#does it even count as an f/o at this point?

[arcsin27]

Having an f/o not because you’re particularly attached to them but because it makes narrative sense for your self insert

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[laiiaaa]

thinking about Carmen taking care of his girl sm he won’t put up with her spending any of her hard-earned money :(

After shutting your door for you, Carmen walks around the front of the car into the drivers seat, shuffling with the seatbelt as he turns the key in the ignition.

You hum to yourself in the meantime and find your lipstick in your bag—your new lipstick, a little more luxe this time, just the right shade to compliment your skin, a treat for yourself after finishing up a project at work. Just a little gift you deserved. You flip down the sun visor and open the mirror, making a pretty o with your lips to carefully apply it, stifling a smile when you feel Carmen watching.

“Where’s that from, baby?” he asks, a hand smoothing up your back.

“Hm?”

“The—the, uh—” he points to his own mouth while staring at your lips— “Lipstick, you call it?”

“Oh,” you smile. “Yeah, it’s new.” You hug his bicep, an affectionate squeeze before cradling the side of his face and toying with the tuft of hair by his ear. “You like it?”

He hums, “‘F course, ‘s pretty.”

But his smile falters, and it has you pouting.

“What?”

“Nothin’…” He shrugs. “Just don’t remember buyin’ it. You used my card, right?”

You shake your head. “No, I bought it myself. It wasn’t expensive, Carm, I promise.” Half true, at the very least.

“Yeah?” He let’s go of you only briefly to lift his hips and pull his wallet from his pocket, fishing out the wad of cash that’s accumulated there. “How much was it, baby? I’ll pay you back.”

“Carm, I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m doin’ it anyway.” He counts out one, two, three twenties—

“Carmen, put that away—”

He looks up at you, raises his brows, dishes out a fourth and a fifth. “What?” He doesn’t even flinch when he folds the bills in two and leans over the console to slip them in your purse, sneaking a kiss to your cheek as he does so, just because he knows it’ll distract you. A hand on the wheel now—a veiny, tattooed hand, enough to make you drool—with the other holding your jaw, he kisses you again, the corner of your mouth to keep your lipstick in tact. “Use my card next time, you hear me? Doesn’t matter what it’s for.”

You frown. “But I feel bad . . . I make my own money, y’know.”

“You’re not supposed to spend your money, baby, you’re supposed to spend mine.” Again, he kisses you, guiding you where he wants you with his thumb and index gently holding your chin so you can’t look away. “I got you, baby. Lemme take care ‘f you.”

And, well, when he puts it like that . . . it’s not so hard to oblige.

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt III. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc 

genre: smut

word count: 9.9k

summary: the naughtiest of times bring about the greatest of healing.

pinterest board: vapor

warnings: punishment, spanking, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), a little bit of ass play, cum eating, raw sex, multiple orgasms, sex toy included, praise kink, jk smokes:), jk also reveals a past pain:(

note: nawt my best work, but i guess it's alright:( here it is, my loves—the very end to the steam series. i enjoyed indulging myself in this world and i'd like to thank all of you for allowing me to do that. thank you so much for all the love and support. i do all of this for you:) wink wink. this is pure smut and nothing else, and i hope you like this at least a little bit. i love you all so much, pwease give me your feedback, thank you. <3

Jungkook thought brushing his teeth with you in the morning while you wore his boxers and stole one of his white, ribbed tank tops was heaven enough. That was until he couldn’t lay his sleepy gaze off of you when you sat on his balcony with a cigarette between your two fingers and a cup of strong coffee in the other two and your thumb. 

Still can’t. 

He’s never been a morning person. To him, all mornings resembled some kind of hell that you suffer through until afternoon rolls around until you finally awaken. But seeing you like this, delighted, with two of your pleasures… he might become an early bird. Wake up each morning with joy just to see yours. Just to watch you be at complete peace, puffing out the smoke out into the sun-breathed air. 

The weather is a stark contrast to yesterday’s funeral of clouds. Not one is in sight, sun rays envelop the heavens in a golden light that spills through your hair—half done in a messy knot of some sort at the back of your head while wisps of shorter strands frame your face and your neck. He’s given you his spirally hair tie that he wore in his pre-military days. Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he told you how long he let his hair grow because he knew shaving his head was inevitable and it served as some kind of strange preparation for him. You brushed your fingers through his hair, then, unbelief painting your face in cutesy colors. As if you tried to feel the long-gone memory of his long tufts of hair that curled at the ends. He was so touched by it—maybe it’s one of the reasons why he can’t stop looking at you now.

It’s dawning on him that you love him. That you’re his. It wasn’t a dream, after all. 

And you’re such a stark image of effortless beauty—even with your puffy eyelids and mouth, with your healthily flushed cheeks. How can he not look at you… he fears if he does, you’ll disappear into the thin air. He can’t afford that, not when he went through so much pain to get to this point. 

This is his reality now. It’s difficult to get used to. He’d never thought he’d get this lucky. Perhaps, heaven does care about him, wants to see him after all, because it blessed him with you, blessed him with freedom that he can indulge in hand in hand with you. 

Jungkook feels an inkling to find a church and kneel at the altar. Thank God for what he’s done for him. Call his dad and tell him that he found Him.

The thought of how happy he’d be fills him with vigor redolent of the last of the summer creeping in. There’s so much of it that Jungkook finds it hard to breathe, his lungs taut with all this joy and love that he feels. 

It seems as though this time he will, in fact, live his life happily. Get rid of his alcoholic habits, drink from the fountain of you instead—make that a brand new habit. Keep his paints. Keep the memory of your features and your sleep-tousled hair engraved deeply in his brain so he can transfer it onto his sketchbook. Eternalize you for generations to come. Clutch those papers tight to his chest when God does take him to heaven once his time comes. 

Happiness. How did he deserve such a thing? 

He sighs, watches you suck the last of your cigarette. The sunlight radiates you with a glow too grand for his eyes to take in and as you breathe out the swirls of smoke, he has to look elsewhere. Your full breasts pebble against his tank top, too stretched out for your small form, and it douses him with liquid tendrils of desire for you. All due to the fact you’re wearing his clothes, that you’re bare underneath them, that your nakedness brought about so much pleasure for him last night—due to the very memory that you didn’t wear your underwear for him because they would get in his way. Fuck, his cock tightens under his joggers, the ones that match those you wore to bed. He hasn’t eaten yet and he thinks you’re the perfect choice of breakfast for the day. 

You put out your cigarette in the ashtray he found for you in the cabinet, left behind by the tenants that lived here before him, and a soft smile curls your slumber-kissed mouth. Your irises flick across the width of his chest, across his crossed forearms and biceps and your smile deepens. You cradle your cup of coffee in both of your hands, slouching in your chair. He’ll never tire of the way it feels to be looked at by you. The tendrils of desire thicken in him, flowing rapidly in his bloodstream. 

“What do you wanna eat for breakfast?” you ask, and there’s something dangerous about your eyes now, mingling with the light and joy, dimming it little by little. He likes it so much, likes your question all the more, that he props his elbows on his knees and hooks his fingers around the back of yours, thumbs fondling the round bones. 

The way his boxers don’t even cover the apex of your thighs, having ridden up so high—he stifles the hiss rising in his throat. They suit you so much he might let you keep them. That is, after he ruins them. 

“You,” he murmurs, smirking, and you grin at him so luminously that the speed of his bloodstream slows down. Suddenly, the movement of your hand as you set your cup down is in slow motion—your fingernails provoking him by lightly scratching down his forearms, too. You study his tattoos as you do it, your gaze darkening fully. 

You root them at the place, where he’s holding you. Palms flat against the back of his hands. Lean closer to him until you nudge your nose against his. The close proximity will always mess him up, no matter what. He feels himself bespangled by your light, by your celestiality, bringing in the heat until it’s all he knows. 

You. 

“What if I want to eat you first?” you whisper, head angling to kiss him on his jawline. Oh, he’s already done for; body charged with electricity all over. Your mouth closes over that bone so, so slowly, your tongue licking over that place in the same tempo, causing the hair on his body to stand up to attention. 

“Eat what?” He laughs through his nose and you take after him—your giggles a warm rumble that sends tingles down his back, even though all his body longs to do is whimper for you. He knows what you meant, but he simply wants to hear you say it. The memory of the way you rubbed your face in such a private part of him, not just once—but twice, floods his brain and he’s so hard for you that it’s unbearable. 

If he doesn’t get his release any time soon, he might combust. 

He’d much rather it happens in your mouth. Like it did in the dressing room last night. Oh, fuck. Those winged fuckers are going at it again in his stomach, bringing about his madness for you. 

“Your nose first, then your dick.” 

It’s now that he lets out that sound—he can’t help it, can’t hold it back. Might need that cigarette of yours, even though he only smokes casually. This is what you do to him. 

And you like that sound. You like it so much that you rise to your feet, only to straddle him. And, leaning back, he pushes you towards him until you’re flush against his body. To make you feel how aroused he is for you, your little pussy sitting against his imprint. At the feeling of it through such a thin barrier, you press your hum over his nose, kissing the ball of it with a sweet, soft giggle. His madness evolves into a frustration again and he wonders at the whole concept of it. Now that he has you all to himself, his sexual need for you tends to be on such a raging base, full of yearning, full of frenzy. So intense, so thunderous, so deafening. The world might break apart, fall upon every head with its destruction, if that need remains unfulfilled. 

It’s spine-chilling. Absolutely petrifying. And irrevocably thrilling with all its bolts of power. 

He kneads your bum with both of his hands, unraveling that melodramatic concept of his titillation for you with the strength he uses to squeeze your flesh with. Jungkook goes as far as to lift you onto your knees, raise the fabric of his boxers to reveal your skin and, holding it taut in his fist, he wetly kisses the red imprint of his hand that he left behind. 

And his need flutters with something still yet forbidden. 

Yours does, too. And it’s you who voices it out, setting it free like a bird that has been caged for centuries. It touches him, immensely—a deep sea of feelings resurfacing in him, sloshing to and fro, threatening to spill over. 

“Spank me.” 

Lust and love. A peculiar concoction of it that doesn’t exist in the realm of words. He feels it, feels it with every breath he takes. 

“I should, right?” he rasps, dragging his fingernails down your carmine bum, sneaking his fingers around the squishy bottom of the flesh. He might drench his joggers—he didn’t wear his boxers to sleep; you’re wearing them for him. “For wanting to bite my nose off.” He clicks his tongue, squeezing, other hand wraps around your waist, holding you still. “I should spank you until it hurts. Until you cry.” 

The most gentle of a moan spouts out of your mouth and he twitches, his need growing—all because you want it as much as he does.

Jungkook lifts his hand in a promise he’s about to do it and you shiver in anticipation. 

“Please,” is all you say, but he’s not going to give it to you. He places his hand back in a soft manner, lifting it again to tease you and you wiggle your butt, his boxers still tucked halfway in between, the flesh rippling and he groans. A sight to die for. “I deserve it. Please, do it. I want it.” 

He sighs, a wet spot forming in the place of the joggers where his tip is, and he can’t see anything. Can’t see shit when he lifts you up and takes you inside. Can’t see anything but you and the surface of his kitchen island, which he sets you down on, spreading your legs. 

Confused by the swift motion, you rise to your elbows, but he pushes you right back down—holding your hips in the air, just like he did last night. You will see what he’s about to do to you, nonetheless. No need for you to strain your arms. 

And when he closes his mouth over your clothed pussy, you roll your eyes back, moaning his name so loudly that it echoes throughout the kitchen, rooting around his dripping length. And his arousal for you is so overwhelming, so sensitive that one thrust of his hips against the fabric of his joggers brings him such pleasure coursing through his body that he might as well come like this. 

Jungkook rids you of his boxers in a blink of an eye, throwing them somewhere out of his sight. No need for them, either. 

Burying his nose in your clit as he licks your slit and plunges his tongue inside, he narrows his eyes at you as yet another wave of pleasure comes down upon him. This time from having you for breakfast, at last. You mewl so sweetly that it drives him to thrust his hips again and he groans, groans so deeply for you. Needs you to know what you’re doing to him. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day,” he breathes out, lightly dragging the tip of his tongue across your clit before he swallows, hissing at the delight of your taste. You moan, trembling, barely able to take it. Fuck one day, he’s about to die now. “And you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a fucking boy. Is that what you want?” 

Jungkook flicks your bud, fleetingly, just to make your sounds shudder in the sudden intensity. You clench your small fists in the air, your tremor so terribly visible and rigorous, and with your breath hitching in your throat, he sucks that delicious part of you into his mouth. 

You stammer, badly enough that he begins to feel a sliver of pity for you, not enough for him to stop. He’s ravaging your little princess parts so hard that it takes a few tries for you to get the words out in a steady flow and he doesn’t help you. Doesn’t ease up for you, at all. Flicking, sucking, licking you up all over, rolling his tongue—he simply doesn’t stop, does it so fast that you lose yourself in it, submitting to it with all your being. 

And along with your submission come out your words. 

In perfect fashion.

“No, I want to suck you off.” 

And along with those your orgasm, too. 

Jungkook watches you take it, eyes lidded heavily, take all the pleasure he gives to you as it unfolds throughout your quivering body that he holds tightly in his grasp so you wouldn’t fall over. He sucks your clit until his mouth goes numb, opening it to drink you, not letting a drop of your nectar go to waste. You struggle to reciprocate the eye contact and he finds it so endearing that he wants to make you come all over again. 

Setting you down, he caresses your wet little pussy with his thumb, palm spread wide across his tank top clothing your tummy. And while you try to catch your breath, he sends rays of his affection down to her the more he looks at her. He loves her so much that he bends down and kisses her. Over and over. Kisses the hickey he left on your left fold, the one below your hip bone as well. And then, he glances at you. Flushed and glowing, a personification of light. A girl most satisfied. So beautiful.

You sit up and the feeling of the coldness of the marble against your sensitive seashell makes you let out a whine, biting your lip briefly before you enclose it around his. You moan into the kiss and Jungkook knows why. He deepens it, hands drifting down your full breasts, your stiffened nipples. The touch makes you hum and grind your pussy against the island, opening your mouth. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, playing with you, beckoning out your mouth-watering little whines. And when his fingers reach the hem of his tank top, he takes it off of you—your breasts bouncing, the wet spot in his joggers enlarging. 

In this position, you’re forehead to forehead. And this time, he doesn’t want to kiss you. No, he wants to talk. 

“You taste good, don’t you?” Jungkook husks, an allusion to the way you moaned into the kiss, fists on either side of your outstretched thighs. You bite your lip and furrow your brows, a hand sneaking around his neck. Such horny expression, scraping his madness raw. He’s greedy for more; wants to bleed for you. “Tell me. Tell me how good you taste.” 

You sink your teeth so hard into your bottom lip at his words that you whimper once you let go, the pillow so reddened, so cute. The wrinkle between your brows deepens and you grind your hips again. Oh, he’ll put his hand there, on your still needy pussy, as soon as you answer him. 

And you do—and his whole bloodstream lines with a river of flames.

“I taste so good,” you whine and he rewards you for your goodness, for that heat. Places his fingers flat underneath your clit, palm up. You immediately roll your hips forward and whisk your eyes back. That sensitive you are, after such an intense orgasm. He swears. Takes it as a sign to rub your bud and, pushing them back with one hand, he gathers your slick and smears it upon it, making it all the more pleasurable for you. Gusts of breaths emit out of your mouth, intertwining with the squeaky sounds of your juices and Jungkook almost drools, aching to eat you out all over again. The feeling of your parted lips, your slipperiness, the softness of your swollen bud—he grows desperate for it. 

But he wants you to come like this, too.

“Ride my fingers,” he whispers, just for you to hear and not the angels surrounding him, whose favor he gained. “Come on. Grind your pussy on them, sweetheart.” 

You mewl and you listen, straightening your spine. Use his shoulders for stability as you swing your hips back and forth. The silkiness of your flesh, the wetness that makes this a smooth ride for you—he moans, sucking in his breath each time. And then you become so terribly whiny, eyes squeezed tight, that he can’t help but to strum your clit as fast as he can. Your shudders begin again, your breasts rippling and he just thinks they’re asking for his tongue. 

A flick of the muscle on your nipple. You cry out, arching your back, halting the movement of your pelvis and he takes over. Takes merely a minute to make you come all over his hand and scream out his name. 

And then… then he grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you in—almost nose to nose. A gesture to make you listen. To make you pay attention to the words he wants to say to you. 

“This is what you deserve,” he purrs, speaking of the former mention of punishment, studying the way your eyes grow bigger than they already are. “To come again and again for me—and what’s more, I’m not finished with you yet. That wasn’t your last orgasm.” 

You mewl and it seems that it’s all that you’re capable of uttering, the clitoral orgasm stealing all of your vocabulary. 

Or at least he thought so. 

“But I want you to spank me,” you say, your voice a satiny softness. “I want it so bad that I’ll do anything for it.” 

Jungkook doesn’t know what’s more stimulating—whether the beauty of your strength or the sinfulness of your craving. The flames in him reach higher highs, burning his skin in a way that unfussily forces him to give you what you want; give in to you, surely and wholly.  

“Is that so?” 

You nod, leaning over and closing your mouth over the side of his neck, sucking the skin, making his eyes roll back. And when you begin to focus on his ear, your fingers sinking in his hair, he truly just might submit to that specific craving of yours, even though he wanted to save it for the cabin. 

He might just give you a taste of it now. 

It looks like you’re ready for it, but if he finds that your healing is incomplete, he’ll take care of you, undo the wrongness, distract your thoughts and fold your emotions into a cocoon of his love. 

Pulling you away from him, he lifts you off the island and bends you over it. You giggle in triumph and the dulcet sound falters once he brushes your hair back and, pressing his length against your bare bum, he reciprocates the same treatment you gave to him. He doesn’t destroy your neck more than he already has—he barely has any space left to scatter it with hickeys and he doesn’t wish to cause you discomfort. No, he mouths your ear and kisses the very unmarked skin beneath it, nibbling it ever so gently. 

It’s only when you circle your hips against him that he rips that gentleness away and bites, making you groan out. 

“So that’s what my sweetheart wants,” he breathes, hands drifting to the crooks of those hips, right where your thighs begin, cooling the flames he spat onto that sensitive spot of yours. “Pain.” 

The collision of his palm against your cheek is what steals your breath and you whimper in elation. 

“Oh, fuck yes.” 

He does it again, a bit harder this time, just to hear those delectable words, just to make sure you’re comfortable, rubbing your skin to soothe the sting. And when you pinch your nipples and moan, he gets on his fucking knees for you. Such a good girl; a strong angel.

At your ever persisting service. Eternal. 

Spreading you apart, he catches your dripping slick with his tongue and pushes it back inside, thumbing your other tiny hole—pulling away momentarily to spit on it, smearing the lubrication there before circling it. Jungkook hears the soft thud of your head slumping against the kitchen island and you take it, take his abuse so well that he rewards you by flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit. Over and over until there’s another thing he hears. 

He hears your phone ring. 

His stomach drops. He knows full well who’s calling. And you prove his deduction right. 

“It’s Yoongi,” you sigh, a bit of vexation evident in your voice, and Jungkook buries his face in your pussy, humming into her, purposefully. “Vi-video calling me yet ah-a-again. Oh, fuck.” 

Pleased, he laughs. “Let it ring.” Doesn’t give two shits that he’s calling, but is a little annoyed that he keeps bothering you. 

It doesn’t lessen his fire, though. 

“But.” He withdraws to let you talk. Doesn’t take his eyes off of the glistening of your flesh. “If I tell him off and if he sees what you’re doing to me, he’ll stop calling me.” 

His fire thickens, thrilling tendrils absorbing it. Very well. “Such a smart girl. Go for it, then.” He punctuates his sentence with a curt spank and you jump, rising onto your tippy toes as you curl your back, moans echoing. He caresses your legs all over, mouth latching over your slightly reddened cheek. Thinks it’s a perfect place for another hickey. And as he sucks the supple skin, he sinks a finger inside your heat, your walls welcoming him in. 

You answer the phone with a moan. “I’m busy.” 

You’ve placed your hand to the edge of the island, so Jungkook has a perfect view of what’s currently happening. You’ve hidden your squished breasts behind your forearm—like you did the first time he’d laid his eyes on you via Yoongi’s phone. How the tables have turned is so mind-boggling to him that it drives him to twirl circles on your other tiny hole, eating your ass with such verve that you can’t contain your sounds, especially not when he begins to caress your sweet little spot with his curling fingers. 

Your legs begin to shake. 

Yoongi calls you by your name. “What the fuck is this?” 

“W-what does it look like?” you retort, grinning, looking back at Jungkook, catching his glance. He sends you rays of his love, eyes crinkling, the tip of his tongue finally penetrating inside. “I’m getting my ass eaten and you’re—” You suck a breath in, trying your hardest to remain calm and not succumb to the pleasure. Jungkook worsens it for you; he syncs his finger and his tongue, fucking you in one fast rhythm in both holes at the same time, and your stammer returns. “You-you’re disturbin’ me, oh fuck.” You pant, heavily, letting go of your phone and scratching your nails down the surface, trying to grab onto something, anything. Jungkook hums, endearingly, and catches both of wrists in his hand at the small of your back. Seeing you bound like this, bound in pleasure mainly, while on the phone with your ex-boyfriend almost makes him come in his fucking pants. “I don’t want to fucking come looking at your face. I’m not on your timeline, stop calling me.” 

Oh, Jungkook wouldn’t even let you—and the reason why he intensified your pleasure was to spite your ex-boyfriend. It seems as though it worked because Yoongi remains silent, at loss for words in most probability, and you consider your job done, tugging up your arm. 

“Let me hang up,” you whisper to him and Jungkook loosens his fingers for you, the sound of the call ending etching a smirk on his face. 

He straightens his form and, turning you around, he pins you against the island, his smirk only widening. The love, the proudness he carries in his heart for you, the freedom that oozes out of his every pore—he uses it to kiss you, tenderly. Fights hard to stifle his grin, to mold his lips into yours, but to no avail. You mirror his expression of joy, looking up at him, both of your wrists back in his hold behind your back. 

“You took your spanks so well, enjoyed them,” he murmurs his praise, his other hand clasping around your binding. “Didn’t even think once about the past. And to top it all off, you basically told your ex-boyfriend to fuck off. Moaned your lungs out. I’m in awe,” he continues, his voice dropping an octave lower, meaning every word. “I’m in awe of you. What a good girl you are. The best.”

The glint in your irises bursts and spreads all around, your eyes becoming two lighthouses that gain a new instinct to bring him home, whatever form that might spur into. You blush for him, taken aback by his praise, and your lashes flutter so prettily that he grows weak in the knees. His reactions are constant, never-changing when it comes to you and he finds so much beauty in them, in you that he feels as though it’s golden sand in his fingers and all he longs to do is finish his job like you did. You rouse the inspiration in him—you always have.

And listening to his body, he stumbles back into his former position. On his knees for you, at your ever fucking eternal service. And he makes you come with his fingers stuffed in your heat and his tongue flicking your clit until your knees give out as well and he has to take you then and there. Against the window on the other side, your pleasured body embraced, almost, by the golden aura that spills from the sunlight. And he opens it out, stretches it, with every word that trickles out of his mouth and into yours with every swift stroke. A bunch of rays of ‘You’re mine’, ‘My pretty, tight pussy’ and ‘Good girl, take it all, it’s all yours’ permeate your skin, lighting you up from beneath and when you come around his cock, your light doesn’t fade into his and leave you barren. No, it melts, a conscious, ever-flowing stream, into him and soaks him up. It’s still one singular light, but in two bodies. 

And the two loads he filled you up with caused weariness to drop so heftily on you that he bathed you in the tub. Scrubbed you clean. Washed your hair. Made you smell like him. Was extra careful when touching the hickeys he left behind on your body, the other unmarked parts of you handled with similar care. 

He didn’t even forget about your candle. Borrowed them your shared light and you kissed him quite sweetly for it. 

Even when he dressed you in his clothes. A pair of old baggy jeans that don’t fit him anymore and the same white tank top, a clean one, fragrant with the wholeness of summer he will perpetually connect with you. You pecked him so cutely when he tapped your waist, signaling that you’re all done. He knows it was the deepest thank you that you could’ve ever expressed to him. And he hugged you, hugged you so tight that you merged into him, bunching your wet hair in his fist. 

It didn’t dry up until he parked by the cabin. Having curled into winsome waves, he couldn’t stop touching them when he lead you towards the front door and, most peculiarly, it ached when he had to let go in order to unlock the door. 

His clinginess to you constringes the longer he spends time in your presence and because you’ve graced him with such freedom, he doesn’t mind. Not one bit. You show no signs of being irritated by it and it causes him to think that, perhaps, when God made you, He put some mechanism in you that needs it. Just like he planted those roots of clinginess in him—for no one else but you to receive, to carry, to take care of. 

It’s what he thinks about when he makes you lunch while you smoke on the balcony, having finished with the fresh drinks you made for yourself and him. Elderberry with lemon and ice, with funky, colorful straws once again left behind by the past tenants, ready on the dining table. This time you will actually sit down to eat and Jungkook won’t get kissed on the face by the strong knuckles of his once-close friend. 

An emotion stirs within him as he flips the meat on the small indoor grill. Tears prick in his waterline because despite the fact he enjoyed spiting him, he still wonders how he’s handling this. Mourns the loss. Probably will for some time. There’s a certain freshness to it that won’t let go of him. 

Those liquid feelings almost dissipate when you wrap your arms around him from behind and kiss his spine. He’s not matching you that much—is wearing the only clean laundry he had. A white oversized tee, a zipper hoodie of the same color with jeans. But he feels the love you press onto his back as if your lips touch his bare skin, singing the two layers through and through. 

Jungkook reckons you’re saving him as you’re lingering there with your face buried between his shoulder blades. Saving him from spilling. 

“I can’t wait to visit the pond once we’re finished with our food,” you murmur and Jungkook hums in response, placing the rest of the meat onto a plate. 

“It’s done, we can eat now,” he croaks out, his voice touched by the residue of his emotions and you rub his belly with your hands. He smiles, fondly, at the gesture. You just keep on saving him.

“Do you think the water is cold?” 

Considering the rain that would not leave for days, the water is anything but suitable for swimming. And when he turns around, he meets your mischief, playfully toying with your features. A curled smirk, lifted brows, light flickering in your eyes, reflected in your lashes. He might let you dip your toe in. Just one. 

Only because you depict such distinct beauty and he can’t resist it. Can’t resist you, even if he tried his hardest. 

“Too cold,” he says, however. Just as playfully. “Freezing.” 

Helping him with the plates, you sit down to eat and before you dig in, you thank him once again in the form of a peck. Oh, he might spill, ultimately. In a much different way. Melt into liquid love for you—a putty at your disposal. He’s never come across someone as sweet as you. 

“My sweetheart, enjoy your food.” 

A sliver of comfortable silence hangs in the air as you finish your food and once he downs the drink you made for him, a different type of hunger itches in his throat. 

A hunger for a cigarette. 

He watches you as you take his plate and bring it into the kitchen, never forgetting to at least graze one part of your body as you depart away from him, his clinginess a full blown, ceaseless stream and when you come back to him and take his hand, he remains seated. Looks up at you. Is probably giving you a nasty set of puppy eyes, he can’t tell. Doesn’t really care. Interlocks his fingers with yours and brings your knee in between his. Just because. 

“You know what I want right now?” he says, stroking the back of your thigh, and you smile down at him all excitedly. “A cigarette.” 

You squeal and he didn’t expect such sound to come out of you, such display of joy at such mindless thing. You quiver, taking his other hand and pulling him to his feet. Grab your pack and lighter and drag him out to the balcony. 

And with a cigarette of your own hanging from your lips, you sink the butt of the spare one between his, your lighter ready in your hand, flicking it to life. Then, a sudden gust of wind blows your hair in front of your face in a grand, sublime way, the clouds shrouding the sunlight, a layer of grayness dispersing across the atmosphere. Jungkook is mesmerized, completely, strands of your hair tickling your cheeks as you focus on lighting his cigarette, such serious expression coating you. 

He almost forgets to suck on the cigarette when you cup the lighter, protecting the flame from the breath of the autumn slinking in. How can someone be so beautiful, so caring? He could’ve lighted up his hunger himself, but no—you wanted to do it. 

And because of that, he steals your cigarette and grabs your cheek in one hand, careful not to break it. Taking a delightful drag, he opens your mouth and puffs it inside. Watches you swallow it down, your eyes narrowed in a foreign pleasure, and to reward you, he kisses you deeply. But at the taste of his hunger on your tongue, the kiss grows tempestuous. He devours your mouth, makes it puffy all over again, and something else grows hard in tandem. 

Something in his pants. 

And the way you kiss him back—he has to physically pull himself away from you in order not to take you right here, in order not to bend you over this railing and bury himself so deeply inside you that all the animals in the forest scurry away at the sound of your squeaks. Much, much different ones. 

His body tingles, looking at you panting, longs to kiss you again—bring that notion into reality. It’s not merely you who’s become aroused because one swift glance over your body clad in his clothes reveals that you have, too. Your stiffened nipples protrude through his tank top and he has to hold onto that railing and take a deep drag of his cigarette in order to stick to his composure like his life depends on it. 

Perhaps, it truly does. 

“You’re so fucking irresistible,” he comments, mirroring your former actions—placing the cigarette between your lips that willingly open for him, lighting it up. “It’s crazy. I can’t spend one minute in your presence without wanting to fuck you brainless. What are you doing to me, huh?” 

You blush, but he didn’t mean it as a compliment. Thinks he should change his ways and call you beautiful more often, so you learn what a true compliment is, despite the fact how hard he finds it. His lungs constrict, choking the life out of him that you gave him—an unfond memory clouding his sight.

A blond set of hair swishing past. A roll of eyes as he threw that compliment in her way. The dismissal that still lives in him.   

“You sure it’s me?” you retort, angling your head to the side, two fingers widening slightly as you suck on your cigarette. You tossed the memory away and cuddled his headspace. “Maybe you have a problem.” 

Oh, he remembers this feistiness of yours. Missed it, dearly. Makes his cock needy. Even more prominently so now—now that you clothed him in healing. 

“True, one taste of you and I’ve become a nymphomaniac,” he says with a mighty, peculiar easiness. Clicks his tongue. “I guess I should go to therapy.” 

Your blush deepens and you hide your laughter behind your busy palm. Jungkook shakes his head, not believing something like that could flush your face like this with such rosy, radiant color. He pulls you towards himself, squeezes your bum. Takes a drag, loving the burn in his throat. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, fondling the sweet color of your cheek with his thumb. The smoke from his cigarette curls around your wavy hair. “Do you even know how beautiful you are?” 

It’s you who shakes your head and you place your palm flat on his chest. A gasp leaves your mouth when he spanks you for your disagreement. Then, your mouth ends tip. 

Jungkook laughs, softly. “Run. And if I catch you, I spank you again. On your bare bum this time.” 

He pushes you and you squeal, turning on your heel and heading for the stairs down that lead to the pond. He could run after you to make you happy—it doesn’t matter he’s wearing his home slides. He’s danced with them, even barefooted, so this is no big deal for him. But he wants to give you the thrill of the chase, so, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray, right next to yours, he slides his hands into his front pockets and waits until you’re halfway there at the pond. Then, then, he slowly makes his way down. 

You’ve stopped, however. Half turned, you watch him as he chases you down Michael Myers style. And when he’s at arms-length distance away from you, you begin to run away and this time your feet acknowledge themselves with the wood of the dock that floats above the surface of the still water. There’s nowhere for you to go and he fears you’ll jump into the water. Or, maybe you just want to get spanked that badly. 

He’s about to find out. 

Gray shadows envelop you, choking out your squeals again when you see Jungkook running after you and you edge dangerously close to the end, bum leaning against the ladder going down. 

He lifts his palm, signaling you to stop right there. 

And you surprise him. You kick your feet into momentum and as you run and collide into him, you throw him into the water. 

The iciness of the water stings and his breath lodges in his throat, submerged. Paralyzation takes a hold of him, but not enough for his body to emerge to the surface. He rubs his eyes as he inhales deeply, shaking off the water from his hair like a dog, his eyesight slowly unblurring and he sees you laughing. The trees bend at the sound, sighing along and the wind, once again, stills. 

You even have the nature wrapped around your finger, not just him. And he can’t be mad at you, not when your girlish giggles spark up a joy in his heaving chest, ridding him of the coldness he feels. 

But that doesn’t mean he won’t punish you for it. 

You asked for it. 

He swims to the dock and pulls himself up. The ease he did it with, his wet clothes that cling to his body and accentuate his muscles, it causes your dulcet laughter to falter, little by little and you back away from him. 

That aches a tiny bit. He relaxes his face, in case that’s what drove you to do that and he unzips his hoodie, throwing it at your feet. His T-shirt comes next and you swallow, dryly, your eyes drifting along his pecs and abdominal muscles. 

You hiss at the cold sensation of his knuckles against the fine sliver of skin of your stomach, the dip between the hem of his tank and his jeans as he unbuttons them and harshly tugs them down. You let him, placing your hands on his shoulders once he kneels and lifts both of your feet, folding the denim and flinging it onto the pile of his sopping hoodie. Your socks and his boxers follow along, leaving behind only his tank top. 

Bunching it in his fist, he tightens his mouth in a narrow line and pulls you in. More to cover you from the cold than to soak you and he raises his palm until it levels with your shoulder blade before he spanks you. The slapping noise vibrates through the canopy of the trees and he likes to think the weeping willow in his peripheral vision trembled at the reverberations. 

“That’s for me catching you.” 

Another spank. On the other cheek. Just as hard. 

“That’s for the way you pushed me into the water.” You don’t make a sound, only tiny little breaths spill out of your mouth as your big eyes ogle his dripping face. Taking it so well that his cock, achefully, hardens even more. “All this fucking forest all around and you decided to get on here, on this dock. Push me in.” A spank. “In the freezing.” Another one. “Fucking water.” Another. 

You moan, swaying on your feet and he straightens you, grabs your wrist and wraps it around the nape of his neck. 

“And this.” Jungkook licks his fingers, sneaks them between your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing it rapidly. “This is for the way you enjoy it. Enjoy being spanked. Being punished. Enjoy being a bad little sweetheart.” 

You moan, a wrinkle between your brows, and your legs begin to quiver, your orgasm fast approaching. And the fire in him, created by your playfulness and his own words, he becomes it. Like you’re the personification of light, he’s the flames that keep it warm. An oxymoron most profound, most perfect, unseen by the world. 

He rips your orgasm away. Spanks you. Kneads your ass. You whine so terribly that it beckons his pity. Enough for him to creep his thigh in between yours, grasp your hips and make you ride it. 

“You wanted me wet, so get off on it,” he orders, unlatching his hands, taking off the tank top and fisting your hair, trusting you to hump him well enough on your own. “I know you like it cold, so grind that pussy on my thigh. And don’t stop until you come.”

It’s fast, the way you move your hips and bring yourself to the absorption of your climax. You look at him the whole way through and Jungkook nods with his bottom lip between his teeth, encouraging you to ride out the wave. 

“Good girl, coming so fast. Get on your knees.” 

He takes off his even more drenched pants. You wait for him with an open mouth and he senses the welcoming embrace of death. 

When he plunges his length into that salivating hole, it’s his fire that he feeds you. Despite the coldness, pearls of sweat adorn your forehead and Jungkook grips your hair and fucks your mouth, not letting you be in control, uttering his guttural moans lowly. 

“That’s what you get, my love.” 

You swallow around him in response and his life flashes before his eyes. Pictures of you, pictures of this cabin dressed in all of the seasons and he halts his thrusts. Pushes your head, instead. Back and forth until he can’t fucking take it anymore. 

Your spit trickles down onto the wood. Tears line your vision. Hard, shiny cock in your face. He tells you what he thinks of the sight. 

“So beautiful. Look at how hard and wet you made it. You deserved every inch down in that pretty throat of yours.” 

It’s a start. Still has a demon on his own to conquer, one that sits around somewhere deep in his chest, where a string of his past relationship makes dents in his lungs. One that he doesn’t want to admit he still has. One that he’s learned to forget about. 

But he is changing his ways. For you. 

You moan and scratch your nails down his thighs, the fire forming into an animal in you. A feral, little thing that knows what it needs. And he’s going to give it to you, mind already working on the forgetting. 

“I love your cock. It’s all mine.” You mouth it, glide your puffy lips upon its length and despite the pleasure he gets from it, he pushes you away. 

Straddles your hips. Turns you onto your tummy. Knows the personal cock time was too brief for you, but he can’t risk having his orgasm like this. 

“Yes, my love, all yours. And I’m gonna fuck that brain out of your head with it.” 

You mewl. “Yes, please.” 

In contrary to your words, you try to crawl away when he sinks himself inside, your nails making pretty music on the wood. He brings you right back to him. Presses you down flat with his hand on your back. All while still inside of you. You sputter out your moans and, licking his thumb, he circles your other hole, making them grow in volume. 

“No, sweetheart. Don’t run from it. You can take it. Believe in yourself the way I believe in you.” 

The strokes he gives you are hard, engraving your rose tattoos made of hickeys onto the dock and he realizes that’s exactly what he wants. He desires to have everything he owns smell like you, look like you and carry remnants, memories and keepsakes of you for generations to come. And so he fucks you not only harder, but faster. 

Thinks your back is awfully bare and missing the rest of the marks. 

Jungkook bites onto the skin above your shoulder blade and you catch him off guard. 

“Jungkook, I’m gonna come like this.” 

He hums, fondly. How quickly your walls have gotten used to accommodating him. “Not yet, my love.” 

Swiveling you, he hooks your knees onto his shoulders, sinking back into you this way—sinking back home. 

And it begins to rain. 

Jungkook hears the touch of the droplets upon the surface of the pond first before the same ones pelt down his back. And the briskness that affects him, the conjunction of an autumn kissed by the last of summer—it drives him to crush his lips onto yours with such vigor that he hopes the autumn, at the sight of it, will be here to stay, in all its wholeness. No more triggers of the past seasons. Newness, only. Singularity. 

He doesn’t carry you away from the rain. No, he hides you with his own body. Takes every hit from the ruthless downpour for every lash across your heart, for every scar etched for all eternity on its flesh. Hands cradling your head, the broadness of his back a cover for the top half of your body and you keep him there with your hands gripping his hair, holding on for dear life. It stimulates him enough to fuck you just as hard, imprinting the lines of the wood onto your back. 

Not so bare anymore. 

You could never be an empty canvas. Not with him. 

Not when you care for him in the midst of the pleasure. 

“Jungkook, ah, you’re go-gonna catch a cold.” 

He kisses you for it, terribly touched. “But it feels so good.” A languid stroke, the squelching of your pussy; he rolls his eyes back, sucking in a breath. “Come for me and I’ll get you inside.” 

He picks up the pace, seizing your pleasure. But then you start moving your hips up and down and he feels you fill up every dent in his heart with each movement, each moan, each squeeze of your walls. And when you make yourself come on his cock, he considers himself strong enough to tell you all about it later. 

Carrying you inside while hiding your head from the rain in the crook of his neck, he takes you up to his room and sets you down like the princess you are underneath the ivory canopy above his bed. Senses your irises digging little pursed pecks into his back as he rummages in his dresser, fishing out a pink bottle of lube and a dildo. Smaller than his length, but almost the same as his girth. Skin-like. With balls attached. 

He’s smirking as he swivels, joy evident on his face. He’s eager to watch you ride it and your two lighthouses for eyes divulge to him just as how excited you are yourself. 

You spread your feet for him once he’s an inch away from you, smiling from ear to ear. “Fuck me with it,” you purr, wrapping your legs around his torso. 

Even the most solemn man in the world wouldn’t be able to not grin at this moment. Too bad he wouldn’t let him near you. His heart pounds, aches to say no to you, but he simply wants to watch you ride it. 

“No, sweetheart. I want to watch.” 

You frown. “But you haven’t cummed yet.” 

He caresses your small pout and you kiss his thumb. His smile widens. “That’s okay.” He might be throbbing, but watching you bounce on a silicone dick will bring him a great deal of pleasure, nonetheless. 

“Then, touch yourself for me.” 

He hums, his heart lodged in his throat. The turning of tables must be in the script to this movie that he considers his life shared with you. And he likes it more than he’s able to comprehend amidst his intense arousal. 

“You have to ride it well, then.” 

You suck on his thumb momentarily, a smirk quirking your lips. “I’ll do my best.” 

“I know you will.” 

Pecking you shortly, he squirts a ton of lube on the dildo and all around your princess parts, rubbing your clit to tease you. The gasp you let out causes him to laugh softly in endearment and then…

Then, he leaves you to it. 

Sitting back in his rocking chair, he fists his cock, the leftover lube making a squeaky sound on his skin. You get on your knees, line yourself up and Jungkook tugs down his foreskin for you, allowing you to see the drops of his male essence oozing out. It turns you on to the point that you moan and bite your lip, sinking down on the toy and he’s breathless. 

“Fuck, it’s not as big as you,” you whine, sitting down on it, fully, maintaining eye contact with him. His heart thuds in harsh staccatos. “I barely feel anything.” 

A sly remark about your ex-boyfriend’s length is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. Doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He’s not a constant presence. Not anymore. So why bring him back? 

And what’s more, you’re lying. Because when you begin to bounce, tentatively, your eyes whisk back and you pinch your nipples, the squelching sound of your pretty little pussy driving him to fuck his fist just once. He knows if he keeps going, he might miss the whole experience, plagued by the shadow of his pleasure. He palms his balls instead, his cock protruding from the crook between his fingers and his thumb. Still wet from you. 

“Harder,” he commands, squeezing his balls when you listen and he hisses, fights with all his strength not to flutter his eyes closed like his body is begging him to. He can’t miss this. It’s too good to miss. He bites down on his lip. 

“Jerk off that cock, please,” you plead, your breasts bouncing and he bites down harder, the fire in him burning off his skin. “It doesn’t feel as good when you don’t.” 

He swears and begins to move his hand, gliding up and down, pressure hard. “Are you imagining it’s me?” 

“Yes, oh my God. I’m riding you and it feels so fucking good, Jungkook.” 

He moans, focusing on his sensitive head. Tips his chin up. Doesn’t break the eye contact. “Good girl. You’re doing so well.” 

The praise gets to you and your fingers sneak to your clit, rubbing fast little circles—and just like that he nears to the edge. Whimpering for you, he fucks his cock harder. Hot flashes surround your flushed face and you mimic his sounds. 

That’s his very fucking undoing. 

Getting on his feet, he paints your breasts and tummy white and you begin to shudder, his orgasm coaxing yours. You pinch your little hard nubs—and it’s almost like you’re milking him dry, spurts after spurts making new tattoos on your torso, white roses to mingle with your red and purplish ones. 

And his woozy brain can’t help but to look forward to see them fade to yellow. 

He kisses you so hard that he doesn’t feel you breathe and when he pulls away, he collects his cum and feeds it to you. Can’t have it go to waste when he knows what he’s planning for you. 

“That was so good,” he whispers, sealing such an intimate moment with another ravenous kiss. 

He doesn’t let you respond—he pins you back. Ass up, face down. Squirts lube all over that deliciousness and when he glances over at the ruined dildo, he whistles. Pearls after pearls of your girlish essence trickle down the length and he shows it to you. Hard all over again. 

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he praises and your eyes widen in that familiar way he likes, mouth parting, blush deepening. “Stick out your tongue.” You listen, so fucking well, and he plunges the silicone tip inside your mouth, circling it around that willing muscle. “That’s it, lick it up, sweetheart.” 

You look up at him as you do it, making smacking sounds, so terribly fucked out. Jungkook has to grip your hair in order to hold on to the last of his composure, and when you begin to suck on it—he can’t take it anymore. 

He fucks you with it. Fucks you into the mattress. Punishing you for the things you do to him, for the fire that grows hotter and hotter in his veins. And he loves you, dearly, with the entirety of his being, that his fingers cannot physically stay away from your little sopping clit. 

Neither can they when you come and gush out your arousal. Neither can they when he switches the dildo with his cock, raises you in the air and fucks you so hard, whispering little praises and sweet little nothings—“I’m getting you used to taking it from behind, my love. You’re doing so good. You’re so beautiful. So damn pretty.”—that you and he both, completely and wholly, fall apart when you come together. 

He loves you dearly enough that he can’t stop falling apart even in the shower. 

He tells you of the demon living in his chest. 

“When we’re together, I feel you healing me. I feel you giving me chances to live on with my life, do the things I’m scared of or wary of. Like today, when you didn’t believe me when I’d told you you were beautiful. I felt that fear I had in me for years, but saying it to you made it seem like nothing. There used to be a girl I was in love with. Whenever I would tell her things like this, she’d scrunch up her nose. It wasn’t enough for her. Her pride was too big for my words. I kept giving and giving and it was never enough. But when I give to you, you take it and you live with it and I can see it on you. I can see you wear it proudly. I can even see it now. And it’s so beautiful. So healing.” 

You kissed his scars. Kissed his hands. His neck. Washed him clean. Hugged him under the hot downpour of the shower. Reminded him of the way he healed you. Told him all the small details he never knew—and it only proved his words, tightened his love for you. 

He knows from this moment on that you will be the mother of his children. He’s not letting you go. Not until the day he dies. 

And the first shower he shared with you… Jungkook sketched it down that very night as you and him sipped on wine, listening to music. And he brimmed with the longing to bring it onto a canvas. Splatter it with colors. Purples and reds, with tiny hints of yellow that are about to appear on your body. 

And he will. Hang it up in this very cabin. The eternal keepsake of the movie that his life has become. 

It has been several months of living this cinematic life with you. Weekends spent at the cabin, the weekdays spent separately, save for the regular dates. Dinners, trips, sight-seeing. A slow life filled with brand new art supplies, a pile of sketchbooks adorning the walls of his bedrooms. Both at his own apartment and the cabin. And another adornment has come to live with you and him, one of life-long permanency. 

He sealed your exclusive relationship with a matching tattoo. 

“Sweet” lines your left rib whereas “Heart” lines his—right above the mole you’ve come to love so much. Red ink, an illusion to your red roses, the dress you’ve worn for him on several occasions. Visiting him out of the blue in the middle of the week with black lingerie underneath and a trench coat to cover you up. Mindlessly at the cabin one weekend when drinking wine, smoking together on the balcony, listening to the whispers of the willow tree. And once on the last warm day of autumn, during which he paid you back for the way you had pushed him into the water of the pond. Just like he’d done the first time, he tossed you in, joining you right after, fucking you in the dress. He had eternalized it that very night, sitting by an easel. Paintings of you, some of both you and him, hang on the walls of the cabin. In the living room, in the bedroom. Everywhere one looks, one finds the scenes of your movie—and it brings him joy unlike any other. 

Yoongi… he hadn’t called you since that fateful day. You’d made the arrangements to see him after a month or so. Found out he was seeing a therapist. 

Quite literally. 

He’s banging his male therapist.

The information enveloped you in a dimmed glow. You were shocked, first and foremost, because you had no idea Yoongi liked men. Jungkook did, so it wasn’t a surprise to him—what was more of a groundbreaking surprise to him was the fact you didn’t know. That he never cared to tell you. 

And he never pushed it aside. As a matter of fact, he told him off about it the first time he saw him after everything. 

Yoongi cared very little because he considered the chapter finished. A similar light swathed him tautly, one he’d never seen on him, and Jungkook agreed. The chapter is finished. No need to get all hot again. 

Yoongi forgave him. Found love. Found healing. But he didn’t maintain his relations with you. Neither did he with Jungkook.

And while it hurt for a little while, Jungkook figured that maybe it was meant to be like this all along. 

He and you. A singularity. 

The nonexistent gap between the word sweetheart. 

No third party. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[outlawyunho]

Pretty - Shota Aizawa

word count - 3K synopsis - shota aizawa would do anything for you, even if it meant going past his comfort zone. warnings - she/her reader, drunk! reader, aizawa is the king of consent lets be real, coercion, reader is a horny mess but so is aizawa, aizawa is S-O-F-T for reader lemme tell you, some kissing, grinding, heavy petting (maybe?), dub-con if you squint, idk this was entirely self indulgent im not gonna lie to you minors do not interact

It's not like this was the first time he'd seen you utterly shit-faced. No, not in the slightest. He's known you for years, since high school when he was just a floppy haired emo boy and you were a goddess that decided three dorks were her best friends. He's seen you drunk countless times over the years, thanks to Mic and his ability to make you forget you are a grown up. A Pro-Hero at that. But you were too persuaded by your friends' efforts to have a good time. Shot after shot after shot- Aizawa lost count after the fifth double shot that you pounded back, giggling with Mic as Aizawa watched you wipe the liquor that was trailing down your chin.  He should have known right then he was in for a hell of a night.

"Okay, just..shit.. okay.." He's struggling, he really is, between your limp body held to his chest by his strong arm that's wrapped around your waist and the effort it took to get you here, in his apartment, he's more than happy to tuck you to sleep in his bed and call it a night on the couch. Expect you're not only drunk, you're high. High off some dank smelling stuff Midnight pulled out of her purse while you were all waiting for the cab. Aizawa loves his friends but sometimes he loathes them so completely it drives him mad. Face pinched tight, the tips of his ears blushed a deep crimson. That's how he looked standing beside you outside the bar as you swayed and laughed as you hit the thick blunt Mic passed you. 

He drops you as carefully as he can onto his large couch, winded and tired as he tosses his keys on the coffee table and loosens his tie. You lay there giggling to yourself as you stare up at him, your eyes redder than his at this point. His hair is tucked back in a loose attempt at a half up bun, the strands that normally lay over his eyes tucked neatly behind his ears, and his face is clean shaven and flushed from lugging your nearly limp body up the stairs.

"You're so pretty." You coo and fuck if it doesn't make his stomach flip- but you're drunk. Completely wasted in fact and he knew it when you had told Mic before the two of you had left that you thought he was an amazing singer. Aizawa knows for a fact that's a lie. 

"Yeah, yeah. You're so fucking gone. How does your body even handle that much alcohol?" His voice is gruff but there's a fondness in it. Because of course there is. He loves you. Has loved you since said emo days. It's never stopped, never ceased in the slightest. Why else would he deal with your excessively drunk ass? 

You stretch, either completely ignoring or just not hearing his words, stretch nice and big with your arms thrown over you head and your back arched sharply. A hollow moan rumbles out of your mouth and through his apartment and his eyes flicker to the velvet skirt of your dress that has fallen so dangerously close to exposing you. Aizawa looks at the ceiling, jaw clenching, fist balled up in the pockets of his black slacks. 

"So pretty.." Your voice is far off, a gentle murmur to yourself as you keep staring at him like he put the stars in the night sky. 

"Don't be ridiculous." He says about your comment because.. yeah, you're definitely beyond drunk right now. "You need to sleep this off, gonna feel like shit tomorrow."

It's like you dont even fucking hear him. 

"Mm, but I mean it. Think about you so much." You smooth your bare foot down his slack covered thigh, your mouth parted and pretty as you say, "So pretty and kind and strong, drive me crazy, Sho." 

Aizawa can't fucking breathe. Heart pounding in his chest as he looks down at the sight of you, looking so fucked out but he hasn't even touched you. No, this was all your own doing. 

No. This was the alcohol. The weed. You didn't mean it, you were just fucked up. 

"Angel." His voice is a warning and fuck if he can't see the way it makes your whole body shiver. Oh, this isn't good. "You are way too drunk and I am way too sober to have this conversation right now."

"I'm not that drunk!" Expect it's all slurred words and mashed teeth and if you weren't looking at him like you might consume his soul he might have laughed at that. "Don't you want me, Shota?" 

God, his face is burning, dick twitching in his slacks and it washes deep shame through his body. He feels like he's fucking short circuiting, his resolve wobbling like your bottom lip as you look up at him with your most appealing doe eyes. 

"How about, uh, I.. I make you something to eat and then you can sleep this off?" His voice is held together by a wavering thread, words filling his dry mouth as fast as he can form them. He can't do this right now. He needs you to carry your ass to sleep so he can go take care of the massive problem you've brought to life in his pants. 

You sit up, teetering only slightly as you lean you head against the back of the couch and groan, rubbing your thighs together and fuck, Aizawa is doing everything he can to not think about that. You're so….needy. 

"I don't wanna eat, I want you." You peer up at him, and he knows what you're about to do before you even do it. What's worse? He knows he's gonna fucking fall for it. Like he always does. "I guess you don't want me though.." 

Your voice is pathetic, breathy and wounded, and your face is so downtrodden, that frown so deep it sends a pain through Aizawa's heart like a dagger. 

He sits on the couch quickly, locking his gaze on your watery eyes. Fuck, you were actually crying about this. Aizawa wants to die when his dick twitches at the sight of a lone tear tracking down the pretty apple of your cheek. You do things to him, things that no one else is able to do and the worst part is you don't even have to try.

"I didn't say I didn't want you." He says cautiously, thumb wiping the tears away as you turn to him with that fucking pout that never fails to work on him. 

You lean into the warmth of his hand, your own fingers coming to wrap tight around his wrist to keep him there. 

"But.. you keep saying no." You pout and he wants to kiss it off your face. 

"No. I'm saying you're drunk and I'm not gonna take advantage of my best friend because she's drunk. That's not me." His voice is stern. Resolute. But then your mouth parts and the tip of your pretty pink tongue swipes over the tip of his thumb and he almost loses his shit right then and there. 

"You're not taking advantage of me if I want it." You say so coyly and Aizawa snatches his hand back, points an accusing finger at your wicked smiling face. 

"You can't want it if you're drunk, Angel. Stop fighting me on it. The answer is no." He's steady and authoritative on the outside but on the inside his heart is pounding, cock aching within its confines. All Aizawa can really think is "What the fuck is going on?" He'd never seen you act like this before. 

"Okay." You sigh sadly, voice small. You seem to curl in on yourself as you sit next to him but then your head pops up and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end when you press him with the most innocent look. If he didn't know you, he might have fallen for it, but he does know you. Knows that you're a manipulative little shit when you wanted to be, especially when it's to get him to do something he doesn't wanna do. 

"What about.." You start and he's about to cut you off before you can even say whatever ridiculous shit you've managed to think of in the messy state you're in, but he's not quick enough. "Just one little kiss, please Shota?" 

"No, absolutely not." But his stomach does this stupid little flip just at the thought and he can't not look down at your lips. You catch him, eyes glinting as you scoot a little closer. You may be a Pro-Hero but you are a fucking evil women. Sinful in a way that Aizawa isn't sure he can stay away from, no matter his moral compass. 

"Just one itty bitty kiss and I'll go to bed like a good girl, I promise, Sho." You look so good saying it, and sound even better. But Shota Aizawa is not a fool and Shota Aizawa has known you far too long to let something so hormonal ruin one of his most treasured friendships, even if he did want you so badly it was tearing him up inside. 

You shuffle closer, right hand coming down softly on his thigh and his whole body freezes. His eyes slant as he looks over to you. 

"I said-" 

"You won't be doing anything wrong, Shota. I know you'd never take advantage of me." You lean in, ghost you breath across his neck and Aizawa seriously can't fucking breathe. "You're the best friend a girl could ask for, Sho, I know you'd never hurt me " 

Your voice is honey dipped venom and Aizawa's chest seizes when your thumb starts stroking a soft line up and down his thigh. 

No, no, no, no, no. Fuccckk.

Your lips look so soft, bitten and shiny with your spit and so close. He imagines you taste like whiskey and cherries and the spearmint chapstick you made him put in his pocket so you didn't lose it. 

"I…I.." 

"I promise I'll be so good, just for you." 

"Only one." He says and….wait what the fuck did he say? His brain has betrayed him, or maybe it was his dick, doesn't matter when there isn't anytime to process what the fuck he's just agreed to. 

You're pressing your lips to his as his mind flounders, your nails digging into the meat of his thigh as you taste him for the first time after all these years. 

You moan so loud and lewdly, it ricochets around his living room, and his head, and his heart. The sound sends a shiver down both of your spines. You taste just like he thought you would, plush lips pushed against his own. The kiss wasn't anything special but because it was you it was the hottest kiss Aizawa has ever had. 

Only one. Only one. Only one. 

No, he can't, he has to stop this. You taste too sweet, the little moans and whines escaping your throat are doing too much for him. He wants to hear more. Needs to hear more; but not like this. Not when you're drunk. He'd be a horrible friend, a horrible person, if he let this continue. So he pulls away, leaning back, eyes fluttering open, mouth beginning to speak.

He can't get a single fucking thing out when your pushing back towards him, your hands grabbing his face to hold him still. It's him that moans this time, a shocked gaspy moan that you swallow without a second thought. You toss your leg over his lap, grind yourself down against the hard line of his cock beneath his pants. 

This kiss was miles away from the other. Teeth biting against his bottom lip, your tongue licking into his mouth, your hands ruining the bun he had his hair in as you yank the black tie out. And your hips, they won't stop grinding against him, it's so hot but so wrong and that stomach bubbling shame makes its appearance again. He braces his hands on your hips trying, in vain, to stall you but you only work faster. Rutting and whining and whispering his name. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

He separates your mouths, bites at his lip when you settle for licking a fat stripe up his neck, sucking just below his ear.

"We can't, we gotta stop." He doesn't know how he manages to get the words out and somehow he's unsure if they even came from him. He's never sounded like this before. What the hell are you doing to him? 

You pin his hands against the back of the couch, something that felt so strange considering he could have you wrapped up in his scarf in barely a second. Except, he doesn't have the scarf at this moment and you've driven his willpower straight into the mud. 

"I'm so sorry, Shota." You whisper into his ear, licking at his ear lobe. "I'm sorry, I just need you so bad."

In that second, with your mouth and hips dizzying his brain, he finally realizes something. 

He wasn't taking advantage of you, you were taking advantage of him. 

The realization hits him so hard he gasps; or maybe that was because you picked that moment to swivel your hips just so that he could feel the way your lips parted under your lace panties and slotted over him. Even through the layers he could feel that wet hot heat. 

"Gotta stop." Was he even trying? "Angel, we have to stop. We g-gotta go to sleep before this gets out of hand." He tries once again to push you away but you only shake your head and clinge tighter, fingers lost in his hair as you chase the release that's been slowly building in your stomach. 

"No." You grit out between this little gasp that has his hands clenching in the skirt of your dress. He doesn't move them, they just sit there gripping the fabric as he thinks about how much of a pathetic weak man he is for letting you trick him like this. "Don't wanna sleep, want you to fill me up. Wanna feel you deep inside me, Shota." You punctate his name with a high pitched whine and that's it, that's all it takes. 

That wavering thread, his moral compass? Gone just from the way you say his name. 

He lunges at you, wraps his hand around the column of your throat and for the first time since you jumped him your hips finally still. 

"You are such a fucking brat." Aizawa growls, squeezing your throat just tight enough to make your head fuzzy. You wanted to play dirty? Fine. He could be dirty too.

He reaches his hand behind you to blindly drag the zipper on the back of your dress down, snatching the front off your shoulders and down your arms. He pulls it down until your bare chest is exposed to him, nipples pebbled in the cool air of his apartment, let's the dress settle around you waist before he's balling his fist in the material and using it to drag your hips against his. 

"Fuckk." He groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. You whimper as you watch him use you now, all that confidence and control gone as you tremble with every grind and rut. He's pushing his hips up into you now, no longer holding back, and the feeling is mind-blowing.

"Shota.." You begin to whisper but he's quickly silencing you with his lips, hungry and searching, as they attack your own. 

"Fucking evil women." He smacks the supple skin of your ass, hard. So hard it has you falling into his chest, burying your nose into his neck. Aizawa grabs the back of your neck with his big hand, presses hard enough that you know that's your place now. You were no longer running the show. 

"Drunk off your fucking ass," he bites out before actually biting into the skin of you shoulder. You whine pathetically, suddenly embarrassed of the sound of your wet soppy cunt humping against his nice trousers. "Can't take no for a fucking answer. Thought you were gonna be a good girl, Angel? What happened to that?" 

You can't speak, your body quivering as you orgasm approaches, a hot white heat that tingles from your head to your toes. You manage to grit out a weak "I'm sorry, Sho.", but it's just about as pathetic as you feel right now. 

"So fuckin' impatient. Why couldn't you have waited till tomorrow?" He grits out, his head spinning. He wouldn't fuck you tonight, that's too far. He knows despite this little performance you've put on that you are in fact still inebriated and he'd never forgive himself if he did something that sober you wouldn't have wanted. But this? If you want to get off so badly, he'll make it happen. 

Because you should know by now- Shota Aizawa would do anything for you. 

"Please." You whimper out even though you're not really sure what you're asking for. But that doesn't matter, because Aizawa knows.

He slips his hand down between the two of you, thumb finding your clit pressed roughly against the wet lace of your panties. He rubs tight, teasing circles over your sensitive nub, kissing and sucking at the soft skin of your chest as he peers up at your pleasure stricken face. You look so beautiful like this, it's addicting, something he's dreamed about for years. To finally experience it though? It was unlike anything he'd imagined, especially when your eyes clamp shut, nails digging into his shoulder as you cum- hard.

"Fuck, Shota!" You gasp around a steady chant of yes yes yes's. "I love you, oh my god, I love you so much, Sho." 

You collapse into his chest, body trembling and jerking every now and then from the small aftershocks that rush through you. He rubs your back as you catch your breath, his lips pressing the sweetest most adoring kisses to your forehead.

"I mean it." You say, breathing heavily through your nose and Shota hums in response as he looks down at where you're cradled to his chest.

"Mean what?" He asks and his breath is ragged, rough sounding. You huff a bit as you adjust your weight in his lap. 

"I'm not that drunk…and that you're pretty…and that..I love you." Your voice is so shy now, so unsure, such a stark comparison from the girl that jumped him only fifteen minutes ago. 

Aizawa feels the heat that rushes to his cheeks, the heavy thud of his heart. He loves you more than you can ever know and hearing you finally say it back, especially while you were grinding against him, was enough to make him cum in his pants.

Which he did. Like a fucking high school kid. It was honestly kinda ridiculous the way you molded him however you wanted to, how he let you do it. He couldn't imagine letting anyone see him the way he allows you to. Only you.

Always you.

"Can we go to sleep now, Angel?" He asks into your temple and you answer with a yawn and a nod, sleepy eyes fluttering shut. 

[acidsoju]

IN THE DARK

genre: smut, non idol au, (there's barely plot) pairing: roommate! beomgyu! roommate! reader warnings: oral (m. and f. receiving), unprotected sex (dont!), unedited so probably bad writing word count: 3.8.k summary: when the lights go out, beomgyu goes to you, his pretty roommate, for comfort.

“AH, WHAT THE FUCK!”

If you had to be honest, you don’t know just what scared you more; if the so sudden power outage that left you completely in the darkness of your room or if the incredibly loud scream your roommate let out just a second after.

You scoffed under your breath when you heard, just a few seconds after his scream, the loud thumbs of his hurried steps down the hall getting nearer and nearer. The door of your room crashed open and you could notice, thanks to the moonlight coming from your window, the silhouette of the tall boy leaning against your door frame.

“Hey, are you okay? I just heard you screaming” he asked trying to hide the fear in his voice.

You rolled your eyes and reached out your hand to grab your phone placed on your nightstand, grimacing when you read the 4% of battery it had left. You put it back down and looked again at the boy. Beomgyu blinked, trying to adjust his sight at the darkness of your room while trying not to rush inside and hide under your bed at the creeping darkness on his back, the hairs of his neck bristling. It made him so nervous.

“Does your phone have battery?” you asked, lazily getting up from your bed. Beomgyu felt a sense of relief washing over him after hearing your voice; at least he wasn’t alone to die in the dark.

“Barely” he answered looking down at the screen on his phone. He heard you sigh and walked closer to him, stopping just a few inches before your feet touched his, both of your tilting your heads to look at each other’s eyes. “W-what?”

“I’ll see if we have some candles left” you answered softy, pointing with your finger at the boy blocking your way out. “Need to get through the door first, silly” Beomgyu’s mouth formed a small ‘o’, nodding softly before he decided to speak again.

“M’coming too” he mumbled, taking a step in your room for you to walk out first into the hall. You sighed a chuckle and made your way to the kitchen, touching the wall to guide you. Behind you, the floor creaked as the boy followed you closely― like, really close; enough for you to feel his breath fanning over the back of your neck.

You both made your ways into the kitchen; a soft grunt came from you as you stumbled into the corner of the counter, stopping abruptly while you rubbed the spot in your stomach where it hurted. Beomgyu’s body softly crashed against yours and his hands quickly found your waist, trying to stabilize himself and keeping you close. Your eyes widened and you thanked whoever up there that there was no light in the room for the boy to see your expression, because you would have surely get teased at.

“What is it?” he asked, his head tilting over your shoulder even thought he wouldn't be able to look at you. You gulped as his breath hit your cheek. His cold hands on your skin making you tense for a second before you rested your own hands over his, squeezing softly. You mumbled a short nothing before keep on walking, tugging at the boy for him to move too, which he made trying not to step on your toes, his hold in your waist never letting go.

Your hands let go of his and reached to the cupboard until your fingers brushed what it felt like the candles package, taking out one from it. You grabbed the lighter on the counter and turned around on your spot before lighting one, a small smile on your lips as it lightened a little. You felt the hands on your waist tightening and you looked up at Beomgyu, whose eyes were already looking into yours.

“You feel better?” you asked him searching for any sight of fear in his eyes. After a year living with the boy, since your mutual friend Kai introduced you to the boy who was looking for a roommate while you searched for a place to live, you had learnt a few things about him; like the kind of music he liked listening to, or how loud he could get sometimes -especially when he played his games online-, or how he was a very sweet but a very clumsy person too, or how scared he was of the dark.

You still remember that time you learnt about his fear; you weren’t home when the outrage happened and it had already come back when you got back home; you found him hugging himself on the couch, his eyes red from crying and the tired look on his eyes, all of him covered in cold sweat.

“… I can light another candle if you want” you spoke again after a few seconds of no answer from the boy. His lips curled into a small smile before he shook his head, eyes flicking to the fire in between you two.

“This much is fine, just…” he gulped, taking a small step back and tugging you with him from the hold in your waist. “Just stay with me, please.”

You allowed him to pull you into his room, pushing the door close behind you. You looked down at Beomgyu while he took a sit down on the edge of his bed, his hands never leaving your waist, as he looked up through his long eyelashes at you. You felt your face heating up and had to clear your throat as you took a step to the side and sat down on the spot next to him, his hands finally letting go of you reluctantly.

“Wanna try and get some sleep? I can stay here until you do” you said to him but Beomgyu shook his head, shifting in the bed to look at you. You couldn’t help but to let out a soft, awkward laugh at the weight of his gaze on you and looking away from him, your eyes landed on the guitar resting behind him on his bed. “Oh, were you playing before? How’s your music coming?”

Beomgyu looked over his shoulder to his instrument. “I actually was polishing a new song before the light went off… Let me play it for y― I mean, do you wanna heart it?” you nodded excitedly and Beomgyu chuckled softly before grabbing his guitar and placing it over his lap, his fingers caressing the strings and beautiful melodies coming from it.

Was it because you were immersed in the dark or was his voice always this deep? You blinked a little surprised; maybe the fact that you got to live with his screaming-ass 24/7 had made you forget about his actual very pretty and calm voice. You hummed in delight and closed your eyes, enjoying the music and the warm that irradiated from the candle.

Beomgyu cleared his throat after his song ended, looking at you while your eyes were closed. He put down his guitar against the wall and moved just a little closer to you, the sudden shift making you open your eyes to look at him.

“You have a really beautiful voice, I liked it” you whispered, suddenly feeling so tiny under his piercing gaze; his brown eyes shone with the fire reflected on them. Beomgyu leaned in closer to you, his hand resting over the one you were holding the candle with, and his long fingers brushing the line of yours. Little strands of his hair fell over his eyes and brushed against your forehead, making you ticklish and moving your head back unconsciously; he followed you, inching closer and closer until his hot breath hit against your cheek; dry yet plump lips brushing against your skin.

Your breath got caught up in your throat and you swear your hand would’ve shake if Beomgyu wouldn’t have been holding it with his own big hand.

“Wait…” you whispered, your eyes flickering to look at his when his free hand went to cup your face and softly guided you to look up at him. “The candle… you’re gonna get burned-

Your words died as Beomgyu blew the candles out; darkness engulfing you again, senses sharpening and soft lips connecting to yours in a second. Oh, he was sweet. Your eyes furrowed as you closed your eyes and a long sigh scaped through your nose, the extinguished candles in your hands fell and you didn’t care to look where before your hands grabbed each side of the boy’s face, deepening the kiss.

Beomgyu’s heart beat loudly against his chest; was it his fear of the dark or was it you? He didn’t care to stop to think as his hands pressed against the mattress on your back, leaning in until you fell on your back with him towering over you. Your hands were so soft, not like his all calloused. He liked the way they caressed his cheeks before sliding to the back of his neck, massaging his sculp and playing with his soft, long hair.

A quiet gasp came from your lips when a pair of hands firmly grabbed your waist, skin against skin as your shirt had rolled up a little. Beomgyu’s soft lips nibbled down at your bottom lip and pulled, brushing his tongue against it before sliding it into your mouth, caressing your own tongue with his. You felt the way his legs shifted and how he straddled your lap, each knee at each side of your hips.

“God, so soft…” mumbled the boy, pulling away from your mouth only to stick immediately to the skin on your jaw, then your neck and collarbones, leaving a trail of wet kisses and nibbling at your skin occasionally. You sighed; it felt good― the way his mouth moved experimentally on your skin earning each soft sound from you. Beomgyu enjoyed the little sighs you let out, but he wanted to ear you more.

His hands slowly made their way up, calloused fingerprints brushing up from your stomach to your ribs and stopping just a second at the line of your breasts, as if waiting for you to say something, which you didn’t. At the same pace, his mouth left a soft kiss in the middle of your chest that moved up and down swiftly. His nose buried in your breasts, sniffing and groaning low at the softness and warmth of the spot.

His hands slid under your bra; your back arching when his thumps rubbed against your nipples until they were erect to pull them; a whine came out of you and Beomgyu grinned against your skin, nibbling at your skin before he swiftly took your bra out. His mouth -warm, hot- went over one of your breasts, his tongue moving again and again at your nipple, sucking and biting softly while one of his hands took care of the other breast.

“O-oh-“ you whispered a groan, feeling your skin crawling at the contrast of the air hitting your bare skin and the warm from Beomgyu’s mouth. He moved to the other breast, repeating his actions; kissing, licking, sucking, biting, smirking at your precious sounds, groaning at the pulls from his hair.

“Does this feel good?” he asked, his nose brushing at your chest while his tongue stuck out and lick down until he reached your abdomen, his hands immediately covering your wet breasts when his mouth was off them. He tried looking up at you from a response, but he couldn’t see anything; unlike your room where the dim light from the moon came, his had most of the time his curtains closed. “Mhm?” his nose pressed against your pelvis, the vibrations from his voice making you squirm under him. “Do you want me to stop? Just say yes and I’m off of you.”

Truth was, you didn’t want him to stop. This was such an unfamiliar side of the Beomgyu you knew and it intrigued you, but mostly you were already too horny to want to stop him. You wanted him.

“… Gyu, touch me more” you whispered, almost inaudible but it reached the boy’s ears perfectly. His hands abandoned your breasts and his fingers slid under your sweatpants’ waistline, pulling them down and off of you. His hands grabbed your hips and scooted you closer to him, now laying down on his stomach. His nose brushed against your pelvis again before it trailed down soon reaching your aching clit; you flinched when his nose rubbed against it, your mouth gaping open as he repeated the movement again and again and again, soft whimpers reaching his ears. “No- No teasing.”

“Aw, but you sound so pretty when I do” he smirked before pressing his darted open lips against your covered core; a soft groan erupting from his throat as his senses swamped in the essence of you, already soaking wet the thin cloth of your panties. He hummed against you, biting back the smile on his lips when your back arched at the vibrations. “Smells s’good in here.”

His nose rubbed against your clit a little more while one of his hands trailed down from your hip to your thigh, caressing your skin ­-fuck, so soft- until his fingers brushed against your wet entrance. He moved aside your panties, barely pulling his face away from you until you were exposed for him. His lips bumped against your wet folds and a moan from you had him smiling against your warm pussy, while your hands went down to hold onto the man’s hair.

“O-oh, Gyu- that- ah, that feels good" your breath itched as his tongue stuck out of his mouth and gave you a long lick from the base of your entrance until your clit. A moan scaped from you. Beomgyu repeated the same action with his tongue one, two, three- a lot of times until he had you trying to close your knees around his face and whining underneath him, squirming while trying to get more friction of his mouth against you. “C’mon, don’t be mean.”

Beomgyu chuckled; firm hands now grabbing the inside of your thighs and spreading them apart before swamping into you again, this time fastening the pace of his tongue, lewd sounds of slurping and wet kisses reaching your ears even though most you could hear was your own noises. You hardened your hold in the boy’s pretty hair and bucked your hips up, trying to relieve your aching on his pretty mouth that, as soon as you started moving, had his tongue out for you to use as you pleased.

Beomgyu pressed his face closer to you, chin and nose drenching in your juices as you moved up and down; his tongue didn’t resist much still until he began matching your movements with it, up and down against you.

“Ah-fuck, Gyu, m’close”

“Cum then, angel,” Beomgyu huffed against you, his fingers grabbing your squirming legs down, probably leaving bruises mark on your skin but he couldn’t see. “fuck- you’re so hot, cum in my tongue, y/n, m’gonna take all of you.”

It didn’t take you long to reach your climax after Beomgyu’s tongue started fucking you in and out while he groaned against your entrance and you fucked his face with your pussy. You bit down your lip trying to muffle the sounds but still, moans and whimpers came from you as your juices covered the man’s tongue. Beomgyu gathered your juices on your tongue until he felt you were clean enough.

“You good?” he asked after a few seconds of silence where he only could hear your fast breaths. You gulped and nodded, remembering he couldn’t see you.

“Y-yeah, just… catching my breath” you answered, feeling your cheeks burn up and, even though you really couldn’t see him, you knew he had that stupid smirk of his on his face.

“Okay, take your time” and he did have a smirk on his face. Beomgyu sat down putting some space in between you two, the taste of you still lingering in his mouth. You pushed yourself up and palm the same in front of you, eyebrows narrowing when you didn’t find him. Crawling, you moved a little closer to where the bed sunk.

“Where are you?” you questioned, finally brushing his arm. Your hands found his face and you pulled him closer, clumsily placing your lips over his, your own taste invading your mouth. Beomgyu’s breath got caught up in his throat when your tongue pushed past his lips, moving around his mouth like you owned him. “It’s my turn now.”

“Mhm? Oh.” Realization fell upon him as your hands fell on his lap, stroking his boner over his sweatpants. You got up from the bed and kneeled on the floor, in the middle of his spread thighs. He bit his lip, head falling over his shoulder while your fingers pulled his pants down until they touched the floor. “You’re gonna make me feel good, right ang- aw, fuck-“

Beomgyu gulped down his own words when your hand grabbed his archin dick, after pulling down his boxer, and collected the wetness from the pre-cum of his tip, spreading it all along his length. Your free hand rested on his thigh, fingers pressing down on it for support while you moved your face closer to him. He felt so big in your hand; could he even fit in your mouth?

Beomgyu’s stomach tensed when your breath hit against his dick before you placed down a wet kiss on his tip, lips darting open and tongue poking out to brush against him, the saltness of his pre-cum invading your mouth. It was addicting. Soon you found yourself lowering your mouth to his base and giving a long, slow lick from there up until you reached his tip and then got him into your mouth, tongue swirling around his length.

You felt his body tensing up while you bobbed down your head, painfully slow for him, making sure your tongue reached everywhere possible. Beomgyu’s hands closed in fists against his mattress and he swirled his tongue on lips lip before trapping it down under his teeth, hissing at your pace. Were you taking revenge for his teasing? Oh, you were such a greedy little thing. Beomgyu smirked, lip still trapped under his teeth before a hand landed on top of your head.

“Mhm, that’s much better, angel,” he hummed after he had pushed your face down on his cock, feeling his tip reaching the back of your throat and you moaned against him; your eyes prickled with tears you had to blink to suppress. The hand on your scalp tug from the makeshift ponytail, making you moved up and down again, each time harder, on his dick. “Such a pretty mouth for me, making me feel this good, angel- fuck, you like that, no? Being used for me to cum, uh? You want that? Me cumming all over your pretty hot mouth? Better fucking fill your mouth with all my love.”

You whined; he sure talked a lot now that his mouth wasn’t occupied with something else. But in reality, his lewd words had you rubbing your thighs together and clenching around nothing. Beomgyu let go of the hold in your hair and leaned back, pressing both his hands against the mattress on his back as he let you take over. Fuck, he wished he could see you right now so prettily sucking him off while drool fell from your chin and you looked up at him with whose cute eyes of yours.

He bit down on his bottom lip, his head falling back while his abdomen twitched; a long, rasp groan erupted from his throat before he had his ropes of cum filling your mouth. He whined, feeling how you sucked all of his juices with your hot tongue, cleaning him just like he had cleaned you before.

His hand moved forward to hold your chin and his thump pressed against your lip before moving inside your mouth, your tongue quickly twirling around his fingerprint. Beomgyu hummed pleased. “You swallowed all of it? Good, angel, now come up here.”

You climbed up his lap after rolling down your panties and straddle him with his hand on your waist guiding you. You rested your hands on his shoulder as you lifted yourself up, feeling how he grabbed his dick and placed his tip against your entrance. His hot breath brushed against your cheek before he pushed you down onto his length, moans scaping from both of you as he filled you up.

“What the fuck, you’re so tight? Agh- god, you feel s’good, angel but you’re gonna make me cum in no time if you suck me up like that.”

Beomgyu found your lips in no time, crashing his against it and kissing you like a starved man, while you started pacing up on his cock, hearing the way his breath would flinch or the sweet moans against your mouth. His hands trailed down from your waist to your ass, grabbing and squeezing harsh. His mouth fell open when he felt the way you squeezed him inside.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? Fuck, okay-“ suddenly, he fell on his back and pulled you with him, you whined at the sudden crash but the sound quickly morphed into a moan as Beomgyu held your ass in his hands and started thrusting his hips faster from underneath you. His thrusts turning into ramping at the sweet sound of your moans against his ear, making his eyes roll to the back of his head. “You’re squeezing so hard, baby, are you gonna cum again? Do it, then.”

“Fu-fuck, Gyu, s’too much…”

“You can take it, though, you’re a big girl” he tilted his head and planted a kiss on your ear, before he started nibbling at your earlobe. Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape while your eyes rolled back, it was all so lewd; the noises from skin hitting against skin, the soft groans from his on your ear. Your breath hitched and you felt your release cover all of Beomgyu’ cock that continued his fast ramping inside you, wet sounds reaching your ears. “God, you came so much, y/n, so fucking much.”

You moan against the skin on his neck where you hided your face while he thrusted the last times into you before cumming as well. His hands caressed your ass before they were up again, hugging you closer to his chest that moved up and down while catching his breath. Beomgyu was still inside of you when he moved in his bed and laid comfortably, head resting on his pillow and you laying on top of him.

Soon, soft snores reached his ears and he chuckled silently, hands caressing your exposed back and hair. Just when he was about to fall asleep as well, with you in his arms, the light came back.

[jolalibrary]

iv. a date missed is a date lost

joel miller x f!reader | chapter four of honey stained hands

chapter summary: when you don't make it back from patrol, joel doesn't think for a second about not going to find you.

wordcount: 4.8k warnings: typical canon-angst/grief. angst. canon-level violence (desc of injuries and blood, but nothing insane). reader is a bad ass. injury/comfort — and from Joel. joel calls reader honey (because she bakes). mentions of brief smut. this pair are together but won't admit it. joel is pissed and we love him for it. talks of readers grief (you lose someone from before but not many deets) an: for those who waited, thank you. to those who have just stumbled here: hello, you don't need to take off your shoes.

In time, daylight begins its gradual retreat, casting shorter shadows and making flashlights more of a necessity in the nighttime.

The blankets of white persist, marking winter’s icy caress across rooftops, the ground and anything else it can layer itself against.

At one point, fairy lights go up and then come back down. Briefly twinkling like scattered stars before eventually returning to their storage—time ticking on, days seeping into weeks, then months.

There comes a moment when the snow falls heavier, then thins, only to fall again in abundance, dousing the world as far as Joel's eyes can see.

But, the biggest change Joel notices, is that he begins to dream a lot less of you. No longer a distant fantasy but a tangible presence beside him, a reality woven into the fabric of his days.

He doesn’t need to think you up, you’re already there. Curled against him—facing him—hand under your cheek as you breathe in and out, soft and measured. Like this, you don't appear as a threat to the world, but he knows when awake what you’re capable of.

Just like he knows, deep down, this isn’t just neighbourly friends or nightcaps on the porch—or better yet, occasional sex to pass the time. Even if it all began as such.

It may have started as a carnal need, a teeth-sinking, nail-digging desperation. All akin to a time when he was a teenager, both of you waiting for the door to click shut behind Ellie—as she heads to a friend’s house—before he’s on you, pulling a giggle, a soft shriek of his name before you’re scraping and stripping him until he’s hardening in your hand, mouth or against your thigh.

Lately, it’s soft brushes of thumbs, mouth grazing over exposed skin and whimpers of his name; now, it’s a look—a quiet retreat, slow mornings and lazy nights. Your fingers find purpose on his cheek, eyes seeking his as he buries himself deep, making your mouth part in an O—just as he always does.

Too good for me, Miller. You’re too sweet for me, honey.

A joke. A tease that should be getting old, but isn’t.

Then, your things found themselves with his—or his with yours.

A jumper on his floor, his shirt hung on the handle of your bedroom; his guitar relocating as he does, sometimes against his bedroom wall, and sometimes against yours.

It became morning walks to the pen as he left for patrol and him meeting you at the gate, each time a little different. There are evenings of him arriving home to find you there, cooking—Ellie next to you, nodding, listening to instruction; then there are those where he sits in solitude, counting seconds until he thinks he can invite himself over.

There was even a progression to how the two of you left the bar, when things began to mean more. At first, you had just walked next to him. The next you brushed your fingers against his and the third he found you leaning into him, following him, not even pretending to go home and choosing to follow him inside his.

Truthfully, he’s not sure there’s a reason the two of you live in different houses—even if they’re side by side. Pretending there’s no concrete explanation, even if it lingers in the back of his mind. It rears its head when the night creaks in, rotting in a corner of his mind, a thought he should ponder over, pluck strings to until it makes sense—until he rationalises whether he can do it. Love, that is.

He’s ‘changed’, according to Tommy. Although, he’s not sure what that means. It’ll add to the pile, one he has to sort through but never does. Content with it, the things that weigh him down, deep down knowing he’s worthy of it—because his hands are stained even if they don’t appear as such.

Then, you’ll do something. Hand him a tin of shortbread, a smile—all wicked, and unwilling to be read—spreading and spreading. “It’s not a gift—it means nothing.”

“Whatever y’tell yourself.”

And then he’s confused all over again.

Whether it’s possible, whether he’s earned it—deserving of another chance. A twinge of pain when he remembers long hair against his neck in Boston, and the way her hands were as blotted as his.

You’re not her, but you’re smudged in your own way. Made of something entirely different, yet born from a similar pain he can see. You rose from the marshes, bones hardened thanks to the branches—grew strong from the soil and dirt. You’re one with nature in a way that made him wonder if the wind talked to you.

A thing he admires, the same way he does about a lot of things.

He supposes it would be easier, and simpler.

Not just loving you but having you here. You and your fire that warms all it touches, your kind disposition that you pretend not to have, but it rolls from you in plenty.

Less traipsing from home to home, less of him misplacing his things amongst your counters and sitting in your kitchen as you bake, only to take the treats with him next door, his fingers inside yours.

And, even if two of you are unwilling to put a name to the thing they are. We’re adults, Joel. We don’t need that, do we? It wouldn’t be terrible—a thing he rather likes. But, he likes it more that you don’t feel the need for it. Because in an ocean of complexity, you’re the thing that makes sense—the one thing he understands.

Doesn’t need to turn over much except what’re you thinking, what ticks behind your glazed eyes and whether the seconds you linger at the red toolbox are shortening or if he’s just becoming used to it—

“Joel, is that—oh my fuck…”

Your hands grasp at the VHS in his hand—fingers turning it over, that line appearing on your forehead that tells him you’re thinking, catching up to the actuality before it’s been told to you.

“Evenin’ to you too—”

“—What did you trade for this?”

Shrugging, he shoves his hand into his jeans—the ones that have grown tighter, barely able to fit the same hand that it used to, comfortably.

“Joel.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs. “Y’think you wanna watch it with me?”

Licking your lips, you place it down on the counter, face blank, fucking unreadable. “What, like a date?”

Shrugging, he smiles. “Would that be terrible?”

“No, suppose it wouldn’t be.”

Nudging you, he likes how you paint him in a laugh. Something rich, warm.

“I’ve got patrol—but, can freshen up, come round after?” you suggest, hand on his chest. “You don’t sleep without me anyway.”

And he nods. Already mentally beginning to count down, watching you smile, ticking his jaw from side to side.

“I’d wipe that.”

“What?”

Licking your lips, you smirk. “The smile—people will think you’re soft.”

“No, they won’t.”

“Will if I begin spreading it.”

He just pinches you on the ass.

In the whole of his life, there have been only six times when Joel’s blood ran cold.

An expression he'd never understood until the first time it happened.

He had never expected the saying to mean a chill blasting down his spine. Or that sounds and scents would blur to nothing as his stomach twisted, just like he never anticipated the prickling sensation spreading across his skin like a thousand icy needles and rendering everything else inconsequential in comparison.

Tommy had been the first, all little, barely the same height as the kitchen counter. Nose bloody, swollen upper lip and a look on his face that made Joel want to snap arms and break skulls. He had settled for breaking the nose of the kid who had picked a fight with his baby brother.

The second was far worse—the first time Sarah first got ill. All little coughs, splutters—a temperature hotter than a stove, harsh cries and soft pleading whimpers that she couldn’t articulate or describe. A helplessness he hadn’t been able to explain or shake, not in the days after, or the weeks and months. In truth, Joel isn’t sure he ever slept quite the same.

The third was that night. When it dawned, when it hammered into him like a thousand needles and pierced every single part of who he was. When it broke him. Snapped him. Made him come apart and yet still exist—kneeling, the blood growing gummy and cold. Leaving her there, not taking his baby girl with him. A part of his heart, soul and reason left there in tall grass as he was forced to put one foot in front of the other.

The fourth had been when Tommy had left—when he’d realised it. When he saw the life he had and wondered what the fuck had happened. It bled horribly into the fifth. A dread as he saw the mark, the bite—the realisation she would be taken too: Tess. The new normal he’d made coming undone too, seams burst, emptiness spreading, rising and rising until he felt nothing but fire and ice simultaneously.

Ellie in that hospital had been the sixth. Joel hadn’t even known he could experience another. His heart was not made of iron like he tried to convince himself when he was younger. A tightness that didn’t resolve until he held her in his arms, till he kept her safe, until he blazed through the building ripping and tearing until her pulse was against his fingers.

He’d never expected to feel it a seventh.

Had thought his cards had all been dealt. A person could surely only have so many chances at having things to love, to care for—to have it all received back too.

There’s not a single sound when Tommy tells him. Informs him.

There’s just ringing. It douses everything else, his fingers rubbing against his thumb, his knees cracking before his head catches up to the fact he’s standing, fingers clenching and unclenching.

A fire rising, not smothered—not willing to be snuffed out by action and thinking. Not as he sees the words being said, confirmed.

Because deep down he’d known what was coming before they were muttered. Had felt them.

He’d been aware your plate was no longer warm, steam no longer rising, food all but congealing, cold—practically unedible. His eyes had been pinned to the clock on the wall, to the way the big hand nudged the smaller one on.

He hates that he hesitates.

That he remains, feet planted to the floorboards of his home. Eyes flicking to Ellie, to this person he swears to protect, to be there for, a second chance amongst a graveyard of mistakes—

“If you don’t go after her, I’ll never forgive you.”

Strong words. But then, she’s strong.

He’s seen it when she talks to you, all hushed whispers and confessed secrets. Sees it in her shoulders even when she curls into your side for a half-hug, your arm sliding around, head resting on the top of hers.

Because you mean something to Ellie too.

Which is why he can’t remain—shouldn’t. All unwilling to let anyone talk him into waiting, for a plan to be devised, to be drawn up and communicated.

Because you wouldn’t. There’d be nothing that’d keep you back, from going, from doing.

We’re doers, me and you, Miller. We don’t wait around for people to decide, we act.

Each step seems to echo that with his sorrow—with that knot inside of him. The corners of his eyes narrow as anger shakes through him, hammering and solidifying itself in some corner of him—weighing him down, making his boots dig more intently into the snow.

Because you were right—knuckles brushing over his cheek when the two of you shared a sliver of what happened to you that day. It had changed him, that birthday all those years ago. A brief glance at his watch, the one he still wears, never forgotten, never fixed. It compelled him to action, a force that surged within him, driving him forward, taking and taking until his knuckles burst through flesh—becoming it, a doer, a thing which took and survived.

Maybe that’s why this keeps happening.

Why good keeps being taken from him? It’s never thieved, never sneakily tugged from under his nose, but rather openly and brazenly taken. It’s this that forces his hands to clutch the reins tighter as the cool wind whips past him, tracing the tracks, envisioning the exact route you would have taken. Only coming to a stop when the snow becomes undisturbed, dismounting with a groan.

It makes a lump rise in his throat. One that doesn’t vanish when he begins tying the horse to a tree—patting her and stroking her. Because he’s too old for this. Too old for the caring, the chasing, the losing, and the fear. His palm against the animal, feeling the heartbeat inside, grounding him for just a moment.

But, even if he is, he’s not letting it, them or whatever take you.

Not as he pulls on gloves and tilts his neck until it cracks. Not as he thinks about the last time he was out here with you—a treat, you’d called it: we’ve swapped partners for the day. Don’t make me go alone, Miller. As if he ever would. A thing which earned him a different kind of gasp when your spine met a tree trunk, gloves fingers sliding through his hair, a laugh there on your lips—desperate to greet the air, if not for his lips smothering it away, silencing it.

He replays it.

Desperately wanting for nothing more than for that laugh, that smile—that snark and its bite. Joel wants bark under his nails and for it to be finding a home under yours too—a reminder, a badge of honour. He wants nature to attempt to cover up the sound of his skin slapping against yours; wants the wind to try and compete with the moans he extracts from your throat.

He wants.

He wants.

He wants.

Hand tightening around the gun, he swallows—vision whitening in the corner of his eyes as his jaw tightens.

A figurative storm cloud rising above him, grey and thundering, cracking as he hears you say don’t sleep without me anyway on repeat. Over and over. That smirk carved into him, scraped in with sheer gut and will.

Then, he replays Tommy. The words which are supposed to bring comfort, but just bring more rage. “She’s good, Joel” doesn’t bring you home, the same as “He’s good—one I know can pull his weight”, because is he as good as him? As good as you?

Is the man who is meant to have your back as much of a monster as him—as the two of you?

He learns in half a mile that he wasn’t. An answer left, presented—all lit up in scarlet. Neck snapped. Anger let loose on the man who had smiled at him around and about. Gone. Left to decompose and erode.

Joel wonders what it says about him that he feels nothing when he removes the weapons from the man’s belt. Taking what he can before leaving, and continuing on.

At each step, he hopes you’re as good as he thinks you are. Each breath heaved from Joel’s chest he hoped you were still beating, it hanging in the frigid air in front of him, a visible reminder of the feeling he had forgotten about—allowed himself to forget—fear.

How it isn't just about dread, but rather the erosion of faith—a corrosion of belief, leaving him almost gasping for air. There’s a curse there too, simmering on his tongue, desperate to be released and breathed into the oncoming night as he ties another thread around an extended branch. Doing so every so many steps, a guide, a trail for someone else to follow—just in case, forever just in fucking case.

His arm bumps into a tree he passes, one adorned with delicate frost, stood like a sentinel, like the rest around it. Its branches reach out in frozen pleas to the heavens above as snowflakes descend from his bump, a thing falling in a way not too dissimilar to the unrest inside of him, stirring and swirling and all but fucking churning.

Jaw gritted, he swallows. Readying himself to move, to force himself on when he sees it, spots it. The thing you’d once showed him all intentionally.

From the outside, the cabin looks like it usually does.

Worn, broken—far less a structure and more a ruin. But, he knows without opening the door it’s hiding things, concealing unfamiliars and protecting traitors. He can tell.

And it is when he steps inside. Just none of them are breathing.

A full house of horrors. A museum of a fight that hadn’t gone the way, the three he finds in the larger room, would have wanted. One slumped against the wall, a head wound seeping and congealing. The other two lie askew, limbs twisted in ways they shouldn't be. There's a quiet chaos to the scene, a silent testament to a struggle fought with everything at stake.

He checks them all the same, dispatching, covering his back—stepping carefully over loose floorboard and limbs, eyes scanning, all desperately seeking.

Deep down, he’s relieved at the sight of the fallen attackers. A grim confirmation you did not go down without a fight. But another part, one that has been growing with each passing second, is filled with dread, more so as he moves further into the cabin, each step heavier than the last.

The air is stale, tinged with the metallic scent of blood. A scent he's all too familiar with. Following, only to find the next room there’s nothing. Not a thing. Nothing but the door—the one you’d mumbled about being difficult to open—is banging in the breeze. A thud, over and over, like the cabin has a heartbeat that wishes to ring out, and out, and out.

That’s when he finds your note. The singular reason he can hold out hope you’re still alive. Chicken-scratch-proof into pages of a book, your knife stamped as a signature to the backdoor:

compromised, do not look fo—

Joel has never been much of a listener.

Not as he charges outside, not as he sweeps around the new ground with his weapon at the ready. He barely has to look far, before he spots something—a thing out of the ordinary in a clump out at the back.

You. Joel finds you.

You are all but surrounded by clumped white and cherry red, sprawled out on the ground, spots of dark beneath you—a gash on your forehead, blood smeared across your face. The contrast is so rich that it could almost be described as poetic. Somewhat romantic, he supposed. That’s if the poets lingered on the snowflakes hanging from your lashes, instead of the gash to your forehead and the swelling forming along your neck.

But you're breathing. Barely.

His teeth bite at the tips of his gloves, slapping fingers to your pulse, finding it, weak but there, before brushing his knuckles and finding cold skin making him hiss.

You’re smart. A reckoning, a feral monstrous thing that is hard to describe to someone who hasn’t seen you take down a soul twice your size.

Joel liked to tell himself he kept you around for that reason—the fire, the poison woven into your veins that injects into whoever is foolish enough to cross you. But Joel keeps you around for the person you accidentally show him—the one that makes him feel human, less of a beast and someone who has taken, taken, taken.

It’s your grit, your cunning nature, which is why it’s taken him so long to find you. His chest tightened when he was greeted by the scent of iron, all thick—collecting in rooms where you’d fought tooth and nail.

Now, he was standing in the cold piles carved by knees and elbows, your slumped frame, curled as close together—defeated, likely having been convinced you’d never be found before the cold tried to take you as its victim.

But, you’re no victim. No woman who wishes to repent for how you’ve survived or the things you’ve done to breathe easier.

It’s why Joel lifts you, pulls you close—face curling into his neck from the position you fall into, as he’s chilled to the bone by your cold.

“If y’can hear me, hold on.”

He adjusts, even as his back winces—something pinching, hurting, throbbing in the position he’s in on the snow. Hating his age about as much as he hates his bones.

That’s when he whispers your name. Does so like it’s a secret, a thing the forest and the things inside of it aren’t privileged to hear. A thing entrusted to him that he wishes no one else to hear or ever know.

“M’here.”

It’s a mumble. A murmur. The softness barely escapes through clenched, almost chattering teeth—but then your flashes flutter, coated in flakes that shimmy down to your cheek as you attempt to open them.

“Eyes on me—there you are.”

“Stop being c-cute.”

Grimacing, he watches you try to smile—weak, it barely reaching your cheeks, never mind your eyes. “Don’t think anyone's ever called me cute, honey.”’

“Never t-thought someone be storm-m-ing through a forest for me—first time for…”

Looking down, he sees your lashes fluttering, eyes struggling to stay open. Lips still parted around the next word that had yet to fall.

Tapping your cheek, he feels how cold you are. Even here. In nothing but warmth and safety. And he hates that he has to ignore how concerning that is. How hard it is to swallow that you are.

“Don’t stop talkin’ to me now. Might like the silence.”

He feels you laugh. Vibrating against him. More a hiccup than a real laugh, but it’s something.

“I fought—”

“Know you did.”

Nodding, you swallow, cough spluttering in the back of your throat.

"Y' did... y' did real good," he assures, voice thick, chest aching at the sight of you—so strong, yet looking so small and vulnerable against him.

"Did... did I get them?"

Your words are slurred, consciousness fleeting—tiredness trying to sneak you away from him.

"All of 'em," he assures, his grip tightening around you, "Every last one."

He can't be sure if you hear him, your eyes fluttering shut once more.

But he keeps talking, filling the silence with a low, steady stream of words. Comforting nothings, promises of safety, of warmth, of a congealed meal and the VHS. Even as your grip on his hand slackens, your breaths become more shallow, more sporadic. Even when he feels a cold dread creep into his heart, he pushes it away, and focuses on you—on keeping you with him.

"Stay with me," he murmurs, adjusting you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you groan against him when he lifts you with him, "Just a little walk, alright."

The snow crunches under his boots as he carries you back up the path he came, leaving a trail behind. Even in finding you, he knows victory tastes bitter on his tongue—a price too high to pay.

"Y'need t’make it, can’t watch that movie alone."

You snort. It is very much there, before it’s buried—engulfed under a whine of pain as you stand up fully.

Can’t. It’s one word, but it’s louder than all the others you’ve spoken, shared—and given. So, he wraps his arm securely around your waist, leading you, taking as much of your weight as he can.

Joel holds you, clutches you against him—a brief flowering of memories from doing something so similar for Ellie. A thought which brings fresh anger, a bitterness to his tongue. Holding tighter because of it, grips you closer—as though his life depends on it.

Because in a way, it does—a part of him acknowledging that now.

More so as you groan, as you plead to stop in harsh whispers as you grip him weakly, as your foot flops occasionally, legs tired, aching.

It’s not until he’s managed to bring you inside, do you murmur again. Nothing full, nothing understood until he’s removed his coat and wrapped you in it, helped lean you against a wall do you say anything more than a groan.

“Tired.”

Hands encased in his, Joel warms them, as the moon bleeds tendrils in through slats and the half-made window. “I know. C'mon, stay with me.”

Your eyes flutter open, glazed and barely focusing on him. "I'm...trying," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

"Good," he murmurs, stroking your hair back from your forehead. "That's all I need. Just...keep trying."

His head turns, looking through the window, seeing the placement of the moon, and wondering if it’ll be morning before someone comes—before someone follows and helps. Just mumbling about anything, joking it’s the most he’s talked, doing so in a voice that mocks your own, doing something, anything to try and keep you awake—keep you warm.

"I should've been there. I should've..."

He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to.

The regret, the guilt, it's all there in his voice, in his eyes. And you squeeze his hand feebly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. "Not...not your fault, Joel."

He nods, swallowing hard. "I know. I just...I wish I could've..."

“He made it. This place,” you begin, voice low, barely a breath.

Your eyes focused on some floorboard, not leaving, unwilling to lift to him, even as his head tilts.

“Came out all the time with that red f-fucking toolbox,” you continue, swallowing, wincing as you use your shoulder to itch your cheek.

“He was just a neighbour, a person I knew the first name of. Then he was a-all I had, a friend, then family—a b-brother. I’d… I’d never… and then he was just… gone. Survived all those years, survived all of that, only for s-sleep to take him as soon as we got here.”

Your eyes lift, haunted by sorrow, by exhaustion and something so much more.

And he has no words—not enough for this, none enough to make any of this make sense or feel better.

“I saw him. I—I know he’s gone, know it wasn’t real, but I just closed my eyes, just so I could see him again. And then…”

Your words trail off, a choked sob taking their place as you curl into yourself.

A sound so full of brokenness it makes something inside of him shatter a little, more so when Joel feels you pull your hands free, all rough and worn, clutching around yourself, at the material of his coat—gripping so tight it’s almost as if you’re trying to hold yourself together.

“You think he’d be mad that you saved me—that I’m g-glad you saved me?”

Swallowing, he cups your cheek with his palm. “I think if he’s anything like you, he’d be glad you fought.”

Nodding, you smile, the base of your palm wiping your tears as your lip wobbles. “Can y-you hold me?”

Nodding, he shuffles, and buries a groan in his throat as he manoeuvres a man his age shouldn’t, until he can, until he is. Having you as close as you’ll humanly fucking let him.

Which is how you’re found—a cavalry of those from Jackson, a mixture of surprise and relief etched into their faces when they land on the two of you.

When he suspects they land their eyes on you, and realise, like he did, that you’re the owner of the destruction in the room next to you all.

CHAPTER FIVE ->

AN: next chapter will be quicker i promise, but no strict deadline on when as posting / stepping back into this was a lot.

[daddyy333]

“Bucky, please” | Bucky Barnes x y/n

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 2.0k

warnings: masturbating, reader is caught masturbating, oral (f receiving)

summary: Bucky hears you calling his name, little does he know the real reason is a lot better than what he imagined

Bucky was sitting on the couch, he’d just gotten back to the compound and it was 10pm so he assumed you were sleeping and left you alone. He took a shower and changed into his favorite gray sweatpants, watching one of your favorite shows that you almost never stopped talking about.

He heard soft groans and moans coming from your bedroom and at first he thought he was just hearing things or maybe you were talking in your sleep. That was until he heard you say “ohh, Bucky,”

He instantly paused the tv, even though the volume was only at 5 he needed to make sure he was actually hearing what he thought he was hearing. A few moments go by and you said it again.

“Ahh!….mmm- oh god- Bucky!” You said and he stood up, slowly making his way to your bedroom. He was slightly worried, were you hurt? Were you having a nightmare?

“Bucky, please!” You said and he sped up. As he got to the door your noises got louder and louder. “Ahhh!! Yes, yes fuuuck!” You moaned and Bucky quickly opened the door.

There you were on your soft, gray jersey sheets. You weren’t hurt at all, in fact quite the opposite. You were practically naked, your thin tank top exposing your plump mounds and your taut nipples. Your legs were spread just enough to slip your fingers in your gushing pussy, bare and on display for Bucky to see entirely, your other hand rubbing your clit.

Your legs were shaking hard and your back arched off the bed, your jaw dropped open in a perfect ‘O’ letting out the prettiest groans of pleasure. Bucky's eyes widened and he nearly felt dizzy at how fast the blood rushed to his dick.

“Uhh! Shit- oh god, Bucky!” You shouted, pulling your fingers out and trying to make it seem like you're not in the middle of an orgasm. “I’m- ahhh! I’m sorry- oh god!” You said, gasping and whimpering.

He quickly closed the door and groaned, how could he be so stupid? You’re a girl and you have needs, he should’ve knocked at least. He palmed his half hard dick, needing it to not seem like he enjoyed watching you like some kind of pervert. Oh god, was he a perv now?

He made quick work of walking into the kitchen, shaking his hand and running a hand through his hair. He heard you open the door and quickly reached down and hid his boner. You came out wrapped in those silky robes you always wear, making his dick twitch.

“I’m- I-I’m so sorry Bucky, I- I didn’t know that you were home” you said, legs still shaking as you looked up at him with your pretty doe eyes, face flushed and breath shaky and uneven. He cleared his throat and said “I- I should’ve knocked, I just I was in the living room and I heard you and I-I thought you were hurt or something”

“Oh god- y-you heard me?” You asked and he nodded, looking down nervously. He sighed and said “are you- are you okay? You’re shaking” “I’m- well, I- yea I’m fine. I’m sorry” you said again, sitting down at the island.

You cleared your throat and said “how…h-how much did you hear?” You asked, you knew he’d seen everything so there was no point in asking that but you would rather die than have Bucky know that you think of him and moan his name when you masturbate.

“Uhh you know…your…noises” he said awkwardly, cringing on the inside. He took a deep breath and said “also I heard you…I could’ve sworn I heard you say my name. That’s kinda why I was super concerned” “oh god,” you groaned, burying your head into your hands.

Bucky sat up on the counter and said “it’s- i-it’s fine you know, I…I mean I know you don’t have much time to date and stuff. If- I-If you have to use me that’s- I mean it’s fine I just didn’t realize you even thought of me more than a roommate or a friend”

“Yea uhm…I just- I- I’m gonna go back to my room. I’ll see you tomorrow” you said and stood up, rolling your eyes at how shaky your legs still were. Bucky sighed and let his head fall back against the counters behind him.

He felt so stupid. He should’ve known, how could be such a dumbass? He hopped off the counter and made his way to your room again, he wanted to apologize again and keep things from being awkward between you two.

He was going to knock but then he stopped himself. He sighed, his boner getting uncomfortable now. He couldn’t help it, you just looked so gorgeous and adorable, a post-orgasm haze still evident in your eyes the entire time he spoke to you.

He contemplated it a few more moments before he decided against it, about to walk away when the door opened. You gasped slightly, looking up at the tall, tan, and gorgeous man in front of you. He looked at your lips and you smirked, pulling him down to kiss him.

He genuinely wasn’t expecting that, a surprised moan leaving his lips. He placed his hands on your waist carefully, pulling you in closer. “Sorry, I can’t breathe,” he said, obviously flustered and nervous.

You chuckled and said “I just take your breath away, don’t I?” “yea you do” he said, smirking. He cupped your cheek and kissed you again, wrapping his arms around you and holding you up.

“Ahh! Bucky, oh my god put me down” you said and he smiled. He wrapped your legs around his waist, brushing your hair out of your face as he said “you could've just asked for my help, you know? Can't believe those tiny fingers do anything for you,”

You instantly blushed, hiding your face in his chest. “Bucky!” You said, giggling. He walked you over to your bed, setting you down gently. He pulled his shirt off, dropping to his knees.

He pulled the loose knot on your robe, finding you with no pants still and the same lousy excuse of a shirt. He ripped it off with his metal hand, palming your right breast. He trailed his hand down to your sensitive clit, rubbing it softly.

“Wait- wait Bucky,” you said and he instantly stopped, sneaking a taste before you sat up again. He looked up at you with soft eyes and said “what is it? Is this too much?” “I just…what are we?” You asked and he blushed.

He caressed your thigh as he said “I’m yours forever, babe. And you’re mine. I dare you to try and get away from me. You’re stuck with me for life” He kissed your knee gently, massaging your upper thighs.

You giggled, leaning down and kissing him softly as you cupped the sides of his head. He pulled away and pushed you back lightly, burying his head into your wet cunt. You gasped, his nose nudging at your clit as his tongue played with the slick spilling from your clenching hole.

“Bucky…” you gasped softly, you were so sensitive from your previous orgasm. He worked his arms under your thighs and his hands circled to the top of them, holding them open as he devoured your pussy.

He moaned into your pussy, tongue fucking at a torturous pace. You squirmed, pulling on his hair as you whimpered and moaned his name over and over like a prayer.

“Baby…fuck,” he groaned, the fluttering of your pussy around his tongue making him go crazy. He pulled away from you regretfully, sliding his fingers into your sweet little pussy.

Your back arched off the bed, your leg shaking slightly when he rubbed your clit harshly. You gasped a tightening in your belly already forming after less than minutes of him eating you out like a starved man.

You’d never been brought to an orgasm this fast by any one or any thing, and to say you were in shock was an understatement. You whined as your pussy clenched sporadically, barely fighting the urge to let go and cum all over Buckys face.

“Bucky I- ahh! ohh god!” You moaned, squirting all over his face and neck and all over the bed too. Your legs were shaking so damn hard and your vision blurred, your breathing stopped as you came harder than you ever have before.

Bucky smiled as he sat up, licking up what he could from around his mouth. “God, that was hot” he said and laughed, caressing your thighs. You cleared your throat, you hearing still muffled as you said “holy shit,” through a heavy sigh.

He blushed, realizing he just made yku squirt. He’d heard about it in locker rooms and just classic overhearing before but always thought he’d never see it happen let alone make a girl do it. It’s his first time in 70 years and he did it in less than five minutes.

You sighed softly as you finally felt somewhat back to earth. “Bucky…” you said, reaching for him. He grabbed your hand and said “I’m here, pretty girl,” You giggled and looked down at the mess from between your legs.

“Oh god…I-I’m so sorry,” you said and he grinned. He shook his head and said “God, don’t be sorry. Please, do it again” He leaned down and lapped up the remainder of your orgasm, moaning and whining at the taste.

You gasped, squealing slightly. You were super sensitive and a little overstimulated at this point, but you wanted his cock. When he pulled away, you sat up and started working his belt off.

“Wait- w-wait…” he said and you furrowed your brows. You quickly stopped what you were doing and took your hands away. He gulped slightly and said “I just- it’s….I-I haven’t…I haven’t done this in a long time,”

You could see he was really nervous and embarrassed about this, which you only found adorable. “Bucky, it’s okay. We don’t have to do it all tonight. Sure would like to, but that doesn’t mean we have to” you said and giggled, kissing his head.

He sighed with relief, closing his eyes at the feel of your soft lips brushed against his hairline. “Thank you…for understanding,” he said and you smiled.

You caressed his cheek as you pulled back, licking your lips. You smirked softly as you said “do you….want any help with that? Doesn’t have to be the full thing, remember? I can just use my hands or maybe my mouth”

“No, no doll. You’re already tired, I can see it in your eyes. Maybe another time. I’ll be fine in a little bit,” he said and you rolled your eyes. He chuckled and said “come on, let’s get cleaned up. Made quite the mess,”

You blushed softly as he stood up, picking you up bridal style. He brought you to the bathroom, setting you down on the toilet seat. He wiped you down with a washcloth, gentle hands massaging your twitchy thighs.

You slowly followed behind him, holding his hand to the bedroom. You sat down, pulling his shirt over your head, smiling because you smelled like Bucky now. He tugged you down so you were flush against his chest, already tired and ready to sleep.

You giggled and turned around, looking up at him. He smiled tiredly at you, kissing your face a few times. “You’re beautiful,” he mumbled. You chuckled and said “you’re beautiful…peeping Tom”

“Hey!” He said and swatted your ass playfully. You squealed, giggling. He sighed and said “it wasn’t even like that” “I don’t know, was it?” You said and he rolled his eyes.

“Go to sleep” he grumbled, running his hand over your face to close your eyes. You smiled lazily and rested your head under his chin, sighing softly. He placed his hand on the small of your back, pulling you closer as he nuzzled his face into your hair, murmuring little sweet whispers about how beautiful you were.

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Lo’ak

Neteyam

Sebastian Stan

Bucky Barnes

CW!Bucky Barnes

Chris Evans

Steve Rogers

Ari Levinson

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕎𝕖𝕣𝕖 "ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤" ♡

♡ Mature Content! Minors DNI! Warnings below the break ♡

♡ Pairing: ot8!boyfriend!ateez x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: A nice, calm, wholesome movie night with your boyfriends except I lied and nothing but absolute filth happens.

♡ Genre: smut with a sprinkle, a smidge, a barely visible flake of plot

♡ Word Count: 3.6k-ish

♡ Warnings: (issa lot happening so pls lmk if I miss anything) masturbation (f), use of toys (f receiving), oral (f & m receiving), anal penetration & eating (f receiving), unprotected sex (ya'll know not to do that irl!), creampies, edging, double vaginal penetration, things get rough, scratching, gagging, pet names (good girl, bad girl, slut, le usual)

♡ A/N: I wrote this with the intention of writing this soft, romantic piece but my mind got lost in the gutter and built a home there so here we are. Thanks to @anyamaris for supporting me in my nonsense as she always does.

Even with the air conditioner on, a wave of heat washes over you. Two fingers---your fingers---press firmly against your clit. You know your body better than anyone in this room. Every flick of your wrist makes your walls clench around the vibrator Hongjoong’s fucking you with. The ultra-soft silicone curves to rest its flat tip directly on your g spot. He keeps it at medium speed, the low hum of the toy a hypnotizing instrumental to the weakened moans leaving your lips. “You’re so beautiful” he whispers, delicately kissing your thigh. And you are.

Lying in the middle of your living room floor on a pile of the fluffiest pillows, you’re the prettiest thing any of them have ever seen. The plan had been to watch a movie. Horror---comedy---who cares? How could they watch anything but you? Legs spread wide. Pussy weeping, begging you to keep going just like that. Your panties, moist beyond measure, are looped around your ankle. The tight plaid mini skirt you wear is pushed up, not denying them a bit of your plush belly. Your nipples are two, tightly beaded indentations in your black crop top. They brush against the cotton each time your chest rises, turning you on even more.

It’s getting harder to play with your clit. Your muscles are tensing like a rubber band stretched near its breaking point. Your wrists are going limp. Your legs are shaking, causing your thighs to jiggle so deliciously that Hongjoong can’t resist nibbling at them. What he loves, what gets him off the most, is simply to watch you make a mess of yourself. “Mmm, Joongie. I’m gonna cum---” you gasp, arching against the pillows. Hongjoong’s laugh is nearly undetectable but you hear it, oozing lust. He’s happy with himself and with you. Pulling the soaked vibrator from your core, he pushes three fingers into you.

“Cum for me, princess. Cum around my fingers.” Hongjoong moves your hand away from your clit, wrapping his lips around it in a small O shape. Your arms fall above your head, your head turning to catch Yunho staring at you from the couch. Yunho looks spaced out. It’s as if his mind is off somewhere far away but that couldn’t be further from the truth. His mind is on you and no one else. It's fixated on the way your eyelids flutter when Hongjoong suckles at your clit. It’s committing to memory that sweet little smile you shoot him right before you lose control of your body. 

Hongjoong’s been edging you for an hour all for this moment when he can finger you hard and fast, tonguing your clit as pleasure rips through your body. You’re grabbing at nothing---at anything---to ground yourself but it’s no use. “Hongjoong. Fuck” you whine, struggling to find your breath, “I can’t. Too much. Too---fuck.” Wooyoung rises from his spot on the recliner to kneel above your head. “Let me help” he coos, kissing you on the forehead. His fragrant sable locks dance around your cheeks like curtains, shutting out the rest of the world.

Smooth hands massage their way up your arms, loosening your muscles as they tighten. Fingers press into your shoulders---tickle your collarbone---traverse the arches of your breasts to circle your nipples. Woo slips your shirt up, laying his hands flat on your breasts. He kneads them, pinching your nipples in his palms. “Woo---” you moan, “Joongie---ah.” You mindlessly writhe beneath them. Hongjoong’s knuckles are grinding against your slit. His fingers---they’re so deep---spreading you open even wider. 

Woo smiles down at you and there’s something so genuine about it because it is. “He’s right---” he says, “You’re so beautiful.” Woo drags his tongue across your lips just as Hongjoong’s tongue swirls between your pussy lips. There’s an audible squelching sound when his fingers pop out of you, the suction of your walls holding onto him for dear life too relentless to let him go quietly. Hongjoong gets up on his knees, sucking at his fingers, and admires the way you’re still clenching for him. He’d edge you more---keep you like this all night---but he knows he has to share.

With one last kiss which he plants on your lower belly, he leaves you in Woo’s capable hands. Woo reaches over you to run a finger across your slit and you giggle at how much it tickles. When he leans forward you get a clear view of how hard he is and catch yourself salivating. You bring a hand up to rub against his bulge. A groan emerges from somewhere deep within him, “Bad girl.” Still a tad loopy from your orgasm, you fumble your way up onto your knees. “But you love it, don’t you?” you tease, your hand reaching down to rub against him again.

Woo nibbles at his bottom lip, pulling you closer to him. You run your fingers through his hair, tucking a rogue strand behind his ear, “Up.” One word spoken in the singsong voice of an angel such as yourself has him up on his feet without question. Just as you reach for Woo’s zipper, strong arms grab you from behind, locking you in their embrace. “Choi San!” you gasp, admiring that dimpled grin of his, “I’m kinda trying to focus here---” San kisses down your neck, dipping one hand between your thighs.

His other hand cradles your chin, fingers pinching into your cheeks, and turns your head back towards Woo where a throbbing cock, arousal moistening the tip, waits for you. “Then focus---” San says, lightly squeezing your cheeks. You let your tongue fall free, resting it on the underside of Woo’s cock. Rolling it around his sensitive tip, you collect the warm salty liquid on your tongue. San lets go of your cheeks, giving you the room to bring your hand up and grip Woo’s base. You glance up at him and he’s already fixed on you. They stay that way as your fingertips trace the veins traveling up his shaft, stroking back to his base and starting all over again.

San raises your ass enough to slip his cock between your thighs. Somehow he’s even harder than Woo and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You wanna fuck me, Sannie?” “Hmm, is that how we ask?” he growls into your neck, grinding against you. Poking your ass out, you lay your head back onto his shoulder, “I want you to fuck my tight little cunt, Sannie. Please.” San grips you by the hips, sinking into you with zero patience. A vibrator has nothing on San’s cock. Woo tangles his fingers in your hair, sliding his thickness between your lips.

Bobbing your head back and forth, you suck your cheeks in---fan them out---mimicking the exact thing your pussy’s doing to San’s cock. It’s a flawlessly choreographed dance between the three of you. San bucking his hips, feeding you every inch. You rolling back against him, taking him like a--- “Pretty little slut---” San’s panting, the slobber dripping down your chin from sucking Woo off making you look like exactly that. Woo holding your head steady while you pump his glistening length, your hand and mouth working together to put his stomach in knots.

With Woo stuffing your cheeks, your screams are muffled when San picks up his pace. “Is this what you wanted, baby?” he says, slapping you on the ass. “Mmpphh” is all you can manage, Woo’s cock hitting the back of your throat. Woo and San bounce you back and forth, whispering praises that have you back on the edge in no time. Your hips stutter, cluing San in that you’re close, and his pace becomes unforgiving. Woo scoops up one of your breasts, pinching your nipples, feeling their weight in his hand. “Don’t stop---shit---y/n. So good. Don’t---” Woo twitches between your lips, pumping his seed directly down your throat.

Never one to be wasteful you drink him down, massaging his balls with your free hand. “Fuck---pussy’s so good y/n---gonna cum” San hisses and you’re cumming again. He cums with you, ropes of white painting your insides from the other end. Woo leans forward, kissing your puffy lips, “I’ll get you some water.” “And a popsicle please.” Woo and San look at each other---back at you---at each other---back at you. San straightens out your skirt, “What for?” Your gaze dances over to Seonghwa and the two of you immediately begin to blush. “We---uh---” Seonghwa stutters, “Don’t worry about it.”

Yeosang politely moves Woo and San away from you. “Excuse me. Sorry” he apologizes, moving between them to sweep you up into his arms, “We’ll get the water.” It’s not that you don’t know Yeosang can pick you up but every time he does you melt. Yeosang carries you toward the kitchen and Seonghwa’s right behind him. “And the uh---yeah.” Jongho hops up to follow them, pushing through San and Woo with zero of the politeness Yeosang offered. “Thanks though” he grins, patting Woo on the shoulder, “But not really.” 

“Oh my---that’s---that” you gasp, pleasantly surprised at how much you enjoy the sensation. Seonghwa bending you over your dresser and swirling a popsicle in your asshole wasn’t on your 2023 bingo board but he has you wondering why it never was. The chill of the popsicle is calming in a way. You were overheating for a bit there but now? You feel tingly all over. With the popsicle melted and your thighs coated in drips of sticky, strawberry syrup, Seonghwa goes to work licking it off of you. His long tongue trails up your left thigh---down your right thigh. It comes back up to your ass, nibbling at the plush cheeks and making you squeal. He stays there for a second kissing them, massaging them, tickling them with the tip of his tongue.

“Hwa---mmph” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he tongues your candy-coated asshole. Imagine having an itch. Not just any itch. One of those itches that makes it difficult to focus on anything else. One of those itches that refuse to be ignored. But you can’t reach it. No matter how hard you try, your arms just aren’t reaching until---oh god---you finally do. You scratch it and it’s so good that your legs could give out. Nothing, not a single thing, compares to how uniquely amazing that feels. That’s what it feels like to have Seonghwa making figure eights in your ass like his tongue's a professional figure skater.

While you’re bent over seeing stars, he maintains a shaky hold on his cock. Each stroke is slow and deliberate, in sync with yours. “Fuck, you taste so good” he mumbles, fully prepared to smother himself if it means tasting as much of you as possible. You hear a moan you’ve heard a dozen times before. Seonghwa tries to suppress them when he cums even though you wish he wouldn’t. Usually, he hates being messy but his cum has already glazed over his hand and the afterglow is heaven. “Fuck it,” he says to himself, falling across the bed. Spinning around you come face to face with Jongho. “Hey ya cutie” you beam, poking his cheeks.

Sometimes people say that he’s scary, mean even, but when you look at him all you see is your cuddly bear. You drape your arms over his shoulders for support, “Your turn?” Jongho effortlessly lifts you onto the dresser, kissing you like he’s been waiting forever to do it. And he has. “My turn.” He presses the head of his cock against your clit and there they are again. The hot flashes. That thin layer of perspiration on your skin. Jongho grabs your arms, pinning them behind you, and drives into you. “You’re still so wet.” “Not still” you whisper, “This is just for you.” Jongho thrusts into you and you’re full again, his cock much thicker than you remember.

Your exhausted muscles can hardly hold up to being fucked this hard but you don’t have to worry about that. In his arms, you don’t have to worry about anything besides feeling good. He could keep you steady all night if Yeosang weren’t snatching you away, tossing you on the bed. “Yeosang!” you shout, sliding back on the bed, “You can’t just throw people around like that!” Yeosang climbs on top of you, pushing your shirt up, “I can’t?” He brushes a thumb across one of your nipples, lapping at the other as his fingers massage your breast. “You can---shit---do it again” you surrender between shallow breaths.

Yeosang slips into you, his cock pulsing in time with each rise of his hips. His defined arms slip beneath your body, hands locking just behind your back. When he flips you over on top of him, it’s like your whole world’s been turned on its side. He bounces you up and down in his lap, the tremors traveling far behind your core. Just as he picks up a rhythm Jongho tears you away from him, propping you up against the wall. You’d make some smartass comment about Jongho not being good at sharing. If only there were time enough for that.

His arms are already tucked behind your knees, supporting your weight as he fucks you against the wall. “You’re such an addictive little slut, you know that?” he says, and your heart flutters. You just love when he sweet-talks you. The angle he has you at is perfect for stimulating your g spot. He’s bumping right up against it and you’re clamped down around him, as addicted to him as he is to you. “Can I borrow this?” Yeosang asks, peeling you away from Jongho and tossing you back onto the bed. 

This time you’re on your knees. All fours is simply out of the question with how completely destroyed you are. “Are you just gonna toss me around all night?” you whine, burying your face in the blankets. Seonghwa lays his head beside yours, nuzzling up to you. “Of course not” he assures you, his voice warm and comforting, “I won’t throw you around when I have you. A light roll maybe---” 

“Pirates! Cowboys! Biker gangs!” you mumble incoherently, jolting awake. Shaking off those incredibly strange dreams, you realize that you’re still in bed. Judging from how dark it is in your room, it’s well past midnight. You must’ve fallen asleep after what your aching muscles are telling you was a wrestling match with a bear. A barely awake Yunho tightens his arm around you from behind, “Cowboys? I’ll do anything for you but I am not putting on a cowboy costume.” “I will,” Mingi yawns, cuddling up closer to you from the other side, “I get nice boots. Probably a cool jacket. Ooh, some guns---”

“There are no guns!” you interrupt, “When did you two even get in here?” Yunho shrugs, “A few hours ago. You never came downstairs and we missed you.” The “we” he’s referring to is obvious when you notice how hard he is against your back. “You fell asleep on us” Mingi pouts, a hand running up your thigh to squeeze your ass. You drape a leg around his waist, smooching him on the nose, “Don’t do that.” “Don’t do what?” Mingi pouts even more, knowing how soft you go for him when he does this. “That! You guys are both being so---” “So?” Yunho asks, his long fingers reaching between your legs to stroke your pussy. 

You shiver at the contact. Having Yunho behind you, his cock pressing into the small of your back, his fingers teasing you, makes your heart race. Mingi spreads your thighs, giving Yunho more than enough room to curl his fingers into you. “Finish what you were saying.” “I---uh---” “Uh---uh” Mingi mocks, petting your cheek. You move to playfully slap him but he grabs you by the wrist, kissing you before you can even consider trying anything else. Yunho eases a third finger into your core, “You like it when I play with your little cunt, don’t you?” “Mm-hmm” you hum, lidded eyes glossing over.

Yunho stays focused on tapping your sweet spot while Mingi hypnotizes you with his lips. Mingi has you so drugged, so completely entranced, that you don’t even notice when one of Yunho’s fingers is replaced with his. It’s not until there are four of them inside of you, two of Mingi’s and two of Yunho’s that you feel the difference. Feel the intensity of the stretch. “I think she likes it” Mingi grins, rubbing his thumb against your clit. Yunho follows suit, slipping a thumb into your ass. “Fuck---yes---Yunie---Mingi---mmm!” you cry out, so overstimulated that your eyes begin to water. 

They grind into you harder, forcing out screams louder than any you’ve made tonight. “Please---inside of me---wanna feel you. Both of you” you whine, so lost in how badly you want them that you don’t realize what you’re asking. Mingi slides his hand out, smearing your juices between your folds, “Aah, she’s adventurous tonight. You sure you can handle that?” “I-I can. Ah, shit. I need it.” Yunho spreads his fingers in a V, rolling them around inside of you, stretching you from every angle. Mingi brings the head of his cock to splash in the juices leaking from your needy core and Yunho pulls out of you, focusing instead on freeing himself from his pants.

For a fleeting moment, it occurs to you how fucking insane you are. Mingi and Yunho at the same time? It’s not only the thickness, it’s the length. You wonder if you have a death wish. Mingi guides himself into you, only the first inch, sending shockwaves through your system. If this is how you die, you figure, at least you’ll die happy. Yunho spits into his palm, moistening his length before he brings it to meet your already occupied slit. Mingi slides in another inch or two, keeping his cock flush against the roof of your walls. Yunho raises himself into you, taking his time to watch for any signs that you’re uncomfortable, “Let us know if it’s too much, okay?” You make a little squeak to acknowledge how nice it feels to be protected, even when he’s in the process of tearing you in half.

He begins to slide up into you, pausing to let Mingi push in a little more, then taking his turn again. It’s a toe-curling, lip-biting back and forth to get them both inside of you. Once they are, you're falling apart, screaming, digging your nails into Mingi’s arm. Pulling his shirt up over his head, he gathers the material and shoves it in your mouth. “We don’t want them to think we’re killing you.” You’re so full, stretched beyond your limit, that only one of them can fuck into you at once. There’s no room for anything---or anyone---else. You belong to them. “You’re always worth waiting for but shit” Mingi grunts, his length throbbing, as much as it can given the space.

There’s moisture on your cheeks. You’re crying. Not from pain. No. That initial sting gave way to pleasure once they were both finally inside of you. You’re crying, drenched in your own tears, because parts of you are shifting that you didn’t even know could. Every stroke has your ears ringing, your heart in your stomach. You feel heavy and weightless all at once. The darkness of the room swallows you while somehow managing to be blindingly bright. There’s an explosion somewhere inside, releasing the building pressure. You’re at your peak again, legs kicking like you’re dangling high up. It hits you hard. So hard that you’re not breathing. Breathe, girl, breathe!

Just as you catch your breath and think that you’re maybe---maybe---coming down, Yunho's filling you up like a donut. Mingi pulls out, tapping his head against your clit as warm cum sprays against you. Correction: Filling you up like a glazed donut. The three of you collapse, unable to do much else besides make a series of broken noises. “Hmph mmm mm hmph,” you say? Scream? Mumble? Mingi throws his arm across his chest, understanding your incoherent huffs, and takes the shirt out of your mouth. You pat him lovingly on the head, “Thanks.” 

Readjusting yourself on the toilet, you rub the partially melted popsicle between your legs. This is nowhere near sexual in nature. You’re just in desperate need of relief from how sore you are after the day’s events. “Aah, yup, that’s the spot” you sigh, “Seonghwa really was onto something.” “Was I?” Seonghwa asks, rubbing his eyes. You jump a bit, startled by his sudden appearance in the doorway. Seonghwa stretches, dragging his feet into the bathroom.

As adorable as he is in his pajamas, his hair a complete mess, seeing him right now isn’t ideal. He shakes off the sleep, taking his time to process what’s going on. “Is that a---” “Ssh, if you tell anyone---” Seonghwa’s cheeks turn rosy, a smile spreading across his face. He takes you by the hand, bringing you to your feet, “Come on.” “Hwa, hold on, do you think? I wasn’t--no. No!” You reach back to drop the popsicle in the sink but Hwa pulls you along. “Hold onto that.”

[cozage]

Captured by Marines

Characters: Luffy, Law, Ace cw: f! reader, angst, gore, mentions of injury/surgery A/N: A bit of a 180 from my post this morning haha! Also, I know I put it in the cw but again, this is obviously going to have some angst and there are also varying mentions of gore. I'm going to tag each individual story with major content warnings, hope that helps.

Luffy

A/N: spoilers for Marineford ahead in this one. 

“Listen Luffy,” Nami begins hesitantly. “I need you to sit down, and remain calm when I tell you this.” 

“What’s up, Nami?” He jokes, laughing at her tone. “You’re always so serious!” He hasn’t realized you were missing yet, or noticed the tears in Nami’s eyes. 

“Luffy…” Nami takes a ragged breath to steady herself. “It’s Y/N. She-” Nami breaks off unable to finish the sentence, tears finally pouring out of her eyes.

Her tears surprise him, and Luffy’s head snaps around, suddenly very aware of his surroundings. You’re not here. You’re not at the rendezvous point. He does a crew count, everyone is here except you. He does the count again. One short. And Nami crying…

He grabs Nami’s shoulders firmly. “Where is she, Nami?” He begins to shake her, trying to get the words out faster. “Where is Y/N?!”

Nami is sobbing now, inconsolable. Luffy knows she’s trying to speak, but the words simply won’t come. “Nami, TELL ME! TELL ME WHERE SHE IS?” He can’t stop shaking her. He knows it’s not helping, but he needs her words to come out faster. He needs to know that you’re safe.

“Luffy, that’s enough.” Sanji takes a long drag off the cigarette between his lips, ready to step in at any moment. “Calm down. You shouldn’t be acting that way towards a lady.”

“THEN TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!” Luffy roars out to the room, but he releases his navigator. Nami backs away from him until her back hits a wall, and then sinks to the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” she sobs into her hands again and again. “I’m so sorry, Luffy.”

“She got taken.” Sanji says in her place. He takes another inhale off the cigarette and removes it from his mouth. He makes brief eye contact with Zoro, both of them prepping for the worst reaction from their captain. “By the Marines.”

Luffy stands there, stunned for a moment. Surely he had misheard Sanji. There was a strange ringing in his ears, and his vision started to get dark around the edges. “By the…marines?”

Sanji sighs. “Yeah. She was protecting Nami, and they got her with the sea prism stone cuffs and made a quick escape. We tried to get her back, but they were quick. It almost felt like that was their mission the whole time.”

Sanji mouth kept moving, but Luffy couldn’t hear him. He could only hear your laugh, see your smile. And then he hears Ace, thanking him with his final breath. No, the outcome wouldn’t be the same. He was stronger now, and he would save you. He had to save you. 

“We’re not letting them leave this island with her.” His voice is authoritative, even if his entire body is shaking with fear. 

The entire crew responds in unison. “Obviously.”

Rescued

Law

A/N: Injury and surgery mentions

“CAPTAINNN!!!” The Heart Pirates race towards their captain, eager to see him again. It had been too long. He smiles at his crew, but his eyes are scanning the crowd. He can’t locate the two people who are always first to greet him. “Where’s Bepo and Y/N-ya?” You and Bepo had been sent for a reconnaissance mission a few days ago and should’ve arrived back before Law. His unease grew as he watched his crew’s eyes shift nervously between each other. 

Penguin finally clears his throat and speaks up for the crew. “Bepo is back at camp. He got inju-” Law is already on the move, not waiting for Penguin to finish his sentence. He refuses to run, but he’s walking as fast as he can without doing so. 

Penguin is following close behind, not missing a beat. “Captain-” he starts again, trying to find the right words, but he’s cut off again by the surgeon. 

“How critical are they?” He asks, tone clipped. He had used a lot of energy on the mission, but he’d do whatever he needed to in order to keep his crew alive. Especially you and Bepo. 

“Bepo has blunt force trauma to his torso that will probably need to be examined and a deep wound in his leg and paw that will need to be checked out. He’s unconscious but stable.” Penguin responded. He had gotten used to reporting injuries to the Captain. “But, Captain-”

“And Y/N-ya?” Law felt better knowing Bepo was okay, assuming you probably had the same injury status. 

Penguin said nothing for a long moment, which caused Law to glance his way. His mouth felt like sandpaper suddenly, and he realized that Penguin hadn’t actually report about you at all yet. “Penguin,” he prompted again. “What about Y/N?”

“She hasn’t reported in yet.” Penguin’s voice was pained. “We found Bepo unconscious about a half a kilometer from camp.”

Law hissed in disapproval, resisting the urge to Shambles closer to camp. He needed to save what little energy he had left. Penguin kept moving silently beside him, but Law could feel there was something his crew member wasn’t saying. He waited a few moments before he couldn’t stand the tension. “What aren’t you telling me, Penguin?”

“It’s not confirmed.” Penguin starts out, trying to keep it positive. “But Shachi heard something on the radio.”

“What? Spit it out.” Laws tone was dangerously close to being hostile. 

“The Marines said..” Penguin stopped moving, taking a breath, as if to prepare himself.

Law didn’t raise his voice at his crew often, but with a member of his crew injured and another missing, he snapped. He turned on his heels and glared daggers at his subordinate. “Stop keeping me on edge and tell me already, dammit!” 

“The Marines said they had someone in custody!” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a squeak, leaving a heavy weight in the air. 

The captain paused for a moment to take in Penguin’s words, and then turned away, heading towards Bepo again without another word. 

“Ca-Captain?” Penguin was back on his heels again, but Law said nothing. He couldn’t be distracted by a simple rumor. You were probably safe, hiding in the woods, waiting for a moment to come back to camp. Bepo would confirm that when he woke up. 

Penguin tried again. “Captain, it’s just that-”

“You said it wasn’t confirmed right? She’s fine, then. Let’s worry with Bepo, and then we’ll send out a search party for her when we get a better idea of her last location.” The Captain’s confidence in you left Penguin stopped in his tracks, but Law kept moving forward towards his injured crew member, leaving Penguin in the dust. 

—

Law waited by Bepo’s side after the surgery, within close earshot of Shachi and the radio. He had split the crew into small groups and sent them out to search for you in rotations, but nobody had found any sign of you so far. 

Law couldn’t sleep while you were missing, but he knew he needed rest. He compromised by sitting and staring at the radio, as if he were trying to will it to speak to them. After a few hours of silence, radio static signaled that the channel was active. “Do we have confirmation on the identity of the individual in custody yet?” A husky voice broke the air.

“Standby.” A younger voice responded, maybe even younger than Law.

Law stood up for the first time since he had finished tending to Bepo. “Switch to-”

Shachi was already flipping to the secure line they had tapped earlier. 

The husky voice returned as Shachi hit the channel switch. “-me you have a name, Lieutenant. I’ve got HQ on my ass about this matter.”

“Yessir. We have confirmation that the individual in question is [F/N] [L/N] of the Heart Pirates led by Trafalgar Law.”

The husky-voice man let out an audible gasp. “You better not be shitting me, Lieutenant. You’re positive?”

Shachi looked nervously at his Captain, but Law was fixated on the radio. It had to be a mistake. This couldn’t be happening. 

“Yes sir.” The younger man confirmed. “We have multiple sources from the battlefield confirming her skill and her identity. We’re departing for Impel Down as we speak”.

Law’s breath was shallow. He needed to get to you. To pull you back to safety. “Room.” If he can just make an area wide enough, he can shambles himself to you and free you.

But the effects from the mission and the operation weigh heavy on him, and he can feel his ability fading before he can find your presence. He falls to the ground, the weight of failure finally pushing him over the edge into total exhaustion. He can feel the world spinning, and know he’s far surpassed his limit. 

“Ready the ship to set sail immediately and do so immediately.” He can feel his eyes closing against his will, no matter how determined he is to stay awake. “We’re going after her. Follow them at any cost.”

As he slips from consciousness, he only thinks about you. How he’s lost you, and how he’ll stop at nothing to get you back. 

Rescued

Ace:

A/N: major gore/injuries

“To Whitebeard!” Mugs of various alcohols slammed together for a toast. Ace had Marco in a headlock, laughing and drinking his cup of ale while Marco struggled to get free. 

“I’m just saying we should wait to celebrate!” Marco squirmed below him. “Jozu’s division still isn’t back-”

“Come on, Marco,” Ace jested. “You really have that little faith in division three? I’m telling Y/N. She’ll never forgive you, y’know.”

Marco finally freed himself from Ace’s grip and stood upright, looking out to sea. “It just…they should be back by now.”

As the hours passed and the party raged on, Ace found himself glancing at the horizon more and more frequently. By the time the sun was setting, his gaze was stuck on the path you should be returning back on.  “They should be back by now,” he muttered to himself. “Where are you?” Ace pulls out your vivre card, relieved to find it intact and inching towards the way you should be returning.

He held your vivre card all evening, watching for any signs of distress. Marco sat with him on lookout, waiting for any kind of news as well. It wasn’t until the moon hung high in the sky that lights appeared on the horizon. “They’re back!” Relief washed over him as he shook Marco awake. He tucked your vivre card away and stood up for the first time in hours. “I’m going to go meet them and see what’s going on.”

“Wait, Ace,” Marco started, still groggy with sleep. “It could be-” but Ace was already jumping off the boat, aiming for his Striker. Flames appeared far below where Marco was sitting, and the Striker’s engine roared as it took off towards the approaching ship. 

Ace was used to you all being apart for missions. You were in the third division with Jozu, so it didn’t always line up that you all worked together. But Jozu was a man who was always has his crew back by rendezvous time, and it had been over twelve hours since that time had passed. 

The ship was flying a Whiteboard flag, and he could pick out a few crew members he recognized when he looked through the binoculars. He let out a sigh of relief, finally releasing a burden he didn’t realize he was carrying. The pit that had grown in his stomach over the past half day had been so slow, he didn’t even notice it until it started to ease away. 

The feeling of relief didn’t last long. As he got closer, he realized the ship itself was in bad shape. It had clearly been through an unexpected battle, maybe even more than one. He threw more flames out from his feet and raced towards the ship, the pit in his stomach returning and multiplying by the second. 

He jumped aboard the boat, looking for your face in the crowd, but all he could see were beaten and battered crew mates in various states of conditions. Some had cuts, others were more bandages than human. The smell was worse. The stench of death and distant smell of blood was mixed with a strange smell of meat cooking. Ace’s vision blurred for a second seeing such a sight, and he willed himself to stay focused. 

A deep voice called his name from the other side of the ship. Jozu. He looked around, searching for his fellow commander, but couldn’t locate him. “Down here, man.”

Ace had a pretty iron stomach, but the sight of his friend made it do a few somersaults. Jozu had a horrible head gash that someone was applying constant pressure on, a bandage wrapped around one eye, and the entire left part of his body seemed to be blackened, as if it were burnt. 

“Jozu…” Ace resisted the urge to ask about your status, suddenly afraid of the answer. “What happened?”

“Navy ambush.” Jozu took a ragged breath, and those around him exchanged worried looks. “We didn’t stand a chance.” Jozu was gasping for air at this point, but he was determined to get the information out. “They took prisoners. About 10-15.” It was clear he wanted to relay more information, but his body convulsed with a sudden coughing fit. 

“Who was taken? Where is-” Ace stopped himself right before he says your name, shameful of the fact that he’s prioritizing your life over everyone else. 

His cheeks must’ve turned a shade of red, because a kid passing by glares at him. “If you’re going to vomit, do it over the side of the ship. We have enough to clean up.”

Jozu’s cough finally subsides, and he looks at his brother with deep regret in his eyes. Ace’s heart plummets, and he knows what to expect before the words are out of his mouth. “They took her, Ace. They took Y/N. I’m sorry. I-” whatever Jozu was going to say is cut off by another round of coughing fits, but Ace doesn’t need an explanation. He just needs you back. 

Ace gingerly puts his hand on Jozu’s right shoulder, one of the few places the third division commander doesn’t seem to be injured. “Don’t you worry, Jozu. I’ll get them back.” Without another word, he jumps off the ship and onto his Striker. 

“Hang on, Ace.” Marco’s voice of reason calls out to him from the deck of the ship, and Ace silently curses himself for waking him in the first place. “You need a plan. Don’t go charging into this headfirst. It’ll just get you killed.”

“I have a plan!” Ace fibbed. “I’ll be back in the morning with the prisoners.”

“Ace,” Marco starts. It was clear to him that the freckled boy wouldn’t listen to anyone who stood in his way.

“If they get them to Impel Down it’s over and you know it!” Ace’s panic was starting to show. Marco could see his eyes from the deck, wild and desperate like a cornered animal. 

“Tch, you’re always such a hothead.” Marco chided. “Good luck. I’ll relay what happened to Pops, but be prepared for any consequences when you get back.”

Ace grinned and tipped his hat towards Marco. “Good luck here, Marco. Thanks for everything.” The Striker’s engine roared to life once again, and he pulled out your vivre card, ready to follow your compass to hell and back. 

Rescued

[arcanefox207]

The Wolf You Feed (Part 2)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 5.6k

Part 2 / ? (Ongoing Series) (AO3)

Summary: Set in a fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Warnings: No Outbreak, AU but with TLoU characters, Large age gap (Reader is 29. Joel is 50). Pet names but no use of Y/N. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab. POV Switching. Series contains Angst and lots of Smut (to avoid chapter specific spoilers you can expect things such as but not limited to Unprotected PiV, Cream Pies, Oral, Masturbation, Dom!Joel, Subby reader, Pining, Infidelity) 

A/N: In case you are just jumping in, you can read Part 1 here. Part 2 is more smut heavy! I aim to have Part 3 out much sooner as time allows!

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N S

Comments / Reblogs are so incredibly appreciated and give me the motivation to write 🧡

Without further ado... for your reading pleasure.

It’s late on Saturday morning and you have a pot of coffee brewing while you shower. You stand in the stream of hot water far longer than you need to. Your thoughts shrouded by your evening with Joel Miller. How rough but passionate his touch was. How he made you get on your knees for him. How he tasted and how badly you wanted… needed  more of him. Your hands trace over tender spots where he held onto you and you relish the memory. 

He tested your obedience and you followed his orders. You hope it turned him on as much as it did you. You liked surrendering yourself to him. Despite his roughness you felt safe with him. You couldn’t explain it yet but you could feel that his burly facade was hiding something softer. 

You finally step out onto the cool tile and dry off in front of the mirror. You pat your hair down with your towel and when the steam starts to dissipate you catch how happy you look. An old you that you have not recognized for a long, long time. 

You smile to yourself and resolve to put Joel out of your mind for now or nothing would be getting done today. 

The coffee helps wake you up enough to plan out your morning. There is a light coating of fresh snow and the sky looks gray and ominous. A big storm is expected to hit overnight so you head into town to pick up some food and provisions. You make a quick stop at Grind when you see Marlene’s car parked in front.

There are a few customers and you are surprised to see Marlene working. By her expression, she wasn’t too pleased to be there.

“Hey!” You greet her as you approach the counter. “You got stuck working today?”

“Yeah, someone called out.” she rolled her eyes. “Don’t feel too bad for me, it’s your turn next.” she jokes. A teenager is busy checking out a customer and another is making a latte. Marlene steps away for a moment to chat with you.

“So…” she prods. “How did it go?” You fail to hide your smile and thoughts of Joel overtake you once again. 

“It went… great.” 

“When can I meet him?” 

You laugh nervously at her question.

“Lets not jump ahead. Right now it’s just something… casual.” 

She is skeptical of your reply and stares at you for a moment, trying to will more out of you, but you don’t give in. 

“Ok. Whatever you say.” She rolls her eyes again. “I have to get back to work, but you are going to have to tell me sooner or later.” She points at you and furrows her brow. 

“Yeah, Yeah.” You joke. “See you Monday!”

You leave the shop and cross the street to the grocery store. The place is mobbed and the shelves wiped out of the most in demand items. You grab a few things and chat with your mom who calls you to check in. Rather, to tell you all about her excursions and gossip about people you have never even met. You don’t mind and just tell her things are going well, you like your job and let her ramble on, not really listening. Mindless chatter in your ears while you shop. 

She does catch you off guard when she mentions hearing about the storm and “Joel will plow for us if we ask him to” casually. Your ears perk at the mention of his name but you act cool and collected. You don’t like the way she volunteers his services so nonchalantly. It strikes a nerve in you and reminds you of how she always insinuates you are incapable of being responsible. It makes you feel defensive for Joel, too. Her disregard for his time further illustrating how self centered she is. This was one of the factors that pushed you away for so many years. 

“Your father will call him later—” 

Absolutely not. You interrupt her sternly mid-sentence. 

“Mom. I will take care of it.” The last thing you want is your parents harassing Joel or trying to control you from across the country. This was a string you needed to make clear was not going to be attached to your current living arrangement.

“I have things under control.” 

“Oh… ok then.” Her tone is short and then she is off talking about her beach plans again. This goes on for another 10 minutes and by now you are in the checkout line. You say your goodbyes and calculate another week or two before you have to do that all over again. 

You hadn’t really considered the snow aftermath but you had a shovel and your car would be good enough to get out of your driveway… probably. You were not going to bother Joel regardless. 

The call puts you in a bad mood as you drive home. The spitting snow reminds you of the impending storm. The cheerful start of the day is gone and replaced with a heavy feeling.

You drive past Joel’s house and wonder if he is home and what he is doing. Wonder if you should call him. Wonder why he has not reached out to you either. You don’t want to be that girl. It’s not like you and him are anything. You shouldn’t be expecting anything from him. However, you still feel a faint sting of disappointment. Maybe he had his fun and that was it. Self doubt poisons your mind but you try to swallow it back. 

The rest of the day you spend eating junk food and watching movies on Netflix. You fall asleep on the couch early in the night before forcing yourself into bed. The wind and snow has ramped up and your power flickers. 

You pull your comforter tightly over you and take one last look at your phone but you already know there is nothing from Joel. 

Saturday Night (Joel POV)

Joel sits up in his loft on his worn out couch, strumming his guitar. He takes a sip of his whiskey, neat, and poorly mouths the words to his song. 

He plays a few more riffs but feels distracted and unfocused. All attempts to keep busy have been ineffective today. He spent the afternoon preparing his truck and stacking firewood. Once that work was done he had nothing but free time.

The truth is, you have been on his mind. It was hard not to think about you. He had only explored the tip of the iceberg with you and wanted more. He knew it wasn’t right to pursue you for a magnitude of reasons, but the desire was not waning. He felt things with you that he had not felt in a long time. Feelings he was afraid to give in to.      

Joel replaces the guitar in his hands with his phone and hovers your name in the recent contacts.  This isn’t the first time today he has almost called you. 

What are you doing, stupid. He thinks to himself. 

He shuts down the moment of weakness and locks his phone. He knocks back the last of his whiskey and heads downstairs. He turns on his TV to the local news and listens to them fuss over the storm. He knew tomorrow would be a busy one for him with his side hustle as the plow guy many locals depended on. Just another thing to keep him busy. 

He goes to take a shower before calling it an early night.

The shower is hot and comforting and in no time his mind is wandering back to you. He thought about your brief evening together and how intriguing you were. How bold you were. How tight you were when he was fingering you and how needy you sounded.  

He puts a fist against the shower wall to brace himself and hangs his head low so his shoulders block the bulk of the water. He uses his free hand to wrap around his semi-hard cock. He remembers your playful hold on him and gently strokes himself. It doesn’t take very long to get hard as he relives that moment in his mind. His strokes get harder and faster and he wishes he was fucking into you and not his own hand.

He groans as he comes and watches his spend drip down the shower walls and into the drain. His few moments of bliss quickly fade away. He balls his fist in frustration at his unfulfilling release. He needs more. He needs you. 

Your Sunday morning begins with anything but peace and calm. You are startled awake by the grinding sound of heavy metal dragging across pavement. You look outside your bedroom window and see the snow has blanketed everything and there are still a few lingering flurries dancing in the sky. The trees are struggling with bent over branches coated in ice and snow. 

Leaving your warm and cozy blanket fortress is the last thing you want to do. You lazily grab a hoodie to pull over your oversized shirt you slept in and your pajama shorts and make your way to the front of the house. The floor is cold on your feet but the air is warm. You cranked the thermostat before bed, making you feel rebellious in the moment but it seemed silly and wasteful now.

You look out the front window that faces the driveway. There you see Joel Miller in his truck, plow attached, barreling towards you and crashing into a snowbank he started building up. He looked so serious and professional backing up his truck with an arm stretched across his seat as he looked over his shoulder. He was so focused he was not aware you were watching him and his scowl at work. 

It doesn’t take long before that familiar ache between your legs returns. The longing to let Joel have his way with you. A desire that is getting harder and harder to ignore.

The realization that you look like you just woke up from bed hits and you scramble to the bathroom to run a comb through your hair and brush your teeth. You can hear the drag of the plow continue as you finish up and then rush to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. The stove clock reads 7:32am. Way too fucking early for a Sunday morning.

You hear his truck door slam and the sound of crunchy snow under his boots. He is walking with a heavy foot and grabs the shovel leaning by your door.

Joel is shoveling your walkway, weaving a modest path for you to get from your house to your driveway without trudging through the snow. You can hear him grunt as he tosses the heavy snow out of the way. What would have taken you probably an hour takes him just a few minutes. 

He plunges the shovel into a snowbank when he reaches the end of the path and leans on it to catch his breath. He looks exhausted and rightfully so. You want to comfort him in whatever way you can. At least offer him some respite to show your appreciation. As much as you hate to admit it, you would have been totally fucked if you had to tackle your driveway with your inadequate self. Joel saves the day, again.

You crack open the front door and call out to Joel, reluctantly interrupting his moment of peace. 

“Hey!” 

He slowly turns in your direction when he hears your voice. His eyes scrunch as he makes out your figure hanging out the door. He gives a lazy wave of acknowledgment. 

“Come inside and warm up? I made coffee.” 

He picks up the shovel to return it and makes his way towards you. 

“Yeah, ok. Just for a minute” He follows you inside.

Joel closes the door hard behind him and scuffs his boots on the mat to get off any snow. He brushes his hand quickly over the top of his head to knock off any lingering snow and unbuttons his jacket. He empties his pockets and puts his wallet and phone on the end table. He saunters over to you as you hand him a fresh cup of coffee, black. 

“Thanks.” He manages a smile. He returns to the living room and groans as he lowers himself to the couch. He recklessly sips his piping hot beverage and seems immune to the searing heat and delighted to have it.  He rests his mug on the table and leans back and closes his eyes. His hand comes up to his brow as he pinches his thumb and finger together across his eyes.   

You lean against the doorway between the rooms and sip your coffee. You notice how tired and worn he looks. His damp hair is shiny. His heat is melting the last few snowflakes and making him look messy and wet. His jacket is open and disheveled and his flannel undershirt is haphazardly draping on him as he slouches back. 

Despite all that he is still as handsome as ever and you like seeing him this way. Vulnerable in this out-of-character state. 

“Tired.” He grunts with his eyes closed and it snaps you out of your thoughts. “Been a long morning.” 

You take a few steps towards him to close the gap.

“I’m too old for this.” He sneers as he looks at you with lazy, heavy lids.

“You didn’t have to worry about me, you know…” Your voice trails off as you wonder if he was there on his own volition. You can’t help but ask. You need to know.

“Did… did my dad call you?” 

“No.” he answers firmly with a suspicion in his tone, almost sounding offended. 

“Good. I mean, thank you. That was really nice of you to come over.” You pause and smile at him. You feel guilty, but also have never had someone so capable looking out for you before.  

“I was going to shovel it.” 

He raises his brow at the ridiculous claim.

“No you weren’t. Wouldn’t have let you if I saw ya out there.”

“Well.. Thank you.” 

“S’nothing. I don’t mind… having an excuse to see ya.” His brows raise and wrinkle in the middle. He has a softened expression as he looks into your eyes. 

Your heart skips a beat and is heavy in your chest, you wonder if he can hear it beating. Having an excuse to see you. You replay it in your mind. He wants to see you. You feel stupid for getting carried away thinking otherwise.    

You put your coffee down next to his and casually walk around to the back of the couch. There is a force compelling you to comfort him. Encourage him to relax. That fluttering feeling in your stomach surges. Joel Miller is exhausted on your couch and isn’t going to be putting up much of a fight if you fuss over him and you want to fuss over him. 

You stand behind him and reach your arms down and spread them slowly from his shoulders down to his sides. He lets out a tiny moan as you circle his taut muscles. You pinch and massage them as you go. You lean forward and bring your mouth just behind his ear. 

“You don’t need an excuse to see me.” It comes out softly and seductive. You can feel his body tense under your words. 

You rake your hands back up to his shoulders and curl your fingers under his open jacket. He halfway cooperates as you tug the jacket off his shoulders and pull it away from him. It's wet and heavy and most of the snow has melted into it by now. You toss it on the back of the couch and return to his shoulders. Your hands massage him and you can feel his muscles tight and knotted under your grasp. His head tilts back into the couch as he lets you tenderly work him.

“Feels good. Really good.” He says in a low, almost inaudible tone. His exhaustion has let his body surrender to you and he isn’t fighting to be in control. 

You lean forward again and plant your mouth on his jawline with a sensual kiss. His damp whiskers prickle your cheek as you drag it against him and go to his ear.

“Let me take care of you.”

He makes a deep, throaty sound in response. 

His flannel is damp and hot and he looks so uncomfortable and stuffy now that he has been inside a while. You slide one of your hands down to his chest and unbutton his shirt. You are halfway down and he reaches his arm up and curls his fingers behind your neck, pulling you down to his mouth. You can feel the shift in the room, like you woke a sleeping bear. 

“Come here.” He uses his free hand to tap his lap and loosens his grip on you.

You walk around to the front of the couch and stand in front of Joel. His legs are spread and he is still lazily slouched back but he motions for you to join him. His half unbuttoned shirt teases you with his thermal undershirt peeking out, still hiding his bare skin. At least you are getting closer.   

You step towards him and move to straddle him on the couch. You have a leg on each side and he puts a hand on each hip under your baggy sweatshirt. 

His hold is tender but makes you melt when you feel the wingspan his fingers have on you. His thumbs brush over your hip bones and trace down to the soft skin just above the crease of your thigh as he casually dips them along your waistband. His touch sends sparks through your skin. 

He lazily stares you down with a narrow gaze over his nose, still resting his head back. 

“Keep going.” He closes his eyes as your focus goes back to finish unbuttoning his shirt.   

As you get close to his jeans you can feel him hardening and straining against the zipper.

You pop open the button and carefully unzip him. His cock springs loose in his boxer shorts. It teases you behind the cloth barrier and you reach for his waistband so you can grab a hold of him. His fingers dig into your sides and he pushes you back slightly to make you stop. He fights through the laziness and is now fully alert. 

“You want my cock?” He grits through his teeth.  “Think it’ll fit in your pretty pussy?” He drags one of his hands to your center and grabs you through the fabric. He smirks as he can feel you are wet and damp through your thin sleep shorts. His fingers sneak into the leg hole of your shorts and he teases your clit through your cotton underwear. You clench remembering the stretch from his thick fingers deep inside you just the other night.

“Yes–” your words catch in your throat as he pushes your underwear aside and thumbs over your folds. He barely touches you and opts to tease you instead, deliberately feathering over your swollen clit. You reach down to grab the wrist of his occupied hand and grind into his fingers. Your body craves the friction. 

“Fuck me, Joel.” 

His eyes darken and with a devilish smirk he takes his hand back and watches as you slide off him to take off your clothes. He looks at your body with a sleazy ferocity. If any other guy looked at you that way you would have slapped him, but not Joel Miller. You want his attention and you like the way it makes you feel when he is eyeing you like a starving wolf.

You pull off your hoodie and shirt and toss them to the piles of clothes building up on the floor. You stand in front of him completely naked. Exposed.  Joel brings out a side of you that makes you feel confident and bold. The way he looks at you with intrigue and desire encourages you. You take a brief moment to tease him back and drag your hands over your breasts and one continues down to your cunt. 

Joel stirs in his seat. He is so easy to rile up. He pulls off his flannel and kicks off his boots. His thermal long sleeve remains hugging his body in all the right places. He arches forward as his hand grabs his thermal from the back and pulls it off over his head. It makes a prickly, staticy sound as it brushes over his hair. He tosses it to the ground and for the first time you can fully take in his body without so many layers hiding him. 

His broad shoulders and chest taper down to a narrowed waist. His body is rugged and defined. For an older man his physique had been well maintained thanks to his lifestyle. His tanned skin and his messy, dark hair with silver streaks sends tingles through you. You have never been so physically drawn into someone before on a level that almost felt primal. 

His eyes sweep your body up and down as he drags his thumb along the side of his mouth and rakes his fingers through his scruff on his chin. He bites his lip while he drinks you in. 

“Damn, baby.”  He curls his thumbs inside the band of his jeans and tugs them down along with his boxers. He kicks them off his legs and reaches towards you, wrapping around the back of your thigh and beckons you to return to him. 

“Come ‘ere”

Your eyes gape as you take in his sheer size. It is intimidating but makes you ache with desire. 

You are back in his lap straddling him with little coercion needed. You stretch an arm behind you to hold yourself up and the other touches yourself. This position lets him take all of you in; bare, exposed and wanting. Wet and needy for him. 

His hand reaches for his throbbing cock. He palms himself with a few labored strokes. He is already beading precome at the tip. You feel a pang of jealousy and wish it was your body wrapped around him. He catches the hungry way you are looking at him. You catch how much he likes it. 

“You wanna ride this cock?” He brushes the tip against your opening and you let out a whimper in response and lurch forward. You brace yourself on his forearm and your other hand pushes against his chest to keep yourself upright. His skin is firm as you grip into him. His body hot and radiating like a furnace.    

“Haven’t gotten you off my mind since Friday.” He confesses. “Thinking about how tight my cock would fit in you.” He teases you with the tip again. Your whimper grows into a needy moan making him harder. Making him want you that much more. 

He crudely spits into his hand and rubs it along his shaft and then he notches it at your entrance. You can feel your body begging to be filled with him and you’ve been wet since you woke up to him in your driveway. You’ve lost count how many times you imagined Joel fucking you. He puts his hands back on your hips with a rough grip and you move your hands to his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself onto him. He helps keep you steady. 

“Joel! Fuck–” You moan. His thick cock sears your skin as it stretches you. He is slowly splitting you open inch by inch and you have never felt more full. He lets you control the pace for now, with pained restraint. He searches your eyes to make sure it isn’t too much. He knows he is a lot to take but the slowness is making him go insane. 

Joel lets out a grunt as he gets closer to bottoming out inside you. Your walls clench around him and the sweet pain from the stretch subsides as your body adjusts to his size. You slowly ride him up and down until you have him fully sheathed inside you. Your body is so full you don’t even have room to form complete thoughts. You can only focus on his burning hot heat inside you, tearing you open. Every moment before this pales in comparison.

“Fuck. So tight.” he snarls. His grip on you tightens as he pulls your body up and then thrusts into you, hard. He keeps the pace slow but more forceful than you were. He tries to be gentle but you can feel his patience slipping away.

One hand drags to his biceps where sweat is glistening. As he lifts you his muscles flex and contract he makes it seem so effortless to maneuver your smaller frame. Everything about Joel is big and strong and rigid. The epitome of masculinity.

Each thrust up into you makes you dizzy. You can feel yourself on the verge of orgasm, cock drunk and blissed-out. His heavy breathing and hitches in his voice send you over the edge as he pounds up into you. You ride the wave as he fucks you through it. Your arms entangle in each other and your bodies slap together, sweaty and panting. Your incoherent words and moans heighten with each thrust.

He makes you feel alive and pleasured in a way that you have never felt before. It is intoxicating. 

As you start to come down from the high you feel him getting close to his own release but he is still reserved and careful with you. Through gritted teeth he tries to keep his pace steady and builds you back up, never quite letting you recover.  

“Joel, Don’t… don’t hold back.” You manage to get out of your lips. You stare into him with hooded eyes and can only imagine how fucked out you look. He brings one of his hands up to the side of your face and strokes his thumb tenderly across your cheekbone.

“Ok, baby.” 

He leans into you and in a sweeping motion he twists and lays you back into the adjacent couch cushion. It is more of an oversized loveseat and not very ideal. He barely loses contact with your body as he positions himself above you. You can feel his weighty cock press into you and pin you in place as he leans forward, crowding you in the cramped confines of the couch.  

His mouth is on yours; rough and messy. He bites at your lip as he pulls away and reigns in his focus. Your legs clamp around his sides and your arms hold onto his neck. Your fingers snake into his hair and you grab hold of him. He slides his hands down your sides so he can hold you close as he resumes fucking into you. 

With this leverage, he somehow hits you deeper than before. His cock kisses the deepest parts of you again and again. Your sides bruise as he grips you harder. All his gentle inhibitions have been replaced with raw, unhinged furor. 

His pace quickens as you can feel him coming undone inside you. He is in a frenzy fucking you hard and deep and his grunts get louder. The heavy feel of him dragging out of you and shoving back with such force has you crying out his name along with a steady stream of expletives. 

You are so close but you beg your body to hold on, you don’t want the feeling to end. You want to live in this moment forever being trapped under Joel and being filled with his cock. You moan out his name as the second orgasm explodes through your body.  

“Fuck, baby..” his body quivers as he tries to hold out long enough for you to peak. 

He suddenly sits up and groans as he drags completely out of you. You whimper at the loss of him inside you and his wet, leaking cock slaps onto your belly. He strokes himself once with a heavy fist and grunts as hot ropes of cum spurt onto you. You relish being branded in his release. It coats your stomach and drips messily onto your cunt. You revel in the last fleeting moments of your orgasm being shared with Joel’s.   

He languidly strokes himself a few more times until he is empty. His chest rises and falls quickly as he breathes shallowly. His muscles weaken as the high from his climax rolls through him. 

He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. The sticky mess spreads between your bellies as his body pushes into you. It's lewd and you love it. You love how filthy Joel makes you feel. All you can smell is sweat and sex and Joel.

He presses a kiss to your forehead and then sits back to catch his breath. Your bodies untangle and he goes back to his original spot on the couch. You stay laying back lazily with a leg draped casually over Joel and the other bent at the knee. You still need a moment for your legs to be in any condition to work properly. 

One of his hands rests on your thigh and he grazes it with comforting drags of his fingers. He doesn’t say anything but the gentle contact from him is welcome. The connection you share now is so contrasting to when he was railing you. It is a side of Joel that feels like a privilege granted to you.

The calm is interrupted by a vibration of his phone. Joel reluctantly picks it up to look at the screen and groans with disappointment. He answers it but doesn’t stop rubbing you gently while he conducts his business. 

“Fred, I’ll be there in 20.” 

You can’t make out the other end entirely but you can detect a man's voice. He doesn’t sound happy.

“Yeah, I’m running behind. Your house is next.” Joel tries to placate him. More chatter and you start to feel bad for holding him up. 

You move off of Joel and make your way towards the bathroom to wipe up the mess on your belly and grab your silky bathrobe off the door.  

“Ok, Fred. Be there soon.” You hear him hang up and toss his phone down with a grumble. He turns in your direction as he stands up to pull on his jeans. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I gotta’ go.” His tone is solemn now. You pop out of the bathroom and catch him using his undershirt to wipe up his mess. It’s gross but you like seeing him being comfortable being a typical, nasty man in your presence. Points for being resourceful.

“I heard. Didn’t mean to hold you up.” 

He glares at you and smirks as you make your way back to him. 

“Didn’t mind one bit.” He takes a few steps towards you to meet you halfway and kisses you on the top of your head while he wraps his arms around you. He breathes you in with his embrace and it feels so perfect being wrapped up by Joel. A final moment before it all ends and he pushes away from you, reluctantly. 

“And s’not a big deal. Snow aint going anywhere.” He says as he puts his flannel on, sans the thermal, and starts to button back up. 

His messy hair is mostly dry now and even more unruly with wild curls. You feel that fire inside you building again. It’s insatiable. You don’t want him to go. 

He laces up his boots and gathers his things. 

“Ok. I’m gonna hop in the shower.” 

“Ok, baby.” You exchange a final look and go your separate ways. You feel his eyes on you as you return to the bathroom. 

When you go back to the living room he is gone. All that remains is his dirty shirt and an empty coffee cup. 

Sunday Night (Joel POV)

After a few more hours of plowing Joel returns home. 

He takes a shower just long enough to wash the sweat and stink of exhaust from his body.

He pours himself a whiskey and collapses on the couch to relax. 

His body is weary, but his mind is still firing. It has not stopped. He has to face the reality that he is falling for you, whether or not he should be. 

He pulls out his phone and stares at it blankly. Hesitating. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds the one that he has been avoiding. He knocks back his drink and sends the text.

Joel: Tess. We need to talk.

Onward to Part 3!

Thank you to @magpiepills for beta-ing 🧡

Love to my ladies that mean everything @magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @youandmeand5bucks @exquisiteserotonin @for-a-longlongtime @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @redhotkitchen 🧡

[guiltyasdave]

still bejeweled

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~4.4k

summary: after breaking up with your boyfriend, your self-esteem is crushed. your best friend takes you to your favorite bar to take your mind off of things. there's a band is playing there tonight and the singer immediately catches your eye. inspired by taylor swift's bejeweled – and when i meet the band, they ask, 'do you have a man?', i could still say, 'i don't remember'

tags/warnings: explicit smut, only 18+, no/pre-outbreak au, no sarah, musician!joel, small age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel's in his mid 30s), alcohol consumption, joel pulls her hair, able-bodied reader, a bit of angst, fluff, making out, fingering, dirty talk (joel talks you through it, i just know it), praise kink, unprotected p in v (i just didn't feel like mentioning it, this is my fantasy world where pregnancies & sti's don't exist, but they very much exist in the real world, don't do this), joel has a big dick (it's canon), consent king joel, rough sex, ass-slapping, hair-pulling, please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: this came to me while making breakfast and listening to taylor, and didn't want to leave my head again. pretty self indulgent, i'm fairly certain that a musician!joel in my life would fix me. also, to boyfriends everywhere: fuck you <3

• dividers by the lovely @saradika!

• find my full masterlist here!

You storm out of the apartment, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over. This is it for good, you tell yourself. It's not the first fight of the sort that you and your boyfriend Max – now ex-boyfriend, you guess – have gotten into, with you usually backing down eventually, to keep the peace between the two of you. You've been together for more than three years, and you had hoped that this might be the one – the guy that you can settle down with, the one that you've been waiting for.

But over the past few months, Max has gotten more distant, less involved in the relationship, less interested in you, making you feel like you're burdening him, like you're always asking for too much. Like you are too much. You had asked several times if something was bothering him, something that you could work through together. Everything's fine babe, I don't know why you're even asking. Stop getting on my nerves with this.

You scoff to yourself. Usually, this was the point where you would step back from the argument, not willing to invest energy in a fight that wouldn't lead to anything anyway. Maybe things weren't perfect with Max, but they were what you knew. Familiar, comfortable. Better than being alone. Maybe not the big love that books and movies told you about, but who knows if that sort of thing even exists.

But today, when he just wouldn't give a shit about anything you said, something inside of you had snapped. “I feel like you don't even love me anymore. Do you?!” you had demanded, and the look on his face had told you everything that you needed to know.

That's how you find yourself on the street in front of your best friend's place, the short walk having somewhat cleared your head. Who does Max even think he is? It's not too much to ask to care about your partner, to show interest in them, to support them, is it? And he hasn't done any of that in quite some time.

All things considered, he just wasn't that great of a boyfriend. Still, you can't help feeling sad about it. Another relationship failed, another guy that just didn't deem you as good enough to pay attention to you. Maybe you're just not that interesting, a voice in your head whispers. You sniffle and shake your head, willing the thought out of your mind.

Your best friend Amanda greets you at her door, immediately clocking your slumped shoulders and reddened eyes, and hugs you tightly while leading you into her living room. Her concern for you elicits another wave of tears and you shakily recap today's events to her. She listens patiently, thankfully not telling you that you're better off without him or something like that, because even though you know that yourself, you don't think you could bear someone else saying it.

“I just can't believe that I'm single again and need to start over once more and I just-,” you bite your lip, willing away the tears that are pooling in your eyes, “I just feel like I'm not enough, like I can't keep a guy or I'm too picky, I don't know. It's just so frustrating, I don't wanna end up alone.”

Amanda's expression softens and she pulls you into her arms again. “You're not gonna end up alone, I promise you. You're funny and smart and,” she looks you up and down, “fucking hot. But you can't settle for less just because you're scared of ending up alone, okay? You're gonna find the guy that's right for you and then it will all make sense. Promise.”

You sigh, not sure if you believe her but also not in the mood to argue. After more talking, during which she eventually slips a glass of wine into your hand, Amanda decides that the two of you should go out tonight. Blow off some steam, show the world and yourself that you've still got it, as she puts it. You're honestly not sure if you've ever had it to begin with, but you let her enthusiasm wash over you, playing along as she insists that you wear one of her skimpiest dresses and starts doing your make up. You feel a little self-conscious with the tiny black dress that she has put you in and the dramatic red lipstick that she's currently applying to your lips.

“Don't look at me like that. You look so good and you'd know that if that fucker hadn't made you feel like you didn't for the past few months. But you've been too good of a girl for far too long now, and we're gonna change that tonight. Deal?” She expectantly holds her hand out for you to shake and you feel the excitement starting to bubble up in you. Maybe she's right and you do need to let go of your insecurities tonight. You shake her hand and she laughs delightedly, causing you to giggle as well.

Amanda finally declares that you're good to go, digging a sparkly handbag that's covered in tiny silvery jewels out of her closet. That one's actually yours, but you had left it at her place a few weeks ago after Max had told you how it was just too much and how you looked ridiculous with it. You had let it slide, thinking that it wasn't worth it to ruin the evening by fighting over a stupid handbag. What was wrong with you, you think to yourself now.

You look at yourself in her full-length mirror and you have to agree, you do look good. The short dress leaves most of your thighs bare, hugging your curves in all the right ways and the lipstick looks amazing, drawing the focus to the shape of your mouth. You do polish up real nice.

Amanda's boyfriend Patricks whistles appreciatively when you both exit from the bedroom and wishes you loads of fun. That's what a boyfriend should be like, you think to yourself. Supportive, loving, and just... kind?

Amanda drags you to one of your favorite bars. You've been here countless times together; usually it's a good crowd and the drinks are cheap. It's live music night, you realize as you walk in and notice the small stage at the far end of the room, which also explains why it's more crowded than usual. You push through a few people and manage to find two seats at the bar, from where you can watch the stage and hear the music, but it isn't too loud to talk.

The bartender comes up to you and Amanda orders tequila shots before you can even open your mouth. “I would've stuck to wine,” you complain to her and she shrugs, a big grin on her our face.

“That wouldn't be half as fun. We're going all out tonight, remember?”

You roll your eyes and nod, but when you down the first shot and bite down on the lime, you can't help the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “That's my girl!” Amanda giggles and promptly orders another round. After two more shots and feeling the tingling warmth that's spreading through your body, you let your eyes wander around the room until they find the stage.

It's mostly local bands that play here, some better than others, and tonight's isn't half bad. It's four guys, a little older than you, mid-thirties if you had to guess, and their music has an acoustic, country-ish vibe to it. Your eyes linger on the man in the front, who is softly singing into the microphone while strumming along on his guitar.

He's kinda hot, you muse to yourself, gaze trained on the way his muscles are softly flexing while he's plucking on the guitar strings with his large hands, the sleeves of his dark t-shirt straining against his arms. His deep voice is washing over you, reminding you of whiskey and honey, and you squint a little to take a closer look at his face. He has a strong jaw and pouty lips, and dark, expressive eyes that gaze into the room while he's singing. You can't explain it, but something about him just feels... warm. Like he's safe. Kind.

He has a scruffy beard and messy curls, giving him a sort of rugged look, that, combined with his incredibly broad shoulders, has you biting your lip subconsciously. How easily he could cage you in, how big and warm his hands would feel on your body...

Damn, he's really hot. And you really feel the tequila talking right now.

Amanda's fingers appear in your field of vision, snapping impatiently and you turn back to her, heat crawling up your cheeks. You might have been staring a bit too obviously. “Which one?” she grins.

“Huh?” you ask, rather poorly feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on! Okay, I'll guess,” she continues on, not giving you a chance to even try to deny anything, “it's the singer, right?”

“I-,” you start, but the look on her face tells you that it's already a lost cause, “yeah.”

She laughs delightedly and gestures to the bartender for another round of shots. “Oh, I don't think-,” you try to object, but she shushes you.

“I won't rest until you've made a move on that guy, good choice dare I say, and live a little. So drink up!” She toasts to you and you can't help laughing yourself before you tip your head back and swallow the burning alcohol in one go.

You steal another glance towards the stage – maybe a rather extended glance in all honesty – and catch the singer's eye. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then he lets his eyes wander around the room, before returning to you, his lips curling into a knowing smirk when you're still looking at him.

You hastily tear yourself away, leaning into Amanda in an attempt of hiding how flustered you're suddenly feeling. “That was fucking hot,” she breathes into your ear.

“I know,” you whisper back urgently. Then the insecurity kicks back in. “Do you think he really meant me? I mean, we're all the way in the back here, I bet he can barely see-”

Amanda swats at your arm, shaking her head. “Please, he totally meant you. You're gonna talk to him later, you hear me?”

You groan, “Oh my god,” and lean into her further. “I'm not cut out for all this, I wouldn't even know what to say.” She tsks at you and orders another round of drinks, not taking No for an answer.

You loosen up a little over time, throwing a few more glances towards the stage and delight in the way he always seems to just wait for you to look at him. When you've made eye contact several times, he winks at you and you can't help but giggle, a kind of warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol. A wide grin stretches across his face as he announces the last song for the night. You give up all pretenses, your eyes basically glued to him until he strums his guitar one last time, then thanks the audience and joins his bandmates as they wander off the stage.

The bands usually pack up, then join the bar's patrons for a few beers. You try not to appear totally desperate and refrain from staring at the door that leads backstage, instead busying yourself with your drink and listening to Amanda, when you feel someone sliding to the bar counter behind you and a hand lands to rest on your shoulder. A very big, very warm hand, you come to notice, before a deep, honeyed voice floats into your ear, causing you to turn around.

“Hi. Can I buy you a drink?”

He seems even bigger up close, and even more handsome, and your lips part slightly, taking him in. You take a beat too long to answer, just sinking into his deep brown eyes, and a grin slowly spreads across his face. “I'm Joel, by the way.” He extends a hand for you to shake and you blink, shaking yourself out of your staring, quickly taking his hand and offering your own name.

His hand dwarfs yours, enveloping it in his warmth and you feel yourself blush. This is the moment, you tell yourself. “I'd love a drink,” you smile at him and he flags down the bartender to take your order. You steal a glance at Amanda, who's nodding enthusiastically.

“So...” Joel drawls when you have your drink, still standing so close to you that you're almost touching, with a smirk playing around the corner of his mouth, “do you have a man, or-?”

Your thoughts briefly flicker to Max, but you find that you can barely remember how devastated you felt mere hours ago, that you can hardly recall his face right now. “No... no, I don't.”

“She most certainly does not, she's all yours,” Amanda chimes in, leaning around you and beaming at Joel.

You can't help but giggle at the entire situation, pleasantly buzzing with both the alcohol in your system and the feeling of having Joel in your direct proximity, and finding him more attractive with every minute that you look at him.

“I really liked your performance,” you tell him and his grin widens.

“Yeah? I could tell, sweetheart.” You laugh; the pet name has your heart soaring in your chest, but you feel completely relaxed with him, not awkward, not desperate to please him or keep his interest. You just feel... good. Really, really good.

Talking to him is easy. He makes you laugh, makes you feel comfortable, and your cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much, but you can't stop. He's constantly touching you, his hand lingering on your shoulder, your arm, sliding down to your waist, and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

When he pulls at your hips to pull you off your bar stool, you quickly follow his lead, letting him sway you around to the music that's now playing from the juke box, giggling the entire time. You feel like a teenager, but you couldn't care less. You're tipsy, you're happy, the easily most attractive man that you've ever met seems to be more than interested in you – you feel amazing.

Joel's hand comes up to cup your face, his calloused fingertips brushing over your cheek and you lean into his touch. His eyes flick down to your lips and your breath stutters in your chest. Your arms wrap around his neck at the same time that he leans in until his mouth meets yours, your lips eagerly opening against his.

A pleased hum is rumbling up in his chest and both of his hands grab at your hips, pulling your body flush against him as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands burrow into the messy curls at his neck and you all but whimper against his lips. You feel his mouth curl into a smile before he pulls away, the look in his eyes a little dazed, mirroring your own.

“You you wanna come home with me?” he asks quietly, “I live right around the corner.”

There's no need to even think about it, you want this man desperately. You quickly check on Amanda, who waves you off with a shit-eating grin and some rather crude words of encouragement.

You swing your glittery purse over your shoulder and Joel whistles lowly. “That's fancy. I like it.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “You do?”

“Yeah. Suits you.” A wide smile is spreading across your face and, without a second thought, you grab his hand to pull him out of the bar.

He really lives close nearby and you're stumbling through a dark hallway barely five minutes later. Joel has his hands on your hips and his lips on your mouth, kissing you roughly as he leads you into what you presume is the direction of his bedroom. He kicks the bedroom door shut behind you and crowds you up against the wood, his hands grabbing at your sides, pulling at the dress, revealing more skin to his touch.

The room is dimly lit, yellow light from the street below filtering in through the windows, and his eyes roam over you. “Fuck, you're so hot,” he growls and captures your mouth in another searing kiss, his hand coming up to palm at your breasts, roughly squeezing the flesh and running his thumb over your nipple through the fabric. You mewl into his mouth and he pulls back breathlessly. “You're an eager little thing, aren't you?” he murmurs and you arch your back, trying to press yourself back into his touch.

“Please, Joel,” you whimper and he chuckles before diving back in, his tongue hot in your mouth and his fingers creeping under your dress, toying with the hem of your underwear.

He pulls it aside, his fingers grazing your already soaked folds and you buck your hips into his touch. He slides your dress up higher until his hand comes to rest on your bare hip and he searches your face.

“You're feeling good? You want this?”

You nod eagerly and he tuts softly. “Gotta let me hear it, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, his respectfulness paired with the dark look in his eyes spurring your arousal on even further. “I want it, please.”

“Good girl, so polite too,” he murmurs and your legs almost buckle underneath you. His hand travels back between your legs, grabbing at your underwear and quickly pulling it off of you, before his fingers are back, sliding through your wetness and circling your clit slowly.

“Fuck, you're dripping. So good for me, all eager and ready, huh?”

The whine that comes out of you sounds faintly like a “yes” and he presses another kiss to your lips, before he thrusts two fingers into you, stretching you deliciously.

“Fucking tight,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice sounding wrecked already. He sets a languid pace, pausing every so often to curl his fingers deep within you, hitting that spongy spot that has your legs shaking and your hands grabbing at his shoulders as high-pitched whines fall out of your mouth.

You can see the pleased smirk on his face as you're falling apart on just his fingers. His other hand travels up to the straps of your dress, pulling them down and revealing your breasts to him.

His lips suck on the newly exposed flesh and you hear him mutter, “so fucking pretty” against your skin. His mouth travels to your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud, while his fingers keep thrusting and curling inside of you.

Heat is boiling in your abdomen, licking at your spine and you can almost taste your orgasm already. “Joel, I'm gonna- please don't stop, please,” you manage to breathe out.

“You're gonna come on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, before sucking your nipple back into his mouth. “Go ahead, let me feel it.” His thumb starts to toy with your clit in quick, precise circles, and you gasp. The heat spreads through your entire body as your orgasm takes hold of you, your toes curling and your legs shaking while you pulse wildly around his fingers.

“Good girl, you look so pretty when you come,” Joel whispers, trailing kisses from your breasts up to your neck as you slowly come down from your high.

Joel maneuvers you to his bed, supporting your weight and gently setting you down until you're sprawled out on the covers. You can still feel the aftershocks from your orgasm, but your want for him is coursing through you like a wildfire and you eagerly stretch your arms out for him.

He chuckles, mumbling something about you being insatiable and quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing golden skin and a body that's obviously strong and muscular, but he still has a softness to him.

You sit back up and scoot closer, your hands flying to his beltbuckle as you press kisses against his belly, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his muscles are twitching under your mouth.

You tilt your head up, silently asking for permission as you tug on his pants and he nods, smiling down at you. You pull his pants and underwear down in one go, desperate to see all of him, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes your mouth at the sight before you.

He's fucking big, and you should probably worry about fitting all of him inside of you, but instead the fire in your abdomen is flaring up again and you subconsciously press your thighs together.

Joel leans down to you, pulling your already bunched up dress over your head and leaving you just as bare as he is.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he smirks.

“I- yeah,” you nod, shyly smiling up at him and he pecks your lips.

“Me too.”

He crowds you in, his broad body looming over yours as you lay back down on the bed and his fingers find their way in between your legs again. He grazes your clit, then swirls a finger through your wetness, spreading it on your inner thighs, and your hips buck up into his touch, causing him to chuckle.

“Impatient little thing.”

You can barely form a coherent thought, you're desperate to feel his cock inside of you and you eagerly part your legs when he situates his body between them. He grabs at your thigh, spreading you open even wider, before landing a playful slap against the backside. An almost embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and Joel's smirk turns downright feral.

“You liked that, sweetheart? You like it when I'm a little rough with you?”

He's grinding his hips against you, sliding his cock through your wetness, the tip almost catching at your entrance. You're past the point of caring, nodding mindlessly, you just want him inside of you.

“Fuck, yes, please Joel, please.”

“Should've known,” he mumbles, “it's always the quiet ones. Actin' all shy, but you need it bad, don't you? Gonna fuck you so good, take such good care of you, don't you worry.”

You whimper, your breath catching in your throat when he lines his cock up with your center, his tip already parting your walls, but he stops himself again. “Tell me once more, sweetheart. You still good, still want this?”

“Yes Joel, fuck, I want it,” you whine. The words have barely left your mouth when he slams into you, filling you to the brim. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls fluttering around his length, trying to accommodate him as he's splitting you open. The stretch is intense, bordering on painful, but you still feel yourself getting wetter around him, pain turning into pleasure as he stills inside of you for a few moments to let you adjust.

“Goddamn it, you're tight, you're taking me so good, such a good fuckin' girl.”

His mouth is close to your ear, muttering filth to you with his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin on your neck. Another loud moan falls from your mouth at his words and you clench around his cock that's still buried deep inside of you, causing him to groan.

“Yeah you like that, wanna be a good girl for me, don't you?”

You nod breathlessly and he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back into you, setting a brutal rhythm that's forcing moans from your throat and has you wildly clenching around him. One of his hands is playing with your nipples again, pinching and pulling at your delicate flesh and sending delicious sparks of pleasure straight to your core while he's still fucking you deeply. It's incredible, already easily the best you've ever had, but you still want more, want him deeper.

“Oh my god, p-please Joel,” you stutter.

“Please what?”

“H-harder, please.” He growls at that, pulling himself out of you and flipping you around until you're on your knees, presenting your ass to him. He presses his cock back into you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and his hand connects with the skin on your ass cheek in a harsh slap.

“Knew you were a filthy little thing, fuck, just waitin' around for someone to give it to you hard, huh?” he growls. The way he's talking to you is going straight to your core and you feel a second high approaching rapidly.

His hand tangles in your hair, making a fist and pulling until you're arching your back, slightly changing the angle and letting him hit a spot inside of you that absolutely devastates you. There's stars dancing across your eyes, your thighs are quivering and your walls are pulsing rhythmically.

“Not someone, just- just for you,” you moan out, shuddering around him as another orgasm washes over you, your vision swimming and you're clamping down on him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Joel mutters, his hands grabbing your hips roughly and holding onto you with strong hands as he stills his movements and spills himself deep inside of you.

You feel almost delirious as Joel hugs you tightly to his body, kissing you deeply before he gently lays you down on the bed. He cleans you up, gets you a glass of water and covers you with a thick blanket before he slides into bed beside you.

His arm wraps around your middle and he pulls you closer against his chest, engulfing you in his warmth and peppering your bare neck and shoulders with kisses. You nuzzle into him, your eyes falling shut as you relax under his soft touches. You can't remember the last time you felt this good. Protected, cared for, happy.

“Sweetheart?” Joel's voice sounds from behind you and you give a little hum. “I know this started out like a one night thing, but-” he pauses, almost sounding a little shy, “promise me that you won't just vanish in the morning, okay?” You smile and crane your head to press your lips against his once more.

“I promise.”

a/n #2: ...yeah, this would definitely fix me. shout out to the real life amanda for being an amazing friend and the best hype woman, thank you for yelling about pedro with me 24/7. also shout out to the real life patrick for being an amazing boyfriend and providing us with insights about the male sexual experience lol. thank you guys for being the best adoptive parents to my third-wheeling single ass. <3

thank you so much for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!

[brilium]

❥ K I N K T O B E R 2 0 2 3

Masterlist

➽──────────❥

❥ DAY 6. Cheating! with Gojo Satoru

Summary. Your boyfriend, hated by all your friends, turns you down again on a dinner that you planned for weeks and Satoru shows up at a bar to wash away all your worries like he always does.

Content Warning. Fem! reader, no use of Y/N, all characters are adults, smut, fingering, masturbation (f. recieving), vaginal sex, cheating, Satoru calls her slut one time but it's more praising, mirror sex.

Word count. 3,203

MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT !!

“Sorry, babe. I’ll make sure to make it up for you next time, okay?”

You sigh, throwing your phone inside your bag and standing up to leave the fancy restaurant with the sound of your heels echoing through the sound of the soft jazz music.

On the way back to your car, the only thought in your mind is all the times when your friends have told you that your boyfriend is an idiot that only stays with you for comfort. You always try to excuse him, but why? 

Do you even still love him?

Thinking about it is more hurtful than being turned down by him on the dinner that you planned for your anniversary, while you try to hold the tears hiding your face on the steering wheel, you make a decision.

You bought this pretty dress only for this night, to surprise him with a new dress. You looked for tutorials to get a pretty makeup on that’d make you look stunning. And you are, so it would be such a lame to waste this night crying over an idiot who can’t keep his word with you.

That’s what you thought in your car, getting excited for a wild night as you drive to the nearest night club and you get inside to get drunk and make out with a stranger. But, your moral betrays you once you get your drink and realize that your adrenaline got you thinking about cheating.

Does he really deserve it?

I mean, he's not that bad as a boyfriend. He at least remembered about sending me a message to say that he couldn’t come to our date, right?

Opposite to what was supposed to happen, the rush of thoughts running in your head makes you feel a little guilty after taking some more drinks. You put the money harshly on the bar and turn to leave, but a familiar voice calling your name makes you turn back to it.

“I didn’t think of finding you here, precious!” Satoru’s voice calls you, raising his tone to let you hear him through the loud sound of the music. “Weren’t you stressed all week planning a hookup or something for tonight?”.

You frown, looking at him with annoyance as you roll your eyes.

“It wasn’t a hookup! It was dinner!” You raise your tone too, but he makes a gesture to his ear, pointing that he didn’t hear you correctly. You lean closer to his side, trying to resume it and be clear “My boyfriend couldn’t make it!”

He laughs, leaning his head to the side to smile at you. His cheeks are slightly pink and he seems a little more relaxed than other times, it could be a mistake of your eyes thanks to the lights moving and flickering, but you get the hint that his pupils might be even a little dilated.

“I thought that you’d dump him sooner or later!”

“You wish. I haven’t broken up with him!” You protest, hitting his chest softly and rolling your eyes as you take the last remains on your glass on the bar in one sip. You thought of leaving, but Satoru always makes his way to bring up a smile to you everytime that your boyfriend disappoints you.

Satoru clicks his tongue, stepping closer to you and leaning down a little to speak closer to your ear. There are so many things around you both in this club; music, lights, people and the vibrations of the music resonating, but even through all that, Satoru’s breath makes your skin shiver when he speaks.

“I could make this night better for you, If you want”.

Your eyebrows frown, leaning a little to the side to look at him with a chuckle. But all your playfulness goes away when his face is still closer to yours, looking at you with expectation and a little smile on his mouth.

“How are you planning to do that?” The answer from your mouth comes out in a soft whisper, so soft that it’s impossible that Satoru heard it with the loud music playing. But he clearly knows that, if it were the opposite, you would have laughed and leaned back, but you didn't.

So, when he leans closer and closer to your face, with his lips barely touching yours is when you finally give up. His cologne has combined with a faint smell of smoke and his lips are slightly opened, waiting for you to take the final step, to take the decision of cheating on your boyfriend.

Should I call him and tell him that I felt hurt? 

Your hand goes up through his body to grab the back of his neck.

He might feel sorry and make time for me if I tell him.

The possibility crosses your mind as your head tilts to the side to have a better angle with Satoru’s face.

But.

Will he be able to give me the same satisfaction as Satoru? 

It's the final thought that you have before his lips start to devour yours, skipping the "innocent kiss" part and immediately grabbing your waist to bring you closer.

You don't know when or how, but your hands are hugging his neck to bring him down to your lips, taking quick breaks between kisses to grab some fresh air and get back to him again. He's holding you with such strength like you might escape from him, but there's no better place in the world right now than being here, kissing him and forgetting about everything. 

His hands go down from your waist to your hips, reaching finally your ass to give it a squeeze that makes you pull back from the kiss to moan softly. Satoru takes the chance to kiss down your jaw and neck, sucking on your skin without a second thought to let a purple bruise grow on you.

The braces of your dress start to fall down while he keeps kissing and marking, his knee holds you between your legs to keep you standing as he rubs the clothed cunt with his bone. You can only moan and grab his hair between your fingers, too aroused to do anything.

There's a lot of people, people too lost on their fun or alcohol to care about you both making out in the bar, they don't even know that you have a boyfriend. But you still hold his hair tightly to bring him up, he moans in a tiny laugh when you pull him, getting turned on by any simple action from you.

“N–Not…”

Satoru sighs, about to let you go but you hold him tight before keep talking.

"S–Satoru…" He looks down at you, staring between your lips and your eyes like he's hypnotized. "Not here".

A bright smirk grows on his face as he answers a clear "I got you" before grabbing your hand to sneak away through the people and get you both inside the bathrooms of the club. To your luck, it was empty and he took the opportunity to quickly close the door with a key.

"Why do you have the keys of the bathrooms?" You ask, still dizzy from the makeout and rush.

"Yaga won’t notice that I grabbed them." he winks at you and walks closer to you to caress firmly from your thighs to your waist, slowly lifting your dress. You let out a soft whimper when his nails scratch softly on your skin. "Are you feeling doubtful?”

You open your mouth to answer, but a moan comes out before you can say anything when his hand has already reached your clothed cunt while the other harshly pulls down the top of your dress to let out your breasts, you startle at the soft sound of a rip as Satoru laughs softly as his face hides on the crook of your neck to keep kissing and marking your skin.

“Fuck, Satoru— This dress was expensive!” Despite your whine, you shout your eyes to ignore how sensitive you are by the friction of his shirt on your nipples. Every movement resonates on the echo of the bathrooms, being the total opposite to the rowdy club.

“I’ll buy you a new one, don’t worry” He whispers beside your ear and you feel your legs getting weak again, so you bring a hand down between his legs on the bugle on his pants to squeeze him up and down. 

Satoru lets out a broken moan on your clavicle that sounds like heaven thanks to the echo. 

The vibrations coming from your bag start to distract you, but there’s nothing that could care you more than Satoru’s hand rubbing your clit above your underwear. 

You try to grab out the phone to stop the buzzing but it's hard to get focused right now, so you throw the small bag on the counter of the bathroom to hold his hair tightly and start to grind your hips on his hand.

Satoru loves how desperate you are, stopping the movement of his hand between your thighs suddenly. You whine in protest but he turns you on your spot quickly to have you looking at your both reflects on the mirror.

The reflection of your sweaty and half naked body makes you feel a little nervous, but Satoru quickly pushes that thought away as he looks directly at your eyes on the reflection while he keeps kissing down your shoulders, the deep gaze on you and the sensation of his hard crotch grinding on your ass makes you feel the most desired you ever felt on months. 

His hand returns down and puts aside your panties to slide inside the tip of two of his fingers inside your wet cunt, your body shakes at the action, holding the counter with one hand while the other holds his hand between your legs by instinct. Satoru immediately pulls out his fingers and you protest, again.

“W–What? Why did you stop?” Your voice comes out shaky, turning your head back slightly to look at his face.

“It’s not fun if you aren’t looking too.” Satoru pouts on your shoulder, returning the tip of his fingers to your entrance to lubricate them with the wetness around your folds. “Let’s enjoy the show together, okay?”

As his fingers slowly start to push inside you, you rest your head on his shoulder, trying to keep your gaze with half opened eyes on the mirror as he is fingering you and the other hand squeezes your breasts, pinching the nipples between his nails and making you squirm on him. All the movement of your body makes the grinding on his erection get more persistent, causing you both to moan and groan as his fingers keep digging and curling on your folds.

Moans and wet sounds resonate thanks to the echo of the bathrooms, echoing louder when your orgasm starts to get closer.

“Sa–Satoru… D–Don’t stop” You moan, almost crying of pleasure when his palm starts to rub harder on your swollen clit when his movements get a faster peace and spreading your juices all around your cunt. “I–I’m gonna cum!”

“Yeah? Are you gonna cum by the fingers of someone who’s not your boyfriend?” His voice is raspy, struggling to answer through his hard breathing.

It’s embarrassing, but you nod desperately, grinding harder on his hand and squeezing one of your breasts while the other holds his hair for support to not fall off because of the big orgasm coming.

“Yes! Yes and I l–love it!”

Satoru laughs shakily, curling his fingers and kissing your neck as he answers.

“Cum all over my fingers, darling. You won it.” He orders, and you cum almost instantly in a loud cry. All your squirming and shaking during the explosion of your orgasm makes you stop looking at the mirror, but fortunately this time he decides to enjoy the show by himself.

Satoru waits patiently for you to stop spasming to let you ride the orgasm as long as you can, trembling and standing up just because of his hold on your body. He pulls out his fingers to grab your hips and you whine breathless.

“Don’t whine, you look like you ran a marathon. One where you arrived at the last.” He teases, resting his head beside you with a smirk.

“S–Shut up.” You hiss, pushing your ass back to feel him and make him groan. “Wait until I make you cum next”.

He moans heavenly again, resting his forehead on your shoulder and struggling to speak with your movements, but not making a movement to stop you.

“I don’t want you to blame me for cheating on your dear boyfriend, y’know?” 

You roll your eyes, moving a little from his hold to lift the back of your dress to leave it hanging on your waist and pull down your panties. You hold the porcelain counter to arch your back better and jiggle your ass for him.

“So you want to lose the opportunity to do it raw?” 

Those words are heavy. 

You don’t even let your boyfriend cum inside, you use birth control but still you ask him to use a condom. You don’t even bother to blame the few shots you drank, you know that he gave you the best orgasm in two years since you started dating your partner. Right now, you don't even care if he rips in two halves the expensive dress that may be covered in sweat by now.

Satoru bites hard on his lip, looking everywhere but your tempting ass in sight for him. Now he’s the one doubting, but it doesn't last long before you hear the sound of his belt tinkling and feel his hands squeezing your butt to spread it.

He looks at your wet folds, dripping down the remains of your cum on your thighs, he grabs the base of his hard cock and rubs it on your entrance. 

"God— Baby" He hisses when the red tip starts to slide inside you and is received by your gummy walls already tightening. You moan sharply when he starts to push and let you feel his hard veins "You’re so fucking tight. So hot."

You moan sharply without any doubt anymore as his length makes his way inside you. Even if you can't see him, you feel the slight curvature of his cock pushing more and more on your G-Spot.

"I haven't had a good fuck in some time." The words come out in a breath once he has finally pushes all inside, his hands grab your hips firmly before he starts thrusting with a slow rhythm.

After the first orgasm, you’re still sensitive with any touch of his skin on yours.

"I guess I can fix that." He laughs, starting to send thrusts that make your ass jiggle slightly by the hit. Satoru's patience seems to blow away once you start to push back for more.

"Please… Ruin me, please" you fix your gaze again on the mirror, loving how Satoru seems almost hypnotized by your ass recoil while you get a view of your tits hanging side to side from his thrusts. "Make me feel guilty for enjoying another man's cock so much".

"Fuck— You're such a dirty girl, huh?" Satoru finally starts to send harder thrusts that resonate loudly, not enough with the sound of  his hips hitting your ass, his hand sends a slap on it, making you moan in a broken voice "A slut so fucking needy for a good cock, yeah?"

“Yes—! Yes I–I am” You nod, too cock drunk by how he keeps hitting on the weak spot on your gummy walls.

He laughs shakily and grabs your neck to bring your back against his chest, his hand holding your neck as the other crosses around your stomach to hold your cunt close to his thrusts.

It's hard to look at the reflection with the small tears forming on your eyes since this position gives his curve a better angle to get you crying his name. Your hands just can hang on your sides as your body receives all his hard thrusts. 

Satoru also looks at the reflection with his lips half opened and keeping his gaze on your numb body. When your insides start to tighten around him on the advice of your second orgasm approaching Satoru bends again your body closer to the counter. 

His hand grabs one of your thighs to put it on the counter and push your face against the mirror, his cock slams harder than before inside you as your body smashes violently on the mirror while your orgasm hits you screaming his name.

"Fuck— You're a fucking angel, gorgeous" Satoru keeps thrusting hard and messy until, in a hard thrust, you feel a warm start to fill your aching cunt.

You breathe heavy against the mirror, leaving a spot of mist on it while your whole body trembles while Satoru keeps thrusting inside you to push his cum further as the music of the club sounds like it's far away from you.

You both stay like that for a little, trying to put your heartbeats again on a stable rhythm. 

Satoru gently seats you on the counter when he pulls out and notices the weakness on your body. You blush softly, mumbling a soft 'Thanks' with your dry throat.

"No round two, then?" He jokes, fixing his pants and grabbing some paper towels from the dispenser.

"You look as fucked out as me, Satoru" you laugh softly, pointing at his flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead. He approaches near you to clean you with the paper towels you startle, pushing him immediately "Wait— What are you doing!?"

"Cleaning you up?" He asks with an skeptical tone "I know that anyone has ever cummed inside you and you don't know that, but—"

"I've done it like this before, Satoru".

Satoru only answers a soft "Oh" that is followed by a wide grin, his hand gives your thigh a small squeeze that makes you jump on your spot slightly.

"So you've been naughty before, huh?"

"Shut up, Satoru" you look away from him, pulling closer your bag to give it to him "I have some tissues here, use them. I don't trust in those paper towels".

"We literally just had sex in here" he protests, but still grumbles around your small bag to look for the tissues, but suddenly stops the movement when he notices something.

Instead of grabbing your tissues, Satoru brings out your phone and shows you a screen of a call in progress with your boyfriend.

You quickly grab the phone and put it on speaker, hoping that he answered with the phone still on his jeans.

"Hello?"

"Fuck off". You hear his voice and then the finished call sound comes.

You don't even feel bad or guilty after finding out that he maybe heard you fucking with another man, you just look at the phone surprised by all the things that happened so quickly. 

After some seconds, you feel again Satoru squeezing your thighs and you look up from your phone at his smirk looking at you with wide eyes.

"So… Are you single now?"

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter one

of rage and ruin series

chapter one

series masterlist | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, torture, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, gore, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), death, murder of innocent people, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, no y/n, reader is able-bodied and afab with no specific descriptions, viewer discretion is advised

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

This is a werewolf omegaverse fic that uses traditional and non-traditional elements of the genres. It largely ignores TLOU canon.

DISCLAIMER: A plotline of this story involves unethical medical care and human experimentation re: vaccines. It may give anti-vax vibes. This is NOT an anti-vax story and I do not want any related discourse please and thank you. This is about FEDRA being the absolute worst, not about the real world in any way.

In a rare moment of lucidity, he thinks he used to be human, once. 

He’s partially transformed more often than not. Almost never fully, unless he’s under the sway of the moon. His real keeper. 

These raiders may think they own him, but he knows the truth. 

But lucidity is rare, and most of the time, Joel Miller is more beast than man. 

Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s Joel Miller.

No matter what, though, he’s a nearly uncontrollable force of nature. 

That’s why they keep a shock collar around his neck and tasers at their waists. That’s why they never turn their backs or leave him unrestrained. He fought like hell for a long time until he broke. 

No shame in it, he knows. Everyone breaks eventually. 

As the years have gone on, though, he’s been getting restless and snippy, less cooperative. And the pain doesn’t really matter anymore. 

Nothin’ really does when you’ve given up.

On the last new moon, when the wolf was quiet and the man was loud, he’d tried to refuse. He sat, buck-ass naked, on the gritty wood floor of the house they were raiding. 

He did not sniff out treasure like some fucking metal detector. He did not tear the humans limb from limb. He did not feast. 

He paid for that night and had the receipts to prove it, laid into his back from the silver-tipped whip. 

He should have tried harder to die at the start. 

He hadn’t understood right away, when they took him. It, frankly, didn’t even cross his mind that they’d know. Laura, the woman in the woods, had been so sure it was secret. 

He got it when they shot him in the leg with a BB gun, though, and the silver shrapnel burned. They were prepared. Silver-coated chains and cuffs, silver-tipped batons and whips and knives. Cattle prods and electric collars. 

They’d been hunting him. 

They tried to break him easy, first. They were looking for a wolf; didn’t know they’d find Joel Miller. They left him chained in an abandoned suburb, giving him just the minimum food and water to keep him alive. 

It worked to weaken him, but they didn’t want him weak forever. Not a very good guard dog or weapon if he can’t lift his head. So when that didn’t work, when he didn’t beg and plead or bend the knee, they gave up and bulked him back up slowly. 

So they tried pain next. 

He came to know the healing as a curse. They avoided the silver, at least at first, since it’d leave damage. But when they found out they could break his bones over and over and over?

That’s when he started to wish he was dead. What was the point, anyway? He couldn’t go back to Boston. Couldn’t risk himself around Tommy and Tess. 

Couldn’t kill himself if he tried, but they could, with their arsenal. 

Didn’t matter what he wanted in the end; his brain wouldn’t give in. It overrode his silent pleas, and it fought and fought and fought.

So they took him on a raid. Starving, chained under the full moon, and they waited. He couldn’t go far, but he didn’t have to. 

They brought the food to him.

“You’ve no control over it, huh?” Cheryl said after, leering into his “room.” They send her to play nice, but he knows she’s the worst of them all. They just think he’ll smell pussy and roll over. “We didn’t need you to kill them. You just need to scare them and help us find what we’re lookin’ for.”

They had him. He knows, he knows, he knows. He’d have done anything to stop it from happening again. From devouring tied-up families who dared to say “no” to Jim and his crew. From throwing up blood and bones and bows. 

He can’t kill himself. They won’t kill him. He had no choice. 

He broke.

This new moon, they don’t take him out to scavenge. No, instead, they drag him outside and spray him down with the hose. This, in itself, is not unusual. But when they force the muzzle over his snapping teeth to scrub at his skin with precious lye soap and a rag, he starts to get concerned. 

His suspicions are confirmed when they take him back inside. 

The only time he’s left unbound is here, in his room. Well. It meets the vague requirements for a room, but it’s also reinforced with silver-plated steel and concrete. Cheaply so, but enough to mute his senses and hopes. 

Usually, they wait until the grate is shut to unclip the lead. They wait until he kneels and offers his hands to unlock the shackles. When he’s been good, of course. 

But not today. Today, they chain him tight to the wall at the far end of the room. 

They’ve had this theory that he hates to admit is not without merit. Looking for another way to control him, they’ve tried to find him an omega. 

The first few times, they just forced him on them out wherever they’ve raided. Usually, he’s too out of control, and they don’t survive the encounter. 

The most recent time, they dumped one in his cell. But the poor thing still smelled of his alpha, having only lost them hours earlier. 

Joel didn’t react well. 

They’re trying something new, now. 

That he’s here while they clean his room is deliberate. He knows this. They’re purging all his scent from it, and they want him to watch, want him unsettled.

He growls when they remove his mattress completely. It’s a pathetically small, thin, hole-ridden thing, but it’s his. 

Before they drag in a new one, a flat pack of grated metal is tossed in the corner. Two of his captors go to work on assembling the contraption, and another leaves for a while, only to return with a sawed-off portion of his mattress. 

It fits neatly inside the cage. For that’s what they’ve constructed. It’s silver-coated, of course, but pathetically weak otherwise. If he truly desired, he could snap the bars as easily as bone. 

He’s not keen on having burnt hands, though. 

Just inside the front of the cage, they clip up a bit of cloth. He doesn’t need to be told what it is, knowing immediately after it’s extracted from the airtight glass Tupperware. 

They tell him anyway. “Got a new toy for you to try, if you’re good. For now, this is all you get.”

The heady scent of omega soaked into the panties permeates his room. 

He’s salivating a little by the time they finally release him, but he waits until the heavy footfalls echo from down the hall to give in. 

They smell divine. He can’t resist tasting, lapping at the tiniest hint of musk and omega under his elongated tongue. 

“Told ya he would have shredded her,” Jim says to Cheryl when they come in the morning with his breakfast. Joel’s in his mind enough to feel a little shame, back of his neck burning, when they see the tattered fabric. 

It’s clear they anticipated it because, along with his tray, he’s given a new pair. 

They’re not so appealing this time. The sweet scent is cut by acidic fear like vinegar through molasses. He ignores them in favor of his meal. 

He eats better here than he ever did out there. He’s worth more rations to the raiders than to FEDRA. Robust meals full of meat and eggs and potatoes. 

They need him strong, after all. 

It’s not until a few hours later that he’s drawn back in by the underwear. It’s not so acrid anymore. Or maybe it is, and he’s just in the mood. Either way, he buries his face in them while he strokes his cock and uses them to catch his cum when he finishes. 

There. That’s better. The mix of him with… whoever you are. 

When they bring him lunch, they make him put the panties on his old tray before pushing it out to them. He doesn’t burn with shame this time; no, he almost feels proud. Like a peacock fluffing out its feathers. They know now. They must. 

Whoever you are, you’re his. 

The next day, they bring back the same pair. He wolfs out a little at the fresh layer of you over his cum. It’s all fear and tears and disgust, but it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all, not to him, not to the wolf. 

All that matters is how his head fills with static when he licks across the gusset and howls. 

Cheryl’s looking pretty smug on the other side of the door, but for all that she’s pleased with the results; they still threaten to turn on the collar if he doesn’t eat quickly.  

He’s nearly fully wolf, gobbling down the food and returning to his treasure. He snarls as he strokes his cock, the head angry and purple as he tugs. He doesn’t spill onto the panties this time, not wanting to cover up the perfect combination of your scents. In the end, they’re shredded anyway, as his fingers stretch and break into claws. 

In his full glory, his senses are even sharper. Sharp enough that he can hear a faint sobbing across the building and Cheryl’s sharp laughter. 

“I don’t know,” she’s drawling when he tunes in. “He sounds pretty excited to meet you.”

The soft sobbing turns raw and cracked. He can smell the salt and phlegm, can practically taste it in the air. He’s aware of Cheryl, but nothing is louder than the way your heart is tripping over itself.

When Cheryl’s words sink in, when he realizes he might actually get to have whatever delicious creature they’ve gotten him, he howls again, a long, aching sound that creeps down your bones like frost.

Later, when he’s a little more present, he realizes they didn’t shock him either time he howled. It’s usually a guarantee. 

Whatever game they’re playing, it doesn’t bode well for you.

Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He wasn’t even worried when it happened. They’d been heading back to the QZ, him and Tommy and Tess, when a wild dog attacked them. 

Or, well. A wolf. 

Tommy had gotten a bullet in its head, but it had Joel’s arm in its jaw at the time. Its teeth had rent through his jacket like a spoon in a banana split. 

FEDRA would shoot him without a second thought, so they doubled back to the little cabin and hunkered down. Figured they’d lay low long enough for it to be hideable before sneaking back in. 

Tommy went out at daybreak for the carcass—it’d be leagues better than what they had in their bags. When he came back, he was faint and empty-handed. 

“...don’t make any sense,” he kept muttering, pacing the tiny kitchenette. 

Joel and Tess exchanged a glance. 

“Probably a bear took it,” she suggested.

Tommy ran his hand through his hair, shook his head, and did it again. When he looked up at them, it was through wild, unpredictable eyes. “Wasn’t a wolf. It was a man.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Joel said.

“C’mon.”

They followed him through the thicket, and sure as shit, in the same place the wolf’s corpse had lain was a man with a bullet through his skull. He was completely nude. 

“Gotta be a coincidence,” Joel muttered.

Tommy turned to him, eyes wide and hands shaking. “What kind of fucking coincidence is this?” 

There was a rustle, and they all turned, guns raised, as a woman peeked from behind a tree. 

She put her hands up and waited. Tess jerked her head to one side, and they lowered but did not stow their weapons. 

The woman was in a ratty cotton dress with no shoes; autumn leaves crunching underfoot. 

“That’s, um. That’s my husband,” she said softly. 

“Apologies, ma’am,” Tommy said, his face soft and sad. “But—I think he attacked us.”

Her green eyes grew wide, pupils dilating and breath catching in her chest. “Did you get bit?” 

Tommy and Tess instinctually looked at Joel. 

“What’s it to ya?” he said.

“Did you get bit?” she repeated.

“Was he Infected?”

“Not with cordyceps, no,” she says. She avoids looking at the body but flinches when she brushes a foot against a blood-soaked leaf. 

“What does that mean?” Tommy said. 

“I think it’s best we go someplace and talk.”

Against better judgment, they follow her through the words to her home. She claims to have two kids alone there, four years and six months. 

It turns out to be true. She gets them both down for a nap and serves hot stew. They try to refuse, but she insists. 

Tommy feels a little sick eating the food of a man he killed. They all listen, rapt, as she begins to speak.

“It happened a year ago. But it wasn’t an accident.”

When the full moon is two days away, Joel is nearing the furthest from himself. Same shit, different month, but his reactions to your scent are getting, well, feral. 

They’re bringing him strips of cloth, now. He gets a new one with each meal. He doesn’t destroy them anymore. Oh, no. When he’s clearer, he wishes he did. 

But no. He smells and licks and then jerks off with them. If only that were the worst of it. He’ll come to be mortified during the waning, but he starts to add them to the cage. It’s fairly saturated with the smell of him from his old mattress, but it pleases the beast within to line it with the sweet mixture soaked into the torn sheets. 

You’ll understand, then, the wolf thinks. You’ll know it’s safe for you. Somewhere he’s made, a den all your own where he can keep you. 

But you won’t know, because what you know is very little. 

When FEDRA started asking for volunteers to test vaccines, you didn’t hesitate. You knew the risks. And the rewards—room and rations for the length of the observation period, anywhere up to a year in length. You knew there would be a catch—probably many, but given that you rarely had a room or rations, it wasn’t a hard choice.

But this was the end of the world, and “informed consent” was not something that survived the outbreak. 

They worked in batches. A truckload of live bodies at a time. Sterilizing showers with the barest trace of privacy, dressed in stiff starchy scrubs, and led into little cubicles where nurses with needles sat in wait. 

A quick jab to the upper arm, and then you were off. The hospital was an old correctional facility, but again, for someone who hadn’t had a bed on a reliable basis, you felt only relief. 

Until the deaths started.

They didn’t even try to hide it. Within 24 hours of arrival, a fourth of your group was gone. Carted out in black bags marked with β and nothing more said. You watched through your window like everyone else. 

Someone came around the next day and drew blood from every remaining subject, and the tagging began after that. You could see the symbols on other’s doors, but not your own. α or Ω. What they meant, you couldn’t begin to guess. 

It started not long after. 

The changes.

At first it was so subtle, you may not have noticed, but a nurse came by each day to ask you a series of increasingly embarrassing questions. 

What do you smell? What do I smell like? What does your sweat smell like? How sensitive are your breasts? Describe your vaginal discharge. How aroused are you on a scale of 1-10? 

They began weekly tests. Blood draws once a week and daily urine samples, of course, but also hearing and vision. They made you run on a treadmill hooked up to wires. 

And then, one day, after six months of intensive observation, they moved you.

Or. They tried to.

You were exhibiting a specific set of side effects, they said. You were to be transferred to another facility for subjects with the same side effects for further observation. 

Raiders took out the truck halfway through the ten-hour journey. It was… it was a bloodbath, actually. For the FEDRA officers, anyway. 

When they had you all lined up, grippy socks soaking in the ankle-deep mud, well, that was when you all learned which symbol was on your door. They couldn’t keep the word out of their mouths. Omega. 

Not that it fucking explained anything.

One by one, a short blonde with a bob went down the line of you and shoved something up to each omega’s face. That’s it. It seemed to have no greater purpose.

But for some reason, when she pressed the cloth against your nose and mouth, she smiled. And they separated you.

Whatever that was had a deep, oaky musk, like the illicit brewery operating out of the warehouse you often slept in before the trials. 

They tell you nothing.

They make you sleep on strips of cloth, so you roll around in the pile as you toss and turn, rubbing your sweat and slick and pheromones all over. 

They don’t bring you anything of his, but you catch faint whiffs of him (him, always him, they never call him by a name), of those aged, liquor-soaked barrels, but all it does is make you nauseous. You don’t understand how you know it’s him; you still don’t understand any of it. 

You learn very quickly not to ask questions. 

They take him out on the night the moon is full and bloated, hanging over him like a searchlight. See, it whispers, I can find you anywhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. If it didn’t, the wolf would find it anyway. 

He is not himself.

He is his truest self.

He is two or one; neither yet both. A monster movie mashup of fur and teeth and roughshod science experiments conducted by a doctor who wasn’t a doctor at all. He’s the monster’s victim. He’s the monsters’ monster. 

He’s the wolf and the wolf is him. 

He’s The Wolf and he’s swallowed Joel down. 

He’s the man, the weak link, buried so deep he can’t see the light of his celestial mistress 

He’s Joel Miller. Sometimes, sometimes. 

Tonight, he is gone. There is only the Wolf. 

And the Wolf knows. As soon as they cross the threshold, he knows. 

Dawn is rising, the hunt is over, but he’ll be the wolf for a while longer. And he knows that fuckin’ smell. 

It’s the saccharine sour mix of you. Heavy on your sweet apple undertones, and oh, he knows. 

You’re in the cage.

next chapter

*title from "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

😬 I've been working on this baby for a long, long time, so I will be drinking your likes and comments desperately. thank you for reading and i love you.

[ccscocoapuffs]

Tama Tonga NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Don't let his demeanor fool you, he's a snuggle bear, though after sex he prefers cock warming cuddles. He wants to feel you flutter around him for just a little longer while you keep him nice and warm. He loves to make out after sex to before he goes and starts the shower or bath for you both.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Tama loves his arms, he loves that he has enough strength in them to throw you around a little bit when he wants to fuck you rough.

He's an ass man, he loves smacking it till it turns bright red. He will for sure put you over his lap and spank you while you count each one if you've been a brat to him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Literally all over you, he loves cumming inside you or on your face the most though. Tama's love for cumming on you comes from his marking kink, whether its cum, scratches, hickeys, or bites, he wants everyone to know you are his girl.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has 100% stole your underwear to use while he's away. He will call you while he's gone on a trip and show you your pretty lace panties wrapped around his cock while he cums. So he keeps stealing them a secret but gets so aroused at the thought of you knowing he's such a perv that he pretty much tells on himself.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh he knows exactly what he is doing, Tama has had a decent amount of experience and is a very quick learning when it comes to pin pointing the things that his partner needs and likes the best. His area of expertise though is `100% oral

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Tama's favorite position is the lotus position, he loves being able to wrap his arms around you and thrust up into you so he can hit the right spot perfectly. Another favorite about the lotus to him is the fact he can reach up to your chin and make you look him in the eyes while he fucks you. " Yeah, you like that? My slut wanna cum? then look at me"

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Definitely more serious, Tama prefers to have a rougher and more kinky time in the bedroom with you which tends to things being more on the serious side of things.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Thick dark curly hair, that's black in color and is a whole damn bush. Tama does not care he wants you to choke on them when you suck his dick.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Tama is very focused during the moment, He loses himself in the goal of giving you the best fucking of your life and tends to forget about the softer side of intimacy and romance because of this. However, that doesn't mean that he isn't romantic at all, he will show you this side of him during aftercare and in your day to day life.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He loves mutual masturbation, though he definitely prefers being able to fuck you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Spanking

Daddy/Sir

Slight spit kink

Bondage

Breeding

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere. Man is a damn fiend when it comes to you and he will bend you over anywhere. The amount times Solo has walked in on you Two is ungodly.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He gets turned on by the simple things that you do, like the way your tongue sticks out when you think, when you go shopping and try on dresses and lingerie, and he even gets turned on by the way you look at him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sharing you is off the table for him, he's a very jealous lover in the bedroom snf is aware of this. He feels as though he is the only one who can fuck you and make you feel this good.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

God he loves eating pussy, he will shove his whole face between you legs and won't stop till your legs are shaking. If you squirt he gets off alot on the fact his beard would be soaked.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Tama tends to always be on the fast and rough side of things. He usually is like this though because of his energy, he has a very high stamina and rough and fast is really just the way he gets it all out of his system.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He loves quickies. He will shove you up against the wall somewhere backstage just to get a quick fuck in before he has to go out and fight. His favorite though is when he lifts you up onto something and gets on his knees to give you a quick tongue fuck.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He is so risky it's concerning. Tama will try anything with you, he treats you like his queen and his queen gets what she wants. Anything you wanna experiment in he is down for it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He could go all night if you can keep up with him. However, he will settle for 3-4 rounds. He has to make sure you're either begging him to stop cause of the sensitivity or shaking from squirting hard.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't use the often with you but he does have a few he uses on occasion. Handcuffs are a classic for him as well as using a small bullet vibrstor on you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh he loves to tease you. Tama wants to hear you whine for him to touch you before he makes you fall apart. "What is it love? You want daddy to rub this clit?"

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Oh he's loud but not whiny loud. He let's out deep and loud growls and groans. (I know what your thinking, yes he's a damn gremlin another story for another time 🤣)

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves taking nudes, he will send you them all the time when he's away for a show.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Tama is actually pretty big. He's about 8 inches with thick veins running along his shaft. He has a bright red color to the tip, which makes it look 10 times hotter when it leaks precum.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Very high, he craves you to the point it's almost inhumane. Putting a exact estimate of how much you two have sex is hard to do, because of the amount of times he talks you into quickies.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes pretty long for him to fall asleep after sex. He will lay with you if you want him to cuddle you while you fall asleep, sometimes he will get up and maybe go get stuff ready for work, take care of stuff around the house, or something of the sort.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Addicted to You

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 19. Losing a Sense Fandom: Batman, Jason Todd, Red Hood, f!reader, dark!Jason Todd Summary: Kidnapped and locked in a room for months, your life has become nothing but Hood, the drug he gives you, and the pleasure you receive from both. But this time when it is time for your next dose, Hood is nowhere to be found... Word Count: 3073 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Addiction, Drugs, Poison, Forced Drugging, Kidnapping, Locked Away, Extremely Dubious Consent, CNC, Sex Pollen-Like Drug, Thigh Riding, Getting Off in Front of Others, Withdraws, Pain, Sensory Loss, Sensory Overload Notes: Thank you to @ohtobeleah and @mayhem24-7forever for reading this over and encouraging me along the way 💗 Part of @ailesswhumptober's whumptober event

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

It’s been too long. 

Hood should have been back to give you your next dose hours ago. He hasn’t let it get this bad since the beginning, back when this was meant as a punishment and not part of your normal routine. Ever since he realized his mistake, what the poison he fed into your system had done to you, he never pushed you past a mild discomfort. 

But right now, you were in agony. 

You look desperately towards the door as if you can somehow will him to appear, but it remains firmly shut. A low moan is pulled from your lips as the ache in your gut begins to shift into a stabbing pain and every nerve ending begins to prickle like needles under your skin. The short silk slip you always wear feels like sandpaper as does your satin sheets as you writhe against them, desperately seeking relief. But it’s not just the drug you need, it’s him: his skin pressed against yours, his heart beating against your cheek, his scent soothing your aching body. He has become as much of an addiction that your body craves as the liquid he injects into your veins. 

But he’s not here.

Curling into a ball in the center of your king-sized bed, you try to remember what it was like before he brought you here, before the endless cycle of euphoria and torment. But your brain can barely remember to keep breathing right now, let alone try to recall who you were before this room. No, for the past—had Hood mentioned it had been four months already?—your world consisted of this room, this bed, the drugs, and Hood. Nothing else mattered. 

But where was he?

Suddenly, the metal door to your room heaves open and you try to lift your head, only for it to fall limply back against the bed.

Struggling to gather enough strength to try again, you hear a voice call out, “B! She’s in here!”

“Hood….?” you whimper, your vision swimming too much to clearly make out the figure standing across the room.

“Oh my god.” 

As he hurries over to the bed, you are finally able to see this newcomer is— unfortunately—not Hood. This man is in a tight, dark one-piece costume with a splash of bright blue at the top that matches the mask he wears over his eyes. His dark hair falls across his face as he leans over to examine you. But as soon as he places a gloved hand on your head, you cower back as fresh pain rips through your body. It’s as if his hand is blazing hot and has seared its mark onto your skin. Even as he draws back, the pain remains, throbbing and burning with every pound of your racing heart. 

Unaware of what his touch has done to you, the stranger reaches out again as he coos in a soothing voice, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help.” 

You brace yourself for another wave of pain as his hand nears your shoulder, but then a familiar modulated growl pierces through the air. “No! Don’t touch her!” 

Your eyes snap to the door and you let out a small cry of relief as Hood storms into the room. As always, the sight of his smooth red helmet and glowing white eyes causes the painful knot in your chest to ease slightly. However, that relief quickly evaporates as you realize something is wrong. A man in yet another costume—this one black with a cape and pointed ears on top of his mask—has a tight grip on Hood’s arm and is practically dragging him into the room. He looks familiar and some sort of recognition stirs in the back of your mind, but you don’t care enough to focus on it. Right now, all you want is Hood and the drug.

“Hood…” You stretch one hand out, trying to reach him, but you’re in too much pain and he’s too far away. 

However, the movement is enough to spur Hood into action. He drops low and spins, freeing his arm from the man’s grasp. Then he sprints forward and dives onto the bed, gathering you into his arms in one fluid motion. Immediately, the painful prickling across your skin lessens and you snuggle your face into his chest. 

Weakly, you moan, “...gone so long…hurts…”

Hood rips off his gloves and runs his hand over the bare skin of your arm. It feels like cold water washing over a burn. You crawl deeper into him, curling like a kitten in his lap, as he whispers, “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. But I’m here now and I’ve got what you need.” 

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the familiar glowing syringe. The need in your system now outweighs any pain. Eagerly, you push up your sleeve and hold your arm out to him. 

But as he takes it, the man with the pointed mask growls, “Jason!”

Hood looks up at him and you swear you can almost hear tears in his voice as he says, “I know, I fucked up. But if I don’t do this, she’ll die.” His glowing eyes drop back down to your face. His bare fingers trace the line of your jaw, and your eyes flutter closed with a wanton whine. “Please, just let me help her and I’ll go with you. No more fighting, I promise. I just have to save her…from what I did to her.”

The man hesitates for a moment—another moment the drugs aren’t coursing through your system. You squirm in Hood’s grasp, groaning as the mix of need and pain once again begins to become unbearable even with his touch dulling it. Finally, the man nods and Hood drives the needle into your arm.

The relief is instantaneous. You throw your head back with a euphoric gasp as the drug surges through your bloodstream. The prickling of your nerves shifts, where before there was pain, now there is only pleasure. Each brush of the bed sheet or your slip on your skin feels like a lover’s caress and you moan as the fiery tension begins to build in your core. It quickly reaches its peak and you wail in blissful relief as your eyes roll back into your head, your body collapsing forward against Hood. 

Panting softly, you bury your face into that small space between where his jacket and helmet meet. The small sliver of skin showing floods your senses with his essence. Your tongue slides against his skin, savoring the saltiness of the sweat formed there after his scuffle with the other two men. Already feeling the pleasure in your core building once more, you hum hazily against his neck.

Watching your lurid display, the man in the pointed mask asks, “What have you done to her?” The horrified disgust is obvious in his voice and though you know it is at least partly directed at you, you can’t make yourself care. Not with the drug flowing through your system and Hood cradling you in his arms. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, I swear. She’s the one who told the Joker about my mom and how to lure me to that warehouse the night he killed me. I just…I just wanted her to have a taste of the pain, the hell, she put me through. But I never wanted this.” 

“What happened?”

“I paid Ivy to make a new toxin for me. It was only supposed to give her an unbelievable high with an even worse crash when it wore off. I was planning on giving her a few doses and then letting her go. I didn’t know she was already high when I grabbed her and gave her the first dose. She couldn’t tell me what it was but somehow the two drugs mixed together and altered how she responded to it.” 

You are barely listening to what Hood is saying. You’re annoyed he is giving these other two all of his attention and barely even touching you while the drug is at its most potent. With a frustrated huff, you swing one leg over his beefy thigh and begin grinding against him. Yet Hood barely reacts. His only acknowledgment is to place both hands on your hips to steady you as he continues speaking.

“This stuff was supposed to wear off after a few hours but only…it doesn’t. I tried to wait it out between doses as long as I could, thinking she might eventually come out the other side, but each time she almost died. So now I just keep giving her more when she starts to come down and before the after-effects get too much for her. She wasn’t supposed to go this long between doses, but you two got in my way.” 

“Why does she only respond to you?” The first man who entered the room finally speaks up. “When I touched her, she acted like it hurt her. But with you…” The man glances away as you continue to rut against Hood’s muscular thigh. 

“It’s my pheromones. Ivy said because I’m the one giving her the drug, whatever Ivy put in it is also making her addicted to…well, to me. And when she doesn’t have enough of the drug in her system, my touch helps ease some of the symptoms.” He runs his hand over your hair and it sends a shiver of pleasure through you causing you to tense up around his thigh. “But even that’s not enough. She needs regular doses or she’s going to die.”

“Does she know who you are?”

Hood shakes his head. “No. She's never even seen me with the helmet off.”

 “B, what do we do?” the first man asks.

The man in the pointed mask stares at you for a long time. You continue to grind on Hood’s thigh but you stare back at the man, cocking your head to the side. The familiar feeling you had when you first saw him returns, tickling at the back of your brain. “B” the other man had called him. Ba…Bat…Batman! The name suddenly pops into your blissed-addled brain. But that made no sense. Why would Batman be here? He helps people and you don’t need help. Not now that Hood was back and you had your drug. 

But he continued to stare at you for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he says, “We take her back to the Cave. We’ll see if we can create some sort of antidote or cure for whatever Jason did to her. Hopefully, we can reverse this.”

“And…Jay?” The other man looks anxiously at Hood and you feel him tense beneath you. 

But Hood shouldn’t feel tense. He should feel just as amazing as he makes you feel. You begin to reach for the zipper on his tact pants but he gently pushes your hands away. You look at his helmet, staring at his unblinking glowing eyes trying to understand what he is doing. 

He cups your face—sending another warm bolt of pleasure through you—and he whispers, his voice modulated as always, “It’s okay, baby. It’s all gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Then he presses his helmet to your forehead, his version of a kiss, and lifts you off his lap so he can climb off the bed.

The sudden loss of his presence feels like a bucket of ice water has been thrown on you. The drug is still causing your pleasure sensors to go off like fireworks, but there is an emptiness without him near you. 

“Hood?” you ask, voice trembling as you reach out to him. 

Turning back to the bed, he gently scoops you into his arms and all is right in the world once more. You snuggle into his chest, your fingers digging tightly into his jacket so he can’t leave you again. He carries you past Batman, pausing to give him a slight nod. Then, for the first time in four months, he takes you from your room. 

Three months later, you stand before one of the cells in the Batcave containing the man who not long ago was more vital to you than food or air. Yet as you stare at him, he could be a stranger from off the street for all you knew. You had never actually seen his face since he never took off his helmet, never heard his voice not masked by his modulator. For the first time, you look into the eyes of the man who had destroyed your life and held you captive for so long. 

With a small tilt of your head, you say, “So…you’re Hood.”

Jason Todd nods from his seat on the floor of his cell. “I am.”

You hum slightly, your eyes shifting across his face as you soak in every detail. He’s so much younger than you expected—probably no more than twenty or so years old. The dark hair that falls across his face is marred by a thick streak of white on the left side. His blue eyes bore into yours, and you can tell he’s searching for something, maybe a spark of what you once felt for him or a raw hatred for what he had done. But you know he will find neither in your face. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “I’m not sure how much Bruce told you, but he managed to find a cure for what you did to me.”

Jason nods again. “He told me. He said it almost killed you a few times but you’ve made a full recovery.”

A soft smile pulls at your lips. “I wouldn’t say that.” But then you change the subject without elaborating. “Bruce also filled me in on our connected history. Apparently, when I was sixteen, I gave The Joker some information that he used to hurt you.”

Jason scoffs. “‘Hurt’? Is that what he told you?”

“Yes,” you reply. “I’m not doubting this didn’t happen but I don’t remember any of it. But that’s not surprising. Drugs had already taken over my life at that point and I was either high or looking for another way to get high 90% of the time. If The Joker offered me money or drugs, I’m pretty sure I would have done anything I had to to get my hands on it.”

Jason pulls his legs into his chest and wraps his arms around them. “That doesn’t excuse what you did or what happened to me because of it. But—” His eyes dart to your face then to the ground “—it also doesn’t justify what I did to you. I’m so sorry things turned out the way they did. I never wanted to hurt you like that, bab—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t call you that anymore I guess. It’s just that after a while, with us in that room together, I actually fell for you. The things I said, what we did, I meant all of them. I know it’s crazy and you probably despise even looking at me right now, but it’s true.”

“I don’t hate you.” 

Jason’s head shoots up. “You...you don’t?”

“No,” you say flatly. “I guess I’m supposed to hate you or be disgusted to be standing here in front of you or something, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything when I look at you…because I can’t. Whatever Bruce did to save me from those drugs you gave me, I’m now just numb. Like all my senses were overloaded and now…there’s nothing. I can’t even feel physical sensations. I burnt my hand yesterday making tea because I forgot the kettle was hot.” You hold up your thickly bandaged hand then let it fall. “Luckily, Dick was around and noticed before it got too bad.” 

His face contorts into sheer horror as the full ramifications of what he’s done hits him. Half sobbing, he cries, “I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just…I just wanted you to know how it felt…”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” you say. “And you don’t have to apologize. Like I said, I don’t feel anything. There’s no hate, no pity, no longing, no shame. I’m just…” you hesitate as you search for the words. Eventually, you just shrug. “I don’t know what I am. But Bruce thought it might give both of us some closure seeing what has become of the other so that’s why I’m here. But, honestly, I have nothing more to say. Goodbye, Jason.”

As you turn and begin to walk away, he cries out, “Please!” His hand juts through the bars of the cage as he presses his face against it, his eyes pleading and wet with tears. “Just…can you accept my apology? I know it means nothing to you, but it’d mean everything to me. I can’t…I can’t live with what I’ve done to you without that.” 

He’s right. It doesn’t mean anything to you so you figure why not. Reaching out, you take his hand.

And immediately drop to the floor as an immense rush of pleasure floods your body. Every nerve fires at once and your vision goes white as you come with the most intense orgasm of your life. Not even the combination of the drug and Jason buried deep inside you had ever felt like this. After so long feeling nothing, feeling that much pleasure at once is overwhelmingly euphoric. When your vision returns, you find yourself drooling and twitching on the Batcave floor.

He releases your hand and everything begins to fade until you can’t feel anything again. Yet just as the numbness begins to overtake you, he grabs your hand again sending the overwhelming sensation through you once more. It’s not as intense as the first time, but it still leaves you gasping and moaning in pure bliss. 

“God damn…I can’t believe it worked.”

Slowly, you lift your head to stare at the man still holding your hand. “H-Hood?”

The tears are gone from his eyes, their blue flashing dangerously in the dim light. Slowly, a cruel smile creeps across his face and he coos, “There she is. There’s my girl.” His hand cups your cheek causing your eyes to flutter as heat rushes to your core. “Now, how about we get outta here?”

Tag list: @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @blue-aconite, @ohtobeleah, @writercole

@sunshineflowerchild789, @wildbornsiren, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @schaarfyx, @merlehs