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lovebugism · 6 months

Note

OK the fall prompt "rainy walks" got me thinking like... what if reader got upset about something and went for a walk and got caught in the rain, and ended up running into Steve who is just out walking and loving the fall gloomy vibe

ty for requesting! — steve runs into his ex while trying to escape a bunch of freaks and finds out you're running from something of your own (exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, tw mentions of toxic relationships, 1.9k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Steve doesn’t usually smoke. He dropped that habit when he graduated high school and realized he only needed a cigarette when his group of asshole friends were around. He smoked because it felt cool mostly, but also because it felt good to be distracted from his lingering feelings of non-belonging.

Now he’s got people around him who make him feel like he belongs.

It’s too bad they’re all a bunch of freaks.

After being cooped up in the Munson trailer all day, he thinks he’s developed something short of cabin fever. Desperate to get away, he swiped one of Eddie’s cigs and a forgotten zippo before heading out to smoke on the back porch.

He exhales grey smoke from his pink lips. It leaves in invisible wisps beneath heavy storm clouds. He thinks he hears a voice over the muffled sound of Dustin Henderson’s yelling. “Fucking asshole— who do you think you are?” the voice speaks, familiar in a way that makes his stomach ache. “Like, fuck you, dude. You don’t get to talk to me like that. No fucking way.”

He peeks around the corner, and there he finds you — an old ex from a lifetime ago that he hasn’t quite gotten over yet. His chest starts to tighten. He can’t tell if he’s happy to see you or utterly horrified.

You’re still dressed in your pajamas despite it being early afternoon — if an oversized t-shirt that certainly doesn’t belong to you can be counted as pajamas, anyway. It’s a white and red Metallica tee that falls to your knees, slightly frayed at the hem.

It probably belonged to Billy before it belonged to you. If Steve had to guess, you probably stole it like you did all his shirts. He still isn’t sure what came of his favorite Hawkins Tigers sweatshirt.

You come down the road from the Hargrove-Mayfield trailer, looking like you left in a rush. You’re barely dressed and shivering in the cold, walking fast like you’re angry and desperate to get away.

You and Steve broke up a long time ago, but his heart still swells with the familiar urge to protect you.

“Are you okay?” Steve calls to you as he rounds the corner of the Munson trailer.

The crunchinggravel beneath your feet goes quiet when you still. Your head whips toward the sound of the familiar voice, eyes widening when you find Steve there. Your heart starts to race — not because you’ve just run into your ex, but because you’ve run into your ex who you kinda sorta ditched several months ago.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you were okay,” he repeats with a quiet, lopsided grin. He flicks the end of his cigarette with his thumb and tries to meet your gaze. “Sounded like you were giving someone a hell of a talking to.”

Your face flares with embarrassment. You shift your weight on your feet and cross your arms over your chest — partly to shield from the crisp cold but mostly to comfort yourself. “Yeah. I’m just— I was just talking to myself,” you stammer, flashing a wavering smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “I’m good.”

Steve nods, then squints like he doesn’t believe you. “Okay… Are you sure?”

A laugh tumbles from your mouth. It’s cynical and bitter and utterly forced.

“Yes, Steve. I’m fine,” you assure with a bite to your tone, colder than the grey autumn around you. You smile through it anyway, like you’re trying to convince yourself just as much as him. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. You’re not my boyfriend.”

Steve knows this. He hasn’t been your boyfriend for a while, but something about the way you say it makes his chest ache. He isn’t sure why.

“No, I know,” he nods quickly, shrugging with his brows pinched. “But I’m never gonna, like, not worry about you, you know?”

The empty feeling in your chest starts to warm. Your nails dig crescent shapes into your arms.

“Why?” you murmur.

“I don’t know. Because you were really important to me, I guess— you are really important to me. And that doesn’t just, like… go away,” Steve rambles, shier than you’ve ever seen him. He swipes an anxious hand through his cinnamon locks. The rouge strands hanging over his forehead fall back into place a second later.

Even though your boyfriend forced you not to talk to any of your friends, he wants to say. Even though you’re not mine anymore.

It’s been so long since someone’s been this soft with you. You’re not used to it anymore. You’d much rather him be mean because at least then you’d have a place to put all your anger.

“That’s… That’s nice,” you mutter under your breath like an idiot because you don’t know what else to say.

Steve takes one last puff of his cigarette, if only to distract himself from the awkward silence. He takes a deep breath in and tosses the stick to the gravel, exhaling the smoke as he snuffs out the ash with his sneaker.

“Where were you, uh— Where were you headed?”

“Nowhere. I was just… on my way back home.”

His brows furrow. He doesn’t bother to hide his concern. “Do you have a car?”

“Nope,” you answer with a sigh. “Still don’t have my license, so…”

“Still?”

You nod, scrunching your nose all sheepish. “I know…”

“We used to practice all the time!”

Steve’s golden laugh makes you smile despite yourself. “Honestly, I’m still a little scarred from when I almost hit that deer.”

He nods at the memory, quietly nostalgic and warm with it.

That was on the way to Deep Green Cove, where the two of you were headed to meet his parents at their over-the-top lake house. He let you drive because he knew you’d been wanting to and thought the vacant countryside road would be easiest for you to practice on.

It hadn’t been.

And you did it all for nothing because his parents didn’t even show.

It was a good weekend, though. He can’t believe he forgot about it until now.

“Yeah, that’s fair, I guess,” Steve shrugs with his head tilted to his shoulder. “It took me three days to get you in the car again.”

“I’m pretty sure I cried, like, all night after that.”

“Yeah, my t-shirt still has tear stains on it, actually,” he teases with a boyish chuckle.

Your own giggle sputters from your mouth. You hide it with your palm — like you feel guilty about it. It feels good to laugh, though. To remember that you used to cry over stupid stuff like that and not shit that actually breaks your heart.

A fat raindrop plops cold on your shoulder. You wince. “Oh, fuck— I gotta go.”

“Let me take you,” Steve offers without thinking twice.

You stumble back when he steps towards you, shaking your head to dismiss him. “No. It’s okay.”

“C’mon. Just let me drive you home—”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not letting you walk in the rain.”

“It’ll be okay—”

“You’ll freeze.”

You scoff a bitter laugh. “It’ll be better than what Billy does to me if he finds out I was alone with Steve The Hair Harrington.”

You say it like it’s a joke, and it isn’t, really, but Steve isn’t laughing anyway. His chiseled features twist in concern, like your words have somehow pained him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you answer, perhaps too quickly, laughing as you shake your head. “It was just— It was a stupid joke. I’m just being dramatic.”

“Are you saying he’ll hit you?” he wonders in a quiet murmur, far too somber than you’d like.

“No— what? No!” you stammer quickly, face as screwed up as his scruffy one. You start to ramble before you realize it. “Billy isn’t like that, okay? He’s just— He’s a fucking baby, and he’s dramatic, and I’d love to go one day without being fucking gaslit. That’s all. I’d rather just freeze on my ten-minute walk back home than have him berate me about hanging out with my ex.”

A few more raindrops fall. Spots of ashy gravel turn to a darker shade of grey.

Steve grows quiet, letting the gentle cadence of water on tin roofs fill the silence. His chest aches all over again. He can’t decide if he’s sad for you or angry at Billy or grieving that he ever let you go in the first place. Maybe a mix of all three.

His hands tremble with the intensity of the swirling emotions, but it’s still in his nature to be soft with you.

“Do you wanna come inside?” he wonders, nodding back towards the trailer.

“To Eddie’s?”

“Yeah.”

“…No,” you answer with the shake of your head, face twisted like the offer offends you. It does, but only because you’re almost sure Eddie hates you now. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. If your best friend chose some asshole over you, you’d hate them too.

“No?”

“I haven’t talked to him in forever— I haven’t talked to any of you in forever.”

“It’s okay,” Steve nods, so gentle it makes you writhe.

“No, it’s not, Steve. I ditched all of you. I was awful to you.”

You don’t want his gentleness. You want him to hate you. You don’t deserve his warmth or the one inside Eddie’s trailer, practically aglow with the laughter of all the friends you left behind. You deserve the isolation. You deserve to stand in the rain and freeze.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, a newfound insistence in his tone like he wants you to really hear him. His bushy brows raise and his honey eyes sparkle, golden even in the grey. “We know why. We know it’s not your fault.”

You falter, swallowing through a closing throat. “You do?”

“Yeah. And we don’t— we don’t blame you for it, okay? For any of it. We miss you, actually.”

The crooked pink grin he flashes should comfort you, but it only makes you shrink inside yourself. “You’re just saying that,” you murmur, disbelieving and dripping with self-loathe.

“Ask Robin if you don’t believe me,” Steve tells you, smiling wider now. “Actually, she was just talking about how making fun of me isn’t as fun without you.”

You don’t want to believe him, but you glow with the faint hope that he’s telling the truth, anyway.

“Really?”

“Really,” the boy nods, then grimaces when the light rain grows suddenly heavier. His brows scrunch as he holds out an arm towards you. “Screw your boyfriend, okay? Just come inside. We can take care of everything else after.”

You want so desperately to take the hand he holds out for you. Your fingers twitch at your side with the longing to hold him, but you don’t let yourself — even though it goes against all your human instincts not to.

You’re made slightly braver than he had said we. “We can take care of that later,” he’d promised, a subtle assurance that you aren’t as alone in all this as you feel. But you often feel like you’re a black hole at times — you don’t want to suck anyone else into the mess you’re in.

“I don’t know…” you waver, teeth threatening to chatter when a breeze makes the rain colder.

“C’mon, before both of us get soaked—” Steve laughs when it starts to rain harder. All the clouds begin to pour at once. You rush to him before you can think twice about it. His palm is warm at the small of your back when he ushers you towards the trailer.

Beneath the high-pitched squeaking of the screen door, you hear Steve mumble behind you. “Dustin’s gonna fucking flip when he sees you.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: fictober!

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gutsby · 5 months

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Mr. Dixon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

Warnings: NSFW. Dad's friend Daryl! Drastic age gap!! Daryl's a dirty old pervert in this one :-) Voyeurism. Masturbation. Descriptions of oral sex (m!receiving). Dirty talk. Degradation. Slight misogyny. Daryl may or may not masturbate out a window at some point.

You had an old pair of Daisy Dukes and a dream.

Faded, frayed, and two times too small for your frame, the shorts hiked an inch up your ass every step you took across the room. Made it damn near pointless bending over before the man in front of you—he could see every inch of your butt regardless—but you did it all the same.

This was Mr. Dixon, after all.

Cool blue orbs illumined by candlelight took the sight of you in and flitted away just as fast. His hands busied themselves with the gun he was taking apart, while you reached for the bullet that had just rolled onto the floor.

“Here you go, Mr. Dixon.”

Your voice had a charming lilt as you held the round out to him.

“Over there,” Daryl grumbled, jerking his head toward the end of the table, “An’ what’d I say ‘bout callin’ me tha’?”

“I feel weird calling daddy’s friends by their first names.”

You shrugged and chucked the tiny piece of lead into the pile of ammunition like Daryl had told you to. Then you sat down beside it, crossing your arms.

He could be so cruel sometimes. Just fooling with his pistol and barking orders like a drill sergeant. Never looking at you longer than a second, and if he did, just shooting you a glare or wounding you with a scowl.

He’d been the toughest nut to crack out of all your father’s friends. No matter how straight-laced and upstanding the men around Mr. Grimes had made themselves out to be, you’d always found the fault line—the weak spot that got you access to the filthiest parts of each one. You’d teased and you’d flirted, earned a couple groping touches and open-mouthed caresses from the likes of the late Mr. Walsh and many others. But never Mr. Dixon.

Even now, sitting across from him in your skimpy Wrangler cut offs, wedges, and a skintight, starch white tank top stretched so tight over your tits the fabric was practically see-through, it was like you were invisible to him. You kicked your feet out in front of you as they dangled from the table and actually felt yourself pout at the feeling of frustration bubbling in your chest.

“I wanna help.” Sounding pitiful.

“No use,” Daryl said as he studied the barrel of the gun with an inscrutable expression, “Already told yer dad, ain’ no use for little girls on the range.”

Your nostrils flared as you started back on your feet.

“I am plenty useful, Mr. Dixon. And I— I’m not the little girl you think I am,” you fired back, sounding more miserable and juvenile with every word you spoke.

At the last, Daryl looked you up and down. It was hardly more than a passing glance, but deliberate enough to be expressive. Emotive.

He looked repulsed by you.

And, rather than dignify you with a response, he simply discarded his firearm on the table and left the room. You trailed behind him into the kitchen and watched him swing the refrigerator door wide on its hinges. Blue eyes surveying the shelves for a can of PBR, most likely.

“I can do anything you need me to,” you rejoined in a huff, desperate to be heard, “I’m twice the shot my old man ever was at my age, I can track if I need to— hell, I’m always doin’ stuff, Mr. Dixon. Things.”

You weren’t sure what rattling off your talents to a man who clearly had no interest in hearing them would accomplish, but you tried it anyway. You sounded like your father. When both of Mr. Dixon’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise and he plopped down on a bar stool opposite you, you wanted to melt right into the floor.

“Doin’ stuff, huh? Thangs?” he mocked your twang.

You gripped the door frame so tight your knuckles turned white. Daryl took a couple swigs of beer and stared you down through every swallow. He brought the can back to the counter, near-empty now, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I got a couple thangs for ya ta do,” he started, grinning, “Why don’t ya put those pretty hands ta work, throw a little apron on, and just...bake me a fuckin’ cake?”

“Funny,” you spat. You felt a surge of bile rise in your throat at the sight of his smug expression.

“Wash my car?”

“Fuck you.”

Daryl’s amusement only grew as the forbidden F-bomb flew from your lips—a word he knew Rick would never tolerate if you’d been in his presence. Presently, his eyes raked over your slight, shaking form at the threshold of the room and figured himself pretty lucky to have provoked such a strong reaction from you. He polished off the last of his drink in a single gulp.

“No need ta get all foul-mouthed, Ms. Grimes, I only—”

“Fuck. You.” Your reply came slower and a touch more measured than he’d expected. Even punctuated with a hint of a smile, making sure to stretch that Southern drawl when you added, “Dar-yl.”

It was the first time you’d ever used his first name.

You weren’t sure you liked it.

Daryl, on the other hand, felt quite certain the sound of his name suited your mouth just fine. A subsequent stir in his jeans wiped the smirk clean off his face, and he began to shift in his seat.

Before he could speak, you were already turning on your heels to leave. Formalities escaped quicker than your anger, and your fingers seemed to move of their own accord to flip Daryl off over your shoulder as you strode out the door, far out of his sight.

Meanwhile, and much to his chagrin, Mr. Dixon was already growing ill with the sounds of your parting wishes bouncing loud off the walls of his skull. Before the front door had even closed, his fingers, too, seemed to move involuntarily and do a thing they probably shouldn’t have done: touch the mound in his jeans.

He rubbed his clothed erection and groaned.

You were such a fucking brat.

Daryl had always thought with a father as eagle-eyed and attentive as Rick, you’d never reach this level of naughty, haughty, and straight up cunt-like, but here you were. Doing Lori proud the way you’d gotten another one of Rick’s best friends wrapped around your little finger.

You were good like that, and still too dense to understand a fraction of the effect you had on him while you did it. The way you’d been looking at him earlier, Daryl was sure you’d convinced yourself he hated you.

If you could only see him now, spitting in one hand and unzipping his fly with the other, freeing his cock, and finally, finally getting his fingers wrapped fast around his shaft with the sole thought of you on his mind as he did. If you could watch him shudder, close his eyes, draw a deep, jagged breath through his nose to scour the air for the faintest trace of your scent lingering there—maybe you’d get it.

Daryl slid his hand down his cock and exhaled a shaky breath. You would simply never “get it,” because he’d already promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen.

As his thumb grazed the head of his red-hot, leaking cock and imagined it was your tongue doing all the work, he had to remind himself this was nothing but a fantasy for him. There was just no way in hell he’d sink to Shane’s level and actually lay his hands on you, no—he was better than that.

He was a man of principle, furiously jerking his cock in his kitchen with the thought of his best friend’s daughter on his mind. He just couldn’t touch you.

Damn if those tits didn’t sit nice under that top, no bra to hold ‘em in. And those shorts…

Daryl felt his head drop back as a wave of pleasure coursed up his spine. In his mind, you were sucking him now, hollowing those soft, sweet cheeks around his member and bobbing your head up and down, again and again, eyes never leaving his. Maybe you’d know to cup his balls, use your tongue to draw a couple lazy shapes down his cock. Any way you wanted it done was exactly how Mr. Dixon needed it, he’d decided.

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fucked his hand like a man half his age.

Someone like you.

Scarcely nineteen and so oversexed they might burst.

The difference was Daryl would explode any second now; he had only to hunch over, pump himself a few more times, and finally shoot his load, pretending it was spraying your insides and not the floor of his kitchen.

He’d intended to do just that, clenching his jaw at the filthiest thoughts of you yet, when suddenly, a sound shook the house.

Daryl dropped his cock and looked right out the window.

Down below, outside, you’d laid heavy on your car horn. Let the noise blare a couple seconds before Daryl came bounding over to the window.

When he did, the man thought his legs might buckle.

You were standing beside his truck in the driveway, sponge in hand, soaked head-to-toe in water and soap and smiling brighter than he’d ever seen you. The fabric above your tits was translucent now, clinging like a second skin and affording his lustful gaze every inch of your torso. Your free hand was waving up at him.

Daryl inched the window open with trembling hands.

“Mr. Dixon, this truck is filthy!” you shouted from down below.

Swallowing and blinking was all he knew how to do, it seemed. Finally, Daryl managed, deadpan:

“I know.”

You placed your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes up at him.

“Have you always been such a dirty old man?”

Fuck. It was like you knew what he’d been doing, crouched over in the privacy of his home while he drooled and dreamed of fucking you stupid. He watched you cross the front of the car.

And lean down to start rubbing your sponge across the hood.

Daryl sincerely feared you might hear his loud groan the second it rose to his throat. He gritted his teeth, tried to fight the sound, but came up short with nothing to show for his efforts but a whimper slipping past his lips.

You started swirling your sponge in circles, tits shaking with every movement you made.

“Too bad little girls ain’t good for nothin’,” you sighed.

When you leaned flat across the metal surface below you, Daryl pictured himself standing behind you, taking his dick and shoving it deep between your folds. Stretching you out and making you scream into the space in front of you.

Slowly, discreetly, Daryl’s hand drifted back to his cock.

“Yeah. Too bad,” he mumbled as you bent over to soak your sponge once more. When you straightened up, you made sure to squeeze the thing over your chest so the water would douse your front. Daryl took the window frame in one hand and his cock in the other, leaning out just slightly to ask, “This the ‘stuff’ ye’s talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Thangs, really,” you answered dryly.

The two of you exchanged a brief smile, and Daryl’s hand started stroking his length.

Lucky for him, and unlucky for you, the size of the window wasn’t primed to make you privy to the sight of him pleasuring himself. At most, you saw a forearm moving gently back and forth. You bit your lower lip and kept your sponge moving in loops.

“Well these ‘thangs’ are gonna get ya in a whole heap of trouble with yer daddy if ya keep this up, girl,” Daryl warned, nodding toward your house with a wary look.

“It’s empty, Mr. Dixon. Whole place is mine for the weekend,” you replied with a sly intonation.

Finally, you stopped long enough to get a hand back down to your shorts. Facing Daryl still, you popped a button on your denim cut-offs and looked up at him with a glossy, innocent stare. You pretended to feel for something that wasn’t there, snagged the band of your light pink thong, and lifted it up to Daryl’s hungry gaze. You saw his bicep visibly strain as he jerked his cock even faster.

Back inside, Daryl was panting, groaning, reeling at the thought of you all alone in your house next door, splayed out across your bed in a baby pink panty set. He soaked in the sight of you and curled his toes into the floor as a new jolt of pleasure broke out through his body.

He was closer than he’d ever been. He rested his head against the window and watched you run your hands over your body, down your front, in your shorts. He imagined your fingers grazing your cunt and how wet you must’ve been then, imagining him right back and fucking him steady with your eyes.

For a moment, your eyelids fluttered, and a blissful look crossed your features. Daryl rutted his hips at the thought of you finding your clit in front of him—desperately wanting to be the source of that pleasure himself—and pumped himself even faster.

“Darlin’, I…I need ya. In such a bad fuckin’ way.” He couldn’t keep the tender term of endearment from dancing on his tongue. The sight of you alone had his brain on the fritz.

You slipped your hand out of your shorts and brought a couple honeyed fingertips to the edge of your lips.

“How bad, Mr. Dixon?” you asked, eyeing him intently.

Daryl whined and felt his insides churn with the threat of release. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

“So— so bad. Need to fuck ya so bad.”

That satisfied your affirmation-hungry itch well enough. You pushed two digits between your lips and started to suck.

From that point on, you didn’t need to see him or hear him or be there waiting patiently on your knees to get a mouthful of his cum—you knew it was coming. Daryl’s face contorted with a blissful, fucked-out expression, and suddenly he was pumping that space below the window full of his load, likely spraying the whole damn thing on the wall.

You stood back and admired your work. Daryl had all but collapsed with both hands planted on the windowsill, wet, brown locks hanging low in his face as the aftershocks of his arousal washed over him.

He was panting and barely able to meet your gaze. You couldn’t quite read the expression.

At any rate, you knew your job here was done.

With a hand waving sweetly back up at him once more, you eyed the mess of a man—your father’s best friend—and started to reach for your bucket and sponge. You buttoned your shorts back up and took a step from his truck. When it seemed Daryl was just then starting to open his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and called out, cheerfully,

“See ya around, Mr. Dixon!”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #smut

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projecttreehouse · 2 years

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tips for setting the scene

it’s easy to get caught up in dialogue or a character’s internal dialogue and forget altogether that they, too, exist in their own physical world. as authors, it’s primarily our job to convey the exact amount of information: the reader is on a need to know basis, but they also need to know enough to draw their own conclusions. i’ll admit, it’s a difficult task, but here are some tips to help set a scene:

- imagine the world from the eyes of your character: how do they see things? do they see the big picture first or are they drawn to smaller details that others don’t often notice? what’s pulling their attention away from the action or their own thoughts?

- breathe life into your scenes: i don’t mean the english teacher’s equivalent of “the curtains were blue means that the character is sad.” i’m talking about the blue filter in Twilight that conveys the “constant cover of clouds and rain” and the shift from the Arizona desert to the cool Pacific Northwest. think about all the small details that convey information about a scene and allow the readers to make inferences. if the character walks along a street and the yards shift from overgrown hedges with frayed yard chairs and a birdbath containing a mini swamp to yards with freshly cut grass with white picket fences and ornate wreathes hanging on the doors, you’re providing all of the details for readers to make an inference. context is needed, too, but that will be provided in the whole of your novel or short story. don’t be afraid to provide details and use figurative language.

- spread out your details: did you feel bombarded in the last tip? i provided a lot of details quickly, all at once, without spreading them between action, dialogue, or internal dialogue. i’m not going to stop you from being the next J.R.R. Tolkien if that’s how you like to write, but try not to overwhelm the reader with details all at once. it will feel more natural if you spread things out and allow the reader to feel as if they, too, are with the character in their environment. this is more of a stylistic tip, so take it with a grain of salt and think about what will work best for your novel. always go back to that and to what your character is seeing. how is this all playing out for them? how can you put feeling into the scene?

- place your characters within the scene: where are they in their environment? how are they interacting with the people or objects in it? what do they think about these things? you don’t need to tell the reader everything your character does, but provide enough information so that we don’t get lost in their movement or stagnation. it helps to have someone else read your work if you’re struggling with this part. if they’re lost as to where the character is or what they’re doing, chances are a good portion of your readers will be confused, too. check out your prepositions. are there too many? too few? use them, but don’t abuse them.

happy writing! if you need help setting a scene or have any questions, our ask box is always open!

#writing advice #writeblr #writing #writing tips #write it #nanowrimo #novel writing #creative writing #writers block #writing help #writing prompts #writing warm up #writers on tumblr #books and novels #writing tools #fiction #writers of tumblr #fiction writing #novel editing service

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megalony · 17 days

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You're Not Leaving

As promised, this is my new Dark! Evan Buckley imagine, requested by anon. Thank you for this idea I loved it and any dark Evan requests I'll happily try and write them. Let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @gillybear17 @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) tries to walk away from Evan, she knows his obsessive nature is out of control. But after a drunken night, she finds her way back to him and realises leaving a second time isn't going to be easy.

Enjoy.

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"What do you want, pal? You've been following me for the last five blocks."

Simon turned to look over his shoulder, hunching his shoulders up as his lips crinkled in distaste and panic.

Who was this guy? Why had he been following Simon since he left that bar? If he was looking for a hook-up, he had the wrong person in mind. And if he was looking for a fight, Simon wasn't the type to go round brawling with strangers.

It didn't help that the moon was barely visible behind the shimmering clouds and the street lights were as dim and helpful as a single match.

The man continued to stalk over until he was one foot away from Simon. He had broad shoulders that seemed to expand for miles and his arms were almost ripping through the thick denim jacket he wore that wouldn't even button up around his chest, he was that heavily built.

He had a heavy frame that made his shoes bash and stomp against the pavement, announcing his presence to anyone within listening distance. His hands were stuffed into his jean pockets. His face was freshly shaven, giving him a youthful look and his hair was perfectly cut into short strands that were just starting to curl and crimp at the ends. He didn't look as if the midnight air toussled his hair or touched him at all.

His eyes were the worrying factor. Simon couldn't tell what colour they would have been in the bright midday sun. But here in the darkness of the clouds, the man's eyes were raven black with tiny, glimmering flecks of white like miniture moons captured within each eye.

He looked manic.

"I want to give you a warning." His voice was smooth like velvet, with just a tiny frayed edging to it that cut through the air as sharp as a blade.

He took a step closer, hunching his shoulders higher and tilting his head down due to the height difference. The stranger was easily over six foot and he towered over Simon like a bad omen of death, here to take him down to the underworld.

"What?"

"You need to leave (Y/n) alone."

(Y/n).

The girl Simon had just been on a date with? The girl he had just parted ways with at the bar only ten minutes ago?

Why would this stranger need to give Simon a warning about (Y/n)? Why was he warding him away from her?

She was the one who had asked Simon out again tonight. They met in a cafe two weeks ago, went on a date last week and had been on a second date tonight. She was the shy type. The type of girl who had her face buried in a book and her soul hidden behind protective layers that took time to scrape through and see the girl hiding beneath. Who was this man, to her?

"I don't understand-"

"Then I'll simplify." Evan latched his fingers around Simon's throat before he could finish his sentence. He dug his short nails into his neck, pinched his thumb over his pulse so he could feel the artery in his neck throb and ignite with panic.

His left arm moved to pin across Simon's lanky, thin chest and with very little effort, Evan shoved him back against the brick wall behind him.

He squeezed his throat just tight enough to have tears welling up in his eyes and cause his lips to part in panic. He struggled for breath, gurgling and gasping as Evan pinched his throat so he only had partial use over his airways. He needed him frightened and compliant. He needed Simon to listen to what he was going to tell him and to heed his warning carefully.

"On your next date with (Y/n), you tell her you don't wanna be with someone like her. She's not your type. And you leave her the fuck alone."

"W-why?" Simon's voice was nothing but a gargle, a cat mewling in the midnight air. Begging for someone to walk past and see this altercation and help him. To get this freaked stranger off him before he crushed his windpipe or strangled him to death.

"Because she's mine."

Those three little words were as dangerous as a gun being aimed in his face. They were fire and ice, life and death, sun and moon all combined together in one big combustion.

(Y/n) was his. She was Evan's girl.

And he didn't care if she instagated this date or not, another one wasn't going to happen. He wasn't allowing this guy to take his girl away from him.

She wanted a break. She took a step back from her relationship with Evan, but he knew she would come running back to him when she realised how deeply he loved her and what their relationship meant to them both. She walked out of their flat and had been living with a friend. She didn't know Evan was still checking on her, making sure she was okay, that she got home from work safely, that she wasn't meeting strangers and getting herself into trouble.

He had left everything in their flat the way it was, he didn't move her clothes or their pictures or her hairbrush or anything in the bathroom. He was wating for her to come back. She hadn't taken a lot of her stuff with her and she hadn't come back for the rest yet, clearly she wasn't finished with their relationship like she pretended she was.

"After you break things off, I don't want you near her again. If you so much as look at my girl… well, I'll have to get creative."

The smile that formed on Evan's lips was more than frightening, more than sinister and much worse than pure terror.

(Y/n) was Evan's girl; his one and only. She was the one for him and he wouldn't have anyone else trying to hurt her or take her away from him. This guy needed to stay away from her for his own sake, or Evan would have to take more drastic action to make him pay attention to the rules laid out before him.

When Simon started to bash his hand down on Evan's wrist and then his elbow to try and gain some air, Evan obliged. He loosened his grip enough to let strangled gurgles leave Simon's lips as he gasped for breath.

"Understand?"

"Y-you're derranged-"

With a shake of his head and a chiding click of his tongue, Evan grabbed the hand that was about to land a very frail attempt at a punch on his jaw. In one swift motion, Evan bent his index and middle finger back until the tips of his fingers were touching the back of his hand, earning a howl from Simon at the same time as a sickening crunch tore through the air.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes! Fuck! Yes, j-just let me go." Tears drenched Simon's face as he pleaded and nodded his head until his neck ached and felt like his head was going to drop off.

He understood. He was listening. He knew his orders. He would stay the Hell away from (Y/n) if this guy was going to be hovering around her like a bad omen. He would stay away from her. He didn't need this kind of trouble and he wasn't getting involved in whatever mess she had going on here. This unfinished business had nothing to do with Simon. He wanted nothing to do with it.

Evan said nothing, but his smile was satisfactory. He took two steps back and watched with a grin as Simon slumped down to his knees like he was praying to the Devil himself.

He seemed to have learned his lesson.

Now all Evan had to do was stand back and wait. He knew (Y/n) like the back of his hand. She would come back to him in no time, and he would be waiting.

***

Swaying on her feet, (Y/n) leaned forward until her left shoulder banged into the familiar doorframe. Her right hand wavered and made the keychain hooked on her thumb jingle out a strange tune.

She tried her best to fiddle with the keys, but the chain wouldn't unhook from her thumb and her nimble fingers were trembling too harshly for her to find the right key. She had too many on the chain. Why did she even keep the key for the apartment in the first place?

This wasn't her home anymore.

She hadn't been back here in almost a month. She hadn't stepped foot inside, not to collect her clothes or her books or her jewellery or the little nicnacs she had made and was rather proud of. (Y/n) was too afraid to come back and bump into Evan in the process. He would make it harder to leave, and walking out with a small bag of clothes had been the hardest thing she had ever done in the beginning.

A groan tumbled past her lips and she slumped her forehead onto the cold wood, relishing in the way it cooled down her burning skin and relieved the headache pounding in her temple.

The chain finally unhooked from her thumb and when the metal sang as it collided with the floor, (Y/n) bashed her hand limply against the door.

"Evan?" His name trembled past her lips like a song she was too afraid to sing in fear of the consequences it would ensnare.

Evan loves you. That's why you're here right now. He's going to take care of you.

It was all (Y/n) could process.

If she wasn't drunk to the point of passing out, (Y/n) wouldn't have come back here to the place that still felt like home. The place she had moved into after only two months of dating Evan.

If she weren't drunk as a skunk, (Y/n) would have told herself some cold, hard truths that would make her turn around and go home.

Evan is obsessive.

He checks your phone. He won't let you go out alone without him. He won't let you take a phone call in another room.

He needs an exact schedule of your day, your week, your month so he knows every movement you make. Keeping you safe is his priority, but smothering you is the cost that comes with it.

He thinks you're the one for him and if you leave, the world will end. He is always anxious about you leaving him, it fuels the fire burning inside him and makes him controlling.

Give me your phone! Where are you going? Why don't you want me to go with you? Why won't you tell me where you're going? Can't you see I need to look after you? I need to keep you safe! Too many people get hurt in this world and I have to protect you. I can't let you leave. Why won't you let me look after you? Where are you going?!

The alcohol blocked out all of those thoughts. The vodka made them blurry, the shot of whiskey watered them down. The cocktails turned them into sludge and washed them along the river. Everything drained out of her head until the only thing left was the one truth (Y/n) could conceive. Evan loved her, and she needed some love tonight.

"(Y/n)- hey, you okay?"

When the door opened, (Y/n) didn't realise how much weight she had leaned onto the door, or how heavy her head was. Until the door opened and her body slumped forward like a pendulum.

A broken gasp broke past her lips but her head met with a hard, familiar chest that smelled like leather and pine. Her wet lips pressed into a cotton shirt that felt like the softest cloud beneath her skin and she almost started to kiss it. Her arms curled around a familiar waist that was broad and large and stocky. Her very own weighted comfort.

A large hand softly planted down on her back between her shoulder blades and the chest took all of her weight for her as if she weighed nothing more than a bag of sugar.

"Hi,"

It was clear the moment (Y/n) tilted her head back and pressed her chin into Evan's chest that she was drunk. Her eyelids were halfway over her eyes which were blown wide with pupils that were dancing around like stars. Her lips spread into a wide, lopsided grin and the soft, laboured breaths she took showed how drunk she had gotten tonight.

Saying nothing, Evan pressed his lips to the top of her head and let go of the doorframe so he could take a step back. He kept his arm curved around her waist and let her slump against him and stumble inside their flat.

Once the door was closed, Evan made quick work of bolting it shut and drawing the chain across before he looked down at the girl in his arm who melted his heart.

"Are you okay?" Evan's voice was as soft as melted butter and it made heat rise to (Y/n)'s cheeks and had her smile turning cheeky and flushed and embarrassed.

He did care. Evan was the only person in the world who cared about her. The only person she could rely on, despite his obsessive, protective tendencies that frightened her. What was fear compared to the love he made her feel?

"Can I stay with you? I d- I don't wanna be alone… or with Lacey." (Y/n) hiccupped through her words but her arms tightened around Evan's waist until he took a sharp breath. His eyes were enamoured by her and he took the time to drink in every inch of her that he could. He drank in her plump lips that looked even softer and thicker than the last time he kissed them. He was having withdrawal symptoms every day just thinking about those lips.

He raked his eyes over the dress she was wearing. Dark blue. His favourite colour. Did she dress up just for him? Did she know that off the shoulder look was going to aggravate him into wanting to rip that material off her arms and ravage her right here in the hall?

Did she know that it started to flutter around her thighs and stick to them when she started to sweat? Did she know not wearing any tights just gave Evan a better view of her plump thighs that he wanted to lay between until the world ended?

(Y/n) didn't want to go back to Lacey's apartment where she had been staying since she left Evan.

She didn't want to go there where her friend would already be in bed and she would be alone with her thoughts and the drowning knowledge that nobody wanted her. Simon broke it off with her. Two dates was all it took for him to say she wasn't his type. She seemed clingy. He couldn't get into another relationship right now. He wasn't ready for that. For her.

The only place (Y/n) could think to go that would make her feel comforted and loved was here. Her old home, with Evan. With someone who worshipped the ground she walked on and would love her like she depended on him to breathe.

"Then you'd better come in." Evan's voice was comforting and quiet and rolled in one ear and out the other, but in a good way.

He slid her bag off her shoulder and slung it on the second hook on the wall that still had her denim jacket and her raincoat hung up. He curved his arm tight around her waist and dug his fingers lovingly into her hip while he leant down and slid her high heels off her aching feet.

When she got drunk, her mind would wander. She sought the reassurance she couldn't get the courage to find when she was sober. She clung to Evan like her world, her life, depended on him. She kissed him and attached herself to him and became clingy and needy in such a way that made Evan feel like he had taken a dose of ecstasy and was on top of the world.

He knew he was needed when she clung to him and kissed him and ravaged him and begged him to tell her everything was okay. To tell her that he loved her.

He guided her towards the kitchen until (Y/n) turned to face him.

Her arms bound tight around his waist until her hands were on his upper back and he could feel her nails scratching through his shirt. She tilted her head down and suddenly smothered her face into the centre of his chest, squishing her nose against his sternum and fanning her hot breaths against his skin that was getting flushed already.

"Missed you." She murmured softly into his chest, so quiet that Evan almost missed the words. But they made him grin.

Simon had done as Evan had asked. (Y/n) had come back to him. Evan wasn't going to let her leave again.

"I missed you too, baby."

Evan kept his right arm around (Y/n)'s waist and moved his left hand to cup the back of her neck. His head tilted down until his lips and nose were smothered in her hair and he breathed in the scent of her lemon shampoo that drove him wild.

He swayed them both from side to side, feeling the way (Y/n) grinned into his shirt and he was sure she was starting to kiss his chest too.

"Don't wanna be alone…" Her voice was as quiet as the evening breeze drifting by outside. And Evan felt each word vibrate through his chest and into his heart. She knew he would never let her be alone. He would always look after her and shower her with love and show her exactly how much she meant to him.

That was why she was here. She was here because she didn't have the strength or the willpower to stay away now she was drunk. Her defences were down and she couldn't fight herself to stay away from Evan. She wanted to be loved and Evan was more than ready to do that for her.

"You're home now, you're not gonna be alone."

Moving his hand around from her neck to her face, Evan gently pinched her chin between his thumb and finger and lifted her head up from his chest. He wanted to see her. He wanted to look down into her eyes and see the stars that twinkled within them. He wanted her to look at him like she always used to; with love and adoration and wanting.

His thumb brushed across her lower lip and he tugged it down, noticing the dark patch in the corner where she had anxiously bitten a layer of skin off.

He couldn't resist any longer. He crashed his lips down against hers, tasting the infusion of vodka, whiskey and all sorts of alcoholic combinations on her sweet lips. His tongue battled against hers, winning the fight easily and stealing the gasp she elicited into his mouth.

His fingers crushed down around her hip as if making sure she wasn't a figment of his imagination trying to tease him.

Their lips parted for all of a second, just enough for (Y/n) to draw in a sharp breath to push away the dizziness in the front of her mind. And then his lips were back on hers, savouring her taste, drinking her in, swallowing her whole and consuming every inch of her that he could get.

When he walked her back, (Y/n) stumbled along, letting him drive her in any direction he wanted until her back collided with the kitchen wall.

A groan bubbled up in her chest but Evan swallowed it down, crashing his teeth against her lower lip until the metallic taste of iron trickled onto both their tongues.

Her heels scraped against the floor to keep herself upright and a dull ache throbbed in her shoulders and the back of her head when Evan kept her head tilted back and pushed into the wall. But he kept her pinned in place with his hard chest that collided with hers and crushed her between him and the wall.

His fingers roughly let go of her chin to glide back round and cup the back of her neck, curling his fingers into her hair so he could give a sharp tug and tilt her head up to be more at his level.

(Y/n) finally found some control over her limbs and wiggled her arms out from around Evan's chest so she could loop them around his neck instead. Her fingers dragged over the back of his neck and raked up, scratching against his skin until she felt him shivering against her and groaning into her mouth.

"Evan…"

She wasn't sure what she was asking him or trying to convey, but it didn't really matter. Evan seemed to have complete control and (Y/n) was more than willing to surrender to him.

Her heart rocketed in her chest and she felt adrenaline pooling in her stomach and travelling down her limbs when his hands moved. He let go of her neck but the way his chin pressed into hers kept her head tilted at just the angle he needed her in to keep devouring and biting her lips.

One hand travelled down until his fingers were splayed out in the middle of her back, pressing her chest fully against his so there wasn't even a membrane of space between them. But it was his other hand that (Y/n) started to focus on. His fingers scrunched up in the hem of her dress that had already ridden up her legs and became glued to her thighs.

With one sharp tug, Evan raked her dress up over her thighs until it was bunched over her hips, exposing her black laced underwear.

She gasped for air when Evan finally released her sore, bruising lips and though her fingers stayed curled around the back of his neck, she watched him tilt his head down. His chin pressed into his chest and his head leaned to the right so he could get a look at the underwear she was wearing.

The smile that formed on his lips was devilish and made his blue eyes darken three shades.

He hooked a finger into the lace and pulled it back, watching with glee as it snapped into (Y/n)'s hip and made her jump forward against him.

"Come're." His growl made (Y/n)'s knees go weak and she could feel herself about to slide down against him into a puddle on the floor. But his hand secured around the back of her thigh, dangerously close to her underwear and he gave a sharp pull. He lifted her leg until she hooked it over his hip and when he pulled, (Y/n) took the hint.

She lifted her right leg over his other hip and let him hoist her up onto his torso. Her arms bound tighter around his neck and she took the opportunity to smother her face against his neck while his fingers dug deeply into her thighs which would leave bruises in his wake in the morning.

(Y/n) let her hazy eyes fall closed and breathed in Evan's scent that felt like another wave of alcohol washing over her, intoxicating her to the max. Her wet lips started to create hollow kisses up and down from his shoulder up towards his jaw. And when she grazed her teeth over his skin, a dark hum vibrated through Evan's chest and made her stomach jolt.

She realised he was walking out of the kitchen and he lifted her higher on his hips so he could make quick work of climbing the stairs.

(Y/n)'s head started to spin and she opened her eyes, watching the light fixture spin in clockwise circles above her when Evan laid her down on the bed. The alcohol was starting to take a different kind of effect. She didn't want to keep her eyes open but the room continued to spin even when she closed them.

She could feel her hands trembling against the back of Evan's neck and she clung to him tighter, breathing through her nose to clear her head.

She almost whimpered when he unhooked her hands from his neck and started to retreat down her body. She thought he was leaving her. Maybe Evan thought she was too drunk and was going to let her sleep it off.

Electric sparks flickered through (Y/n)'s thighs when Evan laid on his chest between her legs and started to place open-mouthed kisses along her inner thighs. She felt his fingers hook into the top of her underwear and her head spun faster when he slowly dragged them down her thighs and flung them somewhere in the room.

"I'm glad you came back, baby." Evan was more than glad, more than relieved, more than grateful that she was back.

And he wasn't going to let her leave again.

***

Oh God, what had she done?

(Y/n)'s limbs felt like bars of gold when she brought a hand up to rub across her eyes and try to open them properly. She was thankful for the blackout blinds in the bedroom. They stopped the light from blinding her this morning and showing off her shame.

She could feel her heart rocketing up into her throat, closing off her airways when she looked down at her chest.

It wasn't a dream. Nor was it a vague memory. She had slept with Evan last night. The proof was Evan himself, wrapped around her like a blanket.

His head was laid comfortably in the middle of her chest, his nose tickling her skin and his sandy curls swept across her collar bone. He had both arms curled around her like she was a teddy he was clinging to in his sleep and his body was resting comfortably between her legs. Well, Evan seemed comfy. (Y/n), on the other hand, was aching. Her hips were bent outwards to accommodate him resting between her legs and from how stiff her joints felt and how accustomed she now felt to him laying on her, (Y/n) guessed they had been like this all night.

She didn't mean for this to happen.

(Y/n) didn't want to end up in bed with him like this. It wasn't what she planned. Hell, she didn't even plan to go back home with Simon after the date they were supposed to have last night.

Crawling back into bed with Evan only made this sticky situation worse because it made it that much harder for (Y/n) to walk away from him for good.

(Y/n) dropped her hand from her face and let her palm rest on Evan's shoulder and the touch made him groan into her bare chest.

He was always a light sleeper. (Y/n) could never walk out on Evan during the night because he woke at the slightest sound. If she moved in bed, his arm would suddenly secure around her and bind her to him like fate keeping them together. If she tried to get up before him, he would wake up and pin her down to the bed.

Trying to make a quiet exit this morning would be impossible with him laid on her like this, and something told (Y/n) this was part of the plan.

"Morning." Evan's rough, gritty voice sent shockwaves through (Y/n)'s system and woke her up immediately.

She stayed perfectly still as Evan moved his arms so his hands were planted down on the mattress either side of her arms and he turned his head to kiss her collar bone delicately. His lips worked their way up her skin, making their own path along her neck as he crawled up her body and hovered over her.

Hovering over her like this allowed (Y/n) to take a proper breath, but it also let her feel every ache and bruise she now had. Her shoulders were tense, her thighs were aching and surely bruised and she didn't want to look and see what marks Evan had left down her neck and across her chest.

"Here, take these for the headache."

(Y/n) didn't see him move and she stayed still as Evan pecked her lips and dropped a packet of painkillers on the pillow beside her from his bedside drawer. He knew exactly how rough she would be feeling and she figured she didn't look her best self either.

Her eyes followed him as he slowly climbed off her, shrugging on his boxers before he headed downstairs to the bathroom.

She didn't want to move. Her head was still pounding and when she sat up, the room tilted at an angle and sent her head swaying from left to right.

She had to leave.

(Y/n) had to be quick and leave the room before Evan managed to keep her here. He was the kind of person to pin her to the bed and distract her or he would wrap around her and sweet-talk her until she gave in and stayed here with him.

It was for her own safety that she had to leave.

Her legs trembled when she slumped off the bed and took a look around. Wearing last night's clothes wasn't an option today. (Y/n) had no idea where Evan had thrown her bra or underwear last night. And when she leaned down and picked up her dress, her lips pressed into a thin line and she dropped the material back down to the floor.

Evan had ripped it. As she tried to think back, (Y/n) had a vague memory of his hands roughly yanking the straps off her arms and tugging it down her waist. If she closed her eyes, she could hear the material shredding and the threads pulling apart.

"Thanks, Evan." She huffed to herself and shuffled towards the wardrobe in the corner of the room.

Everything was still in its place. (Y/n) thought Evan would have bagged everything up when she walked out. She thought he would have binned her things or bagged them so she could come and get them later. But she should have realised he wouldn't move anything. He wouldn't get rid of her things because Evan wanted her to come home, he would leave everything as it was because he didn't take no for an answer and he didn't believe their relationship was over.

In haste to try and make a quick escape, (Y/n) shrugged on some underwear, a bra, a pair of jogging bottoms and one of Evan's shirts. Somehow, despite all of her clothes staring her right in the face, she picked Evan's attire.

It's easier. It's quicker. Getting dressed in his clothes was quicker than fiddling with one of her shirts or dresses or fighting with a pair of tight jeans.

Her hands shook and her head pounded as she ignored the painkillers Evan had found for her and hurried down the stairs. Her eyes cast around the room to try and find her purse. She wasn't sure where she left it last night, or where her shoes were. Walking home in high heels was going to be a killer.

"What's the rush?"

His voice rattled (Y/n) down to her core and she spun on her heels to find Evan stood leaning against the wall in the hallway.

"I- Evan I'm sorry… I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have come round last night-"

"Yes you should. You came home."

She couldn't help but cringe at his words. Technically, (Y/n) did come home. This was her old home. This was the only home she had so far, she hadn't gotten around to taking her name off this flat. Her post still came here, her job still thought this was her address and she hadn't found a new place to rent on her own.

But (Y/n) couldn't stay here. She couldn't get back into this predicament of telling Evan where she went every time she had to leave the flat. She couldn't handle the constant messages and calls and how he would glare and push her behind him if anyone tried to talk to her that he didn't know.

She couldn't handle his obsessive nature that was getting out of control. She turned into his possession instead of his partner. She felt like someone under twenty four hour observation who couldn't take one step out the flat without Evan knowing where she was going and who she was going to be with.

"I'm gonna go-"

"No, baby, you're not. You're not going anywhere, you need to stay with me."

Evan moved within the blink of an eye and a croaky gasp left (Y/n)'s lips when his hands found her waist and her back suddenly hit the wall. Her eyes snapped closed and she couldn't bite back her whimper when her already aching body pinned into the wall.

"Evan I can't." Her voice was feeble and she knew he didn't believe or listen to her words. And when his lips attached to the side of her neck, (Y/n) pushed her arms into his chest and scrambled out of his grasp towards the door.

It was locked. Her fingers shook as she unhooked the chain across the top of the door but when she flung her hand in the dish on the side cabinet, she froze. The keys weren't there. Evan always kept his keys in the dish so if he had to leave in an emergency or for a last minute shift, he could always get out on time and as fast as possible.

Where were her keys? She still had her key to the flat on her keys- oh no. She dropped them last night. She didn't unlock the door, Evan had unlocked it last night to let her in.

"Where are the keys? W-where's my bag?" (Y/n) darted her eyes around the hallway but she could feel her heart dropping down to her stomach like a stone sinking into a lake.

She couldn't see her bag, she knew she had come over with her bag because it held her phone, her purse, her ID, her work ID badge. Everything important was in that bag and she had it on her last night when she went out. She must have come over here with it. She knew she did. What was Evan up to? What was he doing?

"Evan… what are you doing?" She was almost too afraid to ask.

Her eyes followed him as he pushed off the wall, dragging one rough hand across his lips and down his chin and jaw. The action was so slow and methodical that (Y/n) couldn't help but shiver. She watched him stalk closer to her, his hair askew in all directions, his muscles tense and free on display. The only piece of clothing on him being the boxers hanging dangerously low on his hips.

"I told you you're not leaving." Evan's hand was unusually soft as it curled around her upper arm and he slowly dragged her away from the door. "The only way that door will open, is if this relationship is patched up again. Otherwise, you're staying exactly where I can see you."

Bile rose in the back of (Y/n)'s throat and she shuddered as his words started to sink in.

He wasn't going to let her leave.

He had locked the door and hidden the keys. He had plugged her bag away somewhere in the flat so she couldn't find her phone and call for help. Their apartment was on the fifth floor, (Y/n) couldn't climb out the bedroom window or get out onto the balcony and find her way down to the ground without risking her life.

The only way she could leave was by finding the keys and risking making a break for it. Or by agreeing to work things out and getting back into a relationship with Evan.

(Y/n) took a step back but when Evan stalked closer, he looked just like a demon coming to claim her soul. The light from the balcony windows shone across on him and created a halo of light around him while his face and chest basked in darkness.

He advanced towards her, following her as she moved past the kitchen and stumbled into the living room. Her eyes swept around frantically, trying to search for anything she could use to either defend herself or break the lock on the front door to get out. But all she could focus on was the photos littering the apartment.

Dozens of them. Evan with his arms wrapped around her. (Y/n)'s cheesy smile as Evan rested his chin on top of her head due to their height difference. A picture of them both with Chris and Eddie on a day out to the zoo. A picture of them at Christmas. One of them with the team at the summer party a couple of months back.

Each photo showed how strange their relationship could twist. In half the photos on the walls, Evan simply had an arm around (Y/n) or his hand on her back. But in others, he was wrapped tightly around her like a predator trying to squeeze the life out of her and keep her safe and secured to him. No one else would be able to notice, but (Y/n) could tell which photos showed Evan in one of his manic moods.

His eyes always gave it away.

"Evan… baby, please don't do this. I was wrong to come over last night… I stayed the night and I hurt you-" (Y/n) cut herself off when she saw the way Evan's expression changed.

"You came home. Come on (Y/n) you admitted you missed me and I know you still love me. Let's talk."

Biting her lip, (Y/n) found herself nodding and she backed up towards the sofa and slumped down just as her trembling knees started to give way beneath her. She coiled her arms to her chest and flopped her head back on the sofa, but her heartbeat quickened when Evan sat down next to her.

He sat so close that their knees were touching and when he laid a hand on her thigh, she didn't have the nerve to pull away.

The way he tipped his head back so casually almost made (Y/n) feel like they had gone back in time to when they first bought this flat almost half a year ago. Back when (Y/n) didn't feel like she was smothered, like she was someone's possession and when she thought Evan's expressions of love were the best things in the world and life couldn't get any better.

"I never said I didn't love you," (Y/n) spoke quietly, her eyes focusing down on her hands that stayed rigid and frozen on her lap.

Her words seemed to have the opposite effect, although (Y/n) wasn't sure what kind of effect she was hoping for. But his hand on her thigh wasn't it. She felt like shrinking back and disappearing, but her body stayed motionless even as Evan leaned closer until his face was inches from hers.

"I want you to stay." He spoke as if (Y/n) didn't know that. She knew he wanted her to stay here, stay home, stay with him. The locked door gave that message away loud and clear. "You belong with me, you know I love you and I'd do anything for you. Anything."

Anything but let her go.

His lips attached to the side of her neck and when his chest merged with hers, (Y/n) couldn't stop him from leaning his weight onto her. She let him carefully push her back into the sofa and pin his hands near her head and the other next to her hip. Caging her in beneath him. Binding her to him.

"Tell me you'll stay. Tell me you'll come home to me." His words sounded like a command, something (Y/n) didn't want to disobey in fear of how he would react if she said no.

What choice did she have? She couldn't leave if she didn't agree, Evan wouldn't let her. She couldn't say yes and then disappear, Evan would find her. She couldn't start a new life without him, he wouldn't allow it to happen. And no one else seemed to want to be around her or in a relationship with her.

Evan did. He was here, he loved her, although he loved her far too much for his or her own good, he still loved her unconditionally.

When he worked his way up to her lips and stole a gentle, tepid kiss, (Y/n) watched his face hover over hers. She locked her eyes onto his blue orbs and felt his nose nudge against hers. She felt his breaths entwining with hers, his lips tickling hers as they barely touched, barely parted. His fingers dug into her waist. His chest pressed down on hers, his heart beating rapidly in tandem with hers.

"Tell me," He murmured against her lips, stealing another kiss. Then another, and another until (Y/n) felt positively drunk again and she couldn't think straight.

"I'll stay."

#evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #911 imagine #imagine #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #dark! evan buckley

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ponderingmoonlight · 7 months

Note

Hii can I request something with jealous Megumi and Gojo it can be spicy or fluffy as much as you wantt. Btw i adoreee your writting <333

I'm so glad you like my writing love, there you go <3 I don't know why I got so carried away by Gojo again, but I hope you still like it - let me know :)

How JJK men act when they're jealous

Pairing: Gojo x reader; Megumi x reader

Word Count: 3,2k (how lol)

Warnings: Gojo part escalated again and isn't that much about jealousy, language, mini mentions of intercourse

Gojo Satoru

„Urgh, this shit is so annoying. At least you’re looking hot next to me, Babe”, Satoru signs while casually placing an arm around your waist.

It really is annoying. The two of you were sent out in order to find a man who might have important information regarding three of Sukuna’s fingers. And there he stands, casually in a white suit while sipping on his glass of wine and talking to random women. But is this really the right way? After all, you smuggled into this extravagant event that seems to involve only the richest of the rich around Tokyo.

“We’ll never get to him by just standing here together”, you breathe out.

No, with all these women surrounding him, there’s absolutely no chance to start a conversation randomly. You pull up your black sleeves and look around. Damn, how pathetic these women are, roaming around as if they’re looking for meat. Some of them even tried to seduce Satoru, even though you’re standing right by his side. Well, you can’t blame them though. He’s looking absolutely delicious in his elegant black suit, probably the most eye-catching man they have ever seen.

“Maybe I need to join the fray too”, you suggest, eyes darted towards a random girl in a scandalous short dress who caresses the man’s chest.

“You? You don’t belong there, (y/n). I don’t want you near that disgusting old fart”, Gojo hisses through gritted teeth, his grip around your waist tightens.

“Too bad that’s kinda the job today. Listen, you are my boyfriend, but right now I need to seduce that man. You want to stop this madness too, right?”

Satoru signs audible, his jaw so tense that it might snap.

“But you look so good in that black dress babe”, Satoru mutters.

“And I do that just for you, okay? Just please, let me do my job darling.”

“I could rip out his fingers one by one until he tells me the truth, y’know”, he breathes against your ear.

You can’t help but let out a little giggle. It’s always like that. Satoru is so possessive over you that it’s making your life hard sometimes. As if he doesn’t know that he’s walking sex himself, as if your heart wouldn’t belong to only him.

“Come on, we both know you’d never do that. How do I look?”

You push your skin tight black dress up to make your cleavage look even better, fingers caressing the soft fabric so that it falls perfectly. Everything has to appear right. You want to get this mission over with as soon as possible.

“You’re always looking gorgeous”, he murmurs offended, bright blue orbs looking you up and down behind his sunglasses.

“Don’t make such a face, I’ll be back as soon as I have what we want. Maybe roam around in the meantime and look for sweets?”, you suggest kindly.

“You’re the only candy I want, babe.”

His words alone send goosebumps down your spine. God, this man will be your death, you just know it. But for now, you need to straighten your back, stick out your chest and swing your hips on your way to the old man who is the key to Sukuna’s disgusting fingers.

“I’ll be back in a minute”, you hush and get going.

It isn’t hard for you to catch his attention. To be exact, the second he lays his eyes on your delicious curves covered by an elegant black gown all the women around you seem to be gone. His gaze almost eats you up alive. God, how sickening. You want nothing more than a hot bath with Satoru with some Netflix and chill. But this has to wait.

“I have to admit, this is a very nice party”, you purr while showing him your most seductive red-lipped smile.

“Nice to hear coming from a woman that wasn’t even invited”, he remarks, a playful grin creeping up his old face.

“What a woman doesn’t do to put on a dress and act like a princess for an evening.”

You can see the way his eyes darken at the sound of your oh so sweet voice. Wow, if you weren’t a jujutsu-sorcerer you would definitely have become an actress.

Satoru can hear every word you sing-sang at that old fart in front of you, he can sense the way he’s longing to touch your delicate features. God, how much he would love to storm over, slap him away from you and get home. But he shouldn’t. He knows he can’t do that. You insisted on him staying in the background, you want to do this on your own-

“A woman like you doesn’t have to pretend to be a princess. You look like a queen, darling.”

Darling. Did he just call you by your nickname? His skin begins to tingle in hot anger, eyes piercing through the man hazardously. No one is allowed to call you darling expect him. No. one. Who does he think he is? Just because he has a shit ton of money.

“Then I’m a good fit for you. There’s actually something you could do for me, I want something you have”, you continue, your voice intoxicating Gojo’s thoughts.

You never talked like that to a man apart from him. That old fart doesn’t deserve the attention you give him, he doesn’t deserve that you even look his way. You should lay in Satoru’s arms light now, his hands gently stroking your hair while he admires how gorgeous you look.

“If you want something I have, you will have to give me something in exchange I fear.”

You knew this would happen. Looking good and flirting isn’t enough for men like him. In fact, you can tell by a glimpse into his old eyes what he wants. He desires to be alone with you, in a distant room far away from the crowds. The thought alone makes your gut twist in disgust. God, if he touches your body you might throw up. Do you really have to do this? Is this the only way to get a hold of Sukuna’s fingers before the enemy finds them? Fuck, what are you supposed to do?

“What do you have in mind?”, you hum, voice not giving any hint of your thoughts.

He lets out a deep chuckle, hands gliding in your direction.

“I say we’ll discuss this matter more privately, what do you think?” he murmurs.

This mission is very important, everyone at Jujutsu High made that very clear. That’s why they sent you along with Gojo. You’ve never screwed up a mission, always keen to do your very best at stopping the madness of curses. You never fail, you never miss. Even if it means you have to make sacrifices. Even if it means that you have to sell yourself for some stupid information…

Your gaze wanders to your gorgeous boyfriend, his jaw so tense that it could snap any minute, both hands balled into fists. How much he hates to see you like that, on your way to a place where he can’t follow. But you just have to do this. He needs to understand that. Hopefully he does…

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

He elegantly extends his shriveled hand to you and leads you across the huge hall into a stairwell, away from the crowds and the reassuring eyes of Gojo. You are now on your own with that stranger in a room with a queen-size bed in the middle of his.

“Finally some privacy.”

The man places himself between you and the door, his eyes roaming over you as if you’re his prey. Fuck, you feel like fainting, screaming and crying at the same time. Over and over you tell yourself that this is your job, that you have to make sacrifices just like everyone else, that you don’t need to have a bad conscience. But as soon as your mind wanders to your boyfriend you aren’t so sure about all of that anymore.

“There is no need to rush though, you don’t even know what I want to talk about.”

Your voice is solid and confident, but you can definitely feel your knees going weak. Panic flickers through your mind as he locks the door with a swift motion.

“I don’t need to know what you want. You need to pay first before you receive any information from me”, he remarks, voice cold as eyes.

“And now come here and open my belt for me, will you?

You feel like crying, all of your confidence is washed away in the matter of seconds. You thought you are able to take it all if it means to complete your mission, that it doesn’t bother you to touch another man apart from Satoru in exchange for Sukuna’s fingers. But you can’t. The thought of his hands on your body sends shivers down your spine – not in the good way.

“I’m not here for sexual interaction.”

“Sure, that’s why you shove up your tits and swing your hips like that. Don’t be so prudish, I’ll give you what you want after you gave me what I want.”

You want to get out, as far away from his approaching figure and back into Satoru’s arms. But the only way out is locked. Fuck, what the hell did you get yourself into? Satoru…You will certainly not look at him the same after this. Never in your life you should have allowed that to happen. No mission in the world is worth losing your pride over it, your power over your own body. Screw Sukuna’s fingers, sooner or later Satoru will find them anyway. This was a bad idea right from the start.

“Are you finally coming here or do I have to force you?”

Your face goes pale in an instant, body too shocked to move an inch. The look in his eyes tells you that he’s not playing around. This man doesn’t give a fuck about whenever you want him or not. Fuck, you are an extraordinary jujutsu-sorcerer, your powers surpass him in every aspect. Why the hell is all you can do to stare at him with your doe eyes? Why don’t you fight back as soon as his hands burn against your bare skin? Why aren’t you screaming Satoru’s name?

“Get your dirty hands off my girlfriend.”

The split of a second is enough for Satoru to force himself into the room, bright blue orbs gleaming in thick anger.

“Get the fuck out, young man. Do I have to call security? You can have her when I’m done”, he old fart hisses into his face.

“I’m really trying to be a good person, but you are testing my patience, old man. I’ll say it one last time: Get. Your. Hands. Off. Her.”

Tears of shock, despair and relief begin to cloud your eyes while his grip around your shoulder tightens.

“Fine. I won’t hold back then.”

A little motion of Satoru’s pinky finger is enough to blast the man away from you. His figure slams against the wall, head instantly covered in crimson while Satoru rushes to your side.

“If you ever dare to touch my woman again I’ll kill you. Got it?”

“Come on, fuck that information. Let’s get you out of here”, he gently mumbles against your ear.

Gently, he wraps his arm around your trembling shoulders and escorts you out of the enormous building into the comforting darkness of the night.

“I can’t believe I let this happen”, he snorts out, face completely twisted in fury.

Fuck the upper ranks and their senseless missions. You are his girlfriend, god damn. How could he let another man touch you, let alone be alone with you? The thought of this old fart and his dirty hands against your soft skin make his blood boil all over again. You belong to him only.

“It’s not your fault, Satoru. I thought I have to so this, that I’m a jujutsu sorcerer and the mission is always the most important. But…I can’t let another man apart from you touch me like that. It’s just not possible. You are the only one I want and need”, you blurt out, hot tears streaming down your face and ruining your perfect makeup.

God, how much he hates to see you like that. All of that for some fucking fingers? This has to be a joke. He is the strongest, if he can’t find them then who else can? Why do you have to feel miserable about something like that?

“And I promise you that I will never let another man touch you like this again. You are my girlfriend, my everything. (y/n) I-“

Desperately, he cups your face with his hands, forehead pressed against his. You close your eyes, take in this bittersweet moment. Satoru, the man you love more than the entire earth saved you again.

“I love you more than anything else. The thought of him being alone with you in this room killed me, I just couldn’t stand it. This will never happen again. You are my darling and mine alone, you hear?”

“I just wanna be yours, Satoru”, you breathe against his lips before he grabs your shoulders and kisses you so passionately that you feel like flying.

God, how much you loved this man. And moments like this make it very clear to you that he loves you too. Satoru Gojo would rather get into trouble with the elders than seeing you in the arms of another man.

“You are, darling. Let’s get home, shall we? Then I’m gonna show you how much I really love you…”

Megumi Fushiguro

He knows it’s absolutely dumb and ridiculous. You’ve been his girlfriend since three years, always by his side, not even the slightest interested in other boys. He just knows that you love him dearly, with all your heart. But why on earth does it hurt so bad to see you talking to this unfamiliar jujutsu-sorcerer? Why does it bother him so much to see him smile down at you and even worse, to witness you laugh at his completely senseless joke?

“Megumi, come here!”, you shout over your shoulder, smile as wide as ever.

He grumbles into himself. Megumi would rather die than to talk to this guy whose eyes are all over you and your gorgeous features. Who is this anyway? He never saw him around Jujutsu High, let alone on missions. So he can’t be that strong right? Surely, he isn’t any better than Megumi himself…Right?

“Don’t be shy! Come on!”

Your hand grips his arms tightly and shoves him into the direction of the stranger. Normally he adores the way you cling onto him – not today though, not in this situation when you force him to confront the guy who’s obviously flirting with you.

“Let me introduce you to my longtime friend Botan! Botan, this is my boyfriend Megumi!”, you introduce him with a proud grin.

Even Megumi escapes a little smile. Good, you called him boyfriend in front of this jerk. Then he should know where his place is.

“Your boyfriend? Are you sure about that?”, the unknown face replies, voice dripping in sarcasm while looking Megumi up and down.

“Come on Botan, stop the crap”, you giggle.

Megumi isn’t amused at all. In fact, he is absolutely furious. One look into this jerks eyes is enough to know that this statement wasn’t a dumb joke. Botan wants you, his girlfriend, his entire world.

“Yeah, stop the crap and get the fuck away before I make you.”

Your heart sinks into your chest, smile dropping immediately. One glance into Megumi’s face and the way the vein on his forehead pulsates is enough to understand that he is fueled with rage. And that almost never happens.

“You against me? I don’t want to beat you up in front of your ‘girlfriend’. Or wait, maybe she needs to see how I beat your ass to understand that I’m the better catch. You don’t deserve (y/n)”, Botan hisses back.

“Botan”, you breathe out outraged.

“Megumi has been my boyfriend for years! I love him dearly! Never in my life would I want to exchange him!”

“Look at him (y/n)! What does he give you, huh? He isn’t strong, he isn’t that handsome and from what I’ve heard he’s stone cold and introverted, you’re nothing like him! I’ve known you for more than ten years, when will you finally understand that I have exactly what you need?”

You are entirely lost at words, it seems like the world around you is collapsing. Of course you’ve been aware of his side-crush this whole time, after all he never made a secret out of it. But to hear it out of his mouth and even worse in front of your beloved boyfriend is terrible. Terrible and wrong.

Megumi shifts his weight besides you, figure now standing dangerously close to Botan’s. Your eyes widen in pure horror, terrified of what might happen next. You know all too well that your boyfriend is very good at making reasoned decisions – never hot-headed, never too hasty, never exaggerated. But the look in his cold blue eyes tells you otherwise. It seems like he’s only seconds away from completely losing it. The usual calm and collected Megumi you know suddenly seems so hot-headed.

“If that’s true, why is (y/n) my girlfriend since three years and I’ve never heard a single word about you? Do yourself a favor and leave us alone, especially (y/n). She is my girlfriend and will always be. A jerk like you won’t change that.”

He casually wraps his arm around your waist while still holding eye contact with Botan, who looks back and forth between the two of you.

“I love him, Botan. And that won’t change. We’ll never be a thing”, you clarify with soft voice.

“And now stop looking at her, we have a mission anyway. See you never.”

With that, Megumi turns on his heels, your frame in his tight grip, and leaves Botan standing in the dust.

“You are mine”, he hisses.

“Only yours.”

“Who does he think he is to take you away from me, huh?”, Megumi blurts out.

“Absolutely ridiculous.”

“(y/n).”

He grips your face and forces you to look at him. God, he looks so perfect, so turbulent, so…hot.

Instead of any other words, he simply presses his lips against yours. Your tongues intertwine with each other, you aren’t even able to catch a breath between the way he longingly gets lost in your mouth.

“I love you”, he mumbles against your lips.

You feel like drowning and flying at the same time, mind completely occupied by the hot-headed Megumi that seems to kiss you to death.

“I love you too, Megumi. More than anything else”, you whisper, hands gripping onto his biceps for dear life.

“More than him”, he speaks out, gaze now locked with yours as if he’s searching for the answer in your glossy orbs.

“A thousand times more than him”, you confirm.

“Good.”

And again, his needy lips crash against yours, remember you with every bite, every kiss and every hushed word that you are his.

Only his.

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shreddedparchment · 3 days

Text

The Garden Gate

Pairing: Medieval!Loki x Reader Word Count: 6,514

Warnings: smut, mentions of infidelity, language, bodily fluids, jealousy, Loki in a poofy shirt

A/N: Well, I haven't done this in a while. I had to go look for an old post to see how I used to do these openings. LUL Anywho, y'all can thank @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for this one. She sent me a picture and then I asked her for three characters and three scenarios and this one is the one that spoke to me the most. I did put my own spin on it but that's just me. Anywho, I'm not sure how many of my old readers will read this but I hope y'all like it. Anything y'all have to say about it is also greatly appreciated. xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs!!

REBLOGS are always welcome!

Your family’s fall from grace had been nothing short of spectacular.

It had started first with the crumbling of respect from the men and heads of other houses. The gentry had taken offense to the shame of your father and eldest brother’s retreat at the battle for Carmine Valley, so named for the blush of trees that peppered the expanse of lush green and the strange but beautiful red waters of the central lake.

Had Lord Odinson’s own knights not been flanking from the western ridges, the valley would have fallen into the hands of the northern enemy forces. A great loss seeing as the valley was the largest producer of grain and vegetables in the kingdom.

The fallout had been catastrophic. Both your father and brother had been sent to the wild woods to the southernmost parts of the kingdom to work off their shame and languish in the dangerous labor camps where men were said to be torn into shreds by beasts as large as a carriage.

Even though you loved them very much, you couldn’t help the anger within your veins at their betrayal to not only the kingdom, but to your very family. The abandonment that their retreat meant. They knew what doing so would do to you, your mother, and younger brother.

If it were not for the King’s good nature, you’d have no doubt found yourself working in some brothel alongside your mother leaving your younger brother, at the tender age of seven, exposed to the worst parts of society.

The seediest brothels were not above selling children, you knew. No matter that the King had signed a death warrant for anyone known to sell or buy said company. It was the worst of sins and it breaks your heart to know that one man’s generosity saved all three of you from that life when he could have very well condemned it.

Knowing this–knowing how bad it could have been–doesn’t change the fact that your life now is still torture. Torture of a different kind, but torture all the same.

The King’s kindness came in the form of service. While your family was stripped of all titles and wealth, you’d also lost your beloved.

That is the true source of agony in your chest as you struggle with the bucket of waste water you’re holding, trying desperately not to slosh it around too hard. The last thing you want to do is to go to bed smelling of someone else’s bodily fluids.

The thick wool of your simple navy dress and the apron you keep tied over it are both great for absorbing disgusting materials. Already in need of a wash, the white ruffle along the neckline is frayed and yellowing despite the gown being only a few months old.

Edging along the courtyard wall, you try not to rush. The exhaustion in your body begs for sleep. Even months later the labor of working in the castle as a servant to former peers has not grown easier.

Wincing as the rough rope of the bucket burns the center of your palms, you almost sigh but instead freeze at the sight before you.

You’d know his silhouette anywhere.

The light is low here, a small lamp just beyond the open garden gate illuminates them from behind and hides their expressions but you don’t need to see to understand.

Her lips are parted, head pressed back against the door, hand braced against the warm brown and ornately carved wood. Her legs are parted a little too wide, a subtle motion of his left arm and the bunch of fabric around his forearm tell you enough of what you’ve stumbled upon.

You’re embarrassed and try to fade back into the darkness of the small courtyard behind you.

His shoulder length hair, black as a raven’s feather, is disheveled. You notice her hand gripping it tightly as his arm pumps.

A wispy, sultry moan slips through her parted lips and you stumble, gasping your own bit of surprise as you try not to spill the bucket’s contents.

A small splash, luckily away from you but the shuffle of feet and the rustle of fabric tells you that you’ve been noticed.

You look up, Lord Loki stands facing you, hands fisted as she hides behind him quickly adjusting her skirts.

“Oh, it’s you,” Lord Loki says, disdain in his voice.

Everyone here hates you. You already know this. Your father’s sins are your own. Nothing can change that.

“Finally where you belong,” the girl says and you recognize the voice with a small shock of pain in your chest. “You smell like piss.”

Lord Loki chuckles and you shrink just a little. More embarrassed by your own situation than catching them in the act. In fact, you’re disgusted by both of them, not only because of their audacity to do this at all, but because the woman whose fingers Lord Loki were just in is also your once beloved’s fiance.

Your former confidant. Lady Amora Antress. You’d once considered her your closest friend. Now here she stands, betrothed to one brother while fucking the other. The venom she spits at you is also unappreciated and painful to hear.

How long had she hated you before your downfall? How long had she waited before pursuing Thor?

“Aren’t you going to reply to her ladyship, servant?” Lord Loki asks, gleeful mirth in his voice as he takes a step towards you.

You bow your head even more, holding the bucket in your hands as still as you can while your hands struggle with the burn of the rope.

Amora scoff, “Pathetic. Leave her be, Loki. She’s where she deserves to be. She’s not worth the breath in our lungs.”

You don’t mean to cry. The utter betrayal of your once friend hurts more even than the loss of your once future husband.

“Are you crying?” Amora laughs, moving around Lord Loki, her shoes clicking against the brick of the courtyard. She stops in front of you, arms crossed over her ample bosom, still exposed more than it should be from what she and Lord Loki were just about to do. “You’re pathetic. The least you could do is be invisible while you serve.”

You say nothing, fist tightening around the rope. Pain shifts into rage at the cruelty in her words.

The wind blows and you can smell the scent of their near copulation. Luckily, it’s driven away by the vines of jasmine that creep along the tops of the brick wall.

She doesn’t deserve Thor. But you know that he never deserved you either. The rate at which he moved on…

Almost as if she’s sensing your thoughts, she takes a step closer and drops her voice to a whisper. You know Lord Loki will still be able to hear.

“Poor little flower, so careless and trusting.” She smiles. “You know it was so easy to seduce Thor. Even before your disgrace of a father betrayed his kingdom, Thor came to my bed often. Such a chaste little thing you were. You had no idea that every night after he whispered sweet promises in your ear of a happy future, he was burying his cock deep in my cunt, whispering how glorious I felt around him. Promising that even after you married, he would slip away and fuck me because no cunt could be as good as mine.”

Whore. Your heart shattered. Finally your eyes met hers.

She took a slight step back at whatever she saw in them. The hatred coursing through you set your teeth on edge. You wanted so much to rip her hair from its roots. If you could gouge her eyes out with your fingers without the consequence of a beheading, you would.

Perhaps she could see that promise of death in your eyes.

She scoffed, a reaction to whatever fear she felt in that moment.

“Now, now, ladies.” Lord Loki chastised, “Let’s keep things civil.”

“Civility? From a servant?” Amora looked at him then back at you, her hateful smirk twisting her pretty face into an ugly mask.

No…this is her true face. Her long blonde hair, pale skin, and green eyes might make her superficially beautiful, but you can see the true ugliness in her now.

“Trash knows no civility.” She spits.

Done with this encounter you make to move around her to finish your duties. You need rest. Body and now soul exhausted, the sanctuary of your quarters beckons like a beacon.

She steps in your way, smiling cruelly as she does.

You make to move around her again. She blocks you once more.

Body shaking with rage, you don’t bother stopping this time as she steps in front of you. Instead you let yourself fall against her, your bucket sloshing loudly as you angle the wide opening towards her.

The smell of piss and shit slices through the scent of sex and jasmine.

Amora screams, stepping back quickly until she bumps into Lord Loki who quickly pushes her away from himself, a wrinkle of disgust on his handsome face.

The green damask pattern of her silk gown grows slowly darker as the piss soaks into the fabric. A dark brown stain sets in towards the bottom.

“You probably should have moved out of my way, my lady.” The casual tone of your voice, the respect you can now fake like a professional grifter sounds so real that your taunt sounds like an apology.

“You bitch!” Amora growls.

Lord Loki catches her by the arm before she can move towards you.

“Perhaps, Lady Antress, you may want to go and change? If what you say is true and my brother will seek you out, I doubt very much he’d desire your company if you smell like shit and piss. No matter how delicious your cunt may be.” Lord Loki’s smirk gives away his delight at Amora’s distress.

Almost as soon as he’s grabbed her, he drops his hand and angles himself away from her slowly to avoid being soiled as well.

“Forgive me, my lady,” you curtsy, a perfect bow. “It was an accident.”

Amora glares at you then looks at Lord Loki who has taken to pressing the fingers of his right hand against his nose to shield from the smell, affixing her with a look of amused disgust.

Amora huffs, “Fuck you.” Then turns and stomps past you across the courtyard and disappears into the castle.

“That was nicely done,” Lord Loki says once you’re alone.

You give him a quick curtsy and move towards the gate to toss the remaining waste where it belongs in the river just past the far end of the large hedged garden.

Ignoring the sound of his following footsteps against the gravel and footstones, you wander through the fragrant rows of flowers.

“If anyone had been watching, no one would have doubted your sincerity with that apology.” He declares, hastening his footsteps to catch up with you, settling in to your right as he matches your pace. “I’m impressed. You never gave me the impression that you even knew how to lie let alone be deceptive.”

Grinding your teeth, you attempt to ignore him. You don’t engage.

He reaches out to grab your arm but you stop and twist away from him, disgust on your face as you stare at his left hand pointedly.

For a moment he looks confused and then laughs once in realization and takes his hand back.

“You won’t tell my brother, will you? About my…meeting with Lady Antress?” Lord Loki doesn’t sound like he actually cares.

You know that he and Thor never truly got along once they were of age. As children they had been inseparable. You’d followed them around and they’d welcomed you into their company as a playmate despite your gender.

Not until you also were of age did you realize that your parents and their parents had seen your friendship as an indicator of good fortune for a future marriage.

As the elder brother, Thor had been chosen. Your heart, having been devoted to Thor even as a girl, had been so full. Eagerly you’d thrown yourself into the arrangement of your marriage. Only now did you begin to realize that perhaps your heart had been the only one truly invested in the promises that Thor had made.

Agony cuts you again, tearing your heart apart a little more as the feeling of stupidity makes your eyes prick with tears again.

“Did you truly not know that Thor and Amora were fucking?” Lord Loki asks, voice devoid of anything but genuine curiosity.

A tear slips down along your cheek as you turn and resume your walk. Lord Loki follows.

“You wound me.” He says, voice low. “Were we not also friends before?”

Scoffing, you readjust the bucket and wince at the pain of the rope as you feel your skin break. You drop it, Lord Loki stepping back quickly but nothing splashes out this time. Most of the contents were currently soaking through Amara’s gown.

You lift your hand up, staring at the peel of skin and the slick of the pink muscle beneath as red begins to pool along the edges of the tear.

Just another wound. It’ll seal and heal and scar, joining the others on your once smooth hands.

The bite of pain gives you a reason to let your tears fall. You don’t hold them back as you sob quietly, uncaring of the audience to your humiliation.

“He’s an asshole,” Lord Loki states, stepping up in front of you. “Always has been. Arrogant, proud, and foolhardy. Thinks with his cock more than his brain.”

Again, you scoff. The irony of Lord Loki, whom you just caught fingering your former best friend in the garden, telling you that Thor thinks first with his cock does not escape you.

Lord Loki clears his throat, embarrassed?

“If I’d been your betrothed,” Lord Loki continues. “I’d have worshiped the ground you walk on.”

“You’re a liar, and just as susceptible to Amara’s games as he apparently is. Does it make you feel happy to sleep with your brother’s fiance? Does it give you pleasure to betray him?” You spit at him, angry at yourself, at Thor, at Amara, at your father and brother.

You’re just so angry. You’re always angry now. Even when you’re sad, you’re angry.

“Are you really worried about my betrayal against him when Amara just exposed him for the hypocrite he is?” Lord Loki demands, a little affronted by your ire.

Biting down hard on your lip, you squeeze around the wound on your hand.

“You’re all hypocrites. All of you deserve each other.” You realize and reach down to take the bucket again but are stopped by Lord Loki’s hand as it takes hold of the bucket for you.

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything and instead moves towards the gate at the end of the garden.

Quickly, you hurry after him, eager to take the bucket from him before anyone might look out onto the grounds and see him interfering with your duties. The punishment you’d receive would be painful.

“My Lord, please,” you finally beg, unable to really catch up with his long legged stride. “I’ll be punished if they find out.”

Lord Loki says nothing but strides out through the gate into the wooded expanse behind the garden.

Expertly, probably from the many hunts he’s gone on around the castle, he winds through the trees towards the rushing river whose roar you begin to hear.

“My Lord,” you hurry after him, nearly catching up but then he turns and disappears behind a tree only to emerge before another one. “Please,” you beg.

Taking a quick glance behind you towards the castle and its countless illuminated windows, you don’t see anyone watching but panic has begun to take hold.

He shifts and turns, stomping over the wild grass, the occasional crack of twig or fallen branch as he steps onto it, eaten by the rush of the water now louder.

You’re almost running now to keep up with him and still you lose sight of him when he turns around a particularly large tree. You stop beside it, scanning the area for him desperately.

The dungeons are so damp this time of year. You don’t want to get locked up if you can help it. Illness is something you don’t have much experience with and with your body weak and unhealthy now compared to the grace and flush of perfection you’d been with money and a constantly full belly, you might succumb to any serious illness.

You don’t want to die, despite the hardships you face.

With no sign of him, you move towards the section of river you always go to empty your buckets.

Minutes later you break through the treeline and spot Lord Loki crouched by the water, damp bucket set beside him now empty and rinsed.

Breathing heavily, you try to catch your breath and press your hand against your thundering heart, forgetting for a moment about the wound there and hiss.

Lord Loki rises, turning to look at you with a furrowed brow as he shakes the water from his hands and dries them on his dark emerald jerkin. He pulls down the puffed sleeves of his black shirt, fastening them around his wrists again but only finishes one before he’s holding his hand out for you.

“Come,” he orders. Not a request.

You don’t move, holding your wounded hand still as you watch him, pale skin nearly glowing in the light of the moon.

“Come here,” he orders again and this time you move towards him only a step. He steps towards you once, his hand held up again with more emphasis. “Shall I say please? Am I wrong? Were we not also friends?”

He smirks, amused by your hesitation for some reason.

Asshole. How dare he throw the past in your face. It’s coercion to remind you of your bond as children.

Unwilling to let him get the satisfaction of seeing you be defiant, you close the distance between you.

He takes your hand, holding it up close so that he can see it clearly. The moon is bright enough that he can and he pulls you towards the river’s edge. Squatting down again, he pulls you down with him.

You kneel, inching towards the edge as he pulls your hand into the water.

A hiss escapes your lips as the water coats the wound, tugging at the bit of skin still holding on until it tears free.

He holds it under the water for a minute then brings it back up to examine, pulling your arm so that you shift to face him and he does the same, kneeling before you.

“It’ll scar,” he realizes, but notes the other small scars that now cover your palm underneath the base of each finger.

You watch him as he traces each scar with his thumb, the golden emerald ring on his finger cool to the touch after being submerged in the cold river water for a bit. It feels nice against the heated skin of your palms. The friction of the rope burning them both.

“I remember when your hands were soft,” he notes.

Self conscious, you make to yank your hand from his grip but he tightens it and meets your eyes in silent order not to try that again.

Holding your gaze, he brings your palm up towards his mouth. Heart hammering against your chest, you try again to yank it from him but his lips close around the wound.

A strange tumble of knots in your stomach work their way up into your chest and constrict your heart.

More strange than that, a shift between your legs has your face and neck burning. Ears so hot that the breeze of the late spring air feels cold in comparison.

“Stop that,” you tell him, voice weak from shock at both his actions and your body’s reaction to it.

He does. Pulling your hand away from his mouth to look the wound over.

“The bleeding stopped,” he states, then reaches for your apron.

The tearing of fabric sends our heart seizing but more arousal pools between your legs. Embarrassed, you look away from him as he wraps your hand tightly. He must have dealt with many small injuries on his hunts because he ties the wrap around your palm securely and nothing save for cutting the fabric away will undo it.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He asks, voice low and deep. Almost dark in the way it slithers across your skin in a sultry embrace.

“No.” You answer honestly. “And it’s probably only because I caught you and you didn’t get to stick it in Amara.”

He releases your hand as you pull against his grip but he reaches forward to place his hand on your cheek. His left hand.

You almost pull away but remember him drying his hands on his vest. He’d deliberately washed both hands. Why?

“I meant what I said,” he whispers. “I would have worshiped the ground you walk on. I still can, if you’ll let me.”

“I’m a servant,” you spit, turning to look at him with anger and betrayal. “Anything you do to me will be forced merely by the fact that I cannot deny you anything you might want.”

Lord Loki frowns.

“You think so badly of me?” He wonders, hurt in his green eyes.

Your mind flashes back to your childhood. You, Thor, and Lord Loki running to the stables of his estate. You fall. Both Thor and Lord Loki stop but it’s Lord Loki that rushes back to you, helping you up and dusting you off as you cry loudly.

Thor rushes away, laughing in his eagerness to mount his horse.

More memories of your childhood assault you with images of Lord Loki and his kindness. Frequent acts of compassion and what you might have once considered friendly love. Thor’s are fewer and mostly contained to the days after your betrothal had been agreed upon.

“You will never be a servant to me,” Lord Loki assures you.

“It is what I am,” you counter. “You cannot simply ignore it.”

Lord Loki sighs, “You’ve always been so stubborn.”

He lets his hand glide down along the side of your neck, over your shoulder, down along your arm, and then he settles it along the side of your waist, the shape stiff thanks to the corset underneath.

It’s almost unbearable that he’s here, in your shame of servitude. His touch is confusing. You almost ask him why it feels so strange but instead focus on what’s most important.

“Is it true?” you ask, voice wary and quiet.

“Is what true?” There are so many things you could mean, you realize.

Part of you almost doesn’t want to know. So you hesitate.

Something softens in Lord Loki’s eyes as if he suddenly knows what you’re going to ask.

“Were…did Thor and Amara…?” You shake your head, trying not to let the pain show.

“Yes,” he answers, voice firm. He wants you to know that it’s true. No hesitation in his answer. “A few times even with you nearby. You almost caught them a handful of times. Were you only a few moments earlier or later.”

Head falling, you can’t help the tears that spring forth. So much of your past had been a lie. The strength of your house. The friendships you held dear. Your betrothed hadn’t truly loved you. If he had, he would not have betrayed you.

“My brother paints a pretty picture. Despite what he wants others to think he is changeable. He is impatient. Clearly that was his undoing with you. He is rash and prideful. He doesn’t think about what he does before he does it and because he would be insulted by it, would it not be sweet revenge to dangle what he wanted most in the open for all to see?” His words are slow and sure.

The last bit of his speech is careful and calculated. You can hear the manipulation in his words even though he tries not to let you. You’ve known him too long. Lord Loki also changed when you were betrothed to Thor. A shift of his usual kindness had taken place and the sneering Lord had been born. Intent on his own machinations to pry forth the dreary truths of his life.

He’d never been cold and harsh but he became so after your engagement. Thor had called him a snake and even then you could see it. The skill with which Lord Loki had developed his manipulating tactics and the precision with which he enabled them are known to you.

So you know what he’s saying even if he won’t say it clearly.

He takes hold of your chin and slowly lifts your head until he can see your eyes. There’s a strange eagerness in his own greens as he tries to read you. There’s a question there, an uncertain probing as his hand at your waist grows tighter, wrapping around to rest on your back, arching your body towards him.

That strange feeling between your legs surges. It’s Amara’s sneering face that breaks down your defenses. It’s the pride in her words as she’d bragged about being with Thor while you were still betrothed to him that shatters your will.

You do want to get revenge. You want Thor to know that you don’t care anymore. That he means as little to you now as you did to him then.

And what better way to show him that than with the one person he’d hate it happening with the most?

He might overlook some random stablehand. He might ignore some merchant’s son, even if he were above your station.

With Lord Loki…the bite would be as harsh as the sting of Amara’s venom was to you.

“Loki…” you whisper and he surges forward.

His lips are over yours, moving and massaging as you at first merely take his kiss.

He hates it. He pulls back and tilts his head the other way, kissing you more enthusiastically, trying to draw some type of reaction from you.

It’s taking you longer to submit than you thought it would take.

He pulls back one final time and tilts his head back again before this time pressing his lips against your own slowly. He doesn’t move then but instead waits, puckering against yours as he tugs you towards him instead of shoving himself onto you.

Strong lithe arms wrap around your waist and pull you up onto your knees and against his chest. He holds you so close, so tight. It isn’t rough or demanding but needy. As if he can’t get you close enough to his own body and he can only draw you closer and closer in the hopes that it’ll fill something in him that needs filling.

You place your hands on his shoulder as you tilt your head back with his kiss.

Finally, you find the strength in your body and pucker your own lips and return this gentle kiss.

Shock flashes in his eyes as he opens them to look at you. You watch the confusion bloom in them but then shut your own and give in.

Loki’s lips part and envelop yours. It shocks you the way it sends those knots back into your stomach. In response you do the same, enveloping his lips with your own.

Loki’s hands splay out against your back and he groans as he opens his mouth and the tip of his tongue slides against the crease of your lip in question.

In answer, you open for him and welcome his searching tongue with your own. The taste of him, the scent of him, it overwhelms and you gasp as you lose yourself in the moment.

You feel his hands drift around to your front, his right sliding up along your bodice until he can cup your breast, a groan slipping through his lips as he breaks your kiss and traces wet open kisses along your jaw, neck, and shoulder.

“Loki…” you gasp without ever having given your mouth permission to speak.

He bites your neck when you say his name. You moan and he licks the spot to soothe it.

“Loki…” You whisper again.

He’s driven mad by it and before your mind can understand what is happening, he’s laying over you, hands moving wildly underneath your back, running along your sides, fumbling around until he finds where your dress is fastened and he pulls at the ties.

“Should I stop?” He asks, breathless and looking as if he would like nothing more than to keep going.

“No.”

“Mm,” he moans and kisses you again, tongue claiming your mouth as his own.

You can feel him tearing away your apron and then your dress. Too eager to pull it off you completely, he merely shoves it down so that he lays spread out along your waist.

He looks down at you, the corset you wear hiding very little of your breasts. He kisses them each in turn, the soft fleshy bits that pool up above your undergarment.

You shudder at the touch of his lips.

“Has anyone kissed you here before?” He wonders. You’re not sure if he wants an answer or not but you shake your head anyway.

As he nuzzles the soft flesh, his hands work on the corset, pulling at strings blindly until it gives way and he pulls it off of you exposing you completely.

The cool air of the night perks your nipples more than his touch already has and he takes both breasts in his hands, pushing them together as he stares to the point of embarrassment.

Before you can cover yourself, he takes one into his mouth, suckling softly to draw soft moans from your open mouth.

He sees it, your gaping mouth, and seals it with his own, his tongue nearly in a frenzy as he devours your whimpers.

Cool air hits your suddenly exposed legs. You gasp sharply as he thrusts suddenly and the hard press of his cock rubs against you, shielded only by the fabric of his pants.

“Shall I stop?” He asks again, hands running down along your torso where he takes each breast in hand, massaging them slowly before rolling each of your nipples in slow deliberate circles.

“Don’t stop.”

It’s almost torture when he removes his hands from your overheated body. But you enjoy the sight as he removes his jerkin, followed shortly by his shirt. His body is sculpted but tight, not bulky. Lithe limbs hard and eager as he reaches down beneath your skirts in search of what he desires.

He hisses when his fingers touch you, soaking wet, and you reach down to hold his wrist not to stop but simply to hold on.

The thought crosses your mind that he’s already had someone else like this tonight and it almost makes you pull away. You’re so close to stopping but he sees the thought in your eyes and leans over you, removing his hand he leans over you, pressing his chest against yours and silencing your thoughts with a slow kiss.

It burns through you, the meaning clear.

“Shall I only touch you from now on, darling?” he whispers, kissing your chin then suckling along your throat.

He’ll leave marks…

“Tell me and I will only touch you.” He promises.

“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep, Loki.” You chastise him, mood nearly breaking again at the memory of the endless promises Thor had made you.

“I will never break a promise to you. Tell me to refrain and I will. I meant what I said,” he kisses his way up to your ear, licking the shell of it before hot breath sends your skin prickling. “I will worship the ground you walk on if you will only let me.”

He thrusts again. You shut your eyes, gasping at the cock straining for freedom.

“H-How do I know I can trust you?” You ask, unintentionally letting him see how desperate you are to do so.

He kisses you again, genuine and hungry for it.

“Give me a week and I shall truly prove it. Trust me until then and you shall see the depths of my willingness and devotion.”

He thrusts again and maybe you’re a fool for allowing yourself to consider this when he’s got you right where he wants you, but you nod.

“Only touch me,” you order him.

He smirks. He reaches down between your legs again and with one finger slowly strokes from the bottom of your cunt to the top, the lurid sounds of your wetness poignant despite the rushing river beside you.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises.

One finger. He uses only one finger and the pressure is intense. Sensations you’ve never felt before awaken every nerve ending in your body. His thumb presses against your clit and you nearly sit up with the shock of pleasure that rushes through you.

He adds a second finger, moving slowly as he pumps them in and out.

“Shall I stop, darling?”

“Never stop,” you gasp, still gripping his wrist.

Another smirk on that handsome face, his green eyes dazzling you as he shifts back to his knees.

He licks his lips as he pulls a tie free at the front of his trousers and slowly pushes them lower and lower until he can kick free of them completely.

The length of him is breathtaking. He reaches down and strokes his cock, slowly running his thumb along the shiny pink head before he scoots closer, your skirt blocking him from view.

He rubs himself against you, slicking himself with your own arousal.

There he waits, watching you as you brace your hands on the soft grass beneath you but open your legs wider.

Your eyes meet and both of you know that there will be no coming back from this choice. Nothing either of you do will ever erase this line you’ve nearly crossed completely.

He pushes in slowly, leaning over you as he gets deeper and deeper until he’s buried completely. Chest to chest. Face to face. He grunts deep, face twitching as he settles within you.

It’s so much pressure it’s painful. The feeling of him is so foreign. You’re not sure whether it feels good or not.

“Fuck,” he whispers and tenses then shudders. You feel a wave of heat within you, followed by the sensation of slow moving drippage. “You feel…”

He seems lost for words. Do you feel terrible?

He pulls his hips back just a bit and pushes back in.

You whimper, pushing against his chest to look down where your bodies connect.

“Loki,” you fret.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises. “Be calm my sweet. I will ease you into this.”

Each thrust into you, his pelvis pushes against your clit and each time you moan, wishing he’d do that more. The feeling of him is filling, strange, but not unpleasant. Just different.

As your body relaxes a bit more, Loki’s thrusts grow faster. You smile unintentionally as he presses against your clit more often.

“You like that?” he wonders, stopping as he pushes all the way in and then rolls his hips against you.

Your responding moan gives him confirmation and he settles himself over you fully.

As he thrusts he presses harder against you, lingering for a moment before doing it again and again. The slap of his skin against yours grows louder and he finds a rhythm that has you both breathless and moaning.

“Loki,” you plead, feeling the build up of tension within your body.

“Come for me, darlin,” he kisses you, subduing your voice as he pumps into you.

You’re unsure for certain what he means but your body seems to listen. You wrap your legs around him, holding him as close as you can as he continues to thrust into you. The sweat of his body glistens in the moonlight. The soft silk of his hair tickles your skin as he arches up slightly so that he can take your breast into his mouth again as he keeps pumping into you.

You feel it…so close.

“Loki,” you whimper, wanting to reach the end of this tightrope.

He growls once and brings his hand down between your connected bodies. His thumb presses against your clit firmly. He presses and presses, rolling it in small circles with such precise pressure.

Your body explodes into endless fuzzy light. You arch into him, trembling as his thumb continues to draw pleasure from you in spasms as he keeps moving his cock in and out.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts and thrusts one final time his whole body tight in its release as that same sensation of heat fills you again.

Both of you seem to have stars in your eyes as he collapses on top of you, kissing you slowly with his eyes wide open to watch the expression of pure bliss on your face.

“I think-” Loki says, pulling back as he slowly helps to pull your dress up a bit to cover your exposed breasts. He kisses each one before he does so. “-it goes without saying that I would appreciate it if I was the only one allowed to touch you.”

You’re floating, swathed in golden light, unable to process anything he’s saying because of the pure escape from and yet complete connection to your body Loki’s cock just gave you.

You hear him chuckle. He pinches your cheek, drawing your attention back to him.

“Agreed?”

“What?” You gasp breathlessly.

“No one may touch but me. And I will touch no one but you.” He declares. “Is that understood?”

The authority in his voice draws your legs wide as that throbbing from before is renewed.

Loki’s face twitches at the movement.

“Show me again,” you plead.

“Tell me no one else will touch you,” he orders.

“No one else will touch me,” you agree.

“If you betray me,” you begin.

Loki’s eyes soften. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips.

“I promised you that I would worship the ground you walk on.”

He kisses you again, slowly, feeling every inch of your mouth against his.

“One week, my darling. I’ll prove to you my devotion.” He promises.

The sincerity in his voice has your legs spreading again and he hisses as you shift. Inside you, you feel him harden.

“Show me…” you beg.

“You’re going to be insatiable.” He realizes.

And revenge against Thor aside, you realize that being with Loki might be the smartest thing you’ve ever done.

“Do you have any idea how long I have waited to make you mine?” Loki wonders, stroking your cheek.

“How long?” You wonder, reaching up to take hold of his hand.

“I’ll show you.”

There will be NO tags.

#loki x reader #medieval!loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson #loki x reader fanfiction #loki fanfiction #loki x reader fanfic #loki x reader fic #marvel fanfiction

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azuryuu · 8 months

Text

as usual, click on the image for a higher quality

as a personal challenge to myself (and also just trying it out for fun), i wanted to make an illustration of my yuu in the twst art style !

also, SD version that i made:

date: 16/08/23

like my work? consider ordering a commission // buying me a coffee // checking out my art tag or my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

character design notes under read more

hair is naturally black, but is already starting to grey

eyes are solid black, no pupils both in full illustration and in the SD form

wears rimless glasses

both the bow tie and the bow on his shoelaces are tied crooked

bow tie is like grim's: thinner stripes and frayed ends

the brooch to hold the arm band is of the night raven college emblem (the oval one with a crow in it)

no gloves

more often than not wears a short sleeve shirt instead of long sleeve, so no white shirt sleeve from under the suit jacket sleeves

#falsely draws #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst yuu #twst oc #twisted wonderland mc #twisted wonderland oc #-; yuu stranger lore #-; my art

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patchworkgargoyle · 9 months

Text

Booty 🌿

Steve has a plan, and Eddie falls for it. || read on ao3

Here it finally is, folks! My first smut for the ST fandom. I hope you like it!! Inspired by this post.

WC: ~4.8k || E || CW: Unsafe sex

“Please, Eddie?”

“Are you insane, Steve? It’s hotter than Satan’s taint out there, you cannot expect me to peel myself off this couch.”

Eddie heard a frustrated sigh and a small thud, imagining that Steve had let his head drop on the wall by his phone. “Yeah, I’m aware, I’m sweating buckets right now. But I gotta have the car fixed before tomorrow, I promised Claudia I’d pick up Dustin from the bus station and I can’t do that if it won’t start.”

Thing was, Eddie did kinda want to go and help him, heatwave be damned. They’d grown close in the months since spring break and despite his previous misgivings Eddie had gotten to like Steve. More than he should, really. He can’t help it if his queer little heart does a jig every time he manages to make Steve laugh in that eye-crinkling, head-tipped-back kind of way. Got good at it too, which made Eddie feel a great deal of selfish pride. And if he can’t take his eyes off the long lines of Steve’s mole-dotted neck, that’s his own business.

But this was something else. As soon as Steve called to ask if Eddie would help fix the Bimmer he couldn’t get the thought of him–sweaty and greasy and bent over the open hood of the car, his hair falling just so and lip bitten between his teeth in concentration–out of his dirty little mind. The things he’d want to do. It did as much to convince Eddie to go as it did to make him want to keep his distance.

He was a weak man, however.

“Fine. Alright. But you’d better make it worth my time, I’m risking my pale, un-sunburnt ass for this.”

Steve snorted. “Don’t worry, I will,” he said blandly.

They hung up after Eddie promised to be there in a few minutes, and he rolled off of the couch with a melodramatic groan. Moving in the muggy heat trapped inside the trailer sucked, but he wasn’t going to back out. Steve had sounded so relieved when he’d said goodbye that it gave Eddie enough pep to lurch his way to the kitchen to grab a few cold beers before scrambling into his van. He appreciated his own forethought when he burned his hand on the door handle and could hold a cold bottle against the spot. Fucking summer.

Parking in the Harringtons’ driveway, he spotted the Bimmer pulled halfway into the garage, the front shaded by the overhang in what must be an attempt to avoid the worst of the sunlight. The hood was popped open, but Eddie couldn’t see Steve.

“Ohh Stevie!” he sang, “your knight in shining armour has arrived!” He heard something thunk from the garage but got no response, so he wandered inside, trying to peer around the hood. “I come bearing gifts but they’re gonna get–”

Wheels squeaked from below and Eddie looked down, only to be treated to the sight of Steve’s legs, long and hairy and sprawled open, flexing as he dragged himself out from under the car on the creeper and revealing more inches of mouth-watering thighs. He was–oh fuck, Steve was wearing the tiniest cut-off jean shorts Eddie had ever seen, the fabric of the pockets poking out from under the frayed hems. They were tight, too, hugging his hips and, god, his bulge. The white tank top Steve wore had ridden up, too, exposing the trail of hair that dipped below the fucking shorts, but Eddie followed it up, along the grease stains and the swell of his pecs to Steve’s grinning face.

“...Hot.” Eddie’s voice cracked around the word.

“What was that?” Steve asked.

Clearing his throat, Eddie said, “The beer, it’s uh, gonna get hot.” Somehow he managed to not sound like he was choking on his own drool while Steve still stared up at him from the ground, a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. There was a slight smear of dirt across his cheek and Eddie wanted to lick it off.

“You know where the fridge is, Eddie, if you’re that worried.”

“Nah, you look like you need a break. Get up here,” he said, waggling the bottle over Steve’s face. Steve chuckled but finally stood and relieved Eddie of the misery of seeing Steve on his back and not having been the one to put him there.

He popped the caps off with the bottle opener on his keychain, and Steve took his with a ‘thank you,’ downing half in a few gulps. Eddie distracted himself from the sight of Steve’s throat bobbing by peering over at the engine.

“So what’s the issue, doc?”

Steve pulled away from the bottle with a soft popping sound from his pink lips and a gasp. “Dunno yet. That’s why I called you,” he said, leaning on the car beside Eddie. “Oil and battery are fine, spark plugs look good too.”

“She been making a sputtering kind of sound recently? Could be the throttle.”

“Nah, no weird noises.”

Eddie hummed, then set his bottle aside. “Alright, let’s get underneath her then.” Lowering himself onto the creeper and sliding under the car, he said, “Could be a belt has finally busted. Got a flashlight?”

“Really need to ask that?” Steve’s voice got fainter as he walked a little ways away. “The kids insisted on a disaster preparedness kit after round two with the Upside Down.”

There was a tap on the wood under Eddie’s hip, and blindly he reached down to grab the flashlight Steve found. He tinkered around under the Bimmer, unable to wipe away the sweat that started to drip and stick his bangs to his forehead. But eventually he began to roll back out into open, but no less stupidly hot, air.

“Looks like everything’s shipshape, captain–” Eddie choked on his own words when he looked up and was met with a sight straight out of his wet dreams.

Steve stood over Eddie, his legs spread wide enough that Eddie had rolled right between them. If he sat down, Steve would be straddling Eddie’s hips, but that would deprive him of this new angle at which to admire all of Steve’s assets wrapped so tightly in frayed, lightwash denim. Mouth falling open, Eddie let out an eloquent, “Uhhh,” and Steve laughed, holding out his hand.

“Thought you’d like a hand,” Steve explained, smirking.

He took it without thinking and let Steve haul him off the creeper board and up to his feet. A kick, and Steve sent the board skittering away underneath the car, but Eddie barely winced at the noise. He was too busy standing so close to Steve that they breathed the same humid air. If he so much as swayed, their noses would bump together. Christ, Steve had pretty eyes, a bright, warm brown flecked with amber even in the shade of the garage and he swore he could see Steve’s pupils dilate the longer their gazes locked together.

“So, what were you saying?” Steve asked in a low tone. He tilted his head ever so slightly and those eyes held some kind of dare within them, one eyebrow ticked upward. Eddie couldn’t help swallowing, licking his lips, and Steve went from staring into Eddie’s eyes to down at his lips.

“Just saying that, that everything looked fine. Might, uh, might be the crankshaft or the–” Steve stepped forward just enough to bring their chests together, the back of Eddie’s knees hitting the bumper, and Eddie’s breath hitched, his voice cracking, “–the sensor.”

“Eddie.” The way Steve said his name sent a frisson of heat through Eddie, right to his dick, which was becoming a very obvious guest between them.

“Yeah, Stevie?” he whispered.

Broad, warm hands wrapped around Eddie’s slim hips. Steve worked a finger through a belt loop on each side and tugged, and Eddie realised he wasn’t the only one with a hard on when Steve’s pressed up against his own, pulling a hiss of pleasure from them both. Oh, shit. Leaning impossibly closer, Steve’s lips brushed against Eddie’s when he spoke. “I don’t care about the car right now.”

That snapped whatever faint, lingering reservations Eddie had. “Fuck, Stevie, please kiss m–” He didn’t even finish before Steve’s lips crashed into his, plush and hungry. It wasn’t long before Eddie began to nip and lick, his teeth drawing short, pleased noises from Steve’s mouth before he pulled back a scant inch.

“Fucking finally,” Steve said, and dove back in, biting back, making Eddie groan. His hands found their way to Steve’s sides, then, spurred on by Steve’s enthusiasm, he reached down and grabbed at his ass. His fingers wrapped under the hem and he yanked Steve’s hips in and up, rising to meet them.

Steve’s cock grinding against Eddie’s was a fucking revelation. From the way Steve’s mouth parted with a hot gasp, Eddie guessed he felt the same. “Hold on, baby,” he rasped, and using what leverage he had, Eddie hoisted Steve onto his lap, Steve’s knees spread and braced on the car. There was no way he could keep them there for long, but fuck it was hot, rutting their hips together while they kissed, wet and messy.

Eddie tasted the salt of his own sweat when Steve licked into his mouth and moaned, hands fisted into the denim in his grip, feeling more sweat beginning to drip down his back. The heat was stifling, but nothing compared to what started to grow in Eddie’s gut. One of Steve’s hands buried in his curls and pulled, had Eddie bucking up and whimpering around Steve’s tongue. He could come like this, dry humping on top of the Bimmer, lap full of Steve in those shorts, hands on his perfect ass, would’ve if the idea weren’t more embarrassing than hot.

“St-Steve, wait,” Eddie panted, whining again when Steve’s hand clenched in his hair again.

“Why’d you stop? Don’t wanna stop, Eddie,” Steve groaned, before a little more clarity seeped into him and he leaned back into his arms, concerned. “Or, shit, wait, is this okay?”

“God, fuck yes this is okay. Been thinking about this forever, man.” Steve smiled widely, verging on a little goofy, before ducking in and pressing open-mouthed kisses to Eddie’s throat. Eddie’s arms began to shake. His legs had long since begun to tremble. “But, hang on, ah, I’m gonna either drop you or come in my shorts in like two minutes if we don’t rethink this.”

All that did was make Steve start rocking into him again. “Hot,” he mumbled as he licked up a trail of sweat under Eddie’s jaw, making Eddie swear and tip his head back.

Eddie’s knees decided to buckle right then. They shouted, Eddie scrambled, locking Steve in his arms and getting his feet under himself before standing, his hands still hooked around Steve’s ass while Steve’s legs clung to his waist. Steve’s shocked expression likely matched Eddie’s, before he rested his forehead against Eddie’s and laughed so hard his body shook. Helpless, Eddie joined in, holding Steve close while their giggling faded out. But his arms were aching so, gently, he put Steve down.

“Do you wanna stop?” Steve asked. Eddie shook his head.

“You?” Steve shook his. “Thank fuck,” Eddie said. He ran his hands over Steve’s ass, over the crease of his thigh, the tips of his fingers tickling the hair on the back of his thighs before guiding him close again. “Didn’t wanna let you go now that I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Steve dove into Eddie’s mouth with a hungry groan. The slick sounds of their lips echoed in the garage. With a tug, Steve turned them around and backed up into the car, his hands wandering underneath Eddie’s cut up Iron Maiden tee and clutching at his sides, over the fresh demobat scars, nails digging in bluntly.

Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off Steve either. He pawed at whatever he could, finding the places that made Steve pant and hum into his mouth. But he wanted more, because Eddie has always been a bit greedy. One hand snaked its way around to cup Steve through the shorts that barely contained him, pressing his fingers around the hard outline of Steve’s cock and squeezing, rubbing. The low, raspy moan he got for his efforts made Eddie grin wolfishly.

Head lolling back, Steve breathed hard and rose to meet each stroke of Eddie’s palm. Eddie began to bite and suck his way down the strong line of Steve’s neck, biting every mole he could find. “E-Eddie, I want you to fuck me.”

The words made Eddie bite down just shy of too hard. Steve whined, and Eddie lapped at the spot in apology. “I wanna, I wanna so bad, Steve, but we’re fucking filthy, sweetheart,” he mumbled into Steve’s neck.

“Don’t need to do anything. I, mmh, prepared for this.”

Eddie pulled back to blink at him in disbelief. “You what?”

“I’ve been wanting this for months and nothing was working! So I just, made this as obvious as I fucking could.”

“Months?” Eddie’s jaw dropped when Steve gave him a look that managed to be both fond, flirty, and frustrated. “I could’ve been fucking you for months!?”

“Or I could’ve been fucking you.”

That idea, as sexy as it was, had to be pushed aside before it managed to make Eddie’s horny little brain leak out of his ears. “Putting a pin in that, that’s absolutely gonna happen, but I wanna revisit something. You prepared?”

Steve smirked. “Yeah,” he said, simple and cocky and so hot Eddie could combust. Eddie tried to capture Steve’s lips again but Steve stopped him with a firm hand against his chest, pushing Eddie back a few steps. Turning, he closed the hood of his car and instead of twisting back around to face Eddie, Steve leaned on his arms and arched his back.

Now that was a sight. Steve’s long, tan legs spread just so, one knee cocked to give a slight tilt to his hips. The firm, round swell of his ass peeking out under the denim that struggled to hold together. And right on the apex of those pretty, biteable, jean-clad cheeks: two dark, dirty handprints. There’s even the blackened imprint of fingers on Steve’s skin. Eddie’s fingers, Eddie’s hands. His cock twitched against his zipper and he moaned out, “Ohhh my god…”

Looking over his shoulder, Steve’s smug smirk grew, and he tilted his hips up a little further. “I know I look good, Munson, but are you gonna do something about it or what?”

Eddie stepped forward and draped himself along the expanse of Steve’s back, rutting his hips into Steve’s and making him hum sweetly. “Don’t have to get bratty about it, baby,” he said. He dragged his fingers along Steve’s sides, letting his nails catch on the soft texture of Steve’s scars before dipping down and popping his button open in one swift motion. “Tell me how you prepared.”

He felt the shiver his words evoked run down Steve’s spine. As he slid the zipper down and slid his hand in to find Steve had gone commando–both of them groaning when Eddie’s hand wrapped around Steve’s leaking, twitching cock–Eddie nuzzled into the dip between Steve’s ear and neck, inhaling the scent of his sweat and musk and the faint traces of a clean, fresh cologne valiantly hanging on.

“I, I got this toy. In Indy,” Steve gasped as Eddie pumped him, pulling his cock out as his hand sped up the more Steve spoke. “Worked myself open on it.”

“What’dya think of?” Eddie squeezed.

“You,” Steve keened, jerking into Eddie’s grip.

“Fuck. God. Alright, enough of this.” Standing, Eddie took his hand away and ignored the needy noise Steve made to instead yank the shorts down. Steve only bothered to step out of one leg, having to kick his foot when they got stuck on his shoe. It made his cheeks jiggle. Eddie couldn’t resist giving him a few taps just to watch it again before spreading those cheeks with his thumbs. More dirt smeared over Steve’s dewy skin, but that was only the opening act. The true star of the show glistened with lube and twitched under Eddie’s hungry stare, already loose and used and ready for him. He held himself back from burying his tongue in Steve’s hole, but just barely, letting out a low, hungry rumble instead.

Eddie couldn't move fast enough after that. He grappled with his belt, popped the button of his shorts and shoved them and his boxers out of the way enough for his cock to spring out without help. Then he stepped forward. Eddie let out a shuddering gasp when his aching cock met the searing heat of Steve’s taint and smeared precome along it, echoed when Steve sighed unsteadily as his head slipped up, up, up. Brushed over Steve’s hole once, twice, before catching on the rim.

“Please, Eddie,” Steve whined as he pushed back, and who was Eddie to deny such a pretty request?

He thrust forward and sank into Steve with a slick sound and such little resistance that Eddie’s jaw dropped open in a soundless moan, eyelids fluttering at the hot, wet clench of muscle around him. Another thrust and Steve groaned thickly, his head tilting back so Eddie could see how his bitten-red lips parted deliciously.

“Steve, you good? Please tell me you’re good. Fuck. I wanna fuck you so bad, you feel so good, hot, please Steve,” Eddie begged and rambled, his hands shaking with the need to grab and pull and take.

“If you don’t fucking start right now I’m leaving–”

That was all the permission Eddie needed.

He sank slowly past that ring of muscle and Eddie didn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed about the high-pitched, breathy whine that escaped him. Steve really had prepped, just loose enough and slick enough, but he still took his time. He wanted to savour this, the way he slid into Steve’s tight heat, how the feeling made his legs tremble and his stomach clench. Steve deserved the caution. At first, at least.

“Tell me,” Eddie demanded, needing to talk to distract from the sheer feeling of bliss of being enveloped by Steve. “Tell me about what you were thinking when you fucked yourself on that dildo.”

Steve’s head tilted back with a moan, his brows drawn together, and Eddie longed to bite and lick the strong column of his throat, but he didn’t want to get distracted. He wanted to know.

“I thought about your fingers, first. Those rings, fuck, they drive me nuts. Wish you’d worn them today.” Eddie gave his hips a firm squeeze, fingers spread wide to catch as much soft skin as he could, and grinned when he felt Steve clench around him and heard a stuttering breath.

“I’ll wear them next time, big boy. Wanna see how good they look when I’m jerking you off.” The appreciative groan caused by Eddie’s words was divine.

“God yes. Next time.”

Of course it was then that the phrase sunk in. Next time. Eddie hadn’t even noticed he’d said it but Steve repeating it had something other than raging hormones rising in his gut. He didn’t even have time to process the implication because Steve kept going, and started meeting Eddie’s thrusts with small movements of his own.

“Then I thought about your dick. Y’know, it’s so hard not to stare when you get out of the pool.”

“Did you?”

“Duh.” Steve shot a bitchy look over his shoulder. The usual power behind the look was lost in the bright red flush on his face. It completely fell apart when Eddie shifted and hit somewhere new, Steve’s mouth dropping open with a guttural noise that made Eddie’s cock twitch. “S-shit, it’s so perfect,” he said.

Steve’s head hung loose from his shoulders, forehead resting on the hood of the car, needy, lingering moans bouncing off the metal, breath and sweat condensing on it while Eddie inched further into him every time he slid out and pressed back in. With his palms on the Bimmer, Steve used the leverage to rock into Eddie, the muscles in his shoulders rippling under the white cotton tank starting to go translucent with sweat.

Watching his cock steadily disappear into Steve’s hole was addicting. He leaned back to get a better view of how he split Steve open between the grimy handprints he’d left on the globes of his ass, placed his hands there again and dug his nails in, making Steve’s hips jerk so that Eddie sank the rest of the way with a groan.

“God, Eddie,” Steve mumbled, “fuck, you feel so. So, uh, so good.”

“Y-you too, baby.” Eddie could barely form words. The tight pressure around his cock threatened to end things there and then, but Eddie closed his eyes and breathed, letting the fire and the urge and the want die down to a less immediate threat. But then he opened his eyes, saw how good they looked locked together, the way his darker thatch caught against the lighter brown hairs decorating Steve’s ass, both of them wet from the lube he’d pushed out of his hole, and jesus fucking christ he didn’t want, he needed.

Pulling out slowly and bracing Steve’s hips with a punishing grip was the only warning he gave before snapping forward with a loud grunt, the slap of damp skin a filthy echo in the garage. Steve cried out at the second hard thrust, choked off when Eddie kept going, his hips picking up speed.

“Good?” Eddie gasped. Nodding, Steve uttered a desperate, pleading ‘yes’ that made him fuck into Steve faster.

“Look so fucking hot, Steve,” he started babbling, his voice reedy with pleasure. “God, my handprints on you. Want ‘em to stain, be there forever.” Steve moaned and Eddie felt him tighten around his cock. “Like that, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, fuck, I do, I do!”

Eddie leaned forward, draped himself across Steve’s back, and the angle was so fucking good, so much better, and he knew he’d started pounding into Steve’s prostate by the way his gasps had turned into a delicious mix of thin moans and choked out grunts. Fucking him into the car, Eddie let his hands roam. He rucked up the tank top, watched as the last of the dirt on his hands smeared over Steve’s perfect, scarred skin like loving and greedy claw marks. Finding a nipple, he pinched and squeezed until Steve writhed and squirmed.

Then Steve reached up. Buried a hand into Eddie’s hair, grabbed a handful and pulled.

“Oh fuck!” Eddie whined, his hips stuttering, the pain mixing with pleasure and zinging down his spine.

Steve chuckled, unsteady and breathy but so self-satisfied. “Thought about this… for so long, Eddie.”

“Thinkin’ about me so much, sweetheart. I’m honoured. What, hah, what did you think about?” he asked into Steve’s neck, lips catching on his skin, tempting him to lick, to bite. He did, groaning at the taste of salt.

“This. On your couch, by the pool, my bed, anywhere. Been desperate for it.” Steve pulled Eddie closer by his hair while he bounced back on Eddie’s cock as if to prove it. “Or, shit, bending you over that throne of yours and fucking you into it.” Eddie let out a pitchy whimper and Steve cooed in a way that could’ve been condescending but instead made Eddie melt. “But now, now that I know the kinds of fucking sounds you make–t-there, yes–I wanna take you apart. Slow a-and gentle until you’re a mess–”

He cut himself off with a broken moan. Eddie’s hips kept up their brutal pace with short, sharp, hard thrusts, the sound of their sweat-slicked fucking and and the jingle of Eddie’s belt buckle filling the room. His brain was nothing but static. The image was stuck in a loop like the end of a record left to spin. Eddie heard a desperate, animalistic whine and realised it came from himself.

“Close, baby?” Steve asked. Eddie nodded frantically, his lips dragging through beads of sweat dripping down his neck. He’d been holding it off, the fraying coil threatening to snap, his balls aching as they slapped into Steve’s asscheeks.

“You?” Eddie wanted to beg for Steve to be ready.

“Getting there, just, don’t stop,” Steve gasped.

Twisting, Steve pulled Eddie down to catch his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, fingers tangled in his damp curls. Their tongues met sloppily. Shared panting breaths like trying to inhale each other. Eddie’s thrusts were starting to falter. He was going to shake apart at this rate. Might just shatter when he comes, the pressure and heat and need too much and so fucking perfect.

“Steve,” Eddie whined, and Steve’s eyes met his. “So good to me, Stevie, sweetheart. Feel so wet, fuckin’ beautiful. Nee–mmh–need you, need you to come, please baby, please.”

“Touch me,” Steve said, practically commanded, and Eddie wasted no time.

Spitting in his hand and hoping it was enough, Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s dick, mixing his spit with the shocking amount of precome leaking from the head and spreading it over his length. Christ he was hung. Steve let out a relieved sigh, which Eddie swallowed, smashing their lips together again while fucking hard enough that he rocked Steve into his fist. Steve started making little ah, ah, ah noises. Next time–please let there actually be a next time–he’d worship this cock in the ways he wanted to, the ways Steve deserved, but for now he pumped him mercilessly. Then, then.

Steve seized, a full-body tremble ripping through him as he came, pulsing in Eddie’s hand as he tightened around Eddie’s cock and he was so fucking gorgeous, plush kissed-red lips open in a silent scream, so hot and tight and, and, and–

With a hoarse shout, Eddie came too, rutting helplessly into Steve as he rode out the sparking shockwaves that also had him shaking, the wet sounds between them even more obscene with Eddie’s come slicking the way. He finally stopped when Steve’s whimpers sounded a little too sharp. Breathing heavily, Eddie braced himself on the hood of the car on weak arms to keep himself from collapsing on top of Steve, only letting his head rest in the crook of Steve’s neck where he left one final, achingly gentle love bite.

“Okay?” he whispered.

“Mhmm,” Steve hummed contentedly, leaning his head against Eddie’s, their damp hair sticking together.

“Gonna pull out now, Stevie, okay?” When Steve just nodded lazily, Eddie slowly pulled out, both of them groaning at the feeling. And he couldn’t keep himself from parting Steve’s cheeks to see his come dribble out a little, feeling a great deal of pride and greedy satisfaction at the sight.

“Bit late to ask, but you’re still clean, right? After all those tests for the bat bites?” Steve asked, grimacing when he stood up. He was the perfect picture of debauchery, only wearing his rumpled, practically see-through tank top, socks, and shoes, with his hair a wild mess and sweat still dripping from his forehead. The dirty fingerprints and red marks starting to bloom on his neck and hips were Eddie’s favourite part.

“Yep, only time I’ll ever thank those shady government fuckers for poking me with all those needles.” Eddie grinned at Steve’s tired, but fond, chuckle.

Steve looked at the car with heavy-lidded eyes, then did a double-take. “Shit, I gotta wash that off.” There, on the shiny burgundy hood of the Bimmer, was the white splash of Steve’s come, stark against the dark colour. Eddie started cackling and Steve complained, “Dude, shut up, it’ll ruin the paint!”

“Gonna wash your car without these, Winnie the Pooh?” Eddie bent down to scoop up Steve’s shorts, dangling them from a finger. He laughed when Steve snatched them back with a glare that barely hid his begrudging smile. While he stepped back into them with a wince, Eddie said, “Interesting choice of clothing to work on your car, by the way.”

“Worked, though, didn’t it?”

“What?” Eddie’s eyes narrowed when Steve smiled innocently and shrugged before he wandered off to get a chamois towel and soap. And it clicked. “You planned this? You lured me in with slutty shorts?”

Tossing the towel up and catching it, Steve’s smile widened into something smug. “Yep.”

“Wait. Is the car even broken?”

Steve just offered Eddie another sly shrug and started wiping his come off the hood.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #sac scrawls stuff

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19burstraat · 1 month

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Ok we all know guild me, build me exists due to my artistic abilities being very lacking in the visual arts, so rather than drawing the crows in the komedie brute, I had to write kaz in. however I had ideas for the others that I couldn't get into a fic, so I've put em down here

Kaz: (description ripped from guild me, build me):

a heavy black cape, sewn with stolen chains and jewels so that it jingled upon every movement (...) It was marked up and slit here and there, on the edges and at the collar, to give the impression of crow’s feathers, and it was made of some kind of shiny, velvety fabric that had the oily shine of crow’s plumage. The gloves were the same material, thinner and more embroidered than Kaz would have ever entertained, and the cane was a plain, inaccurate copy– (...) the mask; a silver crow’s head (...) crooked over the eyes and nose, almost like a Kaelish plague mask. But it left the mouth unblocked; of course it did. Dirtyhands needed to talk.

Inej:

Light and flimsy dark (doesn't have to be black; could be blue or grey) fabric for the veil and cloak. Has an element of spiderwebby fraying to it which is a nod to her being... Well, a spider lmao. But also meant to look ghostly and insubstantial, can sometimes see a metal shiny suggestion of knives underneath it. The veil can be parted just down the side of her face, so you can occasionally see a bit of her face, but never the whole thing. Would not be a practical costume to climb or spy in; too long and bothersome, the same way Kaz's Dirtyhands cloak would not be practical to pickpocket in. Sometimes productions get her a few cheap sheath knives.

Jesper:

Rabbit head mask, short cloak in some batshit colour like green or pink, lined w rabbit's fur and threaded with gambling chips, 'lucky' rabbits feet, coins, and stray bullets. Adornments tied on loosely so they swing everywhere when he moves. This way there's also a real risk of the Kaz and Jesper actors getting tangled together if they interact, which is not symbolic, just funny. This is our get-along Komedie Brute costume :) (we are stuck)

Wylan:

A once-fine red cloak with a high ruffly collar-- now tattered and singed and gone to seed. Little bits of wiring or string or pouches of powders etc sewn into it; sneakily embroidered with the Van Eck laurel around the edges. Mask, while elaborate and matching with the cloak, only covers the top half of his face, as if he's not quite as all-in as the others. For similar reasons, the cloak is half-length.

Matthias:

Wolf's head mask ofc, white fur cape a lot longer and more substantial than Jesper's, with heavy furring around the neck (made to bulk out the actor if they're not the right stature, which most will not be). Likely they also weight his boots to make his tread sound more imposing. Possibly a wig if they can afford one, since Druskelle are known for the long hair.

Nina:

Porcelain-doll Venetian style mask (you know the ones!) with a single black tear-- referential both to that bit in CK when they identified themselves that way in the crowd of Mister Crimsons, and the Queen of Mourning thing. Mask is covered with a very light veil, and she wears a long heavy silk cloak with a bit of a hint of a kefta, but not enough to get the Komedie Brute in shit from Ravkan Grisha lmao. Entrance usually heralded with a blue corpselight.

I imagine dependent on the production and the costumier they could look great and beautifully elaborate, or they could look cheap and shit lmao.

Bonus: I got bored and made a mock-up of a page of a Komedie play. I edited over the first folio for this, yes. Sorry to the Big W.S.

#right I think this is all right now. finally #fuckass blue site so glitchy it posts my shit early.#six of crows #soc duology #my fics #my post #grishaverse

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maraudersmyloves · 2 months

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─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

Pairing: Luke Castellan x reader

Warnings: Reader has long enough hair to be put in a clip, kissing, slight Loser!Luke shining trough

Word count: 1.3k

Disclaimer 1: Everything on this Blog is fiction!!!

Disclaimer 2: Made this by listening to harry styles

"Hot summer Nights". :☆｡ﾟ. ───

You can't find your banana clip. You were so sure that you put it on your bed but you just can't find it. Now, every other day you would just put your hair in a ponytail or claw clip but today isn't any other day and your hair looks so long and voluminous in it so you can't help but freak out over it. You and your mom should've left five minutes ago but at this point, it was expected for you two to be at least 20 minutes late. It's not like you're mom's friend minded. You did though, because you may harbor a small crush on Luke, your mom's friend's son, and showing up later means less time with him. While you see him every summer, for some reason you two only talk at events your mom drags you to, not that you mind anymore.

You could easily go up to him at camp but he was always busy and you often got swept away from your own friends, forgetting that you even wanted to talk to him. Only when you get home and your mom tells you about an event, this time her friend's birthday, do you feel your stomach erupt in butterflies. You spent days planning your outfit, taking this as an opportunity to make him remember you at camp and come up to you.

Oh, gods you sounded desperate. You didn't really have a reason to be, with all the boys fawning over you at camp, getting asked out on the daily with bad pick-up lines that get played off as jokes and flowers that you truly appreciate. Still, you double-check your appearance in the full-length mirror next to your pink bed, overloaded with pillows. The outfit is a combination of all the items you usually get compliments on. A short jean skirt that perfectly hugs your hips and has some light fraying at the bottom, paired with a square-necked black crop top that you were told looks especially good on you. You're wearing Mary janes that are slightly covered by your white leg warmers that have a matching cardigan. You do look good, but it would be perfect with the missing clip

You want to start the search again but your mom calling your name interrupts you and you leave your room with a last scan to see if the goddess of luck, Tyche might just be on your side. Luckily, she is and you see it on the top of your lamp for some reason.

You can hear your mom mutter something about your skirt when you step out the door but she's too stressed to get there on time to give your lecture, which you quite honestly bet on when picking out the outfit. Your mom is dressed in a long flowing dress that looks really pretty. You tell her as much and she gives you a small smile while getting in the car. Your mom has put on the radio as she always does while you're watching the city wash away around you.

You and your mom don't share a word just doing your respective and sometimes singing along to some classics on the radio and before you know it you've arrived.

When you walk in it's the usual mix of giving me compliments, making comments about how you've grown so much, hugs, kisses, and what they think is subtle judging. For a second you debate if you should've worn jeans but judging by the way you could feel Luke's eyes on you all throughout the greetings and small talk, it was worth it. When you finally find the time to walk towards him he has a little blush, from you or the sun, on his cheeks.

The first minutes between you two are always awkward and filled with people coming up to you two and talking about how you haven't changed a bit and telling childhood stories and habits you two used to have. Apparently Luke used to push you on your little wooden horse chair when you complained about the fact that it wouldn't move. She shows you pictures of the two of you at around six and reminisces in memories you've already heard at least 30 times, before getting pulled away by her husband who insists she has to try the meat he just grilled.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

You and Luke have managed to sneak off to the roof with a bottle of champagne that gets passed between you two. "He should have stayed a planet," Luke argues after you somehow went from annoying parent to planets, to if Pluto should have stayed one. "No Luke, he isn't big enough to orbit properly it would be stupid to let him be one anyway." He passes you the bottle, purposely letting your fingers brush, while thinking how to argue against that, without getting distracted by the way his name sounds wrapped around your tongue, before sighing and stating that he simply doesn't care about stupid planet requirements and that Pluto shouldn't feel left out. You giggle causing him to look at you with stars in his eyes.

He loves your laugh and the way your eyes crinkle and sparkle with Humor. He hates that you don't talk to him at camp and he knows he could change that by simply going up to you and talking or even just holding eye contact but there are so many boys fawning over you and he's pretty sure he doesn't stand a single chance. You're so pretty, especially tonight with your mini skirt he just can't rip his eyes from, except of course when he stares at your glossy lips that he wishes he could kiss and bite at. He's doing it again as you speak, "He doesn't have real feelings, you know." "And how would you know, smartass" he teases causing you to lightly push away his grinning face while giggling. His cheek feels tingly where you touched it.

He pretends to have been hit by something as powerful as a minotaur and leans back to make it look as if he is about to fall off the Roof. You quickly grab his arm to pull him back towards you while he laughs. "Oh, fuck you. Don't scare me like that." As you realize how close you're hugging his arms to you you quickly let it while distracting yourself by looking at the ground.

"I'm sorry, my love."

my love

You look up at the Nickname, your eyes filled with something he can't quite decipher but beautiful still. Everything around you seems to slow down and his hand moves to your cheek as if it has free will. Your whole body is on fire as you ask, "My love," questioning if he meant it the way you wish he did. Instead of answering he leans close searching your eyes for allowance. When you nod, he connects your lips eagerly and lets his hand wander down your body before settling at your hips. You gasped in surprise, even though you knew what was coming actually feeling his pillowy lips on yours was completely different.

You sink your hands into his hair and tug slightly making him whimper. Your body gets swallowed by the warmth that sits around him like a halo and your body melts into his as if trying to turn into one single organism. He tries to pull you impossibly closer by the waist. You pull away for a second to take in a deep breath that feels like coming up from water full of life and colors and returning to the grey surface. You admire his flushed face. His Hair is tossled with your Hands still gripping his curls, and his Lips are swollen and look like you bit them, maybe you did, they're covered in your lipgloss and you smile placing a kiss on his cheek, leaving a mark. His Eyes are filled with stars as he looks at you. "We should do this again, sometime."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

Luke's mom when she sees him with your lipstick on his cheek:

#luke castellan #fluff #headcanon #writing #fanfic #percy jackson #luke castellan x reader #camp half blood #luke castellan x you

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yongislong · 1 year

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room 119.

genre: jaemin tooth rotting fluff, comfort, established relationship, nonidol!jaemin, suggestive perhaps? college au ofc

note: this is for the anon with the jaemin brainrot hehe... ty for the idea! not proofread but tbh... kinda obsessed with this and yeah it made me incredibly lonely soooo... i hope you enjoy muahaha

you hadn't heard from jaemin all day!

granted, it was still early in the morning, but you trusted him enough to not skip classes again. for the third time. this week.

it's chilly out as you make the short walk to his dorm building across the literature room in which you shared a philosophy class. you assumed he would text you if he was skimping out on lecture, again, but it was radio silence.

you were worried to say the least. it was often that he would skip, but he never, ever was the type of lover to go m.i.a on you.

hiking your backpack tighter on your shoulders, you trudged through the bright orange and yellow leaves. their dull crunching sound under the soles of your shoes are drowned out by the wind blowing past your ears.

finally reaching his dorm room, you roughly knock on the door. sniffling and wiping your nose. annoyed and cheeks red from your 10 minute walk to scold your sleepy boyfriend, you rock back and forth on your feet, a pout evident on your face as you let a couple seconds pass before knocking again.

however your hand never reaches the white wooden door, jaemin swings the door open, bed head on full display as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

your gaze rakes down to his neck and bare torso, following his happy trail all the way to the sweatpants hanging low on his hips, landing your gaze down to his feet clad in cheetah print socks. you look back up at him, letting your eyes linger back on his chest and collarbones.

you both stand at the door way for a while, he's amused at your reaction, no matter how many times you've seen him like this, it never fails to leave you incredibly flustered. and he's so grateful he's the only one who gets to make you feel like this.

"well are you gonna chew me out for skipping or is me being half naked a good enough apology?" he rasps.

too much time passes and he snaps you out of your thoughts with a chuckle, pulling you into his warm apartment by your wrists. his bed was pressed up against the left side of the wall, covered in posters and fairy lights. his room smelled like pumpkin pecan waffles and you couldn't help but let your eyes soften at the framed picture of you on his nightstand.

he has a drawer designated to your chapsticks, lip balms, hair ties, rings, nail polishes and any other trinkets you've left behind any time you visit him.

dragging you over to his bed as he plops on the mattress, tilting his head up to look at you, as you push his bangs back with your palms, he pulls you in from your belt loops, you let your arms hang over his shoulders, pushing his face deeper into your stomach once he rests his forehead on your ribs.

you notice the matching string bracelets you both bought on your first date together, hanging loosely on his wrist, you feel the fraying string as he trails a palm under the back of you shirt.

he feels warmer than the hot packs you had slipped into the pockets of your large jacket.

lifting his head up, he gives you an almost drunk grin. as if though your perfume made him as tipsy as his favorite bottle of peach soju he keeps tucked away in his bright purple mini fridge.

you continue to rake your hands over the hairs at the nape of his neck but stop one he removes your arms from his neck in order to help you slip the coat off your shoulders. standing up for a moment to untie your scarf and tuck his head into the crook of your neck to pepper a few smooches on the exposed skin where your shirt slipped from the friction of your coat being dragged off.

"you okay bunny?" you whisper, worried he skipped class for more than just an extra couple hours of sleep.

"never been better," he says genuinely and you can hear the smile on his face as his breath raises goosebumps near your spine and upper arms.

he sighs as he removes himself, he seems almost annoyed that he has to be apart from you for even a moment, as he helps you slip off your shoes and rests you against his pillows.

once he has you on the mattress he hikes up his sweatpants before tugging you down a bit by your bare ankles. he moves you a bit lower, allowing himself to rest all his weight on your chest, wrapping his buff arms around your hips. immediately closing his eyes and absentmindedly reaching for your arms. once found, he tugs your wrists yet again and not so subtly drapes your left arm over the top of his shoulder blades.

the skin is unbelievably soft and warm, and you can't help but instinctively begin scratching lightly against his thick, broad shoulders, trailing your nails down the middle of his back, reaching towards the band of his boxers.

you trace all the way back up to trace a heart over his left shoulder blade. you sensed how his pulse sped up and a smile take over his face, as the feeling of his cheekbones poking your sternum became more prominent.

right after, you feel him deeply exhale, as though he's needed this more than you know, but was too afraid to use words.

his grip around you tightens and you take this as an opportunity to crane you neck down and return the favor of peppering kisses near the top of his spine.

feeling him relax over your body is better than attending art history class for. sure.

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

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𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Previous Joel Fics: Mule [5.1K Words]

Summary: Marlene thinks Joel can save the fireflies. You’re not so sure.

Word Count: 10.2k!!!!

CW: LONG FIC. You have been warned! Slow burn Enemies to Fuck Buddies. Joel is 40 here, 10 years before the events of the game! Military and political themes because, say it with me now, “Jas loves plot”. Moody Joel, before Tess. Aggression. Slight gore. Power play. Hair pulling, f masturbation. Angst. Based off Game!Joel

Tease: “Look at you,” Joel growls. “Totally shameless.”

‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light.’

The white graffiti paint drips down the chipped terracotta walls of the hallway you were designated to patrol. Your feet ache in the brand-new leather boots gifted to you in the last donation drop-off, and you want nothing more than to crawl back to bed and ignore the arrival of this smuggler that had Marlene promising that she could take control of Boston in a fortnight.

“What a bunch of bullshit,” you scoff bitterly, picking at your cuticles. The skin is red raw under the fluorescent lighting, crimson blood pooling around your nails. It's a nervous habit you picked up since joining the Fireflies, marginally healthier than staying up all night but still torturing your body somehow.

There was no light to this way of life, no promise that the darkness would ever subside. It was a brutal cycle of killing a handful of soldiers only for them to execute swathes of Fireflies. You saw it in your dreams, your colleague's brains splattered across the streets in the exclusion zone, a carmine reminder that the military would not tolerate any form of mutiny within their controlled zones. Too many had devoted themselves to suicide missions, but still, you had nothing to show for it. How much longer could Marlene continue to hurl young lives at a promise she couldn't fulfil? The likelihood of finding an immune individual grew smaller and smaller each time squadrons of Fireflies failed to return home, and even the most faithful of individuals were beginning to lose hope that this martyr would ever arrive. That was despite your dogged leader insisting that there must be someone out there that could help provide the vaccine that would eradicate the Cordyceps virus.

You hiss sharply as you subconsciously pull a hang nail down your first knuckle, resulting in a stinging sensation that rips you from your pessimistic thoughts. It's light outside now, and you wonder how long you will have to wait to meet this smuggler that Marlene speaks of so highly. She had claimed that she knew the man's brother, stating that Tommy had fought valiantly for the cause until he found himself unable to justify putting his life on the line for someone that they weren't sure even existed.

As Firefly numbers dwindled, so too did the morale that held the frayed edges of the organisation together. Everyone had sacrificed something and lost someone dear for seemingly no reward. Marlene's fantastical idea that one lone smuggler could change the course of the firefly's suffering left you feeling that options were running out.

As you begin to resign bitterly to your seemingly inevitable end, a pair of footsteps sound down the corridor in an indication of your saviour’s arrival, broken bottles crunching beneath his boots. When you look up from your throbbing finger, now stripped to ribbons, you are caught off guard by the view.

Marlene's expression is grave; eyebrows pulled together in a stark and silent warning. Soldiers aren't coming home today. You had seen that gaunt visage before. Hell, you'd seen it almost every week recently. However, the most shocking sight was the person who accompanied her.

The man is old, much older than you had been expecting. His mousy brown hair, trimmed short, is greying to match the thick, peppery beard that coats his jaw. The edges of his eyes are creased, no doubt carved with the years he spent fighting to survive. His thin lips turn downwards, and his eyes are cold and hardy, indicating his desire to get the job done and escape Marlene’s control.

"Soldier," Marlene addresses you with an air of authority that can only indicate she is attempting to impress her guest, "You will be coming with me."

"Yes, ma'am," you stand at attention and cast your eyes over the guest of honour, who is yet to introduce himself. He doesn't look as though he intends to. He watches you with an air of caution as though he doesn't trust you. It doesn’t surprise you. Everyone in this new world order is a threat. Perhaps this wariness is how he survived so long.

Falling in line, you follow behind your superior. There is an uneasy silence settling amongst you. The Commander and The Smuggler don't seem comfortable in each other's presence.

"So, say you take back Boston. What then?" The man's gruff Texan accent cuts through the silence like a dull blade. It's agonising, an unwanted intrusion to the apparent mutual decision to remain quiet.

"I think you know," Marlene speaks with frustration, "Restore democratically elected government control.”

"Didn’t you say that at the beginning? It ain’t as though you are any closer than 10 years ago." The smuggler points out, his assessment lacking any form of amusement. He doesn't seem to revel in the Fireflies' losses, yet he has the confidence to call Marlene out on her ridiculous ambition.

Marlene shoots the stranger a look of indignation, clearly not appreciating his accurate assessment of the Fireflies’ track record. She doesn't attempt to argue, instead leading him into a room and ushering you inside.

“Joel,” she begins, naming the enigma that had walked in and undermined the entire principal of the organisation he had joined momentarily. Marlene closes the door and locks it for good measure before turning to face her ‘last hope’. “I need you to tell me the plan. I can’t just let you blindly lead the last of my men into a war zone-“

“Didn’t expect you to,” he answers lazily, crossing his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his flannel stretch across his broad biceps, buttons straining slightly against his frame. You assume that his physique is thanks to lugging around the oversized backpack that rests over his shoulders, the worn nylon fabric practically bursting at the seams.

Marlene offers Joel a look, the kind that indicates she doesn't feel like joking around. He inhales slowly through his nose, then exhales as if preparing to begin a presentation at a job interview. In a way, that is exactly what this meeting was.

"Y’all can only gather the number of weapons you need from one place. You won't find this shit just lyin’ around. We'll have to take it from the military themselves."

You nearly choke on the oxygen in your lungs, rocked back by Joel’s confidence in his ability to steal directly from under the noses of the US Military. You knew that Marlene had faith in him, but this was lunacy.

"And just how do you suppose we do that?" Even Marlene, ever the optimist, looks at Joel as if he is crazy. There was no way to infiltrate the military bases that the Federal Disaster Response Agency sanctioned. They had the place secure, triple-locked to keep out humans and infected alike.

"We'll catch them on one of their supply runs," Joe answers her question simply, as though he thought of this already, “If we ambush during the night in the Outskirts, they’ll lack the defences to hold us off. At most, there'll be four of ‘em in the delivery vehicle.”

It's an insane plan. The soldier’s on the border of the quarantine zones are armed to the teeth to defend against the infected. The team would need to be stealthy, catching them off guard and dispatching them before they had a chance to call for backup.

Perhaps it's the kamikaze-like nature of Joel's plan, or maybe the lack of detail he’s sharing, but understandably Marlene seems unsure. "Do you think it'll be worth it, all that risk?"

"What, armin’ yourself and strippin’ them of their next lot of ammunition? Seems beneficial to me."

You can't help but wonder what Marlene is trading for Joel to run headfirst into a death trap like this. Likewise, is it wise for her to place all her bets on one man who seems intent on being captured and sentenced to execution?

The heavy sigh that rattles through Marlene's lungs indicates to you that she has nowhere else to turn. In exchange for Joel's basic scheme, she extends a nod of approval.

"You will be escorting Joel." It takes a second for you to realise that Marlene is talking to you, still caught up in shock. When you do, Joel looks less than pleased at the concept of having a babysitter. He drags his eyes over to you, expression flat. You can't say that you're precisely thrilled, either.

"Yes, ma'am," you offer confidently despite wanting to beg for mercy. She doesn't offer you the chance.

"Joel, gather all the men and firepower you’ll need." With that final comment, Marlene turns toward the exit, leaving the two of you alone in the unfurnished room. She seems animated and enthusiastic about getting this plot up and running.

Joel makes no move to leave, instead leaning against the wall and peering at the Firefly pendant that rests on your collarbone. You know what he's thinking, but he himself fails to speak the ‘why’ out loud. There’s an awkward edge to him, indicating a man who had grown too accustomed to surviving as a lone wolf.

"I heard your brother was a Firefly," you beat Joel to it, asking the question before he has the opportunity to interrogate you. This area of the conversation appears to irritate Joel, his eyes turning to the ceiling.

"Yeah, he wasn't happy with the way I did things. Said it was too violent. Instead, he joined you and continued his brutal crusade here despite criticisin’ mine." Joel scoffs, picking at the thread-worn sleeves of the flannel he wore. His words are bitter, leading you to believe that the brothers don't talk anymore.

"It's less of a crusade than an attempt to set things right," you justify.

"You're killin’ people," Joel accuses bluntly. It's as though he's tarring you with the same pitch-black brush as those who killed for their own benefit. It sparks a rage in you, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them.

"You kill people to survive this world. I’m trying my best to revert it to the old one. If I have to kill soldiers to do it, who, by the way, act worse than the infected most of the time, then so be it.”

Joel appears to let your argument settle before he nods, pushing himself from the wall and making his way to the door. His boots scuff the flooring, the grating sound punctuating the silence as you await his response, which he delivers with an air of finality.

"Yeah, you just keep tellin’ yourself that bullshit."

—————————————————

Joel has a wealth of knowledge that can only result from his smuggling adventures and the network of insiders he worked with. He is somehow aware of the military's next supply drop-off date, which just so happens to coincide nicely with his arrival. It gave the team two days to plan their attack. It was almost too good to be true.

Your suspicions against the smuggler grow with your inability to discern his reason for aiding Marlene. There was no question that he was no longer involved with his brother Tommy, the two seemingly ending their relationship on less than amicable terms, and there also appeared to be no love lost between your sergeant and Joel.

Yet despite his apparent limited reward, Joel was focusing all of his efforts on ensuring that this mission was successful. His rucksack, which he had held close to him since entering the Fireflies’ hideout, was filled to the brim with rudimentary grenades and modified firearms. He admitted his knowledge of creating these weapons had come from manuals scavenged throughout his time as a smuggler. Reluctantly, Joel shares the blueprints, and the mission squad are armed with Molotov cocktails and nail bombs by the end of the evening.

You wish you could say that Joel's helpfulness had warmed you to his presence; however, you find yourself increasingly irritated by his constant attendance. You see him arrogant and consistently standoffish despite your fellow member's attempts to appease him with light conversation.

Following the half-a-day-long effort to sufficiently arm the team, Marlene had pulled all on-site members of the Fireflies into a meeting room. She stands at a table, an aged, worn map of the Boston quarantine zone spread across the surface. From where you're standing, you can see circles marked in red ink along the border.

Something akin to optimism clings to the air of the dusty meeting room. You feel it when the group goes silent as Marlene raises her hand for attention. Joel stands by her side, eyes assessing the map as he awaits the beginning of the briefing.

"Everyone listen in," Marlene orders, authority drenching her tone as she commands her army, "I want everyone confident in their role on this mission. We only have one chance to get this right."

You swallow thickly, readying yourself to hear how Marlene had taken Joel's absurd mission plan and cultivated it into a scheme for which her troops would feel comfortable risking their lives.

"We have information that the military is due a supply drop from FEDRA in two days. We are almost certain that this restock will contain firearms and ammo that could help us take down the military presence in Boston." A series of murmurs sound, those in the room comforted by the prospect that they may no longer need to ration their supplies.

"It is crucial that we obtain these weapons to take control of the Boston quarantine zone. With civilian support, we could increase our numbers and once again focus our efforts on obtaining a vaccine for the Cordyceps virus."

It was an unspoken truth that the Fireflies' efforts to acquire a vaccine had ultimately fallen by the wayside, the lack of soldiers, weapons and equipment making it increasingly difficult to travel across the country to the medical facility at Salt Lake City where the trials were taking place. The Fireflies focused most of their resources towards protecting the medical officials integral to finding a cure. Taking control of the militarised zone would provide more than enough manpower, vehicles, and firearms to travel safely and restart the process of searching for an immune individual who could help turn the tide of the war against the virus.

"I can confirm that most supply drops are handed over on the east side of the quarantine zone. Our best option is catching the vehicle containing the cache in the Outskirts before it reaches the wall.”

The Outskirts are notoriously dangerous, their desolate plains unlit and infested with runners that try their luck getting past the military blockade. If you somehow managed to survive the creatures, you then had to contend with the snipers on the wall. Many Fireflies had lost their lives crossing these lands to supply the medical facility in Salt Lake City at the peak of testing.

"I will be handing the mission over to Joel to ensure we have the best chance of obtaining these critical supplies,” Marlene finishes, stepping back and letting Joel take control of the meeting.

Wasting no time, Joel points towards the circled area on the east side of the quarantine wall. "They plan to hand over the cache at the gate on the East wall. If we can intercept ‘em before they reach the lit areas surroundin’ the zone, we should be able to take out the soldiers and grab the weapons before they can call for backup."

You're unsure where your frustrations come from. Perhaps it's the simplicity with which Joel delivers his plans, but you find yourself questioning whether or not it was possible to succeed without losing enough men to bring the Fireflies to their knees.

"I assume you expect us to travel through the underground tunnels beneath the apartment buildings. Who's to say we won't run into Clickers and Runners that drain our resources or leave us late and unable to complete the mission?" You question Joel with sincerity, but he looks at you as though you’ve queried his authority.

Marlene opens her mouth to interject and scold you for insubordination, but Joel raises his hand.

"I am gonna do a run of the smugglin’ tunnels myself and sweep for any infected so that the path is clear for tomorrow evenin’," Joel answered smoothly, despite the obvious irritation laced between his words, "Shipment is due at 9 p.m. tomorrow. We're gonna move out at 5 to make sure that we have enough time to get to the Outskirts and set up for engagement."

Still, you find yourself concerned with Joel’s leadership. None of you knew him. He hadn’t developed trust between the team and himself; instead, he kept you all at arm's length and maintained distance.

“How do we know you won’t hand us all in and take the weapons yourself? You’re a smuggler; you’d earn a lot from them,” you accuse, not unlike the tone Joel had taken with you hours before.

“Soldier-!” Marlene speaks up, running out of patience with your disregard for her ‘smuggling saviour’. Once again, Joel keeps his hand aloft to quieten her and fight his own corner.

“This is a job,” he states with a gravelly tone that betrays his relaxed posture, “I ain’t for your little militia group, and I’m not against it. I will lead this mission, hand the weapons over, take my ration cards and my cut of the firearms and leave. You wanna distrust me and end up dead? Be my guest.”

You can’t help but scoff, taken aback by his inability to choose his side of the moral compass. To fight for good with the Fireflies or battle to maintain the new world order with FEDRA. Instead, he doesn’t even sit on the fence. He’s situated in the shadows, benefitting from either side only for himself.

Joel’s expression serves as a warning to interrupt him again, pointing to the map as he begins to detail the step-by-step of his mission.

“Plan’ll go like this….”

—————————————————

You can’t exactly claim to be surprised that you had been left out of the mission squad and ordered to remain at the hideout after questioning Joel’s leadership. ‘One loose link’ and all that. However, you find yourself wracked with nerves as you return to your room for the night. What if they needed you? What if everything went south, and you were the one pair of hands required to maintain a grip on the delicate situation?

That wasn't to say that you didn't have faith in your fellow soldiers to carry out the mission successfully. Joel had picked the brightest and most skilled of Marlene's troops to carry out this night raid, and you knew they had enough experience to achieve this critical assignment. But what if…?

Marlene had delivered her scathing reprimand following the meeting when she had dragged you down a corridor and insisted you get your act together. You hadn’t been able to look her in the eye, believing her reckless for putting the lives of her troops, your friends, in the hands of a man who couldn’t care less what happened to them as long as he got his payout.

Were you being naive? Was it foolish to believe that every surviving person not aligned with FEDRA should stand opposed to the regime and attempt to restore some level of order? Or had humanity evolved beyond the return to everyday life, much preferring to fight for themselves, to remain in the dog-eat-dog system this virus had granted them?

You find yourself fearing the answer.

As you enter the doorway to the barracks, you hear the rapid pacing of footsteps down the hallway approaching you. The sound drags you from your thoughts, but not before a hand firmly grips your collar and pushes your back to the wall so hard that you hit your head off the jagged brickwork.

Pushing his forearm across your chest, Joel stares back at you with rage burning in his pupils. The metal of a watch strapped around his wrist digs into your collarbone painfully, but you grit your teeth in response, standing firm against Joel's display of intimidation.

His chest is heaving with heavy breaths, seemingly infuriated by your display in the meeting room. Despite his fury, his voice is relatively even. "You gotta problem with me?"

"Ha," you scoff, "That's funny. What was it you said? ‘Be my guest’?”

Joel answers first by applying pressure to your chest, his forearm balancing his weight and crushing your bones beneath it in a painful warning. You grab at the skin exposed by his rolled-up sleeves and dig your nails in, though it does little to de-escalate the tension.

"Look,” he sneers, brows creased together, “You don’t gotta like me. Ain’t even gotta respect me. But what you’re not gonna do is put doubt into your fellow soldier's heads. That shit’ll get them killed. You want that?”

"What's it matter to you? You don't care how many die as long as you get your payout," you dig in, not allowing Joel to think he could muscle you into submission.

He inhales shakily in anger, glaring at you as you attempt to pry his arms off. "The role Marlene gave me ain't to ensure the survival of your friends. My only goal is to guarantee y’all get your hands on those weapons, no matter the cost. So I suggest you assure their best chance of survival by keeping your mouth shut and your opinions of me to yourself."

"Aye, Aye, Captain,” you sneer.

"Atta girl."

The sarcasm dripping from those three syllables sets you off again. You grit your teeth while pushing hard on the limb that has you firmly pinned down, but your limited strength has little effect until Joel pulls away completely. Almost instantly, a bruising ache settles across your skin, and you suppose it's Joel's version of a parting gift.

There is a pause between the two of you as you take in Joel's command. He appears to be watching your expression for any sign of acknowledgement towards his order. You both breathe heavily, on the comedown from your respective anger aimed at each other. It's intense, the crackling tension in the air shared by both of you.

You're unsure how or why the mood shifts so violently in the room, but you can feel your heart racing as you watch Joel settle his hands on his hips. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip as he exhales what must be the last of his anger. In this quiet moment, you note how handsome he is despite his weathered appearance. His usually aggressive, guarded expression is momentarily brought down and exposes the warm, earthy brown tone of his irises.

"Just…" Joel hesitates, searching for the correct words as he looks you in the eye. He's quiet for a long, drawn-out second as if processing you. "You ain't gonna like the guilty conscience of believin’ somethin’ you said is the reason your friends died. Trust me."

The gentle tone Joel offers indicates he has experience in what he's warning you against. When he offers this advice so calmly, who are you to deny this slither of kindness? So you just nod in acknowledgement, refusing to extend him any more appreciation.

Joel steps away whilst clearing his throat, appearing satisfied with your non-answer. He, too, provides little recognition, instead turning around and exiting your room in the direction he came.

You watch as he paces down the corridor, his broad back disappearing around the corner and leaving you alone to dissect what the fuck just happened.

—————————————————

On the morning of the mission, you see very little of Joel. It's all hands on deck, the mission team working hard to ensure they had the supplies needed for the hijacking. Every so often, you would catch glimpses of Joel's red tartan flannel or hear the rough intonation of his Texan accent. It was silly, but you began to think he was purposely avoiding you.

Yes, he had acted carelessly last night by cornering you the way that he did, though you're not sure that is entirely out of character for him. Instead, you believe that whatever happened that caused your heart to race when he pulled away was a shared experience.

Rather than concerning yourself with why he was skirting around you, intentional or not, you focus on enacting your promise from last night. You work hard to ready the troops for the deadline, a subtle nod that you approve of Joel's leadership to urge their confidence in him.

It is painful, but you take your time with each of them. There is almost a certainty that some may not return home, and so you commit them to your memory. It's something you did every time someone left to enter the field, but it felt especially pertinent considering how close the Fireflies were to shifting their luck. Those who died tonight wouldn't get to appreciate the spoils of their sacrifice.

By mid-afternoon, Marlene considered her soldiers ready for battle and ordered them at ease to relax and rest up before heading out. Some opted to share their last meal; others played card games while recounting the time they had spent together with fondness despite the difficulties shared.

Quietly, you had slipped away from the main halls and left them to their final goodbyes. You weren't going out there, so it felt disrespectful to sit amongst those waiting for the call to arms. Alternatively, you made your way to one of the medical bays to ensure that someone set up enough equipment for those who may come back wounded.

By now, you had set out multiple antibiotic syringes, readied bandages and sutures and prepped gurneys so that everything was ready should there be an emergency. You felt better this way, as though you had aided in the effort.

So caught up in the process, you failed to notice Joel leaning his shoulder against the doorway until he cleared his throat to alert you to his presence. When you look up, the sound having startled you, you find him watching you with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Do you… Uh-do you need something?" You offer awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. Joel shakes his head, eyes flitting down to where you had laid out the medical equipment.

"No. Everythin’ is ready, and the tunnels are clear of infected. Just comin’ to tell you I'm headed out." He walks across the room towards the desk you are sitting at, stopping at the foot of the wooden table and laying his palms flat along the surface. You can see the veins raised through his skin.

You look at him through your lashes, swallowing back the nervous energy you feel creeping to the surface as he leans over the table.

"Why should I care?" You ask. You intend for it to appear nonchalant, but it just sounds breathy even to your ears. Joel raises an eyebrow in question.

"Woah Woah, easy. Still bratty then, I see," Joel points out, his tone flat. You cringe inwardly, knowing that that must have been his attempt to extend an olive branch. "Thought we could put this little disagreement behind us before heading out."

"There isn't one."

"Could’a fooled me," Joel chuckles, but it lacks humour. His gaze slips over your body and appears to take note of all the tiny details. You hope it's all in your mind, but you can feel your face heat up and your heart thrum in your chest again.

"You know, you really remind me of Marlene."

Of all the things you expected Joel to say, that certainly wasn't one of them. You look back at him slack-jawed as you feel the warmth of what you assume was a compliment wash over you.

"Huh?”

"She doesn't put up with none of my bullshit neither. Always tellin’ me to take a hike when I'm outta line and put me back in my place," there's a hint of a smile and Joel's face as he recounts their strange dynamic. A fondness touches his eyes, a fraction of warmth you hadn't yet seen in the hardened smuggler. "Thinkin’ that's maybe how she managed to keep Tommy in check for as long as she did."

You hesitate in your response, unsure how to approach this conversation due to the awkwardness from this morning. Turns out you don't have to because Joel continues.

"Only difference between y’all is that you have the balls to question things you feel ain't right. That's a high-value quality in a leader."

You feel as though you've been bowled over. Yet another compliment from the man who had attempted to strangle the life out of you nearly 12 hours ago. They were starting to make you think that maybe he'd succeeded and that you had entered a strange alternate dimension.

Laughing awkwardly, you shift the syringes around the tabletop in an attempt to keep your nervous hands busy. "Don't let Marlene hear that, shall consider it mutiny."

That earns you another elusive chuckle, the Texan shaking his head in amusement.

"Yeah, well, it ain't mutiny if I ain't part of her little militia army. Don't think I got much to worry about." This dynamic isn't friendship, you figure, though it's undoubtedly more amicable than tussling in your bedroom. It may be the closest Joel ever got to anything akin to amity.

It's not hard to assume that almost 20 years of solitary survival might make it challenging to establish emotional ties. Plus, you know nothing of Joel's ordeals getting to this point. Still didn't excuse his arrogance, though.

Again, silence creeps between you and you feel your stomach somersault while Joel maintains his close proximity. You dread to think what you look like, horrified that your expression could give away your internal panic. Even if it did, it wasn't Joel causing it. It wasn't.

"I'm off," Joel grumbles, standing up and pulling away from the desk and allowing you to breathe a silent sigh of relief. You watch him stroll leisurely towards the door, his hands on his hips. "I'll see you in the mornin’."

Most people in the Fireflies were surprisingly superstitious. It wasn't often you heard someone announce with such certainty that they would return from a mission. Regardless of its abnormality, it manages to ease your nerves – not that you were concerned about what happened to Joel.

"Good luck."

The flippant comment causes Joel to stop in his tracks, pausing in the doorway. He peers over his shoulder at you as if to make certain that you said it. He appears surprised.

"Yeah. Thanks."

—————————————————

Pacing.

You're pacing uncontrollably, circling the room in a failed attempt to ease the nervous energy pent up in your system. No matter how hard you attempt to block out the repetitive dialogue in your mind, it rushes back to the surface of your brain. What if, what if, what if –

Joel and his squad had moved out the minute the clock struck five, just as he had promised. Although Marlene had provided Joel with a walkie-talkie, the mission's reliance on stealth meant that no one intended to use it. You were completely cut off, uncertain of Mission status or if the squad was even alive.

Hoping it would make your wait more bearable, you turned your ticking clock to face the wall and put your watch inside your bedside drawer. It had helped initially, but now the sun had set, and you were expecting their imminent arrival. Every second your colleagues don't step back into the compound, your faith dwindles.

Though she maintained a stony expression, you knew Marlene was equally anxious. The most wanted woman in America, though able to defend herself, still depended heavily on her armed personnel. Reliant on this mission being a success, she had offered them up to Joel in the hope that their experience would assure victory. You can't help but wonder if she feels exposed without them.

What if they didn't come back? Could she survive without them?

It’s bordering on the edge of midnight when Marlene informs you she’s turning in for the night. You can’t say you blame her, needing to sleep on the off chance the team didn't return. She had informed you upon the group's exit that if the mission failed, the two of you would be heading to Salt Lake City at dawn.

You opt to stay awake, knowing well enough that you won't sleep until you are confident there will be no return.

Continuing your anxious circling of the room, you pick at your wounded cuticles. They are weeping blood down their knuckles thanks to hours of torture, yet you can't bring yourself to stop the self-destructive behaviour. Not while you wait for news.

Your heart practically leaps out of your chest at the sound of the main doors creaking open. It's so quiet you almost miss it in the silence, the sound of your blood rushing through the shell of your ear nearly drowning out the barely audible noise.

Grappling for your pistol, you release the safety and suck in a shaky breath. No one had announced themselves, and without guards on the door, there was no way to discern that those who had entered the building were Fireflies.

You shake with nervous energy, carefully stepping across the rickety wooden floor to conceal the sound of your movements. Had the US military found your hideaway? Surely not; they would have moved in before any threat to their organisation could be enacted

Leaning your back flush to the door frame in an attempt to conceal yourself, you listen out for any advancing danger. It's quiet at first, but you hear the scuff of a boot against the uneven floor cut through the silence. Inhaling swiftly, you ready yourself before lurching out from behind the door frame with your pistol aloft.

Shock wracks your body upon setting your eyes on the intruder that stands before you. Joel. Covered in blood from head to toe, his hands drip the viscous liquid onto the floor. The shoulder of his flannel is ripped open, loose threads sticking to his sweat-soaked skin.

"Oh-oh shit-“ you gasp out, horrified by the state you find him in. Given the state of his clothes and the sheer amount of blood that continues to run from his hair down his temples, your immediate thought is to check for wounds-but you can't see any. Sure, there is a scrape on his shoulder where the fabric of his flannel has ripped open and a cut that spans the length of his whole knuckle that you can see when he wipes the sweat from his brow, but other than that, you can't see any wound that would cause that much blood loss.

Joel, however, appears relatively unfazed as he points over his shoulder.

"Most came out with minor wounds," he states calmly, his gruff voice laced with exhaustion, "Lettin’ Marlene know we are back and that I have her guns."

It's as though Joel had just completed a simple sweep of the hideout parameters rather than one of the most dangerous and vital missions since the fireflies began their fight for humility, all without having received a single major wound.

As he walks away and leaves you gawping after him, frozen in place, you hear your team filtering in through the main doors behind you one by one. They are shouting your name and proclaiming their victory as they surround you, holding their hard-won weapons aloft. Despite their hollering, you can barely hear them over the frantic thoughts buzzing through your mind.

How?

It takes hours to ease the excitement and adrenaline buzzing through each of Joel's soldiers. You stitch up the wounded and listen to their battle stories in awe. They are enthusiastic about informing you of Joel's brilliance, frequently admitting that they could not understate how much of this victory they owed to him.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” one laughs incredulously. "There were more than we had expected, but it didn't phase him. He took out two of them on his own, and when his gun jammed, he knocked them out with his fists!”

Turns out that the four soldiers the fireflies had expected were accompanied by another five unaccounted for. Joel hadn't let it affect the team, pushing them ahead with the mission. By blinding them with smoke grenades, the team had been able to ambush successfully, and despite the physical tussle that resulted in Joel's bloodbath, the mission had otherwise gone just as planned, the fighting all wrapped up within moments.

According to the many recounts told as you patched up your friends, the only reason it took so long was that the weapons boxes were heavy and made for a tight squeeze in the tunnels. You could have cried at the stupidity of it all.

Eventually, Marlene joined in with the festivities, having been woken by Joel to confirm "Mission accomplished." Leftover Molotov cocktails from the mission we used as celebratory drinks that had the majority of your colleagues wasted within the hour - including your commander.

As fresh, golden beams of sunlight peered through the windows, you excused yourself to bed despite the drunken protests of your colleagues. After explaining your exhaustion, thanks to your immense concern, they reluctantly allowed you to leave on the condition you would celebrate with them later. You imagined their hangovers would be too severe for further partying.

Practically clawing your way to your barracks, you breathe a sigh of relief as you walk through the open door. You can still hear the shouts of jubilation downstairs, noting that you’d probably have to drown out the sounds by covering your head with a pillow. The mattress calls to you like a siren, promising rest. You plan to skip removing your clothes and fall into bed as you are-

"Didn't expect to be greeted with a gun to my head."

The heavy, Southern drawl that sounds from your doorway behind you makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. You wish you could say it was a fear response or disgust, but your heart leaps in your chest with excitement.

Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes to collect yourself before you turn to face him. Your inhale is so deep you feel the edges of your lungs ache at the strain before you turn around to face the Walking Headache.

Joel is leaning against the door frame as he had in the medical room before he left. He has bathed since you saw him an hour ago, scrubbing the gore from his body and dressing in fresh clothes. His hair is still damp, and you assume he’s been forced to borrow the outfit from one of his new-found friends, the seams a little too tight on his broad body.

"Yeah, well, I didn't expect to find a serial killer walking the halls either," you dig at the state he had returned in. It earns you a deep chuckle that resonates in his chest, and you can't help but note the way you hold your breath to hear the pleasant sound better.

"That how you treat all your commanders?" Joel questions, his voice lilting with a hint of humour that you find dangerous, your heart stuttering at the drastic change in him since the last time you were in this room together.

You let out a scoff that doesn't quite match the indifference you were attempting to convey. "Don't flatter yourself. You were consulted to lead one mission; that doesn't make you a commander."

He doesn’t like that.

Standing gormlessly in the middle of the room, you immediately regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. Joel is gazing at you with an intensity in his earthy irises, taking in your feigned lack of respect with a slight arch of his brow. It's less of a look of surprise than it is an unspoken challenge. It makes your body flush with heat.

The sense of security you feel with him on the other side of the threshold to your door bursts the moment he effortlessly steps inside. He has no issue with invading your personal space, finding it even easier when you fail to find the words to protest his intrusion.

Joel doesn't hesitate, but he also lacks urgency, taking his time to leisurely bridge the space between the two of you. Again, he is close enough that you can see the intricacies of his face. There is a myriad of delicate freckles and a small, ruddy scar that kisses the bridge of his nose.

You're so wrapped up in the tiny details that you almost miss the flicker of consideration in his eyes. Despite his steady, authoritative body language, he’s questioning whether or not he can say what he has in mind as he studies your expression carefully.

He leaps.

"Insubordination results in punishment, don’t it, soldier?" His volume pitches right down, each syllable buzzing through your veins as he maintains heavy eye contact that has your knees melting beneath you.

It's only when he speaks that you realise you have stopped breathing, your lungs burning in a desperate attempt to shake you from the trance he’s put you in.

You have no explanation for your response. You don’t have the chance to argue, to insult him for playing this ridiculous role. Instead, each word forces itself from your mouth upon your shaky exhale, coming out in a broken whisper.

“Yes, Sir." Your answer is spoken embarrassingly quickly. There’s a flash of something powerful in his eyes, like he’s still buzzing on residual adrenaline left over from the mission. It surges forward at your answer, and he clings to it, taking control of the room- of you.

“Atta Girl.”

It drips through you like honey, coating your insides and warming them. Your body tingles and pleads for Joel’s attention despite your best efforts to fight the need he draws from it as he drags his eyes across its length.

A tiny voice in your mind rears its ugly head. He’s probably pent up from fighting, and you’re still stressed from waiting up all night. You could give in to what you want. Doesn’t mean you like him.

Joel seems to hear it too, his eyes searching for a hint of approval. You can see he’s itching to touch you, to release the anger that you’ve built in him back onto you with tongues and teeth.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

“On your knees, soldier.” He commands, and it’s like his voice strokes something hedonistic inside of you because your body surges with arousal at the implication of his order.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

Against your better judgement, you slowly sink to your knees in front of Joel, eyes pin-set on the toes of his dirtied boots. The wooden floor smarts your knees, but you maintain your position in an effort to appease him.

Joel doesn’t move, feet firm in their place on the floor as you bow before him. He’s making you wait, arms loose at his sides. You don’t dare to lift your head to look at him, to urge him forward, instead straining your eyes upwards to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Prickling heat teases at your skin, your arousal triggered, knowing he was watching you submit to him so easily. The tension grips you, finding it ironic that Joel entered every situation all-guns-blazing yet had utmost patience when it came to prolonging your suffering.

Your need condenses, acutely aware of Joel’s entire being. It’s as though you can feel his eyes trail over your body like a feather-light touch, and you swear that you can smell the dampness of his hair. Most of all, you focus on Joel’s even, quiet breathing, the expansion and deflation of his lungs acting like a metronome in the silence.

Then- God, then he’s moving his hand forward achingly slowly, fingertips pressing delicately against your left temple. The brush of his fingerprint over your skin ignites a humming arousal between your thighs, and you subconsciously press them together when he pushes his digits into your hairline.

Your jaw drops, slack as you exhale shakily. So starved for Joel’s touch, you’re more than grateful for the innocuous brush of his fingers along your scalp. It’s probably so obvious to him, your desperation, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he takes a step forward, his boot settling into the wooden planks you’re kneeling on, his feet on either side of your thighs.

Joel is so close you can feel the fabric of his jeans brush against your forehead. So frequently worn, the denim has lost that rough texture and could almost pass for cotton. You don’t dare to move, knowing if you so much as twitched, your nose would graze over his crotch through the material.

“Atta girl,” Joel murmurs, unironically this time, his voice rumbling in his chest. It cuts through the quiet so suddenly that it makes you jump, almost loud to your ears. He sounds pleased with your reception of his proximity, rewarding you by taking a firm but painless grip on the roots of your hair.

It’s as though you can read his mind. His pulse thrums in his palm against the soft flesh of your scalp, matching the thumping pace of your own. Joel doesn’t speak his thoughts out loud, yet it’s like he whispers into your ear. ‘Good soldiers get rewarded.’

The pressure he applies to the crown of your skull is minute, but it’s enough to push your face into his crotch. Your gasp of surprise is so loud that it almost drowns out the resonant hum that he releases, gripping tighter to your hair as you nuzzle into him.

Rock hard beneath your cheek; you can feel Joel’s cock twitch at the delicate friction you gift him. Having plunged so deep now, you no longer have to reason with yourself to take what you want, kissing the shaft of his dick through the fabric he wears. Again, your reward is to be pushed closer to him, the adrenaline pulsing through Joel’s veins causing a heavy-handedness that makes the walls of your pussy flutter.

“Look at you,” Joel growls as your tongue drags across the fabric his cock strains against, as if resorting to desperate measures to taste him, “Totally shameless.”

You can’t contain it, the whimper that bubbles in your throat. It sounds around Joel’s twitching cock, and it seems to rile him up, momentarily cracking his composure when he thrusts his hips forward slightly.

Fuck, it’s like he’s hypnotising you with his grunts and groans, your body liquidating as they heat you from the inside out. Heaving breaths indicate the magnitude of your desire, and you’re kneeling up before you can even think of the consequences of taking matters into your own hands.

Pushing your nose into the seam of the crotch in his jeans, you use the tip of your tongue to search for the zipper. The brass is warm when it brushes your tastebuds, a metallic tang coating them as you slide your tongue beneath it.

Carefully, you take the fastening between your teeth, lowering your head to drag the zipper down. You probably only manage four links of the chain before Joel’s hand shoves itself between you and the fabric, bumping your nose as he tears the button of his jeans open with a stuttery exhale.

He releases his cock from the confines of his pants, and God, you’re so thankful he does. A thatch of thick curls frames the base of his cock, a subtle curve to the veiny shaft that stands at attention beneath your gaze. The tip gleams in the low light seeping through your thin curtains, coated with precum that weeps from the head that’s flushed a dusty purple. He’s not too big, with a perfect girth and length to him that has you convinced he’d fit inside you just right-

Joel doesn’t allow himself to examine how you practically melt at the sight of him, wrapping his fingers around his shaft and steadying it with his thumb. In any other situation, the gentle slap of his cock against your cheek would have you leaping from the floor and throttling him, but you’re both so needy that you open your mouth greedily without prompt. It drives Joel insane.

“Hah,” he heaves, pressing the tip of his dick to your flat tongue, “Shit- oh shitshitsh-“

Joel sheathes himself inside your mouth with one long stroke of his hips, and you’re almost sure your throat stretches beyond its limits to accommodate him.

“Fuckin’ shit,” Joel curses heavily, watching your eyes brim with tears at the intrusion as you fight your gag reflex. When you glance up at him through your watery lashes, you catch the way his upper lip arches at the sensation of your tongue tracing the underside of his cock. He’s sweating, brow glistening with evident arousal on his brow, and your stomach flips at the concept that you were the one making him feel this way- breaking his almost impenetrable composure.

Carefully, you inch him further down your throat until the tip of your nose buries into the curls framing his pubic bone. A musky smell that is uniquely Joel coats your senses, and you find yourself almost dizzy at the concept of being totally surrounded by him, filled by him. Just hours ago, you couldn't stand him, couldn't bear to be around him, and yet now you think you'd cry if you pulled away.

Joel groans above you as you swallow around his length, his fingers grappling with your hair for purchase and gripping tightly to the strands at the crown of your head. You use Joel’s distraction to begin bobbing your head, slowly pulling off him and feeling him drag against the walls of your throat until the tip of his cock rests over the flat of your tongue. Before he can complain, you sink back down and take all of him back into your mouth, and you swear that you can see Joel’s eyes roll back into his school in your periphery.

"Ah- fu-“ Joel appears entirely enraptured by the sensation of the head of his cock catching on each little ridge of your throat, and you can see him watching you work him in and out of your mouth at a lazy pace. "Look at you- Hnng- So fuckin’ good."

As you get used to the sensation of the velvety skin bumping against your throat, you begin to experiment a little more. You use the slow, steady pace to drag your tongue over the length of his fraenulum and swirl it around the head. The salty taste of the precum beading at the slit pushes you further, feeling him twitch with your ministrations.

Throbbing aches begin to settle in your knees, complaining about kneeling against the wooden floor but are drowned out by Joel's heady groans and the tight coil of arousal between your thighs. It's as though you can feel your pulse throughout your body, complaining about the lack of attention, but also invested in the way Joel appears to be losing his composure that you can't find it in yourself to protest.

“Christ-“ Joel groans out above you, suddenly taking a firm grip of your hair and pulling you up and off of him. The burn in your lungs has you gasping for air as you look up at him in concern. Had you messed up?

Opening your mouth to ask him what you’d done wrong, you find the words die in your throat when Joel pushes the tip of his weeping cockhead against your lips again. He’s staring down at you with this look in his eyes, something dark and potent swirling in his pupils. You taste him on your tongue again, and Joel pushes your head down onto him again.

He's unable to control himself, driven by the sensation of your mouth around him. The comprehension makes your mind spin with pride, and again you submit to Joel.

It’s rough, your hair wrapped around his fingers to better his grip as he forces you to still. Your eyes tear up, leaking tears down your cheeks as he begins to fuck your mouth at a brutally satisfying pace. Despite the bruising sensation of his cock hitting your throat, you’re practically dripping in your underwear when seeing the way Joel snarls at the overwhelming bliss.

Grasping desperately onto his hips to brace yourself, you cling on as Joel fucks deep into your throat. The hinges of your jaw ache at the effort of holding your mouth open for him, but Joel doesn’t let your efforts go unnoticed.

His free hand brushes his rough knuckles across your cheekbone, sliding down your face so his palm can cup your throat. Joel lets out the most wicked groan, applying pressure to your neck to feel himself slide in and out of you.

“God- You feel that?” He laughs out incredulously, his cock twitching, “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good.” He’s mouthing off, a lot more talkative than usual. You put it down to the blood having rushed from his head to his co-

“Touch yourself,” he orders, and it’s like the oxygen he’s starving you of begins to make you think you’ve imagined it. Your eyes flutter and blink back tears, your brain working to figure out if he honestly said it. It’s only when he yanks your hair in an attempt to wordlessly urge you to do as told that your hands snap down to your waistband.

Blindly, you push your fingers beneath the waistband of your trousers, practically sobbing with relief as your fingertips clumsily brush your clit. It sparks white hot, the muscles in your thighs trembling as they brace your weight on your knees.

“Mhmmm fuck,” Joel rumbles, watching your face as he fucks into it, noting how your brows pull up at the pleasure you draw for yourself between your thighs.

It drives him insane. You can feel it. His dick twitches against your tastebuds, and you can feel his pulse in the thick vein that runs down the underside of his cock. Joel’s fingers paw at the back of your head, pushing you down onto his length and making you take him impossibly deeper. You’re choking on him, gagging around his girth. It makes your eyes stream, yet it just makes your fingertip swirl around your clit quicker, seeking that high you craved.

“Nuh-uh,” you hear Joel’s gruff voice, his palm patting you harshly on the cheek. Just enough to sting. “Focus right here, right here.”

Blinking through the teary haze and the surging arousal that grips your muscles, you only notice with a particularly sharp slap to your cheekbone that you had closed your eyes. Joel’s urging has you looking up through your wet eyelashes as he continues with his harsh thrusts.

Sinking your digits into your heat, you melt against the intrusion in your throat as the walls of your cunt flutter around your fingerprints. Severely neglected, your pussy aches and arches towards orgasm at breakneck speed. Under the weight of your body, your thighs tremble at your ministrations, and your brows pull together as if to brace against the impending crest of ecstasy.

“Oh fuck, yeah, just like that,” Joel rumbles under his breath, eyes set on your twisted expression as his hips begin to stutter. You feel his pulse on your tongue and draw clumsy, sloppy circles over your clit to match.

The groan that tears its way through Joel’s throat when he cums almost startles you, and you’re almost sure it does the same to him. His fingers are white-knuckling your hair in an attempt to brace for the surge of pleasure, his cum streaking down the back of your throat.

He watches as you desperately stroke over your throbbing clit and swallow his load without prompt. Even through your blurred vision, you can see his awed visage as he watches you take everything he gives.

Perhaps it’s the apparent appreciation he shows you when you hear him mumble a muffled ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ’, or it’s finally rendering the argumentative Joel Miller borderline speechless. Still, you hurtle off the edge with barely any warning other than a split second of a hot white crackle up your spine.

Your body contracts inwards as you rub yourself through the crescendo, grateful Joel was with it enough to remove himself from your mouth just before. The ragged gasp you exhale sounds strangled, your orgasm blinding you in its onslaught. Your vision spots and slides out of focus, seeing double as the warmth ebbs away.

Soon, the only thing your hearing focuses on is the inhale and exhale of your lungs, sharp and clawing at the oxygen that keeps you from blacking out. Had you stopped breathing?

Joel turns away for a moment to right himself, pulling his jeans back up and buckling his belt again. The afterglow of such an earth-shattering orgasm makes everything slow, and you can’t help but smile almost dopily to yourself as you watch him ruffle his salt-and-peppered brown locks.

A sharp inhale drags you from your brain-melting comedown, settling back on your haunches and stretching out your aching legs as you watch Joel struggle for words. He looks conflicted, opening his mouth to speak and then firmly pressing his lips together in frustration.

Cotton sticks to your back thanks to the perspiration beading there, patches of the khaki shirt you wear stained with darker sweat patches. The birds are singing to fill his silence, allowing him a moment to approach his thoughts without awkwardness. You don’t push him.

“You wanna help me?” He tests the waters, mahogany eyes flicking to your face to gauge your reaction, “You know… Takin’ some time to smuggle instead’a doin’ this militia suicide task?”

It’s like he douses your sticky sweet, pleased muscles in ice-cold water in your shock. You certainly hadn’t expected him to like you, let alone ask you to work for him. It’s your turn to be speechless, the oxygen you had fought so hard to breathe catching in your throat and choking you.

“I-“ You swallow thickly, wanting to approach this carefully, “Joel, I made a promise.”

He nods slowly, eyes shifting to the wooden floor and seemingly tracing the rough surface of each plank as though it were the most exciting art installation he had ever had the time to take in. Perhaps it was. Joel didn’t seem the type to stop and smell the roses.

“I have to fulfil my promise to help find a cure,” you tread delicately, but it’s almost pointless because Joel agrees with a nod of his head, neither forceful nor resentful. He appears to take your word, wordlessly encouraging you to chase that ‘pipe dream’, as he had once called it.

“You got it,” he clears his throat roughly, clasping his hips with both hands as he exhales slowly, letting the implications of your decision sink into his bones. Certain death. There wasn’t much else out there for a Firefly, and you weren’t naive enough to think any different.

‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light.’

You couldn’t turn away now. Not when these guns he’d hand-delivered made that light almost close enough to touch.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you watch him slowly pace to the door, wood creaking beneath his weight. He leans his palm against the frame, glancing back at you momentarily.

“There’s a spot for you, y’know? If you change your mind.”

A melancholy smile plays at the corner of your lips. The likelihood that you’d survive long enough to begin sufficiently regretting your decision and change your mind was slim, but the thought that Joel was willing to set a place aside for you…

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper, shocked to hear your voice crack with emotion with the gratitude you show him.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

“Mhm,” he nods awkwardly, thumb brushing against the circumference of the watch that had dug into your collarbone 48 hours ago. There’s a tenderness in that touch, something that your cheekbones ache to experience. Instead, you ignore the infuriating pining of your body for the man who had irritated you only moments before, watching as he steps out into the hallway and out of sight, no doubt to grab his stupidly oversized backpack and slink away into the darkness of the underground tunnels and return to his regular trade.

Your heart strains in your chest, but it doesn’t mean you like him.

It doesn’t.

END

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