#that came straight from the light in his heart

[ttjisung]

BABY l. jeno

camboy!lee jeno x fem!reader

in which jeno finds it easier to destress himself on stream, that is until you catch him

cw: MDNI! smut, unprotected sex, cumming inside, fingering, squirting, another haechan feature cause i want him lowkey, generally inappropriate things lol idk how else to describe it! this wasn't proof read so beware of spelling mistakes (wc: 3k)

If you were to be asked, you’d confidently describe your relationship with Lee Jeno as trustworthy – loyal, even. Yet the truth was that Jeno had a secret he had been keeping for years now, one so outlandish it sounds straight out of a girl’s wet dream. It wasn’t that he thought you’d judge him, he just worried you’d ask him the origins of his secret, and he’d have to explain that it became his channel to take out some stress because of you.

Jeno’s secret was simple and straightforward – for the past year or two, he’d hide out at his apartment every weekend alone, turning on his web-camera and becoming a new identity. He hated calling himself a camboy, seeing it as an impeachment on his own self. Camboy felt too official, he was just a horny young adult looking for a way to let it out. That being said, what complicated the situation was that you were the cause of his need to do so. All of the times you’d compliment him after he’d send a workout selfie, so oblivious to the gym roleplay he’d act out later on, wishing his hand was you in tight shorts and a sports bra. Even something so innocent as saying his hair was cute had him thrusting into his palm and pulling on his own hair in the late hours, acting like it was you in front of him, instead of the hundreds of nameless accounts that would flood his chat. 

Jeno swore he’d get away with his little double-life, knowing you’d be caught in a grave before HotLonelyStuds. That’s why his own world came crashing down on himself during a hangout, when Lee Haechan approached him privately, an evil grin on his obnoxious face. “I have a confession.” The way he stated it seemed genuine, yet the way his eyes glinted towards the older male let him know his intentions were anything but. 

“Go ahead.” “Head? I’m sure that’s what you want, Dr. Lee.” Jeno’s heart dropped at the implication behind the sentence, way too specific to pass as a normal sexual innuendo. It was only when Haechan opened his phone up to his Twitter likes, already flooded with several homemade pornos, pointing out the most recent. Jeno wasn’t even aware that people were reuploading his clips – he swore it was a privacy breach, not allowed on the website he used. He recognized the specific stream, a night where he felt particularly needy. You had told him about a physical you received at your latest doctors’ appointment, and his fantasies ran wild. Admittedly, it wasn’t normal to feel so horny because of something so simple, yet as soon as he imagined himself on top of you, stripping you slowly on a patient’s bed, there was no going back. Albeit weird, he swore there was nothing special about the clip until Haechan clicked on it, of course he did. 

“Fuck… Need you so bad, baby. Let Dr. Lee take care of you.” Jeno’s voice was hoarse, ringing from above as his camera panned down to his cock that was already out of his white dress pants and leaking in his hand. He flicked his wrist gently, agonizingly slow, taking his time and imagining it was your small, delicate hand instead. In his daze, his thumb unconsciously ran over his tip, forcing a gasp out of his throat, alongside an uncontrolled small whisper of your name. The whisper was so light, it could easily be played off as an incoherent moan to anyone else, yet Haechan (who swore up and down that Jeno was in love with you) begged to differ.

“Why did you even watch all of it to find that out, perv.” Jeno’s first response was defense, trying to play it off and even pass the shame onto Haechan. What he should’ve taken into account was that if there was one word to describe the male, it’d be shameless. “Eh, ‘was bored. What matters here is you, Dr. Lee, and your infatuation with a little someone-” 

“Who?” You spoke up behind the two, frowning at the way Haechan jumped up and immediately turned his phone off. “Hey, I wanna see.” You whined, saddened at the fact that you were out of the loop. “It was porn.” Haechan was quick to yell out, patting Jeno on the back and rushing back into the living room. 

“Were you actually watching that stuff, Jen? I don’t care but like… You told me you don’t.” The disdain in your voice assured Jeno about one thing – you could never know the truth. Not only would it freak you out, he felt as though you’d be offended that he’s been lying to you about how truly sexual he is. Being the only two of your friend group that didn’t continuously sleep around, you felt even more connected with him when he’d back you up, telling you it’s normal to be reserved at your age; making you think he relates, when the truth was that as soon as you’d go home and his lights would turn off, his camera would turn on. 

“No, of course not baby. He was just being weird.” The way the familiar nickname rolled out of his mouth smoothly assured you, and you simply nodded with a small grin. “What were you up to before Hyuck flashed you?” You giggled at your own word choice, moving away from Jeno to open the fridge. “Not much, ‘was honestly waiting for you to realize I was gone and look for me.” For some reason, an unusual feeling of unease washed over him at your reaction to his words. You took it lightly, like you take everything. No matter how shamelessly he’d flirt with you, you’d always just smile and look away until the conversation would stray elsewhere. He was sick of acting like it didn’t affect him to see you dismiss him so easily, yet he supposed it was partly his fault, as he never clarified that he meant what he said – you probably just assumed he didn’t. 

“Wanna escape to my place? I’m honestly a bit bored.” Jeno wasn’t bored, he just wanted you all to himself, truthfully. “Sorry, Jen. I have a paper due tomorrow and I’m only halfway done. I was about to head out. Maybe another time?” He simply nodded, masking his disappointment with a shaky breath. Embarrassed from your reoccuring denial, he decided he’d go home anyway.  He had a new idea for a stream anyway, one that projected your relationship as loudly as the rest. It never hurts to do an extra video or two, knowing the pocket change he’d make could serve to take you out for a pastry. 

Tonight, the roles were reversed on HotLonelyStuds, as Jeno’s hand stroked himself quickly, moaning at the sensation. “Take it, fuck. Take it all. Rejecting me when you know you want me? Could’ve been us right now, baby.” His words were muffled, his teeth gritting in an unnaturally stressed way as his other hand reached his throat, pressing harshly. This stream was particularly rough, and although he’d refuse, Jeno knew the true reasoning behind his labored actions. He knew the truth was that he was sick of you ignoring him, when he was always there. Every time you’d complain about your lack of experience, every time you’d cry to him about feeling immature, he wanted to scream in your face that he’s right here! He always has been right there, pliant and willing to help you overcome your inexperience. 

The frustration built more and more, and before Jeno knew it he had come twice, painting his already covered abs white. On his third, he was too immersed to notice the familiar jingle of your spare key – the one he had given you as soon as he moved into his new apartment, letting you know you were welcome any time. 

Clearly, that might’ve not been the case as a loud gasp escaped you. Not bothering to knock on Jeno’s bedroom door, not even having heard his loud groans, you were welcomed with the sight of his heavy dick in his hands, upper body completely bare. Jeno’s eyes were held shut with pleasure until he recognized a stream of light on him that hadn’t been there before, the buzz of his hallway lamp amplifying the already-deafening silence that the two of you shared as you finally made eye contact. In shock, Jeno couldn’t bring himself to cover up. It wasn’t until you shrieked and ran out of the room that he pulled his pants back up, shutting the stream off with no explanation and running after you.

“Baby… I swear it’s not what you think-” “I know what I saw, Jen…” Your frown was making him panic, and he felt tears brimming in his eyes at your words. He was so fucked. “I just… Why didn’t you tell me? You know I don’t care-” “That’s the problem!” Sick of ignoring the obvious, he moved next to you, holding both your wrists in desperation. “You never care. Fuck, you don’t even care right now that you saw my dick out. Even less, that it was because of you.” His words sparked confusion in you, understanding what he was saying but refusing to believe what he insinuated. Surely, Lee Jeno hadn’t been fucking himself in front of a camera because of you. How would that even work?

“I don’t even care anymore, either, Y/n. Don’t care that you caught me, because maybe at least for those three seconds that you saw me, you might’ve had a small part of you in your head saying it’s hot.” “I don’t get it, Jen.” “Yes, you do.”

It wasn’t until you felt Jeno’s breath on your face that you realized how close he had truly gotten, and it was only when he grabbed your wrists that you realized, maybe it doesn’t feel so bad to be held by him like that.

Against your better judgement, your next action was brash as you cupped his face, pulling him in towards yours. The kiss was messy, Jeno’s teeth biting your lips until they began to feel sore. His arm snaked behind your back, lessening the space between you until there was nothing. “Gonna show you what I’ve been doing, baby. All for you.” “W-wait, Jen.” Before he could even push you onto the couch behind you, you pulled away. With every step you took, Jeno’s heart broke more, and his anger grew. Who were you to kiss him, and then reject him not even a minute later? 

In his fury, Jeno failed to realize what you were truly doing until your hand found his and you led him back to his room. His mind became foggy once he saw you approach his computer, searching for something. “Where is it, Jen?” “Where’s what, baby?” “The camera.” At your words, his eyes widened. There was no way you were really doing what he thought you were doing. There was no way you were going to let him fuck you in front of his viewers. 

Feeling as though the opportunity would pass at any second, Jeno jumped up quickly, gently pushing you aside to open the website and program the webcam to turn on. Soon after, the red flickering light on his computer confirmed the fact that it was on, and his hands were back on you, sliding down towards the back of your thighs and pulling you onto him. 

The kiss grew heavy once more, Jeno so focused that he didn’t even give context to his viewers who had never seen him with another girl before. Had he read the chat though, he’d be pleasantly surprised to see the positive feedback. Maybe he would’ve even seen Haechan’s texts that were flooding his phone. WTF? I TOLD YOU, YOU WHORE, that quickly progressed into encouragement, fuckk dude, lift her shirt up a bit, always wanted to see her pretty tits.

Unknowingly, Jeno fed into Haechan’s perversions as he also grew tired of the fabric holding you back from him. His big hands held onto your waist before lifting you up and turning you around, so you’d be sitting on his lap facing towards the camera instead of him. The light whimpers you’d let out at his every move gained traction from the chat, who were now spamming comments asking Jeno to fuck the shit out of you. Well, who was he to deny his fans?

You felt Jeno’s lips attach to your neck, as well as his long fingers slipping under your shirt, cupping your bare tits. He hated the fact that you never wore a bra near him, leaving little to his imagination when he wasn’t allowed to touch you. A shit-eating grin replaced his focused expression as he heard your breath hitch when he finally pinched your nipple, stopping for a second to effortlessly rip your shirt off over your head. Now exposed and riddled with goosebumps, Jeno sucked harder, leaving blemishes and marks all over your shoulder. His hands tweaked each nipple, pulling harder to draw more reactions from you.

This time, instead of a gasp, you simply grinded down on him out of instinct, the feeling finally pulling a moan from Jeno’s own throat. His chest still bare from when you had walked in on him earlier, pressed against your back as he held you close, pulling your little shorts off alongside your panties in one swift move. 

You were embarrassingly wet, hating yet loving the way Jeno stared at you through the screen of his own computer. He watched you with hunger in his eyes, as if he was going to devour you, and the worst part is that you began to like the idea. 

Your eyes shut close as you felt his fingers run down your slit, wetting them before he bullied two into you at once. You winced from the pain, not having time to recover before Jeno was thrusting in and out of you. His frustrations escaping him in the form of passion as his other hand planted gentle circles to your clit. Your cunt began to clench around him, a pit in your stomach forming as you let out moan after moan. It was only when he added another finger that you squirmed, the pit fully dropping. The shock on Jeno’s face was evident as a clear liquid covered both you and him once you came. Never in his life would he have expected you to squirt. He didn’t let out though, continuing to thrust his fingers in you until you fully rode out your high, clawing at his hands from the overstimulation.

Although he stopped, the breath you were catching got stuck in your throat once you felt something much larger than his fingers prodding at your cunt. He was big – honestly not a shock to you, who always heard him brag to the rest of your friends before he swore celibacy in solidation with you. Nothing could prepare you for the feeling of his tip pulsing in you, or his strong arms wrapping around you to hold your inner thighs, spreading you out to the camera, full pussy on display.

Hearing your gasps, Jeno stopped to let you adjust, yet it didn’t last long as you clenched around him. Albeit slower than he wanted to, he entered inch by inch until his cock was fully enveloped by your heat. You felt so good, how he knew you would. 

“‘Gonna move now, baby. Hold on to me.” You nodded although your eyes were painfully squeezing close. Jeno couldn’t take the slow pace as he thrusted in and out gently, and you granted his wish as you looked up towards his direction. “Y-you can move, Jen.” His moan was loud as he finally bottomed out, not nearly in as much control over his actions as he was before.

As soon as your pained whimpers shifted to soft gasps, he finally sped up, holding onto your thighs with a bruising grip. His moans were muffled as he whined into your neck. You felt every ridge and vein on his cock, stuffed deep inside of your cunt. Looking at the computer’s display, you felt yourself clench even more at the sight. With a clear view of Jeno’s face, the way he bit his lip and shut his eyes, you felt closer than ever. Jeno was close behind, not being able to take the tight squeeze you had around him anymore.

His pace fastened, thrusting up into you, pistoling in and out with desperation. “So good, fuck baby. You’re squeezing me so tight, ‘wanted this as bad as me?” Your fucked out face was evident as you simply nodded your head, eyes rolling up into your head. With one more hard thrust, you came once more, followed quickly by him. The feeling of his spent shooting inside of you fogged your mind up, and you had to clamp a hand to your mouth to silence yourself. 

Regaining his breath, he lifted you until his dick was fully out of you, laying you comfortably aside before standing up and approaching his laptop. Waving with a successful grin on his face, he shut the computer off. Putting on the nearest boxers on his bed, his next destination was the bathroom, where he gathered a warm wet towel to clean you up. 

You weren’t asleep per se, when he came back, yet your refusal to open your eyes accompanied by your lack of speech told Jeno that you were too exhausted to function, so he let you lay down. In truth, he always dreamed of spoiling you, taking care of you after fucking you to sleep. The only indicator that you were still awake was the small squeeze you gave his hand when he laid behind you, swelling his heart with several emotions. The moment was perfect, one that would forever be remembered in his head as heaven, until he picked his phone up to check the time. 

Can’t believe she squirted… screen recorded all that by the way dude, never thought I’d be so turned on watching you both lol

Jeno didn’t think twice before blocking Haechan’s contact, putting his phone down and cuddling back into you.

a/n: haiii guys i just realized i haven't made anything about jeno yet and ugh i was watching the poison track video he looks so goodddd that look is what i had in mind while making this i hope you guys enjoy :3

[minniesfiles]

DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN

For the past two weeks your boyfriend had been very busy, which meant there wasn’t much time you spent together. So you decided to prank him, not realising that it was probably one of the worst decisions you had ever made.

❧ PAIRING; mingyu x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff (?), very mild angst

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, fluff-ish, mild angst, prank gone wrong, stranger danger kinda, smau,

❧ WORDCOUNT; 1k

𐚁₊⊹

▍17 JANUARY 2025

Mingyu’s heart hammered in his chest as he stared at his phone. His calls went straight to voicemail for the third time. His fingers shook violently as he typed another text, desperate for a response.

Nothing. Not even the little ‘delivered’ confirmation that would have eased his spiraling thoughts.

“Come on, pick up…” he muttered under his breath as he paced his room. His mind raced through worst-case scenarios, and the images kept playing in his mind with each one more terrifying than the last.

“Damn it,” he cursed, shoving his phone into his pocket.

He grabbed his hoodie and yanked it over his head. His breathing was sharp, shallow, as adrenaline coursed through him. He pushed his feet into his shoes, he didn’t even bother to untie or adjust them, and bolted down the stairs two at a time.

Keys. He needed his keys.

Spotting them on the counter, he snatched them up. He barely registered the sound of the front door slamming behind him as he ran to his car. Fumbling with the key fob, he unlocked it and threw himself into the driver’s seat. He backed out of the driveway in one quick, jerky motion. The tires screeched as he sped towards your house.

“Please, please be okay,” he changed to himself as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. The sound of his own rapid breathing filled the silence of the car.

When Mingyu finally turned onto your street, his pulse quickened even further. Your car was parked in the driveway, just as it always was. But that didn’t stop the knot of fear from tightening in his stomach.

He pulled in behind it, and the tires bumped onto the curb as he parked haphazardly. He didn’t care. Opening the door, he leapt out, and his legs nearly gave out under the sheer weight of his panic.

He reached for the spare house key you gave him months ago, and fumbled with it as he unlocked the door. His mind raced. If you weren’t answering, were you inside? Hurt? Or worse?

He pushed the door open, slamming it against the wall in his rush to get inside.

But the boy stood frozen in the doorway. His chest heaved while his breaths came out in sharp gasps as his panicked thoughts collided inside his mind. His wide eyes were locked on you who was curled up on the sofa with your favourite pink blanket, watching the k-drama you were begging him to watch with you.

You looked up at him and smiled, completely unfazed. “Hey babe,” you said casually as if nothing had happened.

It took him a moment to process. His entire body trembled — partly from the sprint to the car, partly from the fear that had consumed him the entire drive.

But as relief turned into confusion, confusion morphed into fury. His fists clenched by his sides, his jaw tightened, and his eyes hardened with rage.

“You—” his voice cracked as he stepped closer to you.

“What the hell Y/n?!

Your smile slowly faded. “What?” you asked innocently, sitting up slightly. The lightness in your tone was replaced by a hint of nervousness.

“WHAT?” he bellowed, the force of his voice echoing through the room.

“You—I thought—” his words broke apart as he struggled to contain his emotions. He ran his hands through his hair, pacing in front of you.

“You said someone was running towards you! I thought you were in danger! I—I sped all the way here because I thought I was going to lose you!”

You flinched, shrinking under the roughness of his voice. Your pink blanket slipped slightly off your shoulders as guilt sank in. You thought it would be funny — thought it would be a silly way to get him to come over. But seeing him like this, so scared and angry, made your heart sink.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered with a trembling voice. “I—I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think?” he stopped pacing and glared at you.

“No, you didn’t! You didn’t think about how scared I’d be, or how serious that sounded, or— God, I thought you were going to die!” his voice cracked again, and for the first time, you noticed the tears in his eyes. And Mingyu was never the one to cry so easily, so you knew you messed up really badly.

You stood up and reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away. The movement stung, but you knew you deserved it.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you said softly.

“I just…I was lonely, and I wanted you to come over.”

“So you thought this was the way to do it?!” he gestured wildly towards you.

“You thought faking being in danger was a good idea?! What the fuck is wrong with you Y/n?!”

Tears began to well up in your own eyes. “I didn’t know what else to do. You’ve been so busy lately, and I—I just wanted to see you. You’ve been so busy lately.”

He stared at you while his chest was still rising and falling rapidly. The anger was still there, but it was mingled with something else now — hurt.

“You could’ve just told me,” he said, his voice quieter now, though still laced with frustration.

“You could’ve just said you wanted me to come over. Do you know what I went through tonight? The fear? The panic?”

“I’m so sorry,” you said again, quietly breaking down into tears. “I really didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

Mingyu let out a shaky sigh, running his hands through his hair once again. The adrenaline was slowly wearing off, leaving him feeling drained. He looked at you, tears now streaming down your face, and some of his anger began to melt away.

“You can’t do stuff like this Y/n” he said firmly, though his voice was softer.

“You can’t play with my feelings like that. I love you, but this was fucked up.”

You nodded and wiped at your eyes. “I promise I won’t do anything like this again. I’m so sorry.”

He let out another sigh and his shoulders slumping as exhaustion took over. After a long pause, he stepped closer and gently wrapped his arms around you. You clung to him as you buried your face in his chest, crying shamefully.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured into your hair.

“Ever.”

“I won’t,” you whispered, holding him tighter.

“I swear.”

[liselottw]

Alyosha Karamazov x Reader 𐙚⋆.˚

!! dni if you're going to be pissy about a stranger online writing about a real guy involved in a murder trial, HE'S NOT EVEN A SUSPECT and this is set before papa karamazov kicked the bucket. besides a very close friend of the family proofread it and told me it's totally fine !!

When the editor of the newspaper you wrote for commissioned you an article about the life of young novices, you knew exactly where to look. The small village of Skotoprigonyevsk, where you'd spent many summers during your childhood, was known to be just a few miles away from a modest yet respectable monastery, where your old friend Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov was preparing to become a monk. You had written him a letter asking for his collaboration a few weeks prior, and now a carriage was bringing you up the hill where the sanctuary was. On the way there, however, you were stopped by an elderly man walking the other way.

“Are ya going to pay respect to Zosima, miss?” he asked. Elder Zosima, Alexei had told you, was a holy man as few others had been on that side of the empire. He was a wise and compassionate starets, and if you played your cards right there was a chance you could even interview him.

“What do you mean ‘pay respect’?”

“Ya haven't heard, uh? Father Zosima, peace be with him, died a few days ago. And now the whole town's gone crazy ‘cause his body stinks like hell.”

“How terrible!” you said, crossing yourself.

“Yeah, a real disgrace… Even the monks have gone nuts about the whole thing. Why do you need to go up there?”

“I… planned to visit a friend. A novice.”

“Oh, they're the most baffled now. They're young, their faith is crushed. I hope your friend is fine; and if not, try to cheer him up, miss. He probably needs it.”

The carriage started moving again, but your heart was now heavy. How was Alexei doing? What if he didn't want to do the interview anymore? Or worse, what if you had found him deep in despair?

When you arrived, you noticed the death of the elder had somehow affected the whole monastery. You had been there once or twice as a child, and you remembered it always looked like an ivory palace, with golden towers reflecting the light of God and a sweet hymn that never ceased coming from inside. Now what was pristine seemed dirty, what was shining became opaque, and the whole place was deadly silent.

As if someone had just read your mind, you heard the muffled sound of steps coming your way. You turned around and immediately recognised the cherub-like face of Alexei Karamazov. At first you stood straight and smiled, not knowing how to properly greet him after all those years. When he came closer and gave you a quick hug, you realised he was happy to see you as well but still burdened with grief.

“It's good to see you again, Alexei Fyodorovich. I heard what happened to the elder on the way here. I'm so sorry…”

He inhaled sharply, probably wishing you had talked about anything but that. “Thank you. Please, come inside and I'll show you your room. It's not a lot, but I trust you'll find it comfortable enough.”

“Of course.” You stopped for a second. “Alexei Fyodorovich… I understand this is a delicate situation. If you do not want to be interviewed right now, I understand. I'll come back when you're ready. My timing was terrible.”

“Nonsense. God's timing is always right.” You could tell he did not believe it either.

After unpacking your bags you ran into Alexei again.

“Y/n, about the interview…”

“No pressure at all, Alexei, really.”

“I want to do it tonight.”

“Oh? How come? Forgive me my bluntness, but you didn't seem in the right space of mind just a few hours ago.”

“To be honest, I was not sure I wanted to do it either. But I feel like I need to. Zosima would've wanted me to keep our traditions alive.”

“Of course. Then I'll meet you in your room after supper? Or is it too scandalous?” you tried to joke. Alexei let out a small chuckle.

“It’s alright. My brothers know you are here for a noble reason, and they thank you for having chosen us.”

As promised, he let you in his room after dinner and closed the door behind him. You sat on the bed, he was right in front of you on a stool. He gave you a friendly smile, but the bags under his eyes and his curved shoulders revealed he was tired from the lack of sleep. You felt guilty for taking away his precious hours of rest. Nevertheless, you were there as a journalist, not any ordinary friend. It was about time you started working.

“So, Alexei, our readers in the Capital would love to know more about the ascetic life of young novices. Could you tell us how old you are and when did you receive the call?”

 “I turned nineteen a few months ago, and I decided to enter the monastery at sixteen. It was never really a calling; ever since I was a small child I felt the voice of God inside me, so I am simply acting according to my nature.”

“Did your upbringing influence your faith?”

“... I am not sure. My mother was a very religious woman, but I barely remember her. The icon of Mary and Jesus you see in that corner,” and he pointed at a small wooden block on his table, “is all I have left of her. My father… I never spent much time with him. The servants often looked after me and my brother. When he turned seven we were taken in by a distant relative and moved to Moscow. I'd say that no one really told me how to believe or why. For as long as I remember I've felt the presence of God around me. That is, until a few days ago…”

Alexei bit his lip. He was clearly thinking about Zosima and the panic that came with his rotting body.

"Ever since that night, my faith has wavered like a flag in the storm. I am torn, y/n. How could a man so righteous and kind as elder Zosima not be granted a holy death? God wouldn't have allowed one of his bravest soldiers to go this way. Perhaps it's a test. Satan may think he works against the Almighty, but really, tribulations are where men find themselves most strong in their faith, or completely abandon it. I steadied my heart, thinking I could bear this, but the whispers... the rumors, y/n... they plague my head and poison my thoughts. My very soul is shaken, and I am starting to think... They were right about us too."

"Us?" you carefully asked, wondering if some babushka had gossiped about a possible affair between you two. Unfortunately, they would've been wrong. "What do you mean?"

Alexei looked at you with tearful eyes.

"Us Karamazovs! An inexplicable curse weighs upon our name, but I thought I'd managed to escape it. The monastery, that holy refuge, was supposed to keep me safe from the temptations of this mortal world, yet evil has found a way! Malice and hatred have seeped inside our sacred home, and I now see that it happened long before Zosima's passing. Y/n," he sighed, grasping your hands in his, "I have been blind and foolish all these twenty years of my life, but how painful it is to have the veil of innocence stripped from your eyes by the brutal hands of fate just when you're waiting for a miracle! God has long abandoned this side of the world, if he ever was in it. I find no consolation in prayer, the fits of hunger can't bring me any closer to Him than an opulent banquet would, thirst cannot quench my need for infinity, and my world has lost its balance. I am utterly alone and desperate in this desert, and it is merely the third of forty days of penitence. I see the Great Divider coming my way, with food and shelter from cruel nature — more terrible yet steadier than God’s word. What must I do?”

“Dear Alexei, this is not you speaking,” you stuttered. “You confound hell in Elysium!”

“Not yet, y/n, but that time is near. The real curse of the Karamazovs is not that we are strong in our vices, but that we’re too weak to resist them. My brother Dmitri understood this sooner than I did. My last prayer shall be for him: may he find a way to survive in this world without running from it; as you can see, it’s been no use. I am too far gone…” 

This was not where the interview was supposed to go. The person in front of you had no traces of the kind, sweet Alyoshka you grew up with in his eyes. All you saw was a tired, disillusioned man on the way to perdition. His words were razor blades, cutting through your memories and beliefs. You'd only met his brother Ivan once or twice, many years before, but in that moment Alexei resembled him more than ever.

“Never say that, my sweet,” you whispered, holding his face in your trembling hands. Tears were streaking his cheeks, red from the anger and pain. 

“What must I do?” he dared to ask, his voice breaking in sobs. “No one can understand how I feel, y/n. They didn't know Zosima like I did. They didn't see life as I saw it when I still believed there was a meaning to it.”

“I do understand you, Alexei! Back in Moscow I was eaten alive by doubts, day after day, night after night. Once you question the foundations of your being, there is no turning back.”

“And how do you survive? How do you go on?”

“I silence the voices inside me until all is quiet and I feel nothing at all.”

“I'm afraid I can't do it. Now that I am hollow, the silence is stinging and the void echoes my pain.”

“Then you must bury it and forget it ever was there. You will feel strange all your life without knowing why, but you'll have grown so accustomed to it that you'll start to think it is just the way humans are.”

Now you were crying too and your tears were falling on Alexei's face, mixing with his own like the affluent to a stream of constant sorrow. You were closer to him than you had ever been, physically and spiritually. The beautiful boy you'd admired from afar was now, in your shared agony, a long lost friend, the other half of your tainted soul.

He must've felt the same about you, because he leaned into your touch and placed a hand on yours, still holding his face. He breathed heavily and it felt as if a primordial burden had escaped from his breath, for the better or for the worse.

“Teach me how…” he whispered. “Teach me how to bury the pain.”

You drew him closer and kissed him desperately. You could tell he was as inexperienced as you were, but it didn't matter. Perhaps it was even better like this: there was all the naivety of Adam and Eve before the original sin. You knew what was going to happen next, and it felt right, even though it should've been wrong.

Your hands rose to Alexei's hair, and he whimpered

Ok Google, what is this? No, Google, what is this thing my daughter is creating? My goodness, why are you writing what I'm saying? Lise? Liza! What is this thing on your portable device? No, not Google, this other thing. Don't scream, for the love of God, I just asked a question! I know it is not “nothing”, so you better tell me. Is this about Alexei Fyodorovich? Oh dear, I sure hope you don't mean to send it to him!  Besides, what were he and the interviewer going to do? I need to read this thoroughly. Don't cry, Lise, I just need to take your device for a few minutes! I'm starting to suspect you're keeping things from me… For example, what is this “monk yaoi” folder?

[cloudsmateria]

cloud strife x reader - are you ready to cry? cause i’m no good

this fic is impaired by les by childish gambino bc our little cloud is emotionally unavailable but he becomes infatuated with a girl he met at the club, both horribly drunk, leading him to catch some feeling and make some decisions he maybe probably shouldn’t have. they sneak around with each other until he has to cut this off. part 2 will probably come, we’ll see how i feel. this is my not proofread first draft, and is mostly an attempt for me to get better at smut since i don’t do it often. also my new fav song i’ve been previously gate keeping is here <3

tw: alcohol, drunk sex, a lot of sex

word count: 7.5k, most of it smut

wall street was party central beneath the plate, it was aerith who took him here promising a drink at the bar before he’d go back to sector 6, but one drink turned to two, turned to three, turned to 4 and the next thing he knew he was in a club on the dance floor with aerith, sending tifa a message telling her where he was.

it didn’t take long for you to catch his eye, you were already looking up at him, smiling and drawing him in. his head was swirling with everything revolving around you, but with a nudge from aerith it didn’t take much for him to approach you, not a thought behind those eyes to make him think twice.

“can i get you a drink?” he shouted over the music, your friends laughing and going off to the floor to let you have your moment.

“one more and i’m gonna pass out.” you giggled wrapping your arms around his neck to dance with him. “you’re not too far from your limit too.” he laughed, his hands naturally resting on your waist.

“how could you tell?”

”it took a good 5 minutes for you to notice me, you were in your own little world.”

”so you’ve been watching me since i came in, huh?”

”with that sword on your back? yes.”

”that the only reason?” he said smugly, leaning in to tease you. you smiled, going for a kiss, he pulled you forward without thinking. the warmth and softness of your lips engulfed his mind, you drawing away. he looked slightly shocked when his eyes met yours again, in a trance of your entirety. your giggle echoed throughout him. “what?”

“i don’t know, just you. i like you.” a sheepish laugh escaped his lips, looking down. he looked back to check if aerith was watching him, she luckily missed the entire exchange. tifa had come by and they had hit it off straight away, the two of them laughing at the bar. but he wasn’t too keen on them seeing him for the mockery that would come for the rest of his life.

“let’s get out of here, i wanna hear your voice better, see you in the light.” you said, like you were reading his mind, you pulled him gingerly toward the exit, his hand tightened around yours as you pulled him forward, spinning you around to wrap his arms around your waist when you got outside, kissing you like it was the first time against the wall, mindlessly. his hands feeling the skin of your waist in your silly crop top, he was too drunk to read what it said, it was something stupid undoubtedly.

he didn’t care, his lips wondered to your cheek kissing you all over, leading down the the back of your ears and kissing you down your neck, all he wanted was to taste you to feel the way your body shivered when his lips made contact.

“ah-“ your voice shivered. “i don’t know your name.” you whimpered, making his heart throb at your shaky voice, clear in the empty cold air.

“cloud.” he said, slowly pulling back, his breath gone at the look of your face. “you?” oh my god his voice was so hot. you tell him and he repeats it softly. you could’ve whimpered again right there, you could feel pink blushing your cheeks in the cold, something you hadn’t felt in ages and you didn’t want this to be just lust. you didn’t want to waste this moment.

his stomach twisted at your slight change in demeanour, slightly shy. to be honest he really wanted to kiss you more than anything, but decided to lay off for a second. how drunk you both were was also a concern that crossed his mind for a split second, he’d like to think he’d fight fine drunk. whatever, he’s a soldier.

”come on.” he held your hand, starting to walk down the street.

“you familiar with the area?” you asked.

“i have no idea where i’m going.” he said blankly, making you giggle.

”you must be far gone.”

”no, i just want to spend some more time with you.” you felt your heart pulse, skipping ahead a step to look at him.

“well, you’re in luck. i happen to know all the good spots, soldier.”

”lead the way, m’lady.”

you were already in the heart of wall market, the streets were bustling at this time of the night, the alleyways were filled with dodgy groups but you had your pretty little guard dog with you. his face was so pretty lit by the amalgamation of lights you walked through, red, purple, blue, he was beautiful, and a gentleman. 10 minutes into your walk your feet started to hurt so he ended up picking you up, a few giggly, teasing pecks being slung around until you were at the door of your small apartment, the elevated entrance looking over the street of wall market.

he hugged you from behind while you unlocked your door, picking you up on your way in to kiss you, pinning you against your entrance wall while kicking the door shut, pulling off your heels and pulling his sword off with his free hand to place against your door. your arms wrapped around his neck, focused on how soft his lips were. the alcohol had worn of slightly, you were both undoubtedly drunk which made everything about this feel that much more amazing.

“i’ve been waiting for this.” he whispered in your ear, nibbling your lobe while his hands got more adventurous, sliding up your dress to holding you by your ass. your breath caught in your throat, unable to resist the mako-infused trance his eyes cast over you, he carried you to your bed, laying you down gently. the room spun slightly, but it was a pleasant feeling, a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. his hand traced the curve of your waist, his eyes never leaving yours, breath shivering at the touch of the softness of your skin.

all of it was so intimate, so real, the way you looked at him made his heart throb. your hand found his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours, and in that moment, he knew he would never get enough of you, not the morning after, not in 10 years when you had split ways, he’d never forget your loving touch, soft skin, saccharine laugh. his hands moved to the hem of your dress, pulling it up slowly as his mouth was desperately pressed against your plump lips, revealing your stomach, your chest, your shoulders. the cool air hit your skin, but his touch was like fire engulfing you.

his eyes searched yours for any signs of hesitation, but all he found was desperation like his. he leaned in, kissing down your chest, making you gasp with every gentle press of his lips. your heart was racing so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of your chest, you felt so alive, so loved, so desired. his touch was tender, yet firm, leaving no doubt about how badly he needed you, you slipped your fingers under his vest, tugging it upward. he pulled off his top with one hand, you were shocked, staring at his chiselled chest blatantly. you should’ve expected this from his arms, but even then, none of that prepared you for this.

his body was a masterpiece, sculpted from clay like an idol. every muscle defined, the way his abs rippled with every movement was mesmerizing. his arms were strong, yet gentle as they held you down, his chest a book of scars. the light from the street lamps outside danced across his skin, casting shadows that played tricks with your eyes. you couldn’t help but run your fingers over them.

his breath hitched, and his eyes closed briefly as you touched his scars, trying to keep himself under control. his hands slid up your thighs, teasing the edge of your panties, making you squirm. he pulled away from your chest, looking down at you with a smirk. “you enjoying yourself?”

you nodded, feeling a bit shy at his sudden question. “yes...” your voice was barely a whisper, and he leaned down to kiss you again, his hands continuing their exploration. he gently slid your panties to the side, his finger grazing your wetness. you gasped into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to slip his finger inside, making you arch off the bed, gasping loudly.

“oh, cloud!” you moaned out his name, your voice a mix of pleasure and surprise. his eyes lit up with satisfaction, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin.

“that’s it, baby.” he said, his voice deep and rough, making you press your legs together. his finger moved in and out of you, setting a steady rhythm that had you clutching the bed sheets. he leaned down to kiss you again, his free hand playing with your nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, making you whimper. his free arm leaning above your head to keep himself stable, his shadowed face watching your blissed expression. your hips rolled up with his fingers, desperately trying to get closer. he could feel your pussy twitch, the heat radiating from you and the warm smell of your perfume surrounding him, intoxicated by more than just the alcohol, it was your aura he was drinking in. he was throbbing so hard it hurt.

he buried himself into your neck in his breathlessness, panting right in your ear, your hand buried in his hair pulling him closer into you. he kissed your lobe softly, every touch left a mark on your soul, you could feel his intensity in every action, it all came out. he felt this was the only peace he had in his hectic life, you unwrapped him to his barest form.

his finger continued to work you, making you squirm under him. “what do you want?” he whispered, his breath hot and ragged in your ear. you bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan. “anything…. ah- you’re enough, anything, cloud...” you breathed out, your voice shaky, you were close.

his voice was a soft caress, the words coming out of his mouth were like a gentle storm, confusing yet comforting, the kind that left you breathless. “are you sure about this? about me?” he asked, his thumb circling your clit, driving you crazy. you nodded, unable to form more coherent words. his fingers moving faster, curling just right. your orgasm quickly building as your legs pressed tighter together, quivering. his thumb found your clit, circling it perfectly, you were at your limit.

“c-cloud!” you screamed, body convulsing as waves of your pleasure crashed over you. he was amazed. your sound was music in his ears, and his own arousal grew tenfold to the way your pussy pulsed around his fingers, everything you did was beautiful. his bulge was already uncomfortable, but now it was unbearable. he pulled his fingers out of you, making you twitch. you wrapped your arms around him as he kissed down your neck, teeth nipping at your skin.

he sat up to kick his jeans off, throwing them to the corner of your room. you could see his dick straining against his boxers, a wet spot at his tip from his leaking precum. you jaw dropped, his size was intimidating and yet unbelievably hot, you did not expect him to be packing this much. he palmed himself through his boxers, chuckling at your reaction. he pulls you on top of him, taking your hand and pressing it against his erection, skin hot to the touch.

“what?” he asks, a playful smirk playing on his lips, watching your reaction. you blush deeper, not breaking eye contact, your hand still wrapped around him.

“iis that even going to fit?”

“dunno. you having second thoughts?” he teases. you bite your lip, shaking your head. yes, you definitely were having second thoughts but that wasn’t going to stop you. you want him more than ever now. you lean down to kiss him again, feeling his cock pulse in your hand. his tongue slides into your mouth, dancing with yours, the taste of alcohol as you mix together. you can feel your heart racing in your chest.

he moves your hand away, sliding his boxers down, his cock springing free. he’s huge and dripping. “are you sure?” he asks, his voice soothing.

“mhm.” you nod, eagerly leaning down to kiss the tip of his cock, feeling him twitch in your hand.

"fuck." he whispers, the taste of saltiness coated your tongue as you wrapped your lips around it, making you want to taste more of him. you lick the length of him, watching his eyes roll back in his head, a low groan leaving his mouth. you swirl your tongue around the head, making him hiss before taking him into your mouth, feeling him fill your throat.

"shit!"

his hands went to your hair, gripping it tightly as you moved your mouth up and down his length, your tongue caressing every inch. he watched you with a mix of pleasure and disbelief, feeling his orgasm build rapidly. he could feel your throat contract around his tip, his balls tightening. but he didn’t want to come too soon. he gently pushes your head away, panting heavily.

“you’re too good at that, but it’s not what i had in mind.” he breathed. “i need to be inside you so badly right now.” his hand went to the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek. the affection in his voice made you squirm, he brought his head down for another kiss. his hands roamed up to your hips, kneading the fat in his hands. he flipped over hovering over you with your back against the sheets, his eyes were filled with lust and something else you couldn’t figure out, whatever it was, it was intense.

he gripped your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. his free hand slid down between your thighs, prying your legs wide open for him, fingers slowly dragging up your slit, getting drenched in your wetness. his eyes searched your own for any sign of hesitation.

“i don’t know how much control i have over myself.” he said lowly, he has pushed himself to his limit with you. you nodded quickly, already desperate for him and ready for anything he wanted to do to you.

“that’s okay, cloud.”

”are you sure?”

”ive never been so sure about someone in my life.” you said, looking up at him tenderly. his heart swelled in his chest, feeling heavier than before. no one had ever looked at him like that, spoken to him like that, your words raw and ripping deep into him. he knew he didn’t deserve this, but in this moment, he couldn’t help but revel in it. if he only had sober enough of a mind to turn away now and stop himself from hurting you.

“fuck… stop looking at me like that.” he murmured, heart hammering in his chest. the look in your eyes was like a warm embrace, he looked down, trying to avoid it, it was overwhelming him. your giggle only made his heart throb more, he couldn't help but smile.

his grip on your wrist tightened, pushing your hips down to align with him, his tip could feel the heat of your entrance. slowly, he dragged it up your folds, drenching it in your wetness and making your body shiver until it hooked against your entrance, making you arch your back. he groaned, the friction was driving him insane. you looked up into his eyes, trying to prepare yourself to accommodate him. he took a deep breath.

“are you okay with this?“ he asked one last time, his voice strained with the effort to not rushing into this no matter how badly he wanted it. this was your first time and you were nervous but sure. you nodded eagerly, cheeks flushing red. it was all he needed. he pushed into you, slowly sinking the tip into you, it was so tight.

”fuck….” he breathed out.

you closed your eyes, you could feel them rolling to the back of your head, a mixture of pleasure and pain. you bit your lip though a muffled moan still managed to slip out as you stretched around him. he paused for a moment giving you time to adjust around him. he pushed in deeper, groaning, the heat was overwhelming as he felt himself getting deeper until he bottomed out completely and you’re sure your neighbours heard the disgusting noises that spilled from your mouth.

“shit, you feel too good. “ he twitched inside you, he cursed himself for being so close already. you felt so full, the pain of trying to adjust to him was wearing off slowly and all that consumed you was pleasure. he watched your face, all your reactions, it made his heart ache. “see what you’ve done to me?”

“oh, cloud.” you whimpered, he loved it when you said his name like that. his face trailed down to your, neck the peaks between your breasts until his hands lost the grip of your wrists to cup your breast, the thumb grazing over the sensitive peak, rolling them between his fingers. the other squeezing your ass. his lips latched onto your nipple, sucking them into his mouth. his hips drew out completely, until it was just his tip left in you just to push back in inch by inch. it was driving you crazy, and yet it was keeping him from spilling into you too early.

“you don’t know how bad i needed you, so good.” he whispered. your hand tangled into his hair, the other digging into the flesh of his shoulder. he took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, flicking it with his tongue. you could feel your core clench around him as he switched to the other, his hands supporting your weight. the way his mouth felt on your sensitive skin was heavenly. you clenched around him from the shockwave of pleasure, you felt him twitch. he groaned, the vibration of his voice making you shiver. “you drive me insane.” you were going to ask what you were in a minute, the way he made you feel on an emotional level just made everything that much more intense. “i want you all to myself.”

his sucks grew harder, more insistent, the sounds of your combined breathing filling the small apartment. your moans grew louder, mixing with the occasional whine as he stretched you open, his cock thick and demanding. he could feel your nails digging into his skin, urging him to go faster, deeper.

he pulled away as his control thinned, hand leaning against the headboard while his other gripped your hip tightly, the sound of his groans filling the room. his pace picked up as he got more urgent, hips snapping with a rhythm that made you wrap your legs around his waist. you threw your head back pleasure quickly building in your belly, your pulses starting to get more frantic, begging for more.

“ah! cloud! yes- oh!” his need was getting more urgent with each thrust, the way your body was moving against him was mesmerising, your breasts bouncing in the dim light, his eyes were stuck on you as he quickened, getting rougher, watching your chest rise and fall with each irregular breath and moan, your lust playing out just for him in fusion with your flushed face, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, it was just enough to make him come undone as he felt you pulse and clench around him frantically.

his thumb found your way to your clit, teasing it as he fucked you. that was it for you. your walls clamped down on him, shaking as your orgasm crashed through you. you bit your lip desperately to stop yourself from waking everyone in the building up, nails digging into his back as he kept up his pace, chasing his own climax. he could feel it building quickly, balls tightening as he dug himself deeper into you, body begging for release.

“fuck, where do you want it?” your mind was gone, drunk with pleasure and the thought of his cum in you was too much to resist, you wanted to be his, all of him inside you.

“inside me,” you moaned. his eyes darkened, heart jittering in his chest, pounding against his rib cage. the idea of marking you with his cum, was so fucking hot, it sent a shiver down his spine and his cock throb even more insistently, movements getting more urgent and deliberate.

“are you sure?” his jaw clenched as he pushed himself closer and closer to the edge.

“yes cloud.” your voice with that pulse of your pussy around him sent him over the edge. he grabbed your hips, forcing himself as deep as possible, you felt it shoot inside you in waves as he groaned loudly, cock twitching with each spill.

“all of it, fucking take all of it.” he managed in ragged, raspy breaths as he buried himself deeper, you clenched and tightened around him instinctively, milking every drop, you were so sensitive you felt yourself get close again. everyone must have heard that. his body sloped over, wrapping around your waist tightly as he slowly pumped himself in you a few more times to fuck everything as deep as possible, all of his hot seed filling you completely, it couldn’t be possible to have that much cum. you moaned softly as you felt yourself get overcome with the sensation again, a second orgasm, becoming a twitching and shivering mess all over again.

he laughed quietly, his body still trembling with the aftershock of his release as he continued to pulse inside you. he leaned down to kiss you again, you could feel each other’s heart race as your bodies pressed against each other.

“you’re something else,” he murmured against your swollen lips, your legs were still trembling, and you were still deliciously full of his cum and hard dick. you realised how much you wanted this to be more than just a drunken hookup without any courage to say anything.

he took another moment to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours sweetly. “i want to go down on you until you pass out.” his soft voice did not match that nature of that sentence, you felt your cheek heating up at the words. “but i’ll let you get some rest, you need it.” his gentle kisses trailed down your neck, carefully flipping you over so he didn’t slip out of you, your bodies fit perfectly against each other as your head rested against his chest, his hands playing with your hair as you pulled the covers up.

his breath was warm and steady against your cheek, you felt so safe, he was so warm and big underneath you. your eyes grew heavier, the room still slightly spinning, in complete bliss. his other arm around you tightly, holding you closer, his heartbeat like a lullaby. and that’s when the gravity of what happened weighed on you, you didn’t want him to leave tomorrow, you really liked him, and he didn’t even know your last name.

you sat up, looking down at him, his eyes still closed and breathing steadily. “cloud?” you whispered, unsure if he was asleep. his eyes fluttered open, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “yeah?”

his hand squeezed your side, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through your body. “can i ask you something?” you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

“of course, what’s on your mind?” he sat up with you, his smile fading slightly as he sensed your shift in mood.

you took a moment to gather your thoughts, your heart in your throat. “what is this going to be between us? i mean i know it’s not a relationship, and i just need to know if this means anything to you or if it’s just a one-night thing?” you whispered, staring at the ceiling.

cloud’s hand stilled on your back, his smile fading into a contemplative line. “what do you want it to be?” he asked, his voice low and serious. you felt his eyes on you, waiting for your answer.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, feeling the weight of your words. “i just know that i really like you, i don’t want this to be the last time we see each other.”

cloud’s gaze was intense as he studied your face, his thumb gently stroking the curve of your waist. “i like you too,” he said finally, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to resonate through you. “i just don’t want to hurt you. I’m not good at this sort of thing.”

the confession hung in the air. you could see the fear in his eyes, had he been sober it would’ve been a definite no. yet, here you were, entangled in each other’s arms.

”can we see where this goes?”

he took a deep breath, gaze not leaving yours. he wanted you so badly, but a hint of his sober self was warning him, he ignored it. “yeah, let’s see where this goes.” his arms wrapped around you tighter, holding you closer as he kissed the top of your head. his dick was still semi-hard inside you as you drifted off.

…

you were woken up by the orange glow across your room from the windows. cloud’s arms were still around you, you looked up, his face peaceful with his messy hair splayed across your pillows, chest rising and falling. his morning wood was still inside you, it was already starting to stir, growing in length and thickness as he slowly woke up, your body was still sensitive and full from last night, you squirmed slightly.

his eyes slowly fluttered open, feeling your movement, his sleepy eyes met yours. he smirked, remembering what was happening

“good morning, to both of you.” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly from sleep. his fingers circled your hip, his cock fully hard now, rolling it up into you.

“cloud!” he covered your mouth, not wanting to wake up your whole apartment block, his other hand sliding down to your clit, grazing it enough for you to gasp into his palm. your eyes rolled back in pleasure as he moved his cock inside you, shallowly thrusting in and out, feeling you clench around him.

“see, you don’t mind it, do you?” you felt his back muscles tighten under your hands, your face on his chest, flexing as he picked up his pace. he leaned in to kiss the top of your head, his hand moving to grip your thigh and keep your open for him.

his strokes grew deeper, his cock sliding in and out of you, lubricated by the mess of the night before. your breath hitched as you felt him hit that spot deep inside, making your toes curl. he was like a different person with you, easy going with no need to hide himself, confident. his movements got stronger and more demanding, so big he filled you up completely, stretching you out all over again.

his hips were slapping against yours, echoing throughout the room mixed with your muffled moans and his groans of pleasure. he hit that spot inside you repeatedly, making your mind go numb all over again, tensing around him, orgasm building up quickly. it didn’t take much for either of you to finish, both still sensitive from last night. his hips jittered, your pussy contracting around his cock as he pushed through your walls, pressing you down on him. it twitched inside you, sputtering hot cum inside of you again.

his breathing was ragged, flipping you over again so he was on top of you as he slowly pulled out despite the suction of your pussy, being left empty. some of it leaked out, but he fingered it back in, making you shiver and moan. he chuckled quietly, looking at the state of you.

“good morning to us.” you said as he lay his head on your chest, continuing to push in and out of you. he looked around your room, it was as big as his, though a lot more lived in and homely. books stacked up on the floor, notebooks and makeup from last night splayed out on your desk and a scythe in the corner of the room which caught his attention.

“i’m gonna go clean up.” you whispered, trying to slip out of bed, his arms tightened around you

“stay a bit longer.” he mumbled against your neck, it was clear he was about to sleep again. “it’s only 6.” the warmth of his breath tickling your neck.

“i would love to, cloud. but i do have work.”

his eyes searched yours, the conflict of his want versus your needs. "i'll make it quick." he whispered, kissing your forehead before rolling off you, his cock sliding out of you with a wet sound that made him groan. he stood up, grabbing your hand, pulling you off the bed. the warmth of his cum trailed down your thigh. "we can shower together."

you nodded, following him to the bathroom, the floor cold against your bare feet. the shower was already running, the sound of water hitting the tiles echoing through the room. cloud stepped in, holding his hand out for you, the water washing over him, his muscles rippling as he moved. you stepped in, the warmth wrapping around you, his arms enveloping you again.

his hands roamed your body, the water slipping over your curves, his eyes tracing your figure. “you’re so beautiful.” he murmured, pressing his lips to your neck. you leaned into his touch, his hands moving down to your ass, squeezing it gently, making you giggle.

cloud picked up a washcloth, soaping it up and moving it down your body, his eyes never leaving yours as he washed you off. the warmth of the water washed over you both, mixing with the steam that filled the small room, the scent of your combined arousal still lingering in the air. his soapy hand reached between your legs, washing off the mess of the night, his thumb grazing your clit, making you jump.

his eyes were on your face, watching every little reaction, the way your eyes would roll back at the slightest touch. “can’t get my hands off you.” he chuckled, kissing the side of your neck. his other hand cupped your face, tilting it up to look into your eyes. “you really do drive me crazy.”

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling his hardness press against your thigh. ”do you ever take a break?”

“this is your fault. you’re too tempting,” he said, his voice a low growl. he stepped closer, pressing you against the tiles as he dropped the washcloth. his hand went back to your neck, tilting it to the side, kissing the pulse point. “but i’ll behave for now.”

his hands were gentle but firm. you leaned into him, your breasts pushing against his chest. he took his sweet time, washing every inch of you, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he was afraid you would disappear if he looked away. your heart fluttered at the tender way he touched you, while your hands ran over his arms, washing him off.

his cock was hard again, brushing against your stomach. it was clear he wasn’t done with you, but he didn’t push it, he knew you had to get ready. instead, he kissed your forehead and stepped back, letting you wash off the soap. you watched him under the water, the way his muscles flexed.

you stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself, feeling the warmth of the air hit your wet skin. he followed you, his own towel around his waist. you get into a clean set of comfy clothes, you gave Cloud one of your large sweatpants you normally slept in. "you can keep it," you said with a smile, watching him put it on. "i have plenty."

“why? you do this often?” he asked.

“the opposite actually.” you said.

you both looked at the clock again, it was only 5 AM, and the sun hadn’t fully risen. “why don’t we just cuddle for a bit longer?” you suggested, pulling off your bed sheets and changing them, he helped you spread ita cross your matress, your voice filled with hope. Cloud’s eyes lit up, he didn’t hide his enthusiasm.

“i thought you had work,” he said, walking back towards the bed and pulling the covers aside for you to slip in next to him.

“well, i do… at 5pm.”

“what?”

“i work at a bar, it's a night shift today so i've got the whole day off."

"i wish i could stay here with you but i have to get back to sector 7 at 8. my friend owns a bar and she does need my help if i want to continue to have a place to stay."

"that's cool, are you a bartender?"

"mercenary. i thought i told you this last night?"

"oh." you remembered, though it was still surprising. "sorry, i think i was just more focused on some other things from last night."

he laughed quietly. "don't worry."

you lay there for a bit longer, basking in the warmth of cloud’s embrace, listening to the rain tap against the window. His arm was draped over your waist, his hand playing with the hem of your shirt, his fingertips grazing the skin just above your panties.

“when will i see you again?” he asked absent mindedly.

you turned to look at him, his eyes still sleepy but filled with something that looked a lot like hope. “im free tonight after my shift, though it's about 1am.” you said with a playful smile. that was perfect, aerith and tifa would've been asleep by then, he could sneak out to see you.

“i’ll make it work,” he said, his voice filled with determination. you couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through your chest, his willingness to make time for you was something you weren’t used to. “i want to see you again, badly.”

cloud’s hand stilled on your shirt, his eyes looking at yours with a mix of guilt and excitement. the guilt was something he wasn’t used to feeling. he was a mercenary, used to taking what he wanted and moving on, but with you it was different. the thought of not seeing you again was unbearable, and he felt guilty for feeling this way, knowing he might be leading you on, he couldn’t help himself. he warned you last night.

you nodded, trying to keep the hope off your face. “i’ll be waiting for you.” you leaned in and kissed him softly, feeling his cock twitch against your thigh, it was clear he wanted more but he knew he couldn’t push it. you both laid there, your bodies entwined, talking about everything and nothing until the sun had fully risen, and suddenly it was 7.30, and he had to leave.

his kiss was gentle as he pulled away from you. “i’ll see you tonight then,” he said, getting back into his soldier uniform. you gave him a peck on the cheek before he left your apartment, the cold air of the early morning a stark contrast to the warmth he left behind.

…

leave a comment if u want a part 2, i’m undecided <3

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: Survival takes a darker turn as chaos forces you to face two sides of enemies in ways you’re unprepared for. In the quiet of the aftermath, fleeting moments of fragile connections and unspoken revelations come to light.

warnings: canon violence, murder, etc

The flames at the base of the house are swallowed in an instant, blocked out by the writhing, screaming mass of infected pouring from the sinkhole. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen—a flood of pure, relentless terror. The sound is deafening. A hundred snarls, screeches, and guttural growls rise into the air, a chaotic symphony of death that sends every instinct in your body screaming to run.

Gunfire erupts around you, sharp bursts of sound that only seem to agitate the horde. Hunters fire wildly, their shouts of panic barely audible over the cacophony. But it’s useless. You can see it already—there’s no way anyone survives this. Not when the infected are this fast, this endless.

Your hands shake as you grab Ellie’s arm, your chest heaving as you try to focus. Your mind races, torn between the urge to run and the sheer horror rooting you to the spot. The car you’re behind trembles slightly, the vibrations of the stampede carrying through the ground.

Then you hear it—a snarl, low and guttural, just behind the car.

You whip your head around, and your blood runs cold. A runner, eyes wild and teeth bared, scrambles toward you, its movements jerky and feral. The sound it makes is so human yet anything but, a scream ripped straight from a nightmare.

You barely have time to react, your breath catching in your throat, when the gunshot rings out.

The runner’s head snaps back, its body crumpling to the ground in a heap. You spin around, looking for the source, and your heart stutters. The shot didn’t come from anyone nearby. It came from behind you.

Joel.

He must still be up there, and in the glow of the fire, you just barely make out his face behind the barrel of a shotgun. He’s still watching out for you, his aim precise and unwavering.

“Okay,” you breathe, your voice trembling as you force yourself to focus. Your hands grip Ellie’s arm tighter, grounding yourself. “Listen. We run for it. Run toward the house. Take down what you can, but only if they reach you. Hide when you can. Just get to the house.”

Ellie’s eyes are wide with fear, but she nods, her grip tightening around her pistol. You glance toward Henry and Sam briefly, but there’s no time to check in.

Without another thought, you bolt, adrenaline surging as the screams and chaos close in around you.

But, fuck, the thing about plans—they never go as planned.

Almost immediately, you’re split up. The infected swarm like a wave, converging on you the moment you break cover, forcing each of you to scatter in different directions. Your heart pounds as you weave through the chaos, the cacophony of gunshots, snarls, and desperate screams crashing against your ears.

You duck low behind an abandoned car, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. You’re trying to find a way to regroup when you see it—a brief opening. A car window, the glass already cracked and smeared with dirt. Without thinking, you climb inside, pulling the door shut as quietly as you can.

The silence inside is startling, almost suffocating compared to the chaos outside. You press your back against the seat, gripping your rifle tightly, and try to calm your breathing.

Then, through the foggy, cracked windshield, you see Ellie. She’s doing the same thing, ducking into another car a few yards away. Relief floods through you—she’s safe. For now.

But your relief is short-lived.

You spot it just behind her—a small, nimble figure, moving unnaturally fast. Your blood runs cold as the shape becomes clearer. It’s an infected. A little girl, her body twisted and malformed, cordyceps fungus spiraling out of her head like a grotesque crown. She’s turned fully—a Clicker.

You watch in horror as the Clicker heaves its way into the car after Ellie, the sound of her movements having drawn its attention.

“Ellie…” you whisper, but your voice barely makes it past your lips.

Your hands fumble as you raise your gun, aiming it at the car she’s in. But the windows are so badly fogged, so smeared with grime, that you can’t get a clear shot. You can barely make out the distorted shapes inside, Ellie’s form blending with the Clicker’s jerky movements.

Your heart pounds in your ears as you steady your aim, your finger hovering over the trigger. But you can’t risk it. You can’t shoot without being certain.

And then, as if you thought your terror had reached its peak, another sound tears through the air. Thick, curdled, and unnatural. It reverberates in your chest, heavy and bloated, shaking you to your core.

Your eyes snap toward the sinkhole.

Emerging from the gaping hole is one of them. The thing you faced at the highschool all that time ago. In the days passing of only facing the human kind of monsters–men with guns and tanks and weaponry, you had forgotten about the true threat, the one that threw you into this new world of fear and terror. A massive, grotesque Cordyceps monster climbs its way out of the pit in the ground, its fungal body enormous, towering over everything, its limbs thick and bulging with unnatural strength. This isn’t just any infected—this is a 20-year-old nightmare, blind but terrifyingly aware of its surroundings. A Bloater.

It roars, a guttural, bone-rattling sound that makes your blood run cold. Gunshots ring out as the hunters try to take it down, bullets bouncing off its tough, fungal hide like pebbles against a wall. You know what it takes to take it down, your molotovs, your nail bombs, but this wasn’t the place for that. You were no match against all these monsters emerging into the night. Someone with an assault rifle focuses their fire on it, the rapid crack of the weapon filling the air.

You watch in frozen horror as the creature reaches out, grabbing the man with sickening speed. And then, with one brutal motion, it tears him in half.

In half.

His body is ripped apart, his screams cutting off instantly as the monster roars again, tossing the pieces aside like garbage before charging toward its next victim.

But somehow, it doesn’t notice you. It doesn’t notice Ellie.

You glance around frantically, searching for Henry and Sam. Wherever they ended up, they’re not in the creature’s path. At least not yet.

You force yourself to focus, your breathing ragged as your eyes snap back to Ellie. She’s still in the car, and bullets zing off the vehicle from Joel’s position in the window. You can see him up there, trying to take down the infected swarming the car around her, trying to get the one inside, but it’s no use. 

Then, the passenger door of Ellie’s car swings open, and she’s out.

Your heart leaps into your throat as she bolts into the chaos, her head turning as she assesses the scene. The smaller infcected girl remains trapped inside while another rounds the car, snarling as it zeroes in on her, but you don’t hesitate. You fire, the bullet striking true and dropping it before it can get close.

Ellie spins around, her eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment. Relief flickers in her expression, but then her gaze shifts to something else—something below, farther ahead.

You follow her line of sight.

Under a car, you see them. Henry and Sam. They’re pinned, their bodies pressed low as infected claw at them from all sides, trying to drag them out.

Ellie looks at you again, her expression tense, then glances toward Joel’s window.

Watch my back, her eyes seem to say. And she knows you will.

She doesn’t need to wait for confirmation. She bolts.

You grit your teeth and focus, your rifle snapping up as you fire at every infected between her and the boys. Your bullets hit their marks, some going down with your shots and others from Joel’s in the window. The chaos is a blur, the sharp crack of gunfire blending with the relentless screeches of the infected.

Finally, Sam and Henry scramble out from under the car, Ellie covering them as they stumble to their feet.

It’s your chance. You push the car door open quietly, slipping out into the chaos. The heat of the blazing house still licks at your skin, but it lights your path as you sprint toward them.

You’re almost there when you hear her.

“No!”

A woman’s voice, sharp and furious, cuts through the noise. The one that called out to Henry, the woman he must've betrayed. You skid to a stop, and your blood runs cold.

She’s there, her back to you, blocking the path to Henry, Sam, and Ellie. Her hair is mussed into a bun, her face streaked with dirt and blood. Layers of jackets and long sleeves hang from her frame, but it’s the pistol in her hand that holds your attention. It’s pointed directly at them.

Your body reacts before your brain can process.

You pull up your gun, your aim steady despite the shaking in your hands.

The crack of your rifle is deafening, and the only sound that follows is Ellie’s sharp gasp as the woman drops to the ground, lifeless.

“Let’s go!” you yell, rushing toward them.

You’re there in an instant, your heart hammering as you pull them toward the house. And then, like a shadow out of nowhere, Joel is there.

His hand grabs your arm, grounding you, his voice sharp and commanding. “This way, now! Move!”

There’s no time to hesitate. Together, you sprint away from the clearing, the chaos roaring behind you. Vaulting over fences, slipping into the shadows, you leave the burning suburbs behind, the night swallowing you whole.

The radio tower is quiet, the walls sturdy and thick enough to make the chaos of the outside world feel far away. Lanterns are scattered around the room, their warm, flickering glow casting long shadows across the worn furniture and cracked walls. The atmosphere feels strangely calm, like you can finally breathe again.

You sit on the floor with your back against the wall, a can of SpaghettiOs balanced on your knees. Across from you, Ellie lounges on an old couch, her legs draped over the armrest as she digs into a can of something with red sauce.

“What am I even eating?” Ellie asks, her words muffled by her mouthful of food.

“That,” Joel says from his spot near the corner, chewing on his own meal, “would be 20-year-old Chef Boyardee.”

Ellie pauses mid-bite, “He was goooood,” she says, dragging the word out as she points her spoon at the can for emphasis.

Joel doesn’t look up, his tone as flat and dry as ever. “I actually agree.”

It’s so deadpan that it catches you off guard. You glance at Ellie, who meets your gaze with wide eyes, and the two of you burst into laughter. The giggles bubble out uncontrollably, filling the room in stark contrast to Joel’s unchanging expression.

The conversation drifts into easy banter, lighthearted and unhurried. Ellie throws out questions about foods she hasn’t had–something called pizza that you half remember in your foggy childhood memories before everything, how creepy ice cream trucks sound, and Henry chimes in with a memory of backyard barbecues with his neighbors. For the first time in what feels like forever, the tension of the day fades, replaced by something almost comfortable. Sam is nowhere in sight, but you can hear the faint noises of his whereabouts in the next room, taking inventory of the food found today, of what was in this radio tower safehouse. He seemed withdrawn, but all of you let him go, presumably exhausted from the day you had.

Henry, sitting beside you, tilts his head thoughtfully as he finishes the last bite of his stew. “You’re pretty sharp out there, you know that?”

You glance at him, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

He gestures with his spoon. “Earlier, during all that chaos. You didn’t freeze up. You had everyone’s back, even with everything going to hell.” He leans back against the wall, looking at you more seriously, “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Your cheeks warm at his tone, and you look down at your can, unsure how to respond. “I was just doing what needed to be done,” you mumble, brushing it off.

Henry shrugs. “Still. You’re good at it.”

Joel shifts slightly where he’s sitting, his eyes flicking up to watch the exchange. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his attention. He barely pauses eating as his gaze lingers on you and Henry.

Ellie, sitting sprawled across the couch, breaks the silence with a loud scoff. “Oh my god, are you two flirting? Ughhh…”

Your head snaps up, heat rising in your cheeks. “What? No!”

Henry raises his hands with a grin, his tone teasing. “Hey, don’t blame me. She said it.”

Ellie smirks, shoving another spoonful of ravioli into her mouth. “You’re laying it on pretty thick, dude.”

The group chuckles again, but you can’t help sneaking a glance at Joel. He’s watching you more closely now, his face carefully neutral as if he’s trying not to show whatever he’s thinking. When your eyes meet his, he looks away, focusing intently on his soup as if nothing happened.

The conversation shifts back to lighthearted chatter—Ellie talking about the weirdest canned food she’s ever seen, Sam quietly laughing along—and for a little while, things feel easier.

But you can still feel Joel’s presence, steady and quiet, like a shadow that never quite leaves.

“Ooookay,” Ellie says suddenly, standing and brushing crumbs off her pants. “I’m leaving the adults to their adulting. You deserve some privacy.” She smirks as she grabs her lantern. “I’m gonna go sit with Sam.”

“Aw, Ellie, we didn’t mean to scare ya,” Henry teases, a small laugh slipping through.

“Not scared. Just grossed out,” she fires back with a grin as she saunters into the next room, her laughter trailing behind her.

The room grows quieter after she leaves, the light banter giving way to a more subdued stillness. Henry sighs, leaning forward to set his empty can to the side. His shoulders slump slightly, the earlier lightness fading from his face.

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna show up,” he says, his voice low and strained. “From my group.”

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. “So there is a group?” you challenge, the suspicion still lingering in the back of your mind, but now you only ask with a teasing note. Henry’s stories have never felt completely solid.

“Yes, there is,” he replies firmly, meeting your gaze. But then he looks away, shaking his head. “But…now I’m not sure.”

Joel shifts slightly, setting his empty can on the floor with a soft clink. “Listen,” he begins, his voice calm but deliberate, “I’m headed to Wyoming. Don’t know how I’m getting there. I’m probably walkin’. But…if you and Sam…”

He trails off, his words hanging in the air.

Henry’s face softens, his usual defenses of a plastered smile or jokes slipping for just a moment. You can’t help but feel your own expression soften too. Joel Miller, offering to let someone else tag along. It doesn’t matter if Henry has gotten under his skin a little—Joel’s willingness surprises you.

Henry nods slowly, his voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Joel nods back, brief but firm, as if to seal the agreement. His gaze flickers toward you, catching yours in the soft glow of the lanterns. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression unreadable, before turning away again.

“Time to get some sleep, I think,” he mutters, pushing himself up and walking to a corner of the room.

You follow his lead, laying flat on your back on the cold floor. You pull a blanket over yourself—one of the few things scavenged from the storage area—and tuck your hand beneath your head. The exhaustion hits you all at once, the weight of the day settling over you like the blanket.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the room is quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices in the next room. Your eyes flutter closed, and as sleep takes hold, you feel the lingering awareness of Joel’s presence, steady and near, even as the darkness pulls you under.

You’re not entirely sure what makes your eyes open in the middle of the night. The quiet hum of the night is only broken by the soft, steady breaths of those sleeping nearby. But still, something stirs you awake, and you blink groggily as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Only one lantern remains lit in the middle of the room on the faded desk, the low glow of it casting the room in harsh shadows. 

You sit up slowly, careful to keep quiet, your eyes sweeping the room.

Sam isn’t nearby, but you figure he must’ve just fallen asleep in the other room where he had taken his inventories the previous night. Ellie is sprawled out with another blanket found, her jacket being used as a pillow beneath her head. Henry’s back is to you, but the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders tells you all you need to know. They’re both fast asleep.

But as you look at Joel, you realize his body isn’t nearly as serene, as steady or still as the others. He’s still sitting up against the wall, but instead of sleeping, his hands are on a piece of paper, worn and weathered and old. The sound of it crinkles in his hand, the sound louder than it seems given the stillness of the room.

You hesitate for a moment, surprised to see him up, and then push the blanket off. Standing, you make your way toward him as quietly as possible, your steps muffled against the old floor.

When you’re close enough, you murmur, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Joel looks up at you, his expression neutral as if his mind is catching up to itself, deep in thought, but then the faint flicker of something softer passes across his face. He shakes his head slightly as he tucks the paper into his inner jacket pocket. “Didn’t try.”

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, and you lower yourself onto the floor next to him, your back leaning against the wall. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the stillness stretching out in the soft glow of the lantern.

You glance across the room at Ellie, curled up with her makeshift pillow and blanket, her face soft and peaceful in sleep. “She’s tough,” you murmur, breaking the quiet.

Joel’s eyes flick toward Ellie briefly before returning to the floor in front of him. “She is,” he says quietly.

You wrap your arms around your knees, leaning back slightly against the wall. “I mean, I know kids have to grow up fast out here, but… she’s something else. Doesn’t even flinch at half the stuff we’ve been through.” You pause, the thought settling in your chest. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

Joel doesn’t respond right away. His gaze stays fixed ahead, his jaw tight. Finally, he says, “Ain’t fair.”

You look at him, frowning. “What isn’t?”

He shifts slightly, his hands flexing on his knees before going still again. “That she’s gotta grow up this fast. Deal with all this. She’s just a kid.”

There’s something raw in his tone, something that makes you hesitate. You watch him for a moment, the way his brow furrows just slightly, the way his eyes stay trained on nothing in particular.

“She handles herself better than I do half the time,” you offer, keeping your voice low.

Joel’s mouth twitches at that, almost like he’s about to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his face. “She’s got a way of provin’ people wrong,” he says, his voice softer now.

You glance at Ellie again, her small frame rising and falling with each steady breath. “Do you ever wonder what she’d be like if… if none of this ever happened?”

Joel finally looks at you, his expression unreadable, the flickering lantern light casting sharp shadows across his face. His gaze is distant, like he’s here with you but somewhere else entirely. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, and you start to wonder if he’s even going to answer.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, the word heavy with unspoken thoughts.

The way he says it makes you pause. There’s a weight behind it, a depth that feels almost too big to fit in this small, dimly lit room. You can’t help but study his face, the way his brow tenses just slightly, the faint downward pull of his mouth. He looks like he’s thinking of Ellie, but there’s something else there, too—something distant, older, and more fragile than anything you’ve seen from him before.

You wonder what’s going on behind those eyes, what memories are stirring to the surface. He’s always so guarded, so closed off, but in this moment, you feel like you’re catching a glimpse of something buried deep inside him.

The way his eyes soften just slightly, the way his jaw tightens as if he’s trying to hold back whatever’s threatening to surface—it’s as if Ellie reminds him of something. Or someone. Another time.

Who were you before all of this, Joel?

The question stays locked in your chest, unspoken, but it lingers as you watch him. He looks almost haunted, like whatever he’s remembering isn’t just painful—it’s something he can’t let go of.

“Joel,” you say softly, your voice breaking the fragile stillness between you. “What’s on your mind?”

His eyes flicker to yours, the faintest crease deepening between his brows. For a moment, you’re certain he’s going to brush you off, mutter something vague, and close himself off like he always does. But this time, he doesn’t look away.

“She’s immune.”

It’s so quiet, so low you barely catch the words. But they hit you like a jolt, your breath catching in your throat. They bounce around your mind, reverberating like an echo chamber. Immune. Immune to what?

Your gaze shifts to Ellie, still curled up peacefully in her sleep, her small frame rising and falling with each breath. And then it clicks—like a puzzle piece snapping into place, everything falling into sharp, horrifying clarity.

Immune. Immune to this world.

The Cordyceps. The infection. The way it spreads so easily, so ruthlessly, infecting anything in its path. You think of the spores, how they hang in the air like a death sentence, invisible and inevitable. How their tendrils take root in human bodies, twisting and overtaking, turning people into monsters that serve only to spread and kill, driven by nothing more than instinct.

Your stomach churns as the realization fully settles.

“She’s bit.” he explains, his voice so quiet you have to strain to hear him, “Before I even met her. It’s all healed over. You know they usually turn within hours. When I met her, it had been three weeks. Three. Weeks. The Fireflies think she’s the real thing. Could make a vaccine.”

So that’s why he was smuggling her across the country. For the cure to fix the world.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look back at Ellie. She looks so small, so normal in this moment, and yet… she’s the answer. The impossibility of it hits you harder than you ever imagined.

“How long have you known?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

Joel’s gaze shifts back to you, and for a moment, the wall behind his eyes falters. “Since the day I met her.”

The weight of it all presses down on you—the danger, the hope, the sheer magnitude of what Ellie represents. You try to speak, but the words stick in your throat, your chest tight. How do you even begin to process something like this?

“You can’t tell anyone,” Joel says quietly, and when you don’t look at him right away, your eyes still on Ellie, your name falling from his lips like a soft plea. His voice pulls you back, and when you turn your eyes to meet his, the intensity in his gaze stops you cold.

“I trust you,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “But you can’t say a word about her… condition.”

You blink, your throat tightening at the weight of his words. Trust—from Joel Miller—isn’t something that comes easily. “I wouldn’t—”

“Most people,” he interrupts, his expression hardening, his eyes locking onto yours, “they’d shoot first. Ask questions later. You know that.”

The truth in his words sends a chill down your spine, and you glance at Ellie again, a lump forming in your throat. You nod slowly, turning to him and swallowing hard. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

Joel holds your gaze for a long moment before nodding, the smallest bit of tension easing from his shoulders. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, like he believes you.

You both sit there in the fragile quiet, the faint hum of the lantern and the steady breaths of the others the only sounds in the room. Joel’s eyes linger on Ellie for a moment longer before his head leans back against the wall. He closes his eyes, but you can tell sleep is still far from him.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the silence pressing in and out like a slow tide, your eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. Eventually, the exhaustion wins, pulling you under, and the last thing you remember is the steady sound of Joel’s breathing beside you.

[guilty-pleasures21]

The last of the real ones

No context, no explanations. Just words and emotions spilling onto my keyboard. Listen to the songs for the full experience.

An only child of the universe

The waves

Wet concrete pt II

This whole damn city

Does your therapist know?

Too good to be true

The only one

Warnings: descriptions of grief and a brief reference to suicidal ideation.

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

“Just tell me, tell me, tell me I am the only one … even if it's not true.”

     He was careful to keep silent as he got up in the middle of the night and started putting his gear back on. Neither one of them had managed to change the mind of the other over the past few nights, but their need for each other - their desperation - outweighed their frustration with one another. Jason buckled up his belt and twisted his head back to steal another glance at his beautiful best friend … and she met his gaze with those magical dark eyes he could draw from memory by now. She watched him silently, knowing it was useless to try to argue with him, but her lips twisted down at the ends anyway. Jason sighed as his heart squeezed at the lovely pout on her face and walked back over to her, leaning forward on the bed. 

     She sat up and reached for him quickly, cupping his cheeks to bring his mouth to hers. X kissed him desperately, drinking up the taste of him - memorising it until there was no space left in her brain for anything else … Then he pulled away from her and straightened to gaze down at her. His eyes darkened as they travelled across her body, lingering for a moment on the soft curves of her breasts … then he turned and left without another word. X curled her knees to her chest and leaned back against the headboard as the panic began to seep out of her heart again, crawling through her veins and turning her blood to ice. So, she got up, put on her vigilante outfit and left to anywhere but her empty apartment.

     Jason surveyed the building before him: the steel-encased windows, the towering cement walls, the watch lights and cameras and guards monitoring every inch of the Asylum to make sure no one got out … But what they didn’t count on was someone trying to get in. Jason grappled over the wall, launching himself onto the nearest rooftop, then he dashed across the buildings, following the blueprints lighting up a corner of his screen. It wasn’t hard to find the wing he was looking for and soon, he was diving down the elevator shaft, heading straight for the sub-level where his target awaited him. The adrenaline rushed through his veins as he ran through the corridor, spurring him on towards his vengeance and he almost forgot the look his beautiful best friend had given him when he’d left her behind. Again. Jason forced the memory out of his mind and shoved it into a box that he buried deep, deep down in the recesses of his soul … but he could feel it pressing against his heart, begging to be let out. But she’d understood, Jason reasoned with himself, slowing down as he approached the door at the hallway, she’d understood that he needed this closure, this … justice. The justice that no one else had thought him important enough to deserve. He looked up at the door, so impossibly large before him, then he shot the lock and stepped inside. 

     “Jo-” Jason cut himself off when he came face to face with the creature that had haunted his every waking thought and his every sleeping nightmare ever since he’d been dragged out of his grave. Because he wasn’t the invincible, horrifying monster that Jason remembered. He was … pathetic. Strapped to a wheelchair, unable to move anything but his eyes - bloodshot eyes that followed Jason warily as he stepped closer. 

     “Nightingale …” Jason kept his eyes fixed on his greatest enemy even as the familiar gruff voice sounded from behind him. She’d done this: his best friend, his love, his soulmate … his nightingale in the middle of the storm. Bruce continued. “She said she’d stay alive … if only to make sure that he never hurt anyone again. She wanted him to suffer as much as she had - as much as he’d made both of you suffer. I just didn’t know … that this was what she’d meant when she’d said it.” 

     Jason bent over and studied The Joker’s face, unsure what to feel. A number of old scars were scattered across his pale skin - wounds that would never heal completely; wounds that he himself had become too painfully familiar with. Had she beat him then? Battered him to within an inch of his life, striking the exact places she knew would leave him forever incapacitated without granting him the blissful relief of death? Jason clenched his fists by his sides and took another step towards The Joker, prompting him to tilt his head back in an attempt to continue to hold his gaze. The villain narrowed his eyes in curiosity, trying to look past the cloudy screen of his helmet, so Jason reached up and pulled it off all together. It took a moment, but The Joker’s eyes widened with recognition when he realised who stood before him. He wriggled in his chair, incoherent squawks spilling from his lips as he tried to vocalise his thoughts, and unexpectedly, Jason felt the fury dissipate from his body. He exhaled sharply as a sense of relief overtook him - relief that he’d never hoped to be granted in this lifetime - and he put his helmet back on before turning around to face Bruce. 

     He, too, looked older, battered by the time that had passed between them. But where Jason guessed that he and X looked so much more jaded - so much more angry - the only father he’d ever known looked … exhausted. They stared at one another in silence, watching, waiting, yelling … apologising. Pain, so much pain, so much pain spilling out every pore of each of them, flooding the room and filling up the space between them. Bruce opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something - like the words ‘I’m sorry’ were hovering on the tip of his tongue, ready to plunge into the endless chasm between them … but he thought better of it, seeming to realise that they would mean absolutely nothing to the boy he’d failed so miserably. “When you’re ready … you know where I’ve been waiting.” 

     ‘I’ve been waiting.’ And suddenly, the void between them didn’t seem so endless anymore. Jason sucked in a breath, finally realising that he was sick of the pain - of the anger, of the fight, fight, fighting. All. The damn. Time. Especially now, when he’d learned about sweetness and love and good and warmth and oh, god, the nice - the nice, nice, niceness of it all. He nodded at Bruce in acknowledgement and his father reciprocated the gesture before vanishing back into the darkness. Jason twisted back around to The Joker, allowing himself one last look at him … then he turned and left it all behind. 

     She held her knees to her chest and traced meaningless circles in the dirt. 

     ‘He’s … He’s been returned to us, Bruce,’ X had told him, the words barely a whisper from her mouth. ‘He’s back. He’s here. He’s with us.’

     Bruce had remained silent, a thoughtful expression on his face as he’d taken in her words. He’d suspected that the Red Hood was his lost son, dragged back into the cruel world that had so ruthlessly abandoned him, and that he would find him eventually to punish him for his failures. But he wouldn’t cower this time: his son needed him - his precious and soft and good and nice son - and this time, he would be sure to be there for him. 

     X sighed at the memory - at the not knowing of what had been going on in Bruce’s mind; what would happen when Jason finally confronted him. But suddenly, the hairs rose on her arm and she shot up and spun on her heel to find … him. Her Jason. Right there behind her, his shoulder slumped in defeat, his posture … exhausted. She rushed forward, meaning to comfort him - to hold him and cling onto him and keep him with her no matter how hard he tried to fight her - but Jason sank to his knees before her. 

     He looked up at her, the moonlight spilling onto her hair, lighting her up in the darkness of the city … and for the first time in all the lives he’d lived, Jason Todd prayed. He gazed up at his best friend in silent worship, thanking and apologising and praying at the feet of the woman who might not have raised him from the dead, but who had brought him back to life. Because it had never been the thought of revenge that had kept him going, not justice, no. The only thing that had kept him sane when he’d been dragged out of his grave, the only thing that had forced him to turn around and put one foot in front of the other every time he found himself standing on the edge of a rooftop and gazing over the edge … had been her. His best friend, his love, the other half of his very soul. His home. 

     She fell to the ground beside him and wrapped him up in her arms, rocking him back and forth soothingly. Jason lifted his arms to reciprocate the gesture, burying his face in her chest and hugging her back just as tightly. X didn’t know what had happened or what he needed from her, but then … then he sniffled. Jason had laughed when they’d reunited, gotten angry when she’d disagreed with him, he’d kept his emotions locked up in such an impossibly impenetrable box … but now … now, it seemed that he was ready to finally let go of all of them. 

     He held her close as he cried, letting her reassure him and take care of him - no one had ever taken care of him before - until finally, finally, there was nothing left to weigh him down anymore. Jason took X’s hands in his, pulling her to her feet in front of him, and studied her carefully. How could she love him … so completely. So fully and entirely, like he wasn’t apart from her, but a piece of her - one she’d been fighting like hell to try to survive without. Jason released his grip on her to pull off his helmet as another stream of tears trickled down his face and immediately, his best friend’s hands were there, brushing his tears away as quickly as they came.  

     He looked … He looked sorry, but also … relieved. Relieved like he’d found … peace. X stretched onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, stroking his hair softly while he calmed himself down. Jason tightened his grip on her, hugging her so fiercely that she couldn’t think or feel anything but him - him, him, him. Her Jason, her precious, lovely, sweet and tender Jason. Jason pressed his lips into her hair and spoke clearly so she wouldn’t miss his words. “I love you, X.” 

     She sucked in a breath, pausing her movements to digest his words. Then she slid her fingers back into his hair and brushed the strands reassuringly. 

     “I know,” she sighed, all the forgiveness in the world contained in those two words. And finally, it was like he didn’t need to beg anymore - beg to be loved, beg to be wanted, beg, beg, beg for just a scrap of human decency. Because everything he’d ever done, everything he’d always been, all of it had always been enough for her. He’d never needed to be anyone else but Jason Todd … because Jason Todd was all she’d ever wanted. 

     “Can we go home? My nightingale?” Jason asked, his voice soft and relaxed and easy - finally, finally, some ease for her beloved Jason. X pressed a kiss to the side of his head, then straightened to meet his gaze. 

     “Yes,” she agreed, her lips curling into a smile. “We can, my love.”

😭😭😭😭😭

Thank you

Tags: @stormz369

[aghost-writer]

The Prank and the Apology

Jujutsu Kaisen: Omega Satoru Gojo x Female Alpha Reader

Satoru pranks Y/N by staging a fake injury, causing her to panic before realizing it’s a joke, which leaves her upset and worried. After a heartfelt apology, Satoru promises not to repeat his prank, and they share a quiet, bonding moment, with Satoru offering dinner as a way to make it up to her.

The sun was setting over Tokyo, casting warm hues across the city as the day came to a close. Inside Jujutsu High’s common room, Omega Gojo Satoru lounged lazily on the couch, a smug grin stretched across his face. His snow-white hair was slightly tousled, his blindfold pushed up to rest on his forehead, revealing his dazzling blue eyes. He twirled a small paper crane between his fingers, looking every bit as pleased with himself as ever.

Across the room, Alpha Y/N was sitting at the desk, going over some reports. Her sharp eyes scanned the pages with practiced efficiency, her posture straight and composed. Despite her focus, she was acutely aware of the omega lounging nearby.

Satoru always seemed to radiate a playful energy, one that was equal parts charming and frustrating. She loved him dearly, but his mischievous streak often made her life more complicated than it needed to be.

As if on cue, Satoru cleared his throat dramatically. “Y/N,” he called, his voice sing-song and teasing.

“What is it, Satoru?” she replied without looking up, her tone exasperated but affectionate.

“I was just thinking…” he began, drawing out his words.

“Dangerous,” she muttered under her breath.

He ignored her and continued, “It must be so hard for you, being around someone as gorgeous and talented as me. How do you cope?”

Y/N snorted, finally glancing up at him. “I don’t. I suffer daily.”

Satoru gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Alpha!”

“Uh-huh,” she said, turning back to her reports.

Unbeknownst to her, Satoru’s grin turned wicked. He had been planning a prank for days now, something harmless but guaranteed to get under her skin. After all, wasn’t it an omega’s job to keep their alpha on their toes?

He waited until Y/N was fully engrossed in her work before slipping out of the room. Moving quickly and quietly, he set his plan into motion.

About fifteen minutes later, Y/N finally stood from the desk, stretching her arms over her head. The reports were done, and she was ready to relax.

“Satoru,” she called, looking around the room. “Where did you go?”

There was no response.

Frowning, she walked toward the kitchen, only to find a suspiciously large pile of… feathers? On the floor.

“What the—” she started, but her words were cut off by the sound of something crashing in the other room.

Her instincts kicked in immediately. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she rushed toward the sound, her protective instincts as an alpha taking over. “Satoru?!” she called, her voice laced with urgency.

When she burst into the training room, she stopped dead in her tracks.

There, sprawled dramatically on the floor, was Satoru. He was covered in red paint, clutching his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded. Beside him was a fake knife, gleaming under the lights.

Y/N’s heart stopped for a moment before her brain caught up. She took in the overly dramatic pose, the fact that the “blood” looked suspiciously like paint, and the undeniable glimmer of amusement in Satoru’s eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Y/N,” Satoru croaked, holding out a hand to her. “It’s too late for me. But promise me… you’ll avenge me.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “Satoru, get up.”

“I can’t,” he said, his voice cracking with fake emotion. “I’m done for.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. “Do you think this is funny?”

He opened one eye, grinning up at her. “Hilarious, actually.”

Y/N sighed, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Satoru sat up, wiping some of the paint off his face. “Come on, admit it. I got you for a second.”

“You didn’t,” she lied, though her heart was still racing from the initial scare.

“Oh, I absolutely did,” he said, standing and brushing himself off.

Y/N leveled him with a stern look. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? I thought something had actually happened to you.”

At her words, Satoru’s smug grin faltered. He noticed the way her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, the faint crease of worry still etched into her brow.

“Y/N…” he started, his tone softening.

She held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Just… clean up your mess.”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving Satoru standing there with a pang of guilt twisting in his chest.

Later that evening, Y/N was sitting outside on the porch, staring up at the stars. She needed some fresh air to calm down after Satoru’s stunt.

She heard the door slide open behind her and knew without looking that it was him.

“Y/N?” he said tentatively, his voice unusually subdued.

She didn’t respond, keeping her gaze fixed on the sky.

Satoru hesitated before stepping out onto the porch and sitting beside her. For once, he didn’t immediately start talking or joking. He just sat there, the silence stretching between them.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence. “Do you know why I was so upset?”

He glanced at her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Because you care about me?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “And because you don’t seem to realize how much.”

Satoru’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I know, Y/N. I’m sorry. I thought it would be funny, but I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She sighed, finally turning to look at him. “I know you didn’t. But you scared me, Satoru. I thought I might have lost you.”

His expression softened, and he reached out to take her hand in his. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said firmly. “I promise.”

She looked down at their joined hands, her heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. “Just… don’t do something like that again, okay?”

“I won’t,” he said immediately.

Y/N gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand. “Good.”

They sat there for a while longer, the tension between them slowly melting away.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Satoru said after a while.

“You’d better,” Y/N replied, her tone teasing.

He grinned, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “How about dinner? My treat.”

“You mean you’ll actually pay this time?”

“Hey, I’m a changed man,” he said, holding up his free hand as if swearing an oath.

Y/N laughed, the sound light and genuine. “We’ll see about that.”

As the night wore on, the two of them sat together, their bond stronger than ever.

Satoru might have been a handful, but Y/N wouldn’t have him any other way.

[4urvalidation]

A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE |

There's no one waiting for her. 

With her phone in one hand and trolley full of suitcases in the other, Leni helplessly watches as a crowd of happy faces reunite with their loved ones, while she just… stands there. At first she thinks Rose might be running a little late and although this is rather uncharacteristic of her Godmother, Leni decides to give her some grace. The woman’s husband just died, be normal! But when fifteen minutes turns into two whole hours and her hoard of texts and calls are left unanswered, Leni has no other choice but to panic a little. 

It’s fine. 

You are fine. 

You know this place like the back of your hand. 

Her uber is chatty. He tosses her bags in the trunk like they are mere pieces of paper, but once he does a double check on her location Leni watches a million different emotions go through his face before finally settling on a rather unreadable one. She thinks he is about to ask questions regarding her connection with the Camerons, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns up the radio and focuses on the long road ahead. 

In the meantime, Leni tries calling Rose again, but is once again left with an unanswered call and what now seems to be a warning of a full voicemail. Her mood worsens; the prickling in the tips of her fingers sends jolts of anxiety in every inch of her body and - what if she’s overreacting? 

What if, Rose is simply standing in the shadows of the ever daunting Tannyhill with Sarah and all their friends by her side, patiently waiting for Leni to arrive so they can finally throw that much needed surprise party she’s always been secretly hoping for? 

There’s no point in panic calling Sarah now; not when Leni has perfectly convinced herself that all of these missed calls are just a silly little ruse; a cruel prank she is yet to be mad at and when the uber drops her off in front of a house shrouded in darkness, she becomes even more convinced in the delusion she has created for herself. 

Even in the dark Tannyhill looks as glorious as ever. She remembers coming here for the first time as a doe eyed ten year old and being so impressed by its bigness that when she saw the pyramids for the first time in the following year all she could muster was: “I’ve seen bigger.” All of her best and most favorite memories were made in the halls and rooms of this giant of a house, but when she looks at it now, all Leni can feel is insurmountable pain. 

There is no surprise party waiting for her inside. 

With all her might, she tries convincing herself again; tries to read into the dim light coming from the random room on the ground floor, but despite all her attempts, Leni simply cannot escape from the truth: grieving people don’t throw parties. 

Her heart pulses in the middle of her throat as she presses the doorbell and allows herself to wait again. She no longer knows what or who to expect, but much like the plethora of calls, this too is left unanswered. 

Leni sighs and pulls her phone out of her pocket. It’s a winless fight, but perhaps this one last dial might be the one Rose finally decides to pick up-

“You came back.” 

A rough, almost dehydrated voice captures her attention and almost instantly Leni swings her head around. Standing before her is a face she hasn’t seen in a while; the only face she dreaded seeing each time she stepped foot in Tannyhill. But the Rafe Cameron in front of her is nothing like the one she remembers loathing all those summers ago. 

This one is frigid, with a pin straight back and even straighter shoulders. Hair buzzed dangerously close to the scalp and a suit so well fitted, it actually makes him look somewhat attractive. 

“Hey.”

“Elena.” His voice sends a child down Leni’s spine and she can’t help but notice the way his entire face dropped when he realized it was her standing there. 

“Yeah, I uh-”

“Sarah’s not here.”

“I know, Rose-”

“She’s not here either.”

Leni blinks. “What? Where… Where is she then?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me that.” 

“Me? Why would I know where Rose is?” 

Her heart is beating so fast and hard against her chest, she can barely hear her own thoughts, little alone pay proper attention to just how close she and Rafe have been standing until now. She watches as he silently retreats in the darkness of Tannyhill’s main corridor; his silhouette becoming one with the shadows and even though she can no longer see them, the coldness of his blue eyes lingers on her skin like poison. 

“You comin’ or what?” He bellows, waking Leni from her trance and she’s about to go in when Rose’s warning from all those years ago starts echoing in the back of her head. Like police sirens they grow louder and louder; enhancing the prickling in her fingertips and tightening the knot in the pit of her stomach. 

“I’m pretty tired actually, so I think I’ll just-” 

“Fine. I’ll bring it to you.” 

A wave of relief washes over Leni just then. She knows it’s far too soon to let her guard down, but she’s so tired… With heavy steps she marches herself over to Tannyhill’s surprisingly small stoop and allows her body to crash against it. 

How can Rose do this her? 

How can she insist Leni come visit and then not be here? 

“Here.” For the millionth time, Rafe’s voice jolts her upward. “She left this for you.” 

Suddenly wide eyed, Leni carefully snatches the small piece of paper away from Rafe’s hands. Gently, she grazes her fingertips against the curves of her name; Rose’s familiar handwriting unexpectedly brings a dash of warmth and comfort that grows even bigger once she realizes the letter is still very much sealed shut. 

Her gaze meets Rafe’s again and she really doesn’t like just how tall and daunting he appears from the angle she’s looking at him from. And whilst he’s always been somewhat scary to her, this new and improved version of him is a far cry from the boy she once upon a time used to make fun of in the comfort of Sarah’s room. 

The Rafe from before didn’t loom over her like some benevolent spirit. He simply made fun of the gap in her teeth and threatened to cut her hair in her sleep if she ever dared to step foot in his room again. 

“You really don’t know where she is, don’t you?” She asks quietly. 

“No.” 

“I don’t understand… She said it was okay. She said I was more than welcome to come here and-”

“When exactly was this?” 

Their eyes meet again. 

“A couple of months ago.”

“And you and Rose haven’t spoken since?” 

“No! We did. We… text. She, she…” Her hands scour through the mess in her bag, desperate to show Rafe all the text messages she and Rose have been sending one another in the past week, but much like most things regarding Leni, he seems uninterested. “She was supposed to be here.” 

“Yeah well… she isn’t.” Rafe laughs bitterly. “Fucking bitch. She has my sister, you know that? Wheezie. She waited for me to finally be out of town so she can take my fucking sister away from me! MY FUCKING BABY SISTER!” He shouts and Leni practically jumps out of her skin. “Stupid fucking bottle blonde ass whore!” 

Rafe’s fist collides with Tannyhill’s facade and if she didn’t know it then, Leni sure as hell knows that now is the time to fucking go. Her shaky fingers make several attempts to call an uber, but she’s in so much distress, she can barely press any buttons. And since her day hasn’t been shitty enough, Leni’s hands suddenly decide to stop functioning altogether. Helplessly, she watches her phone graciously slide away from her hands and fall onto the dirty gravel next to her feet. 

“Fuck.” 

Cold, cold sweat trickles down in every visible area of her body - this can’t be fucking happening - as Rafe’s heavy footsteps draw closer and closer. With a lump in her throat Leni watches him scoop up her poor little phone, before handing it to her with the same blase attitude he handed over Rose’s letter.  

“Y’know, you shouldn’t be walking ‘round with a broken screen like this. You can get hurt or something.”  

“Right. Thanks.” Leni blinks at him. “I’m gonna go now.”

“‘Kay.” 

The sound of her beat up sneakers echoes across the entirety of Tannyhill and the grip on her suitcase is so strong, she can almost no longer feel the heat of Rafe’s fingers against her skin. Unfortunately the same can’t be said about his gaze. Those haunting blue eyes of his follow each and every single move of hers like a shadow. He should’ve been gone by now; retreated in the darkness of his hollow home and never think of her again and yet, there he is - watching her. 

When she turns to look at him again, he doesn’t flinch like others might. He just stands there -shamelessly- with his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. 

“You want me to drive you?” He says in a tone so condescending, it almost feels like the old Rafe is back. 

“No. Thanks.” 

Rafe nods and remains unmoving until Leni is inside the uber and on her way to the address written on the letter Rose left her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⸰ .° ☆ ° ☆ °. ⸰ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

| CHAPTER TWO

[fsbc-librarian]

Ooh, yes! Absolutely!

Astronomy in Reverse

A year after the Winter Soldier failed his mission in DC, Bucky Barnes is doing his best to stay under the radar from both Hydra and Steve Rogers. His hope for a peaceful day-to-day life in limbo goes awry, however, when he meets Queens’ newest hero; a pure-hearted kid with a death wish and a ridiculous pair of red and blue pajamas.

The last thing Steve expects when he finally tracks Bucky down is that, not only has the man been living in Queens all this time, right under his nose, but also that, in the two years since they last saw each other, Bucky somehow acquired a kid.

Alternatively: How Peter Parker effectively fucks over Bucky Barnes, and also totally saves him.

Peter & Bucky Are Pals

This series is set in the verse of Owlet's Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail, which is absolutely wonderful.

Steve Rogers' Dad Face and Other Common Hazards

Today, Peter was honest-to-god going to see Captain America himself up close, in person, and not from a rooftop or tiny crevice like a creepy stalker fanboy.

Even better, he was going to watch Steve Rogers make history by soldiering his beleaguered way through the most intensely awkward and honestly ridiculous press conference in the history of ever-- jaw thrust out and spine ramrod straight. Trying hard to be polite and respectful in the face of adversity.

While a bunch of assholes with cameras and microphones shouted at him about Iron Man’s adolescent dick.

we leave through the fire

They called the soldier into a training room where he saw his son hanging upside down on the ceiling.

“Hi Papa!” He cheered, waving with a big smile even though the soldier never gave one back.

“Look, Soldat, your son is a miracle,” an agent cackled, yellow teeth shining in the fluorescent lights, “crawling the walls like a little spider!”

***

The soldier doesn’t remember his son’s birth or how he came to be. He doesn’t remember bedding a woman and watching her belly swell, but they said the boy was his. He does know that he will protect and teach the boy within the confines of their cell walls. Even when the handlers berate him. Even when the good guys take him away

✨✨✨✨✨

I’m sure there’s heaps more out there, but these are a few of the ones I’ve read (not all are in The Library ) and I know there’s another kidfic AU somewhere where Peter is Bucky’s biological son

hello! sorry to bother you, i always love your stucky fic recs posts as i love your taste and find you recommendations incredibly well-written and insightful.

i was just wondering wether you would consider recommending some stucky fics that feature peter parker in a central role.

after their interactions in civil war i’ve always wanted to read some peter&bucky / peter&steve fics but sometimes struggle to find in-character, well written ones.

anyways, thank you so much in any case. love your profile :)

Hi Stranger, thanks for your lovely message—you're not bothering me at all! I really, REALLY want to get back into making rec lists; it's something that's always brought me so much joy, I just haven't had the time and/or energy lately. I think I need to set myself an imaginary deadline to force myself to finally get off my ass and just do it. 😳

Anyway, thank you so much for your very kind words. I feel doubly bad now because I have to tell you that I don't really know any Stucky fics that feature Peter in a central role, or at least where he isn't just a background player. I'm so sorry! 😬

Can anybody help? Do any of you know any good Stucky fics that also feature Peter Parker in a substantial way? I feel like there probably must be some good ones that focus on a Bucky & Peter friendship—even if the Stucky part isn't the main attraction?

Anybody?

[glitchedcosmos]

That smile is actively biting my vital organs

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE - satoru gojo .ᐟ

[CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL] satoru gojo as flynn rider + bondage. once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants ( 9.1K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, rapunzel!au, strangers to lovers, role reversal & switching, orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, handjobs (m!recieving), reader's hair has blonde streaks but colour remains ambigous, rapunzel + fem!reader, flynn rider!satoru gojo.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yippieee!! kickstarting spooky season with this hefty boy. we have our glorious blue eyed king welcoming you all to our fourth annual tteokdoroki kinktober - i hope you all like what's planned this year and enjoy this piece to start with !! kissies hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“you’re going to take me to see the floating lights. or else.” 

“or else, what, honey?” 

ever since satoru gojo climbed the wooden lattice sewn to your tower by blooming, overgrown weeds and winding vines effectively invading the safest space in the world ( according to mother ), he’s been a pain in your fucking ass. when he’d first arrived, a towering and unfamiliar figure creeping about the main floor — your heart had dropped to the base of your stomach, pulsing rapidly with fear while he scoped the scene. you’d never come across a man before, mother had made sure of that, warning you of their cruelty and ugliness both inside and out. except satoru looked nothing like the descriptions your mother had left you with, you’d say that the man was stunning. not that you had much to compare him to.

his hair was a crisp white, appearing soft to the touch much like the snowfall that came in the winter months (something about playing in it. contrastingly, his eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue — eerily similar to that of a summer sky free of cloudiness. he was too good looking to be human, for it to be natural, almost as if satoru had strolled straight out of one of the many fairytale books mother purchased for you from the markets. although, over the years you’ve probably read each book cover to cover a million times and not one fictional prince could even match this stranger’s sheer beauty.

though for now, this handsome stranger’s looks would get him nowhere with you. strangers always came with dangers, and since all you’d known throughout your years of living were these four walls, you weren’t going to take any chances with satoru and whatever problems he’d have brought with him.  initially and out of an unfamiliar fear, you’d  taken the nearest weapon to you (a frying pan) and cracked it right over his skull — watching the hunk of a human collapse to his knees and eventually black right out. if mother were around, she would have been proud. you’d tried not to feel any guilt trying to stuff his limp, lengthy limbs in your closet or under your bed because… well, what business does this stranger have with you? what the fuck is a man doing here? how did he get here? why is he here? 

your whole life you’ve been convinced that the outside word was treacherous and that you had to stay inside, where it was safe, because people were horrible and selfish — intent on hunting you down for the powers that lay intertwined in the coils of your hair. those specific streaks that glow a valuable gold between the usual  colour of your locks whenever you sang. mother would style them the way you liked every night — so long as you sung for her. you weren’t about to let mother down, nor risk the little life you built here together.

but, as it turns out, satoru wasn’t looking for the magic sprouting from your crown and entangled in your hair. it almost seemed like he had no idea about them either. rather, the moonlit haired man was looking for a place to lay low and hide after being chased through the forest for his satchel that seemingly carries something valuable. a crown… jewels that have a weight familiar to your head and sparkle like something you’ve seen before in a distant memory. 

“come to think of it, honey, where is my satchel?” cocking his head to the side, sky blue eyes peer up at you with a charm that sends a foreign swarm of butterflies ripping through your stomach.

you frown, accusingly pointing your weapon of choice at gojo’s head and puffing out your chest to appear as intimidating as possible while giving him your name. “i’ve hidden it in a secure location—“ 

“it’s in that pot…isn’t it?” 

as best as he can in the handcuffs he can call locks of your hair, the tower’s newfound infiltrator gestures towards a colourful pot in the corner of tne room. what? all you could think of in the moment is restraining him against the chair and why waste perfectly good rope when you’ve got such length to your own hair? the pot was the closest spot too.you knock him out swiftly after his guess, not giving gojo the satisfaction of finding his precious purse.

now, with the satchel hidden once more, satoru gojo semi-concussed and conscious once again — you realise that for the first time in your life, you have some kind of leverage to bargain with. you need someone to take you to see the floating lights that illuminate the sky on your birthday, every year. satoru needs his… crown? that so obviously doesn’t belong to him. of course, he would have stolen it, mother always said men were no good and always take what isn’t theirs (oh the irony). nonetheless, it  was the perfect match of desires.

this way, you could prove to mother that you weren’t weak like she said you were. that you could cope by yourself and go explore the outside world. it wouldn’t be how it usually is with mother — where you ask for something and instantly get denied because she believes you to be too naive to function in a world outside of her. not this time. this time you have a bargaining chip. a satchel containing a valuable so rare that satoru was willing to risk his life for.

your captive wriggles against the restraints of your hair, woven around the chair like tough knots of a rope to keep him at bay. while the silver haired fox may not have canines like your mother suggested, you have no idea how powerful he could be. contrastingly, gojo finds your hair to be soft against his skin, ticklish along the veins of his arms despite how secure it has him strapped down. he’s forced to listen and to follow your every move across the floor plan, guided by the strength of your hair tugging him about.

“i have a proposition for you. come, look.” drawing back a curtain to reveal a painting from earlier — you recite your plan to your intruder. tomorrow evening, he will take you to see the floating lights … ahem…lanterns that drift across the sky on your birthday every year and then, return you safely to the tower before mother returns. it’s an easy deal.  “i won’t give your satchel back until then,” you stutter out fiercely, adjusting your height and the grip you have on the cool metal frying pan. “you won’t get it back until you’ve taken me to see the lights.” 

“oh whatever, i can just take it back, honey,” satoru goads, cockily ripping his head back in patronising laughter. even though the melodious sound makes irritation bubble hot underneath your skin, you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s Adam’s apple as it bobs delectably along with his chuckles. “as soon as i get out of this…hair? hair.” pale blue eyes flicker up to your face when gojo fixes himself in the seat he’s fixed to. they bore deeply into your soul, reading you with as much ease as you have flicking through the same three books that you own. you feel the weight of your hair shift around satoru’s shoulders as he gestures down to it nearly wrapped around his bulging forearms (not that you’d been paying attention). “this is kinda freaky, hon. don’cha think?” a slow sexy smirk tugs at the corners of gojo’s plush, glossy lips, or rather, he smoulders attempting to woo you into giving him what he wants. “you don’t seem like the freaky type, sweetheart.”

once more, a frustrated flame flares up in the middle of your chest — you’d feel offended for sure if you know what gojo meant. “freaky?” 

“as in like… dubious?” he grins in response, running the pink tip of his tongue over his straight, perfectly white teeth. “this is basically bondage, yanno?”

you blink once. confused.

“improper?” 

nothing, not one of these synonyms or explanations from the smiling idiot makes any more sense to you — bringing you to tilt your head to the side, innocently like a puppy that makes satoru laugh once more. this time it actually does something to you. sends weird butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

with a shake of snow white locks and an inhale that sounds amused as it goes, your hostage clicks his tongue — letting those cooling blue eyes slink up and down your virtuous frame . the swell of his lower lip trapped between pretty perfect teeth. “as in sexy, sweet thing.” satoru’s sickly sweet and powdered sugar coo slips through one ear and out of the other like hot, viscous molasses, you immediately shudder — flustered down to the meat on your bones, curling in on yourself as your faux intimidation tactics melt from your body and slip between the floorboards beneath your bare feet. “gosh! you’re so innocent,” his gaze rips away from you, and you fight back an unexpected whimper, missing the intruder’s gaze on you. “guess that’s what being trapped in a place like this does to a darlin’ thing like you. you wouldn’t last a day out there.” 

he’s patronising you. speaking to you as though you’re no more than a child. however, being talked over and down on is all you’ve ever known, especially from your mother… but the way he acts reminds you of all of the advice she’s bestowed upon you over the years. mother tells you all the time, how naive and silly you are. how people will try and take advantage of your looks and your kindness. and so you decide to use your mother’s advice — if all humans, act like dogs, you’ll throw one a bone and wait for them to come back for more. 

steeling yourself, you use a loop of your hair to drag gojo’s chair toward you — positioning him like a puppet beneath your cold, hard stare. he man spreads on the chair as best as he can in his restraints, leaning back while his seat tilts backwards on a forty-five degree angle — drawing your eyes from his face to his thick thighs momentarily. “you are going to take me to see the lights. it’s a promise, not a threat,” you whisper into the air that buzzes with tension between you both, leaning down and pinning gojo in place. you’re so close, so little proximity between your faces, that you can practically feel his warm breath lingering on the damp skin of your lips. “and i promise, i’ll make this worth your while.” 

your voice lowers an octave, smooth and buttery and just right. like a snare for a wild white rabbit or bait on a hook — it peaks satoru’s interest, illicit thoughts and desires flashing behind his pupils like lightbulb ideas. “oh, honey. i can make you see stars alright,” he looks up at you then, with an expression of heat and thirst, dragging you into a pool of shining blue eyes that you barely manage to free yourself from. drowning in his attention once more. you stand over him proudly, between his legs smugly and all he wants to do is wipe the winning smile from your face and show you a real good time. 

if he could, gojo would reach up and grab at your hips possessively, if he could he’d cup your neck and let his fingers toy with your baby hairs to pull you into a sloppy kiss. he can’t help the way white hot desire spreads through his system like throwing gasoline on an open fire and pile of wood. he grins mischievously, and in response, a brand new sensation stirs within your lower tummy — blistering hot as it zips between your chest and your core.

you sense the change in the atmosphere and gojo does too. both of you dying to scratch the itch on the part of your brain that is the control centre for lust. but you remind yourself what this is truly about, tell yourself not to get lost in the haze of it all, and will yourself to throw a loop of your hair over daring blue eyes like a blindfold — acting fast to secure a seat in an unsuspecting satoru gojo’s vacant lap.

he grunts in surprise, flinches when he realises one out of five of his senses are down. “what the fuck—?” gojo spits, cocky smirk melting away. 

“shhh,” you taunt the man under your breath, leaning forward so that your voice coasts over the shell of his ear like a summery breeze. it invokes a sense of pride within your chest when your hostage tilts his head to follow your voice — his own breathing erratic and increasingly shallow with how he begins to struggle against your restraint on him. “you won’t get a chance to make me see those lights. not if i get you to see them first.” 

in truth, you've got nothing planned. you’ve never been in the same room as a man, let alone pleasure them the way that you’ve read in books you’d borrowed from your mother. 

the reality of the scene before you is daunting, giving up part of your virtue just to prove a point and get to see the floating lights like you’ve always wanted…but at the same time — it’s your one chance at freedom that’s at stake here. “you don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” satoru taunts you with the peaks in his voice coltishly high. he continues to wrestle against the restraints of your hair — he’s strong and with a little more force he could escape but it’s like he senses your hesitancy. 

like he knows for certain you won’t make good on your promise. just like mother. 

that much is evident in the way his smooth, glossy lips tick upwards into an arrogant smirk. 

your determination to prove him wrong grows more and more by the second, so before you succumb to your nerves again, you let your free hand claw with way over gojo’s right shoulder — steadying him, forcing him to sit still as you make a comfortable seat out of his widespread lap. he tenses at first, unable to see you move, but his grin remains, you have no idea if it’s because he’s proud of you or doubting you — but the expression only serves to piss you off even more.

“what’s next, sweetheart?” 

a strangled growl is your only reply, the most menacing sound you can muster as you lift head upwards and his pool of loose silver-moon locks fall out of place. with a shuddering breath and a hold of gojo’s restraints, you press your lips to his in a shaky kiss — still unsure of where your lips go and what to do with your teeth and how to move your tongue. the captive beneath you knows it and takes advantage of your weakness, nipping at the swell of your lower lip gently — hardly enough to draw blood. satoru is testing you, telling you to be brave and take from him. prove to him that you’re willing to do whatever you want for him to make your silly childhood dream come true.

he allows you to fight back, despite this being your idea, lets you forcefully grab his angular jaw and capture him in a proper spit-swapping kiss. if he really wanted to, he’d find a way to escape from the tight bounds of your lengthy hair. but he doesn’t. gojo lets you swallow him down; push your tongue exploratively into his mouth and lap at his foreign flavour. he wants your tongue to take dominance from his, pink appendages sloppily rolling over one another, slipping and sliding as you take and take from satoru.

the kiss, already uncoordinated from your lack of experience, becomes hurried and hungry and wet the more you steal from satoru. you take and take and take until his glass his half full and his brain slowly becomes devoid of all logical thought. he comes the prey to your predatory mouth, missing the way your hand frees his pale cheek and fingers fluidly traverse down his broad shoulders, over his marble sculpted body to find purchase in the belt loops of his bothersome pants. now curious, you feel your way down the front of the fabric and grin into the hot and heavy kiss when satoru’s lets out a breathy, staggered moan into your open mouth. 

his swelling erection twitches in response to your inquisitive hand, slender hips involuntarily jumping upwards.

“fuuuck,” satoru chuckles airily, words featherlight as they breeze along your lips. his head keens upwards too, chasing the weight of your hot sticky tongue in his mouth — desperate to be closer, craving the feeling of your nose knocking against his and your breath on his cheek from just how pressed up against each other you are. “fuck baby that’s it. kiss me more, touch me harder…” he’s addicted before he even knows what you have to offer, what he’s getting himself into. if you could see his eyes from under his binding, you’d bare witness to pleading blue pools swirling with a painful desire as he twitches beneath you, wriggling his wrists to get free. “c’mon, touch me.” he adds between sloppy pecks.

backing your face out of satoru’s reach, you break the drooly lip lock — letting your lungs fill with oxygen it had once missed, while your heaving chest syncs up with the intruder you have strapped  to a chair. you pull away, connected to the man by not just your hair, but a string of saliva glazed across your lips — cautiously, your tongue dart out to break the the between your eager mouths, two sets of uneven panting filling the quiet air. 

the two of you remain unmoving and unwilling to back down while you catch your breath; but your hand remains in the centre of gojo’s lap — rocking it back and forth, back and forth over his growing bulge. you stare at him, observing the reactions that he tries so hard to control. little twitches to his pink swollen lips and the flare of his nostrils whenever your palm makes contact with a sensitive spot. all this waiting is agony, the white haired captive might die if he doesn’t get more from you soon. 

satoru whines impatiently as a result, knowing full well what you want and you won’t ask him again — not when you’re tauntingly squeezing his cock for a second, third, fourth, fifth time. he doesn’t fucking know — overwhelmed by waves of lust-infested blood rushes to its blistering hot tip. “fuck! okay, okay fine. i’ll take you! just—“ the chair rattles from the force of gojo’s struggle against your restraints, which hardly covers the low moan that escapes from between his plush glossy lips while his length pulses against the inside of his pants. “just fuck me. touch me. anything.”

something about his tone being all desperate and high activates a part of you that you never even knew existed. a part of you that knows what to do next… even if you haven’t acted it out, you’ve enough books to remember what the erotic ones say.

only then, after he pleads, do you use your shaky hands to tug down the garment — pulling them towards his knees as best as you can against your hair until the button pops free. the zipper follows easily and the waistband falls away from starlight skin and slender hips. everything gets hotter; any fresh air between your bodies becoming tinged with the need for sex as the scorching ghost of your fingertips leaves burn marks against satoru’s pelvis, and sends heatwaves of ardour from the base of his spine to the top of his skull.

satoru’s squirming pauses while he waits with uneven breathing for your next move — tongue pressing up against the barricade of his white teeth to prevent himself from taunting you further or perhaps to stop himself from belting out another pathetic set of whimpers. he wishes he could see you, those sweet innocent eyes looking down at him as you peel back the last layer of fabric stopping you from accessing his painfully hard erection. his underwear. 

when you gasp in shock, pride weaves itself between the bones that protect his heart and lungs like an uninvited weed, he knows that he’s decent. longer than he is thick, bright red at his mushroomed tip and leaky from just how turned on he is. there’s a trail of silver moon hair that leads you down a path from his belly button to the thickest part of his dick too. but oh, how satoru gojo wishes he could see.. the way you lick your lips as drool drowns your tongue, mouth watering at the sight of his length slapping against his clothed stomach while he manspreads for you. the way your pupils dilate, the colour in your eyes swallowed by a dark veil of carnality. 

this is a hunger you’ve never experienced before, a type of starvation that makes your hand lurch forward before your brain can control it, gripping satoru at the base of his milky, slender shaft. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock; let alone held one between your tiny fingers — it’s much warmer than you anticipated, tacky to the touch from dribbles of precum running down from his untouched tip, but you like it. the weight, the wet sound it makes when you slightly flick your wrist around satoru. not to mention the stuttered groan he lets out, his head falling against the support of the chair and yanking slightly on the blindfold made of hair that covers his eyes.

if you weren’t sitting in his lap, you’d want him in your drooling mouth. you’d sink down to your knees like the girls in your naughty books and take him down your virgin throat, just so you could look up at satoru and watch the sweat bead down his jawline and run a track over his bobbing adam’s apple. but you’re not and you’ve got a point to prove, so you loop your hair around your other wrist to tighten his restraints and extend a thumb upward from his base to his seedy tip, jamming the pad of it through the slit where he pre forms in thick, creamy pearls. as white as those that come from an oyster.

“that’s it gorgeous, just like that…” satoru leers up at you huskily, voice tinged with neediness that he fails to mask. he seems to like the way you touch him and you’re sure to use a delicate hand when you smooth the supple pad of your thumb over the pad of his sensitive tip, rubbing his opaque precum into it sweetly. “touch me s’more? you can do it… i know you’re shy, can hear your breathing ‘n how heavy it is. shit, you’re new at this.” saliva slows down satoru’s salacious words as he rambles to you with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, angling his head in whatever direction your breath seems to be coming from. 

he’s in tatters, destroyed by a few simple touches with his hard on smearing white across the front of his clothes. you roll your palm over his mushroomed cockhead next to test the waters and take pleasure in admiring the way he trembles, grasping at the arms of the chair you have him strapped to in order to ground himself. it’s torture for satoru to be this patient, killing him slowly from the inside out like a virus spreading across his brain and other vital organs — but it doesn’t mean you’re in any better state. practically dripping in his lap with your panties dampening more and more every time satoru so much as whimpers. past the point of being turned on by the sight of a strong, powerful man weak and blindfolded underneath you.

satoru bucks upward at your command, sucking in a breath as his sensitive, seedy slit bumps your palm once more. “s-shit… please.”

the improper ness of the entire situation sends a zap of electricity to your swelling clit. you’ve only ever imagined being with someone like this as you have seeing the floating lights — touching yourself beneath your skirts and under your painted ceilings whenever you were brave enough. now you’re here, spread over the thick thighs of a possible thief who begs you to jerk him off. “s-shut up,” you hiss as embarrassment and  inexperience begins to shine through the deal you’ve struck with gojo, the fact that he can tell as much and still wants this has you soaked all the way through and aching for friction as well. 

you’ve never been in possession of so much power in your life. mother never let you have it. but right now, you can taste it sparking between you and gojo, smell it in the air teeming mixed with a cocktail of your arousals. in the moment you realise that the silver haired man would cling onto every one of your sugar-coated words (no matter how nervous) if it meant he got the fuck he wanted in the end. and you would get to see your lights too.

“just… tell me what to do,” you say without realising how husky your own voice has gotten. “i promised you your crown, to make you feel good if you took me to see the lights. and i never go back on a promise. s-so tell me.” talking yourself into it and building up some more confidence, you circle over satoru’s bulbous cockhead again — gaze laser focused on the burning bright red colour as it oozes. you know that he likes it and it makes his head spin so much that he starts to fight against the restraint of your hair again. “i won’t let you go, not until this is over. so tell me what i can do to make you cum.” 

despite not being able to see his entire face, gojo’s smug smile says it all — his perfect teeth cheerily on display, contrasting with the flustered pink tint to his cheeks. “cup it, make a fist around my cock so you can jerk me off’a little bit,” a haughty moan scratches at the walls of your captive’s throat when you follow his guidance and finally grip him fully, soft and supple hands easily dwarfed by the size of him. satoru’s shaft may be a little thinner, but he’s thick enough to fill your own throat and cause a stretch to your quivering hole with his balls being round, plump and full of white hot seed saved up just for you. “christ, squeeze my base a lil’ before you get movin’,” at first contact, satoru’s thighs tremble deliciously against your mound, blood rushing to your clit and through the forked veins that spiral down his length. 

your senses are overwhelmed, he smells so good — of peppermint and a musky twang of sex act like dangerous smelling salts or fumes. you could get addicted if you weren’t careful. you’re super aware of each ridge and firm vein that decorates him and as you start to palm satoru steadily, you notice just how sticky your hand is — movements guided by the wet cream of his cock. slipping and sliding as your closed fist moves up and down, up and down, occasionally squeezing the base of him just like he asked. your knuckles brushing the soft bush of pubic hair at his pelvis. you can only imagine how everything feels for him, not being able to see at all.

the thought just barely crosses your mind — too focused on speeding up your soiled hand around gojo just to hear more of his angelic gripes and groans that rise and fall from his heaving chest. how good all of this must feel for the man without being able to see. every touch must make him tick and drip and throb achingly. he must feel weak too, completely vulnerable to anything you might do to him while blindfolded and unable to touch you because of bonds formed by your hair. 

once you set a steady rhythm to your closed fist to jerk him off with, gojo takes a breather to announce his next command — head shaking side to side with moonlight locks sticking to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the inferno of desire spreading through of his limbs. “now spit on it,” he states bluntly, an obvious dip to the octave in his voice. you can’t possibly imagine why he’d need spit; your hand is already glossed with a shiny layer of precum, tainting your knuckles from the viscosity. 

you swallow thickly, but don’t dare stop pleasuring your captive stranger. “w-what?” 

“are you kidding me just—“ leaning forward as best as he can while held back by the strong locks of your hair, like rope around his wrists. dopamine crackles over your brain like fireworks in an enclosed space at the scene that unfolds next, satoru pursing his lips to spit onto his own milky dick — letting the frothy mix from mouth join the mess that lubes the both of you up where connected. “just spit on it, honey. thought you wanted me to feel it.”  

licking your lips, you rub down satoru’s girth far enough to drag the glob of spit down to his tender weighty balls, that pulse at your gentle touch. the feeling makes satoru’s entire body jolt like an electric shock — a gargled groan clambering out from the depths of his panting chest as his jaw goes slack and mouth falls open. “please. please spit on it, honey. god please.. need you to wet my cock. i need it so bad, promise i’ll be fucking good.” blind but with his remaining senses in tact, gojo remains largely vulnerable to your touch, his entire world tilting on one axis when you grip his dick a little harder at his request. causing a ring of white to gather where the circle of your wrist envelopes him.

at his begging. which you swear makes you gush like a small, erotic stream — your juices sloshing about in the gusset of your panties while your sex goes unattended.

so you nod obediently, tilting your head forward and parting your swollen lips to let a thick, syrupy string of your own spit ooze onto his plump and sore balls, stroking him rapidly to spread it over his creamy tip as well. your spit is contrastingly cool in comparison to the natural lubricant smeared all over your captive’s palpitating dick — causing it to grow impossibly harder. it slickens up your hand, evidence of the silver haired man’s arousal seeping through the fabric of his crumpled shirt and coils of your restrictive hair. neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment — all you can think to do is relish in gojo’s size.

he’s so big, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered how satoru fit entirely inside your tight hole, stretching you out in the new future — earning yourself a fresh wave of liquid lava hot essence to your ruined panties. you dare to dream onwards, picturing the azure eyed stranger fucking you against the walls of the tower in every way the man knew possible… you have no idea what he’s capable of when untied. but the sight of him lazily thrusting into your filthied fist like it’s instinct, following it like a moth to a candle flame, is enough dream fuel to last you a lifetime. even after the deal is complete and the lights are just a distant memory. 

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru to give your wrist a break — walking your fingers up the broad expanse of his built chest to tweak his nipples between your tingling bodies. his entire frame is wracked with a case of shivers, mouth parting in a high-pitched, whiny whimper with strings of saliva connecting its roof to his tongue. you’re so pathetically turned on, drool pooling on your tongue like a hot flash flood. 

it’s why you tighten your grip on your hair and thus his restraints, resulting in satoru staggering forward. closer, panting like a damn dog in rut. drawing your free hand up towards your lips and away from his pecs, the proximity between you becomes so little that satoru can practically smell the musky evidence of sex that you lick from your hand. “oh… you taste so good,” you lament in a dulcet tone, failing to miss the way gojo’s dangerous azure eyes dart about beneath his makeshift blindfold, probably dying to see you get a taste of him.

“d-don’t say that, you’ll make me fuckin’ cum, honey.” he gulps, involuntarily pumping his hips into the air, chasing your hand which he needs so desperately to feel good. “please don’t stop.” while begging you — satoru is the perfect picture of a ruined man, though you’re sure he would say the same about you if you hadn’t strapped your hair over his line of vision. his milky skin glistens as though it’s the very source of light for the silvery moon — illuminated by droplets of sweat from the exertion off fucking your fist like a squelching, welcoming pussy. his cheeks glow warmly with a dusty shade of pink and there’s a red ring forming around his lips from where he’s bitten them to control his wails of ecstasy.

succumbing to the obscenity of it all,  you reach forward and lick a stripe into his hellfire hot mouth. effectively sharing the saltine flavour of gojo’s own precum with him while he languidly sucks all the tang from your pink appendage. his angel white lashes flutter shut at the heaviness of your tongue against his own. the kiss is messy and mismatched, saliva seeps from the corners of your mouth and drags a sticky train down your chin. parting briefly, you spit it into the middle of your palm — happily taking satoru’s cock back into your talented hold and providing a solace to soothe its passionate ache. 

“ngh… i can feel you. f-fuck. feel you tryin’ not to grind against me, sweetheart.” somehow, gojo finds pockets of air to taunt you in — his voice an arousing mix of a raspy whine and cocky tone. “so wet, i can smell you too. so sweet. dripping all over your panties while you jerk me off. do you need that needy pussy taken care of?”

everything he’s said is true, while the man with the sweaty silver locks fought to escape the prison of your hair — desperate to see how you pleased him, you fought the growing pit in your stomach. the urge to use satoru for release. you’d never hit your peak with another person before, only your smaller-than-his fingers whenever mother left for more than a day or two. 

you admit to nothing, continuing to stroke satoru to his own high — his panted moans accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin from your hand fisting him to the high heavens.  “please baby, i wanna help get you off. feel that wet little cunt. let me go, i’ll be so good to you if you let me touch your sweet c—“ 

“n-no! we had a deal. my rules.” you stutter, denying yourself. denying him.

“c’mon sweetheart,” a strained and petulant whine echoes throughout the tower — satoru thrusting shallowly through your closed hand in order to match his rhythm to the flick of your wrist. “please, god, baby. if you won’t let me touch you, or at least see you, then can you put that pretty pussy on my thigh? ride it real good? wanna know how you sound when you’re being pleasured…when you give into it all. please honey, give me somethin’ to work with. anythin’…”

gojo presses, like a disciple begging their god for mercy. begging you for mercy. there’s never been this much power in your reach, the ability to control a man who could easily over power you with your sex makes your mind feel egotistically weighty. your resolve crumbles just a tad, satoru’s neediness  chipping away at its foundation until your hips instinctively position themselves perfectly over the swell of his right thigh. how bad could it be? giving him an inch when you’ve taken a mile from him. mother says you’ve never been good at lying and right now, you can no longer pretend like your hips aren’t dying to slide back and forth over your capture like a desperate whore. 

like you don’t want to use him for more than just the floating lights, but to soothe the fire lit in your lower stomach — trailblazing down to your throbbing clit.

something clicks in your mind, all of your inhibitions are dashed from the tower as you briefly release satoru’s pathetically wet cock and restraints to pull up the skirts of your silk purple dress, exposing a slither of supple fat at your thighs. hurried movements deliver the same treatment to satoru’s pants. “this… this doesn’t change anything. doesn’t mean i’m letting you go just yet. it won’t affect our deal.” you warn the intruder but all sense of venom and authority is lost, evaporating into the temperate air and ending up as a piteous, meek mewl when your exposed mound makes first contact with man’s naked thigh.

if the sound of ruffling fabric hadn’t caught your hostage’s attention; the heat of your sopping sex against his moonlit skin definitely did. “fuck…that’s it. there we go, honey. put it on me,” a tinge of amusement lays evident in his gravelly voice, sets of slender digits peeking out of their hairy restraints to map out your doughy thighs and crawl their way up to the source of your essence. “i just knew you were wet for me, can feel how turned on you are.” as best as he can, gojo shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit — cooing in satisfaction when you ooze against him in response. you almost despise the way he laughs up at you condescendingly, as if he’s the one in control irregardless or the fact that you’re on top. 

maybe it’s the dopamine rush that makes your dynamic unclear — neither of you wanting to give up or take the lead. the lust fizzing in the cracks and crevices of your brain make you cute and pliant for gojo but hair woven over his body keeps him subdued and thirsty for you. 

like a gravitational pull, you buck downwards on the silver haired stranger’s toned thigh and smear the beginnings of your arousal all over him. you’ve barely been touched, oozing in viscous waves as you lose control over your body, rutting harder and faster. “watch your mouth.” you cry out, volume barely above a whisper, bottom lip trembling because it feels so good to use someone this way. 

resuming your hold on his dripping cock again as you rock your hips — you rearrange the loop of hair keeping gojo in place, covering his eyes just as your hair begins  to glow gold in time with your symphony of moans. “right, right, sorry. this doesn’t change things,” he flexes his thigh underneath your syrupy sex, strawberry tongue slipping out to wet his lips while your words fade away into a pretty little sigh. “but you wanna smack that messy clit all over my thigh, don’cha wanna make it creamy… even messier?” satoru all but jeers, the wisps of a smirk rising on the horizon of his lips now that your hips have formed their own rhythm over his leg.

they speed up their passionate dance on him, beads of glistening essence pearling between your two fat pussy lips. the slick smack of your naked cunt against his muscular thigh caused his dick to twitch in your hand — gojo thrusting up when you thrust down. he tilts his head down, catching a whiff of your heavenly scent in the air between you both. you hate that he’s right just as much as he hates not being able to see you and touch you properly — only catching glimpses of the golden light sparkling within your hair like a halo from underneath his makeshift blindfold.

you feel like you might be going insane, trapped underneath a non existent touch. like being pulled under waves of euphoria with aching lungs that don’t get enough air. near angelic screams of delight rip through the base of your throat contrast with the way you sinfully hump satoru and jerk him off to the point of his dick forming a creaminess in your hand. he bounces his thigh faster the higher you moan, rewarding you for all the hard work you put in to make this deal worth it.

“you’re no better… you’re filthy,” 

“that’s right honey, so dirty. all cause of you. messy with you, why won’t you let me see?”  the captive rambles, torn between fighting to break out of the bondage and listening to the lewd sticky noises your mound makes when gliding smoothly over his paled skin. satoru growls at how roughly your body moves above his own, face contorting lecherously, cheeks red and lips puffy — a mess from how long he’s been holding out for you. he’s a mess. it’s true. he won’t even deny it. “now fuckin’ stroke it baby, stroke me to the rhythm of your pussy bouncing up and down for me…please…” 

simpering slightly, gojo’s fingers twitch against the arm of the chair — itching to grab at your ass and slam you down against his shaky thigh. if you palm him more, grip him tighter… he can better imagine the warmth of your cunt if he got the chance to slip inside. for now, you oblige his request, pulling tighter on the bindings of your hair while you them use as leverage — throwing yourself down on satoru as the lewd pap of your drooling pussy fills the musky tower air. “that’s it honey, up ‘n down. uppp ‘n  down. keep goin’ just like that.” 

you don’t have the energy to chide him, jostling about in satoru’s lap with wet whimpers bubbling up on the seams of your lips. pleasure begins to twist nice and tightly in your tummy, scalding you from the inside out and burning any logical thought from your brain. head beginning to roll to the side, you think about fully submitting to your capture. letting go entirely — you’d be satisfied. you’d get to cum. your deal might fall through but at least you’d get to see a different kind of light. 

easily, you could just give up. it wouldn’t be hard to, not  when gojo firmly plants his feet into the tiled floor and the power from his hips has hip rutting upwards to chase your fleshlight-like fist. a beefy cry battles its way out of his broad chest, vibrating through you as his quivering thigh juts your pretty, syrupy cunt every time you lift off of him. 

it’s the perfect cycle; the ideal push and pull. you squeal in ecstasy, the hood of your clit dragged back so that your sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to the blistering heat of satoru’s cool toned skin — taking you closer and closer to your high. streaks of your hair glow brighter than before, more intensely the louder you moan and just like they would if you were singing to help mother or while she brushed your hair. despite the strength in the light of your hair, everything else about you weakens, your grip on your hair, the pace of your hand as you palm satoru to the high heavens. you can’t think to care about any of it when you’re this close. 

if mother could see you now, you don’t think you’d mind if she was disappointed in you. 

but then you’re ripped away from the edge of cloud nine. satoru stops just short of the dam threatening to break. his thigh completely still with your juices splattering against him once your own hips come to a hault. a petulant howl echoes through the flower, frustrated tears stinging in your waterline as you feel your orgasm slip away from you cruelly. “what the fuck satoru?” 

“sorry honey….” he laughs heartily, a slight rasp coating each syllable from each word that leaves his mouth. “don’t think i like this deal very much. just ‘cause you feel good doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” gesturing to the way you gush on and stain his thigh, the captive with the silver moon hair shrugs. “you don’t get to cum or see the lights unless i get to see you.”

gojo’s been good so far, hardly challenging you this whole time and instead, goading you into a world of pleasure you would have never experienced under mother’s watchful eye. instead, he was content to have his cock touched and his name wailed a hundred different ways — he’d shown no indication of breaking your deal aside from this. so in turn, you halfheartedly let go of the loop of hair that kept his sapphire stained eyes away from the world and held his wrists down to the arms of his chair.  the restraints loosen just enough to please him and do what he needs to do. not enough to give him complete freedom. 

“fuck the deal.” you cast it all to the side, relentlessly resuming grinding all over gojo — pushing your hips back as far as his knee to smother your swollen pleasure against it.

this time, satoru is able witness the way your bambi doe eyes roll back into your emptying skull. 

with newfound motivation, the intruder begins quickly blinking away any darkness that caused a fuzz at the edge of his vision, gojo’s gaze immediately trickles down to your clenching hole, a treasure kept safe between your nectar glossed thighs; watching you ride him. “god, if i had my hands on you i’d rub that clit until you were squirting… i bet you’d like that, if i ruined that pussy. made her mine — you'd like that.” gojo’s stare returns to your eyes, flashing you his pearly whites through a condescending smile. his rushed and rambled teasing words make your creamy cunt wetter; body betraying you to violently shake above him. 

though you find strength to keep up your end of the bargain. you’d sworn to make satoru see stars, encapsulating his rigid, sloppy dick between your nimble fingers once more. you even spit on it, earning a haughty bleat from between the man’s pretty (yet chatty) mouth. his sturdy body seizes underneath your touch as you take a firmer grip on him, palming him faster and faster — seedy, hot precum webbing over your knuckles once more. that’s when you finally get to see it. how murky and dark your captive’s vibrant eyes grow, like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

the rapture that had once melted away from you like butter in a pan begins to blossom within you once again — willing you to beg for a chance at a real orgasm. “yes satoru! oh, yes please!” you squeak, short of breath and not entirely sure or what you’re even begging for. the golden light emitting from strands of your hair flare up again and your pussy throbs with an aching need to hit release. “please…”

a self congratulatory thread of cobalt lust weaves its way between the darkening midnight flecks in this eyes. “now look who’s begging,” clicking his tongue, gojo cocks his head to the side, relishing in his ability to finally look at you. drink in the way your chest bounces beneath the bodice of your lace orchid gown. it’s completely fucked, darkened by a crude mix of your arousals but it’s the most beautiful thing satoru has ever seen — only serving to rial him up even more… his own orgasm coming up over the hill. it burns at his internal organs, the lining of his stomach and the only way to alleviate this almost painful yet delectable twinge to his system is through you. “bet you’re only being nice ‘cause you’re close. well guess what? me too, be a good girl, honey, and cum for me.” he says, voice rising in both pitch and breathiness through his gritted teeth. 

he’s going to cum. 

and you’re too far gone to form a response with words just yet. you stop your own ministrations, payback for edging you earlier. his own cock dribbles pitifully as you rip his high away from him like pulling a rug from beneath his feet. gojo thrashes in his hair in response, azure eyes wild and almost wet with a sheen of tears — just as desperate to cum ad you are. “wh-what the fuck was that for?” he winges as though he’s a child on punishment, slender hips rising up to chase your soiled hand and perfect grip — shaft standing needily at attention. “honey…”

“you don’t get to cum until i get to cum. so either you work with me, satoru, or we’ll go all day.” you snap, slowly working your drenched cunt over the meat of his thigh once again, your puffy folds spread either side of it — squelching with the way you salaciously wind your hips all over him. 

satoru basks in the sight, tongue poking out tauntingly between his teeth as he decides to test the waters. “fine, but at least let me help,” he suggests, watching eagerly as you throw your head back in the purest form of pleasure and grind on him harder. it’s clear as day that you need just as much of a push to cum as he does and he plans on giving it to you in just one condition. “untie me.”

“deal.” chewing on your lower lip, you let more of your hair unwind your glowing hair from all points that keep gojo strapped to the chair. enough for more of his hands to escape. then, he’s on you within a flash, hot tongue swirling its way over your clothed bosom and biting at your peaked nipples while his hands shoot to the globes of your ass so that he can drag you in harsh circles across his lap. he’s ravenous, out of control, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the entire time. 

somewhere along the way, in one final burst of passion, your mouths find each other again — swapping streams of saliva as you lose yourselves to sex crazed minds teaming with lust hormones. with your lips smacking and bodies moving against each other in a delicious bump and grind — satoru forces a large hand between you both, fumbling against your cotton panties. the sound he lets out when he finally, finally gets his hands on your puffy clit is glutoral and animalistic, the simple touch sending a shock wave of electricity across every one of your synapses. dazing you for good. 

you bear witness to the silver haired stranger losing his mind, falling from grace like an angel with blackened wings. and for you, he does the same, commiting the sight of your glowing halo-like strands of hair to memory — the coils that shine brighter the more you sing and sin for him.

he can’t stop gabbling, gargling on the spit you pour into one another — followed by howls and screams of pleasure. “oh you like that, hm? i bet that feels so good… so sweet ‘n wet under my touch.” hot fingers belonging to satoru pick up the pace between your sticky folds, flicking your clit feverishly and writing his claim against your cunt at the same time that you jam a thumb into the tricking slit of his dirty red cockhead. the pair of you jolt in one another’s arms, taking one too many steps towards the edge of cloud nine before you’re even ready for you.  

“oh sweetheart, listen to you, sound so good. wish i could have you on my fat cock instead of my thigh. next time yeah? you’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you? gonna get my thigh nice and wet?” gojo growls, voice hoarse and layering perfectly over your whistle tone whines. his digits slow and start their greedy assault on your sex, edging you further and further as you wriggle and writhe at his words. 

the world escapes you, the knot of lust that had been warping within you finally coming undone. “gods… s-satoru! please!” you shriek as though your voice is a  gust of stormy wind — reverberating off of painted cobblestone walls. your free hand (no longer trapped by loops of your own hair) darts out to grab the intruder’s wrist, thighs locking around the hand that works you through an earth shattering high. the dam finally bursts, forcing open floodgates as your pussy releases streams of clear arousal in small spurts that soaks his entire lap and clothes.

gojo has no idea where to look, the smallest glimpse of your orgasm sending him hurtling over the edge as well — he doesn’t relent, viciously circling your precious pleasure mug and drawing out your release to match his own. his thick length spasms in your tiny hand, plump balls no longer able to contain the viscous, hot seed he has saved up all for you. just for you. he cums with a shout, abdomen contracting under your never-ending supple touch, ropes of white hot endlessly shoot from his overstimulated tip almost as though he’s a faucet that’s never been turned off.

he swears he almost blacks out, a white and sweaty mop of hair collapsing onto your shoulder as you slump in gojo’s lap — exhausted. as the air in the room cools, your hair no longer glowing and your chests syncing up to heave in an even rise and fall — you bring a lazy hand to the back of satoru’s head, toying with coils of his baby hair to help you both calm down.

a moment of quiet passes before you find the energy to whisper. “will you take me to see those floating lights now?” 

your innocent question causes satoru to snort sleepily, pressing a wet chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek as the sound breaks free from his cherry-bitten lips. “a deal’s a deal, honey. as soon as you untie me… we’ll hit the road.” 

neither of you move a muscle, however, still recovering from the sinful act you had just shared. 

you use the time to reflect, a sense of excitement dawning on you. you were going to leave the tower. you were going to see the floating lights on your birthday. and most importantly, you were directly disobeying your mother to prove your capableness. and all you had to do to get your fairytale happy ending was give a handjob to a very handsome, very willing stranger. 

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[pasukiyo]

BEAUTIFUL THING

mike schmidt x f!reader word count; 2,573 warnings; smut, no plot, just porn :D summary; there was nothing in the world she wanted more than mike schmidt. but what were the chances he'd ever make a move on her?

 She wanted Mike Schmidt.

 Don’t get her wrong, she absolutely adored Abby, she was sweet, funny, and overall not a hard kid to take care of. But she knew all too well what her intentions were when she agreed to take up the babysitting job— how could she say no when he looked at her like that with those big, deep brown eyes?

 It was another late night spent at the Schmidt house— Mike had just gotten himself a new job with unholy hours, some late night security gig he had no choice but to take. Her mouth opened in a yawn and through her bleary vision, she blinked down to the watch on her wrist. 

 4:30 AM. Mike wouldn’t be back for another hour and a half or so. 

 She sighed and threw her head back against the cushions, staring absentmindedly at the television as some old cartoon played, audio soft and muffled. She wasn’t sure why she even bothered trying to stay up for Mike— she’d been babysitting for him for months, (without pay, might she add) and still, neither he nor she had made any moves. She wasn’t even sure if he ever even intended to make a move on her. 

 But she was just so certain that he felt at least some sort of attraction towards her. She could see it in the way he looked at her, how his eyes would absentmindedly trail down her body against his better judgment, how he’d pull the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth while he did. She could see it in the way his body would react when she came too close, like when she gave him a handshake or playfully shoved his shoulder.

 It was the same way she reacted when he was close. 

 Surely it couldn’t all be for nothing?

 Her eyelids were falling heavy against her eyes and she slowly slumped further into the cushions of the couch, hands tightening around the blanket around her body. Sleep was so close that she could reach out and feel it, and she would’ve slipped into the arms of slumber if it hadn’t been for the opening and closing of the front door. 

 She grumbled and furrowed her brows down at her watch. 

 4:35 AM. Mike wasn’t supposed to be home yet. 

 At the notion, she jolted and snapped her head towards the entrance, her heart thrumming against her chest as she prepared herself for the sight of a total stranger, ready to make a run straight for Abby’s room. She blinked and narrowed her eyes at the dark silhouette of the figure as it hung its coat on the rack bolted on the wall. 

 “Sorry. S’ just me.”

 She knew that voice. It was a voice she always dreamed about, a voice belonging to someone she’d seen practically everyday.

 “Mike?” Her voice came out rough, having not spoken for hours, not since Abby had gone to bed. “What are you doing home so early?” She asked as she pushed herself further up the sofa while Mike made his way towards the recliner, wiping a hand down his face before plopping down into the seat. She could only make out his face through the light from the television but even then, she could sense something was off. 

 Mike tapped his fingers against the armrest of the recliner, “I… I just… needed to leave… I guess,” he replied and she frowned, scooting to the far side of the couch closest to him. “Is… is everything alright?” She questioned, unsure whether or not he needed consoling. Mike leaned further back into his seat and let his eyelids flutter closed, inhaling deep through his nostrils. 

 “Just… is Abby asleep?” He finally asked after a moment and she nodded, humming. “She went down earlier than usual. Actually managed to get her to eat something,” she replied, her lips curving into a smile but quickly faltering again when she realized Mike wasn’t going to reciprocate. He looked almost… distraught. 

 Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she pondered her options. She’d known Mike for some time but even then, she still knew little to nothing about him. He slept a lot, that was for sure. And he loved his little sister and was trying so hard to be exactly the type of person she needed. But she knew nothing about him, Mike Schmidt himself. She didn’t know what he did in his free time, what he liked to eat, if he had hobbies, nothing. 

 Hell, she’d spent so much time fantasizing about him and filling in all the holes herself, she hardly even acknowledged that he could be somebody entirely else. She didn’t know the first thing about him.

 But she could learn to try. 

 She leaned forward, a steady hand warily finding his on the armrest of the recliner and she flinched when Mike snapped his eyelids open, looking between her and their touching hands. Their gazes surged into one another and she made no moves, as if seeking any sign that she should stop.

 Mike’s heart thrummed so hard inside his chest, it was a miracle that she couldn’t hear it. She looked at him as if she were asking permission— permission to what, he hadn’t even the slightest clue. But in spite of the voices inside of his head telling him he shouldn’t, that he shouldn’t let her, that he was wrong for her, he did. How could he say no when she looked at him like that, as if he were the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes upon?

 His silence gave her the confidence to let her fingers creep further down to the back of his hand, flipping it around until they rested against the heel of his palm. Slowly, she soothed the tips of her fingers up his palm until they fell between the cracks of his, letting her digits curl around his knuckles. Mike shuddered at the touch and let his own fingers press down against hers and he watched as she raised their intertwined hands to her mouth, their gazes molded together as she pressed her lips against his skin. His lips trembled as they fell open and he narrowed his eyes, clinging onto the last bit of restraint he had left. 

 “You can relax with me, Mike,” she whispered against his skin, pressing another soft kiss to the knuckle of his ring finger. “You don’t have to worry while I’m around.”

 Mike pressed his lips back together and fought back the urge to groan at her words, his eyes wandering from their hands, down her arm, to her chest where it pressed against the edge of the sofa. His breath shuddered when he exhaled and the rubber band stretched inside of him finally released and with it, the last of his restraint. 

 Fuck it, he thought. It’s been long enough.

 Mike tugged her closer by the hand and her lids widened, a squeal slipping from her lips, in which he was swift to eat right up, pressing his mouth against hers. With his hand not intertwined with hers, he gripped her hip, working his way up to her waist to squeeze. The sound she made was muffled inside their admittedly messy kiss and he pulled her even closer, her knees having nowhere to go but on the outside of his thighs. 

 Mike groaned and pulled away to catch his breath as her hips ground down against his, already feeling frustrated with the growing erection in his jeans. He blinked up at the woman on top of him, her arms thrown over his shoulders, her chest heaving as she chased air back into her lungs. She stared down at him with hazy irises, still bleary from lack of sleep. 

 “Sorry,” Mike finally managed to breathe out, his palms resting on either of her thighs. “Probably a little much, wasn’t it?”

 He watched as the corners of her lips curved into a grin and she chuckled breathlessly, shaking her head. “Not enough,” she tittered as she surged her lips back into his, one of her hands on his shoulders slithering their way into his mess of dark tendrils, fingers curling and tugging at his roots. He hissed inside her mouth and dug his fingernails into her skin, a whimper falling from her lips, allowing him to take control of the situation. 

 He pressed himself forward and reached for the end of her t-shirt and she briefly broke away to allow the fabric up and over her head, her own fingers already working at the buckle of his belt. Mike leaned forward to pepper kisses all across the tops of her breasts and she threw her head back as he took over in undoing his belt, ripping it from his loops and throwing open the button and zipper of his jeans. 

 She clambered off of him as he raised his hips to tug his pants and boxers down just enough to allow his erection to spring free of its restraints, feeling her stomach do a somersault at the sight as she stripped herself of her own shorts and panties. Mike fought the urge to wrap his hands around his cock as she reached behind her back to undo the clasps of her bra and time seemed to slow as the straps fell from her shoulders, the lave toppling to the floor altogether. 

 He swore he could feel his mouth water and never before this moment had he wanted something, or someone, more. He blinked up at her, following her gaze down to his lap and at his erection that stood tall, waiting for her, dripping with pre-cum. 

 Mike cocked an eyebrow, “you just gonna stand there or you gonna take it?” He asked, voice low and husky and fuck, she thought she’d drop dead right then and there. Still, this was a dangerous game they were playing. “What about Abby?” She whispered, glancing towards the hallway where Abby’s room was. “What if she wakes up?”

 Mike pressed his lips together and bucked his hips, raising a leg to softly give her calf a kick. “You can be quiet, right?” He murmured in question and she felt herself clench from his voice alone. Here Mike Schmidt was, cock out and erect, all because of her. This was something she had only dreamed of— never did she think that this would become reality. 

 Mike cocked his eyebrow again and she shook herself from her thoughts, taking his hand as he guided her back onto his lap. Her body shuddered and her bones rattled as she began to sink herself down, jolting when the tip brushed against her cunt, teeth sinking down into the plush of her bottom lip to contain her sounds. 

 “It’s okay,” Mike whispered. “I got you.”

 Her eyes about rolled in the back of her head at that as his hands kneaded at the flesh of either of her hips, guiding her further down his length, making sure to go agonizingly slow to ensure she felt every single fucking inch of cock inside of her. Tears brimmed the outskirts of her eyelids as she finally sat still on his lap, filled to the brim with cock. Mike let her head fall down against the curve of his shoulder, burying her nose into the crook of his neck as she allowed time to adjust to his size, simultaneously trying to keep her sounds to a minimum. 

 “You’re so tight,” Mike’s breath shuddered in her ear and his voice made goosebumps litter her skin, his fingertips like the icy breath of a ghost against her back. “You think you can handle moving now?” He asked in a whisper against the shell of her ear and she nodded, letting him grab her thighs and push her further up his cock until just the head remained. She cried against his neck when he sank her all the way back down his length, the lewd noise of their wet skin slapping together making her clench around him. “Fff… uuck,” he dragged his curse out as he snapped his hips up against her.

 “Shit!” She gasped as he thrusted again and again and again. And she let him. She let him use her in whatever way he pleased. 

 “Gonna be good for me?” He muttered next to her ear. “Gonna let me take care of you, hm?” She nodded, bobbing her head up and down against his shoulder as he snapped his hips up to hers again and again, daring the coil inside her belly to snap. “Think you can handle it?” He asked again and she nodded once more, crying and biting down on his collar. “Yes!” She cried, fortunately muffled against his skin. 

 So Mike thrusted again, harder and harder, chasing that high, that release he so desperately needed. He could tell she was close— it’d probably been so long since she’d been stuffed by cock like this. She’d probably been waiting for this moment just as long as he has. 

 With the pad of his thumb, he pressed down against her aching bud and Mike could feel a fresh new set of tears soak his skin as she cried, bucking her hips into his touch. His thrusts were as sloppy as they were powerful and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. 

 “Mmm… Mike… I’m… I’m gonna…” she hardly managed to stutter out, slowly feeling the coil inside her stomach as it began to unravel. 

 “Yeah?” Mike said, his other hand wrapped around her neck and pushing her forehead down against his, gazing up at her closed eyelids. He rolled his head against hers, “look at me,” he breathed out and watched as she slowly fluttered her lids back open, just as more fat tears beaded down her cheeks. The sight was enough to get him to teeter on the edge himself. 

 “Gonna come?” He asked and she nodded, sweat-slicked forehead lolling against his. He nodded too, already feeling her release around him as she spawned around his cock, relying solely on him and his body to keep herself up. She buried her face in the crook of his neck again as she whined and cried, Mike’s thrusts speeding up as he gave himself that final push he needed to send himself reeling, spiraling and shaking with the force of his release. 

 “Fuck,” he growled into the skin just below her ear, squeezing his eyelids shut tighter as he willed himself to keep his sounds on the low, for the sake of his little sister sleeping just in the other room. 

 Silence fell over Mike and the babysitter for a good, long moment as they both recovered from their highs, chasing air back into their lungs as the realization of what they had just done began to sink in. Mike should be mortified— she was his sister’s babysitter, he doesn’t have time for this, she doesn’t deserve him, he shouldn't have done this. 

 But the woman in his lap settled herself closer into him, nuzzling her nose against the crook of his neck, her lips like a crescent moon against his skin as she placed a soft kiss to his flesh there. 

 “I hope you’re okay, Mike,” she whispered and he threw his head back, an arm thrown around her body as he stared up at the ceiling. How could he push her away now?

a/n; so yeah!!! i watched fnaf on friday and it kinda sorta just brought back my whole josh hutcherson phase so enjoy!! this was just a quick little something i wrote up and there's like no plot at all and not proofread LMAO

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Best Friends Brother ⊹ . + °

| Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

summary: You are Fred & George’s best friend, and meet their mysterious older brother, Charlie, at a product launch at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

cw: MDNI 18+ smut with basically zero plot. charlie has an absolutely filthy mouth. no war (or light war? idk, everyone is alive)

an: this was supposed to be a casual hook up when I initally planned it, but the dick was so good they fell in love ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

part two | masterlist

+ ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . +

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had a line around the building, hopeful witches and wizards desperate to get a glimpse of the Weasley twin’s newest product. You strolled past them in your mini dress and tights, more than a little chuffed by their jealous glares.

The doors were locked, blocked off with enchanted rope, but when Fred spotted you through the window, he ran to unlock the doors.

“Y/n! I’m so glad you could make it. Georgie, looks who’s here!” Fred slung an arm over your shoulders and ushered you into the store. It was the cleanest you’d ever seen it, with streamers and lights strung everywhere, and a long table loaded with food and drink.

“Y/n!” George shouted, popping up from behind the register. Both of them were dressed in freshly pressed brown suits, looking exceptionally dapper. He came aroud the counter and pulled you into a hug. “Thanks for coming out.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you grinned up at them, pride filling your chest. You’d been close with the twins for years, a friendship that started in school and only grew in adulthood, since you worked a few doors down at Honeydukes.

“Come, you have to meet our family!” They ushered you upstairs, where a dozen or so people waited, several faces were familiar, some were not.

“You remember Harry, Ron, and Ginny,” George said, and you greeted them all with a wave.

“And our parents, Molly and Arthur,” Fred continued.

“Oh, y/n! How lovely to see you!” Molly cooed, pulling you into a rib-cracking hug. “My, what a beautiful young lady you’ve grown into.” She pinched you cheek, and heat scorched your face.

“And this is our older brother’s Percy, Charlie, and Bill. And Bill’s wife, Fleur.”

You turned to the trio of men hovering by the bookcases, and nearly tripped over your heels. Percy, you remembered from school, Fleur as well, and Bill was too busy gazing down at her blonde head to glance your way. But Charlie. He stared straight through you, his dark eyes swallowing you whole.

“Pleasure,” Charlie said, his voice honeyed and deep. He was shorter that Percy beside him, but muscular enough that the maroon blazer he wore seemed a little stretched at the shoulders. His white button down shirt beneath it was tailored perfectly to fit across his wide chest and taper at his defined waist. Freckles kissed his cheeks and forehead, his skin a shade tanner than his siblings, though he shared their ginger hair, mid-length and wavy.

“Hello,” you managed, giving him a small smile. But before you could engage further, George whisked you away.

“It’s tiiiime!” Fred shouted, waving his wand, and the doors burst open.

+ ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . +

As the event raged on, you found yourself drawn to Charlie’s orbit, watching as he mingled with guests and chatted with his family. He seemed to draw a lot of attention, what with his rugged good looks and the fact that he was a dragon trainer. It seemed everyone wanted a sliver of Charlie Weasley’s attention.

So you admired him from a far, and tried to help Fred and George as best you could.

You chatted with customers, explaining the new product the best you could, but you kept feeling the tug of someone’s attention at the nape of your neck, distracting you. When the customer finally moved on, you glanced towards the direction of the feeling, and caught Charlie watching you over the rim of his fire whiskey, ignoring the gentleman attempting to talk to him entirely.

The air froze in your lungs, you heart tripping over itself. His gaze was scorching, and if looks could burn…you were certain your clothes would be rendered to ash.

Desire pooled in your lower belly, heating your blood to an uncomfortable degree. Your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears, you missed George approach.

“Hey, y/n, enjoying yourself?” He asked, offering you a glass of champagne with a candy snitch floating in it.

You accepted with a smile. “I am, thank you. You guys have done an incredible job.”

George beamed, clinking your glasses together before loping off to sell to another customer.

“So, how long have you known my brothers?” A low voice murmured in your ear, and you whirled around, nearly spilling champagne all over Charlie’s front. He caught your elbow with a steady hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Easy, love,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Oh, uh, f-five years? I think,” you stuttered, looking anywhere but his smoldering eyes.

“Then how have we never met? I’d certainly remember you.”

You shrugged a shoulder, taking what you hoped was a casual sip of wine. “Seems you haven’t been paying much attention,” you teased, finally meeting his eyes.

His smirk grew into a soft smile. “What a grave error on my part.”

“Are you in town for the event, or…?” You could feel heat climbing up your neck, but you willed yourself to keep a level head. You knew how to flirt, had done so with plenty of blokes in your time, but none as handsome and disarming as Charlie.

“I thought so, but evidently the Gods had other ideas.”

You knees nearly buckled. “Like?” You coyly tilted your head, allowing your eyes to trail across his broad shoulders, down his chest. Was this guy seriously flirting with you? You knew you weren’t unattractive, but Charlie was…phew.

“Like…” He flushed a little, betraying his suave demeanor, and your heart slipped a little further into his hands. “Meeting the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Ever?” You teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth.

“In this life and probably the next.” He took a sip of his whiskey, letting his eyes wander over you the same way yours did him. And based on the way they darkened, his pupils widening just a fraction, he liked what he saw as much as you did.

“Does that line always work for you?”

“Well, considering I’ve never tried it, why don’t you tell me?”

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Charlie slammed the door shut behind you before crowding you against it, his lips colliding with yours. He tasted like whiskey and pumpkin, with a tinge of cigarette smoke that went straight to your head, and you eagerly tangled your tongue with his, pushing his blazer off his shoulders.

“Colloportus,” he murmured against your mouth, and you heard the lock schick into place. He shrugged his blazer off, tossing it somewhere in the dark storage closet, and his hands were on you again, one sliding into your hair, the other on your lower back, drawing you closer.

“Charlie?” You gasped as his lips traveled down your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his short beard a rough contrast to the suppleness of his kiss.

“Yeah, honey?” he panted, lifting his head to meet your eyes.

“I don’t usually…” you trailed off, nerves suddenly closing your throat.

His hand slid from your hair to cup your cheek, his callouses rough against your heated skin. “Me neither,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. “We can do whatever you want, love. I’ll take you to the nicest restaurant in London, or on Dragon-back to the Swiss Alps, or on a cruise ship to the Americas—”

You cut him off with a kiss, throwing your arms around his neck. “And if I want you to fuck me?” you said between pecks, tugging at the roots of his hair.

He smiled and scooped you up by the meat of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist so your skirt pushed up over your hips. “Then I’ll fuck you as often as ya’ like.” He turned and dropped you onto some kind of work bench, sending the papers and junk flying with a sweep of his arm.

“The twin’s are going to be pissed,” you giggled, leaning back onto the wood so he could continue his previous assault on your neck.

“Fuck ‘em,” he muttered, nipping at your collarbones. His hands gripped your thighs with dizzying strength, the same hands that handled massive, fire-breathing beasts, and spread you open for his hungry gaze. “Seven fucking hells,” he breathed, running his hands down your inner thighs. “You’re perfect.”

In a swift motion, he ripped your tights at the seam, the sound sending a pulse of arousal to your already dripping pussy, a sharp gasp forcing it’s way from your throat. His fingers glided over your wet panties, so delicate compared to the force he’d used heartbeat before.

Your hips lifted slightly, chasing his gentle touch. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this desperate for someone to touch you, your entire body tuned to his every breath, every twitch of his muscles. He looked so fucking good leaning over you, his previously tidy shirt rumpled, his hair in copper waves around his face, his lips a little red from your fevered kisses.

With his ring finger, her drew your panties to the side, his middle fingers gliding through your slit and circling your clit twice. “Already so wet for me, honey. What did I do to deserve such a warm welcome?” he purred, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead.

Your brain couldn’t formulate a response, his touch mind-numbing. Pleasure radiated form his fingers, syrupy and languid, with none of the frenetic energy from before. A moan slipped past your lips, your eyes fluttering closed as he coaxed your pussy to bloom for him.

“And such pretty sounds.” He rolled up his shirt sleeve with his free hand, exposing the muscles and veins along his thick forearm. Slowly, he slipped his middle finger inside of you, large enough to stretch you slightly.

“Fuck, Charlie,” you whined, raising yourself onto your elbows so you could watch him play with you.

“I suppose I shouldn’t stretch this out too long, someone might come looking for us,” he mused. “But I could spend a fucking eternity spoiling this greedy little pussy.” He slipped another finger into you channel, pumping them a few times just to feel your cunt suck him back in. “Would you like that, love?” He tilted your chin up with his free hand, an unspoken request for an answer.

“Y-yes, Charlie. Please,” you panted, stretching up to steal a quick peck. He deepened the kiss, shifting his weight to press you back down onto the desk as his tongue flirted with yours. His hand picked up the pace, fucking you steadily as he devoured your mouth, teeth skating along your swollen flesh before sucking lightly on your tongue.

You don’t know what God blessed him with such a skilled tongue, but you needed to make an offering in thanks stat.

But since you couldn’t do that…

“Charlie?” You asked, reaching around to touch his wrist between your legs.

He immediately stopped, withdrawing his hand completely. “What’s wrong?” He searched your face for signs of discomfort, his brows drawn together.

You pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek before sliding off the desk. He watched you, confused and concerned, then you lowered yourself to your knees and his jaw went slack.

“Honey, you don’t have to—”

“Please, Charlie?” You batted your lashes up at him, tugging lightly on his belt.

“Merlin’s fucking—I can’t say no to you when you look at me like that, sweetheart.”

“Then don’t,” you teased, undoing his belt and zipper. You could see the outline of his cock against his black boxers, thick and throbbing as you glided your fingers over it.

He sucked in a breath, gripping the edge of the table with one of his hands. Encouraged, you dragged the flat of your tongue over the fabric, feeling the heat of him, the wetness collecting by the swollen head.

“I must have died in the dragon pit and gone to heaven. My god, woman,” he rasped, running his fingers through his hair to keep it from blocking the sight.

You giggled, licking a few more stripes before reaching up to free him. His cock sprung out, veiny and flushed pink. And, to your absolute shock and delight, even his cock was freckled.

“You have the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen,” you praised, and his cheeks flushed pink. You laved your tongue along the thickest vein, earning a throaty groan. You sucked the head into your mouth, lapping up the precum pearling from his slit.

Charlie’s head fell back, one of his hands sliding into your hair. He didn’t add any pressure, just held you as you started to suck him, moving a little further down each time. You wrapped your hand around the base, there was no way you’d fit the entire thing in your mouth, and started pumping him, matching the motions with your mouth. His skin was like velvet, soft and smooth, and you loved feeling him pulse against your tongue with every dip of your head.

“You are too damn good at that. So fucking pretty swallowing my cock.” His thumb stroked your cheek while he gazed down at you, stars in his eyes. “You like sucking me off, honey?”

You nodded as best you could, flicking your tongue at the groove just beneath the head. His hips lurched forward, a grunt escaping through his teeth.

“Fuck, sorry, love. I’m trying to stay still for ya’, but feels so fucking good.”

You reached up and guided his hand into your hair, then used it to push your head down, giving him the best puppy dog eyes you could muster.

He smirked, his hand fisting in your hair. “Whatever you say, gorgeous.” He started moving your head along his shaft, rocking his hips in time with the movements. He went easy at first, but as drool began to track down your chin, your eyes rolling back in bliss, he picked up the pace. But he only fucked your mouth for a few, punishing strokes before lifting you off of him. He slammed his mouth to yours, a harsh, hungry kiss that had you seeing stars.

You whined in protest, but he shushed you by lifting you into the air and setting you on the table once more.

“If you thought I wasn’t going to fuck you, you’re mad,” he gruffed, dragging the hot head of his cock through your pussy lips. “That is, if you still want me to?”

“Yes, fuck, now, Charlie. Please.” You spread your legs a little wider for him,

“Anything for you, love.” He leaned down and kissed you again, sliding his cock into your depths at the same time. The feeling of being filled by him bordered on divine, silken and hot. He was stretching you just enough to leave you with that delicious ache between your legs. You moaned into each other’s mouths, the sounds caught up by his tongue parting your lips and caressing yours.

He drew his hips back, agonizingly slow, letting you feel every inch of one another, before he slammed back in, knocking the air from your lungs. It seemed he was at the end of his control, his grip on your hips bruising as he fucked you hard, jostling the desk beneath you and making the shelves along the walls rock.

“Fuck, Charlie. Feels so good,” you cried, trying and failing to keep yourself quiet as he railed you, every thrust like a lightning strike of pleasure through your body.

“Yeah? You take my cock so well, baby. Wet little pussy squeezing the life outta’ me,” he groaned, his hair tickling your face. “So good f’me, honey. Like you were made for me.”

Your muscles tightened, veering closer and closer to your peak, his praise sending little pulses of bliss your clit.

“You like being praised, baby? Hearing how perfect you are for me? Fuck, I can feel how much you like that, squeezing me so hard.” His hand slipped between you, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing tight circles over you puffy clit. “Come for me, y/n. I know you can. I want to feel you fall apart around me. That’s a good girl—”

Your cry drowned out his praise as your peak crashed over you, visceral and exquisite. The world vanished, blown apart by the burst of starlight in your chest as you came for him. Pulses of pleasure made your body shake and buck, your eyes squeezing shut as he fucked you through it.

“That’s it, honey. Such a good fucking girl. Merlin, you’re gonna make me come.” He rested on his forearms, braced on either side of your head, hitting an entirely new angle as you came back into your body.

“Charlie,” you whimpered, clinging to him. ”I’ve got ya’, love. Don’t worry. Just a little longer—fuck.” A strangled groan broke from his throat and you felt his cock swell, then kick against your walls, the first hot stream of release painting your insides.

He rested his head on your shoulder as he muscles trembled, his hips pressed flush to yours. You wrapped you arms around his shoulders, still weak from that soul-shaking orgasm. His lips passed over your shoulder, your clavicle, up your neck, before finally ghosting of your lips, soft and breathless.

You remained like that for longer than you probably should have, enraptured with one another. You'd been complete strangers a few hours ago, but this wasn't a hook up akin to a one night stand. This was the reunification of two beings, the re-raveling of a soul tie.

“Y/n,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, your temple. “Y/n, y/n, y/n…” He held you like he'd die if he let go.

“Charlie,” you exhaled, nuzzling behind his ear.

“Can I take you to Romania with me?” He whispered, a joke, you presumed, but there was no humor in his voice.

“I've never seen a dragon before—”

The door knob jiggled, and someone pressed against it, the wood groaning.

“Shit.” Charlie jumped backwards, scrambling to right your dress and smooth your hair.

“Hey, Freddie! This doors locked for some reason.”

“Charlie, your dick,” you snickered while he wiped away a smudge of your lipstick.

“Fuck, right.”

“Alohamor—”

“COLLOPORTUS,” Charlie barked out, snatching his wand from his boot.

“Charlie?” George called, knocking on the door.

Charlie tucked you behind him and undid the spell, peeking the door open. “If you say another word, you're dragon food,” he growled, and you had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.

“You got a girl in there, mate?” George asked, and you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“George,” Charlie warned.

“Fine, fine. You've got ten minutes before I actually need to get in there.” George knocked once more then strode away, his footsteps disappearing down the hall.

Charlie sagged against the door, exhaling. “I'm sorry, love,” he said, turning to you.

You pecked his cheek. “Don't be sorry, that was the best lay of my life.” You tried to reassure him, despite the curdling sadness in your chest.

A shy smile broke through his serious expression. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “I can only imagine how good it would be when we had all the time in the world,” you murmured against his ear, a shiver rolling down his spine. It was better to leave it like this, flirty, casual, than with whatever…that was.

“I mean, we’ve got ten minutes…”

You patted his chest and slipped out of the door, finding George waiting at the end of the hall, arms crossed.

His jaw dropped. “Y/n!”

Charlie ran out behind you. “I swear to God, George—”

“Are all Weasley's this dramatic?” You closed George's mouth with a finger under his chin.

“Where did—when did—how?” George stuttered, looking back and forth between the two of you.

Charlie smirked, shrugging back on his blazer. “I'll explain when you're older,” Charlie teased. “Would you like a drink, y/n?”

“I'd love one.“ You threaded your arm through his, and together returned to the party.

> Part Two

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Thanks for reading!

If you enjoyed, please check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 18) tw: minor character death, injuries, and misogynistic language

masterlist

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He’s far off still, the smoking gun held tight in his hand and aimed up at the sky. A warning shot.  

At first, you don’t quite believe it. He appears like a mirage in the distance after wandering through the desert for days, on the brink of starvation. Like a trick of the eye. You squint against the light, sure that you’ve mistaken the familiar felt pinch front hat and the speckled Appaloosa he sits astride for someone else, a stranger come to save you instead of the man you’ve been desperately pining for since Graves stole you from your home. 

But the longer you stare at the man coming towards you, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face save for the grim set of his mouth, the harder it is to deny that it really is John. 

Your chest is fit to burst. Heart pumping wildly against your ribcage. The sight of him is revelatory—a burning bush, a stream of light through storm clouds, St Elmo’s fire. The euphoric high is almost overwhelming.

“Son of a bitch,” Graves hisses beneath his breath, hand reaching for the revolver on his belt. 

John is quicker though, firing off another round, this time at the ground between them, alarming Graves enough to make his arm jerk away from his side. Even you yelp. The gunfire cuts your swell of adulation short, bringing you back flush to the surface of the real world again. Graves’ horse scrambles back a few steps, nearly rearing up before Graves gets control of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, now—” Graves booms, right in your ear, so loud that you wince, curling into yourself. 

The gelding chuffs at John’s approach, unsettled. Graves digs his spurs into the horse’s side when it takes a few nervous steps back, making it whinny in pain. You’d tell him off, but you’ve learned by now to hold your tongue around Graves. He only knows how to impose his authority through pain. 

“Easy, alright—” Graves calls out, holding out the hand not tangled in the reins to show that it’s empty, the revolver still sheathed in its holster. “No one’s gonna do anything stupid.”

The horse John sits astride is the one he never dared to train you on. The one you know would buck you straight off if you tried to hoist yourself up on its saddle. He’s bigger than Buttercup, all muscle and broodsome aura like its owner, and he doesn’t take kindly to strangers. 

When it breathes out, you imagine its breath should smell sulfuric. Fire and brimstone. 

Closer to you now, you can see his eyes under the brim of his hat. He glowers at Graves, the same look you’ve seen only once before, staring through the window of the general store at the scowl carved into his face when he dragged a man across town, but intensified. Not so much as a glimmer of sympathy or understanding in his eyes. Just cold rage. 

The lines in his face are deep from lack of sleep, dark troughs under his eyes. Shoulders stiff; every muscle of his tensed, poised to react. You wonder how long after Graves took you John realized and followed the two of you in pursuit. 

“I’m gonna say this once and you best not try my patience: let the lady go.”

The sound of his voice rumbles through you, making the hair on your arms raise. Seldom have you heard him use that tone of voice, more man than sheriff. 

Graves’ hand tightens on the reins, knuckles going white. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he has the same obsequious look on his face as he did back in town, indignation relegated to his extremities. You can see it in the tensed muscle of his forearms.

“Now Sheriff, you may have the run of this county, but I’ve got the power of the law on my side. The state of New York has issued a warrant for this woman’s arrest.” Graves’ smarmy evocation to the legality of his actions rankles you. He acts like the whole situation is out of his control, that he takes no joy in your apprehension. Simply a matter of duty. 

Not that it seems to make a difference. Even you could tell Graves that. 

“I won’t ask again.” John’s voice is threaded with fury, angrier than you’ve ever heard him speak. 

And true to his words, he doesn’t. The silence stretches between the two men, fraught with tension. Graves is a rigid line at your back. 

He’s the first to break the silence; the first to give. “At least let me show you the warrant, Sheriff,” Graves implores. “I ain’t just some vagrant that’s come and taken the sheriff’s wife without cause—and I assure you, there is cause.”

John doesn’t say a word, blue eyes still severe. Colder than the waters of Cocytus. 

Graves must take his silence as permission because he reaches a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out to John at first, perhaps expecting the man to come close enough to take it from his hand, but John doesn’t even glance at the hand offering him the arrest warrant, eyes still locked on Graves. 

“See now, I’ll even read it out—” he says, clearing his throat and half turning the paper back to him. “‘Whereas it has been represented to Government that—’”

“Give the letter to my wife,” John cuts him off, gesturing towards the warrant in Graves’ hand with his gun. “She’ll deliver it to me once you’ve handed her over.”

The interruption stuns Graves into silence, the warrant still held in his outstretched arm. He must not be accustomed to men deferring to women instead of him, much less a criminal like you. Your stomach cramps with nerves. The blow to his ego worries you more than John getting his hands on the arrest warrant. His behavior up to this point has been predictable—violent, but unsurprising. You aren’t interested in finding out if losing his temper changes that. 

John’s eyes flick to yours. The first time he’s really looked at you since arriving unannounced, just a quick glance over you to ensure that you’re well. He must not like what he sees because the skin around his eyes tightens. 

The moment of inattention is all Graves needs, eyes trained on it like a hunting dog. John’s eyes barely twitch away to meet yours and Graves draws his gun, his aim wild when he shoots. 

You don’t see what he hits, but the gunfire drives John’s horse into a panic, throwing its head back and rearing up onto its hind legs. Graves fires again and the ground between you explodes, dirt and debris erupting into the air. The horse roars, the sound deep and throaty. 

Graves grabs you by the back of your dress, forcing your back to arch and shoulders to pull back, using you, for all intents and purposes, as a meat shield. You can hear John try to take control of his horse, but it’s near mindless with fear, braying and bucking when Graves fires again, white smoke billowing from the muzzle. Panic seizes you by the throat when John’s horse bucks him right off, bellowing a curse when his body slams to the ground. 

A scream bursts from your throat, but Graves holds you in place before you can slide off the saddle, spitting a tense shut the fuck up into your ear before digging his heel into his horse’s flank and steering him around, beating a hasty retreat. His horse moves in a wide arc until his body is turned back in the direction that Graves was originally heading. 

You struggle against him until the horse moves at a speed too dangerous to chance falling from its back. It covers ground fast, moving at a breakneck speed. 

“Stop—let me down!” you scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The howling wind carries your voice away. 

The violent toing and froing makes it impossible to cast a backward glance and see if John is in pursuit. All of your senses narrow down to what’s in front of you; from the saddle horn digging into your stomach and the air whipping past your face to the feeling of Graves’ breath wafting over the back of your neck as he pants. 

A booming crack fills the air and you scream, fear soaring to an unfathomable height. 

Graves grunts and tenses behind you, his hands spasming around the reins and letting go involuntarily. Then you feel the body behind you slump to the side, his weight almost unbalancing you until he falls off the horse altogether, feet slipping out of the stirrups. 

The blood in your ears masks the sound of his body hitting the ground. Your head whips around to follow the trajectory of Graves’ body, but a wave of vertigo slams into you, a head on collision that forces you to dig your fingers into the horse’s mane and turn your body back around. 

The horse barely notices the body slipping off its back though, tunnel vision on the road ahead. Legs pumping furiously beneath it, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. You’d have thought the horse would’ve slowed up with the sudden unburdening of the other person astride it, but if anything, it picks up speed. 

You can’t calm down enough to catch your breath; it gallops ahead of you as well, your vision growing spotty with the short, jagged breaths you take in. Lungs collapsing under the weight of your chest. Eyes squinted against the piercing wind. Sunspots brighter than light itself. 

Your instinct is to make yourself small; shield yourself from the impending pain. That inescapable reality rushes towards you as quickly as you race towards it. You’re going to fall. It’s almost certain. You whimper when a particularly rough stride makes you slip an inch to the right, your fingers gripping into the horse’s mane ever tighter, desperate to keep yourself astride.

Someone’s voice breaks through the noise and you open your eyes. 

In your fearstruck state, you almost don’t recognize the man riding beside you and keeping pace until he says your name—your real name—and you snap back to yourself. No time to contemplate your name in his mouth though, no time for anything except keeping from slipping into total panic.

“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the clamor of hooves. 

You peel your face from the horse’s mane to meet his eyes. The parallel of a memory from long ago. It flashes before your eyes and you remember yourself. Numb hands fisted in the horse’s mane unclench. 

“Pull up!” he shouts again, and this time you comprehend. It’s the same as the time before. 

Summoning every ounce of courage in your bones, you tighten your thighs and belly to lift yourself up, gathering and bridging the reins in your manacled hands. Half halt, release, and half halt again. 

“Good—now circle!” John’s voice booms in your ear and through your blood. 

You flinch when you try to steer your horse into a wide, sweeping turn and he resists at first, but on your second try, he follows your pull, his strides gradually slowing, easing up. When your horse finally comes to a standstill, walking its last few strides before coming to a stop, you sit with that bubble of tension until it bursts. Under your thighs, you can feel your horse’s ribs expand and contract with its labored breath. 

The world blurs for a moment. The adrenaline flooding your body dissipates more with every breath you take, but the crash is just as intense as the rise. You can feel the shakes that wrack your body in a way that your mind can’t quite yet take in, still outside of itself. The first thing you truly register is your husband suddenly at your side, coaxing you down from the horse, your handcuffed hands braced on his chest as he helps you down and then holding on to him when your knees nearly buckle under you.

“Thank Christ,” he growls, pulling you into his chest. 

The smell of tobacco and cloves is woven into the fabric of his shirt and you breathe it in zealously because it’s his. The reassurance that your husband has you, that he’s with you now, and the bad is over, nearly bowls you over. Makes you shake all the harder.

When you finally pull your face away from John’s chest, he cups your cheek with a gunpowder dusted hand, tilting your head up so he can press his lips to your forehead. Your gaze flits up and you stare at him with bleary eyes, wondering what he sees when he looks at you. Messy hair and a fleeting breath that quivers out, breaks to pieces, illuminates the sky when you glance over his head and it’s so blue that you could swim in it. 

John frowns when you accidentally roll your shoulder back and wince. “You’re hurt.” 

There’s no use in lying when he'll find out the truth soon enough, so you just nod. 

“His doing, was it?” he assumes more than asks, inspecting you closely now and noting all the fresh abrasions immediately visible to his eyes.  

Most of your injuries are surface level, more than apparent to him after a quick perusal. A split lip and plenty of scrapes just beginning to scab. You’re too tired to recount the events of the day before though, so you just shrug. Then hiss, the pain so intense that your bones go cold for a split second. 

His forehead pinches with his frown, ghosting his hand over your shoulder as if to hold it in place. “I’ll look at it later, okay, darlin’?”

Every inch of you aches. You wish it could just be over now and you could be back in your bed by sundown, but you know the way home will be just as long. No rest unless you want the journey to be twice as long. The exhaustion alone might have you keel over before night falls. 

Then someone coughs and drags you back into the real world. 

You follow the sound with your eyes until they land on its cause. The crumpled form of the bounty hunter that dragged you out of town lies a quarter mile back. It’s difficult to make out the state of him from so far away, but you can tell it isn’t pretty, mangled and bloody from the fall he took off the horse. 

“Oh God…” you murmur, eyes widening when the man twitches against the grass. 

John’s hand falls away from your cheek. His anger is so palpable that you can feel it fill him back up, blue eyes going steely and jaw tightening as he stares at the man that tried to take you from him. 

“Stay here,” your husband growls, hand reaching down to draw his pistol again.

John leaves you by the horses some distance away as he makes his way over to Graves’ prone form. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, saturating his shirt and wetting the dirt beneath him, and even from where you stand, you can see the odd angle of his ankle from where he hit the ground. 

With no small amount of effort, Graves props himself up on his good arm, the other hanging limp against the ground. Even the sight makes you wince, bile churning in your stomach. He has to be in tremendous pain. Even John limps a little as he approaches the other man, hip likely sore from his own fall. 

Against your better judgment, and your husband’s command, you take a step towards them. And then another.

You have no reason other than the sinking feeling in your belly. If it were you with the gun, things would be different, you think. You’d do it again, without a second thought. Anything to keep Graves from opening his mouth. 

The gun in John’s hand makes clear his intentions in no uncertain terms. Out on the plains in the middle of nowhere, even taking pity on the man and bringing Graves to the nearest town might not be enough. It’s a rough world out there. Tougher still with a wounded shoulder and sprained ankle. 

More to the matter, John’s face says it all, jaw clenched and lips drawn into a tight line. 

“It doesn’t have to go this way, sheriff,” Graves wheezes when the other man draws close enough to hear. 

“You know I haven’t got a choice now,” John says, gazing up at the sky for a moment before looking back down at the man on the ground. “Not after you laid a hand on my wife.”

Despite the distance, Graves’ voice carries when he speaks. “You think you know that bitch? You don’t know this woman from Eve. What makes you think she won’t butcher you like she did that man back east?”

So casually he says it that you almost miss it. And then you don’t. The words pour over you like a sudden rain and you are back in that room, dread so potent that it chars the flesh, leaving cratered, necrotic holes wherever it touches. The worst moment of your life. 

And Graves says it like a sin of your own making, like it was something you wanted, not a moment in your life haunting you from beyond the grave. 

Your heart stops when your husband looks over at you assessingly. The truth lours over the two of you now, out in the open at last. All those months of hiding it, squandered in a moment by an injured man’s words. All you can do is stare helplessly at the man outlined by the blue sky, the horizon forever etching him into your memory. It’s the first time since you stumbled into the sheriff’s office all those months ago that you haven’t wanted him to think that you weren’t the woman that was supposed to be his wife.

“Shoulda listened to me, sheriff,” Graves laughs, his voice pained and raspy. “That Jezebel needs to answer for what she did.”

You can see it in his eyes that he believes Graves. And why wouldn’t he? The man has committed no crime; spoken not a lie to this point. 

John looks at you in such a strange way though. There’s no surprise there; just a glint in his eye meant only for you. A glint that says darlin’, this ain’t nothin’ new; you never could’ve fooled me. 

He knew your name after all. And you wonder how long he’s known. If he found out sometime in those first days or somewhere down the line or if the arrest warrant fell across his desk in recent days and he knew it would come to this, someone hunting you down across state lines to bring you back. If he knew he’d always have to come after you and rescue you from the jaws of death. 

Everything comes all at once, each moment flashing across your mind barely long enough to leave an impression. Everything is proven immaterial in seconds. 

There’s so much between the two of you. History, obligation, duty. Tenderness shouldn’t even be the half of it, and yet it bears down twice as hard. It’s the only thing that matters when you look at him—not the thought of being dragged back east and forced to stand trial, not the injustice of being made to atone for protecting yourself against a worse fate, but the thought of being taken away from him, of never seeing him again.

You can feel that worry evaporate the longer you hold his gaze. There’s something intentional there, something he is saying without words. 

These days, you do not think to tremble when his hands are on your lips. You tilt your head instead, wait for him to make his next move. Your trust, implicit, underlying everything. Knowing he’ll break the bread and feed you from his hands if need be.

Though you can’t unhinge your jaw enough to ask him to promise that he’ll keep you, his eyes say that it’s a foregone conclusion. How could he ever let you go? You’re everything he’s ever wanted, the only thing even duty could never take from him. 

John looks back down at the man lying at his feet. “Couldn’t help runnin’ your mouth, now could you?”

Graves opens his mouth, but John doesn’t wait for a response. He pulls the trigger.

[just-some-little-lads]

A Late Night

Summary: You come back home after a long day only to find Sylus waiting for you, acting a bit differently than normal. Word Count: 1.1k SFW, Second Person POV, GN MC.

Being a Hunter was good work; you knew that. However, heroism or not, long days could still have you cursing under your breath, dreaming of living in isolated peace by some lakeside. Dragging your feet, you contemplated calling in sick tomorrow. The key to your apartment flailed clumsily on it’s ring before finally turning in the slot. Shoes kicked to the shadows, work bag abandoned on the floor, you didn’t even bother turning on your lights before flopping on your couch. With your eyes closed, you were two alluring seconds away from drifting off… Till the hairs on the back of your head prickled. A sixth sense blared warnings of danger throughout your body, urging you to fly up in enough time to grab a figure approaching the back of the couch. Tact and grace were not your close friends tonight. Amidst the self-defense, you threw yourself off the couch to tackle your intruder to the ground. If you could call it a tackle, anyway. More like keeping them pinned with your collapsed body.

Before you could fully enter “interrogation mode”, a low chuckle stopped you in your tracks. Which emotion would your tone land on today? Surprise, confusion, irritation? “Sylus?” All three, apparently.

“Do you know how long I waited for you?” Despite the words, he didn’t sound irritated, just amused. He wasn’t even pushing you off of him.

After a moment of consideration, you graciously removed your knee from the middle of his back. A subtle groan suggested that your frantic maneuver had affected him more than he would ever like to admit. Step, flick, and a mellow light illuminated your living room. Sylus had pushed himself up enough to sit on the floor, his back leaning against the sofa.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not break into my apartment? Not only is it an extreme breach of my privacy, but it is also illegal!” You found yourself hissing quietly as you scolded him, worried that shouting too loud would reach the ears of curious neighbors. Neighbors who also happened to be Hunters. Hunters who would not treat the company of the most infamous N109 Zone boss so casually. “If you’re so determined to treat this place like your own, maybe I could consider making you a spare key but—“ You cut your own lecture off, noticing the distinct lack of attention of this particular criminal. “Are you listening to me? Sylus.”

A humph left his chest as he lifted himself up to his feet, needing to use the furniture for leverage. Not a detail left unnoticed. Suddenly you were worried; after all, this wouldn’t be the first time he had come to you to wounded. “Are you—“

“I can listen to you and ignore you at the same time, sweetie. And as for the moment, I don’t have a key. How else was I supposed to welcome you home after work, hmmm?” His hum dragged out longer than usual.

“—okay.” You finished your question from earlier. “I was going to ask ‘are you okay’.” Without waiting for a proper answer, you approached him, taking his wrist in your hand and observing his body for any clear wounds. He smiled down at you while you did so. Nothing…obvious, but a gut feeling was still telling you that something was off. Wrist in hand, you dragged him to the other side of the couch and shoved him into a seating position.

Another stern line of questioning was about to leave your mouth, but it never came. A soft kiss pressed itself against the back of your hand, Sylus’ head slightly lowered. A move straight out of some knightly romance. Your heart fluttered, your face flushed, yet you wouldn’t let yourself melt so easily. Yes…affection amongst other things had started to blossom between you two; however, Sylus’ demeanor always had you thinking that this was another game of his. But this… He had never been so open like this before.

The man in question raised his head, looking up at you with another grin on his face. Only, this one didn’t have that edge of haughty aloofness that typically painted his expression. He was…genuinely pleased. Should you be worried? Something else to note was the subtle tint of pink in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “No…” you ended up stating aloud. “You? Drunk?”

Sylus’ hand waved in the air, like he had to physically bat away that accusation before it stuck. “I don’t get drunk, sweetie.”

“But you have been drinking?”

Keeping your hand still in his grasp, he idly brushed a finger up and down your wrist. The motion sent a shudder down your spine. “Maybe that…exchange I told you about went very well today.” His words went hush, a deep purr in his throat as his face came close to your hand again. His breath warmed your skin. “And maybe I celebrated another resounding success with a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a lovely rainy day.” The anticipation for him to kiss you again ended with him pressing a cheek to the back of your hand. Sylus’ face was heated. He glanced up at you through the fringe of his grey hair. Apparently, he caught that little glimpse of eagerness in your eyes.

Slowly, he guided you down onto the couch. You swallowed something building up in your throat as he began to lean over you till your back was against the armrest. “So, you came all the way out here while tipsy?” The pounding in your chest now was obvious.

Once more, he raised one of your hands. “I wanted to see you, is that such a crime?” Voice soft and low, he pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, dragging it down to his cheek, and then finally right before his mouth. If you closed your eyes and drowned out the slight condescending hum in your ears, you'd have a hard time believing that this was the leader of Onychinus. The touch was that of an entirely different man. At least one you were not well acquainted with. Maybe Sylus was the evil one in a set of twins and you got sent the benevolent one by mistake. The gestures were gentle, tender, pleading. Pinkies intertwined while his wine-tinted lips pecked different promises on the backs of your knuckles. “Can I stay tonight?”

The word ‘yes’ kept echoing in your mind at a disturbing pace, but you wouldn’t let him win with just sweetened words and some sudden puppy-dog eyes. You weren’t even aware his face could do that. “Say please.”

Sylus practically giggled, propped up by an arm next to your head. His posture lowered till his forehead pressed against yours. The tip of his nose rubbed against your own as his whisper was as quiet and needy as you were wishing it would be. “Please?”

[heedthetenofwands]

ghost x (lowkey unhinged) sunshine f!reader

suggestive nsfw (but non-explicit)

His girl was the sweetest thing. Smile as bright as the sun and you looked at him like he’d hung the stars and the moon. Coming home to you was always the highlight of his day.

But something was amiss ever since a week ago.

He had come back from base, a day of planning for the next mission and cleaning up from the last, and his heart yearned to be at home with you. Stepping through the front door, he was ready to hear his bird chirping his name and telling him about the day. But the house was silent, the lights were off, and he couldn’t hear a thing.

He waited a moment before calling out your name. It was only when he walked up the stairs to the bedroom that he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed. Your back was to the door.

“Love?” He called to you. You turned your head back to see him before standing up and making your way around the bed to smile and greet him. You hug him tightly, a bit firmer than usual and he had to brace his core a little in surprise. You let go and look at him with an innocent smile.

“Did you have a good day?” You asked.

“It was OK, better now.” He replies. You continue staring at him, almost in contemplation and, without blinking, kiss his cheek and move out of the room.

Alarms bells are ringing.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"There's something wrong." He confesses to them at drinks after work a couple days later. "She's angry."

"Your bonnie? She doesnae seem ta have a malicious bone in 'er. I'm sure it'll pass." Soap says.

Ghost grunts dismissively. "Never been this long."

Gaz hums in thought, "Did you forget a date?"

Ghost stays quiet but Gaz doesn't miss the confused stare. He clarifies, "Birds care about 'em. 1st anniversary, birthdays, the milestones. Can fall through the cracks if you're not careful though."

Ghost replies, "Maybe." In his mind, he's already running his fingers through their calendar.

Price cuts through, "Why not just ask 'er?" Straight to the point, as Ghost expected.

He leans back, "Rather not." Ghost knows he's hiding the real answer. What do I do if I can't fix it?

Price looks at him, assesses him and sees right through him. But before he can press further, Ghost hears his phone buzz. He pulls it out of his pocket and after reading the message from you, grumbles a quiet 'fuck' that draws the attention of his team. They lean over to catch a glimpse of the message.

The screen showed previous conversations between the lieutenant and his girl, you sending him your texts with smiley faces, hearts or emoticons with every message. That is, until your latest one which read:

Love: pick up bread on your way home.

The team winced at the cold tone.

"Good luck, mate."

"Warning ya, bakery closes earlier than usual today."

"You're fucked."

Ghost glares at them all before standing up and leaving.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The rest of the week had followed similarly with you just not acting like you're usual self.

That Friday it was your turn to pick a film to watch, where you would usually put on a cheesy rom-com or a tense-filled drama, that night it was a R18 horror movie. Ghost did not utter a single complaint when you put it on. Or move an inch when you lay your head on his chest and smiled at a scene where a cheating husband and his mistress get sliced in two.

Where you two would usually stay in bed together to bask the warm glow of a slow Sunday morning, instead, Simon woke alone. He called your phone again and again until you came home a couple hours later. You ignored his questions. Fearing the worst, he let it go.

And the bite of your finger nails into his skin got stronger and stronger every night as you two lay in bed. It was as is if you were clutching or branding onto him with all your might.

It was later that week, that Simon decided to was time to ask. Time to confront the dissonance that was ringing louder and louder in his ears whenever you touched him, looked at him and smiled at him.

He was going to do it. Right after dinner, he was going to do it.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Ghost, in fact, did nothing after dinner because as soon as you had gathered up the plates. You had returned with a cake.

You brought it to the table. “I know how much you love my desserts, Si. It's been forever since I've made one so I thought I would make your favourite today." You sit down before adding, "I've changed it up a bit, too. New ingredient and whatever.”

Ghost stills at that. “What’s the ingredient, darling?” He says as casually, as he could. Cyanide? Arsenic?

You smile sweetly at him, “It’s a surprise Si, where’s the fun in knowing before tasting it?”

“Right.” He replies, hesitantly.

You start cutting a slice, and place it on his plate before sitting down and waiting for him.

He takes the fork. "You're not hungry, love?"

You shake your head, "I want to see your reaction."

There's a moment where Ghost is trying to remember the poison hotline contact number so he could ring it after his 'taste test' but he finally breaks.

“Nope, can’t do this anymore.” He says.

“Can’t do what, Simon?” You asked with faux concern. You stand up and come to his side of the table to face him. “What’s wrong, baby? You're going to love it.”

“Did I forget an anniversary? Your birthday?” He thought aloud. He doubted it, but he must have done something wrong. He reaches for your arms and gently pulls you to stand in front of him, he holds your hands and bows his head before you. “Tell me love, have I been neglecting you? Spending too much time at work? You can tell me.”

You gently remove your hands from his hold, moving one hand to cup his cheek and the other to tilt his chin so he could meet your gaze. At first, he leans into the gentle palm of your hand but the cold look in your eye with that small smile of your lips makes him freeze.

“Don’t bullshit me, Riley.” Your voice cuts through the candlelit room. He has to fight to not let this do something to him. It gets worse when you use both of your hands to cup his jaw and force his head upwards to meet your gaze. “I found a second phone when I was sorting the laundry. There was a message from another woman. Asking if you would be coming over that night. What a greedy fucker you are.” He has to fight any sound that may escape from his lips at seeing you speak so harsh. “You listen to me, Simon.” His eyes widen as you close the distance of your face to his and your lips are so close. He wants to kiss you. “I will fucking kill her.”

Ghost had no idea what was happening, mind moving too fast and too slow all at once. All he could do was focus on his sweetheart's voice. You stand upright, move closer to Ghost, forcing him to spread his thighs so you can stand between them and press his face to your form, stroking the back of his head, his shoulders, his back as if to soothe and comfort. “I am yours. You made it so. And now, you are mine too."

He can't help the chills running down his spine as he laid his head against your body and felt the presses of your touch. You tell him, “All you need to do is give me her name and where I can find her. And after tonight, we can forget all about this, my love. If you work hard enough, I will forgive you. And in time, I will ask you what deficit I had to make you think you can replace me."

You sigh, "I gave you all week to confess, but you have no shame do you?"

Finally, Ghost's mind seems to catch up, "Wait, wait, sweetheart I don't have a second phone." At that, you tighten the hand in his hair, grabbing a good chunk of the back of his head. He whines at the sensation, "I swear, love." But you do not yield.

His mind is racing.

A second phone?

And finally, he realises. "Sweetheart, wait. It's Johnny's. He mentioned that he lost his phone, the idiot must've dropped in my gym bag. That's why you found it."

Your body stills. "Are you sure, Si?"

While you stay still, Ghost only wraps his arms around you, nestling his face against the warmth of your body and your hesitance. He pleads, "On my life. Call him, darling. Please."

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A phone call later, you confirm that Soap indeed dropped his phone, and was seeing the woman you saw in the notifactions. With a sinking feeling, you return to the kitchen table.

"Si, I'm so sorry." You tell him, tears already brimming your water line. "I should've just asked you-" Before you can say another word, Ghost had already stood up and embraced you. You sink against him.

You should have never doubted a starving dog.

Ghost smiles as he releases you from his hold, "You still want dessert?" He looks back at the cake.

You only giggle, "Yes, let's eat. Not that one though." You ignore Ghost's questioning gaze as you walk to the fridge, humming a small tune, and then pull out another identitical cake. You set it on the table, smiling innocently as the blood drains from Ghost's face. "Let's eat, Si."