#just some finger fuckin goodness and reader pining

[nanaslutt]

i’ve been thinking about this for a while and i don’t write so hopefully you’ve got me (o^^o)

mma!toji x reader filming the nastiest sex tape and it gets leaked…

MMA!Toji Fushiguro x Reader

pt.2

contains: fem reader, crack, PT!reader, oral(f&m receiving), Toji eats it from the back, ass eating, ass slapping, choking, rough sex, dirty talk, consensual filming, exhibitionism if u squint, voyeurism if you squint, rough sex, ass play, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, secret pining (Toji), angst at the end :3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Toji had just finished an intense practice fighting session with some old friend from out of state, Shiu. Although Toji had emerged victorious in the end, Shiu had roughed him up quite a bit, leaving you to clean up his mess and make his body feel all right again. Toji groaned when you pressed too hard on a sore spot on his back. "Hush, you only have yourself to blame." You said, rolling your eyes at his dramatics.

This big mammoth of a man could take the heaviest hits from other heavyweight guys but he couldn't take some little woman pressing on his shoulder? "I didn't ask for your input- ugh-" He retorted, wincing when you pushed hard on another sore spot, trying to rub the knots out. "Your groans say otherwise." He huffed, a pout forming on his face as he let you work your magic on his body. "Fuckin- go easier- fuck!" He groaned, tilting his head to the side to scold you.

"Do you want to feel better or not? Have I ever left you unsatisfied after a session?" You said, wrapping your arm around his head as you gripped his chin and pushed it back in front of him, "and keep your head in front of you would you? gonna fuck up my work." You chastized.

The two of you had gotten quite close over the couple of years you've been by his side taking care of his physical health. He loved that you didn't take shit from anyone, including him. So many members of his team babied him and let him walk all over them, which wasn't so terrible, but you had a backbone, and that drew him into you; literally. Quite often the two of you found yourselves in the bathroom of some random fighting facility, bodies pressed together, his hand slapped over your mouth to keep your moans down as he fucked his massive cock into you at a brutal pace.

These rendezvous had all started when he hurt himself very badly in a match against a previously undefeated champion; he won of course; but he severely compromised his body in the process. You dragged him into the PT room and scolded him, yelling at him for having too little care for his body and overall health, getting in his face as you shoved his chest and said something along the lines of 'maybe I should just fuckin' leave since you ruin all of my hard work fixing you back up anyways!'

The room went quiet, save for your panting when you finished scolding him; and suddenly, a scene straight out of an enemies-to-lovers book happened, as he crashed his lips into yours and fucked you real good that night with his fucked up body. Ever since the two of you had been sneaking around and hooking up whenever the opportunity presented itself.

"Bitch." He mumbled under his breath. "Toji Fushiguro I have all the paralyzing pressure points in your body memorized like the back of my hand, call me a bitch again." You sighed, moving your body in front of him to lay him down on the table so you could move on to stretching his thighs. "It gets my dick hard when you threaten me." He retorted, smiling at your deadpanned face as you folded his heavy leg at the knee and pushed his hip into his body, resulting in a loud pop to sound through the room.

"Ohh I love when you do this." The man groaned when you pulled his leg back and stretched it out for him, laying the appendage down on the table as you started from his calf and massaged up his thigh. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to." You responded under your breath, making him laugh. He groaned lewdly in appreciation once more when you repeated the action on his other leg. "Fuuuuck doll just like that." You slapped his thigh lightly a couple of times as you sushed him. "Stop that, people are going to think you're getting off in here." You eased up on your rubbing, sliding your hands back down his calf.

"Well, we could be." He suggested, raising his eyebrows at you. You smirked at him, hopping up on the table as you straddled his lap, placing your ass right against his crotch, where he was already sporting a half-chub, his big hands came to grip the sides of your hips, humming in satisfaction as you leaned down to his ear and whispered, "This is sexual harassment." Into his ear.

He let his head fall back against the table with a groan, his hands falling limply agaisnt the sides of his body as you slid off of him and plopped yourself back down on the floor, dusting your hands off before you dug your palm into his hip. "Haven't let me fuck you in weeks, that's sexual harassment." He complains, pouting as you undo the knots in his hips. "I don't think you know what that word means, but anyway, you didn't need to be distracted with the huge match you just had." You explained, lifting the bottom of his shirt to reveal his sharp v-line as you rubbed your thumbs along the muscle there.

"It's over now tho, isn't it, mama?" He countered, his hard-on now being at full attention as it tented up the front of his too-thin shorts. "Toji, you still have 20 more minutes of PT." You tried to reason, but you couldn't disagree that him fucking you right now sounded good. You really had missed his dick over these past couple of weeks, but if you didn't stand your ground, he sure as hell wasn't going to; Toji Fushiguro would fuck you in the middle of an alleyway if you let him.

"Great, my dick's been feelin' a little sore, work 'yer magic right here~." He smirked, sitting up as he grabbed your hand and moved it over to his dick, helping you palm it through his pants. "Toji.." You whispered, dropping your gaze to his crotch as he kneaded his larger hand over yours on his crotch. "What? 'yer whole job is to make me feel better right? Make me feel better baby." He said, smirking down at you as he bit his lip between his teeth.

You sighed begrudgingly, swatting his hand away from yours as you palmed him over his pants, wrapping your hand around his clothed length as you stroked him steadily. "Yeahhh~ that's the shit I need." He said, tipping his head back once more against the bed. You felt your face heat up as you listened to his deep and quiet moans from working over his pants. You quickly pulled down his training shorts and gripped him properly, pulling his massive girth out into the open air.

Standing at his side you leaned over his dick and gathered a wad of spit in your mouth before you let it drip onto his cock. His abs clenched and his breath hitched when he felt it hit his sensitive tip. "Dirty girl." Toji laughed, tipping his chin down to stare in amusement at how your hand looked dwarfed by his cock. You rolled your eyes, trying to not let your arousal show as you leaned down and kitten licked his tip, letting your eyes flutter shut before they looked up at him from under your lashes.

He smirked at you, biting his lip as his hands instinctively came down to gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail, holding your hair away from your face so you could work with no distractions. "You're so thoughtful." You said sarcastically, making his toothy grin spread itself wider while you stroked his cock and took his mushroom tip into your mouth, and suckled on the head. "Dont want my favorite girl to ruin her pretty hair while she's suckin' my cock~" He cooed, his jaw dropping as you took his length deeper in your mouth and started bobbing your head, stroking what couldn't fit in your mouth as his hand holding your hair followed your movements.

"God you take it so- fucking- well-" He praised between bobs of your head, pushing down slightly each time you went down. "Can I take a video, doll? You look so- fucking pretty right now." Toji groaned, reaching for his phone as he waited for your approval. The two of you have made ammature movies for yourselves before, the lewd videos never leaving the privacy of your own camera rolls, so you had no reason to decline this time, you trusted him.

Looking into his eyes you did your best to nod your approval with his cock still in your mouth. "Good girl." He praised before he unlocked his phone and soon after the chime of the video starting sounded through the room. He let his groans fall more freely from his lips; he knew you liked listening to them when you were alone in your bed pathetically fucking yourself on your fingers. "Look at the camera baby." He cooed, biting his lip as he watched your lust-filled eyes flit up to look into the lense. "Yeahh, so fucking pretty, keep you're eyes right there~"

Toji pissed you off a lot, and sure maybe you played up your irritation toward him sometimes-- but it was almost impossible to stay mad at him when the two of you got down and dirty. The movies you made could easily be perceived as a married couple having sex from the way he spoke to you in these moments. "Wanna take it deeper for me? Show off your skills baby, show 'em how good you take my cock." Toji encouraged. He would never share these videos with anyone, but he knew you had a bit of an exhibitionist streak in you. If anyone actually saw these videos, you wouldnt be so thrilled, but the fantasy he painted that someone was watching excited you in a way.

You listened to the man underneath you, grabbing his sack with your free hand you massaged his balls in your hands as you sucked his cock deeper into your mouth, your eyebrows scrunching together when it hit the back of your throat. "Godd, you take such good care of me-" Toji groaned, the camera shaking and making you fall almost out of frame when his head couldn't resist tipping back at the stimulation you were giving him.

He felt the coil in his stomach tighten, his balls starting to get ready to release his seed, but not if he had any say in it. As much as he loved the idea of painting your face with his cum, you had recently gotten an IUD inserted and the two of you were having a lot of fun with your newfound freedom with it-- in the sense that Toji could now cum inside you and neither of you would have to hold your breath until your period eventually made its appearance.

He dropped his chin back down to watch you work, smiling at the fact that when he did you were still looking up at him so eagerly, humming around his cock. He pulled your makeshift ponytail up, yanking your warm mouth off of his cock as your tongue hung out in the air, a string of saliva connecting from your wet appendage to the tip of his twitching cock, making him throb freely in the air. You smiled dopely at him, biting your lip with a giggle before you spoke. "Couldn't take it Toji?~" You teased, wiping the strand of spit from your lips with your thumb before dropping your hand and stroking him off while you waited for him to speak.

He laughed through a moan when your hand wrapped around him and started stroking quickly, combined with the massaging of your hand on his sensitive balls, it was making him feel drunk. "Didn't wanna waste my load on your face when I can fuck it into your cunt instead." He retorted, looking through the camera to make sure he was capturing the expression on your face. "Yeah? Wanna fuck me?" You teased, tilting your head to the side as you stuck your tongue out and attempted to bring it back down to his cock, resulting in him yanking on your hair, pulling you away from it.

"Whore." He laughed, releasing your hair roughly, making your head jerk to the side as he sat up and slid off the table, setting up his camera quickly on the table in the corner of the room before he made quick strides over to you and gripped your neck in his hand, your smiling face giggling up at his massive frame as he wrapped his other hand around your waist and pressed your bodies together, connecting your lips in the process.

The kiss was sloppy- full of tongue and teeth as the two of you groaned and whined into the kiss, all the while his hard, unclothed cock was rubbing against your tummy over your clothes. He humped his cock against you while he bullied his tongue into your mouth, resulting in a whine from you, vibrating against his lips. You slithered your hand between your bodies to grab his cock, meeting his needy thrusts with your rough strokes as the two of you kissed each other hungrily.

He pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours, deep breaths filling his lungs as he squeezed your throat in his strong grip, his eyes falling shut, allowing himself to really feel your hand jerking him off. "Feel good when I touch your cock Toji?" You whispered against his lips, resulting in a groan from the man. "You gettin' the relief you wanted so bad?" The hand around your throat constricted your airway, making you smile lustfully as tingles shot down your spine.

"I will when I get inside this cunt." He responded, pressing your lips together once more- making you whine against them before he spun you around in one swift movement and pressed your torso down against the massage table by the back of your neck, his other hand coming down to press down right above your ass as he rubbed his hard cock between your clothed cheeks. The camera had a great view of everything, and it was sure to pick up what was going to happen next.

Both of you panted loudly into the room, you wiggled your ass back against Toji's cock, trying to feel him more against your body. Suddenly all of the stimulation was gone, he pulled your pants and underwear down in one swift movement, the cloth pooling by your ankles as he kept his hold on the back of your neck. "Don't fucking move baby." He instructed, watching you nod from where your head was smooshed into the cushion of the table.

He let the hand on the back of your neck smooth down your back as he dropped to his knees, using both of his big hands to spread your ass cheeks apart to get a good view of your dripping folds and puckered hold before he left a heavy smack on the fat of your ass, resulting in a yelp from you. "Shhh, don't want the team to know you're slutting yourself out for me right now, do you?" Toji laughed, reaching his thumbs down to your pussy lips as he spread them open and watched your tight little entrance clench around nothing.

"Unless you do, wouldn't be surprised." He teased, bringing the pad of his thumb to rub slow circles against your clit as he spoke, "Keep yourself quiet or don't, I don't care." And with that, he dove into your cunt. Immediately he started eating you out like a man starved, his nose pressed against your wetness as he sucked your clit into his mouth, shaking his head back and forth as he spread your cheeks apart and kneaded the fat in his hands. You pressed your hand against your mouth, trying to conceal your moans the best you could as your knees pressed together, your hips wiggling back on his face.

"Fuck! Ngh-" You groaned into your hand, raising your torso and arching your back in the process as you reached your free hand back to rake your hands in his soft hair, pressing him harder against your cunt as he ate you out. He left another mean smack against your ass, a muffled yelp could be heard echoing in the room as he did so. He was being so noisy, slurping loudly and growling against your cunt as he slurped up and swallowed as much of your pussy juice as he could.

Anyone with half a brain could figure out what was happening in your treatment room with all of the sounds slipping under the door. What you didn't know is save for the desk lady on the opposite side of the building, Toji's sparing establishment was completely vacant. He had sent everyone home just before he went to see you for his PT-- Toji wouldn't tell you that though, he was enjoying listening to you attempting to keep yourself quiet.

He pulled away, the bottom of his hand covered in your slick as he rubbed two large fingers through your wetness to coat his fingers to ease the slide into your cunt when he ultimately stuck them in. "Pussy is so fucking loud, 's like you want all those perverts to hear~" Toji teased, slowly slipping his fingers into the tight ring of your cunt, slapping a heavy hand down on your already red ass in the process. You yelped, squeezing your eyes shut as you wined and cursed into your palm, your hot breath creating condensation on your skin.

"Bet you'd like that huh? Thinking about the team standing outside the door jerking off to your cute moans and wet fuckin' pussy makes you wet doesn't it?" He continues teasing, thrusting his fingers to the hilt as he started up a pace into your cunt, spreading your cheek apart so he could get a good view of your pussy swallowing up his large fingers that clenched and pulsed around them at his words. Your hand dropped from your mouth, biting your lip as your hand in his hair gripped hard in his strands, turning your neck to look back at him with a flushed face- the two of you making eye contact as he spoke.

"S-shut the fuck up and eat my pussy." You breathed, making a hearty laugh leave his lungs before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the skin of your ass, "That's my girl~" Toji wasted no time delving back into your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth as he pounded his fingers harshly into your sweet spot, his moans vibrating against your cunt, making your eyes roll back in your head as your jaw dropped, your head turning to face forward again as you let it fall against the cushion of the table.

Each time he shook his head back and forth against your folds, jolting your clit around in the process, you curled your toes in your shoes, holding your breath before letting out a loud moan when he stopped shaking his head and went back to his usual pace of sucking your folds. You didn't care about the team hearing you anymore, the chances of them being on this side of the building was slim anyway. It had been so long since you and Toji had done anything like this, so you couldn't find it in yourself to care anymore as the pleasure took over your brain, especially with what he did next.

Toji was a nasty man, a filthy fuck, downright dirty in everything he did. His actions, words, even the way he fought. So it was no surprise to you when you felt his head pull away from your cunt, and felt his soft lips suck against the rim of your ass. "Ohmyfuckinggod-" You slurred, your jaw going completely slack as he ate your ass out while continuing to fuck his fingers into your pussy, zeroing in on your sweet spot. "You like that?" He moaned against your rim, darting his tongue out to lick and suck on it, "Like when I eat your ass?" He groaned, quickening his ministrations when he felt your cunt start pulse around his fingers more frequently.

"God- Yes- Holy fuckkk- Dont stop Toji d-dont stop!" You wined, pressing him into your ass as your hand slid down to the back of his neck. He hummed against your rim, sticking his tongue out as he licked agaisnt your hole, pressing it slightly harder into it when your hips tried to thrust back against it. "Ohmygod- c-cumming gonna c-" Your voice raised in pitch as he quickly brought you to your orgasm.

He moaned when he felt a stream of liquid start dripping out around his fingers, his hand coming down to stroke his cock rapidly as he fucked you through the first waves of your orgasm. He couldn't take it anymore, standing up hurridly, he replaced his fingers with his cock faster than you could comprehend as you rode the last waves of your orgasm out on his dick as he started up a brutal pace.

He wrapped his arms around your limp torso and held you against his body, using one of his hands he gripped your chin with his wet fingers and turned your neck to meet his lips in a sloppy kiss. The whiplash he was giving you an out of body experience. You tasted yourself on his tongue as he slotted your tongues together, the wetness from your pussy juices all over his chin being smeared on your own face as he fucked your cunt brutally.

Pulling away he let your body fall back down to the table, your hands bracing you on the table as he held your hips in an iron grip, holding a majority of your body weight up as he stood behind you and fucked into your warm cunt roughly. "Godd- missed this fucking cunt-" He laughed incredulously through a maon, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched his cock disappear in and out of your cunt, a thing ring of cum forming on the base of his cock.

"Fuck fuck fuck- I love you're f-fucking cock-" You moaned, the camera picking up the way your eyes rolled back in your head every time he thrust his girth into you. 'ah-ah-ah''s being fucked from your throat when words didn't fall from your lips. "Yeah? Missed me too huh?" He laughed, briefly pressing his hips flush against your ass and he rolled his hips in circles, his head tipping back before he continued his brutal pace.

"Y-yes-ss~" You replied, the word coming out choppy as he fucked you slower but harder, making your legs shake uncontrollably as you let him take full control of holding the bottom half of your body up. "You're so nice to me when I fuck you, 'should keep you on my cock all the time." He laughed, soaking in the sounds of your shameless moans echoing throughout the room. He wasn't so sure the desk lady couldn't hear you anymore.

You tried and failed to reply as another sudden orgasm caught you and Toji alike off guard. "Oh F-fuck" He laughed, his thrusts losing their rhythm as your cunt tried to milk him. Your moans went quiet as you started to cum, your jaw just hanging open as you rode it out, all the while Toji kept fucking into you, working you through it. "Almost got me with that one." He laughed, letting your arch go as he let your body rest more against the table.

One of his hands abandoned its grip on your wrist as his thumb came to circle your puckered asshole. You whimpered loudly at the stimulation, still very sensitive from your recent orgasm as he didn't even think about letting up his thrusts. He let a glob of spit plop down onto your hole, rubbing it around with the pad of his thumb as he slowly started pushing it inside, making your eyebrows scrunch together.

"Tell the camera how much you love when I play with your ass." He instructed, watching with a slack jaw at how eagerly your hole swallowed up his finger to the hilt. "F-fucking love it Toji-" You whined as he started thrusting his thumb in and out of the hole. "Love it so m-much~" You cooed, starting directly into the camera, knowing he was going to watch this back later and jerk off to it. "Yeah you fucking do." He growled, feeling his balls tighten signaling his own impending orgasm.

"Bet you'd like it getting fucked with another cock here a-and in your little pussy at the same time huh?" He stuttered, the idea spurring him on as it worked him up to his own high. "Takin' a load in your cunt and your ass together-" He bit his lip, his thrusts losing their rhythm completely as he continued babbling to himself as you wined underneath him. "Tell the camera what you want." He encouraged.

You cried out, trying to look into the lens as loud whimpers were fucked out of your throat, his thrusts and thumb making you feel braindead, "W-wan get fucked in my a-ass and my pu-ssy-" You said, barely registering your own words. "W-wan you to fill me up-" You begged, to no one in particular as you spoke to the camera. "That's fucking right- gonna fill up your pussy right now baby, you want that?" He babbled, his deep voice raising in pitch slightly as he used your warm cunt to bring himself to the edge.

"Want me to cum inside you?" he groaned, squeezing your cunt around him to the best of your ability to aid him in reaching his high. "Yes- T-toji cum inside me! Please baby- please-" You cried out, moan after moan of his name getting fucked out of your lungs before his hips stilled against your ass, followed by a deep groan. "Ohmygod-" He grit through his teeth, bringing his hips back every so slightly and fucking them into you as deep as he could as he shot rope after rope of his hot cum inside your walls, groaning and gasping as he did so.

You giggled through your moans, "Yesss- fill me up baby, give it to me." You encouraged him, relaxing your cunt when he let out a shaky breath as his hips stilled against you. Toji let the aftershocks of his cum zap through his body, his abs clenching and body jerking before he pulled out slowly, popping his thumb out of your ass in tandem, making the both of you hiss in overstimulation as his softening cock hung heavily between his legs. "Gotta show the camera this shit." He said, pulling your ass apart to look at the cum stuffed in your cunt before he let the skin bounce back into place as he walked over to grab the camera.

Walking back over to where your tired body laid against the table breathing heavily, he turned the camera around and pointed it at your cunt, pulling your pussy lips apart so he could watch his thick cum drip out of your pussy in thick globs. Using his thumb he swiped up his cum and stuffed it back into your cunt, making you whine quietly before he pulled it back out, the camera capturing the way his thumb glistened with the remnants of his seed coating his thumb.

"Hey." Hey spoke to you, making you turn your head back to look at him. He grabbed your arm and spun you around, you pressed your ass against the table for leverage as you stood in front of him on shaky legs, your flushed face looking up into the camera. Without a word, he pressed his cum coated thumb against your lips and grinned as he watched you take the appendage into your mouth and suck off the cum.

"Good girl, such a good girl." He praised, watching your pretty face take his finger to the hilt before he slid it out of your mouth with a pop. You swallowed before sticking your tongue out to the camera with an 'ahh' sound, a smile on your lips as you showed 'everyone' how you had licked it clean. He gripped the bottom half of your face and squished your cheeks together, shaking your head back and forth as you smiled into the camera. "Give them a nice smile before you go~" He cooed. You pressed your teeth together and shut your eyes, giving the camera a big dopey grin while he continued shaking your face back and forth.

The video chime sounded again, indicating the end of it. He placed his phone on the PT table next to you, before he leaned in and connected your lips together, moaning quietly against your mouth as he kissed you passionately. Toji always got so clingy after sex, not that you minded, it just made you laugh from the stark contrast between his usual demeanor. "You feelin' good?" He asked, pulling away from the kiss but keeping his hand around your chin.

You nodded, "The cum dripping down my thigh isn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but I could be worst I suppose." You shrugged. "Looks fucking hot though." He said, raising his eyebrows as he dropped his gaze to see the trail of his cum that made itself about halfway down your thigh. "Get me a towel, pervert.. and put your cock away." You smirked looking down between the two of you at the heavy appendage and shoving his chest lightly to encourage him. Both his hands slid down to your waist to caress the skin there for a moment as he raked his eyes over your body before pulling away and stuffing his girth back into his boxers before he walked over to the counter to get you a towel.

"Never make me go that long without fucking you again." He said, kneeling in front of you as he started wiping the cum from your legs, spinning you around and pushing your lower back down so he could wipe your cunt and ass clean of the wetness, making you hiss uncomfortably. "We'll see~" You said, yelping when he pulled up your pants and left a slap on your already bruised ass, resulting in a glare from you.

--

Later that night Toji had just finished his shower, shaking his damp hair around in the towel, he walked up to his glowing phone that was placed on his nightstand. He had received a text from some number he didn't recognize, the preview of the text being an article header that read, World champion MMA fighter Toji Fushiguro gets humiliated in fight against- "What the fuck?" He said out loud, his big ego not being able to ignore this, he grabbed his phone, quickly unlocking it as he clicked on the link that would take him to the article. "Who humiliated who now?" He mumbled to himself, waiting for the article to load.

His phone flooded with error after error messages, it seemed the more he clicked ignore, the more they popped up. "The fuck is going on?" He groaned, shaking his phone in an iron grip, starting to grow irritated. Suddenly his phone went black, a grey loading icon showing on the screen before it shut off completely. Toji wasn't exactly the most tech savvy person in the world. Staring at his phone in confusion he sat down on his bed and tried to click all the buttons on the side of his phone, waiting for his phone to come back to life.

"The man was snapped out of his stupor when the grating jingle of an incoming call screeched through his laptop speaker, along with ding after ding of incoming messages. He rested his phone on the side table again before he slid his laptop over on his knees, opening the device his manager's name splayed big and bold on the screen, along with 10+ hidden messages from you, and more incoming from other members of his team. "Seriously what the fuck??" Toji cursed watching the call time out before it quickly started ringing again. "You better have a good fucking reason to be blowing me up so late." He growled, waiting to hear his managers voice.

"What the fuck are you posting on Twitter right now Toji?!" His manager screamed through the small speaker of his laptop. "What the hell are you curing at me for?" He responded, feeling the veins in his forehead pop out. "Toji, I don't know what you think you're doing but you need to take those down immediately." The panicked voice echoed into his bedroom once more. "Can you shut the fuck up for a second? My phone got a bug or some shit a second ago I haven't been on Twitter you fucking prick." He yelled back, waiting for his manager to yell at him once more but all he heard in response was silence.

"What do you mean you got a bug?" The voice came through, quieter. "I don't fucking know man, some number send me a link to a stupid fucking fake article and when I clicked on it my phone killed itself." He said irritated, throwing his hands up in the air as if the person on the other line could see him. "So you haven't been on Twitter tonight?" The voice spoke again after a brief silence. "If I have to repeat myself one more time you're fucking fired," Toji growled into the speaker. The line went quiet, too quiet, and for far too long, Toji actually started getting worried.

He couldn't help but notice the messages from you were still blowing up his laptop one after the other, waiting for his manager to speak, he clicked on your chat.

"Toji fushiguro what is going on, why is everyone blowing up my phone?"

"Oh my god.. Toji stop please,"

"You said you would never show anyone what is wrong with you? How could you do this to me?"

"Toji I see you posting this shit, fucking answer me right now!!"

"I feel sick, please stop, Toji please."

The rest of your messages were filled with curses and audio messages of you screaming at him and pleading for him to delete the videos. Toji felt his heart sink to his stomach when he registered what was going on, he felt like he was going to vomit.

"Toji, stay there, the team is on our way over we're going to fix this." Toji couldn't even respond as he scrolled over to Safari and pulled up twitter.com, noticing his name trending on the search page, fuck. "In the meantime stay off Twitter, don't make any statements just stay put." His manager calmly spoke.

The dark-haired man's screen lit up with the video of the two of you from earlier that day flooding his timeline, filled with comment after comment and retweet after retweet of people trying to figure out who you were. "Fuck." He whispered under his breath, his speaker picking up the sound as his manager tried to calm him down. "It's alright, we sent someone to go check on (you) they'll explain everything to her, we will fix this, stay put Toji." The voice explained.

Toji dropped his heavy head in his hands. He had spent the last almost two years trying to form some sort of relationship with you and when he finally felt like he was getting somewhere with you this shit happens? You were never going to forgive him. The sounds of your choked cries and curses through your tears would echo in his head forever.

He had to fix this, he had to, he couldn’t let all of his work be for naught. The jingle of his keys could be heard through his manager's speaker as he rushed through traffic trying to make it to Toji's house as fast as he could. "Toji don't do it, don't fucking go anywhere, TOJ-" His voice cut off as the dark haired man slammed his laptop shut, grabbing his jacket hanging off the side of his bed he made a b-line for the door of his penthouse.

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[studioghibelli]

the end of the world- a joel miller x reader

summary: you had a strict relationship with joel that stuck to the rules. fuck, leave, repeat. it was only a matter of time until feelings were dragged into the mix. when joel leaves at the first sign of love, you're left wondering what you had done wrong. (rated explicit, 18+, mdni)

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, implied fwb relationship, heavy handed on the angst, a whole lot of pining, a lot of flashbacks, and smut. (unprotected piv sex, fingering, clit rubbing, masturbation?, dirty talk, pet names, allusions to slapping/rougher sex, brief biting, a tiny bit of daddy kink.) ended with a bit of fluff

note: i think this is my favorite thing i have ever written. i guess i was in some sort of mood or sumfin. also i absolutely hate spell checking so sorry for any errors. enjoy!!

Joel used to be rough.

He used to imprint his name upon your skin through heavy handed grips and crescent shaped nail marks, left deep into the supple skin of your thighs. Like hieroglyphs on a wall of sandstone, he made sure the world would see what beauty he had left etched into your skin, like a canvas that only he had the privilege of painting.

He used to take you by the throat and kiss you with biblical fervor. He would kiss you so hard the taste of his spit lingered on your tongue for the days following, reminding you who you belonged to, if only for a few hours.

He used to sink his incisors into your neck, suckling at your skin like a vampire in search of an artery. He would leave deep patches of purple beneath your ear, the mark of a man who knew just what you wanted, the mark of a man who was more primal, more animalistic, than he was human.

Then, something changed.

Soft was he, on one fateful night, where his rough palms dragged across the side of your body, gentle waves of pleasure heaving, heaving, heaving, washing over you until you were a shell drowning in an ocean tide, consumed only by thoughts of him.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

A mantra, a promise, a prayer.

Soft was he, his lips molding to yours like cement stuck in the cracks of sidewalks, unwavering and unbreaking, filling you up to the hilt.

Soft was he, as he slipped his cock deep into your pussy, deep and gentle, hitting against every inch, every spot, that made your legs quiver just for him.

Soft was he, as he cradled your face in his rough hands, eyes boring in to your own, the curved bridge of his nose pressing into your rounded cheek, coaxing you, asking you, begging you, to cum for him.

Only ever him.

His hand's had done irreversible damage, taken many lives, and he pushed back the guilt for those crimes long ago, but Joel figured that perhaps holding your face in his hands was worth all the blood, the sweat, the grime and decay. Perhaps touching the skin of an angel was enough to bathe him clean from his past sins, enough to purify the monster which lurked within.

And then one day, he swore you off.

"Can't be around you anymore." He snarled, hand dragging down his face, heavy and hot with the burning poker of shame.

"Says who?" Your voice was cracking, the angry prick of tears stabbing at your eyes, like daggers dripping with bitter venom.

"Me. This ain't.... right. We should never have done this."

"Why isn't it right?" You were begging, trying your hardest to coax put a semblance of an answer from him.

"You're too young for this. For-for me. I ain't good for you."

"Where is this coming from? Just two nights ago you were making love-"

"That's the problem." Joel hissed. "Makin' love." He scoffed spitefully, shaking his head firmly. "It's the end of the fuckin' world and I'm worried about makin' a woman cum, makin' your eyes roll. I should be out fightin', I should be out makin' rounds and doin' my work. Ain't thought of anything like that since I've been with you. I have duties. Responsibilities. I'm too old to be sleeping around like some teenager."

You hated yourself for allowing a tear to slip, hated yourself for showing weakness in his presence. "What about your duty to me?" You cried out, hands tangling into tight fists. You felt your veins pumping with venomous resentment, wondering how you could have been so stupid to allow him respite behind the walls of your soul, sanctuary from the world around the two of you.

"I don't have no duty to you. You're not my wife, not my girl. You're just somebody I was fuckin'."

That was two months ago. Two long, grueling months.

This winter in Jackson was particularly brutal. Perhaps nature had been in tune with your heart, rocking and shaking and screaming in unison with your thoughts, angry and vengeful. Like Poseidon wreaking havoc on the ocean, like Zeus bringing hailstorms of lightning, like Zephyrus playing his hand in an assailing wind; you felt your rage through the soil, the packed snow, the shaking pine needles.

Everyday you would trek to your shop, sit behind the counter, and patiently wait for someone to stop by, wait for someone to ask how your day was (which you would inevitably lie about, tell them how good you were), and wait for someone to barter or trade with you.

A dozen chicken eggs for a woven blanket, a few sprigs of rosemary for some pencils, a handful of sheep's wool for some freshly pressed paper.

It was the same every day.

Rise, work, sit, cry, sleep, repeat.

For the past two months you had lurked around the corners of Jackson with a heavy gray cloud hanging over your head, and each day for the past two months you despised yourself for being so caught up with Joel fucking Miller, for being so upset he left you.

You lived in the smallest house in Jackson. There was no reason for you to take up a big one, no reason for you to have two stories, no reason for you to have a big open kitchen or spacious living room. What was the point? No husband, no children, no nothing.

You had tried to make it yours, and you had tried to make it happier since that horrible, awful, nasty thing happened between you and Joel.

You had bought a thick and oversized crocheted blanket the color of sand with a harvest worth of kale, thrown it over a soft and lived-in suede couch to curl up under. You had bartered a basketful of gourds for two knitted pillows, a brown dachshund stitched into one, and a ginger cat stitched into the other. You had picked up a backpack full of books on a run into the nearest town, settling on classics that you used to read as a young girl, in hopes you could feel that golden peace so often felt during childhood, when the only pressing matters on your mind were untied shoelaces and what mom was cooking for dinner.

A life long ago. A life you could barely remember. You were a small child when the world went to shit, barely starting school, with gaps between your teeth and messy, unruly hair. Still growing out of your sneakers, still biting your nails, still picking up worms from the rich soil with amazement and wonder bubbling in your eyes.

When everything happened, when the buildings were bombed and fields burnt, you were forced to grow up. Forced to toughen up, to be someone you never planned on being at such a young age. You ditched the sparkly backpacks and trips to the library for switch blades and look out towers, for uneasy silence and stale dinners.

Then you met Joel, many years after it first began, and everything seemed a little bit better. It started fast and rough, as though you both thought the world would implode the following morning. And then, when the realization that this was life, that nobody was going anywhere, things grew gentler, softer, more meaningful.

Joel's kisses grew deeper, his touches dragged out for longer, his mouth imprinted upon your soft and lithe skin like droplets of dew on blades of morning grass, gentle and ethereal. His words became breathless, sweet, full of desire and thick with honeyed praise.

"Look at you, such a pretty little thing. Shakin' like this, all for me. Who's makin' you feel like this, sweet girl?" Joel's middle finger was buried to the knuckle in your tight pussy, thumb gently tapping at your clit. A string of saliva strung from your nipple to his lips, where his plush mouth had been covering your hardening bud in gentle bites, sucking like a man on a mission.

"You." Your voice came out as a mewl, quiet and shaking. "You, daddy."

Joel grunted a primordial, brutish grunt that rumbled through the sturdiness of his chest, adding a second finger as his head ducked down to your neck, where his kissing resumed upon the blades of your collarbone. "Good fuckin' girl. Good girl. So fuckin' good, a god damn dream. You know that?"

The wall in front of you was covered in framed images you had found on your travels around Jackson. Some original art you scored in the back of a desolate thrift store, some vintage movie posters you found huddled in the dusty corners of a theatre, some polaroid photos you had taken with old friends.

You blinked the memories of him away.

With each day, you tried to convince yourself it was for the best. With each day, you tried to make yourself understand where he was coming from, why he did the things he did.

"You're just somebody I was fuckin'." You remembered his words like sandpaper grinding against the track of your throat, burning their fiery syllables into your tongue. How true his statement actually was, you weren't so sure.

Joel's forehead was pressed to yours, eyes fluttering open and shut with each deep thrust, hands entwined into your own. Your palms were pressed rigid and unyielding into his, Joel's thick fingers wrapping and molding into your smaller ones, chest rubbing against yours with each masterful movement of his hips.

His hot breath, soaked with the sweet smell of whiskey, fanned across your face, coating you with the ache he felt for you, the love he knew he had growing deep inside for you. Each breath he took was a promise. He was never going to leave you. How could he?

"Joel." You chanted, head thrown back in ecstasy, eyes full of stars.

"What do you want from me, darlin'? Say the word and its yours." Joel's voice was breathless and throaty, coating you in the sweet nectar of his affection, seeping deep into your pores until it filled your soul with yearning,

His cock, thick and veined, was slowly pumping as deep is it possibly could within your walls. You fluttered and ached and wept against him, bodies meshing into one, tight and close yet flowing and gentle, like the Bernini sculptures you saw in an art encyclopedia, a long time ago in Boston. Joel filled you to the brim with his length. You felt full of him, wrapped and wanting and wanton. For his eyes only. Only ever him, always.

"Right there." You begged, nails dragging down the length of his wide, sturdy, strong back, marking him with the love caked beneath your fingernails. That unspoken love that weighed heavy on your shoulders, like a wool blanket in the dead of winter.

When Joel's eyes met yours, hitting against the spot you begged him to touch, he had that gaze glossed over his irises, that heavy, awfully gentle look threaded within the chocolate umber of his orbs, the stare that only a man in love ever carried with him.

The memory stuck to your mind like glue on a school project, drying there with no hopes of ever coming loose.

That night, with Joel so heavy on your mind, you treaded heavily to your record player, sifting through the record's you had collected over the years.

"That'll do." You mumbled with dejected finality, putting the vinyl on the player as you lowered the needle.

Why does the sun keep on shining?

Why does the sea rush to shore?

Don't they know it's the end of the world,

Cause you don't love me, anymore?

As you listened to the sweet voice of Julie London, you looked around your kitchen, the pile of dishes only stacking up, higher and higher. With your hands on your hips you walked over, forcing yourself to do something with your night. You couldn't sit and mope, you had already spent too long doing that anyways.

You let the hot water fall upon the backs of your dainty hands, watching with glass eyes as it fell and dribbled off your fingers, the soapy suds filling the porcelain bowls. You cupped them in your hands, breathing in the citrusy scent, closing your eyes.

Think. You begged yourself. About anything else but him. Think.

Why do the birds go on singing?

Why do the stars glow above?

Don't they know it's the end of the world,

it ended when I lost your love.

You pricked the tip of your finger with the sharp point of the butcher knife, gently twisting it soft enough to only make the hint of an imprint, thinking to yourself. You had lived your entire life fighting, fleeing, hiding, escaping, yet it only ever felt like the end of the world once you lost him.

"Damn you Julie London!" You shouted, voice mellow dramatic and emotive, face planting into your arm which rested on the wooden counter.

"What'd Julie London ever do to you?"

The voice, raw and rough, startled you, awakening you from your trance. Before you could catch it, a puppy like yelp escaped your mouth, sharp and nasty against the ears.

You knew who that voice belonged to. The voice that lulled you to sleep, the voice that whispered sweet nothings as you lay naked and bare on linen sheets, the voice that called you good girl and sweet angel and pretty princess whilst crammed deep into your cunt.

Joel.

Turning so hard you nearly snapped your own neck, you saw him standing in the doorway of your home, tall and brooding, filling the heavy air with the familiar scent of pine needles and bergamot. He held a basket in his arms. A basket he had bought from your shop, many moons ago.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Your voice was nastier than you meant it to be, but you couldn’t help the emotion rising within the confines of your chest, beating at your ribcage like a wild animal locked in a zoo.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Took the liberty to walk on in and check on you.” He shrugged, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, and slowly shut the door behind him.

“To check on me?” You scoffed bitterly, turning your back to him again as you resumed your cleaning. You heard the vinyl come to a stop, the air silent and palpable, moulding to your rage. You took in a deep breath, looking down at the sponge you were grasping ahold of a little too tight. “Two months go by, and suddenly today- of all days- you decide to take the liberty to come and…. check on me?”

Joel’s sigh, burdened with what felt like guilt, swirled through your ears. “Yes.” Was all he said, simple and plain.

Oh, you had a lot more to say than one meager word.

You were too nervous to meet his gaze, too worried your tears would come flooding, soaking through your skin and deteriorating until you were nothing more than a puddle of nothing on the wooden floorboards.

“I….” You struggled for a long moment, tongue twisted and stuck in your own throat. “I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

You heard the sound of dense boots against the ground, felt the weight of the air behind you shift. He was close. His scent was coated around the inside of your nostrils, fogging your mind with past memories you swore you’d never ponder on again.

“I know what you want to say.” Joel’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper in the wind. “That you hate me. That you never want to see me again. That you hope I’m ripped limb from limb by clickers. Gunned down by raiders.”

Tears welled within your eyes. You didn’t speak for a long beat, sniffling as quietly as you could possibly muster. “After everything, you know I-…. even after you broke me. I-I don’t wish for that. Never even thought of that.” You admitted your terrible secret with a shaking voice, hand tightening so deeply around the sponge, your middle finger sunk straight through the material.

Joel’s fingers gently traced down the small of your back. An offer. You heard a gentle thump as he set the basket down, followed by his other hand pressing flat into your side.

“I’m scared.” His voice was full of emotion you had never once heard from him. “That’s why I left.”

“What?”

“I’ve lost everyone, ‘cept Ellie. Tess, Bill, Frank, Sarah.” His voice cracked, trailing off. “I couldn’t lose you, too. I can’t watch you…. can’t watch you fall victim to this world.”

You shook your head, dropping the sponge against the metal sink, tilting your head to look out the window which stood in front of you. The night sky was sparkling with millions of stars before you, snow flaking down from the heavens, coating the glass window pane with a copious layer of delicate snowflakes, each so different and unique. It was beautiful.

Joel’s left arm slowly wrapped around you. You wanted to fight him off, wanted to scream and banish him from your home, wanted to promise if you ever saw him again you’d kill him on the spot. But you couldn’t. Not when he was so vulnerable, so warm, so willing.

You shifted against him, leaning back until your bodies were close together. His hand rested taut against your belly, his other arm soon finding solace beneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.

“I’m sorry.” He finally broke the dizzying silence, chin nuzzling into the blade of your shoulder. “I didn’t know what else to do. I- I still don’t know what to do.”

You blinked away new forming tears, taking in a deep breath. “You could start by warming me up.” You were so meek, you were unsure if he heard your words.

Joel’s hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing gently into the skin of your tummy, fingers massaging into the supple skin of your waist, your love handles, drawing circles into the line of skin right above the hem of your pants. Your back fell deeper into his chest as he touched you, felt you, as if he had never known your body before.

You could stand there and argue with him, cry and rage and scream at the universe, or you could let him apologize the best way he knew, let him make it all up to you.

“After this,” you managed to choke out, “am I still going to be somebody you just fuck?”

He wasted no time shaking his head. “You never were. You were, are, the light of my life. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His breath was hot against your neck, his lips pressing kisses, scattered like constellations, into your skin.

“You weren’t thinking.” You moaned a breathless laugh, head tilting to allow him access.

“No, I wasn’t.” Joel’s fingers slipped into your pants, palm cupping your pussy, hot and wet with the promise of his touches. “Damn baby, this horny already?”

“Haven’t been touched in two months. Sure you understand.”

He chuckled a deep, endearing chuckle, nudging his nose into your cheek. “Think I should do somethin’ about this?”

You nodded quickly.

“Words, pretty baby. Use your words.”

“Yes. Please, do… do something about it.”

“That’s my good girl. I’ll give you what you want, I promise.”

You felt butterflies brewing within your belly as his middle finger traced the middle of your green cotton underwear, rubbing where you swollen clit gently poked against. He knew you like the back of his hand, like a map he had spent years memorizing. Giving you pleasure, knowing where and how to make you cum, had become second nature for Joel.

“Don’t be ‘fraid to lean against me. Let daddy take care of you.”You groaned softly at his words, falling back into his body. His strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you up, bicep thick and muscled against you. “Push those down for me.”

You wiggled out of your pants and underwear, bottom half open and exposed for him. His fingers dragged across your mound, brushing against the outside of your pussy that cried out for his touch.

Joel slipped his index finger between your outer lips, finding your clit, slowly drawing circles around your aching bud. You sighed out, once again meshing in to his chest as he touched you, feeling the silkiness of your pink, throbbing cunt.

“I missed this pussy. So wet for me, so needy. You like it when I touch you? Like it when I make you feel good?” His words were hot in your ear, melting into your senses like dripping candle wax.

“Oh, I love it. I love it so much. I love you so much.” You were too caught up in pleasure to understand the weight of what you just said, head rolling against his shoulder as he teased your pussy.

Joel let out a quiet moan at what you just admitted, his hold on you tightening. He was never going to let you go. He sunk his middle finger into your tight opening, slowly hooking it against you G-spot, thrusting it up and down the way he knew made you cry for him.

Your knees were shaking, yet you had no fear of falling. As foolish as it may have been, you had complete trust in Joel Miller. You knew he wouldn’t let you drop. Your walls fluttered around his finger, clit begging to be touched once more. You lowered your hand, gently flicking at your swelling button, moaning out as he added his ring finger to your cunt.

“That’s it baby. Rub that pretty pussy. Cum on my fingers.” Joel whispered m, gently biting down on your ear lobe.

You felt your thighs quivering, belly tightening as your orgasm drew closer. Joel watched you with hawk like vision, relishing in the way your fingers traced and danced across your clit. Before you had the chance to announce your climax, you found yourself cumming on his digits, coating them in you sweet, slick arousal, screaming his name as thought it was the only word you ever had the chance to memorize.

When you came down from your high, Joel slowly removed his fingers, bringing them to your soft lips. “Suck.” He commanded gently. You did, wrapping your mouth around them as you gingerly took them in, all the way to the hilt, sucking them clean and dry, free from any of your cum. “That’s my good girl, my pretty darlin’.”

You shivered against him, your head falling back. Joel gently tapped the counter. “Jump up there.” He whispered.

You did as you were told, grabbing the collar of his flannel, pulling him closer.

“Kiss me, Joel Miller.”

And kiss you he did.

His lips found yours with the passion of ten thousand soldiers, sickly sweet and supple against your mouth. Joel was consuming you with this kiss, torridly leaving his mark into the soft ridges of your pouted lips, blanketing you with the desire he had for you that he so often tried to push down. Your fingers found his graying hair, legs wrapping around his waist until the bulge breaking at his jeans was pressed right into your bare pussy.

You grinded against him, clit still sensitive and aching from the power of your last orgasm. Still, you dropped your hands to his zipper, tugging them down swiftly.

“Want you to fuck me.” You whispered against his mouth, tongue sliding across his. “Want you to cum inside me. Make me yours.”

“You’ve always been mine.” Joel muttered, hand slipping down to remove his boxers. “I was just bein’ an idiot.”

“Then make it up to me.”

The tip of his cock found the slick lips of your pussy, and he slowly pushed himself in through on graceful movement, filling you to the top until your clit was pressed against his stomach. Joel felt your pussy clench against him, and he groaned, letting his head fall to your shoulder. He sat there for a moment, relishing in the warmth being inside of you provided, arms wrapped around you like a belt, pressing you hard into his chest.

You gently placed your hands on the back of his head, pulling away to look at him. Tracing over his features, you took every inch of him in. That Aquiline nose you had grown to love so much, the patchy beard littered with charming speckles of silver, that stray curl in the middle of his forehead that never stayed put. Joel Miller was beautiful. He was an enigma of a man. Stoic, masculine, tender, intuitive, full of emotions and worlds unknown to everyone. Everyone but you. He was a crazy, deep, beautiful paradox of a human, and he was all for you.

Joel slowly pushed out from you, before pumping himself back in. He did this a few more times, his eyes never straying from your own. His fingers slipped to your clit, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb against it.

“Think you can cum on my cock?”

You nodded.

A smile lifted the right corner of his mouth. “Tha’s what I like to hear.” He leaned down, kissing you again as he began fucking you, deep and slow, each move methodical and well planned, as if he knew just what he wanted to do to your body.

Your hands fell to his broad shoulders. His broad shoulders. That alone could have made you cum. The tanned slope of his beautiful, beautiful shoulders, collarbones thick and jutted out just right, followed by patchy chest hair, down to his soft belly that pressed into yours so perfectly. He was beautiful. You traced your fingers down the trail of his biceps, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, straight to his wrists, lacing with his long, skilled, well worked fingers, palm rough and calloused, tough as leather against the softness of your sweet, smooth hands.

You drunk his figure in like a lovesick fool. Oh, you were, weren't you? So full of love and affection for this brute of a man, well aware he struggled with his emotions. You watched the crows feet by his eyes crinkle as he clamped his eyes shut, watched the line of his neck pulse as he threw his neck back in pleasure.

He was a Baroque portrait of lust standing before you, dark and brooding, thrusting into your cunt as if it were the sweetest thing in the world for him. He growled into the air with each pump of his hips, nails digging into your skin as he held you close, never to let go.

"Joel." You whispered softly, burying your face in his chest as your second orgasm fast approached. You weren't sure why you said his name, not sure what you wanted exactly, but Joel knew. He always knew. He just cradled the back of your head with his right hand, his other gripping ahold of your waist, pounding faster, deeper, harder, hungrier. You were all he wanted, all he ever wanted, all he ever needed.

Joel bit down onto your shoulder softly as he twitched inside you, and you knew his orgasm was soon to come. He kept the same pace on your clit until you were putty in his hands, legs tightening as pleasure washed over you. You both came in harmony, moans mixing and melding into the air which surrounded you. His cock painted your walls with thick, hot ropes of white, and your tightening walls milked every last lick of it out as your came hard, head dizzy with thoughts of him.

He whispered your name softly as he slowed to a stop, pillowing you against his body. "God, I missed you."

You nodded in agreement, sticky skin pressed together like two puzzle pieces. "I missed you." You pulled away, holding on to him for support as you slowly stepped off the counter. You gently pressed your palm into his chest, feeling his cum dribbling down your thigh. You smiled softly at the feeling before glancing up at him. "More than you know."

Joel gently ran his palm down your back as you slipped your underwear on, quickly following suit.

"What's in the basket?" You asked, pointing to the item he left alone on the living room rug.

"Oh. It was s'posed to be a peace offerin'. Makin' up with you was easier than I thought." Joel joked, and you gently slapped his shoulder.

"Whatever." You giggled, walking over to the present.

Inside were some paintings Ellie had made you that Joel never had the courage to send before, some sprigs of dried herbs they were growing in their back yard, some handmade goats soap from a lady down the street, and a long, narrow velvet box. You picked it up slowly, turning to look at him.

"Now if you don't like that I might as well go out and die in the woods. Took me fuckin' weeks to find." Joel admitted, rubbing his neck nervously. "I remember you sayin' you wanted one of them."

You slowly opened it, met with a shimmering string of pearls. A necklace. A necklace you had spent your whole life yearning for. Your lips parted with surprise. "I-I've never seen one in person. Only in those old magazines they had back at QZ."

Joel walked towards you, nodding a bit. "Spent a whole weekend with Tommy, all the way in Cheyenne. Almost got me killed." He chuckled, hands falling to your hips.

"Oh, Joel. It's beautiful. It's.... I've never seen something like this before." You whispered earnestly, gently sweeping your hair up. "Put it on me?"

He smiled a soft, rare smile, gingerly clipping it around your neck. He took a step back, admiring you, soaking you in, memorizing the way it looked on you. "Yeah, that was worth the trouble."

You smiled happily, falling into his arms. He held you tightly to his chest, fingers sweeping through your locks of hair. "By the way..." Joel murmured into your head, pulling away slowly as his fingers found your chin. Your eyes met in a searing gaze, full of summertime warmth that fell over you like golden sunlight. He stared at you long and hard, and you saw something like tears gloss over his gaze.

And when he spoke, his voice was calm, steady, devout:

"I love you, too."

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[stevenose]

win with you (18+)

summary: your bantering with steve comes to a head (lol get it)

contains: smut! 18+ only! steve x reader; reader with a vagina; fem!aligned reader; fingering (reader receiving); handjob (steve receiving); bantering; some pining; cutie ending

author’s note: let’s try not to plagiarize this one luvs xx

Steve’s not even drunk and he’s still annoying. Making you grit your teeth in the passenger seat while he’s being cocky and what he must think is comedic.

“Admit it,” he says. His smile is all teeth. “You love watching me do keg stands.”

“I was literally not even outside when you did that.”

“Then what’s got your panties in a bunch, huh?”

He’s being mean about it, but he doesn’t mean to be. He doesn’t know you’re head over heels for him. Catching you gawking at him isn’t all that serious to Steve. He just thinks it’s funny.

You don’t.

“Who says it’s you?”

“I do. Jesus, should’ve seen your face. Looked like you saw a God. You think I’m pretty, babe?” And he laughs.

“Shut up!”

“If it wasn’t the keg then what was it? Grinding on people? My outfit? My jeans a little too tight?”

You want to throw yourself out of the car. “Steve, stop!”

“So you’re saying you’re not wet right now?”

“Oh, my god. No.”

You are. You have been since he picked you up to go to this stupid ass party. Maybe if he didn’t hold the door open for you, or put his hand on your lower back to guide you inside, or wink at you from across the room when someone was holding him up you’d be dry. But you’re not. Not like you can help it.

“Okay, so prove it.”

You look over at him finally, his smile more relaxed and bemused. “How?”

Steve holds his hand out towards you, elbow resting on the center console. “Give me your underwear.”

Your stomach flips and your face gets hot. “You’re disgusting,” you scoff, looking back out the window so he doesn’t see how phased you are.

“So you won’t?”

“No!”

“Fine.” He rests his outstretched hand back on his thigh. “I’ll just assume you’re wet since you’re so embarrassed.”

You grit your teeth hard. “Will you shut up for the rest of the drive if I do?”

“For tonight only? Sure.”

“You swear?”

“Swear.”

You huff, incredulous at yourself, as you slip your underwear down your thighs, pulling them over your heels at the ankle. There’s an evident wet patch, stringy with your arousal, and you’re about to shove them back on before Steve grabs your wrist. “We made a deal,” he reminds.

You practically throw them at him, crossing your arms over your chest as he lets his eyes wander from the road to the silk in his hand. “Oh, Jesus,” he says. “I fuckin’ knew it.”

You try to snatch them from him, but he’s already pulling off to the side of the road to get a real good look at them. You hide your head in your hands when he turns the overhead light on, gasping a little. “Wow. All this for me?”

You growl. “Who said it was for you?”

“You know I’m teasing,” he says, but he still grips your underwear in his hand. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Your head races because you actually weren’t expecting him to ask that. “Um. Uh - Brady. Brady Tyler?”

Steve scoffs. “That dumbass with two first names? He sat by the chip bowl all night.”

“Well, I like chips.” Your hand reaches for the silk and again, he pulls away.

“You like chips, or you like Brady?”

His brow is quirked. He’s staring you down and he has to know it’ll get even more of a rise out of you.

“This is humiliating,” you sigh, finally getting your hands back on your underwear. “Can you just take me home like I asked?”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you-“

“Bullshit, Steve,” you spit, staring out the window again as he kicks the car back into drive. “You like it when I get embarrassed, you think it’s funny.”

“Well, a little,” he admits. “But I didn’t mean for you to get uncomfortable. Really.”

“How did you even know I was wet?” you ask after a while.

Steve bites his lip and drums on the steering wheel. “You want me to be honest?”

“You look up my skirt or something?”

“No. I just - I could - I could, like, smell it.”

You throw your hand against his arm fast and hard and he groans.

“Why do you say shit like that?”

“Well, I - I did! Moment you got into the car - it’s not - it’s not like it’s bad, I just - you know?”

“‘Not like it’s bad’? Oh, tell me, Steve, did it make you hard?”

You’re trying to get a rise out of him to satiate your own anger. It’s a lot easier (and admittedly more fun) when the bickering goes both ways. But he stills, pulling onto your street, going quiet.

“Did it?”

“We’re almost -“

“No way! You did not just make me show you my underwear to avoid this now.”

“It’s gettin’ late -“

“Let me feel, then.”

“Huh?”

“Only fair, right? You got to hold my underwear, I think feeling your dick is less intimate.”

“That’s absolutely not true -“

“Will you let me?”

Steve groans and pulls up to your apartment, throwing it in park and turning to face you. “Fine,” he huffs, taking your hand and moving it to his left thigh.

“No,” you scold, breaking into a smile. “That’s not the side you tuck it into.”

He seems to grow a little pale. “How do you know?”

“Everyone knows, Steve, not like you’re -“

Your hand hits his hard on and you both gasp at it. It would be comical except for the implications that you’re both horny for the other. You let your hand stay for a moment, watching Steve’s dark eyes flit down, then back up to yours. He licks his bottom lip.

“Not like I’m what?” He finally asks, voice cracking.

You blink, heart racing. You lick your lips, too. “Not like you’re small,” you mumble. “Your jeans are really tight,” you add.

You can feel his cock kick under your palm and you experimentally press down with the heel of it. Steve gasps, head leaning back against the seat. His jaw drops. You’ve never seen him so lost for words before.

“Is that good?” you ask dumbly, still using the heel of your palm on him.

He sighs and licks his lips, highlighted hair falling over his forehead. “Uh-huh.”

You’re shy. Even with your hand on him. You pull back but he takes your hand again, pressing it down on his cock and grinding up into it. Both of your eyes widen, your throat going dry. You can’t speak, so you just continue, rubbing him through those stupid dark wash Levis.

“You- w-were hard for me all night?” you finally whisper, stuttering a bit. You swallow hard.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back against the window so he’s facing you. “Ever since I….”

“Picked me up?”

“Please,” Steve asks hoarsely, his hands moving to the waistband of his jeans. “I gotta - it hurts.”

“Oh,” you whisper, removing your hand so he can shove his jeans down his thighs. He’s left in his boxers, and his unfocused eyes flick up to meet yours for approval. “You’re wet, too,” you say, reaching out with a finger to touch the wet spot where the tip of his cock is.

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back again. “More, please.”

You realize your power here, as his adam’s apple bobs, as his cheeks turn red. It’s thrilling to have the upper hand. It makes it feel like you’ve won.

“It’s only fair that you give me yours, right?” you say, running the tip of your finger down his shaft. It’s begging to be let out. “Don’t you think, Steve?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” you scoff, moving up to his waistband, letting it snap back against his stomach. “Gotta take a good look at what I’ve done to you.”

Steve moves surprisingly quickly, though a bit irritated. He hands his boxers over with a scrunched nose. “There.”

“Hmmph.” You punch the light above you on and grin widely as you examine them. The amount of precum is a little unbelievable, but it’s clear he’s been thinking about you just as much as you thought of him.

Steve mocks you, huffing with his arms crossed, dick out in the open. “What?”

“I think you made a bigger mess than me.”

“Absolutely n- oh!”

He throws his head back as your hand gently wraps around his length. It hits the window harshly and you laugh, but Steve’s incredibly serious. His hips thrust up into your hand desperately. His jaw’s gone slack again, eyes squeezed shut, fists balled up. You stroke him and beam when he inhales shakily, one hand coming down to rest lightly on yours.

“Not fair,” he heaves. “Didn’t get to touch you.”

You twist your wrist. “You want to?”

“Jesus, yes, of course,” he babbles. In the light of the car, you can see the faint line of the scar across his jugular. You want to lean forward and kiss it, lick it, soothe it. “Thought - th-thought touchin’ your underwear would be sp-spank material for months - wanna feel….”

“Wanna feel what?”

“Your pussy,” he nearly growls, bucking his hips upwards again. A hand goes up towards his hair, tangling his fingers in it. The sight makes your eyelids drop, your mouth salivate. He looks so wrecked and so big in your hand.

“Steve,” you moan, thumb swiping over his leaking tip. “Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“Are we doing this here?” he breathes, suddenly punching the light out. He seems a little more focused. “I’m not a big fan of c-car sex.”

“What? Don’t wanna ruin the leather?”

“Shut up.”

“Is that how you should talk to me?”

“Y’know what turns me on?” he says, leaning forward, your hand still wrapped around him. His hands make their way between your legs, big and warm on your inner thighs. Your hand stops moving now, feeling a little less in charge with him looming over you. “When you get irritated with me.”

You laugh breathlessly. “Y’must be turned on a lot then.”

Steve’s knuckle grazes over your swollen clit. You gasp and squeeze his cock, your other hand gripping the door handle behind you. “Oh, I am.”

It’s quiet as he touches you. You can’t meet his coffee colored eyes while he rocks the joins of his fingers against your clit. He soon manages to work his way underneath the fabric of your underwear and you both gasp.

“Jesus, she’s cryin’, huh? Wanted me so bad all night,” he coos, now using the pads of his fingers to stroke up and down your folds. You shiver and try to keep up your own strokes, but it’s insanely difficult when he’s touching you like this. You feel his cock flex in your palm and it makes you clench up. “Come on, thought you were touching me.”

“Shut up,” you grit, “your stupid dumb fingers are distracting me.”

He chuckles, pressing two fingers right against your entrance before pulling away. “They are, aren’t they? Needed me, didn’t you?”

“Just needed something.”

“Sure, like Chip Bowl.” He scoffs. “You could’ve made up a much better lie, y’know.”

You jerk Steve off again, trying to get back a bit of your authority. He groans low in his throat, breaking it off with another laugh. “Could’ve - picked - a-anyone else-“

“Yeah, well,” you breathe, fighting back a moan as his fingers work fast on your clit, your hand finding the same pace against his shaft. “Your nickname w-was f-fucking… the Hair.”

“That’s mean,” he whines. “Not like I chose it. Oh, fuck, honey-“

“And King Steve,” you continue, spreading your legs, pushing forward slightly to have better access to him. “Stupid.”

“You’re about to cum on his fingers,” he groans.

“Bullshit,” you moan, grabbing his shirt with your free hand. He’s got the top half unbuttoned, showing the hair on his chest, sleeves rolled up. If you look down, you can see the veins in his forearms pushing out as he works on your cunt. You pull him towards you and his lips land on your neck. He’s quick to suck an eager hickey into it.

“Gonna make me cum,” he whispers into your skin. “You- this isn’t how - mmmmmph - how I wanted….”

“Oh,” you breathe. Your wrist is starting to cramp but you maintain your pace. “You d-dreamed about this, huh?”

Steve licks a path up to your ear. “Like you haven’t.”

You grab his shirt harder, breathing heavily, panting while he rubs your clit. He bites into your neck, a whimper leaving his throat. “Ah,” he cries, rutting into your hand as you rut into his, “‘m gonna cum, shit!”

“On the leather?”

Your orgasm hits you fast and severe as he slides two fingers knuckle-deep into you. You gasp and swear, pushing yourself into him and pulling him onto you. Steve groans, cumming from the sensation of your tight walls around his digits, your hand pumping him through it. He forces himself off of your neck to press his lips harshly into yours and you both moan and lick into each other’s mouths until you need to pull back to breathe.

You can only stare at each other for a while. Your thumb rakes over Steve’s temple, rubbing away a stray drop of sweat. He looks drunk. Your chest heaves and he moves his hand to your thigh again, rubbing gently.

“Thanks for the ride,” you finally say, pushing his hair out of his face.

He smiles and nods. “You, too. Are you gonna let me in to clean up?”

You smile back. “Sure. But I’m not helping.”

“Awful rude of you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You notice now how hot you are, how radiant your cheeks have been. The intimacy of his kiss only makes you boil more. “How about you let me stay to make up for it?”

“You trying to sleep with me?”

“No,” he muses. “Just trying to win with you.”

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #ns/fw #stevenose posts #steve x reader

[marigoldenblooms]

April Foolishness - Headcanons

Pairing (Not all at once): Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader, Kate Bishop x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI - 18+

Summary: How would they react to you failing miserably- masterfully pranking them at every turn?

Tags: Fluff, established relationships, swearing, attempted pranking (mentions of bugs/arachnids, fish), innuendos and tension, comfort, light power usage, no actual smut (fade to black).

A/N: Happy silly day, ya'll!! I wanted to do something fun between classes, so this is it- april fools pranks on my favorite girls. Not proofread at all. Enjoy the boops!

Images are not mine, credit to owners! ~~~

Wanda x Reader

You hadn't been dating Wanda for very long.

Well, if you don't count the years of pining, that is.

You had hidden yourself behind a corner in her hallway, arms out and ready to spook.

This had been your same trick from Halloween (which between that and the turnips did not go well-)

But this time it’d go swimmingly.

After thirty minutes later, you heard the familiar clack of her heels against the compound’s floors, and…

Nothing. Silence.

You peeked around the corner to see where the witch had gone, and-

“Boo.”

Her warm grasp hugged your middle , yet you swear you jumped out of your skin.

“What the- Fuck, Wands-“ Your terror was met with her musical laughter, patting the the sides of your stomach.

“Well if you insist, sweetheart.”

Her voice echoed

She’d let go of you, and you could see the sparkling mirth in her eyes once you turned around.

She placed a quick peck on your cheek, looping your hand with hers to play with your fingers, gaze downcast at them even as her mischievous words would enter your head without her mouth moving.

“If you want to spook a mind reader, darling..”

You gulped as her touch grew more bold, pinning you against the wall- face warming as she’d tilt her head,

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

She’d chuckle at your flustered reaction, her grin cheshire as she’d lead you back to her room, giddy with sweet excitement.

“And happy April fools to you too, Wan-“

~~~ Natasha x Reader

Natasha had always managed to prank you first before you could prank her.

One year prior, you’d ended up with an egg in your hair while your whipped-cream pie prank had gone unsung.

And that was some really good whipped cream.

This year, though- you had buttered her up. Perks of being her partner- the pranks could go even harder.

“Good morning, my dearest sunshine-“ You’d murmur, settling her in with breakfast in bed.

Your trick? Salt in her coffee instead of sugar. Genius.

Natasha propped herself up on her arms, giving you an upturned eyebrow, “Oh, and what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, nothing much..” A shit eating grin plastered her face, one that would soon be returned by the redhead.

“Birthday? Anniversary..?” She’d poke at your side as you sat down, her touch ticklish as she helped you settle the tray of food on her bedsheets.

“M-mmn, nothin’, sugar..” Oh, how you’d be eating those words soon enough.

You’d watch as she’d take a sip from her coffee, eyes wide and sparkling as she opened her mouth-

And sighed in bliss.

What the fuck was wrong with this woman.

“Delicious, baby..” Natasha purred, taking another hardy swig, and you watched as she swallowed. “You’ve outdone yourself..”

“I…uh-“ Your babbling words would be cut short as you took a drink of your own mug-

And was met with intense, uncomfortable sodium.

She cackled as you spit your mouthful back into your cup, punching her jokingly with a red face, “You- you fuckin’-“

“Switched them?”

“Not just the brew-“ Your hand would’ve found your forehead in shock, “But the mugs too- how the shit did you do that?”

“A spy will never reveal her secrets-“ She’d lean up to kiss you, but instead would shift the platter over to the side. “And you need to wash your mouth out.”

“Not before I drink my coffee..” You’d hiss, chugging her now lukewarm mug down.

That was, until you saw a plastic totally real cockroach on the bottom of the mug, shrieking before chucking it against the wall.

“Love you too, dear.”

~~~ Yelena x Reader

You didn’t think Yelena could be scared of anything.

She threw a knife at the fake spider you pranked her with last year.

And she spat in the face of the ‘piranhas’ that had infested your room’s bathroom two years ago.

And even so, you tried again this year- although with something much less terrifying.

You'd flooded Yelena's room with multicolored balloons, painstakingly blowing them up before gently setting them on her floor.

And the best part?

She was asleep in her bed the whole time.

You had almost finished the second bag of balloons when Fanny, ever the sleepy Akita, finally stirred from their rest.

The pup locked eyes with you, and you were so thankful that they didn't bark.

That didn't stop Yelena from waking, though.

The blond would rise quickly, eyes darting around as soon as her dog moved an inch. You swear she had murder in her eyes, although that might've just been from awakening so quickly.

It all left her once she found you, though.

Groggily, she'd wipe at her eyes, mumbling something before kicking her foot off the bed to stand-

Bumping into a stray balloon.

She recoiled immediately, yowling as though she'd been pained deeply- and you were at her side in a heartbeat.

"Yelena, shit- you okay?"

"Yeah.." She'd gruff, her shoulders slacking once your hands found purchase on them. She'd hide her head in your shoulder, a surprising gesture.

You wrapped your arms around her, rubbing soothing circles into her back, "No need to be frightened, honey.." She'd hold you closer, and a flicker of thought ran through your mind, "Lena..are you scared?"

"What-? No-" She'd deny, her voice especially thick this early in the morn. "You just startled me-"

"That's a form of fear, hun-" Your chuckle was met with a groan from her, before she pulled her blankets back over the two of you.

Her words were muffled, "Fine, you got me- but now you hold me until I say so."

"My big, bad, scary Lena...of course, honey."

~~~ Kate x Reader

No matter what you pranked Kate with, she was always worried about you.

It's not unfounded, after you fell down the stairs during last year's April Fools, but still.

This time, you’d actually get her.

"Kate, made you some brownies!"

You heard her clamor with a fevrency that made her sound like a one man band.

She burst out of the hallway, expression wild with hunger and apprehension-

Until she saw you holding some kiddy scissors exceptionally sharp blades of murder and death and terror and-

“Babe!” She’d screech, barreling forth to snatch the scissors from your careful hands, placing them gently on the counter, before inspecting your palm for even the slightest scratch.

She hadn’t even noticed the brown construction paper, or the cut letter you’d pressed towards her middle.

“Kate, earth to Kate-“ Your smile towards her shook her from her thoughts, “I’m okay, pretty girl..Happy April Fools!”

Between the panic and the praise, her brain had to do a soft restart after that.

After a few more seconds, her goofy grin would return again, almost coy, “Gave me a heart attack there, you know-“

“I know,” You’d motion to the tin of hello kitty bandaids you’d raided from Tony, “And I was prepared, you doofus.”

She’d smile, nodding along until her face flushed- her hand rubbing smooth circles into your hip.

“But if you, you know- wanted to do some scissoring, as they say-“ You’d sigh, shaking your head with a teasing lilt, “You’re verryy smooth, dear.”

You’d press a boop to her nose, a teasing whisper, “I’ll think about it.”

~~~

#minors dni #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #yelena belova x reader #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #marvel headcanons #yelena belova #wanda maximoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #kate bishop #bearrrwrites

[sprout-fics]

request for ghost 👀 ghost x medic!reader that is basically the opposite of him. super gentle and docile, they’re the sunshine of the team (affectionately named by Soap). ghost is infatuated but refuses to believe someone as good hearted as them could ever be interested in him. like he feels like he’s not good enough for reader but reader is scared of rejection so they also don’t say anything. basically two idiots in love pining for each other

Sunshine (Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN! Reader)

Rating: M

Word Count: 2.5 k

Warnings: Explicit mention of murder, blood, and injuries, I have not played any of the games so if Ghost is OOC then shoot me I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Summary:

“Sunshine” They called you. It was a bit of a misnomer, all things considered. While your sweet, gentle personality was quietly adored off the field, your laser focus and scorching gaze locked that part of you away on mission. Soap had teased you once in the early days as you stitched his arm in a safehouse, saying you had the sweetest, gentlest touch on a medic he’d ever felt.

“Feels like fuckin’ sunshine, corporal.” He slurred, heavy off painkillers as you tended to the bullet in his shoulder. “Best hands I’ve ever had on me.”

You had given him a sharp pinch for the innuendo, but the nickname had stuck anyways.

It had taken some time to earn the trust of the group. They had been burned one too many times to take in a new member without a healthy amount of suspicion. It was only after you had managed to patch them up half a dozen times each that they grew accustomed to your steady, reaffirming presence.

Most of them, at least.

Ghost was a quiet one, living up to his name as he lingered in the shadows, haunting like a specter at the corner of every scene. When he spoke, it was only to issue orders, to patch into the comms and relay intel. Like a wraith, his broad form occupied the corner of your mind, his voice a rough hard scrape like soot against your fingertips. His eyes watched you from afar, deadly, precise, ever true to his aim.

You never see his face.

“Don’t worry, he’s just got a bad chin.” Soap whispers conspiratorially to you as you both lay low over a rooftop that looks over your target. “Like one of those goddamn Hapsburg royals.”

“I doubt that.” You snort, eyes never leaving your scope.

Still, you do wonder sometimes. You can’t help it. There’s something inside you that gravitates towards him like being pulled in by a black hole. The very presence of him draws your eyes to his, dark, unflinching, cold. Sometimes you feel like he can see straight through you, as transparent as a phantom.

“Sunshine, on me.” He barks, and damn if you two don’t make quite the duo- bright sunlight and a dead man walking.

The only times you get glimpses of him are when he’s injured, which is rare. You pull up his sleeve to reveal his forearm, thick, muscular, veiny. For a moment you want to trace your fingers over it, nails scraping against the dark ink in contrast to his skin- a skull.

Ghost’s eyes never leave you as you work, and you don’t notice the way his gaze lingers over your lips, your lashes.

You talk to him as you clean the cut- a sharp slice of a knife from a terrorist who got too close. He had been a step to your left, and you had raised your gun but Ghost had gotten him first. You didn’t even realize the hulking soldier was in your shadow until his knife was buried into the man’s neck and a curse tore from his throat at the blade lodged in his own arm.

The blood drips red across your gloved fingers as you try to distract him from the pain, and yourself from the strange flutter that echoes low in your stomach. Inside, you try to quell whatever this is- this want, this need inside you for him to be even closer, to hear his voice whisper across your skin.

Your nimble fingers work over the wound, neatly gathering the edges. It’ll leave a scar, and you wonder for a moment just how many he has, exactly. What are the stories that tie them to his flesh? The history woven into the sinew of his muscles?

“I’m sorry.” You offer, and your voice is quiet somehow, unable to fill the scant space between you. Sorry that you had been too slow, sorry he had gotten hurt as a result, sorry for having feelings despite yourself.

“…It’s fine.” The Lieutenant offers after several long heartbeats. “I’m fine.”

It’s not fine, not really, but you accept his words regardless.

“Thank you.” Ghost manages after you’re done, and his voice is uncharacteristically subdued. His eyes avert from you, as if he doesn’t want to meet your gaze. That shiver inside you swoops low with uncertainty at his hesitation, but before you can part your lips to speak he’s gone as if he was never there at all.

---

It’s only after a close call that is far too close that things change.

The sniper catches you by surprise, having managed to circle around your group and catch you from behind. The bullet goes straight through your shoulder, and if you hadn’t turned to listen to Price just a millisecond prior you know it would have been through your skull. The impact topples you forward onto the rubbled concrete below you, and the world is spinning, ringing as Price is shouting orders seconds before the rapid pop of gunfire erupts around you.

“Sunshine!!”

You try to stand, to reach for your weapon but it feels like your lungs are caught between a hydraulic press. There’s blood splattered across the ground under your hands and it blurs as your vision tries to right itself from the pain. Someone is calling your name but it sounds like it's coming through water, garbled and distant.

The world around you shifts abruptly, tilting on its axis as a pair of thick cut arms lifts you like you’re no heavier than a sack of flour. Hands reach across you, removing the strap of your rifle from your form and you catch a glimpse of the blood that’s soaked through it, dark and glistening.

“Got ‘em.” A voice gravels next to your ear, and it takes you more than one second to realize its Ghost who’s got you slung over his bulking shoulders, his gear digging into your ribcage as you wheeze and try to ground yourself against the nauseating wave of pain that bubbles up your throat, thick and red.

“Go!” Price barks, and you dimly are aware of the fact that he sounds oddly afraid. “We’ll cover you.”

The world is jostling, turning, shifting, and the sudden dizziness of it all crashes over you as your vision turns black.

---

The next hour comes in flashes of black and red, and you learn later that the bullet narrowly missed an artery- a fatal blow. Your entire left side is soaked in blood by the time you wake, but you’re alive, drowsy, laying down on a cleared off table at the safe house with the dusty kitchen light shining brightly down on you.

You hiss at the brightness and try to move to press a hand to the wound, only for an iron-rod grip to settle your wrist back onto the flat surface under you.

“Don’t.”

You blink for a few moments, turning your head to meet the white skull mask next to you. The lieutenant looks comically too large for the chair he’s sitting in, and with his size his gaze is still above you, gazing down with that unblinking stare

“You lost a lot of blood.” Ghost relays calmly, his grip still on your wrist. It’s nice, the warmth of his hand spilling through his glove onto your clammy skin. “Thought we lost you.”

There’s a tenderness in his voice that surprises you, and you can’t tell if it’s the painkillers helping you imagine it. The fact that he’s sitting here, with you, instead of with the voices that filter in from the other room, should tell you something. Your senses are too cloudy, heavy and weighed down by whatever they gave you for the pain.

“ ‘M not dead.” You manage, voice a hard scrape in your throat. “It’ll take more than that to make me a ghost.”

Maybe it’s the painkiller after all, but you swear you hear him chuckle.

---

You’re haunted after that.

Ghost’s figure is too large for your own shadow, but he stays there nonetheless, dark and omnipresent like a curse. In some ways it is. The constant presence of him forces you to constantly push down that flutter in your stomach, to make sure your eyes don’t linger on his for too long, to not say his name like the soft sigh that it is in your heart. You catch his eyes and feel a rush of warmth creep up your neck under your gear, feel the phantom of his touch skim across your wrist.

You’ve fallen for him.

Fuck.

That itself is not a problem- well, it is, but not as bad as the issue it presents. You can’t say anything. He’s your superior, you’re part of his team, and there are clear boundaries that can’t be crossed in wartime.

More than that though, is the fact that he probably doesn’t feel the same. Ghost has never mentioned anything about romance, even to Soap, who he seems closest with. When you had gently queried the sergeant for intel on the topic he had merely looked at you as if you expected him to know the secret of the afterlife itself. You count your blessings that Soap is dense when it comes to that sort of topic, otherwise he’d be pestering you for weeks about your little secret.

So, you try to contain it, this infatuation of yours, spoon feeding yourself lies about how it’ll pass, how it’s just a phase, that you two were never meant to be. It’s difficult to do just that when he’s always there, crowding into your space like your own personal attack dog, wordlessly present at all times. His eyes trace you as you pass, and you feel the chill of them carve into your bones and leave you trembling and weak.

It's fine, I’m fine. You tell yourself, more than once a day at this point, forcing down the rush of warmth when your eyes meet, when you hear his voice speak your name, when you feel him right fucking behind you.

On top of it all, Ghost starts putting you in the backseat, starts holding you from rooms until they’ve been cleared, and starts treating you like a goddamn rookie. The part of you that is hopeless over him thinks at first he’s being overprotective, watching your six and making sure there will never be a repeat of the incident that nearly cost you your life. You know better than that though, know that Ghost likely doesn’t have feelings for you, that he’s putting you on the back burner deliberately to teach you a lesson over not paying attention- and that pisses you right off.

It takes a while but you manage to corner him back at base after a successful mission where you all but sat on your ass the entire time while he and Price took the lead. You find him lurking in a back hallway, and you can’t contain your uncharacteristic anger as you stride up to him, plant your hands on either side of him on the wall and gaze furiously up at his masked face.

“What.” You grit. “-the fuck was that?!”

Ghost, for what he’s worth, actually looks surprised. The expression is foreign to you, his eyes usually cold and dead, calculating and precise. He stiffens, and even though you barely reach his collarbone with just how gigantic he is, manages to look like he’s actually a bit apprehensive of your stance towards him. In any other situation it would be borderline comical, with how you’re trying to physically intimidate a man much, much larger than yourself, with your arms barely able to box him in on either side.

“Watch your tone corporal.” He replies at last, and there’s a warning in his voice you don’t heed.

“Not until you tell me exactly why you’ve decided to treat me like I don’t know which end of the gun to shoot with.” You snap back, and the look your words earn you is chill inducing. Even so you don’t back down. “You have me being baby-sat during these missions like you can’t trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

The words spill out before he can catch them, and the confession has you both startled and blinking at each other wide-eyed. You feel shock spill across your chest, electric and dazzling for all of a moment. You aren’t surprised at the fact that Ghost trusts you, it’s the fact that he went so far as to say it out loud, voicing a rare instance of his inner thoughts to you in your confusion.

“Then why?” You ask, and you hate the way your voice sounds almost desperate, pleading for an answer.

Ghost stiffens, and you feel his muscles ripple as they brush against you.

“…I couldn’t have you injured again.” He speaks at last, and you know he’s trying to school his voice into a cold indifference, but you can hear the little note of shame there, of guilt.

“I’m going to get injured no matter what. That’s the job.” You point out, unable to contain the bite from your words.

“No.” Ghost manages, and his voice is tight, choked. “Not like that.”

You blink up at him, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability in his voice, the way he seems to almost be pleading with you.

Yet your entire world screeches to a halt at his next words.

“Because it’s you.”

Your heart beats against your chest like a trapped bird, and suddenly you’re stumbling back from him, back braced against the opposite wall of the hallway as you try to reconcile his words with reality.

Because it’s you.

“Why…why didn’t you say anything?” You croak, hands coming up to your face to massage your temples. “All this time, you…you didn’t say anything.”

Ghost shifts where he stands, and you know him well enough at this point that he’s fighting the urge to walk away, to blend into the shadow and pretend like this conversation never happened.

“You don’t feel the same.” He says bluntly, voice detached and empty as he braces for what he thinks is your inevitable rejection. “And even if you did, I…don’t deserve someone like you.”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his, and you shiver at what you find there. Hurt, longing, desire dark and deep and barely tamed.

“You-“ Ghost manages, and you can feel the discomfort radiating off of him, this brute man built like a tank but taken down by a few tender words. “You’re too good, sunshine.”

Slowly, the pieces fit together, like skin mended together by the seam of a stitch.

He thinks he doesn’t deserve you, bright and radiant as you are. You’re sunshine and he’s Ghost, he’s shadows and darkness and blood and the whisper of death with every bullet. He’s afraid that if he even touches you he’ll dye you dark at the seams, stifle that brightness within you.

He doesn’t know that light illuminates the darkness.

“Ghost.” You manage at last, and there’s a laugh on your lips, sweet and bitter all at once. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

You yank him down and kiss him through his mask, and something radiant glows inside you both.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ask box #requests #oneshots

[tange-my-rine]

guard dog || Tangerine × gn!reader

Summary: Lemon has been trying to get you to see it for years. His brother was into you, so much it physically hurt to watch. That's what he said anyway. You were skeptical, to say the least. The fact that everyone who had ever hurt you, or even just threatened to, was dead though, was indisputable.

TW: protective!Tangerine, jealous!Tangerine, violence, murder, cursing (it's Tangerine), all things bullet train.

[[A/N: y'all know I love a good pining story 🫣🫣🫣, enjoy :) ]]

You'd known the twins for about as long as you've been in the business. Your handler was the same, and for a mission, they just decided to pair the three of you up. It was some simple grab-and-go, you can hardly remember now actually, but the three of you mended so well that your place was practically cemented.

Don't get you wrong, Tangerine has resisted, hard, since the beginning but you could see the progress. Or well, you hoped it was progress.

Lemon seemed to think so, and that was good enough for you. Who knew him better than Lemon, after all?

That brings you to now, where you sat in a fancy sort of gala -dressed to the nines; there was a man, some wealthy guy, that was the hit. Tangerine had gone to roam the crowds to, well, find him. Lemon sat inconspicuously to your right in a suit, a nice gray number, with a drink in his hand, looked a little like champagne but you couldn't be certain.

"You think he's lost?" You questioned, smiling over your cup -eyes directed to the crowd in a sweeping motion. You lagged on every good blue suit in the mix, perhaps for someone in particular, but you'd never say that out loud.

"'Wouldn't admit it if he was," Lemon retorted with a chuckle.

"I could get lost in here," you remarked, tapping your fingers along the tablecloth, gaze slipping across the ceiling -it was all shiny with chandeliers and painted columns, "-I bet there's at least 16 rooms on this floor."

Lemon pursed his lips, "He's only supposed to be in one, though, ain't he? Minglin' and such."

"He could've slipped away," you hummed, messing with your sleeve.

"Guess so," Lemon echoed, eyes glazed over the bustle of the people.

You paused for a moment, before saying, "Why did we send him again? He's really not the sociable type to get the guy's guard down, yeah?"

"Easy," Lemon smiled, something twinkling in his eyes, "-he wouldn't let me go because of competitive reasons and he wouldn't let you go because he'd sooner fuckin' die than leave you alone."

"Lemon," you lowered your voice, "-I'm an assassin, I'm sure I could've found this guy myself. I'm not a baby."

"Not sayin' you are love," he spoke matter-of-factly, "-It's nothin' about your skill, it's all him."

You quirked your brow, taking a long sip, "All him?"

"Have you really not noticed?" Lemon questioned, now fully facing you, "-He's like your fuckin' guard dog."

Ah, this again.

"Lemon, we've talked about this-"

"Doesn't mean it ain't true," he tsked, "-I can read people you know that, especially my brother."

You did know that, but your brain just really couldn't wrap around the idea of Tangerine seeing you that way. Not that it wasn't desirable, god was it desirable- it just didn't make any sense. He didn't treat you any differently than his brother, except for small things. Like holding open the door, pulling out your chair, and listening to you talk thoughtfully (unlike with his brother who he'd directly told to 'shut the fuck up').

He was just polite.

And it's not like you didn't think him to be handsome. He was probably one of the most well-crafted people on the planet, all pressed suits and slick hair and blue eyes and strong arms-

"Think back for me," Lemon interrupted your train of thought, thankfully, "-last mission, how many people got their hands on you?"

A grab-and-go, some sort of drive, you think.

"Like how many I fought? I mostly knocked them out, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Lemon agreed, "-but, somehow, they all ended up dead. Not your doin', not my doin'."

"Well," you scoffed, "-you can't leave witnesses-"

"Mission before that," he continued, relentless, "-quick in and out, nobody but the target to die, yeah? But some bloke held your arm too tight, remember?"

He'd wanted to buy you a drink, and you said no. He insisted. By the time you'd gotten him off, Tangerine had neatly sauntered to your side. You'd always thought it was weird timing, actually.

"Yeah," you hummed, furrowing your brow, "-okay. He didn't die though."

"Yeah, he did, back alley when you were in the car," Lemon replied, taking a long sip of his drink -finishing it actually.

"What?!" You hissed, "-There was no need-"

"You're barkin' up the wrong tree, love-" he held up his hands in surrender, "-I had nothin' to do with it. Except well, baggin' 'im up, Tan wanted to meet you in the car. He's always givin' me the dirty work."

Before you could respond, and you very much wanted to, Tangerine leisurely waltzed up to the table. Slow and steady steps didn't draw attention. Although you're not sure that mattered because well, everyone is going to look at him -I mean, come on-

"Disappeared in a room with a woman," he spoke quickly, exhaling a big breath, and snatching your drink from your fingertips -promptly downing it.

"Hey-" you began but didn't get far.

"I'll buy ya another one, love," he spoke, sly and smooth -sitting down to your left, exasperated, "-Fuckin' needed it. All the guy droned about was kissing arse and fuckin' stocks."

"You spoke to him?" You tilted your head, curious -promptly ignoring the fluttering when he called you love.

"No," he nearly spit out, "-just heard 'im. Real fuckin' piece of work, I tell ya."

Lemon hummed, "Good thing we're 'ere to kill 'im then, yeah?"

"Yeah," Tangerine agreed before eyes flickering over the two of you, "-What have you been doin' then?"

"What do you think?" You laughed, "-Not much else we can do but sit."

"They haven't been flirtin'," Lemon smiled, teasing, "-if that's what you're askin'."

"Fuck you," Tangerine retorted, "-just thought I'd ask somethin' nice for once and you twist it, see? Can't be nice to you."

"Enough, you two," you exhaled, swatting at both of them -your hand brushed Tan's but you didn't focus on it for long, "-Guy's back out."

The man was tall, greying slightly by the ears and big full dark beard -seemed the type to be a beneficiary or whatever it was. His suit was one you recognized to be expensive, probably because of Tan now that you think about it, and he was swarmed by quite a few men -itching for conversation, advice, you assumed.

And then, his eyes, deep brown ones, slinked over the table, landing solely on you.

You smiled -the kind that made all the men happy, waving gently. Standing up, you patted the table and whispered to your partners.

"Looks like he has a weak spot," you spoke through your teeth, "-be back in ten. Don't bite each other's heads off, please!"

You were a people's person, and men were simple, it wouldn't be hard to get him into a private space and-

You were halted, something pulling on your wrist. Less pulling and more held in place, actually. Spinning on your toes, your eyes held on Tangerine's fingers pressed into your wrist -keeping you at the table.

"Tan!" you hissed out, trying to pull your hand away -it wasn't a hard grip, just enough to keep you unmoving, "-What the hell?"

He seemed to scramble for a second, eyes fluttering across your face, "You can't just go without a plan, you know 'at, right?"

"Tan," you seethed, voice low to keep unwanted ears out, "-the plan is simple, get him alone and kill him. Now, why don't you let me-"

"No," he reiterated, "-you can't just go on your own. He's got men by his side, 24/7, what are you supposed to do if-"

"Lemon," you hissed, trying to get him on your side.

"No," he spoke, passively, standing up, "-I'm not involved in this, you two sort it out. I'll take care of 'im, yeah?"

"Seriously?" You turned to him, merely watching as he disappeared into the crowd -there goes your backup.

You turned to him, something heavy in your eyes -disbelief, "Do you really think I can't do it, Tan?"

"Love," Tangerine began, standing up beside you -it was almost like you were holding hands, "-I didn't mean-"

"Yeah, right," you scoffed, shaking off his hand, "-I need some air."

That is what led you to push through the glass doors and back onto the patio, rain trickling down from the sky. You stayed under the ledge for a moment, before decidedly stepping into it; it brought you back to earth for a moment, anger and frustration slowly numbing to the patter against your skin.

You'd always liked the rain.

"Come out of the rain, love," he spoke, careful and quiet -gentle in a way you'd only seen once ever, "-you're gonna get a cold."

You ignored him, raindrops dusting off your eyelashes and making your clothes stick to your skin ever-so-slightly. It wasn't enough to give you a cold, you knew that.

"Please."

Now, that was new.

You turned to face him, eyes adjusting to the shadow of the ledge. He looked at you softly, like you held the entire world in your hands and he didn't want you to drop it; blue eyes dusting over your face for any signs of anything you assumed. Something in you faltered.

Wordlessly, you stepped back under the ledge.

As soon as you did, he shrugged off his coat jacket and put it on your shoulders -almost out of habit. Another thing to add to your list.

He spoke first, leaning against the wall right beside you, "I'm a fuckin' dick, aren't I?"

You laughed, just a little -looking at the ground, "Yeah, you are."

"Look, love," he started, slow -his hand brushed up against yours on the wall, "-I wasn't tryin' to say anythin' about you. I kno' you could kill 'im without even thinkin' about it. You're incredible-"

Something in you twinkled, cheeks dusting a pink -not that you'd let him see.

"I just-" he started, running his hands through his hair -you watched the motion with lazy eyes, curious, "-I'm fuckin' daft."

"You are," you answered with a lilt of a tease, before turning to him, seriously, "-but why did you freak out like that? I really just thought you didn't trust me-"

He spun to you then, catching your eyes with his -a breath shattered out of your lungs, his hands firmly on your arms to keep you in place, "I trust you with my life. I do."

You hummed, looking at him critically, "Then what, Tan? If you trust me and know I'm good, then what's the problem?"

"It's not-" he sighed, eyes leaving yours as he rubbed a hand down his face -turning away slightly, with one hand still just below your shoulder, "-Fuck, I never wanted to-"

"Tan," you echoed out, gently placing your fingers against his jaw -turning him to meet your eyes, "-you can tell me anything, you know that."

You were so close now, a breath away from him -blue eyes flicking across your features, a bit frantic. You could feel his breath fan across your face, as your hands fell back to your side. You didn't dare blink. It almost felt like-

Could Lemon be...?

Your brain was working against you, as you blurted out, "Are you my guard dog?"

Tangerine paused, eyebrows furrowing, all tension now dissipated, "What?"

"Shit, I didn't-" you stepped back, but his hand on your arm didn't let you roam far, "-Lemon keeps telling me you're like my guard dog. All protective and like constantly keeping your eye out, not letting me go anywhere without you-"

"Your guard dog?"

"Yeah, it's stupid, but-" you paused, looking back at him, curious, "-did you really kill that guy in Madrid?"

"The hit?" He questioned, something in him relaxing, "-no Lemon did, you don't remember? The fucker stabbed me in the leg-"

And then, he fell silent -something passing over his face in recognition.

"In my defense, you weren't supposed to know about 'at."

"Well, I do," you exhaled, expectedly, "-may I ask why?"

"Why what?" He asked, somewhat innocently.

"Tan," you stressed.

"Same reason I didn't let ya leave," he exhaled, simply, like you knew the reason. You thought you might, but you weren't taking any chances.

"Tan, how am I supposed to-"

"He could've said bodyguard," he spoke, suddenly, working himself up, "-Just had to compare me to a fuckin' animal, didn't he? He's lucky I-"

"Tangerine."

"Right, yeah," he interrupted his thought process, eyes swimming to yours, "-I can... I can explain."

You met his eyes, "Please do."

He paused for a moment, seeming to settle on what to say, "I am... I am your fuckin'... guard dog, as my brother so eloquently put it."

You opened your mouth to comment.

"Hear me out, will ya?" He spoke, softly, fingers brushing circles against your arm -you merely nodded, "-I'm protective over ya, beyond belief really, not sure how ya didn't figure that one out."

Your hands went to the edge of his coat, tightening it on your shoulders. It was a little chilly now actually.

"Not because you can't protect yourself," he clarified before his eyes settled on your face -gentle and soft, almost... admiring, "-but because I don't kno' what I'd do if I lost you."

"Is it not the same with Lemon?" You questioned, your breath hollow in your chest.

"It's-" he cleared his throat, almost awkward, "-very different."

"Different how?"

"Love," he sighed, a little exhausted, "-I..."

"Just be honest with me, Tan," you echoed, a mere whisper, "-that's all I want."

And then his eyes darted over your face, swimming like he was committing every bit to memory... like he could never get enough. Suddenly, something settled over you, watching as the words stopped on his tongue but his face said it all.

He didn't have to say it, you realized -watching him, you knew.

With a breath, you pushed forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and digging your head into his shoulder. His whole body tensed for a moment like he hadn't expected it, before relaxing -hands coming to twist along your waist.

"You don't have to say it," you muttered into his shirt, all crisp and clean, "-I know."

He spoke quietly, you could feel the breath on your skin, "You know?"

"I know," you repeated.

"'At mean I can take ya to dinner?" He questioned, playful but you could hear the nerves -you knew him well.

You pulled back, fingertips twisting in the curls on the back of his neck -smiling brightly, "I'd love to."

He grinned, and it crinkled at his eyes -now looking at you a bit like he can't believe it, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smiled back.

"You had your fill, you two?" Lemon interrupted, suddenly making himself known, "-Figured out all your shit, then?"

Tangerine's face dropped turning his head but making no move to let you go -it made your head fuzzy, "Don't fuckin' start."

"I won't," he held up his hands, before grinning -mischievously, "-I will say though, you can thank me anytime. Ya know, since I played fuckin' cupid."

"One more word," Tangerine leveled, eyes glaring daggers, "-I'm fuckin' serious, mate-"

"Thank you, Lemon," you interrupted, turning out of his grip -one hand still on your waist, you doubted he'd let you fully out of his grip, not now. You didn't mind.

"See?" Lemon asked, "-'At so hard, brother? Always liked 'em better, really."

Tangerine paused, jaw tensing as he licked along his teeth, reluctant but his eyes kept darting to you -he softened, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Lemon grinned for a second before he fell rather serious, "-really though, we should leave. 'Give 'em another fifteen minutes to find 'im."

Tangerine pressed his lips together, not moving.

"Seriously," Lemon echoed, "-I know ya expect me to be jokin' but I'm not, I give 'em fifteen minutes."

"Tan," you pushed, eyes meeting his, "-later. We have forever, don't we?"

Something in him softened, eyes dashing across your face, he bit down a smile. Wouldn't dare let Lemon catch him, you assumed.

He seemed to anyway.

"Oh, you are whipped, bro," Lemon retorted with a laugh.

"Don't," Tangerine seethed, "-I'll pound your fuckin' face in, you know 'at? Not another word."

You rolled your eyes, slipping your hand into his. This was your life now, huh?

You flickered over Tangerine practically tackling his brother to the ground, verbally, but his hand still gently wrapped around yours -unaffected.

Maybe that's okay.

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #tangerine bullet train #bullet train #tangerine bt oneshot #tan's things #gn!reader #guard dog

[always-andromeda]

⋆｡˚୨ 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃' 𝒱𝒾𝒹𝑒𝑜 𝒢𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 ୧˚｡⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 1039

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ You spend a quiet moment showing Abby your Animal Crossing island; a testament to your love for Sanrio characters and your favorite girl.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ on my old sideblog, my sweet Saia requested that I write something with Abby involving Animal Crossing. buuuut, since I've deleted that blog, I thought I'd repost it here! I've made some little edits so it's a bit longer than before; but here it is in all its glory again! this one is entirely dedicated to you, @abbysdolly; thank you for being so lovely and so supportive, dear. I hope you enjoy this again!! alsoooo, divider credits go to @cafekitsune!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ minor swearing, absolute tooth rotting fluff, nothing else I can think of!

"Fuckin' video games..." Abby spoke under her breath as she fiddled with the controls of her switch. She'd only had it for a few days (thanks to some gentle persuasion from you) but she was already moments away from giving up on it completely.

"What's wrong?" you leaned over from your spot on the couch. Her character now stood blankly in front of her starter tent. You rested your chin on her shoulder, breathing in the pine scent that felt like home to you by now as you tried to see what the problem was.

"There was a scorpion and he just–"

Realizing her plight, you giggled, "Stung you?"

Abby set the console down and reclined back on the couch, taking a deep breath. "How did you get so good at this in the first place?"

"I dunno," you hummed. "You just gotta work on it."

Of course. As much as Abby fancied herself an expert at all things, part of her was alright with taking the loss on this one; especially knowing how happy you got when you finally got to best her at something. You could have this one.

Abby rolled her eyes and continued, "Ah, it's whatever. Show me what you've got on your island, babe." 

Your eyes lit up and a smile bloomed across your face. Letting out a chuckle of her own, Abby swore she'd never get sick of that expression. You picked your own console back up and snuggled closer into her side.

Immediately your fingers flew, maneuvering your character around the screen. Abby smirked, catching a glimpse of the pink bunny that decorated the skin of your console. She never had a single clue how she managed to land a delicate thing like you. It always made her a little afraid of breaking you; something she didn’t worry about with most. She was abrasive and proud of it. But not with you. Never with you. She hooked a strong arm around your frame and pulled you closer.

"The first thing I have to show you..." you trailed off as your character disappeared inside of a pastel pink house. The main room of your house was thoroughly decorated with polka dot wallpaper and white wood floors. Pastel couches and a white coffee table with a decorative cake and tea set on top constituted your home’s living room. Underneath it all, a fluffy looking rug tied the whole soft atmosphere. Except…it didn’t look like any old carpet. It was a picture of some sort of cartoon character tucked inside a bright blue teacup.

Abby squinted. "Who's on the rug?"

You looked up at her, "I've told you about the characters, Bee. Guess."

Noticing the long ears on the character, she spitballed, "Isn't that the bunny? MyMelody?"

"Nooo..." you whined and tapped the decal on your switch. "That's MyMelody. The rug is Cinnamoroll. And he's a puppy, not a bunny."

Abby scoffed, "Well, sounds like I've gotta do more studying."

"Yeah," you replied matter of factly with a glint of pride in your eye, "you really do."

As soon as you showed her around your house, you then graduated to running around your island. You'd sunk hundreds of hours into the game and it showed, considering every nook was themed and immaculately adorned with various trees, bushes, and flowers. She couldn’t help but be a little jealous. It wasn’t fair that these little virtual creatures could live in a paradise, entirely hand crafted by you. That sounded like a dream to her.

"So, this is Toby," you introduced her to a yellow rabbit with big eyes and teal hair. "He's part of the Sanrio set of characters. I'm trying to collect them all."

"Now, that is a bunny. It has to be. Geez, how many bunnies does this brand have?" she grumbled.

You giggled again, "Yes, he's a bunny. But he's based off of Keroppi," you added with a pointed glance in her direction, obviously expecting her to fill in the blank.

Now this is one Abby knew. She blurted out, "The frog!"

"Good job, Bee," you smiled proudly.

"Eh, it's no big deal," she brushed you off with a teasing look that told you she was playing her humility up. She had to preserve some respectability.

Then she watched as your character ran over to a secluded piece of land that looked over the ocean. The sun was setting over your island paradise as your character plopped down on an iron bench. Cut off from the rest of the island by a thick layer of trees, this area was quiet. The normally upbeat music subsided so you and her could clearly hear the wind blowing and the waves crashing. It was strangely kind of…calming.

"This spot is nice," Abby mumbled.

"I made it for us,” you replied quietly.

"For us?"

Your gaze was especially sentimental when you answered, "Yeah! So when you finally visit my island, we'll have a place to sit and watch the ocean."

Abby blinked vacantly. "You know...we can totally do that now too...in real life?"

You chewed on your lip as you watched the screen. "I mean, yeah. Of course. But I want to sit with you and watch the sunset virtually too."

Abby was quiet, thinking about all the hours you put into this endeavor. How patient you had been, sharing all of the things you loved with her. God…how had she been lucky enough to find you again? 

Finally, she spoke, "Ya know...maybe I won't quit the game just yet. At least not until I get to sit on the bench with you...virtually..."

"You're such a goober," you smiled, laid your head back on her chest, and hopped off the bench in game so you could keep showing her around.

Her emotions weren’t showing up too visibly on her face. But she was undoubtedly and thoroughly impressed. For one, she was amazed at your eye for design and the way you coordinated everything without making it look too uptight and proper. Your island felt comfortable, just like how you made her feel. And more than anything, she was happy that it was a kind of comfort you always wanted her to be involved with.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou #abby the last of us #the last of us #the last of us part 2

[brighttears]

Wise Fools

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description, no use of y/n, readers has female sex organs

Summary: you tell Joel you love him, he doesn’t react how you think, but he also doesn’t react how he wishes he had. he sorts himself out and comes back to fix things. 

Word count: 5k

Warnings: mutual pining, drinking to get drunk, SMUT (minors DNI), cunnilingus, fingering, male masturbation, mentions of PiV sex, pet names (darling, sweetheart, beautiful girl),

A/n: not super proud of this tbh but i just felt pressured to post it like i just wanted to get it tf out eeeeee. barely proofread the smut not my fave thing to write but i know it's what the ppl want 😪

—

“…I just feel like I need to tell you, I never want to be without you… and… I love you, Joel.”

You watch his lashes because he won't meet your eyes, then brush a finger over his cheek to softly hook under his chin, but just as he lets you raise it, he shifts out of your grasp and stands. 

You watch him walk away, smoothing his hand over the back of his neck, facing the dark front window in his living room, the only sound being his foot scuffing to a stop.

The air shifts. You can tell that he’s not going to say anything, and are suddenly hit with the realization that you are a fool. You fooled yourself into believing that you have some kind of control over this game, some kind of special insight or providence. You feel beat. 

He stands with his back mostly to you, his arms crossed, staring at the floor. His jaw flexes. 

A ball of lead falls from your head down through your heart to land in your stomach and your skin prickles; it’s a freezing cold feeling but you’re hot with embarrassment at the same time. Those first few times you saw him, you remember how irrefutable you saw your goal to be; like you were already his, you thought he was already yours. 

This whole time, it was just you. Your heart begins to race. 

“I’m gonna go.” You get up, pause for half a second, thinking he might try to stop you, but he doesn’t. He still won't even look at you. You feel sick. “Have a good night.” You manage as you slip out. 

—

“Fuck.” Joel stays standing after you leave, pulling fists of his hair up until it hurts. Squeezing his eyes shut, he whispers through gritted teeth, “God damn it.” Part of him is screaming to go after you but his body won’t obey, and his mind twists, curls and knots around itself. The one thing he knows for sure is that he fucked up. He feels small and stupid. And he wants his brother. 

Joel counts to fifty before leaving his house. Outside, he wants to call out his brother's name, he wants to run to him like a child, he wants him here now. Clenching his jaw, he keeps his mouth shut, and repeatedly swallows down thick threats underneath cries. Finally, he makes it to Tommy’s front door and raps on it, waits, raps again. He combs his hand through his hair, then drags it down his face, clears his throat, and sniffs hard. 

Tommy opens the door looking a little groggy, but his eyes snap wide open upon seeing his brother so undone. Once processed, he urges him, “Shit. Come on, come in, sit down, I'll get ya’a drink.”

Suddenly very insecure, Joel whispers, “Well I don’t wanna disturb Maria, I guess I sh—” 

“Nah, nah, nah,” Tommy shakes his head, “she’s asleep, but she’s a hard sleeper. As long as we’re not screamin’. Js’ come on.” He motions his arm inside and Joel finally follows. “Sit down,” he tells him over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen, and comes back out with two thick, clear plastic cups, and a large clear glass bottle holding an easily recognizable rust colored drink. He pours without a word, sits down, and looks at his brother, “Go, on, then. What happ’nd?”

Joel takes his cup, staring into it as he begins, “I fucked up, Tommy. I fucked up real bad.” He sips and keeps his eyes in the cup as he continues, “She told me she loves me. An’ I didn’t say a fuckin’ thing. Did’n even look at her.” He takes a long sip and grimaces, “So she left. Cause I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Aw, don’t say that,”

Joel shakes his head, “I am. I am. I’m a fuckin’ coward is what I am. I love ‘er, you know that?” He finally looks up to Tommy.

“Yeah, I kinda guessed.”

“N’ it’s like this whole time I’ve been waitin’ for that, for, I don’t even know what the fuck, to know if–if she loves me I guess, an’ she does, an’ I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I js’ froze. I froze bad. I love her, I do, I do… Fuck me. Look what I just did to ‘er.” He sloppily gulps what’s left in his glass as he finishes his sentence, then says immediately, “Pour me another one.”

“You tryna get shitfaced?” Tommy inquires, visibly concerned. 

“Wouldn’you?” 

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek, then uncaps the glass bottle and pours. “Fair ‘nough.”

“Mm.” Joel watches him pour, then raises his glass, “To bein’ a fuckin’ idiot.” and throws the liquor back. Tommy follows suit, for his brother's sake. 

—

You stumble the short way to your house, almost falling, and curse yourself for being so weak as to be physically hindered by nothing but a broken heart; nothing you haven’t felt before… this time feels different, though. 

Once inside your house, you sniffle, cough, and walk straight into the kitchen, dragging a chair behind you to set in front of the refrigerator. You climb it to retrieve the one bottle of alcohol you keep in your house: a bottle of wine, old as shit, found on the road. You don’t bother with a glass nor do you pull the chair back to the table, simply collapsing in it there and take out your pocket knife to work at the cork. 

How the wine tastes isn’t something you pay any mind to, though it’s possibly one that you should savor, being that it’s aged and all that. Within a few minutes, half of the bottle is gone, set on the counter next to your chair, where you sit, legs spread, elbows on your knees, nails on your scalp.

You told him you love him, you said the L word, you broke your rule, made many broken hearts ago, to not fucking do that. Why did you think, really believe, that this time was different? What a fucking fool. 

Sitting up straight, you breathe deeply, grab the bottle, and then guzzle another cup out. 

Should you just leave Jackson? Run away? It’d be best for the both of you, you think. Where would you go?

Suddenly, the question hits you: what's the point of going on if you have nobody?

You are well acquainted with this feeling of brokenheartedness and deep lonesomeness. However, you’ve never experienced it in a house like this, warm, unarmed, drunk. Well what's the point of staying in Jackson if all you’re going to do is… what, this? Go to the fucking movies? And avoid Joel. No way would Tommy talk to you. Maybe not Ellie, either. You couldn’t blame either of them. He’s theirs, they’re his, all running with loyalty in their blood. Not you, though. You are an outsider. 

Don't you dare allow the simple thought of what's the point? That is not allowed. For all the people you’ve known that have died, who held on with everything they could to the last fucking second, you can’t give it up. Even if it all just means pain, fear, and loneliness. 

At least if you’re alone all you need to fear for is yourself. Definitely not over some silly man, of all things. Some silly man, who you love like you’ve never loved before, who couldn’t bear the thought of that, so much so that he had to pretend like he hadn’t heard it, that you weren’t even there. 

“Jesus Christ.” You slur, standing, holding the bottle, and take a few empty steps into the empty living room. The couch bounces back with you when you plop down on it. Your eyes fall closed. Without opening them, you set the wine bottle on the coffee table and stretch out on the couch.

Clips and images of Joel run over your eyes and you’re drunk enough to enjoy them. You reflect on the first time you saw him, how unbelievably beautiful he was, and how funny he looked, like a lost little kid walking down the street, and then the first time you met, when Tommy called out his name while you talked with him leaned against opposite polls under the awning of a shop. Something about the cool light tones of the winter contrast ridiculously well with him and you were near starstruck. Immediately, you knew It was him. Then you started seeing him around more, you worked on a couple projects together in town, did patrols, met up on each other's porches, talked just to talk. You could talk for hours, nonstop, always something more to add. The kind of immediate connection you had is one you can’t remember the last time you had with anyone. By the end of winter, you were thick as thieves. 

And you had misread all of it, and ruined it. 

You jolt up. Then decide to move upstairs to bed, for some comfort at least. It works like a charm and you’re out cold within minutes of snuggling in under the covers. 

—

Tommy convinces Joel to quit drinking before he can’t walk anymore, which he decides is fair. Drinking isn’t helping anyway. It’s an extremely refreshing walk home. He isn’t unable to walk upstairs to his room, but he simply can’t be bothered, and he doesn’t want his creaking stomps to wake Ellie, so he flops on the couch, boots and all. 

In his drunken state, Joel squeezes his eyes shut and wills time to go back, so that when he wakes up, it’s yesterday morning, and he can do that all again, and do it right. In his head, he works out exactly what he’d say as something to convince time that it’s gonna go backwards for him. 

From the moment I saw you, I swear to god I knew it. You were different. And ever since then you’ve only proven me right. I just adore everything about you. Now that you're in my life I can't imagine life without you because I don't want to. I want forever with you. 

I have a hard time with love, I can't remember the last time I told someone I love them. Out loud, at least. I hope I've shown you I love you. But you need to hear me say it. I love you, I love you, I love you. I'll tell you every day. Every night, every morning, I'll tell you I love you.

Loving you feels like freedom, it’s like finally being able to fill my lungs all the way up with air. And it comes so naturally, feeling this way, and trying to show you. I can learn to say it. I'll learn to say it for you. Because I need you to know. 

I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm scared to death, of all of it, of being in love in the first place. Scared to death. But it’s not going anywhere, and I never know when I'm gonna die, and I don't see the point in trying to push all this down because I don't know how long I have left to really, actually live, and loving is what makes living worth it. Love is the whole point. And I'll show you, I'll do everything I can to show you til the day I die, but if you tell me you love me I'll tell you back. So I'm telling you back. I love you. 

Joel mouths the words ‘I love you’, trying to get a feel for them again, and falls asleep with them still in his mouth. 

—

It takes you a long time to get out of bed once you wake, between the headache and the heartache and fear of facing the day. 

Why go to breakfast? You probably won’t be able to keep it down anyway. Water sounds fantastic, though. So, finally, you drag yourself out of bed, keeping the blankets as a cloak, having apparently stripped completely nude at some point in the night. 

Water was indeed a great idea. You feel it running through your brain, cooling and clearing. It doesn’t help anything else, though; last night still happened, your relationships are still ruined. Do you have anything going on today? Any reason you have to leave the house? No. Well, then, you won’t. Staying in bed all day sounds too depressing, so you go back to your room to slip on your biggest tshirt and your most comfortable pair of underwear. Your wrap your blankets back around yourself and they drag behind you down the stairs. With your trial, you feel like you must look like a slug.

To the couch it is. The bottle of wine from last night still sits on the coffee table. Day drinking crosses your mind, but it didn’t make anything better last night, so fuck that. You push the table away with your foot and slouch down as far as you comfortably can. You miss TV. 

—

When Joel wakes up, there is a short pause before the grim memories of last night come back to him and he draws out a swear as he wipes his hand over his eyes, forces them to open and then himself to sit. The light of the windows in front of him stings his eyes and he stands up to turn away, his knees struggling hard, and rubs his pained neck. He is too old to be sleeping on couches like this. That’s fine, he deserves pain anyway. 

The idea of going after you runs around in his head, hitting and spinning every other thought, and once again he’s lost. After a couple minutes of trying to figure something out, he thinks fuck it and heads for the front door. 

It’s warm, wet, cloudy, and a short walk to your house, not allowing Joel enough time to give in to cold feet. He makes it up to your porch but gets stuck there at your front door.

What is he scared of? He knows you love him, he just needs to tell you he loves you too, and apologize, maybe on his knees.

The image of him being on his knees in front of you brings a new idea in his head—his hands on your thighs, your hands in his hair; he wonders how you sound when you moan, how you taste, how long it’d take him to make you cum. Joel tries to shake the thoughts out, taking a deep breath. That is not the task at hand. However, a new realization re-electrifies the ideas, which he’s had many times before, but now… if you love him… that means he might be able to actually find all that out.

This is not the time for that, Joel scolds himself. 

He takes a deep breath. Shit, he forgot to figure out something to say. What was all that he had last night? All he remembers is how to say ‘I love you’. Shit. Joel takes another deep breath and starts practicing it again, barely audibly telling your front door ‘I love you’ over and over again. 

In his focus, he does not notice any kind of sound or movement inside your house until the door opens. 

—

Standing in front of you on your porch, Joel looks disoriented. You don’t know what tone to use to ask what he’s doing here so you say nothing. 

“Can I come in?” He finally speaks. 

You unthinkingly nod and stand aside to open the door for him. 

Once shut, you turn to him and nervously pull at the hem of your shirt. You felt too stupid with those blankets on, so you abandoned them on the couch, but you probably should have put on more clothes before you opened the door. Should you excuse yourself, go upstairs to change, leave him down here?

Suddenly, you realize that things between you are awkward now, and it makes you want to cry. 

“Alright.” Joel starts just in time, facing you with his hands on his hips. He still can’t meet your eyes. Is he here to scold you? Say ‘how dare you’? ‘You ruined everything’? ‘I’m leaving’? ‘You should leave’? Instead, he shocks you by saying “I’m sorry.” Then he slowly works his brow up to peer at you. You huff, flustered. He looks back down. 

“Why?” You let out, small, and his eyes shoot back up to you. He raises his head up fully, looking at you square, and swallows hard.

There’s a pause. Neither of you look away. 

“Last night. I fucked that up.” His voice is deep and uneven. Joel’s shoulders move with a deep breath, “Listen. I… shit.” He looks down, taps his toe on the floor. You cross your arms protectively over your chest. “I fucked that up. I’m sorry. That wasn’t… that didn’t… express what I wanted to… what I feel. I just get scared, y’know?” He looks at you, then back down. “I mean, you do know. But I, I realized that it doesn’t matter. That’s all bullshit. Cause here you are, and here I am, and… Jesus.” He shakes his head, then talks like he’s unleashing it, finally meeting your eyes, and you can see the earnestness in them, “Listen. I feel like I was always just waiting for you, I just didn't know it.” Joel’s gaze falters again. Then his voice is deeper, softer, quieter, and more melodic, “I dream about you. When I’m asleep and when I’m awake, an’ I think you’re the most beautiful thing. You’re js’ special. An’ I feel lucky that I met you, and I adore you. Everythin’ about you. An’ I don’t care what they say about sayin’ shit like this, cause you are perfect. An’ I gotta thank you for sayin’ somethin’ first cause I’m a fuckin’ coward, an’ I’m just sorry it took so long. You deserve more, you deserve to know every day. I know I… I just… even if it’s not… like that, I hope I show you how much I care about you.” Eyes focused firmly on the floor, Joel scuffs the toe of his boot. “I’d do anythin’ for you. I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll go wherever you go, an’ I’ll get my shit together so I can tell you, every morning, every night, every time you tell me, that I love you. I love you.” Joel swallows hard and keeps his head down. 

Chills run up and down you. Why do you feel like crying? He looks so sad and shy and you want to hold him up, raise his chin, straighten his posture to how it should be, head held high; you want him lying in bed like this so you can make him feel better with your mouth and your hands; you want to just hug him, feel him holding you, so warm, so protected, you want to be engulfed in him. You’re too far away. So you take two quiet steps towards him, stop, and then take one more. Two more steps and you’d be on him. He’s watching your bare feet as you approach. 

Your voice is quiet and delicate when you ask, “So you love me?” and he finally looks up, slowly examining your body from the feet up and finally to your eyes. 

“Yes.”

There's a pause, you take another half step, and ask, “Can you kiss me?”

The few seconds it takes for him to find his way to your lips last a very long time, and the moments once they actually meet can’t last long enough. 

You let out a sigh as they do, losing touch with gravity a little, resting back in his arms wrapped around your back, preoccupied with his lips hard against yours, finally knowing them, finally tasting him; you want to drink him in, have him inside you in every way, a part of you. This first moment, you see as so, and appreciate all of the newness, the finally, finally, finally, finally.

He lets you pull off his layers until he’s only in a t-shirt, and you’re chilled over and over again in excitement and something else, whatever it is, you don’t care, all you care about is his arms almost bare, so thick and strong, his hands in places they’ve never been before, smoothing over your back, hooking around you, dragging over your front, over your stomach with a pressure that opens your mouth and furrows your brow. He pulls away then, only enough to be able to look at you, and his brow is relaxed in a way you’ve only seen hints of. He brushes one hand clumsily over your face, this thumb over your lips, and you angle your head down to catch it in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip, looking him in the eyes. With a deep breath, Joel takes his hand away to kiss you instead, deep, wet, pressing your foreheads together, then slowly backs you all the way up against the wall. Then he drags himself down, keeping most of himself on you as he does, hands following your curves, chin or lips dragging down however they can, and then he’s on his knees. 

Joel brushes his hands up and down the sides of thighs, then grips your hips. “Can I taste you?” He asks softly, big, puppy dog eyes looking up at you. 

Frankly, you breathe out, “Yes.” 

Joel takes a deep breath, first pressing kisses just above, then over your underwear with a pressure that makes you tingle just under it. He opens his mouth and drags it over you open, still over the fabric, with a heat that you know has you absolutely soaking already.

Still looking in your eyes, Joel hooks his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pulls until they drop around your ankles. He bunches up your long t-shirt in a fist, lifting it up and resting it on your stomach, then he holds your hip firmly with his other hand, stabilizing himself as he moves his mouth in. Joel focuses, ready to finally show you what he can do for you, secretly smiling as he licks a line up with a flat tongue, proud when your chest jumps with a gasping moan. He repeats, kitten licking you, getting you nice and wet for him to take your clit into his mouth, forming around the sensitive tip to suck and massage with his tongue. Intense pleasure takes your breath away and as you gasp your nipples begin to feel more sensitive rubbing against your shirt and you let your hand smooth over your breast. 

“Shit Joel, fuck,” you breath out, then lean your torso forward as you moan, and fall back as he releases your clit.

Joel moves his hand from your hip to under your thigh and lifts it, pressing the side against the wall, opening you up more for him. His head bobs as his tongue slides further in, licking a line straight from your hole up to under your clit, and then again, this time sharpening the tip of his tongue to lick under your clit until it flicks off. Your pussy craves it seemingly with a mind of its own, controlling you. 

“Yes, Joel, fuck, just like that, oh my god,”

And so he repeats, the tip of his tongue continually stimulating the underside of your clit. When your hips turn up into him he lets his mouth shift down to swirl over your hole, his nose instead rubbing up and down the area above. Your moans are chocked, deep, and long, as you feel that pressure beginning to unwind inside of you. Knowing that it’s on him, you want to let go, give yourself to him, let him have you.

From your sounds, Joel can tell he’s closing in, but no way is he letting this last only a couple minutes. For one thing, he doesn’t want this to end, but he also wants you in ruins by the time he’s done. Joel swipes one more flat lick over the full length of your pussy and then pulls away, looking up at you. The tip of his nose shines with your wetness and he’s near out of breath. 

“Not lettin’ you go that easy, darlin’, ain’t gott’n my fill yet.” He stands, pulling himself up using your arms, and is back in your mouth, no concern for how he’s licking your own cum into your mouth. You don’t really care either anyway, all you care about is how he’s on you. Arms wrapped to hold your stomach to his, you feel his strength again. In between kisses, Joel says, “I’ve been waitin’ so long to know how you taste. Waitin’ so long to make you feel good like that. You’re so fuckin’ sexy. You’re so beautiful. I wanna see you cum. I wanna make you cum with just my mouth. Just my mouth on your pussy.”

Sounds fucking good to me, you think, almost making yourself laugh, but don’t waste any time to speak so as not to take away from your tongue teeth and lips on his. Being connected to him like this feels so secure, so correct; the awkwardness that had scared you so bad has vanished and now you’re closer than ever before, in body, spirit, and mind. 

Your lips allow you, “Do whatever you want with me.” 

A line of saliva keeps you connected when Joel pulls away, both of your faces wet, mostly with you. His hands shift to your forearms, holding them to pull you as he walks backward, guiding you to sit you down on your couch. When you’re down he’s immediately back between your legs, grabbing your thigh to hold out, and you see his other reach to what must be down his pants. The idea of that, Joel stroking himself just under you, makes you feel hotter still and you moan as his tongue connects. He makes a sound and it vibrates through you and you grip his hair and let yourself fall back, your other hand used to stabilize you on the couch so that you can arch your back and watch him. As his tongue rolls over your opening, he peers up at you. The image of him here itself could be enough to push you over the edge. So many days admiring him, soaking up his beauty, and how many times have you touched yourself imagining something just like this? 

Joel has the same thoughts going on in his head as he strokes himself rapidly. As much as he wants to feel himself all the way inside of you, as far as he’ll fit, and feel you squeeze around him, he’ll save that for you for another time. For now, he’s getting off just fine watching—making you get off.

“Joel, that feels so good,” you whine, he hums again and your hips jolt up. 

Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours as all of his own movements become unsteady with the more pleasure he gives himself, his hand pumping up and down his full length. He’s never been this hungry in his life, and here you are to devour. 

“Joel I know you’re touching yourself I wanna see you cum,”

“You first, darlin.” He says basically into you. He uses his tongue to tease your hole with swirling force, then licks up to your clit and sucks it. Keeping his focus there, he releases your thigh to utilize that hand to hook two fingers into you, then rocking them in and up.  

As soon as he starts with this you know you’re done for, and when your face screws up and your hips roll, forcing him to follow you, he knows, too. Joel strokes himself faster, fed by the feeling of his fingers inside of you and this prizing view.

You hold your thigh up for him, your head is leaned back and eyes squeezed shut, triggered by pure pleasure. The pressure building inside of you is like a balloon that Joel repeatedly hits with his two hooked fingers and you feel yourself squeezing, and try not to squirm away as your body rolls closer and closer to overwhelming climax. 

“Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel,”

As he comes close to finishing himself, Joel’s mouth opens wider, but he does what he can to keep you stimulated, closing it and moving his tongue all up and down wherever it can, and then he sucks, and his fingers land on your G spot and he rocks them and you’re cumming, loudly. Joel does not release, fighting through your writhing to pull you through your orgasm and with his last licks, he cums, and you shake as his moans vibrate through you. 

You slow to a stop, Joel removes his fingers once your pussy releases them, and falls back to sit on the ground in front of you. His pants are undone but his boxers are up, hiding his dick but not the wetness of his cum in them. Shy, you lean forward to cover yourself with your hanging t-shirt. You’re both smiling like giddy kids, and you kiss again, unavoidably wet, but soft, slow, and sweet—appreciative. You keep your eyes closed for a moment when you pull away and he smiles watching you. 

“Now what?”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere near noon.”

“You wanna go get lunch?”

You smile. “Alright. Just let me get dressed, I mean, I have to… clean myself up.” You chuckle shyly. 

Joel stands, zipping his pants back up and redoing his belt. “Yeah, me too. Need a whole new pair a underwear. How bout I meet you back here? Won’t take long.” 

“Alright.” You smile, reaching down to pull your underwear back up and stand, twisting your legs around each other. 

Joel walks behind you to pick up his discarded layers and you watch him shamelessly use the inside of his coat to wipe down his face. When he looks up, he smirks slightly, looking you up and down, steps towards you and then leans in, “Gimmie some sugar.”

You smile and oblige, leaning in slow and taking his lips in yours. What was meant as some cheeky kiss turns soft, sweet, and sincere.

This is how things are now, you realize, you can kiss him, and he can fuck you, and you can go get lunch together. 

“I love you.” You quickly add after you pull away. 

“I love you, my beautiful girl.” 

You beam, he basks in it.

#the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us hbo #joel the last of us #the last of us angst #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us show #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #tlou show #tlou fic #tlou smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller fanfiction

[sixosix]

𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 & 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔: 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒

blurb little au where a third changes everything and katsuki and izuku stayed friends—only because katsuki refuses to have you alone with izuku.

# fem!reader, 1-A shenanigans, fluff and humor, childhood bffs are something else, says 1-A student, NO ROMANCE? BUT YES PINING

the order goes like this: katsuki, izuku, then you.

katsuki leads first—he always does, izuku exclaims happily—while izuku likes to follow after him, happy to be in the middle of his best friends, and you trail after izuku, comfortable with getting to watch the way his hair bounces every step. it reminds you of a bunny, you explained once.

what some notice except for you three, is that katsuki likes to follow after you. it’s instinct sometimes, to have katsuki lingering around you as you interact with people outside of your small group.

mitsuki gushed about how hilarious it was that you three sometimes end up in metaphorical circles with how katsuki trails after you like a lost puppy.

inko wonders if it is normal for her child to have hearts for eyes, gushing over you about the littlest of things.

“this is so dumb!” you exclaim, glaring hard with all your might. “i hate this! izuku was right about you!”

katsuki and izuku watch as you continue to glower at your untied shoes with such fierceness that it almost makes katsuki wonder if you got it from him.

“it’s just a damn shoelace,” katsuki grunts. “you're so dramatic.” he nudges the boy beside him with a sharp elbow. “she got it from you, definitely. your dummy-ness rubbed off on her.”

“ah, sorry, kacchan!” izuku doesn't look sorry; he looks seconds away from bursting into a fit of giggles as you fail over and over again to tie your shoelaces. but his hands keep twitching as if he wants to help.

“oh my fucking god, give that to me.”

katsuki knocks your hands away and twirls the shoelaces around his fingers, eyeing you while giving a demonstration. izuku holds you up by the small of your back when you lose balance, smiling widely.

“fuckin’ watch this, alright? you fold it like this, put them like this, and then insert this one—and just like that.”

it goes like this:

“so cool, kacchan!” izuku squeals. katsuki grunts, because that’s the 27th time izuku has said that today. “are you okay, y/n-chan?”

“thank you, katsuki,” you mutter shyly, a little too quiet because you have an ego. “yes i am, izuku. thank you.”

“whatever, fuck off,” katsuki says, pleased either way because it feels good hearing it from you. “shitty nerds.”

izuku beams, hugging your head.

even now, in UA.

you thought katsuki would be a little ashamed to be friends with someone from the support course, but never has he shown that he was bothered. he just looks at you with the same, sharp blood red eyes, and looks at others with hostility in them.

izuku, of course, is far from ashamed. in fact, he’s delighted that you're in UA with them. his eyes sparkle every time his eyes slide over to you and he sees you in the uniform. he is so cute.

1-A watches as the door slides open and immediately katsuki and izuku are fretting over you; and you, unfazed, as they talk over each other. katsuki thwacks izuku’s head and you coo over izuku and katsuki throws a tantrum when izuku blushes.

“wow, that's the first time i've seen blasty not-hostile around someone,” mina squeals, “and she's a girl! could this be!?”

woah.

“this is the first time i've seen deku-kun act so smoothly around a girl, too,” uraraka adds, smiling eagerly, thirsty for drama.

double woah.

“chill,” jirou says, but she’s also observing the strange sight, “what if she’s, like, the sister of one of them?”

“probably bakugo’s then.”

“yeah. he barely tolerates midoriya.”

“or maybe she's midoriya’s sister and bakugou has a crush on her?”

triple woah.

as if sensing that the class is whispering about them, bakugou and midoriya spin around to meet the eyes of their classmates, one glaring and one shy.

then, midoriya whispers something to your ear, to which you excitedly nod at.

1-A watches in awe as you wave, eyes bright at the sight of hero students. “hello! my name is l/n y/n, it's nice to meet you.” added with a polite bow.

mina makes a noise of awe. “wow, you're so pretty! you're cute!”

you seem to be flustered, but the gentle smile that follows means you know how to handle compliments. probably because you’re best friends with midoriya izuku.  “ah… thank you. you’re also pretty…”

kaminari grins to himself, about to open his mouth but unfortunately, bakugou is faster.

“quit it,” bakugo snarls, stepping forward in front of you, “leave her alone, you fucking extras.”

but before any of his classmates can protest, you nudge bakugou with a sly grin. “don’t worry, kacchan, i think you’re also pretty.”

“s— shut the fuck up, stupid! that’s not what i fucking meant!”

midoriya snorts and then laughs loudly; they’ve never heard that from him before. “kacchan! did you just stutter?”

“awh, katsuki,” you coo, pinching his red cheeks and magically didn’t get blown off the face of the earth. midoriya stifles his giggles and you smile softly at the freckled boy’s delighted face.

maybe it’s a love triangle, except both boys are truly, madly, deeply in love with the same girl.

class 1-A sees you the second time when it’s 8 pm and everyone is preparing to go to bed.

the couch across the television is occupied, with a familiar mop of green curls and a shock of pale blond—but there’s also someone in the middle.

“is that l/n-san?” uraraka whispers to her classmates nearby, eyeing the three figures with surprise.

katsuki is on the far corner, resting his cheek on his palm (that would hurt when he wakes up) with his other around your waist, while you’re laying on his chest, your hand resting on midoriya’s head as the boy sleeps soundly on your lap, mouth hanging open and soft snores coming off his mouth.

both the boys are still asleep, but you’re wide awake, smiling contentedly. you meet the curious eyes of 1-A and raise your finger in a shh motion.

(everyone stays silent when you fall asleep a few minutes later as midoriya and bakugou blink awake. bakugou moves to carry you back to your dorm, while midoriya clings to you like a koala bear. they glare at each other. they end up staying on the couch for the entire night, protective limbs wrapped around you.)

“young bakugou and young midoriya… do they not like each other?”

aizawa turns to all might lazily, eyeing the frail man with narrowed eyes. “not like that. they see each other as rivals.”

all might brightens. “ah! in the hero rankings? they’re both fit for number one.”

“mm, maybe more than the rankings.”

both teachers watch as bakugou and midoriya jump around the training area, palms lit up and arms smothered in lightning green. push and pull. feral grins. aizawa takes a glance at another student watching the boys from the sidelines, notebook and pen in hand but too entranced to write anything.

all might follows his gaze. “that’s young l/n, yes? the support course student young bakugou and midoriya always want nearby.” he laughs. “those boys only work together perfectly when it comes to l/n.”

aizawa smiles under his scarf so no one else would catch a glimpse of it. “the three of them together…they’re formidable. but if you take l/n out, you might as well be a dead man to both of them.”

even now, as official pro heroes.

it goes like this: katsuki blasting his way to the top but never too far, izuku always somehow one step ahead of everyone but always somehow waiting for his best friends, and you, pushed forward by two pairs of hands.

the wonder trio. the big three. always together, but out of reach from anyone else.

everyone always wonders if you like one of them more than the other.

a/n. yes it ends there LOOOOOL!11 this fic focuses more on friendship bc i loooove friendship, but if anyones interested i might make fics with a route for each of them as endgame hmmmm

#606:BNHA #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fluff #mha fluff #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha drabbles #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku x you #izuku midoria x reader

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

They were Roommates! 3/?

Summary: We get some perspective. Jason's had a long day and all he needs is his princess to help him relax.

Pairs: Roommate!Reader x Jason Todd

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: SMUT, FEELINGS, POV SWITCH, chocking, cock warming, praise, pining, dark humor, fluff. reader gets a job, I have no excuses but this kind of hurt to write.

AN: This Chapter is from Jason's POV. I just feel like we needed some insight. Also just wanted to repost this because apparently it didn't upload properly yesterday. Hopefully this time it works.

Part 2

What a long fuckin day, Jason thinks to himself as he trudges up the stairs to your shared apartment. He's been out all night and day chasing down leads for Batman and hasn't felt this bone tired since he crawled out of the pit.

His duffle bag like a sack of bricks on his shoulder and his feet doused in concrete. But his goal is ahead of him. He knows your home right now, you told him this morning when he called to ask about your upcoming Art Show that you had pieces to get ready and you’d be locked inside all day.

The idea of you waiting for him pushes him further, faster. Just a few more steps and he'll be home. Not that he thought of you as home.  No, that'd be too much. You're friends, just friends, who haven't been able to keep your hands to yourself for longer than 2 days for the last few weeks. So maybe you’re just very good friends.

He pushes through the door, only a little grateful that Bruce made him leave his guns at the manor for Alfred to clean. Apparently, he wasn’t doing it properly. Though he’s about 90% certain he’s never going to see his favourite firearms again.

He makes a beeline for your room upon noticing you left the door open. Are you waiting for him? You wouldn’t be, right? His ears perk up at the sound of your soft humming, making his heart pound and his hands sweat. Fuck, he just needs to get his hands on you.

“Hey Jay,” you say in that velvety tone, when you see him approaching down the hall. Pulling your headphones off and smiling your cute little face at him. He can hear Taylor Swift's newest song echoing from them, but he barely even registers it. He’s so focused on you.

Fuck, you’re a wonderful sight. Your tablet resting on your crossed legs, your stylus slotted delicately between those delicate fingers, hair up in messy bun, tiny fly away's framing your beautiful face, knee high socks that nearly give him a heart attack and his fucking red flannel. Fuck, if he had your skills he’d sit down and capture how perfect you are.

His eyes take all of this in as his heart tries his best to tell him something. But he can't stop moving. His body goes limp as he flop’s down onto you, resting his head on your silky thigh. All he wants is to sink his teeth into your flesh, mark you, cover your pretty skin in signs that you're his. 

Instead, his hands dig into the shirt that’s fanned out over your legs. His shirt, if only the woman in it were his too. He thinks, grateful he’s managing to keep these confusing thoughts inside, “Princess,” he mumbles into your leg. 

“Long day at the office?” Your hands start to brush through his hair, combing the knots out that had formed throughout his search. Your nails graze along his scalp, he shivers as goosebumps spread down his neck and onto his arms. He may not remember hell, but this sure feels like heaven.

“Mmm,” he kicks off his boots, the steel caps thumping when they hit the ground. His bones start to feel gooey as he presses his face deeper into your thigh. He doesn’t mean to kiss you, but he just can’t seem to help himself.

“Bruce have you digging holes in the garden again?” your voice like wind chimes on a still day. Fuck, he could listen to you talk forever about whatever you wanted.

“He does love his family bonding exercises,” his hands drift up, wrapping around your hips, hugging you tight and hiding his face, unable to look at you. He hates the lies, hates that he can't tell you. But Dicks right, it's too dangerous for a civilian. He couldn't forgive himself if anything happened to you and if he was the one who put you in danger….

“Want me to get you anything?” 

“Just this for now.” He snuggles up into your tummy.

You lean down, placing soft kisses into his hair. He’s thankful you can’t see his face, sure that it would give away just how right you feel..

“You rest Jay, I got you.” you lay back, your hand still in his hair as you begin humming the song you had been listening to before.

“Hmm.. thanks Princess.”

You only get to the chorus before Jason’s phone starts to ring, “back pocket,” he grumbles, rubbing his cheek into you, “can you get it for me?”

“Ah huh,” your hand reaches into his pocket, “it says mother dearest?” you sound so confused but he can’t help the laugh that escapes him, “Jay I thought-”

“Jesus, can't I rest? answer and tell him to fuck off please.” you let out a tiny sound that sounds like you agree and then the bloody hollering starts.

“Little Wing, I need-”

“Umm hello?” you interrupt.

“- oh you're not Jason. Hey girlie,”

“Jason, why is Dick in your phone as mother dearest?” you whisper, scrunching your brows up at him when he looks up at you.

His eyes start to grow heavy, rubbing his cheek into your tummy. Fuck, Jason does not want to talk to his brother right now. He inhales your perfume mixed with the lingering scent of his cologne. It makes his pants grow tighter and his brain feel foggy, “tell him I'm busy and to annoy someone else,”

“Jason can't come to the phone right now, he's dead.” you joke and he can hear the fucking panic starting to form in Dick’s head.

“He's what?!” He hears Dick shout through the phone. His brother starts to ramble and Jason can imagine the man pacing through his house, his arms flailing around him like he’s going to kill someone. Jason can't help the laugh that escapes him.

“Dick doesn't get the joke Princess. Put it on loudspeaker.” he whispers to you, turning his head so his brother will hear him, “I'm not dead, calm down.”

“Don't you tell me to calm down! She shouldn't make jokes like that, because- wait, am I a loud speaker?”

“Yes,” you both say at the same time.

“I just wanted to make sure you got home ok, and now I'm having a heart attack. Fuck you both very much.” He hangs up and you both burst into laughter.

“Your brother's a bit of a drama queen.” his head jostles on your giggling stomach, “Like did he think I’d be so casual if you were actually dead?”

"You don't know the half of it," Jason says, taking the phone from you and throwing it away.

"We just doing this all night or?" 

"What you have in mind?"

"Haven't had a girls night in ages and you look like you could use some pampering." You suggest as your fingers work their way back through his hair.

XxX

He must've fallen asleep. His first clue is that you're gone and he's wrapped up in your cotton blanket, the second is he can smell the snicker doodles in the kitchen. The rich cinnamon sugar scent, almost as sweet as you.

Ducking into his room he takes off his dirty clothes and throws on a pair of clean sweats before floating towards the kitchen like a cartoon. "Princess?" He calls when he can't see you.

"I'm over here," you call back. He spots you bending over the coffee table, arranging your pamper station for him. Fuck I love you. He thinks, in a friend way. Yeah. She's my friend. But the way his shirt rises up over your ass makes him want to do some very unfriendly things to you. "Can you grab the cookies from the oven?"

"Yep," he says, with a pop of his lips, spinning on his feet towards the kitchen. 

"Thanks ba- I mean thanks Jay," you turn trying to hide your embarrassment, but he can see it. You wanted to call him babe. Maybe this isn't as one sided as he thought?

"What are we doing first?" He tries to say casually, sitting down on the couch and taking in the vast array of items you've got set out.

"Facials," you smile, picking up the little bowl of cream, "want me to put it on you?"

"Yes please," he sits back, almost moaning at how soft your fingers feel on his face, "what's in this it smells yummy,"

"Honey, lavender, oats, all the good stuff," 

"It smells great and it feels so good," he presses his face into your hands. "Princess, i-"

"Finished, you look so cute!" You say excitedly, "ok, now you do me,"

"Do you?" He raises his brow at you.

"Jay," you playfully hit him, "I want a facial too." He can't help the face he makes and you slap him again, "come on, get ya mind out the gutter."

"I'm just teasing," he swipes a handful of the cream, rubbing it into your soft features. His fingers press into the crease into your brow, your cheeks. You grin up at him and his heart feels like it might burst. Holding your chin he presses a soft kiss into your lips, "tastes good too," he beams, when you open your eyes you peer back at him so sweetly his heart thumps even faster. "What now Princess?"

"We just need to wait ten minutes then we can wash it off," you say getting up and grabbing the cookies, from the table "we can eat these while we wait."

"Princess these are delicious," he moans as the spongey cookie melts in his mouth, "tastes almost as good as you."

"Jay." You level your deadpan stare at him.

"Princess." He stares back.

"Can I do your makeup after?" You perk up, sitting on your knees.

"Can we watch Heathers in bed?"

"Deal."

"How many of these am I aloud to eat?" He asks, stuffing another one in his mouth. Fuck if he only had to eat two things for the rest of his life. He knows exactly what he would pick.

"All of them? I can just make more if you want." 

"Just for me?" He's surprised, he's not sure why. In the year you've lived here he's always surprised by just how much the little things you do for him chip away at his walls.

"Who else?" Your words circle his heart, the tips of the letters just grazing the outside.

"Princess, can I wash this off? It's starting to itch,"  he says, the honey sticking to his fingers and the lavender that smells exactly like you wafting up his nose. He's having trouble keeping his thoughts pure and not just bending you over the couch and making you beg for him.

"Yeh, I'll get the movie ready and move the snacks," 

"Fuck, what the fuck am I doing?" He says to himself in the bathroom mirror, his face still smelling like you, "just ask her out to dinner," he washes the rest off, but the scent still lingers. "What would Bruce do? Deny his feelings for ten years and wait for her to make the move. I can't fuckin do that." He wipes his hand down his face in frustration. 

Shit, he feels like he's stuck between a crowbar and an explosion. But if he fucks up this time, you could be the one to get hurt and that's the last thing he wants.

"You're taking a while in there, are you alive?" You knock on the closed door, "you talking to Batman in the mirror again?"

"I do not do that," he says as he brushes past you and into your room where you've got the cookies resting on the edge of your bed.

"You kinda do," you call out.

Fuck me, she's going to kill me. Again. He thinks, holding his face in his hands as he reaches for another cookie and savors the taste.

"Alright, Jay," you say, swishing into the room, his shirt sitting just low enough to cover your panties. Your hands drift up his bare arms, stopping at his shoulders as you step toward him, your legs spreading over his and your ass lands on his thighs. "Ready for your makeover?"

"Is this how I get it?" His arms encircle you, "Can I get one every morning?" He squeezes your ass and you jump, making his cock throb underneath you. His fingers dig into your sides making you squirm and the cutest little sounds escape your mouth. Is this your version of torture? It’s definitely preferable to other methods he’s endured, he thinks, he could get used to this kind of treatment. 

"Jay, stop," you laugh, "you're tickling me, Jay, please," squirming even more on his lap, his cock growing harder and harder by the second, "Jason, babe, stop, let me do your makeup."  

His eyes meet with yours and he stops tickling you. Did you just? No. It must’ve been a slip of the tongue. 

"Make up time," you try to smile, your eyes looking everywhere but at him, what is that about? Is he reading too much into this? "Maybe a smokey eye? What colors would you like?" 

"Red and black, please Princess." You reach back for your eye shadow pallet and he tries to think of something else. Anything else, Dick farting on Tim, Damien getting eaten by his dog. But with that lavender still on his skin and you on his lap, all he can think about is kissing you again.

You press your fingers into his face, your dominant hand holding the brush like it was made there as you lean over him. Brushing the color onto his closed eyes, your cinnamon breath fans over his face warms his heart. Your tits pressing into his hard chest have a similar effect further south.

"Jay, stop squirming," you say as you continue to wiggle on top of him. "I'm going to poke your eye out," Like he can help it. Like he can help just how much to affect him.

"I'm trying, are you nearly done?"

"True art takes time,"

"I don't know how much I got left,"

"Why's that?"

"Princess if you don't hurry up I might break your pretty brush," his hands grip your hips, hoping to keep you still. Instead it gives him more leverage to rub up into you, grinding his very hard and seeping cock into your delicate panties. 

"I'm nearly done, just one more thing." He feels you reach back, his eyes still closed. Then the softness of your kiss overwhelms him and he can't hold it back any longer. 

He flips you underneath him. You let out an adorable squeal of excitement as his cock grinds on the wet patch in your panties. "Fuck" it feels like someone finally cracked a hole in the horny pond. he tries to stop but can't, “I need to be inside you,” 

"Like right now?" You say, grinding up into him and shoving your panties down your legs as fast as you can. "But I haven't finished your makeup" Fuck, you're always so ready for him. Maybe you can finish his make up? He thinks slyly, hmm this could be fun.

“Right now Princess,” his hand fumbles as his blood thrums. He dips his fingers into your heavenly pussy and you’re already clenching down on him, "fuckin hell. You're already so wet. I got an idea," he moves back, laughing when you let out a huff as his fingers leave you. He rests his back on the wall behind your bed, "come here,"

'Ok?" You ask, seemingly confused about what he's doing. But when you see him shake his pants off and throw them on the floor, your mouth falls open and you start staring at him again. Fuck, it makes him feel like a God. 

You fall onto your tummy crawling towards him, like sin personified, like you need him as much as he needs you. He glimpses those pretty tits through the large gap in the front of his shirt, "What are we doing?"

"Since you insist on doing my makeup,” he tuts, “you're going to sit on my cock while you finish it. Don't look at me like that. Come on now,"

"I'm definitely going to poke your eye out," you side eye him as you raise to your knees.

"You won't. I trust you," he says, taking your hips in his hands, sighing when your warm fingers wrap around his cock. 

"Good girl, now sit," he takes deep breaths as your tight little pussy envelops him, your creaminess sliding down the hard ridges of his cock, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. 

"Ok," you pant, squirming around him with your eyes closed, "I've just gotta-" you pick up your pallet, swiping some black over your finger and pressing it into his eyelid. 

“Please don't make that face,” he squints, knowing what you look like when you get focused, “I'm having a hard enough time,”

“This was your idea,” you sass, wiggling your ass and he feels like he might just let you poke his eyes out. 

He thrusts up, moaning when you bite down on your lip to try and keep your concentration. His hand moves, slipping over your hip to fall right at your clit. His thumb lazily swiping up and down making you spasm and pull your hand away.

“Jay,” you shudder, falling forward and into his chest, your hands holding his cheeks as you reach up to kiss him. Pride swells in his chest, knowing that he can have you like this whenever he wants. That you’re so open and trusting of him, ready to fall apart in his arms at any given moment.

“Makeup done?” He mumbles between kisses. His cock with a mind of its own as it starts to slowly thrust into you.

“It's,” you lean back, taking in your handy work, your delicate fingers brushing over his cheeks. You’re cheeks are flushed and your beautiful eyes take him in, “kinda smudey now, but it looks good.”

“Good,” he lifts his knees bringing you even closer to him, “now about this shirt,” his hands slip in between the buttons, ripping it in half. 

“Jay,” you gasp, and the shock on your face was worth it. Until you pout at him, “that was my favourite shirt,”

“I got heaps of flannels, you can have all of them Princess,” he peels the shirt from your arms, bowing his head so he can take your tit in his mouth, his strong tongue flicking over your nipple. Moving his other hand so his thumb can do the same to your clit, “still upset about the shirt?” He pant’s when you start to bounce on his cock.

“No, Jay I-” he knows what you're going to say, he can feel how tight you're getting around him. You just need a little push, his mouth sucks into your neck, tasting the last remnants of your face mask mixing with your sweat. You keep making those noises as bites into you, the fucking sweetest sounds on the earth, he wants to have his head clogged full of them.

“Cum,” his voice muffled as his teeth move to your nipple. You arch back, your hands grip tight to his legs, nails digging into his thick thighs,  Yes, mark me, he thinks, I'm yours Princess make me look like it, but his mouth says, “cum, cum on me, then you're going to do it again and again, cum Princess,”

His cock feels like it's in a vice as you shake and shiver over him, his name like a chant on your lips and your eyes tight with his. Your face is so beautiful as you fall apart on top of him, those tiny breathy moans echoing in his ears.

His hands slide around your waist, pulling you even closer, his lips connect with yours, “you did so well, wrap your legs around me," Your eyes lidded as you gaze back at him, "I got the next one,” he lifts you, sliding his legs underneath him to get more leverage. 

“Ready?”

“Yes Jay,” your voice is so lust filled, he wants to record it for when he's had a bad day. He thrusts up, your fingers winding through his hair, turning his head towards you. 

He'll never get used to how stunning you are, your eyes groggy and your lips swollen from his kiss, "fuck your beautiful," he kisses you deeply one hand on the back of your neck, the other gripping into your ass. "Keep those pretty eyes open for me," 

He's losing himself, losing any remaining semblance of sanity inside of you as he moves faster, harder "fuck I want to cum. Your little pussy feels so good Princess"

Your hands are drifting, seeming to want to touch every part of him before settling on his biceps. Your teeth bite down into his shoulder as he finds your g spot and it feels like fireworks shooting down his neck. "Fuck me back Princess," he slaps your ass making your pussy pulse around him.

“Again,” your voice getting breathier by the second, starting to grind down into him as he fucks you. He can feel your clit grazing his stomach, your tits brushing against the sensitive y shaped scar at the center of his torso. He's alive, alive for this. So he could make you cum on him everyday for forever . He slaps your ass over and over, feeling your pussy clutch and clench around him.

“Want to fill you, Princess,” His cock throbs inside you, your moans surrounding him like a symphony, “want to see that pretty pussy drip with my cum,”

“Jason,”

“Yes, cum. Cum, cum,” he moans in your ear, trying to hold back his own release, he wants to share it, to share everything. With you.

“JASON!” you scream, his name on your lips the richest sound in the world and as your pussy begins to convulse around him, he lets go. His cum filling you up, surrounding his cock and pumping into your pussy. He keeps going, fucking into you, letting you have as much of him as you need. He wants you spent, blissed out on his cock so that you never go searching for the feeling elsewhere.

His lips caress your neck as your shaking begins to slow, “did so well Princess, so perfect for me,” he praises you, lifting you up and laying you both on the bed.

Your head rest's on his chest as your little fingers trace the line of his scar. It feels strange, nice strange. Your fingers drift down the tail end of the why and he thinks maybe you're putting the butterflies inside him.

“You're fucking perfect,” your voice so fucking soft.

He smooths out the strands of your hair, not believing that you could ever truly think that of him. Not if you knew what he had done and all the lies he told you.

“How did my makeup hold up?” He asks, noticing the black smudges all over by your pretty face when you look up at him and wanting to change the subject, “I got it all over you,” he tries to wipe it clean.

“I think it looks better this way,” your soft hands brush his hair up, so gently. You're always so gentle with him. It makes his knees weak, “Hmm. You just need a jacket and a bit more black and you'll look just like how I imagine the Red Hood looks under that shiny helmet.”

“Oh really?” He knows you don't know, he's gone to very extreme lengths to ensure it. And asking you to dinner? What was he thinking, that's only going to make things more complicated. But he's not going to deny how it makes the pride swell in his chest, “Is that a look you like Princess?”

“Don't be jealous Jay. He's just mysterious and dark,” you shrug.

“I'm not jealous, beautiful, only a little intrigued.”

“Dressing up as him wouldn't hurt,” his smart girl, too smart. How is he going to keep this up? The closer, the deeper he falls the more likely you are to be in danger. He needs to tread very carefully. The last thing he wants is for you to get hurt.

Part 4

Taglist: (let me know if you want in bestie)

@princessbl0ss0m @letmebebatmanpls

#jason todd fanfic #reader x jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood fanfic #reader x red hood #red hood #x reader

[mrvlbimbo]

Just a little quid pro quo

(slightly)perv!Eddie x virgin!reader where she buys drugs from him and "forgets" her money so she has to pay another way

also whoops Eddie is a little mean here and probably out of character but the plot required it

He kinda tries to take advantage of the reader's innocence but she is VERY into it so alls well that ends well I guess

based on this original concept

its a long one btw

She sat on that bench in the woods idly playing with the hem of her skirt.

That morning she had no intention of being here, waiting for the infamous town freak Eddie Munson to sell her drugs (among other things)

But another thing that had happened that morning was her overhearing one of the other girls on the cheer team talk about how Eddie would make girls have sex with him for drugs.

She shuddered at the thought of it, him taking advantage of her like that. His big ring covered hands gripping her harshly, taking her apart with his warm tongue and hard cock.

So maybe it wasn't a shudder of disgust...

In her defense she was a bit sexually repressed, never having been touched like that in her life.

But she wanted to be. And despite herself she couldn't get Eddie out of her head. She barely knew what sex entailed, but she knew she wanted to do it with him.

Which is what lead her to be sitting there with not a cent of cash on her, waiting for one Eddie Munson to emerge from the woods.

And Emerge he did, stumbling out of the thick grove of trees and into the clearing so he was standing directly infront of her. She tried to look down at the ground but he grabbed her jaw gently and tilted her head up to look at him. "what can I get for you, pretty little thing?"

"uhm drugs please?" she shook with anticipation as he sat next to her and started to rifle around in his black lunchbox.

"Alright, this much will be 15$" She wasn't sure if that was a good price. But she didn't intend to pay it anyways.

Her hand found the hem of her skirt again, lifting it up suggestively and blinking at him while biting her lip "Oh I don't have any money. Isn't there some other way I can pay?"

He watched the way her manicured nails pulled up the fabric of her skirt to expose the expanse of her thighs. He couldn't help but thinking of sucking bruises into the plush skin there. Given the chance, he would absolutely wreck this girl.

"Oh? I can think of a few ways." He grinned wickedly, hand reaching over to her leg and slowly ghosting up her thigh until it disappeared under her skirt.

"L-like with sex?" she stuttered, not able to contain the hope in her eyes. She had never flirted with someone or had them flirt back like this, but it made her feel lightheaded the way he touched her.

"It doesn't have to be sex, a blow job would be enough for this much. We don't have to tell anyone, I can keep a secret." His hand was gripping her tightly now, fingers played out on the sensitive inside of her thigh and squished between her legs that were clenched together.

"Oh yeah...I guess that's ok too." He saw the way her face fell, shame creeping into her expression. He wasn't the smartest guy but he could practically feel her pining, and who was he to deny her a good time.

"Or maybe not...see I'll let you in on a secret. 15$ is a really good deal for that much weed. And you can't even bother to pay me. I think you should make it up to me." His hot breath kissed the side of her neck as he leaned even closer to her.

"So you'll fuck me?" she was trembling under his hands, seeping wetness into her panties from just his fingers creeping up her thigh.

"Is that what you want?" he asked softly, gently coaxing her into admitting her desire to him.

"Y-yeah."

"Oh my god. You fuckin freak," he cackled, leaping up from his place beside her and prancing around the small clearing.

"Huh...I thought-" Her lip started to quiver as she stared at him in confusion.

"You thought you were just going to come out here and trick me into fucking your tight perfect little pussy? I bet you don't even want drugs. You just want a story to tell all your stupid cheerleader friends." He seethed, teeth bared in anger as spittle gathered at the edges of his lips. He looked absolutely feral, and for some reason that was totally doing it for her.

"NO!" she exclaimed, rushing off the bench and wrapping herself around one of his arms to keep him from leaving.

"no?" he teased, softening his voice and brushing a stand of her hair behind her ear. It made her head spin how he could go from screaming at her to gently cradling her face. She knew in that moment that she would do anything to please him.

"I mean yes...but no. I want you, I don't know why but I do. I'm sorry for lying." She rambles on as tears start to fall down her cheeks, her hands shaking as she tried to wipe her wet face off.

"aw, you look so gorgeous when you cry. You really want me to fuck you, huh?" he cooed, kissing her warm cheeks and drying her tears.

"please," she whined, clawing at the fabric of his jacket.

He wrenched his arm out of her grasp and sat down on the bench with his legs spread wide. "You're such a needy fucking slut, get on your knees for me."

she quickly scurried over, throwing her self down at his feet and blinking up at him expectantly. "you're so pretty," he whispered, hand cupping her face and letting her rest her head on his thigh. "Why are you out here, really? why do you want to get fucked by the town freak?"

"Because I've never done anything like this before. And you make me feel...weird." The weird feeling she was describing was arousal, he knew how to satiate her urge even if she didn't

"Mmm, do I make your panties wet?" He guided her hand up to the bulge in his jeans while her other hand slipped down between her legs to prod at the dampened fabric between her legs.

"Y-yeah. They are wet now that you mention it." She nodded eagerly, waving her fingers in his face to show the evidence of her arousal.

He wrapped his long fingers around her wrist, bringing her hand up to his mouth to suck the digits clean. "What do you want me to do to you? you have to tell me." He punctuated his question with kisses to the tips of her fingers.

"I want you to have sex with me." She admitted, completely genuine and earnest in her intention. She wouldn't lie to him, she didn't really even know how to. She was sure he would see right though it as he seemed to see right through her.

"there's a lot of different ways to have sex, you're going to have to be more specific baby." He practically giggled at her naivety. It wasn't her fault and it made him feel like a pervert when he thought about how he was going to ruin her innocent mind.

"I want you to put that." she gave a gentle squeeze to the tent in his jeans that he had positioned her hand over. "Into me. It hurts down there, can you make it better?" somehow she looked so innocent when she was practically begging him to fuck her.

"I can but you need to get my cock wet first so I can slide it in there." He gave her a meaningful look, nodding at her to ask if she understood.

"really?" she asked with wide eyes, gasping as he slapped the warm dripping tip of it against her cheek.

"yep, I'm the expert here sweetie." He held her face gently as he guided his cock down past her lips and down her throat. She didn't dare move an inch as he thrusted into her mouth, drool collecting and dribbling down her chin.

She whimpered softly, the vibration only spurring him on to fuck her throat harder.

when he pulled back there were tears streaming down her face again. And he would agree with her previous statement, she was gorgeous when she cried.

"can you put it inside me now?" she questioned, pleading with him really.

"Mmm, whatever you want sweetie." His voice was laced with the utmost care, any fear she may have felt melted when he offered her a hand and helped her into his lap.

She sat there, one hand on his shoulders to steady her and the other one trying to push her panties to the side while she slid down onto him.

Whines escaped her lips every time she narrowly missed the hole and his cock slid over her clit instead. He just laughed at her desperation. "here, let me help you." He grabbed the length of himself and held her still with a hand on her lip, easing into her gently.

Her eyes were rolled back in her head by the time he was fully seated inside of her. "Does that feel good?" he asked, slowly swirling his thumb around her clit.

"It aches. Inside," she whined, little fists banging on his chest so weakly it was more like a pat.

"S'alright baby, I'm gonna make you feel better." He started thrusting, hands on her hips moving her up and down on his length. He wanted to take things slowly for her but the second she started clenching around him his slow shallow thrusts became deep and fast.

Her legs were shaking, his name along with curse words he didn't even think she knew were falling from her lips in muffled cries. "Thats it, I got you," he whispered, kissing her forehead as his hands creeped around to play with her ass.

"are you gonna touch me back there?" she asked innocently, arching into his touch like it was second nature.

"Mmm. Maybe next time." His grip tightened when she sighed. He was right, she was a little freak and she didn't even know. But he knew, he knew what she needed and he intended on giving it to her.

"You close?" he groaned, hips bucking up to meet his pace of rocking her down against him.

"I dunno," she slurred, drooling mouth wetting his t-shirt where her face was pressed into his chest. "Feels tight."

She wriggled around in his arms when he payed more attention to her clit, swirling abstract patterns on it until she was jelly in his hands. "feels weird, Eddie," she cried out before tightening around him and cumming, her body shaking violently in his arms as he fucked her through it.

"aaaaAAh. You're twitching," she yelped when his own climax started.

"You- fuck. You did so good, I'm gonna cum." he held her down, hips bucking up into her still clenching hole.

"Inside of me?" she asks, shocked but not upset.

"Yeah, it only counts if I cum inside," he said quickly, coming up with an absurd and stupid lie on the spot.

But she believed it. "Well ok, if you say so."

Her fingers gripped his face, nails biting the sensitive skin, as she pressed their lips together messily and he painted her insides with his cum.

"Ok hold on, this is probably going to make a mess." He pulled out and examined the creamy fluid leaking from her, scooping a bit of it onto his fingers and shoving them into her mouth.

"mphmmh," she whined, giggling a little at the weird taste of it. "Gross, Eddie!" she laughed, smacking her hands on his chest in a way that was crazy adorable.

"Yeah. I'm gross, sorry babe." He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and helped her move so her legs were stretched over his instead of straddling him.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and let her rest her cheek on his chest, cuddling into his arms and murmuring sleepily. "I didn't even know that was possible."

#perv!eddie (mrvlbimbo’s version 💘) #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff

[hope-to-hell]

The road to self-discovery. Travis Hackett x Reader. Smut, oral, facefucking, boot worship, shameless porn with approximately zero plot. Helping Travis unwind has its benefits; he’s wound tighter than a garage-door spring and needs this more than he’d admit. I must admit, this one was fun as hell to write.

Shh, that’s it. Down you go, nice and easy. He sure looks different from down here on your knees, the creak of old pine boards gunshot-loud in your ears when he laid a hand on your shoulder easy-as-you-please and dropped you down same as if he’d swung a hammer. And right there’s his fuckin shiny cop shoes and you can almost see your face in ‘em but for the sticky dust of a long day clinging from toecaps to laces and probably clear up into his socks.

You know what he was expecting and this ain’t it; hell, it’s not what you were expecting out of this but there’s you resting your head against one foot just for a moment—- just to gather your wits, maybe work up a little extra spit before clawing your way up to his belt— there’s you down there and why the hell not, just a little taste, just a little show and tell because right now he’s the axis of the whole damn world and he’s gonna know it one way or another before this is over.

So anyway, there’s you spit-shining those shoes with their deadly bootblack taste beneath road dust and a few stray drops of god-knows-what when he looks down to see what’s taking you so damn long and when he sees what you’re about, his heart jumps right out his throat and grabs his cock in a death grip. Jesus. It’s choked, strangled, all those pretty little words knotted up when really he just wants to tell you holy fuckin hell I’d never thought about it but sweetheart don’t you stop.

He’s gonna be standing in a puddle, a lake, an ocean when you’re through; in a little while he’s gonna stuff your face full of cock and run his mouth while you’re busy slipping and sliding in your own spit and slick and tryin your damnedest to suck his soul right out of his body. He knows it too, the bastard, even if right now you’ve got him all off-balance. Listen, he’s hardly straightlaced but he’s a country boy in the middle of goddamn nowhere and right now he’s shoving all kinds of bric-à-brac around in his mind to make room for just how much he likes seeing you on the fuckin floor like this.

Makes two of you, don’t it? It’s got you all worked up and dripping with so much more than spit, which is wild cuz it feels like your mouth’s somehow bone dry and wetter than fish in a stream. And it’s like a lightning strike on that same stream when he finds himself enough to tell you make ‘em pretty. Make ‘em shine. He calls you sweetheart and it’s sterner than before, maybe a hair towards cold cuz he’s a sharp one, your Travis, and stars above but he’s a quick study. Makes it easy, too, when just the sight of you bent over his boots has got him so. damn. hard: hard enough you can damn near hear his heartbeat from here, hard enough that if he doesn’t bury his cock in you some way or another, he’s gonna shoot off in his pants like he’s a fuckin teenager again.

So the next thing he does is rasp out eyes up here while he’s opening his belt one-handed— goddamn filthy showoff, with those clever fuckin fingers and hell, he isn’t even watching what he’s doing cuz he’s too busy locking eyes with ya and making that face: you know the one, it’s the one where he’s a little playful and a little mean— and hey. Hey. Cmon up here so I can fuck your face.

Oh, real nice pillow talk you’re saying, though it’s more breathless than maybe you’d expect and anyway he’s got his fly open and he’s feeding you his cock with the most featherlight touch to the back of your head.

You wanna write me a script or something, sweetheart? Not like he’s expecting an answer though, not with the way you’re swallowing him down. Fuck, you take it so good. He’s careful, holding back, being a gentleman. Travis knows his cues, watching the ebb and flow of your mouth on him, listening to those wet sounds with half his mind while the rest of him is all aflame. He’s pulsing on your tongue but holding steady; he’s all salt and sweat and the faintest bitter edge and there it is.

That’s your hands coming around from his thighs up to his ass, tugging just a little but it’s like a shove, a punch, a runaway truck because sweetheart, you just wrote him a blank check for your mouth and he’s gonna cash it. That hand on your head turns iron and there’s a spit and splutter where you’re choking him down and feeling every inch, with the teeth of his zipper pressing tracks into your cheek. Maybe it’ll bruise and wouldn’t that be sweet; he could hold your jaw in one hand and bring this moment back with just a little squeeze.

Don’t get distracted, though. Not now, not when he’s driving in hard and you can’t fuckin breathe for how he’s stoppered up your throat. Just take it, feel your eyes roll back and get your hand between your legs if you wanna get off. He won’t mind; he likes to watch you even if right now he's kinda occupied. And just like you thought, he’s running his mouth and it’s all just bits and pieces; the fuck and the oh you like that, huh? Choking on my cock like that, I could bathe in your fuckin spit are all mixed up with the grunts and groans and the slap slap slap of skin on skin and aw hell that is gonna bruise, isn’t it. It’s gonna leave a real nice mark and he’s gonna be the cat with the fuckin cream when he’s showing you off with it livid on your face.

And there’s the moan that rolls up through your throat and gets him all a-flutter when it grabs hold and pulls him in deeper than you thought he could go, deep enough that when you’re giving him shit for this later— all friendly-like, mind; he knows it and you know it and it’ll maybe end up with a little groping under the desk if he can’t quite get it up again so soon— later on when you’re ribbing him just right, your words are gonna be all slicked with come, hanging sticky in the air. Or maybe not— he’s gonna shoot right down your gullet, far enough that there’s just that little salty-bitter taste on the very back of your tongue.

Gonna— sweetheart. Fuck, I can’t— and there’s the easing-up of his broad hands; there’s the out if you want it. He could paint your face or the floor and he’d be alright about it either way, but you’re grabbing and hauling at his ass again as best you can. It’s a little less than your best, what with the black stars dancing around before your eyes and all, but goddamn he’s got the hint. And with a gasping Jesus fuck, maryandjoseph, I— he’s coating the inside of your throat white and it’s all over.

Except, you know, it isn’t really over. He’s still gotta haul you up and cradle your face in his hands so he can kiss you deep and get the taste of himself on his tongue; if you ask him why he’ll shrug and smile a crooked little smile that says cuz I like it on ya. Or in, or whatever. Means you’re mine. But he’s gotta know your lungs are still half-empty; those black stars are getting bigger and you’re about to slide right back down his body til you hit the floor.

So what else is he gonna do but pull away just that little bit so you’re sharing the coffee and bourbon on his breath, and if he’s holding up the both of you, well, he ain’t complaining. Fuck, he breathes against your lips, and that says it all. Fuck, he says again: stronger, bolder, his eyes all squinched up from the gears spinning round and round up in that brain of his; it must be something real wicked and so, almost before he gets the words out, you’re giving him the answer.

Fuck. Yes. One thousand percent.

#travis hackett #travis hackett x reader #travis hackett x you #travis hackett fic #travis hackett smut #the quarry #the quarry fic #the quarry smut #my fic

[ill-skillsgard]

Reckless With Your Love - Joel Miller x Reader

Title: Reckless With Your Love

A continuation of: Comin' Back For More

Characters: Joel Miller (The Last Of Us) x AFAB Reader

Warning: 18+ smut - Unprotected Sex/Masturbation/Oral/Tons of Daddy kink/Age Gap/Breeding/Pregnancy/Horror/Injury/Loss of Consciousness/Blood/Angst/Basically if you're reading my smut you know it's pure filth. Alternate timeline Joel Miller. I try not to assign reader any explicit body types but Joel does manhandle at some points. No Y/N.

Summary: It's clear you want Joel, but after an accident during your expedition, your reckless feelings disrupt what you pine for most. Joel grapples with the risks of falling for someone at the end of the world.

Note: I'm so sorry, but I can't get over him. I needed to get this out of my system. Actually, I'm not sorry but... Idk. Hope you like!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"...I wanted you to come home to me. Needed you."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There was no feeling in the world like the one crawling through your chest when Joel looked up at you, mouth open, eyes shocked, wide, and glassy. You wondered what went through his mind when you were on top of him,

naked, bouncing your hips with your palms planted on his collarbone. Did he think he was the luckiest man on earth or that he had tangled himself with a problem whose appetite was too much to handle? His rough hands on your thighs made you hope for the former, but his regretful stare indicated the latter was more likely. Especially after your abrupt request.

"You want me to do what now?" Joel asked.

"Hit me, Joel."

He scoffed, hips bucking. "I ain't hittin' you, sugar."

"Please, Daddy. Slap me."

"Just keep ridin' it like a good girl."

"Don't be a pussy."

Joel gripped your waist and tossed you onto the mattress, pinning your wrists and glaring down at you. He stayed buried inside, pelvis still stirring.

"I ain't no fuckin' pussy, and I ain't no woman beater neither."

"Just a little love tap or two," you pouted. "Please, Joel?"

"Didn't I already spank your ass before we started?"

You purred and arched up to nip his bottom lip. He growled and kissed you, hips snapping fast, creating momentum with the bed rocking. He looked down at you now with ferocity, and again, you wondered what he was thinking.

"Talk dirty to me, then?" You begged. "Please, Daddy."

It still irked him when you called him Daddy. He didn't quite understand the title and why it brought you comfort, only that it made you wet, further confusing him.

"You're a fuckin' nasty girl, you know that? So addicted to cock you can't help yourself."

"Only yours, Daddy."

"Yeah, you love it when Daddy takes your pussy."

The line made you crackle and melt. Joel took the opportunity to thrust into you faster, to rid you of the violent sexual cravings.

They only worsened.

Under the guise of taking his fingers in your mouth, you moved his hand from the bed to your lips, sucking on the digits for a moment before moving his hand to your throat.

"Please, Daddy."

Joel shoved his arms under your back and lifted you onto his lap so he could look you in the eyes and assert control.

"For the last—mmm—fuckin' time, girl, I ain't hurtin' you like that."

"Why not, baby?" You whined. "You seem to have no problem beating my pussy."

"Can't you just fuck me like normal? Don't you wanna be a good girl and listen to Daddy?"

A sly smile spread across your face as Joel continued pumping into you. "Aw, you just want to make love, is that it?"

"Just shut up and kiss me like you mean it."

"Of course I mean it. You're so goddamn sexy."

Joel hated that too. Compliments made him close his eyes and try to forget he wasn't a young man. That was something you had been trying to train out of him for weeks. It had taken many tries to get him to take all of his clothes off in front of you, but even still, he preferred sex at night with no light. It came down to threats just to get him to allow you to take his shirt off, and when he did, your compliments were taken as pity.

It wasn't pity, and it sure as fuck wasn't because he was simply willing. His dark eyes and hair and tanned skin, his gruff voice and tough palms, the way he couldn't express himself with words but bore his soul to you in the bedroom made you mad for the man. Joel was everything.

You kissed him deeply, wrapping yourself around his whole body as you undulated.

"Fine. Fuck me how you like," you whispered. "Just as long as you don't stop fucking me."

"I won't stop, sugar. No way."

His version of control was closed eyes and taut lips, but you had your ways of circumventing his shyness. You placed his hands on your breasts so he'd open his eyes and asked him questions so he'd open his mouth.

"Does it feel good to be inside of me, Daddy? Inside my tight, young little cunt?"

He shivered and rocked forth hard. "'Course it feels good, baby girl."

How he gazed into your eyes after that. You smiled, kissed him, and smiled onto his lips until he smiled too.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful, Joel."

"C'mon now, sugar."

"I'm not joking. Would I be dying for your hands on me if I didn't think so? Do you think I'd crave you this much?"

Joel laid you down, bent your knees, and spread your thighs, gazing between your legs with a smirk.

"I'm lucky, but I ain't beautiful. I got me some fine tail to keep me warm. Lucky is all I am."

"Lucky you're so fucking good-looking."

You had turned to make Joel blush into a sport and moaned heartily as he angled upwards and struck your sweet spot. It was high on the short list of your life's greatest pleasures.

"Lucky you got such a nice cock," you continued. "Lucky you fuck so well and make my pussy so wet I can't stand it. Fuck, Joel. That's good! Don't stop. Please, don't stop fucking me just like that."

Joel sped up, sweat breaking on his skin. He cursed under his breath and looked down between your bodies again to admire how soaked his cock was slamming in and out of you. The satisfying strokes inched you closer to the edge of all the pleasure you could take. Had he roughed you up the way you liked, you might have already cum, but this way, you got to enjoy him for longer. And you wanted to keep him with you for as long as possible, for Joel still hadn't agreed to stay and sleep with you.

Tonight, you were going to change that. You were determined to get more.

"Fuck, baby. Feels so perfect inside of me."

"Look at me, sugar. Look at me while I make you cum."

His velocity increased as you drilled your eyes into his. If he wanted obedience, he'd get it from you, even if he paled from the effect it caused.

"Oh, I love it, Joel. Fuck, baby. Love you like this. Fucking me so good. Oh, god, I love you."

"I know you love my dick, princess."

"I love you... Inside of me... On top of me... I love... You. God, I fucking love you, Joel. Keep fucking me. I'm so close."

Joel stared in awe, panting, blinking, trying to determine if you were serious or overwhelmed with pleasure. Your fingernails raked up his back, over his shoulders, and through his hair.

"Can I cum for you, baby?" You asked.

Joel's elbows nearly collapsed. "Cum for me, sweetheart. You know that's the only way Daddy can cum too... Feelin' that pretty pussy gettin' all tight around me."

"May I rub my clit?"

"'Course you can, sugar. Cum all over my... Mmph... Get it all wet."

He rammed into you with short, fast strokes. When you reached down to touch yourself, Joel couldn't hold on. He hunched over, bucking frantically, muttering how good it felt while you worked to the edge. You met him there, and he nodded.

"Cum, baby girl. Cum with me."

"Yes, Joel. Fuck yes."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Joel slammed his hips into your pelvis, balls tensing against you as he shot thick strands of cum with each violent, orgasmic pulse. You contracted around him and made it much worse. Joel usually pulled out, but not tonight. The obscenity of it made you giddy with lust.

You placed your hand over his heart when he collapsed next to you and admired how it smashed against your palm.

"You came inside of me."

Joel's chest pumped to catch his breath, dark curls of hair stuck to his forehead. "Yeah... I guess I did."

Usually, at this time, Joel would clean his mess off of your tits, tummy, or ass, then scramble to get his clothes back on before an awkward departure. Instead, he rolled onto his side and gathered you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin. You breathed and kissed his deep masculine scent from his neck and sighed.

"What the hell just happened?" He asked.

"You fucked me how you wanted."

"I didn't mean to... I shouldn't have done all that."

"Please don't say you regret it, and leave me alone again tonight."

"No," he whispered before kissing your forehead. "No, I don't regret it. D'you?"

"I never regret being with you, Joel."

"You regret sayin' you love me?"

"No."

"You might."

"Shut the fuck up."

Joel chuckled heartily. This was a foreign sound from him. You buried your smile against his chest as his thumb rubbed circles on your back.

"Will you stay tonight?" You asked.

"Yeah... Yeah, I'll stay."

The bliss lasted into the night and morning but not much longer after that. You were slated to depart on an expedition that would put nearly a thousand miles between you and Joel. Word had spread of a hospital North of the border that had remained untouched due to a perimeter of mountainous rubble, scalable only by hand. Your faction had been running low on supplies for weeks, and a hospital score would increase trade tenfold. Joel understood the necessity and encouraged you to go despite everything.

And what was everything? Joel wasn't your boyfriend; he had already made himself clear and had no intentions of being anything but a friend with benefits. So you had slept with him a dozen times? You had said you loved him in the heat of the moment last time and had never discussed it further. You could live without him, could live without anyone. That you had proven to yourself time and time again. So why was the idea of traveling so far away twisting your gut?

You had no choice in the matter and put your trepidations aside for a greater cause. Most of the trip could be made by vehicle, so you met with your team the morning you departed, greeted by a farewell party of your factions' most grateful members. They brought you extra clothes, food from their paltry kitchens, ammunition, and handwritten thank-you cards from the little ones. It was touching, but you couldn't help noticing the one presence that would have made the early grey morning optimistic. Only when you were in the truck, surrounded by rucksacks and crates.

Joel showed up with only a minute to catch you leaving, a stoic poise in the company of waving townsfolk. He waved at you, and only you and you pressed your hand to the window, your stomach flipping and flopping, heart hammering. You wanted to tell the driver to stop so you could get out to hug him, tell him that you weren't sure what exactly he meant to you, but that he did mean something, that his affection had renewed your vigor for survival, but it was too late. Damn him, you thought. If only he had cared enough to show up sooner.

You were a day out from the hospital and needed to focus on the task, rest up and remember why you had come. Days were filled with work, and your nights were overrun with anxiety, the cause of which you refused to believe had anything to do with Joel or the thoughts of him finding a new hole to fill in your absence. You had to push that fear away, denying its existence.

You saw a city come into view from the backseat of the rickety truck. The once tall buildings now buckled in disarray, some of them horizontal, concrete, and steel innards splayed across the land. That is where you had to climb.

There was a briefing, a distribution of weapons, and a prayer circle if you could call it prayer. There was no god to beg for strength, only hope you didn't run into a field of dormant clickers or, worse—an active clan. It had been nearly a week of travel with many roadblocks, but you had made it, and the score was buried beneath a crust of wreckage. The work promised to be excruciating.

As with all expeditions, a significant portion of time was spent navigating the streets' insurmountable blockages. You had to find new ways over, under, and through buildings lying in the rot of the last decade. When your team found the hospital, it was already dark, the crew exhausted from a day of climbing and shifting rock slabs, and you had the cooking duty. The bright side was that you all sat down to the trip's biggest and most indulgent meal the day before an excavation. It was tradition to cook up a vat of stew and share the luxurious treats like old Twinkies, flakies, and food your factions had sent along with you. This time, you found candied nuts and tough wine gummies in a corner store that had only been partially demolished in the bombings, so everyone was in high spirits.

When the real challenging work began, all thoughts of home and Joel and clickers faded into distant background noise that barely registered in your brain. Digging into the hospital was the hard part, and without dynamite or machinery to move the detritus, it all came down to manpower. You couldn't cause any significant disturbance lest you wake the terrors no doubt lying in wait elsewhere. Every move had to be calculated. It was stressful work but something your team needed to handle.

With a team of armed watchers at your back, you worked until sundown to find a way into the semi-collapsed hospital. When you burrowed through the wreckage, your biceps shuddered in pain, legs quaked from overuse. Every movement made you grit your teeth, and though your team suffered similarly, once the way was clear, you had to drop in.

"It's too late. Let's go back to camp and start tomorrow when we're rested," Andreas said as you prepared to slide down the narrow tunnel into the carcass of the building. He was your elected team leader, a huge, dark man, and a former Navy Seal with strict ways of doing things.

Perhaps he was right. Bandaging your scraped knuckles and sleeping off the hurt would provide significant relief. Your eyes begged to shut, and your feet ached to be rid of your weight, but the prize was so close, and the sooner you salvaged enough supplies, the sooner you could return. The thought of home propelled you, despite your bodily afflictions.

"It's right there. Let me grapple down and get a good look before we call it a night."

"Come on... It's dark. We'll have natural light tomorrow."

"I just want a quick look," you insisted. "Take my rope."

Andreas sighed and pulled the cord attached to your harness, testing the knots.

"Five minutes, then I'm pulling you up whether you like it or not. Do not make me go in there after you."

You lodged your boot into a jagged foothold and began your descent. Once you were neck-deep in the shaft, you turned on your headlamp and nodded at Andreas and the rest.

"Five minutes."

The beam of light illuminated the heavy dust floating around your face, disturbed by your breath as you shimmied down the opening. The shaft was tight, with only half a foot of space between your body and chips of crumbling cinderblock. You avoided sprigs of metal piping and tested every step before relaxing your entire weight. You snapped the rope to let Andreas know when you had touched down, then crawled on your hands and knees until you felt cold tile.

No matter how many abandoned buildings you explored, the eeriness never relented. Your pulse surged in your ears as you flashed your light along every wall and corner. The entrance your team had created led to a vast corridor littered with broken glass that crunched and scraped with every slow step. Several rooms were to the left, all filled with gravel spilling in from shattered windows. Sifting through the crag would be useless, so you continued and turned right, flashing your beam along the walls until you found a sign or a closet.

What looked like a nurse's station at the end of the hall had been piled high with broken furniture and beams splitting down from the ceiling. There had to be medicine near the station, so you stepped forward to climb the wall only to find the cord had reached its threshold.

"Fuck," you whispered. It was so close.

The voice of reason in your head told you to head back. Tomorrow, you could return with your whole team and sweep the entire hospital in a few hours, but there was another voice teeming with curiosity about what lay beyond the wall. You unfastened the buckles around your waist, stepped out of the harness, and began to climb to the space at the top of the barricade. A rock fell beneath your boot, and you slipped as gravel seethed and spread across the floor. You remained still until it stopped, then continued with slower movements.

Just beyond the barricade, the corridor was nearly untouched by devastation. You flashed your light along a wall of storage shelves with color-coded bins. Jackpot.

In a rush to squeeze through the hole, you slid down and caused a similar avalanche of debris on the other side, unable to wait. You threw down your knapsack and began shoveling bottles and packaged medical instruments inside until it was nearly bursting. Once you could barely zip the sack closed, you threw it on and inspected the other shelves. There were tools and protective equipment, masks, linens, gauze, alcohol wipes, and more medicine than you could read. Satisfied with your work, you turned toward the way you came and began to climb.

The way up from the other side was twice as unwieldy, and you struggled to get your footing. There was no way to hoist yourself up, so you gave up trying and found a stool to boost your height.

Your name echoed through the other side of the barricade, and you winced.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," you muttered.

A series of guttural ticks bounced off the walls. Something had answered, and the heat of primal fear exploded through your chest. A clicker. It lurched into view, flowering head jerking and swiveling on a crooked neck. Its foot dragged behind it, and you could tell by its tattered scrubs that it had once been an orderly of the hospital, now an abomination of humankind, creaking like old wood, following your scent.

You scrambled up the wall, sending a wave of gravel tumbling down. The creature snapped its head toward you and shrieked between rotten, gnarled teeth. Behind it, another emerged, and then another and another, blighted with fruiting clusters that had devoured the human heads long ago. There were only a few yards between you and them, and seconds before they reached the barricade. In your haste to get through the hole, you cut open your shoulder and cried out, tumbling forward on the other side where your harness was pulled away.

"No, wait!"

The clickers piled over each other to climb the barricade, screaming in their violent tongue, thrashing and writhing. A warm wave enveloped your arm, yet there was no pain, only panic. Blood rolled down your arm, dotting a trail as you crawled.

"Andreas! Help!"

A deep groan bellowed on the other side of the barricade, and soon mottled arms and infested heads ripped through the debris with inhuman strength. They had alerted their hoard, and they had all come in a fierce rush but, with no cooperation, trampled each other, trying to reach their prey. You scuttled backward, slicing your palms on the broken glass until you got your footing. You stumbled toward the hole just as your harness and rope disappeared and slammed your body into the opening with no regard for the serrated confines. A prong in the rubble sliced you from navel to hip, opening an inch-wide gap from which hot blood poured.

As you wriggled inside the opening, strong hands clawed at your boots. You flailed your legs, grabbing the rope as your team yelled at you to climb. Blind and numb, you kicked and kicked, grasping for handholds to pull yourself up. The seconds seemed like years until somebody took hold of your shirt and hauled you out of the hole. Andreas shoved the barrel of his rifle into the black pit and unloaded to a symphony of screeches and howls that seemed to bubble up from the pits of Hell. Another series of gunshots ripped through your senses, and they pushed rocks and chunks of concrete into the tunnel to block the way. Your eardrums clouded over, your vision failed, and soon there was only blackness.

You came to in an unfamiliar room, temples ablaze and a pain like nothing you had ever known searing through your limbs. As you struggled to get up, Andreas made himself known by clearing his throat.

"Good, you're awake."

"What... Andreas... Where are we?"

"We're in the community center," he said.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Oh. Is everyone okay?"

Andreas stood up and made his way to your side. He bent down and met your bleary eyes. "Yes, and with no thanks to you. You almost got yourself, and the lot of us killed."

"Andreas—"

"Listen to me... You're off the team. What you did was so stupid that I can barely look at you. Ignoring every fucking protocol...And for what? For one pack. All that traveling and surveying, damnit!"

"Easy there," said a gruff, familiar voice.

You pushed yourself onto your elbows and tried to focus your vision on the door. Joel glared into the room.

"Don't give me that shit, Miller. She single-handedly fucked up one of the biggest scores we've ever had. Now we must wait for weeks to return. Months, even."

"Accordin' to what the rest of 'em said, she saved y'all from headin' straight into an active hoard."

"We could have handled it," Andreas said. "It was under control until this one decided she was above the rules."

The two men firmed up. Joel looked about ready to explode, cheeks red and dark eyes hard as flint, but he deflated and nodded at Andreas. He knew Andreas was entitled to his anger, for if it had been his team compromised, his sympathy too would cease to exist. Andreas was almost Joel's age, with his set ways. The two men understood each other without a further word.

Andreas tossed a bitter look your way, then left you and Joel, his footfalls like punches in the stomach as they faded down the hall. Joel went to your bedside, brow furrowed, grimacing.

"He's right. You fucked up real good. Almost got yourself killed, or worse. Could've been bitten. Could've cost your whole squad their lives and never made it back."

"I get it," you groaned, clutching your pounding head. "I'm an idiot."

"Worse than an idiot. You're a brat. A reckless brat. Problem is you know better, but choose to do things your way regardless. That kinda behavior is real dangerous."

"Just leave me alone. I don't need two lectures."

"It's time to take you home, and you can't drive or walk."

Every inch of your body twanged as Joel helped you up and acted as a crutch for your trek from the medical center to his truck. The drive was short, but Joel's stony silence made the minutes feel like days. At the fork in the road, he turned left. You gazed out the window, trees obscuring the view of the way home on the right. Even when you stared directly at Joel, he said nothing. He was elsewhere, present but dead-eyed. Thinking.

"Where are we going?"

Joel's quietude persisted.

"Hello? I asked you a question, Joel."

"You need someone to help with your wounds."

"Then why did we leave the medical center?"

"They need the space."

Joel was bringing you to his home, a place you had always imagined but never seen. Your guts fluttered at the idea of entering his private domain.

Had Joel come immediately, or had he just shown up on time? He had mentioned speaking to your crew about what happened at the hospital site. Joel had asked about you. And now, burdened with your failure, had decided your treatment. This brought comfort, warmth, and brightness to your chest, despite the pain under your bandages and bruised ribs.

Joel lived in a well-kept brick house detached from the road and away from neighbors (not that many were to be had). Some rural areas had remained untouched save for weathering, and Joel had found himself a decent home with a clear view of the mountain range beyond a forest of trees. Inside boasted minimal comforts but necessities; a kitchen with a wood-burning stove, a few pieces of furniture, Joel's gun collection, and a stack of ragged books. Everything else he kept stored with no intention of staying in one place for too long.

Through the bare kitchen and what used to be a dining room, now a place for boxes of ammunition and remnants of the hunt, there was a short hall with 3 closed doors. Joel showed you to the room on the right with a double-wide bed, a nightstand, and a dresser made of raw wood.

"What about my stuff?" You asked.

"I'll get it for you later."

"I kinda stink and need new clothes."

"Got some for you in there," he pointed at the dresser.

As you prepared to lift your shirt, a deep pinch sizzled in your shoulder. There was no way to undress without irritating your wound. Joel took over, eased you out of your clothes, and slipped a nightgown that smelled like moth balls over your head, ignoring your nakedness.

"You should get some rest," he said when you settled into bed.

"You're not going to stay with me?"

"I haven't eaten in a couple of days. Need to go out. I'll be back in a few hours. You can handle yourself, right?"

"I guess so."

"Good. I'll bring you some water before I go. You just worry 'bout sleepin'."

Sleeping while Joel was away was impossible, your head full of memories of the hospital site. Every time you closed your eyes, your heart clenched, and your stomach soured. The croaking of the clickers, the shrill clamber through glass, your pride-clouded judgment, and Andreas' disappointment were all slurred together. It became a nightmare, with residue sticking to the backs of your eyeballs, observing yourself acting as you never would in the waking world. Yet, here you were, in Joel Miller's dwelling, his injured charge expelled from her societal duties, disoriented and dry-lipped. Naïve. Deluded by the ill-gotten confidence.

You were not Joel; he hadn't picked you up because you reminded him of himself. You were you, selfish and weak and acting out. And now, you were too hurt to fend for yourself, let alone anyone else. He was right. You were reckless.

Joel brought you food and water, changed your dressing, and made you comfortable, but his generosity was born of pity. How he looked at you in the dark of the bedroom only twisted your stomach like you were some pathetic animal with a broken limb. The lust had gone from his eyes if it was ever there before. Maybe his attention was only ever a condolence, and at the risk of further fracturing your pride, you did not press Joel until one Spring morning when the sun poured in, and birds chattered from the window.

Joel always knocked on the door before entering, and when he did, averted his eyes until you confirmed your decency. This morning, he came in with a small box and an even more avoidant demeanor.

"What's that?" You asked.

"Uh, figured you might be needin' these at some point."

He placed the beaten box of tampons on the table next to your bed and stepped away as if they were incendiary.

"How thoughtful."

"Mmhmm."

"Can I ask you something, Joel?"

He nodded.

"Do you still want me like you used to?"

Joel sighed. He knew this question would come and moved to the foot of the bed, just out of your reach.

"You're injured."

"I feel better now. My hands are healed, and I can move my arm without much pain. I'm ready to get out of this bed."

He studied you with a grimace. "This isn't a cage. I can take you home. I could've always taken you home."

"Then why didn't you?"

The question stumped him, or perhaps he wasn't ready to answer honestly.

"Frankly, no one willin' to take care of you after the incident. I wasn't 'bout to make the trip to and from every day. It's easier you stayin' here."

"Okay, but you still didn't answer my question."

"Why do I feel like I'm walkin' into a trap?"

"Did you ever like me, Joel?"

"Sugar, I ain't ever said I didn't—"

"You look at me like I'm some helpless thing now."

"'Scuse me for not lustin' after a bedridden girl."

"Why not? Because I can't fight back?"

Joel's brows screwed together. "D'you ever take a second to think about what you say? What you do? I gotta say, knowin' you after all these weeks... You're nothin' like I thought you were. You're after somethin', and I can't figure out what it is. Glory? Notoriety? I thought you were tryin' to feed your people, but all you want is praise. And all you want from me is a way to get your rocks off."

That cut you deep in your chest. In your stunned silence, Joel took in a deep breath and continued.

"You're selfish. Thinkin' of nobody but yourself. Not respectin' me or my wishes and definitely not thinkin' about your team who risked their lives pullin' you out of that hospital when you shouldn't've gone in there alone to start."

"I'm sorry! You're right, okay? I wasn't thinking. I got too cocky."

"It was downright careless."

"I'll never make that mistake again."

"I never felt good touchin' you the way I did."

You recoiled, and Joel softened immediately.

"I didn't mean it like that," said Joel. "I'm not the kind you want so bad. And that's fine... Not everyone is made for each other."

"Oh, grow up, Joel. You'll take a handjob in a fucking dirt alleyway, but when I ask for a little roughness, suddenly you're a priest."

"I'm too old for you."

"Stop with the old man talk. I already told you I don't care about that."

"Well, I do. Someone like me shouldn't be puttin' their hands on someone young as you. It's wrong."

"You act like I'm a schoolgirl."

"You act like one. I know you're not, but the things you say... How you go about it is... Makes me feel perverted."

"Whatever happened to I'm gonna fuck you so hard you cry?"

Joel wiped his face, reliving those moments of feral passion when he let himself get carried away despite his better judgment. "A pretty girl was temptin' me... I tried to be what you want, but you got carried away, just like everything. I can't do that. Self-control is survival."

"So, what?" You asked, bending your leg and letting your nightgown ride up your thighs. "You never wanna make sweet love all night long in the dark? Because you're afraid of feelings and all those implications."

"Stop."

"You really don't want me anymore?"

"It's goin' too far. I told you, I ain't your boyfriend. We've already crossed the line, what with you sayin' you love me, never usin' protection, 'n now we're wastin' good sunlight arguing about nothin'." Joel went to the window and stared out over the trees, illuminated. Every thread and wrinkle, every silver hair ablaze in the warm light.

"I like how you're spinning this around when you're the one who came inside me last time we fucked."

You laid back, parting your knees, hem bunching around your waist. You dragged your finger down your stomach slowly, then farther, until you touched your clit. Joel watched you in his peripheral, your lack of panties snatching his attention for two longing seconds. He shook his head, but that didn't stop him from staring. You took that as a sign he was open to being seduced, just like every other time he said he didn't want to make a mess of things yet ended up between your legs all the same.

"Joel... I missed you while I was gone. I thought about you every night even though I didn't want to. There's just something about you I can't get enough of."

"C'mon. Stop that."

"Did you miss me too? Ever stroke yourself thinking about me while I was gone?"

"Stop."

"Don't you miss the taste? You're so good with your tongue. Mm, you should run that mouth on me now."

He blinked slowly like a cat, enamored yet not enough to move toward you. His mouth went dry while he watched you touch yourself and moan.

"Remember the first time you went down on me? God, I've never come so hard in my life."

"I gotta go," Joel said, reaching the door. "I'll take you home later."

Later never came. When Joel returned, he helped you to the kitchen and pulled out a chair to sit on. You watched him while he prepared your food, jaw locked, afraid anything you said might remind him of his promise to take you back home. But Joel didn't broach the subject. You ate quietly and returned to your room as if staying out of his sight would help him forget what he had said.

On a late spring morning, while Joel was off hunting, you woke up from your stomach churning. Though you had been slowly healing and getting used to using your arm again, new afflictions arose to replace your pain. Headaches plagued you in the night, and almost all food turned your guts to static. If you had the choice, you'd have taken shooting pain over insurmountable nausea any day.

The sickness pervaded, and on the fourth day, with your head in a bucket, acidic bile biting your nostrils, you came down with the understanding that this was no ordinary sickness.

Your heart raced to the conclusion when you found the box of tampons you had moved under the bedside table. Your last period had been... Three weeks ago? No, you had been on your way to the hospital site. Had it been four weeks ago? Five. You couldn't remember. The incident had shaken the first weeks of spring into a slurry. Your guts growled and punched, and you lay on the bed with eyes wide, searching the murky depths of your memory for the last time you remembered bleeding.

That evening, Joel returned holding a large turkey by the talons, brown feathers fanned, and its wrinkled, broken neck swinging. He set it down on the kitchen table where you sat, and the sight of it released a wave of saliva into your mouth, followed by a rush of vomit, which you swallowed with a gasp.

"Lucky day," said Joel. "There's a brood of them down by the creek."

You shot from the chair and rushed to your room and the bucket to hunch over and upchuck your meager breakfast. When Joel heard your retching, he followed and peeked into your room.

"Uh, everything all right?"

"No," you groaned.

You had hoped that your guts would right themselves, and you'd find your cycle started if you rejected the suspicion, but every day only further convinced you something serious was happening.

"What's wrong, Sugar?" Joel's voice, surprisingly close, jumpstarted your breathing.

"Joel," you gripped his arm. "I think I'm... Fuck. I think I'm pregnant."

He rubbed your good shoulder with his thumb.

"Yeah, I know."

"What are we gonna fucking do?"

"I don't know, darlin'. I have no idea."

The sun lit up the kitchen, and you hummed as you washed the dishes from last night's dinner of boiled turkey and potatoes. Joel had been working every day on the power grid with others to restore the electrical to the northern part of town and came home every evening exhausted. Today, he returned home early and found you at the kitchen sink, oblivious and chipper, hair shining in the light. When you turned, and Joel saw your figure, his knees grew weak. He went to you, minding your shoulder, and before you could speak, his lips were near your neck.

"Joel! Jesus, where did you come from? Oh... What're you doing?"

You flinched from his touch on your hips.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes... Yes, please."

Joel caressed your tummy as he kissed up your neck to your jaw. His scent filled the air, his lips reminding you of earlier tastes when he had been only a dangerous stranger, and your lust for him had been raw and brand new.

"I want you," he whispered.

You replied by arching your back and pressing his hardness between your clothed backside and the front of his jeans.

His right hand bunched your skirt up and tugged your panties down in a rush. He unzipped his pants, shoved them down around his hips, took hold of his stiff shaft, and eased in with a low growl as you gasped and dropped the dish you had been drying back into the sink. 

Braced on the counter, Joel tried to be gentle, not groaning too much when your flesh slapped and buried his face in your neck. "Fuck me, sugar. You look so good like this."

You chuckled as he kissed your jaw. "I have no idea what the hell has gotten into you, Miller, but I like it."

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know. Fuck."

You pushed to meet his thrusts, and Joel tipped his head back, bemoaning the feeling of your tightness around his throbbing cock. He gripped your hips, frustrated when your skirt fell and blocked his view, then let his hand crawl up between your breasts to hold your neck just tight enough. Finally, he got fed up with your dress and pulled it off over your head, leaving you with only panties stretched between your ankles. He touched your tummy, pressed his palm flat against your pelvis, and penetrated you again from behind.

Joel breathed into your ear, "You're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fuck, I can't get enough," he said before pulling out.

You twisted around, and both admired the shimmer on his cock before he knelt and pushed his jaw between your legs. "Open 'em," his voice rumbled under you, rough hands prying your thighs apart after freeing your ankles from your panties. "Spread it open for me. Let me have a taste." Joel lifted your left leg over his shoulder and clutched the other.

His tongue lapped long and hard unremittingly, pausing only to flicker your clit before returning to prodding you. Your moans spurred him, and he stroked his cock while he feasted upon you, breath making you drip. Buried in your heat, he had gone totally animal.

When your thighs trembled, and your knuckles strained from gripping the edge of the counter, Joel nodded his head, tongue out, a series of encouragements spoken against your clit.

"Mm-hmm. Cum on my tongue, sugar. Cum all over Daddy's face. Give it to me."

Joel ran his tongue between your lips in long, slow strokes, tickling your clit with two fingers until your moans became squeaks, and those squeaks muffled behind your palm.

"Cum for me, beautiful. That's it."

The attention continued long after your first orgasm shook through your core, shooting bolts of pleasure through every nerve in your body. Joel stood up and fed you his cock again, this time melting from the new tightness of your muscles, the accumulated liquid surrounding his length while he slammed away, anchoring you with both hands on your hips once more.

The sun blazed through the water-stained glass, and Joel unbuttoned his work shirt while still inside you, twitching and aroused.

"Take it off," you said.

Joel stripped and pulled you away from the counter, kicking a chair out from under the table where you ate breakfast. He sat down and looked up at you with his big brown eyes shining, cock thick with blood, veins straining. How he looked with his muscular thighs open wide, waiting for you to sit on him, would live burned into your brain forever.

He nodded you over, and you went to your knees.

"No, no, sugar. Sit on my lap."

"But, I really wanna suck that cock."

Joel couldn't resist when you wrapped your hand around it and licked the tip with all the lust in the world, eyes pinned on his face.

"Mm'kay, baby girl. For a little while."

You took him down deep in your throat, and he draped over the chair, moaning, eyelids crumpled shut. The taste of your insides was thick, and you cleaned it with broad tongue strokes until precum oozed from the tip. You popped off and gave his cock a firm squeeze, admiring the little dew drop emerging from the slit as you stroked him with quick, shallow flicks of the head. He watched in awe as you licked it up, returning again and again to collect everything he produced. That raw flavor and a hard fleshy mass attached to a man who shuddered and bristled beneath your control set your anxieties free.

You knew it would only be a matter of time before Joel gave himself to the feral need. You'd seen it in him. Any man who could hold a gun to your head was capable of carnal, bodily lewdness. Joel was undone by the look of your mouth worshipping his cock, the throaty chugs and attention on his balls sending him to a blissful place. Best of all, he was fully nude, every broad inch displayed in the golden noon hour.

Despite the thorough licking and sucking, Joel pulled you off of him, lips snapping from the loss.

"Up. Get up."

Joel didn't give you a moment before he marched you down the hall, kicked open the bedroom door, and guided you to his bed. The blankets and sheets all smelled like him, a warm embrace of his pheromones where he laid you on your back and came up between your legs. You were exposed for him, all flesh and nudity abundant. Joel kissed your thighs and stomach, paying extra attention to your tummy, and worked his way up to your breasts. He traced all the way around your nipple, pinching the flesh between his four fingers and thumb, letting it protrude before enveloping it between his lips, graced by his tongue. He sucked and sucked on that nipple and then latched onto the other while you tried to hide your astonishment.

"I can't wait until these are nice and full," Joel mumbled. "Mmm, mommy tits. Seein' you like this, sugar... I can't stop."

You turned your face away. "So, you only want me now because you think I'm carrying your child, is that it?"

Joel stopped kissing your nipples and switched to gentle caresses and pinches, looking apologetic yet too aroused to entirely stop himself. "I've wanted you since the start, but this world isn't meant for lovers no more."

"What if I wasn't pregnant? Would you have felt the same coming home today?"

"Look at me, sugar," he pulled your jaw back to neutral, drilling his dark eyes into your face. "I've fought myself every day trying to come up with a reason why I shouldn't want you. It doesn't work. I want you with me; I do."

"You said I'm a selfish brat; there's something loose in my head."

Joel lifted off his elbows and sat up between your legs, soft now and serious. "Came home early today 'cause I wanted to apologize to you, but when you turned around, and I saw that little swell, everything I planned on sayin' disappeared. Like it all made sense. I've been fightin' myself on this for too long."

"Joel," you ground your fists into your eyes to stop the tears. He came to you, rolling you onto your side and into his arms, kissing your forehead.

"I'm far from the best, and I can't wrap my head around you wantin' me. Maybe I never will, but if I've learned anything the last few years, it's that some things just don't got explanations. Pushin' you away won't protect you any more than you stayin' with me. And I'd rather you stay." 

"I just want you to want me for the right reasons. Not because you knocked me up."

"I've always been weak for ya, sugar. Can't say you didn't already know that."

The time for talk passed as he noticed your naked chest again and swallowed the saliva in his mouth. He thumbed your nipples, bit his lip, and kissed you.

"You want your Daddy tonight?"

Joel almost chuckled when your eyes lit up.

"Yes, please."

"Gonna be a good girl for me? Do as I say?"

"Mm, yes, sir."

He stole another long, deep kiss, hands still caressing your breasts as he grew hard again. You reached down to grip it and met his dark brown eyes. Months ago, when he was a nameless trader, and you had gotten off on a light load with a handjob, you had never once thought you'd be lying next to him in bed, making him shudder and bite his lip while he moaned, "Oh, baby girl... Daddy likes that."

Joel hated when the attention was on him for too long. He wished to melt, to relish the feeling of you pleasuring him, but he always caught himself right before the descent into sweet, terrible, lip-biting bliss.

"Fuck me," said Joel. "Fuck me good, sugar."

"How do you want me to fuck you, Daddy?"

"Anyway. I don't care. Just... Mmm. God, I need that pussy."

"How about I get on top of you? Would Daddy like that? Watching my titties bounce while I ride that nice big dick."

"Anything you want, momma."

"But I thought it was Daddy's night?"

"Get on top then, sweetheart. I want you to."

The look on his face was too precious to resist a giggle when you climbed over him and sank down until you were flush against his pelvis. His eyes grew enormous, lips slightly open as you placed your palms on his chest and rocked slowly.

"I love it when you fuck me like this," he said after a while of pure enjoyment. "You're like an angel. But a slutty little perverted one."

"So, like a demon?"

"Yeah, the only things you're missin' are horns and a tail."

"Is it angelic to love fucking you so much?"

Joel squeezed your hips, coaxing you forward and back, the bed springs starting to ring.

"Mm, you love fuckin' your Daddy because you're such a good baby girl."

Joel still wasn't a master at putting his dirty thoughts into words, but hearing him call himself Daddy made your insides twinge. You rode him harder, admiring the pained pleasure rearranging as different expressions on his face. Once, he looked blissful, and the next minute he bit his lip and glared up at you as if to say, "how dare you make me feel this good?" And sometimes he looked drunk and mournful and beside himself with how good his woman's weight felt on him, belly getting big with his child. Then, there was a look of shock. He sat up and disconnected from you, staring down at himself, covered in your liquids.

"Fuck! Gonna make me cum."

"Isn't that the point?" You panted.

"No, we're not done."

Joel arranged you on your side and laid behind you, hooking your leg over his arm so he could enter from behind. Once in at the hilt, Joel pounded, moaned, cursed, and bit your shoulder before erupting with everything he had always been too nervous to say.

"God knows I shouldn't like it, but fuck does it rev me up knowin' I got ya pregnant. It was only a matter of time fuckin' you would get me into trouble. But I couldn't help it, sugar. I wanted you to come home to me. Needed you."

"You know I would have, Joel."

"I know, baby, I know."

Joel kissed you hard and gripped you harder, looking at your face while he reached his desperate climax. The guilt of emptying inside you only lingered for a moment before he settled against you, torso sticking perfectly to your back, warm and breathless and overcome with emotion. The light shining through the window warmed your skin, and you smiled, secure for the first time in longer than you could remember.

"Mm wanna stay inside you," Joel whispered.

"Yes, don't go anywhere."

"Good god, that feels so damn fine, sugar. I could do that again."

"I hope so. Want you over and over. I never want you to... To leave me."

The confession hung in the heavy air like dust particles. Joel inhaled deeply of your skin and hair, sighing and smiling.

"I'm yours, sugar. All yours."

#Pedro Pascal Fanfiction #Joel Miller Fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #Joel Miller

[zanarkandskylines]

Game Over

『♡』  fem!reader  x bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ aged-up to 21 ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist 

summary: bakugo and midoriya agree on a bet that they end up losing, and the result? they have to go get their nipples pierced! tags & warnings: mild nsfw language/implied smut, some dirty-ish talk | pining, flirting, friends to...fwb?, reader & bakugo def like each other and are just skating around the topic, midoriya's the awkward 3rd wheel by accident, reader is a tease a/n: i'm so mad that tumblr ate not one, but two of my drafts of this short! i'm not super satisfied with how i re-wrote it but i couldn't stop thinking about bakugo with nipple piercings hehe ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 1,130 ꒱

It was a simple, harmless bet that both boys knew they could win against you.

The bet? Whoever could guess the most All Might trivia out of 25 questions wins.

They never anticipated losing, it didn’t even come to mind. Your terms if they lost were so outlandish that they didn’t think twice about agreeing to them.

You won by two questions, and boy did it leave them flabbergasted. How could they have missed two, let alone any questions, related to All Might trivia?

The three of you are standing outside a tattoo parlor in the city, the neon sign in the window illuminating your faces in the night.

“Are you fuckin’ serious about this?” Bakugo rasps, rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms in front of him.

“Yep, you both lost fair and square. Plus, I’m the one paying for them!” You argue, punching him in the arm.

“I…I don’t know, what if they don’t look good?” Izuku whispers, embarrassed by his own thought.

You scoff at his question while putting your hands on your hips. “Zu, guys look fucking hot with nipple piercings. I’m doing you both a favor.”

Both of them make the same shocked expression as you laugh mockingly. “Calm the hell down, you two. If you don’t like them afterward, just take ‘em out. I’m not gonna force you to keep them.”

Bakugo groans obnoxiously, throwing his hands down at his sides before slumping his shoulders.

“Fine. Fuck it.”

Izuku shuts his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose before letting out a hefty sigh. “I-I’ll do it.”

Giddy with excitement, you grab them both by the hands and drag them into the studio. You can hear Bakugo mutter out a slew of curses under his breath at you, but he doesn’t protest going inside. Izuku puts his head down, a flush spreading across the back of his neck from nerves.

A half hour later, you’re in the lobby of the shop talking with the receptionist as you’re paying for the jewelry and piercing service. The boys walk out from the back together, shuffling to the front door as they wait for you to finish.

They don’t say a word.

Once outside the shop, you spin on your heel to face Bakugo and Midoriya.

“Weeell? How do y’feel?” you chirp, eager for their answers.

“Didn’t hurt that bad.”

“Yeah, it was just a little uncomfortable.”

You let out a satisfied squeak as you relish in the spoils of your victory.

───

The three of you return to Bakugo and Midoriya’s shared apartment. As you’re taking off your shoes in the foyer, you have a revelation.

You didn’t get to see your prizes.

“Hey guys?” You ask as you twirl a strand of hair between your fingers, putting on a pouty face. They acknowledge your question with dual ‘hmm’s.

“I don’t think it’s fair that I didn’t get to see my victory prizes.”

Their faces simultaneously burn rubescent, flustered by your request.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you both without a shirt before. What’s the big deal?”

Bakugo grumbles as he yanks at the hem of his t-shirt roughly, wincing as the fabric accidentally catches on the metal jewelry underneath. He shimmies the rest of the shirt carefully over his head and balls it in his fist at his side as he stands bare chested, his newly pierced nipples on full display.

…Did someone crank the temperature in the room?

You desperately wish that Midoriya was not here in the room with you two. A blistering heat makes its way straight to your core as you drink in the sight of Bakugo standing in the living room, unable to stop yourself from biting your lip. He looked fucking sexy with them. The way they complimented his perfect skin and drew attention to the tonality in his pecs was making you hotter than anticipated. Your focus moves to his hips, the outline of his boxers peaking out from under the waistband of his shorts tempting your mind...how badly you want to rip them off him right now.

Maybe you did yourself a favor after all.

“Daaamn Kat,” you purr, letting out a wolf whistle as you strut over and begin tracing light circles onto his chest. “You look fucking hot.”

Bakugo cannot look at you right now, his eyes glued to the ceiling. He’s riled up enough as is over your praise, his cock twitching in his shorts. If he dared to look at you, there’s no telling what he’ll do or say that he can’t take back.

Turning your head to Midoriya, you quirk an eyebrow at him.

“You gonna show me, Zu?” you plead, fluttering your eyes to give him the courage to show off his new piercings.

Midoriya hesitantly pulls on the collar of his shirt, dragging it upward and over his head. He stares at the floor when his chest is exposed, anxiously pursing his lips.

Damn, his don’t look half bad. They give him a different vibe from Bakugo, but still are nice accents to his cute pink buds.

“They look fine, nerd,” Bakugo barks out as an attempt to calm Midoriya’s nerves.

“And Ochako is gonna love them,” you wink, walking up and elbowing him in the bicep. A nervous laugh escapes him as he scampers to the bathroom, presumably to go look for himself.

Bakugo clears his throat behind you, drawing your attention back to him. You twirl around and place a hand on his shoulder. His skin is feverish under your palm.

“I’d be more than happy to show you mine to make it even,” you whisper, tugging aside the shoulder strap of your tank top to expose your lacy bra.

He gasps, or…moans? You can’t really tell, but he’s stumbling over his words as he looks down at you. “Y-you have them done already?!”

“I got them done after graduation. Shocked you never noticed, considering you stare at my tits daily.”

“F-fuck, I do not!" The look in your eyes is tempting him more than he can handle in the heat of the moment. He wants to devour you. Now.

"We can change that."

What?

You wag a finger, beckoning him to follow you down the hallway as you turn to walk away.

"C'mon, Dynamight. We've been playing this game for years."

Bakugo sprints into the hallway, snatching you by the waist and thrusting you into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Y'didn't need to make a bet to fuck me, y/n."

"Oh I know, this is just a bonus."

Midoriya comes out of the bathroom, wondering why the door slammed to Bakugo's bedroom. He can hear the two of you groaning and giggling as he rolls his eyes.

"Well, it's about time."

bakugo brain rot is rotting hehehehehe, but think about it? he'd look so damn hot with nipple piercings, dude. like? i made myself thirsty with this one

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugo smut #izuku midoriya #my hero academia #☆.rei writes

[ichor-and-symbiosis]

Obedient. (Shigaraki x f!Reader; NSFW)

Commission for @kazooli​.

Shigaraki knows you are upset. Not that he needs to use his intuitive perceptiveness to notice your downtrodden mood -- you are, and always will be, an open book of emotions. 

You try to be on your best behavior. You always try. Nobody needs to see their teammate moping around the decrepit hideout when everyone has their own problems to deal with. It could always be worse, you tell yourself. And you need to stay strong for your leader. 

But he knows. Finds you pouting on the ripped up sofa, even though you are the one who should come to him when called. You look up at him with your doe-eyed, downtrodden expression, and Shigaraki’s expressionless eyes sweep over you before walking past. Your gaze lingers on his broad back, wishing you could reach out and grasp the fabric of his coat just to keep him around a little longer. 

He pauses in front of the door. “Come with me,” he commands, and you are on your feet before you even think to ask why or where you are going.

-

The exhilaration of walking by your leader’s side through winding streets is enough to keep your mouth shut. Better to be quiet for now, anyway. Better to move like a shadow, like Shigaraki’s shadow. It must be a mission. You keep your eyes and ears sharp and primed, ready to take on the next challenge. 

Until Dabi’s words ring through your mind and you feel yourself deflating all over again.

Shigaraki pays no attention to you. He leads and leads, guides you towards a destination only he knows, and you are grateful for the chance to simply follow. You try not to question him when he stops at a food stall. Two orders of takoyaki, spoken with a quiet, serious request. Your stomach grumbles and you grip it in embarrassment. When was the last time you ate?

The worker holds out your meal. Shigaraki looks at you expectantly, and you realize he wants you to take it. And you do, rushed and mousy as you thank the worker, and then you spend the next minute mentally berating yourself for saying thank you at all. You are a villain. Why would you thank a random nobody? You should be thanking your leader instead. And you do.

He offers a grunt and keeps walking. Your heart flutters at the sound. 

You end your journey on a rooftop. The building is not familiar to you, and you doubt Shigaraki knows it either. A random building with a roof that smells like asphalt and cigarettes. You take a deep breath as the wind wafts the takoyaki steam toward you, and your stomach growls demandingly. 

You wedge yourselves into a narrow space, hidden from surveillance or anyone who may come onto the roof. Your only view is that of Shigaraki sitting across from you and you are perfectly okay with that. Very okay with that, in fact, especially since his legs are forced to bend and rest on either side of you. Your only choice is to sit cross-legged for his comfort, and you try your very best to avoid staring at his crotch.

It’s right there in front of you. He just brazenly has his legs spread out and brushing along your knees and you shove the takoyaki into your drooling mouth to keep yourself occupied. All you would need to do is bend forward, and it wouldn’t be the takoyaki in your mouth anymore. It would be something else entirely, something musky and warm and solid, and you squirm in your spot as heat pools below your belly. 

Shigaraki silently eats the first stick of takoyaki and sets the box aside. You pause your eating and wait, because he has that pensive look in his eyes right now. His arms are limp and resting on his knees, and you allow yourself to admire his beautiful hands. Beautiful to you, long and slender fingers, blue veins peeking through pale skin, oh how desperately you want him to touch you - 

“So.” The word hangs in the air between you. You stare at him, obediently waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t look at you. “What happened.” 

“U-um … “ You wrack your brain as your anxiety builds. Did you do something wrong? Were his plans compromised? “I’m sorry, I don’t - “ 

“You’ve been looking like a kicked dog all day.” 

“Oh.” You muster up a weak smile. “It’s nothing serious. Maybe I was just hungry, or … you know. Present circumstances and all that.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

Perceptive. You don’t want to burden him. It really was such a silly disagreement with Dabi. “Really, it’s - “

He says your name. You look at him, transfixed by his solemn stare. His eyes are sharp, commanding. “Tell me.” 

And you do. Nothing at first, trapped in your throat, and then all at once.

“Dabi is just such an asshole,” you blurt out, and Shigaraki’s snort encourages you to word vomit. “He took me with him on a scouting mission and things didn’t go as planned and he kept blaming me! He said it was my fault and that - and that I’m … useless.” Your head hangs in shame as you stare hard into your lap. “He said I’m useless and that the League doesn’t need me. So I’ve been thinking all day about that. If I wasn’t useful to society and I’m not useful to the League, then ... “ You don’t know where your trail of thought was going. “I don’t want to feel useless,” you whisper. “I don’t want to hold anyone back. I don’t want to waste your time like - like right now.” 

Shigaraki waits for you to finish. He looks a little surprised. “That’s a lot.”

Your mouth gapes like a fish before you shut it tight and dig your nails into your thighs, hoping the pain would counteract your burning embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. “Sorry. I talk a lot.” 

He eyes you with a calculated expression while you silently flounder in your awkwardness. “Come here,” he suddenly says, and your confusion makes him grow impatient. “Turn around. Back to my front.” He motions to the space between his legs. “Right here, puppy girl.” 

You nearly choke on your gasp.

Your body moves mechanically, too stunned by shock to make your body look anything other than enticing. You sit as he directed, back to his front, and wrap your arms around your knees as you try to calm your breathing. A gap remains between you, because there is no way Shigaraki would want you pressed up against him, except he does and you let out a startled squeak when he places his arms beneath your thighs, spreads your legs over his, and makes you lean back onto him. 

“What are you doing?” you breathe out, heart stammering in your chest as you soak up his body heat and pray to god that this moment will never end. 

“Testing out your obedience,” he off-handedly comments, and your clothed cunt immediately becomes flooded from the vibrations of his voice, the low rumble so close to your ear. His hands move to grip your forearms, and you jolt at the contact, all wired up with frayed nerves and anticipation. “I want to know what makes you think I’m wasting my time here.” 

“W-we’re talking about me.” 

“Yeah. And you know what I learned?” His mouth is close to your ear now. You shiver at the feeling of his breath tickling your skin. “I learned that you’re not at the top of your game right now. You’re drowning - “ He taps a finger to your temple. “ - from all of these fuzzy little thoughts in your head. And I can’t have an obedient puppy girl if she’s thinking too much.” 

“I - “ 

“Quiet.” One hand cups your throat, middle finger poised over your pulse. The hold is firm and encompassing around your neck. It makes you tremble with desire. “We have to get rid of those thoughts, don’t we?” His other hand brazenly cups your mound, and you let out the most pathetic sound of your life. “There’s a lot of ways to release pent up feelings,” he continues conversationally, fingers delving past the waistband of your bottoms. “I’m feeling charitable enough to help you out.” 

Your endless stream of thoughts fizzle out as soon as he finds your swollen clit. “Thank you,” you sob, gripping his arm and gyrating your hips for more of his touch. “Thank you, thank you, thank you - “ 

The hand at your throat moves up to cover your mouth. “Shhh.” Fingertip moves lower, runs itself through the slickness oozing out of your tight heat. “Relax.” You whimper brokenly, slump back against him as he rubs your clit in feather-light strokes. His hand moves from your mouth and rests on your temple, fingers buried in your hair. “This is what you’re good for.”

Shigaraki is not an expert by any means. Sometimes he loses his momentum, rubs too hard or too slowly, doesn’t really know how to set a proper pace. But you have never felt more wet before. Never has your heart raced this quickly, never has a simple touch driven you to mindless pleasure. 

He plunges inside you unexpectedly, shushing you once more as you let out a wordless cry, and even through the pain of being stretched far too soon, you feel your pussy loosen to accommodate your beloved leader’s thick fingers. He works you open good and proper, thorough in his thrusting, forcing you to take him down to the last knuckle. You lie there and take it, moaning and writhing in his lap as he fucks your sloppy cunt. 

“Just let it all out,” he murmurs in your ear. “It’s not good to keep the bad shit locked away inside. Or else one day … “ His fingers ease out of your pussy and leave a trail of juices clinging to his fingertips. You try your best not to whine as he brings his fingers up for inspection. “ … It’s all gonna come pouring out.” 

You don’t know what he is trying to do. You don’t know what he wants from you when his fingers tap against your bottom lip, but your mouth falls open all the same to let him smear your juices onto your tongue. A pathetic, desperate whimper escapes as you taste yourself on his fingers. And you taste him. Your leader’s fingers are buried in your warm mouth and your stretched cunt contracts from dizzy exhilaration. 

Your tongue licks away the evidence of your arousal, and for one delirious moment you think you hear Shigaraki hum in approval. He pops the digits out of your mouth and you begin to ramble before you can stop yourself. “Y-you don’t … have to do this,” you shyly stutter, cheeks burning from shame as his hand drops back between your trembling thighs. “I was being dumb, I’ll get over it, you d-don’t have to worry about me like this - “ 

You break off into a choked gasp as he traps your clit between two fingers and slowly runs them up and down. 

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, lets your head fall back onto his shoulder. “A leader takes care of his subordinates.” 

A burst of emotions burns your chest at the statement. How could something sound so detached yet intimate? You wonder what this means to him. You wonder if he’s done this for anyone else. The very thought of it makes tears well up behind your closed eyelids, but you do not let them fall. This is your special moment with your leader. Here and now, he chose to take care of you. You focus on those words instead, focus on how full they make you feel, just as his fingertip rubs your soaked entrance and slips back inside with ease. 

“Just trust me,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna train this greedy puppycunt to only think about me.”

Shigaraki keeps talking. He is so, so chatty, and it is hard to focus on his monologuing through the sound of your wet pussy being played with so thoroughly and invasively. You bury your face in his neck to stifle the whiny demands on the tip of your tongue, ignoring your monumental need for him to stop talking and just kiss you. It’s a selfish thought. Your leader is speaking to you. You should listen, you should let him take care of you, you have to trust him, you have to chase the high and let go, just as he always does on the battlefield. 

“You’re doing so well for me.” 

A heavy pit of pleasure builds deep within. 

“Always so obedient.” 

The thumb buried in your hair strokes slowly. 

“My favorite puppy.”

Your pussy clenches, fighting to suck him in and keep him inside. 

“Mine.” 

You come with a shrill keen, trembling and shaking through your orgasm as Shigaraki’s fingers pump in and out, squelching and sloshing your juices as loudly as he can. Your mind is adrift, completely gone. All you can do is lay limp in his arms and breathe heavily, letting him settle your underwear back over your messy cunt. 

There is silence for a moment. Only the sound of your breathing. His hand settles over the top of your head properly this time, ruffling your hair in a movement that might have been accidental if not for the fact that Shigaraki never makes mistakes. “I like you like this,” he says. “No thoughts or worries. Just a properly trained cunt and an obedient subordinate.” You smile a little at that. If only he knew how badly you wanted to be used by him. “I decide who’s useful to me, not Dabi. You’re around for a reason, got it?” 

Your heart aches with happiness. “Yes sir. I’m yours.” 

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki/reader #shigaraki tomura/reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #i can't believe this isn't problematic #just some finger fuckin goodness and reader pining #i also can't believe i finally finished a fic

[loeyparker]

right where you left me - p.p. 5/?

summary: with the help of an old friend, Peter tries to get back to you. and with the help of a certain PI, you try to figure out what you lost. but what happens when the person you're unknowingly missing shows up at your door?

pairing: andrew!peter parker x f!reader

word count: 7k

tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, angst, memory loss trope, set after nwh, good ol’ mutual pining, mentions of violence, nwh spoilers

a/n: the way this ended up being kinda filler-ish. but are we ready for old faces to return? also who can guess what taylor swift song snuck in at the end lmaoo. i really hope you guys enjoy this, the part was needed to set up the next chapters so i hope it's not boring

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Flash Thompson was getting married.

Peter had gotten the wedding invitation in the mail and left it opened and untouched on the kitchen counter for the past week.

It wasn’t the first wedding invitation he’d received from people he had been friends with, either in high school or college. But it was the first invitation that stung a little, because that was Flash fuckin’ Thompson getting married – high school bully, college redeemed-yet-still-kinda-mean Flash Thompson. In high school, Peter had always dreamed of a life where he was more successful than Flash, dream which made the bullying easier and at times, even comical.

Because Peter knew in ten years their paths would cross and he would hold his head a bit higher, knowing he was leading a better life. Yeah, Peter might have had a small God complex when he was a freshman.

But, ten years came and went and Peter was, in fact, not living the dream he thought he would be. So when Flash’s wedding invitation reached his fingers, Peter was suddenly taken back to high school and to every P.E. class in which Flash managed to hit him in the head with a basketball, resulting in Peter hearing colors for the rest of the day.

Because Flash Thompson was getting married and Peter Parker was pining after a girl from another Universe.

“Are you going out on Spider-Man business or just to act depressed on the ferry as yourself?” Peter threw a quick glare towards the couch as he bent down to tie his converse by the door. A ripped backpack was loosely strapped to his back and it slightly tipped forward as Peter moved. The person sat no more than two feet away from him let out a deep laugh, head falling back to briefly rest against the plush backrest.

Harry Osborn was sat on Peter’s couch, feet propped up on the coffee table.

The apartment was gently lit up by some string lights and a few lamps placed chaotically around the room. The rock beats of (Don’t Fear) the Reaper by the Blue Öyster Cult played smoothly in the background, coming from Harry’s phone.

A stack of papers was neatly placed by Harry’s feet and a laptop sat on his lap. The grey, woolen North Face jacket Harry had on blended into the couch, both bearing the same color. It was cold in the apartment since a certain hero had forgotten to close a window that morning – Harry had to shut it himself, late in the afternoon when the place had already frozen to bits. A white (thrifted) polo hid under the jacket – Harry had been weirdly into polos since being released from the Ravencroft Institute. And whether that was because he couldn’t really afford the expensive shirts he’d always worn, or because he wanted to separate himself from the old posh version of him, Harry didn’t know.

“I don’t act depressed on the ferry.” Peter retorted.

“That’s right, you also cry on Lady Liberty’s shoulder.” Harry shot back, a teasing smirk on his lips. His eyes watched Peter dully, no spark having reached them in ages. Dirty blond locks brushed the outer corner of his eyes as his hair had gotten slightly longer and Harry didn’t feel like slicking it down with gel anymore. A middle part replaced his previous look, making the man seem more approachable – friendlier even.

“I should’ve left your ass in Ravencroft.” Peter joked, making Harry’s grin spread wider.

“Who would’ve made fun of you, then?” Harry raised his hands to his sides, emphasizing his question. There was no trace of resentment in his voice, only amusement. And it was as if Harry had never turned on Peter ten years prior.

“Nobody.” Peter grabbed his skateboard and unlocked the front door. “That’s the point, I would’ve lived in peace.” And Peter was on the hallway outside about to close the door behind him when Harry shouted after him.

“Thank you though, Peter.” He said before pointing a finger at his best friend. “You know you saved my life. You’re a hero.”

Peter just snickered, shaking his head.

“Get a pizza when you swing back!” Harry’s muffled voice still reached Peter’s ears as he closed the door. And the song playing in the apartment followed Peter as he skated to the ferry dock in Astoria, through the bustling streets of Queens.

Harry Osborn had been living with Peter for about four months now, ever since the hero decided to work through his trauma by taking a page out of his counterparts’ books and curing his worst enemy. If his younger brother could sort-of forgive the Goblin for killing May, maybe Peter (who was old – nearing his 30s type of old) could work through his anger and extend an olive branch to his own Goblin.

And Peter hated to admit it, but acceptance and (semi) forgiveness worked.

Realizing that Harry Osborn fell victim to a horrible fate, to loss and pain and mental illness, and that the Green Goblin was a manifestation of Harry’s worst parts, all led Peter to believe that it was unfair to harbor hate for his lost best friend and to blame him for everything wrong in his life.

Part of him believed that by curing Harry of the Goblin, his bad parts would be eradicated and maybe, just maybe, he’d have his best friend back.

Thus, Peter recreated his older brother’s Goblin cure during a slow work day, when his thoughts were ridden by ghosts from another, inaccessible Universe. On days such as that one, Peter couldn’t help but think he had imagined all the events from last November – because how was it possible for him to have brothers? To find a person who reignited the flames of hope and affection within him, after they’d been dormant for so long? Peter had forgotten what being understood and listened to and cared for felt like until he met you and his counterparts and it all felt too good to be true.

He needed proof that it was all real. And the Goblin cure was all the proof he needed. Because had it all been a figment of his imagination, the serum wouldn’t have brought his Harry back. And Peter wouldn’t have seen consciousness and regret and sorrow all drown Harry’s once foggy eyes.

He also wouldn’t have had Harry dropping at Peter’s feet as he sobbed, more apologizes flying out of his mouth within the span of a minute than during his entire rich, entitled past life.

My Aunt May taught me that everyone deserves a second chance, kid Peter’s voice rang through Peter’s mind a lot after he had been sent home. And he knew his own aunt May held the same belief on second chances – and honestly, that belief was the reason why Peter offered his couch to Harry upon his release form the Ravencroft Institute. Why he decided to give Harry Osborn a second chance.

And he also offered because he desperately wanted to watch the ex-rich kid struggling to do normal people things – like cooking his own omelette in the morning or carrying his dirty laundry in a bag to the laundromat three blocks away or finding out why you should never get on an empty subway car.

The horrified look seen on Harry’s face through the subway windows when the doors closed and rich boy got hit in the face by nothing but pure lower-class experience will never cease to get a snicker out of Peter.

A Wallows song blasted through the hero’s earphones as he stepped off the ferry on Liberty Island. The wheels of his skateboard rolled over pavement bumps with ease and wind blew strands of his hair back. He had stopped by a fast-food place before getting on the ferry, so a packaged burger sat in his half-open backpack and a large Coke-filled paper cup with a straw poking out of it rested in his left hand, his fingers sticking to it for security.

Peter had a clear destination in mind and he couldn’t wait to get there and eat his food, absorbed by the bustling sound of thoughts rushing through his mind. Because there was a certain place on Liberty Island that quickly turned into his favorite spot ever since he returned home, eleven months prior.

A place that brought him closer to you, despite being worlds apart.

Below the Statue of Liberty, Peter found a wooden bench standing over the everlasting patches of fresh grass. It had stood there for decades before Peter unofficially claimed it, and might stand for decades to come. It was riddled by time, its firm wooden slats chipped, its iron casting stained by droplets of rust. The initials of strangers scarred the dusted wood and Peter knew them all by heart, as if they had belonged to old friends.

The bench stood on the very spot where you and Peter said goodbye in a different reality.

And at the beginning, Peter would sit on that bench for hours, gazing into the distance at the Hudson River gently swaying in the wind, waiting for something to happen.

For you, or wizard Ned or his younger brother to show up – to come for him.

But nobody ever did.

And Peter found himself, yet again, alone. He still had aunt May, yes – and he was incredibly grateful for that. Because his brothers had lost their aunts and the mere thought of losing his May managed to redden Peter’s eyes, to soak his cheeks in salty tears each time. He had her, but he still felt lonely. Because it wasn’t as if he could share telltales from his heroic activities (even though part of him believed she already knew his secret) and put her at risk. He couldn’t tell her he traveled worlds and found out he had brothers – whom he lost immediately after meeting.

But he did tell her about you.

To aunt May, you were a girl from outside New York who couldn’t make it to Christmas dinner due to flight issues. And you were also the girl who brought back the glimmer in her nephew’s eyes, glimmer she hadn’t seen in years.

“If you’re so in love, why don’t you go visit her?” Aunt May spoke as she cut into a fleshly cooked meatloaf on Christmas. “Grand gestures go a long way, don’t mope waiting for her to do all the work.”

Peter scrunched his nose, focusing on mashing the potatoes on his plate with the fork in his hand. Even now, almost a year later, he could still remember the way his head spun upon hearing May’s words. “I’m not in love, aunt May.” He mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward.

But he knew the woman was right, and that waiting around for you to solve multiverse travel was selfish.

So, due to a sudden impulse of hope and determination after weeks without you, Peter decided he was going to, quite figuratively, move mountains for a reunion. And Peter Parker quit his job as a freelance photographer and took the position of Research Scientist at Horizon Labs. He buried himself in physics within the walls of his new workplace, swimming through theories and formulas and crumbled papers thrown in frustration at the nearest glass wall.

And whenever his theories failed, when things got hopeless, he took the ferry to his bench on Liberty Island.

And on the days when his theories did pan out, when he seemed to be getting just slightly closer to figuring out the multiverse, he swung to the nearest port, junk food in hand, just to sit in your spot.

No matter what, Peter Parker could be found haunting the very spot where he left you, sitting on top of the backrest, feet collecting dust on the actual seat of the bench. And he imagined one day you’d be sitting next to him and all his efforts would be worth it. And he’d carve your initials into the wooden backrest as if you were infatuated teenagers, and you’d laugh because it was childish but you’d still take a picture of the carving before walking home together, hand in hand.

A pillow hit Peter’s face with brute force, stirring him awake. His room was still dark due to the curtains being drawn shut, but slithers of light still peaked through the fabric. Peter was quick to grab the pillow out of Harry’s hands before he could hit again.

“You didn’t get pizza last night, prick.” Harry retrieved his pillow from Peter and placed it under his arm.

Peter groaned, falling back into his bed. “I came back late.” His voice was hoarse, still riddled with sleep. He shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. The sheets were pulled off him and Peter felt transported back to his high school days, all of a sudden. “What are you, my aunt?” Peter mumbled, one hand reaching for his duvet.

“At this point, probably.” Harry sketched a smile. He was already dressed for the day in a black, loose shirt and grey pants. His hair was damp, as he had taken a shower after going on a run that morning.

“You can’t cook.” Peter mumbled.

“And that’s why I asked for pizza last night.” At Harry’s words, Peter groaned and rolled over, back facing his friend. “Lucky for you, I’m a forgiving person.” Harry had almost completely lost his accent by then, but the traces of being raised in upscale New York could still be seen through the way he enunciated certain words.

Peter puffed.

Harry found his eyes traveling to the polaroids stuck to the wall above Peter’s bed. They were all of the same girl and goddamn was she beautiful. He didn’t know much about her, though. All Peter had told him was her name and that she was from another place, a world he desperately wanted to reach.

And Harry understood why Peter felt so drawn to you; he understood his best friend’s motivation to singlehandedly prove the existence of the multiverse.

“Come on, man.” Harry shoved Peter’s foot. “You have a job to get to.”

“I’m taking a day off.” Truthfully, Peter wanted to mope that day. Because Flash Thompson was getting married and Peter was burning himself out over a girl from another world and he felt frozen in time while everyone he knew moved on with their lives.

“Okay, should I go to your lab to test out this blueprint for the multiverse portal, or?”

Peter opened his eyes. “What blueprint?”

Harry leaned against the doorframe. “While you were Spider-Manning last night, I studied your work and came up with something that could hold and transform the energy necessary for this to work.”

Peter shot up in a sitting position. “You came up with a portal.” He reiterated. His heart sped up.

“Well, I came up with the skeleton of a portal. You came up with the actual … thing.”

Harry offered to help Peter with the multidimensional portal a few months ago, after Peter was feeling particularly bummed out, causing the hero to rant to his old best friend until the early hours of the morning. And even though Harry had a world-ending headache, he listened.

At first, it all sounded like a fever-dream.

But then, Peter talked about Norman Osborn and how his Green Goblin murdered aunt May, about a young Peter Parker wanted to get revenge but ended up curing Norman instead. And Peter confessed that act was the reason why he felt the need to help Harry once he returned home.

Harry found himself eating up Peter’s words and believing him wholeheartedly by the end of the night. And the ex-villain felt that by offering to help Peter in his mission to get back to you, he would be redeemed. He wanted to prove to Peter that he was cured, that he was trustworthy – so he neglected his goals of taking back Oscorp and used his engineering knowledge to help his best friend instead.

But Peter’s story didn’t just open a path for Harry to find redemption.

It also gave Harry nightmares, all of them of his late father being the Green Goblin. And Harry found himself ditching sleep on the nights where his father’s face haunted him, choosing to go for long runs instead.

“Do you think it could work?” Peter asked as he struggled to put on a pair of slightly baggy pants, stumbling and jumping across his room. Over the I <3 NY t-shirt he wore to bed, Peter threw a black hoodie.

“Honestly … yeah.” Harry nodded, bringing his awareness back to the present moment.

Peter dashed into the living room to pick up his disheveled notebook. His hands were shaking.

Harry laughed as he followed Peter. A stack of books fell as the man rushed around the room, grabbing everything from his laptop bag to physics books to shoes. “What’s the first thing you’re gonna say to Y/N when you see her?”

That sentence alone acted like a shot of hope for Peter, sending electrical vibrations through his body. He paused by the door, before putting on his used-up converse. And then he shrugged, eyes on a smiling Harry. “I don’t know, man. I just want to see her.”

And as he sat next to Harry on the subway on their way to Horizon Labs, Peter, perhaps high on extreme inclines of hope, decided to send a text to the soon-to-be groom, Flash Thompson.

Congrats on the wedding, man! i’ll attend too, with a plus one

– peter parker

                                                   *

You could barely see the people around you, as the entire place was drowning in hues of deep blue and purple. Your ears rang the more you advanced into the underground club and you could feel the piercing bass of electronic music inside your throat. All you could smell was alcohol, sweat and cigarette smoke residue which had sewed itself into people’s clothes.

Hands brushed over the exposed skin on your back as you walked through the crowd. Feathers tickled the skin on your arms as you pushed past girls in angel costumes.

Some guy wearing a Ghostface mask tried to get you into a dance, but you dodged him with ease. Red laser lights hit your body as you stepped closer to the ring and your costume sparkled.

“Okay, targets are in the far-right booth close to the bar.” DODC’s Agent Cleary’s voice came through the communication device in your ear. “All you have to do is distract them until my guys get the weapons from the back. Shouldn’t be hard since you’re dressed for the occasion.”

You frowned even though Cleary couldn’t see you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know…” he trailed off awkwardly. “You’re dressed for attention.”

“Are you slut-shaming me, Cleary?”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Why do you make everything I say into some social justice shit?”

“Because I hate you.” You replied with nonchalance as your gaze found the targeted booth of men.

“Whatever, just do your thing until I tell you we’re clear.”

Working with the DODC had been a nightmare for you – only because you hated the man you got partnered up with. But word on the street was that Fisk had gotten his hands on Skrull technology and was making and selling weapons on the black market. The place you were currently at was just one of many under Fisk’s quickly rising empire, and weeks of scouting had showed that the weapons hub was located in the back of the club.

And you walked into that grand rave in a Halloween costume you had put together last minute, ready to never work with the DODC again and to get home early.

You approached the booth with a slight stumble in your steps and half-closed eyes. All the men there gave you a look-over and a shiver ran down your spine, but you ignored it.

Red leather boots reached the skin underneath your knees, making your legs look longer. A dark blue, high waisted bikini stood underneath a blue sheer sequin skirt. A red buckle top made out of the same material as the skirt covered the necessary parts of your chest, its straps meeting behind your neck. Black pasties in the shape of spiders laid underneath your top, providing coverage.

You had extensions which fell over your shoulders. Your bangs were held back by a comb headband. Rhinestones drew the shape of a spider-web by your eyes, tying together the red eyeshadow and the sultry eyeliner.

“Do you guys know Bad Bunny?” Your voice was at a slightly higher pitch as you placed your hands on a guy’s knees, leaning closer. He was the man in charge of Fisk’s operation – and your main target. “I wanna dance to Bad Bunny but the DJ won’t play him.” You whined.

And the man shared a look with one of his guys who immediately got up to solve it. And then he pulled you into his lap and pushed the hair behind your ear. You giggled, wanting to vomit.

And when a Bad Bunny song took over the entire club, you got up to your feet, hands pulling the crime-lord along. Cleary told you his team had entered the building, and you danced in front of all the criminals inside that booth. Your costume shone in the dim lights of the club, you leaned your head back on the man behind you and you felt a pit of guilt forming in your stomach.

You didn’t understand why, though.

It wasn’t as if you had anyone in your life, nobody else you’d rather be grinding on, nobody you had feelings for. So why did you feel nauseous?

And when the man’s breath fanned your neck and his hands reached past your waist, gunshots erupted from the back – and you breathed out in relief. Some men got up, the guy whose arms had been on you stepped back.

You bent towards their table to grab a glass of … something. Purposely, you stretched one leg back as you leaned forward and one of the guys tripped, falling over another man who had been ready to dash towards the gunshots. And you turned around quickly to apologize but crashed into their leader and spilled the drink on his shirt. Quickly as you rushed out apologizes, you drew your hand back, breaking the glass against another man’s forehead. The leader turned to you with annoyance on his features and his hand going for the gun on his belt. You grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s off the table and broke it on his head before kicking him in the chest with the heavy heel of your boot.

Another gun was pointed at you and you pushed the hand holding it up, bullet shooting into the disco lights on the ceiling and you got the strangest feeling of deja-vu.

People started running out of the club immediately, but the music still played.

A man flew through the back door and landed at your feet, unconscious and on his back.

And you felt someone behind you but you turned too late and his fist collided with your jaw so hard that it sent you tumbling over the table, landing on the other side on all fours. Your knees scrapped against broken glass and they stung when you jumped up to your feet, but you were angry. You blocked the arm of a man who was charging at you with a punch, and hit him instead. Your hand swung to the right and collided with another man’s jaw, knocking him down. You then grabbed his gun off the floor and shot the next man who charged at you in the shoulder.

Your skirt ripped as you round kicked someone. They then threw a punch which you dodged by bending down and when you got back up to swing, they were being yanked back. And from the right another large man was about to reach you, when part of a billy club knocked him over with ease.

“Are you okay?” You couldn’t help but smile when a certain red horned individual reached you. There was blood trickling over your boots and your jaw ached, but you smiled.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You responded, pulling down your top as its lower band rose during the fight.

Daredevil sketched a smile as he readjusted his billy club. There was a brief moment of pause in the fight, when all enemies were groaning on the floor, in pain. You found it funny how music still continued as if shit hadn’t just gone down, as if the club wasn’t empty.

“Did you get them?” You asked Daredevil as you took out the comms in your ear and continued to fix your costume. You knew you should have picket something more practical for a fight – but you also wanted to look hot at a rave and you couldn’t fight that simplistic urge.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Thanks for the tip. The weapons are all in the back.”

“Of course.” You shrugged. “Nobody wants to see Fisk go down more than you.”

And Matt didn’t have the chance to reply because within seconds, you were joined by another deeply concerned friendly hero.

“Are you okay?!” Spider-Man dropped by Daredevil’s side rushing to you, eyes wide. Your jumped slightly at his sight, not expecting his presence there at all. And you suddenly felt very uncomfortable as the hero stood in front of you – because you were basically dressed as sexy Spider-Man in front of Spider-Man. Matt fought back a chuckle upon hearing your heartbeat quicken in pure embarrassment.

“I’m,” you choked out, absentmindedly pulling down the sheer skirt. “I’m fine, there’s nothing to worry about, Spider … Man.” You wanted to Blip out, all of a sudden.

Spider-Man cleared his throat. Then nodded sharply and stepped back. “Good to hear, um, Miss.” He looked around before throwing his web in the distance. In the blink of an eye, he snatched a black coat that had been forgotten in a booth and handed it to you.

A breath of relief left your lips as you put it on. “Since when are you two” your finger pointed back and forth between the two heroes, “working together?”

Spider-Man scratched his neck. Matt smiled. “Everyone needs a little help from time to time.” His hand patted Spider-Man on the back. “Plus, it’s funny to work with someone whose voice still cracks.”

“Oh, come on.” Spider-Man whined as you snickered.

And then the front doors busted open and in walked dozens of men in tactical gear and guns drawn – and you immediately recognized them as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. You ordered the two heroes to run before it was too late, then sat at a booth as your coworkers swept the entire building. And as a medic cleaned your wounds as you were getting interviewed, you could see Spider-Man watching through the windows in the ceiling.

By the time you got home, you were exhausted.

But it was fine, because your apartment was quiet and warm and it smelled of tea tree and eucalyptus. You had also already told your supervisor you’d be getting into work late the next morning, so you were excited to take a shower and sleep for a while.

You took a moment to relax on your couch, taking in deep breaths to calm your mind after the events of the night. Your eyes rested on the broken picture frame sitting on your windowsill. Its state was something that baffled you each day – because almost a year prior, you had found it covered in sticky spider-web, its glass in the trash. The next morning, after the web dissolved, the pieces of wood laid on your living room. And it was crazy, because you couldn’t remember breaking it, nor fixing it.

Which reminded you –

Hey.

Found anything?

You sent two consecutive texts to the same person, not really expecting a reply on the same night. But before you could lock the phone and put it down, two texts came through:

No.

I’m not a wizard.

Jessica Jones replied, making you shake your head. You typed out a quick response.

No, you’re just the best PI in the city <3

And a moment later, she texted back.

Flattery won’t make me find Peter P faster.

Go to bed.

It’s 3 am.

You had gone to Jessica for help after being referred to her by Matt Murdock, some months prior. The cryptic note on your phone was driving you insane and you had initially asked Matt for help. However, he said all he could do was listen to your rants – he had no power to solve mysteries.

But Jessica Jones could help you, he said.

He was wrong. Jessica was completely not interested in your case – not at first. Because it was weird and it seemed easy to solve and you were a goddamn secret agent and she didn’t want to help government officials.

But she still followed you for a few days, just to get a feel of who you were. You had a routine that bored her and she decided that yeah, you were just a typical government employee. But then she found you sitting cross-legged on a bench on Liberty Island, moping on a random Friday.

“Since when are there benches here?” Was the first thing Jessica said to you that night.

You bit your lower lip. “This one was placed here after they rebuilt this portion of the island – you know, after the shield fell and all.”

There was a silver plaque on the backrest of the bench, inscribed with –

All we can do is our best.

And sometimes, the best we can do is start over. –

Steve Rogers, Captain America

“That’s so corny.” Jessica remarked upon reading the inscription. Her hands dug deeper into the pockets of her jacket.

You just snickered. “New Yorkers love their benches. And their Avengers.”

There was a brief pause. Jessica sat next to you. Your eyes were on the horizon, beyond the Hudson and over the floating boats. “So what’s this notes app thing you got?” Jessica eventually broke the silence.

“Now you wanna help me?”

“I didn’t say I wanna help you, I’m just curious.”

You leaned back into the bench, hands folded to your chest. Gentle waves crashed into the shore. “You know that moment when you’re about to leave the house and you just have this feeling that you’re forgetting something? But you don’t know what it is, so you get into your car and drive away.” You began. “And then it hits you. You forgot your wallet, or your airpods or whatever else. Ever felt that?”

Jessica just nodded sharply.

“Well, I have that. Except the moment when I realize exactly what I’ve forgotten never comes.” Your shoulders were slumped. “I just feel like there’s something missing, and it’s driving me insane.”

“When did you start feeling like this?” Jessica asked.

“On the day the shield fell. I genuinely … it was like I just woke up right here, in the middle of chaos and destruction and I was standing on the shield and I felt it slip towards the river, and I had my phone and there was a new note on the screen and it just said three words. And even though I had this … waking up moment I still feel like … like I’m dreaming.” Your fingers fiddled. “Everything seems normal but I feel off and somehow, I know something’s wrong.”

“And you think figuring out what the note means could …” Jessica frowned in confusion. “Wake you up?”

“I think it holds meaning.” You shrugged, finally turning to look at her. “I think it’s important.”

“And why do you need my help?” Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, don’t you have some crazy-ass resources?”

“You don’t think I tried that?” You shot back. “There’s hundreds of Peter P’s out there and I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” Frustration seethed through your words like venom, poisoning your thoughts with annoyance. “I just thought a more trained, outsider perspective could help.”

Jessica let out a loud sigh. Then she clicked her tongue. “Fine.”

You turned to her, eyebrows raised.

“Come by my office tomorrow, we’ll talk more.” She continued before getting up.

“Wait, you’re gonna help me?”

“Finding exes for blipped people is getting boring. I need a challenge.” She didn’t want to admit how badly she related to you in that moment. She’d had her own encounter with losing time and feeling like she was in a constant state of dreaming, had her own issues with memory loss. But her experience stemmed from being mind controlled – she could only hope that wasn’t the case with you.

And all you could do was smile and promise you’d see her the next day.

“And stop moping on this bench, it’s weird.” Jessica shouted as she walked away. “And sad.”

That encounter happened months prior, and she’d been helping you ever since. She even managed to compile a list of suspect Peter P’s who were worth looking into, and she’d been investigating them over the past weeks.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard on your phone as you were about to type out a reply to Jessica, when there was a knock on your door.

It was loud and persistent and it made you flinch.

The heels of your boots clanked against the wooden floors, as you didn’t have the energy to take them off yet. And you let out a frustrated sigh as you placed a gun in the waistband of your skirt, behind your back – because it was early in the morning and you had just fought Fisk’s men and what if more were coming after you?

They wouldn’t be knocking though, would they?

You opened your door wide, in a heartbeat, ready to face whoever was on the other side. To get it over with and go to bed.

A tall, lanky man stood about a foot away from you. His left arm was raised in a lean against the doorframe. His brunette hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it excessively. Slight scruff covered his otherwise strong jaw. His lips were parted, his honey eyes wide. His chest rose up and down quickly as his eyes slowly inched up your body.

Peter Parker never expected this when he reached your world for a second time. He prepared himself for the sight of a barely-awake you, with sleep riddled features, body covered by baggy pajamas, hair up.

Never, in a million years, could Peter expect you to open the door for him as sexy Spider-Woman.

There were so many things Peter wanted to say – and do, but he found his eyes lingering on your exposed legs, on the slit in your skirt, up the waistband of your bikini and on the spiders on your chest for a second too long.

And all the words he had in mind got caught up in a web of incoherent thoughts.

His heart was hammering against his ribcage and he was sure your neighbors could hear the thumps. He felt heat quickly creeping up his ears and he kept swallowing the lump in his throat.

There was glitter on your lips and he wondered if it was transferable.

And then his eyes landed on the forming bruise on your jaw, purple vines of broken blood veins reaching up your cheek. He knew those wounds too well and his jaw clenched subconsciously as he realized you had been punched.

Peter found himself reaching out to you, wanting to cup your face and run his fingers over your bruise in comfort.

But you stepped back.

And your hands rose to your chest, fists clenched – ready to hit.

At first, Peter thought you were joking – so, he laughed. But the glare in your eyes and the stoic look on your face made him freeze.

“Don’t fuck with me.” You threatened. You had had enough of men touching you for one night. Another stranger having his hands on you would’ve quite possibly sent you overboard.

Peter raised his hands in surrender, palms on shoulder level. “Is this a bit?” He asked. This was not the reaction he expected.

You frowned. “What?”

“I’m confused.” Peter said, eyes scanning the apartment behind you, looking for a sign that maybe he didn’t reach the right universe. Because last time he saw you, no part of you seemed eager to let him go. And now, no part of you seemed to welcome him back. “What world am I in?” His eyes shifted back to you.

“Dude, what?” Your shoulders pushed back. “Are you on something? I think you got the wrong apartment.”

“Come on, Y/N. This isn’t funny.” Peter could feel the color draining out of him. He could feel dread creeping up his spine, delicate as a spider. Something within warned him that something was very off.

Your frown hardened. “How do you know my name?” You demanded.

Peter licked his lips. His hands went behind his head, fingers connecting at the nape of his neck. He feared that his hands might reach out for you otherwise. “You can’t do this to me.” He pleaded. “I told you there would be a way – and I found it.”

You looked up at him in nothing but confusion. You searched his eyes to see if they were bloodshot, his nose to see if it was irritated or stuffy.

But he looked normal – sober.

“Listen, I have no idea what you’re on about, I think you have me confused for someone else.” Your arms lowered and a palm rested on the door, ready to close it. “My advice to you … go home, sleep the confusion off.”

Peter’s hand flew to your door, holding it open. He took a step inside your apartment and your hand reached for your gun. “Bug, please.” He pleaded. His eyes glistened and his lower lip trembled before he pursed his lips. The tip of his nose reddened and your face softened.

If this was a joke on him, it was cruel.

Peter was yanked back before you could do anything, and you watched as a younger man stepped into your line of vision from behind the tall stranger. The boy had a strained smile and an arm around Peter’s slumped shoulders. And the otherworldly visitor inhaled a shaky breath upon seeing his younger brother by his side.

Peter waited for his brother to remind you that, hey, this tall, handsome guy is my older brother from another reality – remember him? You guys almost kissed twice?

But instead, Peter-One made the situation worse. “Miss, I’m so sorry for my brother here.” The boy patted Peter on the back with a chuckle. “He’s had too much to drink, he – he goes crazy on Halloween.” The boy’s voice trembled.

You eased up. Your gun remained in the waistband of your skirt. Your eyes remained on the tallest of the two, both your glances meeting. Peter kept waiting for you to burst out laughing and to run into his arms. But the moment never came. Instead, the detached look in your eyes and the distance between you made Peter feel like he was attending his own funeral. The scene felt ghostly – cold and void of color. Because you eyed the two men like strangers and he could tell his younger brother was struggling with it as well.

“I’m sorry for the disturbance. We’re – we’re leaving now.”

“But – “ Peter-Three began but was quickly cut off by his brother.

“We’re going.” He spoke with sternness in his voice and a smile still on his face as his eyes never left your face. “Have a good night. And sorry.”

And they were off. Peter-One pushed and dragged his brother away, lacking any trace of grace.

And as you locked the door behind them, you couldn’t shake the uneasiness out of your system. A frown permanently resided on your face as you took off your boots, slowly.

The older stranger seemed eerily familiar.

And the whole situation felt off – how did he know your name? And why did goosebumps erupt over your skin when he called you Bug?

The realization hit like a bucket of cold water dropping over you. The phone in your hands almost slipped as you frantically grabbed and unlocked it, fingers scrolling through your camera roll.

And then you found them.

Three consecutive pictures – selfies of the stranger who had just been at your door. Selfies you had looked at for hours on end, trying to figure out how they ended up on your phone. They were all taken in your kitchen on the day you couldn’t remember. And you had run his face through S.H.I.E.L.D.’s face recognition software multiple times, but got no hits.

And now he showed up at your door.

You put a random pair of shoes back on and dashed out of the apartment, door slamming forcefully behind you.

By the entrance to the building, Peter-Three shoved his brother away. He was confused and annoyed and hurt. Because he spent a year – a whole fuckin’ year trying to come up with multiverse travel just to see you. He worked so hard, on himself, on the portal – and he did it knowing you’d be at the end of the tunnel. You’d be there and the look on your face when he showed up would all be worth it. And he’d hold you and finally kiss you and he’d be happy for once in his goddamn life.

He swung through New York grinning after he jumped through the portal. His heart thumped and his palms sweat with each web grab that propelled him closer to your apartment. Peter felt invincible because he had just travelled dimensions and there was nothing stopping him and he couldn’t wait to see your reaction.

“What the hell, man?!” Peter’s voice rang through the empty lobby.

Peter-One cringed and looked back at the elevator. “I swear I can explain, but we have to go.”

A mix of overflowing excitement flooded the young boy’s chest, mixing with immobilizing dread and anxiety. He wanted to hug his brother so bad – he never thought he’d see Peter-Three again and the sight of him truly minimized the loneliness he’d been feeling over the past year. Because he was finally face-to-face with someone who knew him. But Peter also felt absolute dread since his decisions, all of a sudden, had real consequences and his brother’s heart was about to break upon hearing what Peter had done.

“No!” Peter-Three’s ears rung. “Is this a bit? Am I being pranked?” His voice got louder and louder, simultaneously dropping in gravity. His fingers hit his own chest as he pointed at himself vigorously.

Peter-One stuttered. “I – it’s – it’s my,” he kept glancing back at the elevator whose doors stayed closed as the lit-up arrow above pointed up. “I’m gonna tell you everything but right now we have to go because Y/N is for sure coming after us and I can’t face her right now.”

“Why not?! Just tell me what’s going on!”

“How are you here?”

“Peter!” The older man shouted, completely frustrated.

The elevator’s arrow changed, now pointing downwards.

Peter-One pushed the front door open and urged his brother to follow him. “Please, you have to come with me.”

“Am I dead to Y/N?” Peter deadpanned. He just had to know. “And why did you act so weird with – why did you call her miss? Don’t you know her since you were in, like, diapers?”

Peter-One groaned “I didn’t have diapers in primary school.”

The other Peter clenched his fists and in an exaggerated, annoyed and overly-dramatic sing-song voice, retorted. “Not my point!”

Peter-One stomped his foot. “Okay! She doesn’t remember us! Let’s go!”

Peter sensed time stopping in place. Sounds all around faded and he felt the entire weight of his body pressing into the sole of his feet. “What?” He only managed to choke out a single question. Annoyance and confusion all washed off his body, like a wave.

The younger hero looked down, pressing his lips. He felt nauseous. “It was the only way.” The boy mumbled.

And chills went down Peter’s body when he remembered the look on your face before he left. The broken, hopeless eyes scanning his features and the salty dark tears streaming down your pale cheeks. You knew – and you wanted to warn him but he didn’t listen.

And he waited for you to open a portal, he lived his life for a year thinking you were working to see him just as hard as he was. In reality, though, you weren’t thinking of him at all.

He stayed collecting dust on Liberty Island while you moved on.

The elevator dinged and its doors slid open. You dashed out armed only with a thumping heart, feet carrying you into an empty lobby and a front door slowly shutting closed by itself, no sign of the two Peters left behind.

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