#absolute wall of tags jesus

[inoreuct]

would you agree that we all need more Sanji getting nosebleeds over Zoro in this fandom?

YES *pelting down a hill waving the proposal for this in my hand like a madman* YESSSSSS

the first time sanji gets a nosebleed over zoro is his clue-in that oh. i’m not straight, am i. the swordsman’s doing a bench press (shirtless, as always) as sanji walks by (and sanji sneaks a look, as always, because who wouldn’t?) and when he glances over the plates he has to do a double take because what the fuck. zoro’s pressing more than twice his body weight. zoro’s repping more than twice his body weight. he’s just registered that maybe he’s stared for a bit too long when he feels something warm and wet on his upper lip, iron dripping over his mouth, and he books it for the galley.

he slams the door shut and presses his back against it before he slides to the ground and screams into his knees because what. the fuck. it’s not even that he’s getting hot and bothered over a guy; it’s just that the guy’s zoro. he’s not supposed to get nosebleeds over zoro.

but he does.

and it gets worse.

zoro walking around shirtless on deck? nosebleed. zoro re-tying the sails and just hanging on with his legs around the mast? nosebleed. zoro strutting out of the shower door, damp with steam and hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist? nosebleed. zoro tsking irritably and grabbing all of sanji’s food and packages from him to haul the whole lot over his shoulder? NOSEBLEED.

and not even that. he starts getting breathless around zoro and his chest hurts. he kicks zoro back while they’re sparring one day and the swordsman grins, feral and unrestrained and all challenge and teeth, and sanji’s heart spasms so hard that he actually wonders if he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. he’s barely twenty, he isn’t ready to die— much less because of some stupid marimo. chiselled abs and a nice set of biceps are only worth so much of sanji’s dignity. he twists and smashes the sole of his shoe right into zoro’s pretty face.

still, it gets so, so bad that he’s elected to just. avoid zoro completely. he’s sneaking around corners and running across open expanses ducked low like some kind of goofy thief and he knows it’s so fucking stupid but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know if zoro likes— no. he doesn’t even think about it. there’s no way, and if he gives himself false hope he’ll just break his own heart. he doesn’t know if zoro likes men, or anyone, much less him; nobody in their right mind would, not really. he's nice to have but not to keep and he's come to terms with it.

…until zoro corners him in the galley and demands to know what the fuck’s going on.

sanji stays facing away, slowly washing the dishes even as his heart pounds so hard it hurts. he is painfully aware of the way zoro’s seething like an over-boiled kettle in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest and stock-still because he never, ever shakes his leg even though sanji knows he wants to.

his sponge squeaks across ceramic. the water’s warm against his fingertips, and his eyes flick up to meet his own reflection in the porthole window; he looks… well, he doesn’t know. scared, maybe. nervous. his mouth is thin, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, a shudder running its fingers down his spine even as his heartbeat thumps between his ribs and god, fuck, it aches. and he knows. he looks himself in the eyes and he knows that somewhere along the line nosebleeds had turned into falling in love and he was the stupid idiot who had just let it happen because he was too weak to pry zoro out of his thoughts.

his gaze flicks down sharply when he hears the sudden scrape of the chair, and zoro spits, “look, i can’t fix whatever i did wrong if you don’t tell me what it is.”

sanji’s heart throbs. “what?”

he can hear zoro’s scowl. “what, what? i obviously did something. you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

the cook almost laughs. he bites it down and swallows his words, salty-sweet at the back of his throat. guilt nips at him; zoro’s his rival and and his personal annoyance and a blockhead but he might also, maybe, just maybe, be sanji’s best friend. and sanji hasn’t been very fair to him lately.

he swallows again, clears his throat silently. “you didn’t do anything, marimo,” he murmurs to the plate in his hands, trying for airy and getting more somewhat vaguely strangled. he coughs. “just forget about it. sorry i’ve been weird.”

sanji will deal. he will, somehow; he’d been careless and careless is dangerous and for perhaps the first time in his life, he has too much to lose. he’ll squash his heart into a box and lock it down tight like he always has and it’ll hurt, but when does it ever not? he mentally declares the matter done and dusted as he shakes off the plate and gently sets it on the drying rack.

his lungs hitch as a callused hand cups his elbow.

zoro pulls him around. he’s too weak to resist. the edge of the sink digs into his hip as stormy grey eyes scan his face and zoro looks tense, his jaw set in the way it only is when he faces off with a particularly vexing foe.

“did i not look happy enough at dinner?" he asks, and it could be mockery but it isn't, not with that edge to his voice; not desperation, but damn near. like filter paper burning its way to ash. "was it my clothes on the floor? my boots on the bed? what?”

sanji can't stand it anymore. he looks away, tries to twist out of the invisible bonds zoro has him trapped in, but fingers looped around his wrist are all it takes to make him stay and fuck, fuck, he's so fucked.

"sanji, what did i do?” zoro breathes, brow furrowed, voice too near and too damn earnest, and sanji's throat bobs as he digs the heel of his palm into his eye.

this isn't how it's supposed to go. zoro isn't supposed to care. zoro isn't supposed to be standing here in the galley saying his name in that tone of voice. a hand carefully pulls his own away from his face, and zoro doesn't fucking let go, and sanji feels too much like he's been stripped down to the bone.

"i know," zoro continues, gruff like he doesn't know how to be anything else, "that i upset you. so would you please tell me what i did so i can fix it?" he bends lower still, ducking to try and catch sanji’s line of sight but sanji just can't look at him. "i'll fix it, i—"

"you can't fix this." the words are out and in the air before he can stop them, and a bittersweet smile curves his mouth. "there's nothing to fix, so you can't fix it. just let it go, alright?"

zoro wants to argue. sanji can tell. but the swordsman lets out a measured exhale after a long moment and pulls back, face carefully neutral. "at least tell me what's going on, cook."

sanji looks down at his feet. "...i can't."

"like hell you can't," zoro replies immediately, and it's such an abrupt reminder of their normal banter that it wrenches a rough noise from sanji's chest. "i was the one who held your hair back after you had, like, seven margaritas too many. don't think you could tell me anything worse than the experience of trying to stop you from falling into your own puke."

"oh, jesus fuck," sanji swears on instinct, then laughs. it's unfortunately hollow. "that was one time, asshole."

"one time too many," zoro hums, raising an eyebrow. "so you gonna tell me what's going on, or do i have to make it a captain's order?"

sanji grits his teeth.

"i will drag luffy in here, i don't care—"

"fucking—" he holds his breath, flipping around to white-knuckle the edge of the sink and letting it out slow. "fine. you ever loved someone, marimo?"

"sure." zoro shrugs easily, crossing his arms as he looks out the window. "kuina, but i think i learned to love her memory more than anything else. luffy, nami—" a near-unnoticeable flutter of thick lashes. "you."

sanji exhales through his nose as he rocks back on his heels. squeezes out air till it hurts. "you know that's not what i meant."

"what did you mean, then?"

he turns to look at where zoro has settled lazily against the counter, the moon turning his eyes to silver. "I mean the kind of love that makes your blood race. that makes you want more even when you know you'll never take more than you're allowed. the kind that makes your heart hurt so badly you feel empty without it."

the swordsman's face is unreadable as he tilts his head slowly. "i did say i love you."

it hits sanji like a bullet. he sucks in a sharp breath, and his throat burns as he turns away and tries to stop his shoulders from heaving up. "don't fuck with me, zoro. not about this."

it feels rather like a cruel cosmic joke. he's so near yet so far, just one step away with a gauzy curtain between but he can't touch it. he won't. he's got too many things on the line and yet he can't even name one of them.

"hey."

he squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of salt that shouldn't even be there, and look at that. little sanji's gone and broken his own heart again.

"hey," zoro tries again, more insistent, one hand hovering in the space between them and sanji feels the pull of it like a magnet.

he doesn't turn away as it cups his cheek. doesn't run as fingers slide through the short hairs at his nape, a thumb behind his jaw. his lashes are damp. it is everything he wants and everything he cannot have and he can't—

"look at me."

"i can't," he breathes, lungs rising fast and shallow. he's afraid to open his eyes. he's afraid of what he'll see.

"yes, you can." zoro shifts closer and another hand joins the first. it's big and rough and warm and he holds sanji's face like he's the moon herself. "look at me, curly."

he can't.

he does.

zoro's gaze is almost painful to meet straight-on with how intense it is. he seems to realise, face softening as he leans closer, closer, posture loose enough that it would be no problem for sanji to shove him away. "you love me," he breathes. "yes or no?"

sanji's heart stops. his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, his brain a mess of yesnoyesyesnoiwon'tican’tido—

"don't think." zoro's voice cuts through the haze as he shakes his head slowly; a sword through smoke, silver-bright, singing in the air and leaving silence. "don't think. you love me, yes or no."

the galley swims around sanji as his vision blurs. he feels his tears spill hot down his cheek, knows the way zoro aches to brush them away and yet stays still. he opens his mouth and it feels like stepping out of the only shelter he's ever known; he is an open fucking wound and he's raw and everything hurts, everything but zoro. zoro. zoro. "yes."

just one word, three simple letters, and still it feels like damnation; if he'd never said it he could deny it but now it's real. the swordsman relaxes, shoulders dropping enough that his forehead brushes sanji's, and sanji tracks the way his throat bobs. the way steel-grey eyes flicker over his face, molten in the light of the electric lamps and the moonlight spilling through the window, gilding zoro like something out of a dream. a fairytale sanji read as a child until the edges of the pages fitted familiar to his thumbs as his little hands reached for a happy ending that was never meant to be his.

he shakes, now, as zoro reaches up to run tentative fingers through straw-pale hair. "let me love you. yes or no."

"i—" the sound that twists from his mouth is cracked jagged down the middle, unpolished as a common pebble picked up off the damn street. "you don't—"

"yes or no."

"i'm not what you want," he gasps, his face wet.

"yes or no."

sanji wants to break apart. because zoro sounds like he's begging, and he cannot fathom anybody possibly wanting him that much. he wants to scream and cry and claw at the walls until his nails break. he wants to shatter into pieces all over the floor without having to worry about putting himself back together. he wants. he wants, and zoro's looking at him with the closest thing to reverence he's seen in his life, and even that isn't enough for him to believe it. "i'm not what you want."

he can barely look at zoro. he can barely look at himself. the shame is clawing a pit into his stomach, and he lets it, feels every inch of it, because what kind of person doesn't know how to be loved? his breath catches wetly as zoro cups his jaw in both hands, tilting his face up, and once again sanji is too weak to pull away.

"you are everything i want."

the words are so fierce, so sure, and sanji is cracking apart at the seams. the stitches pulled tight by his own hand are unravelling and he can't stop it—

"yes or no."

zoro's breath ghosts warm across his mouth, fingertips in his hair, just far away enough for sanji to see the way his eyes are blazing and yet he waits. his thumb on sanji's cheek is the gentlest thing sanji has ever known.

"you'll get tired of me," he tries weakly, one last time for good measure, and zoro just shakes his head. the resolve in his expression does not waver even once.

sanji breaks.

"yes." the word scrapes itself out of his throat seconds before arms are going around him, and he sobs. lets the swordsman bring them both to the kitchen floor as he curls up in zoro's lap, fingers clawing into his white shirt, numb with how hard he cries because nobody, nobody has ever stayed. not without him getting hurt in the process. he pushes them away when he gets scared and they let him and then it becomes his fault when it all blows up in his face, but zoro's not leaving, and it's so foreign to him that he's shaking so badly and he can't stop.

a warm, heavy palm smooths over his spine and he lets himself be shifted closer, settles sideways as zoro wraps an arm over his shins and rocks them until his breathing evens out. the embarrassment hits like a gut punch; he knows he looks like a mess, face blotchy and hair everywhere and eyes puffy as hell, but zoro cards his bangs out of his eyes and looks at him like he doesn't care, and sanji turns away.

he feels... fragile. like he's made of tinted glass and spun sugar, like he'll cave in at the slightest touch. there is something melting in his chest and it drips down over his ribs; pools fresh as a river in spring, offset by the grounding presence of zoro's hands on his skin. "don't say i didn't warn you," he mumbles, masking his very real fear behind a layer of watery bravado as he hides his face in zoro's shoulder, and of course, of course zoro sees right through him.

the swordsman's thumb traces the swirl of his eyebrow before zoro rests his chin on top of sanji's head. "i don’t listen. you know that."

you know me, is what goes unsaid, and sanji doesn't deign to reply. he buries his face into zoro's chest and breathes in the smell of steel and sword oil and— he sits up slightly, eyes narrowing. "you've been stealing my deodorant, yes or no." the way zoro stills momentarily is a dead giveaway, and he yelps when the swordsman flicks his forehead.

"would you rather i be stinky?" zoro scoffs, rolling his eyes gently as sanji settles back down with a huff.

"you still are stinky. if we're gonna be together i'm expecting you to shower at least once every two days—" zoro groans, and he powers through, raising his voice, "—and if you aren't fussy i'll let you shower with me."

the way zoro instantly stops complaining cracks a laugh out of him. it's weak and watered-down, but it's a start. zoro's hands slide back into his hair and he hums as he lets his eyes fall shut.

the moon's full tonight. their ship rocks gently, and sanji gets comfortable; zoro's warm and solid and happens to make a perfectly respectable pillow. the thought that he can have this now sends a thrill through him.

he's not a fool. he's not optimistic when it comes to this. when it comes to love.

but with zoro's thumb rubbing mindless circles against the side of his thigh and a kiss pressed to the top of his head, he's got a pretty good feeling about this time around.

[pedrospatch]

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[rhyrhy]

Never Yours, Always Hers - A.A

Toxic! Abby x fem reader

⚠︎ Warnings: substance Abuse, emotional, psychological, (no physical!) Public humiliation (r!), sexual content!, Grief and trauma, harassment (r!), Manipulation, Wealth & Privilege, Obsession. Just overall darker themes! 10.3k words

✉︎ Authors note: Low-key exposing myself with my guilty pleasure of toxic! abby, But I write plenty others if this isn’t your cup of tea! otherwise enjoy!

⤷ Pt 1/2 - MDNI! - Mlist

Part 2 will be tagged here!

Sweet Abbigail,

A smile of white, her parents adored. Large family portraits of the cutest little girl in the middle, freckles dotting her nose, a Burberry cardigan always a bit too big for her. Abbigail was a mommy’s girl through and through. Her mother, picture-perfect in her small doe eyes, was the epitome of grace. Abby always strived to be just like her. soft, sweet, and always under control. But behind the rose-colored glasses, cracks began to show faster than she’d ever expected. 

✈︎ The first time she saw it, she wasn’t quite sure why her mother would always take so long to make her father’s tea in the mornings. She’d wait her turn at the large dark oak dining table, her small hands clasped together as she watched cartoons, polished silverware reflecting a little girl desperate to have breakfast with her mommy like every other morning. But there was a stillness to the house that morning; Abbigail didn’t understand it at first, not until she noticed the way her mother’s eyes would linger a little too long on the kettle before she’d pour the tea. The silence was only being filled with the sound of a spoon clinking the sides of the mug. Sweet Abbigail learned to stop asking questions before they even formed in her wondering mind. 

✈︎ Her nights were no better. She’d toss and turn in her bed, the muffled screams and quiet chatter from her parents’ bedroom echoing down the large hallway. angry whispers and harsh tones seeping through the walls. It was an ugly rhythm, one she eventually learned to ignore.

✈︎ Growing up, her Elementary school was no better either. The principal stood in front of her, holding up a cut braid. The girl, some brat named Jessica Baldwin, just had to make fun of Abby’s artwork in class. Questioning her choice of colored glitter. 

“I’m just kidding, it’s a joke.” Jessica giggled, turning back to her project. Purple crayon in hand. 

Yeah, She didn’t find any of it funny. Watching Jessica’s dark braid taunt her as she faced forward. Her blue irises darted to the supposed ‘kid-safe’ scissors in her small fingers. That day, in a blur, Abby had absolutely pulled Jessica’s hair, snipping off her braid with said scissors as the class erupted in chaos. Her small hand covered her mouth to hide a small laugh threatening to add to the noise.

“I didn’t do it, Daddy. I swear!” Later that day after two phone calls. Abby begged, her voice trembling as she stood at the principal’s desk.

Her parents barely believed her, but they didn’t exactly punish her, either. They just… didn’t get it.  They never did. Her father’s brow furrowed in disbelief, while her mother’s eyes seemed too tired to even care.

✈︎ The name that had once been laced with sugar felt like a slap in the face. She hated it. She hated how her father would say it with that soft, adoring tone, as if nothing was wrong. Abbigail, he’d coo, always with that gleam of love in his eyes. But that love felt empty now. So, now in her high school years she had zero tolerance for it.

“Jesus… do you need me to spell it? It’s A-B-B-Y” she snapped, her voice sharp, filled with a venom she didn’t even know she had. “Stop fucking calling me that.”

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Throughout high school, Abby dealt with a lot of internalized homophobia. She would scold herself whenever she felt flustered around pretty girls, her heartbeat pounding in her chest when close friend Nora would redo her hair during class.It only became more apparent after her first time with a guy. They made out for what felt like two seconds until he got way too eager, and let's just say she vowed to never let a man stick his penis anywhere near her again.

✈︎ She knew she wasn't the girliest. She played tennis, had short finger nails, and manspread when she sat. But even with that under her belt, she would dismiss her feelings toward girls as a phase. At least that's what her father called it when she brought home Alessia Forbes, senior year. They'd shared a kiss behind the bleachers in 10th grade, and it forced Abby to face the music. Opening the door to becoming more comfortable in her skin and how she dressed, Abby started to embrace what felt right. She wasn't a fan of makeup or dresses. pants were much more convenient.

✈︎ Alessia, unfortunately, much like most in Abby's life, didn't stick around long. Abby should've known, though. Alessia's eyes always wandered when other girls were around-especially when Ellie Williams was in proximity. At Eastside Preparatory, bullying, fighting, or even petty beefs were immediately reported. They had a reputation to uphold, matched only by the ridiculous tuition parents paid. Abby couldn't stand Ellie, though. She didn't intentionally steer her girlfriend away, but she needed someone to blame.

✈︎ Abby was always quick to anger, and when Ellie-someone who pushed all her buttons— called her out on her behavior, things went south quickly. The two got into a physical fight that was so violent Abby had to transfer schools to avoid it tarnishing her record.

“Abbigail, what the hell were you thinking?!” Her father asked, arms crossed.

“A fight? You think we spend all this money for you to act like a barbarian while you’re supposed to be learning?” her mother scoffed.

Abby didn’t answer. She just stood there, jaw clenched, arms crossed over her chest like she could physically hold in all the things she wanted to say. Because what was the point? They wouldn’t listen. They never did. She wanted to tell them that Ellie started it, that she had no choice but to defend herself. That it wasn’t her fault she lost her temper. But she knew they wouldn’t buy it. Not when they’d already decided she was the problem. So she let them lecture her, nodding at the right times, staring at the floor when they threw around words like disappointment and irresponsible like they were facts written in stone. Flashes of that green-eyed bitch. causing her to dig her nails into her palms. By the time they were done, East Bench, Salt Lake, was already in the past. New York was an adjustment.

✈︎ Columbia was bigger, louder. People walked fast, like they had somewhere important to be, never sparing her more than a passing glance. It was a far cry from the bubble of private school back home, where reputations were currency and whispers traveled faster than wildfire. Abby liked that. She liked that no one knew who she was. That she wasn’t Abbigail Anderson, the hothead who got kicked out of Eastside Prep. Here, she was just another student.

✈︎ Her father had pulled some strings to get her in—of course he had—but Abby actually wanted to prove she deserved to be here. She kept her head down, went to class, and lifted at the gym in the evenings. It kept her from thinking too much. From remembering how things ended back home. She told herself this was good. That it was a fresh start. How much of her life she abandoned like it was nothing. It didn’t matter now.

✈︎ A new group of friends, her gold-plated Cabernet on her belt loop every morning, and hair breezing behind her. It was enough. Until it wasn't. Pushing herself into her studies and sports to keep her parents happy. She wasn’t sure if she was, though.

And that only deepened with the loss of her mother. But it’s what led her to you.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Growing up, money was never a concern. Your parents liked to call it being “comfortable,” but in reality, your lifestyle was far beyond that. Their status placed them among the elite, working closely with others in their sphere—the world of wealth, class, and the quiet sin of greed.

✈︎ Your father, a renowned real estate developer, owned Wilson & Co. Properties, a firm responsible for some of the most extravagant hotels and high-rises in the country. Your mother, a former corporate lawyer turned philanthropist, ran the Wilson Foundation, a charity often praised for its generous donations yet quietly criticized for its selective philanthropy. So naturally, you found yourself with a golden spoon resting on your tongue.

✈︎ And then there was Jerry Anderson, a man you’d seen in the circle your father had. CEO of Anderson Biomedical, a medical research company specializing in ‘cutting-edge’ treatments for neurodegenerative diseases. He was as respected, a man who knew how to turn science into profit. The only thing he couldn’t save or hook up to more machines to buy time? His wife. 

“Sarah Anderson dead at 42”

“Anderson Biomedical CEO Faces Scrutiny After Wife’s Shocking Death”

“Gone Too Soon: Socialite Sarah Anderson’s Mysterious Passing Sparks Questions”

It was everywhere. Sarah, She was beautiful; every photograph you’d seen looked almost airbrushed. Probably due to all the Botox, but she was striking regardless. Little did you know she’d passed those beautiful features to a young woman who’d flip your world upside down. A recantation of her flesh. blue eyes that reminded you of the waters of Navagio during your holiday in Greece. Golden brown-blonde strands that seemed to always fall in place. Pink lips that always sat in a small pout. A jawline that you’d probably cut yourself on if you ever got the chance to run your fingers along it. That work of art was His daughter, Abigail fucking Anderson; The first girl your parents approved of, And the worst breakup of your life.

✈︎ You first spotted her in your all-black long-sleeve dress and roses in hand, head hung in respect. Her mother’s funeral. You felt out of place as you’d only met Jerry a few times at galas, but your family went. Everyone did.?It was sickening how many news outlets sat outside, pushing microphones in their faces. They were trying to grieve for God's sake. But conspiracies about their family always ran high. But the rumors had already spread like wildfire. The whispers in the halls, the hushed voices behind gloved hands. Sarah tried to poison him, you know. Slowly. Over months. Some said Jerry caught her before it was too late. Others claimed he staged the whole thing to cover up his own sins. Money laundering, apparently. It was a ridiculous theory—one you brushed off as gossip from people with too much time and too little to lose. But the one that made you pause? Abby’s last girlfriend left traumatized. You didn’t know the details, only that she left town suddenly and never looked back. No one could agree on what happened. Some swore she was just a jealous ex who wanted revenge. Others claimed she was scared. But Abby? She never spoke about it. Never gave the rumors life. You told yourself none of it mattered. Because when you saw her standing there, shoulders tense, trying to keep herself together under the weight of a hundred scrutinizing eyes, you didn’t see a monster. You saw a girl who had just lost her mother. It was ridiculous, you felt. Empathy, something your mother said you held ‘too much’ of. And it’s exactly what led you to next to her, the eulogy ringing out into the large room.

A droplet streamed down the freckled cheeks next to you.

You felt guilty for being so focused on how her brown eyelashes stuck together as they dampened with tears. the whites of her eyes pink. Her jaw tightened, an obvious strain in her body. The way her black dress shirt clung to her toned arms. The small bump on the bridge on her nose. Beautiful. The spitting image of her mother. Sandwiched between your families, Her knee pressing against yours. Yup, Your heart rate was definitely faster than usual. When—Your hand seemed to move on its own.

Her blue eyes flicked over the girl sitting next to her. Her first glimpse of you, a small sympathetic smile on your lips. Arm offering her a Kleenex to dry her face. You tried not to furrow your brows when she just …stared at you. You aren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but your fingers moved. Gently soaking her tears of salt into the tissue. Patting along her sharp features. A small thank you left her lips before she turned back to the next family member speaking.  Later that day. You found her sitting on a bench. Fidgeting with the ends of her hair.

“You look just like her. She was beautiful,” you said, offering Abby another tissue. She didn’t take it. Instead, she exhaled a shaky breath and leaned into your hand.

“She would’ve liked you,” she murmured, voice thick with grief. You stilled, taken aback, a small flush creeping up your neck. You weren’t sure what to say, so you just patted her face dry once more, letting the moment settle between you. One of many interactions to come.

✈︎ You and Abby felt like two magnets, always drawn back together no matter how much space was between you. At gatherings, in crowded rooms filled with bodies, your eyes would meet and every time, she made sure you felt like the only person in the world.

✈︎ She charmed you completely. Abby had a way of making you feel seen, like she was peeling you apart layer by layer just to admire what was underneath. Every compliment was so specific, so deeply personal, it felt like she had memorized you. She gave you gifts you mentioned in passing, sent good morning texts before you even had a chance to wake up, and called you just to hear your voice. “You make me feel normal,” she admitted one night, after sneaking you away from a party into the cool night air. and you clung to it, to her. not realizing how much weight she placed on you. You barely noticed the way she inserted herself into your world—how effortlessly she made you friends with Manny, how she reconnected with Nora and brought Jordan, Leah, and the rest of their circle into your orbit. These were the children of wealth and influence, kids who knew their parents would clean up any mess they made. Late nights blurred into early mornings spent in dimly lit bars, luxury penthouses, and hidden corners of clubs where their last names meant everything.

One night, Abby pulled you away from it all. Away from the noise, away from the people. She kissed you hard against the wall of her apartment, hands roaming like she was trying to memorize you-mapping every inch the way she did with her words. She was intense but careful, treating you like something fragile yet untouchable all at once. It was the first time in a long time that something in her life felt real. And it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

“Abs…” you breathed out. Her body engulfing was heavy like a weighted blanket. The feeling of her hands roaming your body, pure worship. Your head beyond spinning.

But Abby only pulled you closer, like she couldn't stand even a sliver of space between you. Her tongue slid into your mouth, desperate, like she was staking her claim. Fingers tangled in your hair, pulling, twisting— holding you there like she was afraid you'd disappear if she let go. It was heated, consuming. You'd never been tangled up like this before. And you never wanted it to end.

The gifts, the attention, her touch in all the right places. Abby made you feel like the center of the universe. And you needed it. She broke the kiss, panting, eyes dark with something that made your stomach flip. She looked at you like you were something holy, something made just for her. Her hands roamed your back, fingertips tracing patterns, memorizing, claiming.

"Fuck, I need you so bad," she breathed, voice thick, raw. "Now. Like right now."

And later, as she lay beside you, her arm wrapped around your waist like she could keep you tethered to her, she thought back to the past. To the girls who expected her to take the lead, to do all the work, to prove herself in a way that always left her feeling hollow. But this? This was different. You wanted her, you gave as much as you took, and it made something inside her tighten, coil, and refuse to let go.

Not now. Not ever

✈︎ Abby had her ways of getting what she wanted. It was never outright. never something you could point to and call unfair. Just little things. Offhanded comments that made you second-guess yourself. “You still hang out with her?” she’d say, half-laughing, half-serious. “I swear she has a crush on you.” Or, when you mentioned grabbing lunch with a friend she didn’t particularly like; “Must be nice to have all this free time,” Abby mused, flipping through her phone. “Wish I didn’t miss you so much when you’re gone.” It was always playful, never an argument. But over time, you found yourself hesitating before making plans. Weighing whether the fun was worth the look Abby would give you later. The passive sighs. The casual, “Oh, you were with her?” that left you feeling ridiculous for even trying to defend yourself. Then there were the things she didn’t even have to say.

────୨ৎ────

Like the way she leaned into you one night, cheek pressed against your shoulder as you scrolled through your camera roll. You loved moments like these. You just had no idea the chaos it would later awaken.

“Who’s that?” she asked, voice laced with casual curiosity.

“Hm? Her? That’s Dina, I met her through a friend.” You paused your scrolling, finger hovering over the screen.

“Wait—wait, go back. That picture.”

“This one?” You swiped back to a group photo—just you, Dina, and her girlfriend, who had tagged along that day.

“Pfft. Ellie. Offf course,” she scoffed.

“You know her girlfriend?” you asked, glancing at Abby.

“Our fists do,” she muttered. “She’s the reason I had to leave East Bench.”

“Oh.” You blinked, unsure what to make of that. You were years behind that, you felt.

“Just… be careful around her,” she added. “Girlfriend’s a bitch. She might be too.” She teased, bumping your arm.

“Hey! She’s nice. And you need to let that go. Grudge-holding ass,” you laughed, shoving her shoulder.

“Hey yourself, I have my reasons!” she chuckled, shoving you back.

✈︎ Dina was fun, always finding the best overpriced boutiques with hidden gems. The kind of girl who always had a spare hair tie when needed. It was a shame she started canceling on you more often. Eventually, she even unfollowed you on social media. You wanted to reach out. had you said something wrong? Forgotten a birthday? But she was just a new friend. You’d make more. At least, that’s what your doting girlfriend told you when you came to her upset about it.

“Go ahead. Say you told me so,” you sighed after explaining what happened.

“What? No.” Abby tilted her head, her expression unreadable, like she… already knew. She patted your shoulder, then looked up at you with a bitten back laugh.

“I told you so.”

“Abby!” you groaned, rolling your eyes. You two spent the rest of the day joking about it but it still hurt. Lingering subconsciously.

✈︎ What you didn’t know was that Abby had already decided you didn’t need Dina. You certainly didn’t need Ellie, either. Maybe she found Dina’s number while you were sleeping, sent a few texts telling her to stay away. Maybe she didn’t. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was you leaning back into her, letting her hold you, telling her how much you appreciated her. How much you loved her.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ God, she loved hearing you say it. The way you said it with no hesitation, holding eye contact, voice sending jolts through her body. It also didn’t matter the time of day or what you were doing. she needed to hear it. Yes, even when she was knuckles deep, listening to you whine and moan.

“Tell me you love me, baby,” she murmured, lips brushing your ear.

“Let me hear you.”

And when you did, breathless, pleading, her grip tightened.

“Louder, baby—uh huh, yeah, you fucking do.”

But how could you pick up on small things like that when your eyes were busy rolling to the back of your skull. This was love, passion, protection. she made sure it was drilled into your head.

────୨ৎ────


“No, baby. Not that one,” Abby said, shaking her head as she nodded toward your closet.

This was the third outfit she’d vetoed. You loved your sweet girlfriend—you really did—but moments like this made you want to strangle her. It had become a small pattern, one you were only now starting to pick up on. The way she’d tug down the hem of your skirt, make you do a slow spin before you left together, double-checking that you were covered in all the places she swore were only for her eyes to see. Your lower back. Too much cleavage. A glimpse of midriff. None of that.

And when she wasn’t subtly adjusting your outfits, she was replacing them altogether. Gifts—so many gifts. Gorgeous, expensive pieces that were impossible to turn down. Each one came with a sweet little note, the kind that made you feel silly for even questioning it. “Saw this and thought of you, pretty girl.” Or “Can’t wait to see you in this, baby.”

✈︎ Yes, the skirts were longer. The shirts—silky, high-necked, modest—were all designer.  Chanel, Burberry, Prada. And when winter came, she surprised you with the exact brown and black fur coat you’d shown her on Pinterest months ago. The excitement had nearly erased the lingering thought in the back of your mind. You began to think, maybe it wasn’t about keeping you warm. It was about keeping you covered. Pushing that aside, you’d buy her pretty things in return, but you noticed she preferred more intimate gifts. Like the stocking you made her on your first Christmas together, the one where you said “I love you” for the first time. Or the scrapbook you created, filled with candid photos of the two of you through the seasons. watching the backgrounds change from snow to rain to red leaves and to blooming flowers.

✈︎ She kept all of them. I mean, all of them. Even the tissue you patted her face with after her mother’s funeral. Yes, she kept that too. You didn’t know until one day, while you were cleaning up for her. something you rarely did since she was a bit of a neat freak. You saw the napkin, obviously used. Before you could throw it out, she took it from you. You blinked, unsure, but assumed she was going to dispose of it herself. Little did you know, you had made a much bigger mark on her than you realized. That day, she was staring at you, as if she were seeing her future. Did she ask you about any of her plans? No, of course not. She figured you’d be happy as long as you had her. Thoughts like that felt obscene in her mind. What she did ask, though, was:

✈︎ “You’re happy, right?” She whispered, tilting your face to hers, always satisfied with whatever answer you gave.

✈︎ “Oh, you remembered…?” She’d smile when you recalled even the smallest details of your time together.

✈︎ “You still love me, right? Even if we don’t always talk about it?” Yes, yes, and yes. No wasn't a word you had the heart to say to her. To your Abby? Your sweet partner, it was always yes. Even if you didn’t want to say it. It was never no. So today when she asked you to get dressed to go out with your circle of friends for a night on the water. You did exactly that.

────୨ৎ────

“Seriously, Abs? Do you even want me to go? You keep saying no to my—”

“That one is good.” Abby cut you off mid-sentence, her eyes flicking up and down your outfit, finally approving. You’d been playing dress-up for what felt like an hour, but it was never enough. You’d given in, slipping into something a bit more modest than you wanted, yet you couldn’t fight her.

“I’m convinced you want a nun for a girlfriend.” You sighed.

She stepped up behind you, hands firm on your hips as she leaned in, her chin rested your shoulder. Her voice was low. “Not a nun. Just Don’t want anyone else looking at you like that.” Her grip tightened slightly. She exhaled, her breath warm against your skin. “Just want you for me, that’s all.”

You felt too covered up for a late-night boat ride with friends, though. But you pick and choose your battles, right? If she was happy, you’re happy. You ended up tying the shirt to a crop when she wasn't looking. You loved your body; you were allowed to show it off occasionally.

Hand in hand, you drove to the port in Abby’s Jeep. The ride was quiet, too quiet. The engine hummed beneath the silence, and you kept your gaze fixed on the city lights outside, knowing it was easier than looking at her.

The glow from the dashboard reflected off her jawline, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips when you reached for her hand.

“Damn, what took you two so long?” A voice called out from the dock as you stepped onto the weathered wood. A man waved, his playful grin highlighted by the glow of the dock lights. Jordan, his thick black eyebrows furrowed, watched as you and Abby approached the small group.

You wanted to joke about Abby making you change a hundred times, but you knew better. That would only earn you a sharp look and a night of passive-aggressive silence. So instead, you just blamed it on traffic and stepped onto the Boston Whaler 285 Conquest, once owned by Abby’s grandfather, now repurposed for nights like these. Luxury, fun, and just enough recklessness to remind you all that nothing bad could ever really happen to people like you.

“Hell yeah, I brought the booze!” Leah’s voice rang out from the helm.

“Someone started early,” you teased, watching her twirl—bottles of something dark in each hand, her laughter cutting through the night.

✈︎ They had originally been Abby’s friends, but now they felt like your own. If Abby didn’t approve of someone, that meant they weren’t worth keeping around anyway. So this group of seven was plenty. Loud, wild, indulgent, always pushing the edge just enough to keep things interesting.

✈︎ First-world problems, boring galas, the bullshit drama of people you’d never really have to deal with—it was all fair game for ranting and laughing about, the alcohol keeping everything light and meaningless. Conversations blurred into one another, champagne bubbles mixing with cigarette smoke, the sharp tang of expensive whiskey clinging to every word.Someone was always telling a ridiculous story, exaggerating details just enough to make it funnier. Someone else was always half-draped over another, limbs tangled, faces flushed, a careless kind of closeness that came with privilege and too many drinks. The air smelled like salt water and perfume, luxury cologne, and the lingering haze of a freshly lit joint.

Abby smirked as you clung onto her, sinking into the plush cushions beside her. The boat glided over dark waters, the surface rippling like liquid ink, only touched by scattered moonlight. The engine’s steady hum mixed with laughter, the clinking of bottles, and the occasional squeal from someone almost losing their balance.

Across from you, Leah stood at the bow, gripping something long and thin.

“Is… that a fishing rod?” Abby called out, raising an eyebrow.

“Fishing? Dude, it’s pitch black!” Jordan laughed, shaking his head.

“What? I saw it, so I picked it up. No late-night snack?” Leah grinned, holding it up like she was about to reel in something huge.

“Ha ha,” Jordan scoffed. “C’mon, babe, sit down before you fall.”

“Yeah, Leah, seriously,” you added, casting a glance around. Everyone had collectively coated their stomachs with alcohol at this point. The boat swayed gently, but in your mind, everything still felt steady. Safe.

“Fucking party poopers,” she whined, stumbling as she made her way back.

The music pulsed through the speakers, vibrating under your fingertips as you traced circles over Abby’s knee. Someone passed you a drink, ice clinking against glass. The wind was salty and cool against your skin, and for a moment, everything felt weightless—just another night, just another story to laugh about in the morning.

Then before you could ground yourself, A deafening crack—wood splintering, metal twisting, the sickening crunch of fiberglass giving way as the world lurched violently forward. The force of it stole the breath from your lungs before you even hit the surface.

Bodies slammed against seats, railings, and the deck. Someone cried out—a sharp, guttural sound swallowed by the pure chaos. The boat groaned in protest, the hull splitting open as water rushed in, swallowing everything in its path. The night, once filled with laughter and careless drunken chatter, twisted into something unrecognizable. Screams pierced the air, panic rising like a tidal wave.

Then came the water.

A crushing, merciless cold that seized your body, shocking the breath from your lungs. It pulled you under, the weight of the crash dragging debris and bodies into the abyss.

Your vision blurred—dark water, fractured moonlight, hands reaching, grasping, then slipping away. And then, Leah was gone. But that wasn’t the name being screamed. It was yours. A shaky voice, frantic and desperate—Abby’s. Calling for you over and over.

The cool of damp grass pressed against your cheek, your vision swimming as you groaned and clutched your arm. A deep gash ran along the length of it, a sheen of red seeping through torn fabric, dark and wet against your soft skin. Tears blurred your vision—shock, pain, it was so fast. Overwhelmed. You gasped, struggling to sit up. Every muscle in your body ached, but you forced yourself to take in your surroundings. The front of the boat was completely smashed in, glass and debris scattered across the shoreline. The others were stumbling to their feet, coughing, calling out to each other in shaky voices.

“…I’m here,” you called out. “Abs... I’m right here.”

Abby all but collapsed beside you, grabbing your face with trembling hands, her wide eyes scanning you for injuries. You barely had time to process before she was pulling you against her, burying her face into your hair, the scent of her shampoo thick in your nose. The others were shouting now.

“Where’s Leah?”

“Leah!” Jordan’s voice cracked as he stumbled forward, scanning the dark water. “Leah, where the fuck are you?”

Panic settled over the group like a thick fog, replacing the drunken laughter of earlier with frantic movement. Flashlights from scattered phones cut across the water. Someone ran toward the wreckage, their footsteps crunching over broken glass and debris.

“She was right here—”

“Did she fall?”

“Fuck, fuck—she was just standing here—”

The shouts became more urgent, the terror in Jordan’s voice making your head spin even more. But Abby—Abby wasn’t looking at the water. She wasn’t calling for Leah.

She was looking at you.

Hands gripping your waist, scanning your face, as if making sure you were still there.

“You’re hurt,” she whispered, ignoring the chaos, her fingers brushing the blood on your arm. Her expression was unreadable—shock, concern, something else beneath it all. “We need to get you out of here.”

“Abby—” you wanted to bud in but She was already moving, hands fumbling for her phone, fingers trembling as she dialed. You could barely hear her over the panic, but the moment the call connected, her voice was sharp and urgent.

“Dad—” her breath hitched, her grip on you tightening. 

You barely registered the clipped response on the other end before she pulled the phone away, her face paler than you’d ever seen it. It was always the same with Abby. The moment things spiraled, the second the world tipped out of her control, her first instinct was to call her father.

✈︎ It didn’t matter what it was. A failed exam in school? Jerry. A bad breakup? Jerry. Someone disrespected her at some pretentious gala? Jerry. Even when she swore she could handle things on her own, her fingers always twitched toward her phone, her father’s number burned into her muscle memory. Maybe it was because she never really had to deal with the consequences of her own mistakes. Not when Jerry was always there to smooth things over, to fix what needed fixing, to make things disappear. It was almost like magic, the way he worked—whispers in the right ears, money exchanged behind closed doors, a well-timed favor cashed in. And now, even with something as devastating as this, Abby wasn’t thinking about what they’d done, what it meant. She wasn’t thinking about Leah. About the cold, dark water swallowing her whole. She was thinking about Jerry. About how he would clean this up, the way he always did. And maybe the worst part was that she was right.

Minutes later, headlights cut through the darkness. Jerry was already on the phone when he stepped out of the car, his expression unreadable, his voice a low murmur as he barked orders to someone on the other end. The moment he hung up, his sharp gaze flicked over the wreckage and the group of panicked, bloodied young adults before settling on Abby. Without hesitation, she moved toward him, her grip on you unrelenting.

Jordan wheeled around, panic-stricken. “What? No, we have to find Leah—”

Jerry barely spared him a glance. His tone was clipped, final. He turned to Abby. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Someone snapped. “We have to do something!”

But Jerry was already moving, grabbing Abby’s wrist, looking at you expectantly. “This isn’t something you want to be involved in,” he murmured. “Trust me.” The air felt thick, suffocating. Jordan was still screaming Leah’s name. Someone was sobbing. And Abby—she wasn’t arguing. She squeezed your waist, voice soft but urgent. “We have to go.” Your heart pounded as you looked between her, Jerry, and the chaos behind you. It didn’t feel real. None of it did. And then, as if deciding for you, Jerry pulled Abby away, guiding her toward the car. You hesitated—just for a moment—before Abby’s grip tightened on your wrist.

“Come on, baby. Please.”

And against every instinct screaming at you to stay, you followed her. You closed the door behind you. Letting your head fall against the leather seat. 

The car ride was filled with Jerry’s own interrogation.

You’d never been a witness to the Anderson back-and-forth before. But tonight, sitting in the backseat, still processing the night’s events, you had front-row seats. Jerry’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his voice sharp, slicing through the tense air. “You tell me what the hell happened.”

Abby was hunched forward in the passenger seat, still damp, her blonde hair clinging to her skin. She wiped a hand down her face, her breath unsteady. “It was an accident,” she muttered.

“An accident?” Jerry repeated, voice thick with disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Abigail. Do you understand what’s at stake here?”

Abby’s jaw clenched. “What was I supposed to do? Just let them call the cops? Let them search the boat?”

Jerry exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was holding back from snapping completely. His voice lowered, even more dangerous now. “And what exactly would they have found?”

Silence. Abby didn’t answer. Not right away. Her fingers tapped against her knee, a nervous tic you’d noticed before. You could almost hear the gears turning in her head, weighing what to say, how much to admit.

Finally, she swallowed. “I handled it.”

Jerry let out a humorless laugh. “No, you called me. And now I have to handle it.”

From the backseat, you sat frozen, hands gripping your lap, your own pulse hammering in your ears. Abby hadn’t even looked at you since you got in the car. Hadn’t reached for your hand, hadn’t asked if you were okay. All her energy, all her focus, was on damage control. And maybe that was the difference between the two of you. Maybe this should’ve been your warning sign. You were still thinking about Leah. Abby was thinking about herself.

────୨ৎ────

“Tonight: Leah Cross’ Death—Inside the Boat Crash That Killed NYC Teen”

“Leah Cross’ Family Settles for $15M Over Boat Crash”

“Jerry Anderson Ce—”

The TV screen flickered, then went black.

You turned your head just in time to see Abby hovering behind you, the remote still in her hand. The news channel was gone. Erased. Leah hadn’t just disappeared that night. She’d been thrown into the current. Her autopsy said she most likely died on impact, but you couldn’t shake the memory of her on the boat, twirling on the helm, throwing her hands up and yelling, “This is my shit!” to every song that played. The image wouldn’t leave. It haunted you. Your parents couldn’t get ahold of you that night—your phone had been tossed into the summer waters. But Jerry reassured them you were fine. He didn’t mention the 12 stitches in your arm. He definitely didn’t mention the alcohol, the panic, the way everyone had been too wasted to process what happened. Just fine.

That night never left you.

Maybe it was shock. Maybe fear. But you never asked Abby about the conversation in the car. Your sweet Abby had just been protecting you. That’s what she always said. You both had reputations, things on the line. That’s what she repeated every time you even looked like you were thinking about it. Jerry had shoved money down the Cross family’s throat. And they took every penny. You knew silence had a price. But family?

Abby hated when you brought it up. She made sure your arm was fixed up, kissed over every bruise. Whispered reassurances against your skin. And yet, here you were. Rolled onto your side, away from her Night was always the worst. Too much room for your thoughts to catch up to you. Too much room for questions.

“Abs…?” you murmured, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah?” Her voice was hesitant, guarded. Like she already knew where this was going.

You swallowed. “Do… do you think about that night? Leah, she—”

Abby exhaled sharply, already shaking her head. “Why are you bringing this up again?” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. “We’ve been over this.”

“Abby, we didn’t even stay that night—”

“That was the right call,” she cut in, sitting up against the headboard. “We weren’t gonna stick around for the cops to start pointing fingers. What would that have done? Made you feel better?“

You swallowed hard, something bitter catching in your throat. “You aren’t even listening to me!” You pushed yourself up in bed, turning to face her fully. “You just keep shutting me down like I’m supposed to forget about it.”

Abby’s jaw clenched. “And what exactly do you want me to say?” she shot back. “That I think about it every night? That I see her face every time I close my fucking eyes? Because I don’t. I can’t. You shouldn’t either.”

✈︎ The words hit like a gut punch. Cold. Dismissive. Final. Just like every other time you tried to talk about it. Like your grief—your guilt—was an inconvenience. You stared at her for a long moment, something in your chest curling tight, twisting into something ugly and unfamiliar. Abby wasn’t going to hear you. She never did.

✈︎ And maybe… she never would. That was the moment you felt it. That stiffness inside you. The thing that slowly, quietly, began to push you away from her. She apologized later. Reassured you she was protecting you. But it didn’t feel like it. Her tone, the way she dismissed Leah, someone she claimed to love. it didn’t sit right. That night, you laid there, stiff in her arms as she curled around you, locking you in place. But it didn’t feel like her. The sheets felt cold. Her warmth wasn’t comforting anymore. The arguments only escalated. Until one day, you couldn’t take it anymore. You walked out her front door and didn’t look back. It hurt. Stung worse than anything else. But you had to grieve properly. Refocus on school. Reconnect with your family. Make your own friends. Find mental clarity. Space from Abby. The not-so-sweet Abby you once knew. But you were her lifeline. And when four days passed without a word from you, Abby’s fingers itched to have you back in her proximity. She texted once.

6:10PM Abby: Hey. You good?

Again.

6:40PM Abby: I know you’re mad, but can you just text me back? Please?

Again.

7:26PM Abby: Are you really ignoring me right now? C’mon, babe. Talk to me.

7:28PM You: Need space rn abs.

Then came the desperate text.

7:29PM Abby: Space Tf? Seriously?

7:29PM Abby: You can’t just disappear on me. You know that, right?

7:30PM Abby: I’ve done everything for you. I’ve kept you safe. And now you’re shutting me out?

────୨ৎ────

The messages kept coming. The words more frantic. More clipped. As if she couldn’t stand the thought of you being anywhere but within reach. She needed you. You couldn’t just disappear. Not after everything she’d done for you. This wasn’t how it worked. You never told her no.

And that wasn’t going to start now.

✈︎ Abandonment. It was the one thing Abby couldn’t stomach. Her mother was gone. Her father was present in name only. And now, you weren’t answering your fucking phone. She gritted her teeth, staring at the ceiling as her phone lay discarded beside her, the last unanswered text staring back at her like a slap in the face. She knew Leah’s death had shaken you. She’d seen it in the way you flinched at the sound of water slapping against the docks, how your fingers traced the scar on your arm absentmindedly when you thought no one was looking. And she got it—really, she did.

✈︎ But what she didn’t understand was why you were acting like this. Like she was the one to blame. She’d explained it to you a million times. She wasn’t trying to be cold. She just didn’t want you getting in trouble, ruining your life over something you couldn’t change. Did you think your parents would still approve of her if they knew everything? If you’d stuck around that night and let the police twist the truth? She had protected you, the way she always would, and now you were punishing her for it.

It wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair. She was in love with you. All of you. That meant it was her job to protect you, to keep you safe, to make sure no one—no thing—could ever come between you. Because you weren’t just her girlfriend. You were hers. So fine. She’d let you have your space, your stupid fucking distance. You’d answer eventually.

You always did. Except you didn’t. And despite how much you hated the hollow, gnawing ache in your chest, you didn’t let yourself pick up the phone. At first, it was easy. Ignoring her texts, pretending you didn’t hear your phone buzzing at night. You told yourself it was necessary. That it would get better.

✈︎ But then came the flowers. The notes slipped under your door. The gifts left where you’d find them, small and expensive. Diamond jewelry – “I hate seeing you upset, baby. Let me make it up to you.” reminders that she was still there. That she wasn’t going to let you go so easily. And the worst part? A small, broken part of you didn’t want her to. But you had to, right? Because if you didn’t, Abby never would

✈︎ So, you started pulling away. Slowly, at first. Ignoring texts a little longer. Making excuses when she called. Telling yourself that if you could just create enough distance, she’d get the hint. She didn’t. Instead, she adjusted. Became more careful. Gave you space but never let you forget she was waiting. That she was patient. That you’d come back.

And your parents? They only made it worse.One night, as you walked into the dining room, your mother’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Honey, these flowers are beautiful.”

Your father barely glanced up from his plate. “She’s a good kid. Second chances are important.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t have to ask where they came from. The same white roses Abby always sent, of course. You gripped the back of your chair. Bit your tongue. They didn’t know the full truth. Maybe they knew about the boat crash, maybe they didn’t, but even if they did, you weren’t involved, so why would they care? Abby was still Jerry’s daughter. Still the golden girl in their eyes. And the comments kept coming. Little reminders, subtle nudges that told you exactly where they stood.

“You never frowned this much when Jerry’s daughter was around,” your mom added, shaking her head. “You two were always so happy together.”

✈︎ Were. Past tense. Like they thought this was just a phase. Like they were waiting for you to snap out of it and come to your senses. It wasn’t like you wanted her to stay away. The notes on the gifts made your stomach churn with guilt. But then you’d remember the red flags being waved in your face, and you’d try to stand firm. try to hold your ground on this. And maybe that was why, when Abby invited you to dinner, you didn’t fight it as hard as you should have. Your mother’s voice in the back of your head, the same tired excuse about your father’s business dealings and not ending things on bad terms. So you accepted. Maybe you thought one last dinner would make it easier. That sitting across from her, hearing her laugh, remembering all the good things, would make it clear if you needed to step away fully. And at first, it was sweet.

The restaurant was dimly lit, quiet. Abby had picked your favorite place, ordered your favorite before you even arrived. She looked good, too—too good. Dark button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to tease the curve of her forearms. For a while, it felt normal. Comfortable. Maybe even right. Until it wasn’t. Until the conversation drifted back to her. To you. To the space you had put between you.

Abby exhaled, swirling her drink in slow circles. “Can we just… stop pretending?” she asked, voice low. “I know you miss me.”

Your stomach knotted, but you kept your voice even. “Abby—”

“You preyed on me, you know that?” she cut in, leaning forward. “At the funeral. When I was grieving.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You saw me at my lowest and took advantage of that. Made me think you actually cared.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “And then, what? The second things got hard, you ran?”

You stared at her, heartbeat pounding in your ears. It was a trick. A test. Another way to shift the blame. to make you doubt yourself, make you stay. Preyed on her? The self-doubt hit fast and hard. You didn’t intentionally worm your way in. You saw a girl who had just lost her mother. You offered an ear, a shoulder. She kissed you first, for Christ’s sake. You didn’t even know how to respond. But you did know this was only proving that you needed time away from her. From this person she was turning into.

The conversation escalated. Her voice sharper, her expression harder. The way she twisted her face in disapproval when you tried to defend yourself. Finally, you forced the words out.

“I think we should take a break.” Her jaw clenched. You expected a fight. For her to argue, to beg, to do something. Instead, she leaned back, nodded once, and signaled for the check. And for a while, you thought that was the end.

But then Abby stopped calling. Stopped texting. Stopped begging.

No gifts. No notes. Just… silence.

And somehow, that was worse. So much worse. It felt so wrong to not be near her.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ At first, the silence was a relief. But then the relief faded, leaving something else in its place. Something that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts late at night when you stared at your phone, knowing there would be nothing from her.

✈︎ It felt so , so wrong. Abby wasn’t the type to give up so easily. She fought for what she wanted, always. And that was the part you weren’t ready to admit: some small, irrational part of you wanted her to fight for this. For you. To prove something, even if you didn’t know what. But she didn’t.The silence stretched on. Days turned to weeks. And slowly, that unsettling feeling morphed into something heavier. The weight of your parents’ expectations, the whispers about Jerry’s family, the things left unsaid between you and Abby. it all started to spiral. You told yourself it was for the best. That this was what you wanted. But then why did it feel like losing? Why did the silence feel heavier than the arguments? Why did it twist something deep in your chest, leaving you restless, unable to sleep, unable to think without wondering if you had made the right choice.

You weren’t in the right headspace for this, not really. Not for concerts, not for crowds, not for meeting new people. But when Riley sent the invite, tickets already bought, practically begging you to get out of your own head, you said yes. Not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t trust yourself alone with your thoughts.

The music was loud. The bass pulsed through the floor, through your body, drowning out everything else. Riley dragged you through the crowd, weaving past bodies until you were close enough to feel the heat of the stage lights. And then there was her. A tall brunette, leaning in too close, brushing her shoulder against yours. Laughing at something you barely registered.

“What?” You yelled back.

“I said you’re hot! Love the outfit!” she shouted over the music, leaning down to your ear, breath warm against your skin.

Jessica. She introduced herself at some point during the night, though you barely remembered when. Her body was close, her presence easy, effortless. The kind of girl who knew what she wanted and didn’t hesitate to take it. When her hands drifted lower under the guise of friendly, you didn’t stop her. She was pretty. Willing. A distraction.

So you let her press against you from behind, her lips grazing the side of your neck. Let her hands roam, fingers mapping over you like she already knew where you needed them.

✈︎ You weren’t easy. But girls need love too. And maybe, for one night, that was enough. Her touch wasn’t like Abby’s. it was different. More room to flip the script, softer, hesitant in ways you weren’t used to. You had to guide her hands sometimes, shifting her touch when it wasn’t quite right, tilting her chin when she kissed you. But you weren’t sober, so you just leaned your head back against the leather of her passenger seat and tried to stay in the moment. Tried not to notice how it didn’t feel like enough. You groaned in frustration when your orgasm took much longer than it ever did before. Even your vagina had a mind of its own. And it was wondering to the woman you desperately didn’t want to think about.

Afterward, Jessica lit a cigarette, rolling the window down as she stretched her legs out. The orange glow of the ember flickered as she took a slow drag, exhaling into the night. You watched, silent, waiting for the feeling to settle in your chest. Some kind of satisfaction, some kind of relief. It never came.

Instead, she turned to you, smirking. “You wanna hear something funny?”

You hummed in acknowledgment, still staring out the windshield. Praying she didn’t notice that your moans were definitely a bit more exaggerated.

“When I was a kid, some girl cut off a chunk of my hair.” Jessica huffed.

That made you glance over. “What?”

Jessica laughed, tapping ash out the window. “Yeah. Just, snip. Right in the middle of class.” She made a cutting motion with her fingers, grinning. “It was long, too. My mom loved my hair. Always brushed it out for me, made a big deal about it. And then this girl, out of nowhere, just—” She mimicked the sound of scissors slicing through the air. “Teacher freaked. My mom cried. The whole thing was a mess.”

You frowned. “Damn. Why’d she do it?”

Jessica shrugged, flicking her cigarette. “She wouldn’t say. Just sat there, holding the hair like it was hers now.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “I had to get it all cut short after that. Sucked.”

You exhaled through your nose, lips pressing together. Something about the story sat oddly in your chest, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. Maybe it was because you could picture it too clearly the quiet, unspoken possession behind a simple, irreversible act. Maybe it was because, in a different time, in a different place, you could have seen Abby doing the same thing. You pushed the thought away. That would a crazy assumption, right?

Jessica reached for your thigh again, fingertips brushing just above your knee. You let her. Not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t have the energy to move away. The truth was, she wasn’t Abby. She didn’t kiss you like she meant it. She didn’t make your breath hitch, didn’t pull you under in a way that felt intoxicating.

And yet, despite everything, you still felt the pull. Going back to Abby would be a mistake. So why did it feel like you were already slipping?

You let Jessica be enough for the time being. Focused on your own life. Separate from Abby.

She turned out to be sweet. A little clingy, but not in a way that suffocated you—just in a way that made it easier to let her fill the space Abby left behind. And even if the sex wasn’t mind-blowing, it was good enough to make you forget, at least for a little while. You weren’t sure if you were ready for another relationship anyway.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Jessica was easy. Simple. No complications, no expectations. at least, that’s what you told yourself. You let her be enough for the time being, focused on your own life, separate from Abby. It was nice, in a way. Being with someone who didn’t come with sharp edges, who didn’t push or pull too hard. Someone who let you lead. Even if the sex wasn’t the same, even if you sometimes found yourself zoning out when she kissed you, even if her touch didn’t spark anything close to what Abby’s did. You made do.

✈︎ You tried. You really did. But there was something hanging over you that you couldn’t shake. It lingered, always present, like a ghost at the edge of your mind. It hindered you from fully indulging with Jessica like you used to, made it harder to pretend she was all you wanted. And she wasn’t stupid.

Jessica laughed, head thrown back as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Wait—you dated that psycho?”

Your stomach twisted. “She’s not—”

“Oh my god, babe.” She shook her head, grinning. “She definitely is. Didn’t she break some girl’s ribs in highschool?”

“That’s just a rumor.” Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.

Jessica snorted, slumping against the couch. “I mean, I get it, I guess. She’s hot, in a scary kind of way. But, babe, that’s—” She stopped. Her smile faded just a little as she sat up, studying your face. “…Wait.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Is that why you’ve been off?” You stiffened. Of course she noticed.

“Her?” Jessica scoffed, shifting on the couch.

“No—I don’t know—”

“You don’t know?” Her voice toned in disbelief. “I’m all over you, and you’re telling me you’ve been thinking about another girl?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Jessica exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Jesus Christ.”

✈︎ Guilt became your newfound friend. Because you couldn’t deny it. You were thinking about her. And now you were defending her. Even after everything. Even after all the reasons you had to stay away. And that wasn’t even the worst part of it all.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ Why? Because Abby could hardly contain the burning frustration bubbling in her chest as she tossed the racket aside. The sound of it hitting the ground was too quiet, a dull thud compared to the storm she felt rising in her. Why was this so fucking hard? For the fourth time in a row, the tennis ball hit the net and rolled off, mocking her with its perfect imperfection. She wiped a hand across her face, trying to shake the thought from her mind, but it lingered like a bad taste. You.

Her grip on the racket tightened again, knuckles white, the tension in her body palpable. Goddamn it, she cursed under her breath. A harsh exhale left her lungs as she turned away from the court, storming off without a second glance at Jerry, who called after her with that same disappointed tone.

“The hell was that?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. There was nothing to say. Not when her thoughts were consumed by you, by the space you’d put between the two of you. You were still out of reach, and the thought of you letting someone else slide in made her stomach twist in knots. The anger surged again, hot and sharp. Her visor felt suffocating now, like the pressure of it could crack her skull. It had been months, and you hadn’t come back. Months. And what was worse? You’d moved on. Blocking her was one thing, but seeing you move on? That was the thing that twisted the knife.

She slumped down on a bench nearby, the air heavy in her lungs, suffocating her as she dug through her phone. The screen glowed back at her, an endless stream of images and memories. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, flipping through photos, each one a reminder of a time she thought she still had you. Your laughter, your warmth, your body beneath her hands.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she zoomed in on one picture. You, pressed against her, eyes sparkling. “Let’s see how long you can keep ignoring me,” she muttered, to herself. her finger tapping on the screen. She posted it without hesitation, not caring how it might make you feel. She just needed you to know. she wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

────୨ৎ────

✈︎ You had been getting looks all morning, but not like this. The stares felt different—more calculated, more curious. Something wasn’t right, but you couldn’t place your finger on it. You brushed it off, shoving the unease down as best as you could.

✈︎ Until you finally gotten home, phone buzzing in your hand, and opened Nora’s message. The second you saw the notification, your stomach dropped.

(Pic is not to represent the readers physical! Just for story’s sake)

────୨ৎ────

“Please, tell me that is NOT my ass on the timeline right now,” you said, barely holding it together as the panic crept up your throat. Embarrassment flooded your veins.

On the other side, Nora stifled her awkward laughter, but you could hear the amusement in her voice. “Then I won’t say it.”

The tension snapped. You were dressed, yes, but that picture? It was never meant for the world. Not like this. Not for her followers.

“…It’s a good picture at least?” Nora ventured, trying to ease the tension, but you could hear her holding back a laugh.

You stared at the screen in disbelief as your phone nearly slipped from your hands. Comments started rolling in. Some teasing, others thirsty. Your stomach twisted tighter with every line. And then you saw it—at the top of the post—Abby’s username, clear as day.

You didn’t think. You just pressed call.

The phone rang twice before she picked up, and you didn’t give her a chance to speak.

“Are you fucking serious, Abbigail?!”

Abby’s voice was rough, thick with the frustration she couldn’t hide. “What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Gifts? Ignored. Saying please? Ignored. I’m blocked on basically everything!”

“I don’t know, space! Like I asked?”

“It’s been months!” Your breath caught in your throat as the anger and hurt pressed against your chest, but Abby’s voice dropped, and something softer—something hurt—slipped through. “It’s been months.” She repeated.

The words hit harder than you expected. You could hear the raw edge in her voice, the cracks forming in her tough exterior. “It’s like you hate me now,” she murmured, quieter, almost like she didn’t want you to hear it. “All of me. Us.”

And just like that, you felt your defenses crack.

[velvetsainz]

summary: [ cs55, cl16, mv1, lh44, fa14, sv5, dr3, mwebber, jb22 x fem!reader ] three major kinks + a couple minor kinks for each driver

word count: 1.8k

content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), pwp; i'm not going to tag all of these bc that would take 5ever BUT 1) everything is consensual & in the setting of a happy, healthy relationship & 2) dm me if you are needing any specific tw's/cw's & i'll be happy to share those!

a/n: it's been a hot, hot minute since i've had the energy to write (i was busy surviving my surgery core rotation at a level 1 trauma center & pediatrics at a major children's hospital), but i've been brewing up a lil something for awhile now! i was stalling out on writing the last part of corsica, so i figured i'd at least give you this to get the juices flowing again! i started this blog about six months ago, & i'm nearly at 500 followers & i wanted to take a moment to thank you all! i love you so much and i hope you enjoy this! these are the kinks i think each of these drivers has! what proof do i have, you ask? absolute fuck-all! enjoy, loves! xx

creampie + breeding kink — he’s a family man & lord knows how badly he wants his own. he’s possessive, too, & this sates both of those desires well for him.  he’s always whispering something in your ear, hand low on your belly about how good you’d look carrying his babies. and once you’re actually pregnant? sweet jesus, he’s never taking his hands off of you.

shower sex — he’s talked a number of times about how he’ll shower multiple times a day, and something tells me he’d never object to a partner. more than once he’s had you against the tiled walls until the water ran cold and your teeth were chattering.  he’d then proceed to take it upon himself to warm you up again, ever the gentleman.

post-workout sex — there’s something about the way you look, out of breath & drenched in sweat that sends all the blood in his body rushing to his cock. you’re trying to push him away, afraid that you’re just too gross, but this man does not give a single fuck.  he adores you in all your sweaty, sticky glory & is on you the second you make it back from your class, peeling you out of your leggings and wrangling your too-tight sports bra over your head.  and it goes the other way as well: his favorite workout cooldown is fucking you senseless; there’s something deeply primal about the exertion of a workout that clouds his head with only thoughts of you, out of breath & on the brink of orgasm.

minor kinks | hair pulling — rough sex — cockwarming — pussy worship — possessiveness — soft dom — teasing — dirty talk

praise kink — he’s a talker in bed, and that means that he’s telling you just how delicious the tight clutch of your velvet walls feels around his cock. one language is not enough to tell you all the ways you make him feel, how good you are, how badly he’s wanted you. it certainly doesn’t hurt when you reciprocate, but the sounds he’s able to work out of you are often enough for him.

vanilla sex — listen: it’s no secret that this man is a romantic, and there are few things as romantic as good ole vanilla sex. sure, some spice is nice every once in a while, but he doesn’t need it to get his rocks off. he’s too caught up in the romance of it all—the tangle of limbs, skin pressed against skin, stuttering breaths, and stammering hearts—to want anything else.  all he needs is you.

kissing — similar as above, charles is a sucker for romance, and a good makeout sess is just the right thing to get him hot and bothered.  he’s very talented with languages, and his mastery of his tongue doesn’t end with words. *wink wink*

minor kinks | oral sex (giving + receiving) — creampie — cowgirl — bathtub sex — breathplay

mutually drunk sex — no matter how much he loves a club scene, he’d always find himself back in your arms.  happy, sloppy, messy sex. as much as he loves a g&t, he loves the taste of you more.

wax play — we’ve seen the clips. he likes dripping the wax just as much as he likes being dripped on, and every time you go to light a candle his eyes get that hungry look like he could devour you whole; you’ve learned how to use this to your advantage.

dirty talk + praise kink — as we all know, this man is a certified YAPPER. and, unsurprisingly, that extends to the bedroom, too.  always groaning, grunting, whispering sweet nothings in your ears, there’s very little that leaves him truly speechless; you’ll always know exactly how he feels when you're riding his cock or taking him deep in your throat, whether that’s in dutch, english, or the french he’s been trying to practice. and, given his upbringing, he lives for the praises that fall past your lips; he aims to please, and your sweet words are all the motivation he needs.

minor kinks | restraints (giving + receiving) — spanking — threesomes — nipple play — sensory play

massage — he takes great pride in his physique, and he thinks every inch of you is perfect.  he loves watching all the tension leave your body. with such limited time in his busy, busy life, he thrives on the time he gets to spend with you; few things can compete with the peace, intimacy, and pleasure that comes from the feeling of your hands working over the tight muscles of his back and legs. and if they happen to wander somewhere else? well, what a happy accident that would be!

fingering — if there’s one thing lewis knows, it’s that a man’s most important tool isn’t the one between his legs.  he loves all the ways in which you unravel for him, your back pressed against his chest with your legs draped over his own to keep them open.  he’ll play with you like that for hours if he could, unlacing your composure until you're boneless and melting into him with every touch. (also, dear god, have you seen his hands? female gaze bait of the highest form.)

the lingerie stays on — there’s a litany of pick-up lines about clothes, etc. looking good on you but better on their floor, and a one mr. hamilton disagrees with that sentiment; we know well how he appreciates fine garments, and he loves them even more when you’re wearing them.  he’s most certainly one to spoil his partner, and if he’s going to buy you that agent provocateur set, you can bet he wants to see you in it.

minor kinks | soft dom — cowgirl — voyeurism — intimacy — dirty talk — shower sex — pillowtalk

face riding — why do you think he takes so much pride in his neck strength? and even when you’re squirming away from overstimulation, he’s more than able to hold you in place by hooking his toned biceps over your shaking thighs. he’s a menace, but he never leaves a partner wanting for more.

wearing his clothes — okay, this one isn’t original in the slightest because i simply cannot get this blurb by @folkloresthings out of my head.  nando would keel over at the sight of you in his clothes, especially if there was a particular lack of certain undergarments. he’d pull you in by the excess material and have you right there if feasible.

anal sex — all the nando fuckers know that he’s a little freaky—can i get an amen? that being said, his experience goes a long way in helping his partner get the most out of it and making it a pleasurable experience for all parties. he’d take his time working you open, pairing it with leg-shaking orgasms to wash away any doubts in your mind. it’s a new sensation, but a welcome one at that.

minor kinks | swallowing / facials — teasing — spanking — rough sex — sloppy sex — aftercare

teasing — a tyrant on the track and one in the bedroom as well. or in the car. or at a dinner with a few too many pairs of eyes. regardless, being a tease is his favorite above all else despite his own inability to handle a healthy dose of his own medicine. 

overstimulation — this more or less goes hand-in-hand with his teasing, but he loves the way you beg when you’re coming down from one high and coasting right into another. “just one more, liebling” or “you’ve got another one, don’t you, schatz?” or “i know you can take it, kleiner hase” before making your vision go white as he wrings another orgasm from you.

morning sex — but, above all else, sebastian is a lover, and few things are quite as intimate as slow, fumbling, half-awake morning sex where you’re mumbling praises and communicating in soft, hushed sounds of pleasure. chasing sensations and desires before your mind is even fully awake takes a strong, trusting bond, and he prides himself on this with his partner.

minor kinks | cockwarming — spanking — mutual masturbation — toys — soft restraints (giving + receiving) — creampie / breeding — praise kink — dirty talk

cowgirl — this man & his obsession w/ texas—need i say more? how does that saying go, again? “save a horse…”

photos/sextape — daniel3.jpg would like a word.  he’s obsessed with this new medium, and what’s a better way to remember a spicy moment than on film? plus, when you’re traveling 200-plus days a year, you need a way to bring a piece of home with you however you can, whether that’s watching you fall apart while arching your back as he grips your shoulder tight or taking him into the back of your throat as you look up at him through damp lashes or riding his cock or or arching your back as he grips your shoulder tight…you get the picture.

threesomes — considering the way that everyone fawns over him on the grid, this man could so easily work himself into some surprising pairings. his love language is physical touch and he’s not afraid to share it. that, combined with his competitiveness and desire to please, turns into a dangerous desire for him to see you fucked out and overwhelmed by your own need for more.

minor kinks | mirror sex — dirty talk — thigh riding — facefucking — rough sex — hair pulling

rough sex — aussie grit. there’s nothing else i need to say other than he’s a wild ride.

aftercare — any rough lover worth their prowess, though, knows the importance of aftercare, and mark is no different in that regard.  he takes it very seriously and is always checking in afterward to make sure you enjoyed yourself as much as he did, peppering you in sweet kisses and warm embraces.

pussy worship — we’ve all seen the clip, right? this man knows how to eat pussy and he’s damn good at it. better yet—he loves doing it. you’d practically have to pry him off you from the overstimulation, his tongue, lips, and teeth finding alllll the right ways to make you fall apart.

minor kinks | cockwarming — spanking — possessiveness — massage — swallowing / facials

exhibitionism + voyeurism — the grid slag. he’s confident about his body and his abilities, and he’s not afraid to share. he’s not overly possessive and an unabashed hedonist to boot, so this pairing works perfectly to get his rocks off (and hopefully yours, too). he’s a little freak, and he’s not afraid to let it show!

spanking — when you’re especially mouthy (frequently to get these exact reactions) and he’s a little bold, jenson is partial to taking you over his knee and seeing how long you can keep up the act before you’re a whimpering mess. frequently this ends with him literally kissing your ass, two fingers buried knuckle deep in your dripping cunt while another toys with your too-sensitive clit.

brattiness — again, like above, he loves when you backtalk or drag your heels on him, making him work for your pleasure and, on some nights, your submission. (though, he’s not afraid to admit how fucking hot he finds it when you take control, using him for your pleasure and taking what you need. all that matters to him is raw, messy, dirty fun.)

minor kinks | threesomes — begging — degradation kink (giving + receiving) — nipple play — oral sex (giving + receiving) — toys

final note: that's all, folks! now what do you think? let me know! 🤍 as always, you can follow my writing sideblog @velvetsainz-writes​ where i reblog inspo & recs!

[lincolndjarin]

Not So Secret Santa

javier peña x fem!reader

this is a part of the @pedrostories gift exchange!!

summary : you get the only person you didn't want for your offices secret santa.

warnings/tags : 18+ mdni, enemies/friends to lovers, canon divergence, steve is your boss/close friend, reader and javier have a complicated relationship, reader is insecure, brief mentions of alcohol, porn with plot, smut, light angst, javier and reader fight physically but it's very light with no actual injury, masturbation, semi-public sex, p in v, idk how to properly tag this but javi likes boobs in this so he touches boobs, unprotected sex (don't do this, wrap it this holiday season), use of a makeshift gag, rough yet very loving sex because it's christmas and christmas magic means i can write what i want.

tldr : you and javi have sex in his office and you put his tie in his mouth to shut him up.

word count : 4.4k

✦ : merry christmas @taro-666 !!! i'm your secret santa !!! i hope you're well this holiday season and i hope you enjoy this fic !! i haven't written much peña, despite how much i love him so i hope i did him justice and i hope you have a wonderful holiday <3 <3 (also sorry this is a little late (20 minuetes left before midnight so we're good). i was out with family all day and was only just now able to get to my laptop, i promise i didn't forget about you lmao)

no use of y/n, reader has hair and painted nails & javier sort of half picks her up at one point, nothing else is described besides clothing.

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Please, Steve, I’ll give you a week's pay.” You lean across his desk, genuine desperation in your voice after an hour of begging. 

“Not gonna happen.” He doesn’t even bother looking up from his computer.

“A month.” Your voice is starting to pitch up, something similar to anguish in your tone. Your offer finally gets a reaction out of him as his eyes widen, head tilting up.  

“Jesus, you can’t be serious.” He’s examining your expression, trying to determine the sincerity of your claim. 

“My entire Christmas bonus.” 

“Okay, stop.” He sighs, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re not allowed to switch.”

“When did you become such a stickler for the rules?” You cross your arms in front of your chest. 

“It’s just a secret Santa. He’s our friend, whether you like it or not, you two are close and this shouldn’t be this big of a deal, now go, please, I need to finish up here so I can leave at a reasonable hour.” He loosens his tie as you sigh. 

“It’s not just a secret Santa, Steve. It’s an opportunity for him to tell me that I once again didn’t do something right. No matter what I get him, it isn’t going to be good enough.” Even as you’re saying it you can see that he isn’t going to change his mind about this. 

“He’s a dick to everybody. That’s inevitable, it just means he’s comfortable with you.” He’s already turning back to his work. 

“Please, Steve.” 

“No.”

You glare down at him, giving him your angriest look as his gaze tilts back up to meet yours. 

When it’s clear that he isn’t going to switch you turn and leave, slamming his office door in the process. 

“Don’t forget, I need you here early to help set up for the party!” His muffled voice seeps out into the hall as you walk away. 

Once you’re out in your car and far away from prying eyes you unfold the damned slip of paper you’d drawn earlier today. 

Javier P. 

Of course, you got stuck with fucking Peña, a nickname you’d given him a few months ago. He absolutely hates it but the entire time you’ve worked for the DEA he’s gone out of his way to bother you. Sure, he’s your “friend”, in a strange, complicated way. But he still drives you up the wall with his constant need to one up you and the way he’s constantly making passes at women around the office. 

And it’s not like you have any problems with him sleeping around, lord knows you’ve had a fair amount of one night stands, but he just has to hit on every woman you work with. 

Every single woman, except you. 

You’d never admit it of course but a part of you will always be self conscious about that fact. It doesn’t help that Javier absolutely adores bothering you at every possible moment. He loves nothing more than to pester, annoy, and mock you, spending nearly half his day leaning over your desk despite the million complaints you’ve sent Steve about his persistent partner. 

He’ll sit on your desk, doing an endless amount of things to cause you distress. Like crowding you with his cigarette smell and vanilla cologne as he tells you you’re filling papers wrong, or telling you what colors to paint your nails, or solving your cases before you can even get to them, or teasing you about your shitty car. Today he wouldn’t stop bothering you about your weekend plans like he doesn’t already know exactly where you’ll be. 

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” He’d asked with that devastating smirk and eyebrow raise combo. 

“I have to go buy my secret Santa gift, just like everyone else.” You’d turned away, avoiding eye contact as he scoffed. 

“What about Saturday?” He continued to pry, you wanted nothing more than to shove his perfect ass off your desk. 

“The Christmas party, Javi. Just like everyone else.” You had sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose as Emilia had walked past your desk. Javier immediately forgot your entire conversation as he turned to her. 

“I love your nails.” He’d pushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand out to take hers, getting a closer look at the well manicured designs. 

You had tuned out after that. Not wanting to be involved in the exchange as you went back to typing. Acutely aware of your own nails. 

Red chipped paint. 

You couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to be the object of his affection.

It wouldn’t matter if he did hit on you, you would probably reject him anyway. 

Probably. 

It doesn’t matter, it’s never gonna happen so why let it bother you? 

With a sigh you toss the paper into your cup holder, reaching to turn on the radio, maybe some Christmas music will make you feel better. Of course nothing happens as you turn up the volume knob but it makes you want to scream regardless. 

Stupid fucking Peña. 

Stupid broken radio, stupid shitty car. 

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath as you shift into drive.

Before you know it you’re back in your car in the DEA office parking lot, this time a few things are different though. 

You’re dressed nicer, trading your slacks in for a skirt and your dress shirt for a sweater. And of course you now have a small wrapped box in your lap. 

Since you had yesterday off for the holiday you spent your Friday at the mall, searching for a gift for Javier. Eventually you had settled on three little things; Nicotine gum, mostly because you’ll get more work done if he isn’t constantly dragging you outside for his smoke breaks. He complains too much about going alone and it’s always been easier not to argue, now he can stay at your desk with his gum. Beard oil, the fancy stuff he always insists on using in his mustache. You’d bought him the wrong kind last year for his birthday and you still haven’t heard the end of it. And a lighter, you had to beg the shop owner to make an exception and do a same day engraving of his birthday. 

Jesus. 

You know way too much about him. 

You arrived two hours early as requested by Steve to help him set up. With the wrapped box tucked under your arm you anxiously tap the patterned wrapping paper with your freshly manicured nails. 

“You should paint your nails green, I love green.” He had said through a drag of his cigarette. 

Why did you let that idiot's opinions influence this decision? You feel foolish. The green chrome polish shimmering in the street lights in the parking lot as you step into the building. You had extra time while you were waiting for the engraving and you just couldn’t help yourself when the salon was just a few stores away. The image of Javier holding your hand and examining your painted nails while telling you how nice they looked was just too tempting. Maybe he’d even ask if you did it just for him, and you could drag him into a closet at the party, the exact situation you watched unfold last year. Except in that scenario you weren’t the lucky lady he’d run off with that night. 

There’s no time to be thinking like that.

You shake off whatever filth you were imagining as you look around the hectic mess of garland and glitter.

Steve is already stressing, setting up tables as you set your gift under the tree before getting to work. The office is already mostly decorated but with his new position as supervisor Steve is insistent that everything be perfect his first Christmas in charge. So you plate food, and you mix drinks exactly as he wants them, and you hold the ladder steady when he insists on putting more lights up. When you’ve got about a half an hour before guests start arriving you’re finishing up and last minute touches, the two of you crowded around a drink tower. 

The tension from your conversation yesterday seems to have fizzled out as you become engrossed in your work, when you’ve both finished he gives you an appreciative look.

“Thank you, seriously, it means a lot.” You help him adjust his tie as he straightens out his shirt. 

“Anytime, although I’m surprised you didn’t just ask Javier.” You pat his shoulder as you finish, brushing a stray blonde hair out of his eyes. 

He laughs, a nervous chuckle that makes you raise an eyebrow but when you open your mouth to comment on it he lets out a relieved sigh as the first of your coworkers arrive.

More people show up than you could have expected. 

You stay near Steve for most of the beginning until he gets dragged away by one of the higher ups who had made an appearance, leaving you alone to sip your drink against the back wall. You hum along to a Christmas song that plays loud enough to drown out any conversation you might eavesdrop on to entertain yourself in his absence, your eyes scan the crowds as you try to match up the people you work with with their spouses. 

You’re getting ready to find another group to talk to when you catch a glimpse of him standing against the opposite wall, talking to Bonnie, the woman who works in the cubicle next to yours. 

Fucking Peña. Dressed in a stupidly tight green dress shirt. 

You should leave them alone, especially if he’s trying to make a move on her. But you can’t help it as you make your way around the room towards them, a vague sense of jealousy settling in your stomach. 

String lights twinkle across the ceiling of the office, creating a warm ambience throughout the space, just as you’re about to tap him on the shoulder you overhear their conversation. 

“I had to beg Steve to switch with me, took an hour of convincing and a week's paycheck but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.” His back is to you as he leans in closer to Bonnie. 

He’s probably talking about one of the other women from the office. Steve probably had someone Javier was trying to impress and that’s why Steve didn’t want to trade with you, he had already promised his pick to Javier. 

Whatever, you can’t be too bothered about that. It does make you want to return to your spot on the other side of the room but you don’t get the chance to as the music is turned down rather suddenly.

One of the secretaries, Benjamin, stands on a chair, making an announcement that it’s time to do the secret Santa. You manage to twist through the crowds so Javier never sees you, finding his gift and bringing it to where he now stands, simultaneously keeping an eye out for your own gift.  

You hand him the box, watching the way his face lights up. 

“You picked me?” He grins as you nod, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper as you feel a tap on your shoulder. Benjamin waits behind you, leaning in to whisper while you watch Javier open his gift. 

“It was short notice so we didn’t have time to get you a back up gift but your secret Santa told us at the last minute that he forgot to get you something, he promised to bring in something after New Years, I’m so sorry.” You feel a little disappointed as he murmurs but it isn’t that big of a deal, it’s a busy time of year and people can forget things. 

“No worries, do you know who it was? I’d like to at least tell them it’s fine.” You turn away from Javier as he smiles at the nicotine gum, Benjamin's eyes flicker from your face to Javier’s before he gives you a sympathetic look, walking away. 

Javier traded for your name? 

As your head tilts to look at him now you can see the smirk he’s now sporting. 

“ …but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.”

Javier had made a conscious effort to get your name just so he could not get you something.

Huh.

That doesn’t feel great. The look he gets to see on your face is betrayal and then just sadness. You don’t really care what the reason for his decision is, you turn and walk away from him regardless. If he tries to say something to you it’s drowned out by the music that starts once again. 

Why are you so upset over some stupid joke? If it had been anyone else you wouldn’t have cared, you’d have brushed it off as a harmless accident but this wasn’t an accident. 

Maybe he didn’t really think of you as a friend. 

Maybe all of the teasing and one-upmanship really was from a place of animosity and you were just too blind and too infatuated to see it. You want to cry but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so you sift through the bowl of keys, searching for the Star Wars keychain attached to your lanyard but you can’t find it. The combination of the blaring Christmas songs with the frustration you’re currently feeling only makes you more emotional.  

You don’t want to go to the bathrooms where you might run into someone and you can’t go to Steve’s office because he might be talking to his supervisor, so you go to the only place you know there won’t be people. 

Javier’s office. 

You walk as quickly as you can, slipping inside as you slam the door shut behind you, clicking the lock in place before turning around, resting against the door as you feel tears spilling from your eyes. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your head snaps up.

Today is just not your day.

Did he know you’d come here? How the hell did he beat you here? He’s fidgeting with the lighter you bought him, watching it light and go out as he sits with your keys in his other hand. 

Your face feels hot as you take in the sight of him. 

“Give me my keys.” You hold your hand out, wiping your eyes with the other as you wait. Of course he doesn’t hand them over, that would be too easy and today is insisting on being difficult. 

“I really liked your gift. Seriously, this is… outrageously thoughtful.” He murmurs, seemingly unaware of your mood until he takes a closer look at you, his expression shifting as he realizes your eyes are rimmed with red. “Why are you so upset? What happened?” He slides open a drawer, tossing your keys into his desk while you consider calling a cab. 

What a foolish question. 

How could he possibly not know?

“I want to leave, I’m sick of this party.” You turn to leave, maybe Steve can drive you home. 

“Come on, the parties barely started.” He’s on his feet, he doesn’t try to corner you, if anything he sets himself against the wall. 

“And I want to leave.” When you reach for the doorknob he grabs your wrist, holding it as he stares at you, a look of impatience crosses his face. 

“Don’t tell me you’re mad about the secret Santa.” His brows furrow. 

“This isn’t about a stupid secret Santa.”

“It sure seems like it is.” He’s still holding your wrist, why is he still holding your wrist?  

This isn’t about the secret Santa. It’s a lot more than that, and after ages of keeping your thoughts to yourself in front of him you just let it out. 

“This is about the fact that you don’t even care about me enough to make any sort of effort. I know you deliberately chose me, you specifically chose to do this to me and I don’t care that it’s just a stupid prank. It still- It’s still a shitty thing to do.” Your voice starts cracking half way through and you can feel your eyes welling up again but it doesn’t matter anymore, you were wrong, the two of you aren’t friends. 

“So this is about the secret Santa.” 

Of course he wouldn’t get it. 

“You’re an idiot.” You finally pull your wrist from him. 

You aren’t sure what else to do so you shove him, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud as you push past him to get to his desk, hoping to grab your keys but he catches your waist first. 

“Can you stop being so stubborn for five seconds and just let me explain myself?” You can tell his patience is wearing thin, his voice is strained as he pulls you back against him, caging you against his chest with his arms. 

“Fuck Javi- let me go-” You try to kick his knees but he anticipates it, shifting his legs to avoid you.

“Just wait- listen to me.” He swings you around a bit as he tries to still you, you can feel his breath hitching, the buttons of his shirt digging into your back. The two of you thrash around for another moment until you freeze, feeling something poking your hip. When he realizes why you stopped putting up a fight he lets you go in an instant. “Shit- I-I’m sorry.” He stammers as you turn around towards him, eyes wide. 

You never thought you’d see Javier Peña flustered yet here he is. When you take a step back his cheeks are burning red, his fingers twitch nervously at his side, and as much as you try to ignore it, his pants are tighter than usual. (And considering how tight they usually are this is quite a feat.) He won’t look you in the eye. 

“It- It’s fine, Javi.” You adjust the hem of your skirt, trying to fix your hair. You just can’t catch a break today. “It was an accident, there was a lot of- of friction and it happens. I think I should just go.” You stutter a bit trying to find the right words. This entire evening has been catastrophic, and you’re more than ready to call it a night. 

“It’s not an accident.” He mumbles, finally looking at you, not bothering with subtlety as he adjusts himself. “You should probably go.” 

If it’s not an accident you don’t want to go. 

You want to stay and keep making accidents, starting with rushing forward into him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. Which is exactly what you do. At first he doesn’t react and you worry you read the situation wrong but when you pull away, just an inch, his hands envelop you. 

Hips, waist, back, shoulders, hair. He’s everywhere, all consuming as his teeth graze your lips, in an instant your backside hits his desk.

When he finally does remove his lips from yours his are slick and a tiny bit swollen, his pupils swallow his irises whole. 

“I loved your gift, I wasn’t joking, it’s perfect and the last thing I want is for you to think that I don’t care about you. Of course we’re friends, you-” As he rambles on you ball up the end of his tie, unceremoniously shoving it between his teeth. 

“Talk later, this now.” You grab the bottom of your sweater, pulling it up over your head, watching his jaw tense at the sight of your chest, his hands playing with the strap of your bra as you hop up onto his desk. Hiking your skirt up, he slots himself between your legs, your own fingers push your panties to the side as he reaches behind you, easily twisting the clasp of your bra to release it, tossing it to the side as his enormous palms engulf your breasts. 

You dip your fingers into the wetness between your legs, briefly taking a moment to wonder how you found yourself here. Just moments ago you were ready to leave and consider your friendship with Javier over, yet now you’re spread out on his desk, on display for him as you sink your fingers into your eager cunt. 

You don’t get to linger on the thought for long because he groans into the fabric of his tie and you’re pulled back into the moment. 

Jesus you’re soaked. 

You have no trouble pushing two slick digits into yourself. You can feel the outline of him against your thigh and you know that you need to warm yourself up to take him. He’s too engrossed in your tits to do it right now and you’ve waited too long for this, you don’t want to wait, you just want to have him. 

He’s tender at first, squeezing and softly tracing the outline of your areola until he seemingly can’t control himself any longer and he pinches, rolling your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as your whine. Back arching of the oak of his desk as you curl your own fingers. Even through the tie his moans are still somehow louder than yours, you’re briefly worried about someone hearing as you let out a whimper while he tweaks your nipple but the music’s so loud at the party you can hear Mariah Carey from here. 

You don’t stop for a second, putting your focus on reaching the peak that you find yourself already getting startlingly close to. You can feel yourself pulsing as you pick up the pace, reveling in the way his eyes devour the very sight of you. You’re agonizingly close when he grabs your wrist, removing your fingers carefully as you try and resist, wanting to finish what you started, you’re about to whine when he begins unzipping his pants. You can feel your pussy clenching at the very sight of him, of course he isn’t wearing any underwear under his dress pants so the second his zipper is fully down his cock springs free.

Javier fucking Peña has a gorgeous cock. 

Standing stiff and proud without either one of you even having to touch it. Pretty and pink on the tip, already leaking down the shaft. And heavy, as he takes it in his hand, his other hand gripping your waist as lines himself at your entrance. He takes a moment, eyes scanning your face, silently asking for permission. 

You can’t nod fast enough but the second that you do he slides into you. 

You could never conjure up something this good in your fantasies. The way he fills you, stretching you open as he whimpers into the fabric of his tie, you like that he listened, that he kept it in his mouth this long. His strokes are needy and fast, like he’s been waiting for this for so long and now he can’t help but be ravenous. You were already painfully close before he filled you with his perfect cock, it takes only a few minutes for you to be right back there. His fingers dig into your waist so hard that you’re certain he’ll leave marks as he slams in and out of you, pulling out almost entirely with every thrust. 

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of his trinkets rolling off his desk and onto the floor. 

“Javi, Javi, Javi.” Between gasps you chant his name, the sound encouraging him as he pushes in deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit until you see stars. Your cunt clenching around him as your orgasm is ripped out of you. Messy and loud and blurry, he fucks you through it. You’re so blissed out you can barely focus on the persistent pounding into you until you manage to come back to your senses and his hands leave your waist, instead intertwining with your fingers as his hips twitch forward and you feel him hastily pull out of you.

He spits his tie out, opting to instead bite your shoulder as he comes, the groan that leaves his throat is obscene. Raspy and filthy as he collapses down on top of you, the two of you sweating and gasping amongst the paperwork and pens now scattered across his desk. 

Did that really just happen?

He manages to collect himself first, leaning back and tucking himself into his pants before quickly tending to you. He grabs a few tissues, wiping your stomach where the product of your activities lay, before redressing you, slipping the flats that had slipped off, back onto your feet, pulling your skirt back down to cover you as he slides your panties back into place, and retrieving your bra and sweater, lifting you into a sitting position as he redresses you, kissing your cheeks, nose, and forehead the entire time. 

“All good?” He whispers, gentler than you’ve ever heard him as you nod, grinning. 

“Good enough to make me forgive you for not getting me a present.” You reach into his drawer, grabbing your keys before sliding off of his desk. 

“Maybe this was your present.” He tilts his head, kissing you again, smiling all the while. 

“That was the perfect gift then.” Probably the best you’ve ever gotten.

“Are you gonna stay for the rest of the party?” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin. 

“I think I need to go to bed after that.” You laugh as you jingle your keys, turning towards the door as he catches your lips in another kiss. 

It makes your heart flutter. The continued affection makes you think this isn’t a one time thing. You want more. You want conversations about feelings, and to talk about what just happened, you want to feel him inside you again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you’re going to get all of that. But right now you’re tired, so the rest can wait. 

“Can I walk you to your car?” You nod as he murmurs.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, walking you out of the building towards your car, opening the door for you and giving you one last kiss with a promise that he’d call you tomorrow, before you watched him walk back into the building.

Your phone buzzes as you turn your key in the ignition, the sound of Wham! fills the car, Last Christmas playing softly. You take your phone out of your pocket, checking the text notification from Javier. 

[ i forgot to tell you how pretty your nails are. merry christmas hermosa ]

Your head turns up in surprise as you realize your radio is working. A new radio system is installed in the center of your dashboard, with a little green bow taped to the top, and a paper tag with Javi’s familiar messy handwriting. 

from : your secret fucking santa

a/n : happy holidays everyone!!

[carlsangel]

YOU’RE WHINING

carl grimes x reader

(carls whining gets irritating.)

tags: oral sex (m!receiving), needy carl :P

masterlist here!

Carl was never really one to pry for things. He really did love taking care of you whenever he had the chance, he enjoyed the traditional ways of handling your relationship. He would love to hold doors open for you, let you enter places first (unless dangerous), cooking for you, or even when it came to your intimate relationship.

Most of the time, he did what he could to pleasure you. Whatever position allowed you to feel best, he did it for you. He also made sure you finished first every time. Not to mention he loves going down on you, not just because it pleasured you but he just absolutely adores it. Anyway, the first time you’d done something for him, he realized how nice it was to be to one receiving the head.

You didn’t realize how needy he could get before then. That man is vocal. The first time he let you give him head was when you guys were insanely bored while no one was home.

It’s a good thing no one was home as he practically couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Anyway since then he’s been begging for it again. Unfortunately there was never really a right time. You were always on runs and even then you were always having some sort of trouble whether it was walkers, issues with the car, even people. It all got worse when you were assigned on different jobs for a week. Aaron had found a new horse and you were put the task of breaking it. Meanwhile, Carl had perimeter watch.

After a long and frustrating day with the new horse, you pull her into a newly built stable to brush her down n such. Despite your struggles in breaking her, she was beautiful, you had to admit. You were just about done before you heard footsteps approaching, so you turn around to be greeted by the sight of Carl. He said he’d come meet you after his shift.

“Hey.” You smile and he almost swoons completely. He greets you back with a small hello and a kiss on the cheek before giving his attention to the horse in front of you. He stroked her for a moment before looking back at you, admiring how you looked. He wanted you to suck him off so bad, he was practically yearning for it. He felt this feeling in his throat, almost like a moan, but not. You look back over to him and look at him sort of oddly, wondering what the expression on his face was about.

“You okay?” You ask, sort of setting him off. Then he lets out a noise, one that sort of baffles you before he started rambling. “Please, I really need it can you-” His breath is heavy and he pulls his hat off to cover his crotch where you can assume there’s a tent in his jeans. Your eyes widen and you’re not quite sure how to respond. “Jesus, Carl you’re whining.” You state, completely taken aback by his demeanor.

“I know m’really sorry but I…I really need you to go down on me I’m begging here.” He takes a step closer to you and takes your hand in his, holding it real tight because he is, in fact, begging. “Just behind the stable, no one will see.” He pleads.

Well…how can you say no to that?

Soon after, you’re kneeling down in front of him in the grass between the large steel wall (of Alexandria) and the wood of the stables. He was right, no one would see you there but they could definitely hear you so you warn him. “You’re gonna need to be quiet.” You start to work on getting his belt off and he nods, his breath getting heavier the longer he sees you on your knees in front of him.

As you work on his belt, you decide to tease him a little because, why not? So you press kisses to his (very hard by the way) dick through his jeans, causing him to moan already. You haven’t even gotten to the real thing. “I told you baby you gotta be quiet.” You smile up at him and he looks down at you so frustrated. Frustrated because you’re teasing him and you know how long he’s been wanting this. Except, that only makes it hotter for him.

You finally get his belt unbuckled and you unbutton his jeans. You tug them down, along with his underwear, just to see how needy he really was. He was rock hard, he couldn’t help it with the way you looked when he walked into the stable, your hair a mess, tired eyes and sweaty. It got him really, really aroused. You take a hold of his length which draws a sharp hiss from his mouth.

Just looking up at him like the way you were prompted him to leak a little which you very clearly took notice considering you took that as a go ahead to take him in your mouth. “Oh god-” His arms were practically nailed to the wood behind him and you continued to take him, sliding his cock in and out of your mouth repeatedly, your saliva building up and following each movement of your mouth. Your other hand goes to the base of his cock and it sort of lingers there, your fingers gently massaging. It was taking everything in him to not rut his hips into your mouth.

“I can’t..” His hands now go to your hair where he gently tries to steady himself but he seriously can’t take it. The wet noises coming from your mouth as you still won’t stop. “Please baby I’m close.” He moans, prompting you to pull back a moment, pulling a whine from him as well. You still slowly twist your hand around his dick while you look up at him, admiring him and how gorgeous he looks. His bottom lip is red from biting it so hard trying to keep quiet, but his mouth is agape and he’s breathing so hard. Meanwhile his eyes are half lidded and he just looks so fucked out.

“Is this what you wanted?” You giggle and swirl your tongue around his tip, prodding your tongue into the slit of it. All the air leaves his body and eyes roll into the back of his head. He moans so fucking loud, your eyes widen at his volume. “If you don’t close your mouth I will stop.” You laugh and he nods, taking in a deep breath to get ready for you to start again.

“Good?” He looks down and nods yes. “Yeah, good.” So you start again, moving your hand with your mouth too, spreading the saliva down to cover him with it completely. You go back to bobbing your head at a steady pace, feeling his cock twitch in your mouth. Carl resorted to just letting out soft groans, quiet enough for just the two of you to hear.

Soon enough, he was close again and this time you wouldn’t stop. You’d move quicker, taking more and more of him into your throat while he pushed your hair back out of your face. “M’gonna cum please don’t stop-” He speaks breathlessly and you comply, not stopping until he grips the back of your head still against him while the warm liquid spills down your throat. Once every drop is out of him, he lets go of your head and you pull away, doing everything you can to make it look somewhat attractive. A string of saliva follows your mouth from his dick.

You wipe your mouth with your sleeve and he gets himself back situated in his jeans. All he wants to do at this point is love on you. You treated him so well. He pulls you into a hug, leaning back against the stable wall while he kisses you all over your face.

“That good?”

“No that was incredible.”

a/n: so let’s talk about this LMFAOOOO LISTEN!!! i got this request and started writing it right after T-T and then finished it an hour after it was requested. where did that motivation come from? no idea. but also this made me realize i have never posted a fic where the reader gives him a blow job so…that might be why?

anyway this was very impromptu, match ups done soon blah blah ghost in the woods blah blah

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow

[stardustrebels]

A Hunger Like This- A Joel Miller x f!reader one shot

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E/ 18+ MDNI WC: 5k

Summary: I really wanted to write a Joel Miller Valentine’s Day story, but couldn’t decide between naughty or nice so I wrote both.

Tags: No Outbreak!AU, established relationship, Joel Miller x f!reader, no/ minimal age gap, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV, pet names (darlin’, sugar, honey, baby,) dirty talk, rough sex, creampie and some bdsm elements- D/s dynamics, praise, light spanking, pussy/ clit tapping, edging and orgasm denial. Use of traffic light system & aftercare. Everything’s safe, sane and consensual. No use of y/n, minimal descriptions of reader. She wears fishnets, a bra and heels and has hair long enough to pull. Joel Miller is a competent partner because of course he is. Possessive dom!Joel comes out to play. He eats pussy like an absolute beast, as he should. 

A/N: A Valentine’s day story with a rough Joel Miller who’s had a bad day and a reader who likes to tease. I just wanted an excuse to write something porny for fun and it ended up a bit of a monster. I’m not even sorry. 1/2 of my Joel Miller Valentine’s day naughty & nice one shots. Enjoy!

You knew by the way Joel answered the phone at lunch time that he was having a bad day. He was still kind, called you the sweet names he usually did, and still told you he loved you before he hung up, but you could tell from his tone that something was wrong. He was dog-tired from working too hard and trying to hide it from you. He’d told you he booked a table at your favourite place for that night to celebrate Valentine’s day with you, but you knew it was only to make you happy. He’d told you once he’d do anything to see you smile. 

You figured you could probably make his day at least a little better by offering to spend the night at home, but you wanted to make it extra special, and when you eventually decided on how you would do that, your insides fluttered with anticipation. Joel wasn’t one to talk much about what he wanted, but you paid attention when he did. One night during lazy conversation between tangled sheets he’d let something slip. 

“Fishnets, huh?” You’d teased, grinning as you lay draped across his chest. 

“Mhm.” His voice had been thick with sleep, his fingers trailing idly across your skin as he admitted there was just something about the idea of fishnets and heels that drove him wild, that they had since he was a teenager, and you’d stored that little detail away knowing that you’d use it one day. Today was that day. 

By the time Joel’s truck pulled in to the driveway, you’d positioned yourself in the entryway, leaning against the wall in black fishnets, the bra from the lingerie set Joel had bought you last year, a barely-there skirt that left little to the imagination, and your favourite pair of black heels. 

When he stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the bouquet in his hand- red roses held together by brown paper with a familiar logo stamped on it. This man, despite his tiredness, had gone across town after work to pick up flowers from your favourite shop. Your heart stuttered and for a second you almost abandoned your plan and ran straight in to his arms. 

You stopped yourself as soon as you saw the look on his face.

“Jesus Christ.” Was all he offered as he closed the door behind him.

You stepped forward, smiling sweetly as you reached out to lay a hand against his arm.

“Rough day, baby?” 

Joel’s fingers tightened around the bouquet, the paper crinkling under the grip. His gaze dragged over you so slowly you could practically feel it. 

You took the bouquet, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Are these for me? They’re so beautiful, thank you.” You said, tone saccharine as you placed them down on the console table beside you. 

Moving your attention back to him, you slid your hands up his chest to push his jacket from his shoulders. He let you, though you could feel how tense his muscles were under your touch. 

“Darlin’…” he muttered, so low you would have missed it had you not been standing right in front of him. You shushed him, giving his jacket one last shove, letting it land on the floor by his feet. 

You leaned in, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “You’ve been working so, so hard,” you said, emphasising the words with an exaggerated pout and a whine. 

The way his eyebrows shot up towards his hairline almost made you break, but you caught yourself before you laughed, pressing a kiss against his shoulder to hide your smile before you continued. “Why don’t I help you relax?” 

His hands drifted up to rest on your waist, fingers pressing gently in to the soft skin there, one of his favourite parts of you, he’d admitted one night. You peppered gentle kisses up his neck toward his jaw as your hands wandered across his chest and down the firm muscles of his arms, before moving to undo the buttons of his shirt. His jaw clenched hard under your lips as your fingers ghosted over his bare chest, and you expected him to snap, to take control the second your hand touched his bare skin, but he didn’t. 

Interesting. 

You felt his stomach tense under your touch, heard the tiny intake of breath as your fingertips dipped lower and brushed just past the waistline of his jeans, but he didn’t move. 

You grinned and leaned in to brush a kiss under his ear, where you knew he was sensitive. His fingers twitched against your waist, but still he held back. 

“You must be exhausted, baby,” you murmured against his skin, voice dripping with sympathy. “I thought for sure by now you’d be telling me exactly how you wanted me.” 

The hitch of his breath was almost satisfying, but he still didn’t react. It made you pause for a second. Was he too tired? Had you misread this? Doubt crept in around the edges of your plan, and you faltered a little, until you glanced up at him.

His lips were curled in to a devilish grin, dark eyes locked on yours, dazed with a look that was nothing more than pure, unadulterated lust. He was letting you have your little game, enjoying it until it was time for him to play.

Oh. 

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the heat now pooling in your stomach made it difficult. 

You pressed a couple more kisses down his neck and onto his shoulder for good measure before taking his hand to lead him further in to the house. You made sure to sway your hips just enough, knowing damn well that his eyes were fixed on your ass. 

You could practically feel the tension radiating off him when you stopped in front of the couch, and a heat crept up your neck at the severity of it. You resisted the urge to look at him, knowing if you caught another glimpse of that dark, hungry look in his eyes, you’d lose your nerve entirely. 

You stepped close to him, your focus fixed on your hands dragging up his chest, slow and deliberate, pushing his open shirt to hang loose on his shoulders. You traced a nail lightly across his sternum, revelling in the subtle shiver that ran through him at the sensation, and you couldn’t help your smirk when you noticed his jaw tick out of the corner of your eye. 

You pressed yourself against him and reached for one of his hands, guiding it to rest on the front of your thigh. A sound rumbled from his throat then, a low groan that he couldn’t hold in, but he still didn’t move. His fingers trailed up with encouragement from yours on top, his rough skin catching against the delicate net. You pushed his hand up further, brushing past the hem of your skirt and between your legs. His body went rigid against yours when he realised you’d forgone any underwear as part of the surprise. 

Something in the air around him shifted as his fingers hovered between your legs, just shy of where you wanted them. Resisting the urge to buck your hips up in to his hand, you finally met his gaze and his expression made your heart skip more than a few beats. He’d never looked quite so intense; pupils blown with lust, nostrils flared, taking slow, deep breaths. You were struck with the sudden urge to run. 

As if he could sense it, he pushed you down on to the couch before you could move. The air left your lungs with a squeak as you collided with the cushions. He caged you in with his arms and took one last deep breath as he smiled down at you. 

“My turn,” he said in a growl, kicking your legs apart with a gentle tap of his foot before sliding down to kneel between them. 

You let out a whine as he admired you for a second, head tilted slightly at the sight in front of him. He trailed his hands up, pushing the skirt up to bunch up around your waist.  “Is this what you wanted?” He murmured, eyes locked between your legs as his thumb brushed over your clit, pushing the net against it ever so slightly. You sucked in a breath and raised your hips, trying to gain just a tiny bit more friction. 

He stilled and his other hand slapped the inside of your thigh, just hard enough to sting and send a jolt of electricity through your core. 

“I asked you a question, baby.” He said, his voice thick with arousal. “This what you wanted when you decided to tease me like that?” 

You swallowed hard, head spinning from how quickly he’d flipped your game on its head. 

“Yes,” you whimpered, gasping when his thumb pushed harder against the seam over your clit. “Yes, Joel, it’s what I wanted.” 

He hummed in approval, adjusting his weight to pepper kisses up your thigh. You bucked your hips again and Joel tapped your clit lightly with his fingertips, making you gasp and grip the cushions on either side of you. 

“Uh-uh, dirty girl,” Joel muttered against your skin, resuming his trail of kisses, torturously slow. “For all your teasin’? You’ll get what I fuckin’ give you.” 

When he reached the apex of your thigh you let out a long, needy whine, trying desperately not to squirm as he nudged his nose against your mound, pressing his tongue flat over the net that barely covered your folds. Your head fell against the back of the couch and you let out a string of curses, causing him to chuckle, the vibrations of it heightening every sensation. 

The seams between the holes of your tights were scraping against you as he licked, adding a new level of torture as his tongue flicked up and down, catching tiny points of your skin underneath. Your legs trembled, heels sliding against the floor as you tried to arch up to his mouth, desperate for more, but his fingers dug in to the outside of your thighs, keeping you pinned. Every time his tongue dragged against the fabric, it was almost where you wanted it most, but not quite. It was torture. Exquisite, delicious torture. 

You let out another whine, this one more frustrated than the last and Joel stopped altogether. 

“Somethin’ wrong, darlin’?” He drawled, lips ghosting over the netting, his breath hot against the dampness that had gathered there. “Thought this was what you wanted?” 

You groaned and gripped fistfuls of cushions in clenched fists. Joel hummed in amusement and kept going, alternating between light flicks of his tongue and slow, dragging licks that made you squirm uselessly under his hold. Every time you tried to angle yourself so that your tongue would hit where you ached for it, the fishnets got in the way. It wasn’t until you felt the breaths of another soft chuckle that you realised he was doing it on purpose. Another frustrated noise bubbled up in your throat, and you grimaced at how sensitive your clit was under the seams dragging against it. 

“Joel, please-”

He exhaled sharply, the sound almost sympathetic, but the way his tongue continued its ministrations told he wasn’t quite done making you suffer. You gasped when he sucked gently on the sensitive spot just above your clit, his teeth scraping lightly, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your legs twitched, thighs threatening to close around his head, but he gripped your hips and held you where he wanted you. 

“Jesus,” you gasped, panting now, every muscle tight with need. “Joel, I- I can’t-” 

He groaned against you, tongue pressing a little harder, still blocked by the crosses in the fabric. You let out a desperate sob and raised your head from the back of the couch. He stilled and locked eyes with you. 

You felt as wrecked as he looked, and he must have felt some pity for you because the next thing you knew, his fingers were tearing a hole in your fishnets, right at the center of your soaked aching core, earning a gasp and a shocked, breathy laugh from you. 

He ripped at the fabric until he was satisfied with how much of you he’d uncovered, groaning at the sight now in front of him. He swatted lazily at your thighs, pushing them further apart. 

“Spread those legs, baby. Let me see what’s mine.” He rasped, voice dripping with desire. 

You hardly had time to take another breath before he was on you. His tongue was everywhere- hot, wet and relentless. Now that there was nothing in the way, Joel was devouring you like a man starved. You struggled to focus on anything, but obeyed and spread your legs wider, earning a muffled hum of approval as he buried his face deeper. 

Your fingers found their way in to his hair, threading through his thick curls as his tongue worked you over, unsure if you were pulling him closer or trying to push him away. Either way, Joel wasn’t going anywhere. 

His grip on your thighs tightened as he flattened his tongue and dragged it up through your folds again and again, his low groans mingling with yours in the most intoxicating way. 

“Fuck, sugar,” he murmured against your heat, “Ain’t a single inch of you I don’t wanna put my mouth on.” 

You gasped as he latched on to your clit, sucking just hard enough to make your back arch. The pleasure was sharp, coiling tight at the base of your spine, dancing just beyond your reach and tempting you to chase it. 

And then, he pulled back. 

You groaned in protest and your fingers tugged uselessly at his hair, trying to guide his head back to where it had been. Joel chuckled, pressing a wet kiss to your inner thigh instead. 

“Not yet, darlin’,” he murmured, glancing up at you. His face would have been the picture of innocence had it not been absolutely saturated in the evidence of your arousal. 

His fingers replaced his mouth, teasing through your folds, barely pressing where you needed them. You writhed beneath him, trying to push in to his touch, but he only pulled away again, leaving you aching. 

You whined a plea down at him, voice cracking with frustration and he hummed back in mock sympathy.  “Y’gonna be a good girl f’me?” 

“Yes,” you gasped, more desperate than you’d ever been for him to make you come, “Yes, please I’ll be good. I’ll be a good girl just please-”

His tongue was on you again in an instant, causing your rambling pleas to morph in to a deep moan in your throat, but it was too soft and slow, keeping you just on the edge without allowing you to fall over it. 

“Joel,” you sobbed through your moans, rocking your hips, “I- I need-”

“Oh, I know, baby,” he said, pouting before pressing a teasing kiss on to your clit. “Poor thing. You’re real close, huh?” 

Your fingers tightened in his hair. “Yes!”

He pulled back again, lips curling smugly as he looked up at you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. 

“You’ll come when I let you.” 

The whine that left your lips was such a foreign sound to you, you almost couldn’t believe you’d made it. Your thighs were trembling uncontrollably and you glanced down at Joel, tears blurring the edges of your vision. His smirk softened just a fraction at the sight of you and his fingers moved from your thigh to trace the curve of your hip. 

“We green, darlin’?” His voice was rough with restraint. Your head was swimming, but the mention of your safe word system grounded you for a moment.

You swallowed thickly, nodding. “Yeah,” you gasped, breath hitching at how delicately he was caressing your skin. “We’re green.”

“Atta girl.” He rumbled, voice thick with approval. He traced slow circles back down to your thigh, his eyes fixed on yours, watching your changing expression intently. “You’re gonna be good f’me, ain’t you? Good girls get to come.”

When you let out a sigh and shot him a relaxed smile and a nod, his satisfied smirk returned, sharper this time. His head dipped again, and he pressed teasing kisses around your clit before flicking his tongue over it, making you shiver. It wasn’t long before you were moaning and gasping again, whispering broken pleas up toward the ceiling. 

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he ordered, his thumb taking over, pressing against your clit in the way he knew drove you crazy. “Beg for it, baby.” 

You had no pride left, no shame. They were gone and raw, desperate need had taken their place. Your head fell back and your hand left his hair to grasp at the edge of the couch and you rocked your hips against his hand, legs threatening to close around his head. 

“I need it, I need to come, I- please, fuck, Joel, I-”

He groaned and slid two fingers inside of you, curling up to press against the spot he knew made you come undone. The moment he nudged it, you let out a sharp cry, hips jolting toward him as the heat coiled tighter in your stomach. 

“There it is, pretty girl. Come f’me, let me feel it,” he murmured, before flicking his tongue back against your clit. 

You clenched around his fingers in response, thighs twitching, pleasure so sharp it was almost unbearable. Your moans gave way to a garbled sob, fingers clutching the cushions in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. Joel grunted and lapped at your clit like a man possessed. Every flick, every calculated curl of his fingers, every slick, filthy sound had you spiralling toward your inevitable release. 

You held your breath as your body went tight, pleasure knotting so tightly you thought you might snap in half. When you finally fell over the edge, it hit you like a truck; pleasure slamming through you so hard your vision went white. You let out a choked cry as your entire body seized, back arching clean off the couch. The pleasure was devastating- wave after wave of it crashing through you, with Joel’s fingers dragging every last drop of pleasure from you as you sobbed his name, trembling under his touch. 

After a moment, his hands slid down your legs to your feet, his touch gentle and reverent. He sat back on his heels and slid your shoes off one by one before tossing them over his shoulder. His hands continued their tracing, back up to your waist. He unbuttoned your skirt before pulling it off in one smooth motion, leaving your wrecked fishnets firmly in place. 

He stood, unbuckling his belt and shrugging off his shirt. You bit back a moan when he shoved down his jeans and boxers, freeing his hard, leaking cock. He stroked himself, breathing heavily as he watched you squirm and lick your lips beneath him.

Before you got a chance to really admire him, Joel grabbed you and flipped you on to your front, setting you on all fours, fingers hooking in the net to drag your hips toward him, causing the fabric to rip again. He ran his palm over the curve of your ass and gave it a squeeze as his other hand slid between your legs, fingers pressing against your swollen clit, drawing a choked moan from you. 

“So sensitive, sugar. I know you can take it, though.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him, silently begging for more. Joel huffed a laugh as he lined himself up against your entrance, teasing. 

“Tell me you want it.” 

“I want it,” you gasped, hands clutching against the cushions, scratching at the fabric as you keened.. “I want you. Please, Joel-” 

He didn’t make you wait any longer. With a low, wrecked groan, his entire length was inside you in one slow, ruinous thrust. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fingers digging in to your hips. “You feel so goddamn good. Gonna let me take what I need, darlin’?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, arching your back to press further into him, revelling in the way he was stretching you: overwhelming in the best way. 

Joel pulled back and slammed in to you again, setting a ruthless pace, dragging you back to meet him with every thrust. His hands were rough, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back to fist in to your hair.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he praised. Each thrust was deep and desperate, stealing what little breath you had left from your lungs with each sharp snap of his hips. Joel sounded like he was hanging on by a thread, babbling strings of praises punctuated by hissed curses, voice wrecked and rough with need. “You’re mine, ain’t you? Mine. Takin’ me so well. Made for me. So fuckin’ perfect.” 

His hand left your hair and you almost whined with the loss of contact before his fingers curled around the nape of your neck, the feeling pulling a deep, animalistic moan from your throat. The sound only seemed to spur Joel on, and he dragged you up against his chest, keeping his rhythm with near-perfect precision against something blissful deep inside of you. 

He pressed a burning kiss to your neck, growling against the spot just below your ear. You could barely keep yourself upright, but Joel was one step ahead of you, wrapping an arm around your middle to keep you pressed to him, his other hand reaching between your legs, fingertips circling expertly against you, despite the rapid pace he’d set. 

“Love havin’ you like this,” he rasped, rhythm stuttering just slightly as you clenched around his cock. “Fuck, that’s it, you’re gonna give me another, ain’t you?” 

A sob tore from your throat, a familiar pleasure tightening like a vice inside of you. 

“I got you, sweet girl. C’mon, come on my cock. Let me feel it.” 

You shattered with a cry, pleasure ripping through your muscles so intensely you thought you might collapse beneath the force of it, but Joel held you steady, his movements turning frantic, losing his perfect rhythm as the tight heat of you squeezed him, pulling him over the edge alongside you with a deep, guttural groan. It vibrated against the damp skin of your neck and contorted in to something soft and raw, breaking apart in to broken whimpers as he spilled inside of you, his body wracked with tiny, involuntary shudders. His hands trembled where they held you, fingers flexing and gripping like he needed you closer, even though there wasn’t a single inch left between you. 

It left you gasping, sucking in the air even though it felt like there was none left in the room; overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy of it all. The way he clung to you, the way his lips imparted breathless murmurs of your name, the word falling over your skin again and again like a confession. His devotion to you rolling off of him in waves, pulsing through you with every thump of his heart against your back, along with aftershocks that made you quiver along with him. 

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds filling the space were your gasping breaths -  lingering echoes of your pleasure. You turned your head just enough to press a shaky kiss to the side of his jaw, the sharp scratch of his scruff pulling you further from your reverie. He let out a heavy exhale and rested his forehead against your temple, his breath cool against your scorching skin. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he finally said, voice scratchy and worn. You gave a satisfied hum. You knew he did. How could you not - he was clutching you to him like some precious thing that might fizzle out of existence the moment he let go. 

“I love you too,” you said in return, lifting a hand to cup the back of his head, carding your fingers through his thick, tousled curls. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” 

He peppered kisses down your neck in response and shifted so that he could slide out of you. You groaned in unison as he did, his spend leaking out on to your thigh. He ghosted a finger between your legs to feel it, and a low hum rumbled from his chest; the feel of it igniting the residual embers of possessiveness, ever-present at the edges of his desire for you. 

“Can you stand?” Joel said against your neck. You nodded, and moved away from him, but the moment he eased his grip and your feet hit the rug, your legs wobbled beneath you. His reflexes were quicker- of course they were, and his strong arms were around you before you could sway even an inch.

“Yeah, I figured,” he chuckled. “C’mon, sugar. Hold on t’me.” 

He slid a hand down your arm and laced his fingers with yours as you clutched his arm to steady yourself. Even when you found your footing, he kept his hold on you, making sure you were alright on your own before he even thought about letting go. He turned you to face him and lifted himself from the couch to press a soft kiss against your lips, the energy of it in such stark contrast to how he’d fucked you not ten minutes before. You sighed in to the kiss, tasting yourself on him as his tongue danced over your lips, coaxing yours out to meet it. 

“Let’s get these off,” he said, crouching down to help you out of your torn fishnets. He peeled them off with care, muttering about how it was a damn shame, before glancing up at you with such a salacious grin that it made you giggle. 

“Guess I owe you a new pair of these, huh?” 

You smirked, “Only if you wanna do that again.” 

His smile grew, crooked, lazy and just shy of arrogant. 

“I’d do that every day if I could, sweetheart.”  

Joel stood and his hands moved to your bra, unclasping it with practised ease, his fingertips following it as it slid from your body, his gaze tracing over every inch of exposed skin. 

“Christ, look at you,” he muttered, tone tinged with reverence, “Most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on.” 

You felt suddenly shy at the way he was looking at you and you shot him a coy smile. His hands cupped at your waist and he guided you in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, darlin’.” 

The steam of the shower curled around you both as Joel pulled you under the water with him, his broad chest solid against your back. He took his time, lathering shampoo through your hair, massaging at your scalp until you melted against him. His lips found the curve of your shoulder and he pressed soft, lingering kisses between quiet murmurs of praise. 

Once you were both clean, wrapped in the fluffiest towels you could find, Joel led you to your bedroom and draped your robe over your shoulders while he rifled through drawers for the comfy clothes he knew you favoured on nights like this. He froze when he turned back to you, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. 

“Shit,” he said, “We’ve missed our damn dinner reservation.” 

You bit your lip, sheepishly avoiding his gaze as you took your clothes from him. 

Joel squinted at you, catching the shift in your expression. “What?” 

“I canceled it earlier,” you muttered, a shy grin curving your lips. 

His brows lifted. “You did?” 

You shrugged, reaching out to clasp his hand in yours. “I thought we could just have a quiet night at home instead. Just us. Order a pizza or something. I just wanna spend some time with you, Joel, I don’t mind where we do it. I bought you some beers, or we could have some wine- maybe just relax for a bit?” 

Joel only stared at you, the crease between his brows deepening like he was trying to work through what you’d just said. His throat bobbed and his fingers twitched against yours as he let out a shaky breath.

A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips, but there was a slight waver to it. “I’d love that, sweetheart. It sounds perfect.” 

You barely had time to register the movement before he was wrapping his arms around you, tugging you against him so tightly it almost knocked the breath from your lungs. His nose nestled in to your hair as he held you, chest rising and falling in controlled breaths beneath your cheek. 

“You’re so good t’me.” 

Joel had dressed in his sweats and left the room after checking in with you one last time and pressing a kiss to your temple. You agreed to meet him downstairs once you had dressed and dried your hair. 

By the time you made your way down, Joel had cleaned up. The evidence of your earlier tryst had been erased: your shoes, the fishnets and Joel’s clothes were gone. He’d placed your favourite blanket on the edge of the couch and there was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table between two glasses. The bouquet of roses he’d brought home was already in a vase on the side table, and you allowed yourself a second to admire them. 

Joel was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, phone in hand. The sight of him in comfy clothes made your heart ache- you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him in them. He glanced up when you walked toward him, a smile breaking through the tiredness on his features.  “Pizza’s on its way,” he said as you reached for him, tucking your hands under his t-shirt, suddenly struck with the need to feel his bare skin against yours again. 

“Great,” you said, “You wanna come cuddle with me on the couch?” 

He cupped your cheek and his eyes flitted between yours as he looked down at you, his expression overflowing with adoration. 

“I’d love nothing more, darlin’.” 

[whereubeenloca]

Doors

Part 3 of the Neighbor! Reader series: Table of contents

Summary: Carmy locks himself out, you help him.

Pairing: Carmy x Reader

Tags: VERY Slow burn, Awkward flirting

Word Count: 713

“Thanks. Have a good night.” You slur out to the Uber driver as you fumble with the door handle, slipping out of the car and clamoring to the sidewalk. 

Your boots clatter against the concrete, crunching the small bits of salt and ice below them. The wind whips your hair around as you walk the treacherous five feet to the front door. What was supposed to be a quick happy hour with your friends had turned into a bar crawl, and you were drunker than you’d like to be on a Wednesday night. Or was it Thursday now? Whatever, doesn’t matter, you decide as your hand blindly sweeps the bottom of your purse in search of the front door key. As your vision focuses you see something on the stoop, suddenly it shifts to the side. Wait- 

“Carmen?” You say a little too loud. 

The lump jumps and stares back at you. Tired eyes meet yours along with chapped cheeks and a runny nose. 

“Uh, hey.” He sniffles in response. 

“What-” You start, placing one foot in front of the other. You miss the first step and your ankle rolls into the concrete. He reaches for you as you awkwardly correct your position, gripping the cold metal railing to steady yourself. 

“What are you doing out here?” You try again as you pull yourself to the top step. 

“Got locked out.” He responds sheepishly, standing up from his spot on the ground. “Couldn’t get ahold of Randy.” 

You click your tongue as you dig through your purse once more. “Fuckin’- fuck Randy, dude.” Rolling your eyes at the thought of your landlord. 

“Asshole still hasn’t fixed my radiator. It’s free-zing in there.” You huff, keys in hand. 

You miss the keyhole once, twice, three times. The door clicks as it opens and you stumble inside. Carmy’s hands hover closer than usual, half ready to catch you and half ready to let you fall on your face. 

“No, yeah, totally uh. Fuck Randy.” Carmen mumbles as he follows on your heels, stopping in the small foyer of the shithole you both called home. 

“How long were you out there?” You ask over your shoulder as you attempt to climb the narrow staircase to your apartment. 

“Like an hour maybe.” He says tentatively, eyes glued to your back as he watches you oh so gracefully crawl up the stairs. 

“Jesus, you’re lucky then.” You huff, limbs heavy as you make your way to the landing. You push your weight into the wall next to your door, suddenly aware of how drunk you are. 

“I don’t like- I don’t do this often.” You say sheepishly “I swear.” 

He laughs in response “No- I mean. I didn’t think-” 

“But in case you did.” You interject, raising your hands.“I… do not.” Beautiful, eloquent, spoken like a true poet. No notes. 

Silence fills the air as you rock back onto your heels. 

“Are you… can you get inside your apartment okay?” You ask. 

He nods quickly. “Oh yeah, I uh- I have those ones.” He laughs, hands in his pockets.

“Good, good…” You nod simply, pressing your weight into the wall as you take a breath. He’s lingering, at least that’s what you want to think. 

“Can I… have your number?” You blurt out. 

Carmen’s eyebrows shoot up “I- uh.” he stutters out. 

The weight of your words suddenly hits you as heat climbs your neck. 

“In case this happens again.” You say in an attempt to save yourself. Smooth. “In like- a neighborly way.” Super smooth. 

He takes a pause as he looks you over, poor guy looks absolutely shell shocked. Before you know it he’s pulling out his phone and opening his contact list. 

“Yeah, that would be uh, good.” He says as he passes his phone to your shaky hands. 

“Yeah, yes. Great.” You agree softly. Your skin is hot as you type your phone number into his cracked screen, thumbs shaking nervously. 

He takes his phone back and gives you a polite smile, “Well um… goodnight.” He nods. 

“Goodnight.” You respond back “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” the words come out of your mouth without thinking and your face drops. You can’t get into your apartment fast enough. 

You did not just do that. 

[bluebeary-jay]

Let me (put my lips to somethin')

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: 5 times you wanted to kiss Joel, and 1 time it actually happened (or: your relationship with Joel over the years)

Tags: 5+1 babeyyy, VERY self-indulged (i just want this man to call me his babygirl 😫), FLUFF, tooth-rotting fluff even, a bit of angst, age gap, PINING, i could write several fics out of this but no we're doing 5+1! also reader has she/her pronouns (i tried not to but at some point it was getting difficult not to use any :( sorry guys)

Warnings: descriptions of violence and wounds, cursing, getting drunk, David (which is a warning in itself), allusions to SA (but nothing happens)

Word count: ~9.4K (jesus i really got carried away im not doing that again for at least some time)

A/N: i am baack!! i finally had time to finish this monster and i guess it's ready to post <3 i absolutely ADORE 5+1 fics and always wanted to write one on my own. so here it is!! hope you enjoy because i loved writing it

1. boston qz

You bit your forearm harder, trying to hold back the tears of pain. The man kneeling in front of you glanced up.

“Bite the sleeve of your jacket. Otherwise they’re gonna think you’re infected and shoot you on sight.”

You didn’t answer but nodded, knowing that he was right. Holding your breath for a moment, you took a handful of the material and bit down on it, shutting your eyes tightly. The excruciating pain in your leg was hard enough to endure, but for the first place with it competed an absolutely unbearable look of poorly concealed pity (which you initially took for irritation) on the face of Tess’ friend.

It was through her that you met Joel. At the beginning he wasn’t very keen about letting you work with them but slowly warmed up to your presence – at least as much as a man like Joel could. Most of the time he was grumbling and, in all fairness, looking slightly angry but you’ve soon understood that he’s actually a pretty good guy. Caring. Funny, if he lets you see this side of him. Also really fucking handsome, but that was beside the point.

The job was supposed to be an easy one – just meet with a couple of Zeke’s people, pick up the smuggled items and exchange them for some meds and ammunition. However, none of you expected some random rogue group to ambush you on your way back and attempt to steal the cargo.

Tess has managed to get away just before soldiers showed up, alerted by the sound of gunfire way past the curfew. Before they could spot any of you, Joel quickly pulled you into one of the nearby buildings after one of the strangers slashed your thigh, leaving you unable to run.

So now here you were. Bleeding from your leg and making a pathetic crybaby out of yourself before the very eyes of the man you respected and lowkey had a small crush on.

Speaking of whom, Joel gave you a look of sympathy before squeezing the stapler handle again, ejecting another staple into your skin. You tensed and a broken cry escaped your lips, your breathing rapid.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, putting his other hand on your knee and rubbing slightly. “Just two more and you’ll be good to go.”

You breathed out a humorless laugh and wiped your face, sniffling.

“Just get on with it. This is way more embarrassing than it should be.” In the corner of your eye you saw him look up. He didn’t move the hand in which he held the staple gun yet, so you took this moment to steady your breath and slumped against the wall. “You probably think it’s pretty pathetic, but in my defense I never had such a gash closed with staples like that.”

“M’not thinkin’ that,” he retorted and you blew a raspberry.

“Sure. Tess told me about some of your forays, you know? You could probably get run over by a damn tank and walk it off like it’s nothing.”

Joel was silent for some time. You wiped your cheeks and motioned for him to eject the last staples at the edge of the deep cut in your thigh. He mumbled to you to get ready and you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the pain.

It hurt like hell and you couldn’t help the tears flowing from your eyes, but soon enough it was over.

The sound of shouting from outside drew your attention from the pain in your leg for a couple of seconds. You tensed up, listening intently if the soldiers weren’t busting in the building you were in, but the noises soon went past you.

“Y’know, if my brother was here, he’d have told you about the first time I had a wound stitched outside of the controlled conditions,” Joel spoke up unexpectedly, unpacking his backpack in search of clean bandages. “I nearly bit off my thumb when he was tryin’ to sew my foot back together.”

You couldn’t help but snort at his confession and he glanced at you from the corner of his eye with a slight smirk.

“Is that true?”

Joel huffed with fake indignation and lifted his left hand to your eyes, twisting it so that the dim light from outside illuminated the side of it. Above and below the small bone at the base of his thumb appeared very light and irregular lines. You looked at his face with an unbelieving smile.

“When was that?”

“Ah… Just before the outbreak, I’d say.”

“And what happened to your foot?”

“Construction work. I don’t remember exactly what that was.”

“But how hard did you have to chomp down on your thumb for it to be still visible?” you asked, laughing, to which he chuckled and shrugged.

“Hey, don’t judge. If it was Tommy who was fixin’ your leg, you’d probably end up without a couple of fingers too, just for good measure.”

He found the bandage and motioned for you to straighten your leg at the knee. You watched him carefully as he looked over your bare thigh and the (not very pretty to look at) sutured wound. The leg of your pants was cut and tossed away earlier so that Joel could stitch you up freely.

“So you have a brother. Is he really that bad at treating wounds?” you asked to distract yourself from the awkwardness of the whole situation, though Joel seemed surprisingly calm.

“He got better with time,” your colleague answered and then looked up at you. “But I didn’t tell you this to bitch about Tommy’s skills.”

“Oh?” you nudged him with your other leg. “So what moral should I draw from this story?”

You clearly saw him suppressing a smile when he shook his head lightly.

“Don’t feel bad that it hurts,” he murmured and the snicker disappeared from your lips. “I’ve seen looks like the one on your face plenty before. It’s a fuckin’ big gash, I’d be worried if you didn’t show any signs of pain.”

You couldn’t come up with any snarky remarks and just blinked when Joel sent you a quick, if not a bit self-conscious, smile, like he wasn’t used to reassuring someone else.

“The fact that you let your tears flow doesn’t make you any weaker,” he said even quieter than before. You still weren’t answering and he cleared his throat, apparently growing uncomfortable with your silence, then grabbed the bottle of alcohol. “I’m gonna pour some of that shit over your wound again. It’ll sting a bit.”

You observed without a word how he cleansed the gash and started to wind the bandage around your thigh.

Weirdly enough, you also noticed that you couldn’t stop glancing at his lips.

*****

2. bill and frank’s

“No. I said no, come back here!”

Giggles erupted from you as Joel tried (and failed) to grab you when you jumped over the couch. He sighed deeply as you made eye contact with him and, with a provocative smile, drank up the rest of the bottle before putting it down on the nearby table. The man looked so disappointed and done with you, it only made you laugh louder in your drunken state.

You two were staying for a couple of days at Bill and Frank’s heavenly place, which you looked forward to for weeks now. Originally Tess was supposed to go with you but there was a last-minute change of plans, and you made the journey alone with Joel. Not counting a few infected you stumbled upon on your way here, your venture was quite nice and after a delightful dinner with your hosts, you sneaked into Joel’s room with the bottle of wine Frank gave you and the stuff you smuggled yourself.

Joel didn’t seem to be having as much fun as you, though.

“I’m never drinkin’ with you again,” he muttered, sitting heavily on the couch with a grunt. You faked a pout, leaning over his head upside down and almost losing your balance.

“You’re grouchy because the stuff you brought tasted like shit.”

“And yet you drank most of it.”

“I didn’t,” you slurred, waltzing round the couch and grinning. “I’m feelin’ great.”

“Be careful or you’ll pick up my accent you so like pokin’ fun of.”

You snorted and flopped on the seat next to him. “Mhm, m’feelin’ fine and dandy,” you grumbled in the deepest voice you could make, ridiculously imitating his Texas drawl. “Yee-haw.”

“You’re the fuckin’ worst,” sighed Joel with exasperation but you could see a crooked smile tugging on his lips. You beamed and plopped down, laying your head on his lap. He peeked at you with his brows raised. “What are you doin’ now, you little devil?”

“Just resting,” you answered. The lamp behind Joel was blinding you with its light, so you covered your eyes with your hand to shield them. “Is that uncomfy for you? Do you want me to get up?”

“Nah. You can stay for a minute.”

As if wanting to make sure you won’t try to stand up, he laid his hand on your hair, brushing some of it to the back. You hummed and shivered when he gently scratched one specific spot on your scalp, and instinctively tilted your head, chasing his touch.

Joel snorted.

“You look like a goddamn cat.”

“Shut up,” you murmured in response, a small smile adoring your face. “It feels nice.”

You opened your eyes and once again shielded them from the lamp. Joel moved his head slightly to the side to block out the bothersome stimulus, causing you to giggle again.

“It looks like you have a halo ’round your head.” You lifted your arm and made a circle, brushing the side of his face when your hand plopped back down limply on your stomach. The older man huffed a smile, looking away to glance around the room.

“I’ll be really surprised if you remember anythin’ of what you’re sayin’ tomorrow.”

“Gimme a break,” you grumbled with a smile, not taking your eyes off him. Your hand raised itself to his face again, as if on its own accord, and brushed lightly the corner of his mouth and the stubble on his cheek. “It looks pretty.”

His brown irises flickered to you before he averted his gaze. With a hum you withdrew your hand and closed your eyes, your mind getting woozy from alcohol and tiredness.

Joel’s fingers were still running through your hair gently and you really hoped you’d remember it in the morning.

*****

3. road, somewhere in missouri

You had no idea how long you had been driving.

Ellie was asleep in the back seat and Joel was getting some well-deserved shut-eye after you volunteered to sit behind the wheel several hours ago. The clock on the dashboard was showing 4:07 and you planned on driving until the sun started to rise, then switching places with Joel.

That is, if you manage to stay awake.

You tried to drink some of the coffee Joel prepared beforehand to wake yourself up but it tasted horrible, leaving a too bitter taste on your tongue. Once you catched yourself closing your eyes for a second longer than intended and the car started to veer off course before you corrected it.

Yes, you were aware driving in this kind of state was extremely stupid, but you knew Joel was anxious to find his brother and drop Ellie off with the Fireflies as soon as possible. And you knew that if you wake him up he’ll insist on driving for the rest of the way himself, ignoring his own needs and exhaustion.

You risked a look to the side at his sleeping form. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his head propped against the headrest. Honestly, it looked like the man was just pretending to nap – his body seemed uptight, as if he was ready to spring into action at any second.

And he looked beautiful with his face bathed in the gray light of early morning. Like a painting you’d gladly admire for hours.

You sighed and cracked your neck, focusing on the road ahead of you. Several more hours to go. There was a gas tank in the back of the car, so you didn’t have to worry about that, and if you remembered correctly the map you and Joel studied earlier, you should get close to some bigger city in the late afternoon. Joel wanted to take the side roads and you agreed, but your supplies… Did you have enough of them? And what was the name of that city again…?

A hand grabbed the wheel and gently straightened the course when without you noticing the car started to veer too much to the left again.

You emerged from your reverie immediately and looked to the right at Joel who was now wide awake.

“You alright?” he asked with concern, and his voice had this enticing, raspy drawl to it that told you he really dozed off for a while.

“I’m so sorry,” you said quickly but quietly, not wanting to wake Ellie up. “I’m fine, promise.”

He eyed the tiredness on your face and the tight grip you had on the wheel.

“If you need to get some rest–”

“No, no, no. I can go on. Sorry you had to wake up.”

Joel grunted and stretched in the small space in the front seat and you tried really hard not to stare at how he craned his neck or at the way his muscles tensed, or at the strip of his skin revealed when his shirt rolled up…

“Pull over.”

You snapped out of your thoughts. “No. I told you I’m fine.”

“C’mon, darlin’, don’t make me wrestle with you in a movin’ vehicle.”

Either he had a clue about what this nickname was doing to you, or he was still half-asleep and it simply slipped out; but whether it was intentional or not, you couldn’t dream of opposing him now and with a defeated sigh (and burning neck) you pulled over, slowly bringing the car to a halt. You glanced backwards, but miraculously Ellie hadn’t woken up yet.

Joel looked you over with concern and you shut your eyes, laying your forehead on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry,” you repeated. “But I really can keep going, at least until the sun goes up.”

“We’re switchin’,” he just said, unfastening his seatbelt.

“Joel, no!” you hissed, but he ignored you and went around the hood of the car, stopping at your side and opening the door for you. “I’m not moving. You need to get some fucking rest.”

“I already did. Now scoot over.”

“No, I told you–”

“What’s going on? Are we there yet?”

Both of you looked back to see Ellie sitting up and rubbing her eyes. In a split second she went from half-awake to alert, and she eyed you and Joel suspiciously. “What’s going on?” she asked again.

“We’re switchin’ places,” Joel spoke up before you had a chance to answer the girl. “Our current driver is pretty tired.”

“I’m not!” you protested, glaring at him.

“You almost drove the car into a ditch.”

“Woah.” Ellie lifted her hands and puffed her cheeks in a nervous manner. “Just this time, I second Joel. I really don’t want to end up in a ditch, thank you very much.”

“You see?” Joel looked at you expectedly. “Outvoted.”

You squinted in the rearview mirror at the teen. “Traitor.”

Ellie just shrugged. With a heavy sigh you unfastened yourself and exited the car, but before you could go around it and take Joel’s previous place, he stuck his arm out, stopping you.

“Actually, Ellie, do you want to ride shotgun now?” he asked and nodded in your direction. “It’d do her good to lie down for a bit.”

“No,” you said firmly at the same time when Ellie agreed with an enthusiastic “hell yeah!”. You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at the pair. “You guys are in cahoots.”

“Boo-hoo,” Ellie had a mean smile on her face. “Get in the backseat and cry about it.”

“She’s so cheeky,” you murmured to Joel, trying to hide your smile, and by the look of it he had trouble doing that, too. You sighed and lifted your hands in surrender. “Alright, you two. You won.”

“Great.” Ellie grinned, then started walking off the street. “But give me a moment, dudes, I gotta pee,” she said before marching further into the field on the side of the road.

“Don’t go too far!” shouted Joel after her.

“Don’t drive off without me!”

With that Ellie disappeared behind a small hill and you turned back to your companion, scrunching your face at him. Joel shrugged and walked past you.

“C’mon. I’ll find you a blanket.”

You huffed but didn’t argue further, knowing nothing will change his mind. He could be stubborn as a mule sometimes.

You climbed into the backseat and waited for Joel to take out the blanket you took from Bill and Frank’s house from the back of the car. He opened the door next to your head and handed it over, waiting for you to unfurl it. You expected him to go take the driver’s seat right away, but he stayed in place. Only then you noticed the folded jacket he was holding in his hands.

He didn’t react at all to your raised eyebrows and questioning look, and just casually laid his jacket under your head to serve as a pillow. The gesture was so sweet it made you melt inside, and you just couldn’t stay mad at him.

“Promise me you’ll get some sleep.”

“Only if you and Ellie aren’t too loud,” you teased, trying to settle down the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “If you start arguing about some stupid shit again, I’m taking the wheel from you by force.”

He smirked and squatted next to your seat, looking down at you with an amused expression.

“I’d like to see you try.”

You had to be really fucking tired, because for a split second you thought that Joel has just flirted with you. You hid your face in his jacket to partially conceal your smile, but it only made your face hotter because the material smelled of him so much.

“I could. You’re lucky I’m deciding to show mercy.”

“How gracious of you. I’m honored.

“But we’re swapping places when I wake up,” you added, looking at him as sternly as you could. He raised his eyebrows with a half-smile when a yawn escaped you immediately after. “I’m serious, Joel.”

“Sure, darlin’.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead before standing up. “Now sleep.”

You could only stare into space as he carefully closed the door next to your head and walked around the vehicle with heavy steps. The spot on your head where his lips touched your skin was tingling and you inhaled deeply to calm yourself down before he entered the truck again and fastened the seatbelt.

Joel put some cassette into the tape deck and turned the volume down even before the song started to play.

You closed your eyes and wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, hiding the lower part of the face – and a blush spreading on your cheeks – under the cover.

*****

4. jackson

You looked out the window at the children pulling their sleds behind them and smiled at how happy and carefree they looked. Down the road you could just barely see the big Christmas tree in the square and for a moment it felt like the apocalypse had never happened.

“They’re pretty lucky to be growing up here,” you said quietly. Joel was closing and opening cabinets behind you, clearly looking for something.

“Not sure about it. But I guess it beats growin’ up in any of the QZ’s or Fedra’s barracks.”

After Joel’s sudden change of heart and Ellie’s confident decision that she’d rather travel with you both instead of Tommy, the younger Miller convinced his brother to stay one more day in Jackson. It was honestly a good idea because you doubted any of you three got any rest the previous night. You certainly didn’t, tossing and turning the entire time from worry.

Joel chuckled and the sound pulled you out of your thoughts.

“What did you find?” you asked. He was kneeling in front of one of the cabinets, holding a small box.

“Old cassettes. You want to listen to some music?”

“Sure.” You stood up with a smile. “It’ll be pretty atmospheric.”

Joel gave you a dirty look.

“I’m not putting on Christmas carols.”

“I don’t want to listen to Christmas carols. Find something good.”

He sighed and took out a carton box from the cabinet, and then started to rummage through it. “Alright, so what do you want?”

“You can choose. Pick something you think I’d like.” A thought struck you and you glanced around the living room, furrowing your brows. “Is there even any tape player in here or something like that?”

“Upstairs,” Joel mumbled absent-mindedly. “In Ellie’s room. We can go see if it works.”

Ellie was out exploring Jackson and you doubted she’ll be back very soon. You knelt down next to Joel, looking at him with a grin as he inspected the box, pulling out and reading some of the cassettes before putting them back down. You rested your chin on your hands.

“Just get anything,” you ushered after some time, to which he chuckled.

“You said to pick somethin’ you’d like. Gimme some time.”

“Do you think I’m that picky?”

“Of course you are.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t have to wait much longer before Joel stood up with a grunt and held out his hand to you. In the other one he held a white cassette.

“C’mon. I’m pretty sure you’re gonna love this one.”

You took his hand with excitement and let yourself be pulled to your feet. It’s been so long since you’ve been able to listen to some music – well, maybe not as long, but you missed it regardless – that you felt a bubbly joy at the thought of hearing something new.

And more than that, something that Joel has picked specifically for you. Doesn’t matter that you had to ask him.

You went upstairs to the room that was currently Ellie’s bedroom and Joel bent down, inserting the cassette into the tape player. He looked over his shoulder at you with a small smile and you beamed right back.

A loud, scratchy sound rang out.

You winced and Joel furrowed his brows. He took the cassette out, checked the empty slot and the cassette itself, and then made sure the power was on.

The first notes started to play, but they sounded distorted, like a scratched record. Joel cursed and tried again, but there must’ve been something wrong with the device, because no matter what he did, the music didn’t play right.

He tried again and again, and finally you decided to put a stop to it. You placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Leave it, Joel. It’s okay.”

“Just my fuckin’ luck,” he muttered, not turning around. “Of course Tommy gave us a place without a working cassette player.”

“It’s okay,” you repeated. You wanted to say something like ’the song probably isn’t even worth fussing over’, but the words got stuck in your throat. He picked it for you to listen to, of course it was worth it. “Maybe I just wasn’t meant to hear it.”

The man worried his lip and you quickly averted your gaze. He straightened up and put his hands on his hips, sighing.

“Nonsense,” he answered, looking intently at the device like he wanted to get it to work by sheer willpower. “You wanted to hear it.”

“Well, I did.” You got embarrassed for whatever reason, not knowing what to say. “But there’s not really anything we can do about that. It’s no big deal.”

Joel’s jaw twitched and he turned to look at you thoughtfully. You offered him a lopsided smile, but he didn’t move a muscle and you could almost imagine small gears turning in his head when he had this expression on his face.

“You okay?” you asked with a stifled laugh.

“I… have an idea,” he said slowly, almost hesitantly. Then he focused his eyes on you again. “Just… trust me for a moment.”

Your gaze softened and you took a step closer to him.

“Joel, of course I trust you. I trust you with my life.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed but his brown irises haven’t left yours for even a second.

“Close your eyes.”

“What?” you asked with a crooked smile, but he just shook his head.

“C’mon, close your eyes. And promise you won’t laugh.”

Confusion washed over you but you closed your eyes as requested. You heard Joel sighing and then he took your hand in his calloused and rough one, slowly putting it on his shoulder. Your neck got way too hot but you tried not to tense or flinch in fear of making him back out.

“Promise you won’t laugh,” he repeated and you just now realized you haven’t answered him. He put his hand on your waist, very, very lightly, and your other hand was raised to  shoulder height, cradled in his warm one.

“I swear I won’t,” you whispered, your heart beating so damn loud you were scared he was going to hear it with how close you two were.

Joel exhaled heavily and you felt his breath on your hair.

And then he started to hum quietly and sway you gently from side to side. You desperately tried to remain calm, but how were you supposed to do that when your body felt so hot and he was so close–

“I reached inside myself and found nothin’ there… to ease the pressure… of my ever-worrying mind, hmm…”

Joel’s voice was deep and harsh right in front of you, and it sounded more like he was purring than singing. You suspected he slowed down the pace of the song significantly to match his movements and your heart swelled with warmth and adoration. The smile on your face widened and you took a step to the left, then to the right, gradually engaging in your dance more and more. You wanted to make it less uncomfortable and awkward for him and it seemed to have worked a bit because the next lines were much more confident, and his voice steadier.

“All my power wasted ’way, fear the crazed and lonely looks the mirror’s sendin’ me these days, hmm…”

His hold on you tightened slightly and you held his hand a little more securely, unable to hold back a goofy smile on your face.

“Touch me… how can it be? Believe me… the sun always shines on TV.”

You were falling for him all over again and it was not fair that he made you promise to keep your eyes closed. Though if he didn’t, you’d probably end up doing something dumb.

Like kissing him.

Fuck, you wanted to kiss him so bad.

“Hold me… close to your heart. Touch me… Give all your love to me. To me…”

Did he just pull you closer or was it you that took a step forward? It was hard to tell without seeing where you step, but you suddenly were very aware of the material of his shirt under your chin and the smell of shampoo he used to wash his hair, the pressure of his hand on your lower back and his quiet, drawling voice right next to your ear.

You were positive you’re about to pass out.

And it felt blissful.

Joel kept humming the chorus of the song, his voice getting softer and lower with each word. You relished in the warmth of his embrace, begging any higher power that he won’t let go of you immediately once he stops singing.

He didn’t.

Instead you two kind of naturally came to a stop but neither of you moved, still standing chest to chest and breathing a bit shakily. Your palm – or maybe it was his – was sweaty, but you ignored the unpleasant feeling, wanting to stay like this as long as possible.

“The original is much more lively,” Joel spoke in a soft whisper after some time and you smiled lightly.

“Well, I really liked your version,” you answered just as quietly, not wanting to disturb the intimate atmosphere in the room. “Joel?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Can I open my eyes now?”

A moment of silence.

“Yeah.”

You did so, but didn’t move your head, still keeping it on his shoulder and breathing in his scent. “Thank you for that,” you whispered and you felt him nodding.

“Anytime.”

His fingers crept a bit higher up your spine, but still his touch was so light and unsure.

You realized with a flicker of hope that he wasn’t pushing you away. He was pulling you closer.

Careful not to move too abruptly, you lifted your head and turned it to look him in the eyes. They were already on you, so very close, warm and hesitant, but also not showing any signs of discomfort or regret.

“Joel?” you asked again and you were so close to each other, it came out less as a question and more like a quiet breath. He heard it, though.

“Yeah?”

“Can I–”

Suddenly the door downstairs slammed extremely loudly and you both jumped when the noise broke the heavy silence.

“Hello! Is anybody here?!”

Ellie came back.

Both of you automatically took a step backwards, letting go of each other. Your face was scorching hot and you couldn’t force yourself to look at Joel. With a deep (hopefully unnoticed by the man standing right in front of you) breath, you quickly tried to get a grip on yourself when you heard Ellie running up the stairs.

“I was calling you, guys!” she panted and looked from you to the older man. “What’s up?”

“We…” Joel cleared his throat. “Tried to put some music on. The darn thing isn’t workin’, though.”

“Ugh, that’s a bummer.” Ellie turned to you and tilted her head. “Were you out, too? Your face is all red and shit.”

Even if it wasn’t before, it certainly was now. All attention shifted to you in a second and it made you want to cry.

“Yes,” you uttered quickly, “and… I’m actually going out again. I wanted to ask Maria something.”

You didn’t wait for any of them to stop or question you further – you all but ran down the stairs and bolted outside without even taking a jacket or a hat.

Fuck…

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

*****

5. basement, somewhere in colorado

He was dying.

Joel was dying and there was nothing you could do to help him.

You tried your hardest, though, to take care of both him and Ellie. You went out hunting so she wouldn’t have to starve, you encouraged her to get as much rest as possible while you watched over the unconscious man during the night, and not once did you show any doubt that Joel will get better.

But you had a feeling she knew why you were so reluctant to stay behind while the girl took her turn looking for food.  The truth was, you were starting to crack if you sat for too long at Joel’s side, letting the intrusive thoughts take root in your mind. You needed those moments outside, because they were the only ones when you let your tears flow.

So when it was only you and him in the basement, you spent this time brushing the hair out of his face and coaxing him to drink. You checked his wound every so often, trying to keep it as clean as possible. You held his hand, humming to him that one song he sang for you in Jackson, though you didn’t know the words.

It was painful, to just sit in place and be unable to do anything to help, but you tried not to break down. Not when both of them counted on you.

So you stayed strong, hoping it’ll all turn out alright.

But luck still wasn’t on your side.

The men Ellie encountered the day before were here now, looking for you and Joel, and hungry for blood. She told you all about her interaction with them and since yesterday you were ready for a fight in case they showed up, but somehow it still surprised you and made your heart hammer in your chest in fear.

There wasn’t anywhere you could run to, and Joel wasn’t even able to keep his eyes open, let alone walk. You didn’t really have any other options.

So there was only one thing you could do, and that was to protect those closest to you.

You quickly took your backpack and passed Ellie your gun, closing her fingers around the cold metal.

“I’ll barricade the door, but if anyone comes in here, you blast their skull open, you hear me?” you whispered urgently and the girl nodded. You took Joel’s rifle from the floor and hung it over your shoulder. “I’ll try to take them out and lead them away. I’ll be back.”

“You better come back,” Ellie muttered and you looked at her softly, nodding. Then your gaze involuntarily shifted to Joel.

You didn’t know how many people were outside – if there were three or four of them, you should be able to shoot most of them before they notice you. If you don’t miss, that is.

But if there were more…

Choking back a nervous sob, you knelt next to the mattress and took Joel’s head in your hands. His eyes were only half-open and his forehead covered in sweat. Your heart clenched painfully at how weak he looked.

Acting on impulse, you leaned down and softly kissed the place above the corner of his mouth.

“Wake up,” you said to him firmly, brushing his cheeks with your thumbs. “Please, Joel. Ellie and I need you.”

You knew you had to go. You had to go now and make sure those fuckers outside don’t find Ellie and him.

But you stayed just for a second longer to press your forehead to his.

“I love you,” you whispered, so quietly you barely heard yourself.

And then you pulled away and ran upstairs.

From then on it was all a blur. You managed to kill one of the men with a clean shot between his eyes, but the other one ducked out of the way when he noticed you. Turned out there were six of them – too many – and what’s worse, one of them came up behind you, forcing you to flee sooner than you’d planned.

It would probably be wiser to take the horse but you didn’t want to endanger the poor creature, so you ran on foot.

You didn’t get far. One of the men managed to shoot you in the leg, making you keel over onto the frozen ground with a scream of pain. You turned around and saw him lifting his gun again before another voice yelled that he wanted you alive.

No. No, no, you weren’t about to let them take you.

You crawled towards where your rifle lay in the snow but just before you could reach it, it was kicked away by a heavy boot which then dealt a severe blow to your stomach. You doubled over, wheezing and coughing for air. By the time you managed to somehow catch your breath, someone pressed their foot on the gunshot wound in your calf, forcing a scream of agony out of you.

“Now, stay calm. I don’t want to shoot you.”

You clutched at your leg, glaring up at the ginger man who you suspected was the same David Ellie has encountered.

The man grinned nastily at the state you were in, and you didn’t like his expression one bit. He must’ve noticed that you were ready to lunge at him at any moment because he swiftly lifted his gun to your head. You froze.

“Where is your friend and the girl?” he asked quietly. You sneered at him, baring your teeth.

“Fuck you. I ain’t telling you shit.”

“David, she killed Paul,” spat another, younger one, looking down at you with hatred. “If that bastard has already died, let’s at least kill his bitch.”

You tried to think of a way to get out of this situation, but both of the men had their guns pointed at you and you knew you wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough with the gunshot wound.

You tried to move slightly but David pressed his foot harder on your leg, causing more blood to flow from your wound and you cried out, the pain clouding your vision.

“Don’t try anything, sweetheart,” he murmured in a warning tone. “You might bleed out.”

Your eyes were full of hate and rage but you didn’t dare to move again just yet.

“Where are they?” David asked again and you huffed a humorless chuckle while trying not to show how much pain you were in.

“You know that it was me who killed that idiot?” you asked in the most mocking tone you could muster, in the meantime desperately thinking how the fuck you were going to get out of here, preferably alive. “And your friend over there.” You nodded in the direction of where the body of the man you shot was lying. “Which one of you stood next to him? Was it you?” you asked the younger man who shot you in the leg. “I hope I hadn’t splattered you too much with the remnants of his brain.”

“You little bitch,” the other man sneered, lifting his gun again despite David’s stern order to back off. “I’d love to see the face of your friend when I blast your–”

“Leave her alone, you fuckers!!”

All of you turned your heads and your stomach churned when you saw Ellie on the horse you borrowed from Tommy. More shots rang out in the air when she blindly fired at the two men standing above you, and then the rest of the strangers who emerged from between the trees.

“Alive!!” David yelled after his men when they started chasing Ellie who grabbed the reins and cantered in the opposite direction. Then the man turned back to you. “We will catch her. Then we will find your friend, and he’ll pay for his sins.”

You growled.

“I told you it wasn’t him who killed that man.” He shook his head and you fumed with anger. “You don’t think I’m capable of that?”

“Oh, I think you’re capable of a lot.” His stare slid down your body, from head to toe, and terror gripped your heart at the sadistic excitement in his eyes. “And I think you must really care about him if you’re ready to trade your life for his. Such loyalty is admirable, but your love is misplaced.”

The snow around you was getting more and more red and you really started to worry that the bullet might’ve hit an artery. David’s eyes shifted to your leg as well, and he hummed.

“We’ll take care of that, don’t worry. You’ll be well taken care of in our community.”

“I don’t want to be any part of your fucked up sect.”

“You will. You just need a father to lead you to the right path.” He leaned over you in such a manner that it made your blood run cold. “I’ll teach you personally.”

Suddenly a shot echoed in the air and you heard a distant neighing of a horse. Your head automatically turned in the direction of the noise and David took advantage of your moment of distraction to strike your temple with his gun, thus knocking you unconscious.

*****

+1. silver lake

Joel woke up.

And he felt like he was made out of pure adrenaline and rage.

You weren’t with Ellie when he found her staggering through the snow, the face of the teen terrified and covered in blood. He comforted her as best as he could, relief and fear fighting inside him as he held the girl in his arms.

But she didn’t know where you were held. If you were even alive.

And that was a thought that Joel couldn’t bear. He wouldn’t even allow for the possibility that you were no longer…

He vaguely remembered you stroking his cheek with slow and delicate touches, and your humming while he was laying on the mildewed mattress in the basement. Maybe it wasn’t even a memory, but a dream – it was hard to tell in his delirious state.

But he was pretty sure he wasn’t hallucinating when he felt soft, cold lips right next to his and heard your voice – he knew it was your voice, he’d recognize it anywhere – whispering the words he never let himself hope you’d say to him.

Words he would be damned if he didn’t say back to you.

And that’s why he was merciless with the men he encountered on his way to you and Ellie. His own tiredness and pain piercing his abdomen didn’t matter – nothing mattered when you two weren’t with him, when he didn’t know if you were hurt or even still breathing. The desire to help and protect his girls numbed the pain in his stomach so much that he almost forgot he could barely stand just a few hours ago.

Once he found Ellie and took her to a safe location, he went back to look for you. He didn’t want to leave the girl alone, but she seemed terrified at the prospect of going back and through the buildings, so he left her his gun, promising to be right back.

One of the bastards Joel ran across on his way back was helpful enough (after being shot in both knees and having his forearm broken) to direct him to the place where you were supposedly being held – a small building hidden behind the still burning dining room.

No one else stood in his way when he cautiously reached the structure. He went in and started checking every single room, getting more and more anxious every time he found them empty. At one point he was ready to tear the walls apart and go back to see if there was anyone left alive who could tell him where you were – but then spotted a hidden, smaller metal door, which apparently led to the basement.

It wasn’t locked and Joel didn’t hear anything on the other side so he opened it slowly, quickly walking down the stairs and scanning the room for any enemies, but there were none. Half of the room was enclosed by a chain-link fence and the entry to the cage was slightly open.

And inside sat you, with a cloth around your eyes and hands tied above your head.

His knees almost gave way under him from relief when you perked up at the sound of his footsteps. You were alive. You were–

“If you fucking try to touch me again, I’ll break more than your stupid jaw!” you yelled out of the blue, starting to struggle and kick haphazardly, though the placement of your wrists was forcing you to stay in a sitting position. “You motherfucker, don’t come any closer!”

The fear and desperation in your voice broke Joel’s heart in an instant and made him stop dead in his tracks.

“It’s me,” he hurried to say, but his voice was weak and the next words got stuck in his throat when he saw your bloodied nose, bruises on your face and neck, as well as a dirty bandage tied around your calf with a seizable crimson stain on it.

He ushered inside, opening the door to the cell wide open with a loud scraping. You started panicking even more, cursing and kicking when he crouched next to you, intending to untie your hands.

“I said don’t fucking touch me! I’ll kill you!” you screamed and Joel actually had to back away a little to avoid getting kicked in the ribs.

“It’s me!” he said louder, but it was clear you didn’t hear him. In a quick movement he reached out, yanking the blindfold off your eyes, and put his hands on both sides of your face. “It’s me. Joel.”

In the first moment his touch made you recoil and the look of fury deepened on your face while you continued to scream bloody murder. Your eyes were so wild and terrified, Joel wanted nothing more than to pull you close to his chest and never let go. 

“Look at me, baby. It’s alright,” he whispered soothingly, brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones like he vaguely remembered you doing when he was unconscious. “It’s me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Your eyes slowly started to focus on his face for the first time since he took the blindfold off, and Joel felt like something was tearing his chest apart at the sight of fear and disbelief on your face.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he muttered in a strangled voice, trying not to show he was close to crying, too. “It’s me. You’re safe now.”

A broken sob issued from your throat when you took in the sight of him, your eyes lingering on his face and stomach where the wound was.

“...Joel?”

“I’m here,” he said softly, quickly cutting the ropes binding you to the indent in the wall and wincing when he saw the red and purple marks around your wrists. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay, not for you and not for him. Your body was trembling when he finally cut your hands free and without hesitation gathered you in his arms. It seemed like all the bottled up stress was pouring out of you now with the tears as you cried into his jacket and he held you tighter.

“J-Joel…”

“I know, babygirl,” he whispered into your hair, rocking you both back and forth slightly. You were clinging to him almost desperately and it pained him physically to see how scared you’ve been this whole time, but you were safe now, you were back with him and you were alive… “I know. I’m so sorry.”

You pulled away abruptly and looked over his shoulder, your face crumpling in despair when you saw no one there.

“They took Ellie, I don’t know where–”

“She’s safe,” he quickly assured you. “She got out and I found her just before comin’ here.”

You nodded with a sigh of relief, and he shifted his gaze to your calf, gently laying his hand just above the bandage.

“How’s your leg? Can you walk?”

“One of those fuckers shot me,” you murmured, not moving or attempting to stand up, which concerned Joel. “I didn’t really have a chance to see if I’ll be able to stand on my own but they sewed it up provisionally.” Your eyes flickered to his and you smiled softly, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand. “Not as well as you, though.” Then your smile disappeared and your hand grabbed his in a firm grip, like you wanted to make sure he was really here. “How are you, though? I was… Shit, I was so afraid I’d lose you.”

Joel could only stare at you, having no clue what to say.

He was not good at talking. He knew what he should do, though – he should examine your leg and make sure it was alright, he should go back to Ellie and get you two out of here, he should calm down his goddamn pounding heart so that he doesn’t pass out and cause you any more trouble.

But he couldn’t will his muscles to move. He couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t think about anything at all – not when you were sitting in front of him, looking at him with those tearful, gorgeous eyes of yours, holding his hand so tenderly but firmly, your touch so soothing, so familiar, and he remembered vaguely the same fingertips caressing his face.

And your voice, those words…

You said his name haltingly, but he didn’t register any of that, instead letting the overwhelming feelings of relief and fear, and – and adoration – take hold over his body, and he affectionately took your beautiful face in his hands.

Your eyes widened slightly but then these irises he dreamt about so often flickered to his lips and your own parted slightly, and that was all he needed before he leaned in and kissed you deeply.

There was a moment of hesitation on your part during which Joel began to worry that he didn’t read the situation right after all, but then you cupped his cheeks, too, and pressed yourself closer to him, letting him envelop your form in his arms with a quiet sigh.

It was better than he could have ever imagined. He could taste a hint of blood on your lips and hot, blinding rage surged through his veins at the thought of those bastards hurting you. His kiss turned harder and more desperate – he needed to make sure you were really here with him, he wanted to feel your every breath in his own lungs. You didn’t pull away, only tangling your fingers in his short hair, and the small noises you were making were driving Joel crazy with lust and relief. He felt dizzy, like he was going to faint again but he pushed through it, keeping his attention solely on you.

The second you two parted, even before you had a chance to catch your breath, the words started spilling out of his mouth fumblingly.

“Listen, I… I heard you,” he whispered, panting like he just ran a mile – and his heart certainly acted like he did. “M’pretty sure I wasn’t halucinatin’, but even if– doesn’t matter, I want… no, I need to tell you this, I…”

He exhaled nervously and shook his head, avoiding eye contact with you because he was damn sure he'd burst into flames if you looked at him like that again.

Fuck, he was really not good at this.

He cursed under his breath, missing a concerned look you gave him, and felt your hand covering his where it was still situated on your cheek. He knew that with this gesture you wanted to make it easier for him somehow, but it only caused his chest to get even warmer and tighter. “Joel, slow down–”

“I… I love you,” he finally choked out, softly brushing your cheekbones with his thumbs. And damn his old, faulty heart, he wanted to gaze into your eyes again, even if it was going to kill him, so that’s exactly what he did. “I loved you for so long, darlin’, and I got so fuckin’ scared that I won’t be able to tell you and, and it’s okay if I only imagined you saying that and you don’t feel that way, but I needed to tell you, I…”

All strength left him when he paused to draw a breath. His vision was becoming blurry and for a second he was certain he’s losing consciousness again, but it turned out they were only tears filling his eyes, blurring your form before him.

Which was even worse, somehow.

“I’m sorry.” He intended to sound reassuring and strong but it came out more like a broken whisper and he hated himself for feeling so weak and helpless when you and Ellie needed comfort and strength. He couldn’t help it though – all this time when he was looking for his girls the only things that kept him going were anger, terror and regret. Now there was relief, yes, but… he felt so very tired and old.

You turned your head slightly to plant a soft kiss on the inside of his palm, and Joel’s head snapped up. Tears were filling your eyes and he immediately scanned your body for other injuries, any signs of damage or pain, but then this gorgeous smile he so loved illuminated your face, and it put all of his anxieties at ease.

“You weren’t hallucinating,” you said quietly. “I did say that. And I love you, too, Joel.”

He couldn’t help a short, breathless and broken laugh that escaped him when he really heard you speaking those words, this time as clearly as day.

You sniffled and mirrored his smile, and in the next second Joel was kissing you again.

He knew you two had to go, had to get back to Ellie and leave this god-forsaken place, so he tried to be quick, but you – your smile, your touch, all of you – were so distracting and not eager to help him pull away in the slightest.

“I love you too, babygirl, love you so much.” He peppered your face with kisses, ignoring tears running down his cheeks and disappearing into his beard and under your hands. “So fuckin’ much… Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“Because your old heart can’t handle it?” you teased and he huffed a laugh. A damn tease in every situation, he wanted to say, but before he had a chance to chide you, you pulled him in for another deep kiss. Joel decided you’re off the hook this time.

“Exactly, darlin’. Now hold onto my arm, we’re gonna see if you can stand, and then we’re goin’ back to Ellie.”

A hiss and a grunt of pain escaped you when he attempted to pull you to your feet, but you gritted your teeth and shook your head quickly when he froze, worry evident on his face. Turned out you could stand on your own and even slowly limp forward, but clearly had to push through intense pain to do so. Joel offered you his shoulder (against which his tired body protested immediately) but it made walking easier for you, so he sucked it up.

“I got you,” he whispered when he helped you up the stairs, keeping an arm around your waist for support. You whimpered every time you had to climb up a step, and Joel took hold of your hand, brushing his thumb over your skin lovingly. “That’s a good girl. Just a couple more.”

You didn’t let go of his hand even after these ‘couple more’ steps.

He kept his hand on your shoulder when you finally got reunited with Ellie and tears of relief spilled out of your eyes.

You tangled your fingers with his when the three of you were leaving this cursed, cruel place.

You all held each other when Ellie broke down and you both hugged her tightly, trying to make her feel safe again.

He hooked his little finger over yours, not wanting to drag you down when he started to lean on you, getting significantly weaker from how far he traveled and how hard he fought in the state he was in.

You grasped his hand again that night when you laid down next to him in his sleeping bag while Ellie was curled close to the two of you on Joel’s other side.

He didn’t let go when he leaned in to kiss you again, keeping his touch soft and gentle, and pulled you as close as he could, murmuring words of love and sweet promises into your hair.

Both of you knew you had a lot to talk about in the upcoming days – and probably even weeks. All three of you needed time to heal, physically as well as mentally.

But just for this moment, Joel couldn’t be happier and more relieved as it was slowly dawning on him that after this horrible, hellish nightmare, he had both of you right next to him, breathing and alive, and not chased by anyone for now. Two persons he loved in very different ways, but who were his entire world, whether he was ready to admit it or not.

As if reading his thoughts, you shifted slightly and kissed the edge of his jaw sleepily. His eyes closed, hiding the wetness in them.

He really couldn’t believe his luck.

[tjsweetheart]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

pairing: peter maximoff x f!reader

tags: fluff, friends to lovers, jealousy, fan girling

summary: after begging your best friend peter to take you to the x-mansion, you finally accompany him there after some serious consideration. however, peter seems strangely eager to leave, and is oddly upset when you bond with the other mutants; more specifically scott summers. after the day ends, you confront him about his behavior, and one thing leads to another.

You had been begging your best friend, Peter, all day to take you to the X-Mansion ever since he said that he was going back. It had been what - 5 months since you had known him? Ever since he had seen you beat his high score at the arcade, you two had been inseparable. You would meet up constantly at the arcade, and it was one of the only times he’d even come out of his mom’s basement (other than to rob but wtvr). 

Peter Maximoff knew absolutely everything about you; he knew your parents, your siblings, your favorite video games, how you were deathly allergic to cucumbers, how you worshipped INXS. Even the mundane things, like how you never double-knotted your shoelaces, resulting in you constantly tripping over them. But the one most prominent attribute about you, or one that he found most prominent was that you had a cult-like obsession with the X-Men.

The wall of your room consisted of so many X-Men posters to the point that Peter couldn’t even see the original color of the wall. You had collectable figurines, plushies, comics, clothing, mugs, pins, bags, all with one central theme. X-Men.

Peter’s face was even on some of your merch, which greatly pleased him; although he couldn’t feel the same about your love for Cyclops. At first, he had wondered if you had approached him with an ulterior motive, but the more time he spent with you, the less he thought so. 

“Please, Peter! Aren’t you going back to the mansion today? It won’t hurt to bring me with you.”

Peter shrugs. 

“I mean, it won’t hurt.”

You grin. But Peter isn’t so sure. There is tons of danger at the X-Mansion. You could get hurt by one of the mutants, or you could forget about Peter and completely ditch him for Scott Summers. 

‘Is that why I don’t want her to go?’ Peter wonders. ‘I mean, it’s not like we’re dating or anything…’ Peter wishes for it to be the opposite.

“I mean, I could take you if they let me.”

Your eyes widen as you become more excited. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, totally.”

Your eyes shine and Peter’s heart softens. 

‘Maybe it won’t be that bad’ he thinks.

You and Peter stand in front of the X-Mansion, and you’re practically vibrating from excitement at this point. 

“Jesus, calm down.”

You grin. “I can’t believe this is really happening!” you whisper-shout.

The man who opens the door is none other than Professor X. He greets you and Peter with a warm smile.

“Ah, Peter and his friend.” He holds out his hand to shake, and you take it eagerly. “The name’s Charles Xavier.”

“H-hi.”

As you walk in and make yourself comfortable, introducing yourself to the other mutants, Peter thinks he might have overreacted when he was hesitant to bring you here. 

However, that thought quickly disappears.

“Oh. My. God.” you say.

‘Uh oh. That isn’t good.’ Peter thinks.

Scott Summers walks over to you. 

“Hi, -” Scott begins, unable to even start his sentence.

“You’re Scott Summers!” you yell, quickly quieting yourself. “I’m, um,” your speech is much more calm this time to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of your idol. “I’m a fan.”

Scott looks at Peter and notices him eyeing him like a menacing hawk. Well. A mad Peter Maximoff, someone who has never been mad before isn't scary at all.

“Well, hello there, fan.” Scott immediately catches onto Peter’s obvious crush on you, deciding that he’ll maybe have some fun.

“Hi,” you respond with a giggle. Peter groans, running a hand through his silver hair. This was not going well. Not well at all. Peter hadn’t yet caught on that Scott was egging him on, teasing him, as he was too distracted by the possibility of his supposed best friend being stolen away by some… some… laser eyed scoundrel! Peter cursed himself.

“Can we go now?” Peter groans in a condescending voice. You look back at him with a surprised expression on your face. You had never before heard or seen Peter talk in that way in the past five months that you had known him, ever.

“‘Peter!” you chastise.

“You really don’t need to be all over him. You’re probably annoying Scott.” He turns to Scott. “Isn’t that right?”

“Well, I rather enjoy her company.” 

Oh, come on. Peter thought he could have at least backed off from someone that was clearly his.

Scott internally laughs as Peter’s expression grows hard. 

“You don’t need to be here anymore.” Peter grumbles. He gently grabs your arm, dragging you off the property of the X-Mansion. 

“Peter, what the hell?” you say.

“What.”

“Why’re you acting all moody and shit?”

Peter frowns. Why was he doing this? Why was he so intent on keeping her away from Scott?

“I felt weird.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Huh?”

“I hated seeing you talk to him. I didn’t like it.”

“Why?” you demand. “Tell me why.”

“I don’t know, okay!”

“I think I know why.”

It was somewhat ironic that the girl Peter liked realized that he liked her before he himself found that out.

You grab his hand and squeeze it tightly.

“Don’t do that shit again. Acting all jealous. You have nothing to be jealous of.”

‘S-sure.” Peter stutters. You’re so close to him that he can feel your body heat, your warmth on his body. He wants more. He just doesn’t know it yet.

a/n: that was SHITTY ASS writing but wtvr. anyways, thank you reader!

[nobodyknowsimalesbian777]

Anderson pt. 2 - Abby (Tlou2)

NSFW tags- pure filth, sub!abby, needy!abby, thigh-riding (a!receiving), finger-sucking (r!receiving), kind of public, i think thats it, 18+

authors note: short follow up for my previous abby fic!! gang i want to write for sevika again, lmk what we want to see and i'll make it happen 😼

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abby had been eyeing you all patrol,

her gaze was burning into your back while you joked with manny and checked for infected

you knew abby was still worked up, every time you spoke to her you saw her cheeks flash pink

and you absolutely loved it

you loved having her blubbering, knowing you had more power then her elated you

"no jokes today, abby?" you asked innocently, smirking over at manny

"shut up." her tone was intense, you for sure struck a nerve, and you definitely wanted to keep pushing it

"that's too bad, normally you're so loud"

suddenly, you felt her big hand wrap around your arm, pulling you into the closest room

mannys chuckles could be heard outside the door, and you heard his steps depart up the stairs, probably to keep watch

not that you cared, it was hard to care about anything except abbys hands desperately roaming your body,

her lips met yours, and her tounge aggressively explored your mouth,

normally, you would urge her to slow down, but you knew she needed it today considering how badly you'd denied her

that's why you weren't at all surprised with how needy she was being

abbys hands trailed down your arms, wrapping around yours, and bringing one of your hands down to her cunt

your fingers landed directly on a wet spot soaking through her jeans, much to your surprise

"jesus, anderson." you teased, wrapping your arm around her waist

"shut up, just fix it" she whined, sending a jolt straight to your own pussy

"that's not how we ask nicely, is it?" the condescension in your voice drove abby crazy, but she was too smart to deny you

"fix it..." she sighed, clamping her eyes shut "please."

the smirk plastered on your face would've pissed abby off if she wasn't so horny.

her back hit the wall as you pressed her up against it, slotting your thigh in-between hers

pleasure coarsed through her as your thigh rubbed perfectly on her clit,

the friction was just enough to pull needy mewls from the muscular woman

you felt your whole body shiver as she rested her forehead on your shoulder, bringing her lewd sounds that much closer

pawing hands landed on every inch of your body as abby tried to find purchase on you

eventually, her hands ended up in your hair, pulling it every time you moved your thigh

she took it upon herself to grind her hips down, desperately trying to increase the friction on her clothed cunt

abby was already close to her climax, her moans increasing in pitch as she moved her hips faster

"gonna cum for me, anderson?" you spoke into her ear, eliciting a particularly loud moan that you had to stiffle with your hand

her grip on your hair tightened as she pulled you back, choosing to smash your lips together aggressively

her hand traveled from your hair to your jaw, gripping it tight and pulling you back

she watched with furrowed brows as she moved her free hand up to your mouth, curiously placing her middle finger on your tounge

your eyes met hers as you wrapped your lips around her digit, starting to suck it into your mouth

abby swore she was going to cum right there, watching you suck her off while she rode your thigh

her finger moved in and out of your mouth, practically fucking your face,

so you made sure to put on a show, sloppily taking it all in your mouth and swirling your tounge

abbys eyes practically rolled to the back of her head at the sight, and you watched as she unraveled on you,

her pretty face twisted up as she came, feverishly grinding down on your thigh to get herself through it

her finger pulled out of your mouth with a pop, and abby made sure to maintain eye contact while she put her digit in her own mouth

"oh my god.." you whispered, too turned on at the sight to try and maintain the dynamic you had earlier reveled in

she smirked as a heavy hand landed on your ass, staying as she guided you out of the room

her lips tickled your ear as she whispered "im gonna need you to meet me in my room tonight"

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guys this was 3 am filth that i just now finished, i hope you love it. need a buff woman's fingers in my mouth while i fuck her whattt who said that

made a pt 2 for my gang : @ghgygd and @honeygiii123

[gamesetart]

me when dilf!art breeding kink but im feeling horribly masc so the actual idea of pregnancy grosses me out - anyways i support transmasc breeding kinks guys

nsfw below the cut - reader is afab, one use of 'good boy' but other than that its very neutral. afab terms for reader's parts.

tags: breeding kink (sort of? they're not actually trying to get pregnant), cheating (sort of, tashi allows it. orchestrated it, actually), mentions of the arttashi marriage, overstimulation, the mildest of crying. technically an age gap (art in his early 30s, reader in 20s) but it never comes up.

his hips slot against yours like he was made to be there, made to press your knees to your chest, to fold you in half, to settle between your thighs and jackrabbit in and out of your cunt like he owns it, like there isn't even a person attached to the rest of it.

it's not the first time you've found yourself like this, praising his athleticism whilst cursing his absolutely unfair stamina. you've cum around him twice already - on his tongue, because art donaldson wouldn't dare try to fuck you stupid without coating his face in your spend, first, then on his fingers, a futile attempt to open you up for his cock. but nothing feels like enough prep for art, especially not when you're whining for him, telling him you want it to hurt, you don't care, you need him now.

"fuck," art groans, breath hot against the crook of your neck. "fuck, you're so fuckin' tight f'me, jesus, baby."

"don't bring him into this," you manage, nipping at his ear.

he huffs a laugh. even when he's like this, fucking you like a man posessed, snapping his hips into yours like he'll die outside of the sweet clench of your pussy, he manages to find lightness. you both do. it keeps things sweet, keeps them from slipping too far into uncharted territory. you have tashi's permission to let him ruin you as he pleases - tashi duncan knows all, and she's sanctioned your existence as the perfect outlet for all pf art's pent-up fantasies - but art doesn't want to be rough with you. not yet. he likes that he can hold you and feel strong, protective. likes that he can bend you in two and still kiss your temple. art likes that you can be sweet, soft, lovely.

"shhh, you can take it, baby," art soothes, and it's far too kind with the way he's fucking you. "doin' so well for me."

"art-" it's a warning as much as it is a plea.

he just nods, strokes your hair from your face, gentle as sin, and presses his forehead to yours.

"go on, babe, cum on my cock, c'mon, that's it, that's it-" and he feels it, the moment your walls clench around him, the fluttering of your cunt as a broken cry of his name falls from your lips. "oh, god, there you go."

he doesn't stop, though, barely even slows as he wipes a tear from your cheek and continues to slam his cock right into your overstimulated cunt. no amount of whining, of red scratches raked down his back, could have stopped him. you have a word, a signal. if you really couldn't take it, he'd know.

but you're his good boy, you'll take it, you always will. you might be the only one who can. you're the only one he wants, certainly. the only person he can fuck into like this.

"'s too much," you sob weakly, clawing at him with shaking hands. "art, please, can't-"

art just shushes you with a soft, quick kiss. "got one more f'me, don't ya? i know you do, know you can, baby, c'mon."

the tears fall freely, the press of his cock inside you so ridiculously filling you wonder if you'll split in half, if you'll simply die from the overstimulation. and then you think that'll be such an excellent way to go out, crying under him, safe between his strong arms.

art's right hand slips from where it rests on the back of your knee, holding you spread open. he hooks your leg over his shoulder, using the now-free hand to rub torturous circles on your clit. it burns, it's good, too good, white-hot sparks of pain crossing their wires with pleasure as you all but scream, sounds torn from your lungs in ways you didn't know you could make.

"c'mon, babe, wanna feel you cum around my cock before i pull out-"

your eyes go wide and you shake your head. no, not this time, wait, but the words don't come out.

"what, what's wrong?" art slows, pulling his hand from you. his blue eyes are doe-like with concern, eyebrows knit in the middle, lips settled into a familiar worried pout as he stares down at you.

you get a second to catch your breath. "in me," you gasp hoarsely. "inside. art. want you to cum in me. fill me up, please."

it's like something snaps.

there's a look on his face you can only liken to how he looks on the court: wild, fierce, a calculated cruelty he uses to systematically destroy whoever's on the other side of the net. and right now, a version of that look is fixed on you, a hungry glint in his eyes, pupils blown so wide you'd think his iries had vanished.

"fuck," he groans. "you want me to breed you, that it? fill up this pretty little pussy?"

and you moan, because neither of you are trying for a baby, not in the slightest, but the idea of being owned so thoroughly by art donaldson is enough to make you clench around him, fresh heat coiling in your core, and you could probably give him a hundred more orgasms, as long as he keeps talking to you like that.

"yeah, yeah, fuck me, art, 'til it takes, please," you babble, and maybe one day you'll start meaning it.

his pace begins anew, and this time, there's barely any rhythm to it. he's seeking release for himself now, too, for the first time since this has started, pulling out almost entirely before snapping back in so hard, you're sure you can feel it in your throat. deft fingers make rough circles on your clit, quick and dirty.

it pulls another orgasm from you faster than you'd like to admit. you don't even have time to warn him, but he can feel it in the way you tighten, your legs shaking, can hear it in the sharp note of your voice when you call his name.

"that's it, there you go," art groans. "gonna fill you right up, baby. 's what you want, right?"

you nod, so far past words, so far past anything more than lying there and taking it. but that's all he needs from you. his pace stutters.

"fuck, yes, you're so perfect, so good to me, you feel so good-" he's babbling now, grinding into you with all the grace and decorum of a fucking animal. "made for me, made for this cock, god, yes-"

and with a high keen of your name he's cumming, driving his hips into you, pushing his cock in as far as your cunt will allow, so far you're almost worried his sheer willpower is enough to override the birth control pill you're on. he stays there for a while, holds it in like he really is going to force it to take. and when he pulls out, his fingers push it back it sloppily.

art presses a soft kiss to your temple and all but collapses next to you with a sigh. when he catches his breath, you know he'll vanish to the bathroom, return with damp cloths and the bath running. he'll massage all your sore joints and rub oils into your skin and kiss every inch of you. but right now, he just needs to feel you. to lie next to you and try to memorise the pattern of your breathing.

"that was... something," you mumble, a soft smile playing at your tired lips.

"good something?" art asks.

"great."

"oh, thank god, because i really enjoyed that."

"so did i."

he kisses you again, on the lips. it's slow, sweet, drawn-out, as he weaves a hand into your hair and trails it down to draw circles on your shoulder. both of you know a child isn't in the cards right now, but your purpose here is to let art play pretend. you don't even actually want kids, it's just hot to think about making art a daddy again. tashi is the mother of his daughter, will be the mother of any of his future children. you, you're the outlet she hand-picked for all of art's needs, because while she can do everything, she won't let him fuck her the way he wants to fuck someone, and art doesn't want to fuck tashi the way he fucks you. you're okay with that. you like being someone he needs. someone he wants.

and who knows? maybe tashi will change her mind. maybe you will. maybe she'll let you have his next kid, and maybe you'll want it.

god knows art wants it. he'd let you. he'd give you anything. everything.

"thank you," he mumbles against your hair. "that was... i love you."

"i should be thanking you, i haven't cum thag much in one night in... ever."

you pause, tip your head up to meet his eyes. he's smiling, soft as silk, sweet as sugar. in the dying light of the sun, his hair looks like it's on fire, haloed by the sky itself. apollo incarnate come down from the heavens.

"i love you too," you say. and mean it.

[stervrucht]

No context WIP snippet

@419jhat tagged me, thank you!💕

“I don’t care if you’re naked, I’m coming in.”

The door swings open, bangs into the wall with a loud thud and the small dent there grows a little deeper.

“You jerking off in here?” Eddie asks. He’s grinning, hands on his hips. Behind him, Robin stands with the register drawer in her hand, ready to get it to the safe. 

“God, Eddie. Move.” She buds him aside with the swing of her hip and Eddie staggers. 

“Sorry. Got a little side-tracked.” Steve moves away from the washing machine. He’s pretty much dressed, save the laces of his shoes. He bends down to tie them while Eddie hoists himself on top of the counter. 

His feet swing above the floor. Always moving, Eddie can’t be still.

“So, Chopping Mall, huh?” Steve moves to his other shoe.

“Supposedly it’s super bad. Can’t wait. Wanna tag along, Buckley?” Eddie cranes his neck to see where Robin went behind the corner.

“Absolutely not,” her voice sounds, “I’ll be studying. You should give it a try.”

Eddie huffs, kicks his feet. “Some of us have social lives.”

Robin appears from behind the wall, hands empty. “Some of us want to graduate.”

“No one’s a bigger fan of graduating than I am.”

“That’s why you keep trying, huh?”

“Jesus. Fuck, just stick that knife between my ribs, will you?”  

Steve chuckles and Eddie sends him a dirty look. “Who’s team are you on anyway, Steve?”

“I’m very, very neutral.”

“Maybe you should neutrally pay for your own popcorn then.”

“Like I don’t pay anyway.”

Eddie pushes himself off the counter. His shoes make a hard smack when they hit the tiled floor. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck from behind, hangs heavy, nearly choking.

“Getting wined and dined like I deserve.”

Robin gags. Smiles. “You two are gross. I’m gonna lock up front.”

She leaves and Eddie lets go of Steve’s neck. 

“Sometimes I wonder if she even likes me,” Eddie tells him. 

“Sometimes I wonder how anyone does.”

Eddie hits him. “You too? I’m getting fucking battered here.” Eddie straightens himself. Hands over his heart, he tilts his head, eyes big, dark and wide as he pouts. “I’ll win your heart, fair lady Harrington.”

---

No-pressure tags for @sleepy-steve, @runninriot @runraerun ✨

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) Chapter Five

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months sooner than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. Afterall, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plans brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down, but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, This was my first attempt at smut (I giggled posting this, I am so excited!). I am new, but any advice is welcome! I tried something different with formatting (you'll see when you get there). I didn't want anything to be spoiled while ya'll rode the emotional rollercoaster that is this chapter. Let me know if it was weird and didn't work (or if it did that would be great!). I also added a link to the music found in a later part of this chapter in case you wanted to listen while you read.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Five - Night's Mistress

Content Warning: Blood, Blood Play, Murder, Choking, Graphic Sexual Scenes Involving Violence, Smut, MINORS DNI! (let me know if I missed anything else!)

The pull behind your navel felt foreign. 

It didn’t come with the taste of honey or the scent of daffodils like Rosie’s summons normally did. It didn’t come with a hint of sass or flood your mouth with spice like Carmilla’s. Crimson’s tasted of red pepper flakes and copper - a disgusting combination - but he was no longer an issue. 

This pull, however, was new and terribly, terribly… boring. 

Has one of your cards fallen to a rogue with sticky fingers? Has one of your holders died and a new holder taken their place? 

Whomever it was, the pull made you pause atop your perch overlooking V Tower. With Vox’s new Angelic Security soon to be released, you didn’t know how close you could get to the media demon’s headquarters. So you sat a few buildings away, scanning the horizon for any newfound technology that might impede your nighttime endeavors. 

There was another tug. 

Jesus, impatient much? 

You stood, stretching the stiffness from your legs. It was late, you’ve been out here for hours watching absolutely nothing happen. All the Vees like to do is sit, drink, and talk shit. Seriously what did they get out of their friendship? Was it friendship? Or were they all fucking? Ugh, you did not want that picture in your head.

Okay, time to go. 

You jumped, allowing the smoke to envelop your form. Feeling the pull, you headed toward the inner part of the city. Circling Heaven’s Clocktower, you broke off back toward the Magne District - the district that held the Hotel. Except you weren’t headed for your new home. The pull brought you left, almost to the border town but not quite, to an old tower.

In a plume of smoke, you landed on a balcony, the black swirls twirling about the landing before pooling over the sides. You were probably twenty stories up, the tallest building around. Not nearly as tall as V Tower - which the balcony gave you a great view of - but still, Pentagram City was striking. 

The balcony was connected to an apartment, reachable to the world only by an elevator at its center. Behind you was a wall of glass, heavy curtains preventing you from peering inside. On the balcony sat a small table, framed by two iron chairs. The setup was empty, except for your card which sat atop the table, a single drop of blood at its center. 

You took a step, your feet finding a puddle of red before you finally noticed the body. It was face down, scarlett flooding from a wound which wasn’t visible to you. It didn’t appear to be anyone you knew. Definitely a Human Sinner, but not one particularly interesting. 

So who in Hell summoned you? 

As if on cue, a zip of static runs across the back of your neck. 

Of-fucking-course…

“Ah, there you are,” Alastor emerges from the darkened apartment, shutting the door behind him with a kick of his heel, a smooth jazz playing on his radio.

Your heart skips a beat as his eyes find yours. Half-lidded, he smirks, a bottle of wine in one hand and a pair of glasses in another. 

Your eyes flit between the dead Sinner on the floor and the red demon before you. “You did not use your own blood?" This was a first. Cardholders always used their own blood. Although not directly stated, it was implied. 

“Heavens, no!” The demon places the glasses on the table, next to the obsidian calling card, as he uncorks the bottle using the tip of his claw. “We barely know each other. That would be too…” His eyes slid to yours. You feel his gaze rake over your form eliciting a blush beneath your cloak. “Intimate.” 

Jesus. 

You stifle a sharp intake of breath. 

Get your shit together. You’re a fucking Overlord for Christ’s sake. 

You drop his gaze, eyeing the half-dead pile of blood beneath your feet. 

“Ah, apologies for the mess,” Alastor snaps and the Sinner, along with the blood, disappears. “Wine?” The red demon holds a glass out to you, liquid sloshing in its basin. 

You look at your boots before moving, noticing he even wiped the blood from their leather. How thoughtful. 

Goblet in hand, you finally join the Radio Demon in the chair adjacent to his, and gaze out to the City. 

It was quiet, the hustle of Pentagram City’s nightlife drowned out by his jazz. Funny, you thought it almost peaceful. Could Hell be peaceful? No. That would be an oxymoron. Hell was designed not to be peaceful by definition. Yet all the way up here, tucked far back from the rest of the chaos, you could pretend it was. 

The demon sits back in his chair, crossing his legs at his knees. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his shoes have a print on the bottom - a deer’s hoof. How fitting. 

The obsidian calling card sits between you, a drop of scarlet crusting on its surface. Letters in white slowly fade from the card’s edge, signifying the death of the card owner. Whoever the Hell Stanley Jenkins was, Alastor had killed him and used his blood instead. Smart actually, for the card comes with its own parameters…

And to the Sinners without a card? That was a bit trickier. Only a handful of obsidian calling cards were in circulation, and only cardholders could summon you at will. To the lower rung demons without the honor, they had to go through back channels. That’s what you used Rosie for. The Cannibal Queen knew all the best gossip in town, her network of information reached every edge of the Pentagram. She was your starting point for potential hits - you took care of the rest. 

“A toast,” Alastor holds his glass out to you. “To power and chaos.” 

You freeze.

The demon clinks his glass with yours.

You had not heard that phrase in a very long time. 

You look to the Radio Demon and watch as he sips his wine, the red liquid kissing his lips as he drinks.  

More importantly, where had he heard that phrase? 

And then it clicks. 

Lilith. You last heard that from Lilith. 

“It isn’t poisoned. I assure you,” Alastor purrs, bringing your thoughts back to the wine. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.” The demon chuckles.

You shudder at the sudden static vibrating through your bones. 

You put a pin in this conversation - a mental note. You had more homework to do. 

You swirl the red around the glass, noting the alcohol crystals sticking to the sides. It was an older wine, a heavier red by the color. The liquid wooed you in scents of dark berry, cloves, and cedar. You could taste the tannins on your tongue before the liquid even hit your teeth. God, was it a thick red, so dry it left your mouth parched for more. Alastor couldn’t see your face beneath the hood, but if he could, he would see the moan you stifled behind closed lips. 

God, it was almost Heavenly. 

“One of my more everyday favorites,” Alastor smiled at the world below, his eyes sparkling with the reflection of City lights. “Although, I have far better in my cellar.” 

In my cellar. Your ears perked up at that, although you tried to hide it, the twitch of Alastor’s lips told you he had noticed. The Radio Demon knew something about you now: you liked wine. 

Was that what this meeting was all about? He wanted to gather more information on the Shadow? The way he made it seem at Carmilla’s was that there was a deal to be made. He thought you two could benefit from some sort of… partnership. Yet, you sit here and drink. 

This wasn’t how your deals often went. Usually, you showed up, and Sinners demanded action straight away. They practically begged you for your help, all too eager to make a deal. Lesser demons were pathetic, demons thinking themselves anything more attempted to look strong or intimidating, but the second they saw your eyes, they cowered. You’d like to think it the same as Zestial’s situation but you didn’t dare compare yourself to someone as great as him. 

Alastor, however, sat before you as an entertainer, a flatterer, a narcissist obsessed with his image. He didn’t just want to make a deal with you - if he did at all - he wanted to put on a show. Offering you a drink and a lovely view of the City communicated to you that he didn’t see you as a threat, but you already knew that. The question then was, did he respect you, and why did it bother you so much not to know? 

You turned the bottle to read the label: Stag’s Leap. How fitting. 

“Have you read the Allegory of the Cave*?” Alastor posits. 

You nod. Of course, who hasn’t read Plato? 

“When the man leaves the cave and makes it to the surface and is finally disenchanted with the shadows below, why do you suppose he returns?” Alastor takes another sip, waiting for you to answer, because he genuinely cares as to what you have to say. 

“To free the two he left behind,” your voice growls. 

“Hmm,” he ponders. “I supposed that as well, but never understood. To have the power of knowledge and to then share it… To not take advantage when it benefited him so. I see it as a tragedy.”

“Perhaps it is the Humanity in all of us.”

Alastor’s eyes flashed. “And if there is no Humanity left?” 

“Return…” Your lips curled, “and kill the other two.” 

Alastor tipped his head back and laughed, a deep chuckle from his chest. No laugh track followed. Was that genuine? A real laugh from Alastor and not the façade of the Radio Demon. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest at the thought. 

Focus! 

“Alastor, why have you summoned me?” 

The Radio Demon’s lips faltered ever so slightly, his cheery attitude hardening. He thought a long moment before answering. “It seems we have found ourselves in quite the predicament.” He places the glass on the table and folds his fingers in his lap, his attention on the City below. Your eyes follow his, all the way to V Tower. 

Ah, yes Velvette and Vox. 

“Velvette can be quite the troublemaker.” 

“And Vox can be quite the thorn.” You counter, taking another sip. 

God, the wine was so good. 

“I have… information worth your while.” His teeth shined. 

“And in return?” 

“A quid-pro-quo. I have been gone a long time, but my relationships with those I am… close with have held strong. That is the perk of being as old as I am. I am tried and true. You are new blood, officially worth a seat at the table. That seat will be tested.” There was an edge to his words now. “Do not take Velvette’s silence for inaction.”

You did not. 

Yet, what could Alastor know that you have not yet uncovered yourself? After all, you have been watching them these past few days. Surely something would have come up by now. 

You scoffed, finding the underlying meaning in his words. “Is that what happened with Vox?” 

The Radio Demon stiffened. There it was, a hint of that barely contained anger. Oh, how you would love to see it unleashed.

You sniffed, searching for the scent of rage, of jasmine green tea - the main reason why you loved the drink. Yet there was nothing. Irritation prickled your skin. You have never been able to not read someone before. What made this Sinner so special? 

“That is what you want from this… partnership, is it not?” You prod, hoping he will give away something, anything that might clue you in as to why you are here. 

The demon returned to his wine, a muscle in his jaw flickering with agitation. He didn’t like appearing weak. 

Narcissist. 

“The plans I have in mind are far bigger than that poor excuse for an entertainment system.” 

You snorted. 

Alastor’s strained smile softened. 

Hmm, a quid-pro-quo, huh? Still, he hasn’t said what he wants out of this deal. 

You took another sip to think, noting your glass was already empty. 

The Radio Demon cleared his throat, wine bottle in hand, gesturing for your cup. His fingers brushed yours as you handed him the glass, sending a wave of static through to your core. You pulled back too fast, bringing your arm to your chest. The demon’s eyes gleamed in amusement. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! You are not afraid of the Radio Demon, so why were you acting like an idiot? Never let your weaknesses show and you just gave him a clear indication that he intimidated you. You are a FUCKING OVERLORD. 

Why was this not easier with a mask on??? At the Hotel, you didn’t back down, but still, you let him think less of you. Not here. Here you are the fucking Shadow, you didn’t have to pretend. You had no reason to be so nervous. 

So why was the smile on his face and the look in his half-lidded eyes making your heart do backflips in your chest? Why was it when he handed the glass back you were conscious to not let your fingers touch his? Why were you so grateful for the space between you two yet also so, so irritated by it? 

“You still have not told me what you seek to gain.” You prayed your voice didn't sound as unnerved as you felt. 

His smile went cockeyed. “A mutual agreement. We stay out of each other’s way, yet seek out the other when we can benefit equally.” 

That didn’t sound like a partnership. That sounded like an alliance. Is this the same type of deal he had with Rosie? Interestingly, they seemed more like friends than something so surface-level as an alliance. Perhaps it started out that way and blossomed into one? 

The butterflies in your stomach kicked up in a flurry. The Radio Demon thought you were worth his time. Your cheeks heated. He thought you could help him - in some sort of capacity. God, why did that make you wanna squeal like a small child? 

“I will not be signing a contract,” you warned. 

Rosie informed you of Alastor’s contract crafting abilities. The demon was meticulous, bordering on obsessive when it came to exacting details. Line-by-line he would work and when it was finally done, the deal would appear flattering in what it would have to offer. Somehow, Alastor always made it seem like it was you who was the one to benefit. Yet, that was never the case. It was a trap, a beautifully disguised ploy which demoted you to a creature privy to his whim. Alastor was a master and the signee his pet - he would have it no other way. 

You’d die before you signed anything he authored. 

The demon laughed. Yet, underneath, there was a hint of irritation. “Oh, no. I did not expect that, I assure you. Ours will be one of a verbal agreement.” 

You let that marinate. He won’t be getting your name, but an agreement will still be made, and in Hell, that was a very powerful thing indeed. You’ve made plenty of verbal agreements before. Fuck, every hit you contracted was a verbal agreement - silence and the contractee’s soul in exchange for murder. The terms you set were quite simple, actually, yet strong enough to have kept any hint, any suspicion of who you are and how to find you, out of the mouths of Pentagram City’s most powerful. Yes, the media did try to track you down, even attempted to hunt you at one point, but they haven’t gotten very far. And they never will if you had anything to do with it…

You took a sip, letting the flavors melt off your tongue one final time, before standing and offering a hand. 

The demon’s eyes lit up with a crimson fire, his lips curling at the edges. He looked far too eager for this deal and that made you hesitate. 

Dealing with Alastor was like dancing - a dance you both pretended not to be leading but also refused to be the follower in. It was a game of power, you see. Yes, dancing had its steps and rules - a waltz is a waltz after all - but the direction it was going, the added flare to the spins, the story the choreography told - that was where you battled. Thus, you needed to be a half-step ahead of Alastor at all times - without him knowing, of course - until either the dance ended or you found a way to end him. 

The Radio Demon took your hand, and as you gazed into his eyes, you watched his pupils dilate. The glow of your yellow irises reflected in their dark center, an aura of red encircling your hooded form. A river of blue and green exploded from where your hands touched, twirling about you like the eye of a beautifully destructive hurricane.

The wind whipped Alastor’s hair about his face, his smile never faltering, his eyes never leaving yours as a connection snapped between the two of you. Like a thin string bridging your souls, you could, for a moment, feel Alastor on the other end, feel his static radiating from his core before the connection faded entirely.  

It was done. 

“A pleasure,” he purred. 

You attempted to step back and break away from his grasp, but the demon responded by clamping down and pulling you to him. You stumbled, your other hand coming to his chest to prevent your fall. The hood atop your head shifted back ever so slightly, but not enough to reveal your face or to give away anything underneath. 

The shadows engulfing your feet twirled and twirled about you, yet you remained frozen. Alastor was a solid wall of muscle beneath his suit; even with gloves on, you could feel the marble from which his chest was sculpted. You took a breath before you pulled your hand away before your brain finally caught up with the rest of you.

“Beautiful,” Alastor’s voice deepened. 

You dared a glance from beneath your hood and found the demon’s eyes locked on the silver embroidery of your cloak. With his other hand, he ghosted over the trim, his fingers tracing the hard edges of the stitching. Yet, at no point did he actually touch the black fabric. If he did, his fingers would phase through it, just as Velvette’s had at the meeting. 

Without saying anything, he dropped the grip on your fist, freeing you from his clutches. You stumbled backward, grasping your hood and pulling it forward to ensure it stayed in place. Alastor couldn’t remove it, but that little stunt he pulled almost ruined everything you had worked for. 

Your body grew cold as you backtracked to the railing, your little meeting coming to an end. You watched as Alastor’s grin turned into a lopsided smirk as he shoved his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly watching you flee.

Your instincts were screaming again, but this time, they were telling you not to let the demon out of your sight. 

Passing by the table, you noted the obsidian calling card. He would use it to summon you from here on out, but he would never be using his own blood. His real name would be made to you then, and he would never risk that. 

Take advantage of the power given, was what he recollected from Plato, and use it to slaughter others. 

“Velvette is using a third party to buy weapons from Carmilla Carmine,” the demon finally spoke, breaking the tension. He turned to the skyline, absentmindedly analyzing V Tower as he talked. “The female Vee, however, is not the fighter of the group, she leaves that to Vox and Valentino. Velvette destroys by reputation. She is not much to fear if armed, but if privy to certain information, she will use that to destroy her enemies.”

A.K.A do not let her find out who you are. 

You paused as your back hit the railing. You let your shadows build beneath your feet before you jumped in order to conceal your form as you flew. “Vox’s Angelic Security is in place but not online. It expands two blocks from V Tower. If anyone were to make a move, he would see it coming.” 

The Radio Demon nods. He pauses a moment before adding, “Carmilla killed the Angel.” 

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. How the Hell did he know that? 

“Carmilla is monitoring the Vees,” The words tumbled out of your mouth as you grabbed hold of the railing. “She doesn’t want them making a move against Heaven.” You needed to get away. This meeting was getting dangerous. Losing your cool and almost losing your hood in the span of minutes? You were never this sloppy. Alastor made you sloppy. 

“Interesting,” his voice stopped you again. 

You spun, raising an eyebrow in question. His lopsided smirk only grew. “You didn’t ask me how Carmilla killed the Angel.” 

Fuck. He knew. He knew you already knew. He didn’t have to look at you to see the surprise in your eyes, he had figured it out by your response alone. 

“Goodnight, Alastor,” you gave a shallow head bow before jumping off into the night, Alastor’s fucking grin following you into the sky. 

____________________________________________

It was late when you returned. You took a few extra spins about Pentagram City before heading back, trying to collect your thoughts on everything that had just happened. 

You had surmised two important things: One, Alastor’s absence wasn’t just about Lilith. The demon somehow knew Lilith. Perhaps it was because of her that he left in the first place. Which you already somewhat suspected, but this confirmed it. Two, Alastor wanted the Vees dealt with, but he knew he couldn’t do it alone. 

A quid-pro-quo in taking out the Vees. Now, things were getting interesting. This didn’t derail your plans, however, little Ms. Morningstar was still heading in the direction you needed her to go for everything to work. You didn’t need the Vees for the endgame - you had other powers in your back pocket with far more influence than the three of them. Plus, the connections you were making at the Hotel were going swimmingly. Soon, not yet, but soon, you’d implement the next phase. 

Oh, if only Father could see you now - wherever the Hell he was. Did he fall to Hell or was he somehow topside? No. You’d know if he was down here with you. You’d feel it in your bones. Wherever he ended up, you were going to find him and you were going to make him suffer for everything he put you through. 

You weren’t just going to kill him - oh, no. He didn’t deserve a quick and clean death. It was going to be slow and torturous. You were going to make him feel every ounce of the pain he put you through and more. You’d take your time, after all; why rush? Hours, days, months, years; what use was putting a timeline to his punishment when it would never make up for what he did? No. You’d take your time pushing him to the edge, and when he was on the cusp of eternal darkness, you’d heal him and start all over again.   

Perhaps you did have a flair for murder like the Radio Demon. Your creative outlets were just significantly more specific - lying in wait for the perfect muse. 

Wrapping your fingers around the edge of the window pane, you quietly slipped inside. With a snap, your leather gear and cloak slipped into the Void, replaced with a silk pajama set: a tank top and shorts bordering on just too short. Scandalous, but you enjoyed burying yourself beneath layers of blankets while you slept. Any more clothing and you’d wake up sweating. 

Going for the bathroom, you turned on the light and paused. In the reflection of your mirror, you saw it: a red box wrapped in black ribbon. Your heart skipped a beat. 

Someone had been in your room. 

Hesitantly, you made your way before the coffee table and found a card perched atop the neatly wrapped bow. 

You leaned in and sniffed the package - Nifty. You were going to have to touch base with the Hotel cleaning lady after breakfast. From day one, you had made it quite clear - to her great disappointment - not to clean your room, let alone enter it. Perhaps you weren’t clear enough, for she felt it acceptable to leave this here as opposed to outside your door.

Doing a circle about the space, you inspected the sealing runes which kept certain individuals out, eyeing the shadows just in case. You had hidden the ancient magic in concealed places, even buying a rug to cover the one at the base of your door, and kept your most important things in your Void. It wasn’t the best place to store your leather and cloak - especially after the moth infestation a few years back - but it was a necessity at the moment. 

Then you went for the present. Pulling the black ribbon atop, you jumped back as the box split into fours, revealing a small radio. It was of a classic design and cathedral in shape, carved from mahogany and detailed in yellow and red. The device was simple, with only two buttons: an on-and-off switch and a volume dial. No tuning dial to change the channel? No chord to plug it in?

Fuck. How did he know? You racked your brain trying to figure out when and to whom you talked to regarding your sleepless nights. Rosie knew, but you hadn’t specifically discussed it with her lately. Did you say something to Husk in passing? To Angel while you were bitching at breakfast? 

Hesitantly, you turned on the device. A pleasant, smooth jazz echoed through the speaker: Paul Whiteman’s “Sleepy Time Down South.” Hilarious… The Radio Demon has a sense of humor. At least it wasn’t the screams of blood-curdling murder. 

After inspecting the radio three times over, you deemed it not a threat - although you kept it far away from your bed as you crawled beneath the sheets. With a snap of your fingers, the bathroom light turned off, plunging you into a cocoon of darkness, enveloped by the lullaby of sweet jazz…

____________________________________________

At some point in the night, you awoke, your mouth parched and throat dry.  

🎶 It’s not the pale moon that excites me 🎶

Alastor’s radio switches over to a new song, the music seeming to follow you as you make your way to the kitchen. The hallways were silent, the Hotel Natives snoozing away in the late hours of the night. 

🎶 That thrills and delights me 🎶

You pass by the library as a zip of static runs its way down your spine, stopping you in your tracks. Alastor stood before the fireplace, flames roaring in its hearth, casting an eerie glow throughout the room. The demon faces the fire, his attention on the crackle of the logs as they whittled away into ash. He was still dressed in his three piece suit you saw him in only hours ago, his ears pressed flat against his head in irritation. Something was bothering him. 

🎶 Oh, no. It’s just the nearness of you 🎶

He pretended not to notice you standing there staring at him from the hallway, but his shadow didn't. It zipped around your feet, twirling about your ankles in greeting, before practically dragging you inside the room. And when it had you well within the confines of the space, it flew to the doors.

🎶 It isn’t your sweet conversation 🎶

The shadow slammed them shut. CLICK! Then locked them. 

You were trapped. 

🎶 That brings this sensation 🎶

Alastor tilts his head over his shoulder, his half-lidded eyes landing on you. The demon looked royally pissed. 

This was it, this was the moment.

Alastor had figured out who you are. Your hood had fallen farther than you thought and he had seen your face and put the pieces together. He knew you were the Shadow, the mysterious new Overlord, here to challenge his grab for Princess Morningstar’s power. 

And he was going to kill you for it. 

🎶 Oh, no. It’s just the nearness of you 🎶

You didn’t hesitate to summon your blue flames, preparing for a fight, yet he moved faster than your mind could comprehend. Between one blink and the next, Alastor appears before you, his hand wrapping around your throat so tight you choke on the lack of air. Grasping at his arm, you dig your claws into his skin, your demon form summoning, as you melt the red fabric with your flame. But he is unphased by the heat, pulling back and slamming you so hard into the wall that spiderwebs crack across the plaster. 

🎶 When you’re in my arms 🎶

You try to summon more flame to burn him down to the very core of his soul like you had done to thousands of Sinners before, but the blue fire does nothing to his skin. It singes the red fabric, turning it black, but his skin beneath is unharmed. 

Shit.

🎶 And I feel you so close to me 🎶

The demon leans in, a low growl emanating from his chest, his teeth glinting in the firelight as his eyes hone in on your neck. As the blood pumped through your jugular, you watched his pupils dilate and fixate on the vein. He was a Cannibal, a predator, a killer whittled down to pure instinct. Everything within him was screaming kill, kill, kill.

🎶 All my wildest dreams came true…🎶

Your lungs screamed as you choked out, “Alastor.” It was weak, barely a whisper, but it was enough to draw his gaze from your neck to your eyes. In his pupils, you saw yourself desperate and bordering on losing yourself to the darkness threatening to close in. Despite the fight you felt in your bones you looked terrified.

🎶 I need no soft lights to enchant me 🎶

His name slipping from your mouth, the quiver he saw in your lips, had cracked something within him.

🎶 If you would only grant me 🎶

His grip disappeared, allowing you a breath of air. 

🎶 The right to hold you ever so tight 🎶

You bent over, coughing onto the floor, sucking down breaths in gasps that make your eyes water. 

🎶And to feel in the night🎶

Standing, you held onto the broken wall, forcing yourself to stay on your feet, despite your knees threatening to collapse beneath you.

“Alastor, what the fuck…” And before you had a chance to finish your question, the demon wraps his claws around your chin and forcefully slams his lips into yours. 

🎶The nearness of you🎶

The kiss was anything but soft, anything but patient. The demon was hungry and starving, and only you could satiate his appetite.

His other hand presses your hip back against the wall as he kicks your legs apart, drawing a gasp from your lips. Alastor takes the opportunity to run his tongue across your bottom lip before snaking it into your mouth. His tongue finds yours, prodding, testing, tasting.  

He pushes you flush against the wall, his knee pressing higher and higher until it finds the pocket between your thighs, eliciting a gasp that turns into a moan as he pulls you onto him, forcing your clit in line with his leg. 

The demon smiles against your lips, finally releasing your chin to grab your waist, his fingers bunching in the thin material of your pajama bottoms. You take the opportunity to find the lapels of his jacket to give you something to grab onto as you arch into him, pulling him closer as you press your breasts into his chest. The demon growls, a deep rumble emanating from within as he bites down on your bottom lip. 

Copper floods your mouth, turning the kiss sweet, but for Alastor, it’s a frenzy. He was no longer satisfied with just tasting you. He had to devour you.  

The silky material of your pajamas was oh-so thin. No underwear or bra beneath them, you were practically naked as the tips of his claws sank into the meat of your hips, beads of red pebbling on your skin. 

God and the pain only added to the pleasure building between your legs, only made your head swim as his lips slid over yours, capturing every drop of scarlet flooding your mouth. 

The demon helps guide your hips as you ground your clit into his thigh, wetness seeping into the silky material before pooling onto his pants. The room flooded with the scent of warm vanilla.

This man had you soaked, had your lips dripping as you ground into him faster and faster, your pleasure building with each roll. Alastor finally released your mouth, his teeth finding your neck, but he didn’t bite. Instead, he teased. He ran his tongue along the dip of your collarbone, tracing it to the spot where your shoulder met your neck, before finally running it up to your ear.

You moaned when he took your lobe into his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth. Alastor instinctively rolled his hips, his cock tenting his pants, grinding on nothing but air. 

Suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The friction wasn’t enough. You needed more. Needed more of him to push yourself over the edge. 

“Al…” You breathed into his ear between moans, your fingers trailing down to the twitch in his pants, but stopping when you hit his belt. “Please…” You tugged.

The demon laughed, capturing your groans with his mouth before answering, “No.” 

You blinked. “No?”

The demon puts a hard stop to your hips, pausing your grinding and the build in your pleasure. He grabs your hand on his belt and captures two of your fingers in his mouth. Sucking with his lips, he circles your fingertips with his tongue, wetting them before guiding your hand back down to your clit. 

“I want to watch,” he smiles against your cheek before he wraps a finger under your chin and brings your face up to his. “Fuck yourself,” he commands. 

And you obeyed.   

Your two fingers find the apex of your pleasure beneath your shorts, and you moan, wetting your clit with his spit as you circle the bud.

You barely have to touch yourself, you’re already so close. 

Alastor does nothing to help, save for his gaze, save for his breath which matched yours. The demon’s eyes glittered with heat and desire as they bore into you. He could feel the pleasure radiating off of you, could feel it as real as you could feel his static on the other side of the bond you formed today. 

“Good girl,” he growled, his cock twitching in his pants with each moan that escaped your lips. 

“I’m close,” you whined, twirling your fingers faster and faster, feeling the pressure build between your legs. 

Alastor dug his claws into your skin, his gaze soaking up every look of pleasure on your face, his ears absorbing every moan, his cock hardening with every swipe of your fingers against yourself.

“Cum for me, darling.” The demon’s lips curled as he swiped the hair from your eyes, sticky with sweat. He wanted to watch as you sent yourself over the edge. He wanted to miss nothing.

And just as you reached your climax...

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...you wake up in bed, your screams of pleasure drawing you from sleep. 

Your orgasm spasmed through your body, your legs twitching as you rode the wave, your pussy clenching on nothing but air…

Fuck, it was the best orgasm you had ever had, nevermind that it was your first.

And when it was over and your mind sobered, you realized it was all a dream.

You never woke up for a glass of water.

You never found Alastor in the library. 

Grabbing a pillow, you launched it at the radio on the coffee table but missed by a mile. Burying your face in the sheets, you screamed. You screamed until your lungs burned because anything was better than acknowledging the truth.

Anything was better than acknowledging that you just had your very first wet dream, and it was of Alastor, the Radio Demon.

Muahahahaha! Remember it's a slow burn ;)

-> Chapter Six

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

*Plato's Allegory of the Cave

Tag List (Let me know if you want to be added):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff

[hotluncheddie]

Day 4: Edging

"Bi Freak"

Ao3

wc: 3.5 | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, bisexual Eddie Munson & Steve Harrington, mean dom Steve Harrington (kinda), degradation, sub top Eddie

written for @subeddieweek <3

📸 📸 📸 📸 📸

‘Jesus, are you hard?’ Steve asks, incredulous at how fucking ridiculous Eddie’s cock can be at times. Even walking just behind him Steve must spot how Eddie’s hands shift to tug at his belt buckle, the way his gait is a little more awkward than usual.  

Eddie freezes, readjusting again as Steve saunters past. Cheeks feeling a little hot over being caught. He was Subtle, or so he thought, but his jeans must just not be tight enough to hide his boner. 

They're walking back to the beamer after eating at the diner in town. A few familiar faces around since its summer. The two of them included, back over from Indi for a visit to see Wayne for his birthday. 

Unfortunately, seeing Wayne means staying with Wayne and while that is wonderful, the walls of the trailer are still, absolutely, the width of paper mache. So, Steve had decided the concept of sex was much too mortifying in those conditions. A different consensus from when they first got together, Eddie had pointed out. But, Steve had just laughed and kissed him, in that condescending way that just made the whole situation so so much harder, figuratively and literally.

Its been a week, basically, and Eddie’s getting desperate, and Steve is getting mean. 

Eddie jogs to catch up to Steve's long strides. ‘Did you see her though? Christ Steve she, she's a vision. A fucking goddess dude.’ 

‘I saw I saw.’ Steve shoves his hands in his jacket, Eddie looming in close at his side.

‘Like she was something then, but now? Bigger and better, did you see? You saw them right?’ Eddie moves his arms around, cups his hands, clenches his fingers. A horny interpretive dance. 

Steve sighs, faux wistfully. ‘Every day I almost forget how much of a tits guy you are, and everyday you just gotta remind me, huh? Munson? What's up with that?’ Steve jabs his elbow into Eddie’s side. Grins at the cackle it elicits. 

‘You know I fundamentally disagree with that question, Stevie. No one should be subjected to a choice like that.’ Eddie laughs, swooping in close to Steve's neck for a moment, in that way he loves. Steve’s elbow coming out to make him back away. 

Steve pulls his keys out of his pocket, the car coming into view, parked in the furthest corner. 

‘Your tits are amazing by the way.’

Steve laughs again. ‘Thanks dude, I know. Lucky for you my ego is big enough to handle your crazy libido.’ 

Eddie grumbles, kicking at a can. ‘Only crazy because of the damn “no touching” rule you set.’ 

‘Aww’ Steve coos, ‘baby cant handle a little teasing anymore?’ He smirks at Eddie, unlocking the car but not opening the door, instead watching Eddie slump over, pouting. 

Steve stalks around to the passenger side, opening the door for him and pulling his arm, shoving Eddie down onto the seat with a hand on his head. 

Eddie whimpers, feels pre-cum leak out of his tip and soak into his boxers. Fuck, he’s hard - worse now. Steve’s not let him have more than a peck, more than a nighttime spoon, for days. 

‘Wanna know a secret?’ Steve asks. 

Eddie’s slumped on the passenger seat, feet still on concrete. He rubs his hands over his burning cheeks and peeks up at the sunshine being blocked from above. Steve leaning a forearm in the car hood, looming over Eddie, caging him in. 

Steve steps right up into Eddie space, shoving his knee onto the seat right between Eddies thighs. crushing his cock. Steve leans in even closer, breath ghosting over Eddie's ear, making him shiver. 

‘I know how she tastes.’ 

Eddie feels like all his air gets gut punched out of him, feels his fucking pupils dilate so much his vision goes blurry. He makes a strangled sort of moan. His boxers flooding with cum.

‘…Did? Did you just?’

Eddies panting so hard all he can really do is nod his head. 

‘You’re so pretty.’ He slurs, staring up at Steve, haloed and lovely and how did Eddie get so lucky?

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, but he smiles down at him, strokes his cheek and looks at him with eyes full of stars. ‘You can go again through right?’ He asks. 

Eddie beams. ‘Fuck yeah!’ 

Steve laughs, shaking his head. He closes Eddie’s door and gets behind the wheel. Puts on his sunglasses and lays his hand on Eddie’s thigh. ‘No touching while I’m driving. Let's go break into my parents house.’ 

Eddie leans back in the headrest, grinning. ‘By break in, do you mean use the spare key?’

‘Sure do baby. They won't even be there.’ Steve says, and pulls out of the diner parking lot. 

-

Back at Steves Eddie sprawls out in his bedroom, familiar in its ugliness but the mattress has always been to die for.

Eddie listens to the sound of Steve moving through the house, not sure what he’s doing. But they’ve fallen into routines like this before, Eddie waiting upstairs while Steve did whatever it was that made a big empty house like this run smooth. He works the same magic on their apartment; structuring Eddie enough to not get overwhelmed by chores and eventually listening to Eddie’s please to not do it all himself. Steve could work himself to the bone and still ask if Eddie needed a glass of water. But now they have a chart, and Eddie’s always had a knack for laundry. 

But, at times like these, brain directly attached to his dick and almost nowhere else, Eddie wants to be directed.He wants Steve to do exactly as much as he wants, do so exactly as he pleases, Eddie almost an afterthought. 

Yeah, Eddie wants that. He shivers, hears Steves footsteps on the staircase. 

‘Unzip your jeans but don’t take them off.’ Steve says, coming into the room, searching for something. 

Eddie complies quickly, standing. Steve walks out of the room.

Steve walks back in with his shirt off. Looking Eddie up and down, face blank. 

He lifts the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt and shoves it in his mouth, saliva soaking the fabric between his teeth, cool air hitting his exposed nipples. ‘Show me.’ Steve says, calm and neutral, like Eddie is his doll to play with.

He pulls at the waistband of his boxers and his eyes burn as he watches Steve. Refusing to blink, refusing to miss the look on his face once he sees the mess. 

Steve’s eyes roam Eddie’s face for a moment, steely and almost cold. He looks down, raises his eyebrows. Eddie feels his cock twitch at the attention, at the judgment. 

Steve looks back up. ‘Look at it.’ And Eddie glances down, breath hitching at the sight of his cock covered in his own cum, some of it starting to crust but the tip still shiny and wet, leaning against the sodden fabric of his boxers. 

Eddie looks back up at Steve, sees that he watched his whole reaction. Pupils blown wide and Steve's hand has migrated up to tweak at his own nipple. Jealousy burns in Eddie’s gut; that he’s not allowed to touch Steve like that, not yet. 

Eddie whimpers again, he wants to kiss him, wants to eat him. 

‘Fuck’ Steve murmurs, like he can read Eddie’s mind. Maybe he can, or it’s just how good Steve has gotten at reading Eddie’s face.

‘Colour?’ Steve asks.

‘Super fuckin’ green.’ Eddie says around the fabric, grinning, watching Steves smile bloom right back 

‘Good’ Steve pecs his top lip. Eddie surging forward, chasing, letting the wet hem fall. 

Steve stops him with a finger on his chest. His expression smoothing back into one of mild disgust. ‘So needy.’ Steve drawls. ‘Take off everything but your boxers.’ And he’s gone again, leaving Eddie to struggle out of his clothes in a rush. 

Steve walks back in, now only in his boxers too, Eddie can see the outline of his cock through the material and it makes his mouth water. It takes him a second to register that Steve’s holding the Polaroid camera now too. 

‘Show me, like you did before.’ Steve says, fiddling with the camera, waiting. 

Eddie does as he’s told and he feels goosebumps dabble over his skin, heat rushing south so fast it makes his nipples hard. 

Steve takes a photo of eddies cock covered in his own, slightly crusted, cum. The flash taking Eddie’s breath away. 

But Steve just leaves again, without a word. Eddie stands stock still and hears the shower turn on, the faint sound of the camera again. 

Steve comes back in flapping the polaroids. He sets the camera down and walks back over to Eddie, handing him a damp wash cloth. 

‘Clean yourself off.’ He says, leaning on one hip, looking board. ‘And fold your clothes on the desk, boxers on top, they need washing.’ Eyes flashing to Eddie’s, bitchy and judgmental. Eddie moans, even more heat rushing south, his gut churning. 

But Eddie does as he’s told, ignoring the heat between his thighs, Steve’s eyes on him as he settles the clothes in a neat pile. ‘Good. Now grab a pillow and kneel down. You’re gonna watch my photos develop while I shower. That sound okay?’ He asks, condensing, but the question is laced with sweetness, infused with the knowledge that Steve knows Eddie loves him like this, loves being talked to like this. But he can end it any time. Any time either of them want. 

Eddie just nods, bites his lip, turning to the bed to grab a pillow and situate himself on the floor. 

Steve bends and lays the photos in front of where Eddie’s kneeled. Then strokes his cheek with a thumb, making Eddie preen, blinking his eyes closed slowly. 

The crack of the slap registers after the feeling, Eddie’s head turned slightly to the side. Low moan distant to his own ears. 

He blinks his eyes back open, looking up at Steve’s and his pretty face. He thinks there must be spit sliding down his chin, because Steve’s thumb comes to wipe something away, dipping into Eddie’s parted lips gently, for a moment. 

And then Steve turns swiftly for the door, stopping just at the threshold. Eddie eyes snapping back up from where they were looking at his ass and Steve’s stifles a smile. Eddie’s own growing slow and dopey on his face. 

‘You can touch, I want you hard once I’m back. But if you cum again I’m not doing anything with you for a week.’ He says and Eddie blinks at him. Nodding as the words filter through his brain. 

He closes his eyes once Steve leaves and the water turns on. Lets his fingers dance towards his cock, cheek hot and tight and he moves it at the same time he wraps around himself, shoulders hunching around another guttural moan. 

Then he remembers the photos. 

He looks down and laying in front of his bent knees there’s two polaroids. The one of Eddie is almost fully developed, his dark thatch of hair speckled with globs of his own cum, white in contrast and just as noticeable in half crusted patches over the pink flush of his cock. It’s a mess. 

Eddie works himself at the sight, getting to full hardness with a strangled gasp. Remembering Steve eyeing it, remembering what he’d said that caused Eddie to finish so quick. 

The other is still only half developed. But the photos edges are rendering sections of the familiar Harrington bathroom, white tiles and blue walls, shower curtain and the edge of the large ornate mirror. Tan skin starts to become clear, Steve’s big hand holding the camera aloft, taking his own photo using the mirrors reflection, the back of his head. 

Eddie’s hand speeds up and he watches, wide eyed, as Steve’s broad shoulders come into view, the arch and strong length of his back. Eddie bites his lip again, harder, as Steve’s back ends in his bare ass perched on the counter.

The dark ring of a plug just visible between his cheeks. 

Eddie strangles a cry, gripping himself hard at the base, stifling his orgasm and feeling tears spring at his eyes. Steve’s must’ve been wearing that all through their time at the diner, all through the day. Stretched and wet and Eddie clenches his thighs together, covers his mouth with his palm and squeezes his eyes shut. 

‘Fuck. Fuck!’ He mumbles behind his hand, breathing shakily through his nose. Steve is something else.

Finally the shower shuts off and Steve returns. Eddie still kneeling, panting heavily, cock hard and leaking between his thighs. Still coming down from the brink. Steve just smirks at him, running a towel through his hair. 

He lays down on the bed, settling against the headboard. He trails his fingers over himself, tracing his nipple and stomach before giving his cock a few tugs, getting it hard. 

Eddie watches the whole thing, hands still gripping his thighs. 

Eventually Steve’s eyes slide open, that little smirk on his face. He opens his arms for Eddie, motioning him in. 

Eddie scrambles up and into them, kissing and sucking at Steve’s neck and shoulders. Cock already grinding desperately between Steve’s damp cheeks. 

‘You liked the pictures baby?’ Steve whispers, smile in his voice, mouth hot on Eddie’s ear. 

Eddie shivers and pulls back, disbelief on his face. ‘I can’t believe you.’ He gushes. 

Steve smiles at him and his cheeks are flush from the shower, his damp hair is falling into his forehead. ‘Fuck, you’re so pretty.’ Eddie says, always always amazed by Steve. He needs him, wants to be inside. 

He grinds again, catching Steve’s hole, relishing in Steve’s eyes rolling slightly. ‘Get me wet first.’ Steve demands pulling at Eddie’s hair, shoving his head away. 

Eddie bites his lip, cock twitching, he pulls at Steve’s thighs, bending him in half. Dips low to lick a long wet stripe across his ass. Tongue pressing at Steves hole, breaching the already stretched muscle and fucking his tongue in until there’s spit sliding down Steve’s crack. 

Eventually Steve pulls Eddie off by his hair, chest all flushed and nipples hard. 

Reaching over Steve gets the condom and lube from his bedside table. He doesn’t live here anymore, hasn’t for years. But the remnants of their sneaking around before Steve up and left with Eddie and Robin are still there. He never completely fell out with his parents, but he didn’t really tell them where he was going either. They continue to essentially ignore Steve and Steve continues to sneak into their house whenever he’s in Hawkins and fuck his boyfriend in whichever room he pleases. It’s not ideal, but it works. 

‘Gonna show me what that useless cock can do?’ Steve goads, sitting up to roll the condom onto Eddie and slicking him with lube. 

Eddie whines. 

He hitches Steve’s thighs up, forcing him Back flat, hands beneath his knees. Steve sighs into the touch and Eddie watches his length get slowly swallowed by Steve’s tight, wet heat. 

Eddie bottoms out, watching his length disappear. He feels his balls draw up, ears ringing and he’s so close. He’s so close. 

The slap makes him stutter, eye wide as he stare at Steve. ‘Do not cum.’ Steve seethes, finger in eddies face, like he’s a misbehaving child. Eddie moans, gripping Steves thighs to hold himself still, breathing deeply through his nose to stave off his orgasm. 

He stays buried in Steve, willing himself back down. Panting, he feels tears prickle at his eyes again. ‘That’s it.’ Steve soothes, hand coming up to stroke over the red mark he left on Eddie’s face. 

Eddie breaths, eyes closed, feels the tendrils in his gut uncoil slightly. No longer right on the brink. 

Eventually he opens them, Steve’s eyes on him. Eddie leans down, hands either side of Steve’s face. He starts moving his hips again, building a steady pace. 

‘You should’ve touched yourself in front of her today.’ Steve says, looking up at Eddie with that closed off look again, haughty and judgmental. Eddie moans. ‘What do you think she would’ve done? If you got your stupid needy cock out in the diner, you think she would’ve laughed?’ Steve asks, voice mean and even, the only sign of arousal the flutter of his eyelashes as Eddie thrusts especially deep. 

‘Fuck Steve.’ Eddie pants, thinking about it. ‘I used to think about that while you were at Scoops’ He admits, eyes watching Steve, watching his smirk broaden. 

‘Yeah? You would’ve got your big dumb cock out on the counter for me while I scooped ice cream?’ 

Eddie’s hips stutter, he’s getting close again. ‘Yeah, used, u-used to go jack off in the bathrooms after seeing you at that mall. In that outfit. Fuck Steve, wanted you so bad.’ Eddie whines. 

Steve coos, finger trailing up Eddie’s sweaty neck. ‘Who knew the freak would be so needy’

Eddie whimpers feeling a blush spread down his chest. He moves his hips faster, wanting to get in deeper. 

Steve cracks, moaning. ‘Fuck, make me cum baby, get me there.’ Steve says, gripping his own cock now. Other hand holding him in place with the headboard. Eddie going faster, deeper, grazing that spot he knows so well inside Steve. 

Steve throws his head back, releasing all over himself with a shout, soft hair splayed across the pillow and cheeks flushed pink. Eddie slows, grinding. He’s so close again, so achingly hard he can feel his pre dripping out, filling the condom. 

‘I think I would’ve let you. Maybe Played with your cock while I worked.’ Steve pants. ‘But only if you cleaned up after yourself.’ And he scoops up some of the cum from his stomach and chest, feeding it into Eddie’s slack mouth. 

Eddie sucks, swallowing and tasting salt, flooding his mouth with saliva, some slipping out down his chin. ‘’Teve.’ He pleads, garbled. Begging for permission. His eyes wide and wet, hips unable to stop. 

‘You wanna cum baby?’ Steve asks, holding Eddie’s jaw with his spit slick fingers, fucking his own hips down onto Eddie’s cock. 

Eddie nods, whining, digging his fingers into the sheets, trying not to think about what will happen if he comes too soon. 

‘What are you baby? Are you my little freak, my little perv?’ Steve teases. 

Eddie shivers, nodding, his whole body shaking in an attempt to stave off his orgasm. Shame writhing filthily in his gut, threatening to spill. 

Steve pulls Eddie closer, kissing his cheek and letting him burrow his face in Steve’s neck. Eddie licks over his moles, wants to mark him, burrow his cock inside and never leave. ‘Thats it, my dumb thing, fucking me so good.’ Steve pets over Eddie’s hair as his hips speed up, thrusting into Steve harder, the sounds of skin slapping echoing through the house. 

‘Cum for me.’ Steve whispers, hot breath sending shivers down his back. Eddie’s rhythm turning sloppy and desperate as he thrusts deep one last time. Cumming and crying out into Steve’s neck, tears slipping onto Steve’s skin and Eddie clenches his teeth so hard his jaw cracks. 

He cums for so long he’s almost numb, shaky and boneless as he falls on top of Steve. 

Steve holds him close, threading his fingers through Eddie’s sweaty hair and whispering praise in his ear. 

Eventually Eddie moves slightly from on top of Steve, letting his softening cock slip out and his head rest on Steve’s chest. Listening to his heart beat. ‘Good boy, you’re my good boy Eddie.’ Steve says softly, threading his fingers into Eddie’s curls to massage his scalp. 

Eddie groans, boneless and satiated. ‘Was I too mean?’ Steve asks from above him. 

‘Fuck no. Made me cum my whole brain out.’ Eddie slurs, pressing his forehead between Steve’s hairy pecs. 

Steve tsks him, tugging at Eddie’s hair. The sharp pain making Eddie hiss and he sucks one of Steve’s nipples into his mouth, clamping down on top of him so he can’t wriggle away. 

‘Okay, okay! Quit it, you monster.’ Steve laughs, shoving Eddie’s face off. 

Eddie sits back in his heels, laughing, finally taking the condom off and tossing it onto the floor. ‘You want another shower before we head back to Wayne’s?’ He asks, petting distractedly at Steve’s pink hole, still shiny with lube. 

‘Ye just gimme a sec.’ Steve says, stretching, making Eddie’s fingertip slip inside. ‘And quit playing with that, what are you, a perv?’ He asks, smirking up at him. 

Eddie grins, lunging back on top of Steve and biting his shoulder. 

Steve yelps and Eddie scoops him up, carrying him bridal style to the bathroom. 

‘Oh! Stevie, remind me to put those polaroids in my wallet. I think I’ll get a lot of use out of ‘em.’ Eddie says, dumping Steve on the closed toilet and turning the shower on. 

📸 📸 📸 📸 📸

Tag List: @pearynice @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor @marvel-ous-m

[ladykailitha]

Amnesia AU

This is the story from this post! No monster AU

~

It’s Eddie’s senior year. His last year of high school (he hopes) and it’s been pretty shit. He’s lost two of the members of his band, his bassist and his drummer. The former because his parents had the big brained idea to move in his senior year. The other because she got a boyfriend.

It’s a cold, rainy, and dark as pitch night and Wayne’s off on the swing shift. He’s trying to decide which wall to put his head through from boredom when there is a knock on his door.

Eddie frowns and gets up. He didn’t hear a car, but with the rain beating on the metal roof, it’s possible he just didn’t hear it.

He opens it to an absolutely soaked to the skin Steve Harrington. He looks like a kicked puppy. Eddie peers into the gloom but doesn’t see any of the other boy’s cronies so he says, “Not selling today, Harrington.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, that’s not why I’m here. I’m–” thunder drowns out the rest of his words.

“Jesus fuck!” Eddie curses. “You should come in before you drown out there.”

But Steve shakes his head. “I just want to say that I have a crush on you and I really, really like you.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment and what he says next will haunt him for a very long time. “Thanks, I guess. But I really don’t swing that way.”

*narrator voice: he did in fact swing that way, he just didn’t know it yet*

Steve already sad face falls further. “I should leave.”

“You don’t want to come in, man,” Eddie huffs, “at least stay in your car until this blows over. It’s not safe out there.”

Steve raises his head. “Oh I didn’t bring my car.”

Eddie blue screens. “Loch Nora ain’t anywhere near Forest Hills.”

“It is if you don’t use the roads.”

And with that very enigmatic sentence Steve turns on his heel and slinks off into the dark.

Eddie tries calling out to him, but by the time he jams his feet into his boots and hauls on his jacket, Steve is long gone.

When Wayne comes home, Eddie asks if he saw someone walking on the side of the road, but Wayne says no.

As soon as the weather slackens they both go out in search of Steve, but they can’t find him. So they go to the police and Eddie is broken up by the whole thing. He should have pressed Steve or even lied about liking him just to get him out of the rain.

It becomes a nine day wonder in Hawkins but other than a couple of news reports by a local station, it never gains much attention.

Something Eddie really should have seen as a red flag. The other red flag was how much the Harringtons and cops pushed the story of Eddie doing something to Steve. Despite all the evidence saying it couldn’t have been him.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and Eddie graduates by the skin of his teeth. He goes up to Indy for the music scene and while he’s under age, the bars let him play because he keeps the customers happy.

Those months turn into two years. Two years since Steve Harrington walked into the gloomy of a rainy Indiana night and never returned.

Eddie gets a gig at a new bar.

The bartender is nice, hazel eyes, honey colored hair, and two moles on the left side of his neck.

The name tag reads Aaron. Says he’s recently turned twenty-one and recently got this job.

So Eddie leaves it alone. If “Aaron” is hiding out for some reason, he doesn’t want to spook the guy.

But the more he talks to Aaron the more Eddie realizes he doesn’t remember. Anything. Well anything before he woke up in hospital with no wallet, no keys, and no memories. The trucker who found him on the side of the road just out of Hawkins decided if this kid was so desperate to get out of town that he would walk the interstate at night in the pouring rain, then he deserved to get out of town.

He picked the name Aaron himself and the McDonald from his first meal.

Eddie knows who this is now. There is no doubt this is Steve Harrington. And he is not twenty-one. So he calls up Hopper. The only cop in Hawkins that never believed Eddie had anything to do with Steve’s disappearance.

Tells him to start digging into the Harringtons because something really stinks. He doesn’t bring up Aaron, but tells him that he met someone who saw Steve walking the interstate that night.

Hopper tries to tell him he’s retired now. But he doesn’t mean it. This is the case that made him realize the job wasn’t about helping people but kowtowing to the rich. He always suspected the Harringtons had more to do with that boy’s disappearance then Eddie did.

Meanwhile, Aaron and Eddie start falling in love, Eddie having realized he was gay the year before. Aaron tells him of these dreams where he is trying to escape a large empty building from a man wielding a shotgun and screaming at him that if he’s caught, he’s dead.

Then Aaron starts getting really bad headaches. Like tens on the pain scale headaches. So they go and see his doctor. They run scans but can’t find anything wrong.

But after a bad attack, Aaron sinks a difficult basketball shot. Something he’s never been able to do before, but Steve Harrington could.

Then more stuff that’s Steve starts coming through. Being a little more sassy. A little more bitchy. He starts remembering people and places from Hawkins.

Then he remembers Eddie.

Not the night in question, though Eddie is upfront about that and why he didn’t bring it up.

Aaron is a little upset, but understands that if Eddie had said something sooner he wouldn’t have believed him.

Then Eddie gets the call. Hopper has the Harrington dead to rights. But if he could find a body or even Steve it would make the case air tight.

That’s when Eddie decides for the three of them to meet.

Eddie and Hopper meet up at the diner and as they’re talking, Hopper facing the bathroom, with Eddie on the other side.

It’s so he can see Hopper’s face when Steve Aaron Harrington walks out of the bathroom with the biggest fucking grin on his face.

Steve explains everything, the amnesia, the living in Indy, meeting Eddie.

Hopper is over the moon.

The Harringtons go to jail for assault of a minor, child endangerment, and child abandonment.

Steve and Eddie move in together and Eddie helps him get his GED and sort out his life.