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studioghibelli · 4 months

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always yours- a joel miller x reader

summary: joel has carried guilt with him his entire life, especially after losing you many years ago. you were young and naive, and joel was cold and distant, a match that simply wasn’t meant to be. (so he thought.) when he and ellie finally make it to wyoming, he’s in for the surprise of a lifetime.

warnings: joel pov for a bit, pining, so so much pining, ellie and joel dynamics, a lot of angst, various flashbacks throughout the story, guilt is one of the main themes of this piece of writing, a rather large age gap that is the center of joel’s guilt, a very brief mention of joel having sex with another woman (tess), post outbreak, and of course- smut. (allusion to m receiving oral, brief female masturbation, unprotected sex, cream pie, f receiving oral, some dirty talk.) mdni

The smell of pine swirled lazily in the air, the promise of a fresh snowstorm making its way through the tree line like the wafting scent of slow baking cookies. The white ground crunched beneath Joel’s leather boots, imprinting the shadow of their soles into the thick wintered earth. With each step his bones ached, shoulders heavy with the fate of the world.

Behind him, a figure trucked lazily behind, giggles occasionally filling his ears.

“What’re you up to back there?”

“Hey, hey. Check this one out, Joel. Why did the can crusher quit his job?” There was a long moment of silence. “Because it was….. soda pressing. Ha! Get it?” Ellie jogged closer to Joel, nudging him with her elbow. “Do you- do you get it, Joel?”

A heavy grunt escaped the man. “Yeah, I get it.” A tooth pick hung loosely from his lips as he glanced down at the girl, a slow roll of his eyes following.

“Want to hear some more?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Okay. Okay… that’s fine.” Ellie cleared her throat, humming as she took in the world around her. “I do have something on my mind. Something real heavy.”

Joel looked at her, his eyes glossed over with a hint of concern. “What is it?”

“Last week I….I-” Ellie paused, sniffling a bit, feigning a look of guilt. “Last week I called someone a watering hole, but I swear I meant well!”

Joel stopped, his jaw clenching momentarily before he met the gaze of Ellie who, in the midst of her terrible joke, was choking back a roar of laughter. He sighed out, shoulder slacking, before giving in to the chuckle stuck in his throat.

“Okay, okay. That wasn’t half bad, I’ll give you that.”

“You’re laughing! I made you laugh! I know you liked that one.”

“I did. Don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Joel shook his head with the hint of a grin teasing against his mouth. “Now quit with the shitty jokes, alright? You’ll miss the scenery.”

Ellie saluted him sternly, giving him a thick nod. “Aye, aye, Captain!” She declared.

Joel sucked in a thick breath.

You were staring at him, with your big, beautiful eyes, gnawing on a stale, unseasoned piece of venison jerky. The flickering flames of the campfire in front of you illuminated your face with glimmering sheens of orange, blanketing the hue of your skin with crimson and gold. A sunset, personified.

He stared at you, long and hard, analyzing every inch of you, taking in your beauty. He wanted to drown in it. The softness of you lips, the apples of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose. Joel wondered how smooth your skin was, how the curve of your waist would feel against his calloused palms, how the heat of your breath would feel fanning against his throat. His eyes dragged down to your small hands, eyeing your manicured nails. What shape would they imprint upon his skin?

“Who the fuck made this shit, Joel?” You guffawed, rubbing your eye with your free fist. “I hate jerky. Tired of it!”

“Well, you’ve just never had good jerky. Before the end times, we had lots of good brands. Jack Link was pretty popular. Was my favorite.” Joel looked at you, a stray curl falling against his forehead as he set the paper bag down. “Ever heard of them?”

“No. Never. When…. all this happened, I was too young to remember. I’ve got no memories from that time, honestly.”

It was a simple statement. One that shouldn’t have made Joel’s stomach clench and turn. Yet it reminded him. It reminded him of his age, of your youth, your naïveté. His chest tightened with the deep feeling of wrongness, the bitter taste of guilt like bile in the back of his throat.

“Don’t, uh, don’t remind me.” Joel mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You, none the wiser to the war raging on in his mind, laughed sweetly, saluting him lazily as you finished the last of your venison jerky. “Aye, aye, captain!”

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

“Heyyyy!”

Joel’s neck snapped towards the noise, where Ellie stood still, leaning against the thick trunk of a pine tree. “Huh?”

“Dude, you were just standing there. Like a fuckin’ statue. You okay? I thought you were dying.”

Joel rubbed a scruffy cheek, the thick bristles of hair irritating his fingers as he stared into the distance, taking in a deep breath before resuming his walking. “I’m fine. Let’s jus’ keep goin’, onwards and upwards. Should be there in a day or so.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Ellie kicked a stray pebble in front of her, jogging every so often to meet the long strides of Joel.

In front of her, Joel was lost in deep thought.

He felt the ache of remorse tugging at his heart. A reminder it still worked. A reminder he was still human, still alive and breathing. A human, a man, who hoped and yearned and craved and cried. A man who loved. This remorse, this pain, this guilt, that had corroded away at his soul piece by piece, kept him stable and nailed to the ground. It was a nudge towards the idea that perhaps after all these years of killing, after the taste of blood and haze of destruction, perhaps his heart was still capable of something good, something right.

Joel thought he was right, when he did what he did. Even with the tsunami of tears threatening your eyes, even with the quivering of your lip, the tight furrow of your brows, the embarrassment on your face- even with the sheer look of pain and betrayal that you wore like a masquerade mask- Joel felt that what he did was for the best. That the line in the sand he carved with his own bare hands would help you in the end.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Joel warned, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t look at me like that, girl.”

“Why?” There was a shrill crack to your syllables, a dejected figure emerging from the shadows of your mouth. “Does it make you feel bad? Am I hurting your feelings?”

“This is worse enough as is. I don’t need you flashin’ them puppy dog eyes at me. Ain’t gonna change a thing.”

“So you just used me. Fucked my mouth until you got what you wanted. And now what, Miller? Now what? Gonna ignore me? Gonna start doin’ runs with Tess again like there was nothing between us?” Venom dripped from your incisors as you took a step towards him. Your tears, your sadness, the heavy weight of your heart had been replaced with rage. Burning hot rage. It consumed you until it was oozing from you, spilling from your eyes, your mouth, your nostrils. It was you.

“Yeah. That’s what I’m goin’ to do. ‘Cause you’re right, kid. There wasn’t shit between us.”

Ellie’s humming brought him back to reality, clearing his mind of any thoughts, before she broke the silence with a dreadful question:

“Did you ever have any girlfriends, back at the QZ in Boston?”

“Told you not to ask me any questions like that.”

“I know, I know. But it seems like things with you and…. with you and Tess were weird. I remember what she said, how she never asked you to feel what she felt.” Ellie cleared her throat, gripping ahold of the straps on her backpack. “But, you know, it got me thinking. If someone as cool as Tess liked an old fart like you, some other chicks would have had to, too. Right?”

Joel sighed a deep, tired sigh, rubbing at his temples. “Me and Tess…. we weren’t. We- just. No. Tess and I, there was nothing there.”

Ellie held her hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. Geez, no need to throw a bitch fit, asshole.”

“Watch it.” He grumbled, adjusting the strap of his rifle. “But there was one girl.”

“Really? What was she like? What was her name? What did she look like?”

“Slow down, Ellie, slow down. Way too many questions. I’ll answer one. One! So pick wisely.”

Ellie walked in silence for a moment, rubbing her cheeks in thought as though she had a beard. She nodded with a sense of finality, catching up with Joel’s long strides. “Why did you like her?”

Why did Joel like you? Why did he love you? What was so special about you that Joel, a man concrete in his stoicism, a man lost in his own selfish, distant ways, could crumble at the sheer thought of you? What was so special about your sparkling eyes that made his chest pound? What was so special about your soft voice that made his jaw slack? What was so special about your gentle touch that made his body shiver?

How could a giant such as Joel Miller come crashing down at the feet of someone like you? Someone so pure, so happy, so kind and thoughtful? How could Joel have ever let something like that happen? How could he have been such a fool?

“Hello? Earth to Joel.” Ellie waved her hand in front of Joel’s face, eliciting a groan.

“Um…” He scratched at his chin.

“When I was a little girl all I wanted, the one thing that mattered most to me in the world, was to go to the zoo. My momma used to tell me all these stories. How you could touch the stingrays, feed the giraffes… But you know what I want to see most of all? The gorillas.”

Joel was staring out the window, keeping watch as you shuffled through the drawers of the abandoned room, looking for extra stuff that could be worth smuggling. His eyes scanned the road, but he was mostly interested in listening to you. Quickly and slyly he turned to look at you.

He saw the glimmer glistening through your gaze, the smile lines crinkling ever so slightly at the corners of your eyes as your pretty lips turned up into a big grin. Your face was aglow with passion, your heart pinned proudly to your sleeve. You were the exact opposite of him when it came to that, it only drew him closer, like a moth to a flame.

“The zoo? I went to the zoo. Took my daughter all the time to the one in Austin. Never saw a gorilla though, not up close. Just on the Animal Planet.”

“Animal Planet?”

And there it was, that familiar twinge of guilt. “Yeah. It was a TV Channel.” Joel explained with a grimace, his voice soft and quiet. “You, uh, you find anything good yet?”

“Nah. Just a half empty box of condoms and some bandaids.”

“Condoms? We could use those.” Joel explained, turning to you quickly.

A look of surprise crept on to your face. You hoped you hid the butterflies erupting in your stomach well enough. Surely it was a slip of tongue, you thought- Joel was never forward like that.

Realization soon dawned on his face when his words finally settled in. “Not….. not us, I mean. For- for trading. Could get some ration cards. The, I mean- I would never be…. I- Uh.” A guttural noise of defeat escaped him as he slumped into the wall, groaning deeply against the palms of his hands that his face was now buried in. “Forget I said anything.” Joel seethed through gritted teeth.

“You sure do have a way with words, cowboy.” You teased. A beautiful laugh, one that haunted Joel, escaped your chest as you threw the box of condoms towards him. “There you go, lover boy.”

“Her laugh.” Joel finally broke the silence, his eyes secured to the track in front of him. “She was always laughing. Real happy, curious, always day dreaming. She was….”

“The exact opposite of you.” Ellie filled in, laughing to herself. “Man, she sounds great. And she liked you back?”

“I said one question a day.”

“But-”

“No buts. You can ask another one tomorrow.”

“Well, can you at least tell me her name?”

Before Joel could stop himself, the syllables of your name rolled from his tongue. He hadn’t spoken it out loud in years. He promised himself he wouldn’t, not after losing you. But it escaped him quicker than he could stop it, like a dog running from its cage, sniffing its way to freedom.

Ellie repeated it to herself. “That’s real pretty.” She hummed in approval, and Joel continued walking, his eyes stirring with the burning hot threat of tears.

Angry, regretful, bitter tears.

“Have you seen her anywhere?” Joel was pacing his room, frantically throwing supplies on to the bed. “Did she- did she say anything? Where she was going? What she was doing?”

“Joel.” Tess’ voice rang through the air. “Joel.”

“What? I need to get to her, God dammit.”

“She’s gone, Joel. Said she left four days ago. You won’t be able to find her.” Tess rested a hand on his shoulder as she sat down on the edge of the mattress, looking up at the disheveled, broken man before her.

“This is all my fault.” A single sob racked through his body as he fell down beside her. “Putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger would have been the exact same thing. She’ll die out there, Tess.” Joel buried his face in his hands as he fell back, jaw clenching in unison with his flaring nostrils as he sat and stewed in the crashing waves of resentment. “She’s going to die, and I won’t be there to protect her.”

Teas traced her hand down the broadness of Joel’s back, taking in a sharp breath. “You’re right. Better move on now, we have work to do. If you’re going to get over it someday, you might as well do it now.” If there was one thing Tess wasn’t going to do, it was sugar coat things. Especially not for Joel fucking Miller. “So get up, stop crying, and do your fucking job. You got it?”

That night Joel drunkenly fucked Tess with her face in the pillow and ass in the air, and the whole time he imagined it was you.

Dusk was soon approaching by the time Joel had rolled out his and Ellie’s sleeping bags. The canvas of the sunset was being torn apart by sparkling stars, the moon illuminating the snow covered trees surrounding them. It was a quiet, peaceful night, shrouded with the sort of yearning and hope that only came once the sun set.

“Can we start a fire? Please, Joel?” Ellie was shivering beneath her sleeping bag, pulling her jacket tighter to her chest.

“Use my bag. I’ll take watch while you sleep.”

“We’ve been walking for like, a hundred hours. You need sleep too. Nobody will find us here. We’re in the middle of butt fuck nowhere.”

“You don’t know that. Now take my bag or stop whining.” Joel’s voice was gruff as he sat against the tree, the light of the lantern illuminating the hardness of his face.

“Okay, geez. Don’t have to be an asshole.”

“Go to sleep, Ellie.”

Joel hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He never liked sleeping, for many different reasons. The lack of control, the possibility of danger, the lurking nightmares about his past. But most of all, he hated sleeping because they brought him dreams of you.

In the beginning, when he had you, dreams of your body, or your face, of your voice- they were all welcomed. He would wake up in his mattress, bathing like a cat in the golden rays of sunshine, and would go about his day slightly less grumpy. Not a changed man, by any means, but how could a man be completely cold and detached after a visit from an angel?

But now these dreams were different. He would wake, not quite remembering them in their entirety, but always feeling the heavy burden of loss thick in his mouth, like phlegm during a nasty cold. For the rest of the day he would think of you, unable to shake the memory of your face away from his mind. You had branded him like a cow at the slaughterhouse.

Joel knew he was yours forever, always yours, despite the pitter pattering footsteps of guilt that followed him around like a needy child.

Tonight, he dreamed of his past memories with you.

“Oh, this is a good one.” Joel hummed out as he turned the record player up ever so slightly. “This is Nat King Cole. My mom used to play his stuff while she was cookin’.”

Sometimes I wonder how I spend the lonely night,

Dreaming of a song. The melody, haunts my reverie,

And I am once again with you, when our love was new.

“He’s got a nice voice.” You quipped. You swung your legs off the desk, walking towards him before extending your hand.

He looked at you like you were crazy. “What’re you doin’?”

“Dance with me.”

“Dancin’ is a dangerous game. I ain’t no good at it.”

“That doesn’t matter. Come on. Just dance with me, cowboy!” Your giggles ignited the air with sparks of comfort, warming Joel’s body through with the familiar pang of affection he so often suffered from when he was around you. He thought on it for a moment before letting out a long sigh.

“Fine. But if you tell anyone about this I’ll… I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Spank me? Come on, just live a little. If it was actually the end of the world none of us would be here. So be alive and human with me tonight, and dance.”

Joel stood, looking down at you as his hands found your body. He rested one palm against the small dip of your waist, his other finding your hand, quickly engulfing it, wrapping around your fingers like a blanket. You swayed, barely shuffling your feet, a smile of contentment washing across your face.

“See?” You hummed. “This is nice.”

He stayed silent, swaying with you to the crooning voice of Nat King Cole. Joel sucked in a sharp breath as your cheek rested against his chest. He ran his hand down to the small of your back, instinctively pulling you closer.

And now my consolation is in the stardust of a song,

Besides the garden wall when stars are bright,

You are in my arms, a paradise where roses grew

Though I dream in vain…

“Joel?” You whispered, craning your neck to look up at him.

His eyelids fluttered open, lips parting ever so softly as his eyes met yours. Chocolate irises, flashes of gold glittering within them, drunk every inch of your face up, memorizing you as thought it was the last time he’d ever see you. “Hmm?”

“Will you kiss me?” The question escaped you before you could think, your eyes slightly widening at the boldness which preceded you.

Joel stopped swaying. He looked down at you, a thumb slowly tracing across your cheekbone.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I- I wasn’t thinking.” Your face was hot with embarrassment, and your hand on his shoulder quickly dropped.

Joel remained quiet as he gently grabbed your fallen hand, moving it back to his shoulder, up towards his face, until you were cupping his cheek. “You really want me to?” He asked softly, curiously, his thumb gently running across your lower lip. You nodded without hesitation.

He leaned forward, the curve of his nose brushing against the tip of yours as he moved both of his hands to hold your face, eyes open and staring in to yours, as though he were trying to make his way through your soul. A stabbing breath hitched in the back of your throat as you gently pressed your body to his, lips mere centimeters away.

“Joel…” You whispered softly.

He paused right before your mouth, eyes now full of remorse, wide and guilty like a petulant child who had just been caught red handed. When he spoke, you felt his moustache tickle your cupid’s bow.

“I… I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Do you not like me?”

“That’s not the issue, darlin’. It’s the… opposite of that, actually. But I just- I… I gotta go. I’ll stop by tomorrow with some more ration cards.” Joel pulled away from your body, rushing to the door.

“Joel, wait. Joel!” But before you could stop him, he had already left. Your heard his footsteps soon disappear, left with nothing but the scratching vinyl.

In my heart, it will remain

My stardust melody

The memory of love’s refrain.

Joel awoke with a violent jerk, to the bitter smell of coffee and the bright warning of morning light.

“Wakey, wakey sleepy head. Made you some coffee!” Ellie smiled at Joel as she dug her heels into the dying fire, handing Joel the metal cup of brown liquid.

“I told you no fires, Ellie. Someone could see us.”

“It’s fine. It’ll be okay. And if anyone comes and tries to hurt us, I’ll use my super slick Ninja skills I learned on ‘em! Promise! Now drink your nasty bean juice and let’s get going.” Ellie rolled up the sleeping bags as Joel stared into space, sipping his coffee before dumping the rest of it out.

“How long was I out for?”

Ellie shrugged, walking beside him as they made their way towards the open valley. “No clue. But you were muttering to yourself. Woke me up.”

“Was I? Mutterin’ what?”

Ellie looked at him, a small, sad smile playing on her mouth. When she said your name, his stomach turned. That beautiful name. That terrible, awful name that haunted him at every corner. It crept through his mind like a ghost, in and out of the hallway of his memories, refusing to ever leave.

“Weird.” Joel finally said, after a long, thick, uncomfortable silence. “Let’s…. let’s head out now.”

An hour or so had passed, hiking through the forest towards the open valley, before Ellie realized Joel had been whistling. She had never heard him whistle before. And, like always, her curiosity got the better of her.

“What is that?” She asked.

“What’s what?” Joel answered, looking around to try and pin down what she was talking about.

“The song you’re whistling. What is it? I like it.”

“Oh.” Joel hadn’t noticed he had been making any noise. “It’s called Stardust. An old song, before my time even.”

“Who’s it by?”

“There are a few renditions, I can’t remember who did it first. My favorite version was by Nat King Cole.” Joel explained, clearing a makeshift path through the jutting branches and scratching leaves.

“I’ve got my one question, you know.” Ellie stated with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “About her.”

“M’kay. Make it quick.” His voice grumbled out lowly like an over worked furnace, eyebrows tight together as he walked ahead of her.

“Where’d she go?” Ellie finally mustered up the courage to ask the question, slowly looking at Joel’s back. She noticed how it stiffened at the question, and for a moment she regretted ever asking anything.

But Joel’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “What do you mean?” He finally choked out, clearing his throat.

“Like, if you liked her so bad, why isn’t she with us? You’ve protected me all this way. I-… I can’t imagine the lengths you would go for someone you actually liked.” Ellie joked, trying to lighten the air, the air which had suddenly grown so chewable, so thick and stuffy.

“I don’t hate you, kid.” Joel mumbled, rubbing at his face. “She, uh, she left. While I was out doin’ a run with Tess. Just up and vanished. No note, no nothin’.”

Ellie could feel the pain radiating from Joel, although she couldn’t quite pin point it in his words. He was good at hiding things like that. You don’t spend months with a person and not pick up their habits.

“How long ago was that?” She asked quietly, softly.

“‘Bout three years before I met you.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah.” Joel muttered. “Now, no more questions until tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Ellie grumbled, watching her feet as she walked.

“Joel!” His name tangled through the air, breathless and wanting. His ear was pressed to the door, hand on the door knob. Waiting. Thinking. Pondering.

Your legs were spread open, jeans halfway down your legs, panties to the side as your middle finger lazily rubbed circles in your clit, your free hand kneading against your exposed breast, chest flushed with the hot hand of want. No. Of need.

You couldn’t get the image out of your head. Slick curls pushed back, lips turned into a scowl, bulging arms chopping at the thick log of wood like it owed him something. You remember the rage swirling in his eyes, dark and angry, knitted brows tight and bold. Why was he so god damn hot when he was livid?

“Oh, God. Fuck.” Your whimpers filled his ears, well- his good ear, at least- and Joel felt his jeans beginning to tighten.

Something overtook Joel. Something primal, something instinctual, because before he had a chance to think, he was barging in to your room, mind empty with thoughts only of you, of your pleasure. You jumped with a squeal of surprise, face coated with embarrassment, grabbing a pillow to try and cover yourself up. It was a fruitless attempt, because Joel still saw exactly what he wanted to see. You.

“Joel! Oh God. Jesus Christ….. how-how much of that did you hear?” You wanted to cry. To deteriorate into a pile of rubble would have been your best option. Anything to not have to deal with his gaze. Stern, unreadable, dark. Your heart was slamming against your chest.

“I heard enough.” He whispered, slowly stepping towards you.

You blinked the forming tears of embarrassment away quickly, propping yourself up better on your elbows, finally garnering the courage to look up at him, right in his eyes. A long, deep, sensual gaze steaming from him.

Joel reached for you hesitantly, his hand gently grabbing your knee. A rough thumb traced circles into your skin, smooth and vanilla scented from the lotion he had smuggled for you on a particularly boring run. He watched the way your skin pricked with goosebumps, the way your leg leaned in to his touch. You wanted this. He knew, looking into your eyes, so soft and tender with desire, that he was the only thing on your mind.

“Please,” you whispered, voice shaking in the dimly lit room. “Please touch me, Joel.”

When he finally gathered the courage to lean forward, when those horrible thoughts of shame that so often plagued him had been pushed to the back of his mind, he heard Tess shouting his name in the distance.

When Joel saw Tommy for the first time in ages, he could barely contain himself. He embraced his little brother, tight and hard, feeling the familiar heat of tears welling in the pits of his eyes.

As dusk soon pulled across the sky, Tommy made sure to tell Joel which house would be his. “House 37! Two lefts and a right.” Tommy reminded him, as he jogged away to meet Maria.

It was only until he reached the movie theatre that Tommy realized he gave Joel the wrong number. Oh well, he thought to himself, Joel will figure it out.

The hot water cascaded down Joel’s back, steam dancing through the air, covering him in a warm blanket, the smell of vanilla body wash filling his nostrils. Vanilla. It reminded him so much of you. Of that night, the night he almost had a taste of you. You were so close, yet still managed to remain just out of reach.

Joel was so preoccupied with his thoughts of you, you, you, that he hadn’t heard the front door downstairs open.

• • •

It had been a particularly long and exhausting day for you. You had been posted a mile south in a rundown factory, keeping watch for Raiders as a group of workers focused their abilities on turning the old building into a new extension of your town.

Maria wanted to turn it in to a greenhouse and new horse stable. With the newest colt in town, Shimmer, she figured horse breeding could be a bright part of their future, and if it grew well and but enough, they could extend further out into the wilderness.

Well, that was Maria’s dream. But you had seen how slow these workers went about their business, how they often broke into fights and managed to forget their tasks entirely. How Maria had ever cultivated this place…. well, that was beyond you.

Your thoughts were full of Joel.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

He was a hard worker. Persistent and tenacious, strong and able, stern and forthright- he was everything you wanted in a man. He was just like the knights you would read about, yet he had a twinge of anti-hero that always enticed you, always pulled you in closer.

Thinking about Joel was always draining. You missed his laugh, gritty and low and never that frequent. You missed his hands, well worked and scarred. You missed his eyes, deep and mysterious and full of something that you could never quite pin point.

After these long day dreams with him at the forefront, it left you craving a life you had never gotten to live with him, a life you had never known.

By the time you reached your house it was dark, and your feet ached from the long trek. You felt much older than you actually were. Taking your boots off, you noticed the hallway light upstairs was on.

“Weird.” You whispered to yourself, ultimately shrugging it off as you switched it off, walking to your room.

The door was shut. Double weird. You lived alone, and almost always forgot to shut your door.

The bathroom door was ajar, and you saw steam swirling out of it, yet the shower was off.

“Okay, what the fuck.” You hissed, reaching for your knife. You had already turned your gun in. Hand to hand combat…. well, that would have to do, even if it wasn’t your strong suit.

Behind the closed door of your master suite, you hear someone opening up drawers. “God dammit, Tommy!” You heard a muffled snarl, and your eyes widened.

You dropped the knife, clattering against the carpet with a faint cling, as you brought your hands to your head. No. No. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be him. Surely not.

You rarely spoke to Tommy. You heard he had a brother named Joel here and there, but you never asked. Never gave any part of yourself away. To the people of Jackson City, you were quiet and reserved- kind, always- but haunted by something.

No, by someone.

Your hand was shaking. The metal door knob was cold on your palm, shivers coursing straight down your spine. With a quivering lip, you barely had time to turn the handle before the door flung open, thoughts of self defense and protection miles away.

A figure, huffing with annoyance, stood in front of you. A white shirt stretched taut against a broad chest, sweatpants hanging on a low waist, a bundle of dirty clothes resting in his arm. His arm. His familiar, tanned, muscular arm.

Joel.

Joel. Joel.

The syllable rolled around your brain, head empty as you gathered the courage to slowly look up at the man. His eyes were wide, lips parted in surprise as he stared at you. Both of you stood, in the midst of a proper western stand off, the air stagnant around your bodies.

Neither of you said a word. How could you? What was there to say? You blinked rapidly, rubbing at your eyelids in an attempt to spook the apparition of Joel Miller away. Surely it was a ghost. Perhaps you were finally losing your mind. Perhaps the end of the world had caught up with you.

You went to speak, but a gargled mess of noises were all you could come up with.

Before you had a chance to correct yourself, he had scooped you up in to the tightest hug of your life.

Joel’s left arm was wrapped around your waist, pressing you close to his chest, while his right laid across your back, his large hand pressed into the back of your head. You grasped ahold of him, fingers digging into his skin as you tried to make sense of what was going on.

Before you could catch them, tears were flowing from your eyes, staining his shirt with a puddle of wimpy cries.

“Shh.” He cooed, voice shaking. “I’m right here. I’m here.” Joel held you as though you would vanish if he let go, slowly falling to the floor with you tightly pressed to him. He cradled you in his lap, strong arms secure and steadfast around your body. Joel wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

When you finally looked up, you saw his own cheeks west with the ghosts of previous tears.

“Oh.” You whimpered, touching his face gingerly. “I haven’t seen this face in so long. Look at you.”

“Look at you.” He countered, thumb tracing down the apple of your cheek. “You’ve only grown more beautiful.”

“How… are you…. you’re the Joel Tommy mentioned? How could I have been so stupid.” You whispered, shaking your head.

“How long have you been here?”

“Two years. Managed to find a group of mercs, travelled with them to Kansas City before FEDRA got ahold of them. I was the only one to escape and, somehow, I found myself in this place.” You explained, his face now cupped in your hands.

His lips looked so tantalizing. The thing you wanted most in this world, right in this moment, was for Joel to kiss you. Hard. Deep. Passionately.

Joel looked down at you. He knew that look. Knew those emotions in your eyes, knew the way you looked when desire overtook your being.

He was so tired of being scared, so tired of the shame and guilt that followed him like smoke.

“Can I kiss you?” He finally asked, taking a thick gulp.

You nodded slowly. “Kiss me.”

And he did. It was just as you had always imagined. Soft and sweet, deep and passionate. Your mouths molded together as though they were two puzzle pieces created for each other. It felt right. It felt good. It felt…. perfect. The way you had dreamed it would.

You shifted in his lap so you were straddling him, arms thrown around his neck as you beckoned him closer, his palms pressed firmly into your sides as he held you in place. You both knew you weren’t going anywhere.

You parted your lips as his hungry tongue swept against you, gently exploring your mouth, tasting your spit, the minty residue of your now thrown away gun mixing with his mouth. Joel groaned as you shuffled, and you felt the bulge in his sweatpants where his cock was getting harder and bigger.

You had seen his dick before. Once. When you both stumbled to your room drunk and you had given him a blowjob. The best blowjob of his life, as Joel remembered. He had held you by the hair, barely touching you except a gentle brush of his hand down your cheek after he had finished down your throat. You remembered how his eyes had engulfed you, how you watched as he seared the image of you on your knees into the recesses of his memory.

That was the closest you two had ever got, the farthest he had ever dared to go. And even then, it was selfish of him. He went to bed under the heavy blanket of ignominy, and he swore he would never do it again. He was drunk, Joel assured himself, it wasn’t like he….. loved you or anything. Right?

But now, with his tongue searching your throat and his hungry hands feeling their way around his skin, with the way your clothed bodies moved in harmony against the scratchy carpet of the hallway floor, what else could it be? Lust? No. Lust doesn’t last like this. It sizzles away at the prospect of someone new. No, no. You both knew what it was. Love. But you both too fearful to admit it.

“Joel.” You whispered against his mouth. He opened his eyes at the sound of his name, the way it so sweetly rolled off your tongue.

“Yes?”

“Take me to bed.” Your words stuttered against themselves as you took in a heavy heave of breath. “Take me to bed… and make me yours.”

Joel swallowed the tight lump dangling at the back of his throat. He had two options. One, say no and push you away. Two, give in to his deepest desires and fall further into this love he had tried so hard to forget.

The last time he chose one, you ran half way across the country.

He was a smart man, Joel. He knew exactly which one to pick. No more would he run.

He scooped you up into his arms wordlessly, carrying you to your neatly made bed. Your hair splayed across the white pillows, your doe eyes staring up at him, full of yearning, full of want.

You watched with hawk-like eyes as he slid his shirt off, moving to do the same before Joel stopped you.

“No. I want to undress you myself.” You swallowed thickly at his command, nodding as your neck grew hot with desire.

When Joel was left with nothing but his boxers on, you drunk his image in. A small tuff of hair rested above the hem of his underwear. His belly was soft, and stray curls of hair dotted across his broad chest. His shoulders were strong, broad, welcoming.

You looked up into his face, eyelashes fluttering.

He had a few more wrinkles, a lot more gray in his hair. There were a few more scars etched into his skin, a darker tint to his eyes. He had aged. But so had you.

You had always liked your men older, anyways.

Joel Miller was the man of your fucking dreams, and he was standing nearly naked in front of you.

“Up.” He motioned for you to sit up and you did without hesitation. A smile crossed his mouth as he cupped your cheek. “So good for me.” Joel murmured, slowly peeling your shirt off.

“For you.” You whispered with finality.

He nodded, eyes twinkling with….. happiness. Joel worked the lace of the leather boots you wore, carefully pulling them off your feet before sliding his hands towards the zipper of your jeans. He watched your face as he slowly unbuttoned them, stripping them from your legs. He watched the way your lips parted with desire, the way your eyelids shut as the feeling of his hands grazing your skin.

“Look at you.” Joel whispered, and you met his steaming gaze. “So beautiful.” He learned forward, pressing a kiss to the hem of your underwear. “Lay back for me, honey.”

You did as you were told, shivering as his warm hands pried your legs apart. He stared at your clothed pussy, the patch of wetness showcasing your arousal. Joel chewed on his cheek as he drunk the image in, taking in a sharp breath as he discarded your underwear.

And there you finally were. Open and exposed, laid bare for him, and only him. Joel slid down on his stomach, inching his way towards your cunt as he reached forwards, using his thumb to slowly trace down your outer lips.

You shuddered, taking in a deep breath of as your hands snaked to his head, running your fingers through his thick curls, watching his finger slowly move. You saw him spread you open, you pink, wet pussy on display for his searing gaze.

“Ain’t that a sight.” He hummed out. “This all for me?” His voice was smug. He knew. And you knew he knew.

“All for you.” You admitted, pushing a stray curl out of his eyes.

“Bet you taste real nice, too.” Joel leaned forward, extending his tongue as he swept it flat across your clit. This made you whimper out, your grip on his hair tightening. “Just as I thought. Sweetest thing I ever had.”

Your head fell back onto the pillows as he wrapped this lips around your swelling clit, sucking softly at the button. He was holding back, his movements teasingly gentle. You were squirming for him, nails digging into his scalp, your breath begging for me.

Joel pulled back, much to your dismay, and rubbed his middle finger against your entrance. He slowly pushed it in, grunting quietly.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight, honey. Can’t wait to feel you stretched against my cock.”

“Oh, God. Joel, please.” You murmured, watching as he resumed his tongue against your clit, swirling and flicking. Your thighs were shaking on his shoulders, where you hadn’t even realized you had propped them up.

Joel chuckled against your pussy, savoring the sweetness of your arousal, letting it coat his tongue like sugar. He lapped at your clit, middle finger slowly hitting up against that spot, coaxing you closer towards an orgasm.

“If-if you don’t stop Joel, I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Babydoll, that’s what I want.” He responded smugly, sucking harder at your clit.

“B-but I want to cum on your cock. I-I’ll be too sensitive.” You explained, hips grinding as your fingers pulled at his curls even more.

“We’ll see about that.”

Joel added his ring finger into your pussy, pushing and pumping into you, wanton noises of filth filling your ears. You cried out his name, right on the brink of orgasm, as Joel continued his same movements, never daring to stray or pause.

“Joel. Joel! Oh, fuck. Joel. God dammit. Joel, I’m cumming!” You were sure the whole neighborhood could heard but you weren’t half fussed about that at the moment. All you knew was his mouth was drawing you in to the most earth shattering orgasm of your life.

Tears pricked your eyes as he rode out your climax, his mouth never leaving your clit. His fingers slowed down to a halt, yet his mouth never left your cunt.

You whimpered, trying to push him away from your sensitive pussy, but Joel didn’t let up. He grabbed your thighs, relishing in your moans as he made sure to lick up every drop of your cum, every inch of your wetness. He wanted the flavor of your pussy to be stuck in his mouth for the rest of his life.

You collapsed onto the bed as he slowly pulled away, leaving a hot kiss to each thigh.

“Was that nice?” Joel asked smugly, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Shut up, asshole.” You teased, a soft laugh escaping you. “Oh.” You murmured to yourself once you saw the bulge tenting at his boxers. You reached forward, gently grabbing it with your small hand. “Looks like we should do something about this.”

Joel hissed in a sharp breath of air, watching with intent as you tugged off his boxers. He kicked them off, his thick cock slapping against his stomach. He was thick, long, sexy- his cock could have been in a porn magazine, to be frank.

“Yeah, we should do somethin’ ‘bout this.” He had climbed on top of you, hands cupping your head as you glanced up at him with a tantalizing look stuck deep in your eyes.

“Yeah, we should. Fuck me, cowboy.” You whispered, resting your hands on his cheek. “Fuck me like you missed me.”

“I did miss you.” Joel admitted, almost shyly.

“I know.” You ran your hand through his hair, feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance. You sucked in a soft breath of air as he slowly began filling you up, allowing you the time to grow accustomed to the way he felt inside you.

“‘Course you do.” He snorted through gritted teeth, filling you completely up to the hilt.

You groaned softly, wrapping your arms around him as you held him to your chest, smiling up at him softly. “Feels so good.”

Joel buried his face in your neck, slowly moving his hips. “You’re so fuckin’ tight. So fuckin’…. so fuckin’ good for me. A god damned dream.” His words were hot, guttural, melding in to your skin like paint on a canvas.

You shuddered, dragging your nails down the length of his back, resting them on his ass. His movements grew harder, wilder, every inch of his throbbing cock deep within your walls.

“Christ, Joel.”

He groaned against you, propping himself up on his palms to watch your face. His nose brushed against yours as he leaned forward, lips pressing to yours in a burning kiss, igniting your body aflame.

“Love how you say my name.” He whispered as he pulled away from your mouth.

“Joel.” You mumbled, a teasing grin cascading on to your face:

With a smile of his own, Joel’s hand traced across your neck, down your shoulders, fingers tickling the skin of your arm before he reached your hand. Joel held it in his own, lacing your fingers tightly within his, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

His thrusts were steadier now that your eyes were on each others, hand held tightly in his own as he took the feeling of you in. The way your pussy clenched around him, the way your body felt tight on his. He pulled away from you, sitting back a bit as he held your hips, fucking himself in to you.

“Touch your clit.” He ordered, eyes darkening. You swallowed, lowering your hand to your pussy, where you did as you were told. You shivered. “Rub it.” He whispered, voice soft.

You rubbed it, your middle finger circling your swollen clit tenderly.

“You’re going to cum one more time for me. Okay?”

You nodded obediently, gently placing your free hand on to his arm. “Okay.” Your voice was sweet, angelic. It made Joel’s cock twitch, an animalistic grunt soon following.

He looked on with hungry eyes as you played with your pussy, stretching it out for him. You both watched the way his cock filled you up, the way the lips of your pussy strained against him. You whimpered at the sight, wondering how something so big could even possibly fit inside you.

You resumed your masturbation, fingering at your clit as he pumped in to you.

“That’s a good girl, rubbing your clit for me. Such a good fuckin’ girl.” He murmured, eyes glossed over with desire.

“Gonna cum for you again.” You warned, hips bucking.

“Yeah? Cum on my cock, honey. Paint it with your pretty cum.”

That’s all it took to send you over the edge. Your back arched off the mattress as your second orgasm washed over you, vision blurring white. Joel grabbed ahold of you and pulled you up, legs wrapping around his waist as he held you, pumping up into you as you shivered and shuttered against him. You chanted his name like a mantra, crying out against him.

You were eye level now, and Joel has you by the jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“I’m gonna cum inside you. Gonna fill this little pussy up.” He whispered, forehead resting against yours.

“Cum inside me.” You begged, hands moving to his shoulders as he fucked your body on to his cock.

Joel groaned, primal noises filtering out as his dick convulsed inside of you, his hot cum painting the inside of your cunt. You moaned at the feeling of being properly full, grinding against him gently as you sat on his lap, your arms holding each other close and tight.

When his orgasm had subsided and you both fell against the soft mattress, you were still entangled with one another, his dick still stuffed inside you.

You stared at one another as though you had never known anyone else, eyes searching, reaching for the soul, sparkling with love, swimming with adoration.

His fingers traced down your back, resting on your thigh as he brought you closer.

“I’m sorry I left.” You whispered, your hand resting on the side of his neck. “I… I didn’t know what to do with all of it.”

“All of what?” Joel asked, voice deep and quiet.

“All of the love I had for you.” You sniffled, nuzzling your cheek into his. “Have.” You corrected.

“Have?” A smirk was tugging at his voice.

You took in a deep breath, bravely nodding your head. “Have. I…. you know I do.”

Joel rested his head against yours, looking down at you. “I’ve always known.”

A moment of silence fell over your bodies.

“I don’t think it’s goin’ anywhere, either.”

“Good.” Joel whispered, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I want it. All of it. ‘Til the day I die.”

“It’s yours, Joel. Always yours.”

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eufezco · 1 year

Text

SUMMARY - you're a little jealous of Tess.

a little smut at the end(?? english isn't my first language <33

"You know it's very obvious, right?" You heard Frank talk behind you. Even though Bill and Frank insisted that it was not necessary for you to do the dishes, you insisted on helping them. They prepared this delicious meal for you three and there was no way you were leaving without doing something for them in return. In front of you was the window from which you could see Tess and Joel still sitting at the table. The day was sunny and Joel's golden skin was glowing in the sunlight. You tried to concentrate on scrubbing the plates but you could feel his eyes on you and you couldn't help but look at him back. Tess was talking to him while he finished eating.

"Don't tell her that when it's not, Frank." Bill joined you two in the kitchen.

"No, but it is, Bill. It's in the way you look at him, you know? Your eyes do that thing and your lips curve up a bit. Not in like a big smile but in like an I'm-so-in-love-with-you one."

"It's not obvious, Frank's just dramatic. Don't worry."

"I'm just saying it's noticeable."

"What are you even talking about?" You dried your hands and turned around so you could see them both.

"You and Joel." Frank stated.

"He wants nothing to do with me, okay?"

"Oh, so he knows."

"I wish he didn't, but yes, he knows."

"Why?"

"Frank-"

"I tried to kiss him."

"You did what?"

"Oh, fuck."

"It's her fault! She likes him too and they're like super close but he only sees her as a friend. If he wasn't so worry about hurting her feelings, I could have him. He told me that." You turned around to the sink again. You grabbed a glass and started scrubbing violently. Your eyes moved from the sink to the window and back, the smirk Joel had on his lips while talking with Tess was getting on your nerves.

"So he feels the same way about you."

"At least he did a week ago. I found her in his bed a couple of days ago. She was fucking big spooning him, Frank, can you believe that?"

"Oh, absolutely not."

"I'm sure it's not only about Tess." Bill intervened in the conversation.

"What do you mean?"

"Tess told me he lost people. He's obviously scared of forging a bond with you beyond friendship because he doesn't know what tomorrow may be like and if he could lose you as well."

"Shit... how do you know that? Did he tell you?"

"He knows because he was just like that." Frank answered for him.

You sighed. "I'm so jealous of you two."

You went back to the yard and sat with Tess and Joel at the table. They were discussing whether they should agree to do business with Bill and Frank. You couldn't care less about what your two friends were talking about. You threw your head back and closed your eyes, hearing their conversation but mostly enjoying the fresh air of the sunset hitting your skin. You were the one that connected over the radio with them. Luckily it was Frank the one that got your message, if it was Bill you wouldn't be sitting there, with your stomach full of the most exquisite food you'd ever tried and feeling the freshly cut grass under your feet.

"I am spending the night here."

The two of them stopped talking. Tess looked at Joel to see his reaction and Joel shook his head immediately. "The three of us are going back to the QZ."

"No. I'm staying here. FEDRA won't know that I'm gone, I don't have work tomorrow."

Joel threw a quick glance at Bill and Frank inside the house. He had been very hesitant the two times you'd met with them, still not trusting enough the two men to leave you alone with them. Even though he knows that you'd spent hours talking with Frank on the radio. You rolled your eyes when you realized it was because of them. "Oh, come on."

"No. No 'Oh, come on.' You're coming with us. Tell them we really appreciate this nice meal, everything was delicious but we should leave before it gets dark-" He said as he got up from the table. Tess was quick to lay one of her hands on top of Joel's. She called his name and he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sat down on his chair again.

"Stay here with her. I will go back to the QZ." Tess knew that it was impossible to change your mind. She was already trying to find other options that would please Joel. That was much easier.

"I have work to do in the morning."

"I'll cover you. You'll be fine."

Joel huffed, looking at you and running a hand through his face. You smiled at him, victorious, but he was upset at your attitude. You truly did not see how dangerous it was, not only for FEDRA to find you out of the QZ, but also for you to stay at some random dudes' house?

"Let us know over the radio when you arrive."

"This is so nice. We could never go back to the QZ." You said letting yourself fall onto the bed and sighing. Joel closed the door behind him and left his gun on the nightstand, a place where it would be within reach in case he needed to use it. He sat on the bed, starting to question why he didn't drag you back to the QZ. "I'm serious Joel, we could stay here. There are enough houses, you can choose the one you like the most and we could-"

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" You held your body up with your elbows and your eyebrows came together after hearing Joel talking to you like that. He turned his body slightly towards you so he could make eye contact. "Sometimes I don't know if you mean what you say or if you just spit out every fucking thought that goes through your head."

"What is this all about? Why are you so determined to go back to the QZ? Is it because of her?"

Joel huffed and got up from the bed. "You are- This is unbelievebable."

"Or is it because you have so much to lose there? It would be a pity if you did not come back, Joel. Everyone would miss you so much."

Joel ran his hand through his face out of desperation. He paced around the room while you talked. You rolled your eyes, letting your body fall on the mattress again. "So it is because of her."

"She's my family! Of course it's because of her!" He yelled at you, approaching you with a threatening attitude. You got up from the bed and as angry as he was, you asked him.

"And what am I? Am I not your family?" You clenched your jaw.

Joel chuckled and massaged his temples. "I didn't say that." Anger quickly crept back into his body, one of his fingers pointed at you, and his other hand rested on his waist. "You do not get to twist my words in that way!"

"Seriously, Joel? That's the only problem you see here? Because the real issue is that you don't have enough balls to tell her the truth and that's the only reason why things are working this bad for us!"

"Oh please, if you could act like a fucking adult for once in your life and have a little empathy..."

"I can't do that! I just can't do that because if I don't think of myself who will? Will you do it? Because we have already seen that you won't!"

He couldn't believe what you were saying. Joel closed his eyes while you talked and clenched his jaw to the point it hurt. "I think about you! You are my priority! Every hour of the day, you are my priority! From the moment I open my eyes in the morning until I go to sleep at night-"

"You're always so worried about how she may feel about us, but what about me? How do you think this situation makes me feel?"

"I'm pretty sure it makes you feel the same way it makes me feel."

You huffed a laugh and then you rolled your eyes at him. You walked past him to leave the room. "No. You are not going anywhere. I'm not done talking." Joel grabbed your arm and kept you from opening the door. His grip on your arm brought you face-to-face with him. He wanted to keep arguing with you, he still had a lot of things to say, but at that moment both of your breaths were deep as a result of the agitated discussion and they mixed to the point of becoming one. Joel cupped both of your cheeks and crashed his lips into yours. Your back hit the door, causing Bill and Frank who were on the other side listening to jump backward.

"Oh, fuck..." You sighed and your hands caressed his broad shoulders and slid down to his chest. He was beautiful, your hands couldn't get enough of him. After caressing the freckles that decorated his skin and the scars on his chest, your hands moved to his belly and quickly slipped into his pants. Joel gasped against your lips, and a playful smirk appeared in yours right before he kissed you again to quiet his own sounds.

"We should-" Frank said after being able to hear the wet sounds of the kiss and your sweet hums through the door.

"Yes." Bill agreed with him inmediatly.

The next morning you woke up between Joel's arms, your legs tangled with his and Joel's gentle breathing enticing you to stay in bed instead of going to have breakfast. You shifted in place, careful enough to not wake him up. You slid his big t-shirt over your head and stole from him the pajama pants that Bill and Frank had lent him.

Frank's eyes sparkled as soon as he saw you enter the kitchen. "You have to tell us everything right now." He moved back a chair so you could sit next to him while Bill placed a cup of coffee on the table in front of you and you smiled at him in gratitude. You bit your lower lip, trying to hide how happy you were and Frank huffed a laugh "You bitch. It was good."

You nodded, taking a sip from your cup. The smile never leaving your lips. "It was amazing. He is so rough yet so soft, just like I told you I thought he would be. His hands are- ugh, so magical, and his lips are so good that I can still feel them. And his d-"

"We don't need all those details, thank you." Bill rushed to say, sitting at the table with you. Interested in what you were saying but not that interested.

"Oh yes, we need them." Frank huffed another laugh, seeing your devilish expression wanting to go on with what you had started.

"No, you don't." Joel's said entering the kitchen with his deep morning voice.

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ghoststyles · 4 months

Text

You Should Probably Leave

This one shot is inspired by You Should Probably Leave by Chris Stapleton! Hope you enjoy.

3.4K. Smut. Fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, degradation, the works. hehehe.

The feeling of the pair of lips gently ghosting down your collar bone sends you back in time. A simpler time. Two college students madly in love, unsure where their lives would take them.

You smile gently, drinking in the scene around you; a warm fire lit, a nearly empty bottle of red wine, and a pair of strong hands dancing around your post-baby curves. Throwing your head back, you gasp when he nips and sucks at the soft part of your neck. Pawing at his lap, his hard prick creates a noticeable tent in his pants.

You had a long day. The baby is teething, your nipples are dry and cracked, and you haven’t had an adult conversation in what feels like weeks. It’s been Miss Rachel and Cocomelon until your ears bleed. You’re not sure if it was the wine, but it’s like you’ve been brought back to life. It helps that your husband, an esteemed surgeon, is on his 3rd 24-hour call shift in a two-week span, giving you plenty of time to occupy yourself.

It started off innocent, your friendship with Harry. Your heart stopped when you realized who moved into the house across the street just 6 months ago. The other moms fawned over the new single bachelor in the neighborhood, not realizing it was Harry. Your Harry. Your college boyfriend who you thought you’d run off into the sunset with and travel the world.

In an effort to establish that you’re a married woman, you brought a fresh plate of cookies to his door, your husband in tow. Harry’s slightly perplexed and shocked look on his face when he opened the front door that day was quickly wiped away when your husband introduced yourselves to him.

It wasn’t until a few days later when you got Harry alone. Would he act like he has no idea who you are? Or would it be like a single day hasn’t passed since you left him at your college graduation, not knowing about the ring in his pocket as your parents and grandparents celebrated around you?

You were going on different paths in life, after all. Harry was a risk taker; you, on the other hand, are someone who craves routine and discipline. That’s what you repeat to yourself, trying to convince your brain that he’s not the love of your life. Even 6 years later.

You approach Harry as he is getting his mail one day. Looking around, making sure the nosy moms weren’t around, or your husband isn’t miraculously home from work.

“Hi, Sunny,” Harry says, swallowing thickly.

His words send a punch to your gut. The nickname he called you for over 4 years hits the same, even after all this time. Your husband’s terms of endearment don’t hold a candle to this.

Hesitantly, you cross the street, your arms crossing over your chest to try and slow your beating heart.

“Hi, neighbor. How’d that happen?”

“Are you the only one allowed to come back and live in their college town?”

Ice cold. You weren’t prepared for that kind of response.

“Not at all. Just unexpected, I guess.”

“I think it’s my turn to do something unexpected.”

You nod, pursing your lips in anxiety. You turn to go back in your house, feeling defeated.

“I don’t have social media. I didn’t know you lived here,” he replies gruffly. “If you want to come over for coffee tomorrow morning, you can. I work from home.”

“Okay,” you reply softly, unsure if this is a real invite. Scurrying into the house, you wipe away a small tear that formed in the corner of your eye. Fucking postpartum emotions.

Your racing thoughts are brought to an end when Harry snakes his hand over your stomach. He moans at the excess skin and fat, knowing you brought a life into this world. Weekly coffee dates between neighbors turned into wine nights when the baby goes down. All unbeknownst to your husband and neighbors.

He finally slides his hands in your panties, gently swirling your clit, sending your head back on his shoulder. The stress melts off your body when he inserts his middle finger.

“Mhm, squeeze me, Sunny. Take what you need,” Harry pants in your ear quietly. The baby monitor rests on the side table next to you.

High-pitched whines escape your mouth as he massages your g-spot gently. The angle isn’t allowing him to speed up his thrusts. You come, loudly, a few minutes later as Harry sponges more kisses on your neck and temple.

Shifting to your knees, you simultaneously pull his pants down, his boxers following suit. His prick bobs up, smacking him in the stomach. You nearly keel over, excited to have your mouth on him, as if you haven’t been doing this several nights a week when your husband is at work.

The ruddy tip is dribbling pre come, the perfect lubricant. Since he knows you’re dirty, you spit on him anyway. Harry lets out a mixture of a sigh and whine, desperate to feel your warm mouth on him. You take the plunge, trying to shove as much of him down as you can. It’s hard, but you manage to slightly swipe your nose on the hair at his base.

He’s a man now. He was back then, too. But he’s a man now. The slight belly; a contrast from his rock hard abs in college. And his face is aged, but in a good way. His stamina remains unchanged. A few more sucks and pumps of his dick and balls sends him spiraling. Ropes of his come hit the back of your throat. You absolutely keen as he grunts and thrusts one last time.

With a pop, you slide your mouth off, looking at him with hazy eyes. You roll to the side, laying your chin on his meaty thigh, just above his tiger tattoo.

Harry sighs, knowing what comes next.

I know it ain’t all that late but you should probably leave. And I recognize the look in your eyes, yeah, you should probably leave.

You cover up your bare chest with your sweater, pulling your discarded sleep shorts back on.

“He’ll be home soon, and I want to feed the baby one more time before bed. I hope you understand.”

Harry nods, his face unwilling to let on how much your words hurt. He stands, pulling up his pants and boxers, slipping his sweatshirt overhead.

Harry understood the first time. And the second. And even the third. But, here you both are, months later, entertaining this completely heinous affair. But, he just can’t fucking let you go.

‘Cause I know you, and you know me. And we both know where this is gonna lead

You excused the lingering; the extra kisses. You’ve even let Harry stay in your bed until the minute your husband pulled into the driveway. It’s gone on too long, and you need to set boundaries. But you can’t fucking let him go.

You want me to say that I want you to stay, so you should probably leave

You know it’s wrong. You’re not naive. It’s not even about hurting your husband. The unmitigated amount of guilt that comes from leading Harry on is more than enough to send you straight to hell.

It was dumb luck, Harry moving in across the street. He had to hear about your new life through mutual college friends for years as hestruggled in relationship after relationship. You went off and married a future doctor. A sure thing. At graduation, Harry scored a job in tech. Sure, the field was new at the time, but it wasn’t like he was taking a major risk. You got cold feet and fled.

Harry leans down to place one more chaste kiss on your lips before he wordlessly slips out the door toward his own house. You stare out the window after him until a shrill cry rings over the baby monitor, catapulting you into your reality.

And it’s hard to resist, just one kiss, then you should probably leave

When Harry knocks on your door around 11PM just two nights after the last encounter with an overnight bag in hand, you’re not sure what to say. The baby went down easier tonight, allowing you to feel more relaxed.

“I talked to him yesterday at the gym. He said he’d be on call at the hospital until tomorrow morning.”

You nod, confirming what he’s saying. Your husband kissed you goodbye after a failed attempt at intimacy this morning. You made up some excuse of feeling off, so he jerked himself in the shower while you laid in fetal position, the guilt eating you alive.

Harry storms past you, immediately heading to your bedroom. The bedroom you share with your husband. The bedroom just down the hall from your sleeping baby. You sigh, closing the front door gently.

Harry places his bag on the chair in the corner, taking note of the clothing strewn around the room. He’d hate to leave behind an article of his clothing that would expose their secret. Harry pulls his shirt off by the collar, baring his chest to you.

It never fails to smack the wind out of you. His toned, tattooed abdomen is illuminated by the lamp in the corner. You place your palms on his pecs, leaning in for a hungry kiss. You can tell he doesn’t want to talk tonight.

“Strip,” He demands in between kisses.

You meet his gaze, giving your best puppy dog eyes. He doesn’t buy it. You peel off your sleep shirt and shorts, leaving yourself in a pair of white panties.

“Face down, ass up, Sunny.”

A shrill whine escapes your frowning mouth. You put up little protest and situate yourself on the bed. It’s tantalizing, the hold he has on you. The history. The lore. The taboo nature of your relationship. If that’s what you can call it.

You crawl onto the bed, ignoring the framed photo from your wedding day on the bedside table. Harry stands at the foot of the bed, admiring your plump ass, a small wet patch forming in the gusset of the panties.

Harry lightly palms your ass as you jam your head further into the comforter. He squeezes and pulls at the skin, debating where to start. He starts by rubbing his middle and ring fingers over the wet patch.

Increasing the pressure, he leans over you, his lips tickling the shell of your ear, “I’m gonna eat you out, fuck you, fill you up, and we’re gonna keep these panties on. A little treat for when your husband comes home.”

Fuck.

“Harry, fuck,” you stutter.

He’s now face to face with your backside. You feel one lewd, long, lick up your folds - through your underwear. It’s so, so good. In between licks, you hear him speak again.

“You know what I can’t figure out?” He asks, almost laughing to himself.

You dare not to respond, instead focus on his assault to your pussy. His grip on your thighs is that of the jaws of life, destined to leave marks.

“I’ve been fucking tearing this pussy up for,” he trails off. “Months, now? And your dumb fuck husband still has no idea? Not a clue about our history? How you were mine first? Does he even pay a crumb of attention to you?”

You cry out after a big swipe, the tickling feeling of the damp fabric on your pussy lips driving you wild. You’re holding back big, fat crocodile tears. You’re in this situation because you want to have your cake and eat it, too.

“Tell me, Sunny. Does he fuck you with the lights off? Or a quickie in the shower? If he’s the love of your life, then why do you have to get attention from me? Hm?”

Fisting the comforter, the tears are now falling rapidly. You choke out a sob and clench your pussy around nothing.

Again, you don’t answer his questions. Instead, he picks up the pace of his licks, focusing directly on your clit. He knows the left side is more sensitive than the right, so his tongue stays swirling in that direction.

You come, quickly and loudly, smacking your hand against the bed. Harry chuckles to himself bitterly. Your head is still spinning, but you feel Harry peel back the gusset of the panties and slide the tip of his cock through the folds.

He still has his pants on, but the buttons are popped open and his cock is sticking out over the band of his underwear. The edge of the lacy fabric touching the sensitive head makes him grunt out a moan.

“Always so fucking needy. You need me, don’t you, Sunny? Tell me,” he mocks.

“I need you, Harry,” you whimper, your body ready to collapse to the bed.

“Mm-mm. Tell me who you need right now, Sunny.”

“You, Daddy. I need you,” your wobbly lip makes you sound pathetic.

He plunges in at your words, both of you gasping at the same time. You’re made for one another; You’re the lock and he’s the key. Even on the best nights with your husband, he gives you a mediocre performance at best. Your thrusts are never timed, and he refuses to talk dirty in your ear.

“That’s right, Sunny. Good girl,” he mocks you again, his thrusts sending shockwaves throughout your body. You can feel his thumb trace around the edge of your asshole, making you mewl.

Harry leans over you, enveloping his body over yours. His lips ghost your ear again. The tone of his voice is low and sultry.

“Y’know what I think, Sunny girl?” he asks, sucking your earlobe into his mouth. “I bet you wish that sweet little baby in the other room was mine. Bet you wish it was me you walked down the aisle to.”

You gasp, heart stopping at the mention of your baby. Up until this point, you’ve been able to compartmentalize this part of your life. You start to protest, but he slips his right hand around your throat, squeezing gently.

“Hm? Based on the way you’re squeezing me, I think I’m right,” the smug tone of voice is glaringly obvious. “Think of the life we could’ve had, Sunny. I think about it every day of my fucking life. Would’ve given you the world.”

Like a devil on my shoulder you keep whisperin’ in my ear. And it’s gettin’ kinda hard for me to do the right thing here. I wanna do the right thing, baby

“I know,” you finally choke out. Your conversations during your romps remain light, usually. But, tonight. Tonight feels different. His grip on your throat tightens as you feel him start to slow his thrusts. "Fuck, Harry. I know."

“Thought I’d hit the lottery when you and your husband knocked on my door that day. Thought I’d been given a second chance. Finally have you forever.”

He’s fully panting at this point, and you’re unsure how he’s even talking. You clench around him, making him moan again. He kisses your neck, sweat freely dripping all over both of you. Instead of burying deep in you, he pulls out slightly as he comes, coating the inside and outside of your pussy, and dripping into the panties.

It’s lewd, and disgusting. But, it’s everything.

Harry’s lifts his body from his place on top of you, the slight breeze his shifting caused making you shiver. Harry moves to a half standing position to grab his phone off the bedside table. He snaps a quick photo of the scene in front of him.

You look ethereal. Your perfect, plump ass is complimented by the underwear now doused in his scent and spunk. The contrast of the dry and wet parts of the panties has him wanting to jerk off again.

Reluctantly, he pulls out, and uses his thumb to snap the fabric back in place. He doubts your husband will even give you the time of day once he’s home. But, it’d be an epic way for your secret to be exposed.

It’s nearing 1AM, so Harry stands to go into your ensuite to fetch a towel. Now, you’ve fully collapsed into the bed. He gently wipes just enough cum from around your pussy and thighs. He leaves a majority of it for the treasure hunt.

You finally build up the strength and courage to pick up a discarded T-shirt on the floor. At the same time, he’s putting on a fresh pair of boxers from his bag. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eye as you start reeling over the degrading words that came out of his mouth. You have every right to be disgusted by him, but you can’t bring yourself to be. Because he’s not wrong.

You’d made a mistake. You knew about 6 months into your marriage. You loved your husband. Or maybe the idea of him. You met him when he was 2 years into his surgical residency. The perks and the bragging rights of dating a doctor got to your head. Every date, every argument and every moment of adversity had you wondering what it’d have been like with Harry.

Life with Harry was easy. You got the best of both worlds; a hot boyfriend and a fun social life. But, when your sister introduced you to a man with a full 8-year plan carved out, you chose the safe option. What a fuck-up that was.

Harry climbs into the bed next to you, still not saying a word. That’s the thing. With Harry, you don’t have to. Your energies and emotions just work. He gently pulls you down so you’re laying horizontally on your side, and he slots his legs between yours, nuzzling his face in your neck.

In this moment, everything feels right.

Harry didn’t sleep much. He tried. But, something deep inside him was gnawing at his soul. His eyes were closed the whole night, but he never quite crossed the threshold into sleep.

He still had all his five senses; the sliver of light from the lamppost outside; the slight white noise coming from the radiator; the smell of your shampoo mixed with the lewd activities of tonight; the feel of your hot skin touching his; and finally, the residual taste of your pussy on his tongue.

The sun is rising now, signaling the end of your time together.

The sliver of light on your frame has his heart bursting with adoration. It’s true, what he’d said before. He does think about what your future would’ve been like. Your long eyelashes cast shadows on your slightly cherub cheeks. You would’ve made beautiful children. Gone on memorable family trips. And at the end of the day, fucking love each other.

Sun on your skin, 6AM and I been watchin’ you sleep. And honey, I’m so afraid you’re gonna wake up and say that you should probably leave.

A year ago, Harry thought you’d leave your husband by now. But, as time goes on, his odds of getting you back are getting less and less. His heart is breaking all over again.

You feel him stir, so you turn over and smile at him. You run your hands up and down his bare chest, feeling every prickly hair. He smiles back at you, not saying a word.

You finally pipe up, a clear, sad tone, “Y’know how much I hate saying this.”

“I should probably leave.”

You nod sadly, placing a kiss on his chest. It’s honestly a miracle the baby hasn’t woken up yet. Harry kisses you, his thumb grabbing your chin. It lasts a few minutes until you pull away. Your husband is due home in less than 45 minutes.

I want you to stay, but you’ll probably say that you should probably leave.

You should probably leave.

Harry rises to sit at the side of the bed, grabbing his phone. 6:12 AM. You think he’s fiddling with his phone to prolong his stay. His bag is already packed by the door. You smile to yourself, happy to have your lover by your side. He places one last kiss on your forehead.

Before Harry stands, he sends off an email to his realtor, confirming the sale of his house. $15,000 over asking price. It was a private showing, with an agreement that Harry would be out of the house in two weeks.

He already purchased a home — Approximately 1,326 miles away from this one. Everything is set. His mind is made up.

Harry stands, grabbing his bag. He takes one last look at you as he stands in the doorframe, an unreadable look on his face.

“Bye, Sunny girl.”

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m-ayo-o · 4 months

Note

Hii, i know megumi is such a sweetheart😭🥺 but what about him being a perv🙏👉👈 (I loved the last one u made)

18+ smut / 21+ bf megumi <3 masturbation ! turned out kiind of... domestic ?

Yeah, he's a kind and gentle man who cares deeply about the one he loves. He shows you every day, through little acts, like making the bed, surprising you with dinner, or taking you on a cute date at the weekend. He's polite to everyone, but with you he's always extra sweet, and so damn respectful- especially in the way he treats your body. He knows what you like. He knows your kinky side, just as much as you know his. He knows you love him for being his usual reserved self- when he waits for you to come get what you want. And he knows you love his needy side- when he gives you that shy smile and just buries his head into your neck and demands that you touch him.

So, if he's such a sweet and perfect boyfriend, the question must be asked, why is he on the bed with his shirt pulled up, jerking his cock to pictures of you?

You just left him so flustered when you were on your way out shopping with your girlfriends. You came downstairs, prancing to the door in what he can only describe as... something strappy... and thin. He wasn't really focused on the colour or design but the material was just so skimpy he could see the outline of your pretty body and you watched him come to terms with the fact that you were leaving.

He held onto your hand, unable to express that he wanted you to stay, and just pressed a kiss to your cheek and watched you walk out with your friends.

"Uh- I guess I'll see you later?"

But you're already stepping over to the car, where he watches you lower yourself in slow motion, where he admires the curve of your ass.

Yeah, that's it. He's admiring you.

It's not perverted?

It's just... a man, admiring his girlfriend. And he knows there's nothing wrong with that.

It's okay that he's moaning to the picture you took last week, of you two, in the glow of a sunset in the city. He just tries his best to ignore his boring face, resenting the fact that he isn't smiling even though he was very happy, and focusing on that pretty shimmer to your skin. The elated look in your eyes. Your smile.

It's not wrong that he's edging himself, trying to find the perfect picture of you to cum to. There are just too many.

Fuck- this one is hot. You were getting dressed up to go out for a fancy meal together and had him take photos of you. The dress is figure hugging in all the right places and displays your cleavage so perfectly- if he just strokes himself a few more times he's going to-

"Oh-"

He lets out a little surprised noise when he sees a notification from none other than you. Even just seeing your name on the screen makes his heart jump out of his chest. But when he taps on the message-

13:15 [name] Hey baby! I'm trying on some clothes, I wondered if you could help me choose?

-he lets out a little groan.

He's embarrassed that he's already got his dick in his hand, about ready to spill, when you're sending him such a cute message. And you look so happy and pretty it's making him feel guilty, however much he's trying to justify it to himself.

"Oh, baby," he sighs out loud and scans his dark eyes over the image of your body. You're wearing a... nightie? He thinks? Or would you want to wear it outside? He's not sure. But it's dusty pink with a little bow at the top and barely contains your boobs. And oh god, he lets off a groan, feeling his dick swell when his eyes catch your nipples. They're just poking through the thin, satin material and he'd give anything to bury his face between your tits and suck harshly at the raised buds to hear you whimper and moan. He can just imagine the way you'd say his name.

He swipes to the next picture.

"Mm-" fuck, it's just a pair of jeans, you idiot.

But he can see your thong and the way you're posing in the mirror is doing nothing to stop him gripping and tugging himself a little faster.

And in the next picture he gets the surprise of his life because your clothes have all gone and you're standing there in nothing but the prettiest, dark blue lingerie and he busts immediately.

He keeps his hand wrapped around his dick and pumps himself right to the base, hammering the cum out all over his abs.

He looks over his body, as the mess he's made, and finally lets go of his spent cock, sighing and dropping his phone on the bed. He'll reply to you later. If he looks at those pictures again right now he'll have to go for another round.

Little does he know, you're buying a couple of lingerie sets today to surprise him for his birthday (because you couldn't think of a better present than yourself). And you intend to come home and show them all off this weekend.

megumi | m.list

i'm sorry that your name is just [name] in megumi's phone i imagine that it's an ongoing battle. like you will change it to something cute but he loves your name so much that he will change it right back.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #female reader #megumi fushiguro #18+ content #megumi x reader #megumi imagine #megumi <3 #megumi smut #megumi drabble #megumi fushiguro smut #megumi fushiguro imagine

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lecsainz · 8 months

Text

SUNSET

pairings: charles leclerc x girlfriend!reader

request: Hello bae! I absolutely adore your writing, could you maybe write something about charles being turned on by your sundress and maybe it leads to smut? Thank you!!🩷

authors note: [ something cool again ]

warnings: (+18) smut, minors dni!

☆. . . masterlist !

Y/N loved summers, especially when her boyfriend was on a break from Formula 1. It was one of the rare times in the year when they spent 24/7 together for weeks. She cherished those moments.

Charles had asked Y/N to get ready because he wanted to show her a new place in Monaco, one he had discovered while running with Andrea. Y/N walked into the living room, where Charles was standing, his concentration solely focused on his iPhone with the cracked back.

"Don't you think it's time to replace that phone?" she asked playfully.

"Oh my God!" Charles muttered under his breath, his attention suddenly torn away from his phone as he saw Y/N in a summer dress that hugged every curve of her body.

"Enjoying the view?" she asked, a playful smile on her lips. She took a spin, showing off the dress to him.

Continues with Charles being flustered by her appearance, but Y/N's tone was light-hearted and teasing. She knew exactly how to play him.

"Maybe a little too much," Charles replied, his voice slightly strained as he tore his gaze away from her. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "You look incredible."

Y/N chuckled, enjoying the effect she had on him. "Well, if you can manage to tear your eyes away from your phone for a few minutes, maybe I can show you the dress properly."

Charles finally looked up, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Right, sorry. You just... caught me off guard."

Y/N walked over to him, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of his jaw. "You know, I've missed having you all to myself like this."

He nodded, his eyes softening as he gazed at her. "Me too. It's been way too long."

Without thinking, Charles pulled her into his lap, his arms encircling her waist. Y/N laughed, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"We should probably get going," she said, her voice a mix of reluctance and amusement.

Charles rested his forehead against hers, his warm breath fanning over her lips. "You're right, we should," he agreed, his tone a little too casual.

Y/N chuckled, realizing where he was heading. "Don't even think about it, Leclerc. We have plans, remember?"

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he grinned. Instead of getting up, he gently shifted her weight, lowering her onto the couch and hovering above her.

"Plans can wait," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers in a feather-light kiss.

She tried to suppress a laugh, her hands resting against his chest. "Charles, we can't just stay here all day."

He nuzzled her neck, his lips pressing soft kisses along her skin. "Who said anything about all day? Maybe just until sunset."

Y/N let out a soft sigh, her resistance fading as he continued to trail kisses across her collarbone. "You're impossible."

Charles looked up, his eyes locking onto hers with a playful spark. "But you love me."

She rolled her eyes, though her smile was undeniable. "Fine, we can stay here for a little while."

"Good," he murmured, his lips finding hers again, this time with more urgency.

As they continued to kiss, the world outside their apartment seemed to disappear, leaving only the sensation of his touch and the sound of their breaths mingling in the air.

Charles's hands moved along the curves of her body, his touch igniting a fire within her. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as their kisses deepened, a silent understanding passing between them.

The soft cushions of the sofa seemed to mold around them, offering both comfort and support as their bodies pressed closer together. His fingers traced the edges of her sundress, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

Breaking the kiss, Charles's lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, trailing a path of heated kisses along her collarbone. Y/N's breath hitched, her nails lightly grazing his back as a quiet moan escaped her lips.

"Charles," she whispered, her voice a mixture of need and desire. His name on her lips only fueled his hunger, and he responded by deepening his kisses, his lips now exploring the contours of her chest.

As their passions grew, Charles's urgency became more apparent. His fingers deftly worked at the fabric of her sundress, a silent plea for permission in his eyes. Y/N met his gaze, her own desire mirrored in her eyes. With a nod, she gave him the consent he sought.

The fabric of her dress yielded to his touch, the sound of tearing fabric mingling with their heavy breaths. Charles's lips moved lower, his kisses leaving a trail of fire along her skin. Each touch, each caress, sent shivers of pleasure through her body.

Their bodies shifted, and Charles positioned himself between her legs, his eyes locked onto hers as he continued his exploration. His fingers traced maddening patterns along her inner thighs, making her gasp with anticipation.

"Oh lord," she moaned, her fingers threading through his hair. Her body arched against his touch, aching for more.

He responded by pressing a searing kiss against her most sensitive spot, eliciting a cry of pleasure from her lips. Charles's movements were skilled, his touch driving her closer to the edge.

Y/N's fingers tightened in his hair, her moans growing louder as waves of ecstasy washed over her. Charles's name was a mantra on her lips, a prayer and a plea all at once.

And as they reached the pinnacle of their desire, their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a symphony of pleasure and need. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them entangled in a moment of pure intimacy.

Afterward, as they lay entwined on the sofa, their breathing slowly returning to normal, Charles pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Y/N smiled, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest as they basked in the aftermath of their intense encounter.

Charles pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against Y/N's. "See? Sunset," he whispered, a triumphant grin on his lips.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

He shrugged, his gaze tender as he looked at her. "I just know what I want, and right now, it's you."

Y/N chuckled softly, nuzzling against him. "You certainly have a way with persuasion."

He grinned, his arms wrapped around her. "Well, I believe actions speak louder than words."

With a contented sigh, Y/N nodded, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "I can't argue with that."

With a contented smile, Y/N let herself be pulled into another kiss, the world outside their apartment fading away as they enjoyed the simple pleasure of being together.

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macfrog · 4 months

Text

the sweetest con cowboy like me chapter fifteen

well. this is it. we made it, kids. thank you so, so much for reading for all this time. for all your patience, and kindness, and loyalty. i will carry this pair, their story, and all of your love for them with me forever. love you guys. xx

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: every cowboy deserves his ride off into the sunset.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lotsa guilt from reader, dreamy love sequence & mention of unprotected piv/creampie, more greys anatomy spoilers, reader's dad is either Bald or has a Receding Hairline (you choose), more sex - this time reader and joel sixty-nine, face sitting, oral (f and m receiving), more (inferred) unprotected piv, making dirty, hot love ALLAT, cursing, a little smut n a lotta fluff n a droplet of angst at the end

word count: 10.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

“How the fuck did this take you three minutes? Three?”

“I’m telling you. I’m a genius.”

You snort. “Shut up. You only passed Math ‘cause you were fooling around with that nerd – Thomas? Was it Thomas?”

“Timothy. And you don’t need math to do a sudoku puzzle, loser. You just need brains. Logic.” Anna taps two fingers against her temple, tilting her head.

“Logic,” you murmur, shaking your head.

Sal’s is quiet today. He’s out of town for his father-in-law’s funeral and made the genius decision to leave the two of you in charge. Since opening at nine, you’ve had four customers. The to-do list left for you was completed by ten, and since then, you’ve been hunched over your phone at the cash register, messing around on some puzzle app Anna made you download.

It's a Wednesday. Nothing exciting ever happens on Wednesdays.

Anna’s behind you, tearing apart and flattening the cardboard boxes you spent all morning emptying. “That level,” she clicks her chewing gum wetly between her teeth, scent of mint over your shoulder, “that ain’t even the hardest one. Ooh, no, babe. Three goes –”

“Shh!” You bat her arm away, curving your hand over your phone screen. She snorts and wanders off through the back, wad of cardboard under her arm.

Anna wasn’t your closest friend in high school, and you sure didn’t stay much in touch past the odd Facebook post update when you left. But working with her, and her dad being your dad’s buddy – she’s sort of become one of those people you just can’t shake.

Like a stray puppy. Or…an annoying hangnail.

She’s nice enough – talks a lot of crap sometimes, but she cares for you. You’d go as far as saying you two have grown pretty close since you came home. Still, the acidic sting of resentment sits on your tongue, anytime you think of her involvement in the unravelling of your little lie. Think of your dad calling hers, Hank asking her where you were.

Think of the fact that, if she hadn’t been honest with him – I don’t know where she is, Dad – nothing would’ve gone wrong.

That’s not fair. If you’d never touched Joel in the first place, nothing would’ve gone wrong.

It’s just – she had a hand in pushing the first domino.

The bell above the door jingles and you lift your eyes from tiny numbers and blank squares to meet a familiar pair of hazel. An Alanis Morissette T-shirt under a denim jacket. She tucks her thick, soft hair behind her ears and smiles, then skips around the counter and links her hands at your tummy; her ear flat against the nape of your neck.

“Why so clingy?” you ask, and Sarah straightens up.

“Just excited to spend some time with my favorite person. That allowed?”

Your eyes scan her up and down as she leans against the counter, stealing a gummy from a jar beside the register. “Been staying with you for nearly three weeks now, you ain’t sick of me yet?”

She shakes her head, jaw chewing, cheeks swollen with a grin. “Are you done yet? I wanna make sure we get good seats.”

“We will,” you assure her. “It’s only, like, three p.m.”

“But it’s Barbie,” she says, “and I wanna get some snacks before we head in.” She holds the decapitated gummy worm up, eyebrows high, before pulling it between her teeth until it snaps. She drags the withered red tail over her tongue.

“That thing you just mauled,” you gesture to the masticated shape in her fingers, “candy. Snacks. Just take some of that.”

“You won’t even buy your date movie theater candy? Damn. Mom’s a cheapskate. Wish I could say my dad’s a lucky guy.”

You shove her off, disguising your laugh with a shake of your head. “You are on thin ice, I’m not even kidding.”

Sarah’s laughing, reaching for another worm. “You know what that sounds like?”

“Hm?”

“What you just said.”

“What’s it sound like, Sarah Miller?”

“Something a mom would say.”

“Alright,” you stand, “get out. Get outta my store.”

The door opens when you point to it, Texan heat sweeping in to swarm the one rickety fan you have in here. The brass bell trembles, and beneath it, a man in a tucked shirt and jeans, glum face and tired eyes.

You blink at him and he blinks back, and no words are spoken between you, but your dad understands to move, to keep walking – and you understand to let him.

“Shoot,” Sarah whispers, twisting her gummy around her finger. “That was awkward.”

Three weeks of staying with them – Sarah and Joel – also means three weeks of zero contact with your dad. The most you’ve heard from – or, rather, about him is that, last week, Joel bumped into Hank at the gas station, and the old man mentioned that he and your dad had grabbed a beer the night before.

What’d he say? you asked Joel, dragging a dish towel around the rim of a glass.

He shrugged, flicking his hands dry over the sink. Said the Rangers aren’t doin’ too good. I said, Yeah, that’s cause a’ –

No, Joel. What did he say about me ‘n my dad?

He waited a second to let the offense of your interruption soak in. Took the towel from your hand, replaced the glass on the draining board. Nothing, he said, I don’t think he knows.

It sat with you the entire night. The three of you watched a movie, occupying either side of Joel’s couch, though you’re sure you don’t remember a word of it. The image of him sat center-stage in your mind until you pulled yourself against Joel’s body in bed that night. Sat in his recliner, flicking through TV channels, the only sounds in the house that of Ice Road Truckers, the ticking of the kitchen clock, and his own fucking breathing.

Alone. Not even Hank to talk to about – well.

You’ve done your best not to think about him. And it works, most days, when you’re with Joel. Helps to go do stuff: ride shotgun while he picks up supplies for work or grabs groceries. Helps to play pretend like his house is yours, too. Tidying when he’s not home, lighting candles and sinking into a bubble bath for him to find you in when he finishes. Helps to be at Sal’s, with Anna. Sudoku and her fucking Tinder account to keep you both occupied.

Most days, you forget to consider the lonely shape of your dad at all – but that seems to hurt all the more. Like forgetting to tend to an open wound; instead, letting the infection blister and bubble so that, when you do bump it again, the pain feels sharper. Hissing at you, poison seeping from flesh.

His showing up, waltzing straight into the store – feels less like a bump, and more like a pair of hands diving straight into the gash, tearing it wide open again. Blood and poison gushing all over the checkered floor.

Anna materializes between two aisles, hands on her hips when she stands behind you. “Y’all still not really talkin’?” she asks.

You and Sarah shake your heads. The three of you watch the shape of your dad’s skull over the shelves, bobbing from bay to bay. Door hinges to fence paint. He painted the fence last summer. He doesn’t need fucking fence paint.

“Nope,” you reply. “’s been, what, two and a half weeks now?”

“Yeah,” Anna mutters, the slope of sympathy in her voice. “My dad’s been talkin’ to him about it. They’ve spoken, like, almost every night on the phone.”

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, head falling into your hands. “Are you serious?”

“Not about you and Joel. Just about the fight.”

Your jaw slowly slackens, eyes thinning as your gaze slides over to your friend, a saddened expression on her face.

Sarah nods, like an accessory sat on the dash of a car. Bobbing bobbing bobbing, until her brows drop and she turns to you, finally realizing. “Wait, what?”

Anna blinks between the two of you. “What?” she asks, lips pressing together.

“You know?” Sarah asks, glaring at her.

Anna snorts. Neither of you break. She quickly quietens and clears her throat, bending to stuff more cardboard under her arm. “Well…” She sucks in a deep breath. “At rodeo night, when you left your phone on the table, me ‘n Kara wanted to leave a bunch of selfies for you to find later. But when I went to grab your phone, you had a text from him. Joel. Something about someone winning you over like he did, or something. I can’t remember. But that was the first thing.”

Sarah’s face sours at the mention of her dad’s flirty text, scoffing as she swipes another gummy from the jar. “Real fuckin’ subtle, Dad,” she murmurs.

You sharpen your gaze at Anna, blurring the brown curls and low brows from your peripheral. “Uhuh…?”

“Then, there was the lying to your dad about where you were. That Monday – you said you were at mine. You weren’t. Your dad called my dad to ask, ‘n my dad asked me why the hell you’d lie. I figured, What a weird coincidence, right?”

You slip off your stool, legs feeling more liquid than bone. “Oh, Jesus…”

“But then…then, I saw how you were when he called on the way to Frank’s. In the car. You were…fucking weird. And then Joel punched that dude – that basically confirmed it. I don’t think either of your dads would do that for me. It felt…it felt personal. He took your hand ‘n dragged you outta there, and it felt like…somethin’ else.”

You’re leaning against the counter, head in your hands. Struggling to even listen to her piece it all together. Were you this fucking obvious, the whole time?

Anna answers for you. “Yeah,” she says, nodding, “I didn’t catch two fucking boyfriends cheating on me, and not pick up some detective skills, babe.”

You stand straight, composure slowly building over shame. “And your dad doesn’t know? My –” you flick your head across the store, lowering your voice, “– my dad hasn’t told him?”

A laugh spurts from somewhere deep in her chest. “Hell, no. Are you tryna give him a second heart attack? No. He just thinks you were somewhere you didn’t want your dad to know – a boy’s or something. Which – well, I guess you were.”

You nod, half-appreciation, half-resignation. Alright. Now shut up about it, would you?

“But listen,” Anna says, apparently not as good at mindreading as she is at secret-revealing, “y’all gotta work on being sneaky. You’re, like, really bad at it.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, “thanks, Anna.”

You grip the edge of the counter and try to draw your eye away from your dad; a little angry that he’s here, and yet, a little more thankful that you’ve had at least a tiny glimpse of him. Desperate for him to come over, to acknowledge your mutual existence in the same room, and yet – petrified that he does.

He keeps his back to you, though you notice him turning every so often, looking at you from his peripheral. Nope – your black shirt and blue jeans are still behind the counter. He turns back to the shelf.

“Hi, sweetie.” A woman in a pink blouse approaches the counter. She lays down a couple pairs of plyers and you ring her up, asking if she found everything okay. Choking a little when you inhale the scent of her perfume.

“Beautiful day for you to be in here workin’, huh?” Her rosy cheeks fill as she hands you the cash.

Oh, yeah. It’s a beautiful day to be stuck selling plyers to pink women in pink blouses smelling of pink perfume, while my dad – still reeling from the revelation that I’ve been sleeping with his best friend, by the way – pretends to peruse the store.

“I’m almost done,” you reply, blunt enough to deflate her expression only a little, sliding the paper bag stamped Sal’s back across the counter.

She nods in thanks and slinks off, suffocating aroma following her. And like a magician, when she disappears off to the side, your dad stands in her wake. A few feet from you, keeping his distance, watching carefully before he dares to move. Waiting for your go-ahead.

When you lift your chin, beckoning him forward, Anna takes Sarah’s arm and yanks her away, shoving some shredded boxes into her arms. “You wanna help me?” she asks the nosy Miller, tossing something of an alarmed glance back at you and your dad.

There’s a funny feeling behind your eyes when he steps up, empty hand resting hesitantly on the counter. “She coverin’ up the smell of a dead body or som’?” he asks.

The air pushes from your lungs, a laugh barreling with it. Your hands clasp on the surface opposite his. A scorch of white heat at the nape of your neck. “Very vibrant, huh?”

“Very.” He clears his throat, shakes his head a little, and takes a deep breath. “I figured this might be as good a place as any to find you. I didn’t want you to think I was…cornering you, or anything, if I showed up at Joel’s.”

“I wouldn’t – I mean, maybe. But, y’know…this is fine.” Your arms cross defensively, the baggy material of Joel’s shirt wrapping snug around you.

Your dad seems to know. Evidence being that it’s you, in a shirt all too big – a shirt he’d likely see his best friend in, too. It forces your arms tighter, sucking in the scent of Joel to combat the dizzying feeling of nerves.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he says eventually, fingers drumming awkwardly. “I just wanted to know you were fine.”

“I am fine. I promise. Just – working a lot.”

He nods, looking down to his feet. Twists the toe of his boot into the linoleum.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, too,” you offer, the words fluid and spilling from one to the next – something forceful in their nature.

Your dad’s eyes lift at the same time that his cheeks do. Relief. “Thanks, kiddo. I actually – I was hopin’ that maybe we could talk. If you’re free. I don’t know what time you get off today.”

“I finish in ten minutes,” you say, and hope seems to paint across his face – washing away instantly when you add, “but I’m going to the movies with Sarah.”

He’s nodding again, eyes fixed back on his boots. “Right, right.”

“…But maybe once we’re done I can swing by?”

“Oh, well – I’m workin’ late again. I’ll be out by the time…Yeah. Sorry, hon.”

“That’s okay.”

“Late one again tonight.”

“This, uh – what’s his name again? Kel–?”

“Kelman, yeah. Yeah. How ‘bout I call you tomorrow ‘n we can work somethin’ out? You and Sarah, you enjoy your night.”

You lean back from the counter, slowly more confident in your ability to hold yourself upright. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

His lips press together in a flat attempt at a smile. “I’ll leave you to it. You mind if I…give you a hug?”

And then you’re the one awkwardly, forcedly smiling. Your teeth gritting behind taut lips. “Not at all,” you whisper, and wander carefully around the counter to where he stands.

He opens his arms and pulls you against his chest, your head tilting to rest your ear on his shoulder. You hook your arms under his, feeling his wrists crossing at your spine. Like two statues, two figures of stone fixing their crumbling bodies in an embrace, suddenly disjointed and ill-fitting. Your heart hurts beneath layers of rock, swelling in attempt to reach for his, shrinking back crestfallen when he feels too far.

He kisses the side of your head, pulls away, and taps your cheek once. “You know,” he says, letting you withdraw from his grasp, “I really miss you.”

You nod. “Miss you, too.”

“Let’s talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah.”

And then he’s leaving, drifting back out into the summer sun, rock disintegrating as the light catches him again. More human, less monster-under-your-bed. He’s just your dad again, just that swaying, bumbling man who used to sprinkle rainbow flakes over your ice cream and double-knot your laces.

The shadows of Sarah and Anna appear at your elbows, the three of you watching your dad sink into his car. You still feel made of rock, splitting somewhere down the middle as you stare at his figure.

“Well?” Sarah asks.

He turns right out of the parking lot, disappears behind a hedgerow.

“Yeah,” you reply, turning in a daze. “We’re gonna…gonna talk.”

“That’s good, right? That sounds…promising.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, drawing your attention to her kind eyes and infectious smile. “We should probably get goin’,” she says, and you agree.

“What movie are you seeing?” Anna asks, filling your spot behind the counter as you turn, making for the back of the store.

“Barbie,” Sarah tells her.

“Nice. She paying?”

“Obviously. Mom duties.”

You kick the door closed on their giggles.

Two days pass without a word from your dad. No text, no call, no visit to Sal’s when you’re on shift the following day. By Monday, you’ve convinced yourself that the entire thing was a dream, a hallucination conjured up by your imagination in attempt to rid you of some of the guilt still chewing at your heart. Bat it out of your brain, like swatting the rear end of a wild animal let loose indoors.

Guilt which is only remedied, only soothed by Joel. By the feeling which overcomes your chest when you look at him – lungs faltering, heart leaping. The peace of falling asleep in his safe embrace, the heat from his body enough to keep you comfortable all night, and then waking up tangled in his sheets – the smell of bacon and eggs twirling through the house, the distant sound of his humming drawing you downstairs to his side.

Late nights on the porch, watching the sun bleed heavily into the sky. Your ankles in his lap, a guitar over his thigh. Thumb gentle on the strings, soft timbre of song lulling you to some place far from reality: the same rosy, dreamlike state you’ve mostly occupied since he dragged you through his front door, kicked your shoes and all of your worries to the side, and made you forget that anything bad had ever happened.

The most comfortable you’ve ever felt in your life, the most loved – a world where your every word is heard and weighed, rolling around Joel’s palms and slotting carefully into his back pocket. A world where his lips on your neck as you make dinner, where the crook of his arm catching you as you pass by, is all normal. Where I love you and I love you, too become the last words your sleepy ears hear at night, right before you sink into a shared sleep.

All of it becoming as natural as the pale moon switching for her golden sister at dawn. As instinctive as breathing.

“Have you ever made love to anyone?” you ask him one night, the aftershock of an orgasm still soaking into your skin.

Joel pauses, hips slowing between yours. “Yeah,” after a couple beats, “sure.”

“What’s it feel like?” you ask, honestly. Combing his dark hair through your fingers. “I’ve never…No one’s ever…”

“Baby,” he says. “We’ve done it. I’ve done it to you.”

Your body tenses and then melts around him. One blink and suddenly the world softens, seems to bow into the background – the only sharp object Joel, the twinkle in his eye piercing through the haze like blinking white stars in thick, dark clouds.

You whisper, “Can you do it again? So I can feel what it’s like?”

He pushes himself up, one elbow planted by your ear, the other hand lifting your thigh. Hooking it over his waist, lowering his arm again to cage you under his body. He nudges your chin with his nose, lifting it to line your lips with his, hold every part of your body as close to his as he can.

Deeper, in every sense of the word. Slow, hard. Eyes on you the entire time, watching the way your face contorts and your jaw slackens, holding the shape of your head in his hands, swallowing his own moans and grunts to make space between you for yours.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” he says, and by instinct, your eyes roll forward, focusing or half-focusing on the slick hair at his forehead, the red flush climbing his neck, seeping into the skin under his beard. “You feel it? Feel where I’m goin’?”

And yeah, you whine, you do feel it. Feel him dragging you further away from this world and into the next – somewhere a plain away, somewhere new and different to anything you’ve ever known before. Where physicality is a language, a fluid conversation between the melding of his body and yours; where there are a million words swirling around his pupils, hypnotizing and entrancing and drawing you in until you’re tumbling headfirst into the inky pools.

Where I love you sounds like the groan Joel can’t hold back, feels like the pulsing flood as he snaps between your legs. Where making love is as simple as the squeeze of his hand around yours; the shove of his plate over the kitchen table, offering you the last bite of grilled cheese or simply admitting that it was yours before he’d even taken the first. That addictive laugh of his when you stall the fucking truck for the fifth time: You asked me to teach you, baby, I’m tryna teach you. Foot on the gas, c’mon. You got it. That’s it – now, slow. Slower. Try to feel it. No, really feel it.

Feel it. Really, try to feel it. Can you feel it? Do you know the difference yet? The difference between everyone who was before, and the one who is now? Do you finally get it?

“I feel it,” you cry out, and his frame holds yours together as you fall apart.

It feels like – you.

How did I ever know anything before I knew you?

“That one’s nice,” Joel says, his voice jumping the short distance between his lips and your ear.

You tilt your head, body moving with his when he lifts his hand to swipe through some more of the images. The spacious living room, newly refurbed kitchen, the view of downtown Los Angeles.

He adjusts the blanket draped over your legs. “Washer dryer, walk-in closet,” and then, leaning in closer, whispers, “a balcony. That’s cool.”

“Hm,” you turn to face him, your body shelled by his in the corner of his couch, “I bet you like the balcony, cowboy.”

He smiles plainly in response, squeezing your nose between two knuckles. Yeah. Lots you can do with a balcony.

A sharp gasp from across the room pierces the sweet moment. You and Joel turn in its direction, its owner wide-eyed and blinking at the TV.

“Wait a second,” Sarah yelps. “George is the John Doe?” She gasps again when Meredith announces the same news to her friends onscreen. “Shut – the fuck – up!”

“Language,” Joel clips, chest rumbling between your shoulder blades.

“Oh, like you didn’t have the exact same reaction. George is the…Oh, that sucks. Are you kidding me?” She fishes her phone from the waves of blanket surrounding her, thumbs rapidly typing, eyes shooting from screen to screen.

You snort, turning back to your own phone in your hand, when a text appears at the top of the screen.

Dad: Hey kiddo. Sorry to keep you waiting, work been hectic. Off the rest of today if you’re free to come over.

Your thumb latches onto the message, holding it for Joel to read, too, before letting it disappear off into your notifications.

He tightens his hold on you, burying his nose into the cotton of his own hoodie over your shoulders. His breath pushes heavy and thoughtful across the material. “Still seems as calm as the other day.”

“Too calm,” you admit, “it’s freaking me out.”

“What can he do, you know? You’re here, he’s there. Your dad ain’t an idiot, baby. He knows stayin’ angry about it’s only gonna push you further away.”

“Sure made ‘im feel like an idiot…”

Joel catches the comment and pockets it before it gathers enough weight to bruise. “Well,” he clears his throat, “it’s up to you. I ain’t letting you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Mhm,” you reply, and wait for more words to fall to your tongue. An answer, a response. A decision that you know you don’t feel equipped or even rightful to make.

“Do you want to go talk to him?” Joel asks.

“I…I want to make things right. I wanna fix it.”

“Okay. And will talking to him do that?”

You turn to face him, frowning. “I don’t fucking know,” you mutter. “Will it?”

He smiles sympathetically. “Wish I knew, darlin’. Would it help if I came? Sat outside in the truck, waited for you? It gets too much, you decide you wanna leave – we leave.”

“You ain’t scared to be near him again?”

He gulps back a laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing awkwardly before he allows himself to answer. “Only thing scary about your dad is the sunlight reflectin’ off his damn head. No, I ain’t scared.”

You study him a minute longer, eyes roaming from the lips you could sketch every score of from memory, the beard you’re sure has forever altered your prints from the number of times you’ve run your fingers over the bristles. The eyes which know every secret, every whisper, every thought behind your own.

You sigh, smiling dumbly as he wraps his arms tighter around you. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Joel pulls up by the curb, parking politely at the end of your driveway rather than alongside your dad’s car, like he usually would. Like he used to.

You crane your head, looking past the shape of him to survey the unassuming house. Quiet, still. No sign of hurricane or earthquake, no tremors of rage or words like rocks raining down on the truck roof. Your thumb plunges into the buckle of your seatbelt, the webbing whipping over your shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay?” Joel asks, watching your fingers lift to the door handle.

“Mhm,” you reply, distant. “’s just my dad, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

His eyebrows lift, agreeing. He takes your hand in his and holds it to his lips. “Whatever it is,” he mumbles into your fingers, “if it happens, you come straight back out here, you hear? I ain’t moving.”

The urge to stay exactly where you are and let him carry you off back to his place overwhelms you for a brief second. To stay in the safety of the truck cabin, stay within touching distance of Joel. And as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. Overcome by the memory of that stony hug in Sal’s, the vacant, lonely eyes boring into late-night TV.

A sharp chap over your shoulder shocks you back to life. You twist in your seat, looking down at a face wrinkled by curiosity and wisdom, sheen of lipstick curved in a mischievous grin. You roll the window down, mirroring her smile.

“Joel Miller,” Rita calls, lowering her ring-adorned fist and pointing over to her car. “Help me with these groceries.”

“Afternoon to you, too, Rita,” he calls back, and she raises two thin, penciled eyebrows. His sigh trickles into a chuckle as he snaps the door open, leaning into you. “I ain’t moving,” he mutters, swinging out of the truck.

“Sure looks like you’re movin’,” you call back, letting Rita pull on your door to let you out.

“How are you, darlin’?” she asks. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

You hop down beside her, helping her tug the shawl around her arms back over her shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve, uh…I’ve been busy.”

She nods, and then her eyes drift to somewhere behind you. “They go in the kitchen, son.” She points to her house. “I’ll come help you unpack ‘em.”

Joel’s face twists, eyes wide, hands outstretched. You swallow back a laugh when he looks to you, an almost teenage expression which asks, You seein’ this? as he turns back to the Nissan.

“I better go,” Rita says then, giving your arms one last squeeze. “You take care, now. Tell your dad I’m askin’ after ‘im.”

“I will, Rita.” You turn on your heel and saunter around Joel’s truck, giving him one last twirl as he hoists two bags under his muscled arms, rolling his eyes as you spin.

You pull the weight of yourself up your drive, passing past versions of yourself as you near the front door. She’s stumbling towards her dad’s car, a bucket of soapy water sloshing around between her knees. She’s sat on the curb, waiting for Joel’s truck to roll up, praying she never hears another Marty Robbins song again.

She’s naïve, still. Knows no better, knows no worse. Chasing a high, chasing the thrill of being caught and the thrill of nobody ever knowing. A relationship built entirely on lies and deceit. A love woven with dark threads of shame and anger, a tattered mess in one corner where the edges fray and loosen.

And you think: you’ve never felt more jealous of anybody your whole life.

The front door clicks open easily, like the building welcomes you home with a relieved sigh. You follow sunlight into the hallway, feeling it easier to walk through than before – less dense, less suffocating. Less guilty. An honest thief, back to return the bleeding heart she dragged out the door with her.

Secrets like shards of broken glass on the floor, debris from that day. And as if he hears the crunch of your footsteps, your dad appears at the bottom of the hall.

“Hi, hon.”

Eyes wide with a misplaced shock, you say, “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“’m good.”

“Good. Come in, come through.” He beckons you forward, a smile only half-forced on his lips. “You want a drink or anything?”

You follow him into the kitchen, politely accepting a glass of water when he offers it.

He turns with two steady palms on the island, watching as you drag a chair free and sit at the table. “How’s Joel?” he asks, swallowing roughly.

The words come delayed, your open mouth lying in wait. Your body selfishly trying to hoard the information, protective the second the image of that six-foot, two-hundred-pound man crosses your mind. “He’s fine. He’s out front.”

It sounds like a warning, though you don’t mean for it to. Just conversation. He’s helping Rita with her groceries. She’s asking after you, by the way. But your dad seems to sense the natural amber tone of it – the sparking of a flame, daring to catch. He’s waiting for this to go south.

He nods, accepting the fact of it. His own failed attempt to separate the two of you only drove you closer together. Only made you want Joel more.

But then he’s nearing you again, pulling out the chair opposite yours. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, settling with a sigh. “Glad we’re…we’re talkin’ again, at least.”

Your head angles. “Are we?”

His body jerks, flinching from the sting of the question. “Well,” his head wobbles, jowls quivering, “I sure hope so. I was takin’ it as a good sign that you’re here.”

“I’m here,” you repeat, “but that doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

“No, I know. I know. Joel’s out front, ‘n all that.” He looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Holds his tongue behind his front teeth, waiting for the next turn of conversation.

You lean forward, elbows on the table, softening your voice. “Dad?” you say, and he looks up. “This whole entire thing – I think…I think we oughta try and understand each other, a little better. Hear each other out.”

“I am tryin’, hon. I’m really tryin’. You dealt me an awful lot to hear out ‘n understand.”

You rock back, sinking against the hard chair. Tracing the wood grains in the table, nails digging between. Shame coiling like a snake beneath your tongue, taking up too much space in your mouth. Its venom dripping between your teeth, acrid and sour; tendons in your neck jumping with the bitterness of your dad’s tone.

He sighs. “Be honest with me a second.”

“Huh?”

He waits a beat, watching you carefully. Opens his mouth, pauses, and then speaks. “Who instigated it?”

Your finger pushes harder into the surface. Digging new divots. “Um…kinda both of us. Was sort of a two-way thing from the get-go.”

His lips twist, almost imperceptible. He looks behind you to the patio outside. You can’t read what’s in his eyes. It makes you say more, say things you reckon you’ll regret later – but something to fill the silence between you. Something to let him sink his teeth into.

“There was flirting. Lotta flirting. And then it…it just sort of snowballed.”

“Snowballed.” He looks uncomfortable, lifting his hands to cup over his face. “I just didn’t take him as the type,” he says, muffled into his palms.

“As what type?”

He drops his hands, hitting his thighs with a slap, and looks you dead in the eye. Sad, almost. “Arthur Kennedy type.”

“He’s not.”

You say it instinctively. Your ears hear it at the same time your dad does. He looks at you blankly.

“He’s not,” you repeat, a little looser. Less hasty. “Look,” you sigh, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but…everything that we ever did, I wanted to do. I already told you. There ain’t nothing we did that I didn’t ask him to. I swear to you.”

You think back to the cookout, how angry Joel was at the thought of Arthur Kennedy hanging over you. How pissed he’d be, hearing your dad line him up against that old leather boot of a man. Comparing, contrasting. Here’s how you measure up, son. How much of a phantom Arthur Kennedy has been, your whole life, and how much of a sanctuary Joel is in comparison.

Your stomach twists at the thought. A tight knot, wound by a desperation to clear the name of a man whose worst offense was doing exactly what your dad would’ve told him to: leave.

“This whole thing,” you go on, “it’s a mess, alright? It’s – totally fucked. And we shouldn’t’ve lied, shouldn’t’ve been keeping things from you, but then…what did you expect?”

Your dad cuts in like a bullet: “I expect the two of you not to do what you were doin’.”

“No, I know that. But we did it, right? It’s done now. I meant, did you really want us to sit you down in the living room ‘n say, Hey, Dad – guess what?”

He grimaces at the thought.

“Didn’t think so. We didn’t even know what it was. We had no idea what it’d turn into. But you gotta hear me out: it wasn’t just…some fling, or whatever you’re thinkin’. I swear, Dad, it wasn’t.”

He still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t lift his stare from the table. You feel like a little kid, desperate to make him love you again. Desperate to make him listen. The space between you fills with the bored tick tick tick of the kitchen clock. Each second hurting a little more than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I let you down, but…I’m not sorry that I did it. If I could go back, knowing everything I know – I’d do it all over again.”

The words roll across the table to him like billiards. You lean back again, watching them as they rattle from his side to yours – your sentence delivered back into your ears. You nod, a sure thought in your mind.

I’d do it all over again. All the covering, all the hiding. The aching, the wishing and wanting. Staring at Joel’s empty hand, dying to slot yours into it. Dying to put any part of yourself near him; your head under his chin, your arms linked around his waist. Knowing you two would feel, knowing everyone else would see, just how perfectly you fit together.

The chasing your own tails: Did you lie well enough? Do they suspect anything? Did we leave any evidence? Disturbed sheets, a collar still upturned. Can they hear us? Have they noticed we’re missing? We’re always fucking missing.

You’d do it all over again. You know what it cost, now, sat directly opposite the price. His polite smiles like veneers over rotten teeth. The tremble in his lip when he opens his mouth to speak.

And it was worth it. Joel. He was worth it all, in the end.

All over again.

“Do you know that every time I look at you, there are…probably four versions that I see?”

You frown. Did he hear what you just said? All ov–? “What?”

Your dad laughs to himself. “When you walk outta that door, I see a little pink backpack over your shoulders. Gym bag in your hand, maybe. I see missin’ front teeth, I see those little clip-on earrings you used to love so much.

“And – and when you’re mad at me, when we fight, I see you at fourteen. Growing pains, y’know? I still remember you slamming your bedroom door in my face, all ‘cause I wouldn’t let you go to that girl Molly’s birthday party.” He looks up, smiling at your perplexed expression.

“I don’t even…remember that, hardly.”

“Long time ago now. My point is,” he continues, “you’re twenty-three. You’re grown. And I just can’t figure out how to make those other versions…grow with you. You still feel like my kid. Still that little girl with the pink backpack.”

“But,” you clear your throat, trying to swipe her from your own memory, “I’m not. I’m not her anymore, Dad. And I think maybe you gotta give me the space to be someone different, now.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding. “I know, I know. I just didn’t think this new version of you would…y’know. Be with Joel, ‘n all. That is something I did not see comin’.”

“You think I did?” You spit a laugh. “If you told me when I came home that this is what was waiting for me…that I was gonna fall…”

Your teeth close around the sentence, dropping your dad’s eye. But it’s too late.

He stares back at you like the sun. “…Fall in love with ‘im?”

And you cower. You wince, almost. The last secret. The last thing he doesn’t know. “I don’t…I don’t know, I –”

“You love him. You do, don’t you?”

Your thumbs run circles around one another, fingers locking until your knuckles hurt. “I don’t know,” you mumble, wishing for the tenth time since you sat down that Joel was beside you, in front of you, around you.

“’s what Anna seems to reckon.”

Your eyes flit up. “Anna?”

He hums. “She is her father’s daughter. A damn meddler. She called here, last night.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you groan, head falling into your hands. “Ignore her, please. Ignore all of it. She doesn’t –”

He holds a palm up. “Now, hold on. You don’t even know what it was she said.”

You huff a sigh, twisting your hand in the air. Go on.

“She reckons you do love him. Reckons he loves you back. More, if that’s even possible, she said. Told me all about the way he stepped in front a’ that boy at Frank’s. About your face when he picked you up from rodeo night, how ecstatic you were. The difference she sees in you.”

“Difference,” you scoff, glancing out to the backyard. “What difference?”

“Same difference I see, probably. Same difference Bill said he saw, too: you’re happier. Even I can’t deny it, hon. It’s damn hard – you never make nothin’ easy on your old man – but…but I am willing to try.”

The hurt begins to slowly fizzle away. Cooling, washing from your skin like foamy waves. Curiosity left to shine through.

“You may not understand this ‘til you have kids of your own – if you have kids of your own – but there ain’t a thing in this world that I love more than I love you. And when you love somethin’ that much, you’ll do anything to stop it from getting hurt. Anything. That’s all I want you to know.”

A silence falls between you, thoughtful and waiting. The clock’s ticking grows sharper again. It seems to consider the same as you: there should be more to this. More to be said, to be convinced. More yelling, even.

But you arrive at the same conclusion, at near enough the same time: there is nothing more. Cards flat on the table, eyes pouring all over them. To question it, to second-guess any of it, would be to tempt fate.

“Anyway,” your dad sits forward, clasping his hands on the table, “tell me what’s goin’ on. What’s been happening in your world?”

You shrug. A little, shy thing. “Work. Been hanging with Sarah a lot. And I, uh, I had a job interview last week.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?”

You shift awkwardly in your chair. “For, uh…that one in LA. They called to offer it a couple days ago.”

A smile pulls across his lips. Growing, growing, growing until he’s grinning back at you. Pride, little bit of surprise. Whole lot of amusement and joy. “You take it?” he asks, figuring he knows the answer already.

“Not yet,” you reply. “Think I’m going to, though. ‘s too good to say no.”

He lifts his eyebrows in agreement, looking down at his hands. Shoulders lurch some under the weight of your news. “There goes that little backpack,” he mutters to himself, and you smirk.

“Can’t hold her back forever.”

“I never had a hold on her in the first place. You were walkin’ on outta that door the minute you found your own two feet.”

You snort. “Good! Good for me. Let me go out into the big ol’ world; let me go fuck it all up ‘n come home for dinner once I’m done.”

“I intend to,” your dad says, nodding along to every passionate word you say. And then he asks, “How’s Joel feelin’ about it all? About LA?”

Your shoulder jerks in a half-shrug. “He’s fine, I guess. Says he’ll miss me, but then – we haven’t exactly had the most typical relationship up until now. Survived a lot I reckon would break any normal couple…”

It’s the first time you think you’ve ever said it. Couple. You’ve thought of it – flicked through the words you might use to describe him. Your boyfriend, your partner. None of them seem to fit exactly who he is to you. None of them strong enough to carry the weight of what’s shared between you. He’s Joel. He’s your Joel. Nothing will ever come close.

Your dad hears it, too. The newness of it. The crisp shape of the word, not yet thawed to this new world. Your tongue still learning how to pronounce it, how to pair it with the image of Joel.

“Guess he can fly out ‘n visit whenever, right?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, “and I’ll be back here, too. Christmas ‘n all.”

Your dad smiles. Relieved, assured. Light slowly returning to his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” your chest swells, “so Joel says. I trust ‘im.”

You both quieten, sitting back in your chairs. What once felt like a room ablaze, flames tearing the skin from your body as you dragged your heels through it – now feels like a gentle warmth. Waves wrought with enough power and force to destroy you, now seeping off with the change of the tide. Bumps on the horizon.

“Speaking of,” you say, making to stand, “I should probably get goin’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, hon.” Your dad follows, arm on your shoulder as he walks you down the hall.

The sun intrudes, tosses herself into your arms as you pull the front door open. In her golden-rayed wake sits that dark truck, same as always. The same dark tee, the same dark-speckled-gray hair. Arms folded, stood against the body, waiting. Eyes on the house, on your figure as you step down onto the doormat. Joel straightens when your dad follows you out, chest sucking in a ragged breath.

They look at one another, and that’s about it. Something of a nod from Joel – not quite returned by your dad. You figure that might take some time to come back around. And that’s okay. You can make peace with it.

You turn back. Your dad’s looking down at you, hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“You know,” you take a deep breath, “the only times he’s ever hurt me, are the times he’s left. The times I haven’t had him around.”

And then you step back, the magnet in your chest telling you it’s time to return to its partner.

In high school, your English teacher tasked the class with writing a short story. Any genre you wanted, any word count up to two thousand. The boys mostly dicked around, wrote action-packed, blood-and-guts garbage. One girl wrote something you’re sure you’d seen in a Hallmark movie before.

But you – you spent two weeks straight, writing. Awake until all hours of the night, hunched over your laptop, sunbathing in the blue hue of an open document. Fingers hammering rapidly into your keyboard.

A man and a woman meet in Central Park. She – hair the color of rust, spilling down her shoulders and lifting at the ends, twisting around the fingers of the blustery wind. A red glow around her third finger where gold once lived. Sat on a bench, alone. Hiding, perhaps. And he – sharp suit and tie, clean-shaven, a steel-blue gaze that might cut glass. Missing the city traffic by taking a walk through the park on his way home. Fleeing, perhaps.

He notices her trench coat first. Bright red, a poppy swaying in the breeze. A little hopeless, a solemn wilt to it. The quickly dampening fire of her hair in the rain, the opaque sheen of polish chipping from her nails. And he thinks he recognizes the constellation of freckles painted across her cheeks. Thinks he might’ve mapped them, once, in some kind of past-life.

She looks up and realizes she recognizes the cut of his gaze. Piercing through her, splitting her in two. Thinks she might’ve felt it before, the opening of her soul to someone who looked just like him – a little more baby-faced, a little more spirited. In some kind of past-life, too.

She stands, and he slows, and they meet somewhere in the middle. Words exchanged; body heat transferred through hugs. Is that really you? You look so different. It’s been years. He doesn’t ask about the lack of jewelry on her third finger. She doesn’t ask about the gray circles beneath his eyes. Just, You wanna grab a coffee? and, Yeah. Yeah, I do.

They sit at the window, watch the yellow taxis and the black umbrellas and the trembling traffic lights. They talk about life then, life now, and silently agree to forget about the part in the middle. They look at each other the same way they must have before they lost one another, before life and love and everything else got between them.

They agree to meet again in a week. They swear that they will not fall back in love.

They know as well as each other that they’re really promising to do just that.

Love – twisted and turned over and over, until it’s a different shape altogether. We started as one thing, and we watched it shift into something completely different. Clay in the potter’s hands. Didn’t you think it might fall apart? There was a moment I thought the heat of the kiln might break us. I’m glad it didn’t. I’m glad we’re made of tough stuff.

I’m glad I found you again, in that park. The pissing rain and the wind so strong I felt it lifting the sense from my mind. In that hardware store, in that bar filled with weed and bad intentions. I’m glad you split me open, glad you could see the good that was still inside. I thought I’d lost her for a minute. Thought she’d forgotten her way home.

Let’s go get a coffee. Let’s pretend it’s always been this way.

Let’s fall in love. The rest will take care of itself.

It takes three weeks in total to properly pack up your things. Two days after you accepted the job, you bought boxes and tape, and began to dismantle the identity you’d spent twenty-three years creating for yourself, a little bit at a time. Taking apart the pink-walled museum of your life, artefact by artefact.

Joel has helped as much as you’ve let him. Laid back on your bed when you’ve dismissed him one too many times, raised his eyebrows and laughed with you whenever you come across some old, forgotten piece of memorabilia. Something ceremonial to it, something innocent and fun. Like a little graduation for all the parts of yourself.

Soon, as the last of the summer sun dampens outside, your room lies vacant. Empty of any real evidence of your being here. Bedsheets and pillows folded, packed away; framed photos and posters unpinned from the wall and wrapped up safely. Drawers and closets barren, left with a selection of your less-loved, less-worn clothes. A wardrobe built from stuff you’ll only ever wear when you come back home to visit, if even then.

Joel’s sat on the bare mattress, looking around your room. You’re stood opposite, leaning against your half-empty dresser. The sun filters feebly through your turned shades, averting her eyes.

You look over at him. Golden, like the sunlight outside. Warm, like the breeze through the trees. Yours. Yours yours yours.

“What?” Joel asks, his eyes having finally found their way back to you. He smiles at your focused expression.

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just…”

“Talk to me. Tell me.”

“You are – this is…” You sigh. “This is good. I think it’s good. Not just all the stuff we did. But you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “You’re good for me.” You grip the wooden lip tighter, swaying nervously when you add, “But I think it was always gonna go this way, wasn’t it?”

He sniffs. Shoulders jerk in a weak shrug. “Yeah, I think so, baby.”

Your eyelashes flutter, soothing the prickling feeling of tears forming. “I don’t – I don’t know if I want it to.”

“Yeah,” Joel says through a groan, pushing himself up, “you do.”

You shake your head as he approaches, and his hands cup your cheeks.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling your body tight against his. Your face buries in his chest; your tears wet on his shirt. He shushes you, rocks you gently back and forth with a hand on the back of your head. “Listen to me.”

“Joel –”

“Listen to me.” He pulls you back, swipes the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they fall. “We’re fine. We are going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you –”

“I know, I know. But you want to go do this. And that’s okay. Both of ‘em, at once.”

Your head shakes again. Like an instinctive reaction to the thought of being separated from him.

Joel smiles softly. “I am going to miss you like hell. You got no idea. But,” he pulls your head back to face his, tucks your hair behind your ear, “I want you to go. You gotta go after this. Right?”

“I know,” you whisper, lungs lurching for breath. “I just – wish it didn’t mean leavin’ you.”

“Darlin’…” Joel coos, pulling you in again. “You know how much I love you? What do I keep tellin’ you? We’ll be alright. It’s you ‘n me, right?”

You nod, salty tears slipping between your lips onto your tongue. When you look up, you notice the same expression on Joel’s face. He blinks his own away before they fall.

“’s you ‘n me,” you repeat, and he pulls your lips together.

You roll your tongue onto his, letting him taste you – all of you. Your mouth, and your thoughts, and your tears, and your pain. You let him take it all, let him hold it for this moment as you breathe him in, let his body fill yours in every way.

Your hands are in his hair, your chest pressed against his; he’s every thought on your mind and every beat in your heart. He’s the blood thrumming through your veins, he’s the oxygen filling your lungs; he’s the words between your teeth and the flesh around your bones.

And he pulls you, and you follow, his shirt in your fist, over to the bed where he lays you gently and falls on top.

“When’s he get back?” he asks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Later,” you mumble, your fingers picking at the hem of his shirt.

He pushes back, letting you tug it up up up over his shoulders at the same rate he peels your tee from yours, both tossing each other’s clothes to somewhere else in the room. Jeans undone, shorts dragged from your hips, underwear discarded until you’re naked under him, and he’s naked over you, and there’s nothing and no one between.

Joel cradles you, holds you close as he presses a palm roughly against the underside of your thigh, opening your body to him in a way only he’s mastered. In a way you only would, for him.

His hand cups your sex, fingers nudging between your folds, pushing in when your jaw slackens and a wanton moan echoes from your throat across Joel’s tongue.

“Yeah,” he coos, wrist jacking between your legs, “’s my girl. Gotta get you warmed up, huh? Get you nice ‘n wet.”

Your back arches, arms linking around his neck to pull him closer, pull him deeper. Hold him tight enough to you that your bodies feel one, feel connected at the meeting of Joel’s hand and the most intimate part of you; the meeting of your tongues between teeth.

And you gasp, the nudging of his fingers against the deepest part of your body, the messy circles of his thumb on your clit. The shape of him, solid and warm against the seam of your thigh.

You reach down for him, wrapping your fingers around his cock, and his breath hitches. Teeth bump into yours. You’re fucking irresistible to him.

“Darlin’,” his voice is low, daring you to keep going, “you wanna cut this short ‘fore we’re even started?”

You breathe a laugh into his jaw, hot and needy. “You get to play with me,” you whine, “I wanna play with you, too.”

Joel growls, seizing his movements, leaning back in what you take as him granting full access to his body. But then he says, “Turn around,” in a strict voice you’ve come to know as meaning one thing, and you pause.

You peel your eyes from his dick to blink up at him. “Turn –?”

“– around, now.” He takes your waist, hoisting you up until you’re straddling him, holding you inches above his body. “Turn.”

“What the fuck are you –?”

“Many times do I gotta tell you? You said you wanted to play.” He twists your waist until you follow his movements, swinging one leg over the other. He grabs your hips, tugging you back towards his face. “So, play,” he mutters, lowering your cunt down to his lips.

You gasp, falling forward and hitting the mattress between his legs. “J– fuck me. Are you s-serious?” You moan, hips rocking against the feeling of his bearded chin at your clit. “You’re like – a fucking – horny teenager. Oh, fuck.”

Your head falls forward, hands splaying out over his thighs, before your eyes refocus and you notice the hardened shape of him, tip oozing precome all over the hair-spattered plain of his groin. Your hand lifts, shakily taking hold of him again, and you lean down.

Elbows hooked over his thighs, you bring his tip to your lips, letting a thick bead of saliva fall and drip down the length of him, meeting your closed fist to be dragged up and down.

Joel’s hips almost buck. He holds it, manages to catch it, but you spot it. You’ve done this too many fucking times not to notice the reaction you draw from him.

“’s good,” you whisper, circling your hips on his face, tongue slipping across his cherry-red tip. “Feels so good.”

He responds in the form of a deep groan, rattling from his chest through your clit, shocking like lightning up your spine until the very same noise is thrown from your lips. You push down, tongue molding around every vein and the slow curve of his cock until your lips meet the thick brush of hair at his base, his tip kissing the very back of your throat.

Your throat which jumps, jolts at the feeling of something intruding – before you’re retreating again, pulling him from your body, warm, wet spit linking the two of you when you come up for air. And then you sink back down, head moving up down up down up down as his stomach tenses beneath your chest.

Joel’s palms keep a heavy hold on your ass, his tongue lapping between your folds like they’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted – like he might die if he doesn’t get his fix of you. And you think, they are, and he might, as your cheeks hollow and you bow down over him again.

You establish a rhythm, two waves swirling between one another: your hips rocking, Joel’s lifting ever so slightly as you suckle on one another. Your hand fisting the parts of him you can’t quite reach, not without choking; Joel holding you fixed to his jaw, letting the tip of his tongue hook around your swollen clit, then dragging it down until he’s letting you ride the wet muscle.

The approach of your first orgasm, a tiny spark catching to life in the pit of your belly, incites you with a need to open up further for him. Your throat taking more of him, your thighs slackening as you drive your cunt harder against his mouth.

“’m so close,” you whimper, lips curving around his cock. “So – fucking – ah, keep doin’ that. Right th-there.”

His hands hook around your thighs, tongue darting across your clit. His nose nudges somewhere between your folds, quickly becoming coated in the slick you’re leaking all over him.

“Joel,” you say, fists pumping his cock. Your voice a warning: it’s coming. You’re gonna – Fuck, you’re gonna come.

His voice is looser, more of a shrug of the shoulders when he pulls away from you. He inserts two fingers, curls them like before, like he knows drives you fucking insane. “Let go, babygirl,” he murmurs, lips immediately returning to position. And then, muffled and rough: “Come all over me.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, hands squeezing around his cock, feeling that same spark ignite into flame, your entire body bursting with heat.

Your high rips through you, battering through each vein in your system, each nerve electrified. You collapse between his legs, his rough pubic hair sticking to the sweat on your chest, hips rutting wildly against the sharp cut of his jaw.

The mattress absorbs most of the desperate moan which streaks across your tongue, nails digging hard into the flesh of Joel’s thighs. And you hear the deep sound of his voice, the thud thud thud of a chuckle against your clit: the cocky fucker laughing to himself as he unravels you for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Alright,” Joel says, more to himself than to the fucked-out shape of you between his legs. He sits up and shifts you carefully down the bed, settling you face-down on the mattress and lifting your ass to meet his hips. “Okay?” he asks, kneeling behind you.

You feel his tip between your legs, slotting happily somewhere in your opening. Waiting for your response. A response you don’t feel able to give, as much as you’d like to; your lips puffy and confused, words jumbling behind them in a tangle of bliss and love.

“Baby,” Joel says, hand slinking down your back, pressing gentle circles into the nape of your neck. “You okay?”

Your head lifts, glancing over your shoulder to see his hairy torso, his thick arms caging over you. He lifts your chin with two fingers, cranes your neck up until you’re looking into his eyes, heavy lids blinking dumbly.

“Just fuck me,” you whisper, and Joel slips his tongue into your mouth.

You used to dream of coming back home. A few years away, doing whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted. Dreaming things up and then chasing them until they happened. Tiring yourself out, lungs gasping for breath and eyes always searching, always looking for a new target to pin up. But always coming back.

Austin, Texas. Its jagged skyline, the streets lined with a vibrant glow and star-spangled bunting. The river like a silver-bellied snake slithering through. Home.

You dreamt of living out your days here, once your blood had slowed and your mind settled. A quiet life in the country, a big wooden house with a wraparound porch. Two little rocking chairs, so you and whoever your husband turned out to be could sit and watch the sky fade from red into orange into white and then dull gray into deep blue.

Breeze kissing your cheek, his lips kissing your knuckles.

Joel.

Home.

You tell him, and he smirks. “That so?” he asks, wrapping his arms a little tighter around your naked body.

You nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand, breathing in the sweet scent of sweat and sex sitting in the air. “Mhm. You could play guitar until the stars come out.”

He hums in agreement. “Sounds like a pretty good dream. Tell you what: you go to LA, do what you gotta do. By the time you come back, there’ll be a big ol’ farmhouse, wraparound porch, rollin’ fields for the dogs. Coffee ‘n sunsets. How’s that sound?”

“And you’ll be there?”

He smiles. Scoops you in one arm and rolls you onto your front, chest to chest with him. His fingers ghost down the curve of your shoulder. “Baby,” he whispers, “I built the damn thing.”

It forces a laugh from your chest, something you’ve gotten used to by now. Joel and his ability to steal a giggle from you, the dumbest moments seeming the funniest. “You’re gonna build me a damn house?” you ask, chin resting between his pecs.

“That what you want?”

Your head rocks left to right, considering. “I just want you. That’s all.”

“Then you got me. I’m all yours.”

In his hazel eyes lives every moment you’ve ever shared. Every conversation, every kiss, every fight. Every minute he’s spent looking for you or at you, every minute you’ve spent looking back at him. It’s all in there. You see it like a movie reel, frame by frame.

It lands like a slot machine on that first night. Cleaning up after pizza. Shoulder to shoulder by your kitchen sink. You wish you’d just kissed him. Even with your dad right there. Wish you’d lifted your heels and put your lips on his, just for the fucking hell of it. Just to condense all of it, every second of longing and hurt and pain into one fleeting moment.

Wish you’d pulled him into you, against you, the weight of his body like an old friend. Welcomed it with open arms, like you’d spent your entire life missing it, waiting for it to come back to you. Let yourself feel your own heart, peeling between the cage of your ribs, reaching out for his. Always reaching for him.

Wish you’d looked him in the eye, tears softening the tufts of graying hair, vignetting the smirk only you can tell is there. Looked at him in that knowing way, that language only you two know; the glint in your eyes translating a thousand messy words into three. Just three – the simplest, lightest words you’ve ever known.

I love you. Let’s skip to the good part.

#welp i didn't cry when i hit post. me? no. no way #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #cowboy like me

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retrosabers · 1 year

Text

just a little thought about college!steve

“i’m not in the mood harrington.”

you can feel the smirk in his voice, no need to tear your eyes away from the textbook.

“come on, give that pretty little head of yours a break for five minutes.”

that pretty little head of yours. infuriation with him was hard when he knew how to get you in your sweet spot.

you sigh. “i have a big test steve.”

the table creaks lightly as the boy sets his weight atop it. you run a tired palm down your face.

“you need a break.” there’s sincerity in his tone that relaxes the tension in your neck, no matter how much you wish it wouldn’t. succumbing to his sweetness was going to be the end of you, but it would be a mighty fine way to die.

“fine.” you huff, tossing your pencil to the side and bookmarking the page. “you have five minutes.”

when you finally look at steve, his smug smirk is replaced by a boyish grin, brown eyes gleaming behind the frames of his glasses. he circles around the back of your chair, the woodsy scent of his cologne dizzying your already tired brain. he leans in close, breath tickling your ear.

“just relax.” the low timbre of his voice sends heat down your spine. he chuckles as you swallow hard. “i gotcha.”

his thumbs gently press into the base of your neck, rubbing circles in your tired muscles. you nearly moan at the sensation, having been hunched over the table for almost three hours straight. you bite your lip as your eyes flutter shut, leaning back into the chair and further into steve’s touch.

“atta girl.” he says breathlessly. “relax for me.”

this is starting to feel slightly more intimate than it should, but you’re too tired to care. his hands are working wonders for the tension in your body. steve digs the heels of his palms into your shoulders and this time the groan that leaves your lips is unavoidable.

“fuck, that feels good.” you preen, thankful there’s no one else in this area of the library baring witness to this moment.

“yeah?” he taunts. “feel good baby?”

“don’t call me baby” you huff out. “you know i hate it.”

“but you’re so hot when you get pissed off.”

“steve.” you whine. he’s smart enough to get the message; that you’re absolutely spent and just need this little moment of peace, no time for banter that takes up too much energy you don’t have.

he continues his ministrations in silence, taking note of the areas you seem to react to and giving them more attention. steve works his way to the ends of your shoulders before giving them a final squeeze. he moves around to sit on the edge of the table again.

“feel better?”

you sigh, eyes opening to meet his. the glow of the sunset streaming in from the long glass windows casts him in a glow that makes him look like a god. streaks of amber illuminating the high points of his face, capturing flecks of gold in those chocolate irises. your breath nearly hitches at the sight, and you swear a blush forms on his cheeks.

“much.” you shake whatever feeling started to bloom. “thank you.”

“no need to thank me.” he pushes off the edge of the table, heading for the double doors that lead back out to campus. “can’t have you falling on your pretty face before i get to take you out.”

you roll your eyes, but you both know it’s only teasing. steve leans back against the mahogany and crosses his arms, biceps flexing in a polo that hugs every curve of his body just right.

“so same time tomorrow?”

you quirk a brow. “i’m sorry?”

he gestures to you like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “i’m assuming this test isn’t until friday so you’ll be here again tomorrow.”

you glance back at your notebook, then back at steve. “uh, yeah. yeah you’re right.”

the smirk finally makes it appearance. “great. i’ll be here.”

“steve.”

“oh come on! i can quiz you with those flash cards you were making last week.”

your brows furrow. “how do you know about my flash cards?”

he winks, and your heart skips a beat. “i know a lot more about you than you think baby.”

you shake your head, reaching behind you to crumble a stray piece of paper and throw it at him. he dodges it swiftly, but not before bumping into a bookshelf.

“don’t call me that!” you say through your laughter. he laughs along with you, and the feeling from before creeps into your chest again. it’s your turn to put your chin up.

you cross your arms to match his pose. “you better be on time harrington.”

his eyes widen a bit, like he wasn’t expecting you to cave to his advances so easily. this time there’s no mistaking; the flush on his cheeks is evident. steve nods before backing away the last few paces. “see you tomorrow then.”

“see you then, pretty boy.” you quip, before turning back to your work, a smile plastered across your face.

steve catches a glimpse of it before turning on his feet out the door. he’s grateful to turn back around and find you still turned away from him, so you don’t see how he carries that same grin all the way back to his dorm.

#i would fold in an instant #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic rec #steve harrington #joe keery #stranger things

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russos-ventitre · 7 months

Text

leah williamson x reader | sunset ❤️‍🩹

✘ summary: Leah helps you train after a minor injury

✘ warnings/tags: fluff, arsenal!reader, striker!reader, mutual feelings, mutual flirting, first kiss

✘ words: 1924

"Come on! Knees up [y/l/n]!" Jonas shouted, clapping his hands encouragingly as you lagged behind the other girls.

You had been out of training for a bit due to an unprompted calf injury which thankfully lasted a month at most. Forcing you to rest for the better part of a few weeks before you had to work with the Physio. Regardless, your absence has made you feel like you're the most inexperienced player on the team. Constantly struggling to keep up with the other girls in the drills and in partner work.

"Hey, you alright?" You felt a hand rest on your back as you bent over to catch your breath.

"Huh- y-yeah.. fine.." You huffed, struggling to get your words out.

"You sure..?" The blonde persisted, helping you stand up straight.

"Yeah.. just need a break.." She helped you over to the bench, sitting next to you and grabbing a water for you to drink.

"Cheers.." You took a few big swigs of the drink, wiping your lips dry with your wrist as you continued to pant, hoping that your breathing would even out at some point.

"Sorry.. I'm just a bit rusty s'all.." You sighed, her hand coming to rub your lower back.

"I can stay back after training and help you out if you'd like- if you're free that is.." Leah offered, hoping that it wasn't too bold of a statement as you squinted your eyes in her direction.

"Umm.. yeah I'm free this afternoon." You smiled, taking another sip of your drink before standing back up.

That Afternoon...

The defender was waiting for you outside, stretching out her legs on the pitch, shooting you a wave. Everyone had long gone at this point, just the two of you dedicating extra time to training which Jonas would never complain about.

"Hey, you ready?" She asked excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she pumped her body up.

"Yeah."

Prior to your arrival Leah had set up cones and dummies around the pitch for you to weave in and out of, pretty much the same way it would be if you were training with the rest of the team. You dribbled the ball between the cones, increasing your speed as you did so, but your legs were just so burnt out. After a few laps back and forward between them Leah eventually stopped you.

"Hey.. how about we focus on shooting for a bit, yeah?" Her hand came to grab your shoulder, gaining your attention.

You nodded following her over to the goal. You practiced shooting the ball into the goal from different angles, trying to prioritise free kicks. The blonde took position, her face stone cold as she narrowed her eyes in your direction, tucking her arms behind her back and waiting for you to finally strike. You did a small runup, lobbing the ball with the side of your foot, aiming it around the defender.

Leah's leg came up to block it but you were far too fast for her, the ball crashing into the back of the net before she could even fully turn around. "Maybe you're not as rusty as you think.." She chuckled to herself, shaking her head in disbelief.

The two of you continued practising free kicks, a few of them blocked by the taller woman but most of them curving around her body and connecting with the net. Your free kicks eventually turned into little 1v1s, Leah getting a bit handsy as you tried to run past her, gripping you by the waist in hopes to stop you in your tracks.

"Cheeky." You mumbled, seeing her smirk after you missed your shot, the defender giving you a shameless pat on the arse as you retrieved the ball.

The next thing on her list was partner work. She repositioned some of the dummies so they were blocking the goal, then she would run the ball down the pitch, passing it for you to shoot it in. After a few shots from one angle, you'd swap sides or reposition the dummies again, repeating the process until you felt comfortable. You were really enjoying your time with Leah and it made your heart flutter every time she would send you any amount of praise. Whether it be a soft smile, a thumbs up, a clap, or a delicate touch to either your arms or your back.

“I have an idea.” You perked up, smiling innocently towards the taller girl.

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded your head proudly before continuing. “Yep.” You grabbed her by the wrist dragging her over to the goal, exactly where the goalkeeper would stand.

“What are you- wait why I am this far?” She raised a brow confused.

“Because..” You walked backward, placing the ball for a penalty kick. “..you’re gonna block the ball.”

“What?!” Her body stiffened up, slight anger etched on her face. “I’m not Mary Earps!” She whined, her hands coming to fall to her sides in defeat.

“Come on! It’ll be fun! Plus maybe if you’re good I’ll give you a peck for every ball you block..” You challenged teasingly, seeing how that made Leah visibly flustered as she grew more shy.

Both of you got into position, Leah bouncing on the balls of her feet just like how Mary would do in England matches, desperately trying her best to mimic her. You took a few steps back and lightly tapped the ball, deciding that you wanted to start off easy for her. Leah dove in the direction of the ball blocking it with her hand, the ball rolling to the side.

You did as you promised, making your way over to retrieve the ball, placing one hand on her shoulder, and pressing a soft peck to her cheek. A mixture of blush from how she nearly winded herself and the kiss began to fill her cheeks.

After your first strike, you decided to not go easy anymore, whacking the ball with incredible force, hitting the back of the net at least five more times, the defender, now goalkeeper, completely out of breath.

“Oh come on! Don’t you want these kisses?” You teased mockingly, pointing to your puckered lips, watching as she dusted herself off with a groan.

“Hey actually.. you know what.. turn around for a second.” You waved your hand in a circular motion, the blonde confused but obeying regardless.

“Why am I standing like- Ow!” Her head snapped backward, her brows furrowed and her nose scrunched up.

“What’d you do that for?” She grumbled arms crossed over her chest.

“Target practice.” You giggled, blushing slightly.

“On my arse?!”

“Yep.” You fell into a fit of laughter, the taller girl not at all amused by your actions, angrily kicking the ball back over to you with a huff.

After your laughing fit you took to your positions again, this time Leah bouncing back and forth, determined to block your strike. You wound your leg back and smacked it against the ball, right within reach of Leah’s hand. The blonde stuck her hands out and just barely blocked it, the ball bent her fingers back slightly as it flew to the side.

“Ow.. that hurted..” She pouted, sounding like a toddler that just got injured on the playground. You ran over in her direction, grabbing the ball and tucking it under your arm.

“Let me see..” You spoke gently, taking her hand in yours and looking at her fingers. Examining them for a bit, you eventually pulled them up to your lips, peppering them with soft kisses as you looked up at her.

"Break?" The blonde asked, biting her lower lip, trying to hide her smile.

"Please." You sighed, making your way for your water, flopping your body on the grass, head resting on top of the ball.

Leah sat beside you admiring the sunset in the distance that was just past the buildings. "You're doing really well.. I hope that month break didn't knock your confidence too much because you really are a phenomenal striker." She admitted, taking a sip of her own drink.

"Thanks.. I guess it's just been hard finding my place back in the squad, especially with Less, Stina, Viv, and Beth.. they're just so good.. too good sometimes.." You sighed, your arms falling to your sides as you stared up at the orangey-pink sky above.

"Hey! You're good too!" The taller girl protested, giving you a playful slap to your shoulder.

You lifted your head slightly, looking at her through your lashes, not at all believing her words.

"Oi! If you don't stop shit-talking yourself I'll tackle you to the floor."

You leaned up further from the ground. "You'll have to catch me first." You sprinted away from her, dodging in between the dummies that were still set up watching as she chased after you. Hiding behind the metal dummies you pushed them over the closer she got to you, her hands just mere inches away from being able to grab you and throw you to the ground.

"Come here you little shit!" She shouted, struggling to catch up with you.

"Make me!" You decided to be even more annoying, running over to where the two of you left the ball, running it down the pitch, dodging the cones, and scoring a goal. Stopping in your tracks you proudly celebrated with your arms in the air, completely forgetting the threatening presence that was barreling in your direction.

Leah slid into you from behind, bringing you to the floor, you now on your stomach and hands, letting out a groan. You turned your body, now able to see the defender begin to pick herself off the ground and walk away from you. You took your legs and wrapped them around one of hers, trapping her and tripping her, the taller girl crashing on top of you.

Her face was hovering only a few inches from your own, the blonde's face becoming a rosy pink to match the sky as she stared down at you, practically winded from falling on top of you. Your hands politely rested on her waist as you struggled to not panic internally from the gorgeous view.

You felt her slowly take your hands, lacing your fingers together, her lips moving closer, just ghosting over your own as you felt her breath coat your skin. Her tongue darted out to wet her own lips before pressing forward, tenderly kissing you from above.

It was heaven, it was pure bliss, it was a well-deserved reward after a rough day of training and even though you never expected your reward to be this you certainly weren't one to complain. Leah smiled into the kiss, softly giggling the longer the two of you stayed like that. Clearly, she was enjoying it just as much as you were.

The blonde pulled away for air, giving your hands a squeeze as she admired you from above. “Whaaat..?” You blushed, trying to cover your burning face with your laced hands.

“I don’t think you quite understand how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” She sighed happily, moving in to press more kisses to your bright red cheeks. If it wasn't obvious before, it was obvious now, the blonde defender did in fact secretly love you as much as you did her. Your heart swelling with happiness as she pressed forward for another kiss, your eyes rolling back at how you knew that if you died in this very moment, you'd be okay with it.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagines #woso x reader #engwnt x reader #england women #arsenal x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #awfc x reader #awfc

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tasteleeknow · 1 year

Text

pairing: minho x virgin!reader genre: smut, angst, fluff. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 6.3k requested by: anon

summary: you’re insecure, both about being inexperienced and about revealing your body to him fully. minho asks if he can show you how much he likes you. a sickly sweet, body worship, virgin!reader smut.

afab!reader. virgin!reader. profanity. protected intercourse [oral (f.rec), squirting, grinding, nipple licking]. body insecurity [no mention of body weight]. body worship. pet names.

“Would you like one?” you ask, offering Minho one of the red lollipops you kept stashed in your bag. It was a desperate attempt to distract from the lull in conversation. Not exactly an awkward silence, but enough to make you nervous. You’d spent so much time with him, you shouldn’t be this nervous. It was just that you liked him. A lot. You liked him so much you had struggled to sleep at all the night before, up late with a cocktail of nerves and butterflies swirling around your stomach.

He takes the lollipop from you, his fingers brushing against yours—one of the only times you’d touched him. Your chest tightens a little at the thought. You wanted to touch him more, very much. It was the idea of him touching you back that had your anxiety flaring up.

“Why do you always carry these around?” he asks before popping the candy in his mouth. You watch him swirl his tongue around, pushing the red lollipop in and out of his mouth a few times before he lets go of the little white stick—freeing you to answer his question.

“Oh, I—I don’t know. I just got in the habit at some point, I guess. I don’t eat them very often but…I think I just find it comforting to have them.” He pushes the candy into his cheek. “I know that’s silly,” you add.

“Nah,” he says, pulling the lollipop from his mouth and gesturing at your surroundings with it. “I think they’re the perfect complement to a scene like this.”

You look out over the ocean, the horizon a bright orange as the sun disappears over the curve of the earth. This was the third time you’d watched the sunset with him this week. You’d lost count of how many dates you’d been on total. Your best friend had assured you he was definitely into you. “How could you go on so many dates with someone and not be into them?” she’d said. You weren’t convinced. He hadn’t kissed you. He hadn’t even tried. You wondered if he just enjoyed your company, if he wasn’t attracted to you at all but was too kind to break it off.

You had no doubt he knew you were attracted to him. You were incapable of subtly, not when it came to him anyway. “Are you free tomorrow?” he asks, legs swinging over the ledge you both sit on.

“Mm, I think so.”

“So you can be out late?”

“Is there something else you wanted to do?”

“I made a pudding,” he says, looking a little nervous. You’d never seen him nervous before. Not visibly, anyway. “I thought maybe you’d like to come to mine and try it.”

You brain blanks. You’d never been to his place before, nor him yours. Words. Words are good. You definitely should say some words. “I—I mean—”

“It’s alright, no pressure,” he says, picking himself up—leaving you sitting on the ledge alone. You jump up, turning to grab his arm—wobbling a little as you lose your footing. He looks down at where your fingers grasp his forearm tightly. You drop it quickly, cheeks warming.

“I want to,” you blurt out. “I mean… I like pudding.”

One corner of his mouth curves up into a small smile, the lollipop pushed into his cheek. You want to poke the little bump. He reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers. You hold your breath. “It’s vanilla. Come on then,” he says, pulling you towards where he’d parked his car.

You lean forward on the couch to accept the coffee mug Minho offers you. “I uh, didn’t really have anything else to put them in,” he says, placing his own mug of pudding on the coffee table in front of you. You inspect the pudding as he returns to the kitchen. It was nearly to the lip of the mug. “Here,” he says, having returned with two spoons.

He settles himself into the lounge beside you and then grabs the remote, pressing play on the movie you’d chosen. You take a small spoonful, checking Minho’s attention is on the screen before wrapping your lips around it. It’s smooth and sweet and better than any pudding you’ve had before.

“You made this?” you ask, pulling his attention from the opening credits.

“Mm, is it alright?”

“It’s amazing.”

He smiles, falling back into the cushions. “Good.”

“Do you think you could teach me? Or you could just give me the recipe? I mean—you don’t have to. I just—”

He rests his hand on your thigh, halting your verbal vomit. “Sure, I can teach you.”

“Thank you.” You dig out a much bigger spoonful, waiting for him to pull his hand away. He doesn’t, looking back to the movie—his pudding abandoned on the coffee table. When you’d first sat down on his couch, your summer shorts riding up your thighs had made you regret them instantly—grabbing a cushion to hold in your lap. Now? Now you didn’t regret them quite as much, enjoying his casual touch.

You get about half way through the mug before feeling like you’ve had as much as you can fit in, still full from dinner. You lean forward to place the mug gently on the table, his hand finally pulling away from your thigh at your movement. He grabs his own pudding, devouring it at an impressive rate.

You hadn’t really been paying attention to the movie at all, focused entirely on the man next to you. Everytime he readjusts himself, fidgets, drinks from his large water bottle, you’re hyper aware of it. When you tap on his arm lightly to ask where the bathroom is, he leans close—as if you aren’t the only two ppl in the room.

The mugs clink together behind you as you leave the room, Minho taking the chance to clean up while the movie is paused. His bathroom has a full length mirror, a little odd in such a small place. It catches you a little off guard. You usually avoided them. Your mascara is a little smudged. You sigh, turning to grab a piece of toilet paper and wipe under your eyes.

When you’ve cleaned it up as best as you can you suck in a deep breath, suddenly feeling like you want to run. Run to the front door and away from the man you’d developed overwhelming feelings for, feelings that frankly scared you.

He’d touched you more tonight than he had in the few months you’d known him. You’d met through a friend, seeing him occasionally at group gatherings. He made you feel seen, making an effort to ask you how you were every time you saw him. He even remembered the little things you mentioned about yourself. He heard you and he cared enough to remember. You weren’t aware you were going on dates until the fourth time you spent time alone.

You’d gone indoor rock-climbing and after managing only half the kids' wall he’d confessed it was a bad idea for a date. He’d heard you mention it was something you’d always wanted to try and decided to give it ago, despite his fear of heights. You’d been so distracted by the word ‘date’ you hadn’t noticed his ears turning a bright red. “I’m sorry,” he’d said, having ended the session early. “Do you want to come to the beach with me instead?” you’d replied, instigating your first ever sunset date.

You take a step back from the mirror, turning side to side to inspect your body. All his casual touches were leading up to something, and you wanted so badly to be the type of person who could lean into it—to show him how much you wanted him. You think about all the people you’d pushed away, unable to overcome your insecurities enough to be vulnerable with them in that way.

You didn’t know how to bring it up to him, that you hadn’t done this before. You were so amazed someone like him could be interested in you at all, revealing something like that could scare him off. You lift your shirt to touch your stomach. Even if he wasn’t scared off, you might make the experience so terrible he’d never try again. You had no idea what the fuck you were doing.

You lean over the sink, wetting your hands and pressing the cold water to your neck. The things you want in life could sometimes be found outside your comfort zone. Or something. Your best friend had given you a pep talk a few days ago when you’d been unable to keep in all your anxieties. You huff out a small laugh, amused one of her rambling inspirational speeches actually stuck in your mind a little.

When you reemerge the balcony door is wide open, Minho leans against the railing—looking out at the city lights. You take one final deep breath then follow him out, deciding to be brave and placing one of your hands gently over his. He looks down at your hands, then to you. When he pulls his hand away your heart drops. Then he turns to face you, placing his hand at your waist. All your concentration goes into keeping your breathing even. You imagine a little crew in your brain, panicking and sending all resources to maintain an outward appearance of calm. You hope it’s working.

He pulls you a little closer, his eyes dropping to your mouth before looking up again. “Did you really like my pudding or were you just being nice?”

Not what you were expecting. You blink a few times as you attempt to regather your thoughts. “I liked it, really. It was the nicest pudding I've ever had. I really would like you to teach me how you made it.”

“So sweet,” he mutters, mouth curving into one of his little half smiles. You drop your eyes to his chest, totally unprepared to deal with a comment like that. It doesn’t stop him from continuing. “Do you know how sweet you are? What it does to me? Drives me fucking crazy.”

You can’t help looking up at his eyes, a little shocked by his language. He was always so soft around you, including his language. “Like that,” he continues. “Your eyes right now, all wide and innocent. I’ve tried…to wait for you to show me you’re ready. That you want me. Then you showed up today in those little shorts, smiling at me like the fucking sun.” His hand at your waist moves up and down, a gentle caress. “Can I have you? Please? Tell me I can have you.”

You know you’ve failed at keeping a calm outward appearance, your chest rises and falls erratically. You lift your hands to your cheeks, they’re burning. He drops his hand from your waist, both his hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your hands from your face gently.

“Please,” he breathes.

Good things are outside your comfort zone, you repeat in your head. If this worked out you were going to buy your friend a car full of her favourite snacks… and a puppy. A million puppies. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. He keeps his hold on your wrists, holding your arms up on each side of you. It isn’t until you pull away that he drops them, wrapping both arms around you to pull you tightly against him. He resumes the kiss you’d started. His lips are pillowy against yours. He tastes like the pudding he’d devoured. You wrap your arms around his neck and he turns you, pushing you back until you’re pressed into the wall.

By the time he pulls his lips from yours you’re practically panting, attempting to catch your breath. Each of his arms frame your head against the wall. “Was that a yes?” he says, breath equally uneven.

You’re confused for a second, completely lost. Yes?… oh. Can I have you? You drop your eyes to his chest again. Was this the right moment to tell him? You imagined him backing away, trying to find the words to tell you he wasn’t into you enough to deal with the baggage.

“I—It’s just…”

He drops his hands from the wall, taking a small step back. He looks vulnerable, but he’s quiet—waiting for you to finish.

“I’ve never really done this before. I don’t want you to sign up for this—for me—and then back out. I don’t think I can handle it,” you finish, sucking in a deep shaky breath.

“Why would I back out?”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never been in a real relationship, I’ve never liked someone like this, I’ve never—” you pause, all the courage draining from your body. He takes a small step towards you again.

“Never…?”

“Slept with anyone.”

He presses one hand to the wall again, the other brushing your hair over your shoulder. “I’m not asking to fuck you, I’m asking you to be mine. You tell me if you ever want to give the rest a try, and I’m here.” His palm moves up to cup your cheek. “I’ve got you,” he whispers.

“But I do,” you whisper back. You’re not sure why you’re both being quiet. There’s no one to overhear. You’re grateful for it anyway, the words are easier to get out in hushed tones. “I do want to, I really, really want to.”

He smiles, then presses his lips to yours softly. “Really, really?,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice taking on a teasing tone you were very used to at this point.

“Are you sure you want me? In that way…”

“I really, really want you. I want you if you want to stay here with me tonight and let me show you how good I can make you feel…and I want you if you want to wait. I just want you, whichever way you’ll let me have you.”

“Why?”

“I spend any free day I have with you.” He takes one of your hands and presses it to his chest, over his heart. “You make me feel steady. You make my life feel bright, and warm…and hopeful…” He presses his forehead to yours. You close your eyes. “I want to make yours warm too. I want to give you what you give me. Let me,” he finishes.

His lips hover over yours, brushing them so lightly it tickles. You press forward suddenly, pushing into him hard. He stumbles back a step, huffing a laugh into your mouth and wrapping his arms around you.

You’d spent months with him, hearing all his worries and hopes and dreams. He made you nervous and giddy and now finally… hopeful. Hopeful that he might want you back the same way. His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, thumb brushing against your skin. You crash back down, remembering why you hadn’t had this before. How you’d looked in the mirror minutes before. You take a big step back, his arms dropping from you.

“S-Sorry,” you sputter out, stepping back again until your back hits the wall. “I don’t think I can do this.”

You watch his face fall, his sad eyes making you hate yourself more. Coward. “This?” he asks, gesturing between you. “As in right now? Or this as in us in general?”

“General. In general. I’m just not—I’m not right.”

He frowns, one foot stepping towards you and then he hesitates—keeping his distance. “Not right?” he asks, brows furrowed in confusion. You sigh, suddenly exhausted. He rocks forward a little, like he’s deciding whether to stay away, and then steps towards you slowly. “What do you mean ‘not right’?” he asks again.

Your eyes trail up his body as he steps closer. When he stops, directly in front of you again, you lift one finger to trace down his face. “Do you know how lovely you are? How beautiful? In every way,” you whisper.

He lifts his hand to take your wrist. “What do you mean by ‘not right’?” he repeats.

“For you.”

“Shouldn’t I decide that for myself? I choose you. I want you. You’re everything.”

“You haven’t seen me,” you blurt out, instantly regretting it. You drop your eyes to the ground.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Fully? Is that what you mean? Without clothes?”

You groan, more embarrassed than you’ve ever been in your life. He lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Can you trust me enough to believe me when I say I think you’re perfect. I’m so—” he pauses, eyes flicking across your face. “I really, really like you,” he says, lips curving a little. “Let me show you how much? Just say stop whenever you need. I just want to show you how beautiful you are, hm?”

“You’re…you’re sure?”

“Really, really sure.” He offers you a small reassuring smile.

You’re quiet for a moment, considering if you really were brave enough for this. Then you look up at him, patiently waiting for you. You reach down to take his hand, pulling him with you as you re enter his apartment. You lead him past his bathroom, to the closed door you’d seen earlier. It had to be his bedroom. You stop with your hand on the door knob, looking up at him for permission. He presses his hand over yours, pressing the handle down and pushing the door open. Then he takes the lead, pulling you slowly into the room.

He lets go of your hand to walk around the bed and flick a small light on, filling the room with a soft light. You’re grateful he didn’t go for the ceiling light. He unbuttons the top of his shirt as he approaches you. “Will you do the rest for me?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, beginning with the button second from the top. You’re amazed at the steadiness of your hands, especially considering the rate at which your heart is beating in your chest. You keep your eyes directly ahead of you, on each new patch of his skin you reveal as you work your way down.

When the last button is freed, and each side of the shirt falls open to reveal his bare torso, you can’t help reaching up to press each of your palms on his chest. He’s so warm—and if you concentrate, you can feel his heart beating in his chest. You run your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, pushing the white button-down shirt off as you go. You come back to yourself as it hits the ground, pulling your hands from him quickly.

He wraps his fingers around your wrists, preventing you from retreating completely. You look up into his eyes as he places your hands on his chest again. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice taking on a gentle tone. Even gentler than usual. “You can touch me. Wherever you like.”

You smile, then push—hard enough for him to fall back onto the bed. A look of determination crosses his face and he reaches for you, pulling you back down with him. “Got you,” he mutters just before pressing his lips to yours. He rolls over you, pressing his body down into yours—not all his weight, just enough to feel comforting. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he says between kisses. You hum against his mouth and he pulls back just enough to speak. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you answer before pulling him back down again. You’re so consumed by him you forget all your worries for a few blissful minutes.

It isn’t until his hand slips under the hem of your shirt again you remember why you’d been so nervous. He must notice you tense up because he halts his movements. “Want me to stop?” he asks.

“No, just…nervous.”

“You’re okay.” He lifts the hem of your shirt slowly, keeping his eyes on your face. “I’ve got you.”

Your eyes flick to his pouty upper lip. You think about all the times you’d thought how much you loved it, how this small feature on his face was a part of him you adored so much. Surely, others must have those thoughts about you. It wasn’t impossible, anyway. You wonder if Minho did.

He pulls your shirt over your head and you squeeze your eyes shut. It didn’t make sense. Closing your eyes didn’t stop him seeing you. You supposed it did stop you seeing his reaction. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath tickling your lips. “Look at me,” he encourages.

You peek one eye open. He looks down at you, eyes a little hooded. “Good girl,” he says, kissing you softly. He presses small kisses across your cheek, down to your neck. He speaks in between. “Remember what I said earlier? How sweet you are?”

You breath hitches as he sucks gently on a sensitive patch of skin just above your clavicles. You picture his pillowy lips on your skin, the pouty upper lip you love so much.

“You’re sweet inside and out, aren’t you honey? Hm? So fucking sweet,” He keeps muttering as his kisses move down to your breasts, his soft lips pressing to the skin peaking out from your bra. An embarrassing noise escapes your throat. He looks up at you. “What was that? Did you make a sweet little noise for me?”

“Min?”

“Hm?”

“Should I take this off?” you ask, fiddling with the bra strap over your shoulder.

“Whatever you want. Do you want it off?”

“I—I think so.”

He lifts himself off you and you sit up to watch him move up the bed to adjust himself against his pillows, patting his lap. “Come here, I'll help you.”

You crawl up the bed, feeling a little awkward as you climb into his lap. You wrap your arms around your stomach. He presses his face to your neck, humming against your skin. Knowing he couldn’t see you, you relax a little—moving your arms from your waist to wrap around his neck. His fingers fiddle with the clasp at your back, not rushing to remove it once he’d succeeded in undoing each one. He lets go, letting the bra fall apart—the straps falling down your shoulders a little. He keeps his face buried in your shoulder, running his hands up and down your back gently.

“Doing so well,” he murmurs into your skin. A little shiver runs up your spine.

You pull back, attaching your mouth to his quickly—distracting him with your lips as you slip the bra down your arms and drop it onto the bed next to you. He pulls you against him. A few hours ago a brush of his fingers was enough to make your chest tighten, and now you’re half naked—bare chests pressed tightly together, his soft lips attached to yours. A short wave of dizziness passes over you at the realisation, pulling away from him slightly.

“Will you lie down for me?” Minho says, his voice a little breathy.

You nod, climbing off him so you can lay back against the pillows next to him. You hold your breath, scrutinising his face for any flicker of disappointment as his eyes scan over your bare chest for the first time. He climbs over you and falls forward, attaching his lips to the skin between your breasts—offering you no warning. You grip the sheets next to you, overwhelmed as he begins kissing a trail towards your nipple.

You can’t help gasping as he sucks it into his mouth, wet tongue playing with you much like he had your red lollipop. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you—too overwhelmed to feel shy about it. He groans, the vibrations against your wet nipple triggering a whine to slip from your throat.

By the time he’s given the same treatment to the other, you’re not even trying to hold back the small sounds you’re making—whining and moaning his name. Your eyes are hardly open when he moves up to kiss you, his lips wet against yours. You hardly move, letting him press sloppy kisses over your mouth. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs between kisses, drawing a whimper out. “Gonna make you feel good.”

“Min—Minho…”

“Mm? What is it, sweetheart?”

“You really—You really think so?”

He presses one last kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Think what?” he whispers, pulling back so he can see your face—a knowing smirk on his lips.

“What you said.”

“What did I say?”

“That I'm…” you trail off, unable to get the word out.

“Say it,” he encourages, brushing his thumb over your lips. Your eyes drop to his lips, wet and swollen.

“Perfect,” you whisper, barely audible.

“So fucking sweet,” he groans, trailing kissing from your lips down to your stomach. When he reaches the hem of your shorts he looks back up at you. “Okay?” he asks, fingers playing with the zip.

“Yeah,” you breathe, throwing your head back as he slowly pulls the small zipper down and works them gradually down your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut as he pulls them off your legs and settles himself between your thighs, pushing them apart gently.

“Open your eyes, hm?” he says, the tone of his voice increasingly sweet the more clothes he removes from your body. “It’s okay,” he soothes, his palms massaging over your thighs. “So soft… perfect. You’re fucking perfect, yeah?”

You suck in a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the feeling of his warm hands so close to your centre. “Yeah?” he repeats, clearly seeking a response.

“Yeah,” you whimper, fingers tangling in the sheets at your side. When his finger brushes lightly over your cunt—cotton underwear the only barrier between you—your back arches off the bed.

“So sensitive for me…gonna get so you fucking needy, mm?” he mutters, still in his sickly sweet tone—fingers brushing your skin at the edges of your underwear. You fail at keeping your eyes open, squeezing them shut as you twitch and squirm at his teasing touches. He continues muttering small praises, dragging it out until you’re desperate for him to touch you properly.

Your two minds battle, one desperately wanting to feel his fingers on you, the other embarrassed by the idea of him seeing you like that—seeing that part of you. You take in the situation you're in, how far you’ve come. You’re nearly entirely bare, laid back on his bed—nipples wet from his kisses. You suck in a deep breath. “Min?”

He huffs out a small laugh. “Mm, baby?”

“Can you…take them off, please?”

He crawls up your body, his face hovering over you—forcing you to look into his eyes. He looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening as he sucks in a breath, then closing again. Whatever it is, he decides against it—pressing a kiss to your lips so gentle a shiver ripples down your body.

He shuffles back down. You hold your breath, expecting him to pull your underwear down with the same slow patience he did with your shorts. He doesn’t. He hooks his fingers over the hem, pulling them down quickly—without any hesitation at all. You have no time to feel shy, brain blanking as he attaches his mouth directly to your cunt. He hums against you, muttering something you can’t make out.

“Feel—”

He lifts his head, looking up at you—his hair flops into his eyes. “Mm?”

“Feels nice,” you whine. “Thank—Thank you.”

He licks his lips, then smiles. “You’re thanking me for licking your sweet little cunt?” he asks sweetly.

You cover your face with your hands, unable to look him in the eyes. Then his mouth is on you again, catching you off guard. Your hips rise up involuntarily off the bed, grinding up into his face. “Knew you would be the sweetest fucking thing, hm? Thanking me for tasting you…” He presses your hips into the bed, holding you down so he can keep his mouth on you—wet, messy noises filling the room again.

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, overwhelmed by the filthiness of it all. A few hours ago you’d been fixated on his tongue circling a lollipop, and now he was pressing the same tongue into your throbbing cunt. The thought of it pushes you over the edge, Minho’s hands pushing you harder into the mattress as you squirm—riding out your high. You whimper when it’s too much, Minho pulling his head from between your legs when you fall limp against his sheets.

You’re vaguely aware of wet kisses trailing up your body, staring at the ceiling as you wait for your mind to return from wherever it just flew off to. Then Minho’s messy face appears above you, his lips drenched from completing his mission successfully. “You want more or have you had enough?” he asks, tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“More?”

He smiles. “Mm, you’ve tried my mouth. Do you want to try my cock?”

You blink, shocked at his language—still totally unused to hearing him speak this way. “Okay,” you whisper.

“Say stop whenever,” he reminds you, climbing off the bed and wandering off somewhere. You’re too fucked out to care, sucking in a deep breath and turning to look out his open window. The sky is clear, offering you a perfect view of the moon. It looks like it might be a full moon. You’d watched the sun disappear at the start of the night, and now the moon watched you.

Minho returns, resuming his position between your legs. “Would you like to help me?” he asks, offering you a small square of foil. You lift yourself to your elbows and then Minho leans forward to wrap his arms around you to help you sit up fully. You take the small square from him carefully.

“I don’t… know how.”

“Would you like me to help you or do you just wanna watch?”

“Watch,” you answer, holding the wrapped condom back out to him. “Hold it for me for a sec?” he says, climbing off the end of the bed. He stands then turns and beckons you forward. “Come here,” he says, patting the end of the mattress.

You crawl towards him, tucking your legs under you to sit at the edge. You keep your eyes on his fingers as he undoes the buckle on his belt, then pulls it through his belt loops in one smooth movement. “Do you want to take them off for me?” he asks, gently taking the condom from your fingers.

You nod, reaching forward to zip his fly down—still avoiding looking at his face. You pause when it’s down fully, unsure if you should just tug them down. His hands cover yours, guiding you up to his waistband. “You can take both off at once,” he says, leaving you a little confused before you realise he means his underwear. Oh god. You can do this. You hook your fingers into the waistband of his underwear at each hip, your fingers brushing his skin.

You tug, dealing with a little resistance until they're over the curve of his ass. You suck in a little breath as his cock is freed, directly in front of your face. It curves up towards his stomach and you absentmindedly let go of his pants, distracted. It bounces a little as he steps out of his clothes and then his hand wraps around it. You look up. His eyes are fixed on your face, eyes hooded.

“Watch,” he breathes. Your eyes drop down again, watching as he rolls the condom down his length. Your eyes flick between his twitching cock and the prominent veins in his hand. You're still throbbing between your legs. You can’t tell if it’s residual from your high, or you’ve just never come down—building back up to another.

“All good, sweetheart?” he asks, gripping himself at his base. You pull your eyes back up to his face again.

“Good,” you whisper.

He walks around the bed, your eyes track him as he moves. When he’s laying on his side against the pillows he pats the bed. You crawl up to him, unsure where he wants you. “Face the window,” he says.

You lie down against the pillow, his back to you. The moon still watches. His arm wraps around you and then you feel his breath on your neck. “Got your sweet cunt all wet…” he breathes into our skin. “Now gotta do the same for my cock.” His lips are pressed to your skin as his fingers begin caressing your thigh.

“How?” you whisper.

He pressed his back firmly against yours. “Like this,” he says just as his cock spreads through your folds. You gasp, hand reaching back to grasp his arm. He pauses, cock resting up against you.

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me what feels good,” he says, pressing another kiss to the skin behind your ear.

“Ev—everything.”

He rolls his hips. “This?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Talk to me,” he encourages.

“Feel good… your…. you feel good against me.”

“Against you where?” he says sweetly, continuing his grinding.

“Min,” you gasp.

“Where, sweetheart?”

“Pussy. My pussy.”

One of his hands comes around you to grasp one of your breasts, his movements against you a little harder. He groans, muttering into your ear with each thrust. “So sweet…wet…mine…” His cock brushes your clit with each roll of his hips, working in combination with the words he pants in your ear to wipe your mind clear. His words and his body against yours. That’s it. Your entire world.

You feel it building again. You’ve never come twice this close together before. You feel like you never came down properly, now just building on top of your last. Your hips stutter, pushing back against him hard—a flood of wetness coats your thighs. You gasp, the first feeling that filters back into your head is confusion, then embarrassment.

“Oh, god. God. Sorry—I’m—I’m sorry. I’m—”

“Shh, baby. You’re perfect,” he groans, hips still grinding into you. “A fucking dream,” he groans and then he’s over you, pressing his lips against yours hard. “You squirted, sweetheart.” His voice is the sweetest you’ve heard all night, heard ever. It seemed like the dirtier the words that left his swollen lips, the sweeter the tone that accompanied them. “All over my fucking cock, mm?”

He looks at you like you’d just offered him his favourite dessert. “You—are you going to…do it now?” you ask, looking down between your bodies.

“Do what? Fill you?” he says, his pretty lips curved into a smirk. You nod. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” you say, proud of how confident your voice sounds this time. You wanted him to know. How much you really did want him. How much you’d dreamt of him like this. “Please,” you add.

“Please?” he repeats back to you. “You can have anything. You know that? Anything I can give you,” he threads his fingers in your hair at the back of your head, holding you firmly so you can't look away. “You have no idea…” he mutters under his breath, lips ghosting over yours.

You feel him, nudging at your entrance. You hold your breath.

“Breathe,” he says, hot breath against your lips. “Breathe, sweetheart. Just relax, I’ve got you.” He keeps his eyes fixed on yours as he presses in slowly, then out again. You’d expected him to push in all the way, like ripping off a bandaid. You lift your head slightly to connect your lips as the tip of his cock works you open, teasing your throbbing entrance.

“More,” you mutter into his mouth. He obeys, pressing a little further inside. A small sound escapes your throat, signalling a little twinge of discomfort. He pulls back, stilling for a moment until you nod then begins working into you gradually again. He distracts you with his lips, with his hands on your tits, with sweet words against your lips. Then you’re full. He’s still as you adjust to the feeling of it. He was… inside you.

You’d been so convinced for months that someone like him could never want you in this way, and now he was inside you. “Min?” you whisper against his lips.

“Mm?”

“I like you a lot.”

You can feel his mouth curve against yours. “Very, very much?”

Warmth fills your chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Very, very, very much.”

“I like you more,” he says, hips grinding against you a little.

You're lost in his kisses as he works himself up, increasing his pace a little as you adjust to the feeling of him filling you. Then he starts moaning. The small sounds that slip from his lips into your mouth make you wish you’d been brave earlier—that you could get back all the time you’d wasted being afraid. He was worth being brave.

“You’re so good to me,” you whisper against his lips, drawing another pretty moan out of him. “I’ve always thought you were so lovely, ever since we first met. You were so kind and thoughtful…and beautiful.”

“Sweetest…” he mutters between moans, “...the fucking sweetest.”

“Will you come for me, Min? Please?”

He drops his head to your neck, hips stuttering into you. You wrap your arms around him, stroking his back in gentle circles as he moves against you a little more. Then he stills completely. His weight against your body reminds you of the weighted blanket you used to soothe your anxiety at night. You turn your head as he pants in your neck, the moon still bright and clear in the sky.

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

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dexlexia · 9 months

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ultra sunset - bakugō x reader

part of the monster (energy) series

pairing: katsuki bakugō rating: 18+ summary: You were in a way, a brat. There was something abut how your mind worked that made you a total brat sometimes. When you didn't get your way you'd stomp your foot and pout until your boyfriend changed his mind. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Sometimes Bakugo went with it, there was no harm in letting you act out a little. But other times he had enough of your shit and had to put you in your place. tags: aged up characters, post series, hero!bakugo, hero!reader, smut, pwp, bratty!reader, rough sex, spanking, punishment

You were in a way, a brat. There was something about how your mind worked that made you a total brat sometimes. When you didn't get your way you'd stomp your foot and pout until your boyfriend changed his mind. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Sometimes Bakugo went with it, there was no harm in letting you act out a little. But other times he had enough of your shit and had to put you in your place.

Today was one of those days. It was Dynamite's day off and you wanted to go to the mall with him. After all it had been a while since you two did something together with your pro hero schedules and all. He accepted your suggestion to go to the mall together. It was a nice day out, it would be fun. Little did he know how much of a brat you'd be.

After you pouted at him for five minutes for not getting you something from the nearby shop, Bakugo groped your ass and craned himself down to your level. His voice was low and dangerous as he said, “Do that again, and you're not walking straight for the next week.” Then placed his hand back to your lower back as he guided you through the crowds.

But sure enough, the rotten brat you were came out a few stores later, where you even made a small whining noise and pouted even longer at your boyfriend. He sighed and practically dragged you out of the store. That was enough of that. He kept a strong arm around you and he guided you through the building and back out to the car. He opened the door for you and shoved you a little inside before he slammed the door.

There was something feral about him as he got into the car and drove off. One hand on the wheel with the other on your thigh, his strong hand gripped your flesh as he drove back home. He kept his eyes on the road and didn't speak a word to you. When he stopped at red lights he fondled your thigh, massaging his hands deep into the flesh. The tips of his fingers threatened to slip between your legs but never did. You swallowed yourself as you anticipated your punishment.

“Katsuki?“ You asked.

”Yes.“ He replied.

”Do I get a little treat, maybe some ice cream?” You pouted and gave your best puppy-dog eyes. You even pressed your breasts together by crossing your arms under your breasts to add to the pleading.

He gripped your thigh and looked at you out of the corner of his eye, “You should be thankful if I give you anything, brat. You're not getting any damn ice cream. When we get home, I want you on the bed. Face down, ass up. No excuses.”

You swallowed anxiously, maybe you took it too far. You rubbed your thighs together and licked your lips in anticipation. Bakugo would never really hurt you, he loved you too much. Even when you were on your worst behavior, he still worshiped the ground you walked on. You could get away with murder when it came to him.

When you got back home, you went inside. Bakugo followed you like a shadow as you made your way up to the bedroom. As you went up the stairs, you started to undress until you were in nothing but a bra and panties. You sat on the bed and tried to coax him onto it. But he didn't take the bait.

“What did I say, brat?“ He asked as kept his gaze on your face. He wasn't even acknowledging the rest of your body. This wasn't a time to use your curves to seduce him. He waited until you got on your hands and knees. Then he took his belt off and rubbed the warmed leather up against your ass. He pulled the panties down around your thighs.

”Katsuki.“ You moaned and then jolted forward as Bakugo slammed the belt against your ass, leaving a welt on your skin. Your back ached as he landed another strike on your ass. You could be his good girl if you wanted to. But what was the fun in that? Bakugo landed more slaps across your ass in quick succession. Your yelps got caught in your throat as he hit you with the leather. Your ass was rosy, on the verge of bruising.

“Say you're sorry, baby.” He said, ”It'll all stop if you just say you're sorry.“

You buried your head in the covers and arched your back more, highlighting your bottom. He smirked to himself, you were a little fucking sadist. He looped the belt and hit you with the arch of it. You moaned into the pillows and Bakugo could see a slight wet stain in between your legs.

Of course you were getting off to this. You were like that, always wanting a little bit of punishment. You wanted it to hurt, that's what got you off. The feeling of your boyfriend pushing you until you couldn't sit right for a month. You wanted the hard sex, the red marks and the bruises. You were a little freak.

He landed more slaps across your ass, watching it jiggle with each movement. His cock twitched in his pants as he watched you bruise. So delicate yet you wanted it. You wanted to be spanked by your boyfriend for being a brat at the mall. It was that simple. And who was Bakugo to deny his girlfriend such pleasures. After all when everything was said and done you'd be as gentle as a doe with him. Finally back to being his good girl.

He grabbed your ass and groped the flesh, he heard you moan as he tightly gripped the tender flesh. He put the belt down on the bed and rubbed two fingers up against your bare pussy. He felt wetness against his digits. ”That's it, baby girl.“ He groaned, ”Be a good girl.“

”Please Katsuki.“ You whined as you rolled your hips in an attempt to get some friction from your boyfriend's fingers. He smirked at your weak attempts to gain pleasure. Your moans filled the room as Bakugo dug his knuckle against your clit and let the sweet sounds fill the room.

You moaned into the pillows and your breathing remained heavy when he stopped teasing you. He pushed you further up the bed, and got on it behind you. He started to strip, taking off his black t-shirt, jeans and socks. Eventually his skull print boxers were on the floor too. He came closer to you and started to rub his cock up against your wet pussy.

Your back arched and he grabbed your ass and guided his cock into your sweet pussy. You hissed through your teeth at the stretch before you relaxed against the bed. You heard him groan and then he started to roll his hips. He began to fuck you at a vigorious pace. The bed squeaked as the two of you had sex.

Your pussy felt like a dream around his cock. Even when you were a total brat, he knew he could sink into you and feel the best he could be. The tight, wet heat around his cock made his heart race. He felt sweat beginning to slide down his back. He kept both hands on your hips as he rocked back and forth. He heard you moan and whine in the pillows. That's what he liked the feeling of his girl's tight wet heat around him. It was the least you could do for him after the stunt you pulled at the mall.

”Katsuki,“ You moaned, ”Ah, please“ You clawed at the covers in pleasure as you tried to hold yourself up but every hard thrust made you nothing more than a hot heap on the bed.

Bakugo licked his lip and continued to fuck you. He was going quite rough, but you were a resistant girl. You'd be a-okay, even if it took a few days. Your bodies moved together as the bed shook with each movement. Bakugo soon leaned over you to get at the best angle and began to kiss at your neck. What started as kisses turned into bites as he let dark marks on your soft skin. Soon your entire neck was covered in love bites as he continued to pound you.

”That's it, that's it baby girl." He moaned as he continued to thrust up against you. He could hear your rapid breathing against the covers. His grip tightened on your hips, he groaned in your ear. Your back ached from the sensation of his cock buried in you. You moved as a team, even though the pace as brutual and you could feel his cock damaging your organs.

“I'm sorry for being so bad.“ You moaned.

”I know, I know. Just lie there and be a good girl for me. Then I'll forgive you for being a total brat. I know you can be good for me, so why don't you show it once in a while. He planted another bruising mark on your neck. You held onto the covers and let him bruise your cervix with his powerful thrusts. The slick sound of sex paired well with your heavy breathing and noises.

You felt the swirl of pleasure in your get as he moved against you. He pulled and pushed you back and forth with each thrust of his hips. You felt his cock all the way up in the pit of your stomach and the thrill of the ache made you more wet.

You two were getting closer to orgasm with each hard thrust, you rolled your hips to meet his pace as you felt the pleasure continue to fill your body. You felt an ache deep inside of you that was being filled by sex with Bakugo. You were a lucky girl to have someone as remarkable as Bakugo by your side. Nothing really stopped you from loving him, even when he went full Dynamite. Because deep down he cared for you, he understood you in a way that most didn't. You were both complicated people and you both understood that. In a way you brought out the best in one another, even when you acted like a brat and made Bakugo fuck you so hard your head spun. You cunt ached for him always, you only wanted him.

The two of you continued to move on the bed, the tightness of lust gripped your stomach as you buried your head further into the pillows and let Bakugo use your body. You felt amazing in that moment as with a few more hits to your sweet spots, you finished around Bakugo's cock. Your back arched and your head lifted from the pillow to finally hit climax.

Bakugo groaned as you made a sharp noise in the heat of climax, it only encouraged him to keep moving and as he continued to thrust into you, the sounds of sex only increased as you drenched him in wetness. Bakugo could feel his heart in his chest and hear its beat ring in his ears. He gripped your hips, almost leaving bruises as he thrusted a few more times at an unsteady, quick pace. Then he spilled into it, he finished off inside of you with a loud goan. And then you two were left defeated.

Bakugo pulled out and dropped onto the bed, his arms spread out on the bed to trap you in a hug. You rolled into his arms and you kept your face close to his heaving, sweaty chest. You rubbed your slick thighs together as the air in the room began to cool. He kissed your sweaty temple and rubbed your back.

Your legs tangled together in bed as you tried to regain your breath. It took a lot out of you but the pleasure was immense.

“Going to be good for me from now on?” He asked., breaking the silence in the room.

You nodded, “Of course.” Until next time, you thought as you embraced the cuddle your boyfriend was giving you.

#mha bakugou #mha bakugo #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #katsuki smut #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugō #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugou #mha smut #bnha #bnha smut #bnha x reader #bnha x fem!reader #bakugou smut

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softshuji · 9 months

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𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟐𝐏𝐌 | 𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀

Title: Little Black Dress

Summary: Working for Bonten has always had it's perks, like the anonymous gifts you receive every morning. But surely your secret admirer and the Boss you're sleeping with can't be one and the same... right? (see a/n at the bottom) reblogs appreciated! Link to masterlist here!

cw: fem!reader, boss/employee relationship, pet names (pretty girl, good girl) izana and reader both have a sir kink (I'm sorry), alcohol, assumed unrequited feelings (he's a bit dense and awkward), jealousy, implied panty stealing, unprotected sex, ptv, possessiveness, thigh riding, foreplay, a hint of degradation (it's not much promise), biting, marking, orgasm denial, breeding, hair pulling, light choking, loads of praise, it's pure filth i'm sorry. MDNI. This is my first time writing NSFW so be nice yeah?

You and Izana like playing games.

The kind where you pretend like you’re using each other for some purpose or other, ravenous appetites that you sate till you’ve had your fill, two equally gluttonous, hungry people who don’t mind the copious sex and the copious money and all the splashed cash that you think might suffice enough for you not to talk about the type of relationship you have.

Maybe it’s because he’s your boss, and you’re his subordinate and you have long foregone that boundary that separates you as something more but you’ve never questioned it, why he calls you into his office to sit you on his lap with his fingers dancing over your skin, a ghost of a touch that often slips between your legs. By accident of course, as if it’s your own needs and desires that he’s relieving, and not the fact that his skin thrums and his stomach jumps when you buck your hips against his hand to chase the friction he’s denying you by pulling you along to cynically laugh at in desperation.

Maybe it’s because in the late hours, long after the sunset has bled into a cobalt blue night, he finds you still here, at work in an office, the dress he gifted you still sitting pristine in a box on the desk, looking over accounts and reports and emails that you’d sworn couldn’t wait till morning.

And maybe that’s how it had started, closer to midnight, and he’d found you for the first time, in the dress you’d been sent by an anonymous sender that swelled from where your hips were flush against the fabric, all curves and shadows and accented silk that had his cheeks flushing, as if he hadn’t stolen into your house to read your sizes during your absence.

Not that he’d stopped after that, and perhaps if you’d bothered to check your undergarments drawer you’d have noticed the worryingly thin stash of black lace panties that you could swear wasn’t half as short in supply last time you checked.

Some habits are hard to break, no? And really, did it matter when there was always something on your desk to make up for it at the end of the week? A pearl necklace, coral shell pink and rose gold that sat against your skin, jade earrings and dainty Rolex watches that the others marvel at when they catch your eye in the mornings, all sleep and slumber still caked under their eyes marred by half-shadows.

‘That’s Pretty,’ Ran says and holds up your wrist to the light, your palm now stroked by his long and lithe fingers, the callouses grazing the sharp indent of your wrist, enough to have you sucking in a breath when he grazes your knuckles achingly slow, torturous in the way he likes. ‘Someone get that for you?’

You’re too drunk on his touch to notice the dark and heavy glint in his eye, violet rays that splash over your arms, roaming over the silk that hugs your body, the curve of your neck where the amply applied concealer hides the heavy purple bruises left by your boss the night before.

‘Yeah, an anonymous sender,’ you say and flush when he smirks, half hidden by the way his mouth ghosts over the veins in your wrist, soft and warm breath that tickles your skin down to your stomach where the ache settles unremittingly.

‘Uh-huh… They’ve got a good eye. Pretty things for a Pretty Girl huh?’

You pretend it means nothing when the others let their gazes slide over and away from you, some forbidden thing, when Izana walks into the room, a stiffness that permeates the air then and never a moment after, once he has left and they release a collective breath trapped in equally lustful lungs.

‘Something came for you this morning,’ Kakucho says, a card slid over the table, a boutique name you don’t recognise, and a velvet box inlaid with burnished gold. You feign surprise, a raise of your eyebrows, as if it’s something new, as if Kakucho hasn’t had the conversation so many times already.

‘Why not just tell her how you feel?’

And Izana scoffs, turns towards the window where the rain falls in droves, a darkened shadow against the grey velvet curtains, the thin slap of it on the roof where it drowns the aching pulse of his heart against his ribs. It should be easy, everything else considered. He’s killed before, bled out in the snow and lived, but it seems trivial when he considers the frown that could accompany your rejection, a slice of fresh pain across his lungs that he’s convinced could be enough to kill him outright.

‘Again?’ you say, and the thin gold chain slips out onto your palm, the light dancing on the marbled ceiling, a shaft catching on Kakucho’s ivory white eye. ‘There’s never a return address so I can’t even give it back.’

‘Someone must really like you,’ he says, offhandedly, his waistcoat shuffling as he lifts a coffee cup to his lips, turning away towards the mahogany table as the others shuffle towards the door, a smirk hidden behind the hair dancing against his cheek.

‘Mhm, I don’t really deserve all this though, and I don’t even know who they are.’

He turns, an eyebrow raised over the lip of the cup, a graze of his gaze along your collarbone where the dainty chain sits, a kiss of gold on your skin. ‘You deserve that and more, clearly someone else thinks so too.’

Often, you wonder if there is a game being played here, a cat and mouse that you can never grasp, constantly clutching at the end of the string as it’s pulled. They never seem worried and it should bother you, would bother you, if you didn’t feel so safe in the warm encompassing circles of their arms, your heart cradled by their rough hands, a soft touch and graze along your cheek that you pretend is only ever part of the job.

Izana finds you like that on the same night, the rain slapping against the windowpane, the soft and tinny clink of it that slips in through the open window, smooth jazz that fills the empty space in your office, underlaid between the scratch of your pen on paper and the click of your nails on the keyboard.

He knocks once, a whispery, ‘It’s me,’ that slips underneath the draught at the bottom, before the door swings, a creak on the hinges and the soft pad of his feet on the beige carpet. He holds a hand against the door, as if he’s ashamed of the sound, a frequent glance back at the empty corridor, where the overhead lights seem to pull the shadows closer, a quiet beckon into the safety of your office.

‘Izana sir,’ you say and lift your head from behind the monitor, the blue light pulling at the taut skin of your cheeks, where the tiredness clings to your skin, a thin sheen of exhaustion curling at the faint shadows under your eyes. ‘Is everything okay?’

It’s not uncharacteristic, though the two of you like to pretend it’s new every time, like it’s the very first instance of him coming to you for comfort, for warmth, a quick grab of your light that he eats so ravenously, that he wishes he could swim in and perhaps if you believed in yourself anymore, you could admit that it wasn’t just that you were convenient to sink his teeth into, that maybe you were something more.

‘Mmh? Yeah I’m fine.’ He teeters on the edge, a foot inside the office and not, a hand on the doorknob, his body angled so that he’s both inside and out, a step from foot to foot with apprehension. He curses himself then, inaudibly, for biting his lip, his hand clammy against the door, the hesitant shift of his suit that seems inexorably loud in the otherwise quiet building. He hears a laugh, somewhere far off, Shion and the Haitanis receding towards the exit, the full and raucous giggling that falls to an abrupt stop when the doors close, the tinny plink of the rain that patters on the window. ‘You’re still here?’ he says, for something to say, a furious press of his nails into his palm at his own lack of tact, and it burns that he’s nervous and hiding it this many months later, as if he hasn’t stolen into your house to run his lithe fingers along your sheets, his mind marvelling at the indent of you on the mattress.

Your eyes fall over him, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the honey of his skin where the streetlight sits so perfectly, the silver glow of his hair that kisses at his cheeks. ‘Y-yeah, I didn’t want to leave this until morning.’ Your tongue trips, in the way it always has around him, a thick and heavy film that coats your teeth. ‘Come in, I’ll get you a drink.’

You stand, and he moves, the door clicked shut as he lingers along your desk, his fingers drumming on the velvet box, a bare and quick glance at the gold trim. He knows you like pretty things, and maybe he finds it easier like this, copious gifts and sex that he hopes is enough to tell you what he can’t, the complicated tangle of his feelings barred behind the trapdoor, and really, Kakucho is right, he could tell you how he feels, and then wait for the inevitable hurt that he is so sure is coming, the icicle of pain and rejection you’re sure to stab into his heart, because he is just your boss, and you are just his employee.

You turn away from him towards the drinks cabinet and he allows a single moment to marvel at how the dress clings to you, a slip of a thing that licks at your thighs, a little shorter when you reach upwards for the glasses in the cabinet, the lacey trim of your stockings slipping into view. Maybe it’s shameful, how you wear the things without knowing who they’re from, as if you don’t know how he’ll tear it off you, run his hands along the insides of your thighs to feel the silk and satin on the backs of his scarred hands, a harsh tug of your hips to pull you flush against him.

‘You should have gone home,’ he says, a lie of course, slipping effortlessly through his teeth, and you only smile over your shoulder, a thin and watery thing that has his throat aching.

‘I don’t mind.’ You hold two glasses in one hand, and pull the decanter off the shelf with the other, the amber swirl inside lightning to gold when you move past the window again, copper light that weaves through your dress and his hands itch, a harsh and aggressive clench of his fists against his sides.

There is a slosh, amber swirling into the crystal and a glass handed over, a murmured thank you that’s lost underneath the undulating slap of the rain on the roof. He watches you over the rim, the fold of your legs, one on top of the other and alluringly splayed out so that your stockinged foot grazes his ankle, your bare arms kissed by goosebumps prickling across your skin. The gold chain sits on your collarbone, a single flash of light on your otherwise bare skin.

‘How come you came? I thought you’d have…’

He tilts his head, the sweep of his sharp white hair falling against his nose, the dress shirt slipping open as he lifts his glass to tease the patch of golden honey skin on his chest, his tie skewed. ‘What?’

‘Just….’ You suck in a breath, a quick slip of your gaze from the haunting violet burn of his eyes, to the marbled ceiling, the silhouette of him spreading his thighs on your sofa burned onto the roof, a dark shadow of opulence that has the heat crawling along your flushed skin. ‘I thought you’d be going to see a girl that’s all.’

He raises an eyebrow, a twitch of his mouth that you try not to linger on, full and pink lips glistening with a thin sheen of whisky, the translucent shine of them that you think tastes of sugar and vanilla, honey and warm coffee.

He shifts, lifts his hips to adjust his dress pants and your eyes fall, unashamedly, on the prominent bulge half hidden by the darkness, a single shaft of copper light dancing on his thigh, and you can’t help it, the way your teeth bite at your lip hard enough to hurt, a blinding flash of pain and arousal that pools in your tummy. You hate it, the betrayal of your body that comes so easily, the fold of your veins and control that comes from a few simple actions, the dance of your heart against your ribs.

‘Would it matter if I was?’ he says and leans back, the amber swirling along the crystal of the glass, raising it to his lips where the warmth of his breath mists against the surface, the imprint of his perfect lips now flecked with the heady taste of whisky, the ice clinking at the bottom of the tumbler.

Your eyebrows shoot up on instinct, the flush of embarrassment, spreading along your exposed cleavage, where Izana’s eyes drift lazily before flitting back to the pert mouth where your faded red lipstick still sits. ‘N-no, obviously not, I mean yes- no- I’m not sure.’

‘Hm? That makes no sense. So which is it?’

Your heart thrums against your ribs, an embarrassment so loud you’re convinced he can hear the ringing in your ears, the thin and tinny pressure that has red blooming across the nape of your neck. ‘I- I only mean…’ Your tongue is too heavy for your mouth, a weight that has the words drying on your whisky-flecked lips. ‘...that, if you went to see a girl, you’d be allowed, and it would be your right.’

He hums, a slow roll of his neck, where the sharp angles of his clavicles slip into view, the golden sand of his skin now catching the copper glow filtering through the window and you squeeze your thighs together in some attempt to subtly relieve the ache slowly building there.

‘So, you wouldn’t be jealous?’ he says and spreads his legs wider, his arms moving to rest on the back of the sofa, the faint warmth in his chest now simmering with a growing heat.

‘Should I be? Is that what you want?’

‘Maybe. But why would you get jealous? Don’t you have the others to give you the attention you want?’

You burn at the tone, the teasing lilt and airy whisper that melts against your skin, the silhouette of him with the rain-dashed window slicing across the pristine and pressed white shirt now unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled to the elbow.

Your tongue aches when you lift it to run over your teeth. Faintly, in some recess of your head, you hear a door slam, undulated by the thwack of the rain on the window, the occasional click of shoes on linoleum and the screech of tires beyond the 19th floor window and it’s so far away, so quiet when you’re here so high up and the ringing in your ears has a constant hammer to your skull.

You lick your lips and his eyes flick to your tongue peeking out. ‘That’s true but, what if it’s not their attention I want so much?’

‘Oh? And whose attention do you want?’

You bite the inside of your cheek, uncross your legs and cut your eyes to the decanter on the table, the empty glass still poised between two lithe fingers and there is a beat, a long and draining silence that swallows the air between you while you let it drift and hang, your eyes flitting between the violet haze roaming your skin and his lips where the aftertaste of whisky lingers.

‘Here.’ You pick up the decanter and stand, using one hand to smooth down the front of your silk slip, a barely perceptible shake that you’re quick to hide as you lean over to steady his waiting glass. ‘Let me refill that for you.’

He watches, a wolf eyeing prey, a heat between his legs that has his mouth drying, uncomfortable and thick as the tension dragging through the air.

You make to turn, the decanter set onto the table when he grabs your wrist, a tight squeeze that has your ribs closing around your heart. You turn back, a less than subtle squeeze of your thighs together, where his eyes flick from the crease in your dress, to your lips parted with the thin sheen of whisky.

‘I don’t think you answered my question,’ he says, his voice a low hum as he strokes a slow circle onto the dip in your wrist. ‘I asked whose attention you wanted.’

Your tongue drags along the roof of your mouth, your palm clammy and curled into a loose fist, the warmth in your blood beating at your skin. ‘Yours, only yours.’

‘Mhm, really? I don’t think I believe you.’ His lithe fingers dance along your forearm before he pulls, harshly, a tug that has you reaching an arm out to cage him between you and the sofa. Your heart punches against your ribs. Your warm breath fans the tip of his nose, a hairdbreath from your parted lips as you gasp, your thighs now straddling and pressing him to the fabric of the sofa.

‘It’s true, I swear,’ you whisper, your silk slip riding up towards your waist, panties now brushing the rich polyester of his dress pants. ‘I’m yours, I belong to you.’

‘Not to Ran? I’ve seen how he looks at you.’

You shake your head, adamantly, the shuffle of your slip matching your bated breaths. ‘Not to Ran, only to you my Izana.’

He runs his hands along your thighs, a press of his fingers into your skin, the rough pads of his thumbs tracing a line to the swell of your ass before he pulls you closer still, a slow and languid grind against his quickly hardening cock, the press of it against your clit that has your panties dampening.

‘That’s right, I own you, so are you going to let me have you?’ And he bites hard on his lip when your hands come to tangle in his hair, a harsh tug that has a quiet gasp slipping between his lips. Your mind crumbles too quickly, and you find yourself rolling your hips, a glide along his thigh, the wetness pooling in sticky warmth, your panties clinging to your skin, the patch on his charcoal dress pants now darkening with your arousal.

‘Yes, yes I- I need you,’ you gasp, sparks of pleasure rolling against your clit, and it’s too much, the ringing in your ears is too loud, the fog in your head has your eyes fluttering, the piercing violet gaze slipping and out of view.

He groans, his grip tightening around your thighs, your soft and supple skin spilling between his fingers, silver rings that burn cold where they graze the sensitive inside of your thighs.

‘What do you need? Tell me, I want to hear it.’

‘Please, don’t make me say it,’ you whisper, breath caught in your throat where one ringed hand slides to squeeze lightly at your neck, the faint pulse and quicken of your heartbeat sending waves of pleasure along his spine.

‘Mhm, you have to.’ And he drums his fingers down your shoulder blades. ‘Use your words for me, you can do it.’

‘I need- I want- just want you to fuck me, please.’ You almost whimper at the soft sultriness of his voice hot on your ear, the warm dance of his rough fingertips along your skin, tracing a line from the curve of your breasts to your hips. He squeezes, thrusts up once, a light bump of friction against your aching clit, chuckling when you moan unabashedly at the sudden jolt.

‘Good girl, such a good obedient girl for me aren’t you? Does it hurt?’

You nod fervently, your mouth latched to his neck, hot kisses and bites that elicit shivers along his skin. He likes this, you know as much, the tit-for-tat, the teasing and pulling at you, drawing along your pain till it satisfies him, and you’d feel angry about it if the pleasure didn’t feel so hazily sweet after.

‘It hurts, Izana please, just wanna feel you inside.’ And it does, a heavy and dizzy ache between your thighs that has you shamelessly grinding on his now drenched dress pants for the barest lick of friction.

‘Mhm I know, you poor thing, am I being too mean by keeping this from you?’ he says and dips his head, a flick of his tongue along your exposed collarbone, the scent of your perfume lingering on your skin before he eagerly takes your nipple in his mouth and sucks, bites, and slides his tongue over it, alternating between both while you tug at his hair wound tight in your fist. ‘You want me to make you cum?’

‘Please sir.’ Your breath is caught in your throat, your soaked panties clinging to you, the slick of your arousal pooling between his thighs and yours.

He almost laughs, giddy with the heat from your skin, all warmth and hot anticipation that has him lifting his hips to pull his dress pants down as you eagerly tug at his belt, your hands shaking when you fiddle with the clasps, your lips bitten raw in need.

‘You sound so sweet when you beg like that- it almost makes me not want to let you.’

You freeze, the warmth in your blood chilling with the subtle undertone and the delicious promise of your pleasure in his waiting palms and you keen in response, palming at his hard cock leaking pre-cum till he’s slipping your panties to the side with a loud groan against your neck.

You’ve done this before obviously, it’s a common occurrence, him finding warmth in you, between your soft thighs, the trail of purple marks left on your neck and chest, his tongue lapping at your slick and fingers in your throat to gag on, the shaky convulsing and spasm that he controls by pinning your legs to your chest.

He kisses you, softly at first, a single moment in which he lets you hold eye contact, your dazed and watery expression where the reflection of him with his shirt pulled open and his hair in your hands peers back at him. He lets his tongue gently slide along yours, a light trace of it along the veins of the underside, a soft bite on your reddened lips, a suck on your tongue that has the saliva pooling at the corner of your mouth.

‘You’re so pretty, you know how badly I want you?’ And he teases the tip of his cock through your folds, the slick coating it in a translucent sheen. You yelp when he thrusts in one go, half of his cock slipping into your warm pussy. You grab at his shoulders for support, your eyes scrunched in partial bliss and pain. He knows you like the stretch, the burn of his cock inching its way in and it’s why he’s so tantalisingly slow with it, millimetre by millimetre, the brush of the vein on the underside pulsating warmly inside.

You mewl and bunch his shirt in your hands, knuckles white and squeezing at the fabric, practically drooling on his shoulder as he lowers you down, your slick webbing on his thighs.

‘It’s too much, I can’t do it, I can’t Izana,’ you say despite yourself, despite the forceful squeeze of your walls sucking him in, the delicious thrum of pain and dizzying pleasure rolling along your clit.

‘Shhhhh, yes you can, you know you can, be a good girl and relax, you can do it,’ he says, his ragged breath fanning the nape of your neck, hands bruising at your hips in his firm grip. ‘Look at how you’re sucking me in already, my good and obedient girl.’

You hardly have time to register the praise before he pulls you firmly, with his hands held tight around your hips, flush on his cock, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs, a gasp pulled from your throat as your eyes squeeze shut.

‘Izana!’ you tug harshly on his hair, a groan spilling past his parted lips as you adjust to his size, the electrifying zing of pain rolling with the stretch of him inside you. Your breath comes hot and fast, your chest pressed to his. He grazes his lips along your breasts, a slight bite and playful nibble on your nipples that has your pussy squeezing him further.

‘Relax, let me make you feel good.’ He sighs, a bubble between a moan and a whine as he begins a languid grind of your hips on his.

You try to lift your hips, a bit of breathing room from the hot and heavy air, to slow him down from where his cock kisses at your cervix, the press of it that you feel inching towards your tummy and you’re biting down hard on his shoulder in the process, your broken whines pressed to his skin. It aches and he’s slow about it, a lazy drawl of him dragging through your walls, the vein zigzagging and pulsating and licking at your aching pussy.

He pulls your thigh higher, hooks it further on his waist, and his cock presses deeper still, till you’re babbling a broken version of his name, your mascara smeared on the white lapel of his shirt.

‘Ah- Izana, please, more, need more-’ and it comes out as a whine and a whimper, your clit brushing against the rough fabric of his pants and you moan at the friction of it, at the way he throws his head back and bounces you on his cock, all shame foregone, the chase of your pleasure that has him eagerly panting your name.

‘You’re such a-’ he pants, his eyes clouding with lust, a dip of his gaze from the bliss written across your face to the place where his cock disappears inside you, ‘a- greedy girl aren’t you? So greedy and needy, and all mine, only mine.’

‘Only- hah- yours sir.’ You’re breathless, the air stifling hot, warm with the scent of perfume, sweat and sex, your hands finding purchase in his shirt now pulled entirely open, his hair now messy and curling around his ears.

‘Sh-shit, oh fuck- you feel so good around me, so fuckin’ perfect-’ a drawl almost, his head thrown entirely back, the languid and lazy grind of his cock now picking up speed, a ruthless thrust that has your voice breaking, grasping at him, the flexed and taut arms that keep you pressed to his chest.

‘You’re too deep ‘zana!’ And in your delirious haze, you’re minutely aware of the wet slap of skin on skin, the renewed effort to keep him inside despite the pooling of your slick soaking down to the sofa, and it’s all so wet, so dirty, that you almost don’t notice how he pulls your hair back by the root, the silver rings grazing your neck till he presses his lips to yours and swallows the moan now rolling along his tongue. He bites you hard, a yelp that has your clit pulsing and your legs tightening, and his groan is breathy, high pitched,

‘You’ll take it like my good girl won’t you?’ You’re doing so well f’me.’

‘Zana! Please- please- just like that-’ You rake your nails along his back, a scratch against his spine that has him arching off the sofa, pushing further into you, his thrusts forceful and rough, the air blown from your lungs, the shaky and dizzying gasps along the shell of his ear.

‘I know, I know, you’re so pretty like this- never letting them have you, you belong to me,’ he says and punctuates every word with a harsh thrust, your breasts bouncing and a hand coming up to stroke the curve of your spine under your dress. You shiver, a mewl and a whine as your orgasm creeps along your nerves, your clit pulsing and tingling, the drag and graze of his cock kissing at your cervix and your mind reels, the pounding in your ears so intense it drowns out the dirty squelch of your hips meeting in every harsh thrust.

‘Feels good-feels so good- don’t stop ‘zana,’ you say, pressing your nails into his skin, and in your daze, grabbing at his face to press a kiss to his bitten lips, your saliva smeared all over his chin, pooling in your mouth as your tongue sucks at his, a kiss that’s all teeth and high pitched whimpers that he captures with his lips latched firmly on yours. You see your saliva dribbling down his chin, shiny pearlescent tears streaked onto your cheeks, black caked mascara on his neck from where you’ve eagerly pressed your skin to his.

‘Say it,’ he says, his hand around your throat squeezing in time with your racing heart, a loud punch against your ribs. ‘Tell me you love me and I’ll let you cum. Tell me I’m the only one.’

‘You are!’ you fervently nod, clutching his shirt, the bounce and slap of your hips against his creating a messy and slick squelch. ‘I love you- I love you- I love you,’ you say, eager to chase the sweet and delicious high now teetering before your eyes.

‘Louder.’ He grabs your hips, grinds his cock back and forth, dragging it along your slick walls, a shaky hand snaking between the wet and warm mess of your bodies to rub smooth circles over your puffy clit. ‘Want to hear you scream it, or I won’t let you cum.’

You whimper into his shoulder, your hoarse and tired voice choking out the words muffled by the now decorated skin of his neck. ‘I’m yours! I belong to you, only you- please let me cum ‘zana.’ You don’t think of the possible embarrassment of being heard, the assistants running to and fro in the corridors hearing you moan so loud it has your neck flaring with heat, or that your faded lipstick is pressed to his collar, your sticky arousal pooling on his thighs, the indent of his fingers pressed into your hips.

‘Do you deserve to cum? Tell me,’ he says, the squeeze of your walls around his cock making his head spin, a delirious and dizzying rush of blood in his ears and you hate him, a ferocity of such loathing that has you squeezing impossibly tighter around him, shameless and broken moans spilling past your parted lips.

You’re minutely away of the brush of your dress hiked to your waist now clinging to your sweat-slicked skin, the shimmering black now folded in creases from where his hands have bunched it in his eager grasp and you gasp when his cock grazes your cervix just right, messy and wet enough to have him slipping out from where his thumb presses to your tingling clit.

‘I deserve- I deserve it- I’ll never misbehave sir- I’ll do anything, just let me cum, please.’ And you rock against him in selfish need, pushing yourself further against him on the sofa, hoping to chase your orgasm into peaceful bliss.

He groans, latching his mouth to your neck and biting hard, the tug on your hair baring your clavicle for him where he lets his teeth graze your sweaty perfumed skin. ‘Good girl, that’s what I like to hear, you sound so pretty like that.’ He thrusts messily, once, twice, his thumb rubbing tighter circles on your clit. ‘Go ahead and cum for me, all over my cock, let me feel you.’

It’s messier still, wet and gushing all over his abdomen, soaking into the fine hairs of his navel when you do cum, all translucent pearly arousal slickening his thighs, you rocking your hips to ride out the high and smearing it further, your body slackening, the hand around your throat squeezing enough to have your mind numbing and falling apart.

‘Izana, sir…’ Your parted mouth sighing and whimpering his name as the bliss washes over you, heavy and thick enough to have your eyes fluttering against his neck before he languidly aims a punchy thrust, his cock twitching against your pulsing walls.

‘There you go, that’s a good girl, I’ve got you- you going to take my cum now? Let me breed you like the good girl you are?’ he says and stills your hips, an arch to his back as he sucks in a heavy and choked breath, the squeeze of you wrapped around his cock that has his hands shaking on your hips.

‘Mhm, want you to fill me up ‘zana, I’m all yours.’ And you press further against him, into the sofa, the rough fabric against your thighs eliciting a shiver that runs across your spine.

‘Sh-shit, That’s right- all mine, gonna give you a baby and make you mine forever,’ he moans and his hips jerk, a strong and sloppy thrust against the ache inside you before he spills entirely, thick and warm rivulets of heavy cum now seeping between your legs, the soft skin of your thighs coated in a shiny white sheen.

He rides out the high, a punctuated grind that has your clit tingling with the friction, your name falling from his lips in divinity, in a soft and breathy whisper, hoarse whine bubbling at the back of his throat as his features settle into bliss, peaceful pleasure that has his lashes shivering against his cheek.

You come down together, a moment of brief quiet, the air permeated with the lingering aftertaste of sweat and perfume, warm and cloistered, the rain beating on the windowpane, gentle lashings of ice and wind that have the trees creaking beyond the glass.

He runs a hand along your spine, you sitting still there with your head resting on the apex of his chest, smooth and littered with bites and broken capillaries under the skin, a garden of blooming reds and pinks and purples that’ll fade to a violet hue by morning, the thin sheen of sweat curling his white hair at the back of his neck, sticky and plastered to his nape.

There is little talking in these moments, just the faint and steady breaths taken in time with the other, the rhythm of his heart beating wildly against your cheek and you, gathered in his arms while the ringing in your ears subsides, a tick-tock of the wall clock and the peaceful transient bliss pervading the space between your breaths, soft sighs and shy smiles that you’re eager to hide against the swell of his shoulder.

He clears his throat, a circle traced across the fine bones in your spine. ‘Are you okay? Was it…good?’ he says, the veil of his barrier broken for the moment, the shaky timbre of his voice that has your heart aching, resting gently in his palms where it has since the day you’d met, and you’d first tasted him all those months ago, sweet and honeyed and full of promise.

You lift a hand to touch at his cheek, the back of one shaky finger following the proud and pronounced arc of his cheekbones, his straight nose, the bloom of his full and pink lips now bitten down by the both of you. ‘It was good, Izana sir, really good.’

‘You’re….happy? It didn’t hurt?’

‘I’m happy and no it didn’t hurt.’ You pause. ‘Well, not in any way I didn’t like.’ And your thumb catches on his lips, a kiss pressed to the indent of your wrist, the veins jumping under the warmth of his talented mouth, a heat flaring across your skin now hidden by the moon sprinting behind the clouds.

You stay like that for a while, the rain beating against the window, so high up and far, away from the Haitanis slipping into a car on the road, the screech of tires half hidden by the heavy pounding of thunder booming across the sky.

‘Think he’s gonna tell her soon?’ Rindou says and spares a glance at the window of your office, far away from prying eyes, the darkened interior illuminated only by the patch of moonlight where your open laptop sits faded to black.

‘Mhm, maybe. But you know how he is, he thinks no one can tell he’s in love with her.’ Kakucho says and stubs out a cigarette against the top of a street bin, the rain dashing against the bonnet of the car.

‘Anyone could, especially after all those gifts, he’s not really as subtle as he pretends to be.’ This from Ran who leans languidly back against the drivers seat while the others crush their half-finished cigarettes and throw them haphazardly into the trash, the single slice of moonlight falling from your window leaving only the darkness of the night to swallow up the interior.

‘Yeah well, don’t let him hear you saying that, he’s trying in whatever way he knows. Only reason he hasn’t told her is because he thinks she’s going to reject him.’ Kakucho pulls open the passenger door and slips in, the collar of his black coat now frigid with cold. Rindou stretches his legs out behind them, pulling his door shut against the biting wind nipping at his cheeks, a shiver breaking out across his skin.

‘I guess you’re right. I wonder if she knows they’re from him.’ Ran says and revs the engine of the car, a sound you minutely hear under the layers of rain and wind whipping at the window, the two of you settled for the moment, a weak and watery peace you know can never last, that can only survive till morning, where you know that you’ll slip into the title of employee once more, where he is cold and far away, warmed only by the slightest touch of your knuckles to his as you pass in the corridor, strangers again till the night comes.

…That and you expect to find a new gift on your desk when morning comes too.

You’ve always known a little more than you let on haven’t you?

a/n: hi everyone (god I'm nervous), this was a submission for @sleepysnk sugar daddy collab (of which you can find here, i'm sorry I am so late, i've been very busy between working and finding a new job but I hope you like it anyway) as always, feedback is welcome but pls be nice and constructive about it. (I'm embarrassed enough just to leave my digital footprint here like this lmao) I love u all x

nsfw taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added) @blackfire2013 @haitaniapologist @nikokopuffs @mochimiyaas @mingodaddy @longlivebaji @sin-and-punishment @keiskyutie @bertholdts--butt @tetsutits

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #izana kurokawa #izana x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev x reader #kurokawa izana

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tunastime · 23 days

Text

Sunset in the Heart of that Green Valley

started drumming up an au accidentally with some input from the mutuals beloved. told myself it wasn't going anywhere but this so I had to stick as much as I could into just. this. I SWEAR. < lying

Bdubs can't remember a part of his life without Etho--no matter the shape or profession, the danger or lackthereof. It was always Etho, and himself, and this wild, wasted world. Or, Bdubs watches his cows on the farm. Etho joins him on his horseback ride around the perimeter fence.

(4111 words)

It's a long, slow ride a mile from the wire fence and sparse tree line that borders the ranch. It's nothing but cool wind and wiregrass for miles, soft green and brown as the spring starts to roll in. Soon enough the field will be full of baby calves and their healthy mamas, big brown eyes and full stomachs. Horses too—lots of 'em, kind natured but tough, enough to fight you but not enough to bite the hand that feeds 'em. He'll be able to lift a foal into his arms to stand it upright and watch its mother nose his armpit and look at him with those soft brown eyes. For now, BdoubleO takes that long ride along the border, listening to cicadas sing in the trees. That's not the only thing singing though. Besides the breathing of his horse beneath him and the cattle dog that runs ahead, is the soft, mellow voice of his partner, Etho, humming indistinctly.

He has his head turned toward the tree line, eyes scanning listlessly for any sign of movement. Just a couple of weeks ago, they lost a handful of chickens to a fox, a thing neither of them could stand to kill even as they went looking for it. From where he rides next to him, Bdubs can see the holster for his revolver strapped tight to his thigh. He's never actually seen the gun, for what it's worth. Not in action. Not even the smell of gunpowder on Etho's leather work gloves. He's only ever watched his thin, strong, meticulous hands clean the individual parts and put it back together. It makes sense why Etho's focus is so drawn to that tree line. He probably doesn’t want it to happen again.

Bdubs watches the curve of his shoulders under the off-white button-up he's wearing. It's loose at his elbows and under his arms, but from the way he slouches, hat tipped back to cover his neck, it's tight across his back. Bdubs sighs—for a moment, that's the only thing that breaks the silence. Bdubs' longing rings out in the stale air, and a chuckle joins the hum of that wordless melody.

"Somethin' the matter, 'dubs?" Etho says, glancing over. He can just hear him through the scarf tucked around his face, tied behind his neck. His hair is tucked under his hat, tied away nearly the same. Its just his eyes, warm and smiling, eyebrows raised, when he looks over. Bdubs scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"No," he says. "Nothin's the matter. What's it to ya, anyway?"

Etho shrugs. He shuts his eyes for a second when he does. Bdubs can picture the little frown on his face when he does.

"Figured I'd ask," he says cooly. "That was a pretty profound sigh."

"Nothin' for you to worry about," Bdubs gripes. He taps Lacey with his heels and she meanders forward, huffing out through her nose. He hears Etho laugh as he pulls away, and it's only a second before Etho's at his side again. He tugs Bdubs' hat over his eyebrows.

"Don't be like that, 'dubs!" Etho pouts. "You sounded upset."

"Quit teasin' me," Bdubs grumbles, swatting at him with the hand not wrapped around the reigns. Lacey patters to a stop as Bdubs slackens on the reigns, trying to grab Etho's hat. Etho ducks his head.

"Bdubs!" He laughs, pushing his hands away.

"Quit!"

"You quit!"

Bdubs huffs again, shrinking back, then straightens. Etho's turned away from him, all of a sudden. Bdubs goes to speak, but as he does, he hears Etho say something so quiet it's felt more than heard.

It's sunset, he's just realized. The orange light leaks through gaps in the trees, casting gold bars over the wheatgrass and dry dirt. He can see light blue leaking into orange, pink, yellow, blending into white clouds above him. This time, the profound sigh whistles out of Etho's chest. Bdubs bites his tongue. Haloed by the gold light, Etho looks like the type of things only lonely cowboys dream about. The perfect outlaw, or the hardworking ranch hand, or the kindhearted sheriff looking for love. The things you read in dime novels, no matter the flavor of romance. Bdubs feels his heart squeeze, the want pooling in his elbows and the joint of his hips. He won't sigh again, or make any other sound, not as long as Etho watches the sunset.

"Wow," Etho mumbles. His horse snorts. Etho huffs a laugh, reaching just far enough to pet between his ears. "Wow..."

"It's gorgeous," Bdubs says. He'd be lying if he said he was talking about the sunset.

Etho turns back to him after a beat. Bdubs's eyes flick up to his face, tilting his head a little as Etho's soft eyes linger on him. He can see the indistinct scarring up part of his face, near his eye and eyebrow. Tugging off his gloves, Bdubs raises a careful hand up to Etho's face. There, he tucks two fingers in the space between his cheek and the scarf over his face, and tugs it down. Etho doesn't stop him. In fact, he's smiling just so when Bdubs does. He's got nothing to hide, really—the scarf is for the dust, more than anything else. He scrunches his nose as the scarf falls around his neck.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Bdubs says softly. His hand cups Etho's cheek, thumb smoothing over the rough, scarred skin of his left cheek. Fire. They're all healed burns. His thumb dances over them anyway, like he'd never seen them or brushed them or kissed them before. Two long strands of hair frame Etho's face. Here, Bdubs tucks one of them behind his ear, still moving to cradle his face. The look that passes over him makes Bdubs' stomach fold over. He's smiling, wide and soft, and his eyes shut as he leans into Bdubs' palm.

"Hiya, Bdubs," Etho mumbles. His voice hits a low octave as he whispers. Bdubs flushes. Etho's hand falls to Bdubs' hip, both steadying for himself and for Bdubs' balance, thumb pressed into his hipbone as he leans forward into Bdubs' space. Etho's hand comes to tip his hat back as far as it'll go before it knocks from his head, scrunching up his nose as Bdubs' flush grows a little warmer, a little further over his cheeks and ears. He's smiling, though, and so is Etho. Bdubs can't help it—he was just so damn handsome, that stupid cowboy. Damn him. He keeps himself lingering in Etho's space for a beat longer, tracing out the high of his cheek with his thumb. The sun's still setting, warm and orange behind him. He can't even see stars yet.

"Can we stay?" Bdubs asks, sighing out his nose. His eyes flick behind Etho's shoulder for a moment, watching the bars of light through the trees. "Just to watch?"

Etho smiles, his eyes going all soft and round like they do when Bdubs says something he particularly likes. Must've liked that, then. He noses Bdubs' palm just a little, looking up into the sky before settling on Bdubs' face again.

"Sure," Etho mumbles. "Why not? Stars haven't even come out yet."

Bdubs grins, knocking their foreheads together, a soft laugh bubbling up in his chest before it leaves him with his exhale. Etho scrunches his nose.

Leaning forward as far as he can, Etho kisses him. His warm, gloved hand fits over the back of his neck, brushing through the close cropped hair there. His lips are chapped from the dusty air, but they're dry and warm and Bdubs feels Etho hum against his mouth. He presses back and up into him, free hand falling to his knee to stabilize himself. Etho pulls in a fast breath through his teeth and kisses him again, firm but gentle. Bdubs shuts his eyes and keeps them shut, feeling Etho's hand curl against the base of his skull, feeling them work in tandem with each other. It's nice and easy and tender in a way that curls up in Bdubs' chest and rests there, calmly. It's sweeter than anything else he knows, or damn near close to it.

He smiles against his lips, dragging his thumb in a slow line across the rippled scar on his cheek. He's so gentle with him, Etho is, as he is with Etho, up until the point of course that they're chasing each other around on foot and on horseback and scrapping in the dirt just to prove a point. But here it's intentional. Bdubs rubs his cheek and that scar so Etho knows he wants to feel it He wants to feel where it starts at the high of his cheekbone and ends just under the low dip of his eye, how the uneven surface gives to smoother skin, how it’s all patches of rough and light. He wants to see that it cuts through his eyelid and eyebrow and that the eyebrow never really grew back and his hearing wasn't always that good in that ear. He wants to. He loves him. To love Etho was to love each thing he called an imperfection.

"I'll be damned, cowboy," he mumbles under his breath. Etho laughs, just a little, from somewhere high in his chest.

"What's that?" he asks, crushing his cheek into the heel of Bdubs' hand. Bdubs shakes his head.

"Nothin', gorgeous."

"Mmh," Etho agrees. Bdubs can tell his face is warm from more than just the desert heat.

"You liked that, mm?" he says. He leans up to kiss Etho just once, sighing out through his nose.

Etho nods, stilted, still flushing as Bdubs draws himself and his hand away. There's a moment that Etho's hand stays warm and solid on his hip and the back of his neck. His dark eyes sweep over him, the clouded vision of his left still trying to focus on Bdubs' face. A soft smile lingers on his face, lifting the edges just enough to form the smile lines Bdubs loves to kiss. They're there more often than not, still fading as Etho's face softens, as he takes care to wash the grime off and soothe his skin with beeswax. They linger for a second before they, and Etho, draw away, settling back on his saddle and sitting up. He stretches, screwing up his expression as Bdubs hears his spine pop.

"Augh," he vocalizes. Bdubs snorts as Lacey does, shuffling her hooves in the dry grass.

"Let's get a move on then, old man," Bdubs teases, reaching for his reins and to prod the soft of Etho's knee. Etho jerks, trotting his horse a step away from Bdubs hands. There, he sticks out his tongue, fixes his hat, and tucks the bandana around his nose again. There's that familiar shape—sheriff to outlaw, the line of Etho's eyes honing his gaze to razor sharp. Bdubs sighs, letting himself laugh, before he jerks his head forward, pushing his hat back onto his head. He prods Lacey with the heels of his boots and she steps forward into a jog.

Above his head, the wink of stars begin to shine in the dull, pale blue sky. He can still see the lick of orange light like flames above the treeline, cascading over the red-grey and sparse green hills, framing Etho in a delicate picture. Bdubs grins, eyes settling on his partner behind him. He sees Etho's eyes squint as he presumably smiles. Nudging a little more, Bdubs brings Lacey up to a trot, and further to a canter as he hears Etho laugh, loud and clear across the planes, behind him.

In the distance, he can see the warm cast of oil lamps they lit before they left. As much as Bdubs' bones crave the man not even a few yards behind him, they ache for the cool halls of their house, warm coffee, and the light he can just barely catch in the rising night.

Later that night, Bdubs scrapes congealed fat out of the cast iron skillet Etho cooked in. His body and stomach are heavy with the meal they’ve just finished, beans and pork and cornmeal grits, the taste of whatever last few seasonings Etho had thrown in still lingering between his teeth. He scrubs the pan in the hot water, feeling out what were nicks in the pan and what was dirt. He’d hate to ruin the seasoning they’d just built up on the pan. He raises it from the soapy water after a moment, giving it a good shake as his eyes track over the dusty-grey surface. Clean as can be. As he finishes, toweling off his hands as he lays the skillet to dry, he turns back to the room behind him.

It’s starting to smell a bit like coffee and a bit like woodfire smoke, the embers of their fireplace and stove fire still filling the room. Etho has tucked himself on the couch, knitted blanket draped over his shoulders and a book open on his folded legs. That was one thing about the desert that Bdubs never got used to—it got cold quickly. The air seeped the heat right out of the ground, right underneath your feet, as soon as the lick of sunshine from the day was gone. Etho had the right idea, curling himself into the smallest spot on their worn couch, blanket drawn tight around him, enough to where only his socked feet poked out. He’d tied his long hair up and away from his face, stark white locks delicately balanced on the top of his head. Bdubs hums as he wanders over.

Etho picks up his head, blinking slowly at him. His gaze seems far away as it pins on him.

“Hi, Etho,” Bdubs says, scrunching up his nose. “You fall asleep on me after dinner?”

“Mm?” Etho questions. He shakes his head. “No, no, never.”

Bdubs snorts. As he stands beside the front of the couch, Etho’s hand comes out, his cold fingers wrapping around Bdubs’ wrist. Bdubs makes a small, startled sound, but lets Etho tug him forward and onto the couch beside him. He was deceptively strong—it was the one thing nobody would guess about him. Well—maybe not the only thing. Etho’s life, much like his own, was so different compared to the docile, almost domestic, ranch life they’d build together. Bdubs sinks into the couch cushions, and not even a beat later, Etho leans his back against his arm. Bdubs’ hum peters into a giggle.

“Y’know,” he starts. “I’m not sure I believe you. I think you might me lyin’ to me, Etho.”

“Mm? About what?”

Bdubs shrugs.

“Dunno, you looked pretty dang tired a second ago.”

Etho shakes his head, leaning back a little further. Bdubs gets the message. He shifts around until his leg hooks under Etho’s arm, until Etho can settle back and rest his head and back against Bdubs’ chest. The book rests on Etho’s shins now, all but forgotten as Etho tips his head back to take a look at Bdubs behind him. He seems satisfied with what he sees, because he shuffles to get comfortable.

“I don’t know about that,” Etho drawls, a smile tugging at his mouth. Bdubs scoffs. He kisses the top of Etho’s head, hands cupping around his ears to hold his head still. He feels that smile tug at his cheeks a little more and nuzzles his head for good measure.

“Alright,” he placates. “I’ll believe you for now.”

Etho hums, satisfied.

“Good.”

Bdubs lets his hands fall to Etho’s shoulders. As Etho reaches to pick up his book from his lap, Bdubs shifts him a bit more, sitting upright. His hands fall to Etho’s upper back, before he starts to shift his hair, unweaving it from where it had balanced atop his head. Etho seems to pick up on his message, sitting forward a bit as Bdubs begins to comb his fingers through Etho’s white hair.

It’s much longer than it’s ever been, Bdubs thinks—it must be. He doesn’t think it’s ever been past his shoulders when they were together before, and definitely not when Etho was a sheriff. He’d never get away with hair past his shoulders. It was bad enough that he got so many nasty scars from scrapes and threats and whatever people threw at him. Bdubs smooths his hand down the back of his neck, feeling out the base of his skull. It’s painful to think of what Etho had to get through to get here. His hair must be a testimony to that, the fine, white-blond strands reaching to just past his shoulderblades. Bdubs is careful as he weaves his hands through, tucking stray strands behind Etho’s ears, combing back from his widow’s peak to the base of his head.

He was a criminal before he was a sheriff—Bdubs remembers that. He remembers it because he was one, too. Pretty damn good. It was hard, though. Hard on Etho, who was just trying to do something with his life, to put his artistry to work, his craftsmanship. When he finally landed a job, the gang was already falling apart. He wasn’t even the first to leave—someone left for a damn sheriff. And Bdubs had laughed, then. He watched Etho set his hat on Bdubs head and felt those now memorized, strong hands squeeze his shoulders.

He found him again when Etho walked past the tiny 3-by-3 cell Bdubs had managed to worm his way into. Wasn’t that a sight for sore eyes? The fine line of Etho’s jaw cuffed by a high collared marshal's uniform, badge and all, hat pulled low over his eyes. He hadn’t meant to lock himself up in there, but as soon as he was out, he promised Etho he’d never go back. And he never did. He sat himself at the strong wooden desk catty-corner to Etho’s and dispensed justice like he’d never done a wrong deed in his life. They were fair, though. Nothing but fair. No blood but on their teeth or nose or throat. No blood on their hands.

Etho sighs warmly as Bdubs starts to braid his hair. He keeps a firm hold on the strands he weaves in and out of each other, working slowly and carefully as he absorbs himself in thought. He was there for a lot of Etho’s life. But he wasn’t there when Etho got his scar. He only saw it afterwards, during that first time he saw him from that cell.

Etho had described it late one night, after all was said and done between them, their bodies pressed so close in the same, small bed in Etho’s home that there wasn’t a molecule of space left. He’d let Bdubs trace the valleys and ridges of the burnt skin, tucked his face into Bdubs neck to breathe out a wet sigh. Coals and fire—not an accident like Bdubs had always presumed. He’d weaseled himself out of their gang of bandits, but it’s not always that the life of bandits leaves you. He’d messed up an order for another group, he’d said, when he finally got a job as a metalsmith. Too few bullets. It was a lie. He’d known from the shape of the man's mouth as he’d spoken it, but his face found the furnace regardless. Hot ash, coals, smoke in the back of his throat. It had been a long time since he’d been really able to see out of that eye. It hurt to read. It was too blurry to focus.

Now, Bdubs knows, Etho focuses and reads just fine. And Bdubs drags his fingers over his skin like it were any other part of him to touch. And touch he did. Hey! He wasn’t ashamed of himself! He spent a good few years loving this man and he was allowed to love him right and true. Whatever Etho wanted, Etho could have. He’d build him a terracotta and tile ranch house, with darkened oak and stained wood floors, a fireplace big enough to hang a kettle in, horses, cows, dogs, cats, wheatfields tall enough to lose himself in. The rolling hills of the valley were endless. They’d find a homestead, a life, friends, family, anywhere they went. And so they went. And they found the ones they’d loved all along just as they thought they would.

Bdubs cards his fingers through the braided hair for a final time, letting it hang loose and wavy around Etho’s shoulders. He instead maps the rise of his spine with his palm, listening to Etho hum and feeling his heartbeat.

“How’s your book?” Bdubs asks softly. Etho nods.

“Good,” he says, just as quiet. “It’s a real tough read, ‘Dubs.”

Bdubs glances over his shoulder as Etho leans back into his chest, trying to catch a glimpse at the cover. Etho’s tucked the book under his knee, though. He can’t even peek at the type of book it is.

“Mm?” he says. “Is that so?”

“Mmmhm,” Etho drawls. “I’m real deep into some equations that I can’t wrap my head around. It’s this long complicated thing that’s supposed to help determine scale and size of the fractal-izing of light, and how we can use planetary distances to figure it out.”

Bdubs blinks, scoffing.

“Etho,” he hums.

“I’m trying to figure out how this could be relevant for our growing seasons and how I can best predict rainfall in the valley—”

“Etho—”

“And I’m sure Tango will want to know all about it considering he’s making that huge telescope, don’t you think—”

Bdubs thwaps his head laughing.

“Quit!”

Etho laughs, reaching back to grab at Bdubs hands on his head. They swat uselessly at each other for a moment.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Etho?” Bdubs grumbles.

“You’re just jealous because I understand math,” Etho jeers. “It has nothing to do with how smart I am.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Bdubs huffs. “I bet you read the almanac in your spare time!”

Etho gasps, but the gravitas and dramatic turn he does to worm away from Bdubs is enough to hint that he’s doing it for a reason. He scrambles back, tucking his book behind him as he does. Blue cover. Bdubs doesn’t know many books with a blue cover. Maybe it is the almanac after all.

“How dare you insult my knowledge of flowers, Bdubs!” Etho gasps. “I just know all those things.”

“All those things about the regional weather, too?”

Etho nods, trying to hold back a smile. Liar.

“Mhm,” he says. “All of it. I’ve known it since I was a wee little boy, ‘Dubs.”

Bdubs rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure,” he placates. “Nothin’ to do with how we just moved here a year and a half ago, no?”

Etho shakes his head.

“Not at all. I’ve known it all my life,” Etho says. He can’t fight the smile this time, or the way he draws out the a of his word, his smile growing with it. He finally cracks enough to giggle and Bdubs swats his knee. Etho sticks his tongue out at him.

“And what’s the almanac say about me?” Bdubs asks, watching Etho shuffle back into his corner, looking comfortable. He tilts his head a little, eyebrows furrowing.

“You?” Etho says. “I don’t know. Nothing—I’ve never read it. I doubt they put people in it.” Then Etho smiles, adding: “I can check my book on 100 facts about B-double-O, though.”

Bdubs startles.

“Your book on what?”

Etho snorts, tipping his head back, laughter bubbling out of him. Bdubs jabs him with his socked foot and Etho curls further into himself, still giggling. Bdubs can’t help but smile, though, watching Etho break into a giggling fit over his stupid comment. He rolls his eyes as he peels himself off the couch and over to their bookshelf. Standing there for a moment, feeling the cold seep slightly into his clothes, Bdubs scans for a book. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for yet, but he’ll know it when he sees it.

In the meantime, he halfway searches for that obviously fake book Etho had mentioned. He snorts, just to himself. A hundred facts, huh?

Plucking one of his well-worn novels from the shelf, Bdubs turns back to the couch. He drops a kiss to the crown of Etho’s head as he passes and Etho is quick enough to pull him down to kiss his cheek. It’s worth it, though, as Bdubs tucks himself back against the other side of the couch and Etho’s legs tangle with his. He loves the stupid smile on Etho’s face too much to care about much else.

#ethubs #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #hermitshipping #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #fics #text #mcyt #mcyt fic #help girl how do all my aus start out with ethubs < THIS IS NOT AN AU #NOT ONE THAT I SHOULD CONTINUE THAT IS #green valley au #< haha ignore that #direct shout out to myke and shep who enabled this and also gave several good ideas #like the stupid bdubs book. and the images myke sent. ill and sick i say

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