#someone must have pointed that out by now about the shirts right

[hotasfahrenheit]

call me crazy but i don't think this is a coincidence

that the bullet that takes Great down in episode six (and the one in episode five yes) hits him in the same spot as the second bullet that takes down Tyme at the beginning of episode one.

also just throwing out there in case no one else has that the shirt Tyme is wearing in the beginning of the first episode when he gets shot is the same shirt he's wearing at the end of episode five.

👀👀👀👀

[sematarygirls]

        BOYFRIEND!RAFE x ANXIOUS!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ protected p in v, oral (f! receiving), established relationship, loss of virginity, reader and rafe being dorks, slow sex, these bitches do not shut up, reader is very insecure about her body and of course, has anxiety

NOTES .ᐟ this is representation for all my anxious and insecure girlies who giggle and blurt out random stuff when they're nervous (aka me)

You and Rafe were both on his bed making out, him laying underneath you as you straddled his waist—his idea, of course, citing that it would be more comfortable for both of you that way. "You better just have something in your pocket," you jokingly mumbled against his lips, feeling something distinctly hard and suspiciously close to his dick pressing against you.

You had a tendency to make a lot of dumb jokes and laugh when you were nervous, blurting out whatever came to mind before you could decide against it, which was ironic since overthinking was a second nature to you. You were shy and got nervous a lot, especially around Rafe. He was your first boyfriend and the hottest guy you'd ever laid your eyes on, neither of which helping your nerves.

Rafe's hands slipped under your shirt to touch your bare skin, holding you firmly on his lap. "Wouldn't you like to know," his smirk was teasing as he pulled back from the kiss to peer up at you.

"Uh, yeah, that's kind of the whole point of asking," you also pulled back, sitting up as you smiled down at him. You liked it when Rafe went along with your stupid jokes, bantering with you to put you at ease. He never made you feel weird or awkward for using humor to cope with your anxiety.

"Well, if you must know, I'm packing heat," Rafe quipped with a mischievous grin, his grip on your hips tightening.

You gasped exageratedly, feigning shock. "You have a gun?" You knew very well what he meant, but when did that ever stop you from saying something stupid?

He snorted, his blue eyes shining with amusement. "Yeah, I have a gun in my pants because that makes so much sense," he replied sarcastically, finding your nervous humor endearing.

"Okay, Mr. Sassypants," you rolled your eyes playfully, your palms resting on his chest as a smile pulled at your lips.

"Mr. Sassypants?" Rafe repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You know, that's not a very nice thing to call your loving, patient, and amazingly sexy boyfriend."

"Well, I can't help that my loving, patient, and amazingly sexy boyfriend is such a diva," you grinned, feeling his chest rise and fall, his heart beating steadily under your fingertips.

"Diva?" He gasped in mock offense, his hands sliding up your sides. "I'll show you a diva." In one swift motion, he flipped your positions, pinning you beneath him.

You laughed, looking up at him with a smile despite the anxiety gnawing at you. He had a way of putting your mind at ease with just one look, and the soothing circles he was rubbing on your skin were definitely helping. He stared back at you, his gaze softening. He loved your smile and the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed. Truthfully, he loved everything about you, even your innate ability to make everything a tad bit awkward.

His eyes searched yours intently, searching for any signs that you wanted him to stop. Noticing his serious turn of demeanor and his intense gaze, you felt your cheeks heat up. "Oh, cmon, don't get all serious on me now," you rolled your eyes, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, I take my role as your boyfriend very seriously," he grinned, leaning down to kiss your neck. "And, it wouldn't be very boyfriendly of me to let you go on without knowing the wonders of sex."

"Oh, right, of course, it would be for my benefit," you giggled, your heart racing at the idea of being intimate with him. You weren't exactly against the idea, but you were still a virgin, and the idea of being with someone like that was undoubtedly nerve-racking.

You could feel Rafe smile against your skin, his hands sliding farther up your sides. "Uh huh, always thinking of what's best for my girl."

"Wow, who knew you were so selfless?" You giggled, biting your lip as he nipped as your skin. Your fingers slotted into his hair as he continued to kiss and suck at your neck, his hot breath fanning against your heated skin.

"I'm a saint, what can I say?" He mumbled, his tone teasing. He was being careful, trying to reassure you without actually saying anything because he knew you'd prefer to keep things as lighthearted as possible to make you forget about how serious the moment actually was. He could tell you were nervous, and he was determined to make you as comfortable as possible.

"Uh huh, a saint," you smiled as he slowly, tentatively pushed your shirt up your body. He was giving you time to tell him to stop, maybe even slap him if you wanted to, but you didn't. As much as you felt like you were going to die on the spot at the idea of him seeing you naked, you trusted him, and you wanted this.

"I am but a humble servant of my sexy girlfriend," he pulled back from your neck to search your eyes again, pausing for a moment before your shirt revealed your bra. You gave him a small nod, and he smiled, tugging the shirt over your head as you leaned up a little and lifted your arms to help him. He threw the shirt aside, eyes roaming your skin, as if memorizing every detail. "God, you're beautiful," he breathed out.

"Shut up," you said bashfully, your heart beating faster under his intense gaze. There was a voice in the back of your head telling you that you weren't pretty enough for him, that he would hate how you looked, and that was why you preferred to fill the silence with easy jokes and stupid quips. It made it easier to silence that nagging part of you that thought you weren't good enough for him.

"No, I mean it," he insisted, his fingers slowly tracing the lace edging of your bra. "You're like, way too pretty to be real. I mean, look at you." There was a sincerity to his words that he couldn't fake, an edge of awe and pure unbridled devotion that made your head spin.

The way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, the way he touched you like he worshipped every inch of you—it was all overwhelming in the best possible way. It had you scrambling in your mind to say something, anything, even if that something was a dumb dick joke.

"I bet you're thinking about saying something stupid, aren't you?" he asked, a knowing smirk on his face as he leaned down to pepper kisses over your collarbones and down the swell of your cleavage.

"I never say anything stupid," you breathed out, as he kissed the skin that wasn't hidden behind your bra. It made your heart flutter that he knew you so well, but it also made you realize how awfully predictable you were.

"Uh huh and I'm the Queen of England," he retorted sarcastically, reaching up to slide one of your bra straps down your shoulder, kissing the bare sliver of skin that was revealed.

"Oh my God, you are?" You gasped, his remark loading you with the perfect ammunition to say something stupid. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your highness."

"Mmm, flattery will get you everywhere," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he continued to kiss and touch you, slipping your other strap off. He slowly unhooked your bra, his eyes meeting yours as he paused, asking for silent permission. You bit the inside of your cheek nervously before nodding.

He pulled your bra off almost instantly, his gaze sweeping over your bare chest. You felt so vulnerable beneath his gaze, resisting the urge to cover yourself. "Okay, your turn, pretty boy," you swiftly said, trying to ease your nerves and figuring you might be a little more comfortable if you weren't the only half-naked one.

"Yes, ma'am," He smirked, leaning back to pull his own shirt off, revealing his muscular chest. You couldn't help but stare, eyes roaming over his abs and the way his muscles flexed as he tossed his shirt aside. He settled back over you, his hands sliding up your sides. "Better?"

"You are annoyingly hot," you huffed, finding it completely unfair that someone as perfect as him could even exist, let alone be on top of you right now.

"Aw, you're just saying that because you want in my pants," he teased, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. "But I can't blame you, I am pretty irresistible." He leaned down, swallowing the small gasp you let out at his touch as he captured your mouth in a deep, heated kiss.

"That's slander," you mumbled into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck and curling your fingers into his hair as you pulled him closer.

"Mmm, then sue me," he murmured against your lips before trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, slowly making his way to your chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his soft lips on your skin. He was ridiculously skilled with his mouth, knowing exactly how and where to kiss you to drive you crazy. "Yknow what, maybe I will," you retorted breathlessly, your chest rising and falling a little faster.

"I think we can come to some sort of settlement out of court," He paused, his hot breath washing over your skin before he slowly, deliberately wrapped his lips around one of your peaks, swirling his tongue around it. "What do you think?"

Your lips parted at the feeling, intaking a sharp breath of air. "Uh, yeah, yknow that could work maybe," you grinned, your fingers gently tugging at his hair as he ravished your tits with attention.

"Mmm, I thought it might," he hummed with a cocky grin, switching to give equal attention to your other breast, your back arching ever so slightly, urging him closer. He smirked against your skin, making his way lower and leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake. His hands slid down your sides to your hips, fingers curling around the waistband of your pants.

"Hey, wait, I don't want to be naked first," you protested, only half joking. You would rather die than be fully naked in front of him while he sits there with his clothes on.

"Oh, trust me, I have no intention of leaving my pants on any longer than necessary," He assured you with a mischievous grin, slowly unbuttoning your jeans, his knuckles brushing against your skin.

"Yeah, 'cause you're a freak," you grinned, moving on to the making fun of your boyfriend portion of the program in an attempt to soothe the pit of nausea in your stomach. You were kind of scared, not that you wanted to be lame and admit that.

"Hey, I resent that," He protested, but his tone conveyed the opposite message as he tugged your jeans and underwear down your legs in one smooth, expert motion, his gaze never leaving yours. "I'm just enthusiastic, that's all."

"Enthusiastically a whore," you snorted, letting your head fall back, staring at the ceiling. You'd really rather not see yourself naked right now, not with the amount of anxiety already coursing through your veins. You did not need a reminder of what Rafe was seeing.

"Whore?" He teased, his fingers dancing along your inner thighs. "I think you mean an amazing boyfriend who loves you and wants to make you feel good."

You hummed thoughtfully. "Uh, no, I'm pretty sure I mean whore," you grinned, reluctantly looking down at him despite yourself.

"Well, this whore is about to rock your world," He smirked, slowly trailing kisses up your inner thigh, gripping your hips. "Just relax and let me do all the work." His voice was low and seductive, his intentions clear.

"You're such an idiot," you laughed at his cheesy choice of words, a little nervous that the witty banter would have to be put on hold. He can't exactly respond to your sarcastic remarks with his mouth occupied.

He hummed, his breath hot against your core. Your breathing picked up, and you were unsure whether it was anticipation or if you were on the verge of a panic attack.

He slowly dragged his tongue along your slit, groaning at your taste on his tongue and the subsequent gasp that fell from your lips, making his painfully hard cock twitch in his jeans. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them further apart and opening you up to him. He had dreamed of this moment, imagined this exact scenario about a half a dozen times as he got himself off, and now that it was actually happening, he was going to relish every moment.

He began to eat you out like a man starved, his tongue delving deep inside your tight heat, familiarizing himself with every inch of you. His nose nudged at your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that pulled a low whine from your throat. Your fingers threaded into his hair, moaning at the unfamiliar pleasure.

His fingers replaced his tongue, his mouth moving up to the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucking it into his mouth, determined to send you over the edge. He pushed his fingers deep inside and curled them, finding that spot that made your back arch and your hips buck against his mouth.

"Rafe," his name left your lips a breathy whimper as your head fell back against his pillows. Rafe was no stranger to having women under him, writhing and moaning his name, but something about it being you made him crazy. It took all his self-control not to blow his load in his pants right there and then.

He redoubled his efforts, eager to make you cum, rubbing that sweet spot inside you with ruthless precision and sucking on your clit, his tongue swirling around your sensitive nub. Another moan fell from your lips, your grip on his hair bordering on painful as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your legs practically shaking at the intense pleasure.

He groaned as he felt you spasm around his fingers, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. He slowly pulled away, grinning as he took in your dazed expression. He carefully slipped his fingers from your quivering hole, bringing them to his mouth. He couldn't help the moan that rumbled low in his throat as he tasted you on his tongue. God, you were perfect.

His eyes flicked up to yours as his tongue darted out to lick his lips clean. "Good, huh?" He asked, his tone smug. He knew it had been good, but he wanted to hear you say it.

"I'm gonna slap that stupid look off your face," you playfully rolled your eyes, your skin practically burning up with embarrassment.

"I think that would take our case from a civil lawsuit to a criminal assault charge," he grinned, calling back to your previous joke about taking him to court. He positioned himself over you again to press his lips against yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"It's my first offense and a misdemeanor," you mumbled into the kiss, cupping his face. "Worst I'll get is a fine, so... totally worth it."

"Okay, smartass," he pulled away, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, gazing down at you lovingly.

"Just saying," you smiled softly up at him, his hair falling into his face and his blue eyes sparkling. He really loved you, and it was evident just from the way he looked at you. He'd never felt anything like it before. He loved you so much it terrified him.

But, of course, you had to ruin the moment of peace because shutting up was not something you were wired to do, especially not in the face of such charged silence. "Your little friend is poking me again," you blurted out the words before you could stop yourself. Little friend? You really couldn't have come up with anything else?

Rafe couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips as he rocked his hips against you, making you gasp softly. "He's just happy to see you." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned down at you, his fingers absently tracing along your side.

"Okay, well, can you tell him I don't really know him like that, so maybe he should calm down a little bit," you couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but you loved it, and you loved him. He understood you in a way you never thought you'd be understood by anyone.

"He says he's not planning on staying a stranger for much longer," he smirked, his hips rolling against yours.

"This is actually so stupid," you giggled, your hand covering your mouth as you laughed beneath him.

"Oh, now it's stupid?" He rolled his eyes, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "You're the one who started it."

"Shut up," you smiled, leaning up to kiss him. "Okay, okay, you can... start now, I guess," you said awkwardly. There was only so long that you could stall with stupid dick jokes. Besides, you felt a little bad that he had been so patient and undoubtedly, extremely hard.

"About time," he murmured with faux annoyance, his voice low as he fiddled with his belt buckle and pulled it through the loops, tossing it aside before popping the button on his jeans and slowly unzipping them.

You sucked in a breath, trying to calm your nerves as the sound of him pulling his jeans off seemed to echo through the room. You wanted this. You knew you did, but you couldn't help the pit of fear in your stomach.

He paused, feeling your body tense beneath him as you took a deep breath, a sign he knew all too well. "Hey, look at me," he coaxed softly, cupping your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. We can wait if you're not ready. Just tell me to stop, and I will, no questions asked, no hard feelings. We can just forget all about it," he reassured you.

Your heart fluttered as you heard your boyfriend's words, meeting his gaze and seeing the sincerity behind his eyes. "No, I- I want to. I'm just... scared, yknow," you bit your lip nervously, mentally kicking yourself. You always seemed to be scared. There probably wasn't a single thing in the world that you weren't scared of.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," he soothed, pressing gentle kisses to your face, your neck, your collarbone—anywhere he could reach. "There's nothing wrong with being scared. It's your first time. If you weren't scared, that would be a little concerning."

You laughed softly at his words. "You just make sure you wrap it up. I don't know where you've been," you joked. "Safe sex is great sex as the Lil Wayne once wisely said."

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Lil Wayne, huh? I didn't know he moonlighted as a sex ed teacher." He reached into his bedside table, pulling out a foil packet and waving it in front of your face. "But don't worry, I'm always prepared."

"Jesus, that's a lot of condoms," you said, peering into his drawer and seeing way more condoms than you realistically thought one person would need. "You are a whore of massive proportions. Like, literally a menace to the female population."

"Oh, hush," he grinned, tearing open the packet and rolling the latex down over his length. "I bought them in bulk. You know, for... emergencies," He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, leaning back down to press kisses to your skin once more.

"Eugh," you giggled, your face scrunching up in disgust. "I genuinely do not want to know what a sex emergency is."

"Hey, a guy's gotta be prepared, okay?" He murmured against your neck, his breath warm. "Now, are you going to keep talking, or are you going to let me kiss you and calm you the hell down?"

"Yo, I am literally so calm," you rolled your eyes, lying through your teeth in the name of comedy and also not sounding like the total little loser virgin you were. "So calm and so chill. Literally have never been calmer or chiller in my life."

"Uh-huh," he hummed, clearly unconvinced as he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, his fingers slowly trailing down your side, his touch gentle. "Because nothing says 'calm and chill' like sex jokes and rambling like you're on speed."

"Well, I can't help that I'm the funniest person alive," you argued, the realization dawning on you that you were naked, and he was naked, which meant there was only so many more sex jokes you could make before the sex actually commenced.

"You're not even in the top five funniest people I know," he teased, his fingers reaching your hip as he slowly pulled you closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

"Oh, you got jokes, huh?" You grinned, nervously giggling when you felt his tip nudge at your entrance. "You better take that back if you wanna get laid tonight."

"I think I'll stick with my original statement," he said, his voice low and husky as he pressed forward, the head of his dick pushing into you slowly as he rubbed soothing circles on your hip. "You're just not funny enough to make the cut, sweetheart."

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth, wincing at the painful sensation. You grabbed his bicep for support, digging your nails into his arm. "Liar," you joked weakly, your chest heaving as you breathed through the intrusion.

"Shh, just breathe," he whispered against your neck, his voice low and soothing as he paused, letting you adjust to the foreign feeling. "You're doing so good, baby. You're taking it like a champ."

"Okay, don't call me champ while you're inside me," you grimaced, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted as you slowly adjusted to having him inside you.

"You okay, baby?" He asked softly, pushing the slightest bit further into you as he examined your reaction closely.

"Oh, yeah, just peachy," you said sarcastically. The pain was gradually starting to fade, making the whole thing more enjoyable by the second. Though, the pressure between your thighs was intense.

"Mhm, you're a real ray of sunshine," he chuckled softly, pushing the rest of the way into you, his body shuddering as he bottomed out. He was as deep as he could go, his hips flush against yours.

You gasped as he pressed all the way into you, your grip on his bicep tightening. "You're gonna look like you got mauled by a lion after this," you panted out, apologetic for the involuntary response.

"I'd wear that badge of honor proudly," he said, his voice thick with amusement as he slowly began to move, his hips rolling against yours in a gentle, soothing rhythm. "Now, shut up and let me make love to you."

"Don't say 'make love' either. That's so gross," you giggled softly, a breathy moan falling from your lips as he set a slow, pleasurable pace.

"Then what would you prefer I call it?" He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued his steady movements, the friction building between your bodies. "'Coitus'? 'Intercourse'? 'Fucking'?" He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust of his hips.

You moaned, your head falling back against the pillows and brows pinching in pleasure. Okay, you were definitely starting to see what all the fuss was about. "Let's just not refer to what's happening right now as anything at all."

"Mhm, I can work with that," he hummed, his pace picking up slightly as he felt you start to relax more, your body welcoming his thrusts. "Just focus on how good it feels, baby. Let me take care of you."

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours and kissing you deeply as he continued to fuck you with a pace that demonstrated his love and devotion to you. He never thought he would be one for slow, romantic sex, but he didn't think he was into a lot of things before he met you. You had a way of making him discover things about himself he was completely clueless to.

As he kissed you, he slowly shifted his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts to hit that particularly sensitive spot inside you. He felt you tense up, a sharp gasp escaping your lips into the kiss, and he smiled against your mouth. "You like that, huh?"

"You're such an ass," you grinned, your fingers curling into his hair, back arching into him as his tip continued to hit that spongy spot inside you, the pressure low in your abdomen building.

"Maybe so, but you love it," he smirked against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips as he increased his pace, his hips snapping forward in a steady rhythm. "And you're gonna come for me again, baby. Aren't you?"

Your mouth fell open in pleasure, your breath hot against his lips. "uh huh," you nodded, your eyes fluttering shut. He was a cocky motherfucker, but he was hot and he put up with your shit, so it was only fair you put up with his in return.

"That's my girl," he purred, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles on your clit as he continued his relentless pace. "Come on, baby. Let me feel you. I want to watch you fall apart for me."

You gasped sharply at the added stimulation, his name leaving your lips in a whine as you tensed around him, sent over the edge for the second time.

He groaned as he felt your walls clench around him, the sensation of you practically choking his dick sending him into his own release. "Fuck, you feel so good," he panted, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself into the condom with a low moan of your name.

Your walls pulsed around him as you slowly came down from your high, relaxing into the mattress. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your whole body on fire and coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

He collapsed on top of you with a satisfied hum, peppering gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone as he softened inside you. "I love you, you know that?"

"Good 'cause otherwise this would be pretty awkward," you laughed breathlessly, gently raking your nails over his scalp soothingly. "But, seriously, I love you too," you added quietly after a beat of silence.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @xoxohoneymoongirl / @bradshawed /

[gguk-n]

Hands off (Lando Norris x Reader)

Summary- In world where soulmates exist. Some people have handprints on their body for when their soulmate touches them for the first time. Lando wonders why his soulmate marks are where they are.

Lando was at a sponsor's meeting at McLaren. It was the same old same old stuff. Quite boring if someone asked him. Oscar had ditched him to hang out with his soulmate who he was seen laughing along to while Lando sipped on his glass of champagne until a girl caught his attention. She was dressed in a papaya satin dress looking equally as bored as him.

Lando sauntered over to her, to keep himself a little occupied. "Hey" Lando greeted, catching her attention. She looked up and smiled. "Hi" she greeted back, lazily taking a sip of her drink. "Quite drab" Lando commented. "The atmosphere" he continued. "But you look ravishing" he finished. "What? Expecting me to keep your bed warm" she chided. "If you're offering" Lando chuckled. The pair fell into a comfortable banter. Lando had yet to know her name but it wasn't stopping her from putting him in his place. They started to walk around the venue as they commented on the group of snotty rich people and what they must be talking about.

A couple steps from them a waiter was serving drinks to a group of sponsors when he started walking towards them, his eyes on another group, close by. Lando noticed that he was going to miss the girl in papaya dress and bump into her if she didn't move. Before he could think, he pulled her towards him, to avoid the collision. For a formula one driver, he had no hand eye coordination since he missed her waist completely; instead his hands landed on her ass. She sported a shocked expression, a soft burning sensation on her rear. Being caught off guard, she fell forward with her hands landing directly on his chest, Lando could feel a burning sensation, under her palms.

Y/N had always wondered why her soulmate mark was on her ass. She would joke with her friends that maybe he was some pervert. She would later dismiss their concerns too, but those thoughts would nag at her as she wondered what type of man would implant his both palms on a strangers bum, regardless of the fact that they were soulmates. Y/N couldn't wear bikinis or short shorts or anything mini since anyone could see where the marks were. If someone asked, she would lie and say that they were on her waist. Not like they would check.

Lando found it romantic, a little, yet slightly weird. He had two hand prints on his chest, perfectly encapsulating his pectorals. It was embarrassing to be shirtless, since all his friends would make fun of him. Most people would have marks on their hands or legs or face even but Lando Norris had 2 perfectly bright palm prints on his chest, as if they were holding his tits.

Both of them understood why they had those marks where they did. Y/N quickly straightened herself and brushed his hands off her bum. "I always wondered what type of pervert my soulmate was" she voiced. "I'm sorry. But you are no better." he paused, "You were holding my nipples" he pointed out, now covering his chest. "Not my fault. You caught me off guard" Y/N defended herself. "At least ask me on a date before you decide to grope me" Y/N laughed at the preposterous situation. "Hey!" Lando huffed. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you perverted soulmate" she said extending her hand. "Lando. Right back at you" he laughed back, shaking her hand only to pull her in. "I'm allowed to touch that ass when I've already staked my claim" he teased. "Come on dude" she tried to push him away. "Can't be going around calling me dude when I know what that ass feels like" he smirked. "Eww! Can't believe I'm stuck with you" she laughed, pushing him towards a more secluded area. "Why don't you start by showing me that hand print?" she prodded his shirt buttons. "Some one's excited" Lando chuckled, pulling her in. "I don't undress before the first date though" he smirked with his hands firmly on her rear. "Me neither, baby boy" she smirked back, pulling him in by the collar of his shirt for a kiss.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours] - Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

To your surprise, Kyle, or Gaz – the model-like man introduced himself as – is such a considerate person with a nice sense of humor, at least compared to Soap or Ghost. 

That day you trapped yourself in the predicament with John, he seemed to sense your embarrassment, hence he just handed his boss a backup shirt without making fun of you like his boss, so you have a lot of time for the man. 

Like now, he’s sitting and sharing a plate of biscuits with you, enjoying a tranquil tea time accompanied by the pleasant smell of Earl Grey.

“You don’t have jobs to do today?” You raise your cup and ask, before taking another sip and watch Kyle finish his bite and reply.

 “Ghost’s in charge of dealing with the enemy today.” 

“Ehmm, okay” You refuse to figure out what ‘dealing’ means “What about others?"

"I killed mine yesterday.” 

Okay, you truly don’t mean this, but let’s just end this topic and move on. With a few biscuits down to your stomach, brainwashing yourself to forget what you heard seconds before with the sweetness, and buying you some time to come up with a better subject, you open your mouth again.

“Every time one of you comes here, you just scare all my customers away.”

“Isn’t that better?” 

“I need customers to earn money, Kyle.”

“You have us to pay you.” He points at the badge pasted on your wall. Of course, you’re not the one who put it on, you rather read the military smut out in front of all British than do it, but if you try to take it off, Soap will put a new one back, so in the end you just compromised and let him claim your shop publicly.

“This place isn’t only served for you guys.”

“It isn’t?” 

Is it possible to refute when Kyle flashes you a smile that you almost get blind and start wondering if he can replace himself as your lights and save you the electricity bill? Maybe counting this as one of Kyle’s humor will be better than explaining. All required is to ignore the evil glints in his majestic brown eyes while he questions you.

But even though Kyle said he doesn’t have work today, he doesn’t stay long after he finishes his tea.

“Gotta head back to help the boss.” He grins as he turns the knob and waves you goodbye.

What’s weird is that   after Kyle leaves your shop, customers start flooding back. Many of them are familiars of the shop, as you’re sure they’re 141’s lackeys too.

You remember them see you as one of the henchmen… Although they're not as afraid as when they first visit the shop because of your hospitable attitude, you can still sense the attentiveness in their demeanor.

No matter what, you’re going to figure out what’s  actually  happening.

“Hey, you.” You walk to one of the minions' sides. “Mind to tell me about why you guys always disappear when Gaz or Ghost or others come here?”

“We��” The guy’s eyes avert, shooting his friend a glance for help “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?” Raising your eyebrow, you lower your voice to make it  menacing 

“It  really  is, ma’am, nothing to bother with the Sirs.”

“Show me, they must have sent some messages to inform you guys, right? Let me take a look, or I will…” You will what?  Actually,  you have no idea what you can do to these guys that can lift you  up  and throw you into a trash bin like a shot “Wait a second.”

Quickly running back to your kitchen, you come back with your most intimidating weapon – 

“Or I will hit you with my pan!” You wiggle your arm as a threat.

“…” 

They don’t look scared of the pan for a tiny bit. Wait, you should take your kitchen knife instead, who the fuck will pick a pan? You idiot.

yet to your satisfaction, they still fish out their phone and let you have it, and you don’t waste any time as you open the texting app.

‘Announcement: Boss will arrive at the tea shop in 10 minutes, clear the shop immediately.’

So they  really  are scaring your customers off. Give the phone back to the poor guy with pity in your eyes, you bring him a few more biscuits.

You’re strolling through the aisles in the shop. You’re out of flour and sugar, and every Wednesday the groceries are on sale. You never miss these chances to build up savings.

What a nice shopping trip. Quiet, leisure, just enjoying your own time, picking up different brands of cereal and calculating which is cheaper like a competent broken adult. Things never go wrong when you’re alone.

“Hey lass!”

Well, you’re kidding, things go south too quickly. The voice’s too familiar. It must be a hallucination.

“Lass? Bonnie?”

 Don’t look back, keep walking. It’s not the detergent man with a stupid chicken crest yelling at you.

“HEY!” A hand pats you on your shoulder and makes you jump. Sighing internally and prey there won’t be any trouble caused by the man, you turn around and face him.

“Oh, Soap, Hi.” Shit, looks like you just can’t have a break from these men. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Even though the nan outside tells me te shut the fok up?”

“Yes.” you shamelessly admit, pro tip to confront people without shame “Why are you here by the way, Soap?”

“Oh, we’re in need of some things, so Ghost pulled off during our way home.”

You take a glimpse at his basket. A rope, a roll of duct tape, and a knife. 

They must be going on a picnic. Yes, don’t overthink. The rope is for securing the tent, the duct tape is for concealing the holes on it. Knife? they surely will need it when cutting apples.

The image of Ghost slaughtering… peeling apple you mean, with Soap and Gaz playing red light green light and John napping in the tent is so vivid in your mind that you need to restrain the laugh with a clear of your throat before you grunt in affirmation and restart your steps.

With Soap depriving you of your last respite, you choose to grab what you need and head to the counter. All you want is to get home, have a nice shower, and lie on the bed reading the new fic you found last night.

“Do ye need help?” He watches you shove the products in your bag, but 5 huge cartons of milk are too heavy for your weak limbs, you can feel your arms trembling under your attempt.

“It’s okay, my car’s near the door. I can carry this myself.” Again, cheekiness works every time. You don’t care about strangers staring at you struggling with the bag and exit the supermarket in a crab way, as long as it can bring you back into peace faster, and you almost tear up when you see your car, the white of it is like the lighthouse in the atramentous night.

Hey, but you don’t remember your car has a goddamn huge dent at its boot.

“Oh yeah, forgot to tell ye. Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours, and he’s contemplating whether he should kidnap the driver when they come back and make them shut up, or just kill them.” Soap looks at you stopping in despair as he recognizes what you’re looking at. “So it’s your car aye?”

You don’t answer him, you just watch Ghost materialize from the Shadow beside your car and give you a nod.

Fuck your life.

a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!

Car -1, Peaceful night -1

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143 @goodbyegh0st @reaperxxxxzz @kaoyamamegami @imyprice @cod-z @poppingaround @live-for-fluff @masterstr0ke @mall0ww

[rambling-at-midnight]

Guide Me Home

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: While walking downtown, you inhale fear toxin. It's up to the Bats to find you before your heart gives out.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Scarecrow attack, (kind of) graphic hallucinations (only a small allude to blood though)

Fun fact: As I wrote this, 'quiet' started to not look like a word anymore.

You rub at your eye, muttering below your breath. Wind has been whipping through the Gotham streets all day, drying out your contacts to the point of discomfort.

The next time you blink, one flips up. Cursing, you cup a hand over the affected eye and blink until the stupid contact rights itself. Digging around your purse, you find your suspicions to be true: after the last time you needed to use your emergency backup contacts, you forgot to replace them. The small bottle of contact solution is missing, lost to the abyss of the purse or somewhere else. All you know is that it’s not here.

The only alternative is your glasses, and those are always a last resort. With an outdated prescription, uncomfortably heavy bridge, and scratched lenses, they’re far from ideal.

It’s fine. You’ll splash some water on your face when you get to the cafe and blink a lot. They’re fine.

Your friend is already sitting by the time you get there, but hasn’t ordered their drink yet. You haven’t seen them for several months, though you used to see each other every day during undergrad. They’re only here for a work conference. They live in Metropolis now, and are wearing an ‘I SURVIVED MY VISIT TO METROPOLIS’ shirt to show it. A couple Gothamites around them are actively laughing into their hands at the sight of it. After all, compared to this city, really nothing is worse.

After the usual greeting, hug, and exclamations over how long it’s been, you say, “Sorry, but my contact’s actually killing me right now. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll watch your stuff,” they say cheerfully.

The bathroom’s about as good as someone could hope for in Gotham. The remains of scrubbed-away graffiti lingers on the wall around the mirror, and a paper towel with a suspicious red stain hangs over the edge of the trash can. Not quite the vibe this place is going for, judging by the painted ivy around the walls and the hanging plants, but oh well.

You blink, squeeze your eyes shut, rub them, and open them again. Much better.

There’s a drink in front of your friend by the time you make it back to the table they found, pushed in the back corner where things are a little quieter. “They have seasonal syrups,” they say, sipping the drink. “Though a lot of them are named after supervillains.”

You scoff and shrug off your coat. “Please. Clayface is hardly a supervillain. He’s just a washed-up actor.”

“That must be nice,” your friend says wistfully. “Did I tell you I had to replace my car last month?”

“No!”

“Yeah! Some alien dictator had beef with Superman. A lot of cars were thrown in that fight.”

“Ugh,” you say wistfully. “We had some good memories in that car.” They’d had it since undergrad.

“Gone but never forgotten,” they say, holding their cup up for cheers, and you both remember that you haven’t ordered anything yet.

Even though you’re on a bit of a caffeine ban—boyfriend’s orders—you order a coffee. One a day won’t hurt you, not when you were averaging at least four during the recent busy season. The pathology lab you work at always has a huge rush of biopsies ordered between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Now that it’s a little into January, you’re not scrambling quite so much.

With your drink in hand, you head back to the table to keep catching up. Your friend started a new job with a much better boss than their old one. They’re thinking about proposing to their partner of five years. Their dog got into their family’s big holiday meal and they had to order last-minute Chinese takeout instead. And they can’t decide whether to cut their hair or keep growing it out.

Then it’s your turn. You’re four years into your job at the lab, kind of feeling like you want a change, but the generous Christmas bonus is making you think twice. Your apartment is okay but not nice. Your cat is healthy and happy and extremely spoiled. Your family lives across the country, all with separate plans, so you stayed in Gotham for the (surprisingly uneventful) winter.

“What did you do for the holidays, then?” your friend asks, their drink long since finished. Judging by their eyes drifting back to the counter as you speak, they want another.

“My boyfriend’s family celebrates Hanukkah and Christmas,” you say. “Nothing too fancy, of course, none of us are terribly religious. But it was nice to see each other on a regular basis for a week straight.” Jason would disagree, but only out of principle. “We’re all busy people.”

“And your boyfriend? Jason, right? How is he? What does he do for work, again?”

Here comes the hard part. No matter what happens in your personal life, you can’t talk to anyone about it unless they’re in the know. Keeping Gotham safe requires a fairly large system; you and several other scientists or similar professionals are able to contact the Bats through Leslie Thompkins, Lucius Fox, and Commissioner Gordon, but of that number, only a fraction know their identities.

Working overtime at the lab as a new hire, you were the only one Leslie could reach at midnight when Black Bat came in contact with a mysterious substance through an open wound. From midnight to eight a.m., you collected blood and skin samples with hands that shook under the scrutiny of Batman’s white-lensed gaze. Your treatment was a gamble but a success, and after that, the Bats started to come to you more and more. So many of their rogues use biowarfare, after all. Still, it took over a year for Black Bat and Spoiler to take off their masks around you. At that point, you’d only seen Red Hood once, when he brought Robin in and ordered you to never tell Batman that he’d done so. Months after that, he took off his helmet around you, but only because of a nasty cut on his neck, and the domino mask beneath it stayed on. You’d known each other for a year and a half before he spoke more than five curt words to you at a time. Analyzing a new street drug was the first time you two ever worked together, and it was fun. After that, he just kept coming back.

It took so long to gain their trust, and you won’t risk it. But there are so many secrets. How can you explain to anyone else that not only is your boyfriend related to Bruce Wayne—yes, the Bruce Wayne of Gotham, billionaire, CEO, activist, and philanthropist—but he is, in fact, the man’s very publicly dead son?

So you can tell people about your boyfriend named Jason. You can’t introduce him to anyone from outside Gotham; the jagged scar on his cheek and glowing green eyes tend to raise more questions than answers. You can mention that he has a large family. You can’t tell them who his family is. You can tell them that Jason works flexible hours, usually at night, so the two of you see each other often despite your busy schedules. You can’t tell them what Jason actually does for work.

“He runs a not-for-profit community service organization,” you lie, the words familiar and tasteless from how often you’ve had to say them. And he sort of does, but with a lot more violence and criminal cavorting than most other not-for-profits. “He’s really passionate about helping Gotham’s kids that come from low-income households.” The foster system reform laws passed last year were lobbied by Wayne Enterprises, but it was the Red Hood showing up in politician’s houses in the dead of night that really sped up the process.

“I talked to Avery the other day,” your friend says. “They’re convinced you’re making him up.”

You sigh. Avery is another friend from college. You two were in the same friend group for years, but were never particularly close outside of it. “We don’t like to take pictures together, okay?”

Your friend eyes you with a faint air of dissatisfaction. “Well, if you say so. I was actually hoping to meet him while I’m here.”

You try not to let it show how your heart leaps into your throat at the thought. Around the lump, you say, “I’m sure he’d love to, but he’ll be stuck all day at the office.” Lie. He’s at home right now, baking muffins and wearing an apron with the words ‘Kiss the Cook.’ Damian and Tim scribbled over the two ‘S’s with Sharpie to make it ‘KiLL the Cook,’ but the sentiment is still there.

“Right,” they say slowly.

The meetup doesn’t last long after that. At the end of it, you hug and promise to meet up more often, even though it’s unlikely. With a wave, they head off for their conference, and you’re almost out the door when you blink wrong and—

Half the world goes blurry.

You feel the contact fall down your cheek and onto the ground.

“Goddamnit,” you hiss under your breath.

Glasses it is.

You’ve been wearing contacts for so long that you can take out the other one without breaking stride. The wind hasn’t let up in the slightest, and it makes your nose run.

Sniffling slightly, shoulders hunched against the chill, you don’t see the pumpkin until it’s too late.

They’re after you.

It’s not safe, not for you, not for anyone, they want you, they’re grabbing you, hands on your shoulder, people screaming—screaming at you—for you to stop—no—for—for something to stop?

Something is wrong. Dimly, in the back of your mind, you know something is wrong, but your hands are shaking and your bag is ripping, someone is clawing at you, screaming, desperate, they want you to fall back so they’re safe (from what?) and someone else shoves you and you go spinning out, bag in one direction and you in the other and—

They’re changing, the person clawing at you, turning into a monster, and you scream.

They’re after you

(who is after you)

They want to hurt you

(why)

(what is going on)

And you can’t see, something is wrong, you hear glass crunch and then the whole world goes out of focus.

You can’t see.

They’ll get you if you can’t see, and now you can see them, the dark shapes rising from the shadows, claws out and maws gaping, hungry, hungry, hungry for you and your marrow and your heart and they’re going to get you—

You run.

You trip over something (or someone; something like a bone crunches) and your heel slides and your hands catch you but not really, chin clipping the ground so hard your teeth click, and your hands burn, and your chin aches, but they’re still behind you, behind and getting closer—

You run.

You run and they get closer and you see the corner of something dark and blurry, and maybe it’s another monster or maybe it’s a building, and you skid to a stop and throw yourself behind it.

It’s not a monster. It smells awful—a dumpster—and the ground is wet, you hope from rain, but maybe it’s blood

(you’re sitting in a pool of it)

(you’ll be covered)

(the monsters will smell the blood and come running and they’ll hear you shuffling, they’ll hear you panting, they’ll hear your heart pounding, pounding, pounding—)

You scramble to the farthest corner between the brick building’s corner and the dumpster—maybe their clawed arms will be too short to reach you—and hide your face in your hands—you need to stop breathing so loudly—you need to be quiet, quiet, quiet—

People continue to scream. The city, the city Jason and his family try so hard to protect, everyone is dying and you’re going to die and maybe they’ll die, too, or maybe they’ll survive, and maybe they’ll find your dead body and that would ruin Jason, or maybe they won’t and you’ll rot behind the dumpster, smelling just as bad as the trash inside it—

Quiet quiet quiet.

You can’t stop shaking, your teeth won’t stop rattling, and you have to be quiet quiet quiet.

But your heart keeps pounding, faster and faster. It hasn’t slowed down since the monsters came, it’s only getting louder and faster.

Dimly you think you might be having a heart attack.

Everything gets a thousand times worse when one of the monsters shouts your name.

How do they know your name?

Footsteps on the pavement and people have stopped screaming.

Dead, you think. And you’ll be next if you’re not quiet quiet quiet.

The monster shouts your name again. It’s louder—they’re closer. You curl into a tighter ball. They can’t find you.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Your chest hurts; your heart wants to jump out of it.

Jason, you think wildly. Jason will save you. If Jason finds you, he’ll keep you safe. Your hands fish at your side, but find empty air: your purse is gone. There’s no way to reach him, and he can’t even track your location through your phone.

The monster shouts your name again. It has a deep voice.

Another voice joins it, deeper, pitched lower. You can’t quite make out the words.

“They’re around here,” the first monster insists. “B, we don’t have long, this strain is strong—”

“They’re strong,” says the second monster. “Their heart can handle it.”

Something thumps and a third monster says, “Everyone else is clear. Signal had to take two people to the hospital, but they’ll be fine, don’t look so upset, B.”

“You have the antitoxin?” the first monster demands.

“Relax, Hood,” drawls the third monster. “‘Course I do. So you tracked them here?”

“Yeah, I just—” Again it shouts your name. It sounds almost upset. “Please, it’s me, I can help you. Come on. You’re safe. You inhaled fear toxin, I know you’re terrified, but it’s me. You know me.”

It’s trying to lure you in. You won’t fall for it.

You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath. Let them move on. Let them search somewhere—

“There you are.”

A hulking figure is blocking the light.

The monsters found you.

“Stop it!” you yell, trying to sound brave. “Leave me alone or—or you’ll regret it!”

“Please,” it wheedles, “I’m just trying to help you. Don’t you recognize me?” It reaches out with clawed hands and you kick frantically, but there’s nowhere else for you to go.

“Hey, aren’t these their glasses?” asks the third monster. “What happened to their contacts?”

“Don’t come any closer! The Red Hood will get you, I know him, if you hurt me he’ll kill you! Stop it!”

“I’m really sorry about this, honey,” the monster says, and its clawed hand latches around your ankle and you howl. The sharp points dig deep through skin into muscle and sinew, and it hurts and you’re going to die—

“Jason!” you shriek. “Jason, help me!”

“I’m right here,” the monster lies. “Please, I’m right here, look at me—”

You won’t. You won’t do it. You can’t watch while it kills you. “Jason, please!” you bawl again, but it’s too late. The monsters have you, you’re surrounded, he’ll never forgive himself but what could he even do against them—

Sharp teeth dig into your neck.

You’re dead.

“There we go, darling,” the monster says. Strong arms wrap around you—it wants to crush you to death—and you struggle, but there’s no use.

Except—

You can hear now, kind of, the rush of blood in your ears is receding a bit, and something heavy lands on your nose. This time, when you blink your eyes open, the world’s edges have sharpened. And the monster in front of you—

Well, you recognize the dark hair with a shock of white, and the brilliantly green eyes would be visible if not for the white-lensed domino mask, and the jagged scar on his cheek.

“Jay?” you murmur, hand coming up to touch it. He doesn’t flinch away. It took so long for him to stop flinching when you touch his face. Over his shoulder, you see Batman and Spoiler watching with satisfaction and slight worry. “What happened?”

“Scarecrow,” he says grimly. “He gassed the street, but only about twenty people were affected. I was patrolling nearby, and when I saw your purse on the ground—” He grimaces, then fixes you with a hard look. His two hands can span most of your head, and he takes it to press a firm kiss to your forehead. When he pulls back slightly, without looking away, “I want their heart checked.”

“The antitoxin—” Batman starts.

“I don’t care,” Jason snarls.

Your hands loosely hold his forearms, still shaking a little. “How’d you find me?”

“I tracked you,” he says softly.

“But my phone—”

“Honey,” he says gently, “of course that’s not the only one.”

Well. You should have guessed that, honestly.

“I’ll go check on the victims,” Batman says suddenly. “Come on, Spoiler.”

“Glad to see you’re okay,” Spoiler says to you, then dashes after Batman. In a whirl of capes, they’re gone.

“I’m so sorry,” Jason says in a rush.

“Jay—”

“I should have protected you,” he grits out, white lenses turning to slits as he squeezes his eyes shut. “This should never have happened—”

“You couldn’t have known,” you say softly, letting go of his arms and wiggling beneath them to wrap yours around his torso. Your nose wedges against his chest kind of uncomfortably, but now you can smell him, the familiar gunpowder and a little bit of sour sweat, and the faint tremble in his bones that mirrors the one in your hands. He clutches you close, head buried in the crook of your neck.

He croaks, “I’m so sorry, so sorry, so—”

“You saved me,” you mumble into his armor. “I knew you would.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Jay.” You pull back to look at him seriously. “Even when I couldn’t think straight, I knew you would come. I’ll always know that, no matter what toxin’s messing with my head.”

Judging by the twist of his mouth, he doesn’t quite believe that. He’ll beat himself up internally for days, you know.

But you also know that while Bruce runs his tests in the Cave to make sure there’s no more toxin in your system, he’ll hold your hand the whole time. You know he’ll hold you tight in the bed you share tonight. You know, as long as Jason lives and breathes, he’ll always protect you.

“I love you,” he says thickly. “So much.”

“I love you too.”

“Let’s get you checked out.” He helps you up and holds you close and you know that you’ll be okay.

Jason’s here, so you’ll be okay.

DC Taglist

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts @cliosunshine @fictionalwhor3 @bellathecatastrophe

Let me know if there's anything you want to see from me. Inspiration strikes at odd intervals, and I get lonely.

[dadsbongos]

virgins can have kinks too!

4.1 k words / summary - multi-chap posts of me experimenting with smut writing

warnings - piv, unprotected sex + creampies, virgin shiggy, college au, porn with minimal plot, partially clothed sex, BRIEF suicide joke, fem reader, 18+ mndi

~~~

If Tomura could go back and change any one thing in his life, it'd probably be how you two met.

Touya is messy enough to live with, now Tomura was forced to account for all the dirt-clodded shoes and unwashed hands of strangers coming into contact with his possessions. Those first hinting throbs of a headache were beginning to tease at Tomura’s pterion, and unfortunately his only access to water was blocked off by a thick weld of moist, musty athletes. Not that they intimidated Tomura, of course, they were just… an optional pain that he’d rather avoid. All their clunky terminology went over his head, and in his experience the people that Touya invites to his parties are not the inclusive type. What Tomura did understand was that they were perfectly posted up against their kitchen sink so as to be as inconvenient as possible; intending to verbally batter whatever unfortunate girl tried snagging from the fridge.

To be fair to them, though, tap water was Tomura’s backup plan. His initial objective was to sneakily steal a plastic bottle before returning to his room. All those were gone, which is sooo funny to Tomura because he’s certain that he just bought a forty pack yesterday.

Yet if Tomura were to point that out, Touya would just shift blame back onto his recluse roommate for knowingly leaving out water when he was inviting people over. So he doesn’t bother finding the stupid punk.

Similarly, he doesn’t so much as attempt either bathroom sink for water. One being annoyingly split off between the kitchen and Tomura’s room, and the other in Touya’s room. Touya’s room was a self imposed no-no for Tomura during their day-to-day, so he can’t fathom a reason to enter during the degenerate’s party. Judging by occasional thumps and ever shifting shadows beneath the gap, Tomura assumes the shared bath is in no better shape.

Right as he sets to retreat, his eyes zoom across their open floor plan -- all the way into the living room, honing in on two girls. One familiar from their shared mythology class, and the other entirely foreign. Himiko Toga is curled around the shoulders of the second girl, twirling strands of mystery girl’s hair with her long fingers.

Himiko greedily consumes all things cute, she chews them up and keeps them between her teeth to amalgamate with the next adorable target her sights set on. By the end of her life, she’ll probably puke up a cat-eared ball of pink glitter tied up with bows and proudly proclaim it to be her life’s work.

Currently, he’s watching Himiko chow down on someone that he, surprisingly, also finds cute. It's distracting.

Himiko lowers her hands until both arms are wrapped around your waist, nails burrowing into the material of your shirt. Her cheek presses against your shoulder, loose strands of blonde hair tickling up your neck.

Your neck strangely captured Tomura, then. Thick with your pulse and tissue, he wants to feel it pillow under his teeth. His lips are rough and chapped and suddenly all he can think about is how they’d feel scarring up the soft flesh of your jugular.

Himiko must be thinking that too because he watches as she turns cheek and digs her nose into the juncture of your neck.

Oh.

Tomura blinks himself free of the stupor and shakes out his hands, then wiping them dry against his pants. He didn’t think Himiko could actually hold down a relationship.

“Whatcha starin’ at, boss?”

Voice so raggedy and low, almost a staticky purr at Tomura’s back, he can instantaneously pick out who it is.

“Did you know Himiko had a girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Touya steps forward, eyes narrowed out into the crowd, “Where? I can’t see shit.”

“I told you to just get contacts, moron,” Tomura grumbles, then pointing as inconspicuous as he can (not very at all) towards their mutual friend still slithered around the unknown girl.

“Kid, that’s not her girlfriend.”

Tomura looks up at Touya, glaring through tangled, powder blue bangs, “You’re joking, right? I’m not stupid.”

“Seriously, it’s not,” Touya snickers, “Why? You interested?” when Tomura can only silently seethe up at the man, Touya grins: a sight more disturbing than reassuring, his teeth are too big and prominent, the bags under his eyes crinkle up weirdly, and it reeks of selfish glee. Touya jams out his index and middle fingers, waggling the index first, “Which one? Blondie?” then his middle, “Or new girl?”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Tomura knocks down the man’s hand with a disgruntled scoff, “You’re mental.”

“We’ve been friends awhile now, no?” Touya stubbornly returns to pointing, “I’ve never seen you get worked up over a girl, it’s funny. So, which one?”

“It’s funny?”

“I’ll set you up.”

Admitting to the fact he’s got a beating heart and libido is so embarrassing, which leads to Tomura halfheartedly muttering, “If I had a thing for Himiko, I wouldn’t have told you first.”

“You’re cute,” Touya quips, reaching up to pinch Tomura’s cheek between black-painted nails -- pointedly ignoring the annoyed huff and swat resulting. He steps around Tomura to venture through the jungle of his guests, “I’m on it.”

Touya is one of the best, and worst, people that Tomura has ever met. Touya is bothersome and rude and sometimes downright narcissistic, but also headstrong. Touya decided the day his dad bought him this house that he wanted to room with the dork from his freshman year geography lecture. Touya decided that Tomura and him were best friends when Tomura helped him pass their aforementioned geography class. Touya decided last year that the pair should bleach their hair together for a laugh. Touya decided just now to be Tomura’s wingman.

His singlemindedness pairs almost lethally well with his sense of loyalty. It almost made Touya seem… admirable.

Tomura internally gags over the thought, quickly refocusing on real life where Touya is leading Himiko (who is leading her mystery friend via deathgrip on your hand) back towards the kitchen.

Himiko giggles upon seeing Tomura, “You thought we were dating?”

Nevermind. Touya is just as insufferable as he was three years ago badgering Tomura for his lecture notes.

“Be nice. You’re so touchy, I’m sure everyone thought we’re together,” mystery girl squeezes Himiko’s hand, then smiling over at Tomura, “But I’m totally single.”

Oh.

Touya’s the most direct, masterminded person Tomura’s ever met.

All that masterminding goes to utter waste if Tomura can’t wake up and relearn social cues, though. Touya jabs an elbow into Tomura’s gaunt side, ribs aching from the blow.

“Okay,” Tomura nods dumbly, swallowing the unease trapped in his throat and once again drying his hands against his sweatpants.

“If you couldn’t tell,” Touya yanks Himiko into his side and out of your hold, “So is he.”

Himiko whines and reaches out as Touya drags her off, the pair slinking somewhere deep into the crowd of thrashing, bumbling bodies.

“You don’t look much like the party type,” you hum, maybe a little unhelpfully. Tried and true method of flirting, however, is being just a tad mean. A less fluffy version of the tragic come here often? line is sure to crack this man’s icy exterior.

“My roommate,” Tomura flings a thumb over in the direction Himiko was hauled off, “He’s the delinquent, I just share the space,” suddenly the insides of his sweatpants are too hot, and so is the flimsy white shirt on his chest, “I just wanted water.”

Sweltering air beats from the center of his chest down to his ankles, even tickling up his neck. The longer you stare at him, the hotter his body feels. Scorching up his face too, burning away layers of dried, ungroomed skin to reveal every muscle twinge. Tomura wants to both comb his hair back and hide behind the strands (most of all, though, he wishes he’d bothered brushing it whatsoever before making his venture). Being so trapped between either option makes his brain short circuit until he’s, rather bashfully, tucking hair behind his ear like some blushing ingenue.

Thankfully you don’t appear troubled by the sight, instead grinning wider and even laughing at his admission (Tomura likes your smile: lips giving prominence to flattering teeth, balls of your cheeks plumping, and lashes fluttering. Definitely more lovely than Touya’s). You fold your arms, “Poor thing. You probably don’t wanna be stuck out here, huh?”

Insecurity visibly crawls along the downward twitch of your lips, your brows furrowing. Tomura stares at you, committing each divot and angle of your body to memory. By the time he’s finished, he realizes you’re waiting for him to respond.

“Yeah…” he mutters lamely, scratching at the crackled film of skin over his chelidon, then smoothing a thumb into the depression as his heart hammers up his throat -- pressing a disarray of words against his palate. They linger by his uvula, gagging him into stunned silence, until he can finally choke out an uneven, “Do you wanna go back to my room?”

As soon as the question was in the air, buzzing unattended between your faces, Tomura wanted to claw out his eyeballs. Maybe rip out his tongue, too. Such gore would surely erase any memories of his implying he thought he had a chance with you. That was far preferable to the disgust about to cross your face.

Except, that disgust never comes.

Alternatively, you nod, “Sounds fun!”

Tomura kept his area tidy enough. A stack of bowls, two cups, three empty Dr. Pepper cans, and a single Maruchan ramen cup on his desk. A lump of clothes he’s procrastinated washing carefully lines the edge of his bed. But that was all, really.

He wanted his room to be livable, and if he felt so childish as to be proud of it then he liked the sight of his uncluttered carpet. How easily he could make the trek from bed to computer to door (and, of course, the desultory detours to his bookcase or closet) without tripping on trash or abundantly strewn clothes. If he felt further inclined to childishness, Tomura even congratulated himself on maintaining a room cleaner than Touya’s.

Even despite the stacked bowls and cups on his desk and emptied soda bottles cluttering his desk legs.

None of that is sufficient anymore. He’s inspecting your face like it’ll burst open with an alien race for any sign of judgment. Cautiously, Tomura kicks a tangle of loose shirts under his bed while you’re distracted ogling his decorated shelves.

“You like Omori?” your question startles him from kicking a pair of boxers under his bed.

“Huh?”

You’re pointing at a lineup of four acrylic stands -- not the complete set, Tomura only burdened his wallet with purchasing the main party over including Basil and Mari -- on the top shelf of his bookcase, “Omori, right? I didn’t think you’d like that type of game.”

“Do I not look like I would?” he doesn’t know why that inference hurts his feelings. Shamefully, he cards his fingers through his knotted hair, slotting more locks behind his ear, “I played it a long time ago. Now I’m too busy for anything else story-driven, so I’m mostly on League. Or Overwatch if I feel like killing myself.”

“You don’t look like you like suffering, I guess is what I meant,” you draw your bottom lip up between your teeth (he hopes it doesn’t sting, he wants to kiss it better if it does), “But knowing you play Overwatch…”

“I try to avoid it,” Tomura prays his self-grooming is subtle, or at least lowkey enough for you to not notice as you continue browsing his various knick knacks and figures, “You game?”

“Eh, RPGs usually. I don’t like working with others when I play, it makes me nervous to screw up.”

“That’s cute,” he doesn’t mean to say it aloud, honestly. Two measly words small enough to slip through his pursed lips. Two words big enough to ruin his night.

“Think so?” but you’re… smiling again.

“I guess,” Tomura’s eyes shift quickly over to his pillows. Are they soft enough? Should he flip them over? What the hell is fluffing, and does it actually do anything?

“Are you usually this shy? Or am I special?”

Not often does Tomura feel truly helpless, but your incessant teasing pairs lethally with your fluttering lashes and painted lips. He wishes he were more accustomed to conversing with strangers, especially pretty strangers that were interested in him. Part of him wants to believe that if you’re attracted to him now, you’ll be stubborn enough to stick out whatever cluelessness he bumbles out -- but he doesn’t. He simply cannot bring himself to buy that.

“You’re making me nervous, like I’m about to puke.”

“Flattering,” you join Tomura on his bed, soft knee nudging his, “I hope you don’t. It’d kinda ruin the mood.”

He’s terribly unable to keep the casanova impersonation up, though, “What mood?”

You throw your head back and laugh. Hearty and full and so mortifying for him, worse are your next words, “You know why people go into private rooms at parties, right?”

“Uhh…”

“You do. I do, too. That’s why I came back here, you know? If you only wanna talk, that’s fine -- you’re fun to just talk to! But I came back here ‘cuz I want to have sex with you, if you want to, too.”

Tomura can feel that dreaded heartbeat climbing up his chest and into his gullet again.

“You’re forward…”

You shrug, “I know what I want.”

Tomura claws at his sweatpants, chest aching and fingers numb from how your eyes are zeroed on him. He nods slowly, racketing another giggle from your chest -- you lean closer, your hand brushes his.

“Yeah?” you coax a hand around Tomura’s far shoulder, swiveling him to face you.

A rattle and hum from his ceiling fan gurgles the sound of his reply, you hate it.

From the shape of his lips, you can make out his agreement. With no specific intent and only a general sense of lust to guide him, Tomura leans into your touch. Snatching his hands, you shuffle his palms under your shirt, sifting the flesh up your warm belly until they’re cupping your tits. He squeezes blindly, teetering closer along his mattress. Finally, you strip off your top -- then greedily going for Tomura’s as well. He contently allows it, even lifting his arms to grant the removal.

“You’re so pretty,” Tomura noses at your neck, hot puffs of air warming your skin, “Can’t believe you’re actually here.”

His hands are soft from a lax life, if slightly clammy with nerves, and they feel nice squeezing around your hips. Tomura dips his pelvis downward, keeping your thighs scooped snug around him -- bonus for the momentary relief of pressure against his aching groin. His fingers bow beneath the waistband of your skirt until your own are tethering his in place.

“Can I leave the skirt on?” your thighs tighten around Tomura’s slim waist, you tilt your head so your soft lips press against his cheek, “Its kinda hot. To me.”

Tomura rolls his shoulders, whole body shuddering at the request. He nods with clenched eyes, digging his nails into your skin -- he likes your idea more than he can put into words (granted, his tongue may as well be superglued to his teeth right now).

“I can do that,” he manages to scrape out, drawing his fingers down the bunched material of your skirt and up your thighs, “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” you cant your hips up for Tomura to yank off your panties, he bundles them in one hand and stows the other where the material once laid. You swear you hear him whimper at the contact.

His fingers dance up your slit, gentle massaging that intensifies upon introduction of his thumb on your clit. Tomura drops your underwear off the side of his bed and uses the freed palm to work off his sweatpants, but just before he can snap the drawstring -- he stops completely.

“Wait,” he pants, “Hang on. Don’t move.”

Tomura runs out like he’s caught fire, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him and leaving you splayed on his mattress.

He returns with a fist curled around something, and determination written in the lines of his face. Replacing himself between your thighs, Tomura hides the contents in his hand under the pillow beneath you. Before you can shoot any questions, he’s lifting your skirt and lowering his chest to the bed.

As if he can sense the curiosity burning away your mood, Tomura hurriedly buries his face in your cunt.

One gasp is stuttered short by another, Tomura flicks his tongue inside you with a groan. Pulling back only to spit on your clit, the liquid bubbling down your slit until it catches on his prodding fingertips -- your thighs jolt around his shoulders at the act. Middle finger worming into you with ease, Tomura’s burdened by the vestige of Touya’s hand on his shoulder and husks into his ear.

Yeah, condoms are in the top drawer. You need advice?

He’d been uneasy initially, nodding uncertainly, but Tomura’s grateful now.

Just as he’d been instructed, Tomura curls his middle finger and screws the pad up until- your knee knocks into his skull and he keens at the rough treatment.

“S-sorry,” you stammer out, chest arching up.

Bypassing your apology, Tomura flattens his tongue on your clit and slithers a second finger inside you. Surely by tomorrow, his arm will be sore with the work he’s pushing through, but he’s equally sure it’s worth it as you clamp around him and seize.

Strumming your gspot in time with your clit, Tomura loses himself in the thought of how your snatch would feel around his cock -- grinding against the marshmallow mattress below to relieve the pressure. Your only relief is how he greedily sucks your clit; he lets you grab his hair with both hands and roughly tug him to and fro. He lets you fuck his face, eats it up in earnest.

Prying your thighs back from his ears, Tomura shoves his sweatpants down and reaches under your head. Pulling back a foil square that crinkles with each nervous shake of his hand. Tomura’s plain black boxers soon crash to the floor as well.

“Hey,” your voice pipes up meekly, a little slurred after your orgasm. Drowsy eyes half-lidded and even sweeter on him, “Can you, uh…”

Tomura’s burning hot, flushed and vaguely sticky; bangs slickened against his face with sweat and cum. His breathlessness axiomatic of how little composure he could maintain, “What?”

“Don’t…” a shyness that now seems bizarre overtakes you, your fingers curl into his palm and unfurl the condom from his grasp, “You shouldn’t… I wanna feel you.”

He blinks down at you vapidly. So stupidly blank he's immediately ashamed of himself for blanching at your plea.

“You want it too, right?” you reach up and paw at Tomura's shoulders, “You wanna fuck me raw?”

“Uh-huh,” again dumb.

Tomura spares that response no reconsideration, instead preoccupied by holding your thighs open to nudge his cock into you. His tip bobs at your clit in the first few jerks, but his thinly construed patience is rewarded on the third attempt. You tug on his hair as Tomura humps into your sex.

He whines upon feeling that first squeeze and suck of entering your cunt, his pelvis itching up against your clit with every thrust. Blunt nails carve into the fat of your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer -- Tomura’s cock carves deep into your gut, hot and heavy. Chapped lips sear up the length of your neck, his chest squashing against yours, he teeths at the lump of your pulse and lathes the thumping point with his tongue. Budding his knees right beneath your ass, Tomura burdens the tops of his thighs against yours. Then wrapping your waist with both arms, continuing to suck your soft skin between his teeth.

Tomura gasps as the warmth of your hands finds his back, rolling lower and lower until you’re actively pushing him closer. He likes this -- loves it, even. He’s horrified to know he could’ve been having sex his entire college career and simply didn’t.

He’s further horrified that perhaps he’ll never have sex again when you leave (but mostly, he’s finding that he just doesn’t want you to leave).

“Be my girlfriend,” delirious, he’s babbling into your ear, whining and shuttering and smothering your body with his, “Be my girlfriend…! Wanna fuck you every day-- need you every day. So fucking warm and soft, all perfect for my cock,” Tomura pulls up from your neck to kiss the thin stretch of skin over your collarbones and treading to your breasts, “Like you’re made for taking it.”

What you want is to have the mental cognition to respond to him kindly, but what you have is a mushy brain and a flourishing climax scorching through your body. Grey matter melting into the bowl of your skull as Tomura kisses and pants into your tits.

“Tomu’-!” is all you can manage to squeal, nails digging jagged red lines down the man’s back.

“You cumming?” he reaches between your bodies to incise the pads of his fingers across your sodden clit.

A final push into your sensitive body, the attention spiking your head back into his pillow. Faintly, through the rush of dopamine pumping through your extremities to where your hanging mouth is expelling wanton wails of Tomu’! and yes, God! and cumming!, you can hear Tomura. You can hear him chuckling low and deep with ecstasy, “So pretty when you cum. Squeezing me so tight, too. You like me that much?”

He whines unexpectedly, wrenching both hands to your hips and branding the imprint of his calloused palms there.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he grits his teeth, scratchy throat puking up pulpy, disjointed moans of your name and fuck, fuck fucks, “I’m gonna cum,” he latches onto your tit, muffling his pathetic mewls as your legs lock him in your cunt (trembly and weak as they may be), “Cumming, cumming- ! Fuck!”

Stilling above you, Tomura chokes out soft breaths and murmurs of appreciation as he cums. Sincerely thanking you as his spend paints your insides. Collapsing on you once his balls are empty. Tomura barely has the wherewithal to roll onto his side in order to avoid overheating you under him.

A rattle and hum from his ceiling fan regains your attention, but this time it doesn’t seem too bad. You can’t find yourself to be very annoyed, even when the music pumping from outside vibrates Tomura’s bedroom door. Above those sounds, the one you appreciate most is the soft pelting of Tomura’s breath against your neck; damp with a mixture of sweat and his saliva, and sore from his incessant teething.

“Did you mean it?” you’re probably being mean, asking such a layered question so immediately after his release.

“About?” his voice is raggedy, sharp to a bladepoint -- if you couldn’t see the dazed, awestruck film over his lidded eyes, you’d mistake him as trying to be rude.

“Me being your girlfriend. Did you actually mean that? Or did your dick have the braincell?”

“Oh,” Tomura pushes onto his elbows, arms shaking, his hair drops over his face and this time you’re the one to brush it behind his ear. Despite cumming in you minutes ago, he blushes at the gesture and looks at your bruising neck rather than your eyes, “I guess. I don’t have a car, so I can’t drive you around for dates.”

“I can take the bus, you know,” you laugh at how Tomura’s face suddenly sours at your words.

“As if I’d let my girlfriend take the bus by herself. Do you know how many freaks go on that thing?”

“‘Cuz you’d know.”

“Yeah, I’m one of them,” the giddiness rising in his chest over your giggling at his jab quickly overtakes his face, cheeks burning with a proud smile. Tomura hides his face in your neck, “I guess it’s up to you.”

“It's up to me if you were serious or not?”

Quietly, he hums, then rasps out something you could construe as a joke if you didn’t care so much about how he felt, “I only open to begging in the sheets. Being desperate to date the first girl I fuck is so pathetic.”

Which is so insane to you because you met this man only a few hours ago.

A broiling affection that builds between the slats of your ribs, bricking off your lungs and heart just to cook them up hot and gooey and primed for the man on your chest. At least Tomura’s burgeoning crush could be reasoned away with the fact he’s a recent ex-virgin (not like you, with visitors running rarer than Tanzanite).

Still fluttery and alight with the wash of your orgasm, you give your heart the braincell and nod sluggishly, “Yeah. I want you to be serious.”

Decidedly, you spare no mind how you two barely know each other.

[hotshotsxyz]

the taste of iron

(buddie) (2.3k words) (8x01 alternate ending) so i made a joke the other day about what would have happened if buck hadn't pushed gerrard out of the way and then i kept thinking about it and then it wasn't a joke anymore and now we're here content warning: minor character death (but like. it's gerrard) (also blood related to said death)

Gerrard is so fucking loud. The vitriol, the bigotry, that’s what makes Buck angry, but it’s the volume that sets his teeth on edge. How it isn’t driving the rest of them insane, he’ll never understand.

The more he berates, the louder he gets. The construction, just feet away, adds to the cacophony. Buck can feel his eardrums vibrating with every spit-punctuated syllable that flies from Gerrard’s mouth. He needs it to stop, he needs it to—

All at once, three things happen. Gerrard’s hand comes up, finger pointed accusingly at the center of his chest. Buck takes an instinctive step back and stumbles, just enough to throw him off balance. The sound of the saw changes.

The split second it takes for Buck to steady himself is a split second too long.  The saw blade flies across the room and embeds itself in the engine, but not before slicing deep into the tissue of Gerrard’s throat. Arterial blood sprays itself across Buck’s face. For a moment, everything goes quiet. Then, it descends into chaos.

Distantly, Buck hears someone shout his name. A hand grabs his shoulder and—

Firefighter needs help, I repeat—

—spins him around.

“Buck!” It’s Eddie’s voice, but Eddie—

Are you hurt?

—Eddie’s hands are on him, on his face, on his chest. They come away red and slick with blood.

“You’re okay, Buck, look at me, you’re okay.”

Go! Go, go, go go!

Buck blinks. Swallows. He tastes—

Three minutes away, we’re so close.

Eddie’s hands find his face again. “Look at me,” he says, as if Buck could ever look away. “I need you to breathe.”

I need you to hang—I need you to hang on.

Buck takes a breath, then another. There’s blood on his face. Eddie’s hands are on his face. Eddie’s hands are covered in blood. It’s not Eddie’s blood. It’s not Eddie’s blood.

There’s a siren, but Eddie’s not in the engine. Eddie’s in front of him, still standing. Eddie—

“Just like that, there you go. With me. In… and out…” His voice is calm, steady, unlabored.

“You’re—” Buck croaks.

Eddie’s eyes are wide and brown and focused. “I’m right here, Buck, keep breathing with me.”

His hand rises of its own accord and finds Eddie’s shoulder. The fabric of his t-shirt is dry and undamaged. Eddie’s brows draw together and a moment later realization seems to dawn.

“I’m okay, Buck,” he says, painfully quiet. “I’m not hurt.”

All at once, the tension that’s been keeping him upright goes. He stumbles, and without Eddie’s steadying grip, he’d probably fall. Buck blinks a few times, and the blurry world around him and Eddie comes back into focus.

Eddie’s turned him away from the engine bay, away from what must be an ocean of blood behind him. Everything he can see looks normal, but it’s unnaturally quiet. Buck lets out a shaky breath.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and it’s like shattering glass the way it breaks the silence.

Eddie’s face relaxes a fraction. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Buck lets Eddie pull him toward the locker room and guide him down onto the bench. He’s gentle, like Buck might break if he presses just a little bit too hard. He pulls at Buck’s shirt until it comes untucked, then carefully peels it off of him, leaving shivering gooseflesh in his wake.

“I’ll be right back,” Eddie says, “I promise.”

Buck nods numbly.

Eddie slips into the bathroom, and a moment later Buck hears the sound of running water. He comes back a few seconds later with clean hands and a damp towel.

“Okay,” he says quietly. He kneels and brings the towel to Buck’s cheek. It’s warm; Eddie must’ve waited for the water to heat before wetting it.

With one hand, Eddie drags the towel in soft, short strokes across Buck’s skin. The other cups the back of his head, steadying him. Buck’s eyes flutter closed, and Eddie takes the opportunity to carefully wipe at the blood that flecks his eyelids.

Finally, Buck hears the towel drop wetly to the floor and opens his eyes.

“With me?” Eddie asks. His eyes bore into Buck’s.

“Yeah,” he rasps.

Eddie squeezes his knee and stands. “Good,” he says, turning away just long enough to fish a sweatshirt from his locker and hand it to Buck.

“Thanks.” Buck pulls the sweatshirt on and is immediately enveloped by the smell of Eddie’s laundry detergent. It settles a little more of the anxiety that’s dug itself deep into his stomach.

Eddie settles next to him on the bench and brushes their shoulders together. “You want to talk about it?”

Buck shakes his head. He doesn’t. But—

“Is he dead?”

In his peripherals, Buck sees Eddie frown. “Probably,” he says after a long moment.

“Oh.” Buck feels less about that than he thought he might. He’s neither sad nor relieved, though he suspects the apathy will fade with the shock. “Can we go home?”

Eddie huffs a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh on another day. “Yeah. Pretty sure the 118’s not going back into service until B shift gets here.”

“Who’s going to deal with…” Buck trails off.

“Not us,” Eddie says decisively. He stands and grabs both of their bags from the lockers. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

“You hate driving,” Buck says quietly.

The corner of Eddie’s mouth ticks up. “Which is why I owe you more rides than you’ll ever cash in on.”

Buck surprises himself with something close to a laugh. “Yeah, okay,” he says.

Eddie all but manhandles him into the passenger seat of the truck, lingering just a moment longer than strictly necessary, then jogs over to the driver’s side. He turns the key in the ignition and fiddles with the radio until it lands on a station playing something old and soft.

As far as Buck can tell, it’s not a song he’s heard before, but it’s warm and comfortable all the same. He relaxes into his seat and pulls the sleeves of Eddie’s sweatshirt over his knuckles. It’s loose on him, unlike the majority of Eddie’s clothing, and Buck wonders if he bought it with a day like this in mind.

Eddie taps his fingers on the wheel as he drives and glances over at Buck every time they hit a red light. He’s quiet, though, and Buck is too, grateful for the chance to gather himself in the near silence. By the time they pull into Eddie’s driveway, Buck’s starting to feel mostly like a person again.

He follows Eddie inside, and it’d probably feel like any other day if he wasn’t still wearing his uniform pants and boots.

“I’m just gonna…” Buck says, nodding toward Eddie’s bedroom as he toes out of his shoes.

Eddie steps around him and squeezes his elbow. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he says, but it feels a little more like, ‘take all the time you need, I’ll still be here’.

Buck’s had a drawer at Eddie’s almost as long as he’s known him. He bypasses that drawer and goes straight for the one that houses Eddie’s most comfortable and threadbare pajamas. He changes into a pair of soft cutoffs, and with his uniform sheds the last of the tension in his shoulders.

He wanders into the kitchen and finds Eddie whisking eggs in a mixing bowl. Wordlessly, Buck sets the table and pours two glasses of orange juice. When he’s done, he sits, knowing exactly what Eddie will say if he offers to help with the food.

A few minutes later, Eddie carries two plates to the table. Breakfast is simple, just scrambled eggs and toast, but Eddie’s gotten good at this; the eggs are beautifully fluffy and the toast is a perfect golden brown.

“Hang on a sec,” Eddie says.

He goes over to the fridge and returns with a new, unopened jar of blueberry preserves, the kind you can only get at the farmer’s market. Buck swallows thickly, suddenly aware of just how many words are caught in his throat.

“Thanks,” he says, the only one of them he thinks will come out painlessly.

Eddie ghosts his hand along Buck’s shoulder then sits in the chair closest to his.

“Eat,” he says softly, and it’s only then that Buck realizes he hasn’t even picked up his fork.

Buck read somewhere, once, that the physical act of chewing was enough to meaningfully lower cortisol levels. He’s not actually sure if it’s true, but sitting here with Eddie, he thinks it might be. It makes sense – you don’t stop to eat until the danger has passed. You eat when you feel safe. Buck feels safe. He spreads blueberry preserves on his toast and eats.

When he’s done, Eddie grabs both of their plates and drops them in the sink. He returns to his chair.

“Do you want to talk or try to get some rest?” he asks after a long moment.

Rest sounds really good, actually, but—“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” Buck admits.

“We can watch a movie,” Eddie says, offering him an out.

Buck smiles half-heartedly. “Not sure I can do that, either,” he says.

“Then tell me,” Eddie says, voice full of all the concern he hasn’t expressed yet.

“I’m not sure what to say,” Buck says, finding it to be true as soon as it leaves his mouth.

Eddie looks conflicted for a second, but then his expression steels. “When I got shot. That’s what it reminded you of, right?”

There’s a certain relief in not having to voice it himself. Buck nods.

“Okay,” Eddie says gently.

“For—for a second I wasn’t in the station anymore. It was—I know you don’t really remember anything about that day.” Buck shrugs helplessly.

“I do,” Eddie offers. “Not most of it, I mean, but…” Eddie lifts his hand to Buck’s face and brushes a thumb along the curve of his cheek.   

Something Buck doesn’t have a name for clenches in his stomach.

“I have this picture of you in my head; I was never quite sure whether or not I dreamed it.”

Buck’s breath catches in his chest.

“Guess not,” Eddie says ruefully, shaking his head.

“What, um—what do you—” Buck presses his lips together as the rest of the question refuses to form in his mouth.

Eddie sighs. “We never really talked about this, did we?”

Buck frowns. “We did,” he says.

Eddie shakes his head. “We talked about me, but you were there, too.”

“I didn’t get shot, Eddie.”

“And I didn’t get struck by lightning.”

Buck looks down at his hands and realizes they’re shaking.

“I know what it feels like to watch you die, Buck,” Eddie says seriously. “And you know how it feels to be covered in my blood.”

“I know how it tastes,” Buck corrects quietly. He glances up in time to see the stricken expression on Eddie’s face.

“What?” he breathes.

“It was the only thing I could taste for weeks.” Eddie’s hands find his. “And then today, I tasted it again.”

“Buck,” Eddie says roughly. Buck’s always liked the way his name sounds on Eddie’s lips. He says it like it means something.

All at once, Buck realizes that he’s been waiting years for permission to talk about this, permission Eddie’s finally given him, and it all comes pouring out.

“I thought you were gonna die, Eds. I—I thought I was going to have the taste of your blood in my mouth for the rest of my life. And I—god, I blamed myself for—for not seeing it coming, or getting to you faster.”

Eddie’s hands tighten around his. “You got there fast enough. You saved me,” he says.

Buck laughs softly. “I know. In my head I know that, but—but it never feels like it.”

“Still?” Eddie asks.

In lieu of a response, Buck takes one of Eddie’s hands in his own and presses his fingers to the pulse point in his wrist. His heart beats strong and steady. Buck closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says.

He blinks them back open. His brow furrows. “For what?”

Eddie’s lips twist painfully. “We should have talked about this a long time ago. I should’ve asked.”

Buck shakes his head. “That’s not on you.”

“I think it might be,” Eddie says.

“You got shot,” Buck says. “You’re allowed to avoid the subject.”

Eddie huffs a soft breath. “I think…” he trails off.

Buck waits, counting every beat of Eddie’s pulse against his fingertips.

“I think I was afraid that if we talked about it, I’d remember.”

“And you didn’t want to,” Buck says. “I get that.”

“It’s all so blurry,” Eddie says, “but I remember the way it hurt. I remember being afraid. But I also—there was a moment, somewhere in all that, when I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

Buck bites his lip and nods.

“And…” Eddie’s jaw tightens for a moment. “And when I think about that, I—that’s when I see you.”

Buck takes a sharp, aching breath.

Eddie watches him for a long moment until something minute shifts in his expression. “Oh,” he says softly.

“What?” Buck asks.

Eddie shakes his head. “I just—I remembered something else.”

“Do you want to…”

“I think I’m gonna need a minute with this one,” Eddie says. “But I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“You don’t have to,” Buck says.

The corner of Eddie’s mouth ticks up into a small smile. “I know.”

“Okay,” Buck says softly. He holds Eddie’s gaze for several seconds, but nothing in it scares him. It’s Eddie, warm, perceptive and sure. “I—I think I might be able to sleep.”

“Good,” Eddie says. He stands, pulling Buck up with him. “Come on.”

And just as he has every other time Eddie’s asked him to, Buck follows.

[ceilidho]

prompt: Ghost only takes you half-seriously when you say you want to see other people. He has just the man in mind. tags: dubcon; threesome; anal (2.5k)

-

He doesn’t so much as twitch when you stumble over your words in an effort to get it out.

“I don’t think this is working,” you say, hands clenched into trembling fists at your sides. “I think we should start seeing other people.”

The only bit of it that Ghost really pays attention to is the fact that you decided to make this little announcement while he’s in the middle of taking apart and cleaning his gun at the kitchen table. His little spitfire girl. Not a lick of fear in you, just a fistful of attitude and snark. The attitude’s ensconced now in your trepidation, a bit smothered under it, nervousness a clear trill in your voice, making it warble, but it shows itself in the downward slant of your brows. Delightful girl.

“That right?” he grunts, jamming the lubricated cotton mop into the bore of the gun. You flinch at the sudden movement, nervous eyes trained on his hands. Ghost makes a note to apologize with his mouth later on.

“Yes,” you croak, then cough to clear your throat. “I’ve, um…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I think it’ll be better for—for both of us. It’s just…it’s not working out.”

The cigarette dangling from between his lips stinks up the room. Poor girl, he thinks pityingly when you scrunch up your nose and eye it resentfully. Always trying to get him to quit. It’s just shit luck for you that he’s never been good at quitting things, at letting anything go. Everything he’s ever lived through clings to his skin like smoke. 

He ashes it out in the little turquoise ceramic pot on the table, a trinket he’d once picked up in Tala'a Kebira years ago while in Morocco on some other business. You look marginally less irked with the cig put out, but that just means that more of his attention can focus squarely on you, which leaves you a bit wide-eyed under his stare.

“For a while, hm?” Ghost asks. It comes out teasingly, if only to him. The lilt in his voice is a tricky one to catch.

You nod; the note must have slipped through your hands like smoke. “There’s a girl I found online that’s studying abroad right now. Offered to sublet me her room while I look for a place. I thought maybe, um…maybe tomorrow I’d go.”

“Don’t worry about all of that,” he says, already dismissing the conversation from his mind. “Won’t be back for another week anyway—no reason for you to run off if I’m not even around.”

“Oh.” You shift from side to side, thinking it over. “I guess. How long will you be gone?”

“A week. Two weeks tops.” Plenty of time for him to sort out this mess. Figure out what exactly caused you to get all jumpy and eager to try out other people. 

He smiles internally. Little bird probably just can’t stand how often he’s away, poor thing. It’d be enough to make any girl upset—the constant leaves of absence, gone months without being able to send word, showing up bruised and bloody on the doorstep only to have you fall to pieces trying to put him back together. 

There are options though. He’s not opposed to adding someone new either—in fact, he has just the man in mind. 

Ghost has been holding Johnny back because he always thought you preferred to just be with one man (and Christ, the whining he’d had to deal with from Johnny, always begging to see you or begging Ghost for even just your panties, anything at all because he was so desperate and Ghost wouldn’t let him have you), but now?

Now there’s no reason to hold Johnny by the collar when he comes over for dinner. Now there’s no reason to kick Johnny from under the table when he leans just a bit too close to you when you’re sitting down to eat, eyes locked on the glimpse of your chest peeking out of your shirt and damn near drooling on it. Now there’s no reason to listen to Johnny jack himself off to the point of tears while trying to get some shut eye on a mission, the only crumpled up photo that Ghost had ever allowed him to take cupped close to his face.

He really pitied the poor mutt before, no pretty girl at home, his only crush being his superior’s girl. But Ghost is magnanimous—he’s a generous man. If you want to see other people, he has the perfect puppy for you to play with.

When you smile, still a bit unsure, he has to smother a grin. “Okay. I’ll stay ‘till then and look.”

The look Johnny gives him when he brings it up is equal parts disbelief and fevered need. “Say that again, Lt?”

“You’re coming over after we wrap this shit up. Bird’s been asking about a third.”

He chokes, scrambling to his feet. The temporary base is damp, always on the frigid side of things so Johnny’s still in uniform for the most part, the fabric rustling in his haste to get up off his bed. It’s not a place either of them are eager to spend more time in than absolutely necessary. The lack of space means that the two of them are made to bunk together as always, sharing a room with two cots and a small en suite, the tub still wet from Ghost’s shower.

“Christ, yer serious? No joke, sir?”

Johnny pushes his head back into Ghost’s hand when Ghost reels him by the hair, dropping a firm close-mouthed kiss onto the centre of his forehead through the fabric of the mask. “She was clear about it. Why? Gettin’ cold feet on me now?”

“No, sir,” Johnny protests, shaking his head as much as he can in Ghost’s grip, eyes shimmering a bit. “I can bring over a bottle o’ wine if ye like. Somethin’ fancy to set the mood.”

Their closeness is not unusual; Johnny’s always been a tactile man, favouring touch over words. One of their small similarities; their shared modes of existing in the world. There’s a line in the sand where you’re concerned that Ghost has been clear on, but he’s used to always having a hand somewhere on Soap, keeping him close. Now, he gets to keep him even closer. 

His bird really has the best ideas. 

Ghost snorts, knocks their heads together. “Just bring yourself, pup.”

He ignores the way Johnny’s breath hitches, the way he hurries into the bathroom and slams the door behind him the second Ghost lets go. The frantic eager sounds from behind the door when the water runs, only muffling the loudest of his groans. He probably had his dick choked in his fist the second the door shut, a thick nut swirling down the drain within the first five minutes. 

They ship out the next morning, exhausted from the week’s work. No amount of sleep out in the field is ever good enough, especially not in cots barely built to accommodate men of their size. Especially not Ghost. Johnny dozes off on his shoulder in the plane, sinking into a deep sleep to compensate for the hours spent tossing and turning the night before. Ghost uses the flight to get a headstart on his paperwork, enough so that he’s not held up on base when they land back home. 

He doesn’t give you a heads up that he’s home earlier than planned; no need to give you enough time to pack a bag and schlep it over to that place you’d found. It’s better for everyone if you’re caught a bit off guard, just a little frazzled. Ghost’s not entirely unsympathetic—he knows you’ll overthink things if he gives you any time to yourself. 

It’s endearing the way you gape up at him, eyes flitting between him and Johnny, when he finally makes it home. For the few times that Johnny’s been over, it’s not an everyday thing; his visits are always planned and strictly timed, Ghost monitoring him to make sure he doesn’t overstep his bounds. Seeing him with Ghost in your foyer must be strange, must put you on edge. 

“Simon, you didn’t tell me you were—” you start and then pause, swallowing. You look over his shoulder at Johnny, smile stiff, uncomfortable. “Hi Johnny.” 

You’re always a good girl, not wanting to argue in front of company. 

“Heel,” Ghost says, steel in his voice when Johnny almost lurches from his side. The other man glances over at him with wild eyes, almost on the brink of disobeying, but he holds in the end and stays put. Ghost’s eyes soften when he looks back at you. “Have a nice week, pet?”

“Yes—sorry, I’m glad you’re home safe,” you say, flustered, taking his back from him to drop in the usual place in the hall. “I, um—” again, you eye Johnny nervously, unsure of how much you can say in front of him, “—I found a place…for…you know.” 

“‘Course,” Ghost agrees, shucking his boots at the door and giving Johnny a shake by his coat until he does the same. “Missed you too, pet. C’mere.” 

He muffles your protests with his mouth when he stalks forward and pulls you in for a wet kiss, rolling the mask up and off at the same time. You’re a bit stiff in his arms until he slips you some tongue and the resistance leaks out of you, helpless the second he gets his hands on you. Your eyes are still a bit misty when he pulls away, fingers clutched in the collar of his shirt like a reflex. Second nature to cling to him. His chest puffs up at the gesture.

“Thought about what you said the other week, bird, and you’re right.”

You blink, coherence coming back to you, shaking your head to divest yourself of the momentary confusion. “I am?”

“‘Course. Smartest girl in the world, isn’t she, Johnny?” Ghost asks over his shoulder, slipping a hand into your hair at the same time to hold you in place. It makes you frown, his actions not mirroring his words. 

“Aye, sir,” Johnny hums, nodding eagerly. Boots off, he stumbles forward, crowding around you from the other side, not realizing that they’ve backed you into a wall until it presses against you, trapping you in place. “Bonnie ‘n sharp as a whip. Always thought so, sir.” 

“That’s right,” he agrees, tightening his fingers in your hair until you squeal, brows furrowing in that way they do when you’re right on the precipice of pain and relief. “Only a smart, brave girl would ask for what she needs. You’re just lonely when I’m away, isn’t that right, pet?”

“I’m—I’m what?” you splutter, hands planted on Ghost’s chest, trying to push him away to no avail. He hardly notices it. 

“Go on, Johnny,” Ghost murmurs. “Since she asked so nicely. Give her a kiss.”

That’s all his mutt needs to hear. 

You huff and puff with the strain it takes to take Ghost’s cock after a week and a half away. 

You’re always tighter when he comes back, an effort to work you up to taking him again; he lets Johnny get you prepped this time, slobbering all over your pussy in his eagerness, plugging you with three fingers before you’re even close to ready. He gets off on the way you howl, rutting his cock into the sheets of your bed while he keeps you pinned by a thick arm over your stomach. 

Ghost has to scruff him after that. He takes over, running a soothing tongue over where it hurts until you cry big, fat tears and come a couple times. He makes sure you’re taken care of before it gets tough. You’re mindless by the time he moves off you to retrieve the lube from the bedside drawer, only coming back to yourself when he turns you over onto your belly and spreads the cheeks of your ass. It unwinds something in his chest to hear you yelp when he pushes a finger into your ass, like coming home. 

This is why he does what he does: to get this when the job is done. 

It’s not often he gets to do this, usually too big for you to take comfortably in your ass. Johnny’s not that much smaller, in fairness, so he works you up to two and then three fingers before lying down on the bed and pulling you over him. Your legs tremble when you straddle him, fingers digging into his chest when he lowers you onto his cock for the first time in a week. 

“There we go,” he says, grunting when you pull his chest hair a little. “That’s a good girl. We just about done crying now?” 

Ghost smiles when you shake your head stubbornly, eyes still filled with tears. “This isn’t what I meant, Simon.”

“You can cuss me out when Johnny’s done, alright? That make you happy?” 

He almost chuckles when Johnny clambers back onto the bed in his haste to get his hands back on you, his pants still hanging off an ankle until he gives it a shake once his palms fit over your waist. 

“Slowly, pup,” Ghost cautions, reaching around to spread a cheek. He coos when you flinch, whispering for you to relax. 

Johnny’s eyes roll back into his head when he pushes in, hips stuttering forward until Ghost snarls and he stops, letting out a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself down. Even for Ghost, it’s intense; you tighten around him when Johnny pushes in, only letting up when he cups your cheek and draws you down for a kiss, loosening you up with his tongue. 

“Sir, I can—fuck, fuck, fuck,” Johnny whines, back curving when he drops his head. “She’s so fuckin’ tight, I can—swear I can feel you, sir.”

He’s not wrong. Ghost swears he can feel it himself, Johnny’s cock in his pretty bird’s ass while his is stuffed deep in your cunt. You pant through the stretch, words half-croaked out, unintelligible. It’s better that way. He loves listening to you sing, but you’ve been in a right mood these past couple of weeks. Just needed a good lay to sort you out. 

“Simon,” Johnny begs, thrusting forward until he bottoms out in you, making your pulse skyrocket. “I cannae breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” Ghost says dismissively, wiping at the drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth. “Give ‘er a sec and then you can move.”

“So, so, so hot. ‘M gonna come—”

He reaches behind you to wrap a hand around Johnny’s throat, giving it a squeeze. Johnny’s eyes bulge. “You don’t get to come until she does, pup. That’s all the time, got it?” 

He doesn’t pay any mind to how Johnny nods and mumbles his little yes, sirs after that—he’s a grown man, maybe not as grown as Ghost, but man enough to compose himself until you stop trembling and sweating so hard. 

It’d been a mite difficult to wrangle you into bed. He understands. He’d let you talk yourself red in the face about this not being what you meant by ‘seeing other people’, but Ghost hears the said and the unsaid. You wouldn’t be still in his house a whole week later if you really wanted to leave. 

“Alright, pet,” he grins, running his thumb over your bottom lip until it drops open and you let him run it over your teeth. “Hang on now.”

[vivwritesfics]

Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Ten - Milo's Hot Momma

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

1.8K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

Series Masterlist

It was a relief when Milo climbed back into his mother's lap before they began their descent. She sat in her own seat and allowed Milo to take his place in her lap as Olivia sat opposite them. She was a big girl; she didn't need her daddy.

"The tattoos," Y/N began as she held Milo. "I feel like you've got them to appear all terrifying and intimidating, but you're secretly a loser," she said to Daniel.

"A loser?" He asked, but he was unable to contain his smile.

Y/N laughed, her chest shaking slightly. "Don't worry, Danny. All the best people are."

"Are you a loser?" Daniel couldn't stop himself from asking. When Y/N nodded her head, he decided he didn't mind being a loser.

***

"Keep a hold of my hand, Munchkin," said Y/N as she and Milo entered the paddock.

Milo began skipping as he walked beside his mother. "Do you think we'll get to meet any of the drivers, Momma?" He asked as they walked forward.

Y/N truly didn't know. Daniel had gotten to the circuit much before they had and she had no idea where they were meant to be going. There must be somebody she could ask.

Everybody was far too busy. Every time she approached someone they hurried away, unaware that she and Milo were even there, asking for help.

Finally, she found a man in a navy blue shirt with RED BULL printed on the back of it. Red Bull, that was Daniels old team, she recognised. "Come on, Munchkin," she said and placed Milo on her hip.

She kept a tight hold of him as they walked towards the man with the short blonde hair and blue eyes. "Excuse me," Y/N said before the man had the chance to walk away. The man turned, wearing an ever so kind smile on his face. "Could you help me? We're trying to find the AlphaTauri garage and we're a little lost."

"Of course," the guy said and pointed them in the right direction. He began walking, falling into step beside Y/N as he took her towards where she needed to go. "Are you an AlphaTauri fan?" He asked, noticing the hat on Milo's head.

"I am!" Milo answered and wriggled out of his mother's grip. She put him down and grasped his hand.

Y/N straightened up his hat on his head. "We're friends with Daniel Ricciardo," she answered. "Do you work in Formula One?"

Max couldn't stop himself from laughing at that. "You're not a Formula One fan, are you?" He asked. When she shook her head signalling no, he held out his hand. "I'm Max, I drive for Red Bull," he said.

"Oh!" Y/N suddenly cried. "Your team won last time, didn't you? Congratulations!'

"Thanks," Max said, somewhat bashful. "You said you're friends with Daniel?"

"Our kids are friends from daycare," she answered.

They chatted idly as Max led them to them to the AlphaTauri garage. The conversation was easy, enjoyable, friendly. Milo was happy to talk to Max, tell him everything he had learnt about Formula One so far (most of which Olivia had taught him).

At the AlphaTauri garage, Max left them there. He waved them a goodbye and disappeared, making his way back to the Red Bull garage.

Even though they were now where they were supposed to be, Y/N was lost. "Where do you think we go now, Milo?" She asked, not quite expecting an answer.

But she did get an answer, just not from Milo. "MILO!" Came a loud, familiar voice. Suddenly Olivia was running towards them. She quickly threw her arms around Milo, knocking his hat off in the process.

Her father walked up behind her, greeting Y/N in a much calmer way than Olivia greeted Milo. He still wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, just not as aggressively as Olivia did Milo.

Pulling away, Daniel picked the hat up from the floor and placed it on Milo's head. "Hey Loser," Y/N couldn't stop herself from saying as he pulled the hat down.

"Hey Loser," he mimicked like a parrot. Olivia pulled away from Milo and returned to her fathers side, a proud smile on her face. "We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it," Daniel said as he placed his hands on her head, messing up his neat braids. "And Olivia wanted to introduce Milo to everybody."

That didn't surprise Y/N one bit. "Milo would love to be introduced to all of Livvy's uncles," she said.

Suddenly Olivia grabbed a hold of Milo's hand. She pulled him away, running back through the paddock. "Milo!" Y/N shouted, trying to reach for her son.

"Livvy!" Daniel shouted at the same time as he attempted to grab her, but she was already gone, already taking off down the paddock.

Y/N looked at Daniel. Daniel looked at Y/N. "Shit," they both said and took off, following their children down the paddock.

The first place Olivia wanted Milo to see was the Red Bull garage. "You need to meet my uncle Max, uncle Christian and my uncle Checo," she said as she pulled him around the RB20 with the number 1 on it.

Rather abruptly, Olivia was no longer holding Milo's hand. She was no longer on the ground, instead hoisted into somebodies arms. "Livvy!" The familiar man cried as he held Olivia on his hip.

"Uncle Maxy!" She screamed as she wrapped her arms around him.

At first Max didn't recognise the little boy Olivia was dragging around the paddock. He hadn't learnt his name, but he still recognised him from the AlphaTauri hat on his head. "Who's your friend?" He still asked her.

"This is Milo," she said. "He's my best friend from daycare."

Suddenly Y/N and Daniel were behind them. "Milo!" Y/N shouted, her voice scolding as she picked him up. "Don't you ever run away like that again! You scared me half to death!"

Daniel took Olivia from Max's hands. "What were you thinking, Badger? You know you can't just run off like that," he said, his voice a lot calmer than hers.

Blushing red, Olivia tucked her face in against Daniels chest. "Daddy you're embarrassing me in front of uncle Maxy," she muttered.

"If you're gonna take Milo around the paddock, you need to make sure you have me or his momma with you, okay?"

"Okay," she replied quietly and Daniel placed Olivia back on the ground.

He watched as she walked back to her Uncle Max, who took her and Milo's hands and walked them further into the garage. Daniel checked the watch on his wrist. "Listen, I've got to go and get ready for free practice. Think you can get the kids back to the garage in twenty minutes?" He asked.

"Definitely," Y/N said as she checked the time on her phone.

Daniel kissed her cheek before he took off. Goddamn, she was never going to wash that cheek again.

***

On Saturday it was a little easy to navigate the paddock. Y/N and Milo found themselves in the AlphaTauri garage with Daniel, Olivia, and Daniels teammate, Yuki.

Olivia and Milo were passionately defending McDonalds to Yuki. He was acting as babysitter while Daniel took Y/N into his drivers room. "I'm pretty sure I have an AlphaTauri shirt somewhere in here," he said as he went through the little wardrobe he had in his drivers room.

At last, he found one. "Aha," he said, wearing a grin as he pulled it from his wardrobe and passed it to her.

She took it gratefully. "Well, turn around then," she said, her smile somewhat daring. Daniel made a big show of shutting his eyes and turning around so that Y/N could get changed into his AlphaTauri shirt. "There," she said and Daniel turned around.

He placed his arm over her shoulders and walked her out of the drivers room, back to where the kids were still talking to Yuki. It was impressive enough that Yuki had managed to keep the swearing to a minimum, but Daniel supposed he'd had enough practice in front of Olivia after the last year of them being teammates.

"Now everybody knows who the hot single momma is supporting," he said as they joined his teammate.

This didn't go unnoticed by anybody in the AlphaTauri garage. Even those in Red Bull could see it, the fond looks they shared, the way Daniel was always standing close to her, the way he so clearly wanted to kiss her.

"You think I'm hot?" Y/N replied, but her tone was teasing.

Daniel spluttered like he had just been caught out. "Y-yeah, sure," he answered like he was unsure of himself. "You're Milo's hot momma."

"Well, if Olivia's hot papa thinking I'm hot, then it must be true," she said as she picked Milo up and placed him on her hip. They looked like quite a pair, with Milo in his AlphaTauri cap and Y/N in her shirt.

They watched the qualifying from the garage, with Olivia holding Y/N's hand and Milo sat in her lap. The qualifying felt incredibly long, but not boring. It was nerve wracking and, if she wasn't holding onto the kids, Y/N's nails would have been chewed down to nothing.

After Q1 was over, Y/N thought that was it. Daniel had finished in the top fifteen, top ten actually. He had made it through to Q2 but she didn't realise that, not until it was happening. "Livvy, what's going on?" She tried to ask, but Olivia had AlphaTauri ear defenders on and couldn't hear a thing.

Again, Daniel finished in the top ten. "Must be my lucky charms," he'd said down over the radio. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he meant, who he meant.

Daniel made it through Q3. He was doing better than his teammate, who had finished just outside of the top ten in Q2. He didn't finish as high as he wanted in Q3, not considering he wanted to go back to his glory days in Red Bull, but it was still good.

Starting P6 wasn't bad for an AlphaTauri, he decided as he climbed out of his car. He went through all of the usual procedures before making his way back to Olivia, Y/N and Milo.

A sweaty Daniel was... something else. Y/N couldn't tear her eyes away from him as he walked past them. She almost let out a low whistle, but she held back, remained her composure in front of the children.

If watching Formula One meant seeing a sweaty Daniel, she could live with that.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @cassie0sstuff @spideybv28 @andydrysdalerogers @aundercover @lou-bean28 @landossainz @purplephantomwolf @ggaslyp1 @layazul @phantomxoxo @minkyungseokie @gills-lounge @hollie911 @annispamz @lillians-world-is-f1 @cixrosie @notyouraveragemochii @charli123456789 @amalialeclerc @teamnovalak @tallrock35 @teenwolf01 @chiliwhore @darleneslane @sava207 @thatsusbitch @formulaal @leptitlu @angiesw0rld @yunakynn @landosgirlxoxo @msolbesg @cherry-piee @catmouseggy @bathedinheat @chanshintien @ilove-tswizzle @woozarts @evie-119 @trouble-sistar @mysticalnightenthusiast @lewisvinga @spilled-coffee-cup @starkeyellow @fxrmuladaydreams @viennakarma @radiator101 @lightdragonrayne @angelxxrose @millinorrizz @xemiefx @ellies-world61 @the-depressed-fellow

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 2

Previous Chapter: Part 1 | Next Chapter: Part 3

AO3: Linked Here :)

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, semi-spicy scenes, lemon

Link to My Master List

Scenes from the afternoon hookup replay in your mind over and over as you sit in the library at a battered old desk in the history section. All you can think about is Shoto’s mouth. And his hands. And his abs!! And his sweet face.

You twiddle your pen in your hand as you try to draft out an essay for class. Unfortunately, every time you try to jot down a few thoughts your mind goes blissfully blank and you remember the tender way he spoke to you.

"How am I going to get anything done now, knowing that you can kiss like this?"

“You’re so beautiful. Your skin is so soft…I never realized how great it would be to touch you.”

“Find me later so we can discuss this.”

You look down at your watch excitedly – 7:55 PM. You eagerly wait for Shoto to appear so the two of you can talk and – with any luck – canoodle amongst the history textbooks. You sit patiently as the time ticks by.

Soon it’s 8:30 PM. You’re not worried, though. Shoto probably assumed you’d want to get some work done first.

9:15 PM rolls around and you start to get worried. You try to distract yourself with school work as doubt creeps into your mind.

10 PM – Shoto still hasn’t showed.

“Shit shit shit.” You check your phone again and again as you wade through the endless wave of homework your teachers have assigned. You keep losing yourself in a math problem or in a passage of your History textbook, only to remember with a jolt that you were expecting to see Shoto and the bastard hasn’t showed.

At 10:30 PM you realize with a sinking feeling that it’s almost past curfew. You pack up your things and prepare to head back to the dorms. There’s a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t shake.

You slide your books into your bag as a anxious thoughts dance through your mind like annoying fruit flies: Does Shoto regret your mid-afternoon hookup? Is he going to pretend it never happened? Did you push him too far? Does he think you’re a slut for stripping off your shirt and basically pressing his face into your naked breasts!? The synapses of your brain jump through dozens of equally horrid and embarrassing scenarios as you march back to your dorm room, blushing furiously with humiliation.

You run through the afternoon’s events in your head for what feels like the hundredth time, trying to find a clue as to why Shoto would have left you waiting alone in the library. Your cheeks burn hotter as you recall the gentle way Shoto had kissed your neck before leaning in to capture your lips in one of his first kisses. "How am I going to get anything done now, knowing that you can kiss like this?" You shiver as you think back to how gentle he was, how each caress felt so loving and intimate.

You shake your head to clear it. Shoto must have a valid excuse for not meeting you in the library as he had promised – no boy could kiss someone that intimately and then instantly cast her aside, right?

Before long, you’re walking through the doors of Class 1A’s dorm building. You shiver with discomfort as you recall how earlier that day you essentially scaled the side of a building for a boy. Does Shoto think you’re an absolute fool with the extremes you went to for a quick make out session? You hope not.

You walk up the stairs and past the common area. You see most of Class 1A studying quietly. Sero, Izuku, Kirishima and Ida sit around one of the kitchen tables reviewing their math homework while some of the girls compare English notes on the couch. To your relief, Shoto isn’t there. Mina waves to you enthusiastically, beckoning you to join her and YaMomo as they review the finer points of Hamlet. You politely decline and make a beeline for your room. You turn the key in the lock and it clicks – within moments, you are blessedly alone.

You toss your heavy book bag to the ground and prepare to wallow in self-pity. It’s 10:56pm and Shoto still hasn’t reached out to you. Your phone is vacant of text messages and your brain is absolutely fried from schoolwork.

You dim your room lights and switch on the favorite fairy lights for some peaceful ambiance. Time for some self-care, bitch! You think resolutely as you swap your uniform for your favorite pair of pajamas. You toss your phone to the floor with abandon and climb into your comfy bed. You breathe in deeply, allowing yourself to revel in the coziness of the dorm room.

You take out your five-minute bullet journal and write a quick list of things you're grateful for: 1. The opportunity to study at UA 2. Your lovely and encouraging friends and classmates 3. Your cozy room and the roof over your head 4. Shoto’s mouth 5. Shoto’s abs 6. Shoto’s goddamn hard AF dick

Um. No.

You snap the journal shut before you get too derailed.

You pull your comforter over your head and sit in silence for a moment. You’ve never been the kind of person to go completely boy-crazy. You always used to make fun of those girls who would go gaga over pretty boys and their texts and their kisses. But as you recall the searing way that Shoto kissed your lips earlier that day, you suddenly understand what all the boy-crazed girly hype was all about. Oh my god. You have a crush. A big sloppy embarrassing crush.

In the silence of your room, you suddenly here a buzzing noise coming from the general direction of your book bag. You struggle to disentangle yourself from your sheets and your journal goes flying. You ignore its crash landing as you slip from your bed and collect your phone from where it lays abandoned on the carpeted floor.

It’s Shoto.

Your heart skips.

Todoroki: Y/N. Are you awake?

You bite your lip, unsure how to respond. Did Shoto just send you his version of “U up?”

Y/N: Yes, I’m still up.

Todoroki: I know it’s late, but can I stop by?

You tense. Oh God – he’s going to come by to tell you that he’s not interested. He’s going to thank you for your time making out and say that you probably should avoid hooking up in the future because it’s a huge distraction. You’re sure that whatever he has to say is going to be negative and leave you feeling embarrassed. Why else would he have skipped out on your rendezvous in the library?

You take a deep breath. You have always been fairly practical with a mind for strategy, two qualities that had really set you apart when you had taken the UA entrance exams. You know that the best course of action here is to rip off the Band-Aid sooner rather than later. Better to know how he feels about your hookup now

Your heart sinks as you type out:

Y/N: Sure, I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. Just come in. Try not to be seen by anyone.

Todoroki: Of course. See you shortly.

Your heart beats double time as you look down at yourself. Your pajama set consists of a silky blue top with matching shorts that don’t leave much to the imagination. You chew on your thumb nervously – should you change into something more appropriate? No – Shoto has seen your boobs. A little bit of leg is not going to kill the half hot half cold hero in training.

You quickly remake your bed and kick your book bag beneath your desk so that the floor is clear. You plop down on your smooth comforter and wait, knotting your hands together as you anticipate Shoto’s arrival.

A few anxious minutes pass, and then you hear gentle footsteps pad down the hallway outside your door. The knob turns quietly, and in a moment Shoto Todoroki steps across your threshold, quietly closing the door behind him. He reaches down to turn the lock with a gentle snap of his wrist.

You take him in – he’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a soft white t-shirt. You’ve never seen him dressed so casually before and you assume that these are what he wears as pajamas in the privacy of his own dorm room. His hair is tousled and damp from a recent shower, and the burned side of his face shines where he’s clearly applied some kind of scar cream or moisturizer. His outfit projects a comfy air, but his expression is dark and stormy. Your heartbeat quickens in fear – what could possibly have caused him to be in such a tempestuous mood? Was this about your kissing?

You bite at your lip with worry. But when your eyes lock, his expression softens. In two quick strides, he’s at the bed. He leans in close so that your noses almost touch.

“Hi.” He says softly, before dipping his mouth to meet yours. You blink in surprise as your mouths melt together. His eyes flutter shut as he sinks into the kiss. Pleasure radiates up and down your spine as you kiss him back. He places both his palms on your hips and pulls you closer, letting out a small moan of satisfaction as he slides his tongue into your mouth. How silly you feel for thinking he didn’t want you like this!

After a few moments, you break apart.

“Hey there.” You whisper, bringing your hands up to cup his beautiful jaw. He leans in to kiss you again and you hold him in place. He stops and looks down at you inquisitively.

“I waited for you in the library, you didn’t show.” You say slowly, softly.

“My father decided to take me through some drills in one of the school’s gyms. I only finished a half hour ago.” His expression becomes dull as he speaks. “I’m sorry to leave you waiting. I wanted to see you - but I’m not allowed on my phone during training.”

Relief must have flooded your features, because he tilts his head to the side questioningly. You hold back a giggle – the way his head is tilted makes him look like a sweet dog asking its owner for a treat.

“What’s wrong?”

You sigh and pull yourself further onto the bed, patting the spot next to you as an invitation. Shoto climbs up next to you, sinking into the deliciously soft fabric. His eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“This is so comfortable.” He says, pressing his palm into the plush fabric beneath him. You recall his sparse traditional bedroom and realize that he’s never laid on a proper puffy mattress before.

“Hold on – it gets better.” You say pushing him off the bed so you can pull down the covers. You slip beneath the comforter and gesture for him to rejoin you. He climbs in clumsily, unsure how to position himself within the sheets. You prop a pillow beneath his shoulders as he lays down on his side. You toss the comforter over the two of you and lay across from him, feet almost touching beneath the warm layers of bedding.

“Cozy?” You ask as Shoto settles into the bed.

“Yeah.” He says in quiet voice, propping himself up on an elbow. “I always thought beds like this were excessive but…maybe there’s some merit to this.” He eyes a blue Squirtle plush that sits next to you in the bed. “Can I…hold that?”

You grin, biting back a laugh as you reach over to grab the Pokémon plush. “This is Squirtle – he’s one of my favorite plushies.” You hold up the stuffed animal and wiggle it in front of Shoto’s eyes as if it’s dancing. “Squirtle, Squirtle” you say in a low tone, trying to emulate the television character’s voice the best you can.

Shoto gives you a weird look. “I don’t get it. Why are you just repeating its name in a strange voice?”

“Shoto…have you…have never seen Pokémon!?” You almost screech in disbelief, before throwing a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself. You quickly remember that you are in the dorms and the walls aren’t super thick.

“No, I wasn’t allowed to watch television unless it was about Pro hero work.” Shoto says, a tinge of sadness flowing along with his words. “But it looks cute and round and I really just want to hold it and squish it?”

“Yeah, that’s the general reaction to plushies. Dude, we need to get you that whale pillow you liked on Pinterest. You need more cuteness in your life.”

“Well I have you, don’t I?” Shoto smiles softly. “You bring more than enough cute into my life.” He reaches out and grabs the plush from your hands and squishes it a bit. “But this is pretty nice, too.”

Your face grows hot at the compliment. Shoto tucks the Squirtle under his arm and shifts around in the sheets until he finds a comfortable position. He looks adorable and soft as he cradles the bright plush in his strong, muscular hands.

When he finally settles in, he looks up at you enquiringly. “What’s wrong?” He repeats, looping you both back to the conversation form earlier.

“So…” You sigh with embarrassment. “When you didn’t show up and I didn’t hear from you…” You pause and Shoto gives Squirtle a squeeze. “I thought you didn’t want to see me again. Or at least that you didn’t want to make out with me again.”

“Oh.” Shoto wasn’t expecting this. “I thought I made it very clear how…enthusiastically…I enjoyed our time together this afternoon. I didn’t realize I had left any room for you to question my attraction to you.”

“That’s nice to hear…but when you didn’t show at the library or send a text, I assumed the worst. My mind kind of went into full-blown panic mode. I thought maybe once you had time to reflect on our hookup, that you realized you didn’t like it or that you didn’t really like me. To be perfectly honest, I’ve never felt that way before. Usually something like this wouldn’t bother me.” You take a deep, steadying breath. “But I think I really like you and want to be close to you, and the thought that you might not feel the same was tearing me apart for the last couple of hours.”

The words come tumbling from your mouth before you can stop and think them through. Why are you saying all of this!? Why does being around Shoto make you feel so comfortable and open to sharing? It’s so weird – and you’re absolutely sure he’s going to think you’re some kind of over sharing freak for telling him all of this.

Shoto looks at you thoughtfully for a long moment before speaking. “Something I have always admired about you is your ability to be straightforward about what you’re thinking and feeling. Most people aren’t like that, and I have a hard time navigating more subtle situations. Thank you for telling me exactly what you’re thinking – I value it so much.” He runs a hand through his slightly damp hair, moving the bangs out of his bright eyes.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I had abandoned you. I wanted to come to the library so badly. I want to kiss you so badly – it’s all I’ve been thinking about tonight.” His voice is so earnest that you believe him.

“Let me match your honesty with some of my own - my father is extremely strict. Ever since I was born, he’s pushed me to be better. To be stronger. He wants me to surpass him. He wants me to take All Might’s place as the number one hero.”

You gasp at this. Of course you knew that Todoroki was ambitious, but this…

“I don’t have any intentions of becoming harsh and cruel like my father. I’m not even sure if I want to go for the top spot on the hero charts.” He admits, almost bitterly. “That’s the path that my father has laid out for me. He’s obsessed with my training. With my ‘potential.’ But he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about how I feel. Excuse my language.” Shoto looks so sad, so despairing. He hugs the plush close, his chin tucked into his chest as he continues.

“I just want to help people and make them smile – just like All Might. But my old man just doesn’t seem to get that. Today, when he noticed how distracted I was… he didn’t ask if something was wrong. He just pushed me even harder.” Shoto avoids your gaze. “I think he purposefully pushed me to train into the night to keep me from meeting up with you. In his eyes…you’re a huge distraction for his prized creation.”

Suddenly you notice how exhausted Shoto looks – there are pale bags beneath his eyes. You scan his body and see light bruises beginning to form on the exposed skin of his arms. You wonder - just what kind of training has Endeavor been subjecting him to?

You had never guessed that behind Shoto’s calm and collected exterior, there is just a normal teenage boy trying desperately to please his father, while simultaneously trying to defy him. The whole relationship seems complicated and messy and you’re sure what Shoto is telling you is only the tip of a chaotic Todoroki family dynamic iceberg.

“Oh, Shoto.” You say softly. You scoot forward and wrap your arms around him. He freezes, unsure of what to do but nevertheless comforted by the sudden closeness. You reach behind him and card your fingers through his hair. You see goose bumps emerge across his skin, and realize that he likely hasn’t been touched this way before.

“Is it okay to touch you like this?” You whisper.

He breathes out a shaky “yes” as he moves to toss the Squirtle plush to the floor. Once his arms are free, he works to wrap them around you. He rests one strong hand on your back and slings the other around your delicate waist. He draws you close to him and holds you tightly as you continue to run your fingers softly through his two-toned hair.

He’s silent as he buries his head into your shoulder. There’s an emotion that’s radiating off of his body that you can’t quite place – sadness? Frustration? Maybe even relief? After a few moments of running your fingers through his hair and gently up and down his back, he finally starts to relax. The tense muscles in his shoulders loosen, and he seems to come back to himself.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” He whispers, muffled as he turns his face into the crook of your neck. “I’m not great at expressing my emotions. I can try to put it into words…I’m feeling so weighed down right now.”

“Because of your father’s expectations?” You prompt, running a light fingertip down his spine. He shivers a bit in response, but not in an unpleasant way.

“Sometimes I wonder if he sees me as a real person, as a son. Or am I just his big project?” Shoto wonders aloud, his voice a bit strained. You feel his eyelashes flutter against the sensitive skin beneath your jawline.

“Shoto...that sounds like a lot to carry. You’re just a high school student – your father shouldn’t be putting that kind of pressure on you. It’s not normal.” You tuck a lock of red hair behind his porcelain ear. “This situation sounds so complicated. It’s no wonder you feel so conflicted. I’m here any time you need a friendly ear to listen as you work through it.” You continue to caress him softly over his clothes. He begins to lean into your touch hungrily. “But right now – at this moment – you’re safe. In this room, in my arms, you don’t need to hold other people’s expectations of you in your heart. When you’re with me, I want you to feel that you can just be Shoto.”

You still your fingers as you let your words sink in. Shoto is radiating a deep sort of sadness that you wish you could smooth away with your fingertips.

“Thank you.” He says, his voice breaking a tiny bit as he processes your words. After a few beats Shoto exhales deeply, his breath ruffles your hair. “I’m not used to talking about these things. Actually, I’m not really used to talking much at all. Or being touched.” You can feel the blush on his delicate cheeks warm the skin of your neck.

“I can tell.” You say before you can stop yourself. To your surprise, he chuckles.

“I don’t know why it’s so easy to do these things with you – talking, touching…kissing.” He lifts his head off of your shoulder to look you square in the face. “There’s something about you…”

Suddenly, the room feels as if it’s charged with Denki’s electrification quirk as his bright mismatched eyes meet your own.

“I think I’d like to continue exploring this with you.” He says matter-of-factly, moving his legs to intertwine with yours.

“W-what does that mean?” Your breath catches in your throat as he dips forward to kiss down your neck.

“It means…I want to keep doing this. Kissing. Talking. I suppose I want to keep getting to know you like this? Intimately.” He places a soft kiss in the hollow behind your earlobe. “Would you like that as well?”

“Yes.” You breathe, with zero hesitation. He smiles into your neck before running the edges of his teeth lightly across your smooth skin. You let out a soft moan in response.

“Good. Then we’ll figure this out together.” He moves to kiss your cheek soundly before releasing you from his embrace. “But right now it’s well past midnight, and we both need our sleep if we’re going to continue to be top of our class alongside YaMomo and Ida. If we both let our grades slip, it might tip people off.” He moves to get off the bed.

“Hey – wait!” You grab his arm and pull him back under the covers. “I have no problem with you staying here for the night.”

“But wouldn’t that be inappropriate?” Shoto’s face reddens, but he lets himself be drawn back into your gentle embrace.

“Would it be anymore inappropriate than you making out with my tits?” Shoto’s face burns an even brighter red at this question, but he also looks quite pleased with himself (you assume he’s recalling the way he kissed down your breasts earlier that day as he smirks). “Sharing a bed should be perfectly responsible as long as we keep all of our clothes on. You said you want to explore? Well get over here and let’s figure out if you make a good big spoon.”

This earns one of those rare full smiles from Shoto – he practically glows. “Alright.”

He pulls himself close to you. You reach above your head and switch off the string lights that wind their way around your room, and the tiny dorm fills with darkness.

You turn to face the wall and scoot your body back until you feel Shoto’s solid warmth. He reaches around to pull you close until bodies are touching, flush together. You tuck yourself into Shoto’s warm, muscular body and sigh with contentment.

“So do I make a good big spoon?” He questions, tentatively nuzzling his face into your hair and inhaling deeply. “Mmm, your hair smells like lavender.”

“We’ll need plenty of practice to truly ascertain the full range of your spooning abilities.” You say in a faux-academic voice, causing him to snort out a laugh. “But so far you’re doing great.”

You interlock your legs and pull his strong arms around you. You wiggle a bit as you try to find the comfiest spot in the mattress. You unintentionally grind a bit against Shoto and jolt when you feel something hard pressed against the curve of your ass.

“Sorry.” He mutters softly, embarrassed.

“Maybe I’ll take care of that for you tomorrow.” You yawn as you close your eyes and settle in for a good night’s rest. You grin into the darkness as you feel Shoto’s dick get even harder as he mulls over your response, wondering at what you could possibly mean by “take care of that.”

You didn’t realize you were so tired. You’re dimly aware of Shoto’s breathing growing slow as he drifts off into a comfortable sleep. You smile softly to yourself as you slide further into his embrace. This poor, touch-starved boy has been through so many terrible things and your heart aches for him.

Even in sleep he’s tense, his jawline stiff and his muscles almost locked around you. But he’s warm and soft and smells like jasmine and mint tea. You hope that for the next few hours you can provide him with a safe harbor to rest and escape his troubles. You let your eyes flutter close and breathe in deeply, dreaming of Shoto’s sweet face as you fall gently into sleep’s embrace.

-------------------------------

Part 3

Previous Chapter: Part 1 | Next Chapter: Part 3

🔥 Link to My Master List 🔥

[pearlessance]

Watch Duty - Idle Threats [i]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

There are certain, non-negotiable ways of post-apocalyptic life. For instance, food must be rationed, and in most cases water, too. Energy is to be conserved for necessary things. Looting is for food, water, medicine, and weapons first—then for things that improve the way of life. Everyone must be willing and able to shoot to kill. And in a commune like Jackson, someone must always be on watch.

Joel Miller knows these things. He’s been living in the end of the world for years now, has grown accustomed to this cutthroat way of life. Sometimes he even convinces himself he was meant to live in a world just like this one.

When he settled in at Jackson a few short weeks ago with Ellie and was assigned his job, he was grateful to be a watcher in the homemade tree blinds. Simple, easy, to the point. And, most importantly—quiet. 

There’s always two people on the south side of the commune and two people on the north side. Joel is thrilled to learn he’s been paired with Mike, a middle-aged man with a penchant for crossbows. Mike is a man of few words, which just so happens to be Joel’s favorite thing about him. 

Every night, they’d relieve the daytime watchers, nod to each other once, and start their shift. Mike brings a large thermos filled with hot water, and Joel smuggles in a plastic bag of instant coffee in his pocket. A rare commodity these days—but he’s willing to share it with Mike in appreciation of his silence.

Joel enjoys his nights of quiet. Especially after he and Mike make an agreement to allow one another to sleep in rotating shifts. It’s a blessed routine. Simple, easy, to the point. 

So, when Tommy lets him know that Mike will be going out on a run for a few weeks, Joel isn’t exactly happy to hear it. He tries to convince his brother to let him be on watch alone—but Maria puts a stop to that before Joel even finishes getting the words out. 

It’s too dangerous. What happens if you're ambushed? 

Joel is capable of handling himself. They know it, he knows it, but Tommy agrees with his wife. And once the two of them decided on something, there was no use arguing. 

His dread escalates when Tommy tells him you will be taking Mike’s place. Joel’s hardly ever spoken to you—has gone out of his way to avoid you, in fact—and anxiety spikes in his chest at the idea of being in that tree blind, stuck with you, completely alone. 

The third day he spends in Jackson is the first time he sees you. He and Ellie are sitting at a table in the dining hall, eating a peaceful breakfast, and you waltz right up to the table where Tommy and Maria sit. Flakes of snow cling to the ends of your hair and your long lashes, making you look a little ethereal, like some vengeful snow goddess. You’re wearing tight jeans that leave little to the imagination and a white, low-cut, long-sleeve shirt that’s drenched and left completely transparent.

Joel has to force his eyes away from the sight of the black lace you wear beneath because the feelings it evokes are so wrong.

There’s something clutched tightly in your hand. Joel can’t see what it is, even as you slam it on the table in front of Maria. You lower your head to look her right in the eye, hands braced on the wood between the two of you. “The next time you have a craving for bullshit, go and get it your goddamn self. I’m not your fucking errand boy.” 

Tommy raises a hand. “Hey, now,” he reasons. “Everyone’s got a job to do—”

“I almost died! I almost died for this!” If your near nakedness didn’t command the attention in the room, your shouting certainly does.

Joel tries to ignore the fury lashing at him from the inside. You’re just a girl—a young girl, and you might as well be naked for all that wet shirt covers. Was everyone in this town so fucking nosy? They should be turning away from you, not toward you.

Never mind the fact that Joel, it seems, is incapable of doing just that. 

You pick up the item and throw it at Tommy’s chest. It’s only as his brother catches it and sets it back on the table that Joel recognizes the foil package of barbecue flavored chips. 

“You’re a runner,” Tommy tries to reason. “That’s what you’re supposed to do; go on runs.”

But you don’t hear him and his calm logic. You point a finger at Maria, whose face has gone crimson in embarrassment, and bare those pretty white teeth in a snarl. “Go fuck yourself, Maria.”

She opens her mouth to respond, to offer an excuse. Only she never gets the chance before you turn away and storm back through the dining hall, slamming the door behind you so hard it rattles the windows. 

When Joel asks his brother about it later that night, Tommy explains that that’s just how you are. Explosive, defiant, easily provoked. But you’re the best runner Jackson has, which was why you specifically were assigned to Maria’s task for her pregnancy craving. 

But the run had gone south, and you’d narrowly escaped an encounter with a small group of men who’d happened across you on the way back to Jackson. Tommy doesn’t explain what exactly happened, but he mentions the jacket you returned wearing that was so soaked in blood you had to burn it. 

The next time he sees you, Joel and Ellie are walking through the streets of Jackson. Ellie is poking fun at him, cracking some joke about Joel being old, when you come barreling out of one of the buildings in the middle of town.

Mike’s wife owns a bakery, Joel knows. And it looks like you’ve just done something that’s made her real mad—because she’s standing at the threshold, shaking her fist and yelling your name. 

You’re running fast, sweet sounding laughter falling from your lips. You nearly run right into Ellie, but stop yourself a moment before you crash into her. “Hey, kid,” you say, a grin stretching wide across your pretty face. “You ever had a strawberry scone before?”

Joel snorts when her mouth hangs open as she shakes her head, eyes starry as she stares up at you. “Uh…no—no. Never.”

You pull a plastic-wrapped scone out of your pocket and peel off the cellophane packaging. 

Joel watches eagerly as you carefully split the pastry in half. Your hands are small and smooth. They look soft, so soft , and he wonders what they’d feel like against his back, his hips, between his legs. 

Ellie takes the halved scone with a smile, and it’s reflected back on your face as you watch her tear into it with her teeth. Her eyes widen as the sugar reaches her tongue.

You and Joel both laugh at her reaction, but all amusement leaves him as you take a bite of your half and let out the prettiest sounding moan he’s ever heard. 

No, Joel suddenly doesn’t think anything is funny anymore. He clenches his jaw and says, “I hope you paid for that.”

When you roll your eyes, Joel resists the urge to take your face in his hands and squeeze. “Oh, please,” you say, voice filled with sarcasm. “I’ve brought that woman so much sugarcane this last week, there wouldn’t be a bakery without me. I think I’m owed a little scone now and again.”

Joel is inclined to agree, but the blatant arrogance in your tone stops him. Don't you have any civility? Any manners?

You turn back to Ellie and say, “If you want another one, go on and give Stella some puppy dog eyes. She’s a real sucker for the kids.” 

“No, Ellie,” Joel says, fixing a scowl on his face. “If you want another scone, we’ll pay for it. We don’t steal from our own people.”

You roll your eyes again and start to walk away. Joel wants to watch you, wants to turn one hundred and eighty degrees to get a full glimpse of the back of those jeans. But he knows he shouldn’t. 

Ellie distracts him, an awestruck look on her face as she chews another bite of pastry. She looks up at Joel and says, “I think I just fell in love.” And then she’s clutching at her jacket like she’s having a heart attack. “Oh god—is that what this feels like? Holy shit.”

Joel just grunts in annoyance at her dramatics, but he ends up thinking about you for the remainder of the day. 

It’s wrong, he knows, to find you so appealing. You’re half his age, so full of life you’re bursting at the seams with it. And Joel is nothing but a grumpy, old man. Your polar opposite, really. 

He has to refrain from asking Tommy about you during dinner that night. But there’s so much he doesn’t know, so much he wants to unearth. How did you end up in Jackson? Why are you the only runner they allow out alone? What happened to you?

There’s something that happens to everyone these days. Joel’s is Sarah—and then Ellie. He wants to know what your something is. He wants to know why you’re so explosive, defiant, so easily provoked.

When he crawls into bed that night, he tells himself he’ll stop thinking of you tomorrow. He’ll put his curiosity to bed and allow you to continue wreaking havoc in the commune without any interference from him.

Except Joel dreams of you. He dreams about that white shirt, about those skin tight jeans. He dreams about the black lace. He dreams about what’s beneath even that. About your softness, about that gritty fight he sees in you. Joel dreams about taking you over his knee and showing you what discipline feels like, and he wakes up the next morning with sticky sheets like he’s some pillow-rutting teenage boy.

It’s embarrassing. Even though no one else knows, even though he’ll never, ever tell another soul, Joel feels shame at the realization that a mouthy, twenty year old girl is what does it for him.

Joel pushes his dreams and filthy thoughts far, far away as he makes his way to the tree blind that night. He’s running a little behind, and he can’t deny that the sole reason for his tardiness is you. 

You make him nervous. Uneasy, on edge. He never knows what to expect from you, and it drives Joel just a little bit insane. 

He expects you to arrive before him. But when he sees that both Bonnie and Greg remain and you’re nowhere to be found his jaw ticks. “She didn’t show up?”

When Bonnie shakes her head, Greg says with a shrug, “We thought she’d show up with you.”

The answer leaves Joel’s blood boiling. How could you be so inconsiderate? The two of them have been on watch for hours—likely counting down the minutes until they could be home with their families. It’s rude, Joel thinks. And he has a few choice words to say to you. He holds up a hand and says, “Give me five minutes.”

Jackson is small, and Joel is…observant. He knows you live at that little white house down on the corner. And he takes the steps of the porch two at a time, banging a fist on the door. You don’t answer, and so he’s hitting it harder, well and truly furious now. 

“What the fuck?” You rip the door open, brows pinched together. You’re wearing nothing but a pair of flannel pajama shorts and a sweater that’s two sizes too big, and Joel’s hands shake at the sight of you.

“What are you doing?”

There’s a light in your eyes, he notices—excitement maybe, or mischief. Either way, it sends off warning bells in his head, loud and demanding. “I was trying to sleep, asshole.”

The curse word on your lips sends him into a blind rage. Joel grabs you around your bicep, hard enough to bruise. “You have a job to do. We all do. Your little attitude doesn’t make you exempt.”

You snort incredulously. “You’re talking about my watch duty,” you infer, seething. “That’s such bullshit. It’s just Maria’s way of trying to get back at me for that day in the dining hall. I’m not doing that shit.”

“Yes, you are,” Joel states. He’s not sure why, exactly, it’s so important to him all of a sudden. Hadn’t he nearly begged Tommy yesterday to let him be on watch alone? “Even if I have to drag you down there myself.”

With a hand on your hip you say, “Then drag away, because I’m not mov—jesus christ!” 

Joel’s got his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you out of the house and onto the porch. It feels like silk between his fingers, and he wants to wrap it around his fist. But, more than that, Joel wants you to take this seriously, to take him seriously. He pushes you towards the steps just enough that you stumble. When you look up at him, there’s surprise, anger, and something a little more heated in your eyes. “Go,” he orders, leaving no room for negotiation. 

Much to his delight, you actually listen. You turn away from him and lead the way through Jackson, toward the edge of the commune. Joel realizes you don’t have shoes on, either, and the smallest bit of guilt weeds itself into his chest as he watches snow melt beneath your fuzzy pink socks. 

When you dismiss Bonnie, she offers you her coat. But you mutter under your breath, “No, thanks.” And the words themselves aren’t rude, but the tone you use is, and Joel wonders where the fuck your parents are. You’re not old enough for them to be gone, but even if they are, they’ve done a real shit job at teaching you to be respectful.

As Bonnie and Greg walk away with apologetic looks on their faces for Joel and what he’ll have to endure for the remainder of the night, he holds the rope ladder to the tree blind steady. “Ladies first,” he says. 

A wicked smirk tugs at your full lips. You take a step back and sweep an arm out in front of you. “By all means, ma’am.”

Joel doesn’t laugh, but it looks like you might. And your childish stab only serves to rub him raw. “You’ve got about five more seconds before I force you up there myself. And, believe me, little girl, I don’t make idle threats.”

You raise your brows in astonishment. “Fuck you, dude. Seriously.”

“Four,” he says sternly, eyes fixed on yours. He enjoys the way your mouth parts just slightly. “Three.” And the way your sweet, pink tongue darts out to wet your lips. 

“You think that’s gonna make a difference? You’re not—!”

“Two.”

“Okay! Jesus,” you huff, shoving him out of the way hard and starting up the ladder.

Joel holds it steady for you, ensuring you make it up nice and safe. And, yeah, maybe he does it for his own benefit, allowing himself to marvel at your thighs, at the swell of your ass poking out of the bottom of your shorts, the sight of all that bare skin.

He climbs up after you, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. The tree blind isn’t spacious, and Joel finds himself wishing that it had a little more room because you and your sweet-smelling skin take up too much of it. You’re sitting in one of the wooden chairs, arms crossed firmly over your chest and a glower on your face.

Instead of taking the seat beside you, Joel walks the perimeter slowly, trying to find any disturbance outside. It looks quiet tonight, though, the only movement born from the two patrolmen walking the outer walls and the song provided by the wind in the trees.

Twenty minutes in, you let out a frustrated sigh that’s a little too loud for his liking. “How many times are you going to check before you realize that nothing is happening out there?”

It’s true, but he can’t bring himself to sit that close to you. “I’m just being cautious,” he says. He’s worried about wandering thoughts, about wandering hands. Joel’s sure you hate him, and if you didn’t before tonight you most certainly do now. But that look you’d given him after he’d pulled you by your hair is what keeps him standing. Because Joel Miller has morals, but at the end of the day he’s still a man. And he’s self aware enough to know that all it would take is one look—one fucking look that gives the smallest bit of permission and he’ll be throwing caution to the wind.

“Cautious,” you mock. “Of what, the wind?” His brows pinch together, a little unnerved at how parallel your words are to his inner thoughts. “Better be careful. The universe might huff and puff and blow this blind right down, huh? Fuckin’ stupid.”

“You watch your mouth,” he snaps. He’s tired of the disrespect, of the attitude. You’re a goddamn brat, Joel thinks.

You turn in your chair, facing him with your shoulders squared in challenge. “Fuck-ing,” you repeat, annunciating every letter. “Stu-pid.”

Joel can’t help himself, morality be damned. He crosses the small space in one step and wraps a calloused hand around your neck. You try to pull him away, clawing at his wrist, hissing in pain at the force. But Joel holds firm, leaning over to look you in the eye. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says lowly. “You might be able to pull this shit with Tommy and Maria, but it’s not gonna work on me. It’s in your best interest if you just keep silent. You understand?”

There’s something on your face that gives him pause; something more than amusement, more than gratification. It’s hot and heavy and needy. And as you stare up at him through those long lashes, your grip on his wrist loosens in submission. 

He leans down, lips inches from your ear. Joel feels you shiver in his hands as he repeats, “Do you…understand?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. He can hear it stutter, can hear you swallow nervously. Good, Joel thinks. He likes that he makes you nervous, edgy, restless. He feels you lean slightly to the side, pressing your cheek against his greying stubble. “Yes,” you whisper, and the submission is so sweet sounding in his ears that he feels himself growing hard.

It’s that particular realization that has him pulling away from you, nearly outed by his own body. Joel finally takes the seat next to you and stares pointedly forward, out at the far end of the perimeter. He’s thankful when you slowly turn back around and remain quiet.

This he can handle, Joel thinks. As long as he doesn’t look at you, as long as you’re not spouting off at the mouth…he’ll be just fine. He’ll remain a man with his morals intact.

You pull your legs up to your chest, holding them against your body. Even though the tree blind provides a fair bit of shelter, it’s still the middle of winter in Wyoming. And Joel suddenly feels guilty about dragging you out here like this with nothing but shorts and fuzzy socks on. 

He shrugs off his coat and lays it across your legs without a word. 

But you have something to say about it, of course, suddenly forgetting your agreement of silence. “You’re real chivalrous for a brooding asshole.”

“What did I just say about that goddamn mouth of yours?”

Your eyes round and your mouth hangs open in hilarity. “Do you hear yourself? I mean, really, Joel. Seriously?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever said his name, and it sends a shock of delight down his spine. Even if you do say it in annoyance, it’s still his name in your mouth, and fuck, his resistance falters. “C’mere.”

“You can’t just tell me what to do,” you say, defiant. But you stand to your feet and set his coat on your chair. “I’m not just some little girl you can boss around.”

Joel spreads his legs wide, allowing you to stand between them. Even though he’s sitting and you’re standing over him, you look so small. Joel smirks up at you and asks, “Liked that, did you?”

“No,” you answer, too quickly for it to be true. “I didn’t like it. Not…not even a little. I don’t know how you got it in your head that you’re the boss of me but…but you’re not.”

He doesn’t speak. Instead, Joel takes a selfish minute. He lets himself drink you in real slow, raking his eyes over your face, down the smooth curve of your shoulder. Your sweater is too big, but Joel can tell you’re not wearing a bra beneath, can see the hardened peaks of your nipples through the material. Your hands hang loosely at your sides, but they tremble just a little. Joel thinks it’s real cute, how you’re pretending not to be afraid. Your legs are smooth, thighs thick and delicious.

Joel raises his hand, letting his fingertips ghost across the soft skin. He waits a couple of seconds, staring up at you, giving you the opportunity to run far, far away from him. 

But you don’t. Of course you don’t. You stay firmly planted between his legs, chest heaving with each ragged breath.

He searches your face for any apprehension as his hand begins to move, knuckles running along the top of your thigh. He finds nothing but heat in your eyes, and Joel ventures a little further. When he presses his hand between your legs, he watches as your eyes flutter closed and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Your skin is searing, so hot he wonders how plumes of smoke don’t emit from you in the cold night air. He squeezes your flesh, delighting in the peaceful little sigh you give in response. He does it again, a little higher this time. And then the side of his index finger is pressing hard against the seam of your shorts, and you raise a hand to cover your mouth. 

“Joel,” you breathe. “Joel, you—”

He stops, hand freezing between your legs. He expects you to shake your head, to take that opportunity of fleeing once and for all. He’d allow it. Encourage it, even. He was no good, proved even further by the fact that he’d touched you even knowing he shouldn’t.

But you do none of these things. You only press your fingers against your mouth and squeeze your eyes closed real tight. 

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

Defiant as ever, you keep your mouth sealed firmly shut for once. Instead, you use your free hand and reach for his wrist, turning it so his hand is cupping the warmth between your thighs. Your hips shift forward slowly, experimentally. 

It’s the hottest thing Joel Miller has ever fucking seen. You’re so needy, so desperate that this little bit of friction has you moaning.

The sound is so much sweeter when it’s him making you feel good instead of some pastry, Joel thinks. 

And as much as he wants to let you use him for your own benefit, as much as he wants to see you fall apart just like this, rutting against his hand, right here, right now—Joel wants to teach you even more.

He pulls his hand away, grabbing your hips and pulling you close. You stumble towards him with a gasp, eyes snapping open. You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as Joel pulls you down, forcing you to straddle his thigh. He places one hand on the small of your back and tangles the other in the hair at the base of your skull, gripping just tight enough that it hurts. 

“Gonna listen real good now, aren’t you, little girl? Hm?”

You’re nodding frantically, and Joel can feel how wet you are even through his jeans. When you start to move your hips, grinding against his thigh, Joel pulls your hair hard. 

“Did I say you could move?” 

You stop moving, even though you spit through gritted teeth, “I didn’t ask.” 

That fucking mouth on you. He has half a mind to fill it up to quiet you once and for all. But Joel’s a patient man, and he wants to see you squirm, wants to hear you beg. He tilts his head menacingly and orders, “Apologize.”

“What?” 

“You heard me,” he answers. “You said you’d be good. Now, go on.”

The glare you give him in response brings a depraved smile to his lips. But then you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his neck. The touch sends a shiver down Joel’s spine, and his cock throbs in his jeans, begging to feel your wet mouth. You kiss him again, just below his ear, and then run your tongue along his pulse. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper.

And then the hand on the small of your back is pushing you forward, forcing you to grind against his thigh again. You let out a moan at the friction, nails digging into his shoulders through his flannel. He’s weak, so fucking weak. Completely at your goddamn mercy, desperate to hear the sounds you make. 

He lets you move a little faster, lets you grind yourself against his leg at whatever pace feels best. A dark spot forms on the denim spread over his thigh, and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. 

You nestle your head against the crook of his neck, your breath warm and wet against his collarbone.

“That’s it, baby,” he says. “See how good it feels when you behave? See that?” You’re so soft, so pliable in his hands. It’s such a stark contrast to the unruly girl you were just moments ago. Joel could tell, even before he ever set his hands on you, that you were capable of being good. It just took a little discipline, that’s all.

The hand he has on your back drifts down, over the curve of your ass, even lower. When he snakes his hand below you and you drag your hips backward, his fingertips brush up against your entrance. “Oh, god,” you whimper, grinding against him even faster now, more desperate. “I’m close, please don’t stop.”

He almost listens. You sound so fucking pretty when you beg, and Joel thinks he’d be perfectly content to listen to you for the rest of his life. 

But no. No. You could apologize and beg all you wanted. That doesn’t mean the lesson is learned. Joel pulls his hand away and forces you off him, back onto stumbling feet. 

“What the fuck, Joel?!” Your hands are clenched into fists at your side, but your fury only proves his point. 

“What did I say about that mouth? Hm?”

Your lips part, and Joel has no doubt there’s another insult on the tip of your tongue. But the threat in his eyes must be enough to dissuade you because you’re rendered silent, deciding to close your sweet mouth and clench your teeth instead. 

“Not so hard, was it?” Joel shifts in his seat, settling lower, very much enjoying the glower on your face. “Don’t worry, little girl. You won’t forget your manners anymore when I’m done with you. Take off your shorts.”

The muscle in your jaw feathers, but you do as told. And Joel is proud of you, really. So, so proud of you. He watches as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and pull them down, kicking them away with your feet.

Seeing you bare before him is magnificent, so beautiful it hurts him. Your face turns a sweet shade of pink as he takes you in; memorizing the way your pussy looks. Joel adjusts himself through his jeans, cock aching painfully. You don’t deserve an ounce of praise, not right now. Not after all the attitude you’ve given him. But the words escape him anyway. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he says. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” 

Joel leans forward, presses his mouth to your belly. And again, lower this time. His kisses are slow and soft, his stubble tickling your skin. Your fingers thread themselves through his peppery curls, tugging softly, and Joel can’t hold back his moan at the sensation.

You feel so good, and Joel knows you’ll taste even better. He convinces himself that it’s for him, not for you, as he runs his tongue along the seam of your pussy. He does it again, licking desperately, wondering if he’ll ever get his fill of you. It’s just for him, he reminds himself. 

You’re so wet that every soft stroke of his tongue makes an obscene sound, but it’s the sounds you’re making that keep his mouth between your legs.

“God, Joel, yes—mmm. That feels so good,” you moan, pressing his face against you harder. You start to tilt your hips against his face, spreading your legs wider. Joel glances up to see your head thrown back, goosebumps rising over your throat. He can’t tell if it’s the cold or him that creates them, but he selfishly hopes for the latter. 

He sucks your clit into his mouth, circling it with the tip of his tongue, and he feels your legs begin to shake, hears your breathing slow. And then he pulls away, and the sight of your eyes as they turn glassy in desperation makes every bit of his own suffering worth it. 

You know well enough by now not to scream in protest like last time, but he can see that you want to. You’re learning. Good, Joel thinks.

“Turn around,” he says. And you do, but he can feel the rage radiating off your skin. He pulls you back into his lap, laying your legs over his, spreading you real wide. 

When you finally realize his intention, your whole body melts against his chest. And it’s trust he senses then, a warm feeling that cuts through him like a razor. You’re trusting him to make you feel good, Joel knows—and he has every intention of doing just that. 

His hands are cold as they drift up the inside of your thighs. He drags them back down, and then back up even slower this time. He does this again and again, feeling you, tracing patterns into your skin, savoring the feel of you in his hands. By the time his fingertips ghost across your pussy, you’re trembling in anticipation. “Please,” you beg.

Joel presses one hand to your belly, just below your navel, and uses the other to slide his middle and index fingers through your wetness. He moves easily, gliding them over your clit, down to your entrance, circling it with the pads of his fingers but never sinking in. You tilt your hips towards them, desperate to feel them inside of you. 

You’re so beautiful like this, Joel thinks. All needy whimpers and frantic movements. He swipes his fingers over your clit, back and forth, picking up speed as your moans grow louder. 

“This all for me, little girl? You’re so wet. Look at you, makin’ a big mess in my lap.” He presses a kiss to the side of your neck.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the arms of his chair. “Joel,” you cry out. “Joel, please, I’m gonna—!”

He stops, pulling his hand away completely. He winds it around your trembling thigh instead, spreading you so wide your muscles burn. He clicks his tongue right next to your ear, and you can feel him smiling into your hair. “ Nuh uh, baby,” he says. “Not yet. Not until I say so.”

You raise your hands to the back of his head, pulling on his hair, writhing in his lap like a woman possessed, grinding against nothing. Your slick drips down your legs, and even though you’re near to tears, Joel knows you’re enjoying this. Knows you need this. “Please,” you beg. “Please, please, just—!”

“Shh, s’alright,” he says. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’m gonna take real good care of ya as long as you behave.” His words seem to relax you a little. Joel works the tension from your muscles, massaging slowly. He doesn’t touch you again until your breathing evens out.

Joel slips his hand beneath your sweater, palming your breast, squeezing the supple flesh between his rough hands. His thumb smooths across your nipple, hardens it into a perfect little point. 

It feels so good that you close your eyes and lean your head back against him, so focused on the feeling of his calloused hands that it takes you by surprise when his fingers find your pussy again. 

This time, he circles your clit once, twice, and then he’s pushing two fingers inside of you. He slides in easily, your body so worked up and desperate for him that it pulls him in. His fingers are thick, stretching you, pressing in deep. He hooks them upwards, searching, searching— there. “Ohh, yes —yes, please, Joel, fuck.”

He begins to slide his fingers out of you, but you grasp his wrist and push them right back in.

“Wait, no! No, no, please, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, god, just touch me, please, please, please, ” you rush out, all in a single breath. 

Joel thinks you look like damnation as you fuck yourself with his hand, moving it of your own accord, whining when you can’t get enough pressure. “Oh, baby,” he says, wiping away the tear that’s spilling down your cheek. “That’s alright, hm? I know you don’t mean it. I can see what a good girl you are. S’okay.” He presses his thumb against your clit and begins moving his hand again, thrusting his fingers inside you, caressing that sweet spot you can never reach on your own. 

Silently, Joel begins to panic. Because you’re so tight, so wet, so perfect. His perfect little girl. And he knows this is wrong, knows that while, yeah, technically, you’re an adult, Joel fucking knows better than to touch someone like you. He knows what other people will think of him, what they’ll say behind his back, what they’ll whisper about in the dining hall. He should stop it right here, right now, while there’s still a sliver of redemption to be had for him. 

But he can’t. He can’t. Not now, and he worries he’ll never be able to. Because no one, fucking no one has ever felt like this.

He picks up his pace, trying to push the thoughts from his mind. He feels you clamp down around his fingers, feels your walls tighten so much it makes a deep groan rumble through his chest. You’re close, he knows. He can see it, can feel it. 

“ Joel,” you plead when he pulls his fingers out of you. Your tears are falling freely now. Big, fat, alligator tears on your flushed cheeks. You let out a ragged moan as he pinches your nipple beneath your sweater and for a split second, he thinks he’s fucked up. Thinks he’s strung you so tight that the little bit of pain and pleasure has you tumbling over the edge.

Thankfully, though, you’re only shaking in blissful agony.

“Oh my god,” you cry, hands trembling as you scratch at his arms. Every small movement of your hips has your ass rubbing against his erection, and it’s almost enough. Watching you shake, hearing you beg for him. It’s almost enough to do him in entirely. Almost.  “Please, Joel, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, I promise.”

He presses a kiss to your jaw, licking the salt from your sweat-slick skin. “I know you will be, baby,” he says gently. “I told you, didn’t I? Told you you’d remember your manners by the time I was done. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You’re whimpering, so desperate for his hands, his mouth, for anything, that you don’t even notice what he’s doing as he reaches beneath you. No, you’re too busy grinding against his hand to notice as Joel unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out until he’s holding it against you. 

He’s got his cock between your pussy and the palm of his hand, pushing it against you hard. You feel so good against him, so warm and wet, and Joel’s moaning right along with you. Your clit is so swollen he can feel it as you grind it against the head of his cock, delicate fingers wrapped around his bicep. “Ohh, yeah. Feels real good, don’t it, pretty girl? Jus’ like that.”

“I want it, Joel,” you say, voice sweet and whiny and angelic. “Put it in, please, please.”

“Gotta get you right on the edge first,” he says, palming your breast. “Gotta make it hurt. Haven’t you learned by now, little girl?”

“But it does! It hurts, Joel, please!”

Joel leans his head back and chuckles lowly. “I know it does, I know, baby. You can take a little more though, hm? Just a little more so you remember this lesson.” So you remember me.

The thought comes wicked and unwanted. But it’s there, it’s there, embedded in his brain. Joel swallows, can feel your exhaustion as the tremble in your legs returns. And then he stops. He pulls his cock away from your warm heat and taps it against your clit as you cry out for him.

“Shh, I know, sweetheart,” he coos in your ear. He wants to wait until your body calms back down, until you’re loose and pliable again. But he can’t wait another minute, not one more goddamn second. “Don’t worry, I’ve got ya,” he says. Joel lines himself up against your entrance, so wet it’s already dripping down over him.

You’re panting as he pushes in slow, stretching you wide. You’re so tight that Joel’s not sure it’ll fit despite how soaked you are. But he works himself in inch by inch, and once he’s fully seated inside you he’s met with a wave of pride so intense he wraps his arms around your middle and rests his head against your shoulder. “Yes,” you cry, breathing a sigh of relief. “It’s so big, Joel. God.”

“You take me s’good, baby.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder, your cheek, your temple. “Gonna fuck you now, hm? Gonna fuck this little pussy real good, promise.” Joel pulls out almost completely and thrusts himself back in, slamming his hips up against yours. You let out a whine so loud he chuckles and uses a hand to cover your mouth. “Shh, quiet now,” he tells you. “Don’t want anyone getting any ideas about what we’re doing up here.”

When you stick out your tongue and suck his middle finger into your mouth, Joel’s cock twitches inside of you. Your mouth is so soft, so fucking soft he thinks he might die. Might have a heart attack right here, still inside you. You meet each of his thrusts by grinding down against him, moaning around his fingers, the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

Joel reaches his free hand down and rubs your clit, and two seconds later your pussy grips him like a vice. “Hold it,” he orders.

With a shake of your head, you bounce in his lap harder. “I can’t, I can’t, I—!”

“Yes you can. You can. Not till I say so, little girl. Hold it,” he says. And just because he’s decided he likes you, Joel grants you a little relief and lessens the pressure on your clit. Your walls flutter around him, and it nearly does him in. He wants to hear you, wants to fucking see you. 

He straightens in his seat, allowing for a better view. He leans over your shoulder and watches where he disappears inside you, fucks into you a little harder. 

With one last kiss against your forehead, Joel says, “Go ahead, baby. Come for me.” 

That’s all it takes. You go silent for a moment, breath held in your lungs, And then you’re shaking in his hands, a whimpering mess, flooding his lap. You say his name over and over, a prayer, or perhaps a curse. 

“That’s it, little girl. Ohh, it’s so good, hm? Feel so good when you earn it. Good girl, baby. Good fuckin’ girl. My good little girl. Yeah, there you go.” He’s talking you through it, watching it all unfold, watching you tighten around him so hard you’re nearly pushing his cock out. But Joel keeps it buried inside you, forcing it right up against that sweet spot.

It’s right then that he knows. 

Joel will never, ever be free of you. Not now. Not knowing how it feels to be inside you, knowing how it feels when you lose yourself because of him. Whatever redemption there was for him is gone now, evaporated into thin air, never to be found again.

He pulls out with just enough time to spill his come onto your thighs, fisting his cock in his hand. It’s almost a painful end, not being able to finish inside of you. 

But then you reach between your legs and run your hand through the stickiness. You bring it to your mouth and suck your fingers clean. 

Joel watches every movement, hard again at the sight.

As you stare up at him, he knows you feel it, too. That energy shift, intense and wicked and damning.

Wisps of your hair stick to your forehead, the back of your neck. You pull your fingers out of your mouth, and your swollen lips curve into a grin. You look so beautiful that it pains him. You stand back up on wobbly legs, using his thigh as support while you pull your shorts back on. 

Joel thinks you look even better as you slip your arms through his coat. It swallows you up, but it’s his and it’s on you and the sight feels like a kick to the gut. He stuffs himself back into his jeans before he can ravage you again, before he makes the situation even worse. 

You pick up his rifle from the floor and settle back into his lap. Joel has half a mind to push you away, to get some much-needed distance, to give you your last chance at freedom. 

But he’s a selfish man. So he doesn’t. He lets you lean back against him, even wraps his arms around your waist. You lay the weapon across your legs carefully. “If watch duty is always this good, tell Maria to sign me up.”

[part two]

[blueberrylemontea-fanfic]

Just a little distraction

Pairing: JJ x Pope x fem!reader

Summary: You admit that you can't get into oral because you always overthink it. JJ suggests you might just need to be distracted.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, oral (male & female receiving), threesome

Based on Oral Exam by drcjsnider.

JJ put the joint between your parted lips.

"Beer me, Pope" he hooted, too loudly, at Pope who was sitting in the lounge chair next to the beer cooler on the porch of the Chateau.

Pope tossed both you and JJ a beer.

You had been lounging on the porch of the Chateau all morning, slowly getting stoned and slowly getting drunk. Once again, you guys had landed on your favourite topic of conversation: your sex lives. Or, lately, sadly, the lack thereof.

You took a long drag from the joint and sighed "God, I just really wanna get laid..."

Immediately you felt JJ scooch closer to you. "Y'know..."

"In your dreams, Maybank," you laughed.

"And it's not just getting laid, really, I mean that's the easy part..."

"Speak for yourself," Pope interrupted with a pained grin.

You and JJ giggled. "... it's finding a guy that can get me to cum that's harder."

Pope coughed out the smoke he was trying to inhale rolled over onto his stomach. JJ just grinned. "Oooh, we're getting to the good stuff now. All those mainlanders weren't up to the task, huh?"

"Not a single one of them."

"Wait so you never..." Pope trailed of at the end of his sentence.

"Not with anyone else present," you rolled your eyes.

"That's really hot," JJ smirked.

"And really sad," Pope added.

"Isn't it?" You sighed.

"So, like, none of these tools could get you to cum? Not even from oral?"

You grimaced "Nope. And I don't really like oral anyways."

"What?! Okay, how can you not like someone going down on you? It's like the best thing in the world?"

"Yeah, like you'd know." JJ chucked an empty beer can at Pope.

"I don't know. I just can't relax, y'know? I can't turn my brain off. I'm just constantly overthinking everything. I, like, need someone there to relax me or something."

"Looks like you were wrong JJ, now we're getting to the good stuff," Pope smirked.

You laughed. "I didn't mean it like that," you hit Pope on the arm playfully, "then again... It might not be the worst idea. If it means I finally get an orgasm, I'm all for it."

"Y'know..." JJ's fingers traced over your stomach. You tried to hide how his touch made your breath catch in your throat. "JJ..." You sighed. "I'm serious, Y/n. You not being able to enjoy someone going down on you is a travesty. It must be remedied at all costs, right Pope?"

"I hate to admit it, but JJ does have a point."

"Okay, so what exactly are you suggesting? You saying that you two could give me an orgasm?"

"I mean, we're two able and very willing young men, aren't we Pope? I think we're up to the task."

It was Pope's hand on your knee that did it.

You were crazy for even considering it, you knew that. But Pope's fingers softly grazing your knee while JJ's were still tracing circles on your stomach set your insides on fire. They'd finally made you an offer you couldn't refuse.

"Are you two sure about this?"

Their eyes widened briefly, surprised that you'd actually agree to this, then they both nodded faster than lightning.

You turned to JJ, slowly pulling him in by the collar of his shirt and pressing your lips against his. JJ's arm was firm against your back, holding you close as he kissed you back. He kissed you like he spent his whole life waiting to, deeply, passionately, all in.

You pulled away from JJ and took Pope's hand, letting him pull you up to your feet so your bodies were touching. Running your hand along the side of his face before finally, achingly slowly, you leaned in and let your lips fall against his. Pope kissed you like he'd spent his life dreaming about you, drawn out and featherlight, sending shivers down your spine.

"Let's go inside," you smiled as you peeled yourself off of Pope, taking both boys by the hand and guiding them into the Chateau. As soon as you were inside, JJ tugged you against him again, his mouth heavily on yours. You let go of Pope's hand to instinctively tangle your hands in JJ's hair. JJ tapped the back of your thighs and you hopped up into his arm, your legs wrapping around his waist.

While JJ was all over you, you noticed that Pope had drawn back a little, always more hesitant than his best friend. You tossed your hair over your shoulder and beckoned for Pope to come closer. "Don't be shy."

You held out your hand. Pope took it and let you guide him closer to you. You put his hand on your waist and then tapped the crook of your neck slightly. "I want you to touch me, Pope." JJ groaned at your words and reclaimed your mouth with his as Pope's lips slowly touched your neck.

You nodded your head at their movements, spurring them on. Pope's lips made their way along your neck, his chest pressed up against your back. He was sucking at the tender spot below your ear as his hands started roaming over your hips. JJ's fingers were trailing patterns up the back of your thigh, his tongue exploring the insides of your mouth. It all felt incredible.

You let out a soft, whimpering moan and felt both their mouths quirk up into a smirk against your skin. JJ's hand hesitated slightly. You pulled back from his kiss and whispered against his lips. "It's okay, JJ, you can touch me." His hands moved to cup your ass. JJ gave you a squeeze. "God, do you know how many times I've wanted to grab that great ass of yours?" He groaned.

You suddenly noticed that Pope's hand was stroking the side of your stomach, his hand travelling down until he reached the top of your shorts. "May I?" He whispered in your ear. You nodded vigorously and his hand dipped into your pants. Pope's fingers trailed down to your folds, stroking you lightly. You moaned loudly as he started rubbing slow circles on your clit.

"JJ?" His questioning baby blue eyes immediately met yours. You snapped the strap of your bikini top. "Untie this, will you?"

He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he pulled the strings of your swimsuit and watched as it dropped to the floor. For a brief moment, both boys stood staring at you in awe.

"Christ, you're gorgeous, Y/n." JJ cursed as he kissed his way down your neck. You let your head fall back on Pope's shoulder, who captured your lips again in an instant. Every doubt you'd had, had already faded away into the background. Your two best friends were already making you feel better than anyone else ever had.

Slowly, JJ put you down on the couch. Both him and Pope started trailing kisses down your body, covering every inch of you. JJ slipped your shorts down your legs as they kissed down your inner thighs. Instinctively, you pushed your knees together, not used to this much exposure.

"You alright?" Two soft pairs of concerned eyes met yours. God, how you loved them...

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Just, feel a little exposed, that's all." You felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

JJ looked between himself and his friend. "Pope and I are a little behind in that department. Want us to catch up?"

You nodded gladly. "Yes, please."

You'd seen them in next to no clothes so often, and yet your breath hitched in your throat as they stripped down to their underwear. You didn't appreciate it often enough how fine these boys really were.

You reached out your hands and ran them down their torsos. When you reached their boxers you gave both bands a snap, a tentative question in your smile. True to character, JJ pushed his shorts down with an almost obnoxious speed, while Pope was a lot shyer about it. Not that he had any reason to.

"You guys are gorgeous, you know that, right?" The sight of them practically had you salivating. "Look who's talking," JJ chuckled. "Yeah, Y/n... We're nothing compared to you," Pope's hungry look made your stomach twist. "Strongly disagree," you smiled. "Now, will someone please touch me again?"

You did not have to ask twice.

JJ's hands tangled in your hair as he pressed his lips down on yours. Pope's eyes caught yours as his fingers traced over the top of your underwear.  You nodded and Pope slipped the fabric down your legs.

JJ's lips were once again making their way down your neck as Pope's were softly trailing up your thighs. You were all throaty moans as you squirmed underneath them. Pope's fingers found their way back to your clit, making you gasp.

You noticed that JJ had made his way down your body, now kneeling next to Pope. Wordlessly, Pope moved aside to let JJ take his place. Pope took over the assault on your neck and torso as JJ caught your eye, not unlike Pope had done mere minutes ago. Once again you nodded. JJ winked at you before he hooked your leg over his shoulder and flattened his tongue against your core.

Like always, your body tensed. This already felt so much better than it did with others, probably because you trusted JJ with your life, but even so, the sensation felt strange.

JJ's palms smoothed over your legs as he gave you some time to adjust to the feeling of his tongue against your skin.

"You sure you're good with this, Y/n? We can stop anytime you want to," he said when the tension didn't ease.

You shook your head quickly "I don't want you to stop."

JJ's smile could light up the entire cut. "Well, then you gotta relax, Y/n. Try not to be in your head so much. Don't focus on me or what I'm doing, just focus on Pope while I take care of you."

You nodded. Maybe he was right. You beckoned for Pope to come closer to you and pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss. You felt JJ's tongue on you again, but tried to focus on Pope fully. While he was great kisser, it wasn't enough to keep your attention away from JJ.

You pulled back from the kiss slowly. You reached out your hand and ran your fingers down his body, pausing at his upper thigh. "Can I?" Pope nodded eagerly. You wrapped your hand around his base, focusing on the movement of your hand as you stroked him. The small whimpers that Pope let out at your touch made you wanna clench your thighs together, hadn't it been for JJ's head in between them.

After some slow strokes, you licked your hand and started pumping him for real. You worked your hand over his length, suddenly aware of the sensation between your own legs, where JJ's tongue was expertly lapping away at you.

Involuntarily, your free hand tangled into the blonde's hair as a low moan escaped you.

The three of you looked at each other in pleasant surprise before JJ's smug smile disappeared between your legs again.

You genuinely felt good now, and it spurred you on. You wanted to make Pope feel just as good as JJ was making you feel.

You leant up on your elbow and slowly ran your tongue underneath Pope's base before sucking his length into your mouth. Pope moaned softly, his eyes fluttering shut as  he desperately tried to keep his composure.

You let go of Pope with a pop. "Pope?" His eyes were one wide-eyed question. "Would you do me a favour?"

"Anything."

"Stop holding back." You gave him a quick kiss on his upper thigh before taking him back into your mouth.

Pope let out a surprised groan that made your chest flutter.

"That's it, Pope, I wanna hear you."

Pope smiled as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck. His thumb stroked your cheek as you let your hollowed out cheeks glide along Pope's length. You were so focused on Pope that you'd stopped worrying about JJ's tongue against you. His thumb circling your clit was hard to miss though. You let out a yelp as your back arched off the bed.

" 's that good?" JJ asked. You nodded furiously. JJ's touch made it increasingly harder for you to focus on Pope. It wasn't long before you had to replace your mouth with your hand. You did your best to keep stroking Pope as you threw your head back. One hand was still tugging on JJ's hair as he brought you closer and closer to your orgasm.

"I'm so close, JJ," you moaned out. Your hand movements were becoming more erratic, and eventually you let go of Pope entirely. You recognized the familiar coiling in your stomach, but it felt so different from when you were on your own.

"Fuck, JJ!" You screamed as you came, back arched off the bed, one hand tangled in JJ's hair, the other gripping Pope's hand. You rode out your orgasm on JJ's tongue, before falling back onto the bed.

"Holy shit," you panted. "That was..."

"The hottest thing to ever happen in the history of the universe?" JJ finished your sentence.

Pope nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

You pulled JJ in for a kiss. "Thanks, JJ."

"You are so, so welcome, sunshine," he smiled widely.

"And you..." You gave Pope another kiss, too. "Best distraction ever," you winked. "But, um, I don't think I'm done with you."

"Oh no, Y/n, you don't have to. This whole thing was about you. It's okay."

You pulled Pope down so he was sitting on the bed next to you. "As someone who knows all too well what it feels like when a sexual partner leaves you unsatisfied, I have absolutely no intention of being that person. So, unless you don't want me to, I'd love to finish what I've started."

Pope swallowed harshly before he nodded. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he answered quickly. "If you want to."

You sank down onto your knees, eyeing Pope as you did. "Trust me, Pope, I want to."

You sank your lips back down onto Pope. You bobbed your head, your hand wrapped around his base. You were giving him your full attention now, able to set a much faster pace than you did earlier.

"Shit, Y/n," Pope groaned as he tangled his hand in your hair. "That feels so good." You smiled around him.

When you heard another moan, you pulled off of Pope with a pop, working your hand down his length while you talked. "Pope?" You asked. "Is JJ jacking off behind you?"

Pope nodded.

"JJ?"

"Yeah, sunshine?" JJ's small voice sounded from behind Pope.

"Don't you dare finish yourself off."

"Jesus Christ," JJ groaned. "Don't go saying shit like that and expect me not to cum, that's no fair."

You chuckled. "Well, I'm just saying, JJ, if you don't want me to touch you, by all means, make yourself cum."

"Fuck, alright."

With that confirmation, you sank back down onto Pope. "Oh fuck, Y/n, please keep going. I'm so close." Pope's breathing was getting erratic. You picked up your pace until Pope's fingers tightened in your hair. "Fuck," Pope moaned out as he came.

Slowly, you moved your hand along him, coaxing him through his orgasm. You swallowed his load and then kitten licked his tip until he was completely fucked out.

"Holy shit, Y/n, that was fucking fantastic," Pope panted. Pope pulled you up onto the bed again and kissed you deeply.

"Wow," the word left you involuntarily.

"Yeah..." Pope smiled. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, "I think JJ's about to combust."

You chuckled. "How about we fix that, huh?" You rolled over on the bed so you were facing JJ. "You wanna come over here?"

He nodded eagerly as he scooted closer to you. You nestled yourself in between his legs. "Fuck, you're gorgeous... Can't wait to taste you."

JJ's head fell back onto the mattress. "You're trying to kill me, right, that's what's happening here? Oh, fuck!" You couldn't wait any longer, so you wrapped your tongue around JJ's head instead.

JJ sat up on his arms, taking in your every movement. You worked him slowly, teasing him until he was panting shallowly. You stopped rubbing his base with your hand, digging your fingers into his thighs as you took all of him.

Instantly, JJ's hand fisted your hair, his hips bucking into you.

You looked up at him through your lashes, devious smirk on your lips as your nose brushed against his stomach. You pulled back slightly.

"You want to fuck my face, don't you?" You smirked.

"I..." JJ seemed flustered, guilty almost.

"Go on then," you winked.

JJ's hips jutted into action, slowly, torn between keeping his composure and giving into his desire. His fingers were tangled in your hair, holding you in place as he bucked his hips up into you. He rolled his hips over and over again, but his pace was still so incredibly measured. You could see the tense muscles in his thighs.

You cast your eyes upwards, instantly being met with his. You smiled and gave him a reassuring nod, silently begging him to let himself go.

Finally, JJ seemed to flip a switch. He picked up his pace, bucking into you faster. You were soon salivating around him as he occupied your throat. He bobbed your head to match his pace, his thumb softly caressing your cheek.

After just a minute, JJ was letting out the most gorgeous little moans, a string of lewd, uninhibited, guttural sounds that he couldn't hold back if he tried. His hips started faltering, his breathing rapid and shallow.

"Fuck, Y/n, you feel so fucking good," JJ whined. " 'm so close..." His hips jerked desperately, chasing his high.

Suddenly, he held your head still, pushing his hips up as far as they would go. He came into your mouth, holding your gaze as he did.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" He pulled you up after his orgasm had crashed through him, holding you close to him and kissing you so fondly your head spun. "That was fucking incredible. You're fucking incredible."

"I think we've proven today that we're all pretty damn incredible."

You reached out for Pope, pulling him down on the other side of you.

"I still can't believe you made me cum," you said after a while.

JJ smiled cockily. "I knew I would. Best skills on the cut."

God, he was gonna lord this over you forever...

"Well, I don't know, JJ, maybe it's just really not that hard when I've got someone else to occupy my mind with. Guess Pope's gotta try it next time, then we'll know for sure."

Pope's breath quickened in your ear. "Next time?"

You shrugged. "Figured we can't uncross this line, might as well take advantage. If you guys want to, that is," you added hastily.

The way Pope whispered 'of course' in your ear had you clenching your legs again, starting to imagine exactly what that next time might look like.

"We will forever be at your service, ma'am," JJ grinned.

"Ma'am, huh?" You repeated suggestively, "don't mind if I do..."

JJ's smile dropped into his throat. "Seriously?"

You looked between the two of them, hanging on your lips, practically salivating at the thought and you shook your head laughing.

"Jesus Christ, I'm kidding!"

Both boys instantly deflated.

"Tease," JJ hit you with a pillow.

You shrugged, a pensive look crossing your face. "Then again..."

[neovillains]

GENESIS | SUKUNA RYOUMEN

syn. isolation can lead to insanity and the desperate will do anything to live.

── sukuna ryoumen & fem-bodied!reader, apocalypse!au, blood, religious themes, suicidal ideations, death & violence, minor character deaths, reader is described as skinny, cannibalism, biting kink, bruising, forest sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, etc | 4.4k words ( minors, ageless, & blank blogs: do not interact. )

note. here's a small playlist to accompany you on your reading journey. i hope you all enjoy this. please let me know your thoughts afterwards in the comments or in your reblog. thank you so much!

credit. thanks to my babe, leilani, for helping me out and screaming about this idea with me. im so happy with it :3

Dilapidated buildings with rust growing on the side, resembling the colors of a forest fire. A deep auburn that grows into orange and yellow as it rises. Overgrown grass, the vibrant and various hues of green growing in the dirt and critters dig and groove around in sanctum. They’re free to roam through the deep crevices of soil, still living in harmonious nature as blood shed rids the rest of the Earth. 

The number of humans dwindle as they become rotting flesh running amuck in search for something to satiate that hunger inside of them. No longer a society built on order, but one fighting to survive in hopes of seeing a better future. They tell themselves that soon a god will come to free them from their trepidation and ease their aching hearts. However, the longer they look through their windows— what’s left of them— that optimism slowly dwindles into nothing. Just bullshit that they tell themselves as their guns become more enticing and the sweet taste of one bullet to the head will take them out of their sweet misery. 

It’s come to a point where everyone knows that there’s no point in having faith in their government. All televisions and radio responding in static, and no one hearing anything from them. It’s always been a world structured towards survival of the fittest, the rich leeching off the poor. Now, it’s whoever can leech off of who. 

Once upon a time, you called yourself a true child of God. Church every Wednesday and Sunday, a prayer every morning and night. When the announcement of a deadly virus sparked the news, you prayed to God for sanctity, knowing that it was your time to join him and for the angels to sweep down and take you away. However, you must have missed your stop.

Deadly missiles launched into cities, killing multiple of thousands. They looked like blinding light, what you believed to be heaven reigning down upon the Earth. Oh, how you cried to join the dead and sought refuge with your people. However, the moment they landed was just as quick as they left, and after that, God never answered your prayers ever again. You asked time and time again, did you do something wrong? How could you repent and join Him? 

You had done everything right. You had been an obedient child through and through, through every calling moment. What was He seeing that you didn’t? Did you really need to be damned with the rest of them for it?

The small religious group you sought refuge with started growing weak in numbers, their naivety leading them open to numerous attacks from the selfish and the careless leading zombies inside the church. Slowly, did a group of fifty turn into twenty-five, and twenty-five turned to ten. Ten to five, and five to two— you and Sukuna. 

Sukuna Ryoumen, a brute of a man he was. Someone who came seeking refuge with a group of five, though he always did voice how much disdain he had for the church. Oftentimes, he snorted during sermons and rebuttal the word of God with self-proclaimed pastor, Geto Suguru. He belittled everyone and everything, even when it came down to you being the last to survive alongside him. He scoffed, crimson eyes that matched the bloodstain on his white t-shirt. “Of all people, you’re the last to survive.”

Later that day, he bashed the window in. The rest of the church was flooded with the undead, the outside much clearer than the hoard still in search of them. It was a distance down, but nothing to kill you both. You looked at him as if he were crazy when he asked you, “Are you coming or what?”

What else was there left to lose? All of your immediate family, gone. Having joined God up at those golden gates, watching you with a heavy amount of disgust. What did it hurt to keep on surviving?

In a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved sweater, you dusted away the rest of the broken stained glass with your sleeves before asking for a hand. Neither of you said anything, Sukuna helping you up before you were holding onto the window panel. You stared out, eyes widening as your heart raced. Were you really ready to take this leap?

The memory is foggy, but you can’t remember if Sukuna pushed you out the window or your mind had made the decision for you. But all you remember is eating dirt before someone yanked onto your sleeve, forcing you up and dragging you alongside him. Sukuna dragged you through it all, managing to pull you both to safety. 

Before that, all you saw was a selfish and sinful man that only sought for his protection and safety, but now you see him in a different light. He could have thrown you to the wolves and watch you get mauled by a stampede of the forever hungry. However, his steps were always careful and he never looked back, a set determination to make sure that the both of you survived. 

And God said, Let there be light. You always took that as a saying of hope. That with darkness comes light and whenever the sun shines, it’s your reminder that God is a true man. Only, Sukuna has become your god. 

Sometimes, you still read the bible. Just something you use to give yourself hope before you’re pulled back into reality and only to realize that it’s all bullshit and lies. And that Sukuna was right, God is just a bunch of bullshit. However, it’s a constant reminder of what you used to be, and who you used to be. The bible now a set of affirmations though you know that in your sweet death all there will be is an eternal inferno waiting for you. 

Out in the woods, everything is silent. Only the occasional grumble of a walker lurking through these parts. It’s a surprise that the two of you have lived for so long by yourselves, but Sukuna’s managed to toughen you up. Teaching you how to shoot a gun and aim right for the head, though the two of you never use guns often. It attracts them. 

Opening up to him, you reveal that you used to be a nurse. In turn, you teach him how to disinfect stitches with the supplies the two of you find and how to create holistic remedies so neither of you die from a cold. Neither of you give without taking, always having something in return for each other. 

Right now, the both of you equally have as much to give as it is to take. In a tattered dress, dirties and white, you peek from behind the trees as a group of survivors follow the dirt path back to you. The growl of a walker sounding from behind you as it’s shackled on a chain, the key dangling in your hold. Every step you take is careful, stepping over twigs and making sure every part of you is soundless. You move slowly to loosen the manacles off the zombie, but making sure he’s not entirely free. You feel bad for the poor man that you’re taking advantage of. Underneath all that decay, he couldn’t have been older than thirty-five— a healthy and active man to be blinded by whatever factors that led to his demise. 

One day, a voice rings inside your head. That will be you. However, just like all those constant reminders, you push them to the back of your mind as everything’s set in place. You just have to do your part while Sukuna does his. 

The five stay huddled together, never losing their guard for a second before they hear the rushed snaps of twigs and the crunch of leaves underneath a pair of feet. Mechanic weapons already in bat— a crossbow, a bat with nails embedded, a bow and arrow, a katana and a sharpened staff, aiming it towards the direction before finding a small figure running out of a band of trees. You run barefooted, no longer hissing at the sharp pricks and pebbles that poke at your bare skin as you’ve done this routine a dozen times now. 

Your breath comes out in heavy pants as you cry and moan. “Please… Please… Help me!”

They lower their weapons, but not enough to where they’ve lowered their guard. Staying wary as they huddle together in one group, so cautious over such an “innocent” thing like you. “Please,” you croak, your footsteps staggering as they take in your tattered appearance. “I need help. My– my–”

The waterworks start, able to spill the salt so easily now as tears prickle from the corner of your eyes. “My boyfriend, he got hurt and I don’t know if he’ll make it! I promise, I’ll be out of your hair. Just… Help me, please.”

The desperation that reeks from you, wide eyes that look so helpless. You look like you’re barely surviving, dirt covering every inch of you as you pant heavily. They’ve run across people looking to take advantage of people, making them on the constant lookout for those who’re the bait. There’s usually an underlying piece of evidence that singles them out, it's a hidden identifier. However, before they can come up with a conclusion, snarls behind them call for their attention. Three zombies— two handled by Sukuna with yours in tow— trudging in their direction. 

“Walkers!” One says in a hushed voice, raising his bat and ready to swing. With their backs turned to you now, a smirk graces your features as you trail behind them in their preparation to fight. Dark hair with a bowl cut, you attack from behind just as you were taught, lodging the pocket knife that you had hidden away into his neck. He gurgles blood, unable to say anything, managing to grab ahold of the blonde next to him. 

“Haibara!” the blonde cries out, but before he could lunge at you, you kick him in the path towards the zombies with all your strength. Two down, three to go. Unfortunately, just as your victories came, your losses came in twice as fast as the three zombies were quickly handled by the three that were left. One with white hair that seemed unreal, a girl with auburn hair stopping at the nape of her neck, and another girl with jet-black hair and a gnarly gash running across her face. 

With gazes filled with determination, they’re ready to attack within a split second. The unsheathed katana comes out to play, swiping through the air. You manage to duck right in time, dodging the sharp blaze to your body. The next to swing at you, the bat with rusted nails that would possibly lead to a disgusting infection if it got into your skin. You back up and back up until you’re at the right spot. When the girl goes for her final lunge at you, you manage to jump in time, clipping the string and unloading the trap. The heavy cleaver swung in the air and landed straight to the head. 

The play of events leaving the two that are left in shock and giving you ample time to hide away. All you can hear is, “Where’d they go?”

“I don’t know, but keep your eye out,” the male says. In this neck of the woods, you have the reign. The vastness of a playing field that you’ve managed to memorize. You’re as silent as a ghost, having them second guess every direction they look in. 

Sukuna was right in a way. You shouldn’t have lived as long as you have, but you’ve also come to learn that the strong can’t win all on their own. Where Sukuna will excel in a battle of strength, you’ve defied your very teachings, surviving off of deceit and mischief. Every trap set in place a work of your own while Sukuna cleaned up your mess, leaving the two victims clueless to the fact that their three friends have already been properly disposed of. 

However, he leaves you the crossbow behind. Bending down to pick it up, you think you’ve won another round until your hear the click of the gun. “Smart, I have to say.”

The man with white hair smirks at you, cocking the gun right in your direction, aimed straight at your head. “You had me fooled. You had… us fooled.”

You stand tall, posture straightening as you stare straight in the man’s eyes. Your hand is still on the crossbow, you know if you move your hand, you’re dead. He glances at the weapon. “Drop it.”

You don’t listen. “Drop. it.”

Again, you stay stubborn as a mule. His finger is so close to pulling the trigger, he tilts his head to the side. “Drop it.” 

It’s a risky move. You know it, but you make a run for it. The gun fires throughout the forest and immediately alerts your partner. He’s immediately on your trail, making sure not to lose you from his sight again. You drop the crossbow, leaving yourself completely defenseless now in your dash to safety. You can hear him gaining in on you, his gun finding refuge tucked back in his pants. The palm of his hands open and ready to grab you when you halt abruptly, too quickly for him to gain proper footing. You use it to your advantage, turning around and knocking him on his back. 

You jump on top of him, the pocket knife revealed as you take his disadvantaged state and stab him repeatedly. Blood splattering from his arteries, it splashes against your skin as you find yourself lost in bloodthirst and all that you can see is red. Before that voice of the god you follow rings through, bringing you back to reality. “Woah there, princess. I think he’s dead now.”

“Wait,” you pant. Both hands around the handle of the blade, you use your strength to plunge the knife inside his skull. Finally, you look up at Sukuna, eyes bright when you say, “He’s gone for good now.”

—

“You were reckless,” Sukuna breathes, the two of you walking back to the cabin. You dragged back the white-haired man and the boy named ‘Haibara,’ while Sukuna managed the rest— chaining one to a tree so that they could have a zombie at leverage. Both covered in blood, the metallic stench of it has become a habitual thing now. You grunt, used to his chastising now. He always has something to knit pick at every time the two of you go on a hunt. 

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” you shrug. 

“And next time, you’ll die,” he sneers. “I’ve taught you all that you need to survive. Stop with the theatrics and get straight to the point.”

“If it’s my time,” you shrug again. “It’s my time. Fate will tell.”

“Oh, don’t start with your religious bullshit again. I thought you were over that by now.”

“I am, but—” He drops the bodies, hands immediately on you. The blood’s starting to oxidize, the red hue darkening as he grabs you by the face. You no longer flinch in his touch, letting him grab you by your cheeks and pull you in. You can feel his breath on you when he snarls, “Then, stop with the suicidal crap. It’s getting old.”

At one point, you swore that Sukuna hated you. However, whenever he looks at you like this— feigned anger as his vermillion pupils stare you down— you know you were all wrong. There’s a longing inside of him, he needs you. He needs you just as much as you need him. You don’t know if it’s because of the familiarity and losing the sense of that that makes the two of you feel this way, or if it's genuine. Nonetheless, whenever this moment is sparked between each other, neither of you are afraid to ignite those deadly flames. 

“Okay.” You give in. He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t turn into an obedient puppy on me now,” he breathes, grip on your cheeks tightening. “Give me something more.”

Letting go of the lifeless legs, your hands reach for his biceps. The palm of your hands, providing him the warmth of you. When you look at him, there’s always awe tinged inside of your pupils. “I’ll do whatever you want of me.”

There’s something carnal about sex. It reminds you of when you’re baring out your teeth, gnawing at human flesh. The hunger and need that you have for each other closely resembles the battles the two of you share while hunting, watching the life leave your poor victims’ eyes. Sukuna’s brute strength on your body, pulling you and manhandling you in any way he deems fit, reminds of you the way he steals a person’s last breath. Veins protruding from his hands, squeezing the air out of someone’s lungs. 

It reminds you of the moments with his hands around your neck, his length pounding into you deeply as you can barely utter a word. Thumb and index pressing just where they need to restrict air flow as he presses down. Scratchy moans and mewls that manage to escape as tears escape from you. He batters your pussy how he pounds on the defenseless, punching them until their face is unrecognizable and lifeless, and taking away that privilege of revival with a knife through their skull. 

When he manhandles you and pulls you just where he wants, it reminds of moments like these heading back to the cabin, dragging your next meal to your shared abode before starting a fire. The sky darkens and the two of you are still in your soiled clothes, a deep red painting the two of you. It only becomes worse when Sukuna hands you a cleaver, the two of you chopping away and more blood spilling on the palm of your hands. A heavy tension that cascades the two of you before the human meat is properly distributed into smaller chunks. Sukuna did the heavyload of harboring it away with the rest of them.

And when he comes back, his hands are still bloody and you do the favor of cleaning him off. Holding his much larger hand in yours, the taste of blood becomes a regular occurrence, no longer shying away from it. Pink tongue that tickles the palm of his hands as red melts on your tongue. You’re careful and thorough, making sure that you’ve reached every crack and crevice. A purr reverberating off his chest as those vermillion pearls look right into your eyes, how your lips hollow around his digits. He’s a blood-born predator the way his chest vibrates; you, the only one able to tame the beast he is. 

Every inch of him makes you feel frail, how he’s able to tear you apart with his bare hands. He rips through the fabric of your clothes, turning them into scraps in his impatience. He’s left you bare in a matter of seconds, fingernails digging into your flesh as he pulls you impossibly closer to him in a deep need for your proximity. 

Warm-blooded, his body heat beats off of him as your nimble fingers cling onto his shirt, tugging for him to remove. And one-by-one, you help him out of every piece before you’re being lifted into his arms, legs draped around his refined torso as the two of you share such fervor and passion in a kiss. Saliva dribbling from the corners of your lips before you’re pulling away, hooded eyes that darken before your tongue lulls out again. The splotchy patches of blood getting cleaned off and making his skin shine. The twinkle and sizzle of the fire guides a path to the busted patio furniture. 

Your back pressed into the cushion, like this, the two of you resemble two cats grooming each other. Both taking turns to sweep the dried blood from each other’s bodies, the taste of each other’s flesh being something heavily embedded in each other’s memories. Each other’s potent stench of sweat and musk so familiarized in each other’s senses. Rough and calloused hands come to explore your body, further ingraining the softness of your skin deep into his core. Groping and grabbing at the fatty flesh of your breasts as he takes in deep breaths. His breath tickles your neck, providing you warmth as the cooling night comes to cascade down on the both of you. He kneads at your breasts, thumbs flicking at your pert and erect nipples. 

You hum a sultry melody before yips of pain end the song abruptly, the pinch of Sukuna’s canines marking at your skin as his mouth clamps down on you. Your hips buck when he pulls away, a string of saliva following in his path before the band breaks. When he sinks his teeth in you, it reminds you of how dangerous a man he is. Every part of your body is a weapon, he told you once upon a time, and thus proving it when he killed a man with his bare teeth. Arousal that had pooled inside you watching the moment and arousal that pools inside of you now as he covers your body in bites, a call of ownership as his hands bruise your waist and his length pressed to your stomach. 

One hand around his cock, aligning himself to your entrance while the next pushes the strands of hair that dare to get in front of your face, it’s a short period of gentleness before he’s pressing his mushroom tip inside of your walls. The way you gasp out from the pain, a stretch that you always have to brace yourself for before his teeth pulls at your bottom lip. This brave face you always try to pull in front of him falters as a single stray tear falls and you’re holding back your cries. He sees right through you, his pretty little thing. Someone once so fragile has stepped into the light, mustering up strength out of you to become a cold-blooded killer, but yet you’re still so weak in so many ways.

Like, how your knees always come to buckle at the sight of him, always falling into submission like a dog loyal to its owner. Your eyes twinkle as if to forever promise your evermore devotion towards him, casting a light upon him and naming him your god. You lay so much trust in one man. One man, that if he truly wanted to, could play God and end your life. Sometimes he comes to question whether you continue to survive for him or for yourself. But now, he’s come to ask himself the same thing. Who is he surviving for? Because in his mind, all that comes up is you. 

The taste of mankind is a flavor he’s well accustomed to, but no matter how many times he made you bleed and have bitten down on your soft flesh, it’s one that he’ll never find himself acquainted with. It’s something so intoxicating and something that always makes him feel weak in the bones, his hunger for you so overpowered that it drives him to insanity. 

His cock sheathed inside of you, the way your walls clamp down on him has his body shuddering. A breath he forces himself to hold until he withdraws himself completely before battering your poor pussy. As the stars shine and the two of you are more at risk of being attacked, the two of you willing to take such a risk just to indulge into each other’s pleasure. The buck of Sukuna’s hips drives you wild as the sting subsides and is replaced with euphoria. One hand clamping around your mouth as he forces you silent. You poor thing, never able to hold yourself back with your pathetic claims that he just makes you feel too good. 

The way he drills his cock inside of your pussy, pistoning inside of you with such vigor that it has your nails digging into his back. Creating more scratches to accompany the old ones that are slowly fading away, your mewls and moans go muffled as he grunts and groans from above you. Glossy eyes that stare up at him with such heavy admiration as you hold on for dear life. Your juices intermingle with the translucent precum that seeps from his tip, his hips holding no rhythm as he selfishly uses your body. For a moment does he uncover your mouth, replacing his hands with his lips to swallow down your moans as his pelvis beats into yours. And though the undead prowls through the night, the squeaks of the battered and overused patio sofa goes unheard, the crickets and cicadas creating a song to deafen the lustrous intimacy the two of you share. 

When you cum, it reminds him of the desperate who plead for their life, so weak and torn that they whimper out so pathetically that it sends blood rushing straight down, the depiction reminding him of you. A look of craze that always washes over his face before he lands the finishing blow and they’re no more. Your face contorting in pleasure as you beg and plead to him. You pull away from him, calling his name. “Su…Sukuna, please.”

Please, that one word he associated with weakness. A word that he’s always associated with asking instead of simply taking what you wanted. You weak little thing, begging for something you know he’ll always grant you just to see the way your body responds.

He grabs your face, squishing down on your cheeks before his index and middle finger shove their way inside your mouth. No gentler than before, he only continues his abuse on your cunt, the head of his cock kissing roughly at your cervix before your body stiffens. Your legs tensing up and trapping him inside you as your mouth falls open. You resemble a wounded animal, whimpering and croaking out in pure lust and ecstasy. 

Your pussy flutters, beckoning for his orgasm to follow in suit as you cream around his cock. One more bite— letting go of your lips and his mouth now on your neck, a high-pitched squeak leaves you as he spills his seed inside of you. He paints your walls white as your heat holds him tightly inside, canines digging inside your flesh as he groans in pleasure. A white ring forming around the base of his cock, a beautiful picture painted as both bodies lay pliant in attempts to catch your breaths. At the end of it all, your eyes close shut. Just like all of his victims, accepting a pitiful defeat. 

Only, yours has come to be something he loves.

( 🫀 ) : @r0ckst4rjk @kasukuna @pixelcafe-network @satsattoru

[burntsaltsblog]

pain relief - billy butcher x reader

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details: you get your period and soft!butcher comforts you in multiple ways <3

mini// smut below the cut

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"Fuck," I cursed, biting my lip to stifle my cries. My period had made its grand entrance this morning, rendering me utterly immobile as I curled up in my small bed in our latest safehouse.

Being one of the most wanted people in the country certainly did not have its perks. I couldn't simply run down to the nearest drugstore and pick up an armload of painkillers because, knowing my luck, I'd probably be spotted by a fellow shopper or one of the many security cameras.

I did always have the option of stealing some of Frenchie's opium, but the last time I did that, I hallucinated that Dr. Phill, the girl from The Circle, and Homelander were having a threesome in my bed. I was in no mood to witness that horror again.

As another excruciating cramp wracked my body, someone knocked on my door.

"Oi, are ya' gonna wrap yourself in them sheets tighter than a nun's knickers all day, or are ya' gonna stop being a lazy twat and come join our meeting like a good-standing, functioning member of society," Butcher barked as he entered my room.

"I'm hardly a good-standing member of society, considering I'm one of the top criminals in America, along with your asses," I replied. My voice was strained as I panted and closed my eyes, trying to cope with the sharp pang spreading across my lower back.

It was noticeable enough for Butcher to trudge over to my bed and yank back my blankets, revealing my sweating, shivering body.

"What the fuck wrong with you? Are ya' going into bloody kidney failure or something?"

"Or something," I mumbled. "Look, I'm fine. I'm just on my period, so I'm in a little bit of pain." Right on cue, my stomach agonizingly seized, causing me to groan weakly.

"I'd hardly call that a little bit, love," Butcher snickered. "I've seen puny, little blokes who've been shot cope better than you."

"Oh, shut up, will you?" I snapped, on the verge of tears. "And get the fuck out. If I'm going to die, I'd rather do it alone."

Butcher rolled his eyes. "Oh, cut out the dramatics, doll, and scoot over, will ya'" He used his hand to shoo me, and I weakly moved over as he joined me in bed, kicking off his boots and propping his feet up.

"What are you doing?" I asked, confused.

"Making myself comfortable," Butcher replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His bulking frame took up the entirety of my twin bed, leaving me teetering on the very edge.

"C'mere," Butcher commanded, holding out his arm.

I didn't move and stared at him skeptically until he finally huffed, rolling his eyes, "I don't bite, unless ya' want me to. And legend has it you're quite kinky."

"What legend?" I demanded, appalled.

"These walls are quite thin, love. You do the math," Butcher smirked.

My face grew red, and I suddenly felt very self-conscious in my underwear and oversized shirt. "Well, you must have a problem with your ears. You should really see someone about that. I know a good ENT that can-" My sentence dissolved into a yelp as Butcher grew impatient and tugged me over, so my head crashed down on his chest as his muscular arm caged me against his body.

"What the hell are you doing?" I sputtered.

"Making you feel better," he grumbled. "Now, tell me where it hurts."

Shyly, I pointed to my stomach, and Butcher placed his hand over the correct spot. "Jesus. I can feel your muscles spazeming."

I hummed softly as he began to massage my aching abdomen gently, and my eyes drooped as my body relaxed against him.

"That's it, love," Butcher said, whispering his praise.

I snuggled into his broad chest, and my nose nuzzled into his neck, inhaling his comforting scent of mint, whisky, and nicotine. Butcher's hand dipped to my lower stomach, and I moaned, clutching the fabric of his Hawaiian shirt.

"That feel good?" he asked gruffly as he dug into my flesh, working out the tension that I'd been holding there all morning.

"So good, Butcher," I murmured in appreciative bliss.

After a moment of silence, Butcher's fingers trailed down again and curved to the side so his massive hand rested on my hip as he breathed, "Ya' know, there is another way to relieve your discomfort."

My breaths came out shallow as I asked, "Yeah? What's that?" Already knowing the answer.

Butcher's lips grazed my ear, and I shivered at the contact. "Why don't I show ya'"

Anticipation trailed up my spine, and I held my breath as Butcher pulled up the hem of my shirt and lightly traced the waistband of my underwear.

"This is a one-time thing, yeah?" he said lowly. "I don't need ya' following me around like a desperate little pup after you've come on my hand. I don't have time to satiate a needy slut like you every day."

I nodded my head, but Butcher swatted my inner thigh as he scolded me. "Use your words, sweetheart."

The sting Butcher's hand left behind caused blood to flow quicker to my pussy. My lips were wet and sensitive as they rubbed against my thin underwear, and I squirmed at the sensation.

"Yes, I understand," I whined, desperation leaking through my voice just like the arousal that leaked out of my cunt.

"Good girl."

I moaned at Butcher's praise, and he chuckled in response. "I haven't even touched ya' yet, and you're already fuckin' creaming your jeans."

I arched my back off the bed as Butcher eased my soaked panties down my legs, unintentionally shoving my breasts in his face. After pushing my ruined underwear into his pocket, he took one of my puckered nipples in between his thumb and forefinger and twisted it harshly. I cried out, and Butcher was quick to slap a hand over my mouth.

"Shut the fuck up unless you want the others to hear what an eager bleedin' whore you are. I doubt they'd believe it, though, with how you prance around here all innocent and demure like the virgin fuckin' Mary."

I shook my head as tears of humiliation pooled in my eyes. They began pouring down my face when Butcher positioned himself on his stomach and pulled my legs apart, exposing my sopping cunt and engorged clit that was begging for attention.

"Oh, look at that," he mused. "She's so pink n' swollen."

He ran a single finger in between my glistening folds, and I jumped at the sudden contact, whimpering.

"And sensitive," he observed, chuckling.

"Please, Butcher," I begged, embarrassed at how desperate I was when I lifted my hips off the bed, holding my pussy that dripped blood and arousal up to his face.

"S'ok," he soothed with a slight condescending tone as he placed a firm hand on my hips, pushing me back down on the bed. "I'm gonna take care of ya’, darling."

I didn't have time to reply before Butcher licked a strip up my center, savoring my taste. "So fuckin' good."

His eyes met mine as he circled my clit with his thumb. "Has your cunt always tasted this bloody good, love? Cuz I've been missing out."

Butcher's words vibrated against my core, and my cries were his only answer as he dove back in and began slurping up my drooling pussy like he was a man starved. My fingers found his dark hair, and I pulled in desperation every time his tongue mercilessly fucked my entrance.

When two of Butcher's calloused fingers replaced his tongue, my stomach knotted with my impending orgasm. His thick digits stretched me deliciously, and when his tongue circled my tight, puckered hole below, I moaned loudly and carelessly. Any thoughts of the possible audience outside of my door had flown out of my mind the second Butcher touched me.

"You like that, eh? Maybe I should play with your tight hole next. I'll stretch your ass open with my fingers until you're begging to come."

Butcher's filthy words sent me over the edge, and my orgasm pulled the air from my lungs as I gasped, tightening my grip on his hair to ground myself.

"That's it. Gush all over my hand like a good girl."

It felt like I was floating above my body as I writhed on the bed, mumbling unintelligible words as Butcher drew my high out longer than I thought was possible.

When I had nothing left to give, and my body was weak and satisfied, Butcher slowly withdrew his fingers.

Through hooded eyes, I watched him hold his long digits in the air, and they glistened in my blood and wetness that dripped down his hand and onto his arm.

Butcher held my gaze as he opened his mouth and curled his tongue around his wet fingers, making filthy sounds as he sucked his fingers dry.

"I think I've found my new favorite meal."

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not my best work but oooh wellll

[gremlingottoosilly]

Someone, take Lego away from Konig (yandere!loser!Konig x fem!Reader)

AO3

Konig is keeping you in his basement. Turns out, this is still not the worst part. His interest are. Tags ans Warnings: Dub-con, obsessive behaviour, possessive behavior, yandere loser Konig, size difference, kidnapping, weird fluff.

König can play women’s bodies like fine musical instruments.

After he spent 10 minutes vigorously rubbing your outer labia, you concluded that he was thrown out of musical school on day one.

He flicks your clit occasionally, clearly not considering it something worthy of attention and, obviously, not something that actually brings you pleasure – he fidgets with it mechanically, like it’s a part of his riffle, and you almost want to say that his dismissive approach is kind of hot. He edges you perfectly, always giving away just enough pleasure that it feels nice, but not nearly enough that it brings you to orgasm – and he does so with zero idea of what he is doing, which makes you…almost proud. Of him. Of your angry crazy incel loser kidnapper who thought that bringing you lego flowers would make you suck his cock.

Well, it kinda did. Not the flowers, the whole…kidnapping thing. He did use it to get into your pants – and you aren’t even allowed to wear those now. Only his shirts, maybe a hoodie on a cold day, and a pair of lacy panties that he slips on you every morning he is at home.

You have a system – and König does his best to maintain it. You are getting fed at the same time, to make sure that your pretty little self is not malnourished, you are getting roughly clean clothes — most of it belongs to him, of course, like it’s not embarrassing to wear, and sometimes he even asks how your day was. Sometimes you look him deep in the eyes and say that you didn’t move from your usual spot the whole day because, well, you are kidnapped. Sometimes you are trying to be funny and make some silly jokes — and then he either gets too comfortable laughing and then trying to get his hand all the way down the depths of your inner thighs, or he gets angry.

König knows that a petty flower like you doesn’t want to be in captivity for so long, but there really isn’t much both of you can do about it.

He brings you different lego sets from time to time, trying to find out what you like the most. He doesn’t quite understand that, working in a Lego shop, you were utterly sick of most of the boxes lying around. He tried to gauge the reaction out of you, but you’re either ignoring him, crying or begging him to let you go…and he can’t exactly have that. He, kinda, can, of course, but it would mean sliding off your brain so you would never tell anyone about your experiences, or getting into a showdown with the police – and knowing that he hopped you through the border illegally to be his captive wife, wouldn’t really give him any brownie points. He is fucked, utterly and completely, if you’re ever going to be free without falling madly in love with him…

Which is why König is trying to make you love him. Thoroughly, utterly, and spending copious amounts of time with his tongue buried between your folds in the meantime.

Like now.

— You like it, ja? When I move like this…

He was spending too much time caressing and fondling your thighs – but you must admit that having his lips travel across your skin and sending goosebumps right into your core wasn’t so bad…he touched you a bit awkwardly, just a tad bit shy – like he wasn’t so sure how to approach a soft, female body instead of a cold rifle he was probably used to…he knows that he can’t just treat you like another one of his guns but, by god, if he doesn’t adore the way you look at him. All scared and nervous as he pushes his lips upwards, as he covers your soft skin with bite marks – you were so sure that he will be too nervous to even touch you, but you know better now…this guy doesn’t care that he is your captor. He only wants you to accept him, and if giving you gifts didn’t work out…

You needed to be a bit more diligent about the whole accepting his kindness thing. Maybe he would have been satisfied with a handjob – but now he wants to put his hands on you and do his job.

— Too…too much, Ko…

— Call me “sir”.

There is steel in his voice, and you stiff slightly. This is new – he was never like this before, even though you kinda got that he was in some sort of military. He was way too bulky and had too much money to be a regular gun nerd, so you settled for some special forces or elite war crime unit…then again, you weren’t in Germany anymore. Guy would have to get another citizenship to get into a more serious “I fucking hate my fellow man” forces.

He flicks his tongue over your clit and you remember what you’re here for. To get fucked. Because you are fucked. Not right now in physical sense, but you will be in a few minutes, and you’ve been mentally fucked for a few another hours and-

— Sir, ple…too much, re…really…

König fuckijng adores you.

He loves your trembling voice, your trembling hands, your trembling everything. The way you squint your eyes as he finds all of your special spots – it took him some time but ladies are just like riffles – come undone if you press on a few parts. You look perfect under him, and he couldn’t have you any other way even if he wanted to…god, you’re too fucking perfect for your own good. So, so pretty, it’s insane how he didn’t fuck you the first night you’ve been in his basement. Perhaps, he was trying to be a gentleman – fuck this, now. If he knew how sweet you would sound, he’d abandon any rotten chivalry on day one.

König didn’t have a lot of experience – a few sex workers here and there, some in the more exotic destinations while the others were, embarrassingly enough, from his hometown. It was a sense of domesticity, that he isn’t a fucking loser who can’t get a lady in his bed without wavering either his gun or hit wallet – but he has you now, and you don’t really care about his money or his guns…unless he counts your obvious activity. Which he doesn’t. Good golly, you’re too fucking pretty to count that.

He flicks his tongue over your clit and dips lower, deeper, sucking the sweet nectar straight from the source. You’re embarrassingly wet even as you try to push his head away – he would handcuff you, but he likes your little resistance attempts too much. He moans every time you tug on his hair and, with time, you should finally understand that everything you do only makes him want you more. Maybe, you do – but you keep doing this because you’re such a good girl who wants nothing more but to please her dearest…not exactly husband, but he can work on this. He has friends in places. Same ones who used to get him out of detentions when his quiet kid violent tendencies weren’t quite quiet enough.

He is moaning as he eats you out – the sound reverberates from your walls and makes you clench around his tongue, your brain already getting fried from pleasure. You never wanted to get off from your captor’s tongue buried so deep between your legs, but you surely enjoy it now…

You try to pry his head from you when he gets a bit too eager, when it feels like his nose is smashing your clit and you can only moan some mindless bullshit.

— You want to talk about lego instead?

He presses his head on your thighs, his cheek angled against the soft skin. He has a bit of a stubble that burns the soft skin, but the look in his eyes is far too eager. He is not bullshitting – and this is the most terrifying he is ever been. You try to imagine another three-hour lecture Star Wars and the history of lego sets combined with his awkward attempts to fuck you in between turning his affection spam from one thing to the other. The picture is vivid in your mind. You can almost hear it.

You consider your options. It is a hard decision for you.

— You know, they weren’t able to sell the sets to girls up until…

You grab a fistful of his hair and push his face all the way down your dripping pussy.

It looks like the only sure way of making your captor shut up is literally forcing him to fuck you…there were many such cases – you embarrassingly easily fall to his charms, even though he has the aura and charisma of a serial killer who got a freshly baked orphan for his lunch and then tried to talk you into destroying a small country’s economy.

König eats you out with the vigor of a starving man, and there isn’t a place he would love to be more than here and now, listening to your heavenly moans. This is the best motivational song he heard so far – and as he pushes his big, flat tongue deeper into the gummy walls of your clenching pussy, he thinks about recording your sounds and then listening to them in the gym. Could probably break the poor lifting pole with the strength of his fists.

He brought you to an orgasm – not easily, he had to lick the reaction out of you, your heat coming down to both of you like a wave. You feel tired immediately, knowing just how much energy you just wasted listening to his blabber between your legs – but you honestly can’t be arsed to react right now.

König lifts his body up so he can kiss you – you taste yourself on him and, admittedly, it’s a lovely way to make him shut up. You still tremble as you get down from your high, your legs finally giving up, even though you were already laying on that shabby mattress. You shift slightly so he won’t crush you under the weight of his body. A Lego piece pocks at your side, making you wince.

You hate this fucking place.

— What’s wrong, Liebling?

He nuzzles your neck like a needy dog, pressing light kisses all over your skin. He is marking it, too – you can’t keep comparing him to a dog, but this is exactly what he is. Simply a war hound that you have to tame in order to get a somewhat normal life while still belonging in his basement. You thought you knew how to play this game – then he pushed you on your tummy and fucked you because, apparently, you were too good at playing him. Even now, he acts more like a lover – if only you could see past his homicidal tendencies…

But you can’t.

But he doesn’t care anyway.

— I…

You bite your lips, trying to come up with a lie that wouldn’t make him fuck you. König thought you looked beautiful like this, all holed up in your thoughts. So, so pretty, he couldn’t help himself – he needed you, as much as he kinda hated playing the psychological game and trying to understand what you’re thinking. Ladies are too mysterious for him, after all.

— I want to sleep in a normal bed.

Oh.

Well, he…didn’t expect this.

He was ready to combat your desire to run away or to be let go willingly. He was ready to put you on your knees and make you beg for him to not let you go - after all, you did belong to him in all of his right. He didn’t…didn’t expect you to want something so simple. Something that he can do. God, you’d look fucking divine on his bed instead of the tiny basement he put you in. He can already imagine you on your tummy, face buried in his pillows as he pounds into your soft ass and explains every superhero poster he has in his room. He will show you all of his figures and knives and guns, and you’ll finally see just how amazing he is and how interesting his hobbies are – and you’re bound to finally love him the way he deserves.

You stare at him, blankly. He kinda loves when you look like that – sometimes he imagines you being a mindless little bimbo who can’t think of anything besides his dick, and it helps him get off when you’re too sleepy to play along with him. He tried to bring you more sets, something childish, something meant for girls – but you tossed away the rose bouquet and you didn’t even spare a second glance at some fandom set that he thought you’d like. God, you’re difficult. Women are difficult. Why can’t you be as straight as a riffle?

— Normal bed, Katzen? You don’t like it here?

He puts a hand on your shoulder, his fingers too big to rest on your body carefully – he easily reaches for your neck and he knows that you’d go out like a light with the smallest squeeze. You’re adorable and soft like this, and he can’t wait to finally try choking with you.

König imagines your pretty, soft body all helpless under him – maybe you’d claw at his hands and beg him to stop, maybe you’d enjoy it, drenching the small mattress with your juices. Maybe you’d push your hips towards his, desperately searching for release. You can be a nasty, dirty girl, he knows this all too well – mostly because he did go through your phone and searched for your browser history. Who knew that a simple lego store cashier could have so many kidnapping and overpowering fantasies. Who knew that you could be so wet just because some military-obsessed loser wanted to shove his cock into you and wasn’t nice enough to ask first.

— I…I don’t like the basement.

Smart girl. You know how to be sot and obedient when you have to. Too bad, this behavior also made you all the more desirable for König – compared to the rowdy recruits and dumb enemies, your quiet voice is everything he needs to not go crazy. His hand plays with your neck, squeezing it slightly, playfully. He can feel your pulse quickening every time he does this and he is sure that if he’d drop his hand between your legs again, your pulsating pussy would be wet enough to indicate a second orgasm.

Shit.

He goes too far again.

— You don’t like the basement? Why?

You stare at him, blankly. He seriously thought there is nothing wrong with the basement – it’s small, yes, but probably just about the size of a studio apartment you were able to afford while working in Berlin, of all places. You have a mattress, a loving boyfriend, you have all the food and snacks you want, your pussy is filled with cum and your mind should be filled with endless love and adoration for the coolest guy in the world who just so happens to be in love with you, so…

He looks at your face again. Ja, you don’t like the basement. You’re a surface girl after all.

— You really want me to answer that? It’s the basement.

He snorts, still dragging the conversation.

— I spend most of my childhood in the basement. It was nice.

— I could tell.

— What?

— Nothing. Let me out, please.

He sighs with deeply settled tiredness. He thought you’d be nicer about it, too – but he knows what ladies want, he is a ladies' man at heart. He doesn’t have one, of course, not unless this charcoal-black shrapnel-filled thing deep in his chest could be considered one, but he tried his best to be good for you. You deserve something nice, something good. He wants to kiss you all over and he will do it on his own bed, while trying to talk you into watching some old nerdy TV show with him. Maybe you’d agree to play with some Lego after this and it could be considered a really nice and thorough foreplay.

— I can’t.

— Let me sleep on a normal bed, then.

Well, this, he can do.

Carefully unlocking your shackles and immediately catching your legs so you won’t kick him in an attempt to escape, König picks you up like a kitten. It’s scary, almost, how easy it is for him to just manhandle you into the position he wants. He is a big boy, admittingly, so it really doesn’t matter how big or how small you are. He can abuse you easily, and this is why you’re trying to keep him gentle. Using all of your womanly charms even if this guy would get off just from you calling his name.

He covers your eyes so you won’t see anything – not like you’re interested in the amount of weirdly specific movie posters on the walls or an alarming amount of firearms. He knows he is not the most charming person out there with the most interesting hobbies, but you will learn to appreciate all of his anime figures, or else you’re going to suffer the fate of a recruit who dares to ask his late thirties colonel of who the fuck Ayanami Rei is. Rumors are held that this guy was never seen in the army again.

He only puts the hand away from your face when you are sitting on the soft bed. You stare at the navy sheets – fucking obviously – and, surprisingly, a bed frame. Then your gaze travels a bit further, to the walls and…

God.

Oh fuck.

You almost want to cry from how much of a loser your kidnapper is. He is a threatening mercenary, a fucking colonel in military uniform who holds you at gunpoint occasionally. You stare at the anime posters. You contemplate your options.

— Can I go back to the basement?

If god is real, he is a fucking anime girl from the poster in your kidnapper’s bedroom.

[the-ace-with-spades]

My train ride thoughts:

You know all those memory loss fics where they have an accident and forget the past five years they've been married and still think they're rivals? Can we move it slightly to the left and reverse a bit?

Jake and Bradley dated from 2006 to 2010. Bradley did the breaking up - in a brilliant act of self-sabotage, not because he didn't love him, but because he loved him enough to think Jake deserved someone better than Bradley.

Fast forward to 2017 and the mission training - Jake is the one to have an accident, not Javy, and has to eject. He has a head injury (among other things) and is medavac'ed.

He won't fly the mission, but he's mostly okay. However, the first thing Jake asks Javy when they finally let him see him is, "Where is Bradley? Why is he not here? Did something happen to him?" which opens a whole other can of worms.

Turns out, Jake thinks it's the summer of 2010, about three months before he and Bradley had broken up. He didn't say anything in front of the medical staff because his mind still thinks DADT is in place and he doesn't want any of them in trouble. So Javy has to break it to him that 1) it's 2017, which Jake's reply to that is just, Yeah, you looked kinda old (rude!) and 2) well, DADT no longer exists and no one can officially penalize him for being gay.

Which is enough to make Jake cry. And Javy doesn't continue with the whole 'So, Bradley broke up with you 7 years ago' because Jake starts mumbling different things like, We can get married. Oh god, are we married already? Where's my ring? Did I lose it in the accident? Where's Bradley, why did they not call my Next of Kin?

Because, you know, even in 2010 he thought he and Bradley are forever, surely they must still be together and probably married. Which, Javy shouldn't be surprised because he knows Jake had a whole wedding planner, children's names list, house decor theme, and god knows what prepared for them.

And Javy is not going to break his heart, AGAIN, so he chickens out and instead calls a nurse to tell her all about Jake's amnesia. They take Jake away for more tests and exams and just as he is rolled away, he shouts at Javy to 'Tell Bradley I'm okay when he comes in, he worries so bad when hospitals are involved'.

So Javy calls Bradley. Just calls him and tells him to come to the hospital and tell amnesiac Jake they've broken up because he's not explaining it to Jake himself. In truth, Javy doesn't even know why Bradley broke up with Jake but he didn't give him a reason beyond 'we just don't match' and Javy had been also pretty sure Bradley was as much of a goner as Jake and he hates Bradley for making him be so wrong.

Javy avoids the topic as much as he can, but he's not actually expecting Bradley to show up - why would he care now, right? - but just as Jake starts drilling the question, Bradley steps into the room..

Not only does he step in, he lets Jake hug him straight away

Bradley's also brought a bag of clothes and they must be his own because where the heck would he find Jake's and, oh, look at that, that's Texas Cowboys pajamas and Jake asks, "I still have this thing? God, it's so worn out," and Javy chokes on his own tongue. Sure enough, there's a mix of t-shirts that must belong to both Jake and Bradley and a new pair of sweats and those socks must be Bradshaw's because there's no way Jake would wear plane-themed socks.

"Do you have my wedding ring? Or did I lose it forever somewhere in the field?" Jake asks and Bradshaw looks spooked before the bastard recovers and covets under Jake's sad eyes and say, "No, you didn't, our rings are still in the locker room on the base."

And Javy just--stares at him.

"I promise I'll bring them tomorrow."

Javy stares harder.

Why did you not tell him? is what Javy spits out as soon as they leave the room and Bradley's reply is just Why didn't you, huh? and they just stand there pointing at each other like in the Spiderman meme.

Well, Bradshaw will have to explain himself because he sure as hell isn't going to magically produce wedding rings tomorrow morning.

And Javy is proven fucking wrong again because Bradshaw brings TWO wedding rings, with their NAMES engraved and a little thin band with Jake's birthstone that matches the wedding band perfectly.

Javy is speechless but Jake just shines with, oh, they're so pretty, put it back on me, I knew I have good taste.

And Bradshaw is all innocent when he says, "Actually, I chose them. They're made from my parents' melted wedding rings."

And Javy can't tell if he made that up on the spot or not. [He did not.]

And so the lies fucking go on. Jake is discharged, but not for flying, and to keep up the little charade, Javy packs all his things and brings them to Bradshaw's place - where Jake will be staying until they come back from the mission.

And of course, Bradshaw and his--whatever his issues with Maverick are make it onto the Dagger Team. Javy can only imagine the tearful goodbye 2010 Jake would give his married man, sweet husband Bradley.

"You've gotta fucking come back because if you don't, he's going to fucking find out he's not your husband when the will comes out."

And Bradshaw, just like that, replies, "He's the only person in my will anyway."

(Dunno how this would end tho, this is where I had to change trains and I forgot after...)