#and I hope you dream of them as I will tonight!

[prettybugsinbandages]

Blot!reader pt. 3

Part 3 to this

This is a darker story. I suggest you refrain from reading it if you're in a fragile mental state or unable to handle darker themes.

The blankets cocooned around you were cold—an empty, sterile embrace that offered no comfort as you lay wide-eyed in the oppressive stillness of the night. Sleep slipped through your grasp, elusive and taunting, while your mind clawed relentlessly at the remnants of the day. Each memory looped endlessly, twisting tighter and tighter, until nausea churned in your gut.

Your gaze wandered—adrift—until it landed on a keychain dangling from your bag. A sudden warmth flickered in your chest, fragile and fleeting, like the ghost of sunbeam on a winter morning. Nostalgia bloomed—sharp and bittersweet, wrapped in the fondness of forgotten laughter; It was a birthday gift from a friend back home. Ridiculous, overpriced, and born from an inside joke you no longer even recalled. The small plush charm had been worn thin, dulled and frayed by years of absentminded affection it had endured.

You slipped out of your bed, your feet ghosting over the cold floor. Every step toward the keychain made your heart pound louder in your ears. Its familiar texture met your fingers, soft and worn from countless caresses. Your heart was oddly soothed by its familiarity, calming you enough to allow a yawn to escape—perhaps you'd sleep tonight after all.

You turned the small item over a few times in your hands before the memory slams into you. The sharp, metallic ping cutting through the hum of your old room. The frustration that followed, the light graze of your thumb over the broken chain. The memory was vivid and final.

You left this behind.

Your breathing grew shallow, vision blurry as realization crept up on you and the keychain fell from your hands, making a soft thump on the floor. Why was it here? How was it here? Your mind spun, raking through any and all possibilities as you stared wide-eyed at the impossibility at your feet.

A sharp sound tore you from your thoughts before a light filled the room, the sudden change nearly shattering you. A melody—soft, haunting—echoed from behind, filling your stagnant cell of a room and tightening around your ribs like thorns. You turned sharply, breath caught in your throat as your gaze landed on your phone screen, glowing in the dark and casting an eerie, cold light across the room.

The name flashing across the screen made you involuntarily let out a weak gasp as you stumbled forward, your legs like jelly. That number was muscle memory, seared deep into your mind, like a brand on your personality. You knew it intimately from endless hours spent lost in conversation. Memorized by heart, you'd traced it absently while their voice poured through the receiver, filling quiet nights with laughter, dreams, and shared secrets.

"Hello?"

The voice on the line wasn't just familiar—it was them. It echoed through your skull like a haunting melody, colder than the air in your empty lungs. You couldn't breathe. Time thickened around you, dragging you slower, and slower, yet every second screamed you were running out of it.

A connection to home. A chance you'd forsaken—the thought clawed at you, desperate and hungry like a rabid dog. Shakily, you tried to respond, but it never went through. Were you finally going mad? Was there blot in your brain? You could only laugh—thin, brittle—the sound teetering between hysteria and madness.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," They said, a bitter laugh breaking through the static. Frustration bled into hurt—and then, almost painful hope. "-but I can't seem to stop calling. That movie you were excited about? It finally comes out next week. I bought us tickets—your favorite spot in the theater. I even saved up for snacks—And the café you love afterward... You'll be there, won't you?"

The line fell silent. Only the faint, familiar hum of their fan carried through—a soft, constant whir that had always comforted you during late-night sleepovers. It had run non-stop for years and back then, you'd playfully scolded them for keeping it on constantly, unaware just how much you'd miss it on quiet nights, so far from home. The sound had become home.

"...Please come back."

The call ended—abrupt, merciless. The silence that followed was louder than any goodbye, and you so desperately ached to hear the familiar: "I'll see you tomorrow."

Desperation clawed at your throat as you scrambled to call back, your voice breaking into raw, hoarse sobs—ones long overdue that tore from somewhere once deep and forgotten. Your body was drenched in uncomfortable, clammy, cold sweat as your fingers trembled to input the number once again—to hear their voice one more time. You dialed again. And again.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

Again.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

Each polite, robotic repetition was a blade twisting deeper, shredding through you with barbed, merciless precision. Your chest convulses with the weight of silence. Nails claw at your palms, desperate for something to ground you, but the shadows stretch—long, greedy, as though even the room has given up on holding you.

The ring on your finger was cold now—cold as your own uncannily waxen flesh. The Blot was silent for once—it doesn't speak, but you can feel it behind you, its presence heavy and infuriatingly soothing. Through your blurry tears, you caught its shadow standing beside your own, the moonlight spilling through your window casting both your forms in the same pale, eerie glow.

Two shapes horribly intertwined by fate.

And both so painfully, irrevocably alone.

The following morning was a haze—thick and disorienting, like radio static stretched thin over every sense. It clung to your mind like mold, seeping into every corner of your being, wrapping tight and suffocating, leaving behind a pressure that felt almost claustrophobic. Every muscle ached with a dull, persisted throb, and your movements were sluggish—each thought, each action, wading through the heavy drag of mud. Yeah, mud was the right word. The day felt filthy. You felt filthy.

Even Cater's presence—usually a bright, irritating hum in the background—brought no reprieve. When you recoiled from his touch without meaning to, the brief flicker of hurt across his face should've been satisfying. Normally, it would've been beneath the veneer. But you didn't even have the energy to enjoy it. Instead, you offered an apology sculpted to sound genuine, knowing exactly what to say to smooth it over—words shaped like honey but hollow inside.

The constant hum of the Mostro Lounge buzzed in your ears: the sharp clink of dishes, the scrape of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, and the sizzle of meals being made. The lights overhead felt oppressive, glaring down like the unblinking eye of some unseen god, judging, dissecting every falter, every wandering thought. But still, you endured.

Plate after plate. Smile after smile.

God, you hated them. You wanted to go home. Real home.

But after that cruel, fleeting taste of what you once craved, the hollow ache of your abandoned goal came crashing back—raging, desperate, clawing for dominance like rabid dogs over the newer, uglier desire: the need to stay and become somebody here. Yet deep down, you knew. You couldn't go back. not after this. Not after what you've become. You're a plague.

How would you even explain it? How do you justify the absence—the schoolwork missed, the time lost? Surely, people had moved on. Surely, you were already forgotten and that call was a hoax. Yes, another hallucination from the stress.

The spiral was relentless as you scrubbed another dish, eyes unfocused, locked on the lazy swirl of soap and bubbles clinging to your hands. Exhaustion dragged at your eyelids like heavy weights. You turned to put the glass away—misjudged the distance.

Crash.

The sound of shattering glass echoed too loudly, but all you could do was stare. For a moment, the world dulled around you—flattened into isolation, bleak and distant. The harsh light above bore down, merciless and searing, like divine judgement cast from on high.

And in that moment, it felt like punishment. Like you deserved it.

"~~~~?"

"~~~~."

Hands gripped your shoulder—firm, insistent—and shook you just enough to jolt your vision back into focus. The world sharpened painfully around the edges, and suddenly you felt it: the weight of their stares pressing into you like hot iron.

"Shrimpy!" Floyd's voice cut through the fog, sharper now, laced with something unfamiliar—concern. He shook you again, more urgently this time. His features, usually painted in playful malice, were drawn tight with worry: brows furrowed, eyes squinted ever so slightly, lips parted as if you were trying to find the right thing to say. "Did you eat somethin' Jade gave you? If you go home now, I'll be lonely." He whined with an undercurrent of care.

His head snapped up like a hunting dog catching a scent, scanning the room for his twin. But Jade was already there—hovering near the kitchen window, gaze cool and calculating as always. Yet, not even his polished mask could fully hide the flicker of unease that crossed his face. Whatever was happening, this time, he wasn't behind it.

You forced a weak smile—another apology weighing down on your tongue. Gods, how many apologies had you made today? "My hand slipped," you muttered, voice thin and brittle. "I just felt a little dizzy, that's all."

A spark of something darker, more cunning, twisted in your chest. An opportunity—small and mean—presented itself. Last night's events made you want to lash out and draw blood from any drawing too near. "I covered your and Jade's shift last night. Barely slept."

You didn't bother to look at them, didn't need to. Instead, you crouched down, gathering the shattered remnants of the glass. Floyd's grip loosened but his presence lingered close—hovering like a shadow unwilling to let go.

Measured footsteps soon approached—Jade. His gloved hands appeared in your periphery, collecting shards with practiced precision. You could feel his gaze, sharp and dissecting, practically daring you to meet his gaze. If you did, you knew he'd carve the truth out of you without mercy.

"Perhaps you should rest," Jade murmured, voice smooth as silk but carrying a weight beneath it. "I'll speak to Azul."

You kept your gaze trained on the floor.

The Leech twins were impossible to beat on their home turf. Their games were played on familiar ground, and anyone foolish enough to challenge them there would drown before they even realized they were sinking.

That's why you needed to build your own field. Make it identical, familiar, but yours. Drag them into it—make them play by their own rules.

The moment they showed the slightest hint of interest, you pushed—forced your way into their lives and curled in close until it felt natural, comfortable. And when they grew used to the warmth of your presence, when it started to feel like maybe you belonged by their side—that's when you pulled.

One would've thought they'd catch on by now, given their intellect. But perhaps they'd grown too confident, too sure of their mastery of this endless game.

You stood slowly, rinsing your hands of any lingering shards. No words. No gratitude. Just the cold satisfaction of leaving.

Behind you, their confusion burned hot—Why? Did it really sting him that much? Was it guilt for making you cover their shifts? But you had offered, hadn't you? Just yesterday, you were draped over him with teasing smiles, laughter curling between subtle touches.

So why did it feel like all of that had shattered just as easily as the glass in your hands?

He hadn't even realized he was already planning how to win you back like a forsaken lover.

Despite your body screaming for rest, you pressed on—first to your locker, then to his office.

Azul was exactly where you expected him to be: hunched over the sea of documents, files stacked like fragile towers around him, pen scratching tirelessly across paper. The steady rhythm of ink against parchment filled the room like background noise in a familiar, suffocating routine.

Your steps were measured, each one deliberate, the certainty of your intention steeling your spine. Your gaze was cold—detached—until he finally looked up. Only then did you let it soften, just enough to mask the sharpness beneath.

You hesitated for a moment, your movements stilling. Then, without a word, you extended your hand. A simple sheet of paper rested between your fingers. Two weeks' notice.

Azul took it, scanning the words with quick, efficient movements. His pale blue eyes—sharp and calculating—let every syllable seep into him, and for a brief, flickering second, something in his composed expression cracked.

You remembered why he hired you in the first place. The growing popularity of the Ramshackle Prefects had turned you and the others into commodities. Something shiny to be displayed and capitalized on. None of you were people in his eyes; you were an opportunity. Though it changed slightly after the overblot.

Of course, Azul had dressed you up nicely—polite gestures, a crisp uniform tailored just for you. And you, foolishly, had mistaken that for kindness in the beginning. Though only after the deal had you decided to repay it tenfold.

You remembered the small acts of care, offered without expectation: meals left discreetly on his desk when he skipped lunch, snacks, glasses of water, cups of tea. Then came the packed lunches—home-made and thoughtful—each one accompanied by a small, handwritten note or doodle.

The twins had teased him mercilessly for those notes. They swiped them, tore them up, or laughed at how soft he'd gotten while internally wondering why only Azul received such things. But Azul hadn't cared—or at least, that's what he thought. Until the day he found himself opening his lunch early, not to eat but to rescue the note, tucking it safely away in his locker safe before the twins could sink their claws into it.

And then you caught a cold. No lunches. No notes. No little reminders of care.

The absence was stark. The hours felt colder, emptier, like a hollow space you had opened within his routine. It was only then that Azul realized how deeply your presence had seeped into his life—how seen you made him feel.

You had understood him in ways others didn't—or couldn't. Every little gesture, every late-night conversation peeled back a layer of armor he wore. At first, it had unsettled him—your sharp perception felt like a threat, an exposed nerve.

But you didn't wield that awareness like a weapon—well, you did. But he didn't know—You gave it to him instead, focused it entirely on him. And somewhere along the way, your gaze stopped feeling like scrutiny and started feeling like sunlight—gentle and warm, coaxing him out of his cold, dark pot again.

What began as fleeting interactions and reluctant tolerance slowly bloomed into late shifts spent in quiet companionship. You started using your breaks in his office, sitting there in shared silence that felt unexpectedly comforting.

And when he noticed the way you would occasionally drift off—curled uncomfortably on the stiff office couch—he didn't say anything. But soon after, the couch disappeared, left along with Floyd in a bad mood and a small, carefully placed peel in the leather. Enough to ensure it would be ruined later.

A replacement arrived hours later, as if pre-ordered—softer, warmer. A silent offering.

Now, standing in front of him with that thin sheet of paper between you, all of that unspoken history sat heavy in the air.

And yet, you were still walking away.

"What's this?" His voice was smooth, composed, every inch the businessman he portrays himself to be—but you caught it; the slight tremor hidden beneath the polished exterior. The way his fingers tightened around the paper, the sharpness of his gaze behind those pristine glasses. He wouldn't acknowledge the sudden weight in his chest, but you felt it all the same.

You smiled—carefully, perfectly, just as you had rehearsed. Every word chosen, every expression measured, a script you'd been preparing since the first day you were hired.

"My two weeks." Your voice was light, casual, as if it wasn't meant to sting. "There's a place in town offering better pay. You always say business is business—or whatever the saying is, right? You get it; money's important. Especially for someone like me."

Azul's world spun beneath him. It felt like the ground had tilted just enough to send him off balance. You spoke like it was nothing, like he was nothing. A simple transaction—business, just as he always said.

Why had you been so kind to him if you were just going to leave? Why the meals, the notes? Why make him believe, feel, that your presence was anything more than a convenience?

He'd been aware of how distant you became outside of work when you had friends pulling you away from him—how the moments between shifts stretched into silence. The realization gnawed at him, whispering that maybe the warmth you gave him was only temporary. So, he had given you more hours, more shifts—greedy for your presence, desperate to keep you close.

It had only made things worse. You got sick. You slipped further away.

Now this—this final nail in the coffin.

He intended to be gracious. To let you go with dignity, to say something measured and reasonable—Right. I appreciate you letting me know. This is unexpected, but I respect your decision and will support you during the transition.

But when he stood, the words tangled in his throat. His hands trembled slightly, the paper shaking as if it had physically hurt him to hold it.

"I—" The breath hitched before he could stop it. his voice was raw—small. "What are they offering? I can do more."

The desperation hit him like hot spilled tea. How pathetic he must've sounded—how weak. That old fear clawed at him, the memory of being less than, the loser nobody cared about until he forced them to.

Azul adjusted his glasses, smoothing down the crack in his armor, slipping the mask back on with trembling hands. He sat back down, shoulders straight, voice steadier. "You're a valued employee. The Mostro Lounge would hate to see you go."

You almost laughed. The way he clung to formality, as if referring to his business in third person could shield him from the sting of losing you.

But instead, you smiled—bright, nauseously fake. "Ah, really? That's amazing! I was really sad I might need to leave. I've made so many good memories here." Your voice was softer, an undertone of reassurance.

Another lie. The only memory that clung to you was that night—trapped in a booth with the Yuus, celebrating a test you'd all fought tooth and nail to pass. They laughed, smiled, congratulated each other. The students outside Ramshackle never even spoke to you. You'd sat in silence, the world dull and cold, until you excused yourself with the excuse of a headache.

The drowning feeling had returned, thick and suffocating, but it was broken—suddenly, mercifully—by the Blot ring's warmth on your finger.

"Look, my dove. Look at what you've done; Watch how easily he breaks for you." The Blot's voice echoed in your head as you focused on Azul again, noting his relief.

It almost made you feel pity. Sometimes you forget he's just a kid like you.

"I'm glad we sorted that out," Azul said, his voice soft, almost tender. "You're a person I value... At the Mostro Lounge, of course." He added quickly.

When Ortho arrived home after the movie night at Ramshackle, he found Idia sprawled across his bed, fingers deftly maneuvering over his controller. The room was dimly lit with the signature blue glow it always had, the soft glow of his monitor casting a blue tint over his sharp features. The rapid clicking of buttons and the occasional flicker of movement on the screen cast across his walls like dancing spirits amongst the steady and consistent faint hum of the electronics.

Ortho inched closer, lingering near the bed, waiting for his brother to acknowledge him.

"How was it? Anything fun?" Idia asked, his voice absent minded as he spared Ortho a brief glance before refocusing on his game. Still, there was an unmistakable warmth in his tone—he was genuinely glad that Ortho was spending time with others, getting to act like a real kid. It was nice to see.

Ortho perked up at the invitation to share more eagerly plopping down beside him. "We had so much fun, Big Brother!" His voice buzzed with excitement as he watched Idia play, making a comment about a missed hit that elicited a scoff from the eldest. "I really think you should hang out with the Prefects more. You already get along with them—why not get closer? You need to get out more anyway."

His words carried a thread of concern, though he kept his tone lighthearted. He knew his brother was reclusive and lonely, always watching from the sidelines—yearning for the kind of effortless camaraderie he only saw in anime or online gaming parties. Idia longed for connection, even if he'd never admit it.

He prattles on and on about the event, recalling the experiences sharply so Idia could properly understand and visualize things. On occasion, he'd chuckle or curse under his breath at something happening in the game.

As Ortho chattered away, he recounted the night's events in vivid detail, ensuring his brother could picture everything as if he had been there himself. He was meticulous in his storytelling, highlighting funny moments and inside jokes. Occasionally, Idia would chuckle under his breath at a particularly ridiculous anecdote or mutter a curse at something happening on screen.

Then, offhandedly, Ortho mentioned the scanning competition—the malfunction with his scanner and your unusual results.

Idia's fingers hesitated over the controller for half a second, his attention subtly shifting.

You.

During his own overblot, you had been there. Ortho had mentioned it before, but at the time, it barely registered. In the haze of everything that happened, all he could recall was Yuu. They were always at the center of things, right? It made sense.

But when he later reviewed the footage, he found himself lingering. Watching.

You stood there, unwavering. No magic, no superhuman abilities—just you. And yet, despite every overwhelming odds stacked against you, you had fought. You had thrown yourself into the fray with the kind of reckless determination usually reserved for protagonists in the stories he obsessed over. The kind of character he would've rooted for, cheered for.

And yet somehow, you had slipped from his mind.

You weren't supposed to be important.

But now... now you kept appearing, inching your way into his life, making yourself impossible to ignore.

You weren't his best friend. You weren't even his close friend. If he had to assign you a rank on his totally real and definitely well-thought-out friendship tier list, you'd probably sit somewhere around B-tier.

…Maybe B+

Which, objectively speaking, was way too high.

Like, actually concerningly high. The kind of rank that makes Idia pause mid-though and wonder just how you'd managed to climb the rankings so quickly.

At first, it was just a quiet observation—fleeting glances stolen when he thought you wouldn't notice. He studied the way your smile curved, the way the light caught in your eyes, the little details that made you you. And somehow, without meaning to, those details slipped into the margins of his sketchbook—traced in careful, unintentional devotion. A tilt of your lips here, the shape of your eyes there, fragments of familiarity woven into characters he'd never admit were inspired by you.

Then came the conversations—small at first, barely more than mumbled words and hesitant remarks. But you listened. You listened in a way that no one else did, quiet and patient, letting him ramble about his favorite games, his theories, his endless tide of niche knowledge. And when he realized you weren't just humoring him—that you actually cared—the dam cracked.

One night, in the middle of another one-sided infodump, Idia got distracted. His fingers, itching for something to do, reached for his pen, and before he knew it, he was tracing delicate patterns along your skin. Spirals, constellations, intricate designs that sprawled from your fingertips to your forearm, blooming like ink-stained confessions.

It wasn't until he pulled back—saw the quiet amusement in your expression, the way you flexed your fingers to admire his absentminded work—that realization hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

The mention of your odd vitals tore Idia back from the faint memory. "Wait, what?"

The words left Idia's mouth before he could stop them, his fingers stilling over the controller. His character stuttered to a stop, taking a critical hit and crumbling to the ground. It was enough of a shock to make him pause the game entirely, tired yellow eyes flicking up to meet Ortho's with rare focus. "What happened? Rewind." His voice came out sharper than intended—too firm, too alert. He realized it a second too late, clearing his throat awkwardly as he restarted the game, feigning nonchalance.

Ortho didn't seem to notice—or if he did, he didn't comment. Instead, his brows knit together, worry evident in his voice. "I did a full-body scan of them and found several discrepancies. Is something wrong with my scanner or are they okay?"

Idia felt something uneasy coil in his gut at the genuine concern in Ortho's tone.

"Their heart rate was extremely low, core body temperature matched the room, and their tidal volume was... severely diminished. Either extremely shallow breathing or apneic."

For a moment, Idia said nothing. His grip tightened ever so slightly on the controller. He should've shrugged it off immediately—should've dismissed it as some weird fluke, an error, a quirk of human biology he didn't need to concern himself with. Instead, a beat of silence stretched between them before he scoffed.

"Last I checked, you're completely up to date. Dunno, maybe anemia. Or thyroid issues. Human stuff. Or people from their world are a little different. Did you scan the others?" He forced out a short laugh, trying to ignore the nagging feeling creeping up his spine.

That wasn't entirely a lie. There were plenty of mundane explanations. But the gut feeling remained, pressing down on his instincts like w weight. If something was wrong—if something happened to you, and he had the chance to help but never did—he'd never forgive himself.

Ortho was quiet for a moment, processing, before shaking his head. "I didn't scan the others. They were busy. But... Do you really think everything's fine, Big Brother?"

His lips parted, but no immediate response came. Did he? Logically, none of those symptoms screamed emergency. And yet... something felt off.

"Uh—yeah... probably."

Ortho didn't seem entirely convinced, and honestly? Neither did Idia.

That night, sleep evaded him. Idia tossed and turned, body feeling heavier than usual, his mind on an unrelenting loop of unease. He could still hear the concern in Ortho's voice, see the way his little brother's brows furrowed in worry over you.

With a groan, Idia threw an arm over his face, trying to block out the gnawing guilt.

It's nothing, he told himself. It has to be nothing.

Still, the thoughts wouldn't settle. "Low body temp could be hypothyroidism or anemia. Low heart rate? Also hypothyroidism. Hypoventilation Probably anxiety T.B.H." He muttered the justifications under his breath, fingers threading through his mess of flaming blue hair.

But if it were just that, why did it still feel so wrong?

Before he even realized what he was doing, Idia had already sat up, fingers moving on muscle memory as his PC whirred to life. The pale glow of the screen cast his room in a cold light, turning every shadow into something deeper, something reaching.

Something was wrong—horribly, sickeningly wrong. He couldn't explain the gut feeling that gnawed at his ribs, twisting his organs into a grotesque bow. But it was there. it had been there since Ortho spoke your name, since those words crawled under his skin and nested like parasites.

Idia scoured through medical databases, flipping through symptom charts, searching for anything—anything that could explain this away with something as benign as anemia or some obscure human disorder he had no business caring about. But the deeper he dug, the less he found. The words blurred together, the clinical descriptions devoid of meaning in the face of the one thread that kept tightening, weaving itself through every desperate connection.

He hovered his finger over the button. Idia had no real evidence, no real reasoning, just a gnawing dread sinking its teeth into his spine. And yet—

His tired yellow eyes lingered on his desktop.

STYX files.

Click.

The sound seems to resonate in his ears and around the room like an omen of a bad decision.

The files unfolded before him, filled with brief experiments, files and documents, half finished analyses on his peers, and—at the very heart of it—the haunting icon of the folder holding his own overblot. He knew what it did. He felt what it did. The tearing of flesh, ligament and bone, drowning in darkness—thick and murky, that sickly sweet voice invading his mind.

Coaxing. Taunting.

An overblot occurs when one's body is devoured by magical corruption—a physical manifestation of despair, rage, exhaustion, and agony. The world rarely spoke about it outside hushed whispers, fewer discussed the survival rate.

Idia knew. he studied it. Lived it. During an overblot the victim is not dying. They are being unmade. It's not suffering—it's erasure. And yet, somehow, seven of them had clawed their way back from the brink in one year—himself included.

His fingers hesitated over the keys, twitching slightly with restraint. Then he dove deeper, pushing through firewalls, bypassing passcodes with the desperation of someone who already knew he wasn't supposed to be looking. He'd face repercussions from his parents later. That was a problem for a future Idia who didn't have this black hole of despair in him.

The deeper Idia searched, the less data looked like science and the more it bled into something else. Theories. Stories. Obscure folktales and half-forgotten legends. Whispers that suggested the Blot wasn't just a corruption of magic, wasn't just something lurking inside everyone.

It was suggesting the blot was an entity.

Hours bled into one another, the cold glow of his screen the only constant as Idia scoured every possible source, every scrap of knowledge that might explain the impossible. Each article, each diagram, each desperate thread pulled him deeper into a spiral, his stomach twisting with every answer he found.

Clarity struck him like the drag of a blade against flesh. A shock. Then cold, then hot. Then pain.

His blood ran ice-cold. A nauseating weight coiled in his chest, bile creeping up his throat.

It had always been okay before. It was okay when it happened to strangers, when they clawed their way back from the brink or succumbed to the abyss. It was okay when the others overblotted, when their bodies failed and their souls burned out in a final, desperate flare of magic. And it was even okay when he had done it—because that was the way of things. You burned, you recovered, or you perished. That was the rule.

But you?

You're different. You've become everything to these people—a lifeline, a tether, a presence so woven into the fabric of their existence that the thought of your absence was unthinkable. And yet...

The truth stared back at him from the depths of his research, stark and merciless.

In an overblot, the body fails. Lifeforce siphoned away, each spell cast bleeding it out like a sieve, pushed to the very edge of the fingertips until there is nothing left. The heart races wildly until it bursts—or slow, feeble and strained and full of sorrow until it withers into stillness.

He arrived at a horrible realization, one he couldn't even voice.

Idia made a choked sound, his hand clasped over his mouth, serrated teeth pressing into his palm—though the pain went unnoticed. His yellow eyes were wide and frantic, his breathing uneven and came out in short gasps.

In that moment a terrible, demented thought intruded Idia's mind. Maybe- Maybe it'd be easier if you were. Maybe it would be more merciful if your thread had already begun to fray, if your time really was fleeting—if there was an end in sight. Whatever was wrong with you, surely had to be worse than death.

But no overblotter lingers in this state. No one teeters on the precipice indefinitely. You recover, or you die.

There is no third option.

And yet, you remained.

Suspended. Stagnant. Neither healing nor decaying. All flesh rots. He will rot. One day, his body will succumb to entropy, will crumble and return to dust like every living thing before and after.

Idia avoids you like the plague. Like you're a walking curse, an omen draped in familiarity, something he found himself trusting before he knew better. Before he started watching.

He can't bring himself to look at you when you pass in the halls, can't muster the awkward half-smile or stiff nod he used to manage. His fingers hover over his phone whenever your messages come through, but each one feels like a landmine waiting to explode—his heart skips a beat for all the wrong reasons now.

Because now that he knows, he sees.

Your chest barely rises when you breathe—if you breathe at all. The crisp morning air doesn't turn to mist on your lips like it does for everyone else. And sometimes, after the laughter dies and the conversations fade, your expression slips—just for a second. Gone is the warmth, the life, replaced by something blank and cold.

And Idia wonders—how much of you is real?

How much of what he's come to know, to like—to admire—is actually you? How much of it is a lingering echo of something that should have already faded?

It's wrong. You are wrong.

And no matter how hard he tries, he can't ignore it anymore.

You stepped out of the shower, the warm steam lingering on your skin as you made your way to your room. The quiet hum of your thoughts accompanied you as you sat on the bed, towel in hand, drying your hair. Life has been good lately, mostly thanks to the extra pay from Azul. You'd been using it to treat the other Yuus, upgrading items they needed, buying things they wanted—spoiling them in a way that felt right.

Your eyes drifted to the plush still hanging from your bag, a sharp pang of hurt striking through your chest like a harpoon. You quickly looked away, a quiet whisper of resolve settling over you. You couldn't—wouldn't—go back.

A sudden ping from your phone startled you, snapping your focus back to the present. You searched your bed, brushing against the Blot, which had been lounging lazily, as it made an almost disgruntled noise when you disturbed its comfortable position.

Idia: I need you.

The Blot let out a soft whistle from behind you, leaning over your shoulder as if to read the message itself. "How bold," it teased in its usual mocking tone, its arms slinking around your waist in an almost possessive grip, like it feared you might actually accept the invitation. "I never took that one for such forwardness."

You shoved it off, frustration gnawing at you. The relationship between you and the Blot had grown strained ever since that phone call and plush incident. The Blot insisted it had nothing to do with it, but you weren't sure you believed it. That night, it had been quieter than usual. Maybe too quiet. You shook off the thought, glancing back at your phone as two more pings came through

Idia: wait no

Idia: not like that!

Idia: Just got early access to this game I've been wanting to test. ur the only person that won't be a total normie abt it

You began to get ready to leave, tossing a glare at the Blot as it remained lounging on your bed. "Turn around," you ordered curtly as you changed, its childish huff echoing through the room in response. It had been off lately, less conniving, less manipulative. It was almost... docile. A little too docile. You couldn't shake the suspicion that it was up to something—or maybe, just maybe, it was comfortable with you.

It felt... odd. Idia, of all people, invites you to his dorm room, especially after all the awkwardness between you two. He'd been avoiding you lately, distancing himself. Had you finally worn him down? You never thought it would happen so easily, but here you were.

Not that you planned to give in anyway.

"Dressing up for a date night?" The Blot's velvety voice called out, laced with an unmistakable sense of annoyance. It was once again sprawled across your bed, arms folded behind its head, legs crossed in a relaxed posture. "You're breaking my heart, my dear."

You paused for a moment, the question lingering in the air. What would it do if you fed it the wrong answer? You let your eyes flicker back to the Blot before responding, dismissing its teasing with a shrug. "I doubt it's a date."

You gave the Blot another glance, arching an eyebrow as you met its gaze. "You have a heart?"

The Blot ignored your question completely, shooting back a sharp, almost smug response. "No eighteen-year-old guy asks someone to come to his room past curfew just to 'test out a game.'" Its tone dripped with knowing mockery, and you found yourself wondering how it knew so much about mortal behavior. "Shall I escort you, my dear?"

The Blot reappeared behind you in a sharp three-piece suit, smoothing down the fabric with deliberate care as if it were trying to impress. The look suited it, but you weren't in the mood for compliments. You shook your head, irritation creeping up your spine.

"It's not a date," you repeated firmly. "You know my goal. Don't patronize me."

You shoved past the Blot, grabbing your phone and shoving it into your bag as you made for the door.

For a moment, the Blot just stared at you, its gaze heavy and unreadable. It felt almost suffocating, like the weight of its eyes was enough to drive a chill down your spine. "Ah, I see." it chirped after a beat, its tone shifting, the edge of its gaze disappearing like smoke in the wind. "Have fun then, my dove. I'll be here... as always."

hope this part hadn't drifted too much. Once again, I'm very tired and even tho I'm writing it, I feel like I've somehow lost track of the story and I'm missing something (I'm literally not. I'm delusional) but idk. Just sleepy

taglist: @tachibubu @shirp-collector-of-fixations @goatsmilksblog @iris-arcadia @pumpkindevil @gabile18 @sugarxrt @fancyhawk45 @mewchiili @olxh @muffinenergy @citrus-cinnamon @boredselkie @tipsyon-tea @blerp-22 @is-it-night-or-day @xinfinityx @ashieeeesh @b0nesandskin @texas-fox @owl778 @ghostlysyntaxed @youwannatrade @jar-03

(I hope all the tags worked?? If I accidentally put the wrong username in and tagged a rando, I'm so sorry 🙏)

[woozinhos]

Hi can you do a Hoshi smut in the shower? ( btw I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS)

Shower Film || Kwon Soonyoung

Notes: decided to spice this one up hope you enjoy anon hehe

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

Hoshi had always been adventurous when it came to the bedroom, and tonight was no exception. He had planned a surprise for you, something he knew would drive you wild. As you entered the bathroom, you noticed the camera set up in the corner of the room. "What's going on?" you asked, a hint of suspicion in your voice. Hoshi smirked and wrapped his arms around you from behind. "I thought we could have a little fun tonight," he said, nibbling on your earlobe. "And I want to make sure we have a recording of it."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words. The thought of being recorded while you and Hoshi had sex was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Hoshi turned you around to face him, his hands roaming over your body. "Don't worry," he reassured you, noticing your hesitation. "It's just for us. No one else will ever see it."

He began to undress you slowly, his eyes drinking in every inch of your skin as it was revealed. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his fingers tracing the contours of your body. "I can't wait to have you all to myself." And that’s how you happened to be in this position. Hoshi was relentless as he took you from behind, the warm water from the shower cascading down your bodies. He had one hand on your hip, holding you steady as he pounded into you, and the other was gripping your hair, pulling your head back slightly.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper. "So tight and wet for me." The sound of the water mixed with your moans and Hoshi's grunts, creating a symphony of pleasure that echoed off the walls of the bathroom.

Hoshi suddenly turned you around to face the camera, his eyes locked on yours as he continued to thrust into you. "I want to make sure we get a good angle," he said, his voice strained. "I want to see your face when you come undone for me." He reached out and grabbed the camera, adjusting it so that it was perfectly focused on your face. He then used his other hand to pinch and twist one of your nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

"You're such a good girl, letting me film us like this," he praised, his pace never faltering. "You're going to be the star of our own personal porno." Your face was flushed with pleasure as Hoshi continued to fuck you in front of the camera. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your legs shaking with the effort of holding yourself up.

"I'm going to cum," you moaned, your nails digging into Hoshi's back. "Please, don't stop." Hoshi smirked, his eyes dark with lust. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his own release. "Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my cock like a good girl." Hoshi's thrusts were so loud and forceful that you were sure the neighbors could hear them. But you didn't care, too lost in the ecstasy of the moment to think about anything else.

"That's it," he grunted, his fingers digging into your hips as he slammed into you. "Let it all out. Let go for me." You cried out as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body trembling uncontrollably as you came hard. Hoshi wasn't far behind, his hips stuttering as he reached his own climax, filling you with his hot cum. Hoshi's moans were just as loud as yours, if not louder, as he rode out his orgasm. He continued to thrust into you, riding out the aftershocks of his release, before finally pulling out and collapsing against you.

"That was amazing," he panted, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "You're amazing." He turned off the camera and set it aside, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Hoshi wrapped a towel around his waist and smirked at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Wanna watch it?" he repeated, gesturing towards the camera. "I think we should see how we looked on film."

You blushed at the thought of watching yourself being fucked by him, but a part of you was curious as well. You nodded slowly, biting your lip. Hoshi chuckled and picked up the camera, rewinding the footage until he found the perfect spot. He handed the camera to you and sat down on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to him. "Come on, sit down."

[bueckersleftbraid]

Secret Smiles (Part 1)

paige bueckers x femme!oc

synopsis : In which, Mari and Paige find each other exactly when they need to most. With the odd coincidence of their schedules working together perfectly, Paige fits right into Mari's life. She loves Mari's daughter and can't help but gain feelings for Mari. But is Paige ready to hold such a huge responsibility?

word count : 2.5k (starting off shorter)

authors note : Hi!!! I know it's been over a week since I said I would post this but... here it is! This is my first time writing like this and also my first time posting on here, so I hope you like it. Pls pls pls leave live reacts I will love you forever and ever!!

Chapter 1 : Draft Night

April 2025 - Mari’s POV

The atmosphere of the Brooklyn Academy of Music was magical. It was only the second year in which fans were allowed to come to the draft, and wow, did that make a difference in the energy in the building. There was chatter left and right, everyone eagerly waiting for this year's stacked draft class. And I was right there beside them. I was ecstatic for this year's draft, after Dallas had such a successful off-season with free agency, we were just picking up more power at the draft. Paige Bueckers. Arguably the most beloved college basketball player in the country, who was coming to Dallas as the number 1 pick. The whole team was psyched. 

Paige was a powerhouse player at Uconn, transforming the game every time she stepped on the court. From jumpers, to insane assists, to blocks, to three-pointers, Paige had it all. During her freshman season at UConn, she won all the national player of the year awards she was eligible for—AP Player of the Year, Naismith College Player of the Year, USBWA Women's National Player of the Year and the John R. Wooden Award—becoming the first freshman to receive any of the awards. She was already a basketball legend and hadn’t even stepped foot on a professional court.

I sat three rows back, on the left side of the theater, alongside some stars. Dawn Stayler, head coach of the South Carolina Gamecocks, was two seats to my right, and a few of the UConn players sat to my left, including Morgan Cheli, Sarah Strong, and KK Arnold. I think I saw Ice Brady and Caroline Ducharme sitting behind me, but I resisted being nosy and turning around to see if it was them. I had always been a huge college basketball fan, so my career working in the WNBA was a dream come true. Being one of the social media managers for the Dallas Wings had brought so many opportunities my way, but going to the draft was probably one of my favorites. I got to meet all of the top college players, and talk to them on a friendly level. 

My phone buzzed with a text from one of my closest friends, Rori Harmon. She had been with me through it all at Texas, my beloved alma-mater. Through all of the drama and through the worst break up of my life. Her, Madi, aka Madison Booker, and Mads, aka Madison Skinner, had been my closest friends at Texas, and we still kept in touch.

Ror just saw you on tv, you look gorg !!

Mar mar awww thx ror ily 

Ror good luck tonight, sending you my good juju (watkins lol)

Mar mar tysm i need it lol, call later

Ror liked a message

I slid my phone back into my purse and let my focus set back to the event. From my seat, I could clearly see the floor where they had tables set up for each player and their families. At one of the tables near the front, Paige sat with who I assumed were her parents and her brother, Drew. Her mom and dad looked proud, their eyes scanning the room with eager excitement, while Drew bounced his knee anxiously under the table. I had spotted her other siblings in the crowd, but the table only had room for 4. Unlike her family, who radiated excitement, Paige sat stiffly, her fingers moving rapidly across the screen of her phone. Her shoulders were tense, her brows drawn together in deep concentration as she texted someone—who, I could only guess. A friend? A teammate? Maybe even a coach? Whoever it was, they had her full attention, keeping her locked in a private moment while the rest of the room buzzed with electric energy. For some reason, I wanted to know. I was intrigued by her, and soon enough I would get to know her. I mean, she was coming to Dallas after all.

________

Later that night, at the afterparty…

I had been searching for Paige everywhere. I had made it my priority to introduce myself, as a social media manager for the Wings, but also as a friend. As someone who could be a familiar face once she lands in Dallas, so she didn't feel alone. Finally, I spotted her, in the corner, sipping on a red drink and scrolling mindlessly through her phone. She looked good, Really good. She wore a Louis Vuitton suit, it was a beautiful color, one I wasn't exactly able to pinpoint. It was between a navy and a dark ocean blue. It fit her perfectly, physically, but also her energy. The outfit screamed Paige. With the accessories of silver earrings stacked along both ears, silver rings, and a small silver cross chain hanging from her neck, to her hair, which was down in long waves and had a few small braids scattered throughout, down to the Nike dunks which perfectly matched the color of the suit. I approached her, my yellow silk dress flowing as I walked, but it was no match for her ensemble. I was giving a basic How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days look, while she was… well majestic.

“Paige?” I questioned, in a soft voice, not meaning to startle her. She looked up, meeting my eyes with a small, but definitely fake smile. “Hi, Im Mari, Mari Sanchez. I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm the social media manager at Dallas. Oh- and congrats.” I said with a friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you.” She said, her smile turning more genuine, before her eyes dropped to my purse. My phone was ringing so I pulled it out.

“Sorry, but I have to take this,” I said to Paige before answering, “Hi Nai is everything- oh baby what's wrong? Baby I can’t come home, Mommy’s in New York,” Paige looked at me with curiosity in her eyes as my face was laced with worry. “No baby, Mommy will be home tomorrow okay? Let Auntie NaiNai and Auntie Lyssie tuck you in sweetie. Mommy loves you, kisses, okay- okay- goodnight baby.” I exhaled, slipping my phone back into my purse.

“Everything okay?” Paige asked. She seemed interested in the situation that was happening over the phone. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. My daughter is.. Well she's a handful and Dijonai and Nalyssa are babysitting her tonight while I’m here. She apparently persuaded Dijonai into letting her call me.” I said, shaking my head with a soft laugh. 

“You… you have a daughter? You seem young?” Paige asked. I know she didn’t mean anything by it, but people had always underestimated how good of a mom I could be just because of my age. My daughter, Laila, was the light of my life, and even though having a daughter so young was a struggle at first, I’d grown into an amazing mother, at least in my opinion.

“Yeah, I had her when I was 19, she’s almost 4.” I said with a smile. I loved talking about Laila, it always brought a smile to my face. “You’ll be seeing a lot of her in Dallas, she loves watching practice.” I spoke with a soft laugh.

“Well that’s sweet, I can’t wait to meet her. What’s her name?” 

“Laila. And I’m sure she’ll love you.” I said with a smile, now beaming on my face.

“What about you?” Paige asked. What did she mean? What about me? I looked at her with a bit of confusion before she spoke again. “Will I see a lot of you too?” Oh. Did she want to see a lot of me? Why was she asking that? Real question is, why is Paige Bueckers making me nervous about a simple question?

“Well um.. Yeah. I usually hang around during practice and I’m always at games, team events and stuff like that. Why?” I wasn’t exactly sure the direction this conversation was going so I played the friendly, more professional route.

“No reason,” she paused for a second, her expression unreadable, “I just like your vibe. I think we'll be friends.” Her soft, genuine smile turned into something resembling more of a smirk. Was she really smirking at me? I almost laughed at myself for believing that because as soon as the smirk appeared, it was gone, and back to a soft smile as she took a sip of her drink. 

“What are you drinking?” I asked, looking at the red drink. I was assuming some extravagant cocktail but no, I was completely wrong. 

“A Shirley Temple.” She said nonchalantly.

“A Shirley Temple?” I questioned

“A Shirley Temple.” She confirmed with a soft chuckle before taking another sip of the red drink.

“Well your full of surprises aren't you Ms. Bueckers?” I said with a smile.

“And so are you, Ms. Sanchez.” She said, that smirk flashing across her face again.

Paige and I kept up the friendly chatter for the next hour or so, her asking lots of questions about me, and a few about Laila of course. We talked about Dallas, about how she’s excited for this new chapter. We even talked about so depper stuff, how she’s going to miss Uconn, her friends, her coaches, just her life in Storrs. I sympathized with her, telling her about how leaving Austin was difficult for Laila and I, but we love Dallas. I ended up ordering a few drinks, and the bartender gave me the bill. As I reached for it, I felt Paige’s hand on top of mine.

“I got it.” She said.

“What- no. It's your special night. I’m not letting you pay for my drinks.” I protested. I always felt bad to let people pay for me. Plus- Paige had just been drafted the number one pick in the WNBA, she didn't need to be paying for other peoples drinks.

“Please,” she insisted, “I owe you at least this. Without you, I probably would have been sitting in the corner scrolling through my phone all night.” I sighed, slipping my hand out from under hers.

“Thank you. I’ll buy you drinks sometime in Dallas. Promise.” I said, with a genuine smile. I did actually want to hang out with Paige. She was nice, and for some reason felt like someone I could open up to. Nothing like I expected.

“So you're saying there’s going to be a next time?” She said. And there it was. That smirk. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“It’s a possibility.” I shrugged. As I stood up, I wobbled a little on my feet, the few drinks plus heels were definitely not an ideal situation. But, suddenly I felt a warm hand on my side, balancing me.

“You good?” Paige spoke, her hand grounding me.

“Yeha, yeah I’ll be fine,” I said, waving her off, “I’ll just order an Uber or something.” She immediately shook her head, standing up beside me, her hand still holding onto my waist. 

“Nah, let me just take you back. It’s late, your in a city you don’t know, and Uber’s are sketchy anyway.” her hand slid to the small of my back.

“You really don't have to-”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” She interrupted, pressing her hand a little more into my back as she started to lead me towards the exit, “Where are you staying?”

“The Hilton, on 5th.” I spoke as we neared the exit. It had gotten pretty late and any stragglers were just randoms, no one giving a second thought to the way Paige was leading me out of the door.

“Perfect, same as me. See? It's not even out of my way.” She spoke as she led me out the back entrance and towards a large black SUV. She opened the back door and began speaking to the driver, “Hey Martin, we'll be taking this lovely lady back with us. She’s staying at the same hotel.”

“Of course, Ms. Bueckers.” The older man in the front seat spoke, not even turning his head.

“Please Martin, it's Paige.” She spoke with a soft chuckle as she shut the door behind us. It was freezing in the car, Martin must have been sitting in the car without any heat on. Even though it was April, it was somehow still cold in New York, well at least compared to Texas. Paige looked at me and noticed my arms wrapped around myself. “Here.” She slid off her suit jacket and handed it to me. I gave her a soft smile, draping her jacket over my shoulder and sliding my arms into it. It smelt really good. I had seen her video with GQ earlier this year where she said she wore this one Valentino cologne, but somehow she made it smell better. The cologne was spicy and woody, but layered with Paige’s neutral smell, it was warm and safe. Why was this affecting me so much? God Mari. 

My phone buzzed as Martin pulled out of the parking spot. 

“Hey Nai, how was she?” I answered the phone, a small smile tugging at my lips, “That's good. Okay… yeah, okay. Talk later Nai, love you.” I hung up the phone and gave Paige a small smile.

“So.. um.. I have a couple of questions.” Paige spoke up. She seemed almost nervous behind her confident persona. 

“Sure, what’s up?” I asked, turning my body a little to face her.

“First, you said you had Laila when you were 19 and she's 4… so that would make you 23?” Paige questioned.

“Yeah, good math Bueckers.” I said, giving her a small playful smirk.

“Ok. And are you single?” She asked the question like it was normal. Like it didn’t make me wonder why the hell she was asking it in the first place.

“Um.. yeah. Yeah I am.” I said, trying to hide the effect the question had on me.

“Okay.” She stated nonchalantly, turning back to face forward. I stared at her in shock.

“Okay? You can’t just ask that and then just act like… like that.” I stated, my voice laced with confusion and a bit of frustration. Paige let out a small chuckle before turning back to face me.

“Well I guess I just wondered if you taking me out for drinks was going to be as friends. But I’ve gotten my answer.” She spoke, the smirk that had now become almost a given when she spoke, spread across her face.

“And what is that?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Well. You’ve been sort of eyeing me all night. You talked to me for over an hour. And you invited me to go out for drinks with you. So, I have concluded that you want it to be a date. And that’s fine by me.” She spoke with the utmost confidence, like there was absolutely no way she could be wrong. 

“No- I- I have a daughter, And I don’t date.” I protested, turning to face the window. Paige just chuckled.

“Whatever you say Mar.” Mar? Did she seriously just call me Mar? No one called me that. But why did I sort of like it? Why did it make me feel something in the pit of my stomach? Why was a small smile creeping onto my face as I stared out the window of the car?

God. What are you doing to me Paige Bueckers?

[solxamber]

Hi i hope you're having a great day ! I'd like to request for the valentines event :3 Azul, Romantic, "My Sweetest Love" by The Cat's Whiskers (feat. Kazuma Mitchell) Thankyou so much for your hard work :D

PARADOX LIVE??? IN MY INBOX??? I'VE PRAYED FOR DAYS LIKE THESE

"My Sweetest Love" || Azul Ashengrotto

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: My Sweetest Love by Cat's Whiskers (ft. Kazuma Mitchell)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 940

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: First Date, Friends to Lovers

Azul had imagined this night countless times. He had planned every detail, every possible outcome, rehearsed the words he would say and the way he would say them—because when it came to you, nothing could be left to chance.

You deserved only the best. And now, finally, you were his—at least for tonight.

He arrives at your door in a sleek, polished car, stepping out with a confidence that masks the rapid beat of his heart. The moment you step outside, dressed to the nines, with that unmistakable glint of amusement in your eyes, his breath catches.

He’s always thought you were resplendent. He’s known it for as long as he’s known you. But tonight, something feels different. More real. More his.

He opens the door for you, ever the gentleman, though the brush of your fingers as you settle inside nearly undoes his carefully constructed composure.

Azul has never liked feeling out of his depth. It is a sensation that reminds him of deep, crushing waters, of helplessness and uncertainty. But he has prepared for this. He has made sure everything is perfect.

A reservation at the finest restaurant, an exquisite menu, wine hand-selected for the occasion. A night designed for you.

Nothing less than perfection. Nothing less than the absolute best.

Because Azul knows you. He knows your tastes, your preferences, the subtle shifts in your expression when something truly pleases you. He wants to see that expression tonight, not because of some business deal, not because of some carefully crafted persuasion—no, this time, he wants it simply because he loves you.

And he does. He loves you more than he should, more than he ever intended to.

The realization settles in his chest like an anchor, but tonight, he allows himself to sink into it.

Just this once, he tells himself. Just tonight, he will not hold back.

He watches you across the candlelit table, the golden glow of the restaurant soft against your features. When you laugh, he can’t help but smile—real, unguarded, the kind that only comes when he’s with you.

His heart beats faster.

Everything about tonight feels unreal, like he’s trapped in a dream, one where you are his and there is no fear of waking up to a world where you are not.

He wonders if you can hear it. If you can see through him as easily as you always do.

By the time dinner is over, Azul has spent the entire evening ensuring your happiness, watching as you indulge in every luxury he can offer. But it is not enough. It will never be enough.

Because no matter how many resources he has, no matter how much power he wields, there is one thing he cannot control.

Your heart.

The night air is cool as you step outside, and without thinking, he shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders. The gesture is instinctive, natural—until your fingers brush against his as you adjust it, and suddenly, the breath leaves his lungs.

It takes everything in him not to pull you closer.

He suggests a quiet drive, something away from the crowds, the noise, the distractions. A night cruise, perhaps. The ocean, the stars, just the two of you.

You agree without hesitation.

Azul grips the steering wheel a little too tightly.

The drive is peaceful, the city lights flickering behind you as the road stretches ahead. When he glances at you, he sees the way your eyes soften, the way the reflection of the stars dance in your gaze.

And suddenly, he thinks—maybe this is enough.

Maybe, for tonight, he can allow himself this fantasy.

His fingers twitch against the wheel. Even after parking, he's clutching it like it's the only thing that's keeping him grounded. He wants to say it. Wants to tell you how much you mean to him, how every carefully laid plan, every luxurious choice tonight, was all for you.

But before he can gather the courage, you speak first.

“You really thought of everything, huh?” you muse, turning to him with that teasing lilt in your voice. “Should I be worried?”

Azul chuckles, but the sound is softer than usual. “Is it so unbelievable that I’d want to make you happy?”

You hum, considering. Then, with a smirk, you add, “Well, I do like seeing you like this. You should take me out more often.”

His heart stumbles over itself.

Azul hesitates for only a moment before he turns to you fully, his voice quieter now, more serious.

“Then let me.”

The words linger between you, unspoken questions hanging in the air. And then, slowly, he leans in—closer, closer—until he can see the way your lashes flutter, the way your breath catches just slightly.

And you don’t pull away.

You don’t move back, don’t laugh, don’t tease.

Instead, you close the distance.

And in that moment, just as your lips meet his, Azul swears—

Nothing will ever compare to you.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[moniquesha]

And the Award for Biggest Slip-Up Goes To…

Pilot.

18+

At the 97th Oscars, Y/N arrives with rumored boyfriend Milo Manheim, stealing the spotlight. Moments later, James Buchanan Barnes steps onto the carpet—not alone, but with Natasha Romanoff by his side. Their eyes meet. Just for a second. But it’s enough.

Content Warning: Hollywood!Bucky x Actress!Y/N, mature themes, Bucky x Current Girlfriend!OFC, angst, jealousy, past feelings resurfacing, HUGE age gap.

author's note: excited & scared! i just really want this out of my head so that's why i'm posting (i can't talk to anyone about this)

The 97th Academy Awards have officially begun, and Hollywood’s elite are flooding the red carpet in a dazzling display of couture and charisma. The flashing lights of a thousand cameras illuminate the night as stars arrive one by one, each moment meticulously captured for history.

With Vanity Fair, Vogue, and The Hollywood Reporter vying for exclusive interviews, the pressure is on to secure the most coveted moments of the evening. Nominees, directors, and industry icons make their way down the carpet, their carefully chosen words and designer ensembles dissected in real-time by eager journalists and online fans alike.

Tonight isn’t just about glitz and glamour. It’s about legacy, about the performances that shaped the year, about who will take home the golden statue… and who will make headlines for reasons beyond their nomination.

The air is thick with excitement and a touch of tension. Notorious rivalries, unexpected reunions, and whispered secrets simmer beneath the surface. Because while the Oscars celebrate film, it’s the moments off-camera that Hollywood never forgets.

And tonight? There’s a storm brewing.

The flashing lights intensify as Y/N finally steps onto the red carpet, instantly commanding attention. Dressed in a stunning custom gown that hugs her frame in all the right places, she moves with an effortless grace that sends reporters scrambling for their microphones.

Everyone who is anyone wants a piece of her. Each desperate to get an exclusive comment from the night’s most anticipated nominee. Paparazzi yell out her name, hoping to catch even a second of her attention, while fans along the barricades scream in excitement.

But it isn’t just Y/N who’s making waves. Walking just a step behind her, looking just as polished in his tailored tux, is Milo Manheim, her co-star and rumored boyfriend. The way he subtly places a hand on her lower back as they navigate the chaos, the way she turns her head slightly toward him when he speaks—it’s enough to send social media into a meltdown.

A reporter from ET gets close enough to ask, "Y/N! How does it feel to be here tonight as a Best Actress nominee? And with Milo by your side?"

Y/N, ever the professional, flashes her signature smile before responding, "It’s surreal. An absolute dream. And I wouldn't be here without the people who believed in me."

She doesn’t directly address the rumors, but the way Milo grins down at her, like he knows a secret the rest of the world doesn’t, only fuels the speculation further.

As they continue down the carpet, another question rings out:

"Y/N, do you think tonight’s the night?"

A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in her gaze.

She smiles. "Guess we’ll have to wait and see."

And with that, she walks forward, disappearing into the biggest night of her career.

But just as the cameras settle from the frenzy of Y/N’s entrance, another wave of excitement ripples through the crowd. The moment everyone has been waiting for, James Buchanan Barnes has arrived.

Dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, exuding effortless confidence, he moves through the red carpet like he owns it. But it’s not just him that has the press on edge. On his arm, stunning in a sleek, perfectly fitted gown, is none other than Natasha Romanoff.

Gasps.

A few stunned expressions. Some knew or at least, thought they knew but seeing them together, here, now? It’s enough to set social media on fire. Bucky, a nominee for Best Actor, flashes a charming smirk as photographers bark out his name, but he barely slows his stride. Natasha on the other hand, elegant and composed, stays close beside him, her presence magnetic.

Meanwhile, just a few feet away, Y/N and Milo are still giving their last few interviews. For the briefest moment, Y/N turns her head. Their eyes meet.

A beat.

Y/N’s jaw tenses so subtly, no one but those who know her best would notice.

Bucky, ever unreadable, holds her gaze for just a second too long before someone calls his name, forcing him to look away. Natasha leans into him slightly, whispering something that makes him chuckle under his breath.

Y/N blinks, turns back to her interview, and pretends the moment never happened.

But someone definitely caught it.

And soon, the internet will too.

author's note: i do genuinely hope i finish this 🙏 a little bit of push from someone or anyone will def make me happy !

i have no masterlists of any kind or what! u are witnessing a baby being born today. but here's your way back to it: Summary.

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Hii I love your nam gyu fanics!! I barely see healthy sfw fics w him, and u write fluff for him so well <33 can I request a fic w touchy clingy nam gyu x reader where they fall asleep tgt !! Tysmmm

yes of course pookie! ❤️🌺🦑 I'll do it right away

Sleepy sweetness

Character: Cho Hyun-Ju X fem!reader

Summary: you're clingy boyfriend namgyu really hopes you'll read a bit of a book to him before you guys sleep...he claims it makes his dreams so much better

Warnings: None🦑🦑

It had been a long day—busy, a bit chaotic, but nothing that would tire Nam-Gyu out. Or so he claimed when you’d told him that it was time for bed.

You had already brushed your teeth, changed into comfy clothes, and crawled into bed, but Nam-Gyu lingered at the edge, fiddling with his phone. He always did that before bed, scrolling through random things, but tonight, his usual habit seemed absent-minded, as though he couldn’t focus. You raised an eyebrow at him, your voice soft. “Are you ready to sleep?”

He blinked, a little surprised that you had noticed. “Oh… I was just waiting for you,” he muttered, finally putting his phone down. His eyes had that sleepy glaze to them, the one that made his face seem softer and more affectionate. Without saying a word, he shuffled closer to you, his hand finding its way to your waist as he slipped under the covers. He immediately buried his head in your neck, his arm draping across your body like a heavy weight, but you didn’t mind at all. It was actually kind of comforting.

“Are you still awake?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleepiness. You chuckled, brushing a hand through his disheveled hair. “Mm-hmm. You’re not gonna fall asleep without a little help, huh?”

His response was a sleepy sigh, and then he grinned, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your skin. “Maybe... Can you… read to me? Just a little bit?”

You smiled, already reaching for the book on the nightstand. You’d known this was coming. Nam-Gyu loved when you read to him before bed, his clinginess reaching a peak as he became more and more relaxed in your arms.

You opened the book and started reading softly, your voice a gentle hum in the quiet room. His hand remained on your waist, his other hand gripping your side as he snuggled closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of your warmth. His head rested against your shoulder, and his eyelids fluttered with each word you read.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you…”You could feel his breathing deepen as you continued, his body sinking further into the mattress, his face a soft picture of contentment. When you paused, he gave a little whine, pulling you closer, his arms tightening around you. "Don't stop yet," he murmured, his voice still drowsy.

You chuckled, continuing to read, your heart swelling with affection as you watched him slowly drift into a peaceful slumber, his body warm and pliable against yours.His grip on you never loosened, and by the time you finished the chapter, Nam-Gyu was completely out cold, his face peaceful as he slept soundly, still curled against you.

You smiled down at him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Sleep well, my sweet clingy boyfriend,” you whispered before placing the book on the nightstand, and turning off the bedside lamp. You gently move some hair from his forehead and kiss it. Oh god....you loved this man so much, is your last thought before you drift off to dreamland

🦑🦑🦑

[pixeldistractions]

They dried themselves and their clothes in the sun. It was too much sun, maybe. Their skin felt warm and threatened to turn pink and blistery later. They put their clothes back on and started the hike back to camp. 

The afternoon had been peaceful while they splashed in the water, but now the boys were tired and hungry for a warm dinner cooked over a campfire. Their tempers were short, and the mosquitoes didn’t help.  

“Hey, boys, quiet down. Come check this out.” 

“Whoa! Is she gonna fall?” (Milo)

“Is she gonna die?!?” (Felix)

“No. I mean, I hope not,” Jordan said.  

“Dad, did you ever climb a rock like that?” Milo asked.

“Not like that. WOW, that’s wild.” 

The climber swung her body from rock to rock, hanging by fingertips and toes, yet she clung to the rock with purpose and skill. It was impressive.

Felix looked ready to charge the cliff face himself. “Dad, can I climb that rock?”

“Not today,” Jordan said. “You need to learn how. You need ropes and harnesses and different kind of shoes.”

“Can we buy them at the camp store?”

“Nah, not today. But you can climb that little rock over there.” 

So the boys ran off to scramble over a lesser rocky slope, dreaming of that giant cliff face ahead of them. They weren’t the only ones dreaming.

Jordan thought of the brochure in his pack for the climbing classes. He thought of impossibilities and setting them on fire. And why not? He was sick of caring about what Colette thought of his life. He was sick of not living.

There was a fire lit inside him in that moment. It was a small and exciting fire, a contained little glow. Its possibilities were endless and undefined. How could he know that little fire wouldn’t die when he went to sleep tonight? That it would still burn when he returned back home to Wisconsin? That it could even grow into a raging inferno strong enough to burn down his whole life?  

— “why are you here? #3: a cage left open” part 6.5/9

Next -> // WAYH #3 start // index

author’s note: so, this whole flashback story serves a few different purposes. First, obviously, it’s a prequel to where we left off in book 5. It’s also an expanded beginning for those who are starting fresh. And, an origin story! When I first started writing this saga, Jordan already had one foot out the door, tickets already bought, he was already leaving. But as the story went on, I realized how we never got to see how he came to that decision. The moment the rocks called to him and set fire to his life. Here it is!

[the-blossica-fan]

One deep rooted idea I have is the fact that Mesmer, in her Monologue, hates being touched

So I thought. Wouldn't it be something if she asked Vertin to hold her hands throughout it all, no matter how much she shook

She wants to love. But before she can truly love, she needs to trust.

Vertin is a foolish Martyr. And yet, one that Mesmer cares for

Laugh, cry, scream; those are what she was taught not to do.

But Vertin was always both a rule breaker, and a bad influence...

I'll flesh out on this one more than the others so you can go to sleep thinking about them.

Vertin has always been the kind to touch people to show she cares, since she's not as expressive as other people, she shows it through physical intimacy.

It helps those that are in need of touch to feel something, she's really considerate of their feelings after all.

Mesmer Jr is someone who does want touch but not from anyone, you know what I mean? Touch adverse, but still starved.

I haven't played her voice lines (I will after this) but I can see how she'd warm up to Vertin's touch after a while.

It'd be a harsh route for Mesmer Jr to accept touch without feeling weird (/neg) about it, but there will be a moment where she actually asks Vertin to hold her hand.

It will not be explicit, she will not say it out loud, but she will hold onto Vertin's sleeve, slowly waiting for Vertin to hold her hand, to interlace their fingers. And she won't say anything during nor after, she's completely silent, but Vertin knows why.

And it's the first step. Soon enough, they're holding hands all the time. Mesmer holds onto Vertin's hand for lifetime, as if it's the only thing bringing her some warmth (and maybe it is), as if it is the only thing she needs.

Then she asks for a hug, verbally. She wants to be held, for she has never had comfort before, and she doesn't want it from anyone.

It's a common occurrence when they're alone. Vertin hugs Mesmer Jr, she lets her know she's always there for Mesmer Jr even if she's not the best at expressions. And Mesmer knows, those moments are the best for her. To heal her old wounds and cure her damaged mind, to recharge her battery after a whole day of exhaustion.

Vertin is a bad influence for Mesmer, always have been, Mesmer knows. She's always getting into trouble, and Mesmer can't always take that. It's been rooted into her mind that she hates arcanists.

As I said before, it's a hard route for Mesmer, and she's willing to try. Willing to give her all to Vertin, willing to believe Vertin would never break her trust because she's been by her side for so long.

Even with the troubles they've been through, Mesmer tries to put those aside. Because she wants someone to touch, someone to hold her, someone to embrace and someone she can rely on.

If that's Vertin who her heart chooses, she will put her trust in her, because she knows Vertin would never let her down.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ok so i’m technically done w the fic but :’3 i feel very… unsure…. abt it…….. so i think i might get some sleep for now and look over it properly tmrw before posting……

next week i’ll post a fic early though!!!!! mindless sugu hurt/comfort time >:3

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <333

[arosebyan0thername]

Yall im down so so bad I haven't been down this bad in a long time

[arolesbianism]

There's a well 🎉

[navybrat817]

Mr. and Mrs. Barnes

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky suggests sneaking off at the gala. How can you resist?

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Unprotected v. sex, sex in a closet, dirty talk, possessiveness, established relationship, slight insecurities, mention of breeding, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes and he's a simp for you (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I just really wanted this. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t bother to hide his discontent as he looked around at the ballroom. Was it a gala? Fundraiser? What cared? He hated functions like these. People were either there to kiss ass and move up the chain of command or gloat about how well off they were in life under the guise that they were doing good for others. He didn't attempt to converse with any of them, but still had to go as a way to support SHIELD in some capacity and show that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

At least Steve and Sam were excused from the event due to a mission.

Leaning against one of the pillars and tugging at his bowtie, he spaced out momentarily. No one looked his way, but he still felt judged. Like he didn’t just belong at the event, but amongst anyone. He wanted to go home, get out of his tuxedo, and get the product out of his slicked back hair. He debated sneaking away from some air until he blinked and saw the reason he was truly there: you, the only real person in the crowd of liars and cheaters.

He never understood the expression of clothes clinging to someone like a second skin until you stepped into your floor-length black dress earlier this evening, the fabric enhancing every beautiful curve of your body. His eyes narrowed as you moved around the room and exchanged smiles and handshakes with people. Your aura drew people to you, men brushing against you and their stares lingering for far too long. It served as another reminder of why he didn’t want to go tonight, especially when a General gripped your arm.

If he had a glass in his hand it would’ve shattered.

Convincing you to stay in bed didn't work since you both had to make an appearance, but it didn't mean he wanted you apart from him. “Get over here,” he whispered, craving your attention, needing you close.

As if you sensed him seeking you out, likely feeling the weight of his stare, you turned to meet his gaze across the room. Your eyes sparkled with love that he never thought he’d receive in his lifetime. The kind of love he never wanted to be without again. “Would you please excuse me?” You asked loud enough for him to catch as you removed your arm from the man’s grip. “My husband is waiting for me.”

Your hips swayed as you worked your way toward Bucky, not stopping for any other man who tried to catch your eye. Hearing you call him your husband brought the first smile to his face since he arrived. He still couldn’t believe some days that you wanted forever with him. “I was wondering when my beautiful wife would remember I was here,” he said once you were close enough, reaching out for your hand.

The moment you took it, he stood tall and pulled you against him. He was certain no one else came close to the intimidating vibe he put out, his hold on you possessive as you smiled. “As if I could forget. Practically heard you growling when General Rando touched my arm,” you teased.

“Because he has no right to touch you,” he said, your lashes fluttering as you spun away. His hands guided you back to him. “I know you’re better with people than I am, which is why you’re the one who has to socialize and I’m sorry for that. But you also said I’m not allowed to break any fingers tonight and I won't be held responsible if he tries to touch you again.”

He swore he didn’t have a possessive bone in his body until you sauntered into his life, giving him hopes and dreams and longing.

You laughed at him, a seductive sound that had a few heads turning. “You do know I can break his fingers myself, right?”

He chuckled, leaning close to your ear and tickling your skin with his breath. “I know you're more than capable of kicking his ass. One of your many wonderful qualities,” he whispered. People underestimated you and that was always a mistake. “But I still don't like that he touched you like he wanted to own you.”

You rang a finger along his bowtie. “We all know who owns me and we know I own you, too,” you said, holding up your hand to show him your wedding ring. He tried to ignore how fast his heart pounded at the sight of his ring on your finger, the pledge you two made together. “In a very healthy, non-toxic sort of way, of course.”

He smirked, glancing around at the crowd before looking back at you. “Of course, but maybe we could give everyone a friendly reminder that we’re a happily married and loyal couple.” His voice dropped lower, teasingly. He wanted to make your heart race like his. “Or maybe we could sneak away for a bit. Make this night a little more interesting.”

“Sneak away?” You feigned innocence as you blinked at him. He was certain any innocence you had before he met you was gone thanks to him. “Whatever for?”

“You know what for. It’ll be like that expo we went to a few months ago.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying your face closely. He easily picked up your sharp inhale, the way your pupils dilated and lips parted. It was clear that sneaking off was something that very much interested you. “C’mon, baby. This gala is boring and neither of us want to be here. My idea is much more fun. You know it is.”

He touched your cheek, your skin warm under his hand. He wasn’t able to keep you in bed earlier like he wanted, but the thought of pulling you away and having you right here and now had his stomach fluttering with excitement. “This gala is boring,” you agreed carefully.

“Then let’s make it exciting.” His thumb brushed across your lips and it took everything in him not to push his thumb inside. “You made me come to this thing. Don’t I deserve something for showing up and behaving?”

“I haven't made you come yet.” His muscles went taut when you briefly sucked the digit into your mouth, electricity crackling under his skin. He admired your boldness, how you were unashamedly yourself in front of these people. You didn't and would never care what they thought. “And I didn't make you come to this event, but I can make it worth your while.”

He held your chin and moved close until only an inch separated your faces. Your eyes gleamed with a hunger that rivaled his. The air crackled between you, daring you both to give over to your obvious desires. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” He rasped when you suddenly pulled back and helped move him across the floor in a dance.

“My plan? I thought sneaking away was your idea,” you smiled, guiding you both closer to the open doorway. “But if we can find a closet or dark corner, you can do whatever you want with me. And I’ll even let you fuck my throat first thing tomorrow morning for behaving.”

A rumbling, deep groan escaped his throat. His fingers dug in possessively when he gripped the nape of your neck and tilted your head so he could taste your skin. Your body molding against his, soft and yielding against his solid frame, wasn’t enough. There were too many clothes in the way and he wanted to bury himself deep inside you.

“You drive me crazy, Mrs. Barnes,” he whispered, lifting his head to look into your eyes.

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Barnes.” You bit your lip once he waltzed you for enough away from prying eyes, the heat flaring between you. “I need you.”

Every nerve ending came to life when he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plunged past your lips, holding you steady as he devoured you. You melted against him, which only brought forth his primal hunger more. His intensity never scared you and he would be forever thankful for that.

You gasped as your back hit a wall, the sounds of chatter and music from the ballroom muffled. Your nails scraped the fabric of his jacket, both of you lost in sensations of lust and desire. As one of your hands continued its journey to his shoulder, the other wandered down his torso and didn’t stop until you gripped his thick erection through his pants.

He abruptly broke the kiss when you gave him a squeeze, his eyes wild. “Fuck,” he breathed, gripping your wrist and pushing more firmly against your hand. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

With dizzying speed, he spun you so that your back pressed against his front. You panted as his hand ventured through the slit of your dress and brushed along your trembling thigh. “Wait until you feel how wet I am,” you whispered, grinding your hips back against his.

His mouth brushed the exposed column of your throat, alternating between small bites and open mouthed kisses. “Still get wet for me?” He asked, massaging your breast with his vibranium hand and drawing another gasp from you when he pinched your nipple. He marveled at how much he could feel with that hand and how he’d never harm you with it.

“Have you seen yourself? One look from you and I’m soaked.” Your back arched as he bit down again. He wished he saw himself the way you did. “And you’re my husband. That craving for you isn’t going away.”

He rocked his hips against yours, seeking out more contact and friction as his cock throbbed and heart swelled. Marriage wasn’t a constant honeymoon phase. It took work. Effort. Compromise. But you were worth every moment, every struggle, every up and down.

Laughter from a few feet away had him lifting his head, both of you looking toward where the noise was coming from. “Fuck,” he snarled, wanting to scream at whoever it was to go the fuck away.

“There’s a closet around the corner. We just need to pick the lock,” you told him, smiling over your shoulder. “I may have scoped out the place in case this happened.”

He chuckled, utterly in awe of you. “I fucking love you,” he exhaled.

Walking with an aching hard-on wasn’t easy, but he managed to get you both further away from the ballroom. He picked the lock with record speed once you got to the door and moved you both inside. He flipped on the light, wanting to see as much of you as he could. For a moment, you two stared at each other and waited for the other to make a move. He loved the anticipation.

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Barnes,” you said, reaching for the doorknob to lock it. He was about to ask what he possibly did to upset you when you smirked. “You didn’t mention anything about me not wearing any panties.”

His cock was ready to burst from his pants. “Because that fucking clown out there interupted me,” he rumbled, pinning you against the door and crowding your body. His nose touched yours as he hiked your dress up, desperate to kiss you again. Eager to feel your wetness. “You trust me?”

It was a question he always asked. You put all of yourself into his care, your body, mind, heart, and soul. It was only fair that he made sure you still wanted him to be the one for you today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Even then a single lifetime would never be enough for him. He wanted a thousand lives with you.

“Always,” you said, an ache in your voice that he couldn’t resist. He fused his lips with yours, building up the fire all over again when his hand found your damp heat. The most intimate part of you where you allowed him to make himself at home. Your hands shook as you went to undo his pants, wanting to free him. “And you trust me?”

It wasn’t just his heart that contracted. His very soul trembled, wanting to wrap itself up in your light and love. “With everything in me,” he promised, sighing when he pulled his cock free from his underwear. “I’ll worship you later. Those gorgeous tits of yours. Your sweet cunt.”

Once you were home, he’d slip off your dress and give every beautiful inch of your body the attention it deserved. He’d draw a bath for you, too, and hopefully join you so he could simply hold you. But he was desperate for you now. He thought he’d burn if he didn’t have you.

You hiked a leg around him, moving your hips enticingly. There was only so much he could take. And who wouldn’t fall under the tempting spell of your body? “I’m ready for you.” Your soft moan echoed in his ears as he trailed a finger along your slit to your clit, barely touching it. He knew it would shoot small sparks through your body until you begged for more. “I mean it, Barnes. Get. Your cock. In me.”

“My needy little wife,” he whispered against your lips as he gripped the base of his cock and probed your entrance. The breathy sound you made when he began to push in had his blood pulsing in euphoria. It was a wonder he fit some days with how tight you were, but your slick heat stretched and welcomed him every time.

“My needy husband,” you smiled as you enveloped him completely, your fingers curling in his hair.

“What kind of man isn’t needy for his wife?” He began to thrust in deep, deliberate strokes. It matched the rhythm of the music in the distant ballroom, the two of you creating your own sultry dance. Maybe he would go up in flames. At least he’d have you to burn with. “Fuck, your body was made for my cock.”

Each snap of his hips tore more moans and whimpers from your throat and sent shockwaves through his system. You clenched around him with a smile, looking like a debauched angel. “My pussy was made for you, so ruin it.”

He groaned, his pulse beating strongly as his grip tightened on your hips. He fucked you without restraint, just as greedy for you as you were for him. Allowing himself to feel you and what you did to him was everything he was denied for so long. His life had only been order. Pain. You let him lose control. You gave him pleasure. Even a home.

I love you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you panted, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone as his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to surface. “I love you, too.”

His pace picked up, urgent, frenzied. At this rate, he might explode into fragments from your declaration and how good you felt. “You love me?” He bit out, his eyes opening and breaths harsh as he felt you clench again.

You cried out, his hand flying up to brace your head before it hit the door. “So much,” you moaned as you gazed at him. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Fierce in love and loyalty, patient and steadfast. He feared some days he’d need you more than you needed him, but you drove that thought from his mind. “I’m yours.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he warned. He couldn’t with the way you looked at him, the way your walls gripped him, knowing you were his.

“Neither am…” Your mouth fell open as your release hit you, your fluids drenching him. It was a wonder to watch you go over the edge in a blissful orgasm. He wanted to be right there with you.

“There you go. Good girl,” he encouraged, your body still tight around his cock. He erupted in one last thrust, his head falling back with an animalistic roar. “Fuck…”

Bucky braced a hand against the door, the other holding you like a lifeline. If only the two of you were at home so he could properly cuddle with you. His breathing remained ragged for a bit as he came down from his high, your breathing beginning to steady, too. He couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of you thoroughly ravaged and satisfied. “Worth every second of being here,” he sighed, slowly pulling out of your twitching hole. You inhaled when he moved a hand down and swiped two fingers along the mess seeping out of you. “Clean them off for me, baby,” he ordered huskily, bringing them to your mouth.

Obediently, you parted your lips and allowed him to push his fingers in. You swirled your tongue around them to taste your combined essence, moaning at the tangy flavor. He tucked himself away once you finished up, afraid that he’d fuck you all over again if he didn’t get completely dressed. It didn’t stop him from gazing longingly at you as he fixed his jacket.

And it didn’t stop him from imagining your mouth around his cock the next morning.

“Now.” You grimmaced slightly as he helped you steady yourself and straighten out your dress. He knew that look. It was the look you got for a split second whenever the sticky remnants continued to trickle down your thighs. He loved having that claim on you. “How do you expect me to go back to the gala after that?”

“I don’t,” he smirked, his hands moving back to your hips as he snuck in a gentle kiss. “I think it’s time to get you home and back in our bed where you belong. I promised I’d worship you, remember?”

You nodded, your eyes still slightly dazed. “On one condition.”

He titled his head. “What’s that?”

A slow smile curved your mouth, his heart pounding and cock twitching back to life at your answer, “You put a baby in me tonight.”

So, lovelies, was it okay? I feel rusty. And who wants a future fic of Bucky breeding you? Just me? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[these-lovely-monsters]

Tentacles Under The Bed - Part 2

[NSFW | 18+]

Characters: gn!tentacle monster x f!reader

Content: tentacles, bondage, nipple/clit stimulation, double penetration, anal play, edging, yandere monster

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

⋆ ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ⋆

It’s late at night and you’re sitting in bed, reading a book before you go to sleep. Or at least, you’re trying to, but you keep peeking over the side of the bed, hoping your tentacle monster will come visit you again tonight. After a while, with no sign of your guest from last night, your eyes grow heavy and you drift off to sleep. The light is still on and your book is sitting open on your stomach as you lay sprawled across your mattress, dreaming about tentacles wrapping you up.

You’re snoring softly when, suddenly, you jolt awake to the feeling of something cool and silky caressing your cheek. Quickly sitting up in bed, you blink open your eyes to find an inky black tentacle stroking your face. With a wide smile, you reach out a hand and stroke your fingers along its length, marveling at how nice the texture feels. When the tentacle begins tickling your ear, you squirm out of reach, giggling and gently batting it away. Wiggling in place, almost as if it’s laughing, the tentacle retreats back under the bed.

A moment later, it reappears again with its tip wrapped around an object. This time, you reach out your hand, eager to see what it has for you. When it uncurls itself, a small stone drops into your hand. Grinning at the new gift, you hold it up to the light and marvel at the gorgeous gray surface that’s veined with bright streaks of white. After you’ve finished inspecting the stone, you place it on your nightstand along with the pearl and necklace pendant. Leaning in, you place a soft kiss on the tip of the tentacle and then laugh when it wiggles again.

Remembering what you found up earlier today, you hop off the bed and hurry over to your backpack, calling over your shoulder, “I have something for you too!”

After rummaging around for a minute, you find what you’re looking for and walk back over to your bed where the tentacle is still patiently waiting. Extending your hand, you watch as it carefully picks up the piece of dark green sea glass, its edges worn smooth. Another tentacle appears as it gently rolls the piece of glass between the two tips, caressing the surface, as if inspecting it.

You’re chewing your bottom lip, hoping it likes your gift, when suddenly the tentacles wiggle again as several more shoot up from under the bed and wrap you up in a giant hug. Laughing, you squeeze back, happy that it seems to like your gift. 

As the tentacles slither along your skin, you’re reminded of the night before when it had you pinned to the bed. Your cheeks grow flushed with the memory and you wonder how you can make that happen. As if it can sense where your thoughts are headed, the tentacles begin to deliberately rub along your nipples, which are already hardening under your shirt. Letting out a soft moan, you relax into the monster’s hold, hoping it will get the hint.

It clearly understands what you want because a few tentacles grip your shirt and begin pulling it over your head as others work your shorts down your hips. Once you’re completely naked, the tentacles take a moment to slither along your bare skin, as if enjoying the feel of you just as much as you do. 

Then, one of the tentacles wraps around both your wrists, tugging you forward so you’re on your knees. Another one wraps around your waist, pulling backwards as the first one continues to pull your arms down to the bed. Soon you’re fully bent over with your ass up in the air and your wrists bound and stretched out over your head on the mattress. Next, two more tentacles wrap around each of your thighs, pulling them apart so that your pussy is completely exposed.

A shiver runs through you, not from the cold, but from anticipation for what the monster will do to you. Fortunately, it doesn’t make you wait long. One tentacle reaches up to play with your clit, alternating between flicking the bud and pulling at it with one of its suction cups. You moan at the sensations, trying to wiggle your hips for more but you’re completely bound, unable to move anywhere.

Two tentacles reach up and suction themselves to each of your nipples, pulling down so there’s a delicious tug on your breasts. The weight of the tentacles and your heavy breathing causes them to sway beneath you and you mewl in pleasure. As the other tentacle continues to play with your clit, wetness drips from your soaking pussy. Another one slides up along your leg gathering up your juices and plunges inside you, causing you to gasp at the sudden intrusion.

As the tentacle pushes deeper inside you, stretching your walls as far as they’ll go, the small bite of pain adds a delicious zing of pleasure to the already overwhelming sensations. When it’s completely filled you up, it pauses, letting you adjust for a moment. Once it senses you beginning to relax, it slowly pulls back out, almost to the tip, and then plunges all the way in again. Pulling out and shoving back in, it sets a rapid pace, the wet squelching sounds mixing with the cries of pleasure pouring from your lips.

As the monster continues to fuck you senselessly, you begin to feel an orgasm building. But just as your walls start to clamp down on the tentacle, it abruptly pulls out, simultaneously pausing its ministrations on your clit, and you cry out in despair. After a moment, it resumes teasing and fucking you, only to pause once again when your orgasm is almost at its peak. It does this over and over again, bringing you right to the brink and then pulling back until you’re a whining, needy mess.

Tears of frustration begin to build in your eyes and you think you’ve almost had enough when, instead of pushing back into your pussy, the soaking wet tentacle moves higher, up to your ass. You suck in a breath as it tickles the outer rim, teasing and flicking the puckered skin. You’ve never had anything there and you’re a little afraid it will hurt, but at the same time you trust this monster with your body and want to see what it will do.

Pressing the tip gently in, the tentacle pushes past the first ring of muscles and you groan at the new sensation. Slowly, it works its way further and further in, pausing every few inches to let you adjust to the new girth. When it reaches as far as it seems to be able to go, it pulls back out and then pushes in again. This time, it fucks you more slowly than before and you melt into the mattress, getting lost in the sensation. 

You’ve forgotten your earlier frustrations, too distracted by the tentacle filling your ass, until you feel a different tentacle begin to push its way into your pussy. Gasping, you try to wiggle away – there’s no way it can fit two at the same time, right? But of course, there’s nowhere for you to go and it continues to ease the second tentacle into your cunt while the first one keeps slowly fucking in and out of your ass.

Before long, both tentacles are completely filling you up, stuffing you to the brim, and you’re almost delirious with the overwhelming fullness. They begin to move in tandem, plunging in and out of both your holes as you whimper and cry out with each thrust. It’s almost too much, but at the same time you’ve never felt anything more amazing and you never want it to end. 

This time, when your thighs begin to tremble and your walls start to clamp down with your impending orgasm, the monster doesn’t stop. Instead, it resumes playing with your clit and you immediately explode. Stars burst behind your eyes as your entire body seizes up, white hot pleasure coursing through you. It feels like the orgasm goes on forever as you get lost in a hazy bliss and time ceases to exist.

Eventually, though, awareness begins to return as you start to come down from the high and you sag into the mattress, boneless and spent. Carefully, the monster eases out of you and releases its hold on your body. You’re almost sad at the loss of contact. But then it gently maneuvers you so that your head is resting on the pillow and pulls the blanket over you, tucking you in around the edges. As the tentacles start to retreat back under the bed, you reach out and snag one of them, holding onto it. 

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” You ask in a drowsy voice.

You feel it hesitate for a moment but then the tentacle winds up your wrist, grasping onto you. Smiling, you settle back into the pillow and begin to drift off. Before you’re fully asleep, you manage to mumble, “Will you come back again tomorrow night?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, right as your awareness slips away, you hear an inhumanly deep, multilayered voice echo in your mind, “Yes, little creature.”

──────────────────

The monster is immensely pleased with this female it has chosen to mate.

At first, it wasn’t sure if the gifts left on various surfaces of her den were meant for it. But it took them anyways, wanting to indulge in the fantasy. Most creatures run screaming when they see the monster for the first time. Some even attack without warning. 

But not this one. To the monster’s delight, this delectable female was only startled at first. And when it tried to offer her gifts to soothe her fear, she eagerly accepted them! 

She even accepted its attempts to couple and let it touch her. 

Feel her. 

Taste her. 

She is utterly delicious.

And when she presented it with a mating gift of her own tonight, it knew for sure that she had accepted its offer.

As the monster settles into the darkness beneath where she sleeps, grasping her tiny delicate hand, it hopes that it can make her happy enough that she’ll never want to leave. Because even if she does, it will never let her go.

⋆ ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ⋆

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

[xxgoldie]

lighter x reader, alcohol (lighter is drunk, nitro-fuel is alcoholic here), otherwise just pure fluff

thinking about lighter, stumbling up to you, the smell of nitro-fuel on his breath (and his shirt - he'd definitely spilled some on himself earlier, though with how unstable he was standing, you were hardly surprised). a bit of a party atmosphere had developed around steeltusk's bar tonight, and lighter had definitely had more than he should have. you had barely joined the gathering for a few minutes, relaxing a bit further from the bar, but as soon as he'd noticed you, he had made a (very wobbly) beeline for you.

"(Y/N)."

his hands went to your shoulder, using you to stabilise himself, even though his weight made you stumble a bit too.

"hi," you laughed, a rare sight to see the champion so discomposed, though he was looking into your eyes with a slightly nervewracking seriousness through those shades.

"we should get married."

it took you a couple beats to process his slurred words. heat rushed to your face, one you hoped, if someone noticed, you could blame on the one drink you'd had so far. you searched his face for the punchline, or any sort of elaboration. all you found was a similar searching - he was waiting for you to answer. he was almost pleading with his eyes, swaying a little from the alcohol - this was absurd.

"you are so drunk," was all you could muster, chuckling in disbelief. lighter collapsed against you, arms wrapping around your neck and head on your shoulder, and you swore you heard a very uncharacteristic whine leave his mouth.

"you don't want to marry me," he pouted - just how many drinks had burnice given him, that lighter lorenz, infamous red scarf of the sons of calydon, was pouting?

"hey, i didn't say that," you comforted him, instinctively petting his hair in a way he seemed to enjoy. and it wasn't a lie - it was something you had dreamed about several times, but... "i just feel like you've skipped a few steps here, you know? we're just friends, lighter. and you really are very drunk."

he picked himself up from your shoulder to look at you again, but he was so close this time, the tip of his nose barely an inch from yours, his full bodyweight still leaning on you. for the first time, you really realised the position the two of you were in, and so publicly, the crowded bar not far away. but you couldn't quite get yourself to focus on them, not when there was so little space between you, and his stupid handsome face took up your entire field of view. the musky scent of his cologne cut through the smell of nitro-fuel and it made your thoughts brain spin even more, so you waited for him to say something. you doubted you could come up with any more coherent thoughts.

"what's step one?" he said eventually. you frowned, not sure what he meant. "what?" "you said I skipped steps. what's step one?" "to marrying me??" "yeah."

once again, you had to pause to process. was this his weird, misguided, honestly really cute, way of confessing to you? there was no way - but there was a sincerity in his gaze that went past alcohol. the best answer would probably be 'ask me on a date when you're sober', but he was too pretty to be considering best answers, and your mouth moved faster than your brain did.

"probably this," you muttered, then pulled him forward by the scarf, closing the distance between you. even drunk, his reaction time was instantaneous - you were the one to initiate the kiss, but his hands were around your waist so quickly it surprised you, pulling you somehow even closer into him. it was clumsy but full of heat, and you could feel his mouth form a victorious grin against yours.

when you eventually pulled away, though, your gaze was immediately drawn away from his to the rest of the sons of calydon, who were whooping and cheering from the bar.

"yes! i told you it'd go well, lighter!" caesar called, shooting you a wink. Lighter only responded to her with a thumbs up, his head returning to rest on your shoulder again.

"did you tell him to do that?" you yelled back, head still reeling from the kiss.

"so what? neither of you were gonna take the leap sober," she replied, and you realised she wasn't behind his words - not intentionally, anyway.

"he proposed to me!"

a round of shocked laughter from the gang, except for lucy;

"he WHAT?"

i truly had no idea how to end this. but like. i love lighter so so much but i especially love him being dorky and down bad. wc: 757

[gracieheartspedro]

For Cryin’ Out Loud

pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x fem!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 7.9k

description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!

author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3

For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep. 

The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you. 

It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar. 

The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos. 

When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot. 

In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you. 

He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often. 

“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance. 

You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification. 

You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”

He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”

You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again. 

“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”

He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”

“I can’t, Joel.”

“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”

“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”

“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”

The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”

"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."

"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.

“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”

You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”

"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel. 

“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”

"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”

He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome. 

But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.

"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.

You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.

"I don't know." You manage to say.

Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not. 

Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic. 

He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.

"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.

You nod, "I don't know if I want that."

You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed. 

Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked. 

“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”

You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.

"I want to sleep with you."

Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do. 

He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty. 

"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.

You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. 

Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you. 

You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”

-

Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in. 

The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year. 

A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left. 

Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him. 

“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”

He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”

You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing. 

“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."

Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection. 

"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."

You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”

He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.

But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you. 

You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.

"Do you sleep on your side or back?"

Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night. 

"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."

You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"

Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.

"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."

You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.  

"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"

Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.

Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.

He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.

"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.

You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.

"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."

Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.

"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.

You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.

"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.

"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."

You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now. 

"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."

Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed. 

"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."

He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.

"Go on..."

Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.

"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"

Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.

"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified. 

You mentally slap yourself in the face.

"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."

Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.

"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."

"Yeah, exactly..."

He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.

You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.

Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something.  He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.

"So… ten years and no sex?”

You could seriously, not help yourself.

"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.

"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”

He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town. 

“You just give off the energy…”

“What?”

You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”

“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.” 

You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms. 

But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.

“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.

Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.

You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle. 

You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter. 

It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.

-

When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy. 

You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across. 

His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-

His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles. 

“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”

The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.

“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”

Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.

"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..." 

You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him. 

Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you. 

"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.

Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him. 

He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you. 

“You’re a brat.”

You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly. 

"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"

"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"

"So, you don't believe me?"

"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."

"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.

"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."

"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful. 

“‘Course I do.”

You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him. 

“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him. 

But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.

“I am always nice to you.”

You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”

He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.” 

Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”

“Because I am!”

And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it. 

“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him. 

Why does he already miss your hands?

He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”

“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”

“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over. 

“Whatever, Joel.” 

As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.

Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live. 

He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them. 

You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen. 

“You got pat-”

“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move. 

“Who are you-”

“Jesse.”

He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer. 

“Hey, can you-”

You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time. 

“Can I what?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”

You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor. 

You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond. 

“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking. 

He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”

“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”

You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard. 

The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning. 

“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”

You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.

He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word. 

-

All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here. 

You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him. 

You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt. 

You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals. 

You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off. 

You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water. 

When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”

He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud. 

He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”

You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?

“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”

He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”

You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest. 

But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?

He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore. 

Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point? 

His body was on fire, thinking about you. 

You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you. 

You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud. 

“For cryin’ out loud, woman!” 

You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.

He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”

“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?” 

You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing. 

He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”

Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates. 

“Joel-“

“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. 

“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”

As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.

His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences. 

“Joel, you said we can’t-”

“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”

You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you. 

But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him. 

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.

“Darlin’-”

“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”

It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies. 

You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first. 

His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful. 

“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”

He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back. 

He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time. 

You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way. 

He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans. 

“Joel… I-“

He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body. 

“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”

That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance. 

“Please, Joel.”

He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then. 

You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan. 

“You are divine, baby.”

The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter. 

He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”

“Y-yes, Joel.”

“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”

Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core. 

“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”

He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”

“God, yes.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself. 

His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming. 

You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you. 

“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”

You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress. 

“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.

When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.

“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”

You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”

“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”

He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance. 

“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”

He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”

You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his. 

But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight. 

“Ready?”

Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone. 

“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”

He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”

When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming. 

He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes. 

You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half. 

He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”

You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.

“‘M all yours, Joel.”

He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”

You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.

“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”

“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”

His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile. 

Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.

He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring. 

“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself. 

“I’m more than okay.”

He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.

Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.

Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.

So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking. 

Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to. 

You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose. 

He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”

tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld