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xxsabitoxx · 8 months

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How JJK Men Eat Pussy 2.0

Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Yuta, Itadori, Megumi

Warnings: All characters are 18+, this post is explicit smut. As if you couldn’t tell that from the title

A/N: Funny story, I forgot I already wrote this same concept last year… but since I didn’t realize until I finished writing this… imma post it anyways. But if you’d like to see my original thoughts on this topic, you can see them here with an additional 2 characters lol

Gojo Satoru

He is relentless, especially when he’s in the mood to go down on you. These little moods of his will have him between your legs for hours, multiple times a day. You always like to joke that he knows when you’re ovulating because somehow these little moods seem to fall in sync. If Satoru goes more than three days without you, it’s like he’s going through withdrawals. He’s skilled with his tongue, he’s able to move it in ways and speeds you didn’t know a man could. Typically he’s a tease, he’ll edge you until you have an orgasm so pathetic you can’t even call it one. Ya know, the kinds where you come and don’t feel that satisfaction, just the pulsating ache of needing more. But recently, Satoru discovered how much more fun it is to overstimulate you. He loves the way your finger’s bury in his hair and try to tug him off as he sucks on your clit until you’re sobbing and begging him to ease up. He’ll keep your thighs spread wide, large hands effortlessly keeping them in place while they desperately try and close. He’s also the type to see those “pineapple make’s your cum sweet” articles and come home with enough pineapples to feed a village. He’s not even embarrassed about his reasoning, even if it’s just a myth, his sweet tooth can’t pass up the opportunity. Satoru loves your natural taste, but you surprised him with edible lubes in various fruity and sweet flavors one night… you still recall seeing the sun rise.

Geto Suguru

He’s a god at eating pussy and you can’t convince me otherwise. Suguru has always been about your pleasure over his, not to say he doesn’t have his selfish moments, but your pleasure is just so much fun to him. He loves the noise, the facial expressions, the smell, the taste. The first time he went down on you, you were convinced he was lying about it being his first time. The ability just came naturally to Suguru. Like Satoru, Suguru loves to tease you. He’ll focus all of his attention on your dripping entrance, only stimulating your clit if his nose bumps it. He loves the way you squirm, his nails leaving crescent shaped nail marks in the plump flesh of your thighs as he holds you in place. He loves your breathless gasps, his long hair tickling your thighs as he eats you out, only adding to the stimulation that’s making your toes curl. Suguru loves to make you beg, pulling his mouth away from your cunt to just barely flick his tongue over your clit. He’ll stop all together just to taunt you until you’re sobbing, begging him to do something. He has a whole album on his phone dedicated to you, most of the content being videos of him eating you out, some he even made you take just so he could see the camera shake with your effort to keep it straight and hear your noises better. He puts on a show for you, slurping and sucking and moaning just to feel your thighs tremble as you moan with him.

Nanami Kento

Eating you out is a stress reliever for Nanami… so it happens like very fucking day. Lord help me this man will spend hours edging you, cheek pressed into your thigh as he lazily licks and nips at your cunt. He can’t think about anything but you when he is between our legs, moaning and whining his name like a beautiful lullaby. He’ll let you cum eventually, but for the time being you are completely at his mercy. Nanami is the type to wake you up with his head between your legs, especially on nights where he comes home late and you’re already passed out in bed. He’ll make out with your cunt honestly, licking and sucking and nipping at your folds until he can’t tell if you’re wet from his saliva or your own arousal. The answer is both. He doesn’t care for any of the fancy shit, so don’t bother with flavored lubes or eating particular fruits to try and alter your taste, he just wants you and you alone. I feel like this man has a scent kink so the smell of your arousal honestly gets him going even more. He prefers eating you out in bed, mostly because he’s tired and nothing feels better to him than laying on his plush mattress while using your thighs as his pillow. He’s a whore for face sitting by the way, even less of his energy needs to be put into that, especially when you’re grinding your cunt against his tongue. Nanami’s other favorite thing to do is use his tie to bind your wrists, that way you really can’t interrupt him.

Fushiguro Toji

I had to restart Toji’s so many times because I got too aggressive. Listen, this bummy ass bitch will eat you out till the sunrises and he will make a fucking mess of you while he does it. Toji will eat you out and finger fuck you until you’re screaming. He’ll give you a “break” by stuffing you full with his dick and then get back to work eating you out again after he blew his load in you. Filthy bitch. He’ll eat you out anytime, anywhere, any position. He’ll never turn down the opportunity and depending on your relationship with him, this bitch may even charge you for his services. Which is just another way he likes to tease you, watching you whine and squirm while you cough up the money he wants. He’ll call you pathetic as he gets on his knees and basically rips your underwear off of you, commenting the whole time about how much of a whore you are… like he ain’t selling his body to you rn. This man will somehow make you feel inferior, but you can’t be bothered when his tongue is lapping at your cunt like a starved man. Toji will make sure your thighs and your cunt are swollen, bruised, overstimulated, and sore by the time he’s done with you. Your cunt is puffy from his sucking and biting, thighs littered in dark marks and teeth indents. He'd go as far as to find a marker and write “cum dumpster” on you if he was really in the mood to see you sob.

Ryomen Sukuna

Listen, you thought Toji could be mean? Sukuna is ten times worse. The thing is, the king of curses actually likes to eat pussy but he won’t admit it. But that is not to say he can’t live without it, Sukuna is selfish and really only prefers things that pleasure him in the process. But, when you’re sobbing, pathetically begging him to go down on you, he may just crack. Especially if you’re looking at him with watery eyes, swollen lips from sucking him off, your neck littered with bite marks and bruises. Oh, and, if you’ve made him cum, he’s more likely to agree and indulge you. If you manage to convince the king of curses to go down on you, don’t expect him to be easy on you. His nails are digging into the flesh of your thighs, blood dripping slowly as he eats you out with so much force it’s borderline painful. He’s using his tongue and his teeth, nipping at your folds and even grazing your clit with them until he can tell your sobs are a breathless mix of pleasure and pain. If we’re talking true form Sukuna, I promise you he won’t stop until you’ve blacked out. He’ll use one set of arms to hold your waist while the other set keeps your thighs spread. He’s forcefully dragging your cunt over the long tongue that protrudes from his stomach, occasionally stopping just to hold you still as he spreads you open and stuffs you with the same tongue, watching you yelp and moan as he toys with you.

Okkotsu Yuta

If you look up the definition of “pussy drunk” you’ll see a picture of Yuta. This man cannot go down on you without becoming delirious. Your body puts him in a trance, he can’t even explain the way you make him feel. Yuta is all about body worship and his favorite way to go about it is having his face shoved between your legs for hours. He’s just as vocal as you are while he eats you out, groaning and whining against your cunt until the vibrations are making your eyes roll back as you cum again. He’ll be kneading your thighs as he eats, squeezing them like stress balls and hitting nerves that send sparks of electricity all the way to your toes and all the way up to the base of your neck. Without even trying, Yuta will manage to overstimulate you until you’re unironically going cross-eyed, fingers twitching as they bury in his hair and try to pull him off so you can catch your breath. Yuta is still a bit shy when it comes to being intimate outside of the privacy of your home. But that doesn’t mean he won’t drag you into the nearest bathroom and eat you out against the bathroom stall. In this sense, he’s almost cocky when someone unknowingly enters the bathroom only to see two sets of feet in one of the stalls. Not to mention the noises are echoing. Yuta lives to see your eyes going wide from embarrassment as he doesn’t stop, your noises are uncontrollable as he tongue fucks you. The poor bastard who entered the bathroom with the intention of properly using it just muttered under their breath and walked out.

Itadori Yuji

Yuji is eager, so, so damn eager. He wants to do anything and everything that brings you pleasure so when it comes to eating you out, he’s determined to be great at it. Yuji is the type to ask you for “practice” or “lessons” which is just his way of indirectly asking if he can eat you out. Most of the time, it’s an offer you can’t refuse, because as fate would have it, Yuji isn’t bad at anything. He’s so praise focused, eyes glued to your face as he flicks his tongue along your folds and waits for you to tell him he’s doing good. He’ll slow down when your praise isn’t coming fast enough because he wants you to beg. Yuji is a sucker for adding fingers to the mix, as much as he loves making you cum with just his tongue, he sees no point in limiting your pleasure for his own confidence boost. Kind of contradictory since he likes when you beg. Yuji is also the type to wake you up with his head between your legs, just slowly lapping at your cunt while also rutting his hips into the mattress, trying to not wake you up until you’re coming. He finds it so pretty when you wake up gasping, completely unable to restrict any of your noises as you orgasm. It’s important to mention that Yuji is a sucker for 69-ing and face sitting, he loves, loves, feeling your plush thighs caging in his head. He can’t get enough of the way your body settles so nicely into him, no longer afraid of “suffocating him” by sitting all the way down on him.

Fushiguro Megumi

He won’t admit it but he loves to eat you out. Megumi is shy at heart so even if he’s been with you for years, he can still get embarrassed when telling you how badly he wants to go down on you. He’s focused when he does get between your legs, hands gripping your thighs or hips while his tongue laps greedily at your cunt. Megumi loves to tongue fuck you, just because he knows it’s not enough stimulation to make you cum but enough to make you embarrassingly wet. He’s a bit mean at first, not willing to let you come until he feels you’ve earned it. He’ll stop abruptly just to sink his teeth into your inner thighs, not stopping until you’re gasping as the pain turns bruising. He’ll admire the teeth indents he’s left on your skin while his nails are scratching down your other thigh, tongue moving to wiggle against your clit until your hips are bucking. Megumi finds toys to be very hit or miss, but he’s found a love for stuffing you with a vibrator while putting all of his attention on your clit. Megumi’s preferred method of “torture” depends on his mood, either he’ll edge you until you’re begging or overstimulate you until you’re crying. He’s very private when it comes to these things… unless he’s jealous. Much like Yuta, he will not hesitate to drag you somewhere private while out in public to remind you of who you belong to.

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m0llygunn · 5 months

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shy girl (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: typically shy, you aren't good at telling eddie what you want. finally brave enough to ask, eddie happily rewards you

cw: 18+!, mature language, petnames, smut, pinv sex (unprotected), creampie, anal fingering, shy/nervous first time anal reader idk, lots of praising, porn with very little plot an: wrote this a while ago and was suppose to be a 3 part butt stuff saga lol but i probably won't do the other 2 parts if im being honest. makes sense alone, theres just clearly a segue for the other parts at the end. kind of edited but not really. wc: 3.6k+

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Your stomach clenches, whole body quivering with nerves.

“Y’okay?” he asks from behind you, finger just barely brushing over the focus of tonight.

“M’okay,” you answer tentatively.

“You don’t sound okay?”

“I want to do this,” you say with an exhale, forcing your muscles to relax. You drop the side of your head further into the plushness of the pillow, back arching deeper as you breathe away the low vibrations of your nervousness.

His hands rise up your lower back, palms flat to your skin. “You don’t have to.” He glides both thumbs up the sides of your spine before rounding them outwards, massaging an achy spot you didn’t know existed. You relax into it, taking another breath.

“I want to, Eddie. Wanna try it.”

His thumbs return to the base of your spine before gliding upwards, doing it all again. You could fall asleep if he kept doing this— but you don’t. You push yourself up, craning your neck to see him perched behind you on his knees. His eyes flicker up from the movements of his hands on your lower back to meet your gaze.

“Eddie, I’m serious. I want to try it,” you convince, eyeing him. His naked chest glistens in a faint sheen of sweat under the warm light of the bedroom, courtesy of the ample foreplay that brought you both here. His disheveled hair is further proof of how the night has gone. He raises his brows, showing off the sincerity in his widened eyes, hands paused on your skin.

“If it’s just for me, I’m fine with how we usually have sex— I love your pussy,” he smiles crookedly.

Worked up, bare, his cock already hard, and so close to your soaked entrance— it would be easy to give in and let him fuck you stupid, but you prepared for this, you thought endlessly about this, you want this.

“I’ve never done anal before though, wanna try it at least once.”

His hands resume their movements, this time gliding down and over the roundness of your ass. His thumb brushes over where you want him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yes, Eddie. Please.”

“It’s gonna take a while if you don’t want it to hurt. We coulda been warming you up if you told me earlier.”

Your back arches deeper as you deflate, pressing your face forward into the pillow. You knew Eddie had more experience than you, you knew he’s done this before with other people, but you didn’t know how to bring it up. It was only in the heat of the moment when you managed to let the words slip from the tip of your tongue despite planning to say them at the beginning of the evening. At least this time you got the message out, last time you got ready for this, you chickened out on telling him what you wanted and went without.

Eddie brushes his thumb over your hole again before traveling down to your cunt, dipping into your wetness. Shallowly, he circles his thumb in your entrance.

“Shoula told me earlier, pretty girl,” Eddie says and your stomach drops with disappointment. You know you should have, you told him too late and now you have to wait again.

His thumb pulls out from your cunt, trailing upwards.

“Shoulda told me earlier, cause now I’m all worked up and need you— but you’re shy, aren’t you?” His voice drops to a low rasp that makes your disappointment vanish, heated excitement taking its place. “My shy girl, too nervous to tell me she wants me to fuck her in the ass.”

The warmth of your slick on his thumb circles around your puckered hole lightly, teasingly.

“Are you my shy girl?” he asks.

You nod your head, the sound of ruffling cotton on your pillowcase acting as your response. You know Eddie doesn’t appreciate your lack of a real answer when his thumb stops it’s movement.

“Yes, I’m your shy girl,” you say quickly, wanting him to keep going.

“Good girl. My good, shy girl,” he hums. His thumb resumes circles before gliding right over your hole, adding increasing pressure that has your stomach squeezing. You hum happily, enjoying it so far but it doesn’t last for long when he removes both hands from you.

“Touch yourself, baby. Want to see your fingers in your pussy while I get your ass ready for my cock,” he says and your stomach flips.

“Touch myself?” you ask.

“Too shy to touch yourself f’me?” he asks, amusement laced in his voice. You hum, turning your head briefly into the pillow to hide, before taking a breath.

“No,” you reply, the bashfulness of your voice telling both of you otherwise. You bravely snake a hand under your body, holding your hand flat over your mound.

“That’s a good girl, let’s see you sink your little fingers into that pretty cunt.”

Hot and wet, your fingers glide in easily, an audible squelch of wetness sounding out that makes your skin heat from your neck all the way up to your cheeks. Eddie groans from behind you and it gives you the confidence to pull your fingers out, starting a slow pump.

“Thatta girl, keep doing that,” he praises and you hear the mattress shuffle behind you.

You turn your face to see Eddie but when you catch his gaze, he pointedly looks towards your cunt, reminding you with a raised brow to keep going. He shuffles off the bed, moving to the bedside table. Seconds later, with a clear bottle in hand, he crawls back into the bed, moving to sit behind you again.

With the pop of a lid opening, your fingers pause as your mind’s focus shifts to what Eddie’s doing.

“Keep going baby,” he's quick to prompt. “Just gonna warm up some of this lube in my hands and we’ll get you started, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply meekly, making slow wiggles of your fingers inside of yourself, movements far too shallow and tame to get yourself off.

“Gotta relax baby, focus on playing with yourself,” he guides as you hear the slickness of the lube being rubbed between his hands. He finally makes contact between your cheeks, rubbing the warmed up liquid over you.

You try to continue plunging your fingers in and out of yourself but your attention wanes as the pads of his fingers rub circles over your hole.

You resist the nervousness that threatens to creep in. It’s not that you don’t trust Eddie. You trust him more than yourself, it’s just new and you’re not sure what to make of it yet.

“Can you tell me what you’re doing?” you ask shyly.

A gentle palm meets your lower back again, warmth spreading over your skin as he rubs soothingly. An appreciated affection that calms your nervousness.

“’Course, baby,” he answers. “Just getting you ready and lubed up. The slicker you are, and the more relaxed you are, the easier it’ll be.”

You hum an agreement, trying your hardest to focus on fingering yourself. You start building a steady rhythm when Eddie’s hand pauses.

“Gonna start small, okay? Just gonna use my little finger at first— see how you like it.”

“Mhm, okay,” you agree. With his one hand still rubbing a soothing massage on your lower back, you feel the prod at your hole, slow and gentle.

“Just, relax,” he hums quietly, “mhm, just like that, baby.” His little finger pushes into the tightness, and your own fingers pause completely as you take a moment to decipher the feeling.

His hand slides from your lower back, down to rest on your hip. His finger pushes in the slightest bit further. When you feel the knuckle of his finger your whole body moves forward, away from the intrusion instinctively.

“Hurts?” he asks, letting you pull away, leaving just the tip of his finger inside you.

You shake your head. It’s not pain, it’s not something you’ve really felt before. “Just feels weird,” you answer, relaxing back towards him.

“Wanna stop?”

“No,” you reply with another shake of your head. “Keep going, please,” you say when he makes no further moves.

He pushes his little finger into you again, knuckle pushing past the band of tightness but this time you don’t pull away, you breath through the odd feeling.

“How’s that?” he asks, stilling his finger inside you.

“Feels… fine? Not bad, just… tight.”

“Yeah, s’really tight,” he breathes. You feel his finger wiggle the slightest bit and it makes your stomach clench from the strange sensation.

“Wanna play with your clit for me? It’ll make it feel better.”

“What are you gonna do now?” you ask, wanting him to talk you through it some more.

“Get you used to this, just go slow, in and out for now,”

Gliding your fingers out from your cunt, wetness gathered between your fingers, you move to make circles on your clit, letting out a breath at the distracting pleasure.

Eddie starts slow movements of his finger, pulling it out before pushing it back in. With your fingers working your clit and the added pressure, you hum a quiet moan.

“Feel good, baby? Like having my finger in your ass?”

“Like it, feels good so far,” you answer, picking up the speed on your clit.

You get so lost in the buzzing throughout your body that Eddie’s words go in one ear and out the other as he guides you through the next step. You almost don’t notice him switching from his little finger to his middle, only when he gets to the knuckle again do you notice the extra stretch. Surprised, despite him telling you what he was doing, a gasp pulls from your lungs and your circles on your clit stutter.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, just surprised me.”

“Tell me if it starts to hurt, okay?”

You agree and Eddie starts a slow thrust in and out. The feeling is… interesting. It’s like pressure and quite different from when he’s in your pussy.

When his knuckle slips in and out with ease, you feel yourself get excited.

“Ready for more,” you chirp quietly.

“Yeah? Ready for two of my fingers?”

“Mhm, ready for ‘em, Eddie.” Your belly pools with heat just at the idea of two of his fingers inside of you. Your pace on your clit picks up again, having slowed down so you didn’t cum just yet.

He does it methodically, pulling his finger out until just the very tip is left inside of you. Then he adds his second, pushing inside of you so slowly that you nearly feel like pushing back into him— until he gets to the hilt of his knuckles again.

Biting your lip, the stretch is close to being painful and you can’t help the way you tense. Eddie stills.

“My ambitious girl, thought she could take more already. S’hurting isn’t it?”

“No,” you lie unconvincingly.

“No?”

“Just feels like a stretch,” you say, voice coming out squeaky.

“Yeah? Wanna keep going?”

You pause before nodding your head. “Wanna keep going,” you answer, continuing slow circles on your clit.

His fingers prod deeper, knuckles stretching you out and adding pressure. When he finally has both fingers fully inside you, you let out a breath you had held in that clearly you nor Eddie realized you had held in.

“Baby, you gotta keep breathing. If it’s too much, tell me,” he admonishes gently, rubbing his opposite hand along your hip.

“It’s not too much… it’s just different. I want it so bad, Eddie.”

“I’m so fucking hard, you’re not making this easy for me,” he laughs softly.

“I do. I've been thinking about it for a long time. Really want it just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Sweet, shy girl, you can tell me anything. You know I’d never say no to you,” he says as he starts moving his fingers again. You make a conscious effort to breathe, taking deep inhales and extended exhales.

When he eventually gets you used to his two fingers, the way he twists his wrist with each plunge has you humming in the intimate pleasure. More than anything, the thrill of it all is what has you enjoying this the most. It feels good so far but you need more.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, pretty girl?”

“Can you…” you trail off, shyness creeping in.

“Can I?” he prompts, slowing his fingers.

“Can you… can you do that but…” you trail off again.

“Anything you want baby, just gotta ask,” he says softly, hand rubbing along your hip still, encouraging you to say what you want to say.

“I want you to do that and fuck me too,” you say in a quick breath.

“Yeah?”

“Please.”

Eddie laughs softly, his gentle massaging hand turns into a quick squeeze. “I can do that, want me to stuff both your hole, fill you right up?” he asks salaciously.

You pussy clenches at the thought and you need it more than anything.

“Please, Eddie.”

He sinks his fingers deep into your ass, making you moan, lighting every nerve up in your body. He shuffles behind you, free hand guiding your thighs wider to accommodate himself.

“Gonna make you feel so full, you want that don’t you? You been thinking about it?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “Been thinking about it for so long, Eddie.”

“Gotta tell me these things, baby. Want to know every dirty thought of yours,” he grumbles in a deep baritone. His fingers twist with the movements of his wrist and you feel the prod of his cock as he drags it through your folds, catching your clit before lining himself up.

“Please,” you whisper, pushing back into him. He lets out a low chuckle and he spares you your additional pleas that sit on your tongue as he pushes inside of you.

The stretch of the head of his cock makes you whine and with the addition of his fingers in your ass it’s a fuller pleasure, one that gets more intense as he pushes deeper inside of you.

“Eddie,” you whimper out, dropping your head to the pillow.

“I know baby, s’a lot isn’t it?”

“Feels good Eddie,” you whine, arching your back deeper.

“Yeah? You like being filled up?”

“Love it, Eddie.”

He draws his hips back and your stomach flips just at the thought of the pleasure to come. When he pushes back in, his fingers wiggle inside of you and your breath catches. He does it again and you swear your head goes fuzzy.

He starts slow, his hips thrusting slow and lazily, barely grazing the backs of your thighs with each stroke. His fingers are what makes your breath stutter. He twists them in and out with the swirl of his wrist, and each time he sinks his cock inside of you, it adds unique pressure that has you reeling. Most of all, you like that it’s him doing it— you feel a profound intimacy having him like this that makes your chest squeeze alongside the burn in your lungs from having every breath stolen.

“Want to add another finger,” he says and you let out a drawn out whimper. He coos, rubbing his free hand along the round expanse of your cheek and up to your waist. “I know you can take it, you’re doing so good f’me.”

“I can take it,” you nod into your pillow.

He pulls back from you, enough to have just the tip of his cock inside, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from pushing back into him. That feeling vanishes when you hear the click of the bottle lid.

“Just gonna add more lube, okay? Make sure you’re nice and slick for me,” he says in a soothing cadence.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say. He huffs a quiet laugh and you hear the wet sound of the lube in his hand.

“Don’t gotta thank me, pretty girl. I’m having fun back here,” he chuckles and your heart skips a beat at the thought of him enjoying this. It’s a warm feeling— the shared pleasure, it’s hard to explain but just feels good being together like this.

Pulling his fingers almost all the way out, you feel his other fingers glide around your entrance. When he shifts, you take a deep breath.

“Good girl,” he praises.

His free hand finds your lower back again and the stretch of a third finger starts. It’s a lot this time. A lot more than all the other stretches.

“Just breathe, there you go. Doing so good,” he soothes in a low voice. Feeling a heightened sensitivity, you don’t miss the way his cock twitches and throbs inside of you. While the stretch tinges painful, you focus your attention towards that, feeling the way his excitement kicks up in his cock.

The stretch doesn’t give way to pleasure, but the pleasure comes from somewhere else. Somewhere deep inside where you feel connected to Eddie. You’re his like this, physically but emotionally as well. All his. It makes you throb, and you reach between your legs chasing that feeling.

“Fuck, there you go,” Eddie says, voice turning gravelly. His cock kicks up again and he lets himself push forward, sinking halfways inside of you.

His fingers, just barely past the knuckle, shift inside of your tight hole and it has you lighting up in a searing pleasure— pain speckled but so rewarding when Eddie lets out a deep grunted moan.

“Don’t think I’ll last, baby,” he says in a strangled breath.

“Just fuck me, please. Need it so bad Eddie. Need you.”

He huffs a deep exhale. His hand on your lower back pushes you down into a deep arch and you meld to the way he needs you. His fingers shift again and it’s like fire in your veins. You rub quick circles against your clit and with a deep breath that tickles across your spine as Eddie lets it out, he thrusts.

Guttural and from deep inside of you, you let out a pleasure ridden moaned cry.

He pulls back and rolls his hips to yours.

You’ve never felt so full in your life and you love it. It’s thrilling, it’s connecting, it’s masochistically beautiful, and it pools in your lower belly, making your stomach clench in rigid convulses.

“Fuck, feels so fucking good,” Eddie groans. His breath is heavy and only adds to your pleasure. “You like both your holes being filled don’t you, can feel you squeezing me so tight,” he says in a deep grunted babble.

Your moans surpass their usual shy quietness, and the way your pitch raises is barely within your control. If you didn’t feel so conscious-shatteringly good, you might be embarrassed about how your voice echos off the walls. Normally Eddie’s the vocal one, and even with his drawn out groans, grunts, moans, and dirty talk that choruses alongside your own, you’re undeniably loud and it has Eddie’s thrusts stuttering already.

He presses his fingers downwards inside of you and it’s like something shatters. You’re almost at your climax, but that small movement has his cock pressing perfectly against your g spot, and the stretch, the subtle pain, and the blatant pleasure of your fingers on your clit have your muscles seizing. He thrusts as deep as he can, moving quickly in and out to push you over the edge, and you erupt into shakes that tremor through your body.

Your legs threaten to give out and your head turns foggy with buzzing luxury. His thrusts continue and even with your eyes squeezing shut, your vision gets darker until you see the sparkle of your pleasure peaking through like stars.

Eddie spews moans and grunts after whimpers and curses, and pulling his fingers from your ass, he quickly grabs hold of your hips in a pinching grip. Staying planted in your cunt, he chases you downwards on the bed when your legs finally give out. He follows you, prolonging your high, and finding his own as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Fucking Christ— fuck, fuck,” he grunts, hips slapping heavily to your ass in quick thrusts. The bruising grip he has on you, and the urgency of his broken curses tell you he’s on the edge. He sinks his cock deeply inside of you, convulsing balls pressing against your cunt, and you feel the subtle warmth of his orgasm fill you up. Working himself through his high in shallow thrusts with stuttered grunts, the room is silent as you’re reduced to levelling breaths. You feel as light as air with the pleasure of electricity strumming through every inch of you.

He’s pressed to your back, both of you completely collapsed to the mattress but you need to feel more of him. You shift, reaching backwards, and like he reads your mind he’s already searching for you with an open hand.

He pulls out, rolling to the side and you follow, moving yourself to lay against his chest. His hand in yours, it’s sticky and wet and full of lube but you hold it tight, squeezing it within your own. He squeezes back.

You hum with more satisfaction and good feelings inside your chest than you can communicate. Eddie brings his other hand to your back, rubbing it up and down, replying with his own hum.

“That was really good,” you mumble, leaning your cheek to his sweat damp chest.

“So fucking good,” he nearly growls, the tone of his voice proving the assertion of his truth.

You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. His heart hammers below your ear and the rise and fall of his chest soothes you, relaxes you.

“My shy girl,” Eddie hums and from the lightness of his tone you know he’s smiling. Feeling brave from your post sex high, you smile to yourself.

“I can’t wait to feel your cock in my ass,” you say. Eddie lets out a deep laugh that vibrates in his chest.

“Not so shy now, huh?”

Cheeks burning with your smile, you shake your head.

“Want to do you too,” you say. You lose a bit of your nerve but the dramaticized gasp you get from Eddie, you know that he knows what you mean.

“You want to do me too?” he laughs.

“Mhm, want to fuck your ass,” you whisper, just barely mustering the courage to say it. You’re rewarded for saying it with smooth, soothing strokes up and down your back, and a chuckle from deep inside Eddie’s chest.

“Who woulda thought my shy girl’d be so dirty,” he says, pulling you even tighter to him, hugging you extra close.

──────────── ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x fem!reader

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earthtooz · 1 year

Note

second chance romance with sae. write it.

x : WITH(OUT) :*+ﾟ

in which: after a messy breakup with sae, you find yourself waking up next to him two weeks later, this time just more in love.

warnings: 1.8k words, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, SFW, gn!reader, tooth-rotting fluff with quite a bit of angst, a lot of metaphors here and there i apologise if they don't make sense get on my brainwave (nicely), ooc!sae perhaps uhh lol, bad writing, reblogs appreciated!!

a/n: lets see if tumblr community labels this post... sigh. rip first version u were a champ. this is my official claim to become tumblr's sfw itoshi brothers (separate) writer. i've made progress with rin, it's time to show some (reluctant) love to sae!! i literally only wrote this bc @limitlesshq and i had an agreement.

you wake up due to the rustling beside you, the movement rousing you from your slumber as the world becomes ever so clearer with each millisecond, the drowsy haze wearing off you as you take in your surroundings.

there’s a white ceiling overhead, the mattress beneath you feels like a cloud, and you can’t remember when your sheets turned a shade of gray. no- scratch that, you can’t remember when your mattress became this soft.

hold on.

this wasn’t your room and the mop of magenta hair lying atop your chest is an indicator of such.

you’re in bed with a soccer star who just so happens to be the ex you messily broke up with two weeks ago. he’s wrapped around you like nothing had ever happened; as if you two were still in love and devoted to one another and hadn’t shouted at each other to the point that your throats were sore for a days afterwards.

you needed to get out of here which was something easier said than done. especially when you had itoshi sae lying on top of you, wrapping you in a vice grip as he sunk further and further into your warmth, chest methodically rising up and down. you want to slap him for being so peaceful in this very moment. that should be you but instead, you’re panicking and trying to avoid another messy scene with your ex.

the fact that said-ex was itoshi sae too… goodness what have you gotten yourself into. you should get out of here before it’s too late.

slowly, you begin to shuffle away, trying to pull yourself away from sae’s grasp.

you’re halfway out when you hear the magenta-haired whine quietly, the sound causing you to turn your head and look at him. it’s to your horror that you’re greeted by a pair of hazy, turquoise eyes, still groggily waking up as sae tries to adjust to his bearings. he blinks a few times, waking up a little more with each flutter.

“where are you going?” he asks, voice hoarse from unuse. his arm tightens ever so slightly around you, pulling you back towards him and completely ruining your efforts.

you’re stunned, unsure of how to respond as sae tucks himself into your chest, breathing you in.

you hate the way you feel your heart lurch in your chest, rapidly beating with the urge to be as close as possible to him. this feels like a life you once knew, especially when his fingers start running up and down your spine, nimbly finding their way under your shirt.

“sae,” you breathe out and his ministrations stop, diverting all of his attention upon you. “i have to go.”

he groans his protest, shaking his head. “why?”

“i just have to.”

“no.”

“what?”

“stay.”

“what?”

“did you not hear me? i said stay.”

just to prove his point a little more, he puts even more of his weight on you, tangling his legs with yours as if rooting you to his mattress. ever so demanding, he is.

the breakup was disastrous and entirely hurtful, wrecking you from the inside out when you woke up the next morning registering the previous night. you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so heartbroken and it hurt even more with every trace of sae that remained in your apartment. looking back, perhaps it was a little naive to believe that he was the one for you, that he was your endgame and not simply another lesson to heal from. all that time spent in a relationship, crumbled thanks to an argument that lasted for three hours and ended with a decisive slam of his door.

yet just when you thought you were making process on the journey away from him, sae finds a way to pull you back in.

“i can’t stay,” you whisper, voice already a little shaky.

the magenta-haired looks up at you, apathetic eyes boring into yours. “but why?”

“i just- i just can’t. thank you for letting me stay over but i’m going to go home now-”

fingers thread through yours and sae’s hand pulls yours closer towards him. a pair of warm lips press themself to your skin and linger there as if burning and branding you- all of you, as his.

he then kisses each of your fingers delicately and softly. “don’t go,” he mutters between pecks.

you feel a little breathless. like he’s punched your gut with every piece of gentle affection he plants, twisting the knife he had stabbed in your chest two weeks ago deeper and deeper, reopening the raw wound of hurt and pain with unmatched love.

you need to leave before anything else can happen, before you begin breaking down in front of him.

quickly shuffling away from the athlete, you abruptly pull your hand out of his, throwing the covers off of you. however quick you may have been though, sae is undeniably faster, his hands crossing the distance to pull you back. his strength forces you to sit down once more and you bounce a little from the soft impact. he drapes himself around you again, chin resting on your shoulder.

“let me go,” you plead, putting your hands over his wrists as if trying to pry them off but you feel too much for sae to truly try and resist him. his spell, no matter how hard you try to fight back, is just as potent.

you fear that you may never be immune to his poison.

he begins trailing kisses along your skin, uncharacteristically affectionate. “i can’t,” he begins, voice wavering uncharacteristically, traces of heartbreak evident in his tone. this display of emotion shocks you endlessly and you stop fighting against him, freezing when you feel his breath shudder against your skin.

your heart is thumping heavily, causing your chest to clench.

"stop messing around, we-"

"i'm not messing around just stay," he hushes gently, "please."

you feel the world stop for a second. sae? pleading? he knew how to do that? the prospect of sae beseeching for anything was incredibly unfamiliar and the fact that his voice cracked merely proves how entirely unfamiliar the word was in his vocabulary.

the love you feel for him will choke you before heartache does. unbeknownst to you, a tear begins sliding down your cheek and you don’t feel it until it’s halfway down.

“hey, hey, hey,” the magenta-haired mumbles, catching the tear with his thumb. “don’t cry.”

he sounds so tender and doting it hurts. there’s so much love in the way he’s holding you, pressing himself closer to you with each minute as if he hates the idea of being too far away from you, as if he was trying to make sure that you were still the same love of his life from before he hurt you tremendously, as if he was committing you to memory before he does lose you forever.

but he doesn’t want that. he wants to stay with you. sae doesn’t think he can handle another day without you, that’s why he’s so stubborn to keep you here; to put you under his spell again so that you could feel an ounce of the love he has stored for you. so that this love has somewhere to go before it inevitably ruins him, punishing him for being so stupid.

“i’m sorry,” whispers sae hurriedly. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry pretty, don’t cry.”

glancing away from him, you wipe away any remaining tears, inhaling deeply as to try and collect yourself with whatever willpower you had left.

"i need to leave," you murmur, not entirely meaning it.

"no you don't," he answers, entirely meaning it. "just stay until breakfast or something."

wordlessly, you fall back in his grasp, leaning into the athlete when you feel rapid beating against your arm. that’s when you realise that it wasn’t your racing heart… it was his.

giving in to his desires, you tuck your legs back up on the bed and he manoeuvres you, practically cradling you whilst you find solace in his neck with your arms wrapped around his torso. here, you feel whole again.

you’ve lived life with sae and without sae and you now know well enough to prefer the former. something tells you he feels the same too.

“are you going to stay for breakfast?” he asks after a few minutes of simply soaking up the other’s presence. glancing up at him, his expression remains beautifully neutral, illuminated perfectly by the bright morning light that seeps through his windows. he’s radiant, gorgeous as ever.

you hum against his skin. “i’m not too sure. i was going to leave before breakfast.”

“let’s go back to sleep then. i’m not hungry anymore.”

amused by his request, you agree nonetheless and sae is able to move the both of you around to the same positions you had woken up in with you on your back and him on top of you. the soccer player then pulls you closer and throws his leg over your hips- something he does to keep you in your spot so you won’t slip away from him again.

you won’t. you don’t want to leave and live a life without him.

“are we back together?” you hesitantly ask. the question floats into the tranquil air, afraid to break whatever quiet, ecstatic haze you were both in but you need to know.

“will you take me back?” the soccer player counters, surprisingly shy and unsure, so unlike the arrogant sae you’re used to. he’s putting all the cards on your table despite knowing what he wants because although he wants to be with you for eternity and a little longer after that, it’s up to you to decide whether or not he deserves such a paradise.

sae can only hope you’re merciful.

“i want to. i miss ‘us’, i miss you.”

he immediately feels a heavy weight lift itself off and the exhale the magenta-haired lets out communicates his magnitude of relief. fate has saved him today.

“good.” is all he says as your hands rise to the nape of his neck, playing with the hair there. “be here when i wake up.”

“so demanding,” you joke with a smile, “but okay.”

as sae dozes off once more, you take the time to scan around his room once more whilst trying to lull yourself into dreamland as well.

his decor had always been rather plain and it didn’t change until you started dating. remnants of you have been lingering around his place and you’re surprised he didn’t get rid of them the night you left out of rage. a little nanodroid that you gave him of a character from an anime you both like sits on his shelf, there’s that little fake plant on his desk, and there are still photos of you two on his dresser.

he used to only have one pillow and the only reason he bought more was so you could sleep over comfortably. you don’t think too hard about the lingering smell of sae’s shampoo on the pillows that you had previously claimed as ‘yours’.

shifting a little so that you were comfortable, you gaze up at sae’s ceilings once more. a gentle smile makes its way to your face before you doze off peacefully knowing that two hearts have found their way back home.

#tumblr will di3 by my blade.#sae x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff #sae fluff #itoshi sae fluff #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock

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sanspuppet · 2 months

Text

~Public sex with Ateez

short scenario for each member

- the way i wrote the imagines can result quite different but i wrote this through different days so- idk just read it and you’ll understand lol

• this is a work of fiction and obviously i have no idea what are they into so please just take it as fake scenarios

• Hongjoong

A scenario that has been going through my mind lately is going on a date with him to a fashion show, all dressed elegant and you being so feminine and attractive that he couldn’t wait long before being able to take that dress off of you. When all people are focused on watching the runway that’s about to start he’d squeeze your thighs and call for your attention, he’d whisper to your ear. “Let’s go now, i want you to go to the bathroom. Got that?” you’d blink confusedly. “But Joong, and the show?” “Fuck off, you’re the most beautiful person i could ever see tonight”

• Seonghwa

Feeling like he’d get needy especially after performing one of those nasty ass choreos they made for their tour. He’d grow more impatient with every song until the last ones where it was quite clear that he was hard. He’d be good at pretending it doesn’t annoys him, but in reality he can’t wait to get rid of it and release all of his “sexiness” using you. You’d be waiting for him in the backstage, giving him a hug right after he comes in. He’d grab your waist and squeeze it tightly and pull you towards his dressing room, while being stuck on a deep kiss.

• Yunho

I feel like you two would go on a date to night clubs and just vibe together along with the music. He’d find you very pretty with your favorite outfit and nice makeup, not to talk about how cute you looked with your cheeks flushed for the alcohol. He’d trail his own hand down his lap, trying to hide his hard-on. But after all, even if you two would fuck loudly in the bathroom, no one could hear you for the loud music… so why not? He’d simply stand up and take your hand, if you thought you were going to dance, as soon as he leads over the rest room you’d realize what are his real intentions.

• Yeosang

I don’t know if i should call it actually public sex but i feel he wouldn’t be really into that either way so probably when you do have it, it’s in his car while parked on the side road or in a park. Maybe something before meeting other people and he knows he couldn’t have you properly until you come back home, so a quickie would be nice for him. He’d unconsciously advertise you by being very touchy even if his hands should be on the wheel. Then would park somewhere at anytime and ask you to ride him.

• San

Probably this man likes very much having you take him randomly over the day, but despite this, i think he’s more into long sessions with multiple rounds. You’d tease each other very commonly but still public sex with him would happen only if the situation degenerates and the need is too hard to handle. Usually would have it in the bathroom of some members’ dorm. I think something light like just sitting on his lap or feeling the warmth of your body would turn him on so… yeah better not tease him much in public if you don’t want to be railed by him and still have to stay quiet to not being caught.

• Mingi

I don’t know why but something tells me he’s pretty much into quickies and doesn’t give a fuck if there might be public. He likes showing you off and doesn’t bother much about showing he’s attracted to you too. Like i think he would be very flirty with you even in front of other people, teasing so much that at the end, you’re the one begging him to just fuck you in a corner wherever it is. Something about him just makes me think that he’d even ask his bros if he can use their bedroom just to fuck you if you’re at their place. Or even at work, i just think that he’d love to fuck in the practice room idk why.

• Wooyoung

My thought on him is that he’d like to treat you like a princess and would love to go shopping with you. He would suggest you either cute and sexy outfits, just imagine having him sat on the little chair in the fitting room, watching you changing outfits. You stripping teasingly and smirk at him struggling to contain himself from fucking you right there in the closet. Well what can i say it wouldn’t be the first time it would happen hehe

• Jongho

Gym sex. Fuckin gym sex with him help. Just imagine planning to work out together but ending up riding him because it’s your leg day while he’s laying on the bench and lifting weights 😮‍💨 Why is this scenario so damn hot to me? Having him under you, all sweaty and you can’t tell if he’s moaning for you or just because his muscles are sore from training. Not to mention that literally anyone could run into you two, fortunately he goes to a gym where it’s likely to be empty most of the time.

taglist: @bunnyluvr25 @xonga @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @therealcuppicake @hongjoongswifefr @sugarnspice630 @stolasisyourparent @kaimisutra @jyunhosbby @pancake-freckle @cherrycel

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atinywhore · 5 months

Text

stuffed

pairing: jongho x (fem) reader

word count: 2250

genre: spicy spice :)

warnings: soft dom jongho, biting, lots of praise, fingering, size kink, sorry not sorry, but yo can't convince me that jongho doesn't have a thick cock so, low-key breeding but he just likes to fuck her raw idk what kinda kink you call that (psa: use a fucking condom bitches), uber romantic to lol I feel like he's such a softy, gets off when you come, I think that's all.

an: this is the first fanfic I wrote since returning from my hiatus so it took me a little to get back into the writing and rediscover my own writing style! So I hope you enjoy and please interact and give this lots of love! Happy Turkey day whores ;)

taglist: @mingigoo @ravenjoongie @wickeddarkness-place @whatudowhennooneseesyou @teezers99 @mirror-juliet

The boys love to celebrate American holidays with you. Every year you have fireworks and hot dogs on July 4th, and you always host a thanksgiving day meal. This year is no different. It’s a three day prep event for you and you can’t forget the cooking still needed the day of! Just to say it, it's a stressful but very rewarding day to be able to have a nice meal with the people you love most in the world. They always try to schedule events and showcases around the actual day of thanksgiving so they can celebrate with you. Last year they couldn’t and it really made you upset. It was the first time in three years that you weren’t able to celebrate your favorite holiday with anyone. They saw how upset it made you and they were determined to make it up to you this year, especially your boyfriend Jongho. He took the days leading up to the holiday off of practice for their next comeback to help you prepare the food.

It was the day of thanksgiving now and despite the help from Jongho, you still were behind. You appreciated his help so much and you knew why he was doing it, but you had to go back and fix the stuff that you assigned him. Most of the time he just sat on the other side of the island and just watched as you moved around the kitchen.

“Baby can you help me with the turkey.” You asked without looking up from the stuffing you were preparing.

“Mmm” he replied standing up. You looked up to give him a smile to show your appreciation, but when you looked up you paused all your movements. This happens often. Ever since you two started dating. Jongho’s presence is so big. His shoulders are twice the size as your own and his biceps are almost as big as your head. From the moment you saw him you were attracted instantly. He loves to remind you how big he is and how small you are, especially in the bedroom. Sex with Jongho is very romantic and tender, with a hint of kink. He loves being on top, entrapping you beneath his thick, muscular body. He’ll lean down and speak hot things into my ear to make my orgasm that more intense. You can feel your face warm and your pussy grows slick with excitement. You try to look away before Jongho can see, but I know he knows what I'm thinking about. We haven’t had sex in over a week because his schedule has been keeping him in the studio all day and late into the night, and there was a huge project that you needed to get done before you could start the thanksgiving prep.

“What do you need me to do baby?” Jongho says as he steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and places a quick kiss on my neck. You can't help but giggle and instinctively push your ass into his groin. He lets out a little moan into your neck. Before you can get swept up into what's about to happen you kinda push him off of and turn to face him.

“Can you please turkey from the other counter. It’s too heavy for me to lift baby.” He nods and you give him a quick kiss on the lips as a thanks. Turning back to the counter you remember the potatoes that have been on the mixer and rush over to turn the machine off. Lifting the top of the mixer up and removing the mixing attachment you lick some of the potatoes off to make sure the seasonings are right. The butter and salt coats your tongue and you can’t help but moan a little at the taste. You feel a familiar presence behind you once more.

“Taste good?” Jongho whispers in your ear. His voice sends a shiver down your spine and jolts of electricity straight to your pussy. Your knees go wobbly but his grip on your waist keeps you grounded.

“Jongho..” You attempt to protest, but it’s weak.

“Yes, baby?” He says peppering kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hands smooth up your torso and one stops at your breast to tease your nipple beneath the dress and apron you are wearing. His other hand moves up to your neck moving your head to rest on his shoulder so he can have better access to your weak spot.

“I need to f-finish.” You manage to get out as he sucks on the sensitive part of your neck

“Oh yeah baby? Finish what?”

“The m-meal. The turkey n-needs to be st-tuffed.”

“I think you need to be stuffed, not the turkey baby.”

You can’t help but give in to him. Your body continues to sink into his embrace and before you know it you feel your ass rubbing against his thick cock straining beneath his jeans. He continues to suck and leave marks all along your neck and when you reach back and caress his cock, he growls and bites your neck at the contact. You can’t help but let out a gasp.

“Fuck baby. I need you now.” He says, as he turns you around and throws you over his shoulder. He easily walks the two of you toward the bedroom. In this position the skirt of your dress is bunched up slightly toward your hips exposing your pussy to the cold air of the room, you shiver at the sensation. You start to squirm in anticipation. While keeping your locked on his shoulder Jongho flips your dress the rest of the way up and uses his thumb to tease your entrance.

“Someone is wet for me.” He says continuing to play around with your pussy. Jongho shifts his head to the closest part of your thigh and bites it hard. You squeal and moan at the pain. He kisses your new mark before tossing you onto your bed. “The things i’m going to do to you (y/n).” He stands at the end of the bed looking down on you and the only thought that is going through your mind is, big. His wide form casts a shadow over you and you can’t help but shiver at the form before you. He lets out a frustrated sigh before he grabs the collar of his hoodie and pulls it off in one smooth move. He pauses with the sleeves of the hoodie still on his forearms, the material gathered at his middle covering his bare stomach. His broad and muscular chest is now exposed revealing the deep heaving breaths, you realize your own breathing matches his. He is pointing daggers at you with his stare, it's so intense and pointed that you swear your heart skips a beat. His eyes shut slightly as his head tilts left and right, the movement accompanied with the popping of his neck joints. He lets out a moan and his usually big eyes, now half lidded, are pointed at me once more. He removes his arms from his hoodie sleeves and his full torso is now bare. He doesn’t have a full set of abs, but the area is muscular nonetheless. His hands now reach for the button of his jeans but he makes no move to unbutton himself.

“Why is my girl still dressed?” He asks with a shit eating grin lighting up his heated features. He extends his strong hands to help you to your knees. Your shaky hands make a move to undo the bow tying the apron to your figure, but you can’t seem to get the thin straps to budge. You look back up at him to see his arms crossed, making his shoulders look that much broader and stronger than he already does.

“Need some help baby?” You nod still not able to find your voice, lost in the fog of arousal. He pulls you to your feet, keeping one arm around your waist and the other makes quick work of ripping the fabric off your body, leaving you in your favorite black dress. He turns you around and slowly unzips you from the dress. As the fabric slides from your body you are hit with another rush of arousal. The dress hits the floor and Jongho makes quick work of your undergarments. His hands explore your body, your moans echoing you in the room. His thumbs tease your nipples the way you like as he leaves kisses and hickies on the untouched side of your neck. Once he has you melting in his hands he moves one down over your stomach stopping at your pussy.

“I bet you are going to be so wet for me baby.” He slides two fingers between your folds, groaning at the state of your pussy. He sinks his teeth into your neck again as he rubs circles around your clit. Your breath hitches and your moans get louder.

“That’s it baby. Sing for me.” He coos as he continues his motions. Kissing and moaning into your neck as he rubs your clit. The build up is coming at you fast, your breathing becomes more erratic and you find yourself swearing Jongho’s name.

“Fuck- Jongho! I’m-m gonna cu-m.” His thumb takes over for his two fingers so they can slide into your pussy. You gasp and the new sensation sends you over the edge. Your eyes shut and your entire body goes fuzzy with your orgasm.

You don’t really feel it, but somewhere in your comedown Jongho moves on to the bed. He positions himself between your legs and resumes pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy. His back is bent showing off the strong muscles to your hazed eyes as he takes your nipple into his mouth. Pleasure erupts from you again. He moves to your other breast and he hooks his fingers inside, skimming his fingertips over your g-spot. He releases your nipple with a ‘pop’ and removes his fingers from your pussy. You start to whine but stop when you see Jongho take his fingers and suck them clean of your juices.

“You taste so good, baby.” He smiles and leans in to kiss you. Your lips move against each other like a dance. He takes off his pants and underwear and repositions himself at your entrance.

“You ready for me baby?” You nod and he doesn’t move.

“I need to hear you baby.” He gives you a longing look, and places a kiss on your forehead.

“Yes baby. Please.” He smiles and pushes himself into you. You hiss at his size as he stretches you. He moans as he slides his full eight inches inside you. He slowly pulls himself back out, repeating the movement. The pain slowly turns to pleasure and you begin to feel the slow build of another orgasm rise inside you.

“Fuck (y/n), your pussy is so good.” He pants. He flexes his hips harder and harder slamming his cock deep inside you.

“Oh baby, I can never get enough of you.” The mix of your moans and curses fill the room and create a beautiful symphony. He continues to moan sickly sweet confessions into your ear, making your building orgasm hurdle faster toward release.

“Baby, I’m so close.” You whimper into his general direction, unable to focus your eyes due to the overload of pleasure fogging your vision. You run your hands up his arms dragging your nails along his smooth tanned skin until you reach his shoulders where you sink your nails. He growls and pounds harder into you hitting that special spot causing your moans to grow louder and more intense.

“Fuck, come for me baby. Come for me (y/n).” He leans down to kiss you, claiming your mouth as he fucks you. The pressure continues to build until you come again. He follows after you shortly, filling your pussy with his load. After a few moments he slowly pulls his dick out of you and watches as his cum spills from your entrance.

“So much better than that turkey.” You can't help but burst out laughing. He looks at me confused, but after a minute he understands the joke.

“It sounded like you fucked the turkey then me.” You say sitting up on your elbows, your smiling face looking at his now rosy one. He grabs both of your cheeks and plants a big kiss on your lips.

“Seriously, I have to finish the turkey. The boys will be here in 6 hours!” You jump up from the bed, forgetting your boyfriend's cum spilling out of your pussy and running down your legs. He laughs as you run from the room and into the bathroom to go get yourself re-ready for the party tonight.

—------

Hours Later:

Everyone is gathered at your dining room table and starting to dig into the meal you have spent days preparing. Yunho and Hongjoon are talking about the latest comeback and how the dance routine is going to go with the new title song, Wooyoung is basically flirting with San and the former is pretending not to love it.

“This turkey is delicious (y/n)!” Yeosang praised.

“Thanks Yeo!” I raise my drink toward him.

“The secret is in the stuffing.” Jongho added. You kicked him under the table and gave him a dirty look, He just smiled and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

#ateez jongho #choi jongho #jongho smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jongho x reader #smut #atinywhore #jongho

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t-lostinworlds · 8 months

Text

The Grump & The Drunk | Miguel O'Hara

》 PAIRING: miguel o'hara x spider-woman!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: grumpy x (drunk) sunshine, fluff, humor

》 SUMMARY: You were clingy, feisty with no filter when you're drunk. Miguel had front row seat of it—literally. You're lucky he didn't mind. In fact, he was glad it was him and not anyone else. The thought made him seethe in jealousy even though you technically were not his girl. But he wasn't sure if that still rang true after tonight's drunken confession (or that make-out session).

》 WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, soft!miguel (also emotionally constipated!miguel but what's new), r calls him miggy to tease him, height difference (he's 6'9" he's an effin giant), r thirsts over him in front of his face lol, some innuendos, brief argument about feelings, overall very cute and fluffy.

》 WORD COUNT: 6.1k+

A/N: can anyone guess what movie i watched recently. is anyone surprised that i liked the grump with a side of trauma lmao. ANYWAY. this is the first time i'm writing miguel so pls be nice. wrote this fairly quickly too and it's barely proofread sooo. but i hope you still enjoy it!

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It was late.

Quiet.

Well, for now, at least.

Moments like these were rare to come by, where there wasn't much to do except to let things happen. The multiverse was stable enough not to need any intervention.

It usually was the epitome of the calm before the storm.

Nevertheless, everyone—well, those left at HQ and weren't on stakeout—in the Spider Society took advantage of it.

There was always some sort of activity going on during these types of days. Most of it were small get-togethers in the cafeteria, or perhaps a low-key karaoke in the cinema room. Other times it was much more on the nose.

Right now, there was a party held on the rooftop.

The music was blaring—muffled for him, thanks to his soundproofing—as it jumped from genre to genre depending on who successfully bribed the DJ.

It was rowdy—that he was sure of. What, with the modified alcohol strong enough to affect any Spider-Person as if they weren't enhanced, how could it not be?

Miguel wasn't one for festivities. Not to mention, strobe lights always gave him bad migraines. So after showing face for about ten minutes—he wouldn't have shown up at all but was begged to go by someone he couldn't say no to—he decided to call it a night.

Well, back to his…Spider-Cave.

He was sure there would be copyright issues if that was made official.

But it was dubbed by you so it simply stuck.

You, with bright eyes and a sweet smile as you pleaded for him to come with you to the rooftop even if it was "just a couple minutes, please?"

You, who wore a simple yet gorgeous black dress as you all but dragged him into the elevator, bouncing with excitement because it was going to be your first party here at HQ.

You, who enthusiastically sipped on your Pink Señorita—a margarita with pink lemonade—giddy to feel the buzz of the alcohol after years of being unable to.

You, who was so joyful and uncaring as you danced to your heart's content when your favorite song came on, right in the middle of the floor, shining as bright as the sun as the others revolved around you.

Miguel only watched from the sidelines, his chest aching with longing. So close but out of reach because he couldn't.

He'd only put a damper on your light.

It wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

He couldn't do that to you.

Soft spot.

Miguel had very few of those.

Anyone who dared to give their opinion on his life with the bravery to say it right to his face said one was occupied by you.

Some would even imply that you held the biggest one.

And sure, the first time Lyla scouted you and suggested for you to be recruited into the Spider Society he might've said yes far too quickly than he should've. But that was only because he saw the way you took down a sector of the Maggia all on your own. He was thoroughly impressed.

There were also times when he let you get away with annoying him scot-free. Whether that was teasing, various nicknames, talking his ear out for hours as you refused to leave him alone to do work, and sometimes even pranks. If it were any other person doing the same things you would've done, they would be leaving the premises at least fearing their life.

He also let you spend time around his magic carpet—as you so unoriginally named it. You were constantly testing those copyright issues—quite often to the point that some of your stuff had migrated the space. There were little trinkets scattered around, evidence that you'd been here.

Miguel finally bought a desk chair perfectly suited for his big and tall stature all because you complained about not having anywhere to sit while you were up here with him.

It was more your chair than it was his, to be honest, since you definitely sat on it far more than he had.

Sure, he could've bought an extra one for you but he didn't want to encourage the teasing—that had been nonstop since you waltzed into his life—that he was playing favorites.

He preferred to stand while he worked, anyway.

Fine.

He could kinda see why many people would say he had a soft spot for you.

Speaking of…

Miguel could hear you before he could even see you.

You were giggling to yourself, followed by poor attempts at whispered apologies when you knocked over something or bumped against something else.

It made him worry a little.

Sure, you were too enthusiastic for his liking, all optimism and sunshine despite everything that you had gone through—it harshly contrasted with his personality.

But he wouldn't particularly classify you as clumsy.

He waited for you to call for him, anticipating which way you'd say it this time around. Your most recent one was: "O'Hara, O'Hara, let down your floating chair."

You thought you were really funny with that one.

But silence.

No cheeky way of asking him to let you come up.

Where'd you go?

Suddenly, he heard a very annoyed and frustrated groan, prolonged and all dramatic.

Then, that familiar thwip rang in the air.

You couldn't have been more impatient.

He was aware of exactly where you were, shooting your webs in random directions so long as you hit a column that took you higher and higher. But even if he didn't have his enhanced senses, your constant giggling would give you away.

Yet as loud as you had already been, your shriek was even louder.

Miguel didn't hesitate to jump off the platform.

His heart was pounding as he clocked your falling figure, adrenaline and fear all at once.

You looked dazed in your freefall, unable to comprehend that your cartridges were empty as you kept trying to shoot your webs.

In the nick of time, he caught you by the waist—upside down.

He let out a huge sigh of relief at the same time you turned into heaps of giggles.

"This isn't how I imagined us getting into this position," you snorted as if you weren't dangling a couple of feet above the ground, feet in the air, arms limp and swaying. "Wow…your thigh is bigger than my head!"

Miguel's whole body warmed, not only from your comments but also because you were still in your dress.

Thank fuck it wasn't a loose skirt.

Not that he would ever look. He might be a bit of a grump—temperamental at times, he'll admit—but he was still a gentleman.

Though he was glad you couldn't see the obvious fluster on his face given your current upside-down predicament.

He'd never hear the end of it.

"I'm flipping you around," he said.

"Like a pancake?"

He didn't answer. He simply tossed you into the air, your squeal echoing off the walls. He caught you again but the right way up this time—your hands clinging onto his shoulders, legs around his waist.

Miguel tried not to dwell on your closeness as he shot a web and pulled you both back up.

"You flipped me like a pancake!" you giggled, stumbling onto the platform once you reached it.

What on earth is going on with you?

One look in your eyes, his unspoken question was swiftly answered.

"Widely irresponsible to swing while drunk," he reprimanded, arms crossed over his chest.

You blew a raspberry, waving your hand dismissively. "Am not drunk."

"Then why did I have to save you from falling head-first into the ground?"

"I slipped!"

"You could've just called me to let the platform down."

"And have it take so fucking long?"

Miguel blinked.

Oh you were so drunk.

"I know it's an intimidating tactic or whatever the fuck it is you're doing. Either way, it's a choice, but it doesn't have to be so damn slow, Miggy!"

"I told you to stop calling me that," he said, no heat in his tone. He simply couldn't stand the way his heart did a funny thing whenever he'd hear that nickname slip past your lips.

"Sorry, sir," you said, sarcasm lacing each letter.

Miguel took a deep breath.

"Don't call me that, either," he said, voice an octave deeper.

You rolled your eyes, completely oblivious to the effect you had on him. "Someone's extra grumpy today."

"Night."

"What?"

"It's night."

"Pfft, you know, you should loosen up your suit," you said, waving at all of him. "Maybe the tightness is making you grumpier somehow, suffocating your muscles and everything."

"The tightness of my suit has nothing to do with my mood."

"Could've fooled me," you scoffed, glaring at him from head to toe. "You're probably chafing in weird places and it's making you irritable. I bet—no, I know you're naked underneath because even though I haven't seen you naked I can still see…stuff, many stuff, big stuff, you know, imagination and not leaving any and shit."

"Dios mío," he grumbled in disbelief, rubbing a palm over his warm face. "How drunk are you?"

"Zero percent-o, Miguelito."

He bit back a smile.

"Could've fooled me," he said, raising a brow at you.

"Don't you dare throw my words back at me," you warned, attempting to appear threatening with your chest puffed out, chin raised as you got all up in his face. You slumped with a pout a second later. "You are so fucking tall!"

"And you are so drunk."

"M'not!"

"Uh-huh, sure," he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh I am very sure—Miguel, can you sit down," you complained, brows deeply furrowed as you tried grabbing onto his shoulders, urging him to settle on the chair.

He decided to mess with you a little, planting his feet firmly so you weren't able to budge him even with your enhanced strength.

Your inebriated state wasn't helping your case.

It was the first time he ever got to see you annoyed and he actually found it cute. What, with your brows deeply furrowed and that pout in full play, huffing and puffing as you pushed at his chest with your full body strength, how could he not?

"Miggy sit the fuck down!" you growled.

He resisted the urge to laugh, throwing his hands up as he obliged, "Okay, okay, I'm sitting."

Now, he was the one looking up at you.

Yet you still looked frustrated.

"Is that not any better?" he asked, confused.

"No," you mumbled, glaring down at him, pout still prominent.

The next thing he knew, you were already grabbing onto his shoulders, pushing yourself up the chair.

You sat right on his lap.

Miguel was rarely surprised these days, considering what he did for a living.

But he sure as hell wasn't prepared to have you on top of him.

He could almost feel his brain short-circuit, taking a bit more time and effort for it to get its bearings back into place.

But then, you turned shy, eyes blinking at him all wide with shock as if you didn't know that climbing onto his lap resulted in him and you being so close.

"Hi," you whispered.

"Hello," he murmured, fingers twitching to hold you. He gripped the armrest instead. "Can I ask what exactly it is you're doing?"

"What…was I doing?" you questioned, almost to yourself, scanning the nearly non-existent space between you both before your face lit up. "Oh! I'm trying to talk to you without spraining my neck, genius."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah! You try talking to a six-foot-nine Adonis of a man and see if your neck doesn't hurt after a while."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Adonis, huh?"

"Not like that," you quickly said, voice shyer. "I mean like…huge, muscular, a-and plump."

"Plump?"

"Yeah!" You nodded enthusiastically, pressing your palms right on top his chest, one on each pec. "You've got plump boobs and ass."

He almost choked on air.

"What has gotten into you?" he asked, thoroughly amused.

"You, hopefully."

"Diosito, ayúdame," he muttered, resisting the temptation to take your word for it. You were drunk. You had no idea what you were saying.

Miguel shook his head when you stared at him confused, still slow on your Spanish. Then again, he'd only ever taught you a few phrases so far.

"How many lemonades did you have?" he asked instead.

"Why are you asking me so many questions!" you groaned, head thrown back as dramatically as you could. "It's my turn to ask questions!"

"Fine," he sighed, ignoring the urge to nip at your exposed skin. He heavily disregarded the thoughts that brewed in his head from the way you were innocently squirming on him, trying to get more comfortable, your skirt hiking up in the process.

He was good at keeping his composure, mastered it after years. He could do it for a couple of minutes more.

"Why'd you disappear?" you sighed.

"Too bright. Too loud."

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"

"You were having fun. Didn't want to spoil your mood," he stated the obvious. "Besides, my absence didn't affect anything."

"But it did," you insisted, bottom lip jutting out. "Was gonna ask you to dance."

His brow rose at that. "And what made you think I'll say yes?"

"You always say yes," you said, shrugging as if it was a known fact to the universe.

If it was you asking? Maybe.

He honestly felt a little glad he left the party early. He wouldn't even dare to imagine the outcome if he was seen out on the dance floor with you.

He would much prefer it with no audience—just you and him.

"I don't always say yes."

You narrowed your eyes, obviously not believing him by one bit.

But you didn't bother to argue.

Instead, you plopped forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders, face pressed against his neck.

Miguel froze.

He honestly didn't know what to do with himself.

Well, he wanted to do so many things at once, he just didn't know if he should—too many boundaries, too dangerous to cross.

A battle between logic and emotions.

You chose for him, though.

"Will you just—" You pulled his arms off the armrest, wrapping it around you instead. "Want cuddles, please."

How could he say no?

And for the first time in a long while, Miguel finally let himself go.

Body relaxing into the seat, he pulled you a little closer, palms rubbing soft patterns on your back as he pressed his cheek against the side of your head.

It had been so long since he'd cuddled with someone, so maybe his judgment was a little skewed. But still, he didn't remember it feeling this lovely—not until now.

Or maybe because it was you.

And if he didn't know any better, he'd say you were purring.

"Comfortable?" he hummed, rubbing the tip of his nose against your crown.

You nodded, taking a deep breath, humming soon after, "I've always wondered just how nice you smell up close."

He couldn't stop the flush that crept up his face.

"You're warm," you whispered, rubbing your face against his neck like a cat.

It made him wonder if you'd been hanging around Spider-Cat too much—or Meows Morales.

He'd rather not think about it.

Instead, he commanded his suit to uncover his hands, one less barrier between his palm and your skin. The fabric of your dress did very little to conceal your warmth as he continued giving you comforting rubs.

It made you bury yourself deeper into his arms as if you could go any further.

"This feels nice," you murmured, voice muffled against him.

He hummed in agreement.

You both settled into a comfortable silence after that.

But if he listened closely, the steady thump of your heartbeat was soft against his ears. He found the sound relaxing, and the minuscule romantic part of him imagined it was syncing with his own.

A peaceful rhythm.

Your soft breaths tickled his skin as you snuggled closer, his smile unabashedly painted on his face.

No one was here to see it, anyway.

After a few more moments of calmness, he assumed you'd already fallen asleep. He was already preparing himself to carry you across universes and back home when you suddenly spoke up,

"Can I touch your fangs?"

He blinked.

"What?"

You shifted, pulling back a little so that you could meet his eyes, face so close your noses almost touched.

"Your fangs," you repeated.

Before he could even respond, your hands were already on his face, one thumb lifting the corner of his lip while your other hand found his chin, holding him still.

"Wanna feel how sharp they are," you muttered, opting to use both hands now to pull his lips and expose his canines.

"Very sharp and dangerous," he chuckled despite himself, gently grabbing your wrists to stop your prodding. "Just take my word for it."

"You're pretty when you smile," you said, beaming and proud as if seeing his fangs was an accomplishment.

He rolled his eyes, unable to stop himself from grinning.

You smiled wider in return.

Holding your hands between you both, he absentmindedly started stroking your palms with his thumb.

It guided your gaze toward it.

"Your hands are naked!" you gasped, grabbing his wrists and bringing his fingers up to your face, wonder and awe in your eyes as if it was the first time you'd seen them without cover—it wasn't.

You'd seen him in casual clothes before.

Miguel couldn't stop his laugh from escaping even if he tried.

"I didn't know you could do that!" you said, fully amazed before your brows furrowed, pout coming back. "Why can't my suit do that? I have to get all naked just to feel my fingers."

He didn't dwell on that picture.

"I'll tweak it for you if you'd like," he said instead.

Your whole face brightened.

"Really? You'd do that?" you giddily gasped, bringing his hands up to press your palms against his like a double high five. The way your hand was much smaller than his made his heart warm.

He interlaced your fingers together. "Really."

"We're going to make a suit together!" you laughed, lovely and sweet. "That's a big big step."

He chuckled, gaze carefully tracing your beautiful features, each curve and divot glowing with happiness. He felt tempted to count every perfectly imperfect mark that littered your skin, wanting to know if it was there naturally, or if there was a story behind it.

It was supposed to be a swift glance.

He didn't mean to settle too long on your lips.

Nor did he plan to get caught.

"Stop staring," you whispered shyly.

"You're right in front of my face," he deflected, eyes back on yours.

"I know but…" You trailed off, shifting slightly, the tips of your noses brushing in the process.

"But?" he softly prodded.

"You're looking at me weird."

"How so?"

"Like…" you started, voice dropping into a whisper as if you were disclosing a secret. "You want to kiss me."

He couldn't even bother to deny the truth.

"I'll stop staring," he hummed, words holding no weight as he never removed his eyes from you.

"No!" you protested, turning flustered a second later, shyer when he smirked.

"I thought it was weird?" he teased.

"'Weird' was the wrong word," you said, scrunching your nose in thought. Adorable. "I meant different."

"How different?"

"I don't know," you admitted, leaning a little closer. "But I like it."

"Oh, do you, now?"

"Yeah," you breathed out, hands finding their way to gently cup his cheeks.

Miguel leaned into your touch with a soft smile. "Now who's staring?"

"It's because I want to kiss you," you admitted shamelessly. Your fingers traced the outline of his lips, your eyes following their path.

Miguel kissed your fingertips.

You leaned down and kissed him.

He gasped, eyes wide in shock.

A split second, they fluttered shut, head tilting, whole body melting as he kissed you back.

He spent countless amounts of time daydreaming about this moment, different scenarios, wondering what you tasted like, how it'd make him feel. But fuck—nothing could ever compare to the real thing.

It was so many things all at once.

Relief, hunger, satisfaction, desperation, fondness, fear, mind stopping, heart beating faster, soft lips, warm skin, so lovely, so sweet, so fucking addicting.

Now that he'd gotten a taste, he couldn't get enough.

Miguel cupped the back of your neck, arm snaking around your waist to keep you steady, close.

Your hand held onto his shoulder, the other finding its way into his hair, your fingers combing through the strands.

He lost any sense of control when you pulled.

Gripping your hips, he teased his tongue against the seam of your lips, slipping it in the second you opened up for him.

He groaned at your taste.

You whimpered in response.

The sound made him want to devour you.

But then you started moving your hips.

It was awakening, in more ways than one.

But the rational part of him prevailed because it was for your sake.

He pulled away, gently grabbing your chin, when you tried going back in.

"Slow down," he rasped, holding your waist and keeping you still. "Estás borracho, corazón."

"You know I don't understand," you breathed out, chest heaving, lips all plump and tempting.

"You're drunk, sweetheart," he clarified.

"I don't care," you whined, squirming.

He cupped your face in both hands.

"I do."

You pouted.

"Don't do that."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Don't pout," he sighed.

"I'm not pouting," you denied.

"You are," he said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.

Your pout only turned more prominent.

The beep of the clock broke him out of his trance.

It was midnight.

Miguel stood up, taking you with him before gently urging you to stand on your own two feet.

"It’s late. You should go," he said monotonously and stepped back.

You frowned.

He looked away.

"Why do you always do this?"

You were frustrated—no, you were getting angry.

He turned his back on you, eyes on the holograms even though there was nothing worth looking at.

"Do what?" he said, acting oblivious.

"Confuse the fuck out of me," you said, loud with frustration. "You act cold and distant one minute and then you're being nice and sweet the next. You keep your distance but then call me all these cute nicknames sometimes—and yes, you say them in Spanish but I asked Lyla about it once and she told me what they meant."

Traitor—thrown under the bus by his own invention.

"But then sometimes you give in and we get closer but the second I chip your walls you push me away," you continued, getting angrier by the second. "I thought things were getting better between us. But now, you won't even fucking look at me even after we just kissed—"

"You kissed me."

"You kissed me back!" you screamed.

It took him by surprise.

You had never raised your voice, much less yelled at anyone.

But honestly? There was no one else who deserved it more than him.

Slowly turning around, his heart sank when he met your tear-filled eyes.

By instinct, he reached out to try and comfort you.

It only made you angrier.

"You're doing it again!" you growled and stepped back, hands balled into fists.

Miguel stopped, hands up in surrender.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he softly said.

"Protect me?" you scoffed. "Or protect yourself?"

"I'm doing what's best for you," he reasoned, wanting nothing more than to wipe your tears away and kick his own ass for making you cry in the first place.

"You don't know that!"

"Maybe," he said, hands dropping to his sides, dejected. "But I know myself.

"Someone like me shouldn't be with someone as pure and as bright as you."

"No one gets to decide who I should and shouldn't be with," you gritted, taking long strides until you were squaring up to him. "No one but me. That's my choice."

Despite your boiling anger, despite the fact that you were glaring at him in a way that should scare him, despite the absolute animosity that lingered in your voice, your next words couldn't have brought the most opposite reaction from him.

"And I want to be with you."

Happiness, warmth, euphoria—the few things that made his heart burst at the seams.

But Miguel shook his head, eyes dropping to the ground, quickly stomping down emotions.

"I'm only going to end up hurting you," he sighed, pacing back and forth as he rubbed a frustrated hand over his warm face.

"I trust you that you won't."

"Well, you shouldn't," he insisted, eyes filled with longing, wanting to pull you close and taste your lips again despite his words saying otherwise. "You deserve so much better."

"If you believe that so fucking much then be better."

With that, you turned on your heel.

So many things flashed before his eyes, one of which was if he let you walk away now, he was going to lose you, for good.

He fucking panicked.

So much so that he jumped—right over your head.

You squeaked in shock when he landed in front of you.

Miguel didn't waste a second.

He grabbed your face and kissed you senseless.

You stumbled back, Miguel quickly webbing the chair, pulling it just in time for you to land on the cushion.

Not once did his lips leave yours.

He was bending over, hands grabbing the backrest, trapping you against it. You cupped his face, a shiver running down his spine when you trailed your hands down his chest.

But then you gently pushed him back.

He ignored the ache in his heart as he pulled away.

Miguel dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your hands in his, placing a kiss on each palm before he pressed it against his cheeks.

"I want to be with you so badly," he confessed, eyes never leaving yours so you could see it—all of him at your mercy.

"But I'm scared," he whispered, leaning into your touch. "I'm terrified that all I'll ever do is fail you, that I will never end up being the man that you deserve."

"How would you know if you won't try?" you said, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones with the sweetest smile. "And I know you think otherwise, but you deserve to be happy, too."

Miguel didn't know what to say.

So he didn't.

He kissed you instead.

It was slow, reassuring, a soft touch of your lips on his, but never less passionate.

He would've opted to deepen it a little more, but then you downright yawned between the kiss.

And here he thought you couldn't get cuter.

"You need sleep," he chuckled.

"I don't wanna go home," you grumbled, burying yourself into his chest. "It's too far."

"My room, then?" he offered.

You quickly nodded. He could almost feel you grinning against his suit.

He kissed your forehead. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"Bed?" you gasped, emerging out of your hiding spot to wriggle your brows at him teasingly. "Gosh, take me out to dinner first."

"What am I going to do with you," he grumbled, shaking his head

"Many things, I hope."

He rolled his eyes, pressing the button to let the platform down.

"Miggy, can you give me a piggyback ride?" you asked, pouting for good measure. "I'm tired."

He sighed, turned around and crouched down.

"He doesn't always say yes he said," you giggled.

"Are you getting on or not?"

"Okay, okay, geez." You grabbed his shoulders and hoisted yourself on his back, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. Cheek pressed against his shoulder, you grinned. "Always eager to have me ride you, huh?"

His face warmed.

"I'll drop you if you won't stop."

"No you won't."

Miguel loosened his grip.

You yelped, quickly tightening your hold around him.

"You're so mean!"

He chuckled, turning his head as much as he could and puckering up his lips.

You giggled as you gave him a chaste kiss, pressing your cheek in between his shoulder blades with a deep sigh.

"Lyla, please send extra blankets and pillows to my quarters," he said, smiling to himself when you suddenly got heavier on his back.

He was sure you'd already fallen asleep.

Lyla appeared in front of him a second later, her grin far too wide for his liking.

"Not a single word about this to anyone," he interrupted whatever it was she was starting to say. "Please. Just…give us time to figure this out."

"Gotcha, boss," she said. "But for the record, I'm doing it for her."

"Good."

•••

You squinted at the bright glare that roused you from your sleep. You always close the curtains, it was part of your nightly routine. Why did you forget it this time?

Sitting up, you flopped back down with a deep groan.

Your head was pounding.

Hungover.

You didn't miss this part of drinking at all.

After a few moments, you slowly opened your eyes, the ceiling looking too unfamiliar.

Glancing down, the color of the sheets wasn't the sky blue you recently changed it into. As a matter of fact, that bed was much bigger than you were used to.

This wasn't your room.

In fact, this wasn't your world.

"What did I do?" you whispered, glancing at the nightstand. You saw the tall glass of water first, then the few pills of aspirin.

It was the framed picture that made you realize where you were.

This was Miguel's room.

Memories from last night came rushing in like a train, using your brain as railroad tracks which made your headache worse.

You quickly gulped down the water and meds, throwing the blankets off of you only to flush at the discovery.

Boxer shorts and a huge jacket—you were wearing his clothes.

Stumbling into the en suite, your heart warmed at the extra toothbrush that was already waiting for you.

You quickly made yourself as presentable as possible before making your way to the only place you knew he would be at this time of day.

First to clock in, last to clock out.

The platform was already down when you got there.

It was as if he was waiting for you.

"Morning, sleepy head," Miguel greeted without looking away from the screens.

"Good morning," you responded shyly. You picked at the hem of his jacket, second-guessing your choice of not changing out of it.

You honestly didn't know where to even begin.

As if sensing your discomfort, he turned his chair to face you.

Something flashed in his eyes for a brief moment, something primal as he regarded your figure. It was gone the next second you might as well have imagined it.

"Come here," he murmured, reaching out both hands for you to take.

Walking over to him, you slipped your hands into his, the platform beginning its ascend once you did.

You gasped in surprise when he suddenly pulled you onto his lap.

He placed your hands on his shoulders, his strong fingers curling around your waist.

You couldn't look him far too long in the eyes.

It felt like you'd combust if you did.

"What, now you're shy?" he teased, smirking freely. It was a good improvement, but you didn't know if your heart could take it having him smile at you like that. "You didn't seem to have a problem with this last night."

"Don't remind me," you groaned, hiding your face between your hands.

Miguel chuckled.

God this was so new.

It felt like you were drunk all over again—no sense of what was real and what was all in your head.

But with the soft squeeze on your waist, and the gentle fingers circling around your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face, you knew this was as real as it was going to get.

"What else do you remember?" he asked, thumbs drawing random shapes on the insides of your wrist.

You scrunched up your face. "Everything?"

He hummed, leaning a little closer to nudge the tip of your nose with his, urging you to keep your eyes on him.

"I have no idea how to do this…relationship thing. It's been a while," he started, a faint blush on his cheeks that made him so much more endearing. "But I'm willing to try this—with you."

Your heart grew ten times its size, you were sure of it.

"Yeah?"

He nodded, kissing your knuckles. "If you'll let me."

"We'll figure it out together," you said, holding his face in your hands with a smile.

"I'd like that," he whispered, grin turning cheeky. "On one condition."

"What?" Your brows furrowed.

"Morning kisses are mandatory."

You let out a hearty laugh, sound quick to turn into giggles when Miguel pressed his lips against yours.

It didn't take long for things to get heated.

You were picking up right where you left off last night, a little further given that alcohol wasn't in the equation anymore.

Yet with the way Miguel's hands were roaming your body, grabbing and groping whatever he could reach, tongue hot and heavy as it slipped past your lips, his deep groans vibrating against your palms as you rested it on his chest, his kisses moving their way onto the warm skin on your neck, softly nipping, tongue soothing—it was far more dizzying than any modified alcohol and then some.

It was a familiar voice that broke you off this time.

"Ahem! Uh, hello, I'm here!" It echoed from below. "The baby, too, by the way. So make sure you're…uhm, decent when you bring that thing down."

Miguel pulled away with an annoyed groan, eyes landing on the floating figure that appeared behind you.

If he could kill Lyla with one look—

"What?" she exclaimed. "I didn't say anything!"

"She didn't! You guys just weren't particularly…quiet," Peter B. defended on her behalf, chuckling. "And this place has the worst echo."

"Yeah, that's your fault," you whispered against his lips, pecking him one last time before getting off his lap.

He wasn't particularly happy about that either.

You pushed the button before he could say anything, the platform descending, smiling at him all innocent.

"I'm not done with you," he warned, voice deep with lust it made your whole body tingle.

"I'm counting on it." You winked, hopping off the platform before he could even respond.

Mayday landed in your arms before you could take a step.

"Hi, beautiful girl!" you greeted cheerfully, her chubby cheeks lifting as she giggled at you. "

"I wouldn't rush it," you heard Peter say.

"What?" Miguel gritted, still so annoyed.

"I know you're thinking about having a baby with her."

You bit back a laugh.

The utter silence from Miguel made it so much harder.

"You know nothing," he grumbled.

"Maybe," Peter chuckled, patting him on the back. "About time you made your move though."

Miguel grumbled something incoherent and turned back towards the screen.

Still, you caught the smile he was trying to hide.

It made you warm and fuzzy inside.

You walked over to him with Mayday in your arms. "Say hi to Uncle Miggy!"

Always your best accomplice, Mayday made grabby hands at him, blubbering, "Middy! Middy!"

Miguel sighed, carefully taking Mayday from you, before giving her a soft smile—the only other person he wasn't grumpy to. "Hello, peanut."

She giggled in response, climbing onto his shoulders, settling on them with her arms above his head. She always loved being so tall.

Miguel shot you a glare then, no heat to it at all. If anything, it was filled with pure fondness.

You grinned at him.

"You're a bad influence," he whispered to you.

"I don't think I am, Middy," you teased, standing on your tippy toes to place a kiss on his lips.

The way he suddenly turned flustered was adorable.

And when Mayday made a yucky sound, and Peter B. laughed, you knew your work of teasing him for the day was done.

"Come on, bub, let's go get you ice cream," you called, the little girl giggling in delight before jumping into your arms. You sent Miguel a wink before leaving him to deal with his beloved friend's teasing. Peter was practically waiting for this moment.

Many people regretted what they had done while drunk, especially when it involved something embarrassing.

Not you.

You regret nothing at all.

✫*｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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macfrog · 8 months

Text

ghost

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

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 10.1k

main masterlist

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

St. Louis is quiet, still, but fruitless.

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

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

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

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

Meant company, is what he was saying.

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

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

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

“Turn back,” he muttered.

“What?”

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

“Turn back ‘n go where?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Motherf–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“’n what if you get stuck in there?”

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

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

“You got a death wish, or som’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. She feels edgy.

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

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

“Nothing I need, or nothing at all?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Ghost –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you gonna do?”

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

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

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

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

“What do I do once I’m in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go now. Now!”

And you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bingo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you return the gun, favoring your switchblade.

Old dog, new tricks. Yadda yadda.

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

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

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

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

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

“Make a sound, I’ll cut him.”

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

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

Not good enough.

“Put the gun down.”

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

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

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

“Put – the fucking gun – down.”

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

Just do it.

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

Just do it.

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

Just do it.

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

Just do it.

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

Just do it.

And then you feel it.

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

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

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

“Don’t – don’t gotta –”

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

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

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

He gulps.

“How many?”

“Th-three. Please.”

“Where?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It rattles through, rolling over the solid floor.

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

You duck behind a battered, empty shelf.

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

“Pat–”

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

“Wh–? That’s the bitch on the horse!”

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

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

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

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

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

And third: Joel just opened fire downstairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like your man’s losing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking – bitch,” Nico snarls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel shrugs. “Do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks, then pushes straight in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Downstairs?” Joel asks in a broken voice.

“Mhm. What did you do to ‘em?”

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

You shake your head. “Next.”

“Ch-choked one of them out.”

“No. Not him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“– then took the knife.”

“He on the floor?”

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

“Fuck, yeah?”

“Yeah. Ripped ‘im apart, baby.”

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

“Did he – did he scream?”

“Yeah, he fuckin’ screamed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always have been. Always will be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

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

“Should get that leg covered.”

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

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

He tips the bottle over the dressing, dousing it in alcohol, and settles it carefully on the floor by your hip. You look at one another, a Ready? and a No, but do it anyway pass across your gaze.

The clear fluid seeps from the pad down his hands, thinning the bloodstains and dragging them in light orange streaks down to his wrist. And when your eyes are distracted, watching the stream of blood and alcohol, he presses the gauze to your thigh.

“Fuck – you,” you stammer, eyes screwing tight enough that you see stars.

“I know,” Joel breathes, and pushes the gauze down harder. Firmer. It shoots heat up your leg, flashes the image of that plank of wood named Tucker who stabbed you across your mind. Your teeth grit, the tendons in your neck leap.

Still holding the pad to your skin, Joel winds a dressing around your thigh. He knots it, gives it a little tug, and then sits back on his heels.

“Okay?”

You tilt your head, lift your eyebrows in form of a Yeah. A half-truth – it feels better to have it covered, but fuck is it stinging. You lift a roll of spare bandage and wrap your wrists.

Joel nods, and then passes you your jeans.

“We should go,” he tells you. Then, softer, kinder, “Gotta go back to the pharmacy. Still supplies in the…”

You push yourself to your feet, unable to listen to the end of his sentence. Ghost was carrying most of your food. The map is still in her saddlebag. Ammo, too. The thought of seeing her again turns your stomach, and Joel seems to figure.

“Why don’t you head out back, go get Jet? I’ll grab everything.”

You stare down at him. Your head shakes before words filter through it. You don’t want to be apart from him again. Not today, at least.

He seems to figure that, too. He nods once, then stands with a low grunt. He fixes his jeans, shrugs his jacket back over his shoulders, and his hand finds the nape of your neck again. He pulls you nearer him, your lips brush against the shoulder of his jacket, and then you split, grabbing your supplies and searching the room for any that these assholes might’ve left to you.

When your pockets are full, you limp at Joel’s heels down the stairs and outside, glancing down the street. The silhouette of a horse slowly meanders back over to you, head bobbing, hooves clicking across the asphalt. Show’s over.

Joel stops and waits for her to approach, lets you bury your face into her strong body when she reaches you.

You squeeze your eyes shut against her muzzle, your forehead between her glossy eyes, and hope the message finds a way through flesh and bone – strong enough and sincere enough to push its way through your skull to hers. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Joel’s hand leaves your back and he walks slowly over to the pharmacy.

Your hands run over Jet’s soft mane, combing her gently, reassuring her as if she’s the one covered in blood, bruised and pained. You hook a finger around her bridle and follow Joel.

As you slowly approach, he’s emerging from the shadows of the pharmacy, a backpack in each hand. He reaches the same curb you were stood on less than an hour ago, and looks up to check on you. Your stomach lurches, glancing down to his boots.

There she is. Black coat shining, chest not moving. Legs splayed out on the road. Pool of blood around her velvety soft ears. She seemed so lean, so fit and graceful when she was on all fours. Now, lying in a heap in the shade of some barren street, she looks huge and clumsy. It makes your eyes swell with tears.

You shift with Jet, turning her to avert her gaze. It’s stupid; she’s a horse. How would she know what’s going on? But then, the way she’s breathing – soft, quiet. It’s like – it’s like she fucking knows.

Joel does it gently – kneels beside Ghost, searches in each pocket for your belongings. He knows your eyes are on him. He pulls a box of bullets and the folded-up map from the bag, slips them into his jacket pocket. Collects the tins of soup and canned fruit in one hand, standing to roll them into Jet’s bag.

He turns to you. “You got your switchblade?”

You nod, and he holds his hand out. You drop the heavy knife into his palm, and he bends back down to Ghost’s side.

He uses your blade to cut the bridle by the corner of her mouth, slicing through the leather running from the bit up to the headpiece. Then pulls it apart, a single strap with a tiny buckle still attached, a silver hoop at one end.

He reaches for your backpack, drags it across the rough ground, and knots one of the canvas ties through the silver hoop of Ghost’s bridle. Triple knots it, to make sure it won’t budge. And then he leans back, surveys his handiwork, and turns to gain your approval.

You can’t do much more than nod, tears dappling down your raw cheeks.

When he’s sure he’s got everything, Joel passes you your backpack, slings his on, and then kneels by her side one last time. He places a gentle palm on her head, runs his hand down her muzzle. Sniffs.

A thank-you, you think. A Farewell, brave girl.

He stands again, turns back to you. Waits for you to decide it’s time to move on.

“I can’t do it…” you whisper, and Joel nods, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to leave her.”

And then you’re sobbing, and he’s taking hold of your shoulders and pulling you into his arms, and your cries are muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. You wrap yourself close around him, bury deeper into his chest, and Joel tightens his grip. The steady beat of his heart pulls you back down, grounds you. You match your breathing with his and pull away.

You approach Ghost shakily, then crouch, fix her mane out of her eyes, scratch her silky ears one last time, and let her go.

Joel’s face is tight when you turn back. Eyebrows low. You bite the inside of your cheek as you pass him, and then hoist yourself up onto the brown horse’s back.

He pulls himself up in front and leans back into you, head cocked to wait for your signal. You snake your arms around his waist and feel a delicate hand rest on top of yours, interlaced on his belt buckle. His thumb traces your knuckles, and when you lean your ear between his shoulder blades, he clicks to Jet.

The horse swerves off, beginning your long journey out of the city.

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momobani · 4 months

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&TEAM hyung line + [semi] public sex

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!| smut under the cut| 0.6k

a/n: as an apology for being MIA lately, i'm dropping a hyung line post in addition to TWIHY chapters <3

oKay, mans is a freak and an exhibitionist for sure; would fuck you on the balcony in the middle of the night, attempting to wake the entire neighbourhood (later, neighbours might be taking measures about wild foxes they heard in the night, who knows). Doesn’t even have to be your balcony, like a hotel balcony might be even better since you can, in his words, ‘enjoy the view’ lol. Maybe would try one of your building’s staircases, or restaurant bathrooms, and shop changing rooms are also not out of the question cuz when you two need to fuck, y’all need to fuck right now, regardless of who might be around. Sometimes he gets off on the idea of other people knowing you’re fucking and he’s making you feel that good and no one else is allowed to, but you get embarrassed easily so you really try to keep quiet, which only makes K fuck you harder.

Fuma:

Probably the least likely to be into anything remotely public but stuff like the apartment, shared bathroom or shower when his roommates are out would definitely be an option, would feel bad for contaminating the couch so would bend you over the counter or any other furniture that could withstand the force (or the walls since he could hold you up with no effort lol). Would be open to car sex in a mostly empty parking lot - would get him so freaking hard if you suggested a quickie after your grocery run but would be real quick and intense cuz you have fridgeables. Here’s the real kicker - at a camp site since our guy loves camping so much where there’s other people in their tents only metres away from yours so he clamps a hand over your mouth and moves so incredibly slowly to keep the noise down. Or a caravan that everyone can see shaking from the outside oof-

Nicholas:

Oh hey freak number 2. Would shamelessly fuck you in the apartment regardless of whether his roommates were home or not, maybe on the beach when you’re on a night date (oh wait a minute, who wrote that?), under the moonlight, scaring all the seagulls (good, fuck seagulls, nasty bitches). Would ask you if you wanted to fuck in front of his friends (K, Fuma, EJ), just cuz he wanted to show off how gorgeous you were when he destroys your cunt, would definitely get a kick out of it when you say yes and enjoy putting on a show but no one else gets to touch you, they can just watch and drool. Also hotel pools, after everyone’s long gone and it’s horribly quiet, your swim turns into a makeout ses, which turns into fucking and avoiding the security guard lol.

EJ:

Might not look like he’d be into anything too public, but honestly, he’d love a good romantic rooftop picnic fuck. Oddly specific but yes, just something about being outside albeit on the roof where everyone can hear you even if they can’t see you. Also bonus, you can watch the sunset as you cum, very romantic haha. Gets into it more often and would pull out a condom out of nowhere, and you just smirk at him and call him a ‘boy scout’. Would probably also be into either a quickie or oral in his laundry room where any of his roommates could walk in at any point. For sure finds it thrilling that you could get caught, his dick in your mouth or buried in your cunt, might even subconsciously want you to get caught so he starts suggesting riskier places (this lil adrenaline junkie i swear-).

a/n: thanks for reading and thanks for being patient <333

#&team #&team smut #andteam #andteam smut #&team k #&team fuma #&team nicholas #&team ej #&team x reader #&team imagines #&team fics #momobani.writes

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iamqueenpotato · 1 year

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I Hate That I Love You - Part Seven

A/N- Hi guys! Surprisingly I wrote this one way quicker than I thought. I hope you guys enjoy! It is also very late where I'm at so if there are some errors, I tried my best to proof read it but there may be some things I missed. I appreciate all the support you guys have given me! Love you!

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst(But like what's new lol)

Part One Part Eight

It had been three days.

Three days since Azriel spoke to you, three days since he finally told you how he felt, but even though your reaction was justified, it still hurt him. The disappointment on your face was burned into his mind, his shadows kept whispering your name, your moans a constant echo in his thoughts.

He knew he made a mistake when he chose Elain, but a friend is all he thought you saw him as. He tried to move on with her. You never once showed any interest, but that day you admitted those feelings he saw how wrong he was. And by the time the truth came forward he was stuck in a place that he could not easily break free from.

You were-are his best friend, even if you didn't think so, he still saw you as that. But who knew the two of you shared the same fears of ruining the relationship you had. He hated that he was so blind to your affections.

Azriel should have noticed sooner, he should have taken that risk and told you long ago how he felt about you. But he was a fool and let his fears stand in the way of what could have been. And he made you feel unimportant, neglected. Something he could never forgive himself for, he should have paid more attention to you.

The situation he currently was in was all his fault. When you had left the first time he was devastated, not only for the fact that he had lost his best friend, but that you had reciprocated those feelings Azriel thought to never had existed. He should have confessed then and there, he should of begged more to keep you from leaving, he should have never chose Elain over you, it wasn’t fair to either of you with the mistakes he had made. He should have tried harder to fight for what he wanted.

And the more he thought about it, the more he realized Elain and him did not fit together. She was sweet and caring, and she meant well but he never felt as though he could tell her everything, as though he could never be transparent about the things he goes through. At the end of the day it only seemed she was a body to keep his bed warm, and he felt terrible to even think of her in such a way.

But with you it was different. Elain would always cower away and be visibly disturbed when he would explain the things he had done for his missions, Always claiming how maybe he shouldn’t do such things anymore, then perhaps it wouldn't be an issue. And maybe she was right, but it never made him feel better. He knew the things he had done were graphic, he knew the horrid things he’d put others through for information, and at the end of the day all he wanted was someone to talk to about it, Elain could never be that person.

But you always have been.

He vividly remembers the first time coming to your room after a mission that had put more blood on his hands. It wasn’t the torture or killing that bothered him, it was the feeling afterwards that broke him, the hollowness he felt, the disappointment that he experienced that never went away. One night it swallowed him, he was in his room, washing away the blood of a few males he was instructed to interrogate when the feelings crept on him like a dark fog, he couldn’t breathe, only able to stare at his blood stained hands, he felt like a monster. He knew those men deserved it and he found their deaths to be satisfying. But maybe that made him more of a horror than he could ever imagine.

He made it to your room in the midst of his panic attack, pounding on the door still in his leathers, blood all over him. And when you opened the door, you did not look at him with anger or disgust. He must’ve woken you that night, based on the tiredness in your eyes and the mess your hair was in, but you didn’t yell at him nor push him out. Instead you brought him in, he didn’t even have to say a word for you to understand what he needed. You brought him into your bathroom, wiping the blood off his hands, his face, out of his hair. You were so gentle when it came to him, it was something he never experienced before. You ran a bath for him, telling him to finish up and you would be waiting outside. And when he came out he found you sitting in front of the fire, two cups of tea in front of you, he sat on the opposite side of the couch tentatively grabbing the tea from your hands. And then he talked about everything. Every last gory detail of his kills, the pain he felt inside. You did not flinch, nor did you tell him to stop because you were disturbed, you sat and listened, holding his hand the entire time. The hands that brought so much death, but you held on to them so tightly that he wanted you to never let go. He could live in that moment, his fingers interlaced with yours if that meant you would never leave his side. You never once criticized his choices. He didn’t feel alone for the first time in his life. And he never felt alone knowing he had you.

It was a memory that he had cherished. He had many fond memories of you, but that one always stood out to him. And now looking back, that was the start of his love for you.

Azriel didn’t realize he was crying as he watched the memory playback in his mind until he was brought back to reality as the clock in his room struck at the new hour. He didn’t bother wiping his tears away, he let them fall, he let his pain show.

He and Elain are to be wed in a little over an hour. But deep down he knew he couldn’t go through with it. He tried to end it, but between being sent on last minute missions and Elain celebrating with her friends and sisters, he never found the chance to speak to her about it. He needed more time, he needed a chance to sit alone with his thoughts, he did not want this wedding he knew that as much, but it wasn’t an easy thing to just end.

You were a sensitive topic to bring up around Elain, he never knew why, since he had never once mentioned his feelings to anyone but each time he spoke his emotions about missing you, she would become aggravated and want to change the subject, or climb on top of him to distract him. How was he supposed to claim the reason he can’t be with her was because of you? He didn't want to hurt her either but to fix what he had broken it was a choice he would have to make. Because he has never loved someone as much as he loves you.

He was sitting alone in front of the windows as his body shook with sobs. He felt so stupid, so naïve to have made such mistakes. He had something amazing in front of him the entire time, and he fucked it all up.

There was a knock at the door, his shadows alerting him of his brother standing on the other side. “What do you want, Rhys?” Azriel called out, wiping away the tears from his cheeks. But Rhys let himself into his room, not saying a word until he sat down next to him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your wedding?” Rhys asked, wiping away lint from his jacket.

“I am not going through with it.” Azriel spoke silently.

“Good.” Rhys stated, and Azriel looked at him confused, Rhys continued. “You know I will support you through it all Azriel, but your choices have been quite questionable lately. I know you mean well with Elain, but she is not the one for you brother. She never was.”

“I know that now. I think I’ve always known. It just took some time to see the truth.” Azriel leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm.

“So what are you going to do about it then?”

“I have to find Elain, tell her the truth. Then hopefully Y/N will have the heart to forgive me one day.” Azriel stared up at the ceiling, attempting to keep his tears at bay. His only goal was to gain your forgiveness. He couldn’t even begin to fathom the thought of you rejecting the bond.

“Well it is quite the day to do so, quite dramatic if I may point out.” Rhys gave a lighthearted chuckle, before leaning forward on his legs.

“I wanted to do it earlier but I hadn’t found the time.”

Rhys nodded, a silence falling between them before he spoke again. "I won’t lie, I enjoyed seeing you feel only part of what Y/N has felt for the last couple years.”

“Years? Fuck.” Azriel pondered the reality of it, years you had felt something for him when he had never noticed, he had made you feel such pain for so long, he didn’t deserve another chance with you, he didn’t deserve you at all. You were this light to him, and the darkness of his mistakes suffocated it. “Rhys, how do I take back what I have done? How do I make Y/N believe she is the one I want.” Even if it took years or even decades he would spend his entire life trying to make it up to you.

“Well first I believe you need to end an engagement to my sister-in-law. After that, I believe that is a conversation you need to have with your mate. And pray she gives you another chance.”

Azriel knew those things, but there was still one question sitting on the tip of his tongue. “Where did you send her, Rhys?” Azriel fidgeted with the loose string of fabric on the arm rest.

“Do you promise not to interfere?” Rhys questioned and Azriel nodded. “I sent her back to Windhaven.”

Azriel shot out of his chair. “Windhaven!” He paced back and forth in his room, “With no escort? No protection?”

“You of all people should know Y/N can handle herself brother.” Rhys did not look bothered, and Azriel knew the skills you possessed but if something went wrong and you got hurt, he would never forgive himself. He began walking to the door but Rhys’s voice stopped him. “Where are you headed?”

Azriel didn’t bother to look back at his brother. “I will not interfere, I just need to make sure she is safe.” He opened the door but was immediately greeted by Elain and her sisters. “Elain. Hi.” Azriel forced out, his voice quiet and hoarse.

“We are supposed to be getting married soon, what are you doing sulking around?” Elain bit out, her sister's eyes going wide at the sudden volume of her tone. Azriel sighed. “Is this because of that whore?”

“What?” Azriel looked down at her, anger flashing in his eyes. “What did you just say?”

“Y/N, is this because of her? You heard me correctly.” Elain crossed her arms in front of her chest, with no remorse for her words.

“Elain.” Nesta snapped, but her sister ignored her.

“Were you going to never share the fact that you kissed her or that you wanted to fuck her? Was that information supposed to be a secret?” Elain continued on, and the anger only grew within Azriel, how dare she speak of you in such a way. She had no right to call you such slurs. “We were better off when she wasn’t around. She put a damper on our relationship, we were much happier when she ran off the first time, she should have stayed away.”

“Enough!” Azriel snapped, and Elain stumbled backwards, shocked to see him react in such a way. “You do not speak of her that way, Elain. Y/N did not do anything to impede on our relationship, I was the one that kissed her. Me. She was the one who thought it wasn’t right. Do not spread such lies about her. Now if you don’t mind I need to be on my way.” He pushed past Elain. Nesta and Feyre moved out of his way as he stepped into the hallway, moving further away from his room.

“Do not take another step, Azriel, or the wedding is off.” Elain yelled down the hall. As if were a threat, as if he would continue his life with her after the things she had said.

“Call it off Elain.” He knew what he wanted, and it wasn’t something that involved her anymore. And the one thing he thought would be hard to confront, fell off his tongue with such ease.

“How dare you? After all that we have been through? You would end that for her?” Elain stormed toward him down the hall, he did not move, he would stand his ground, for you and for himself.

“Yes.” He eyed down Elain, shock and hurt across her features. “I have loved her for years Elain, and I thought I lost her when she left, that I would never have a chance to ask for forgiveness and I am sorry I led you on, I am sorry I let it get this far. But she is my purpose, she is the one that holds my heart. So throw your worst at me Elain, scream, curse, hit me for all I care but know nothing is stronger than the love I have for her, my soul yearns for her. Nothing will ever change that. I should have never hidden my feelings for her. I made a mistake and I am truly sorry that it has affected you so, but Y/N is my best friend, my other half and I should have never put her second.” It felt like such a relief to say those words out loud, to finally let the truth free.

“I saw this coming. I knew you would choose her.” She spoke loudly, as if she had always doubted him from the start.

“Then why are you shocked?” He spoke coldly, not afraid of the consequences anymore.

“You bastard.” Elain cursed, raising her hand to slap Azriel across the face, and he stood there, ready to accept it, she could hit him all she would like, but he would not change his mind.

Suddenly a sharp pain flowed throughout his body, like he was just thrown across the room, as if his body was being dragged along sharp rocks. Azriel collapsed onto his knees, bracing himself with his arms as the agony came and went like a gust of wind.

He felt like someone was screaming in his mind, calling out for help, reaching for him, and that thread tugged within his chest, fear and pain rushing down the bond. “Y/N.” He choked out, panic lacing his voice. He was gasping for air, clutching his chest with one hand while the other kept him from collapsing.

“Azriel what is going on, what just happened?” He felt Feyre’s hand on his shoulder. Noticing the small crowd that formed around him.

He looked up toward his high lady, his breathing still rapid. His shadows circled around him, whispering horrid things in his ear. Mate. Hurt. Panic. Injured. Trapped. “Something’s wrong, terribly wrong.” He pulled at the bond, but there was no response, just emptiness. “Y/N is in trouble.” His heart began racing, fear filling his thoughts.

He didn’t wait for a response before disappearing into his shadows, heading directly for Windhaven.

Taglist: @honestlywtfisgoingon @fanfictioniseverything @marina468 @positivewitch @maviee @blurredlamplight @bookslut420 @starswholistenedanddreamsanswered @elle10 @dragonstoneprincess @holywolfsstuff @reiincarnatiion @valeridarkness @feiwelinchen @sv0430 @kennedy-brooke @emturtles @nightcourtwritings @zephyg-06 @chantalleke91 @katherinereid @loulou0101 @shadowsingersmate24 @tcris2020 @shadowsinger-654 @nobody00sthings @lucyysthings @turkishgirlslife @rachelnicolee @mich0731 @tobifeemo @kristeristerin @sinnful-darling @hannzoaks @zoe2 @strangersunghoon @bangtanbecks @juneangel21 @hanatsuki-hime @acourtofmarvels @cmay25 @its-sam-allgood @a-frog-with-a-laptop @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @kazbrkker @sstanbarnes @j-pendragonx @yakoxshadow @whorefortim

#Azriel #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fanfic #shadowsinger x reader #shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #acotar #reader insert #x reader #azriel x you

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heartofwritiing · 10 months

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I don’t deserve you, you deserve the world.

paring: cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader

summary: a very drunk wilbur makes a belated confession to you about how he has be feeling lately.

authors note: I literally had this in my drafts since february and forgot about it XD this is two times I've used lyrics of your sister was right as a fic title ahha! this is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only! hope you enjoyyy

warnings: wilbur has negative thoughts about himself (i love writing sensitive boys lol) alcohol consumption, fluff, pet names, wrote wil as a happy little drunk with mood swings, swearing, short, not proofread, unedited!

Wilbur stumbled through his apartment, leaning on a tipsy Joe, who was trying to not let Wilbur bump into anything.

After another very successful gig, the band decided that going out for drinks to end the night was the best thing to do to blow off the adrenaline.

Wilbur had taken one glance at his drink and thought fuck it, with the way his mindset had been, he needed something to numb his brain, even if it was just for a little while, and downed his first drink in one gulp. Letting the alcohol settle into his system.

One drink turned into three, then four, then by his sixth cup he was ready to fist fight a very amused Ash who had truly hadn’t consumed a single drop of alcohol that night.

You had been sleeping over at Wilbur's tonight. You said you wanted to see him after his show since you could not make it due to personal circumstances, but you would definitely be at the next lovejoy gig. He told you not to sweat about it and told you he wouldn't be home not too long after the performance.

Luckily Ash had messaged you notifying you that Wilbur would be home late due to getting drinks as a post show ritual after-party. You didn't mind, the band was getting more recognition which they deserved. He was so endlessly talented that he should have the right to celebrate the success along with his bandmates. So it was no surprise that around 11:40 pm you heard noises coming from the front room. You crawled out of your comfy position in Wilbur's bed and pushed yourself to the living room.

You then walk in on Joe kneeling over Wilbur who had fallen to the ground and was giggling incoherently about something. Joe had taken one sympathetic look at you and said “he’s all yours” offering Wilbur's hand to you that was clutching his wrist.

You bid goodnight to the boys, You waved to Mark and Ash who watched the interaction from the front doorway. When they shut the door behind them it was just you and Wilbur in in silence.

Glancing down at Wilbur you couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face at his state. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top revealing his skin, and he looked so sleepy you felt so bad. He tried to pull himself off the ground, but he tripped over his feet, nearly causing you to topple over him. Luckily you caught yourself before you could fall.

Wilbur looked up at you his lips had the cutest pout resting on them but he shifted into a dopey grin upon realizing you were holding his hand. He was lifting your connected hands up like he was seeing you for the first time.

"darling! What are you doing here?" his voice was hoarse as he spoke, you knew it was the singing and the exhaustion catching up with him finally.

He must've forgotten in all the mist of the evening that you were staying over. Nonetheless, you didn't blame him, he had a pretty busy night.

Wilbur leans forward to attach himself to your waist, wrapping his free arm around your hip and pressing his face into your tummy. Warmth increased on your face at the gesture. Wilbur pressing so close to you made butterflies burst in your chest, which you didn’t mind at all he was being so clingy.

"I told you I wanted to stay over tonight, remember?" you said gently, carding your fingers through his locks. He hummed almost like a cat purring at your touch, nuzzling you further. "is that okay with you? I can leave?"

"no!" he instantly gripped your waist tighter, not wanting you to leave. "please, stay."

"Okay! I'll stay," You giggle, feeling his arms untighten slightly. "Let's get you into bed, yeah?"

Wilbur nods against your belly, and you pull him to stand up.

“I don’t deserve you..” he mumbled in your ear as he leaned on your for support had you walked to his bedroom. You didn’t quiet catch it you thought he was muttering something incoherent to himself. You shook of the frown

In his bedroom you help him to take off his shoes while he stumbles and almost tips over his feet. He mostly got himself undressed and put on his pajamas, which were just an old band shirt and sweatpants. Both of you crawled into bed with the hopes he would sleep off this drunken high and be his old self again in the morning.

Wilbur was curled into your side pulling you so close under the covers. You ran your hands through his hair as he blinked up at you.

“Darling do you love me?” he asked sincerely.

Your brain did a one-eighty with the tender tone of his voice. From his comment a minute ago to now this, It almost sounded like he had doubts about your feelings. You pulled back from him slightly so you could see him. exhaustion written all over his face.

“Of course I love you bub,” you reassured. “Why would you think I don’t?”

He looked away from you shyly like a kid who had gotten in trouble for doing something they knew was wrong. His hand came up to trace along the bottom of your shirt when it caught attention his eye.

“Well… sometimes I don’t think I'm good enough for you, that I have always not been good, and I'm scared that one day you’ll leave me just like everyone has in my life.”

Your heart sank at his drunken confession, but you could tell it was coming from a place of trueness and insecurity. It completely shattered you to hear this coming from Wilbur. Who was so wonderful and beyond anything you ever hopped for. To hear that he doubted himself and your relationship brought tears to your eyes. Your feelings for him were more than fondness, you loved him with everything you were and you couldn’t let him leave your life. he was your light at the end of the very dark tunnel, and you would just have to show him that.

“I'm too busy with my band, with my streaming, I feel like I neglect you too much, and I want you to have something better than all of this,” his lips slightly quiver. He moves to lower his head and bury it in your chest. However, you stop him with your hands coming up to gently cup around his face, to make him look you in the eyes. His eyes widened and his hands followed yours to grasp your face the same way in his woozy state. It was comical and made you smile at how he was trying to mimic your own action.

“I love you more than anything Wil, you’re so kind, supportive in everything I do, and- I would be so lost without you. I wouldn’t trade you for anyone else. You’re more than enough for me. You’re everything. I would never leave you, not even if you kicked me out of your life I am always gonna be here for you. nothing is ever gonna change that.” You let your heart take over with your words.

Wilburs eyes lit up and gloss over with tears, the contentment of your words hitting him through his senses making him break out into a dopey grin.

“Do you really mean that, love?” he croaks.

You nod.

He lets out a shaky breath and pulls you closer to him until your legs are intertwined.

“I know I'm super drunk right now and probably won’t remember much of this tomorrow but, I love you too, thank you for saying those nice things about me.“

You giggled and pulled him in for a short kiss to seal your own confession.

“I’ll gladly say them again.”

You pampered his face with kisses until he was a bright red giggling mess copying you, delivering even more kisses to your face. Once you finished, the small lamp on the bedside was turned off, and you succumbed to darkness, intertwining your limbs once more to settle down.

Sleep was just about to take over you when Wilburs slurred voice suddenly teased out to you through the dark.

“So what else do you love about me?”

“oh shut up,” you laugh.

Im gonna be starting a new tag list so please commet/reblog if you want to be added!

#wilbur soot x fem!reader #wilbur soot x reader #cc!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur fanfiction #fanfiction #mcyt fanfiction #fanfic #mcyt x reader #cc!wilbur soot x reader #x reader #writing #fluff #drunk headcanon

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asherheed · 2 years

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words, how little they mean, when you're too late

⚘ ‹ chapter index › pt. 1 pt. 2

⚘ ‹ featuring › gojo x reader

⚘ ‹ tags › implied cheating, angst, you deserve better, breaking up, gn!reader

⚘ ‹ word count › 0.774k

⚘ ‹ note › title is from sad beautiful tragic by the wonderful taylor swift. i wrote this because i was feeling very hurt and thought hey what if i make myself sadder lol

You wished he could have told you instead.

You sat on your bed; knees curled up to your chest. You wondered where Gojo was at right now. He was always bad at updating you, even with the effort he tried to show. It seemed like whenever you tried asking him to do things that would assure you of his affection, he’d tell you he’d respect it and do it–but half-ass it in the end.

The same old cycle: he ignores you, you hurt in silence; you beg for reassurance; he promises you the same thing. Rinse and repeat.

You pondered at the idea that hey, maybe, you were the problem. The self-help books and articles you’ve read told you to focus on yourself, and you do; you’ve picked up your old hobbies, tried new ones, and pieced yourself back together when you were dealing with your issues. You tried not to bother him with these things, since he often just says the same thing, and leaves you be.

Today, you didn’t text him. Last night, he’d left you to read and came back to your apartment as dawn was breaking. “Work was busy.” He’d muttered, trying to hold you, then promptly fallen asleep. His arms felt like burning metal on your skin.

Last week, you caught a bruise on his neck when he was drying his hair (“Geto pinched me really hard.”). Three days ago, you noticed faint lines on his back (“My back was really itchy.”). Yesterday, Geto called and said he saw your boyfriend leave with someone. Tonight, there was no communication from Gojo at all.

You pursed your lips and closed your eyes. This life wasn’t real, right? Maybe it was a sick and humorless glitch in the simulation.

It had been like this for two months. You tried not to doubt him. He’d always given you everything you wanted, so surely, he must love you still? Surely, there was no one else?

Your empty lock screen mocked you as the clock ticked to two in the morning. In the past, Gojo would have left work at five and told you he was coming home. You’d be commuting from your job and texting him on the train about the silly things that may have happened during the day, elaborating when you finally see each other.

Now, he would leave for work when he wasn’t supposed to with a chaste kiss on your cheek as you pretended to sleep. When you hear the door to your apartment close, the tears always came right after.

Confronting him was a tiring concept when the signs were screaming at your face to be heard. You wanted to put up a fight, wanted to make a scene, or call him names. You wanted him to hold you and say you will always be the only one, even though the words sound like poison to your ears.

Eyeing your bags by the door, you sighed. The ride to your parents’ house was a long one. You rented a car, so you could get away without a fuss, but you couldn’t seem to push away your optimism that perhaps this was all one big misunderstanding.

Your phone screen lit up, and you felt your heart drop as you read the message.

Gojo: they’re asleep right now, we could try doing it there like you’ve always wanted

Nausea churned in your stomach. You dropped your phone as harsh reality came crashing down on you. You ran to the bathroom. With shaking hands, you gripped the sink as you threw up. The sound of the faucet running filled the room with your breathing. Your chest heaved in effort, your eyes blurring your surroundings, and you thought of his lips on her neck.

Picturing the memory of his smiles, and your love for how it showed his crinkly eyes, you always thought they were yours to see up close forever. You always believed he would be yours forever. Maybe he was never yours for a while.

A sob escaped your lips as your fingers dug further into the sink. You caught sight of your reflection: red-rimmed and tired eyes, tear stains on your cheeks, and the general air of a person whose denial came to murder them in cold blood.

There was nothing left you could do when the elephant in the room had already been revealed to you.

You took one last glance at yourself in the mirror. Stepping outside the bathroom, your phone lit up once more.

Gojo: i love you

You deleted the message, grabbed your bags by the door, and didn’t look back.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #jjk headcanon #gojo satoru headcanon #gojo headcanon #jjk hc #no rainbows just reader questioning their worth and knowing better #slay #ashe.writing

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daegall · 9 months

Text

Bewitched.

pairing: bf!mark x reader

genre: fluff, established relationship!AU, college!AU

warnings: mentions of cheating (a past relationship)

word count: 1.2k words

a/n: happy late mark day!!!!!! our watermelon boy deserves the whole world <3 wrote a little drabble a little too late, so I hope you'll forgive me for that (had a very busy first few weeks of school!!) anw, other than this, i think im gonna start of my spidermark fic!!! (if i get motivation lol) i hope you guys enjoy <3

networks/taglist: @neoturtles @knet-bakery @kflixnet @nct-writers @k-radio + @soobin-chois @markhyuckselca @jaehunnyy @justalildumpling <3

🎧 :: Bewitched (Laufey)

The last time you dated someone was in your junior year of high school, before swearing off boys after the boy you had been with cheated on you. Plus, you needed the extra hours to get ready for all your AP exams and your final year of high school.

But now, you find yourself in your second year of college, and with another guy.

Mark Lee is unlike any guy you've ever met in your whole life. Who could be so human, yet so flawless? He was so raw and was never afraid to show himself to anyone, and god knows he was the one to make the first move. How could you ever, after being date-less for more than 2 years?

Nonetheless, you find your rhythm with him quickly, naturally, everything falling into place as if it's always supposed to be like this.

And here you are, walking in the lonely streets of the city, clock indicating you've been out long after the curfew you had given yourself in the beginning of the year.

Fuck that curfew, because you would trade anything for this moment, laughing at Mark's lame dad joke, bumping your shoulder with his.

It's been so long since you've felt so genuinely happy with someone, someone you could be yourself around and not be scared, someone who could match your energy just as easily.

Mark plays the guitar. He showed you on your second date, when he came back from a tutor session (he teaches kids, for fucks sake! He's perfect!) and was fully willing to play a few songs of your choice. That was the first time you felt fully comfortable with him, and felt okay to be yourself around him.

He likes watermelons. He adores watermelons, more than he should. On a random hang out to the local market, Mark unintentionally charmed up one of the store ladies, running his mouth on and on about how much he loves watermelons, eventually ending up in getting a free watermelon. You found the way he grinned and cradled the watermelon adorable.

Mark takes his time.

'It's better that way, kinda like fermentation, you know?'

You get what he meant just a little bit, but with every moment spent by his side, you completely understand. He takes time to write his songs, even when he gets a surge of inspiration in the middle of the night, staying up until 5 in the morning just for 1 verse.

Another thing he claims he wants to take his time on, is your relationship. He had asked to be your boyfriend about a month into your little situationship, and he does not rush into things.

It's a nice change of pace, you admit. The 2 other guys you had been with both definitely rushed into things very fast, and you felt way too overwhelmed by the speed. With Mark, you don't have to worry. He'll wait for you.

When you had asked him for the reason he would even try waiting, your heart seemed to be plucked from your chest, taken into the warm and (not so) safe hands of Mark Lee.

'The best things are worth waiting for. You're worth waiting for.'

And now here you are, and you want to savor each moment spent next to Mark, taking your time.

He's walking you back to your apartment, after a date to the movies. You barely even paid attention, you really were just there for the popcorn and soda, and maybe just a little cuddle with Mark.

"Thanks for tonight, Mark," You mumble with a smile as you two halt in front of your apartment lobby. He beams at you, grinning.

"Thank you too, Y/n, I really liked tonight,"

He looks absolutely dreamy right now. So cozy with his sweater and baggy jeans, the genuinely smile tugging at his lips, the sparkle in his eyes. You continue to observe him, not wanting to let go of the oddly intimate moment.

He seems to think the exact same thing, reaching out to take your hand in his, swinging it side to side as his gaze shifts from your eyes, to different parts of your face, and back to your eyes.

Mark's thumb stokes across the back of your palm, and it's like a spell, disabling you from taking a single step away from him. He's got you bewitches, and you don't mind one single bit.

Finally, be breaks the spell, tugging you closer to wrap his arms around your waist. Your own automatically circle around his shoulders, hands settling for the hairs on the back of his neck, playing with the strands, just like how he always asks you to do.

"Call me once you get to your room, okay?" He murmurs with a smile, tilting his head to the side. He's got an adoring look on his face, entranced.

"I promise, Mark." You respond, taking one hand back to hold your pinky up, urging him to do the same.

That's exactly what he does, taking his hand off your waist to wrap his pinky around yours gently. "Good."

With one more sway of your intertwined fingers, you pull away, slowly, as if to remember every little detail. "I better go to my room now then, huh?"

"You do that,"

After what seemed like hours, you peel away from each other, parting. There's no sadness, not a single bittersweet smile, because you know he'll be there for you, always. As you will be for him as well.

"Goodnight, Mark!"

He simply waves as he watches you walk away little by little, each step resonating through his ears, along with his heartbeat.

Mark Lee likes to take his time. He's always preached this. But now, as you walk away, it's like his clock quickens a tenfold, and you have a string to his heart, tugging on it.

Before he knows it, Mark's reaching out, jogging slightly, calling out your name. "Y/n!"

You feel confusion flood over you at the sudden call of your name, turning to reply, but you don't even get to. Mark has his arms around you, leaning into you, as his lips place against yours clumsily.

'Take your time,' you've always told yourself. And yet, you don't even waste a second to reciprocate the kiss, head tilting to the side with a sigh.

'Take your time,' Mark remembers saying over and over again. He's wanted to kiss you for months, he's taken his time, and it feels perfect. He knows its perfect as his lips part to deepen the kiss, he knows there's nothing better as his hand cradles your cheek, the other wrapped around your waist.

You know as well, as your knees grow weak, as your lips smile against one another, as he leans in for yet another kiss as you pull away, chuckling into his skin.

And when you pull away, Mark Lee looks even dreamier than before, if it was even possible. He's got a goofy smile on his lips, the lips that had just kissed yours, his eyes shining with nothing but absolute pure love for you.

"Goodnight," He mumbles.

"Goodnight," You echo back, smiling at him. "a-and, thank you,"

Mark chuckles, shaking his head, as he pulls away from you, stroking your cheek one more time. "Hey, can we make this a thing now? Can I get a goodnight kiss every time I walk you back after a date?"

"Go home, Mark! It's late!" You push him away playfully, shooing him away.

"Fine, fine!" He throws his hands up in a surrender. He has an awfully boyish smile on his lips, eyes twinkling with mischief. "We'll see tomorrow, after I take you home after our date, right?"

Mark Lee has you bewitched.

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gretavanfleetposts · 1 year

Text

Make Her Happy

Author's Note: I took way too much melatonin last night and, as I laid there on my death bed this morning, I finally wrote it, Josh unable to make your date so he sends Jake instead, because I love silly little unrealistic situations. This is also unedited because I still can hardly see straight lol like it was A LOT of melatonin. I took it and 20 minutes later realized what I had done and said…fuck. Anyways, idk, enjoy

Content Warnings: fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, overstimulation, penetrative sex (18+ minors do not interact), swearing

Word Count: 6k

You'd spent over an hour preparing Josh's favorite pasta for date night, setting up plates meticulously with pretty napkins folded beside them, drinks already poured as the night grew later and you grew even more antsy for his arrival. You'd hardly had a moment to yourselves with the new album coming out. Josh had been busy and when he wasn't busy, he was exhausted. But he'd promised you a date night and you were going to make the most of it while you still had him under your fingers, frilly blue lingerie tucked away under your clothing and all.

You were giddy with excitement when you heard the doorbell, though Josh didn't usually use the bell. You didn't care though, and as you plated the last of the pasta on his end of the table, nice and hot and ready to be enjoyed, you skipped over to the door to greet your boyfriend.

And, given all of the work you had put into the evening, given all of the excitement you'd felt, even given the way you'd held off on touching yourself last night in favor of letting Josh be the one to get you off, it was entirely understandable that when you flung the door open, your reaction was what is was.

"Oh, you're not Josh."

Jake's face immediately fell from a wide grin to that of a displeased grimace.

"Good to see you, too," he said sarcastically as he pushed past you into your house to shirk off his coat and chelsea boots. "Josh got caught up with his voice coach," he explained as he moved.

You sighed, your disappointment easily showing through your demeanor. You weren't surprised, really. He'd been canceling a lot lately. You understood, of course. Well, you tried anyway. You tried to be the loving, supportive girlfriend no matter what.

Still, it sucked to miss another night with him.

"Guess I'll just put this in Tupperware then," you murmured as you moved to collect the dishes from the dining table.

But Jake stopped you with a quick grab of your wrist as he pried a plate from your hand and set it back down on the table.

"Well hey, now, I haven't eaten," he protested, his look turning into that of a wounded puppy the longer you gave him the glare you'd been sending him.

"It's for Josh," you explained, picking the plate back up again. "He's been talking about it all week, I'll just save it."

But Jake took the plate from your hands once again.

"Well he sent me to…fill in. So by that rule, you have to share."

"What do you mean 'fill in'?" you asked cautiously, your hesitation growing as that look in his eyes did, a look that somehow suggested he was up to something. The twins were up to something. That was never good.

"He knows he's been very hit or miss lately," he shrugged. "He didn't want to stand you up again. 'Make her happy,' he said."

You scoffed at him despite the way he almost looked like he genuinely wanted to eat dinner with you.

"That's ridiculous, I am happy."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, thank you," you said a bit more sternly before adding, for good measure, "I don't need a filler."

You'd eat alone, like you did every other night he'd had to cancel. You'd put on the TV and knit or read a book alone, too. And then you'd go to bed alone and let your vibrator do the work you really wanted Josh to do. It was fine. You understood.

"So you're going to let all of this work go to waste yet again? How many times has he done this this month?"

You didn't answer, mostly because Jake didn't need to hear it, didn't need the satisfaction that no, you really didn't want to spend another night alone. But God, you didn't. You wanted someone to eat with you, someone to curl up on the couch with you, someone to touch you. No, not someone. You wanted Josh.

You sighed as you dropped your gaze to your feet. "I know he's busy. It'll be better once the album is out."

"Such an understanding girlfriend," he answered in a mocking tone, earning an eye roll from you.

"Okay well if he really sent you, why didn't he text me first to at least ask?"

For all you knew, Josh had let Jake know he'd be late and Jake had decided to swoop in and save the day. Not that you really thought he'd do that but still.

"Have you checked your phone?"

"Of course I've-" you started before realizing your phone had been charging in another room while dinner had been cooked. You hadn't in fact checked it in a while though you weren't entirely sure it had made any noise either in that time.

Holding up a finger to Jake silently, you retreated from the room to find your phone, sitting there on its charger with 100% battery and a single text from Josh that you had clearly missed.

"Can't make it tonight. I'm sorry, love. Let Jake keep you company tonight. And then I'll make it up to you. I promise."

Surely that didn't mean…

No, why would it? It was ridiculous to think Josh meant anything other than let Jake have dinner with you. Were you really that desperate that you hoped there was another meaning?

You met Jake in the other room where he still stood, only now with a wide, smug grin plastered across his face as you gave him a conceding look without ever admitting you had in fact gotten a text from Josh.

"Fine. But dinner only," you relented. "Then you can go home and I can go to bed."

With my vibrator, you finished the sentence silently.

You were pent up, to say the least. But you could fake a date with Jake for an hour or two. Surely you could.

"Dinner only," he agreed with a smile that suggested it would not just be dinner only.

Okay, maybe you couldn't.

—

Admittedly, you'd hoped that by the time dinner was finished, he would excuse himself for the night. But he didn't, and after helping you stack dishes into the sink to be washed some other time, he took your hands in his and pulled you into him with a hum, a makeshift song for you to dance to in the kitchen. And any other night, you might have twirled with your boyfriend's brother in your kitchen, might have even giggled when he accidentally stepped on your toes, but you were aching for a moment alone to relieve yourself of the tension that had been building in your body when you had thought you'd be spending the night with Josh. And his hands.

"Jake, I don't want to dance," you groaned as you resisted his attempts like a spoiled child not getting what she wanted.

"Oh come on, this cannot be all you do on date night with him," Jake pushed back, refusing to let your wrists drop from his hands.

"It's not, I just-" you started but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

"Okay well, if it's not then you have to do with me whatever you'd do with him. I'm the substitute tonight. His orders were don't let the date fall through."

You ignored the feeling that sprang up deep inside your stomach at the implication that Jake would do whatever it is you usually did with Josh.

"Since when do you listen to him anyway?" you groaned again, still tugging helplessly at your wrists.

Was Jake strong? Oh god, stop thinking.

"Since I was sent to make his girlfriend's night not shit," he corrected you in a stern voice that almost sounded frustrated but more than anything, sounded adamant.

And you couldn't help but sigh and stop the struggle you were putting up as your shoulders fell.

So you weren't getting a moment alone. Not for a while, at least. That's okay. You'd waited a few days to get off with Josh already, what was a few more hours?

God. Hours.

"Okay, okay, fine," you relented, not doing much to hide your disappointment although Jake seemed satisfied as he gave you a soft, "Good," and let your hands fall.

"Now what do you usually do after dinner?"

Well, that was a bit tricky.

We usually do what I've been wanting to do all night.

You couldn't say that though.

"Well, usually we…" you started, trailing off and hoping he'd find the rest of the sentence in the silence. But clearly, he didn't. Or maybe he just wanted to hear you say it out loud. That was probably it, the smug bastard.

"I'm listening," he said as he cocked an eyebrow.

"Usually we…ya know…" you started and trailed off yet again, lifting your shoulders to mimic the way your eyebrows moved in insinuation.

He made a face back, covering the amused look he had in his eyes. "God, on a full stomach?"

"I don't need your judgment," you snapped back, your mood declining the longer you were denied an orgasm.

"Alright, alright," he backtracked, "and then what after?"

You shrugged. "And then sometimes we watch a movie, sometimes we just talk, sometimes we play a game. Just depends on…stuff."

You knew what you meant by stuff and it seemed he knew what you meant by stuff too because he nodded and suddenly the stark amusement was back, flooding his stupid, beautiful face just like it did his twin, though on much rarer occasion.

"Okay well, I'm more of a sex before dinner type of guy but I guess we can switch the order. Movie first though, you don't eat pasta before running a marathon."

Surely he was kidding. Although, it didn't really seem like he was kidding. Still, the stunned silence on your face earned a laugh from him, utterly pleased with himself as it were, and he dragged you into the living room, choosing to ignore your silence to keep the night going as best he could.

Silence was probably better than the disgustingly horny thoughts that suddenly filled your mind at the thought of Jake filling his brother's role in that way. His hands holding your hips, his mouth against your skin, his cock-

No, silence was definitely better.

"What movie?" Jake's voice shook you from your string of filthy thoughts as he flipped through Netflix titles carelessly, remote in hand.

"Um, it was Josh's night to pick so I guess that means you get to pick," you answered meekly as you found the corner of the couch and snuggled up with the pillow, trying to be discrete as you squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to put yourself out of your misery, even just a little bit.

"Fair enough," he answered in a low voice, navigating to one of his favorite movies, a documentary about pirates that thankfully was only an hour long.

You could suffer for another hour.

But as the opening credits came rolling across the screen, he pulled a blanket from his corner of the couch and gestured you over to him with a wave of his hand.

"Come on, I won't bite."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his choice of words.

"I'm not entirely sure I believe that."

He gave you a laugh back as he lifted the blanket for your approaching body and let it settle over top of you, pulling you into his side easily with one arm.

"Well, I guess if date night usually includes biting," he mused, turning his eyes back to the screen.

"Sometimes it does," you shrugged against him as you got cozy.

Maybe it wouldn't be an hour of suffering. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad at all. Although, the heat from his skin left you almost dizzy as you curled up next to him.

Pirates. Just focus on the pirates.

"I am sorry he's not here," Jake's voice caught your attention again. "And I know he is too."

You already knew Josh was likely beside himself over the fact that he had missed yet another date. And you weren't angry. Sexually frustrated? Sure. But not angry.

"It's okay," you sighed. "Thank you for coming. I do appreciate it."

"Yeah, of course."

When the movie ended an hour later, Jake shut the TV off, leaving you both alone in silence and now, in the dark, leaving to think back to Josh's text about Jake keeping you company and then Jake's more forward comments about pasta and marathons.

"I'm gonna go clean up from dinner," you said as you cleared your throat and pried yourself away from Jake's body heat to stand and head toward the kitchen. But Jake stood after you.

"I can do that," he offered in a soft tone, adding after a much huskier, "Later."

You were almost afraid to ask.

"Later?"

He nodded with a thin smile on his lips and eyes that drooped a little more toward the bedroom-y end of the spectrum. Not that he didn't almost always have 'fuck me' eyes. That was a trait the three brothers shared.

"Yes, after you're asleep."

After I'm asleep. Are you planning on soothing me to sleep, Jake?

"Didn't realize you were planning on staying that long," was all you said back, trying desperately to shove the thought of your aching center from your mind and act like you were perfectly fine, nothing was wrong, you weren't hoping Josh was letting you do what Jake looked like he was planning on doing regardless.

"Well, I think we've missed one crucial part of the night," he gave you a shrug back. So nonchalant. But then his eyes turned a little bit darker and you saw every intention behind them. "And I don't plan to miss out on any part of date night."

You weren't sure if the scoff you meant to give him had happened out loud or in your head.

"You're not serious."

"I am very serious," he nodded. "Josh said-"

"There's no way he meant-"

"You want to read that text again?"

You were silent for a pause, knowing his text was inconspicuous and you were likely just looking for any green light to act on your more horny of feelings, before you gave him a shake of your head.

"Okay but surely that's not what he meant. I mean, I'm not going to have sex with you, Jake. I can't have sex with you."

You weren't entirely sure you were saying it for him though surely that didn't hurt.

"Why not?" was all he asked back.

You were incredulous at the question. "Why not? Why not? Do you hear yourself right now?"

"You wanna call him and ask?"

"No, I'm not going to call him and ask!"

Finally Jake rolled his eyes and pulled his phone from his pocket, clicking around a few moments before handing it to you, outstretched with a text exchange between him and his twin open on the screen.

"Here."

"Missing our date again. Can't make it out of the studio. I hate the idea of her there alone, eating the pasta I asked for by herself yet again."

"Want me to go eat it for you?"

"Will you? I just don't want to disappoint her again. I don't want her to be alone."

"Yeah, I'll fill in"

"I'm giving you permission to give her the whole date experience, just this once. Just please make her happy."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I've seen the way you look at her. I'm not an idiot. Just this once."

As you finished reading through the text messages, you couldn't deny the feeling of anticipation building again the way it had when you'd heard the knock on the door earlier in the night, thinking it was Josh.

You and Josh hadn't touched each other in a while, hadn't really found a moment between the busy schedule of being in a band and the exhaustion that seemed to follow him those days. And you really were desperate for the touch of another person, although it was hardly desperation that would lead you into Jake's arms.

You watched as he put his phone back in his pocket and stood with a waiting look, waiting for either a quiet yes or a very loud no, probably.

He could take care of you. Maybe not as well as Josh can but, guitar fingers, and all…

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this," you sighed as you shook your head, really stunned that it was happening at all, feeling even more riled up now that you knew it wouldn't just be you and your vibrator yet again.

But Jake wasn't stunned though, rather, he was pleased, and you eyed him carefully as a wide smile spread across his lips.

"Is that a yes? Are you gonna let me make you happy?"

You took a deep breath, a very deep breath, before you finally nodded, moisture already pooling between your legs quite shamelessly.

"That's…that's a yes."

It seemed impossible that his smile could grow even wider, but grow it did at your consent.

"Well shit now I'm nervous," he mused as he stepped toward you and took your waist in his hands to pull you into him without so much as letting you warm up to the idea.

But you gave him an eye roll knowing he was full of shit and hoping it hid your own nerves.

"No you're not," you answered back in a voice much closer to a whisper despite your best efforts not to let the nerves show in your voice.

"No, I'm not," he repeated with a devilish grin, and suddenly your heart was practically leaping out of your chest. "This isn't going to be very Josh-like," he said again, lifting one hand to your neck to let his thumb push your jaw up and angle your face toward him.

"I wouldn't expect it to be," you said in a whisper back, your voice already failing you, it seemed.

"I just need you to do one thing for me."

"What's that?"

"Let yourself relax," he smiled, probably smug due to the way you were practically melting in his hands already. "It'll be easier for me to make you feel good if you do."

You felt a knot form in your throat at his words, 'make you feel good', and you gulped it down.

"I don't know if I can," you admitted, your eyes locked to his as your breathing came faster in the background.

"Just breathe. I'm just here to make you happy," he smiled again as he dipped his face low to press his lips to your collarbone, earning a sharp gasp and the opposite of his order to breathe as he did so.

The feeling was immediate, the need, the pure ache. You wanted him to touch you, you wanted more, you wanted his hands and his lips all over your body. You needed him to help you come.

"I'll go slow, I promise," he assured you as he pulled you by the waist harder into his body, his lips growing feverish as they kissed along your skin up the side of your neck and along your jaw. "Ease you into it," he mumbled.

God, I don't want to go slow. Please don't make me go slow.

Your body practically cried out for him, for his touch. It was entirely different than Josh's. He felt entirely different than Josh. But it was breathtaking nonetheless, made all the better by the feeling that it was something you weren't supposed to have, like a deep sin that made your mouth water.

"What if I don't want you to go slow?" you breathed out in between the movements of his lips scrambling every coherent thought in your brain and he pulled back with a smile on his lips and a chuckle on his tongue.

"Then I'll go as fast as you want me, baby."

With that, he delved his hands into your hair and brought your face to his, kissing you hard and practically short-circuiting your brain in the process.

Oh god, he was good at that.

Never breaking the kiss, his hands searched blindly along the path to your bedroom, saving you from bumping into a few things along the way, before his hands finally got busy stripping you of your clothes when you reached the destination.

You might have been embarrassed, too, being seen by your boyfriend's twin naked for the first time, if it hadn't been for the desperation you'd been feeling for days now drawing you to him and his touch without shame. And once your clothes were happily scattered along your bedroom floor, he connected your lips yet again and backed you up against the nearest wall where your head hit with a thud, the pain absolutely nothing compared to the electric pleasure it sent jolting through your body.

There, with you against the wall, he silently sank to his knees, lifting your leg gently up over his shoulder as he came eye-level with your heat.

Fuck, yes, put your mouth on me. A tongue is so much better than a toy.

You were afraid to look down at him, afraid you'd remember it was Jake there instead of Josh and suddenly freak out before you got what it was you wanted. So instead, you fixed your eyes to the wall opposite you and didn't dare stop him as he dove between your legs, flicking his tongue across your aching, throbbing clit.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, your hands immediately moving to grab at his hair.

It was harder to grab than Josh's but just as easy to pull.

Your hips sought friction along his face as he ate you with fervency, his tongue taking turns flicking your clit and rolling it on the tip of his tongue and delving into you to taste you better.

And Jake's tongue was good but Josh's tongue was better. But when it came to fingers though, it was the exact opposite, evident in the almost pornographic moan that slurred from your lips as Jake prodded a finger into you and began to pump while his lips wrapped around your clit to suck.

"Holy shit, that feels good, don't stop," you breathed out like it was A singular word as your leg still up around his shoulder clamped down tighter, drawing him closer to you and keeping him there.

He only hummed against you, lapping at your clit like he was starved as he continued to curl his finger to brush against your g-spot like he'd had no trouble finding it, soon adding another finger to the mix as he worked to relieve you of the tension that had wound so tightly over the course of, well, the last month really.

You shamelessly ground against his face, writhing against the wall, making sounds louder than you would have thought in his hands. You'd be embarrassed when he came up for air but for now, your focus was tunneling in on one thing and one thing only, the thing you'd been needing since before he'd set foot in your home: the orgasm about to tear through your body and release itself on his tongue.

The wet sound of his tongue lapping at your center was obscene but it only spurred forward your pleasure as the first waves of your orgasm began to roll through you and an ungodly noise escaped your lips like a cry.

God, it felt good to come undone at someone else's hands other than your own, especially Jake's very skilled ones.

He worked you through it diligently, lapping it up until you were so sensitive, your hands pushed his face away and you squirmed against the wall. But Jake didn't stop his movements, didn't even slow them.

"Oh god, Jake, please, too much," you pleaded with him as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you.

He seemed almost to press his lips harder against you, seemed to suck your clit harder as you writhe and struggled to see straight, struggled to stand straight.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," you whispered as your vision began to go blurry, and suddenly overstimulation threatened to turn into another orgasm, a little more dull but still breathtakingly pleasurable as it approached out of almost nowhere.

He kept going to push you through it despite your body trying to retreat from the feeling. And with your fingers unable to find any purchase against the smooth wall, you held onto his head for dear life to keep your legs from buckling.

And then the second one hit you, taking every bit of air from your lungs as it did. You were pretty sure you were hurting him, too, with the way you grabbed at his hair and pulled, but you didn't really care and he didn't seem to care because he worked you through it with his fingers, licking around the sensitive bundle of nerves instead of directly over it as his fingers curled and grazed that spot with a slower rhythm until he stopped altogether and stood to his feet, catching you against him before your legs had the opportunity to give out.

"Those fucking noises," he whispered into you hair as he gave you a minute to breathe and regain your strength.

Only a minute though.

With his hands in your hair again, he pulled your head back to look at him, taking in the way your face flushed and the drained look you were already wearing with a pleased smile.

"I need you to stand for me, okay? Just a little longer," he asked in a soft voice that could have killed you, really. Like he was pleading with you to be good for him just a little longer.

And God, did you want to be good for him just a little bit longer.

With a nod of agreement, he walked you back toward the bed.

"Good, turn around and put your hands on the bed."

You did as you were told even though your legs were absolutely shaking and you weren't entirely sure how long you'd be able to maintain the position.

But then you felt the heat of his skin behind you, the rock hard feeling of his erection pressed against the back of your leg, and you no longer cared about the burn. It didn't even register in your mind.

"Tell me if I'm too rough, okay?" he asked in a whisper against your ear as he leaned over you one last time.

Please be too rough.

"Yes, sir," you whispered back, something you'd never said in bed before since Josh wasn't really the type but something Jake seemed to utterly enjoy judging by the way his cock twitched against your thigh.

"Ooh, I like that," he answered, a smile palpable in his voice as he straightened.

From behind you, you heard the work of him pulling a condom out of somewhere, probably his wallet in his discarded jeans, and you waited as patiently as you were capable of for him to wrap it around himself and line himself up with your entrance. Not that patient, truthfully, as you stood there practically presenting yourself to him, pushing back against nothing until finally it was him there.

"Such a good girl, falling in line for me so easily," he dropped his sweeter demeanor in favor of one a little bit cocky for your taste.

Not that you weren't falling in line very easily for him.

But every thought in your head flooded out the window as he pushed into you, one long, languid thrust to the hilt that had you moaning at the feeling, the strength of your arms being tested under the weight of dizzying pleasure.

"I think you secretly wanted this the moment I showed up. I think you like being a little slut," he grunted as he withdrew and gave you another sharp thrust.

"Yes, fuck, I wanted it," you admitted. Really anything just to spur him on.

"What was that?" he asked in a growl, his hands grabbing your hips and holding you down on his cock as you clenched around him.

"I wanted it, sir," you corrected yourself in the sweetest voice you could manage.

It seemed to please.

"There it is," he muttered as he rewarded you instantly with a threatening pace.

It was wholly different than being with Josh, the way he spoke, the way his teeth clenched as he fucked you like he was trying not to spill inside of you already. He was a lot rougher although there was still something gentle in the way his hands wrapped around your hips and guided you back to meet his thrusts, even if his words were far from gentle.

"Fuck, you are tight," he mumbled to himself before raising his voice to speak to you again. "I wanna hear you. I wanna hear you beg for my cock. Beg me for more."

He really didn't have to ask twice.

"Please, Jake, more, keep going. Your cock feels so fucking good inside of me but I need more. I need it harder," you begged, practically sobbed, totally unaware that you had called him Jake and not sir.

But he had caught it.

"Fuck, that was almost perfect, baby," he said with a frustrated tone as he halted his movements suddenly, begrudgingly.

"Fuck! No, I meant sir, please, sir, don't stop," you begged as you realized your mistake, your hips wiggling to try and do the work yourself, to try and coax him back into fucking you.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," he answered, breathing already labored despite the fact that he was still very much in control of the situation.

You were doing the work yourself, pushing your hips back onto his, but there wasn't much power behind it and it left you wanting more, desperate to come again even though you had twice before.

"Please, sir, fuck me harder, please," you tried again, saying anything you could think of that might have ignited some mercy in him. "I need to feel your cock filling me up, I need to come all over it, sir."

And finally, he lifted you into a stand by your hair, just to whisper into your ear, "See? That's how you get what you fucking want," before dropping you back down onto the mattress and thrusting into you so hard that you had no time to regain your stance as he fucked you face first into the mattress, using it as an opportunity to get better leverage to push into you.

You were fairly certain you were leaving the planet, fairly certain you were ascending to something higher, practically drunk on his cock and his words, his fucking words. And the flow of obscenities and unholy noises on your tongue came freely, uninhibited as he fucked you into an almost mindless state.

"Is this what you want, you little slut? You want me to fuck you into the mattress like this?"

"Yes, sir, just like that, just like that." It was broken sobs more than words as your eyes began to water.

Josh didn't fuck you like this and while you didn't need it to be a regular thing, it felt good to be had like this after the frustration of not seeing your boyfriend yet again. It felt good to be taken care of.

It felt good to just be railed, really.

His hand splayed flat on your back between your shoulder blades, keeping you pressed into the mattress, which was probably a good thing as it muffled your cries, and with your legs shaking and your ass still presented to him, he angled up to hit your g-spot better, harder, doing most of the work now to keep you standing.

You were going to come, it wasn't really a choice. It was going to tear through you without any mercy if he kept doing what he was doing and saying what he was saying.

"You gonna remember the way this feels? You gonna remember how it felt being drunk on my cock when you're alone with your fingers inside of you and a toy pressed to your needy little clit?"

I'm going to think about it almost every day.

You couldn't even form words as your eyes began to roll and pleasure began to take over.

"Yeah, I think you are," he grunted in smug satisfaction.

"Sir, I'm gonna come," you sobbed suddenly, not entirely sure if you'd need permission but not wanting to risk it just in case.

You desperately needed to come around him, you needed it more than you needed air in your lungs.

"Not unless you ask fucking nicely, you're not," he growled, hips still snapping hard up into yours, even as his rhythm began to falter.

It was hard to form words but you did your best to find something that would satisfy him. The truth, as it turned out.

"Please, sir, can I come? Can I please come on your cock, sir? I want it so badly, so fucking badly," you begged as you cried through the pleasure.

"Well shit," was all he said for a second as he pounded into you like he was going to come himself.

But then finally, he seemed to regain himself and he tangled his hand in your hair to pull you back onto his cock with even more force.

"Come for me, baby, come all over my cock. Make a mess of it."

It was all you needed to come screaming his name into the mattress as he released inside of you with an unholy sound that you'd remember until the day you died.

His movements were choppy that time as he worked you through it, milking himself at the same time before he finally pulled out and left you standing there, legs like jello as he took a step back to admire his work.

"Now that's a fucking sight," he whispered to himself.

And then he was there helping you stand and carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

"I didn't break you, did I?" he asked as he set you down in the bathroom and began wiping you off with warm water.

"No, no, I'm-I'm good," you answered, voice still just as shaky as your legs.

It made him laugh.

"Little bit rougher-"

"Little bit rougher than-yeah," you nodded, absolutely out of breath.

A lot rougher than Josh.

Interesting.

"Let me get you to bed," he said finally as he finished with you and himself, helping you back to the bed you'd come from.

"There's no part of date night that I missed, is there?" he asked as he tucked you snugly beneath the covers, into the warmth of relief from the tension, finally.

"Well, Josh usually stays with me," you gave a light smile and he laughed again before nodding.

"Of course," he whispered as he climbed into bed next to you, keeping a bit of distance between you but not arguing when you practically burrowed into his side.

Just for the night.

"I know this is never happening again," he started after a beat of silence, "but for what it's worth, I'll be thinking about it for a very long time."

It was your turn to laugh and though you agreed, you didn't admit it.

"Thank you, Jake," was all you said. "Thank you for a good date night."

When you woke, it was Josh next to you instead of his twin. And in the sleepy haze of early morning, you stared up at him, the beautiful boy sleeping peacefully, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself as you drifted back to sleep.

#jake kiszka #gvf #greta van fleet #gretavanfleet #greta van fic #greta van fleet fic #fic #greta van fleet smut #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #josh kiszka #josh kiszka fic

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devourers-of-god · 2 months

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Hii :D

for first i wanted to say that i love your blog and the way you describe the characters!

can i request HC of the characters on valentine's day? if you don't want to do it to everyone, it could be just Travis and Sal. i'll let you decide there, take as much time as you want and if you don't want to do it, everything is fine. (i hope i wrote it well, it's a bit difficult for me to write in english)

HIII! thank you so much for the compliments it is very heart warming :( SOrry im late about your request HAHAH I will indeed do Sal and Travis only,,, you know me so well anon ,,, You wrote everything perfectly !! I couldn't have guessed if you didn't tell me :) ILY REQUESTS ARE OPEN PEOPLE! LOOK ALIVE! /ref but plz everyone, read my carrd In my bio before submitting.. its upsetting to see asks that doesn't meet my rules...

SAL AND TRAVIS ON VALENTINES DAY

Type : Headcanons

Warnings: None! Mostly Fluff sorry y'all I don't write nsfw

SAL

= Sal prepared some things for you by the gentle help of Ashley, because sal didn't know how to please you and Ash is your best friend.

= I think Sal would make you a valentines boo basket like the ones you see on TikTok. Filled with your favourite chocolates and CDS, cute slippers, horror movie blanket, jewelry and some surprises connected to your interests.

= He would come by your apartment/house and wear ''clean clothes'' ( Jeans he washed the night before and his favourite shirt lol), with his nails freshly painted of a beautiful black colour.

= He also brought movies to watch, romantic ones you say? Hell nah this Sal Fisher, he brought horror movies that you would enjoy.

= You were so happy by his gifts that you jumped right into his arms and dragged him into your room, he cuddled and kissed you A BUNCH because boy was he happy his partner liked what he bought them. He filled your entire face with kisses, when Sal started he couldn't stop.

= After all the affection was received, you two were stuck on the couch, under your new blanket, cuddling and watching movies. For the occasion Sal took off his mask, only if no one was there that day, which made you very happy and flustered to see your lover's face after a long day.

TRAVIS (ARGHBHHH EEEK ^0^DNWAODNSNF)

= Travis already struggles with showing affection, it was very hard to warp his mind around celebrating for the first time in his life Valentines day with his boyfriend.

= He also had to ask Ashley because she's your best friend after all, she recommended following his heart and doing something classic to not stress him too much. And that he did!

= My sweet boy put on a suit for you and bought flowers, not just any flowers tho, Travis believe in flower language. Which is that every single flower has a different meaning when given. He carefully chose Daisies (I truly love you), Red Carnation (My heart aches for you), Honey Suckles (Devoted affection) and lastly, Salvia Red (forever mine). Yes he could've chosen classic roses but he felt like you might think that he didn't put in any effort.

= This boy is an hopeless romantic and decided to write you a letter about his true feelings since he was so bad at expressing them in front of you, words couldn't leave his mouth but they were flowing with the help of his fountain pen.

= He then picked up gourmet chocolates, a bit expensive but he thought it would make you happy. Ashley suggested that he makes a mixtape of your favourite songs on a cassette since you had a walkman. He made 2 mixtapes, one of your favourites and the other one is songs that reminds him of you.

= He showed up to your door in the evening and your jaw dropped, seeing your boyfriend in a suit made you feel things you've never felt before. He felt super happy by your reaction and the letter was so profound it made you cry. You also knew flower language and you were basically bawling because of the effort (and money) he spent on you.

OKAY DONE ! you guys can see that I prefer travis over sal oops,,, I hope everyone still loved it! plz plz plz send me things because im desperate.... I love you all guys.......

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pedgito · 1 year

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Enjolras grabbing you and holding you up against a wall for a quick fuck super dirty just shoving clothes aside panting into your neck

author’s note: i realize writing for enjolras can be a tricky but to anyone seeing this and not agreeing with the way i wrote it, don’t bother me, because frankly i don’t care lol. anyways, that being said, to those of you that do read this, i hope you enjoy!

cw: 18+ (minors dni), bbc!enjolras, fem!reader, canon divergence, unprotected sex, semi-public but clothed, mentions of drinking, this was literally just a reason to write for enjolras to see how people liked it/how i would enjoy writing him, so if it flops, this didn’t happen. if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 2.6k

You’d wasted nearly a month of your time infiltrating their rebellion under your father’s order—and it had been going well, not a single hendrence in your plans until a very unfortunate night, on the precipice of courageous attack being led by Enjolras himself, speaking out in a boastful manner to his people at these sacred meetings—it gave many hope that things could change, that they had a fighting chance. In your eyes, it was all lies. You came from the other side, experienced how they lived, the power they had—it was a battle he was going to lose regardless of how passionate he was for it. He was outnumbered, easy to outsmart, and despite his passion for the cause, he was blinded by it.

You felt sympathy, it was why you were able to fit yourself in so easily, so well—he never questioned your intentions for a second, swearing by the look of determination in your eye, your willingness to throw out ideas, boost the morale—but if there was one thing about him, it was that he knew just the right things to say, even to the people who didn’t believe it. He was great at convincing people to believe lies, acting like he had the answer to everything and everyone’s problems.

It would be easier if there wasn’t a war at all, but it seemed like the only way to solve issues now, fight first and solve things later.

The first night you end up alone with him isn’t intentional. It’s a late night at the bar, your tired figure nestled up in a chair in a dark corner of the room, Enjolras nursing his drink from the other end, watching as his friends parted ways. You had a bed to sleep in, a lavish home to keep you safe, but you wanted nothing more than to be away from that, if even for just a moment.

Enjolras tells you of his background, how he grew up, why he cared about the things that he did—and it made you realize that under all his anger and crazed acts, he was a lot like you. If not, he was more sure of himself than you. You were lost, fighting between right and wrong and only doing what your father had ordered, but you could feel it in your bones—this wasn’t right.

They had every reason to fight against the more fortunate; the richer, arrogant, mindless people running the show—they were all just as horrible as everyone assumed and you’d seen it firsthand.

Your backstory is simple—you came from nothing, were nothing, and you were tired of living that way. You’ve practiced it for weeks, making it all seem as believable as possible. He believes it, at least, he acts like he does.

From that point on, and the weeks follow, Enjolras turns to you every night, both of you staying later than necessary to talk about the day and complain about nonsense, sometimes sitting in the silence, listening to the other conversations in the establishment, watching as Enjolras separated the food on his plate, sharing with you.

You never went hungry, not when you were being served several course meals most nights, but you played along anyways.

Enjolras is dedicated to the cause with an obscured ambition and it feels like maybe you won’t be able to break-through to him, relying on the fact that maybe you could seduce him enough to have him slip-up, even the smallest tidbit of information.

Your father was growing angry, more and more upset that you were coming home empty-handed.

Until another night leads to several drinks, Enjolras leaning over you as he grabbed for the liquor, a sated smile pasted over his face. He didn’t smile often, not genuinely, but it was mesmerizing nonetheless.

“Darling, you’re going to clean this place out, you know?” He comments, voice thick as he swallowed the bitter alcohol.

“Must you insult me like that?” You tease, “I am a lady, after all.”

Enjolras gives you a look, one that’s calling your bluff outright.

“I am,” You squeak, shoving him away playfully, “Shall I prove it?”

Enjolras tilts his head slightly, considering it.

“I’m not being serious.” You tell him before he can answer.

“Yes, darling. I’m aware.” He tells you, “It does not make the idea any less intriguing though, I must admit.”

You snort softly, grabbing at your peacoat and shrugging it over your shoulders, “I think you’re at your limits, Enjolras.”

He peers at the bottle, holding it up to shine under the light, only enough for a small sip left in the bottle. He still seemed as sturdy as a rock, just more relaxed, less worrisome.

“I think you are right.” He agrees with a giddy laugh, pressing the bottle back against the table, the uneven weight of it causing the glass to rock, rattling to a stop. “Leaving already?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” You tell him, rising from your seat. It doesn’t take him more than a second to grab your hand, fingers pressed gently against your ring and middle, an unthought attempt to stop you. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Tomorrow.” He tells you simply, eyes unnerving as he glances toward the floor, around the room, before landing back on you.

“Where?” You inquire, knowing full well what he meant.

“Outside the wine shop, if things go south.”

It was the piece of information you so desperately needed, giving the other side even more of a fighting chance—your face fell slightly, nodding in response as you shrugged your hand away.

“Sleep well, Enjolras.” You tell him before fleeing without another word, disregarding the few goodbyes you receive, feet carrying you faster than you can manage yourself, stumbling over your feet as you round the corner outside the bar, disappearing down a dark alley.

You take a long breath, body relaxed as you feel the weight drift from your chest, removing the coat you had shrugged on as you felt hot, overheated, throwing it to the ground angrily.

“Running home to daddy, I assume?” His voice travels like an echo down the long, dark alley.

Your hand clutches over your chest, heart feeling like it’s going to burst. You muffle the scream with your other hand, staring at the dark figure as it approaches—his face was cold, eerily void of emotion.

“Enjolras, please.” You beg, knowing there was no using in lying. If he knew, he’d known for a while.

He huffs a vindicte laugh, pulling uncomfortably at the right ascot around his neck. “Is that where you go every night?”

“Enjolras, you do not understand.” You ignore his question, trying to level with him.

“I believe I do, darling.” He responds tensely, “How would he feel knowing you’ve been fraternizing so closely with the enemy? I thought it was all business with you monarchy people.”

“Wouldn’t you know?” You retort, “You are no different—only because you’re fighting against them you think that makes you better? You come from the same life that I do, do not try and belittle me.”

“So that, back there, that was only an act?”

The flirting, he means. You’d never considered he cared, giving his unwavering attention to his own cause, you didn’t think he cared that much. But clearly, you were wrong.

“Isn’t all of it?” You retort.

“You tell me, darling.” Enjolras challenges, taking a brave step forward, forcing you to stumble back against the wall. “Are you really going to allow all of these lives to be lost? Are you going to run back home and tell him everything?”

You shove him away weakly, eyes glaring harshly.

“It is no business of yours, Enjolras.” You tell him firmly, “Give this up, come fight with us—you’re on the side that has no chance, you do realize?”

“Are you trying to convince me?” He asks, “My love, you must try harder.”

“You’re infuriating.” You complain, “Your voice, your attitude—I'd rather hinder my hearing if that meant not having to listen to your voice again.”

It’s not the route he’s expecting you to take, but two can play at that game. The frustration was building, boiling over, and he could see it in the way your body canted toward him inconspicuously, despite your vile words.

His touch ghosts over your hip, pulling at the shirt tucked loosely in your britches, squeezing at the soft skin.

“Likewise.” He agrees, watching as you rested your hand against the him of his trousers, traveling up his dirtied shirt, over his vest, pulling at the ascot until it came loose. “Now, let us see if I can change your mind, yes?”

Enjolras gently yanks the red material of his ascot from your hands, taking his time as he wraps it around your head, knot settling between your teeth as you bite down, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Not a word,” He warns, “Understood?”

You roll your eyes in annoyance, letting him shift you until your front is pressed against the brick wall, his hands sifting through the layers of clothing shared between you both until he’s free enough that he can fist his cock, the hard ridge of it pressed against the curve of your ass, his hands squeezing soft at the flesh of your thigh, traveling up enough to tap against the innermost flesh, motioning for you to spread your legs slightly.

His calloused fingers drag over your folds, finding their way to the center and covering his fingers in your slick, moan muffled around the soft fabric shoved into your mouth.

“They’re probably worried sick,” Enjolras comments, “wondering where you are, if you’re hurt—if they only knew.”

You make a noise of defiance, pressing back against his fingers, the pad of his middle nudging against your clit, eyes squeezed shut in response.

You’ve been deprived of touch for so long that this felt needed, wanted—and even the smallest touch had your eyes rolling back, keening against him. He gives no warning when he slips inside, though his movements are slow. He’s responding to your noises, the soft clenches of your walls around the tip of his cock as he moves in small thrusts, groans muffled behind his clenched teeth.

“Women like you don’t deserve to be bed properly,” He comments harshly, “are they attempting to marry you off already?”

You shake your head furiously, allowing him to grasp your hands behind your back, shoving your body gingerly against the harsh texture of the wall—it’s a stark contrast to the way he’s consuming you, but you don’t question it.

“I figured as much,” He comments lowly, lips pressed against the shell of your ear, panting harshly as he increases his speed, the ferocity of it, a startling gasp slipping from your lips, failing to be muffled by the fabric. Enjolras’s hand cups over your mouth, “Quiet,” He orders harshly, “do you not listen?”

Again, you shake your head. If you did, you would’ve never ended up in this situation. Enjolras leans back slightly, loose grip on your hands as he pulls out slowly, thrusting into you harshly, watching as his cock disappeared inside of you, squeezing at the soft globes of your ass.

“You drive me mad in the worst ways,” Enjolras admits, “but you are divine, you know?”

You make a noise, drawing his attention up. He sighs, pulling the fabric from your mouth, pressing a single finger against your lips to warn you of your volume.

“How so?” You ask quietly, teasingly, hoping it gets under his skin.

“You fit me perfectly,” He acknowledges, “such a shame you were ready to betray me so easily.”

“I had you fooled,” You chide, confidence seeping through, “for a while, at least.”

Enjolras releases your hands, his own palms spreading over the expanse of your back, forcing the shirt up higher as he grips your hips, pulling you tight against him. Your palms slapped against the wall, held there for support.

“I could teach you things,” He tells you softly, “things you haven’t even come to understand—I’d make you realize which side you should be fighting for, you’d never want to leave.”

“So, you’re not hoping for your—your cock to do the job?” You stammer out, whining softly with each movement of his hips. “I thought that was the point of all this?”

“Partly.”

“I’m not dull, Enjolras. I have higher education, I know—why do you think I agreed with my father so—so easily,” It’s redundant, he doesn’t answer, “I hate their stance just as much as you, but they are my family. I cannot abandon them.”

“A shame,” He seethes, reaching around your front to palm roughly at your breasts, pulling you back against him, other hand slipping over your cunt, circling your clit furiously, “—at least I have this to remember you by.”

You’ve never been with anyone like this—it’s usually slow, sensual, sweet. This was nothing but anger and frustration, hatred for the same cause, but fighting on two different sides. It was a battle, deep rooted in confusion.

“Knowing you may die tomorrow?” You ask tensely, stalling his movements slightly. “This is how you wanted to spend your final night? If it must be?”

“I liked you better quiet.” He spits at you.

You laugh brokenly, the harsh pass over your clit sending you over the edge, cunt clenching around him as buries himself deep inside, coming with little warning as he attempts to pull out, but held still by the hand forcing him there, buried into his shirt as you both ride out the high of your orgasms, moaning into the silence of the night, both of you barely visible at this hour from the lack of a full moon. His mouth rests against the back of your neck, nose buried into the back of your hair, most of it piled up messily atop your head.

“You’re at risk of dying, too—if not more than me. These people, they’re passionate. If they find out—“

“Will they?” You ask quietly, hearing the faint rustle of his pants as he pulls out of you.

You turn, connecting eyes with him. He seems hesitant to answer.

“Oh, darling—don’t be coy now. You come inside of me, threatening me with the burdance of bearing your child if fate has it that way, and now you can’t even look my way?”

“That’s not—“ He begins, shaking his head.

“You men are all the same.” You tell him harshly, “Just because what you think you’re doing is right, it doesn’t make you a good person.”

“My love—“ He begins.

“Calling me that doesn’t make it so,” You retort, “you hated me just a few moments ago, am I wrong?”

“I’ve never met anyone like you.” He admits, “Not before, not during the rebellion.”

You smile tightly, adjusting your clothes back to their original place, reaching down to fetch your coat.

“How sweet,” You tell him, patting his chest, “I guess we shall see how tomorrow goes, that should determine where this takes us.”

But unfortunately, you had a sneaking suspicion that none of this would end well, for either of you.

“Stay,” He tells you, “for a few more hours, that’s all I ask.”

You’re hesitant, every morsel of your being telling you otherwise. You ignore it, allowing yourself to enjoy what may be your last night.

“Another bottle and you have a deal, Enjolras.” You barter, watching the grin grow on his face—because despite how much he wanted to hate you, he wasn’t sure he could. Given the time he had gotten to know you, learn about you, he had to believe there was a part of you that would do the right thing,

Although, it was much too late for that.

“After you, darling.”

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#bbc!enjolras #enjolras x reader #enjolras x fem!reader #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #enjolras x you #enjolras x y/n #jq!enjolras #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn smut #my writing

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