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[guess-my-next-obsession]

endure & survive | i. endure & survive

pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x single mother!reader

chapter content: MINORS DNI, written in dual POV/first person POV, no description/name given to reader, reader is a single mother, age gap (twenty-ish years), grief, gun talk/threats

word count: 2.1k

series masterlist | next chapter

READER

Everything was brutal in the wild open land that used to be this country before the world as we knew it crumbled before us. 

I’d spent fifteen years in the Denver QZ before I’d had enough. Food was scarce and often tainted with mold, animal droppings, or just plain inedible. Hunting and growing food wasn’t an option either, not in the crowded, dilapidated, concrete confinements of the QZ. The powers above tended to hoard all of the fresh shit to themselves anyways and hand out the scraps as if it was a blessing rather than a betrayal of the system they were put in place to uphold. But when you’re starving, even scraps and trash become appetizing. Sickening, most often, but appetizing nonetheless. Luxuries like new clothes, fresh sheets, a decent pair of shoes, and a place to take a warm shower were non-existent. All we had was all we had. You either made do, or you took from someone else. Someone dead, or someone you planned on killing. People like me--people who couldn’t stomach the violence against my neighbors as easily as some of us--chose to just make do.

It was a miracle that I made it out of the QZ alive. 

It was even more miraculous that I’d been able to survive out here in the open for as long as I had. 

Eight years, to be exact. But I hadn’t been alone for all of it. 

I used to have a partner, someone willing to brave the unknown and dangerous at my side, until a nasty bout of pneumonia we couldn’t treat took him from me. Kit and I were as close to married as two people could be in this post-apocalyptic world, and we’d made it longer than most people did outside the supposedly safe walls of the QZ. Together, we rebuilt the dilapidated cabin nestled somewhere in Wyoming that I still call home and built a secure perimeter, shielded by thick evergreens and overgrowth. He was with me for a little under two years out here, but even though he’s gone now, a piece of him remains with me. 

Our son. 

As I lay on the threadbare mattress tucked in the corner of the open cabin and count each of Colt’s breaths, I feel a familiar pang of longing and grief. Longing for his father. Grief that he’ll never get to meet him. 

He’s six now. Just entered that stage of troublemaker and explorer and everything that would stress out any parent in a normal world. But in this world—a world where one slip up could mean the end, or worse—it’s more than stress I feel. I’m terrified. 

It’s been months since anyone has gotten close to our safe haven, and even longer since I’ve come across an infected, but the threat is always there. When Colt was younger, it was easier to manage the thought of having to pull that trigger when someone—or something—got too close. But now I worry about what it’ll do to him to have to watch me kill in order to protect us. I worry it’ll change him, mark him for a dark and violent future he should have never had to chance. 

But I’ll do what I have to do in order to keep him alive. 

I’ll trek across the entire country, chart a boat and sail to new worlds, kill and fight and give my life if it means he has the chance to live his. 

For now, though, he’s safe and sound asleep in my arms, soothed by the rise and fall of my chest as I prepare for another sleepless night. 

JOEL

The mileage is wearing on me. I know it. The pain in the ass teenager besides me sure as hell knows it, if her snarky comments about needing to find me a cane or a walker are anything to go by. 

My boots have seen better days, but it’s been that way for years now. Usually, I’d have found some way to snag a newer, less worn pair off a dead man or tucked away inside some crumbling building, but I haven’t been able to take as many chances with Ellie with me. 

We’ve already had enough encounters with danger between Boston and wherever the fuck we are now. Clickers, tyrants, and more death than either of us would like. Kansas City alone was almost enough to take both of us out. I have no desire to test our luck all for the sake of warmer feet. Besides, Ellie’s shoes are alright. No holes, no soles coming apart. If she’s good, I’ll find a way to manage. 

But there’s no denying the limp in my walk, no matter how hard I try to hide it. It’s cold as hell out here in the woods, and at my age, with my past injuries, it’s taking a toll on me. My joints scream with every step, my back aches like it’s on fire, and that’s only the physical. 

My mind is feeling the wear and tear of this journey more than I’d like to admit. I’m panicky and exhausted and paranoid as all hell, and I can’t be any of that if I want to keep us safe. 

The kid’s gotten pretty good with a gun, but given our limited ammo supply, she hasn’t gotten as much practice as either of us would like. But at least I know if it comes down to it, she’ll know what to do. I cling to the hope that she’ll never have to put that knowledge into practice, but I know better than that. She’s already had to bail my ass out more times than I’d like. 

“I can see steam coming out of your ears with all that thinking, old man,” she says as she sits across from me at the campsite we’ve claimed for the night. There’s a fire crackling between us, big enough to ward off some of this icy chill but small enough not to bring too much attention. “Whatcha thinking about?”

I heave a sigh that has little to do with her and everything to do with the fact that I’m thinking about too fuckin’ much these days. 

Safety. 

Food. 

Warmth. 

Sarah. 

“Thinkin’ how much longer I’m gonna have to put up with this twenty questions shit you like to play,” I say instead of the truth. It’s easier if she doesn’t know what’s going on in my head. She’s just a kid, whether she sees it that way or not. She doesn’t need to add my shit onto her plate. 

“Well, we’re like…what? Only a few hundred miles away from Salt Lake now?” she asks, tracing her finger over the map on her lap. “All goes well, me and my charming commentary will be out of your hair in a few weeks.” 

Doubtful, but I don’t voice that thought. I still don’t have much faith in anything related to those goddamn Fireflies, but a plan is a plan. Tess made me swear to see this thing through with Ellie, and as much as I hate the fuckers, they’re still the only people that might be able to point me in the direction of Tommy. 

“What kind of music did you listen to back in the day?” Ellie asks as she folds her map back up and into her backpack, seemingly content to move onto another subject. “Wait—no, let me guess. Something old and boring like the Beatles.”

I scoff out of amusement. “First off, the Beatles aren’t boring. But no. More of a country music guy, myself. Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Marty Robbins. That kinda thing.”

She shrugs. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“They were before your time,” I say, shifting my legs so that they lay outstretched along the thin blanket I’ve got beneath me to keep the snow from dampening my clothes. “Before my time, truth be told.”

“So you just like old shit, then,” she says, and I shoot her an unamused look. 

“Y’know, it’s been about twenty years since we’ve had any new shit come out, so anything you like listenin’ to is pretty damn old, too,” I reply before tacking on, “Smartass.”

“How old’s Nirvana?”

“90’s.”

“Pearl Jam?”

“90’s.”

“Shit. What about Metallica?”

“Jesus, that’s what you like listenin’ to?” I ask, shaking my head. “No wonder you act like that.”

“Like what? Totally fucking cool and wise beyond my years?”

“Was gonna say feral, but yeah, sure,” I say, fighting a chuckle. 

Despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that I’d long since forgotten how to laugh, this kid almost brings it out of me. She’s the total opposite of Sarah, and yet I can’t help but think the two of them would get along like peas in a pod. After all, their favorite pastime is the same—busting my balls. 

“Y’should get some sleep,” I say, ending her game of twenty questions before she talks me to sleep. “Sun’s gonna be up in a few hours, and we need to get a move on. Storm’s comin’ in soon, and last thing we need is to get stuck out here in it.”

“A little breaking and entering in the books tomorrow, then?” 

“If we can manage it,” I reply with a sigh, watching her as she rolls onto her side and stuffs her backpack beneath her head like sleeping out here in the wet snow is completely normal and not fuckin’ miserable. “Y’need an extra blanket over there?”

“No, mother,” she sighs. “Youth keeps me warm. Too bad those days are long behind you now.”

I roll my eyes and look up at the dark sky, counting stars to keep myself from chuckling. “Shut up and go to sleep, then.”

READER

A crunch outside wakes me from my sleep. I’m a light sleeper at best these days, a raging insomniac at worst, but that’s what’s kept us alive this long. My ears have trained themselves to detect even the slightest of unusual noises around the cabin. Even in my sleep, I’m able to distinguish the sound of an animal crossing our land from an intruder—or worse. 

Thankfully, this doesn’t sound like an infected or a clicker. I don’t have the mental or physical energy right now to deal with a rabid creature, for lack of a better word. 

I shift my weight carefully so as to not disturb Colt as he sleeps beside me, and climb out of our bed. My boots and clothes are still on, as are his—you never know when it’s going to be time to run, and the few minutes it takes to get ready might mean the difference between staying alive and becoming a monster. Grabbing the shotgun I keep beside the bed, I carefully step across the wooden floorboards of the cabin, avoiding the loose ones I know creak under even the slightest bit of weight. I don’t need Colt waking up and asking questions. Not when I don’t know who’s waiting outside. 

All of the windows are boarded up, save for a few peepholes I intentionally left for moments exactly like these. I’d be an idiot to swing my door open without getting a peek at what waits for me on the other side, shotgun or not. Sticking my eye up to the sliver in the old wooden boards, I scan the front of the property, taking in the thick blanket of snow covering the ground and looking for footprints marring its surface. When I find none in the front of the property, I move to the window on the side of the cabin, searching there, too. 

And that’s when I see our intruder. 

A man--older than me by a decade or two--carefully scans the clearing around the cabin, no doubt searching for traps. He’s lucky he’s managed to get this far without running into any. That, or he’s simply done this enough to know exactly what to look out for. 

When he nears the side of the cabin, only a few feet from the window I’m pressed up against, I force my breath to steady and carefully move back to the front door with my shotgun cocked and in hand. I don’t give him time to find his way up the steps of the front porch--that would be too close to Colt for comfort. Instead, I slowly, silently, open the door and step out into the icy cold. Tiptoeing across the snow-damp wood, I round the corner and lift my shotgun just like Kit had taught me all those years ago, aiming directly for my intruder’s head before issuing a single, clear warning. 

“You’ve got five seconds to turn around and forget you ever saw this place before I shoot your fucking head off.”

[enimsiyobeht]

just us? always. drabble. subtly inspired.

mdni 🍓 !! boypussy felix & amab reader. use of pussy, folds, clit as felix's gential. implied 9th member reader. minor nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up buddy), p-in-v, vanilla –> rough(?), minor aftercare. lmk if i missed any. not proofread!

The dorm was quiet for once. Just the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional creak of the building settling around them. The day had been long—back-to-back schedules, interviews, rehearsals. Felix had collapsed onto his bed the second they got in, face pressed into the pillow, limbs heavy with exhaustion.

You didn’t say much at first. You just toed off your shoes, then crouched beside the bed and ran gentle fingers through Felix’s sweat-dampened curls, brushing them from his brow.

“You okay, Lixie?”

Felix turned his head slowly, eyes fluttering open. They were still lined with a hint of makeup, lashes thick, cheeks flushed. “Mmh… just tired. But… I missed you. It’s been forever since we…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but his fingers reached out and brushed your shirt, tugging lightly.

That was all it took.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple. Then another to his cheek. Then his lips. He tasted like mint gum and the faintest salt of sweat. Felix sighed into it, body relaxing under the slow drag of your palm over his side.

“Do you want me?” You murmured against his lips. “Properly?”

Felix gave the tiniest nod, pupils blown wide, thighs rubbing together. “Please…”

You climbed over him carefully, guiding him to lie back on the mattress. You took your time, peeling away Felix’s clothes, piece by piece—black tee, soft joggers, the clingy briefs beneath. Each layer revealed more golden skin, more of that lean, lithe body that You had missed touching.

Felix let out a shaky breath as You pressed a hand between his thighs, fingers stroking slowly over the soft outer folds of his pussy. Already damp. Already aching.

“You’re beautiful like this,” You whispered, pressing your lips to the base of Felix’s throat as his fingers teased him open. “So warm… I missed how your body melts for me.”

Felix whined, hips rolling up into your hand. “Touch me more. I can’t wait.”

“You’ll take what I give you,” You said gently, but firmly. You sat up enough to slick your fingers with lube from Felix’s nightstand—something they hadn’t touched in weeks. The sound of the cap snapping open made Felix’s breath hitch.

Then You were back between his thighs, fingers sliding into the tight heat of him—one at first, then two. You curled them, scissoring gently, coaxing open that clenching heat. Felix gripped the sheets, thighs trembling around your hand.

“Fuck, hyung—feels so full already…”

“You’re taking it so well, baby. Just relax. Let me open you up.”

You leaned in again, mouth sealing over one of Felix’s nipples, tongue swirling and teeth grazing just enough to make Felix gasp. The dual sensation of heat and stretch had him writhing. His pussy clenched around your fingers with each moan, wet and desperate.

“I need you in me,” Felix begged, voice breaking with need. “Please… now…”

You groaned low in your throat. You pulled back just enough to rid yourself of your shirt, pants, and boxers, cock already hard, flushed deep pink, leaking at the tip. You lined yourself up slowly, rubbing the head against Felix’s slick entrance, spreading the wetness.

Felix’s eyes fluttered shut, fingers curling over your biceps. “Fuck me. Please. I want all of you.”

You pushed in slow. The first inch had Felix gasping, back arching, mouth falling open. You held him down gently with one hand on his hip, the other gripping his thigh as you kept pressing forward, inch by inch, until you were buried to the hilt.

“So fucking tight,” You groaned, forehead resting against Felix’s. “You’re gripping me like you don’t want me to leave.”

“I don’t,” Felix panted, legs wrapping around your waist. “Move. I can take it. I want it.”

And You did. You started slow, rocking into him, letting Felix feel every drag and stretch, every deep push. Felix met You thrust for thrust, crying out with each snap of your hips.

The sound of skin against skin filled the room, along with wet, gasping moans and the creak of the bed. Felix’s pussy squelched around You with every movement, slick and messy, clinging to your cock like it was made for him.

“God—hyung—harder—please—”

You gave it to him. You grabbed Felix’s hips and thrust harder, deeper, until Felix was sobbing your name, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from the sheer intensity.

“You feel this?” You growled, voice wrecked. “You feel how deep I am inside you?”

Felix nodded, gasping. “Y-Yeah, I’m—ah—so full—fuck—it’s hitting so deep—”

You reached down, stroking his clit in time with each thrust. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you tighten when you cum all over me.”

It only took a few more strokes. Felix came with a loud cry, squirting across his stomach, his walls clenching so hard around You it dragged You right to the edge.

With a deep groan, You buried yourself one last time, pulsing deep inside Felix as you came, cock twitching with every wave of release.

They stayed like that for a long moment—foreheads pressed together, panting, hearts racing.

Felix let out a shaky, blissed-out laugh. “You wrecked me…”

You kissed him again, softer this time. “You needed to be.”

You pulled out gently, watching as your cum dripped slowly from Felix’s overstimulated hole, trailing down between his thighs.

“Let me clean you up,” You whispered, reaching for tissues and a warm cloth, your touch as gentle as his thrusts had been rough. “And then I’ll hold you till you fall asleep.”

Felix hummed, already half-gone. “Yeah… stay with me…”

“Always.”

[mcumorningstar]

EVEN MORE RIFF SMUT??? I’d love jealous riff like reader is getting way too close and flirty with the other jets and riff has to fuck her to remind her she’s his

Behind Closed Doors (Or Not)

pairing: riff (wss) x reader

summary: your relationship is a secret so when ice mistakes your kindness for encouragement, riff proves that you're his girl.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, unprotected sex (p in v), exhibitionism

a/n: sorry this took absolutely ages to finish. i've been so busy recently and didn't want to rush it.

“You don’t have a girl? But you’re so handsome.”

Riff’s ears perked up from the other side of the apartment. Through the commotion of the Jets, he heard you nonetheless.

Sitting on the threadbare sofas with the other Jet boys, he tilted his head back, spotting your close proximity to his best friend, Ice.

Turning to the water-stained ceiling, his vision blurred and his jaw clenched, leg bouncing as he fought the urge to charge over.

In the past, you scolded him for jumping in guns blazing whenever you dished out a compliment or someone complimented you.

It was in his DNA to get his back up whenever you were concerned but his protectiveness bordered on aggression.

You were his girlfriend.

The Jets didn't know that though. To them, you were the nurse that patched them up after rumbles and hung around to try get them on the straight and narrow.

Standing in the kitchen with Ice, you complimented him with smiling eyes and soft touches to his arm.

Your sweetness and innocence was what drew Riff to you. He could hardly complain; you were just being yourself.

“There's a movie showing at the drive-in tomorrow night. Wanna go with me?” Ice lowered his voice and leaned closer to you.

“Oh well…” It dawned on you then that you weren’t cheering up a 'down-on-his-luck' friend but maybe misleading him.

Chancing a look at Riff, he looked as tense as a bowstring, disengaged with the jollity of the Jets. His tongue rolled against the inside of his cheek as he rose to his feet.

Riff stood beside you and Ice, refusing to acknowledge him and honing in on you, his gaze pinning you to the spot. His large and calloused hand grabbed your ass roughly, pulling you into his side.

Ice's lips slowly parted as he looked between the two of you.

“A word?” Riff nodded towards the bedroom. You excused yourself, making your way to his room. Ice's eyes followed you go and Riff tilted his head at his best friend, silently challenging him to piss him off even more.

Ice swallowed thickly, cowering away from Riff's scrutiny and backing away to sit with the other Jets. Satisfied, Riff backed away to his bedroom down the hall.

A mattress and array of blankets lay on the unswept wooden floorboards, surrounded by broken furniture and wonky shelves with little trinkets.

Leaving the door open, Riff lunged at you, holding your jaw with a firm hand and pulling you into a heated kiss. A surprised gasp fell from your lips, gripping his shoulders, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue against yours.

His firm, warm body crowded you against the wall, pressing his hips roughly against yours. Strong hands gripped your sides, hiking your skirt above your waist.

Pulling away from his mouth, you gasped for air, clawing at his back through the material of his sleeveless jacket. Heat radiated from his hands as they met the naked skin of your hips.

Rubbing his nose against yours, he teased your lips with barely-there kisses. His dual-coloured eyes bore into yours.

"You're mine," He breathed against you, trapping you in his gaze.

"I'm yours," You nodded breathlessly, entranced by his raw desire.

"You're mine," Riff groaned, dipping his forehead against your chest and squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to restrain himself.

Stroking a gentle hand along his cheek, he lifted his head to meet your eyes again, darkened by lust and jealousy. In one swift movement, Riff turned you to face the wall, pulling your hips back against his.

"You don't sound so sure," Riff grumbled, pushing your skirt above your hips and palming at the globes of your ass, "Gonna prove it?"

A loud smack echoed around the room as his palm collided with your ass.

A shocked moan tumbled from you, faced pushed against the cold wall. Riff took liberties with your body, spreading your ass cheeks and rubbing his thumb along the damp material of your panties.

"Did he make you like this?" Riff spat, spanking your ass again. Heat bloomed from the abused skin. His toned body pressed against your back, his hips digging into your ass and his hungry lips mouthing at your shoulder.

"No, only you. All for you," You whined, pushing your hips back against him. Riff sunk his teeth into your shoulder, making you squeal and reach back to grab at his hair.

A shiver ran up your spine at the sound of Riff's belt being removed and tossed onto the floor behind you. Turning your head over your shoulder, Riff caught your lips in a desperate kiss, pressing all of his weight on you and pushing his jeans down.

Hooking his fingers into your panties, he pulled them to the side and pushed into you in one rough thrust. Moaning loudly, you separated from the kiss to see his open bedroom door.

With one hand, Riff gripped your hips and, with the other, his fingers twisted into your hair to keep you in place, his mouth hovering over yours.

Sharing the same oxygen. Trapped in your own world.

Riff bucked his hips, the fat of your ass bouncing against his pelvis with every stroke. His cock nudged the sensitive spot within you, your slick dripping down his shaft.

Uncontrollable moans punched from you and your skin slapped loudly. The open door of his room taunted you, knowing the Jets were just down the hall and yet it felt far too good to stop him.

"Who makes you feel this good?" Riff gritted his teeth, objects on the shelves toppling onto the floor with every rhythmic thump of his thrusts.

"You, Riff," You panted, tugging at his hair.

"Louder," He demanded, snaking a hand to your clit and rubbing tight circles against you. You felt your stomach swirl and muscles tense at the taut pull of pleasure within you.

"You, Riff! Riff!" You cried, hips bucking into his touch, "Riff! Please! Ah fuck!"

Squeezing your eyes shut, you came on his cock, moaning brokenly and gasping for air. Riff slowed the roll of his hips to feel every spasm of your walls around his cock.

Grunting and clinging to you, Riff spilled inside of you, his warmth breath panting against your sweat-slicked neck.

Between heavy breaths, you stroked your fingers through his hair and whispered, "I love you, you know."

Riff nodded, burying his face in your neck, "Love you too. Don't know how else to prove it to you."

"I got the message," You giggled and pushed him back, your skirt fell from your waist and Riff pulled his jeans up, "Loud and clear."

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him deeply, getting lost in him until there was a soft knock against the door.

Riff sighed, refusing to part from you, "What?"

Baby John peered into the room with rosy cheeks and darting eyes, "Tony's here. Needs to talk to you."

He finally looked at you for a moment before backing away from the door and disappearing around the corner. Riff laughed, tilting your chin and kissing your softly, "Duty calls."

"Be careful," You kissed him again before parting from him.

"Yes nurse," Riff sank his teeth into your neck before pulling away and winking. You pushed him out of the door with a giddy grin.

Tony’s voice carried from the kitchen to Riff’s bedroom, mocking your escapades, “Yes Riff. Please Riff. Your mother not teach you how to close the door?”

Soft giggles were muffled by the palm of your hand. The front door of the apartment closed behind the Jets, all now aware of your Riff’s claim on you.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬

summary: you join Joel and Tess mid fuck.

warnings: 18+ mdni. joel miller x afab!reader x tess servopoulos. pwp. established throuple. pussy stacking. lots of fluids and rough sex. no beta. w.c. 1.7k

author's note: no real plot, i just wanted to smash them together. the title is too sweet for this fic but it fits.

-> IMPORTANT as tlou is made by a Zionist, as well as part 2 being based on the oppression of Palestine by Israel, I urge you to educate yourself in the light of the genocide happening in Palestine, specifically Gaza, right now. I cannot in good conscience post for Joel & Tess without bringing awareness to the horrific things that have been going on for 5 months.

☽ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ♁ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☾

You climb the stairs to your apartment, feet dragging like lead weights after a long day. As you slide your key into the lock, faint moans slither beneath the door. You smirk to yourself.

The obvious sound of flesh slapping against flesh meets your ears as you enter your tiny studio apartment. Joel snaps his hips, leaving them flush against the back of Tess’ thighs as she’s splayed across your bed, her legs bent at the knee over his elbows as he turns his head with a furrowed brow. 

“Look who’s home,” Joel grunts, turning his head with a furrowed brow, a warm grin tugging at his lips. 

Tess’ bliss-drunk eyes find yours. “Mhmm, sweetheart.” She reaches for you. Long, warm hands encompass your own. She looks like a goddess; her hair fans around her head like a crown while being praised with the utmost devotion by the man buried between her legs.

She pulls you into a fierce kiss, cupping your jaw with her hands and sliding her tongue along your bottom lip. The kiss breaks as a wrecked moan tumbles from her mouth when Joel grinds his cock just a bit deeper into her cunt, smothering her clit with this pelvis.

Joel juts his chin at you, his eyes trailing down Tess’ sprawled form, while his hips never miss a beat. Nothing ever needed to be said. The three of you move in sync, much like on the QZ streets. Stoic glances, pointed brows, and curt nods are enough communication.

You watch with intrigue as he fucks her into the mattress. Her body bends like a bow as she takes his cock as deep as it will go. 

You couldn’t undress fast enough. Your ankle catches on your jeans, and you tumble onto the bed with a soft oof. Tess softly laughs, and Joel chuckles under his breath, but they carefully watch as you take your place between them. 

Tess gasps and digs her hands into your sides as you slide your naked body over her quivering one, your knees sinking into the bed on either side of her hips. You weave a hand into her hair, keeping her still as pleasure races through her. You brush soft kisses down her naked chest, mouthing the soft plump of a breast while kneading the other with your hand.

You suck a nipple into your mouth when she arches her back, teething the tender bud while Joel roughly thrusts his cock into her heat. You smirk into her skin as she writhes from your dual assault. Having a powerful woman in such a vulnerable position made your head dizzy and cunt throb. 

Your body jolts on every savage shove as Joel fucks her. She lifts your face from her chest, finds your mouth again, and lays a branding kiss on your lips. Her body squirms beneath you, rubbing and caressing your curves together while her hands encompass your ass. She palms at you, pulling you apart for Joel while he ravages her. She knows he can never resist you.

You hear him curse, a deep gravely, “fuck”, and it lights a bright blue flame in your belly.

A warm dollop of spit lands on your crack. Joel hums at his aim and watches his spit drip down your wrinkled hole and onto your pussy. It mixes with the slick that’s already spilling from your shiny folds. A low growl tumbles from his throat at the sight. “‘aven’t even touched you yet an’ you’re already a drippin’ mess.”

His devious tone forces a lithe whine from your parted lips, and you can’t help but arch your back toward his sturdy belly, grinding against it. “You achin’ for it, huh, pretty girl?” He never misses a beat, continuously fucking Tess while dirty talking you up and getting you more and more greedy for his cock. He spanks your ass with a large, mighty swat. “Be good and wait your fuckin’ turn.”

His thick, hairy belly bounces against your ass on each shove into her cunt. Tess shivers, a sensuous moan echoing around you as she creeps closer to the edge. Her dewy chest flushes, her nipples pucker, and her hold on you grows tighter. 

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuck.” Joel groans, feeling her clamp around him. She’s on the brink, slowly tipping over the edge, when Joel halts his hips and withdraws.

The woman beneath you gasps. Eyes fly open, angry and ferocious, like she’s threatening someone who’s done her wrong. “What the fuck, Joel?” She seethes, lifting her head to look at him over your shoulder. You layer kisses along her collarbone, hoping to defuse the tension and whatever Joel was up to, just as you feel a warm, bulbous tip tracing along the dripping slice of you.

You inhale sharply and match Tess’ shocked expression as you look back over your shoulder. Joel licks his lips with a teasing tongue before angling his hips and thrusts forward. 

“Oh, fuck.” You hiss. Your velvet walls encompass his girth, spreading and molding to his shape. “What a tight fuckin’ cunt.” He grits, gripping your hips and pulling your body until you’re flush against his svelte hips.

The twinge of pain burns your insides as his dusty pink crown nestles against your cervix. It feels like he’s in your belly. He’s so massive, just waiting to burst from the seams. Just as you take a deep breath, he punches it from your lungs with a harsh thrust. It pitches you forward further into Tess’ arms. 

Tess holds you steady as Joel takes you from behind, grunting like a wild animal. His eyes rarely leave where you’re connected, watching with immoral intrigue as he fucks you with his cock that’s still stained with Tess’ cream. He sheaths himself deeper and deeper until you're dripping down your thighs, and his sticky balls wetly smack against your clit.

Tender, warm hands cradle your face and softly thumb the apple of your cheek, starkly contrasting to how Joel treats your body. “How’s he feel, sweetheart?” she purrs, eyeing you curiously.  

You can barely think; the sickly, sweet rapture consumes your entire being. You reply with a garbled mess of moans. “That right?” She laughs, a deep, dark timber rumbling through her chest at your dumbness. She trails a hand down your body and dips between your legs, toying with your soaked clit. She rubs soothing circles around your bud in time with Joel’s thrusts, sending you careening head-first into bliss. 

“Look so good being fucked by us.” Joel says, smacking your ass. 

You’re close to igniting as the pair take you apart. It's a devastating mix of Joel’s massive body pummeling against you and Tess’ powerful aura. Your cunt spasms and tugs his length as he cants his hips, driving harder and harder until you’re on the brink of euphoria when he withdraws.

You choke on the air in your lungs. Brows tightly pinned together as you stare back incredulously at the man. He holds your stare and winks. “Gotta wait your turn, baby.”

You whimper as he gathers Tess’ legs back into his hold. “She made a mess of my cock, Tess.” He grunts as he breaches her slick hole once more. “Feel how wet she is?”

Tess hisses as he fills her. “Fuckin’ dreched,” she murmurs into your hairline as you lay against her chest. Your hands busy themselves with her breasts, plucking her nips with nimble fingers and laving at her pert buds. It’s a helpful distraction from the immense throbbing between your legs.

You watch as Tess' face twists with pleasure, the kind of bliss that feels like butterflies are flying around in your stomach when they make you watch from the side of the bed as they fuck, teasing you until you’re a blabbering mess, and only they can soothe your aching need. 

Joel’s hips slam hard against her thighs on every shove. Her moans become louder and more frantic the faster he goes; she’s desperate to take whatever he gives her.

As your tongue swirls around one of her nipples, her body locks up. Joel grunts, muttering swears as he falls out of rhythm when a wicked, blissful moan slithers from Tess’ lips, and she comes around his cock.

You can’t help but moan at the sight; you love it when she allows herself to be so open and vulnerable. 

Tess opens her eyes just in time to watch your face contort with ravenous desire as Joel spears his cock into your cunt. “Thatta girl.” She whispers as Joel bends at the waist and splays his back over yours, pinning you between their two bodies and effectively trapping you until they let you free. Not that you ever wanted to be free of them.

His mustache bristles your cheek. “Can feel how badly you want to cum, pretty girl.” Joel grits, plunging his length deeper and harder than the first time. “Your sweet pussy is just aching to milk my balls.”

It’s obscene how wet you are. Between your creamy arousal and Joel fucking you with Tess’ you’re all but dripping the combined fluid onto the sheets. It’s depraved and so fucking filthy.

“Look at you all cock dumb.” Tess moans, softly cupping your jaw with a crooked smile. “What a fuckin’ sight.”

Something white-hot blazes in your belly. You beg and plead; your pitiful cries echo in the small room, wanting them to pull you apart and piece you back together.

“Gonna make a real mess of you,” Joel informs, curling a hand around your throat and savagely tugs you back onto his cock. “Fill you to the brim. Mark you from the inside.”

Your pleasure ignites at his obscene words, swirling your cunt around his length and dragging him to the edge with you. His fingers dig into your hips. A dark growl rumbles deep within his chest. He fucks you full of his spend, finally adding to the combined, heady mixture, not stopping until he unloads every drop.

Your front half collapses onto Tess’ chest, strung out on dreamy bliss and still full of Joel’s cock as he catches his breath. He withdraws slowly with a hiss, and it’s like a dam has cracked. If you could feel shame, you would as your cunt profusely leaks the gluey spend from your swollen folds. 

Joel curses at the sight. He drags his finger through the mess before lapping at it. You squirm as his warm, wet tongue drags up your soft curves and tickles your thighs. He contentedly sighs as he cleans you up while Tess smooths her fingers along your spine, lulling you into a sated sleep, taking care of you like they always do. 

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

follow @ozzieslibrary for fic notifs!

[copperbadge]

The new heated mattress pad is on the bed! So far, kitty approved.

I'm not sure I wholeheartedly recommend the brand I bought. The shady Korean importers let me down so I bought a Beautyrest brand queen-sized pad and it's....

Well, it has deep pocket corners, which I like because I have a tall mattress. It heats up well and gets very warm. Both things I pretty much required. It has dual controls, one per side, which I wasn't nuts about but at queen size and above they ALL do. Supposedly you can switch them on remotely somehow but I haven't figured that part out yet.

What I really dislike is that it also has two power plugs, so you have to use up a whole outlet (or get a power strip) to power both sides. That's downright irksome, especially since they don't want you to use a surge protector or power strip, but I ignored them and used a power strip anyway.

So we shall see, but at least the cats are happy :)

[ID: two photos of my bed; in one it is nearly made up and turned down, with a grey fitted sheet and yellow duvet cover. In the second image, Dearborn the Tortie and Polk the tabby are sitting loaf-style, only slightly suspicious looking, on the duvet.]

[t-r99]

A Rare Treat

Oliver Aiku x reader

the things this bitchass manwhore does to me

i sincerely believe that being friends with occasional benefits with aiku would be the definition of angst because of genuine feelings but nothing being done about them because he's a whore

and yes, sex with friend aiku would absolutely turn soft

i haven't written anything in a hot minute and this feel bleh but but. aiku smut it always a joy☺️

warning: mild smut

wc: 780

Being friends with Aiku is fun because if you ever feel lonely or sexually frustrated he'll just stand there while beaming like Yumichika from Bleach like this,

He's there before you've even said anything and he is ready to go.

Lord have mercy on your insides, because Aiku sure won't.

It's a strange mix between gentle and roughness. Oliver's touch is soft as his hands roam all over your marked skin that's starting to bruise where he eagerly gripped and groped earlier and he's placing gentle kisses over the deep purple marks left by his mouth where he sucked and nipped all over your neck.

As already stated, Aiku is a very weird mix of two different things. He will smirk and pinch your nipples one moment, quickly capturing your lips in a fierce kiss and swallow up your cute little moans, and then he will pull away and move down to soothe your nipples gently.

He's been teasing you, tormenting you for ages now and hasn't even fucked you yet, the bitch. It's fun for him and he relishes in your little gasps and cute little noises.

"J- Just get on . . . with it." You can barely form a proper sentence.

Aiku looks up at you, a playful look in his dual coloured eyes. "In a hurry?"

He's fucking hot like this. "No . . . No, I . . ." Damn, he looks really good.

"Just lie down and be good for me." He smirks. "I don't get to do this often."

Now that's a damn lie. "You sleep around-"

"Yeah," Oliver moves further down, leaving a trail of soft kisses after him. "but this is my once in a blue moon treat."

This has happened a few times before, and every time you end up just as flustered as the first time you slept with him.

He stares down at you intensely and you feel shy under his gaze, suddenly wanting to hide, and Aiku loves that. It just makes you even cuter than you already are. "Shy all of a sudden?" His eyes narrow and he slaps the side of your thigh playfully. "Weren't you begging me to fuck you a second ago?"

Bitch. "Shut up . . ." You mumble.

Maybe he has dragged it out for too long. He's so unbelievably pent up that it hurts.

"Shit." Oliver whispers. He's rock hard and dying to be inside you. "See what you do to me?"

You can feel it, giving a needy, "Put in it." when Aiku only teases you further.

"So impatient."

You might actually end up hating him if he doesn't fuck you soon. "Aiku," All you want is to feel him inside you. "please."

That'll do it.

He's weak to your pleas. How could he ever deny you when you beg so softly and look up at him like that?

The sound of your pretty moans are sweet heaven and like music to his ears when he finally pushes in. Damn, he might just cum on the spot, it's been too long since he got to do this.

"We need to do this more often," Oliver whispers and pecks your lips. "I almost forgot how good this feels."

You're already gone, overwhelmed by being filled up alone and only able to pick up one word from him. "More?" You mumble in a daze, thinking he asked a question. "I want more."

Say less.

You're just so warm and tight around his cock that fits perfectly inside, pushing ever deeper until you feel impossibly full.

Aiku catches you off guard when he pulls away and the warmth of his skin leaves you. "Just a little . . ." He mumbles to himself and sits up straight. "change."

"Huh . . . ?" He handles you like you're nothing and you find yourself pushed further into the mattress with your feet up in the air and legs over his broad shoulders.

This guy is canonically the physically strongest player at Blue Lock, he's going to kill you from this new angle with how hard he pounds into your needy hole that clenches around him so tight he almost loses his composure.

"Fuck, y'feel good." Oliver pants. "'f you keep squeezin' like that I won't last."

All you can do is let out a string of moans that only turns him on further.

"Shit."

Aiku reaches his limit. He always cums embarrassingly fast with you, that's the effect you have on him.

He's cute like this, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, eyes fluttering closed as he pants a string of endless, "You feel so good." that only ends when you reach up to hold his flushed cheeks.

"Give me . . ." You whisper breathlessly. "Give me everything."

Your wish is his command.

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded - 3

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. ♣ prev part | next part

Chapter 3: Movie Premieres, SNL and Quarrels

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of hard substances, intoxication, mature language, real people (do not read if any of these makes you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: Otherwise known as the One in New York. What do you guys think about R and Jenna's dynamic so far? 👀 (taking a break for a few days/maybe a week after I post this, I think I've kept you all fed for a bit while I'm gone lol, in the meantime, send asks I'll try to answer all of them!😋)

Word Count: 6.4k+

“You get on that plane and I’ll drop you as a client.” Jake’s voice rings out from your work phone. 

“What the fuck, Jake, are you serious?!” You seethe, practically red in the face. 

You have been on the phone with Jake for the last hour – Liv refuses to pick up your calls after you blew up the group chat, rehashing your argument with Jenna. Desperately pleading to fly back home because you couldn’t stand being in the same city as the actress, at the moment. 

You couldn't even think about her words without it making your blood boil.

“Fuck yeah, I’m serious. Do you know what time it is here?”

Glancing at the clock it read 3:46 A.M. EST, you roll your eyes. “It’s just past midnight in L.A. You won’t die if you don’t get eight hours of sleep.”

“Be quiet. I don’t wanna hear another word from you.” He nearly shouts and you imagine that one vein popping through his forehead. You liked to stare at it when Jake goes off on his shouting tangents at you. 

He never notices that you're not paying attention.

“Maybe we should get Liv on the phone or maybe Sarah?” Link glances at you worriedly.

He hates seeing you so riled up, so he often played the middle-man with your quarrels against Jake and Liv.

“Liv says she doesn’t wanna hear it. Sarah says forget it and I’m saying, I’m not fucking around this time Y/N, this is your last chance. I’m over your shit.” He hangs up the phone, leaving the line dead.

You jump face-first into the stiff bed, groaning loudly.

“Looks like you’re outta luck.” He pats you back, leaving you to sulk alone as he shuts the door. “Try to get some sleep.”

There was no way you ended up in this situation. 

You guess, it was fair to acknowledge your recent streak of bad behaviour. First, it was tame — ignoring your phone, running away to party, getting mixed in the wrong crowds – eventually, Link had to start dragging you out of bed by the legs (sometimes kicking and screaming) just to make it in time for a gig.

You’re not sure when all of this started. All you knew is that you were so tired. You just wanted one second to breathe; to feel like that young child again, with hopes and dreams. But no, someone was always hovering over your shoulder ready to drag you away to another event you could care less about. 

You close your eyes, allowing the jetlag and exhaustion to set in as your body moulds into the mattress.

– 

The next day, you find yourself standing in front of Jenna’s hotel room. The large double door looks menacing and faintly, you can already hear a bustle on the other side. You really didn’t want to knock but you know what was on the line so you swallow your pride and raise a fist to knock. 

But before you can knock, the door is opening revealing a girl, with dirty blonde hair bearing a semblance to a certain actress. “Oh, hi!”

“Hello.” You greet warmly.

“I’m Aliyah. Jenna’s younger sister.” She holds her free hand out.

You shake her hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m–”

“I know who you are.” She smiled then laughed, “Everyone knows who you are.”

You chuckled, shyly nodding. “I guess.”

“Are you two done?” Jenna suddenly appears, yanking the door wider so you can see her. Her makeup complements her well; the green bustier two-piece looked expertly crafted just for her; and the way her hair fell in soft waves framed her face nicely. 

“Hi…” You say a little vacant-sounding.

You don’t say anything else.

From the corner of your eye, you see her sister’s raised brow but you think you’re imagining it because you can’t keep your gaze off of Jenna. The actress raises her brow at you, impatient.

“What did you need?” She asks.

“Uh—I wanted to talk, about last night."

Jenna watches you momentarily before rolling her eyes; pulling you inside with a rough yank. “Get inside before someone sees you — Aliyah close the door.”

You stumble, still a little dazed but the smaller girl’s nails are gripping your arm painfully making you snap out of it.

“Ow, ow, ow.” You whisper, not inattentive to the multiple people scattered around the large room.

“Guys, this is Y/N.” She ignored your complaints and pulled you past the foyer into the living room – her entire team had taken refuge in the room to get the star ready for a day of press interviews.

Various echoes of your name and greetings are sent back to you but you certainly don’t miss the awkward tension in the room started by your sudden presence. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I can just go.” You point behind you.

“Nonsense.” An older woman that looked kinda like the actress waves off. “It’s great to have you here, Miss L/N. Jenna was just talking about you.”

“Oh please, just Y/N is fine.” Shaking your head bashfully, briefly wondering what she could be telling her family and team about what kind of person you are.

“I’m Jenna’s mom. That’s her dad, her other sister Mia, and her brother Markus.” She points and you try to keep up with the names of the people she’s throwing at you; Jenna’s family and team included.

“It’s so great to meet you all. It’s not hard to see that Jenna is so loved.” You say sincerely.

“We try our best.” Her dad says looking appreciative of your words. You smile at everyone and it seems to ease a bit of the tension in the room.

You didn’t see Jenna rolling her eyes again (her favourite to do around you) disregarding the encounter; she hides the surprise she feels from your genuine compliment.

Last night's argument with you, still burning in her brain.

“What did you want to say?" She says a little bluntly.

Watching as everyone turns to go back to what they were doing, you look down at Jenna. “Um… I wanted to apologize for last night. And call a truce, maybe over dinner?

She looks surprised not expecting you to be the first one to give in. “Oh…”

“Yeah…”

“I appreciate it.” Jenna cuts in, “I’m sorry too… a truce sounds good. Sarah got mad at me too, for what it's worth. She even said I was whining.”

Jenna jokes, dropping her walls a bit.

You rub a hand on the back of your neck, chuckling, “Good to know.”

“I can’t do dinner though.” She shuts her eyes as if remembering something. 

“Oh, that’s okay. Maybe another time.”

“Or maybe… you can be my date to the Scream cast dinner?” She offers, looking a little hopeful.

“Are you sure?” You chew your lip. Ignoring the word date.

“Yeah! Totally, you can meet everyone, it’ll be great. Not to throw anyone under the bus but they’ve been trying to meet you.” She says sheepishly.

You laugh, dropping your walls just a tad. “Sure I’ll be there.”

She smiles warmly, satisfied with your answer. “Yeah, it’ll be great. I guarantee there’ll be paparazzi, so it’ll be good for publicity. They’ve been hounding me since I landed, my dad nearly pushed a guy in the airport. I couldn’t even walk to the door by myself at the SNL dinner cast party.”

You lose a bit of the smile but Jenna doesn’t see, laughing at her memory of the paparazzi. You blink around, making sure no one saw you, it might give them the wrong idea. “Uh, yeah sure. I’m good with whatever.”

“Okay, cool.” She shoots a thumb up, walking away from you. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Mhmm.” You smile, waving goodbye to everyone and booting it out the door. 

Unsure where the tension in your chest is coming from you swiftly walk to the elevator; aggressively tapping the button as if the elevator would come faster that way. And practically throwing yourself in the metal box as soon as it opens.

You miss the entire pandemonium that implodes in the room when you leave.

“Holy shit?” Mia exclaims.

“Language.” Her mom chastises. 

“No, holy shit, indeed. Jenna oh my god what did you do to that poor girl?” Aliyah walks past Jenna to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“What are you talking about?” She looks at her sisters confused.

Mia’s rolling her eyes, standing up from the couch. “Did you not see the way she was looking at you?”

“No? How was she looking at me?” She turns to her mom who had a hint of a smile on her lips as if she knew something. Jenna was starting to feel left out. 

“She likes you, Jen.” Her brother speaks up, not even bothering to look up from his phone. 

“What? You guys are crazy. We barely know each other.” Jenna starts shaking her head furiously, turning to Enrique, her stylist and close friend. “Enrique, tell them they’re being crazy.”

But he shrugs, sharing that same Cheshire grin her mom had. “God, not you too.” She clamps her eyes shut with her hands.

“Hey! Watch the eyes!” Her makeup artist warns. 

“Dad?” She drops her hands, pleading at the silent man, who, she knows is listening. Why do Dads do that thing where they let everyone argue, only stepping in when the Mom asks for backup. 

He remains in character – staying silent.

“You guys don’t know what you’re talking about. She was literally here for five seconds. How could you possibly think she likes me from that.” Jenna turns to everyone else.

“I don’t know, Jen. The eyes never lie.” Mia says, privy to the way your smile fell when Jenna mentioned being spotted for publicity tonight. 

“I’m– I’m late for interviews, I need to go,” Jenna mutters, grabbing her purse and walking to the door. 

–

“This is gonna blow up.” Your producer says from beside you. 

“I don’t know. I still think it’s missing something.” You sigh, sliding the headphones off as you slump onto the plush leather seats. 

You sneaked off to the studio not too far from the hotel in lower Manhattan. See you would have told Link or anyone really, but you were trying to be discreet. And Link is one ‘ol snitch and the personal fun police. 

It seems after your fight with Jenna, Jake and Liv put you under strict instructions not to leave the hotel unless accompanied by someone from your team. 

You’re not a fucking child. You don’t need a babysitter. So here you are, with your producer in the studio trying to record this damn song you’ve been stuck on for three months.

“Maybe it’s time to scrap the song then.” He offers. “It’s never gonna be done before Coachella.”

Immediately you are shaking your head. No, this song is special, you can feel it. If only you can get your head out of your own ass long enough to find the damn words. 

“No, just– just put it on hold. Let’s work on something else.”

He sighs, clicking the screen to pull up another file. “Your call.”

The buzzing of your phone against the wooden table echoes into the silence that grew as you waited. “Ah fuck.”

Reaching over, you grab the phone and are bombarded by a flurry of texts and missed calls. 

Some from Jenna, some from your bodyguard and driver, most from Link.

Jenna’s is the first one you click.

The phone rings three times before it gets picked up. Muffled, loud voices are all you hear at first before she eventually speaks up, “Hello?”

“Hey, I am so–”

“Where the hell are you? You’re ten minutes late. We’re all waiting for you.” Her tone is sharp and snipped. 

You had fucked up.

“Fuck… I’m sorry, I’ll be right there– there was…. uh.” You stand, gathering your jacket and silently bidding your producer goodbye as he looks on confused. “There was a lot of traffic. I am so sorry, I’m trying to make it as fast as I can.”

She sighs through the phone, “It’s…fine. Just get here as soon as you can, please.”

A little white lie never killed anybody.

You make it to the restaurant in record time. Pushing through the paparazzi camping outside the restaurant doors. Do they have no shame? Clearly not as they shout Jenna’s name at you; asking if you were there to see her, trying to get their piece of the scoop. Thankfully, the security guard had seen you and personally ushered you to the cast‘s table. Someone must have informed them that you were coming.

You’re still blinking away the spots in your vision from the camera flashes when you feel an arm pulling you down to sit. 

“What took you so long?”Jenna asked assertively, scanning you.

“I told you. Traffic.” You plaster a smile at all the eyes on you, subtly shrugging Jenna’s arm off yours with a little bit of attitude.

You don’t miss her clenched jaw. Plastering a smile in front of her costars who were trying their best not to gawk at you. "Well, where were you then? No one could get a hold of you, we were worried."

You tried your hardest to school your genuine surprise at her worry. "Sorry. I was working. My phone was off."

“Hi! I’m Melissa, it’s so nice to meet you, I’m a big fan.” A brunette extends her hand from across the long table – interrupting Jenna before she can say anything else.

You make the usual greetings, introducing yourself to Jenna’s costars and colleagues. You felt a bit like a trophy wife if you were being honest. Like eye candy on her arm, serving only to make her look good. Upon that realization, you feel a little flushed. You’re not sure why, that is the whole point of this whole thing. 

Her castmates have been sending you two knowing eyes over dinner — giving Jenna inconspicuous smirks and smug grins as if you couldn’t see. You keep your head down after the pleasantries are over and the main courses are brought out. 

Grateful, you don’t have to talk about your upcoming projects any longer.

“What’s wrong?” You nudge her elbow, noticing how she was pushing away some pieces of food on her plate. 

“I don’t like apples.” She mutters. 

You can’t fight the smile that creeps on your lips but you don’t tease. “Just push them off to the side and I’ll eat it.”

She looks at you. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” You shrug taking a sip of your wine. 

“That doesn’t gross you out or anything? I know some people are weird about that sort of thing.” Jenna explains. 

“Dude, I’ll eat your apples, chill.” You laugh.

“Okay, thanks…” She mumbles, still looking at you but you turn, talking to Mason and his girlfriend.

Jenna feels a nudge on her side. “What?” 

“You two are cute.” Jasmin smirks. “And Y/N L/N? Not a bad catch at all.”

“Stop.” Jenna blushes. Unsure if she feels uncomfortable that some of her close and respected friends believe this lie so easily.

–

“Hey, give them some space!” The security guard shouts as the paparazzi come rushing toward the door as soon as the cast steps out. 

You were standing in the lobby waiting for Jenna. “Shit…” You hear her mutter, watching as she searches for something in her bag. 

“What’s up?” You ask.

“I forgot my sunglasses in my room. The flashes hurt my eyes.” She frowns. Wordlessly, you fish the pair you stashed in your jacket. 

“Here, wear mine.” You hold the glasses out, watching as she just stares at it. Rolling your eyes, you push it toward her. “Dude, just take it.”

“Thanks…” She mumbles, sliding them up her hair. 

You walk ahead of her, holding the door open as everyone trickles out. You’re regretting giving Jenna your only sunglasses cause the flashes are bright and it’s making your eyes water.

“Go ahead,” You usher, only leaving once everyone’s gone ahead of you. You trail behind ignoring the various men with large cameras chasing you as you walk down the sidewalk. 

“Y/N over here, please! Just one photo.”

“Y/N, just one photo of you and Jenna, please!” 

“What do you have to say about Vegas?”

You ignore them keeping your head down trying not to fall behind. 

“Where’s Y/N?” You hear over the sea of nameless faces. 

“Right here.” You say, sliding in beside her.

You miss the subtle sigh of relief she lets out.

“You can’t just walk behind everyone like that.” She grits, frustratedly.

"I tried to keep up." You mumbled like a scolded husband.

The shouting increases when you stand beside one another; practically rendering you blind with all the flashes. “Dammit.” 

You place an hand on her back, pushing her forward. “Put on the sunglasses and walk.”

“Y/N, please over here. Jenna!” The shouting is constant and blurs altogether all at the same time. 

“Ow.” You feel Jenna tumble when someone bumps her side causing her to bump harshly against you. Firmly, you grab her arm to preventing her from falling and pushed back against the crowd to check on her.

“Are you okay?” you ask worriedly as she fixes the lopsided glasses. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Hey. Watch it–” You grit at the closest person holding a camera. “It wasn’t me.”

The man insists, still shamelessly snapping flashes directly into your face and you begin to grow angry, slapping the camera out of his hands. “I said fucking watch it, asshole.”

You glare for a brief moment as the shouting gets impossibly louder. Knowing if you didn’t pull Jenna out of this, chaos would ensue. You link hands and drag her through the crowd, briskly walking to her castmates who shared looks of concern.

“Are you okay?” You ask, still walking but now barricaded by security and her friends.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I promise.” She squeezes your hand but then sighs, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

You scoff, “Are you serious? That guy pushed you.” 

“It was an accident and you kinda overreacted.” She whispers lowly. 

You clench your jaw, dropping her hand — Not wanting to blow up in front of her colleagues, you walk swiftly ahead.

You don’t talk even when you are both side-by-side being driven back to the hotel. Her driver has the partition up halfway but you see the nosy glances he keeps making at the rearview mirror as you and Jenna sit in silence; acutely aware to the growing tension between you and the actress.

You refuse to speak, just looking out the window as other cars pass by on the street. 

“Are you done ignoring me now?” She speaks up but you still don’t want to talk. “Seriously?”

“Y/N all he did was push me. A little shove, that’s all. I’m okay. What’s not okay is the phone call you know we’re going to get from Liv and Sarah about that guy’s camera.”

“He deserved it.” You mumble through the palm holding your head up. 

“I’m not saying he didn’t but you can’t just be aggressive to paparazzi like that. It’s exactly what they want.” She reasons, turning to you. Hoping you’ll finally look at her. 

“I know…”

“Look at me, please?” She places a hand on your arm.

You turn, keeping your face impassive.

She sends you a shy smile then laughed. “I mean it though, thank you for having my back. My Dad is gonna think this whole thing is hilarious.”

“Why?” You can’t help but join in.

“He’s a cop, so he’s a little protective. He’s been waiting to shove away a pap for the longest time. He’s gonna be so mad you beat him to it.” 

You laugh imagining her father’s reaction. 

–

“You haven’t seen Scream? Not even the original?” Jenna turns bewildered like it was the most blasphemous thing she’s ever heard. You were in her hotel suite, watching movies. For some reason, Jenna invited you over to her room after being dropped off at the hotel. “How? You’re an actress.”

You couldn’t think of a good reason to say no so you accepted.

“Yeah, sorry. Jeez. Way to sound like a film snob. I didn’t know there was a checklist of movies to watch before becoming an actor.” You snort reaching for more popcorn from the bowl beside you. 

“Shut up.” She hits you with the remote. “How have you not seen any of the Scream movies? You’re literally going to my premiere tomorrow.”

You hold up your hands in surrender, throwing a couple of kernels in your mouth. “Sorry, they’re not really my cup of tea.”

She rolls her eyes, snatching some popcorn from your hand, ignoring your protests. “Oh sorry, I forgot we have an action star in our midst.”

It was your turn to hit her arm, “Shut it. I just mean… I haven’t found the time to sit and watch them. They’re not exactly short films.”

“You’re in the MCU and Dune. Don’t talk to me about long movies.”

“Touché…” You can’t beat her there. They are ridiculously long movies. Probably why you’ve only ever seen them during premiere night and never again. “Well, put one on then. Let’s see what all the hype is about.”

She grins scrambling for the remote. “You’re on.”

You wait for her to pull up the Scream catalogue, chuckling at her visible excitement.

“Hey, why did you become an actress? and singer while we’re at it, Miss Grammy winner.” She nudges your shoulder.

You snort, shoving her lazily. “Shut up… Do you want the press interview answer or the real one?”

She raises a brow, immediately deciding. “The real one.”

You nod, feeling like she would say that.

“My mom... She was a rising star in the 80s but something happened and she never got to live out her dreams. When she had me she put me through all of the arts. I bumped and failed with most of them but acting and singing kinda stuck… I guess she saw those were the only two things I could stand so she pushed and pushed, it led to Jake discovering me and here we are.”

Jenna stays silent processing your story, she doesn’t miss the slight solemness your tone had taken. "Why do I feel like there's more to it than that?"

You chuckle, licking your lips. "Caught me... it's why I don't talk to my parents anymore."

"Oh..."

"Yeah. As soon as I turned eighteen I cut ties with them. She got too controlling, wanting money, wanting autonomy over my career so I took Link with me and moved to L.A. and did it on my own. I think... at some point acting became a spite thing with me because of her.

���Spite?” Jenna asks?

“Yeah… it was all I’ve ever known for a long time until I started making music. Probably the only time I’ve ever felt sure about a decision.”

"Oh..." Jenna finds herself saying again.

"Uh–sorry. I didn't mean to make it weird. We can just forget about it." You curl into yourself, tugging the blanket to your lap.

Jenna blinks, feeling dumb that she's made you think her silence is a bad thing.

"No..." She grabs your wrist. "Thank you for sharing with me."

You look into her eyes, feeling a bit small at her kind eyes. You know it's not out of pity but you couldn't help but want to close up again.

Pulling your hand away from her grip, you cough. "Of course, we're friends now."

"Oh, are we?" Jenna ignores the drop in her chest when you pulled away like that. “Okay, what’s the press answer then?”

“That I watched the movie Cabaret when I was younger and wanted to be like Liza Minelli.” You admit.

Jenna scoffs, “That’s literally my answer.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah except, it’s Dakota Fanning in Man on Fire.”

You chuckle, “doesn’t Denzel die in that one?”

“Yeah and what about it?” She raised a brow.

"But see, don’t fight it we’re meant to be friends... we even share the same answer."

"Shut up, dummy. Every actor has some sort of answer like that.”

Eventually, the two of you start a marathon of the Scream franchise. Which in hindsight, is kind of a bad idea seeing as it was way past midnight and the other actress still has a long week ahead of her. It seems like the events of the day catch up to her cause you feel a head slipping on your shoulder; distracting your focus halfway through Scream 3.

Jenna had fallen asleep with her head on your shoulder. You fight the urge to tense up not wanting to wake her up. She looked like she needed the rest and you relate more than anyone to her exhaustion. 

“Jenna…” You lightly tap, “You fell asleep, you need to go to bed.”

She grumbles, whining in her slumber. You feels your cheeks warm when she unconsciously moves to snuggle closer to you, throwing an arm over your waist.

Fuck.

Really?

God, I am not your strongest soldier. 

“Jen, seriously. Wake up.” You shake her arm.

“What?” She complains, her words muffled by your collarbone.

“You need to go to bed.”

The feeling of her soft lashes brushing against the material of your shirt as she blinks sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh…”

Jenna mumbles mortified. Quickly pushing herself off of you, unable to look you in the eyes. “Sorry.”

You don't mention how she might have punched your stomach and that you were desperately trying not to cough.

“S’okay…” You shake your head softly. You couldn't help but notice the way her hair fell over her eyes messily. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asks once she regains her senses, waking up from her short slumber.

Something tells Jenna she won’t be sleeping with how fast her heart is pounding; uncertain as to where her sudden anxiety is coming from. 

“Yeah… I’ll be waiting for you inside.” You stand gathering your belongings.

“Wait, you’re not walking the carpet with me?” Jenna pulled a face.

You raise a brow, “No? At least, I wasn't told I had to. They just said I had to show up.”

“Oh… okay.” She nods then sighed, long and profound.

You continue to raise a brow but don’t say anything. Not wanting to push her. You remember the last time you guys fought and are immediately turned off. No thanks, not trying to open that can of worms.

“Okay. Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” She leans against the door.

Her premiere is a success. After borderline shoving you inside a tinted Cadillac, Link brushes your vintage Prada gown down; making sure you are in tip-top movie-star shape. You don’t walk the carpet, instead heading straight inside – making headlines. 

Your every damn move is a headline these days.

Silently thanking whatever God was out there that you didn’t because the way your jaw dropped when you see Jenna was downright embarrassing. Your reaction would surely have been a running piece if cameras were around.

Your managers would love it though.

Link had to forcefully elbow your side as Jenna walks up to greet you. 

“Wow…” You manage to say. “You look stunning Jenna.”

Jenna was glad for the dim lights in the theatre, “Thanks.” She blushes, casting her eyes down.

“You look great too.” She scans you up and down, suddenly feeling warm under her gape. 

Maybe it was the way her makeup is done or the deconstructed tuxedo for a dress that she had on tonight but she looked more mature, intimidating? Like she could throw you around a little and you’d just gladly ask her to do it again.

Wait, what?

“Thanks… Link and I should head to our seats but I just wanted to congratulate you. This is seriously amazing.” You express sincerely.

Jenna flushes more, waving you off with a huff and a lazy hand. “Please.”

“Seriously!”

Link coughs loudly, interrupting the bubble you and Jenna found yourselves in. “Okay, someone’s a little impatient. We better go.”

A hand reaches out, grabbing you. “Do you wanna, maybe, I don’t know. Sit beside me?”

You turn, surprised. “Oh? What about Enrique?” You glance at her stylist standing just behind her pretending like he wasn’t listening; fiddling on his phone. 

“I’m sure he won’t mind switching to sit with Link, right Enrique?” She turns, asking her friend.

He grins widely, “Nope. All good with me!”

“Perfect!” She smiles at you, still grabbing your arm. 

“We’ll be down there!” Jenna calls out to Link and Enrique linking your fingers out of nowhere as you walk to beside her costars.

You still don’t say anything when Jenna wraps herself around you when you make it to your seats, waving as people cheer with a large smile before pulling you to sit down. 

Only then did she pull herself away, “sorry about that.”

“All good.” You mumble after realizing what happened; turning to face the large screen.

Perfect photo op.

“Hey is that sharpie on your dress?”

“Yes.” She sighs.

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch but you can’t stop the growing unpleasantness in your chest. You decide to brush it off and save face for Jenna’s night. Your sulking and feelings can wait in the privacy of your own four walls and definitely not at a high-profile movie premiere.

By the time you found yourself at the NBC building in a random dressing room at the SNL studio, waiting for Jenna’s monologue you forget all about it. You lay lazily on a stiff and most likely old couch, scrolling through your phone. 

A knock on the door has you pulling off your headphones. “Come in.”

“Hey Y/N.” A head peaks in making you sit up briskly. “Aliyah, hey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just uh– Jenna’s asking for you.” She sends a sheepish smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“Oh,” Your head perks up. “Is she okay?” You question, following the smaller girl past hallways that all looked the same; trying not to bump into the various stagehands buzzing around. 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s kinda freaking out, though and… we can’t get her to calm down.” You both stop at a closed door. 

“Oh… why me?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Uh… okay she didn’t exactly say you but I saw your episode and you were hilarious and who better to talk her down than someone who’s done it before.” She flashes a large grin before opening the door and shoving you inside.

The room is empty save for Jenna dressed in a short-legged suit. You force yourself to blink, reminding yourself that you are on a time crunch.

“Jenna.”

She snaps her head at your voice, and a noticeable tremble in her fingers is the first thing you see. “What–what are you doing here? I thought you’d be in your seat by now.”

“Your sister asked me to come.” You admit, walking forward.

“I’m fine. Go to your seat, I’ll see you after the show.” She turns her back to you, looking over sheets of paper with multi-coloured inked notes scribbled on every open space.

“Take a deep breath for me, Jenna.” You walk closer, slowly bringing the hand tightly clutching her notes down. The bones in her fingers relax as she drops the paper. She doesn’t say anything when you don’t disconnect your hands. 

You find yourself standing much closer to her.

“Take a deep breath.” You repeat.

Jenna closes her eyes, inhaling a long, deep and audible breath in then out. She clutches your fingers as she does so, unconsciously leaning back against you to ground her bubbling anxiety. 

She stays in your hold with her back against your chest: a death grip on your fingers. Your swipe a thumb over the skin of her hand. “It’ll be okay…”

“Thanks…” Jenna looks into your eyes, taking one last deep breath.

Briefly, you hold her gaze feeling tepid under the intense look in her eyes. You can’t tell what they're saying but for some reason, the way her dark pupils seemed softer under the fluorescent lights had you under a spell.

And for a fleeting second, you thought she was leaning in closer to you — eyes flickering to your lips.

“Don’t mention it.” You drop her hand immediately, taking wide steps back.

Not liking the way her eyes flickered down.

You don’t like what that could possibly mean.

Jenna’s turning rapidly, pretending not to notice as you take sizable steps away from her. “What did my sister say?”

You laugh, shoving your hands in your jacket. “That she liked my SNL episode and thought someone who’s done it before can talk you down.”

“Talk me down?” She scrunches her nose.

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” You shrug.

“Your episode was okay.” Jenna turns away to face a mirror, brushing away her bangs.

You take the bait, glad she wasn’t trembling anymore. “Okay? I got the whole cast to break, it’s considered a classic. It was nominated for an Emmy that year.”

“It didn’t win though.”

You scoff playfully, “I’m leaving. You clearly don’t need my help anymore.”

She laughs obnoxiously as you stomp out of her dressing room. “Wait.”

You stop just before you open the door. “Yeah?”

“Thank you… for talking me down.” She tucks a hair backs, a little shy.

The small smile creeping on your face is hard to subdue. “Don’t mention it. Now, go. You’re gonna kill it.” You wink, exiting the dressing room.

“She’s all good.” You tell her team.

“That’s it? She hasn’t calmed down all day, it takes you – what, five minutes?” Enrique crosses his arms. Jenna’s mom smirks, patting his back then walked past him and into the room as the rest of her family slowly trickled in; her sisters staring at you intensely.

“Uh sorry?” You blush furiously, walking off in the other direction to find your seat.

Jenna kills it, but that was never a surprise. You can tell she’s nervous throughout her monologue but after Fred Armisen does his bit – from beside you, which had been a pleasant surprise. She begins to grow confident, feeling pleased with your embarrassment when the camera pans to you and Fred.

You’d get her back for that. Making a mental note to cook up a special revenge plan, just for her.

Eventually, she falls into the role naturally. Nailing her punchlines perfectly, working the crowd like an expert, and exquisitely performing her skits. It’s a shock to you when you overhear someone behind you say she’s never done live stage work before.

She's so natural at it.

It's a privilege to watch her perform.

You nearly die when she changes into a red suit as she introduces the musical guest of the night.

Actually, you begin to slide off your seat when she comes out in a pinstripe suit — a reference to the Addams family you overheard in passing.

When credits roll and the ‘LIVE’ sign turns off. You remain in your seat. Unsure if you are just admiring her or if it’s ‘cause your legs no longer functioned. You can’t fight that admiration as it grows when you see how supportive her family is as they cheer her on and celebrate this win as one unit. 

You smile, wishing you can relate. At least some people had that in their lives.

A part of you thinks it makes the whole world’s difference, having a support system like that. But you would never know.

Silently, you slip out the stage doors and back to the random dressing room you’ve decided to take refuge in. 

You narrowly miss Jenna trying to find you through the masses; her smile dropping a bit when she realizes you’re gone.

– 

You don’t get a chance to personally congratulate Jenna because Link was bursting into the dressing room — after complaining about trying to find you for ten minutes. Rambling on how you’re needed back in Los Angeles and there was no time to say goodbye.

When you catch the other actress it’s by pure stroke of luck. You're going through checkout at the hotel, waiting for Link to do all the work as you wait behind him. 

You feel slightly guilty that you're just leaving without warning.

You should send Jenna a text, right? But would she even care if you left so suddenly? She did want you out of the city just a few days ago.

But then, you two literally just, might’ve, maybe, almost kissed/shared a moment in her dressing room, so who knows what you should do at this point.

You feel a migraine forming at the base of your skull, the longer you thought about the other actress.

“Y/N?” A voice breaks your self-deprecating thoughts. You turn to see Jenna with her team and family trailing beside her.

Jenna’s smile falls when she sees your bags. Her family walks ahead but you certainly don’t miss their curious eyes as she stops in front of you.

“Where are you going?” Her eyes keep flickering between you and your bags.

Link avoids her sharp, accusing eyes.

“Back to L.A. sorry I was just about to send you a text, actually.” You confessed, a little ashamed. 

It felt like you got caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing… like when you lie to your long-time partner about the real reason why you want some time apart.

“A text?” She raises an unamused brow not liking your answer.

“Yeah, Jake wants me back in L.A. Uh– sorry, was I supposed to tell you?” You ask, a bit confused.

“Tell me?” She scoffs, face dropping. “Yeah, you’re supposed to tell me. I was going to invite you to dinner to celebrate with my family and the SNL cast tonight. But you weren’t even in the audience anymore by the time I finished.”

“Sorry… I thought you’d want to celebrate with your family.” You shrug lamely, torn between feeling guilty and confused at her reaction to the news of your sudden departure.

She made it feel like you were trying to escape.

“Well, I thought–” 

She cuts herself off with a huff then looked back as her family waits for her by the elevator.

“Thought what?”

As if remembering she was still out in a very public setting, after hosting one of the most recognizable programs in America; Jenna blinks out of it. Shoving her feelings down.

“Nothing. Have a safe flight back to L.A. I’ll see you in a few days… or weeks” She mumbles with an edginess to her words, walking away before you can say anything else.

“Tough break, buddy.” Link pats a comforting hand on your shoulder as you were rendered speechless. Unsure if you should chase her down and apologize.

Damn can she walk fast in those heels.

But, why would you be apologizing for having to do your job?

But the way her brow creased like she was actually upset caused an unpleasant drop in your chest. Not enjoying how she was upset and that it seemed like it was all your fault. You? Nah. Maybe she’s still dealing with other stuff and is just taking it out on you. 

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What. Just. Happened.” You turn, aggressively snatching your card from the hotel worker who definitely enjoyed the show.

“Are you blind?” He scoffs then walks away from you.

“What do you mean? Link… what do you mean?” 

-

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[captain-hawks]

maybe kuroo + vouyerism for your spicy sleepover weekend?

tetsurou kuroo x f!reader

c: 18+, past relationship, pining, masturbation, voyeurism

Tetsurou’s too many drinks deep for this monumentally questionable decision.

This is his fault—the fact that he’s sitting on the cold tile floor of yours and Bokuto’s girlfriend’s dual ensuite bathroom, damp swim shorts doing nothing to hide his half-hard dick as he leans his head back against the door and stares up at the ceiling.

He’s the one that let you go, who ran like a goddamn coward the moment your situationship started to feel too much like a relationship.

He knows he fucked up, he’s been well aware for months on end, the endless ache in his chest a persistent reminder. 

But you’re happy now—something Bokuto’s girlfriend mentioned thrice at the bar last night, threateningly waving a fork in his direction for emphasis. 

“So you’d better fucking behave at the party tomorrow, Kuroo.”

He’d behaved all right. 

He’d behaved all damn afternoon, even when you finally showed up late with your new boyfriend in tow, plopping down in his lap on one the lounger chairs beside the pool and resting your head against his shoulder as you laughed and recounted the events of his baseball game.

He’d even managed a cordial fucking wave when the two of you locked eyes.

But it all started going downhill when you caught him alone in the kitchen, his hands slipping on the condensation on the side of the Coke can he was holding as your gazes locked on one another.

“I’m sorry—”

“Tetsu—”

He paused, an odd ache unfurling in his chest as you corrected yourself, “Kuroo.”

And maybe he could have made it through the rest of the day unscathed, if he hadn’t noticed you were still wearing the stupid ankle bracelet he’d won for you on the boardwalk last summer. The one with the silly little cat charm on it, which had been a pitiful consolation prize when his best efforts still couldn’t win the obnoxiously rigged balloon pop game, but you insisted he immediately tie it around your ankle all the same.

“I’ll wear it till it falls off,” you’d promised with a grin as Tetsurou offered the underpaid teenager at the booth and the obnoxious assortment of gigantic, impossible-to-win stuffed animals one last parting glare.

He should have left then—Akaashi even offered him a ride home.

But he’d stayed.

He’d fucking stayed and tortured himself even more as you lounged atop a floatie, your damp swimsuit leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Especially not one that already knows all your dips and curves—every little sound you make.

Sounds you’re making for someone else in your room on the other side of this goddamn door while Tetsurou’s head spins.

He’s too drunk for this.

But he can’t bring himself to get up, not when his mind’s readily conjuring images of you splayed out beneath him on your mattress, his hands cupping your breasts through your still-wet swimsuit. His thumb dragging across your nipples, the buds hard and sensitive in the air conditioned apartment.

He has to shove the heel of his palm against his dick when he thinks about untying your top, the way you’d arch your body up into his as he mouths at your breasts, your skin warm and wet under his touch.

On the other side of the door, you moan.

And fuck it, he lets his cock spring free from his shorts, nearly groaning in relief as he finally wraps his fingers around his achingly hard shaft.

He thinks about peeling off your swim shorts and spreading your legs, rutting his throbbing cock against the mattress as you drag your fingers through his hair while he eats you out. 

The bed frame creaks, and you moan loader, and Tetsurou spits in his palm, teeth biting into the side of his free hand as he tries to stifle his own groan while he fucks his fist.

He thinks about you climbing into his lap, the damp feeling of your skin flush against his, the familiar taste of your kiss as his mouth slots against yours. That little sound you always make as he eases his thick cock into you—the ghost of a laugh tangled in a whimper at the stretch.

The satisfied, languid noise that crawls up your throat when he bottoms out inside of you.

The desperate way you say his name when you’re about to come.

“Tetsu!”

Tetsurou’s eyes shoot open.

Did he just hear you—

A tidal wave of pleasure punches through him as he messily pumps hot, thick spurts of cum from his cock, his seed splattering across the floor tiles, and he rakes a hand through his hair, heart pounding erratically against his ribcage.

Fuck.

[kittenintheden]

Before Morning's Light

surprise early morning Oristarion bang because I felt like it, enjoy.

Rating: E Pairing: Astarion/Orianna (female OC) Word Count: 750 Content: 18+, wake up from dual nightmares and then bang the demons away

***

They wake in their shared bed in the Elfsong at nearly the same moment, both panting and fighting against their nightmares’ pull. Instinctively they find one another for comfort, hands entwining and bodies pressed tight until the shakes stop, until her heartbeat slows. They rest on their sides, embracing as best they can.

It’s very early morning, judging from the way the only light in the room comes from the yellowed and washed-out streetlamps on the street below, and as they catch their breath, they meet one another’s eyes. Bleary with sleep, steeped in the terror of a receding nightmare. An understanding sort of mirror.

Ori tilts her chin forward and kisses him, softly.

The thrum of fear and anger still pulses with nowhere to go, twining along their nerves and preventing them from settling back to rest.

Their eyes flick back to one another and a current passes between them.

Ori’s hands go to his waistband as his fingers reach up underneath the hem of her sleep shirt, their movements frantic and hurried as though this can’t happen fast enough, both uncharacteristically fumbling. She makes an annoyed hiss as she grabs hold of his shirt and yanks it up to give herself more room to work.

“Who tucks their bloody shirt in when they sleep?” she grouses in a whisper as she looks down. She can see the hard ridge of his arousal straining against his thin breeches and she needs it free immediately.

Astarion’s hand is fully under her clothing now, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of her smallclothes and already pulling them down her hips with no mind whatsoever to whether he might tear the fabric. “Who doesn’t wear breeches to sleep at all?” he grumble-whispers back, bending her knee up to make it easier to get this stupid thing all the way down and over her ankle.

“Someone who plans for this exact eventuality. What in the hells is this fucking drawstring-” She pulls at it, trying to dig out the knot and prying a subdued groan from him as her nails scrape against the skin over his pubic bone.

“Get, would you get out of the-” He lifts her freed leg up over his hip and reaches between them to knock her hands out of the way so he can take over. It takes a few seconds for him to work the knot apart, and then he and she both shove them down, breeches and smallclothes together, over his arse and hips to free him. His cock springs up toward her, eager, and he thrusts between her legs without thinking, seeking her warmth.

He misses the first time, his desperation making him sloppy, and they both snipe quietly at one another until she puts a firm palm on his hip to hold him in place and rolls herself up to catch the tip of him, adjusting for angle, and gets him partway in. Then he thrusts up once, twice, and he’s inside.

They don’t even communicate the need before they each get a hand over the other’s mouth to muffle the debauched whimpering noises they make as they begin rutting with total abandon, her leg tight over his upper thigh and gripping for leverage.

Their bodies are teeming with adrenaline and nerves and need. It’s like they were already on the edge, their arousal hypersensitive and ready to burst. It’s pure, needy, unadulterated fucking, no artistry or thought behind it, only the base desire to rock and ride straight to the top.

Astarion comes first, his eyes slamming shut and his back curving with it, his moan trapped behind Ori’s fingers. His shaking free hand goes up under her clothes, flat on the small of her back as he pulses and continues to fuck into her as long as his body will let him. Close, close, close-

She cries through gritted teeth and behind her own barrier, shivering through her climax before she slows and they melt back down into the mattress beneath them. Hands drop away from mouths, chests heave for breath.

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck,” Astarion whispers, eyes still shut, limbs going heavy.

Ori presses her mouth to his forehead, huffing out her breath. “That’s one way to exorcize our demons, I guess,” she breathes.

From somewhere beyond their privacy screen, they hear Gale groan, “By Mystra’s holy tits, would you two shut the nine hells up, you aren’t as quiet as you think you are. It’s not even daylight. Gods.”

 Astarion collapses into silent giggles against Ori.

“Sorry, Gale,” she whisper-yells.

[exorcqism]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀oliver aiku ･ karasu tabito

⠀⠀ "you’re an experimentalist—trying new things isn’t an issue for you, and you ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ always find yourself having a good time in the end. but how would they react ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ to your openness? only a little bit of convincing would help. "

⠀ ← [ BACK ] : HOME ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ [ NEXT ] : MLIST →

概要 ⌇ nsfw. fem!reader, female anatomy, smut, modern AU, jerking off (m!receiving), fingering, cunnilingus, whimpering, crying, drooling etc. lmk if i missed anything. ( wc. 1.07K )

⠀THANKS FOR READING ⭑ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ≡ © VMPIIRES, 2O24

⠀⭑ ⌜OLIVER AIKU⌟ ⸝⸝⠀

⠀⸻ jerking, whimpering, oral.

⠀⠀⠀whenever you were bored late at night, you found yourself on twitter, scrolling through the endless amounts of explict clips that appeared on your timeline along with the whimpering audios that occasionally popped up. you cringe a bit, thinking about how someone could record stuff like this without feeling odd themselves. they're getting money, right? you thought to yourself. you weren't knocking how someone made a living, but you definitely couldn't see yourself doing something like this on your own time.

⠀⠀⠀you take a glance over at you boyfriend who was turned over on his side and half asleep scrolling through tiktok, tiredly chuckling at whatever he found funny. on your screen was a couple, their noises kept at a moderate volume in your headphones. while you weren't totally focused on the clip, the small scenes you notice intrigued you. your eyes sparkled at how the woman slowly jerked off her partner while he whined and writhed under her touch.

⠀⠀⠀a smirk appeared on your face as an idea popped into your head. leaning over, you tapped oliver on his shoulder, disrupting his ridiculously sluggish scrolling. when his gaze fell on to your brightened screen, he squinted and his expression changed from one of tiredness to confusion then slight interest. oliver was aware of your experimentalist attitude. he was mostly down for whatever you presented to him, unless it was too odd for him to engage in, but slightly feeling bad for not letting you experience what you showed to him. with a plethora of 'hell no's and 'what the fuck?'s, oliver finally let you have a chance to explore.

⠀⠀⠀"i don't want this lasting too long, i'm tired," the male advised as he put his phone down onto the nightstand on his side of the bed and got into position, ready for whatever you were about to throw around him. with an excited smile, you turn your phone off also and sit on your knees and sit up on your knees. you untied the drawstring of his sweats and pulled them low enough to where his member was visible.

⠀⠀⠀the mattress creaked and shifted beneath the two of you as you continue to sit on your knees and oliver laid his head against the headboard, whimpering and shivering with need. his dual colored irises were glazed over and rolling back into his skull as he tried his best to contain himself but you could tell he was failing miserably. your hand moved tortuously slow in an up and down motion, feeling every ridge, every vein that ran down his thick shaft. a bead of pre-cum began to seep its way out of the slit on his tip and down onto your hand, nearly making a sticky mess of the surrounding sheets and the curly patch of hair at oliver’s lower end.

⠀⠀⠀“damn..baby, can you go a little faster?” oliver’s hips bucked upward into your hand while his free hand squeezed the fabric of the sheets beside him. he was never a whiner but to see him making a mess of himself tonight only spurred you on. your hand moved a little faster and oliver’s writhing only got more urgent. another loud whine escaped his lips as your thumb rolled slowly and deliberately over his throbbing head. you hadn’t seen anything so pretty in your life until now. to add on to oliver’s pleasured torture, you brought your head down, pushing his dick into your warm, wet mouth.

⠀⠀⠀“fuck,” oliver cursed, his moans still being stifled as he bit down on his lower lip. his hand made its way up to the crown of your head and gently pushed you down onto his shaft more, making you swallow his entire length. your hand continued to move, jerking him off slowly, your lips following its movements carefully.

⠀⠀⠀oliver’s grip on your hair grew tight the moment you decided to pick up the pace. his hips snapped rapidly upward once more, fucking your face and nearly gagging you. his eyebrows furrowed as pleasure took over and a final groan escaped him before he released his load into your mouth—you swallowed, licking your lips and smiling with hooded eyes that were filled with satisfaction.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⭑ ⌜KARASU TABITO⌟ ⸝⸝

⠀⸻ fingering, cunnilingus.

⠀⠀⠀karasu was more than happy to indulge in whatever disgusting desires you had. the two of you were the same in a way, watching stuff on twitter and getting ideas⏤but he was worse than you in every way you could think of. the male had his face pressed into your core while he sucked and slurped loudly on your folds, the tip of his tongue curling inwards to fit into your needy hole.

⠀⠀⠀while you whined and begged him to slow his ministrations, he wasn't listening. every plea and every attempt to move him away failed. his head raised and his mouth retracted from your core, only to give you a simple warning, "quit running". with that, he put his hands on your hips, squeezing them a bit before pulling you closer to him.

⠀⠀⠀the male continued to lap at your core before he raised his free hand and pressed two fingers into your wet heat, making you moan louder than you expected. his digits pumped in and out of you slowly, remnants of your arousal coating his occupied fingers. when he noticed that you seemed to be enjoying it, he started to move his fingers a bit faster, curling them up into that spot that made you see stars.

⠀⠀⠀you writhed under karasu's smooth but harsh ministrations and your back arched with every torturous yet pleasurable moment. once again, you attempted to push your thighs shut bur karasu wasn't having it. he gripped onto your thighs and pushed them farther apart than before.

⠀⠀⠀a low growl came from beneath you, vibrating against you, causing you to squirm and writhe against the mattress, ruining your once neatly made bed. your fingers gripped onto the sheets as tears blurred your vision and streamed down your face. soon enough, karasu pulled back, his face glistening with your fluids and his own saliva.

⠀⠀⠀"as much shit that you talk, you should be embarrassed that ya could barely handle that," the male smirked at you before climbing off of the bed. "let's clean up, yeah? i hope you don't wanna sit there looking like a soggy mess." karasu continued to tease before taking your hand and leading you to the bathroom to clean up.

⏤ 備考 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒. im kinda back :D.. i made this for my friend since her birthday is today (@5kstxrz love you :3 go look at her stuff) and she love her some karasu. i also tried a new layout at the top (working on this from my mac) but it looks so weird on my phone...so don't kill me if it looks ugly.

i'll try something different next time because it was so hard and irritating to make. anywayyyy BYE i hope this short lil thing i made was enjoyable. (also im getting on AO3 fr this time. i have stuff saved in notion)

[tejuskumar13]

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[guess-my-next-obsession]

endure & survive | iii. close call

pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x single mother!reader

chapter content: MINORS DNI, written in dual POV/first person POV, no description/name given to reader, reader is a single mother, age gap (twenty-ish years), gun talk/threats, violence, threats of SA (not from joel or reader), descriptions of blood, death (no main characters)

word count: 3.4k

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

READER 

I wake to the sound of a dull thump outside and a colder bed than I’m used to. My eyes bolt open as I reach for my son beside me, only for my hand to land against the mattress. I waste no time in getting to my feet, my boots stomping across the rickety floor until I’m opening the bathroom door, but he’s not there either.  

Shit. 

At the sound of laughter coming from outside the cabin, I whip the front door open and take in the sight of Colt and Ellie tossing snowballs at one another from their respective snow forts on either side of the lawn. I want to feel relieved, want to feel happy that he’s having fun and being a kid in a way he doesn’t always get to be, but I’m too protective and paranoid to feel anything but anger.  

“Colt!” I shout, not violently but loud enough for him to know I mean business. Never in his life has he left the cabin without me. I don’t know what’s come over him.  

I watch as Colt attempts to hide behind the mound of snow in front of him, as if we hadn’t just made eye contact from across the yard.  

“Colt, I’m giving you to the count of three. One...two...thr—” 

“Fine!” he shouts, popping his head over the mound as he stands and stomps his way across the snow to the edge of the porch.  

“What do you think you’re doing out here?” I scold, scanning the yard for any sign of Joel. Not that I trust the guy to watch over my kid. I find him on the side of the cabin, chopping wood with the rusty old axe I’ve been neglecting this winter.  

“We were just playing,” Colt pouts, kicking his boots into the snow. “I heard Ellie outside when I was sleeping and wanted to come out and see what they were doing. I knew you’d say no if I woke you up, so I just—” 

“Decided you’d give yourself permission?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. He looks so damn adorable and innocent peering up at me with his father’s eyes that I can’t help but soften a bit. Reaching a hand out, I cup his cheek and give it a gentle brush of my thumb. “Babe, that’s not how this works. I don’t say no just to be mean. I want you safe, so when I tell you you can’t do something, trust that it’s for a good reason.” 

His only response is a mumbled, “Okay.” 

“And FYI, I wouldn’t have said no,” I add with a half-smile. “I might’ve been grumpy about having to get up and come out here with you, but I wouldn’t have said no.” 

“So…I can keep playing?” he asks, his eyes brightening along with the smile that stretches across his face.  

“Yes,” I sigh, folding my hand back against my chest. “I have to speak with Joel, anyways.” 

Colt doesn’t seem to give much of a shit about what’s on my to-do list this morning as he bolts back to his fort and shouts that the fight is back on to Ellie.  

Stomping my way down the porch, snow crunches beneath my boots as I make my way to where Joel’s standing, chopping wood. “I’d appreciate if you made sure Colt had my permission before letting him come out here.” 

Joel pauses what he’s doing and turns to stare at me with furrowed brows and a blank look in his eyes. “It’s not my job to watch over your kid.” 

“No, but any decent human being would double check that a kid’s parent knows where they’re at,” I counter, staring back at him just as gruffly.  

“He said you knew. Not my fault he lied.” 

“You’re a dick, you know that?”  

“Been told a few times,” he says, turning back to the log in front of him and raising his axe in the air to strike at it. I don’t flinch when the wood splits in two, even if he hit it a bit more forcefully than was necessary. “We done here?” 

“You’re—” Rude. Callous. Arrogant. Unfortunately good looking. A nightmare cocktail of traits. I settle on keeping it simple, though. “An asshole.” 

“And you’re fuckin’ naive if you think that kid’s going to be safe out here forever,” he counters, loading up another log without missing a beat. “Ever heard the story of Rupunzel? Keepin’ him locked away in your cabin isn’t gonna teach him a thing about survival.” 

“Oh, I guess I should be putting a gun in his hands and taking him out for target practice, then?” I step closer, fueled by the wild desire to yank that axe out of his grasp and chop him down with it. For civility’s sake, I restrain myself from doing just that. “You have no idea what it’s like to be a kid and have to do the kinds of things it takes to survive out here—how it fucks up the mind. I do. And as long as I have a shot at preserving his youth, protecting his innocence, I’m going to do all that I can to keep him away from all the shit that’s turned people like you into cold, unfeeling assholes.” 

Joel’s only response is a scoff, a humorless smirk, and a strike of the axe through the log in front of him. When it becomes clear that he has no interest in continuing our argument—I'm clueless as to why I wish he did—I turn on my feet and head back to the porch to stew and watch over my apparently hopeless son. He’s still playing with Ellie, but instead of throwing snowballs at each other, they’ve moved on to building a snowman. Colt’s giggling and smiling like I’ve never seen before, and the sound is healing.  

I don’t give a shit what Joel has to say about my parenting. Colt is happy and safe, and at six years old, that’s all he needs to be.  

JOEL 

I’m not used to feeling remorse. It’s been years since I’ve been forced to tap into these sickly kinds of feelings—dangerous feelings. But that kid is turning me soft.  

It’s the only explanation for why I’m standing here scolding myself for being such an ass to our host. I hadn’t meant to attack her parenting skills. I remember how it felt to be judged and scrutinized for the way I chose to raise Sarah by myself rather than make it work with her mother. I remember how hard it was to do it alone, how every decision I made felt like it would end up changing her life.  

So, why the fuck was I coming at her like that?  

Maybe it’s the way she’s so unflinching in approaching me. Even with an axe in my hand—a stranger’s hand—she strolled right up to me and let me have it. Her fearlessness made me feel a little defensive, as if subconsciously I knew who would come out as the victor if we were to go at it. I might know how to fight, might have hands made for survival, but she’s got something I’ve lost long ago.  

She’s got something to fight for.  

Ellie’s the closest thing I’ve come to that in a long fucking time. But it’s not the same when I know she’s capable of fighting, too.  

That little boy out in the yard hasn’t seen a fight in his life, and it needs to stay that way.  

“Still taking your old man frustrations out on these logs?” Ellie’s voice is a welcomed interruption from my thoughts. She’s covered in snow from head to toe, but she hasn’t looked more like I kid in all the time I’ve known her.  

“Somethin’ like that,” I reply, swinging the axe into the stump and lodging it there before turning to face her. “Probably got until this evenin’ to get settled before the storm rolls in. Just tryin’ to make sure everybody’s got enough wood.” 

“Thoughtful,” Ellie says, though judging by the look she shoots towards the yard where Colt and his mother are making snow angels, she wants to say more. 

“Out with it,” I sigh, propping a hand on my hip.  

“Do you have to be such a dick? I mean, I don’t expect you to be Mr. Friendly all of a sudden, but she is kind of going out of her way so that we don’t freeze to death out here.” 

“I’m not doin’ it on purpose,” I admit with a shrug and a shake of my head. “Just not used to actin’ any different.” 

“Well get used to it, please. Or at least learn how to act like you’re civilized. We’re only here for a couple more days. I’d really appreciate if we—” 

Silencing herself, Ellie whips her head over to the tree line behind the shed, her eyebrows narrowed. I turn that way, too, even if whatever she heard went completely missed by my shitty hearing.  

“What?” I manage, keeping my voice a whisper. Slowly, she inches towards the shed, opening the door and grabbing the pistol out of her backpack before tipping her head towards the cabin in a silent demand that I follow her.  

Grabbing the axe out of the tree stump, I make my way over to the porch and wait for her to fill me in on what kind of threat we’re dealing with this time. Our host and her son seem to be aware of the noise as well, the two of them joining us in eerie silence.  

“You wanna tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on?” I whisper to Ellie, keeping my voice deadly silent.  

“You can’t hear?” Our host asks, her face scrunched up like she was disgusted by something.  

“Old guy’s a little hard of hearing,” Ellie says dismissively. “It’s a group of dudes. Just beyond the trees.” 

“There’s a clearing thirty or so yards that way. They’re probably waiting there,” our host says, her gaze lingering on mine for a beat before falling to her son. “Listen to me, baby. I need you to go inside, lock yourself in the bathroom, and don’t come out until I tell you it’s okay. Do you understand?” 

“What’s going on, mama?” Long gone is the happy kid that was playing in the snow with Ellie. Now, he’s just a ball of fear.  

“We’ve just gotta go check something out, okay?”  

“No,” he whines, latching onto her leg as she tries to usher him into the cabin. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

I look over at Ellie, catching her frowning at the boy. I know she likes to be involved in the chaos, but right now, I think there’s a better job for her. “Stay with the kid.” 

“What?” Ellie whips her eyes to mine. “But I—” 

“You’ve got a gun,” I whisper. “If anything happens to us, you’ll be able to protect the two of you.” 

She only looks like she’s about to argue for a second before Colt’s hands find her arm. Ellie melts a little as he clings to her the way he was clinging to his mother just seconds before, and with a sigh, she gives me a solitary nod. “Be careful. Both of you.” 

READER 

With weapons in hand—a shotgun in mine, an axe in Joel’s—we make our way through the snow as silently as we can. There’s no telling if this group means us any harm, but with them this close to discovering my safe haven, I can’t take any chances.  

It’s one of the uglier truths that come along with this new world, but only one side is walking away from this fight today. Joel and I, however at odds, have to protect ours. At whatever cost. 

As we’re nearing the clearing, the voices Ellie and I had heard earlier grow louder, causing Joel and I to glance at each other. He tips his chin towards the large pine tree beside me, a silent request that I hide myself behind it, and moves over to one nearer to him.  

“It’s a whole little family they’ve got over there,” a man says, his accent distinctly southern. It’s not like Joel’s subtle drawl; this guy sounds like he’s straight out of Deliverance. “Should be easy enough, once we get rid of the dad.” 

I glance at Joel, finding his jaw ticking and fingers gripping his axe tighter. I haven’t been particularly afraid of him in the twenty-four hours I’ve known him, but now I can see why he’s lasted so long out here. Take the kid away, give him a weapon, make a threat, and he turns into murder incarnate right in front of your eyes. It’s as terrifying as it is attractive.  

Maybe that says more about me than I realize. 

“I say we kill the dad, then the kids, then we have some fun with the mom before takin’ her out too,” the same man continues, and my stomach sinks. Not just because of what they plan on doing to me, but the thought of them coming anywhere near Colt and Ellie.  

Not on my fucking watch.  

Joel’s eyes meet mine and he gives me a subtle shake if his head. A silent promise that I can’t help but believe he’ll keep.  

“We gotta be smart, now,” another, older voice chimes in, sounding like the crackling of a fire. Clearly, this one’s the leader of the bunch. “We don’t know if they got guns. All we got is our knives. We need to wait until it’s dark out and they’re asleep to do anythin’.”  

Fucking cowards. And idiots. Now that I know I’m walking into a knife fight with a twelve-gauge, that sick feeling from before is long gone.  

Joel catches my attention, mouthing, “How many?” 

I peek around the tree and squint, spotting three men huddled around a small fire. There’s the oldest one, and then there are two identical looking men, save for the hundred pound difference in one of them. In another world, they’d look like a father and his twin sons on a camping retreat. In this world, though, they’re just three sick fucks looking to kill and pillage.  

I turn back to Joel and hold up three fingers, earning a solitary nod.  

“You got a clean shot?” he mouths, and I line up my scope to check it out.  

The eldest is up and pacing around now, stroking his beard while the twins sit there and watch. I can’t get a clean shot on him, but the younger ones are doable from the ten or so yards separating us.  

But the second I pull the trigger, they ones I don’t hit are going to be up and running.  

I give Joel a nod, keeping my gun lifted just like Kit taught me all those years ago. A skill I never wanted to be taught, but one I’m thankful thankful to have now that he’s gone. Joel raises his hand, counting down from five with his fingers before giving me the go ahead to shoot.  

And the minute I do, shit turns to chaos.  

JOEL 

I hardly have the chance to breathe before I’m being grabbed from behind, an arm handed around my throat threatening to suffocate me.  

There must’ve been another member of their group that we hadn’t seen, one waiting in the trees just in case. But judging by the shouts and slurs being hurled out into the air, I’m guessing that my new companion—or whatever the hell she is—has decent aim. Hell, she might’ve even taken him out in one shot.  

“Joel,” she gasps, her attention torn between the men we were watching and the one trying to wrestle me to the ground. But I don’t want her focus, not when she’s still got two men to handle. I’ll be able to fight this one off myself.  

“Shoot,” I choke out, kicking my boot backwards into the shin of my attacker.  

“Fuck,” he hisses, his grip loosening just enough for me to shove out of his hold. Facing him, I raise my axe and swipe at his legs, slicing the back of his knee. He shouts as he goes down onto one knee, calling out for his friends. “Fuck! Brady! Two out here!” 

A shot sounds, the bullet whizzing through the air.  

Then another.  

And another.  

Still, there are two voices hurling promises of pain and misery.  

She’s getting nervous now, her aim sloppy. I’m not looking at her, not as I strike clean through the man in front of me’s neck, cutting his head off in one harsh blow.  

It’s sickening—the sight, the blood, the feeling of tearing through flesh. But it’s either kill or be killed. And they plan to do a hell of a lot worse than kill my new companion.  

“Joel!” This time, her voice isn’t laced with concern for me. No, she’s scared for herself. And as I whip around to see why, I feel my stomach drop with dread.  

A man at least three times her size is rushing at her like a linebacker, ready to take her out.  

To take her away from her son.  

From me.  

Fuck that.  

I charge at him like a bull, hitting him from the side right before he runs right through her. She drops her gun in the process of scrambling back, her eyes wide as she watches me straddle him, my fists pounding his face into the snow until he no longer looks human.  

“Get the fucking gun!” I shout, still fighting off the hands trying to clasp around my neck. I hear her scramble to the gun, but not before the final intruder—the oldest one—stomps his foot into the barrel. Right as I deliver the final blow to his friend’s skull.  

“Y’all thought it was okay to kill my boys?” His voice is pure evil, pure grit. If I were a bit more hillbilly, it might’ve sounded like me. “You got any idea what I’m gonna do to y’all to pay you back? Startin’ with you, sugar.”  

I’m panting and sore, my knuckles bloodied and teeth bared as I watch him kick her chest with enough force to break a rib. She lands against the soft snow and coughs up some blood, but her eyes don’t flicker with pain. No, they’re alight with fire. Promises of sweet vengeance.  

“I’ll leave him alive long enough for him to watch what I’m about to do to you,” the old man says, lifting the gun and slinging the strap over his shoulder before turning to me. “You think you’ll like that? Watchin’ me play with your toy?” 

“You lay a hand on her and I’ll take my sweet time in killin’ you,” I promise, spitting out a mouthful of blood, the crimson staining the pure snow.  

“How you plannin’ on doin’ that when you’re dead?” he chuckles, turning back to her. “That’s a real gentleman you got there. Too bad he can’t save you.” 

“No, but I fucking can.”  

Ellie.  

Fuck me, she shouldn’t be out here.  

And neither should the six year old at her side, holding a kitchen knife.  

Just as the old man opens his mouth to speak, Ellie shuts him up by putting a bullet through his forehead. Just like I taught her.  

“Shit.” Ellie’s shaking, her eyes fixed on the man she just killed as he falls the the ground, along side two of his dead companions, the other somewhere in the clearing alone. “Shit. Joel.” 

“I know,” I blurt out, rushing over to her and blocking both her and Colt’s view of the bodies. His mom gets onto her feet, stumbling and gripping her chest as she reaches her son.  

“Mama,” he cries, dropping the knife in the snow as he clings to her.  

And fuck me if the sight doesn’t make my chest ache.  

“C’mon,” I say, scanning the woods around us to make sure there aren’t any more surprises in store. “Into the cabin. Let’s go.” 

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

left my window open, baby

pairing: miguel o’hara x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 1.9k

summary:

Sometimes when Miguel comes through your window, he wants all the control.

Other times, like tonight, he wants something different.

author’s note:

it’s official. i have miguel o’hara brain rot. if you enjoyed this lil fic, please consider leaving a comment or message bc they make my heart happy!!

content warnings:

explicit sexual content, no use of y/n, porn without plot, dom/sub dynamics, switch!miguel (but mostly sub in this), potentially bad spanish translations, oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, woman on top position, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, hair pulling, praise kink, orgasm control, pet names, choking, scratching, mentions of fangs/biting, cum play. Please let me know if I've missed any!

You’re in bed reading a book by the glow of the lamp on your nightstand when the window slides open. In any normal situation, you would probably be alarmed, but at this late hour, it could only be one person.

“You ever think about knocking?” You ask, not looking up from your book.

“You ever think about locking your window?” A deep, familiar voice replies. You glance up at the masked figure lurking in the shadows. Miguel steps closer, mask disappearing and revealing a handsome face - chiseled jaw, strong nose, tired red eyes, and a permanent furrow between his brows. 

He plants a knee on the mattress, gaze holding you captive as he crawls over your body. Up close, you can see the exhaustion in his features, the tightness in his jaw and shoulders.

“What do you need?” You ask quietly. 

“Need to make you feel good,” he murmurs, head dropping to your neck. He inhales deeply, tip of his nose tracing your pulse before his lips follow, slightly chapped but deliciously warm. “Please.”

You find yourself nodding and he lifts himself off of you, pulling back the linens covering your body until his only barrier is a pair of panties and the t-shirt you wear to bed. Miguel fits himself between your legs and the molecules of his suit covering his hands flicker away as he presses them to your thighs, his claws pricking your skin and making you gasp. He slides a finger beneath the elastic of your panties and pulls, slicing through the one side and then the other, the shredded fabric falling apart and leaving you bare.

He lies on his stomach and kisses your inner thighs, sucking and biting the sensitive skin until you’re squirming. A heavy arm settles over your hips, holding you against the bed as he continues to mark you up to his liking.

“Miguel,” you whine, fighting against his hold as his fangs scrape so close to where you desperately need relief, “Stop teasing me.”

He immediately heeds your demand, lapping at your pussy with deep strokes of his tongue from your soaked entrance to your clit. He sucks the sensitive bud between his lips, moaning as he does and the sensation has you digging your hands into his hair. He says something that you can’t quite hear.

“Hmm?” You hum. He lifts his head.

“Más fuerte,” he says. Harder.

Miguel returns his attention to your pussy and you heed his demand, tugging on the soft strands between your fingers. He growls, deep and visceral, the primal sound of it making you clench with want. Like he can sense your need, his tongue dips inside of you, curling against your walls as his nose brushes your clit. The dual sensations have you gasping, pulling desperately as his hair, which only urges him on.

He slides a thick finger inside of you as he sucks on your clit and it sends you toppling over the edge, your legs trying to close against his broad shoulders as you come, clenching desperately around his finger and moaning his name into the mostly dark room. 

He continues to lick you through your release, slow and gentle until he feels your body relax again. When your thighs have dropped back to the mattress, his tongue begins to move faster and he slides another finger inside of you, the stretch of it making you gasp.

“Miguel?” You ask, but the man doesn’t answer. His attention remains solely on your pussy as he continues to kiss and lick and bite and suck at the most sensitive parts of you until you’re once more panting and writhing and on the cusp of another orgasm despite the aftershocks of your first not having faded. 

“Fuck!” You cry, trying to catch your breath. He removes his fingers and lifts his head to look at you, chin shiny with spit and cum.

“Sabes tan bien,” he moans. You taste so good. He crawls up your body, looking every bit the predator you know him to be. The suit flickers away, his broad muscles rippling beneath tan skin as he settles over you and dips his head to press his lips to yours.

He tastes like you, salty and earthy and the thought makes you moan as you kiss him back. You reach up, pushing at his shoulders until his back hits the mattress and you can straddle his trim waist, sitting just above his cock. 

“That was amazing, Miguel. Did you enjoy making me cum?” You ask, rocking your hips over his abs. “You made a mess of me.”

Miguel’s eyes are half-lidded as he nods, his claws digging into your thighs and making you hiss from the pain that intermingles with the pleasure of the friction on your sensitive clit. He licks his lips and you get a glimpse of sharp fangs that make your heart rate skyrocket.

“But I didn’t tell you to make me cum twice…did I? You were greedy,” you tease. You shuffle back on your knees until your pussy is sliding over the thick length of him. He groans, head pressing back against the mattress and his eyes squeezing shut. “Maybe I should be greedy, too.”

“Que?” He asks. What? You lift slightly and grasp his cock to position it at your entrance, sliding down the slightest bit as he gasps. “Oh, fuck.”

It’s not often that Miguel lets you be in control, but sometimes the weight of protecting the multiverse from collapse leads to nights like this where you tease and taunt and praise him until that furrow between his brow relaxes just the slightest bit. You continue to slowly draw him into your body, your thighs shaking with the effort and your palms pressed to his chest for balance. The stretch of him is intense, it always is, but you’re so wet and ready for him that he fits with relative ease.

Once you’re seated on his lap, stuffed so full you can hardly breathe, you reach up to grip Miguel by the chin, fingers digging harshly into his cheeks. “Look at me,” you demand. His red eyes are nearly black, glassy and unfocused as he stares up at you with a look of adoration. “That’s it, baby, watch me take your cock so well, okay?”

He nods his head enthusiastically as you rock your hips, drawing up on your knees before shifting back down. You set a rhythm that has him panting and writhing beneath you, a quick slide up and and down his length with a deep grind of your clit against him that has you seeing stars.

But it’s not your turn for release.

“I want you to be a good boy for me,” you murmur. “I want you to cum for me, want you to fill me up.”

Miguel growls, his feet planting on the mattress for leverage as he starts to meet your downward strokes with upward thrusts that quickly grow erratic. You can feel him pulse inside of you, wet heat flooding you as your hips slow and you stop, holding still as he twitches inside of you and gasps for breath.

“Good boy, Miguel,” you whisper. His lips twitch in what could be a smile if the serious man was capable of such an expression.

When he starts to go soft, you rock your hips and clench your muscles around him. He hisses, mouth dropping open in surprise as you grind on him.

“Told you I would be greedy, too,” you tell him. His eyes widen as he realizes what you mean, what you want from him. He’s genetically enhanced and has the stamina to match, so you know he can take it, but the shock on his face makes you feel powerful. “This time you won’t cum until I do, understand?”

“Yes, sí,” he slurs. You lean back a little, your hands gripping his muscular thighs just above his knees, moving your body over him in a deep and sensual rhythm.

“Look, Miguel,” you command, shifting your weight to one hand so that you can bring the other to where your bodies are joined, your index and middle fingers on either side of his cock as you grind on it. “Look how much you stretch me, baby.”

He lifts his head to look, licking his lips as he watches you move over his cock, the way his length glistens with each pull from your body and how with each push inside, more of his own spend slips from your hole. “So tight, cariño.” Sweetheart. 

You smile down at him, leaning forward and placing one palm on his shoulder and the other at the base of his throat, your fingers grazing where his pulse frantically beats. It’s a question, this position, one that he answers by taking your wrist and sliding your hand up higher, until your fingers wrap around his neck. You tighten your grip as you begin to move again, his eyes fluttering shut and a moan echoing through the room.

“So good,” you tell him, “you’re so good, Miguel.”

You’re so close to coming, you can feel the rush of it in your veins as you move faster, harder, slamming your hips to his over and over. He looks up at you with stars in his eyes, the worry and pain that normally clouds them eclipsed for at least a brief moment, and that’s what has you clenching around him and crying out his name as you come undone.  

Miguel growls, sitting up and deftly flipping your positions until you land on your back, knees pressed close to your shoulders by his broad frame. His red eyes are sharp again, determined, as he pounds into you with single minded focus. Your nails claw into his back, leaving red tracks in their wake as his name spills from your lips like a prayer.

“I hope you had your fun, mí cosita hermosa,” he says, lips grazing your ear. My pretty little thing. His hips are punishing as they slam into you and he uses you to chase his pleasure. “Whose cunt is this, huh? Tell me.”

“Yours,” you gasp. He chuckles.

“That’s right. Todo mío.” All mine. 

He presses deep, his cock pulsing and flooding you with his spend for the second time that evening, his lips pressed to your throat and the threat of his fangs against your pulse. When he’s finished, he sits back on his heels to let your legs fall to the mattress. His softening length slips from your body and he watches your clenching entrance with intense focus.

You can feel his cum dripping from your body and he gathers the mess on two fingers, pressing it back inside of you as you gasp. Finally, he lies back on the mattress beside you and you shift closer, resting your head on his chest.

You lie like that for a while, catching your breath and listening to the beat of his heart. Eventually, he rolls out from beneath you and stands beside the bed, tapping at his watch screen until his suit flickers back into place. You pout over the loss of his gloriously exposed body and he chuckles, leaning over you and kissing you deeply before approaching your window.

“See ya, spider boy,” you say as he lifts it open. 

“It’s Spider-Man,” he corrects, mask materializing over his face. “Lock your window, cariño.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go save the universe.”

[1u11ablues]

No Doubts Anymore (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x You) [Dual POV]

WC: Almost 3k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Not Beta-read.

Alternate ending where Simon didn't die, as requested by an anon!

Part 1

Deep, almost purple lines had been a permanent feature of your face, now. Where your eyeliner used to go, there are now tear lines extending from the corner of your eyes—a product of sleepless nights and unhealed grief.

Has it been four months now? Five? Hell, half a year? Time heals all wounds, they said, yet you wake up with more pieces tumbling out of your chest every day that sleep decides to grant you mercy.

Simon’s balaclava, all his bloody shirts that he used to wear, they lie pristine where you last kept them. 

In a box, inside the closet.

For you fear the scent of him will disappear with every touch, every kiss upon his belongings.

But sometimes—like tonight—it gets unbearable.

Curled up on the mattress, bedsheets probably moulding in the dryer back when you had the sudden burst of energy to be productive, you took a rationed inhale of the skull balaclava in your arms. 

The position was a pain to maintain. Yet, even that kind of pain was preferable. Maybe if you’re in enough physical pain, angry enough, drunk enough-

You’d said no to Price’s repeated recommendations to see a therapist, because how could he understand?

How could the man ever understand the irrational, undeserved hatred—that you’d tried to tell yourself off for—you had against him for having a hand in Simon’s death?

It was just one of the multiple poisons you’d let into your body. Hatred. Substance. Isolation.

“You’re supposed to get up, love. The bills are stacking up.”

And sometimes, like today, the ghost of him materialised to taunt you with an untouchable form. Sitting on his side of the bed—not even kind enough to make a dip on the mattress to tell you that he’s there—and talking you out of misery.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten something? This is not how you move on.”

“I don’t want to move on! You left. You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye- I hate you. With all my heart, I hate you, Simon Riley.”

And, like clockwork, he disappeared into thin air.

***

It is over. He had kept up the ruse, going along with Price’s plan to pronounce several soldiers dead just so he can join a team of spies to infiltrate enemy bases and gather valuable intel.

So he spied, waiting things out until Price gave him the go-ahead to leave, knowing what was waiting for him at home; the state in which he’d left things at.

He didn’t want Price to drop his box onto your lap and let you know that he was dead. Because what use would it be for him to fight against hell, to keep the breath in his throat if it weren’t for the sake of coming home to your arms?

Still, he relented. And, for it to work,, he had to rid himself of every trace of you, just so there would be no connection linking him to his one and only pressure point.

But it’s over now, and God, he has a lifetime of apologising to do.

As soon as he reached his quarters, he knelt by the mattress he’d slept on many a night that he wasn’t able to spend besides you. He lifted it up, and under it—if one knows where to look—was a stitch where he’d taken a drag of his combat knife to before his mission, hid one item of yours he wasn’t strong enough to burn, and meticulously threaded the hole back together.

This time, his slice met with less resistance. He reached into the fillings and felt around, and, there-

He pulled out the glossy picture of you he used to keep in his wallet and brought with him to everywhere he could go. 

He got it from the time he’d taken you out on the walk in mid-autumn, letting you pester him to try one of those seasonal drinks he used to care less about. There’s a photo booth right out of the cafe and, of course, you pulled him into it and took so many pictures he’d gone half-blind, but this picture wasn’t from that, no. When you were ordering the drinks, he came back out to the booth because he noticed there was an option to print his own picture from his phone. 

He did his best to figure out how the fuck was he to connect his phone to sync up his gallery to it, but it worked eventually.

That damned machine ate almost thirty pounds off his wallet to print out his favourite pictures of you.

One where you were petting a dog. One where you were biting into a caramel apple. One where you had the most ridiculous foam mustache. And this one-

Where you were asleep, right next to him. An image of peace that he regrets not being able to bring you more.

Instinctually, he brought the picture to his chest, right where his heart still beat. 

He’s coming home and making sure he treats you well for the rest of his life.

***

When he reached the flat, his spirit deflated, realising that it was empty.

Well, at least, that’s how it seemed from the outside. It was all dark, quiet. There was nothing that could indicate life within the walls of your home, until he heard soft, inconsistent sniffles behind the door, getting fainter and fainter the more you moved away from it.

Even though the key was in his hand, he figured it would be most sensible to knock. After all, you were under the impression that he was dead up until three days ago, when Price had hopefully relayed the actual news to you, giving you ample time to react.

Three classic knocks. No answer.

Another three. The sniffles had died down. Were you asleep?

After about five minutes of waiting, he finally decided to use the front door key. 

It’s late, he thought, and you were probably comfortably sleeping.

Like he noticed from outside, the darkness bathed the entire space. Save for the dim glow from the battery-powered LED snow globe that doubled as your nightlight—signs that you were awake were minimal.

I’ll just crawl into bed and hold her, he thought, until an unpleasant smell wafted from the kitchenette.

The sequences of what greeted him? A miserable discovery.

Overflowing bins, unwashed plates. Spoiled food leaking out of the refrigerator and a full load of clothes were still in the dryer.

In truth, Simon had a feeling you’d fall into depression a week or two—a month maximum—before you moved on from his ‘death.’

It had been a year. Has this been your year? Falling into unkemptness when he never knew you to love clutter?

“Love?” He called out, softly, just in case you were really asleep. He tossed his belongings on the sofa unceremoniously—where he put his belongings were the last thing on his mind at the moment—before making his way to the bedroom.

The sight shushed his brain to a ringing silence.

In the middle of the room was the box of his military belongings, opened, its cover flapping against the opening at every oscillation of the standing fan in the corner of the room.

Two things were making sounds at that moment. The fan, supposedly comfortable white noise now an attack to his senses; you, struggling to get a breath in as you cried, hair matted and red sores visible on the sides of your hip.

“Fuck me- Love-” he immediately moved up to the side of the bed. You were facing the other way, curled up and hugging something close to your chest.

“It’s me, love, I’m back, I’m sorry,” words stumble out of his mouth in wasteful attempts. Not even managing to elicit a reaction out of you.

Hell, it took him almost a full five minutes of apologising before you even turned back to look at him.

And the first words that had come out of your lips?

“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”

***

Again, the vision of him came to torment you. 

What is it this time? To tell you to air the room out? To drink more water?

Again, you tell him the words that would normally make him disappear.

“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”

It was like a spell that you had used to stop unwanted hallucinations—or so you thought. They always come back and it takes sleeping to finally stop some of the visions.

This one didn’t seem to budge. In fact, it answered! Maybe you need to take up Price’s offer for professional help.

“You don’t mean that, darling…” he spoke, face absent of the non-expression you were used to seeing in the figment of him that continues to visit you.

Of course, you don’t mean it. But how else would you deal with the fact that you’re slowly losing your mind? How else are you going to attempt to move-

The touch on your face is warm. Textured.

You can’t remember the last time you dreamt about being touched like that again, his hands brushing hair away from your face, and this time, oh, how cruel is it for it to feel this real?

How cruel, how evil?

With fresh tears and wobbly lips—your attempt at trying to hold on from simply breaking down—you whispered, “You never gave me the chance to say goodbye. Don’t you love me enough to even give me that, Simon? Am I not worth a single glance back, when we fought, when I asked you if the mission was more important than your life? Than us?”

The fight, your last memory of him, was unfortunately always the fight. 

When you were uselessly clinging to him to not go because your inkling was proved true—it wasn’t a mission that he’ll come back from.

Even knowing that, he kept it to himself. You were to read and interpret his facial expressions and body language yourself, coming to your own realisation that he was given a death mission.

“I hate you,” you say again, “I don’t think I will be able to move on from you. Go away, please. Don’t haunt me anymore.”

Turning your back on him, the silence tells you that the vision had dissipated. A deep sense of regret fills you, intermingling with loss and guilt that tasted like bile in your throat.

You didn’t mean that; you didn’t mean to be mean. Maybe if you turn around and apologise, it could help ease the process. Maybe, maybe-

His sad eyes still stared down at you. It didn’t work.

Where his arms rested, the mattress dented.

“Do you mean it? Have I returned to find you hating me?”

***

He didn’t know if you’d even let him touch you, so his arms rested on the uncovered mattress and hoped for the best.

It sounded like you’ve developed venom for him. Rightfully so, given the way you ended things before he went off on the year-long mission. 

Simon was not good at that, the talking part of a relationship. Despite how he presents himself, he still stuttered over his words and lost his speech when being in love occupied a big part of his brain—rendering any sort of poetic affection null. His body speaks for him most of the time.

“Am I losing my mind, or have the ghost of you taken on a physical form?”

The confusion in your face was apparently enough to put a pause on the sobs. You hadn’t an idea how relieved he is at the lack of them. Never in his life would he want to make you cry as hard again, if he could help it.

“It’s me, sweetheart. I’m back. It was a covert mission…haven’t Price informed you?”

He didn’t expect a ‘welcome home’ with cakes and a banner—but he admitted, the least he wished for was a hug. A tight, long hug, followed by a night of holding each other until his body couldn’t physically take it anymore.

Has he gone and ruined it?

“Price?” Your hands thud against the bed to feel for your phone. It had been days since you last checked it, or more. Time moves differently when you’re busy nursing loss and heartbreak. Realising the device was nowhere close, you finally got off the bed—after spending a consecutive day and a half in it—to scan the nearest floor and then-

Ah, there it is. You picked it up and unlocked the screen. 

Your eyes bulged as the notifications rolled through the notifications bar, Price’s name consisting of the majority of it.

Simon trails your every movement. After his question, it took you several pauses to think, but almost a quarter of the time to look for your phone, which had undoubtedly dropped somewhere on the floor throughout the day.

His breath stills as he watched your eyes increasingly widen reading the messages. Messages that should’ve reached you at least a couple days ago, that were to prepare you for his arrival.

“Simon?” You called out as you read through each of Price’s explanations and apology. There was another number that tried to reach you, too. Also, a series of apologies—this time, more intimate.

“I’m here,” he answered. God, he wanted to hold you so, so badly. But he can wait. He waited for a year with nothing but the memories and dreams of you to keep him going. He can wait the few moments more that it took you to decide on a path.

“Simon, is- is that really you? I’m not imagining things? I swear, if it’s my head again, this is really cruel-“

“It’s me, love. It’s really me. Not a hallucination. I’m home.”

You look at the figure on the other side of the bed. Slowly, you climbed onto the mattress, scooting ever so hesitantly with your knees to the middle of the queen sized-bed, hands reaching out half-expecting your touch to go through him.

Damn it, he couldn’t wait. When you got onto the bed, his body rushed to mirror the movement, meeting you halfway and grabbing your hand to place it over his cheek—now with an additional scar over his jaw.

His eyes shut. Your touch upon him righted his world again, and suddenly-

He’s crying. Or at least, about to. He’s here, and warm and tears brim his eyes, somehow never falling down. 

Most importantly, he’s home.

“My dear, what have they done to you?”

He’d returned to you almost unrecognisable—the certain look in his eyes that made him Simon washed away until only a dull imitation remains.

“Not now, love. I don’t want to talk about it now.” 

He’d gone through torture before, and came out of it with deeper scars than the last. 

But this torture was different. The enemy they were against was known for targeting the person closest to whomever was against them, thus the need to cut contact with you. Every night was a constant pacing, wondering if they had found you, if you were okay. Every damned moment, your imagined screams and cries took over his decisions, despite him trying his best to keep his head on the mission.

The torture was visions of you being in his place.

“Please, is it too late for me to answer your question now?”

“What question?” 

You were always the more emotional one in the relationship. So, despite all the tears you’ve exhausted through months of mourning, there was no surprise that your body had decided to create more. 

Though, this time, it was his head pressed to your chest instead of the other way around. Because yes, you may have suffered through the loss of him, but he had been actively fighting for his life in that same duration—and having to hide all of it from you, too, never having the comfort of home at the end of the day.

Your question, which had been making a home out of his skeleton by now. 

“When you asked me if I love you. If I did enough to stay.”

You remembered that. It was a last ditch effort—perhaps a manipulative way to make sure he stays. It was a question you regretted asking. Because Simon is Simon, and there were more lives at stake than making sure your pretty little heart stays unbroken.

“I didn’t mean to ask that. Simon, it was wrong of me-“

“Yes, I do.” His answer resolute. That was to be his last mission, and he decided the minute the door closed on him when he left the flat that day. His last, and he’s going home—and if he’s lucky, you would still be there for him. 

Simon straightened and this time, took you in his lap. When you didn’t fight, he leaned down and hesitated for a kiss over your lips.

When you reciprocated, his tears fucking fell, seasoning the kiss with its salty essence. 

But you didn’t pull away. You kissed him, and every inch of his face, paying extra attention to the fresh scar on his jaw.

You pulled back from the kiss when you started losing breath. 

“You do?” You ask, suddenly remembering the velvet box next to his dog tag resting on the dresser beside the bed. Your eyes slid to it.

Simon’s eyes followed the direction yours went.

Fuck, he thought, forgetting that he had intended to propose right after his last mission. Well, apparently the secret’s out.

“I do, I love you. And I will make sure to not make you doubt me anymore. I love you, darling. You keep my head above water.”

Perhaps it will take time to go back to the way it was. Time, and lots of outside help.

After all, there would be no sunrise without the darkest of nights.

“And you keep my feet on the ground. I love you too, Simon.”

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 20- The Storm After the Calm

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: if my tits don't grow in the next year someone is dying, and it won’t be me. Also, can't let people be happy for too long. I have to get my fill of angst and drama like the filthy little addict I am. Enjoy.

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH19.), Dual POV

A pleasant, light breeze blows through the open windows. Cooling the sweat on Valeria's forehead. Your warm body splays over hers, an arm slung over her side. One of her hands rests on your lower back, the other under her head. That's how she's been laying for the last five minutes since waking up. Valeria doesn't get to relish in these domestic moments very often, so she wants to enjoy them while they last.

She runs her hand back and forth over your back while she watches you sleep. Getting the woman she's been pining after for months feels so much better than she thought it would. Hyper voices float up from downstairs, disturbing the peace. Grating laughter reaches her ears, and yours as you begin to stir. The blanket covering the window turns the warm sunlight green when it washes over the room. Still, despite the dimmed lighting you squint and mutter. You push off of Valeria and adjust your tank top, an action that Valeria watches intently.

You yawn, and stretch, and get off the mattress. Searching around for some pants. She allows her gaze to roam over your backside appreciatively.

"What time is it?" You ask tiredly. 

Valeria feels along the floor for her phone and checks. "12:40PM." She replies. You hum in acknowledgment. Valeria watches you for a few more seconds before forcing herself out of bed. Her back and hips ache in protest. Making her wince. She scavenges her own clothes and dresses herself, following you out of the room.

You avoid the creaky floorboards like a wraith while Valeria walks over them without care. Downstairs in the living room, Mark and Alain are posted up on the couch, game controllers in hand. Valeria plops down beside Alain and watches blankly, still in the process of waking up. The guys' yelping and heckling is too loud and abrasive to Valeria's tired ears, but she doesn't snap at them to be quiet.

Mark loses whatever game they were playing and tosses his controller to the floor. He turns to Valeria.

"Morning." He says. "Sleep well?"

"Sure." She nods boredly. 

Mark pauses and unsuccessfully suppresses an amused smile. "Didn't sound like it last night." He says. 

It takes Valeria a few moments to process his words. She gives him a warning look.

"Mind your business." She says harshly.

"What didn't sound like it?" You ask, walking into the living room with a glass of water. 

"Never mind." Mark shakes his head. You sit down at the foot of the couch, kicking a few empty cans out of the way.

"By the way, what are we doing when we actually find this guy? Doug?" You ask, looking at Valeria. "Are we going to kill him?"

Mark raises his hands.

"You are own your own with that, I ain't trying to catch no murder charge." 

"We could get him to work for us." You suggest, looking around for agreement. Rick, who was propped up in the corner scoffs at you.

"That's a dumb fucking plan." He says harshly. Sounding almost angry that you even suggested it. Even Valeria, who is usually angry and judgmental is surprised by the pure dislike in his voice.

You swivel your head to look at him, shoulders tensed defensively.

"It was a suggestion, asshole." You snipe back. "If you think it's stupid then why don't you contribute to the conversation?"

"I will, but I don't think you should." He says. "Just because you cook good meth doesn't mean you have strategic intelligence. Or regular intelligence for that matter. You're not better than the rest of us just because you cook, the average junkie can make decent meth."

Everyone stares at you and Rick, unsure of how to tread these grounds.

"Woah, lets calm down yeah? No need to get so spiteful." Mark chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

Neither you nor Rick seem to hear him or care. 

"Genuinely what the hell is your problem?" You snap. "You're always giving me evil eyes and dogging on me, what did I do?"

"Are you serious?" He replies angrily. Aggressively approaching. Valeria sits up slightly. Deciding to let things unfold on their own but ready to step in should he become violent with you. "You ghosted my sister out of nowhere, do you know how hurt she was about that?" Valeria frowns, starting to feel nervous about where this may be going.

"What are you talking about?" You ask, bewildered. Beside her, Valeria hears Alain open a canned drink.

Hurt and anger take turns in Rick's eyes.

"Corra." He says, the words making Valeria's blood freeze. You laugh but it's clear you aren't happy. She watches you stand, rigid with anger.

"Your sister asked me out as a joke." You tell him, voice full of rage. Valeria calms herself, there's no getting out of this now. 

Rick furrows his brows. "What the fuck are you talking about? No she didn't." He denies. "She had to hype herself up just to approach you. She was so excited when you agreed to a date that she wouldn't shut the hell up about it." Rick's voice catches. 

You go silent. Everyone seems to go silent. even that stupid, loud clock seems quieter.

"She didn't understand why you suddenly went so cold. My last memories with my sister before she was shipped off to here, before she died, are her feeling inadequate and stupid. Fuck you for making her feel that way. You never deserved Corra." He continues hatefully.

"There was no bet?" You say, sounding upset. You look at Valeria, then Alain. "There was no bet?" Alain shakes his head.

"Not that I know of." He says casually. Your brows are furrowed, distress written across your face. Valeria rubs her jaw, frowning and meeting your gaze when you look at her.

The look you give her makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. Like little mites are crawling all over her, only a shower won't get rid of the feeling. You look hurt, angry, betrayed. You seem to lose all confidence.

"I'm going for a walk." You say flatly. Getting up and walking to the front door and exiting swiftly. Valeria sighs and runs her hands over her face. Not looking forward to dealing with you when you come back. She feels heavily annoyed by the situation. She's starting to learn to not be excited about the good things in life. Because every time something good happens some divine force sees fit to rip it from her hands.

The atmosphere in the house for the next few hours is heavy and oppressive. The longer you're gone the more restless Valeria finds herself feeling. She wants you back so she can resolve this as fast as possible. Rick also seems to be hiding away and sulking, having blown all his energy on bitching you out.

Later that night she gives up on waiting for your return. Your prolonged absence, especially now that it's getting dark in a different city, is starting to worry her but she trusts you to take care of yourself. Though when she's almost over the edge and about to go out searching for you, the front door opens, and you walk in. Not looking at anyone. The others avoid looking at you too, but not Valeria. She stares at you as you walk to the stairs and disappear to the upper level of the house.

She gives you a little space before getting up and seeking you out. Hoping to have a talk with you. The door is closed, and she opens it without knocking. Disgruntled to find you shuffling blankets in the closet. One of the pillows from the bed beside you.

"What are you doing?" She asks, frowning at you.

You stop but don't look her way, frustrating her. "I'm making myself a bed." You mutter, resuming your carefully blanket setup. 

"You already have a bed." Valeria replies flatly, a hint of annoyance dripping from her words.

The floors creak as she walks to the mattress and sits down.

"One for myself." You say.

"I know you're upset but this is a little petty don't you think?" She tells you, trying to talk you out of it. You going out of your way to make yourself separate sleeping arrangements actually hurts her a little. You stop, shoulders tense.

"You're still doing it." You growl angrily. "You're still downplaying my feelings." You whip around to face her, properly angry with her. "It doesn't matter if the reason I'm upset is valid or not, I'm still upset. And actually, I'm very fucking valid. Was there ever a bet, Valeria?" You ask her. Silently waiting for her reply.

She can see in your eyes that you're hoping she says yes. That she at least thought there was, or that Rick lied or didn't know. Valeria is tempted to lie. Spinning a good one on the spot is something she's got quite good at, but for some reason, she also has the desire to give you honesty.

"... No." She replies quietly. "There was no bet."

Your trust in her shatters. She watches in real time as your anger flickers out into smoldering hurt. You shake your head. "I can't believe you did this."

Valeria frowns at your words, hands clenching up fistfuls of blanket in her hands. "Why not?" She asks, voice hardening. "You've worked with me long enough to know I'm not a good person. I've told you I'm not a good person. I am selfish and will do what's needed to get what I want, and I wanted you." She says.

You laugh.

"Are you kidding me?" You snap. "Is that you're go-to response for everything, 'I'm a bad person'? You could at least apologize to me!"

Valeria shrugs uncomfortably, like a chastised child trying to play it cool. "Why would I? It was the best thing for both of us, Corra could never be enough for you." She says dryly.

"Maybe she would've, instead she died thinking I hated her!" You say angrily, your voice cracking at the last part. "I know you certainly aren't good enough for me." You tell her coldly. You rise to your feet and storm out of the room, leaving your words echoing behind you.

Valeria tries to tell herself that it doesn't matter. She's not built for healthy, honest, long-lasting relationships and since she knew this would happen eventually, she's not that upset. But she is. She is upset by it. Telling herself isn't enough anymore. It doesn't stop the ache in her chest or the anger in her heart. Funnily enough, she thinks she may be angrier at herself then you.