#a bit of the old ultraviolence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

paradlselost · 2 months ago

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. ⋮ ULTRAVIOLENCE .ᐟ ֹ

doctor phosphorus x female reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ fun fact i’ve wanted to eat uranium for a long time so he is the worlds most perfect man to me . also sorry for not writing anything in so long , i’ve been busy and jumping from hyperfixation to hyperfixation for a while now as you can see by my unfinished mouthwashing fanfics . but i watched the show last night and he is my favorite and there’s almost nothing about him so i had to . enjoy !

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ monster ! reader , mentions of body dysmorphia and imposter syndrome / depersonalization , religious trauma + blasphemy ( cause i can’t help myself ) specifically in catholicism , catholic rituals , depictions of eating raw meat , depictions of wounds , hurt / comfort , depictions of cannibalism , described body horror . smut : fire / burning kink , dry humping , fingering , male moans ( yay ! ) .

3 . 1 k words ++ not beta read .

PART TWO OUT NOW : CINNAMON GIRL

Eyes flutter closed, allowing darkness to wash over you. Soft sounds of birds chirping fill the room around you, drowning out the constant humming of the chip in the back of your neck. You’re hyper aware of everything, the fabric of the blanket that covers you and the cold air that stings your nose as you breath in; chest rising and falling in rhythm.

You remember how reluctant the guards that watched over you were to allow you the sounds you so desperately needed to sleep, not believing your pleas to quiet your constantly racing mind. Nearly a week without rest made them understand rather quickly, when, despite the power dampener locked around your neck, talons began to grow out of your hands and your spine contorted with the growing of fleshy wings.

It seems you’ve been blessed, something has gone right for once in your life as you’re now able to change the sounds to whatever you wish instead of the constant rushing of waves. Secretly, you’re happy to have been put on this mission. Grateful, even, as much as you could be to a monster like Waller. Perhaps you could even forgive her for the electrocution you’d been put through.

Weasel kips at the foot of your bed, stuck to your side since the day you had snapped at him: barred your fangs and shoved him away from you. Something about the beast had been so pathetic that you ended up apologizing and giving a hesitant scratch to the back of his ears. He’s good company, loyal if not a bit of a flea concern, and he listens when you speak to him unlike many of the others in the special containment of Belle Reave.

Nina was kind, as well, perhaps a bit out of her element, though. You’d once tried to make small talk with GI but that ended as quickly as it had started with his sudden interrogation on if you were a Nazi. And god, you wouldn’t dare bring anything up to the others.

Crickets chirped through the headphones you had been allowed to wear, owls hooting and birds calling. A forest at night, a beautiful scene you were sure you wouldn’t be able to see freely again, but you do not indulge in those negative thoughts. You can already feel it looming over you, exhaustion and stress mingling to bring it out. The thing that stirrs inside you, monstrous and ugly. Its hungry, and you know better than to ignore that hunger lest the Weasel that kips at the foot of your bed be more than a scrap of fur.

So, you stirr. Sitting up in the bed you remove your headphones and push the blanket from your form quietly as to not disturb him. He’s almost cute when he sleeps, like a crusty old dog that resembles more of a tattered blanket than a pet. Regardless, you close the door quietly behind you and walk down the long winding hallways of the palace. Truthfully, you had never been anywhere quite as lavish, never had a king sized bed all to yourself or a private bathroom. Its almost too big, especially at night when the shadows dance up the walls and cast an ominous glare over just about everything.

You know better than to gaze at your shadow as you pass the large walls with royal family portraits. Unworthy, unrighteous, evil. The rosary marks still pierce your skin, forced to pray this thing away day and night till your palms and knees bled. You’ve grown resentful towards the being that shares your body. It makes demands of you, to feast, a single slip can give way and allow it to control you. Some kind of devil, the reason you’re here in the first place.

Your mouth had begun to hurt in your search for the kitchen, gums beginning to bleed and pool against the base of your tongue.. You’d have thought you’d be used to this by now, that your world wouldn’t continue to be turned upside down, that the Lord’s Prayer wouldn’t recite involuntarily in your mind as it all starts over again. You stumble over your own two feet, finding yourself silently wishing you had that power dampener around your neck once again. Your stomach rumbles more.

It feels like an eternity till you finally find the kitchen, thankful that all the servants had retired for the night so you can spit your mouthful of blood into the sink. Crimson stains the marble, dripping from your chin as you turn on the faucet to wash your mouth of the taste. Your fangs had grown in now, taking space in front of your canines and piercing uncomfortably against your bottom lip whenever you close your mouth. Hunger gnaws at your stomach as if beginning to consume the lining itself.

You throw open the fridge door with little care of the noise it makes as it slams into the counter beside it. Eyes scour for something, anything, till you land on a large, raw goose marinating for tomorrow nights feast. Shaky hands reach out to grab it, allowing the glass tray it sits in to fall to the ground and shatter. The shards prick at your bare feet, cutting and marring your skin with more blood, though you don’t seem to notice.

Fangs sink into the bird, soft flesh breaking at the intrusion. The taste is almost euphoric, never had you tasted a meat so rich and fatty; your body had gotten far too used to the awful prison food they served in containment. You rip out a large chunk; tendons harshly snapping from the body as you swallow nearly without chewing. Your eyes gloss over as you devour the bird, reaching in to grab at the sausage links that had also been waiting to be cooked the next day.

You hadn’t realized how much you had truly lost yourself till a harsh green glow halted your feast. Head whipping around to greet the skeletal face of Phosphorus, a hiss falling from your lips that still wrapped around a chunk of meat like a food insecure cat. He was your least favorite of all, acting as if he knew everything simply because he had been a doctor before his incident. Not like it mattered in Belle Reave, and certainly not in the monster sector they were kept in.

“Woah. Calm down, I’m not takin’ that from you.” A huff came from him, head tilted to the side as he watched you, almost intrigued with the way you acted. He simply stepped past you, walking over to the sink and simply staring down at the blood that had graced the basin. “This yours?”

The link fell from your mouth, rolling into the shards of glass and crimson as the fangs retracted back into your gums, eyes returning to normal. All you could do was stare at him, as if he had asked the most stupid question in the world. Smartest man in the room your ass.

“Who else’s would it be?”

“Don’t know, thats why I’m asking. Flag and I got into a fight earlier and I totally won, so I’m just wondering.”

“Oh.”

He leans back against the countertop, facing you now, the sleeves of his hoodie protecting him from burning through the granite. Part of him had always intrigued you, in a way, everyone but Weasel had a signature outfit; but him? A hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. It was almost comical how simple he was, though you supposed there wasnt much he could keep. A step towards him, wincing at the sudden realization of what you had done.

His gaze followed yours, looking down to the glass and blood that gushed from your feet and ankles. The light from the fridge and his green glow illuminated the space between you two, dancing off the shards on the floor. Your mouth was covered as well, sloppily wiped onto your cheeks as you had feasted. God, you looked a mess, but the pain distracted you from that fact. Biting your bottom lip to muffle a pathetic whimper of pain.

“Cmon don’t cry, what’s a little glass among friends?”

“I am not crying.”

If he had eyes to roll no doubt he would’ve. Stepping over to you and hooking an arm around your shoulder to help you stand without any warning. Your first instinct is to fight him off, to tell him no and shout at him, but you don’t. Instead, you lean into the touch and allow him to help you hobble up the stairs to, what you originally assume to be your room, but soon discover he’s guiding you into his, and then, into his bathroom.

Theres something almost intimate about the way he grabs your hips to help you onto the counter so he can patch you up. You hadn’t asked this from him, but it didn’t seem to matter much now as he filled a bucket with warm soapy water, dunking a rag in a few times and using the help of tweezers to pick the glass out of your skin. You do your best not to flinch, using the time to preoccupy yourself with washing off the blood from your face.

John 13. You detest the thought, Belle Reave had ripped every ounce of belief from your body, but the ceremonies and rituals of your youth had not quite left your mind, and the intimacy of the moment didn’t help. Silence filled the room, the only noises being the soft sounds of the wash cloth being dunked into the water and squeezed out. You’d seen it before, a relatives wedding, the washing of the feet ceremony. It’s meant to be intimate, to be between spouses, to show commitment and love just as Jesus had to his disciples. You feel far more like Judas, however, with the monster that festers inside you.

“So. What was that?” His voice snaps you from your thoughts, eyes fluttering down to look at him, hesitating at his question. You don’t have a good answer, not one that wraps everything up into a neat bow at the least. Just what you know, which isn’t much.

“It’s the reason I’m classified as a monster. Theres… something that lives inside me, a devil of sorts I was always told. It’s been there for as long as I can remember, its why I had to wear the collar back in confinement. It starts to creep out whenever I slip, get too comfortable or let my guard down.” You’re quiet, not wanting to break the softness of this encounter. “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“You don’t have to apologize. We’re all freaks, its the whole point of this task force.”

“I guess. I’m still sorry.”

A huff comes from Phosphorus as he grabs a clean washcloth, dunking it in fresh water and reaching up to wipe off some of the blood that you had missed, that still marrs your mouth and flesh. He’s close, now, very much so. He smells of sulfur, though it does not cause you to recoil or scrunch your nose; its a scent you’ve grown accustomed to with the monster that shares your body. Can a skeleton be attractive? Is that possible?

You lean into the feeling of the warm washcloth against your cheek; having been so long since someone had touched you. Before you had been arrested you indulged in sin, lust, it had engulfed your body and it wasn’t a feeling you ever wanted to encounter again. How it could consume your entire being, give control over to someone other than yourself. It’s a fine line for you, but you feel the distantly familiar feeling of butterflies flutter in your stomach at the proximity of him.

You feel sick; like bile will creep up your throat any moment, but it doesn’t feel bad. Not with how he lets the cloth be a barrier between the two of you, between his hands that will burn your body at his touch. You’d welcome it, to let him cauterize your wounds and fix you. Your hands creep up to wrap around the back of his neck, protected by the hood of his sweater as you pull him closer. He’s warm, comfortable.

“I don’t like you apologizing, you look like a kicked puppy.”

“You’re smiling, though.”

“Can’t help it, I’m a skeleton, doll.”

His voice is a giveaway, though, possibly the most upbeat you had heard him despite the quiet and intimate nature of the room. You feel it, the radiating warmth from his other hand creeping down to your thigh, rubbing soft, soothing circles against the fabric that protects your skin from his touch. It would hurt, but a part of you almost welcomes it, wants to feel it.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes focused on the hand that slowly crept higher from your thigh. He’s close, his heat rivaling that at your core. You miss the way his head tilts to the side at your demeanor, hands grasping and releasing the fabric of his hoodie over and over.

Phosphorus said nothing as he continued to wipe some of the blood from your mouth, lingering over your bottom lip while his other hand becomes preoccupied with cupping you over your pajama pants, skeletal fingers pressing in to give you some friction.

That nausea you had felt earlier returns tenfold, punishing yourself for feeling anything remotely good. The situation reminds you far too much of the last time, dipping too far into bliss. It seemed you had only blinked when the body of the lover you had found for the night was strewn across the room, spitting half eaten entrails out of your maw. He guides you to lean back against the mirror, your hand clasping over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he slips below the fabric of your nightwear.

You can feel it again, the hunger that rises to your chest. Your hands shake against your skin now, nailbeds aching with the growing of your talons. A whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You are selfish, greedy. You’d rather relish in this than warn him, to have one moment that allows you to feel human, to feel wanted and loved.

A sudden burning feeling rips you from your thoughts, your hand had been removed from its post over your mouth and was held in his. Tears well in your eyes at the feeling, the searing pain that washed over your body and forces you to see white. It aches, branding you.

“Shit.” Is all that falls from his mouth, moving his hand away before you needily grasp it once more. Intertwining your fingers, keeping him there. The pain had forced the monster away, talons no longer threatening to protrude from your nailbeds and spine ceasing its contorting. You are lucky, graced with an opportunity to feel something beneath the endless pit in your stomach. To feel him.

“Don’t stop.” Your breathless words are more than enough to encourage his continuation, slotting himself between you legs and pressing the suddenly tight fabric of his sweatpants against you. A soft sigh falling from your lips, head tilted back, hair fluffing up on the mirror as he began to rock against you.

“I wont.” Slow, at first, as if testing the waters to gauge your reaction. Soft whines emitting from somewhere behind the skeletal teeth that were on display for you. Your hand scrunches up his hoodie, dragging his chest closer to you as he began to pick up the pace.

Needy and pathetic, his hips grinding rougher against your pajama pants, the tent in his pants catching on your covered clit; pulling a gasp from you as you arched your back. He focused his movements in that spot, up and then down to elicit soft whines and moans from you. Matching his neediness, having been touched starved for so long.

You’d grown up with depictions of heaven, imaginary white fluffy clouds somewhere high above the Earth. But here, right now, you’re more than convinced this is paradise. Rough fabrics rocking against each other, keeping you grounded on the countertop you sit on, the mirror behind you beginning to fog up with your heavy breathing. Your hands still intertwined, the harsh stinging drowned out at the near bliss you faced.

Hes sloppy now, nearing his finish far faster than you despite your state. Harsh whines fall from him as he grinds against you a few more times before panting and leaning against you. He’s winded for a moment, catching his breath, though the hand not holding yours travels back down to rub against your core.

Hes rough, guiding you to gush around nothing. You can feel your heartbeat below, drumming uncomfortably as you bury your face in the neck of his hoodie. His hand slips below your pajamas once more, continuing to tease your swollen clit and soaked folds as tears pricked at your eyes, squeezing his hand to single for him to stop.

Within a moment, he did. Ceasing the torment though not removing his hand from under your pants. Allowing your juices to pool against the cotton of your underwear before guiding his hand lower, placing his palm flat against your thigh and removing his other hand from yours. It stings, the cleansing fire emitting from him, your hand already burned as he brands your thigh with his handprint.

“Perhaps we should act like this didn’t happen… I’m sure it would make being on a team awkward.”

“I-... Yeah. Agreed. I should, um, head to bed.” Awkward you lift yourself from the counter and fix your pajama pants, slipping off the granite and setting against the cold tile floor. Your feet still hurt, though not nearly as bad as they had hurt before and surely nothing in comparison to the feeling of him against your skin.

He gives little more than a nod as you slink out the door, stumbling down the hall to find your own room and quickly running a hot bath. It would soothe you, make everything better, you deemed. Stripping to allow yourself to sink into the warmth as a sigh falls from your lips, eyes drawn to the handprint marked on your thigh.

You trace the outline with your finger, over and over almost obsessively and silently cursing him for his words. An asshole, you remembered, your least favorite in the little ragtag team. Though, with the way he had whimpered and moaned against you, you were halfway convinced you may be able to fuck the sarcasm and ill wit out of him.

#doctor phosphorus #dr phosphorus #creature commandos #creature commandos dc #smut #x reader #doctor phosphorus x reader #dr phosphorus x reader #i need that radioactive man so bad

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distantdarlings · 5 months ago

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A FAMILIAR ACHE // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.2K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* It’s been a week since you broke up with your boyfriend, Theodore Nott, but the urge to resist him is getting harder and harder.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in V) unprotected, mean!Theo, dom!Theo, sub!Reader, fem reader, oral (f!receiving), (1) spank, very light bondage, degradation, bit of praise, name-calling, choking (f!receiving), descriptions of fem masturbation (but no actual), slight voyeruism, Theo keeps pushing even when the reader says no (but she’s mainly just teasing him, not actually disinterested), language, not proofread (lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Ultraviolence - Lana Del Rey (have I already used this song?)

- - -

You were fucked. Absolutely, totally, royally fucked. Everything that had led up to this moment implied that you’d be totally okay without Theo. But you were so very wrong.

It had been a week since you’d broken it off with him. His flirtatious, possessive nature had finally pushed you to your limit, and you’d called it quits.

You had thought you’d be okay, but you were wrong. You needed him—more now than you ever did before. The ache that filled your chest and your stomach and everything in between was becoming too much to bear. He was a jerk, but he was your jerk. And, right now, you were fidgeting in class from the amount of desire coursing through your veins. And it was all due to the boy sitting across from you.

He was watching you with those oceanic eyes, just as he always did—with a lidded, demanding stare. And if the two of you were still together, you would know that it meant you would be begging for mercy later today. But you weren’t together, and he was only doing it now to fuck with you.

He obviously hadn’t wanted to break up. That day, he’d sworn that he’d change everything about him you didn’t like. But you’d heard that lie one too many times. Every time you threatened to leave him, he pulled up that old story. That he loved you and would do whatever it took to keep you. But he’d proven time and time again that he was incapable of keeping his eyes and hands off other girls.

You knew that this was the right thing to have done, but you couldn’t help it. The want he forced into you was too much. You were too weak to handle it.

But you couldn’t break—you couldn’t run back to him like you did every single time. It was pathetic, how much you depended on him. And the way he looked at you now, he knew that you’d be coming home soon.

By the time the professor was announcing the end of class and you were gathering your things to head back to your dorm, Theo was brushing past you like he hadn’t even known you.

You were shocked at his nonchalance toward you and barely was able to keep your jaw from flying open. You almost wanted to say something to him, but you kept your mouth shut.

He was obviously just trying to get under your skin. The shitty thing was that it seemed to be working so far.

You cleared your throat and attempted to hide the blush on your cheeks by staring down at the floor as you got ready to leave the room.

If he was waiting for you to come sprinting back to him, he’d be disappointed. He was going to have to come back to you this time, or you would be done with him permanently. Besides, the only way you’d ever actually take him back now, was if he truly changed his ways—which was unlikely.

You rolled your eyes at the effect the stupid boy was having on you before deciding to head back to the dorm. With the heat that was running through your body, you figured it’d be smart just to take the rest of the day off.

Perhaps Theo was burning just as much for you as you were him. That thought kept you a bit calmer as you stopped before the entrance to your dormitory, whispered the password, then pushed through.

You jogged up the stairs with nothing but your bed and Theo in your mind. Unfortunately, that tended to usually be what was on your mind when your head was whirling and your stomach was hot.

No one else would be in the dorm at this time of day. One locked door and a slip beneath your satin sheets would have you completely set for the next few days.

As pathetic as it was, you had been insanely dependent on Theo in more than one way. Besides emotionally, no one had ever taken such perfect care of you sexually…and you feared that no one ever would.

It was almost as if he knew your body more than even you did. But you were just going to have to work for now.

You burst through the door of your dorm, murmured a quick locking spell, and sprinted toward your bed. All of your things dropped from your hands in the wake of your rushing body, clattering loudly and echoing like a drum. But nothing compared to the volume of your heart pounding in your ears.

A quick glance around the room allowed you to see that it was completely empty, just waiting to capture your suppressed moans like a net of stone.

Your stomach twirled with anticipation as you jumped onto your bed. In a rushed manner, you dropped your skirt down, leaving your stockings the only thing covering your legs. You loosened your tie, and ripped your shirt apart, allowing the cold air to caress your bare skin.

The only thing remaining on your buzzing body was an intact bra and bottoms, your loose stockings, and the ghost of Theo’s tongue and teeth.

You sighed aloud as you slipped beneath the sheets, letting the swirling material cool your hot flesh. If you could have, you’d have thought you’d start steaming.

“Fuck,” you shuddered, letting your hands slide down your aching hips. Nothing felt like Theo but you knew that you were the closest substitute.

One hand inched down towards your lacy bottoms, while the other toyed with your chest through the fabric of your bra. The rough material scraped against your nipples just enough to pull them into a standing position.

You’d only been here seconds, but a thin sheen of sweat had graced across your chest.

As your fingers began to slip beneath your pantyline, a choked moan left your lips as you granted yourself the relief you’d been waiting for ever since Theo’s eyes had met yours.

It was fucking stupid how dangerously he affected you.

And just as the tips of your fingers had begun to sink into your core, the door flew open with a force like lightning.

You gasped loudly and scrambled to cover your body with your blankets.

“What the hell?” you shrieked, your hair gathering around your face messily.

Through the curtains draped over the canopy on your bed, you glimpses Theo walking toward your bed.

“Hello, darling,” he purred. His eyes met yours cruelly as he dragged them up the length of your scantily covered body.

Your uniform shirt was still wrapped around your elbows and your tie settled loosely between your cleavage. The air still kissed the tops of your thighs.

He eyed you like a predator, and you watched him like prey as he circled ever closer. He stopped at the foot of the bed.

“Theo, you need to leave,” you whispered, your body practically vibrating with want. His scent was beginning to curl around your nose, threatening to overtake you as if you were drowning. It took everything in you not to tackle him.

“Mm, tesoro,” he breathed. His fingers slipped down to brush against your bare ankle. The contact pulled a gasp from you, and you quickly yanked your leg away from him. “I’m surprised you haven’t begged me to take you back yet.”

“I beg you?” you scoffed. “You should be begging me! You’ve treated me like shit ever since we got back together last time.”

“No, my love,” he said, beginning to slowly move around the edge of the bed. “It’s nothing to do with you, you know I just like to flirt a little.”

“That’s not okay, Theo! Why would that be okay?”

“You could flirt a little too, if you wanted,” he suggested. He was now standing over you, just to your right. “I know Mattheo’s been dying to get a taste of you. And I wouldn’t mind sharing…just a bit.”

Your stomach burned with his words. Your core seeped with excitement as every cursed syllable twisted its way into your mind.

Still, you refused to say anything. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction by begging him to take you like you wanted him to.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against your ear.

“Come on, baby,” he growled. “Take me back and let me fuck you. I can smell how badly you want me.”

His words sent shivers down your arms. He huffed a laugh against your neck as he trailed the top of his nose from your temple down to your collarbone.

Your eyes slipped shut at the feeling as you wondered how you always got yourself into this situation. Every single time you’d gotten away from Theo, you always fell right back into his hands. It was like a game to him.

“It’s alright, darling. Let me take care of you. We’ll forget about all this. Everything will go back to the way it was, except I promise I won’t flirt with anyone else.”

Merlin, wasn’t that what he always said? Wasn’t that the very thing you swore he’d say? You should be running away. Why weren’t you?

Because the bend of his knuckle was creeping over your nipple, slowly and easily. You gasped slightly at the sensation. He knew what he was doing. He always knew.

“That’s it, my girl,” he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. Fuck, he was perfect at making you like him again. That was the way he’d locked you in in the first place.

“Now, my love,” he said against your skin. “What was it you were going to do to yourself?”

You said nothing, your eyes still clenched shut, still trying to refuse his seduction.

“What was it you were going to do while thinking of me?” His fingers slipped down your chest and traced the lines of your stomach.

Once he’d reached your panty line, he traced the edges of the thin lace, allowing the scratchy material to rub against his skin. The slight noise that echoed from the motion had you lightheaded.

His finger gently slipped beneath the waistband and tugged on them just a bit, pulling the bottoms up against your core. The sensation pushed black spots in front of your eyes.

“Fuck, Theo,” you whispered, a whine building up in your throat.

“Just tell me what you need,” he sighed against your cheek, “and I’m all yours.”

“Swear you won’t flirt with any other girls,” you demanded, eyes finally opening to meet his cold stare.

“I already did, my love,” he chuckled.

“Swear it again, Theo! Please! All I want is for you to be for me only.” You begged him with a clenched fist against his chest.

“I’m only for you, bella,” Theo smiled. “Can I fuck you now? Please, baby. Please? Just say the words, my love. Please, let me fuck you. I want to make you feel so good.” He begged relentlessly.

“Yes.”

And he was breathing a sigh against your lips, then pressing them to his. His tongue was slipping between your teeth and messily claiming your mouth just as he always did. Your lips were panting his name through choked syllables as his fingers were pushing further into your bottoms.

He was lifting you with his free hand and scooting you over so he could take his place beside you on the bed. He was separating his mouth from yours, only to start kissing down your neck. Then his tongue was on your collarbone, then your clothed breast, then your stomach, then your covered core.

He was swirling his mouth over you and marking you so beautifully.

Your fingers were curling into his hair as he consumed you through your bottoms, teeth scraping and tongue dripping.

You were breathlessly whining his name to the cold air, begging to be heard by anyone around. Your knuckles were turning white as he pushed his hot mouth farther against you.

Then he was pulling away and helping you slip out of your bottoms. He was quickly replacing his mouth against you again, the lack of material in between you and his lips now sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. Your back arched against him, pleading for more.

Then he was turning you on your stomach, and letting the cold air hit your sweating back. His fingers massaged your ass roughly as he pushed your hips forward to see his dirty work covering your core. The beginnings of your finish mixed with his spit slid down through your folds. The sight alone had his pants tightening significantly.

“So beautiful, my love,” he whispered. With the hand that held your hips forward, he brushed his thumb down your core, marveling at the way you reacted so vividly.

His free hand trailed up your spine until he reached the back of your neck. He pushed your face roughly into the pillow. You whimpered at the sudden aggression.

“I hope that what I’m about to give you will teach you not to fucking break up with me,” he growled into your ear, all of the sugar in his voice completely dissipated.

You knew this was coming. It always did.

He slammed his hand down against your ass cheek, the pain rippling up your back and down your thigh. You screamed into the pillows, your fingers gripping into the fabric.

His hands wrapped around the tie still dangling around your neck, and yanked your head back to rest against his chest. You yelped at the sudden movement, the force of the tie pressing tightly against your throat.

Tears threatened the edge of your eyes. “I’m sorry, Theo.”

“Oh, it’s too late for ’sorry,’ baby.”

He dropped the tie and your face fell back into the pillows. His hands wrapped meanly around your hips and he yanked you closer to him.

With rough hands, you could hear him undoing his belt and yanking his pants down around his knees. He pulled your body up by the waist, pulling you into an awkward position. Your breasts and throat still pressed roughly into the mattress, but your hips were smashed against Theo’s now bare core. He was hot and heavy against you, enough to make you shudder at the sensation.

He grabbed your wrists from where your arms were flailed flimsily above you, and pulled them tight behind your back. With one large, structured hand, he clutched both of your wrists together, and pinned them against your lower back.

“You want me, baby? Is that what you want? Yeah?”

“Yeah…,” you whined, tears trailing down your cheeks. Because despite the pain and the malice Theo exuded, it never failed to turn you on so painfully. This was the kind of love you wanted, yet couldn’t find anywhere else.

“Yeah? Yeah? Beg for it, bitch. Beg for it a week after you said you didn’t need it.”

“Please, Theo,” you moaned. “Please, baby, I need you so bad. Please, I was wrong!”

“That’s it,” he chuckled meanly. “Such a good girl.”

And then he’s collecting all of the moisture around himself then pushing into you in one smooth movement. His hand is clenching around your arms and the tension is stretching your shoulders so far, they burn.

You could taste salt from your cheeks and lust from the fingers that he suddenly shoved into your mouth. You gagged around them pitifully as he forced more stimulation on you than he ever had before.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groaned, letting his hips sink deeper into you with every thrust. He kept you occupied from every angle, even going so far as to trap your legs tightly together between his own. You were secured and you couldn’t move. But why was it so perfect?

“Merlin, you’re so fucking pathetic,” he murmured. The pace he was beginning to set threatened to unravel you within the next few breaths. Every push of his hips against your core had your legs trembling and chills shooting across your arms.

“You think you can just leave me and move on? Huh? You think someone else could fuck you like this?” he demanded, bordering a shout.

You shook your head as well as you could with his fingers still curled against your tongue, reddened cheeks scratching across the mattress.

“Use your words, baby. Who could fuck you like this?” He freed your mouth.

“You! Nobody else, Theo! Just you!”

And he was quickening his pace and holding every part of you tighter. With the hand he’d just pulled from between your lips, he slipped around you and began to rub tight circles across your clitoris, allowing the last wave of pleasure to build to a height it’d never reached before, then crash down over you.

And you were coming all over your legs and his dick, and it felt better than anything he’d ever given you before.

You were screaming his name tied in with a refrain of curses and swears. It was the most pleasures he’d ever made you feel and, if it weren’t for the burning in your arms, and the eyes rolling back into your head, you’d have imagined it was a dream.

Once he had milked your spend, he was pulling out of you and flipping you over onto your back. He seemed to have no regard for the deep ache echoing in your entire lower half due to his violent assault of your core.

He reentered you as quickly as he’d pulled out, lighting your abdomen on fire. You helped at the sensation, the oversensitivity burning in your core.

“I’m going to come in you, sweet girl,” he said, placing his hands over your nipples. “Just to remind you who you belong to.”

His thrusts quickened and quickened before they slowly began to become sloppy, hips clapping lazily against the backs of your thighs. Then his built abdomen was tensing and his eyes were rolling back.

You were crying out his name and begging him to paint your insides, and he was groaning and releasing into you at a rate you’d never seen him do before.

Then he was collapsing onto your chest, bodies still within the other, while you planted unevenly.

“If you ever break up with me again, I’ll do the same thing but worse.” he murmured against your chest.

“Then you shouldn’t flirt with other girls,” you argued. “It’s as simple as that.”

“I don’t flirt with other girls, I just talk to them.”

“That is not the truth, Theo,” you scoffed, glancing down at him. Despite your annoyance with his words, your fingers still rose to caress his curls.

“I would just appreciate it if you didn’t do that any longer,” you explained. “Anything that could possibly be mistaken for flirting, just don’t do.”

“Oh, yeah? Or what? It’s not like I can’t just pull a couple orgasms out of you, and snatch you right back up.”

He glanced up at you, chin resting on your chest and eyes staring meanly.

“If you flirt with another girl ever again, I’m going to let Mattheo get that taste you were mentioning earlier.”

- - -

Tag List:

@lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @angelfrombeneth , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure , @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout , @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil , @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn , @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch , @ilovehotmenandwoman , @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie , @synicaljah , @abaker74

#creative writing #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #reader insert #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #fem reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott smut #theodore nott #theo nott #request

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velluvette · 2 months ago

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Having fun with my fave color, pink! I dunno what my story behind this is, maybe David just wanted to turn Michael the old fashioned way and he’s a messy eater.

I dunno if anybody cares but I like sharing what I was listening to while working on my art, so:

Madonna - Music album

Lana Del Rey - Ultraviolence album

A little bit of Cher too lol

Anywho, hope ya like!

#the lost boys #the lost boys fanart #michael emerson #david #my art #procreate #blood #vampires #colorful horror

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cherrybean · 8 months ago

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Lana Del Rey songs that remind me of the BB & BCS characters

!!!Spoilers for some of them!!!

Domingo/Krazy 8

- Queen of Disaster

- Lyric: “got me spinnin’ like a ballerina, feeling gangsta’ every time I see ya”

- Mainly the little twinkle sounding beginning of the song reminds me of Krazy 8 because he has beautiful big eyes 😩 the first time I saw him I felt like he never really fit into the harsh world of drugs because he seems like a more timid/sweet person ☹️

Tuco Salamanca

- Ultraviolence

- Lyric: “he hit me and it felt like a kiss”

- This man is VERY violent 💀 need i say more

Eduardo/Lalo Salamanca

- Million Dollar Man

- Lyric: “you’ve got the word, but baby at what price?”/“Youre screwed up and brilliant”

- Another beautiful man and the song is about someone who is so irrevocably in love with someone to the point they’ll ruin themselves for them, aka me for him 🫶🏽

Ignacio Varga/Nacho

- Get Free/ Dealer

- Lyric: “sometimes it feels like I got a war in my mind, I wanna get off, but I keep riding the ride”/ “gave you all my money, I don’t wanna live, I don’t wanna give you nothing”

- A very sad man, I love nacho so much and I feel like he is stuck in the world of drugs and sadly is his demise in the end😭 my heart aches for him

Jesse Pinkman

- Black Beauty/ High by the Beach

- Lyric: “life is beautiful, but you don’t have a clue”/ “I’ll do it on my own, don’t need your money, money to get me what I want”

- Jesse seems like a very sad soul who is still very bright and hasn’t let his past experiences dim his light, the second lyric is mostly what I think he’d think of Walter

Walter White

- Money Power Glory

- Lyric: “but that’s not what this bitch wants, not what I want at all, I want money, power and glory”

- Literally his endgame 💀 he wanted money, power and the glory of doing it all

Gustavo/Gus Fring

- Fucked My Way Up To The Top

- Lyric: “I fucked my way up to the top, this is my show”

- Literally infiltrated and killed every last person who did him dirty/killed his friend/lover. Truly is HIS show

Howard Hamlin

- National Anthem

- Lyric: “money is the anthem of success, so before we go out what’s your address?”

- Show never really tells if he actually comes from old money, but guessing from his name being on the law firms business and his fathers (?) I feel like this is a fitting song 😩 I still loved Howard though 🥲 plus the way that Kim and Jimmy despise him for having a silver spoon in his mouth

Kim Wexler

- Ride

- Lyric: “I’m tired of feeling like I’m fucking crazy”

- My queen 🫶🏽 love her and she can do no wrongs. Feel like her younger life and even adult life people would tell her who she is or what kind of person she was/wasn’t and this one line stuck out to me

Saul Goodman/Jimmy McGill

- Cruel World

- Lyric: “got your bible, got your gun”/ “everybody knows that I’m the best I’m crazy, yeah yeah”

- First lyric reminds me in my interpretation of Jimmy being split between him and his alter ego and doing good in law vs playing law as his game, kind of the contradiction of having a bible and a gun (don’t come after me please). Second lyric more of him going a bit crazy in some scenes with his speeches 🤨

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waywardrose · 9 months ago

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SIDETRACKED

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated: teen | word-count: 900

for @theold-ultraviolence

mechanic!eddie, gn!reader, slice of domestic life, complete fluff

Eddie's late getting home. You turn the oven off, yet leave the casserole in to keep it warm. He's never late. He always clocks out at six and is home within fifteen minutes. According to the clock above the sink, it's nearly 6:45. Something is wrong. You eye the phone, debating if you should call the garage. Maybe something last-minute happened.

Like an emergency tow. Or a quick flat-tire fix. Or a gaggle of geese had waddled into one of the bays — again.

He'd called you that first time, laughing and insisting you had to see it. When you'd pulled up, geese were honking and flapping and pooping all over the garage floor. A giggling Eddie crouched behind a station wagon while Wayne rubbed at the seat of his coveralls and Jeff waved a dirty rag at a couple of unimpressed geese. You saved the day by turning on the hose and threatening the gaggle with cold water.

Eddie proclaimed you their knight in shining armor and the slayer of winged beasts. You'd kissed him and told him to bring home dinner. He'd been home at 6:30 with a pizza and a six-pack of Miller.

You walk to the front window and check the street. The old lady down the road sweeps her front porch. Across the way, two kids' bikes lie tangled on the stoop.

Fuck this.

You march to the kitchen phone and dial the garage. The line rings and rings and rings. Wayne and Jeff must've already left for the day. With a sigh, you hang up. If they'd left, Eddie had as well.

For a distraction, you pull the casserole out of the oven. One edge is darker than the others because of the extra cooking time. You pick off the dark bits, flinging them into the sink for later clean-up, and cover the dish in foil to steam it.

That took a whopping five minutes. It's now almost 7:00.

Maybe there'd been an accident. Hopefully, not one Eddie had been in. He had enough trauma for one lifetime. Maybe it's road construction, though you hadn't heard about any…

The front door bangs open. You spin, brandishing the serving spoon. Eddie stands in the doorway, boots grubby and top of his overalls knotted around his lean waist. He raises a stained hand, the other hidden behind his back.

"Where the hell have you been?" you demand as you shake the spoon at him.

"Sorry." He winces and lowers his hand. "I know I should've called."

"Damn straight, you should've called."

"I left work a little late. And, uh, well… I got sidetracked."

"Sidetracked."

That isn't anything new with Eddie. He's a menace when it comes to cleaning alone. He'd volunteer to dust and neaten the living room while you went grocery shopping. When everything was in piles, he'd discover something cool, or something he'd forgotten, and focus on that for the rest of the afternoon. You'd come home to a bigger mess more than once.

He holds out his hand for the spoon.

"Trade ya."

You frown.

"What?" you ask, though you offer the spoon.

His calluses rasp over your skin as he takes it. He sweeps his other hand from behind his back to present a bouquet of orange ditch lilies. He'd used one of his hair-ties to keep the long stems together.

A tightness you hadn't been aware of before uncoils in your chest. Your eyes prickle with unexpected tears.

You whisper, "They're beautiful," and rub a silky petal tip between two fingers.

His voice is rough as he says, "I didn't mean to scare you."

You shake your head and give him a smile.

Silly boy. Sweet, silly boy — the one you fell in love with years ago.

He spreads his arms with a self-deprecating grin and shrug. As if to say he knows he's beyond hope, or useless, or incompetent.

You scoff. "Oh, shut up."

You wrap your arms around him. His old Metallica t-shirt smells like sweat and fresh air. He hugs you tight. The lilies' petals caress your neck, making you shiver.

You pull back enough to look into his warm eyes.

"Thank you for the flowers."

He sways you a little.

"Next time, I'll get you roses."

"Oh? Going to ruin some poor lady's garden?"

"For you? Of course."

You thump your palm on his waist with a delighted laugh. He grins roguishly and moves in to kiss you. Your lips meet, and it's still a spark. You've been burning for him since that first date, that first kiss. Your whole body heats at his touch.

The serving spoon clunks on the floor. His hand presses at your lower back. His lips are as soft as petals and hot like embers. He kisses you harder, deeper. His clever tongue slides against yours.

Urgency like a fever has you pulling him farther into the house. He kicks the front door closed, a grin against your lips. You take the bouquet from him and place it by the sink.

Dinner can wait.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #waywardrose writes

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babyonboard · 1 year ago

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Ultraviolence | part 1

Bradley Bradshaw x F!Reader x Jake Seresin

Summary: You and Bradley loved each other, and Jake was just your old friend from high school who you tried to pay no mind to. At least that's how it used to be.

Word Count: 9.7k (for one part? oops!)

Warnings/tags-18+ MDNI, infidelity, some alcohol abuse, emetophobia, talk of body image, so much cussing?? smut, oral, Bradley is so sexy but also a dick. Jake is a dick but also so sexy. Enemies to Lovers (ish), slowburn(ish)

You weren’t the only person who thought Jake Seresin was completely and fully infuriating. He was cocky, he had a loud mouth, his cologne was entirely too strong, he made everything about him, and, worst of all, he was insatiably alluring. You’ve known him since high school, which is about 8 years longer than you’ve known your husband Bradley. You could swear under oath that Jake’s ego grows every passing second. But truly, who could blame him? A blonde, tan skinned Texan with an old Hollywood smile. Wealthy parents and always top of his class. The only thing, the only person that has ever given him an ego check, was you.

When you were 23, you moved into the apartment next to Bradley. At the time, he was just your insanely hot neighbor who also happened to be a navy aviator. To him, you were his sweet, absolute doll of a next-door-neighbor who smelled like vanilla when he passed you in the hallway and would never in a million years be interested in him. The two of you engaged in occasional small talk in the elevator, he helped you move your new desk up the stairs, and he asked you to feed his dog when he would leave for the weekend. Eventually he started inviting you over for wine after he got off work, his smile made you feel more tipsy than any moscato ever could. Before long, you were sleeping in his bed just as much as he would sleep in yours. You cooked him dinner after work, and he would bring you flowers on Saturdays. Bradley was so sweet in the beginning. He still had his class-clown charm, but he was warm and charismatic. Anybody would have fallen under his spell, and you were no exception.

Bradley was so excited to bring you around his friends. You were funny and sexy as fuck, and he wanted to show you off. He brought you to the Hard Deck to meet them all for the first time. Well, meet them all except one for the first time.

When your eyes fell on Jake Seresin, his unmistakable smile plastered on his face as he took a swig from his beer, your jaw fell open. “Is that Jake Seresin?” You gasped. Even though you asked it as a question, you knew the answer. That Texan with blonde hair and a visible attitude was undoubtedly Jake Seresin.

Bradley’s stomach dropped. “Oh god, you know hangman?” He could have gotten on his knees right there and prayed to god that you weren’t Jake’s ex girlfriend, or ex hookup, or ex anything at all. A part of him actually hoped that you hated him.

Jake’s eyes scanned the bar, coming to a stop on you. His eyes widened and his brows furrowed, and a wide mouthed smile started to spread across his face. Y/N. Y/N from high school. You looked so different, but still exactly the same. He beelined for you, shaking his head as he approached. The warmth that your smile stirred up in his stomach was oh so familiar, the same warmth that Rooster felt everyday.

“Y/N L/N” he chuckled.

“Jake Seresin.” You laughed.

“You two know each other?” Bradley interjected.

“We went to high school together.” You said, setting your arm on Bradley’s shoulder. The feeling of your gentle hand on him calmed whatever possessive jealousy was coursing through his veins.

Bradley was not jealous of Hangman. Nope, not at all. He didn’t care that the two of you knew each other 4 years ago, and he definitely didn’t care that Hangman bought you a drink “for old times sake.” It didn’t bother him that the man who proposed the most competition in the sky was now chatting up his girl, proposing a completely new type of competition. Not one bit.

“You jealous?” You approached Bradley from across the bar. He shook his head, unclenching his jaw. He grabbed you by your belt loop, beer in his other hand, and pulled you towards him. “Should I be?” He asked. Quiet, diluted venom laced his words. You dropped your act, he was actually mad. Realizing that it might not be as funny as you thought it was, you brought your hand up to his neck.

He didn’t look you in the eyes, his gaze completely past your face and on the bar behind you. This upset him more than you realized. “I promise you it’s not like that. I’m with you.” He looked at you again. You used your grip on the back of his neck to pull his face towards you. “Plus he’s a dick.” A smile finally cracked on Bradleys face, and the two of you laughed. His hands slid down your back and onto your ass. He hoped Hangman was watching.

“And…” He squeezed your ass “I’m the one who gets to fuck you every night.”

Hangman was watching, not even by choice at this point, more so because he just could not tear his eyes away from how your ass looked in those jeans. But he didn’t actually care that you were Bradley’s. Sure, you were sexy as hell, and he liked giving Rooster a run for his money, but he wasn’t dead set on having you. At least not tonight.

Rooster took you home that night and he tore those jeans right off of you. He fucked you good, made you tell him you were his. And you did, you repeated it like a mantra. I’m yours Bradley. All yours, no one else's.

From that point on you understood that there needed to be a boundary with Jake. You knew that since you and Bradley were together, you would see Jake a lot. Out at the bars, military balls, absolutely anything work related, but also socially because Bradley and Jake really were friends. You kept your distance from Jake when you saw him, only talking to him in groups and letting Bradley hang all over you when he was around. This, in turn, drove Jake crazy. Thinking back on his life, you were the only girl that he truly could not have. Back in high school he was never really that interested in you. You had mutual friends and saw each other at parties. He was in your prom group and he was your assigned lab partner in sophomore chemistry. You never particularly caught his eye, but he never caught yours either. He kicks himself now on the missed opportunity, but how was he supposed to know you would turn into the smokeshow you are now? It drove him up the fucking wall.

As time went on and Bradley and Jake got closer, it became more socially acceptable for you to talk to Jake. North Island was a small town, and while a lot of the aviators left to different bases, Bradley and Jake stayed. Maybe it was maturity, or maybe it was because he stopped caring, but Bradley didn’t pay any mind to you and Jake anymore. You were open to talk to him whenever you pleased, as long as you let Bradley come up and kiss your neck at some point in the conversation. Jake became your beer pong and darts partner, and the two of you were frequently laughing over old high school memories. He talked far too much about his high school football career and how great he was. Thinks he could’ve gone pro, but chose to be a military hero instead. Of course, Jake was still arrogant with unhealthy levels of confidence. He talked to you like you were in love with him and he knew it, which could not be further from the truth.

One night in particular, at one of the many military award balls, you thought about re-establishing that boundary you used to have. Bradley looked so good in his dress whites, and you complimented him so well in your floor length, shimmery gold dress. Bradley had done exceptionally well that year, he was receiving praises all night from his fellow aviators and whatever military big-shots that chose him to win awards. While he was off accepting these gracious compliments, reasonably leaving you alone at the table, Jake approached you. He didn't say anything, he just pulled out the chair next to you and sat down. He also looked incredibly good in his dress whites, but in a different way than Bradley. You mentally scolded yourself when you thought about how good looking he was. He sighed next to you, neither of you acknowledging the other at first. Your gaze was on Bradley, who was graciously shaking someone's hand and laughing. You sipped your wine, finishing the whole glass. “You clean up nice.” He said, finally looking over at you. You could smell his cologne. It was musky and clean and it burned your nose.

“Likewise.” You smiled softly at him. He looked at you like he needed to say something, like he was dying to. A smirk, or maybe a smile played on his lips. Your gaze rested on his mouth for a second, discerning between the two. “What?” You giggled to ease whatever tension was hanging between you.

“Nothing.” He continued his heavy gaze on you. “Just memories.” You wanted to roll your eyes, he is so cliche, but you decided to be nice. His blue eyes were hard to tear your eyes away from, but you did, and looked around to see Bradley, who was now talking to a girl who was one of his copilots.

“If I remember correctly, that dress is the same color your prom dress was.” He gestured down at your golden dress, now dragging on the floor and stuck under your chair.

You straightened your back. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

He nodded with a smile. “I knew it.” Another moment passed, and you subconsciously looked back to where Bradley was, but you didn’t see him anymore.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Jake leaned his arms against the white table cloth, bunching it up under his forearms as they slid a little closer to you.

“Yes…” You tilted your head. His cologne was burning your nose and your eyes and lighting your skin on fire. Jake Seresin was beautiful to admire from afar, but now, he was up close. He was close to your face, close enough to touch, close enough that if you wanted to kiss him you could grab his face and do it.

“I really liked you back in high school.” Whatever smile-smirk he had was spreading across his face. Like a wildfire, the smirk spread onto your lips too.

“That’s not true.” You looked down, this moment sending you straight back into your 17 year old persona, shy and bashful. Maybe Jake was also taking on his 17 year old persona, or maybe he’s still the same charming and confident boy he’s always been.

“It is.” He said. You didn’t know this, but he was lying. He was indifferent about you in high school, but he does wish he would have paid more attention to you back then. Maybe then he would be the guy with the girl in the gold dress, not Bradley.

“You never paid any attention to me in high school. And you always had a girlfriend.” You reached for your glass to give you something to do with your hands, even though it was empty.

“So? I remembered your prom dress, didn't I?” He did not, in fact, remember your prom dress. He had recently stalked your facebook. “You looked so gorgeous that night.”

You could do nothing but try and push away your smile. Jake Seresin was a hypnotic, poisonous virus that could work its way under any girl's skin, and once again, you were absolutely no exception.

“I mean, you looked almost as good as you look tonight.” He finally broke eye contact, a subconscious attempt to seem coy.

Snapped out of the blue eyed trance, you shook your head. “Thank you, Jake.” You said. Clearing your throat, you wanted to change the subject, to get rid of this strange feeling in your stomach. "Where's your date? Jessica, right? Oh no, wait, Jessica was who you brought to the bar last weekend. Emma is your date tonight, right?" You weren't trying to embarrass him, it was more an attempt to figuratively slap him in the face for flirting with you.

A scoff broke through the laugh he let out. He couldn't deny these claims, they were obviously true. "I don't really know where she is." He looked around in a fake attempt to find her. "And I don't really care right now." He looked back at you, and you had to look away. It was entirely too much, his cologne, his dress whites, his eyes, and his flattery. It stirred up your stomach in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’m gonna go find Bradley.” You breathed out. You stumbled as you stood up and walked away.

It wasn’t wrong, you weren’t doing anything. Jake complimented you and you talked about high school, what else is new? But for some reason, you couldn’t shake that guilty feeling out of your conscience, even when you found Bradley and he looked so hot and you forgot about every other man that existed while he fucked you that night, the dress that Jake loved oh so much bunched up around your waist.

When you and Bradley got married, Jake was one of the groomsmen. He stood right by Bradley at the altar, he teared up at his vows. It was around this time that Jake started to treat you differently. He was nicer, gentler, and didn't treat you like a sexual venture. He still infuriated everyone else, but he was softer with you. He brushed off what he felt for you as a protectiveness. You were his best friend's wife, he knew you since you were 15. He knew a different side of you, and he felt the need to protect you. And he told himself that’s all it was. Even if it was something more, he would never act on it. He knew he would just have to settle for occasionally thinking you were hot when he saw you, and occasionally thinking about you while he had another girl underneath him, wondering if Rooster fucks you the way he would. The way you deserve. He knows he doesn’t.

You didn’t really get much time to talk to Jake on your wedding day, but to be honest, it never really crossed your mind. Not until you were at your way-to-expensive open bar, ordering another cocktail, and he came up behind you. “Hi there bride.” He said.

You turned to face him and the air leaving his lungs was almost audible. Oh my god did you look beautiful. Your hair pulled away from your face, a few strands hanging in your face from dancing. Glitter on your eyelids, your lips slightly puffy from so much kissing and singing and talking. And you smiled when you saw him.

“Jake!” You smiled. Yes, you were tipsy, but you would have been excited to see him regardless. You swung your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. Your perfume and his cologne mixed in the air around the two of you. He wrapped his arms around your torso and tucked his nose down on your shoulder.

“You look gorgeous, Y/N.” He said against your ear. You closed your eyes and hummed.

He felt like a sticky mouse trap that you couldn’t pull yourself away from. “Thank you.”

Whether it was subconscious or not, you forced yourself to break the hug and turn back to the bar to get your drink. All he could do was watch as you gave him a drunk wink and walked away.

Back in the real world, Bradley smiled when you came into view. “There she is!” He grabbed your hand and spun you around to the music. He sang to you and held you around the waist. The music was loud and your vision was slightly hazy and you were the happiest you had ever felt. Bradley kissed you every chance he got, calling you his wife even more than that. How could you, much less anyone not love this man?

A cute little house on North Island, not far from the ocean. Two dogs, a newlywed couple, and lots of love to go around. That’s how it was for a year or so. You wouldn’t say picture perfect, because every family has its flaws, but it was perfect for you. Bradley would go to work, you would go to yours, and when you got home the two of you would eat dinner and watch a show together. Bradley loved getting home from a long day and fucking his wife good and long until he was scared the neighbors might hear. It was simple, but it was nice.

You simply cannot pinpoint the exact time things started to change. To be fair, you couldn’t expect things to go perfectly in your marriage for the rest of your life, but you wish they didn’t go the way this one was. He would come home from work later, say he already ate, and leave you eating by yourself at the kitchen table. He never wanted to shower with you anymore, which used to be his favorite activity. He didn’t fuck you as much, or as good as he used to. It was half-assed, almost like it was a chore. Missionary in bed a few times a week, and there were a couple of times where he didn’t finish, which left you embarrassed with a vulnerable pit in your stomach. You thought he was just getting bored, which people had warned you would happen, so you pulled out all the stops. You bought new fancy lingerie, you sent him absolutely filthy texts while he was at work, you wore no underwear and told him as you were leaving the house. All things that used to rile him up. And sometimes it worked. Sometimes he would get one of those texts at work, come home and see you on your bed in deep red lingerie, and he would crawl on top of you and all would be right in the world. But it always ended up fizzling back out into you wondering what in the hell you were doing wrong. You wanted nothing more in the world than to please him, and you couldn’t even do that. He still told you he loved you every day, and he still kissed you on the forehead before bed, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Like any other person with a brain, the possibility of him cheating on you had come to mind several times. But you were always able to shake it off, he would never. Not Bradley, not your Bradley.

On Bradleys 29th birthday, you threw him a party. All of his copilots were there, Phoenix even drove in from Seal Beach. Jake was there, of course, he only lived a few blocks away. He brought Bradley a birthday present and he brought you a bottle of wine. He said it was because he knew you worked so hard on the party, and you couldn't wipe a star struck slap happy smile from your face. You knew Bradley would be getting messy that night, he had always been a drinker, especially around these pilots that you considered family. When it was only 8pm and he was already slurring his words and stumbling into furniture and had sunglasses on inside, you caught him in the kitchen as he was pouring himself another screwdriver.

“Hi baby.” You smiled, approaching him, an attempt to slow his drinking down.

He didn’t look up at you as he continued pouring vodka into his cup. “Hi sweetheart.”

You walked over to him and set your hand on his back. “It’s early, why don’t you slow down a little. Maybe have some water or eat something, then pick up where you left off?”

He continued making his drink. “How about…” he set the bottle back on the counter and stumbled away from you “You leave me alone.”

Immediately taken back, your eyebrows furrowed. “What?” Whether he was bored with you or not, that was completely and totally unlike Bradley to say.

“Get off my fuckin’ case.” His sunglasses slid down his nose.

Javy stuck his head in the kitchen. “Rooster, beer pong, come on.” He said. One look at your face and his expression changed, figuring he must have walked in on something. “You good?” he asked. He must have saw your glistening eyes or maybe he heard your pounding heartbeat that you could feel so clearly in your ears. Bradley walked past you and towards Javy. “She’s fine. You know how girls are.” he mumbled, disappearing out of the kitchen. “Ol' ball and chains.” you heard him say down the hallway.

You could not stop your mouth from falling open. The boredom you could take. You could tolerate him not treating you the same way he used to, but where did this sudden resentment come from? You wanted to cry. You wanted to lay on the floor of your kitchen and curl up in a ball and cry because you threw such a nice party for your husband that you loved and the only thing he said to you all night was to leave him alone. But, you can’t cry. At least not right now. You walk back out into the party, faking a smile and finding a spot on your couch to sit.

“Hey party girl.” Jake sat down next to you.

“Hi Jake.” You smiled.

He tilted his head down and quirked his eyebrow. “What's the matter?”

You shook your head in surprise that your fake smile was not in fact working, narrowing your eyes back at him. “Nothing.”

“Come on…” He poked your side, causing you to squirm away from him. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed. “It's nothing. Just- I’ll tell you later.” you had no intentions of actually telling him later, you just wanted him to stop asking, stop seeing directly through you.

Why Jake could read you like an open book? You didn’t know, but he could. It felt like he could read your mind, which you prayed wasn’t true, because then someone other than yourself would know about the pit in your stomach, or between your legs, that you got when you were around him.

You watched Bradley as he played beer pong, shouting and laughing and drinking. It made you smile, seeing him happy. It feels like it was just yesterday when you would’ve been right up there next to him, having fun with him. You wish you knew what changed.

“How’s your new job going?” Jake's deep voice shook you out of your trance.

You looked over at him, slightly taken back. You did not expect a single person at this party to ask you a question about yourself tonight. They were always too busy talking about their latest aircraft or their latest achievements in the field. “It’s good…” your voice was raised over the music and the shouting of the party. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

He looked sarcastically offended. “What? How could I forget?” He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t going to admit that he had been reading online about you, looking a little too long at your headshot on the law firm's website. He read an article about you from a local news site, it was really about one of the lawyers at the law firm that you worked at, but you were mentioned as the paralegal. A small picture of you and the lawyer was fit in between paragraphs, and he would be embarrassed if anyone found out how many times he had looked at it. A feeling of pride swelled in his chest whenever he did.

You looked down at your lap and smiled. He was pressed up against you on the living room couch, you could smell his beer and you could feel his thigh against yours. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked again, his voice merely a rumble beneath the music.

You nodded. “I’m fine.” Looking up at him, he gave you a look. A look he had probably given you in high school chemistry at some point when you answered a question with something that didn’t make sense. His blue eyes burned holes through your soul and you felt like all of your thoughts and secrets were floating through the air, being breathed in by him. “Its just…” you looked over at your husband, who was now chugging a drink out of a red solo cup, Javy and Mickey cheering him on as usual. “Bradley.” You wanted to continue, to tell him everything, but you didn’t want to start crying.

Jake nodded in understanding. It pissed him off that Rooster was doing this to you. You didn’t deserve this. He didn’t know for sure what was going on, but everyone could sense that something had changed with Bradley in the past year. Jake thinks it's because he’s gotten a lot more cocky since their last mission, he thinks he's too good for the dagger squad now. Whatever it was, it was effecting you, and that was crossing a fucking line.

You and Jake stayed like that on the couch for a while longer. You enjoyed his comfort and company, and he didn’t want to leave you here upset. In a desperate attempt to see you laugh, he tried to tell you a story from high school, involving your old best friend. It made you crack a smile, your warm soul glowing through your teeth and nearly blinding him. It made him feel better to see you smile, but he could not shake the anger he was feeling towards Bradley right now. He wished he could get up and walk over to Bradley, grab him by the shoulders, and yell at him that he doesn't even know how good he has it.

As you suspected, Bradley was entirely too drunk by 11. Like, laying on the floor of the bathroom drunk. While you were in the bathroom taking care of Bradley as he threw up, the party guests slowly made their drunk exits. Bob nearly had to drag Phoenix and Payback out your front door, not before wishing Bradley one last happy birthday and thanking you for throwing the party. Everyone else stumbled out to their ubers, leaving you basically alone on the cold bathroom floor, completely sober.

You sat next to Bradley and rubbed his back while he was bent over the toilet. The main goal at this point was to get him upstairs to his bed. Once you presumed he was done, you patted his sweat covered hair. “How about we get you to bed, huh?” He nodded, his eyes closed.

It took some strength to help him up off of the floor, but this wasn’t your first rodeo. You held him up while you stumbled out of the bathroom and into the living room. You weren’t expecting to see Jake, but there he was. He was holding a trash bag and was picking up the cans and solo cups that were littered all over. Startled, you immediately felt bad. “You don’t have to do that Jake, seriously. You can go home, I’ll get it tomorrow.”

He looked up to see you holding Bradley up, his head hanging and barely coherent. “Oh, I don’t mind. It’ll only take me a minute, then I’ll be out of your hair.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you. “Really. It’s fine. Go put him to bed.” He was stern, almost demanding. You nodded and continued dragging Bradley to your bedroom. The stairs were the hardest part, it felt like you were lifting dead weight. You didn’t want to wrestle with changing his clothes, so you settled for getting his jeans off, leaving him in his shirt and boxers. You got him into bed, and pulled the covers up over him. When tucking him in, it was impossible for your heart to not swell, or maybe ache, in moments like this.

He mumbled something, it didn’t even sound like english. “What’d you say baby?” You reached your hand up to push his hair off of his forehead.

“I love you.” He said, crystal clear. It felt like some type of weight was lifted off of your heart, making your eyes soften. You continued to stroke his hair for a moment, basking in his words.

“I love you too.” You said softly. He didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch.

For a few moments, everything was okay. You and Bradley were married and happy and he loved you. You’re not sure how long you sat there petting his hair. Definitely a few minutes. The sound of Jake putting away the folding table downstairs made you get up. You pulled a trash can next to Bradley and took one last look at him. You weren’t sure if you should smile or cry.

Back downstairs, Jake had made quick work of cleaning everything up. “Jake, you’re seriously a saint.” You breathed out.

“Only for you” he said, pushing a chair back to its original spot. Not taking time to dwell on whatever that statement meant, you helped him move that last few pieces of furniture.

“Okay. Dishes.” He said, walking past you into the kitchen.

“Jake-” You followed after him “You can go home, you don’t have to help, there isn’t even that many-”

“It's okay. I want to help you.” He said, turning to you with a simple smile. You didn’t want to force him out of your house. In fact, you didn’t want him to leave. Music was still playing from the party, but it was much quieter now. It was yacht rock, Bradley’s favorite.

Jake cleaned the dishes, you dried them and put them away. “You know,” He started, rinsing out the bowl he was holding. “I wish I had a girl in my life who threw me birthday parties and carried me around when I was drunk.”

You didn’t look up from the plate you were drying off. "You're telling me one of your many girls isn't dying to do something like this for you?"

He laughed softly, but shook his head. "That's not the same."

"Why not?" You crossed the kitchen to put away a cutting board.

"Because you guys are married. I wish I had a wife. Someone like you."

Maybe it was because something about Jake makes everyone feel vulnerable, but you felt like you could tell him all of your problems, like some type of truth serum was laced in his voice. “I don’t even think Bradley wishes he had that.”

You opened the cabinet to put the plate away while Jake looked at you. “Is everything okay with you two? I don’t want to pry or anything.” But the thing was, he did want to pry. He wanted to know everything about your relationship, he wants to know how often Rooster tells you he loves you, what he says to you when he fucks you, and everything in between.

“Um…” You thought about how honest you should be. “I mean, everythings okay on my end. It’s just… I don’t know what’s going on with Bradley. I think he’s getting bored of me.”

“I don’t think that's possible.” Jake said, handing you a bowl, the water from his fingers dripping onto yours. “That can’t be right. Nobody could ever get bored of you.”

You sighed and put the bowl in the cabinet in front of you. “Then I don’t know what’s going on. He’s more distant, not as talkative, he doesn’t-” You stopped yourself, unable to talk to Jake about your sex life with Bradley. Jake was your friend, but it felt wrong.

“He doesn’t what?” Jake asked. There were no more dishes to be washed, so he leaned his hands against the counter. Looking over at him was a mistake. He had a smug look on his face, the one he always wore. You swear it gives you goosebumps. It was clear that he knew what you were talking about. “He doesn’t fuck you the same anymore?”

Completely unable to break eye contact, you simply nodded. The sound of the sink running was the only thing breaking the silence between the two of you. “Does he fuck you at all?” He spoke slowly, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Yes. But not as often. And not the same.” You weren’t lying, you weren’t necessarily crossing a line, you weren’t doing anything wrong. That’s what you were telling yourself.

Jake looked down, his hand coming up to rub his jawline, subconsciously drawing your attention to it. Tongue in his cheek, he nodded. “Huh. What a shame.” He looked back up at you, your cheeks hot and most likely getting red. “You don’t deserve that.”

All you could do was nod once again. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it was thick. It was hot and it filled your lungs.

“Does he even make you cum anymore?” His words were heavy. Meticulous but outright impulsive. Like he had wanted to ask you that for so long, but the sentence finally fell out of his mouth without permission.

Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and you tried to swallow. Blood was rushing to your face and your ears and making your heart speed up. This conversation felt wrong. No, it was wrong. But your conscience was muffled by the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the fluttering in your stomach. “No.” The word rolled off of your tongue and out of your mouth.

He was standing so close to you and you thought that if he wanted to bend you over this counter right now, he could. “That must be…” His hand came up to your arm and his fingers trailed along your skin lightly. “So frustrating.”

Inexplicably, Bradleys face flashed in your mind, laying in your shared bed right above the two of you. You cleared your throat and looked down, grabbing the last plate that needed put away. Detaching his fingers from you, you reached up and put the plate in the cabinet. He looked down at the counter, then turned the sink off. The only sound was coming from the radio.

As if almost on cue to change the subject, as if that last interaction didn’t happen at all, Jake pointed to the speaker. “Oh! Duet time.” Jake smiled.

“What?” You laughed. Then you heard the song “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” playing on the radio. Before you had time to protest, Jake was already across the room, turning the speaker up. When he turned back to you, he started singing Elton John's part. He pointed to you when it got to the girls part, and you laughed. “No, Jake, I can’t.” You spoke over your part.

He furrowed his eyebrows and swayed over to you, he was not the best dancer, but you already knew this. He sang his part and reached out for your hands. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t keep your laughter down. You gave him your hands and he pulled you into the middle of the kitchen. He danced around with you, and you sang when it got to your part. The goofiest smile sat on his face, it was so much different than his usual smug smile. The two of you sang and danced and spun around in the middle of your kitchen. And you laughed. You really, truly laughed. And that alone made Jake's heart swell.

By the end of the song, one of Jake's arms was around your waist, the other was holding your hand, swaying you to the music. As the song ended, you set your forehead against his shoulder, a way of surrendering. His shirt bunched up under your nose, and you had to fight the urge to turn your head against his neck and breathe in his cologne. His hand on the small of your back was gentle, almost like he was trying to not hurt you.

You lifted your head up and met his eyes. You could feel his heart beating under your hand and the skin on your waist burned under his fingers. “I’m scared that Bradley is cheating on me.” You blurted out before you had time to think about what you were saying.

He exhaled, you felt the air on your face. Miraculously, he shook his head. “I don’t think he would do that.” His face was angled down at yours.

Nodding, you looked down. It made you feel better to hear it from someone else. Jake was still holding onto you, and your hand was still on his chest. “You can go now. Thank you for helping.” You said weakly, not meeting his eyes. You gave his hand a squeeze and ripped yourself away from him.

The next week was completely normal. Bradley would kiss you goodbye without looking at you and then go to work, come home late and complain about being tired, then crash in bed immediately. You had sex once, it was on the couch on the one night he stayed up to watch a show with you. Friday morning was the same. You tried to chat him up while he waited for his coffee to brew, he just grumbled a response. No kiss this time, but that wasn’t totally unheard of. It was this same Friday when something abnormal happened.

I need to talk to you.

It was a text from an unknown number showing up on your apple watch. You read it during a meeting, and spent the rest of the time not listening and trying to figure out who that text could be from. When you finally got the chance to look at your phone, you saw the previous texts you had with this person. A text from over a year ago told you what you wanted to know.

Hey. This is Jake. Rooster is really drunk. Can you come get him?

Completely ignoring your work now, your heart skipped and then dropped at the possibilities of why Jake was texting you.

Okay, is everything alright?

You checked your watch while waiting for a response. A quarter to five, you could leave now if you wanted to.

Can you come by my house? Or can I call you soon?

All of the different possibilities raced through your mind. You couldn’t even think about the possibility of another woman right now. But you focused on the fact that he did not confirm that everything was alright.

I can try and come by later. What is this about?

Okay let me know when you’re coming. It’s Bradley.

You knew it. Fuck, you knew it. Wasting no time, you packed up your things and left your office. The radio was too loud and too much as you made your way home, so you drove in silence. In a rare occurrence, Bradley’s range rover was in the driveway when you got home. Weird, you always got home first.

What happened inside was nothing short of a bible level miracle. The first thing you saw when you opened the door was Bradley sitting on the couch, leaning on his knees like he was thinking. He whipped around at the sound of the door opening and he slapped a smile on his face. He stood up, grabbing a bouquet of flowers that had been laid next to him on the couch.

“Hey baby.” He smiled, coming around the couch to greet you at the door.

“Hi…” You couldn’t help the confusion that echoed in your greeting. He walked up and held the flowers out to you. You smiled, a polite smile, and took them from him. It felt abnormal, ingenuine, or something of that sort when he leaned in and kissed you.

“What’s this for?” You broke away from his lips.

“Oh, nothing.” He waved his hand. “I just wanted to get my wife some flowers.”

You nodded. It felt good, really good, to get this attention from him. You wanted to play along, to pretend like this wasn’t weird, but a little voice in your head was screaming at you. A strange feeling settled in your stomach and left a weird taste in your mouth.

“I was thinking,” He reached out and grabbed your free hand, pulling you over to the couch. “You want me to make my pasta for you, or do you wanna order something in? You choose.”

All you could do was stare at him. It was weird, this was the way you had been hoping and praying he would start treating you again for the last 4 months, but now that it's right in front of you, you couldn’t help but question it. “Pasta.” You said with a simple nod.

By the time he was in the kitchen, 80s music playing while he started to prepare dinner, you still sat frozen in your spot on the couch. Jake's text message kept running through your head, you knew it had to be related to what’s going on. More than anything, you wanted to stay here, go hug Bradley from behind while he cooks, eat dinner with him, and let everything be normal again. But you couldn’t.

“Hey, um I’ll be right back.” You knew you had about 30 minutes before he would be done cooking.

“Where are you going?” he sounded alarmed, like he didn’t want you to step foot out of this house.

The door was already open and you were already halfway out. “I have to um… go get gas.” The door shut behind you, giving no time for him to answer.

It was about a 3 minute drive to Jake’s house, but you were about to make it in 1. The sound of tires screeching notified Jake that you were there. By the time he made it to the door, you were walking up his driveway. The look in his eyes was enough to make you sick. “What happened?” you asked breathlessly.

He said nothing, simply opening the door and motioning for you to come in. “Jake.” You said sternly. “What happened?” You repeated as you entered his house. This was not your first time in Jake's house, but it's the first time in a while. It smells like him but you don’t have time to dwell on that.

“Come sit.” He gestured to his living room. Jake has a dog, a big golden retriever, and she came up to sit by you on the couch. Eyes stinging, stomach churning, you put your face in your hands. “He’s cheating on me, isn’t he?” Your voice was muffled by your hands but Jake heard what you said and it made his jaw clench.

“Listen.” He sat next to you.

“Oh my god.” You breathed out. You knew it. You called it.

He sighed and gently reached for your wrist. He pulled your hand away from your face and into his lap. He held onto your hand and he took a deep breath. “When we were leaving today, I heard someone yelling in the parking lot. I only caught the tail end of it, but it was Bradley and some other girl. He was begging her for something, I don’t know what, and she was crying. She was yelling at him, and she said she didn’t know he had a wife. She kept saying ‘you’re married’ or ‘why didn’t you tell me’ and then she asked him if this was all a lie. He said no, but then he saw me, and he tried to get her to quiet down and get in his car, but she wouldn’t. I texted you right away. Right when I got in my car.”

It all made sense. Every piece of the Bradley Bradshaw puzzle fell into place, and you saw it so clearly. The boredness, the bad sex, the resentment, the getting home late, the flowers, the way he’s trying to make it all up to you now that things fell through with her. She must have threatened to tell you, or left him completely, and now he’s left with just you. He probably feels guilty, and wants to try and make it up to you. The first thought that ran through your mind was how could you have been so stupid. Jake held onto your shaky hands and you cried. You cried harder than you think you ever had. Wordlessly, he pulled you into him, and you cried into his shoulder. The only word you could get out between your sobs was “why.”

So many thoughts ran through your mind. You wanted to know who this girl was. Was she pretty? Was she prettier than you? Was that the problem? Does she know Bradley the way you do? What was so wrong with you that he had to get someone else?

How many times did Bradley fuck her and then come straight home and fuck you? That thought made you pull away from Jake, nearly pushing him off of you. “Y/N’ He reached for you and you stood up. Were there times where he thought about her while he fucked you? Was the sex with her so good that he couldn’t even finish when he was with you?

You shook your head and covered your mouth with the back of your hand. Calmly at first, you turned and walked down his hallway, your speed quickening with every step. Jake's footsteps echoed behind you, he was saying something but you couldn’t decipher it. The door to his bathroom hit the wall from how hard you pushed it open and you fell to your knees. You threw up, Jake appearing in the doorway as you did. Through all of this, you still found time to be embarrassed that he was seeing you like this, but he didn’t seem to mind. He knelt next to you and pulled your hair back away from your face. “It’s okay.” He whispered.

When you were slightly calmed down, you set your forehead on your arm. Jake's large hand was rubbing up and down your back. “What do I do?” You said to the ground.

Jake cleared his throat. He thought the answer was clear, but maybe it wasn’t to you. “Do you want to stay with him?” He asked.

Your eyes squeezed shut at the thought of either option he was presenting. Leave Bradley, or stay with him and always know what he did. “I don’t know.” Your voice was strained.

To Jake, this was a stupid answer. He thought you would say no, he thought that any person in their right mind would say no. “Oh.” His eyebrows furrowed.

Before you made a decision, you knew you needed to talk to Bradley. Maybe this was a misunderstanding, maybe it was a mistake, maybe he’ll do everything in his power to earn your trust back, and then you’d have the old Bradley back. Reaching up to flush the toilet, you stood, Jake following suit.

“I need to go talk to him.” You said, walking past him out of the bathroom. He followed hot on your tail, trying to think of what to say. Once you reached the front door, you turned around to him. “Thank you for telling me.” He said nothing, only nodded. When you hugged him and his arms wrapped around you, you allowed your eyes to fall shut. You were lucky to have him.

“If you don’t want to stay there tonight, I have a guest room.” He said into your hair. He felt you nod underneath him, then let you go.

The car ride home was dead silent. You weren’t crying, you weren’t yelling, you weren’t listening to music. You felt nothing short of dead inside, like every good piece of your life just got pulled out from underneath you. Slowly, you pulled into the driveway. You wanted to sit in the car and not go inside, not find out the truth, but you knew that wasn’t an option. The reflection looking back at you in your rearview mirror did not look like you. It was scary. You wiped under your eyes and your mouth, then forced yourself to open the car door. Your legs were moving, but it was completely muscle memory, and you were surprised you hadn’t fallen to the ground yet.

When you opened the front door, you tried to act normal. Music played through the house and you heard dishes clinking in the kitchen. Kicking your shoes off, you couldn’t ignore the two dogs that ran up to you. It made you want to cry even harder, the way they climbed on you when you bent down to pet them, like they could sense something was wrong. “Hey baby, you’re back.” You looked up and saw Bradley in the doorway to your kitchen. He was smiling, but for some reason, you almost felt better when you saw him. When you looked at him, you were reminded of the man he was on your wedding day, he gave you that same smile at the altar. It was the same smile you fell in love with, the same smile he had when he was merely just your neighbor when you were 23. “What’s wrong?” He asked immediately, his smile faltered slightly.

Looking back down at the dogs, you couldn't bring yourself to fight with him right now. You couldn’t let yourself lose him. “Nothing.” You shook your head. “I just had a hard day at work.”

“Oh, honey.” He walked towards you. This was by far the most attention you had gotten from him in months, and it was addicting. It is how you always wanted things to be, how you hoped and prayed they would end up. He pulled you into a hug and you could have melted into his arms. He hugged you, really hugged you. “I’m sorry you had a hard day.” He pulled back and brought his hands to your face. For some reason, for some weird, strange reason, you smiled. The feeling of his thumbs on your cheeks absolutely flooded your mind with memories, and it was enough to make you want to forget that he ever did anything wrong. Sure, there was a pit in your stomach and you were still unbelievably sad, but if this is how he’s gonna act from now on, you don’t want to leave.

He kissed you and you were suddenly hyper aware that you had just thrown up less than 15 minutes ago. He leaned his forehead against yours and you were positive that he could feel the heat from your cheeks on his palms. “Dinners gonna be ready in like 5 minutes, okay?”

You nodded and he let you go. You turned towards the stairs and he was heading back to the kitchen, and he slapped your ass as you walked away, and you can’t believe it, but you laughed. When you got upstairs, you went into your bathroom and leaned against the counter. The shame that you felt for not standing up for yourself was intense. It weighed your heart down and made you dizzy. You almost couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror. You had to confront him about this, right? He would apologize and you would accept it and everything would be okay. But you couldn’t just not say anything. You met your own bloodshot eyes in the mirror. Aware of the taste of throw up in your mouth, you reached for your toothbrush.

That night, you ate Bradleys criminally delicious pasta and the two of you sat at the table for almost an hour just talking after you were done eating. After that, he suggested you start that show that the two of you had been meaning to watch. He turned the fireplace on and cuddled up with you on the couch, your dogs occasionally trying to make their way in between the two of you. As the night went on, you thought about what he had done less and less. You didn’t let yourself think about whether he just fucked that girl or if they loved each other. You tried your hardest not to dwell on the fact that all of this attention was just his guilt manifesting into real life.

When the episode ended, the two of you sat still in your spots on the couch. His hand was in your hair, and your arms were wrapped around him. You wondered what he was thinking about. You hoped it wasn’t her.

He grabbed your chin and turned your face towards him. “I love you, you know that right?” He asked, his voice was low and gravely. You sighed, looking in his eyes. He didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve the love you were desperate to give him. “Yes.” you replied. “I love you too.”

He kissed you slowly. It reminded you of the way he used to kiss you when the two of you still lived in neighboring apartments. It was so passionate, you could feel it. You kissed him right back, basking in the feeling of being wanted by him. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth and you hiked your leg up higher against him, he broke away with a smile. He lifted you up off the couch and you squealed. “Bradley!” You laughed “Put me down.”

He laughed with you and carried you up the steps. Halfway to your bedroom, you gave up trying to squirm out of his strong grip. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he held you tighter. Once the door to your room was swung open and you were tossed onto the bed, Bradley crawled on top of you. He kissed you again, but it was a different type of kiss. It was rougher, insatiable. The kind that made your mind foggy and your core heat up. His body was hot on top of yours and it felt so good but it was so hard to enjoy. He wasted no time pulling your sweatpants down, sitting up to pull them over your feet and throw them off the bed. He pulled his shirt over his head and, no matter how hurt you were or how mad you were at him, you could not deny how fucking sexy he is. His skin was tan and he looked like he was glowing from the hallway light reflecting off of him. His rough hands wrapped around your thighs as he adjusted himself in front of you. This undoubtedly made you so excited. Your heartbeat sped up as his mustache scratched your thighs. He nipped at the skin on your leg, making you squirm. He looked absolutely gorgeous in between your legs. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hooded. “You want me to be gentle or rough?”

As much as you wanted him rough, your heart needed him gentle. “Can you be gentle?”

“Of course I can, sweetheart.” He kissed the inside of your leg again. And gentle he was. He licked a slow stripe up your pussy, taking his sweet time. You couldn’t look away, and you had such a perfect view propped up on your elbows. When he started working on your clit, you had to drop your head back. He knew your body like the back of his hand. He knew what you liked, what you hated, how to make you squirm, how to make you cum in less than a minute. His dark curls were sticking to his forehead as he started to sweat. The grip on your thighs tightened, like he was pulling you closer. He was so far buried inside your pussy that his nose was going to be covered in your slick by the time he was done. He was stalling, you could tell. This was maybe his millionth time doing this, and he was giving you just enough to keep you on the edge, and he knew it. Even worse, he liked it.

“Please, Bradley.” You whined, letting your arms drop to your sides and falling onto your back. He shook his head into you, not relenting in the way he was licking you up, almost like he couldn't stop. You tried to grind into him, but his arms kept you in place.

It was almost like he could not get enough of you, which would honestly make sense. You genuinely couldn't pinpoint the last time he had done this for you. Well, done it and actually tried.

One of his hands unwrapped from around your thigh, coming to push his fingers inside you. “Oh my god.” You groaned. Now that his mouth had full focus on your clit, and his fingers were stuck inside of you curling upward, both of you knew you were close. “Bradley, oh my fucking god.”

His pace was steadily increasing, making your back arch completely off of the mattress. You could feel him smiling against you. Your orgasm all but crept up on you, starting off slow and then completely taking over your whole body. Eyes closed, your whole body pulsed, falling over you like warm water.

Inexplicably, at your highest peak, Jake Seresin wearing his dress whites came into your mind. And it made you cum harder. When you came to and realized what the fuck you just did, your eyes popped open and your face heated up. You couldn’t help but slap your hand over your mouth. You just came from your husband eating you out, and you thought about his best friend.

Bradley crawled back on top of you and you pulled your hand away from your mouth. He said nothing and kissed you. You could feel him panting and his chest heaving, yours was too. “Was that good?” He said an inch from your mouth, giving you a soft peck after.

“Mhmmm” Was all you could get out.

“Do you want more?” He said in between soft kisses. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

All you could do was nod.

He fucked you slow and sweet. He kissed you a million times and told you he loved you even more than that. Afterwards, he fell asleep with his head on your chest and your hands in his hair. His head moved up and down with your breathing, like the sun set and rose for you. His arms were wrapped around your torso, so you could barely reach your phone when you heard it buzz. Straining, you picked it up off your nightstand.

How’d it go?

The text made your stomach drop and subsequently knocked you back into reality. You can’t go on pretending like everything's okay because Jake knew. That girl is still out there, she knows. The man with his head on your chest knew. God knows who else knows about it. You turned your phone off and closed your eyes.

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penrose-quinn · 7 months ago

Text

Lost Generation

A breeze whistled between your footsteps, ambling in a slow, thoughtless pace that had him thinking both of you had all the time in the world, even if the road ahead was just another meandering path to a farewell. “You'd stay in Black Dragons for a long time, right?”

pairings: benkei | keizo arashi/reader ❁ background (oblivious) shinichiro sano/reader

content tags: companion piece prequel to green light and spin-off to couldn't tell. first gen black dragons ultraviolence era. gender neutral reader. summer coming-of-age ft. gangs. lots of bromance and bickering. mostly friendship. growing up together and growing apart. beach trip. preemptive grief. tw: violence (and glorification of violence), shady gang behavior, underage drinking and smoking, and minors getting tattoos. there's a weird age gap scene with college-aged women showing interest in someone younger, nothing sexual happens but still. everyone is 17-18 here.

a/n: like my waka fic, this is mostly platonic!first gen black dragons x reader but more benkei and bromance and beaches. also no one man-crushes harder than benkei lol. btw it's not necessary to read my other installments for this and lots of flashbacks interspersed in the plot!

couldn't tell ❁ green light ❁ read on ao3

From the highway to Chiba, it’s like all of you parted the sea on your motorcycles.

Benkei smelled salt everywhere. There was no end to the ocean that surrounded the road ahead, the industrial plants no more but distant daydreams back in Kawasaki, and then he realized he hadn’t been exposed to open water like this, swore to have never ridden a ferry in his life.

His heart was too landlocked in the city to care, but this was all Shin’s idea.

Said he wanted to go to a real beach, all white sand shores, shaved ice, and hot babes.

The journey was still more than an hour-long drive, and Benkei would love nothing more than to throw himself underwater right now. Takeomi wouldn’t stop ranting about the heat and truck traffic. Ignoring his tirade, Wakasa was tanner for baking under the sun. You’re almost caught speeding for badly needing a restroom break, which Shinichiro had to prevent along the way to Umihotaru.

The pitstop was short but unhurried. Takeomi was still at the register while Benkei and Shinichiro soaked up the frosty air of beverage coolers until the store manager told them off. Chewing gum, Wakasa waited with you outside the convenience store. Your gaze was elsewhere, drifting in the waves, and the trance went on upon arriving at Onjuku Beach, crowded in the summertime.

Benkei never got to know what was on your mind, riveted by a statue of two camel riders from a distance.

A water bottle was tapped on his arm, and after he exchanged his thanks, you asked him, “where do you think they’re going?”

“Who knows? The sea maybe,” he replied, uncapping the bottle for a drink and dumping the rest on his face, dribbling cold water all over his collar.

“There are showers here, you know.” Your lips quirked up amusedly, and then you pointed at the shoreline crested over with blue, radiant waves. “Or you can go over there.”

“Got excited.” Benkei grinned, finally shrugging off his open shirt and balling it up to wipe himself. The tattoos on his chest and arms flexed from the motion and it caught the curious eye of a child, building sandcastles. She wasn't old enough to turn them into a wall yet. “Aren’t you gonna swim too?”

“Maybe later. No one’s guarding our stuff,” you said, jerking your head at the beach blanket pile-dumped with bags, a haphazard mess. There's a sweaty t-shirt, a tube squirting a bit of sunscreen on the cloth, and some mixed garbage of snack wrappers and half-empty bottled drinks shoved inside a plastic bag.

Benkei cringed, about to comment, until he got a good look at you. Traded for your glasses was a pair of shades from the bargain bin, making you look like a poser, though with the way you quietly huddled and sat on the blanket, arms tucked to your chest, the obnoxious air dispelled. He joined you, ducking under the umbrella; yellow and blue pinstripes, like the ones rented by couples entwined under the shade. You scooted over to give him more room, your elbows brushing each other.

“Where are the others anyway?”

“Waka went somewhere, I don't know. Shin dragged Takeomi to, well,” a long, expectant sigh, “girls.”

You snorted. “It is a beach. Sure they’re trying to get their dicks wet too.”

Benkei laughed. You never withheld yourself for those two. Perhaps it came from knowing them since childhood.

“Hey, what are the odds? Maybe our weak king might have a chance this time.”

“Or come here crying, same old.” You already sound done though there's a sort of rough affection grating through your words, “Shin's a baby like that.”

“A baby?” Some crybaby who had Tokyo in the palm of his hand. Someone who Benkei had sworn to follow for the rest of his life.

“Yup. So how well do you take rejections?”

“Pretty bad. I’ll cry too if I had to lose someone that way. You?”

You mulled over it for a bit. “I don't know. I haven't confessed to anyone before.”

“Me neither.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Probably would’ve scared ‘em off before I could try.”

“You don't know that yet,” you refuted. “But I think you’ll fall for someone who's brave enough to let you try.”

His lips curled up at that. His vice-captain told him something similar after gaining the love of his now girlfriend, lucky bastard. “You know me that well?”

“Sure I do,” you said cheekily before tilting your head on one side, humming in thought. “At least I know it’d hurt a lot to lose someone like that . . .”

Benkei was unable to add more because it's just as you put it. He didn't mind listening to you most of the time. There's something revealing about your input that he hadn't taken into consideration himself.

Wakasa would've labeled him a blockhead unlike Takeomi who'd been wise enough to not slip aloud that Benkei wasn't the smartest in their group. It's not the reason why he’d been expelled from his first middle school and he didn't see it as a point of shame if he could smite some sense into anyone who thought otherwise.

Benkei just fancied himself a big picture kind of guy, preferring to focus on the broader strokes of something, but maybe that's why he valued your tangents. He wondered if wearing fake glasses helped with your attention to detail, even though he couldn't take you seriously in them.

You pushed up your shades and he sighed. Or in any tacky eyewear you own, really.

“You should talk to some girls,” you prompted suddenly, making him let out a huff, c’mon man, and you shrugged. “Or go surfing then. It's better than cooping yourself here with me.”

“Now you sound like you want me to go away.”

“Never. Just meant you should enjoy the beach while you can.”

“I enjoy being with you.”

A meek, baffled pause. He’d always caught you off guard with big statements like that, wondering if people say that enough to you other than Shinichiro.

You recovered with a simper. “Me too,” still awkward after reciprocating, you changed the subject, “it’d be so nice to swim . . .”

In an attempt to cool off, you're tugging the collar of your t-shirt to fan yourself but it's futile when sweat had already curled on the hairs from the nape of your neck. You hadn't changed into any swimwear yet, and then a more intrusive thought caught up to him.

“Yeah, we should go together.”

“Sure . . .” this time, you removed the stupid shades, your eyes sincere as they met his. “But just so you know, I won't be mad at you if you went ahead of me.”

Blinking, Benkei felt a bit misled by that, and before he could insist on waiting for you, you beat him to it.

“I’ll definitely follow after you till someone takes my place,” you reassured him, gazing back at the sea. “One of us has to stay behind.”

True to your word, you did catch up to him. Wakasa tailed after you from the shore, calf-deep into water.

"What are the two of you doing?" asked Benkei, wading towards you. The sun prickled his damp neck.

"Jellyfish hunting," you stated. "Waka agreed that if he gets stung by one, I get to piss on him. Or the other way around, whoever gets stung first."

When Benkei gawked at you, you offered with a straight face, "wanna join in too?"

Bemused and wide-eyed, Benkei turned his gaze to Wakasa.

"So you're that kind of guy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Wakasa wasn't really into the kinky stuff. Though for all his standoffishness, he was a lot smoother than what Benkei gave him credit for persuading you to come out here when the bastard had been better at ignoring a person as if they never existed. Or destroying them.

It's more amusing to see him sweat for something – someone adamant as you – which granted Benkei so many chances to sneak in not-so-subtle jabs at him in moments like this. Moments where everyone's dumb and careless and in love with their youth.

"I think I saw—fuck!"

You slipped, about to fall into water, until Benkei grasped the back of your collar and Wakasa caught you by the wrist. All of your shorts were wet from the splashing.

Your shades fell in an awkward drop and you craned your head up at them with a grateful grin, murmuring, “uh, just seaweed . . .”

This didn't deter you in your search. In fact, it made you more motivated. Benkei didn't tell you that there weren't any jellyfish in Onjuku Beach, so did Wakasa. They agreed that your efforts were sort of endearing.

Benkei asked Wakasa if he'd let you piss on him. He didn't answer for awhile until he settled for a shrug.

Sparing him a retort, Benkei didn't repress a chuckle.

Benkei met you when he hurtled himself headfirst into a fight that wasn't his.

It was yours. Though it just didn't sit well with him that those Kodo Rengo pricks had the gall to step into their territory so the enemy of my enemy was my friend and he went along with that logic when he abruptly joined in with the impact of a boulder.

You didn't seem like you were a part of any gang at all. Just a random middle schooler but a target regardless. Not an easy one, that's for sure. You fought like you'd been at it for years, all blood and grit.

You were strong and Ragnarok happened to be in search of that kind of strength so he figured he should recruit you first before someone else did.

The thing was you weren't just a target when you earned quite a reputation, tied to your older brother who was the leader of a gang that ruled Kanto with an iron-fist from some glorious past. His seniors never shut up about it, him and them being a part of something that used to make them invincible.

Someone who you despised and even with the proposition of taking him down after he’s released from his jail sentence, you'd still decline his offer, not giving it much thought. "I'm sort of helping out my friend. Said something about making a gang."

“Ah, so you're already in his gang . . .”

“No, he just always gets into a lot of trouble! If I’m not there, who’s gonna protect him?”

“Protect, huh.”

But that meant he'd have to fight you too one of these days. You didn't tense over his reply, neither a threat nor an insult.

Behind those glasses, there's an edge to your eyes. Your brother's eyes, but they weren't cold and wretched.

Benkei couldn’t recall the last time anyone had insistently called him Arashi-san or had bought him a steamed meat bun out of politeness, even though he’d known for years that polite people would rather not hold his gaze, passing over him in an attempt to shun what didn’t fit in the mold of what defined their monotonous, undisturbed lives.

Regardless, he’s not one to refuse free food and taking another bite of his meat bun, he looked at you closely.

You were terrifying but you seemed sort of nice. In an uptight way.

So Benkei suggested that you and your friend should just join his gang and you blinked at him before wheezing out a short, honest laugh, claiming that he had already set out his dream.

Learning he never equaled you in a fight, it only registered to Benkei that he's a weak guy because strength dictated everything in this brutal side of life. Strength like yours and his. When Benkei asked how he was going to lead a gang, you stood against the brilliant glare of the evening and he thought he saw a glimpse of it.

You smoldered in those colors, one he likened to glory. There was promise in your words.

"You'll see," you said, staring back at him from your shoulder with a smile. "You probably haven't met anyone like him."

The red sun fell on the name from your lips.

Sano Shinichiro.

There’s no history behind his name like yours and it intrigued him so much that he agreed to meet him so that he could beat him up in a fair fistfight, bringing up that whoever's the victor would have you in his gang.

Benkei didn’t lose but the favor went to Shinichiro just because he was the most interesting guy he'd ever met.

He had never met a man who won from his losses. How could one be so triumphant and pathetic at the same time, Benkei didn't know. Though he understood what you meant when you stood by him.

Shinichiro held the things closest to him sacredly and once he called you his friend, he wouldn’t give you up for anything. Benkei didn’t complicate himself to define what kind of relationship you had. All he had to know was how he fought for you against him, against rival gangs, and even against your brother.

Everyone held him in reverence for being a pillar of the delinquent world. Except for you.

Your gaze for him was more familiar, softer, though unlike Takeomi, you disagreed with him in too many instances about his reckless lifestyle and the proposal as one of his captains. Shinichiro would come back to you a second time, third, fourth, perhaps more as to measure the desire to have you join them officially. They were convinced he'd be on his knees if this went on though he held up strong in a battle of fortitude.

Both of you, however, just happened to have the thickest skulls when you butt heads over each other's stubbornness.

"Of course, you're going to be a part of the Black Dragons. Hell, you're even a founding member!"

"You already got what you want! I don't see why you still have to drag me in your gang too."

"I thought we'd do this together? Why not go all the way when you could be my—"

"Should we break them up?"

Wakasa was the one who suggested it after mentioning that you looked like you're about to duke it out. Sensing the escalating tension too, Benkei was about to step in until Takeomi shook his head, cigarette in his hand.

He assured them that you wouldn't hit him for something like that. Another drag of smoke and a sigh.

"Just give 'em time."

Everyone split on a big bowl of mango shaved ice.

Two of you were against red beans mixed in at the suggestion of matcha flavor. It wasn't as fun when the syrup couldn't stain your tongues, but it was refreshingly cold and milky sweet when swimming had failed you under the afternoon scorch of 2 p.m.

Prioritizing dessert didn't ruin your appetites for chatter over lunch: comparing sunburns, college girls in bikinis that were way out of everyone's league, and then a callout about Takeomi having his hair tied back into a bun because it actually drew attention. The scar gave him an edge and inflated his vanity. Some more waffling about what women were into, even though no one probably knew what they're talking about.

You found it weird because they're older than the rest of you and Takeomi brought up that you weren't when you had that dragon tattoo.

“It's not for showing off to have a hookup.”

“Then what’s the tattoo about anyway?” asked Wakasa and his sudden interest had you flustered.

“Yeah, tell us about that.” Benkei smirked with him, cornering you into a hot seat.

“Bet you cried like a pussy when you had it,” retorted Takeomi.

“Bet you are a pussy when you don’t even have one.”

“Hey, you little—"

“Anyway,” Shinichiro cut in, clearing his throat. He plucked a piece of karaage dipped in mayo from your plate because he's the last one waiting for his food and it’d already been thirty minutes. He was nibbling on Benkei’s fries awhile ago. All of you agreed to feed him out of pity. “Why do you have one?”

“You already know!” you hollered, bumping your fist on the table from the betrayal.

“Huh? Don’t remember,” he feigned obliviousness. “I wasn’t with you when you had it done.”

“You’re still sulking about that?”

“Whatever. C’mon, just tell us—”

“Number 105!”

“Finally.” Shinichiro stood up, taking his stub with him before shooting back at everyone, “you better not start anything without me!”

He headed to the popular food stall that had the longest line in the area. Probably was the reason why he was in the mood for grilled eel.

“So how long did you have it?” went on Wakasa, casually chewing on a yakitori stick like a toothpick.

“Hm, it’s been four weeks, I think? It isn’t that sensitive anymore.”

“That’s fine. It’s the same for me when I had mine the first time,” Benkei chimed in.

“It's a hassle to cover up in school, though.”

“Aren’t you committing yourself more to the gang?”

Takeomi interrupted, scrutinizing you under his hard stare. You returned it with an unblinking one.

“Nah, I’m just attached.” You shrugged before leaning back on your palms, smiling a little. “Figured it was kinda obvious.”

On the day Benkei brought you to the tattoo parlor, he thought the dragon was botched when it's facing the wrong direction.

He’d been more indignant about it than you were, not even realizing his voice raised in complaint, until you touched his wrist and censured him for being too loud, apologizing to the frightened artist for the trouble and paying for his service.

He was a new hire, a nervous wreck of face piercings, from somewhere. The tattooing business was still the underground kind and getting hold of an artist often came through word of mouth, shunned for the craft as much as the one whose skin had been inked. It always ran deeper for Benkei. He was ten when he first had his on the cusp of his shoulder until they proudly bloomed all over his chest, surviving his adolescence.

Even behind the saran wrap, the detailed blackwork on the tattoo was impressive, curving around your right calf like a painting. Still . . .

"It's fine. You're looking at me like I'm kinda lame now."

"You're not." Then he gestured his hand at the fallen dragon. You told him before that he articulated his emotions more with his body. Everything around him became askew for it. Passersby twist around a different route from his direction. "Just—it just looks off, you know? Dragons should be flying up and all."

You scoffed. "So you're upset about some bit of symbolism? Yeah, Inoe-san got it wrong but you didn’t have to be an asshole because—"

"I'm upset that you regret this and you can't take it back anymore," he admitted, head hanging low. "And I brought you there . . ."

"I don't want to take it back,” you said, unrepentant of how adults would appraise you for once: a kid with a tattoo, a kid heading nowhere good in life.

There's a war in your eyes. He’s more ashamed of himself for doubting you than letting you down.

Benkei was damn sure there wasn’t an inflatable he hadn’t stepped on or an umbrella he left untipped.

They were scattered everywhere but the beach stretched wide enough for a stroll to not feel so cramped. He’s just avoiding the sunbathers and families who were spread all over the area, waiting to watch the fireworks display tonight.

Because of that, he joined in with you and Takeomi, retreating somewhere in the parking lot.

Benkei didn’t often see you two alone, much less without Shinichiro defusing an argument, though he found a rare solidarity between you smoking together. You were nodding. Takeomi's arms were crossed after sharing a few words with you, stopping short when Benkei stepped in after coming back from the restroom.

He asked if he disrupted something and Takeomi answered that he wasn't, stomping his cigarette with his shoe. You followed after him when your eyes narrowed at the strangers emerging before you in serpent-emblemed uniforms, some gang from Kansai judging from the accents. Jormungandr.

You seemed more annoyed than anxious about getting jumped. Takeomi didn't mind an introduction through a bloodbath because it’d been a long while since anyone challenged Black Dragons and Benkei had already charged forward for the brawl.

It ended with you.

Jormungandr’s leader met his defeat with a kick so high the last thing he saw was the dragon soaring up.

Your sandal flew off, landing on the heap of mangled bodies that had been dealt by Benkei. His knuckles still smarted for being outnumbered. Takeomi was just as scuffed-up. With his hair down and disheveled, it made his face more severe after pressing a warning on the leader’s hand with his newly lit cigarette.

Don't mess with us again, trash. The extra measure was for insurance, but there's a cruel streak to his apathy for letting skin burn. Benkei had seen him done worse. You didn't speak against it after overhearing a threat on Shinichiro's life.

Sensing another presence lurking near you, you swung your leg up and Wakasa reacted fast enough to sidestep away, a hairbreadth close.

Sadly, your foot missed his face.

He whistled. “Nice reflexes.”

“Shit, I could’ve gotten you! Stop coming up behind me like that!”

“No.”

“You three were taking so long. Figured we should check up on ya,” said Shinichiro, strolling towards them amidst the battle; fallen adversaries on his feet. He acknowledged Benkei and Takeomi with a nod, and then picked up your sandal when he approached you. “We should've come sooner, though.”

“You would’ve missed out the action anyway.” The insult wasn't without a light, teasing note, and Shinichiro didn't take it personally, letting you snatch the sandal from him. “We handled it pretty well by ourselves, don't you think?”

“Brutally,” he sighed, unable to hide that disarming grin slowly peeling up his mouth. “You look like hell. Let's get you all patched up—”

A sudden, fluttering burst of light from the distance.

Shocked, all of you looked up at the sky.

“The fireworks . . .”

“Oh wow, it's starting now.”

“It’s still going on. Let’s make a run for it!”

It hadn't been long since Benkei told you about Ragnarok and you taught him what nostalgia actually meant.

Natsukashii. The end of summer, he believed, sweltering with memories under his childhood sun in Oizumi, until you scrawled the characters on the back of a gym flier and kindly corrected him, oh, it's natsuku, not natsu. As in to become, you know, attached.

懐かしい

Your ballpoint pen lingered on the heart radical, lacking the character of a season.

Benkei wasn't chagrined about it; he's enlightened.

The end of summer, you repeated, finding it more fitting, and pondered on how summers had to die like sunsets as you scraped the horizon with fingers in the color of twilight.

Then he asked how much you were well-versed in Norse mythology.

You shrugged. "I'm more familiar with apocalypses. Why'd you name your gang after something like that?"

“It’s inspiring,” said Benkei, omitting the part that he wasn't a founding member and the true meaning of its relevance might've been lost to him when Ragnarok sounded more like a gang that was meant to bring destruction to the gods from an older generation. “The kind that could define our era.”

“You guys are so obsessed with that,” you pointed out, but not to mock him. It’s just a measured observation. “Shin never shuts up about it. Takeomi goads him on because it's getting in his head too. Even Waka wants to be a part of it and you . . .”

“You don't want it too?”

“I just don't get it,” you blurted. “What's an era all about anyway?”

“You could say it’s how we want to be remembered,” he said it with his chest. It's how we want to show people how we fought and lived.

Benkei didn’t understand why you wanted to be invisible. Or keep up with all these social pretences to be accepted.

When he asked you why you wore fake glasses, you didn't give him a reason. You just shot back why he had his eyebrows shaved instead. He found the exchange amusing, concluding that nobody probably had the balls to ask both of you about it.

He couldn't help but smirk how you got a bit defensive from his observation as if you had never stood out around them.

You're the only person he’s ever known to be conflicted over the dichotomy of your life. He’d seen you enjoy listening to the rap mixtapes of his bootleg CDs, stress over college applications more than fights, denounce delinquency and yet.

It took him a long while to figure out why you looked so out of place in the gang but it still felt as if you belonged there. The otherness spoke to him, really. Guys like him just couldn't seem to find their place in anything after falling through the cracks and it hadn't always been as grandiose as it was until Shinichiro granted them a reason.

Not a lot of them gave a crap about being honorable but they sure did when it felt good to be a part of something greater than themselves.

It's the stuff of legends, our era.

Takeomi said it with pride and Benkei couldn't have worded it better himself. He glanced back at you, no longer giving in to chase when you let them go on without you, a fond, distant smile on your lips.

Wakasa sprinted ahead of them. Shinichiro still had a slight limp from getting it broken months ago so he fell behind until Takeomi turned to him and offered him his back, waving at him to get on and make it quick.

Despite them joining forces, Takeomi wasn't all that strong or fast for both of them and no one could ever beat Wakasa in a footrace, but they ran, howling out wild laughter as if they won anyway.

Benkei slowed down to your pace, walking with you. “So attached, eh?”

You blinked at him before letting out a chuckle. “Well, yeah.” You stretched out your tattooed leg a bit. “I took it quite literally too . . .”

He was distracted by the startlingly tender expression on your face, your lashes lowered, longer, until he snapped out of it and nodded.

“Benkei.”

“What?”

“Would you hate me if I told you that I'll quit the gang?”

“No—” The word slipped, and there was something about the urgency that felt like a tug, a step forward. Calmer, this time, “no, not at all.”

You registered his answer for a minute, too quiet next to him. He realized he should back away a bit, collecting himself to offer the reassurance you probably needed to hear more than he did.

“Hey. Whatever decision you're going with, just know we're all rootin' for ya.” He gave your shoulder a pat and felt himself unwind a breath the moment you untensed from his hand. “You probably have your reasons. Good, I hope?”

It took so much from him to not demand why but you're smiling at him again. Maybe a little sad, a little scared, but it's still your smile, something regained. He’d hate for it to go away.

“Yeah, thanks. That means a lot to me,” and then hesitant, you opened up more, “think Shin will hate me?”

“Idiot, he won't,” Benkei replied. “His heart's too big for him and he cries like a baby for it. You think that's the kind of guy that'll hate anyone?”

“No.”

“There you go.”

“But it's just that I haven't told him yet. I haven't told anyone, just you,” you confessed, wistfully glancing down at your tattoo.

“You know, I was actually terrified when we went to the tattoo parlor. Like what if something goes wrong? There's always something. I couldn't go by myself. Yeah, the tattoo didn't turn out perfect but I like it. I'm glad you were with me when I had it. Then Shin made this stupid tantrum over why I didn't bring him along, but he got over it when he was all giddy and excited over the tattoo. Cheered me up a lot when stuff at home was . . . ” a short breath sucked through your teeth. “Seeing him like that matters so much. I want him to always be like that . . .”

“You'd stay in Black Dragons for a long time, right?”

“Yeah, it's my everything now.” Benkei stared at the dragon on your skin, and then back at you. “And even if you leave, you're still a part of it.”

You huffed at that and looked onward longingly. "Jeez, you sound like him."

“He isn't wrong about that,” he said, following after your gaze where everyone was, waiting and waving and yelling at the two of you to hurry up; behind them, the fireworks sprung like a flurry of stars in the midsummer night.

It's a moment he felt in his chest too.

Guess we're all just attached.

Unfortunately, the fireworks ended too soon.

All of your stuff was left untouched while the people were already packing up and departing from the beach.

They ignored your wounds. More plasters were bought from a cornershop nearby when your first-aid kit wouldn't suffice. Some schmucks brought bats and brass knuckles though there wasn't any serious damage on your end, even less serious on boasting each of your body counts. Whoever ratted out your location was still an unresolved issue, but your vacation wasn't totally ruined.

Shinichiro was into the idea of heading to Choshi after learning it's Wakasa's hometown. There were grunts of protest though his whim was met with little to no resistance after the downturn of events and something about the spontaneity was exciting.

Whatever heart to heart they had, Benkei couldn't fault Wakasa for giving in to Shin’s persuasion as much as he did when he agreed to merge their gangs a lifetime ago. Embark on something new together in a last minute excursion, not knowing what to discover in your destination.

Your motorcycles were left in the parking lot to stay overnight. There were few passengers on board and three of you were already snoozing away after switching to a new train at Naruto Station. The landscape shifted behind the window; a nocturnal outline of bedtowns and cabbage fields. Wakasa's face was neutral all throughout.

Benkei broke the silence.

“I didn't know you grew up here.”

“Once,” Wakasa shrugged, looking less like a mystery. “Didn’t feel like something I should bring up anyway.”

Wakasa regarded Chiba like it's foreign land and there's no place for him here. Benkei couldn't imagine him coming home to parents – anyone.

With their paths colliding the way they did, he had always assumed they were orphaned in Tokyo, meant to split it together or conquer more for themselves. It didn't matter which with all the devastation they had caused, leaving a red trail of history in their wake, and sometimes that's enough proof of their existence than a birth certificate.

Wakasa never asked Benkei about his past. There's more of it branded in their mutual blows and bruises. Benkei knew the brunt of his kicks, his temper. His tendency to be a loyal asshole. How he had the worst sweet tooth ever because, of course, all of you came on this long journey just for him to lead you in a dango shop. The room inside was shabby but cozy in a lived-in sort of way; the menu unvaried.

The old lady who owned the place gladly obliged, fanning fresh skewers on the grill, after Wakasa approached her with your orders.

Look at you, being a good grandson, Shinichiro joked about their overfamiliar interaction, and Wakasa quipped back that yeah, he's sure to rebel and get an earful like him with his elders.

Curious, you asked Wakasa if he'd been here before. He was chewing his dango thoughtfully when he offered each of you a stick, glazed in sweet soy sauce, and told you he hadn't with no sense of nostalgia. Just craving for some.

Inubosaki had coarser sand, a harsh, rocky coastline. A white lighthouse stood atop the cliffside, reminiscent of a twelve-pointed beacon that once ruled East Kanto.

The inspiration didn’t go unnoticed. The old monument had been relegated into a tourist attraction but it still glowed in the dark.

It’d been the one thing that seemed awake after passing a row of shops on your way here; most closed for the night, others for good. There were places in town that looked rundown, abandoned, similar to the ones in Tokyo. Black spots of a failing economy.

Takeomi was the most informed about how the country was in deep shit under debt deflation. He asked Wakasa for spare change and the Sanrio-themed gachapon machine almost ate his 150 yen coins until he cranked it up again, coughing up a keychain souvenir. Benkei guessed it's for his sister. It's your second time napping, sitting next to him in the waiting shed with your head on his arm.

Shinichiro didn't wake you after catching sight of the bruise on your jaw, exposed by the dull lamplight, as if realizing how he could have missed that, among other things.

Benkei sighed. There's a heaviness hunkering down his shoulders. A part of him wondered if he told Shin now, could he convince you to change your mind?

“You uncomfortable there?” asked Shinichiro.

“Nah, I’m good.” Benkei replied, as your warmth curled on his side. Sleep made you clingy.

He wasn't the only one terrible at subtlety. Shinichiro perched on the space next to you when he couldn't steal you for himself this time. He’s got it all wrong, though.

Benkei didn't like sitting on what they would still lose.

The train station wouldn't be open until a few more hours.

Shinichiro’s cheap hair gel failed his pompadour, flattening his hair over his ears, as he leaned on his fist, dazed, with something unspeakably raw to him.

Deep down, he must know there's a future in his dream but humble as always, he’d deny this and nod off to you for having the superpower to carry and crush it. He had unshakeable faith in the way you wielded the future. It wouldn't change how he still saw you everyday. It's probably what gave you that ability in the first place.

Benkei had this urge to wake you and tell you that you’d be okay, but suppressed it once Shinichiro spoke up, a note somber.

“I don't want to go back yet.”

“Why?”

“This is a nice change of scenery,” which was bullshit because his boredom was painfully obvious.

“Sure, the ocean again.”

“Okay, okay, I didn't think things out before wandering here,” he admitted, huffing an amused exhale under his breath. "But maybe I just wanted to escape and drag you all with me somewhere faraway.”

“You runnin' away from something?”

“Not really,” he murmured, stalling for another minute to brood over it. “We’ll get busier soon. It sucks. Does that count?”

“Things’ll just go back to normal,” Benkei said without withholding his sympathy. “The beach was fun, though.”

Shinichiro agreed, meandering on bringing his siblings along someday because he rarely spent his summer without them. He got away a lot more with you guys, gulping down cheap beer wherever, getting all this sand in his underwear. There was still other stuff you hadn't tried yet, if only you had more time.

“There's just this sinking feeling like something’s gonna catch up to me, don't know what it is, when, but—” his gaze landed at you, him, a flit of a smile on his lips, before staring at those endless waves, as if all of you had finally reached the end of the world.

The sunrise bled through the horizon, and Shinichiro watched listlessly. "Whatever happens, I want to be here for awhile."

In the early hours of the morning, his bike swept past 80 km/h on the road; not a lot of cars and cyclists, busybodies.

The motions didn't stop until everyone had to pull over at a gas station nearby a remote industrial area in Ichihara. Factories still gave off strange smells no one could recognize, but Benkei had already revved up his engine to flee. It didn't matter anymore in another city.

The world woke up a bit after a mile while all of you were dragging yourselves through the travel tolls of yesterday. One moment it's a blame game, and then it snapped into a "screw this" and "this is stupid" next to a punched vending machine because you were incapable of deciding where to eat in a testy mood.

A common trait, despite having uniquely different, unbearable personalities. Aside from the energy drinks, Benkei's gut felt queasy from the mean, collective silence until you reached the last stretch of Tokyo Bay Aqua-Line. It's a miracle how everyone could stand each other, sometimes.

But you're still driving together to the path, the multiple crossings crowded by people from all walks of life, striving to make theirs a little fuller. The urban streets blurred after each turn. Somehow riding back to Tokyo almost didn't feel real. The day wasn't over yet but it felt as if he's missing something before it's gone.

Benkei didn't know how to explain it, eyes on you marveling at a wall graffiti of profanities from an unfinished construction site. Shinichiro was repeating what he was saying but it's left unheard, lost to the shrill of the track signal. The sun hung high and hot while all of you waited for the train behind the railway gate.

There's a faster route to Shibuya, but none of you took the expressway. The road back home was long and unwinding.

a/n: title is inspired from the same namesake, referring to a whole generation of japanese youth who were gravely affected by japan's lost decade in the 1990s to early 2000s. first gen bd is in that group but ironically, they were at the top of the delinquent world at the time until their eventual disbandment.

#benkei x reader #keizo arashi x reader #shinichiro sano x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyo revengers #keizo arashi #shinichiro sano #wakasa imaushi #takeomi akashi #first generation black dragons #pen writes #i'm posting this now or i'm gonna regret not to later t.t

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autumnbrambleagain · 12 days ago

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Do you have any other literary (I think thats the right term in this context?) works publicly viewable? Proselytize is still kicking around my mind and I find the way you write fascinating

Long answer no with a yet, short answer yes with a but!

Most of my actual serious effort-works aren't online because I just honestly don't know what to do with them. My biggest is a story called the story with ruth in it, which, before revisions, was sitting at 337,000 words. I started that back in 2011 and did NOT have a solid plan until the end, so the early sections especially ended up being a super sloppy mess.

I'm still in the process of going through and kind of rewriting it from the base up to be a lot more internally coherent! Some of the writing is 10+ years old in there and not nearly as good as my current stuff, but at its core it's pretty decent! It deals with a lot of what Proselytize would in different scales: what it means to have an outsized amount of power and be able to affect the world with almost no consequences and how fucked up that ends up being. While that was a side-theme in Proselytize it's the main theme there.

I have no idea what on earth to do with it when I'm done with my rewrite because it's going to end up at over 350,000 words and it isn't fandom-related so I don't know if Ao3 is a good place for it (i know you can put original works up there but also they say to not do that so like ? ? ?) but i have no illusions of getting something this weird published so I might just put it online somewhere if we all live that long!

I have a bunch of scattered storysnippets on my furaffinity (obvious obligatory warning about linking to the furry porn website) but the problem with that is they're very much scattered bits and also some of them are a lot more darker than Proselytize or more X-rated and also none of them really ever got finished (i'm very serious about the darker warning my gallery has some of that old school ultraviolence and what-have-you the deeper back in the past you go into it (we've gone through like 5 different character arcs but we keep the same furaffinity so you go back far enough and it's essentially a different person's gallery after certain points))

the problem is, i can like. i can doodle. i am not an artist. and people on furaffinity mostly care about 1: furry porn art, and 2: see 1. so most of the projects i have on there kind of stall out once i start getting diminishing returns of like, 4 people looking at something i spent hours on writing. ive recently just given up on making stuff for FA for a while in frustration.

especially since, like, if i DONT doodle something as a "cover image" for a story upload, it gets like, 80% less views, which translates from like 30 people looking at it to 4 people looking at it.

BUT.

i still stand by Yhelm's Story in there which isn't complete (because, again, writing for an audience of 4 is kind of depressing) but which is a fun bunch of mess about a local crimedog and her sex-shifting songferret partner dealing with the consequences of their life of organized crime. Hits with themes of family abandonment, generational trauma, romances that you know are a bad idea but you do it anyway, racism, trying to not be the bad guy while being the bad guy, and existing in a really fucking weird fantasy world which is normal to everyone but the reader.

her overall gallery is here (linking to the second page of it) but to actually read it chronologically it you would have to go to the back of the gallery and read from the back forward and there's also just a lot of doodles mixed in. a lot of the writing is in the image descriptions. like a lot of the images in her gallery are just basically chapter-cover-images to trick people into clicking and WOOPS. now there's a story you're scrolling through.

it's not really very navigation friendly but that's furaffinity unfortunately!

watch this space (tumblr) for announcements on future writing projects i guess tho!

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katrinasis · 9 months ago

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ideally slick should have linked up with B2 DD and CD and tried to make The Midnight Crew Minus One (rip HB) but ultimately fails miserably because he is incapable of realizing that the two goons he collected are not in fact the guys he spent several centuries developing relationships with. slick is like “hey droog i mean diamonds droog i mean diamonds dignitary i mean diamonds droog i mean dignitary. do you maybe want to do a bit of the old ultraviolence together and then get super drunk and after that beat the shit out of each other until we are both bleeding out in the gutter but we still help each other get home anyway and then later you can stop me from committing random acts of self destruction. doesnt that sound fun lol” and DD is like “slick i do not know you”

#i imagine that DD would eventually dip to hang out with B1 jack instead in the hopes he is less weird #this is because jack is Vriska and slick is (Vriska). but such is only revealed to you in 5000 level courses #yells at cloud #homestuck #spades slick #diamonds droog

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avallon · 2 years ago

Text

It Could Be Sweet

Kishibe x fem!reader

A/n: first of all, I would like to thank @vilsoo for letting me participate in this project, the Ultraviolence Collab, I'm a little nervous because it's my first participation in a collaboration and also, because English is not my native language, I would like to apologize for some grammar errors that may appear, I have proofread but still some error may have escaped. This is based on the song Pretty When You Cry by Lana Del Rey

Hope you like it, please like and reblog if you like it, thank you <3

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: Canon!AU, female reader, smut, age gap (reader is in her 20s and kishibe is in his 50s), blood, alcohol, angst, kishibe sucks at romance, 18+, minors DNI

Summary: “Everything is so easy for you, as simple as breathing.”

"I need you."

Kishibe had never said that to anyone.

The words sounded so strange coming out of his mouth.

But Kishibe never before in his life uttered such sincere words.

Kishibe was used to women, they were great, all he needed to do was smile at some girl in a bar or, on the worst days, take a few walks in the red light district, and walk into the door of the first smiling face that blew him a kiss. But that was only on days when work had sucked.

He already knew through the rumbles in the corridors that a new hunter was about to be hired, he just hoped they didn't throw the rookie behind his back, he had just trained Himeno and sent her to the front line, and, at the moment, everything what he wanted was just to drink whiskey in his office, and wait for the calamity that awaited him day after day.

But as soon as he stepped into the firm's building, he was told that Makima was waiting for him in her office.

And then, in that sterile office, and with Makima smiling behind her desk, he saw you; nothing special, just a plain girl, not the slightest bit of a hunter's profile, with your crisp uniform and your hands behind your back, your head down as a sign of respect and subservience, a little afraid to look him in the eye, you had probably already heard of his reputation there.

Kishibe snorted with impatience.

“I have more things to do, I won't waste my time babysitting. Send her to Himeno.”

And he was already leaving the room when Makima gently pulled him by the shoulder, leading him to the far corner of the office, away from the newcomer's ears.

“Kishibe-san.” Makima gave him one of her gentle, hollow smiles. “I need to inform you that the orders came from above and we are in no position to deny orders from a superior, and well.” She cast a polite look at the newcomer. “The rookie showed capacity in the interview and a willpower that is very rare in young hunters nowadays, we want to test all that determination in the best way; on the front lines and with the best hunter, so she will knows for sure if her determination will remain the same and she will be useful to the organization.”

And with that, Kishibe just looked at you and motioned for you to follow him.

And maybe that was his first mistake.

***

You were a good girl, shy but good, and by 'good', Kishibe meant the sweetest sense of the word.

“Crying already?” he said, just in your second week of training, opening the flask of whiskey and watching the blood that oozed from the cut on your collarbone and wet your white tank top, marking your breasts.

“Sorry, Master.” you sniffled and then tried to get up from the ground, passing a bloody hand across your nose and putting yourself in the fighting position again.

"How old are you?" he wanted to know.

“Twenty-four, sir.” you replied dutifully, being taken aback when Kishibe yanked on your wrist, bringing you straight into the sole of his shoe that hit your chin squarely.

“Slow reflexes.” he warned. "Any second of distraction counts as hours of head start for a devil."

You spit blood, looking at the floor, you felt that your head was going to explode in two pieces, the air had been lacking for a few seconds and your elbows had been scraped by the fall, you tried to get up but your arms gave way, not supporting the weight of your body. You stared in shock at the amount of blood lying beside you, but the shock turned to worry when Kishibe's shoes took your line of vision.

"Here." you saw a handkerchief held out to you as your gaze rose. "Come on, kid, if I'd kicked it real hard you wouldn't even be up to tell the story."

"Thanks." you thanked him in a nasal voice, taking the handkerchief and placing it over your sore and throbbing bloody nose.

Kishibe helped you up and sit on a bench.

"I'm sorry-"

“Stop apologizing.” he cut you off and looked at you, this time seeming to really see you. “You're trying, aren't you?” and watched your flickering, watchful eyes. “So keep going, stop thinking you won't make it or that you owe me an apology for failing a task, I don't want your apologies, I want the best you have to offer me. And it still wouldn't be enough. I want to see you enter this court without fear of me. Next week we will train in an open field.” and saying this he got up and walked towards the entrance to the court, stopping at the door and turning his head towards you. “Would you be up for dinner out?” he asked in his usual monotonous, drawling voice.

You gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise, followed by a quick nod.

"Right. But first, go to the infirmary and take care of it.” he pointed to the cut on your collarbone that was still bubbling blood.

When he realized it, he had already invited you to eat somewhere, and he immediately found it strange. Usually he didn't feel sorry for the rookies he trained, no, with you it wasn't a feeling of pity, but something more drawn to duty, perhaps the duty Kishibe felt to himself, at that moment, to have you close to him without that bloody nose and that tension you radiated from being around him. He wanted you to feel comfortable with him.

Shit.

“Fuck-!” you moaned timidly against his ear, squirming in pleasure as you felt his fingers curling skillfully inside your wet cunt, your hands gripping his rigid shoulders tightly, your back between the entrance wall of your apartment and his body, your breasts against his chest.

"I barely got my fingers in and you're all wet already." he whispered against your neck, not resisting the temptation to lick that piece of skin, and taking advantage of his free hand to grope your breast. “Sassy kid, do you have the hots for me?”

You didn't respond to the taunt, too embarrassed to even look at him. You hid your face against his neck, too lost in the feeling of pleasure he provided you, making you completely forget about the boss and subordinate relationship that you should follow to the fullest extent.

“Look at me, kid.” he commanded in a soft growl, cupping your chin, pulling your face up and making you look at him, he needed to see your eyes, your sweet eyes and full of delight. “Did you want me from the start?”

You tried to lower your head, but his grip on your chin wouldn't allow it, so you closed your eyes and bit your lip.

"Say it." he ordered.

“Y-Yes, I wanted you from the first time I saw you.” you echoed silly.

“Good girl.” he whispered, taking his hand out of your pants, licking his fingers and pulling your face, kissing you passionately.

“Ouch!” you moaned against his mouth, pulling away and holding your bruised nose, looking at the bandage on your collarbone - which still hurt a lot, and gave him a playful look, which he reciprocated by taking your hand and bringing it to the hard volume in his pants, then he gently kissed the bandage, paralyzing you for a few seconds.

Kishibe gasped as your trembling hands unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants.

He's never been as hungry for a woman as he was for you.

And no, his intention was never to have sex with you when he asked you out to dinner, but once again he had to blame it on that uncomfortable feeling he had towards you. And then, to make matters worse, you had only had two cans of beer and that was enough for you to let go, he liked it at first, he liked it even more when you invited him, laughing, to your apartment for coffee and, by finally, he sent common sense to hell when you couldn't unlock your door and bit your lip, smiling at him in a slurred voice. “Do you want to spend the night? I can make coffee in the morning.”

"Screw this!" he whispered, opening the door and pulling you in by the waist, kissing your open mouth that panted for him.

***

You were so young.

Sitting on a bench in the park, his canteen of drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he watched you while you bought a hot dog, coming back with a smile on your face, it was after one in the afternoon and you had been complaining of hunger since eleven .

“Patrols are like that.” he had said.

He had approved you in training, those crazy weeks of hard training during the day and even more grueling sex at night. Once you had sex for the first time, he couldn't do without your young, healthy body. A good girl, he thought, as he thrust into you, with strength and an absurd desire to consume you, you looked so fragile, already exhausted from a full day of training and covered in the bruises he had inflicted on you, and in that moment, giving it to him and being perfect at holding it, sticking out your wet tongue at him or staring at him with your eyes full of a feeling that made him uneasy.

He destroyed you on the training ground and in your bed.

You were the toy that refused to break, you pushed yourself to your limits for him, refusing to leave him with nothing.

“Inside, please.” you stammered, burying your fingers against the roots of his hair, forcing him to look at you, he was about to come, already pulling his cock out of you to come on your breasts, one of his favorite spots.

Both of you were drenched in sweat, Kishibe was thrusting fast and deep, your favorite time when having conventional vanilla-style sex.

"What?" he growled, panting, resisting the temptation to cup your breasts, glistening with sweat, which swayed with his erratic movements, his gaze arranging for the scar that was marked on your collarbone, marbled into your skin, the cut he gave you, as if it were his signature on you.

“Your cum, I want it inside me, p-please.” you closed your eyes when you felt him touch your sweet spot.

Feeling like he was about to fall apart, Kishibe thrust his tongue inside your mouth, kissing you as he came, deliciously, inside you.

It was like he was going to melt.

***

"Stop this." he ordered in a low tone.

“Screw you.” you returned, sniffling, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

You were in a residential neighborhood, more specifically in the house of a family, the police had called you after reporting a murder case involving devils; the parents were away on work and the children, a boy and a girl, were at home doing their homework when they were attacked by a hungry devil, who tore them apart and devoured them in a matter of minutes.

As much as you'd been at this job for months, cases like this were hard to digest.

“Your reports are very accurate, as always.” said Makima, sitting behind her desk, looking at the paperwork, she put the pile down and looked at Kishibe. “Say, Kishibe-san, does the girl have the aptitude to work in Division 4?”

The question didn't surprise him, but he pondered before answering. You were strong, you gained strength through training, but you were still a sentimental crybaby who didn't know how to deal with the loss. You were competent, no doubt, but the fear Kishibe felt before answering bothered him.

“She is not ready yet.” was all he said, refusing to give Makima what she wanted.

“She already has a contract with a demon.” he heard Makima from the hall, before closing the door. “Please, better you say goodbye, we need promising young hunters in this division.”

"Why are you crying?" he asked, softly, it was the middle of the night, you were naked, in your bed, he was sitting up, drinking - you had already left a sideboard in your room for him, - and you were curled up against the pillow, your arm around his waist.

"I'm not crying." you muttered, your voice muffled against the pillow.

Kishibe pursed his lips after taking a swig of whiskey, uneasy.

How did things get to this point? The thing between you was already beyond sex, you were work and bed partners. Kishibe was old enough to be your father and that seemed to turn you on, and he loved it, becoming addicted to the fascinated gaze you always cast at him after completing a mission or when out on patrol, investigating. You were completely faithful to him, you even managed to let go and be yourself, now and then, dragging him to a kitten fair you saw somewhere or making him pay for overpriced meals at maid cafes.

You lightened his dark reality.

And at times it was almost unbearable.

The thoughts he arrived at, at dawn, were satisfying and sweet, as they involved you, but also, depending on which path they followed, could become tragic and irreversible.

And he didn't like this, this feeling. However, this same feeling burned for you.

Fear? Or, maybe something else?

“Look here, kid.” he called, taking a sip of his whiskey, as soon as you lifted your head from the pillow, he grabbed your cheeks, parting your lips enough for him to spit the alcohol into your mouth, which you swallowed, like the good dutiful girl who you was. “Tell me, what is it?”

You grimaced as you felt the alcohol burning down your throat and you snuggled up in bed before answering, covering your breasts with the sheet, not caring about your messy hair.

“Why do we never go to your house?”

“Because there is not a safe place.”

You lowered your gaze, feeling your eyes water, the fear of losing him consuming you again, you knew it would lead nowhere, this kind of relationship or whatever it was you had. Kishibe wasn't even nice, he was always apathetic or drunk or crazy hot for you, and that was enough, because you were hanging out and working and doing your best, well, at least you were, for him, everything that was customary. And in the moments when Kishibe told you 'That's my girl', you felt like the whole world to this man. He was your master and also your lover, and you admired him so much, always wondering what he had gone through, as a young man, to end up like this, but still keep moving forward.

Kishibe devoted himself entirely to his profession as a hunter, which made you admire and respect him as a professional; your colleagues would ask you what it was like to work with the infamous Kishibe and you'd answer, with a shrug, "It's not easy at all."

You closed your eyes and the tears rolled down your cheeks.

You were in love with this man, and he knew it, and he didn't care one bit.

“You look so pretty when you cry.” you heard his voice, low, followed by his lips on your face, licking away the tear that rolled there.

“And you are so cruel.” you murmured, your voice breaking, letting him cup your face and kiss you, his other hand going to your breasts, his fingers caressing your already hard nipples.

"I'm not cruel, I'm just a bastard waiting for the end." he said against your lips, sliding his hand down your belly and down to your cunt. “Spread your legs for me, love.”

Love.

That word warmed your aching chest as well as caused a new verge of tears.

You gave yourself to him, not complaining that he was, once again, seducing you to end up in sex, instead of talking to you and, in a way, opening up to you.

***

He was so curious about you it was dangerous.

“Why did you want to be a hunter?” he simply asked into the night wind, the cigarette dangling between his lips as he flicked on the lighter.

You were at the back of a cheap ramen restaurant, you had just finished dinner and Kishibe had said he wanted to smoke a cigarette before taking a taxi.

Your mind drifted back to your high school days as you thought about his question, it flew back to you best friend from junior high, you had studied together until the end of high school, and drifted apart during that time; she had met other people and made new friends and you, well, you continued to be friends with her, even though things were never the way they were, and with the end of high school, you split up for good and each went on their own ways, new adult life. The last time you heard about this friend was a few months ago, when the local news reported her death by a devil. You even went to the funeral, it all seemed so strange to you that you couldn't stay there for long.

“I don't really know.” you shrugged. “I had this friend from my teenage days…A devil killed her and… Well, I wasn't doing anything good with my life, and the opportunity just presented itself. You know, it's not this private revenge thing or anything like that.”

"I am really sorry." you heard him wish.

"It's nothing, it's over." you waved your hand vaguely, it really was past, these days all you had was this job and, in a very sad and dark way, Kishibe. Your family was fine, your mother worried about the risks your work offered, but you tried to reassure her during the sporadic visits you made, your family was good to you and all, but you always felt out of place with them, like a defective piece of a puzzle.

The taxi arrived and you got in first, looking at Kishibe, confused, when he closed the car door, stopped on the sidewalk.

"You do not come?" you asked anxiously, watching him duck towards the car window.

“Not today, kid.” he gently touched your chin, his thumb gliding gently over your lower lip. “I need to spend a night without you to see if I can survive.” he stared at you solemnly for countless seconds, causing your chest to burn.

Kishibe gave your address to the taxi driver and paid the fare, watching the car pull away and blend in with the others on the busy avenue. A heavy sigh left his lips, along with the cigarette smoke, his hand drifted to the canteen in his overcoat's inner pocket.

You were the most precious thing he, a selfish old man, could ever have, the best thing that ever happened to him in all these miserable, dark years of hunting devils and losing devoted mates. The simple way your whole face lit up with just a smile, and especially when the smile was caused by him, was something as frightening as it was adorable.

You were his girl, he kept you in control just so you wouldn't realize the power you had over him.

Oh, damn it, he needed to bury that feeling again. Tonight he was going to need to buy more booze.

As soon as you got home, the first thing you did was take a cold shower, hoping it would help calm the agonizing throbbing in your chest. Twenty minutes later, you were curled up on your bed, hugging a shirt of Kishibe's that he'd forgotten there, your eyes closed as you smelled him on the fabric, whiskey and perfume - he'd started wearing woody cologne as soon as you guys broke up of training, you could hardly contain yourself with happiness at the time, when you discovered this detail.

“I'm such a fool.” you muttered against the shirt, smiling as you remembered what he had said before the taxi left.

***

“Hey, old man, do you like my moves?” You smiled and winked at Kishibe, swaying awkwardly towards him, who was leaning against the hood of the car, cigarette in his hand, inches from his dry lips, his gaze might seem empty or far away, but Kishibe was rapturous inside; seeing you completely drunk and free, extremely happy.

It was Saturday night and you were on a beach, the idea, as always, had been yours. You were at your house, anxious and restless, thinking about what Himeno had told you, that she would soon be your senior in the 4th Division, and you found it strange at first, causing an embarrassment in Himeno, who shrugged and apologized, but assured you that the paperwork was on for your transfer, she even tapped you on the shoulder and told you, in a welcoming tone. “Talk to the Master.”

And that had been enough to end your peace of mind.

And when the weekend arrived, there was nothing in this world that would leave you in a state of peace.

So, you accepted the first crazy idea that crossed your mind; call Kishibe, rent a car, buy drinks and hit the road, maybe go to the beach. You were dying to see a bonfire on the beach, it was something that could really calm your mood.

On that night, you would put him against the wall.

The corner of Kishibe's lips curved, as if a tiny smile of pleasure wanted to appear, such was the simple satisfaction he felt when he saw you, there, with a bandana tied around your head, a pair of worn-out jean shorts and a cream sweater, dancing awkwardly, filling your sandals with sand, every now and then he had to warn you not to step on the fire that you had lit yourself - with his help, a you that he was not used to seeing in this last year that you guys lived and worked together, and, damn, how good it was to see you like this.

Maybe part of your relaxation was thanks to the drink, but he didn't care about that at the moment.

You approached him with your bad dance moves, trying to keep up with the seventies music playing on the car radio, you took his cigarette and inhaled, trying to seduce him, but the cough that attacked you after the drag made him smile, and Kishibe was seduced by your sincere attitude.

“Your cigarette is too strong.” you said between coughs, leaning on his shoulder, giving him an amused look when you saw him smile. “I think this is the first time I've seen you smile like that… Are you in love with me or something?” provoked you, not resisting the temptation.

Kishibe took the rest of his cigarette and threw the butt into the fire, he blew the smoke to the side, away from your pleading face, cheeks flushed from the beer you drank all the way to this beach, in that moment, you could ask for the world for him, that he would go to Hell to give it to you.

“You are a tease, you know that?” he arched an eyebrow, pulling you down so he could kiss your neck, his hands slipping inside your cardigan, he felt your skin crawl under his fingers.

“I know, your seductive young student.” you murmured, feeling suddenly betrayed, all the freshness and joy of moments before wafting out of you like Kishibe's cigarette smoke.

Kishibe pulled away from your neck and looked up at you, his hair falling over his wary eyes.

"What?" he questioned, still holding you against him.

"Don't play dumb, this is the last thing since the creation of the world you can be." you rested your hands on his firm chest and pulled away from his embrace, gasping for air, the sudden, painful throbbing in your chest returning full force. “I need more beer.”

You went to the car, took a bottle of beer that was in the cooler in the back seat of the car and closed the door in a slam, already with the open bottle on your lips.

“Hey, take it easy there.” Kishibe appeared at your side, he tried to take the bottle but you pushed him away and walked around the car, following to the bonfire, Kishibe watched you, analyzing all your form and behavior, probably already knowing the cause of everything.

He heaved a heavy sigh, his soul crying out for a shot of whiskey.

As soon as he approached you, still with your back turned, he heard you ask, in a broken voice, against the sound of the waves breaking on the edge of the sea:

“Do you always have affairs with your students?”

“No, you were the first.” he said, the answer was as simple as breathing, he thought.

And then you turned to him, the wind blowing your hair into your teary eyes.

“Then why are you going to abandon me?”

That image broke him completely, Kishibe could have fallen to his knees against the cold sand of that beach, on that windy night, as violent as the regret that took him like an assault. He would rather die a thousand times than have to see you in that state, lost because you were already aware of the end of everything, the end of you two, and that was what hurt him the most.

“You were hired for Division 4 from the start—”

“Then why the hell did you let things get to this point?” you exploded, dropping the bottle onto the sand beside you, Kishibe noticed your scar glistened against the bottle's reflection.

“Because you're amazing,” he said. “And everything I've come to want, besides slaying devils, was seeing your face one more time.”

“Everything is so easy for you, as simple as breathing.” you sniffled.

You lowered your head, crying, let him touch you gently and pull you to him, holding you as you cried against his chest, his hand went up to your head, stroking your hair as you lay there, with your nose against his shirt, you could smell his heady woody scent, the scent you started to miss right away.

“You made me strong enough to live without you…” you whispered, lifting your tear-stained face to his, closing your eyes to his touch on your face, then you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him, his lips were dry. “I can do this, I can do this.” you breathed against his lips, like a mantra you already knew wouldn't be enough. "You are the best." you confessed in a passionate sigh.

Kishibe buried his hands in your hair, commanding the kiss, he would give you what you wanted.

That night, you had sex for the last time, and it was like Heaven.

***

It all happened so fast, like the blink of an eye, one second to the next.

Kishibe and you were having lunch at a restaurant, it was your last patrol together in Division 1, you were wearing the firm's uniform and your hair was tied up in a sloppy way, but that day you looked prettier than any other day you worked together, there, sitting in front of that old blue mosaic wall and eating katsudon, as you always ordered for; maybe it was the regret that this should be your last lunch together being reinforced in Kishibe's mind.

He couldn't continue having this relationship with you when you were in Division 4, it wouldn't work out, one of you would end up being harmed. You were young, you still had a whole career as a hunter ahead of you, you were going to meet new people and was going to date guys your own age who weren't fucked up in the head like he was, and who weren't committed to devils in their lives like him.

"What are you looking at?" You asked, lowering your chopsticks into your bowl, brows furrowed.

Kishibe just watched you for a few seconds, barely supporting it, despite his dead stare.

“You are adorable, kid.” he said in a heavy whisper.

You gave him a small smile, sort of letting your guard down by shrugging your shoulders.

“Listen, Kishibe, why don't you come with me to the priv-” but you couldn't finish your longed-for question, as you had been thrown into the center of the street by something gigantic that rose straight out of the ground, breaking the floor and the walls of the cafeteria, next to the streets and sidewalks, Kishibe had been thrown against the opposite wall of the restaurant.

At the same moment Kishibe was already looking for you, finding you on the other side of the avenue, also standing up, despite the blood staining your white shirt, several citizens were running and screaming everywhere, and Kishibe soon found out why.

A gigantic centipede devil was everywhere, the cylindrical body like that of an earthworm fully popped out from everywhere, its paws were large and scabby, some even had humans impaled on them.

He screamed your name and told you to run away, but you were too lost and scared to listen, there was a cut on your head and all you could do was call the devil you had a contract with to help you with that giant centipede, Kishibe realizes that you did not obey and then ran towards you, invoking several knives and already throwing them against the creature's body, but before he reached you and you could invoke your devil, a long, rigid and pawl sharp had already pierced your body, you spat out a cascade of blood and your vision blurred before going dark.

No!

Please don’t!

Anything but that.

His blood boiled, his body took on reflexes as quick as a ray of light and nothing else in the world existed but the rage of killing this creature, Kishibe no longer had consciousness and was no longer a human being, not while this accursed devil was alive.

Nothing else in the world existed but you.

And that was the thought that took over him completely, when he regained consciousness, a rain had started, washing the greenish blood of the centipede into the drains, already dead and unconscious on the sidewalk, with infinite knives stuck against its skull, far away of you, lying in Kishibe's arms.

The raindrops fell non-stop on your face that was already losing color, Kishibe was already without strength, something he never thought would happen in this life.

“Come on, kid. Don't come to me and die now." he said, destroyed, practically voiceless, feeling all the life draining out of his body along with that rain that wet him to the bone. “Please…” he begged, voiceless, laying his head against yours, waiting for your strength to come out through your mouth.

That was too cruel to be true, not for him, ever, but for you, you didn't deserve this. Kishibe refused to believe his senses, two minutes ago you were alive, young and beautiful in front of him, he even smelled your shampoo, but now, the smell that was on you was metallic and Kishibe couldn't accept that. You couldn't be bloody because you were healthy and you'd be fine, you'd be fine.

Kishibe had committed many crimes and sins in this life, this was probably supposed to be his heinous punishment.

He cupped your head and stroked your wet cheek with his trembling hand.

“Please… I need you.”

That hurt so much, so much that it caused pain in his being, the feeling of not having you anymore, as if you were a piece of him.

And then, one shuddering sigh, brought both you and Kishibe back to life.

"This is funny." you said in a hoarse voice, your eyes practically closed.

Kishibe closed his eyes as relief warmed him, a smile forming on his quivering lips.

“You still will be the cause of my death.” he said, watching the small smile you gave.

***

You woke up with a colossal headache and your whole body aching.

"Good morning, gorgeous." you heard a familiar voice beside you, still lying down and your eyes twitching because of the bright light in the room, you turned your head and found Himeno sitting on a chair beside you, it didn't take long for you to realize you were in a hospital room .

“Himeno?” you questioned, your voice weak as you sat up in bed, grimacing at the pain you felt in your belly and the right side of your torso.

"Hey, take it easy, you're still recovering." Himeno warned, worried, she grabbed a glass of water from the table beside her. “Here, drink some, slowly.”

You accepted the water and drank in short sips, your free hand touching the bandages on your head and the bandages around your entire body.

“How long have I been here?”

Himeno scratched the back of her neck and tried to look away.

"One month." she said.

"One month?" echoed you, in disbelief, your whole body shook and you tried to get up. "I need to get out of here-"

"Hold on, you're still in no shape to get up." Himeno soon tried to hold you and make you lie down on the bed again. “Today or tomorrow Makima will authorize you back to fieldwork… we will be partners in Division 4.” informed Himeno, with a certain regret in her voice. “I'm sorry to tell you this way and here."

And then the memories washed over you like an avalanche.

You didn't want to ask about him, but you didn't care.

“What about Kishibe?”

Himeno shook her head and pursed her lips, she wanted to be the last person in the world to break the news to you.

“He is in China, on a mission.”

And with those words from Himeno, you knew it was over. You wanted to ask her if he had come to visit you, if he said anything about you, but nothing made sense to you at that moment, because you probably wouldn't see him again. You remembered that time when he had said that people with a screw loose live longer or something, and well, you wish you had learned to be like him, maybe it would have been easier.

Tears were already spilling out of your eyes and running down your face, you touched your scar on your collarbone, as a certificate that the time you spent together, the life you lived with him had been real.

Yes, it had been real, and it had never hurt as much as it did now.

#kishibe x reader #csm #chainsaw man #csm fanfic #fem reader #vilsoo collab #smut #ultraviolence collab

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goobieboobie · 1 year ago

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ultraviolence 0.0

| 70s pornstar! joel miller x preachers daughter! reader

Your prayers aren't enough to keep big, bad Joel away...

Warnings (for the prologue): fingering?? (not even), exhibitionism (in front of her father????), super sacrilegious, religious imagery MDNI!

It was hard to listen to Daddy’s sermons when all you could focus on was the boy next to you and the way he was gripping your thigh under your nicest Sunday dress.

“Does that sound like love?”

That morning, Mama had invited Jeremiah to sit with your family in the second pew from the altar, your unofficial seats for as long as Daddy had been pastor. He obliged your mother kindly, seating himself right beside you on the aisle end of the row.

“It’s a life dominated by lust!”

Jeremiah took his suit jacket off, placing it discreetly on top of your’s and his legs, waiting until the beginning prayer to slip his hand underneath the thick fabric. You kept your eyes shut tight, squeezing your legs and eyelids together in hopes God would see your strenuous effort not to fall into temptation.

“And for too long they’ve been holding on-”

His hand slipped higher up your thigh when the prayer had ended, slipping past the heavy weight of your King James Bible, tracing the seam of your Mama’s old pantyhose.

“And finally, they just get weak and they say-”

He pushed the hem of your church dress up, bunching it at your waist. The gathered fabric created an obvious bulge underneath the jacket that preserved your modesty and the last bit of your dignity. He had reached the top of the pantyhose. His fingers sought out the elastic band.

“It doesn’t matter anymore-”

You let out a shaky breath when he brushed the top of your cotton panties, pinching the skin right above them. You looked at him through your periphery; he appeared enamored with the sermon.

“And the Spirit of God says-”

He rubbed the pilled crotch of your underwear, fingers gliding across the sticky wetness that seeped through.

“I’ll infuse you with desires.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head, head lolling back when he brushed the sensitive bud he had been avoiding. He pulled his hand away from your core and out from under your dress completely, noting the way your mother had looked over at you with concern.

“Honey, are you alright?” She whispered, soft voice barely audible over the deep boom of your father’s baritone.

“Yes, Mama.” She rushed to cool your flushed face with the paper church fan displaying your family’s smiling faces. You stared at the image, looking deep into the eyes of the girl you once were, shrouded by her sisters and parents.

“I think God’s trying to tell me something s’all.”

monkey covering eyes emoji eeeekkk

#joel miller x reader #pornstar!joel #lana del rey #tlou au #tlou #the last of us #f!reader

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ghostfanwriter · 2 years ago

Text

To make you feel better 🧽💖

A smutty fic where Joel is sick, and you do your best to help him feel better.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem! Reader.

Setting: Jackson.

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What I listened to while writing this:

💖Kali Uchis - Angel

🧽Kali Uchis - Telepatía (fucking vibes these two)

💖Sabrina Carpenter - Nonsense (because this song is partially about being cockdumb and you can't convince me otherwise. It doesn't pass the vibe check for this, but I listened to it anyway)

🧽Lana del Rey - Ultraviolence (I don't know exactly why, but Ultraviolence just makes me dizzy thinking about Joel. Listen to it watching the interrogation or hospital scenes and tell me I'm fucking wrong.)

Author's note: do yourself a favor and listen to Angel and Telepatía when reading this. Damn they fit the vibe. I had this story cooking on my brain for a long time now, and finally managed to get it out. It's dirty, but it's passionate and I hope you like it 💖. Also, I mention how they met here, and I have this idea where Frank and Bill had a daughter, maybe she arrived with Frank, and reader is her, but I don't know. I have another idea that fits right there and may write it eventually. Let me know what you think ✨

Word count: I think it's around 2.5k.

Warnings: Smut; 18+ only please; p in v, oral sex (male receiving), mention of Joel being sick, no physical description of reader, a bit of fluff there too.

Tell me if I missed something, please ✨

Good reading 🧽💖

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You leave Ellie on her doorstep and hurry to the house you share with Joel. Your cheeks are burning from the cold and you can barely feel your fingers, even inside Joel's thick gloves that he insisted you would wear outside.

You enter your house, remove a layer of clothes and rush to the guest bedroom. It took a lot - a lot - of persistance to convince him to stay downstairs. He was weak and you didn't want him going up and down the stairs everytime he needed to eat during the three days you went away.

You find him asleep, and if you're being honest, your heart sinks seeing him just laying there. Joel was getting old and, although you knew he would probably die before you, avoiding the thought was one of your main focuses right now.

Sitting at the edge of the bed slowly not to wake him up, you just admire him for a second. The wrinkles forming around his eyes, the little pout on his lips, his brows missing their deep frown. Seeing him in such a vulnerable position felt like a privilege, one that only you and Ellie had. He was soft and open with the two of you, unlike with everyone else, that sees him as a grumpy and even dangerous old man.

Dangerous, you couldn't lie. He is.

But you've seen his wrath. And you know it is only directed towards the people who threatened the ones important to him. You met him when he and Tess started going to your parents house, and with time your relationship develop to what it is today. You've never seen him offer any danger to anyone close to him.

You stroked your hands up his chest, feeling the soft material of his shirt, and noticing that he's still a little hot. He hums on his sleep and you try to wake him up. "Joel", you call in a tender whisper. He hums again and wakes up when your hand touches his cheek.

"Hi baby, how are you feeling?" His eyes take a second to focus and process it's you. He is awake on a snap, eyes wide looking at you. A tired and soft smile on his face and a hand on your thigh.

"You ok?" His stare is a bit confusing. You're not sure he is totally there with you, so you keep staring at him.

"Yeah, better now. Missed you." He finally says, like he's out of a spell. "I missed you too." You lean down to kiss him, and he lets you. Your soft and cold lips making him groan and shiver at the same time. His hand pressed harder on your thigh.

"You're still hot, aren't you? Did you shower today?" Caressing your thigh, he takes a while to respond. "Haven't since you left." You stayed out for three days, and Joel kind of got used to not showering often, so you always reminded him to shower at least once a day.

"So gross." You say with a laugh, and he gives you the best, strongest laugh he can. "I'm going to take one, why don't you come with me?" You say leaning down to kiss him again. Running your hands through his hair, you say "Wash this hair, huh? Come with me."

You help him up and you go to the bathroom. You help him undress first. He's a lot better than when you left, but he still struggles to bend and remove his shirt and pants.

"C'mon, you go first." You mention him the shower. "I thought we were showering together." You smile. "We are. But you can't stay out in the cold, so go while I undress."

He goes under the hot water, groaning at how good it feels. You quickly remove your neverending layers of clothes. Getting behind him, felling his body warmer with the added heat of the water.

You rest your cheek on his back for a second, hugging him from behind and just enjoying his presence for a moment. His hands come over yours, intertwining his fingers with yours.

You eventually start showering. He washes your hair, tenderness and love on his touch, massaging and caressing your head as he feels you relax under his touch. Fingers moving slowly and intently, like he was making sure you were really with him, and not outside, by yourself, without him to make sure you were okay.

You washed him, carefully soaping every inch of skin you saw, taking in every muscle and scar he has on his body, leaving an eventual kiss and squeeze along the way. He was with his back turned to you when you were finishing with his hair, and you lowered your hands to finish washing his front. When you reached his stomach, you felt the muscles there contract, and you soon saw why.

He had a hard, pulsing erection formed. It was fully there and God, you missed him.

He had been sick for almost a week and insisted you would keep a bit of a distance not to get sick. You missed his touch, his weight on top of you, his smell invading your nose, his sweat mixing with yours, his sounds, his tastes. You missed him fully, in a way that blurred your mind for a second.

You were brought back to reality when he groaned loudly, your hand firmly stroking him, up and down, slow and savoured movements. Like if going any harder or faster could break him. "Is this okay?" You ask, stopping to wait for his response.

A hand met your lower back, and his head rested lazily back on your shoulder. You got back to your motion, eventually going harder or faster, but keeping an overall steady and passionate rhythm.

Burying your face on his back, you were enjoying this as much as he was. "You always talk about how I'm always ready for you." You say in a whisper. He hums. You didn't lie. Joel was big on his praising game. Always telling how good you were doing and how good you felt.

"But you've never let me down neither." You said with a particularly tight movement of your hands around his tip and then his length.

Then you could swear, even if you felt like your ears were lying to you, that you heard him moan. A different, almost rare sound from him.

He always grunted and groaned, sounds you were deliciously familiar with, that you took as incentive to take him in deeper, or to cum around him again, or to work your tongue around his head one more time.

But a moan was different. It was him being vulnerable and showing his appreciation for what you were doing. His, other times, vocal lips, only spilling honesty right now.

The shower was slippery and Joel too weak to do anything in there. So you stopped your hands, running them up his stomach and kissing his back.

"Let's go to bed, don't want to end all the water, do we?" You said, turning him and receiving openly the kiss he leans down to press on your lips.

You dry his hair and his body, telling him to go to bed. You pat yourself dry and follow him, watching him while he looks at you, appreciating every curve and line your body had.

You lie over him, straddling his hips, his cock warm under your clit. Leaning down to kiss him, you slowly roll your hips, his hands coming to your ass, giving you a strong and deep squeeze.

"Wanna make you feel good, you've been feeling bad for a long time now." You whisper on his good ear when going down to kiss his neck. He hums in response and you start trailing kisses down his chest, then his stomach, and finally, around his cock.

You kiss his base, balls, head and the very tip with open and wet lips. Every inch of him receiving the love you want to give him.

You suck his balls first, softly and slowly. His hand comes to your hair, not pushing or applying any pressure. Just resting there and caressing you the same way he did when washing your hair.

You then lick a zigzag up his length, untill you reach the tip, that you roll your tongue around, slurping on his precum and enjoying the soft and warm felling of his skin when you put it inside your mouth.

You slowly take him inside, letting your droll wet the next inch before sucking him in. "Gonna fucking kill me, angel." He breathes low and you half chuckle, taking the hint and going a bit faster.

Your hand is cupping and rolling carefully his balls, when his breath starts to get quicker. You suck him a bit harder one last time, sucking in your cheeks to feel him fully inside your mouth.

Then you let go. With a wet and loud sound, your lips are open, a thick streak of saliva and precum keeping your lips and his tip connected. You swallow it and go back to straddling him, once again kissing your way back up.

His hands come to your face and he kisses you deeply, passionately. It's a slow and savoured kiss. The kind to make you wish to stop time and just live in for a bit. His warmth and smell sending you deeper into him, he's all that exists right now, and you couldn't imagine a better plane of existence.

You align yourself with his cock, rubbing his tip up and down your folds, circling him around your clit and just putting his head in first. Slowly, you move your hips up and down, just the tip going in and out of you.

His hands come down to your thighs and you break the kiss, holding yourself up to look into his eyes when you fully sink on him. His eyes falter for a second, his lips part and the fucking moan is there again. Blessing your ears and making you mimick his sound. A stretched, nasty and honest sound leaving your own lips.

The kind of moan that has you worried everything with ears could hear.

When you were together you felt like you just wanted to fuse with him. You always hugged him super tight, almost as if trying to merge your bodies and become just one.

Sex was the closest you would ever get to it, and you just loved feeling him inside of you. Just how fucking closer could you be with someone then literally having them inside you?

All these thoughts making you float inside your brain. His warmth, smells, tastes and sounds are everything that you know, and you're more than willing to just swim around the man underneath you.

Your hips instinctively start circling on him. His grip on your hips tightening and helping you move. You start going up and down, watching him while he looks at your body. His eyes deep and tired, but his usual passion and desire making room for themselves on them.

His lips dry and parted, an obscene invitation for you to lean down and lick them, which you're prompt to accept. Keeping your hips movements, circling while going up and down, a clockwork to help him feel every single inch of you, you just let yourself go and fully enjoy the moment.

You kissed again, his name leaving your lips just as much as yours left his. In whispers, whimpers, laughs when you moved just right, and groans that made you see stars.

You went back up, needing him faster and rougher, you support yourself on his chest and just let pleasure guide your movements.

Up and down, circling around. Forward and backwards, rubbing your clit on his cute belly while doing so.

You started to go faster, rougher, jumping higher and trying to ignore the pain on your boobs while you did so.

You tried to hold them with an arm, but Joel didn't like the blocking of his vision, so his hands left your hips and, removing your arm from your boobs, he held them, giving them enough support so they wouldn't hurt, but keeping them fully in sight for him.

You started to feel your orgasm forming and put your left hand besides his head, using your other hand to circle your clit fast and tight. Joel groaned and pulled you high enough that he could take your nipples on his lips.

He sucked hard and...

Oh God.

He just fucking kicked you off the highest cliff possible.

You screamed his name in a way that would absolutely earn you some looks when you step outside your house.

Your body shivered, shook, and moved uncontrollably. His name the only word you could remember, and you felt your pussy literally gushing around his cock.

You lied on top of him for a second. Trying your best to breath again. You were straight up just cockwarming for a bit, while you tried to organize your brain again.

"So fucking pretty, baby. Feel so good around me, squeezing me so well." His words making you clench purposefully around him, wich you kept doing, just pulsing and doing your best to make him feel good while you can't move. "My good... (a clench) Fucking girl."

Oh, to be praised by Joel Miller.

You couldn't help yourself. You needed him with you. And you would do anything to show him how much you wanted it, how much you deserved him with you.

You wanted to make sure he was always happy, always aware that you made him feel better than anyone else.

The fog on your brain started to fade and you slowly returned your movements. At first still laying on top of him, just moving your ass to bring back some friction, and eventually properly moving up and down.

"Circle again baby, like you were doing before. Felt so good." You did as you were told, drawing large and heavy circles with your hips, never letting an inch of him escape from you.

"Fuck, baby, so fucking good for me." His eyes were watching you, the frown back between his eyebrows, but this time motivated only by pleasure. His parted lips letting moans, grunts and deep breaths escape, only moving to repeat your name time after time.

It was all too much for you. You fell down again, taken by the man under you. Only him on your mind, his smile, his hair, his big hands, the sound of his voice.

Your orgasm wasn't just due to the stimulation from this moment. It was because of him.

For him.

It was like your way to pay homage to him, to show him just how much you loved and appreciated him. He was making you cum, not only his cock.

Your jaw was clenched together and your eyes doing their best to keep staring at his. When you were finally over, he couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm gonna cum, peach. Can't fucking hold it anymore."

You searched for strength on your muscles and got up. Kissing him and quickly reaching for his cock. You grab him and just go right back to it. Taking him as deep as you can, swallowing around his cock to make your throat clench around him, earning a grunt and a hair pull from him.

"Fuck, shit." He's doing his best to last and savour this feeling. His hands squeezing both your hair and the sheets, the veins on his neck about to break his skin and jump out of his body.

"Can't, baby. Gonna f-fucking cum." His warning allowing you to remove a bit of him from your mouth. You suck his head and pump his length, moaning when you feel him twitch inside your mouth.

Joel screams your name and lifts his upper body when he cums inside your mouth. Filling you up more than usually, and oh... You love it, tightening your lips around him to not let any drop escape from you.

"Greedy fucking girl." He says when you remove your full mouth from him, squeezing your lips not to let anything drip. You drink him with the most beautiful facial expression Joel has ever fucking seen, and smile when he laughs lazily at your face.

You look down, noticing there's still some on his cock. You take it back into your mouth and Joel hisses, caressing your hair, once again mimicking the movement from your shower.

Rolling your tongue around his softening tip one last time, you moan and circle it around your lips. Then you lick them and go back up, looking for his lips.

He pulls you down, kissing you in a way he hopes you understand as appreciation.

There you are, laying on top of him, sweating even though you're going through the worst part of winter.

Just you, Joel and your love for each other.

"I love you." You say when breaking the kiss.

"I love you too, more than I could ever explain." His honesty breaks your heart.

You feel the familiar feeling on your guts, the desire to melt into him, to never have to leave this bed again, to never have to experience a second without him.

You lie by his side and rest your head on his shoulder. "Gonna have to take another shower." You say, half laughing, half serious.

"Is it gonna end like the last one? Cause if it is I'm fucking running to the bathroom." He laughs, and you know he means it.

"Gonna be an endless loop, till the end of time." You say and he looks down at you.

"Eternity sounds beautiful by your side." Fuck him, you're so fucking in love.

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Can you tell I'm dying over this man? No? Cool.

Nothing to see here.

Feedback, reblogs and cuddles are highly appreciated 👑

Bye besties, see you next time 💖

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #ghostfanwriter #smut #fanfic #joel miller #pedro pascal's characters #pedro pascal characters #I just want domestical and soft Joel #the last of us hbo #joel miller smut #joel miller writing #joel miller fanfiction

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