#this was a SEVERAL HOUR ESCAPADE.

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Thinking of Uzui and Rengoku falling in love with you at first sight.

They're out on a mission, several demons sighted at a village and the number was so high they needed multiple people to come and fix the problem. Of course, it was a cake walk for the two of them. Their weapons flashing under the moonlight as it cut through the necks of their enemies like butter, demon after demon falling to their blade.

Despite the task being easy, it still took a few hours so by the time the job was done, they were a bit tuckered out. Every demon was slain- or so they thought.

A demon burst from the rubble, it's sharp claws aiming for Rengoku's face. It was too fast, neither of the Hashira able to react in time as the demon was but a centimeter away from clawing Rengoku's eyes out when you showed up.

Using your breath of Thunder, you cracked through the air like a lightning strike, covering ground within seconds as you managed to cut off the demon's arm before cutting its head off, saving your senior of any injury.

You put away your weapon as the demon disintegrated in front of you, bowing down respectfully to the two pillars, a ranking you hoped to reach one day. They recognized you, having seen you out and about before but this was the first time they'd seen you in action.

Both of their hearts skipped a beat. Beautiful, talented and powerful woman was a plenty within the demon slayer corporation but there was something about you that was just...different. Perhaps it was your kind heart in helping the wounded. Perhaps it was the confidence you carried yourself with. Perhaps it was because you were just too darn cute. But whatever the reason may be, they were enamored by you and couldn't keep their eyes off of you.

Once you helped the others in cleaning up and getting the wounded the help they need, you went back to the two Hashira who were strangely dazed.

"I shall get going now." you reported with a bow, "I'm glad I could be of service."

"Marry me." both of them said simultaneously.

"...huh?"

Thinking of Uzui and Rengoku roping you into sexual escapades as a form of 'training'

You had rejected their marriage proposal, stating that while you respected them, you didn't know them personally and didn't want a husband(s) that you weren't fond of.

They were respectful of that, stating that a great way to get to know each other would be through training. You thought it was unbelievable that two Hashira's were interested enough in you to take time of their schedules to train with you, much less want to marry you, but you decided to agree. Learning from the best would be an invaluable experience, afterall.

"I-I- thought you said we were gonna t-train!" You squealed, tossing your head back against the pillow as Uzui slid a second finger inside you, your pussy gushing around him.

You could barely recollect how you got here, a room in an inn, at the mercy of your two seniors. Your mind was a jumbled mess as their hands and lips attacked your body, hungry kisses against your neck while stripping you of your uniform. Time seemed to go by fast yet slow at the same time, eventually ending up on a bed with Rengoku sucking your breasts while Uzui made himself familiar with your pussy.

"It is training." the sound Hashira said with a smirk, curling his fingers inside you just right, making you gasp. He stuffed his fingers of his other hand into your mouth, making you choke.

"This is to help your technique." he said, "Control yourself and focus on your breathing."

As he said that, Rengoku's lips left your nipple, leaving it a saliva covered stiff bud before moving down and taking your clit into his mouth, making you scream around Uzui's fingers. Your body shook from the pleasure, never having experienced this before.

You knew their claim that this was for training was complete bullshit but dammit- you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Uzui was so deliciously huge compared to you. He was twice your size, his muscular body enveloping you completely as he toyed with your body with ease. His bulging muscles and washboard abs made you drool, your eyes wandering to his nether regions, pussy growing wetter when you saw a big bulge straining against his pants.

Rengoku ran hot, literally. His touch made you shiver as he ran his warm hands over your body, a comforting contrast to the way his hot tongue was assaulting your clit. He sucked on it like a candy, flicking it around before giving it a gentle nibble, making you squeal. With a physique just as impressive as Uzui's, his bright eyes filled with passion and desire made you feel dizzy.

"Focus." Uzui said with a click of his tongue, pushing his fingers further down your throat, making you gag, "you're getting distracted."

'I can't help it!' You tried to defend, but what came out was a bunch of gurgles and gags, unable to say anything.

"If you can't handle this," Rengoku said, giving your clit a sweet kiss before he straightened himself up, "what will you do if a demon attacks you and tries to choke you?"

"Exactly~" Uzui cooed, starting to move his fingers in and out of your throat, a slower rhythm from what he was doing to your cunt, "Bring your breathing under control and maybe, we'll let you cum~"

[masonmtxo]

Insatiable

Summary: Y/N teasing Mason relentlessly while his barber does his hair

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: this is sorta filthy without there being any actual smut?

Note: this is a result of my brain going into meltdown when the picture of Mase with a marked neck from the barbers gown was posted 🫣 please please leave feedback, it really means the world 🩷

•••

Mason groaned loudly in your ear as he released into you, instantly dropping his head into the crook of your neck, the weight of his body pressing you even deeper into the mattress as he relaxed into you. You giggled softly, gently raking your fingers through his hair as he came down from his orgasm that had him near enough trembling against you. He had been so pent up, the post orgasm come down had hit him hard so you gave him a moment, knowing full well he wouldn't form a coherent sentence for several minutes after the event.

Once his breathing had finally slowed you gently tugged on his locks, encouraging him to lift his head and look at you, needing to see his face after the intensity of what you had just done, "you okay?”

He nodded, eyes still bleary, lips red and swollen, a pretty grin adorning them at the sight of your equally as flushed face, "yeah, just needed a minute."

You smirked at him, loving the way you could work him into such a state of sexual bliss he was rendered speechless. He had been away for a few nights with the team for a match in Italy, making him extra needy for you when he stepped through the front door. You hadn't even made it upstairs before you had him whining for you, on your knees taking your time to swallow him down your throat until he came. Your escapades had continued throughout the house, ending with him pounding into you on your shared bed after giving each other multiple orgasms throughout the early afternoon.

You checked the clock on the nightstand beside you, eyes bulging at the sight, "fuck Mase, it's nearly half 4 already!"

He didn't lift his head from where he had burrowing back into you, letting out a short laugh, "Jesus, I got home at 1."

"Nearly 3 and a half hours, that ridiculous," you couldn't help but chuckle with him, "think that's a new record."

His head lifted from your chest so he could look at you, the sight of his disheveled hair making your heart jump with love for him, knowing nobody else got to see him this way.

"Dunno, I reckon when I got back from the world cup we must have been going at it for longer,” his smirk made you twitch, instantly floating back to the night you shared after being separated for weeks. He had been relentless, his head between your legs bring you to more consecutive orgasms than you thought was humanly possible, before fucking into your overstimulated body for multiple rounds that had you screaming.

You both fell silent, enjoying the peacefulness of just being with each other, your bodies aching in the most perfect way. You couldn't help but stare at his soft features, heart expanding with even more love that you thought possible as you admired his pretty face, wanting more than anything to kiss over the freckles dotted across his flushed cheeks but you stopped yourself, not wanting to disturb him as his eyes fluttered shut again, feeling your eyes closed and head lull back as you joined him for a late afternoon snooze.

The sound of your doorbell had you both jumping upright in an instant, Mason exclaiming a loud "shit!" Before springing up out of bed and grabbing the black gym shorts he had thrown to the ground an hour earlier in his haste to get you into bed.

You couldn't help but giggle as you watched him hopping to the door, naked arse on show as he scrambled to get the shorts up his legs, still not fully situated on his hips when he darted out the bedroom door.

He was gone in a flash, no further explanation as to who was at your door but you figured you may as well follow, curiosity getting the better of you, pulling on Mason's large t-shirt.

It wasn't until you were midway down the staircase that you noticed it, too late to say anything as Mason had already pulled the door open, his barber, Adam, standing on the other side of the threshold. Your eyes fixed on his muscled back, long red scratches littering the expanse of it. They weren't deep by any means, caused only by your fingernails in desperation to grab hold of him in any way you could.

Though the worst marks were left across the back of his neck, inches above the tattoo you loved to trace over with your lips when you cuddled him from behind, caused by what you could only presume was the chain of his necklace that you had pulled tight around his neck as he fucked into you. The angry red indents stood out against the soft, pale skin of his neck, making you cringe as they were far from unnoticeable.

You winced as he turned to guide Adam into the house, watching as his eyes landed on the recognisable marks on Mason's back, causing his lips to twitch into a slight smirk. In a moment of horror, you felt his eyes flick to yours, noticing the way you stood frozen on the staircase in only a T-shirt, cheeks burning as you had unmistakably been caught red handed.

Offering a quick wave, you spun on the spot and ran back up the stairs, extremely conscious of the fact you hadn't cleaned yourself up yet and could still feel Mason's cum between your thighs.

You let out another squeak of horror as you slipped into the bathroom and caught sight of your appearance in the mirror, kicking yourself for even following him out the room when you weren't even remotely presentable for anyone at the door. Everything about your reflection screamed 'I've just been relentlessly fucked for the past few hours’ making yourself cringe more than you already were.

After cleaning yourself up, you quickly stripped your bed of the sweaty, stained bedsheets, the smell of sex in your bedroom slowly disappearing as the candle you lit began to burn.

Grabbing a hoodie of Mason's and a pair of knickers, you made yourself at least decent, attempting to tame your hair with a brush. You were observing your reflection in the mirror when you heard the bedroom door open, your shirtless boyfriend appearing in the doorway.

"Baby, what the fuck have you done to my back," he smirked, spinning so you could have a clear view, "I just clocked it in the mirror as I was coming upstairs."

"Oopsy?" You offered, shrugging at him with a cheeky grin, knowing full well he loved it when you marked him up in bed, loving it when you were so desperate for him you would frantically scrape at his back and bite down on his shoulder.

"I'm guessing Adam's already noticed," he laughed as he made his way towards you, wrapping his arms around your neck and pecking your cheek affectionately.

You stood up from your dressing table and cuddled into him, nodding into his neck, "judging by the look on his face when he followed you in, he's well aware of what we just got up to."

Mason couldn't help but let out another laugh, unbothered by the fact his barber had just caught him post-fuck, he was never ashamed of anyone knowing what the pair of you get up to when your alone, bar his parents. Poor Woody had been victim to your antics on multiple occasions when he stayed over. You learnt early on in your relationship that Mason had no shame when it came to sex, and for the most part, neither did you, the teasing in the kitchen from his best mate the next day about your noise levels never bothering you. But something about his barber knowing made you cringe internally.

"Why are you up here anyway?"

He gestured down to his crotch, his half hard dick prominent in his tight shorts which did nothing to cover up what he was packing, "I need to put some boxers on before I give Adam another eyeful."

You watched as he stepped away and pulled the shorts down, eyes not moving away from his naked body as he stood completely exposed. He smirked down at you, enjoying the way you reacted to the sight, pulling you back up against his body, "you're insatiable, been fucking you silly for hours and you're still dribbling at the sight of my cock."

"You did that on purpose to work me up," you whined, closing the gap between you again, hand skimming down his chest in an attempt to grab at his length, but he stopped you, holding you wrist in his and stopping it from traveling any further.

"Behave," the firmness of his voice made you shiver in anticipation, "and once he's gone I might give you what you want."

He raised his eyebrows at you as you whined, pouted lips and screwed up nose making him smirk in amusement at how bratty you could be when you weren't getting what you wanted. He stepped away and around your body, grabbing a pair of boxers from his draw before slipping them up his narrow hips.

He turned to see you still boggling at his exposed body, eyes hazed over, "can you stop staring at me like a piece of meat and give me my shorts," he teased, gesturing the material on the floor by your feet.

Reluctantly, you picked them from the floor and tossed them towards him, sticking your tongue out childishly as he smirked.

Mason pulled up his shorts slowly, hand dipping into the waistband to 'adjust' himself in a way you know was purposefully to wind you up even more, “come down with me?," he asked sweetly, a complete 180 from the teasing tone he had taken on before, "I want to go shorter but need your opinion."

"Fine, let me just grab some joggers," you turned to walk away, stopping when you felt his hand grab hold of your hip.

He smirked, "don't bother, he's already seen you without, and I like the view."

Rolling your eyes, you allowed him to take your hand in his, reluctantly following him downstairs.

You weren't stupid, he never usually consulted you for haircuts, you knew he wanted to watch you squirm in front of Adam, sensing your embarrassment at the situation a mile off. But you refused to let him get to you, determined to make him as flustered as he was attempting to make you.

Adam had already set his kit up along the kitchen island, pulling a chair out from under the counter when you walked in, throwing you a polite smile when he noticed Mason had you in tow.

Situating yourself on the sofa across the room as you watched your boyfriend discuss the style he wanted, you couldn't help but admire his side profile, quickly turning away when he caught you staring, a smirk pulling across his pretty lips. You knew this game was fruitless, his ability to get you flustered with just a look was enough to make you hand him the win. But you were determined to at least make him squirm a bit.

The TV was already switched on the sport channel, some form of golf competition showing on the screen. You didn't bother looking for the remote to change it, knowing you wouldn't pay attention to whatever you flicked onto.

You pretended to be disinterested in the men's presence, not joining in their chit chat as Adam got to work. Eyes following the screen, but mind running wild of how Mason would look dressed in some of the outfits worn by the professional golfers, seeing a particularly cute jumper you thought you'd buy for him before he next went golfing with his mates.

"Don't I know it mate, y/n is a nightmare." Your ears pricked at the sound of your name, brows creasing at Mason's choice of words, your head twisting to glare at him. You knew it was intentional the second you caught the teasing look in his eye, he had wanted to pull your focus back onto him.

Refusing to back down, you bit back, "and how am I a nightmare, do tell Mase?”

"Adam was just saying how his missus made them half an hour late to dinner last night, I was saying you're the same," he responded, "takes you about 10 years to settle on an outfit."

"Not sure about that Mason, since I don't even remember the last time you took me out for dinner," you knew it was a low blow and not even remotely true, he had wined and dined you not even a week ago, before he had gone away.

But he picked up on your challenge, instantly clocking on to your attempt to bait him, "don't be such a spoilt brat baby, l'm a busy man."

"Yeah, too busy for me apparently," you whined, spotting the remote sitting on the other side of the sofa, the clogs in your brain spinning as you thought of a way to rile him up further.

Watching out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Adam move to his front, focusing on scissoring through Mason's quiff. Taking the opportunity, you quickly cleared your throat to make sure you had his attention before getting onto your knees and stretching across the seat for the remote, arse stuck in the air. Glancing over your shoulder you noticed your boyfriend's expression drop, the teasing look from before now long gone, replaced by what you can only describe as panic.

You couldn't help but giggle quietly, giving your arse a quick wiggle as you purposely pulled the jumper over your hips to give him an even more explicit view, a lacy red thong the only thing stopping you from being entirely on display.

Not wanting to get caught, you quickly sat back on your heels, grabbing the remote before looking back over, Mason’s eyes still fixated on your every move. Adam was still messing around with his fringe, combing it and tidying it up repeatedly.

You werent sure what came over you, but you quickly dropping back onto your elbows with your back arched, forcing you bum are far out as you could and gyrating your hips in the air the way you do when you are silently begging him to hurry up and fuck you from behind.

His sharp intake of breath had you tensing, hoping Adam wouldn't catch on to the tension building in the room, but you breathed out when you heard him start humming, too focused on his job to pay you any mind.

With one final moment of bravery, this teasing side of you not one that came out often, you found your hand trailing up your body, firmly grabbing over your bum to grope it in a way you knew Mason would be itching to in that moment. And without a second thought, you grab onto your panties, quickly yanking them to the side and giving Mason a clear view of your dripping pussy.

“Enough.” He spat, making you drop back to the sofa instantly with a gleeful giggle, Adam stopping what he was doing and giving Mason a puzzled look.

“Sorry mate, I dunno why it came out like that,” Mason rushed out as he realised his barber assumed he was talking to him, none the wiser to your antics, “I just think that’s probably enough length off the top.”

Adam laughed lightly, still visibly confused but feeding into Mason’s cover, “no problem bro, I’ll just tidy up your beard then you’ll be done. Want it like usual?”

“Yes, ple…”

You cut him off, leaning on the arm of the sofa, jumper now covering your decency, “don’t take any length off, just tidy it up.”

Adam turned back to Mason with a questioning look, your boyfriend watching as you smiled at him sweetly.

“You happy with that Mase?”

“Yeah bro, whatever the missus wants I guess,” he shrugged, knowing you loved him with longer facial hair and wanting Adam out the door as quickly as possible.

Sitting back on the sofa as Adam started asking about his plans for the summer once the season was over, you grabbed the remote to pass the time until he was finally done.

•••

"All finished mate," you heard Adam say at last, glancing over to see him unclipping the cloak from Mason's neck, not missing the way his lips curved into a small smirk as the evidence of your antics on his neck was uncovered. The harsh red marks looking even more prominent than before.

"I won't take a picture to post on socials this time... you know..because of…” Adam gestures to his neck, Mason's face dropping into a smirk as he clocked onto what his barber meant.

"Yeah sorry about that mate, she gets a bit carried away sometimes," he chuckles, both sets of their eyes darting to you as you continued to flick through the channels, pretending to ignore their conversation to save you any further embarrassment.

You stayed put as Adam quickly cleared his equipment, making small talk with Mason about the upcoming match before throwing a quick bye to you and heading to the door, Mason in tow to see him out.

"Cheers bro, see you in a few weeks." Mason's voice was followed by what sounded like claps on the back as they embraced, the door finally clicking shut as silence fell through the house and your stomach clenched with anticipation.

You heard his feet quickly making their way back to you in the lounge, his voice sharp but you knew he wasn't actually annoyed, frustrated and horny, but not annoyed, "you're a little shit, you know that right?"

“What did I do?” You smiled coyly, reaching for him as he made his way over to you. He dropped himself over your body, hoisting your legs around his waist as he pressed his hard crotch into yours, absentmindedly beginning to thrust his hips against you.

“You know exactly what you did, my dick popped up so fucking quick I dunno how Adam didn’t spot it,” he laughed inbetween lazy kisses against you mouth.

You couldn't help but blush, shocked at your own actions, but secretly happy to have gotten him so worked up he seemingly was ready to go for another round without much convincing. “He probably did, just didn't want to mention you getting hard at the sight of him doing your hair,” you teased with a bubble of laughter at his misfortune.

Mason rolled his eyes, burying his face in your neck, “little did he know my brat of a girlfriend was humping the air and flashing me behind him.”

Pulling him up for another kiss, you both smiled into eachothers mouths, messily making out like teenagers.

“C’mon, let’s go upstairs,” he whispered, lips trailing down your neck in a way that had goosebumps prickling across your skin.

"There's no sheets on the bed, they were filthy after this afternoon's session,” you moaned, pulling at his hair.

"Right here on the sofa it is then,” he smirked.

[yutaholic]

smells like teen spirit (M)

PAIRING: Jeno (NCT) + reader (female)

SUMMARY: Jeno keeps getting on your last nerve, but you still end up in his arms with your tongue down his throat.

WARNINGS: strong language; some drug use; explicit sexual content

NOTES: 8.6k words; this is part two of a rose and her thorns, but can be read as a standalone one-shot

Chicago, 1991

A tale as old as time. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

That was our life that summer. Some of us in different doses than the others.

You sat on the bed with your legs bent, resting the notebook against your thighs as you scribbled out another page of the band’s escapades.

Though there was a connection with Mark, we agreed to keep things simple for the rest of the summer. Nothing could be allowed to interfere with the band. God forbid we earned a reputation like Fleetwood Mac’s.

Unfortunately, this agreement caused some awkwardness and I handled that the way I always did - with distance. If Mark couldn’t help but complicate things, then I would do him a favor and give both of us the space we needed.

It felt like shit, but I was used to being the villain.

Turning the page, you kept writing in the eerie quiet of the van. Haechan was bouncing his leg up-and-down at a mile a minute, thoroughly annoyed by Jeno’s delay. Mark was dozing in his seat, trying not to fantasize about you and the fucking heaven between your thighs, but he couldn’t help but watch you jotting down your feelings, your grievances, your hopes and your dreams.

He prayed that he was part of the latter.

The silence broke when the van door opened loudly, followed by a disheveled Jeno stumbling inside. “Goddamn, I am getting so much pussy on this trip,” he huffed, running a hand through his overgrown and severely damaged blond hair.

“Jeno, I swear to god,” you barked, scratching out the compliment you had given him at the top of the page. “If you give me an STD this summer, I will set your drums on fire.”

“You would destroy my child?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Jeno grumbled something under his breath about how you always rained on his parade of pussy and shut the doors. “Let’s get on the road,” he said irritably, shooing Haechan out of the driver’s seat and jerking the van in gear.

“We’ve been waiting for you, dumbass,” Haechan sniped. He’d been getting so annoyed and impatient he threatened to leave the bastard drummer behind and never look back. That bitch can walk, he’d declared moments before.

Mark stayed quiet in the passenger seat, sluggish with sleep. He looked to you again, watching you write in your journal and wondering what you were saying about him.

About all of them.

Jeno drove fast, but not a soul complained. The gig in Chicago was the most highly-anticipated of the trip.

The van hurtled down the highway, not stopping for several hours until you begged for a bathroom. After a quick gas station run, you put some fresh snacks into the cabinet and wrangled your hair into a bun on your head.

Jeno came in with a bag in hand and said, “I bought more condoms.”

“Good for you,” you deadpanned, wrinkling your nose.

“Although I heard Mark didn’t have to wear one,” Jeno added, tsking his tongue. “One of the few perks of being innocent and pure, I guess.”

Your voice was razor sharp. “Careful, Jeno.”

Both pleased and annoyed by your tone, Jeno asked roughly, “Did you at least remember to get your birth control?”

You wanted to shoot daggers into his face with your eyes, but refusing to afford him any looks was better. “Yeah. I got my Depo shot two days before we left.”

“How long does it last?”

“Three months.”

Jeno smiled wryly. “Well, isn’t that convenient.”

“That’s the whole point,” you mumbled. He was trying to get a reaction out of you, prodding at your buttons, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

There was a pause. “I’m ready when you are,” Jeno flirted, wiggling his brows at you.

“Who said I even wanna screw you?”

“You did. Many, many times.”

True, but no longer relevant. All things considered. You returned to your notebook and said, “That was before you became a penis petri dish of death and disease.”

“Ouch.”

My relationship with Jeno could best be described as rivalry. He never gave an inch and neither did I. It was my job to keep him humble.

And damn, what a full-time thankless job that was.

Jeno had been going out of his way to rile you up after your night with Mark. He couldn’t stand seeing you sulky. Mark’s pouting was beyond remedy, but yours could be managed with well-placed jabs.

He had you down to a science. Lighting a fire under your ass was all Jeno knew how to do. The more he prodded at you, the more flames escaped. And when you were angry, you couldn’t be sad.

Because there was nothing Jeno hated more than seeing you cry.

“Can you try to stay on beat this time?” Jeno chided, spinning a drumstick nimbly between his fingers.

Having been testing the microphone, you whipped around and snapped, “Fuck you, Jeno.”

An argument swiftly ensued, petty and heated. No surprises there. Mark and Haechan stood with their guitars and watched the back and forth with no end in sight, even as people poured into the club.

“Those two are going to kill each other,” Mark said under his breath.

Haechan scoffed. “Or make a ton of babies.”

Mark almost choked on the lump that shot into his throat.

You stomped over to Haechan, pointed at Jeno and said, “I can’t deal with this douche canoe anymore!”

To which Jeno shot back, “Just shut up and sing, ice crotch!”

Your eyes went wide with rage and you spun in Jeno’s direction, ready and willing to claw out his eyes. Haechan grabbed you by the arm and steered you back over to the microphone, officially sapped of all patience.

“In ten seconds, me and Mark are going to start playing,” he said hurriedly. “And both of you are going to look like losers if you’re not ready.”

You huffed a swear or two under your breath and gripped the microphone as Mark and Haechan got into position. Then you heard the tapping of drumsticks behind you followed by the roar of Mark’s electric guitar.

By the time the show was over, you were utterly exhausted. Between Haechan and Mark, your arms draped across their shoulders, the three of you sang tiredly along to one of your songs as the boys essentially dragged you down the hall toward the back door for some well-earned sleep.

Turning the corner, you saw Jeno with two beautiful blondes. You bristled with annoyance. They were giggling at every little thing he said like they were getting dick after, which you quickly realized was the case.

Not on my watch.

“Let it go,” Haechan said, but he knew it would make no difference.

Jeno did not deserve pussy after how badly he stressed you out. You wriggled out of Haechan and Mark’s arms and made a beeline for the drummer.

“Oh my god,” you said in a loud, obnoxious voice, greeting the girls as you cuddled up to Jeno and patted his chest. “You guys look so cute! But unfortunately, Jeno is only halfway through his chlamydia treatment.”

Wide-eyed, the girls looked at you in horror before sending vengeful expressions at Jeno, who set his jaw and bristled with anger.

You held your hand beside your mouth, pretending to whisper a secret, “Very contagious through bodily fluids.”

The pair of blondes scurried off. One of them gave Jeno the finger.

“I hate and despise you,” Jeno hissed, trudging down the corridor.

You were hot on his heels, ready to resume the argument from earlier. A moniker like Ice Crotch was not going to be forgotten. “Haven’t you had enough threesomes?”

“There’s no such thing as too many threesomes,” Jeno replied, heated. “And I’ve only had four.”

Haechan asked curiously, “You keep track?”

Jeno snorted. “Don’t you?”

“One is easy to remember. I wasn’t into it.”

Mark fell in line beside them and said, more so to himself, “I have questions.”

“I don’t,” you spoke up, backhanding Jeno’s burly arm to get his attention. “Jeno, you’ve got pussy brain and you fucked up the tempo.”

Jeno went quiet, which was the last thing you expected.

Everyone was tired and raw. We were a well-oiled machine, steaming ahead like a freight train, but with time, gears start to grind. When gears grind, they tear through flesh and bone.

I know my boys. It sounds cliche, and I agree, but I know them. We’ve been friends for so long and crossed hundreds of lines of intimacy reserved for soulmates. They can’t hide anything from me.

Especially the things they intentionally try to hide from me.

You knew you had struck a nerve, but you weren’t sure which one. You dug your heels in regardless, but you were miffed when Jeno said nothing and made for the door.

“Did he just storm off?” Mark questioned, equally bemused.

“He never does that,” Haechan said softly, turning to you.

You didn’t hesitate to stomp after him, and Mark and Haechan didn’t follow this time. When fire fought with fire, it was best to keep a distance to avoid getting burned.

The cold of Chicago’s night was bitter on your cheeks when you stepped outside and you pulled your jacket tightly round you. Jeno hadn’t jumped into the van yet. He was lingering in the lot, scraping his shoes across the asphalt as he puffed on a cigarette.

Closing the distance, you called, “The hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” he replied, avoiding your eyes and blowing out smoke.

“You’re out of sync and you’re acting weird.”

Jeno narrowed his eyes at you. “We were all out of sync tonight. Why am I the only one getting called out on it?”

As usual, no matter how angry he made you, your first instinct when things were too tense was to smooth his feathers. His surface was rough, but at his core, Jeno was tender. You brushed your hand down his arm and said sweetly, “Because you’re the rock…”

"We’re all built on," was going to be the end of that sentence. Unfortunately, I never got to say it.

Jeno cut you off. “I don’t want to be your rock,” he lashed out, hissing your name. “Don’t you feel pathetic leaning on me all the time?”

You recoiled like you’d been slapped and that was when you noticed his eyes. They didn’t belong to the Jeno you knew, but to the monster that stole his mind and would eventually give him back by morning.

Wrapping your arms around yourself in comfort, suddenly much colder than before, your breath pillared into the night like the smoke from his mouth when you whispered, “I didn’t. Until you said that.”

Jeno blinked, realizing too late that he’d hurt you.

That was the thing about me and Jeno. We both thought the other to be fearless and unbreakable, but also knew who we were at each other’s cores. I was his mirror image and he was mine. The broken kids; the kids that just wanted to be loved. The pair everyone knew to be demons, but never stopped to think how we became them.

The fallen angels.

Anger faded from his face in an instant. “I didn’t mean it,” Jeno started, flicking away the cigarette and reaching for you.

You stepped back, not wanting to be touched. “You’re at your most honest when you’re high, baby,” you said sternly, fixing him with a look that rooted Jeno in place. “Don’t lie to me now.”

Jeno swallowed the lump in his throat. How could you always see right through him?

You wiped the tear that spilled down your cheek and escaped into the van, your safe place, your little haven. Jeno ran a hand down his face and cursed, “Fuck,” for hitting you where it hurt.

The rest of the night was tense and awkward, only slacking when sleep took hold. Everyone was painfully exhausted. Chicago had exceeded expectations and pushed all limits. The show was insane. The energy was incredible. I would remember that performance for the rest of my life.

Me and the boys may have been a little out of sync, but each of us gave it our all. We left nothing on the floor and held nothing back.

Haechan curled around you in the bed, keeping you warm. You claimed the bed together more often than not. Mark slept like a vampire, on his back on the floor with his arms at his sides. It was the weirdest thing you’d ever seen, but it worked for him somehow. He slept like a baby, the whistle of his snores filling the van.

Jeno sat in the driver’s seat, looking up at the stars, exhaling the smoke from a joint. He was wide awake, couldn’t sleep. An unfortunate side-effect of the shit he took to get high. The marijuana wasn’t simmering him down as hoped. He’d probably stay up all night and sleep the day away.

Glancing over his shoulder, seeing your pretty face made him smile. You looked even cuter when you slept, but it was frustrating as hell.

No one else noticed he was high but you. Did you really know him that well?

Of course she does, Jeno thought. You were his better half. That’s how it worked. He could never escape you. There was a point of no return when it came to intimacy. Not so long ago, you and Jeno soared past that point. Two reckless teenagers, young and wild, that found all their highs and lows with each other.

Jeno propped his legs up on the dash and closed his eyes, watching the memories like a movie in his head. Mark shredded the electric as if his life was on the line; probably to vent his sexual frustration. Haechan was a whirlwind of energy despite playing that boring ass bass. And you, beautiful you… Mark wasn’t kidding when he said you were a god on stage.

Chicago delivered on the show, but not the after-party. Instead of drinking and fucking the night away, Jeno was in the stuffy van watching the stars go by when he wasn’t stealing glances of you. He wanted to be in your arms, needed you to kiss him and tell him everything would be okay.

You were the fix he craved most of all.

In the time it took him to blink, dawn broke. The sun shone across Jeno’s face. He lifted a hand, shielding his eyes. He grumbled a little and turned in the seat to get comfortable, cursing at the awkward angle his back was in.

Your hand touched his shoulder gently and Jeno lurched in surprise, peering up at you. He’d never looked so weary and drained, but you could see the animal was gone from his eyes. “You’ve been up all night?” Your voice rang with compassion, and Jeno felt utterly undeserving.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed, unable to keep them open any longer.

You tugged at him, getting Jeno to his feet and ushering him to the bed, where he basically collapsed onto the mattress. Mark and Haechan were up, crawling around in search of coffee like a pair of zombies. Meanwhile, you let Jeno situate and draped the blanket over him, tucking him in, and brushed some of his hair back from his face.

Jeno took your hand and laced his fingers through yours. “Tell me you love me,” he said in barely a whisper.

“I love you,” you replied without hesitation, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles. You stayed propped over him, wanting to be close so you could be sure he finally drifted off. You left a chaste kiss on his brow and coaxed, “Go to sleep, baby.”

Mark turned away. It wasn’t jealousy he felt, just longing. Seeing you so gentle with someone you were viciously fighting with the night before made him want you more. No matter what was said and done, there was too much love in this cramped little van.

When Jeno’s breathing leveled out and his hand went slack in yours, you finally relaxed. You’d be damned if he went days without sleep. There wasn’t much you could do, but the boys had their limits and you did your best to make sure they weren’t crossed.

Without another word, you clambered into the driver’s seat and turned the key, driving out of the club parking lot and onto the main road. You found a shopping center where Mark and Haechan could run errands while Jeno was out, and you pulled in.

Jeno slept well into the afternoon, stirring when the smell of hot food filled the van. Haechan used some of the gig money to splurge on delicious Chinese takeout.

You pulled out a foldable table from behind the cabinet and stood it up on the floor. The four of you sat around it and ate in silence, stuffing your faces until your bellies were full. You and Haechan gabbed a little, but not much. Mark and Jeno didn’t mutter a single word, both of them stuck in their feelings.

A far cry from how they would be that night.

One last show in Chicago. You were back on the same stage as before. It was the first time the band would perform an additional night at a club.

Jeno and Mark were squabbling, which was a rare enough sight to see. The two generally didn’t like to fuck with each other. It always resulted in fists flying and both were surprisingly really good at scrapping.

You looked to Haechan and rolled your eyes. Your best friend was smiling, on the verge of a laugh.

“We’re doing the third set,” Jeno said firmly.

“She can’t,” Mark replied, anger rising. “Her voice is fried from last night. The third set could knock it out for weeks and we’ll have no singer.”

Jeno shrugged. “She can take it.”

You were thoroughly annoyed. “She’s standing right here,” you spoke up, folding your arms. The audacity they had. It made you bristle, because you knew it had nothing to do with your voice and had everything to do with your body.

“What do you want to do?” Mark asked, softening his voice for you.

Jeno cut in, “Don’t ask her. You have to push her.”

You shot him a nasty scowl. “Stop pushing me.”

“Or what?” He smirked.

You shivered with irritation crossing dangerously toward rage.

“I don’t think you can do the third set,” Jeno said, challenging you, his smirk deepening. “Prove me wrong.”

“I’m not falling for that reverse psychology bullshit.”

“Coward.”

A smug look washed over your face as you hissed, “Don’t you feel pathetic leaning on me?”

The smile fell off Jeno’s lips. “I said I was sorry.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you snapped, but you definitely cared. The wound was still fresh and stung.

Haechan tilted his head when you looked at him. He was always your anchor in the rough seas of Mark and the violent winds of Jeno. “I’m with you, whatever you choose,” he said.

If I ever walked off that stage, my boys would follow. No questions asked. They would follow me into hell and back. Though the four of us would probably just live there indefinitely.

You straightened your shoulders and your tone left no room for argument. “We’re doing the third set.”

Jeno beamed victoriously. Haechan nodded. Mark gave a look mixed between concern and awestruck.

You sang until you were spent; brutally, wholly, and everything in between. Your legs felt like jelly when you walked off stage and your chest ached, lungs taut. The adrenaline, like a performance-enhancing drug, had run its course and you were officially on empty.

It wasn’t unlike you to push yourself to the absolute limit. You loved the stage. You worshiped the power that surged from your voice when you sang into the mic. Pipes for days, Haechan always said.

The dressing room was a sight for sore eyes. You dropped heavily onto one of the sofas and let your head fall back, closing your eyes. Your throat felt like you’d swallowed razors.

“Try not to talk,” Haechan said, holding up his hand when you shot him an irritated look. “I’m not telling you to be quiet. I’m suggesting you let your voice rest.”

You nodded and sunk back into the sofa again.

Mark was vibrating, the energy of the show still pulsing through him. Brimming with energy (the excess turning into courage), he walked over to you and bent down, pressing a lingering kiss to your brow.

You smiled, knowing it was Mark without opening your eyes.

Jeno finally deigned to grace the rest of you with his presence, bursting into the dressing room and exclaiming, “Holy shit, you killed it!”

“And this is where you take all the credit,” you rasped, wincing at the sound of your own voice.

“I’ll wait till you go to bed and then I’ll take all the credit.”

You lifted your head and narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t you have some ass to chase?”

Jeno licked his lips. “Nah. I only got eyes for you right now.”

“Pluck them out for all I care.”

“You wanna fuck me so bad you look stupid.”

You waved him away, settling down and closing your eyes again, and wheezed, “Have fun with your hand.”

Haechan sat beside you, picking up your legs and draping them over his lap. “I’ve never seen you so mad at him.”

“He just doesn’t stop,” you huffed. “You know when to leave me alone. Mark never pushes my buttons. Jeno just keeps fucking digging.”

Haechan chuckled. “That’s all he knows how to do.”

“Whatever.” You shrugged, feigning indifference.

Mark suddenly asked, “Do you love him?”

You sighed. “I love all three of you. He’s definitely my least favorite though.”

Mark gleamed proudly at Jeno, who scowled back.

“So, if we were drowning, who would you save first?” Haechan asked mischievously.

“Mark. Obviously.”

Mark’s grin widened, while Haechan gasped and put a hand over his heart like it was the ultimate betrayal.

“You can swim,” you said, patting Haechan’s arm over your legs. You opened your eyes and gave Jeno a vicious sneer. “Jeno’s the only one drowning.”

Jeno’s lips squared into a frown.

“What’s that mean?” Mark asked curiously, but Haechan stayed silent. He knew.

“Leave it,” Jeno warned, darker than ever.

The three of you did. Unlike Jeno, you knew when to quit.

Some people did drugs. Others did rock music. A few did both.

The boys dispersed momentarily. You were relieved when the dressing room was empty, leaving you to your thoughts and the searing pain in your vocal chords. Rubbing at your eyes, smearing your makeup, you didn’t hear someone come back in as you muttered to yourself, “God, my throat fucking hurts.”

“It’s probably raw as shit,” Jeno said, making you jolt. And roll your eyes. He cleared his throat and switched his tone to add, “Speaking of raw…”

“No.”

“You let Mark in raw,” he whined loudly.

You cut him a glare. “I wouldn’t let you raw me if you were the last man on earth.”

Jeno pouted. “Ow.”

With a scoff, you decided to turn the tables on him. “Why are you so hard for me the past few days? I can’t even brush my teeth without you humping the air around me.”

There was no shame to be found in Jeno. “I haven’t had you in weeks,” he groaned.

Your lips parted in surprise. “You’ve had every other girl in the country.”

“It’s not the same.”

You stood and crept close to him, close enough to ghost your lips over his mouth. Jeno went boneless, every inch of him fixated to you and what you would do next. He wanted you so bad he couldn’t see straight. So, you decided to yank the metaphorical rug out from under him, sniping, “You’re pathetic.”

“Are you really going to hold that against me forever?” Jeno asked, tensing.

No. It was just easier to be mad at him. That was the only way I could have some defense against the power he had over me.

“I’ll make you a deal,” you said, sliding your hands over his shoulders and winding your fingers into his hair. “Answer one question for me and I’ll forgive you.”

Jeno was one more breath away from kissing you. He knew it was a trap. You were luring him in and he was happy to swallow the bait. “Fine,” he replied in a husky voice, eyes on your lips. “Ask your damn question.”

“What are you taking?”

“What do you mean?”

You hardened your gaze on him and tugged on his hair. “Don’t play that with me. I know better.”

Jeno studied you a moment. You would keep yanking this thread until it unraveled. He pushed, you pulled. The two of you could play tug-of-war with each other’s heartstrings forever. Jeno decided it was better to rip the bandage off and get it over with it.

He reached to the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out a bag, and handed it out to you.

You took a split-second look at the bag and your jaw dropped, your arms falling as you snatched it quickly. “Cocaine? Are you fucking kidding me, Jeno?”

Jeno stole the bag back in the time it took you to blink, returning it to the safety of his pocket. “We’re supposed to do drugs,” he defended, rather unconvincingly. “We’re rockstars.”

“We’re teenagers that just graduated high school with barely enough cash for fuel and chips!”

“How I spend my cut of the money is my business,” Jeno shot back.

“This isn’t about the money.” You folded your arms, scolding him like a mother would a child; oscillating between angry and worried. “You know how dangerous that shit is.”

Jeno shifted his approach too, ever your mirror. “It’s the only way I can perform, babe. If I don’t have it, I can’t focus and I get too nervous.”

You softened even more, like Jeno knew you would. “We can get you something else,” you said gently. “Something better. Safer.”

He scoffed. “With our gas and chips money?”

You sighed, accepting a temporary defeat, but you pressed, “You’re doing it to get high. Not to concentrate.”

Jeno went slack, equally defeated, and reached for your waist. “I’m just trying to have a good time. We know this won’t last. We’re going nowhere.”

You lowered your head. “I know.”

The summer was half over and we hadn’t been scouted. Hope was replaced with disappointment and eventually, disappointment would flip to resentment. We never put it into words, but it was like a cloud following us, day and night.

Jeno took your face in his hands and tipped your chin up until you met his eyes. “Let me have this summer,” he whispered sadly. “Mark got you. I got this.”

Something inside you broke a little.

Yes, when the summer was over, you were Mark’s.

But the summer wasn’t over.

Jeno smiled in surprise when he felt the warmth of your lips on his, but he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and deepen the kiss. Feeling the heat of your body against his was what he’d been craving, wanting you to burn him alive.

My first instinct always was to comfort him. I would chip away at myself and give him every piece if it meant he could use them to stitch his wounds.

Believe it or not, Jeno was my first love, but a first love at fifteen means nothing in the grand scheme of things. He was my first everything, but we just didn’t work. No matter how hard we tried. There was a mad and intense connection between us, inseverable, but in the confines of a relationship, we were wild animals forced together in a cage.

I know few will understand us. Hell, even I don’t understand how I could have so much passion and fire for someone that stretched me thin and forever kept me at the brink of insanity.

But I was beyond questioning it.

Jeno slipped his tongue in your mouth and you grabbed his hips, pulling him flush against you. His kisses were surpassing hungry and landing somewhere near ravenous. The intensity must have scared him, because Jeno suddenly parted from you and took a step back.

You rubbed your lips bashfully, not realizing you were panting until it was the only sound in the quiet dressing room. And Jeno was breathing just as heavily.

“What’s wrong?”

Jeno shook his head. “I want you so bad.”

You snickered. Here you were on a silver platter and he was the one that put distance between you.

Though you opened your mouth to say something snarky, Jeno spoke up, “But you’re going to leave me.”

Your heart sank. It dawned on you; this summer was the end to a lot of things. Youth was ending. The band was ending and with it, all of your dreams.

And the tie between me and Jeno would have to finally be severed so my life with Mark could start.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. You didn’t want to think about Jeno and his broken heart. Or that the drugs you scolded him over were what he used to fill the void you left behind.

Jeno respected the hell out of you for having the strength to leave him. He never could walk away from you even though he knew it was for the best. You would spend your whole life trying to fix him while he would always use you as a crutch.

It wasn’t fair to either you or him.

“Mark is good for you,” Jeno said in barely a whisper, his eyes glistening.

You shook your head. “I don’t want to talk about Mark.”

Jeno swallowed the lump in his throat. Seeing his pain reflected back at him on your face was too much. “Get high with me.”

Your eyes went wide. “Why?”

“You’re my person,” he said, vulnerable. “The only one I’ve ever wanted to do it with.”

This was what you struggled to put into words - the hold this boy had on you. He was bottomless ocean depths.

“It’s always you and me. We do everything together,” Jeno continued, reaching for your hand and leaving a kiss on your knuckles.

You let him pull you back into his arms and asked, “What if I die?”

“I’ll bring you back,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your brow that completely melted you.

“What if you die?”

“Let me go.”

Your eyes suddenly shone with the threat of tears. “Never.”

Jeno leaned into you, stealing a kiss from your lips. “Just this once, babe.”

You paused, thinking it over. Everything inside you screamed, “Yes!” Jeno never failed to bring this side out of you - the reckless, starved one that didn’t give a damn about consequences. You always feared if that was the real you, the true you. “Just this once,” you said quietly, closing your eyes as Jeno sealed his lips to yours again.

The idea of getting high reached out to you with gentle, caressing fingertips, promising to banish the pain and numb the hurt.

Tearing himself away from you once more, Jeno walked over to the door and locked it.

Yet another first time with Jeno to add to my list.

You were caught off-guard at how fast the high kicked in and never before had you noticed how tense your body was until it wasn’t anymore. Your mind was even lighter. There was no more torment. You could feel that it was there, but it didn’t ache any longer.

The sensation was indescribable. You were whole, perfect, immortal and invincible all at once.

And that was how you found yourself on the couch with Jeno, pawing at each other like animals in heat.

“Jeno?”

“I know.”

You sucked in a breath as he nipped at your neck and asked weakly, “Am I going crazy?”

“Babe,” he said, meeting your eyes with a smirk. “You been crazy.”

You laughed and the sound was music to Jeno’s ears, making his smile widen.

Time blurred together. It could have been the next day or the next year for all you cared. All you knew was this moment with Jeno and how it lasted a lifetime.

You sank deeper into the sofa beneath Jeno’s weight. Your thighs were hooked on his hips, hands roaming his taut, muscly back. Both your shirt and his tee were somewhere on the floor, along with your bra.

Jeno kept grinding into you, each movement rougher than the last. “Fuck,” he swore, lips brushing your ear. “I just know you’re getting so fucking wet right now.”

He wasn’t wrong.

A wanton noise of pleasure escaped you and Jeno ate it up. You were burning by a thousand degrees, it was almost painful. You had never craved someone’s body on such a primal level before.

With Mark, it was love, but this? This was lust running wild with abandon.

The doorknob wiggled. You didn’t hear it over the loud thumping in your ears and neither did Jeno, who was far too busy bruising your neck whilst he kneaded your breasts, pinching your nipples to make you squirm. Haechan didn’t need to try the knob again to know what was going on. He turned to Mark, who was coming down the hall, and led him away.

“They’re working out their issues. Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said hurriedly. Mark hesitated, but didn’t argue. He was none the wiser. With the way you and Jeno had been at each other’s throats, it never crossed his mind that you would fuck him.

Meanwhile, you were discovering new uncharted levels of arousal, undulating beneath Jeno, trying to match his movements, which were getting faster and harder. The drugs in your system made everything feel more intense, all-consuming. There was no tension, no insecurity, just instinct and pleasure.

Jeno was definitely waiting for you to give him the green light, and you were enjoying keeping it from him, but the throbbing between your legs was unbearable.

You planted your hands on his thick chest and pushed, making Jeno prop over you and look into your face. “Wanna fuck now?” you asked sheepishly.

His pupils dilated. “I thought you’d never ask.”

You whined when Jeno clambered off of you, standing next to the sofa and unfastening his pants. Before he drew them down his thighs, he pulled condoms from his pocket and dropped them on your lap.

“Two?” You snorted. “My lucky day.”

“One for each girl. You know, the ones you chased away from me.”

Licking your lips as his hard cock sprang into view, you grabbed him by the hips and purred, “I called first dibs on that dick years ago.”

Jeno chuckled, but his expression changed on a dime when you leaned in. He watched you drag your lips over his abs, kissing and nibbling along his happy trail. His breaths stuttered as he said, “Whenever you want it, it’s all yours.”

You peeked up at him hotly. “I want it now.”

While Jeno fitted himself with a condom, you shimmied out of your pants and underwear, and the moment they were on the floor, you turned onto your knees, braced yourself on the arm of the sofa, and arched your back, sticking your ass in the air.

He wouldn’t be able to resist it for a second.

“Fuck you,” Jeno hissed, getting into position behind you and raking his cock between your folds, gathering your slick from tip to base.

You wiggled your hips. Your brain was clouded with lust and drugs, and something purely hungry for Jeno. Like he was your favorite meal. “Gimme it,” you huffed, glancing over your shoulder. “What the fuck is taking so long?”

Jeno gave your ass a smack, making you squeak. “You need to calm down,” he chided with a grin, still sliding his length between your slit. He was so riled up his hips jerked against you involuntarily.

You reached between your legs, getting a hand around his dick and steering it into your aching pussy. Jeno let you, biting his lip and smirking at how goddamn horny you were for him.

The head of his cock pressed into your entrance and you grasped the arm of the sofa with both hands as Jeno began thrusting forward, working himself inside until he impaled you on every last inch of his girthy cock. You buried your face in the couch, biting down on the stressed leather.

Jeno gripped your waist tight and drew you to him until he was balls deep in your tight heat, feeling your walls stretch and flutter around his length. The drugs amplified everything about you; your warmth, your scent, your sounds. He barely noticed the condom at all.

When he drew back and shoved his cock back into your cunt, you lifted your head and cried, “Fuck!”

“You’re so wet,” Jeno growled, sinking in and out to hear your slick pussy welcoming him back.

You whimpered. “Fuck you and that big dick,” you mumbled, but you didn’t mean a word of it. You weren’t sure how much you could blame the drugs anymore. You wanted him to plow the living shit out of you until there was nothing left.

Jeno took that personally. As a challenge more than anything. He squeezed your waist in his hands and smacked his hips into your ass, driving his cock into your core and giving you something to really whine about.

It was all you could do not to scream as he took you for all you were worth. You fisted the couch in your hands until your knuckles ached and you threw yourself back to meet his strokes, a noise escaping on your hoarse throat with every rushed breath. Sex was a drug all its own. It just felt too damn good.

Jeno kept his hard pace, making sure he landed flush against your heat every time, and brushed his hands up your body to wrap them around your throat and tip your head back. “Yeah, that’s my good slut,” he taunted, the smack of his body colliding with yours getting louder. “She’s taking all that dick, huh?”

The sounds you made were humiliating, but they only made Jeno harder. His grip on your neck had you slack-jawed, your eyes winched closed. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him!

It wasn’t fair that he had that kind of power over my body. With him, I felt desired and powerful, and between that - untainted. Unbroken. Jeno never saw me for the damaged goods that I was. To him, I was always perfect. He completed me. No matter how unhealthy it was, I wanted it.

I didn’t need drugs. Jeno’s love was my high.

“Don’t stop,” you choked out, his hands heavy on your strained vocal chords. “Don’t ever stop...”

Loving me. Though the words wouldn’t come, Jeno knew them.

“Never, baby,” Jeno said, releasing your throat in favor of your waist, draping himself over you and burying his face in your neck. His hands wandered your breasts as he plunged in as far as he could go and stopped, leaving a few scattered, reassuring kisses across your shoulders.

Your body trembled when he bottomed out, aching with need and overstimulation. You swallowed to wet your throat, panting for air, and asked, “Why are you…?”

“You’re so fucking high, baby,” Jeno crooned, touching you gently and affectionately. “Just trust me.”

He was right. You were high on drugs and his body. You were a nerve laid bare, every brush of his hands enough to make you shiver. Your body pulsated, like you were being dangled over the edge, the pressure becoming too much to bear.

You held yourself up on hands and knees, tortured by the fact he was no longer moving inside you, but his hands playing with your breasts and his lips on your neck had your attention. The stimulation was sending more shudders across your skin, making you lean into his touch as your core throbbed for him.

“Part of you will always be mine,” Jeno whispered into your neck. “I know you’ll pick him over me, but part of you will always miss me.”

You tensed with unshed tears and cried, “I know.”

“I need you to know it’s okay,” Jeno said, turning your head and kissing you with so much pain and pleasure it knocked the wind out of you.

You kissed him back, reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair. It was a cruel curse - to love someone so deeply that was bad for you.

Jeno broke the kiss and rocked gently into you, staying in deep and lilting his cock inside your walls, the head of him kissing your cervix. Normally, you would have pushed at his hips for some mercy, but the high made you impervious to pain.

Suddenly, he thrust in hard but slow, arching his hips. You staggered out a moan and reached out to steady yourself, almost knocked off balance by his strength.

He did it again and again.

Tears pricked at your eyes. Jeno was hitting you with those drawn-out, domineering strokes, making you feel every inch of him slam against your sweet spot. He may have agreed to never hold you choosing Mark over him against you, but he was going to give you one final reminder of how absolute his control of your body was.

“I’m coming,” you warned, his name a mantra on your tongue as you took all he had to give. You were grateful for the roar of music coming from the other side of the wall, drowning out your cries and Jeno’s moans.

Jeno fisted a hand in your hair while the other still tugged and rolled your nipples. He kept his pace, hips slapping into your ass at a perfect rhythm, knowing you were on the edge of orgasm with the way your walls clamped down on his cock.

“Fuck!” Another brutal thrust sent you into ecstasy. You shook and swore, trying to crawl away from him, but Jeno was on you, shoving you into the couch and riding out your high.

“Good girl,” Jeno hissed, watching you writhe beneath him. He went still and tipped his head back, letting out a tiny moan.

You blinked to clear your eyes. You could feel the bruises forming in your skin as Jeno pinned you to the couch. It only turned you on more. When you realized he was still hard, that he hadn’t come, you mumbled under your breath. He was supposed to finish with you.

Jeno’s eyes flickered. Another moan escaped him as you rolled your hips, desperate for friction. He drifted his hands to your hair, gathering it all in his fists.

You sat up and went to work, fucking him as best you could in your position. Despite the condom, your pussy wanted to milk every drop of cum out of his dick. Post-nut clarity hadn’t set in. Either the drugs or the orgasm made you even more feral for this dumb boy.

“Oh, fuck,” Jeno groaned, watching you throw it back, bouncing your ass on him, taking him like a fucking champ. His abs tightened as he tried not to pound the fuck out of you. Instead, he reeled his hand back and slapped your ass, goading you.

“Come for me, baby,” you said darkly, the room echoing with the loud, wet clap of your bodies meeting.

Jeno growled a low curse in this throat. Suddenly he was on the edge, driven by your command and that tight fucking cunt.

You shrieked in surprise when he flipped you over roughly, the sound devolving into a moan when he steered his cock back into your pussy, grabbed your waist, and drilled into you like he would never get the chance again.

He didn’t last long at that pace. Jeno threw his head back and came, one moan after another tumbling from his pretty mouth, each one more ragged than the last as he emptied himself into the condom.

You brushed your hands over his thighs and hips, whispering little nothings as he came, feeling him shake like a leaf as he buried himself inside you. Once Jeno settled down, you touched his chest and asked, “Holy shit. Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” he wheezed, voice cracking, all the air knocked out of him.

Biting your lip to fight a laugh, you failed to hide the smug grin taking over your face.

“Don’t,” Jeno said weakly, rubbing at his eyes.

“You just came so hard you cried,” you teased, pinching his nipple for good measure.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

Feeling him about to pull out, you reached for his waist and held him there, joking, “I will remember this, forever and ever, and I will bring it up every time you get on my nerves.”

“You’re the worst.” He sobered, leaning in close. “And you’re the best I've ever had.”

You smiled as he kissed you, sealing his words on your lips. Then you giggled as his mouth traveled over your chest, sucking on a nipple. Your buds were still stiff and Jeno couldn’t resist.

“I see how easy it is to get addicted,” you said when Jeno got up to discard the condom. “That shit is intense.”

“Told you.”

Sitting up, you ran your hands through your messy hair. You could only imagine how you looked; makeup smeared, glistening with sweat. “You know you have to stop,” you told him, making your voice gentle.

Jeno afforded you no looks. “Eventually.”

You were too tired to argue, sore and spent in the best ways. When Jeno returned to the couch, you welcomed him with open arms, pulling him close and steering him to lay his head on your naked chest. You stroked your fingers through his hair and over his broad shoulders, and whispered, “I’ll never let you die, Jeno.”

He stayed quiet.

“You’re not allowed to leave me.”

“Stalker.”

You snorted back a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Jeno lifted his head and nuzzled your cheek, teasing, “I just think it’s cute how obsessed you are with me.”

You kept touching him. His skin was just so hot beneath your fingertips, like caressing an open flame. “Are you really okay with dying?” you asked after a moment.

Jeno shrugged. “It’s unavoidable. I don’t see the point in sweating over it.” As he spoke, Jeno kissed at your neck slowly, curious if he could get you riled up again.

Your lashes fluttered and you shifted underneath him. Though he left you more than satisfied, the longer he kissed over your pulse and palmed your breasts, the quicker the ache in your core came back, ready to be filled up again.

Jeno reached down to cup your sex, running his finger over your swollen clit and swearing under his breath when he felt your soaked entrance, thinking how easily he could slide right back in and make you feel good. Both of you.

“If you died,” you stammered, struggling to form words as he touched you. “I don’t think I would ever smile again.”

Jeno was caught off-guard. He stopped pawing at you to look in your eyes, wondering if you realized just how heavy a thing that was to say. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he told you innocently, kissing the corner of your mouth with affection.

It was the first time you’d seen him so serious. Not hiding behind his usual humor.

Jeno was surprised when you pushed him away and reached for your pants on the floor. He watched curiously as you rifled through your pocket and withdrew a balled-up piece of paper and handed it to him.

“For the memoir?”

You nodded, watching him unfurl the page, your heart thumping harshly in your chest. “Yeah, I’m constantly jotting stuff down.”

Jeno’s eyes drifted over your words.

I can’t stand him. He infuriates me. He makes me crazy. But Jeno is the one person that knows me - the good and the bad, and accepts them both.

I love my boys, but he’s the one I don’t think I could ever live without.

Jeno peered at you with glassy eyes, shining with tears. “Damn it,” he groaned, crashing his lips on yours.

As expected, you made use of that second condom.

Jeno hooked your legs in the crooks of his arms and thrust languidly, staring down at you. Your eyes never parted as he gave you release once more, knowing when the summer was over, he would never get to touch you again.

When all was said and done, the two of you slumped into opposite sides of the sofa, soaked with sweat. Once you caught your breath and Jeno returned from tossing the condom, it was your turn to clamber on top of him, using his chest as your pillow. You rested your head on his shoulder and traced senseless patterns over his collarbone with your fingertips.

Jeno said your name. “I want you to be happy. That’s all I want, but I know I can’t give it to you. I tried.”

You closed your eyes. It would keep the tears at bay. “I know.”

“I feel sorry for you, loving all three of us. It can’t be easy.”

“It’s what I was made for,” you said softly, tightening your arms around him, lest he fly away from you and never return.

Jeno changed subjects before it broke him. “I’ve never felt so self-aware of how it feels to be young. And how it doesn’t last long.”

You nodded slightly. “This time is precious.”

“I wouldn’t say precious. Definitely fun though.”

You snickered, relieved to hear his humor coming back, but a somber feeling rushed over you. “Do you think we’ll ever get tired of it?”

“Of what?”

“The performing, the fucking, and… the drugs.”

Jeno paused. “You mean each other.”

You sighed tersely. There was no hiding it from him.

My biggest fear was that my boys would hate me. That I would be a bitter reminder of what could have been, how close we were to our dreams before crash landing back on earth, broken and bruised forever from the fall.

Jeno brushed his fingers up and down your back, and kissed the top of your head. “I don’t think we’ll resent each other if this fails, babe,” he said in a low voice. Some things just aren’t meant to be, he thought sadly. Like you and me.

“If that happened, I think I would die,” you whimpered, burrowing your face in his chest.

“Don’t talk like that,” Jeno said, running his hand mischievously over your thigh. “But stop being so afraid of death. You’ll waste your life running from something that is going to catch you no matter what.”

You tipped your head back to kiss him. “I just know the devil dreads meeting us. We’ll steal his throne.”

Jeno kissed you back hotly. “Hell yeah. I can’t wait to fuck you on it.”

You laughed.

Hard to steal something that already belongs to you, Jeno.

Copyright 2020-2024 © yutaholic (formerly zenyukhei) All rights reserved do not copy or translate without my permission!

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part two.

Friday evenings are typically spent in the comfort of your flat. Normally, you’re half paying attention to reruns of whatever shitty reality TV happens to be on and half scrolling through social media to keep up with the ever-fluctuating trends of content as per your job requirements, all the while eating your body’s weight in takeaway. It’s not the dream, but it’s certainly a dream.

Tonight, you plan on amending things to include going through the pictures of Bali’s stunning beaches that Lando’s been spamming you with throughout the day, but beyond that, you have no intentions of deviating further from your norm.

You’re actually really looking forward to it. Though you’d rather cut off your own hand than admit it to his face and give him new ammunitions to tease you with, you miss Lando during the winter breaks. So much of your year is spent having him nearby━ a near-constant presence buzzing with the inability to slow down let alone stop━ and when he isn’t around, the silence seems louder. There’s no one else who manages to annoy you the way he does, and it’s just not the same without him.

To make matters worse, between your new job, Lando’s travels, and the scheduling conflicts that have arisen in turn, you haven’t had a chance to catch up with him beyond a few back-and-forth messages about his current escapades. So you really, genuinely, truly are looking forward to it.

Garrett Ward throws a wrench into things.

You have mixed opinions of Garrett. He can be very sweet, and he’s gone out of his way to make you feel incredibly welcome in your first week with the Manchester City team. He makes good conversation and seems genuinely interested in what it is you’re doing, often asking questions about your equipment and process, which is a nice change of pace from most other clients you’ve worked with in the past who rarely give two shits about anything beyond the final product. But his reputation is… concerning.

Garrett Ward is infamous in English tabloids for being a notorious womanizer.

There are several articles that come to mind, but the most damning of which is from 2019, before his trade to Manchester City, detailing with very incriminating photos how he’d been seen entering a club with two women and then leaving just a few hours later with a completely different pair. You don’t want to assume he’s the same man now as he was back then, nearly a full five years ago, but you’ve been working in the sports industry long enough to know that athletes can have anyone and if they want then they will have anyone━ there is no shortage of temptation.

And you are not arrogant enough to assume you would be the outlier.

Which makes his interest in you feel less like friendly curiosity and more like something you need to be wary of.

It’s also why━ as you make the trek through the Etihad Campus car park━ you feel dread begin to pool in your stomach as you answer your ringing phone. “Hi, Garrett.”

“Y/N!” He exclaims excitedly, sounding like he hadn’t just seen you barely ten minutes ago in the weight room. “I meant to catch you before you left, but you were outta there so fast I wasn’t able to.”

And there’s probably a reason for that, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “Yeah, I usually try to be pretty quick about it.”

There’s an awkward pause left open as if he expects you to say more, and when you don’t he clears his throat. “Erm, well, I was actually just calling to see if, perhaps, you would like to grab dinner with me this evening.”

You don’t. At all. It’s one of the last things you would like to do. There are plenty of other hellish things you would willingly rather subject yourself to before sitting down and sharing a private meal with this man━ jumping into the Thames is one of them, and letting Lando drive you around on the autobahn in his Spider is another. Both could very easily result in death, permanent disfigurement, or any other number of horrible outcomes, but neither includes Garrett.

Your hesitating silence must be an answer enough for him, because he chuckles again and adds on quickly, “No strings attached, I promise. It’ll just be two friends getting dinner.”

All you want to do is get cozy on your couch in your pajamas with a kebab from the place down the street and watch pretty people deal with their pretty people problems on TV. You don’t think that’s too much to ask for, but apparently, some higher power does.

“I suppose that’d be alright then,” you agree tentatively, speeding through the stages of grief as you mourn the initial plans of your Friday evening━ the easy, simple, comfortable plans. “Shoot me a message with the time and place and I’ll meet you there.”

“Awesome!” Garrett cheers. “See you later then.”

The peaceful silence that awaits you after you hang up feels like it’s mocking you. Too bad you can’t flip off silence.

“Look, the truth is, City is looking at trading me at the end of the season if I can’t clean my act up.” Garrett’s voice is quiet as he admits the reality of his future to you, but it breaks the silence of the world around you like a gunshot. “And not just loaning me out━” he adds, a twinge of something akin to anger noting his tone, “━but fully trading me. They’re saying that my image makes things too hard for them and the only way they’ll consider re-signing me is if I can either keep my name out of the tabloids or try to clean myself up.”

In Garrett’s defense, he technically did hold true to his promise of just two friends getting dinner. Things were actually going quite well, too. The restaurant was a little more high profile than you would’ve expected for a casual meal, but that can easily be passed off as the luxurious lifestyle and expensive tastes of a pro athlete who can certainly afford it. Expenses of your meal aside, he’d been good company, asking after the ways of working in Formula One and then finding similarities in his football career that made it easy to chat about the struggles and stressors of professional sports.

But you can recognize that this is where it’s all beginning to go downhill.

He’s announced it completely out of the blue as you’re walking back to the garage where you’ve both parked your cars. On top of that, his pace slows and you’re forced to slow down as well to match it until you both eventually come to a halt in the middle of the pavement.

You feel for him, in all honesty. You understand the difficulties of contract negotiations and how easily they can fall apart. The fragility of Formula One contracts is its own special brand of tricky and you’ve seen many friends move on to other teams in the blink of an eye just as they’ve begun to settle down and make their mark where they are. You can’t say for certainty that you understand the mechanics of football contracts to the same degree, but you can imagine they have their own fragile fine print.

But the chill of a January night in Manchester is brutal, and you’ll be the first to admit that your outfit does not protect against it. You don’t really want to be having this conversation in general, because you’ve known Garrett for all of a week which makes you acquaintances at best, but you especially don’t want to be having it now, out here in the cold when all you want to do━ all you’ve wanted to do since this afternoon━ is curl up in something warm and comfortable and pretend the world outside your flat doesn’t exist for a few days.

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me if I’m being honest, Garrett.”

He shrugs. “I just thought you might be able to help.”

You shove your hands in your pockets in a desperate attempt to keep your fingers from going more numb than they already are and shake your head at him. “I don’t know how exactly you think I can help you with that. I’m a photographer, not a PR officer.”

“My agent thinks it would be a good idea if I showed the media that I could hold down a steady relationship. Prove to them that I’ve changed my ways, and have matured.” He shrugs again, nonchalant despite being the one to bring this up in the first place.

“Have you?”

He makes a face, something between a flirty smirk and a suggestive wink, “Well, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Garrett.”

“Look,” he crosses his arms and levels you with a look that fills you simultaneously with more rage and annoyance than a single person has ever made you feel before. “It would just be for a couple of months, and then we could stage an amicable breakup and that would be that! It just has to be long enough to show everyone that I’m not the same as I used to be.”

You give him a look right back, hoping it conveys how appalled you are by his audacity. “Okay, but why me of all people? Christ knows you probably have a list of women in your contacts who would jump at the chance to pretend to date you for a few months.”

His face pinches up in disgust. “Yeah, but they’re all former hookups, and I mean, they’re kinda psycho about me to be fair. If I tried to end things, they’d probably go to the tabloids themselves and smear my name with the worst things they could come up with.” He shrugs again, and you’re starting to find that you hate it when he does so. “I need someone willing to just play along for the time being and who will be discreet when things are over.”

“And you think I’m that person?” You scoff. “You’ve known me for a week!”

Your voice echoes and it reminds you once again that you’re having this conversation in the middle of a random street in Manchester. It’s cold and dark, and you’ve been attempting to bite back your frustration since the moment Garrett called you. You’ve been as nice as you possibly can be for this man, shy of bending over backward to worship the very ground he walks on, and you’re so close to your limit that you think if he shrugs one more fucking time━

He shrugs. “Well, yeah, but you know how this industry works. So I know you can be trusted.”

You take a deep breath to try and retain what’s left of your quickly slipping composure, before you say, “Garrett, this goes beyond unprofessional. I could potentially get into a lot of trouble for this. You’re technically my co-worker, if not my client by proxy. It’s not a good look for me to be getting with the athletes I work with, considering my entire career is based on working with athletes.”

He makes a befuddled face as if asking what that has to do with anything. It occurs to you that he’s probably never had to worry about the ethics of hooking up with someone when most of the women who are interested in him would do everything in their power to spend a night by his side whether it’s morally just━ or legal, for that matter━ or not.

“That doesn’t seem to stop you from being all cozy with that Nor-whatever guy,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“That driver,” he repeats. “You post him all over your socials, like, all the time.”

You tear your hands from your pockets and throw them up in the air, “Because that’s my job?!” The stupidity of the man before you is genuinely baffling. He’s been asking about your job all week long but the way he’s talking now makes it seem like he didn’t catch onto the fact that your entire career is centered around media and the creation of content made with the explicit intention of being shared.

“I am quite literally paid to take and post pictures of him per my contract with McLaren,” you continue. “And even if I wasn’t, he’s my best friend?! I’ve been working and traveling and spending the majority of my time with Lando since 2019 so of course I’m going to be close with him. Do you not post your mates every once in a while?”

“Yeah, but it’s different. All my mates are guys, so nobody thinks I’m dating any of them when I do it.”

You scoff in disbelief. “I cannot believe this right now. You know, for a moment, I briefly considered helping you. But you’re actually exactly the type of prick the tabloids say you are.”

He takes an intimidating step closer, and his voice drops an octave lower. “I would reconsider if I was you.” You’re not short, but Garrett isn’t either. He’s one of the tallest players on the Manchester City team, and the way you feel now with him staring you down makes you wonder if this is what it feels like to be his opponent on the pitch.

It’s fucking terrifying.

But you’re fucking livid, too.

Your jaw clenches and you bite out sharply, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What it means,” he starts, “is that if you don’t help me, maybe I slip a word about something or other to my boss who slips a word to his boss who is, also, your boss, and suddenly, whoops!” He gives you a cocky smirk, so sure of himself that it makes you feel like your blood is literally boiling. “He’s not your boss anymore. In fact, nobody is your boss anymore, because your ‘slip in conduct’ was very inappropriate and made several players uncomfortable, which doesn’t look very good when trying to get jobs elsewhere in the industry.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Well,” he fucking shrugs. “When you say it like that, yeah. I guess I am.”

You cross your arms, your hands clenched into fists so tightly that you can feel your nails digging painfully into the flesh of your palms. “You’re a real bastard, you know.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that, love.”

If only it were legal to kill a man━ Garrett Ward would be six feet under and picking worms from between his teeth.

You weigh your options, though. You’re not sure how much weight his word actually carries. For all you know, he could tell his boss, they could bring you in to discuss things, and then you could explain it all from your point of view. Garrett is a notorious flirt and you doubt it’s the first time he’s tried to pursue someone who isn’t interested in him. You doubt it happens very often, but it has to have happened at some point. Not to mention, his reputation regarding women is bad enough that Manchester City is already giving him an ultimatum, so you probably have a chance, and the worst-case scenario is that you amicably part ways with the team and that’s that.

But realistically there is a worse worst-case scenario, and it’s pretty damn close to what Garrett is threatening. Losing this side gig wouldn’t really be too much trouble. It would put a dent in your savings, and you’d have to be a bit better about how you ration out your groceries and other necessities around the flat, but losing your job at McLaren? Being blacklisted from the industry entirely? That’s life-destroying. You would lose everything━ all the blood, sweat, and tears you shed to get where you are would be for nothing.

All because of a prick in sky blue.

“Fine,” you utter from between gritted teeth. “I’ll help you. But I won’t post you on my account. I won’t bring you home to my parents. I won’t go round to your flat and I certainly will not have you round to mind. You get one kiss to make it official to the paps, and then nothing more.” You take your own threatening step toward him, and a vindictive part inside you shines with malicious glee when he shifts ever so slightly backward. “If you try anything else, I will run to the papers and drag you through the mud worse than any of your little psycho groupies ever could.”

He scoffs, “You’d ruin your career.”

“But I’d tear you down with me,” you reply.

He takes a moment to think, staring into your eyes and weighing how serious you are. Whatever he sees staring back at him must be convincing enough because he sniffs, nods, and smirks.

“Deal.” He leans down, “I think I’ll be taking that kiss now. Make sure to really sell it, yeah?”

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre

━━ a/n: i feel like i say this every time, but i am seriously blown away by how well the first part of this was received! like, seriously, thank you so much for the kind words everyone said about it! hopefully this second part lives up to the hype of the first, it's a little denser, but the events are important to establish for the rest of the story so it needed to happen!

[pedgito]

summary | a story of how things began, where they ended up, and where they might go. a collection of patrols over the course of several months is forcing you closer to joel than you ever imagined, tense circumstances leading to hasty decisions and one bad choice after the next. [17k+]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no explicit use of y/n, set post s1 (but not specifically stated), lots of characters from the game (but not significant if you're unaware) grumpy!joel, friends (?) with benefits, sex under stress as a means for distraction (consensual), graphic depicition of an attack of raiders (it's brief, easy to skim over), a litany of sexual escapades (oral, unprotected, ect) semi-public sex (no one's around), orgasm denial, repressed emotions

author’s note | um, yeah. i had this idea back in february and had an outline that finally came to fruition over the past month. this was a serious labor of love and purely self-indulgence. if you make it through the entire thing, thank you! if this has typos please ignore. i proofread this like 4 times and i will cry

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3

Patrolling with Joel was always something. Miserable when Joel was having a bad day, mildly enjoyable on the days where he managed to have enough coffee that morning when you weren't on the rotation for the shitty patrols that took hours to trek through in this weather, the snow halfway up your shins nearly everywhere.

It’s been a few months now and Joel is still who you favor going with over anyone else—he’s thoughtful, methodical, always watching over his shoulder for danger. And Joel does warm up to you eventually, but the reluctance in his eyes is always there. He’s seasoned in the art of surviving, avoiding connection when at all possible. He doesn’t talk to you for the first month out of simple answers or orders, helping you get accustomed to a route you haven’t run before, but small talk? It’s nonexistent.

Maybe that was for the best. 

Because the first time you find yourself pinned under his gaze, fingers clenched around your wrists in warning, the unseemly thoughts invade your brain.

He doesn’t sleep often during patrols, either. So, it’s a little intimidating when you find him curled up on top of his sleeping bag when he swore he was taking a quick break, resting the ache in his back that quickly melted into a deep slumber. You can’t dare to wake him up so soon after, seeing how peaceful he looked when he slept, almost at ease but still carrying that deep scowl, permanently on his features. It was a part of him.

Tommy and Jesse had arrived to rotate and relieve you guys back to Jackson, something that wasn’t out of the norm, but you find yourself battling with leaning over him, shaking him awake and disturbing his slumber. And on a dime, the moment your hand connects with his shoulder, Joel is awake—very awake and subduing you with little resistance, your leg forced hastily between his own, eyes dark and pensive from where he held himself above you.

“Joel, Joel—it’s just me,” You spit out in a panic, “Tommy and Jesse, they’re outside.”

You’re not sure what breaks his stupor, be it the panic in your voice or the terrified look on your face, he relents quickly, apologizing half-heartedly under his breath.

You release a tight breath when he finally lets go, rising up slowly as he does, grabbing your pack without a word, as does he, watching as he rolled up his sleeping bag, something you’ve seen him do a million times before, but he feels you watching him, almost hesitant to speak now.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks lowly, the thickness of sleep in his voice.

“No, um—“ You shake your head, rubbing the skin of your wrist absently, “I guess I should’ve been more careful, but you fell asleep and I figured you needed it.”

He looks even more apologetic, more so for his actions but for also leaving you up alone, not that it really mattered to you. It was an easy patrol spot in the watchtower— it never caused trouble, so falling asleep was the least of your worries. 

You shrug when his eyes glance over your slightly hunched frame, shivering from the cold but an arm clutching around your middle. It’s defensive, a subconscious movement that Joel doesn’t even think you realize you’re doing.

He shouldn’t feel shitty about it, but he does. Still, he won’t admit that out loud.

“Next time I’ll keep six feet and poke you with a stick,” You joke, “kinda like waking a bear.”

You smile when Joel huffs reluctantly, a subtle motion of his chest as he chuckles. It’s faint, but you see the involuntary quirk at the corner of his mouth as he shoved his sleeping bag into his pack and rose to his feet.

“Hey, you’ve still got decent reflexes,” You shrug, passing him by with the soft scuffle of your feet, shoulders rubbing against each other awkwardly as you turn toward him over your left shoulder, his body too close for his own comfort, “for an old guy.”

He scoffs at the implication, though any maliciousness in his expression is void, “Old?”

He knows it’s the truth, he just hates the implication. He’s weaker, but not any less that man he was than that he is now. He watches your face scrunch up in amusement, a soft laugh slipping past your lips. 

“Joel, I’m fucking with you,” You tell him, the tense in his brow relaxing slightly, “it’s gonna be a long ride back, isn’t it?”

“Ah, don’t know—think you can handle travelin’ with the old guy for a few hours?”

Joel doesn’t divert to humor often, but when he does, it’s a sweet sight, that rough exterior cracking under your gaze more often. 

“Please,” You puff your lips out in a quick huff, yanking your back over your shoulder, “I can handle you just fine.”

Once you got to know him, it was actually quite easy.

Joel nods his chin forward silently, ignoring your teasing for the time being, a long ride ahead of you and not nearly enough patience on his end to deal with your antics.

And you try to ignore how intensely his touch lingered on your skin, rubbing the tender spot on your wrist during the long ride back to Jackson. 

Joel keeps his distance behind you, but he sees it—the subtle look over your shoulder every now and then, your eyes lingering with him when he forces eye contact.

It’s only the start of what was to come, something neither of you were prepared for.

*

The rotation is adequately simple over the first few months, keeping the pairings fair by filtering them out evenly—Ellie is fun to be around, a lot more relaxed and less jaded by everything. She keeps things light, always bringing along her comics for extra entertainment or spending her time drawing you or whatever she could find, something to keep her busy when things get boring. And she talks, freely, to you—something Joel never did. Besides, Ellie kept up to date on the town drama, so in turn, so did you. 

And Tommy is, well, Tommy. He’s efficient, likes to do his rounds, sign the patrol sheet, scope the area, then spend the rest of the night or day relaxing away when things aren't going awry. He talks about before—his job, how people lived in Austin, the summer cookouts in the neighborhoods that you were never privy to. Tommy’s nice, you’ve always liked him. It was Joel who proved to be the difficult one, something Tommy would wholeheartedly agree with.

Eventually you find yourself paired up with Joel more often than you’re used to, now Ellie would stick to patrols with Dina when she could, occasionally Jesse. She always complains when she has to ride with Joel, something about:

“We live together, but we’re not attached at the fuckin’ hip.”

Joel doesn’t complain, his hesitancy toward letting Ellie take more responsibility waning by the day when he realizes how well she holds her own.

You take the patrol further west, a lodge that he and Tommy cleared out some months prior when you were still new—you’ve only ran into infected there once, end of the summer, but Joel cleared them out no problem. 

It seemed like an easy patrol. It was. Joel even seems a little more cheerful than usual, making comments to some of the information you were relaying to him that Ellie told you, some pointless gossip to fill the lull.

“It’s why I mind my business,” Joel speaks over the soft trollop as you ride alongside him, “nothin’ good comes from stickin’ your nose where you shouldn’t,” his head turns, eyes glancing over your frame briefly, shrugging his shoulders in an effort to loosen them, “it only breeds more problems.”

“I’m just the messenger,” You shrug, “I keep to myself—you know that.”

He does. He finds the shyness endearing in a way, a contrast from how exuberant Ellie could be when he spent patrols with her. It’s why things worked so well with you—you respected his space, he respected yours. 

“Remind me to check that guitar place for those strings Ellie’s been buggin’ about,” Joel tells you, “I’ll hit it before we leave.”

“She’s improved a lot,” You compliment, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “props to her teacher, I suppose.”

Joel shakes his head, emitting a bit of fondness every time he talks about Ellie, “That kid is determined. I don’t think she would’ve needed my help either way.”

“You know,” Your tone bleeds something teasing, putting Joel on edge as he tilts his head your way, looking expectantly, “she said you’re a pretty good singer.”

Joel opens his mouth for a beat before snapping it shut, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to sing,” You promise, “but—I don’t know, just didn’t pin you as the type.”

“I’ve got a type about me?” Joel seems dully interested, a soft smirk on his face as he yields the reins to a stop, leading you to follow suit as you both guide the horses to the makeshift stable tucked away on the side of the building, gathering your things before you make your way inside.

You leave Joel in a curious silence until you’re able to relax, closing the doors behind you with a heavy shove once Joel has done his quick walk-through, the fireplace setting unlit in the middle of the room looking all too appealing right now. 

“Look, I’ll just keep askin’,” Joel says, clapping his hands together deftly to grab your attention, throwing the lighter stuffed into your coat pocket at his waiting hands, cupped as he catches it with ease, setting up a fire that crackles to life instantly, “first I’m an old man, now you’re judgin’ me, doesn’t really seem fair now does it?”

It’s the most he’s talked to you before, suddenly invested in getting an answer out of you. It’s playful, his intention, and you can’t help but find it a little enjoyable to watch him squirm. You take a seat around the circular fire pit, feet propped up against the brick surrounding it, hands laying flat over you stomach, jacket unzipped but still snug on your body.

“You’re a big grump all the time,” You tell him honestly, his face morphing into something indecipherable, “—Ellie’s words, not mine.”

You hold a finger up, pointing in his direction.

“But, she’s not wrong.” It earns a subtle shrug, Joel’s arms stalling over the back of the couch that wrapped around the fire pit, a few feet away from you still. “I’m just saying, most of the people in town who enjoy that stuff—you know, music and all that. They’re loud about it, a little showboaty if you ask me.”

“What? I’m not loud enough for you?” 

He was loud when he needed to be. Directive and strong, aggressive to anyone who may cause him harm or anyone he cares about—you’ve seen it a few times, but never on the side of it being just you and him. Part of you is thankful for that, but you can’t help the wanted to feel that type of fierce protection aimed toward you.

You snort softly, “Forget it, Joel. It’s a nice surprise, I bet you have a great voice.” It’s free of any teasing or ill-intent of riling him up. A true compliment, one that cracks Joel’s surface, just barely.

Joel hits you softly in the chest with a bag of jerky a while later, chewing on a piece quietly as he rests, neck hung against the back of the couch, eyes closed. The heat creeps in slowly, forcing you to strip down a few layers—jacket first, then your sweater, down to just your jeans and shirt, wiggling your feet out of your snow boots in hopes that they’ll dry by the fire quicker. 

And truthfully, your bored out of your mind. It was hard to stay dormant like this, holed up in a place for an extended period of time with nothing to do but entertain yourself—and because Joel was about as entertaining as watching wet paint dry, you took the initiative into your own hands.

“Have you ever played pool?” Your voice slices through the thick silence, one of Joel’s eyes peeking open curiously, head still reclined back. “I’ve been dying to try this out since Tommy found those balls a few months ago.”

“It’s been years,” He mumbles lowly, tapping his fingers against the back of his right palm, “—what about you?”

“Not a chance, Joel,” You reply, voice oozing with a flippant vagrancy, “I was fifteen when the outbreak happened, I’ve never even stepped foot into a bar, let alone some place like this.”

Even now, twenty years into a world that had crumbled to the ground, the lodge still held up nice.

Normally you would expect Joel to make up some excuse, roll over on his side or lay down and pretend he was asleep or keep watch by the door, his demeanor never faltering for more than a second, clipped answers to your question. But, that was Joel wasn’t here now.

He’s warmed up to you, partially—but you could tell there was still a long way to go. He still keeps his distance, less of a chance to bump into your or accidentally brush shoulders. It makes you feel forlorn, like maybe you had scared him by how you reacted, eyes wide and terrified underneath him. 

Truthfully, Joel doesn’t want to scare you again. He couldn’t handle it. Not with how reluctantly fond he’s grown of you, something he kept close to his chest and didn’t dare tell a soul. He’s got his own justifications for it. 

“We can play a game,” Joel suggests, “it’ll kill some time, I guess.”

Joel didn’t need to know how easy it would be for you to play him under the table, having spent most of your time around the guys at the bar who like to hustle bets for pool. They never stood a chance. And Joel never frequented The Tipsy Bison outside of parties thrown for the community as a group (and that was still rare), always dragged along by Ellie or Tommy. They were insufferable to attend. 

You could share the sentiment. 

“Any bets?” You tease, stripping the pool cues off the wall and handing it to him as he approaches, strip down to a similar state as well, tanned skinned under a navy blue shirt, wearing the jeans he seemed to never take off and boots that were barely holding on. 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Joel decides, “I’ve got nothin’ in mind anyways.”

“God, you’re no fun,” You pout, pulling an eye roll from Joel, his eyes flicking toward the ground briefly as he reconsidered, “come on—anything.”

“Jesus—uh, I don’t know,” He chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, “huh, how about the loser just owes the other a favor?”

You blow a raspberry with your tongue, “Lame,” You tease further, but his quick switch to defeat has his arm slumping at his side forcing you to reassess, “—fine, fine. A favor is fair, I’m running low on those anyways.”

It’s a small hint at your competitive nature, something Joel is clueless to pick up on, guiding you through the basics of the game with ease—you listen intently despite how badly you were going to destroy him, the stakes surprisingly high.

A favor. For anything. 

The small crack of a smile on Joel’s face is enough of a reward as he watches you attempt to break the set, barely tapping the center as it rolls back slowly, your face scrunching up in annoyance. 

“Oh, fuck you,” You scoff playfully, “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Joel shakes his head in a blatant attempt at lying, heaving his cue up to show you his stance, “Keep your dominant hand on the end and your other near the type, you’ve just gotta guide it through with some force.”

You feign innocence, switching the cue to your dominant side, though still looking visibly uncomfortable and rigid. 

Joel thinks it over in his hand, rehashing his decision making a million times over until he’s resting the pool cue aside and joining your side, hesitant as he brings his hands to your elbows from behind, keeping a careful distance.

“Keep your arm a little further back,” He pulls at your dominant arm, thick fingers wrapping around your bicep, his body leaned forward slightly to adjust the other when he can’t reach, spreading your fingers to wrap around the other end, tucking your thumb under the cue gently at wrapping your index over the top, “it’s almost like you’re holding a pencil, if that helps. Sort of.”

You nod slightly, his touch lingering lightly as he leaned over you, pointing toward the center of the table, “Just use that hand as a guide, don’t grip it too tight and let the cue follow through. Here, try it.”

He crowds you in slowly, aiding you in the force of your cue as he guides it back and through with a sharpness, hitting the ball dead center and the rest of them scattering as a result.

“Just like that.” He praises, a softness to him that wasn’t there before when speaks over your shoulder. You roll your shoulders insignificantly, nodding at his response.

He notes how unbothered you are this way, in this situation compared to the latter, his touch guiding and soft compared to rough, suffocating, the force he only used in situations where his opponent wasn’t going to make it out alive.

Joel parts without so much as a word, shifting into his typical stance, favoring his right leg as it bends slightly, using the cue for support as he leaned into it. “Got it?”

You nod silently, feeling warm all over, too warm. It’s your own fault, really—not a soul to blame but yourself. To be fair, you didn’t think Joel would bother to take the bait. But he did, almost too eagerly. It was enough to mentally knock you on your ass, leaving you to play the rest of the game with a cloudy mind filled with how warm his touch felt against your bare skin, craving a touch you haven’t felt in months. It’s pathetic, but you can’t help it. 

Joel sinks the last ball with finality, slapping his hand against the felt table in triumph, a surprising show of emotion for someone so sullen as him. He was full of surprises you were quickly finding out.

“M’sorry, darlin’.” He tells you, sounding authentically apologetic, “I don’t expect you to owe me any favors.”

“Screw that,” You shake your head stubbornly, annoyed at how easily you let him get the better of you, “one more.”

“I’m not sure if that’s—“

“One. More.” You tell him adamantly, reracking the balls without an answer, nodding pointedly toward the table, “Pick a pocket.”

Joel’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion, “You want to play one-pocket? How the hell do you even know about—I thought you said you’ve never played.”

“Joel, pick a damn pocket.” 

You don’t choke this time, letting him take the first hit, watch the ball sink, and the next one he misses. 

You don’t miss, one turn after the other passing him up as you sink them in succession.

He stares at you with wide eyes, nose flared like he’s going to laugh, mouth spread into a subtle smile, his teeth peeking through.

“You’re a fuckin’ pool shark, aren’t you?” Joel questions, tossing the pool cue aside. “That was goddamn impressive, I’ll give you that.”

“How do you think I score the steak sandwiches for our routes over the tuna and cheese?” You ask redundantly, “I’ve played Tommy under the table enough times that he won’t even play for fun anymore.”

“Well,” Joel shrugs, “guess we both owe each other favors, don’t we?”

You could care less about the favors now, battling with the conflicting feelings as you stared at the man ahead of you, seeming like a completely different person to you now. He's acting nothing like the sulky man you walk by every day in Jackson.

“Shit—one more,” Joel insists, “no holdin’ back on each other. No bets, just braggin’ rights.”

Joel never hears the end of it that night, falling asleep to the faint giggle of victory.

Another few weeks later and things are even more different. 

You spot Joel from a mile away, tucked against the corner of the bar with wistful eyes downturned toward his drink, the ice in the glass swashing alongside the dark whiskey. The squeal of a couple kids and their scattering feet as they ram into you and pull your attention away, guiding them away to safety and out of the crowd with a gentle hand, a pair of apologetic parents waiting off to the side.

He must’ve seen the interaction halfway through, smirking with amusement as you approach, though still eerily silent. 

Your friendship since the pool game has blossomed slowly, he jokes with you more often, shares his food when he hears your stomach growl, no matter how much you refuse. He even talks about his hobbies, things he enjoys, and it feels like he’s less of an enigma now. Real, tangible, someone you can make a connection with.

He still keeps his distance, mostly—the pool game was a fluke, a split second decision he hadn’t thought through and fully regretted after the fact. He’s gone from tackling you to the ground in fear to feeling you up for a good shot and that just doesn’t sit right with him, but he never apologizes. He can’t find it in him to embarrass himself further, figuring that by getting his ass kicked at pool was already punishment enough.

But, it doesn’t help that he always finds himself in situations that end up with him closer than he intended—he can’t tell if you’re being intentional about it anymore, but tonight, it’s all you.

“Damn, who dragged you out of the house?” You ask, a huff of a laugh muffled by the glass that tips to his lips, your fingers drumming silently against the bar as you asked for a beer, smiling at a familiar face. “Wait, let me guess—Ellie?”

Joel shakes his head honestly.

“Shit—Tommy?”

“No.”

“Maria forced Tommy to force you to show up?” Joel actually has a laugh at that, the idea not that far-fetched, but it’s another wrong answer.

“Joel Miller—“ Your finger wags in his face, landing on the center of his chest as you sip from your own drink with your opposite hand, “did you actually wander out of your house on your own free will?”

Guilty as charged. Joel would never make decisions like this, but he knew you would be there—and goddamnit, he couldn’t help it. He’s dressed incredibly suave too, a clean, slick dress shirt that works well on him, a nice change from his usual thick coats and plaid button ups. 

“Hey, brother,” Tommy claps a hand down on Joel’s shoulder warmly, flashing you his trademark grin, teeth and all, “ma’am.”

You grimace at the word, “God, Tommy—you gotta stop calling me that.”

“Sorry, habit.” He chuckles before glancing over at Joel briefly, eyes connecting with yours in question, “So, what are we thinkin’—hell finally freeze over?”

“Seems that way.” 

You play along, teasing Joel with no reluctance, enjoying the pinched look on his face as he downs the whiskey.

“Well, sorry Joel, but I came to steal her away for a dance,” He informs Joel, jabbing his thumb in your direction, “it is tradition, after all.”

Joel didn’t know that, of course. How could he?

Tommy always takes a minute or two to dance with you, one of his favorite songs being played by the band of townspeople—Maria doesn’t enjoy dancing as much either, spending most of her time mingling and helping out where it was needed, it’s an easy compromise. 

It’s an upbeat song, something country that you can’t be bothered to memorize the words of, but it’s all big twists and twirls, dancing with little precision and more for pure enjoyment than anything else.

Joel tries not to stare, he does. But, it’s nearly impossible. It starts at your face, lingering as he savored that huge smile plastered across it, arm flying above your head as Tommy spun you, squealing in joy. Eventually it travels elsewhere, lower and lower, until Joel can’t help but keep his gaze stuck on the curve of your jeans, the way the denim cups your ass perfectly. 

And it feels wrong, almost demeaning, but you don’t seem to have a care in the world, turning on your heels and to Joel suddenly, who’s already straightened up by then and shoving his glass away, poised to make his excuse to leave until you’re bounding toward him, hand outstretched as Tommy watches from the side, hands settled on his hips. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

“Come on, Joel.” You try to persuade, using a grabby motion with your hands as you approach him closer, bordering on shoving yourself between the bar top and his legs, “Just one dance.”

“Darlin’ I don’t—“ His refusal is imminent, obvious in your eyes. But, you’ve got a trick up your sleeve that he’d never hear the end of if he denied you. 

“My favor,” You play your cards, “I’m cashing’ in.”

You cock your head to the side, awaiting his answer with a pointed look, satisfied smile creeping onto your face as he sighs, letting you take his hand in reluctance as you pull him to your feet.

Joel’s at least thankful the tempo of the song is slower, but that leads to a minacious closeness he wasn’t prepared for, your delicate set of fingers resting over his shoulder, the other slack in his hand. He settles one against your waist, touching cautiously light and his other hand enveloping your own.

“This is a waste of a favor, you know.” Joel comments off-handedly, his eyes dragging toward the floor as he swayed to the gentleness of the music, dancing with an ease that still stuck with him, even after all these years.

“I don’t think so,” You shrug, “I get a dance, you’re no longer in debt to me, seems like a win win.”

Joel shakes his head with a fondness, eyes flicking up toward you briefly as he bows his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he seems to relax, realizing that the only eyes on him were you now, Tommy having gone off to search for Maria.

“All these other guys and you want to dance with the old man,” Joel starts, “how’d you come to that decision?”

“You’re never letting that go,” You roll your eyes half-heartedly, pulling him in closer on a whim, trading your current position for one where your arms rest of his shoulders, fingers interlocking behind his neck loosely, his own hands adjusting against your hip more casually, fingers dancing over the sliver of bare skin from where your shirt had started to rise, “can I tell you a secret, Joel?”

“It’s not a secret if you tell me,” He counters slyly, “besides, I’m terrible at keeping ‘em.”

And blame it on the lingering remnants of his second whiskey, but you can feel his fingers drag against your skin, finding home under the fabric of your shirt, his expression never changing—but it feels like a test, like he’s waiting for you to have a reaction. There’s not a word traded during the subtle interaction, ignoring his actions as you spoke.

“I’d choose you over any of those guys,” You say, a rawness that bleeds truth, Joel doesn’t have to second guess you, he sees it, “and Seth is way older than you and a prick, give yourself some fuckin’ credit, Joel.”

Joel settles quietly, shaking his head at your soft outburst. It shouldn’t surprise him, your shared devotion having grown over the past few weeks, small moments that made Joel second guess everything he’s taught himself to be.

Distant, hard, cold. But with you, it just wasn’t possible anymore. At least, not lately. 

“And,” You sing, wiggling excitedly under his grip, “I may have saved your ass for patrol tomorrow.”

Joel looks at you expectantly, pulling you in closer when a quick pass of two rowdy kids has you stumbling forward. 

You laugh at the sudden change in motion, hands slapping against his chest to keep you steady. He doesn’t try and move you away, which is surprising. But, you don’t try to move either, enjoying the slow guide of your chest against his as you sway to the music.

“Tommy’s takin’ coverage with Eugene,” You tell him, “I know how much you hate patrolling with him.”

Joel huffs out a laugh, “I don’t hate him, he’s just—“

“Talkative? A little too cheery for you?” You ask, leaning your head back an inch to examine his face fully, “Damn, I guess I’m not much of an improvement, either.”

“Now, I didn’t say that.” Joel responds defensively, though his face is still relaxed.

“Then?” You tease.

“Let me ask you,” Joel switches things around, “You’d rather patrol with Tommy over me?”

You shrug before thinking about it for a moment, actually thinking—and no, you wouldn’t. “No, guess not.”

“Why?” He questions, putting you on the spot.

“You’re prettier to look at,” You say with a nonchalance, “and Tommy really likes to reminisce, like…a lot.”

Joel snorts a quiet laugh at that.

“So, you see my issue with Eugene then.” Joel brings the conversation to a head, watching as a smirk appears on your face, realizing his mistake in real time.

“Hold on— that’s why you enjoy our patrols so much?” You turn your head into your shoulder to hide your laugh, quickly gathering yourself to tease him further, “Because, I’m prettier to look at and I keep my mouth shut?”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, ignoring your question. “You do realize where we’re going tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Of course, we’re stationed out at the dam.” You respond casually, “It’s not that bad, Joel.”

It’s the one place you and Joel haven’t had the opportunity to patrol together, always paired up with someone else—it’s a cramped spot, loud, and uncomfortably cold at this time of year no matter how many fires you set. Plus, it’s a lot of leg work to check the dam, making sure it’s still in good working condition. It’s what powered Jackson, without it, you wouldn’t be dancing with Joel right now, let alone even allowed the luxury of having a weekend to unwind and enjoy the party. 

Joel looks hesitant.

“What?” You pry, “Don’t like the idea of being stuck in a tiny room with me for that long, one bed, nowhere to sulk off into a corner?”

If anyone else had approached him like this, it would’ve ended in a broken jaw—his own internalized anger getting the best of him. But, it’s you. And he knows you’re right. 

You squeeze in closer, leaving barely any room between you now that the center of the hall was filled with other dancing bodies, shifting Joel’s hands down over your ass, the tips of his fingers adjusting over the curve and leaving little to imagination as he can feel every ridge and curve of your body, his solid chest against your own. 

Your heart clenches at the idea that he might pull away, something akin to a bad sting and finally give up on his attempt at being sociable—he doesn’t move an inch.

Doesn’t say a word.

In fact, his gaze is even more intense now than it was before, edged with a look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

“I’ll sulk wherever I feel like it.” Joel retorts, falling into his usual scowl. “It’s probably about time we turn in for the night, don’t you think?”

You blink slowly, gaze never faltering. There’s a darkness behind his eyes, something still undiscovered. You nod blanky, but secretly acquiesce what he’s about to say.

“Long day tomorrow,” You agree, the shift in the air evident to the both of you, an innocent attempt at pulling some enjoyment out of Joel devolving into something dangerous and uncharted, “I’ll see you bright and early, yeah?”

“I’ll walk you back,” Joel insists, “maybe my sulkin’ will scare those boys who’ve been eyeing you all night.”

“I can handle myself, Joel.” He knows it—doesn’t make his offer any less tempting, though. He was a protector, you liked being protected. It was a devious offer that would find you in trouble soon, but you relent, accepting his help. He doesn’t make the first move, leaving you to take that step.

Joel doesn’t realize how badly he’s craved to touch you until he was, the second he laid his hands on you it was over for him—and he hates himself for letting you in, letting you wear him down. Joel’s close behind as you turn, navigating your way through the crowd quietly.

“Never said you couldn’t, sweetheart.” 

Your breath catches in your throat.

There’s a hammering in your chest that doesn’t calm the entire way back toward your house, a small street near the edge of the town, a few houses away from the one he shared with Ellie.

You clear your throat awkwardly, a thickness there that crept up on you, watching as Joel shoved his hands into his front pockets, leaning on his better leg, always favoring the left.

“I can ask Tommy to switch things back if you’re really bothered,” You remind him gently, wondering if that was why he seemed so bothered now, his face brooding and flat, “I won’t get my feelings hurt, I promise.”

But inside Joel’s head, his mind is filtering through a thousand bad decisions to make, every one of them involving you. 

“No,” He tells you surely, “You’re doing me a favor—shit, so I guess that means you don’t owe me anymore, actually.”

You shrug slightly, “Keep it, this one’s free.”

Joel has an inclination that you wouldn’t do that for just anyone, watching your face morph into a tired smile.

“Careful,” He teases, “you’re goin’ soft on me.”

You snort softly, ignoring the still burning tingle that lingered on your skin long after Joel’s touch disappeared. It was the same ache you felt the first time he touched you, tackled you to the ground and kept you pinned under his grip. He hasn’t gotten much better, still jerking awake in most situations, but you’ve learned to keep your distance. 

“Sorry,” You slip your hands into your back pockets, your thick jumper pulling tight over your chest, “didn’t realize that was a bad thing.”

Joel shakes his head slightly, still lingering on your doorstep despite himself. Old Joel would hightail it home, old Joel wouldn’t have even offered to walk you back to begin with—but, here he was. 

“I should turn in.” You tell him, his subtle nod in response.

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.” Joel agrees, “long day ahead of us.”

The clipped responses are feeding a tension you don’t realize until you’re both still standing there, unmoving, swaying with the gentle breeze and somehow feeling warm all over while still surrounded by the bitter cold.

And there’s a quick flash that invades your mind, even while stone cold sober, that has you twitching under his gaze. He sees it, clocks it with his eyes. 

There���s no indication that he’s attempting to get a reaction out of you, just lingering in wait, waiting for you.

You never make a move to open your door or walk inside and that’s what he’s waiting for, to see you home safe. It’s the whole reason he walked you back, wasn’t it?

Joel says your name quietly, a beckon to bring your attention back to the surface, drowning in your own thoughts but your gaze never faltering, stuck on him. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” He asks.

It’s a question that has too many answers. And it’s a test too, wondering if you’ll slip up and speak on what you’re trying so hard to hold back.

Too much—is what you should say.

You—is what you want to say.

But instead, you act. That itching feeling overflowing and forcing you to make haste decisions, tired of hearing his voice in the back of your mind, how easily it drove you crazy. The endearing twang that echoed in your head all day long, even when he was miles away. 

And you find that Joel is almost expecting it, his hand cupping your face gently, warming the skin as you press in to kiss him cautiously, top lip slotting over his bottom and relaxing, your opposite hand mirroring his own. 

It feels too tender, like suddenly Joel is just as breakable as you—it’s terrifying. You pull away suddenly, coming to your senses, wide eyes staring him down. He looks calm.

You hate it.

It feels embarrassing.

He expected it, or at least anticipated it. You can see it on his face.

“Goodnight.” He tells you tenderly, sounding upset with himself but avoiding the choice to make things weird and you’re forever grateful.

You release a soft breath, nodding absently.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

You turn on your heels and enter your house, finally. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change Tommy’s mind.

It was.

Joel was already waiting by the gates by the time you arrived, food and supplies secured in your bag for the road, two rifles slung securely over his shoulders as he held the reins to the horses, both of them neighing impatiently. 

“All good?” Joel asks, avoiding the obvious air of unspoken instances surrounding you two. 

You nod confidently, taking the reins away silently.

“All set,” You assure him, guiding your foot through the saddle and mounting the horse, settling yourself as he followed suit, “you?”

Joel echoes your response.

You sigh internally, a deep annoyance settling into your bones. Annoyed with yourself, annoyed with Joel. Just annoyed, wholly and plainly. 

Joel didn’t need to admit that he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night prior—he already had enough trouble sleeping on a normal night, but you in his head? That didn’t help.

And it flooded into the morning, still, Joel watching your body sway and rock slowly from the motion of the horse, head tucked away slightly to counter the breeze that prickled your cheeks. 

When you finally make it to the dam he breaks the silence, slipping the reins from your hand and nodding toward the front entrance, “I’ll tie ‘em up if you want to settle and sign us in, you can get a fire going?”

He’s asking, not telling. You nod, hopping down carefully and unhooking your bag from the saddle.

“I’ll scream if I need help.” It’s a joke in poor taste.

Joel doesn’t take it too lightly, scowling in response.

“Sorry,” You apologize lamely, “bad joke.”

“Be careful,” Joel stresses, face softening, “keep your gun out until you’ve done a once over of the place.”

*

It feels like fate is fucking with you, most days. Dangling your life in front of its prey and savoring the outcome, because even with your gun poised carefully at your hip, knife tucked into the strap at your thigh, it doesn’t prepare you for what’s waiting on the other side of that door.

There’s a split second where you think you can talk things down, buy you some time so Joel could get here and settle their nerves, but they’re already on high alert, as are you, and there’s no time to think.

Plus, they don’t seem to be keen on listening.

“Grab her,” The burly man says, blunt weapon held tight in his grip as he goes for your arm, the other man forcing you to the ground with a harsh gasp escaping your chest as your back hits the concrete floor, “just gut her—fuckin’ do it.”

Your brain shuts off, realizing that your strength isn’t nearly matched with theirs, your shrill scream cutting through the commotion.

“Joel!” You tell, hoping he’ll hear, dodging the hand that comes your way to muffle your yells, barking out an even more broken, “Jooooel!”

Your gun is long gone, tossed away in a corner with your hand pinned under someone’s knees, eyes squeezed shut as you struggle for the knife around your thigh blindly. They didn’t have the wits or common sense to strip you properly before they were attacking you, the younger one hesitating at the other’s words.

“I thought you said we were just tyin’ her up.” He responds, sounding panicked. 

You grab the knife successfully and pierce it through the young one’s gut with a sickening squish, a garbled groan ripping from his throat—and a rush of a shadow overhead as Joel wrested the other down, coming in from the door on the opposite side of the room, fists connecting with the attackers face with a sickening crunch.

The rage overtakes quickly, adrenaline flooding your body as you shove the man away, pulling the knife out to sink back in once, twice, until the blood fills his mouth and spills over, lifeless eyes staring back.

Your chest heaves with a breath, adjusted your clothes from where they had been pushed aside in the tackle, tossing your knife aside and putting enough distance between your body and the one who’s your killed, watching as Joel sunk the tip of his own knife through the throat of the larger man, draining the life from him in an instant. 

Joel has a ferocity in his eyes when they land on you, tossing his knife to the side momentarily as he rises, towering over the body beneath him. He can't be angry with you—he can't.

“Grab your gun,” He tells you, ignoring how easily the rage would have overtaken his body in most situations, buring it away for the moment when he sees how badly you’re shaken up (it wasn't fear, not even close—more like rage), moving around rigidly to grab your gun off the floor, “knife too—then sit down.”

“But the—the bodies, Joel,” Joel can hear the uncertainty in your voice, shaking his head insistently, “we’ve gotta go back—tell Tommy, let them know.”

Joel shakes out his muscles, adjusting his thick leather jacket around his frame and steps over the dead body, moving to stand in front of you, touching you for the first time since last night. It’s not soft or gentle, more leading in an effort to get your attention and pull you out of your gaze, his fingers cupping your jaw, chin falling in the curve where his thumb and pointer finger connect. 

You wonder how many times he's done this before—how he'd come to learn to calm people down through his intense eye contact and grounding voice. He could mask his emotions for the sake of others, even when they were threatening to boil over.

“I’ve got it, I’ll take care of this—” His eyes never left yours, eyebrows raising in question as he awaited your acknowledgment, a small nod coming from you, “go wash the blood off and come straight back, okay?”

You nod again, deftly, eyes empty and void of emotion.

“Hey,” Joel calls out, pulling your attention back, “I need you with me—you with me?”

“Yeah—yes,” You mumble weakly, ignoring how tenderly his thumb rubbed the junction of your jaw at the admittance, something you’re sure he wasn’t even aware he was doing, “I’m with you.” 

“Go.” He instructs, releasing his hold on you.

His face morphs into resentment as you leave.

He should've stuck by your side. But, then he thinks back to the joke you made in passing and it fuels the anger more.

*

Joel’s taken care of the bodies by the time you returned, shrugging off his own jacket as he yanked the door closed, barricading it closed with the vacant table stuff in the corner of the room, letting his own paranoia get the better of him. It wasn’t a crime to be too safe, not anymore.

“If they’ve got a group they’ll come here looking for ‘em,” Joel tells you, “but somethin’ tells me we won’t have to worry about that.”

“So, no fire then?” 

Joel shakes his head, nodding toward the few camping lateens left haphazardly on a desk, “We’ll use those tonight, better to be safe.”

He would have to explain this to Tommy when he saw him, put the town back on high alert for a while and go to sleep every night worrying that someone was going to snatch his family away again—snatch Ellie away, snatch you away. It was another problem, another stressor, but none of that was new to him. 

“I’m gonna do a walkthrough,” He tells you, cocking his gun loudly, a little unnecessarily in your opinion, but his anger is still there, radiating off of him, “keep your gun out and shoot at anything you see that isn’t me.”

He doesn’t want you letting your guard down, which is why his apprehension to relax is valid. You nod quietly, sinking in on yourself as you take a seat on the old, torn up couch.

He’s gone for an hour or two, the sun nearly nonexistent outside now, lamps scattered around the room and bathing you in a low light, gun still clutched in your hand on your lap, safety off.

Joel knocks on the door shortly after, startling you to near death. You hated being jumpy like this, nothing to calm your nerves. You’d always prided yourself for being able to handle yourself in situations like that and you couldn’t explain why you froze—but deep down, you knew.

It was Joel. Worry for him when he wasn’t there, what threat might be awaiting him if they could get the jump so easily on you. You stumble to your feet and pull the door open, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the mattress in Joel’s grip.

“Tommy must’ve moved it last time—he doesn’t like sleepin’ when he’s on watch down here.”

You open the door wider, letting him inside and taking the opposite end to help with the weight, settling the mattress up against the edge of the couch and shifting the folded blankets down onto the surface, crouching down onto your knees with a soft sigh as you spread out the blankets.

You don’t realize Joel is watching you until you chance a glance up his way, wondering if this was the moment he’d let you have and berate you until he was blue in the face. 

You’ve witnessed it once, with Jesse. He’d nearly risked Ellie’s life on a patrol that should’ve been easy—he still seems a little jumpy in Joel’s presence, rightfully so.

“Look at me,” Joel beckons, adding your name in a demand to grab your attention, “you with me?”

And it breaks you, what little patience you have left in your body.

“Yes, Joel. I am right fucking here.” You snip back at him, throwing the blankets down and standing to full height. You’re tired of his act, hidden behind his pathetic excuse of a kind guise, wanting him to say what he really felt. When he looked at you earlier, hovering over that man’s body, all you could see was contempt. He was upset with you—upset that you allowed yourself to be in danger, ignoring his lectures time and time again, that you weren’t mindful of your surroundings, upset with himself that he wasn’t there from the beginning. 

Joel looks offended, like maybe you wounded his ego or something similar, his hand held up defensively.

“You’re the one over there shakin’ like a leaf,” Joel accuses, “I told you to keep your damn gun out, told you to be careful—don’t you try and take that anger out on me.”

“Jesus, Joel,” You cry out in desperation, “careful? Two against one and you’re telling me I wasn’t careful? Fuck you.”

You toss your gun and knife sheath aside for good measure, stripping out of your coat and extra winter layers, his hardened gaze stuck on you. 

“I’ll take first watch.” You tell him flatly, reaching for the lantern on the table beside the door that led to the rest of the plant, a maze of halls and room. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Joel knows that if he lets you leave, there is no repairing what little relationship you had—it would return to a tolerance rather than anything else. His hand wraps around your closed fist, forcing the latent back down as he moves to stand in front of you, head tilted your way.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, though it feels unsympathetic coming from him, and he’s blaming it on his tone, “okay?”

“It doesn’t matter, Joel.” You tell him adamantly. “You said it, it’s done. I’ll let Tommy know you don’t think I can handle myself anymore and you can keep running patrols without me. That’s what you want, right?”

Joel scoffs.

Say no, please say no. 

“What are you getting at?” Joel challenges.

“The first time I make a mistake—one that almost kills me and all you can think to do is shift the blame on me? That somehow I’m responsible for not handling it myself?”

He shifts slightly, jaw clenching as he moves his outstretched hand to rest against the doorframe, blocking you from the exit. 

“You never let me go alone,” You remind him, “why all the sudden today?”

Joel doesn’t answer. He knows why. He trusted you, trusted that you could handle it. Joel knows you’re not the one to blame, but he can’t battle with his internal guilt of putting you in that position, letting it come out in bursts of wrath.

You lean in slightly, his eyes mindful of your body language, shoving a finger into his chest roughly.

“Why isn’t it your fault, huh?” You ask, baiting a reaction out of him before you can’t stand the look on his face, mouth shut tight as he his eyes trace your movements, the soft brown irises now an encroaching darkness.

You scoff, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” It’s a snide comment that has you feeling a surge of confidence that you’ve finally rendered him speechless.  “Don’t act like you haven’t been bothered being around me all day—if the kiss bothered you that much you should’ve just told Tommy to switch out. Now, move.”

Joel doesn’t budge.

Now your patience is wearing then, reaching to shove his forearm out of the way, but he’s as solid as steel and doesn’t take too lightly to your touch, gripping your wrist and pulling it back in a harsh grip, one that has your face grimacing in pain.

“Say that again.” Joel demands, his voice shaking you to your core, the sickeningly dark turn it’s taken. 

You double down, “Move, Joel.” You say through clenched teeth, yanking your arm back to no avail.

You hadn’t realized how wound up you both were until now, the shared frustration and pique boiling over the edge.

You yank away again, forcing a quick change of position as Joel retaliates, shoving you against the table by the door, your legs buckling from the force of it as he towers over you.

“I apologized,” He glared at you through hooded eyes, chin tilting down slightly, “it’s your turn.”

You scoff softly, never making a move to push him away, his legs crowding between yours as they spread involuntarily, the only thing keeping you upright being the grip he had on your arm, leaving you hanging by a thread. If he let go, you’d surely collapse.

“Why don’t you tell me why you really switched patrols?” Joel suggests, tilting his head in interest. “Don’t lie to me—I’ll know.”

There was a side of you that couldn’t stand being around him, his proximity driving you crazy. But, there’s a bigger part that yearned to be around him, by his side—it was never like this at first, but you found yourself unable to escape him lately. 

You want to blame him for letting you in, letting his guard down—but you can’t. It wasn’t just his fault. It wasn’t just yours. 

You craved each other. Plain and simple.

“You tell me,” You counter, “I’m not the one keeping you from leaving.”

It snaps Joel—that feeling he’s been burying away all day. He’s nearly insatiable over it. 

He trades his grip on your wrist for your face, too quick to counter before he’s gripping your chin again like earlier, but under completely different pretenses, your mouth lolling open at the force and pulling a soft grunt from your lips, eyes narrow in defiance. 

“You are so goddamn stubborn,” He complains, eyes scanning over your face slowly, “—and you know exactly what you’re doing.”

You laugh bitterly, a choked gasp. 

He's never touched you like this, but intensity is all too familiar.

His grip was tight, your mind flashing back to the first time he held you, though involuntarily. There was intention now, meaning—and you needed him to give in to it. 

You blink once, slow, eyes staying shut for a moment longer than needed. There’s a soft sigh that leaves your nose, ghosts over Joel’s outstretched palm. When you open your eyes, there’s little left of the Joel you’ve become accustomed to.

“We’ve got all night, Joel.” His nostrils flare in warning, “Go on—do it.”

He won’t. Joel wouldn’t let himself. You’re waiting for the moment he lets you go, shuffles away and tucks himself into a corner for the rest of the night. But, it never comes.

Instead he’s surging forward, tilting your chin up roughly and forcing his lips against your own, nothing like the delicate kiss shared the night prior. There’s no gradual increase, no soft sighs and hesitant touches. He doesn’t want that and neither do you. 

You open your mouth in an airy gasp of breath and Joel jumps on the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, into your mouth, pressing against your own until you finally, finally return his touch. He feels the heat, the weight of your hand where it rests against the seam of his jeans, fingers resting over his belt and your knuckles pressing into the firmness of his stomach, his breathing steady despite his eagerness to ravish you. He greedily pulls your bottom lip between his own, sucking lewdly until his teeth drag against the skin, pulling back with untamed eyes.

You narrow your eyes with intrigue, mouth quipping up into a smirk at his final break of self control, allowing himself what he wanted. There was no turning back now. 

He grips your hands, yanking you upright and forcing you to turn until your hip bones are hitting the blunt edge of the table, his movements haste but pointed, his palms rubbing over the soft curve of your hips, pressing underneath the material of your shirt and squeezing the skin. 

“Joel—“ You sing softly, your tone mocking.

“Keep quiet,” He warns, pulling you back suddenly and against his front, the heaviness of his cock pressing into your backside, strained through his jeans and craving a selfish need for release—it’s been too long for him and he’s bursting at the seams, “don’t wanna hear your smartass remarks.”

And you can hear the restraint in his voice, drowning in his thoughts—he wanted to ravish and pull you apart, not thinking about how he would put you back together and make you whole again. You shift back against him, a greedy rut of your ass against the stiff denim and he’s grunting under the weight of it.

“Get ‘em down,” He instructs, yanking at your jeans briefly before his touch is gone, hands working swiftly at his own.

The rustle of his belt is deafening, metal clanging against something solid, the quick shuffle of his zipper and the shifting off fabric. You rise without hesitation, unbuttoning your jeans and wiggling them far enough down your hips until they hit your knees, underwear following roughly as Joel shoved them down impatiently, bunching your shirt higher up your back as he rubs his fingers over your cunt sleazily. 

He’s waiting a beat, eyes examining you from behind and looking for any sign that you didn’t want this—it never comes. In fact, the subtle push back into his fingers is enough, two thick digits sinking inside slowly.

You gasp ruggedly, feeling the immediate difference in fullness to your own, the touch of someone else that you haven’t felt in so long. Joel is desperate, but so are you. 

You turn your face to the side, cheek pressed against the hard surface, fingers gripping either side of the table and you let yourself melt into his touch, his fingers working you over steadily, his other hand squeezing at the soft globes of your ass, following the insistent and impatient wiggle of your hips as you seek more friction, more fullness until Joel can’t stand it anymore, palm coming down in a rough slap to your backside to still you, a warning.

“You treat all the ladies like this?” 

He should’ve known you wouldn’t give yourself over this easy, his stifled chuckle coming from behind, low and dark, until he’s quickly switching back to menacing, his fingers increasing with speed and intensity, dragging a third finger along your center and pressing it in smoothly, forcing a lewd moan from your lips as you grip the edges of the table harder, willing to strain your neck for a look his way, a glimpse at his face to see how this was affecting him. You could only imagine, his groans stifled behind heavy puffs of air forced through his nose when you forced yourself back against his cock, inadvertently rubbing yourself against the length of his shaft.

“Fine, keep acting like you hate me.”

The loss of fingers is sudden, fingers fisting into your hair with a sudden fierceness as he pulls you upright, your hands grasping for purchase. He tilts your head back, allowing you the smallest glimpse of his face as he looks forward, talking to you but never allowing you the eye contact you desperately craved. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, sweetheart.”

You shake your head in disbelief, lifting your hand up to wind into his own overgrown hair, curling wildly. You pull taut, reveling in the grunt that slips past his lips.

“You don’t scare me, Joel.” 

He never could. You’ve seen all sides of him, the good and the bad—there was nowhere left for him to hide.

But, he should, he thinks. You should be terrified. 

“I don’t remember sayin’ I wanted to hear your voice,” Joel reprimands, “can’t fuckin’ listen today, can you?”

He turns his head toward you slightly, catching the playful glint in your eyes, the type that was asking to be pushed. Begging for it.

“Depends,” You smile, releasing the rough grip on his hair to slide between your bodies, cupping his cock from where he’s tucked it over his briefs, also pushed haphazardly down his hips, “are you going to fuck me, Joel?”

His name shouldn’t sound like that, falling from your lips in such a circumstance, but it drags a rabidness out of him he’s never felt before. 

“Say it again.” Joel demands—and you already know.

“Joel,” Your voice is sultry, dangerous, adding a squeeze of your hand to his length, thumb rubbing over the head of his cock, smoothing the slick of precum over the slit, “you started this, too afraid to finish it?”

Joel smirks at that, a smug expression crossing his face as releases the grip on your hair, shoving your hand away and gripping himself at the base, removing his fingers from inside you and replacing them with a slow press of his cock, watching your expression fall lax, mouth hung open in a silent release of pleasure. 

“You underestimate me,” He shakes his head in amusement, his own brow furrowing at your snug hold on him, walls clenching around him involuntarily, “Now, why don’t we teach you a lesson?”

You nod numbly, gasping loudly at the sudden change in pace, body shifting to lean forward and Joel’s hands slotting against your body, one secured firmly on your hip, the other guiding you back with a steady pressure against your shoulder, immediately blanking your mind, whatever rude quip you had poised was failing you.

“So — goddamn — stubborn,” He echoes from earlier, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips, no restraint, divulging in the pleasure both of you have been seeking for a while, “don’t fuckin’ listen, always testin’ me.”

You release a soft cry, reaching an arm behind you to squeeze at his side, tightening with every sharp thrust, the head of his cock nudging something deep inside of you, the feeling coiling in your gut despite yourself. It’s a dull ache, mewling desperately when he forgoes his hold on your hip to keep your arm stuck, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist to hold you steady, eyes shifting to watch you sink onto him with an unrestrained eagerness.

“Nothin’ to say now?” Joel pesters you, thumb rubbing the tender spot at the base of your neck, the start of your spine between your shoulder blades—your silence lingers, at least in words, your pathetic noises keeping you busy.

He feels like he’s finally got the upper hand with you, he just never realized this was what it would take. 

“Fuck—fuck, Joel.” You say through a stuttered sigh.

Joel grimaces from behind you, that longing feeling of release creeping on him, too long without it and he feels pathetic for it, but you—the sounds, the view.

Oh, the view. It’s your neediness for it that sucks him in, how eager your cunt is to take hold, the wet squelch growing louder, your slick soaking the base of his cock.

“Why’d you kiss me, huh?” Joel questions firmly, trying to draw the truth out in the heat of the moment, your movements growing desperate as you orgasm creeped in, blunt nails digging into his skin. He hissed, pulling you in tight, trading the hand on your shoulder for a squeeze to your chest, palm the mound of your breast through your shirt—still enough contact to drive you insane. 

“Wanted to—wanted to see how you would react.” You admit, but there was also that selfish need. You kissed him because you wanted to—and you knew he did too.

Joel huffs in response, not fully believing you. 

“Try again,” Joel assesses the way your body tenses when his hand shifts down, pressing over his fingers over your clit and driving you over the edge in an instant, your body arching into his touch as you come, a broken moan falling from your lips, “why?”

“Doesn’t matter—you kissed me back,” You argue tiredly, “You wanted it just as much as I did. Clearly.”

And in a way, it’s all the confession he needs. 

Joel growls lowly, pulling out abruptly to grip himself, squeezing himself at the head to delay his orgasm until it fades, face scrunching up tightly in anguish. 

“What—what are you doing?” 

Joel is already tucking himself back into his pants by the time you turn around, his expression stiff and avoiding your gaze. 

There it was again, the avoidance. 

You don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does.

“I’ll take the first watch,” He says, shuffling backwards slightly, “get dressed.”

You stare back blanky, at a loss for words.

“Did you hear me?” He asks bluntly, brow now permanently furrowed in frustration.

“But—you didn’t—“ 

The silence lingers, your head tilting in question. Your expression softens suddenly, pulling weakly at your jeans to secure them back over your hips.

“Get some sleep, we’ll head out early tomorrow.”

You still had to send a bigger team to scout the place thoroughly, a distant memory now.

You’re so fucking confused. A few minutes prior he was lost in the moment, though still wound up and tense—but it was the biggest break in demeanor he’s ever given you, the most he’s allowed himself to touch you, be close to you. 

Joel didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t deserve it. He was trying to convince himself it was a mistake, that this was a fluke. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, hesitating for a brief moment as his hand hovers over the doorknob before he’s leaving you alone. Again. 

Joel handles himself later that night, long after you’ve gone asleep, a permanent frown on your face when he peeks his head in before he’s traveling down the hall to a separate room, cupping himself in his palm eagerly, groaning out your name as he comes.

Somehow, it makes him feel even worse.

The week that follows is tumultuous. 

Tommy swears you and Joel off of patrol for a while, tells you that as soon as he has you two alone, gathering the full story of the attack, but somehow—Joel always weasels his way out. 

He’s gone most of the daylight, leaving you to fill your days around Jackson, helping wherever it was needed. And when it wasn’t, you were stuck inside your home, watching the snow melt from the ground, only to be covered with a new blanket of it the next day.

Joel always comes home late, heavy feet scuffling down the sidewalk after dark and entering his house, Ellie having already turned in for the night. His bedroom light comes on a few minutes later and it never shuts off, his shadow crossing the window every now and then. 

He can’t sleep, but neither can you.

At first you blamed it on the bodies—but none of that was new to you. You’ve killed before, animals, infected, raiders, even a few bystanders in a situation long ago, nothing they’ve done to end up the way they did. 

You followed a bad group for too long, but eventually you found Jackson—things were different here. Joel’s told you about the horrible things he’s done to survive, assures you it wasn’t anything you could blame yourself for.

This world made people rabid. It made people afraid.

There were people, much like Joel, that used to terrify you. But this Joel, he was lost and worn down, weathered by the world and by age. He’s afraid to let himself indulge, enjoy—you saw it that night, his hesitancy to look at you afterwards. 

And that ache that lingered for a few days, it made you realize that you were missing something you couldn’t have. It was clear on Joel’s face that he’d made a mistake. With you. 

Joel looks bitter the week that follows, you having convinced Tommy to let you back out, assuring him that nothing was wrong. He’s hesitant, rightfully so, but you’re too convincing. 

You even offer to run patrol with him, or Jesse—literally anyone but Joel, who seemed obviously disgruntled by your presence that morning.

Tommy clocks it immediately, swiping a finger between you both, “You know what—I’m sending you two out together.” It’s dreadful. “Take the lodge again,” and Tommy waits for everyone to part ways, except for Joel and you, before he’s eyeing you both down, “work out whatever argument you both have going—or you’re both coming off patrols until I feel like putting you back on.”

Joel grumbles at that, adjusting the thick gloves over his hand and shaking his head with a look down. Tommy seems slightly apologetic when you lock eyes, but it’s necessary. You were too scared to admit it to yourself, but it’s exactly what you needed.

*

You can’t be bothered to stay still, wandering around the lodge aimlessly, picking up some scattered trash, sifting through the small library that had accumulated over time, worn and slightly rained over books, the pages stiff and discolored. 

Joel’s cheeks are still tinged pink from his last watch, arms crossed over his stomach as he glares at the small fire burning in the fire pit, crackling softly in the silence.

He’s being insistently stubborn, somehow managing to avoid any exchange of words in the past eight hours, not giving you his usual orders, whether delivered in a clipped tone or a kind one—it’s just nothing.

And considering how talkative he was last time you ran patrol with him, you found it to be bullshit.

You grab a random book, large and bulky and make your way toward him—he sees you coming but he ignores it, the book hitting solid against his chest as you force it there, making a snide comment to rattle him.

“To entertain yourself, since you’re so miserable,” Your eyes drag over his face, his eyes lilting up your way, the fire melting them into a warm, honey brown, “and you won’t even have to worry about finishing.”

He grabs your wrist suddenly, thinking that he might pull you toward him, but he tosses it away, throwing the book to the side too. You sigh through your nose, frustrated.

“What’s it gonna take, Joel?” 

There’s an ire of defeat in your voice, a willingness to do just about anything to put this to rest. 

“Do I need to leave Jackson, is that it?”

That gets his attention, his gaze narrowing fiercely.

“Don’t say that shit,” He bites, “you got a death wish or something?”

“Well, you clearly don’t want me around, so who cares?”

Joel bites at the inside of his cheek—he didn’t agree with that. 

“Give me something, Joel. Anything.” You plead, hand accidentally brushing his thigh as you fall into the spot beside him, imitating the closeness he craved but couldn’t bring himself to ask for, not again. 

He tenses under your touch, fist curling at his side, noticing how you pointedly keep your grip there. 

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning.

But, it’s the biggest sign he’s given you. There was still a fondness there, lingering behind wall after wall that he’s built up.

He doesn’t move your hand either, your fingers dragging up the inside of his thigh, along the seam and stopping where his jeans creased at his groin, palm settling over the curve of his thigh.

“So, do we work things out or not?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper, talking like you might scare him away. 

And, yeah—Joel wasn’t big on hashing things out, confessing his thoughts or emotions and conveying them into words, that was never a surprise to you. But, you needed equal ground. 

You weren’t looking for a confession or some dramatic change in pace with your relationship—whatever you could classify it as. A partnership, maybe?

You need something mutually beneficial, something that was give and take on both ends. 

You squeeze at the junction of his thigh, taut muscle giving way as Joel shows little signs of being affected. His eyes follow though, acutely aware of your intention.

This was you returning the favor. 

This was you cornering him, like he had you—if he didn’t want it he would’ve pushed you away ages ago, but he does want it. He needs it. 

His jaw flexes under the weight of your grip, watching you move slowly to sink to the ground, thankful that this floor wasn’t nearly as dirty as most places. Joel shifts slightly to accommodate you, thighs spreading open to box you in, hands coming to rest down at his side, flat against the cushion.

You push at his coat lightly, forcing it away from his chest until he gets the idea, stripping himself the rest of the way, his unbuttoned flannel falling open.

You work quietly, eyes flicking up toward him occasionally to check in, make sure he was still with you. He’s mesmerized now, despite himself. Locked in.

He doesn’t stop your hands when they reach for the zipper of his jeans, unbuttoning and loosening them in one fluid motion, tugging at his jeans until, again, he catches on, forcing them down just enough.

It’s surprising how in tune he is with you despite how hard he tried to keep his distance, hoping that one big mistake would fade away—but frankly, it hadn’t left either of your minds since then. 

“Touch yourself.” You command softly, an amused aspect to your voice.

Joel balks slightly, his bewilderment something to enjoy.

“What?” You ask innocently, “Is that too personal? Sorry–I should’ve considered that when I let you fuck me over a table.”

His nostrils flare in annoyance, but he listens. Thank god. He slips his fingers under the band of his underwear, palming himself lightly under the fabric, leaving you to lean back onto your heels, enjoying the lazy show he put on for you.

He had nothing to be ashamed of.

His fingers roll against the taut skin of his sack, drifting upwards over his shaft until he finally has the courage to shift his underwear to sit snug under his balls, watching your eyes drift from his cock to his face. Joel’s mouth parted briefly, rubbing his thumb over the head, glistening with a sheen of precum, your hands itching to touch him. 

He knows it will lead to nothing but bad outcomes, but he’s indulging in it. Allowing it.

“Come here,” He’s using his free hand to beckon you forward, leaving his palm extending for you to lean into, resting your chin there gently, “open your mouth.”

You obliges, sweetening the deal by sticking your tongue out, earning a gruff laugh in response, softening your gaze on him. There were plenty of other ways to resolve things, but this was so much easier.

He slides the head over your tongue in a deft slap, slipping it past your lips slowly before he’s pulling back and repeating the process again, watching as you eagerly follow his movements until you’re bordering on impatience.

“Don’t think you have the upper hand here, sweetheart.” Joel says, eyebrow quirking up in amusement at your annoyed expression. “You want it?”

You tilt your head at him, eyes narrowing. “You want me to beg for it?”

Joel chuckles at the thought, shaking his head. “I didn’t pin you as the type.”

Cheeky Joel was something to admire, rolling your eyes and shoving his hands away, allowing yourself to take over fully and leaving him with nothing to do but watch, rolling your tongue around the head and through the slit, mouth enveloping the heady taste of him. 

Joel was always good at keeping his composure, even now–but you were looking to break him down, nothing but a mumbling, begging mess of himself, even for a brief moment.

You take him in slowly, soft and parted lips pressing down the length of him, the heavy weight of his cock pressing against your tongue, cheeks, until he’s nudging the back of your throat and you swallow out of reflex.

His knuckles flex, turning white as he curls them inwards and digs into the cheap cushion, the stitching protesting under his grip.

There he is. 

You make a small noise, a soft bubble of laughter out of pure enjoyment, pulling back with a showy drag of your tongue up his shaft until you’re sinking down again, burying your nose in the short, trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock, ignoring that telltale feeling to let up, breathing deep through your nose. 

“Goddamnit,” He curses, the hand not gripping the cushion rising slightly before slamming back down in a fist, the material taking most of the blow, “you gotta ease up on me.”

He doesn’t add the please, but you can see it’s implied.

You smile sweetly when you pull away, a thin line of spit connecting your lips to the wet head of his cock, stroking him languidly to keep busy, running your thumb along the thick vein that traced along the underside. 

“Don’t think so,” It’s sickening, tone laced in sugar and daring him—for what, you weren’t sure, “—more?”

Joel nods quickly, widening his stance as he sunk further into the couch, your hands bracing against his stomach as he filtered his fingers through your hair, framing it away from your face as you continued, driving him to near insanity with how easily you would take him down over and over again, stopping to tease your tongue over the head of his cock, realizing just how sensitive that part of him was.

He grunts on a particular rough pass, yanking your hair back and allowing a centimeter of reprice as your lips barely brush the aching tip, “You can stop, sweetheart. It’s alright.”

It feels like a punishment, not allowing himself to seek that relief—he sees it as a barrier, that by not allowing it, things won’t ever reach a point of no return. Not that this wasn’t already dangerous enough—it’s a ridiculous rule, but Joel follows it. He’d give you as much pleasure as you asked and then some, if that’s what you wanted.

And it clicks in your head slowly, his cock pulsing dully in your hands, begging for it. 

No. He wasn’t doing that again.

“No,” You echo your thoughts, “Give me your hand.”

“Darlin’—“

“Joel, shut up.” You demand, gripping his open palm and replacing it with your own, “I want you to come in my mouth.”

Joel looks conflicted, eyebrow pinching in a mix of pleasure and regret, his mind blanking the moment you press a gentle kiss to the head, pressing your tongue flat again and moving his hand in tandem until he starts to give in, his breaths becoming shorter, more strangled.

“That’s it,” You mumble a praise through his haziness—he doesn’t know how to take it, the feeling so foreign to him, “take control, Joel.”

His eyes fall shut briefly, forcing focused breaths through his nose as his free hand grips your face, keeping you still as he strokes himself roughly, that last string of self control breaking under your gaze when he tilts his head down to look at you, soft gaze staring back at him and he’s coming over your tongue and into your mouth with a warm rush, the taste of him overwhelming your senses as he squeezes up to the tip, milking every last bit of himself into your mouth before he’s pulling away and gently guiding your mouth closed.

“Shit—“ He groans quietly, cupping himself tenderly as he pulls away, watching you swallow and tracing a trace of him at the corner of your lip back into your mouth with your thumb, staring him down intently, “you’re fuckin’ greedy, you know that?”

You shrug proudly, rising to your feet slowly, the ache from sitting crouched so long singing a protest from your joints.

“Add it to the list,” You snark at him, taking a casual seat beside him as he tucks himself away, your hands working carefully to roll up your jacket and tuck it under your head as you recline, laying down on your side, “right?”

Joel scoots away to accommodate you, looking perplexed at how quickly you’ve changed your demeanor, yawning until your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Stop staring and get some sleep, Joel.” You gripe, reaching blindly to ball his coat up and toss it at his chest, “Problem solved, we’re even now.”

Joel puffs through his lips, ignoring that lingering feeling as you very quickly forced the distance between him and you—a payback to his own previous actions. It hurts, stings, and now he realizes what that meant and why that frown never left your face before, not even on the ride home or long thereafter.

He’s fucked. 

To say things escalate is an understatement.

The two of you never actually talk, avoiding all aspects of emotional vulnerability in turn for your usual interactions—small conversations, jokes, driving each other up the wall with the constant close proximity due to your assigned jobs. But, now there’s more.

There's the Joel that wants and takes, stops holding back his desires and gives you just about every possible orgasm from then on. This Joel is insatiable if he allows himself to be. He’s downright filthy and terrifying when it mattered and he found that the more you seemed to give yourself over, the easier it was for him to stop worrying so much. 

And he seems lighter nowadays, happier—though, it was still Joel. There was only so much to enjoy, his smiles few and far between. However, that smirk, laced in a smugness he carried with himself when he was alone with you—it had become a regular sight to see and something you craved when you’d finally get him alone.

It never starts off slow. Joel’s always itching by the time rotation leads you his way. You two keep it close to your chest like a secret–saving times like this strictly for patrols.

Joel doesn’t even wait sometimes, cornering you the moment the horses are tied up, bags set aside, crowding up behind you as he wrangles your jeans down, along with his, and presses himself inside you with a deep grunt, pressing you up against whatever hard surface was near–it didn’t matter, the ferocity of his thrusts clouding your mind.

It’s punishment for how well you tease him on the rides there, thighs spread wide over the saddle and always riding just a few inches ahead, leaning forward enough that you can stick out your ass, Joel’s eyes drawing toward you immediately. 

It was easy.

“You like messin’ with me, don’t you?” He chastises, palming at the inside of your thigh in desperation, pulling you wider and wider for him until it aches and you have nothing to do but take it. “Fuckin’ with my head?”

You laugh breathily, head thrown back against his shoulder as you moan wantonly, thick fingers bearing down on your throat, keeping you tight against him. “It’s not my fault–fault you can’t control it.” You reply innocently, stumbling over your words when his fingers press against your core.

And it’s often like this. Fast, hurried, no care or soft, caressing touches involved. It’s simpler that way.

But, eventually, Joel breaks down–little by little.

*

A week or two passes by and Joel seems desperate. 

“What did I just say?” He seethed, voice laced with annoyance, “Keep your eyes open.”

He’s right there, his hand, his fingers, buried deep inside your cunt. Joel’s on edge again, having ordered you to strip down naked while he remained completely clothed, the cold air prickling your skin like this, the lingering days of Winter coming to a close. It’s dark here, wet and mucky, the only barrier between you and the floor is an old blanket that Joel had stowed away in his saddle. He spent the last two weeks dealing with a copious amount of shit–killing more infected than they’re used to, dealing with mundane problems around Jackson that shouldn’t be his problems, but in being Tommy’s brother, he took a piece of the burden off of him.

You gasp sharply, feeling the force of Joel’s grip as he orders your eyes open, an impossible feat in the moment with how easily he’s able to bring you near the edge with just his fingers–something he found out fairly quickly. 

“Joel–Joel, please,” You beg–it’s new for you, something you don’t do often, “let me–fuck–”

“Hmm, sweetheart?” Joel questions, igniting a fire in your belly that won’t go out. He likes you this way, clawing at him, nearly on the brink of tears over how bad you need him. “Spit it out.”

You’re hastily shoving him away, brow pinched in determination as you shove him down, working desperately at his buckle, his pants, working them down with little care or finesse, gripping the length of him and sinking down in one quick movement. 

It punches a moan out of Joel’s chest that you’re not used to, his head slamming pack against his bag, the makeshift pillow he’s got stuffed behind his head as he grips your hips tight, eyes locked on the center where you’re both connected, grunting with the hurried bounce of your hips, losing what little patience you had left as you chase your orgasm, shoving his shirt up his chest to feel him–all soft, tanned skin under your fingertips as you brace yourself against him, using the surface for leverage.

He can’t stand to watch you this way, tits jostling with every hurried thrust, blunt nails clawing at his abdomen, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, again. He likes you facing away because he can hide his own inflections, how well you drive him wild–you’ve never cared, especially not now. 

Joel grunts raggedly, forcing out a hoarse whisper, “You’re fuckin’ killing me here.”

A soft laugh bubbles in your chest, head lolling forward and eyes opening to look at him.

“Mmm, eyes on me, Joel.” You beckon, his slow gaze trailing upwards, nodding in response to his wrecked state, hair sticking up wildly, teeth grazing his bottom lip gently. “God–it feels so good, doesn’t it?

Joel nods absently, his hands slipping from your hips to cup your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hands, aware of how your touch burns a trail up toward his face, coaxing his bottom lip to freedom, grazing your thumb over the soft tissue, soothing the ache.

You ignore how easily he takes the pad of it over his tongue and lets you press the digit beyond his lips, how willing he’s being to let you take what you want.

He pulls out before he comes, spilling into his hand to contain the mess, leaving you enraptured with his expression as his face pulls up in anguish, the same expression he has when he’s bothered or annoyed but edged with something more, his breath catching.

He rolls you back over soon after, replacing his hand with his mouth, hot tongue lapping into your folds and tasting, savoring, the mix of you two tangled together and he devours until you come, hand yanking hard at his hair.

*

April comes quickly—it means longer patrols, more problems out in the field with the infected less dormant, and Jackson coming alive more often at night, everyone enjoying the weather after a bitter winter.

You find yourself at Tommy’s doorstep one night.

Maria had been planning this dinner for a few weeks, something special for Tommy’s birthday, and somehow you got roped into going.

It was Ellie.

Joel was the least bit surprised when you showed up at the front door that night, dressed up nicer than he’s had the privilege to witness. You’re smiling, a flowy dress cutting off mid-thigh, forgoing the usual sweater with the air warming up, leaving your shoulders bare. 

Joel nods in greeting when Ellie peeks around his shoulder, beaming at the sight out of you.

“Thank god,” She groans, “Those two are insufferable together,” Tommy and Joel, “—they’ve been arm wrestling each other in the backyard for the last hour.”

Your eyebrows raise, looking over at Joel. He’s got the hint of a smile on his face, looking down at Ellie before he’s shoving her away with a palm to the crown of her head, his arm flexing under the fitted cotton shirt he wore, muscle on full display. 

It’s easy to forget how strong Joel is under all those layers, but it’s even more apparent now with how often you find him stripped down underneath you, behind you, watching him become more and more comfortable around you as the weeks pass, finally giving in to whatever it was that you two were indulging in.

It was mostly sex—a means for release and often a cure for boredom and neither of you minded it much, but there was something lingering in the shadows. 

You were good at ignoring it, apparently so was Joel.

He leads you to the backyard with a silence you’ve become accustomed to, and spends most of the dinner laughing at Ellie’s terrible and poorly timed jokes. It’s such a sight, seeing how effortlessly Ellie can break that man down, and you realize just how deeply he cared for her, even if she wasn’t his daughter. 

He glances at you frequently, a silent check-in.

You were fine—a little tired, maybe? 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom with a flick of your hair behind your ear and a whine in protest from your chair as it scrapes the floor, leaving the rest of the party in the backyard while you traverse inside. 

It isn’t long before there’s a knock behind the closed door and that unsettling creak, only to be met face to face with Joel. He looks relaxed, placated, his face falling into a natural smirk.

And based on the drink in his hand, slightly inebriated. 

“Lost?” You tease, fixing yourself idly in the mirror, watching as Joel crossed the threshold and nudged the door close behind him. “Joel–”

“Don’t worry, darlin’.” Joel soothes, “Tommy thinks I’m using the one upstairs, everyone’s outside.”

You don’t need him to explain to know what he’s implying. But, for him to want you here–now? That was different. You hate how it made your heart skip, realizing how willing he was to risk this bond of secrecy because he just couldn’t get you out of his head.

His glass slides against the countertop, the soft scuff of his boots grazing the floor as he moves in behind you, causing you to pull away slightly as he raises a hand, brushing your strap down your shoulder and mouthing the skin there, “You’re drunk.” You muse, earning a subtle shake of his head.

“Not at all,” Joel denies, “can’t be in a good mood?”

You sigh at his touch, opposite hand grazing under your dress and over the skin of your stomach, pinky finger grazing the hem of your underwear.

“When are you ever?”

Joel ignores your snark, “Don’t act like you don’t want it, sweetheart.”

He can feel the heat radiating off your body, the wetness that coats his finger as he dips it under the fabric and down the center of your cunt, “Joel,” You stress, “there’s people outside, we can’t.”

“Don’t worry about that,” He says softly, “Ellie’s gone home, Tommy and Maria are busy with a neighbor–if you want me to stop, tell me. You don’t need to make excuses.”

Your silence is all the answer he needs.

“Been needin’ this all day,” He admits, cupping your mound roughly, shifting to press the hard line of his chest against your back, pulling you taut, his idle fingers playing with the soft material of your dress, “This is cute–it’s a nice dress.”

You roll your eyes, though fondly. He can’t see it, face buried into your neck as he mouths along the skin, slipping the straps of your dress down until your tits spring free, nipples pebbling under the cool air.

“Are we talking or fucking?” You ask impatiently, pointedly rubbing your ass back against his body, earning a dark chuckle in response.

“I never said anything about fucking,” Joel points out smugly, “but since you’re askin.”

It’s the impatiences that brings you to take matters into your own hands, sliding your dress up high enough that Joel can yank your underwear down, undoing his pants with one hand and freeing himself hastily, sliding into you roughly, forcing a strained gasp from your throat. 

Joel shushes you, covering your mouth with his hand.

“Careful, these walls ain’t soundproof.” He warns, his forceful thrusts plunging you forward, eyes dragging toward the mirror image of you and him, a sight to see as he smirks from behind, admiring you openly. “Look at you.”

He grin’s devilishly, your senses overwhelmed, showing through your eyes as you squeezed them shut, only to be forced back open by Joel’s coaxing voice.

He clicks his tongue in warning, breath hot against your ear. “Open those eyes, sweetheart. Need you to see how good you’re takin’ my cock,” You whine into his hand, his brutal thrust driving you further into the countertop, ignoring the pain that spreads, overtaken by the insatiable need to come, “and how pretty you look when you come.”

Pretty. He’s never used that word before. It sends a flutter through your chest, down to your core.

It’s more intense this way, the subtle pull in Joel’s face when he drives deeper, his own orgasm on the horizon. His teeth grit hard, small peaks of it as he bares his lips back in a growl, squeezing at the soft planes of your body that he could reach, driving you over the edge with little warning, not that you needed the help. 

Seeing him this way was enough. God, was it enough.

“Fuck, fuck—“ He curses a symphony, holding himself back as he gripped at the base of his shaft and you jump at the opportunity, turning to him in a haze and sinking to your knees despite the cold floor beneath you, urging him with a silent plea as you open your mouth to him, nodding subtly.

That’s all it takes for him, a few quick strokes of his cock and he’s spilling into your mouth, head hung back at how intensely it hits him, the skin of his neck straining over the muscle, his mouth open in a soundless grunt. 

*

Luckily, Joel is the one that takes care of the goodbyes. You wouldn’t be able to face Tommy or Maria after such an instance, adjusting yourself back to a semi-presentable state in the bathroom, with some of Joel’s help as he sets your dress back over your shoulders.

It shouldn’t feel endearing, not in this context. But, it does.

“Wait for me out front,” He tells you, buckling his pants, eyes connecting with yours briefly, squinting curiously, he reaches a hand forward and wiping a mix of spit and what you can only assume is his come, away from your mouth and onto his jeans, “—you had a little…”

You both laugh at the unspoken, rubbing a tired hand over your face as you nod, shoving him away playfully.

Things are vastly different when you’re facing him on your doorstep now, his lingering presence a hint at what he didn’t have the courage to ask.

“Stay for a while?” You suggest softly, nodding toward your front door.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Joel agrees.

You never realize how much Joel likes to talk about music until he’s finally found himself relaxed, your body reclined into his open, outstretched legs as he adjusts himself sideways. It doesn’t feel intimate, no—but it feels different. Joel rests a hand over your shoulder, massaging the tight muscle with a steady grip. His voice is nice, soothing.

You fall asleep like this, but Joel is already gone by morning.

By June, things are confusing. Good, but…confusing.

Joel and you have a routine by now—off days were usually spent at your house, occasionally Joel’s (but rarely) and only when Ellie wasn’t around, the days that were spent patrolling were fairly normal, aside from the insistent touching you both allowed yourself now, always leading to something neither of you could be bothered to stop. 

Joel’s vocal about things now—what he likes, what he wants, but he’s also holding back. You can see it when things get a little too intense, hands grabbing at clothes, pulling each other in with a rabidness that neither of you could calm.

He doesn’t kiss you, not really. He likes to nip and bite and leave bruises where only he can see them, but he won’t allow his eyes to linger on your face for too long, your lips, too afraid things might be misconstrued.

Not that it mattered, Joel was already fucked beyond repair. He’s only ever felt this intensely once, before—his relationship with Sarah’s mom was a fling that turned into something more, but ultimately fizzled, crashed and burned. It gave him Sarah, but he never understood what heartbreak was until then, young and naive and wanting to make things work.

Clearly, they never did.

He feels that with you, though he’s smarter now. He can be cold and distant when he feels that pull in his chest, push away just enough that you won’t pry. But, you’re smart—you’re stubborn, so goddamn stubborn. 

And he knows eventually, things are going to implode.

He just didn’t expect it to happen like this. 

You were starting to hate the lodge, finding yourself lingering to the connecting shops down the road—a guitar store that Joel and Tommy picked through often, a small coffee shop further down the way that didn’t have much left for picking, but it helped when you felt cooped up, a nice change of scenery.

But even then, the lodge wasn't a luxury to patrol anymore. Summer is practically unbearable most days there, the building always too warm, too stuffy.

Joel had other ideas this time around, stripping you down slowly by the couch nestled against the large window that overlooked the rest of the small town surrounding it.

It was quiet here.

Joel presses you into the soft velvet cushion, his own body stripped bare, a combat to the heat, he says.

You didn’t mind. In fact, it was everything you wanted. 

He’s never allowed such contact, all of you against him, the slow push of his hips inside of you has you gasping softly, fingers gripping his biceps. His place is slow, dreadful, and you both are already sweating, skin sticky and damp.

Joel doesn’t seem to mind.

He seems needier today, more willing to let the sounds slip from his mouth, his hands more curious, pulling your knee tight around his hip and gripping at the knee, head tilting up as he huffed through his nose, tense jaw, teeth clenched. He’s looking off distantly, not at you or your body, or anywhere in your vicinity really, but the torture on his face is all the same. He couldn’t hide it.

You moan softly, mumbling soft praises under your breath when he fucks into you hard enough it has you clawing at his chest, gripping tight at his shoulder, seeking whatever skin you could touch. 

Eventually, your touch lingers near his face, palm spreading over his warm cheek, thumb running along the strong hook of his nose, forcing his attention down toward you. Your fingertips graze his lips gently, other hand mirror the action as you caress his face, his eyes closing under your touch. 

The arm holding him upright nearly gives you, barely catching himself as his chest is pressed in tight against yours, changing the angle immensely.

That couldn't have been you’re doing—not a chance. But, you’re curious. You guide his face to your chest, his mouth sliding lazily against the skin as he pumps into you steadily. You meet his rough grunts with whispered praises, his breath becoming more frantic as time goes on until he’s finally chancing a look your way, eyes soft and pleading. He looks lost. You frown slightly, guiding his face toward yours and ghosting your own lips against his, never quite indulging, keeping the praises going with a soft whisper.

“God, you always fuck me so good,” You say in a breathy whisper against his lips, “so good, Joel.”

Joel squeezes you tighter, a sign of his impending orgasm. “Right there,” You sigh, “fuck—you feel that? Need this all the time, everyday.”

This. Him.

“Sweetheart—“ He warns, grunting into your open mouth, knees buckling as you slide your tongue against his teeth, grazing his top lip.

“Don’t—don't,” You panic, eyes connecting with him suddenly, “wanna feel you, all of you.”

It was something Joel could reflect on later, consider the consequences, because now was not that time—not with you looking at him so earnestly, pleading with him.

He slips a calculated hand between your joined bodies and has you both hanging over the edge in seconds, gasping into each other’s mouth in desperation as Joel does something completely selfish and unlike him.

He kisses you, no qualms or hesitation. It’s messy and wet but it’s him—his mouth soothes the ache as your orgasm overwhelms your body, his own chest rattling at the force, moaning pathetically against your mouth as he comes in hot, warm pulses inside of you, cunt clenching around him tight, like a glove. 

Joel soon slumps against your body, all energy drained from him, your hands weaving through his hair gently, caressing the soft spot behind his ear.

He doesn’t complain, letting you hold him until his cock softens, pulling out of you with a disgruntled noise before he’s resting on the cushion beside you, back pressed tight against one side to make room for the both of you, tilting himself sideways and letting his fingers drift over your naked frame, indulging in every part of you. 

“Should we talk about this?” You ask curiously, voice softened under his gaze, his fist pressed to his cheek.

There it was.

Joel looks down briefly, his touch stalling over the spot between your breasts, right over your heart.

“I’m not even sure what this is,” Joel admits, the most honest he’s ever been with anyone, “just that—I enjoy it.”

He's being honest, he's letting you in. Your heart soars.

Joel was tired of fighting it. He'd be ignorant to think you didn't see it just then or even before.

“I would classify it as fucking,” You joke lightly, “but that—that didn’t feel like fucking to me.”

Joel shakes his head, “No—it didn’t.” He agrees, grabbing for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, spreading it gently over your frame despite the heat, finger fingers grazing along the underside of your breasts, a teasing touch that has you giggling in response, his own laugh following.

It’s a beautiful sound.

“Or we don’t have to figure it out at all,” You suggest, realizing that trying to force something out of Joel was not the way to go, it never had been—he’d come to whatever conclusion he felt on his own, “that’s okay, too.”

“We can save it for another day,” Joel promises, his fingers tracing up toward your jaw, his palm resting to cup your cheek, a tender gesture that’s all new, “right now, I just wanna quiet that pretty little mouth of yours.”

He sees your eyes light up with intrigue, already tilting toward him eagerly.

“You want that?” He teases, earning an eager nod in response before he’s closing his mouth over yours again, kissing with a leisureliness he didn’t have before, “Answer me, sweetheart?”

“I’ll take whatever you give me, Joel.”

And it terrified Joel, because he’d give you anything.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[corydora-writes]

Two Lonely Hearts Part Two

Summary: Batman reveals his identity to you and then introduces you to his family on Christmas Day.

Pairing: Batman (Bruce Wayne) x Plus Size Female Reader

Word count: 9,202

Warnings: Just fluff and sappy Christmas things.

A/N: HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Two hours before Batman confessed his feelings to you

Bruce and Clark stood together in the dimly lit confines of the Watchtower, their silhouettes cast against the deep blue of the expansive night sky beyond the glass walls. They had just wrapped up a grueling two-week mission. Despite their success, Clark couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that something was off with Bruce. 

Clark approached Bruce, his eyes filled with both concern and curiosity. "Bruce," Clark began, his voice gentle yet firm. "Is everything alright? You seem...distracted."

"Everything is fine," Bruce responded.

Clark detected the subtle inflections and micro expressions in Bruce’s voice. He could tell that there was more to it than a simple "fine”. 

"Are you sure?" Clark pressed gently. "You know, you can talk to me if something's bothering you."

“I think I made a mistake,” Bruce finally said, as doubt crept into his mind.

Clark's eyes widened in surprise. It was rare to hear Bruce admit to a mistake. He leaned against the console, giving Bruce his full attention.

"A mistake?" he replied, encouraging Bruce to continue.

“I became too involved with a… woman,” he confessed, a trace of reluctance in his voice as he spoke. The words hung in the air, cloaked in ambiguity.

Clark raised an eyebrow, surprised by the revelation. It wasn't uncommon for Bruce to have women flocking around him, but the mention of him being "too involved" piqued Clark's curiosity even further.

"Too involved," Clark repeated, leaning closer. "Do you mean emotionally involved?"

"Unfortunately," Bruce replied with a sigh, his brow furrowing in disappointment as he glanced away, lost in thought.

Clark's expression softened, his concern turning into a blend of understanding and empathy. 

"I see," he said slowly, choosing his words lightly. "What happened? 

Bruce took a deep breath as he began to explain to Clark the intricacies of his complicated relationship with you. You were not just any woman; you were the skilled director of the Wayne Legacy program, a vital initiative tied to the Wayne family name and its philanthropic efforts. Despite your professional ties, Bruce had kept you at an arm's length, choosing to maintain a certain distance from you in his role as Bruce Wayne. 

But that never worked out as planned. There were circumstances that drew you together in a way he never anticipated. One time, you found yourself in a perilous situation, needing help, and Batman intervened. What was meant to be a single act of heroism turned into a shared evening that unfolded several times, each encounter drawing you closer and deepening your connection. Somehow you seemed to attract danger. 

This unexpected bond eventually transformed into a casual arrangement—one that was purely physical. In fleeting moments, you and Batman shared passionate escapades. 

Meanwhile, Bruce grappled with his feelings for you, having fallen deeply in love, torn from the secrets he kept hidden from you.

As Bruce unfolded the complex tale of his involvement with you, Clark listened intently, his expression a mix of intrigue and understanding. The more Bruce described your relationship, the more the situation twisted itself like a labyrinth into even more complicated depths.

When Bruce finished speaking, Clark let out a breath, processing the information. "Well," he began, choosing his words carefully, "that...certainly is a tangled web you've woven, Bruce."

Clark crossed his arms, leaning against the console, his expression thoughtful.

"I know you're used to keeping your secrets, Batman," Clark added, using Bruce's superhero name to emphasize the point. "But this... this is different, isn't it? You're in love with this woman."

Clark's keen eyes studied Bruce's face, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. He knew how difficult it was for Bruce to open up, but he also knew how desperately Bruce was grappling with this situation, torn between love and secrecy.

"You know, Bruce," Clark added, taking a step closer, "there's a saying: love and truth go hand-in-hand. How can you truly love someone, fully and completely, if there's this wall of secrecy between you?"

Bruce's gaze narrowed, his expression caught between vulnerability and determination.

"It's not that simple," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

He pushed away from the console, turning to face Clark.

"This is not just a part of my life. It's at the core of who I am," he continued, his voice laced with a mixture of resolve and anguish. "If I reveal that truth to her, it would upend her entire world. How do I trust that she can handle that kind of truth?” 

Clark listened intently. 

Bruce's eyes darkened, the weight of his burden visible in his gaze. "She only knows Batman. Could she love me too, or only Batman?"

Clark absorbed Bruce's words, and a wave of empathy washed over him. He reached out and placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze.

"I understand your concern," Clark began, his voice gentle yet firm. "But you’re not just Batman. You're also Bruce Wayne—a strong, generous, and compassionate man. Why assume she couldn't see and accept that part of you as well?" Clark drew in a breath, his next words careful and deliberate. "Love requires courage, Bruce. It requires trust. But it also requires that you give the other person the choice to love you, fully and completely, without any secrets in the way. Are you ready to take that risk?"

Bruce held Clark's gaze for a few moments, his expression unreadable. The silence between them spoke louder than words. Clark could see the battle within Bruce, the struggle between his natural tendency to secrets and his desire for a true, honest connection with you.

Finally, Bruce spoke, his voice a whisper of vulnerability. "Maybe you're right, Clark." 

Bruce's admission carried a hint of resigned acceptance as if a small part of him longed to let go, to trust and open up. "But even if she could love me," he added, a tinge of doubt still lingering in his voice, "how can I be sure that she won't be hurt by the truth? How can I protect her from everything that comes with being closely associated with Batman?"

Clark sighed, empathizing with Bruce's concern. "Bruce, you can't control how others react to the truth.  But what you can control is how you share it with her. And more importantly, you can love her unconditionally.  Even if she might need to recover and take time to process the truth, you can support her. And as for protecting her, you won't be alone," Clark added, determination lacing his voice. “I'm here, and the rest of the Justice League will be here too. We protect the ones we love. We'll adapt, we always do."

A hint of gratitude flickered in Bruce's eyes as he looked at Clark, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and hope. "I appreciate your support, Clark. But making the decision to reveal my secrets... it's something I need to grapple with. It's not that I don't trust her; it's that I fear losing her."

"I know," Clark replied, his voice filled with understanding. "It's a huge risk. But you have to give her the chance to love all of you—Bruce Wayne and Batman. If you keep the secret..." Clark paused, his gaze steady on Bruce's. "You run the risk of losing her anyway."

Bruce let out a long sigh, the internal conflict still etched on his face, but there was a glimpse of acceptance in his eyes.  "I suppose you're right. I just..." he trailed off, words failing him for once. Then, with a hint of resignation, he added, "I just need time to figure out how and when to tell her."

Clark let out a soft chuckle, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You know, I spent quite a while talking with Lois about the perfect Christmas gift for you,” he began, a warm smile crossing his face. “It’s a tough dilemma. I mean, what do you give a billionaire who seems to have everything? It took some time, but an idea just hit me.” Clark paused momentarily. “I want to gift you something that you can’t buy or accumulate more of—time. This Christmas, take the day off. Be honest with her; reveal your true feelings. Love her wholeheartedly. I mean it. I’ll take care of everything in Gotham while you focus on what's most important. It’s time you put your heart first.”

Bruce's expression slowly relaxed, a small, grateful smile playing at the corners of his lips. “That... that’s actually not a bad idea," he admitted. "But you know me, Clark," he added, the hint of a challenge in his eyes. "Taking a day off isn't exactly my strong suit, even on Christmas. Gotham…" He trailed off, the weight of his responsibilities hanging in the air.

Clark chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I know. I know. That city is your life in a lot of ways. But, and I never thought I’d say this, it's gonna have to manage without you for a day.” 

He folded his arms, his expression turning stern, yet his eyes held a hint of humor. “I mean it, Bruce. I’m gonna make sure you take the day off, one way or another. You need this, even if it’s against every fiber of your being.”

Bruce's sigh was heavy, but he had to concede that Clark was right. "Fine," he grumbled, a trace of resignation in his voice. "I'll take the day off. But I'm holding you accountable, Clark. Gotham better be standing by the time I get back."

Clark let out a hearty laugh, placing a reassuring hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You have my word. Gotham will be standing, and then some." His expression softened as he continued, "Now, let's make this Christmas count. You just focus on enjoying your time with her.”

Bruce nodded slowly, the weight of his responsibilities easing slightly. He couldn’t deny the appeal of spending a day truly focusing on you. 

“Alright, I’ll do it,” he said, a hint of determination in his voice. “Christmas it is. And thank you, Clark. For everything.”

Clark smiled warmly, a feeling of satisfaction washing over him. “Don’t thank me yet. Just make sure you come back with a smile. And a relationship, hopefully. If not, I’m not sure the League can handle your brooding.” Clark laughed. “Anyway, I’m out of here I have exciting news to share with Lois,” Clark said and headed out of the Watchtower.

Christmas Day. Batman unmasked.

"If you could please put on this blindfold, as instructed by Batman, madam," The British man said, his tone respectful yet tinged with an element of secrecy. 

With a flutter of anticipation in your chest, you took the sleek fabric from his hand and carefully wrapped it around your eyes, plunging yourself into darkness. You could feel the thrill of the unknown thrumming through your veins, heightening your senses even as your vision disappeared.

Bruce nodded subtly to Alfred. Without a single word or sound, he extended his hand to help you navigate the car’s low seat. As you emerged, he gently placed an arm around your waist, providing a comforting presence. With his other hand, he clasped your delicate fingers, interlocking them firmly yet tenderly, and began to guide you through the entrance of the intimate, dimly lit Manor. 

Mellow strains of a saxophone filled the home with a soothing rhythm. You shivered at the familiar touch of Batman, and your heart raced with recognition. "It's you, Knight, isn't it?" You asked softly, your voice barely rising above the soothing music.

But Bruce remained silent, his eyes fixed ahead, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he led you deeper into the manor until you reached his study. 

Bruce's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the weight of the revelation he was about to unveil. The thought of sharing his true identity with you sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through him, igniting a mix of excitement and anxiety. For so long, he had navigated this connection under the shadow of Batman, but today was different. Today, you would finally meet the man behind the mask.

Bruce guided you to stand in front of the grand ornate mirror, its surface gleaming with an almost magical allure, while your world remained shrouded in blissful darkness beneath the blindfold. The air was thick with anticipation as you felt his body heat so close behind you, his presence both commanding and intimate. As you anxiously clutched the fabric of your skirt, your fingers twisted the soft material, a tell-tale sign of your nerves. It was a habit that you fell back on during moments of uncertainty, and Bruce couldn’t help but be drawn to your vulnerability. The air around crackled with anticipation, and he knew that this moment would change everything.

With slow, languid movements, Bruce began to caress your face, tracing the lines of your jaw and the curve of your lips, his touch gentle and reverent. He moved lower, his fingers ghosting over your neck with a feeling that was both tender and intense causing you to shiver in anticipation of his next touch. His other free fingers traced reverently over the swell of your hips and then lower, to the generous fullness of your luscious belly. 

Leaning down, he brought his lips near your ear, his warm breath brushing against your skin as he whispered, “Are you ready, my love?”

That voice. Even without the voice modulator, you knew who that voice belonged to. It was a voice that you would know anywhere, a voice that had been imprinted in your memory and your heart. Your breath hitched in response to the whispered words, your heart racing with anticipation. With a nod, you responded, your voice barely a whisper, "Yes, I'm ready."

The feeling of his lips on your cheek was soft and tender, the warmth of his kiss leaving your skin tingling. As he leaned back, you could feel the silk blindfold being carefully unfastened, its soft weight gradually falling away from your face. The room slowly came into focus, the warm candlelight and the soft strains of jazz filling your senses. Your eyes widened in surprise, your gaze meeting Bruce's in the mirror as you took in the sight before you: the contrast between your own shorter stature and Bruce's towering presence, the way your bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle. You turned around to face him, your eyes searching his with a mix of awe and disbelief. "Bruce...?" You whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you breathed his name, rich with unspoken feelings.

He couldn't help but smile, his gaze lingering on the softness of your expression, the way the light caught the gentle curve of your cheeks and the hint of vulnerability in your eyes. 

"It's me," he said softly, each word dripping with emotion and vulnerability. "I'm the man behind the mask, the man who has foolishly, desperately, and passionately fallen in love with you." A look of tenderness swept through Bruce's expression as he looked down at you, his eyes scanning your face intently. He could see the flicker of conflicting emotions in your gaze, the disbelief and awe mixing together with something else that tugged at his heart.

You reached up, your hand reaching out to touch his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw in wonder. "Bruce," you whispered again, your voice even softer this time.

The touch of your fingertips against his skin sent a jolt through Bruce's body, causing his breath to hitch in his chest. He had dreamed of this moment countless times, the moment when he could finally reveal himself to you. But now that it was happening, the reality of it was almost too much to bear. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, savoring the feel of your fingers against his face.

"I’m here," Bruce murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I’m no longer hiding from you."

Your hand remained on his face, your fingers running gently over his features. “Why did you wait so long to tell me?” 

Bruce let out a deep exhale, his hand coming up to cover yours, holding it against his cheek. He looked into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of regret and vulnerability.

"I wanted to tell you for so long," he said, his voice strained. “But I was afraid of how you would react, afraid of putting you in danger, afraid of losing you.”

"Bruce," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, “Thank you for trusting me. For giving us a chance…”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Bruce's lips, he grabbed your hand and held it against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart under your palm, the rhythm of its pace a testament to the intensity of his emotions.

"You have no idea how much I've ached for this moment," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of relief and desire. "To be able to stand before you as myself and not a mask. To have a chance at a future with you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a sudden wave of emotion washing over you. You leaned into him, your body close enough to feel his warmth, your hand still resting against his chest, feeling the steady pulse of his heartbeat. Your eyes searched his, looking for any hint of doubt or uncertainty but you didn’t find any. “So you’re thinking about a future with me?"

Bruce let out a soft chuckle, his free hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. He met your gaze, the look in his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and affection.

"Of course I am," he said, his voice low and filled with quiet confidence. "I want a future with you. I want to be there for you as both Bruce Wayne and Batman."

You stepped even closer, your body now flush against his, your arms wrapped around his neck. You looked up at him, your eyes shimmering with a mixture of emotions.

Bruce's hands encircled your waist, pulling you even closer, his body molding against yours as if they were made for each other. He marveled at the feeling of you in his arms, the way your curves fit against him, the softness of your skin under his touch. 

"I've imagined this moment countless times," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Holding you in my arms, being able to call you mine, without the darkness, without the cowl.”

You leaned your head against his sturdy chest, letting yourself succumb to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat, a steady thrum that resonated in the silence between you. The sound was both exhilarating and reassuring, wrapping around you like an embrace. 

Bruce's voice broke the spell of the moment as he quipped, “You’ve taken this surprisingly well. My identity didn’t seem to surprise you.” His tone was teasing, yet there was an undercurrent of curiosity that hinted at his need to understand your reaction. 

“Oh, believe me, I have many questions,” you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern. “one being the ethical implications surrounding our relationship, but we have plenty of time to discuss that.” You took a moment, your gaze piercing, as if searching for answers in his eyes. “And truthfully, my heart has already spoken; I’ve fallen for you, my Dark Knight. And that includes every part of you, Bruce. You’re a man of many layers, a complex tapestry of experiences and emotions, and I adore every thread that makes you who you are. I’ve seen you as my leader, authoritative and steady, yet we’ve shared moments of intimacy and passion. So when I look into your eyes, I don’t just see a man — I see a familiar soul. A man my heart recognizes as its own.”

Bruce's heart soared as you spoke, your words a salve to his soul. He felt seen, known, and understood in a way he had never experienced before. Your confession that you had fallen for him, all of him, both the man and the knight, was like a gift he hadn't dared to hope for.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice low and gravelly, echoing the profound emotions that surged within him. 

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. "I feel as if you’ve known me for lifetimes as if we have shared countless pasts together. You somehow manage to bring light in parts of me that I thought had burned out long ago." He looked away momentarily as if he was embarrassed at his vulnerability. 

"Listen to me, love," you whispered, your voice filled with a blend of awe and tenderness, "I see your darkness, your pain, all the shadows that you carry. And I promise to embrace them, as I embrace you, piece by piece."

As Bruce leaned forward, he felt a rush of warmth and anticipation. Your eyes locked for a brief moment, and he could see the spark of connection evident in your gaze. Then, with a soft and gentle motion, he pressed his lips against yours, savoring the sweetness of the moment as time seemed to stand still around you. Your eyes fluttered close, giving in to the dance of lips and tongues, a heated, passionate, and needy connection that consumed you both. His hand cradled the back of your head, holding you close as if he couldn't bear to let you go as if this kiss was the very air he needed to breathe.  

Bruce gently pulled away from the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours with a playful yet meaningful gaze. “Let’s save the best for last, shall we?” he said with a subtle grin, teasingly hinting at the wonderful evening that lay ahead. “Alfred has gone all out this time and prepared a special dinner for us.” His voice carried a mix of anticipation and affection, making it clear that he was eager to savor every moment of your time together.

“Alfred?” You inquired, your brow furrowing as you struggled to recall anyone by that name. 

Bruce smiled at your question, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Alfred,” he repeated, his expression soft yet filled with a sense of nostalgia. “He's more than just the man who helped raise me, he's the man who has been my anchor for as long as I can remember. He's been there through everything, from my childhood as an orphan to the present day as both Bruce Wayne and Batman. And tonight, he wants to introduce himself to you.”

You smiled softly, the corners of your lips curving upward. “Well, I’d be honored to finally meet this mysterious Alfred,” you replied, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness.

Bruce smiled, pleased with your response. He moved his hand to your waist, gently guiding you toward the dining room. "Be warned though, he can be quite the character, but it’s all with good intention."

As you stepped into the expansive dining room, you couldn’t help but notice the elegant setting, the table adorned with fine Christmas decor, candlelight flickering subtly in the corners. Soft music filled the air, adding to the atmosphere of refinement. Then your gaze shifted to an older man, standing near a side table, who turned to face you. You recognized the man as the driver from earlier. 

"Ah, Master Bruce,” the man said, his voice holding a note of familiarity. "And this must be the lovely miss Y/N I've heard so much about."

You felt a sudden wave of nerves wash over you as the man spoke. 

“Y/N, this is Alfred Pennyworth,” Bruce said. 

Alfred approached you, a warm smile on his face as he extended his hand in greeting. ”I can see why Master Bruce is so taken with you. You’re quite lovely, if I may so myself,” he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine kindness. 

You accepted his handshake, a soft smile crossing your face in response to his friendly demeanor. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth,” you replied, your voice laced with both politeness and a hint of curiosity. “Please, call me Y/N. None of these formalities are needed.”

Bruce's eyes moved from you to Alfred, a sense of pride in his gaze at how comfortably you two were already interacting. “Alfred, as always, has outdone himself with the spread,” he said, gesturing towards the beautifully laid-out dining table. 

“Indeed, Master Bruce,” Alfred responded, his eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of satisfaction. “I’ve prepared tonight’s meal with the utmost care and attention. I believe it's one of my finer creations.”

Alfred paused. “Before we commence with dinner," Alfred stated, his voice filled with a touch of seriousness, "I have a small request for the both of you."

Bruce turned his gaze towards Alfred, a slight furrow on his brow. He seemed puzzled by the sudden change in tone but also intrigued enough to give his full attention to the matter. “What kind of request?” Bruce inquired, the curiosity evident in his voice.

"If it's not too much trouble," Alfred started, his voice holding a hint of a playful smile, "I'd like a moment alone with Miss Y/N. I have some things I'd like to discuss with her."

Bruce’s eyes widened slightly in mild surprise, the request catching him off guard. He glanced at you, and you were equally taken aback, then back at Alfred. There was some hidden intention behind Alfred's words, and Bruce couldn't deny that it piqued his curiosity.

"Of course, that's not a problem," you replied, your voice steady.

Alfred nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes flickering to Bruce for a brief moment as if silently communicating something. Then he shifted his focus onto you, his expression one of pleasant curiosity. "Follow me, Miss Y/N," he said, gesturing towards a set of double doors nearby.

You glanced at Bruce, offering him a reassuring smile to ease any lingering uncertainty, before standing and following Alfred towards the doors. 

Alfred led you through the doors and into a small, elegant sitting room. It was cozy, yet opulent. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries, and the furniture was arranged to maximize both style and comfort. A small fire crackled faintly in the stone fireplace against the far wall, casting shadows and warm light across the room. 

Alfred led you to a pair of comfortable chairs facing each other near the fireplace. He gestured for you to take a seat, a gentle, yet purposeful look on his face.

Alfred took his seat across from you, the warm glow of the fire casting shadows across his face. He observed you for a silent moment, sizing you up, before addressing you directly.

"Miss Y/N," he started, his voice soft yet carrying an intense undertone, "I’ll be straightforward with you. In my years of knowing Master Bruce, I've observed him go through many relationships. None, however, have seemed to hold his attention and devotion like you."

You tilted your head slightly, absorbing his words. You hadn't expected such a declaration, let alone from someone like Alfred. Your brow furrowed lightly, a mixture of curiosity in your eyes. 

"And why do you think that is?" You asked. 

"That is a valid question," Alfred responded, his eyes studying you carefully. “You've managed to catch his heart, make him open up in a way he's never done before. The change in him is striking." He paused for effect, leaning slightly forward in his chair. "But there's something else that sets you apart from the others."

"And what might that be?" You asked. 

Alfred's gaze intensified as he observed you, weighing his words.

"I do hope it’s not premature of me to say this but, it’s your ability to see beyond the surface. You see him, truly see him, for who he is - as both Bruce Wayne and Batman. You connect with him on a deeper level. There's no pretense, no trying to change him. You simply accept him, flaws and all."

A small smile formed on your lips as you looked back at Alfred. "I see your perception rivals your wisdom, Mr. Pennyworth," you acknowledged a tone of respect in your voice.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Alfred’s mouth at your comment. 

"You've also managed to break his usually cold demeanor. I've never witnessed him smile or laugh as much as I have since he met you. You've brought a lightness to him that has been missing for a while." He paused, studying you, the look on his face becoming more serious. "But I must ask, are you aware of the life you’re stepping into? The dangers that come with his world?"

Your smile faded slightly, a hint of gravity entering your expression. "I am," you replied, knowing full well the implications of Bruce’s double life. "I’m aware of the risks and dangers associated with being with someone like him." You paused for a moment, considering your words carefully before continuing, "But I believe love isn’t about avoiding risks. It’s about finding someone worth taking those risks for."

Alfred nodded a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Wise words, Miss Y/N. Love isn’t for the faint-hearted, and loving someone like Master Bruce requires a level of patience that not many possess." He paused, studying you once again. "But love alone isn’t enough. You must also understand that there are aspects of Master Bruce’s life that will always be outside your reach. His crusade as Batman will always come first, no matter what.. unfortunately. Are you prepared for that?"

You took a deep breath, the weight of Alfred’s words settling in. You had come to terms with this part of Bruce and had accepted it as part of who he was the moment he revealed his identity to you. 

You met Alfred's gaze, your eyes holding confidence and determination. "Yes," you replied, your voice unwavering, "I’m prepared for that. I understand it’s a part of who he is, and it’s a part of what makes him the man I fell in love with."

A satisfied look crossed Alfred’s expression as he observed your response. "You’ve given your answer much thought, it seems," he noted, his tone holding a note of approval. He leaned forward slightly, a new determination in his eyes. "I need to ask you one final thing, Miss Y/N.”

You shifted slightly in your seat, your gaze fixed on Alfred, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation in your eyes. 

"What is it?" 

“Can I trust you with his heart?” Alfred asked.

You felt the question strike a chord within. It wasn’t a simple question, but rather one that held tremendous importance. But you didn’t hesitate. “Yes," you replied, your voice firm and resolute, "You can trust me with his heart."

"I believe you," he said simply, his tone softened. "Your dedication to him, your love and acceptance of him, they’re genuine." He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, his voice steady and filled with conviction. "I want you to know that I will make it my priority to ensure he treats you with nothing less than the utmost respect and admiration. You deserve to be cherished, loved, and valued, and I won't stand by and let anyone, not even Master Bruce, treat you otherwise."

You listened to Alfred's words, touched by the depth of loyalty and concern. The thought of someone like Alfred, who knew Bruce so well, standing up for you, made you feel both humbled and protected. 

You offered him a small smile, your eyes filled with gratitude, "I appreciate your pledge, Mr. Pennyworth. I’ve never felt more cared for."

He returned your smile with one of his own, the lines of his face creased with both solemnity and happiness. "Please, call me Alfred," he insisted, his tone a mixture of insistence and warmth. "You're part of this home now, and in my eyes, that means you're part of the family." He paused, the fire cracking in the fireplace the only sound in the room for a moment. "And family looks after their own."

The words "part of the family" hit you with a sudden wave of emotion. Growing up, you had never known what it was like to truly feel like you belonged, not even with your own family. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes, but you fought them back, a small, choked laugh escaping your lips to fight the urge to cry. 

"Thank you, Alfred," you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion, "That means more to me than you can ever know."

Alfred's facial expression softened further as he leaned in, reaching out to gently pat your hand. "Family means everything," he murmured. "It’s a bond that binds you together through good times and bad. And you, my dear, have made Bruce a better man. You’ve made this place brighter, warmer already." He leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I can’t wait to see what the future holds for the two of you."

Your emotional turmoil heightened with Alfred’s reassurance, your heart swelling with a mixture of joy and melancholy. But this time, you didn’t fight it. You let the tears fall, the emotional release providing a moment of catharsis.

"Thank you, Alfred," you repeated, your voice catching in your throat. Your tears continued to fall as you wiped them away. "For everything."

Alfred reached into a nearby drawer, got a handkerchief, and handed it over to you. He gave you another soft smile, his eyes filled with understanding. 

He waited patiently for you to gather your composure, the room quiet except for the crackling fire. 

After a few moments, your tears began to subside, your emotions slowly returning to equilibrium.

You looked up at Alfred, your eyes red and puffy, a small sheepish smile on your lips. "I'm sorry," you mumbled, "I didn't mean to get so emotional."

Alfred dismissed your apology with a wave of his hand. "No need to apologize, my dear," he said gently. "Raw emotions are nothing to be ashamed of." He leaned forward, his voice taking on a slightly more serious tone. "What do you say we return to the dining hall," he suggested, "before Master Bruce begins to worry."

You nodded, wiping away the last of your tears. Getting up from your chair, you took a deep breath, feeling a sense of peace and determination settle over you. 

Alfred led you back to the dining hall, opening the doors to reveal Bruce waiting patiently at the head of the table. His expression changed from slight concern to relief as soon as he saw you, a soft smile spreading across his face. He stood as you approached. 

"Everything alright?" he asked, his gaze shifting between your tear-stained face and Alfred’s calm demeanor.

"Everything’s fine," you responded, your composure now returning. You could see the flicker of concern in Bruce’s eyes, and you wanted to assure him that there was nothing to worry about.

You took a seat beside him, forcing a small smile. "It was just a heartfelt conversation, that’s all," you added, casting a quick glance at Alfred.

Bruce eyed you for a moment, the concern in his gaze lingering, but he didn't press the matter. Instead, he reached for your hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze, a silent gesture of reassurance.

Alfred took his seat as well, his expression holding a hint of satisfaction, a silent statement that the discussion you had was more than just a heartfelt exchange.

“Y/N," Bruce began, his voice steady yet warm, as he gestured towards you. "I want to introduce you to my sons. They are Damian, Dick, and Jason, and they will be joining us shortly. It’s important to me that you get to meet them." He paused a hint of pride in his expression, knowing how much they all meant to him.

You nodded slowly, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with nervousness at the thought of meeting Bruce's sons. It was more than just a social occasion; it represented a significant step in your relationship, a tangible sign that Bruce was ready to share a deeper part of his life with you—a facet that you knew must be important to him.

"I look forward to meeting them," you replied, your voice laced with sincerity and anticipation. You bit your lip, glancing down for a moment as you considered the potential implications of this meeting. “But are you sure about this? What if it feels like too much for them at this point? I mean, is it too soon?  I don’t want to overstep any boundaries."

Before Bruce could respond to your concerns, the door swung open, and Jason Todd strode in, his demeanor confident and lively. “No, trust me. This is way overdue!” he exclaimed, a playful grin spreading across his face. “We’ve heard so much about you, Y/N. It’s about time we finally put a face to the name. We’ve been curious.” His enthusiasm seemed to dissipate some of your worries, making the prospect of meeting the boys feel a little less daunting.

Damian and Dick followed close behind. Damian, the youngest, eyed you with a mixture of caution and curiosity, his stern expression giving way to a subtle interest in his eyes. Dick, on the other hand, greeted you with a charming smile, a warm glimmer of amusement in his gaze. 

"I must say," Dick began, a hint of good humor in his voice, "The mystery surrounding you has been quite the topic of conversation, especially amongst the family gossip circle."

You managed a smile, your nerves still evident but eased by Dick’s lighthearted introduction. You glanced at Bruce, who was watching the scene unfold with a stoic expression, but you could sense a trace of worry in his eyes. With all three of his sons standing there, each with their own distinct personalities, you couldn’t help but find it slightly intimidating.

"I hope the conversations were all good ones," you responded, your gaze flickering towards Damian, who was studying you intently.

Jason laughed, clearly amused, as Dick joined in, both of them finding your comment entertaining.

"If only you knew,” Jason quipped, “Half of it was just speculation, rumors, and wild guesses."

Damian, still serious and unwavering, spoke up, his voice cutting through the banter. "Father hasn't been this... interested in a woman in a long time." 

His words hung in the air, the room momentarily silent as the others chuckled softly at Damian’s bluntness.

You felt yourself blushing slightly at Damian’s straightforward comment, your nervousness returning as all eyes fell on you. You glanced at Bruce again, his expression unreadable, but you could sense a subtle change in the room’s atmosphere. 

"Well, I hope I can at least live up to the mysterious hype," you tried to keep the mood light despite your increasing anxiety.

Dick leaned against the table, a grin still lingering on his face. "Oh, I’m sure you’ll exceed all expectations," he replied, his tone light and friendly. 

Jason added, "Or at least make things a lot more interesting."

You smiled, appreciating their attempts at breaking the tension, but then Damian spoke again. 

"So, Miss Y/N," he began, his scrutinizing gaze never leaving your face, "What exactly are your intentions with my father?"

His question took you by surprise, but before you could reply, Bruce spoke up, his voice calm yet firm. "Damian, that’s enough."

Damian shot a quick, defiant glance at Bruce before shifting his gaze back to you, clearly not satisfied with the answer. 

Jason chuckled at the exchange, his amusement evident. "Classic Damian," he muttered.

"I think what Damian’s trying to say," Dick interjected, his tone softer, "is that you seem to mean a lot to Bruce, and we just want to make sure he's in good hands."

You felt the weight of the question, sensing the protective nature of the boys' concerns. You glanced at Bruce, his expression stoic yet filled with understanding. 

Taking a breath, you met Damian's gaze and, with as much composure as you could muster, responded. "I care deeply for your father," you began, your voice steady, "I'm committed to him, to our relationship." 

You paused, looking around the room, meeting each person's gaze, including Bruce's. Your next words came from a place of genuine care and sincerity. "I want to be a part of making him happy."

Damian's expression remained stern, his eyes locked with yours, though a hint of something almost resembling approval shimmered in his gaze.

"Sounds like we've got our answer," Dick noted, a small smirk on his lips. 

Jason quipped, "As long as you make him laugh more. The brooding has its limits."

You smiled softly at Jason’s remark, the hint of humor in his words making you feel a little more at ease. 

Bruce spoke up, his voice steady and firm. "Let’s just enjoy dinner," he suggested, his tone suggesting that the conversation about you was now closed.

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension easing as everyone took their seats. Bruce sat at the head of the table, with you to his left side. Dick sat beside you, and Jason and Damian took the seats opposite to you. 

The dinner proceeded, the conversation flowing with a mix of casual banter and the occasional playful jab, yet you couldn’t help but feel the lingering presence of the questions Damian had posed.

”Y/N,” Dick snapped you out of your thoughts. “The Manor is lively for the first time in years. It's never decorated for any holiday season. So this is a rare sight.“ Dick observed the decorations as they enjoyed their meal. "Bruce usually isn’t one for festive tidings."

Jason, never one to hold back, quipped, "Yeah, the Bat is allergic to anything resembling joy.” 

Damian rolled his eyes, a scowl on his face. "Don’t trivialize his dedication," he grumbled. 

Alfred interjected thoughtfully, his voice tinged with a soft nostalgia that seemed to echo through the grand halls of Wayne Manor. "It is indeed true, Miss Y/N. The last time this home was adorned in a proper fashion for the season was long ago when the late Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were still with us, filling these rooms with their warmth and affection. The whirlwind of responsibilities and escapades has left us little room to indulge in the kind of celebrations that this home truly deserves.”

Curiosity flickered in your eyes as you turned to Bruce, his expression a mix of contemplation and nostalgia. Even Alfred, the ever-observant butler, seemed lost in thought, a faint shadow crossing his face. 

“So, what changed?” You inquired, your voice soft yet probing, as you sought to unravel the mystery behind the contrast of the manor’s festive charm and the weight of the past that seemed to linger in the air.

"Well, your welcoming presence in Master Bruce’s life did, Miss Y/N,” Alfred remarked with heartfelt sincerity.

“But also, Bruce mentioned that your apartment resembles a scene straight out of a holiday disaster film, as if Santa and his elves had a chaotic celebration and left the aftermath everywhere,” Dick added, a teasing smirk on his face.

You chuckled softly at Dick's depiction and smiled at Alfred's response.

Meanwhile, Jason chimed in. "True. Bruce said you literally live inside a snow globe."

Damian, who had been quiet for a moment, suddenly spoke up, a hint of disapproval in his tone. "I fail to understand the appeal. Holidays are overly sentimental and commercialized," he scoffed, "A waste of time and resources."

Jason rolled his eyes at Damian's cynicism. "You just hate anything remotely cheerful and joyful, don’t you, D?"

"I merely appreciate practicality and efficiency," Damian replied with a cool indifference. "Holidays are unnecessary distractions, especially for someone with responsibilities like my father."

"Right, because having a holiday tree and some lights totally takes away from his ability to fight crime," Jason retorted sarcastically.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

Bruce intervened, his voice calm yet authoritative. "Alright, that's enough," he said firmly, casting an amused yet warning glance at his sons. He then turned to you, holding your gaze with a mixture of affection and resolve.

“I wanted you to feel comfortable tonight,” Bruce said.

Your heart warmed at his words. You reached for his hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I already feel at home, Bruce," you replied sincerely, your voice slightly quivering with the weight of your emotions.

The boys, despite their banter earlier, couldn’t help but notice the subtle tenderness between you and Bruce. 

"Seems like Bruce has got it bad," Jason murmured to Dick, a sly smirk on his lips. 

Dick laughed, his eyes flickering between Bruce and you, watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and something that hinted at both protectiveness and genuine happiness.

Damian, ever observant, studied you carefully before shifting his gaze to Bruce. His expression remained guarded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that could be interpreted as a hint of acceptance. 

Bruce squeezed your hand lightly in response, his touch conveying the depth of his feelings for you.

The warmth of the moment was interrupted by Alfred, who had quietly refilled a few wine glasses, except for Damian. 

"It seems that Christmas has indeed brought us all together," he said sagely, a rare hint of contentment in his usually composed demeanor.

Jason, always first to lighten the mood, picked up his glass and raised it in a toast. "To Christmas, and all the sentimental nonsense that comes with it," he declared, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Dick, following suit, joined in the toast. He smiled warmly, his glass raised high. “And to new beginnings," he added, his gaze flickering towards you and Bruce.

Even Damian, reluctantly, lifted his glass, his expression still slightly guarded. “To the holiday season, may it pass swiftly,” he grumbled before taking a small sip.

Bruce followed suit and raised his glass. His eyes met yours, the depth of his feelings for you evident in his gaze. "To us," he said quietly, "and to new traditions."

The boys' eyes widened slightly at Bruce's words, clearly not expecting such a sentimental toast from the usually reserved man. 

Dick smirked, his eyes darting between the two of you, while Jason elbowed Damian, who rolled his eyes but said nothing further. Alfred smiled softly, clearly pleased and perhaps a little relieved to see Bruce opening himself up in such a way.

You smiled, your heart swelling with a mixture of surprise and joy at Bruce's words. You held his gaze, your own affection for him mirrored in your eyes.

"To us," you repeated, echoing his toast, your voice filled with both tenderness and promise. 

The boys, perhaps silently acknowledging this new chapter, clinked their glasses together, a gesture of support and acceptance. The atmosphere in the room was filled with a subtle sense of hope and change. 

Bruce nodded, taking a sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving yours. The bond between you grew deeper with each shared moment, the holiday cheer seemingly bringing a new level of intimacy and understanding.

Jason started speaking with a warmth in his voice, his excitement palpable. "Since this is our very first time celebrating Christmas together, I thought it would be fun if we all wore matching pajamas, just like what normal families do during the holidays." 

The word "family" lingered in the air, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat. Your thoughts raced as you reflected on the significance of that word. Did they truly see you as part of their close-knit group this soon? The idea sent a flutter through your chest, mixing hope with a touch of uncertainty. You glanced around at the others, wondering if they felt the same way, and what it would mean to be included in this new family tradition.

The boys' eyes widened in unison, a mix of surprise and perhaps a slight bit of horror plastered on their faces at Jason's unexpected suggestion. 

Dick, the first to recover, responded. “That’s... different."

Damian was the first to protest, a scowl on his young face. "Absolutely not. I will not be seen in such an absurd and infantile get-up."

“I'm in,” you said excitedly.

Jason, his eyes bright with delight, smiled widely at your enthusiasm. "Looks like we've got one taker," he announced, his gaze flickering to the others. 

Dick smiled, his initial surprise giving way to amusement at your eagerness. "Well, if Y/N is in, count me in too," he proclaimed, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Damian's scowl deepened, his arms crossed defiantly across his chest. "I refuse to participate in this buffoonery," he declared firmly.

Bruce, who had been silently listening to the conversation, cleared his throat and spoke up. "I think it would be nice if everyone joined in," he said, his tone brooking no argument. 

Jason, Dick, and you smiled, knowing that Bruce's word was final. Damian, still reluctant, rolled his eyes but nodded grudgingly. 

Alfred, who had been quietly observing, piped up, ”This shall be fun."

As Jason vanished from the room, no doubt to bring the pajamas, everyone exchanged glances, a mix of resignation and reluctant excitement on their faces. The thought of wearing matching Christmas pajamas was definitely unusual, but the prospect of having a new tradition with you was undeniably appealing. 

Jason came back with a stack of flannel pajamas. 

Everyone eyed the pajamas, each lost in thought. 

Dick spoke with a hint of resignation in his voice. "I guess we're really doing this." 

Damian held up his pajamas, his expression a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "These are hideous."

Your eyes gleamed with excitement. You grabbed your set of pajamas, holding them up against you. "I love flannel," you grinned, already imagining how cute they'd look. 

Bruce accepted his pair, studying them for a moment before speaking. "It’s just for tonight," he reassured, his tone serious yet with a hint of surrender.

They all dispersed to change into their pajamas, each returning to the main room at different times. 

Jason was the first to come back, his pajamas sitting perfectly on his frame. "Not bad," he smirked. "I could get used to this." 

Dick was next, his face a mixture of amusement and resignation. His pajamas fit him nicely, the flannel soft against his skin. "Okay," he said, holding up his hands in defeat, "It’s not as bad as I thought."

Damian was the last to emerge, looking decidedly unhappy in his pajamas. The soft flannel contrasted with his usual no-nonsense attitude, but he managed to maintain his aloof expression. 

As Bruce entered, your gaze traveled over his firm and toned body, your cheeks flushing slightly as your eyes roamed over his torso. You quickly tried to compose yourself before anyone noticed your lingering gaze.

Bruce caught your lingering gaze as it traveled up and down his body. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, silently amused by your reaction to his casual, albeit still fit, appearance.

Bruce walked towards you and went in for a hug. “You always look stunning,” he whispered in your ear.

You smiled at Bruce's compliment, your heart fluttering. 

"And you look quite handsome yourself," you replied, your voice soft as your arms wrapped around his waist in a gentle embrace.

Jason interrupted the moment. “Anyway, I will choose the flicks for tonight.”

Everyone settled in the large living room, each finding a comfortable spot on the couch. As the movie started playing, you and Bruce sat close together. 

Dick, ever observant, noticed Bruce's arm casually around you, silently marveling at Bruce's open display of affection. 

Damian, seated next to you, remained silent. The sight of Bruce’s open display of affection, so unlike his usual stoic demeanor, seemed to have taken even the usually unruffled Damian by surprise.

As the movie flickered across the screen, casting a soft glow in the dimly lit room, an air of drowsiness began to settle over the group. Dick sprawled comfortably on the plush carpet, his head resting against the cool surface, while Jason sank deep into the cushions of the recliner, his eyelids growing heavy with each passing minute. Across from him, Alfred sat in his own recliner, a classic movie poster gently illuminated behind him, dozing off with a serene expression etched on his face. Meanwhile, Bruce, you, and Damian nestled together on the loveseat sofa, your bodies cozy against one another, the gentle warmth of their comfort lulling you all into a state of relaxation as you watched the film. The combination of the riveting narrative and the peaceful atmosphere made it increasingly difficult for anyone to stay awake.

Bruce's eyelids grew heavier as the movie progressed. His arm, wrapped around you, instinctively drew you closer, pulling you into a comfortable position against his chest in the cozy loveseat. 

Jason was the first to surrender to the drowsiness. He let out a long yawn and closed his eyes, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

You shifted slightly on the sofa as you felt a warm weight settle against your arm. Glancing to your side, you discovered that Damian had dozed off, leaning comfortably against you. His brow was relaxed, and a hint of a smile played on his lips as if he was lost in a pleasant dream. 

With a soft sigh, you reached for the cozy blanket draped over the back of the sofa that Alfred had placed and gently unfolded it. You carefully draped it over him, wanting to ensure he stayed warm through the night. Your fingers brushed against his cheek as you tucked the fabric around him, feeling the softness of his skin against your hand.

Leaning in closer, you whispered tenderly, “Goodnight, Damian,” your voice barely above a whisper, filled with affection. The room was quiet, save for the soothing sound of everyone’s breaths, and in that moment, all felt right in the world.

Bruce's heart swelled as he watched you tend to Damian, tucking him in with gentle affection. Your tenderness towards Damian, despite his thorny demeanor, warmed his heart fiercely. 

Bruce, too, was slowly succumbing to the drowsiness that filled the room. He fought against it for a moment, not wanting to miss a single second of this unexpected moment of tranquility.

Bruce kissed the top of your head and stroked your hair, cherishing every touch, every sigh, every moment he could spend with you in his arms, until finally, you drifted off to sleep. The warmth and comfort of the room, coupled with his fatigue, were starting to overpower him.

As he gave in to the pull of sleep, he smiled faintly, his voice barely audible. "Good night, princess, and Merry Christmas."

[zhenne]

snowy escapade

— dr.zayne + f.reader

sum. when zayne invites you to join him on the slopes, you take it as an opportunity to better your skills (and maybe impress the astute doctor). however, what was supposed to be an active day of fun in the snow turns into a lecture after you get injured on the last run of the day.

wc. 2.6k

warnings. fem reader, use of y/n, mentions of injury (reader fractures her elbow), not proofread

a/n. this is based off a very real scenario that happened to me a few years ago lol, hope you enjoy!

Perched on the mountainside, the weathered wood lodge stood like a rustic sentinel hidden in the biting cold. Strings of twinkling golden lights adorned the eaves, casting a warm glow in the wintry afternoon light.

Inside, the air was a mix of rich pine and the faint sweetness of hot chocolate. A hearth of natural rock kept the cozy interior thrumming with a comfortable warmth, and plush armchairs and overstuffed sofas invited guests to relax after a day on the slopes. Several small groups of skiers and snowboarders mingled about the central lounge, the occasional bout of hearty laughter bubbling from one of the ongoing conversations. A few more helmeted heads trickle into the room as some step out, intent on using every last bit of daylight to make the most out of the fresh powder snow.

Your jacket was hung against the side of your chair—gloves, helmet, and goggles precariously piled atop the small coffee table. The chair across from you remained empty, gear similarly displaced to your own. The lodge’s wide windows offered a panoramic view of the slopes outside. Although it was only four in the afternoon, the winter left little respite and dusk would begin to fall within the next couple hours. You watch as a group of skiers trudge past the equipment racks, their laughter echoing faintly through the frosty air as they make their way to the lift.

The faint clatter in front of you draws your attention back. First to the mug of steaming hot chocolate being placed on the small table. Then, to the hazel green eyes peering down at you.

“That turn you did on the last run? Far too risky.” Despite the obvious heed of concern, Zayne’s voice held a distinct mirth you’ve come to quickly identify.

He sits in the seat across from you, pushing some of his gear aside in favor of making room for his own hot chocolate, a handful of miniature marshmallows halfway melted on the top. His dark hair was still damp from the melted snow, sticking up in messy peaks. You giggle to yourself at the rare sight. Even now, the (sometimes overly) composed doctor managed to look ruggedly handsome with his tussled hair and wind burned cheeks.

You pick up the cup in front of you, relishing in the warmth that encases your hands. You take a small sip, grinning over the rim at him. “I was just trying to mimic my teacher. That’s how we learn, is it not?”

“I only did that because you said you wanted to see something cool.”

“I meant something I could learn,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as if it were obvious enough.

“You’ll get there,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I don’t need my star pupil getting injured before she even makes it off the bunny slopes.”

The ‘bunny slopes’ he was referring to was actually a Blue slope, one that acted as the pre-qualifier for the Red and Black slopes. And, in your defense, the route got a bit crowded, and you ended up getting bottlenecked on one of the more precarious turns. Did you end up taking the turn a little too fast and end up propelling yourself into the rougher terrain? Yes. Did this result in you eating absolute shit and lodging yourself in a wide bank of snow? Also yes.

Zayne, who had said he was going to follow behind you, watched with alarming anxiety as you neglected to slow down and go careening straight into the bank, and you were sure you won’t hear the end of it for the rest of the night.

As if to add fuel to the already smoldering fire, you voice your new goal. “I think I want to try to hit one of the Red slopes next, one with some jumps.”

Zayne is mid-drink when his brows quirk up at your words. You bite back the grin when you notice the small patch of melted marshmallow on his upper lip. He seems to notice anyway and quickly swipes it off with the pad of his thumb. Then his brows crease with a wary glance, “You realize you could’ve been seriously hurt on this last run, right?”

“Well, yea-“

“Then you should know not to push your luck.” He coolly takes another sip of the sweet hot chocolate, shooting you a look that boasted ‘listen to your doctor’s advice’.

You frown, scowling slightly as your cheeks puff with indignation. You hold your tongue for a moment before your grin seeps back onto your face. Flattery oozes from your soft voice like a well aged wine, fragrant and sweet, “That’s why I have the best teacher, right? I’d only trust Dr. Zayne to show me how to navigate something like this.”

The silence is long. You both stare at each other—you, with your pleading doe eyes, and Zayne, with a hardened resolve. Then finally, he sighed, reaching for his half empty mug. “And I suppose you want to start working on this new goal of yours soon?”

Another cheshire grin from you has him sighing again, as if he predicted the words about to leave your lips, “how do you feel about making one last run today?”

In hindsight, you probably should have actually taken Zayne’s advice. Adorning all your gear, with one foot secured to the snowboard, you made the trek with Zayne to the lift that would take you to the entry-level Red slope. You felt giddy sitting next to him as the five o-clock shadows of the encroaching evening loomed.

You both wore your goggles and balaclavas, so you had to practically lean into him as you spoke. “One jump, and I promise we can be done for the night.”Seeming to take you at your word, Zayne only nodded.

Now you stood at the top of the route, your boots latched into the bindings, and your heart thrumming with anticipatory adrenaline. The wind was weak, but bitingly cold, the tip of your nose burning. Zayne was next to you, secured to his own board as he raised his voice a bit to reaffirm the plan.

“You remember what to do?” He continued before you could nod, “Keep a moderate speed. Bend your knees, stay balanced, and pop off the lip when you hit the jump. And don’t forget to land with your knees bent.”

You gave him a gloved thumbs up, your small smile hidden by your mask. You edge closer to the start of the slope. As if one cue, the mountain side became illuminated as the dusk to dawn lights switched on. You glance at Zayne.

“And remember,” his voice was definitive, “only go for a small jump. If you don’t feel you can hit it right, don’t try to force it.” Then, reassuringly, like he always reminded you before each run, “I’ll be right behind you.”

You nod, lining up your board and adjusting your stance. With a steadying breath, you lean into the sloped descent.

You’d never grow tired of the rush that came with snowboarding. Each run, even if it was a hill you’d done a hundred times, made your body feel alight with energy—the cold wind that seeped into the gaps between your mask and goggles, the way you felt both weightless and demanding at the same time—like a ballerina poised in elegance as her muscles screamed with the exertion to remain on pointe.

You carved your way down the slope, fresh powder rising in thick waves as you board cleaved through. Then you saw it, a perfect mound to try and get some air. You adjust yourself slightly, slowing your trajectory just enough so Zayne won’t berate you later for ‘unnecessary recklessness’.

You closed in on the jump fast, bending your knees, and extending your legs just as you popped off the jump. Your landing was a little shaky, but you managed to stay upright as you quickly rebalanced yourself.

You cheered yourself on, adrenaline pumping like hot blood in your veins. You catch sight of Zayne in your peripheral, clapping as he gracefully carved his own trail through the snow. You felt like you were on cloud nine. And perhaps that is where you should have stopped and called it a night.

But pride in a new skill is such a tempting allurement. The wind bit at your cheeks as you carved further down the slope, snowboard slicing through the snow with satisfying ease. Your heart thudded in anticipation. You knew what awaited at the end of the trail—a daunting jump that seemed to dare anyone brave enough to tackle it.

‘You’ve got this, Y/N,’ you told yourself, though your nerves began to betrayed your confidence.

You crouched lower, picking up speed. The icy air stung your face, and your breath came in quick bursts. The jump loomed ahead, larger and more intimidating with every second. Your instincts screamed at you to slow down or swerve out of the way, but you pushed the thoughts aside. Don’t overthink it. Just go.

You hit the lip of the jump at full speed, launching into the air. For a split second, it was exhilarating—the rush of weightlessness, the world tilting as you soared above the slope. But then you became all too aware of your hubris. You had gone too fast and your balance was just slightly off.

The board tilted awkwardly as you descended, and your stomach dropped.

The landing came hard and unforgiving. Your board’s edge caught the snow wrong, and you were thrown forward, your body hitting the ground with a brutal thud. One moment you had the perfect view of the lodge down the mountain, all lit up and welcoming in the dimming light, and the next your vision was filled with tiny specks of stars against a black backdrop. It took you a moment and several quick blinks for you to realize you were on your back, and that the stars weren’t out yet.

Then you felt it. Pain, hot and dizzying, shot from your right elbow, radiating all the way into the bend of your shoulder.

You must have rolled to a stop, snow covered you like a patchwork quilt, your balaclava pull down your face from the impact.

“Y/N!” Through the incessant ringing in your ears, you managed to pick out Zayne’s voice, sharp with panic.

You groaned as you sat up, trying to drag yourself onto your knees, but the sharp, searing pain in your arm stopped you cold. Your left hand instinctively cradled it as you winced.

“Hey, hey—don’t move,” Zayne chided, suddenly at your side. He knelt in the snow, his board abandoned a few feet away. His goggles were lifted atop his helmet as his eyes searched yours. His usual calm was edged with concern. “Where does it hurt?”

“My arm,” you manage through gritted teeth. “Elbow.”

Zayne’s hands hovered over yours, his doctor instincts kicking in. “Okay. Let me take a look.” His eyes flicked from your arm to your face, “Tell me if it hurts too much.”

Your head was swimming. You nodded, though the thought of moving your arm made your stomach churn. His touch was careful as he checked for obvious breaks, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Doesn’t feel like anything’s out of place,” he muttered after a moment, his voice steady but still laced with worry. “Probably a bad sprain or a fracture. We’ll need to get you off the slope and to the clinic to be sure.”

“Great,” you muttered, your attempt at humor reduced to a pained groan, “I’m definitely in for a scolding from Dr. Zayne.”

“We can discuss your scolding later, “Zayne said firmly, his gaze locking onto yours. “But now we’re going to get you some help, okay?”

You nodded again, biting your lip against the pain. As Zayne helped you to your feet, his arm carefully supporting your injured side, you couldn’t help but notice how steady he was.

“Guess I owe you one,” you said, your voice a little softer now.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he replied. “Perhaps except for a ‘you were right, Zayne’.

Despite the ache in your arm, you couldn’t help but smile.

The smell of coffee and fresh baked bread filled the cozy diner near the ski resort and lodge. Morning sunlight streamed through the frosted windows, casting a golden glow over the polished wood tables. You sat across from Zayne, your right arm now secured in a black sling. You were poking at the plate of breakfast pastries with your fork, your left hand doing its best to compensate for your usual dominant one.

You can feel green eyes boring into you, and with a defeated sigh, you set your fork down. “Okay, let’s hear it,” you say, not looking up.

Zayne leaned back in his chair, a cup of coffee cradled in one of his hands. He tilted his head slightly, brow quirked. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

This little shit. You finally look up, the tendrils of guilt quietly pursing your lips. “You’re going to lecture me, aren’t you?”

He leaned forward, expression serious. “Y/N, you went into that jump way too fast. I told you—control your speed.” He pushed a sigh past his lips, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek from remarking how he sounded like a middle aged father. “And not to mention the fact that I had specifically told you to only attempt the small jumps.”

You feel yourself recline back into your seat, hiding your mouth behind your cup as you muttered, “I was just trying to push myself.” Your cheeks colored slightly with warmth as a childlike petulance bled into your voice. “Isn’t that the whole point of a challenge?”

“Sure,” Zayne admitted, setting his coffee down. “But pushing yourself doesn’t mean throwing caution to the wind. You’re lucky is just a small fracture. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

You sighed, slouching into your chair. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Zayne softened at the sign of your obvious guilt. “Hey,” he said in a voice so gentle it made your heartbeat quicken. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just—look, you don’t have to feel like you need to prove something out there. Challenging yourself doesn’t mean you have to take unnecessary risks.”

Your fork clinked against your plate as you absentmindedly fidgeted. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” you admitted after a moment. “Maybe a little. You’re always good at this stuff, and I want to catch up to you.”

You catch the way his eyes widen slightly. But just as quickly as it had happened, he shook his head. “Y/N, you don’t have to catch up to me. You’re one of the most capable people I know, but you’ve got to give yourself a break, literally, this time.”

You snorted at the pun despite yourself. “God, who knew Dr. Zayne was such a dork.”

“You’re lucky this dork was here when you failed to follow simple instructions,” he shot back, the ghost of a teasing grin spreading to the corners of his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, Dr. Zayne, point taken. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Good,” Zayne said, sitting back with a satisfied nod. “Because I’d rather not have to tend to an injured patient while I’m off duty.”

You smirked, lifting your coffee with your left hand. “You mean you’re not secretly enjoying being my personal chauffeur and medical consultant?”

“Aren’t I that already?” He replied, his tone light.

You shared a quiet laugh. Despite the sling and your bruised ego, you couldn’t help feeling grateful—for his care, his companionship, and the way he always seemed to know how to make you feel just a little better.

credits!

lace divider: @/muruffin

bear divider: @/chiffonz

[caplanbuckybarnes]

CheaterCheaterBestFriendEater

Summary: After you'd gotten drunk with Tony one night when Steve was away on a mission, you never expected to be heartbroken I the morning.

Warnings: cheating, an abortion (not descriptive, just a brief mention of one), cheater!reader, pisse!steve (honestly, he should have been way more raged lol)

Word Count: 879

@saiilorstars sent in a GIF for a drabble. I'm going to do the Bucky one as well. Sorry, it's late, LOL.

Read on Ao3!

---

You knew from the look in his eyes that he was pissed. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to see that. You’d accidentally sent a text message to him that was meant entirely for someone else. Which, in retrospect, shouldn’t have been a problem. Expect that the text message revealed that you were pregnant.

And it couldn’t have been Steve’s. 

He had been on a mission with the Avengers and Guardians, tracking down half-devoured worlds to help restore them. He had been gone for over two months when you texted him this revealing information.

You felt lonely. You felt depressed. You were alone in the compound with Tony and Bucky. All it took was one lonely and drunk night to find yourself waltzing into Tony’s room first and seducing him, to promise that you wouldn’t tell a soul about your little escapades that night. But little had you known of the consequences. You could have sworn you took your birth control pill that morning. 

But as you looked at the tablet, the day’s previous one was still sealed shut. You waited several days before texting Tony while he ran errands with Bucky before letting him know. But of course, you had clicked on Steve’s pinned message on your phone without thinking before typing the message:

How the fuck am I supposed to fucking tell Steve, who is my goddamn BOYFRIEND, that I slept with one of his best friends and got pregnant? What the actual fuck, Tony?

It was with horror that you realised you’d sent the message to the wrong pinned message. You knew Steve would be arriving home shortly, so you’d been waiting for him on the house porch the four of you shared for bonding.

As he approached you, you stood up, swallowing the vomit that wanted to splatter all over the ground in front of you. “Do you have something you need to get off your chest, Y/N?”

“I’m glad to see you back, Steve,” you smiled at him shyly, not knowing what he was thinking. You always hated it when he was angered. He almost almost shut down his emotions when he was enraged. 

“Is Tony here? Bucky?” He asked, looking past you into the open door, down the house's hallway.

“They’re out getting dinner for all of us,” you swallowed the vomit down once again. You wished he’d just \look\ at you, for fuck’s sake. “Steve, I-”

“Save it,” he demanded, staring at you with pure disgust. “I’ll talk with Tony and see what he says, and I swear to god, if this was a mutual event, you’re not going to like the person I become.” Before you could say a single word in reply, he stormed past you, almost knocking into your shoulder as he leapt up the stairs in one motion.

--

Later that night, you stayed in the bed you shared with Steve, glancing at his empty side every few seconds. He and Tony had gone on a car ride hours earlier, leaving you and Bucky alone in the house. You knew you had fucked up. You knew you were in the wrong. You only hoped that Steve wouldn’t hurt Tony in the process.

Unable to sleep, even hours later, you finally decided to leave the bed and roam into the kitchen downstairs, only to find Tony sitting at the table with an empty beer bottle cradled in between his clasped hands.

“Tony?” you spoke, causing him to lift his head and stare at you. “Where’s Steve?”

“Out in the back chopping wood, I think,” he answered, surprisingly sober. “I told him you promised me you’d abort the damn thing. It was the only way to save both of our asses. It was a drunken mistake, and it never should have happened.” 

“Tony-”

“I’m calling T’challa in the morning to see about transporting you to Wakanda for a few days. Steve had the idea, not me, so don’t yell at me over it. I suggest you go pack about a week’s worth of clothes.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Tony,” you made to go to the back door before Tony stood up to block your way. “He needs sleep, Tony, and so do you and me. I can’t let him keep doing this.”

“Why not?” he replied. "We need the wood for the fireplace anyway. He didn’t kill me, so I think we’re both winning in this situation. Now go pack. I'll have Bucky drive you to the airport in the morning. Shuri will be picking you up from there."

There was no use in arguing with the man. Upstairs, you went to grab a large bag from your closet before going into the closet again and grabbing several outfits for the time you'll be staying in Wakanda.

--

You stayed in Wakanda for almost two months before Steve finally reached out to you with apologies and a desire to return home. He'd said he was deeply upset at your mistrust and still loved you. All you wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms again.

Another few days passed before you were woken up from your sleep to see Steve standing before your bed, holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

"It's time to go home, Y/N."

[eviesaurusrex]

ꜱᴜɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ᴋɪꜱꜱᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜᴇꜱ | ʜ. ꜱᴛʏʟᴇꜱ

GIFs not mine!

»kinda pt. 2 to this little request but it’s not required to read this now«

summary: After getting rid of every contraception method they ever used, Harry and YN finally start trying for a baby while enjoying their time in Australia.

word count: 7.3k (whoopsie)

warnings: +18 content, MDNI (I mean it), oral sex (both receiving), p in v, fluff, sweet lovemaking, loads of praises, some dirty talk, Harry has a breeding kink, and they’re both a bit possessive (not even sorry), sweet, fluffy aftercare, mentions of anxiety and future talk, mentions of pregnancy tests and being pregnant, pov always kinda jumping between YN and Harry because I obviously can’t stick to one, not 100% proofread

author’s note: This is my first ever full-on smut piece, so be gentle with me. I’m trying my best, okay? But I just couldn’t help myself, so I had to write this. Plus, I saw the pictures and gifs of Harry during his Australian shows, and he looks so damn happy there, so that certainly was another reason to write this. I don’t use the taglist this time because of the prominent 18+ topic.

»ᴍᴅɴɪ«

***

Impatiently, YN sat on the edge of the ridiculously large king-size bed their hotel suite was practically dominated by, eyes jumping between the door to the grand bathroom, in which Harry took a well-deserved shower after another exceptional show, and the phone in her restless hands, showing their shared cycle tracker. Ever since their lengthy talk right after Christmas about their future and the family planning they might wanted to start sooner rather than later, YN had abandoned every protection method in use and had gifted Gemma the several unopened packs of condoms waiting on their bathroom shelves and in their nightstand drawers.

What could she say? Harry and her always heavily indulged in the passion as soon as it came upon them—they probably had fucked on every possible surface in their shared homes. Even the floor of the several rooms they owned wasn’t unscathed.

A grin tucked at her lips as YN thought about the many risky escapades they continuously had found themselves in after a glass of wine too many in the hours prior to them, and almost fell off the bed as the door suddenly opened without warning, letting a steamy Harry back into the bedroom. The woman, already dressed in a too-large, on-her-body-hanging t-shirt of his and ready for a cozy night in bed with some Netflix, jumped from the edge she had been perched on the entire time since her phone had alarmed her of the day right after turning off the Do not disturb mode she always used during his shows. Wide eyes looked over to an only barely dried-off man, steam evaporating behind him into the warm air of their shared suite, the balcony doors widely opened to let in the fresh breeze of a beautiful Sydney night, the salty smell of the ocean mixing with the heavy scents of his favorite shower gel and shampoo.

YN couldn’t press a single word out of her abruptly constricted throat, her vocal cords twisting at the delicious, quite unexpected sight in front of her. Her eyes jumped from his handsome as-ever face over his exposed broad chest and chiseled abs, down over his veiny arms to his sexy hands—she was a weak woman, and she adored his hands to an unhealthy extent—in one he held his phone, showing the same screen she had faced for over fifteen minutes of agonizingly building anticipation of what might come tonight.

Harry’s eyes had already settled onto her own hand, holding her own phone before jumping back up to her face, cocking one perfect eyebrow before a lazy, teasing smirk made its appearance, letting him seem even more handsome than he already was. “You should’ve joined me in that shower, love,” he stated, turning off the light behind him. He walked through the room, his feet making almost no sound on the stone floor, coming closer and closer to her already overheating body. With a dry swallow, YN softly shrugged her shoulders. “Thought you could use the downtime, y’know?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she felt her heartbeat picking up, jumping even as Harry finally stopped right in front of her, right in arms reach. He cocked his head to one sight and watched her closely, eyebrows now gently furrowed in loving worry. “We don’t have to do this tonight, darlin’. We can easily wait for next month, or the month after, or even the month after that one if you think we should wait a bit more. I’ll do whatever you’re most comfortable with, y’know that, don’t you? I would never pressure you into this, no matter how many alarms we’ve set in the past because we thought we’d be ready.” His voice had lost the teasing, almost feral undertone and only left space for the man who would always put his woman first, no matter what.

Stretching her hand out, YN took the phone out of Harry’s and threw both devices onto the armchair next to the bed where her concert outfit lay, entirely forgotten, and letting her hands cup his face tenderly. He wrapped her into his arms straight away, pulling her body flush against his, and watched the woman he loved while she watched him just as closely. She let her fingertips glide over his skin, gently caressing his cheek, his neck, before burrowing them in the short, curly hair at the nape of his neck. Instantly, she could feel something twitch against her stomach, and with a small grin, YN tucked at his hair a second time, tickling a silent groan out of him.

“I know you would bring me the stars if I ever asked for them, but tonight, I want you to ravish me. I want you to fuck me as hard and best as possible. I only want to be able to moan your name because that’s the only thing on my mind,” YN whispered, lips barely touching, and moaned as Harry pressed them together, kissing her with a moan escaping himself. She could feel his strong, long fingers wandering from the curve of her hips over her spine to wrap them around her neck, letting her soft strands glide between them before gently winding them around his fist. With already heavy breaths escaping them, Harry ended the kiss by pulling his head jerkingly back and exposed YN’s soft neck with all the tender spots he had learned to know like the back of his mind, pulling softly at her hair still wrapped around his fist and bent his head impatiently.

With a deep, satisfied moan escaping them both, the man littered the skin soft like silk with even softer kisses, nibbling at the one spot right under her chin, definitely leaving his first mark for the night on her, before moving his lips to the next spot he knew she loved. “Fuck,” YN whispered into the void of their suite as Harry bit her neck right underneath her ear, feeling how the wetness between her thighs pooled even more in her already soaked panties—just as always when Harry had his hands, and lips, on her. “Feeling good already, darlin’?” The woman felt his whispered question more than she heard it and nodded, desperation clear in that one, quick movement, her fingers tucking urgently at his strands, moving his mouth off her neck and back to her own, hungrily awaiting his lips. With the other hand, YN reached for his, still resting on her hips where his fingers pressed into the soft flesh and the fabric of one of his shirts to move it right where she needed him most.

His chuckle was deep and held the familiar sound of utter satisfaction, and it was almost embarrassing how her body reacted to that sound.

“Oh, love,” Harry mumbled into the next kiss, but YN interrupted him with her fingers gripping between his thighs, wrapping them around his hard member and giving him a few short strokes before she got way too agitated and pulled at the white towel resting lowly on his hips. She giggled at the sound of Harry’s groan as soon as she wrapped her hand around his hard cock again, a thumb teasingly nudging the leaking tip, while she could feel his own fingers moving between her thighs. He knew how to play her body like a symphony, so it wasn’t a surprise as one of his long fingers slid through her wet folds, parting them to gain better access to all the right spots before putting more and more pressure onto her aching clit and tickling whimper after whimper out of her mouth. “Yeah, I know, love. S’feels so good, doesn’t it? Already so warm and wet and ready for me, darlin’. What a fucking good girl you are for me.” She really tried to bite back on a few of her desperate-sounding moans, but Harry’s relentless finger, teasing her clit without pause, even pushed her to only hold onto his cock without moving an inch, preventing anything like that. “Nah, don’t do that, love,” he grinned and nudged YN to stare into his pretty eyes through heavy lids. “Wanna hear every single one of those sweet sounds you only make for me. You know what you’re doing to me with them, making me fucking feral for you, always. Wanna hear how good I make you feel, can you do that for me? Yeah?”

With another breathy whimper, YN nodded, head almost floating in the pleasure. Harry smiled at the short movement and kissed her deeply before moving his hands to cup her ass and lift her up as easily as a feather, carrying her to the soft mattress. He sat her back on the edge and peppered YN’s face with kisses while his hands swiftly picked up the hem of his shirt and threw the annoying piece of fabric onto the ground in his back, his eyes already wandering up and down over the body of this living artwork right in front of him. YN leaned on her elbows, breasts heaving with every labored intake of breath, thighs rubbing against each other to release the still building-up tension. Harry sank to his knees, eyes never leaving her pretty face, hands gripping her calves and spreading her legs, gaining access to where he wanted to be just as badly as she wanted him there. “Always so beautiful for me.” Words were mumbled against the skin of her left knee from which he worked himself upwards—kissing every inch of soft exposed skin until Harry was faced with the most soaked panties he had ever witnessed since their first night together in her small apartment in London, surrounded by too many candles to still be save.

YN’s scent enveloped and invaded his senses entirely, and Harry couldn't contain the deep in his chest rumbling moan slipping over his lips as he pressed featherlike kisses to the drenched fabric he adored on his woman in every shape and form possible. He could feel the flood of precum dripping over his tip and running down his thick, veiny shaft at the first taste of her. “Fucking soaked for me, darlin’. Someone is eager.” Another set of kisses followed these words, tickling whimper and moan after whimper and moan out of YN, and he couldn't wait for a second longer before he pulled down the wet fabric covering her delicious pussy he intended to devour whole.

His cock twitched at that thought.

Putting both her thighs over his broad shoulders, the singer hummed in deeply felt pleasure as the tip of his tongue started to move between her lips, slowly opening for him, inviting him, luring him in. And he was a weak man when it came to the woman in front of him, spread open and vulnerable, only for him to see her in that state.

Even after years, Harry didn’t take it for granted, and it fueled him with utter satisfaction and something more… primal.

“Fuck, you taste so good for me, darlin’. Always so fucking sweet,” he praised her with his tongue still between her opened lips, tasting her and drinking her in. He never got enough of her—not of her taste, not of the sounds she made, not of the way her body moved for him. “But it’s different today, isn’t it? Even sweeter. All ready for me and my cock, aren’t you? So eager to get fucked and filled up.” Those last words were muffled by her soaking pussy because Harry dove right into it, his need to make her feel even better too urgent, too all-consuming.

Tongue licking from the bottom of her lips up to that little, hidden pearl he may love more than YN did, or maybe not, according to the sounds she suddenly let out as his lips wrapped around it after teasing it for only a second with the tip of his eager tongue. His mouth sucked and tasted her, his tongue nudged and teased, his teeth nibbled and tortured her until the cock between his legs ached and begged for just a tiny form of release. But he wasn’t able to move, even if Harry wanted to, because YN’s thighs had wrapped around his head and held him right where he was. He wouldn’t have left until she had experienced her first of hopefully many orgasms tonight anyway. Harry was nothing but an eager pleaser for his girl, just as YN was for him, and the prospect of one of her otherworldly blowjobs with those delicious lips made him moan even louder around her pulsing clit, while two of his fingers slowly buried themselves into her leaking and twitching pussy.

“Tha’ so good, darlin’? Yeah? Letting all those people out there know who you belong to, hm? Haven’t even properly started taking care of tha’ sweet, little cunt of yours, love. Bu’ keep goin’, lovie. Keep being a good girl for me, and enjoy yourself on my fingers and tongue. Y’love tha’, don’t ya? C’mon, baby, let me hear how much y’love it.”

He could sit in front of her and talk dirty to her without even touching a single inch of her body, and YN knew she would cum on the spot. But this, this was so much better.

With a breathy moan, one of many, she pushed herself slightly back up on her arm, stretching a hand out for him, and buried her fingers into his soft locks. Her eyes were heavy from lust and the impending orgasm she already felt building up slowly, but still, she locked eyes with Harry, moaning again at the tasty sight in between her thighs.

Only mere hours earlier, he had sung for every single one of his fans, but now, he only belonged to her. It was an exhilarating thought and almost pushed her over the edge.

Wetting her lips with her tongue, YN sucked in a shaky breath as Harry sucked harder on her aching clit and made her feel every tuck of his mouth through her entire body. “Feels so good, H, so fucking good. You’re the only one w-who makes me feel this good, makes me so wet, turns me into a mess. Fucking hell.” She let her head fall back, eyes closing, and moved her hips against his mouth, increasing the pressure on her clit, pushing his perfect fingers deeper inside her. “’m only yours, H. Was ever only yours, from the first moment, from the first time you said my name. Oh god, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop. Right there, fuck.” Turning her into an incoherent mess was an easy task for him, YN knew that, and still, it always amazed her. She looked back down at him while moan after moan left her mouth, couldn’t rip her eyes off him, not even when he started to suck harder on her clit. He between her legs, eating her out, was nothing more than a piece of art. “Cum for me, love. C’mon, make me proud and cum for me,” Harry whispered between sucking and thrusting his fingers deeper and faster into her tight pussy, angling them just right to hit that spot over and over again. YN didn’t know where upside and down were as the orgasm that had built up ever since Harry had started his delicious torture finally snapped like a rubber band inside of her and turned her into a moaning mess while her ears still picked up on the words he spoke between softer licks and kisses and in between moaning his name for the world to hear. “That’s it, good girl. C’mon, just a bit more. Yeah, that’s it. Bloody hell, y’did so well for me. My perfect girl.”

After a few moments, YN could feel how her legs got softly opened, unwrapped by his loving hands, and felt the mattress dip right beside her as Harry climbed into bed, pressing his body right against hers as she still came down from the otherworldly bliss. Kisses were pressed against her shoulder and onto her face, fingers gently caressing over slightly damp skin, letting goosebumps return once more. Blinking, the blissed-out woman looked up at the man next to her and returned the smile with the same intensity. “Back with me, darlin’?” A nod followed the question before YN rolled on Harry and kissed him, letting her tongue glide over his full bottom lip while she felt his rock-hard cock pressed against her thigh, desperate for some attention. “’m not the only eager one, am I?” She grinned, and Harry chuckled but gasped for air as her fingertips slowly glided from the base of his shaft to the wet tip of his cock, feeling it twitch against her skin. YN kissed him once more and wrapped her hand around him, only barely able to reach around with her fingers, and hummed, satisfied, at the deep moan Harry let out into the kiss. “Wanna make you feel good, baby,” she whispered between soft pecks of their lips, nearly whimpering at the thought of pleasing him. “Wanna make you feel so fucking good. Is that okay?”

One of his hands nestled into the curve of her neck to press a hard kiss to her lips, swallowing the moan escaping him again. “Please, fuck, yes, whatever you want, love.” Another small grin stretched over YN’s face, covering his chin and neck in tender kisses before moving lower and lower, working her way over the expanse of his chest, tucking at one of his nipples with her teeth and giggled as Harry arched his back a bit. She felt his hand clench and unclench, still resting on her neck, his thumb softly stroking over her skin. “You’re so pretty, love,” YN mumbled against the skin of his stomach, following the mountains and valleys of his abs with the tip of her tongue, alternating between licks and kisses. “You’re the most handsome and loving man this earth has ever seen, and I’m the lucky one to call you mine,” she continued, kissing his left hipbone before moving to the right, but leaving out the angry red tip of his cock stretching its way towards her. “I’m the luckiest woman on this planet, y’know tha’? Only because you chose me over all the others. Never gonna take that for granted, my love. I’ll cherish you forever and ever.”

Gently, she bit into the skin of his pelvis but couldn’t move further because suddenly, Harry pulled her up as he sat up, legs spread deliciously wide, and kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and conquering every part of it. Fingers clung to one another, burrowing and holding, caressing and gripping. “Bloody hell, I love you so much,” Harry breathlessly whispered, making YN smile softly. “Just as much as I love you,” she returned with another tender kiss. “Can I continue now, though? I finally wanna taste you. Wanted tha’ since I saw you in the dressing room in those tight jeans. You have such a pretty ass, baby. Wanted to bite it and push my hand in the back pocket, so everyone could’ve seen that I’m the only one allowed to touch you like that.” YN meant every single word, not only because Harry always looked like the tastiest snack on earth but also because she expressed her love primarily through acts of physical affection. Gladly, Harry was just the same.

“‘Been checking me out, baby?” Harry grinned, but the grin soon disappeared as his mouth parted in utter bliss. Her hand got a tighter grip around his cock, his skin burning against hers, and while she felt that one thick vein pulsing heavily against her palm, YN moved back to one of her favorite spots—right between his legs, her eyes never leaving his.

She held his gaze captive like a goddess at her first arrival on earth, captivating every living creature. Her eyes alone made him moan softly, his hand wandering back to her, cupping her cheek. Harry didn’t even let his head fall back into his neck as her lips touched his aching cock, even though he felt the urge to revel in that feeling—but watching YN was much better and almost made him cum on the spot.

He watched how her lips pressed open-mouthed kisses from his heavy balls over the entirety of the underside of his shaft, feeling her tongue play with the prominent vein running alongside it, observing her tongue as it got more and more visible the closer she got to his leaking tip. Harry couldn’t contain a single moan leaving his mouth, his thumb started to caress the skin over her cheekbone lovingly, his lips parted and his breath hitching in his throat at the moment of her kitten-licking the underside of his sensitive mushroom tip. Groaning, Harry let his head hang down and took a deep breath in but kept watching YN, entirely mesmerized by the view in front of him. She started gently sucking on him, and he moaned just as much as she did as he felt the vibration of her sounds echoing through his cock and his entire body, teasing and working him up even more. His hips jerked upwards, and Harry felt as if he would lose his mind with more of his cock covered by her warm mouth and the pressure of her perfect lips wrapped around his member, pushing him to whimper quietly.

“YNN…,” he couldn’t stop from moaning her name in that desperate tone. Instantly, he felt her sucking stop and opened his closed eyes, looking down at her again, locking gazes with her. Harry let the pad of his thumb stroke over her cheek and chin again. “Don’t tease me, don’t stop, don’t torture me. Barely can stop myself from jus’ taking you, l-love.” He wasn’t able to finish his sentence before YN started sucking again, harder and deeper this time, swallowing almost every inch of his impressive length, her stroking hand taking care of the few inches she couldn’t quite fit. But it didn’t matter because Harry reveled in the warm and wet, literally perfect feeling of her sucking mouth, the alternating pressure of her lips when she moved up and down his thick, demanding cock, the swirl of her perfect little tongue around his messy head, leaking precum all over it. Her moans gave him the rest every time she tasted the salty drops trickling out of his slit to which she tended special care, always letting her tongue kitten-lick it, letting her lips close around it to suck the living daylights out of him. Harry was a moaning mess underneath her magic mouth, thrusting his pelvis up into her mouth and apologizing with deep, rumbling but breathy whispers when he made her gag around his cock by mere impatience and thoughtlessness.

Only a few more of her sucks was he able to endure before Harry pushed his hand into her neck anew and roughly pulled her with a deep “Bloody hell, woman” up, straight to his lips. They crashed against each other, and Harry was fast to grab her soft hips with both hands, pulling her closer to him and only stopped when he finally felt her peaking nipples pressed against his chest and her dripping pussy hovering over his cock, already teasing the tip with those perfect wet lips, hugging him.

“You want that, love? You wanna get filled up by me? Filled up by my cock and my thick cum? Wanna get all full and round with my babies, pretty girl? Wanna finally make me a daddy?” His voice sent shivers down her spine, deep and husky with all the lust and feral need he felt, and embarrassingly, YN felt how her pussy dripped down onto his mushroom tip, soaking him with her own need. All she could do was nod quickly and jerkingly, already losing the ability to move her body. But Harry couldn’t leave it at that. YN felt how he gently took her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him, moving their foreheads apart. “C’mon, love. I know you can be my good girl.” She felt how a soft whimper left her lips and wanted to hide her face at his neck for being so needy and whiny, but instead, she cupped Harry’s face with both hands and moved her hips slowly to tease his cock right underneath her. “Need you to fill me up. Need you to fuck me full of your cum, so I can carry your pretty babies, Harry. Want to make you a dad, wan’to have all your babies, fuck, want to spend the rest of my life with you, love.” YN felt as if she needed to cry in a few seconds with all the emotions bubbling up inside her, but Harry pulled her flush against his chest again, forcing their lips to crash against each other, and entered with one quick thrust into her, stretching her so good and deliciously that she didn’t want to hold back the screaming moan.

The opened windows weren’t on their mind any longer.

His moan in her ears was better than every song he could ever write for her. How he let his head fall backward with closed eyes and parted lips was more beautiful than any sculpture of the old masters combined.

She couldn’t get enough of him and the noises he made because of her, so she started to move on top of him, both arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders and neck now, letting her hips circle his cock, stretching herself further and further with every deeper hitting thrust. Harry’s hands wandered over her body and grabbed her hips again, supporting her thrusting movements, pulling her even further down until he was buried with every inch inside her warm, him tightly gripping pussy. “Tha’s it, love. Fuck, you feel incredible. Gosh, so fucking good. So tight and warm around me. Didn’t want me to leave that tight cunt again, don’t you? Holding onto me like a damn vice, bloody fucking hell.”

With that, Harry switched their position as easily as getting up from a chair, pressing YN down into the mattress, and wrapping her legs around his waist again. Her hands rested on his abs while he started to fuck into her—every thrust grew bolder and harder before he slowed down again to let his hips circle and his pelvis rub against her clit, letting YN arch her back against his body. “I love you, love you so much, H. More than anything,” she almost sobbed through the fog of pleasure, hands gliding over his chest and clasped them behind his neck, her fingers tangling into his soft locks and pulling him down to her, kissing him with every ounce of love she held for him. “I know, darlin’. God, you’re the best thing in my life, y’know tha’, right? The best fucking thing. Making my days always so bright and joyful, letting me feel like floating on a freaking cloud, baby. Can’t wait to call you my wife, the mother of my children. Oh god, you’re everything.” YN moaned at his lips as he stilled, deep inside her, feeling his cock twitch once, twice, before he moved again, so much slower this time.

His hand on her neck and his thumb caressing her jawline made her open her eyes again, moaning and whimpering softly as he hit that spot perfectly, over and over again. And with that came another building-up orgasm, making her clench around his throbbing, thrusting cock, pushing her to wrap her legs tighter around his hips, her fingers burying themselves deeper into Harry’s soft strands, tucking gently at them and making him choke on another moan. He grunted above her, eyes never leaving hers or her face, always staring down at her, taking her in. With every kiss, they drank each other in before Harry turned his attention to her breasts, still fucking her slowly into the mattress, his lips gently wrapped around her right nipple and started to suck and softly bite on it. “They’ll be so full, m’love,” Harry whisper-moaned between kisses. “So full after I’ve cum deep inside and bred you, lovie. Can’t fucking wait for it.”

With every word leaving his mouth, every syllable whispered against her skin, YN grew wetter and wetter, arching in his direction, pressing her hips into his, following his thrusts. “I’ll keep you pregnant, darlin’ because I already know I’ll love every second of it. Will worship you even more than I already do, praising the ground you’re walking on, never letting you out of my sight because I’ll be fucking obsessed with you. You’ve already bewitched me, love, how is this even possible, fuck.” YN had to giggle between a whimper and a moan, making Harry chuckle against her right breast as well before he came back up and kissed her longingly, nudging her lips apart with his eager tongue, teasing hers, moaned into her mouth as he buried his cock as deeply as possible in her clenching and twitching pussy.

A hand wandered from her neck over her breasts, down over her stomach, and right between them. Fingers started teasing, gently circling her clit, and letting YN throw her head back into the pillows, gasping for air as the impending orgasm came closer and closer. “I want you to cum for me again, darlin’. Want you to cum for me so I can fill your tight little cunt up with my thick cum. Let me breed you, love. Let me make you a pretty mommy. C’mon, lovie, c‘mon. I know you want it. Y’want it just as badly as I do.” Harry didn’t let go of her and continued to fuck into her, never letting go of her clit, always teasing more out of it. “Oh, shit,” YN whimpered, one hand gripping the pillow next to her while she pressed the other onto her mouth, screwed her eyes shut, and let her head fall back once more. It only lasted for a few seconds because she needed to see him, needed to see his face when he’d finally released inside her, realizing that they might have made a baby together.

“Please, Harry. Fuck. Please,” she whimpered against his lips after he had bent down to her again and pressed loving kisses to them, begging him for everything she wanted. “Use your… fuck… use your words, baby,” he moaned above her, steadying himself with a hand right next to her face, using the perfect angle to hit as deeply as physically possible. “Please—oh god—cum inside me, Harry. Need you to cum inside me and fill me with your cum, need t-to carry your babies. ‘s all I ever wanted.” YN could feel how his thrusts became harder and more uncoordinated with every passing moment after her whimpered pleads, how his finger moved a bit harder and faster on her slightly overworked clit, pushing her to feel the orgasm rolling towards her like a breaking wave. “Good girl. My good, pretty girl,” Harry breathlessly mumbled against the corner of her mouth, their foreheads touching and their eyes locked into one another. “Need you to cum for me, darlin’. I can barely hold it any longer. Wanna cum deep inside you, but I need you to cum first, okay, love?”

Only mere heartbeats later, YN felt her second orgasm approaching and screamed his name for everyone to hear, begging him to keep going, to stop, to get her pregnant, she wasn’t sure. She only remembered the expression on his face as her cunt clenched around him, gripped onto his twitching cock, and as he filled her with a deep, almost feral-sounding moan and kissed her like a man possessed.

***

“There you go, love.” Harry’s voice and tender touches pulled YN back out of her trance after orgasm number five. He knelt between her legs, a warm, wet washcloth in hand, and gently cleaned the remnants of their third—and last—round off her thighs. He pressed a kiss to her knee after he had made sure that nothing sticky was left but got a hold of her left hand where he had put his ring. “I know you’re probably worn out”—YN raised a brow at that and tickled a soft laugh out of him—“but I think it would be better if you’d come with me to the bathroom. Just a quick wash under the shower, nothing long, maybe a quick go to the loo. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?”

Sighing, YN let Harry pull her up to her feet with both hands and leaned tiredly into his still-naked side. “Bu’ only because you’re pretty and because I love you,” she mumbled and closed her eyes at the feeling of one of his forehead kisses she always craved. “Sure thing, darlin’. Thank you.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he led her into the bathroom and prepared the shower while she indeed used the toilet before joining him under the refreshing stream of water. With Harry in her back, YN felt his hands sneaking around her body and resting them on her lower stomach, a thumb gently caressing the wet skin there. With a soft smile, she covered them with her own before intertwining their fingers, and she accepted the many kisses pressed onto her shoulder, up her neck, and to her cheek. “‘Think we made a baby today?” Even though he tried to ask it casually, as if it wasn’t something he craved and wanted somewhere deep in his heart, YN knew him better and heard the anxiety creeping up in his voice.

Turning around in his arms, she cupped his face and gently shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know, love. Maybe. Maybe no’. It won't be the end of the world if I get my period next month. Would I be disappointed? Hell, definitely. Bu’ that’s part of the process. You know how long Emma and Jean had to try for a baby.” It still pained her to think about the long and painful journey of one of her best friends. And Harry knew that, so he only nodded and kissed YN’s forehead again. “We will get there, eventually. Someday, my period will be late, and we will take a test, and it will be positive. We just have to wait and be patient and leave that nasty bitch duo named anxiety and stress out in the rain. Okay?” Again, Harry nodded at that, a deep sigh leaving his body and his tense shoulders slowly relaxing. “Okay,” he whispered in agreement and kissed his woman tenderly, which soon turned into an unexpected new last round under the warm water of the shower.

***

Nervousness crept up on her as she continued to stare at the several at-home pregnancy tests she had made in the last three hours. It had been a struggle throughout because the instructions had been all in Japanese, and she most definitely didn’t speak that language. Even Google translator had been a constant pain in the ass, leaving her metaphorically standing in the rain. At least Jeff had been so kind and had helped her find someone in the team who could speak Japanese and who swore an oath to keep silent until YN could be sure about it.

“It’s too good to be true.”

That’s the sentence she mumbled to herself ever since realizing that her period had been late—incredibly so. And that’s usually not her thing, so the hope of a fucking miracle had spread its roots inside her and didn’t let go. In order to be alone, she even lied to Harry to get some uninterrupted hours to herself while he performed another wonderful show and was adored by all his fans. She knew it was stupid to lie to him instead of just coming clean about her suspicion, but… she just couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to get his hopes up, only to see them crushed when the tests all came back negative. It was enough that her hopes would get destroyed in a matter of seconds.

The alarm of the timer on her phone scared her almost to death, and after taking a deep breath to steady her shaking hands, YN stretched them out towards the lid of the toilet in front of which she sat crossed-leg. She hadn’t moved since she had started taking them one after the other, and not a single one was turned over.

“You bloody headless chicken. Do it.”

And with that last bit of self-esteem she somehow owned, YN started to turn them all over, one after the other, without taking a closer look at the several displays. Only after another deep breath, to keep the nauseous feeling in check, did she glance from one test to the other, remembering what one of the assistant stylists had told her about the different result displays.

In the first few seconds, shock settled in her body, freezing her on that stupid spot on the bathroom floor. Her heartbeat picked up, and she heard every single beat in her ears, the blood rushing through her veins. Instinctively, a hand had made its way to her stomach, covered by one of Harry’s Pleasing hoodies he had worn during their shared breakfast and which smelled like him. It had kept her sane and safe and comforted in the past hours, filled with anxiety and stupid hopes.

The sound of an opening door brought life back into YN, and with a scream, she jumped up, grabbed a handful of tests, and hurried over into the suite. Harry was already on his way towards the bathroom after he had heard the sound, worry on his face, and they almost collided in the middle of the room, his hands the only thing that kept her from tumbling to the ground.

“What’s wrong, love? You still feeling sick? Has it gotten worse? I should’ve taken you to the doctor’s this morning already instead of listening to you and keeping you alone here, fuck—“ But he stopped himself as YN held up several white-pinkish and white-bluish sticks, seeing her teary eyes, taking in her flushed cheeks. So, he scanned them but didn’t understand a single word written on them, furrowing his brows. His head only slowly caught up to it, and with a whispered, unbelieving No, he cupped her cheeks with both hands, staring into her wide eyes with a similar expression.

“Is this real? Is this really happening? Does it mean what I think it does?” He got several nods as answers, and still, he couldn’t believe this luck, this bliss.

He had been anxious all day long, first because YN had told him she didn’t feel quite well and would sit out tonight’s show and then because he had taken a glance into the cycle tracker, realizing that she hadn’t had entered her first day of period almost a week ago. Of course, he had gotten his hopes up, especially after Jeff had been weird all night long, and now, his hopes wouldn’t be crushed? It took a while to get this knowledge into his brain, a bit too long for YN’s liking, because she started fidgeting on the spot.

“I’m sorry if this isn’t how you thought it would be, and maybe you now think it’s way too early and that we should’ve waited, or that I should have made a big announcement thing out of it or—“

YN didn’t end her anxious rambling because Harry gripped her waist and lifted her off the ground, pressing her against him. Out of surprise, she let the pregnancy tests tumble down onto the hotel room floor and wrapped both arms around his neck, feeling how the happy tears slowly trickled down her cheeks. Harry grinned widely, tears of his own in his eyes, and spun them around, laughing and crying, breathless from excitement and utter joy. “We’re gonna be parents!” He shouted it through the suite, the people walking past the door probably hearing every single word, and YN couldn’t contain the laugh bubbling out of her any longer.

Cradling her face in both his hands after he had put her back down, Harry stared into her eyes with astonishment and mild wonder. “We will really be parents,” he whispered and covered her face in kisses. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You’re incredible, my love. I love you so much,” he continued and made YN cry even more—from happiness and joy. “It’s only possible because of you, H. Because you chose me and decided to spend the rest of your life with me and make me the bloody happiest woman on earth.” With a smile, she wiped off the tears off her cheeks, and Harry erased the remnants with his tenderly stroking thumb. “We will raise wonderful children because they’ll have you as their dad, H, and I can’t wait for it.” He smiled down at her and pecked the tip of her nose. “Don’t forget yourself, darlin’. You’re this incredibly strong woman, always fighting for what’s right. Our children won’t have anything to fear.” Softly, he nudged her chin lovingly and kissed her smiling lips before suddenly dropping down to his knees and getting a hold of YN’s hips.

She watched him intently, one hand covering one of his on her hip and the other slowly and tenderly running through his silky locks. But then, her hand stilled in its tracks as Harry bent forward to press slow kisses all over her lower abdomen and took his time with it. “Hey there, little baby,” he mumbled against the fabric of the hoodie, continuing to kiss YN’s stomach. “It’s your dad, but you can call me whatever you want. Your mom and I are incredibly thankful that you’re with us now, and we’ll love you to the moon and back. Just… please, be gentle to your mommy, can you promise me tha’? She’s this wonderful and strong woman, and I know that she’ll handle anything like a champ, but I don’t want her to suffer too much. Can we agree on tha’, sunshine? Yeah? Perfect. Love you so much.” That little monologue was followed by another kiss, leaving YN speechless and stunned, and she only could let the tears spill out of her eyes, watching him as Harry stood up again. “You’re too good for this world, H,” she whispered between two sobs and let him envelop her with his body, feeling its warmth seeping into her, calming her. “Nah. ‘m just that dude who is entirely whipped for his soon-to-be wife who just gifted him the best present of a lifetime,” he grinned down at her and let her wrap both arms tightly around his waist. “Gosh, don’t remind me of the hassle of finding you good enough birthday gifts now.”

A chuckle left them both before YN looked up at Harry as he hummed. “Wanna take a bath together? I could use some time with that gorgeous woman who’s obviously stupid enough to marry me.” Giggling, the woman nodded. “The stupid woman would love that, but we have to tidy up some… stuff first.” Following Harry with slower steps, YN watched him as he took in the chaos still dominating the bathroom floor, with several ripped-open test boxes and instructions lying all over the place. He turned and cocked a brow in question. “How many of these did you do, woman?” Shrugging, YN stepped closer and picked up the first few boxes to throw them away. “About seventeen? I’m not sure anymore because I think I wasn’t entirely there. With my head, I mean. I may have spiraled a bit while I sat here and drank one bottle of water after the other.” She heard him laugh softly under his breath before getting a hold of the paper and cardboard in her hand and dumping them back onto the floor. “Silly woman.” Kissing her, he turned the faucet of the bathtub open and started to pull the hoodie over YN’s head. “Forget about these. I’ll do that later. Now, I want to have a nice bath with my baby momma.”

***

The end sucks (probably like the entire rest), but here it is! I hope y’all liked it at least a bit, and as usual: Reblogs, comments, and likes are much appreciated

[tricksh0t]

★ comfort

☾ jaime lannister x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ prince charming jaime lannister (s1 jaime) is my fav; also genuinely the first fic of mine where the pairing kisses lip to lip

cw: long intro, lighthearted s*x, reunion s*x, soft, cheating, light incest (don't sue me, it's game of thrones, they're very distant cousins however many times removed) , calling your lover names playfully (bastard, asshole), more plot than porn (entire second part is s*x, but not focused on the s*x)

"Did you grow up with boy-cousins, Lord Tywin? Sons of your father's bannermen, squires, stable boys."

"Of course."

"And you... never..?"

"No."

"Not once? Not in any way?"

"Never."

You were never destined for anything.

You were born a Lannister, yes, but you were so far from the main line that you were set to inherit nothing. You were only a Lannister by name, long lines of second sons marrying outside of important houses over and over until your blonde locks were nothing but dirty.

Your father did not own a large sum of Lannister fortune. His greatest achievement was being the squire of one of Tywin's lesser brothers; but his brother never lead any wars, and so that was hardly a feat anyway.

When you were born, it seemed like you would follow in your father's footsteps. There was hardly anything Lannister about you.

Your greatest feat would probably be setting foot in Casterly Rock to shovel horse shit to and fro. At least then you'd get to admire your distant cousins, the glorious ones, the ones you'd use in your fantasies as the shoes you'd like to wear.

Except, one day you stole a sword and caught the eye of Tywin's lesser brother, the very same that your father had squired for. He showed you, in turn, to his brother, Tywin Lannister.

Under the Lord of Casterly Rock's eyes, you showed promise.

Before Jaime Lannister ever took up the sword with a purpose that wasn't "because daddy told me to", there was you in the training grounds as far as he could remember.

There was you, strong, barely a teen yet.

You became friends, then, under the sword. Tywin bid you an example for his son. As a boy, you were hardly fit to be an example, so instead you became friends.

Between his overzealous sister, his outcast brother, his jealous cousins and the frightened servants, you were the best friend he could ever have.

From friends, you became... not lovers, but something close. It was hardly romance, it was hormones, it was just boys being boys, and it was only fooling around. A kiss or two, sometimes longer, sometimes with tongue; playing at maturity.

With you, Jaime got a taste for breaking the rules and the thrill of sneaking out of his bedroom under the bright cast of moonlight. He got his first taste of romantic companionship, and he liked it.

You were only a couple years older then, but Jaime's dislike for letters caused him to be bound to the book for several hours a day, and so you were the stronger swordfighter.

He admired you. You were more literate than him, though most people are, and stronger, taller, more built, more worked.

You knew hardship and, as the heir to Casterly Rock, he didn't.

He got his first taste of hardship when you were summoned to become a King's Guard, and he did not like it.

Jaime had never begged before. "Don't go. Please, don't go."

And you had never denied him. "I must."

That's why, when you left for the King's Guard, he was left in despair. Despair caused impulse, and he fell back to his sister.

You did not send any ravens the years you were gone, so you grew apart. Jaime held some resentment too, for the first couple of years when he became a King's Guard, so you grew further apart.

He had his sister now, and she was a jealous woman.

The older you grew, the more you thought of your little youthful escapades as just that, things of the youth, inconsequential to anything else of your now adult existance.

Jaime came around eventually.

He became the better swordsman. He was quite fine with letters, and stronger, taller, more discreet, more dutiful.

You were lovers once more, but only that. This time, you knew how to please a man, but again he was only learning. You pleased each other under the influence of wine, or maybe not. Maybe sometimes your minds were unobstructed, and instead, you were more truthful, softer... and some rare nights, you only talked, you shared heart-to-hearts.

But you weren't friends, not by actions. You did not talk often enough, freely enough, unguarded. You were just lovers.

Regardless, to Jaime, there was great comfort in knowing that you were somewhere in the Red Keep, still there for him, still alive. It was one of the things he fought to remember during his year-long journey back to King's Landing.

When you open your door to leave your chambers, you are quickly pushed back inside.

Jaime's there. He's different, but he's there, and he slams the door behind him. You take it as another moment where he seeks the comfort of your body, especially after what you heard had happened to him. The idea occurs naturally to you, even after a year apart.

You kiss him roughly, cupping his cheeks in your hands, because you've missed him.

Jaime breaths hard into the kiss. He's breathing hard in general, and it's more evident when he pushes you away.

You lose your footing in a daze and land on a chair. It'd be a great position, and you'd be quite excited in anticipation, if it weren't for the look on his face.

"Jaime?"

"You didn't come see me." He says, angrily. His arms are crossed, hands—hand folded over his inner elbow.

Standing before you is a shadow of the man Jaime once was. His hair is shorter, darker, his skin is tanner, he's got dark circles under his eyes. He looks worn.

This is a man who has gone through hell. This is a man going through his second war, a man who was held prisoner for a time, who had to kill his cousin, and who tracked through mud and shit to get back to his home. He was missing a bloody hand!

And you didn't go see him.

"No, I didn't." You sit up quickly, fixing the smirk on your lips to a neutral one. "I thought Cersei would keep you, or that you'd be busy recovering...or that our family would want to see you."

"Cersei saw me." Jaime said pointedly. The next moment, he's climbing onto your lap, bracketing your legs with his. "I saw Joffrey and Tommen. Myrcella is gone, and I just found out. Tyrion had his opportunity. Father wished to do nothing but scold me. I was recovering from my journey in my chambers for three days. You didn't come see me."

"I didn't... and now I see I have no excuse." You keep your eyes on him. Past his heavy lids and dark circles, his eyes are the same as you last saw them, a beautiful green.

"All I could think about was getting back to you." He says through gritted teeth, and though it was a lie, you would believe it. He shifts his hips to rub against your length, a subtle grind.

It loses all subtlety when he continues, over and over. Pleasure rises.

"You are." You say with shaky breaths, heavy enough to mirror his. Your eyes close instinctively, head tilted down to the source of your pleasure.

You haven't had him in a year. You miss him, his body. A brothel whore cannot compare.

"Look at me." His teeth are still gritted. He grasps your face with his hand, squeezing your cheeks in the pull to make you look at him.

"Jaime." You say, acknowledging him, looking at him once more.

He looks angry. It's in his gritted teeth and wide eyes and his heaving chest, it's in his words—but he's not violent, no, never to you.

You kiss him, lick into his mouth to urge his tongue to meet yours. His teeth separate, not with a screeching difficulty, but easily. It's almost familiar, the way his tongue feels against yours, the taste of his saliva.

You have known this man longer than you haven't. Perhaps he is missing a hand, perhaps he is wrinkled and older, but he is still the same man you tousled with in your youth.

You find yourselves eventually on the bed, like you have a hundred times before. You on your back, him on your lap.

Except this time it is not quite as swift, and this time he is struggling with the clasps of your armor.

"Let me."

"No."

You do it anyway. Jaime watches you sit up and he sighs. He thinks of himself as helpless, a mope of a man settled on your lap like a peasant sitting on the Iron Throne.

He sighs out of his nose once more, but to you, he only seems like a sad puppy. "Knights can hardly do this themselves. That's what squires are for. I'm sure you've never heard of a one-handed squire."

"That's not helping." Jaime huffs.

"Look," You say, with all the parts of your chest plate, shoulder parts and neck pieces off. You fix his arms around your neck, "you can still wrap them around here. That's all that matters, hm? All you need is to hold on tight enough."

"Asshole." Jaime says as he pushes you onto your back again, though there's a bit of a lift to his lips.

It's the third time he pushes you. "Pushy."

"Asshole." He repeats.

There's little else to remove after that, just the flowing scales covering your crotch that he removes easily with new determination, and your shin guards, but those won't obstruct the path to your dick.

He undoes the laces of your pants with two harsh tugs and then your cock is free to him. With the way he's looking at it like a meal, you're sure he's missed it.

"Do you still keep oil behind the curtains?" Jaime asks, already reaching behind the canopy's bedpost, where the curtain is usually wrapped securely around the flask.

"No." He looks disappointed then, for a moment. "At least it means I've been loyal to you?"

"It can just as well mean that you've only been visiting brothels." Jaime laughs, leaning his forearms on either side of your head to kiss you before you can protest.

You like this, it's easy; it's carefree and humorous. You can feel his smile against your lips.

He shifts his position to press his ass to your cock and grind against the length of it, swallowing your groan with his lips. You hardly noticed when he tugged off his own pants.

For a moment you think that might be how he gets you off, but then one of his arms leaves the mattress, and his fingers are gathering precum from the tip of your swollen head.

It sacrifices his balance, and you catch him before his full weight falls on you. "Bastard." You breathe out a laugh.

"What?" Jamie returns a grin, though it falls open just slightly when he stretches himself out with your precum as lubrication. Quite the sight.

"One journey from the North to King's Landing on foot, and suddenly you don't care for cleanliness?"

He winces slightly, "One, I was also tricked into drinking horse piss. Two, you're cumming inside sooner or later, it's not very different, is it?"

"One," You mirror with raised eyebrows, "what in the Seven Hells? Two, fair enough."

Holding up his thinner body with one hand is easy enough, and if it weren't, you'd have sacrificed the possibility of him falling onto you for the opportunity to hold his face.

You cup his cheek. In another time, a year ago, your fingernails would've been tickled by boyishly long hair. Now, his hair is only prickly.

"Will you grow it out again?"

Jaime thinks on it. He thinks about how it stuck to his face whenever it was dirty with muck or grime, about how easy it was to tug at his hair, how it was used to tug him backwards into horseshit or some other crazed punishment... but he also thinks about how much you liked it, how you often sweetly pushed it off his forehead when it stuck, how tugging at it did feel good in intimate situations such as this.

"I might." Is what he settles for, and he relishes the sight of your smile.

He's good at prepping himself and keeping a smug face. You've seen it thousands of times before, when he's tired of being ordered around and decided he needed to take control for once. You've seen him the other way around just as many times, quite willing to give up the reigns because he's just so tired.

There's just something about another person's hand.

"Oh..." Jaime moans as you push his hand away and replace his fingers with yours.

Furtheremore, you let him slump forward. You're almost—nay, you are cuddling in this way. Your legs even tangle. You've got him right on top of you, one hand over his back and the other prepping him, letting him just relax.

"That feel good?"

He's practically melting on top of you. It's rather funny how nonchalant he replies with the subtle nod of his head and, "Yeah, uh-huh."

You drag your other hand over his spine and up to hold the back of his head. "Tell me about your journey."

"Okay," He hums pliantly, "Robb Stark captured me in an ambush... which, though it cost me hell, is quite admirable for a boy born after the war. I spent several months travelling behind the army convoys as a prisoner, without a roof, without a floor. Just a stick in the mud and a shitty cage."

He recounts the journey while you prep him languidly like you have all the time in the world.

You don't have all the time in the world. You'll only have tonight, and perhaps the next night, thought it is quite unlikely. Before long, you're sure, Cersei will stop this grudge of hers and Jaime will be gone again, only crawling back after another lovers' quarrel.

"Are you listening?" Jaime suddenly asks, voice rather soft. He looks up at you, beautiful green eyes batting under his eyelashes. Yes, you're looking.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listening." You say dismissively.

"Hold on a moment."

Jaime sits up to straddle you once more. You watch him go up all the way, eyes locked onto his. He's beautiful; different, worn, but still beautiful.

He shakes his head with a small laugh, "What are you looking at?"

You're so distracted with his face that you don't realize him sliding down onto your cock in one swift motion. "Fuck."

"Fuck is what you're looking at?" Jaime teases.

"Bastard."

"Ah, ah, ah," He tuts his tongue, hand on your abdomen as he rolls his hips. "you already used that one once. Be a little more creative, for once?"

You roll your eyes yet reply anyway, "Dickhead."

Jaime grins, "Better."

You settle a hand on his hip, helping guide his movements as well as make sure he doesn't lose his balance, what with the hand and all. It's... he's probably fine, but you can't help but be cautious.

You wrap your other hand on what remains of his wrist, almost as if to hold his hand. He notices the gesture.

His voice is soft when he says, "As I was saying?"

You nod your head, "As you were saying."

"About losing my hand... suppose I was way in over my head. I'd managed to convince that bastard of a man, Locke to leave lady Brienne untouched. I thought I could convince him to do more, to give me a decent meal and a fire, but instead, he convinced me that he was following along with my orders. Next moment, his men are pinning me down and he cuts my hand off himself. For the next months, he ties the bloody thing around my neck and I can't even take it off."

Grueling business to talk about while he rides you, but you've never held off from venting during these moments. It makes release all the sweeter, releasing your problems as well as your pent up sexual frustrations.

It's soft, all of it. The hand holding, the slow pace and desire to clench around every part of your cock, the eye contact, the easy way he tells you the entire story without sparing details to save his dignity.

"I should've gone after you." You sigh, kissing his bandaged wrist.

"No, you're a King's Guard, not a foot soldier." Jaime shakes his head, heaving a sigh. "You–"

You flip him over easily. "I should've gone after you." You say, and it's almost like you have authority over him, leaning over his body. You do, really, you're in control of your pleasure now.

Speechless, Jaime doesn't fight you. "Yeah."

You start up slow again, but quickly build up in chase of his pleasure. Jaime breathes out a shaky sigh, breaths growing heavier with each thrust.

"I'm sorry for all you've been through," Jaime has half the mind to protest, but you give him a look and continue, "and I wish I could kill every man that wronged you myself. I'm glad for Catelyn Stark, and glad for lady Brienne. I'm also happy that you're back, back to me. Happier than women leaving Maester Pycelle's room."

He wraps his arms around your neck, like you'd showed him earlier, and his legs around your waist. He's holding you close, for comfort, as if to make sure you're really there.

It's silly to do so. You're in front of his very eyes, your cock is fucking him open, and you're very much real.

"I'm happy I'm back with you." He mirrors with a grin, "Happier than even your cock is, I'm sure."

You kiss. No teeth, no tongue, just him and you holding it for as long as possible.

Maybe he will go back to Cersei. You think it almost inevitable; but at least you're sure there's a little part of him that loves you dearly, even if you might never admit it to each other.

For tonight, he's yours.

Yours to lavish, yours to pleasure, yours to fuck.

Yours to love.

[whoistartaglia]

genshin men as types of influencers—part two

part one

cyno has a prank channel, but “prank” is a loosely-defined term. sure, he acts like everything he’s filming are pranks, but are they really? he laughs at them meanwhile the person being pranked ends up more confused than anything else. the ends of the videos include an in-depth explanation as to why the prank is funny and why the audience should be laughing (they’re still not).

dottore has a very bland account dedicated to his research and experiments. this includes hours long, unedited videos of him going through the procedure, and barely explaining anything at all. he doesn’t get a lot of views, except for one random video with millions of views, likes, and comments. it’s definitely not pinned on his channel either.

albedo also has an account dedicated to his experiments, except that his videos are more like tutorials. he’ll explain the procedure, what materials you’ll need, and go through step-by-step on how to set up and complete the experiment. struggling high school and college kids love him, and he even takes his time to respond to some comments.

heizou is the host of a true crime podcast. what started out as him bragging about his escapades turned into biweekly uploads about true crimes around teyvat. sometimes he’ll bring on co-hosts, other times it’ll just be him. heizou knows the ins and outs of the detective side of things, and he’s such a naturally-gifted narrator that he’s swiftly amassed a legion of loyal fans.

tighnari has an account dedicated to nature and the environment. you’ll find several videos of animals, wilderness survival guides, and even a glimpse into his own day in the life. he most certainly has a couple rants about travelers and adventurers getting a little too friendly to hostile animals—he tells his audience to learn from their mistakes, no matter how funny the story may be.

kazuha posts pictures of short videos of his travels over teyvat, and his account is very aesthetically pleasing. he has an overall neutral color scheme and the photos he takes breathe serenity and peace—even if his day-to-day life can sometimes be anything but. he always includes where he’s currently visiting and comments on the county in the caption.

lyney posts card tricks. he is able to captivate his audience with such tricks, even fooling the most keenest of eyes. his shuffling is also impressive; can he split the deck and have the cards arranged in whatever order he wants in under a minute. his audience begs for a tutorial that lyney will never give—a magician never reveals his secrets, after all.

[subbmissivesuccubus]

No secrets around here ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you all so much for 1K followers <3 <3 <3 I am undeserving but very appreciative. I am working on Bully Part 3 but please have this one shot as a token of my love.

It's a story suggested by my patron! If you'd like to suggest prompts for me to write, please consider checking out my patreon (link in bio) <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary : Satoru and Suguru find out that their sweet, seemingly innocent girlfriend writes smutty fanfiction. They decide to make her fantasies come true while also making sure to teach her that keeping secrets from them have consequences <3

Contains : Fem reader. Established relationship. Degradation. Threesome M/M/F. Gojo and Geto being mean but with love. A bit meta.

“Dude- Suguru- SUGURU!”

“Stop yelling, Satoru.” The raven-haired man whined, rubbing a hand over his face as he was barely awake, “You better be dying if you’re calling me at 3 in the morning.”

“Oh, trust me, you’ll wanna hear what I say.”

“Get to the point.”

“Ok, so you know how every time we visit our cutie, she’s super protective of her phone?”

“…Yeah.”

“And how she immediately shuts her laptop close if we walk in?”

“…Yeah.”

“I found out why. I just sent you a link.”

Satoru hung up and Suguru groaned, looking his phone annoyance before the ding of a message received rang out. He raised an eyebrow as he read the message, the link opening upto a website called…tumblr? He was aware of the site but it never interested him enough to truly put any effort into finding out more about it. He also knew of the concept of fanfiction (thanks to a certain someone) and knew that Tumblr had a lot of creators posting their fanmade content.

But he had no idea it was…something like this.

Reader is being a brat and gets put in her place – Fem Reader X Demon Slayer men.

Where the men of One-Piece love to cum <3

Dick headcannons, a.k.a. who among the Honkai men are packing~

Suguru scoffed as he scrolled down the posts, surprised at how lewd this author was. Their writing was filthy and degenerate yet written fairly well. If he wasn’t so sleepy, Suguru was sure he could jerk off to a story or two. The comments under the posts were just as feral, people going crazy over the fanfictions, often proclaiming their desire to be with these…fictional men? He didn’t quite understand it but who was he to judge.

He paused as he read the title of a post, letting out a hum as the title hit a bit close to home.

Reader gets pounded roughly by her two boyfriends.

It was a post with thousands of notes which got Suguru curious. He clicked on the tag labelled #two boyfriends and was surprised to see several stories written by the author of the reader having two lovers and their sexual escapades together:

Reader gets both her holes stuffed with cock. Or the two boyfriends compete to see who can get her to squirt first. Reader is spanked silly and can’t sit properly for days. As punishment, the two boyfriends overstimulate the reader for hours, making her cum over and over again even as she begged them to stop.

The list went on and on and on, making the blood rush to Suguru’s cheeks at how raw and filthy and…desperate these fanfictions were.

His phone dinged, a message from Satoru which reminded the black-haired man of how he wound up here to begin with. So there are some smutty fiction online, but what does it have to do with you? He could only come up with one conclusion but…that couldn’t be it. Right?

Satoru <3 : Did you see all the two boyfriends fics?

Me : Yeah. You’re not saying that…she wrote all of this, are you?

Suguru waited with bated breath as the three dots danced on his screen, Satoru typing out the answer. You were someone who refused to even curse in daily conversation! There was no way… He choked as he got a response, Satoru simply saying:

What do you say we show our baby how much better her real boyfriends are?

~~~~~

“Boys!” you whined as Suguru and Satoru stuck close to you, one on either side, “I’m trying to cook here!” “We’re not stopping you!” Satoru said with a pout as he placed his cheek on top of your hair, “We just wanna be close to our baby. Is that so bad?” “Exactly.” Suguru purred as a hand came up to wrap around your waist, pressing himself close to you, “Is loving you such a crime?”

You rolled your eyes at their theatrics. One thing worse than having one dramatic boyfriend would be having two. Not that you were complaining, of course. How on Earth could you be upset over having the two most powerful sorcerers be your lovers? It sometimes felt like a dream- that these two had fallen in love with you and were over by your place for a domestic night of homecooked food and movies. They were more clingy than usual, a hand or lips always on your body at all times. You caught them exchanging glances with each other once in awhile but you simply ignored it. It wasn’t the first time your men had this telepathic communication going on between them. As long as they weren’t planning on pranking you, you decided to simply focus on the meal you were cooking.

“So, babe,” Satoru purred as he placed a kiss to the crown of your head, “You’re on Tumblr a lot, right?”

You scoffed, “You know I am. Why’d you ask? You finally wanna join?”

“I sure do!” he responded, “And if you had told me about all the porn that was on that website, I would have joined sooner.”

“Porn?” you repeated, confused, “What are you talking about? It doesn’t allow-”

“All of that smutty fanfiction- I was up all night reading them!”

You froze, hoping that the two of them didn’t notice. “Oh, uh, yeah there’s a lot of that.”

“And, you know, we found this…writer.” Suguru said, his voice dripping like honey as his hand ran up and down your waist, “Who writes the most…filthy things. Degradation, spankings, brat taming, not to mention threesomes between two men and a woman. Kind of similar to us, right?”

You gulped, trying to focus on your food even though your mind was running a mile. Did they know? How did they find out? You were so careful of your things! You always made sure to have an eye on your phone and laptop so how did they…

“Well, only the threesome parts.” Satoru said, “We’re not nearly as kinky as the people in those stories. We could be, of course, but we wouldn’t want to scare our baby with how…intense we can be, right?”

“Of course.” Suguru purred, leaning forward to kiss your temple, his lips soft against your skin, “Our sweet princess is so innocent and vanilla. How on Earth can we treat her like the girls in those smutty, dirty stories? We have to make love to her like the Queen she is. There’s no way our baby would like to be punished or have her pussy filled until she’s bred.”

“Exactly.” Satoru said, noting the way your breathing was quickening, smiling as he saw your ears turn red, “Unless…there’s something she’s not telling us.” You gasped as his hand trailed down your back, making you shiver before it landed on your ass. You mewled as he grabbed a cheek harshly, his fingers digging into your plush skin, both of them so close to you that you could feel their hot breath against your burning face.

“So, sweetheart.” Suguru said, a twinkle in his eye as he turned off the heat of the stove, gently taking your utensils out of your hands, “Anything you’d like to share?”

You gulped, Satoru squeezing you greedily and making it difficult for you to form sentences, “H-How did you find out?”

“Well, I might have peeked at your phone when you left it unlocked yesterday.” Satoru confessed, “I wasn’t planning on looking but when I saw the notification of someone begging you to write more of your threesome content, well, curiosity got the better of me.”

“Our baby has such naughty fantasies,” Suguru said, not giving you a chance to respond “But she kept it all to herself like a bad little girl. Why didn’t you tell us?” he leaned down to nibble at your ear, loving the cute yelp you let out, “Did you think we’d judge you?”

“I- I don’t know…” you mumbled, face so red it felt like steam was coming out your ears, “It’s…embarrassing- ah!” Suguru moved downwards and kissed your neck, his teeth digging into the sensitive patch of your skin, making you cry out loud. Satoru pouted before he let go of your ass, only to swing his hand down and give your butt a sharp slap, making you yell loudly.

“We could have been fucking you like the dirty slut you are, but instead, we held ourselves back because we didn’t want to scare you off.” Satoru growled, his hand making its way to your hair, grabbing a handful before he pulled harshly. You gasped as your head was tossed back, your boyfriends face looking down on you as his grip on your hair continued to be tight and unforgiving.

“Every time we fuck you- we’ve wanted to go wild.” Suguru confessed, his large hand slipping into your shirt, making you shiver as he touched your bare skin, “So next time, just be honest and save us the trouble, hmm?”

“You’re going to make it up to us.” Satoru said, leaning down to kiss your lips, a quick peck before he pulled away, a dark look in his eyes, “Get ready. We’re making those fantasies come true.”

~~~~~

Your hands trembled, instinctively tugging at the handcuffs that held you tight against the headboard. The cool metal dug into your skin, showing no signs of letting up. Hands handcuffed above your bed, naked as the day you were born, you were at the mercy of your two men and they made sure of that.

Suguru giggled at your cute little yelp as he increased the speed of the vibrator, his grip of the wand tightening before he pressed it down harder on your clit. You screamed around Satoru’s cock, the man’s dick shoved down your throat, making you gag. He was practically straddling your head, knees on either side of your shoulders while Suguru sat between your spread legs, their eyes greedily taking in your nakedness.

“Yeah? You like that?” Satoru asked, looking down at you with a teasing grin on his face, sweat dripping down his brow. He was naked, veins throbbing in his arms as he gripped onto the headboard tightly, rolling his hips into your face, groaning at the sensation of you trying your best to take his fat dick. “You like that vibrator on your slutty little pussy, don’t you? Hmm? Like having my cock down your throat?” he asked, pausing his thrusting for a second to fully press his cock deep inside you, laughing as he felt you gag loudly around him.

“Oh, she loves it~” Suguru purred, dick aching in his boxers (wearing nothing but his underwear) as he ground the wand vibrator against you, mercilessly attacking your clit, “Her cunt is dripping~”

“Poor baby~ You must be so pent up since we’ve been making love to you like you were a princess. Guess we have to fuck you like a whore, hmm?” Satoru asked, biting his lower lip as he started thrusting into your mouth again. His muscles tensed, tossing his head back to moan as your sweet little tongue lapped at the underside of his cock, his heavy balls pressing against your chin every time he thrust.

“Stay. Still.” Suguru said with a click of his tongue as one arm gripped onto your knee tightly, the other still torturing you with the vibrator, “Keep moving your legs like that and I’ll punish you.”

You whined, your sounds taken by Satoru’s member, your body getting overstimulated. With a fat cock down your throat and Suguru playing with your pussy, you couldn’t help but start trembling, trying to push your legs together to give yourself a break from the onslaught on your cunt- but Suguru was having none of that.

He ignored your yelp as he pulled the vibrator away, taking away your pleasure so suddenly. But you barely had time to process that as he raised his hand and brought it down on your pussy, giving it a harsh, tight slap. You screamed from the pain, the vibrations of your mouth making Satoru moan as Suguru started spanking your pussy again and again. Slap after slap rained down on your cunt, the raven-haired man holding one leg tightly by the ankle while pushing away the other with his knee, truly keeping you spread as he spanked your pussy.

Your whole body writhed from the pain, the stinging sensation of Suguru marking your puffy pussy lips red. Your hands struggled against the handcuffs even more, your torso tossing and turning, Satoru giving you some mercy as he gently pulled his cock out of your mouth.

“Sorry! Fuck- I’m sorry- I’m sorry!” you pleaded through your gasps and coughs, and crying as Suguru slapped your cunt so hard it made you dizzy for a second, “Please- no more!”.

“No more what?”

“No more spankings- P-Please! Please don’t s-spank my p-pussy!” you begged, ears turning red from the embarrassment. You heard Satoru giggle above you, the man clearly more sadistic than you ever imagined as he tugged at his member, enjoying the scene of his best friend breaking you down perfectly. Even him touching himself right in front of you was torturous, your eyes homing in on the precum dripping out of his red tip, his cock covered in your saliva.

“I thought you liked it, baby.” Suguru said, taking some mercy on you as he gently rubbed your cunt, easing some of the burn, “Your characters get their pussy’s spanked so often. Don’t you feel bad for them if it hurts so much?”

“I didn’t- I didn’t know.” You sobbed, “It hurts- fuck- but it hurts so good!”

“Fuuuck Baby!” Satoru groaned, gripping the base of his cock tightly, his face red and excited, “Almost came from that~ I love seeing you look so pathetic for us.”

You whimpered, turning your face to feel Satoru’s warmth as he gently wiped a tear away from your eye. Suguru chuckled, leaning down to place a kiss to your cunt, your skin hot against his lips. Your back arched as he ran his tongue up your pussy, the man groaning as he tasted your slick, drinking you down like a drug.

“Oh~ I want a taste of that pussy too~” Satoru purred before he changed his position. Your eyes widened as he turned around, adjusting himself so his cock was once again over your face only now, he was facing your pussy in a classic 69. “Open up, princess.” He said, smirking as he pushed his cock into your mouth just as you opened your lips, “Suck my cock while we- oh yeah- play with this pussy~”

Satoru grabbed the back of your thighs, holding onto you tightly as he dipped his head between your legs, Suguru moving out of the way so his friend could mouth at your pussy. You squealed around his cock, the man already starting to thrust as he wrapped his lips around your clit before he sucked harshly. “Mmmph- fuck yes~” he moaned, lightly picking up the pace as he once again started fucking your throat, “This pussy is so fucking tasty~”

He opened his mouth wide and started flicking his tongue on your clit, letting out a lewd sound as he tortured your sensitive bud with his tongue. Not one to sit idly by, Suguru allowed his friend to tongue your cunt while he gently slid a finger inside you.

“Look at that. My finger went in so easily, baby.” Suguru said as he gently thrust the finger in and out of you, “This isn’t enough for you, is it?”

You whined around Satoru’s cock, unable to respond. But they understood. Suguru slid a second finger inside you, the slick sound of your cunt parting for him echoing through the air lewdly. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he curled his fingers inside you just right, pussy gushing from the sensation. Satoru was still licking at your clit, giving your bud the occasional nibble to keep you on edge.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” Suguru asked as he watched Satoru lick you up, his own fingers drenched, your juices dripping down, “Cock in your mouth as we play with your pussy like you’re our little toy~ Our sweet little fuck toy we can use?”

Your toes curled and your muscles tensed, opening your throat up as much as possible as Satoru mercilessly face fucked you, his balls slapping against you as he chased his pleasure. The metal of the handcuffs dug into your skin, your fingers clenching around nothing as you were driven closer and closer to your orgasm.

You were so close you could taste it, your mind descending into nothing but pleasure, the two men perfectly breaking you down into the slut they know you are. You fantasised about them as you wrote your fanfiction and for it to actually be coming true- you didn’t know how to handle it.

You were so close- so close! Your body tightened and your pussy clenched around Suguru’s fingers, the familiar sensation of an orgasm making itself known. You already knew this would be one of the strongest climaxes you’d experience and it almost scared you. But you were ready. You wanted this. You needed this. You needed them!

Your moans picked up the pace, getting louder and louder around Satoru’s cock, still obediently sucking him off as your body trembled. You were gonna cum! Cumming- cumming-

Only for them to stop.

You let out a scream as Satoru pulled his cock out of your mouth, both of them able to hear your shouts. You arched off the bed, your body trembling from the sudden absence of pleasure, your legs kicking at the mattress like a toddler as you writhed on the bed.

“Why? Why- I was so close- so close!” you sobbed, tugging at the handcuffs in a desperate attempt to touch yourself, only for it to be futile.

“Aww, poor princess.” Satoru cooed, kneeling over you still, his cock dripping your saliva back onto his face lewdly, “did you really think it would be that easy?”

“We’re going to edge you all night.” Suguru said, finally undoing his boxers before pushing it off, getting completely naked, “It’s your punishment for keeping your sluttiness a secret from us.”

You could barely muster up a protest as you were distracted by Suguru’s cock. His cock was just as beautiful as Satoru’s- long, thick and oh so delicious. He took your breath away everytime he got inside you, his skills rendering you a whining mess.

“If you try and cum without us knowing,” Suguru said, knowing your body like the back of your hand and well aware that you were close to your orgasm, “You’re going to be in a world of pain. Now come on. Beg for it.” He started teasingly slapping your pussy with his member, each strike making you twitch, “You know how to beg, right? Your characters beg so sweetly in your stories- I’m sure you can do it too~”

You gulped, mouth drooling and pussy trembling, their hard cocks right in front of you but refusing to get inside you. “P-Please.” You pleaded, feeling a rush of shame overcome you by uttering the word. “Do better than that.” Suguru said, his hand now on his member and lightly stroking it, showing you what you were missing out on. “I- Fuck- I need you! Both of you!” you said desperately. “Keep going~” Satoru purred, his tip just a hairs breath away from your lips, also close to orgasm, “what do you need?” “I need- fuck- I need your c-cocks!” you begged, tears in your eyes as you shamelessly conveyed your desires, “I need you inside me- I need you to fuck me!” “Good girl.” Suguru said, groaning as he finally- finally- started to push inside you, “And remember. No cumming.”

You tossed your head back, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Suguru started spreading you apart, inch after inch burying into your sopping cunt. It was a delicious sensation, his cock stretching you out wonderfully, his thick cock giving you a nice burn. Suguru hissed as his dick was enveloped in your tight wetness, the texture of your pussy walls hugging it perfectly. His balls clenched and he knew he wouldn’t last long- the feeling of finally being able to treat you like the kinky slut you were driving him to the edge. They don’t call him a pleasure dom for nothing.

Without even saying anything, Satoru took advantage of your open mouth to jam his dick back inside your mouth, laughing at the surprised yelp and loud gag you let out. “I’m close baby~” he moaned as he was surrounded by your addicting heat again, “Make sure you drink it all when I cum down this slutty mouth pussy~”

They both started to fuck you mercilessly at once. And all you could do was lie there and take it. Suguru made you wrap your legs against his waist, leaning into you as he started pounding your cunt, balls slapping against you each time he thrust into you. Your pussy was so wet and hot- the sensation like a drug as he pounded you, his cock slamming against your cervix with each thrust.

“Fuck- I love this fucking pussy!” he groaned, tossing his head back as he mercilessly pounded you, chasing his pleasure, “So perfect for us- so greedy and desperate- want to fucking ruin you!”

“Mmm~ I can’t wait to fuck this slutty cunt~” Satoru said between moans, fucking down on your mouth as a hand came up to spread apart your pussy lips, giving him a perfect view of Suguru fucking your hole. “Pass me the vibrator, will you?”

You yelped, knowing exactly what he had planned as Satoru got a hold of the vibrator, switched it on before he placed it against your clit. You screamed around his cock, body thrashing at the overstimulation. The toy rubbed against your clit, the speed on the highest setting, making your vision blurry as he assaulted your sensitive bud.

“Fuck- oh yeah- that’s fucking great!” Suguru moaned, the vibration of the toy giving him added pleasure as well, “she tightened around me so much- fuck- slutty little pussy!”

You were in heaven and hell. The two men were using you in such a filthy fashion, making your body tremble from the intense pleasure. Suguru was fucking you so perfectly, his cock hitting your g-spot every time he thrust into you, your pleasure heightened by Satoru playing with your clit. He’d use the toy or sometimes even lean down to lick at your clit again, his hair brushing against Suguru’s abdomen every time he thrust forward. They were both so desperate and horny for you and it was amazing.

But, every time you were close, they’d stop.

You didn’t even need to say it- your moans and your body language was enough for them to know when you were about to cum and every time, without fail, they’d ruin your orgasm. Suguru would pull out and Satoru would stop playing with your clit, opting to slap your pussy and call it a ‘bad cunt’ as he took your climax away from you. Suguru once pinched your clit so harshly you swore you blacked out. Once they thought you weren’t going to cum, they’d get back into it.

“Oh baby!” Satoru moaned, finally reaching his climax. He forgoed the toy and instead focused on fucking your face, wanting to cum, “I’m close! Yes! Yes! Oh you naughty little minx! We’re going to have so much fucking fun with you!”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you got pounded from both ends- your jaw beyond sore. With a few more thrusts, Satoru finally came. He tossed his head back and moaned loudly, his cock lodged as deep as it could go inside you. He started to cum down your throat, giving you no choice but to drink it all up. You could feel his balls clench against you as he came, his hot seed pouring down your throat, warming you up from the inside.

“Ohhh yesss!” Satoru moaned, his body shuddering as he gently thrust his hips, milking his balls of every drop, “That’s it- oh yes~ That’s a good slut~”

You gagged around him, struggling to breathe and to drink down his cum, happy to have given him pleasure but distracted by Suguru still pounding into you. You were waiting for Satoru to get off of you and give your jaw some peace but…

He once again got his face close to your pussy, resting his elbows on the mattress and his chin on his hands as he stared like a pervert as Suguru fucking your cunt.

“Enjoying the show?” Suguru asked with a laugh, his body running a bit hotter at Satoru staring.

“Mmhmm,” Satoru said with a smile before he addressed you, “Keep cockwarming me, baby. Get me hard again so I can fuck this pussy next~”

Oh. Oh God.

“Fuck- I’m close!” Suguru groaned through gritted teeth, “And she’s close too- I can feel it!”

“Yeah?” Satoru asked, rolling his hips in a circle as he leisurely enjoyed your mouth like it was a fleshlight, “Should we let her cum? She’s been such a good girl for us.”

You whined around him, feeling like this entire night was you whining, trying your best to beg around Satoru’s cock in your mouth. You could feel him grow harder inside you, the sadist loving the fact that he made you so pathetic.

“Nah.” Suguru said, sweating as he pounded you mercilessly, “Not yet.”

“You hear that, baby?” Satoru asked, “You better not cum~”

You sobbed, tears pouring down your cheeks as they decided to continue torturing you.

“You gonna cum inside her?” Satoru asked his friend, knowing him well enough to know he was about to cum. “Fuck- I want to so fucking badly but- I don’t think she deserves it yet!”  “Awww, the poor thing. She has such a huge breeding kink too!” “I know. Fuck- I’d love to dump inside this cunt and breed her but- fuck- I still think she needs to learn her lesson! Naughty little sluts who keep things from their boyfriends gets fucking punished! Oh fuck- yes- cumming- I’m cumming!”

With a shout, once again denying you your orgasm, Suguru quickly pulled out of you with the intention of finishing on you. “Fuck- Satoru!” Suguru moaned as the white haired man suddenly grabbed his member and started jerking him off. Satoru laughed at Suguru’s moans, his hand almost a blur as he jacked off his best friend, aiming the tip right at your pussy. In a matter of seconds, Suguru let out a loud moan as he came, tossing his head back as the pleasure hit him like a truck. He trembled as ropes and ropes of cum shot out of his cock, his balls clenching with each pump as he came all over your pussy. He stained your cunt white, making you whine as all of that cum wasn’t pumped inside you.

“Oh~ Look at all that cum on this pretty pussy~” Satoru moaned, letting go of Suguru to instead pet at your pussy, his fingers rubbing the cum into your skin before he collected a bit of it on his fingers to shove inside you. You gasped, body still on edge, your mind a mess of pleasure and humiliation as Satoru stuffed his friends cum into your pussy. He took some mercy on you and pulled his cock out of your mouth, enjoying your gasps and moans as you took in deep breaths, choking on your own spit as he got off of you.

“Please!” you begged, crying and you voice hoarse, “Please- Please let me cum! I need it! I’ll do anything!”

“Shhhh, relax, princess.” Suguru cooed as he and Satoru switched places, the white haired man settling between your legs with his cock hard once more, eager to fuck your cunt. You whimpered and cried as Suguru lied down next to you, his dick still hard and ready for more as he leaned down to kiss you, a sweet moment among all the depravity.

His hand gripped a breast, squeezing your boob as he kissed you, slipping his tongue into your mouth and making your body tingle from the sensation. He finally parted just as Satoru slipped his dick inside you, smiling as he watched your eyes water and your jaw drop from the sensation.

“Don’t start crying already, baby.” Suguru said, watching as your body started to bounce up and down from Satoru’s thrusts, Satoru immediately fucking you in a fast pace, “We’ve only just begun~”

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi, I read a few of your posts and I really liked your writing. May I ask a hcs/drabble/one shot of ONE PIECE with Shanks (and Mihawk if it’s possible) who are in a relationship with a woman who have her own crew and the woman flee away in their sleep, leaving them behind, with her crew after years of relationship? A bit angsty 🙊 and they never found her again, seeing her in newspapers or rumors only.

Thank you if you made it and sorry if It doesn’t suit your blog! Have a nice day <3

At first, he though he read the title wrong. But no matter how many times his eyes glided across the black ink, the newspaper headline said the exact same thing: BLACK TOOTH GRINS: A NEW SCOURGE?

There was a picture attached underneath the title. Part of him thought that maybe the familiarity in the woman’s face was just his longing; a product of a mind too lovesick to hold on to sanity. Alas, this time, too, his senses were not deceiving him.

It is your face. You're alive and well as it seems. Looking exactly the same as the day you had left.

The heartache comes back to him tenfold. Not it has ever left but the pain and anger are now suffocating. So many months have passed when he hasn't heard from you as though you've suddenly ceased to exist. No one has heard about you, no one has seen. How can a whole person just vanish? At some point, he told himself that maybe you've met your end. It was entirely possible.

But nothing has prepared him for this. To realize that he was abandoned by the one he loved.

The anguish slowly fades into numbness like a radio falls silent after piercing ears with static. Everything stands still as he recalls the day some part of him had died:

"Greatest swordsman in the world" is a quite hefty title to carry. It is also quite a hefty title to be overshadowed by. Wherever the two of you showed up, you'd always be perceived as a decoration to Mihawk rather than his partner. Like a pearly white Maltese carried by rich ladies in their purses. Having voiced your concerns, Mihawk knew that you feel in some way inferior to him. He just never thought it was that severe.

He was woken up that night, actually. The sky was still black and starry, morning long hours away. You were getting out of bed and your stirring woke him up. But he quickly went back to sleep when you whispered that you were just going to the bathroom. By all means, it was just another night. Like countless others you've spent together. Nothing unusual.

In the morning, everything was gone. All of your belongings had disappeared as though you had never been on his ship in the first place. Like a ghost he's grown to love had simply become bored of haunting him.

Only one thing, however, suggested that you were not a figment of imagination: a laconic note that vaguely explained the situation. In a few words, you told him that you're tired of being seen as an accessory to someone, a pair of gloves that will be out of season when snow thaws. Knowing that you're more than the Maltese in a purse, you ventured into the wide world to become an infamous name of your own.

Throughout many years, every day has he thought of that night and the morning that followed. What if he hadn't fallen asleep? Was he too calloused to notice how much you've been suffering? Was there something he could have done but decided not to for some reason?

The longer he thought about it, the more he came to the same, heart-wrenching conclusion - he was just abandoned in the middle of the night. Whether it was his hurt pride or respect towards your wishes, he's never gone on an escapade to find you.

As years went by and he hadn't heard from you or about you, Mihawk simply assumed that you'd died. It seemed the most probable. Part of him wanted to take the blame: if he had noticed your pain earlier, had he taken your worries seriously, you wouldn't have left and you wouldn't have died. It was his responsibility to protect you, to ensure that his beloved is safe and sound. Alas, he had failed. Quite utterly at that.

He grew bitter and vicious. What good is his swordsmanship if it failed that one time it could have mattered? What good is he if he was too blind and oblivious to ease your burden?

But all of those painful thoughts disappeared today.

Mihawk tears the newspaper and throws it away. He's grown almost used to the weight of bereavement on his shoulders but now he's absolved of it. One shouldn't grieve someone who is still alive. But contrary to his expectations, he doesn't feel better because of that. In fact, he feels a lot worse. Even if your death had been brought by your own choices, it is not your fault. Your death, however, hasn't occurred as of yet, so the time you've spent building infamy was just time you chose to leave him broken and aching.

He mourned you! Turned his grief and misery into a fury that burned entire towns. He became a shadow of the person he used to be. And for what? To learn that he was disposable to you? That his love for you was less important than your pride and ambitions?

Now that you've made it on the front page with an equally hefty title "A New Scourge", perhaps you're a danger big enough to be hunted down by none other but one of the Warlords. Was it not what you wanted? To be truly someone among pirates?

Oh, he will find you. Even if you told him not to look for you. Mihawk will find you and make you take responsibility for the damage you've done - for the man you've irreversibly changed for the worse; the heart you've forced to turn into stone.

Is it revenge or is it justice? No matter. It is right.

If the butterfly effect is true, Shanks, or rather his tendencies, would be the said butterfly that causes a tornado down the line. He's been known as a man with no commitment and certainly not a devout monogamist. It didn't matter that for a few years he's been exactly that - happily wrapped around the finger of one woman. Most of his men "respectfully" disregarded the relationship status as something temporary.

"Shanks thinks he's in love. Like a thousand times before her."

Which was probably why you've gone years being called a variation of "Shanks's girl". Whether they meant it or not, people around you made sure that you know you're disposable. A fling.

But you never were. Gods above! You never were.

Shanks thought it was quite obvious that he didn't consider you a fling. All the jokes and jabs at his previous love life were just that - meaningless jokes among friends. Even when you explicitly told him that they start to make you uncomfortable and that you want to be taken seriously, the pirate captain never quite took you as seriously as he probably should have. "They're just joking".

The jokes stopped one day and, seemingly, so did Shanks's humour altogether. All of your belongings were gone. You were gone. Nowhere to be found, disappeared like fog on a spring morning. The only thing he had from you was a note, hastily scribbled in the corner of a map lying on his desk as though you were too rushed to take your time to write a proper letter.

He's read that note every day for years. Naively hoping that one day he'll somehow be enlightened as to where you've gone. Maybe one of the letters is strangely pointing towards an island? Or maybe the fact that you've written your message in the North-East of the map was a sign? No matter how many asinine guesses he's made, all of them were wrong. You just... disappeared.

Despite asking him not to look for you, Shanks couldn't help himself. Each village he has visited, he would ask about you. Has anyone seen you? Or heard about you? A few times he thought he had seen you in the crowd, only for the woman to turn out to be a stranger vaguely fitting your description. But this investigation, too, proved to be in vain. For better or worse, it seemed as though you had never existed in the first place.

To put things simply, Shanks had given up. If no one across the seas had seen you or heard about you, it seemed the most probable that you'd met your end. Somewhere far away, among unfamiliar waters and surrounded by strangers. Were you in pain? Were you afraid? Did you wish he could have been there? Or maybe you thought-

No. He shouldn't be thinking like that.

Shanks is locked in his cabin. If his crewmates believed he had an alcohol problem after you disappeared, their captain's state right now would be "alcohol catastrophe". He hasn't been sober since he saw the newspaper.

At first, he was excited, yes! You were alive and well! But then the realization set in: you've left in the middle of the night, asked him not to look for you and never once reached out to him. Telling him that you don't love him anymore would have hurt incomparably less.

He's sitting on the floor. His clothes reek but he doesn't care about that. A shaking hand has trouble lifting another bottle of strong alcohol. The front page of the newspaper with your face on it is lying in front of him. He's just blankly staring at it, letting tears fall down his cheeks.

Among the darkness of the room, there's just him, the bottle and the dull, unbearable ache in his chest.

Shanks wishes to find you. To ask what in the Hell you were thinking. Then ask what he can do to have you back with him. But beware, as whatever you demand he will do. Even if it costs him his other hand.

That is, if his liver won't kill him first.

[mattastr0phic]

Dr. ████ Myriad - Naturalist, Shapeshifter, SCP-963's Host

Personnel File - Easier to read Personnel File - Tag

Summary bits under the cut!

Dr. Myriad is the host to SCP-963, an indestructible amulet that, when direct skin contact is broken with it, instantly kills the culprit. At this point, the deceased's form and memories right before death are recorded inside SCP-963, both accessible by Dr. Myriad, who may shapeshift into any recorded subjects at will.

In the event of Dr. Myriad's death, her body will completely liquify into a viscous mass of flesh and retreat into SCP-963 for a healing period in which his Primary body is reformed wearing it, taking about 1-2 hours. During this period, a slit shape will appear in the ruby of SCP-963, which Dr. Myriad is able to view their surroundings from.

Dr. Myriad itself finds great freedom in self-expression through the shapeshifting abilities of SCP-963, though struggles to come to terms with its side effect of immortality. Outbursts due to stress have manifested in off-the-grid escapades, pranks, and in some extreme cases, containment breaches, but the extra energy is currently being funneled into their work. Many coworkers find them still quite agreeable and easy to work with despite these outbursts. Dr. Myriad utilizes its shapeshifting to assess the behavior of their assigned SCPs, most often plants, animals, and the occasional sentient object. They have been essential in understanding the processes of several SCPs, especially those with intricate social structures. Any concerns the Doctor has with containment procedures WILL be addressed by it, regardless of authority rule. While Dr. Myriad's loyalty to Foundation regulations is questionable at best, she is still a great asset to any site under threat due to past Field Agent training, flexibility in threat assessment, and lack of self preservation while protecting others. She could escape the Foundation on her own if she wanted to. But still, they remain. They have something still keeping them there. Or someone.

[sunsents]

(I read the tono fic and im literally on my knees for this man rn he’s looks yummy☹️) we need a pt 2 on that beetie, but what if it was him being so rough and aggressive we dont get to see that, him manhandling and corrupting/degrading them whew Lord 🤭

I had the time of my life while writing this because I'm a slut and I want this man to do these exact things to me with no regards to my basic needs. <3 I couldn't really incorporate the corruption I think? I didn't really know how to build up to it 😟 so I'mma practice with my jakey poo, look out for an upcoming drabble

Tonowari - Punishment (M)

read part 1 here

➵ summary: Little plot and pure smut. After your escapade with Tonowari, his neglect tugs at your heartstring. Of course, the Olo'Eyktan is here to soothe your ache and remind you who you belong to.

➵ pairing: tonowari x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

➵ word count: 5.6k (I might have gotten a little carried away with this)

➵ warnings: severe degradation kink/probably age gap/rough ass sex/corruption/dirty talk/cursing/aggression/jealous tonowari/spanking/nudity/sexual intercourse/edging/descriptions of body parts /finger fucking/humping/kissing...and much more I can't remember atm. this work is purely nsfw and not suitable for minors, if you're under the age of 18, DNI

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

➵ vocabulary

syulang - flower

tiyawn - love

yomyo lerik - leaf plate

yawne - beloved

You spend the next few days in bed due to a sore back.

Most would think you pulled something while fishing in the early hours of the morning. Most are wrong, however, as they didn't know about your secret rendezvous with the Olo'eyktan. 

But you couldn't forget. 

How he fucked into your cunt with his thick cock, buried to the hilt and throbbing inside your sensitive walls. How he sat you down on his warm, plush thighs, coaxed your body to press against his chest with sweet whispers and completely engulfed you in his dizzying presence. He'd ask you to hold on tight as he stretched you open - because he knew you could take it. You would take anything he gave you with needy whines and a firm grip that would engrave his touch into your body. 

"You’ve never been touched, have you?" he had asked you, smoothing a hand down your hair, sweetly kissing your temple, slowly pulling you down into a pleasure-ridden world that consisted of nothing but sweaty bodies and heated pants.

As he kissed you tenderly, his hips humped into you like a nantang in heat. "Take it," he would tell you, muffling your mouth with his palm while letting out grunts of pleasure. 

And when he stretched you out specifically to his liking, specifically to be used only by his cock, he was barely satisfied.  "You fit me perfectly now, syulang." was his last whisper before you broke completely, babbling and drooling on his cock with your sopping heat. The rest is a blur, being fucked senseless while he bounced you on his thighs.

It's only when you hear a thump that you snap out of your gaze. "Oh!" you gasp, fishing around the water to find your blade. Your cheeks are flushed because you can feel them, and it's embarrassing enough for you to run a hand over them after dipping your fingers into cold water. You curse under your breath - of course, you can’t reach the blade, because, of course, Eywa is never on your side when it comes to your stubborn crush on Tonowari.

The fish you were cleaning is long forgotten, dropped in your wooden plate to be picked up after you get your bearings straight. The communal fire is bursting with warmth as children dance around and families group to share their food. Though, you’re still quite distant from the shared space. You had opted to get a piece of mind away from all the activity - surely not because you were avoiding the clan Olo’Eyktan. 

It's been exactly a week since you saw Tonowari, and the memories never cease to replay. You clear your throat even though nothing is lodged in it. Nonetheless, you smooth a hand down your hair just like he had done, quickly rinse your fingers in the water again, pull out an old yet sharp blade then continue your filet. 

You hadn’t seen the man all week, and all of a sudden he was commanding your attention by sending you fleeting looks, passing by your frame a little too closely, and gazing into your soul while you tried to enjoy your food in peace. The nerve.

Again, Eywa is barely on your side.

"Need some help?" 

The deep treble of his voice causes you to flinch. Tonowari stands tall in his gorgeous glory with his hands on his hips, adorning hunting garments and his hair tied back in a bun. You see the eclipse constellation on his skin, stretching beautifully over his lithe muscles. A band decorates his firm pecs and enhances his incredibly slim waist that you crave to run your fingers over. His legs stand strong, supporting his mouth-watering frame. You physically feel his authority, trickling down his body and slapping your face. 

You hold back a laugh at the thought - his presence was intense. The thought helps to put your mind at ease, but the quick thumping of your heart commands your attention.

"If it's no trouble," you croak, desperately trying to ignore the lump in your throat. You fail, however, as your voice comes out in a deep rasp. You clear your throat and pat the space next to you. "Please, sit Olo'eyktan."

Tonowari smiles at you warmly before sitting down. You hand him a fish, which he gracefully accepts, then starts the rhythmic movement of his blade. He’s extremely quick in his work - mesmerized, you gawk at his skilled fingers.

With each passing flick, you wait for the man to address the tension between you - because someone has to, and you decide it won’t be you. No, not after he didn’t talk to you for a week, then suddenly plagued your peaceful dinner with his sensual touch and sultry gaze. Taking a deep breath to calm your traitorous heart, you patiently wait for his inquiry. 

One, the scales fly into the water as larger fish nip at them; was he not going to mention that he fucked you raw last week? Two, Tonowari grunts, blade slightly slipping from his wet hands; Eywa, the tension is burning at your skin. Three, you were choking, you could feel it. Your heart was betraying you as it thumped for the Olo'Eyktan.

Four, "So, are we not going to talk about it?" you snap.

Tonowari stills then jerks his beautiful large head (which was fitting to his beautiful large body) to you. "What is there to address?" he mutters, hand resting on his thigh.

"W-well," you clear your throat, suddenly losing all conduct. You're quick to sharpen your tone, "Last week, at your kelku..."

"Oh?”

You hear him swallow before you nod, and his stare darkens with an indecipherable disposition. "And why shall we address it?" he asks, tone rough to match yours.

You have no choice but to abandon your blade and the fish - Eywa bless its poor heart with the way you were fileting it with lust, anger, shame, and excitement all at once. Your ears fold against your head instinctively before you have the chance to control them. It was embarrassing being so clear with your feelings when Tonowari kept a straight face.

"Because," you start, avoiding his gaze. "Right, because..." 

Was he expecting you to tell him, in front of everyone in the clan? Of course, your backs were facing the distant chatter of the people as you sat on a far edge. You were blocked out from their view by a giant tapestry that dated back to the first moons, still, if someone was to peek their head out, they'd see you sitting together.

You shift closer to him, ignoring the thrumming of your heart, then whisper. "Because we did that." 

Even though you didn't say the word, you can't help but flush. It was just so vulgar, and it was the first time you had ever experienced anything so intimate and erotic. You were naive but weirdly enough, knew better. Your act of intimacy with Tonowari was reserved for mates, and you were certain Tonowari never asked to mate with you. 

He chuckles at your humility and your stomach churns. He makes you feel so belittled with his reaction - had your time together been mere seconds in his lust-filled life? The thought brings a pout to your lips before you straighten and manage a neutral expression. Though, Tonowari notices, and he's quick to tease.

"Ah, I see." his coy smile is critical as he speaks in a low, baritone voice. "Did fucking not satisfy you, girl? Is that it?" 

He shuffles close until his plush thigh bumps into yours and the heat of him hugs around your entire being. He’s barely touching you and your body reacts on instinct, craving for him to take you as his munxta. His muscular  arms are not helping your desires whatsoever, looking obscenely huge in contrast to yours. 

"You want me to fuck you nice and slow again? Or do you want me to be rough with you? Can you handle that, syulang?" he leans in, hand inching closer to your thigh. You gasp, unable to control your twitch.

It's too much - his burly frame, his thighs, his sweet whispers. You dart up to your feet, leaving behind a satisfied Tonowari. He looks almost proud at making you feel this embarrassed. Again, the nerve. 

"Olo'eyktan Tonowari, you are needed."

A warrior and good friend of Tonowari's, Zeir, stands tall with a yomyo lerik in his hand. He's chewing on fish as he waits expectantly for his Olo'eyktan.

Your heart hammers loud in your chest. You almost got caught.

If your embarrassment hadn't gotten the better of you, you'd be spread out before Tonowari with his head between your legs, and you’d do nothing to stop your Olo’Eyktan when Zeir, inevitably, encounters the view due to your cravings. 

Humiliation is all you feel as heat spreads through your body. You're red, and Zeir throws you a pointed look. "How sweet," he grins.

Tonowari's head snaps so fast to his friend that you feel obligated to follow his line of sight. Zeir is smiling at you, drinking in your frame because you can feel his eyes on your skin, poking and prodding. 

His gaze isn't unwanted per se, just a surprising development seeing as he never gave you this attention before. You're not complaining, rather, keening at the overwhelming attention you’re getting. It seems after years of curiosity, Eywa was on your side. The noise of complaint Tonowari lets out, however, tells you that Eywa is not on his side. It was delightful to see the roles reversed.

"Zeir, brother, what is so important that you interrupt us," he warns. 

Zeir takes a moment to think about what you assume is a well-strung answer that won't anger the Olo'eyktan. "The people are asking for you, is all." 

Tonowari nods but lingers for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes survey you as he stands up, then strides across the bouncy weaving strung across the open sea. "You," he looks at you, "we are not finished. Stay there."

You gulp, then nod obediently. The sudden change in his demeanor scares you. You didn't know the man enough to comment on his personality, but it was common knowledge that he rarely got angry. He was usually calm and collected, and when something, or someone, was testing his patience, he was calculative in his approach. Many instances where he had taken hunting parties and returned with nothing but fish skin due to the idiocy and naïveté of the young warriors proved this to you. It was almost comical how he listened to Rakxe and Vetsu bicker about who the mightiest fisherman in the clan is while seemingly catching no fish; hands tight, lip a straight line, yet voice surprisingly soft, as if he was explaining the concept of fishing and hunger to a small child. 

Tonowari leaves you alone with Zeir, a fact he forgot to consider in his haste to please the clan. You give Zeir a pointed look that screams, what in Eywa's name are you doing?

"Oh, don't look at me like that." he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Your lips twitch. "Like what?"

"Like I've done something bad." he tells you, "You and I know both that your little crush will be in vain if you don't do anything."

Your jaw drops at his straightforwardness. "Well," you start, frustrated. "I was in the middle of doing something!"

"Yeah?" he laughs though it's very obviously forced. "It seemed like he was in the middle of rejecting you, or was that just me?"

His words make a pang go through your chest. While his assumption is false (Tonowari was about ready to fuck you nice and deep), it holds some truth. He seeks you out to whisper filthy words and toss you aside when he's satiated, at least that's what you convince yourself. He had merely used your cunt and then disappeared for the entirety of the week. Was he avoiding you, or was he just busy? 

You didn't want that question answered. You were too far gone, and the answer would shatter your heart. 

In your silence, Zeir clears his throat. "Look, Tonowari is very open with his feelings - sometimes they just need a little push...which I'm generously granting you."

You look at him incredulously, "Oh? And how is angering the man helping me?”

Zeir looks at you like you know the answer. "Jealousy!" he snaps.

"No!" you're quick to yell. 

"Yes!" he whines. "I merely looked at you and he was seething like a  hungry palulukan!"

It would be a lie if you said his words didn't make you giddy. Tonowari? Jealous over you? It would only feed into your hope of claiming the strong warrior. You feel tremors rush through your spine at the thought. Now that his words settle in, you're seriously considering his offer. "Okay," you finally decide.

Zeir smirks, then slowly peeks his head through the flap. The bustle is rambunctious, noises filling the open space when the covering is pushed aside. "Uh oh," he quickly rushes to your side, way too close for your liking. "He's coming back. I'm going to put my hand on your waist, and you," he grabs your hands and presses them to your chest. "Act like I made a joke."

The laugh you let out falls on deaf ears as Tonowari returns. You see his face drop into a scowl, then into a look much more dangerous than what you had anticipated. You quickly break away from Zeir and dust yourself off. "You're back."

"What are you doing with her," he seethes through gritted teeth. 

Zeir crosses his arms, "Nothing, just showing her how a real man should be." 

At his comment, Tonowari's eyes turn. He lunges forward and grabs Zeir's neck - you've never seen him this angry before. It's exhilarating. 

"She's mine," he spits, eyes glazed over. His irises have dilated into something much more feral. You see a flash of panic sail through Zeir's eyes before he nods.

"Mine! Don't ever touch her again, I'm warning you brother," he speaks in a low rasp, tail trashing. It's uncontrollable and swats at your hip before thumping on the ground. "If I ever see you even breathe in her direction..."

"What are you going to do about it?" Zeir chuckles nervously. You do feel bad for him, even if it's only for a moment. He suggested this. He suggested that Tonowari harbors feelings toward you. He suggested that Tonowari would get jealous. 

And he was right. 

"Tonowari," you croak out. He dismisses you with a glance, "Don't hurt him."

This seems to set him off. He lets go of the man before rushing towards you. He yanks your hand, then starts pulling you towards his kelku with hurried steps. You look back at Zeir and he grins at you, mouthing told you so. Though before you can reply, The sullen Olo’Eyktan yanks your arm forward which causes you to crash against his warm back. "Stupid girl!" he growls.

Anger drips from his movements; his quick strides, his snapping tail, the way he opens the flap to his kelku and drags you inside with rough force. You're practically flung inside the marui like a doll. And as he paces back and forth, you're regretting your decisions. He was too angry, too uncharacteristic for his serene persona. His ragged breaths alert the flames inside you to burn, scorching your insides and causing you to crave his thick body, warm. He suddenly stops, then snaps his glaring eyes to your face. Thighs rubbing together, you try not to flinch away from his gaze. 

"On your knees." he all but demands. You tilt your head in confusion, was he actually going to punish you? "Are you deaf, girl? On your knees!"

You quickly lower yourself, quivering in excitement. He stops before you’re facing his swollen tewng. The carnal beast inside you rages with desire, screaming at you to grab his kuru and mate him. Mate him, mate him, mate him. 

You’re quick to dismiss her, it’s too soon. Will he even accept you as his? 

He grips your chin, too tight for your liking, and tells you all you need to know. His fingers squeeze your face before roughly tilting your head upwards. "You dirty cock-slut," he spits, and your eyes widen. "Are you going to let every man into your cunt?"

"W-what?" you croak, tears burning your eyes. 

He grips your hair roughly and then pulls. You yelp, having no choice but to hold onto his thigh to not topple back. Tears stream down your face at the humiliation. "You heard what I said. Don't make me repeat myself."

Eywa, what had you gotten yourself into? Your chest hurt from the mortification, but you couldn't deny the desire burning between your legs at his words. He looked at you with such intensity, eyes blown out. You merely croak out a, "No."

A feral growl leaves his lips before he pulls the string for his tewng. His cock springs out, and he looks at you expectantly. "Open,"

When you hesitate, he mushes your cheeks and forces your mouth to open. “Why?” you croak out, though it’s muffled and barely audible. “Tonowari, I’m scared. It feels hot, please…”

Teary-eyed, you don’t know what you’re begging for. It’s all the more thrilling. 

“Shhh, you have nothing to be afraid of,” he coos, suddenly gentle as he caresses your cheek. His undulant tones give you whiplash. “You’re going to suck on it, sweet girl. Make your Olo’Eyktan feel good,”

You nod, and with no warning, he plunges his cock into the confines of your mouth. 

Tonowari does not allow you to breathe, he doesn't even allow you to adjust to the feeling of your mouth stuffed full of his cock. It’s your first time, and in an array of emotions, you try your best to keep your jaw slack, and teeth at bay. It hurts to have his tip poke your throat, graze it so harshly with no regard for your respiration. A plethora of gargled noises come from your mouth - you’re trying to complain and failing miserably. It didn't matter, since Tonowari wasn't in his right mind. It was terrifying and thrilling all at the same time.

"Ohh, that's good," he grunts, shifting his hips slightly. You fight back more tears but fail, it's the pain that causes them now, instead of his belittling words. In comical timing, Tonowari grips your hair by the roots and pulls your head back, then slams his hips back in. You clutch his thighs, screaming around his cock. 

"Shut up," he grits. "Shut up and take it, filthy girl."

You nod, crying. Your eyelashes stick together as you look up at him, and Tonowari bares his teeth. "Mmph, fuck...Keep your eyes on me, you’re doing so good, syulang - so good,"

He slightly bends his head, then spits at the base of his cock where your mouth doesn't reach. Your eyes widen, just how wet did he need to be for this...activity. You wouldn't know, and Tonowari is aware of this. 

"Have you ever had a cock stuffed in your mouth, syulang?" he chuckles, yet his words contain zero humor - low and raspy as they burn his tongue. "Look at you, drooling on it like this. Ahh, fuck - open wider and do it properly before I stuff it down your throat," 

You nod again, but whatever you do or however you do it seems to fail at satiating his anger. He grunts, starting to snap his hips into your mouth and you can’t help but choke, gargle, and make obscene noises which fall fruitless. His head is thrown back in bliss.

Your jaw is slack, and your throat burns, - you cannot help but crave more. His thick cock slams into your mouth with crude noises and causes your spit to roll down your chin. Unable to wipe it, you grip onto his thick thighs that flex every other second - rhythmic to his snapping hips. Your nails dig into his skin but the man, pure muscle and sex, doesn't flinch. He doesn't even feel it, too busy fucking into your mouth with noises that border on animalistic. He moans though it's rough and coarse, a complete contrast to the whines he let out last week as he fucked you slow and good.

This was not slow and good. This was possessive, raw, and dominating. 

"This mouth is mine. Look at you, you're pathetic. You can barely fucking breathe, girl. What? You want to stop?"

You nod desperately, hoping for some sort of release. 

"Oh, Eywa...You're not allowed to stop…you're out here, whoring for every man in the clan - fuck," his hips jerk, ", and have the nerve to ask for release from me. This is your punishment girl, you better remember your place from now on."

You shake your head, your body trembling with desire. He suddenly stops his thrusts, heaving out a breath that rumbles deep from his chest. "I..." His cock twitches in his mouth, and you watch him grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut. He's edging himself, you realize. He's denying himself release because it would mean your ‘punishment’ is over. "It's time I claim this pussy of yours before those brainless bastards lay a hand on you, hm?"

You let out a shaky cough as he pulls his cock out. The way you heave is enough evidence that this is all new to you, and in his wicked mind, Tonowari is more than pleased as he watches you catch your breath. 

"Up, yawne," he demands. His endearment means nothing, not when he's so harsh with his tone. "Be a good girl and get up."

You try, you really do. But you can't. Your legs betray you as you try to stand and topple over. Tonowari is quick to catch you. "Pathetic little girl," he growls. His large hands wind around your thighs before he effortlessly lifts you. He doesn't even pull you to his chest, he just carries you like you're some sort of toy that he was going to bend into submission. He disregards you on his nest and your back hits the soft weaving with a yelp. Before you can move, his hands grip the back of your thighs, pushing them to your chest. Somehow, he rips your tewng with a grunt and sniffs the scent that circles the marui. "You got this wet from sucking my cock?" he snarls. Your folds, already puffy, must look so plush due to your current position. You can feel his breath on your entrance as he sniffs you like he's borderline manic. 

"N-no," you manage to utter. "That was hardly a punishment..."

"Do I have to stuff my cock in there again? Don't get mouthy with me, girl." he snaps, his anger visibly seething.

Now you've done it. You don't even know what kind of power made you answer back to him, but there was no going back now. He was only fueled more. "What? Want me to rip this pussy of yours so you have no choice but to take me? You know nothing, look at you."

Your chest tightens at his words.

"My dick was the first one stuffed in this cunt, and it will be the last." and with that, he plunges his cock in you. You scream his name in pain, and generously, he allows you to get used to the stretch for a few, short moments. "Ohhh fuck, yawne - so tight."

His generosity does not last long, however. Soon, he's drilling into your aching cunt with untetheredly rough thrusts. His grunts accompany the quick strokes he graces you with, and it's grounding. As his big hands stay firmly planted on the back of your thighs, he uses you as leverage to fuck into the tight hole he's fixated on - it's grounding. So much so that your arms desperately flail around to hold onto something to balance yourself and keep your consciousness intact, but to no avail. Tonowari's wet heat, his noises of pleasure, his abdomen that grind into the puffy pebble that pulses with the desire between your legs, they work together to drag you down into the depth of Pandora and trap you in a prison of pure pleasure. When he gives a particularly hard thrust, he heaves a rewarding whine of pleasure, and you can merely scream and take it. 

Your gummy walls are being pounded and any hope of movement is distant. Tonowari won't even let your hands grasp onto something. He lowers himself, trapping your body with his sweat-ridden chest, and reminds you, once again, that without his permission, his cock, and his sweet words, you’re anguished and empty. He manhandles you into submission and pulls the feral creature that burns in your chest, screaming at you to mate him. 

"Look at you, fuck...whimpering like a lost angstik pup." he coos, never once stopping his ruthless pace. "You see how I fuck into your sweet pussy, yawne?”

He brings your palm to rest on your belly, and urges you to press - you cry out in pleasure and pain all at once. You could feel the bulge of his cock protruding from your abdomen and causing dizzying bliss. "So sweet, my pretty little syulang," he grunts. "My filthy little cock-slut. Mine to use. All mine."

"T-Tonowari!" you whine at the disorienting senses. Lost in all the pleasure he's inflicting with thrusts. His drilling has stopped, opting to grind his pelvis into your aching cunt with the same pace. His pace, Eywa. It hasn't faltered once and with the delicious friction he's providing you, all the while ruthlessly stretching you out, the strings that keep you on reality are about to snap. Something is fast approaching, yet it feels nothing like the release he granted you last week. It’s more, slowly building up around your chest with tingles.  "I feel weird! It's-"

Tonowari pulls out of your shuddering cunt and the emptiness he causes  builds tears in your eyes. It's nothing but cruel - coaxing you to give in to pleasure completely, then taking it away all at once. "It hurts syulang, doesn't it? That's right...I'm the only one that could make it go away."

You whimper, babbling incoherently when he thumbs your pussy. "Shhh," he coos, wiping your tears sweetly. "It's okay yawne, don’t cry. I’ll take care of you," 

But it's not okay. You frantically shake your head, begging for more when he plunges two fingers into your pussy and curls the digits. Your head jerks back, and Tonowari plants a firm slap on the curve of your ass. The long, drawn-out moan that leaves you is lewd, and Tonowari is quick to bend down and drink it all up with a wet kiss. He pulls away entirely - fingers, hands, everything, then grasps your waist and turns you around. Since your escapade last week, you have had no control over your body. He left you a whiny, aching mess, and addicted you to all the pleasure he could give. Especially now, in your cock-drunk mindset, you merely whimper and whine as his hands knead at your skin. 

He pulls you by the waist, fingers digging into your pelvis and causing an embarrassing gush of your juices to flow down between your legs. You relish in his low chuckle with a shudder, until a wet heat graces your ass. When his teeth dig in, you can all but gasp at the delicious pain. “Oh!”

The bastard bit your ass. 

"There we go, yawne." he dares to tell you. 

You can feel his muscular arm gather your hands and lock them tightly in his grip. He pulls them back, causing your back to arch for his pleasure, then wedges his thick thigh between your legs to rub against your wet, aching, cunt - you're about to pass out from the need to have him inside you. You can only beg to be filled as he bends and handles you to his liking. He plants his thick cock between the expense of your ass, then humps into you once, twice, before plunging into your pussy once again.

It's all feeling at this point - you try to look back and see his face, but Tonowari doesn't allow you. He rocks into you while sitting back on his legs, and plants a firm hand on the back of your head to push you into the weaving. Your ears flicker at the sound of his thick thighs slapping against your ass, his deep moans and growls that fill the marui once again, overlapping with your screams for mercy. 

He grants you none. Pulling you back further, his hand let go of your head and slither down your chest to push you up to his chest. You don't understand where you're seated until Tonowari's thighs guide yours to open wide, pushing his cock deeper. You feel him everywhere, in your stomach, your ribs, and your throat as you cry out his name in pleasure. He grips your waist and humps into you like he would burn if he didn’t, grunting and cursing into your ear. One of his hands closes around your throat, and you can merely throw your head back against his pectoral and grant him further access. "You look beautiful, my syulang," he tells you. "So pathetic and needy like this, letting the Olo'Eyktan bounce you on his thighs like a little whore."

"Yes! T-Tonowari, there - ahh, right there!"

And when he hits the spongy spot that would be your rise and downfall all at once, it hits you. It hits you as he drills into your g-spot from below with rugged thrusts, hits you like a heart stuttering scare that's been creeping behind for weeks, only to catch you when you least expect it. "That's right. Only I can, fuck - make you cum like this. Ohh Eywa, yes! Just like that." he encourages, and you can only let out a plethora of yes yes yes’, shuddering and clamping down on his cock like a steel vice. Your walls spasm around his cock, and you feel him shoot hot ropes of cum into you with a loud groan. You pump him dry, orgasm lasting until your juices flow down his thick cock and the expense of your legs, coating you both in the fruits of his 'punishment'.

Limp in his arms, you can merely pant with glazed eyes. You can't think, Eywa, you're not able to. You feel numb, a buzzing feeling throughout your body. You pant in unison with the man behind you, whose cock twitches in your fucked out pussy. You stay like this for a while, tangled in his arms as he presses sweet kisses in the crook of your neck, whispering sweet nothings to soothe his previous harsh words. "You did so well, my tiyawn." he caresses your hair with his gentle touch.

"Tonowari..." you call out to him. After the post-orgasmic bliss dies down, a rush of emotions envelops your chest and tightens your heart - they encourage you to finally set this relationship between the two of you. As much as you like this... arrangement, Tonowari was your first, and you hope he will be your last.

Traditionally, while Na'vi can court a variety of prospects, that's all they would be, prospects. Sooner or later, you’re required to find a mate and carry out the mating ritual that you've done not once, but twice with Tonowari. It was forbidden, and inevitably exciting, but you desire something more. You won’t allow him to use your body as he pleases, then toss you aside. 

Tonowari hums into your hair, taking a deep breath. "We are to be mated, right?" you hesitantly ask. 

Tonowari wavers for a second, and you feel your heart drop. As the seconds stretch, you feel it getting pulled down lower, and lower, and lower, until...

"Of course, yawne?" he asks, confusion evident in his voice. "I have fucked you twice, came in you thrice. I thought I was obvious with my intentions."

"Oh..."

It would be an understatement to say your heart soars. No matter if you had absolutely no idea he was courting you, or that he gave no indication of being interested in you in the past. As you fall deep in thought, you realize you've never really paid attention to anyone - anyone except Tonowari that is. Even then, you were far too embarrassed to approach the Olo'Eyktan of the clan, let alone look at him. He was mighty, strong, and sought after by many. 

"That's right, oh." he chuckles, bringing you back down to reality again. It's almost comical how he was making you lose all your sensibility just moments ago with his skilled hips, and now grounding you with his tender tone. "As much as I love being inside you like this, we should clean up."

Slowly but surely, he grips your waist and lifts you from his cock. You watch as the delicious mixture of your releases drips down from your entrance, then whine at the emptiness. "I know," he coos, turning you to face him, then placing you on his lap again. With a sweet kiss on your lips, his strong frame envelops you once again. 

You're inches away from giving in when it hits you - he was the one who ignored you this past week. "Wait," you plant your palm on his chest and push. He frowns, lips chasing yours with a whine. "You ignored me all week."

He pauses, and you can faintly hear him suck in a breath. "I didn't ignore you, I was on a hunting party."

"How?" you ask. "Hunting parties never last a week."

"Well syulang, when Zeir loses the map to the village, it does."

"Oh..."

You start laughing at all the unnecessary insecurities that plagued your mind for seven whole days, and your mate lets out an awkward chuckle.

[artiststarme]

Sneaky, Like a Ninja

Kind of a part 2 to this post based on a comment from @doubleb11. I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

Now with a third and final part!

~*~*~*~

Living with Hopper, Joyce, and the kids while he recovered was great. Steve woke up every morning to breakfast before work, even if it was usually a disgustingly sweet Triple-Decker Eggo Extravaganza. He and the kids were bonding and the stilted conversations with Jonathan had lost their awkwardness. Even Joyce was starting to come around to Steve and was involving him in conversations instead of speaking around him. Things were good. 

What Steve didn’t appreciate was his midnight curfew or the rule that the door had to stay open three inches when all he wanted to do was make out with his boyfriend. He didn’t want Hopper glaring into his borrowed bedroom while he tried to “talk” with Eddie. I mean, anything more than a cautious peck was enough for Hopper to barge in with threats. 

These rules were grating on Steve’s nerves. For most of his childhood and all of his teenage years, Steve has been on his own. He made his own rules and could do almost whatever he wanted without repercussions since his parents were always out of town. So, living with other people and being expected to follow arbitrary rules fitted to a ten year old girl was significantly impacting his sense of independence. 

What choice did he have other than sneaking out? His head was fine, the mild concussion symptoms had long since dissipated but Hopper was unwilling to concede and if Steve didn’t have a fulfilling make out session with Eddie at least every other day, he was going to die. Luckily for Steve, he was somewhat of a ninja. 

So on a night that Hopper and Joyce both went to sleep early and Jonathan was out of the house working late, Steve snuck out. Honestly, it was easier than he had anticipated. He wiggled through the bedroom window, flopped ungracefully onto the hard earth while making sure not to hit his head, and waited a moment. When none of the house lights turned on and everyone remained silent in sleep, Steve grabbed Will’s bike and took off towards the trailer park. The ride was smooth and there was no one out at that time of night, it made the ride peaceful in a way that Steve hadn’t before considered. When he got to the Munson trailer, Eddie pulled him to his bedroom for cuddles and kisses. It had been far too long for both of them despite it being only a little over a week. Steve bragged to Eddie about how he was ‘sneaky, like a ninja’ and he kissed him to his heart’s content. He could get used to this. 

Early the next morning, Eddie drove him back to the Byers’ and dropped him off a few houses down. He did not want Hopper to see him dropping off his son so early, thank you very much. 

Steve gave him a kiss goodbye and carefully snuck back into the house. He was quietly closing the window behind him when he heard a throat clear. 

Steve jumped and turned around to face an unimpressed Jonathan. “Dude, what the hell! You should be asleep right now!”

Jonathan’s look only got blanker, “so should you. Where were you?”

“I was with Eddie, so what?” Steve did not want to talk about his sexual escapades to his pseudo step-brother/ex-girlfriend’s ex. 

“Steve, what would’ve happened if Hop had noticed you missing?”

“He wouldn’t have, okay. I’m sneaky! It’s fine, he's not going to find out,” Steve assured him. 

“Alright, if you’re sure, just be careful,” Jonathan warned before clapping his shoulder and walking away. 

It was fine, Steve was practically a ninja with how sneaky he could be. No one else would find out. 

His attempts to sneak out were successful the next several times. He would just use the bedroom window and off he went. However, on this particular night, when he crawled back into his room after spending a few hours with Eddie, Will and El were standing in front of the bed waiting for him like the twins from The Shining. 

“Son of a bitch!” Steve exclaimed and jerked back into the wall in surprise. He hadn’t expected the kids to notice his absence considering both of them were supposed to be asleep. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“We were looking for you. What are you doing?” Will asked him. Steve didn’t know how to break it to him that he was sneaking out to make out with his beloved dungeon master so he stayed quiet. 

“Steve, are you okay? Should I get my dad?” El asked him, she seemed genuinely worried about him which made his heart hurt. 

“No! Do not get Hopper! Look guys, I was just going out to get some air. Everything is fine.”

“Why did you not use the door? Why the window?” El asked. 

“Were you sneaking out?” Will asked him.

“Okay, you need to tone down the accusations, kid. I was not sneaking out. Why would I even do that?” Steve asked him. 

“To see Eddie?” Will’s eyebrows raised for emphasis and Steve just stared at him. 

“Oh,” El nodded sagely. “You do not like the three inch rule. I did not either.”

“Wow! Hey,” Steve exclaimed, waving his hands. “You’re a kid, you shouldn’t be doing anything behind closed doors. Me though? I’m an adult. Also, it’s none of your business! Go to bed, weirdos!”

They each narrowed their eyes at him in tandem which kind of creeped him out but they filed out of the room regardless. Jesus Christ, Steve couldn’t wait to get back home to the empty house and parents that didn’t care what he was doing. 

When he tried to sneak out again the next night, he ran into a snag. Apparently, Will and El did not appreciate his methods of escape via bedroom window and had glued it shut. No amount of gently frantic jimmying could force it open. Son of a bitch!

The next few days Steve tried increasingly creative ways of sneakily escaping the house. He jumped through Will’s window one day, he left the back door propped open slightly to avoid the creaking sound later, he even constructed a fake body out of pillows and stayed out all night! 

When it was finally time to return home after Hopper kidnapped him, he could only breathe a sigh of relief. The Hopper-Byers were a caring bunch but the stress was starting to build up. Hopper gave him a ride back to his house and stopped him just as he was about to walk away from the cruiser.

“Hey kid?”

“Yeah,” Steve looked back at him in askance. He better not try to talk him into going back because he already had a movie night with Eddie and Robin planned at his place. 

“Next time, go through the front door. It doesn’t creak like the one in the back or stick like that bedroom window. Alright?” Hopper’s voice was void of emotion but his eyes looked amused. 

“You knew?!” Steve screamed. 

“Of course I knew, I’m the chief of police. You think anything happens around here that I’m not aware of?” The teasing tone dropped from his voice but he continued. “Tell Munson that he better stop defiling my son or we’re going to have words. Capiche?”

“Jesus Christ, Hop,” he muttered. His voice was kind of strangled and he cleared his throat as he started walking away. “I got it! Go be the chief of police and stop embarrassing me. Bye dad!” 

He shut the door behind him and leaned his head against it. So much for being sneaky like a ninja. 

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