#let him be tired and gray and worn out

[thegaycondor]

ok finishing the shades of magic trilogy and the one thing i have to say about all the fan art i have seen so far is that holland doesn't look nearly tired enough. the man needs to look like he is a moment away from flinging himself into the sea. he needs to look like he's 5 minutes away from his next smoke break.

this is holland to me.

[vxsellie]

KINDLY, DARLIN' - 𝐸.𝑊

summary. after seemingly endless days on the road, you find yourself at a random country bar in the middle of nowhere. entering with the sole goal of getting your hands on come kind of alcohol, your attention is soon drawn elsewhere. to a girl and her guitar. notes. ok funny story! this idea came to me from a 5 sec interaction i had with a complete stranger. i went out to a bar, gave ten bucks to the singer, & he said the line that the title is based off of , which the prompted my brain to conjure up an entire love story (he's prob double my age lets be so fr) Also! idk if any of u will like this comparison (if not, just ignore this). but, as i wrote this, i imagined ellie's voice like lucy gray's from the hunger game's. like the slight country drawl, strong vocals, yes yes yes yes Also x2! anyone who follows me should know that im absolute SHITTT at writing smut. but, for some reason, that doesn't seem to stop me from creating works of garbage for my own amusement. anyway, if you reach the smut & realize that it's literal trash, i won't blame u for clicking off of this. just a warning! warnings. brief mention of creepy old men at the bar, depictions of alcohol, public flirting ???, eventual smut, drunk sex in a bathroom LMAO, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r!receiving) wc. 5.1k

𝓕uck your back hurts. Well, if you're being honest, everything hurts. Your neck, back, stomach, legs, hands. Everything that's capable of aching, does.

However, rather unfortunately, you suppose that's to be expected after driving for nigh two days straight in your shitty truck. It's a 90s pickup, the white paint peeling and the tires in desperate need of care. The beige seats are worn and stained, evidence of age having taken its toll on your poor vehicle.

In spite of your truck's needs, you're far more interested in your own ⎯ getting a damn drink.

You're currently coasting through the backroads of some small western town, streets made of dirt and buildings all decrepit. You've never heard of this place before, the name having already slipped your mind due to how utterly foreign it'd been to your mind.

Your headlights cast a yellow glow onto the dirt before you, your tires crunching against fallen leaves and loose rocks. You pass gas stations, wooden homes, dollar stores, an immeasurable amount of churches, and no liquor store. Most shop signs are staked into the dirt, the few billboards all dilapidated in some way ⎯ broken letters, flickering lights, or completely torn from the ground somehow.

Then, by either the grace of God or a wondrous turn of fate, your eyes stutter on a certain sign. A broken wooden one advertising a bar. Your interest is instantly piqued, wheel turning toward the building without hesitation.

You don't give yourself the chance to even think before you're hopping out of your truck and walking into the bar.

The moment you push open the wooden double doors, the sound of boisterous laughter and heavy cowboy boots meet your ears. Perfect.

You stand in place for a moment, craning your neck with narrowed eyes are you examine the atmosphere. To the left, there's a bar with almost every stool occupied by an overweight old man. To the right, there's a pair of barn doors with the word 'restrooms' carved into the wood. In the center of the space, there's bucking machine ⎯ a drunk teenage boy holding on for dear life while his group of friends cackle at him from the sidelines.

Then, on the side of the building opposite you, there's a small stage. It's only elevated a foot or so, wood rotting a bit on the edges. But you hardly care for the conditions of the stage itself. What you find yourself drawn to is the person on it.

In the center is a stool, an auburn haired woman perched atop it with an old guitar situated on her lap. She strums the instrument in an upbeat tempo, leaned forward slightly as she sings into the microphone before her. There's a small crowd in front of the stage, girls admiring and boys whistling.

Considering how run-down this town is, you hadn't expected to stumble across a bar that's so fucking packed. There's barely any open stools at the bar, the bathroom doors are rarely sitting still as people continue to pass through them, the mechanical bull being gifted coins non-stop. But you can't complain.

After so long alone on the road, it's nice to be in such an active atmosphere. It's not calming, of course, but you welcome it lovingly nonetheless.

Watching the auburn for a few moments longer, you then turn on your heel and saunter over to the bar. You're forced to sit beside someone as the lack of stools forbids you from not having a neighbor.

"What can I get'cha, hon'?" The bartender asks you with a tip of his cowboy hat. In his other hand, he wipes the outside of an octagonal glass cup.

"Got any whiskey?" You inquire, leaning your elbows on the sticky countertop.

"Mhm," He hums, turning around to grab a bottle from the shelves behind the bar. He sets the glass onto the counter with a light clink, popping the bottle open. "'N' how would ya like it?"

"Neat."

He nods once more, pouring the liquid into the glass with a flourish before sliding it across the wood toward you. The moment you grab it, he's turning away to tend to another patron. You drink it quickly, downing the glass in one large swig.

As you place the glass back onto the counter, you feel eyes boring into you. Hoping it's someone of interest to you, you turn only to find a duo of old men chuckling at you. Their cheeks are rosy, bellies full ⎯ therefore likely drunk. You roll your eyes as the bartender refills your glass without a word.

Now with an entirely new bit of determination, you down that glass even faster. Another refill. Another singular gulp. Another refill. Another gulp. Another. Another. Another.

You're now swaying a bit atop your stool, feeling pretty good all things considered. The men continue to gossip among themselves, pointing at your ass. You feel disgusted ⎯ not at yourself, but at them for their fucking audacity. Part of you wants to knock their teeth out. But you're not that drunk.

So, instead, you take the mature approach and simply pick up your glass and exit the scene. As you walk away, you hear their chuckles increase and you suddenly regret not punching them.

Your heavy boots thud against the wooden flooring as you walk aimlessly around the bar. You push through an amass of bodies, everyone too drunk to care for your harsh shoving. Then, before you know it, you find yourself situated in the very front of the stage, glass of whiskey in hand.

The woman's voice is laced with a slight country drawl, her boot tapping against the leg of her stool to count the beats of the song. She nods her head as she sings, a small grin lighting her features.

The dim lighting of the bar doesn't do her justice. But you still manage to notice the freckles that dot her face, the cupids bow to her upper lip, the small scar on her right eyebrow. Or maybe you're just drunk and enamored by her. God, what if she finds you creepy? What if she thinks you're some fucking creep? What if she⎯

She looks at you and you swear your heart gives out right then and there. And, if that weren't enough, she winks. You feel your cheeks heat up and you blame it on the alcohol. You down the rest of your whiskey, suddenly feeling very hot. A light chuckle shakes her chest, ringing throughout the space. Nobody else thinks anything of it, of course, all too drunk and preoccupied to give a shit. But you find yourself fantasizing about all the other ways you could make this woman laugh like that again. Oh fuck you are a creep.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the residual bits of dignity you have left, you pull twenty bucks from your back pocket and step forward to drop it into her open guitar case.

She raises a brow, tipping her cowgirl hat in your direction with a smirk. "Thank ya kindly, darlin'."

Somehow, she'd managed to thank you in tune with the song, keeping the beat going without missing a second. It's almost impressive. Okay, it's super impressive. In fact, you feel your heart speeding up again, mind playing on loop the sound of her addressing you. Her country drawl, her smirk, her long fingers grabbing the bridge of her hat. Fuck.

Impulsively, you end up turning on your heel and heading right back to that damn bar. The bartender just grins as he pours you another serving, likely having noticed the flush to your cheeks and the desperation of which you placed the glass down.

"Mind if I give y' some advice?" He asks, leaning forward a bit.

In an act of self pity, you don't have the energy to deny him. "Why the hell not?"

"I ain't gotta clue who you're blushin' over, but my advice is that." He nods toward something behind you. You cast a glance over your shoulder, eyes landing on the bucking machine. You almost laugh, turning back to him with an unimpressed expression. "Listen, y' ain't gotta be good. Y' jus' gotta move your hips right n' I swear he's all yours. Trust me. I've seen it work hundreds of times."

You don't dare to correct him on the gender of your current infatuation, instead deciding to take a few more drinks for a bit of liquid courage. I mean, seriously. How else will you get this woman's attention? Plus, what do you have to lose? You'll never see her again after tonight. The least you could do is try.

After another few drinks, you're staggering over to the mechanical bull with a few coins clutched tight in the palm of your hand. The wait for the stupid thing is way longer than necessary, everyone competing for the longest time lasted on the machine.

You lean your empty hand on the frame of the wooden fence that encircles the rider, watching with reddened eyes as yet another person is flung onto the ground with a heavy thud. He rubs his head with a groan, though his sounds of pain quickly fade into laughter as he brushes off his jeans and stands upright, returning to his boisterous friends with a crooked grin.

Unease begins to lick up your spine, the logical part of your brain wondering why the fuck you're doing this for some country chick you don't even know the name of. You're strong, sure, but your luck would lead you to breaking your neck.

You look over your shoulder casting a glance in the direction of the bar. The bartender gives you two thumbs up, flashing you a grin with missing teeth. As encouraging as that is, what really pushes you to continue is seeing those two old men. They're sitting side-by-side, lustrous smirks on their face as they stare at you, leaning over every few seconds to mutter something in the other's ear. Yeah. Fuck them. You're doing this.

As you make it to the front of the line, you're overcome with naught but confidence. Whether that be due to the sound of the woman's singing growing nearer or the sight of the gross old men, you don't know. Though, honestly, it's likely because of the sheer amount of whiskey you've downed in the past hour.

"Coins." The blonde woman demands, palm of her hand facing you like a bill you've been avoiding. You place the coins into her hand and she opens the gate, hinges squealing as the prior rider stumbles out with a streak of dirt under her eye.

You walk into the ring, feet staggering a bit already from your drunkenness. You hoist yourself onto the bull, situating yourself until you feel a bit less awkward atop the back of the metal animal.

It begins rocking slowly back and forth. You find it easy at first, not really needing to use your hands. You still do, though, not much trusting the machine to not throw you off the moment you let your guard down. It picks up the speed, more. More. More. More. And, before you know it, it's thrashing back and forth. You hold onto the saddle, a dazed smile spreading across your face as you find yourself having fun.

It spins in a circle, your eyes suddenly catching on the woman on stage. She has the perfect view of you from her pedestal, her stool bringing her higher than the crowd just as the bull brings you.

She's still singing into the mic, her voice drowned out by the sound of chatter and cheers ⎯ though you're not sure if they're directed toward you or her at this point.

You've stayed on longer than you anticipated, the ache in your back returning as the bull yanks and dives under you. But you hold on, suddenly remembering the bartender's advice. You don't want to switch up whatever tactic you accidentally built into habit, but the point of this is to get the woman's attention.

So you wait until it spins back around. Then, while her eyes are pinned to yours, you shift a bit, back moving more fluidly as you roll your hips against it. Nobody else would think anything of it, the act so subtle that you simply appear to have altered your position. But she noticed. You know she did. Because her voice caught in her throat, causing her to have to take a sip from her water and apologize into the mic before resuming.

Your confidence spikes at this, suddenly feeling much more egoistical than you did when she was a complete stranger you made eye contact with once. Now you know you have an effect on her.

So you do it again, maintaining eye contact as you roll your hips against the bull suggestively.

Just as before, nobody else pays any mind, far too focused on the fact that you're stayed on for so long to give a fuck about technique. Honestly, if anyone were to notice, it'd be those creepy old men. And, hopefully, they're aware that it's pointed at this woman and now them. Though you doubt they'd care. Creeps like them rarely do.

The singer, with her eyes now pinned to you ⎯ though, everyone's now are ⎯ switches her tone a bit. Her song alters from an upbeat bar tempo with little meaning to having more directed lyrics to a girl with mesmerizing eyes. Again, nobody else picks up on this. She sings about a random girl with stunning eyes, never digressing past that.

But you know; and she knows. And that's all that matters.

She sings a certain line, something more lustful about the way you look at her. Something suggestive about the way she's imagining you. You instantly falter, your grip slipping.

You fall to the ground with a thud, the entire bar making a sound of disappointment and empathy. You don't care, though, not giving a single damn about the bull riding. All you care for is that fucking singer.

You hit the ground, breath knocked from your lungs. You cough, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. Your head spins, the alcohol finally catching up to you. Another cough is yanked from your heaving chest as you groan.

The blonde coin-collecting woman allows the next person into the ring, not waiting for you to give your say. As the next man enters, he offers you his hand. You, desperate for assistance, take it with a grateful smile. He hauls you to your feet, muttering quick compliments on your performance on the bull. You thank him before brushing past him and exiting the ring with staggering steps.

A few people from the crowd compliment you, offering words of encouragement for the 'next time you go up'. You give them half-hearted smiles, chest still aching slightly from your fall.

You shove through the crowd, nearing the restrooms you'd seen at the entrance. You push the doors open and head into the women's side.

You brace your hands on the edge of the sink, glancing in the mirror for a brief moment ⎯ examining the small cut on your cheekbone and the bruises that are beginning to form on your shoulder and hip. You then lean down, positioning your mouth under the faucet before turning on the water. You drink it, relishing in the taste of cool liquid rather than burning alcohol.

"Mm, look who it is."

You smack your head on the faucet with how quickly you straighten. You groan, rubbing your temple as you turn to face the person standing behind you. The singer. Well fuck, that makes the head smack twenty times more embarrassing.

Somehow, she's even more alluring up close. Her pale green eyes bore into you, lashes lidding them slightly. Her skin is lightly tanned, freckles likely produced from a life spent under the sun. Her forearm has a tattoo covering the rippled skin there, lean muscles adorning the rest of said arm.

You play off your staring by narrowing your eyes at her, "Followin' me, are ya?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, stepping forward to wash her hands in the sink beside yours. She tips her head down, looking at her hands as she scrubs, hat coming to block her face from your view. Unfortunate. "Jus' comin' t' wash the filth off my hands. I wouldn't worry, though, darlin', I'm sure that Smilton boy'll check up on ya."

Your brows furrow at this. "Smillin boy?"

"Smilton." She corrects you rather harshly, looking up to meet your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. "Farmer's boy. Rich. Brunette. Helped y' up after the bull."

Realization hits you like a brick. She's jealous. This woman that you've never met, this woman that you stressed over impressing, this woman that you bruised yourself to get the attention of. She's jealous because some farmer's boy helped you stand up. A smirk tugs at your lips, an idea lighting your mind.

"Hmm," You hum lowly, brushing past her to dry your hands on one of the scratchy white towelettes. "He is quite handsome, ain't he?"

"Suppose." She replies shortly.

Your smirk only deepens, drying your hands achingly slow. Because you know she's aware that she has no right to be jealous. And that only serves to make her more pissed off. How interesting.

"What's his first name, if y' don't mind me askin'?" You speak casually, talking with her as though everything that passed between you two prior to this hadn't happened at all. It's driving her insane and you can tell.

"I dunno." She says, turning the faucet off to dry her hands beside you. "Somethin' with a J?"

"Oh, c'mon," you coo, turning to her with those eyes you know she adores. "I know y' know more than jus' his last name."

She looks away, clearing her throat with a set jaw, "you're right. Know his first initial too. It's a J."

You chuckle lightly, releasing the towelette to trace your fingertips along the soft skin of her bicep. "Yeah? And what's your first initial?"

Her entire body seems to tense, breath hitching in reaction to your touch. She looks at you from under the bridge of her hat, green eyes glinting with something informal. Something unfit for a casual conversation between two strangers in the women's rest room. You feel your heart stutter at the sight, having to make an effort not to fall to your knees before her in this very moment.

"E," is all she whispers.

"Last name?" You whisper back, matching her for quietude.

"Williams." She manages.

You hum, eyes following the movements of your hand. Had you not been so drunk, you'd likely never have the balls to be so flirty to her. But, as it turns out, your intoxication is good for something. Well, something aside from staying on some metal bull.

"How pretty," you whisper, leaning forward so your mouth is now right beside her ear. Your breath fans across her skin as you continue. "Now tell me your full name, will ya?"

Her eyes are pinned to your face, pupils tracing your features as your hand traces her arm. She finds herself mesmerized by you, entranced by your every detail ⎯ the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the height of your cheekbones, the line of your jaw. She imagines running her tongue along each of these points, imagines committing your to memory using naught but her mouth.

"Ellie." She replies finally, watching closely as your eyes raise to meet hers. Her heart stutters in her chest at that, as it always does when you make eye contact.

Your gaze flicks between her eyes and lips, hand slowly inching up her arm. "Ellie?"

The sound of her name rolling off your tongue is enough to send a spark of heat to her core. That paired with the way your fingers are lightly tracing up, up, up. You move your hand over her shoulder, along her collarbone, up the side of her neck, and finally rests to cup her cheek in your palm. She leans into the touch, eyes fluttering.

"You're such a fuckin' tease," she mutters, voice low as it's weighed down by desire and a deep need to feel your skin on hers.

You ignore her words and move to lean in close enough that your noses brush. Then, with your breath fanning across her skin, you ask, "this okay?"

She doesn't say anything, instead abandoning the towelette completely and grabbing your face in both her hands. With a sudden sense of ferocity, she presses her lips to yours, pulling your body flush against hers.

"I'll take that as a yes," you chuckle between kisses.

"Quiet," she murmurs, too needy for your touch to have time for conversation. As much as she loves hearing you talk, shed much rather talk via action rather than actual words.

You giggle against her lips, your arms coming up to wrap around her neck. She hums, hat falling to the tiled floor with a light brush. With each passing second, her actions become more and more desirous, suddenly pushing your back against the nearest wall. You let out a huff of air from the impact, your lips quirking up to form a small smile, regaled by Ellie's sudden desperation for you.

She tilts her head, peppering kisses down your chin and along your jaw. They're harsh and hungry, nipping your skin in some places purely to see your brow furrow at the feel of her teeth.

As she trails down to your neck, you tip your head back against the wall and open your eyes to blink up at the wooden ceiling. Your hands fist Ellie's hair as she leaves bruises down the column of your throat.

Still well and drunk, the room swirls around you. The lights seem to shift with each blink, making this all so much more intoxicating. Your nerves are already on edge due to the alcohol, so the feel of Ellie kissing them is absolutely maddening.

You feel as she presses kisses along your collarbone, tongue grazing the taut skin there. You shift, legs pressing together as she grows more sensual in her act of quick intimacy. This movement doesn't go unnoticed by her, however, her lips quirking into a small smile against your skin as she feels rather proud of how quick she's turned you to putty under her.

She moves across the bare skin of your chest, plump lips taking time to memorize each detail that adorns you. You move again, the heat between your legs growing harder to ignore.

"Patience, darlin'." She instructs. "I'll get there when I get there."

You frown at this, "well get there faster."

Her kisses suddenly cease, looking up at you through her lashes. She tilts her head at you innocently, blinking as she waits for you to correct yourself. To reword your restive demand. "Don't be rude, now."

You can feel your dignity push at the back of your throat, pride yearning for a moment to speak. Seeing as you're normally the one making orders, this feels quite stranger. But, after the long journey you've taken, you suppose you've earned a bit of time to sit back and let someone else take the lead.

Ellie draws a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, kneeling before you as her head comes to situate itself in front of your waistband. You can't help but admire how she looks from here, hair in your hands as her eyes are pinned to your denim jeans as though it's a buffet and she's a man starved. After a moment, she lifts her head to look at you.

Eye contact. Sparks shoot through your body. Somehow, something as simplistic as meeting Ellie's gaze can make you feel indescribably nervous. Pale green irises bore into you, waiting for you to utter words of consent. You do so, giving her the go-ahead.

As soon as you do, Ellie wastes no time hooking her fingers through your belt loops and pulling your jeans to your knees. She leans forward, eyes lidded.

"Wait." You pant, tugging on her hair to halt her movements. She seems rather annoyed by your sudden interruption, but looks up at you kindly despite her own irritation. You rolls your eyes at her evident pique. "What if someone walks in?"

She sighs heavily at that. "I locked the door."

"Oh, okay." You nod. Though, just as she's about to lean forward again, you stop her once more. "Wait. How did you know to lock it? You were all pissy when you first came in here."

"I didn't know." She explains hastily. "I simply hoped."

You huff out a chuckle, shaking your head fondly at her admittance. Then, finally, you don't stop her when she leans forward.

She traces her tongue along the outside of your underwear, the fabric between you only adding to the pulsing in your pussy. A shiver wracks through you, causing Ellie to grab you by the hips to hold you still. She traces circles into your hips with her thumbs, a gentle motion when compared to the needy movements of her tongue as she draws small circles into your clit.

You tighten your grip on her hair, drawing a grunt from the back of her throat. The vibrations from her mouth against your pussy makes it hard to keep back your own noises.

When she finally shifts your panties to the side, you nearly collapse at the feel of her mouth against you. She licks a long stripe up your vulva, a shaky breath yanking from you. The sound only urges her further, taking one hand and drags her middle finger up your center. You shift, leaning heavily against the wooden walls as standing upright suddenly seems impossible. Then, without warning, two fingers shove right into your hole.

Your hips jolt, moving far more than initially seeing as Ellie is now only holding on with one hand. Whilst thrusting her fingers in and out of your needy pussy, her tongue circles your clit with that same neediness, mirroring you for desperation.

Your head falls back, thudding lightly against then wall. At the sound, Ellie ceases. You almost whine at her sudden stopping.

"My eyes are down here, darlin'." She says lowly. "Let me see you."

Begrudgingly, you oblige, lowering your head to make eye contact with Ellie. She's on her knees, legs folded against tiled flooring as she resumes her lapping. You huff out an airy moan as you have to actively stop yourself from tipping your head back again. She holds your gaze the entire time, adding to the intensity of the feel. Her eyes are lidded, shoulder moving as her fingers recommence.

This all paired with your dizzy head and swimming vision makes for quite the climax, core knotting progressively as Ellie doesn't dare to stop. "Fuck," you pant as you buck your hips against her face, forced to watch as you do so. With another heavy breath and an arching back, you utter, "I'm⎯"

She seems exponentially proud as she hears you say this, regardless of if you finish your sentence or not. She pauses only for a moment to say, "yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, though it comes out more of a moan than anything.

"Do it, darlin'."

And you do, coming undone right atop her face. She, admittedly, relishes in it, hydrated only by what you're able to provide her with. You see stars and they're swimming too, circling your head in a celestial body of pleasure. And Ellie watches, for once allowing your head to fall back as she deems this a one time exception. Because there will be a next time.

You're panting as you lower your head to face her once more, her gaze never having left your expression. She makes out with your pussy sensually as to bring you down from your high. Then, as gently as she can, she situates your panties back on correctly and pulls your jeans to rest as your hips, remaining knelt in front of you as she zips and buttons them just as she'd found them.

You watch with a twinkle of fondness behind your irises, unable to look away from the expression of adoring concentration she wears. She then uses your hips as a support system to haul herself back to her feet, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. You can nigh taste yourself on her.

"Not bad for a stranger at a sketchy bar." You muse, picking her hat from the floor and situating it atop her auburn tufts of hair. She watches you, analyzing your every move.

"I'm not just a stranger." She reminds you as your eyes find hers, your hands coming to drape around her shoulders. "I'm a stranger who wrote a song about you."

"Mm," you hum, "so you're a stalkers stranger?"

"I prefer the term passionate." She says, shooting you a playful scowl.

You chuckle, "passionate for what? Stalking and preying on drunken women?"

"Pfft-" She scoffs. "You're not drunk."

For a moment, you consider agreeing with her. To save her the pain of realizing you hadn't been sober for this. But you know better than to lie to her. So, through lidded eyes ⎯ ones that should have been a rather telltale sign of your intoxication ⎯ you give her a look, not even needing to voice the truth aloud for her to understand.

"Well fuck." She groans, taking a step backward and causing your arms to fall to your sides.

Frankly, you'd expected her to be much more angered than that. Because you know you would be. After writing a song, chasing down, then tongue-fucking someone in the bathroom, the worst news to receive would be that they'd been wasted the entire time.

"I'm sorry," you're quick to apologize, for some reason feeling the need to earn her forgiveness.

"How're you planning to get home?" She asks.

"I hadn't thought about that." You admit.

"How about this," she suggests, "I give you a place to stay to apologize for fucking you while drunk and you let me take you to dinner tomorrow to apologize for not telling me beforehand. Deal?"

A smirk works its way to your mouth, "deal."

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[vivelegalite]

dear dead boy detective (especially paynland) enjoyers: have you yet heard of the biggest gift bestowed upon the fandom so far, aka jayden's charles playlist? the one he mentioned in interviews? well, he dropped it on twitter at 19th of may. and man, do i have stuff to say about it.

there's a lot of 80's bangers, for sure, great to get into the mood and character, but some of the choices...

i'm gonna focus on a few of my favourites, songs that made me go insane when i saw them. honorable mentions: - category 1 (so devoted the lines blur): ain't no mountain high enough by marvin gaye and tammi terrell, there is a light that never goes out by the smiths, inkpot gods by the amazing devil - category 2 (family life): family line and summer child by conan gray, seventeen going under by sam fender, matilda by harry styles, father by the front bottoms - category 3 (being queer in the 80s): smalltown boy by bronski beat, boys don't cry by the cure - category 4 (there's no heterosexual explanation for this one): good luck, babe! by chappel roan, yellow by coldplay, fight or flight by conan gray (is this about monty? the cat king? i need answers!), the prophecy by taylor swift, arms tonite by mother mother, sweet by cigarettes after sex, head over heels by tears for fears

this list is by no means complete or comprehensive!

and now, the songs that made me go the craziest: (they're predominantly in charles' pov as it's his playlist)

found heaven by conan gray

the only reason this song made it into the list and not the honorable mentions instead of smalltown boy is that it makes almost the same point, just so much more explicitly. i don't think i have to say much about it, it's a story of a young person griping with their queerness, being forced to leave home, a common theme of the playlist. "you're in love, you found heaven" when he chose edwin over his own afterlife, heavily implied to be heaven, and built his heaven with him on the mortal plane? ouch! (and we see this same notion repeated in another bop from the playlist, heaven is a place on earth by belinda carlisle).

2. like real people do by hozier

"i miss kissing" charles rowland, 202X romantic meaning aside, the verses show a sort of a common understanding the boys have around the manner of their deaths and their lives before it. we already know from the show they don't really talk about it, with edwin not knowing about the severity of the abuse charles suffered. it feels like one of them saying "let the past be past, we're together now, yeah?". but also, jayden: can there ever be a platonic explanation for this? ghosts can't touch, can't feel, so they wish they could just kiss like "real" (alive?) people do?

3. flaws by bastille

not the most romantic song, but i absolutely love how well it fits their dynamic. despite his edwardian brand of repression, edwin truly is the one that's more open about his feelings (recognising of course that in this case, the bar is so low it's in hell. haha, get it). edwin has worn his flaws upon his sleeve, and charles has held them buried - eg. bottling up all of his anger and resentment towards his family and his own death. the song presents a very sweet outlook, in which their flaws are brought up to the surface (for example, charles' outburst against the night nurse in episode 4), but they learn to accept them as they are, an extension of themselves.

4. a pearl by mitski

you know it's gonna get intense if there's a mitski song in the mix.

the song is about a person who finds love in their partner, someone who treats them way better than they've ever been treated - and yet they cannot bring themselves to reciprocate the affection ("it's not that i don't want you, sorry i can't take your touch") despite reciprocating the feelings themselves because of the trauma. charles is known to bottle things up ("you're growing tired of me and all the things i don't talk about"). the person in the song recognises the love the other person holds for them ("you love me so hard and i still can't sleep"), which reminds me of charles' response to edwin's confession. not a "no", but a "maybe, as time passes".

5. fair by the amazing devil

this one made me genuinely gasp when i first delved into the lyrics. it's simply so sweet, such a genuine and domestic portrayal of love. at first i thought it was way too open about being a love song (normal text instead of the subtext i'd be used to) for jayden to choose it with edwin in mind, but... there's no one else it can really be about. it's far too domestic, too "established" to refer to crystal. refers to a relationship that's laster for a longer while.

the narrator in the first verse is a person deeply in love with the other person, someone who loves to make his lover laugh and simply drinks in their presence. the "he" in the song i believe is charles, while the "she" refers to edwin. edwin promises to fight off anyone - or any feelings pulling charles down (we can see this in the first episode: "you ever think... what if death did catch us? she'd force us to go to the afterlife and split up" "i will make sure this never happens."). charles feels left behind by the world (seeing as he clings to crystal at first, refering to her as "someone their age who's still alive") and believes edwin to be so much stronger than he's ever been. i'm not going to break down the song verse by verse, but if you read it yourself while subbing out "he" for charles and "she" for edwin you'll see just how sweet (and... strangely very in character?) the song is.

6. work song by hozier

if the previous song made me gasp when i saw the lyrics, this one made me go "NO WAY" out loud when i saw the title. the first one verse is just pure toothrotting sweetness, but the chorus is what i want to draw attention to:

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold, dark earth no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

HELLO? charles, who keeps escaping death and afterlife to be able to stay with edwin? charles, as he literally takes his last breath with edwin right there, choosing to be by his side rather than move on? charles, who keeps choosing him despite night nurse's promises and threats? charles, who literally crawled through hell for him?

verse 2, to me, can be interpreted as referring to when charles died. edwin found him at his worst, and he "woke" up with his presence comforting him. he was shivering due to hypothermia and his injuries. edwin didn't ask him about what happened or pushed him, he simply listened. the lines "i didn't care much how long i lived, but I swear, i thought i dreamed her" are pretty self explanatory.

in verse 3 we still see the same attitude of "damn the afterlife, at least we have each other" as charles portrays througout the series. they're free, and heaven and hell are simply words to him.

7. orpheus by vincent lima

i literally have no words for this one. it fits too well. if you want commentary for this one, just... i don't know, rewatch the staircase scene.

8. francesca by hozier

(cracks knuckles) this is the big one. the album francesca is from, unreal unearth, is based on dante alighieri's divine comedy, a fourteenth century poem about a man venturing into hell, purgatory and eventually heaven. the eponymous francesca is one francesca di rimini, a woman who was politically married off to a man older than her, called giovanni malatesta. francesca didn't love him, and eventually fell deep in love with giovanni's younger brother, paolo. the two carried on with the affair for years, before being murdered by giovanni upon his finding out. francesca and paolo are mentioned in canto v of the first book, inferno, as two souls damned in the second circle of hell, lust. their punishment is to be permanently locked in a hurricane, swept away by the winds the moment they manage to get close enough to touch one another.

as opposed to their portrayal in the poem, the song is from the perspective of paolo, explaining that no matter the punishment, he wouldn't change anything about his life because he got to know, and love, francesca.

the first verse brings to mind the scenes in hell, especially on the staircase ("do you think I'd give up? that this might've shook the love from me? or that I was on the brink? how could you think, darlin', i'd scare so easily?" as an echo of charles' "sorry. no version of this where i didn't come get you"). "my life was a storm since i was born, how could i fear any hurricane?" could relate to charles' tumultuous family life, an assurance that nothing he has to deal with while by edwin's side will faze him given the things he's lived through. no, despite everything he's suffered through, charles wouldn't do anything differently - because his (admittedly shitty) life led him to edwin ("i'd tell them, put me back in"). we already know charles would choose him over heaven, willingly sacrificing his own afterlife to stay with a boy he's known for hours, someone kind enough to keep him company as he drew his final breath. all of it - his father's abuse, his schoolmates' bigotry, the pain of his own death, as well as everything he's gone through since - he'd do it all again, for edwin.

"for all that was said of where we'd end up at the end of it" could be taken as an allusion to the fate the boys would meet at "at the end of it", when they're finally caught by death and separated, or as more of a general "if you sin, you will go to hell when you die" (up to you to decide what the sin itself would be - an interpretation that would work with other songs on the playlist is that one such sin would be same sex attraction). then their hearts ceased, they never knew "peace", nor did they want to find it in death. their deaths were too soon, them being ripped away from life, but even though it would break his heart: charles would ask to do it all again.

the outro, i think, beautifully pulls it all together: heaven is not fit to house a love like theirs.

to wrap it all up:

jayden, what were you cooking in there? what do you know??

[whenyouhearthedoorcreak]

currently thinking about merlin and arthur and the royal crown again

the first time he placed the ornate gold crown atop arthur’s blond hair he felt so proud that arthur was king, that he was alive and ready to be the king he was meant to be, the worry still crept in at the edges but most of the image was filled with hope.

but months later as he placed it once again on arthur’s head he hates it, hates the way his shoulders push back and his face falls into a sheet, the way he steels himself against the harsh pressure of it

and that evening in arthur’s chambers lit by warm candles and the crackling fire merlin had snuck out of the council meeting to light before the king returned, with the cold november air bustling the windows, merlin follows arthur over towards the table. the king leans against it his head bowed and a heavy sigh leaving his chest, and slowly as if moved by the breeze outside, merlin steps forward towards him his hands gently cupping arthur’s jaw

“arthur-”

“merlin please, i know the speech already but please i don’t want it i don’t-” he stops speaking as he feels the younger man’s hand come up to his hair removing the crown from his pounding head

“no speech, just let go for a moment, just focus on this… focus on me” merlin’s voice is quiet and careful as he looks in arthur’s eyes

he’d always loved those eyes, the revealed the secrets of the kingdom if you looked long enough. merlin knows his own eyes are blue just like arthur’s but there’s something different in the kings. in the brightest and happiest days of summer they shine like an open sky, when he laughs no matter the time of day lighting around him they just Shine.

but when he is sad, tired and worn down like he is right now, those eyes are deep and bottomless as the sea, tossing and turning and they pull merlin down into their depths like a capsized ship,

it killed merlin to see him like this, he carefully rested himself back against the edge of the table, arthur sat tired in the chair before him

“your a great king arthur”

“did you not hear me say no speech?” arthur reproached

“your a better man though, a better friend”

“oh” arthur looked at his servant, his friend for all these years,

it had always been merlin who placed the crown on arthur’s head. ever since he was corronated the only person aside from himself allowed to touch the crown was merlin,

it was a strangely intimate experience that arthur had come to covet, the quiet moment in his chamber before he spoke to or hosted a feast or whatever other occasion called for the crown to be worn. merlin would pull the ornate box containing it from the locked cupboard and pull the crown from its cushioning, polishing the metal while arthur sat and waited in his chair, watching the careful work. when merlin had deemed it worthy he would look at arthur

“ready m’lord?”

arthur was used to honourifics, he never had much preference, sire was basically a nickname at this point in his life, but something about merlin calling him that had always felt like an anointing, saved for the moments when he wanted arthur to know his rank meant something to merlin.

“ready”

arthur would rise from his seat and move to the light cast by the windows near where merlin was, kneeling gently on the stone floor, looking at its gray facing before looking up at the man he had come to call his friend, merlin’s hands would place the crown on his head gently, like he was scared it would hurt him, arthur would rise and merlin would rest his hand at arthur’s jaw, looking at him for a moment.

the first time it had happened arthur was surprised, confused to say the least. but the terror he felt at having to wear the crown, to act as king in its full capacity seemed to ease slightly at the gesture, calm moved through arthur’s whole body starting from the place where merlin lay his hand.

now, tired and worn down by the weight of the crown, he was glad for merlin’s presence for the comfort of that hand in his cheek

“you don’t need to be a great king for us all to love you” merlin’s hand fell away before he spoke, he looked at the floor as if he were holding something else back

“i think perhaps if i up and left my kingdom without a ruler the people may not love me much anymore merlin” arthur jibbed, attempting humour

“not sure they’d notice to be honest, your not particularly memorable”

“oh right yes but i’m sure everyone would notice if you left”

“oh the whole kingdom would fall apart”

“of course i forgot, sorry should i just put the crown on you now?”

“don’t think it’d fit anymore, to stretched out from your big head”

“very funny merlin” arthur had always admired merlin’s negligence of authority, how arthur was seemingly nothing more than his friend in almost all moments. he could forget the weight of the crown for a moment, he supposed that was part of the reason why merlin being the one to adorn him with it meant so much. as if merlin were naming him worthy, like a symbolic gesture of the trust they shared.

“maybe you should have the crown” arthur was somewhat shocked by his own words, but more shocked to realize he meant them

“is that a proposal?” merlin was joking, arthur knew that, but he couldn’t help indulging himself in the image, merlin in fine clothes and the bejeweled crown of a king

“could be” arthur shrugged “queen title would suit you”

“your not getting me to wear a dress”

merlin had walked away now, began folding the laundry sittting near arthur’s bed

“merlin, if i did leave” he tried to focus on the room around the servant rather than the light on merlin’s cheeks or the gold glow around his messy hair “would you come with me?”

he’d always wondered, if merlin would willingly leave with him. a pent up longing in his check for merlin is say yes, to confirm that they weren’t only thrown together by fate but that they would choose this bond, this closeness, even if nothing forced it upon them.

saying it now out loud, asking it, felt like a kind of soul bearing.

“i’m sure any of your friends would” merlin

“merlin”

the servants hands stoped moving and he raised his eyes to meet arthur’s, the angles of the kings face casted ornately in the glowing light of the fire.

“your my friend arthur, id go wherever you go” the answer felt obvious, he’d thought about it more recently, with agravaine betraying them and arthur seeming more exhausted than ever he wished he could just leave.

“your a good friend merlin” arthur reached for something on the table, an old scroll in leather wrapping that needed stored away with the other trade agreements, trying to think. good friend wasn't enough for merlin anymore, the affection he felt for the other man was unquantifiable. attempting to label his feelings for merlin was as impossible and daunting as attempting to capture the night sky in a fishing net.

what he wanted was to find a way back to merlin standing in front of him with the other boys hand combing through his hair, but that was a rare thing. all touch was for arthur, it always had been.

…

if this gets notes i’ll finish it and post it to ao3 idk ive never written fic before

[arcanefox207]

See How She Rides

Pairing🔹 Joel Miller x f!reader Rating🔹 Explicit, 18+ MDNI Word Count🔹 4.4k [ AO3 ] Summary🔹  BoatMechanic!Joel Miller is just doing his job when you show up unannounced to soak up some summer sun.  Warning🔹 Reader age undefined. Joel is late 40’s. No Outbreak. I don’t want to ruin the plot but this one is mostly smut. Unprotected P in V. Oral. Infidelity. Sleazy behavior. Not beta'd!

F I C U P DA T E S 🔸 M A S T E R L I S T 🔸 A O 3

“S’cuse me, Ma’am.” The greasy boat mechanic says when he notices your shadow looming over him from the dock. “Didn’t know anyone was coming out today.” He leans back from the engine compartment to get a good look at you.

You are standing there in your skimpy bathing suit with a sheer coverup. A wide brim hat and worn flip flops. A canvas tote slung on one arm and your other hand holding a small cooler. 

To his point, it was mid-week and an unusual time to be at the marina. Your no-good husband had been on a ‘business trip’ and you were tired of spending the hottest days of summer cooped up at home.

You pull your sunglasses down slightly and look over them at the greasy mechanic in your husband's boat. 

Greasy and absurdly handsome. 

It was high noon and the sweltering sun rays were wearing him down. He looked wilted and totally done for. The deck of the boat was a mess of tools and oily rags. Clearly he was not expecting company.   

He grabs an oily cloth and wipes his hands on it. He looks up at you with scrunched eyes as the sunlight was facing him. 

“I’ll be another 10. You mind waiting?” He brings his hand to his brow to act as a visor so he can see you better. You notice how the sun catches the emerging gray streaks in his messy hair and how his weathered skin shows years of hard work. He was probably in his late 40’s if you had to guess. 

Not at all. You think to yourself. In fact, this was exactly the type of excitement you needed. After all, why shouldn’t you get to have some fun too. 

The soothing sounds of the water plopping against the side of the boat and the dock creaked under you. It made the pause seem extra dramatic and drawn out.

“Hurry up then.” You snap at him, with a hint of playfulness.  

He nods and tosses the nasty rag on the floor as he kneels on the backseat and lowers himself back over the engine area. He stretches his arms out long as he reaches to tighten something with a wrench. A sliver of his skin on his lower back peeks out at you and shows more and more the further he reaches. Sweaty and tanned by many hours in the sun.   

He was doing some sort of maintenance your husband probably requested they do. He cared more about that boat than he cared about you, that was for damn sure. 

You decide that standing on the dock and waiting wasn’t really your style, and you want a better view. You toss your canvas bag and cooler over the edge and step into the boat from the side dock. It shifts slightly with your weight and brings attention to your presence.

The mechanic turns around with a concerned look.

“Careful, ma’am” He reaches his filthy, oil-stained hand out to you as you step into the boat. You grab it, reluctantly, to help with your balance. With both feet firmly inside the boat, you look up at him. You are taken aback by his size. His wide shoulders and tapered waist sculpted perfectly as his sweat soaked t-shirt clings to his body for dear life.  

“Joel Miller.” He introduces as he gives your hand a squeeze with his massive paw and pulls it away after you share yours. The corner of his lip pulls up slightly and he eyes you up and down briefly. 

“Be outta’ your hair soon.” He turns back to the engine, but can’t help looking over his shoulder to steal one more look at you. 

Typical sleaze, but this one was charming. 

You let out a deep breath, not realizing you had been holding it. You wanted to tease him initially and have some innocent fun, but now you feel a heat bubble inside you. It was obvious to Joel, too.

You grab your things and kick off your sandals. You make your way to the front of the bow. 

This was your favorite part of the boat. The open bow had a lounger that wrapped along both sides and plenty of room to sit at the very front too. It was the perfect place to read a book and sunbathe. The perfect place to distract Joel.

You pull off your coverup and toss your hat to the side. Your hair falls loosely over your shoulders. Your royal blue bikini was an excellent choice for today. This one tied around your neck and made your boobs look fantastic. Your bottoms were strappy and high cut and accented your curves beautifully.  

You reach into your bag and grab your suntan lotion. You tie your hair up into a messy bun. 

You take your seat at the very front so that you are facing towards the back of the boat. Joel is bent over the lifted back seat where the engine was stored, and head first in there working. 

His jeans were tight on his ass when he was bent over. His meaty thighs sticking to the grungy denim. He looked hot and uncomfortable working in the heat, but damn he looked good. 

You slather yourself with the lotion while you watch him work, getting more turned on by the minute. When he backed out of the engine to grab a tool his biceps flexed and his sweat beaded on his brow as he met your eyes. He caught you looking.

You bend your knee on the lounger and rub the lotion slowly up the full length of your leg while you turn your eyes away from him. Pretending to be busy and uninterested. 

You can still feel his gaze on you as you spread your legs spanning between the two loungers and work on the other side. The minimal coverage from your suit leaves little to the imagination. 

Joel stands up with his back to you and his hands on his waist. He shakes his head like he is telling himself not to get involved and closes the engine compartment. His knee turned outward just slightly in a slutty stance as he waits for the hydraulics to finish lowering the lid. 

He pushes the top firmly to make sure it latches, and his arms flex as he puts his weight into it. He looked so strong. So capable. So competent. Masculine in every sense of the word. 

As he turns towards you he pulls the front of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face. His tanned and sweat slicked skin glistens. You can see his tastefully toned abdomen in all its glory. Your eyes can’t help but notice how his jeans hug his hips and a messy thatch of hair trails up his belly.

“Got a water on ya?” He interrupts your gawking. 

He wipes his face once more with the shirt before letting it fall back in place. He scrunched his eyes and his lips pursed while he waits for you to respond.

“Yeah. Sure.” You snap out of your daze and reach into your cooler for a water bottle and bring it over to him. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

The bottle crinkles under his grasp as he makes quick work of it.  

He hands it back to you, empty, and smirks when your fingers feather over his. 

He gathers his things and poorly wipes down his grease stains with the cleanest of his shop rags.  

The back of your boat looks recognizable again with a full length seat spanning the width of the boat and another padded lounge area above it. Your other favorite place to spread out in the sun.  

Joel tosses his things onto the dock. He turns around and leans on the edge of the boat. His fingers tap the sides and he is stalling his departure, maybe deciding if he is going to make a move or be on his way.

You are also wondering if you should just say goodbye and be done with it. It would be the right thing to do, after all. Even though your no-good husband was probably knee deep in his mistress at this very moment. You had little loyalty to him these days, and tolerated just enough to get by with your comfortable life.  

“She’s a real beauty.” He slides his hand along the fiberglass edge, slowly and intimately. He pushes himself back up to his feet. He is towering over you again. 

“Excuse me?” You know he isn’t really talking about the boat, but you play dumb. 

“Would love to see how she rides.” He eyes you up and down and has a deadly serious expression on his face. He chews the inside of his cheek while he waits for your reaction. 

You were done for now. 

“I’m sure my husband paid you well. Better check your work, and all. Be thorough.”

Joel’s serious expression tries to hold back a grin. His brow softens. 

“Alright, I’ll be thorough.” 

You bite your lip to hold back your smile and hand him the keys.

Joel goes into full captain mode and starts the boat up. He jumps onto the dock to unwind the ropes from the metal cleats. He was a sight to behold. Letting out a few grunts as he scooched down to the ropes. 

You make yourself comfortable on the passenger side lounger, knowing full well you will be in his line of sight while he drives. You grab yourself a wine cooler.  

“Listen to her purr.” He taps the steering wheel as he gets back on the boat. He stands at the wheel and moves the throttle just enough to ease out of the slip. He tunes the radio to something playing yacht rock.

It doesn’t take long to get through the channel. The lake is quiet today. 

When you finally reach open water Joel pushes the throttle and your sporty boat glides over the waves. The breeze is refreshing and the occasional mist from the waves when the boat catches them just right feels good. 

From his angle Joel has a perfect view of your cleavage. You bring your knees up and knock them to the side so he can get an eyeful of your entire body. The suntan lotion makes you shine in the sunlight and you smell tropical and delicious. Coconuts and vanilla. You let your hair down and it blows in the breeze as you cruise along. 

After a few minutes you are in the middle of the lake. There is little boat traffic and you are far enough from land on either side. You look like specs in a sea of water.

You reach your hands back and untie your top and let it fall to the floor. You lay back with your chin up and arms to your side, pretending to soak in the sun. All you have left is the tiny strip of fabric barely covering your mound. 

It makes you feel alive and rebellious. No one can see your naked chest. No one except for the one you are showing off for. 

You are not looking at him, but you know he is staring at your body. You know his jeans are getting uncomfortably tight. You know where this is going. 

“Goddamn.” You hear him mutter and out of the corner of your eye you see his arm move to rake through his hair. 

Joel slows down the boat and kills the engine. The radio continues to play softly, but the sounds of the waves clacking against the boat are much louder. 

“Does it bother you if I do this? I don’t want tan lines.” You innocently ask as you turn your head over your shoulder at him. 

Joel is eyeing you.  

“Bother aint the word for it, sugar.” He rakes his hand down his face and scratches his scruff. He crosses his arms in front of him and leans against the captain's chair. 

You puff your chest out as you adjust in your seat. 

“You gonna stop teasin’ and get over here already?” He asks. 

You drape your legs back properly to the floor and push yourself up, sliding your skimpy suit bottoms down. You saunter over to Joel, naked and confident.

He is still looking greasy and miserable, but considerably more refreshed. Your eyes go to the bulge in his denim and you reach out to grab his waistband. You want to climb him like a tree. 

“I will...” you hook your fingers over the top of his jeans. “.. if you keep this little boat ride between us.” You trail one of your hands lightly over his zipper.

Joel looks you straight in the eyes with a feral hunger. It sends a shiver down your spine.  

“Deal.” He enunciates it with finality. No more charades. 

He grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap as he sits back in the seat properly. Your legs are straddling him and you can feel his hardening cock grind against you. He presses his mouth into yours and roughly pushes his tongue into you. His hands roam your body. 

You break away for a moment and grab for his shirt. He pulls it over his head and lets it fall to the floor. You bring your hands to press flat against his chest. His skin is firm and his muscles are tense. He smells sweaty and metallic. It isn’t pleasant, but it brings out some animalistic lust inside you and you don’t want him any other way.  

His calloused hands find your tender breasts and he grabs at you. His rough fingertips brush over your nipples and he thumbs your hardening peaks. He is so rough, and it is exactly what you need. 

He breaks his mouth away from yours and nips at your jawline and the supple skin in your neck. His movements are ravenous. His hands travel further down your body until he has them firmly on your hips. 

He hoists you up so you are sitting on top of the steering wheel. You brace one arm on the side windshield of the boat and the other grabs onto Joel’s hair as he dives into your pussy. 

He licks a broad stroke from your asshole all the way up to your clit, taking pause to swirl his tongue when he reaches your most sensitive part. 

You let out a moan and buck into him, tangling your fingers in his mess of curls and holding on for dear life. His scruff scratches against your tender skin. 

Joel pushes further into you and puts your legs over his shoulders, giving himself more control. His nose nudges your clit while he presses his tongue inside you and laps at the wetness he is extruding from you.

You lay your head back and gasp for breath as he just goes at you deeper and with more ferocity. It is a good thing he is supporting you with his shoulders as your legs are becoming weak. He digs into your hips to pull you even closer into his face.  

“Joel! Oh my… god.” You can barely speak. He is devouring you and you can feel your insides surge with elation as he worships you. Your thighs start to clamp firmer on him as you feel the wave of pleasure building and building. 

He pulls away briefly and sneers up at you. 

“What a messy cunt she is.” His words are crude and vulgar. His mouth is as filthy as he looks. It makes you pulse even more. 

He resumes lapping at your folds and is relentless. Pressure is building inside you and you grind against him as he starts to pull away and deny your release. You whine a little, relishing the final brush from his scruff leaving your thigh. 

You were so close to coming. This was surely payback for teasing him.   

“Ain’t you a sight to see.” He sits upright in his chair and keeps you at arms length with his hands still firmly grabbing your hips and your legs slip off his shoulders. He eyes your swollen and needy cunt. “I got just the thing for you.” He brings a hand to his jeans and unzips. 

The audible moan you make when you see its size makes him smirk. He is already hard and leaking. His shaft is impossibly thick. Uncut and girthy. 

“You want this?” He strokes his full length and the head of his cock is swollen and seeping as he pumps himself. You have never seen such a beautiful dick. You feel like a feral cat, ready to beg for scraps. 

You let out a moan and slide yourself back into his lap. The heavy weight of his cock slaps against your belly. You try to rut up against the underside of his shaft. Anything for some friction. He denies you contact and takes it back into his hand.

“Gonna’ have to ask real nice, sweetheart.”  

“Joel. Please.” You beg. 

“Please what?” 

“Fuck me.”

Joel shifts under you and gets up from his seat, pulling you up with him. One arm finds the small of your back and pulls you up close to him, and the other he snakes between you. He brushes two fingers up and down the length of your slit until they are wet. He thumbs at your clit and plunges his two fingers deep inside you. 

The stretch is a lot to take so suddenly but you are primed and begging to have any part of him inside you. His fingers were thick. If you weren’t soaking wet for him you might shudder at how gritty and filthy they were. 

He can feel your walls flutter around him as he thrusts his fingers deep, finding that perfect spot inside that makes you come undone.

“There she is.” He smirks as he looks over his nose and down to you and watches your eyes go wide when he touches you just right. Writhing by his hand.     

He fucks you until you come, soaking his fingers with your release and breathlessly moaning his name.  

He pulls his fingers from you and licks them clean with his tongue. Savoring your sweetness. Pleased with his handiwork.  

While you are looking fucked out but still wanting more he doesn’t give you time to recover. 

“Oh, did you want a taste, sugar?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond and presses his mouth into yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue. Under normal circumstances you may have found that revolting, but he had a way of making you feral for any contact with him. 

You moan as he wraps his tongue around yours. His taste mixed with yours is intoxicating. He reluctantly bites at your lip when you find the strength to pull away. 

As much as you enjoy being pleasured by his touch, your mind is clouded by desire to have his cock inside you. Under the baking sun, nothing could quench your thirst more than having his cum spilling into your throat. 

“Your turn.” You bite your tongue as you hold back a wicked smile and press away from him. You tug at his jeans and boxers enough that they slide down him. He hastily kicks off his work boots and steps out of them fully. 

You take in his perfectly sculpted body. Under all that filth he really was a sight for sore eyes.   

You drag your hand down his chest and your fingers trace over his thick happy trail. You step towards him and back him to the edge of the boat while your hand wraps around his shaft. Your delicate, soft fingers are laughable in contrast to his size. You slide a finger down his full length, tracing his pulsing vein. You tease his sensitive tip with a feather touch. He is ready to burst and you don’t want to wait another moment. 

He widens his stance and groans softly as you drop to your knees and take him in your mouth. Your hands hold him at the base while you swirl your tongue around him and lick the underside of his cock. 

His fingers tangle in your hair as he firmly holds onto you.  

You bob your head slowly as you take in more and more of him and he bucks into you. You move your hands to wrap around the back of his thighs as you take him deeper. 

You can feel his restraint to take it slow and gentle but it is waning the longer you have him in your throat. Your eyes swell with tears as you try to relax and let him fuck your mouth.    

“Look at you. Taking me so well.” He rests his head back and grunts as you pull back and suck on his tip. The salty taste of his precum invigorating you to suck harder as you hollow your cheeks. You feel his cock twitch and pulse and he is so close to bursting inside you.     

He suddenly pulls you off of him with a rough grip in your hair. Your swollen lips and open mouth looking pitiful as it loses contact from him.   

“Not yet.” He groans. “Gonna make that pussy mine first.” His words fire out through clenched teeth and his eyes are blown out and dark. He pulls you up by your hair. You gasp at the audacity and his roughness.

You stumble over your words of protest and excitement as he pushes you over to the back seat. Even if it’s morally fucked up, you do want him to claim you. 

He bends you over the back seat so your knees are perched on the seat and your body is splayed over the back. He pushes his body up against you and nudges you with his cock as he leans over you to speak into your ear.     

“Look.” He sighs, picking up that you are having some concerns about this behavior. “Seen him fuck more than one woman on this boat. He’s a loser.”

“Don’t I know it.” You nod in agreement. 

He presses his cock against your ass and has you pinned down under his weight. He slides a hand up the side of your thigh and around your front to make a little room between you and the seat. He gently grazes your clit and lets his middle finger dip into you to gather some of your slick. There is no hiding how wet you are for Joel Miller.    

“I’m gonna fuck you right, f’this is what you want.” He kisses you in the crook of your neck as you push back against his cock. 

You want him inside you. You need him inside you.  

“Fuck me, Joel.” He drags his free hand down your spine as he stands upright. You arch your back as he slinks his hand between your legs to press them open.

His cock is still wet from your saliva and he rubs your slick over it for good measure.

“Alright, sugar.” He pushes the head of his cock into you and you claw at the seat under you. His fingers were a lot but they paled in comparison to this. He grunts as he pushes in deeper, taking it slow and letting his cock drag heavy against your walls. 

“Goddamn you’re tight.” He picks up the pace and digs his nails into your sides as he pulls you hard against him. 

The stretch from him hurts so good. With each thrust he makes more room for himself inside you and you welcome him in eagerly.   

He grabs a fistfull of your ass and slaps you hard. You wince at the sudden sting. He claws his fingers back into your sides and holds you tight. He has to be close to finishing. He has been painfully hard for too long to hold out much longer. You are almost there yourself. Filled to the brim by his thick cock.

He lifts one leg onto the seat for more leverage as he pounds into you. He pulls you up so your back is flush with his chest and furiously grabs at your breasts. Each plunge of his cock goes deeper and harder. His hands grab desperately at anything to hold onto, pinching at your skin.

You are teetering on the edge of release. Screaming his name loudly where no one can hear but him. It's cathartic. 

He pushes you back down roughly and comes undone inside you. Snarling and panting as he unloads his hot cum deep inside you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He pants. 

You moan and milk his cock as you ride out your shared climax.

As your breathing slows he plants his foot back down and eases out of you slowly. His spend drips out of you and down your leg. You feel like a slut. Joel’s slut.  

You crawl down into the seat and lay on your back, with the biggest smile on your face. You have never felt more alive. 

You both take a much needed dip in the lake before ending your boat ride. It is refreshing and intimate floating with Joel. For a greasy boat mechanic, he was good company. 

When you get back to the marina and Joel parks the boat the moment is bittersweet. You know this can’t happen again and you know you will never stop wanting it to. 

“She rides good.” Joel teases as he peels himself away from the captain's chair and goes to step off the boat. “Hope my works’ to your satisfaction, ma’am.”

“Joel?” You bite your lip as you smile at him. 

“Mmm?” He looks at you from the dock.

You smile, shyly, struggling to find the words. Joel makes a zipper motion across his lips. He knows exactly what you are trying to say. 

“Between you and me, sweetheart.” 

With a wink he turns and disappears down the dock. 

You resume your leisuring in the sun, plotting when you can do this again. 

As always love to my sluts 🧡 @magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @for-a-longlongtime @pink-whiskey-woman

@youandmeand5bucks @sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen

And tagging friends who I hope will enjoy this one too. Love you all, thank you for supporting my shenanigans 🧡

@toxicanonymity @joelsgreys @yxtkiwiyxt @itwasntimethatdidit40 @thebeldroramscal

@schnarfer @tonysopranosrobe @milla-frenchy @nerdieforpedro @mountainsandmayhem

@sin-djarin @strang3lov3 @guiltyasdave @iamskyereads @maggiemayhemnj

@gasolinerainbowpuddles @yourcoolauntie @inept-the-magnificent @604to647 @sawymredfox

@murder-wife @pedroswife69 @yorksgirl @moonlitbirdie @pedropeach

Banner by me. Divider credit to @saradika-graphics

[starmapz]

cigarettes in the theater || s. geto

❦ suguru geto x sorcerer reader

❦ oneshot

❝ the week following the declaration of suguru geto's status as a curse-user, you receive an invitation to meet him for a movie. you know you should decline, but you don't have the heart to do so. what harm is there in sharing one last cigarette with your lover? ❞

❦ warnings ; no pronouns used. angst. hurt/comfort. pet names (angel, sweetheart, darling). use of cigarettes. graphic descriptions of death and injury. heavy subject matter discussed.

❦ words ; 3.4k.

masterlist || dependency - prequel || nicotine dream - follow up

By all accounts, you should be scared. You should be breathing heavily, your heart pounding in your ears, wide-eyed at the carnage that surrounds you in the theater. 

Yet… you aren’t.

You’re numb to it, numb to it all.

A body slumps to the floor in the row before you and all you can do is swallow the bile that threatens to upheave the contents of your stomach.

The presence behind you shouldn’t bring you the ease that it does. Yet, he’s been the only constant in your life as of recent, and you can’t bring yourself to hate him for what he’s done, even as a drop of blood runs down the side of your face. It isn’t your own, of course. He wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you.

You should have fought back against him, you should have protected everyone, but instead, you sat and watched. Maybe that makes you just as bad as it makes him. Maybe you’ll be sentenced to death by the higher-ups as well, seen as an accomplice to his actions tonight.

You wonder if you’re broken.

The worn red fabric of the seats hides the bloodshed so well that with little effort, you could clean everything up. You could hide the night’s calamity and go back home to Gojo, Ieiri, and Nanami. You could sweep this all under the rug, hide your trail, and blame it all on him.

Yet, you don’t move to do that.

He sits only a few seats back, smoke drifting languidly from his cigarette. His eyes are glued to the screen, just as yours are. There’s a sort of dramatic irony to the kind words being spoken on-screen as a drama plays.

“Cigarette?”

His voice is as sultry and kind as ever. You take a breath before you turn to look at him.

Suguru looks as beautiful as ever. His dark hair is up in a half-bun and the rest cascades down his shoulders, falling effortlessly over his collarbones. His eyes are sunken, tired, but that’s not unusual for him as of late. He’s wearing a deep blue sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. It’s almost cruel of him to do so, he knows it’s your favorite outfit on him.

It tugs on your heart strings in ways you can’t describe with words.

Your chest feels heavy, heart pounding suddenly against your rib cage, practically tearing its way out.

“Yeah,” you respond, barely above a whisper. You know he can’t hear it over the movie, but he reads your lips.

Long legs step over the chairs, descending the theater until he reaches your row. He pulls down the uncomfortable red seat, plopping down beside you. His cigarette hangs from his lips as he pulls a small box from his pocket. His sharp eyes watch your movements as you pull the cigarette from the cardboard.

“You look tired,” he comments, leaning over to light the cigarette.

“I could say the same for you,” you respond neutrally, taking a drag from the nicotine sitting between your lips. You blink a couple of times as you let the relaxation wash over you, a temporary escape from the dark corners of your mind.

Then again, it’s all temporary. Every life saved, every ‘thank you’ or lack thereof, each one a fleeting moment forgotten in the grand scheme of things and instead replaced with the sight of your lost classmates. Your lost friends.

The sight of Haibara flashes through your mind and you turn your head from the screen, from the bloodied seats before you, your jaw trembling subtly.

Suguru notices your movement, setting a hand on your knee. Your brain tells you to pull away. It tells you he’s dangerous, but there’s nothing more you want right now than to curl into his arms and feel his lips against your temple just as you had only a week ago.

So much has changed since then.

“Did it make you feel better?” You ask out of the blue, keeping your tone even as you steel yourself and push the image of your classmate’s body from your mind.

At the end of the day, his answer doesn’t matter. You’re surrounded by corpses in a theater. By all accounts, he’s already made his bed and you’re both laying in it here and now.

Suguru pauses, observing your expression. He can’t gleam anything about how you’re feeling, beyond the underlying sadness in your tired eyes. That look has been there for a while now, though. He recognizes it all too well. The dark circles beneath your eyes are a shade so dark that concern plagues him, though he knows he has to play his cards right in this conversation if he wants to help you heal.

“I don’t regret it,” he responds evenly, his thumb rubbing circles into your knee.

You bite your lip to prevent it from trembling. “That’s not what I asked, Sugu.”

You’re finally looking him in the eyes, for the first time in a week, for the first time since his return from the mission that sealed his fate as a curse-user.

You’re as gorgeous as he remembers, perhaps more. Even with sunken eyes, glossy and sad, and your hair somewhat disheveled, he finds himself unable to stop the way he stares at your lips. He still yearns to call you his still.

“It did, yes.”

It’s a nail in the coffin. This isn’t just a departure from Jujutsu Tech, he’s traveling into dangerous territory now, with malicious intent.

It should hurt to hear those words, it should be painful beyond belief. Yet, it’s not.

You think again that maybe you’re broken.

Silence hangs heavy over you both as you take a deep breath, processing his response.

“How’s Satoru?” He asks calmly. 

You swallow the bile rising in your throat. It’s sour and you frown at the feeling. “He’s been better. He’s angry with you.”

“I figured,” he hums softly, a bleak smile pulling at his thin lips. “Shoko?”

You take a long drag from the cigarette. “I’m not really sure,” you admit, avoiding his gaze now. You feel guilty for the fact that you’ve drifted apart from both Nanami and Ieiri, but the entire faculty seems to be drowning. None of you have time to yourselves and when you do, you’re locked away in your dorms.

“And you?”

You pause. You don’t know how you are.

No, that’s a lie. When Suguru reached out to invite you to a movie, deep down you knew this would happen. Maybe not the pile of bodies, but this conversation. From the moment you hesitantly typed see you there, you knew it would all lead to you crumbling in his arms.

Suguru is your lighthouse, your beacon of hope and safety. Your home. You love him too much to let him go.

“I miss you.”

He doesn’t miss a beat as he responds, “I miss you too.”

You can’t help it this time, your lip trembles and your chest heaves with a sob. “It’s all so fucked without you, Sugu. I don’t think-” Your voice betrays you, cutting you off as another sob wracks your body.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he hums, resting the cigarette between his soft lips as he moves his hand from your knee to wrap his arms around you. He braces himself as he lifts you up out of your seat, away from the armrest so that he can cradle you in his lap.

With a final drag from his cigarette, he puffs the smoke into the air and puts it out on the plastic armrest beside him, leaving a melted circular indentation behind. It doesn’t matter, in the grand scheme of the mess that is the theater.

His nimble fingers slip your own cigarette from your fingers as you cry into his chest. He taps his finger once against it, his other arm holding you tightly to his chest.

His warmth is so familiar and brings a sense of comfort you haven’t felt since the day the news broke.

The corpses of 112 of the village inhabitants were found dead.

Like alcohol over an open wound, the thought stings. You don’t agree with what he did, but… you suppose there is a reason you’re here.

“Why did you do it?” You swallow a sob, taking a deep breath to steady your breathing when you finally begin to steady your emotions. You shift in his lap to straddle him, letting your hands rest on his built chest.

He leans back in the chair, which reclines slightly with his weight. Taking a drag from the cigarette that was yours, he lets his hand rest on your hip. “You know the answer to that question.”

Of course you do. You’ve been thinking it. Nanami’s been thinking it.

Ever since Haibara’s passing, it’s been plaguing you all. Nanami feels he failed Haibara. You feel you failed them both as their superior. Yet Suguru… he’s been feeling the effects since Amanai’s passing. He’s been slowly spiraling and despite your best efforts, it’s clear this was inevitable.

“That’s not what I mean. What was the breaking point?”

Suguru blinks calmly, holding the cigarette to your lips to take a drag. “I exorcized the curse,” he begins, “yet they demanded I kill two young girls.” His expression shifts from neutrality for the first time in the night to one of disgust. “Shit, you should have seen them. Caged like goddamn animals, two innocent children.”

You try to keep an impartial expression, but your eyes widen, betraying your shock and distaste. If he can find the right words, Suguru wonders if maybe, just maybe, he might find you back in his arms for longer than this conversation.

“They’re sorcerers,” he tells you, “but they weren’t responsible for the curse.”

Your fingers grip at his sweatshirt as you wrestle with your emotions. You want to hug him, bring him the comfort his eyes silently beg for, but there’s so much going through your mind, so many questions to ask.

“There were innocent people there,” you state blankly.

“Were there?” He challenges you.

Your brow twitches, you’re not sure what to make of the question. It seems obvious that there would be. “Of course,” you respond, lips parting.

Suguru takes a long drag of the cigarette, putting it out in the same fashion as the previous one before dropping the stub to the floor. “Are they innocent for calling on us with no regard for the sorcerer bodies piling up?” When you don’t respond, he continues. “Are they innocent for standing by and allowing two terrified children to be caged like animals?”

Your gaze drifts to the side, melancholy swirling in your tired eyes. Suguru admires you as he lets you think, resting his hand that had been holding the cigarette on your thigh. He longs to bring you closer, to kiss your soft lips, but he refrains out of fear of ruining the conversation.

“I suppose that means I’m not innocent either,” you mumble, eyes darting to the severed leg that sits on the ground behind Suguru. You’re forced to swallow bile again at the sight, a shiver running up your spine. You’ve grown numb to the sight of death, but your stomach certainly hasn’t.

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, his deep and observant eyes taking in the minute twitches of muscles in your jaw.

With one hand firmly keeping distance between you despite the compromising position you’re in, you lift your other hand to rub your face, sighing. When you drop your hand back to his chest, he offers you a small smile. It’s just like him to keep smiling and offer solace for those in need in spite of his own turmoil.

“Do you disagree with my actions?”

“Yes,” you tell him firmly, not hesitating for a moment.

“Why didn’t you stop me, then?”

Your lips part, brow knit tightly as you spare a glance at the bloody scene around you. Why didn’t you stop him? You’re asking yourself the same question.

“I’ll ask again, my dear. Why didn’t you stop me?”

You want to vomit. You don’t agree with him. You don’t want to kill people. Why are you here?

All you can do is stare helplessly at him. Stare at his sharp and beautiful features, the way he looks at you with such admiration, the way his hands feel at home on your body.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. You’re almost certain he doesn’t hear you as the movie playing behind you picks up in volume and music plays.

Suguru attempts to pull you closer, but you keep your arms firm, keeping distance between the both of you. He doesn’t dare push it, push you. Not when he feels your resolve crumbling before him. Maybe it’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t care to be selfless any longer. He wants you, he wants you by his side.

“There’s a purpose to this all,” he tells you, raising his voice over the movie’s music. He’s running out of time to get through to you. Running out of time before the carnage is spotted by employees and Jujutsu Tech is informed. He already failed to convince Satoru to join him, but he knew that would happen already, the snowy-haired sorcerer was far too set in his ways.

“Satoru told me,” you say all too quietly, but he reads your lips.

“Then why are you here, my love?”

“I-” you pause, the words die in your throat. You can’t say what you’re thinking, it pains you physically as you turn your gaze to the melted hole in the arm of the chair, desperate to focus on anything that isn’t him.

“You can tell me,” he coaxes you, “even if it hurts me.”

You would never hurt Suguru.

“I miss you,” you tell him again, eyes brimming with tears now. The words are on the tip of your tongue. You know it, he knows it.

“I miss you too, sweetheart.”

He’s so patient, so calm, as he always is. You know no matter what conclusion you come to, he’ll accept it. He would let you leave, though you think you wish he wouldn’t.

The music in the background fades as the movie comes to an end, much more somber, quiet music taking over as the credits roll. The light from the screen dims, leaving the both of you in near-darkness. Suguru is running out of time with you as the movie nears its final moments. It’s only a matter of time now before staff arrive and the police and Jujutsu Tech are informed.

“I think I still love you, Sugu,” you whimper. You can’t hold back your tears any longer as finally they spill, sobs wracking your body.

Suguru shushes you softly, relieved when finally you give in and allow him to hold you to his chest. He runs his hand gently along your spine, soothing you as you tremble in his muscular arms.

“I never stopped loving you. I never will,” he whispers. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes as he relishes the moment. He missed you more than he ever thought possible, and the idea of losing you again when he’s already lost his best friend brings with it a sense of hopelessness he’s grown all too familiar with.

You clutch at his sweatshirt desperately as the reality of your situation crashes down on you. You want out. You want out of the world of Jujutsu sorcery and curses, you want out of the world where those you care about die.

Yet… you don’t want to leave with Nanami. You don’t want to work a nine to five job like he’s expressed interest in. You don’t want to stay with Gojo, you know he’s too dedicated to Jujutsu Tech. You don’t want to eliminate humans from the world like Suguru. But you don’t want to live without him either.

In a matter of a week it’s like your whole world came crashing down and you sit in limbo.

Suguru’s eyes flicker to the screen and he sighs. The credits are reaching their end as more and more logos show and he knows he’s nearly out of time. He can’t face Satoru again if that’s who they send after him, not right now with you here in his arms. He’s running out of time with you.

“I want you by my side,” he tells you softly.

You raise your head from his shoulder and he gently wipes your tear-streaked cheeks. “You can’t ask that of me.”

His calm eyes observe you carefully. “Talk to me, then. Why are you here?”

Your lips part, hesitant, but you manage to choke out what’s on your mind. “I feel lost.”

“You don’t want to be at the school anymore,” he fills in the blank. He knew that already, before he chose how he wanted to live, back when he was still a student, you had expressed a desire to leave.

“I don’t want to- to kill people, Sugu.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

You sigh, chewing on your lip. You inadvertently find yourself glancing down at his lips, pursed as he waits for you to make a decision.

“Then what are you asking of me?”

Suguru pauses, he hadn’t thought much of his answer to this question. He knew you wouldn’t want to bring harm to people, you’re too kind. He lifts his head slightly, staring into your eyes, a tempest of uncertainty thundering within them. As his lips brush yours, he can only hope, pray, that you’ll allow him to close the distance, that you’ll give in to him.

“I could use help looking after the girls while I’m away.”

You pause, taking in his words. There’s still a lick of uncertainty to this whole situation. Your life has lost its direction, but the one thing you find yourself drawn to is him. Although you disagree with his methods, he’s right.

You are here.

You didn’t stop him from wreaking havoc on the theater.

You don’t hate him for what he’s done.

You feel his pain. Yours just manifests in a different way.

Like a switch finally flips, you lean forward, pressing your lips to his. Your fear, your pain, even if only for a moment, it all dissolves as you’re consumed with him, with Suguru, your lover.

He slides a hand to the back of your head, pulling you into him as he deepens the kiss, passion overflowing from the movement of his lips on yours. His tongue swipes your lower lip and with a quiet whimper, you give him access to deepen the kiss. It gives him the chance to say everything his words don’t.

He parts from you, eyes flickering wildly over your features with nothing short of adoration in those beautiful deep irises of his. He pants lightly, catching his breath as he cups your cheeks.

“We need to leave, angel.”

You swallow hard.

This is it, there’s no turning back now.

Slowly, you nod.

“I love you, Suguru.”

“I love you, too.”

Hand in hand, you escape out the theater’s emergency exit. As the sun sets over the horizon, you spare a glance at your boyfriend.

You hadn’t noticed in the dim lighting but blood coats his sweats, dried into the gray fabric. His hair still drips with fresh blood and your breathing hitches when you see the way his keen eyes follow your gaze. He doesn’t seem at all phased by it.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize that he has bloody handprints covering his shoulders. Shaky hands lift to stare at your crimson palms. Before you can overthink your decision, Suguru gently takes your hand in his.

“I need a cigarette,” you whisper shakily, thankful when he complies. He lights it for you and as you take a drag, you feel your nerves calm.

You wonder what life would have been like had you met him at a normal college.

As news breaks of the carnage in the theater and you’re labeled as a curse-user too, you wonder if you have any right to wish for things to be different.

You wonder again if you’re broken, but as two young girls run up to meet you excitedly and hop into your boyfriend’s strong arms, you watch him with a small smile. Though he still looks exhausted, he seems happier.

For the first time in a week as you’re dragged into Suguru’s new home, you don’t feel the crushing weight of uncertainty.

You don’t regret your decision.

masterlist || dependency - prequel || nicotine dream - follow up

[teddybeartoji]

my last little thirst for you mickey <3

wolf! toji, that hunts down pretty little bunny! reader because he got the smallest whiff of your sweet scent and needed to track you down.

when he finally catches up to you, he pins you down into the forest ground, finally getting a chance to truly take in thay saccharine scent that he'sbeen practically fiending over. (he could've easily caught you in just a few minutes, but he can he say? he enjoys the hunt)

next thing you know- wolf! toji is biting into your nape while rapidly pounding into you, wanting to knot you, pump you full of his pups, and claim you as his own.

he still isn't finished, even after wolf! toji made sure that you were filled to the brim with his seed. He steadied himself over your pliant body and sprayed all over you, making sure every inch of your worn-out body was covered in his piss.

Now you were his- inside and out <3

OH WOLF!TOJI LOVES CHASING YOU DOWN SOOOO MUCH. IT GETS HIM GOING SO FUCKING FAST GRAY HOOLY FUCKING SHIT.

he's not even running or anything at first... he knows he's gonna catch you, he has your scent and he won't lose it; he let's you run and run, he's letting you tire yourself out. he loves seeing all riled up and panting, your eyes twitching ever-so-lightly when he finally finds you.

he loves to get you dirty, he loves to push you into the ground. he likes to see the smallest little scratches and the smallest little bruises that form under his rough hands. he licks at your neck with a mean grin as you shiver in his hold, and he loves to listen to your racing heartbeat. it's all just so, so much. it feels so fucking good.

he's gonna pump you full and he won't let you waste a drip of it. he's gonna plug you with his thick knot and he's gonna hold you to his chest as he does so. he takes in all of the sharp breaths and the little mewls that keep slipping from his tiny bunny. he hisses at the tightness, but he doesn't allow himself to get too distracted. he toys with your nipples and gently nips at your ear, determined to make you cum on his knot aswell.

you're so fucked out, eyes hidden in the back of your head and your tongue lolling out - he loves it. so fucking much. he loves the mess of it all. your slick is running down his heavy balls and your saliva trickles down your own chin. he presses a haste, sloppy kiss to your temple as he works you through your third orgasm.

"nasty little bunny, hm?"

[evielmostdefinitely]

darkened shadows |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: a single earring from the past causes turmoil in coryo's present with you.

contains: dark!coriolanus. manipulative, obsessive coriolanus. past mentions of lucy gray, sejanus. coryo's past. angst.

A single earring, worn- judging by the yellowish tint to the pearls that crested the thin gold hoop; that single earring that sent your world into a spiral. Cleaning your home, a gift from your parents after you announced your engagement to Coriolanus, after six months of courting during his time at University. You just wanted to be good, a prim and proper housewife, devoted just as he was to you, like your mother before you- until a single earring shattered your world. 

“Darling,” Corio’s voice traveled through the grand spiraling stairs, heavy soled shoes clacking against the marble with every climb. “My love, where are you?” His tone held an edge, a jagged sense of urgency that would usually have you stiffening, running to coax him, soothing his worrisome mind. 

Not this time. 

You could hear his heartbeat, heavy in his throat when he spat out your name. No terms of endearment, no breathy gasps between it like this morning, when you were tangled beneath the bedsheets, his hands in your hair, toes curling with pleasure. 

Frantic eyes piercing through the low light of your bedroom, falling onto you. His hair was longer now, coiffed all the same, but the curls you loved returned when Coryowould let them. “Did you not hear me calling for you?” Coryo huffed, a white knuckled grip on his satchel. 

You didn’t answer, lips pursed, legs crossed from your perch on the edge of the bed. Coriolanus frowned, pulling the strap from over his head. “What? What’s wrong? Is it your mother again-” 

“-No.” You snapped, nose scrunching in annoyance. 

Coriolanus paused, unsure. His mind scanned, raced through facts and dates- had he missed a date? An event? Fuck, dinner with your parents? His calendar had been cleared, it was why he stayed late in the lab with Gaul. 

“Why are you upset?” Coryo frowned, tired of the guessing game. He hadn’t meant to bark it out the way he did, but his heart skipped in his chest, squeezing too tight for his own comfort. 

You scoffed, a manicured hand smacking the bed, fist curling around the object. Corio’s eyes followed, the way your white knuckled grip held the object, screwing the sapphire ring off your own ring finger. “Here,” You spat, dropping the engagement ring at his feet, the single earring banging around his shining shoes. “Since you love collecting jewelry so much, you can add that to your lover’s stash.” Your voice drenched in a sarcastic venom that had his stomach twisting. 

Coryo tracked the sapphire, jaw setting. The ring- your engagement ring he’d given to you the night he poured his heart out into yours, in your parent’s garden- had been his mother’s before it found its new home on your finger. One of the few items his Grandma’am had let him have of hers, one of the few she hadn’t sold. There it was, settled next to Lucy Gray’s earring. The cursed object, when she’d betrayed him, tore his heart out in the woods of District Twelve. At the time, keeping it felt right, anchored to him like a cruel reminder. He’d forgotten about the thing, truly, stored away in a drawer far from his mind now that you took up most of the space in his head. 

“You went through my things?” Coryo clipped through gritted teeth, bending to pick up the two pieces, one in each hand. 

You gawked, spinning on your heel furiously to face him. “I was cleaning-” 

“-You were snooping.” Coryo snapped. “We have maids for cleaning-” 

“-And you told them not to come yesterday” You hissed, eyes narrowed to match his. “You wanted to spend the day in bed. Not let them in.” Your finger jabbed in the air towards him accusingly. 

Coriolanus’ mouth tightened into a firm line, frowning towards you. “You still had no right to go through my things.” He huffed. “Cleaning the drawers?” 

“I was putting your father’s compass away.” You sneered. “I didn’t want it out, and I thought you would want the same. You’re always going on and on about how the help will steal it if given the chance.” 

Coryodidn’t respond, eyes piercing through you. “So I take it’s true?” You scoff, hoping your snarl of a tone would disguise the hurt lingering through your chest. “You’ve taken a lover before the wedding?” 

“What? No.” Coryo ran a hand down his face, heart hammering. “How dare you say-” 

“-How dare you.” You snap, taking a step towards him. “Make a mockery of me, of us. Embarrass me this way.” Tears of fury blur your vision, turning before he could see. 

“It’s not- she was from before.” Coriolanus felt his composure withering away with every stomp of your foot. 

He’d rationalize his despond that he was worried about his own title, his own future. Without your family, he might as well be back to living off of scraps in the worn down family home, cracks in the foundation. He’d worked hard but your father’s good graces were securing him his spot as President after the wedding. 

“Before?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Before the engagement?” 

“No,” Coryo shook his head, a strangled huff caught in his throat. “Before-Before I even knew you.” 

“So you kept it around?” You snarled, turning on your foot so quickly it had him flinching backwards. “Pieces of another woman? Another lover lying around in our home?” 

“It’s not like that. I-I didn’t even know I still had it.” Coryo was faltering, stuttering uneasily. He wasn’t used to not being in control, not being able to con himself out of any situation. The truth was, you held the upper hand; he needed you more than you did him. 

“Darling, please, just-just let me explain.” Coriolanus begged, voice lilting higher and higher. “It was before I met you. When-When I was a mentor.” He reached out a hand for you, your dramatic step back making him flinch. 

“Oh? So it’s Clemensia’s? I knew you two were more than you said. And you tried to tell me you-” 

“-It’s not Clemensia’s.” Coryo shook his head gently. “It-It belongs to someone I want to forget about now- I have forgotten about now. At the time, I-I wasn’t in my right mind. I was manipulated and cheated and played to be a fool by this-this girl.” 

That seemed to pique your interest, brows quipping carefully, watching him with caution. Vulnerability, Coryo wasn’t good at that, but he would have to be or try to be. Still, to keep you, keep your family and all his power into place, he’d have to be. 

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” Coriolanus said slowly, eyes taking in every quip, every pull and fall of your emotions. Your breath stilling, hitching in your throat, though you tried to keep yourself steady, calm. 

“In the past.” Coriolanus added quickly, his own voice teetering on a frantic tone that he despised, heart thudding loudly in his chest. “Let me be clear, I-I’ve never betrayed you.” 

Your shoulders seemed to relax though your eyes stayed hard, challenging. “I went to District Twelve because I was sent there as punishment, that was true.” Coriolanus started, hand closing around the pearl earring, the hook piercing into his palm. “But I also went there looking for… someone.”  

“Someone?” You repeated. 

Coriolanus nodded. “You have to understand, I-I was coerced. Tricked by this- this woman, who used me.” His lips pursed, eyes lifting to yours. Your features softened, pulling into a look of sympathy. 

“She used me. Used me and my wealth to escape.” 

“A district girl?” You whispered like you were scared, frightened that someone might hear, even in the room with just the two of you. “Coriolanus-” 

“-I know.” Coryo nodded, turning with the shake of his head. “You-You see why I didn’t tell you? I’m ashamed, my love. This,” He took a shaky breath, turning to look over his shoulder at you. “This is the darkest secret I’ve ever harbored. Not a soul, no one, knows of this.” 

You stood still, unsure, finger twisting around your ring finger, absent of the ring you’d grown so fond of. Coriolanus watched you carefully, over his shoulder, hoping you’d believe him. You’d forgive him. He was so close, so close to his inauguration. Your father had practically promised it when he asked for his permission to marry you. “You take care of her, I’ll take care of you. Make sure you give my darling girl the life she deserves, and I’ll make sure you get the life you deserve.” Coriolanus prayed you hadn’t told your father any of this. 

“But… The earring.” You looked at his closed palm. “Why would you keep it if she was so horrible to you?” 

Coriolanus paused, letting his mind still. He was close, you were close, inching towards forgiveness. Towards forgetting the Baird girl who haunted his dreams. 

“Truthfully, my love, I-I didn’t even-” Coriolanus ran a hand down his face, and out of the coroner of his eyes he saw you take a step towards him. “I didn’t know.” 

“You didn’t know?” Your brows furrowed, halting your quiet crawl towards him. 

“I was in such a state of-of distress.” Coriolanus shook his head, swallowing the hard, burning lump in his throat. “You have to understand, I shamed my family getting kicked out of University, my friend, Sejanus, he-he was hung, found out to be a traitor-” 

“-The Plinth’s son?” Your wide eyed, sympathetic gaze melted Coryo’s heart. Nearly felt it to be too much. Nearly made him feel guilty. 

Nearly. 

“Yes.” Coriolanus nodded slowly, a wave of pain washing over his features, eyes dropping at the name of his fallen friend. “Yes, all of that.” Coriolanus swallowed, eyes gleaming in the low light of the apartment. “And this deceptive, devious girl, she used that. Took advantage of my weakness. Used me.” 

Your small hiccup of a gasp, heart wrenching in an ache that Coriolanus shared with you. Burned in the fact that you felt so strongly for him, chest swarming in an unfamiliar heat. 

“I was so… distraught. Positively sick with grief and-and betrayal.” Coriolanus’ eyes met yours, closer now, with every silent step over the carpet. “I can’t tell you why I kept it. What possessed me, truly, I had forgotten about it entirely, because-” Coriolanus let himself fall silent, eyes cast to his freshly shined shoes on the carpet, so bright he could see his own reflection. 

“Because why, Coryo?” You whispered, stepping so your house slippers were touching the tips of his shoes. Your hand soft, cradling his face sweetly. “Tell me, please.” 

“I met you.” Coriolanus said softly, his hand cradling your own, the engagement ring pressed between your skins. It made your knees weak, swooning at his softness, his kindness. 

“I didn’t lie, petal. From the moment I met you, my life has known nothing but joy.” His eyes held yours, repeating the very same words from his vows weeks before, on bended knee in your parent’s rose garden overlooking the Capitol. 

“She is a sad, dark spot in my past, but you,” Coriolanus’ free hand moved, letting the earring fall to the ground, cupping your face. “You, my love, are my world. My bright, shining future. The sun, the stars, everything to me.” 

Your lip wobbled at his words, eyes shining with tears, moved by his words, the sincerity in his eyes and in his tone. Coryo’s stomach settled, relaxed at your sincere reaction. He let the ring fall in his hand, holding your hand in his, slipping the ring back onto your finger- and you let him. Of course, you let him, how could you not? 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was lying, like I was withholding the truth.” Coryo’s hand wrapped around your fingers, thumb ghosting over your ring, pressing it into your skin. “It pains me to talk about, to even think about.” 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, your hand squeezing his affectionately. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t, my darling.” Coriolanus bit back the smile that threatened to grace his face. It was easy, too easy to convince you. You leaned into his hold, eyes lingering over the dazzling sapphire on your finger. 

Coriolanus swallowed. “Thank you.” He muttered, your eyes flashing to him in surprise. 

“For what?” You frowned carefully. 

“For putting my father’s compass away.” Coryo hummed, fingertips trailing down the shell of your ear, over your own earrings- clusters of diamonds and emeralds, not cheap freshwater pearls like the other, a stark difference between the two of you. 

“For being kind to me, always.” His eyes met yours, icy even in the burn of affection. “So forgiving and gentle.” 

You blushed, cheeks burning in his hold, heating the palm of his hands. He grinned, lips brushing over yours, taking you in slowly. A soft kiss that crescendoed into a passionate one, pressed into the wall, hands grabbing, fisting at the others clothes, hair. Shoving and pulling clothing, limbs, breathy whines and whispers into your skin, his skin. Fingers intertwined with every thrust of Coryo between your legs, teeth grazing over your delicate pulse points, primal. 

The earring stayed on the floor, discarded like his feelings for Lucy Gray- for now, anyways. 

Coriolanus stood over the earring the next morning, the light of the day catching the bits of gold in its rays. Coryo’s jaw set, tongue running over his teeth. In the mirror of the hall, he could see you- still in the bed, sprawled onto the pillows after he’d had you that morning, rougher than the night before. 

Memories of Lucy Gray flashed before him, how she’d never let him do the things he wanted to with her, never let him be himself- not like you. You embraced him, every part of him, welcomed it and celebrated it, where she had rejected it. 

A polished shoe hovered above the earring, Coryo’s body weight pressing down fully, satisfied with the crunch he felt under his sole. A snap, a crumbling and shattering of pearls, the thin gold snapping in half, leaving a shattered disaster under his feet. The earring was her mother’s, and her mother’s before her, passed down through her family. Now, destroyed, discarded, and forgotten just like her family. 

Just like Lucy Gray. 

[libertyybellls]

I DON'T KNOW WHY I BITE ?

pairing; finnick odair x f!reader

summary; few years after winning his games, finnick endures the trials of being a victor and all he needs is a helping hand.

contains; ANGST, comfort, descriptions of forced prostitution, descriptions of gore, murder, typical hunger games mortality etc etc. not proofread… ever

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

the room once filled with a bond you could not quite replace, is now empty, gray. it lacks the golden boy who brings light to every aspect of your life- and it has been for two months now.

you know where he is, what he’s doing, and who he’s with. you know the light of his soul will be snuffed away by the calloused deceiving hands of the capitol- their everlasting appetite to claim their control over citizens and victors alike.

you almost dread the sound of your front door unlocking. your mind manifesting his misery would be long gone- begging to a higher power that he will be okay- that the pillars of his body are not crumbling in on itself.

nevertheless, as you near the front door- you see it in his eyes. he almost looks like the same 14 year old that got thrown into a death match and came out with two legs and two arms- but this time his legs can’t carry him any longer, his arms are practically hanging off his tired body.

the door is still open behind him, the chilled air seeping its way into your once warm home. his shoulders are slumped, there is no light in his eyes- only that small tinge he adorns when he is with you.

you want to pull him into your arms, to kiss the disgust off of his features, to show him he is unworthy of this muck treatment, that he is the only light that cannot be choked out, the anchor that is not misplaced, he is right where he needs to be now.

there’s a silent understanding, you can see the falter in his steps as he tries to walk towards you- so close to disintegration you can almost see his seams falling apart one by one.

you meet him halfway- pulling him into you- now you must be his pillar. you must cover his ears, quiet his thoughts.

his tears coat your shirt, your fingers run through his scalp. he wants to crawl out of his skin. he can still feel a touch that isn’t yours- it sets his nerves alight.

why won’t you leave me. his mind screams- but his voice can’t carry these words. leave me here, let me rot.

you can feel him self destruct, his knees fail and now you are kneeling infront of his vulnerable frame. you want him to look at you, to see what you see, but who are you to ask for more?

but all he sees is grief, blood from kids his age- even younger, he feels hands all along his chest- his back, he smells roses- luxury- a scent that isn’t home, he tastes metallic blood from his lips- gnawing from anxiety, he hears the praises- he hears that he’s special, that he’s so humble, what a handsome young man he is.

“i wish i could be good.”

you can’t see his face, you are glad in a way- you don’t think you’d be able to take it. “you are good finnick,” your own tears fall. “if anything you are good.”

you want to yell these words, scream them at him. so inconsiderate of you- but how dare he not see this is not his fault? a puppet has no control over his own arms.

finnicks mind screams more at the capital than himself now. your tactics have worked. you have taken every last bit of my innocence away. you control me. he begs to be left alone, he begs to be so pure and unsuspecting again.

you both know his fate, you know where he’ll be in a few years. you know that your love alone cannot keep him here- however strong. every inhale feels like poison- but he listens to you murmur as you rub his back, telling him to breath.

you see his eyes now, he tries to drink in your gaze- he wants it to be the last thing he sees, except less concerned, less worn, less worried. despite his thoughts only ever consumed by you, he looked pained- he looks as though he is elsewhere in his mind.

“nothings gonna hurt you now” sanity is a sheltered lie but you would rather surrender your wits than your boy. your fingers dance up and down his back now- erasing the sinful marks left laying in his mind.

-

so short so technically a blurb but wtv….

[theonotti]

MIO | OS | t.n.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!Hufflepuff!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Voldemort won. Harry Potter is dead. But the Order of the Phoenix is still fighting, with two surprising allies who have very different reasons for aiding their cause.

Warnings: Pretty angsty. AU where Voldemort did not die at the end of DH.

Notes: This is heavily inspired by Secrets & Masks and Manacled. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

That Final Night One Shot

Late.

They’re fucking late.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Theo looks down at his watch. 

Twenty minutes late, to be exact.

“How long are we expected to wait here?” Mattheo growls, pacing across the wood of the decrepit bar. The floorboards creak with every step. Theo is sitting at one of the tables, a sigh forcing its way out of his lungs as he watches his friend. In one hand is a cigarette, the other hand mindlessly tracing the vandalism that had been scratched into the top of the table. 

“Another ten minutes and then we’re fucking off.”

The bar has been long abandoned, making it their top choice for discreet meetings. They had cycled through a few different locations before they finally found the bar. The walls are a sloppy black color, which is mostly covered in 80’s posters, both movies and musical talents alike. Theo’s eyes drift from poster to poster. He’s seen them what feels like a thousand times, and yet he still finds it hard to tear his eyes away when he stares at them. 

An hour has already passed since their arrival, but that was due to the ungodly amount of wards and disillusionment charms that they needed to cast before the meeting, a ritual that has become quite routine. Once everything is set, they’ll briefly discuss what they’ll say, and then they wait. Theo finds the extra waiting time peaceful, usually. It gives him a chance to mentally prepare for the carnage that comes to his psyche afterwards. The guilt. The fear. But this time, the stakes are higher, increasing the tension in his muscles much too soon. He can feel the pain already in his lower back, and he doesn’t want to imagine the aches he’ll be feeling once he returns home. 

“Can’t we just kill them?” 

Theo considers this question as he lets his eyes jump back to Mattheo.

“That would probably defeat the purpose of why we’re here.”

“Sure, but I still hate Weasley and his stupid face. Just one Cruciatus curse at his ugly face would be okay, surely. I won’t even make it a long one. Four minutes tops.”

Theo boredly watches the smoke from his cigarette float up towards the ceiling as he ignores Mattheo. Every moment that passes increases his irritation. He finds himself wondering if it’s a power move on their part. They hold all the cards, so they can keep him waiting. 

Something in the air triggers, both men looking towards the door. Theo’s fingers tense around the cigarette as he brings it to his mouth to take another drag, his other hand dropping down from the table to clench around his wand as it rests on his lap. The dimly lit room has a smoky haze, all thanks to Mattheo and Theo disregarding the “No Smoking Allowed” sign that is appropriately starting to fall off the wall.

The door opens, Ron Weasley followed by Hermione Granger walking in. Theo has long lost count of how many times they’ve met with Granger and Weasley, yet it still feels jarring every time he sees them. Maybe it’s because their appearance catches him off guard each time.

Despite them all being in their mid twenties, they all look tired and worn. The rosey cheeks that Granger sported while they were in school are now gaunt and hollow. Dark circles are painted under her eyes, along with Weasley’s, and she keeps her bushy hair contained in two french braids going down her back. Weasley keeps his hair short now, and his body is more built than it had ever been when they were at Hogwarts. His boy-like features are long gone, with gray already peppering his ginger hair, and if Theo didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed that Weasley was in his late thirties at the least. The life in their eyes had long drained out, replaced with a coldness that chilled anyone who happened to be stuck in their gaze.

War hadn’t been kind to Theo or Mattheo either.

Mattheo has more scars on his face than he did back in school, and he grew his hair long in a feeble attempt to hide them. There was a time that he wore them like a badge of honor, but since the start of the war and his PTSD becoming worse than ever, they no longer were something he pretended to be proud of. He’s since developed an anxiety twitch, his whole face seeming to spasm whenever there’s a loud noise not caused by him, or tense moment. Though they don’t live together anymore, now that Theo has full ownership of Nott Manor, when they had, Theo could remember all the nights of hearing his best friend scream and cry in his sleep from across the mansion. It was more often than not, and it was unbearably hard to get Mattheo to calm down from the vivacious nightmares.

The opposite could be said for Theo. Instead of nights filled with intense dreams of death and melancholy, Theo simply doesn’t sleep. He couldn’t, for the life of him, shut his brain off. And while that had always been an issue for him to some degree, it had become exacerbated since his transition from student to soldier. Theo doesn’t know what being tired feels like anymore. It’s so ingrained in his psyche that it would be more abnormal for him to not be tired. All he can do is adjust, living off coffee and the occasional upper to keep him moving.

Weasley leans on the wall beside the door. His demeanor is much more unpleasant than normal as his eyes flit between Theo and Mattheo. Theo pretends not to notice as he looks at Granger, who’s standing in the middle of the room. She always did all the talking. Theo assumes it’s because of the way she carries herself, and they certainly take her more seriously than they could any Weasley. Besides being a fighter for the Order of the Phoenix, Granger is a war negotiator. She deals with prisoner exchanges and, eventually, peace talks. Although, considering it’s been seven years since the Battle of Hogwarts, Theo is less confident of the possibility of any sort of peace treaty happening any time soon. For the entire duration of the war, it was her that Theo dealt with when it came to these sorts of things, before and after their betrayal. 

She clears her throat.

“What information do you have for us?”

The strain in her voice is lost on no one. The tension in the air is so thick, Theo is convinced he could grab it if he tried.

Mattheo stops his pacing, turning to face her full on. His anger is palpable.

“Stop with the bullshit,” He snaps. “Let’s talk about why we’re really here today.”

Weasley’s hand tightens around his wand, but he doesn’t move. Theo keeps his eyes on him to ensure it stays that way before turning back to Granger. 

“You have Malfoy.” Theo’s voice is quiet, tone neutral.

The corners of her mouth twitch upward.

“We have Malfoy.”

Mattheo lets out a frustrated sigh.

“We can’t continue to cooperate with you until you hand him back.”

Granger’s expression doesn’t change, making it clear that this reaction was expected. 

“He’s quite the bargaining tool. What are you willing to give for him?” A beat passes. “Or I guess I should say, who?”

Mattheo turns to look at Theo, who can tell just by that exchange of a glance that his friend’s patience is wearing horrifically thin.

“We can ensure the release of Luna Lovegood and Seamus Finnegan. And we’re prepared to give you the maps of the hidden prisons in Sussex.” Theo conveniently forgets to mention that they were already planning to give them the maps, regardless of the way things went at this meeting.

Granger turns to look at Weasley, who merely raises his eyebrows, before turning back to Theo.

“He’s Draco Malfoy.” 

Theo’s hand curls tighter around his wand.

Mattheo huffs loudly, throwing his hand down and smacking it on the bar top. The sound is so loud that Granger flinches, and Weasley pushes off the wall suddenly, but doesn’t move forward.

“You know bloody well that our heads will be on a fucking spike if we don’t get him back,” He hisses at them. “Then who will aid your bloody Order? You think there’s anyone else who will risk their necks like we have? Honestly?”

“Regardless of your help to the Order, do you really think we can just hand Voldemort back one of his best fighters?” Granger's voice raises just a touch. Mattheo takes a step towards her.

“You’ll be singing a different fucking tune when we’re dead and you realize the next on the list is you. You’re losing the goddamn war. Biblically. You need us. Alive.”

Theo waits for Mattheo to finish his outburst before he turns his attention back to Granger. He knows where this is going.

Fuck, he knows where this is going. 

“What else do you want, then?”

Theo’s hands tremble slightly. He clenches his right fist around his wand even more, the left bringing the cigarette back to his mouth quickly. 

Mattheo shakes his head, turning away as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it with his want.

Granger tilts her head as she looks at Theo, her expression shifting to a tired one, as if the answer is obvious. When she speaks again, her voice is just above a whisper.

“You know who we want, Nott. It’s been almost a year.”

Theo’s nostrils flare.

“Not on the table.”

~

Suffice to say, the raid couldn’t have possibly gone worse.

How the Order could’ve been so prepared for them was beyond Theo.

One minute, everything seemed to be going to plan as Theo, Mattheo, Malfoy, Blaise and a few others sauntered into the safe house. Quick in and out. Nothing too complicated. The next, it was like the floor fell out from under their feet.

How did things get so royally fucked up?

Theo woke with a start, sitting up abruptly, covered in a layer of sweat as his eyes darted around the room. It took him a minute to get reoriented, and only then did he realize that he was in his own living room, laid on the couch with a blanket draped over him. Ripping the blanket off, his hands flew towards his abdomen. When he looked down, he found he was shirtless, but his skin was unharmed, save for some minor scarring. New editions to the collection. He then reached up and touched the top of his head. Nothing. Not even a scrape.

What?

Slowly, he kicked his feet over the side of the couch and stood up. The room spun for a moment, and his joints ached, but otherwise, he was completely normal. 

The manor was silent. So silent that it made the hairs on the back of Theo’s neck stand up. Almost automatically, he walked across the floor, his bare feet cold against the hardwood. He tried to keep his footfall soft as he continued listening for any sort of sound. There, in the faint distance, he could hear… something. Grabbing a hoodie off the back of a chair, he slipped it over his bare torso and zipped it up halfway before making his way towards the sound. 

Theo stepped into the kitchen. A flash of movement came from the other slide of the sliding door that leads to the courtyard. His hand instinctively went to grab his wand from his pocket, only for him to realize it wasn’t there. At the same moment, he also realized the person outside was Mattheo, having a smoke. His tense fingers relaxed, his arm falling back to his side.

Mattheo looked over as Theo slid the door open and walked out. 

“Look who’s awake. How’re you feeling, Sleeping Beauty?”

“Who healed me?”

Mattheo placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense.

“You wound me, Nott. You don’t think I’m capable?”

Theo shook his head almost immediately.

“It’s not as… clean when you do it. And I have the scars to prove it.” He pointed to his back, which was covered in scars thanks to a nasty run in with a car, a Bombarda cast, and Mattheo’s lack of concern to learn basic field emergency spell casting.

Mattheo sighed in resignation before saying, “You’re right. It wasn’t me.”

Theo waited for Mattheo to give elaboration, and when one wasn't given, he could feel his fingers curl into fists. Though Mattheo’s face was neutral, the tension radiating off his body could be felt a kilometer away.

“What did you do?”

Mattheo took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out through his nostrils before turning back to Theo.

“Theo…”

“What did you do, Riddle?”

Swallowing hard, Mattheo looked away from Theo.

“We got their best healer.” 

Theo blinked. A hostage?

“You took someone?” He asked, voice low. “That… that wasn’t part of the plan.”

Not that things ever went to plan. And not that they hadn’t ever deviated so far left and forced them to take hostages before. But there was something about the way Mattheo couldn’t look at him that made Theo’s fingers run cold. 

Mattheo shook his head as he took a seat on one of the lounge chairs. He let his head fall to his chest, as if it were too heavy to hold up anymore. “That wall fell on you. You were going to die, Theo. We needed…” He inhaled sharply before looking up again. “It was beyond us. We needed the help. We needed her.” 

Theo wracked his brain. The Order’s best healer? The Order’s best healer. Why does this mean something to him?

“Who is it?”

Mattheo leaned backwards in the seat so his back laid against the chair before he pointed at Theo, as if he was preemptively defending himself.

“You’re going to thank me. You’ll be pissed. But you’re going to thank me, ultimately.”

Theo’s nose twitched.

“Mattheo… who is it?”

Mattheo nodded back towards the house before vaguely replying, “She’s upstairs, in the North wing.”

Theo’s feet didn’t move, stuck to the floor like ice. His mind was running, a plethora of questions all begging to be answered. But his mouth forgot how to work as well. For a moment, all he was able to do was stare at Mattheo, who stared back briefly before nodding towards the house again.

“Go on.” His voice was soft.

Theo’s feet kicked on again, taking him back into the house as if they were on autopilot. 

Why the hell are you so nervous? You don’t even know who it is.

His wand was laying on the end table next to the staircase, which he grabbed and shoved in his pocket. His knees buckled as he walked up the stairs. Distantly, he could hear the sound of yelling and objects being thrown around. It didn’t take him long to figure out which closed door the sounds were coming from the other side of. He stood outside the black wooden door, listening. Trying to maybe discern who it was before he went in. 

He could just make out the wards that had been placed on the door. Laying a hand on the knob, he was relieved to find that he was able to touch the brass of the handle. Mattheo had been known to incorrectly cast the spell so no one could get through, which had more than once sent Theo or Malfoy through a wall. 

A shaky sigh pushing its way from Theo’s lungs and out of his mouth, he turned the knob and let himself inside the room. 

The color drained from Theo’s face.

Standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving and anger radiating off of like a stove top, was you. 

Suddenly, Theo was back at Hogwarts, standing in the Astronomy Tower. You were no longer in your casual shirt and jeans, but instead, in your Hufflepuff robes as you looked at him and told him you were leaving to join the Order.

“This war is above us, Theo. Dumbledore is dead. Harry Potter is dead. I can’t stand idly by and watch people die. I need to do something.” 

“Yeah? And what about me?”

“You could come with me.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“And you know I can’t stay.”

The memory hit Theo like a train. His breath hitched in his throat.

You turned to face him, freezing in the headlights of his gaze. The way your fury faltered at the sight of him made it clear that you were having the same out of body experience that he was. 

You certainly had been busy. All of the furniture in the room was broken. The night stand had been thrown against the pewter colored wall, leaving a dent in the dry wall and the wooden pieces scattered across the floor. A picture frame that Theo hung and forgot about was in ruins, the brunette girl in the picture cowering in the corner of the shredded pieces of photo paper. Feathers from the pillows littered the carpet. The mattress had been thrown off the bed frame, which was also now broken. 

Though he couldn’t focus on the damage that had been done to his guest room. He was too busy staring at you with the same confounded look he’d had when he first entered the room. 

Your hair was longer than he remembered it, pulled back so it was out of your face. Your features had grown with you, your cheekbones more prominent, your eyes with more bags, your cheeks with less color. There wasn’t a corner of Theo’s world that wasn’t burdened by war, and, unfortunately, that included you. His heart raced in his chest as he looked at you. He had locked the memory of you deep into the catacombs of his brain, not allowing himself to bring them out for any occasion. There wasn’t the time or need for it. This is war. When is there a moment for reminiscing on the worst day of his life?

But now there you were, standing in front of him, with a dumbfoundedly angry look on your face, casual clothes and longer hair. The flood gates were now opened, and he was overwhelmed with memories of you, running through his mind so quickly that he felt like he was spinning. 

Your eyes still twinkled in the light that streamed in through the curtains.

“You tell Mattheo Riddle that he can give me back my wand and we’ll see then if he’s able to force me into this room again.”

Theo flinched.

The sound of your voice alone made him feel the need to have a complete mental breakdown. You could’ve been cursing him out or singing in German and he would still feel the overwhelming urge to curl into a ball on the floor. Even with your anger, it still felt like a sweet symphony to Theo’s ears. 

He never thought he’d hear the sound again. 

Hell, he never thought he’d see you again.

Realizing you had spoken and he was just staring at you like an imbecile, he cleared his throat.

“You healed me.”

Your expression shifted, an emotion crossing your face that Theo couldn’t read. Standing a little straighter, you nodded.

“I’m a healer,” You said slowly, distantly. “It’s what I do.”

He snorted. That bleeding Hufflepuff heart.

“You could’ve let me die,” He pointed out, cocking his head to the side. 

You seemed to consider this briefly before saying, “In theory, yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Silence hung in the air between the two of you, coupled with the unmitigated tension. Theo’s hands were curled at his sides, not from anger, but to stop himself from giving into the inordinate compulsion to reach out and touch you. To prove to himself that he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. That you were actually in front of him. You shifted your weight to your other foot.

“I don’t think I really could’ve, even if I wanted to.”

The words unsaid in this moment would keep Theo up at night for weeks.

Your eyes trailed down his body, studying him, taking in his bare chest underneath the hoodie. He swallowed hard, his body seeming to freeze under your gaze. Maybe he should’ve changed before coming into the room. At least maybe thrown on a proper shirt. He’d never had a hostage in his home before. There was no protocol book on the proper etiquette. 

Especially not when the hostage was his ex-girlfriend who’s now working on the opposite side of the war. 

You let out a strangled sigh.

“You have to let me go back, Theo. They need me. No one is trained on some of the things I am.” 

The shake of his head was immediate.

“You can’t even begin to comprehend what he would do if he found out Mattheo and I had you and then just let you go back,” He said in a strained yet soft voice. “I can’t. We can’t.”

Your nose twitched as you closed your eyes.

“I won’t fucking heal for him,” You declared in a low tone. “I’d rather be strung up in Godric’s Hollow to rot like all the other people he’s executed than heal for him.”

Theo tried to be rational as he considered what to do. There was a tug of war in his mind, his loyalties competing to decide the best course of action. The obvious answer was to turn you over to The Dark Lord, where you would be put on trial for the crimes he deemed you guilty of, and then punished accordingly. With the skills you hold, Theo knew that you would more than likely be put under the Imperius curse and forced to act as a healer for the Death Eaters. 

Though the answer was obvious, that didn’t make it correct. Not to him or to anyone else.

Theo knew. He knew you’d rather die than breathe the same air as the Death Eaters, let alone fix their wounds and send them back out to kill your people. His head throbbed as he tried to think of the best direction to go in. 

Because, in his head, letting you go was simply out of the question. 

~

“This is a negotiation, is it not?” Granger asks. “We have something you want, you have something we want. We exchange.”

Theo shakes his head as he smashes the end of his half smoked cigarette on the top of the table.

“She’s not for trade.”

“Well, she’s what we want.”

A bead of sweat trails down the side of his face. He ignores it.

“She’s nowhere close to being worth the same as Draco Malfoy. This isn’t a fair trade.” He means it, but not in the way that he presented it to them. Nothing they could offer would make it a fair trade in Theo’s eyes. They could offer the end of the war. They could offer his freedom from the Death Eaters. They could offer endless riches, or immortality, or anything else he could possibly dream up. None of it would equate.

“Then we’ll gladly take Luna and Seamus back as well,” Granger says through clenched teeth, expression reading that her patience is wearing thin. “To make up the difference.”

Theo opens his mouth to respond, but Mattheo cuts in before he gets the chance.

“You’ll take what we fucking give you.”

Granger shoots him a dagger filled glare. 

“We can no longer afford to play these games with you. You have our best healer. And we need her back.” She rolls her head before her eyes fall back on Theo. “We have been patient. We have accepted that we had nothing worth trading for her. Now we do. Malfoy’s importance to the Death Eaters is well known. Don’t patronize us by pretending we don’t have the upper hand here.”

A chill runs through Theo’s spine.

She’s right.

God dammit, she’s right.

Theo runs a hand through his messy hair, the most he’s moved since he sat down. His brain scrambles to come up with something, anything, that he can offer to remedy this. There has to be something of equal value. There has to be something he can give that would make them decide to let you stay. 

“Before you try to come up with some feeble offer, know that we won’t be backing down from this,” Granger says as if she’s reading Theo’s mind. “You won’t be getting Draco Malfoy back unless we get her, regardless of what else you give. She’s the only card you have that could get him back.”

Theo’s eyes snap back to Granger, the anger boiling in his chest.

“This is a negotiation, is it not?” He repeats her words back to her. She smiles at him, but the gesture does not reach her eyes.

“Maybe negotiation is the wrong word for it.” She hums thoughtfully. “It’s more like a plea deal. Take it or leave it.”

~

“You’re up late.”

Theo jumped at the sound of your voice as he quickly flicked the light on.

He didn’t expect to find you in his kitchen, sitting cross legged on the island counter with the lights off. A bowl of what he could only assume was cereal was in your hands.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

“It’s four in the morning.”

You glanced up at the clock as well, before shrugging. 

“Fine, you’re up early.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Theo’s mouth. 

He could feel you studying him as you brought the spoon to your mouth. A flush of warmth filled his cheeks as he made his way to the fridge, making it a point to turn away from you. Still, he knew your eyes never left him. 

“You still don’t sleep much, huh?” You asked, mouth full of cereal.

He sighed as he pulled the carton of orange juice off the shelf.

“I’d say I don’t sleep at all these days.”

He popped the top of the carton before bringing it to his mouth and throwing his head back. You watched him carefully, seeming to pause your eating.

“You’re a feral one now, aren’t you?” You asked in a playful tone. “Drinking right from the carton? Who have you become, Theodore Nott?”

He laughed, the sound being so foreign to him these days, before saying, “I generally live alone, and I never host other people. No need to waste a glass, as far as I’m concerned.”

Him ignoring the last comment of yours was intentional. Despite the playfulness behind it, Theo doesn’t know how you would feel about the man he’s become, and he doesn’t want to dwell on that fact. 

You continue to laugh as you shake your head.

“Mad behaviour.”

Theo eyed you. 

“Says the girl sitting on the counter, in the dark, eating cereal.”

You smiled as you take another bite.

“Got me there.”

It had been almost two months since Mattheo had taken you hostage and made you Theo’s problem. In an attempt to keep peace, Theo gave you free reign of the entire manor and all of the land around it. After repairing the furniture in the guest room (multiple times, as you had to get your frustration out somehow), Theo allowed you to stay there. Before his death, Nott Sr. had created a dungeon-esque holding below the house, with cage like cells and torture weapons, but Theo had the area of the house completely closed off upon his arrival as head of estate, and he wasn’t planning to reopen it anytime soon. Besides, the thought of locking you in an actual cell made Theo physically ill. 

“How’s the escape plot going?” Theo asked as he leaned against the counter adjacent from you, juice carton still in hand.

“Considering I can’t apparate because you already had anti apparation wards in place, the wards Mattheo placed that are linked to my DNA so I can’t leave the estate at all, and that bed being the most comfortable thing I’ve ever slept on…” You listed, raising a finger with every reason. “ … I’d say it’s going quite terribly.”

Theo’s eyebrows hit his hairline as he let out a surprised huff.

“Mattheo has always been quite meticulous.”

“Well, he said he was afraid you’d let me go.”

Theo’s smile faded quite quickly. 

The first couple of weeks following your capture, you had made yourself scarce around the manor, mostly spending time in the North wing. Theo made it a point to stay out of your way. Not only for the sake of your anger, but because he needed to work out his own emotions about you being there. Even in this moment, looking at you in the kitchen, he still hadn’t quite worked out how the whole thing made him him.

After the first couple of weeks, you had slowly started making your way through the manor, exploring every crevice. Every nook and cranny. Theo knew it was to look for a weakness to exploit that could lead to your escape, but he didn’t comment that to you. Just let it sit in the back of his head.

With your emergence from your room also came your increased interactions with the dark haired lad. It was painful at first, just a curt nod here and there, but it slowly built up to exchanging jokes and sarcastic comments, and even as far as the two of you reading books in silence together in the library.

It was almost as if there was never a moment between the days you and him spent together at Hogwarts and now. Just cut the time apart out and sew the rest together like the war never happened.

Theo often found himself wondering if he was one of the weaknesses you were attempting to exploit. 

Your comment about Mattheo believing Theo would let you go did nothing to snuff out that thought.

He tried not to think about it too much.

You watched him carefully as he took another long sip of juice from the carton.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do with me yet?” 

Theo rolled his eyes, setting the juice on the black countertop next to him. 

“Nope.”

He didn’t bother to ask how you knew it was even up for debate. You’d always had a knack for just knowing things. And he couldn’t imagine that his debates with Malfoy and Mattheo were as quiet as he would’ve liked them to be.

“What are you leaning towards?” You asked innocently, your eyes studying him. He bit the inside of his cheek as he considered how to answer.

“Let’s see,” He mumbled. “Malfoy thinks I should turn you in. He doesn’t see why you’re useful here, and says you’d be better suited as a healer for… them.” He decided not to say Death Eaters, but you flinched at the idea anyway. “Mattheo thinks I should keep you here.”

Your eyes didn’t leave him as you took another bite of your cereal. Theo mirrored you with the orange juice. 

“But what are you leaning towards?”

“Not turning you in, that’s for damn sure.”

Your gaze pinned him, as your eyes narrow only slightly.

“So I’m stuck here then.” It was more of a statement than a question, and something about it made an ache burst through Theo’s chest. He had no idea how to respond, so he opted to say nothing, instead bringing the juice carton back to his lips. Your eyes followed him. “Theo, you’re a rational person. You know that I don’t want to be here. Why can’t you just let me go back to the Order?”

His eyes fluttered shut.

“It’s complicated.”

You set the bowl down on the counter before looking back up at him.

“Then simplify it for me.” 

All he could say in a breathy whisper was your name.

He didn’t know how. He couldn’t even simplify it for himself. 

~

It all happens at once.

Theo quickly stands, pushing the chair out from under him so quickly that it glides across the floor and into the wall. 

Weasley rushes forward, his wand pointed at Theo.

Mattheo grabs Weasley by the scruff of his shirt, roughly shoving him into the wall with the tip of his wand jabbing into the ginger’s jugular. The impact of his back against the hard surface causes Weasley to drop his wand, which Mattheo swiftly kicks across the floor. 

Granger puts her wand only inches from Mattheo’s head, though he doesn’t appear to notice. 

Theo directs his wand to Granger.

“The difference between you and I, Weasley,” Mattheo hisses in his face. “Is that I don’t have any pathetic qualms about making a person suffer. So please. Point your wand at one of us again. We’ll see who comes out the bigger man.”

“That’s enough, Riddle!” Granger shouts, pressing her wand into Mattheo’s temple. Theo steps forward and jams his wand through her hair and into her occipital scalp.

“Drop it.”

A beat passes.

Mattheo’s face twitches.

Granger slowly lowers her hand, her jaw clenched so tight that Theo is convinced her teeth will crack.

“We all want the same outcome,” She says in a quiet voice, still glaring daggers at Mattheo.

“It’s how we get there that we can’t seem to see eye to eye on,” Theo growls. 

Letting his hand drop back to his side, Theo takes a step back towards the table he had previously been occupying. 

“Let him go, Mattheo.”

The curly haired man glares into Weasley’s face for a moment longer, letting his deep breath smack against the ginger’s face before he shoves him away. Theo’s eyes follow Mattheo as he walks back to his pacing area, and then they flick back to Granger. She looks incensed over what just occurred, as Weasley adjusts his shirt, embarrassment painting his cheeks pink.

Theo opts to stay standing this time. 

“She’s not a part of the equation,” He says in a low tone. “We can give you the maps, Finnegan and Lovegood for Malfoy. Or we can give nothing at all.” 

A draft fills the room as the wind can be heard whipping outside over the silence. 

“And again, we are well aware of Draco’s importance to the Death Eater army,” Granger says in a tone that matches Theo’s. “There is no option. It’s her or nothing.”

Theo fights the urge to curse her.

“Then it’s nothing.”

~

The door hit the wall so hard, Theo could almost feel the drywall dent. In the moment, however, he couldn’t give less of a shit.

You whipped around to face him. The anger on your face couldn’t be missed, but neither could his. For a while, the two of you just stared at each other, speaking through daggered glares and heaving chests, as if words weren’t necessary. 

It was a moment of deja vu, calling back to the first time the two of you met in what became your assigned bedroom of the house. Both times equally as tense, but for radically different reasons. And this time, all of the pieces of furniture were entirely intact. 

Finally, Theo broke the silence.

“What business do you have, entering the field?”

Your nostrils flared.

“What business do you have, almost getting yourself killed?”

A breeze came in through the window, chilling the room further. As if it needed the help. 

“I was handling myself fine,” He said in a low voice. “Injuries are bound to happen-“

“A pelvic fracture and an open head wound are both severe injuries,” You countered in a raised voice. “You may have felt fine in the moment but you wouldn’t have after you lost two liters of blood just from the fractured pelvis alone. You needed care.” 

Theo felt like throwing things as the anger flared heavily in his chest.

“I could’ve apparated back to the manor after-“

“You would’ve splinched yourself with that severe of injuries, Theo,” You snarled, looking exasperated. “Mattheo came and got me.”

Theo made a mental note to kick the absolute shit out of Mattheo the next time he saw him.

“You could’ve said no!” He shouted. “You’re not my bloody on-call healer who gets to risk her life whenever I almost die.” The image of you in the middle of the fight, dodging multiple green casts in your wake, was burned into his retinas. Despite being safe in the Manor now, his chest was still reeling from the panic that flooded his heart and lungs when he fought to get to you.

You took a rushed step forward.

“Don’t fucking do that,” You said in a strained voice. “You don’t get to drag my arse back into your life-“

“You think I wanted this for you?” He shouted, cutting you off. “I didn’t drag you anywhere. I didn’t bring you here. I didn’t ask for this.”

You took another step towards him, more controlled this time. Theo almost took a step backwards to keep the distance.

Almost.

“But you kept me here. Why am I still fucking here, Theo?”

The words left his mouth before his brain had a chance to even consider them.

“Because you fucking left me before I was fucking done with you!”

Theo’s chest heaved, as he stared down at you. The room became painfully silent, the only sound being Theo’s breathing. You were holding your breath. 

“What does that mean?”

Theo didn’t hesitate for a moment.

“You left me to join the Order. You left me behind and I went bloody maniacal. I didn’t know a person could be touch starved for a specific set of hands, but your fingers burned their prints into my skin and I can’t get them to goddamn heal. And then Mattheo dropped you on my fucking door step and it was like I was an imprisoned man who just felt the warmth of the sun for the first time in years.”

You were frozen, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Theo…” A breathy whisper.

Theo shook his head, feeling a mix of anger and desperation in his head and heart. When he spoke, his voice was more calm this time, taking a low tone. 

“If love were a language then the only one I know how to speak is the one we wrote together. I couldn’t lose you again. I can’t lose you again.”

It was unclear who moved first. Maybe Theo. Maybe you. Maybe both. But somehow, the distance between the two of you closed, and Theo’s mouth was crashing against yours.

His left hand was on the small of your back, the other on the back of your head. His fingers weaved through your hair with a firm grip, as if to keep you from pulling away. Your hands were on his cheeks, lightly cradling his head between your palms as your fingertips teased the beginnings of his hairline. 

“I love you,” He said in a silent voice, his lips still pressed against yours in the desperate kiss. “I never stopped.”

“I love you too.” Your words came without a sliver of hesitation.

His tongue parted your lips, as your fingers moved to the back of his head. A groan forced its way up his throat. Your nails against his scalp drove him insane. It always had. Theo knew you knew that well. 

And with that, he pushed you onto the bed. 

~ 

“So…”

Theo closes his eyes at the sound of Mattheo’s voice. His steps are slow as they walk up the pathway of Nott Manor. In an effort to prolong the inevitable, Theo pulls a cigarette from his pocket, setting it between his lips before lighting it with his wand. 

“We don’t have a choice, do we?”

Theo looks up at the sky as he blows a plume of smoke upwards to join the clouds. He can’t look at Mattheo.

“No,” He finally says. “We don’t.”

Mattheo pulls a smoke of his own out, lighting it before taking a deep inhale. The only sounds in the air are the wind and his exhale.

“What if we just stopped aiding them?” He suggested after a beat too long of silence. “They’re losing. They need the information we’re feeding them. A few weeks without it would have them feeding out of our palms.”

Theo considers this as he plops down on the top step leading onto the porch. The cold from the wood seeps through his trousers.

Not that his body held any warmth to begin with. Not since he walked out of that bar.

“We don’t have a few weeks.”

Another cloud fills the air.

“The Dark Lord wants Malfoy back now.”

Theo’s heart already feels hollow as he thinks about what he is getting ready to do. 

Mattheo paces the cobblestone pathway, running his fingers through his curls as he takes another long drag of his cigarette.

“There has to be a way.”

Theo studies his friend. There’s very few people Mattheo holds loyalty to. The Order wasn’t on the list, despite the way they were risking everything to help them. The other Death Eaters didn’t have it. Hell, even his own father only held enough of Mattheo’s loyalty to keep him alive. Not enough for it to matter.

But Mattheo, from the moment they met until this moment in front of Nott Manor, was always fiercely loyal to Theo. And the way he desperately tries to come up with a solution to fix this for Theo pulls at his heart.

Because his loyalty to Theo also extends to you. When Theo told Mattheo that he was planning to betray Voldemort’s army in an effort to end the war and keep you with him, Mattheo wasted no time in joining him. No questions asked.

Mattheo was willing to risk his head to keep you safe if that was what Theo needed. And in this moment, Theo knew he didn’t thank his friend enough. 

His hands shake slightly as he brings the cigarette back to his mouth.

“I don’t think there is.”

He doesn’t want to sound as defeated as he does. But as his mind runs a million kilometers a second, it still comes up short on a way of getting out of this. 

Mattheo shakes his head angrily.

“This is bullshit.”

And Theo says nothing, his gaze fixed on the ground as he finishes his cigarette, and plans what he’s going to say once he goes inside. 

~

Oh Merlin, do I really have to leave?

Theo sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at your sleeping form. Your back was facing him, the blanket low enough to show the bare skin of your upper torso. 

He swallowed hard.

Five minutes. Just another five minutes.

But he knew he wouldn’t stop at five.

He was in his Death Eater robes, dressed to leave. This meeting wasn’t one he could afford to miss, and yet, watching you sleep in his bed was enough to make him at least consider it. 

Reaching over, he traced the lines of your right scapula, moving down to the left, feeling your smooth skin and shoulder blades beneath his fingertips. Your body rose and fell with every breath you took, but you did not stir at his touch. He brushed your hair down to the side so it all fell concurrently onto the sheets. 

Every time he tried to stand, his legs would defy him. 

Bloody hell, this is impossible, he thought to himself.

The temptation to kiss you was strong, but he resisted. He didn’t want to wake you, because then you would know he was leaving, and then you’d ask questions. One’s he didn’t yet want to offer up the answers to.

You didn’t know what he was about to do.

The door creaked open, making Theo jump. Mattheo stood at the threshold, also in his robes. His eyes flitted between his friend and you, before they settled on Theo again. All he did was nod, a gesture that Theo returned, before turning and leaving once again.

A sigh forcing its way out of his lungs, Theo stood up from the bed. Before walking out the door, he threw one last fleeting glance your way.

This better fucking work.

Once the door to his bedroom was shut, Theo walked through the manor in a flash, before finding Mattheo standing in the front garden. His friend gave him a look, and it was not lost on Theo the anxiety in his expression.

“Are you sure about this?”

Mattheo’s words hung in the air, swirling around above them with the wind. Theo slowly let his head fall backwards as he stared at the sky. For once in his life, his thoughts weren’t racing. He was confident in this decision. He had never been more confident about anything. 

“I’m sure.”

No more words were said. 

Grabbing Mattheo’s forearm, the two men apparated. When they reappeared, it was in an empty warehouse in Sussex. Windows lined the walls just a meter or so below the ceiling. The walls themselves were painted an off white colour that left them looking dirty, with hand prints and muck dusting the paint. It felt too big, in Theo’s opinion. If this were to become a regular thing, they’d need something smaller. With seats, preferably.

The two got to work, placing wards and disillusionment charms everywhere they could. Before they knew it, a whole hour had passed, and they were just finishing up. 

“You know I hate this right?” Mattheo asked as they regrouped in the center of the giant room. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Not what we’re doing necessarily but this meeting?”

Theo had to fight the urge to laugh.

“You think I like this any more than you do?”

Mattheo shook his head as he looked around the warehouse, taking in the metal beams that lined the ceiling. 

Theo took the moment of quiet to get his thoughts in order. Ever since he sent that damn letter, he had dreaded this moment. And now it was here, and though he had spent countless hours stewing and preparing, right now, he felt completely naked and defenseless. 

A sensation filled the air. Theo looked over at the same time that Mattheo did. The door creaked open, the sound echoing off the walls and around the air, before Hermione Granger, followed by Ron Weasley, the Weasley twins, Dean Thomas, Ginny Weasley, another Weasley they couldn’t place, and the blonde Triwizard Tournament champion from fourth year who Theo, for the life of him, could not remember the name of.

“All Gryffindors, mostly Weasels,” Mattheo mumbled under his breath. “Too much bloody red around here.” 

Theo fought the impulse to laugh.

The crowd of Order members approached them, all looking apprehensive. Granger stepped forward, her eyes jumping between the two of them.

“Nott.” When her eyes bounced back to Mattheo, the disdain became more apparent. When she spoke again, she spat the word out. “Riddle.”

Mattheo gritted his teeth as Theo took a step forward, saving them the risk of what would happen if Mattheo were the next to speak.

“Granger.”

He debated on greeting the others, but decided against it. There simply wasn’t time for pleasantries. Besides, Theo didn’t particularly want to be polite to them. And he knew that Mattheo wanted nothing more than to raze the whole warehouse just because he saw that familiar flash of ginger hair one time, let alone several. So it was probably best to get right to the point.

“What’s this about?” The unfamiliar Weasley called out. 

It was hard for Theo not to grow annoyed. The amount of people in the building had him feeling overwhelmed, though he couldn’t exactly blame him. How else should they have responded? It could’ve been a trap, for all they knew. 

The moment Theo reached into his back pocket, a swarm of wands were pointing in his direction. In his periphery, he could see Mattheo’s fists clench. though he was grateful that his friend didn’t immediately start spitting off hexes and Unforgivables. Theo froze more out of politeness than fear, then slowed his movements down. With the same speed as a snail, he pulled out a couple of scrolls, tossing it on the floor halfway between where he stood and where she stood. The wands all moved to point at the scroll in the same way they would point at a bomb. 

“Those are plans for upcoming raids on your safe houses,” Theo explained. “Now you can be better prepared.”

The reaction was comical. At least, to Theo, it was.

Granger stared at the scrolls, her mouth agape. Ron and Ginny kept their wands pointed at it in a way that suggested they were convinced it was anything but a scroll. The twins backed away from it entirely. Dean Thomas stared not at the scroll, but at Mattheo specifically, confusion painting his expression. The unfamiliar Weasley with the scars on his face jumped away when Theo threw the scroll, and had not moved since. And the blonde looked like she wanted to approach it, but was too afraid to let her feet move. 

Granger was the first to speak.

“Why should we trust you?”

A draft filled the room.

“Trust us or don’t,” Mattheo quipped. “You’re losing. You’ve been losing. Pathetically. We’re guaranteeing you a win right now. Whether you decide to take that chance is up to you.”

The silence was deafening as the members of the Order all exchanged looks, looking absolutely flabbergasted by this turn of events. It was clear they were trying to have a conversation through their facial expressions. Every muscle in Theo’s body tensed as he waited for their reaction. 

This has to work, He thought to himself. 

This will work.

“What do you get out of this?”

Granger’s words hung in the hair, and though the question was for the both of them, her eyes were pointedly trained on Mattheo. When the two Death Eaters remained silent, she continued. 

“You’re betraying your families. Your fathers. What could you possibly have to gain, besides maybe a pardon from execution if we win?” She sneers. “And even that isn’t guaranteed.”

Visions of you lying in his bed, only covered by the duvet cover, overtook Theo’s head. He found himself wondering if you’d woken up yet. If you’d eaten. If you’d slept well. If you’d realised he’d left. The lump in his throat felt like a bolder when he swallowed it down. His fingertips burned with the feeling of your bare skin underneath them. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Theo sees Mattheo glance over at him. 

This is, after all, Theo’s doing. So it’s his question to answer. 

“Family isn’t everything,” Theo said in a low tone. “And some people are worth yielding for.”

~

Rise.

Fall.

Rise.

Fall.

It takes Theo a full half hour before he finally finds you in the manor. Here you are, curled up on the couch in the library with one of his robes covering you like a blanket. Your back faces him as your face is nuzzled against the fabric of the back of the couch. 

Deja vu hits him hard.

Instead of waking you, Theo sits on the ottoman beside you and counts the amount of breaths you take. At the moment, he’s up to about sixty since he started. It’s easier on his heart to sit in the silence, only filled with your quiet snores.

It’s easier for his heart to handle than what it knows he has to do. 

But he knows that he’s only prolonging the inevitable.

Letting out a deep sigh, Theo reaches over and places his hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. 

“Hey,” He says in a low voice in an attempt to not startle you. “It’s me. Wake up.”

Your head springs upward, looking around at the back of the couch before you roll over to face Theo. The way your eyes light up at the sight of him makes his heart ache in a way he’ll never be able to describe. It’s like he misses you before you’ve even left. 

A soft yawn takes over your face for just a brief moment, and is quickly replaced with a tired smile.

“How’d it go?”

Theo bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard that he can taste blood.

I can’t do this.

I can’t do this.

You have to do this.

“Not great.”

The smile fades from your face. As quickly as your still waking up body allows, you sit up, rolling over to face him entirely. Theo sits up straight as you pause, watching as the wheels turn in your head to process what he had said.

“What happened?” Your voice is so small, and something about it gives Theo the impression that you already know where this conversation is about to go. He sighs heavily. The pain in his upper back makes it feel like he has the entire world on his shoulders.

“They wouldn’t return Malfoy to us,” He explains. In an effort to hide the shake in his voice, he speaks slowly. “They… they had specific conditions for his release.” 

The hush blanketing the room is only pacified by the pounding in Theo’s ears. 

If there is one thing about you that Theo knows deeply, it’s that you can’t keep your emotions off your face. So it’s to his great dismay that he watches your expression shift from confusion, to thoughtful, to realisation.

“They want me, don’t they?”

The words feel like a bullet each, piercing through Theo’s chest and implanting straight into his heart. 

I can’t bloody do this.

“Yes.”

Suddenly, the quiet that overtakes the room is less welcome as that one single word hangs over the two of you like a storm cloud threatening a downpour. The way Theo’s mind runs a million kilometers a second makes it so deafening. He can see the conflict on your face as you consider what needs to be done. The downward cast of your sleep stained eyes and the way you curl your lip in thought makes him want to burn the entire Order to the ground so he doesn’t have to even consider losing you.

He sucks in through his nose as the hand on his knee clenches tightly into a fist.

When your eyes drift back up to meet his, matching resolve in your expression, Theo has to swallow down the urge to cry. 

“When?”

His nails dig into his palm.

“Mattheo’s going to take you once you’re ready.”

A frown crosses over your face. 

“You're not going?” 

Theo can’t recall another time in his life where he’s felt as broken as he does now, looking into your sad stricken and confused eyes.

He’s losing you again.

He’s losing you again. 

“I can’t.” He swallows the lump in his throat that makes his words come out choked. “I… I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

He lets the rest of his thoughts remain left unsaid. That he would kill them before they could even leave the area with you. That he’d kill every last one of them for taking the only good thing he’d had during this god forsaken war. The entire reason he had broken his loyalties to the Dark Lord in an attempt to put it to an end. 

And now, he has to watch you leave him.

Again.

Anguish and surprise conflict your face, making him take your hand in his and hold it tightly.

“I’ll figure it out, okay?” The desperation in his voice is so palpable that you can feel it bleeding onto the skin of your fingertips. Theo’s eyes never leave yours. “I’ll finish this. For you. For us.”

You fill the spaces between his fingers with your own.

You haven’t even left yet, but Theo begins to dread the ghost of your touch that will be left behind once you are. It’s a feeling he knows too intimately.

“What if we lose?” You ask him in a soft whisper. “Or what if one of us doesn’t make it?”

The air leaves Theo’s lungs, evaporating from the heat of your words.

He wants to dig a bunker and hide you in it, keeping you far away from the sins of the war and the pain of ever leaving his side. He wants to blow up the world and watch from space with you on his arm. He wants to do anything, literally anything that would take away the hurt in your eyes. 

Images of the many ways he wishes to kill the Dark Lord and end this devastation flash through his mind.

“I need you to hear me when I say this,” Theo says in a slow tone. “I will do whatever it takes to ensure my return to you. Even if that means I have to blow through the gates of hell myself and crawl out of my grave. Make no bloody mistake. I will come back for you.”

[encasedinobsidian]

Joel Miller│520-some words│18+

a drabble gift for @macfrog 🤍 tags: fluff, angst/comfort, pregnancy prompt: me wanting to write Pixel Papi for my froggy friend Max I've been in the mood to write some drabbles as an early birthday celebration. If you are an avid reader of mine and would like your own 500ish word drabble, feel free to send me a DM to discuss :)

“I’m scared.”

It’s past everyone’s bedtime, dark beyond the twinkling Christmas lights wrapped around the balcony that Joel put up while I fogged up the glass. Out there, freezing in his leather coat, raising his eyebrows.

Here?

A little more to the left, I waved.

The dog huffs in his sleep, I can hear him from downstairs, along with the crackling from the fireplace. Joel leans back against the counter with his arms folded, brows pulling together, and his shoulder takes up half the mirror behind him. The lights that glow in strips down its sides reflect off the gold on his left hand. The sight of it still makes my heart trip. 

He smiles a little, unfolding his arms to reach out and pull me closer, while my toothbrush hangs limply in my hand, toothpaste in the other, both held with a pathetically loose grip he chuckles at when he glances down. 

“Nothin’ to be afraid of, sweetheart,” he says, lifting his hand to push my hair over my shoulder, and then slide his palm along the side of my neck. His thumb brushes slowly along the edge of my jaw, and his skin is rough but his touch is gentle. I want to wallow, I don’t want to admit that his voice soothes me, husky as it is, the tired tone of it at the end of the night. 

“But—” I try to protest, but he shuts me up just as fast while he straightens up from the counter, and right as I crane my neck to look up at him, into his eyes, little kicks push against the front of his t-shirt. 

“I know,” he whispers, and his lips twitch at those tiny little fluttery kicks, and I can tell he’s trying his hardest to keep it together, to calm me with two hands holding my face. “But I'll be there.” 

I pout at him, rolling my eyes, not wanting to believe his words that I know are nothing but the pure truth. More kicks bulge the worn-soft fabric of my own shirt when I look at his face again, when I look at the gray threads in his beard. It’s thick and bristly, a little rough, just like he is, not soft like the room at the end of the hall, where everything is fluffy and light, with butterflies all over. 

There’s rarely anything soft about Joel at all, aside from his tone when he says, with his hands on the sides of my belly, “And she can't wait to meet you.” 

So I concede, as I always do, letting my head fall to his chest while he wraps his arms around my shoulders. “Why did you do this to me?” I mumble into him, before I breathe in his scent, soothed by that too, embraced in his heat. 

And he chuckles again, “Couldn't help myself,” lighthearted for the sake of my whining, when we both know that it was with the deepest love I have ever felt, that he made me his the way he did eight months ago. 

“I hate you,” I mutter, flatly. 

“Yeah, I know.” He breathes a laugh while he kisses the top of my head, and our little girl kicks again, harder. I think her daddy is the one she’s excited to meet. “S’alright.” 

[wolfish-trickster]

I would've chosen if I could've

Gojo x fem!reader, Geto x fem!reader

Part 3

Previous part

Word count: 3.2K

Summary: after a talk with Geto Gojo realizes few things and even though he plans on doing better he decides to give both himself and you a little break before trying to ask for forgiveness. Geto however has a plan of his own.

Warnings: bad grammar (possibly), typos, angst, very little comfort

Taglist: @ilovebattinson @catobsessedlady @tqd4455 @nanao4k

@abcdefghijklmmopqrstuvwxyz

By the time their little "therapy" ended the sky outside changed from clear blue to cloudy gray. One would think rain will fall any minute now. The only thing that fell however was the air preassure.

Since Gojo was always one of the sensitive ones he quickly fell asleep. Geto offered him his big bed to take a nap in but Gojo proclaimed "he deserved to sleep on a floor for what he did". They settled on a compromise in a form of a couch. As Gojo was snoring away, more mentally tired than physically, Geto got into thinking. His entire conversation with his best friend took a mental toll on him too.

Thinking back to his relationship with you, he never really spotted any problems. The amount of times Geto spaced out while Gojo gushed about you at the begining of the relationship made it seem like he would set the world on fire if you as much as hinted you felt a little cold. He just couldn't wrap his head around how Gojo could fuck all of that up in the span of one day. Or several years. Has he been like this since the begining? When did Gojo start lying about you being too busy to hang out with him and Shoko? Was there a breaking point for Gojo? Did you do something that made him realize he just isn't the type for serious relationships?

For the first time in his life Geto Suguru couldn't answer any of these questions about his best friend.

Sun began to set. First raindrops hit the window. Soon a soft rain turned into a heavy storm. And yet even that couldn't wake Gojo up. 'He must be so exhausted,' Geto thought as he pulled a thin blanket over his sleeping figure. Even unconscious Gojo looked hurt. Geto was as well. Both from what happened and what he's about to do.

*

It has been a tough day on your mentality. After packing majority of your clothes into your favourite backpack you ran out the apartment with no real plan in mind. Nowhere to go either. You roamed the city for hours until you saw a short haired brunette girl smoking in the distance. After running up to her it turned out to not be Shoko to your disapointment. But it wasn't pointless. Noticing the girl made you remember Gojo and Geto's friend.

You walked to her place as if on autopilot, letting your muscle memory carry you. What would you say once you come to her door? She was the one to help you get together with Gojo in the first place. Did she know something like this would happen? She has known him for as long as Geto did.

The thought of Geto made you shiver. If it wasn't for him none of this would've happened! You were sure he was just enjoying pulling Gojo away from you, keeping him to himself and himself only. Did he ever planned on making you and Gojo break up? If so, he succeeded masterfully. You wondered if Gojo was sad even a little bit about you leaving, and if so if he was calling Geto about it, telling him he needs more time without him. You smiled. It would be nice if that was happening. Such a shame you won't find out.

Soon you arrived at a small house with old dark brown door and a worn out mat. The only thing that changed from your last visit was one of the windows at the front. Its glass was new. At the begining of your and Gojo's relationship Shoko and Geto wanted to have a small sleepover to get to know you better. Shoko was really warm and welcoming, so was Geto, even though in a lesser extent. He didn't touch you in any way, no hug nor hand shake, and when it came to laying out sleeping bags in the living room he placed his as far away from you as possible. Gojo then started teasing him and after all testosteron fully kicked in they ended up breaking one of the windows. You panicked and quickly looked over at Shoko. She just lit a cigarette and told you you'd get used to it.

You smiled. It was a nice memory. Back then when everything was simpler and somehow calmer. Still, one thing was weird to you. How Geto was pulling away from you since the begining.

You shook your head. First he started occupying your relationship and now your thoughts? No fucking way. He doesn't get to win. (A/N if you understood the reference you get a cookie 😉)

Your hand hovered a little above the old wood of Shoko's door but in the end decided to softly knock. You heard shuffling behind the door before surprised Shoko opened it, definitelly expecting someone else instead of you. She was dressed casually in jeans and some basic T-shirt, but you could tell she was trying to make herself look a little nicer than just 'casual'.

"Hi, what happened?" she asked and reached out to caress your cheek. You must've looked horrible.

You sighed and as best as you could explained the gist of what happened. Somehow you could do so in just three sentences and no crying. Did you already run out of all your tears?

She accepted you into her house and made you some calming lavender tea. "You can sleep over if you want," she said.

"Thank you. And sorry for bothering, I just... I had no other place to go," you admitted and sipped on the purple steamkng bevarage. You never had a lavender tea. Tasted like a hug in a mug. Something you desperately needed in these tough times.

"Don't worry about it," she rubbed your back comfortingly, "that's what friends are for."

You smiled at her and leaned into her hand. "You don't have to stay and take care of me. You were just about to go out, right?" You gestured at her face half covered in make up. Realizing you must've ruined her most-likely date made you feel even worse about yourself.

Shoko just waved her hand. "It was just a movie thing with Geto. It's fine tho, you need me more now."

She mentioned two things that broke you: Geto and you being put above all else. You collapsed into her arms and cried out bunch of apologies and words about ruining her chance at finding a relationship for herself. You weren't fond of Geto at all right now, but you knew Shoko and how single and alone she must've felt with her two male friends being always away.

Now that you think about it, you were surprised she even went above and beyond to help you. They were three before. Then came you and took Gojo away. And then Gojo took Geto away from her too. You felt sick. She was all alone because of you.

You must've said all of this out loud tho, because Shoko pulled you from a tight hug to an arm's length away from her and made you look into her eyes. "Don't. Just don't. You didn't make anyone leave me. Me being alone isn't your fault. If anything I should be thanking you. Those two have been hogging my free time for a long time and with them finally focusing on other things I had more time to study and got my grades from 'barely passing' to 'top of the class'. Besides, I was always more into femboys," she winked which made you laugh. Such a shame not everyone was like Shoko. She was truly a ride or die kind of girl.

You hugged her as tight as you could and just held her. Feeling another body's warmth brought you calmness, no matter who it belonged to.

Unfortunately, not every good thing lasts forever. And neither did this moment.

Shoko's phone vibrated. She pulled it put of her backpocket and looked at it. "Shoot, I almost forgot. Would you mind if I-?" she pointed at her phone with Geto's contact shining brightly on her screen.

You shook your head, even though seeing Geto's relaxed smile in that contact made your chest hurt. That bastard doesn't even know what he did.

Shoko smiled and walked into her bedroom to make the call. You stayed sitting her kitchen, sipping on your tea, looking around. There were little peaces of paper with some medical notes written on it taped on random places all around the place. You figured it must be her way of studying.

After a while she came back from her bedroom and sat across from you. "Gojo's at Geto's."

"Of course he is," you scoffed and went in to take a sip from your tea only to realize you've drank it all.

Shoko sighed. "Geto told me he'll speak with him," you rolled ypur eyes, "and quote 'take care, both of you'," she added.

You looked back at her surprised. "He what?"

Shoko smirked. "Not even gonna ask about your beloved boyfriend?"

You frowned. "Shoko, please stop."

"Sorry, I just wanted to lighten up the mood."

"And he's an ex."

Shoko raised her eyeybrows. "So, it's official now?"

"Yeah. I mean, packing your things and leaving couldn't be taken as anything else, right?"

It felt weird saying that. Ex boyfriend. You've had few in the past, but most of them were in your youth while you were still figuring out your place in the world. To be honest, you were still figuring it out but now you were a little closer to finding it out than before. You thought you would be able to find out completely with Gojo by your side. He wanted someone else by his though...

"Right," she answered.

The rest of the day was pretty calm. You talked, cooked something together, and then watched the rain drops race on a window. It felt nice. Not thinking about what was happening in your life.

As the night time approached so did tiredness. The entire day did its number on your psyche and you desperately needed to sleep it off. Shoko offered you her bed, making up an excuse she needs to study fro her upcoming exams, but you weren't having it.

"Listen girl, if you really want me to stay in my bed we can be in there together and cuddle," Shoko smirked as she helped you prepare the couch for the night.

"You snore so no thanks."

She stuck out her tongue at you and you giggled. It felt like having an older sister.

You both said goodnight and went off to sleep, her in her bed and you on her couch. You have slept on many couches but Shoko's was by far the softest. So warm, so comfy. You were minutes away from falling completely asleep when you heard a small ding, startling you wide awake.

It came from the kitchen. What dinging thing did Shoko have in the kitchen?

You turned on your side, thinking it was just a one time thing. Right as this thought bloomed in your head you heard two more dings.

Annoyed you dragged yourself to your feet and using your phone's flashlight tiptoed into the kitchen.

The noise source wasn't even trying to hide. Shoko's phone was shining like a lighthouse right under a window, where you both had your droplet race. You picked it up just as its screen turned black. You wouldn't want to read the messages as to not invade Shoko's privacy. Even if the curiosity was stronger.

Even though... it could be something from her school, right? It wouldn't hurt just to check. You'll bring it to her right after. Yeah, that's what you'll do!

You turned the phone on and you nearly puked. There was a notification about 3 new messages from Geto Suguru.

Do you want to know?

Yes you do.

You unlock the screen and went straight into messages.

hi, i just wanted to tell you i had a talk w/satoru and he's doing rly bad. he has no idea what he wants in life, but he also swore he never wanted to hurt Y/N. he also promised to become better and have a talk with her, so dont be surprised if he shows up at yours tmrw

oh and btw how is she doing

?

You stared at the phone. Should you reply? Should you just pretend you saw nothing and go back to sleep? As if you'd fall asleep after that. As horrible as it sounded you were kinda glad Gojo was doing bad. It showed he cared about you. And Geto saying he's willing to change for you? One part of you was glad things would go to normal. And the other one was screaming at you to notice the next sentence of Geto's message. Gojo has no idea what he wants in life. That little fact could be interpreted in so many ways.

Before you could think of any the phone in your hand dinged again. A new message.

y are you silent? i can see you reading this

Oh crap, you forgot he could see if the reciever read the message or not.

It was time to act. Pretend to be Shoko and find out stuff they would never tell you or admit you're you and risk losing the spicy information you could pull out of Geto.

As much as you hated to admit it Geto was really important for you right now.

"I'm so sorry Shoko," you whispered as you typed away.

I was just thinking, that's all. What exactly did Satoru tell you?

promise you won't tell Y/N? it would hurt her even more

Geto Suguru... cares about you?

Okay, I won't tell.

good, good. well basically he told me he has no idea what to do. that he doesnt want to choose any of us in fear of losing the one he doesnt choose. worst thing tho is i think he isnt really ready to be in a relationship. said he felt trapped but also not. idunno, it was messy

oh and did you know he lied all those times? everytime we invited both of them he said Y/N was too busy to attend, he told me he just wanted to feel like old times again.

They what? Invited you? You ahve to think fast. If you weren't you but Shoko, what would you reply?

Damn.

Yup, the only sensible thing coming to mind.

It worked though.

yeah, my thoughts exactly. how is she doing by the way?

You thought for a while. Then you began typing.

She's better. I made her a tea, talked with her, had fun.

okay, thats good

He wasn't replying for a while. You thought this was the end of it but then another message popped up.

i'm kinda surprised youre not saying anything

Check the clock mister, I'm tired.

i didnt mean that

Then what did you mean?

cheering me on in pursuit of Y/N

What the actual? Pursuit of you? In what way?

Your legs couldn't take it anymore so you sat down on the cold kitchen floor, head resting against one of the table legs. After your heartbeat slowed down a little you were ready to find out more.

As I said, too tired.

so all it took for you to stop teasing me about my crush was being too tired? where was this info three years ago?

Crush? Your fingers began to shake. This can't be. Geto Suguru, the source of your anxiety, the reason for your break up, the best friend of your now ex boyfriend has had a crush on you this entire time? And Shoko was teasing him because of this?

You have to keep a calm mind.

I don't think it's a good idea to act out right now.

yeah, no shit

what i said still stands tho

satoru is my best friend. and even if the girl that has been haunting my dreams the past few years is single now i cant possibly do it to him

You said it yourself, didn't you? Satoru doesn't know what he wants in life. What if he didn't want Y/N either?

You had to play these cards in order to find out more. More about Geto's crush, more about what Gojo really told Geto.

after what i heard today i think theres a possibility for that. but look, this is the first real relationship he has. that boy has been sheltered half of his life. tomorrow he will come to yours and have a chat with Y/N. the rest is up to her.

And what if she chooses to get back together with him? It would break your heart.

wouldn't be for the first time.

besides, as much as id want satoru to be single for a while to figure out his shit on his own i cant really wish Y/N told him to gtfo. at the begining she looked so happy

Geto...

yeah

You waited for a while but no more words came from Geto's end. The conversation died and you were even more confused than before.

*

Morning came. A sleepless night now behind you, Shoko's phone still in your hands and bunch of questions in our head. As well as anxiety.

What will you tell Shoko? Sorry girl, your phone wouldn't shut up so I impersonated you and texted with the best friend of y ex and also the reason why he's my ex in the first place and by the way when did you want to tell me he has had a crush on my and that's why he was acting all hot'n'cold with me ever since we met?

Even more, will Gojo really come and try to win your trust again? Before yoi read Geto's messages you would be even willing to try, but after? You weren't sure anymore. Especially after one specific sentence that kept you up all night. 'After what I heard today I think there's a real possibility of that.'

Shoko's bedroom door creaked open and in came a half asleep Shoko. Blindly filling up the tea kettle she turned to you. "Do you want some coffee?"

"No thanks," you said and placed the phone on the table infront of you. This will be bad. "Hey, Shokoy I have to tell you somethi-"

You were interrupted by loud knocking on the front door.

Both you and Shoko looked at the door than at eachother. Rubbing her eyes she walked over there and looked through the peep hole. "It's Gojo. Do you want me to let him in?"

You hesitated. Adrenalin was running high in your system, anxiety was clawing at your chest like never before.

And against all your better judgement you nodded.

A/N: i'm so sorry for ending it like this but it's really fucking late and i only have time at night to be creative... i don't know when the next chapter/chapters (i have at least three more planned) will come out but i promise i will try my best to post them by the time next monday comes. See ya ✌️

[impala-dreamer]

Keep Watching

A Supernatural Story

~The journey is a long one and Y/N is tired of waiting for some fun...~

Dean x F!Reader, Sam

1,248 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Exhibitionism. Poor Sammy...

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Another mile marker flew by and Y/N was feeling the hours acutely.

She shuffled around in the backseat, trying to nap, trying to stretch, trying to keep herself from screaming as the hours wore on.

Morning turned to noon and the sun ticked on by, lighting up the crisp winter sky.

Dean was busy tapping his fingers along to Bad Company on the radio and Sam had somehow managed to fall asleep, his flannel balled up and tucked against the window as a pillow.

Y/N could barely sit still let alone fall asleep.

She was bored to pieces.

Every now and then, green eyes would meet hers in the rearview and Dean would smile softly and promise they’d be home soon.

It was a kind of a lie. Kansas was still half a day’s drive away and she was itching to be out of her clothes and into something comfy- like Dean’s bed.

They hadn’t even kissed since they left the Bunker. Too busy with the hunt and never without Sam. She was aching for him and the more she thought about it, the hotter she became. The hotter she became, the less bored she was, conjuring up all sorts of positions that she and Dean might find themselves once they got him.

Before she realized it, Y/N had her hands on her tits, slowly stroking her nipples through her shirt and bra until they were aching and hard. Fingers went along without her conscious mind and she moaned softly as she twisted through the fabrics.

Dean’s eyes flickered up to the mirror and went wide with shock.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, head nodding towards Sam.

She grinned and snared her bottom lip between her teeth. “He’s asleep,” she whispered back, uncaring as she tugged at the hem of her shirt. A flash of skin made Dean’s eyes grow wide and he swallowed hard. “Just drive…”

He shifted in his seat and the leather creaked. “You’re bad,” he mouthed.

Y/N pressed her tongue between her teeth and gave him a look that made his cock twitch.

“You have no idea,” she teased in response, pressing her shoulders against the seat and arching her back. With a quick movement, her shirt was up and gone, laying beside her on the long bench. Her nipples were hard and visible beneath the thin cotton of her gray bra and Dean couldn’t look away. His knuckles blanched on the steering wheel and he cleared his throat roughly.

“Goddamn, baby-”

Her eyes narrowed on his reflection and she sucked her teeth in disapproval. “Be quiet or you’ll wake him up,” she whispered.

Dean noted her librarian-esque tone and visibly shivered. His lips sealed shut and he nodded in reply, silently promising to keep himself silent.

Y/N gave him a wink. “Good boy.”

A lustful flutter of green eyes made the road blur a bit and Dean sucked in a quick breath, steadying the car. As he did, Y/N tugged at the cotton cups and dragged them down, exposing her breasts to the cool air. Her nipples ached and she pinched them hard, moaning just enough to drag Dean’s gaze back to the mirror.

“Fuck.” His lips moved without a sound; his pupils grew wide.

Y/N laughed softly under her breath. “Feels so good, Dean…” She tugged hard again. “Wish I had your lips on me.”

His mouth watered and his jeans grew exceedingly tight.

She hummed. “Love your big, juicy lips…” She palmed her tits and rubbed hard, eyes locked on his reflection. “Running all over my body…” Her hips rolled and she slumped down a bit. “Sucking hard… bruising me…”

Dean licked his lips automatically and peeked over his shoulder at her. She spread her legs wide and his balls ached. “Killin’ me,” he hissed.

Beside him, Sam stirred and Y/N cocked a brow.

“Be quiet and drive,” she warned, “or the show’s over.”

Dean’s head snapped back to center and he squirmed in his seat, his hands sliding over the worn wheel trying to find a comfortable spot. His body was buzzing, his attention constantly drawn to the rearview mirror.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, but Y/N wouldn’t allow it. She dropped one hand down her belly and popped the button on her jeans. The sound made Dean’s hips jerk forward and he exhaled a heavy but quiet groan.

“Keep watching, Dean,” she urged, slowly sliding her zipper down.

Green flashed in the mirror and he swallowed back a louder moan. “Dammit,” he breathed.

Y/N snagged the corner of her mouth under her right canine and slid her hand down into her jeans. She pressed her fingers against her damp panties and gasped. “Fuck.”

The car swerved an inch over the center line and Dean gave himself a little shake.

“Careful…” The caution in her voice was quickly pushed aside by pleasure and she huffed in a breath. She stared at the back of his head, at the soft flesh of his neck, the thickness of his shoulders. “God, I want you so much.” She snuck her fingers into her panties and tapped hard on her clit. Sparks erupted, flooding her system with lust. “Need to fuck you so bad, Dean…”

Right hand on the wheel, Dean adjusted himself with the left, pulling at his jeans, desperate for some room.

Y/N’s desperate but gentle moan hit his ears and he pushed his palm down over his erection, willing it to go away.

It refused.

He bit down hard on his bottom lip. Closed his eyes for a split second. Took a deep breath.

Y/N pushed a finger into her cunt and let out a noise that had Dean so wound up that he nearly drove into oncoming traffic.

“Jesus!” he grit, gripping the wheel tighter than ever.

Behind him, the leather was squeaking, springs bouncing as Y/N fucked herself in full view of Dean and the world beyond the old windows. He could tell she was close. He could hear it in the clipped breaths she took, in the way she choked on the air. He pushed down on his jeans again and rubbed quickly, just enough to push out a dribble of precum. The mess soaked into the denim and he looked up into the mirror.

Their eyes locked and Y/N’s jaw dropped in a soundless cry as she came; body jerking and eyes rolling back as the orgasm shot through her. It was quick and hard, spreading quickly through her.

Dean couldn’t keep himself quiet any longer and let out a rather loud “fuck”.

Next to him, Sam groaned in annoyance and lifted his head off of his makeshift pillow.

“Ya know,” he snit, “you could wait until we’re home.”

Y/N jolted upright and grabbed for her shirt, covering up in a flash.

Sam growled. “Or at least until I’m not sitting right here!”

Dean cleared his throat and shrugged at his brother. “Sometimes, ya just can’t wait, Sammy.”

Y/N gave a shy smile when Sam glared her way. “I was bored?”

Sam rolled his eyes and punched his flannel back into a ball. “You two are disgusting.” With a huff, he curled back towards the window and shut his eyes. “So gross.”

Dean and Y/N met once more in the rearview and he gave her a wink. “We’ll be home soon,” he lied again, “I promise.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lunaroserites @lyarr24 @nancymcl @nix-rose @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @rosecentury @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05 

[iluvsturn]

not like that-c.s

warning: sad then happy :)

a/n:send request !!

It can't end like this, 3 years of relationship, 3 years of joy, 3 years of love. And everything stopped and everything disappeared in 3 simple little words.

It's the worst thing that could have happened in 3 years despite all the arguments they had, everything settled the same day. But this time everything is different.

Their hearts are empty, everything is empty and gray around them. All these colors that surrounded them and intensified their love; gone into a spin.

Chris no longer leaves his room, he feels so guilty for having said three destructive words. The guilt is eating him from the inside. This girl he loved so much, for who he would give his own life, the girl for who he could give up everything, slipped through his fingers like sand.

His first girlfriend, the first girl he trusted completely..

Matt and Nick, his brothers, did everything to help him; take him out, meet new people...But nothing can repair what he destroyed.

y/n, on her part, is trying to move on she no longer goes on her phone to make sure she doesn't come across photos of them, she tries to go out and meet new people, but everything is too hard, nothing can repair what he has destroyed.

It's been 2 months now, 2 months without contact. Chris wants to call her, hug her, kiss her, tell her how sorry he is, how much he regrets everything.

y/n, her, is waiting for his message, all she wants is to be able to feel him close to her, to hear his laugh and contemplating how his eyes closed when he laughed. She only wants to receive a sorry that she desires so much.

-

"Chris we're eating, come on." Nick says from behind his brother's door. "I'm not hungry" he replies, like every time. "Chris please you're starting to scare us, you'll get over it "he continues.

The door opens suddenly, showing Chris, tired and thin from not eating anymore, only cans of pepsi lying on the ground.

“she is everything to me, I love her so much and I let her go,i’m the worst.”

A tear runs down his cheek as he climbs the stairs to the kitchen.

"chris, if you're in so much pain from losing her why aren't you doing anything about it? By staying in your room doing nothing you've been losing her more and more. I don't even think she’ll accept.It beens 2 months"

His words break him even more, losing her? forever? No, no he can't live without her, he can't let her go again.

“I’m calling her”

-

She watches her phone ring, the name chris❤️ which she still hasn't managed to change.

"are you going to answer?" asks stella, y/n's best friend.

the call ends.

“I think you two should talk.”

y/n nods, “i’ll call him again.”

he picks up directly,

“y/n?” his voice cracks,

“hi chris”

“y/n, my love, I’m so sorry I love you so much please I didn’t mean what I said”

“but you said it” she retorts.

An embarrassing silence falls between the two, feeling guilty for having said that, she speaks again.

“don’t you think we should talk about it, like, in real life?”

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes, is that okay?”

“hm”

-

Chris is in front of y/n's house, he's shaking and a ball of stress is forming in his stomach after sending a message that he was there.

y/n just put on her shoes and didn't do anything else, what's the point of preparing herself if it might be the very end with him?

He gets out of his car, his hands sweaty and his voice trembling. He feels so bad seeing her with one of his sweaters, this sweater that she only wears when she needs comfort but he isn't there for her, she says it's like he was there with her in his arms. But this sweater wasn't meant to be worn because of him.

"I feel like a fool for letting our argument tear us apart like this. With each day that passes, I realize how stupid I was to let you go. I regret every word I said. You were the light of my life, my rock, my source of happiness. Now that you're gone, not a moment goes by without me regretting our argument. I would give anything to go back and change things. Because I love you, you are essential to my life. I know words are not enough to erase the pain I have caused you, but I am begging you to give me another chance. I will do everything in my power to prove to you that I am sincere, that I am ready to change, to become a better man for you.I love you more than anything in the world,y/n. And I sincerely hope that you can forgive me one day.”

“I love you too, Chris.”

a source of hope returns to Chris as he hears his words fall from her mouth.

“you hurt me so much,and i’m still hurt, but I can’t, I can’t leave and forget you.”

he nods.

“I forgive you Chris”

She slowly approaches him. Without waiting he glues his lips to hers, they share a kiss that they have never shared before, a kiss filled with guilt, love and words that they cannot reach to say to each other.

They lift their heads but stay forehead to forehead.

"do you want to become my girlfriend again y/n?"

a huge smile forms on the face of the pretty y/n, a smile that chris wanted to see again.

“it never ended for me, chris”

and with that, they kiss like the first kiss they ever shared.

-haz🩷

[literary-motif]

isaac nsfw in the pool … dangerous thoughts 😳

Drowning Lessons (NSFW)

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

The front door fell shut behind you, and for a long, silent moment both you and Isaac simply stood in the entrance hall. You were dripping onto the tiles, hair sticking to your face as the creeping cold seeped into your skin. The clothes you had worn for the outing clung to your body, the suit jacket damp and heavy as it was soaked with rainwater. 

Isaac looked like a mess. His white shirt had turned gray, nearly see-through. You caught a good look at the muscles of his stomach and quickly raised your gaze to look at his gorgeous face, flushed slightly red from the exertion of running back home once the sky opened up. 

He ran a hand through his hair, wiping the wet strands back to keep them from falling into his eyes. He looked at you, equally taking in your wet hair and following the droplets of water trailing down your face and hitting the floor. 

The house was silent. Your eyes met, and you both burst into a howl of laughter. 

“Shit, did you see that?” you asked between breaths, eyes wide at the absurdity of walking out on a sunny afternoon and coming back not an hour later dripping. 

“I felt it, Pickle. We might as well have jumped into a river. I told you we should have taken the car!”

You rolled your eyes. The walk had been fun, despite the rain. It had been just what you needed, watching the summer slowly fade from the world around you and greet the cold serenity of autumn. 

Isaac took your hand, tugging you along through the house. “We’re dripping everywhere,” you protested, but he paid you no mind, still giggling. 

It was refreshing to see this side of him. You loved witnessing him getting playful, loosening up a little as the responsibility on his shoulders weighed a little less heavily and he allowed himself to slip away into these brief moments of carefreeness with you. 

He led you straight to the pool and had you known how to swim, you were sure he would have pushed you into the water. As it was, he walked around to the large stairway leading into the water and gently tugged you into the part of the pool where you could stand. 

“We’re still dressed!” you said, complaints rendered superfluous by the large smile on your face secretly telling him how much you were enjoying this. 

“The clothes are wet anyway,” he said, glancing at you. The water reached your shoulders, but you were completely relaxed, ducking your head under the surface to brush back your hair. He let go of your hand once you resurfaced, loosening his tie and letting it float on the surface. Next was his shirt, and then he unbuckled his belt. 

You watched him, keenly interested as he shed his clothes one piece at a time until only his boxers remained. You had shrugged off the suit jacket before getting too distracted by Isaac’s little show. 

“Like the view?” he asked with a knowing smirk. 

You were transfixed by his body, his muscles flexing as he started teasing you. He made your mouth water, eyes following his every movement until you could take it no longer and bit your lip, beckoning him towards you.

“Are you tired of the water already?” he asked, taking a deep breath as your hand trailed over his chest, tracing his muscles. “Or are you looking for another type of entertainment, dear?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” you breathed, wrapping an arm around his chest and burying your face in his neck to trail kisses over his skin while the other sunk lower, fingers tracing over his stomach until they barely dipped below the edge of his boxers. 

Isaac sighed, crooking his head to the side as you kissed his yaw, his hands gripping your waist securely. “Am I that enchanting?” he asked, drawing back a little to shoot you a sly smile. 

“You know you are, my knight.” 

Your hands trailing over his body made him shiver. He was drunk on your touch, imagining where else your skilled fingers might caress, imagining the feeling of your feather-light touch where he needed to feel you most. The water did nothing to hide the stiffness of his cock, and judging by the smirk on your face, you had noticed as well.

“Someone’s eager,” you observed, earning a groan from Isaac.

“As if you aren’t,” he countered, leaning close to you and allowing his breath to fan across your neck as he whispered, “I can see how your pupils are blown wide. Don’t play coy with me, darling.”

You palmed his hard cock over the wet fabric clinging to him. Isaac could not suppress his groan, chasing your touch with little thrusts of his hips. “I think you’re desperate for me, darling,” you whispered, feeling him twitch at the low purr of your voice in his ear. 

He cursed quietly, drawing away from you with a herculean effort. “Yeah, I am,” he said, voice husky with desire. But he wanted to do this properly, and having you writhing in the water — with the possibility of your fear of it making you uncomfortable — would not do. 

He laid you down on the sun lounge, the wide mattress designed for two. He found you lounging on it often, glancing at his figure in the pool, muscles flexing as he swam. You did a horrible job at hiding your infatuation, nor your desire as you kept your eyes on him, the book in your lap forgotten while you thirsted after him. 

“You comfortable?” he asked, hands roaming over your clothed body, the fabric soaked with water slowly beginning to make you shiver despite the comfortable warmth around the pool. 

“Yeah,” you said, idle fingers running over Isaac’s chiseled chest, your mouth watering at the sight before you. His hard cock strained against his boxers, and you squirmed impatiently. Your palm brushed over it, and you bit your lips as he twitched again, a low hiss tearing out of his chest. 

“I want to take these clothes off you,” he said, looking at you with hooded eyes, pleasure swirling in them. You were sure he was just as impatient to fill you. “May I?”

You lifted your hips, and Isaac wasted no time, exposing all of you to him and latching onto your lips the moment the last hateful piece of fabric hiding your beautiful body from his view hit the ground with a wet squelch. 

He shrugged out of his boxers, teasing you with the head of his cock until you spread your legs further, a lewd moan slipping out as he eased himself in, keeping his hips steady as he felt you squeeze around him. 

Isaac heaved out a breath, hands balling into fists against the mattress as he fought against the need to thrust into you, fill you up so good that your legs wrapped around his hips, dragging his cock along the deepest recesses of you as you clung to him, breathy sounds falling from your lips unbidden that he would hear reverberating in his mind for a long time to come. 

You bucked your hips, urging him deeper, and he could not swallow down his groan. Your arm wrapped around his neck, guiding his head down so you could kiss him, and he began thrusting into you, slow at first, making sure you felt every inch of him stretching you out deliciously before pulling out to the tip, and slamming himself inside you again. 

“Ah— Isaac! Shit, ah—” you moaned, head lolling back as he picked up the paces, knocking the breath out of you and pulling little sounds from you and fucked you harder, fighting to keep his eyes open despite the pleasure coiling in his abdomen trying to make them roll back — just so he could see your blissed out expression, your mouth falling open in with a chocked-off whimper as he reached places that made you mewl. 

“Darling,” he cooed, “Darling, dear— hah—” He knew he was close, your tightness gripping him like a vice, your walls pulling taut around him like you were trying to suck him deeper making him feel when you went over the edge, coming with a cry of his name, hands tangled in his hair and pulling him towards you. 

He buried his face in your shoulder, coming with a final stutter of his hips as he muffled his moan against your skin. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he came undone, shaking against you while you tried to catch your breath. 

“Oh, you’re heavenly,” he murmured, raising his head to kiss you. 

[ozarkthedog]

summary: while Joel drives, you take care of a desperate need. he doesn’t take kindly to the distraction.

warnings: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader. smut. joel’s hands. fem masturbation. fingering & pussy spanking galore. dirty talk. squirting. no beta.

word count: 1.8k

author’s note: look, i wrote this solely because i want this man to bruise my pussy with his massive hands. 

☽ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☾

The scenery is always the same. Unkempt trees, winding roots, and utter devastation. It was tiring looking out the car window passing by the same chaos every day. Joel wasn’t any help as he mostly kept to himself and focused on the task at hand, driving out west to look for Tommy.

Your only saving grace was being able to occasionally gaze at the older man. Living in the QZ for almost two decades left him ravaged. Hard lines permanently etch his forehead as gray has overgrown most of his hair.

Joel slows the truck as a fallen tree comes into view. He steers around the massive sapling praying it wasn’t some sort of trap as the limbs scratch against the side of the truck.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding until the truck picks up speed and drives back on course down the freeway. Joel’s burly hands rest atop the wheel tempting you as his thumb smooths along a seem stitched in the worn leather.

Your thighs press together as a wave of arousal crashes into the deepest part of you. It’d been too long since you last felt his cock, that familiar stretch and burn that no matter how warmed up you got it was still a struggle to take him.

It’d been over a week and your nerves were starting to fray. There was really no time for genuine affection when you’re tracking across the country during an outbreak. Aside from a quick fuck here and there, you were constantly in survival mode.

You bite your lip as the last time you fucked flicks across your mind.  

It was pure desperation as Joel took you from behind in the backseat of the pick up truck. His grip on the back of your neck kept you compliant as he fucked you full of his cock. Making sure he got every inch wet, he ground his pelvis into your fleshy behind and pressed until he felt your cervix kiss the head of his cock. “Why the whines, Sweetheart? We both know how much you love the pain.”

You bit your cheek to keep from moaning at the memory and fix the crotch of your jeans to lessen the pressure on your throbbing mound. As the heat swelters between your legs, you cast a glance at the older man who’s focused on the road. A little rub wouldn’t hurt anyone now, would it?

You slowly unzip your jeans and slide your hand into your panties. Arousal soaks your folds and clit making it easy to glide your fingers languidly across your pulsing flesh. The moment you graze your clit, the frantic energy calms. You drop your head back into the seat and sigh heavily through your nose.

“What the hell you doin’?” 

Joel’s gruff voice stops you in your tracks. You whip open your eyes to find him staring incredulously at you. Your mouth bobs like a fish struggling for air as you search for the right words. 

You realize your hand is still nestled in your folds when his eyes dip to your lap. “What? Pussy got your tongue?” He bites with a raised brow.

“I’m sorry but what else was I supposed to do? You haven’t fucked me since Kansas and a girl’s got needs.” You argue, pulling your hand from your jeans and wiping it on your leg. You inwardly cringe at how rude that came out.

Joel huffs and flicks his stare back to the road. His fingers grip the wheel so tight his knuckles turn white. He mumbles under his breath before jerking the wheel and pulling to the side of the deserted road. 

You look around for any signs of danger, hoping it wasn’t raiders when Joel climbs out of the truck and storms around almost ripping your door off its hinges.

“Grab the headrest.” Joel growls, nodding towards the worn seat behind you. “You don’t want to mess with me right now, Sweetheart. Best do every fuckin’ thing I say.” 

Nervous excitement races up your spine. He only spoke to you like that when you hit a nerve. You silently nod and do as he asks. He waits patiently while you secure your hold on the velvety cushion before meeting his eyes. 

“If you let go…” He trails off letting the heavy threat hang as he looks wickedly under his lashes at you, “well, let's just say you’ll wished you hadn’t.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as he unbuttons your jeans and tears them off in haste almost breaking the zipper. He tsks when he notices a wet spot soaking through your panties. “Lookit’ the mess you made.”

Your belly flips with warm embarrassment as he slides the thin material down your legs and pockets the drenched fabric. “Let’s see if you can earn these back.” 

He swipes a callous thumb up the shiny, wet slice of you tearing a gasp from your lips. Your cunt clenches from the attention it was so desperately calling for.

“This what you needed, girl?” He seethes, roughly circling his thumb over your sensitive clit. “Answer me.”

A raspy “Yes” tumbles from your lips as he traces his fingers up and down your quivering folds before prodding your molten center. Joel wedges himself between your legs with a smirk loving how needy you were being for him.

“Lookit this greedy little thing,” He mocks, before slowly pressing two ungodly thick fingers into your heat. Your cunt burns from the stretch but clamps down on the unyielding digits greedily. “Sucking my fingers in like it’s the first time.” 

Your legs lock around his jacket covered waist as he drags his digits along your slick walls, wishing he was filling you with his cock instead. “This pretty pussy is absolutely weeping.” 

The older man steadily pumps his fingers and presses into the deepest part of you, twisting his hand expertly. His fingers graze every hidden spot you never could find. Your face burns as the wet squelching of your cunt intensifies and drips down the seam of your cheeks pooling into a sticky puddle. 

“You’re soaking the seat like a filthy whore.” He ridicules before hooking those devastating fingers against the spongy muscle behind your clit. Your body writhes in shock and you grasp the headrest even tighter as the pleasure mounts unexpectedly. 

Lighting shoots up your spine as you’re forced to orgasm around his fingers and you come with a muffled shout as he slams his free hand over your open mouth.

You whine pitifully as he continues to pump you full of his fingers. You weakly shove your knees into his torso, trying to get him to stop as your overstimulated core throbs. “Joel, please.” You plead up at him with doe eyes after he removes his hand from your mouth.

“You got a lot of fucking nerve thinking that’s it.” He grits. “I know how much this cunt can take and I’m gonna make sure it’s well and used by the time I’m through.”

He slips his drenched fingers from your core and lands a harsh spank on your cunt. White hot explosions flash behind your eyes. Your body writhes from the steady blows he doles out, landing one after the other on your pulsing core.

“Where’er you runnin’ off to, huh?” He mocks harshly swatting your shiny, puffy folds. “You were just beggin’ for my attention not that long ago.” The slap stings even more with how wet you’ve become. You shift your hips trying to evade the blows but Joel growls and wraps a strong arm under your lower back keeping you locked in place.

“You’re gonna come just like this. I didn’t stop the car for nothing.” He orders and lands a severe spank on your abused clit. The car's roof spins when your eyes roll back and your orgasm is forced from your body. A silent scream tears from your lips as a wave of arousal gushes into the older man’s hand.

“Thatta girl.” Joel hisses as your arousal drips down his wrist when he quickly tugs his cock out from his jeans. He jerks his massive length twice with his slick coated hand before thrusting roughly into your fluttering core with a satisfied grunt. “Gonna fuck every last drop outta this greedy pussy.”

Joel fucks you with hard, possessive thrusts shoving you deeper into the seat with every drive. All you can do is take what he gives you. His eyes are primal, his teeth bared like a predator with a fresh kill.

His hips slam into the backs of your thighs with intent. The powerful drives shake the truck and make your cunt quiver as he spears you open and forms your walls around his cock. He grasps your jaw with a sticky hand and gives it a shake making sure your attention is all on him.

He hisses when your glossy eyes meet his and your cunt swirls. “You gonna soak me again, sweet girl?” His hips stutter when your core clenches around him and tempts him closer to the edge. “I can feel it.” 

You shake your head, desperate to have some control despite how fucked you were, literally.

Joel’s chest rumbles deep with a dark chuckle. “It’s funny you think you have a say in the matter.” 

He cants his hips, sliding all but the thick head of him from your quivering core before landing harsh, successive swats to your swollen clit. The tiny bud bounces from the force and shoots hot sparks up your spine. Joel thrusts roughly into your weeping core just as you’re about to tumble off the edge and drives his hips fast, pushing you into your orgasm. 

Your cunt blossoms in desire and squirts your release all over his pelvis. “Fuck, yes. There you go. That’s my girl.” He fucks your spilled cream back into your warmth with a ragged grunt. 

The bones in his jaw clench as the suffocating bliss takes root in the base of his spine. He growls as he pulls his soaked length from your convulsing heat and jerks his cock with a quick fist emptying his cum onto your trembling belly. Warm, white stripes burn your flesh as your arms finally unlock and fall to your sides with a thunk.

A warm hand cradles your jaw and you smile into the palm before Joel traps your lips in a devastating kiss. “We’ve got to get moving.” He says before wiping your belly clean and buckling you back in.

He shuffles around the truck with a spring in his step and jumps into the driver's seat. He turns the volume on the dash and smiles to himself as Hank Williams’ voice fills the cabin before pulling back onto the deserted road. 

You sink into the old velvet with a satisfied sigh as you watch the overgrown surroundings pass in an uncaring blur.

It took you an hour later to remember he still had your panties in his pocket.

who else wants Joel to bruise their pussy???? 🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️