#not tagging joseph he's there for like. a second

[akuma-tenshi]

a thrilling conversation

[derelictheretic]

almost started rambling about my no cult au in a rb instead I will ramble about it in my own tags like a sane person

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinking about dream daddy again and god brian makes me so mad

[kittwix]

First Kiss with the Joestars

Jonathan Joestar, Joseph Joestar, Jotaro Kujo, Josuke Higashikata, Giorno Giovanna, Jolyne Cujoh, Johnny Joestar, Josuke Higashikata (Gappy), Jodio Joestar x Neu! Reader

word count: 5.4k , it's long if you read all of their parts >_<

tags: very sweet; cavity inducing fluff, jodio is a little mean, reader stand isnt specify or implied, reader is gender neutral!

Jonathan Joestar

Your suspicion grew when he had invited you for a picnic out to the vineyard. He had made it obvious that he liked being around you, even at the times when he would be practicing for his Rugby tournaments, he would always encourage you to be there to cheer him up.

He would have everything all planned out, he had his maids prepare the basket for him and even went ahead to pack some of his favorite lunch items; resisting the urge to just eat them right then and there before he could meet up with you.

Upon meeting, he gracefully held the basket with one hand, offering his other arm for you to grasp. He greeted you with a kiss on the back of your hand, a faint blush gracing his cheeks, eliciting a chuckle of amusement from you.

"My, my, Jojo.. Have you contrived this all on my behalf?" You stood there, curiosity in your eyes and a small smile, as you watched your boyfriend carefully spread a beautifully sewed quilt over the uneven patches of grass. It was clear that this moment, simple as it might seem, was shaped with intention and care, setting the stage for the intimate afternoon you were about to share together. "Could it be that there is a significant event which has escaped my memory?” 

"No, nothing of that sort." Jonathan replied, his smile casting a warmth over you that felt as comforting as sunlight caressing your skin.The sheer sight of him made your tummy flutter with butterflies; his handsomeness was evident, and his disposition was the pinnacle of gentleness. He was the nicest and most sincere boy you'd ever met. "What a delightful day out, wouldn’t you agree? The weather is simply ideal for a luncheon outing with my beloved.” 

"Well yes," You hummed, now it was your turn to be embarrassed as you fidgeted with your hands for a moment and watched him take apart the lunch. "I cannot shake the suspicion that you are plotting something. Quite the mischievous schemer, are you not?”

"What? Me? That’s absurd! Do you truly believe me of being capable of such baseness?" Your boyfriend teased, mimicking a frown which prompted you to gently push on his shoulder as you shared a laugh. It was times like this where you could genuinely admire him. You noted the sharp outlines of his chiseled face, and how his kind blue eyes, reminiscent of the deepest sapphires, seemed to sparkle even more under the natural light. And oh, that smile...

You gradually moved closer to him, inch by inch, until there was almost no room between you. He twisted his head, appearing surprised by the sudden closeness, yet there was no sign of disinterest in his reaction. Silence encompassed you both, the world around you dissolving into a distant hum. 

Within seconds, you closed your eyes and closed the final gap, your lips meeting his in a sweet, short kiss. It was a brief encounter, lasting only a few seconds before you pulled back, but in his gaze, you could swear you saw stars twinkling back at you. He glanced at you, completely taken aback, his mouth slightly parted as if about to speak, capturing a moment of wonder.

"Wow..." He reacted. "That was certainly not within the scope of my intentions, but I must admit.. It was rather pleasant."

Joseph Joestar

It was mostly his initiation, he likes to joke around with you a little too much but that was just part of his personality that you like so much. Not to mention that he can be pretty unpredictable, making him blunt in ways that just makes you like him even more. 

"What do you want now, Joestar?" You asked, crossing your arms at the sight of your tall boyfriend creeping up on you with a stupid smile that could only mean that he was up to no good.

"Ouch! Can't a guy stroll up to his darling and turn on the charm?" He asked, seeming to have pretended to his offensiveness with a hand on his chest as he bats his eyelashes at you. “Anyways, got any plans later?”

“Oh, what’s it to you? Gonna take me out for dinner? Miss Lisa Lisa isn’t going to like the fact that you’re slacking off on your training.” You reiterated back with a little smirk and a hand on your hip. "She doesn't need to know! I can handle almost anything, baby! Just give me a shot, or else you might get kissed." He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, leaning in a bit closer, and you couldn’t help but conceal the smile that was growing on your face. With a playful push, you gently nudged him back, enjoying the flirtatious banter between you. “Is that a threat?” You raised a brow. “Or are you asking something out of me?” “Perhaps.” He answered back and for a second, silence enveloped both of you, heightening the tension in the air. It didn't help matters that he was so close, his scent filling your senses. Glancing around briefly, you released a small sigh, shaking your head in a playful manner. With a tender gesture, you reached out and cupped his cheek, the intimate moment shared between you intensifying.

“You’re impossible.” Your voice was a faint whisper, closing the distance between you as you moved in to give him a gentle kiss on the lips. The kiss, delicate and sweet, lasted far longer than you had anticipated, but you found yourself loving every moment of it. As you got closer, the temptation to melt into his embrace overcame you, and you could feel his eagerness through the curious movements of his hands, which became bolder by the minute.

However, just as you were about to voice your feelings, the distinct call of Caesar’s voice pierced the intimate bubble you had created, forcing you to regretfully break the kiss. Turning your gaze back to Joseph, you were met with his trademark snarky smile, a look that teetered on the edge of being both endearing and infuriating. He wore his joy openly, quietly bragging to himself about having gained something as simple as a kiss to you. It was a moment that triggered a playful irritation in you, making you want to slap his smug grin away.

As the moment between you faded, you watched him depart with a playful wink cast over his shoulder in your direction before returning back to Caesar. Even as he walked away, his cheeky demeanor left a lingering warm feeling in your heart, a silent promise of more moments like these to treasure.

Jotaro Kujo

On the contrary, it was an accidental kiss and wasn't something that neither of you had planned. It was in front of everyone as well, especially in front of his grandfather, which only heightened the embarrassment of the situation.

The situation had taken an unexpected turn, with suspicions that an enemy Stand user, possibly one of Dio's underlings, was involved. This required everyone to be attentive, continuously on the lookout for signs of an attack or sabotage, no matter how bizarre the situation may be at hand. Despite the tension, the moment had allowed for a brief lapse into normalcy as Joseph generously offered to cover the cost of lunch for everyone. You conveyed your gratitude gracefully, humming blissfully to yourself as you devoured the pasta you'd chosen, enjoying the flavors 

However, your delight was cut short when you felt an unusual sensation in your throat. It swelled quickly, making it difficult to breathe and speak. Panic came in when you realized you were choking, and the situation quickly escalated from uncomfortable to life-threatening. It was Iggy who had caught on to this, the small dog emerging from beneath the table and began barking loudly at you.

The abrupt escalation of events threw the group into a state of alarm. As you began to drool excessively, struggling for air, a small, rabid-like bug emerged from your mouth, adding a surreal horror to the scene. Your attempt to cry out was muffled, choked by the intrusion. Polnareff and Joseph let out a collective scream, their voices blending in shock and terror. Despite the panic that was clouding your eyesight, you could see Avdol and Kakyoin rush into action, summoning their Stands with an eagerness.

In the midst of the chaos and fear, you suddenly felt a strong, reassuring grip on your shoulder, spinning you around until you were face-to-face with Jotaro. His presence was imposing, the brim of his hat casting a shadow that obscured the upper half of his face, rendering his eyes invisible in the moment. Before you could process the situation fully, Jotaro's lips pressed firmly against yours. Shock and a surge of adrenaline caused your eyes to fly open wide, your hands instinctively curling into fists against his muscular chest. As he pulled back, the realization hit you: Jotaro had taken the stand from your mouth, now holding it between his lips. With a look of disgust, he spat it out to the side. In an instant, Star Platinum was summoned, its fist blurring into motion as it delivered a powerful punch that sent the stand hurtling into oblivion.

Everyone was taken aback by Jotaro's action. It was a bold move that had you gasping for air. Your cheeks flushed with warmth as you processed the sensation; his lips had been surprisingly soft, and the kiss had carried a level of passion that left you questioning its intent.

The lingering sensation of his lips on yours created an array of emotions swirling within you, mixing gratitude with confusion and a hint of curiosity. The lingering sensation of his lips on yours sparked a range of emotions within you.

You cleared your throat, the unexpectedness of the circumstance made you feel instantly self-conscious, forcing you to put your plate aside as your hunger faded in the aftermath of the experience. “Thanks…” You said hoarsely.

“Yare Yare…” 

Josuke Higashikata

You and Josuke attended the same school, and it had become a regular occurrence for him to offer to walk you home. At first, you didn't think much of it, considering it a friendly gesture. However, things took a different turn when your school friends started teasing you, hinting that Josuke might have a crush on you.

Today was like any other day, with Josuke offering to walk you home once again. However, a nagging feeling of guilt crept over you as you realized how many times he had gone out of his way for you without expecting anything in return. Despite your gratitude for his kindness, you couldn't help but feel like you owed him something more substantial.

As the two of you approached your house's doorstep, you fidgeted with your hands, an anxious yet grateful smile forming across your face as you turned to face the boy. "Is this like, the millionth time you've walked me to my door?" you teased gently, resting against the doorframe and looking down at your feet. "You're really sweet," you said, genuine admiration coloring your words as you met his gaze again. His presence was familiar and comforting, making every trip to your door a special part of your day.

Josuke rubbed the back of his head, a bashful smile playing on his lips as he blushed slightly at your words. "Hey, I was raised to be a gentleman, y'know," he replied with a hint of self-consciousness, his genuine sincerity shining through. "And, uh, I think you're pretty cool to hang out with." he added, trying to play it off casually but unable to hide the warmth in his eyes as he looked at you. 

"Yeah? I think you're pretty cool too," you replied, crossing your arms and allowing your gaze to linger on his figure, almost as if you were studying him intently. Josuke, with his trademark pompadour, couldn't help but chuckle softly at your lingering look, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

You fought with the thoughts that raced through your mind, urging you to take the risk and make your move, especially after leaving Josuke visibly flustered. He was now haphazardly kicking at a pebble under his foot, avoiding direct eye contact as if quietly expressing that he was waiting for something else to happen before returning home. The tension in the air was obvious, and you could sense the weight of unspoken words hanging between you.

"I wanted to thank you for walking with me every day," you began, your voice wavering slightly with nerves. "A proper thank you," you quickly corrected yourself, hoping to drop a subtle hint about where the conversation was heading. "I feel like my words aren't enough. I think you deserve something more meaningful."

As you spoke, Josuke's gaze shifted back to you, curiosity and anticipation flickering in his eyes. He didn't know what to expect, but the moment he felt your hands holding onto his biceps, everything seemed to fall into place. His heart skipped a beat as realization dawned on him, his mouth going dry and his lips quivering slightly in response to the sudden surge of emotions.

Without hesitating for another second, you leaned in and gently pressed your lips against Josuke's, savoring the sweetness of the moment. The taste of cherry chapstick lingered on your lips, adding to the enchantment of the kiss. When you finally pulled away, a soft giggle escaped your lips as you admired the lovestruck expression on Josuke's face, his goofy grin speaking volumes about his happiness in that moment. "S-so, uh... I'll pick you up tomorrow?" Josuke asked, a hint of nervousness lacing his words. In response, you gave his cheek a soft tap, a reassuring gesture that brought a smile to his face. With a final glance and a warm smile, you opened the door to your house, leaving Josuke with a sense of anticipation.

“Definitely.”

Giorno Giovanna

During another date that he had arranged, Giorno bought you ice cream as the two of you walked hand in hand. It was a rare occasion when he wasn't caught up in his responsibilities as a mob leader and actually took the time to be with you. Being outside of the mansion felt refreshing, and you were grateful that Giorno shared the same sentiment.

"You know," you started, a playful lilt in your voice as you attempted to coax him into sharing the dessert, "it's one of your favorite flavors. Are you sure you don't want a taste?" Your attempt was light-hearted, an effort to draw him into a small act of normalcy, something as mundane as sharing ice cream on a date.

Giorno's response was a chuckle, the sound warm and rich, filling the space between you. "I'm quite sure. Today, I'm more than happy just to see you enjoy it," he replied, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. 

It made you wonder if he'd ever considered taking the relationship to the next level. Nothing extravagant, simply the fact that you've been dating for a while now and he has never initiated a kiss. How you ached to feel his lips on yours. Given his soft-spoken demeanor, you wondered if his lips were also soft and moisturized, providing an intoxicating lasting sensation with each kiss. Given that you were staring a little too long, Giorno had turned to meet your eyes as an evident grin spread across his lips as he cups his own cheek out of embarrassment. “Is there something on my face? You look like you have something you want to say.”

“Mmm, yeah actually.” You responded back with lidded eyes as you gave his hand a small squeeze and stopped your tracks. "There’s been something I’ve been wanting to do for the longest.” You admitted as the ice cream in your hands slowly melted from the bright sun above. You continued, “If I have your permission to touch you, will you trust me?” 

"You always have my permission, you don't need to ask," Giorno reassured you with a gentle smile, his eyes watching you carefully. As you wrapped one arm around his neck, the distance between your bodies shortened, creating a more intimate atmosphere. Your cheeks were flushed, and the way he met your gaze without much of a reaction made butterflies flutter in your stomach. You felt his arm snake around your waist, and it almost seemed like he knew exactly what you had planned to do next. The anticipation and closeness between you added a thrilling suspense to the moment.

Eventually, the both of you lean in to share a passionate kiss. Much to your pleasure, his lips were soft and so were his hands as it continues to explore the rest of your body. You felt weak in the knees, your hand rested on his chest and once the two of you pulled away you were left starstruck. “Giorno...” “Shall we get going?” The question, simple and gentle, jolted you back to reality, yet the magic of the moment lingered like the afterglow of a sunset. His hand, warm and reassuring, squeezed yours. You nodded your head in response, letting the blonde lead the way as the two of you continue to enjoy the rest of your date. 

Jolyne Cujoh

Well, it was more of a dare than something that was just intended. Whenever she was in a good mood, she hardly took herself so seriously, especially when she was messing around with her friends. Though it was pretty easy to break down the tough exterior that she occasionally displays on herself. That’s just how Jolyne is and you admire her for that.

You were seated comfortably on the carpet of your apartment, surrounded by your friends and the lively energy of the gathering. The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement, fueled by the risky game you had all decided to play. With each round, bets were placed, and allowances were on the line as you wagered on the most obscure acts and challenges.

However, things took an unexpected turn when Ermes placed a cash bet on Jolyne kissing you. The room fell silent for a moment as everyone's gaze focused on you and Jolyne, the heightened tension palpable as the game appeared to have strayed into personal territory. 

“Where’d that even come from? You tryin’ to make fun of us or something?” You asked Ermes, your cheeks felt warm,

Ermes just laughed, a knowing twinkle in her eye as she observed the sudden tension between you and Jolyne. "What? Can't handle a little dare?" she teased, her grin widening at your discomfort. You couldn't help but feel a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation, especially when you caught Jolyne's eye. Her usually fierce demeanor seemed softened by the flush of embarrassment, making her look unexpectedly vulnerable.

Jolyne let out a deep breath, her gaze shifting from you to Ermes and then back again. "Fine," she finally said, the word coming out more as a challenge than a submission. She leaned closer, her eyes locked with yours, a mix of defiance and something softer you couldn't quite place. The room fell silent, the playful teasing of moments ago replaced by an almost electric anticipation. You could hear your heart beating, loud in the quiet of the room, as Jolyne's face came closer to yours. Her eyes flickered closed, and for a moment, everything else seemed to disappear.

The kiss was brief, a simple press of lips that felt like a spark through your entire body. When she pulled back, her eyes met yours again, searching for a reaction. The room erupted into whistles and laughter from Ermes and Foo Fighters, but both you and Jolyne were caught in a moment of silent communication, a question and answer passing silently between you.

Jolyne broke eye contact first, turning back to face Ermes and the others with a nonchalant shrug. "See? Just a kiss," she said, her voice steady but you noticed the slight pink still coloring her cheeks.

You were left a little dazed, warmth spreading through your chest. Although the kiss was part of the game, it felt like it carried more weight than either of you would admit. As the game continued and the evening wore on, you found yourself stealing glances at Jolyne, wondering if the moment had meant as much to her as it did to you.

Johnny Joestar

Just as he was about to join the big horse race, you had to pull him back a bit as you couldn’t help but worry about his own well being. It was a big deal, people can get way too competitive and you tend to worry over the littlest things. Of course, he had to reassure you that he was gonna be fine and that he would just have to be away for a few days, perhaps a few weeks or even months. The thought of being so far away from him already made you anxious and he noticed this, so he held your hands and looked up into your eyes. 

"I'll be fine, promise," he responded, his voice full of confidence and calmness. You wanted to believe in his statements and that he would carefully go through the challenges. You knew deep down that despite the distance and time away, he had the courage and determination to return to you.

Before you could say anything else, an obnoxiously loud horn blared, causing both you and Johnny to flinch. The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, signaling that the horse race was about to commence. You observed Johnny, noticing how his gaze fixated on a man in a hat, attending to a horse. While you were curious about his sudden focus, you decided not to inquire and instead diverted his attention back to you.

You stretched out and cupped his cheek, gently turning his face toward you. The touch was both calming and anchoring, a gentle reminder amidst the chaos of the race. Johnny's gaze met yours, and everything else disappeared into the background. The clamor of the crowd, the excitement of the race, everything went incidental.

In the heat of the moment, you let your body take control as your brain lagged behind. You wrapped your arms around Johnny, pulling yourself closer to his pretty face and eventually your lips locked with his own. You could tell you caught him off guard with the way his body jumped but he immediately melted into the kiss.  The world around you seemed to fade into a blur, leaving just the warmth of his lips against yours and the rhythmic beating of your hearts in perfect harmony. It was a frozen moment in time, with every touch and sensation speaking volumes about your relationship.  

After the lingering kiss had finally ended, Johnny's lips retained their puckered form for a moment longer, as if trying to capture the essence of the intimate moment. His eyes remained closed, basking in the residual warmth of your embrace. It wasn't until you let out a playful giggle and lightly tapped his cheek that he snapped out of his reverie, realizing that the kiss had come to an end. Johnny's face broke into a sheepish grin as he opened his eyes, the delighted twinkle in them reflecting how deeply he had lost himself in the experience.

"Having fun there, loverboy?" you teased with a playful grin, unable to hide the amusement dancing in your eyes.

"Shut up, and kiss me again before I go for real this time," Johnny mumbled in a half-serious, half-playful tone, already leaning in with closed eyes, anticipating the next kiss. You couldn't help but roll your eyes playfully at his eagerness, knowing all too well how much he enjoyed these moments of intimacy.

Granting his wish, you leaned in closer, planting a series of small, teasing pecks on his lips. Each kiss was light and fleeting, just enough to leave him wanting more but sufficient to see the satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Josuke Higashikata (Gappy)

His embrace was overwhelmingly tight, his clinginess something you adored in him, yet you hadn't quite anticipated the sheer strength he possessed. It left you feeling somewhat overpowered, as if you were about to be compressed into nothingness. Your reaction was a series of light giggles, and although you attempted to push him away gently, it only led him to draw you closer once again. Looking down at you, Gappy gently held your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

"Josuke, what's gotten into you?" you question playfully about your boyfriend, but Gappy's arms remained tightly around you. Sure, you had grown accustomed to his affection, though it may occasionally take you by surprise with its intensity. You were also aware of his memory loss and continued search for his identity and purpose. Being one of the first people he met after losing his memory, he quickly developed an emotional connection to you, which you accepted wholeheartedly. 

“You’re warm...” He muttered quietly, his fingers tracing patterns across your skin, inducing involuntary shivers. His acts toward you were noticeably compassionate, in stark contrast to his usual approach. Really, he had charisma, a natural capacity to attract those around him, as well as characteristics that made him unique. Nonetheless, he was ready to get violent at any given moment. But with you, he was someone completely different. He treated you with tenderness and care that spoke volumes, distinguishing you to be special in his eyes. It was this sharp contrast, this respite from his rougher side, that made you feel sincerely appreciated and cherished.

"Jojo..." Your words was just a whisper, a sweet utterance full of care as you softly lifted your hands, cradling his face with the utmost care.You allowed your eyes to wander over his features, memorizing each detail—the curve of his brow, the depth in his eyes, the subtle strength in his jawline.  As you leaned closer, your lips discovered the warmth of his forehead and planted a delicate kiss. With each kiss, you followed a line across his face, from his forehead to his cheek, and finished with a peck on his chin.  He reacted with a slight start to your boldness, a small but noticeable jump, yet he remained silent, his eyes speaking volumes of the surprise and warmth he felt.

You wanted to giggle, a sense of satisfaction at getting such a reaction from your boyfriend. You were about to say something witty and sharp, the words almost dancing on your tongue, eager to tease him even more. However, before you could make your smart remark, the scenario took an unexpected turn. His hands, echoing your previous move, rose to gently cup your face. The world seemed to stop for a time as his eyes fluttered shut, sending a subtle indication of his intentions.

Then, with unexpected boldness, he closed the gap between you, pushing his lips against yours in a daring kiss. His unexpected action left your eyes wide open in shock for just a second, leaving an unspoken query hanging in the air. But as the surprise wore off, a warmth flowed through you, and you found yourself easing into the kiss, your body's tension melting away as you reacted with equal passion.

Once the two of you pulled away, you were left breathless, your cheeks were warm and it was hard to really look him in the eyes after such a passionate kiss. You were at a loss for words as well, it was hard to really think about what to say next. It seemed like he was on the same page, his eyes simply looking at yours as he tried to read the expression that you had on your face. Rest assured, there was definitely going to be more kisses after that. 

Jodio Joestar

Your frustration was palpable when you stumbled upon him yet again engaged in the act of selling drugs, this time to a group of unfamiliar faces. The sight of him engaging this illicit exchange stirred a flare of anger within you, prompting you to confront him directly. Standing there, your posture rigid with your arms tightly crossed over your chest and a frown etching deep lines of disappointment across your face, you were the picture of discontent.

Jodio, seemingly unconcerned by your appearance or the dissatisfaction etched all over your face, simply snickered to himself dismissively. He nonchalantly shook a baggie full of dollar notes, flaunting the goods of his trade right in front of your eyes, all before he had a chance to properly register your presence or understand the depth of your anger.

"Again?" You couldn't help but shake your head in disbelief, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you observed his repetitive behavior. It was a mix of frustration and disappointment that colored your expression, a silent plea for him to understand the significance of his actions. However, his response was careless, with a mere shrug that appeared to indicate a lack of regard for your issues.

"What's the big deal?" he asked, his tone tinged with casualness as he continued walking, dismissing your concerns. He passed you and headed in the direction where Dragona had parked his car. However, you were not going to let him off the hook so easily. You followed closely after him, the mean expression still engraved on your face as you gazed at his back. Your steps were deliberate, each bearing the weight of your frustration you had for him. His relaxed demeanor simply bolstered the urge to confront him and make him realize the weight of his actions that he had on you.

"What's the big deal?" For god's sake, you're a 15-year-old selling drugs to a couple of dickheads!" Your frustration spilled out in words, your voice infused with fear and exasperation. "You'll get in big trouble, and they'll take you away, and—" Before you could continue, you were interrupted by his irritatingly loud yawn. The interruption left you speechless, your eyes narrowing.  The boldness of his attitude, yawning as if your issues were nothing more than a little annoyance, was frustrating. "You're unbelievable," you said under your breath, your words filled with disappointment.

"What's unbelievable is that you care so much," he spat back, his tone defiant as he stuffed the bag of cash into his pockets. He stopped in his tracks and turned around to face you directly. "What? Cat's got your tongue? You're kinda funny," he added with a hint of sarcasm, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Your initial instinct was to lash out, to give voice to the frustration swirling inside you. But in a split second, something shifted, and before you could fully process it, your impulses took over. Without a second thought, you grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, pulling him closer, and pressed your lips onto his.

The kiss was impulsive, a burst of emotion that manifested in the heat of the moment. You could feel the texture of his slightly chapped lips against yours. It was a surprise even to yourself, this sudden act of intimacy amidst the tension and conflict that had defined your interaction moments ago.

“I’ll… see you around.”

[babybluebex]

looking | joseph quinn x reader

summary: joe catches you looking and rewards (punishes?) you for your efforts pairing: joseph quinn x fem!reader (rpf - don't like, don't read) tags: smut (MINORS DNI), squirting, oral (m! and f!receiving), mostly dom!joe but surprise sub!joe at the end, praise kink, no condom, creampie, cockwarming author's note: yes i have a lecture this morning. yes i am writing this at work. no i will not apologize. enjoy <3 // follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post a new story! (also big ole thanks to @freckledjoes for making this gif for me!! thanks a bunch!)

You heard his feet on the landing of the stairs, and then gentle padding as his bare feet sounded on the carpeted hallway as he made his way to the bedroom. These nights were your favorite— Joseph had made you dinner, cheesy pasta with garlic bread, then you had watched an episode of Succession before getting ready for bed. You could tell that Joe was in a sort of mood that night, the kind of mood where he lit a candle at dinner and kissed you and put on Al Green on his record player. He had asked if you wanted to join him in the shower, but you had declined; you had work in the morning, and a randy shower didn't exactly entail an early sleep.

But then, he rounded the corner and darkened the doorway, and you gulped. He looked good; wet curls on his forehead, singlet covering his beefy build, and those underwear, clinging to every curve just right. And he didn't even seem like he knew what he was doing. Joe rubbed his hair dry on his towel as he came into the bedroom, and he went to his dresser, rooting through the top drawer for some pajama bottoms. The silence was deafening, and damning, because Joe turned to you with an amused look on his face.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked. "Cat got your tongue?" He added a dramatic pout to his plush lips, and, fuck, you just had to kiss him.

"You just look really good," you said softly. "Can't I just look at you?"

"Oh, you want to look?" Joe asked teasingly. Oh. So he was in that sort of mood. "I thought it was rude to stare."

"I'm not staring," you told him. "I'm... Appreciating. Admiring."

"Admiring, eh?" Joe laughed. "What exactly are you admiring?"

"Well..." you started, holding out your hand and tracing the shape of his body in the air. He was certified grade A beef that day, finally having regained the weight he had lost to play Eddie, and you loved his plush hips and thick thighs. "And..." You made a cupping motion with your hand, and Joe let out a sputtered laugh.

"So you're staring at my dick," Joe said, shaking his head mirthfully. "I knew I was nothing but a piece of meat to you."

"No!" you exclaimed. Even though you knew he was joking, you didn't want him to think you were doing that for even a second. "I'm just... You just... Y'know? Just admiring every part of you."

"You're drooling," Joe cajoled. He hung his towel on the back of the door and made his way to the bed, and you watched as he grew closer, finally until he was lingering right next to you, his cloth-covered dick inches from your face. God, he smelled so good, you just wanted to take him then and there.

You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his bulge, looking up at him through your eyelashes to see his reaction, and you were overjoyed to see him slowly close his eyes and take a deep breath. "You gonna suck it or what?" he asked in a low voice, and the hot pressure of need slammed inside you belly. You loved when he got like this.

You readjusted yourself in bed, sitting on your knees to reach him properly, and you tugged him forward by his hips to get him closer. Carefully, you pulled down those black briefs, and his half-hard cock spilled forward. He was thick and heavy, beautiful, and you chuckled lightly at the sight before you. "You trimmed," you giggled, and Joe peeked his eyes open.

"Is that a crime?" he asked, and you slid your hands up his thighs, lightly dragging your nails up.

"No," you said. "I just like your bush."

Joe shrugged. "I'll grow it back out," he said. His hand smoothed your hair back, gathering it all up in a loose grip before he flattened his palm against the back of your head, pulling you towards him. You put an end to your games then, taking the head of his uncut cock into your mouth, lightly sucking, just enough to give him a little bit of pressure. Joe made a quiet noise, a sort of hum of appreciation, and you took him further into your mouth. He tasted good, musky but clean, and you moaned around him as your tongue lavished the thick vein that ran along the bottom of his cock.

"That's it," Joe whispered. "What a good girl... You love sucking my cock, don't you?"

You fluttered your eyelashes at him as an answer and took him deeper, then pulled back and suckled at his head for a moment, just to get a reaction out of him. His hand gripped your hair as he moaned, and he gritted his teeth. "Fuck," he whispered. "I knew you liked what you saw."

You pulled off of him with a gasping breath, letting your hand stroke him from balls to tip. "Did you do it on purpose?" you asked.

"Do what?"

"Dress like this," you asked. "Look so goddamn delicious. You know I can hardly resist you."

"That was the plan," Joe admitted. His stomach flexed when you reached up to cup his balls, and you leaned back in, sucking him down again. You didn't usually like giving blowjobs— you hardly ever went down on past boyfriends— but there was something special about Joe that made you want to swallow down his cock every single day, no matter what. "God, you look so hot like this, darling. Love watching you like this."

You moaned softly, then broke away from him, panting to try to regain the breath that sucking him off has made you lose. Joe didn't hesitate to lean down and kiss you, holding your face as his tongue swirled in your mouth, tasting himself off of you. You scrambled backwards to lay on your back, and you tugged Joe in by his shirt, urging him to lay on top of you. He did exactly as you expected, following you and nudging your legs open as he messily kissed you, and he broke the kiss to look down at you. Panties and a t-shirt (his t-shirt), nothing else.

"Fuck," Joe whispered, and he chuckled. His eyes were stuck on your covered pussy, and he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue when he spotted the damp patch on your panties. "Is this all for me?"

"Yeah," you told him. "F'course it is."

"Jesus, I'm a spoiled man," Joe whispered, kissing you deeply again. His hands scrambled to tug down your panties and expose you to him, and his greedy eyes watched as you opened your legs for him, showing him your wet pussy. Your blood was thrumming in every vein with desire, you needed him so badly, and he flicked his eyes up to yours, those lips of his falling open gently. He kissed you once more, then leaned down to kiss your neck, nibbling softly at your skin before trailing his kisses downwards. Ever downwards he ventured, until his warm breath was fanning across your cunt, and he did not waste any time before he licked at you.

The stubble on his chin and cheeks roughed up your thighs as he ate you out like he had never learned how to do anything else. He sucked at your quivering clit and made you cry out in pleasure, his tongue danced on your hole, he even added his fingers to help open you up. By the time the knot in your belly was straining, he was sucking lewdly and shaking his head, making sure that you felt every inch of his fingers and tongue on you. It was so good, it felt so fucking amazing, and you let the knot snap and come undone. You grabbed hard at Joe's hair and almost cried as you came on his fingers; it just felt so fucking good.

"Jesus!" Joe laughed, and you panted as you looked down at him. Something wet was in his beard, and you laughed when you realized that it wasn't just your regular juices. "Good fucking girl, do that again, baby."

"I-I didn't even know I could do that," you laughed breathlessly, letting your head fall back. Joe wasted no time in pushing his fingers back into you, thrusting hard into you and making your toes curl with the sensitivity, and you yelped when the sudden knot burst again, and you were able to watch this time as you squirted quickly on Joe's face. He seemed to love it, smiling up at you and panting, and he pulled out his soaked fingers. He looked at them in awe, wet and glistening, before he touched them to his lips, licking them clean.

You leaned up and stripped off your shirt, and you reached out for him, pulling his hips between your legs again as you shoved his singlet over his head. You discarded it across the room before you kissed him again, tasting yourself on his tongue, and he didn't wait a single second before he grasped his cock and pushed inside you. You were so fucking sensitive from cumming so hard, and you grabbed hard at his shoulders as he instantly started up a pace. He was quick, thrusting messily into you and holding down your hips to keep you where he wanted you, and you hid yourself in his neck. Jesus, he was insatiable tonight; he had made you fucking squirt, and now he was fucking you so hard that you were worried you two might break the bed.

"Baby," you whispered in his ear. "Easy, honey, we have all night."

"I almost came when you squirted," Joe told you. "Fuck me, I'm so close already. Let me cum, and then we can go slower and nicer, but, right now, I need to— Fuck!"

His cock throbbed inside you as he fucked you, and you knew that he was right. He was dangerously close to his release, and you to yours, and you could have sworn that you heard him whimper when you clenched down on him, tightening around his cock.

"Please, baby," Joe whispered. "Let me cum inside you, please, fuck, I need it."

"Fuck, yeah," you breathed. "Cum inside me, please."

Joe's nails dug into the flesh of your hip, and you gasped as Joe moaned deeply, and he filled you. You could feel it inside you, so much thick cum— your poor boy really needed to cum. He moaned in your ear and panted heavily as he tried to catch his breath, and you pulled yourself from his neck to smile hazily up at him. "Was it good?" Joe asked, and you chuckled, brushing back his curls.

"Yes, my love," you told him. "So good. I didn't know I could squirt, that was interesting."

"A surprise, for sure," Joe laughed. "But it was hot. Can you do it again?"

"I don't know how I did it the first time," you chuckled. "I don't know if I can do it again."

Joe huffed out a laugh, and he leaned up on his elbows, rocking his hips into you again. Your nerves were so scorched and sensitive that you instantly let out a yelp, and Joe said, "Well, let's see."

[kokorose]

The best friend-DR3

Daniel Ricciardo x Stroll!reader

Faceclaim: Zoey Duetch

Reader is Chloe’s twin (28 years old)

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YnStroll: new era: incoming 🍸🍸

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Ninadobrev: love you darling

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Ynbffusername: yessss b*tch!!

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Username: mother

Username: Jacob better watch out!!

Username: yesss queen!👸🏽

Username: it’s been a month!!!

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YnStroll: came knocking at my door at 12:30 in the morning to make me food.

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Username: is that Daniel?!?

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DanielRicciardo: late night pasta and movies with a view.

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Username: excuse me Daniel Joseph Ricciardo who’s

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Username: are you thinking it’s a certain Aston Martin drivers sister becuase if so, same!

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YnStroll: Cowboy, I love you to the moon and stars! You’ve changed by life in the short time we’ve been together. You’ve taught me things about myself that I didn’t know before. I’ve never laughed as much in my life as I have in the last couple months. I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you and never been loved as much as you love me.

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DanielRicciardo: Baby, I’ve never been so in love with someone as I am with you! You’re the light in my life. You are my muse! I never belived that love could change your life but you’ve proven me wrong. You’ve changed my life in ways I’ve never thought could be possible. I love you darling!

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[bloodstainedsaint]

the sniper (joseph liebgott x sniper! reader)

summary: when you transferred from dog company to easy company following the battle of bloody gulch, you thought you knew what to expect of men in the military— though you really wanted joe liebgott to prove you wrong

word count: just over 3500

warnings: period-typical sexism & misogyny (big part of the story), very minor violence, denying feelings, mutual pining, reader lowkey has trust issues, full of other characters but hopefully no one's ooc?? also this fic is kinda messy 😭

notes: happy thanksgiving! enjoy this fic for the holidays 💞 also your favs AREN'T sexist, just confused

Gossip, you realized, was an easy way to kill time for the men of the military, especially with the recent news that there would be a transfer to Easy Company— the transfer being you, of course. You had no idea you were such a hot topic until you walked down a street of Aldbourne in search of the man currently in charge of your new company, Lieutenant Winters, and overheard a trio of soldiers discussing rumors as they sat around awaiting orders.

“Hey, have you heard that there’s a transfer coming from D-Company?” one said, lighting a cigarette.

“Whew, he must’ve not taken any smokes from Lieutenant Sparky, huh, Don?” another chuckled, stealing the cigarette out of who you guessed was Don’s fingers and puffing for emphasis, much to Don’s displeasure.

Huffing, Don continued, “He’s a sniper, apparently! Better than Shifty!”

“Nah, no one’s better than Shifty,” the third butted in. “Shifty can shoot you right between the eyes blindfolded.”

“Shifty would deny that ‘til he died, Penk,” said the second with a smile.

“It’s true, Skip! Apparently he tracked a target from 1,000 yards away and still got him in the head! Bang! Just like that,” Don said while he mimicked holding a rifle and firing.

“Psh, our boy Shifty could do that, or better: 2,000 yards, right?” Skip nudged Penk with his shoulder.

Penk shrugged. “Length don’t matter, anyway. It’s what you do with the gun, not how far it shoots.”

Skip and Don shared a look and grinned, the latter joking, “Don’t you mean distance, Alex? What, you insecure about something?”

The trio devolved into laughter and banter, but was suddenly quieted as Don patted the others and pointed at you approaching. Several other men standing nearby swiveled their heads to watch as well.

A woman dressed in fatigues, the shoulder of her uniform emblazoned with the Screaming Eagles patch, a M1 Garand slung around her back— they couldn't seem to get their mind around it. Disregarding their curious stares (you’d gotten a lot of them for the past two years or so that you've been enlisted), you walked past the group of spectators.

A couple of men whistled lowly, and a murmur spread through the small crowd. You stopped in your tracks for a moment, eyes downward in thought. Surely one of these men knows where Lieutenant Winters is. You turned on your heel toward the group.

“Afternoon,” you addressed the onlookers, who were now either standing up or gathering around in interest. Your eyes went from man to man, meeting inquisitive and suspicious stares alike, unfazed. “Anyone know where I can find Lieutenant Winters?”

“You, uh, you lost?” a diminutive man — Perconte, his name tag read — asked.

One with a strict face and a glower already etched into it — Martin — stepped into the scattered group. “Who’s asking?”

“Private (Y/N), sir,” you said with a quick salute that was returned. “I’m transferring from Dog Company to Easy Company. I was told to look for a Lieutenant Winters.”

The men exchanged a look amongst each other.

The man from earlier, Don, spoke up with awe apparent in his voice. “You’re a sniper?”

You turned to him with a curt nod. “Yes, I’m a sharpshooter.”

Then a lanky, scrappy-looking guy, Liebgott, entered with a smirk tugging upon his lips. Just by looking at his crooked smile and raised eyebrows, you knew he was going to cause you trouble. Just another man ogling at you like you're nothing but a pretty face. What else is new? “You need help getting around base?”

“No thank you, that won’t be necessary,” you swiftly rebuffed, turning your attention back to the rest of the men. You set them with an expectant look.

“You can find Lieutenant Winters over there at CP,” Randleman, a large red-headed man, said around a hefty cigar in his mouth, nodding his head in the tent’s direction. “If he’s not there, try the mess cabin.”

With a small smile, grateful that someone finally answered your question instead of asking more of them, you thanked him, saluted, and walked off.

As you started towards CP, you heard behind your back, “Did Roosevelt change something while we were overseas? ‘Cause I just saw a lady wearing paratrooper clothing with a rifle ‘round her back.”

“Very astute, George,” someone replied.

You could almost hear the smirk in Liebgott’s voice as he declared, “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Yeah, come back alive,” another voice — Skip, maybe — chimed in. “Speirs might’ve rubbed off on her.”

You only had a few seconds to mentally prepare yourself before you heard footsteps catching up behind you. Liebgott was now walking side by side with you, matching your brisk pace.

“Hey, (Y/N), right?”

You took a sidelong glance at him. “That’s right.”

“Joseph D. Liebgott. Technician 5th-Grade.”

“And is there a reason why you’re following me to CP, Liebgott?”

“Thought I’d show you around base, get to know you a little.”

“And I thought I declined your assistance,” you said firmly. “I was part of Dog Company; I'm not new around here.”

“Alright, how about introducing you to Easy men when you’re finished?” He threw a smile your way. “They’re curious about you.”

You slightly grimaced at the thought of being at the center of attention for so many strangers. “I’d rather not.”

“Why? They’re great guys. I don’t know about Dog Company men and their Lieutenant Speirs, but Easy men, especially Toccoa men, are different.”

They don’t seem all that different to me. You gripped the strap of your gun a little tighter. “Once again, I’ll pass.”

He shrugged. “You’ll warm up to us.”

A tense silence ensued. You did your best to not seem bothered by it. Usually by this point people gave up and stopped talking to you entirely.

“So, uh,” he began, running his hands through his hair. Of course you weren’t getting rid of him that easily. Your intuition earlier was right. “Why’re you transferring over to Easy? No offense, but we've got a helluva marksman already.”

“I wasn’t given a reason, just an order.”

“That so? Well, maybe you’ll take his place as our resident sniper, huh?”

“Looking forward to it,” you responded drily.

He chuckled. “You’ll fit right into Easy with the rest of the snarkers. Where you from, (Y/N)?”

You eyed him cautiously. “Lansing, Michigan.���

“Get outta here, you serious? I'm from there too!” Liebgott cracked a smile and gazed at you. “Man, I might’ve seen you around and just haven’t realized it. Could've been talking to you years ago.”

You pursed your lips. “It wouldn't have helped your chances, Liebgott.”

Grinning, he said, undaunted, “What chances? We're just talking. I wanna know the lady I’ll be fighting with.”

“You just want to know if I’m single or not. That’s all,” you icily said as the two of you neared the tent.

Apparently found out, Liebgott smiled broadly and stopped a few feet from CP while you continued walking. “Well, are you?”

You turned to face him. “Yes, I’m single, and no, I’m not interested in sleeping with you.”

You couldn’t see the smile melt off his face as you entered the tent, eyes searching amongst all the men and equipment for the tall soldier you’ve seen conversing with Lieutenant Speirs before.

“Private (Y/N),” a voice called. You looked in its direction and finally found Winters.

“Lieutenant Winters.” You saluted.

“You’re the new transfer, right?” he asked, beckoning you further into the tent for some privacy. You were thankful that most of the men here were too occupied with their own duties to notice you.

You followed him to a quiet corner. “Yes, sir.”

“Met the men yet?”

“Some of them.”

“Anyone give you trouble?” he asked gently. “You can tell me.”

You paused, thinking. Nothing past some inquisitive stares and a couple of questions. “No, sir.”

Winters perceived your hesitation. “If that changes, tell me. They're good men, but they might be a bit eager to meet you.”

You nodded. Liebgott certainly was. He analyzed your face for a second before continuing, “Try to get yourself acquainted at dinner before you go into combat with them. That’ll be all, Private.”

You saluted, knowing full well that you’ll most likely try to get a seat by yourself, away from the clamor of the men.

“Thank you, sir.”

-

It turned out that no seat was good enough to escape the onslaught of questions.

You had gotten there early and took a seat at the far end of one of the tables with a book in hand and not much of an appetite. Unfortunately for you, being one of the first ones there instead of a head in a crowd of people singled you out, and eventually you were surrounded by men wanting to know more.

“Hey, this is the new replacement I’ve been hearing so much about, yeah?” Bill Guarnere, or Wild Bill, as they called him, questioned, shoving himself into one of the seats at your table.

“Transfer, Gonorrhea, not a replacement,” Liebgott said from your side. When he had entered the mess cabin, you had attempted to hide yourself with your book, but to no avail. He had beelined toward you, beaming ear to ear as he slid into the seat next to you.

“You into books?” he said, eyes going from you to the book in your hands.

You thought that he might actually surprise you.“Yeah, are you?”

He scoffed lightheartedly. “What, you kidding? I love to read!”

A ghost of a smile graced your face. “What kind?”

“Oh, you know, Dick Tracy, Flash Gordon, mostly!” he said, seemingly proud of himself, and your smile disappeared.

Soon after that, people swarmed your table. If you were being fair, though, Liebgott had spoken for you for most of the night, making sure you could read in relative peace. If you didn't know any better, you’d say that he was just enjoying you being by his side, but you were still wary of any underlying intentions (let’s say, getting into your pants) he might have.

Yet, out of the corner of your eyes, you saw the way he looked at you from time to time with a small smile upturning his lips, and you wanted to believe he didn't have any.

“Transfer, replacement, whatever,” Bill brushed it off with a wave of his hand. “What I wanna know is—”

“—why she’s a girl?” Liebgott finished. “Jeez, I dunno, she’s only been asked this twelve times tonight.”

“If you’d let me finish,” Bill said with a pointed look at Liebgott as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, “I was gonna ask if she did shoot a Kraut from 1,000 yards away.”

“You’d be giving ole Shifty a real run for his money, ain't that right, Shift?” Joe — the other one, Joe Toye — said from beside Bill, reaching over to another table and shaking one of the guys there.

Shifty, you assumed, looked over and met your eyes with a kind smile. “No, no, I’m sure she's a better shot than me. Y'all give me too much credit.”

“That’s what being humble will get ya.” Bill chuckled and puffed from his cigarette. “Your spot as Easy’s best shot out from under ya.”

The table laughed, and you steeled yourself before uttering in a quiet, yet steady voice, “It was two men.”

A hush descended over the table. Liebgott turned to look at you. “What?”

“Two men. I dropped the first. The other one heard and started running. I dropped him next. Both in the head,” you relayed, without the humor of a storyteller but the gravity of a historian. You didn't know it, but you had a stony look in your eye.

Luckily, you were saved from the stunned silence by a man getting up and reciting a poem, but you could feel Liebgott’s eyes burning into you. With fear? Admiration? You weren’t sure, but you didn't dare look over.

-

Joe Liebgott was nothing if not persistent. For months now, he'd been lingering around you, flirting and striking up conversations with you. To be honest, you never outright said for him to stop (besides that one time in the very beginning when you said you weren’t interested), so you guessed he wasn't overstepping any boundaries.

Still, he seemed determined to get you into his bed.

“C’mon, I think we’d look cute together!”

“That’s what you think, Joe,” George said, squatting next to his friend, “Giving her heart eyes and all. Meanwhile, she looks at you like you're her next target.”

Brushing his teeth, Frank followed the other two’s gaze across the road, where you were happily talking with Bull and Shifty. He spat out the toothpaste residue on the ground beside him and said, counting on his fingers, “Seems like the only people she gives the time of day to are Shifty, Bull, Doc Roe, even Webster.”

“Who, if you'll notice,” George said, gesturing with a cigarette between his fingers, “are all quiet, reserved, well-mannered people. You, on the other hand, got a loud mouth and, uh, what’s it called, Frank?”

“A short fuse,” Frank supplied.

“Yeah, a short fuse. She probably thinks you’re trying to get into bed with her, in which case, you're shit outta luck.”

Frank said, shaking his head, “Scary, that girl. With her rifle and that look in her eyes.”

Liebgott exhaled. “But I’m not tryna just sleep with her! I even gave her some of my favorite comics ‘cause I knew she likes to read.”

“Yeah, real books, Joe— that's why she gets along with Webster!” Frank exclaimed. “You sure you didn't give her the pornos?”

George laughed. “That'd give her the wrong impression.”

Liebgott narrowed his eyes as you giggled at something Shifty said. “You’re right, maybe she doesn't like me.”

Standing up, George sighed and snuffed out his cigarette. “That’s not the point, Joe. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

“Yeah, like I’m her next target? You told me already.”

“No,” George said with an exaggerated eye roll, “like she wants more outta you. ‘Cause all she's getting is the impression that you wanna fuck her.”

Liebgott stood up as well, still watching as you laughed with Bull and Shifty. George and Frank patted him on the back.

“She’s all yours, buddy,” Frank assured with a sympathetic smile. “She makes heart eyes at you too.”

-

There were only a handful of women selected to serve outside of something like a nurse’s position; you just so happened to be one of them, most likely because of your experience with a rifle. So, you’d gotten used to the lustful ways some men would watch you, or the demeaning ways they would taunt you. You guessed almost all of them had never seen a woman with a combat position in the military before (or by the way some of them acted, ever spoken to a woman at all).

But such men only assumed that you had earned your jump wings by sleeping around with officers. They assumed that they should be able to get in on it too, or that they should condemn you for something you didn't even do, for being unworthy and unskilled all because you were a woman.

It had always been a difficult pill to swallow: your military career would be littered with scathing remarks and crude comments, and you’d have to be strictly professional or closed-off with most men lest you’d be seen as a whore rather than just “scary”. But the hardest fact to accept was the fact that Liebgott, for all the kindness he had shown you, all the times he talked to you like you were a human being— that he most likely had the same intentions as everyone else.

As much as you relished his company, his crooked smile, his jokes, his lingering touches (and as much as you had to pretend you didn't), you had to accept his end goal was for you to warm his bed. And sure, maybe he was more dogged with his efforts than other men were, and maybe your friends in the company had told you that he was a genuine guy, but you just couldn't believe that he had anything else in mind when it came to you.

Maybe all the criticisms thrown your way had affected you more than you thought.

With the success of Operation Pegasus, Bull had dragged you (not literally, though you’re sure he could've) into a pub in the Netherlands for some celebratory drinking.

You didn't drink, and you disliked pubs; the smell of booze and drunken people was often overpowering, but at least you found quiet company with Bull. Across the room from your table, you saw Liebgott staring at you with a smile and a drink in his hand. It seemed as though he had noticed you the second you entered.

“It’s alright if I leave you alone for a second, little lady?” Bull said, chewing on a cigar like usual. “You'll be fine?”

“Sure, Bull. Go enjoy yourself.”

The large man smiled and patted you on the back before leaving to talk to some of the other men in the company.

Not one to mingle, you were only a few pages into your book when you caught the attention of an intoxicated soldier.

“Look who it is,” Cobb said to himself, hardly standing upright. You recognized his voice, seeing as this wasn’t the first time he’s derided you. “Ms. 1,000 Yards, huh. Bet the officers over at Dog Company only made up that story so it looks like you had some use.”

You ground your teeth. Typically, if you didn't give someone like him the satisfaction of an answer, they’d leave you alone. Why defend yourself and give people another word to call you: bitchy?

“What's a woman got to do in the military anyway?” Bottle in hand, he shambled towards you. “Besides suck the dicks of the men who are actually fighting.”

Steadying your uneven breath, you tried to look behind him to find Liebgott, but his body blocked your view.

Taking another swig, he spat, “That why they transferred you over from Dog Company? Those boys got their fill of you and passed you onto us, huh? Fuckin’ good for nothing slut.”

“What the fuck did you just say to her?” You heard Liebgott’s voice and felt relief wash over you.

Cobb turned around, and you caught a glimpse of an incensed Liebgott, a fierce glint to his eyes.

“Tell me what you just said to her.”

“Oh, please, Joe, you trying to get her to suck your cock faster—”

He was interrupted by a fist flying his way, toppling the inebriated man. Liebgott got on top of him and began trading punches before the surrounding men, drawn by the commotion, tried to pull him off of Cobb.

Your eyes were blown wide as you stood there, speechless. Bull found you and pulled you by the arm out of the pub.

“But what about Liebgott?” you said, peering behind you.

Bull shrugged and did the same. “Seems like he was winning anyway.”

That night in your billet, all you could think about was the fury that twisted Liebgott’s face into one you only saw on the battlefield.

And it was all for you.

-

The next day, you searched for Liebgott at breakfast, the table feeling a bit more empty without him taking up his normal spot beside you, but he had found you first, as he usually did.

“Hey, (Y/N), can I talk to you for a sec?” he said, his hand on your shoulder. You turned around in your seat and were met with a slightly bruised Liebgott, a small cut across his nose. Concern filling your chest, you nodded, and his hand held your wrist as he led you out of the mess hall.

“So, uh, about last night,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes searched yours for how you felt about him bringing it up, but he found no hints in your unreadable expression. “I’m sorry for fighting Cobb for you. You're a strong woman, you could handle him yourself—”

Smiling at his uncharacteristic hesitance, you cut his apology short with a peck on the cheek. You pulled away and saw his temporary surprise.

“Thank you, Joe. I appreciated you standing up for me. It means a lot.”

His face broke into the widest beam you've ever seen.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked eagerly, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could even process what they were. “Shit, sorry, that was too soon—”

You answered his question by tenderly holding his bruised face with your hands and bringing his lips to yours. You could feel him grin into the kiss as he pulled you closer, and your heart just about melted.

Maybe you had gotten Joe Liebgott all wrong from the start.

“Great, he’s never gonna wash that cheek again!”

-

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop

[honestsycrets]

hi sy! first things first, you’re a fantastic writer. i am in LOVE with your western series! second, may i request an idea? it’s the 1920s, and miguel is one of the top mobsters in nueva york, while the reader is his mob wife. after an attempted hit from one of miguel’s rivals that nearly kills her and gabriella, the reader decides it’s time to her and little girl to skip town, but miguel will be damned if his family tries to leave him. cueeeee angst, drama, the whole shabang!

canary I: a threat | [miguel o'hara x reader x gabriel o'hara]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader, gabriel o'hara x reader

❛ type | double shot; 5k

❛ tags | non-monogamy, some angst, 1920s inspired piece, irish clan inspired piece, bootlegging and mention of hits, explicit, a depiction of killings, some jealousy, some trad-roles elements, f!reader, 1920s slang and Spanish not translated, time period birth control (cervical cap).

❛ sy’s notes | i have spent weeks staring at this piece. it's a bit longer than my usual works and for that reason i decided to split it up into two chapters. this piece takes on a little bit more of a generalized irish mob approach rather than italian. this chapter is more domestic than the subsequent one will be.

Miguel O’Hara hated it when his kills ran. No matter how many alleyways they ducked into, shoddily constructed fences they tumbled over, or crappy cars they tried to hitch a ride in, he always found them.

His fingers were blisteringly tight around his kill’s throat, sure to leave certain bruising if the man made it out alive. He wouldn’t. Not based on the blood that seeped over Miguel’s tanned hand. He gurgled underneath Miguel’s hand, the kill messier than he imagined. Any number of his hitmen could have carried out this contract but instead, his crisp white top was slathered in the contract kill of the week. He recalled the sudden memory of his hand on your slight waist, the kiss on the top of your head with the promise of his night. He snarled the memory away.

Should’ve just shot him, Miguel thought. Mierda.

With the fading of the man’s life, his choked grunts drifted into silence. Miguel allowed the man to slump over. Silence fractured, his world bursting with sound. The salt-laden wind whistled past his hair as ships sailed into the pier, carrying cargo, and his latest shipments. Bootlegged booze had its own benefits-- poor training and numbers among agents, for example. A crackle of an engine sped down the road was followed by the bright beams of an electric headlamp.

“¡Oye, Miguel!”

Of course. Under the bright moon that shone arrogantly in the dark sky, the figure came into focus. His polished suit was just a tad too big for his toned, but hardly muscular frame. Even in the darkness, he had the kind of smile that made people feel like they were the special ones. It matched the gentleness in his eyes behind that swoop of chestnut brown hair. If the feds published men of their color on army recruitment posters, he’d certainly make the cut. Handsome, but not too handsome. Strong, but not too strong.

“Gabe,” he breathed. “The lights.”

“Lights? The lights!” Gabriel looked back at his shiny black car. He bounced back toward the car, bellowing. “This a Spot boy? You did a number on him.”

“You sap. Could you be any louder?” Miguel threw aside. “Why are you here?”

“Thought you could use me tonight, big shot,” Gabriel said in that sugar-dipped tongue of his. It works less on Miguel than it had on you. It was oddly discomforting. As the days wore on, he loathed his brother’s silver tongue.

“I could use someone watching my girls.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I was. They're sleeping." Gabriel booted the man, more than minced meat when Miguel was done with him. “You had some beef with him, huh?”

“No.” Miguel mumbled, looking at the man’s body rather than his own, something sharp hovering there. There was nothing he wanted less than to stand in the biting cold listening to his baby brother prattle on a moment longer. He wiped his blade on his once-was-crisp slacks and slid it back into its sheathe. “Let’s hit it.”

“Jake,” Gabriel said, an annoying rendition of an okay. Gabriel was full of shitty terms from his stint in the big house. Almost as many as he picked up at Miguel’s speakeasy.

“Say. Miguel?”

Gabriel’s voice was soft, almost strained. Miguel caught his eyes, knowing subconsciously what his brother would say. He sucked in a breath to calm himself from a reaction to thin, sharp words. They balanced on the point of a knife as Gabriel spoke them into existence.

“They're our girls.”

This setup wasn't going to last. One day, you'd probably settle with Gabe. Miguel jerked up to the sensation of your fingers ghosting his chest, twiddling around his inky black chest hair, gliding across scars. He senses the source of his disquiet, your small frame draped over his side, watching him with a foreign curiosity.

“Muñeca?” he murmured sleepfully, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “What's it? Did Gabriel sleep in?”

He finds it hard to believe that his chirpy brother would do such a thing. Mornings were notoriously his favourite part of the day. Unlike Miguel, who shunned the light that streamed in from your thin curtains.

“Coppers took him in for questioning,” you murmured, leaning in to lay a small peckish kiss on his lips. That was quick. His eyes swept down to your lips, lingering there as you spoke. “Gabi said you’d come with me to iglesia.”

“Chingado. He passed the buck onto me.” Miguel groaned, dropping his head back onto the pillow, weighed down by such a stupid request. You thumbed the golden necklace he’d forgotten to take off, gliding one of your legs up his hirsute thighs. He finds himself hiking your leg higher up his thigh. “That’s what you woke me up for?”

“‘Course not,” you muttered. “I missed you last night. Where’d you go off to?”

“To finish intake.”

You didn’t believe that.

“Promise it didn’t have nothing to do with what Gabi got carted off for?” He holds you in a working gaze, something that tells you he isn’t about to answer something like that. You are his woman. Yet, some secrets aren’t ones that he’s willing to disclose. It could put you in a compromised position. Most men, namely the Italian boys, had enough sense not to drag a man’s family into problems between the mob and the clan but in this world, not everyone had sense.

“Miguelito, you’re scaring me.” Your breath quickened, palpable with your chest against his. His large hand encompassed the middle of your back, guiding small, consolatory circles.

“Some things you’re better off not knowing,” Miguel worked at an explanation. Some things like the amount of hits he was getting for Spot boys. The booze going missing from the speakeasy. Some of his girls licked off the street. Just-- some things. “Got it?”

“Long as it’s not another dame,” you mumbled, fisting his necklace around your fist, dragging him forward for emphasis. A smile tugged at his lips, somehow pleased with your response. “What? You been out the house more times than not.”

“I share you with my brother,” Miguel worked the back of his neck. “Better that I skip town than hear you moaning for him. Might hem him up one of these days.”

You laugh-- but Miguel doesn’t find a lick of it funny.

“You got me now,” your hands drifted up to Miguel’s massive shoulders. “How ‘bout this. You fill me all up for church, wear that spiffy dark blue suit. Then we take Lyla out to get her some cherry coke at the apothecary’s. Maybe I’ll even sing you a whole song today if you’re lucky.”

Church, again. Miguel rattled a groan. Of course, he couldn’t have one day off from frateurinizing with people who hated the fuck outta him. Church folk. He didn’t know why you insisted on going with people who openly called you loose.

“Can do without one of those things.”

“If you want me, you go to iglesia, Miguelito.”

West-Side Violence at All-Time High! Italian Enforcer found dead! The West clan’s Gabriel O’Hara facing added charges on suspicion of--

Tch. You interrupted the scowl on his face with a well-placed kiss to his cheekbone, sliding a piping hot mug of Joe before him. Wafts of steam warmed his cheeks. You set down his morning’s breakfast, a plate loaded with fats. No tamales today, but baked beans from a few well-established Irish wives in the area. You wiped your greasy fingers off on a dirtied apron. Miguel stabbed a hunk of sausage as you spoke.

“Gabi’d never do that. They’re trying to hem him up like that capo last month,” your voice quaked, strutting back toward the cabinets. “It’s too personal. He’d… fill ‘em up with lead sure, but a stabbing? It just don’t make sense.”

Sure didn't. Miguel dropped the paper to the side of the oak table, tracing lines of worry that grew into spiderwebs of panic across your forehead. You spoke so feverishly in defense of Gabriel, whose absence was palpable. He often talked about the latest hired singer, sneaking behind your waist for kisses on your nape when Miguel could barely drag himself out of bed in the morning after pulling all-nighters.

“I have someone on it.”

“I bet Papa did it.” His daughter-- or Gabriel’s-- they were never quite sure. He glanced to his foot where Lyla sat. A full seven-year-old, Lyla was a spitfire of a thing, her hair in a bouncy bob topped by a silky ribbon. She glanced up from the dreidel she was spinning around and around. His lips pulled into a minced smile. “What? He’s a liar.”

“Miguel.”

Couldn’t even eat in peace.

“Lyla,” Miguel gestured toward the door. “Go wake up Maeve. Go on kid, get.”

That kid had a smart mouth. He watches her roll her eyes, only budging when you supply her with a hunk of pan dulce. She takes a mean bite, eyes locked on Miguel as she hopped out, somehow less bothered than she was a few seconds ago. You closed the metal door behind your daughter, a hand balled up on the bend in your waist as you watched her skip down the stairs and out of view.

“Most girls don’t talk like that about their papas,” you mumbled. Your arms crossed one over the other for support. “Does she hate him that much?”

“Most girls don’t grow up in the life.”

“Mi culpa.”

With his breakfast all but spoiled, Miguel pushed the plate away. His hand was soft on your waist, nose burrowed into your hair, tracing the notes of jasmine and rose, vanilla and sandalwood. The scent was unmarred by the stench of speakeasy smoke so early in the morning. Your hand came over his, steadying yourself from the rushing thoughts by leaning into his touch.

“I need a girl at the speakeasy tonight.”

Unlike his brother, Miguel’s requests rarely offer a tone of choice. It rolls off his tongue dry and hits your ear like a spike. Nothing about your relationship with Miguel was easy-- it was marred by the rivalry among the brothers-- and as you suspected-- interloping from your grandfather.

“Y Lyla?”

“Maeve is her nanny.”

“How can I step in there without Gabi?”

“He’d want you to. And I want to see you out of this dumb apron.”

“It isn’t dumb,” you pursed your lips, somehow more convinced despite your reservations. Most days, you spend the day in the house-- isolated from any life you came to Nueva York for. Any half-formed excuse that was on your tongue flopped. He nearly has you. “It is right dumb, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. What happened to my canary?”

“She met a pair of terrible brothers who don’t care for pulling out.”

“Don’t blame me.”

He pushed himself against your back, twiddling your fingers against the pantyhose that clothed your thighs. A smile tugged on your lips as Miguel leaned over to kick the front door shut, dipping onto his knees. It wasn’t often that he allowed you to ruin his perfect face before work. Today is a special treat.

But… if you thought back, you really should have.

Took a long time to get any mail from the island. Almost impossible.

In your hands is a sloppily penned letter-- You should be married to one of those boys-- your grandfather. He isn’t stupid enough to think that you’re opening this for the first time tonight, here and now, right in front of him. If you’re ‘reading’ it, you must be wanting him to take a hint. Miguel bent down, placed a kiss on your temple, gliding his hands over your own to place the letter onto the vanity.

He used those very same hands that were meant for maiming against the clasp of a set of pearls around your neck with gentle precision. His fingers coursed along the curls at your nape as he clasped them together.

“How long before your set?”

“Half an hour… maybe.” You stood to face him, pursing ruby-red lips, whispering in his mother’s tongue. He never liked it when his mother barked at him in Spanish, but when it's off your tongue, he knows how sweet it could be. Your hand inched its way over his chest, tracing the fat knot against his throat.

“What’s the issue?”

“I don’t-- feel very perfect. You have all these shebas out there--” women who not only knew how to sing but weren’t terribly mottled by stretchmarks or burdened by the eviscerating effect of motherhood. They’re beautiful, free canaries when they sing in his speakeasy. As much as you loved singing-- you felt shy on that ruby-red stage lately, before a dozen ruby tables and the hopping band.

“They’re to bring in the sugar.”

“Uh-huh, bring in the sugar until they take you away.”

“I’m satisfied.” Miguel took a step up, communicating the way he knew how, by settling his large hand over your jaw. His strong hand glided to your chin, urging you to look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere. Tied me down with Lyla as it is.”

“Words are just words. Why buy the…”

“Cow if you can get the milk for free, sí, I know what your grandfather says.” He slips into your chair. “Què quieres?”

“I don’t know, Miguelito. A promise. A marriage. Algo.”

“You want me to wife you up? Don’t remember ever talking about this.” He gestured you to come closer. You stepped up, knocking between his legs. Miguel’s gaze falters, chasing the glint of your tassels as they come to a stop.

“What’s the issue?”

“Nothing. I thought you’d ask Gabe.”

“Gabe gets around.”

“You believe those rumors.” You slap his large hands groping up your thighs, climbing over his lap like it was your throne. His massive frame eclipses the chair, suppressing your comparatively smaller frame. “And don’t think I do?”

“Do you?”

“No,” he laughs. Or, not recently. It’s hard being a father-- harder when he has a whole ass business to keep on top of. Most women wanted those things: jewels, a new pair of silk knickers, and a home. “If that’s what you want, you got it.”

“Oh Miguelito,” he suckled your neck, drawing horrendous marks to the surface. Marks of his ownership in the absence of a ring. He hears the pleased hum of your voice, low and sweet, and knows that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“I haven’t put in my cap,” his fingers danced across the outside of your thighs, slipping past your stockings to your silken shorts. He slotted his fingers underneath the fabric, grazing his fingers through your neatly kept curls. Your breath came in deeper bursts as he melded his hand over your vulva, expecting you to grind back on him. You did, ever so eager for him.

“Don’t bother me with that,” he said in a low, husked voice. “You know how I feel about your birth control.”

It was your idea, primarily. Gabe was ever too content to simply be with you-- he didn’t need a large family like the rest of Miguel’s Irish clan. Four, six, sometimes more. Unlike Gabe, Miguel wanted the exact opposite. You shifted over his thigh, obeying his desire to have you ride him. Miguel urged your hips down, working his thumb over the precious button as you did. Miguel’s leg trembled up against your slit, bursts of warm friction warming your hungry body. With his slacks freshly cleaned, you worry about soaking them, soaked in lubricant as you were.

“Come here,” you surrendered a soft moan to him, leaning forward now, less to ride his thigh than the bulge in his slacks. He does not quite care for the idea of ruining himself inside the confines of his pants, but if you want to feel him, he has no reason to deny you. You’re wonderfully spoiled, juddering your hips over him like any whore walking the streets in exchange for a coin or two. What he’d give to have this to himself.

It donned on him-- he could have it to himself. This time, he’d be certain of who the child belonged to. He adored his Lyla, though his irritation with her quips was ever palpable, this-- right here, the ability to fill you and be certain filled him with fat hunger and possessive need to burst into his slacks.

“Stop-- Muñeca-- stop,” Miguel tipped his head back, gathering his focus by digging his hand into your hair, stopping you immediately. His harsh grip loosened, followed up by loosening the button of his slacks and shoving them below the curve of his ass. His cock slapped your silken shorts, beads of his desire dripping from his cockhead. “Take those off. I’m finishing inside.”

“Miguelito,” you slipped onto shaky feet, enough that Miguel could force the shorts underneath your dress to the floor. “We agreed that babies would be--”

“You asked to be my wife. Ain’t this what wives do?”

“I know bu-- not there, deja, let me,” you stopped. His cockhead clumsily poked here and there, until finally, your hand guided him properly. Your mouth fell into a hazy moan when Miguel’s cock shoved forward, breaching your cunt with a snap of his hips. You seated yourself back onto his fat cock, reminded of the absence of your cervical cap in your cunt.

For all your talk, you ached for him, dipping your intertwined hands down to your mound. The rhythm was as sloppy as whatever singer was on stage right now, her voice giving way into a distinct crack. Whatever-- if it bought him more time to properly seed you, he didn’t mind.

He buckled forward as you clenched down upon him, holding him prisoner deep in your body. Liquid soaked his slacks-- and Miguel huffed, puffs of hot air warming your back. That was going to be fun to walk out in. His wife’s cum soaking his crotch.

“Hold still. It’s almost showtime,” Miguel’s voice was thin, his hand splayed on your waist as he used you less like his woman and more like a toy for his pleasure. It didn’t take long for Miguel to find a proper rhythm, his muscles flexing against your back. You were preoccupied as it were with the pain of Miguel’s teeth sinking on your shoulder, spiking hot as his pleasure crested. Soon enough, you felt his warmth fill your core, your head lulling back against him only after his thrusts ebbed.

“Don’t clean up, go on stage leaking.” Miguel held out his hand for you to take, allowing you to pull your shorts back up your ass, nestling his leaking cum in the fabric. It helped ease the anxiety of having you on stage, somehow, to see you in such a state.

“When you knock me up, you’re telling Gabi. I... can't.” You told Miguel, smoothing your dress over your shorts. There was a nervous flush in your eyes-- shame, he placed the emotion. He scrubbed the smile from his face. He had at least a few weeks.

“Sure thing.”

There was a certain delight in seeing you dressed up in that little black dress, all bright red lips, and sultry song. Not that you didn’t look tasty in that stupid apron you wore not to dirty any one of the pretty dresses you wore to church-- like you weren’t a heathen for warming the bed of two O’Hara boys. The people knew it. The church knew it. Damn well, the town knew it.

“Pal, that’s her on stage,” went an Italian boy. An allied family through nothing but contract killing and coin, he was safe here for the time being. One little lapse in a contract could shake it all. “That’s their kitten.”

“She married?”

Miguel turned his gaze back to you for a long moment. Your warm, sweetly lidded words slipping off your tongue, making his mind sluggish and relaxed after a long day. He captured your eyes, minding how your hands fell to the tasseled ends of an already short skirt, daring to expose your skin obscured by pantyhose to the crowd. You knew the game, how far you could lift your skirt without your would-be husband jumping his cage.

“Don’t be goofy. Miguel’d get sore if Gabe tried. She has ‘em both around her finger. Has a kid by one of them. No one knows whose. I got my money on--”

Stupid kids.

“Kid, I’m gunning for another.” Miguel cut the boy off, eyes crinkling at the edges. Something in the way you moved on stage reminded him of Lyla’s pregnancy, perhaps the glitter in your eyes when you met him at his table, instead of backstage, holding his large hands in your own. Some sparkle in your eye, a ginger announcement in his ear. Half elation, half… something else. Something, not quite fear, swirled in the boy’s eyes. Miguel watched with a keen interest as the boy flushed.

“Right on, big shot.”

Miguel brought his cigarette to his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed and his mind wander to the past. He should have known you were hands-off from the moment Gabriel wouldn’t beat it with the idea of adding another girl to their speakeasy.

The best time to tell Miguel about his new girl in the speakeasy was when he was in a good mood: catching any bootleg thief put him in a good mood. Not that he was particularly partial to grey matter and blood spraying him like a fresh pinata, but… he was more partial to money in his pocket and a good reputation. His boys cared for much of the violence in the West of this shitty little town.

“You hired a new girl?” Miguel repeated, drawing a long hit of his cigarette with blood-smattered fingers.

“Spanish girl. Like us. We don’t have a Spanish girl in this joint.”

“Gabe. Most of our clients are Irish. They don’t speak Spanish.”

“You should see her Miggy. She’s got this angelic little face,” Gabe whacked his elder brother, his grin growing ear to ear. There it was, his baby brother got blinded by his dick again. “When she sings you-- well, you get all twisted up.”

“Angelic face,” Miguel mumbled under his breath, tapping excess off of his cigarette. For the price he paid his girls, she had better have the face of Mary herself. The last few Gabe had pulled were mistakes. Some drug-addicted. Others whose husbands always caused a mean stir. He drags his hand down his face, weighing the costs. “She another dumb--”

“She’s Daniel’s littlin’. You remember Daniel? Taught you how to use a kn--”

The sigh that sat in his chest dissipated like vapor, perfusing into his tissue. Miguel looked at the paper Gabriel set in his blood-tinged fingers. He rotated it, gave it a look with his tired eyes. Talk to Gabriel. That old man knew just what Miguel would have said: get your ass back on a boat and go home to whatever rinky-dink island you foolishly sailed off of for this shitty city.

“Lemme see her sing.”

He doesn’t pay attention when Gabriel introduces you onstage for the first time, focusing on the paper ledgers Peter arranged for a review. Unlike his Italian connections, he don’t mind mixing it up with the Jewish boys. They’re twice as smart on the books and twice less likely to be hauling in trouble. Bootleg booze was one thing— the opium, the heroin, the cocaine, and morphine another. It packed too much heat from the coppers.

He hadn’t meant to look up.

It didn’t occur to him that you could have a sickly sweet voice, tempered by the rich Spanish on your tongue, only rivaled by those beautiful looks. His abandoned ciggy threw smoke into the air. He slumped back into the chair with a heavy thud, unclenched his tense jaw, and listened to a siren’s song that felt both familiar and distant all the same.

You had the sort of eyes he swore he’d met before, despite knowing he’d never seen a face like yours around. He’d remember sinking his teeth in that delicate neck that sat under pearls that he supplied most of his singers for their performances. His eyes hungrily cantering down your tassel dress. Not one he provided, no, he knew most to all the pieces in the back. There was a simple beauty in the gown.

You were trouble. He caught your eyes with an intent expression and expected you to blush and look away. You smiled. He wasn’t sure if it was for him or Gabriel, who flicked a grade-A smile, and a twiddling wave of your little fingers. He wants to feel them scratching down his back.

“--anyone home? Miggy? Miguel. Don’t tell me you’re already stuck on her.” Gabriel teased, elbowing Miguel in the arm. “You are! Told you she could sing.”

“Pipe down.” He jammed his ciggy in the dish.

“Sorry.”

He watches you a moment more, the slide of your legs to the tune of the band. The way your laugh resonated through the speakeasy when a patron stumbled onto the stage for his take on some stiff-legged swing. Most women would push them off, look to him for help in the swing, but you ran with the twirl the drunk led you into. He hated to admit that Gabriel was right. Among all the girls in his speakeasy, you brought a lightness to the life of a drunkard he’d not seen in a while.

“Gabe,” he mumbled, standing up and whirling his suit jacket over his broad shoulders.

“Yeah?”

I told’ja so, Gabriel’s voice sounded in his head. He could already feel the stiff annoyance that would be Gabriel’s fist connecting with his shoulder. Why did Gabriel have to know him so well? Miguel spoke with an undercurrent of annoyance.

“Let’s keep her.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice.”

A hail of loud pops ruptured his sweet, distant memories. He reaches out to snatch his gun from the table, settled between the fresh flowers he plucked for your show. For an instant, his world wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t sounded out by the deafening assuredness of a kill, but very real panic under the singled out by the shrill of your scream.

They're going to push up on us, Miguel told Gabe. He never did take anything outside the speakeasy seriously.

Except tonight, there was no Gabriel. Miguel clasped his hand around his gun, whirling for the source of the flame. The barrage of gunfire is put down as quickly as it began. With a host of Irishmen in the bar, he should be so unsurprised. One of the Italian kids slumped over on his table.

There’s blood-- a lot of blood. Hysterics bound all around, some soothed by their partners or friends. The other Italian boy just stares-- lips slightly apart-- jarred by whatever horror was before him. Miguel finds it hard to believe that he hasn’t seen worse. Others burning his ears like the morning sun in his eyeballs every day you forgot to pull the curtains closed.

“God damn it, Peter.” Standing there is the scrawny little devil of a bookmaker himself, smiling cheesily.

“Hope that’s a good god damn it.”

He shoved his way from the tables, numbing out the complaint of the Italian boy. You were long since gone, probably a good thing that you weren’t here, that’s for fucking sure. It’d been the first time since Gabe’s incarceration he managed to drag you out of there and now… you were somewhere, undoubtedly frightened. Maybe even hurt.

“Boy, wonder who this kid crossed. Say, about Gabe, I got good news--”

He seized a chair, flicking it past Peter, a sure hiss for him to shut the fuck up about his baby brother in the can. Peter put his hands up reflexively, tracing Miguel’s rising shoulders.

“She ran to the back.”

The slender hallway down to his office is cold, only illuminated by the occasional pull-pin light bulb swinging overhead. He came here most days that he wasn’t on shift, taking a hit, or caring for his boys. Keeping track of everything was the best way to stay ahead. And even still-- he missed something from one of Spot’s boys.

You didn’t bother to close the door, balled up in a corner of his small office. He has a glorified cot for a bed in a corner, a heavy desk that nearly killed Gabe trying to hike it down the stairs years ago, and a rack stuffed with any number of books.

“It’s me,” his voice filled the room. You peered up from behind your arms, wrapped around your knees. What a stupid oversight, he thought, whoever was in charge of the damn door let someone in that was… going to be a problem. He was good with Lucky’s crew. Now he was gonna have to pick up that wired phone and tell him some kid was dead.

Your heels scratched across the ground, scooting back to the cool wall. You weren’t hurt-- just, sort of shocked. Maybe being conned into church with you panned out somehow.

“Muñeca.”

“That ain’t… ever happened with Gabe before.”

Gabe. Dy by day that he heard his brother’s voice, it became more of an annoyance. It wasn’t fair to make the comparison-- Gabe caring for most things that went on in the speakeasy, Miguel caring for interpersonal deals and security. With Gabe away, he’d not… it didn’t matter.

“It won’t happen again.”

“If Lyla were here--” You’re a shark-- going after the one thing you knew would hurt. The little girl back at home who he went to great lengths to make sure was safe. She was… his, even if he felt was his brother’s, putting more salt into an ever widening sinkhole that was his irritation.

“She wasn’t.”

“But what if she was?”

“Cállate,” he barked.

“Fine, I’ll beat it. You can holed up all alone down here like you like to be, you-- you-- big lug.” You recoiled for an instant, before forcing yourself up, rubbing at heavily fallen tears in your pursuit of the door. Your cheeks were kissed by raw agitation, all pink and in any other situation, beautiful. Miguel swayed to catch your elbow.

“Discúlpame,” he murmured, a rare apology if you could even call it one to begin with. There was a long pause, and he wondered if you would be upset with him for the rest of the day. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He knew he made it damn hard not to.

That was the thing about Miguel. He made it hard to get close, but even harder to leave. No matter what he did, you wanted to stay there right by him-- because he was the complicated brother. The one who… well, hell, you wanted to be about. Gabe was good and easy, your Miguelito was…

“Dios mio, Miguelito. This hinky stuff ain’t happening again. Or-- Or I’ll leave you both. Take Lyla right back to the island I came from and marry a man who isn’t in wrong with the police.”

You should have known the day that you gave birth to his daughter that something like that wasn’t going to happen.

[kwanisms]

🎄 Tales from Camp Holiday Special 07 🎄

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➮ Joshua × fem!Reader wc: 9k summary: While helping set up for a Christmas special at his church, Joshua is reintroduced to Y/N who is offered to help him set up. While working, they reminisce and Joshua apologizes about everything that summer. genres/themes/au: angst, fluff, smut; holiday themes, religious undertones; non idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, mentions of pregnancy, religious themes, sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist: @yoonguurt @wonw00t @aikisbbq @enhacolor @duchesskaren @sherituhhh @wonderfulshinee @gaebestie @drunk-on-dk @seokgyuu @salty-for-suga @aaniag @dnylwoo @1004luvangel join my taglists: main | TFC: Holiday Special closed! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: sorry this took so long lol i was stumped at where to take it, but managed to figure it out by moving a scene around. Joshua is always a subject that is fun to explore as every seems to see him pretty different. I love seeing what everyone comes up with for him. A reminder that the taglist for this series is now closed! Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging as it really helps out and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: protected sex (finally lmao. He has learned from his past), a lot of heavy petting & making out in a church backroom lmao, car sex, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, choking kink, finger sucking, degradation, impact play (light slapping), slight exhibitionism, and I think that’s all of them! If I missed any, let me know!

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Joshua wouldn’t say he was as deep in his faith as he used to be but he still attended church regularly. Less out of faith and more out of routine and a sense of community. So when the holidays rolls around, he inevitably ends up volunteering to help with the extra activities like the nativity play as well as teaching Sunday school. This year was no different.

Except that it was completely different.

“Can you hand me that hammer?” Joshua asked, pointing at the claw hammer sticking out of the tool box. Jeonghan huffed, bending down to pick it up and handing it over. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into helping you with this,” he grumbled, checking his watch.

Joshua looked up at his friend. “Impatient?” he asked with a smirk. Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “I have work in an hour,” Jeonghan said, glancing around quickly before adding in an “asshole” under his breath, making Joshua laugh as he lined up the nail and started hammering it.

“This won’t take long,” he promised as he started hammering a second nail into the wood. “Besides, isn’t this fun?” Jeonghan eyed him suspiciously. “Not particularly, no,” Jeonghan answered before glancing around. “I feel… weird.” He looked up at the cross on the wall behind the stage they currently stood on. “Oh it’s not that bad,” Joshua snorted as he finished hammering the nails in.

He handed Jeonghan the hammer before starting to push the frame of the tiny stable over until it stood upright. “Hmm, not bad,” Jeonghan said, tilting his head to admire Joshua’s handiwork. “You’re like Jesus’ dad. A carpenter.” Joshua rolled his eyes, lightly smacking Jeonghan’s arm.

“You’re an idiot.”

“What?” Jeonghan hissed, holding his arm and looking more offended by the slap than the insult. “You even have the same name!” Joshua turned to give Jeonghan a bewildered stare. “You’re thinking of Joseph,” he said as he started to grab the brown cloth fabric and the upholstery staple gun. 

“Mary’s husband was Joseph. Joshua was a warrior who led Israel in the conquest of Canaan after the Exodus from Egypt.”

Jeonghan stared blankly at his friend. “I have no idea what any of those words mean.”

Joshua rolled his eyes, gesturing for Jeonghan to help him hold up the fabric backing of the stable. He started to staple it into place, making sure it was pulled taut over the frame. “He was essentially a military leader,” he explained further. Jeonghan’s lips parted in an O as he listened. 

“Good for him,” Jeonghan said as Joshua continued to staple the backing on. “Power to the people or whatever.” Joshua snorted again as he finished stapling. Jeonghan checked his watch again. “Look, I’d love to stay and talk to you about EXO but I have to leave now if I want to make it to work on time,” he said, starting to head for the steps. Joshua nodded.

“Of course. And thanks for your help,” he said as Jeonghan descended the steps. “Drive safe!” Jeonghan waved as he headed down the aisle and out the door into the lobby of the church.

Back on his own, Joshua was able to focus on the less taxing job of painting the stable. It wasn’t much, just some brown paint here and there but Joshua always went above and beyond.

“Looking good, Joshua!” a voice said, drawing his attention. Joshua looked up to find Father Y/L/N walking towards him, his wife in tow and one more familiar face. Yours.

Joshua felt a rush of blood to his head as he stood up straight, making him feel lightheaded. He hadn’t seen you since summer camp all those years ago. He’d tried, keep an eye out for you every year until he finally quit working there once he got his full time job.

Not one sign of you at the camp. He feared the worst when he didn’t see you again the next summer after your last… meeting. Upon returning to his cabin, Joshua remembered that the two of you hadn’t used a condom and knowing your father was a pastor, he probably didn’t allow you to take birth control.

It had really eaten away at Joshua.

Especially when he learned that you’d left the next morning citing a family emergency. And thus began Joshua’s months-long panic-stricken search but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to dig up any social media accounts under your name.

Not a single trace of you had been left behind for him to follow but here you were, years later and looking even more amazing and beautiful than the last day he’d seen you.

“Joshua, you remember my daughter, Y/N?” your father asked, placing a light hand on your back and gently pulling you forward. Joshua was rendered speechless. He’d never been speechless.

If Jeonghan was still here, he was certain he’d never hear the end of it. Joshua stared at you, stunned and silent longer than he should have because the next thing your father did was ask if he was okay.

Joshua shook himself mentally. ‘Get it together, you idiot!’

“Uh, yeah,” he finally stammered out, turning to look at you, meeting your gaze. “Hey, Y/N, how have you been?” He hesitated briefly, uncertain of how much physical contact was appropriate.

Should he shake your hand? Go in for a hug? What was allowed? Especially in front of your parents. Joshua had literally been inside you before but that was years ago. He settled for neither and instead gave you probably the most awkward wave he'd ever given in his life.

If your dad didn't think something was up before, he’d certainly be suspicious now. Whether or not he was, Joshua wouldn’t know as your father simply smiled, looking from you to Joshua and back.

“It’s been a while, Joshua,” you noted, not looking away from his face. Joshua swallowed nervously, hoping neither of your parents caught onto his increasingly bizarre behavior.

Either they were oblivious or just didn’t care as to why the usually calm.and collected Sunday school teacher was suddenly losing his cool and metaphorically shitting bricks.

“Yeah,” Joshua replied lamely. “Y/N’s been out of the country for work,” your mother suddenly piped up, sounding exceedingly proud of you. A shy smile graced your lips, reminding Joshua of the quiet demure young woman he’d met all those years ago.

Despite the smile, you certainly did not carry yourself the same way.

“Wow, that’s incredible,” Joshua said, looking away from your mother to meet your gaze. “She’s back in town, looking at apartments. Isn’t that right, dear?” Joshua could see a hint of amusement in your eyes.

“Something like that, mother,” you replied dryly. Before either of your parents could say anything more, you spoke again.

“I think I’d like to stay here and help set up,” you offered quickly. “You two go on ahead without me.” Your mother and father exchanged quick glances of surprise before your mother spoke.

“Are you sure, dear?” she asked. You nodded quickly, moving to stand beside Joshua. “It’ll give Joshua and I a chance to catch up.”

Your mother and father looked at one another one last time, Joshua holding his breath that they would just give in and say yes without trying to pry. He wasn’t ready for that conversation yet and he was certain he never would be.

Seemingly moved by your willingness to volunteer, your parents gave in without much resistance, cooing over how sweet you were to volunteer your own time to help out.

They told you they would be back later to pick you up and where to meet them before they both bid you and Joshua farewell.

Once left alone in your presence, Joshua suddenly had no idea what to do, how to act, or what to say so you took the lead, turning to face him. “So,” you started. “What’re you working on?”

Joshua employed your help in painting the stable. It wasn’t exactly riveting work and it left his mind free to wander. Neither of you made any attempt to fill the silence or bridge the glaringly obvious gap between you.

Time seemed to whizz by and yet it also appeared to stand still.

On top of that, he managed to knock over the can of paint.

It would seem he just couldn’t win today.

“Shiii-oot,” Joshua started to curse but caught himself, glancing at you. Upon hearing his half curse, you looked up at him with a bewildered look. “Shi-oot?” you asked, a note of amusement to your voice. Joshua stared at you blankly until you burst into laughter.

And what a sweet laugh it was. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it until he heard it again.

“What the fuck is ‘shi-oot,’ Joshua?” you managed to wheeze.

A smile spread over Joshua’s face as he realized he’d been holding back and being so uptight for no reason.

Despite all that had changed, it was nice to see some things hadn’t changed at all. You shook your head, still chuckling as you grabbed a nearby rag and started to clean up the spilled paint.

“I’ll go grab a mop from the cleaning supply closet,” Joshua said, setting his brush down carefully and stepping over the spilled paint as you set the can upright.

The cleaning closet wasn’t far, just in the hall outside the nave. He grabbed the mop and a spray bottle of cleaning solution. Upon returning, he was surprised that you managed to get a bulk of the paint off the floor.

He walked over, spraying the spot generously. You got to your feet as Joshua waited for the chemicals in the solution to work. “I’m gonna go grab another can of paint,” you announced. Joshua leaned the mop against one of the benches. 

“I’ll come with you,” he replied, following your steps. “I have to let this stuff sit for a few minutes anyway.” While it was true the solution needed a few minutes for the chemicals to break down the materials in the paint, Joshua really wanted an excuse to spend more time with you. 

He should have known it was a bad idea. He should have foreseen what was going to happen considering your history the last time the two of you were alone together in a store room.

You weren’t sure who made the first move, but one minute you were trying to match paint, the next Joshua had you pinned against the wall, his thigh wedged between yours as his tongue explored your mouth, hands skimming over your body with practiced ease. 

“Fuck,” Joshua grunted as your hands tugged through his hair, pulling his head back slightly. “You still sound just as pretty as before,” he heard you murmur, your lips ghosting over the skin of his neck. “And you’re much more confident than before,” Joshua mused as you pulled back to look at him.

He pulled you in for another kiss, muffling your moans as you rolled your hips, grinding against his thigh.

‘What are you doing? You need to stop this! Remember last time?’

“Wait, wait,” Joshua said softly, pulling back to look at you. “Stop.” You looked up at him, confused as he held you still. “We can’t do this,” he stated, his voice slightly breathless. You felt a small tug at your heart. “Oh.” Your stomach started to sink as the gravity of his words settled. “I see.”

Sensing the shift in your demeanor, Joshua held you firm as you tried to turn and pull away from him. “That came out wrong,” he started quickly. “I meant, we can’t do this here,” he clarified. You looked back up to meet his gaze. “What?” you whispered.

Joshua’s hands moved up to cup your face. “Let me be perfectly clear,” he explained. “I want this. I want you,” he continued. “But not here.” Joshua looked around the backroom. “We’ve done this before,” he added. “I don’t want to do this again. I want to do things right with you.”

You stared back at him, searching and studying his face. When you came back here, following him, you had expected the same thing as before. The sexual tension had been high since being reintroduced.

As you stared back at Joshua, several questions ran through your head. ‘Has he felt this way since the last time? Has he been thinking about this since then? Did he want to pursue something more involved, possibly romantic with you? What was his end goal?’

“What are you saying?” you asked softly, resting your hands against his chest. You felt his thumb stroke your cheek tenderly, making you resist the urge to lean into his touch. “It means,” he started softly, looking into your eyes. “That I want more from this.”

Your heart skipped a beat, breath catching in your throat.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about that day,” Joshua continued. “To think about what we did, how it affected me, and even moreso, what happened after. I was sure that you had gotten pregnant,” he paused, gauging your reaction.

You said nothing, wanting him to finish his thoughts in their entirety before you spoke. Sensing this, Joshua continued his narrative.

“And that got me thinking. Had me thinking about the future, about what I want in life, and about you. I wondered where you ended up. Wondered what you were doing in your life. And the more I thought about the possibility that I had a kid out there, the more I started to accept it as reality.”

You shook your head quickly. “I’ve been on birth control since I was 16,” you explained. Joshua’s eyes widened in surprise. “You have?” he asked quickly to which you nodded. “Mainly for my endometriosis,” you added. “But the added not getting pregnant aspect has been nice, too.”

Joshua let out a soft laugh, shaking his head before he looked back up at you, hesitating before taking a deep breath. “Anyway, as fate would have it, you didn’t get pregnant. I don’t have a kid out in the world. And for some reason, that doesn’t bring me any relief. It almost makes me feel… sad.”

Your brows knitted together as he finished his sentence. ‘Sad?’ you wondered. ‘He wanted me to have his child?’

“Don’t get me wrong,” Joshua said suddenly. “I’m glad you didn’t have to put your life on hold to raise a child alone. I’m glad your life went on and you were able to do the things you always talked about,” he added with a smile. It wasn’t the usual smirk you’d always gotten from him. It was a kind and genuine smile.

A very rare one.

“It also means, if you wanted, we could start over.”

Your eyes widened. ‘Start Over?’

“I realize that things have definitely changed but if you’ll let me,” he continued. “I’d like to do things properly this time. Take you on a real date. Court you properly in a way that won’t make your dad hate me,” he added. You let out an unexpected chuckle.

“He doesn’t hate you,” you replied. “He has no idea what we got up to all those years ago.” Joshua felt relieved, feeling his body relax just a little more. “As for starting over,” you continued and Joshua tensed up again. ‘Here it goes,’ he told himself.

“I’d love to, actually.”

Joshua froze, staring at you unblinking for a few moments.

“Wait,” he said softly. “Really?” he asked. You nodded, letting out a giggle as the realization of your words dawned on him. “Oh, shit. Sorry,” he apologized quickly. “I'm just… honestly, I'm shocked. I thought for sure you'd turn me down!” You let out another giggle, watching his excitement rise.

“How does Saturday sound? We can go get coffee. Or go to a museum. Or a movie if you’d prefer that? Whatever you want to do!” You smiled as he rambled on, listing off idea after idea for a first date. You reached up, covering his mouth to cut his rambling off.

“Coffee and a museum sounds great.”

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You were able to help Joshua finish his projects and set them aside to dry for the rest of the day before the show the following day. Joshua got ready the next morning, a mix of nerves and tension. Not because of the show but because of seeing you again.

When you agreed to start over and go on a date with him, he’d been over the moon and riding that high the whole way home but upon waking the next morning, he was a ball of nerves.

He arrived early at the church, dressed in a nice pair of khakis and a navy blue suit jacket. He’d packed a pair of jeans to change into after the show to help take things down and keep his clothes nice and clean. Setting up was simply putting sets in place and making sure all the costumes and props were ready to go.

Joshua was mainly in charge of handing out programs, and making sure the ushers did their jobs escorting people to their seats. It wasn’t a hard job particularly, but most of the ushers were young teenage boys who liked to mess around. Not that Joshua blamed them. He was a teenage boy once. He understood.

The doors to the church opened at six pm, allowing for an hour for the guests and congregation to find their seats. It was an hour full of ‘welcome’ and ‘would you like a program?’ By the time the show was about to start, Joshua was internally cringing for sounding like a parrot the whole time.

As the last few of the guests trickled in, Joshua’s heart skipped a beat. You’d arrived with your parents and it was all he could do to not stare at you as you walked closer, chatting with your mother. Instead, he allowed himself to look quickly over your body, taking in the ensemble you’d chosen.

As you and your parents drew nearer, a genuine smile spread across his face unlike the one he’d been forcing earlier. “Ah, Joshua,” your father said upon noticing him. “How good to see you again.” You turned your head, gaze falling on Joshua and he could have sworn, he’d seen your eyes sweep over him quickly as well as the look you gave him. 

It made blood rush to his head and not the one with the smile on it.

“Good evening, Father Y/L/N. Mrs. Y/L/N,” Joshua said with a nod before his eyes fell on you. “Y/N,” he added with a smile. “Would you like a program?” one of the teenage boys to Joshua’s left asked, interrupting the moment as yours and Joshua’s eyes had been locked on one another.

“Yes, thank you,” your father answered, taking two from the boy and handing one to his wife. You looked back at Joshua, glancing at the programs in his hands. “Could I have one of those?” you asked softly. There was a tone to your voice. Almost like you were asking for something more than the program but all the same, Joshua nodded, handing one over to you.

“Enjoy the show,” he said as your parents started to head into the nave. “Thanks,” you replied, opening the program and glancing over it quickly before looking up at him. “See you after the show?” you asked, a hint of hope to your voice. Joshua nodded, heart skipping as a smile spread over your face.

“See you after the show, then,” you said softly before following your parents inside.

Joshua stood at the back of the nave, against the wall as the show started but he couldn’t focus on his students standing on stage and acting out the birth of Jesus. All he could focus on was you sitting three rows from the back, eyes forward as you watched with what anyone else would assume was rapt attention.

Joshua might have as well if he hadn’t caught you turning to gaze back at him before the lights dimmed.

The whole show, Joshua kept his eyes on you, watching every shift, every light chuckle, and the way you leaned over to whisper something to your mother. In the low lighting he could still see the way your lips pulled into a smile as you let out a soft laugh, covering your mouth with your hand.

He felt like he could look at you for hours but he’d never admit it for fear of sounding like a creep.

So he’d keep that to himself.

When the show finally ended, the lights came back on and the guests started to trickle out while the staff started to slowly clean up the stage. Joshua made a point of making sure to wish everyone a goodnight and a Merry Christmas.

Thankfully, you and your parents were among the few to remain behind, your father speaking to the other pastor. Joshua saw your head turn in his direction, watching you speak a few words to your mother before following the crowd in his direction.

He looked away quickly, continuing to say goodbye to the guests as they passed him. Moments later, you joined him. “Found you,” you said softly, making him chuckle. “Now what?” you asked. Joshua smiled, after turning from a guest.

“Now I have to help clean up,” Joshua answered. “Could I stay and help?” you asked suddenly.

Joshua’s eyes widened but before he could answer, another voice spoke up.

“You ready to head home, dear?” your mother asked, drawing your attention. You glanced over at Joshua quickly before speaking. “Actually, I think I'm going to stay behind and help clean up,” you replied, smiling at your parents. You noticed the way your father glanced at Joshua and back. 

“How will you get home?” he asked. Joshua looked at your parents.

“I can drop her off, if you’d like,” he offered. 

Your mother cooed at the kind gesture. “Oh, you don’t have to go out of your way to do that,” she started but Joshua shook his head. “I don’t mind at all,” he explained. “It’s not out of the way and it’s been a while since Y/N and I have seen one another. Could give us some more time to catch up while I drive her.”

Your mother smiled at him, throwing an unreadable glance your way before she turned to your father. “Y/N will be fine,” she started. “Let’s get home before the snow starts, dear.” Your father nodded and looked at you. “Don’t be too late,” he said softly. “We have plans in the morning.”

You nodded and waved them off as they exited the room before turning to Joshua. “You didn’t have to offer to drive me,” you said softly as you moved to stand beside him and help taking down the set. “It’s nothing,” Joshua replied. “Like I said, it gives us a chance to properly talk.”

The task of taking down the set wasn’t nearly as complex as putting it up and soon you were walking out of the church with Joshua, heading to his black sedan. He unlocked the door and opened it for you, only shutting it once you were safely inside before heading around to the driver’s side and getting in.

Joshua started the car, pulling out of his parking space and following the line of cars heading out of the parking lot, turning onto the road and following your directions towards your parents house. Small flurries had started to fall, collecting on the grass and starting to pile.

You chatted animatedly while Joshua drove, following your directions that led out of town to your parent’s farm. It wasn’t far out of the city but it was still a considerable distance from the town.

You glanced over to find Joshua looking at you before he looked back at the road, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What?” you asked softly. He shook his head. “Nothing,” he replied. “I just like listening to you.” Your cheeks and the tips of your ears burned as you looked away.

Your heart was thudding in your chest, the tension from earlier in the supply room returning as you had both essentially cucked yourselves. You were still needy but you couldn’t tell if it was just your or if Joshua felt it too.

“Why do you keep staring at me like that?” Joshua asked softly, glancing at you and you shrugged. “I just like looking at you,” you replied. Joshua let out a chuckle, checking his rearview mirror and his smile fell instantly. “What the-?” he cut himself off. You noticed the flashing of red and blue lights from behind and your heart sank. ‘Are you serious?’ you wondered, turning in your seat to look out the back window.

Joshua slowed the car, pulling onto the shoulder before putting the car in park. He waited patiently as the cop car stopped behind him, lights still flashing as the officer got out of the vehicle and started heading towards the driver’s side window. Joshua rolled it down as the officer drew level.

“Evening, officer,” he said pleasantly. “What seems to be the problem?” The officer leaned down to look into the car and noticed you. “Where are you two headed?” he asked, directing his attention at you. “My parents’,” you answered. “They live outside the city on their farm.”

The officer turned his attention to Joshua. “The roads are starting to ice in places,” he explained. “Just warning everyone before something awful happens. You make sure to get where you’re going and soon,” he continued. Joshua nodded. “Are we free to go?” he asked to which the officer nodded.

“Just make sure to be careful.”

Joshua thanked the officer and waited for him to return to his vehicle before putting the car in drive and pulling off the shoulder as he sped back up to the normal speed for the highway. “Am I the only one that was shitting bricks back there?” he asked, a shocked laugh escaping him.

You shook your head. “No, I was kinda freaking out a little, too. I was wondering what we could have possibly done to warrant being pulled over.” Joshua nodded as he checked his rearview but the cop car was no longer in sight, nor were the flashing lights.

“I wasn’t speeding and I know for a fact that my tail lights work just fine,” he explained. “I almost thought it was going to be a sobriety check,” he continued. You nodded as he continued to drive, adrenaline coursing through your body. “Turn up here,” you voiced, pointing at the country road.

Joshua slowed, turning his blinker on and made the right turn onto the first of many country roads to get to your parents’ farm. He turned on his brights, illuminating the edges of the roads. The snow was coming down even heavier, blanketing the grass and starting to gather on the road.

“I’m going to have a time trying to get back home through this,” he whispered more to himself but you still heard him clearly. “Maybe my parents won’t mind if you stay the night in the guest room,” you replied. “I’m sure my mother would feel better if you stayed rather than go back into all of this.”

Joshua felt a stirring in his chest and stomach at the thought of spending the night at your parents’ house, so close to you and yet unable to have you. He had half a mind to turn back and head to his place instead but reminded himself he’d already told your parents he’d bring you home.

“I’m sure I’ll be okay,” he replied. You shook your head. “Just watch,” you said softly as you looked out the window. “She won’t let you leave and she’ll insist you stay in the guest room.”

“Wanna bet?” Joshua asked, looking at you and back at the road. “Okay,” you said quickly. “If I win, I get to pick where we go on our date,” you said, making him laugh. “And if I win?” he asked, glancing at you. “You can pick a time and place and do whatever you want to me.”

Joshua’s face burned and he hid his shock with a cough and clearing of his throat. “Alright,” he replied.

“You’re on.”

Suffice it to say, Joshua lost the bet instantly. As soon as he pulled up, Joshua insisted on walking you to the door to make sure you got up the steps safely. The door opened almost instantly and he was very quickly ushered inside by your father. Not long after, your mother appeared and began fussing.

Joshua tried to refuse but you had been right and your mother insisted he stay until morning. Joshua caught your eye and smiled, returning the same smile you were currently giving him.

“Show our guest to the guest bedroom, Y/N,” your mother said, drawing your attention. “Make sure he knows where the towels and extra linens are. And where the flashlight is just in case we lose power.”

You nodded to your mother to show you heard her instructed and beckoned Joshua to follow you through the hallway to the right. “The house is a true ranch style,” you explained as you passed a half bathroom. “Three bedrooms and two baths on this side,” you continued.

“This is the guest bedroom,” you said, stopping at a door and opening it, flipping the light on.

It wasn’t anything grand or spectacular. There was a queen size bed with light natural toned linens. The bedframe, dresser, two nightstands and bench at the end of the bed were part of the same set. Against the back wall at the head of the bed was a large picture window with curtains drawn mostly shut. To the right was a doorway into a dark room.

“Guest bathroom,” you explained, leading him over to it and turning on the light. It was a standard bathroom with a vanity and double sink, a separate room for the toilet and a shower tub combo with a glass rolling door.

“The towels are in here,” you explained, walking over to the sink and opening a lower cabinet door to reveal shelves stocked with towels. “There’s some generic shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in here,” you added, pointing to another cabinet door.

You turned off the light and ushered him back into the bedroom before leading him over to a door in the wall opposite the bathroom and slid it open to reveal a closet with built-in-shelves. “We keep the extra linens in here. Pillows, blankets, sheets, etcetera,” you said, showing him inside the closet.

You shut the door and walked back over to the door to the hallway.

Joshua walked over and peered into the hall for any sign of your parents. “And where’s your room?” he asked softly, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you closer. You jerked your head gesturing down the hall. “Last door,” you replied. Joshua glanced at the door and then back at you.

“And your parents?” he asked nervously. “Other side of the house is where the master suite is,” you answered. “So opposite sides.” Joshua’s brow raised and he offered a cheeky smile before letting go of you. “She get you all squared away?” your father asked with a smile. Joshua nodded.

“Yep, all set,” he answered. “Alright, we’ll we’re heading to bed,” he announced, leaning in to kiss the side of your head. “Don’t stay up too late,” he said, shooting the both of you a smile before he headed down the hall towards the living room.

“We should probably turn in as well,” you said softly. Joshua nodded, although he really didn’t want you to go to your room and be so far away from him but it’s not like it was another world. You were down the hall. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Even with the daylight, I’ll still have a drive ahead of me.”

Well, goodnight,” you said shyly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. As you pulled away, Joshua pulled you in for a proper kiss, nuzzling his nose against yours before letting you pull away again. “Goodnight, beautiful,” he murmured, smiling as you bit your bottom lip and turned to retreat to your bedroom.

He shut the door of the guest room and walked over to the bed, pulling back the sheets. He mentally cursed, forgetting to turn off the light and walked over, flipping the switch off and returning to the bed. He stripped himself of his pants, folding and setting them neatly on top of the dresser before climbing into the bed and pulling the covers up, sighing in relief to find the bed was actually pretty comfortable.

He wasn’t sure how much sleep he’d get, knowing you were just down the hall but he rolled onto his side, shutting his eyes and hoping exhaustion would catch up with him and that sleep would come soon.

You had changed into your sleep shirt, tossed your dirty clothes in the hamper and made your way to your bed, turning your light off on the way and climbing into your nest of blankets and pillows. Laying back against the pillows, arms crossed, you stared up at the ceiling and tried to focus on getting rid of the throbbing ache between your legs.

‘It was just a stupid kiss,’ you told yourself. ‘Why are you getting so worked up over a kiss?’

You rolled onto your side and tried to will yourself to sleep but the throbbing just made you press your thighs together to find some sort of relief only none would come. You were still tense and turned on from your encounter in the church back room with Joshua and your new panties were already sticking to you.

‘I guess I’ll just take them off!’

You shimmied out of your panties and tossed them in the direction of the hamper. You were settling back when you had a great idea. “No panties,” you murmured. “It just might work.”

You pulled back the covers and got out of bed, tiptoeing over to the door and opening it quietly. You hoped that Joshua was still awake. It hadn’t been that long but you were sure he was exhausted so he might have fallen asleep already. You crept down the hall, listening for any sound of your parents.

Upon reaching the door, you knocked lightly, calling Joshua’s name through the wood.

The first time, there was no answer so you tried again. This time you heard a muffled “yeah?” through the door and opened it. “Y/N?” Joshua asked through the dark. “Are you okay?” he asked, propping himself up. It was dark but you could still make out his silhouette from the built-in bathroom nightlight.

“Is everything oka- Y/N? Yah, what are you doing?” Joshua hissed as you shut the door and snuck over to the bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in. “We’re gonna get caught and then your dad is going to throw me out into the snow,” he continued as you snuggled up to him. “No he won’t” you whispered back.

Joshua opened his mouth to retort but you cut him off with a kiss, one that he immediately leaned into. “You created a problem,” you murmured against his lips, pulling him closer so his chest was flush with yours. “Problem?” Joshua asked in between your kisses.

“What kind of problem?”

You grabbed one of his hands, guiding it down between your thighs. Joshua’s eyes shot open as he realized you’d gotten into the bed without any shorts or underwear on. ‘Fuck.’

“Are you insane?” he hissed but you ignored him, pushing him onto his back as you climbed on top of him. “Y/N,” Joshua said, his voice low like it was a warning. You leaned over, taking his face in your hands as you kissed him. You felt his arms wrap around your back, holding you against him as he kissed you back. “If I get killed by your dad, I’m coming back to haunt your ass,” he murmured before sitting up.

You let out a soft giggle as he took your hands from his face and pushed you onto your back, hovering over you as his hips rested against yours. On instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist, letting out a gasp as the cloth of his underwear brushed against you, giving you a minute amount of friction.

“If we’re going to do this,” Joshua said softly, one hand moving up to cup your cheek as he looked into your eyes. “You’re going to have to keep it down,” he continued, thumb stroking your cheek. “Can you do that for me, angel?” You nodded eagerly. “Yes,” you breathed out. “Of course. I promise.”

The moment the words left your lips, Joshua rolled over, pulling you on top of him, guiding your hips over his growing erection. You breathed out a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut as you followed his guidance. “Show me how bad you want it,” Joshua murmured, hands sliding from your hips up to your waist, pushing your sleep shirt up and glancing down at your naked lower half.

You grinded against him, leaving a trail of your arousal on his underwear. He’d have to wash them the minute he got home. “Hang on baby,” he murmured, halting your movements. You pouted at him as he chuckled, guiding you off his lap before he shimmied out of his underwear to avoid you soiling it any further.

“Come here,” he said softly, holding his hand out which you took eagerly, allowing him to guide you back on his lap, his half hard cock resting against his abdomen. “Sit down,” he instructed, his voice breathless as you did so, letting out a whimper before covering your mouth with your hand.

“Sorry, Shua,” you whispered, looking down at him. “Just feels so good.” Joshua reached up, cupping your cheek tenderly. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured before taking your hips in his hands. “Come on now,” he urged. “Show me how badly you want my cock.”

You whined softly, grinding against him with renewed vigor, the heat of his cock against you driving you crazy. “Please, Shua,” you mumbled, trying to keep the volume of your voice down. “Please let me ride you. Wanna feel it inside me.”

Hearing your breathless voice whining for his cock almost made him break his resolve but he wanted to tease you just a bit longer. “No,” he replied, his fingers digging into your hips. “Keep going, baby girl. Show me just how bad you need it and then I’ll let you have it.”

You let out another whine, a little louder this time, grinding harder and feeling the underside of his cock drag through your slick folds against your clit. Your thighs shook from the sensation, fingers curling into the sheets on either side of Joshua’s head.

“That’s it,” he urged. “Keep going. Just like that.”

Joshua’s hands moved your hips faster, guiding you over his cock and pulling you against him at the same time. You let out a gasp, shuddering at the feeling, trying to fight against Joshua’s grip but failing as he pushed and pulled your hips, bucking up into you with a stifled groan.

“J-Josh,” you stammered, arms shaking as you struggled to keep yourself up. Sensing your arms were about to give out, Joshua sat up, rolling you over onto your back and pinning you under him as his hips rested against yours, settling between your thighs. “You know how hard it was for me to not pull over earlier into an empty lot and fuck you in the car?” he whispered, rolling his hips as his lips brushed against your jaw, nuzzling his nose against your cheek.

“How hard I was thinking about doing just that?”

You whimpered, holding back a moan as his cock continued to glide through your folds.

“About as hard as I am right now,” he continued. “Josh, please. I need you,” you whimpered softly, choking back a sob. Joshua lifted his head to take in the sight of your eyes shining with unshed tears, a pout on your lips. He moved a hand up to your cheek, cooing at you.

“Aww, poor baby. Feels so good?” he asked. You nodded, fighting back the urge to cry. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, rutting against you. “Bet I’d slip right in,” he continued. You nodded, babbling incoherent words between your pleas for him to fuck you.

“Shhh,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip, pausing as you parted your lips and allowed his thumb into your mouth, sucking on the tip. “God, I just wanna use that pretty mouth of yours so bad,” he murmured, watching your lips wrap around his knuckle.

He could feel your tongue against his thumb, swirling around it lazily.

“Is that okay?” he asked softly, making you open your eyes. “Can I use your mouth, beautiful?” His cock twitched against you when you nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled his thumb from your mouth and pushed himself up. “Come here,” he murmured as he sat back against the headboard, helping you up and guided your hand to his cock now coated in your arousal.

You started stroking him languidly, making him choke back a moan. “Use your mouth, pretty,” he urged. “Show me what a slut you are for my cock.” No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, he had to bite down on his knuckles as you took him in your mouth, bobbing your head as you held the base of the shaft firmly. “F-fuck, baby,” he groaned.

“That’s it,” he encouraged you. “Take all of it like a good girl, I know you can.”

You moved your hand, sinking down until the tip of his cock reached the back of your throat. Joshua moved his hand to the back of your head, pushing down just a little more, letting out a shudder when you gagged around his cock. He let you back up for air, praising your efforts.

“Just like that, keep going.”

You wrapped your fingers around his cock, stroking it faster before spitting on the tip, making Joshua hiss. “Fuck,” he moaned, trying to keep the sound in the back of his throat. “When did you turn into such a dirty slut?” he asked, holding back another moan as you took him back in your mouth, sinking down all the way again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten such sloppy head and watching you try and swallow him down was making it harder and harder to hold back his orgasm.

He was about to just fuck your mouth and be done with it when you pulled off, noticing his cock twitching. “Gonna cum?” you asked looking up at him. Joshua shook his head, grabbing your wrist. “Not yet,” he answered. “Come here.” He pulled you into a messy kiss, ignoring the salty taste of his precum on your tongue as he guided you onto your back.

Your thighs spread as he settled between them, leaning onto his side a little to open you up for him.

He brought two fingers to your mouth. “Open,” he instructed. You did as he said, taking his fingers in your mouth and coating them in your saliva. Joshua pulled them from your mouth, moving them down to your sex and rubbing them against your slick folds before pushing past them and teasing your slit.

You sighed as he pushed one finger in first, curling it carefully and pumping it in and out before adding the second. Once he was knuckles deep, he started curling his fingers against your walls, thumb brushing over your clit as he kept his gaze on your face.

You moaned softly, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him down to hide your face. “Feel good, baby?” he whispered in your ear. You nodded with a muffled whine. Joshua chuckled as he continued to finger you, stretching your walls as he scissored you open, prepping you to take his cock.

The tension had started when you were grinding on him but that had been localized to your clit. This tension was more. Your clit and inside your stomach like a rubber band being pulled back and increasing the tension. Soon you were going to snap. “Shua!” you gasped, thighs threatening to close and they would have had he not been leaning against on, pinning it to the mattress under his weight.

“You gonna come for me, pretty?” he asked softly. You nodded, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your moan. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Come for me.” Your back arched off the mattress as your orgasm drew closer and closer. “S-Shua,” you whined in hid neck.

Joshua pulled back to look down at you. “Open your eyes,” he ordered. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his in the dark room and the smirk that spread over his face had yours burning. “Keep them open,” he urged. “Wanna watch you cum. Look at me when you cum,” he added.

You whined, walls fluttering around his fingers as your orgasm started to wash over you. Joshua held your gaze as his fingers fucked you through your first orgasm of the night. You whined, hips following his movements until you were begging him to stop.

Joshua let out a soft chuckle as he pulled his fingers out of your soaking cunt. “So pathetic and pretty when you cum,” he murmured, bringing his fingers coated in your essence to your lips. “Open for me,” he continued, sliding his fingers over your tongue when you parted your lips.

“Clean them for me.”

While your tongue lapped at his fingers, he pushed your sleep shirt up with his free hand, exposing your chest. “Fuck, I missed these,” he murmured, hand ghosting over your chest. He pulled his fingers from your lips, chucking when you pouted and whined for his fingers back.

“I promise you’ll get them back in a bit, baby. Let me take care of this first,” he murmured, tugging your shirt up and off when you finally sat up for him. His shirt was quick to join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor as he knelt between your thighs. “Shit, wait,” he said hesitating. “Do you have a condom?” he asked. You waved towards the guest bathroom, still coming down from your high.

Joshua climbed off the bed and snuck into the bathroom, opening the drawers as quietly as he could, finding an unopened box of condoms in the back of one of the drawers. ‘Jackpot,’ Joshua thought to himself as he carefully and quietly opened the box, placing it back in the drawer before shutting it and returning to you. He tore open the foil packet, pulling out the latex and carefully rolled it on.

Once securely on, he climbed back onto the bed, kneeling between your thighs and grabbing your hips to pull you against him. He took the base of his cock in his hand guiding the head to rub against your clit, making you whine in anticipation. Joshua spit into his hand and added it to the lubrication on the condom and rested the tip against your slit.

“You still with me, angel?” he asked, looking down at you. Your eyes opened to meet his and nodded. “I’m still here,” you replied. “Want you so bad, Shua,” you whined. Joshua fought the urge to laugh at how cute you were. “Open them a little more,” he said, tapping the inside of your thigh with his free hand. You spread your legs a little wider, groaning as you felt him start to push the head of his cock into you.

“Mmm, fuck,” Joshua swore under his breath. “So tight and warm,” he breathed out, easing his way in, gliding against your walls. Your thighs fell open wide as he bottomed out, letting all of him in. “Good girl,” he murmured, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple.

“Taking me so well.”

You gasped as he gave you a shallow thrust. “Sore?” he asked and you shook your head. “N-no,” you stuttered. “Feels so good. So full.” Joshua smirked against your skin, pulling back and giving you a singular thrust, relishing in the sound that escaped your lips and the way your walls clenched around him. “So. Fucking. Tight,” he hissed in between thrusts.

“But taking me so well. Like you’re my own personal slut,” he groaned, hips setting a steady pace as he thrust into you. “My own little fuck toy, right?” he asked. You nodded weakly. Joshua scoffed, fingers closing around your throat firmly but not so tight you couldn’t breathe.

“Answer me, you dirty little slut,” he growled. “Yes,” you gasped. Joshua raised a brow. “Yes what?” He slowed his hips, allowing you a moment to speak. “I’m your little fuck toy,” you whispered. He smirked, picking up the pace, his hips hitting your ass. “If only your father could see his little girl right now. Getting railed by the Sunday school teacher.”

You whined, your hands wrapping around his wrist as he held you down by the throat. Your walls fluttered around him and he chuckled softly. “Of course the little slut likes getting choked,” he scoffed. “Such a dirty whore,” he murmured. “Too bad you aren’t more of a brat,” he continued. “Would love to fuck the attitude out of you.”

“Shuh-Shua!” you whined. His pace quickened, releasing your throat and moving his hand up to your mouth. “Open,” he ordered. You obeyed immediately, welcoming his fingers in your mouth to shut you up. “Gonna fuck you for real now,” he muttered, his free hand moving up your stomach to your chest, squeezing and kneading.

“Should I turn you over and fuck your like the slut you are?”

You moaned against his fingers and Joshua chuckled lightly, pulling his fingers from your mouth before pulling out of you, giving your pussy a light slap when you whined in protest. “Turn over on your stomach,” he ordered. You rolled over, muffling a squeal as he grabbed your hips and lifted them, grabbing one of the pillows and folding it in half to place under your stomach.

Once he was satisfied, he guided the head of his cock back to your entrance, pushing into you with ease and taking both your hips in his hands. “Now you really need to be quiet,” he warned. You cried out into the sheets, muffling your moans and mewls as Joshua pounded into you from behind You were sure the sound of his skin hitting yours would wake your parents up but surprisingly, you didn’t hear a peep from them.

“Fuck,” Joshua groaned, hands sliding to squeeze your ass. “Next time I think I’d like to fuck your ass,” he growled, letting out a breathless laugh when your walls tightened around him. “Does my little cockslut want that? Want me to fuck your ass? Bet you’d even let me do it without a condom, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded fervently, keeping your face hidden in the sheets. “And I bet you’d let me fill you up. Just fill your ass with cum and turn you into my own personal cum dumpster. Wouldn’t you?” You nodded again, gasping as you felt his nails dig into the flesh of your ass.

“I’d fuck you so hard you would be able to sit or walk,” he groaned, hips faltering as his own orgasm drew closer. “Fuck, m’not gonna last much longer. You close, angel?” You whined in the sheets, begging him for more. “Touch yourself then, sweetheart. Do what sluts do and get yourself off. Cum on my cock like a good little slut.”

Your hand darted between your thighs, fingers finding your clit and working circles around it in time with Joshua’s thrusts. With each pass over your clit and drag of his cock against your walls, your orgasm drew near. The tension pooling in your abdomen snapped and you released, a gush of warm liquid rushing out of you as you came with a muffled cry.

Joshua wasn’t far behind, the spasming of your cunt pushing him over the edge and he leaned over your back, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he emptied into the condom, hips riding out both your climaxes until he finally slowed to a stop.

After a couple moments, Joshua pulled from you, letting out a deep inhale as he pulled the condom off and tied it off before getting off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. You could hear the faucet in the sink running before it shut off and Joshua returned with a wet washcloth, starting to wipe you down and clean you up.

Once he’d finally wiped the remnants of your release from your lips and thighs, he helped you put your shirt back on before pulling his and his underwear back on and settling under the covers with you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

Silence washed over you before he finally spoke. “So, this isn’t exactly the way I wanted things to go,” he murmured in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek and tugging your closer. “But I still really want to take you on a proper date.”

A smile spread across your face and you turned to look back at him, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’d really like that,” you said softly. Joshua’s lips spread into a smile before he pressed a couple of chaste kisses to your lips. “But only if we can keep having mind-blowing sex afterwards,” you whispered, making him bite back a laugh.

“I think I can manage that, angel.”

ⓘ Graphics made by me. Content and support banners made using a template by cafekitsune. I do not allow reposts, translations, or continuations of my works. All writing and graphics are ©️ kwanisms.

[glossysoap]

ready to comply vii - Желание

Желание or longing, is defined as ;

a strong desire or craving especially for something unattainable.

warnings/tags: 141 mourning reader

prev chapters here!

word count: 2,165

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Eight weeks have passed since your disappearance that day on January ninth. Eight weeks since the task force had last seen you in person before you had been tricked into boarding that helicopter — that helicopter that would soon prove to be your downfall.

Six weeks since the Task Force learned of your disappearance and saw it all happen for themselves. Six weeks since they watched that devastating footage of you getting stabbed on that helicopter before it sunk to the ocean floor. Six weeks since they heard your cries and screams of pain and saw your face scrunched up in agony.

Six weeks since you were pronounced killed in action.

Six weeks since the task force had started mourning their medic.

Six weeks since a hole starting digging in the chests of Simon and Johnny.

Six weeks since they made the trek to your empty quarters, a trek that really only lasted a few minutes but felt like thirty.

Six weeks since the two men walked into your quiet room and took notice of all of the memories left behind. The medical records and sticky notes. The picture frames full of the three of you together. The scented candles that decorated your dresser.

Six weeks since Johnny fell asleep in Simon's arms and the two men held each other tight — holding what little they both had left.

Constantly suffering restless nights, tossing and turning in your bed. The two men would suffer nightmares for weeks on end after you died.

Johnny would dream that he was forced to watch the footage of you dying over and over. He would be in that conference room again, tied in a chair and the footage would be playing from the projector on an endless loop. He would be forced to witness the woman stabbing you over and over again. He would be forced to see the blood pool from your chest and soak your uniform. Your screams would ring out in his head, somehow getting louder with every loop. Your screams of agony would morph into cries for help as you wailed his name.

“Johnny, help me! You said you would protect me!”

His sleeping face would quickly mirror yours in the dream, scrunched up in pain with tears streaming down his cheeks as he tossed and turned.

Simon would immediately rouse from his own sleep the second he heard Johnny’s whimpers and felt the Scot thrashing beside him. His heart would sink in his chest when he realizes that his boyfriend was having a nightmare. He would be forced to yank him from his nightmare, gently shaking his shoulders to wake him up. He would quietly call his lovers name, letting the timbre of his voice bring him back to reality.

Simon would take him into his arms and rock him gently, stroking his hair. He would feel wetness on his shirt as the sergeant cried into his chest.

“Why did they have to die? Why couldn’t I save them?” He would sob into Simon’s chest, throat becoming raw.

Your cries for help would echo in Johnny’s head for days following every nightmare.

Simon on the other hand, would dream of all of the people he’s lost in his life. His mother, his brother, his brothers wife, and little Joseph. All bloodied and mangled, their dead bodies strewn across Simon’s living room. Eyes wide and mouths gaping open in a silent scream, faces frozen from their last dying breath.

And just like every other nightmare, Simon couldn’t move. It was as if he was standing in quicksand, getting pulled under with every step he tried to make.

Although in these nightmares, you were there too. One of the last people he ever wanted to see like that, save for Johnny. Your bloody body was there, strewn along with his murdered family. You wore the exact same uniform that you wore that day in Russia, still all tattered and stained crimson. You lay limp on the carpeted floor, blood steadily pooling around you, flowing from the stab wound in your abdomen. Your hand was clutching the open wound, blood pooling out around your hand. Your mouth was gaping open in a cry for help, coughing and gurgling as crimson trickled out of your lips. Your eyes were wide open in terror and glossy with tears. Tears streamed down your face as you gasped and sobbed, looking straight at him. Your hand that was clutching your abdomen moved to reach out to him, fingers shaking.

Your hand was drenched in your blood, and suddenly all he could think of were all of the times he held your hands before losing you. How he would squeeze it in his rough hand, comforting you when you were anxious and grounding you to reality. How he would grip your smaller hand in his large one while the two of you snaked through a crowd of people, not wanting you to get separated from him.

The hand that he loved to hold so much was now covered in blood. Blood that he could never scrub clean no matter how hard he tried, blood that tainted the hand he would never get to hold again.

“Why did you let me die?”

Simon would jolt awake from his nightmare every time, your words echoing in his head. He would be covered in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. Your hurt and accusatory voice would follow him for weeks after that nightmare. Blaming him for not saving you, for not being good enough.

Those nightmares never stopped for Johnny or Simon.

Six weeks had also passed since the two men began to take over your empty room as theirs, without even meaning to.

Bringing their blankets and pillows to sleep there at night, before cuddling together in your bed. Desperately inhaling the sheets, burying their faces in your old comforter trying to find some remnants of your scent only to come up short every time. Their hearts grew heavier and heavier with each attempt.

Coming back to your room after every mission instead of returning to their own rooms — kicking off their boots and yanking off their gear and tossing it in your old dirty laundry basket. Still wishing that you would be waiting for them when they opened your door, wishing that you would be hunched over at your desk working on reports or curled up in your bed.

Constantly wishing and wishing. Constantly reminded that you were never coming back. That you were dead and gone. Cold and rotting somewhere in Russia.

Alone and scared.

As more time passed, your room had become filled with their belongings and their own musky, woodsy scent. Your small personal touches were accompanied by their own trinkets. Their history books and sketch pads now sat on your book shelves. Soap’s art supplies sat on your desk, right next to your dried out gel pens that you used to write medical reports with. On your nightstand, Ghost’s skeleton combat gloves laid next to your old earbuds. A carton of cigarettes and a black lighter sat in your drawer, next to medical magazines that you had collected over your years of studies.

Your closet was filled with your clothes that hung on hangers, collecting dust and becoming cold. Scrub tops in navy blue, with your name knit on the breast pocket in white thread. Civilian clothes, like the muscle tops you enjoyed exercising in, or flannel jackets that you loved to wear in the cold weather.

The worst part was that when they took a fistful of your old shirts and sniffed them, all they smelled was fabric. None of your usual scent of rubbing alcohol or (perfume/cologne) notes of vanilla and mint. Your scent wasn’t ingrained in the clothes anymore.

Their throats would tighten as if wrapped with barbed wire and tears would prick their vision every time when the realization hit them that they would never smell your scent again.

Your desk that used to be covered in medical records, was now riddled with mission reports that they needed to complete. The few picture frames you kept on your desk was now overtaken by their own picture frames. Even your fragrance that flowed from a plug-in started fading away, covered by their own cocktail of teakwood and gun smoke.

The two men had been so desperate to keep your presence alive in some way, that they took to burning your candles every day. Every single day, for weeks on end. Until the wax was gone in all of them and only the wick remained.

Whenever they left on a mission and didn’t have the luxury to stay in your old room, they made sure to bring a keepsake of yours.

Simon would carefully stuff your favorite scrub cap into his luggage, the (favorite color) fabric bringing a sense of familiarity and homeliness wherever he traveled. Whenever he saw it in his duffel bag, he would remember all of the occasions that he saw you wearing in.

The very first time he met you, you were wearing that very scrub cap. He remembered it as clear as day.

You had been working in the med-bay, finishing up an emergency surgery when Price introduced you to the task force. You wore a shy smile, wiping the sweat from your forehead as you looked up at the Lieutenant with wide eyes. You were intimidated, he could tell. Behind the skull mask and black paint, you couldn’t see that he was just admiring your raw talent as a surgeon. That memory was ingrained in his brain, you standing there all bright eyed and bushy tailed.

He chose to remember you that way. Instead of remembering how you looked on January 9, eyes wide in terror and mouth open as you screamed in pain. Blood pooling from your abdomen and drenching your uniform.

He chose to remember you as being innocent and unharmed, not terrified and brutally murdered.

Johnny would snag one of your old pens and stuff it into his duffel bag — it was one that had some ink left and he would use it when he sketched. The rubber grip on it still had indents from you holding it for months on end, writing reports and surgery summaries.

He could remember it so vividly. You would always have it in a vice grip whenever you were burnt out, burning the candle at both ends to get reports submitted. Whenever you were anxious or bored, you would spin the pen in your hand, twirling it between your fingers.

He found himself doing that too whenever he was stumped with a sketch. He would catch himself twirling the pen between his fingers just like you used to, and he would pause and chuckle. Warmth would flood his chest at the memory of you. Carrying the pen with him made him feel like he was carrying a part of you with him with every pen stroke.

What the two soldiers treasured the most, though, was their favorite polaroid of you. It was a candid shot, one where you were caught off guard on the field. You were still wearing your scrubs and you were covered in a sheen of sweat. Your hand was reaching up to wipe a drop of sweat off of your forehead before it hit your eye. You were laughing at one of Simon’s awful jokes when Johnny snapped the photograph at the perfect moment, capturing the crinkle of your eyes and the quirk of your lips into a smile.

It captured you in the best way, unabashedly happy and vulnerable. Not worrying about getting injured or taking care of others. Just pure bliss and joy. Whenever the boys looked at the photo, warmth flooded their chests and their lips quirked up into a rare grin.

That photo is easily their most prized possession, the thing they cherish the most. While they might carry different items of yours with them on missions, they always find a way to share the photo. Whenever it’s Simon’s turn to keep it, he would have it folded delicately in his gear jacket pocket, making sure the pocket is zipped up. Whenever it’s Johnny’s turn to keep the photo, he would fold it carefully into a square and place it in the vest pocket directly over his heart. He would make sure it was secure in that pocket before patting it tenderly, as if he was carrying you around with him on the mission.

Whenever they carried that picture around, that’s what it felt like — like they were carrying you with them. So they held that picture close to their hearts, just like you held space in their hearts when you were alive.

All they could do was hold onto all the memories, and refuse to let them go. Burnt out candles, surgical journals, your favorite scrub cap, and that damned photograph. That was all Simon and Johnny had to hold onto for a year.

next chapter

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[sweetprfct]

The Wanderers

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joe tend to wander every time he was in a foreign city but that was because you both love the adventure. However, Alex, his manager, was not too amused about that.

Author's Note: This is a re-publish one shot from my old deleted blog. I know this idea was inspired by the other fics here in tumblr where Joe can't seem to stay in one place and rumors in twitter about it whenever they meet him in the cons? I actually forgot, but I know the idea derived from those little talks. Anyway, enjoy! :)

Wordcount: 2.5K

“So, when were you going to tell me that you were going to bring her?” 

You heard Alex scold Joe quietly at the hotel lobby. Joe had decided on his own just the other day that it was a good idea for you to tag along with him in Paris for a week. He had a convention to do for two days and some interviews and photoshoot for Dior, so why not bring his biggest supporter with him? That was you. 

You admit that you could be a bad influence towards Joe when it comes to not being able to focus on his work and that was why Alex, his manager, had come to the conclusion that whenever Joe wanted to bring you, he should tell him first. Not like it was Alex’s business, but the man wanted to be prepared whenever the two of you wandered off somewhere else. It stressed Alex out all the time, not knowing whether the two of you would come back or not. Of course, you both always did. 

Well, except that one time. 

In both of your defense, you both didn’t know that Joe was scheduled for three days— not two— in the London Comic Con, and well— you both decided that it was a good idea to run off to Italy right after his second day to get some peace and quiet after two hectic busy days. Joe loved his job. He really did but sometimes, he just needed some space and some quiet time. What could be better than by doing it with you? You, after all, also loved to explore different things and places. It was why you two had clicked. It was why this relationship always kept the both of you on your toes. 

“Right now?” Joe scrunched his nose as you tried to hold in your laugh. “I’m telling you about it right now, aren’t I?”

Alex didn’t say anything. All he did was gave Joe a look and then turned his head to you, giving you a glare also. You bit your lower lip and gave him a small smile. Joe hated it when you were part of these kinds of conversations, so you always stood in the corner and let the two lads do their thing. Though, you always could hear those little whispers about you. 

Alex sighed and shook his head. “You know what? Fine. But you have two days for this comic con this weekend and I need you bright and early on Tuesday morning for the Dior photoshoot.” 

“Got it.” Joe nodded his head and walked towards where you were.

“And Joe…” Alex stopped the both of you in your tracks. 

Joe looked over his shoulder, brows raised as Alex said, “Don’t even try wandering off anywhere in Paris. There is a lot of media around the city this week.” 

“Okay.” Joe held in his smile before intertwining his fingers with yours. 

Alex watched as the two of you laughed quietly, making your way into the elevators. Joe gave Alex a small wave before the elevator doors closed completely. You couldn’t help but bury your face in his neck and laughed. 

“He hates me, you know that?” You mumbled. 

Joe laughed softly, wrapping his arms around you. “Well, I love you, so Alex can fuck off.”

You laughed as you leaned in to kiss him softly on his lips. As soon as the elevator doors opened, you both made your way to his hotel room and the moment Joe closed the door behind him, he quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and twirled you into the air, letting out a squeal from you. 

“Joe!” You laughed as he gently set you back down. “You know…” A mischievous smile formed on your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I’m really craving these pastries that I saw online. The place is just a five minute walk from here.”

Joe hummed softly and squinted his eyes at you, knowing full well you already had this plan in your mind before you two even stepped inside the plane this morning. 

“Alex said we can’t go out, darling.” Joe stated. 

“Well, okay.” You shrugged, letting your arms fall on your sides. “No chocolate croissants then.”

You grunted as you flopped yourself on the king size bed. Joe smiled, knowing exactly what you were doing. It was your way for him to not be able to resist you because you knew he loved his chocolate croissants and you knew that he loved that pout of yours. Joe walked over to the bed, his knees dipping into the mattress on either side of your legs as he towered over you. He looked down at you for a moment and leaned down to give you a chaste kiss. 

“Well, Alex should understand that I need my chocolate croissants.” Joe murmured as he kissed you again.

A small smile slowly formed on your face as you gazed up at him. “Yeah? I think he should understand that.” 

Joe kissed you again one more time before getting up from the bed and held out his hands, reaching for yours. Helping you up from the bed, you both left your two suitcases in the middle of your hotel room and quickly left the room, looking around the hall to make sure Alex wasn’t anywhere around.

Running down the hall quietly, Joe repeatedly clicked the elevator button until both doors opened. There was no sign of Alex anywhere in the lobby, so the both of you walked out of the hotel with a clear path. 

Paris was a bit cold tonight, but the sky was clear and you could see some stars twinkling above you. Walking down the streets of Paris, you held hands with Joe and enjoyed the night air. Five minutes later, you both found yourselves in the little pastry shop that you told Joe about and bought yourselves some chocolate croissants and some hot chocolate. You sat at the small little table outside and enjoyed the pastries with comfortable silence lingering between you two.

It was peaceful. 

You both loved that. You both enjoyed that because it was like you knew what you both wanted at this moment. Just some peace and quiet as you both enjoyed your little delicious pastries and the stunning view of Paris. 

Later that night, you found yourselves laughing together over some memory you two remembered, stopping in the middle of a small alleyway. Joe set his hands on your hips and pulled you close to him. 

“Are we really going to make out in the middle of a dark alley?” You teased him. 

Joe hummed and smiled at you. “My safe haven.” He murmured, cupping your cheek with his one hand. 

“I love you.” You murmured and leaned in to kiss him deeply. 

And you were right. 

You both made out like two teenagers in the middle of the dark alley, but you didn’t care because it was you and Joe. Joe and you. Your own little safe universe with him and that was all you cared about. 

“Chocolate croissants, really?” Alex scolded Joe for the second time the next morning inside his little dressing room. 

The first time was this morning when you and Joe had woken up late and thought you had all the time in the world to go downstairs and get breakfast. 

“Um… actually, that’s my fault.” You chimed in from the sofa you were sitting in the corner.

“Of course, it is.” Alex said sarcastically, giving Joe a look. 

“It’s just little pastries. There was no harm done.” Joe argued back with Alex. “Plus, I was also a tad bit hungry.”

“Well, your little hunger got you into five different articles with different rumors about it first thing this morning.” Alex argued back. “If you guys are hungry, there is room service—”

“Alex?”

The three of you snapped your heads towards the door and saw a woman by the doorway, holding a clipboard in her hands. 

“They’re ready for Joe.” She said. 

Alex sighed and nodded his head as Joe turned to give you a smile. He made his way towards you to give you a kiss but Alex had stopped him.

“Uh! No. Let’s go.” Alex said, setting a hand on his shoulder and turning him towards the door. 

You giggled softly and waved at Joe before sliding your phone out of your pocket and tried to entertain yourself by scrolling through Instagram and TikTok.

 The weekend went by quickly. Joe did the convention and the two of you didn’t go out of the hotel again that night. Though on his second day of the convention, you had found yourself a bit bored in the dressing room, so you decided to google some things. Some places. You were itching to get out and do something, and you knew Joe was too. You could see it in his eyes how much he wanted to go somewhere and away from everyone. 

“Where the hell are you?” 

You heard Alex through the phone later that afternoon as you looked out the window. Joe squeezed your hand softly as he held in his laugh. 

“On a train.” Joe answered. 

“On fucking a train? Are you fucking mental? Going where?” Alex asked, frustrated. 

“We’ll be back before the Dior photoshoot, I promise.” Joe said before hanging up the phone. 

“You know he will never let me tag along ever again, right?” You chuckled softly and set your head on his shoulder.

Joe wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to his side, planting a soft kiss on your hair.

“He knows I do the same thing even if you aren’t here with me.” Joe replied. “Alex needs to relax.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Does he even relax?”

“No idea.” Joe smiled as he looked out the window. 

There was one place you both loved even if you went anywhere in the world and that was the beach. Your laughter echoed with the waves crashing to the shore as the both of you ran towards the ocean. You slipped your shoes off immediately and ran towards the water, dipping your feet in it, while Joe followed behind. He hugged you from behind and twirled you around in the air as you both laughed. 

You leaned down and splashed Joe with some water, while you laughed at him. He stood there soaking wet, his jaw dropped on the ground. 

“I’m definitely getting my revenge for that.” Joe warned you.

You squealed, running away from him as he tried to splash you with some water. Eventually, he had caught up to you as he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you deeper into the ocean. Both of you not caring if your clothes were all wet. By the time the sunset was setting on the horizon, you both were laying on the sand as you tried to get your clothes to dry off. You sat up and rubbed Joe’s back softly, making him hum in approval. 

“Relaxed?” You asked.

“Very.” He closed his eyes for a moment.

He was laying on his stomach while he rested his head on both of his arms. His curly hair was all disarray and flowing through the wind. You couldn’t help but smile and adore all parts of him. The pink and orange skies were reflecting through his butterfly soft skin, and it made him look even more mesmerizing through your eyes. 

“C’mere.” Joe fluttered his eyes open and one of his arms reached for you as he flipped himself over and laid on his back.

You laid next to him, your head resting on his chest as Joe brushed your hair softly with his fingers. 

“I hope I don’t get you in too much trouble.” You said.

Joe chuckled, “You don’t. I get myself in enough trouble even if you aren’t here. Plus, I love these kinds of moments with you.”

“Yeah?” You glanced up at him with a grin.

“Yes. I love that I’m able to do my work and I still get to spend time with you and be with you to explore different things and places.”

“Well, I’m glad because I love doing all of these things with you too.” You smiled, reaching to kiss his cheek. 

You both waited ‘til the sun had completely set on the horizon before Joe had wrapped his jacket around you since the temperature had dropped at night. The train ride back to the hotel was quiet, and you had fallen asleep in his arms. By the time the train arrived back to Paris, it was late at night and both of you were pretty exhausted that you just crashed the moment you arrived back in the hotel room. 

The Dior photoshoot was fast moving, and Joe was kept busy the whole day. You sat in his dressing room that day and scrolled through the internet again. Halfway through, you had found yourself watching him getting his photos taken. Alex, however, had kept a strict watch on you. You knew he was furious about the whole getting in the train and going to the beach thing, so you couldn’t blame him. 

“Hey, I talked to Alex and they don’t need me here again until Friday.” Joe muttered to you when he was on his break. 

You smiled. “Yeah? Why do you have that devious smile on your face?” 

“How’s Lyon sounding to you right now?” 

You raised your brow, “It sounds perfect, honestly.”

“After the shoot, yeah?” 

You chuckled and nodded your head as Joe got dragged back in the little studio for more photos. You turned to your left and saw Alex giving you a look. You didn’t say anything and gave him a small wave as he shook his head. 

There was another hour of waiting for Joe after that, but you didn’t mind because you absolutely enjoyed every minute of it and enjoyed watching him work. You could tell he was having so much fun too, and you couldn’t help but feel proud of him. This was his first designer ambassador brand, and you were so happy for him. 

“So, how long do you think it will take for Alex to call—” You were interrupted that afternoon with Joe’s phone ringing.

Just in time. 

You could hear Alex sighing loudly through the phone. “At least tell me where you are.” Alex sounded defeated. 

“Lyon.” Joe grinned. “I’ll be back, I promise—”

“I know.” Alex replied, “Just be on time please.” 

“I will.” 

“Have fun.” 

Just like that, Alex had hung up the phone. 

“Fucking wanderers.” Alex muttered under his breath as he shook his head. 

You grinned at Joe as he gave you an approving smile on his face. You knew right then that Alex was fine with it, or atleast, he had no choice anyway. Looking out the window of the train, you leaned back on Joe’s side as he wrapped an arm around you and your fingers intertwined with his. You let out a sigh of relief as you both continued blissfully in another adventure together. 

*********

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @bylermaxmayfield @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name @readergf @ladamari68 @1paire2vans @d4rk4ng3l86 @paleidiot @josephquinnsfreckles @readergf

[bullet-prooflove]

Choose the words that cut like a razor

Tagging: @yousigned-upforthis @foxfabled @kmc1989 @trublu2u @alisbackalleybbq

Companion piece to these fics:

The One That Got Away - In light of Lee's recent wedding, John reflects on the one that got away.

The Other Woman (NSFW) - John was never meant to be with Evelyn.

Duty - Dutton men don’t marry for love.

It’s after reading Lee’s journals that Kayce realises he has a younger brother. His fingers trace over Lee’s writing as he describes the night of their mother’s funeral, how his father took Lou Reeves to bed, how twenty six years later Lee thought he heard his father’s voice at the farmer’s market and was instead faced with Lou’s son Joseph, a man who shares the dark eyes as both him and Lee.

Kayce can’t believe it at first but now he’s standing in a bar watching the man that looks like him, play the fiddle as if he’s warring with the devil himself.

“Can I buy you a beer?” He asks Joseph when he finishes his set.

He’s standing alongside the stage, gently returning the fiddle to it’s case when Kayce approaches. He barely spares him a glance before he shuts the case and closes the metal fastenings.

“I don’t want anything from you.” He tells Kayce as he picks up the fiddle and finally meets his eyes.

“That’s fair.” Kayce says tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m guessing you know then?”

“I figured it out when the older one came around.” Joseph informs him, his grip on the fiddle case tightening.

It takes Kayce a second to realise he’s talking about Lee. The news doesn’t surprise him, Lee wouldn’t have been able to stay away, he would have wanted to make sure that Joseph was taken care of, that he had everything he needed.

“Look.” Joseph says setting his fiddle back down on the stage. “I’m not interested in staking a claim for the ranch or any of that shit. Like I said, I don’t want anything from you…”

“What if I want something from you?” Kayce asks him and Joseph raises an eyebrow in question. “Just a beer, I just want to get to know you.”

Joseph picks up his fiddle case again and Kayce’s heart sinks in his chest.

“I’d say that ship sailed when your daddy gave my momma money for an abortion.” Joseph informs him as he pushes past him, his shoulder knocking into Kayce’s.

The air rushes out his body as the words plunge into his chest like a bayonet, stabbing and twisting. It’s an echo of his own past, the one that ended with a brand seared into his flesh as he looked into his father’s uncompromising eyes, the orange glow reflected in his pupils.

“I didn’t know.” He chokes out, his gaze coming to rest on the other man’s back as he pauses, inclining his head towards Kayce.

“Well now you do.” Joseph says, his voice rough.  “That’s the kind of man your father is, he’d rather see me dead than shame the Yellowstone.”

“I’m not like him.” Kayce pleads and Joseph shakes his head in disgust.

“You’re walking his footsteps.” He says before continuing towards the exit. “From where I’m standing, you’re exactly like him.”

Love Kayce? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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

Home Pt.9 - END || cbf!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: E Words: 1.8K Pairing: cbf!Simonxafab!reader / teen!Simonxteen!Reader Summary: Teen Simon and his best friend often spend their nights away from their respective houses because they found a home in each other… CW: death, death of a CHILD, house fire, corpses, grief, cemetery, some smut. Tags: you/your pronouns, SOME SMUT, ANGST, HURT NO COMFORT, heartbreak, grief and loss, loss of identity, canonical Ghost backstory, UNHAPPY ENDING. a/n: not proofread. THIS IS THE END (it WILL be angst and nothing else... but I'll write a happy ending alternative soon).

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Is it macabre to attend your own funeral? Probably.

Nonetheless, Simon Ghost found himself standing near the back of the cemetery, watching on. 

His family wasn’t particularly well-loved in the neighborhood… but when a tragedy like this happens, especially one involving a boy so young as his nephew Joseph… everyone and their mother comes out to pay respects. It’s the “proper thing to do”, they say, even though it’s only out of pity.

However, he has to admit that seeing Oliver, Archie, Jack and Harry, his old mates, come to pay respects, accompanied by their respective families, pulled at his heartstrings a bit. Especially when Archie tapped Oliver in the back while the latter cried.

He’s been here the entire time watching the people come and go, flowers being thrown down into the holes of the Riley family communal grave, and other arrangements being spread all over and around the headstones. Four holes in total. First, ‘Simon’, then his mum Joanna, then Tommy… Then Beth and Joseph in the same one. 

It was close-casket, the bodies too badly burned to allow anything else. The fake Simon has the cheapest coffin he could get, leaving the best for his mum, Tommy and Beth… And he had forced himself to pick a beautiful little white coffin for Joseph. He didn’t even think they made coffins that small. 

Per his request, they lowered Joseph into the hole first, Beth’s larger coffin covering the little boy’s. Just like she was when Ghost found them. Her lifeless body curled over Joseph’s, cradling him tight to keep him safe below her own chest… It was fruitless.

Ghost allows himself to take a deep breath as, finally, the last few people have walked off. The sun is starting to set and people can only pretend to grieve for so long before the cold wind and the darkness makes them go back home. 

In his skull-printed balaclava, black beanie, and black hoodie, Ghost basically blends into the shadows that are starting to take over the cemetery, standing under a tree as his eyes trace the last people walking away from the open graves.

Just days ago Ghost himself was in one of these… buried alive. That’s the night Simon Riley died, he’d say, though, officially, he died in the house fire that took his entire family… A faulty heater during Christmas Eve, you see?

Lost in thought, Ghost doesn’t realize it until now that someone lingered behind. A woman. She moves slowly, tentatively, in the direction of the graves, carrying a couple of bouquets.

More of the same, he thinks… Though he secretly admires the commitment to stay here as the sky is darkening and the air is cooling down.

She places one of the arrangements near the headstones, somewhere amidst the mess of all the other ones…

She flicks on the torch on her phone, to read the names on them… And very gingerly crouches, right in front of ‘his’ grave. She lowers the second bouquet onto it and tosses it carefully on top of the coffin.

Then, she lays her forearms on her knees, letting her hands hang between her legs as she remains crouched in front of his grave. Only to then watch her fold her hands and bring them up to her mouth, to hide the fact she’s crying. He can tell from the way her shoulders rise and fall and and her whole form shakes.

From this distance, he can’t hear her speak, and with the darkness, he can’t see her face.

But he knows.

He knows it’s you.

He watches you fish something out of your pocket and, slowly, toss it down onto the grave too.

He feels his breath being taken away torturously slowly… It feels like someone has grabbed his lungs and forcefully wrung out the air from them like water off a wet rag. 

He’s suffocating.

-

“Merry Christmas!” You cheerfully squealed as you tossed your arms around his neck from behind, strangling him a bit and, shaking him from side to side.

It was freezing outside and you had rushed out in the early morning so you could exchange gifts.

You were twelve, he was thirteen.

“Bloody hell, Y/N, are you tryin’ to kill me?!” He complained playfully as you let go and fake pouted… Then you both broke into laughter.

He tossed a bag of Cadbury mini-eggs at you, which you caught with a giggle. Then, you carefully handed him a little box with a Terry’s chocolate orange in it.

It was all either of you could afford.

“Merry Christmas, you pain in the arse.” He grumbled at you… As if he didn’t have a massive crush on you.

-

You were thirteen, he was fourteen.

“Merry Christmas, Sleepin’ Beauty.” He said it first, as he watched you sneak out the door carefully at 1:30 A.M. You had agreed to meet at midnight but you took your sweet time because you accidentally overslept.

“Shut up, you tosser.” You scoffed as you stopped in front of him, exchanging your gifts.

Terry’s chocolate orange, Cadbury mini-eggs.

“Go back inside, it’s freezin’.” Simon added as he watched you shiver in your pajamas. Poor thing, he thought, as if he hadn’t been here, in the freezing cold, waiting for you for over an hour.

“I will, I will!” You announced dramatically. “Merry Christmas, Riley.” You added as you reached up and kissed his cheek.

Then you turned and rushed back inside. Leaving him outside... but the chill in his bones was long forgotten.

-

You were fourteen, he was fifteen.

The wall clock at your local pub announced it was midnight.

“Merry Christmas, love.” He told you as he surprised you by dangling the Cadbury mini eggs bag in front of your face.

You leaned up and stole a kiss off his lips, his mouth melting into yours. Your friends around you complained in mock disgust at your PDA.

You pulled away and stuck your tongue out at them, mocking them back, before you turned all your attention to Simon.

You reached into your little shoulder bag and pulled out his chocolate orange, handing it to him. “Merry Christmas.” You told him and smiled sweetly.

-

You were fifteen, he was sixteen.

You were cuddling in the backseat of his dad’s Renault Clio, smoking together.

You had dozed off a couple of times by now, feeling warm and cosy in his arms, as usual.

Simon looked out of the window, enjoying the sight of the empty farm fields, lightly speckled in white snow.

“Darlin’?” Simon called for you and you stirred awake again.

You lifted your head from his chest, ever so slightly, where you had been lulled to sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat. 

“Hm?” You murmured groggily.

“Merry Christmas, lovie.” He whispers as he kisses your forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Riley…” You return as you nuzzle up to his neck, your nose rubbing against his skin.

You’d exchange your gifts before he dropped you off at home…

-

You were sixteen, he was seventeen.

It was tight in that backseat, his body no longer fitting lengthwise across the backseat and yours just barely fitting too.

Simon thrusted into you, holding one of your legs over his shoulder, while the other wrapped around his hip. His knees were bent and his head was pressed flush against the smooth roof of the car.

Your moans were loud and almost pornographic, forcing him to have to kiss you to shut you up. But even then, he kept up a hard and unforgiving pace, his hips slamming into yours feverishly.

It all stemmed from the undeniable hunger you felt for one another after three months apart while he was in Basic Training.

He couldn’t get enough of you, the way you looked up at him with those tear-filled eyes, your face red from the heat, your breaths erratic, your forehead dripping with sweat…

“Been… thinking… about this… for so long…” He grunted through the strain of trying to hold back his orgasm.

“Simon!” You moaned, your voice jumpy and high-pitched as he kept the rhythm that was driving you both to the brink of exhaustion.

“Three… bloody… fuckin’... months… without you…” He groaned. “God…” He grunted. “Keep moanin’ for me, darlin’... Show me who you belong to.” He demanded.

And you did. You made sure to make yourself heard, calling his name and whining, desperately so, as he made you both reach your limits.

As you both winded down, your weak legs wrapped around his hip, his head lying on your sweaty breasts, he looked up at you. “I love you.” Simon told you.

Your eyes softened when you looked down at him, his brown eyes seemingly even more beautiful that night than they ever had been. “I love you too.” You told him softly.

He pushed up and kissed you sweetly and, after glancing at the dash clock out of the corner of his eye, he chuckled against your lips.

“Merry Christmas.” He murmured. You probably replied something of the sort as well, though he kissed you back into silence.

You would exchange your gifts soon after.

-

You were seventeen, he was eighteen.

Simon was at the mess, shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow Corporals, squeezed tight so they could all fit at the table.

His rifle hung around his back, as he lowered his head like an obedient dog while shoveling mashed potatoes and slices of roast turkey into his mouth.

The CO had barked a hurried “Merry Christmas” to the troops before allowing them to dig in.

They hurried to eat. 

Simon was one of the first to stand up and rush his tray to the tray return trolley, and then slap his helmet on.

Then, he dashed out the door to join his platoon in the frontlines, swinging his rifle forward.

There was no Terry’s Chocolate Orange that time…

There was never going to be another one.

-

By the time Simon Ghost finally catches his breath again, you’re pushing back up onto your feet. He imagines you’re about to walk off and leave… But you don’t.

The sun has fully set by now, bathing the cemetery in darkness… And there you are. Still standing. 

Grieving over him.

His chest hurts, his heart squeezing with the realization that you are not taking his death well… Even after 15 years.

He wishes he could go forward… To tell you he’s not actually dead… that he just needed to pretend.

He wants to ask you how you’ve been, what you’ve been up to, to tell you how grateful he is that you came, how proud he is that you’re alive and healthy, by the looks of it.

He wants to tell you about his regrets, he wants to apologize, he wants to tell you he wanted to marry you, that he's never loved another woman like he's loved you.

But he doesn’t.

He simply continues to watch you from a distance as you hang around for a long, long time. Longer than anyone else. Hell, longer than Oliver did.

He watches your figure seemingly take a deep breath… And then… you start walking off toward the car park

He’s tempted to follow after you, even if just to watch… just for a moment more.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he walks up quietly toward 'his' grave, spotting what you threw into it easily.

He recognizes the shiny foil of a Terry's Chocolate Orange amidst the flowers without any issue.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before turning and walking away.

There was a time when you found a home in each other's arms...

But that's dead and buried now... Just like the chocolate orange will be.

And that's for the best.

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taglist: @iite-cool , @spicyspicyliving

Thank you so much for reading this fic, to the people who've read it here and on AO3! Your support mean the world to me!

[elfqueen006]

Siren

Continuation of "Trash"

Tags: drunk Joseph, emotions a lot of emotions, non-consentual touching, unrequited love

---

You dragged a hooting Joseph through your apartment door, struggling to keep his arm slung over his shoulder. 

“What a night, huh?” he slurred.

“Yeah,” you turned halfway to shut the door behind you. You advised him to lean on you while you took a second to think. 

You seriously considered just tossing him on the couch and calling it a night. Though with the way he’s practically thrashing right now, you doubt it could handle him. You’d come in to find it knocked over or the legs broken come morning.

Instead, you opted for his bedroom. It was more comfortable, and stronger as to hold his large frame.

Besides, what’s a few more seconds of a sore shoulder?

Guiding him along down the hallway, you then reached his door, which you kicked open. And now that you’re inside his room, you take the opportunity to look around. You’ve never actually been inside, only ever catching short glimpses when he had a guest over before he pulled them inside for half a day of debaucherous sex.

There wasn’t a lot inside, just the closet, a dresser with no defining features other than a smeared vanity mirror and an ashtray sitting on top of it. And of course, there was a bed set with the comforter you lent him, but no sheets.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed bedsheets?” You asked, voice low so as not to rattle him up or excite a headache.

He half shrugged, “It doesn’t bother me none…”

You lead him around to his bed and get him out of his jacket. Easing him down to sit, you then lift up each leg of his to pull off his boots. They have a very pretty design of a rose and some other etchings on each side of them. He told you once they were his most prized possessions. And you wouldn’t be surprised if he were serious.

“Alright, come here,” you take a hold of his hand, and it's massive over your own. Massive and hairy. Even a guy like him has lonely nights.

You push him up the bed lightly and guide him down by the back of his neck. 

“Theeere you go.”

Once he’s settled, you turn to leave, but he doesn’t let go of your hand, and in a split second you're pulled back and tumbling over his large frame. You grunt when you land face first in the pit of his arm.

“Jesus, Joseph!” You exclaimed.

You tried to get up again, but he just pulled you back down. You’re brought up to where your back is to his chest and you straddle one of his thick legs. He wrapped both of his strong arms around your torso.

Joseph rested his head on your neck and sang your name, “Where you goiiing?”

You huffed, “To my own room, Jo.”

“You don’t gotta do that,” He mutters, “Whatcha wanna do that for?”

“I like my own space.” You replied plainly.

“I like your own space.”

You pushed and struggled against his body, but he’s way too strong for you. It’s admittedly a bit frightening, especially when he’s in this state.

He pressed his lips into your neck and your face burns hotter than anything you’ve ever felt.

“What are you doing?!”

Joseph snickered, “What am I doing?” he buried his nose in your hair, sniffing deeply, “You smell good.”

“Well you stink.” And that was the truth, despite your attempt to shield your embarrassment with annoyance. His breath smelled of booze. 

“Stop being mean to me,” he said, falling back onto the mattress again. And with no other choice, you follow. “Stay with me.”

He’s never been this close before. You’ve had your quiet moments with him before. And you’ve lived together long enough that he became comfortable with telling you a few breakup stories and trauma dumps. You even told him a few of your own in turn.

But it never escalated. Nothing changed.

“Stay with me, baby.” Joseph slurred.

For seemingly no reason, you felt tears prick your eyes. “No, Joseph.”

“I’ll…make you…breakfast…”

You shifted a bit to face him. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open in his drunken stupor. He looked so pretty while he slept. Wavy hair falling over his brow, lashes fluttering slightly from the struggle to stay in a dream and to open his eyes. Meanwhile, you were wide awake, feeling like a sailor being led to the rocks.

Breakfast did sound good in the morning, though.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

It's been a while since I've had much to share but tagged most recently by @imogenkol @g0dspeeed and @thesingularityseries to share a wip

It's a Kit week this week apparently after just posting chapter 55 of American Beasts, and a wip last line snippet, here's a bit I've started working on for chapter 56. Where Kit passes judgement on Dutch. Slapping a giant warning on this considering it describes setting a person on fire, and mentions of Vietnam war crimes... so the general dark themes that can be expected from this fic. A return to form, one could say.

This late into winter the bunker had become damp, the musty scent of a basement clinging to the walls and the floors. Didn’t seem to matter how much he aired it out, the stink remained like a bad omen. Clinging, cloying. The land poisoned along with the water and it bubbled up through the soil and the pores of the concrete.

Dutch glanced over at the pictures he had of his family, the ones he’d lost, driven away, and took a swig from his flask. The cheap bottom-shelf whiskey burned the whole way down coalescing with the tobacco smoke from his hand-rolled cigarette to form one tainted mixture of a man’s fall into bitter loneliness. Rubbing his hand down the whiskers of his goatee, wiping at the corners of his mouth, he took another sip of the liquor, something more akin to paint thinner with the way it rotted his gut.

The board on his wall had been updated, the formation of the Seeds having changed. John was alive, Faith was gone, and the Deputy, Kit, had joined their ranks, falling in line with their brand of insanity. He stood there, hands on his hips, his jaw working from side to side as he started planning the next steps required to bring them down. Joseph’s Island had been dealt with, he had watched the smoke rise himself before the fleet of boats that had set off from his property had returned. But that was just a drop in the ocean. There were still two bunkers remaining, the cult’s forces split between the two, and he knew for certain they would not let a slight like this stand against them. It was an affront to the Father, and Joseph Seed didn’t appreciate being made into a joke.

As he returned to his bank of monitors, Dutch found the screens had all gone blank, but there was no power outage on his end – someone had cut the feed. Moments later, the lights all cut out and the air filtration fans stopped their spinning until the backup generator kicked in. The dull amber glow of emergency lights kept most of his surroundings in the murky depths of the dark. Long shadows looming from out of the corners and amongst the crates he had stored down there with him, reminding him of one of those old slasher flicks, and the killer was inside the house already. 

Catching the chemical smell of benzene in the air, sweet and pungent, the perfume of a hot summer’s day, he stormed out of the control center of his bunker. Reaching the long hall leading to the steep set of stairs that ascended to the outside world, he saw the teeming masses that barricaded his only escape route. Demons in the night. Reaping what he sowed.

Red jerry cans glugged out liters of gasoline in a deluge, the liquid pouring down the steps, coating them in a cascade. It splashed on his boots, pooling at his feet, crawling outwards and spreading like a pestilence. He looked down and by eye alone he could see the flood had already come, standing an inch deep in the flammable substance. Dutch’s eyes rose, forced to meet the instigator and her pale, lifeless eyes as her people parted, making a hole for her as if she were some messiah among them.

She didn’t flinch, showed no sign of second thought, no guilt or remorse. Cold, inert. As soulless and dead-eyed as the rest of the Seeds and their flock. Her hair was the only thing moving, dancing in the wind as though it had a life of its own. Kit stared down at him, that constant scowl of hers almost mocking him now as her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. 

John Seed had marked her with ‘Wrath’ and he could see it written all over her. A sinner set upon the path of judging other sinners. Judge not, lest ye be judged yourself.

He’d had no idea who she was when he’d saved her all those months ago, pulling her out of the water the night of the arrest. Had no idea of what she was capable of. The stranger in their midst who distanced herself from all. The outside observer, seeing them all for what they really were. And now, he couldn’t help but feel maybe he deserved the fate she brought down upon him. The things he did in war, the bloodshed and destruction of families he had participated in throughout Hope County. Dutch resigned himself to it, to his end. It was a better one than becoming a slave to the beliefs of a madman like she had, just another sycophant at the feet of the Father. This merciless, vengeful, violent thing that he helped to sic on the county. 

“I’ll see you in hell, Kit.”

He didn’t beg, didn’t run. There would be no point. It seemed as though whenever Kit had her eyes set on a soul's demise, she marched the warpath until the goal was met. If it wasn’t now, it was only a matter of when, and he’d seen the video of what she was willing to do in the name of duty. In all honesty, he was getting off light. 

Should've left her to drown, his final thought as he watched the old army zippo lighter fall, bouncing down the last few steps with a tinkle like chimes. Flickering flame hit the waterfall, and the blue conflagration sprinted towards him, a devouring creature feasting upon the fuel to reach its final meal. 

His body was engulfed in flame, the inferno gorging upon flesh, fat, hair, and cloth. The searing heat made it impossible to breathe, melting the thin skin of his eyes shut. In his mind’s eye, in his final moments, he couldn’t help but picture his days in Vietnam. The napalm, the burning innocents. Monks immolating themselves to end a useless war. One as brutal and unnecessary as the war that had struck a small county in Montana. 

He screamed himself hoarse until the skin of his throat had been barbecued and his heart gave out. The heavy door of the bunker shut tight, leaving him inside to burn. A crematorium. A structure meant to save a life from the devastating power of a bomb, made into nothing more than a tomb. 

Black smoke rose, curling up to meet the sky. A charred husk of an island to match the darkened cinders of Joseph’s. The Alpha and the Omega. Ending where it began. 

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[babybluebex]

bad idea, right? | joseph quinn x fem!reader

summary: yes, i know that he's my ex, but can't two people reconnect? // aka your ex joseph conveniently texts you to come over just as you're missing him, and who can say no to those eyes? pairing: joseph quinn x fem!reader tags: SMUT (minors dni), thigh riding, teasing, confessions of love, bareback (USE A CONDOM IRL PLEASE!!!), no ejaculation (it's ok, you'll see, just read it) author’s note: i am BACK with a new joe fic, i have been thinking about him NONSTOP ever since miss olivia dropped this song, and it's taken me forever to write this but here we are :) enjoy! follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post new fics!

This was such a bad idea. No, it wasn’t a bad idea. It was the worst idea, one of the worst things you have maybe ever done. That bar wasn’t set too high, but the point remained. It was stupid and bad, and you just shouldn’t be doing it. And yet, here you are. 

You had been out drinking with your friends, ironically trying to get over Joseph. He was a good man— good enough, at least— and had been a relatively good boyfriend to you, but he was different than everyone else and was itching for more than you were, a family and a life and shit, and you had just wanted to have fun with him, so you had broken it off with him. The breakup had initially happened a few months ago, but your friends had never been able to drag you out of your flat and to a bar until then. There was nothing to mourn, you tried to tell them. We just wanted different things and split amicably, there’s no bad blood there that I need to drink to get over. 

Around 11 o’clock or so, your phone buzzed on the bar top, and you glanced down to see a text from a number that your phone didn’t recognize, but you knew all too well. I’m lonely, it said. Would you like to come over? 

Your friends were absorbed in their conversation, so you put down your vodka soda and typed out a reply. Joe, you know that’s a bad idea. 

I moved. Do you need my new address? 

You sighed. Yeah, I do. 

There was something about Joseph that you couldn’t place, but it made him irresistible. He was magnetic, he was charismatic, he was attractive and funny and kind, he was everything, but he just wasn’t what you wanted or needed for your relationship. He wanted kids; you didn’t. That was it. He was so irresistible, though, that there was no question about the fact that you would wreck your plans to see him. 

“Hey, I gotta go,” you told your friends, and they all booed and awed and asked what was going on. 

“Wait,” one of your friends started. “Are you going to see Joe?”

You scoffed, in a way that you hoped conveyed how crazy you thought that was. “No,” you said. “My social battery just ran out all of the sudden. Long day at work, and I’ve got another long one tomorrow and… You know how it is.” 

“Alright,” your friend said with a pout. “Be safe, alright? Let us know when you get home.” 

You agreed and, with a few hugs and kisses, you went on your way. Joseph had texted you his new address and you plugged it into your Uber app, and, the whole ride there, your leg was jiggling and you were nervous. It was just Joe, it wasn’t like you were going to meet some random guy you met online (although Joe had started out as some random Hinge match). You had dated him for two years, you knew him, so why were you nervous? 

He was grinning at you when you reached his place on the second floor, an easy sort of smile that you remembered loving. “Hi,” he said softly, reaching out for you, and you took his hands, smiling back at him. 

“Hey,” you said. “So, this is your new place, right?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said with a shrug. “It’s not much, but it’s alright.” 

You stepped inside and set down your bag next to the door, along with your jacket and shoes, and you examined the front room. The new flat was definitely smaller than the one you had shared together, the kitchen all smushed up next to the den, with the smallest hallway leading down to the bathroom and bedroom, and you settled on the couch easily. “I like it,” you said, your eyes going to his bookcase next to his television. A biography of Caracalla sat open, and you shook your head. “It’s cute. Very you.” 

“Thank you, love,” Joseph said. He sat down beside you and put his arm along the back of the couch behind you, and you inched a little closer to him. 

“Isn’t it a little… Silly?” you started, and you began to chew on your lip. 

“What is?” Joseph asked. 

“This dumb little dance we have to do,” you said. “Like we both don’t know why I’m here. We have to pretend, like, ‘Oh, I like your apartment’, ‘Oh, how have you been’, y’know?” 

“Well, we don’t have to pretend,” Joseph said. “We can just… Get started.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “But I don’t wanna, like, just come over and fuck and leave.”

“So…” Joseph started. “You want genuine small talk?”

You shrugged. “I guess,” you said. “How have you been?”

“Honestly,” Joseph started. “Pretty bad. I’m so used to coming home and having you here, I find myself so lonely and bored and… I don’t know. It’s been a few months, I thought I’d get over… Whatever this is.”

“That’s alright,” you said. “I’ve been missing you a lot too. I miss our old apartment… The bathtub was so nice and big.” 

“Yeah,” Joseph chuckled. “You remember when we took a bubble bath together and lit candles? That was nice.”

“Yeah,” you agreed wistfully. It went quiet then, both of you trying to avoid the obvious, and you finally sighed. “This is a bad idea, right?” 

“Probably,” Joseph said. You looked over at him to find him already looking at you with those damned chocolate puppy eyes, and you tilted your head a bit, your eyes lingering on his lips. That’s something that you missed about him; he was a damn good kisser. 

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” you said quickly, and you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. His arm around your shoulders dragged you close to him, and he kissed you back, letting his lips mold against yours. You moaned softly, taking in the familiar taste of him, and you shuffled to sit across his lap. His hands went to their usual spots in the back pockets of your jeans, squeezing and kneading your ass as his tongue slipped inside your mouth, and you raked your fingers through his hair. You don’t remember him doing his hair across his forehead like this the last time you saw him, but maybe he did, but it really didn’t matter. He was hot as fuck, and he wanted you. 

“Fuck,” Joseph whispered as he broke the kiss. His focus went to your smooth neck, kissing and lightly sucking and making you moan again, and his hands drifted out of your back pockets and went to the front of your pants, popping the button open with ease. “Pretty girl…” he mumbled, and you giggled as he started to edge your pants down. The angle was awkward, definitely, and you shuffled to stand up and take down your pants. Joseph dipped down on the couch a little to pull off his sweatpants (grey, soft, the kind you once told him make his dick look good), and he discarded them to the side as you straddled one of his big thighs. This was always one of his favorite things, having you ride his thigh, and he looked gleeful when he realized that that’s what you were doing. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, and you smiled, flexing your hips down and starting to drag yourself along his hard thigh. 

“I remember you liked this,” you told him, and Joseph’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, letting his head fall back as you started up a rhythm, letting yourself glide along his leg. He mumbled and cursed, his big hands falling to your hips, but he didn’t control you; he was just holding you, feeling you, loving on you. 

“I do,” he mumbled. “God… Yes, sweet girl, just like that.” 

You whimpered as your clit brushed your stretched panties, and Joseph looked up, a sly smile on his lips. You loved when he watched you, and you made sure to move your body smoothly— all the better of a show for him. “Yeah,” he mumbled, biting his plush bottom lip. “That feel good?” 

You hummed out a positive sound, digging your fingernails into his shoulders through his jumper. “God, Joey,” you sighed, and you lilted your head to watch him as his eyelashes fluttered and he sighed with you. "Missed you."

"I missed this too," Joseph said. "Take off your panties, I wanna feel you."

You couldn't help but oblige him, and you lifted yourself from his leg and stripped off your modest underwear (you weren't exactly thinking ahead when you got dressed to go out, and you certainly weren't expecting Joe to text you). The feel of his warm skin on your pussy made your stomach swim with butterflies, and you put your hands on the back of his neck, just at where the curls ended. God, those curls. You pulled him into a kiss and moaned into his mouth, and you tugged on his curls to make him whine.

"Don't tease me, baby," he told you in a low voice, and you smiled and continued on your path, absolutely set on teasing him now. Your hips slowed, and you nestled your mouth right in the crook of his neck, setting soft kisses on his skin. "Oh, fuck, you're an evil woman, did you know that?"

"Yeah, well," you shrugged noncommittally, and Joe grabbed you around your waist and pulled you off of him. Roughly— rougher than usual?— he pushed you down onto the couch, and he settled himself on top of you, his thick thighs caging you in. You watched greedily as he righted himself and stripped off his jumper, exposing the little soft hairs on his chest; now, without the baggy jumper, you could fully see his hardening cock, rising to lay against his tummy.

"Like what you see?" Joe chuckled lightly, and you realized just how hard you had been staring at him.

"How could I not?" you asked. You reached out for his cock, taking his length in your hand, and you stroked him easily, base to tip, squeezing when you got closer to his balls— just the way he liked. He hissed in a sharp breath through his teeth as his eyes grew three times their size, and you smiled.

"Thought you'd've forgotten about that," Joe laughed breathlessly, and he edged back on the couch, aligning his hips with yours. Apparently, it seemed as if speed was the name of the game tonight, and it almost hurt your heart to think that he just wanted to hook up with you. You knew that coming to his place wouldn't end with a reconfession of love and for him begging for you to stay, but it stung to know that he was just trying to get you out as quickly as possible.

"I could never forget," you said, hoping that he could see through your words and see your teary eyes, hear your thick throat, feel your loss. You loved him, and the breakup hurt, but it was better being apart. But was it really?

"I wouldn't want you to," Joe told you, and he pursed his lips for a moment before he spit down onto your pussy. "You think I can ever forget you?"

You lined up the head of his cock with your hole, watching as he throbbed in your hand, and he sank his hips forward. The feel of the stretch had you gasping, and you moaned as he slid inside you, nestling perfectly. "Hey," Joe said firmly, and you looked up from the show to see him earnestly staring down at you, his eyes... Wet? Tearful? "You don't think I could ever forget you, do you?" he asked, and you bit the inside of your cheek.

"Not now, Joe," you mumbled.

"Yes, now," Joe insisted.

"You're inside me," you protested, and Joe gathered you in his arms, holding you tightly as he began to fuck you. The pleasure made your breath hitch, and Joe buried his face in your neck, kissing the slender column of your throat.

"We can talk and fuck at the same time," Joe said. "God knows we've done worse and fucked at the same time."

"But talk about this?" you asked. "Joey—"

"I can't sleep without you," he said softly. "Every time I wake up alone, my first thought is that you're using the toilet and that you'll be right back. I can hardly relax without your feet in your side... You really did take up the whole of the bed."

"Joe—" you started again, but he shook his head, his curls thwipping you in the face.

"And I can't eat," he continued. "I miss your cooking, and what's the point of eating anyway if you're not gonna steal bits of it off my plate?"

"Don't say that," you frowned. You were still acutely aware of his cock inside you, ebbing and flowing with the movement of your bodies, but, slowly, you came to realize exactly what this was. Maybe this was a reconfession of love. Maybe he would beg for you to stay. Maybe he was more than lonely tonight, and was just rushing the sex to get to the part where he asked you to come back to him. "That's not... Fair. I'm doing better without you."

"What a lie," Joe chuckled mirthlessly. "You're not wearing your favorite going-out dress, you're not even wearing mascara. You didn't want to leave the house tonight, but you did. Why?"

"My friends dragged me out," you said.

"Exactly," Joe said. "You'd rather stay home and rot in bed, because you're just as miserable without me as I am without you. Admit it, we were so good together, don't you want that again?"

"Joe," you started. "We broke up because you wanted kids, and I didn't. That's not something you can compromise on, that's not a conversation you can table for later. We broke up because we wanted different things, and that's okay."

"But I want you back," Joe said. "I need you back. Please, we can compromise on this. We can... Fuck, I don't know, we can get a cat. Or a puppy, or a lizard, or whatever the fuck it takes for you to come back to me."

Before you could say more, your phone buzzed in your purse on the floor just by your head, and you sighed as you reached for it, any distraction welcome. Your friend was texting you: Make it home ok?

Yeah, you answered quickly. Going to sleep. Talk tomorrow xx.

"Joe," you started. "I... I only see you as a friend now. I don't think I can return to what we had."

"That's the biggest lie you've ever said," Joe told you. "If I was just a friend, would you have come over tonight?"

"Yes!" you said. "Because I'm a good friend! You said you were lonely, and I wanted to come help—"

"Oh, God, there was an undertone, and you know that," Joe cringed. "Don't act like you didn't know exactly what this was."

"Fuck," you mumbled. "Joe, I— Can we wait until we're done fucking?"

Joe sighed and, setting his jaw, angled his hips back and pulled out. He went in search of his clothes quietly, and you did the same, and, as you were zipping up your trousers, you said, "I guess I just don't... Don't see how we can have what we had. Not now, not knowing that we want our futures to be so different."

"We don't have to have what we had," Joe said. "We can have something completely new. We can make something entirely different, entirely our own, whatever we want. Please?"

You looked up from your jeans to see him looking at you. He had shaved his facial hair down to nothing, and you frowned to look at it. "I hate the way you do your hair now," you mumbled. "And I wish you'd grow your mustache back out."

Joe shrugged. "Maybe I will," he said. "If you want me to."

"I do," you said. "And we can get a cat, but you have to do the nasty shit, cleaning up after it and everything. We can... We can get back together, if you... If you promise you'll never leave me again."

Joe stepped towards you and wrapped you in a tight embrace, and he kissed the top of your head. "Never again, love."