#like goddamn i'm so much better off without you

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Delicate (Jake's Version)

7 - Highway To The Danger Zone

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: mentions of smutty things but none, otherwise nothing spectacular

A/N: Please don't hesitate to reblog and leave comments! I wanna know what y'all think! Pop on over to my Twisters story if you haven't read that for a Jake cameo too! Yes, this story and that one are connected! This is part 2 of that series. Part 3 will be coming soonish, and even as I'm writing part 3, stuff for these two fics will still be written! Please enjoy! And keep an eye on the playlists as they'll be getting updated again soon too!

Taglist: @mrsevans90

Playlist

Jake awoke early as usual, but groggy as fuck. They hadn't had any alcohol so the only thing he could think of as a reason for that was how extremely turned on he had been last night. He hadn't been that horny in years. In his book, that had been some of the best sex he'd ever had. Even better than that Captain he'd fucked in Lemoore while they were off duty. And she was a smoke show if nothing else. But with Sam it felt different. It was different. So different.

Jake's heart was dictating all of his actions. The way he felt for Sam in just a couple of short weeks had him reeling. It had him acting fucking silly. He couldn't explain what exactly it was because it was so many things, but he knew what had sparked it. Her attitude. She was sassy and confident and she had been so last night in bed too. There had been a shared dominant energy in the room that Jake had enjoyed. The majority of women he'd been with just wanted to fuck a navy guy so they pretty much let him do whatever so he rarely went down on them. He had a hard and fast rule that his mouth didn't go below the belt if he didn't know the girl well enough, and he always used a condom. 

He knew he was going to break both of those rules for Sam. He almost did last night. He’d almost let her trick him into sliding in without the condom, but he stopped himself. He wanted this relationship to work, but neither of them needed any more stress than they already had. Her stresses were his. He’d promised that. He begged her to let him take some of the strain, to dump it on him when she needed it. 

He felt her stir beside him, as she rolled to face away from him. She pressed her ass up against his hard morning wood and he groaned and his eyes rolled back from how goddamn good she felt. While he had elected to put his boxers back on last night, Sam had decided against clothing and Jake was more than thankful for that. He ran his finger tips up and down her side so feather light that as she awoke, her brain was not aware of it, but her body responded with a shiver anyway. Her back was arched slightly, so Jake let his hand travel across the soft skin and up to her shoulders, where he massaged for a few moments each. He could see the smile forming on her lips as she rolled again to face him.

“Sleep well, pretty girl?” He asked and she nodded, opening one eye to look at him.

“Did you? Also, is that a missile in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” She giggled and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer so that he could kiss her. His lips met her forehead first, then the tip of her nose, and then her mouth. She shrugged away slightly, trying to bury her face in his chest but he wouldn’t let her.

“Ah, don’t get shy on me now. Course I’m happy to see you.” He said and reached a hand down to tilt her chin up. He kissed her, this time poking his tongue out. She shook her head.

“I have morning breath.” She whispered and he kissed her again. She laughed louder this time, forgetting to care that anyone else might be home.

“Yuh, I do too, so what? Actually, my breath probably smells like your pussy. That was a pretty good night time snack I had.” He growled and Sam gently punched him in the chest.

“Jake!” She barked with a huge smile.

“Oh fuck,” he sighed, and then he almost spilled the beans, “Sam, I lov-like you...I like you a lot...”

“I like you too, Jake. A lot.” She said back, tilting her head and leaving her chocolate brown eyes to cast a spell on him and he was all too willing to let it happen. 

They took their time getting dressed, stealing kisses and passing touches here and there. For several moments, Sam felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She didn't feel the pain of impending grief, nor the thought of being without her father and best friend. All she was thinking about was Jake.

Sam led Jake down to the kitchen where her mom was making Ice a smoothie. Ice turned in his seat and smiled. Her mother took a sip of her coffee and tapped her foot as she looked at the two young adults.

“Samantha...what's the rule about boys?” Her mother asked and Ice had a shit eating grin on his face.

‘Mom...I just graduated college...” Sam scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. 

“And you still live in this house until you find your own. What's the rule?” She scolded. Sam sighed and Jake bit his lip feeling like he was the one in trouble.

“No sleeping over.” Sam said and Jake's eyes went wide. 

Sarah smiled and shook her head as Ice made a motion as if to say ‘no harm done’ as Sarah spoke again. “Just tell us next time so I can make him breakfast too.” 

Sam grinned slyly and Ice stood, kissing this daughter on the forehead. His gaze met Jake's, who straightened up and saluted. Ice saluted him back and waved his hand as if to say ‘at ease’. Ice headed out to the back porch and Sarah followed, but turned before closing the door.

“Oh, Sam, there's a few large yellow envelopes on your father's desk. Could you bring them to the naval base and give them to Beau?” she asked. Sam nodded and said, “Sure.”

Sam went to get the envelope and when she came back, Jake was checking his watch and phone. She placed the envelopes on the counter in front of him. “How long is your day today?”

“Should be done around one, why?” He asked and she smirked.

“I'll come with you for the day.” She said and she nearly ran to grab her laptop bag and change her clothes. Jake wasn't going to argue, partially because, even though he wanted to keep this a secret in some capacity, he did also want to flaunt the fact that he and Sam were seeing each other. Although, he was pretty sure the cat was well out of the bag after the other day. He glanced at his watch again. They'd have to grab something for breakfast on the way. She came out dressed in a black pencil skirt with a pretty plaid blouse and low black heels. Jake's eyes went wide.

“Why?” He motioned to what she was wearing with the biggest grin on his face.

“Oh I have to hop on a Zoom call for work at ten. I actually do have to be dressed despite what people think about remote work. They expect me to look the part.” She explained and he nodded.

“Well, you look the part.” He said and wrapped his arms around her waist as they headed to the door. “And you look like I wanna show you off.” 

🛩️🛩️🛩️

“Hey, did Hangman come home last night?” Phoenix asked Coyote as they got out of their cars together. Bob, Rooster, Payback and Fanboy were all waiting outside their cars and trucks as well, as they liked to walk in as a group. 

“Uh...I never heard his truck, no.” Coyote said, just as Jake’s black Ford pulled up and parked.

“Holy...shit...” Fanboy said as they watched Hangman step down out of the truck and go around to the passenger side, helping none other than Samantha Kazansky, the Commander’s daughter, out like a princess coming out of her carriage. They all stared as Hangman reached behind her, his other hand on her waist, and grabbed her bag for her. He swung it over his shoulder, making clear that he would carry it for her. She tugged on it and he just pushed his nose toward her with a wide smirk. That classic Hangman grin, that had so many ladies swoon for him, seemed to be aimed in a different way, as if he wasn’t trying to impress her. It was more casual, less flirty. His expression seemed softer in a way that none of them had ever seen before.

“What the fuck.” Rooster said, shaking his head, and they watched Hangman pull Samantha in close and kiss her. They’d all seen him make out with girls before, but this wasn’t his typical manner. The way he held her, it was like he didn’t want to lose her. It was like he couldn’t afford to lose her. And they all noticed it.

“You know they’re all looking, right?” Sam mused as they headed toward the front doors of the main building. Jake just nodded and smiled.

“Yeah, I’ll catch shit for it later too, but I don’t give a fuck anymore. Want them to know you’re my girl.” He murmured. “Uh...I’ll come with you to the Vice Admiral’s office.” He said, as they headed through the front doors. He glanced to his left, remembering that there was a photo of her father and Maverick there in the lobby. They stopped there for a moment and Sam’s jaw worked as she looked at the photo.

“He was so young. He never got to take me up in the air like he wanted...” She said solemnly and Jake glanced down at her. 

“I’ll make it happen. I’ll take you up there someday. Promise.” He said and Sam gazed up at him, eyes slightly misty. He pressed a feather light kiss to her forehead, and they decided to head up to the Vice Admiral’s office. When they approached, Cyclone and Warlock were sitting, and Maverick was standing, briefing them on his lesson plan for the day. Sam knocked on the door and Cyclone perked up.

“Samantha...Hangman...come in.” He said, both of them entering, Jake’s hand on the small of her back as they approached the Vice Admiral’s desk. Jake then folded his arms behind his back, at attention for his superiors. “At ease, Lieutenant.” Cyclone said and Jake relaxed his posture and leaned a little closer to Sam. Maverick tilted his head and a corner of his lips turned up. Sam reached in her bag, taking the envelopes out and placing them on the desk in front of Cyclone.

“My father asked me to drop these off to you. I was also wondering if you didn’t mind me borrowing an office or a conference room for the day, sir?” She asked and Cyclone smiled warmly at her.

“Anything for Ice’s daughter.” He said softly and then his eyes locked on Jake. Everyone’s eyes locked on Jake, in fact.

“Sir. I’d like to inform you that Samantha and I are in a relationship. I hope this won’t affect my position or fitness for this mission.” Jake said and Cyclone nodded.

“If her father is fine with it, then your relationship with her will be viewed objectively and have no effect on your position.” He said and Jake nodded. Sam knew by doing this, he was trying to make sure that he wasn't given any special treatment. He wanted a fair chance at being selected for this mission. He needed no special favors just because he was seeing Iceman’s daughter. He wanted no special favor for it. He wanted work and pleasure completely separate.

“Thank you, sir.” Jake said and Cyclone dismissed them both. 

🛩️ 🛩️ 🛩️

Sam settled into a conference room, which was across the hall from the ready room where Jake and his co-pilots were going to be going over their plan for the day. She’d just opened her laptop and was typing, while waiting for the Zoom call to come in. She heard a knock and looked up to see Nat. She stood and they met in the middle of the room, in a hug.

“Hey...um...can we talk a minute?” Nat asked and Sam nodded. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I feel like I have been there for you...”

“No...you’re busy. This mission is super important.” Sam said, and Nat shook her head.

“But I could be making time for you like Jake is...” She said and Sam’s brow furrowed. Nat spoke again before Sam could. “I am happy for you...I’m just surprised you picked him.”

“He kinda picked me...he’s really nice, Nat. He just doesn’t show it because he thinks it’ll make him look weak.” Sam said.

“As a woman in the Navy...I get that. But he doesn’t have to be such a dick...” Nat said, agreeing with Jake’s facade, because she had one of her own to uphold. 

“Hey...I have an idea...Come to dinner. Please?” Sam begged and Nat scrunched her nose at the thought.

“With Bagman? Hard Pass. It’s enough that I deal with him here, I really don’t need to spend time with him outside of work.” She said and Sam grabbed her hands.

“C’mon Nat, please? For me? I swear he'll be on his best behavior. Bring Bob too if you want.” Sam said and Nat figured it wouldn't hurt to give him another chance. One more chance. Nat left Sam with that as they heard her computer trying to connect the Zoom call she'd been waiting for. Sam sat back down and she saw the pilots, including her boyfriend, file into the ready room. Maverick poked his head into the room that Sam was in to say a quick hello and then headed in to instruct for the day. 

Sam glanced over every once in a while and she saw that air of arrogance in Jake that he was so well known for. It oozed from him even as he just sat there. He knew he was the best of the best and he wasn't going to let anyone think he wasn't. 

Maverick finished his speech for the morning and then dismissed the pilots to go get their flight gear on. Sam was taking notes, not only on her call, but also about Jake as he walked out of the room. Sure, he had Javy, but no one else seemed to want to be involved in even light conversation with him. Sam felt bad because she sort of knew who he was behind the scenes, but she knew most of his copilots would never see that side of him and then she understood what his call sign meant to them. They didn't trust him and they knew he was in this for himself. He thought he was the hero and they didn't. And that was another part of why Sam gave him a chance.

🛩🛩🛩

When their day was done, Jake came into the conference room and sat down while he waited for Sam to finish up another call. He had changed back into his khakis and a black tank that showed off his biceps. Sam couldn't help but let her eyes wander, seeing him reclined in a chair, scrolling on his phone. She wondered what had his attention so fully, drawing a smirk from him. He glanced over at one point and their eyes met, both smiling wide. 

Sam rattled off some numbers and statistics that her boss asked for and Jake was impressed, his gaze settling on her as he placed his phone down. He’d never been with a girl that was as smart as Sam. As her call ended, he picked his phone up again and stood from his chair. She sat down at hers, as she’d been standing while reading figures to her boss. Jake had assumed she just needed to stretch. He prowled over to her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She glanced up at him, then finished typing on her laptop, and closed it.

‘What had your attention so intently?” She asked and he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He wrapped his arms around her and put his phone in front of her. He was on Instagram. On her profile. He was looking at pictures of her from two summers ago, when she visited Virginia Beach. When she had her fling with Rooster. But she didn’t know if Jake knew that, because he’d probably kill Rooster if he did.

“You’re fuckin’ hot, y’know that? Can’t believe how gorgeous you are.” He murmured next to her ear and pressed his nose to her temple. She reached up and ran her fingers through his short hair, her nails scratching his scalp and making him push into her more. He loved when she put her fingers in his hair. 

“So...I invited Nat and Bob to dinner later? You pick where.” Sam said and she felt Jake tense.

“Okay...then you come over to my place after...you’ve never been.” He said, something uneasy about his tone, so she agreed without question. That was only fair. 

🛩🛩🛩

Jake found a place, a little hole in the wall Mexican taqueria on the waterfront. He and Sam arrived first and acquired seating. Jake ordered a round of beers for himself, Nat, and Bob, and a cider beer for Sam. Jake had decided a plain black shirt with the sleeves rolled and jeans were good for tonight, and Sam used it as an excuse to put on a pretty pink dress, a thin cottony fabric that sat off one of her shoulders. Jake was going to make sure he paid special attention there tonight as her neck was exposed and was prime real estate for kissing.

“You sure they'll show? I’m pretty sure they all hate me at this point.” Jake said, leaning back against the booth they were sat in and placing his arm across the top of it, a partially possessive gesture as his hand laid lazily off the back of the booth, fingers brushing her shoulder. 

“Nat wouldn't skip on me. She's been my best friend for so long. She knows I wouldn't forgive her.” Sam said, and Jake could her the confidence in her voice.

“If you say so...oh...shit...they did show.”  He took a swig of his beer and looked up, just as Nat and Bob came through the front door. They walked over to the table that they'd gotten, in the corner of the room. They said hi and sat. Jake thought it odd to see them out of uniform or flight suits. Bob looked relaxed in jeans and t-shirt and Nat had decided on a pretty black dress with quarter sleeves. 

“Did you order yet?” Nat asked and Sam smiled.

“Got you both a beer and some chips and salsa. I've heard it's great here.” They both smiled and there was a bit of an awkward silence in the air as Jake pushed their  beers toward them. They each took a sip just as the chips and salsa arrived. The waitress gave them a few more minutes with the menu and they decided to get a couple flights of different types of tacos to try. There was another moment of awkward silence as the three pilots seemed to be trying to figure out what to talk about. Sam on the other hand, had snuck a selfie and sent it to her friend, Shelby, who responded immediately.

Shelby: holy fuck hes gorgeous

“So...you two are seeing each other?” Bob asked, which made Sam look up from her phone. Her and Nat reached for chips and salsa at the same time and bumped their hands together on purpose with a laugh. 

“Been seeing each other, yes.” Jake said, letting his arm slip off the back of the booth and across Sam’s shoulders fully.

“Been seeing? Wait for how long?” Bob asked.

“Since the beginning of the detachment. When I asked her out and she said yes to dinner. I saw her the next day. And the next, and every single day after.” Jake explained.

“Hangman actually goes on second dates?” Bob said with a lilt of humor in his voice.

“Hangman goes on many dates apparently.” Nat said, wiggling her brows at Sam. She knew that they’d be spending time together, but Nat didn’t know quite how much time. So when Nat told him to be there the other day, he had already been and continued to be. Meaning he had also seen how bad Ice was. Nat could then only assume that Jake was beginning to understand the effect it was having on Sam.

“Yeah.” Sam said, running her hand up and down his bicep. He glanced at her, and actually smiled at Nat and Bob. And it looked genuine. By the time their food arrived, the tension between everyone had loosened significantly and by the end of the dinner, Nat and Bob could almost say they enjoyed hanging out with Jake Seresin outside of work.

[keepthetension]

im hyunsik solo comeback in feb, btob comeback in march, and lee changsub solo comeback in april????? i DIE

[dredshirtroberts]

it is not slacking off to write or create it is not slacking off to do things that are fun i am not slacking off or procrastinating right now i'm allowed to do things i enjoy doing for fun including playing games and writing and such

[rubys-domain]

i finally got to spend a day with my bf. needless to say, i had the best fucking day ever

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

[bitchimasnake-sss]

Hey so can we get some zoro, law, kid, and Luffy (because why not) with bratty!reader (I think Luffy in this situation would be interesting)

i wish i could write kid. i wish. but i cannot. it saddens me deeply every night and every morning and all the hours in between. but other than that, you've got it chief 🫡 enjoy your filth mwuah <3

🌙thinkin' about: the monster trio, ace n' law! vs BRAT!

ALEXA PLAY THE ENTIRE BRAT ALBUM BY CHARLI XCX. 'S TIME FOR A BRAT THEMED POST. [NOT PROOFREAD, OKAY? OKAY.] cw: pussydrunk men. bratty reader. nsfw thoughts include: idk man they fuck you, so, penetration, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjob, they're very cock(y) hahaha. MDNI OR YA BETTER SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN TONIGHT. m.list

🍒monkey d. luffy: doesn't that excite ya?

❤️who even is monkey d. luffy if he doesn't enjoy a little bit of a challenge? so, go on. try to rile him, tease him, trying to make him bend to your whims and wishes. it's all things he enjoys, afterall. thoroughly, at that. ❤️you scoff, arms trained against your chest as if to tempt him with the lewd display, "like i said, go alone. i don't wanna visit the island with you." luffy grins, something free and boyish, "but it'll be boring without you, y'know that, right?" you try to shake him off, try to really shake off his arms snaking around your waist as he pulls you to him. he face drops down to your pulse, hot n' humid breath dancing against the light heartbeat in a sickening manner. ❤️ his arm tightens around you and his teeth nips against your skin dangerously, as if the captain of your ship was betting his sanity on your next words. but again, don't you love to rile him up? "t'wasn't boring when you were ignoring me?" you huff breathily, trying to push him away with a pathetic shove that just makes him laugh, "that? i was busy this morning, peach." "stay busy with ussop, then. go kiss him while you're at it, idiot." you push him again, trying to rid yourself of your clingy man. he just sniffs in the lingering scent of your sweet shampoo. then sighs into you, "you just love making me chase you, dont'cha?" "okay, then." his voice deepens, as if he just got the answer to your tantrum right now. arms stretching against you to hold you tightly to his chest, picking you up easily just to throw you on the bed, "wha- luffy!" your body recoils against the cushiony mattress as you stare up at the raven-headed boy, but he just grins at your momentarily immobile state, "what? let me make it upto ya, c'mon." ❤️now that luffy has you moaning into the pillow, rutting back into him so very helplessly; your voice worn out from the screaming, your hands fisting unforgivingly against the linen under you and your body aching from his unfaltering movements, he better not hear any more whines from you, brat. "d-did i make it up to, yet?" his voice climbs up a octave, all breathy and high as you spasm around his dick, "s- hah seems like you're having the time of your life— ngh, pretty girl."

🍀roronoa zoro: professional marine hunter brat tamer!

💚don't be fooled, roronoa zoro loves when you get like this. this means you get all pouty, all huffy, all annoyed at all his usual tactics. this means you're gonna try to get back at him until he has your face pressed down into the mattress as he fucks into you from behind. yeah, zoro loves this. 💚"say that again." the swordsman hums, "what was that?" "i said if you love your swords so goddamn much, go fuck 'em instead." and the man rolls his eyes in response, "was training then. i'm here now, aren't i? whatd'ya want, woman?" you huff, averting your sharp gaze from him, "nothing." and he knows this conversation like the back of his hand. the same dialogues imprinted into his head, the same gameplay, the same cat-mouse chase that's gonna end with your pretty, glossy lips wrapped around his cock. 💚"still nothing?" zoro hums, half-serious, except for the fact that he his hips piston into your warm, inviting mouth. your nails dig into his thighs, eyes looking up at him, pleading. and though zoro isn't benevolent, he pulls his erection backwards till it rests heavily against your bottom lip, "think you can speak clearly now? wanna tell me why exactly are you behaving like a fucking brat?" "s-shut up." you hiss and he hums satisfactorily at the rasp in your easy-going tone, "ah," he nudges the tip past your lips and you open just like you were waiting for him to do that, "seems like you need a little more to start sayin' what's on your mind." you hum against his dick. words reduced to nothing but primal sounds as he pushes his hips into your with purpose. he pushes into you as his tip hits the back of your throat so sinfully, and the man above you groans, "a-ah, fuck. forgot how good you take me." 💚he groans similarly, his broad hands tangling in your sweaty locks as he guides you over his cock. his hips snap faster, eyebrows furrowing in sheer concentration and soon enough, the familiar salty liquid slides down your throat. you're spluttering as he pulls his weeping cockhead backwards. as you look up at him; a divine mess of sweat, cum and your tears, zoro cannot help but quip up, "think you can speak now?" "f-fuck... you." you rasp and the swordsman guides you upwards through the iron-grip he has on your hair, "looks like you can't yet, brat. in that case, let me help."

🌊vinsmoke sanji: what if i just shut you up real, real good?

💙vinsmoke sanji was nobody if not a defender of womens' rights and wrongs. he would never even dream to shut you up but oh lord, maybe this one time will be the exception. maybe. 💙"no, i don't wanna." you huff the same sentence out again and sanji swears he almost pulls you to the bed to fuck some sense into you. he tries again, "my love, you gotta eat." "i don't have to do anything you say." you hiss, eyes narrowing at the overworked chef, "don't tell me what to do after flirting with that shopkeeper." "i just made polite chit-chat—" he really tries to defend himself but you roll your eyes, pouting at the same explanation he's given five hundred times over, "save it." ofcourse, what other route did he have other than to remind you with his actions that you were the only brat he was entertain? 💙"believe me now?" sanji mumbles momentarily, parting your thighs with his skilled hands as he experimentally sticks out his tongue to collect your honeydew on the tip, "mhm, divine." "thi-this doesn't get you off the n— hook." your head is thrown back, lips parting as he pulls you down on him completely and delves his experienced muscle into your opening. the cook hums as if he's experiencing nirvana through you and your taste, and you just grind down at him in return. "that's right—" the blonde hums, his fingers digging deeper against your plushy fat on your hips, "let me have it all, darling." "y-you're so lame, s-sanji!" your voice jumps up several octaves as he brings his tongue to your neglected clit. flicking it, he soothes the mean action with a soft lick, completely forgetting if he were to reply you. 💙it isn't till your fourth shuddering orgasm that has sanji drenched under you that you really start begging him to stop, "s-sanji, no." "what?" the man grins, his blonde stubble catching the dew against them as he looks at you, "believe me now?" "y-yes." you nod furiously as your cunt clenches around air, overtsimulated and exposed, "i-i am, i pr-promise ah, ah!" "good," the chef smiles at you so innocently, his thumb gently pressing against your throbbing clit, "let's make sure you keep that promise, love. right?"

🦋portgas d. ace: i want in on it, baby!

🧡see, you think you can be a brat? hah, no way. not while your boyfriend, portgas d. ace exists. see, how can you be the brat if he's playing along with you? 🧡ace coos, his muscular arms tucked behind his head as he pouts, "my baby's not gonna talk to me? why not?" "go ask the other crew-mates, since youmarc-oh." your jaw slacks open, lips falling into an 'o' as ace humps his short-clad pelvis into your core. he smirks, taking in your appearance, "sorry, didn't quite catch that. ask who?" "ace, you asshole! i... ah—" you whine, hips stuttering pathetically over his pelvis as you try to find even a hairsbreadth of friction. the man underneath just seems to enjoy your dilemma thoroughly, though. are you gonna stay pouty n' mad or are you gonna bat your eyelashes down at him and ask him to fuck you?? 🧡seems like the the former. "'m not gonna exp-explain mysel-f! fuck off." your head lolls backwards at his mean thrust against you. you two are in the same position you were hours back; his arms wrapped around your waist, his clothed erection against your wettened patch of cloth, and his unyielding rolls against your wet cunt. wasn't it as brutal to him as it was for you?! "really?" ace's eyebrows furrow and he scoffs, somewhat impressed with your resilience, "pretty, i don't think you understand. i can do this for hours." and from the way he smiles all dopey and satisfactorily, you don't doubt his words. not at all. you huff, erratic eyes falling on the easy-going man under you, "wh-what do you want, ugh?!" "i just want my pretty-" his thumb swipes across your parted, bottom lip, "pretty girl to tell me what she wants without being a bitch about it." "i want nothing." you huff, unyielding even as ace gives you a pointed look. he draws in a sharp breath, eyes hardening with resolve, "okay then, looks like i'd have to fuck it out of you, then." he grins as he shifts your weight and pins you down, "not that i'm complaining, obviously." it's only after he has had you cumming on his dick the third time that you babble out, hiccupping, "y-you're always so busy, ace. i don' like it." "awh, that's it?" the man above you speaks softly even as he presses his fingers together to squish your cheeks, "should've told me, gorgeous. i would've taken care of it way sooner." and maybe, maybe you were imagining things in your delirium or ace has this sadistic glint in his eyes as he says his next words, "good thing i can just make it upto ya, isn't it?"

🪻trafalgar d. water law: not his first rodeo, nor his last.

💜see, technically, you should be grateful that your boyfriend: trafalgar law even put up with you despite his rising blood pressure and headaches. does that mean you'd be nice to him? no. not when being a brat is sooo much more fun. 💜"law-ugh" the two words blend seamlessly as you stare down your boyfriend and he peers up at you through the rim of his glasses, "what now?" "would it kill you to hang out with me, huh?" you huff, taking a seat in front of his desk as you pout at him. you try to bat your eyelashes, only for it to be in vain as the doctor focuses on those wretched paperwork in front of him again. he sighs, "i wouldn't phrase it so strongly, but something like that." "law!" you whine and he almost smiles. almost. "i'm busy right now, i'll see to you later, okay?" "no, law, you always do this!" your hands come down hard on the wooden table and a rattle shakes through the room at your outburst. everything seems just a teensy bit strained, everything except law. he just looks up at you eerily calm, "throwing a tantrum, are you?" "maybe...?" your words stagnate on the tip of your tongue. but as you see law lean back in his seat, the metallic rim of his glasses catching the overhead lighting so maliciously, you smile. bingo. "'s not a tantrum, captain. jus' being honest." 💜 well, that honesty was getting fucked out of you right now. your wrists tied to the arm of his seat, your thighs parted open and his skillful fingers curling within you as your eyes rolled. ugh, that honesty was long gone. "are you done?" law asks so casually, as if he wasn't fucking your gummy walls till you writhed helplessly against the leather, "are you done throwing a tantrum?" "not. a. tantrum." you hiss, trying to sound more put-together than you actually were. and who were you trying to fool? the doctor who could tell from your reddened face and panting, quivering lips just how utterly wrecked you were? "alright, if you insist." law speaks again, unhurried as he pulls his drenched fingers outwards. your essence shines against his long digits as he passes it past your wobbling lips, "guess i'd have to try another way." you hear his belt chime as he draws it open, "ready, brat?"

a/n: tumblr literally posted this halfway without my concern so this is me re-posting it. if you saw that, then, NO you didn't. shut up. go back to reading smut. shhh, it never happened. taglist: @mist-ixx @starlightanyaaa @otkuhotgirl @bokutosbiceps @kingofthe-egirls m.list

[queers-gambit]

Two to Tango

prompt: the aftermath of Carmy's words seem to rattle him more than you.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader pairing: Carmy x Peach

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.4k+

note: author still does not want any messages about glorifying toxic relationships. typically, but not always, when someone calls you clingy, it's weaponized and is abusive. this fic is not meant to portray that! it’s meant to show internal agony and the journey to forgiveness - Carmy apologizes 'cause he's actually sorry!

warnings: cursing, reader folds 'cause who wouldn't for the sweet puppy that is Carmy, hurt and comfort, small angst, small fluff, we talk about Mikey a bit, author uses writing as therapy, relationship angst...? barely edited.

part one: God's Plan

"It's six in the Goddamn morning!" You raged at your front door, stomping up to it, "Are you dumb in the fucking head!? Who the fuck in their right mind knocks like the Goddamn cops at six in the fucking morning!?"

You whipped it open, the force causing a breeze of air to blow your bedridden hair back and highlight your exhaustion. "Hiya, sunshine," Richie beamed down at you, holding up a paper bag, offering, "donut?"

"Richie!? I know you're not fuckin' stupid, baby boy, so, what the fuck is wrong with you? It's six in the morning on my day off - do you want to give me a reason to punch you? You hate your nose that much?"

He tisked at you mockingly, "Someone's cranky this morning."

"What do you want?"

"You're not gonna invite me in for coffee? I brought us donuts! See? C'mon, Peach," He jostled the bag around with a shit-eating, closed-lip smile. "Dooonuts," he taunted.

You had to pause, count to ten in your head, then sigh through your nose. You offered kindly, "Richie? Would you like to come in for some coffee? Since you kindly brought donuts?"

He grinned, "Awwh, thanks, Peach, thats real nice of yah! Don't mind if I do!"

"Don't call me that," you snapped, leading him into your kitchen. The door shut and locked.

"Oh, someone's touchy."

"What do you fucking want?" You whined, pouring two mugs of hot coffee. "You come bangin' at my door, early ass in the mornin'. You better have a good-ass reason," you slid the mug over the counter he sat at. "Cream or sugar?"

He shook his head, fiddling with the mug for a moment before admitting as you dressed up your own coffee, "Uh, so... It's Carmy."

You paused, taking a slow sip from your mug, waiting for more that wouldn't come. So, you quietly asked, "What about Carmy?"

"He's falling apart."

"O...Kay?"

"Peach," he frowned, "you know that your relationship was the only thing that made sense to him - he's falling apart without you there."

"Okay," you nodded, taking another swallow of hot bean-water.

"That's it? Nothing else to say? Dude's losin' his fuckin' shit, Peach. Okay? Barely leaves the restaurant, h-he's all manic and shit, doesn't stop cookin', isn't gettin' a lotta sleep, and Syd said his clothes are all over the apartment - he's not keeping himself in order."

"So, he needs his mother?"

Richie glared with a clenched jaw, "Not fuckin' funny, Peach."

"I'm not laughing."

"He needs you."

"I'd argue otherwise, he's a grown fuckin' man who doesn't need to be taken care of. Look, if he was man enough to call me a desperate, clingy bitch, he's man enough to deal with the fallout of his words."

"Look, hey, hey, hey, I'm not sayin' he's not in the wrong," he waved his hands, eyes widening, "actually, the exact opposite. We all chewed his ass out when we found out what he fuckin' said, Peach. And look, I've never seen Fak that fuckin' angry."

You semi-pouted your bottom lip, "Really?"

"Fak was ready to strangle Carmy, I think," Richie sighed. "I yelled, Sugar yelled, Fak lost his shit, Syd even cornered him in the office and laid into him..."

"I thought she didn't like me," you whispered.

"She's getting to know you, but she likes you," he assured, "and it's obvious the affect you have on Carmy. We all respect that - "

"Oh, great, so everyone except the one person who needs to respect our relationship - respects it!"

Richie frowned at you, nodding in agreement before admitting, "He's a dumb fuckin' idiot, Peach, we all know that, but the dude is losing it without you."

"Sucks to suck."

"Peach," he groaned, slapping his hands to the counter with exasperation. "Don't you love him?"

"Of course I love him, but I also have this little thing called self-respect! He said some shit - shit he can't ever take back. The fuck I look like going back to him when he's the one in the wrong!? I don't hate myself that much, and despite what he says, I'm not that desperate for love."

"How is talking to the man you love - "

"Richie," you paused him, "your Cousin said a lot of hurtful shit. It's been weeks, okay? He's gonna snap outta it, realize what he's done, and right the wrongs he's committed. I don't need to speed that along in any way, shape, or form - he's a grown man. And I'm a grown woman, I don't have to fall to anyone's beck-and-call, he can figure his own shit out."

"I know - look, it's been fuckin' weeks of us dealin' with him losin' his fuckin' mind!" Richie snapped. "We tried to respect that you wanted distance and time, we really did, but he's losin' it, Peach, more than he's lost it before. Okay? I'm concerned about him, more than I was when the shit with Mikey went down..."

You sighed and leaned on your kitchen counter, wiping your fingers over your eyes to pinch the bridge of your nose after. "Okay, okay," you paused, sighing again, blinking as you looked at Richie, "so, what would you like me to do?"

He pouted dramatically, "Talk to him? Please?"

"To say... What?"

"I don't know, you guys can work that out together, but he's miserable, Peach. Just talk to him, just..." He sighed, shaking his head, "I know it's not fair to ask of you, but he's slippin' off the deep end. You're all he knows, all that makes sense to him, and with you gone..." His eyes turned red as he held back his tears, "I-I'm not sayin' he's gonna do anythin', Peach, but everythin' with Mikey's still so fresh... I just - I can't go through this again. Can't lose another Berzatto."

You frowned, understanding now why he appeared so frazzled.

"Carmy's not Mikey, Richie, okay?" You reminded him softly, reaching for his hand; leaving your extended to reach him, "And you're not gonna lose any more of us, you hear me?" You gave a squeeze, "I'll talk to him."

"Really?"

"I will," you assured softly, seeing the single tear drop from his waterline when he bowed his head and sniffled harshly. "Hey, Richie...? Do you, maybe, wanna bring some flowers to Mikey today? Think you wanna visit?"

He shrugged, "Maybe..."

"Maybe it'll be nice," you assured calmly. "It rained a few days ago, so, the ground won't be too soggy anymore, but the grass will be lush and green - hydrated and shit."

"Right," he chuckled, nodding, "yeah, okay, maybe that'll be nice, yeah, you're right."

"Maybe Carmy could use a visit, too."

"He won't go."

You nodded, "I know, but sometimes it's nice to just have the offer."

Richie agreed, downing the last of his black coffee. "All right," he cleared his throat, "let's go - you wearin' that?"

"What?"

"You gonna wear that? To go talk to Carmy?"

"It's not even seven in the morning!"

"He's at the restaurant," Richie shrugged. "Dude doesn't leave. C'mon, he needs a nap or somethin'."

You groaned, knowing he wouldn't leave unless you left with him. So, you got ready quickly while he sat at your desktop computer; playing Facebook's FarmVille - the same you left your little cousins to play when they needed distracted. He was enraptured by the adorable virtual sheep, laughing to himself as he learned the ropes of the game; and when you were ready, you had time to fill a to-go tumbler of coffee while he signed off.

When you arrived at The Beef, it was still closed for the morning prep; and inside, chaos rained in a fury of angry voices. You listened to Carmy snap at Marcus about something petty, going as far as to slap a pastry out of his hand as they argued in one another's faces with ignited passion.

"Ooookay," you moved through the kitchen and got between the two men, hands on Carmy's chest, "that's enough, Chef, hey, hey, hey, c'mon, walk away - just walk away, Carmy, don't do this. Hey, hey, don't do this, c'mon, just step off - walk away with me, please. Please, Carmy, hey, hey, step off, walk away with me, please."

"Fuck you doin' here, Peach?" He asked with red, swollen eyes. He looked sullen; pale between the angry red blotches to his skin, bags under his tired eyes, looking worn out and thinner than you remembered.

"Yeah, hey, hey, we'll talk about that, c'mon, outside, outside, outside," you directed him, sighing at the sight of the splattered pastry you were forced to step over. "I'm so sorry, Marcus," you whispered, seeing him nod and wave you off as you and Carmy pushed outside into the alley.

The door shut behind you, making Carmy snarl, "What the fuck, Peach - "

"No, I think that's better asked to you," you snapped. "The hell's wrong with you? Yellin' at Marcus like that? You know how rude it is to slap shit outta anyone's hand?"

He paced in anger, wiping a hand down his face; circling his mouth with his fingers, eyes ringed with red, hair greasy and tossed in a mess. His pants looked baggy, his shirt wrinkled, stained, and dirty with sweat marks.

"What're you doin' here?" He asked in a pant, hands going to his slender hips, head shaking as his tear-filled eyes avoided yours.

"Carmy, we need to talk."

"No shit," he breathed, scoffing after and widening his pace.

"Hey, Carmy, hey, hey," you reached for him, taking both his wrists in your grasp so he had to face you. "I need you to pause for me, please, hey," you stepped in his way when he tried to move. "Carmy, you're no good to anyone when you're like this - least of all yourself. So, I need you to talk - "

"You left," he panicked, pulling back to start pacing again. "You left - you left me. We got in a fight and you left, you fucking left. You walked away and you left me."

"Carmy, we got in more than a fight," you sighed. "You lashed out at me, then turned avoidant, and I don't linger where I'm not wanted."

"How can you think that?" He demanded, still pacing. "That you're not wanted by me? That you're not welcome, what? In my life? At my side? With me? Baby - of course, you are!"

"You didn't exactly make me feel any different," you pointed out sharply. "Carmy, can you please fucking pause for me so we can talk this out - "

"I know I fucked up," he ranted to himself, huffing and puffing as his emotion strangled him. "I know I did, I kept - I couldn't - I fucked up. I know I did. I couldn't get my head outta my ass," he listed, pacing as he panted when panic took hold of his being, "and I hurt you, and it was like I had to keep hurting you because I couldn't be alone in what I felt and I couldn't exactly figure out what the fuck I was feeling - I just needed you to hurt, too."

"Carmy," you sighed patiently.

"And I couldn't stop, I just kept going, and when I realized how bad I made it, I couldn't fucking stop - I needed y-yo-you t-to know what I felt, but I couldn't find the words. I-I hate that I did that, I-I fucking hurt you and I made this so much worse than it ever had t-to be, and I fucking know, Peach, okay? I know you're not clingy, you were just loving me. Y-You were loving me, you were using your own love languages, and I felt y-you so fuckin' close to me, and freaked out - I just - I just don't know why. I just - I panicked, I couldn't stop whatever I felt, and I'm so sorry," he breathed, shaking his head, wiping his cheeks as the tears started. "I-I-I'm so sorry, Peach, I couldn't control myself and I-I hate that I hurt you, and I know I don't deserve your understanding, but I just - I couldn't stop - "

"Carmy," you stepped directly in his footpath; needing to seize hold of his swollen biceps to catch his movements as he all but barreled right into you, "I need you to breathe."

"Nah, I'm okay - "

"No, you're not," you spoke sternly, shaking your head. "Baby," you eased your tone to a softer tone, seeing a glimmer of hope spark in his baby blues, "I need you to take a breath and remain in the present with me, okay? Just stand here with me," you watched as he blinked a couple of times; reaching out to hold your waist tentatively. "And stay in the present, okay? Stay here with me."

"I'm so sorry, Peach," he whispered, stepping closer so he could feel your breasts against his chest; caging you with his arms. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, I didn't - I didn't know what the fuck I was even trying to fight with you about. You're not clingy - you're not any of the things I said, I didn't mean it - any of it."

"Calling me desperate?"

"I didn't mean any of it."

"A bitch?"

"Please," he whispered, bringing you in closer so he could rest his forehead on yours. "Don't repeat it, I know what I said, and I'm so fucking sorry for all of it. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm goin' crazy without yah, Peach. I need my best girl, and I don't deserve you, but I fuckin' need you." He sniffled, pulling back to caress your cheek, whispering, "I need you, Peach, you're the only thing that I know - the only thing I can understand, that makes sense to me. I think I just felt stressed and overwhelmed, I wasn't sure what to do - I couldn't find the words, I'm so sorry."

You nodded slowly, "I think we can work through this."

"I don't deserve you."

"Maybe not, but you have me anyway," you whispered, bringing his forehead to your own again. "But you can't do this again, taking anger out on me when I haven't done anything."

"Never again," he sighed, now nestling into your neck for comfort; arms tightening so you were the closest you could be with your head bent to keep his head caressed with yours.

"I don't think we can say 'never', but we can make an effort to leave work stress at work, right?" You whispered softly, letting one around coil around him to keep him close; the other caressing his jaw. "You don't get to treat me like that," you reminded him, "because I'm on your side, Carmy, I'm not the enemy."

"I know," he squeezed you tight.

"And the people doing their jobs are not the enemy," you smirked.

"I know," he chuckled lightly. "I owe Marcus an apology..."

"I'm sure you owe it to the others, too," you mused, holding his cheek as you turned your head to kiss his forehead. "Promise me we're done with that reactive bullshit. It doesn't make navigating a relationship easier on us."

"We're done, we're so fuckin' done with that shit," he whispered, deflating into your embrace as you held him close. "I'm so sorry, baby. I really am."

"I know," you comforted softly. "I forgive you."

"I don't deserve it."

"Hey, hey, this self-deprecating stunt has to end, too. We've gotta go forward with at least some confidence if we're gonna figure this out together."

He nodded, pulling back but keeping hold of your waist. "I am confident about this... About you - about us."

"Hmm?" You gently pushed a few stray curls from his forehead.

"Move in with me - officially."

Your face contorted in mild disappointment, "Oh, Carmen - "

"No, no," he rushed, sighing as his hand flattened on your jaw and cheek again, "just listen to me. I've wanted to ask you for a long time, okay? I've wanted this for - like - fucking years. Hear me? I just," he sighed, "I wasn't sure how to ask. I want this for us, I want us to be together, okay? Officially. I-I want us living together, Peach, okay? I want to come home and just - I want you there. I want all of you," he frowned, tears swelling again, "and all your shoes in the foyer, hair in the shower drain, perfume on the counter, and every-single-way you know how to love me. I was wrong to say you were clingy - and everything else I said. Baby, the last couple weeks, I've felt so fucking empty, so lonely and - just - cold. I've been cold without you. I need you, Peach, I need you with me, and I need you to be exactly you - no holding back. Because you're exactly who I need to love me, I'm so sorry I fucked that up before."

"Carmy."

He frowned, "I'm sorry."

"I know," you smirked, "and I forgive you. But you know it's gonna take more than a few pretty words and some tears, right?"

He nodded, "Anything to make this work again."

You sighed in patience, "Go say your apologies to the others, we've got t'make a stop before going back to yours - and you're going to take a fucking nap."

"I'm fine - "

"Look me in my eye and try to tell me in the past 72 hours, you've had decent, restful sleep."

He frowned, opening his mouth a few times but then sighing. "You know I can't," he whispered.

"Exactly why we're going back to yours."

Carmy paused, brows furrowing as if a thread pulled them together. He asked softly, "Is that a no to us... Living together? Is that why you're calling it 'my' place?"

You offered him a look of patience and leaned in to peck his lips for a few prolonged seconds, promising, "There's your apartment, there's my apartment, and then there's gonna be our apartment. Somewhere that's just ours, 100% us." His mouth stretched in a grin, so you swiftly cut him off, "But you have to ask me again when you've got restful sleep under your belt. I want you clear headed when you make this kinda decision."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. "Where're we goin' before?"

You swallowed nervously, telling him softly, "You absolutely do not have to go with us, but I think Richie could use a visit out to Mikey's grave. I said I'd take him with some flowers, but you do not have to get out to go with us - not if you're not ready."

He blinked a few times, rolling his lips between his teeth as his eyes dropped from yours. You were about to coo his name and assure him again, when he nodded at you and tried to half-smile. "Okay," he breathed.

"Okay?"

"Mhm. I'll, uh... M-Maybe I can, just, hang back in the car."

"Sure, baby, whatever you're comfortable with," you whispered, leaning in to peck his forehead. "You good?"

"I will be."

"Mhm," you hummed, caressing his cheek again before pushing your hand into his curls. "Now, let's get a move on - I want you to march in there, say you're sorry to your Chefs, and then we'll leave."

"Yes, ma'am," Carmy whispered, leaning in to kiss you - but you pulled back.

"Aht," you halted him with a teasing finger to his lips, "after we've got everything worked out, then you can kiss me."

"You got t'kiss me," he mumbled against your finger; making you hum as you fought off a stretching smile, and lower your hand.

"Fair point - just one then - "

He cut you off by, indeed, pressing a single kiss to your lips, but not pulling back. His hand raised to hold the back of your head, your lips spreading in a grin against his; finding rhythm to move together before pausing to press in prolonged passion.

When he pulled back, you both paused to smile, and when you tried to peck his lips again, he pulled back, teasing, "Aht, just the one."

"Oh, fuck you," you laughed lightly, letting him take your hand before leading you back into the kitchen. The other Chefs lingered, sparing you and Carmy a few nervous glances, making you whisper in his ear as you squeezed his hand, "Go ahead, baby, get it done."

He nodded and called the kitchen to attention, clearing his throat, and beginning to make his apologies. He singled out Marcus, then Sydney, Richie, and Sugar; the kitchen staff all accepting his words and insisting he could take the day off - even the next few days if he wanted! You had to usher him to grab his things a few times, nudging him in reminder and verbally pushing him back into action. That boy's ADHD would truly be the death of him.

"So?" Richie smirked at you as Marcus handed you a packaged box of pastries.

"We're talking it out."

He chuckled, "Good. Get him outta here, Peach, dude needs to breathe."

"I got it," you swatted him away as Carmy exited the office. "But we've got somewhere to be first, right?"

He paused, then nodded and asked in a mutter, "He said okay?"

"He's got time to decide what he wants to do, but he knows we're going. C'mon, get your coat."

Richie met you at the front of the restaurant and with a parting wink to Sugar, you took Carmy's hand, tangled your fingers together, and left to venture to your parked car. Carmy got in the front, Richie in the back, and after a stop at a corner bodega to grab three bouquets of flowers, you drove to the cemetery. Carmy was silent, no music played, and Richie's leg bounced in anxious tension; making small conversation with you about your job in an effort to distract himself.

When you arrived, you pulled up on the access road that you knew was closest to Mikey's grave. Richie spared a glare between you and Carmy before muttering that he needed a cigarette and got out of the car to leave you alone. "Baby?" You whispered, reaching for his hand. "Hey, look, if you don't want to go with us, it's okay. We won't be long... But maybe you want to sign this," you showed him the small, blank name card left in the flowers.

"Why?" He whispered.

You shrugged, "So he knows they're from you."

"Peach," he sighed, meeting your eyes.

"Baby, I know it's silly, I know it's easier to ignore it all. But I'd like to believe it's just a nice gesture for our own closure - it's a signed gift from us, to them... And maybe it's nice to pretend that wherever they are, they know what we've left for them."

Carmy nodded slowly, "I-I don't think... I don't think I can go..."

"It's okay, baby," you whispered.

"But," he sniffled, opening his hand to you, "I'll sign it, if you'll leave it for me?"

"Of course," you rushed, opening your purse to producing a pen for him. The clank card rest on the center console of your car, pausing, swallowing nervously, then scribbling his name as he cleared his throat. He offered you the pen, waited until it was put away, then offered the flowers. "Hang tight, we won't be too long," you whispered, leaning in to rest your forehead. "You okay?"

He nodded, pecking your forehead before letting you get out of the car. You handed Richie his own flowers with a signed card, holding your own and Carmy's; linking arms with Rich to venture up the small grass hill and moved about halfway down the cemetery plot line. When you came to his stone, you understood this was what Rich needed more than you, so, you knelt and laid the two bouquets down before starting to quickly groom the area around his tombstone.

You told him, "I'm sorry it's not much, but I'll be back later for a picnic and a chat. I brought you flowers from me a-and from Carmy. He's in the car, but he's here, Mikey... Give him time," you whispered, brushing dirt from the stone before standing. "Take your time," you told Richie softly, seeing the tears gather in his eyes.

"Thanks, Peach," he whispered, offering you a tight hug. When you pulled back and started to walk away, Richie lowered himself to kneel and lay his own flowers down; hearing him tell Mikey, "Don't gotta worry 'bout us, Mike-Man, Peach is the glue that keeps us together. Shit, she even got Carmy out here..."

You made it back to the car and got in, smiling at Carmy - but dropping it the instant you saw tears in his eyes. "Talk to me," you whispered, reaching for a wet wipe in your glovebox to clean your hands after plucking the grass and brushing off dirt from the grave.

"Why can't I get out?"

You only stared at him for a long moment, unsure what to say.

"I'm here... I'm finally here... Why can't I get out?"

"You're not ready," you nodded, tossing the wipe aside to a plastic bag. "It's okay, Carmy, it's okay to not be ready yet. We can come back when you are," you reached for his hand.

"I think this added to my frustration," he admitted. "I couldn't... I didn't go to the funeral, haven't been here since he was... You know."

"Laid to rest."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Fuck's wrong with me?"

"You're grieving," you relented, nuzzling closer so your head rested on his shoulder. "It's not linear, Carmy, baby, just let yourself feel. When you try to repress your emotions, you lash out inappropriately."

"I know," he whispered, "'M sorry."

"It's not your fault," you promised, the two of you quietly bowing your heads together. You remained as such until Richie got back in the car, and from there, it was quiet as everyone stewed in their own emotion. You dropped Rich back at work before promising to call him later and driving away; heading for Carmy's apartment in the soothing silence, his hand locked in yours.

When you arrived at his apartment, you froze upon seeing the interior's state. "Oh, Carmy, no," you whispered, frowning deeply.

"Looks worse than it is," he deflected. You only hummed and let him lead you to the bedroom; watching him strip and prepare for bed before joining you on the mattress. He crashed almost immediately, sighing in relief as he pecked over your shoulder and collarbone, muttering, "'M so glad you're back. 'M so sorry, Peach."

"I know you are, and I forgive you," you told him softly, carding a manicured hand through his hair. "Just get some rest, baby."

He was asleep nearly instantly. He deflated on top of you, deeply resting enough to not notice you slip out from under him. You cleaned his entire apartment; doing laundry, cleaning, scrubbing, replacing necessities he deemed himself too lazy to pay attention to. You did dishes, cleaned out his fridge, and as you mopped up the floors, the sun set and Carmy emerged from the bedroom.

"Baby?" He mumbled in earnest confusion, sighing in relief when he saw you.

"What? Afraid I disappeared on you?" You teased with a small grin.

"For sure," he mumbled, wiping sleep from his eyes; making your amusement dim when you realized the nerve it struck. "The hell you doin'?"

"You didn't seriously think I could rest knowing this monster of a clean-up job lingered out here, did you?"

"I don't want you t'clean after me."

"Well, too late," you smirked. "You good now?"

"I feel better, yeah."

"Good."

"And I made up my mind."

"Hmm? About what?"

"I'm gonna take some time off work," he nodded, "and focus on us. Get us in a new crib, it'll be nice."

"Think you can handle that?"

He nodded, "I'll have to, you're the most important thing in my life, I can't lose you. So, if I gotta take time off, that's the least of my worries. I'm only here for us, for you."

You smiled at him, setting the mop aside to wrap him in your arms. "I like the sound of that, us making a home together - being able to decorate a new home. But don't let me overdo it, okay? I get all excited and kinda bulldoze my way through projects. I don't want you t'find real reason t'resent me."

"Nah, that ain't possible," he promised quietly.

True to his word, Carmy took three solid weeks off; agreeing to a fourth week as a contact-only consultant. You and he slept in most days, looking at apartments, and not once did he even mention work. He was diligent in his attention, focused on you and you alone; putting in overtime to rebuild that what was broke by focusing on shared interests again. You found a place you loved ready for what was basically immediate move-in, taking time to pack your respected places and prepare for the official start of your cohabitating relationship.

You didn't forget what he said, being reserved in your displays of love. Yet Carmy was different; he was totally clingy the moment you returned to his life. He feared letting you go meant you'd disappear again, feared you'd run away again. He held your hand at every possible opportunity, got you a fresh bouquet of weekly flowers, ran all his errands with you; never went to bed without you, cooked all meals with you in the kitchen - perched up on a counter. Most showers you took together, and almost every night was spent cuddling on the couch or in bed with either a book being shared between you or a new show playing on the mounted flatscreen TV.

Carmy clung because he thought if he showed you acts of his love, it'd allow comfort towards your loving behavior to flourish again - and he was right. It took a little bit of time, but Carmy clung tighter and tighter; ensuring you started to reciprocate before ever easing up in the intensity of his affectionate displays. He didn't want to overwhelm you, but knew you needed the reassurance.

You were cautious, you were apprehensive; tiptoeing around Carmy even when living together before warming back up to him. You didn't need to repeat the words he hurled at you all those weeks ago, not wanting to dredge up repressed feelings, but never letting him forget what he said. Your actions spoke enough, skittish around his affection; something Carmy took note of and despised himself for. He made up for it, of course he did, it was Carmy and he hated tension and conflict in his closest circles of life. Yet it wasn't so easy for you two to move forward, they weren't just words to you.

They were direct insults to you as a person; to you and how you loved others. Carmy had seen your deepest fear and used it as a defense against you - wanting you to hurt the way he was, too. He understood this wasn't acceptable, knowing the next time he resorted to such despicable actions, you'd simply walk away; never dealing with disrespect, so, he needed to be acutely aware of his words.

You would never allow yourself to be someone else's doormat, but part of being an adult is understanding that people were allowed to make mistakes - it's part of being fucking human. How terrible you'd feel if someone held your own mistakes against you, because the truth was, you weren't perfect either.

Part of being in a(n adult) relationship is understanding when someone apologized, it was best to accept and move on because nothing was ever solved by dragging turmoil out. This didn't mean forget what happened, forget whatever emotion was evoked - but to do your part to repair what was broken; no matter who was at fault, it always took Two to Tango.

And in this song and dance, you were ready to sweep around the dance floor if only with Carmy. Because that's what a relationship was; a conscious effort by both partners to work as one, to dance in-sync; owning the art together, as equal partners.

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[tofics]

You Owe Me - Part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Forced through circumstances out of your control to rely on Joel Miller, you end up traversing the country with him. You're not particularly enthralled with him, and neither is he with you - or so you think, until your period strikes, and you're practically bed-ridden. Or: Joel can't stop jerking off to you after he accidentally got a taste of your lips.

Warnings/tags: canon typical show/game violence, sort of dubious consent (reader gets kissed without being asked and only later agrees), age gap (reader is about ~25 years younger), enemies to lovers kind of, awful period + period cramps, jerking off, fluff, slap on the cheek (brat taming??), unprotected p in v

Word count: ~9k

Previously: How all of that had brought him here, kneeling behind you as the sweetest moans fell from your mouth once more - he didn't know. Joel couldn't tell whether you were a blessing or a curse, if you were the price he had to pay or the price he received. Seeing as how his life had gone though, it was unlikely that you were the latter. And yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd won when he brought his thumbs down on the sides of your lower spine and earned a low moan in return, long and elongated and putting all kinds of pictures into his mind that his head momentarily fell to his chest, a pained expression painted across it. No, no. You were both. A blessing and a curse.

"Joel?"

The mention of his name brought him back to reality. He blinked once, twice, before his eyes focused on you. You were looking at him over your shoulder through hooded lids, your hair all frizzy around your head from how it had rubbed against the cushion. Lord have mercy. If he didn't know any better, he'd have said you looked all fucked out.

"What is it, darlin'?"

There it was again. Not your finger in his face, no, but your bottom lip slowly pushing out into a pout. Joel swallowed. You had to be doin' this on purpose, right? ...right?

"You stopped." You looked at him with your pout, all sad and sorrowful. It was such a pitiful picture that the corners of Joel's mouth quirked up.

"Sorry. Thumbs're hurtin', is all. Gimme a moment," he replied and shifted so you hopefully, hopefully couldn't see the strain in his pants.

You sighed and plopped your head back down on the sofa. Joel exhaled quietly in relief.

"S' still hurting like hell in the front," he heard you murmur into your arms.

"Hmm?" His thumbs were hurtin', he hadn't lied about that. While he waited for the ache to pass, he gently drew his fingers across the exposed skin of your back. He could do that much, at least. And he'd get to keep touching you.

"S' still cramping like hell," you repeated and looked back up at him over your shoulder. That goddamn pout.

Joel inhaled deeply. Keep yourself in check. His hand brushed over your lower back once more. "I know, darlin'. I'm sorry."

He'd had a lot of low points in his life, there was no doubt about that. But this, this had to be his lowest. Joel was bent over what had once been a bathroom counter, his forehead bunched up as he brought his fist down around his hardened cock, once, twice, again and again. Here he was, furiously jacking himself off behind closed doors, trying to hold in his moans and groans through gritted teeth and bitten lips while you finally slept in the living room.

It had taken a while until you'd been able to drift off to sleep. Joel had massaged your lower back a little longer, the hard-on in his pants pressing uncomfortably against the seams, but he hadn't dared to adjust himself for fear of you turning around and seeing what your moans had caused. He'd felt like a fuckin' teenager, getting a boner like that from just touching on you. It was ridiculous. And then, you'd asked him to pet your head.

Can I lay on your lap while you brush over my head? He was convinced then that you knew. You simply had to know. But there was nothing on your face that indicated any form of evil intent on your behalf. You just wanted his comfort - you were in pain, nothing more than that. Joel had scolded himself, then awkwardly gotten up with a pillow already held to his crotch as inconspicuously as possible. C'mon, he'd said and you'd laid your head on his lap, two layers of worn out fabric and a few measly clumped up feathers being the only thing that kept your face from his hard-on. He'd almost felt ashamed as you closed your eyes and he began stroking a hand over your forehead. Sick old pervert.

That's how he felt now, hunched over as he got himself off to the memories of your moans once more. He came onto the splintered wood with a muffled groan, his free hand balled into a fist. Sick old pervert, he told himself again as he wiped his hand on a ragged old towel behind the bathroom door and closed his pants back up. He'd make sure to tell you not to go into this bathroom when you woke again next morning. Dead infected, he'd say, and hope that you wouldn't check.

Your period wasn't any more forgiving on the second day than it had been the first. You spent most of it on the couch, dozing in and out of your misery while every single bone in your body ached. The only times you got up were to change your pads and to do your business in the backyard, making sure each time to tell Joel to not look. He was weirdly gentle with you, bringing you water every now and then and making sure you ate. He'd apparently found a well in one of the backyards just a few houses away, so at least you didn't have to worry about dehydrating while you bled and bled and bled.

You woke up again sometime in the late afternoon to the warmth and crackling sounds of a fire. Joel must've had started it in the fireplace while you had been asleep. You also found yourself draped in a blanket that hadn't been there before. A small smile appeared on your face at the gesture. Gruff and snappy as he was, he sure had his sweet moments, just like when he'd massaged you last night.

With a stifled yawn you stretched your (still) aching limbs, then paused mid-stretch as your eyes landed on something by the fireplace. What was that hanging from a string above the fire...?

"JOEL!"

Thump, thump, thump. He came thundering down the stairs and sprinted into the living room, rifle raised.

"What, what," he asked hoarsely, his eyes quickly scanning the room for whatever danger had made you call out to him. You glared at him from your position on the sofa.

"Did you - did you wash my pads?!"

He blinked, then lowered his rifle. A hint of pink colored the tip of his ears. "Uh... yeah. Figured you'd need 'em." He scratched his neck, shuffled his foot.

You kept staring at him. "You... washed. My pads."

You could feel the heat in your face as your own cheeks got colored a soft pink.

"Uh-huh." He nodded again. "Washed 'em out in cold water first, then boiled 'em..." Joel finally seemed to pick up on your embarrassment. "Ain't much different than washin' bloody clothes." He shrugged.

"Umh. Thank you." Pink was a long forgotten shade. Your face resembled more that of a tomato now.

"Don't mention it." Joel stood in the doorway a moment longer, then went back upstairs to do whatever he had been doing before you'd called him down.

Some things fade as time passes. For example, you didn't remember much about your mom. She'd passed away early on after the outbreak, and you had been so young, barely ten years old, that you had a hard time recalling her in your mind. There were a couple of times though when you'd hear her in your mind clear as day.

This was one of those moments, as you stood in the upstairs bathroom of the house you and Joel were staying in. The cracked mirror was foggy as you stepped up to it and ran a hand over the cold and wet glass. Your reflection was slightly warped, but you could see the warm flush in your cheeks, the way your damp hair settled around your head.

Baths can make you feel like a new person. She'd always said that as she'd bathed you when you were sick, and you had to give it to her. She was right about that.

Joel had surprised you with a bath, of all things. He'd spend a day upstairs scrubbing down this tub so he could fill it with hot water, one bucket warmed up over the fire carried up after the other, the tub filling up painfully slowly. You'd walked up and down with him with each water delivery excitedly, watching how the water level slowly rose. Of course you had offered to carry some of the buckets yourself - it's for me, just let me do the work - but he had just shaken his head and grumbled at you. I got it.

It had felt so good, slipping into the warm water. You carefully used the strands of soap you had shaved off of the piece Joel had stashed in your backpack, taking your time as you slathered your body from head to toe. The warmth of the water relaxed your muscles. By the time you were done, you truly did feel like a new person.

You had spent the last three weeks in the same outfit, but now you slipped into the spare set that had been in your backpack. Complete with a fresh pair of panties and a fresh pad, you couldn't remember a time you'd felt so comfortable in the last three, now almost four weeks.

The drain gurgled as you let out your bath water. Soap, grime and blood all swirled around and then slowly disappeared down the creaky old pipes.

Joel sat downstairs by the fire as you came down. His gaze flickered up to you from his book as you stepped into the living room.

"How was it?"

You hesitated, unsure of how to express your gratitude. You pulled your sleeves over your hands, nestled around with the fabric in your fingers. "Like a whole new person," you said finally, a soft smile settling on your lips.

He could tell you meant it too. There was a sense of serenity about you that had been severely lacking the past two days - hell, the last couple of weeks. Joel hadn't known you all that long, but this was the first time you didn't seem tense.

"Mhh, I can tell. Might have to go through that whole hassle again, make me a new person too. Sure could do with a new pair of knees."

The bath didn't grant him a new set of knees, but he couldn't deny that he felt fresher than he had in weeks. He came down the stairs to tell you how you'd been right, running a hand through his damp locks to get 'em out of his forehead when he found you on the couch, a sour expression on your face as you stared up at the ceiling.

"Thought you said you felt all fresh," he commented as he sat down in the armchair again. He couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed at the sight of your frown. Hadn't he helped you feel good? You mumbled something under your breath, still staring at the ceiling.

"What's that now?"

You sat up with a sigh. "I said I did, right up until these fuck-ass cramps picked up again." Another one shot through your abdomen right then, like your uterus was giving you the finger for what you had said. You winced and closed your eyes, your nostrils flaring. Why, why had you been born a woman?!

"Back hurtin' you again?"

You nodded, unable to keep the pout from your lips. "The whole damn deal."

Joel knew. He knew he shouldn't. He'd done so well today, busying himself in completely taking apart his gun, cleaning it meticulously before setting it back together as you took your bath. The idea of you, laying in that tub in just your birthday suit - it had only appeared to him once, maybe twice. His hands had stayed out of his pants, he hadn't paid any new visits to the downstairs bathroom.

But now, you were in pain. He shouldn't offer. He'd done enough today, heaving bucket after bucket of scorching hot water up the steps to fill that tub for you. He'd done his share.

"Want me to have another go at it?"

God-damn-it, Miller. Pray she says no. What was he supposed to do? Let you suffer?

Damn right you should, he scolded himself.

"Would you? You've already done so much for me today. I couldn't impose on you like that -"

Damn right, you couldn't.

"Ain't no bother, sweetheart. C'mon. On your knees, like yesterday."

Diggin' yer own damn grave, that's what yer doin. And didn't he know it.

You were so compliant, so quick to get down on your knees in front of the couch. Joel had half a mind to put a stop to the images that were already flooding his mind at how swiftly you slid from the couch to the ground.

Sick old pervert. Gettin' off on commandin' a young little thing to get on 'er knees.

His joints ached as he dropped down on one, both knees behind you, once again glad for the fact that your head was already buried in the sofa cushions. He was sure the eagerness was written across his face, just short of some drool leaking down his chin.

Should be ashamed of yerself.

He would be, later. When he'd undoubtedly be curled over the bathroom counter once more, spray painting its remnants with his cum. He'd been so good today-

"Joel." You whined in front of him, lightly wiggled your hips as if to say get a move on. Joel found himself questioning once again if perhaps you did know what you were doing to him. "Alright, alright. Gettin' to it, kiddo. No need to whine."

Just like the day before, you melted like chocolate under his touch. Your tense body became pliant, coming loose under his strong thumbs digging into your back. Up your spine, up up up, from down around your tailbone all the way up to your ribcage. In his fingers dug, kneading through your skin and muscles like you were dough.

He'd pushed up your shirt a little higher this time, just an inch or two. You hadn't commented on it. Save for his name, you hadn't said anything since you'd gotten back down on your knees. With the first slump of your shoulders came your first moan, sweet and short, like you probably had moaned when you'd dipped your toes into the hot water first. Joel pressed his thumbs up your spine carefully, running his calloused tips deep into your tissue. A red trail followed his motions as your skin began to bloom under his touch.

Up and down, up and down. His fingers worked tirelessly into your aching back. Joel's brows were furrowed in concentration as he searched out the kinks in your muscles, finding the delicate spots that made you jump and keen. Whether you knew it or not, the words tumbling from your lips when he found a point that gave you trouble were like cocaine to him. Oh my god Joel, right there, fuck- and shit, yes, that's the spot- and right there, right there, oh good fucking god.

It took about three of your moans and one mumbled praise for his work until you'd hitched the tent in his pants again. Joel's cock twitched in his boxers as he dug into your back, begging to be set free. The tips of his ears were burning, set alight each time you commented on another knot he found in your back.

Sick old pervert.

He couldn't help it. Touching you was like drinking nectar. He'd never felt anything so delicate under his weathered hands, never before touched on skin so soft and warm -

"Fuck, Joel, right there. Oh god, yes. Don't stop, please."

You'd be the death of him.

"Tell me where it hurts, babygirl."

Your hands came around your back, shakily trying to locate the spots that bothered you. Joel backed up an inch so you wouldn't accidentally brush over his hard-on.

"S' in here-" Your hand flew over your lower spine, close to your tailbone, where Joel had already spent a good portion of his energy. "An' here-" You fingered over where your bra sat, then hunched up your shoulders. "-n' here, drawing all up into my neck." Your fingers trailed up your neck and got lost in your hair at the base of your neck.

"Mh." Joel tutted at you. "Got my work cut out for me, hu, darlin'?"

He saw your head beginning to turn towards him, likely to interject how he didn't have to, but he laid his hands on your shoulder blades instead, swiftly pushing you back down into the cushions. "Ah, ah. Ain't said I wasn't gonna do it. Relax, darlin'. I got you."

He could feel the grumble vibrate in your chest as he slid his fingers down your spine. "Mh. Lotta' spots givin' you trouble, mh?"

She said as much. Ya need te hear it again, sick old pervert?

"See if we can rectify that for ya, eh? Let Joel take care of ya."

He knew he was treading on thin ice, practically heard it cracking under his feet. His words bordered on dirty talk, but he just couldn't help himself. You gave your back to him so willingly, downright begging for his touch.

He was just a man, after all.

A sick, old, perverted man.

"Might wanna lose this, darlin'. Gonna be a relief for sure, n' I can't go rubbin' over it." Joel lightly tapped on the clasp of your bra over your shirt. He already knew he was going to hell anyway. And he really couldn't go on rubbing over your bra. Wouldn't have been comfortable, for you or him.

He'd expected you to object, had half expected a lecture (that he rightfully deserved), but none of that came. Instead, he watched you do that little wiggly move he'd seen women do before where they reach under their shirt and take their bra off without anything ever showing. It had always been one of his favorites to see. One second a woman would be wearing a bra, the next it got tossed across the room, not a single piece of clothing ever having gone amiss in the meantime. As far as Joel was concerned, it was a little magic trick.

And you pulled it off without a hitch. He tried not to look in too much detail as you put the garment next to you on the sofa. He had other things to focus on.

Wallpaper, wallpaper, hole in the wall, wallpaper, rusty nail, crooked crown molding. He could've fixed that easy, back in the day. Didn't need much more than the tools in his belt to do it. Would've made a fine job of it too.

Door frame. Tarnished, cracked. Long forgotten. He could take care of it, bring it back to life, with just a few touches here and there. Just a bit of straightening up the ridge, nothing too fancy. He could certainly do it, expert that he was, doing work with his hands. He'd bring the wood back in shape, love the wood like it was meant to be, gently work on it until it'd comply with his hands and mold to his touch, soft and warm-

No, no, strong and hard, like wood was supposed to be. Fuck, this was going nowhere.

Joel was doing all in his might to distract himself from how you were falling apart under his touch. Your moans didn't let up, praises flowing freely from your mouth as he slowly worked his way up your entire back, pushing more and more of your shirt out of the way until all of your back was exposed to him.

He was glued to the carpet where he knelt, afraid to even move an inch. If he looked hard enough, he could imagine the soft rounds higher on your torso, where shoulder blades softly gave way to what he was sure was a delightful pair of boobs-

No, nope, he wasn't gonna move. Couldn't risk it, not even an inch. If just the thought of your breasts sent his head careening, what would a mild case of side-boobs do to him? He couldn't risk it.

Pity what you consider 'standards', pervy old man.

He did what he could. And he was making you feel so good. You kept telling him so. That had to count for something, didn't it?

You wish.

Where was he, then?

Door frame. Right. Perhaps he'd have to replace parts of it. That'd be okay, too. He'd have to find wood to match the leftover structure - sand the original down, couple of times likely, then apply the stain. He could make sure the new and old pieces matched up that way-

"Fuck, Joel. Yes. Right there."

His head slumped down in defeat.

"Babygirl, please. Go easy on me. I can't do this no more." Joel's beard touched on his chest as he shook his head. "I can't - I'm tryin', I am -"

He heard you shift, felt the loss of your warm skin under his hands as you turned around in front of him. He couldn't look, just kept his eyes shut, not out of respect but-

Open yer damn eyes, you coward. See how she looks at you. Face your shame.

Joel forced his eyes open.

He wasn't met with shame, or even disgust. You had a worried look to you, like you couldn't quite figure out what had happened.

"Are you okay? I'm - I'm sorry, I knew I shouldn't have let you go on for so long, your hands must be hurting-" You felt awful. Joel looked like he was in actual pain. In all your bliss, you had let him work on your back for way longer than you had promised yourself, and he had overexerted himself.

"I'm so sorry, Joel," you started again, but then his hand flew up in the air, silencing you almost immediately. You looked at him with big eyes, trying to read his face. He was red all over from how exhausted he was.

Let an old man work for you like that, you should be ashamed. What are you, a princess?

"Joel-"

"Darlin', I ain't hurtin'. Is' - s' just - goddammit." You watched him run a tired hand over his face. Was it just you, or were the tips of his ears a slightly darker shade of red than the rest of his face?

Joel sighed. You looked at him with worried eyes. What had you done?

"Sweetheart, ain't about you workin' me to the bone. I don't mind that one bit. Trust me," he insisted as you opened your mouth to object. "S' about how you... how you respond to my touch."

You furrowed your brows. "Uh...huh?"

"Your moans, darlin'. They're just about killin' me."

...oh.

You felt your face flush red in a couple of seconds. Of course. How thoughtless of you.

"I'm - I'm real sorry, Joel, I didn't-" Joel shifted in front of you, visibly uncomfortable, and your eyes fell into his lap, widening at what you saw.

Oh.

If possible, you grew a couple shades darker in the face. You could feel the heat pulsating in your ears as your eyes flicked around the room, unsure of where to look. "I'm - uhh, sorry...?"

You heard Joel huff. "Will you quit apologizin'? S' fine. I'm the one that ought to be apologizin'. Ya didn't mean te-"

"You? You've been nothing but good to me all day! You did nothing wrong!"

Another huff of amusement. "I got a tent in my pants here that says otherwise."

Your eyes found his, decidedly staying on his face. "Yeah well, but that's... natural. Not like you're doing that on purpose."

"That bit, no. But I'd be lyin' if I said touchin' on you, workin' your back - that ain't just entirely for your benefit."

He figured if he went with the truth, he might as well come clean about it all. Half-truths had never really been Joel's thing.

He watched you work through his words, could practically see the gears in your head turnin'. He wouldn't have blamed you if you had told him off, hell, he was expecting your finger to come flying into his face any minute now.

"Alright."

He blinked, once, twice. Hu?

"Alright?"

You nodded, slowly at first, then more decidedly. "Alright. Yeah."

Joel's eye was twitching. "Uh... catch me up, darlin'. I got no idea what you mean."

"I mean, alright. Yeah. You can... do me. If you want to."

He watched the words come out of your mouth, heard them coming in through his ears, a faint ringing sound following them. Surely, he had to have heard wrong.

"Come again?"

A slow smile spread across your face. Joel watched it stretch out, like a cat waking up after a nap. The ringing sound in his ears wouldn't die down.

"I said, you can do me. Fuck me. Make love to me, whatever you wanna call it. You have my consent."

Well, now you've done it. You've broken the man.

Joel kept looking at you, a blank expression on his face. The silence between the two of you began to stretch so long that you were seriously beginning to worry.

"...Joel?" You snapped your fingers twice in front of his eyes. "Miller? You home?"

His eyes zeroed back in on you and you let out a sigh of relief. Not a stroke, then. Good. The tips of Joel's ears were burning a bright red. You had to bite down on your lips to keep from smiling.

"You... good?"

He nodded slowly. "Y-yeah. Sorry, sweetheart. Thought I heard you say I could do you there for a second. Fried my brain for a moment."

You couldn't help but chuckle at that. The mighty Joel Miller, feared by all, reduced to an abashed puddle by just a few of your words. Now wasn't that something to see.

"Probably cause I did. Do you need me to write you an invitation? Put my consent on paper? You surprise me, Miller. Didn't seem much to care for it when you pulled me in for that kiss on the stree-"

"Uh-uh." Joel suddenly growled and leaned forward, towering slightly over you on his arms. "None of that again. I paid my dues. Got you out. I drew you a damn bath, girly. What more do you want?"

His finger was right in your face, daring you to object to him. You bit down on your lips once more, trying not to grin at the reversed roles.

"I want you to help me with my cramps. Not on my back. In the front. Please?"

Look at that, you old fucker. Got her on her knees in front of you, begging you to take her. Ain't you a lucky old bastard.

And didn't he know it. Joel's tongue darted into his cheek as he looked you over, taking in your puppy eyes and slight grin that was surely meant to taunt him, but only spurned on the hitched tent in his pants. If you had been a sight to see while he drooled over you in secret, you were almost out of this world when you wanted him to touch on you. Like that.

He shifted around on his knees, a hand on his crotch to find a more comfortable position for his hardened cock that was straining to spring free. "Darlin' -" His voice was strained. "Not that I don't want to, but it wouldn't be right, me being that much older than you-"

Oh, so now you got standards, you pervy old man? Who are you trying to fool?

"Joel, do I need to beg?"

Yes darlin', please, on your knees, impatient and whining like when you were waiting for my hands on your back-

"Cause I will."

Lord have mercy.

Joel had you scooped up in his arms faster than you could blink, bringing you onto his lap in one swift motion, his old arms and knees suddenly very willing to be cooperating with him.

"No, sweetheart. Don't gotta beg," he said as he cupped your face with his hands, running a gentle finger over your cheek to tug a hair behind your ear. "Joel's got you. I'll help you with your cramps. No begging needed."

He looked at you a moment longer, determined to take all of it in. The way you were looking at him expectantly, a soft tint of color in your cheeks hinting at the fact that you were perhaps a bit nervous, the way your teeth bit down in your bottom lip. There was a glint in your eyes too, the kind he had seen when he had pleaded for you to work with him. You looked wicked, bewitching. You could've told him to lick the floor in that moment, and he would've done it, no questions asked.

Joel Miller was a goner for you.

No news there, you old fuck. Now get to it, before she changes her mind.

Joel took one last look at you before he gently tilted his head and put your lips on his. It was a gentle kiss, soft and probing, just testing the waters. He was dipping his toes in, seeing how you reacted to him.

Your lips met his hesitantly, just a blank, unmoving canvas at first, but then you came to life. He felt your lips beginning to move against his own, tentatively and careful, just like he had been. Joel's right hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your head to hold you tighter, his left thumb drawing soothing circles on your other cheek for comfort. I got you, darlin'. Let yourself fall, he was trying to say, and you seemed to understand, sighing and relaxing into him with your body.

Spurned on by your reaction, Joel nipped at your bottom lip, asking you to let him in. He didn't have to ask twice. Your lips promptly opened at his silent request, letting Joel's tongue in to taste the sweetness of your mouth.

My god, you tasted like heaven. Joel was certain he'd never tasted anything so sweet in his life before and he couldn't hold back the groan that had built in his throat. His hands flew down to your hips, securing you against him tightly, as he rocked forward to push himself up. "Hold on to me, sweetheart."

You were so obedient, legs swiftly gripping around his waist as he pushed himself up to heave you and himself on the couch. Joel grunted with the effort and from impatience. He couldn't wait to feel your legs wrapped around him like that without a barrier of fabric between them.

You were gently laid down in your preferred place for sulking, though you couldn't currently remember which, if any problems you had had in the past few days to complain about. Any and all period-related issues seemed to have flown right out of your mind the moment Joel had put his lips on yours, and your brain was too busy tracking the movement of his hands on your body to do anything else, even if it was just about 'remembering'.

He had laid you down on the sofa and had positioned himself over you with one knee between your legs, while he steadied himself with one foot on the ground. The couch wasn't very wide, but you didn't have it on your mind to complain, and neither did Joel. Not that you would've had any time to complain either. Joel was too busy by keeping your mouth occupied with his own while his hands traveled up and down your body as if he was trying to map out all your curves and dips. He must've had more than just two hands, the way he was feeling you up, his hands seemingly everywhere on you at once, brushing over your shoulder, running up the side of your neck to tug on your hair at the base of your neck, holding you at your waist to steady you, then gently cupping your breast before giving it a careful squeeze. There wasn't any part of you that remained untouched and all you could do was try to remember how to breathe in between moans.

"Joel," you panted when he'd abandoned your lips in favor of your neck, trailing down kisses towards your collarbone where he nipped at the skin and then promptly brought his lips down on the harsh mark, soothing what little pain he caused you. There was a growing need between your legs, your arousal mixing with your wetness from your period. You felt a tug in your abdomen, decidedly different from the cramps you had been experiencing for the past days. While also slightly painful, this one was born out of want. You wanted Joel inside of you - no, needed him inside of you.

So you're an old-people fucker now? Yeah?

Apparently, you were, if Joel Miller could be described as "old". He certainly felt anything but as his hands glided under your shirt and found one of your breasts, his thumb and index finger trailing up the soft skin until they found your nipple to take between them, rolling it gently between his finger tips. You moaned into Joel's mouth at the sensation, bucked your hips up into him. Needy, needy, needy. You needed him.

Old-people fucker. Yep.

"I got you, darlin'. I got you," he reassured you when you ground your hips against him, willfully. "Just gotta sample everything on the menu first, before we get to the desert. I got you, sweetheart. Relax."

You whined at his murmured words. You couldn't relax, it was the furthest thing from your mind when there was a pool of heat between your legs that you needed to be cooled down.

"Ah, now." Joel tutted in your ear as you writhed beneath him. "Patience, darlin'. You trust me, don't you?"

You pushed your bottom lip out in response. Of course you trusted him. But that didn't mean you couldn't ask him to hurry the fuck up?

There was a light smack on your cheek before you knew it. You blinked, feeling the stinging sensation before heat spread through your cheek where his fingers had struck you.

"I set the pace. You hear me, sweet cheeks?" Joel's beard prickled against your tingling skin as he pressed soft and gentle kisses on your blooming cheek. "'Nough with the impatience. I got you. I'll take care of you. You gotta trust daddy Joel."

Fine, perhaps he got a little carried away with his smack, but you didn't seem to mind, not severely anyway. He watched you closely just in case, looking for signs that you were uncomfortable or wanted him to stop, but even though you'd looked mildly shocked after he had struck your cheek, your eyes had soon glazed back over with bliss as he worked your nipples between his fingertips. Attagirl.

Joel felt like a kid on Christmas morning, the way he got to undress you piece by piece. It was like tearing off wrapping paper, except he didn't tear through your clothes (not for a lack of want - he'd have scoured the down for new clothes for you if he didn't know that was just a tad overboard) but carefully slipped them off of you, piece by piece, step by step. With each garment of fabric that got discarded on the floor, he got to unearth more and more of you. More of your delicate and soft skin that he had been lucky enough to get a taste of from behind as early as the previous day.

He got stuck on your boobs for a good long while, drawn in by the sight as soon as he pushed your shirt up over them. It was just too good of a sight to pass up, and he had to get a taste to commit your breasts to his memory for good. He sampled one boob first, kissing up from below it and working his way towards your areola, taking his time with your nip as he whirled his tongue around it, even gently pulled on it with his teeth.

Joel couldn't decide what he liked better, the way you felt and tasted under his tongue or how your body responded to him, writhing and rocking up towards him to meet his mouth, the sweetest moans and whimpers falling from your lips as he mapped out your torso with his tongue. It was a hard decision, and he kept falling back and forth between it.

He knew he was pushing your patience by sound of your moans changing. They got breathier and whinier as he went on, sampling your other breast in the same slow and painstakingly precise way he had the other, and he could hear how worked up you were getting, your whines rising in pitch with every stroke of his tongue.

"Joel, please."

He chuckled, drew himself up to meet your pleading look at eye-level. "Gettin' there, sweetheart. I promise." Joel watched your bottom lip push out once more into that delightful pout of yours. He dipped down to suck on it, pulling your plump lip in between his and nibbling softly on it before capturing you in another sloppy kiss.

If it hadn't been for the stark reminder in his pants, he would've worked you over until you were nothing but a whimpering mess underneath him, begging for him with tears in your eyes, but alas, he was nearing the end of what he could take as well.

There was only so much he could do to your upper body before he inevitably got pulled downwards to where you wanted him most, needed him most.

You all but scrambled to help him get out of your pants as he tucked the fabric down your hips, your bottom springing up into the air when he tapped a cheek and nudged his head upwards. "Up, babygirl." A low chuckle rumbled through his chest as he pulled your pants down your legs, carefully slipping them off your feet. "Needy little thing, aren't ya. Mhh, me too, darlin'. Can't wait either." He lightly grabbed your calf and helped your leg up on his shoulder, peppering kisses up your shin towards your knee.

You fumbled with his hair when he continued his trail up your thigh, stopping him when he was more than halfway towards his target. Joel looked up at you from between your legs, his hand running up and down your leg that was holstered on his shoulder. "Somethin' wrong, babygirl?"

You mumbled something unintelligibly, color blooming in your cheeks without his palms ever having come near either of them. You were too quiet for him to hear all of it, but he could make out a few words here and there. Period and all he heard and don't wanna make a mess and the smell.

Joel kissed your thigh again, not nearing your core. "Don't gotta worry about that, hun. Ain't nothing I'd care about. But I'm not gonna do somethin' you don't want. Alright?" He looked at you, made sure you saw the sincerity in his eyes. You fumbled around with your fingers, visibly uncomfortable. Joel kissed your thigh once more.

"Ain't gonna do anythin' you don't like," he repeated and brought himself up again so he was hovering over your torso once more, lavishing kisses on any piece of skin he could find on his way, save for where your panties kept you hidden from him. He made sure to move around it with enough distance that you knew he took you seriously, honored your boundaries. He still had standards.

Low fuckin' standards. More like bare fuckin' minimum.

If anyone had told you you'd be under Joel fucking Miller three weeks ago, you'd have laughed at them and asked them if they'd had one too many helpings of moonshine. Yet here you were, stark naked from top to bottom, laid out for him to see like an exhibition piece under no one else than Joel fucking Miller, about to fuck you.

It was as much as a surprise to you as his tenderness had been. Besides the strike on your cheek (which, the more you thought about it, you didn't really mind) he was being more than soft and gentle with you, working over every spot of you with a dedication and mind for detail that you had never encountered before. You had been exceedingly grateful when he had heeded your wishes about not coming close to your core with his mouth, and it could have been your imagination, but he had seemed even more gentle with you when he slowly coaxed your panties off of you, praising you and leaving kisses all over as he went. You'd never been called so many pet names in one day, let alone within the two minutes it took him to get you out of your underwear. Doin' so good, darlin' and you're so beautiful, sweetheart and never felt a thing so soft, tasted anything so sweet had been among the many, many things he'd purred at you.

Now he was lining himself up at your entrance, kneeling on the sofa with one leg while he steadied himself with the other on the ground as he softly padded the tip of his cock against your soaking folds. You still didn't feel too keen about being out in the open like that, blood just leaking out of you unstopped, but Joel seemed to have an answer for that too.

"Gonna draw you another bath afterwards, mh, pretty girl? Get you all cleaned up nice?" He dipped just the bare tip of his slightly leaking head between your lower lips, gently dragging it up and down, coating himself in what you were sure was a bloody mess. While picturing what was leaking out of you made you tense up slightly, Joel seemed blissed out at the sighed of it. You could see the glint in his eyes, the hunger that was written all over his face as he dragged his cock up and down through your slick, coating himself and more of you in it.

"Ain't that the prettiest cunt I ever did see," he mumbled, his eyes transfixed on your entrance. You felt your cheeks bloom once more, both from the compliment and embarrassment you felt. It was a strange sensation, to feel so flattered and put on the spot at the same time.

Joel didn't give you much more time to think about it though. You flinched when you suddenly felt his warm tip tapping against your clit, gently but forceful enough to send tiny sparks flying through you. "There she is," he said and you saw the smile draw across his face. "Saw you getting all lost in your own pretty head, darlin'. Can't have you zoning out now, we're just getting to the good part." He lightly tapped against your clit once more, a sly grin taking over when he saw how you inhaled sharply at the sensation.

"With me now, sweet cheeks? Ready for me to come inside?"

Joel fucking Miller, a man full of surprises, as you had come to learn. Looks like he could learn after all.

"Yeah," you breathed out and shook your head eagerly. "Yes, please."

You saw his eyes darken as you renewed your consent. A growl sounded from his chest and he quickly dipped down once more, surprising you with another fierce kiss. "Attagirl."

You felt him align himself with your entrance once more, the tip of his length pressing against your aching entrance. "Eyes on me, sweet cheeks," he murmured and your eyes quickly flew to meet his, not wanting to do anything that could stop him from what he was about to do. A kiss was placed on the edge of your lips. "Good girl. Listening to me so good. Makin' me real happy, you know that?"

You gasped as you felt Joel slowly pushing into you. It was a good stretch, on the brink of too much, but he took it slow, pushing in inch by inch while he peppered your chin with more kisses in between murmured praises. "Look at you, taking me so well. Doin' so good, sweetheart. S' a bit of a stretch, hm? Yeah? Pretty thing like you, all tight for big ole' me?" More kisses rained down on your face, Joel's beard tickling over your cheeks as he kissed down your nose, teeth nipping at your lips. "God, you feel so good," he breathed out and you watched in awe as his eyes fluttered close. He was filling you out more and more and you wondered how much more there could possibly be of him as he kept gently pushing into you.

Joel stilled as he bottomed you out, the tip of his cock pressing into you deeply. You could feel it deep inside of you, a gentle push on a spot you alone could never reach, not even dream of reaching. Your breath was shallow, trying to get acclimated to his width.

You felt Joel's beard brush against your face as his head dipped down. "God, darlin'. Takin' me so good. Let me come in all the way, didn't ya? Such a good girl." Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt him retract slightly, the gentle pressure on your inside slowly retreating as Joel slowly pulled himself out of you. Not all the way, no, just enough to make you worry he could, but then his teeth were softly nipping at your chin and you were being stretched out again as he caaarefully drove himself back inside of you.

You made something of a gurgling sound as your eyelids fluttered close while your eyes rolled backwards into your skull. It was the most excruciatingly slow pace he could've taken, and though you knew - guessed - he was doing it on purpose for you, not to tease you, you couldn't help but yearn for more, and faster.

Your hands flew up to Joel's back to pull him closer to you. Would you not have had Joel's penis painfully slowly plowing into you at this moment, perhaps your movements would have been more coordinated. But alas, your hands fumbled all over the place, pulling and grabbing at him in an attempt to get him down to your face so you could kiss him, to hopefully spurn him on to get a move on. You groaned into Joel's mouth when your lips connected at the same time as he met your insides with the tip of his cock once more.

"Fuck, Joel."

He grinned like a stupid school boy as he heard you curse. Hadn't he dreamt of this just a night ago, hunched over the broken bathroom sink? Even if he had imagined it, he never could've imagined this, the real deal. Filling you out with every inch of him was so much better than he ever could've dreamt up himself. Where your moans had been like cocaine to him, your pussy was just straight up heroine. One push inside of you and he knew he was a goner, lost to your pussy forever. He would never feel anything like it anywhere else, that much, he knew.

"Yeah, baby? That feel good?" He kissed your ear as he pulled himself back out, then drove back into you. It was an agonizingly slow pace, but he wanted to savor every moment of it, drag it out for as long as he could. Who knew if you would allow him such a delicacy ever again? He had to make the moment last.

You nodded below him, your cheek rubbing against his scruff as you did. "S'so good, Joel," you murmured against his ear. "But faster, please. Please go faster."

Now how could he say no to such a kind request?

Joel felt his knee object as he adjusted his position on the sofa, preparing himself to fuck into you faster.

Not now.

He didn't have time for aching joints and other ailments. Not when he had you below him, asking him to go faster. Now who was he if he denied a pretty girl like you a favor like that?

A sensible man instead of a pervy old fuck, perhaps?

No. He'd have been a heartless old fuck, that's who.

He grounded himself into the floor with one foot and then got to work. Never mind his fifty-six year old hips. Never mind his aching, complaining knee. He had a job to do, and he was gonna do it.

Joel fucked into you like his life depended on it. He gradually increased his pace until the old sofa was creaking and shrieking underneath the two of you, but those weren't the sounds he was listening for. His hearing was attuned to you instead, carefully dissecting each moan and groan that fell from your lips. What did you like more? What made you groan, what made your fingers dig into his back?

Joel acutely listened to the cues of your body, your verbal ones taking the lead while the rest did their own speaking. He didn't care that your nails pierced the skin on his back, or that you drove your teeth into his forearm, likely leaving a bite mark that would last him a day. It'd be a kind reminder of the gift you were giving him, and had he not been pounding into you at this very moment, he likely would have fantasized about giving the old bathroom another run while staring at the bite on his arm, perhaps running his tongue over the indents in his skin that you were so kindly imprinting at the moment.

"That's right, babygirl, take what you need," he encouraged you and did his best to give you what you needed too. He had heard about it once, how cervical stimulation could help with period cramps, and he could only hope he was alleviating your pain in the same way you made him forget about all his aching joints. Joel wasn't fifty-six as he drove himself into you again and again, he was twenty-five at best, fucking his heart into your pussy like she owned it.

"Joel - Joel -," you whined underneath him and he laid a gentle hand on your face, turning your chin with his thumb so you'd look at him. "Whaddaya need, babygirl? Hm?" He never stopped his pace, never slowed down so you could think better. Joel watched your brows furrow as you tried to form a coherent sentence.

"I'm - Joel, think I'm gonna -"

"You gonna cum for me, pretty girl? Yeah?" Even though his instinct was to lower himself on you so he could kiss on you again, he knew better than to change his pace or angle now. If he was lucky enough to be able to gift you with an orgasm, he wouldn't pass that chance up, even if it meant to starve himself of your lips.

Your face was scrunching up like you were thinking real hard. Moans were no longer falling in a steady stream from your lips, but Joel didn't worry. He'd been with enough women to know the signs, knew that you were getting close. Even though he missed your moans, excitement tightened his chest as he drove himself into you again and again, hoping to push you over the finish line. It'd be the best damn thing he'd ever done.

He felt you clenching around his dick, your walls cramping down around him more and more as your breath hitched in your chest coherently. One, two, three more pushes, and Joel saw the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. You fell apart underneath him, moan after moan flowing from your heavenly lips right into his ear, jumbling into one another as your orgasm rocked through you. Joel bit down on his tongue hard, the sight and sound of your climax enough to make him cum right there and then, but he was determined to fuck you through it. He owed you that much.

"That's right, babygirl, let go," Joel cooed as you convulsed underneath him, wave after wave of pleasure slowly rolling through you. He fucked you through it like he promised himself he would, then slowed in unison with your ebbing ecstasy, despite his dick yelling at him to keep going.

Not now. He had other things to focus on.

Joel leaned down to kiss your blissed out face. First your forehead, then each closed eye, down your nose, over your right cheek, left cheek, the corner of your mouth. You kissed him back lazily when he finally landed on your lips, a satisfied hum vibrating in your throat.

"You good, darlin'?" Joel searched your face as you slowly blinked up at him. He ran a thumb over your cheek, drawing small circles on your soft skin.

He didn't care that he hadn't finished. He could do that later, in the bathroom when you were asleep. Of course, nothing would feel as good as your silken walls wrapped around his cock - but that would be fine, too. He'd have all of this to remember, to draw from for the rest of his life, if need be.

You nodded slowly, a sheepish smile on your face now that you had come down from your high. "Yeah. Think I made a mess of you though."

Joel looked down at his pelvis. He was covered in your blood and slick, tinting his pubic hair a deep shade of red. "Don't you worry about that, sweet cheeks. Nothing some water can't clean up. Want me to run you another bath?"

Periods aren't fun, that much was true.

But you couldn't help but think that perhaps, they weren't the worst thing in the world, now that you laid in a bathtub full of warm water, while Joel Miller slowly massaged your upper body.

Having your period in the apocalypse could prove as a challenge, but it helped to have help. Help like Joel Miller, who washed your pads and massaged your back and fucked you deeply to help with your cramps if you asked him.

Yeah, perhaps periods aren't the worst thing in the world, you thought as you tipped your head up and pulled Joel in for a kiss. You could certainly survive another period or two this way.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Credits: plant divider by @strangergraphics

A/N: Yep, part two out not even a full two days later because I could not stop thinking about this fic. This is only the second time ever I've written smut (not counting part 1 of this mini-series?) and I would highly appreciate some feedback! (Don't hold back on the criticism too if you got any, I can take it!) This fic was definitely very much influenced by @strang3lov3's 'Seeing Red' story which I highly, highly recommend, and the fact that I was on my own period. Also, if anyone's wondering, I couldn't stop thinking about these goddamn gifs so I had to bring the cheek biting into this. 🥵 Now, none of this is proof-read so I apologize for any typos etc. Hope you had fun reading this! Please leave a comment if you did 🫶💓

(No pressure) Taglist:

@missladym1981 @guelyury @roboticsupersonic @auteurdelabre @ashleyfilm

@mandojojo @picketniffler @vickie5446 @frogsdeservelovetoo @elli3williams

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @justajoelsreader @oldmenenthusiast

[alchemistc]

He's drunk when he sends it. Pissed because Buck won't just let this die. Tired of seeing his name flash across his screen, texts full of anger and sadness and hurt.

I suspect you've already met your last and it's not me he sends, and then turns off his phone and reaches for the bottle of whiskey on his top shelf.

---

If he'd been sober he would have known better. It's not even like it's been a pervasive thought - just an inkling at the start of things that seemed to be completely off base once he got to know everyone better, but looking back... He can see it. The built in life. The steadfast support. The knowledge that they'd always, always have each other's back. The kid who hero worshipped him.

The thing is he's fielding texts from Eddie, too, checking in and then circling around to being so goddamn judgmental that it's like they've coordinated their attacks to give Tommy no room to breathe.

He ended it to save himself from slipping so far under the surface he wouldn't make it back.

The fact that he's lost them both to his own fear is icing on the cake for the demon on his shoulder that keeps trying to remind him that once upon a time he'd fully thought Eddie and Buck were amicable exes.

---

He has to blink to figure out who's standing on his doorstep. The mustache is gone.

"If you meant who I think you mean, you're dumber than you look," Eddie says, and shoulders past Tommy before Tommy can even muster an affronted expression.

Tommy wanders after Eddie into his own kitchen, immediately annoyed that he looks more at home there than Tommy has felt in weeks. He'd gotten used to the loft - the space, the echoes, the lights of the city. The smell of his own aftershave on Buck's pillow.

They never spent much time here. The loft was closer - to Harbor, to the 118, to all the things in the city that tempted them out for a night. And staying at the loft meant he wouldn't have the echoes of Buck in every room, around every corner. (The echoes are in him, instead, and he still feels the absence like a lanced wound.) Tommy has always been good at making other people think he's good at putting distance between himself and them.

Eddie digs in a drawer, pulls out the bottle opener shaped like a cow and pops two tops. Holds one out for Tommy and scowls when Tommy wrinkles his nose at the Corona.

"Absolutely screw you if you think I'm driving halfway across town for you just to get the ones you like, right now."

Tommy can't argue that. He takes a drag and swallows. Stares. Is everyone else experiencing whiplash seeing him without the mustache? It looks fine but it'd taken so much fucking work to get used to it and now it's just gone. Clean shaven, an acre of skin he hasn't seen in months.

Tommy blinked and the entire world was different. Tommy freaked and the world changed.

"What are you doing here?"

Eddie's eyebrows both lift, a frank Are You Fucking Serious look on his face that makes Tommy want to take him to the mats and have it out in the garage instead of over beers.

"Buck may be spinning his wheels trying to figure out what the fuck you meant but I know damn well what you were implying."

That seems unlikely. Eddie always seems to be the last person to have a single clue what was going on, with Buck scraping in just before him. It's a tight race.

He used to find it charming.

(He absolutely does not still find it charming, he tells his heart, and wonders if he could hire some tiny asshole gnome to go stomp around in an atrium or two and get it to stop doing what it's doing. Fucking traitor.)

"Do you actually believe that, or is it some dumb excuse because you're terrified of being happy?"

Oh, that's fucking rich.

Tommy opens his mouth to tell him exactly that but Eddie just steamrolls right by him. "You don't have to point out the hypocrisy, jackass. I'm well aware of my own issues. Thing is - you're like, almost right. Buck does make me happy. Next to Chris there's no one else in the world I'd rather have by my side, rain or shine, good or bad. I love him. He's my person."

Tommy rolls his jaw. It's not a vindication to hear it.

"Except I'm not gay, Tommy. And I don't want that. I never have. And neither does Buck, just in case that argument was about to hit the airwaves."

"How do you know?"

Something sparks in the back of Eddie's eyes. Understanding. Triumph.

"You want an itemized list or a demonstration?"

Which is when Tommy knows he's stepped into an absolute minefield. No markers. Just free balling his way through a conversation that could explode with even the slightest pressure.

Eddie's got his phone out.

None of this is ideal.

When he looks up, his eyes land squarely on Tommy, who would like in this moment to be able to curl so far in on himself he gets sucked clean through the other side. "First of all, Buck may have just been improvising his entire journey of sexuality but for once I was trying to get ahead of the curve so that whole starry-eyed newly not straight vision you have of Buck is bullshit. You let him pull you along by the shirt strings for months without pressing pause and then you freak out when he thinks his speed and your speed are the same speed?"

This is feeling a whole lot like an ambush, now.

"Did you ever even try to slow him down?"

Tommy has some choice words that aren't remotely appropriate to say to someone who is at least tangentially still his friend, so he takes another swig of shitty beer. God, this shit is awful.

"You wanna know how I know I'm not his one? How I know he's not mine?"

Tommy really, really doesn't. Honestly he'd like to kick him out.

"Because he went at our friendship at the same warp speed pace he took your relationship and it never fucking scared me."

Proof in the pudding, for Tommy. He's not the sort of jackass who actually thinks he can make a different judgement call on someone else's sexuality than the one they've made themselves, but come on.

"Shannon's been dead for half a decade," Eddie says, voice dropping so suddenly Tommy feels it like an icy draft. "And maybe one day I'll make my peace with that. Maybe one day I'll get out from under it. The point is I've lost them both and the loss wasn't the goddamn same."

"Buck came back," Tommy argues.

Eddie scoffs. Wrinkles his nose. "Jeez, he wasn't kidding about how weird that sounds." His phone buzzes on the countertop, and Tommy wonders what the hell that look on his face means. "Don't change the subject. I'm not here to talk you into anything. I'm just here to drink a beer with you and tell you how goddamn stupid it is to think that an uncertain future with Evan Buckley isn't worth every second of terror it causes you."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do."

Eddie tips the bottle against his lips. Swallows. God, why hadn't Tommy just pursued the self-proclaimed straight guy for a couple weeks before he scratched the itch somewhere else and kept a friend, instead?

"Maybe." Eddie tips his head. "Maybe I do, though. Maybe in the months and months you were invited to all my mopey nights in with Buck and all the crazy crap we end up involved in at the station and all the times you couldn't shut up about him when he wasn't around and all the times I got to see you falling ass over teakettle for my best friend, I learned a fucking thing or two about Tommy Kinard." He wags his head back and forth. "Maybe."

"Is there a point to this?"

Eddie tips his eyes to his phone, and it's probably too late at this point for the suspicion to begin to creep in.

"I mostly just came to confront you about your completely off base bullshit excuses, but there's actually a pretty simple solution to at least one of your multitude of issues, so. Now we're waiting."

Tommy doesn't like the sound of that at all.

"Chris is mad at you, by the way."

It's a distraction. It's fully a - "Why is he mad at me?"

"I should actually thank you, because it's the first time he's actively talked to me in months," Eddie continues, like Tommy hadn't asked a question. "He's pissed because Buck is sad and there's literally nothing in the world that gets a rise out of the Diaz boys like sad Buck."

"You can just say you're pissed at me and go, Eddie."

"Oh I'm angry. Don't think I'm not. Mostly I'm just sad for you. You had six months to get to know Buck and never thought to yourself 'hes going to love me and it's going to hurt' until he skipped too far ahead in the program."

And that's - kind of the final straw. He's let Eddie get his licks in. He deserves it, he knows he does. Honestly it's a little cathartic to hear - to know exactly what Buck has spent his time dissecting post-Tommy. "That's all I ever thought about. Do you think I didn't know going in? I tried to put a stop to it before it even started and he just doubled down! Do you think for a second I wasn't viscously aware that I was setting myself up for -."

No. He's not gonna say it. He's not giving that to Eddie when he couldn't even give it to Ev-Buck. When he couldn't give it to Buck.

Eddie looks victorious anyway.

"And for six months you thought it was worth it."

"For six months I was too much of a coward to stop thinking about it."

Eddie drains the rest of his beer. "I'm not gonna lie. You screwed up pretty bad. Like. Astronomically bad. Giving up your location in a firefight bad."

Tommy does everything he can not to wince.

"It's salvageable, though. If you want it to be. If there's anything I know about Buck it's that second chances are his bread and butter." He's been dancing around saying anything of substance about Buck's feelings, in all of this, but the hints are there. As if the bouts of angry-depressive texts from Buck weren't clue enough.

"And what if it's not what I want?"

Eddie's eyes dart to his phone one more time. "Then you can make it a clean break in about ... three and a half minutes."

Tommy nearly tosses his beer across the room.

[miyukisu]

If You're Down, Boy .ᐟ

❤︎ | Karasu thinks you've got quite a mouth on you—time for him to show you what he can do with his too and make you shut up (3k wc) ╰ feat. karasu tabito (bllk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 7 | kinktober masterlist

tags - college au, you and karasu are mean to each other, enemies to lovers, hate smex, rough smex (?), handjobs, p in v, p*rn with plot, hair pulling, drunk smex, he slaps your ass once, unprotected smex, dubcon(?), profanity

minors do not interact

College life isn't complete without experiencing at least one frat party. At this point, joining a game of beer pong or spin-the-bottle were some of the pre-requisites before you leave the so-called hellscape.

You picked your poison and you ended up involved in a circle, playing the infamous game—Seven Minutes in Heaven.

Everyone knows what goes down in that game. People get laid. Well, maybe nine times out of ten—they do. You were hopeful you'd be one of those lucky cases because why not? You're in your youth and in college. This was the only time engaging in Seven Minutes in Heaven induced sex is acceptable.

Although, your hope quickly ran thin as soon as your friends declared that your partner was none other than Karasu Tabito. The alcohol you had consumed earlier began to cloud your thoughts as the cheers of the people around you flooded your senses.

Right in front of you—Karasu had a flat expression. It's like his face was telling you just how much he dreaded the thought of being stuck with you in the basement for 7 whole minutes.

It was an apt reaction to have. After all, you hated each other's guts.

The arguments you had 2 semesters ago rang through your head as your friends practically dragged you two to the basement, knowing that neither of you would have the initiative to do so.

You swore, the whole way down, his eyes were on you—judging and scrutinizing like he always did. That's precisely what annoys you about him. Karasu Tabito was so goddamn hypercritical and it really showed when you two worked together on a final project.

Who cares if he was smarter or better—does he have no concept of politness or respect? AT ALL? In the end, your relationship went up in flames and after that semester, you two wanted nothing to do with each other.

But, as you can see right now, being in a circle of mostly common friends made that impossible. And on this fine Friday night, you find yourself locked in the basement with your sworn enemy.

────────────

You sat on the dusty staircase that led down to the basement while Karasu stood off to the side. For a large frat house, you didn't expect the basement to be so cramped and dim...

"Yer really not gon' speak at all huh?" he started.

You whipped your head to face him, expression already filled with confusion. "And what is there to talk about?"

"Irritable as ever—I see."

"Wow. I wonder what causes that. Hm?"

He lets out a chuckle of disbelief. For a moment, he had nothing to say back because he figured 2 semesters apart would be enough to at least ease the tension between the two of you. But it would seem that he was mistaken. Sourly mistaken, in fact.

"Still can't move on?" he asks with that all-knowing smirk of his. It irritated you even more to see him so relaxed, arms crossed over his chest and idly leaning against whatever junk was piled in this basement.

"If you got partnered up with anyone as mean as you—you'd understand how I feel," you retorted. Karasu only huffed in amusement before straightening his posture.

"Oh, I'm the mean one now? Seems like you forgot all of the things you said—"

"But you started it," you cut him off.

Both of you knew it was insanely childish to be arguing over a months old spat and debating on who started it all. But maybe it was the emotions building up over time or... the copious amounts of alcohol circulating in both of your systems.

"Yer such a child," he jeers. "And you're fucking annoying," you respond back.

Silence ensues until Karasu whispered something under his breath. "Bitch..."

You quickly shot up, fiery gaze locked on the taller man. "The fuck did you call me?"

Karasu looked down at you as you stood right in front of him. His eyes were dark, but dazed. "Ya heard me."

"Fuck you."

"Hm, ya wish ya could."

Your jaw fell open; the audacity of this man put you in shock. "Oh, please, you're probably a two pump chump anyway. Don't be so cocky."

"Heh, ya think I'm a quick one? Why don'cha see fer yerself? Or are ya too scared?"

The sudden shift to provocation was unexpected. You were prepared for him to come back with an emotionally fueled response—not this. Definitely not this.

"There's no way I'm touching you." You look off to the side, crossing your arms for full effect.

"I knew it."

With eyes narrowed, you returned your gaze to Karasu. "Knew what?"

"Yer a virgin aren'cha? Haven't seen a dick before huh?" And he laughs. Karasu bursts out in thundering laughter at the thought of you being inexperienced.

"You ass. I'm not."

It was a full-faced lie. Your last boyfriend busted even before you could get your clothes off. But that was irrelevant now that you're trying to keep your pride intact.

His laughter dies down. "Ah... that's what a virgin would say."

"Oh please. I bet I can do you in a minute," you tell him. It was only a second after then you realized that you just kept saying the first thing that came to mind. You were sober enough to hold a conversation and sit up properly, but clearly it was affecting your better judgment.

But rather than be opposed to it, Karasu matched your pace.

With an amused expression, he took on your challenge. "Hah! And I can do ya even faster. How 'bout that?"

Those devious eyes of his stared into yours. If it weren't for the booze—you probably wouldn't be agreeing to something so stupid.

────────────

As soon as the door to the basement swung open, you two stormed out. The once cheerful faces of your friends all faltered as they watched both of you get farther and farther away from the group.

Everyone assumed you two fought... again. Drunk and unbothered, they shrugged it off and went back to playing. They were none the wiser that just after entering a random bedroom on the second floor—you to got straight into business.

He was sat on one of the messy desks, pants unbuckled with his dick in your hand. You jerked him off at a quicker pace than usual; your pride was on the line after all. Besides, if he was hurt, he wouldn't be looking into your eyes like that.

"That all you got?" he asked, his voice a bit raspy.

You click your tongue in frustration. Truthfully, you had been expecting a completely different outcome—one wherein you would stay true to your word.

It had been more than a minute at this point. But, you placated yourself by thinking that you're fine as long as you can do it faster than him.

"Shut up," you retorted.

Karasu chuckled softly. "No one's cummin' at all if yer gon' be mean. Ya know?"

You looked him dead in the eye, anger boiling in the pits of your stomach. Of course, you could've goaded him into cumming with your words... or with your mouth, but in another sense. But you were set on winning this with minimal effort.

You ran your thumb over the slit, around the head. Hell, you even traced the underside of his dick, along the curve. But nothing. His expression never shifted once. It always remained in his neutral cocky expression.

Karasu eventually had enough. He grabbed your wrist, halting all your motions. "Jeez, yer terrible at this."

It was like a punch to the gut. But before you could take care of your bruised ego, Karasu had stood up from the desk, dragging you over to the bed by the wrist.

"H-hey, what are you doing?"

He threw you on top of the bed, creeping up from the foot of it. His eyes remained dark and determined. "Didn't I tell ya I could do ya faster? Well, let's jus' say this is my demonstration."

He deliberately crawled slowly to you before hovering just above your legs. Karasu wanted you to truly feel the impending doom... or pleasure rather. A calloused hand made contact with the top of your thigh which was a bit damp from sweat.

"Not lookin' too good for ya huh?"

"You talk as if you've made me cum already."

He laughs again in that same condescending tone. It made you want to rip your hair out, but it became increasingly difficult as his hand went further up. His fingertips ghosted over the skin that was barely covered by your skirt.

But the entire time, his eyes were still on your face.

"Heh... let's see how strong ya really are, shall we?"

He promptly lifts up your skirt with one hand while using the other to push your legs open. Unlike you who was influenced by alcohol and hubris, Karasu moved in a way that was deliberate and practiced. His confidence actually had roots.

A thumb slowly presses on to your throbbing clit. His smirk grows wider—if that was even possible—as he feels the wetness that pooled in your panties.

Truth be told, you hardly noticed it when you were so focused on stroking his dick earlier. But in your defense, you had a dick in your hand. And you may hate him, but it's undeniable that Karasu was still one of the most attractive men you've laid your eyes upon... that is, if he kept his mouth shut.

"Seems like ya made it easy fer me hm? Already gushing like a dam?"

"You're so fucking full of yourself."

"Hah... ya can be full 'f me too later—if ya behave yerself."

His raw words sent a jolt straight to your core. He barely gave you any time to recuperate as he dove straight to your sopping cunt, kissing it just above the fabric.

But he knew it wasn't going to cut it. He sat up again and swiftly pulled your panties off. Now that all was said and done, he got on to his stomach, hands holding you by the thighs to keep you in place. The scent of your arousal only served to make his dick swell even more as it rubbed against the covers of the bed.

He licked a long stripe up your folds, stopping to suckle at your clit. He made sure to spend an ungodly amount of time doing so—ensuring that you lose your mind from how good it felt. You instinctively arched your back, trying to move away, but his grip on your thighs only strengthened.

"Maybe if ya used your mouth on me like this... instead of whinin' ... maybe I woulda... maybe I woulda cum," he spoke between licks.

Karasu only went faster from there. He lapped up at your folds like there was no tomorrow. Both of your shaking hands found purchase in his hair chock full of gel. You knew he hated it when his hair got messed up, but this was one of the rare instances where he didn't mind at all.

A chocked out moan echoes through the room. The way he ate pussy was mind numbingly good that you had no way of stopping whatever sounds came out of your mouth.

"F-fuck," you exclaim, legs shaking as his tongue begins to prod your entrance. His pretty and pointy nose kept poking your aching clit unintentionally.

All at once—without warning—a blinding orgasm comes over you. With all your senses overwhelmed, you relax; your fingers slowly unfurl from his messed up locks. Your back lies flat against the mattress again as your chest rises up and down rhythmically.

He was kind enough to let you ride out your climax on his tongue. The whole time you were so enveloped in pleasure—his eyes were on your face and on your every expression.

Karasu gave your clit one final kiss before sitting up again, his dick bobbing from the movement. He used the back of his hand to wipe of your slick from his satisfied grin.

"Ah... shucks. No one was keepin' track of time huh? Can't blame ya. Seein' how fucked out ya look right now."

Another chuckle reverberates from his chest. Karasu was thoroughly amused by the chain of events. Maybe after seeing a more vulnerable side from you—he might reconsider his opinion on you. Keyword: Might.

"Oh shut up," you say for the nth time tonight.

"That how ya treat the guy that made ya cum so good?"

You let out an exasperated huff, annoyed that he one upped you. Even if he did eat your pussy out like a starved man—the fact remaind unchanged. Karasu Tabito was still your enemy.

"I don't... I don't care because you're still a fucking asshole."

Well, shit... seems like his opinion of you hasn't changed at all. If you hate him still, then it would only feel right to reciprocate those feelings.

Karasu groans, running his hand over his face and through his hair. "That so? Guess what, darlin'? This fuckin' asshole jus' won this bet," he says while pointing to himself. "And winners hafta claim their prizes."

"W-what?"

He easily flips you over like you weighed nothing. Those muscles were certainly not just easy on the eyes. Karasu was insanely strong. His long fingers dug into the flesh of your hips as he pulled your lower half up.

Your cheek was pressed into the bed with your ass up in the air. He made quick work of you, pulling your arms behind you and restraining you with a single hand.

For a while there was no other movement because he took his sweet time to appreciate the sight in front of him.

Karasu whistles, slapping your ass once. "Nice."

You tried saying something—anything to let him know that you haven't given up. But the sheer anticipation of his cock filling you, kept your mouth shut.

You hated him... but maybe not his dick.

"Were ya sayin' somethin'? My bad, darlin'. Can't hear ya over the sound of my dick goin' inside ya."

And he did just that—in one fluid motion, he stuck half of his length into your cunt. He hissed, not expecting for it to be this tight and warm.

"Nevermind yer mouth—if ya used this right from the start—I woulda busted instantly," he murmured.

Karasu threw his head back, only moving back-and-forth slightly. Soft and sweet mewls fell from your glossy lips.

This wasn't enough. You wanted even more. So much so that it was the only thing you could communicate to him. And he was more than happy to comply.

Not because you asked him to, but because he was planning on teaching you a lesson anyway.

"Try not ta break a'ight?"

But those words juxtaposed the harsh thrust of his hips. The sound of skin roughly slapping against each other filled the messy room. At this point, even Karasu found it hard to keep quiet.

"Been wantin' ta do this forever.... puttin' you in yer place and whatnot."

You only responded in short and ragged moans. Even though he had a vice-like grip on your arms, the pain barely registered as it was overwhelmed with sheer pleasure.

"Yeah? Feels great, right? If ya were nicer ta me... we coulda done this sooner huh?

Your pussy wrapped around his cock and the satisfaction of finally having you to his mercy slowly pushed him to the edge. Every rough thrust was fueled by all the pent up frustration he had for you over the months of being absolute assholes to each other.

It was a dangerous concoction of anger and lust boiling over, resulting in—this.

"Fuuuuuck," he drawled out. Karasu finally let go of your arms, letting them fall to your side. You quickly gripped on to the sheets as if to hold on to what remains of your composure.

Instead, he held on to your hips. His tight grip was almost bruising as he frantically chased the high you failed to give him earlier with your poor handjob. He pistoned in and out of you without care. All he sought after was his own high. You already came earlier, so he could care less at this point.

He kept bullying his cock into you, every sweet drag against your walls had you crying out. At one point, you even whined out his name. But you hardly noticed. Things spilled naturally from your mouth.

Even he almost missed it. But hearing his name fall from your lips in such a beautiful tone was music to his ears... and fuel for his dick. He wasn't sure what came over him, but he began pulling at your hair. It's like he was goading you into saying his name over and over again.

His pace never faltered once. He wouldn't have even broken into a sweat if it weren't for the humid room.

The final nail in the coffin for him was your 2nd climax. Your pussy sucked his dick in like it wants it to never leave. You fluttered around his length, messing up his rhythm for a moment.

"Shit... for an annoyin' woman like ya... ya sure have the sweetest pussy."

"Karasu..." you helplessly breathed out.

As if on cue, his thrusts had another hiccup, indicating that his own climax was near. But he was quick enough to pull out, making a 'pop' sound as he did.

He shuddered as he shot out long hot ropes of cum over the curve of your ass.

Much to his dismay, he had to settle for rubbing himself off to cum. But he wasn't about to finish inside you. The thought of him and you making an accident sent shivers down his spine, honestly.

[raitonsfw]

𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 | 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚞 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

synopsis: They made a fucking bet – whoever made you cum first wins first fuck of the night. The drawback? They can't drop their cursed techniques, Gojo with his Limitless and Geto with his Curse Manipulation. You can only imagine where this was gonna go, your legs already spread open wide for the sorcerers.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), threesome, inappropriate use of cursed techniques, sex toy (vibrator with insertion), clit play, doggy style, facefucking, creampie & cum swallowing, dirty talk, banter, satosugu arguing like idiots, geto pisses gojo off, geto kinda cheats, toji's worm pins reader down, gojo's love language is touch (so this is really hard for him), gojo being a bit cocky and geto being a bit condescending, satosugu don't interact sexually (i know, i'm sorry), endings kinda weak but who cares?

a/n: with this treasure i summon– dunno came up with this plot like a few weeks ago cuz i was really intrigued by satoru's technique and not being able to touch him like- if there are mistakes, just know i suck at distinguishing the power system of jjk so my bad. wc: 2.2k. m.list

divider credit: @hitobaby

“Aw, she’s crying…” You heard from afar and you knew instantly– you were fucked. 

“Satoru, don’t tease her.” 

The two men made a bet– of who could get you to cum without dropping their technique wins first fuck of the night. Naturally, Gojo had it much worse as he couldn’t touch you but Geto was able to do whatever he pleased… with the exception of his curses clinging to you. And that made you squirm with discomfort– you hated his curses, they skeeved you out and you were worried they might attack you even though Geto’s assured you many times he has full control of them. 

You reached out for Gojo again but you were met with traction, the slipping feeling of reality falling apart and breaking your hand’s outstretch. Tears slipped from your eyes as you were fooled yet again, the pressure vibrating through your body becoming way too much and you tried to pull from Geto’s grasp. But the wormed curse he summoned kept you tight and taut against the heat of the mattress, the vibrator flush with your clit and you frowned.

You couldn’t cum like this– with the way Geto’s slimy purple worm looked, so goddamn disgusting…and all you wanted was Gojo’s affection. You wanted him to touch you– to crave you like he always did. He was such a touchy man and the fact that he sat in front of you without so much as reaching out killed you.

Geto had you in his lap, the worm clinging onto one of your arms and the other expelled out towards Gojo. Geto ran the vibrator down towards your entrance and you writhed against him again, your back arching up with a whiny moan but you were met with the babbling of the wretched worm next to you and you instinctively tried to flung it off. “Getooo… Get it off me.” 

Geto pressed a tiny kiss to the back of your head, his other hand stroking your hair with a quiet murmur of ‘sorry baby…’ which didn’t make you feel any better. Gojo sat in front of you in a criss cross position, looking quite bored as he leaned his elbow against his knee. “Bring out another curse, Suguruuu. Toji’s worm’s weak.” 

“I’m not going to scare her.” Geto sighed, his hand faltering on your cunt and you visibly relaxed as he pulled it away from you. Instead he slipped the other part of the vibrator inside you curtly, leaving it there as his fingers brushed your clit. “At least I can touch her.”

Jealousy flashed on Gojo’s face as Geto rubbed circles on your clit, earning another whine from you– a long needy whine too. Your eyes threatened to squeeze shut, barely able to concentrate on anything besides the incessant vibrating pressing into you. Gojo huffed out dramatically, his eyes leveling towards your cunt then back towards Geto. 

“Just because I can’t touch her doesn’t mean I can’t get her off.” The sly remark from the white haired sorcerer went unnoticed by you as the toy nudged deeper into you, the force much more prominent than before. 

You moaned out as it started to fuck in and out of you, the motions absurdly fluid as it pinned your sweet spot, making you tremble. Your hips rolled into the sensation, your hands clutching against the silk of the bed sheets quickly. When you vaguely registered where Geto’s hands rested – one in your hair and another rubbing your clit – you realized that it wasn’t him thrusting the vibrator in you.

You glanced down quickly and through blurred vision, you recognized the invisible energy dragging so heavenly along your walls– Gojo was using his technique.

The vibrator moved to the force pulled within the constraints of his limitless technique, infinity constriding your every nerve and you writhed against Geto, completely forgetting about the curse that crawled against your arm. Your eyes met Gojo; his hand flush with cursed energy glowing a bright blue along with the crystals he called eyes, the damned things nearly taking your breath away. It felt like you were on display for him, taking in every whimper and moan coaxed out of you by his precious power.

He seemed so into it now, his cock straining in his boxers– he found a loophole of course – and he was sure he was going to win the bet. Gojo felt his cock leak as your pretty pussy clenched around the toy, his hand wavering slightly at the thought of it being his– ‘cause God, you’d squeeze him so fucking hard sometimes when he fucked you that he saw stars. Your pussy slicked the little toy with a mass of your arousal, glistening the ribbed toy beautifully and he had to stop himself from drooling. 

When he wins the bet, he’s going to suck the life out of you– your clit and your soul.

The fucking bet sucked his soul right out of him though; all he wanted right now was you on his lap, quivering against him as he played with you. His dick would settle right against the small of your back and he’d grind up into it as you rutted yourself against the little toy and then he’d press the head of his cock right against your aching cunt– maybe even next to the juddering toy, teasing you until you were crying for him and– 

“Stop toying with her.”

The vibrator was delicately pulled out of you, the pleasure ceasing and leaving you empty with pure neediness. You whined out, trying to grasp at Geto’s wrist but his black portal had materialized next to it and another one of his curses grabbed you and kept you still. You grimaced in disgust, leaning forward from Geto before you were forcefully pushed back by strong, uncontrolled energy. 

Gojo was wildly annoyed; you could tell. In fact, you weren’t sure if he could go one more second without touching you– or punching Geto square in the face. 

“Gojo, don’t–” You started, but it was too late now. He was livid, because how dare Geto. How dare he just fucking pull it right out of you with not even an inkling of regret etched on his face. Especially since you were so close– he sensed it, practically saw you tensing up in chase of your release and he just ruins it for you? 

“I’m not toying with her. That was fucking allowed–! Put it back in her.” Gojo growled, his eyebrows furrowing in anger. Animosity dripped from his presence, his body leaning close towards yours before stopping in harrow. 

“Do it yourself.” Geto smirked. He definitely wanted to get under Gojo’s skin; anything to get him to lose the bet. “Maybe I’ll fuck my cock in instead…”

You noticed Gojo stiffen, a menacing look painting his face for a split second before it fell away into a lazed attitude. You watched as his jaw clenched, his fists balling up against his lap as he crouched forward. He had a slight pout to his features, which you adored– he was always in a mood whenever it came to Geto’s taunting. “You wouldn’t.” 

“Oh? Satoru– you should know me by now.” 

“That’s cheating, Sugu.” You leaned up to look at him, kissing at his jawline to prevent any more arguing. His hands found your clit again, feigning more circles into the soft bud and you cooed at him with a tiny whine. His fingers dipped into your pussy slightly which in turn, made you buck your hips against them and his eyes never left Gojo’s as they tranced him into a challenge.

“Who cares? I’ll win anyway. I’m just getting a headstart into the night, pretty.” Before you had time to readjust underneath Geto’s intoxicating touch, his curses pulled you upwards; sitting you directly against Geto’s thick cock. 

And there it was– a flash of blue. Your body was instantly flush against Gojo’s chest, his strong arms embracing you like he was trying to protect you from harm. He pulled you into a desperate kiss, his fingers roaming over your waist as he lapped his tongue against yours in a soft hum. God, he missed this– he missed you, even though it was only for a few minutes. As his mouth sucked a tiny bruise down your neck, revelling in the way you keened, he vowed to never fucking make a bet with Geto Suguru ever again. 

Geto’s curses faded away back into the portal, disintegrating against the black mass as soon as Gojo touched you. “Told you, Y/N.” 

Geto’s big hands wrapped against your hips, the tip of his cock already prodding against your entrance as he aimed to mount you right then and there. No, he didn’t want to waste any time because just as quickly as Gojo lost the bet, he could turn it towards his favor; the damned idiot spinning you like a hot wheel whenever he flashed his mesmerizing eyes at you.

One wink and you could probably squirt a mile for him. 

Geto turned your chin towards him with his forefinger, his dark eyes sending chills down your spine as he bottomed out. You took to your hands and knees, unable to hold onto Gojo any longer as Geto filled you full. A slight blush spread throughout his cheeks as he let out a low deep groan, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Fuck… Just keep your eyes on me, darling.” 

You had your eyes on him for like five seconds before your head was tilted back towards Gojo, his cock now directly in front of you and he slicked the tip against your mouth while pumping it shallowly. “Open wide, baby.”

“Not going to scold me, Satoru?” Geto teased, pulling out his cock lightly and slamming it back into with fervor. You whimpered out, your eyes rolling towards the back of your head as Gojo tried to feed his cock into your mouth. 

“Just need her right now– shit…” He stuttered out as you sunk down on him eagerly, his cock hitting the back of your throat in one go. Oh, you must’ve broken him– his entire body jolted forwards to fuck into your mouth and his mouth dropped open in a shuddering moan. Or he was already broken beforehand, unable to keep his cock to himself as you were almost fucked without his permission. 

Geto was a dirty cheater, but a brilliant fucker; his hips snapped into you at the perfect angle and you whined happily around Gojo’s cock as he rammed into your sweet spot. You drooled on Gojo’s cock, unable to do anything but take it– take both of them in one sitting and try not to die from the pressure building in your tummy. Geto fucked into you so deep, his stamina barely faltering as he pounded you from the back with breathless pants seeping from his mouth. 

You wished you could turn back to look at him– or better yet, his hand tangled into your hair and pulled you towards him but he wouldn’t go that far to piss Gojo off. You could only imagine the sight of him, his long hair snaking down his back and sticking to the frame of his face while Gojo glared at him. Geto wouldn’t care though– because he won fair and square in his eyes, his cock pressing against your cervix with a tremble to his thighs now due to the way you clenched around him. 

And you knew Gojo wanted so badly to feel you squeeze around him– so you hollowed out your cheeks and smoothed one of your hands over his thigh as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. He took the golden opportunity to face fuck you, his hips rolling into you with a broken groan. 

“Ah, k-keep going. That’s it… you love being stuffed by the both of us, huh? Can’t even fucking think straight– fuck, do that again…” Gojo babbled above you as his hips thrusted into your wet mouth, your tongue sliding up the underside of his twitching cock. 

You felt your release practically racing towards you as Geto fucked into you relentlessly now, the crown of his cock catch on your hole each and every time he plunged in. You breathed through your nose as your walls fluttered around him through your orgasm, feeling the warmth of Geto’s following not long after. 

His groans were quickly overtaken by Gojo’s desperate little whines, both of their hips slapping against you being one of the few sounds in the room. Gojo could only be out of the limelight for so long before his moans became downright filthy whimpers when he came down your throat, burying his cock deeply into your mouth. “Swallow it all, princess. Don’t waste a goddamn drop…” 

And you did– you swallowed every goddamn drop that dribbled from his cock while Geto fucked his cum into you greedily. As you pulled off of Gojo’s cock, you wobbled against the bed slightly before the two of them held you up and placed you carefully against the pillows. Looking at the two of them, there seemed to be no sign of ill intent racking their brains. Maybe they wouldn’t fight and you could sleep peacefully, snuggled against them in a warm, cozy blanket.

“Next time you make a bet, fucking keep it Suguru.” Gojo breathed out, his voice void of malice but there still was a bite to it. Wedged between the two of them, you felt Geto shake with laughter– the mocking kind that dug at Gojo’s psyche.

Or maybe not.

“What, you really think you’ll win next time?”

“I know I will.”

a/n: y'all want them to make another bet or no?

[notyourhetloki]

Can I request Wade and Logan/reader breeding kink? 👉👈 both of them too excited about it and competitive? (Can you make reader gender neutral (he/him or they/them or trans ftm (he/him), you can use any terms for genitals and stuff it's ok)

into it (Logan x Reader x Wade)

Reader: he/him (ftm)

/NSFW Logan x Reader x Wade/

A/N: Fuuck I had so much fun writing this, anon! It's a bit short but it's pure porn so I hope you still end up satisfied lol (also sorry about the random gif, I couldn't find a more suiting one lmao). Anyway, hope you like it! xoxo

Tags: ftm reader (reader has a vagina), breeding kink, creampie, they both fuck you, Wade being a fucking joke, Logan is not having it, piv sex (unprotected), porn without plot.

Word Count: 908

—

As soon as you walked through the front door, they were all up in your personal space. Wade and Logan promptly started to take your clothes off, not exactly caring about being gentle.

"Boys! Calm down, there's plenty of me for the both of you!" You tried appeasing, but to no avail.

"And yet is nearly not enough." Groaned Logan, ripping your underwear off with his bare hands. You gasped as his fingers immediately found your sex, rubbing your clit while Wade kissed your neck.

"Sorry about that, doll. We'll buy you another one." Wade whispered into your ear, taking you by the hand and convincing Logan to continue things in the bedroom.

You were basically thrown onto the bed, naked and vulnerable and super turned on. You could already see their hard bulges before they started to take their own clothes off.

"On all fours for us." Ordered Logan, and you gladly obliged. "Attaboy..."

After all their clothes were out, Logan started positioning himself behind you until you heard Wade complain.

"Wait a minute, mutton chops! Why do you think you get to go first?" Wade pointed out.

"Because I can and I will." Logan retorted impatiently, giving your ass a light squeeze.

"Nuh-uh! That ain't fair! I propose a rock-paper-scissors to sort things out, nothing fairer than that." Said Wade holding a closed fist out.

"Fucking hell, fine!" Logan agreed and quickly started the game. They finished the round and Logan played scissors, while Wade played paper.

"Best out of three?" Begged Wade, but the other man didn't care for it.

"Fuck off." Logan pushed Wade aside and started positioning himself again, putting the tip of his cock at your entrance.

You were really wet, so it didn't hurt when he slammed into you. You were full, stuffed to the brim, and you thought it couldn't get any better than that... until Logan began thrusting into you, hitting a sweet spot inside that made you cry out in pleasure.

"Let us hear those sweet sounds you make, boy." Logan said while fucking you. He breathed loudly, grunting and grabbing you at the hips with enough force to bruise. The sounds you made together were obscene, and that turned Wade on even more.

"Gosh... fuck him silly, Wolvie." Wade was jacking himself off, looking closely at Logan's dick in and out of you. "Cum inside him..."

Logan groaned again, more urgent than before. A sudden thought took over him, and he needed to let it out. "I'm gonna breed you, (y/n). I'm gonna fill you up so good... fuck, fill you up with my seed."

"Goddamn!" Said a surprised Wade, not expecting the other man to be so earnest. "That's so fucking dirty... I love it."

"Ah, yes! Please..." You moaned, feeling energy and heat through your whole body. You were being used by him, your body only an object... it turned you on so damn much.

Logan's thrusts began to get even more rough, he was fucking you hard and the sounds he made were animalistic. Soon he turned erratic, his hips faltering in the rhythm he had set. You knew he was close.

He came with a loud grunt, holding you for dear life. Breathing deeply through his gritted teeth, Logan recovered and slowly took his member out of you. A bit of cum dripped from your entrance, and Wade observed everything with a delighted expression.

"I bet I can cum even more in his pussy..." He whispered mostly to himself, but you both heard him.

"You wanna bet, bub?" Said Logan with a satisfied smile on his face. What doesn't a good fuck does to one man's humor?

"Hell yeah, peanut." Wade soon replaced the other man's position and unlike Logan, asked for your approval. "You alright, gorgeous?"

"Y-Yeah... please, give it to me." You moaned as you felt his cock entering you, stuffing you up again.

Wade was a bit gentler with his hands, grabbing you thoughtfully at the places you weren't bruised. But his rhythm... he was still a beast.

"Fuuuck, you feel so good, pretty boy." He moaned, not stopping for a second.

"Hmm, Wade... Logan... ah!" You couldn't stop making noises and calling out for them, dumb with the feeling of being full.

"Good job, sugar... you're being so good for us." Said Logan while standing beside you, watching as Wade pounded into you with great enthusiasm.

"Shit, I'm close... I'll cum inside your pretty cunt, (y/n)." Wade gripped you even harder and finally slammed his hips into you, his climax followed by a deep moan.

He took a few breaths and slowly came back to earth, removing himself from you with a pop. Even more cum oozed from inside you, a beautiful and sexy sight for the both of them.

"As my partner here mentioned earlier... consider yourself 'bred'." Wade taunted, giving a final slap on your ass and retreating himself to put an arm over Logan's shoulder. "Sooo... about that bet, what is my prize?"

You laughed as you laid on your back to watch them both, exhausted but completely satisfied.

Logan suddenly grabbed Wade by his balls, looking him in the eyes. "You get to keep all of your blood inside your body today, sounds good?"

Wade responded in a higher octave, nodding his head and still holding Logan's shoulders. "Ouchie! So rough!" Logan let him go, but Wade only got closer. "You're lucky I'm into it."

—

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Who wears the pants. || husband!John Price

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: M Words: 3.4K without the extra!! (this one got away from me, I'm sorry.) Pairing: husband!John x wife!reader CW: quick smut!, yelling mentioned, slightly dubcon (if you squint), john got angry and jealous Tags: you/your pronouns, afab!reader, smut, fingering-ish, slight exhibitionism, love bites and marks, established relationship, jealous!john price, anger mentioned, ghost's stirring the pot. Summary: John is embarrassed of the fact you 'wear the pants' in your relationship... But only after the lads come to stay over and a snarky comment from Simon, does he decide to show you what's what. a/n: my first attempt at writing smut that I wanted to post... Also Ghost/Simon is a dick in this one...

John simultaneously is and is not ashamed to say how much he loves you. 

Of course, he loves you to bits, finds you the most stunning woman he’s ever seen, and would kill and die for you in a heartbeat. His love was the epitome of “If I ever were to lose you, I'd surely lose myself.”

However, he would never risk introducing you to his teammates. Not if he can avoid it. And not just because he cares about you and wants to keep you away from prying eyes, safe and sound in your family home…

More like… they don’t need to know how John purrs when you scratch his beard right beneath his chin and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. They don’t need to see how his pupils almost morph into hearts equally if he sees you in one of his shirts, or in your work clothes, or in joggers and a sweaty t-shirt, or a sexy little number, or nude…

And they especially don’t need to know that their tough-as-nails Captain figuratively rolls over and bares his neck in submission when in the presence of his wife… Or that your voice is like a goddamn foghorn making him genuinely quake in a way he hasn’t since he was a boy at Sandhurst, getting yelled at by drill sergeants… 

He hasn’t left the toilet seat up in 12 years. Hasn’t tracked mud into your shared home (whose floors you had just mopped!) in 10. Hasn’t eaten the last of your snacks or used the last of the tea bags without replacing it in 6. 

There is no weaponized incompetence in your home because you know John is not incompetent and you will not allow him to feign being it to make you his maid. You take care of him and your home, and you refuse to let him disrespect you in any way… And he knows better than to try.

His teammates have no idea how hopelessly in love he is with you. With the way you seize control from him in a way he allows no one else to. Not his soldiers, not the rest of his family. He’s been the ‘man’ of the house in all aspects for as long as he can remember… But that stops the moment he crosses the threshold of the front door, hangs his coat and his gear in the hall closet, and pads through the home in search of you. 

He always finds you busying yourself with something or other and you beckon him close like a puppy, with a pat on the chair next to yours as you work at the dining table, or a come hither motion of the fingers as you water the plants, or reach your arms out for a hug as you stand atop a ladder halfway through repainting the accent wall in the living room. He always hugs and burrows himself in you, inhaling your scent, basking in your warmth, leaving kisses and touches in every inch of exposed skin.

He’s not embarrassed of you, he’ll gladly shout out to the world about his love for you. But he’s embarrassed by how he acts around you. Soap and Gaz would tell him he’s “whipped” if they ever knew what you do to him. So he doesn’t want them to meet you.

But he doesn’t have a choice. December 23rd, at 11 P.M., he and the lads have just touched down from a mission. The weather forecast speaks of a rainstorm and severe weather warnings extending right over Christmas… And John knows what he must do.

So disgruntled, your husband walks off to his office and calls you. In a low tone of voice, almost hushed, because he woke you up, he grumbles about the storm, about how Soap won’t be able to drive up to Scotland for Christmas, that Gaz can probably risk driving to Birmingham, but it’s still pretty unsafe, and that Ghost, as usual, was going to lock himself in his quarters on base and drink himself until he passes out…

You don’t need to be told again. You spring into action immediately. You simply reply that you’re getting up and getting the guest rooms ready, asking if one of the lads would mind getting the pull-out sofa in John’s study, and telling John to drive safe, that the roads are dangerous with the rain… 

It’s midnight when you hear the front door opening, and the hall light turns on, flooding the space with a bright warm-toned yellow-ish light. “Shoes off, you lot. The missus doesn’t want water or mud inside.” He demands in a gruff tone.

As they go about unzipping coats and undoing their muddy boots, you can hear John still chastising them. “I’ll stress again: I want you on your best behaviour. No work talk, no cursing, no disrespect. The missus is doin’ you a favour.” He adds as if the poor lads are children who cannot be trusted to be polite.

Unbeknownst to you, he had already spent the whole drive over from base warning them about picking up after themselves, about being respectful to you, about putting the toilet seat down, about making their beds… reaming them out as if they were wild animals who had never once been inside a house and would break and dirty up everything they touch.

You move to stand at the step that separates the lowered entryway from the sitting room, silently observing them, arms crossed as you lean your shoulder against the wall, wearing a robe and your house slippers as you look at them.

They’re all taller than you, moving surprisingly efficiently and quietly, trying not to disturb the peaceful home too much. They’re dripping wet, probably from rushing from the car in the driveway up to the front stoop. A set of four backpacks or duffle bags are on the floor by the door, their clothes for the days they’ll spend here inside.

“Give them a break, Jonathan, you can keep bossing them around in the morning, love.” You quip and you immediately feel all their backs stiffen, four pairs of eyes glued to you.

“Hi, lovie…” John says, already crossing the small entryway to wrap his arms around your waist, dropping a deep open-mouthed kiss to your awaiting lips. Your hand touches his face, caressing his cheek over his mutton chops.

“Steamin’ Jesus, the Captain’s got taste…” You hear a voice murmur, followed by a sharp ‘ow, what was that fo’?’ which causes both you and John to look at the other soldiers. The offending man, the shortest, with a mohawk, rubs at his arm, which seems to indicate the tallest one on his left side smacked him into shutting his mouth.

You don’t need to be told who’s who to realize that it was ‘Ghost’ who smacked ‘Soap’, while ‘Gaz’ stands on Soap’s other side and shoots John an apologetic look. He told you everything about them, without ever revealing names or pictures, for you to know more about them than you should. John himself as his lips pressed together, his mouth nearly disappearing behind his mustache, as he glares at the lads (aka Soap) for making comments about you.

You quickly approach the three men. “You must be the lads my husband talks so much about!” You say with a chuckle. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the men responsible for bringing my John home in one piece every time…” You tell them gratefully while shaking each of their hands with two of your own, your eyes shining a bit.

“Please, come in!” You gesture behind you into the home as you flick the sitting room lights on. “John, will you show them their rooms while I put the kettle on?” You ask your husband as you slink into the kitchen. 

A few muffled footsteps, created by socked feet, are heard as they walk inside, with John directing the boys to the different bedrooms (and study), and you hear a gruff voice murmur something about taking the pull-out sofa. You assume it’s Ghost.

Your husband then comes to hug you around the waist as you wait for the water to boil, dropping kisses to your temple and cheek, doting on you while his big, calloused hands squeeze at every part of you, your thighs, especially, but your tummy as well, along with gentle words. “I missed you so much, lovie…” “Thank you for doing this…” “You know, I can never sleep right without you in my arms…” “Just missed you so much…”

Five minutes later, you hear their steps coming back as you’re finishing pouring the water into a few separate mugs. Your husband dislodges his arms from around you. He doesn’t need the others to see he’s so crazy about you. 

“Your home is beautiful, Mrs. Price.” Gaz says as you set the tea mugs, the sugar, and the milk within their reach on the island counter. He takes one of the mugs and tops it off with some milk. The way the young boy calls you ‘Mrs. Price’ has nothing if not respect dripping from it. 

It makes you tingle on the inside, even after so many years, the realization that you’re John’s wife, John’s choice, John’s priority. Your husband preens himself a bit when he catches the look in your eye. He loves that you’re his, of course, but loves it even more that you like being his.

“Thank you, Gaz. I’m glad you like it.” You remark with a smile as you sip your own tea. Herbal, different from theirs, so you can resume your sleep which John interrupted with his phone call. 

“Aye, real cosy!” Soap quips from beside him as he slides up to a stool on the island. He doesn’t drink tea, so you didn’t prepare any, per John’s request.

“I hope the beds are to your liking… I kinda made them in a hurry.” You quip, which causes the boys, and your husband, to laugh, as they seat themselves across from you, in the bar stools. You barely even noticed Ghost taking the last cuppa and sliding up next to Johnny, his mask rolled up just enough to allow him to drink.

“We’re soldiers, ma’am, we’ll sleep anywhere,” Gaz told you, ever polite, with a sweet smile on his lips. John has told you all about Gaz, his protegé, of sorts, a respectful lad, the youngest, but one that has proved himself to be useful.

Your eyes flitter over to John for a moment, watching as he drinks his tea, two fingers laced through the handle of his navy blue mug, rather than around him, his behind leaning back on the counter beside you. While doing that, however, you miss the glances the lads exchange with each other, and then to you.

“As true as that might be…” You trail off after sipping your tea and look back at the soldiers again. “I still hope you have some good rest. And, I’m sorry about the pull-out sofa… it’s a bit old, came from John’s old apartment… Has gotta be a decade old now.” You quip as you look toward Ghost.

“It’s alright. I’ll sleep fine.” Ghost says. “Like Gaz said, we can sleep wherever.” He adds.

Soap nods along. “Anything’s better than sleeping on the ground with your rifle between your legs and your jacket folded up to serve as an eyemask.” He adds and laughs.

“Johnny.” Your husband calls out, chastising him. “No work talk.”

“Aw, c’mon, Captain, that hardly counts as work talk.” He retorts with a little boyish grin.

“Them’s the rules. No bloody talk about service.” John insists.

“John.” You scold him, and your husband stiffens next to you, his eyes flittering over to you, eyebrows scrunched and his eyes softened as he meets your eye… nothing short of a puppy.

It was stronger than John at this point, to respond to your tone of voice with nothing but a baring of his neck, not a baring of his teeth like he would with anyone else. The boys all noticed it, the way his shoulders sagged and his eyes looked at you with utter devotion.

“Let the boys talk about work. As long as it’s nothin’ too gory or confidential…” You trail off. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy ‘earing all the stories they have to tell about you at work... Right, lads?” You ask as you look at them again.

“Oh, we’ve got stories alright.” Soap says with a giggle and a wagging of his brows, which causes Gaz and Ghost to snicker under his breath.

“Well, then, regale me with them during Christmas dinner, ye?” You ask them, to which they nod along with smiles. You could swear even Ghost had one in the corner of his scarred lips.

After a bit more small talk, you kissed John goodnight, while he told you he’d stay downstairs and talk with the lads a little longer, so you waved at them while trekking your way upstairs, the boys once more thanking you for the hospitality.

The moment John’s trained ears honed into the fact the bedroom door has closed, he finishes his tea and glares at the lads.

“Don’t be bloody flirtin’ with my wife.” He tells Soap directly, though his comment extends to Gaz and Ghost as well, which is why he glances to both sides at the other two.

“Sir?” Gaz asks while blinking.

“You ‘eard me, Garrick.” He adds and points a finger at the young Sergeant. 

“We’re not flirtin’, sir.” Soap tries to defend himself.

“Aw, that’s rich that there, MacTavish, yeah.” Your husband says bluntly.

“Weren’t flirting.” Ghost retorts as he looks at John. “I was more so interested in the way she has your balls in her little purse.” He adds.

Both Soap and Gaz turn to look at Ghost with eyes so wide you’d think he just tried to kill the Captain directly… and he might as well have, the way John choked on nothing and started coughing up a lung.

The other two are trying to muffle their chuckles and hide their smirks as Simon continues. “Don’t give me that look, boss. We all saw it. Pretty thing might as well be walking you around on a lead.”

“Nonsense.” John says defensively as he snatches the cups of tea from the island and turns to deposit them all in the kitchen sink. He starts washing them quickly, shoulders stiffened.

“Bunk down.” John demands. “We’ve got plenty to do tomorrow.” He adds. The light screeching of bar stools being pulled back and pushed back into place is heard, as the boys vacate the kitchen with curt ‘Goodnight, sir’ murmured before they headed upstairs as well.

“Balls in her bloody purse, my arse.” John grumbles under his voice as he finishes doing the dishes, drying his hands, and then setting them on the island across from him, head hung in shame.

He knows Simon’s right. Hell, he revels in the fact you’ve got metaphorical balls of steel to confront him, to steal control right from under him, to wear the pants in the relationship. Lord knows it took him years to meet a woman who could not only keep up with him but put him in his place…

So why does it embarrass him so to hear them snicker at that fact? Why does it annoy him to look weak for you in front of his men? Why does it anger him that he loves to be weak for you?

Those are the thoughts in his head as he turns off the sitting room and kitchen lights and marches upstairs... And as he approaches your bedside in the dark, pulling the covers out from atop of you, exposing your body to him.

Under that robe you came to welcome them in, you were only wearing one of his t-shirts and no pants whatsoever, which he had peeped by the way your bare legs had shown through the slit between the two sides of the fabric whenever you walked.

“John?” You ask him in surprise, his breath is a bit ragged, more so huffing like a bull through his nose, as he grabs you and pulls you up into his arms, only to drop you on the bed further in the middle of the bed.

The giggle that escaped you when he did so annoyed him even more. He’s angry, pissed that he had been humiliated in front of his men, that you had humiliated him by merely existing and going about your relationship with him the way you always did…

So why are you giggling? Is he really that weak for you that you’ve grown to not fear his anger?

He grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it up and over your head, tossing it to the side before he attacks your neck with nothing but kisses and bites, his hands touching your naked body, rough skin dragging over every inch of the softness he has left on display.

“John!” You giggle some more as he keeps touching and kissing you, his body weighing down on yours, your legs parted to accommodate him. “We can’t… We have guests!” You try to negotiate as his fingers dig into the pudge of your thighs and slide around to grip a greedy handful of your ass.

You still haven’t spotted the anger in him… And, as such, your playful attempts at negotiating postponing sex only annoy him more. You’re still trying to call the shots…

His left hand wraps around your face, quieting you with a strong palm holding your lips, his fingers digging into your jaw on either side. “You’re mine.” That’s all he says as his fingers continue exploring your body.

“You think you can embarrass me like that in front of the blokes?” He asks you in a whisper as his teeth catch your earlobe and suck and bite at it. “Hm?” He beckons, his tone aggressive. “Make me look like a big girl’s blouse in front of my subordinates?” He continues.

A shiver runs down your spine as his free hand wraps around the waistband of your underwear and yanks it off, down your legs, tossing them to a random spot, barely giving you time to react before his fingers drag up your thigh.

“You think you’re oh-so-box-clever, innit?” He asks you as his fingers slowly drag across your slit, finding your clit effortlessly, years of practice aiding in his torturing of you. You find yourself moaning and sighing against his hand, hips stuttering a bit, your feet looking for a perch at the edge of the bed so you can rub yourself into his hand.

“Walking around in just my shirt and those knickers and stupid bloody robe, making my boys see how lucky I am to have you, make them jealous… Only to embarrass me, make me look weak…” He trails off and tuts loudly, his tongue clicking disdainfully.

The things he’s saying make no sense to you. You didn’t try to seduce his friends, and you sure as hell didn’t try to embarrass him! It’s just the way you always act around him, around the house. He’s never complained, in fact, he’s praised you plenty of times for being ‘perfect’ for him… So where did this change of his come from?

Frankly, you don’t know, but you don’t care… It has been weeks since you were last together, sure, but you know that’s not the main reason why you’re loving this. The unbridled rage in his voice, combined with the way his experienced fingers touch your body, is making you feel things John’s never made you feel before. Your mind is clear of nothing if not a pang of hunger for him, your hands gently pawing at his shoulders atop his charcoal grey t-shirt, soft whimpers muffled by the hard palm pressing you into silence, into submission.

“I’m afraid I’ve let you gone unchecked for too long, lovie...” He grunts in your ear as his fingers draw circles against your clit, the rough pads catching at the throbbing bud, making you whine and whimper, your whole body shuddering against him. “I’m going to fix that attitude of yours...” He clicks his tongue again, sounding all the more annoyed.

“Now you’re going to be good f’r me…” He says as he uncovers your mouth, his hand, wet with saliva, slipping from atop your mouth to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, flush to the mattress. “And make the lads know exactly who’s in charge in here. Clear their doubts...”

[MASTERLIST]

extra: 500 words-ish

The next morning, you wake up before John, as usually tends to happen when he comes back from a mission. The silence and lack of stress, the warmth of you in his arms, the cosy atmosphere of the house… It’s all the perfect sedative to keep him as good as dead for many, many hours. You slip out of his embrace and check the clock… it was just past 9 A.M. You pad quietly to the hall bathroom after fishing out a change of clothes from the wardrobe, and rinse off the sweat from the night before, as well as the dried slick and cum between your thighs. You’re still unstable on your feet, your thighs and the space between them deliciously sore, your body covered in marks of the night you spent in your husband’s arms… You feel like you’re floating as you drift downstairs and into the kitchen…  “Fuckin’ hell!” You jump, startled. In your kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea is Ghost… You think. The height seems about right, though you didn’t expect a broad-shoulder, bare-chested blond in your kitchen. “Good morning.” You say softly as you shuffle inside, hearing him return that same greeting in a way-too-deep of a voice, standard of man who’s just woken up. “Go put a shirt on, this isn’t the beach.” You scold him, as you open the fridge, looking for the eggs. Your voice is as fierce as it usually tends to be with John. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him, noticing his mask is missing. You assume John scolded him about it, how you’d likely be startled by seeing a masked man in the night. The look in Ghost’s eyes is unreadable, stern, unwavering, and eerily calm, as if he’s seeing through you. They flit over you, up and down, with a certain glint you can’t quite decipher. You straighten your back in the face of his look, portraying nothing if not confidence. Ghost leans against the counter, one hand holding his tea cup and sipping from it, the other resting on the counter to support his weight, before one of his eyebrows shoots up. “Nice night, huh?” He asks you and, immediately, you feel your entire confidence bleed out of you, your eyes widening like saucers. Of course he heard it… You’re sure all the lads heard you, especially considering John and you started right as they had gotten to their respective rooms to sleep, all of which were located in the same hallway as the master bedroom… It’d surprise you if they hadn’t… Hell, it’d surprise you if the neighbors across the way didn’t! The way John had you last night, crying out his name at the top of his lungs and making you apologise repeatedly for something you didn’t even do (on purpose) definitely leaked through the walls… Just like the shame you currently feel leaks through your pores. You turn away to fix your eyes on the fridge, too embarrassed to face him again after realizing he knows. Your brain rushes to find something to distract you, to hide what you feel… “Are you hungry?” You end up asking softly.

[sceletaflores]

college!pervy!patrick stealing your underwear 18+

it's pure fucking luck when it happens.

art wouldn't stop complaining about having to take his dirty laundry to the communal room on his dorm floor that housed all the washers and dryers. patrick doesn't know why the fuck he offered to take it up for him in the first place, to shut art up? to make him happy?

who gives a shit anyways cause while he's taking arts stupidly full hamper to the laundry room and following the half-assed directions given to him, he bumps right into someone as soon as he steps foot through the already open door. when he cranes his head around the edge of art's hamper he nearly jumps with fucking joy at what, or more-so who, greets him.

he knew who you were already. art wouldn't stop blowing up his phone with texts about "the hot new chick with an out of this world backhand and a killer fucking rack!". so as soon as he got off the bus in cali and stepped foot in art's cushy dorm room he obviously demanded he take him to one of your matches, and holy fucking shit.

you absolutely obliterate the poor girl on the opposite side of the net. running her up and down the court like a chicken with its head cut off while you stay calm and collected.

he could come just watching your perfect form as you hammer another excellent serve at your opponent, but something has to be said for the fucking outfit you're wearing. the tight tank of your dress does show off your, now proven, killer fucking rack but goddamn that skirt should be illegal. even the flowy pleated fabric can't hide the thick curve of your ass underneath, bouncing as you take off to chase after the ball.

he's white knuckling the edges of his seat the entire match, using every ounce of willpower in his body to not pop a boner in the middle of the fucking stands and even more willpower to not look over at the smug fucking grin plastered on art's face as he watches him. safe to say, you've been on his mind ever since.

now, you stand in front of him holding your own hamper with an apologetic smile on your face.

"shit, i'm so sorry. i didn't even see you." you say, way too chipper for 9 a.m on a sunday.

patrick is the epitome of a cocky, arrogant asshole. he has girls in nearly every state practically begging to choke on his dick without him so much as raising a finger in their direction. he's beyond smooth. he has every sleazy line known to man on the tip of his tongue at all times, yet when he goes to speak he can't manage anything besides a weak mutter of, "s'alright." he mentally punches himself in the balls for letting your bambi eyes and dick sucking lips get the better of him.

you give him a nod and one last friendly smile before stepping around him and making your way down the hallway. patrick watches in damn near agony as you go, ponytail swinging behind you in time with the sway of your hips.

patrick lets out an all suffering groan, dropping his head to his chest in defeat. "fucking dumbass.' he admonishes himself quietly, letting himself wallow in misery before making to take a step forward when suddenly he spots something out of the corner of his eye.

it takes him a few seconds to register just what he's staring at, but when it clicks he nearly has a fucking heart attack. there on the floor lays a pair of lacy white panties, your lacy white panties. it takes him all of a millisecond to drop art's hamper on the floor carelessly and practically dive to snatch them up. as soon as his fingers touch the fabric he can feel himself chubbing up in his sweats. he runs his fingertips over the hem, feeling the familiar rough texture that was snug against your body so recently makes sparks go off near the base of his spine.

when patrick hears lively conversation and footsteps heading his way he shoves the panties in his pocket and snatches art's hamper off the floor to start haphazardly shoving his clothes in the washer.

when he finally re-enters art's dorm room he's met with his best friends face staring at him suspiciously. "what the fuck took you so long?" art questions, brow raised as he watches patrick stumble over to his bed and plop down a little too roughly. patrick's reply is simple.

“got lost."

it's only later, when he's back on the train heading for his latest stop and digging into his pocket in search of his lighter that he feels it. the lacy fabric of your panties still stuffed deep into his pocket. his breath hitches in his throat and before he knows what he's doing he's up like a shot and speed walking to the back of the cart.

he's in the bathroom a mere five seconds before he's ripping his fly down and furiously stroking his hard as steel cock in a cramped train bathroom he can barely stand up fully in. it takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before he's busting in the fucking sink with your dainty white panties balled up in his fist and held against his nose as he inhales so heavily he might fucking pass out.

patrick has already found, and requested you, on facebook by the time he makes it back to his seat.

-------------

big shout outs to @yuenity @callsign-artemis @ebodebo (who each put up with me ranting about this so wonderfully love you guys mwah)

[simpjaes]

Enhypen drabble when you get overstimulated (sorry idk if you have done this already)

hyung line + when you're overstimulated

★ heeseung:

the type to do it entirely on purpose and relish in the way you plead, writhe, and try to get away from him on instinct. the best part of it is that he knows you want him to keep going, you've told him before. so, yes, he'd hold you down and only go harder. after all, the fact that you'll let your clit hurt for him drives him up a fucking wall. he'd definitely make sure to pull it out of you any and every time he gets between your legs. pinching and biting you, rubbing too harshly just after an orgasm to keep you in the game, licking up your pretty tears and making damn sure you're struggling to decide if he's hurting you or making you feel better than he ever has.

☆ jay:

does it without really realizing he is but loves the way you act nonetheless. always such intimate sex until you're shifting your body and your legs are shaking. little whimpers and pants of "slow down," and "i'm too sensitive." i think it would make something break in his brain, to where he would absolutely slow down but he wouldn't stop. if anything, he'd probably watch you more intensely, fuck you deeper, and essentially probably cum far too quickly after seeing you let him do as he pleases solely because he meets you half way with it.

on another note, im a fan of jay getting lost in the heat of the moment and absolutely just going, going, going. through your orgasm, making your entire body feel too hot to the point you feel light headed. and you know, he'd be so lost in the sauce that he probably wouldn't even realize that he's nearly bruising your pussy ;o; only after the fact would he realize and give you a million kisses like "omg im so sorry, why didn't you say anything?" but then you'd just be like "it felt good after a while...." and BOOM, he's horny again.

★ jake:

does it to you both intentionally and unintentionally. very much a mix of both heeseung and jay with this motherfucker right here. he'll be in the middle of trying to torture your clit then lose his cool and start chasing his own pleasure. probably the type to get overstimulated with you, where you're both on the brink of tears, trying to writhe both away from each other and against each other for more. it would get super intense with him too. like he'd use hands, mouth, and cock in ways that are so rough neither of you realize it til you're coming back to reality and both of you are sore and in pain.

10/10 jake overstimulates both of you to the point that sex is almost always a reason to call out of work or class the next day.

☆ sunghoon:

he's a fan of edging you and overstimulation so I can imagine he'd be very deliberate with how he works your body while neglecting his own until the time is right. absolutely will not fuck you until you're overstimulated and begging for it. i'm talking upwards of an hour or two just to get you to the point you can barely stand looking at him if he's not going to fuck you. until you're mad that he's making it hurt soooo good but not giving you what you really need. and he's an evil motherfucker too. he'd smirk, chuckle, and say things like "aw, already? it's only been an hour." and "does it hurt enough, baby? you want me to make it better now?" only to not make it better because he's not done playing with you. unfortunate for him though, he always loses the power the second he sinks into that clenching overstimulated pussy :( loses his goddamn mind chasing your hips, both of you almost always getting off within a minute or two solely from your overstimulation and his complete neglect of himself.

[barcaatthemoon]

big mouth || diana taurasi x reader ||

It takes a while for you and Diana to start getting along.

Your senior season had felt absolutely surreal. It had taken a long time to get your team looking as good as it had. You felt pretty lucky to be playing the best basketball of your life without too much outside attention. You had garnered your fair share of fans, but the pressure didn't ever really reach Caitlin Clark or Paige Bueckers levels. To top all of it all, you had went very high in the draft to the Phoenix Mercury, a team full of players you knew would make you better at the end of the day.

For the most part, Phoenix gave you a warm welcome. You found a few quick friends, but with that, you also seemed to aggrevate one of the veterans. You had no idea how or why, but Diana Taurasi couldn't seem to stand you. That one had hurt you the most because she had been the player you were most looking forward to learning from.

And in a way, you did learn something from every unnecessary hit she gave you during practice. You learned from the icy glares and dismissiveness every single time you spoke. Natasha and BG tried to distract you from Diana, claiming that they had no idea why the woman was acting like that with you. However, you after the first few weeks, you gave up on trying to impress her. If she wanted to act like a bitch and play that game, you could too.

"Damn, I didn't know our rook was a brick wall in her spare time!" Natasha laughed as BG leaned down to help Diana up. She had run in for a simple shot with only you in the way, someone who she had plowed through every single practice since you arrived. Diana thought it should have been an easy shot, but you stood your ground, and surprised everybody with your strength.

"I figured that I wouldn't get any playing time if I tried being nice all the time," you said, shooting Diana a pointed look.

"Well, you'll fucking foul out playing like that. Learn some goddamn self control." You scoffed and rolled your eyes, not about to take advice like that from Diana of all people. You had never seen a player be so physical before, especially with you on the court.

"I'm sure you know a lot about that," you grumbled.

"Hey big mouth, say that shit louder, I dare you!" Diana yelled. You turned, ready to get in her face, but someone stopped you. You weren't sure who it was pulling you back, but you quickly found yourself sitting on the bench with a water bottle surrounded by a few of your teammates. "I don't know what the fuck is wrong with some of these rookies."

"Calm down, she's just giving back what you've been dishing out for weeks," BG reminded Diana. You weren't sure what they were saying, but you knew that they were talking about you. Diana didn't seem to like whatever was being said because she just stormed off after that.

"What a fucking baby," you muttered under your breath.

"Watch it, there's only so much looking for you that we can all do before it starts dividing the team," Natasha warned you. You sighed as you leaned back in your seat. "Man, that was kind of funny though. Big mouth, haha."

"Tash, out of the two of us, that's a much more fitting nickname for you." Natasha glared at you, but didn't make any attempt to refute your statement.

"Well, it's yours now rook!"

…

Much to your dismay, Diana's nickname for you seemed to stick. If not with the other players, than with the woman herself. You had no idea what you had ever really done to Diana aside from the one day in practice whenever you'd knocked her on her ass. However, her problem with you seemed to be from straight out of the gate. She had to be jealous of you, but you had no idea why she would be in the first place.

Still, you took the knowledge of making Diana Taurasi jealous to heart. You were cockier than before, and as your hatred towards each other grew, the more confident you did as well. Your confidence was shining bright both on and off the courts. You found yourself playing as a consistent sub in games, and rarely spent a night alone after them.

Tonight, you had decided to join your teammates at a club for a celebratory night out. It was always perfect, Diana generally opting to go home for the night. Unfortunately for you, tonight wasn't one of those nights. You had heard rumors of a breakup, but you tended to tune anything out you weren't hearing from the person it was about themselves. Even if you didn't like Diana, you weren't going to feel into the rumor mill.

"Watch, her dumbass is gonna go broke trying to impress all those girls," Diana huffed. Natasha and BG shared a glance before they turned to Diana. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"She's not buying them drinks or anything," BG said. Diana's face changed a little, and Natasha busted out laughing. "What's so funny?"

"Look at her, do you think she's buying her own drinks? Nah, those girls are all over big mouth," Natasha said. "Now that you're single again, maybe you should hit her up. Grovel a little and she'll probably help you."

"Absolutely not, and why would I ever want to hook up with big mouth? She's disrespectful as hell, and I don't even fuck with her like that."

"That wasn't what we meant," BG muttered. She glanced over Diana's shoulder at Natasha, both women having had a similar conversation with you around a week ago.

…

With the way that your team had been playing, the playoffs were a bit of a pipe dream. Still, you kept your head down and worked towards it. For a moment, you thought that you had sealed the Mercury with that coveted last spot. And with a single three point shot, all of that was washed right down the drain.

You had been waiting to board your flight back to Phoenix when it happened. A few of your teammates were resting, but the majority of you were keeping up with the other games going on. You had holed yourself up in the corner away from everybody else. They had too much energy for you to handle, especially with how hard you'd been pushing yourself.

"Come on, it's almost time for us to board." Nobody had come near you since the final whistle had blown. Phoenix had barely scraped by with a win, but the team you needed to lose hadn't. Everybody knew how much you had been working for a playoff spot, to get just a few minutes even. And that was why none of them had approached you, none of them except for Diana.

"I'm fine right here for now," you grumbled. Diana sighed as she crouched down to sit with you.

"Fucking kids and sitting on the floor," Diana complained as she got situated. You bit back a grin as you watched her. You hated to admit it, but you found Diana more and more amusing as time went on. It was almost like you had started liking her, not that you'd ever say anything to the older woman. "You're disappointed, and I get that because I am too. Even if I play next season, I'm approaching benchwarming age. Fuck it, I might be better off as a coach at this point. You only ever get one first and last season, and it looks like we're both shit out of luck on this one big mouth."

"Is this your idea of a pep talk?" you asked her. Diana let out a dry laugh as she shook her head. "Then are you rubbing it in?"

"I am suffering alongside you, big mouth. I am being the teammate that I should have been all season and checking in on you. Before I go, I want you to know that you didn't do anything. Truthfully, it's been rough, and so I am very sorry about how I've treated you," Diana apologized. For a moment, you thought that you were dreaming, but it was quickly over as the intercom announced that your plane was ready to board. "Come on, let's go. They aren't gonna wait all night for your slow ass."

"That's rich coming from you. I've seen you try and sprint," you teased. The two of you still managed to maintain your banter, but the bite behind it was nearly completely gone.

Diana laughed as she led you to where you needed to go. You expected Natasha to steal the seat next to you, but instead, you found yourself sitting next to Diana. Neither of you said anything, both opting to listen to music instead.

Truthfully, it was an accident. You weren't sure how quickly you had dozed off, but when you woke up, you were laying against Diana. She didn't seem to mind, despite being wide awake when you started to come to. The team didn't seem bothered by any of it, which you knew meant Diana had said something. She'd deny it when you questioned her about it later, but a part of you knew the truth. You just decided to sit on it for the next couple of weeks until the playoffs were finished.

"I thought you'd be at the club," Diana said as she watched you shook basket after basket. While everybody was off starting their vacations or celebrating the end of the season, you were in the practice facility training. "I mean, isn't that your thing, big mouth?"

"Not really, no. It's loud and cramped, oh, and I want to win next season. Losing sucks, and I'm not gonna do it again," you told her. Diana smirked as she placed her hand on your shoulders. "What are you doing here?"

"My house feels a bit lonely. This place is comforting. I was hoping to be alone, but I guess there are worse teammates to have come across," Diana explained. There was a teasing lilt to her voice, something light and easy. "You should be out there having fun. Burning yourself out won't help anybody."

"I will relax, I promise, but right now I'm busy," you said. Diana sighed as she stepped back to let you make your shots. She watched you sink shot after shot before she interrupted you again. This time, all she did was clear her throat, causing you to whip around and glare at her. "What do you want?"

"Come back to my house with me. I don't want to spend my night alone, and you need to de-stress. You've been so tightly wound since that game, and baby, we did everything right. Sometimes, things don't go your way, and you gotta find a good way to deal with it," Diana said. You bit your lip as you glanced back at her.

"Do you make a habit of hitting on your teammates?" you asked her.

"Only when they can give as good as they get. I need a woman who's gonna call me on my shit, and you've done that. This doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to. It can be a night and we never talk about it again. Besides, it's not like I'm coming back next season."

"Oh please, we both know that you're gonna be bothering the shit out of all of us even after you retire. But, um, but it kind of sounds nice to get out of this place for a while." You couldn't believe it, but you found yourself walking out of the practice facility with Diana. All of it felt surreal, and it wasn't until Diana was kissing you later that any of it sank in.