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#Wooden Speakers
mrmannequinmark5000 · 24 days
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mannequin mark would yoyle listen to radiohead's pull/pulk revolving doors i think you'd like it -radiohead enjoyer anon
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(translation: It's very... nice!)
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primitiveaudio · 5 months
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Primitive Audio
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Website: https://www.primitiveaudio.com/
Address: USA
Primitive Audio specializes in crafting handmade, aesthetically pleasing speaker enclosures using exotic wood and high-fidelity (HIFI) audio components. With a passion for audio and meticulous design, the founder envisioned a blend of HIFI sound and exquisite woodwork to create unique, high-quality speaker solutions. Each enclosure houses a 2.5" full-range active driver, tuned through a DSP class D amplifier with Bluetooth 5.0, ensuring clean, efficient power and a flat frequency response. The speakers are portable, with each amplifier matched with a battery board to sustain power for extended listening times. All designs are handmade, utilizing the natural color of the wood, and finished with six layers of water-based polyurethane for durability and quality.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/primitiveaudiollc/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/primitiveaudio/
Tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@primitiveaudiollc
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heir-less · 2 years
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I’m listening to Eugenie’s podcast right now 📝
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wss-studio · 6 months
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How To Build A Solid Wood Subwoofer | DIY Full Range Speaker | Manufactu...
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thatpunktransboy · 9 months
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My roommate who doesn't clean, doesn't buy supplies for the house, just doesn't contribute to the household, and left me on ready after I found bugs in the sink: Idk why Tony's mad at me:(
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westernwearforwomen · 10 months
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Craftsman Living Room - Living Room a medium-sized arts and crafts-style enclosed living room with white walls, a wall-mounted tv, a dark wood floor, and a brown floor.
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loveindefinitely · 4 months
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01 — 𝘎𝘖 𝘈𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘊𝘙𝘠, 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓
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༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader
featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price
warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, slight power imbalance, praise, degradation, light dom/sub, slight daddy kink, oral, vaginal sex, your father's a dick, very minor soapghost, aftercare
series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.
// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //
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Stay in your room, your father had said. Don't bother us tonight, your father had said. They are dangerous men that do dangerous things, your father had said.
Yet, here you were, standing at the bottom step of the stairwell, hiding behind the wall adjoined to the living room, listening in to the men on the other side.
You were bored out of your brains. It was a Friday night, and like hell was your over-protective father going to let you go out or party. And the fact that he wouldn't even introduce you to his only friends? Or let you leave your fucking room?
It had left you pissed off to no end, so.
Here you were.
"Bloody close," you hear a voice grunt, deep and gravelly. It sends heat to your stomach immediately, and it's almost embarrassing.
You hear the sound of a hand slapping a shoulder, and the bark of a laugh. "Aye, still got the cash you're gonna owe me?" This voice has a -- Irish? Scottish, maybe? -- lilt to it, humour and kindness embedded into its layers.
"He'll find a way outta paying," a third voice chimes, laughter in its tone.
Someone else clears their throat. "You're all gonna get yourselves indebted to each other at this rate," a fourth voice says, sounding almost resigned.
"You all need to shut the fuck up before she sticks her nose down 'ere."
Your spine straightens, and fury simmers in your blood. Did he have to be such an asshole? Why was your father so... so anti your existence? Why was he so ashamed of you, yet so overbeating?
"She's not a kid anymore, you really oughtta to lay off," the man with the scottish accent says, slightly stern in his delivery.
"If you met her, you'd understand how fuckin' annoying she is. Always wants me to deal with her emotions, as if they're my fuckin' problem," your father replies venomously. Your stomach has dropped to your feet, you're sure of it.
There's a low whistle in response, and a silence settles behind the wall. An unsettling one, full of animosity. The fact that you can tell that from behind the wall says a lot.
"I'm gonna go out and get some drinks. Maybe some dinner. Needa get out of this fuckin' house for a bit," your father says with a grunt, sounding like he's gotten up from the couch. "Call if you lot need anythin' while I'm out."
A few grunts of agreement, and after a few seconds, the front door opens and slams shut.
You let out a small breath of tense relief, eyes fluttering shut as you deeply exhale. The immediate relief of having your father out of the house is immense.
"I feel bad for her," you hear the third man speak, voice quiet and low. "You hear how he speaks about her -- what's he like with her?"
"Gaz, whatever you're thinkin', drop it," the first speaker grits out, impatient and tight.
"He's right," the scottish one says with a huff, "Poor kid. She's legal and he isn't letting her out on a Friday night? 'Nd he fuckin' wonders why she's upset."
"He must have his... reasons," the fatherly voice of the fourth speaker says, although his tone says otherwise.
You swallow, slowly creeping off of the bottom step and onto the wooden floors. Front pressed to the wall, you move just the slightest bit, to allow yourself a small peak into the loungeroom.
There are four men, like you'd expected, and they're...
They're big. There's no other word that comes to mind, except for big. Tall, broad, packed with muscle. Military-grade men.
Your mouth is suddenly parched of any moisture, and your brain turns to putty.
Selfishly, stupidly, you spend another dangerous moment to admire the four. The couch curves, the four of them seated on it, facing the TV hung on the wall. They're backs are to you.
Or.
One second, they're all blissfully turned the other way, and in the next, one's head turns, and deep brown eyes meet yours.
Your eyes go wide, and you immediately dart for the stairs, heart in your throat.
Rushing up, trying to stay quiet but still hurrying, you make it to your room in record time. You shut the door behind you, chest tight and breaths harried as your back presses to the wood.
Stupid, stupid girl, you think.
They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.
That's what your father had said, wasn't it? So what were you thinking, risking a look? For what purpose?
Then, there's a knock on your door.
Your eyes go impossibly wide, and your lips purse together as you slowly move away from the door. With one breath, you train your face into a pleasant, kind smile as you slowly open the door, only allowing a bit of your room to be shown.
"You're his daughter, ain't ya?"
You have to crane your neck, eyes going up, and up, and up, until you meet the man's eyes.
The skull balaclava shouldn't cause your face to heat, or your breaths to quicken, but they do.
"I -- um, yes, I'm really sorry for eavesdropping," you mumble, eyes flitting to the floor and hand squeezing the door in an anxious gesture.
A hand grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet the man's chocolate eyes once more. They're imploring, impossibly so, and your thighs squeeze together against your better judgement.
"Come watch the game with us," he says, and although the sentence isn't a demand, it feels like one.
So, like the good girl you are, you nod, his grip loosening as you do.
You forget that you're in your tiniest sleep shorts and your thinnest tank top as you follow him down the stairs, his large hand resting on your lower back.
This was the most touch you'd ever felt from a man that wasn't in a familial way, and your nerve-endings feel like they've been electrocuted.
Whatever conversation that was happening silences as soon as the two of you walk into the lounge room, your hands squeezing each other painfully tight.
Your anxiety was warranted in this situation, wasn't it? Surely, it was okay to be scared of four men whom you'd never met.
Four sets of eyes are trained to your body, and there's a slight tremble in your hands as you sit in the spot balaclava had gestured towards.
It seats you in the middle of the four of them, and your heart beats impossibly faster as you settle into the leather, feeling so small in comparison to the men surrounding you.
It's a new, albeit not entirely terrible, feeling.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" The man furthest to your left asks, and when you meet his eyes, they're warm and kind. His lower face is mostly covered in a beard, and he's wearing a light brown hat.
You bite at your inner cheek, gaze flicking back to your thighs as you weakly say your name.
Their gazes burn your skin, like a living force, and your hands form nervous fists in your lap. The warm yellow light of the living room lamp creates a warm, safe ambience that doesn't exactly fit the emotions swirling inside of you.
You flinch only slightly when a warm hand moves to rest on your knee, the thumb rubbing comforting circles on it that ease your tight muscles slightly.
When you look to the owner of the hand, it's to see a warm grin and a faux mohawk.
"You're so tense, lass," he says, his mouth quirking into a knowing smirk. "We don't bite."
"Don't speak for all of us, Soap," the man sitting on your close left says with a charming grin, his eyes meeting yours when you turn to him. "I'll ask nicely, love, don't worry."
You nod, slowly, in some sort of trance. This entire situation doesn't feel entirely real, more like a figment of your deepest desires.
Ones you've never let yourself think about, except for the darkest of nights and the dirtiest of feelings.
"Don't scare the girl," the man with the balaclava says, eyes narrowing on the two men beside you.
"Says the one with the fuckin' mask, ya weirdo," the scottish one says with a scoff of a chuckle. Your mouth pulls into a soft grin without you realising, and the hand on your knee tightens ever so slightly.
"I'm Price," the man who you've deemed the most sensible of the group says with a warm smile. His head gestures to each of the other three men respectively. "That's Gaz, Soap, and Ghost."
You can't say that you're all too familiar with the names, nor how...different they are, but you nod nonetheless, reserving the names in your memory.
"Father dearest never talked about us?" Gaz asks, eyebrows softly furrowing in question.
You shake your head, almost apologetic in the movement. "He doesn't like to tell me much, he's, ah... private."
There's a few returning grunts of understanding, and they settle your nerves just a little bit more. For men of their size, they were surprisingly good at keeping you feeling safe and comfortable.
"What're you doin' all alone on a Friday night? Pretty young thing like you, 'nd you're not at a club? A date?" Soap asks, and if you notice that he's moved just the slightest bit closer to you, you don't say a word.
You feel your face heat, and you murmur out your reply. "Never been to either," you admit, pulling at a thread in your sleep shorts with nervous jerks.
Ghost settles further into his chair, legs spread in an almost dominant way. "Surely you've at least had your first kiss?"
If you could get anymore embarrassed, you're sure you'll combust on the spot.
You softly shake your head.
"Aw, love, you're adorable," Gaz says, a hint of a smirk on his features. His dark eyes glimmer in the light, and you lick your bottom lip to wet it.
Price's arms rest on his knees, and his eyes seem trained on you, debating some sort of inner conflict, before they firm with some kind of resolution. "Y'know, we've been training rookies lately," he states, but with a knowing undertone that everyone in the room seems to pick up on except for you.
"That we have," Ghost says, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he nods in agreement with Price.
"How about we train you, bonnie?" Soap asks, his hand moving just the slightest bit higher on your thigh.
You swallow, mouth dry.
"Um. Like, train me... how?" You ask, although there's some part of your brain that knows all too well what area they're thinking of.
Gaz's hand moves to sit at the nape of your neck, stroking in soothing movements that leave your eyes half-closed and glassy. "How about I show you how to kiss, love?"
Your stomach hollows, and your chest rises and falls in heavy beats. Nervously looking around the room, you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod shortly.
Soap's hand tightens around your thigh, a barely hidden warning. "Words, baby, or you're goin' back to your room."
The threat instantly has words flying out of your mouth. "Yes. Please. Just... be gentle?"
All four men seem to huff a laugh at that, but Gaz nods, dimples showing as his smirk deepens. "I can do that."
He pulls you in, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours.
The feeling leaves you entirely dazed, your nervous system alighting with signals as your thoughts seem to pause, if only for a second. It's nothing like you'd expected, and butterflies erupt in your lower stomach.
He pulls away, not having breached your mouth, and you must look as out of it as you feel because he laughs.
"That good, love?" He asks, teasing and entirely prideful.
You nod, a bit too fast and enthusiastic, before his hand pulls away from your nape. The loss is mourned, briefly, before your attention pulls away from Gaz and instead to Soap.
"Gotta learn from all of us," is all he says, before his lips crush against your own. Where Gaz was tentative and soft, Soap is all energy and desperation.
His hand squeezes your thigh, and when it had moved from your knee to pushing against your tiny shorts, you haven't an idea.
You can't find it in yourself to care, with his relentless attack on your mouth, your lips, your mind.
When he pulls away, you realise it's because Ghost's moved to stand, and his hand is in a tight fist in Soap's hair, pulling his face away from yours.
"Actin' like a fuckin' mutt," Ghost mutters, tone laced with vitriol. It's degrading, and yet Soap doesn't seem phased in the slightest.
You're about to inquire about that when your attention's caught by Price, his knees spread and patting his thigh. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says, and like a dog on a leash, you do.
His unbelievably large hands grab your hips as he seats you in his lap, and with how he's got his legs spread, it forces you to sit over his groin.
It's a compromising position, and the heat that rushes to your core is an entirely unknown feeling.
He doesn't move his hands from your body as his eyes devour it, before they meet your gaze with a warmth to them that has you shivering.
"Show me what the boys have taught you, hm?" He says, and with shut eyes and a stiff movement, you press your lips to his.
He groans, pleased, his thumbs rubbing circles where your skin's been revealed by your tank top. No one's ever touched you there, not in this way, and it has your pussy wet.
When he pulls away, he licks at his lips, as if he's devouring your taste.
"You're so pretty, sweetheart, mm? No wonder your father's got you all locked up," he says, and the reminder of the source of your anger has you wanting to do entirely too reckless things.
Like kissing the four men he warned you about.
Like doing more, maybe.
...Maybe.
His hands force your hips down, and you let out a small whimper when your clit presses against his belt buckle, the action sending pleasure shooting up your spine.
He raises a brow, catching the change in expression and your small sound. "What's wrong, pretty?"
And then, he pulls you down again, deeper this time, and the movement has your breath hitching, core burning with need.
"Oh, you naughty little girl," he says, and the words have your mind turning into some sort of mouldable clay, entirely able to be controlled by whatever these men wanted to make of it. "So needy, ain't ya?"
Someone presses against you from behind, and a belt buckle presses against your lower back.
"My turn to feel those lips, innit?" Ghost says from behind, leaning down to whisper his next words next to your ear. "See what all the fuss 's about."
The idea that you're being passed around, like you're some kind of... of whore has you entirely speechless in the most positive of ways.
You feel filthy, and you love it.
Leaning your head back, you manage to make eye contact with the large man, before his lips press to yours, upside down.
He devours, all encompassing, his tongue slipping into yours without any hesitance. You're clumsy, unsure, but he makes up for it with experience and dominance. The entire act has you woozy, needy for more of them, more of their touch.
You don't expect for Price to start forcibly rotating your hips, forcing you to grind against his lap, but it forces a moan from your mouth, the sound getting devoured by Ghost's overpowering tongue.
"Who knew she'd be such a desperate slut?" Gaz asks, as if you're not there, as if you're just something to be observed. It causes another moan to leave your mouth, and Ghost detaches himself from you with a grunt of his own.
"Think she liked that," Soap says, amused and proud, in a strange sort of way. "Wanna be used, baby? Taken by men nearly twice your age?"
"Yes," you say, on a groan as Price's motions speed up, the pleasure so new and different and good.
Then, he stops, and a whine comes out of you before you can stop it.
Price makes a condescending noise in response. "Poor babygirl needs all the attention, hey? Needs her little pussy played with?"
"She looks like a goddamn mess, cap," Gaz says, his hand coming up to rest on your head. He gives comforting pats, not unlike one would with an obedient puppy.
Ghost's hands come around your waist, and before you even process what he's doing, he rips your sleep shorts in half, leaving you completely bare.
"Didn't think to wear panties, dumb girl?" Ghost asks with an appreciative groan, his large hand cupping your now exposed pussy.
With a whimper, you shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut at the embarrassment and nudity. No one had ever seen it before, and now, four of your father's friends were getting an eyeful.
"Lemme see if she's nice 'n wet for us," Soap murmurs, picking you up from Price's lap in a princess carry.
It doesn't even last two seconds before he's splaying you over the now empty couch, your hands pathetically covering your most private of areas.
"None of that, sweetheart," Price says with a 'tsk', grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to the couch above your head, leaving you effectively defenceless to the men.
Soap's hand moves down your stomach, before he pauses for just a moment. "This okay, baby?"
You nod, because yes, this is most definitely okay.
Gaz gives you a stern look, so you quickly fix your mistake. "I -- yes, sir, it's okay."
There's a surrounding sound of approval, and Soap smirks from where he stands beside your hips. "Sir, aye? Like the sound of that."
With that, his finger slides down your pussy, and your eyes shut with a soft moan. His hands are rough, scarred, calloused from years of work on the field, and they're so much larger than your own.
"Think she likes it, sir," Ghost says, taunting Soap, whose eyes are completely transfixed on your glistening pussy.
"Not the only one," Price says with an approving murmur, his hand tightening around your wrists. The sense of powerlessness has you aching with desire.
Soap's finger continues to rub against your slit, not breaching your entrance, instead continuing to tease and amplify his touch. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at the mess you're likely causing on the fabric, and too nervous to see the expression on the men's faces.
"Do you play with your lil cunt often, princess?" Ghost says, voice darkened with lust.
Your face feels like it's burning, but you nod. "Sometimes. I -- ah," you break off with a moan as Soap's thumb presses against your swollen clit.
"Be a good girl and answer when spoken to, love," Gaz says with a sound of disappointment that has you aching to amend your mistake.
"I'm sorry, sir, I, yes. Sometimes 'm just needing to, um, y'know..." You trail off, trying to preserve any amounts of dignity you had left. You were aware that masturbation was normal, but you'd never discussed it with a single soul, and talking about it felt like laying your soul bare.
Price's other hand moves to gently brush your hair from your face, the gesture so at odds with Soap's sensual movements.
You're about to say something, what, you aren't exactly sure, when Soap's finger roughly enters your soaked pussy. A loud whimper escapes your lips at the sudden intrusion, and the sheer size difference of his finger compared to your own.
"Aww, baby, it's alright," Soap coos, and it's so fucking condescending. It's cruel, almost, as if you're so dumb that you can't even form your own thoughts.
Which is, honestly, more true than you're willing to admit.
"'Atta girl," Ghost groans when your whimpers only increase with every thrust of Soap's finger.
Gaz's hand moves down to replace Soap's thumb on your clit, using the pads of his fingers to roughly circle around it. That sensation, mixed with Soap's intrusion, has your back arching slightly from the couch.
"Think she's close, Cap," Gaz says, conversationally, again treating you like you're not entirely capable of voicing your own feelings or thoughts.
"Mm, that right, sweetheart? Close already?" Price echoes, the hand not around your wrists going to squish your cheeks together, causing your lips to pucker. "What a pathetic girl, hm?"
Those words, those demeaning, humiliating words, only stoke the fire in your stomach, and your eyes burn with unshed tears as you shakily nod.
As soon as you do, however, Gaz pulls away, and Soap's finger leaves your pussy entirely. You groan, eyes opening slightly to see what could've possibly caused them to stop.
"You look so upset, baby," Soap laughs, and his smile is no longer the jovial one it had been mere minutes before -- no, it's been replaced with something much more predatory, something much more dangerous.
Dangerous men.
Ghost moves, then, moving your legs with much more care than you'd expected from the large man, before moving to kneel at the end of the couch where your legs had been. Hooking your knees over his shoulder, he effectively folds you in half.
"W-what are you doing?" You ask, almost frantic, utterly confused at your current state.
He leans down, hooking his balaclava over the tip of his nose, before there's searing wet heat at your core, causing you to throw your head back with a loud moan.
Gaz chuckles, "So dirty, love. Like having the big bad Ghost with his head between your legs, huh? Like having the attention of men with blood on their hands?"
Oh, and the confirmation -- the proper, hard proof, that they killed, that they truly were as dangerous as your father had said --
"Yes, fuck, please, oh my god," you ramble, almost incoherent with your words as you body trembles with the feeling of a mouth at your pussy. "Jesus, don't stop."
You can hear laughter around you, some words being passed between the men, but your focus is entirely on the tongue dipping into your folds, licking at your essence like a man starved. Like you're his only salvation.
Soap's hand is in Ghost's hair, a complete parallel to the kiss the two of you had shared, and he's pushing Ghost further against you, manhandling him like a toy for you to grind against, for you to take advantage of.
"I'm gonna, oh, please, I'm close," you cry out, eyes squeezed shut yet again as Ghost's ministrations only double in enthusiasm.
"Yeah, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over his face? Go on, ride it, there we go," Price eggs you on, his hand patting down your hair, massaging at your scalp as you lose yourself to the pleasure of it all.
You cum with a desperate keen, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you ride out the high, embracing this moment for the beauty it is.
It doesn't hit you, not at first, the full extent of your actions.
Ghost pulls away after your whimpers turn into ones of overstimulation, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, your twitching pussy, and then your inner knee as he carefully sets your legs back down on the couch.
"Such a good girl, aye?" Soap asks, rubbing at your tense calves with expert strokes and pressure. "Did so well for us, darlin'."
Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, and your mouth is in a similar state as you nod dazedly.
You're not sure when, but at some point, Price gently moves you to lay your back against the cushion of the couch. "Need you to drink something for us, sweetheart, okay?"
Gods, this part? Them treating you like a princess, like you're something worthy of taking care of, it's almost as good as the orgasm they'd given you.
Gaz comes into view with a glass of water, and when he gently moves your chin to open your mouth, you let him pour it down your throat.
It feels almost like you're entirely too weak to do anything by yourself, like your ability to function has been completely removed by these men. It's intoxicating, the kind of feeling that could be as addictive as the most threatening of drugs.
The water slides down your throat, and it's as if it cools you from the inside out, your heartbeat slowly coming down from the quickened pace it was previously at.
Price picks you up, cradling your head to his chest as he sits down, the other three settling down on the couch as well. Gaz, sitting beside Price, moves your legs to sit over his lap, your feet in Soap's. Ghost sits to Soap's left, his eyes focused on you as you get comfortable, burrowing your head closer to Price.
If you could stay in this moment forever, you think that you'll be a very happy woman.
Closing your eyes, you drift into a space between sleep and awareness, and when they flutter open again, you realise that your previously exposed pussy and legs are now hidden by your sweatpants that had been laid on your bed, ready to be put away.
Price's hand is in your hair, softly playing with the strands. His hand encompasses your entire scalp, almost, and if you weren't completely exhausted, that fact alone would have you ready to get on your knees.
"What're we gonna do?" Gaz whispers, and you realise with a start that they must all think you're still dozing. "I mean, we seriously fucked this up."
"Not yet we haven't," Ghost interrupts, voice still gravelly and low, but with a hint of warmth. "This doesn't change anything."
"This changes everything!" Soap hisses back, incredulous, his hands stilling from where they were rubbing into your feet with practiced movements. Were they all trained masseuses, or something?
No. Trained killers, your mind unhelpfully supplies, and a chill runs down your spine.
Oh god. Oh god. What had you done? Seriously, what the actual fuck had you done? You just.
You just lost your virginity to four of your father's very lethal, very dangerous friends. Friends who are nearly twice your age, at that.
Oh. God.
"Laswell will be expecting correspondence by three," Price mutters in a voice akin to a whisper. "You boys know what we have to do."
What? What were they talking about? Who was Laswell? What did they have to do by three?
Your mind whirrs, like a hamster in a wheel, before the sound of keys jingling on the other side of your front door has your entire body freezing.
Oh god.
Oh. God.
"Shit," Gaz grumbles, and between one thought and the next, you've been bundled up into a warm chest, the movement fluid and shockingly quick. A hand at the base of skull softly pushes your head against a warm neck, and your legs hang over a muscled arm. "I'll take her upstairs. Be quiet and quick."
There's murmurs too quiet between the other three as you're taken up the stairs, two steps at a time, by the man whose fingers had been on your pussy, at most, only an hour ago.
You're aware that you've been taken to your room when the door clicks behind you, the familiar path to it engrained in your memory, even with your eyes closed and in someone else's arms.
The smell of vanilla and caramel is a comforting and familiar one, and you realise that you'd left your candle burning all night.
It's really the least of your worries, but that thought manages to snag at your conscious like an annoying fly.
"I'm so sorry, kid," Gaz whispers, gently laying you down underneath your bedsheets, before pulling them up and over your lazed form. "I'll try my best to talk some sense into 'em."
You're not sure what he could possible mean -- what the fuck was even happening, what your life was even becoming, but his words are nothing if not sincere.
His tone is almost... apologetic, in a way, and you reserve that thought for later. When you're not pretending to be awake, when you're still not slightly out of it from your first orgasm caused by someone else, when you're not in the middle of the worst moral conflict of your life.
Your window's slightly open, allowing a soft breeze to brush over your still slightly heated skin as Gaz presses a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back.
"Get off me!"
Your father. That's your father's voice, and it sounds panicked, angry -- not unusual, but still, the cause of it was nearly always you.
And those specific words, what --
"Y'know, Laswell found out somethin' pretty interestin' the other day," a voice that you recognise as Ghost's says, tone mocking interest.
Gaz moves away from you, before going to the window and looking out at whatever scene is happening down there. Somehow, he hasn't realised you're not asleep -- you'd kept your breathing pattern the same as it usually was when you're asleep, some youtube video you'd watched months ago finally coming in handy.
You can hear them all clear as day through the small opening of the window, and Gaz can too.
"Aye. Somethin' 'bout some info bein' leaked," Soap continues Ghost's train of thought, and you're so lost it's almost pathetic.
But, you continue to listen, desperate for any source of understanding for whatever the fuck was happening down there.
"You can't possibly think it was me!" Your father yells, his voice full of venom and rage. To have it not be directed at you is a rare moment, and you allow yourself a small breath of reprieve.
"We know it was you," Price says, before sighing loud enough for it to be heard from your room. "The way you spoke about that kid of yours was enough to cement the idea."
"She's a fuckin' waste of space, and where do you get off on caring how I treat my kid? Has nothin' to do with the job!"
Those words hurt. Like an actual, physical wound, almost.
Gaz swears under his breath, and you can feel the tension ooze out of him like a wave. It's... oddly comforting.
There's the sound of a fist hitting a jaw, and it takes everything in you not to race to the window and look at what's going on yourself.
"Jesus fucking christ!" Your father hisses, and you put two and two together. One of the three men down there had punched him -- if you had to take a guess, it was Ghost.
"You've never been one of us, and you'll never be one of us. You sellin' us out was the last straw, mate," Soap snarls. You can hear him spit on the ground, before another sound of fists flying makes your heart race.
There's a moment of silence, until two things happen in the span of five seconds.
First, your father screams, "Please! Don't --"
And then...
A bullet.
The sound of a trigger being pulled.
The sound of a bullet ringing through the air.
The sound of a final breath.
Your eyes fly wide, and you immediately stumble out of bed.
Gaz's gaze meets yours, and there's nothing but apology in them. No guilt, just apology.
He doesn't stop you from looking out the window, where your father's body lays in the grass, blood leaking from the wound now sitting between his eyes.
And when you turn to him, he doesn't stop you as you land a punch to his jaw.
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a/n. CROSS-POSTED TO AO3 ummm so did i PLAN for this to become an actual fic? no. not in the slightest. but i was writing the fingering bit and was like. what if her dad died? and there's an actual plot? so uhhh here we are! anyways hope yall enjoyedddd if u guys know me u know polyamory is my SHIT so there will very likely be more poly!tf141 x reader to come. ty for reading mwah mwah mwah
5K notes · View notes
proxima-writes · 6 months
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𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬
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pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader
rating: explicit
word count: 4.1k
summary: joel agrees to go out to tommy’s favorite bar, where he watches you ride a mechanical bull and wishes you would ride him.
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, no defined reader age or physical appearance besides outfits, alcohol use, joel getting slapped, tommy is a little shit, first date anxiety, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, praise, pet names, girl on top, couch sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, deep throating, more men whimpering and begging 2k23. let me know if any warnings are missing!
author’s note: look, i know i’m in the middle of my spooky specials but i saw two very specific tik toks that left me with the need to write this 😵‍💫 also this post layout is inspired by @bits-and-babs, whose works and aesthetic are chef’s kiss.
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“Why did you pick this place?” Joel grumbles, hand wrapped around a sweating bottle of beer. People keep jostling him as they squeeze past, forcing him to keep his elbow tight to his side to avoid having his beer be collateral damage.
“You’ll see,” Tommy says with a cryptic wink. Joel rolls his eyes.
Tommy has dragged him out to a saloon style bar, complete with swinging wooden doors and longhorn skulls decorating the walls. Everything is shiny dark wood and western motif, down to the saddle style barstools. Most of the patrons have leaned into the theme, too — tassels, leather, cowboys hats, and ostentatious belt buckles.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen!” A man’s voice calls out over the speakers. “The show is about to begin!”
“Show?” Joel asks dubiously. Tommy only grins at him, dragging him by the arm towards the back of the bar.
He weaves through the crowd until they’re only behind a few rows of people that have gathered around a mechanical bull riding ring, of all things. The floor of the ring is inflatable and in the middle sits the brown bull figure. Joel catches his first glimpse of you, a gorgeous woman in denim cut offs standing beside the bull. Your black leather halter top plunges low to expose your cleavage and stops short of the waist of your shorts, a tantalizing strip of your stomach on display. The black leather of the top matches your black leather boots and the cuffs snapped around your wrists.
“One of Salty Saloon’s very own has stepped up to take the bull by the horns tonight!”
You lift a hand to wave, bright smile on your face as you take in the crowd. Your eyes land on Joel and for a brief moment he swears he stops breathing. He can’t hear anything the emcee is saying, all the noise around him just a dull buzz as he watches you swing yourself up onto the back of the bull.
“Alright, alright, alright! Our rider’s goal is to stay on for one minute using only one hand! If she falls before the buzzer, y’all get nothin’. But if she makes it, shots are half off for the rest of the night!”
A cacophony of cheers erupts around Joel and you straighten your spine, holding your hand out with a thumbs up. The music starts, some pop song he’s heard on the radio in the morning when he’s taking Sarah to school, and the mechanical bull turns in a slow circle. You have one hand twisted in a leather strap, the other raised above your head as the bull bucks and swings, your hips moving smoothly with the machine.
“Goddamn,” someone says from behind Joel. “I ain’t ever wanted to be a bull so bad in my life.”
Me, too, he thinks.
Your thighs press tight against the sides of the bull as it swings around, turning you to face the section of crowd Joel stands in. You release the hand grip, both hands in the air now as you rely solely on your legs and core to keep you up on the machine. When the machine turns again, you manage to lift your body and swing your legs around to reverse your position, now seated facing the back of the bull.
“Alright, ten more seconds!” The emcee calls out. The crowd starts to cheer your name and Joel can’t help but join in, eyes glued to you as you continue to swing and sway like all the movements are nothing but second nature to you.
“Three! Two! One!”
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A cowbell goes off, signaling the end of your ride. The bull slows to a stop and you sit there for a moment to catch your breath, waving at the crowd. The bar owner, Johnny, comes out onto the crash pad with a huge grin on his face.
“Great job up there, kid. Now go sell some half priced shots,” he says with a good natured pat on your shoulder.
You return to the bar, where the other two bartenders scheduled tonight field the after-show rush, lining up shot glasses and filling them in quick succession with the requested liquor. When you get behind the bar, a familiar head of curly hair catches your eye.
“Tommy!” You call, excited to see one of you favorite regulars. He shouts your name as you stop in front of him.
“This is my brother, Joel!” He says, slapping the back of the man beside him. You’d seen him in the crowd, a handsome guy with broad shoulders stretching a dark blue t-shirt, warm tan skin, and messy curls that speak to the family resemblance between him and Tommy. You reach a hand across the bar, Joel’s calloused fingers dragging against your palm as you greet the man.
“It’s nice to meet you, Joel. Can I get y’all anything?” You ask. Tommy grins.
“Let me get this man a slap shot!” He yells.
You glance at Joel. “That okay with you?” You ask.
His eyes are comically wide as he nods. You step back to ring the bell behind the bar, your fellow bartenders whooping and cheering, a chant of “SLAP SHOT! SLAP SHOT!” echoing around you.
Haley sets a glass of water on the bar for you and you grab a pint glass, filling it with ice and two ounces of Jim Beam and amaretto. You smack the steel shaker on top, grabbing both glasses and shaking them vigorously over your shoulder.
You strain the contents of the shaker into a shot glass, amber liquid flowing to the brim. When you’ve got everything ready, you leave the back of the bar and squeeze your way through the crowd until you’re in front of the two brothers and can hoist yourself up onto the bar.
“Alright, Joel, are you ready?” You shout. He looks a little confused, brows pinched tight over kind brown eyes, but he nods anyway, holding his hand out for the shot glass. Tommy watches with a shit eating grin. “Three! Two! One!”
Joel takes the shot and you follow it with a glass of water to his face and a slap across his jaw in quick succession. Tommy is howling with laughter and Joel’s face is one of pure shock, red blooming across the skin of his cheek. He turns to his brother.
“Tommy, what the fuck!” Joel shouts. His hand wraps into the neck of Tommy’s shirt. “You little fuckin’ shit!”
You have the sinking realization that Joel wasn’t prepared for what a slap shot entails. You had just assumed this was something Tommy had told him about, having been to the bar so much the last few months.
Joel looks mad as hell, his shoulders tense and you worry he may actually throw a punch at Tommy. You hop from the bar and get between the two men, pressing a hand to their chests and pushing them apart.
"You, come with me," you say, pointing to Joel. "And you," -- you jab a finger into Tommy's chest -- "are on my shit list."
You take Joel by the hand and guide him to the back office, shutting the door and muffling the noises of the bar beyond it. His face is still dripping wet and the water dripping from his chin has gathered into a sizeable spot on the collar of his shirt.
"I am so, so sorry," you start, rifling through the storage cabinet for a bar towel. You hold it out to him, avoiding his gaze. "Tommy comes here so much that I just thought he'd told you about what a slap shot was. I should have told you, oh my god."
"Hey, it's okay. I ain't mad at you," Joel says, running the towel over his damp face. "Tommy, though. I'm gonna kick his fuckin' ass later."
"Still," you mumble, twisting your hands together nervously. "I'm sorry. Is your cheek okay?"
He rubs the towel over his head to dry his hair a bit, the action leaving him adorable mussed, curly strands sticking up in every direction. You're staring at him, maybe a little too much, but who can blame you? The man is hot.
"Yeah, trust me. I've had worse," Joel replies with a laugh.
"You get slapped by women often?" You tease.
"The number of times ain't just one."
"Oh, a bad boy. Mama warned me about guys like you."
He laughs again, long and low, running a hand through his hair. "Well, thank you for the towel."
"Right. And your next drink is on me. As an apology," you tell him.
"I'd rather get your number," he says. "You know, as an apology."
You raise your eyebrows at him before turning to the manager's desk, grabbing a marker and tugging the cap off with your teeth. You slide a hand down his arm, lifting his forearm up so that you can write down your number across the smooth, tan skin.
"I'm off next weekend," you comment when you've recapped the marker.
"I'll keep that in mind," Joel replies with a grin.
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Joel's nervous as he waits outside of your apartment building in his truck, fingers tapping a nameless tune against the steering wheel. It's Saturday night and he's here to pick you up for dinner at a restaurant in downtown Austin, one that required he dig out the old black button down he keeps shoved in the back of his closet for parent-teacher conferences and funerals.
The front door to your building opens and you emerge, dressed in a pretty red wrap dress and black heels. Joel gets out of the truck and jogs around to the passenger side to open the door for you and he's surprised when you lean up and kiss him on the cheek.
"Hey," you say in greeting, climbing into the truck and settling into the passenger seat, your purse on your lap. Joel can't help the dopey grin that's surely stretched across his face.
“Hey, yourself. You look nice,” he replies. He shuts the door and jogs around the the driver’s side.
“You don’t look so bad either,” you tell him as he starts the truck up. He can feel his cheeks get warm and he hopes that you can’t see him the proof of his nerves in the dark cab.
At the restaurant, the host leads you both to a small table towards the back of the restaurant, pristine white tablecloth topped with a small vase of flowers and a flickering votive candle. A waiter in a white button down comes by to take your drink orders before disappearing the the kitchen, leaving the two of you regarding each other in silence.
“Look, I gotta be honest about somethin’,” Joel says, leg bouncing beneath the table. “I’ve got a kid. Sarah, she’s thirteen. Light of my life, you know?” He takes a deep breath before finishing with, “And I don’t think I’ve even been on a date since she’s been born, so this is just…a little new to me.”
“You have a kid?” You ask. For a moment Joel worries that he may have ended this before it could even get a chance to begin, but then your face lights up with a sweet smile and you ask, “Will you tell me about her?”
Joel does. In between ordering and eating your delicious meals, you and Joel discuss anything and everything. He tells you about Sarah and his contracting work, while you tell him about your full time job as a pharmacy technician, the gig at the bar a part time thing on some weekends. He nearly makes you snort your water out of your nose with a story about rescuing Tommy from the bathroom of the girl he’d been seeing when her long distance boyfriend, who Tommy didn’t know existed, showed up at her apartment.
“Oh my god,” you exclaim breathlessly. “And he just jumped out of the bathroom window?”
“To be fair, she had a first floor unit,” Joel confirms. “His royal pain in the ass still made me take him to urgent care because he thought he broke his ankle.”
“You’re a good brother,” you say with a smile. Joel feels the warmth of it in his veins.
After dinner, the ride back to your place is quiet, the comfortable silence filled with the low music from the radio. In a moment of bravery, Joel reaches over and lays a hand on your low thigh, just above your knee as he drives. He refuses to look over at you, but from the corner of his eye he sees you look down at his hand before looking back out the window.
He counts that as a win.
He pulls up the curb outside your apartment and kills the engine. You speak before he has a chance to agonize over what to say.
“Will you walk me to my door?” You ask.
He feels relief and anxiety in one fell swoop. He agonizes internally over whether to kiss you goodnight as he follows you up the stairs to your apartment, the buzzing in his brain momentarily silenced while he watches your hips sway as you climb the steps.
You stop on the second floor, guiding him down a long hallway to a door marked with a black metal number three. You turn to face him, looking up at him through your lashes.
“This is me,” you murmur. Joel swallows nervously.
“Right. I, uh…I had a really great time tonight,” he says.
“Would you…want to come inside?”
Joel’s brain short circuits. “Would I—? Yeah.”
You turn to unlock the door, pushing into your apartment and Joel follows you inside. The apartment is dark but you quickly turn on the lights as you move further inside, illuminating an open living room with a dining nook. There’s a door off to the right that he assumes is your bedroom and an open kitchen to the left. It’s small, but it’s cozy, bursting with colors and fabrics and mismatched furniture.
“Well, this is home,” you say with a shrug. You set your purse down on the small circular dining table. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’ve got beer, some liquor on the bar cart over there if you want to have a look.”
“Beer is fine,” Joel says, taking a seat on the comfy looking couch. You return with a bottle of beer, passing it to him before settling in beside him, kicking off your heels and drawing your legs up beneath you.
He takes a sip, fortifying his nerves. He wasn’t lying when he said it’s been a long time since he’s been on a date, but even sex has been a distant thought for the last year or so. He doesn’t want to mess this up.
“So,” you start, your elbow pressed into the back couch cushion while you lean your face into the palm of your hand. “You wanna know what I think?”
“‘Bout what?” Joel asks.
“You.”
“You got a report card ready for me already?”
“I think” — you take the beer bottle from his hand, setting it on the coffee table — “you’ve spent a long time being a caretaker. Right? You’ve got Tommy, who was already a handful. Your daughter, who’s obviously priority number one. You’ve got a business to worry about, workers to care for.” You shuffle closer on your knees, swinging a leg over his and settling yourself onto his lap. “This okay?” You ask.
“Yeah,” he replies, probably a bit too enthusiastically. His fingers curl into the couch cushions and he wants to reach up to wrap his hands around your waist but he’s not sure if he should.
You play with the collar of his shirt. “What do you think about having someone take care of you for a change?”
Joel’s stomach flips, cock jumping in interest as the blood in his brain rushes south and leaves him only capable of responding with a mumbled, “Oh?”
“I just think you deserve someone treating you real nice,” you say with a shrug. Deft fingers work at undoing the buttons of his shirt. “Especially when I was so mean when we met, slapping you across the face like I did.”
“Told you not to worry ‘bout that,” he replies, head dropping against the back cushions. “S’not like I didn’t like it.”
“You like to be roughed up a little, Mr. Miller?”
“Maybe.”
Your grin is wicked as you drag your nails down the now exposed skin of his chest. He hisses at the sting of it.
“Interesting,” you murmur. You lean close, chest pressed against his, hands coming up to frame his face. Your nails scratch through his beard now and he groans his appreciation.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks. “Please?”
You respond by pressing your lips to his, chaste as first. Your mouths move together slowly, feeling each other out. It’s you that takes it deeper, tracing your tongue over his bottom lip and dipping it inside to tangle with his. He wraps his arms around your low back, holding you tightly in his lap as he consumes you, drunk on the feeling of your breath in his lungs.
You drags yours lips away from his with a slick sound, trailing them along his jaw and towards his ear. You nip at his earlobe, teeth gentle and breath hot before whispering, “Can I suck your cock, Joel?”
A whimper claws it’s way up Joel’s throat as he nods, already unable to form words. He’s no stranger to turning into a puddle for a pretty woman but he’s certain this must be a new record.
You slip from his lap and kneel on the floor, pushing his legs apart so that you can settle in between them. Your hands reach for his belt, tugging on the buckle and pulling it loose so that you can pop the button of his jeans and tug the zipper down, the metallic sound loud in the quiet room.
Your fingers curl into the waist of his jeans and Joel lifts his hips a bit to aid you in tugging them halfway down his thighs. His cock tents his boxers in an obscene way, a wet spot already staining the fabric. You run your palms up his thighs before bracketing his member between your hands, lightly running your thumbs up his length.
“Christ,” Joel says, teeth digging into his lip.
“That feel good?” You ask.
“Uh huh.”
You smile beatifically before leaning forward, warm breath on his covered cock as you press gentle kisses through the fabric. Joel’s hips twitch and he lets out a deep groan.
You tug the elastic of his boxers over his length, tucking it beneath his balls. He’s practically vibrating with need but you continue to take your sweet time, pressing more kisses along his shaft, tracing the tip of your tongue over the prominent vein.
“You have a pretty cock, Joel,” you say, wrapping your hand around the base of him to hold him steady. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open but he doesn’t want to miss the sight of your tongue lapping at the bead of precum gathered on his flushed tip, or the way your own eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of appreciation.
You wrap your lips around his cock, taking him inch by agonizing inch into your warm mouth and Joel feels any semblance of sanity disappear from his lust clouded brain. Your eyes stay fixed on him as take him in as far as you can, throat fluttering around the sensitive head when you swallow before pulling up, twirling your tongue around the tip, and plunging back down.
“Christ,” Joel groans, reaching out to cup your cheek. “You look so goddamn good like that.”
You lift off his cock and take it in your hand, moving it across your lips as you ask, “Like what?”
“Chokin’ on my cock, sweetheart,” he growls.
“That was nothing.”
Joel’s about to ask what you mean when you lower your mouth over his length once more. He can feel you flatten your tongue, your throat and jaw relaxing enough to take him to the very base, your nose tickling the wiry curls on his pelvis. He moans as you swallow around him, breathing through your nose and holding yourself there for a moment before coming up with a gasp, tears gathered in the corners of your eyes and spit making your chin shiny in the low light.
“So…I could keep doing this,” you tell him, “or…”
“Or?” He asks.
“Or…you could let me make us both feel good.”
You stand up, your hands untying the knot that holds your dress together so you can push it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. You push your panties down your legs and unhook your bra, leaving you gloriously naked in front him, every inch of you like a piece of art meant to be admired. Joel’s hands, greedy and unfulfilled up until now, reach up to grip your hips and pull you onto his lap, your pussy hot and wet against his cock. He lets his hands wander over every inch of exposed skin, relishing the way your ass fits in his palms and the way you hiss when his thumb caresses a tight nipple.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he moans, his lips against your rapid pulse, teeth ghosting the thin skin of your neck. “Need you so bad, baby.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” you whisper, reaching between your bodies to hold his throbbing cock steady, notching it at your soaked entrance and beginning a slow slide down.
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Joel is panting against your sweat slick chest, mumbling desperate words into your skin as you take him inside of you as slowly as you can, thighs burning with the effort. When you’ve finally seated yourself on his lap, his head drops back to the cushion, eyes squeezed shut tightly and fingers nearly bruising on your thighs.
“Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” he begs. “Oh, fuck, feels so good.”
Where he’s desperate for you to stay still, you’re already desperate to move. His cock is perfect, thick and long with a slight upward curve, pressing up against your g-spot with stunning accuracy. You’re certain this won’t last long for either of you.
You rock slowly, forward and back, little movements of your hips. Joel lifts his head, looking down at where your bodies are connected with dark eyes. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tangling your fingers in his hair and giving it a sharp tug that has him hissing your name.
You start to move more quickly, rolling your body in smooth waves over his. He’s panting as he looks up at you, sweat gathering at his temple, and his hands grip your ass and follow your movement reverently.
“So fuckin’ good,” he moans, “you’re gonna make me come, baby, goddamn.”
You speed up, bouncing on his lap now. Your couch creaks the slightest bit, protesting your movements, but you don’t care — all you care about is the man beneath you and the desperate little noises spilling from his lips as you make good on your promise to take care of him.
“Touch me,” you command. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”
He’s a good listener, your Joel, his thumb immediately finding your clit and circling it with messy movements that drive you wild, that tension in your muscles coiling tighter. Joel’s hips flex into yours with each drop down his length, the room echoing with the lewd sounds of skin against skin and the chorus of whimpers that spill from both of you.
“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant. He wraps his arms around you, really thrusting into you now as your own movements falter and you collapse forward, head buried against his neck as you come, trembling with the strength of it.
It’s not long after that he goes still, cock pulsing inside of you as the aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you. You stay slumped against each other, catching your breaths and waiting for your racing hearts to come back down to earth.
“That was…,” Joel says with a breathless laugh that shakes his chest. His fingers play up and down your back, soothing and gentle. “Goddamn, that was amazin’.”
“Yeah?” You ask, lifting your head. You smooth his messy hair back from his forehead. “You weren’t so bad either.”
He nips at your neck in retaliation, making you laugh and squirm away from him.
“Do you have to get going?” You ask.
“No,” he replies. “Tommy’s watchin’ Sarah for me tonight. He owes me one. Besides, I’m ain’t done with you yet.”
“No?”
“Not even close, darlin’.”
Joel Miller masterlist
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eupheme · 1 month
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— are you mine?
joel miller x f!reader
rated t - 4.4k
tags: over-protective and soft jackson!joel, partners-to-lovers, mutual jealousy, secrets, miscommunication and rumors, light angst, valentine’s day
a little valentine’s day gift for the lovely @sweetercalypso - I was so thrilled to get you for the Space Sister’s exchange! I really hope you like it! 💌💕
A change in your usual patrol schedule, a dash of over-protectiveness, and a gossipy partner leads to you desperately wish you could turn back time.
Because how can you face Joel, after this?
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"I don't like it."
His voice comes from next to your shoulder. Rough and low - your eyes drifting over heavy, muddied boots, then up. Trying not to linger where his strong arms cross over a broad chest, the pull of fabric against skin where the sleeves are rolled up to elbows.
"Don't like what?" You ask, as your plate and mug join the pile of others in the bin to be washed. Finishing up a quick breakfast in the mess hall before your patrol shift begins.
A second lingers, before Joel answers.
"Don't like the thought of you out there without me."
His answer makes your stomach flip, butterflies already sprouting at the unexpected encounter. You hadn't thought you'd see Joel until later - an unexpected change in last night’s schedule. Sending him out from evening until dawn, and leaving you with a new partner for this morning.
"You're the one that swapped shifts." You point out, finally glancing his way. Seeing the pull of his brows, the shift as he leans against one of the heavy wooden support beams, "Anyways, I won't be alone. They have me with William."
The mark between his brows deepens, "Don't know if I like that, either."
Your own eyebrows raise, "What's wrong with William?"
He doesn't answer - the dark pull of his gaze breaking, as his eyes drop.
"Heard rumor there might be someone in the woods," Joel changes the subject, "Dirt kicked over the ashes, footsteps leading off to the east. No sign of anyone, but that don’t mean they ain’t hangin' around.”
He's worried, you think. Your hand reaches out, hovering for just a moment before you're clapping his bicep, instead of his bare forearm.
"Just because there was someone there, doesn't mean they're bad." The touch lingers for a moment, before your hand is dropping - shoving into your jacket pocket, "Besides, it’s daylight now. We'll be fine. Always are."
His look is dark, at your words.
An optimism lingering in you that has long been leached from his system. An uneasiness that lingers in his blood and bones - a shift of his his as he reaches to draw something out of his back pocket. Pressing it into your hand, when you reach for it without thinking.
"Know how to use this?"
It's a knife - his knife -  the folded handle fitting his broad hand but feeling more like a dagger in yours.  
“Joel, please-” You all but huff, torn between annoyed and touched. Reaching out to hand it back, but he’s shifting sideways to dodge you. 
“Humor me, alright?” He’s grumbling - but he's not done - fishing something else from his jacket pocket. Holding it out for you to take as well - heavy and plastic in your other hand.
You flip it over, seeing the small antenna fit above the speaker, the buttons worn bare and smooth beneath. 
"Ellie's got the other. I'll get it from her this morning." He explains, "Two-way radio. You need anything or run into anyone, I'll know."
It would be stifling, if it were anyone else.
Insulting, perhaps. 
But knowing that Ellie does this for Joel soothes you, teeth biting into your lip to hold back your smile.
And you can’t deny that you did feel a little uneasy, heading out without your partner.
"Fine.” You tell him, with a sigh.
“But just this once."
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The ground crunches beneath your feet, a frost and thin snow freezing and blanketing the green pokes of grass overnight. 
You’re already ready for spring, even though the world has just creeped into February. Missing the crunch of leaves instead of ice. Yearning for the daffodils and crocuses to pop up, as the earth thaws.
But for now - you’re content to concede that it’s easier to do your job, at least. The only damaged grass around you, the only marks in the dirt, are your own. 
Quiet, idle conversation with William passing as you take the usual route - your rucksack a familiar weight against your shoulders. Padded with the faded and patched feather-down of your coat as you weave between trees.
Checking traps for food, finding nothing. Not unusual when the rest of the world seems to be sleeping.
The sun is nearly overhead when you reach the watchtower, the spindly legs that hold the narrow room high in the sky. The rungs leading up are wide, but you still hold your breath as you climb. Only exhaling at the top, when both your feet are firmly on the metal platform - cold air sharp in your lungs with your inhale.
It's pretty up here. A clouded blue sky above, a suggestion of snow. A wistful hope that it will hold off until tomorrow, as your patrol partner unlocks the door - checking the inside before you follow.
Your rucksack lands with a thud just inside the door, which closes behind you. The windows are cracked, spider-webbing from the corners, but still holding firm enough that it shields you from some of the chill outside.
Looking out above some of the trees, giving you a peek of Jackson when you stand in the southern corner. 
Here, you can take a minute to breathe. To talk, while keeping watch and warm.
It's been a few weeks since you've been out with William. You didn't run in the same circles - he had a regular rotation of patrol partners. You had Joel, and sometimes Ellie, and you never found a reason to stray.
That thought, the change, had kept you busy on the patrol. Your mind wandered as your feet moved on your own, through well-known paths. Eyes seeing but your thoughts elsewhere.
He had seemed worried, at the mess hall.
Or - on edge, at least. Distracted.
There had been a quick rap on your door, a mumbled excuse about them needing him last night. Letting you know you'd be with someone else for your shift in the morning. A glance over his shoulder, nodding towards the figure that was waiting for him, before he was off.
And although he had made the switch, he sure didn't seem happy about it this morning.
William was friends with Jesse, who was friends with Ellie and Dina - you couldn't think of a reason for the ever-present mark that had deepened between his eyebrows.
You wonder why - because surely, a set of trained and fed partners would be more than a match for anyone drifting through the woods on their own. Even you weren't so nervous, and you didn't have the years and grit of someone like Joel.
And it wasn't like William was unprepared. He'd been doing patrols just as long as you had, maybe even a little longer.
It's here that you're drawn away, your companion’s voice breaking through your thoughts. His foot tapping yours, where you both sit on the old, wooden floor.
“Been a while, huh?”
You nod in agreement, offering the slightest lift of a smile, “Yeah. Been couple months, at least.”
“More than that. Bet it’s been close to a year.”
“Oh.” You blink, thinking back.
Wondering if that’s why his gaze has been on you so often this morning - that he’s nearly forgotten what you look like, “Guess I hadn’t noticed.”
You hadn’t realized it’s been that long. And at the same time, only that long.
Joel had drifted for a while in Jackson - untethered, but never far from the nearest door, the nearest wall. Content to watch from the fringes, to stay unnoticed. To slip out, when he’s had enough.
It still took a few months until he was rotated into the patrol. Until you met him, fully. Needling conversation out of him in these morning walks, or when the stars stretched out in the inky night.
Fully expecting him to trade out, when he could. Others often did - preferring a variety of company.
He never did. And neither did you. 
Things worked with Joel. And more than trust had bloomed in those lone hours together, something that had planted in your first days of seeing him. Carefully tended, nourished by the slivers of traded secrets and shared looks and moments where you had thought that just maybe…. maybe… you weren’t alone. 
"Don't know how you can stand patrolling with him. He’s a scary dude." William mutters, the sound low as you hunker down below the rim of the metal railing.
You frown. Joel's not scary. Not really. Not to you.
A grouch, for sure. All bark and bite, but it's never once been directed at you. 
“Joel?” You ask, clarifying.
“Yeah, Miller.” He gives you a sideways look, “You know he's killed people, right? Like, not just infected. People, people.”
The stories and rumors aren't new to you, they cling to him like ghosts. The whispers when he came into town had never stopped - but with time, they had lessened.
He had intimidated you, at first. A low voice and an angry look that would send anyone scurrying, but in the two years since he's been here, it's all faded at the edges. Gone soft. 
Looking back, knowing now how he looks after Ellie, looks after you - you’re not sure how you ever saw him that way. 
And you think, you hope, that deep down - he does care. That a part of him might feel the same.
It’s there in the way he sought you out this morning. More than a dislike in the change of his schedule - that wouldn’t have loosened the knife he carried.
It was there in your patrols. In the way you felt safe, with him - in how it flowed from outside those wooden walls to inside the town, inside his home. 
"We all have." You reply, with a sharp finality.
You didn't really remember the days before. Your life had been filled with spoken memories, but they weren't yours. The days of lawfulness are akin to fairy tales - merely stories, in your mind.
Who were you to judge, when your own hands were stained?
The infected weren’t the only monsters in this world. You’re sure he had his reasons, as did you.
William makes a sound of agreement, before dropping the subject. Content to watch the sparkle of snow, caught in the wind where it drifts down from tall branches.
That silence is broken a little later, with another question.
"You goin' to the dance later?"
Your legs stretch, toes wiggling in the chill of the room. Even enclosed, the cold seeps in through the cracks and thin panes of splintered glass.
"Of course."
Everyone would be.
The dances in Jackson were few and far between. Even more rare in these cold months - people preferring to stay warm, keep out of the snow that gathers in the alleys, the chill that whips down the rows of buildings. 
The day before had been spent decorating the church hall. There was an ache in your arms where you had helped Wendy roll out the dough for cookies - watching as the younger folks cut hearts out of recycled paper in the mess hall, to be strung along the walls. 
Underneath the stars above and in the glow of the lights, it would be beautiful.
There's a steadying breath next to you.
A moment, before he's asking, "You goin' with anyone?"
The rest comes in a rush, "I mean, do you wanna go with me?"
He turns your way, as you slowly go still. Too surprised to form an answer, trapped in his gaze with your wide eyes and parted lips.
"I-" You begin, and then falter.
William was nice. A little older than you. Showy, when he was with his friends, ready to do anything for a laugh.
Nice, but not Joel. No one was.
And deep down, you know that it's not like Joel thought of you that way. Returned those feelings, despite your wishes.
But you knew he'd be there. He'd go for Ellie, who would make sure she was there to see Dina.
And you'd go for Joel.
Even if just to see him, even if only for a moment.
The silence has stretched too long, an uneasy shifting next to you as he waits for an answer.
"There someone else?" The lilt of his voice has turned sharp, accusatory. Slicing through your thoughts, demanding your attention.
And again, you stumble. Still unable to form words, still too caught off guard - tongue twisted in knots. 
“There is, isn’t there?” Another verbal nudge, and it’s here that you find your voice. 
"There is... uh, someone." You manage - not ready to spill your guts, but there’s no chance you’ll agree to go with him.
"Yeah?" His eyebrow raises as he scoffs, "Who, Joel?"
He laughs at his own joke - and it's only now, as it's turned on you, that you notice how cruel it can sound. 
Your own eyes drop, head turning back towards the wall. 
And it’s here that your eyes snag on the cherry red gleam that peeks from the outside pocket of your rucksack. 
The radio. 
Forgotten entirely, in the long walk over. 
Panic courses through you.
Can he hear you, from here? Is he listening now?
You send up a silent wish, hoping that perhaps he's stepped out. That if you're lucky, the radio doesn't quite reach this far.
The silence gives you away, before you can brush it off - too caught up in the fear that twists in your stomach. A look had crossed your features that William had caught, the laughter dying as he pushes to his feet.
"You can't be serious." There's the mocking curl of his lip, a look of incredulity, "Miller? Are you out of your mind?"
There had been a flicker of thought - thinking that you could go over, switch it off. Or change the subject, tell Will to just shut up - but there’s something in his tone that distracts you - igniting your dread and embarrassment into anger and irritation. 
Making you slip up.
"So what if it is? It's none of your business-" You begin, but he cuts you off.
He’s fully turned your way now. The melting snow of his boots soaking into the hem of your jeans, with how he close he sits. Close enough that you can see the grit of his jaw, as he flings another barb at you. 
"You think he's going to treat you right? Do you even know where he was last night?”
It feels like a slap in the face - the way you flinch, cheeks burning.
“He… he was on patrol.” You stammer, unsure where this is headed.
“Could be. It’s easy to change logs when you got a brother out at the same time.” He shrugs, as if it’s nothing. As if your world hasn’t tilted on it’s axis, leaving you off-kilter.
Your heartbeat thunders behind your ribs, in your ears, “What do you mean?” 
“I mean… Fred said he saw him at Esther’s house. Last night and this morning.”
Rumors spread like wildfire in a town as close-knit as Jackson. It wasn’t hard to see where he was going, even if it pained you.
Esther, who tended the greenhouse.
Esther, who Joel had once been set up.
Esther, who split last month with her husband. 
Esther, who kept the house.
You’re frozen. As if the cold has sunken into your skin, bonded with your bones. An aching weight settling over your heart, stealing your breath.
Because in this moment, you truly realize how much you’d been thinking about him as yours. Suddenly realizing the depth of you feelings for Joel - how much he’s come to mean to you.
It’s devastating, thinking about him being someone else’s.
It just can’t be true.
But… 
But wouldn’t it explain his actions this morning?
Did you misread worry for guilt? Or secrecy?
“Look.” He says, after a pause. Giving you a pitying look, his hand reaching out to touch your shouler, “All I’m saying is that I’d never-”
It was all too much. 
You’ve had enough. 
"Can you just drop it?" You hiss, suddenly, "I'm not going with you."
The focus of his gaze still rests on you, as you push yourself to your feet. Grabbing for your bag - it's still a little early, but you're not about to stay stuck up in this tower with him.
"Where are you-" He's asking, as you shake your head - slipping past him, through the door.
"I'll see you back at Jackson."
Letting it slam shut behind you.
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It's stupid, to wander off by yourself. Even if you weren’t too far from home, no more than a thirty minute walk. 
The rifle left in William's possession, where it still rested against the railing. Joel's blade heavy and cold in your hand as you fish it from your jacket pocket.
Matching the stone-heavy weight of your heart, as you follow your footsteps back towards town. Your thoughts twisting, as you silently bargain with whoever might be listening.
Wishing foolishly that you could turn back time. 
Content with even just not knowing.
Because that’s the worst part, right? That you know he knows. And that he knows you do. That surely - he heard it all.
If you were alone, if you hadn’t taken that radio, you’d still have your secret.
Maybe Joel wouldn’t have his, but you’d try to bear it. Find a way to put the pieces of your heart together, and try to move on.
Cherish those few more days, weeks, before he would have told you. Maybe by then, you could’ve acted happy.
But now, you’re certain he won’t want anything to do with you. Certain that you’ve ruined a good thing - not just the patrols, but your partnership, and friendship.
Because who would want to stick around with a girl with a stupid little crush?
It leaves you feeling flayed open. Grateful for the whip of the wind, giving you an excuse for the tears that spring to your eyes. 
For a moment - in your embarrassment - it leaves you even thinking about running away.
You'd survived for this long. It would be harder, on the outside. But perhaps, you could start over.
With a sigh, you crumple the thought up, and toss it away. It's no more than wishful thinking. No different than hoping the world would crack beneath your feet, and swallow you whole.
No…
You would have to bear it.
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You're less than a mile from the wooden border around town, when you pick up the crunch of boots on snow. Fear prickles down your spine as the blade clicks open in your grasp, your pulse leaping beneath your skin.
The waver of a shadow, moving between the trees in front of you. You go still, squinting, tucking yourself behind one of the thick trunks.
They're alone.
It could be someone from town, but you'd heard there was only one set of boots near the fire they found, the night before. A quick glance over your shoulder - wishing you hadn't split off.
Wishing you had taken the rifle.
They move closer, and your breath catches as they call out.
Not just a greeting, but your name.
A wave of relief washes over you, you know that voice. This figure. The cock of his hip as he stands, the shoulders that slope when he sees you - a hand raised in greeting.
"Heard you leave. Shouldn't be out here by yourself."
The warm glow in your belly chills, at his words.
The acknowledgement that he had been listening souring your mood. It has you bristling at his tone, misreading his worry. 
"I'm fine." You wiggle his knife at him, the blade glinting in the afternoon sun, "Didn't have to come all this way."
In the path you take to skirt around him, you miss the pull of his brow - the frown that forms. The way he breaks into a jog to catch up behind you, staying a few steps back as he does a visual sweep of the woods behind you.
Your strides are long, focused on the crunch of grass beneath your feet. Eyes fixed ahead as he follows, until the tall wooden posts loom up ahead.
Above, and then through. 
If you can just make it home, you think that would be enough. The little house is only a few streets away from the edge.
Something that he hated - how it wasn’t safe enough.
Something that used to please you. 
He’s still following, your silent companion. Chivalrous, you suppose, to make sure you get home okay. Even after everything. 
You’re nearly there - feet taking you up the rickety steps for your porch - when that silence is finally broken.
“You know it ain’t true, right?
For as quiet as his voice is, it still seems to cut through the air, halting your step. Your eyes still fixed on the door ahead of you, but you find yourself stopping - waiting.
“There ain’t anybody else.”
There’s a weight in the way he says it. A confession, layered in the low pitch of his voice.
It has you turning. 
To where he stands, where your shadows meld together. And it’s only now that you see him - the intensity of his gaze. The mis-matched buttons on his coat, the cold that burns at his nose and cheeks until they’re pink. 
He’d been outside for a while.
Searching for you - leaving hat and gloves behind. 
“Where were you last night?” You ask - and he watches you like you’re about to bolt. Palms facing you where they hang at his sides, finger stretching out and then curling.
Reaching up now, to scrub through his hair in frustration - loosening dark, peppered-gray curls. 
“I was there.” Joel admits, and there’s the acid ache of jealousy welling up in your chest. Picturing him with her instead of with you - like in your wishes, your dreams.
“But-” His hands raise, when he sees your expression, “But I just stopped by. I was on patrol with Tommy, you can ask him.”
You want to believe him. But you know you’re both thinking the same thing - thoughts flickering back to William’s suggestion. 
“Or, you can ask Maria. You know she won’t cover for me.” He adds - and that softens you, just a little.
“Why did you trade?”
The moment hangs, where you’re left staring at each other. Your heart gallops in your chest, as he fights an internal battle - before his eyes slide across your cheek, over your shoulder. 
But then there’s the smallest, rueful smile. His dark eyes flipping up to yours.
“Didn’t think it’d be like this.” Joel sighs, moving closer - to the bottom step. Enough to where you could reach out and touch him. Enough to where you see the weariness etched in his face, from where he stayed up all morning to keep watch over you.
“Got some roses for you. They’re at the house.” The words come slowly, “Was gonna give ‘em to you tonight. Wanted to do this right.”
Wanted to do this right.
The words echo in your mind. Pieces of a puzzle starting to fit into place, but you still feel like you’re behind - forever out of step and catching up. 
“That’s why I was out last night. Esther is… rekindling things with her husband.” He manages, “Traded his shift last night for ‘em so they could be together. Went back to pick ‘em up this morning.”
“Roses.” You echo, “Why?”
“Why?” Joel frowns, as hands brace on his hips. Looking flustered, looking like he wishes you could just understand.
And suddenly, you do.
Your own words come slowly now, “For me? For Valentine’s Day?”
Relief crosses his features, those dark eyes going soft.
“Yeah, darlin’.” He smiles, “For you.”
Emotions swirl and surge through you. Relief yes, but also something stronger, something that flutters behind your ribs and threatens to burst free. 
“I didn’t-” You begin, and then stop. A tightness in your throat, as you gaze at him, “I was so worried that you heard what he said, that it was real-”
“I heard.” A dark look crossed Joel’s features, a grit of his jaw, “Heard what you said too. Made me hope, ‘til he opened his mouth again.”
He’s on the top step now, no more than a few feet away. Irritation prickling at him from the memory of you in that tower, tucked away with someone who wasn’t him.
Until his hand is scratching at the scruff of his beard, his look changing.
“But if I misread this-” Joel starts - almost hesitant, if a man like Joel could be.
It makes you want to laugh, after everything. Because you get it, now.
Just how foolish you both had been.
“You didn’t.” You’re quick to cut him off, “You... you heard right.”
There ain’t anybody else…. but you.
It’s always been him.
He kisses you under the eaves of your little porch. 
Stepping into you as your head tilts up - cold fingers tracing your chin, cupping your jaw just as his lips skim against yours.
The lightest brush, as something electric sparks - radiating from that point of contact, skittering down your spine. A soft moan that slips from your throat, before he’s pressing closer - before your hands are slipping, gripping onto his shoulders beneath the thick canvas of his coat.
Everything fades - growing hazy. He’s all you can feel, as your eyes close. Something finally clicking into place, as your lips part for the brush of his tongue. Another moan as he licks into your mouth - stumbling footsteps in both of your haste. 
Until your back is bumping against wood, and his arm is wrapping around you. Surrounding you, leaving you breathless as the frame of the door digs into your hip.
Finally sated, in your need for him. 
And yet more hungry, than you’ve ever been.
The grip of your fingers loosen, as you reach for the door knob. Fumbling for a second before it’s loosening, and you’re stepping back - bringing him with you, your other hand still fisted in the fabric of his coat. 
He groans into your mouth, a hand wrapping around your waist so you don’t stumble, as he follows you inside.
Then there’s low husk of his voice, the barest curve of a smile, “What about your dance, sweetheart?”
Teasing, in the way he spins you around. In the way you’re caged in against the door again, tucked away safely from the other side.
No prying eyes except for his. 
Your answer close to a whine, with the way his fingers find the zipper on your coat, drawing it down.
“I think…” You manage, distracted by the press of his lips against your neck. In the fingers that dip beneath your layers, seeking bare skin.
“I think we can be a little late.”
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happy valentine’s day, friends! 💌💕 and especially to elaine - these were such fun prompts! you are the sweetest and I hope you have such a good day!
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trolleyspeaker · 1 year
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Portable bluetooth speaker series from speaker factory China
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ohimsummer · 4 months
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THAT’S THE WRONG NUMBER ft. TOJI FUSHIGURO
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��� minors dni, female! reader, riding toji, kind of exhibitionism, reader gets called a slut, creampie, light dumbification, cuckholding, inspired by a conversation I had with my coworker lol
wc 1.1k
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Toji’s eyes jerk open, the soft ‘plap plap’ of you bouncing on his cock overcome by the shrill ring of his cellphone. The device, having obnoxiously interrupted his bliss, vibrates restlessly on the wooden side table. Toji stares at the unknown number on his screen, a brow raised in mild concern. There were only a select few people who had his number and all of them were listed in his contacts, so he really had no idea who it could be.
Your movement slows as you notice the subtle change in his mood.” Somethin’ wrong, Toji?”
He smoothes a large hand over your waist, tightens his grip and raises your body until just his tip remains inside. “You don’t worry your pretty lil’ head ‘bout it, doll, keep goin’ for me.”
Humming and lowering your hips, Toji doesn’t have to tell you twice before you’re engulfing his cock in your needy hole again. Your hands find purchase on his spread knees, and you watch him through the window’s reflection. A hand reaches around to squeeze your breast before massaging a nipple under his thumb. Toji pinches it between two fingers, drawing a whine from you, and then tugs at the hardened bud while the other hand tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder.
“Mm?”, Toji grunts into the speaker, obviously annoyed.
The other person hesitates for a second, before asking, “Er–, is this, uh, Y/N?”
Dark eyes bore holes into your back, and your skin tingles beneath Toji’s hard, irritated gaze. “Who’s askin’ ?”
The person, some guy, stutters over the line for a few seconds and Toji grins. “Some-someone gave me their number earlier, sorry I must’ve called the wrong one-“
“Nah, nah.,” Toji quickly corrects them. “She’s right here, lemme give her the phone.”
His words barely register in your mind before Toji’s holding the phone to your ear. You hesitate, and he warns you with a particularly harsh thrust before you’re taking the phone in a shaky grasp. “Attagirl.” he groans lowly behind you. As you slur out a half-assed greeting, you notice your boyfriend plant his feet on the floor, grip fastening on your hips as Toji stills your movements. You give him a pitiful, needy glance, one he huffs a laugh at, and Toji uses his strength to hold you steady.
“H-hey–!,” you squeak out as Toji suddenly slams into you, breath snatched away at his sudden wild and relentless pace.
You recognize the voice on the other end instantly, some weirdo who wouldn’t take no for an answer when he asked for your number, so you gave him Toji’s instead. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, both in aggravation and toe-curling pleasure from the thick drag of Toji’s cock amongst your walls. You feel every vein and every twitch, every throb of his length amidst the wet heat of your pussy, and you stuff a fist between your teeth just to smother your moans.
“Hey, what’s up?,” the guy asked. “It’s Anthony, we met in the superm…”
His voice fades away instantly, all you can focus on is the way Toji’s fat dick plunges deeper and deeper with every thrust. You balance on your toes, nails sinking into Toji’s legs just to help you stay upright. He runs a hand down the arch of your back, presses you forward just a bit and leers at the gooey, white mess built up at the base of his cock. The lewd mixture of cum, slick, and precum connecting the both of you between every thrust. Just under the sloppy sound of skin against skin, Toji can still hear that prick on the phone rambling on and on, but what he can’t hear? Those filthy cries and curses you usually make whenever he impales you on his dick. And he doesn’t like that, not one bit.
“T- Toji!,” you feebly warn as his hand trails lower, stopping to lightly twist your erected nipples before making it’s way to rub rough, messy circles on your swollen clit. “Don’t–!”
“Uhh…,” Anthony mutters awkwardly on the phone. “Is this a bad time…?”
“G-give me, ah, one min–ute!”, you force between half-muffled whines before Toji shoves himself into you once more, nudging at that spongy spot inside you and a broken sob breaks out from your lips.
“You sure?”
A quick “mhm!” is all you can muster as your release threatens to tip over the edge. Moans and whimpers leak out around your fist still tightly wedged in your mouth, soaked with drool that also drips down your chin, and you opt to hold Toji’s phone at arm’s length.
He stands behind you, dragging your hips up with his own to continue his feverish assault on your body. Every thrust pounded into you lurches your body forward, the phone now dangling in your feeble grip. You clutch at his forearm, nails leaving behind angry, red scratches and you can’t hide the loud, ruined wails Toji drives out of you.
A bruising grasp on your hips, he leans over your back to mutter against your ear. “Ya still on the phone with that guy?” He laughs a low chuckle in your ear. “Ya want him to hear you bein’ a slut on my dick, huh? That’s why you givin’ my number out to random guys, so they can hear you on the phone gettin’ fucked up?” Your pussy clenches around him at his words.
And just to make a point, his teeth sink into the sensitive spot of your neck, and you groan so loud there’s no way Anthony didn’t hear it. You can faintly hear him still on the line, but you couldn’t possibly bring yourself to care at this point. Toji’s dick batters against the sweet spot of your pussy, and it has your brain turned to complete mush. Your legs nearly give out as your high comes crashing down on you in massive waves, and Toji holds you upright to fuck you right through it. His dick twitches inside you and you can tell he’s close. “Ugh, f-fuck,” he grunts into your neck, “Cummin’ angel–“ His thrusts grow stuttered, balls tightening and he slows to a grind against your ass as heavy loads of his release spurt deep inside you.
You drawl out one last moan as Toji eases out, leaving you with an empty sensation; you can feel his and your cum dripping out your fluttering hole and down your thighs. Arms limply falling towards the floor, the cellphone slips from your hand, luckily landing on the carpet with a soft ‘thud!’, and you whine when Toji plunges two thick fingers into your cunt to stuff his cum back inside. “You worked hard for this, didn’t you? Can’t waste it now.” And you mindlessly nod your head in agreement, much to his amusement. A loud round of pants and gasps for air fill the room, apparently loud enough for Anthony to hear as you and Toji both watch the words ‘Call Ended’ show up on the screen.
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suashii · 5 months
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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝒴𝒪𝒰, 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝑀𝐸
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info ⭑ gojo x reader. 1.7 wc. sfw ノ fluff ノ college au ノ navigating relationships
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“did you miss me while you were at work?”
you jokingly roll your eyes, having expected the question. gojo asks you the same thing over the phone each time you’re making the walk home. he expects a certain answer, one you usually give to him but you’re feeling a little playful tonight. even though he can’t see it, you smile with your next words. “mm, i was a little too busy to think about you.”
there’s a slight pause on the line before gojo replies. “not even a little bit?”
you can hear the pout in his voice and picture the expression in your head—his fluffy white eyebrows pulled together in a frown, bottom lip petulantly poked out. the mental image makes your smile grow wider.
“i’m kidding,” you assure him, adjusting the phone in your hand. he may ask the same question after all of your shifts, but your actual answer never changes. “of course i did.”
his crackly laugh sounds through the speaker and in the chill of the night, it sparks a warmth within you. it’s a sound you’re sure you’ll never get tired of hearing.
“good. i missed you, too.”
you bite your cheek to keep the smile from overtaking your face. it’s been a few months since the two of you started dating but you’re still not used to the unabashed affection gojo continuously shows you. 
you can’t seem to find the right words to respond to his sentiment but the end of your commute gives you the opportunity to change the subject.
“hey, i’m almost home,” you tell gojo as you approach the stairs leading up to your apartment. “i’ll text you when i get inside.”
“sure,” he hums, “talk to you later.”
“bye,” you draw out the vowel before pulling the phone away from your ear and ending the call. you stuff the device in your bag and your hands in your pockets as you make your way up the stairs that’ll take you to your apartment. the cold air nips at the exposed skin of your face, making you pick up the pace in hopes of quickly getting somewhere warmer. as you reach the final step, something catches your attention.
there’s a figure on the wooden platform a few feet from your door. 
it should startle you, but you’re beginning to grow used to the sight. just like his calls, gojo has made a habit of showing up outside your place on nights when you work late. you can’t lie—there’s a certain level of comfort you’re met with each time you’re greeted by the back of his head.
you clear your throat as you walk up to him. “my neighbors are going to start thinking you’re a stalker if you keep showing up like this.”
your voice alerts gojo of your arrival and his head swivels so that he can meet your gaze. there’s a smile tugging at your lips that makes his own curl up at the corners. “can you blame me for wanting to make sure you get home safe?”
bright blue eyes follow you as you come to stand in front of the man. despite the iciness of the air, his coat is left unbuttoned. you’re able to see that he’s wearing a suit underneath his outerwear—he must have come straight here after finishing his internship for the day.
“i just got off the phone with you,” you tell him through a short laugh, pulling your hands out of your pockets to pull his coat closed, though it doesn’t stay. you wonder how long he’s been waiting but you know he won’t tell if you ask.
he leans forward into your touch with his next words. “maybe i want to see you walk through the door with my own eyes.”
“gojo—” before you can get the rest of your sentence out, the man holds a hand out to stop you.
“i told you, it’s satoru.” he’s been persistent about reminding you to call him by his first name ever since the two of you started dating. now is no different and he even goes as far as placing his hands on your waist, sounding out each syllable for you. “sa-to-ru. got it?”
the way he stares up at you with those sparkling eyes and that charming grin makes your heart jump in your chest. expectation lingers behind his gaze and you can sense his anticipation by the way his lithe fingers tap at your waist.
“fine… satoru.” the name still feels foreign on your tongue but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the taste of it. you clear your throat before sliding your hands up onto his shoulders. “you don’t have to keep doing this. it’s starting to get cold outside and you’ll get sick sitting out here.”
he shrugs. “i don’t mind.”
you sigh, readying to drill into him how important his health is when you notice, feel, that his shoulders are trembling with shivers. under a more attentive eye, the redness of his ears and cheeks also make themselves known. despite his carelessness, you can’t find it in yourself to scold him when his actions were so well-intended.
with the click of your tongue, you grab gojo’s tie and give it a gentle tug. “come inside and warm up.”
you weren’t sure it was possible, but gojo’s smile spreads even wider upon hearing your invitation. as if saying “don’t mind if i do,” the man stands to his full height. he towers above you now, but his presence is far from imposing. “after you.”
you lead the way, digging around your bag for your keys. they jingle as you pull them out and the click of your door unlocking sounds throughout the night air. your apartment is dark and as you reach to flip on the light switch, you wonder if you cleaned up this morning. gojo has been here before but you worry about embarrassing yourself with a mess.
though, you can’t stand around in the darkness forever. hoping that the unit is presentable, you turn on the main light. brightness floods the area and, to your credit, nothing more than a misplaced jacket dirties the room. you give yourself a mental pat on the back while you hang up your keys. when you turn to look at gojo, he’s in the process of shedding his coat. you mirror his actions but remind him, “you can’t stay long. i have an early shift tomorrow.”
he doesn’t stop taking his coat off but his smile is traded in for a frown. you’ve all but kicked him out before he’s even gotten settled, and because of work, at that. he’s beginning to think your coworkers see you more often than he does. he drapes his coat on the back of one of the chairs in your kitchen. “you know, if you moved in with me, you could quit your job.”
you almost laugh before you realize he isn’t joking. gojo has always been direct—since before you were dating and when the two of you got together—so his suggestion shouldn’t be surprising. still, every offer he makes to pamper and spoil you tends to catch you off guard. it’s not the proposals themselves, no, but the way he brings them up so casually as if they should be a given—expected.
everything about dating gojo is different from past relationships you’ve had. he expresses his love in ways unfamiliar to you, ways that are sometimes difficult for you to accept—not because you don’t want to but because you aren’t sure how. it doesn’t seem to bother gojo but you wonder when the time will come when you’re comfortable enough to consider taking him up on his offer.
“tempting, but no. ask me again in a couple of months,” you tell him over your shoulder from your place at the kitchen counter. you know he will. “want some tea?”
outwardly unaffected by your rejection, gojo hums in confirmation as he takes a seat at your table. it doesn’t take you long to prepare the warm beverage and place a cup of it in front of the man. you plop down across from him with a mug of your own.
“how was your day?” you ask him before taking a cautious sip of your tea.
“same old, same old,” he replies, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his cupped palms. it squishes his cheeks and gives him a youthful appearance.
under the fluorescent lights of your kitchen, it’s impossible not to pick up on the dark crescents below his eyes. now that the cold isn’t keeping him alert, you can tell just how exhausted he is.
“really? you look kind of tired.”
he brushes off your concern. “i’m fine.”
the phrase is one that gojo utters often but you’re having a hard time believing him tonight. it wouldn’t be safe for him to drive home in his current condition. even though you had been pretty adamant about him taking his leave earlier, you reconsider.
“why don’t you stay here tonight?” you suggest, holding the mug in your hands up to your mouth.
that much seems to capture gojo’s attention as his eyes widen in curiosity. you hide the smile threatening your lips behind your mug.
“are you sure?”
it’s at this moment that you realize—maybe the way you love is unfamiliar to gojo, too. maybe your invitations come as a surprise in the same way his do to you. and maybe, just like you, he’s wary of accepting your affections, nervous to get too comfortable.
the thought makes you want him to stay even more.
so, without hesitation, you nod. “you look like you’re two seconds away from collapsing. just sleep here.”
“well, if you insist, how could i say no?” gojo grins. it’s a sleepy one that doesn’t reach his eyes but it’s obvious that he’s grateful—for the gesture, of course, but even more so that he’s finally able to spend more time with you, even if that time will be spent sleeping.
you giggle at his response, gathering the cups and putting them in the sink before jerking your head in the direction of your bathroom. “come on, sleepy-head. let’s get ready for bed.”
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hey there! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎
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cherryredstars · 7 months
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good morning cherry!
may i please request a nsfw miguel x fem reader where miguel is a business ceo (or any sort of high ranking position) and reader is his personal assistant? miguel gets hard while doing paperwork, calls in reader, and bangs her from the back 💗
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Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Little Plot, Degrading, Masturbation, Unprotected Penetrative Sex, Hair Pulling, Slight Fingering, Choking, Creampie
Summary: You might need to buy a new blouse and a pair of panties.
A/N: Screamed and kicked and yelled when I saw this!!!
Word Count: 2.2K (Barely Edited)
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It was extremely unprofessional.
That’s what Miguel thought every time you came into his office, a cute little button down blouse and a too short pencil skirt hugging your thighs. He had to grit his teeth whenever your big doe eyes blinked at him, asking him if there was anything else he needed in the most innocent, seductive voice he has ever heard. Hates the way he had to grip onto the armrest of his office chair whenever you turned around to leave, his eyes wandering to your ass all the way down your long legs to the pretty heels you wore. He wonders if they were a gift. If you bought them just for work, just for him. Wonders if some lousy guy bought them for you in a show of affection. I can do better, he thinks to himself, I can buy you a hundred pairs of designer shoes if you want me to.
He shakes the thought away, scoffing at himself. He shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable with the semi he’s now sporting. He grunts as he opens the file you had given him, picking up a pen and trying to get to work. But it’s so annoying. The sound of your voice keeps floating through his wooden door as you talk on the phone with whoever it is. Probably someone wanting to set up a company meeting with Miguel. He’s trying to focus on the words on the business proposal in front of him, trying to remember where he was and what he’s supposed to be signing on, but he just can’t. Not when the syrupy sweet business voice of yours keeps distracting him and each little giggle you let out goes straight to his cock. 
His grip on the pen tightens and he lets out a stressed breath as he leans his head back on the chair. He sits there, eyes closing as your voice continues going on and on about whatever you won’t shut up about. He fidgets with the pen in his hand, his other hand coming to undo his pants. He reaches into his work pants, groaning as his hand pulls out his painfully hard cock. His thumb pushes into his tip, his hips bucking into the pressure. Slowly, his hand pumps his length, hissing at how good it feels. 
It’s so dirty that he has to chuckle at himself. Here he is, scary CEO to one of the biggest science corporations in Nueva York, getting off to the sound of his pretty little assistant’s voice like a high school boy. He wonders what your voice would sound like if he slid into you. Would you still try to keep your work voice on as he thrusted into you? Would you still call him Mr. O’Hara or would you call out Miguel? The thought of you just moaning for him has his cock twitching in his hand. 
Right when he feels the pleasure build up, right when he starts speeding his hand up, your voice stops and he hears the phone click. A curse leaves his mouth as his eyes snap open and looks down towards his weeping cock. His head is red and swollen, angry that he’s stopped jerking himself off. A vein on his neck twitches in irritation as he presses the button on his desk. Instantly, a speaker clicks and your voice returns, “Mr. O’Hara?”
“Get. In. Here.” He grounds out, releasing his finger off the button.
In less then a few seconds, your shy face peaks into his office, slowly walking in and closing the door behind you. You fidget with your fingers as you stand in front of his desk. He has to keep down a moan as you bite your lipstick-stained lips as you blink your eyes at him.
“Is there anything I can do for you Mr. O’Hara?”
“Yes. Get over here.” He instantly responds, pushing his chair out slightly. 
With a confused look, you start to round his desk before you stop. A scarlet blush covers your face as you see his hard erection out in the open. Your eyes can’t look away from it, your mouth dropping open slightly. Miguel’s chuckle pulls your eyes away bashfully, a smirk on his face when you look up at him. He makes a little come here gesture with his hand, and you hesitantly start walking towards him again. When you get close enough, his hands grab your waist and pull you in between his legs. 
A small yelp leaves your mouth and your hands shoot up to hold onto his shoulder so you don’t fall over. You look down at Miguel with widened eyes, looking like a deer caught in headlights. One of Miguel’s hands leaves your waist, reaching up and playing with one of your curls. The strand coils around his fingers, and he gives it a slight tug that has you gasping. 
“You know, you’re such a fucking tease.” Miguel chuckles out, a lazy smirk covering his face.
“Always wearing these practically see-through blouses,” His hand leaves your hair and he comes to unbutton the top button of your shirt. “No use wearing them when they don’t cover anything up.”
A sharp gasp escapes your lips as he grabs the top of your blouse, tugging hard so it rips open and buttons can be heard flying and falling to the ground. The cool air causes goosebumps to rise on your exposed skin, looking down to see your white bra revealed to your boss. Quickly, your hands reach up to try to cover yourself up again, but you’re stopped by Miguel gripping onto your wrists. You’re eyes snap up to him as he growls at you. 
He pushes your hands away, staring intently at you. Your bra pushes your boobs together, almost offering them to him. He lets out a groan as his mouth wraps around where your nipple would be. A startled sound leaves you and your hands instinctively fall to his hair as your face drops down to him. Miguel’s eyes are closed as he sucks and licks the fabric of your bra, pulling away to reveal a spot wet with his saliva. 
Impatient, Miguel grabs your hips and spins you around. You trip on your heels, your chest falling onto his desk. Your hands grab at the ledge for support, causing objects to be pushed off the edge and fall to the ground. Your body jolts further onto the desk as you feel Miguel push up against you from behind.
Miguel grabs your hair, pulling your chest off the surface of the desk. His warm breath meets your ear and you shiver. “Mr. O”Hara! W-we can’t do this. You’re my boss.”
The little chuckle he lets out makes you feel small and it causes warmth to rush to your core. A nervous breath escapes your mouth as Miguel pushes your skirt up to your waist. Your knuckles turn white as your grip on the desk tightens, body tensing as Miguel’s fingers brush over the damp spot on your panties. 
“How dirty. You like this don’t you, dirty little slut wanting to get fucked by her boss’s cock.” Miguel’s voice is teasing, pushing your panties to the side to feel your pussy lips. 
“We can’t…” You try to voice again, your voice is small as your body pushes itself more into his fingers. 
“But we can, it’s in the job description, remember?” Miguel replies simply, finger slowly pushing into you. “You’re supposed to meet my every need.”
A soft moan leaves your mouth as his fingers curl slightly, pressing into your gummy walls. You bite your lip, squinting your eyes at the door in an effort to stop more noises from surfacing. You can taste coppery blood on your tongue, teeth biting through your lip. You look away from the door, looking over your shoulder the best you can with Miguel’s hand still in your hair. “Yes, but this isn’t… this isn’t part of those needs.” 
Miguel hums, ignoring your small gasp as he slides his fingers out to rip your panties off. He shoves them into his pocket for safekeeping before his hand spreads against your back, pushing you back onto the desk. “Huh, guess you just missed it then.”
A sharp gasp leaves you as he thrusts into you unexpectedly. Miguel lets out a deep moan, watching the way your entrance swallows him perfectly. Your walls pulse around him and he grits his teeth. He pulls back to the tip, snapping his hips into you again. Your body slides up at the force, and his hands grab your waist to pull you back towards him. He continues the action, pushing himself deep into your throbbing cunt. You lose hope in trying to stop yourself from moaning, your noises filling his office. 
“Such a pretty little whore, yeah? Lettin’ me use you like this.” Miguel laughs, watching as your body squirms under him. Your moans are absolute music to his ears, encouraging him to speed up his thrusts. Your body keeps pushing into him, desperate for everything he’s giving you. 
“Can’t with those pretty fucking voices. Had me fucking my hand earlier to the sound of your slutty little voice.” His confession causes a broken moan to leave you. You can’t really think clearly, too consumed in the way his hands hold you tightly and how his cock brushes up against that sweet spot inside you. 
Miguel lets out a curse as you clench around him, his hand coming down to play with your clit. It has you jolting in his hands, your mouth mumbling incoherent words. His other hand reaches up and grabs the front of your neck, applying slight pleasure that causes you to whimper. He bends over you, causing him to push deeper and for your walls to spasm. You’re close, you don't know how long you’ll last with him hitting your g-spot and his hand pinching and teasing your bud. 
“Yeah? You like that, nena? Gonna cum all over my cock?” His words are cooed in your ear and you can’t help the small nod your head does in response. 
Your agreement causes Miguel to grunt, quickening his fingers to press tight circles to your clit. Stuttering gasps leave your mouth, eyes rolling back as you feel that pressure about to explode. With a sharp flick of his fingers and his hold tightening on your throat, you cry out his name as you explode. His hand leaves your throat, your head slumping forward to rest on the desk as he continues to thrust into you. Your body spasms as he doesn’t let up on your clit. You don’t think he even hears your sobs, begging for him to stop as his thrusts turn sloppy. Your pleads are drowned out by his heavy moans as he snaps his hips into you desperately, hand wrapping your hair around his fist as he desperately tries to finish. 
With a grumbling grunt, his hips snap forward and still. A weak moan leaves your lips as you feel his warm seed fill you. Miguel’s heavy pants mix with yours, trying to catch his breath as his hands slide to your hips. He pulls out of you with a hiss, collapsing onto his office chair that groans with his sudden weight. He watches with a soft moan as a mix of cum follows after his cock, white liquid leaving your entrance and running down your thigh. A small whimper leaves you as you feel it, looking over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s hungry eyes. 
After a few minutes, Miguel grunts and reaches for a few tissues from the tissue box on his desk. He wipes off the cum from your skin, throwing away the napkins and pulling your skirt back over you. Hesitantly, you stand back up again, fixing your hair quickly while clearing your throat. You don’t meet Miguel’s eyes right away, looking at your heels on the floor before trailing up to his face. He still has a cocky smile on his face as he tucks his cock back into his pants. He gently guides you to the side of his desk, grabbing the file and pen that fell. 
You watch in shock as he opens it, beginning to work as if he didn’t just fuck you over his desk seconds ago. He chuckles at your shocked expression, not looking up from his work. “Be a doll and get me a coffee, yeah?”
Your mouth falls open more at his casual request. You blink at him, before straightening up and fixing up your blouse the best you can. You reply with a curt ‘yes, sir’, before you begin walking towards the door. The breeze between your legs makes you stop before you exit, warmth flooding your cheeks as you slowly turn around. 
“Um, Mr. O’Hara,” You don’t look at him as you clear your throat, “Can I have my panties back, please?”
Even with his face turned towards his desk, you can see the small smile on his face, “Don’t know what you mean, I’m afraid.” 
Your eyes widen and you resist the urge to stomp your foot like a child. You nod, letting out a deep breath as you clench your hands. As you open the door and are about to close it, your annoying ass boss calls out: “Two sugars.”
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Reverse AU Part 1.5 Part 2
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wss-studio · 9 months
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Polished oak Floor-standing Speakers—showing the beauty of nature|Solid ...
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akinternational · 2 years
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The Premium Compact Wireless Speaker Your Music Deserves Mu-so Qb 2nd Generation is the latest member of the award-winning Mu-so wireless music system family. Re-engineered from the ground up to create our best compact wireless music system yet.
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