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satoruhour · 2 years ago

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Accidentally sending gojo a nude and before you can properly apologise he sends a video of his own which leads to..well🫣

BABY BLUE SWEETNESS

a/n: my clit grew hands and wrote this. combined this w/ a part 2 of being gojo’s roommate / tagging @jabamin @hyomagiri @utahimeow @lov3rbody my gojo fuckers

wc: 3.7k (I HAVE GOT TO STOP WRITING SM ....)

warnings: mutual pining, roommate!gojo, dom!gojo, he gets rough but only bc he loves ur pussy sssoooo much, sending nudes by accident to gojo, semi-public m! masturbation, filming (on gojo’s end), pet names, praise, slight f! masturbation, oral / cunnilingus, nipple play, bit of dialogue during sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink (twice!), multiple rounds, implied m! oral, n*sfw under the cut

the next week goes by uneventfully.

but you think there’s hardly anything worth happening when you hadn’t even said anything about that: standing outside satoru’s room, hearing his pleasured moans along with the slickness of his hand on his cock and watching him at his most vulnerable with whispers of your name.

gojo did have a few moments of weakness — brief bouts of failing to meet your eyes, stuttering, but he was still predominantly himself after, throwing laundry on the floor and leaving the toilet paper roll unfilled. by date, he was the messiest roommate you’ve roomed with, compared to sleeping over at shoko’s and geto’s places before; sure it was obvious enough being friends with him since high school, though you hadn’t thought that the rowdy, outgoing way that he spoke would translate into his living space, too.

and despite being the one who has the upper hand that very day you decided to stop and watch, he still manages to have some sort of hold on you, catching you off-guard at the worst times.

“any luck with the mods?” gojo peeks over at your laptop over at the small dining table, your leg propped up and a scowl on your face at how you were still on the waitlist. while mr. perfect beside you has gotten every module he’s bidded for, a course on philosophy, romantic and 20th century music as well as an online mod about ethics.

“i don’t even know why you got that last one! funny how the most annoying person who has anything but morals is entering an ethics course.” maybe it was the fact that you’ve already waited one and a half weeks. perhaps it was that one piece of clothing gojo loved to leave on the floor, or simply it was just because of the man himself — you were on your wit’s end with the week.

that fades away when you’re turning your head and gojo is right there, hovering over your computer screen with a sly smirk on his face and his stupid bright, blue eyes that you could spend hours staring at.

“you wound me, baby,” gojo whispers, like it was a secret between the two of you and he pulls away, both hearts beating an unnatural speed at the proximity. gojo swears to himself he’ll never call you anything close to that or be that close because it’s absolutely not good for his heaving chest and hardening dick — those pretty plump lips of yours and the innocent look on your face — he wanted to both kiss it and fuck it.

and yet, on dormitory movie nights where you’re sat on both ends of the couch with geto and shoko between the two of you, satoru wills himself to patiently wait until the end of the first movie to stretch his limbs and get more snacks; he knows you’ll follow, too, because it’s been like that for as long as he can remember.

“you know you have to stop eating all that candy, right?” you’re saying it mindlessly, pouring more chips into a bowl and getting the hummus and guac, “it’s not healthy.”

gojo’s leaning on the counter and doesn’t help whatsoever, both elbows on the wood and head tipped back to meet your height.

“aw, is my cute roomie worried about me?” you almost want to ignore him with that little compliment, not sure if he even meant it, but you’re leaning into him this time with a little glance down to his lips that he thinks he imagined it.

“no, just wondering how embarrassed i’ll be when i have to tell the paramedics that when you finally collapse on the floor, it was because my dumb roommate had consumed too much sugar.” you like this little game you play with satoru, yet you’ve never been this bold; maybe it’s because you know he finds you hot, too, but the two of you are too stubborn to stand your ground and admit the obvious.

gojo’s feigned pout spreads into a grin and simply blows a raspberry at your explanation. there’s a crinkle of yet another sweet packet, disregarding your chastise from earlier. “smart little thing, hm?”

“i become the brightest when you’re involved,” you swipe the sweet from his fingers and pop it into your mouth, “i have to when i need to insult you.” the two of you spend the rest of the movie night hip to hip on the couch, ignoring the fire in your connected limbs and the spark of your fingers when they brush against each other.

it’s a few months before you’re fully embracing that you might not just find your roommate hot, but that maybe you’d want to “wife” him up as the other has expressed jokingly. it didn’t help that gojo is cleaning up a little more often these days, learning how to cook and using his inside voice like you told him to (you didn’t think he’d remember). the last straw was possibly seeing him fuss over you when you fell sick, switching to remote classes just so he could be close to you — his main excuse was that he didn’t want his laundry to be infected.

“but you don’t even like to use shirts half the time you’re home!”

“you’re calling this home—” gojo giggles while simultaneously shoving cough mixture down your throat, “i didn’t know we were married!”

“shut your trap before i really make you regret this.”

but gojo thinks that maybe it wasn’t so bad to come home to you in one of his future days, he just had to get through this first.

it was meant to be a simple photo to show off your new set of lingerie, the ones that you had gotten with your girls at a half-off price just the other day. you couldn’t blame yourself when your hands naturally reached for one that mirrored gojo’s eyes alongside the white details that represent his hair. buy it, take a potential nude and laugh about it in the group chat, that’s all. you felt so damn sexy in it that you even went as far as to take a few photos with your bra unclasped and phone in hand hiding your chest, until the very last one where it was fully off.

you felt unlike yourself, in that stuffy, small dorm while satoru was out in a lecture—

before gojo texts you about groceries and his chat moves to the very top that same moment you’ve got all these lewd, unnatural pictures of you waiting to be sent. it happened all too fast: at least 10 being delivered and read on the spot that your panic is indescribable and you want to melt into mush on the floor.

while you’re scrambling to delete them, gojo stares at your figure in that last racy picture, hands skilfully covering your breasts just enough that he could still see the curve of them and then down to your figure interrupted by a pretty pair of blue lace undies. it’s like you planned this, looking so delectable in your little get-up until it all disappears and you’re sending multiple messages of “i’m so sorry”’s and “it was an accident”’s.

gojo thanked the heavens he was sat at the very back of the lecture theatre, immediately booking it out of there with the images of you seared into his brain. his cock is throbbing and so, so hard it almost hurts to walk to the restroom, and you’re still continuing your apologies. he wants to scream at you — how you do not need to say sorry for whatever you’ve just sent, because as he removes his dick from his tight pants, there’s a soft sigh of your name that falls from his lips.

satoru is reminded of the times you’d be sat in your stupid booty shorts in the dorm, basically showing your folds because he just knew you didn’t like to use underwear underneath. he’s reminded of the times you had to (unwillingly) use one of his shirts when the washing machine had broken down and the only thing on his mind at the time was what you’d look like bouncing on him — he thinks that maybe he just needs to spit it the fuck out, and so he opens the video feature on your private chat.

“this is what you do t’me, baby,” gojo’s tip is already leaking so much pre-cum, making sure he can be seen, expression and all, “you make me so— s-shit— fucking hard.”

he didn’t even care if he could be heard, pumping his cock to the thought of you in that baby blue set of lingerie. he thinks of ripping it all off of you and buying you more just so he could do the same thing again and again, eyes scrunching up in bliss as his hand continues to move up and down his length. his hand isn’t even close to what he wants to feel — your tight pussy sucking him in — but he settles for it, squeezing his palm around his shaft and thumbs his tip.

“ya see this, angel?” gojo chokes out a moan when he sees another notification of ‘i really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable’ and it was the exact opposite for him in this bathroom stall, really hoping this video would drive his point home, “s’all for you, f— fuck.”

the video is incoherent from then on, because it’s all too much for him, the strokes of his warm hand, the images of your body, the sensitivity of his cock. lewd noises of him jerking off and his whines echo throughout the restroom, cumming with a slack mouth and babbles of your name on his lips.

“fuck, fuck, fuckkk…” satoru can hardly care as his cum stains his shirt, leaving his cock in needy spurts that dribble down his hand as well, wishing he could see it against your skin instead of his own. the end of the video is messy and hasty that he doesn’t even think much as he sends it, but it’s not even halfway through the video before you’re sending a simple “please come back, now.” and his heart jumps in his chest.

gojo simply shoots a quick text to geto, asking him to help him pack his things because he will definitely not be returning.

you’re so glad you don’t have any more classes for the day, too, because all you can think about now is satoru and his cock, blessed again with the sight of him losing himself in pleasure except now, he knew. your hands aren’t hesitant in reaching down to your core, lingerie already soaked through as you watch the short two minute video over and over as you lazily play with your clit with your eyes trained on his hand. it’s so hypnotising you don’t realise gojo’s already home, standing at your room door with his bulge showing through his pants and sweat lining his brow.

“did you run here?” you sit up, hands covering your chest instinctively. he shakes his head and you remove them.

“you know the bus will take too long, baby.”

you ignore the flutter of your heart and pussy when you know he says the pet name with intent, now, not in a joking or teasing manner. you want to hear it more.

“was that really an accident?”

you’re kneeling on your bed now, and gojo just wants to shut you up and make you take back all your apologies.

“it was!” you counter, not minding how your roommate slips his hand around your waist and is just inches from you, “but…”

gojo never truly loses his personality even when he’s hot and bothered, “but what, princess?”

that’s new.

you grin at his chivalry even when you’ve got your chest all vulnerable like this: he’s trying to break you with his eyes, the one thing that led you to choose baby blue in the first place. you win when his eyes flit down to your tits.

“but you still ended up sending me a video of you jerking off — hardly any decorum, huh, satoru?”

gojo rolls his eyes, hands trailing up your body and coming to rest at your boobs, “yeah. but you love it.”

that’s all he says before he dips down and takes a nipple into his mouth, leaving your hands to tangle in his hair as your back arches to give him more space. he’s so hungry, swirling his tongue around your hardened bud as he kneads the other, eyes occasionally meeting yours from your chest.

“d’you like the vid?” his speech is muffled.

“like it? i loved it—” a soft moan leaves you, “didn’t know you were such a sub, though.”

gojo laughs into your skin and you’re obsessed with the feeling, challenging him when he reaches your eyes again with a glint in his eyes.

“oh, you’re in for it, baby.” gojo grins, capturing your lips and feeling so free now that everything’s out in the open. he’s finally able to feel your lips on his, so soft and slow, making him go crazy from such a simple gesture. gojo pushes you gently onto your bed, kissing down your exposed body before coming to your pelvis, playing with the hem of the underwear.

“gotta thank this little guy for solving our problems.”

“please do not call my lingerie ‘little guy’,” you giggle, letting him remove the garment and you preen at the praise he gives your pussy.

“s’wet… is this all for me?” gojo shamelessly inhales your essence, the sight of him between your legs enough to make anyone cum.

“yeah…” it’s a whisper when you say it, breathless and impatient yet loving the way he treats you. “i get wet only for you, ‘toru.”

gojo moans at that, eyes rolling back momentarily before his mouth descends on your pussy and you think you can hear a brief hymn of hallelujah. he savours your cunt slowly, licking lazy stripes up and down your pussy and your moans match them — soft, drawn out — hands playing seamlessly with his hair. gojo’s startling baby blues meet you for a second and he smiles softly before he places a kiss to your clit.

a twitch, and satoru fully shows his expertise in the next second, eating you out like he was a starved man and you were the last meal on earth. your roommate sucks on your clit, groaning into your core as he feels your thighs close in around his head and your heels dig into his back. he switches easily to your hole, driving his tongue into the leaking entrance and his nose starts to nudge at your nub.

“satoru— s-shit!” your moans increase in volume, hands pulling harshly at his locks. “feel s’good—”

“yeah?” he speaks into your cunt, slurping up your juices time and time again until his jaw aches. your pussy just tastes so sweet that it’s got him grinding into the bed, too, relieving his cock with desperation. “was made just to eat you out, sweetness.”

“doing so well— are you close?” it was difficult to hold on when satoru was talking to you like that and devouring you so good, thumb now playing with your folds while his tongue focuses primarily on your clit again. he flicks at it and his eyes look at you for your answer, merely nodding pathetically as his abuse on your cunt is relentless. gojo would love to memorise the way you clench around his thumb, but he’s too fixated on your whines before you cum with a cry of his name.

“o—oh fuck— ‘t-toru! oh my goddd…” his mouth never stops moving even when your thighs tremble around his head and your body convulses, clit throbbing in his mouth and your mewls reaching the highest heavens.

gojo grins into your cunt, making sure you watch him as he collects all your juices onto his tongue, giving your pussy one last satisfied lick before he sits up, making quick work of his pants and he shows you how to not have one ounce of decorum like you commented on earlier—

because as he pumps the cock you saw just minutes ago, you tongue darts out to lick your lips unknowingly. as he drags the tip along your folds, you’re spreading your legs wider for him. as he slaps his cock along your cunt, your hips are moving on their own accord to feel more of him.

“filthy girl,” gojo leans in to your face, “talkin’ bout me having decorum. you should see yourself.”

you laugh, bringing him in for a brief kiss. you liked that you still could banter in times like this.

“i’ll admit i never had it, so it would b-be—” gojo slips just the tip in and you’re cut off, a choked whimper leaving you, “hypocritical to criticise you.”

“ya think?” gojo wiggles his hips gently, sinking into you and the squeeze of your cunt around his cock is too perfect, too tight. his own whines leave him as he eases inch by inch into you before you’re confessing.

“y’know after seeing you jerk off that day— f-fuck, in your room,” you mumble, wrapping your legs around his middle that causes him to moan, “i wanted nothing more than to help you clean up, cum and all.”

gojo chuckles breathlessly, you two have been pining for months? but he recovers just as quickly, bottoming out with a loud sigh. he lets your hands travel over his face, holding it in your palms.

“y-yeah? why didn’t you?”

“wasn’t sure if you liked me—” a whine cuts through your words as he takes the first slam into you.

“i’ll make sure you know how much i like you, baby, ‘kay?” gojo manages to get out before his hips moves into you, no longer able to hold conversation with the way your cunt sucks him in. he’s determined now, to show you how someone like you had a hold on him so strong that he was willing to pick up dirty clothes and take time out of his day to collect groceries. it’s not long before your roommate is able to pick up a pace, loving the way you trap him with your legs as his hips piston in and out of you.

the room is so much more stuffy, now, filled with the scent of sweat and sex as his pelvis meets your ass in timed thrusts. it was so filthy, too, cum from your previous orgasm aiding him as lube and sticking to his pubes from how much you were dripping.

“y-yeah— fuck me like how you’ve been wanting to, ‘toru—” you mumble out softly, already drunk on his cock. you swear you can feel the veins and his cockhead twitch at that, the sounds of the other filling your ears.

“you take me so, so well, baby,” gojo praises, face buried in your neck as he gives you kisses there, mind blank except for how you’re so wet that your arousal is spurting everywhere each time he comes up to the hilt in you, “taking my cock and squeezing me s’good.”

little pants leave you at the affirmations, and like always, gojo is a fast learner, already knowing your sweet spots when a hand sneaks down to rub at your clit. the circles go in time with his thrusts, and before then, you’re jerking in his arms, nails scratching at his back as your pussy spasms on his cock. gojo groans into your skin, hips still ramming into you before the clench of your cunt prompts him to cum as well.

“right there— s-shit!” you’re moaning when you can feel his cum seeping into you, the exact thing you’re imagining feeling even better as he loads you up, but you don’t have time to react when gojo flips you over. a quick glance to his face tells you he’s intoxicated on your pussy, pressing down on your arch.

“can you handle— another load— baby?” it comes out in between his thrusts, the way he begs to cum in you again and you’re never one to deny when you’ve wanted this for the longest time. you let satoru use you, face buried in the sheets below you while his thrusts start to turn sloppy. he’s not giving one fuck that he’s cummed the fastest he’s ever done before and how he’s going to do it again, but it’s inevitable when he’s got your cunt wrapped around him.

“y— yes, satoru— want you to fill me up, p-please—” it all overloads him: the way his cock disappears into your hole, the residual cum from earlier sticking to your ass and his pelvis, that white ring of semen around the base of his dick, your desperate pleas and cries.

it only takes one stroke of his hand on your clit before you’re cumming so fast again together with him, fingers grasping at the sheets as your pussy flutters around his length and you get his second load in return. it’s so viscous and hot, spilling into your hole. it’s so much, body going limp against satoru’s messy thrusts as he continues to rut into you, stilling finally when he starts to cramp in his thighs.

“attagirl, that’s it, sweetness,” gojo gasps out from behind you, staying locked in you as his cock spurts out the last bits of his cum. he presses a small kiss to your shoulder, asking softly into your skin if you were okay.

“more than okay—” a small mewl is heard when gojo pulls out slowly, sighing to himself upon seeing the way your cunt push out his cum naturally. there’s so much of it, spilling onto the sheets, but before he can take it upon himself to plug two fingers into your entrance, you’re dragging him to lie properly on the bed—

“not done?” your roommate laughs, a hand playing with your neck and the hickeys he’s left there.

you shake your head, noting how satoru’s cock is still sensitive when your hand closes around it, and you finally can see gojo in all of his glory when your tongue kitten licks at his tip and a shiver travels through his body. his hooded eyes and the buck of his hips are all you need to continue.

“i haven’t told you how much i like you, ‘toru. should i show you now?”

somewhere on your dresser, there’s several messages from your girls, but you’re too preoccupied with satoru’s cock in your mouth to notice — ah, well, you’d update them later.

[6:23pm, operation get (y/n) a partner]: photo attached (4)

@(y/n) girl where is your pic !!!! show us that cute baby blue lingerie pleaseee!!

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charleslee-valentine · 6 months ago

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Trudy refills Vincent’s cereal. He’s 2-3 years old and blind in one eye. He doesn’t need more cereal, he just needs his bowl rotated so he can see the cereal that was left over on his blind side. Not that we necessarily know how Vincent communicates without speech, but she hardly gives him time to answer her question about more before she’s refilling the bowl anyways. This is her approach to parenting her boys in general.

There’s no interest in fixing their actual issues. Rather than help Vincent to see what he already has in front of him, she’d rather add more, inadvertently also adding more onto the side he can’t see. At some point, this would just add to the issue. Overcompensation into overwhelm. Bo is brought in for breakfast kicking and screaming and it’s sort of evident why Trudy puts all her love into Vincent to the point of it being suffocating and unhelpful. Sure it could be a simple case of favoritism, but with the aspect of overcompensation specifically, it seems that she wants to balance her guilt over failing to parent one of her sons by pouring more effort than necessary into Vincent. Rather than giving the extra attention to Bo, it’s refilling a non-empty bowl of cereal.

I don’t think that necessarily mean she loves Vincent more. She finds him easier to parent. Fill the bowl whether or not he needs it because that’s easier than unpacking where Bo’s massive emotional outbursts are coming from. It seems more like love-bombing than genuine kindness. He’s “being such a good boy today,” but the implied part is an unsaid comparison to Bo. As twins, and conjoined twins at that, they’re not independent of each other. Vincent’s behavior exists only to contrast Bo’s, from her perspective. “Fix” his needs, and she can fix them both. Hence, preferring just to duct tape Bo to a chair than help him any.

Then Vincent grows up to become her protege, starting in his childhood but lasting until even after Trudy’s death. Over thirty years have passed since they were toddlers in those high chairs, but Bo gives a hint about why Vince got that ‘special privilege’ to not be as physically abused. “She always said that your talent would make up for what God took away from you.” Only, God didn’t take anything. Victor Sinclair doing illegal, unqualified surgery on his babies is why Vincent lost half of his face. Trudy only uses God’s name and religion as a shield for her own guilt about how her boys turned out. But it’s more likely she included Vincent in the wax business because she again, was dumping affection onto him over and over as her strategy.

Otherwise there isn’t as much favoritism between the boys. In their childhood photos, they both play piano, both play pool and baseball, both get to sit at the table with their birthday cake (without highchairs or bindings) and they play on the floor together. It's not entirely divisive between them, though it’s still obvious from which brother she’s slapping across his face and which brother she’s love-bombing which she’d prefer to deal with. Just not which she actually cares for more. Vincent wasn’t somehow spared from abuse in a house like the Sinclair household.

Interestingly, when Bo tells the story of Trudy and Victor, he mentions that once the Doc died, they were alone. Except, there’s at least one version of a prop newspaper stating that Trudy created a wax memorial for Victor. So this is just a false version of events most likely. Sure it could be that a decision changed, but there’s also the fact that, in the guns and ammo store, there’s a sign that says “Trudy’s Town or Wax.” And Bo tells Vincent, “We almost finished what mama started.” She’s also much older than the Trudy we see in the family photos and articles (even with the amount of cigarettes that woman smoked.) Ambrose is confirmed to have been abandoned for a decade, but to be turned into wax, Trudy would’ve had to die sometime between the abandonment of Ambrose and the present. Else she would’ve been properly buried most likely. The plan to fill Ambrose was hers, it’s just Bo that suggests using real humans (according to his apology to Vincent, he takes credit for the idea anyhow.)

Which makes her boys at least in their mid twenties when she died. In an older version of the script, Bo had killed her and Victor, but knowing it would put them all in foster care, that doesn’t quite make sense unless they were older. So the order of events is, Doc dying, the sugar mill closing, Trudy planning to reimagine Ambrose, and then dying herself.

The reason that’s important is because it’s emblematic of just how much pressure she was putting on both of her boys. And that’s not love. With two mentally ill, abused sons, (maybe three, since Lord only knows how they treated Lester once he came along,) that’s just manipulation. Victor and Trudy aren’t cartoon super villains for being bad to their boys. But when you can’t even just rotate a bowl slightly for your half blind little one, it’s shallow. Trudy has her cigarettes right in the boys faces in the opening and in most of the photos. Smoking was in one study linked to about 1/3rd of conjoined pregnancies, and in a similar case of conjoinment to the boys, one of the twins had lost an eye and had a prosthetic, but with minimal scarring because of the surgery being done in an actual legal hospital. It’s not about God taking anything, or about which is a little monsted and which is a very good boy- it’s about Trudy and Victor both messing up from the very beginning and causing the boys losses, then refusing to take accountability for it. Or, in the symbolic sense, to just do the right thing and turn a damn bowl of cheerios towards your blind kid.

#analysis #house of wax 2005 #how 2005 #house of wax #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #trudy sinclair #idk if this one will make sense to other people. but like. idk just refusing to accommodate your disabled child in the way they need #making adjustments but it’s still just to make you feel less guilty and not to help the kid #Trudy is like one of those Facebook autism mommies #and it reflects back in every parenting decision she makes not just the little things. shit adds up

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recareels · 6 months ago

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warnings: 18+ for mature themes, mentioned intoxication, implied student-professor relationship, sunday is a little too jealous for a big brother, sunday is taller than reader words: 939

honestly just can’t stop thinking about sunday catching you, his precious baby sister, getting ready for a university halloween party, knowing full well your favourite professor mr. reca is probably going to be there, despite the fact that you will neither confirm nor deny this notion (*ﾉωﾉ)

Sunday knows, the instant he sees you busy primping yourself in the gilded hallway mirror—dainty fingers fussing with your feathers, a cute little pout of concentration molded to your lips—that you’re up to no good; that you’ll be up to no good tonight.

Call it a Big Brother’s intuition.

“Really? An angel?” Sunday leans a shoulder up against the cased opening, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Don’t you think that’s a little…” Obvious. “Cliche?”

Your eye catches his through the mirror, ministrations halted, a small frown deepening your pout, corners of your lips twitching downward.

“No, I don’t.” Your gaze darts back to the reflection of your hands, careful as you fluff up your faux wings, twisting a little this way, then that, admiring yourself. “Besides, it’s fitting, no?”

Sunday chooses not to answer that.

“And where is this Halloween party being held again?”

“At some club in the Moment of Stars.”

“Which club?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Sunny,” your eyes capture his again, holding his stare through the glass. “The university is throwing it; I’m sure you can find out the exact location on their website, or their socials, or something.”

Lips pressing into a thin, hard line, Sunday watches you finish up in silence, his sunset stare scalding on the back of your head. The hinges of his jaw flex as his molars grind together, Adams apple bobbing with a reflexive swallow. It’s nipping at the tip of his tongue, the question that’s been clawing at the walls of his skull since you first brought this damn party up several weeks ago.

Is he going to be there?

“Look,” you turn towards him after you’re done, palms finding their rightful place on his shoulders. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s just going to be a fun little Halloween party with some friends from school.” You raise up onto your tiptoes, pressing a chaste kiss to the edge of his jaw. “Faculty will be present; it will be safe.”

His entire form stiffens at the word faculty—a visceral reaction—and you sigh softly, tender hands smoothing down his shoulders, then drifting over his pecs, ironing the ridges from his jacket and the stress from his muscles—a silent reminder to stop slouching.

His spine snaps into submission, straightening up immediately and raising him to his full height—shoulders rolled back, chest puffed out just a touch, The Head of The Family resurrected once more.

“I promise I’ll be back at a decent time.”

Another kiss—this one softer, longer, closer to the corner of his mouth—and then you’re off, bouncing out the door towards a friend’s car, idling in the cobblestone horseshoe of the mansion’s driveway.

“Be good!” he calls after you, desperation straining his voice, heavy with the things he wishes to say, the things he dares not speak, lest it make them true.

“Always am!”

But Sunday knows better. Sunday knows you will be anything but Holy tonight.

And Sunday was right; right to be concerned, right to harbour suspicions.

Because hours past the time you promised you’d be back, well into the early morning when Sunday’s eyes are bloodshot and burning from glaring at a screen, lips chewed raw by incessant incisors tugging at superficial skin while meticulously refreshing your socials—and those of your friends, and that of the university—he finally receives the confirmation he was looking for, his worst nightmares come to life.

Because there you are, drunk or high or both on heavens knows what and decidedly fucked up, dancing with some man in a devil mask on a friend’s social media story.

The mask was clever—you must’ve thought ahead, a coordinated act rather than a coincidental encounter—but it isn’t enough to conceal the man behind it.

Nothing ever will be.

Because Sunday would recognize those sharp crimson eyes anywhere.

Jealousy froths in his chest as he replays the short choppy video over and over again, stupidly hoping his eyes are playing tricks on him, as if rewatching the godforsaken clip enough times will cast some sort of spell, will magically cause it to morph into something more favourable.

A special type of fury churns his stomach, an anger doused in envy, and he feels ill, thick saliva slimy as it pools beneath his tongue. Emotion bubbles up his throat, acidic and bitter, to gnaw away on the back of his tongue, burning his flesh as he tries to swallow past it.

The man—presumably Reca—has got his arms locked around your waist, chin hooked over your shoulder, staring directly into the camera as you shout something, garbled and bleary. Your bodies sway as one to some indistinct beat blaring in the background, nothing more than a distorted pulse of noise as it filters through the device’s microphone.

Then you’re turning in the arms of your professor, his large gloved palms flattened at the base of your spine, deft fingers splayed so the tips of his pinkies rest on the swell of your ass; and you’re giggling, obnoxiously knocking your forehead to his and pressing sloppy kisses to the mouth of his mask; and Sunday sees it, the final nail in the coffin of confirmation, a mere millisecond before you’re devoured by the cresting crowd of partygoers.

Your fingers, twining in a flash of ivory hair at the nape of the man’s neck—curling, tugging, knotting; closer, closer, closer.

Sunday’s changed his mind; your costume is fitting—an innocent angel, corrupted and seduced by the likes of Satan himself; a sweet seraph, fallen from grace and dirtied by the hands of evil.

Ruined, forever.

#mr reca x reader #mr reca x you #mr reca x y/n #hsr x reader #hsr x you #let’s pretend i am not posting this two hours before halloween is over #this idea came to me right before dinner so of course i had to write it asap #HEHEHE #more big brother sunny!!!!!!!#inky.sunday #inky.reca #prof!reca

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oceaneyesinla · 1 year ago

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I'm Here

So, Demon Slayer is back and Sanemi is looking GOOD. Combine that with me struggling, and you get self indulgent fluff

Mentions of non-sexual nudity ahead, and the fic kind of implies reader is struggling mentally. Take care of yourselves, guys <3

Enjoy!

Banner by @/cafekitsune

“What's going on with you, baby?” Sanemi's voice cut through the static in your mind, soft and soothing. He rounded the couch, flicking on the lamp next to the armchair and bathing the room in soft warm light.

You hadn't even noticed your boyfriend come in, and when you looked around the room, you were confused to see inky black through the apartment window. You swore it had been bright outside not that long ago. When your eyes finally trailed up to his face, you hated the worry lining his handsome features. Worry that you caused.

“‘M fine, Sanemi. Just tired.” Not exactly a lie, but not exactly the truth either. You were tired, but it was quickly becoming apparent that you were anything but fine. A fact you knew all too well, but were powerless to do anything about.

Sanemi moved closer in slow steps, almost as if you were some skittish doe he didn't want to scare away. He knelt in front of you, one hand resting on your knee while the other came up to cradle your face. Warmth bled from his palm into the skin of your cheek and you shivered - a chill had developed while you were sitting there zoning out, and it was only now you realised you felt cold.

“Did you eat today?” You wanted to lie, to spare him the worry, but it was impossible with the way those violet eyes stared into yours. Some scared, hurting part of you expected resentment or anger - wanted it, even - but all you could see was loving concern. Guilt and shame bubbled up in your chest as you shook your head; a tiny gesture that he noticed anyway.

The hand on your cheek moved a little higher, and the pad of his thumb brushed over the bags you knew were sunken under your eyes, a permanent feature these days. You had tried so hard not to burden Sanemi with how awful you felt, but you knew the signs were becoming too obvious for such an observant man to not notice.

“Okay. You go shower; get into some warm clothes. I’ll see what we’ve got in the cupboards, okay?” His voice was still soft and his hand was still a reassuring presence on your thigh. However, just the thought of everything involved with showering overwhelmed you. You would have to pick up clean towels from the cupboard, and clean clothes from the wardrobe. Then you would have to actually get into the shower, and you knew your hair needed washing, and on a normal day, that wouldn’t be a problem.

Today, even getting off the couch right now felt like it would take all your energy. Tears welled in your eyes and began to slip down your cheeks as you sat there, paralysed, “I-I can’t.”

If Sanemi was surprised by your sudden tearfulness, he didn’t show it. He moved closer, your legs opening to let him slot between them. Wrapping you up in an all encompassing hold, one hand landed on the back of your head and the other wrapped around you, cradling you against his body as you cried into the crook of his neck.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, slotted together like puzzle pieces. You stayed with your face pressed into his neck, and slowly, you relaxed into his warmth. Everything seemed a little less overwhelming, a little less terrible when you were pressed this close to the love of your life.

He began to speak and you could feel the rumble of his voice through his chest, “Hold on tight.”

You didn’t know what he was planning, but you did as he asked, clinging to him with your legs wrapped around his waist. A little squeak escaped you as you suddenly moved, and you felt his chuckle rumble through his chest as clearly as you heard it next to your ear. He stood up, supporting your body with one hand under your butt and one around your waist.

He started moving around the apartment, and you reluctantly lifted your head to see where he was taking you. As you watched, head resting on his shoulder, he carried you into the bedroom, releasing his hold on your waist to dig around in your drawers. You noticed he was pulling out your favourites, and even the fluffy socks Kanae gave you for your last birthday. As he moved on, you pressed a kiss to his neck in silent thanks, receiving a squeeze to the plush of your butt in response.

In the bathroom, he lowered you gently onto the toilet seat, pulling away and you felt another couple of tears fall as you realised what he was doing. Towels on the rack, shower turned on, your clothes neatly stacked - he was preparing everything for you, making sure all you had to do was get under the spray.

He returned to stand in front of you, hairbrush in hand and pulled you to your feet. Gentle hands turned you around and released your hair from the messy ponytail you had pulled it into. The hairbrush started to run through your hair and Sanemi carefully untangled the knots that had formed from several days of not bothering to brush it out. He murmured quiet apologies every time he hit a snag and soon, the brush was passing smoothly from root to ends. Once he was satisfied, you felt him lean in to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

Turning around, you met his soft smile with one of your own; the action feeling more genuine than it had in days. He reached for the hem of your shirt, eyes flicking to meet yours, “May I?”

At your nod, he lifted the shirt up and over your head, undressing you with the same tender care he had shown ever since he found you sitting on the couch. His skin was warm against yours as he pressed a delicate kiss to your tummy before he slid your underwear down, prompting you to lift each foot in turn so he could remove the fabric and toss it into the laundry basket. Each gentle touch was lifting the clouds from your mind, and you felt more human than you had in weeks.

He was still crouched at your feet, so you bent down to kiss his forehead, lips lingering before you stepped into the shower, the warm water relaxing you immediately. Of course, it was exactly what you needed and the love you felt for Sanemi burned a little brighter.

So focused on the way the water was beating down on your skin, you jumped when hands came to rest on your waist, manoeuvring you so their owner could slip in behind you.

“Sanemi?” You weren’t sure what his plan was, but you let him move you anyway.

It was only when he pulled the shower head down, gently pushing your head back so he could run the water over your hair without getting it on your face that you realised what he was doing. He knew you usually washed your hair every couple of days, and he knew you hadn’t done it in over a week, and after tonight, you knew he had noticed why. So he was doing it for you.

You couldn’t stop the silent tears that fell, and Sanemi was kind enough not to comment on them as he continued, treating your body like the most precious porcelain as he made sure you were clean, occasionally leaving featherlight kisses on your skin. The pure love and tender intimacy in his actions were balms on the countless little wounds in your soul. You weren’t sure you deserved such open affection, but for tonight, you would allow yourself the indulgence.

Sanemi moved to wash himself once you were scrubbed and relaxed, and you watched the defined muscles of his back ripple as he lifted his arms to wash his hair. Muscles that had held you steady all night, carrying your weight like it was nothing. You knew he was aware of your staring because when he turned back to you, he was smirking. Normally, there would be teasing from both sides. Tonight, he would let you drink in the sight of him, and you would allow the little ego boost your adoring eyes gave him.

There were still a million thoughts in your head, a million negative emotions just waiting for their moment to strike. A shower wouldn’t be enough to wash them away - you would need time, and probably some intervention. However, as Sanemi towelled you off and dressed you up, making sure your hair didn’t drip onto your clothes, you felt a little flame of hope start to grow. Your Sanemi would be right by your side.

#sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #shinazugawa x reader #shinazugawa sanemi x reader #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #sanemi fluff #kny x reader

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sundrop-writes · 2 months ago

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Baby Said

Dom!Rosita Espinosa x Sub!Fem!Reader

aka the Rosita Knife Kink fic

Tell me now - what’s that look on your face?

She puts her hand on my lips, begging - ‘please, end this conversation.’

Baby Said: ‘Let me taste your silhouette. You can talk between my legs.’

I know you really want to.

Summary:

When you first met Rosita, you thought your attraction to her was hopeless and fated to die quietly inside of you. But it turns out - she felt the exact same way about you.

Though she doesn't quite know how to deal with her attraction to you or the new relationship that it blossoms into. She's only dated men in the past, and she never felt this way about any of them. She has never been this insanely in love before. Tempted to run away from her feelings, silently pulling away from you, she is shaken back to reality when she finds Spencer brazenly flirting with you one night.

There is only one obvious solution in her mind: claim you. Make sure the world knows that you're hers. Leave a mark on you that can't be so easily erased. (Not that you would want to.)

Dom!Rosita Espinosa x Sub!Fem!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season 6.

Word Count: 15,100

The Walking Dead Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below.

Warnings: the reader character goes by she/her pronouns and has a vagina and breasts; there is no major descriptors of the reader’s race, age, or looks in general (though when I was writing this, I did have in mind that the reader is around the same age as Rosita, Glenn, Maggie, and Tara - so she would be in her early to mid twenties, but that is not a hard fact); this fic DOES use Y/N; even though most of my reader characters are bisexual, the reader is explicitly a lesbian in this fic; Rosita speaks Spanish and it is not explicitly mentioned if the reader speaks Spanish as well and understands these words or not; this fic is about Rosita discovering her sexuality after the apocalypse - it could be implied that she is bisexual, but I wanted this fic to be about her discovering her true sexuality through loving the reader (so Rosita could be a lesbian or demisexual) - but she sex she had with men in the past was not traumatic, just not particularly exciting; mentions of Rosita x Abraham, including mentions of Abraham and Rosita having sex; Abraham and Rosita do break-up before Rosita and reader get together so there is no cheating; very background mentions of Sasha x Abraham (but in this version, Rosita is not at all upset about it or upset about the break-up because she’s in love with the reader); the reader calls Rosita ‘Ro’ or ‘Ro-Ro’ and she’s the only one who is allowed to use this nickname for her; this fic is set during Season 6, but there is no mention of Negan (I wanted to set this during the ambiguous time skip after the mass of Walkers is taken out in episode 8 - but I did mention Deana and Noah being alive - fucking details); mentions of common Walking Dead themes - death, Walkers, killing Walkers (and people) to survive, gun violence, etc.; lots of Spencer Monroe bashing (I fucking hate him!!!!) - mentions of Spencer having a one-sided attraction toward Rosita and toward the reader (attractions that are definitely not returned), mentions of Spencer ‘flirting’ with Rosita in a way that borders on harassment, implications that Spencer is homophobic/lesphobic and that he has a gross stereotypical fantasy of having a threesome with two women just because those women are in a relationship; the reader works as a school teacher in Alexandria (mainly teaching the teenagers); there is a scene of Spencer harassing the reader in a way that she finds scary and intimidating, (at one point, the reader even fears for her life in Spencer’s presence), but Rosita swoops in to save her.

This is a smut fic; there is sub/dom dynamics - Rosita is the dominant one (she is more of a mean dom) and the reader is submissive (the reader is somewhat of a brat at first); the main kink here is knife kink - the reader gets turned on watching Rosita use a knife while teaching a self defense class for the inexperienced Alexandrians and Rosita uses this to her advantage later; Rosita cuts off the reader’s clothes, and gives the reader a few small cuts with the knife (not major or painful) and teases her with it, and this ultimately culminates in Rosita carving her initials into the reader’s thigh - this is described as painful, but it is a pleasurable pain; general pain kink; Rosita slaps the reader (and she likes it); the reader is stripped naked and Rosita remains clothed; choking kink - not to an extreme and there is no major breathplay, but Rosita does take a hold of the reader’s throat and squeeze for a short period of time; thigh riding - Rosita grinds her knee and thigh between the reader’s legs; sweat kink - the reader fantasies about licking sweat off Rosita; blood kink - the reader is turned on by (remembered) visuals of Rosita covered in blood, and Rosita licks up the reader’s blood after cutting her with the knife; dumbification kink - Rosita calls the reader stupid (and she likes it); degradation kink - Rosita calls the reader ‘whore’ (in both Spanish and English, yay multiculturalism!!) and ‘stupid slut’ and ‘babydoll’ and ‘fuckhole’; discussion of housewife kink and kinks around ‘gender roles’ (in which Rosita is framed as the ‘man’ and the protector and the reader is framed as the more submissive ‘wife’) (though the reader is very competent in protecting herself, and it’s something Rosita is attracted to when they first meet); discussion of the reader being kept in a cage (that does not actually happen during the fic); oral sex - reader receiving; fingering - reader receiving. And I think that’s finally it for this fic.

A/N: I am soo excited to post this fic because it's my first ever fic for Rosita and I have been wanting to write for her for sooo long. I actually intended for this fic to be 'simple' and to be like 3k, but I am actually so happy that my first fic for her turned out to be like 15k and is actually really complex - she deserves it. I hope you guys enjoy it!! I love her so much and I hope that I did her justice.

...

Rosita knew that for most people, there was a Before and an After.

Before - back when the world was ‘normal’. When the world was ‘good’. When society was ‘functioning’. In her mind, that was all bullshit. People had been starving and living on the streets before too. Society had never been fully functional.

After - the now. When the dead walked the earth, after the society that everyone knew, the life that most people had been comfortable with had crumbled away. When, in most people’s minds, everything ‘good’ had died and gone.

But Rosita had a lot of trouble thinking of it that way.

She was one of those people who - in a lot of ways - struggled to survive in the Old World. She had to find creative ways to make ends meet and money was always tight.

(That was one thing she never missed - money. Yeah. Fuck that.)

A lot of those ways involved getting dolled up and schmoozing for tips from men who were twice her age, working late nights at sleazy bars, and once she learned that it paid better, straight up scamming guys out of their ‘hard earned’ cash. Morality was never one of her strong suits, but beauty was. And guys always think that a pretty face is a truthful one.

When the world fell apart, she saw no sense in falling with it. It was just another hard time that she would learn to live through.

Abraham came along with his big truck and his even bigger ambitions, talking about saving the whole damn world like it was his god given right. At the time, Rosita wasn’t sure there was much left to save, but he and Eugene were two more men who liked her for her pretty face and she liked their big truck and their guns - she liked her chances of survival with them. And she was always willing to join forces with someone who had something to teach her.

So she embarked on a mission that she didn’t have much emotional stake in. Not at first.

The first time she had sex with Abraham, she knew it wasn’t love. But, as far as she was concerned, love was a myth anyway. She was bored and he was warm, and that was all she really needed to know.

She was alive. She had some sense of purpose. Her life didn’t feel much different than it had before. In fact, it was better - without the dread of debt or bills hanging over her head. Even if that had been switched out for the literal dead hanging over her head every now and then.

…

Life was once so perfectly clear and simple to Rosita - and then she met you.

Abraham, Rosita, and Eugene found you on the side of a hot, desolate Georgia road, tears in your eyes as you desperately stripped the riot gear off (who they later knew to be) Glenn. You had been trying to assess his condition after he had collapsed while fighting Walkers - his body clearly still weak from the flu that had almost killed him at the prison. Tara stepped up to protect the both of you, using the butt of Glenn’s heavy artillery to smash in the rotting heads before she posed to the three strangers that she ‘hoped they enjoyed the show’.

You pointed a gun in Abraham’s face the moment that he approached Glenn’s prone body. It was something Rosita immediately liked about you - you were fiery, unafraid, and protective. You didn’t even flinch at a man so much larger than you - looked him in the eye and threatened him with a fierce tongue. It was why Rosita chose to approach you, chose to be the one to barter peace and hammer home the logic that you and your friends would never survive on the road alone. That Abraham and his big truck were truly the best option for you.

She later found herself surprised that Glenn was on such a determined quest to find his wife. With the way you fussed over him, dabbing a wet cloth on his forehead after you finally let Abraham hoist him into the truck, checking his pulse every few minutes, making sure he was draped in shade and comfortable. Rosita thought for certain that the two of you were together.

You laughed so hard when she told you this a few days later that you almost snorted up one of the beans that you had been eating for dinner, choking and sputtering on your food as Glenn and Tara gave Rosita a strange look. After you came down from your fit of laughter and regained your breath, you told Rosita that Glenn certainly wasn’t your type - you were only into women.

You and Glenn had an intense closeness because he had saved your life, more than once, and you valued him intensely as a friend. You quickly added that you loved Maggie just as much as a dear friend, and hoped that she was alive out there somewhere. You hoped that his search would be fruitful. You saw nothing but comedy in the idea that you might be romantic with him.

Rosita had no idea why she became so utterly fixated on this.

It wasn’t like she had never met a lesbian before. She had worked at gay bars, she had plenty of gay friends. When she worked as a bartender, Drag Nights were one of her favourite events to work at. She wasn’t just fine with queer people - she embraced them.

Tara was a lesbian too, and she didn’t find herself laying awake at night thinking about Tara’s laugh and wondering what Tara thought of her. Wondering what Tara’s hair smelled like, wondering if Tara’s skin was soft. Wondering if Tara was warm enough and wondering if she had eaten enough that day. Sure, she grew to love Tara as a friend during those days on the road together, but you were the one who was always on her mind. You were the one she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Even more than the goal of protecting Eugene and saving the world. And increasingly, even more than Abraham.

Even during times when Abraham would loosen his leash on Eugene just enough to insist that they sneak off somewhere to go have sex - Abraham would be inside of her and she would still be thinking about you. She would be grinning at him, kissing his neck, secretly terrified that you would overhear Abraham’s heated grunts about how much he loved her tits and that you would think less of her for it.

She could never get you off her mind.

There was just something about you.

Your laugh was melodic, your skin seemed to shine under the bright Georgia sun. Even though your hair was messy and hadn’t been properly attended to in days, you looked gorgeous. You were so gorgeous. You always managed to make Rosita smile with bits of your well-timed humor, and every bit of conversation she had with you was mentally engaging - more so than she ever had since society had dissolved. Hell, probably since long before that.

She found herself drawn to you in ways she had never been drawn to any other person in her life.

And she found herself oddly disappointed when the group found a real home at Alexandria - not because she didn’t like it there. But because after a few days of probationary caution from Rick, the group dispersed. She and Abraham (and Eugene, like a damn child, unsure where else to go) - started living in their own place. You started living with Maggie and Glenn.

And like clockwork, she saw you a lot less often. She worked her job keeping watch over the walls and teaching the Alexandria residents how to fight and defend themselves, and you took up a job teaching the few children that lived in the town as a school teacher - and the two of you crossed paths less and less often. Your lives became less entwined.

And stupidly, Rosita found herself yearning for the days when the two of you slept on the train tracks with your backs pressed together - quiet nights when she could fall asleep to the thumping of your heartbeat and the sounds of crickets in the bushes. Nights when being so close to you had been for survival - but it had also been a privilege.

…

Rosita was puzzled when she walked into the bedroom one night to find Abraham packing - seemingly clearing out all of the drawers where his things were kept.

It was something that instantly put a knot in her gut, though she tried her best to ignore it. She tried to tell herself that this didn’t mean anything bad.

“Packing your stilettos?” She asked casually, posing it as a joke, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the way her voice shook. “We’ll only be gone a night.”

She was referring to a run that was happening soon - one that he would need a much smaller, lighter bag for.

“I’m goin’.” He replied gruffly, refusing to look up at her as he continued stuffing things into his large duffle bag.

That bad, twisted feeling in her gut continued to brew, and she continued to try and ignore it. She tried to stay steady.

“I am too.” She replied, that shake in her voice now more determined to break through. “But - tomorrow.”

She hoped that he would reply in order to say that he was just overpacking out of paranoia. That his PTSD was acting up again. But instead, he said something that caused her stomach to truly twist up horribly as acid splashed at the back of her throat.

“I’m leavin’.” He declared firmly, finally zipping up the bag and hoisting it over his shoulder.

He finally looked at her, finally surrendering. The scared, small look in his eyes - one that she did not recognize from him - finally clued her into what was truly going on.

He was leaving her. He was leaving the house and not coming back. He was leaving the relationship.

Though a small part of her was terrified at the prospect of being alone, something that hadn’t happened in her life in a very long time, she found herself more scared at the realization that: this wasn’t all too upsetting. This wasn’t nearly as upsetting as it should have been for her.

She had found herself drifting away from Abraham for a while. She had never been all too attached to him in the first place. She loved him in a sense, of course. But likely in the same way that she loved Glenn and Maggie and Tara and Eugene. She loved him as someone she couldn’t lose because they had been through too much together.

She knew that she had never loved him as some deep, affectionate romance.

But still, part of her screamed to hold onto him. He was an anchor, he was real. They had been through so much together. They had been a pair for so long. It was difficult to imagine sharing a bed with someone other than him.

“Why?” Rosita whispered, almost afraid to bring the question to life in the air.

“It happens.” Abraham grunted back - short, unwilling to truly explain.

This only made her bubble with anger.

‘No.’ She thought bitterly. ‘Tell me fucking why. Explain it to me if you’re going to leave me alone.’

“Are you serious?” She whispered sharply, more so to herself, angry that he refused to even engage in the conversation - that he was just fleeing without even an explanation.

“This is how I want it.” He added, still refusing to truly engage with her at all.

So now was the time Abraham Ford was choosing to be a man of few words. For hours she had been forced to sit in that stupid fucking truck, listening to him yammer on, listening to his weird metaphors and his winding war stories. And now he was choosing to clam up.

“Why?” She demanded once again, raising her voice louder, trying to force an answer out of him.

“Why are dingleberries brown?” He snapped, raising his voice louder than hers, trying to scare her away from the conversation. “It’s just the way shit is!”

He then moved to leave the room, and she stepped in front of him, blocking his path to the door as she began to scream in his face, demanding answers out of him.

“No, no!” She screamed. “After everything we’ve been through, you are not walking out that door unless you can tell me why! Tell me why!”

She smacked her hands against his chest, trying to force his attention toward her as he stared down the hallway at the front door with intense, militant concentration. Of course. Focus on the mission. Fucking asshole.

Abraham stopped with a huff, grabbing her arms - not with any real force, just to keep her from annoyingly swatting at him as he finally looked down at her, finally ready to give her the answer she so desperately sought.

“When I first met you, I thought you were the last damn woman on earth.” He declared, firm and unapologetic.

A wave of shock went through her, and she went limp under his touch.

Her eyes went wide in a quick moment, they both knew that the other was thinking the exact same thing. It was the truth. The relationship had never been one of fondness or ‘love’ - it had never been one like Maggie and Glenn’s. Their relationship had been one of convenience. One to provide warmth against the coldness of the world. A good fuck to remind you that you’re not dead when there’s so much death around you, right in front of your face.

Before Rosita could speak up, something in her gut telling her to defend herself - her brain screaming to deny the truth, Abraham continued on.

“And I know you thought the same about me.”

He said, finally letting go of the tense hold he had on her wrists - in that moment, both physically and emotionally releasing her. Unconsciously telling her that it was okay for her not to be in love with him. It was okay for her not to be hurt over the end of the relationship.

He wasn’t expecting to be chased.

“And well, I’ve learned to be okay with that. You’re a damn fine woman and I was lucky to have even five minutes with you.”

“Abraham-” She breathed out, unsure where her words were even going.

“But I’ve found someone else.” He declared, charging right past anything she had to say. “And I know that you have too.”

“What?” Rosita gasped, entirely shocked by these words.

She wasn’t entirely shocked by the revelation that Abraham was finally leaving her because of another woman. She had seen him hanging around with Sasha with increasing frequency. She had seen how close they had grown since the church. And she knew that he was too self upstanding to start fucking Sasha behind her back. Of all things, Abraham was not a cheater.

It was the latter half of what he said that really threw her off.

He thought that she had someone else waiting in the wings? Did he believe that Spencer’s stupid one-sided flirting actually meant something to her? He had to know that she absolutely despised the guy, and that she would never pursue a relationship with someone as soft and stupid as Spencer.

“What the hell are you talking about?” She gaped. “Do you think I’ve been cheating on you?”

“No,” He shook his head, as if insulted by the idea. “Dammit - I was hopin’ to make this whole thing easy on you. To make this easier on the both of us so that you’d stop bein’ so damn stupid and just stop lyin’ to yourself. But I guess I’m gonna have to be the one to get the starch of your pants and kick you squarely in the ass, huh?”

He had never before called Rosita stupid. She stood there, gaped with shock for a moment before she gathered the only words that she could.

“Abraham, what are you talking about?” She asked firmly, now well and truly confused.

He was leaving because he wanted to be with someone else. What the hell did that have to do with her being ‘stupid’?

The small grin that graced his lips was the same one he usually held right after he smashed a Walker’s head open, or right after he ripped a particularly nasty fart that polluted the truck in a way that made him laugh when nobody else did.

“Oh come on, darlin’.” He chuckled. “The way you’ve been eyein’ her up - you make it pretty obvious.”

Her?

Abraham wasn’t talking about a guy?

When Rosita stood in dubious silence, Abraham was forced to clue her in.

“Y/N.” He said.

The name hitting the air was like a slap in the face for Rosita.

He was leaving for Sasha, and he - he expected her to go after you?

No.

“Abraham, I’m not - I like guys.” Rosita sputtered out, eager to cover up the odd feeling rising in her throat, the feeling that something was wrong. The sense that she had been caught somehow. “I’ve been having sex with you. What - you think I’m gay all of a sudden?”

“I think you spend a hell of a lot more time lookin’ at that woman’s tits than you ever look at me.” He shrugged in return. “And hell, I can’t blame you. She is one fine-”

“Aye. Stop it.” She hissed sharply, kissing the inside of her teeth while she gave him a glare.

“Alright, I get it. You don’t want me talkin’ about your girl that way.”

“She is not my-” She let out a harsh sigh, cutting herself off while Abraham let out a chuckle.

You would never want her.

But that thought also struck her in the gut harsher than a blade piercing through her skin. The idea that she had been hiding here, cowering in an unhappy relationship with Abraham, hiding from her feelings for you. Hiding from someone she truly wanted to be with because she believed that you would never want her back.

Maybe it didn’t matter if she was gay or straight or whatever. Maybe it mattered most that she was terrified of being rejected. Especially if it was being rejected by you.

There was a pitting silence, in which Abraham stared her down with a knowing look while she turned all this over in her mind, and she hated just how smug he was.

“Shut up.” She spat at him, though he hadn’t said anything, simply wanting to dull volumes that his smugness was hurling at her.

Rosita was now swimming in a terrible mix of feelings - annoyance that Abraham was right, insecurity (something she so rarely felt), fear, anxiety, dread. Those confusing feelings for you bubbling toward the surface. Something she had brushed off before as friendly fondness that she was quickly learning to call affection - romantic affection.

She became even more annoyed when Abraham let out a bright, bellowing laugh, now fully smiling at her. She resisted the urge to smack him, now wanting to blow off some steam by getting into a physical fight. She knew he wouldn’t have taken the bait anyway.

“Fine.” He sighed, still smiling. “You don’t have to believe me. But hell, if a monkey puts on a three-piece suit and believes it’s a man, it’s still a damn monkey.”

She wanted to point out how she hated being compared to a monkey, but she ground her teeth - because he was right. She hated it when he was right.

“Rosita - I love you. I would still die for you or kill for you. Nothing’s gonna change that. But we both know it’s not the same anymore.” He continued on, becoming oddly soft for a moment, making her flex with a small smile now. “And I can’t sit around here waitin’ for it to be the way it was. Hell - I don’t think I want it to be the way it was. I like the way it is now.”

“When did you get all shiny and whole?” She asked, silently knowing that this was the touch of ‘love’ on him - the glimmer of a woman who had made him feel whole in a way that she never could. She found herself oddly okay with that. She enjoyed it, in fact. She was happy for him.

“I started goin’ to church.” He shrugged, throwing out one last bad joke.

Rosita nodded, smiling at him, calmly accepting the truth - he was happier now. At least one of them was.

She just wasn’t sure if she was ready to find her happiness. It was a terrifying prospect - approaching you. Exposing herself to you when she might get rejected. The idea that even if you said yes, even if you felt the same way - she would be embarking on a relationship like one she had never experienced before. She would have something so damn precious to lose.

Abraham turned and began to walk toward the door again, and Rosita reflexively called after him.

“Abraham?” He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “Do you think-?”

She choked on her own words, too intimidated to even ask - but of course, he already knew the unspoken question that she was trying to voice.

‘Do you really think that me and Y/N are supposed to be together?’

“I think anybody would be damn lucky to have you.” He said, giving her another strangely warm, genuine smile. “And I know that she spent a hell of a lotta time with her eyes focused on your ass when you weren’t payin’ attention. So I’m pretty sure all you gotta do is go get ‘er.”

Abraham finally took off then, and as the front door shut behind him, Rosita collapsed onto the edge of the bed.

This was the first time in so long that she had been truly afraid.

Terrified that you were so close, yet so far away. Terrified of the idea that she could waltz right up to you and - tell you what? That she was in love with you? (That didn’t sound like a lie. In fact, the longer she sat with it, repeating it in her mind, the more it sounded like the truth. The more it felt like it.) The idea that she could ruin her friendship with you in one single second.

That almost sounded worse than death.

Losing you - having you upset with her and not wanting to be around her - that would be a living hell.

And those words kept ringing through her head.

‘All you gotta do is go get ‘er.’

Fuck - she hated it when Abraham was right.

Forcing herself up with a burst of anger - anger toward Abraham that he had known about this for so long and failed to tell her, that he waited this fucking long - she rushed toward the front door, only to be stopped with Eugene’s hand on her elbow.

“Hey, I thought you said we were gonna watch Star Wars later. I was only able to locate a DVD copy of A New Hope, which I find to be inferior to-”

“Eugene,” She sighed harshly. “When a woman says ‘later’, what she really means is ‘fuck off’.”

He gaped with shock, enough to let her go, and then he began shouting complaints at her. But she didn’t hear or care to hear what he said as she slammed the door in his face, and began swiftly walking (not running, telling herself not to look too stupidly eager) down the street toward Glenn and Maggie’s house.

She had to find you.

The three of you were sitting on the porch, laughing brightly, chatting about something. You and Glenn each had a beer in hand and Maggie was cradling a mug full of something, and she had Glenn’s hoodie draped around her shoulders - it was a very cozy, friendly scene. For a moment, Rosita almost backed off. She almost lost her nerve.

“My Mama used to call it God's Dirty Little Loophole,” Maggie laughed brightly, adding onto whatever conversation the three of you were having. “You're supposed to keep your knees closed before marriage and you don't need to open them to get behind,”

“Yeah it's some kind of dirty hole,” Glenn snarked in response, earning him a light smack and an eye roll from Maggie.

But then - you noticed Rosita, standing in the middle of the dark street. A bright smile broke across your face. And her insides lit up as she remembered in an instant why she was there. She became flared with annoyance once again as she remembered that Abraham was right about the whole thing.

“Ro-Ro!” You chimed, drawing the attention of the other two toward her. This was a playful nickname for Rosita that you had started using while on the road - one she pretended to hate that she only ever let you get away with. “I actually want you to weigh in on this - if you do anal the first time you have sex, does it count as losing your virginity?”

Of course. You were cheerfully talking about something nonsensical and delightfully distracting.

But in that moment, all she could think about was your lips. The way you so sweetly and delicately wrapped around the words, making something so crude seem so perfect.

She knew that she looked like a mindless Walker, drifting up the porch without a word, not even responding to your question - but she couldn’t deny her magnetism toward you any longer. And she didn’t even care that Glenn and Maggie were watching when she grabbed both sides of your head and firmly planted her lips on yours.

You immediately went slack under her touch, almost dropping your beer as you melted into the kiss, gently moaning into her mouth - both of you feeling the intense heat and pure chemistry that you had both been trying to deny for so long. A feeling that had been building up between the two of you since the moment you had met.

(With her back turned to them, Rosita didn’t see the excited, knowing look that the couple gave each other, even exchanging a soft high five as the two of you continued to share that kiss.)

Rosita pulled away from the kiss after a long, perfect moment - and while you looked at her with a dizzy, vacant expression, your whole body tingling, wondering if you were dreaming, she grabbed the beer from your hands and took a long swig. And then she propped herself beside you against the porch railing, turning to face Glenn and Maggie, who were both beaming with smiles.

“Personally, I think the concept of virginity is bullshit.” She said, choosing to answer your earlier question instead of acknowledging the fact that she had kissed you. “Why should anybody let a man’s dick define them? It’s completely barbaric-”

“What’s barbaric is storming out on a man in the middle of a conversation!” Eugene shouted, shuffling up the street in a pair of flip-flops, his flannel pj pants, and his obnoxious ‘Virginia Is For Lovers’ tee shirt.

Rosita rolled her eyes.

“I am not watching Star Wars with you!” She shouted at him, her words echoing down the near empty street.

“Wait - you have Star Wars?” Glenn asked eagerly, turning to the mullet-headed man for confirmation.

“Yes.” Eugene replied. “But some people don’t appreciate the finer points of well-made science fiction.” He eyed Rosita heavily when he said this, and she flipped him a middle finger in response.

Glenn and Maggie exchanged a look, Glenn clearly asking for permission to go and watch the movie, to which Maggie nodded. Glenn grinned widely and kissed Maggie on the forehead before he eagerly fled off the porch. He and Eugene walked away talking excitedly about the film and then, surprisingly, Maggie stood up from her chair.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed early.” She said, giving an exaggerated yawn - and then she tossed a wink in your direction. “Goodnight, y’all.”

“Night, Mags.”

“Goodnight.”

You and Rosita both bid her goodnight - and then, after the front door to the house closed behind her, the two of you were completely alone.

“So - you’re not into letting a man define your life?” You posed, snatching the beer back and downing the last of it.

“Not anymore.” She replied, giving you a grin.

She then grabbed you by the back of the neck and kissed you firmly once again.

That was the day she realized it. There was a Before and an After.

The time in her life Before you, and then - the time After you.

The time before her world was whole, and after it became whole.

…

Your relationship with Rosita was nothing short of electric.

The first time the two of you had sex was shortly after that first kiss (a matter of hours, actually) - and you had never cum harder than having her between your thighs, pinning you to the bed that Abraham had once slept in while she ate you with a newly discovered passion that had you screaming. (Initially, the two of you had attempted to be discreet, but Glenn and Eugene’s movie marathon certainly didn’t last long after that.)

You knew that the people around town were likely sick of the two of you. Annoyed by the fact that you two were constantly staring at each other, so sickly in love that you couldn’t resist grabbing and groping each other in public, a simple peck of a kiss often turning into something sloppy in front of your friends when you never meant it to.

There was just something so intoxicating about the relationship - likely because the two of you had been trying to hold back your feelings, stuffing down the attraction for so long. And now that you got to experience those feelings so freely, now that you got to be with the person that you had wanted so badly for so long - you couldn’t help but to enjoy it.

You couldn’t help but to enjoy something so good in a world that didn’t seem to have a lot of good in it these days.

That was why you took any opportunity that you could during the day to visit Rosita.

Yes, the two of you lived together now, so you saw her a lot more often. You had moved in with her and Euegene after Abraham had moved out, prompting many jokes from your friends about ‘shacking up’ - both to your face and behind your back. This meant that you saw her almost every single morning (if she didn’t get an early start before you did, or if her job didn’t call for her to pull some overnight duty). And you saw her most nights before you fell asleep, but you still felt like you didn’t get enough of her. Even the domestic bliss wasn’t enough to fulfill you when you were so damn lovesick.

So late one afternoon, after you had dismissed your class, you walked across town to see Rosita. You would deny until your last breath that you semi-regularly dismissed your class early for this specific reason, especially considering that your class was made up of a whopping four kids and they all definitely got more than enough one on one time with you to be well educated.

You knew that she was holding a self defense class for the under-trained, more sheltered Alexandrians in an open field out by the solar panels. If anybody asked, you had released your class early because the kids deserved to enjoy the nice weather and not because you had an alternate agenda.

“You’re going to need to carry a knife on your person at all times,”

She spoke with perfect authority, her voice filling the air in a way that sent chills down your spine. You couldn’t help but to admire her quiet dominance - the natural confidence that she always had when she pressed herself on top of you. You couldn’t help but to imagine that firm, smooth voice next to your ear, giving you instructions about how you were going to behave for her while she took you apart and made you quiver.

“A well sharpened knife could always mean the difference between life and death against a Walker or a person that wants to hurt you,”

You loved watching her work.

She used her own switchblade as an example as she showed the others proper technique - and you couldn’t help but to admire her, a certain kind of deadly heat growing in your stomach as you watched her strong, toned arm wield the blade with confidence, slashing into the air against an imaginary enemy as she continued to spout confident instructions to her class.

Her sleeveless shirt made it easier for you to enjoy the sight of her bronze skin in the bright sun, enjoying the sight of the sheen of sweat that gathered there. You couldn’t help but to imagine tonguing across her bicep in order to lick up that sweat, worshipping her in the filthiest ways to honor her strength, to show her what a great protector she was.

Both of you knew that you were more than capable of protecting yourself. But there was a certain thrill whenever she stepped between you and danger. Whenever she stepped up as your protector. One that you felt now as you were reminded of just how strong she was.

She took another stance, crouching as she slashed her knife through the air again, and she continued to yell more instructions at the class.

Your lust numb brain couldn’t easily take in what she was saying, though.

You simply enjoyed the pleasant warmth of her voice rolling through the air as your mind continued to wander. You remembered visuals of her stabbing that knife into soft Walker skulls and having blood drip down her arms. You thought back to a time during the escape from Terminus when she hadn’t hesitated to stab a man in the eye to keep him away from you and his blood had splashed up onto her cheek, making her angered grimace look all the more heroic as she extended a hand out to you and pulled you back from oncoming gunfire.

At the time, you had been terrified. You had only been thinking of the fight for your life in the face of so much death. But now, you looked back at those memories - flashes of those moments - with a certain fondness. Your mind tunnel-visioned in and you could only see Rosita as a kind of beautiful Combat Barbie, coming to save you.

It was the kind of rose coloured vision that made your pussy wet as you continued to stand there, admiring her as she stood tall at the front of the group, hands on her hips as she spoke more powerful, firm words.

Your eyes continued to fixate on her hands - surprisingly, today she had chosen to forego her typical ‘combat’ gloves. So you were blessed with the sight of her bare, rough knuckles and long fingers twirling the thin handle of the knife around, causing the sharp, shiny blade to glint in the blazing sun.

You almost hated that you couldn’t help but to imagine that blade pressed up against your skin. It was such a filthy thought, but once the fantasy wiggle its way through a tiny gap in your mind - it exploded to life. You knew that you would love how small and powerless you would feel underneath her if she held the knife against your neck. It would be nothing but a threat coming from her - but oh, the things you would do for her under the duress of that threat.

You would love it if she pinned you down and tore your clothes to shreds with the sharpness of her knife, if she ran the cool metal across your skin. Even if she treated you to the sweet, stinging pinch of that knife’s tip in your flesh - just a bit. Just a little kiss of pain to make the pleasure sweeter.

(It was a thought that had you squeezing your thighs together, hoping that your underwear wasn’t utterly ruined.)

Rosita would be the only person you would trust to do it. Someone who had saved you from danger so many times, who had threatened men for even looking at you in a way she didn’t like. She would worship your body with the smallest touch of pain that you needed rather than punishing you cruelly with it. And again, this was a thought that had your pussy throbbing between your thighs as you mocked yourself with something that was probably never going to happen.

(She did like rough sex, but she valued you too much to even consider hurting you.)

You were genuinely surprised when the group she was teaching began to disperse - you hadn’t realized how long you had been standing there, fantasizing about her. You knew that you were lovesick for her - but fuck, you didn’t realize that it was this bad.

Rosita waltzed across the field toward you, and you suddenly felt frozen under her gaze. You knew that it wasn’t anywhere near a crime to come and visit her - in fact, it was probably welcomed. But you were surprised that she didn’t seem happy to see you. She gave you a stern, firm-lipped scowl with tight, stressed brows pressing down from her forehead rather than greeting you with a smile.

Perhaps the class was stressing her out, but you had a feeling that it was something more than that.

“Hey, Ro-” You greeted her with a kind smile and warmth in your voice, and she immediately cut you off, shaking her head as she lifted her leg and retracted the blade of her knife back into the handle with her boot before she tucked it back into the pocket of her pants.

“No.” She said. “What are you doing here?”

Your stomach curled with an odd kind of guilt as she stared you down with piercing eyes. Of course she had noticed that you had been dismissing your class early to come and visit her.

But like you suspected, it was more than that, even if she would never admit it to you. She wasn’t upset about the class she had been teaching or the fact that you had ditched yours in order to come and see her.

Something had happened a few nights ago. Or rather - very early in the morning a few days ago.

When changing over the guard shift, when the sun had just barely been kissing the sky, as she had passed Abraham her sniper rifle at the base of the ladder before he climbed up to take her place, she had made a comment about how she was glad that he hadn’t been late. (Which he had been a few other times.) She was glad because it meant that she could rush home to make you breakfast before you woke up. Your favourite was instant oatmeal with cinnamon - something she liked to wake you up with.

Abraham had chuckled deeply in that jolly way he usually did, and said that he was happy for Rosita, because she had finally found a lover that made her ‘sweet’ and ‘soft’. She had no clue why - but those words got to her. He got inside her head once again. And this time, not for the better.

She hadn’t rushed home to make you breakfast after he relieved her of her duty. And instead, she sharpened her knife and took a walk out in the woods. She spent the next few hours playing target practice with a random tree - throwing her knife into it so hard, over and over again, that she nearly threw out her shoulder, furiously trying to prove to herself that she hadn’t gone soft.

For the past few days, she had been avoiding you, even if you hadn’t realized it yet. She was picking up more guard shifts, teaching more classes, volunteering to do inventory at the armory and acting like she got roped into it whenever you asked to spend time with her.

She simply couldn’t face the fact that after all the relationships she had in the past, relationships she had with men, this relationship was going to be the one to ruin her. In those relationships, she had been so level-headed and detached, she had been able to move on so easily after the break-ups - they had come in and out of her life taking nothing from her and leaving her with valuable life skills.

With you, she was getting soft. She was getting sappy. She was getting attached, she was becoming vulnerable. She was setting herself up to become broken.

With you, she had so much to lose.

Rosita Espinosa - the powerful woman - was going to be broken by you.

“I came to bring you these,” You said brightly, giving her a smile as you extended your hands out, suddenly remembering that you had baked in another excuse to come and see her. You had brought along a bottle of water and a brown paper bag with the other half of a very large sandwich that you had saved from lunch specifically to share with her.

“It’s pink,” She noted with slight suspicion as she took the bottle from you, eyeing it hesitantly.

“It’s an electrolyte drink mix,” You explained. “It’s supposed to be good for you. You’ve been out here in the hot sun sweating all day. You probably need it,”

You resisted the urge to mention how you loved the look of the sweat on her skin - how you would have given her a tongue-bath if she had asked you to. You had a feeling that she wasn’t quite in the mood to hear those remarks from you right now.

She unscrewed the lid and took a few healthy gulps, and found herself thirstier than she was willing to admit, especially when she found that the drink tasted quite good - you were probably right. You were always good at taking care of her in ways that she forgot to take care of herself.

“This is lunch,” You said, shoving the paper bag further into her personal space. “Mrs. Gordon made sandwiches for class today - she wouldn’t stop talking about how she made the bread from scratch. And I would be a lot more annoyed about that if it wasn’t really fucking good,”

After she screwed the cap back on the bottle, she took the bag from you and peeked inside, and her stomach did growl quietly at the sight of the very fat sandwich wrapped in plastic. She had been so busy trying to avoid you that she hadn’t even realized she had skipped breakfast that morning in her rush to get out of bed before you woke up.

“Thanks.” She said, her tone still sour and curt as she closed the bag again, vowing to take a break to eat later.

“Is something wrong?” You felt the need to ask, wondering why she was being uncharacteristically cross with you. Perhaps she was just having a bad day, but it felt like she was angry with you - like you had done something.

She shrugged, shifting her gaze toward the ground.

She hated that she felt the need to avoid you. Especially when she missed you. She hated that something inside of her ached, that she yearned to taste your sweet lips and hear you whimper as she pressed herself between your thighs. But she had to remind herself that the thing inside of her that was yearning was something soft. Something she could afford to have.

“I should probably go.” She said, trying her best to shrug you off. “I have to go relieve Sasha at the guard tower - and I’m pulling double duty tonight, so I probably won’t see you before you go to bed,”

She began to walk away, but your words cut her off.

“So we won’t get to hang out tonight?” You posed, the disappointment dipping through your words almost causing her to waver in her conviction.

She could get someone to cover her shift if she truly wanted to flake off and hang out with you. It’s not like there was some big threat approaching town - guard duty was a precautionary thing, and a lot of people did it because they saw it as an easy job.

Rosita did it to keep herself sharp.

But then another wave of spite crept up inside of her as she remembered that. She needed to stay sharp.

“No, I can’t just ‘hang out’ -”

She swore sharply under her breath in Spanish, and for once it was in a situation that didn’t involve you naked and shoved between her body and some hard surface. You felt oddly scolded by her, as though she knew something that you didn’t.

“I can’t just sit around doing nothing all the fucking time, okay? Not all of us are princesses - some of us have jobs, remember?”

This was the first time she had ever called you ‘princess’ with a tone of an insult to it. This was the first time that she had ever insinuated that you didn’t pull your weight or didn’t do an equal amount of work.

It felt strange - and it definitely felt like it was coming out of nowhere.

“I have a job-” You shot back weakly, shocked.

“Yeah, which you keep blowing off to come visit me like some wide-eyed little housewife.”

She slurred the last word like it was the greatest insult she could muster, causing you even greater shock. Especially considering the last time she had called you that had been with her knee rocking between your thighs from behind, pressing precisely into your cunt while you made dinner for her and she purred into your ear about how pretty you looked in the dumb ruffled apron that Carol had given to you.

You couldn’t pinpoint why she was so angry, and before you could formulate a reply to her dumbfounding words, someone else disrupted the conversation between the two of you.

“Y/N?” Carl was walking up to you, holding the novel you had assigned to him in class. “I have some questions about the book - can we talk?”

“Go do your job,” Rosita snarled at you. “I have to go do mine.”

You tried to brush off the bizarre conversation as you turned to Carl to discuss the book, but you definitely weren’t going to let it go.

…

Later than night, after you had gotten off working a volunteer shift helping out at the pantry with Olivia, you were walking home by yourself, wondering how you were going to approach the problem with Rosita when the solution practically fell into your lap.

You were carrying a white plastic laundry basket with some things in it - a plate of cookies wrapped in plastic given to you by Carol (delivered with that sickly sweet fake smile that always freaked you out a bit, especially because she only did it in front of other people); a jacket that Rosita had needed mended, now freshly sewn up by Olivia; a couple of pairs of jeans that you liked swiped from the community clothing bin; and a ‘new’ pair of boots that you thought Rosita would like, hoping that the gift would put her in a better mood. All that, and some rationed food supplies for the week for your household.

With the canned goods and the boots in the basket, it was slightly heavy, but you were balancing it on your hip and the way home wasn’t that far. It wasn’t like Alexandria was some large, sprawling metropolis - walking from one end of town to the other took less than five minutes, even when you walked at a leisurely stroll.

You thought you had it handled, but it seemed that your arms were pretty exhausted from the day. You had helped to unload a large haul that Glenn’s scavenging group brought back, so your back and your arms were aching from lifting all the boxes - many of them containing heavy books and paper supplies for your future classes, which you were incredibly thankful for, even if they were a pain in the ass to carry all the way down to the house that you used as a makeshift school.

Between that and your mental distraction, thinking about Rosita, you weren’t entirely surprised when your grip wavered and the basket slipped out of your hand, accidentally spilling your goods out across the vacant street.

At least - a street you thought was entirely vacant for the night.

You let out a defeated sigh and dropped to your knees, beginning to gather up everything, just feeling glad that the plastic wrap was on tight enough that it had secured the cookies to the plate and you hadn’t lost your treat. You watched with intense fatigue as a can of your spaghetti rings rolled away - especially knowing that it was one of Rosita’s favourites, and again, you wanted to cheer her up with it, but you were almost too tired to chase the damn thing down the pavement.

But you were surprised when someone appeared seemingly out of nowhere and stopped it with their foot.

Your brief moment of relief was entirely ruined when their voice broke through the air.

“Need a hand?”

Spencer.

Your gut twisted with disappointment and dread as you looked up the length of his body and saw him grinning down at you. You just hoped that those emotions weren’t too visible, not entirely written across your face as you forced a smile back.

One awful thing about living in such a small town - you had to be polite to all of the people living there. You had to make nice with the residents to avoid being stuck behind the walls with endless petty drama. As much as you hated Spencer, you had to put up a front of likeability around him. Especially because he was Deana’s son.

“Uh - yeah. Thanks.” You replied, shoving a few more things into your basket and rushing to get off the ground, hoping that you could make up some excuse that would get you home as quickly as possible.

Spencer was - he was a piece of work.

He was one of the only people in town who outright refused to acknowledge your relationship with Rosita. As much as the two of you engaged in PDA or as many times as your friends made jokes about the two of you being like ‘an old married couple’ - he never seemed to acknowledge it. Not once.

And strangely enough, it didn’t seem to be out of homophobia. But instead, it seemed to be for the fact that he had some kind of one-sided obsession with Rosita. And since Abraham had broken up with her, he thought that he deserved an ‘opportunity’ to date her instead of you. You honestly couldn’t figure out which was worse - if he was actually a homophobe and he was just pretending to be okay with Aaron and Eric’s relationship and Tara and Denise’s, or the latter, which seemed a lot more likely to be true.

Whenever Spencer interacted with Rosita, he complimented her in some skeezy way - he commented on her looks, he called her nicknames that she hated (like ‘babe’, or ‘sweetheart’). He kept trying to ask her over for dinner, kept trying to invite himself into your home to fix things that weren’t even broken (the ‘leaky’ faucet, the hot water heater, the ‘creaky’ floorboards).

He had blatantly said in conversation multiple times that your home would function better with ‘a real man in it’. It had been the one time you had been thankful for Eugene and his big mouth - because he always reminded Spencer that he was the man of the house. Even though, compared to Eugene, with his Star Trek sheets and his sock monkey, Rosita most definitely was the man of the house. She was the one who knew how to fix up things and killed the spiders that Eugene screamed like a girl about.

The last time you had needed a light bulb changed but Rosita had been off on a run, you had made a point of inviting Abraham over to do it, and having beers with him on the porch after he had finished. When Spencer walked by, looking for Rosita, Abraham told him very blatantly to ‘get the fuck off my porch’ - even though it was no longer his house, and Spencer hadn’t stuck around after that.

Spencer picked up the few cans that had rolled away on you and put them in the basket, and before you could beat him to it, he picked up the basket and gave you another unsettling smile.

“Is this going to your place?” He asked, looking over the items and knowing that was the only obvious answer.

“Uh - yeah.” You replied. “I - I can take it from here.” You said, holding out your hands, patiently waiting for him to hand you back the basket, but sadly - knowing that it likely wasn’t going to go over that easily with him.

He was stubborn. And because you were known around Alexandria as ‘the school teacher’ - he wasn’t intimidated by you. He had never seen you bashing Walkers skulls or gutting unkind men when you had been forced to.

“Oh come on, I can walk you home.” He said, a breathy chuckle in his voice. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be lugging around all this stuff anyway. What do you even have in here - some snacks, ooh - are these boots for Ro?”

He gave another glance at the basket and then put it off to the side, back on the ground - dismissing it for now. You knew that you could have just picked it up and walked away, but you feared that he would have followed you home. Eugene had mentioned playing some card game with Tara and Noah, so you weren’t sure if he was there. Even if he wouldn’t be of any use in protecting you, you knew that Spencer wouldn’t try anything if another man was watching over you. He was a bastard like that.

“Rosita.” You easily corrected him, annoyance angling on your breath.

“What?” He replied, confused.

“Rosita.” You repeated, firmer. “She only goes by Rosita. That’s her name.”

You didn’t bother making the distinction that she only let you call her Ro, or Ro-Ro - that you got special privileges because you were her girlfriend. Any time you brought up things like that, Spencer usually breezed right past it in conversation. He wasn’t someone who usually cared about facts.

You felt a pair of eyes on you, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you saw the glint of something dancing in the moonlight. You didn’t know that it was Rosita’s sniper rifle, perfectly pointed at Spencer’s head while he continued to smile at you in that utterly creepy way.

It had not been your intention to wander past her lookout perch on your way home - it just worked out that way. For a lingering moment, her finger sat comfortably on the trigger, heavily considering putting a bullet through his brain for talking to her girl like that - for even daring to look at you like that. She wanted to prove to him and everyone else in this fucking town that her love for you did not make her soft. If anything, it made her more powerful and ruthless than ever, she realized.

But then she considered that if she shot him so suddenly, it might scare you. You didn’t deserve to be dirtied with his blood. And if she killed him, if she killed Deanna’s son, she might risk getting kicked out. She couldn’t risk losing the home she had always wanted for you.

There was another way to get this done.

“Whatever,” Spencer chuckled lightly.

He shrugged off what you had said, and when you moved to pick up the basket off the ground, he very pointedly stepped in your way, causing a harsh knot to twist in your gut as he crowded into your personal space. He continued to hold your basket hostage while he looked you up and down with an odd kind of… lust lingering in his gaze. You always knew that he had a thing for Rosita, but you had never considered what might happen if he turned that disgusting attention toward you.

Even though it had only been a few moments, you quickly learned to hate it.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me walk you home,”

You choked on your breath, strangely enough, you did not feel brave enough to call him out on the nickname and tell him how much you hated it. Maybe it was because you eyed the gun on his belt, one he technically wasn’t supposed to have according to his mother’s rules - or because he was much taller than you, towered over you.

As you took another glance down the street and realized how truly vacant it was - your hand drifted to your belt and you realized that the leather holster that usually kept your knife was empty. Something Rosita would have scolded you for endlessly - but you had been using it to open some of the (miraculously) untouched boxes that Glenn had brought back in order to unpack them, and in your tired state, you had forgotten it - left it behind. The rigid, important rules that Rosita had been teaching in her class earlier that day had already been broken by you.

So now you were stranded on an empty street with Spencer staring you down in an uncomfortable, piercing way, insisting that he walk home with you. He had a gun and he was trying to get you alone in an enclosed space. All of your danger alarms were screaming and you had no clue what to do.

“What time does Ro get off?”

He asked, further reminding you just how vulnerable you were. It was a question you didn’t want to answer because she had told you that she was working a double shift of guard duty and that meant she wouldn’t be back at the house until the early morning. When you were speechless at his question, he reached out, brushing fingers down your neck in a way that made you recoil slightly, tempted to simply run away until you made it to Glenn and Maggie’s.

“I’m sure we could make the bed and nice and cozy before she gets back-”

“No.” You said, finally finding your voice to reject him, utterly disgusted by the implications behind his words.

When you tried to step away from him, moving to act on the idea to simply abandon your supplies in favour of running away (hoping to find Abraham or Rick or Michonne or Daryl or someone) - he reached out and snatched your arm, gripping your wrist so tightly that it startled you, and caused you to freeze as an uncomfortable pain bloomed from the spot where he dug his grip into your flesh.

Panic spread through you, and your breath stilled in your chest. You wanted to scream, but nothing came out.

“No?” He repeated back, clearly aghast that you would dare to speak the word to him. In a moment, he shifted from playing at kindness to something a lot darker - rage painted across his features in a way that utterly terrified you. “Come on, I’ve seen the way you look at me. You can’t tell me that you waltz around here in those tight pants and those low cut little shirts because you don’t want a man’s attention,”

The only person’s attention you ever wanted was Rosita’s.

You tried pulling away from him, but he dug his hand into your wrist harder, making you wince. Your heart thumped inside your chest, and you wondered for a terrified moment if he would be the type of person to stab you or shoot you in the head and then spin some story about how a Walker got you.

“No, I-”

“Y/N.”

You let out a breath of relief when Rosita’s voice came from behind you, and Spencer’s touch quickly retracted from you - like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, quick to rip his hand back from something he knew he wasn’t supposed to be touching. Though she had been angry the last time you had seen her, you found an intense comfort in watching her approach - you knew that an angry Rosita would always be kinder and safer than a Spencer who pretended to be kind.

You melted into her touch as she wrapped a firm arm around your shoulders from behind, pulling you into her and very pointedly away from Spencer, making a gap between you and him as she glared at the man over your shoulder.

“Everything good here, babe?” She said, her voice low, her breath puffing against your cheek, the words very clearly directed at you, but still loud enough for him to hear them.

“Better now.” You sighed, leaning into her body, feeling protected by the arm around you - by the warmth of her presence against your back, and the hard prodding against your lower back that you knew had to be a knife on her belt. (One she would never carelessly forget somewhere.)

Spencer, clearly anxious under Rosita’s gaze, scrambled to explain himself.

“I was just-”

“You were just backing the fuck away from my girl.” Rosita barked out sharply, cutting off whatever bullshit he would attempt to spew.

You would be lying if you said that the power and dominant possessiveness in her words didn’t turn you on. It was something that had been latent in you for hours - since you had become obsessed, watching her handle her knife with so much skill while she taught her class. And now it was back again with a vengeance as she woefully let you go and stepped around your body to face Spencer, rearing up against him as though she were ten feet tall, even though she had to crane her neck to make eye contact with him.

“Come on-”

“No.” She growled. “Whatever you were gonna say - no. Whatever you’re thinking - no. Whatever you think you can do - fuck no.”

She then pointed to the basket on the ground, and with power so intense that it nearly crackled in the air, she ordered out:

“Pick it up.”

“W-what?” He stuttered out, clearly intimidated by her but making some feeble attempt to stand his ground.

“You heard me, bendejo. Pick. It. Up.”

Spencer then moved toward it in jolting motions just as stuttery as his words, and you watched with intense magnetism, in utter awe of Rosita’s power as he bent below her and picked up the basket, and then she snatched it from his limp arms and in turn, shoved the rifle from her watch duty into his arms, which he clumsily took.

If he had anything more to say, he didn’t dare attempt to get the words out. Not while she was looking at him with a tight jaw and fire in her eyes.

“I’m gonna take this, and you’re gonna take my watch, and you’re gonna feel lucky that you get to walk away from this with all your limbs intact, comprende?” She spat out harshly, putting a thick accent on the last word, showing just how angry she was with him.

“Ro, I was just joking around-” He made one last attempt to make amends, and one final, fatal mistake along with it.

“It’s Rosita.” She corrected him sharply. “And you can go ‘joke around’ - by yourself, at the top of that fucking watch tower.”

She said, clearly injecting a double meaning to her words as she propped the basket on one hip and pointed to the tower she had just come from.

“I’m gonna take my stuff back to my home and fuck my wife in my bed - because that’s my goddamn job, not yours.”

Rosita put an intense amount of fire on the possessive words, causing goosebumps to spring up across your skin within seconds.

Before Spencer could speak another word, Rosita put that free hand on your lower back and ushered you away, leaving Spencer gape-mouthed in the middle of the street and shocked at the pure vulgarity of her words.

Which was something that had your pussy throbbing between your thighs as you took a sideways glance at her still very mean, rage fueled expression. It was the most vulgar way she had ever claimed you in front of someone else - and especially after the conversation the two of you had that afternoon, you had a feeling that whatever crisis she was having was most definitely over.

She had a new mission in mind now - a new divine purpose.

…

And that divine purpose started with shoving you down onto the bed so roughly that the springs screamed in protest. But neither of you could come close to caring as she kicked the bedroom door closed with her foot and shed her jacket - you stared at her with lustful eyes as she flipped off her hat as well, causing a few stray hairs to escape from her neat ponytail. She was a vision in a tight tank top, the round neckline dipping to reveal just the right amount of cleavage, her jeans tight as usual with her knife holster clipped to the hip, making her look all the more powerful.

You were settled in the middle of the smooth comforter (you always made it a habit to make the bed - you liked to keep a neat and tidy home, even though it didn’t matter much these days) on your elbows as you watched her, trembling with anticipation as to what would come next. You wondered what was in store for you with such a powerful woman - if she would treat you like a precious angel as she normally did, or if you were finally in for the punishment that you had always craved at her hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She huffed out, her power and intensity filling the room to capacity, making it near impossible for you to breathe as you continued to stare up at her, mesmerized.

It left you speechless - unable to answer the question, your brain numb to the fact that she had even asked you something as you squirmed aimlessly, unconsciously seeking friction between your thighs.

“Hey!”

She shouted, crowding into your personal space, planting a firm knee on the bed between your thighs and grabbing your face with a fierce, tight grip - her thumb digging into your cheek on one side and her two fingers disturbing soft skin almost down into your teeth on the other.

“I’m fuckin’ talking to you.” She snarled, her quiet voice much more intimidating than a full on scream. “What’s wrong with you, are you stupid? Why the fuck were you talking to him?”

The feeling of being underneath her, being trapped there - it made your heart thump and made your pussy ache, but strangely, something inside of you flared with defiance. Something in you screamed to see just how far this would go.

“Me?” You snapped back in reply. “He approached me! He-”

Rosita didn’t care to listen to the rest of your excuses - her anger at Spencer was still boiling inside of her, and she was too tense and fed up from all the emotions that had been running high inside of her for the past few days. She had been trying to avoid you, trying to deny everything she felt for you. She needed to protect you, to keep you away from scum like him - but you were too damn stubborn. You couldn’t just shut up and see how special you were - how perfect you were.

She pulled her grip away from your face, hauling her hand back and swinging her arm to collide the back of her hand sharply with your face. At the same time, she shoved her knee right up against your cunt, making for a dizzying combination when pain bloomed across your cheek and the first bit of contact caused between your thighs tingles to spread through your swollen, aching pussy - trapped inside of your jeans. The combination of sensations made you moan weekly and arch into her touch, only proving how much you needed her.

“Puta!”

She spat out harshly, the filthy word bouncing off your skull in the most delightful way. She could call you anything in her velvet voice and your pussy would leak because of it.

She then reached down to take a hold of your throat, tentatively gripping, not nearly enough to make you dizzy - just enough to truly possess you, to show you that she was in charge. It was something that had you gasping and leaning into the touch, aching for more. And she shoved her knee tighter against your clothed cunt while she gave you another sharp glare.

“You should have been at home! You stupid slut! What the fuck do you expect when you’re running around out there at night, huh? You think the world is gonna treat pretty little whores like you nicely?”

It was her very guarded way of telling you that she cared. Her way of telling you that she had moved you into her home so quickly after the relationship started because she wanted you to be protected. She preferred that you took a calm day job as a school teacher while she was the one on guard duty, the one out beyond the walls doing runs so that you wouldn’t have to worry about facing the harsh reality of the world. She would have killed a thousand men for you if it kept your hands clean and your mind unburdened.

She probably would have killed Spencer to protect you if she hadn’t been more worried about the consequences from Deana.

But still - instead of telling her that you had been working at the pantry, filling your basket with things to bribe her into a better mood with, that defiant thing rose up inside of you again. That thing that begged for her to squeeze harder around your neck - for her to strip off your clothes and fuck you senseless. That part of you that was angry that she had been so harsh with you earlier that afternoon.

“Maybe I liked it,” You choked out, rubbing yourself down against her knee, unable to resist playing the whore that she accused you of being. “Maybe I was happy to finally get some attention from someone,”

Unknown to you, this was just the right button to push. Rosita’s possessive instincts flared up again, and she ticked with rage as she became fueled by the goal to have you thinking of nobody but her.

“Oh, attention?”

She mocked you, the faux-sweet tone already making you dizzy. Your stomach flipped when she reached into her back pocket and pulled out the switchblade from earlier that day - your breath hitched as she pushed the button, flipping out the blade and causing it to glint in the light. She had seen the way you had been staring at her during the class - the lustful look on your face so damn readable. Of course she was going to use that to her advantage.

She leaned down, putting more pressure on the hand holding your throat as she brought the blade close to your cheek, causing you to let out a harsh whimper.

“Seemed like you only wanted my attention when I had this in my hand.”

“Ro-” You whined, arching up, unintentionally making yourself breathless as you leaned into her tense palm stuck to your throat, pressing the seam of your jeans tightly to your clit where her knee was still so firm between your legs.

It was a combination of sensations that made your brain melt between your ears in the most perfect way. All too quickly, your bratty act melted away, and now, you were incredibly pliant under her touch and all too desperate to see what she would do next.

She let out a mocking laugh, giving you a grin that could have cut down a field of Walkers with its sharpness, and your heart pounded in your chest as you waited for her next move.

“What, babydoll? Are you so damn eager for the slightest lick of attention that you don’t care if it’s my fingers or my knife? You want me to slice you up?”

You knew it was insane, but you couldn’t deny how fucking soaked you were - and you knew she felt the heat coming off your cunt, that she saw the lust absolutely glossing over your eyes.

A look of dawning came across Rosita’s face - shock flickered over her features for just a moment before it was restored to calm, intense control. She was hit with the realization that you truly wanted this - you truly wanted the pleasurable pain that her knife could bring you, especially when she was the one controlling it. She gave your throat a tiny squeeze, ensuring you that she could give you exactly what you needed before she continued.

“Oh my god - you really do want this, huh? You crazy slut.”

You gave a nod and let out a moan - a sound that only doubled in on itself when she placed the cool blade flat against your cheek, beginning to oh-so-slightly skim the sharp edge along your soft skin.

“Hmm…” She said, as though truly contemplating. “No, I can’t mark up this pretty face.”

Then she moved the knife downward, and you let out a sharp gasp when you felt it press under the thin strap of your tank top. You were wearing it under a loose flannel, which had mostly fallen off your shoulders in your haste to get to the bed and was now tangled around your elbows. You hadn’t put on a bra that morning, as the only good one you had needed a hole sewed up in it, and you knew that your lust-hardened nipples were more than visible through the thin fabric of your tank top.

“Maybe… here?” She grinned at you, pretending to be indecisive when she was the most sure-minded person that you knew.

You let out a loud, rattling moan when she yanked the knife upward, tugging it through the fabric of the strap, cutting it completely loose and free from your body. This left only your shoulder bare and didn’t even mark your skin, but the act of her cutting off your clothes felt so erotic to you that your blood was thumping even harder through your veins. You couldn’t hold yourself back from grinding even harder against her knee, humping her like a bitch in heat as you panted harshly into the air, gasping for breath and becoming utterly overwhelmed with lust.

“I shouldn’t even let you have clothes,”

She whispered furiously, skimming the tip of the knife along your cleavage, barely pressing it down, leaving behind just a tiny sting where the utmost point scraped across your skin - just enough to leave you buzzing and arching up into the touch. By the time she let go of your throat, passing off the knife into her other hand to place it under the other strap, you were panting earnestly, watching her with intense rapture.

“I should just keep you here, in this room, naked. I should keep you in a fucking cage so that scum like Spencer can never even look at you,”

Her words alone made your clit practically vibrate between your thighs, utterly entranced by the idea of being a caged whore for her.

She punctuated this point by ruining the other strap, making quick work of it. So quick that the tip of the knife left the tiniest little indenture on your shoulder, one so small that it drew up the barest little droplet of blood. Of course, she was eager to lean down and tongue over it, moaning into your skin as she sucked this small trace of blood down, making you shove your fingers into her hair and moan loudly in return.

“Rosita, please!”

“Say that you’re mine.” She demanded, her breath becoming airy too, showing that you definitely weren’t the only one affected by this.

“I’m yours,”

You were her mindless puppet now, and you easily complied with the demand. You absolutely loved the feeling of the words on your tongue while you looked into her dark eyes, loving the honey sweet madness that danced there - something that was eventually going to drive you insane but made you feel perfectly at home for now.

“Again!” She barked.

The power was swallowing her whole, but she couldn’t help it. If she had you, she was capable of anything.

“I’m yours!” You replied, louder this time, more desperate.

“What the fuck were you thinking, huh?”

She posed, moving to straddle you across your thighs, sadly removing her knee from between your legs and taking away the thing you had to hump against. She pinned you to the bed with her body weight while she brought the knife to the top of your shirt, slicing into the fabric and quickly tearing it apart, revealing your heaving breasts - your nipples pebbled tight with lust.

“Going out after dark, going out alone - are you fucking stupid?”

Stupidly, as she accused you of being, you thought this was actually a question that required you to answer.

“I thought-” You began, but she sharply cut you off, pressing the blade to your lips in a way that made you immediately freeze up, letting out a whimper.

“That’s it! That’s the whole fucking problem!” She hissed in return. “A dumb slut like you shouldn’t be allowed to think. You’re just a stupid little fuckhole. You should know your place.”

You began panting harshly again as she ran the knife down across your neck - just barely skimming the blade across your skin as she ran it down your chest and over the mounds of your breasts, teasing you as your panting became more intense with anticipation. The whole time, she stared you down with a very certain, serious gaze. You felt so delightfully trapped underneath her - there’s no other place in the world you would have rather been.

“Do you know your place?” Rosita asked, utterly serious.

You nodded in quick jolts, believing that she didn’t want you to speak again.

“Then tell me.”

“I’m yours.” You babbled out again, loving to say it, knowing it was an answer she liked to hear.

“And?” She prompted.

With your brain so focused on the sharp edge running across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and your cunt throbbing between your thighs, you had to rack your brain for what felt like a moment too long, desperately looking for the answer.

“I’m - I’m a stupid fuckhole,” You stuttered out.

This revelation earned you the end of your teasing - Rosita finally, precisely, dipped the end of the knife against your breast, making a small, sharp cut right above your nipple. Something no bigger than a paper cut that leaked the smallest amount of blood - a cut that likely wouldn’t even leave a scar.

Still, the feeling made you moan like a whore as you arched up wildly, the endorphins driving your body wild. She didn’t leave you hanging for long, immediately dipping her head down to tongue along the cut, not letting the blood escape her as she laved over the small cut before she engulfed your tit completely into her mouth. She sucked so harshly on the flesh, devouring you in a way that made you moan even louder and thrash underneath her.

You didn’t have room to be upset at the fact that she didn’t linger there for long, because she began to descend down your body with more wet, open-mouthed kisses. She even threw in a few harsh, sucking bites - clearly determined to mark you, even if it was in places that nobody would see. Your thighs shook with anticipation and your throat became choked off in your own spit. Especially when she reached for your jeans and was absolutely merciless in ridding them from your body, using her knife to desomate the button in such a harsh way that it clinked on the floor somewhere.

In the back of your mind, you were thankful that you had picked up those new pairs of jeans. But that ghost of a thought completely dissolved off as she ripped the denim off you, her patience clearly thin and growing thinner by the second. She then took her knife to the leg hole of your underwear at your hip - proceeding to completely cut them off your body. She was forced to peel the scraps off you with how wetly it was stuck to your pathetically hot, overwhelmed cunt. Something that both turned you on a little bit more.

She swore under her breath as she was faced with the sight - your pussy now freely leaking onto the bed, absolutely throbbing, clearly so utterly needy for her.

Eye level with your weeping gash, you thought for certain that she wouldn’t hesitate to dive in. You thought that she would want to make an example out of forcing orgasms out of you until you cried just to prove how much you needed her. And you were surprised when she rose up on her knees, locking eyes with you once again.

“You really wanna be mine?” She asked, a surprising timidness creeping into her voice.

“Of course,” You replied, a sex-addled warbling in your tone that made it sound like you had been thoroughly fucked even though she hadn’t touched you yet.

“You trust me?” She wondered quietly.

You had to wonder why she even asked the question, but you gave your most honest answer.

“More than anything in the world, Ro.”

It was a passionate declaration on your part - one that made her entirely certain about her next move.

She grabbed the meat of your inner thigh with her left hand, pinning your leg down to the bed and forcing you open in a way that made you think her fingers or her tongue were coming next. You received a delightful shock when she took the knife in her right hand and brought the tip of it to the soft, delicate flesh of your inner thigh with intense precision and certainty.

Sharp stings of pain ran up your body from the place where she dug the knife into your skin, and you began to moan.

It wasn’t even close to the worst pain you had ever felt, and with the lustful heat already so intense inside of you, your body couldn’t help but to interpret this as the most glorious kind of pain. Especially with the feeling of her hand on your thigh, the knowledge that she was the one doing this to you - it certainly didn’t feel wrong. In fact - it felt so damn right.

If she hadn’t been holding you down so firmly, you certainly would have been writhing under her. You knew that your pussy was leaking even more, and the sight of your hole pulsing and clenching around nothing with utter need was the only thing that broke her concentration even slightly. It was lucky that she finished up quickly, and didn’t take intense genius to partake in what she needed to do.

All too soon, she removed the knife from your skin, leaving you aching with the dull aftershocks of the sweet pain. You choked out another moan when she lifted the now red-soaked tip to her mouth and licked your blood off it. She hummed with pride at the taste, feeling utterly content as she looked down at the modestly sized but very clear sight of her initials now carved into your thigh.

You were marked as hers forever now.

“Ro, Ro, please-”

You moaned out, now somehow more desperate than ever, shaking with need, absolutely desperate for her to touch you. She placed the knife on an empty spot beside you, abandoning it for now, very tempted to never wash it again now that it was blessed with your blood.

“Hey, shh. I’ve got you,” She said, her voice dropping low in a perfectly delicious way. “You’re all mine now.”

She got low on her stomach once again, propping herself between your legs to collect her prize. She opened her mouth and swiped her tongue across your inner thigh, making the wounds sting even fiercer as she licked up the blood that was freely leaking down onto the bed (mentally vowing that she would bandage you up properly later). And then, she finally turned her head and used that copper tinted tongue to make a greedy swipe along your swollen, untouched cunt - a move that made you moan and arch into her as a lust that had been festering in you all day was finally working to be released.

She didn’t hesitate from there - you were hers now. Utterly, undeniably hers, and no girl of hers was going to leave her bed unsatisfied.

She pinned your knees to the bed wide open, careful not to dig her fingers into the freshly cut skin, still admiring her work out of the corner of her eye and absolutely loving it. She latched her lips into your mound and began jabbing her tongue against your swollen clit - sucking the swollen bead intensely and loving every wrecked noise you let out. Loving the feeling of your heartbeat throbbing under her lips, loving the way you kept desperately trying to buck up into her touch even though your body was already too worn out to do so.

You could do little more than lay there and take it as she opened her jaw wide and laved her tongue over you, drinking up as much of your wetness as possible, intent to truly devour you. She loved how your sweetness mixed with your tinny blood on her tongue - both so sharp and bitter and so utterly you, your essence now absolutely entrenched in her veins, part of you inside of her that would never be able to be washed away.

She was marked just as deeply as she had marked you.

Truthfully - Rosita knew she had been marked by you since the day she had first laid eyes on you.

It was likely why she was so determined to leave a lasting scar on you - so determined to have proof that you were hers. It was why she was driven so mad by the idea of another man even looking at you when she had barely been bothered by him flirting with her for weeks before that. She wanted to protect you from the horrors of the world, she wanted to keep you high on a pedestal where nothing could ever reach you.

She wanted to crawl inside of you to have your warmth constantly surrounding her because the touch of a man had never compared for her. It had never even come close to this.

She wanted to bathe in your cunt and the pretty sounds you made whenever she fucked you like this. She wanted to own you the same way that the earth owns the sun - not in truth, but in the belief that it could be possible while bathing in that perfect warmth without completely burning up.

“Please, please, please-”

You chanted, humping yourself mindlessly against her face while she selfishly sucked on your clit, not yet with true intent to make you cum, but simply enjoying your taste - simply bathing in that warmth.

But then she was reminded of her job, reminded of her sacred duty to you. So she took one of her hands off your knee, bringing her fingers - slightly calloused, strong from all the hard work she did to protect the community, to protect you, firm from all the time she spent wielding knives and working the trigger of a gun. And she didn’t hesitate to slide those fingers inside of you while she tongued furiously over your clit. She finger-fucked you wetly, causing intense, filthy sounds to resonate through the room while you gasped for air.

“Rosita!”

She hummed against your clit at the pure enjoyment of her name on your lips, and it was those small vibrations that sent you hurdling over the edge, bringing your orgasm crashing down over you.

You arched up off the bed and flooded around her fingers as you went near-silent, absolutely breathless while your body was rocked by the impossible sensation - your cunt now smeared with blood as your wounds continued to leak freely. Rosita leaned in and tongued over the wound again, enjoying another coppery mouthful with a heady moan of her own as she continued to finger you through your orgasm.

When she finally pulled away, your heart throbbed at the sight of her - her chin covered in your wetness, her dark hair wild and falling from its once neat ponytail, her lips covered in a trace of red that was more perfect than any lipstick you could have ever imagined. You couldn’t help but to smile at her as you pulled her in for a kiss, savouring the taste of yourself on her tongue.

…

She took the time to bandage your leg nicely before the two of you went to sleep. The simple kiss that she laid on top of the bandage meant more to you than any complex words she could have spun.

You were truly hers now. And there was no running from that.

…

The next day when you went to visit her as she prepared for a run - oddly enough, one that would have Spencer on the crew - there was a distinct soreness to your gait. One that made it look like you had just gotten off a very long horse ride as you tried not to rub your sore inner thigh up against your other leg while you walked. Spencer gave you a strange look as you bid Rosita good luck on the run and gave her a long, heated kiss on the mouth - but both of you ignored him.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2'. This story is complete as it is, so if you are going to comment, please only comment about the content that has already been written instead of asking for more.

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging to show your appreciate, or check out more of my writing on my Walking Dead Masterlist. Happy reading!

#sundrop writes #the walking dead #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #twd x y/n #twd x you #rosita espinosa x reader #rosita espinosa #rosita espinosa smut #rosita espinosa fanfiction

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revehae · 1 year ago

Text

day and night (2)

pairing ↠ jeno x (f) reader x haechan

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon, mean!dom!jeno, implied sub!haechan, gun play, degradation, slapping, kidnapping, oral (m receiving), sadist!jeno, implied dacryphilia

summary ↠ weeks have passed since you’ve known freedom and you haven’t lost hope of going home, but jeno intends to whip you into shape. eventually, you resign yourself to the fact that your new home is with jeno and haechan, and a part of you begins to make peace with that.

wc ↠ 3.1k

a/n ↠ the second and final part of day and night. this is a repost!

don’t like it, don’t read.

it had been an uncertain amount of weeks since you last had a taste of freedom; though it felt like it had been months. at least you still knew the warmth of daylight. haechan, ever lenient, was sweet enough to allow you to step briefly outside on occasion, in the gated backyard where no one could see you and you could see no one.

and without jeno’s awareness, of course. as far as jeno was concerned, you spent your days there rotting alive at their control. part of you had been long-tempted to make noise, to scream help at the top of your lungs, because you knew that haechan would never hurt you. at least, not to the extent that jeno would. but you had a creeping feeling that he’d tell jeno, because after all, it was their lives and future at stake if anyone were to find out what they did to you. and jeno would be absolutely furious. in preference of not seeing jeno seething with rage any more of which you already had in the past few weeks—because every instance ended with you in a very compromising position—you very wisely decided to brainstorm a little more.

haechan was the subject of all of your various ideas, even the least lethal ones. you had abused his kindness from the moment you were brought into this situation, in your very futile efforts to convince haechan to tell you who was “forcing” him into the crime, and to let you go. he was a willing participant, you achingly learned and accepted, but you would improve your craft this time.

it was one of those nights - you were locked up inside your room and your captors were only god knows where. when haechan entered, you were dreadful, though unsurprised. you came to learn that your captors - him especially - were awfully needy. the long weeks consisted of fueling their need to get off and them using your body to their heart’s content. this was no different, although you appreciated that haechan was at least not intentionally rough. and he was fairly submissive to you. though he followed his needs very blindly, he still had some compassion for you.

haechan looked at you, eyes begging please. seeing as you had no other real choice, you gave in to his desires as per usual, but this time with a plan.

“f-fuck,” he moaned, utterly sensitive. the moment you sank down around him, haechan was weak. it always went like that; as if the barest touch could satisfy his never-ending needs. you knew that wasn’t true, though. haechan’s greed too often overcame him.

you flattened your palms against his stomach, feeling like you were at the top of the world from above him and every bit of him was a puzzle of the earth. his mouth where his pitchy whines spilled, his wincing eyes, and the heaving of his chest like a storming sea. haechan’s every characteristic was a mere advantage to you; his pleasure bound him. it sought control over his body which it successfully conquered, and that was his achilles heel. he could never deny what his body so desperately wanted.

at almost the height of his pleasure, you attacked. by now, it was too obvious to you when haechan was at the brink. the tremble in his body, his voice soaring in pitch. he simply couldn’t stay still nor quiet. “feel good?” you asked, already aware of the answer. he couldn’t speak through his moans, only nodding his head rapidly in response. “don’t you think i deserve a reward for making you feel so good, baby?”

haechan blinked, swallowing to wet his drying throat. whatever you wanted, the way that you called him baby had him ready to give you the whole world if he could. “reward?”

“yeah,” you sighed, leaning down to gently press your lips to his neck in between your words, “you should let me go… we can rat jeno out and pin this all on him. and then you’ll have me all… to yourself. doesn’t that sound good? you can have me whenever you want and don’t have to share me.”

haechan gripped your hips, and in mere seconds he was cumming inside of you. he hadn’t yet verbally agreed, but that alone told you that he was likely on-board. if there was anything you had discovered during the span of these weeks, it was that haechan put his greed before anything.

and you felt victorious until another voice startled you.

“well, bra-fucking-vo!” jeno whooped, though you knew his amusement was probably anything but sincere. your eyes widened and you crawled off of haechan, backing away as instant fear shot through your chest. if jeno had heard all of that, it went without a doubt that you were in for a punishment.

oh, this was a classic. either jeno excelled at being at the wrong place at the wrong time or this room was something of cursed, though either way, you hated it when this happened. granted, this was only the second time it had, but jeno had invoked enough fear in you from that day alone for you to dread him ever discovering even the thought of you trying to escape.

“j-jeno, i-”

“j-j-jeno, shut the fuck up,” he mocked, switching on a dime. you could see it clearly then - the rage burning like wildfire in his irises.

haechan had been startled, too. it seemed that he only clearly got back into his head when it was too late; when jeno appeared, and he realized just how terrible of a trance you had him in only mere moments ago. it was far too easy for you to hypnotize him and put him under your enticingly dark spells.

jeno shut the door behind him and then stormed over, but much to your surprise, he didn’t storm over to you. he grabbed haechan - who had very swiftly redressed - by his collar, growling, “you fucking idiot. does your dumbass really think she’s gonna let you off the hook just like that? no, she’s gonna turn you and i both in the very second she gets the fucking chance. think with your head instead of your tiny ass balls for once.”

immediately afterwards, jeno released him roughly, making haechan nearly fall back against the sheets. and then, he finally turned to you. you crawled back, pushing yourself away with your hands, yet you had nowhere you could run nor hide. “and you. boy, do i got something for you,” jeno chuckled, and swung his flat palm towards your face. you shut your eyes, but it never came. jeno paused mid-slap, then said in the midst of his rage, “you know what? i have a better idea.”

jeno left the room. you could only dread whatever idea had suddenly popped up inside his head, and the feeling only heightened when you saw him re-enter some moments later with a gun firm in his hand. the fear on your face made him laugh, but you brought it upon yourself anyways. if you had just been an obedient little plaything for them, he would have never needed to bring out the extremes. though, shockingly enough, he walked over and handed the gun to haechan, who stared at him in confusion.

“you aren’t off the hook, baby,” jeno said mockingly, nudging haechan. “come on.”

haechan obediently followed him to the other side of the bed where you quivered and cowered. you weren’t the only one to be punished when it came down to displeasing jeno, and you probably wouldn’t believe him if he said that he knew that better than you did.

jeno grabbed you by your neck, ordering sharply, “get on your knees.”

you dropped to your knees without hesitance, only willing to please him so urgently because you didn’t want to upset him further. and god, he was easily irritable.

“you’re going to suck me off,” he said simply, “and your baby here is gonna hold that gun to your head to keep you in compliance.”

haechan’s eyes flashed with shock, and he quickly tried to dissuade jeno, “but-”

“no ‘but’s. do you wanna go to fucking prison? kiss your dreams goodbye?” jeno barked, to which haechan shook his head immediately. “then, do what the hell i said. simple as that.”

it took everything in you when you felt the gun being pressed to your head once again not to cry, but you didn’t want to show jeno any signs of weakness. he didn’t care if you sobbed and if anything, it probably got him off even more. sickly enough.

jeno kicked you with his foot, and you bit back a groan of pain. “fuck are you waiting for? get on with it.”

you obeyed, reaching for his pants and pulling them down his ankles. his underwear followed. you didn’t move with intention, heart racing so fast to the point where you hardly felt alive, detached from your body and only physically present. the fear born in you controlled your every move.

jeno was already half-hard, and you mindlessly pumped his dick, him going fully stiff in your palms before you knew it. you latched your lips onto him, drawing him into your mouth. you were at least grateful that he had left you with some control, in spite of the gun haechan was holding to the side of your head. you recalled the many times within the span of the past few weeks where he had given your mouth a rough fucking - stressed from practice and all those sorts of things and letting it out on you - until your throat had gone sore and you could do nothing but croak hoarsely when he fucked you full only moments after. at least for now, the pace was somewhat yours.

or not.

you went too slow. you didn’t mean to tease, but jeno surely took it as such. jeno grabbed the gun from haechan and pointed it at your temple himself, then very quickly pulled the trigger. when you heard the click, you prepared to meet your end, the frightened tears finally streaming warmly down your cheeks as the thought of freedom rolled into your brain. but nothing came, and when you glanced up at jeno, teary-eyed, his cock twitched in your mouth.

“that’s what happens when you tease,” jeno said, a wicked grin on his lips, and he handed the revolver back to haechan. “only one of the chambers is loaded. fuck around and find out which one is.”

you didn’t want to do that, and so you upped your pace, trying your hardest to satisfy him. he tipped his head back, roughly yanking for a fistful of your hair and forcing your mouth deeper down his shaft.

when he opened his eyes back, he laughed. not at you, but at haechan, the one who tried to hurt you as little as possible. come to think of it, the only time he ever did was because of the influence of jeno, which was why his kindness was so easy to manipulate. if only jeno had never popped up when he did. you might have actually gotten away with it. instead, both you and haechan were being forced to do something you hated.

“haechan, your hands are shaking like crazy,” jeno remarked teasingly. then, he looked at you and mocked, “you better pray your baby doesn’t fuck around and kill you.”

it was that day you began to accept that you would never know freedom again.

jeno wanted to be sure you knew it, though, just so that you would never forget and in case you needed the rough reminder. and also because he simply loved the look on your face as all the hope was drained from it, and you realized once more that your fate lied in their hands.

once jeno found out about you and haechan’s backyard escapades, he forbid haechan from ever taking you back outside, allegedly because being out there was giving you ideas. and it was, but they ultimately always fell through, obviously, and most of them were too stupid to even dare be attempted.

on occasions where he was feeling extremely cruel, he would fuck you with the news channel playing in the background, forcing you to listen to the news anchor talk about your disappearance and how they were, fortunately enough, still searching for you, though the police had little leads. he would taunt, “soon, they’ll give up and stop looking. no one’s going to save you, whore.”

and that broke you like nothing else had. it stung to think that this was what had become of your life ever so suddenly, in the blink of an eye. this was the lifestyle that you were being forced to adapt to, one where you felt more like a pet than a person. a doll than anything even breathing and alive.

then, weeks became months, and you were beginning to see your captors in a different light. perhaps it was the lack of vitamin D and other human interactions getting to your head, but there came the realization that they were attractive. you had simply been too blinded by hatred to accept it. though now, you were becoming attracted to them.

soon, you began snooping around. usually they kept you barricaded upstairs (they took preliminary measures to ensure you couldn’t escape, locking the windows and doors and such.) so when you were certain that both of them were in class, you left your room and ventured into one of theirs. it was haechan’s that you entered, you realized sooner than later. the pictures of him and some of his friends or family on the walls, his gaming chair and console very telling. you ignored the box of tissues on his desk, glancing around elsewhere. it wasn’t tidy or messy, but you got the undying urge to clean, and that you did. in all honesty, you had nothing better to do.

then, you went to jeno’s. his room was clean, surprisingly so, though also terribly bare. the only pictures he had were ones taken after his teams had won games and he was holding the trophy. he had a case busting at the seams with trophies from the endless amount of achievements he had made in his lifetime. to you, that part made sense.

“fuck are you doing?”

you jumped, startled. though you weren’t surprised when you turned around and saw jeno standing at the door frame. scratch your bedroom being cursed - if they all weren’t, then he definitely just knew how to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. 3 times was certainly not a coincidence.

in an instant, you replied, “i wasn’t messing with anything, i swear-”

jeno burst into laughter. he liked it too much that you were afraid of him. all of the fear that flooded you in moments upon noticing his presence was what he lived for.

“were you gonna clean up my room, too?” jeno asked teasingly, stepping forward. for once, he didn’t seem mad. not that you had done anything to merit his anger - yet. so you only stood there, hoping he wouldn’t switch up. “like some fucking maid or something?”

gulping, you stammered, “i thought you were in class.”

“yeah, it got canceled last-minute,” he shrugged, now at your side and playing with your hair. something about his presence was constricting. you held your breath, unable to ignore that he was there almost whenever he stood in the same room as you. “we can do something better though, right?”

at the same time, you were so used to him lashing out and punishing you whenever he caught you doing something that this was too unfamiliar and didn’t feel right. sure, he was still mean enough to mock you, but jeno never played with your hair; he played with you. it was something haechan had gotten accustomed to, the more unshocking person. jeno’s every move aroused suspicion in you.

jeno pulled your hair a little roughly - reminding you that you forgot to respond - and asked again, more firmly, “right?”

and there it was.

“right,” you answered swiftly.

“knees.”

so down on your knees you went. you unfastened his belt and pulled down his clothes, and stroked him stiff. it was a well-practiced routine, though the difference now was that you seemed to suck him with greed, taking him in your mouth as if you hadn’t eaten in days (and as cruel as jeno could be, he never starved you). which did not go unnoticed by the man you knelt before.

“just like that. keep it up and maybe i’ll reward that stupid cunt of yours.”

and you hated that that excited you. you were only glad that he wasn’t inside of you, because he would have felt you tightening around his dick if he was being needy, or his fingers if he was being nice.

much like haechan, jeno also had obvious signs of being close to the edge. when you were giving him head, he liked to grip your hair and take matters into his own hands, quite literally, guiding your way around his cock until he came. nothing had changed today. he was groaning, pulling you down further down. he didn’t care if you gagged, either. it was none of his concern if you couldn’t breathe. he had one goal and that was to use your mouth for his pleasure.

and he liked to see you swallow. so, when he came, that was what you did, but some of his cum streamed down your chin and dripped onto the floor in a tiny puddle.

you tried to stand, but jeno pulled back down. you glanced at him, confused, but he only shot you an expecting look. “where do you think you’re going? you have a mess to clean.”

your eyes flickered a couple of times, and then you realized he meant the puddle. “i can go get some napkins,” you said, trying to stand again.

jeno didn’t allow it, pulling you again, and with a fistful of your hair in his clutch, he lowered your head down to the floor, ordering sharply. “clean. it.”

after you blinked a couple of times, that was when you realized what he meant. and the more you waited around, the more violent he got, lifting your head and slamming it back down, just above the floor to give you a scare. so you did as told, licking the puddle away with your tongue. easily one of the most shameful things you’ve done.

you didn’t realize he was recording until you were finally able to lift your head up, and saw his camera pointed in your face. “haechan’s gonna lose his fucking mind,” jeno chuckled. “should we give him a show?”

#tw: noncon #tw: gun use #nct dream smut #lee jeno smut #lee haechan smut #haechan smut #jeno smut #nct dream hard hours #nct smut #revehae fics

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theragethatisdesire · 2 years ago

Text

show off - eren jaeger x afab!reader x jean kirschstein, 18+!!

something wild and wicked came over me while considering the dynamics of the erejean threesome, and i realized we all deserve to see the incident that started it all. this is the official part 2/prequel to three's a... and it is very very fun and tasty. i feel like i haven't been posting as much, so i am super excited to get this up. i hope you guys enjoy as much as i did writing it :) it's also from eren's pov which you guys know i adore

pairing: jean kirschstein x reader, eren jaeger x reader, a lil bit of eren x jean tension but nothing physical

wc: 6.2k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: swearing, smut, threesome, implied internalized homophobia??? (literally just like, a pinch. eren has a "no homo" moment at the end lol), oral sex (male receiving), pet names (slut, brat, bitch, baby, princess), eren's a bit of a hard dom in this one, degradation, humiliation, penetrative vaginal sex, thick tension between eren and jean, eren's a menace

enjoy :)

Eren should be mad.

Eren should absolutely be mad, waking earlier than normal and padding into his kitchen, finding this scene waiting for him. You, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a stringy thong and leaning over the counter enough to make that fact exceedingly obvious, and Jean, his roommate and friend since high school, shirtless and smirking, flirting over coffee. When he announces his presence, the shame and surprise on both of your faces is evident enough to confirm his suspicions; there’s definitely something building between the two of you, and whether it be a harmless crush or more, it’s there. Eren should be mad.

He’s just…not.

Despite his constant struggles to bite back his temper, especially when it comes to you, Eren surprises himself by the pointed lack of red in his vision. The heat’s still there, though; something coils in his chest that reminds him of anger, has the same flavor and the same spark, but none of the pulsing rhythm is there. Only something slow and catching, simmering in the pit of his stomach.

You come over again that night, winding up snuggled into his bare chest and intensely concentrating on the newest episode of Game of Thrones that Eren’s been dying to watch, but can’t bring himself to pay attention to. The image of this morning, you and Jean leaning into each other and smiling conspiratorially over whatever conversation had been struck up, is burned into his brain. And he’s still not mad.

“Do you want to fuck Jean?” Eren doesn’t parse his words; he’s no good with them anyway, and he’s a straight-to-the-point person as it stands.

“What?” You shoot up off his chest, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed accusingly at him. “What gave you that idea?”

Eren’s not buying it, though; there’s a little flush rising to your cheeks, and it betrays you. Not only do you flirt with Jean when Eren’s not watching, but you do want to fuck him. And Eren’s just not mad.

“You two were flirting in the kitchen this morning– I saw you,” Eren snorts when you try to interrupt him in protest, “and it’s not like we both haven’t known about Jean’s little crush on you for the last couple months.”

“We’re friendly,” you shrug, looking down into your lap guiltily, “we’re trying to be friends.”

“Well you’re both doing a damn good job of it,” Eren rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry if I made you mad, I wasn’t trying to be flirty with him, I just–”

“Want to fuck him,” Eren finishes for you, carefully watching your reaction. You scowl at him, irritated, but your heart’s not in it, he can tell.

“Why are you so stuck on this idea of me wanting to sleep with Jean? I’m sorry if I went a little too far in the kitchen earlier, but that doesn’t mean I want to fuck him.”

“You keep bringing up this threesome idea,” Eren strikes right where he knows your mind’s already headed, “is it because of Jean? Is he the guy you want us to fuck?”

“You said you’d never do that,” you bite into your lip, suddenly so embarrassed. Eren’s overcome with a sudden urge to comfort you, to smooth the crease between your eyebrows and tell you that it’s okay. It confuses him, and he knows he can’t do that without betraying whatever…odd feelings are brewing in his stomach at the idea of you and Jean together, of you Jean and Eren together.

“Is it Jean?”

“It’s not Jean,” you huff, crossing your arms like a petulant child.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not–”

“I mean, if it was going to happen, I’d rather it be Jean than some fucking rando.”

Eren’s caught you off guard, and he can tell. Your mouth hangs open a little, trying to mouth the words that you want to say, but nothing comes out. The flush on your face grows deeper, and Eren wants to kiss you. He’s always loved this about you, that you’re so filthy deep down, but you get so shy about telling him what you really want.

“W-why is that?”

“At least he’s our friend,” Eren shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant despite the bulge that’s already starting to grow in his pants at the thought, “he wouldn’t cross any lines or pull out any crazy shit on us.”

“I guess so.” You’ve returned to fiddling with the hem of your shirt, avoiding his eyes. Eren reaches out, tilts your chin up to look at him.

“C’mon, be honest with me. Is it Jean?”

“Maybe a little.” Your words may be reluctant, but your eyes have taken on that glossy, distant look that Eren knows so well. It is Jean.

Eren pauses to wonder what you’ve fantasized about in the dark, what you’ve been holding back from him. Maybe one in your mouth, one thrusting into you from behind? Riding one and taking the other down your throat? The pictures that flash through his brain have a groan threatening to slip from his lips, the raw hotness of it cutting straight through the weirdness that he’s sitting here, staring at his girlfriend, and thinking about Jean with a tent in his boxers.

“Would you do it? If you were put in the right position?”

“I…yes. I would.” Your words come out in breathless gasps; oh, you have it bad, for both of them, Eren realizes. You catch yourself before he can drag you down too far though, reining yourself in with an airy chuckle. “But I doubt Jean would even go for it. He doesn’t seem all too freaky.”

“You never know,” Eren concedes, letting the matter lie for now and pulling you back into his chest, “but you would do it, right? If he was into it.”

“If you both were, then yeah, absolutely.” Eren can feel you subtly rubbing your thighs together, and he smirks above your head where you can’t see him.

“Maybe one day we can ask him.”

A lighthearted laugh shakes your frame. “Yeah, maybe one day.”

From then on out, Eren can’t escape the plaguing thoughts of you and Jean and himself, tangled up together in a mess of sweaty limbs. Images of you gagging on Jean while Eren has a hand on the back of your head, shoving you further along his length, keep him distracted while he’s at work. Making himself cum into his hand in the shower thinking of watching Jean, face between your legs and two knuckles deep in you, Eren telling him how to make you cum, how to make you scream.

It’s become a private obsession for him, one he can’t run away from. Eren has you over at the house every night nowadays, insisting he’s been going through a lot at work and he misses your company. You, being the sweet little thing that you are, have no idea that he’s watching, baiting Jean into coming clean.

Eren has happened to “lose” all of his sweatpants but one pair, forcing you to walk around their apartment in those short little sleep shorts you favor, or ideally, just your panties and a t-shirt. He observes Jean as you pitter patter around their kitchen, keeping track of just how many times Jean’s eyes flit to where the shirt rides up as you reach for something high in the cabinets. He’s not just watching Jean, he’s watching you too; the way your breath hitches in your throat when Jean slicks his hair back, when he stretches, arms over his head, and lets a little slip of skin show.

And when he can find the presence of mind to focus, late at night with your mouth on him or his face buried between your thighs, Eren listens closely, and he’s rewarded. There’s the telltale creak of feet on the carpet, of someone lurking just outside of Eren’s barely-cracked, “accidentally” left-open bedroom door. If he listens close enough, sometimes he swears he can hear little grunts and groans coming from across the hall.

You two want each other badly enough that it’s practically weighing the air down, and Eren’s not mad, he’s frustrated. You’re both so shy, so clearly uncomfortable with the attraction between each other, how is he ever going to manage to get you both to just say it?

It turns out that Eren’s not just an observant hothead, he’s a lucky observant hothead.

It’s been three weeks since you let Eren in on your little crush, three weeks of mind-numbing observation and little bits of bait thrown out, but neither you nor Jean have risen to any of it. It’s not until you’re finishing up dinner with Eren in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a tank top and the tiniest shorts he’s ever seen, that Jean comes home, sweaty and out-of-breath from the gym, and Eren sees his opportunity.

“Hey,” Jean breathes out in greeting, whipping his sticky shirt over his head and tossing it to the ground.

“Hi, Jean,” you smile amicably at him through the doorway. Eren watches as Jean’s expression lightens, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a wide smile.

“You save me something?”

“Always.” You shake a full Tupperware container at him meaningfully before sliding it into the fridge.

“You’re too good to me,” he whistles, hands running through his hair, “I’ll get to it after I shower.”

“How was the gym?” Eren makes his presence known, looking up from his phone where he’s seated at the dining table they’ve put just outside the kitchen. Jean meets Eren’s gaze with an all-too-obvious blush rising to his cheeks; Jean always gets that little embarrassed look when Eren catches him flirting with you.

“Fine,” Jean shrugs noncommittally.

“Any cute girls?” Eren asks, returning his gaze to his phone. He can viscerally feel the startled look you give him, the stuttering of Jean’s fluid movements next to you across the room, getting a cup from the cabinet.

“What?”

Eren lifts his gaze to find exactly what he expected: Jean, subconsciously having drawn just a little too close to you for comfort, glaring over at him; you, eyes wide and questioning, the slightest hint of a frown creasing your forehead. Eren lets an easy smile grace his mouth, shrugs.

“Were there any hot girls at the gym?”

“No,” Jean answers carefully, slowly pulling his arm down, cup in hand. Eren doesn’t miss the way the two of you glance at each other, the unsaid what the fuck? passing between you two in the air.

“I figured as much,” Eren shrugs again, scrolls on his phone, “not like you’d notice, considering how much drooling you do over my girlfriend.”

The words hit the floor like a shattering glass, spreading a heavy, thick silence over the room. Eren doesn’t dare look up from his screen, doesn’t want to disturb the aura of casual conversation that he’s worked to establish. He can’t jump in to reassure Jean that he doesn’t mind the other man’s flirtation and ogling glances, not too quickly. Eren has to spin this just right, back the both of you into the corner you so desperately want to be in.

“Eren,” you finally hiss, scowling at him. Eren knows you must be confused, but you’ll understand in a moment if he can play his cards right. “What the hell?”

Jean, for his part, is stock-still and bright red, looking between you and Eren like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Eren rolls his eyes and stands from the table, leans against it with his hands in his pockets, twitching with anticipation, “we’ve talked about his little crush on you.”

“I– I don’t,” Jean tries to stutter out a rebuttal, but Eren cuts his words short with a cool, calculated grin.

“Yeah, you do,” Eren saunters over to the kitchen to place firm hands on your shoulders, turning you to face Jean, “but if you haven’t noticed that she has a little crush on you too, then you’re blind.”

“Eren!” Eren can hear the panic in your voice, can feel your shoulders tense up with embarrassment, but he’s hardly paying attention. His eyes never leave Jean, watching as the muscles of his chest and shoulders flex with the tension humming through his body.

“What are you playing at, Jaeger?” Jean narrows his eyes, finally picking up on Eren’s little game. Eren bites back a grin; if only Jean understood what game they were actually playing here.

“Nothing,” Eren says innocently, knowing full-well that the dark glint in his eyes is telling a different story, “it’s not like I blame you, I mean, look at her.”

Eren rubs relaxing circles into the skin of your shoulders, urging you to loosen up under his touch. You’re still strung tight, practically vibrating with confusion and shame under him, but Eren can feel the way your skin’s starting to run hot. Most of that tautness in your muscles is nothing but pure, unadulterated want, Eren’s felt it enough times now to know the difference.

“Eren…” the pinch of anger has faded from your voice now, and Eren can hear the cautionary, are we doing this now? tone hiding behind the words. In response, Eren digs his thumb into a particularly tough spot between your shoulder and your neck, wrenches an unwilling gasp from you.

“She really likes you, Jean,” Eren’s leaning over your shoulder, ignoring your warning completely, practically nose-to-nose with Jean now, “wants to fuck you, wants us to fuck you.”

Jean’s face stutters while his mouth remains silent, but just before he hardens his mouth into a flat line, schools his face back into that perpetually suspicious scowl of his, Eren catches it. Jean’s trying to keep himself closed off, but Eren’s faster, and he can see the flicker of arousal that floats over Jean’s face.

“You’re fucking with me,” Jean counters, but there’s a questioning lilt to his words. Eren grins, shakes his head. Jean looks down at you, trembling and frozen in Eren’s grip. “He’s fucking with me, right?”

“Tell him,” Eren coos, leaning down to whisper hot against your ear the way he knows will get a fire started in your belly, “tell him the truth, it’s okay.”

“He’s not,” you choke out, strangled and nervous, “it’s…it’s not a game.”

Jean blinks once at you, twice at Eren. Eren grabs you by the chin, gently guides your mouth to his. All of his suspicions are confirmed when he kisses you; you open up for him a little too easily, let him suck your tongue into his mouth with no resistance at all. And when he releases you, looks back up at Jean with a question in his eyes only to find that Jean’s gaze has darkened, mouth just ever-so-slightly ajar, Eren smirks. He’s got both of you right where he wants you.

“What do you think, Kirschstein?” Eren brings his hands up to hold your breasts, twisting your nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top. “Isn’t she cute?”

“I, I mean–”

“She’s so pretty,” Eren nips at your ear, pulls a little whimper from you, but he sees how your eyes never leave Jean’s, “and she listens so well, such an obedient little thing.”

“Eren,” you pant, the last bits of your anxiety showing in the tremble of your voice. Eren shushes you disapprovingly, sneaks a hand down between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make your knees weak.

“Gets bratty when she’s nervous,” Eren explains, flitting his eyes up towards Jean, who looks like he hasn’t taken a breath in several minutes, “don’t you want to show Jean how good you can be, hm?”

“Mhm,” you hum. It’s quiet, but it makes Jean’s eyes widen, makes him suck in a sharp fuck between his teeth.

“Why don’t you kiss her, hm?” Eren shoves you into Jean’s arms, startling both of you.

“Jaeger, I don’t–”

“I’m serious,” Eren backs away a few feet to prove his point, smiling earnestly, “kiss her.”

Jean scowls, looks between you, Eren, back to you. Eren takes note of how Jean’s hands haven’t left their grip on your waist where he caught your stumble from Eren’s push, how your arms are tucked into Jean’s tacky, strong chest.

“Is he serious?” Jean murmurs down at you.

“Only if you want it.” Eren hates the self-conscious waver in your voice, wishes he could have told you everything he’s seen over the last few weeks, all the evidence he’s collected that yes, Jean very much does want it. But then again, if he had, he wouldn’t be treated with the sight before him now: you and Jean, nervous in each other’s arms, practically vibrating with the idea of exploring each other for the first time.

“I,” –Jean licks his lips– “I want it. Want you.”

“Me too,” your voice is hardly louder than a breath, Eren recognizes the sound in a heartbeat. You’re already strung out, fingernails digging ever-so-slightly into the skin of Jean’s chest.

“Can I?” Jean’s so sickeningly sweet with you, Eren almost wants to roll his eyes. He likes to be sweet with you sometimes, but if Jean only knew how much you could take, the dirty, mean things that you beg Eren for…it occurs to Eren that maybe he can show Jean sometime, and his boxers start to tent underneath his sweats.

“Yes,” you tilt your chin up to Jean pleadingly, and Jean’s resolve finally breaks.

Eren’s delighted to see that Jean’s chasteness doesn’t hold out long; after only a few minutes have passed, your hands are flying all over each other, breathless little moans passing between your mouths. Jean’s hand trails down to cup your ass, and Eren looks on intently as the flesh gives under Jean’s grip through hooded eyes. Eren’s hand has subconsciously traveled down to the front of his sweats, palming roughly at the erection that’s showing through the thick fabric.

Jean starts to wander away from your mouth, eyes shut as he peppers gentle kisses along your jawline, feather-light nips down your neck. As if he’d forgotten about your clothes, Jean’s eyes widen when he feels the strap of your tank top under his mouth, and his eyes flit to Eren in question. Eren nods at him, tries to offer an encouraging smile that comes off more like a wicked smirk.

Jean slowly– ever so slowly– slips the strap over your shoulder, kissing at the newly-bare skin. Eren already knows you’re sensitive there; Jean quickly learns from the quivering gasp that reaches his ears.

“Is this okay?” Jean mumbles against your skin; Eren has to choke down a gag at his sugary tone.

“Take it off,” Eren answers for you, cheeks burning at how coarse he already sounds, throat swollen and thick with arousal. Jean scowls at Eren over your shoulder, turns softer eyes back to you.

“Please,” you echo Eren’s sentiment, raising your arms to emphasize your answer. Eren doesn’t miss the slight shake of Jean’s fingers as he reaches for the hem of your tank top, rids you of it slowly. Once you’re bare, Jean’s eyes darken, almost glossing over.

“Fuck,” Jean breathes out, ghosting a thumb over one of your peaked nipples. Eren’s chest swells with pride at how completely wrecked you’ve gotten Jean already; he’s practically drooling down at your half-bare form.

“Told you she was pretty.” Eren grins, gripping his erection harder through his pants. You were right about this, you were so right. There’s not enough blood flow above Eren’s waistline for him to focus on how bizarre it is that he’s getting off to another man, his friend even, pawing at his girlfriend; all he can process is the tangible heat of the room, memorizing each little spot on your body Jean’s hands return to in admiration, learning which parts of you Jean likes and which actions of Jean’s make your knees shake.

You peek over your shoulder at Eren, as if you’ve just remembered he’s in the room, and his knees nearly give out. Your lips are swollen and wet from Jean’s slow, strong kisses, from pulling your lip between your teeth in shame, and your eyes are glistening with unshed tears of pure want. Eren’s never seen you so beautiful.

“Do you want to…” you trail off, offering Eren a beckoning hand, but he declines, grinning at you.

“Have your fun,” Eren says, words a sharp blade against Jean’s steadfast comfort, “you begged for it enough.”

Your mouth stutters open in embarrassment, a half-formed protest on your lips, but Jean’s deft fingers grab your chin, gently directing you back to him. He gives Eren a chastising frown, clear disapproval of Eren’s snark. Eren thinks that he likes the contrast they give you as a team; Eren the firm hand of discipline, and Jean the soothing balm to ease your cries.

“Is he telling the truth?” Jean questions you softly, free hand cupping your breast ever-so-tenderly. Eren watches your back arch, watches the way you lean desperately into Jean’s touch. “Did you beg for this?”

“Yes,” you say, voice breaking under the weight of your arousal.

“Okay,” Jean nods, as if he needs any more reassurance, Eren thinks with a roll of his eyes.

“Her mouth,” Eren calls out, unable to rein in the telltale rasp of desperation in his voice, “she’s good with her mouth.”

Jean’s eyebrows furrow in thought; Eren can see the choices flying across his face, to have you spread on the counter before him, feel the warmth of your walls around his fingers, or the soft give of your throat around his cock.

“I like doing that,” you whisper, so low Eren almost doesn’t hear you. Jean’s eyes shoot open in surprise, until a slow, understanding smile spreads over his face. Eren almost wheezes with relief.

“You like using your mouth?” Jean thumbs lovingly at your lip, smiles wider at your enthusiastic nod. Without being told (Eren decides to reward you later for being so good for your guest, showing off how well he’s trained you) you climb down onto your knees, sitting back and waiting patiently.

Jean looks back to Eren, the last thin string of hesitation taut between them and aching to be cut. Eren snaps it with an affirmative nod of his head, shoves his pants and boxers down to finally free his dick and bring it against the familiar skin of his palm.

Jean’s eyes flick to Eren’s length, pausing just a little too long. Eren doesn’t have the wherewithal to think too much into that now, only to appreciate the rush of heat it sends through his veins. In answer, Jean pushes his shorts down his legs, sending the compression boxers he’d worn for the gym sliding to the floor with them, cock bobbing free and dangling in front of your face.

“Pretty,” you murmur, wrapping your hand around the base and pressing a light kiss to the tip affectionately. Jean’s head falls back, and he groans; a throaty, appreciative sound.

Eren was growing frustrated initially with Jean’s softness towards you, but it hadn’t occurred to him that you might behave differently towards Jean than you do towards him. When you take Eren in your mouth, you’re all enthusiasm, dipping as far as you can go the moment he taps your tongue, retching on him, drool hanging in long strings from your tongue and wetting your chest.

With Jean, however, you place curious little kisses up the bottom of him, deliver kitten licks to the tip before swirling your tongue in long, slow circles around where he’s flushed and dripping for you. Jean swears repeatedly under his breath, brings a tentative hand to the back of your head to run his fingers through your hair. Eren’s own hand slows where he’s jerking off, his gaze honing in to look on in wonder as a woman he thought he knew so well reveals a new side of herself to both of the men watching her.

“That’s– shit,” Jean groans, head lolling off his shoulders and eyebrows knitted in pleasure.

Eren feels a poignant rush of pride at watching Jean become unraveled from your mouth, watching how good you make him feel. It’s a relief for Eren as much as it is for Jean, he thinks, to watch some of that iron-clad composure drop, see the way Jean’s jaw drops slack, his shoulders slouch.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” Eren hardly recognizes his own voice, gravelly as he speaks into the sticky air. Jean meets Eren’s eyes, both of their gazes half-lidded and desperate.

“So good,” Jean answers, only breaking eye contact when a satisfied little hum rings out from you, sending vibrations ricocheting through Jean’s body and making him roll his head back again, a little moan echoing out into the room.

“Doing so good for him, baby,” Eren strides closer, bold and half-mad, wanting to see the way your cheeks hollow around Jean, the way that drool is starting to collect in a glossy sheen on your chin. “You like it? Like having him down your throat?”

You nod, mouth still full and eyes shining up at them, glazed over and content. Eren softly cups the back of your head for a whisper of a moment, loving that he has this relationship with you, loving that he can watch such a sacred sight and know that you love him all the same, loving what a filthy little thing he’s turned you into.

“Fuck,” Jean exhales, eyes widening as Eren’s tenderness morphs into something urgent, shoving you further along Jean’s length, “don’t– don’t choke her–”

“That’s what she wants, isn’t it?” Eren’s affectionate gaze turns hard and expectant, hand forcing your head to move faster, harder, further. “You love having your mouth full, don’t you? Nasty little slut.”

“Mhm,” you whine around Jean’s cock, pulling a throaty groan out from him.

“You’re being– shit, too rough with her,” Jean tries and fails to shoot Eren a glare, eyes flitting back down to you when your throat constricts around him with a gag.

“She loves it,” Eren corrects him coolly, mouth quirking up at the corner when you retch, “loves being whored out. You want his cum down your throat? Show him how bad you want it.”

You slip your tongue out, letting it rub down the thick vein on the underside of Jean’s cock, opening your throat that much more for him. Jean nearly whimpers, bringing his hand to the other side of your head, holding you softer, more gently than Eren, but clearly beginning to lose himself.

“So good for me, princess,” Jean murmurs down at you, chest beginning to heave with the growing intensity of your movements. You blink up, hearts in your hooded eyes, humming around Jean affectionately. Eren chuckles darkly.

“Is that what you are? Jean’s little princess?” Eren shoves you down particularly hard, grinning cruelly as your body constricts with a vicious gag, Jean groaning loudly next to him.

“F-fuck, I’m–”

“Getting close?” Eren murmurs in Jean’s direction, never taking his eyes off of where you’re on your knees, crying and gagging and working so hard for Jean’s cum, “I bet. She’s fucking good.”

Your eyes flick between the two men towering over you, trying desperately to keep your throat open to receive the little thrusts of Jean’s hips, hands folded in your lap obediently as you squirm, rubbing your thighs together in a fruitless attempt to gain some much-needed friction. Eren notices the steady, needy rocking of your hips, smirks triumphantly.

“Look at her, like a bitch in heat,” Eren sneers, “squirming and shit, trying to get herself off with your cock down her throat. Give her what she wants, Kirschstein, come on.”

Your gaze lands on Jean, watery eyes blinking pleadingly. Eren can hear the little hitches in Jean’s breath growing more frequent, more urgent, and he isn’t sure where he wants to look more: down at you, so needy and pleading on the floor, throat stuffed and wet between the legs, or Jean, strung out and panting down at you, hips canting into your mouth harshly.

And then Jean’s cumming, and Eren realizes where he wants to look, has to squeeze the base of his cock hard. Jean throws his head back, eyes screwed shut, hand fisting into your hair and fingertips rubbing against the back of Eren’s hand, a deep, raspy groan clawing its way out of his chest. His hips push forward of their own accord; Eren can hear you coughing as Jean cums down your throat, a lot by the sound of it, but Eren can’t be bothered to look away from the other man, fucked out and untethered all from your mouth. Eren’s damn close to busting from just watching Jean cum, knowing the feeling all too well and never having anticipated how erotic it would be to watch another man be brought to his knees by you on yours.

“Holy shit,” Jean breathes, barely a whisper of a statement, chuckling airily down at you when you release him with a little pop.

“Was that…good?” You venture, smiling shyly. Eren nearly scoffs; you’re so good at playing the part of the innocent little thing, when he knows better. You’re a menace, a vixen.

“That was incredible,” Jean says, and Eren can hear the bare honesty in his statement.

“Up.” Eren interrupts your little moment with Jean to tug you to your feet. It prompts an expression of bewilderment to appear on your face, as if you’d forgotten that he needs to get off too, and so do you. Eren turns to Jean, appraises him. “I’m going to fuck her, you’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Wait, Eren–”

“Wait?” Eren chides, ripping those tiny shorts from your body like the inconvenience they are, leaving you bare and wanting. “Don’t you want to get fucked? I mean, look at you. You’re soaked.”

There’s a little glisten at the apex of your thighs, the evidence of you rubbing your legs together in a desperate attempt for stimulation shining in the low lights of the kitchen. Eren pulls you over to the chair that had started it all, where he’d been sitting when this beautiful opportunity had stumbled across him. He sits, tugging you into his lap with a smack to your ass, settling you over his cock and letting you grind yourself against it, slick him up.

“Tell me,” Eren pinches your chin, forces your eyes to his, “don’t you want me to fuck you?”

“Please, please,” you gasp, working your hips over him like a woman starved, like your last chance at salvation is getting Eren as deep inside of you as he’ll go. Eren smiles, pleased with your answer, and lifts your hips, letting you sink down on him with an endless, pitchy moan. He glances over your shoulder to see Jean, sitting across the table from you both, tugging absentmindedly on his half-hard cock and watching intently. The sight of it fuels the fire in Eren’s veins, convinces him to convince you to keep showing off, show Jean how hot you two can be when you get into it.

“Give it to me then,” Eren slaps your ass again, nips at your jaw, “show me how bad you need to be fucked, baby.”

“E-Eren,” you whine, rolling your hips down on him the way he knows you love, the way that makes a little bulge appear right at the base of your tummy, the evidence of just how deep he is.

“There you go,” he coos, grabbing your hips and working you faster, forcing you towards your orgasm as fast as he can because he knows good and well he’s not going to last, “all better, yeah? Little slut likes having her cunt stuffed full?”

“Yeah I do,” you say dreamily, eyes rolling back as Eren starts to thrust up into you in tune with the canting of your hips. He can see Jean over your shoulder, fully hard again and pulling at his cock, looking mesmerized. Eren catches Jean’s eye, smirks like a cat that’s got the cream.

“He’s watching you,” Eren murmurs to you, purposefully loud enough for Jean to hear, “watching you get fucked dumb. Gonna show Jean how pretty you are when you cum?”

“I-I–” A well-placed thrust from Eren makes you cut yourself off with a sob, hands flying to his shoulders for support. Erin grins, something feral and predatory, snapping his hips up into you harder.

“Gonna cum so fast I bet,” Eren grunts, “so needy for it, my spoiled fuckin' brat. Can’t ever be satisfied, can you?”

“Uh-uh,” you whimper, thighs already beginning to shake around his hips. Eren’s eyes are glued behind you, on Jean’s strung-out gaze, on the desperate motion of his hand around his cock. Eren wonders if just the sight of you fucking him is enough to make Jean cum again; the thought spurs him on, has him jackhammering up into you like his life depends on it.

“Quit holding out on me, then,” Eren growls, “can feel you clenching down on me, know you want to.”

“I w-want to.” A fresh wave of tears has escaped your mindless eyes, dripping down the side of your face, off your jaw, onto your chest.

“Fucking do it then,” Eren snaps, growing closer to the end of his line with every punch of his hips up into you, “show Jean what a little slut you are, how hard you cum for me. Go on, show him.”

“E-Eren, I– oh, oh fuck, I’m gonna–”

“There you go,” Eren snarls like he’s tired of waiting on you, feeling your body break and bloom all at once in his hands, “there you go, good girl.”

Eren watches Jean look on as your body thrashes, rolls with the waves of your orgasm quaking through you, the way his jaw drops a little when you wail and leave dark half-moon indentations into Eren’s shoulders. Jean’s hand is moving impossibly fast in time with Eren’s hips, and when Eren feels himself getting close, only moments away from his release, he meets eyes with Jean. Something overtakes him, something dark and unfamiliar, and Eren flits his eyes down to Jean’s cock, back up to Jean’s gaze, and nods. Jean cums with a loud groan and a shudder, triggering Eren’s orgasm. Eren clutches you to his chest desperately, pinning you down onto his cock and filling you with his cum as deep as he can manage, groaning in your ear amidst the sound of your whimpers and whines.

A beat passes, heavy and pregnant with tension. Eren and Jean are still locked eye to eye, watching each other to see who will make the first move. Jean, coated in his own release, glances down to see Eren’s cum dripping out of you, seems to come back to himself with a shudder.

“I…I’m going to shower,” he says, clunky and awkward, standing and pulling his shorts back over his softening cock, mindless of the white ropes decorating his abdomen.

“Jean?” You murmur into Eren’s skin, sitting up slightly and wincing at the feel of Eren’s half-hard cock still digging into the most sensitive parts of you.

“Yeah?” Jean stops in his tracks, looking over at you and Eren with all the tension of a wild animal that’s been caught.

“That was fun,” you smile dreamily, slumping back into Eren’s chest and blinking up at him, “don’t you think, babe?”

“Lots of fun, baby,” Eren strokes your hair, urging you to stay curled into him, knows you need to for a few minutes after he’s fucked you half-dumb, “what do you think, Kirschstein?”

“It was…” Jean gulps, looks around the room with a pink stain to his cheeks, “it was fun, yeah.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed us,” you giggle deliriously, “we’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Is that so?” Jean eyes Eren, narrows his eyes suspiciously. Eren almost rolls his eyes, out of patience for this Jean, all cautious and nervous like he hadn’t just cum down your throat.

“I think so,” Eren says in confirmation, trailing a hand up your back soothingly, “anything for my girl, right?”

“Right,” Jean frowns, almost as if Eren had said something in another language.

“See you soon, Jeanie,” you wave him off to the shower sleepily, biting a smile back behind your swollen lips. Jean makes a swift exit, still blushing madly. “Do you think he liked it?”

“I think he loved it,” Eren chuckles down at you, still cording his fingers through any parts of your hair that aren’t a tangled mess.

“And you?”

“I’d do it again,” Eren answers you with a noncommittal shrug. You cock an eyebrow at him.

“Seemed like you really enjoyed yourself. Am I the only one with a crush on Jean?”

“I’m not gay,” Eren scoffs, rolling his eyes. You simply keep your disbelieving glare on him for an extra beat or two; Eren squirms uncomfortably under your knowing gaze, not necessarily wanting to confront this while he’s still balls-deep in you. To his relief, you ease up, gingerly stepping off of him and offering him a hand.

“Mmm, okay. We’ll talk after a shower?”

“Fine,” Eren grumbles, letting you pull him towards his half of the apartment and hoping you don’t notice the quick glance he shoots over his shoulder, catching a flash of Jean’s bare skin as he steps into his bathroom.

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