroom, her eyes now set on him. Her smile widened when their eyes met, and as the last of her students poured out of the classroom, she approached, hands clasped behind her back. 

 “Well, I must say, this is a nice surprise, Professor,” she chuckled and he shifted where he stood, his heart trembling when she drew near.  “So what brings you out to this part of the castle today?” She asked, blinking up at him with those sparkling eyes he often found himself thinking of. 

 Tom bit back his words. He was notorious for being rather blunt, and he certainly wasn’t afraid of saying what he wanted to say. But this was different. He feared rejection, or more accurately, he feared embarrassment. The shame he’d feel if he, Tom Riddle, were to be rejected. He simply wouldn’t be able to live with it. 

 “Was just taking a stroll,” he said, glancing towards the ground for a fleeting moment. “Oh, it’s a wonderful day, isn’t it?” She beamed. “I took my fifth years outside of the castle to find lacewing flies since the weather is so nice. I hope they’ll be of use in your class.”

 Tom found that a small lump had formed at the base of his throat, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the fact that she thought of his class, perhaps it was the fact that she potentially could have been thinking of him. He swallowed the lump back down.

 “Yes, I appreciate it, Professor,” he replied simply, and she smiled warmly as she leaned against the doorframe of her classroom, gazing up at him. Tom looked away, suddenly feeling very hot as his heart beat harder inside of his chest, and he couldn’t help but look away. 

 She tilted her head to catch his eye again, and she cocked an eyebrow. “Is there anything else, Professor?” She asked, admittedly confused. It wasn’t often that the Potions Master took strolls to her side of the castle, nor was he one for light conversation either. She knew he must’ve come here for a reason, perhaps to ask about a student, or something similar. 

 She knew Tom Riddle took his job very seriously, in fact, it seemed to be the only thing he cared about. So she knew that this surprise visit to the Greenhouse must have been business related, but she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering. 

 What if he came here because he wanted to see her? What if he wanted to ask her out? She knew it was foolish for her to hope, but she could still dream. 

 “Yes, actually… there is,” Tom spoke finally, and she blinked back up at him, tilting her head. She didn’t say anything else, only waited patiently, as he mustered up the courage to say what he wanted to say. 

 Tom cleared his throat. 

 Her eyes sparkled under the light. 

 Her lips were curved into a soft smile. 

 This was harder than he thought. 

 “It’s… it’s a beautiful day,” he squeezed his eyes closed. He said that earlier. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t he just ask her? He’d been thinking about it all year now, and it wasn’t like him to feel so nervous. 

 It was truly frustrating. 

 Her lips twitched, but she suppressed the urge to laugh. This was a side of Tom Riddle she had never seen before— could it be that for once, he was nervous?

 “It is,” she nodded and he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and glanced away, staring at the wall beside them. Perhaps he should just say it, get it over with. “It’s nice weather for a stroll around Hogsmeade.”

 Oh.

 She could feel the heat as it slithered like a snake up the back of her neck, creeping up into her ears, and searing her skin. Could it be that her dream was becoming a reality?

 Tom kept his gaze fixated on the wall beside them, and she smiled, daring to step just a little closer. “Professor Riddle,” she said warmly, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to ask me out on a date.”

 Tom blinked and he turned his head towards her, looking down on her and into those beautiful glimmering eyes he couldn’t help but admire no matter how hard he tried not to. Swiftly, he glanced down to her lips— he suddenly had the biggest urge to kiss her right now. 

 But he resisted.

 “Call it what you want,” he replied as smoothly as he could, even though he felt like he could shrivel away from the world at that moment. “But… I certainly wouldn’t mind treating you to a butterbeer or two, if you’d let me.”

 The Herbology teacher giggled and her gaze cowered to the ground, and she wiped loose strands of hair behind her ear to hopefully mask her nerves. She glimpsed back up at him, and her smile widened.  

 “How about we get some lunch in the Great Hall first?”

a/n; sorry it took me so long to post this, life got in the way! not sure how i feel about my writing here, so sorry if it feels kind of rushed! tbh writing fluff for tom was kind of a challenge since he’s not exactly the fluffiest character LMAO

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza @lyis 🥹🫶

#tom riddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fic #wizarding world #harry potter fic #harry potter fandom #harry potter #harry potter imagine

[forthewomenonly]

You Belong to Me

Warnings: NSFW, smut, Sam Carpenter x reader, Sam Carpenter x Fem Reader (implied, no pronouns used), choking, semi exhibitionism, fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving) , Top!Sam, jealous Sam, R’s really a pillow princess in this one (Sam gets nothing)  a/n: Lowkey hated on Ethan this entire fic sorry guys. Made him sound like a bitchy pervert...he is.

Sam was jealous. This isn’t a surprise Sam is always jealous, but she’s seething watching him shamelessly flirt with you in the comfort of her own home. Him being Ethan Landry. Sam hates Ethan Landry and his feigned innocence, she sees the way he looks at you. Of course she sees it, Sam looks at you the exact same way. He’s not the innocent virgin angel he claims to be, and the thought of him thinking of you in anyway other than platonically makes Sam feel violently nauseous. Ethan comes over twice a week to study with Tara, meaning that twice a week he gets to see you. How could he be so blind? Obviously you were Sam’s, everyone knew that. Yet it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over your shoulder, or complimenting your outfits in ways that are far too descriptive to be seen as friendly. Sam wants Ethan out of her home, and she briefly considers asking Tara if they would relocate their study sessions elsewhere. She quickly dismisses that thought as she realizes she doesn’t want her baby sister anywhere alone with that perv. She narrows her eyes, grimacing as she notices Ethan lean over and whisper something in your ear. The fit of giggles that you erupt into is more than enough to soften her gaze. But how dare he. How dare he make you laugh like that, that was Sam’s job. You aren’t Ethan’s. You belong to her. You belong to Sam. She grips the kitchen counter tightly, knuckles turning white and her hand veins bulging. Sam’s huffy and irritant, counting down the seconds until Ethan leaves her apartment. Her ears perk up as she hears Ethan finally begin to pack up his belongings, she walks up to the front door in long strides, opening the door to speed up the process of his departure. After hugging you for much longer than necessary he meets the angry Carpenter at the door. “Bye Sam!” he waves. Sam grumbles some distasteful words under her breath in annoyance. Not that he could hear her anyways as she slammed the door in his face the second he stepped out of the apartment.   --- The next time Ethan comes over, Sam is prepared. He doesn’t get a chance to say hello to either of you as Sam drags you into your shared bedroom the very moment Ethan walks in. You laugh as she shuts the room door in haste turning to face you. “What’s got you all riled up today” you say playfully poking at her chest. “You.” She growls. Your teasing grin wiped off your face instantly. Sam lunges forward capturing your lips in a heated kiss, moving downwards to kiss and suck at your throat. She all but tears your clothes off leaving you naked in front of her. “Sam- slow down.” you gasp out. You’re unsure of what has her so excited at the moment but you welcome the lustful attention, reaching your hands down to the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head. You stop briefly taking a moment to gawk at Sam’s shirtless body. God she looks so hot. Her arm muscles are so defined and her forearm veins are so attractively visible, blood pulsing through her hand and arm veins from how hard she’s gripping your hips. She removes herself from you, settling down on the bed and propping herself up on her elbows. Immediately you follow her to the bed climbing on her stomach. Sam inhales sharply when she feels your wet cunt against her skin. Placing your hands on her chest, you rock yourself against the ridges of her abs. You let out a loud moan rolling your hips faster against her, Sam’s hands guide your hips in a steady rhythm. She flexes her abdomen and quickens pace making your body shudder, your moans increasing in volume. Usually Sam would have slapped her hand over your mouth by now to keep you quiet, but when you look down at her she just smirks at you, moving your hips faster against her. “Sam I c-can’t” you whine out desperately. The corners of her lips quirk up into a smile and she flips you onto your back. Sam knew that you wouldn’t be able to cum just from grinding on her stomach, you needed her help. You always do. You need Sam to make you cum, not Ethan, not anyone else. Sam. She prides herself in the fact that you’re no longer able to get yourself off properly. You can’t make yourself cum anymore, your own fingers incomparable to Sam’s fingers, tongue, or strap. Moving her hand down, Sam harshly presses her thumb against your puffy clit and you cry out loudly. Since she has decided against quieting you, you reach your hand up to cover your mouth yourself as Sam continues playing with your sensitive bundle of nerves. She can see you biting your hand and is not at all impressed. Sam grabs both of your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, while using the other to roughly shove two fingers inside your dripping cunt. The muscular girl removes her hand from your wrists and uses it to squeeze your throat, she feels your pussy flutter against her fingers as she drags them through your gummy inner walls. Your moans are loud and frequent, making Sam quicken her pace and curl her fingers, massaging your g-spot with each thrust. You cum with an obscenely loud pornographic moan, soaking Sam’s fingers and grinding into her hand. Sam moves down the bed, using her strength to pry your legs wider open. Opening her mouth to messily lick up all of your juices, she has a mix of her saliva and your wetness dripping down her chin and onto the bedsheets. Licking wide stripes through your folds and up to your clit. She takes the pulsing nub between her lips, sucking vigorously. You’re close to orgasm again and you buck your hips up trying to press yourself harder against Sam’s tongue. “Gonna cum Sam, gonna c-cum so hard.” you whine. Her fingers press harder into your thighs and you’re sure they’ll bruise. She lifts her head up looking you in the eye before pushing her fingers back inside of you, in place of her tongue. “Say my name.” “ W-what?” “Say. my. name.” she repeats. “Sam. Feels so good Sammy.” you moan breathlessly. You clench impossibly tight around her long, thick fingers and Sam knows you’re about to cum. “My name, say it again when you cum. I want to hear it.” “Fuck Sam! I’m cumming!” you scream out, rolling your hips out in time with her slowing thrusts. She pulls her fingers out, pushing them into your mouth making you taste yourself. Sam stands up brushing your damp hair out of your face delicately and  kisses the tip of your nose. She pulls a shirt on before exiting the room to grab you water. Walking up to the fridge she can see her younger sister’s disgusted expression and has to fight the urge to snicker. Turning her head she sees Ethan. It was her name you moaned, not Ethan’s. He’ll never get to have you like this because you’re all Sam’s. His jaw is slack, eyes wide, and his gaze flitters everywhere in the room except for Sam, he avoids eye contact with her desperately. Clearing his throat he packs up his belongings and gives Tara a meek “goodbye”. Sam smirks in victory, before turning to walk back into your room, water bottle in hand.

Tara rolls her eyes exasperated, now she has to study all alone just because her sister got jealous. Sam can be a real dick sometimes. 

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x fem reader #sam carpenter smut #sam carpenter x y/n #smut #melissa barrera #melissa barrera x reader

[strawberrynightmare]

Making hot chocolate for Mikey, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, Koko & Sanzu

Content warning: Let me know if there's anything, just fluff

Mikey

It was routine at this point. Mikey rarely misses an opportunity to come to your place. Then the two of you would rot on the bed/couch and eat mostly unhealthy snacks while talking about nothing. And you would call it “quality bonding time”.

You can’t even tell for 100% sure whether it was a good thing to introduce your special hot chocolate to him or not. He loved it, but demanded it quite often. You even tried to teach him the recipe but he always managed to mess something up.

At this point, you just accepted your fate, but you made him go shopping for you in return. Even if you were somewhat aware that it was most likely someone else who did his job. 

He especially likes to drink it during evenings. His mood instantly improves thanks to it, it makes him sleepy and clingy as his brain turns into mush almost entirely. That being said, of course it’s one of the best ways to get him to calm down, even though it requires specific conditions to be met.

It’s a double-edged sword, though.

Imagine that during one of those peaceful times, his phone rings. And keeps ringing, and keeps ringing. And he’s pulled from his hazy, half-conscious state with immediate dark clouds surrounding his head. 

He picks it up only to hear about a sudden fight with a rival gang which suddenly occurred.

Those poor delinquents better pray because Mikey is fucking pissed.

Several gang members will have to pull him away from the enemy leader because he’s making sure they won’t be able to leave the hospital for at least a good month.

He comes back to you one to a few hours later, all covered in blood and with skin torn on his knuckles. He takes a shower and changes into pyjamas before laying back on the couch and demanding another hot chocolate as if nothing happened in the first place.

Chifuyu

Your boyfriend hugs you from behind with his chin resting on your shoulder. His curious eyes remind you of those of a cat. His mouth soundlessly forms an “o” shape and he nods his head in understanding when you put some pieces of chocolate bar into the mug. 

You can’t resist the urge to put one into his spread lips and he doesn’t complain either. 

“So this is how you make it taste so good.”

“Yup, the chocolate melts and makes the flavour richer, although it also increases the amount of calories. I guess one is connected to the other.”

“I burn a lot of them either way so no worries.” He licked his lips off the remnants of the chocolate. “It smells like heaven.”

“I know right? This is why I choose this particular brand.”

He barely waited a moment for it to cool off before having a taste. Good thing you predicted it first and took countermeasures.

You made yourself comfortable on his bed, reaching for the newest volume of a manga the two of you were reading together.

“Don’t you dare start without me, y/n. It was so hard to avoid all of the spoilers online, it felt like walking on landmines!”

Purely out of spite, you lay on your belly and open the book which earns you screams of protests from your boyfriend. He wastes no time getting on top of you and trying to snatch it from your hands so you hold it just out of his reach. You then roll on your back and he falls softly on the bed right next to you before you both burst out in laughter and reach for your mugs.

You then sat cross-legged on his bed with the manga in your hands. He hugged you from behind and put his chin on your shoulder. Both of you began to read, sometimes laughing together, sometimes commenting or clearing out any doubts and recalling past volumes. All of this while drinking the delicious hot chocolate. Such moments with Chifuyu truly are precious <3

Mitsuya

Since your boyfriend always insists on cooking meals for you, it’s only right for you to make the dessert. Seriously, you don’t even know why you let him do it for you. Each time you try to bring it up and try to convey that he doesn’t have to do that, you get knocked out with stuff like “I like to cook for you though”, “it’s much healthier and more affordable” and the one which always leaves you in a lost position: “You don’t like my cooking?”

Half-dead, you fall to the floor while coughing metaphorical blood as he hums a gentle melody and proceeds to head towards the kitchen to make some food. It was truly a battle lost the moment it began. So you gave up.

Making him hot chocolate was the least you could do for him. He didn’t even protest and let you have your fun the first time you decided to. 

That night, his little sisters were in their beds already. You were watching a somewhat boring movie together and you soon fell asleep on his lap. He glanced at you warmly and shook his head at the chocolate stains left on your mouth. He licked a tissue and began to rub your face like mothers do to their kids except gentler. Thankfully you didn’t wake up.

…Which reminded him that he had yet to drink his own. Sorry, love - he thought before raising the mug to his lips without expecting much. His eyes returned to the screen and then widened in shock upon the taste. Later that week, he tried making it himself, but it didn’t taste half as good as yours. That’s when he decided to get the recipe from you.

***

“Are you sure you want to stand here?”

“Yes love,” he replied seriously with his hands resting on the kitchen counter and his eyes following your movements like those of a hawk.

“Wouldn’t you rather sit over there? I’ll be done in-”

“No need, love,” he gently put his hands on your waist and placed a kiss on your arm.

You raised a brow, but shrugged before pouring some hot water over a mix made of chocolate and powdered cocoa. You then stirred well and took condensed milk out of the fridge. Poured some into the drink. Put it back. Then stirred again before adding the marshmallows.

Mitsuya was taking mental notes the whole time. 

“Wouldn’t you rather use boiled milk for it?” He finally asked.

“That’s too much of a hassle. Besides, there’s only some needed for it to taste good. Plus, milk or coffee cream from the fridge cools down the temperature. Thanks to that, it’s ready to drink almost immediately.”

You gave him his own mug and both of you headed towards your seats and settled into comfortable silence. He couldn’t wait to make it for his little sisters!

(Spoiler: they loved it)

Sanzu

“It feels like drinking liquid sugar,” he noticed and then proceeded to only eat the pink marshmallows.

You barely resisted the urge to kick him. The two of you were resting in his bed. He was sitting and you were laying on the opposite side which resulted in him being right next to your feet. 

“I’ll drink it for you then,” you stretched your hand in his direction, but then he moved away to get the cup out of your reach. 

You were perplexed, to say at least.

“I thought you didn't like it?”

“I never said that?”

You kicked his side which - aside from an irritated expression - did not affect him at all. So you tried again. This time, he grabbed and pulled your ankle towards his face and kissed it while looking you straight in the eyes and smiling. 

“Freak.”

He grimaced. “Your feet stink.”

You sighed and sat up. If Sanzu had dog ears, they would perk up in surprise at that.

“Oh my, it seems that me and my stinky feet will have to leave then.” 

You barely managed to stand up and take a step towards the door before he hugged you by the hips and glued himself to you, making you unable to move without losing your balance.

“I was kidding! I love you and your stinky feet,” he nuzzled his face into your side. 

You tried to make another step forward but the weight he put on you made you lose your balance and fall onto his (luckily) carpeted floor. Concern flashed in his eyes before you smacked his head. And then you groaned when he almost laid on top of you, preventing you from leaving. 

“Am I dating a guy or a puppy?” You complained as he nuzzled his face into your neck. 

“If you’re into this, I wouldn’t mind wearing a collar with a leash.”

“Shut up or I might consider adding a muzzle.” You felt him grin into your skin. 

“Woof woof!”

Koko

If he was being honest, he’d much prefer you sitting next to him, maybe even cuddling. He tried to convince you that you can order take out, or he can take you to a cafe or a restaurant if you want to eat something nice. Damn, he even asked you to come back to him while the water was boiling but apparently it was more “complex” than just pouring hot water over powdered cocoa and stirring. 

He sighed, letting his head drop backwards in defeat. He’d much rather drink cold water and spend more time with you. Although, it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling to have someone put effort for him just because. In fact, it caused a fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

Just as he was about to call for you, you appeared with two mugs of hot chocolate in your hands. He raised one brow at the white and pink, tiny marshmallows richly decorating the top. 

“You might want to drink it before eating the marshmallows. If you eat them first, it will look less tempting.” You sat next to him on the sofa and he wasted no time putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer.

“I see you have this all thought through,” he noticed, while placing a thank you kiss on your temple before taking his own mug into his hands. He noticed you staring at him intensely.

“Please don’t,” he groaned. 

Your gaze didn’t falter. Your breathing became quicker.

“Y/n…” He pleaded. 

Your lip began to tremble. 

“You’re better than that.”

…

“Choco for Koko.”

“For fuck’s sake-” You barely managed to dodge the pillow aimed at your head.

Your boyfriend shot you one last disappointed look before he took a sip.

And then another. And another.  Before he knew it, it was all gone and he was fishing out the half melted marshmallows from the bottom. 

It was a damn good hot chocolate.

He even contemplated asking for seconds, but it dawned on him that you would have to leave again to do that.

“Did you like it?” You asked while making yourself comfortable in his tight embrace.

“I sure did. Mind selling me the recipe? Just name the price.”

You couldn’t decide whether he was being serious or not so you said the first thing which came to your mind.

“I might want to exchange it. For an… engagement ring.”

Koko turned his face away, almost embarrassed with how wide he grinned. His eyes sparkled uncharacteristically.

#kokonoi hajime x reader #koko x reader #hajime kokonoi x reader #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #kokonoi hajime #chifuyu matsuno #matsuno chifuyu x reader #matsuno chifuyu #chifuyu x reader #mitsuya x reader #takashi mitsuya x reader #mitsuya takashi #takashi mitsuya #sano manjiro #sano manjiro x reader #mikey #mikey x reader #haruchiyo sanzu #akashi sanzu #sanzu x reader #haruchiyo sanzu x reader #akashi sanzu x reader

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Prologue]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist

| mafia!Simon x fem!Reader - violence, death, gambling, gang/mafia violence |

Everyone knew not to ask the Riley brothers what they did after dark. Don’t ask Tommy why he looks so skinny, and don’t ask Simon about the bruises on his hands and face; it’s better that way. Even if you did, neither of them would tell the truth, though they lied for different reasons. Tommy lied because he didn’t want anyone to ruin his fun. It was already bad enough with his brother getting on his ass about his addictions, he didn’t need anyone else trying to play hero for him. Besides, he was perfectly content couch surfing, drinking all his friend’s booze, and shooting up in order to numb anything that the alcohol couldn’t. 

Simon only lied because he was ashamed. 

But it wasn’t shame that stuck him in that boxing ring. No, it was something else. Loyalty, most likely. Servitude, more accurately. Whatever word that could be used to explain Simon Riley’s undying need to take care of his family, even at the cost of his own wellbeing. Even if that meant spilling someone else’s blood and destroying himself in the process. 

It was difficult to hear the sound of his own thoughts in that room. Long abandoned, the pool house bounced around the voices of all the men looking down at him and the poor bastard he would have to fight. Nothing but cracked concrete walls surrounded him and his opponent as they stared at one another from opposite sides of the empty pool, sizing one another up. An announcer using a jerry-rigged auditory system mumbled something into the microphone about last call for bets that sent a few people scrambling. Maybe it was the dull, grey concrete prison he found himself in, but the men in charge had a way of making boxing feel like being put in the colosseum. 

In five minutes, one of them would leave a bloody mess. Simon had every intention of leaving in one piece. 

While he waited, Simon adjusted the wraps on his knuckles and the balaclava obscuring his face. He always refused to show his face in that place because the last thing he wanted was for any of that to come back and bite him in the ass. Underground boxing wasn’t the most legal thing in the world, but being a butcher wasn’t exactly a well paying job, either. The only reason he risked his life in that hole was because the winner got to take home twenty percent of the pot, and he had family to take care of. 

Once everyone began to line the edge of the pool, Simon knew his five last minutes of preparation was almost up. Pressing one thick soled boot against the concrete at his back, he pushed himself off of the wall and towards the large spray painted circle that decorated the bottom of the pool. The line was drawn long ago and was so faded he had a difficult time telling the paint and the bloodstains apart. His contender mirrored his actions as he lazily sauntered up towards the ring, oozing a confidence Simon wasn’t sure was well founded. 

The referee was a bored man who looked like he was nineteen going on forty. Out of all the spectators, he was the only one brave enough to sit down with his legs hanging over the side of the pool, despite how easy it would be to snap one of his scrawny legs should he get caught in the crossfire. Like all the other men who were in charge of the fight, he wore all black which made the silver whistle hanging around his neck all the more eye-catching. 

“Alright boys,” he shouted over the commotion swirling around them, “you know the rules.”

Both men nodded before turning their attention to one another where they took their last few seconds to fully size one another up. Simon was taller, but that wasn’t exactly anything new. He was always well aware that his height and size was larger than the average man, but that rarely seemed to get anyone to shy away from fighting against him in the ring. His opponent had forgone his shirt, which was something Simon himself would have done if it wasn’t for the tattoos and other identifying marks he covered with the cloth on his back. Less clothes meant less things for someone to grab onto during the fight, but the man knew how to adapt. He wouldn’t have been alive that long if he didn’t learn to do that much. 

Neither of them wasted any time getting to work the moment the whistle blew. His nameless opponent didn’t bother to wrap his hands, and he flaunted his tightly wound fists as he danced around the ring. Simon, however, was not that flamboyant, and instead chose to keep his arms guarding his face as he waited for either the man to make a move, or for an opportunity to attack. He had no need to show off, to prove himself to the people who bet on him; his only objective was to survive. To win.

The man’s first punch was slow. Sloppy, even. A quick duck of his head and adjustment of his hips had Simon avoiding the blow like it was child's play, and he responded with a quick and sharp jab to the man's exposed abdomen. The move got him a sharp grunt in response, followed by a half-assed punch intended for his face, but was easily blocked by Simon’s forearms. Bit by bit the fight started to pick up momentum. A quick jab on the right. A wide swing that sent one of the men ducking. Each blow was punctuated by roaring applause mixed with slight grimaces and groans from the audience. 

Two minutes had passed and Simon had managed to receive a decent hit to his cheek, but his opponent suffered from a bloody nose that bled profusely, wetting the skin of his chest. His blood mixed with the rest of the stains that coated the concrete floor of the emptied pool, but neither man paid it any mind as they were too busy sizing up opening opportunities. 

The crowd began to grow restless with the match, as fights usually only lasted a minute maximum if the fighters were good enough. They wanted their results. They needed their winner so that they could claim their share of the prize, should they be so lucky. Instead of continuing the fight, of picking up pace and doubling down, Simon’s opponent placed his hands on his hips with a heavy sigh. There was a slight pull to his lips, some sort of twisted grin that Simon refused to trust. 

“Look… I really need that money.” 

Now that was new. Simon was no veteran in the career of illegal underground boxing, but he had never seen or heard of anyone begging to win. Refusing to let his guard down, he stayed braced as he watched the man take a step forward, his movement far too confident to be grounded in good will. 

Though Simon hadn’t been expecting anything friendly from the man, he certainly didn’t expect something as insidious as him pulling a pocket knife from the pants of his jeans. Its edge glistened deadly in the dull lights of the pool house, and he couldn’t stop the way his eyes widened at the sight of it. A deafening uproar sounded from the crowd at the blatant display of rule breaking, and the referee blew his whistle in an attempt to halt the fight. 

“The fuck did I say about following rules?” the man shouted after letting the whistle drop from his lips. “Give that here before you get yourself hurt.” 

Despite the man’s warning, no one exactly rushed to defend Simon. Not that he could blame them. They weren’t the ones stuck in that pool with that man. They were perfectly safe and had no intention of spilling their guts just to save their entertainment.

Ignoring the referee, the man continued to stalk closer to Simon who refused to waver even in the threat of the glinting blade in the man's hand. It was a beautiful knife, obviously well loved and kept without a single hint of rust or other ailment. But Simon knew knives, and he knew them well enough to know that the grip the man used was not the telltale sign of a man who was confident in his abilities. Just as sloppy as his punches were, his grip was that of a novice, someone desperate for an easy way out. 

“Just step outta the ring,” the man said as he approached close enough to Simon that he was within reaching distance. “This doesn’t have to be difficult.” 

Simon didn’t even bother giving the man a reply, and he certainly didn’t wait around for him to make the first move with a knife in his hand. Instead, he grabbed the blade by hand, taking great care to avoid putting the edge along the fleshy part of his palm as he did so, and used his other hand to twist the man's wrist into submission. His yelp cut through the shouting of the crowd around them as Simon yanked the knife out of his feeble grip and then swung him to the side. Blood and bone crunched on the cement of the pool wall as the man’s already tender nose collided with the rough and unforgiving surface. 

“Sorry mate,” Simon said as he watched the man’s face slide down the wall, “shoulda fought harder.” 

Violent cheering and shouts brought a whole new deafening sound to the crowded room as those who betted on Simon reveled in their win. The man himself stood in the center of the ring as a few workers surrounded his opponent, all roughly grabbing him and yanking him out of the hole, certainly to drag him off to teach him a lesson. Boxers dying during fights wasn’t exactly good for business, and those who placed bets usually got pretty sour when their lucky contestant was too injured to play. 

Folding up the pocket knife and shoving it into his pocket to keep as a souvenir, Simon turned towards the pool ladder where he quickly yanked himself up out of that bloody hole. Several people were brave enough to give him a pat on the back as he cut through the crowd, but most others stared at him with slight terror and the respect he deserved. 

He had won, and that was the only thing he cared about. 

Things were significantly more quiet in the cash room. What used to be a locker room had been turned into something of a makeshift bank with large, heavy duty safes that housed all the cash from that evening's bettings, as well as everything left over from previous weekends. As Simon was the victor, he got priority on the dispersal of money, which meant he found himself standing for quite some time in front of a rickety folding table while the banker, so to speak, counted out his winnings by hand. 

Eight thousand was how much he would take home that night. With a minimum required bet of five hundred, and then some choosing to place even higher bets, his payout was always eye-catching, though usually took some time to count out. Not that he was in a hurry or anything, certainly not at that time of night. He didn’t have anyone waiting for him back home, anyway. 

“Ghost?” 

Unlike most of the other fighters, Simon refused to reveal not only his face but his name as well. In fact, he had peeved the sign up rep a little when he refused to give the man his proper name and in some sort of fit of annoyance he was given the name Ghost. It was a name that had gotten him laughed at when he had first stepped in that bloodied pool as he was seen as nothing but some stupid boy who dreamed too much of being in the WWE. After a few matches, people learned to respect both the name and the man behind the mask. 

Simon turned around to face who spoke to him and wasn’t much too surprised to find a well dressed man with an easy smile. He stood only an inch or two shorter than him, which was something to notice, and he could catch a slight whiff of expensive, woody cologne mixed with tobacco. Though that abandoned pool house was meant for the grunts, it wasn’t rare to find the occasional well off business man or two feeding into their gambling addictions with something a bit more bloody than your average horse race. 

“Yeah?” Simon responded as if bored. 

Much to his surprise, the man held out his hand for him to shake. He was quick to notice the watch band on his wrist, though it wasn’t as expensive as Simon had anticipated it to be. Still, he courteously took his hand as he allowed the man to introduce himself. 

“John Price. That was some good fighting you did down there,” he congratulated as they both returned their hands to their sides. It was obvious the man wasn’t from the area based on his accent. London, Simon guessed, which was quite a ways away from Manchester. 

Simon hummed as he quickly glanced over his shoulder. The sudden quietness hadn’t been lost on him as every soul in that room eyed John Price with suspicion. Even the bank guards looked apprehensive despite how obviously armed they were. He turned his attention back to John as he gestured to the table behind him. 

“Too excited to wait patiently for your winnings?” he asked. 

John laughed, and it rumbled deep in his chest as he glanced down at the ground with a friendly smile. “No, my wife doesn’t like it when I gamble. I came here to offer you a job.” 

It was as if the ambiance of the room itself silenced the very moment those words left John’s mouth. Anyone shuffling and counting cash ceased, as did their breathing by the sound of it. There didn’t seem to be any insidious intent or tone behind the man's voice, and yet his offer stopped the very turning of the world. 

“Must be an interestin’ job if you’re scoutin’ in a place like this,” Simon noted. 

“Interesting and well paying,” John agreed. “I think it would be a shame to let those talents of yours go to waste.” 

Talents? Simon nearly laughed at the compliment. He wasn’t a trained fighter by any means, just obnoxiously big and brutally strong in a way that most other people never had the misfortune of being. There were very few reasons why Simon would want to turn to a life like that, a life full of nothing but violence and fighting, and simply being offered decent pay was not one of them. 

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’m interested,” he said as he turned his attention back to the man at the table. Apparently he had finished counting his winnings quite some time ago because he held the stack of cash in his hands out for him impatiently, almost as if he begged Simon to leave. 

Relieving the man of whatever awkward tension had built up in his body, Simon took the cash and quickly shuffled through it before tossing a few bills back as a tip. The man muttered a soft thanks before his gaze turned back to John Price. Whoever this man was, no one else seemed to trust him even with his kind demeanor. 

“Have a good night,” he said to John with a simple nod. 

Just as Simon walked to the side of the man, he put his hand up in front of his chest, forcing him to stop in his tracks. That same hand then slowly snaked into the pocket of his pants, and he half expected him to pull some sort of weapon on him for denying his offer. Wouldn’t have been the first time that night. Instead, John pulled out a small, rectangular card, which he held out for Simon. 

“Take this before you go. In case you change your mind,” John insisted.

Simon stared at the card for a long moment, studying its features. It was nothing but plain white cardstock with a phone number handwritten on one side, which was oddly simple for someone with a powerful aura. It was almost like the man had scribbled it down before he even entered the building, as if he had anticipated Simon’s rejection. Seeing no harm in taking the card, and also wanting to get the man off his back as soon as possible so he could go home, he took the item and shoved it in his pocket. 

“Just know that if you do decide to change your mind, I always take care of my men. Always,” John said, his eyes unwavering. 

Unconvinced, Simon gave the man a curt nod. “Sure,” he responded gruffly before he turned to leave John Price and that dilapidating building far behind him. 

Simon didn’t take his balaclava off until he was halfway home. Well, the house he grew up in as a child wasn’t exactly home anymore, but his mother still lived there, and that was close enough. It hadn’t changed much since he was younger; it still had the floral patterned curtains and the cement stairs with the railing that squeaked as he approached the front door. The inside had changed considerably, though. Significantly less toys than he remembered, and his mother was able to keep it more tidy since the death of his addict father.

When he reached the kitchen, he flipped the light on and did a quick glance around the room. Several hand washed dishes sat neatly in a drying rack next to the sink, and the fridge was adorned with old photographs of him and his brother Tommy from when they were younger. Annoying bastard used to be cute back then. 

Digging his hands into his pocket, Simon pulled out the cash he had earned that night and began to shuffle through the bills. Six thousand would have been plenty for him to live off of for a little while in addition to what he already made at work as a butcher. His mom could use the extra two thousand, although she’d chastise him and attempt to give it back to him. No, maybe he should give her three thousand just in case his brother came around asking her for cash. Begging seemed to be a bad habit of his.

“Tommy?” 

Simon stopped in his tracks when the sound of his mothers tired voice cut across the quiet kitchen. She stood in the doorway with a hand bracing against the wall while she attempted to squint into the bright light of the room. Surprisingly, her hair was kept fairly well despite her having been roused from sleep, though her pajamas had been wrinkled from her tossing and turning throughout the night. 

“Oh, Simon,” she said in surprise. “Everything alright sweetie?”

He felt like a kid again getting caught red handed trying to steal snacks at some ungodly hour, except instead of stealing he attempted to give something. It was too late to shove the cash into his pocket and pretend he was there for some other reason, her eyes had clearly scanned the bundle in his hands as soon as she had made herself known. Instead of drawing more attention to it than had already been done, Simon continued to count out the cash like it was of no importance. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he spoke softly. It didn’t take him much longer to count the amount he wanted to give to her, and once he was finished he set it in a neat pile on the counter before shoving the remaining amount deep into his pocket. “Just droppin’ something off real quick. Go back to bed, mum.” 

Ignoring his request, she continued further into the room as she made her way to the fridge where cold air soon brushed against Simon’s arm as she searched around in the freezer. It wasn’t long before she pulled out a bag of frozen peas and shoved it his way, all but forcing it into his hand. 

“If you ice it now the swelling should go down by Monday,” she said while her eyes watched him meticulously. 

Sighing, Simon turned so that his hips leaned against the counter while he pressed the cold bag of peas against his eye. The pain from the impact was hardly there, and it felt more like a dull throb than anything else, but he supposed nothing could beat a mother’s intuition. Not like it would have mattered if his eye did swell up. There were very few people he visited, and he always hid in the back of the butcher shop when he worked. 

“You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself, Simon,” she sighed as she shut the freezer door. Despite her short stature, she stared up at her son with her hands on her hips to scold him as if he was still a child and not a twenty-six year old man. “Whatever money you’re making from this isn’t worth what you’re putting your body through.” 

“It is if it helps get you through the month,” he retorted bluntly. Crackling plastic sounded as he adjusted the bag on his face. His fingertips already ached from holding the ice cold object. 

“I know your mother is getting closer to being a helpless old lady, but I’m not there quite yet,” she chuckled. “I’m not going to be living out on the streets, sweetie.” 

“You will be if you keep givin’ money to Tommy as often as you do.” 

It was difficult for her to come up with a response because deep down Mrs. Riley knew her son was right, even though she didn’t want him to be. The oldest of her two sons grew skinnier and more pallid every time she saw him, and the only thing he ever seemed interested in consuming was cash. His expensive diet was insatiable, and she didn’t have the fortitude to deny him his favorite meal. 

“If he comes around again, tell him to come talk to me,” Simon continued. By that point his cheek felt completely numb and he hastily pulled the frozen bag of peas off his face in order to offer his skin a little reprieve from the biting cold. “Kick him out if you have to. Unless he’s tryin’ to sit for tea, he doesn’t need to be harassing you for money.” 

There wasn’t much more to be said for their late night kitchen conversation. Sleep pulled heavy at his mothers eyes, and all Simon wanted to do was wash away the filth of that night down the drain. So he placed the bag of peas back in the freezer before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. They quietly muttered their goodbyes before Simon quickly slipped out of the kitchen and towards the exit. His hand had hardly brushed against the dull, brass door knob before he heard her call out to him from the kitchen doorway once more. 

“Stay safe, Simon.” 

Hesitating for only a moment, he continued to twist at the knob until the door swung open and the night air seeped into the entryway. He glanced over his shoulder and looked to where his mother’s small frame stood, blocking the illumination from the kitchen. A small smile appeared on his lips, but his face felt too numb to give her something more proper. 

“Always.” 

The thing about Simon Riley was that his hands were always dirty. No matter how much pink tinged water swirled down the drain, he could never quite get the stench of death and raw muscle out of his skin. But that was alright. Men like him, large and burly and utterly terrifying, were meant to be that way. Hidden in the back of butcher shops, transforming once living creatures into something so unrecognizable that the average person would be able to stomach consuming something that once looked at the same stars as them. 

Just as Simon had finished washing and drying his hands, the small pitter-patter of feet caught his attention. Looking up from his station, he caught sight of Meara, the young girl who ran the register up front. She was kind enough yet always seemed eternally bored with the work at the shop, but her usual dull expression was replaced with one of slight concern. Meara leaned against the doorway and jammed her thumb over her shoulder as she cleared her throat. 

“There’s someone up front asking for you,” she said. “He’s uh… very adamant about speaking to you.” 

Sounded about right. It was a Monday, and for some reason that usually attracted the frustrated white collar workers and the absolute loons. Simon tossed his paper towel into the bin next to the sink before following Meara up front where he was met with neither office worker nor freak but his own brother. Each time Simon saw Tommy, he looked worse with gauntly cheekbones and heavy sunken eyes. His skin was so pale it looked as if it had been rotting for some time, and yet he still smiled at Simon as if nothing was wrong. 

“Simon, hey man,” Tommy greeted as he placed his hands on the counter. His scuffed knuckles didn’t go unnoticed, but Simon didn’t bother to mention it. “How’s work?” 

“What do you want?” he questioned, skipping the pleasantries and getting straight to the point. “Got tired of freeloadin’ off of mum?”

Whatever kind persona Tommy wore quickly morphed into something a bit more desperate at his little brother’s comment and he slumped forward over the counter. He was close enough that Simon could smell his breath; it was as if he had rotting flesh stuck in his teeth. 

“Come on, Simon,” he said, nearly begging, “I know it sounds bad, but I just- this is serious alright? Look, I couldn’t tell mum because she’d freak the fuck out, but I… I owe some guys a bit of  money, and they’re getting a little impatient with me.” 

Feet shuffled behind Simon as Meara not-so-secretly eavesdropped. Papers slapped against one another as she messed about, pretending to be busy when he knew that she didn’t have any work to be done. Ignoring it, he kept his attention on his brother, and more importantly the bit of information he had dropped. 

“How much?” he asked. 

Sweating, Tommy rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I’d just need a couple hundred to keep them off my back for a while.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” Simon snapped. “How much, Tom?” 

Avoiding his gaze, Tommy looked down at the counter. “Seventy five.” 

“Hundred?” Simon pressed. 

“Thousand.” 

Simon nearly laughed at the absurdity of the number. He was well aware his brother was an idiot, but he never imagined he would get into that much trouble. Tommy refused to look at him, which gave Simon the time he needed to get his thoughts together and stay as level headed as possible, lest he scare Meara. 

“How the fuck did you manage that?” Simon asked as he kept his voice low. 

“That’s not important right now,” Tommy retorted, though he backed off when he saw the glare his brother gave him. “I-It’s a long story, I can explain later but right now I need you to help me. Please.” 

A small bell rang with the opening of the shop door and Tommy anxiously turned around to greet the two men like he knew them by their presence alone. Both men were dressed similarly with large bulky coats that Simon knew couldn’t be hiding anything good. Neither brother had time to react before one of the men threw a punch that hit Tommy’s diagram. All the air in his lungs left him with a pitiful heave before he was promptly shoved onto the cold linoleum. Meara’s gasp came shortly after followed by what sounded like a sob when the other man pulled out a knife and pointed it towards Simon in a warning. 

“Let’s not get any ideas,” the man chuckled as his partner sauntered over to Tommy’s crumpled form on the floor. 

Stuck on the other side of the counter, Simon’s eyes flickered between the two men in assessment. Average height and build, neither of them were all too intimidating and yet they both sauntered into the shop like they owned the place. The man who stood above Tommy chuckled as he knelt down to his height like some ravenous beast ready to eat his meal. This was Simon’s work, but this was their territory. 

“Time’s up,” he said as he held his hand out, but all Tommy could do in response was sputter and attempt to catch his breath. “Do you have the cash or not?” 

Suddenly, Simon was in that empty pool again with its cracked cement walls and stained floor. Adrenaline pumped through his body so furiously the only thing he could hear was his brothers groaning and the blood rushing in his ears. He could freeze up. He could stand there and watch his brother get beat to a pulp or stabbed beyond recognition. It was easy to give in to fear, to be nothing but a helpless bystander, but it wasn’t in his nature. No, a man like Simon Riley would do the thing he did best: fight. 

Mimicking his movements from the other night, Simon grabbed the blade of the knife with one hand and the thugs wrist with his other before bending them in opposite directions. A loud crunch reverberated through his hands as the man’s forearm shattered in his grip, causing the man to scream louder than anything he had heard in his life. There was nothing left in Simon’s grip than powdery bone and mushy meat. Yelping, Meara took that as a sign to get the hell out of dodge, and she quickly dove through the doorway and into the back of the shop. 

All it took was a simple shove to get the man to lose balance, and with him out of the way Simon was able to step around the counter. The man closest to his brother was no longer concerned with Tommy and instead turned his attention to Simon. He looked to his comrade who squirmed and moaned on the floor as he gripped his flopping arm, and it was in that moment that they finally realized they should have taken Simon seriously. 

Cursing, the man fumbled with one of the pockets in his coat and Simon’s stomach dropped at the sight. This was the moment where the man would try and level the playing field by drawing his own weapon, and though Simon was strong, no amount of fortitude would stop a speeding bullet. Bracing himself, Simon charged as fast as he could towards the man with his new weapon held tightly in his hand. Strong and powerful steps propelled him forward, and they collided seconds later where they both toppled to the ground right next to Tommy like dominos. 

Ensuring that he was ready for whatever came next, Simon jumped to his feet and looked down at the man he had tackled. His breathing was short and sputtering, and at first he thought that was just because he had knocked the wind out of him; until he realized the knife was no longer in his hand. A long blade had been embedded into the thugs stomach and it fit so snugly as if it had never known any other home. All the man could do was lie there on his back with his hands pawing at his abdomen as if he could will the pain away. But nothing could get the blood to stop oozing from the wound. 

Simon had just washed his hands. 

“Fucking… Jesus fucking… holy shit,” Tommy stuttered, still gasping for air. “Simon… oh my god, he’s gonna fuckin’ die. W-What do… what do we do?” 

Simon’s heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest, and each thump rattled painfully throughout his entire body. Both intruders laid on the ground, one still half conscious moaning in pain over his arm, and the other slowly losing the light in his eyes. It was then that Simon realized he was scared. Terrified, even, but he had a difficult time deducing what had spooked him. The fact that he had killed a man, or the realization that taking a life was just as easy as butchering a pig?

Ignoring his brother, Simon dug around in his pocket where he quickly pulled out his phone and a small card. He wasn’t sure why he still even had that useless piece of scrap that John Price had given him. Maybe he lugged it around because he knew that there was no escaping a life of violence, no matter how fast he ran. He unlocked his phone and hastily punched the numbers on the keypad before bringing it up to his ear. The line rang for so long he was a little worried no one would pick up, but eventually it stopped and the silky smooth voice of John Price came through the speaker. 

“Hello?” 

“This is Ghost,” Simon answered. His voice was terrifyingly calm despite the fresh corpse that rested on the ground next to him. “That job offer still on the table?”

here's our little introduction for the boy. still not quite sure how i feel about it, and updates will be slow to come, but i'm excited to get more of his lore out there. hope you all enjoyed. we'll get to see reader in the next part

#mafia!simon #mafia!ghost #mafia!141 #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #in limbo

[promptful]

Best Friends to Lovers Things:

big boi.

WARNINGS: Mentioned death.

Seeing them in a different way after a long time apart. 

Lingering looks.

Bed sharing, but only platonically. (Regretfully). 

Inside jokes. 

Late night [texts] 

Smiles that hurt. 

Always being each other’s +1 to any event. 

Forced proximity, that wouldn’t be such a problem if things weren’t changing between the two of you. 

Home cooked meals, made special by the other. 

Walking each other home from work. 

Falling asleep on the couch, intertwined. 

Fake-dating; either because you have to, (friends, family, a wedding, job) or because you two made an agreement when you were younger to get married. 

Having to vet the other’s SOs. 

Soft touches. A brush on the shoulder, across the waist, through the hair. 

Everyone knowing that, oh, it’s those two. 

People asking where’s the other if only one is present. 

Minted keys to each other’s apartment. 

^ (Bonus if it’s the only copy). 

Sleepovers because you're sick and they don’t want to leave.

Their parents always asking how you’re doing, and yours asking about them. 

Bets on your relationship. 

That kind of laughter that ends up like squeaking because you can’t hold it in anymore. 

Confessing your love in the worst ways. (In the middle of an argument, while in danger, in a drunken stupor, simply because you’re tired.) 

Using them as a seat, because that’s what you’re used to. 

Slow dancing. Totally platonic. 

Prom with one another. 

Spending sad anniversaries on the couch with buckets of chocolate, their arms curled around your shoulders. 

They only trust you with their problems. 

And you only have them to cry on. 

“Goodnight” and “Goodmorning” texts. 

“Did you get home safe?” texts. 

“If anything ever happens to you, call me.” 

Self-sacrificing behavior because neither of you can live without the other. 

Chiding the other while patching them up, inches away from their lips. 

When they throw themselves into danger, you’re there to pull them out. 

“Can’t sleep, come over?” 

Movie marathons. 

Hiding each other whenever you’re not supposed to be in their room, giggling.

“I can’t imagine being with anyone but you.” 

Petty jealousy. 

“Where are you?” 

Always sitting by each other in [school]. 

Fixing each other’s clothing; ESPECIALLY tying their ties, fingers brushing against their sternum. 

“I’ve wanted this forever.” 

Them being the only person who notices the small changes you make to either your appearance or house. 

Emergency contacts. 

Sleep-deprived nights because the other’s in the hospital. 

Platonic love proclamations, until they're not. 

An accidental kiss to the cheek that leaves both of you stunned. 

“I can’t keep going without telling you how I feel.” 

That awkward phase after you start dating where everything is new and you really don’t want to mess it up. 

“It’s just me.” 

The whole exaggeration about their dating. (E;g, we’ve been dating since I’ve known them.) 

“I didn’t know you loved me.” “I didn’t know you loved me.” 

Semi-protective behavior. 

Knuckle kisses that get progressively longer. 

Dreams shared in the darkness.

Working together—which means no productivity, basically. 

Playful arguments. 

Being able to resolve actual arguments because they both value the friendship too much.

“Take the bed.” “Not without you.” 

Stargazing, your head on their shoulder. 

Being there when things go bad with each other’s families. 

The “do you want to talk?” with pinched eyebrows. 

Knowing the exact shade of each other’s eyes from memory. 

Coffee trips in the middle of the day. 

Dropped off lunches. 

Random midnight snack runs. 

Nighttime road trips. 

A shared music taste and a bass that rocks the car, windows down. 

“Don’t replace me… please. I can’t lose you, too.” 

Straight-faced covering for them, even while they sneak out the backdoor behind you. 

Mutual shenanigans despite the consequences of said shenanigans. 

“Hey, what if we—” “No.” 

That first kiss that’s a tentative touch, then turns into a fervorous kiss, hands on shoulders, jaws, cheeks, squeezing their sides. 

Wanting to take their relationship slow. 

Each milestone meaning more than the last. 

Soft singing to put one another to sleep—perhaps a song that they’ve sang since childhood. 

Being ready to drop everything to go help them no matter what. 

Smiling when thinking about them [and being called out on it]. 

Objects that you have to get for them.

Board Game competition. 

Zipping up their dress, or tying their tie and fixing their cufflinks. 

Secret languages. 

“What are we?” “What do you want us to be?” 

Standing in front of them on the [train]. 

Memories that you can’t forget. 

Growing old with one another. 

Kids who they can’t decide which looks like who. 

The most outlandish anniversaries you can think of. 

“Happy That Time We Almost Died For the Second Time!” 

Communicating through simple expressions. 

And finally, the ability to trust utmost in one another. 

#writing prompt #story prompts #prompt #prompts #writing prompts #best friends to lovers #fanfiction prompts #fluff #going to go to war with tumblr's editor and that is a promise #prompt list #otp prompts #story prompt #writeblr #creative writing #dialogue prompts #dialogue prompt #p.

[mewintheflesh-2]

Without You

Rating: Teen and Up audiences

Archive warnings: None

Characters: Francis Mosses, Original Characters

Tags: Unrequited Love, heartbreak, Song: Without You (Strawberry Guy), Crushes, Unrequited Crushes, Francis Mosses has sensory issues (briefly mentioned), minor blood and injury, Francis deals with the qualms of being a retail worker (kinda), men crying, emotional hurt, hurt/no comfort, not beta read, Reader is gender neutral.

Word count: 1,800 (rounded down)

Summary: Francis wasnt having a good time.

And you're not about to make it any better

Also posted on Ao3

Francis sighed solomly as he gripped the now empty milk carrier. Hard enough to leave imprints on his hand and whiten his knuckles.

His black leather shoes clicked and clacked against the cold, concrete sidewalk. The sunset painting everything around him in a golden light. It'd be nighttime soon.

He lifted his free hand to his head and clutched his sweaty hair from underneath his hat. He was so tired. He just wanted to get home and sleep.

But he mostly just wanted to talk to you.

Even if you only really talked through that thick, protective window, youd been making more and more conversation with eachother each time you spoke, getting to know eachother more and more each day.

It wasnt long before Francis' lovesick brain fell head over heels.

It was everything about you. The way you looked, with a smile rivaling the warmth of the sun, and just as dangerous to his heart and mind. You always seemed to know exactly what to say to him to pull at his heart like a puppet on a string.

If he didnt know any better, hed say you were doing it on purpose.

He wouldnt mind either way.

Francis slugged up to the reception window, a weight lifted off of him at the sight of you at your desk.

He pushed his ID and Entry Request inside the letterbox for you to receive, planting his hands on the metal shelf jutting out of the wall just below the window; watching you expectantly with a simultaneous aching and soothing feeling in his heart.

After a minute of shuffling papers and opening folders, you look up at him.

"Hello, Francie." You smiled warmly at him.

There it was.

That nickname.

God how it made his heart swell. 

'Francie.'

Such a cute nickname

and it was just for him, gifted from you.

"How's your day been?" You tilted your head slightly at him, setting down and organizing his identification and sliding his profile back into the appropriate folder.

Francis looked at you for a second before frowning. "Not great." He sighed as he shook his head softly, looking down at his shoes.

Your eyebrows knit together in concern, a frown adorning your lips.

"I'm sorry, Francie. What happened, if you dont mind me asking?" Your voice was so warm and soft as you leaned in closer to the window.

It made Francis' heart flutter for a second before he had to think back to all that had happened earlier.

"It's just a lot of little things building up. I'm probably more upset about it than I should be." Francis looked down at his hands, and then up to you.

The expression on his face was just killing your heart. 

"Im all ears." You speak softly as you push your chair in closer to your desk, and by extension, the window.

"If theres anything you need to say, then say it. Its always nice to get things off your chest, dont you think?" You smile softly at him, pushing your chair closer to your desk, and closer to the window by extension.

"Are you sure?" Francis looked around, almost worried. Surely he'd be taking up your time on your job if he did that, right?

"I have all the time in the world-- and I'd rather be talking to you than anything else right now." You assured, that deadly warm smile on your lips again.

The words made Francis feel warm and soft.

A small smile appeared on his face for a brief, fleeting moment. 

 Francis stared at you for a moment, as if asking for approval to speak.

You nod.

He sighed, looking down at the metal shelf infront of him as his ungloves hands tapped at it, wondering where to begin.

"Its just- work has been just awful today.  Someone had left their dog outside, as soon as it saw me it wouldn't stop chasing me, i tried to run away, but it eventually caught up to me and bit my leg.

It wouldnt let go until I had to pry it off of me. And even then it didn't leave me alone for awhile. Not until it's owners came back to take it off of me." 

You frowned, trying to open your mouth to speak, but Francis kept talking.

"And because of that dog, i dropped and broke multiple milk bottles on the sidewalk. So after the dog got taken off of me, i tried picking up the glass since I didn't want anybody accidentally stepping on it because of me, but the shards cut me. Badly. Even through my gloves."

He held his hand up to the window for you to see. There were bloodied bandages wrapped around his hand, and several smaller cuts on his bare fingers. 

You cringe at the sight.

"I had to take them off to clean the wounds, and everything has just been sensory hell ever since." Francis' face draws to a grimace.

"And to make things worse, I had to deal with people yelling at me for being incompetent for losing their deliveries."

He clenched his jaw, his expression doesn't look anything but sad.

"Even though it wasn't even my fault. I'm not the one who left their dog outside. And just to top it off, I've had a horrible migrane all day, and It's just-" He inhales and groans,  collapsing onto the metal shelf infront of him.

"I just want to take a break. I just want to rest."

He mumbles as he tucks his face into his folded arms.

Silence, for a moment.

"Francie........... That's awful-- I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?" You frown sympathetically as you push you chair forward even more, squishing yourself against your desk and placing a hand on the window infront of you.

Francis lifted his head to look up at your hand, and then at you.

"I think talking to you and going to sleep is  enough for me to feel better." Francis smiled briefly before registering what he'd said, casting his gaze anywhere but you after he realized what he'd spoken.

You laugh softly. "If you say so."

Silence for a bit, as Francis regains his composure.

He lifts himself up, slowly propping himself on his elbows on the shelf, leaning his head on his knuckles, huffing out a breath of air.

"...How was your day?" He asks after a beat, head tilted curiously.

You smile, retracting your hand from the window. "My days been pretty slow, but im meeting someone later, so im pretty excited for that."

Meeting someone?

...

Francis blinked for a second. His expression faltering to a look of sadness for just a moment.

No. Surely you didnt mean it like that.

"Meeting someone...?" He echoed.

"Mhm." You smiled softly at the thought. "We met just a few days ago. He seems pretty nice, I'm excited to get to know him more." You lean your head on your hand, mirroring the man behind the glass.

"A-ah.......... Congratulations." Francis did his best to refrain from letting any indication of his emotions fall upon his face as he straightened himself out; but he couldn't help but frown. 

"Francie? Are you alright?" You tilted your head the slightest bit, voice a catalyst of concern for the man standing on the other side of the thick, protective glass. 

"Mhm. I just remembered something. Apologies." He held the brim of his cap between his pointer and thumb, pulling it down over his eyes the slightest bit to avoid looking at you. But he really couldn't help himself.

"Oh, alright. Is there, uh, anything I can help you with?" Your voice was calm and careful in a way that just broke poor Francies heart even more. "About what you remembered- I mean." 

"No, no. It's fine. Thanks for the offer." He shook his head softly, forcing a small smile as he looked down at the shelf infront of him.

"Of course, Francie." Your eyebrows knit together in concern. "Just let me know if there's anything I can do for you. You can tell me anything." 

"Mhm. Thank you." Francis took a quick glance at the door, before looking back in your direction-- though nowhere near directly at you. You put together he was probably signaling to you that he wanted to leave now.

"I'll see you tommorow?" Your voice was soft, sweet, a delicacy and a curse to Francis' ears.

There was a light buzzing noise as you pressed the button to unlock the main entrance. 

"Mhm. Goodbye." He waved at you softly, only actually looking into your eyes for a brief, fleeting moment before walking away. 

"Goodbye........." You spoke quietly, a soft pit in your stomach as you watched Francis dissappear through the doors.

You were so caught off guard by his sudden change in behavior you nearly forgot to lock the door again.

He usually liked to stay for as long as he could.

Was it something you said?

You frowned, leaning back in your chair and fidgeting with some papers.

You'd have to ask him about it tomorrow.

Again began the waiting for your neighbors to return to their apartments.

Francis opened his apartment door with shaking hands, keys jingling as they were set on his kitchen counter.

With a heavy sigh, he flicked on his lamp, enveloping the room in a warm yellow glow, trying to keep his composure.

Slowly but surely he kicked off his shoes, grabbing and throwing his hat onto his dresser.

Just as he was about to unbutton his uniform he was hit with a sudden disgusting, sickening feeling in his chest as tears welled up in his eyes.

He shook his head, eyes squinting involuntary as he let himself fall onto his bed.

He lied there, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore anything he was feeling.

But no matter how many times he tried, something still peeked through.

He inhaled sharply through his nose as he flipped himself over onto his stomach, nestling his face into his soft pillows.

The feeling in his chest was too intense to bear, he could feel his breath become sporadic, unsure if it was because his face was buried in his pillows or otherwise.

He inhaled sharply once more, this time followed followed by a small Hic as his throat began to close up.

No, no, he wasn't going to cry. It's not that big of a deal. He's fine. He should be happy for you if anything.

But. With everything that happened up until that point. He really couldn't help himself from letting his emotions get the best of him.

Hot tears soaked into his pillow as his hands clutched at his hair violently, hissing in pain as his wounds flexed open.

He grits his teeth, another hic escaping his lips as he opened his eyes into the pillow.

Nothing but a warm, yellowish void.

 He pushed himself up and flipped onto his side, curling into himself, yanking a blanket over his shoulders before clutching his head, throbbing in a burning pain once again as he cried quietly.

He didn't even turn off the lamp before he'd passed out.

Silent, steady breathing, wet cheeks illuminated by the soft yellow light of his lamp. 

Tired eyes, finally getting their well deserved rest. 

An aching heart, beating slowly, deep inside his chest.

#Francis Mosses #Tnmn #Tnmn milkman #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #francis mosses tnmn #That's not my neighbor #Milkman #thats not my neighbour milkman #thats not my neighbor #Tnmn fanfic

[ellabsweet]

[*ੈ✩] 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 • 𝐄.𝐖

synopsis: her jealous girl, ellie would endearingly call it, nothing but a charm and occasional inconvenience, until you spot her talking with her ex girlfriend deciding your girl needs to be reminded whose she really is.

pairing: ellie williams x reader

warning: established relationship, mentions of jealousy that may border problematic, nsfw content so minors and men don’t interact, sex in public spaces, sub!leaning ellie and dom!reader, somewhat voyerism, just nasty

You watched them from the corner of your eye awaiting the moment either one would notice the laserbeams your eyes pointed forward, gaze strong enough to drill holes to a skull, but the moment never came, too enthralled in a conversation you guessed to be pathetic by their chuckling and particularly Cat’s attempt at physical contact brushing against Ellie’s arm.

Could’ve gritted your teeth to their quick, sandy white powder in your gums to replace. When the bitterness failed to spoil them, you took matters into stronger clenched hands, the future reprimend of your jealous behavior by Ellie’s voice getting more silent each second passing as you walked towards them, yanking Ellie away in a swift movement by the waist.

“What’s so funny?” You asked, their laughter dying down as Cat cleared her throat awkwardly.

“We were just talking about art” Ellie pointed out, shifting under your touch as to let herself loose which you did not allow.

“I can talk about art too! Let’s talk, where did you leave off?”

Cat excused herself with that, a groan stuck to her throat as she walked away from the both of you, stealing one last glance at Ellie that sent you absolutely fuming.

“Why do you always have to this, we’re just friends-“

“I’m sorry maybe when you were with Cat it was fine with her for you to go around parading flirtation like a fucking slut because she couldn’t take care of you but I think I do a pretty good job at that, don’t I?” Your hand lowered from her waist towards her cunt, grabbing onto her jeans and rubbing friction against them. Ellie let out a low whimper before attempting to close the space between her legs, shoving her thighs together, which only pushed you further up, hand hitting on her covered clit.

“Babe, please we’re in a public space” She mumbled already out of breath, making your eyebrows furrow, face pressed so close to her neck she’d hear you whisper in her ear, hand unmoving.

“Well maybe this is what you need, isn’t it? Wanted to be a fucking brat now you’re speaking so softly, if we’re lucky maybe Cat will see you getting fucked and back the fuck off”

You unbutton her jeans so quickly Ellie barely notices you doing so until your cold fingers reach her underwear, pushing it aside “You’re so wet already for me, or was this for Cat, huh? Who do you want inside this pretty pussy?” You slap it and she moans louder than intended, a few eyes around the Tipsy Bison wandering around to trace back the noise and getting redistracted by the loud music, your middle finger making its way to open her folds, stickiness already clinging to your skin as you tease your way in.

“N-No it’s all for you” She says with a curse, hand latching onto your wrist and pushing it towards her body in a way your finger dipped inside her, circular movements making her legs falter.

“Filthy fucking slut wants to use my hand to please herself?” You whisper on her neck, kissing your way slowly downwards to her clavicule a trail of wet kisses sending goosebumps down her body as Ellie continues to manoveur you as her sex toy, coming in and out of herself in a quickened pace that would surely get noticed around. You spot Cat a few people over and lock eyes with her, the second you do the smirk across your face couldn’t be hidden, shifting Ellie around so she’s positioned exposed to her with your hand knuckles deep inside, you nibble her ear and whisper.

“Show me how much you love me, hm? Let’s show Cat whose you are, okay baby? You want to make me happy?” She is only able to nod frantically, never before having had the opportunity to be submissive it felt as though she fully enjoyed the vulnerability of being completely yours to play with and know, you were her trusted person and soon everyone at the bar who weren’t too drunk to notice would have it engraved in their memory too.

“Babe, please, fuck” She begged as your other hand leaned over her bare breasts underneath the loose t-shirt she had sported that day, rubbing light circles over her nipples and staring straight into Cat’s unmoving shocked eyes as you did so, squeezing it hard the second you realized she’d move away to echo a throaty moan from Ellie “I’m only yours, fuck, please I need your mouth”

“You want my mouth?” You ask teasingly and she nods, eyes closed shut from the continuous friction you rubbed on her clit so tense it gave her a high nearing climax. You let go of her embrace all at once.

“Ask fucking Cat”

#ellie williams x reader #the last of us fanfiction #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfic #lesbian #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams

[theanimeroom]

about the NNN challenge

Could you do something Mikey? something like teasing him a lot and making fun of him, I think he wouldn't want to lose but at the end of the day everyone knows that Mikey is a brat.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT | MINORS DNI

NOVEMBER 20TH, 2023 - 4:30AM

NNN CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

okay, now depending on which manjiro sano we're talking about, his chances of winning and losing vary. but regardless of which mikey we're talking about, he still lost so it doesn't matter anyway.

manjiro had always been a stressed person, everyone knew that. he held the weight of the world on his shoulders alone, but you were always his lifeline when things got too much. some would say that mikey was a bit too reliant on you, but both you and mikey would beg to differ.

you were exactly what he needed. the drug that made him sane when his thoughts started to spiral. you kept him from doing things that he shouldn't, and always provided him with the peace and calmness that he needed after a long day.

despite how it may have looked, being the leader of a gang was no easy job. there were constant meetings and he always had to keep an eye over his shoulder because everyone wanted what he had. keeping everything in order became taxing every once in a while, and when his life started to feel like it was growing mundane, when his headspace started to slip just a bit, that's when he turned to you.

mikey didn't understand why you'd been silly enough to suggest playing the game in the first place, a curt "no" leaving him before going back to the work at hand. that didn't deter you though, pouting as you grabbed at his arms.

"c'mon, please?" you begged, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. mikey only sighed at you, not even bothering to turn his gaze as he continued working. ever stubborn, you leaned down until your head full of hair was covering the screen. the blonde was left with no other choice than to peer up at you, agitation clear in his face. "it'll be fun!"

he wasn't sure what your definition of fun was, but the way you looked so excitedly at him made him forget that this idea was a really stupid one.

but there was no one more stupid than him, for actually listening to you.

keeping himself at bay when you looked the way you did was hard enough, but when he added on the daily stresses of his job? he wasn't sure what you were expecting out of him honestly.

he wasn't sure what he was expecting out of you either, really.

if there was one thing about you, you were just as horny as manjiro was. you'd only done a day or two at most without climbing the man like a tree, so holding out during the challenge was going to be just as hard for you as it was for him.

that statement proved to be true when the end of the month started to approach, both you and manjiro growing more impatient by the day. it had gotten to the point where you were waking up with slick covering the inside of your thighs, desperate and needy for his attention. one particular day, a toman meeting that didn’t go as planned was his final straw.

you knew something had happened the moment your front door slammed roughly, your eyebrows furrowing as the sound of keys being thrown caught your attention. you were standing in the kitchen, slaving over the stove to distract yourself from the aching between your legs. before you could even call for him his figure was appearing in the doorway, legs taking long strides toward you.

his blonde hair was tousled, clearly due to one too many pass through’s with his fingers. his jaw was clenched, knuckles nearly white with his hands balled into little fists as he bum rushed you at the stove.

“hey mikey, what’s wron-mmph!”

you were barely able to get the words out before his lips were devouring yours, hands reaching for your lower back. a strangled moan slipped past you as your back touched the cold surface of the kitchen counter, fingers wrapping around the mans biceps. a heavy sigh escaped you when his lips started to pepper kisses down your neck, your body jerking with every touch.

“w-wait… ” you breathe, the throbbing between your legs leaving your mind fuzzy. your eyes made contact with the stove that was still heating up, waiting for the pot of noodles that you were planning on making before mikey had returned. “i was cooking…”

the man attached to you paused before turning his head, eyes making contact with the red light on the stove before turning back to you. truthfully, he hadn’t even noticed the meal prep that you’d done until just now, but it wasn’t going to stop him from getting what he wanted, so he came up with another idea.

“pay attention baby, or you’ll hurt yourself,” mikey cooed, grinning from behind you as he watched you struggle to keep your eyes open. your hands held onto the sides of the pot, grip tight as your cunt milked him dry. your stomach was tight as you tried to keep an eye on the boiling water, orgasm teetering on the edge.

curses slipped past your lips with every stroke, mikey’s cock hitting all the right spots that made you see stars. a quiet fuck from behind you sent your hips reeling backwards, yearning to hear more of his voice.

the food you were supposed to be making quickly disappeared from your mind as you fucked yourself back on him, whining as you forced him as deep as he could go.

mikey chuckled as you pouted slightly, a face you always made when you weren’t getting fucked the way you wanted to be. leaning forward, his lips pressed against your ear, voice low as he moved some of your hair out of the way. “you want it?”

you’d barely made out what was being said before you were nodding your head frantically, small pleas escaping you as you tried to find the release you were searching for. a hand around your jaw made your breath hitch, head turning to make eye contact with mikey. his expression was teasing, a smile painted across his face. “speak.”

your gaze glazed over, only the shell of a human who used to have dignity being left. your eyebrows furrowed together as you forced the words past your tongue. “yes sir, i want it.”

mikey couldn’t help the way his cock throbbed inside of you, eyes rolling at the fucked out expression you were making. you didn’t even have time to register what was happening before his hips were slamming against your ass, a rattled squeak slipping past you while your hands found purchase on the edge of the counter.

you could barely keep your cries of pleasure in check, your balance unsteady as a rough hand wrapped around your midriff. mikey applied pressure until you were nearly levitating, only the tips of your toes still being attached to the kitchen floor.

“mikey-!” your voice caught in your throat as he fucked you mercilessly, hips pounding into your ass as if his life depended on it. short moans escaped you, your legs quivering as you felt the knot in your stomach trying to give way. “fuck…fuck please i’m gonna come baby…”

a small laugh reverberated behind you, a warm hand reaching to squeeze one of your breast. “yeah? you know what to do princess,”

your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you felt a flick to your clit, back arching so hard you could feel the muscles straining. “please let me come! please i’m begging you…”

mikey hummed in faux contemplation, slowing his thrust for a split second before he was right back at it, hips angled in just the right spot while the pads of his fingers rubs circles into your sensitive bud. if it wasn’t a scream that left your mouth, it was as close as you could get to one.

spots started to form behind your eyelids, fingers gripping the counter as hard as you could. you felt the blonde behind you press against your back as your orgasm ran through you, his body heat only making your head spin more than it already was.

as your high started to come down his pace never slowed, a rough hand around the back of your neck making you realize that he’d been speaking to you the whole time.

“you here baby?” he teased, feeling his smile against the shell of your ear. “gonna let go of this stupid challenge now?”

you’ve never your head nodded so hard.

#blues asks 💎 #blues anons 💙 #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev smut #no nut november challenge! #manjiro sano smut #Mikey smut #Mikey x reader #manjiro sano #sano manjiro #mikey tokyo revengers

[halfmoth-halfman]

a little small talk, a smile, and baby i was stuck

Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Medic!Reader Word Count: 2.4k Warnings: fluff, medical inaccuracies, bruises, kinda hurt/comfort, gaz's helicopter curse Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters.

When Soap mentions the new medic, Gaz doesn’t think much of it. 

It’s not that he doesn’t care; he’s just too preoccupied thinking about the upcoming mission to give it any real thought. 

That is until Price sends him to retrieve a folder from the infirmary, and he quite literally runs into you. It’s neither of your faults; he’d been walking in just as you were leaving. 

It’s a cosmically comical series of events. 

You stumble back, rushing out apologies when your foot catches on his, and you nearly fall back into the infirmary. Gaz is quick to react, grabbing you by the waist to keep you from falling and pulling you back up to your feet with a strength you don’t expect. 

You’re left staring at the face of this handsome stranger, your hands braced on his chest and his gripping tightly onto your hips. 

A beat of silence as the two of you regard each other before a smile breaks across your face, laughter spilling out of you, and Gaz is immediately taken with you.

Your hands leave his chest, and he loosens his hold on you enough for you to step back and put some space between you. It takes a minute for you to compose yourself, your laughter dying down into tiny giggles. You extend your hand, giving your name and a stunning smile.

“Um, hi,” he smiles back, shaking your hand. “Gaz. Or Kyle. Either works; it’s whatever you prefer. Most people call me Gaz, though...but Kyle’s fine, too!”

A single smile, and you’ve got him stumbling over himself like a teenager. 

He’s thankful you’ve stepped back from him. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you felt the way his heart hammers against his ribcage. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Gaz, and/or Kyle,” you laugh, giving him a teasing wink. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, you too.”

“And thanks for the save–” You step around him, his honey-brown gaze following your every step. “–I’ll see you around?”

God, he hopes so.

“Yeah, see you around,” he nods. You give him one last glimpse of that beautiful smile before turning on your heel and disappearing down the hallway. 

Gaz stands outside the infirmary for an extra five minutes, staring in the direction you’d gone, a hopeless smile on his lips.

The doors click open, another medic stepping out and staring curiously at the soldier standing before him.

“Sergeant Garrick?”

Gaz snaps out of his trance.

The folder. Right.

-

Gaz finds every excuse he can to go to the infirmary.

He’s the first to volunteer if Price needs something from one of the medics. He lets Ghost get in a few extra hits during training. He’s even started to look forward to those pesky migraines he gets every few weeks. 

He’s sure the others have started to notice. They don’t say anything, but he’s caught the small, knowing smile on Price’s face every time he returns a few minutes late from the infirmary. 

The other medics are starting to catch on, too, he thinks. They’re always strangely absent whenever he shows up, suddenly busy with something on the other side of the room. 

He can’t find it in himself to care, though. Not when he walks into the infirmary and sees your gorgeous smile as you cheerfully greet him. 

“Price need something again?” you ask, smile dipping in a small frown when Gaz shakes his head. He holds up his hand, showing off his bruised and slightly swollen knuckles. 

“Missed a throw during training,” he sighs, mouth tugging into a sheepish half-smile. “Got any ice?” 

“Sit down.” He sits on the closest chair, watching you shift into doctor mode. You’re a good medic, you take your job seriously no matter how little the injury, and you seem to genuinely care about your patients. It’s one of the things Gaz lov–likes about you. 

You pull up a stool, sitting close enough for your knees to touch as you examine his hand. Your soft, efficient fingers turn his hand this way and that, lightly pressing against the bruises on his knuckles.

“How’s the pain, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Barely a two.”

“Can you make a fist?” 

He does, and you let out a quiet hum. 

“Wiggle your fingers.”

“You want me to pat my head and rub my stomach next?” he jokes, moving his fingers. You pinch his hand, eyes flicking up to give him an annoyed look, but he can see how the corners of your mouth twitch up. 

“Nothing looks broken or sprained,” you explain, sliding away from him to fetch some cream and gauze. “I’ll wrap it, but you should take it easy for a day or two and let the swelling go down. Come back if it doesn’t or if the pain starts to get worse.”

Gaz nods as you sit back down and get to work on his hand. He tries not to shiver at your gentle touch as you treat him, praying you don’t notice the gooseflesh that appears whenever you touch him. 

“Sure thing, Doc.”

He lets you work in silence, content to watch you. 

He wonders if you know your nose scrunches when you’re trying to focus.

“All done,” you say, smiling proudly at him while he examines your handiwork. 

Gaz flexes his hand, the bandages not too tight, and hums in satisfaction. “Not bad, Doc.”

“Not bad?” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. He chuckles, a surge of confidence as he meets your eyes with a genuine and thankful smile.

“It’s perfect. You’re the best medic in the entire world. I am eternally grateful.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You both know he’s teasing, but Gaz can see the way you straighten just a little bit more, your smile growing a little bit wider. “Now get back to work, and try to be more careful. For my sake.”

Gaz stands as you begin to clean up.

“If I was careful, you wouldn’t see me as much.” He’s teasing, but you freeze, your back to him as you finish washing your hands.

He hopes he hasn’t overstepped.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sigh, turning to him with that same beautiful smile. “I’d miss you too much.”

He doesn’t get to reply as you’re called away by another medic, but he's positively beaming for the rest of the day. 

-

Three months.

They’re estimated to be gone for three months, at least.

That’s three months away from base, away from you. After seeing you nearly every day, Gaz isn’t sure he’ll be able to handle being away from you for so long. 

There’s nothing between you two, not officially, anyway. He knows he has no right to worry about you–about being away from you–when he hasn’t even properly asked you out. 

You aren’t his…yet. 

Anyone with a working set of eyes can see how you smile and laugh and flirt whenever you talk to him. He’s noticed how your gaze lingers on him when you think he isn’t looking or how you always find a reason to touch him whenever you’re near. 

He’s at least ninety-six percent sure you'd say yes if he asked you out. He just has to gather the courage and do it before he has to leave.

His nerves get to him every time, and it isn’t until they’re four days out from departure that Soap decides he’s had enough and drags him to your office. 

“Yer not leavin’ until ye ask them to dinner,” Soap huffs, knocking on the door before Gaz can stop him.

“Are you out of your–”

“Hello?” Your door opens a few inches, and you stare curiously at the two sergeants in front of your door.

“Doc!” Soap beams, putting his hands on Gaz’s shoulders to push him toward you. “Gaz has a question for ye!” He gives Gaz a good clap on the back before turning on his heel and leaving.

“Do I want to ask?” You blink at Gaz, one brow raised.

“Probably not,” he sighs. You stare for a moment, eyes bouncing around his face as you take in the small bags beginning under his eyes and tense shoulders.

“You want to come in?” you ask, stepping back to open your door further. Gaz nods, and you allow him into your office, closing the door behind him. 

He sits in one of the chairs in front of your desk, unusually silent. He stares at your desk, something heavy weighing on his mind.

“Everything okay?” you ask softly, taking the seat next to him and placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“We’re leaving in a few days,” he mutters, frown pulling at his handsome face.

You swallow around the knot in your throat, “I know.”

“We’ll be gone for a while.”

“I know.”

“Do you–would you–” Gaz groans, leaning back in the chair and scrubbing his hands down his face. 

Why is this so hard?

“Kyle?”

Gaz sighs, hands falling into his lap as he stares up at the white ceiling of your office. He peers at you through the corner of his eyes, heart aching at the worry and concern on your face. 

“You’ll be here when we get back, yeah?”

“Of course, I’m not going anywhere,” you answer instantly. “Just–” 

You stop yourself, teeth worrying at your bottom lip. Your gaze drops down to your lap, where your fingers twist and fidget with the ends of your sleeves. Gaz straightens in his chair, hands flexing as he debates whether or not to reach out to you.

He doesn’t, frozen to the spot when you look up and meet his gaze with watery eyes. 

“Just promise you’ll come back in one piece.”

He shouldn’t. You both know that. It’s a chance he takes any time he steps off base; there’s no guarantee he’ll come back.

He won't make you a promise he doesn’t know if he can keep. 

Gaz takes your hands in his, squeezing softly, pouring as much assurance as he can into the gesture.

“I’ll do my best.”

You choke out a laugh, a few tears slipping down your cheeks.

“You better.”

-

Gaz wakes up to the heavy smell of disinfectant and the steady beeping of a heart monitor.

It takes a minute for everything to come back to him. He remembers the gunfire, trying to get on the helicopter, Price yelling orders in his ear. They were in the air, and then an impact, and then…

They crashed.

He shifts, his entire body aching, bones groaning in protest. He groans at the pain, trying to swallow down the hurt.

“Gonna undo all their hard work if you keep doing that.” 

Gaz turns his head to the right, finding Price sitting next to him in one of the infirmary chairs. He’s not looking at Gaz, busy filling out paperwork instead. 

“Where’s–”

Price shushes him, nodding his head to Gaz’s other side. Gaz follows, his breath hitching when he finds you curled up in another chair, fully asleep and using a folded jacket as a pillow. 

The heart monitor beeps with the skip of his heart, and Price chuckles quietly.

“Is that your jacket, sir?” Gaz asks, trying not to bring any more attention to the obvious.

“It’s yours. Gave it to them to help calm them down.” Price glances up at him, a knowing smile on his face. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

Gaz opens his mouth to speak, but you groan softly, shifting in the chair before your eyes blink open. Your brow furrows as your gaze travels up his body and lands on his face, where you finally meet his eyes. 

Gaz watches you process before you’re out of the chair, checking over every inch of him and firing off question after question. 

“It’s okay. I’m alright,” he laughs, ignoring the ache as he lifts his arm to softly press his hand to your cheek. “I’m here, love.”

“You–” Tears stream down your cheeks, and Gaz wipes them away with his thumb. “You absolute bastard! I thought you were–” 

You don’t say it. You can’t say it. 

Instead, you lean forward and bury your face in his neck, careful not to tug on any of the IV chords.

Gaz whispers soft comforts into your ears, lighting kneading at the base of your skull as he lets you cry into his shoulder. Price gives him a look, a silent question if he’s alright. Gaz nods, and Price stands to take his leave and give you two a moment alone.

You cry yourself out, pulling away and furiously wiping at your cheeks. “Don’t ever do that to me again, Kyle.” 

Gaz laughs, soft and affectionate, “I came back in one piece, right?”

“You–” You’re trying to be mad, but he sees the smile you’re trying to bite back. 

“I know, I’m the worst,” he grins. “Promise to make it up to you, though. How’s dinner sound?”

“I think you at least owe me dinner and a movie,” you joke, voice thick with emotion. 

There’s that lovely smile.

“Dinner and a movie. Done.”

“And breakfast.”

“Moving a little fast there, sweetheart.”

You huff, folding your arms over your chest. “You’ve got three months’ worth of dates to make up for.”

“Fair enough.” 

Despite the dull pain that vibrates across his body, Gaz smiles as he traces a hand along your jaw and pulls you forward into a sweet kiss.

-

A soft knock at your office door interrupts your focus on the paperwork spread out over your desk.

“Have you got a minute?” your husband asks, peeking his head in through the door.

“For you? Always,” you grin, happily abandoning your paperwork as Gaz walks in, closing the door behind him. 

You meet him halfway, arms winding around his neck to greet him with a kiss.

“Wanted to stop by before we have to head out,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Three years later, and he can’t help but fall in love with you every time he sees you.

“How long will you be gone this time?” you ask, pulling away to settle your head in the crook of his neck.

“A month, maybe two.”

You sigh, warm breath fanning across the skin of his neck. Gaz hums, taking your left hand in his to press a kiss to the ring on your finger. 

“Promise you’ll come back in one piece,” you whisper softly, looking up at him with a teasing smile. Gaz chuckles, turning your hand over to glide his lips over your palm to the pulse in your wrist.

“I’ll do my best.”

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw fics #moth writes #private