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wandasfifthwife · 21 days

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natasha romanoff x fem!reader

tw: SMUT MDNI, top!natasha, bottom!reader, dom/sub elements(dom!n & sub!r), restraint kink (n in handcuffs), slight age gap (4 years), very slight tiny bit of plot (beginning summary), established relationship (married), natasha is packing, strap is called her “dick,” strap in v (r receiving), lotus position, marking kink, overstim if you squint, kitchen floor sex, not proofread!

a/n: 1.3k words of smut!!

It’s not fair.

Natasha had come home one night, greeting you with a kiss. You had reached for her shirt and tilted your head to kiss her again. It wasn’t long before she had you pressed into the counter, careful of the stove beside you. That’s when she wasn’t playing fair. Mumbling against your lips about how she wants to fuck you before the retched ringtone interrupted her.

She’s since been busy with work calling her in what felt like every few hours. It’s because of the latest mission concerns her, almost infecting her like an addition with how often she’s gone.

You both have careers, but comparatively, hers is more demanding, forcing her to be flexible. It also forces her to give up time with you, sometimes having to leave during her time with you; Time she said that’ll be left alone, sacred for the two of you only to share. She had you laid on your back, cold fingers sliding under your shirt. In that moment you really believed you wouldn’t get interrupted. Judging by how she was taking her time, she did too.

“Need you, please—I need you, please.”

She shushes you, raking her nails down your waist, “take your pants off for me.”

You’ve never been quicker, fingers untying the string in a hurry to push them down your legs. She surged forward, lips finding yours and hands tugging your hips closer to hers.

A whine tumbled from you, grinding down onto her thigh.

“Oh, feels so—“ you stop halfway, feeling your heart drop into your stomach at the sound that had filled the air. She didn’t seem to care, rubbing your cunt down onto her clothed thigh.

“I have to answer my phone,” she whispers, pushing off you.

“What?”

She slides to the edge of the bed, reaching to get ahold of her phone from her back pocket. Already the sheets felt colder, missing her warmth. You just missed her, entirely too much. Your fingers are boring and underwhelming after using them for the past week.

When you had gotten married, ceremony held four years ago, you had spent more time together. It’s only been this year that she’s been away more than she’s been home. Even in the years before—during the get to know you and dating stage—she was around then. You understood why, but also why was she giving her attention to her job and not you?

“Sorry,” she leans back on one hand to place a kiss on your shoulder, “I’ll be back, this shouldn’t take long.”

Her statement turned out to be false, but it was nice to be lulled into a false sense of hope. Neither are actually nice, but you‘re thankful she came home safely and before two AM. The kitchen was warm, remnants of what you had just finished baking remaining.

“What’s all this for?”

“Work event, required to bring a dish in.”

She hums, “how many are you making?”

“This is all,” you gesture, “I finished like twenty minutes ago, I think.”

“Well it smells nice, I’m sure they’ll love it.”

You thank her, struggling to fight off the laugh as you wait for her to turn around. She was taken aback when you snatch her wrists, the click sound of them latching shocking her. You’re laughing despite the look she was giving you, despite the way she kept backing up when you got closer.

“No, don’t— why?”

You’re laughing, finally able to lean your head onto her shoulder, “so you can’t answer this.”

She looks pissed when you set her phone on a platform she can’t reach for; the surface too high in comparison from where her arms were kept. Hugging her now felt weird, a phantom sensation forming to compensate for the lack of hands wrapping around you.

“It’s been long enough.”

“It’s only been a minute, let me have my fun.”

She rolls her eyes but it’s all for show. Her smile growing at the sound of your amusement.

“I haven’t heard much from you.”

“I’ve been meaning to, just haven’t had the time.”

A pout forms on your face, “I know and it’s sad, I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you too, not these antics.”

You laugh again, cupping her face to pull her into a kiss. Her lips are chapped from the cold, the sensation of it feeling all too similar to home. The look in her eyes after she bit at your bottom lip was enough, the two of you ending up on the kitchen floor.

Her back was against the cabinet door, shirt slowly ridden up from when she slid down onto the ground with you in tow. Your legs were straddled over hers, chest bare and pressed into hers. Your head was tilted back, a shaky gasp escaping you when she kissed that spot on your neck.

“Grind on me,” she says gently, adjusting her hips forward. With your hands on her shoulders, you adjust your hips so they hover over hers, moaning when you feel her press onto your clit.

“Oh! You’re—?”

She doesn’t say anything but her upturned grin gives her away. You’re circling your hips with a whimper, begging her. You were soaked, every press of her against you pushed you further towards your high already. The second she gives the green light, you’re unbuttoning her pants.

“Spread your legs more,” she emphasizes her words by jerking one knee up to hit the underside of your thigh. The ground hurts your knees and you’re sure bruises are forming, but you’re too worked up to care.

“Can I? Please—I need you.”

She nods, eyes trained on your face and how it contorts in pleasure once you’ve begun to sink down onto her length. You struggle to take the entirety of her dick, two inches laying untouched.

“I cant—ah!—I can’t.”

“Shh you can—just relax, you’re too tight.”

She was right. Once you’ve focused on her, your walls greedily took every inch in. Your mind was a mess, fuzzy and overstimulated pushing you to only think about her. She’s quiet, nosing at your neck and breathing heavily at how her strap presses against her clit with each downwards thrust of your hips.

Nails press into the back of her neck from how tight you’re holding onto her. The wet sounds of where the two of you collided was entirely too much, and you wanted more. The sound decidedly much better than her phone ringtone that you’ve grown to recognize after the first note.

“Fuck,” you curse breathily, bottoming out to grind her length, feeling her brush against your walls. With the jerk of her hips, it brings her to press against the spot that makes you feel like you’re going to black out. Your finger swirling your clit moves faster, pressure building in your stomach.

She’s leaned her head against the cabinet, attention shifting between your face, tits, and where she’s completely shoved inside you. It’s a mess between her thighs, mind melted with each movement and sound you make.

When your sounds pitch higher, less control over them and sounding raw, she knows you’re close. You’re squirming on her lap, pace sloppy and messy as you reach your climax. It’s beautiful watching your lips drop open in a silent scream, body shaking on top of hers. You kiss her, moaning into her mouth.

“Love you,” you murmur, body relaxing into her.

“Love you more.”

The both of your heavy breathing fills the air as you reach for the key to unlock the cuffs. They fall to the ground with a solid clang. Her hands slide under your thighs, pushing you close and lifting you. You’re on another dimension, thankful she’s in a clearer state than you to get you two off the ground.

“Where’d you get the handcuffs?”

“Don’t remember,” you say into her shirt, excitement growing between your legs when you realize she’s taking you to the bedroom. The door shuts behind you, leaving her ringing phone in the kitchen.

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wh1msic4alwasab1 · 26 days

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𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐭 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐝 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𓇗

synopsis: stuck in a tent with luocha after he gives you the wrong meds

tags: aphrodisiacs, dom/switch!reader, riding, thigh riding, vulgar, explicit. dubcon(?)

wrd cnt: 1k+

a/n: need luocha in a way that’ll put me in the ward

You huff, your head hitting the pillow underneath you.

“Something wrong?” Your partner asks you.

“No…I just have a headache, it won’t go away” You pout, rubbing your temples.

It was probably your dehydration, or stress, or both.

The two of you were on a mission to get some materials, and camped out overnight before heading to the area.

A small fire illuminated your camp outside which you could see from the small crack you left open in the tent, where you and Luocha sat.

“I have something that can help”.

You sprung up, “Really?”

Of course he did, he was always prepared for anything.

Nodding with a smile, he handed you a small, cream colored vial with small pieces of flora. It smelled like Vanilla.

Luocha noticed the aroma, quickly looking up as you chugged the bottle.

“Wait-“ He said, his hand reaching out to stop you, but he was too late.

You freaked, thinking he gave you poison or something on accident.

“What- WHAT?! Am I gonna die…What did you give me-?!” Frantically, you leaned toward him, begging for answers to soothe your delusions.

He gulped, looking as if he was too embarrassed to tell you what you just drank.

“It won’t kill you. It’s just flat leaved vanilla and rose water.”

Your look of confusion and his avoidance of eye contact didn’t answer much.

“Oh…Then why’d you make a big deal out of it? Do you still have any pain meds?” You ask.

“I do. It’s just that….that concoction you drank is typically used as an…aphrodisiac.” He says too calmly.

You break the silence, hours seemed to have gone by in those long couple of seconds.

“You really believe in that herbal medicine stuff? Pfft- It’s probably just a placebo effect.”

That’s what you had believed. Had.

What you couldn’t believe was the heat that started somehow radiating through your body.

First, you thought it was just the fire burning a little too bright.

Then, you started taking off some clothing.

A jacket, then your sleeves, leaving you in just an undershirt. You felt as if a warm liquid was coating all your organs and expanding all the vessels in your blood.

“Y/n? Are you feeling already?” He asked calmly.

You wipe the small beads of sweat off your forehead, and try to go outside to get some of the cool night air on your skin.

Worried for your wellbeing, Luocha grabs your arm before you leave the tent, “Where are you going? It’s dangerous to go out alone.”

His hand felt like the coolness you needed.

As if you couldn’t hold yourself back, you leaped into him, lips pressed together.

You felt as if your face had been extinguished, as if steam would surface off your lips and burn his.

You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him deeper, moaning into his mouth. Luocha was taken aback at first, but soon his hands were roaming all over your body, his kiss matching your urgency.

“We- We can't do this here y/n” he managed to say between kisses, trying to pull away but you only reeled him back in.

“We can’t do this here, or at all?,” you whispered, your voice dripping with desire as you grinded your lower half on his thigh, feeling your folds get slippery against him.

“I meant…we shouldn’t”, he says, his eyebrows twitching as your hand starts to palm his cock as you sit on top of him.

“Why not…? No one’s here…no one has to know”. You say against his lips, kissing them again as you feel him get harder under your hand.

“Y/n- But we…” he groans as you start to kiss his neck, leaving love bites all over with your hand in his blonde locks, earning his approval as his hand snakes under your ass and grinds your own hips against him harder.

You decide to take matters into your own hands, or mouth, as you start to kiss your way down his chest and open his pants, freeing his already hard length. Without hesitation, you take him into your mouth and start to suck, feeling him twitch and moan above you.

“Y/n…I can’t…I can’t do this….we need to stop…”. His words are weak and unconvincing as you continue to suck and swirl your tongue around him, feeling him grow even harder.

You pull away and look up at him, “Do you really want to stop?” You ask, your voice sultry and full of lust.

You can see the struggle on his face, but eventually, he gives in and pulls you up to kiss you, his hands roaming all over your body. He quickly strips off the rest of your clothes and does the same.

“Fuck….” He mumbles under his breath, your naked body splayed open over him, all the consequences seemed to drift away as soon as he leaned back, elbows on the hard tent surface as he watches you slide your cunt along his shaft, getting your slick all over his pre-cum leaking cock before sinking down slowly.

As he entered you, you both gasp in pleasure, the concoction working its magic as you both move together in a rhythm that leaves you both huffing and moaning each other's names.

His hands grip your hips, guiding you up and down at a steady pace as you lean down to kiss him, tongues swirling in a passionate dance.

“You feel so good…so warm,” he whispers against your lips, his breath hot against your skin. You smirk and quicken your pace, feeling his cock hit the perfect spot inside you.

“Do you like that?” You say, knowing he can't resist your teasing ways.

He growls in response, flipping you over so you're under him, his hands gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head. “You know I do” He spouts against your ear. You moan in pleasure and submission, your body tingling with pleasure at his words and display of power.

He begins to move faster, his hips slamming into yours, sending you both into a frenzy of ecstasy with his mouth latched onto your nipple, every feeling more intense now. Your moans and cries only encourage him, knowing he's driving you closer and closer to the edge. His pace made it seem as if he was the one to drink front the vial.

“Come for me,” he whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. And with those words, you both reach your climax, the pleasure coursing through your bodies and overwhelming your senses. You collapse in a sweaty and satisfied heap, panting and trying to catch your breath after squirting all over his cock.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

#jo’s posts #luocha #hsr luocha #luocha smut #luocha honkai star rail #hsr #hsr smut #honkai #honkai smut #honkai fic #hsr fic

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heliads · 8 months

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speak now (or forever hold your peace)

Charles Leclerc finds himself waiting on someone in a church. All of their friends and family are here, but the only person he can think about, the person he's here for, is Y/N L/N.

masterlist

warnings: marriage, death, angst, pining

They say there’s only two main reasons someone would invite this many people to a church: a wedding or a funeral. A morbid phrase, certainly, but somehow fitting, as all uncomfortable sayings are. Charles, for one, knows exactly why he’s here today, and the other option is something he doesn’t even want to think about. Not today. Not ever.

There are many churches in Monaco, but only one would work today. It’s the one right down the street from where both of them lived, him and Y/N, up until the point where Charles started racing and let fast cars and extended contracts take him far, far away from the place that used to be theirs.

Now he’s back again. Say what you will about fate or destiny, but it does seem to have a clear message. No matter how long Charles runs, he will always circle around far enough to find himself back home.

That’s the wrong message for today and he knows it. Today is not for thoughts on racing, today is for him and Y/N, Y/N and him. He’s known her since they were both too small to talk but just big enough to know they were meant to be best friends, and now they’re hovering on opposite sides of a church neither of them have really orbited until now.

Y/N’s parents chose the church, and God knows they’re in over their heads enough as is, so Charles won’t spare another thought towards the location. The place of this event is, of course, insignificant in the long run. What matters most is the life he leads afterwards.

And what a life indeed. Looking back on it later, and even caught up in the frenetic moment of now, Charles will evenly divide his memories up into two distinct segments: before this day, and after it.

The before is marvelous. Childhood friends– they’re better than anyone else, really. Your family loves you because they have to, but your friends choose you because they want to, and that made all the difference. Y/N knew more about Charles than anyone else on this earth who wasn’t a direct blood relation, and despite everything, she still chose him.

It makes no sense, really. How do you grow up watching a boy become obsessed with a team that’ll never let him win a world championship, who will drag away hope just to hold it tantalizingly close, and still believe in him? Charles calls her after every race, the good and the bad, just to hear her voice. Anyone else would get tired of him, but not Y/N. Never Y/N.

It had taken him forever to realize that he loved her. Strange that he didn’t know it until he was old enough to move out of home, but Charles always thought of it like a guarantee, that even if he had nothing he had Y/N, so maybe it was only after they were separated for the first time that he could truly figure it out.

Charles had made her cry when he left. She’d tried not to let the tears out, not in front of him, but he saw the telltale traces of her sadness when he was saying farewell, about to board the plane. Charles had never felt so bad about anything in his entire life, knowing he’d caused Y/N grief, but conversely, nothing ever felt so good as when he’d returned at the end of the season and she’d sprinted into his arms at the airport, back together at last.

On that day, her head tucked under his chin, both of them physically as close as they could possibly get under the circumstances, Charles finally realized what he knows now in excess: he was utterly in love with Y/N L/N, and he always would be.

Right now, the separation between them consists of the white walls of this church and the crowds they’re in. Charles is with his family, and Y/N is with hers, but after this, there will be no more divisions, not really, just the crowd of we-were-here that will make them whole.

Charles knows where he is, and there is, of course, the knowledge that Y/N is somewhere in this very building, just a few doors down but somehow utterly unreachable until the ceremony begins. He hasn’t seen her all day today, actually. Has no idea what she’s even wearing. She’s been prettied up by now, no doubt, a perfect picture of everything he loves, but he will not know until it all starts.

Charles already knows that he’s going to cry when he sees her, and he tells his mother as much. She clucks her tongue knowingly, then says something about how he always was her emotional boy, even when he was a child. It’s not a bad thing, not always. Sometimes, on days like today, it lets you know that you love someone, and he does love someone. He loves her.

Someone coughs, and Charles flinches slightly, jerking upright and back to reality, out of his head. This is an important day. He’s not going to mess it up just because he was thinking about the past. All he has now is the future, years and years of things that haven’t happened yet and happy memories that he will be blessed to make.

Charles casts a look around the room. His best mates are here with him still, wearing what appears to be the same black suit and trousers. They never officially picked out what they’d wear together, but formalwear always tends to look similar anyway. Not his fault they all have the same taste in suit jackets.

One of his friends from back home stands up, claps him on the shoulder. “You ready to go out there?”

Charles swallows hard, then nods. The sooner it starts, the sooner he gets to the after. He lets his friends go out first, follows them blindly through the innards of a church he hasn’t been to since he was small. He’s half sure that if he just looks hard enough, glances in the periphery of his vision before the ghosts can flicker out of his sight, he’ll catch a glimpse of him and Y/N, shorter than waist height, running from their parents to hide in one of the Sunday school classrooms to laugh and laugh until they were found again.

Instead, Charles keeps his eyes resolutely ahead. The smell of flowers grows almost overpowering the closer he gets to the front of the building, and when his friends pull open the doors to the main room, it’s the first thing he notices, the dozens of sprays of lilies and roses, so many petals that it looks like freshly fallen snow.

His feet slow down once he’s inside, and Charles feels all eyes on him as he processes down the aisle behind his friends. He can see Y/N’s parents already there, front row, then his parents across the aisle from them, his brothers further down the pew. Everyone who knew the two of them are here now, and dry eyes have already started to sparkle.

Charles blinks and he’s at the front of the sanctuary. He looks up at the cross suspended from the wall, breathes in and out quickly, and then he turns and he sees her at last. Y/N, wearing white, but Y/N, perfectly still. Y/N, dead so young, because he is not here for a wedding nor a birth or any kind of happy festivity, but for her funeral.

His knees almost buckle. It takes everything in him to stand over her coffin, to look at her closed eyes and understand that they will never open again. Charles manages to stumble over to his family’s pew and sit down, listening blankly as the members of the church arrive and begin to speak on Y/N’s life, which somehow, impossibly, is already over and done.

Charles can still feel the stares even as speeches are given, memories are shared. They’ve told him that, although this pain is fresh and raw, he’ll be able to get over it in time, because they were both young, and he at least had plenty more years to enjoy even if she didn’t. They click their tongues at him like he’s a child, and express their sympathies. He wants to scream at all of them for not understanding, but of course that would make him seem even more juvenile than before, so he holds his tongue and attempts to keep the tears at bay. It doesn’t entirely work.

Charles knows a lot, actually, more than anyone gives him credit for. He knows what it’s like to sink your whole life into a job that will never give you back anything but your own blood and sweat and tears. He knows what it’s like to love, what it’s like to lose, and exactly how agonizing it feels to sit at the funeral of your best friend, your girlfriend, the woman you should have lived forever with and will now never get the chance.

Those who would speak have by now, and people start to file from the church again. Charles does not move a muscle, even as his friends and then his family start to shuffle around, fix their clothes, and get up. The tracks of tears are still hot and fresh on his face, so his mother presses a hand briefly to his shoulder and hands him a tissue before directing his brothers to go on without him.

Charles stays there, watching everyone else depart the room, and he wonders how he is ever supposed to get up and live his life without the one girl who has always been there for him. There has never been any world in which he did not have Y/N with him, and now she is lost to him forever. It is grievously unfair and completely out of his control. He has already been to too many funerals. This one is too final a blow to bear.

Charles is the last one to leave the funeral service. Y/N’s family is kind enough to give him a few moments alone with her in the church. He doesn’t deserve it, not more than them, who had her for longer than he ever did, who knew the secrets he never got to ask about.

Charles Leclerc sits alone in the church, he clasps his hands together so tightly that the blood rushes out of them from the sheer force of his prayer, and he thinks,

I wish I had married you.

a/n hahahahhaa

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc oneshot #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 oneshot #formula one #formula one imagines #formula one x reader #formula one oneshot #f1 charles #f1 charles imagines #f1 charles x reader #f1 charles oneshot

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arabaka · 1 year

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ gojo satoru x fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! recorded sex. ass play. pet names used: baby, princess, gorgeous, good girl, etc. mention of belly bulge. DADDY KINK. creampie. WORD COUNT: 2.7K PSD CREDIT !!!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!!!!! ✧(🝦言🝦╬)

Gojo Satoru loves movies.

He loves watching them, but not as much as he loves making them.

"Just like that– hah, just look at you, my pretty baby." Cerulean blues obscured by his blindfold, Gojo stares at you in wonder of how someone like you is with someone like him… And so good to him to boot. You on the bed, him standing right by the edge– it’s the perfect scene.

He’s spoiled with choices– just where should he look? He could watch your pussy grind on his fingers, your hole twitching around him and gushing slick in tandem with his pumps. Or he can look back, watch your face for those delicious expressions of pure ecstasy when he crooks his fingers along the very spot that makes you sing and cry. Both views pinnacles of perfection but he ultimately decides to look right into the camera, his phone on a tripod, and watch himself finger that tight little pussy he’s taken to calling his.

Your ass winds back, back arching when you feel Gojo fill you to his knuckles, popping another finger in for good measure because you just give him the prettiest sighs when he does. You know better than to hide anything from him so even though you want to bury your face in your silk sheets, let the mattress swallow all your guttural noises, you stay on all fours with your legs trembling ever so slightly. Your stomach flutters when his hand comes to dip along your spine, palm still flat when he reaches the plush roundness of your bottom. He gives you a good shake for the camera, grinning wide as he watches your ass jiggle in the viewfinder. “So good and all for me, yeah?” Gojo’s voice always carries, he’s just naturally loud like that but there’s a certain air of showmanship woven into his words that makes it clear this is a performance and he’s going to savor this film for months to come.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Your ass stings under the weight of Gojo’s spankings, his large hands covering so much of you your knees are almost buckling from the intensity. He’s up to three fingers now, scissoring so deep inside you that your gummy walls shake all around him. His thumb, just as eager for action, tenderly starts to prod into your asshole, getting your taut little rim to pucker for him just like your trained cunt. “This mine too?” He phrases it like a question but it’s completely rhetorical. Of course it’s his. Of course you belong to him.

You squeak, incapable of seeing, knowing, what Gojo has in store for you but that just makes it all the more thrilling. Your folds are dripping with arousal, shivering in the cool air. He notices your goosebumps because nothing escapes the attention of the Gojo Satoru. “Feeling cold, baby? Need me to warm you up?” He never needs to ask twice but you hesitate, lids fluttering like crazy when you start to feel his thumb probe further into your cute, but still resisting, asshole. “Relax for me,” He’s so soft spoken with you when the time’s right, “Open up for Daddy.”

Well, that’ll do it.

Just the name gets you going, sparks flying in your brain until it feels like melted mush, but you’re treated to an even greater pleasure when Gojo finally gets his thumb in, the fatter digit slowly coaxing the taut ring into letting him in deeper and deeper. He hasn’t forgotten about your pussy, those fingers are still pumping you nice and full you are dripping down your thighs. It gives such a gorgeous shine for the camera. He just can’t tear his eyes away.

You’re seeing stars, no– whole galaxies when your vision starts to falter, the haze of the overwhelming pressure pulsing from your legs finally settling in. You hear your heart thump, thump, thump in your ears; you think it’s so loud, there’s no way Gojo isn’t privy to it. And you’d be right.

“Got you crazy for me and I haven’t even fucked you proper yet.” Gojo’s chuckling, chest light but also drumming as you start to crumple all around him. The cavern of your cunt closes in around his fingers, the suction making him want to drill harder into you. You can take it right? He wants to see you come undone from just his fingers but god, his cock is beating against the confines of his work pants and briefs it’s almost painful.

So generous as he is, he makes you an offer. “Wanna cum on my fingers, baby? Or you want Daddy’s cock?” He gives a flashy, smug smirk to the camera. The bastard.

“C-Cock, your cock! Please, please, please, please.” Oh, he’s already got you falling apart from three fingers in that desperate cunt of yours and one plugging up your asshole but you need more. You need him. “Wanna feel your cock, Daddy.” You never sound better than when you’re begging, Gojo thinks.

He’s so sweet but first he’s a little cruel with how fast his fingers vacate your holes, taking a second and then two and then three to admire how appetizing it looks to see your holes gasp around nothing but air, wondering where all that pressure went. “So fuckin’ sweet for me. Okay princess, I’ll give ya what you want.”

You move like a weakened animal, crawling on your hands and knees with thighs wobbling from the sudden absence of pleasure. It’s a delicious sight. Too delicious to waste.

“Hold on.” In the middle of cleaning his hands, Gojo’s orders are swift and you dare to whine, but you already know your meek protesting is going to get you nowhere. Your back tenses when you feel his hand start to follow the slope of your spine, his palm treated to goosebumps that quickly prickle your body. His fingers tenderly cup your chin, directing you to look at him in an angle that benefits both him and the camera. “Why don’t you show the camera the mess we made?”

His eyes are still hidden by his blindfold and that’s by design; he doesn’t want his plan spoiled by the telltale mischievous glint in his eyes.

He helps you to your feet, ushering you in front of him and helps himself to fondling your breasts, giving you a well deserved groan as he deepens his massage and takes to pinching your nipples for good measure. You always give him the prettiest moans when he does and you don’t disappoint this time either. Your nipples harden as his fingertips tweak and tug, rousing a pitiful mewl each time he does.

You feel his smirk along the shell of your ear before his teeth come out to play and you can’t help but jerk your hips back, gasping when you feel his erection right up your asscheeks. “Gojo,” You can barely utter above a whisper, “Please… Need you.”

“Yeah, yeah, just let Daddy see ya for a little bit longer.” He steals a kiss from you while you’re looking up at him for help, help he won’t give you. Not yet.

Gojo starts to drum his fingers all along your waist, getting to your hips and giving you a squeeze before his hands start to trickle down to your cunt. You’re so wet, so drenched in your juices. It’s a shame he doesn’t get to taste you tonight, but you’re sure to satisfy him anyways. “Go ahead and spread that around for me, huh gorgeous?” Gojo’s purrs have your brain electrified, the shock going right to your trembling clit, your bundle of nerves so desperate to be satiated.

But you listen to Gojo, you always do– you start to tend to your swollen nub, a wave of pleasure falling over you as you do. Your lashes come together, eyes closing as you continue your fine-tuned ministrations, grinding into your own touch and giving Gojo the performance he wants.

All the while, you don’t realize Gojo has fished his engorged and hungry cock from his pants and underwear, both articles still on because the idea of taking you, all naked and bare for him while he’s still in uniform does something to him. He takes a peek at the tripod, grinning when he finds you so lost in your masturbation. Perfect.

He is massive. He’s as long as he is wide; his dick’s the stuff of dreams. Pre-cum is already seeping from the slit atop his bulbous tip and he’s so needy for you, you can tell by the way he jerks his thick foreskin up and over the head to spread the lubrication. Not that he needs it– your cunt is crying for him.

“You ready for me baby?” His hot breath on your ear lights your skin on fire and you can’t nod fast enough. “Not gonna go easy on you.” His murmuring comes with a bite, and it isn’t a threat but a promise.

With his hands on your waist and guiding you, you lean back– impatient for his cock. “Do you ever?” Your reply rides on a lofty exhale when you feel him at your entrance. You start to lower yourself onto Gojo’s shaft. Bottom lip squeezed between your teeth and breath stagnant, you open for him. Your pussy hole pulsates, stretching over the dome of his cockhead until he’s in and he’s so dense. You aren’t even past the ridge of his glans yet, that’s how packed he is.

“Godddddd— fuckin’ tight.” The groan that comes from the back of his throat is carnal. No matter how many times he’s fucked that cunt of yours into submission, written his name in strings of searing hot and white cum, you still possess that same pressure that drives him absolutely insane. “C’mon baby, open up for me.” He starts to rut into you, cock twitching and inching its way inside you until your walls are wrapping around the density of his dick and kissing the veins that ornate his length. “There you go, there you go. My good girl taking me in so well. Like Daddy taught ya.” He coos, knowing just how to stroke your praise kink in all the right ways.

Your gasp gives way to a chorus of lovely moans, Satoru thrown in when your ass rubs against his pelvis, your hole having taking Gojo all the way to the hilt. He fills you out, fills you up so perfectly. You don’t know how you do it; the man is much bigger than you, stronger than you but instead of splitting you in two in pain, he only gives you euphoria.

You can stay like this, you think– take him like this, on your feet with him standing behind you but Gojo has something different in mind and you are none the wiser.

The hands at your waist now jerk you back and in one fell swoop, Gojo lands on the bed, dragging you with him and with him still fully sheathed inside you. The force pushes a cry right from your chest and your legs bounce apart, hooking just over Gojo’s. The end result? Your pretty pussy, folds sticky and glossy with webs from your slick, on full display for the camera (and for Gojo’s later viewing pleasure).

Oh and he doesn’t stop there. Your Gojo Satoru is a menace; you’ve known this from the moment you laid eyes on him. Now his hands are squeezing you, hoisting you up and down on his cock in such a brutal way but he’s wiping your vision clean. He’s not giving you any room to even think about anything else. He wants you dumb and drunk on his cock and my god, he’s going to get you there.

“Sa- Sa- Satoru!” Your voice bobbing with every thrust inside you, volume trying to compete with the loud squelches erupting from where his cock is pummeling into your cunt. You were already sopping wet, droplets of your essence running down your legs but now it’s flying everywhere.

“Baby, didn’t you want this cock so badly just a moment ago? Why you cryin’ now?” The teasing comes with a lick to your earlobe, an appetizer before he launches an all out assault on your neck, nipping and sucking with the goal of raising your flesh to cry out for him. It works; your skin blooms just a beautiful shade for him, a color only he can paint you.

Your groans die out– all you can do is whimper now, arms flailing out to grab something for support. Oh, you need help don’t you? Gojo will take care of you. He constricts you with his arms around your abdomen. You can feel his bulging muscles even from under his work jacket and that just stirs the flame of pleasure at your core even more.

He’s merciless, bullying your cunt as it weeps all over him. Who cares about his clothes getting dirty? It wouldn’t be the first time and it sure as hell won’t be the last. His cock goes in and out of your hole, pushing his way in and making your insides feel like mush. There’s a very defined line showing just where his cock is inside you; it’s shifting up and down, up and down on your stomach and you’d be able to see it so clearly on the video… If you could see clearly at all, that is.

Your vision is still hazy, eyes constantly rolling back with your lips permanently parted while your jaw is slack. You’re too wrought with pleasure to care about the way you look– which is fucked stupid. You can barely get your tongue rolling with his name. Satoru keeps getting broken down to mere syllables.

You’re wrecked with his cock.

“Like that baby? Like the way Daddy fills you up? Say this pussy is mine, baby– say it, I know you can.” Gojo demands in the middle of sloppy kisses and licks up your neck and to your cheek, the skin shining with his spit but you still look like a goddess. A goddess fallen, anyways.

“Y-Yes, yes, yes! Sososososososo good, nnngh – haa, haa – don’t stop, please, don’t stop!” The two of you are making the walls shake with your ruckus: Gojo’s cock pumping in and out of you, a heavenly mixture of your essence with his pre-cum sloshing and splattering everywhere, and your cries of deep, erotic bliss.

He’s fucking into you at an alarming rate, incapable of slowing down– not when your pussy feels this good. You’re wrapped around him so well; this pussy is molded for him, he thinks. His girth stretches you wide and his length hits you up to your guts. He has your stomach brimming with buzzing butterflies.

The timer on the phone ticks up. There’s seconds that go by and then minutes, Gojo still injecting you full of his swollen cock. You feel his shaft warble inside of you, can feel the veins grind along your wall’s ridges and you know he’s going to cum soon, fast, and hard. “C-Cum inside me, S-Satoru. P-Please, fill me up.” You’re begging, so needy for him to cum because honestly, you’re right on the edge of your own release.

He knows it too, has memorized your body’s subtle language and he’ll give it to you, give his all to you until you know nothing but his cock buried deep inside you. “Gonna give it to you baby, so get ready to fuckin’ take it.” He makes you absolutely fall apart when his hands sloppily cups your folds, fingers messily flicking your clit and pinching before rolling fast circles over the fattened hood.

You cum so fast, your head spins. The cork in your belly pops, your cum cascading down his length and leaving the lap of his slacks a drenched mess. He stuffs your release back into you and using the strength in his arms, holds you nice and steady while he beats his thick cock into you until his balls tighten and you’ve squeezed every stream of cum from the tip. Your walls become so packed with his cum, he’s shot loads and loads so what can you expect?

You are spent, only capable of dizzied pants and a vision that’s flickering at best. But that’s not the send off he wants, now is it?

“Say bye-bye to the camera, love.” He croons in your ear, an impish smile plastered on his features. “Or ya wanna go for round two?”

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for gojo. ꒱

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Easy Does It.

Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Explicit Not SFW, Scaramouche is annoying, Reader’s body is described as AFAB, they both bicker like an old couple... Word count: 7.2k.

You have a triumphant pep in your step as you hop down from the inn’s engawa to where your traveling companion awaits.

He stands beneath a canopy of sakura trees, late in their bloom, yet beautiful nonetheless. Pink petals dance around him in wayward clusters, swaying wherever the breeze blows. It’s an idyllic scene taken straight from the pages of a fairytale. He too appears absorbed with their hypnotizing essence, extending his hand upward and allowing for a lone petal to find its home there. He brings it to his face, studying it closely, an unreadable expression etched onto his countenance when the Electro energy imbued within tickles his fingers.

It could be your imagination, but you get the sense he almost looks sad. Forlorn, even. A strange heaviness haunts the air around him.

You’re about to call out when a twig crunches beneath your feet, alerting him to your presence.

The ethereal mirage fades away faster than if a painter were to take water to their freshly painted canvas.

“Oh, there you are,” The Wanderer greets, his fingers curling inward and crushing the petal within a tight fist. “You sure took your sweet time. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever get you back. Well? Are you just going to stand there and gawk? How’d the ‘negotiations’ go?”

You puff out your cheeks. To think you almost fell for his spell so easily… that mouth of his could easily break you out of any enchantment. Not that you’d have it any other way.

“Behold, you nonbeliever,” you proudly lift and display the keys you secured, its metal reflecting the blood-orange sun. “I told you I’d work something out. We’ve got shelter for the night.”

“Oh? Not bad,” he crosses his arms over his chest, his lips twitching into a smirk. “You have some uses after all. Color me surprised.”

“A simple ‘good job’ would have sufficed. Are all your compliments this backhanded?”

“I wouldn’t know, since I give them so rarely.”

You roll your eyes at that and carry onward, striding past him in the process. The Wanderer blinks, following your form with his eyes, then half-jogging to catch up with you. Unsurprisingly, he wastes no time voicing his dissent over your actions.

“Hey, I know your sense of direction isn’t the best, but the inn is that way,” he juts his thumb toward where you came from. You take a deep breath to prepare yourself. You cherished being lavished in his praise, awful as he is at it, for all of thirty seconds. It’s likely that’ll end here if he isn’t in the most forgiving of moods.

“... About that,” your voice comes out uncharacteristically weak, “They didn’t magically get any openings in the hours since we last asked. I offered for us to get rid of some pesky nobushi—”

He lets out a dissatisfied grunt that you choose to ignore.

“—And in return, they’re letting us use an old house that’s traditionally off-limits, since it’s mostly for storage. Hey, don’t look at me like that! The nobushi job can wait until morning. It beats sleeping out in a storm.”

As if on cue, a low rumble of thunder resounds in the distance. The Wanderer just huffs, your line of reasoning is too solid for him to bother arguing further. You both searched high and low for proper accommodations upon learning a nasty thunderstorm was inbound. Normally, it wouldn’t be so difficult, but there was apparently a festival that had inns in the immediate area stuffed. The tempests in Inazuma were notorious for their ferocity.

“So they lug their pest extermination project on us. What a bore,” The Wanderer yawns at the mere thought. “Humans always want to know what’s in it for them. Our Mora should’ve sufficed.”

You don’t bother replying. He likes getting the last word in and you’ll let him this time.

The house the old couple who ran the inn described to you grows closer with each step. It’s not as dilapidated as you pictured from the outside, a rather quaint-looking abode. The design reminds you of the homes found in Konda Village, boasting a thatch ceiling and a light-colored wood exterior. Paper lanterns hang from the veranda, as do white cloths with strings tied around the top, giving the impression of a round head.

You point to the unknown object and voice your curiosity to the Wanderer, who you know hails from Inazuma. “What’s this? I’ve seen them in lots of the villages we’ve passed through.”

“What do I look like, a tour guide?” he mumbles under his breath, yet sees fit to answer you anyway. He always does. “It’s supposedly a talisman meant to invoke good weather, called teru teru bōzu. You’ll find they’re popular in rural areas that rely on farming to get by.”

You let out a small “ohh” at his explanation. “Interesting. I didn’t expect that the denizens of Inazuma would try to ward off phenomena so closely associated with their Archon.”

While saying this, you fit the key snugly into the lock and twist, granting you both entry.

“Hah. These simpletons would do far better for themselves if they gave that good-for-nothing recluse more pushback.”

While the Wanderer is no stranger to voicing his thoughts, for better or for worse (normally the latter), his animosity toward the Raiden Shogun is unmatched. Anytime she’s so much as mentioned you have to start praying to a higher power that he won’t lay into whatever unlucky soul brought her up. Fortunately for you, his eerily friendly façade doesn’t falter in the moment. He waits until it’s only you around for the venom to spill forth. He certainly has no shortage of it.

“Hurry up inside so we don’t get struck by lightning because of your heresy,” you remove your shoes by the entrance and he follows suit. “From what I can tell, she got plenty of pushback from the Vision Hunt Decree a ways back.”

“Not nearly enough.”

The interior is a bit worse for wear than the exterior, but at least it’s clean. You get to work moving aside furniture and other miscellaneous items so there’ll be enough room to sleep. In the meantime, the Wanderer slides a screen door aside, revealing a bunched-up futon. He takes it outside to pat it off, further continuing your oddly domestic routine. In your few years of traveling together, you’ve come to learn that you synergize together surprisingly well. The Wanderer might complain that you’re a nuisance who he keeps an eye on out of pity, but you know better than to take his words at face value. There are always precious gems hidden beneath the hard exterior.

When he comes back inside, he sprawls the futon down across the tatami floor, then settles his hands on his hips. “What sort of rundown inn is this? There’s only one futon in the closet.”

You situate yourself on a cushion that happened to already be out. “We should be thankful that they even had one since this isn’t a proper rentable room. You can feel free to take it. Sleeping on the floor isn’t so bad.”

“And have to deal with you complaining about how sore you are for the next few days? No thanks,” he scrunches up his nose. “... Wait here. I’ll go have a chat with our hosts and see if I can get some proper hospitality.”

Uh oh. That doesn’t sound promising. “Please don’t get us thrown out, I’d rather not get blown away in an eighty-mile-an-hour wind.”

“I’d fly to get you back,” The Wanderer hums as he makes for the door. Then a mischievous gleam dances in his eyes, a sight you’re plenty familiar with. “Maybe. If I was feeling particularly generous.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He removes his hat, stands it against the wall, then makes for the door. He’s gone faster than you can think to stop him, leaving you temporarily on your lonesome. The many compliments he received for his well-mannered behavior when you passed through Konda Village come to mind, a memory that makes you snort. You suppose you can’t blame them for falling for his act. He could be rather convincing when he set his heart on something. So could you, for that matter. Hence why you ended up becoming an unlikely pair to begin with.

Standing to your full height, you begin shedding your outer layer of clothes. The trek back to the inn combined with the owner’s talkative nature should ensure he’ll be gone for a while. Once you’re left in nothing but your undergarments, you fold and set your clothes aside, ambling toward a plain yukata you saw hanging up in the closet. You put both your arms through the long sleeves and then stop, your fingers resting over the Electro Vision clasped like a necklace around your neck.

Inazuma, land of the Electro Archon, a place the Wanderer seemed intimately connected with. It strikes you then how little you know about your companion. You’ve told him plenty about yourself — the delicious wines, tall windmills, and sea of dandelions found in your homeland — hoping it’d get him to do the same. He’d dodge your inquiries with ease, stating that he was ‘just a wanderer these days’ and nothing else.

You know that can’t be it. Especially not with his tendency to refer to people as ‘humans’, inadvertently implying he isn’t one himself. So just who is he? What is he?

Why does he still seem keen to travel with you, when he could make it perfectly fine by himself?

And most importantly… when will this fun adventure you never expected to take come to an end? After all, that is the fate of all journeys. Nothing lasts forever.

For some reason or another, the thought fills you with an uncomfortable pang.

You begin carrying out the steps of properly securing the yukata. It’s an awkward endeavor, as you’re not used to it, but you start to make some decent progress. That is until your soul all but ascends when the door unceremoniously flings open.

“Seriously, the gall of them to lock up so ear—”

The door slams closed as the Wanderer doesn’t have the presence of mind to ease it shut. “—Ly…?”

His eyes go as wide as saucers while the most you can think to do is turn around, rushing through the final steps to regain your dignity. He wasn’t supposed to come back so soon! This shouldn’t be a big deal, it really shouldn’t, yet the expression he wore was unlike anything you’ve seen. The Wanderer is always so sure of himself, bordering and often crossing over into arrogance. It didn’t matter if you were lost in the middle of nowhere with low provisions or stuck in a battle against waves of monsters seemingly without an end in sight. He’d act with the utmost confidence, dissipating your uncertainty like a lighthouse’s beam on a foggy night.

So what was that look he gave you, an emotion on him you’ve never seen before? It’s making you feel warm from head to toe.

“... You’re… you’re doing it wrong.”

The Wanderer is standing in your shadow, closing what already feels like the nonexistent distance between you. You cease moving entirely when his hands reach around to tug at the loose fabric. He folds and tucks everything into place as it should be, no sounds registering in your brain aside from the shuffling of fabric and your pounding heartbeat. Internally, you beg yourself to say something, or for him to say something, the flow of your usual banter entirely staunched. In a matter of a few seconds that feel like they’re dragging on for an eternity, the yukata is set into place as it should be. Just when you think you’re free from this embarrassing nightmare’s tendrils, he sets his sights on the final piece.

He wraps the obi around your waist and ties it. When he’s done, he takes a step back and finally breaks the excruciating silence.

“Turn around.”

You try to think of a snarky rebuttal that’d diffuse the peculiar heaviness in the air, as if gravity itself had intensified. Upon coming up with nothing, you acquiesce to his softly spoken demand, your eyes set firmly on the ground. Is this real life or a very potent figment of your imagination? You’ve never felt so sheepish around him; in a mere second, your entire dynamic shifted.

“Is the floor really that interesting?” His face is close enough that you can feel his warm breath tickling your skin when he laughs. The sound is different from his usual derisive chuckle. Freer, in a way. “Look up at me already.”

Somehow, this request seems easier to fulfill than his previous one. You find yourself lifting your head without your mind deciding if that’s what it wants to do yet, your body and impulses taking the reins. The Wanderer must not have been expecting your willingness either — his breath hitches in his throat when you make unwavering eye contact. It’s in the peaceful seconds of nothingness that follow that you find yourself admiring your companion’s features.

He’s beautiful to a surreal degree. If he told you he was handmade by the gods, you would’ve believed him without question. His skin is like porcelain, his eyes wide and glossy, framed by long, dark eyelashes, his lips rosy and his cheeks even rosier. For all his impish attributes, his visage is far more in line with that of a cherub. You don’t bother hiding your unabashed staring. He told you to look at him and you’re going to do just that.

Whatever devious words he had waiting for you on his tongue must’ve withered away without ever blooming.

Logically speaking, it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds that ticked by since he last spoke, but you feel like you’ve shared an eternity together. If you weren’t used to seeing him surprised, his current expression is all the more foreign. It was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. You scour your memory, analyzing the countless impressions he’s made, placing the countenance you’re currently seeing over them to find a match.

Eventually, something in your frazzled brain clicks.

This isn’t a new expression at all. You know it better than you’d like to admit.

This is how he looks at you when you eagerly compliment his cooking, scoffing and muttering under his breath that it isn’t anything to get so excited about, while fighting back a smile. When you rope him into playing with the kids of whatever family is feeling kind enough to give you lodging for the night, a thousand excuses on his tongue that he never follows through on after seeing how you laugh and run without a care. This is how he looks at you in the morning, afternoon, evening, twilight, and night.

Now that you’re being honest with yourself, you can’t remember a time when he didn’t look at you this way.

With yearning…

(He’s leaning forward).

Adoration…

(His lips are almost close enough to touch yours).

… And rapidly spiraling self-control.

“Wanderer?”

There’s a flash of lightning outside, a prelude to the storm ahead.

Bright streaks of light illuminate the side of his countenance. The instant the lightning’s glow fades, you’re face to face with his back. He’s walking away. A torrent batters the worn-down windows in a violent clash of water and glass. Where is he going? He picks his ornate hat up and places it on his head. Why is he going? Shaky fingers rise to press against your lip.

You never got to feel his.

He doesn’t get the chance to twist the doorknob before you’re leaping into action, more adrenaline pumping through your veins than any fight could ever evoke. He stumbles forward from the force of your bodies clashing yet manages to remain standing. Your arms encircle his waist, pulling him back to you, not an ounce of your strength going unused. Initially, his body goes stiff as a corpse. And then he struggles. Sharply twisting his torso to deter your hold, which successfully puts your footing off balance, but doesn’t get you to retract. He tries it again. This time with more force. You shake your head, adamant and unwilling, embracing him even tighter.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, disbelief apparent. Instead of coming off like a predator that’s bearing its teeth, you view him as prey caught in a trap that wildly thrashes when being set free.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” you return, your voice almost threatening to crack beneath the weight of your words. Having piqued his curiosity, he ceases movement altogether. You lower your volume to a solemn whisper. “You were about to… about to kiss me.”

“No, I—” he cuts himself off, the words coming out in an almost incomprehensible jumble, “I was just messing around. You’re so… so easy to fool, you know that? So gullible. You don’t know the first thing about me and yet you’re willing to let me touch you like a lover. It’s almost pathetic, really.”

The words meant to add fuel to the fire blazing in your soul do the opposite and extinguish it instead. You loosen your grip enough that he could easily break free if he tried.

He doesn’t.

“You’re wrong about that.”

“What?” He sounds incredulous more so than angry. However he anticipated this to go down in his head, you wouldn’t follow the script, if anything, you’d be handed it only so you may shred it to pieces. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I do,” your affirmation comes out quickly, though far from uncertain. “You said I don’t know the first thing about you, but that’s a lie. I know plenty. I know that you’re pretty terrible.”

The Wanderer lets out a noise you can only describe as a choked, humorless laugh, but since you’re not finished, you continue on.

“Yeah, you’re awful alright. You act like you’re better than everyone else before you get the chance to even know them. You refuse to acknowledge the good in the world when it’s dangling right in front of your eyes, so focused on the backdrop that you miss what’s really important. You’re conceited, insensitive, and stubborn to a fault. But…”

Although he can’t see you in this position, you smile. “You’re willing to acknowledge your shortcomings after enough convincing. You’ll point out mine too. You see through things that I’m blind to, standing up for me when I’m afraid to do it myself. You tell me I talk too much yet still listen and remember every word. If I get sick, you take care of me until I’m better, even if you complain the entire time. You’ll push me out of the way in a fight, taking a blow meant for me, then swear it doesn’t hurt so I won't worry. It does hurt, though, doesn’t it? You feel pain the same way I do. Just because you’re used to it doesn't make it hurt any less. Yes… you’re right that there are some things I don’t know about you. But I know enough to say I love you, awfulness and all.”

“... Love?” He’s breathless. “You love me?”

“Somehow or another, so— oof!”

In an instant, your positions switch. The first thing you register is your back hitting something solid. Both your arms have been lifted and pinned over your head by him. When you reopen your eyes to gain your bearings, you’re treated to a sight you don’t think you’ll ever forget. The Wanderer is almost feverish, his face flushed, his lips parted so he may pant, his chest heaving for air. His dilated pupils look nowhere else than directly at you. The heavens could collapse and the Abyss could rise and still, he would not look away. It’s raw, it’s depraved, but it’s him.

“You mean it? You really mean it?”

You try to wriggle your hand free, longing to touch him, but he narrows his eyes and tightens his grip. The strength he uses further convinces you that had he genuinely wanted to, he could’ve easily rid himself of you earlier. Words escape you entirely beneath the intensity of his stare. Your legs feel weak and it’s like the air had been stolen entirely from your lungs. There’s no way he didn’t hear everything you painstakingly laid out for him. You let him glimpse into your heart, what was all this apprehension about?

The wetness growing on his lower lash line makes you understand, deep down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to believe you — it’s that he’s scared of what it’ll mean if he does.

You’re the one who closes the pesky distance. The contact is gentle, chaste, a hesitant brushing of your lips against his. You let them linger there for a few seconds longer, feeling how his lower lip trembles, tasting the bitterness of the matcha he drank not too long ago. When you think to pull back, his body lurches forward, unwilling to let you get away that easily. He’s noticeably inexperienced, somewhat awkward in how he slots his mouth against yours. Still, it sets fireworks off in your chest and makes you croon. He’s so distracted with helping himself to your lips that he relaxes his grip. You use this to your advantage, finally free to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer.

When you part for some much-needed air, he encases your face in his hands.

“Say it again,” his lips ghost over yours when he speaks. “Please. I need you to say it again.”

How could you ever deny him when he’s talking to you like that?

“I love you.”

“Even though I’m ‘pretty terrible’?”

“Even then.”

“Won’t you change your mind?”

“I won’t.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise,” you smile, unable to stop yourself from beaming. Floating midair wouldn’t make you feel as light as you do now. “And what about you, Wanderer? Did I successfully win over your heart?”

There’s an enigmatic gleam in his eyes that you don’t quite understand. “Yeah. Although I wouldn’t say it’s anything worth winning. Whatever joke of a heart I’ve got, you can have it. It’s yours. You can’t get rid of it even if you want to. Or, to be more accurate…”

You gasp when he nibbles the shell of your ear then whispers, his voice low, “You can’t get rid of me even if you want to.”

If this is his attempt at intimidation, you aren’t impressed.

“It’s a good thing I don’t want to then, right?”

“That’s my [First] for you,” he brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face and laughs. “Only you could find a positive way to spin that. Well, perhaps that strangeness is what draws me to you. You might be just as messed up in the head as I am.”

He swoops in to kiss you again but is met with the softness of your cheek instead of your lips. His eyes widen, then narrow, dark energy gathering and permeating around his figure. You almost think better of your decision to mess around with him but ultimately remain firm. He can’t always get what he wants without having to put in some work. You’ll end up spoiling him if you act too indulgent.

“I think you may have ruined the romantic atmosphere,” you add some dramatic flair by sighing. He blinks rapidly, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. It’s a cute look on him. “I poured my heart out to you and not only do you call me strange, you say I’m messed up as well. I dunno, my feelings might be too hurt. Maybe I should just go to bed…”

He actually gapes at you, sputtering, incapable of forming an intelligent rebuttal at your sheer audacity. You press your advantage and writhe out from his hold. You don’t make it more than a single step toward the futon before you’re being hoisted into the air, the Wanderer recovering from his stupor in record time. He bridal carries you over, muttering how you’re “such a difficult woman”, the gentle way he lays you down contrasting his harsh words.

He crawls over top of you, the grin on his face a mix between boyish and menacing. His next words come out in a playful singsong. “Oh no you don’t, little minx.”

It’s almost impossible to fight back a smile, but you somehow manage, though you have no doubt he sees through your weak façade. With about as much innocence as you can muster, you say, “If you’re tired too, we could always sleep together.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, the innuendo not lost on him. “Your jokes suck.”

“Hah, but you laugh at them anyway,” you stick your tongue out at him. “So which one of us truly sucks here?”

“You, on your knees, another time maybe,” he replies, a little too self-assured for your liking. “Not tonight though. I have other plans for you.”

He accentuates this by latching his lips to your neck, directly over where your racing pulse is most prominent. You tilt your head to the side, allowing him easier access, your senses so overwhelmed with him that nothing else registers. His hands to get work undoing what he helped put on you minutes prior. Cool night air bites at your newly exposed skin, the front of the yukata fluttering to the side. He pulls back from his task of lavishing your neck in heated open-mouthed kisses to admire the sight. It’s almost animalistic, the way he’s regarding you now, as if you were a feast put in front of a starved man. The intensity of his gaze almost makes you shy.

“... May I?” He murmurs, his previous bravado melting away. His face is red up to his ears. “Is it really okay?”

Unable to find your voice, you nod your head, almost biting your lower lip hard enough to bruise. Why is it far easier to deal with him when he’s being a cocky little bastard? When he talks so uncharacteristically sweet… gazes at you reverently with those big, doe-like eyes… you simply don’t know what to do with yourself. He’s making you go crazy.

When you work up the courage to look at him again, you swear your heart almost stops. Both your eyes meet in a silent exchange of adoration. You hadn’t realized it earlier, but in this spot where the silvery moonlight shines through in gratuitous amounts, you notice a damning detail. There are tear streaks on his cheeks. Without giving the action much thought, you raise your hand to cup his face. His wet eyelashes flutter shut and he leans into your touch. The pad of your thumb grazes over his cheekbone, gently wiping away what you can. Eventually, he reopens his eyes, and when he does, you adjust yourself so that you may unclasp your bra. The undergarment is thrown haphazardly to an unknown destination.

Both his hands raise, his fingers twitching while they descend to caress your chest.

“Soft…” he whispers, his eyes glowing an otherworldly hue, “So soft.”

Whether he meant to or not, you’ll never know, but his thumbs brush over your nipples just right and you let out a whimper. He freezes in place, his attention going from the flesh in his palms back up to your face. Upon confirming you did indeed release such a debauched sound, he dips his head, his lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking. His eagerness to help himself to your body causes wetness to stain your panties. He lets out a content noise when you thread your fingers through his hair, bringing him in closer. His free hand goes from groping greedily at your chest to traveling downward. It brushes over your lower stomach, then settles itself on the side of your hips.

You let out a huff at the lack of friction where you want it most. Something tells you he would be content to do this for hours, and while that’s a lovely sentiment, it’s akin to torture when you want so much more.

Your hand guides his to where you want it most — right between your thighs.

He pulls back with an audible pop, his lips shiny with saliva. “Oh? Aren’t you a bold little thing. I was in the middle of doing something. You’re just begging to be punished, aren’t you?”

The Wanderer probably expects you to respond with equal brattiness — and maybe you would’ve if your body would stop screaming and let you think for a second — but you don’t. You surprise both him and yourself by whispering in a voice dripped in sin, “Please.”

He swallows thickly. You can feel his arousal twitch to life, hard and hot against your legs. Slowly, so that he may continue savoring your expression, he pulls back until he’s nestled between your legs. He places a chaste kiss against your inner thigh. Then your panties’ hemline. Finally, he presses his lips against your clothed cunt, the slight pressure from his slow, open-mouthed kiss driving you mad with want. You try bucking your hips forward, an act that earns you swift retaliation. His hands hold your hips in place tight. He gives you a warning squeeze, one that communicates he’s working on his time, not yours.

“Ah ah ah,” he chastises, his lips cruelly departing from your clothed cunt to your inner thigh, where he alternates between nibbling and kissing your feverish flesh, “Try anything like that again and I’ll show you how mean I really can be. You think you know, but trust me, you don’t, since I’m actually quite sweet on you…”

His fingers hook around your panties and pull them down. “I know you’re beyond desperate for me, but let’s try to have a little decorum, okay? Or has your lust made you incapable of feeling shame?”

“I liked your mouth better when it was busy,” your comeback would’ve sounded a lot stronger if it didn’t come out like a whine.

“You just always have something to say, don’t you?” He sounds amused more than anything. You never get the chance to respond, for he places his middle and pointer finger against your pussy, applying the most pressure yet. It’s divine if not the furthest thing from enough. “Let’s see if I can change that.”

The Wanderer feels at you, curious, dragging his fingers up and down while studying your various expressions. When he sees something he likes, he focuses the majority of his attention to the spot that caused such a visceral reaction. Through the hot waves of pleasure sinking you into a delightful abyss, you realize he’s found your clit. Not long after discovering the best place to touch you, he replaces his fingers with his lips, pulling you flush against his face. You throw your head back as he devours you, what he lacks in skill is more than made up for by his enthusiasm. You spread your legs further for him, wanting anything he’s willing to offer from the bottom of your soul.

The muscles in your thighs go tense as your release steadily approaches. You can’t remember the last time you were intimate with another, having been on the road for so long. The most you could ever do to appease any carnal need that reared its head was wait until the Wanderer was sound asleep, giving you the chance to relieve yourself. He never left your side long enough to any other time. Or to find any partner you could mess around with. Any flirtatious remarks sent your way ended with the offender cowering from a brutal verbal lashing. Maybe getting launched through a window by a ‘gust of wind’ if they were bold enough to touch you.

No, the man currently eating you out as if his life depended on it was fiercely protective. Now you know why. He wanted you for himself.

When you come, you let out a high-pitched noise, your head lolled to the side and your fingernails digging marks into your palms. This doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He continues lapping and suckling your oversensitive clit, drunk on the sounds he could make you produce. You finally get him to detach yourself from your person using a burst of strength. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, a wicked smirk full display.

You smooth out his tousled indigo locks. “Thank you. That felt really good.”

“I should be the one thanking you for the delectable meal,” he runs his tongue over his lips, further savoring your taste. It’s a miracle you have any semblance of coherent thought after witnessing such an obscene display. “My appetite is far from satiated, though.”

To your great pleasure, he begins removing the layers of clothes that make up his normal outfit. The fast rate at which he does so belies his inner excitement. The golden rings on his middle fingers go first, then his black gloves, and outer white and turquoise tunic. The almost sheer, sleeveless black shirt he wears beneath clings tight to his lean torso. He makes quick work of his belt and shorts, shooting you a bemused look over his shoulder when he catches your eyes.

“Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

“I can’t help it,” comes your rebuttal. “You’re so beautiful.”

His head snaps away and he clears his throat. “S-Surely you can do better than that. I suppose I can accept such uninspired praise for now.”

You raise yourself to a sitting position and settle yourself behind him, your bare chest pressing against his back. It doesn’t take him long to relax in this unexpected embrace. Being this close to him, you’re given the unique opportunity to notice intricacies you couldn’t otherwise. On the nape of his neck is the symbol that represents Electro, its shape the exact same as the one found on your Vision. Your Wanderer certainly is a bundle of mysteries, isn’t he? His muscles go tense when you press a kiss against the spot. You then nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, the earthy scent of kyara wood sticking to his skin.

“You’re not going to say anything about it?”

“Hm? About what?”

“You know what I mean,” his words lack any real bite. “I know you saw it.”

You close your eyes, arriving at an answer surprisingly fast. “I’m sure you’ll tell me about it when you’re ready.”

As if silently voicing his agreement, he twists around, bringing you into a soft liplock. He coaxes you into laying back down. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with any loose strands of hair you feel. Upon opening your eyes, you’re blessed with the sight of a simple smile from the man above you. There’s no underlying haughtiness or malice, just pure, unadulterated devotion. For you and you alone. Something hard brushes against your entrance, causing you to gasp. He chuckles, swooping down to steal another kiss before whispering in your ear,

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

The head of his cock presses against your lower lips. He rubs himself against you teasingly, coating himself in your essence for more lubrication. Slowly, he sinks himself inside you, the fingers on your hips trembling from the unusual sensation. You do your best to relax your breathing and body to better take him in. He enters inch by inch, the drag of his length against your inner walls a touch uncomfortable if not incredibly fulfilling. You’re unable to focus on your body getting used to the feeling when he’s panting by your ear, soft moans falling out in abundance.

“Fuck,” he hisses through grinding teeth, “That’s good.”

He goes still when he bottoms out inside you. Slowly yet surely, the dull ache from the stretch fades. The room is filled with the sound of both your labored breathing and rain hitting the fogged-up window panes. You drink in one another’s presence. The world itself could come to an end, and still, you’d be content. Having fully adjusted, you feel bold enough to bring him impossibly closer by locking your legs around his waist. He grunts, his eyes wide-blown.

“You can move now. Hm… or should I take the lead?” You ask teasingly.

The skin beneath his eyes tightens when he grins. “Hah. I’d like to see you try.”

“I’ll hold you to tha— mm…”

He pulls himself out of you to the tip and then plunges back in, causing you to throw your head back. He’s big and of decent girth but without being too much to handle. Your low, heavy moan causes his cock to twitch inside you. There must be nothing he enjoys more than the sounds you make. He commits himself to taking you at a moderate pace, his hands on your hips bringing you down to meet his thrusts. His lips are on yours again, this kiss being the messiest yet, a clash of tongue and teeth. He shoves his tongue into your mouth and allows you to taste yourself. It's greedy, it's unrefined, and most importantly, it’s everything you want.

A thin bridge of saliva connects your lips when he parts, his eyes narrow with glee. “You love me. You really— ah— love me…!”

The Wanderer buries his face in the crook of your neck, his pace growing faster. You rub circles into your clit, another release right on the horizon from his previous actions. He’s doing what he can to keep his volume down, and yet you’re still treated to a lovely melody of pants and moans. There is no song that could ever compare. He might not be whispering sweet nothings into your ear, but this is infinitely better. Watching him get drunk and lose himself in pleasure when he’s normally so composed is a privilege exclusive to you.

“I’m close,” you whimper, every inch of your existence engulfed with heat, “So close.”

“Go on then. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Each sensual roll of his hips brings you higher and higher. He devotes himself to your ecstasy, fucking you with more strength than you expected him to use. It’s all too much. His cock massaging your insides, his tenor voice letting out the most unholy voices near your ear, the frenzied stimulation of your clit that lost its rhythm ages ago. You arch your back, your walls squeezing and fluttering as you cry out. He presses his forehead against yours while you lose yourself beneath him.

“There we go, just like that,” he coos. “That made for quite a sight. You really were made for me. Or maybe…”

After a moment’s contemplation, he voices a thought tinged with indecipherable emotion. “Maybe I was made for you.”

From his increasingly erratic thrusts, you can guess that he’s getting close as well. His vice-like grip on your hips is sure to leave bruises for the days that follow. The sound of skin on skin carries throughout the small space while the scent of sweat and sex permeates the air. Through the haze clouding your mind, you swear to yourself that you’ll always remember this. You want this special moment shared between you both inked into your subconscious. His alluring scent, his frantic touch, his bittersweet taste and little moans.

When he comes, he forces your hips down to meet his stuttering thrusts. Warmth seeps into your insides. He doesn’t stop there, he fucks his release deeper into you, your name rolling off his tongue with all the piety of a devotee worshipping their god. He goes soft inside you yet doesn’t pull out, seemingly content to stay put while he catches his breath. Absent-mindedly, you rub circles into his shoulder blades, encouraging him to relax. He ends up relaxing a little too much, collapsing on top of you and resting his head on your chest. His arms go around your shoulders and pull you flush against him. It would appear even a mere inch separating you both is unforgivable in his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Mm.”

“You’re heavy.”

“Not my problem.”

“Get off already.”

“Don’t wanna.”

His world-renowned brattiness has made a triumphant return. You try propping yourself up by your elbows, only to be met with him nuzzling himself into you further. You tumble gracelessly back onto the ground. How can he be annoying yet so endearing at the same time? He’s a walking set of contradictions. Due to the physical inactivity, the night’s frigid air starts to have more bite to it. Shivers and goosebumps erupt over your body.

“At least let me get dressed,” you huff, rolling your eyes at the petty way he tightens his grip around you. “Know that if I get sick, it’s all your fault. I’ll be making you wait on me hand and foot.”

“Fine. Be quick about it, irksome woman. I was enjoying myself.”

The Wanderer reluctantly rolls off to the side. His member slides out of you, leaving you feeling empty in its absence. Before you can start moving, he takes two fingers and pushes any cum that’s trickled out back in. Then he slides your panties back up to keep it in place. You give him a questioning look, to which he smirks, pressing another kiss to the inside of your thighs and then sitting up.

“There’ll always be a part of me inside of you now,” he explains, visibly satisfied at the thought.

What a weirdo. You decide to keep that to yourself. “Could you help me with the yukata again, please?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he pretends to ponder, a hand on his chin. “I think I prefer it when you look like this. Besides, I still need to get revenge for how you so brazenly insulted me earlier. What was it again? I’m ‘conceited, insensitive, and stubborn to a fault’, right? Sorry, it doesn’t seem like I’m the type of person to help others in need.”

“What if someone looks in the window and sees me?”

A malignant shadow falls over his face.

“I’d tear them to pieces.”

“... Isn’t that overkill?”

“I sure don’t think so,” he twirls his finger in the air. “Now turn around before I change my mind."

Similar to earlier, he helps you into the yukata, though the atmosphere is far more pleasant. He’s humming a tune to himself as he ensures everything is in order. After he’s content with his handiwork, he pulls you down onto the futon, clinging to you from behind. A shower sounds heavenly right about now, but you’re doubtful he’s going to let you out of his sight tonight. If you’re being entirely honest with yourself, you don’t really mind.

Exhaustion hits you like a ton of bricks. This is made worse by the comfortable blankets he pulls over you both. Your eyelids flutter shut, the siren’s song of sleep luring you in. His soft breath tickles the back of your neck and makes you smile.

“Hey, [First], are you awake?”

“I think so.”

“Good, 'cause you need to hear this,” he inhales sharply, his next words coming out as a whisper. “I… I love you too.”

“Let’s stay by one another’s side then.”

“... Always?”

“Always.”

When the puppet falls asleep that night, he sheds tears in his dreams, though this time it is not from sorrow, but overabounding joy.

#i write sin like twice a year #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #reader insert #scaramouche brainrot #not sfw #my stuff

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mcondance · 3 months

Text

hush baby. william afton. (allusions to daddy issues, general old william using / taking advantage of young reader yk the drill)

william fucks like his age. he fucks like a man who knows what he wants from years of getting. he will get what he wants from you, too.

he drains you of everything you can give him and then, he pushes for more, craving complete control of every thing you feel. its why he picked you, could just see you ending up like this, a slut for his taking, nasty and open to the filthiest things he’s only ever dreamed about.

it’s sad, what you went through to end up like it like this, used and shown no respect in your most vulnerable state, but he pays it no mind when he’s driving into you from behind, towering over your body and stretching your cunt to its limit.

amusement is written over his hardened face, the hilarity of what you allow him to do to you overtakes him as he watches himself breach your entrance over and over again, your cunt having to work to take him like your body knows this is wrong.

but it lets him in, you let him in like it’s right, wince through the pain until it turns to pleasure and he’s battering your pussy with no regard for the pain that’ll resurface the next day.

pain is how he got you, tucked away in your brain, steering you toward a man like him. and pain is how he keeps you, the dull ache of his cock abusing your pussy, the digging of his fingers tucked between where your thighs and tummy meet, the stimulation sending sparks shooting through you.

you’re so nasty when you’ve got a nastier man inside you, when his want to unwind you and use you is reciprocated. drooling on his bed sheets, leaking on his cock, the perverted desire of his heart is realized.

he’s got you singing, speared on his cock and taking it so well. he fucks you like he’ll throw you out tomorrow and you welcome it, soak his cock every time your mind registers the brutishness behind his thrusts, every time he manhandles that spot inside you.

your fingers curl around the column of his headboard, clamping down on them to award yourself some semblance of grounding but it’s in vain, he’s too ruthless and horrific, fucks you too deep with every sob he retches out of your raw throat.

you let him do what he wants, and that’s exactly what he does. you’re all wet cunt and choked moans, a test subject for his disregarded boundaries. his boundaries are your boundaries, the wires crossed and fused incorrectly a perfect path for his will to become reality.

he’s taking advantage of you, it’s what you both know, know what business a man his age has with a girl yours.

but being taken advantage of is how you like it.

every push into you is meant to to hurt, to make those crossed wires fizzle and spark with satisfaction. maybe it doesn’t count as being used if it’s what you want, too. it’s lost in translation, by now, only left with william fucking you exactly how you’d expect him to, how you fantasized about from the moment you saw him.

he’s thankful to have someone like you, someone who’ll let him push and poke and prod and mold into his. he goes crazy every time you bite and choke on your moans, every time you huff and rasp like he’s wounded you but make no move to run from him or to stop. he likes it filthy, and in you, he can have that whenever he wants. he can be what you need, if you let him have you in return. you do let him have you.

you say his name like a prayer, choked and battered and begging for him to twist and turn you inside out just like he wants to. willing to be used, to be fucked dumb and brash.

you like it like this, domination has revealed you as a drooling, moaning, vile mess. it lay dormant, waiting for someone to draw it out. waiting for william to lay you bare and new.

#william afton smut #william afton x black reader #william afton x reader #did all this just to say william is a freak and he brings out the freak in you #william afton x you #steve raglan smut #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x black reader #cw daddy issues

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notjustjavierpena · 8 months

Note

The idea of javier and reader being a baby making factory is so 🤪🤪

Trying (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: Actually! My idea of them is that they don’t do super well with their attempts at starting/expanding the family. Which is why I think that they accidentally made Sebastian; they didn’t think they were super fertile and got a lil sloppy. It has always taken a good chunk of time to get reader pregnant during the times they were actively trying but fate often has it that when you stop focusing on it, it becomes easy.

Word count: 500 words

Tags: Not explicit thoughts of infertility, trying for a bebe, soft!javi, the inherent suffering of being a person who has a womb, angst, hurt/comfort

Trying

“One line again,” you say quietly and try to hide your voice trembling as Javier leans against the bathroom sink. He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated sigh as the reality of not being lucky this time around either sets in. You shift on the toilet seat, “Really thought this was it this time.”

It’s been four months now without any luck.

“It’ll happen, baby,” he says without sounding overly optimistic. In fact, he sounds like he is in doubt, on the verge of giving up, and the tone of his voice makes you rise from your seat without a word. You twirl the pregnancy test in your hands for a brief moment before aggressively, and with exasperation, throwing it into the sink and pushing past your husband.

You start to cry the second that he cannot see you anymore. It’s big, heavy, and self-pitying tears that are accompanied by sobs as you walk into the kitchen with fast steps. You place both your palms on the counter, not caring about not having washed them yet, feeling stupid for being in this stupid house with two stupid spare bedrooms that you can’t help seeing as stupid nurseries.

Behind you, Javier says your name so softly that you heave for breath. You can only stammer your response, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Javier asks. You hear him come up behind you, so you turn to face him. Your face is tear-streaked, nose as well as mouth are puffy and red.

“The one thing my body is supposed to be good at doing and it’s not working. Probably won’t even be a good mom either,” your sniffles are filled with frustration, a fresh teardrop escaping as you tear yourself down in front of him.

“No, no, baby, no,” Javier shakes his head, tuts gently, and moves to cup your teary face. He wipes a few drops away with his thumbs, and you help by catching a few that threaten to drip off your chin, “It’ll happen. Think about how happy that’ll make us.”

“And if it doesn’t?” You know it’s a worst-case scenario, but admittedly it would be easier if people would only just talk about the struggles of getting pregnant. There is never talk about it not being a bed of roses, that it takes time for some couples. It’s always so fucking romantic and whoopsies, we’re having a baby.

“It will,” he stresses, holding your gaze while smiling gently, “Pero sí no, then we’ll figure it out. Maybe we’ll have our own Olivia like Connie and Steve.”

“Okay,” you reach up to hold onto his wrists, closing your eyes to steady your mind. He rests his forehead against yours.

“Okay,” he repeats, “And you’ll be the greatest momma in the world.”

You chuckle whilst still having tears in your eyes, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he chuckles too, “Now I think we need to wash your pee fingers.”

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

#husband!javi #pedro pascal characters #javier pena imagine #javier pena x reader #javier pena one shot #javi peña #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier peña #javi pena #pedro pascal fanfiction #my writing

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 5 months

Text

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 46

Part 1 Part 45

Hopper’s idling by the trailer when Steve and Eddie exit on the way to school the next morning. Eddie’s forehead immediately breaks out in anxiety-sweats. He stumbles back a step on instinct, arm up to waylay Steve. Nothing good ever came from the Chief of Police loitering in front of a drug dealer’s trailer.

Hopper cranks his window down, leaning out enough to stick his head partially out, and shouts over at them, “you cleared to go to school already, Harrington?”

Eddie drops his arm – threat categorized, acknowledged, and discarded. Steve steps over the threshold and down the front steps, each foot placed carefully, lest he stumble in front of Hopper.

“It’s fine,” Steve says, like he always does.

“Your doctor say that?”

Steve shifts his eyes toward Eddie, like he’s begging for help. Eddie clears his throat, pointedly not curling his shoulders in when Hopper shifts his glare over to him. “He went yesterday,” he calls over, like a chump. Because what his majesty wants, Eddie will provide.

Hopper raises his eyebrows, letting them stew in the silence as he keeps his eyes trained on Eddie. Weakest link sighted. And just like every time he finds himself in this standoff with the bane of his existence, he folds. “He’s not supposed to go back until Monday!”

“Munson!” Steve grouses. Eddie’s guts churn at being last-named again.

“But” Eddie starts, waving his hand in Steve’s face like that’ll buy him a few more seconds of grace. “You gotta let him go, Hopper.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he grouses, still glaring into Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie fidgets, hoping Steve won’t be too pissed off. “Harrington here’s a flight risk,” he says, patting his head lightly, like a dog who’s just performed a marvelous trick. “You don’t give him something to do? We might never see him again.”

Steve scoffs, but notably doesn’t pull away from Eddie’s hand or refute his point.

Hopper continues glaring at both of them before sighing out like a beleaguered dog and rolls up his window. He doesn’t drive away. “Is that–” Steve starts, squinting at Hopper through his now-closed window. “Is that permission?”

“We don’t beg for permission, Stevie.” Eddie trails his hand through Steve’s peach-fuzz hair before skipping over to where his van’s parked, knowing without looking that Steve’s following him. He slides into the driver’s seat, waits for Steve to slide in as well before turning the key in the ignition. “We don’t even ask for forgiveness.”

He smiles over at Steve, cheeks hurting from the force of it. He feels like he’s just taken three shots of espresso, back to back to back. Steve smiles over at him, small but real, eyes shining in the morning sun. His hair glows golden in the sunlight, and his skin, still slightly sallow, is flushed pink in the cheeks.

“We don’t?” Steve asks quietly. He sounds excited. Like a kid told he’d get to open his birthday presents early.

Eddie’s endeared, any reluctance drained out of him around the second time Steve Harrington had saved his life. “Naw.” He reaches over, patting Steve’s knee, not letting his fingers linger like they want to. He cranks the engine, Black Sabbath booming from the speakers until Steve turns it down a few notches. “That’s for squares. And you, Steve Harrington, are a certified badass.”

Steve’s smiling out the window when Eddie glances over, watching trailers pass by. Electric Funeral turns over to War Pigs. Eddie sings along quietly as Steve bops his head along to a beat he doesn’t even know.

Hopper follows them all the way to school, his truck idling at the curb until Eddie pulls into a spot and takes out the key. Neither of them mention anything.

School passes in a mindless haze. Eddie listens to lectures on calculus and geography and the themes in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, lets it all fly over his head. Not even in one ear and out the other – that implies it went into his brain at all.

Jeff gives him dirty looks throughout calc, like he can tell Eddie’s checked out past the point of return and is feeling a sense of paternal disappointment over his lack of work ethic.

Eddie’d checked out long before Demogorgon’s and Demon Worlds made an appearance in his life. Now, class feels like biding time until he can get Steve back in his sights. Graduating feels like another step away from Harrington that he doesn’t want to take.

So he sits and stews and ignores Jeff’s disappointed eyes, and regrets that Steve’s a year below him and not smart enough to pass calc either.

Seeing him walk into lunch is a religious experience. Eddie sighs into his suspicious casserole, staring at Steve with reverence. He’s talking to Barb quietly, standing beside her in the lunch line.

Steve laughs at something she says, and Eddie swears he can almost hear it across the cacophony of the lunchroom rush.

“Dude,” Gareth says from beside him.

Eddie jumps, whipping his head over to where Gareth had snuck up on him. “When did you get here?” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.

Gareth stares back, deadpan. Eddie misses when his little sheep were at least a little bit afraid of him. Honestly, the gall. “I was here before you sat down.”

Ah, well. Eddie hunches, looking around the table that’s seemingly filled in around him. “So?”

Gareth leans closer, keeping his voice lowered. “Are you, like in love with Harrington?” Gareth asks, voice quiet enough for discretion even as it lentils up harshly at the end.

“No, shut up!” Eddie hisses back, but something restless and wanting unfurls as the fishhook in his ribs slackens with Steve’s approach. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

“—could help you,” Barb is saying, inexplicably sitting at the wrong freaks and geeks table again. Clearly, there’s still trouble in paradise. “I’m free Thursday’s after school.”

Steve slides in next to Eddie, matching suspect casserole to Eddie’s own. He doesn’t look away from his conversation from Barb, but he slides his knee into Eddie’s, easy like breathing. Even easier, with Steve’s track record of not doing that.

“Really?” Steve asks, leaning toward her over the table.

Barb shrugs, nonchalantly, pulling that same bagged sandwich from her bag to munch on. “Sure, why not?”

She says it like it’s nothing, but Steve exhales like the world just stopped ending. “Thanks,” he sighs. “I’m just so behind, and my Dad–” he cuts off, shoves a forkful of slop in his mouth like that’s the reason for the pause. “I just don’t want to be held back.”

Jeff, the traitor, looks over to Barbara and unhelpfully contributes, “are you guys planning a study group?” he asks, continuing before she has a chance, “because this one could use a little of that.”

Eddie doesn’t let anyone else get in a word. “I can’t Jeffery,” Eddie sneers. “Thursday is Hellfire.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows like he’s thinking deeply, starts, “we could maybe do it on Wed—”

“That’s fine!” Eddie says. “I’m doing fine!”

He glares around at the table, daring anyone to say anything. Jeff scoffs, and Steve still looks worried, but no one says anything. Study group is born, and Eddie’s plans are finalized: his graduating class will be moving on without him.

He only hopes Wayne understands.

Part 47

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #my fic

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h0rnyauth0r · 1 year

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i can hardly stop thinking about the thought of riding ghost in a car in the middle of the night :) just the sound of his heavy breaths as he struggles to not take control and fuck the hell out of you

pls dni if not 16+, thank you!

tws: unprotected sex, semi-public sex, car sex, brief choking (i have a choking kink, this will be common <3), cumming inside, overstimulation, reader has vagina and is called a girl (i also have a praise kink lolz)

you’re both really tired, having done a lot of running to get training done before heading off to a mission. even so, you took one good look at each other and couldn’t hold back anymore.

he always stays fully clothed, but your pants are off and panties are hanging around your right ankle as you basically stuff his cock into you in hunger. his mask stays on but you still kiss and pull at the skin on his neck as you start rocking your hips.

you’re not even sure when his gloves were taken off as his fingernails dig into your skin, leaving little crescents that’ll remind you of this in the morning.

you’re staring into each others eyes as you allow your hips to pick up, feeling his dick hit just the right spot to make you squeak and moan the slightest bit.

you know you have to be careful with your movements to not make anyone question why the car is rocking, but you lose control a little and rock harder against him.

your knees are sore from the position your in, forcing your body up and down in the tiny seats to hopefully make both of you cum. you almost want to give up, but he makes it easier on you by thrusting up into you and moving your hips for you now and then.

“just like that…” he says quietly, eyes shutting tightly when you start moving harder against him, pussy clenching around him in arousal.

his breaths pick up, loud and small sounds pass his lips that you can tell he’s trying to control. his eyebrows are furrowed tightly, his pretty eyes hidden away in pleasure.

the sight is so fucking hot to you, you want to melt into a puddle seeing him fucked out like this. your hips start moving more, trying so hard to milk his cock into you.

it’s just not enough for either of you, though, and eventually he makes it known. he lifts your body just the slightest, smashing his hips into yours so roughly that your mouth falls open but no sound is able to come out.

when he’s rough like this, you know it’s going to leave you limping tomorrow. he’s such a big man compared to you, his cock always feels like it’s ripping you open.

as his hips thrust up faster, you cry out and throw your head back. two of your fingers move down to your clit and you find yourself making quick movements to try to cum soon.

even with his current movements, you want more. “faster, please.” you moan out, one of his hands leaving your hips and wrapping around your throat tightly.

the feeling of his fingers squeezing against you and his hips moving more quickly makes you cum hard, nails of your free hand digging into his thigh as you shake.

“mmm, good girl.” he says in your ear, his movements becoming more erratic and the car making actual noise now. a slight creaking from the force of his movements, just more proof of how good he is.

your eyes shut tightly as he continues squeezing your throat, and you eventually feel his cum fill you up as his hips stutter in their movement.

he keeps thrusting afterwards, overstimulating you both but it feels so good that you really don’t want to stop, ever. you’re biting on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, making his eyes darken.

you can feel another orgasm building up and your legs have his cum running down them, making loud noises in your ears. “more.” you whimper out.

he looks at you, down at your lips, and finally decides to do it. he moves his mask up to reveal his lips and kisses you for the first time. it takes everything in your being to not cum then and there, feeling his hips somehow move more roughly now that you’re kissing.

his breathing is loud as you move your lips against one another, your mouth opening and his tongue sliding in as the force of his thrusts makes the kiss sloppier.

the feeling of his tongue brushing against your own makes you moan against his mouth, desperately grinding into his cock to try to find release. it finally crashes down a few moments later, as his teeth bite down onto your bottom lip.

you gasp against his mouth, jaw clenching as your pussy trembles against him. you’re absolutely throbbing now, pushing your body down and into his thrusts as hard as possible.

as you continue kissing, he eventually groans out softly and you feel his cum fill you up even more and his hands dig into your skin harder.

he stops moving as you grind against him to ride out your second highs of the night, almost hyperventilating against his lips but too fucked out to pull away.

when you finally do, he looks down at you with his mouth covered in your saliva. it’s so fucking hot to you, fingers reaching out and touching his soft lips.

he kisses your fingers, and you move them as he pulls his mask back down. his eyes stare into yours as you lift your hips up, his cock sliding out of you as you struggle to catch your breath.

you decide to wrap your arms around his torso as you catch your breath, his arms slinking around you and softly squeezing you. you want so badly to tell him you love him, but you choose not to.

but what you don’t know is that he wants to say the same thing to you too.

#ghost #ghost smut #ghost x reader smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #call of duty smut #call of duty #cod #smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #x reader #female reader

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gennyanydots · 2 years

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Spitfire

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female reader

AN: this is my very first fic. I had this idea and it wouldn’t go away so here we are. I’m sorry if it sucks.

TW: verbally abusive relationship mentioned. Not involving any main characters and nothing specifically said.

part of the ‘spitfire universe’

Jake closes his eyes to help clear his mind. If he sunk this shot Coyote and Bob owe him and Phoenix $200. To be honest it wasn’t about the money, at least not for Jake, he just loves to win anything and everything he can. As he opens his eyes he notices that Rooster has joined their group by the pool table. Rooster must have gotten lost coming to the bar. Typical.

Maverick had taken Penny and Amelia on a much needed vacation. Turns out it was Maverick’s first vacation in quite some time and Penny wanted to share the fun so she gave all of her employees the week off too and shut the Hard Deck down while she was gone. Very nice gesture for her staff but it left the aviators with nowhere to go after work. Begrudgingly they found this hole in the wall bar with a couple of pool tables and decided to check it out. Thankfully it was Friday meaning tomorrow Penny and Mav will be back and then they never have to come back here again. Hopefully. Being Friday night meant it was pretty crowded even for some random dive bar.

While Jake takes his time lining up his shot he vaguely hears Rooster saying something about something. Jake’s not really paying attention. He takes his shot sinking the 8 ball turning to Coyote and Bob with a smirk, “That’ll be $200. Would you like to pay in cash or card?” Coyote rolls his eyes while reaching into his pants for his wallet.

Jake looks around then turns to Rooster, “So what were you just going on about? You almost made me miss my shot what with your loud mouth going off and all.”

Rooster scoffs, “If anyone has a loud mouth it’s you and you know it, Hangman. I was just asking if anyone knew the spitfire at the bar. I’ve never met her but I just wanted to keep an eye on her since she seems to be fixing to get her ass handed to her.”

Jake looks towards the bar seeing the back of a women yelling at a man with another woman close behind her. The man is yelling right back in her face. Jake knows he doesn’t know the man or the second woman and turns back towards Coyote putting his hand out for the money. Just then he listens a little harder. He knows that voice. He hears it every day. That’s the voice that yells at him almost every night from the living room while he’s upstairs in the shower not to leave his boots in the doorway because you trip over them every time. Jake’s eyes get big as he yells, “Shit! It’s mine!”

He starts to push through the crowd as fast as he can with his other aviators close behind. He shoves his way in front of the man and proceeds to pick you up passing you off to Coyote to get you out of the line of fire then turns around to face the angry man. He’s got a few inches on this guy and looks down at him with his chest puffed out, nobody is going to mess with his girl even if she got herself into this mess. The man in front of him is seething.

Coyote places you down behind him getting you farther away from the angry man, ready to jump in to help his friend. Bob, Phoenix, and Rooster crowd around too ready for whatever was going to happen.

From behind Coyote Jake hears, “He was yelling at his girlfriend! He was getting in her face saying awful things about her and calling her names!”

Jake was mad before just hearing this man yell at you but now he’s furious. He glances behind himself locking eyes with Coyote who nods his head. They both grab an arm each of the man’s and proceed to drag him outside Rooster following close behind. The girl who you had been protecting now sobbing as you go over and try and help her calm down. Bob comes over with a glass of water for her and Phoenix stands watching all the other Patrons in the bar in case the guy had any buddies they needed to worry about.

Jake and the others come strolling back in not too long after. He heads towards you shaking out his hand. He saddles up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist and leans down so you can hear him better, “What did I say about getting into fights without me?”

You smile and turn in his arms wrapping your arms around his neck, “Umm I think you said not to but I can’t remember. The details are fuzzy and it was soooooo long ago.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “You’re right a month is a very long time. I’m actually surprised you made it this long.”

From behind the two of you, you can hear Rooster asking, “Uhh did you guys know Hangman had a girl?”

Coyote grins looking over at you, “Nice to see you, Mrs. Seresin.”

You smile right back, “Hey Javy. Did you like those leftovers I sent in with Jake for you the other day?”

“They were delicious. I made sure to eat all the pasta before your husband could steal any.”

You hear Jake whine above you, “Why are you both so mean to me?”

Chuckling you both say, “Because we can.”

Coyote grins slapping Jake on the back and heads towards the bar for another round.

Rooster’s brow furrows as he watches the exchange and looks at Bob and Phoenix questioningly. Phoenix shrugs in response and takes a few steps closer to you, “So Mrs. Hangman where have you been hiding and why did you leave me alone with these idiots?”

You laugh, “I’m sorry I don’t go out much. Jake likes to be the prettiest in the room so he leaves me at home so his reputation isn’t tarnished.”

Jake chuckles shaking his head and kisses the top of your head, “I’m going to remember this later, darlin’. Don’t think I won’t.”

You smile sweetly up at him, “Promise?”

Need more of Jake and his Spitfire? Check out: Kindergarten Failure

#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #top gun maverick #hangman x female!reader

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ilguna · 1 year

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☼ breathtaking pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you thought that you were going to go into the arena without ever meeting your soulmate. little did you know, he's been next to you the whole time.

warnings; swearing, gore, death mention

wc; 2.7k

part one.

–

There’s hope that you’ll make it out of this alive, after all.

While you and Finnick were discovering you were soulmates, the Capitol anthem was playing its last few notes, when they began to shut off the cameras. And further, the lights that lit up the stage, in a final attempt to cut you off from the outside world, and the audience that sat feet away.

They were entirely too late.

It was pitch black on the stage, causing confusion and minor chaos as all twenty-four of you struggled to make it to the elevators. You lost your district partner in the mess, you think he let go of your hand on purpose to try and make it out of the crowd faster. Which you would be mad about, if it weren’t for Finnick holding onto you tightly, guiding both you and Mags to the elevator, where Johanna managed to slip in just before the doors shut.

Inside, Finnick didn’t waste any time, grabbing your shoulders to tell you that he’d find you inside of the arena. If he didn’t, then you’d need to find him. There was a bigger alliance, and you’d be safer if you joined it. He didn’t have time to tell you who exactly was in it, before the elevator doors opened and he left with Mags.

You’ve been thinking about it since.

Finnick cares that you’re his soulmate, enough to the point where he wants to protect you inside of the arena. It wouldn’t be such a heinous idea, if it weren’t for the fact that you thought that Finnick was already taken, especially with that poem he did during his interview. Unless, it was meant for his soulmate, who he knew was watching at that moment, but unaware that it was him.

As for a bigger alliance, you have no clue what that means. You spent all three training days trying to figure out who was going to ally with who. The only alliance you managed to figure out was the most obvious one: the careers. As for everyone else, they’re some gigantic mystery.

If you had to guess now, you’d say that Johanna, Blight, Finnick and Mags are together. Which is a regular sized alliance, it’s not big by any means. You’re not entirely sure who else would be inclined to join something like that. Johanna and Finnick are intense people to be around, inside of an arena, it’s got to be worse.

At that rate, you’d say Katniss and Peeta, but they were entirely uninterested in Finnick and Johanna the whole week. You can’t see them all deciding to survive together in the arena. Unless, that’s what they want you to think, because they’re all similar in some way.

Still, that’s not necessarily a bigger alliance. That still falls under the career category, which means there are more people. You couldn’t even guess who they are, if you wanted to.

It doesn’t matter, you’ll be finding out in a few minutes anyway.

You fix the wetsuit on your body, straightening it to feel more comfortable. When you’re done, you pull your hair out of your face, knowing that it’ll give you a clearer sight above. You’re really hoping that it’s not going to be anything too extreme. You don’t want the desert, but you don’t want a frozen tundra, either. And you sure as hell don’t want the same nightmare arena that Haymitch lived through.

“It’s time.” Your stylist tells you.

You turn towards the cylinder that’ll raise you to the surface, stepping onto the metal plate. You take a few deep breaths to calm the anxiety that’s beginning to rise in your stomach. You did this one, which means that you’ll be able to do it again. You can do this.

The glass door slowly slides shut, sealing you inside of the tube. You turn away from your stylist to face the wall, and then close your eyes when you begin to get lifted.

A warm breeze washes over your skin, telling you to open your eyes to see where they’ve placed you this year. When you do, you’re met with a white light, blinding you instantly. You spend several vital seconds blinking away the sun.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games begin!”

A tight pain strikes your chest when you realize what you’re in the middle of. You slap both of your hands over your mouth, taking half a step backward, when you realize that you can’t go any further without accidentally killing yourself. You’re completely surrounded by beautiful blue water, before it would be grey.

You look over your shoulder, and you let out a breath of relief when you see a beach, and beyond that, a dense forest. No, not a forest. It’s much too lush and crowded to be just that, and the trees are too tall to compare to anything from home. The higher the branch, the bigger the leaves. That’s a jungle. A vibrant and healthy green jungle.

You turn back to face the golden cornucopia, and the island it sits on. From what you can tell, there’s twelve spokes coming out of the island, which means two tributes toa wedge. All you do is glance to your right, and you’re met with the girl from Six, who’s hugging herself right now, bony hands pulling her shoulders inward.

What are the chances she’s a part of the alliance? Does she know that you joined last night? No, how could she? There was no way to communicate after the interviews. If she’s not, will she pull herself together long enough to come and attack you as soon as the gong sounds? If it came down to it, you’d be able to kill her, considering she’s barely on her feet.

You angle yourself away from her and toward the spoke, not willing to even take the chance that she’s on your side.

You can’t imagine how Finnick must be feeling at this moment. He’s got to be ecstatic over the fact that he’s got the advantage this year. He’ll have no issue cutting through the waves. While you’re going to struggle to get to the spoke without drowning.

Fortunately, you know how to swim, you’re just rusty. It’ll all come back to you once you’re in the water, you just need to have a little hope. Although, the more you stare into the blue, you’re not sure if you can even bring yourself to get inside. Who knows how deep it goes beneath you?

The gong sounds, and you don’t move from the metal plate because of the paralyzing fear that’s telling you the water is too dangerous to get in. You watch as Six girl jumps into the water without hesitating, splashing around in the water until she gains momentum, heading to the spoke on her side.

When you look up, you’re met with the sight of a few other victors who also don’t move from their plates.

Well, if Six girl hasn’t died yet, that means you won’t either. You suck in a deep breath of air before you dive into the water. You’re pleasantly surprised that the water’s warm, but it’s salty. The moment it hits your eyes, you can’t see straight anymore, and you rely of blind faith to get you to the rocks.

You know you’re pointed in the right direction, so you do your best with swimming that way. You know you’ve got to look ridiculous, but there’s got to be other victors that are embarrassing themselves more. You’re sure there’s a good number of them that don’t even know how to. You’re one of the lucky few that got taught in Five when you were young.

It feels like you’re in the water forever, until your hand hits the rock. You pull yourself out of the water, wiping at your eyes to get the saltiness away. You cough out the taste, face twisted at how gross it is.

You get to your feet, eyes searching the open cornucopia mouth. All you can see is Katniss, a bow in her hand, digging through a pile of golden weapons. There’s got to be a knife in that pile with your name on it. That would be a good start to the Games, if you had something to defend yourself with.

As if Katniss is reading your thoughts as they come through, her head jerks up. An arrow is on her bow in the time it takes you to blink. You let out a panicked noise, covering your head as you drop to the rock to avoid being pierced. You can hear the whistle of the arrow flying over you.

“Fuck.” You murmur, daring to look up to see if she’s got another arrow for you.

She’s gone, though. And so is the theory that she’s part of the alliance that Finnick was talking about. What are the chances that Finnick was bluffing to you about that alliance to make you feel better about joining him? Did he really think you had anyone else to join?

Your chances at getting that knife are gone, the careers will be at that cornucopia in a matter of seconds, now. You get off your stomach and book it down the rocks, before careful not to trip on the way to the beach. You need to find Finnick. You’re completely weaponless, and there’s safety in numbers, usually.

Your shoe sinks into the sand, you stumble for a few steps before you catch your footing. Everything in you is screaming to run into the jungle, because you know that you’ll be hidden from the victors that specialize in long-range weapons. If you stay here, it’ll be easier to pick you out to kill.

You don’t move though, hesitating like you did on the metal plate, watching and waiting. You’re not even sure what for. You jerk away from the spoke when you see the careers picking through the weapons on the ground, but you don’t move from where your feet are planted in the sand.

That’s when you see them, three victors running into the jungle, a fourth one with grey hair being carried. The infamous trident that got him his win in his hand.

You start running down the beach, arms pumping at your sides as you take short and quick breaths. You need to catch up to them before they get lost in the jungle. You need to be with Finnick if you plan on making it out of this alive.

You cross five spokes in the matter of two minutes, which you're sure will be some record. You swing yourself around the same tree that you saw them pass by, putting you on the right track. The adrenaline that you had used up until this point is dissipating the further you run up the hill, sucking all of the energy from your body.

It’s too hot to be going at this rate, it would be smarter to pace yourself. Especially with how badly you’re sweating, you don’t even know where the nearest fresh water source is—and that’s assuming the arena has one.

The good news is that the path that Finnick is taking becomes clearer the further you go. The vegetation is harshly cut in odd ways, which means they must be swinging at it to make it easier to get through. If they’re traveling this quickly, that means you have to, too.

You’re not sure how long you’re running for, or why you’re still so far behind that you can’t even see them a little. It gets bad enough to the point that you begin to doubt that you’re even following the right path. What are the chances that someone else picked up a trident and you’re ignorantly following them?

You swear you saw Mags—

A sharp pain slices through your cheekbone, your head whips to the left, following the momentum of the weapon. You twist, tripping over your ankles as you fall to your knees, one hand cupping the fresh wound, and the other catches you from falling any further down the hill.

“Stop!” A familiar voice shouts, “Katniss—don’t!”

“Why?”

You’ve done it this time. Katniss already wants to kill you, and you’ve just managed to chase her a whole mile into the jungle without even knowing. What are the chances you can explain this and get away with it?

You turn to see who’s with her, and you’re relieved to see that you’ve been following the right people, after all. Finnick’s coming down the hill, curls bouncing with every step. “It’s just (Y/n), she’s our ally.”

“Ally?” Katniss echoes, she doesn’t look very happy.

“Yes.” Finnick doesn’t seem affected by her tone.

He stops in front of you, offering his hand. There’s a small smile on his face, pleased that you managed to find him. You take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He gently moves your hand away from your cheek so he can get a look at it for himself, thumb rubbing underneath it.

“It’s not deep, she grazed you.” He tells you.

“Another couple inches and I’d be dead.” You murmur.

“That’s what you get for trampling through the jungle.” He laughs, “You’re not very discreet.”

“You’re lucky I caught sight of you, at all.”

The two of you wander up the hill, where you find Katniss, Peeta and Mags. Your theory about them being allies wasn’t so far off, it looks like. If it keeps going like this, you’re sure Johanna and Blight will join, and then you’ll be at seven. The numbers will probably stop there, you can imagine.

“Well, you two are close.” Katniss says bitterly, “Didn’t even know you two knew each other.”

“Well, when you’re soulmates, it’s almost like your whole world view changes.” You say.

Katniss nods slightly, “I’m going to climb a tree, get a better view on the cornucopia.”

“We’ll be down here.” Peeta says.

You take a seat next to Mags in the shade, trying to get your breathing back on track after running for so long in this heat. For a minute, you were sure that you were going to pass out.

While other victors might’ve trained for this day, you didn’t bother.

“How—?” Finnick manages to get out, before the tinkling noise of a sponsor gift silences him.

The four of you look into the air, curious on where it’s coming from, and who it must be for this early on. Normally, when you’re mentoring, you try to hold onto the sponsors until the most important moments. Every penny counts. However, you guess that the gifts are so cheap right now that it won’t even make a difference.

The medium-sized container lands right in front of you. You share a look with Finnick, unsure about opening it.

“It can’t hurt.” He says.

You reach forward, moving the parachute out of the way before you pop open the lid. In the middle of the container sits a small slip of paper, with the word ‘congrats’ written on it. There’s a knife beneath it, beautifully carved with a sharp and curved blade. This is meant for you, there’s no question about it.

You begin to inspect it in your hand, when the sound of tinkling begins again.

“What’s happening?” Peeta asks.

“Congratulations gifts.” Finnick says, he catches this one in his hands. When he opens the lid, he lets out a laugh, “Water.”

You’re on your feet in an instant to see for yourself. There’s five bottles inside of the container, one for each of you. You take one out, and laugh for yourself, because they’re cold. You press the bottle to your forehead for a minute, before opening it and taking a few sips.

Peeta gets to his feet, coming over to grab one for himself. You move around Mags, grabbing Finnick’s shoulder to make him lean in your direction. You cup your hands to block what you’re saying from the Capitol, “We’re going to play this up, aren’t we?”

Finnick turns to you with the biggest grin, eyes dancing over your face, “You know it, darling.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x y/n #finnick imagine #finnick oneshot #finnick x reader #finnick fanfic #finnick x you #finnick x yn #finnick x y/n #thg #the hunger games #requested #fluff

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fushigurro · 13 days

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𝘼𝙑𝙊𝙄𝘿𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙀 / 𝘼𝘾𝘾𝙀𝙋𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙀.

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗕!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / oral (reader receiving) / no power dynamics / a bit of cross-dressing (on gojo's end, but nothing too serious) / food + eating mentions / brief cigarette smoking / a friends to lovers type beat / 1.7k words

“I dunno... I think blue is more my color.”

“No... I like the pink.”

“Really? More than the blue?”

“Not necessarily. I like any color.”

You pull the lollipop from between your red-stained lips, and he considers your perspective.

A mini-skirt of light pink hangs low on Satoru’s hips as he twists them girlishly in the mirror on the bedroom door, checking from every angle, watching as the fabric sways with the motion. The t-shirt he wears with it hugs his torso and rides up from the bottom to rest just above his navel.

For a while you eyed the way the pink garment was juxtaposed against the coarse tuft of white leading down the center, framed by the prominent v-line that likewise disappeared behind the elastic hem. He was sculpted in some sort of heavenly image, you were sure, so of course he wore the trappings of a feminine adolescent with grace, just as any other thing he could think to put on.

But then your eyes move up to study his face, capturing the discerning but leisurely look that crosses it, relatively unbothered by the actual outcome of blue vs. pink, the two colors of the same skirt you’d both purchased for yourselves in a childish frenzy. You, on your belly on the bed, are surrounded by candy wrappers and shopping bags, and wearing the respective blue.

A cigarette hangs from between his lips, turning to ash but breathed in only once. Another distraction, an experimental vice requested at the cash register on a whim as you both stood there side-by-side—excited, gluttonous children.

There are dates on the calendar in which there's a certain sadness in his eyes, corrupting the crystal blues with the murk of remembered pain. He doesn't speak it, denies any bad feeling with a sugar-coated grin and a pointed playful jab, but you are no fool. He is not impervious to the human condition, nor are you oblivious to the signs of its wear and tear.

Bringing it to the light would likely cause his inner animal—the animal he tries to protect with avoidance—to skitter, causing a rift or lure towards dissociation until he returns with a forced smile. So, for once, you decide that maybe indulging the avoidance might be a method that yields interesting results.

It was all juvenile in nature, littered with the essence of instant gratification and riding the high of impulsivity. But truly, it was tame compared to what other adults your age might’ve done to drive bad thoughts away, trapped in the chokehold of dangerous vices.

You’d simply urged him to stores, swiping cards and collecting excess, nursing caffeinated drinks, adding to the sugar rush by dropping armfuls of candy boxes into shopping carts. Satoru had even taken a liking to a stuffed white creature with eyes like his own—some sort of popular character adjacent to Hello Kitty, you think. It now sits near you on the bed.

He sighs and deflates, sauntering towards the bedside table where he takes a sip from the soda can there. You rise from where you’d been laying, sitting up on the edge of the mattress and leaning back on your hands as Satoru plops down next to you, matching your posture and jostling ash from the tip of the neglected cigarette. The exciting buzz of the day is starting to wear off, quiet settling between you.

You pull the stick of tobacco from his mouth and remove the candy from your own, slipping the ball of sweetness between his willing lips to create a peculiar flavor. He sucks on it while you switch to inhaling smoke, coughing with a frown and then reaching across him to drop the cigarette in the soda can. Another failed distraction, 19 sticks in a box that’ll go unlit.

He grins in amusement, skirt draped over muscled thighs. He steals a glance at yours.

“You could always try getting drunk,” you say, exhaling smoke and breaking the silence.

“No way—you know I don't like it.”

It was a last-ditch effort, a grasping at straws. “I know. I don't like it either.”

Silence falls again. There are so many things you know about each other, but so many things you don’t, primarily of the intimate variety. Satoru thinks he might like to learn them.

But first, he has to try and dismiss. Unnerve. Avoid.

His smile droops a little, six-eyes studying you with interest, voice dropping. He’s closer now.

“Why do you always help me? I could kill you in an instant,” he states casually, finally acknowledging your motives behind the entire fun-filled day, though making a point to reaffirm your weakness compared to his strength.

What a severe choice of words to be paired with a teasing grin, but they aren’t incorrect. He’s nature’s favorite freak. Yours, too.

You meet his gaze, unwavering, stealing the lollipop from him. “’Could’ and ‘would’ are two different things."

He challenges you. “You don’t think I would?”

“In the pink skirt?” Your eyes flit around in thought. “Hmm… no. But maybe the blue.” You smile cheekily, mouth red like his own, and he exhales a chuckle. Beating him at his own game.

“I wouldn’t.”

Satoru’s breath mingles with your own, close enough to breeze against your skin that glows in the fading sunlight from the window. Everything is bare feet, mini skirts, and orange sunset, with a heaping spoonful of sugar and feelings rising to the surface. Childlike milieu. Leaning in for a kiss feels like the only viable option.

You’ve never tasted his lips before, and you know they don’t naturally emulate cigarettes, but that’s how they are to you now. It’s a similar thing from his perspective; however, it doesn’t deter either of you from spreading the flavor between you with slow, languid licks that also share a hint of strawberry lollipop, the paper stick pinched between your fingers, momentarily forgotten.

There’s a hand on your thigh as breathing patterns start to change, bodies wanting to melt together the longer you lap at each other’s mouths. But it isn’t hurried, the sugar crash making it a little drunken; or maybe the satisfaction of finally merging just puts the two of you at ease.

Satoru pulls back, tipsy from spit and indulgence, but seeking more of you now that he’s discovered the perfect medicine. The tips of his fingers inch higher up the inside of your thigh, and you pop the sucker back onto your tongue to suppress a moan.

“Let me try something else?” he asks with heavy lids, eyeing your pretty lips and pleading for this final distraction. But it’s not really a distraction anymore.

You’re staring at his lips too, nodding and humming around the candy in your mouth.

Satoru’s knees meet the carpet in front of you, palms spreading your thighs apart so that he can see the panties you’re wearing beneath your skirt. It shouldn’t feel like home for him here when he’s never even visited before, but it does, on both your end and his.

When his fingers clutch the waistband to strip away the fabric, you raise and shift your hips closer to the edge of the bed to offer assistance. Then the underwear has been rolled down your thighs and discarded on the floor, revealing you to him in full, Satoru marveling at the new sight and thumbing through the slit with the watering mouth of a starved animal.

He gets a little high off the smell of your cunt, your slick a narcotic on his tongue when he dips into it. He laves and smears until he’s covered in the sticky shine, lost in the service of another as it serves him in kind; placates him, fills the space where ache and self-importance used to encumber his chest.

The attention he presses to your clit rivals the attention you’d given his battered soul, paying you back, accepting love by letting it flow in, circulate, and flow back out. Appreciation, reciprocation, acceptance. He writes it with a wet muscle on every crevice of your delicate flesh.

Those burdened baby blues from earlier have become glazed with lust and love, peering up at you with adoration and accented by perfectly flushed cheeks. Your thighs are the heated walls of a century-old church during a southern summer, and it’s his favorite season. He’ll gladly work up a sweat with his prayer, his offering, his worship; he loves the purpose. Cum on his tongue and show him that God is listening, won’t you?

He wants to forever wear your pleasure as a gloss on his lips, let it override the taste of sugarcane and artificial flavor, the remnants of tobacco and nicotine, the weight of sorrow and melancholy.

Gift him with your orgasm, let it heal his wounds. Cleanse him, baptize him, save him.

He savors every second of his slow devotion, as do you, head falling back and throat singing his praises with moans of favorable timbre. Satoru’s eyes roll into his skull when your fingers slip between silky white strands and tug, shooting pleasure-pain straight down to his aching cock. He figures you’re close because your heels dig into his back and you grind your pussy along his chin, so the devotee keeps offering your cunt strawberry kisses until you fall apart.

He drinks down every last drop of essence that falls upon his tongue as your thighs encase him, a coil of ecstasy releasing in your gut. Your orgasm is sweeter than any candy he’s ever tasted, stronger than any bad memory that’s ever dared to haunt him. He’s even forgotten what had him feeling so somber today in the first place.

Lost friends. Lost ways. Things that hurt but are soothed by your companionship.

Satoru rises from his place of worship and seals the divine deal with a kiss, hardly taking the notion to breathe in between. Steadfast, you welcome him like you always do, making space in your heart and body for a man who didn’t think he required any love.

He is human too—living, breathing flesh that flourishes when provided with the proper nourishment. He may have a proclivity for convincing the world otherwise, but in his heart he knows it’s a deflection, an avoidance.

But he does not have to flee from pain, not anymore, because you will be there to strip it away from him. Not with candies and other pleasures of the flesh, but with the love and acceptance of a person who nobody ever thought needed it.

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #my writing.#re: satoru gojo

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ahdraftingco · 1 year

Text

pairing: hard dom!joel miller x desperate!reader

ao3 crosspost: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44445643

rating: explicit (minors DNI)

word count: 7.8k+

summary: joel is your only hope, unfortunately. you and him aren't on the best of terms…not after you left him for dead during a smuggling run. but, he's the only one you can turn to when there's no one left in your life that gives a fuck, so you swallow your pride and ask for help from the man who hates your guts.

a/n: as always please read through ALL the warnings before proceeding: porn with plot, **dubious consent**, hard dom!joel miller, enemies to lovers, heavy angst (be ready for feels!), age gap, jealousy, possessive behavior, size difference, breaking and entering, use of the words "sir"/"princess", dom/sub undertones, death threats, degradation, spit, praise kink, forced orgasms, squirting, spanking, bdsm, choking, knife play, unprotected piv, breeding kink, body worship, minor injuries/scars, hair-pulling, alcohol mention, drug abuse (sleeping pills), hurt/comfort, no use of y/n

enjoy this little one-shot I whipped up in the moment! it's been raining and I love the idea of being stuck in the rain with nowhere else to go except to your worst enemy's home ;) have a fun read!

｡ﾟ🌨｡ﾟ｡⋆ ﾟ petrichor (n.): the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil ｡ﾟ🌨｡ﾟ｡⋆ ﾟ

You're about to do something very stupid. Though, it's not like that's atypical for you. You're used to doing impulsive things, but this…this is just downright idiotic.

Breaking into Joel Miller's apartment in the middle of a hurricane may take the cake of shit you really should not do in your lifetime. You reason to yourself that you'll hide there until you dry off and then you'll find some other place to fuck off to. He should be asleep so you'll have at least a few hours if he took the pills. He loves those pills. They're the only thing that will get him to sleep.

You remember being on the road with him, out to pick up the very pills he was used to taking and smuggling them back. To think, he actually lived after you left him for dead. In your defense, you're younger and the moment those slavers caught up to him, you weren't going to stop running in hopes of saving him.

You both were only business partners, anyways. You were the liaison, he was the muscle. That's all you were. Nothing else.

Even the few times you both were bored out of your minds, waiting for a contact, the sex was to kill time. It wasn't bad, but there wasn't any feeling in it. Neither of you can feel much. You've lost enough and so has he. You both kept your distance from getting too close and that's why it worked, your little partnership.

That is, until you left him for dead.

Ever since he managed to get back, you haven't taken a single big smuggling job. You've completely cut yourself from the network because you don't want to deal with the wrath of Joel Miller. You settled for solo trips between cities to deliver smaller items, like letters between loved ones. The work didn't pay well and it was dangerous, but it was all you could do in the meantime.

You heard Joel was heading out of town for some job and he won't be back for a long while. That'll be when you can reintegrate yourself into the smuggling scene, without the fear of being murdered by him.

You've spent so much time avoiding him, and now you're about to throw all that away because you're fucking freezing your ass off in the pouring rain and you need a place to go that isn't flooded. All your usual spots are filled to the brink with water and you haven't had your own place in quite some time. Rent is too expensive and you don't need a space to call your own anyways.

Back to the matter at hand, this isn't the first time you've snuck into Joel's apartment.

You've done it three times.

The first time, it was to steal some of his booze. It was a long day with no pay at the end of it because your contact fucking cheaped out and got killed so you needed a drink and you weren't going to ask him for one. Steal first, beg for forgiveness later, though he never did find out.

The second time, you needed some pills. Sure, you could buy your own, or pocket a few on your runs, but you knew Joel kept the good shit for himself, so you snatched some and replaced them with counterfeits. They weren't going to kill him. Or, well, they didn't. You weren't actually sure if they were safe or not, but at that moment, you didn't really care.

People die all the time. What's one more death?

As for the last time you snuck into his apartment…it's the reason why you would never want to do it again. It didn't feel good. You can't explain it but you forgot why you were there in the first place the moment you saw Joel and Tess together. You watched from the fire escape outside the bedroom window as Joel held her more tenderly than he has ever held you. You wondered then if she meant something to him.

You wondered then if you ever meant something to him.

Maybe that's why you left him for dead. He didn't need you. He had Tess. You had no one but yourself to protect.

You hope—prayed—Tess wasn't there now. You don't know what you'd do if she was.

Could you still sneak in, or would seeing them together again break you once more?

You don't understand why it pains you as much as it does. Envy, you think, that must be it. You envy that Joel has someone he can hold like that, someone who can hold him like that, while you're all alone, cold and soaked in the rain.

You're sick and tired of this fucking rain, so you decide to say fuck it and sneak in.

If Tess is there, so be it. You'll live. Maybe.

With a quick spin of your lockpick, you easily get the bathroom window open, sliding quietly inside. The apartment is still and silent, so you're certain they're asleep if they are here. You take the moment to strip your clothes off, half because they're wet beyond salvageability, half because they'll be too loud for you to sneak into Joel's closet to take some spare clothes.

You dry yourself off with what you assume must be his towel because it smells musky with a hint of cigarettes and whiskey. You then make your way out of the bathroom, opening the door as slowly as you can so that it doesn't creak. It's fucking cold since you're completely naked, but you fight back the shivers as you tiptoe into the living room.

You hold in a sigh of relief when you see the bed is empty and Joel is asleep, alone, on the couch with an empty glass of whiskey on the table near him. He's knocked out. You should be fine for a few hours, like you predicted.

You still keep your guard up, being as stealthy as possible as you rummage through his closet for something to wear. You manage to find a shirt and some sweats that fit you decently and socks. You're very thankful for the socks.

Now, all you have to do is decide where you're going to hole up for the next few hours. You contemplate laying underneath the bed. You doubt Joel will check there for any reason and that way, you could maybe get some sleep since you'd be on your back. But, it's a bit too risky.

You could hang out in the closet, but he might need to look through it, so that's not the best option. Same goes for the bathroom. You'd have to be ready in case he needs to piss.

So, you throw the idea of sleep out the window. You just need a place to chill and not get caught.

Easier said than done, because the moment you decide to hide in the bathroom closet, arms wrap around your body and slam you to the hallway floor.

You spit out the word "fuck" as you try to get yourself back up, but then you feel a knife press against your neck, sobering you up from the pain real fast. Joel holds you down with his entire body, consuming you completely as he towers over you like a wild beast.

"Don't fucking move or I'll slit your throat, princess." Joel's southern accent has such a bite to it that you get more goosebumps than when you were cold.

"Alright." You stay completely still as you tell him, "I just need to stay until the rain stops, then I'll go. I won't bother you again, Joel. I promise."

"You've done enough bothering as it is." There's a tinge of anger in his tone and you know why it's there. "Why are you even here? Ain't you got somewhere else to be?"

You slowly shake your head then admit, "I had nowhere else to go. Everywhere's flooded."

"What happened to your place?" He knew you back when you had one. Probably assumed you still had it.

"Couldn't afford to keep living there. Haven't had a place of my own in a while." You don't know why you're being honest to him, but you're hoping it'll build some rapport so that he'll get off of you. "Will you please put the knife away?"

"You aren't in a position to make demands." He presses the knife further into your neck with those words, the blade cutting into you just enough for you to really feel it. "You've got some fucking nerve, breaking into my place and stealing my clothes."

"I'm sorry, Joel." You're starting to feel the air sting the cut on your neck and you bite back a wince as you plead, "I really didn't have anywhere else to go. I just wanted to get out of the rain. You weren't even supposed to know I was here."

"You think I didn't know?" It sounds like you've ticked him off more with that. "I've let you steal from me enough times, but this time, you aren't getting away with it, princess."

This is news to you. "You…knew?"

"You don't think I keep track of my whiskey and my pills?" He scoffs, irritated that you thought he wasn't going to notice.

Then what about…you don't ask. You can't bring yourself to.

If he knew you were there when he was with Tess, then Joel did it on purpose. He wanted you to see them together. He wanted you to suffer and yearn for a moment you could never have. Fucking asshole.

"You had plenty and you know it's hard for me to get shit." You retort, not allowing him to act so high and mighty. "They don't give a fuck about selling you alcohol or drugs because you're just a dying old man."

Right when you finish your sentence, Joel tosses the knife aside and before you can stop him, both of his hands wrap around your throat and press down hard. You gasp for air as he starts strangling you. You reach up with your hands, clawing at his arms, trying to get him the fuck off you, but he's so much stronger than you. He always has been.

"Is that all I ever was to you? A dying old man?" He spits in your face out of pure anger, making you flinch. "Is that why you left me there? Because you figured I'd be dead soon anyways, so why fucking bother? Do you know what those slavers did to me?"

You blink back tears, not from the pain of being choked out, but because you knew. You heard what happened to Joel. How they used him as their punching bag. How they forced him to kill people for them in the most sadistic ways. How they stripped away the last shred of humanity left in him before he found the strength to slaughter them all.

"I'm sorry." You breathe out meekly. "I'm so sorry…"

"No, you ain't." Joel releases you from his grip then, allowing you to breathe.

You swallow as much air as you can through your bruised neck. Every breath hurts but you're too desperate for air to care. Then, you start to sob because it's all too much.

"I shouldn't have left you, Joel." You confess everything to him in a moment of weakness. "I should've stayed and fought them, but I was scared of getting caught by them. I know what they do to women like me…and I just…I couldn't…I'm sorry. I fucked up. I should've—"

"Get your ass up." Joel snaps his fingers and you listen to him all too reflexively, standing up beside him. "Now go over to the bed and bend over."

Your throat goes completely dry and you want to protest but…

"Listening to me right now is what you should do." He makes it clear that he won't repeat himself.

So, you quickly run over to his bed and do as you're told, bending over so that your stomach is on the bed but your feet are planted in the ground. It's humiliating, having your ass up like this and not being able to see Joel staring at you.

That's the point, you figure, since he goes, "now kick off your pants and spread your legs again just like that."

You freeze because…you really don't want to do that since you aren't wearing anything underneath. He doesn't like your hesitation at all.

Suddenly, you feel him yank you up by your hair and he yells straight in your face, "do as I say or I'll hurt you worse than those slavers would have."

Joel finishes his threat by spitting in your face and you whimper in fear, nodding your head to show him you understand before you strip off your pants. He lets go of your hair and your face drops back onto the bed as your legs spread with your ass up, completely naked from the waist down.

"Now, present to me." He demands fiercely. "Use your hand and show me your pussy."

You squirm, mainly out of embarrassment. You've never done anything like this before. It's degrading, dipping your dominant hand between your legs so you can hold open your folds so he can see all of you. You can't even tell where he's looking because he's directly behind you.

Then, you let out a shocked gasp when you feel him spit right on your clit. It's wet and warm and you should feel uncomfortable but it tingles in the weirdest way. You shouldn't want any of this, but your pussy is starting to ache uncontrollably.

"Poor little princess." Joel mocks you as his fingers trail along your bare ass. "It looks like it's been a while since someone's used this hole of yours."

He isn't wrong, as humiliating as it is to admit. You've been on a dry spell since you left him for dead. You just couldn't bring yourself to have a fling, not with all the guilt. It's hard to get turned on when your thoughts won't stop haunting you.

It makes you wonder why you're feeling the heat rise in your body despite it all. You're almost certain you're getting wet. It's more than just his spit between your legs and that haunts you in a totally different way.

"Tell me the truth." He addresses himself like he used to when the two of you would fuck. "Has no one touched you recently?"

You take in a deep breath before you answer, "no one, not even myself."

"Why?" He asks, his fingers slowly making their way down the line of your ass, brushing along all of your sensitive skin with his rough fingertips.

"I-I couldn't." You feel ashamed saying this but you do anyways, "I didn't want to feel good."

"Is that why you've been taking those shitty courier jobs?" His words surprise you.

Has Joel…been keeping tabs on you?

"Someone has to do them."

"Enough people have died doing them." He tells you as you feel a finger teasing your entrance. You quiver at his touch, stunned at how it contrasts with his words, "do you want to die, my princess?"

You press your lips together and then, when you can't seem to hold it in anymore, you whisper, "yes, sir."

His finger slips inside of you right then and your toes curl. It feels foreign because it's been a while but so familiar because it's Joel. Your body leans into the feeling as he grinds his finger against your g-spot.

"Now, why would the girl who left this old man to die want to die now?" He asks as he bends over on top of you, engulfing you in his body. His hot breath lingers on your ear when he whispers, "are you scared to be alive in a world where I'm not dead?"

Joel digs another thick finger inside of you, spreading you wide open. You bite the comforter, trying to ease the sudden mix of pain and pleasure that's coursing through your body.

"Answer me." He commands, grabbing you by the hair once again so he can yank you up, pulling you away from the hold you had on the blanket with your teeth.

You don't know what to say. It's hard to think when he's stirring your insides like this while he taunts you for your past actions. You're a mixture of guilty and aroused right now.

Your mind is so foggy which is why you start mumbling out your thoughts without a filter, "I'm not afraid of you, Joel. I don't mind if you hurt me for what I've done to you. I deserve it. I deserve…all of it, even death. It should've been me. I don't have anyone to live for. At least you had Tess so—"

Maybe mentioning her name is what got him mad, but Joel cuts you off from speaking by roughly fingering you faster. Your legs start to wobble as your orgasm builds, your body threatening to collapse in on itself. You can't say another word because every breath is occupied by a moan or a gasp for air.

"Cum." Joel is stern and his fingers are unyielding. "Cum your fucking brains out, princess."

Your orgasm spills out like a broken dam the moment he thrusts side to side, forcing your body to convulse inwards. He catches you before you collapse entirely, guiding you onto his lap. There, he wraps his arms around you, holding you as you navigate every wave of sheer intensity surging through you.

You lean on him with your head buried in the crook of his neck, and Joel gently rubs your back, helping you calm down. Maybe that's why you feel secure enough to cry. You latch onto him and you just sob everything out, needing to release all the feelings built up inside of you since the moment you found out he'd never be yours.

"I didn't want to leave you." You breathe out softly in between your tears. "I didn't want to admit that I was jealous of you and Tess. I didn't want to deal with it, with the fact that I was really all alone and you weren't. It's selfish but…I liked that you had no one else because it meant you were like me. When that wasn't the case anymore, I just…I panicked and ran and I left you for dead. I'm sorry, Joel. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Your heart aches so terribly now that the pleasure has washed out of your system. It felt good to be touched by him again, even if it was under these circumstances. But, that fear creeps back in, the fear that he'll never touch you again, and you hold onto him tighter because of it, not wanting to let go.

"Come here." He whispers, nudging you until you're straddling his lap. Then, he taps on his shoulder and instructs, "bite."

You nod, listening to his orders, wondering if he even heard anything you just said. You pool the fabric of his shirt in your mouth, holding it with your teeth. You keep your head buried in his neck, unable to look at him after everything you confessed.

That's okay, though. He doesn't need to see your face. Not for what's about to happen.

You fully understand the moment you feel his cold hand grip your ass. He's keeping you steady for a reason.

"No screaming." He warns and you nod, bracing yourself by biting down a bit harder.

The first spank is a test. It's not hard, but it's not light either. You squirm after he smacks your ass and unconsciously, your body grinds up against him. You realize then that he's hard underneath you, his cock bulging right through his sweats.

Now, you're biting back a moan.

"Good girl." He praises you for keeping quiet but then switches to a more sinister tone. "Now, I won't stop until you've been thoroughly punished. Do you understand, princess? Let me hear it."

You let go of his shirt from your mouth, shocked that it's already soaked in your drool, so you can answer, "yes, sir."

Before you can get the fabric stuffed back in your mouth, Joel slaps you hard on the ass and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. You hold in your whines and he rewards you by gently kneading your sensitive skin, easing you through the pain.

"I treat you well, don't I?" He asks and you nod in response, which is why he allows you the time to bundle his shirt back into your mouth. Then, he whispers, almost too quietly for you to catch, "then why did you run from me?"

Another smack connects with your ass and you quiver all over from the suddenness. You can feel how wet you've gotten because you've soaked his sweats, his cock pressing wet fabric up against your bare pussy. You want him inside of you. You can't resist it when you're right up against him like this.

But, you don't deserve it. You don't deserve him, not after what you did. So, you grip onto his back tightly with your hands, preparing yourself to endure whatever he wants to do to you.

"Lift your hips." He pushes you upwards until you're no longer fully sat on his lap. "Now strip."

You don't protest, pulling away from him once more so you can tug your shirt off, tossing it on the floor. You don't even remember being cold, not when your entire body is on fire right now.

You watch as Joel scans every inch of your skin with his eyes, swallowing you up in his intense gaze. Then, when he has had his fill of looking at you, he demands, "show me that pussy of yours."

As much as it kills you to do so, because the sheer thought sends heat through every inch of your skin, you lean back and use your hand to spread your folds to give him what he wants. It's hard to hold this position, but that's the point. He wants you to suffer both physically and mentally. It's what you deserve so you submit to it.

"Look at your clit." His rough fingers brush against that bundle of nerves, rippling shockwaves through you. "It's begging to be touched with how swollen it is."

You swore, you could feel more of your slick drip out onto your fingers when he said that. There's something in the way he draws you in with his words that forces your body to respond. It aches for him, truly.

"Tell me what you want, princess." He teases your inner thighs, drawing circles there as he waits for your reply.

You shouldn't say a word. You shouldn't want anything because you can't have it.

But, you can't resist telling him, "I miss the way your mouth feels."

That's the first time you see Joel smile all night. It's a light smirk, but a grin nonetheless.

"Did you like the way I'd eat your pussy when we needed to kill time?" His words spark so much desire in you as the memories flood your mind.

It was lazy, the way Joel would rest with his head between your legs, spending hours exploring you with his tongue out of sheer boredom. Half the time, it was less for pleasure and more for comfort. It helped you sleep. It helped him sleep. Why? Neither of you knew, but if it worked, you both kept it up.

"I liked it more than I should have." You whisper quietly into the night, hoping your words will be washed away from the heavy rain pouring outside.

Suddenly, Joel tosses you onto your back on the bed and then buries his face between your legs. You gasp, not expecting to feel his warm tongue on your clit so soon, but he's impatient. You grab onto his hair as he swirls his tongue just the way you used to like it, making your mind all fuzzy from delight.

"If you keep doing that…I'm going to…" You clamp your hand over your mouth, silencing yourself because you know it won't do you any good. He's not listening, anyways.

You stifle your moans in your palm as Joel keeps ravaging your pussy. You can feel your orgasm building and it's a big one. You're going to explode and it scares you.

You want to tell Joel to stop because you won't be able to handle it. You can't live with the thought of how good it feels to have him touch you like this. It's too much. Maybe that's why the tears pool up in your eyes.

"I can't." You try to push him away, begging him, "please, Joel, we can't do this…"

You can feel how close you are and it's taking every bit of your strength to edge yourself. You need to hold it in. You can't cum. You can't…because he isn't yours.

This all ends tonight and you can't bear more memories of this. You avoided him for a reason…and now it's hitting you at full force.

You feel something for Joel. You wouldn't call it love, but it's something. It's meaningful enough that it scares the living fuck out of you.

"Please, stop." You shove at him, needing him to listen but he won't so you have to say what you must, even if it breaks your heart, "what about Tess? What would she do if she found out–"

"Shut up." He's quick with his retort, silencing you. "She has nothing to do with this, with us."

There is no us. You want to tell him that but it hurts too much to admit.

So, instead, you confess something else, "I saw you, before our run. You made love to Tess. You held her more tenderly than you've ever held me. You can't…you can't throw that away. Please, Joel. Don't ruin a good thing."

"Fucking hypocrite." He curses at you, his southern accent peaking as he growls back at you, "you're the one who ruined a good thing. You're the one who slept with my fucking brother and now you're lecturing me about fucking someone else?"

You blink, stunned that Joel knows about that. It was a while ago. A long while ago. Maybe the third time you met Tommy. You both got drunk and slept together. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't anything special. It was just a drunken one night stand that never happened again but you told Tommy that you both needed to keep it from Joel. It would just be better if he didn't know and Tommy agreed…

So, what changed? Did Tommy have a change of heart and tell Joel?

Joel confirms it. "Tommy told me everything. Said he needed to confess his sins after he married his wife. And here I thought…"

There's an expression on Joel's face that you can't quite parse. It's not anger. It's not resentment. It's just…pain.

Heartbreak.

You and Joel went to Tommy's wedding, since it was a stop on the way to one of the hubs you both had a job at. He made you dress up, which you never do but you did because it was a wedding and you'd never been to one before. You spent that night with Joel, shared a dance, talked about life before the outbreak. You were young when it happened, so you practically grew up in this world, knowing very little of the world before.

The night came and went in a flash. You and Joel had stayed up, just mindlessly chatting together. You remember calling him handsome because you'd never seen him in a suit before.

You had shoved the memory of him kissing you gently on the cheek before telling you to go rest for the day, since you both had to head out soon. It was a soft peck but it…it was unlike anything he'd done before. It was almost romantic and you couldn't fall asleep with that on your mind.

Joel mentioned nothing of it when you both left Tommy's place. He didn't really talk much for the rest of that job. He did, however, fuck you roughly every now and then on the road.

Boredom, he claimed. He liked toying with his submissive little princess.

When you both got back, he got close with Tess and then you caught them sleeping together and the rest was history…right?

Wrong.

"I knew you were there." Joel climbs on top of you then so that he can look down on you, seeing how much smaller you are than him. He wants to be powerful because his words make him feel weak. "I knew you were watching me and Tess so I fucked with you. I wanted to make you jealous. I wanted to get back at you for fucking my brother behind my back. I wanted…I wanted you to feel something for me, but you didn't. You just left me there to die. You didn't give a fuck about me and I should've realized that sooner before I gave a fuck about you."

"What…" You're in total disbelief.

Did Joel really fuck Tess like that because of some kind of jealous vendetta? He wanted you to yearn for his love and that was the only way he could show it because he was scared you didn't want it.

"Joel, I–"

He cuts you off to ask, "did I really mean nothing to you? I let you steal my booze. I let you steal my pills. I let you steal my fucking heart and you left me to die."

You choke on your own inhale then, the guilt consuming you. You know you shouldn't have left him. You know you should've fought and tried to save him. You know…but you were afraid and selfish and running from more than just your feelings for him.

"You meant too much to me." You speak the truth into the night because you need him to know it. "And that scared me. I never felt that way about anyone before and…and I thought I was all alone in it. I was angry because I thought you could be happy without me. I was sad because I didn't want you to be with Tess. I left you…because I didn't know how I'd live if I had to come back and watch you live a life with someone else that wasn't me. I'm sorry, Joel. I'm so fucking sorry…"

You feel tears streaming down your face, but they aren't yours. They're hitting your nose, dripping down your cheeks and onto your lips. They're hot and salty. Nothing like the cold, crisp rain outside.

And, they're coming from Joel of all people.

This hardened, soulless smuggler is crying in front of you because of you.

These tears are for you, right?

"I told myself if I made it out of there alive that I'd kill you." His words send chills down your spine even if his eyes are spilling tears. "I told myself that the only reason I needed to live was to get back at you for leaving me in the dust. But then, I came back and…you were doing worse than me. I didn't even think that was possible, but I watched you. You tried your hardest to avoid me, but I still found ways to keep an eye on you and…you would've let yourself wither away over this. My beautiful princess would've let the light die inside of her because of me. Am I right?"

You close your eyes, pinching them shut because seeing him sad is too much for you. It's hardly believable that he's sad over you.

Has he really been watching you waste away? Would he have…wanted to help?

Is that why he hasn't kicked you out of his place? Is that why he wanted to make you feel good?

"I didn't think I deserved to be happy after what I did to you."

You open your eyes then but immediately close them when you feel Joel's lips on yours. Out of necessity, you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your hands in his hair, pulling him close to you. You and Joel rarely kissed, and it never felt like this.

There's such a desperation in it, where both of you just have to be connected, sharing breaths and space in each other's mouths.

"I haven't been happy without you." Joel breathes out onto your lips when he pulls away. "I wanted to be with you. That's why Tommy told me. It's because I told him how much I wanted you and he couldn't keep it a secret any longer."

"He was worried I didn't feel the same." You gather that to be the case and he nods in agreement.

"And I thought he was right, until now." Joel cups your face in his hands, carefully wiping away the tears from your cheeks as he explains, "I was so angry with you, but it hurt more not having you by my side. I thought I lost you forever. The only reason I had the strength to come back was for you."

"Joel…" You can't help but pull him in for a hug, sobbing into his shoulder, "don't let me go. I don't want to be alone anymore. Please let me stay here."

"Until the hurricane ends?" He asks, the nerves apparent in his tone.

You shake your head against his chest and then promise, "until you want to kill me for what I've done."

He chuckles lightly at that and nods. "Deal."

You smile at him then and you realize that's the first time you've smiled all night. It warms your heart and you lean up, giving Joel a kiss on the cheek like he had done at Tommy's wedding.

"Let's get you under the covers." He must notice that you're getting cold so he helps you get warm, bundling the comforter over the two of you. "Have you been cold without me?"

You feel embarrassed that he'd ask something like that, mainly because you know he's prompting you to say, "it's always warmer snuggling up with you, sir."

"Good girl, still knowing who she belongs to." Joel must be very happy about that because he slowly sinks his way under the covers until he's back between your legs. "Now, is my precious princess going to cum for me this time?"

"Yes." You assure him that you won't hold back.

"Ask politely." He's demanding and it shoots such a thrill through you to see him like this again.

"Will you please make me cum, sir?" You chew on your lip right after you say that, trying to hold in your shyness.

"Only if you don't hold in your voice. I rarely get to hear you be vocal, so I want you to be now."

You hadn't realized how used to being quiet you were in bed. Holding in your moans was a necessity since you and Joel normally fucked out in the open and rarely behind closed doors. This wouldn't be the first time you've gotten to be loud, but it would be the first time you can really let yourself drown in the pleasure.

"Please hurry, then." You grip onto his messy hair, urging him to continue. He smiles at your impatience and doesn't keep you waiting much longer.

Your eyes roll back when Joel's lips wrap around your clit, giving it a light suck. It's like all the air has escaped your lungs because you can't breathe anymore. His beard scratches at your inner thighs and it makes you want to grind on him more. You just want to remember this feeling.

You want him to etch himself into your mind and body completely.

"I love it when you ride my face like that, darlin'." The term of endearment rolls off his tongue before he dips lower, teasing your aching pussy with the tip.

"Please." You hate that he's stalling. You're wriggling at his soft touch, at the way he dips his tongue so casually inside of you. He knows it's not enough to get you off.

Joel relishes in the control he has over you. He might be smothered between your thighs but he's in charge of the pace. He gets to choose if he wants to give you what you need and you love every second of it.

That's why when he finally eats you out the way you've been craving, you gush out uncontrollably when you're taken over the edge. Your breaths are all raspy and your mind is trying to catch up with the pleasure that's searing every inch of your body.

Joel licks his lips with a grin, proud that he made you squirt with just his mouth. You cover your face at the sight of him, timid because you haven't cum that hard in quite some time.

"Can you handle more or will you give out on me too early?" He asks as he pulls off his shirt, showing off the body you've been missing.

Though, you can't seem to answer his question when you see the new scars on his chest. There are…so many…and it's obvious they were left to fester because the scars are like spiderwebs of pink and red. Your hand unconsciously reaches up and Joel takes your hand, pulling it towards him so you can lay your palm on the scar closest to his heart.

"I-I did this." You stammer your words, your nerves heightening at the thought of what pain Joel went through. "You got hurt because of me. I-"

"It's in the past." He holds your hand securely, as if to ground you back into reality. "Don't think about that anymore."

"Can I touch you then?" You press your hand into him more, wanting him to switch places with you. "Please, Joel. Let me so I can forgive myself."

You can sense he's afraid in his own way. It's obvious neither of you have sought comfort for what had happened between you two, so opening up to that now is difficult. But, Joel nods slowly and then pulls you onto him, having you straddle him once again.

For the next hour, you kiss every inch of his body. Your hands trail along every scar, old and new, and you whisper quiet affirmations to him, telling him that you appreciate him and his resilience. You apologize here and there, even though he tells you not to, but it isn't for him. You need it more than he does and he understands that soon enough.

"You're so…beautiful." Joel tells you when you come up to him for a kiss. "It makes me wary that you want to be here with a man like me."

"I think you forgot that I'm the one who broke into your house." You say with a smirk and he lets out a hearty laugh.

"What would you have done if I didn't find you?" He wonders aloud, so you think for a moment.

A part of you thinks you chose Joel's place because you wanted to get caught. It would be the only way you could get yourself to talk to him again, after all.

With a chuckle, you tell him, "I think I would have woken you up. You've never been a heavy sleeper. Plus, I know you stopped taking the pills."

"How do you know that?" He's curious.

"You always ween off them before a trip and I know you've got a big one coming up." You don't shy away from the fact that you've been keeping tabs on him too. "I…heard you're taking Tess."

"It was either her or go alone, since I didn't have you anymore." He says as his hand comes up to caress your face. "Would it be wrong of me to ask you to go with me instead?"

"What's the job?" You ask, leaning into his touch.

Joel adjusts until you're both facing one another side by side so that his hands can idly run along your skin while he explains, "Marlene has some kind of cargo she needs transported."

"You're working with the Fireflies?" You're surprised to hear that.

"I ain't, I just need what they're willing to give me so I can get to Tommy." That makes a lot more sense.

"I heard you've been looking for him." You bribed the radio man for that information a few days ago, actually.

"Mhm." Joel nods, his hand slipping between your legs then, getting distracted.

You part your legs so that he has better access and he smiles at you when you do. His hand dips deeper, his fingertips teasing your entrance as his palm rests on your clit. He won't go any further than this. Not right now.

Not unless you give him a reason to. "Make me cum again and I'll go with you. Tess can tag along if you think we need the extra body."

"Are you telling me you wouldn't be too shy to fuck in front of Tess?" He dips two of his fingers into you when he says that and you have to hold back your gasp. "You'd be too horny not to. Isn't that right, my greedy princess?"

"Yes, sir." You roll your hips against his hand, needing him to knead your clit with his palm. "I wouldn't care. I'd let you do anything you wanted to me, wherever, whenever."

"Tess won't be tagging along." Joel tells you as he grabs your face with his free hand, lifting your chin to meet his fearsome gaze. "No one gets to see you look like this but me. Understood?"

"I understand." You say with a nod so he drags his thumb across your lip before pushing it into your mouth. You swirl your tongue along his calloused finger and then let it rest there with your lips wrapped around it.

"My princess. All mine. Every hole of yours is mine to fill." He curls his fingers inside of your pussy, rubbing up against your g-spot once again. "Do you like being mine?"

You don't even respond. Instead, your hand sneaks down and pulls his hard cock out from his sweats, needing to feel him. You gently stroke him up and down as he starts to thrust his fingers inside of you, making you wish it was his cock instead.

"You drive me crazy." He lets out a low growl before he topples you over, smacking your hand away from him. He pulls his fingers out of you then and rubs all of your slick onto his cock, the wet sounds filling the air.

It's erotic and hot, watching how his cock throbs for you.

That's why you slip your hand down and spread yourself wide open like he has made you do all of tonight and tell him, "take what's yours, Joel."

He doesn't wait a second longer. You're ill-prepared for him to slam every inch of his cock inside of you, but the moment he hilts, you swear you could've cum right there.

The way he fills you up is perfect. Thick, hot and hard, curving inside of you at the perfect angle to rub every inch of your pussy the way it needs to be.

You're already swimming in ecstasy just having him sit inside of you like this, but then he starts to move and it's all over. You cum hard, clenching around his cock. Sparks tingle on your skin and you can't help but want so much more.

"Fuck, you feel so good, princess." He grunts, gripping onto your hips to steady himself. "I shouldn't fuck you raw like this, though."

"I don't care." You should, but you've always been a bit reckless so you wager, "I won't forgive you if you pull out right now."

"Someone wants me to bury my seed deep inside of her." He leans down then, his eyes locking on yours as he goes, "if you want me to fuck you until you're pregnant, all you have to do is beg."

You do so without hesitation, "please fill me up with your cum, sir."

He's glad to hear it, which is why he responds, "I'm going to drown your pussy until it's leaking out over my cock and then I'll do it again, and again, as many times as it takes, my little princess."

Joel drags his hand across your stomach and rolls his hips, like he wants to feel the way his cock is stirring you up inside. You're tightening up so much because it's been so long since you've been filled like this. It aches in the best kind of way, that pleasure of being split in two by him.

When he starts to go faster, rougher, it's hard for you to edge yourself. You can't count the number of times you must have cum before he finally did. It drips out of you like a flood as he slowly pulls out.

Though, right when you think he's going to slip away entirely, Joel shoves his cock back inside of you, making your toes curl uncontrollably. You crave more already and he's well aware.

That's why when he does finally pull his cock out of you, his fingers replace it. You don't stop him from forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you until he's hard enough to fuck you once more.

How could you say no to a man like Joel Miller?

Somewhere along the way, you and Joel take naps together and eat small meals before fucking again. You can't get enough of him. You don't ever want to let him go again.

You want to stay by his side forever.

"The hurricane will be over soon." Joel notes the lighter rainfall outside. "We'll have to leave soon for the job."

"Does that mean we should sleep or…" You chuckle at your own joke and Joel presses a kiss on the top of your head before laughing lightly with you.

"Just promise you won't leave me for dead again." He tells you and you know he's never going to let you live that down.

"I'll think about it." You say with a cheeky grin and Joel retaliates by pinning you down onto the bed, glaring at you.

He's going to devour you for that and you're thoroughly ready to be swallowed whole.

Oh, how you love such a dangerous man…

a/n: this was really fun to write! I'm sure you noticed, but this oneshot kind of acts like a possible prologue to a canon-divergent series where you replace Tess on Joel's trip with Ellie. will I actually write a whole series? who knows! but I think a little prequel like this would be a nice dabble into the idea! should I write it? hehe

if you enjoyed this read, maybe you'll enjoy my other joel oneshot: trouble! thanks again for reading ~

#joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel x reader #the last of us #joel miller

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imyourbratzdoll · 1 year

Text

𝑰𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌

part 2 of 💔broken family💔

summary - when the weekend arrives, your mental health worsens, causing you to make some decisions.

warning - angst, swearing, self-doubt, lying, drinking, mentions of suicide, bad thoughts, a shit child, a shit ex-husband, mentions of divorce.

the gif I use isn't mine, headers by me.

part 1 - part 3

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The weekend had arrived, and Jason was buzzing with excitement. He wouldn’t stop going on about seeing his dad and about all the cool and fun things they had planned. Could you really blame him, though? Ari had taken the divorce a lot better than you had, probably because he was the one that wanted it. Your son was rushing you as you got changed, barely having any time as he began to whine that you were keeping him. You couldn’t count how many times your heart had shattered on the one hand, but you had to push through because even though your son didn’t love you and would rather be with his father. You still had to be a mother… Even when you could feel your life slipping away. “Alright, honey… Let’s go to your father’s” You sigh as he runs off, with you following behind.

The drive over was filled with talks of his father, and when you pulled up, Jason had practically thrown himself out of the car and ran to the door. You slowly follow behind, holding your breath when your eyes connect with Ari’s, gulping as he glares in return. “You’re late.” You nod, barely having anything to say, as your son flings himself at Ari, expressing his excitement for the weekend ahead. “Hey, buddy! Why don’t you go and watch some cartoons while I talk to your mother?” Jason nods, running inside, and Ari looks at you. “I need you to watch him on Sunday. I have a date.” Oh, your poor heart. Ari crosses his arms, raising a brow. “Is that going to be a problem?”

You rapidly blink the tears away and shake your head. Swallowing the lump that forms in your throat before you speak. “Uh, no… That’ll be fine, um… I hope you have a good time?” You nod and stand awkwardly as you want to say goodbye to your son before leaving. “Can you get Jason, please? I need to say goodbye.” Ari rolls his eyes, calling your son back, who looks equally annoyed that you are still there. You kneel, smiling softly at Jason. “Hey baby, I’m going to go now, and I’ll see you on Sunday, okay?”

“Wha? I spend time with daddy on Sunday. Not you.” He crosses his little arms, glaring as he taps his tiny foot. “I go now?” You nod, bringing him into a hug before letting him go. Watching sadly as he runs off with no care, you stand, giving Ari another nod before heading to your car and hopping inside. Where did it all go wrong? You had really lost them both, Ari had found someone else, and your son would soon call them mummy. A tear fell as you started the car, and you decided to drive to your therapist's office, needing someone to listen, even if they didn’t really care. You park your car and head in, sitting down as the receptionist informs your therapist.

Maybe you should buy some drinks on your way home? Vodka might be easier to swallow than the fact that Ari wasn’t ever coming back. “Miss L/n?” You blink, looking up and giving the woman a short smile as she beckons you up. “I can see you now. Would you like to come in?” You nod, standing and heading into her office, sitting across from her on a comfy couch. “So, what is bothering you? How have you been after everything?”

Your tongue flicks out as you wet your lips, staring down at your hands, noticing how poorly your nails have been treated as you’ve stopped taking the best care of yourself. “I, uh… I’m not doing so good.” You try to smile, looking at her. “Um, I dropped Jason off to his father again today, and….” You begin to space out, staring off and out the window, not really wanting to think about it anymore, just wanting to disappear.

The woman across from you crossed her legs, her full attention on you and not the notebook that lies open in her lap. “And what? Did something bad happen?” She could see the pain coursing through your eyes and wished she could do much more than she was currently doing. “You can talk to me, Y/n. I’m here for you.”

You stare at her as you swallow. “Well, Ari asked or, more like, told me I had to look after our son on Sunday because he has a date.” You choke on the word, not wanting to picture the man you love with another. “I–I don’t have a problem with looking after Jason… But the thought of….” She nods, giving you a reassuring smile. “I want to disappear. They wouldn’t miss me… I feel like they are waiting for me to stop existing. I love Ari, even after all the pain he’s put me through, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get closure or move on because he never explained why he left so randomly. He said he didn’t love me anymore, but… We were together for so long. How could someone just wake up one day and stop loving that person? A–and Jason, he’s… He’s only four, but it’s like he hates me too. He’d rather be with his father. Today… He didn’t even say goodbye to me, and he just seemed so angry and upset that he was going to see me again on his father’s weekend.” You don’t know when you had started crying, not until she came over and handed you the tissues, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder. You sighed. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore, you know? Maybe I should just give Ari full custody and not hold Jason back from seeing his father full-time.” You rubbed your hands over your face, wiping the tears away before taking a deep breath.

“Have you been taking care of yourself after the divorce?” You shake your head, looking at the woman. “So, you haven’t gone out and hung out with friends, gone to get your hair and nails done, or even had a self-care day just for you?” You shake your head again, resting your head on your hands. She stands, clapping her hands together softly. “Well, that’s what I want you to do. Look after yourself, even if that means spending time away from your son for a while and getting your ex-husband to look after him. I want you to put yourself first, Y/n. Can you do that?” You nod slowly, wondering how you could even do that.

“What about this Sunday? What do I do?” You play with your fingers, looking at her.

“You do what you think is best, but I’d recommend him finding someone else to look after your son.” You nod slowly, taking in her words before you stand as the session ends. “And Y/n?” You hum, “Don’t take so long to come back, okay? I don’t want to read the news one day and find out you could’ve been helped.” You nod, saying your goodbyes before walking back to your car, having a lot to think about as you drive to the liquor store, grabbing some bottles of wines, vodkas, and anything you could get your hands on before going back home, with plans of drinking your sorrows away, just for a little bit.

When you arrived home, you poured yourself multiple glasses while lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling blankly. People never understand that you don’t realise pain until you are left with only memories and not the person you wanted to stay. At some point during your tenth? Drink, you had fallen asleep, finally getting sleep with no nightmares or false promises. You had managed to sleep for two days without meaning to, but you guessed your body needed it. You had gotten up, cleaning the house before going to the bathroom to shower. As you changed into new clothes, the doorbell rang, followed by a few sharp knocks. You remembered what today was and knew who was at the door.

You head downstairs and open the door, the sound of your son already complaining in his little babbles. Ari was staring you down, and somehow, he still looks as good as ever, and you are jealous. Furious and saddened that you couldn’t be enough for him. “Don’ wanna go!” Jason clings to Ari, kicking his feet, and your jaw clenches.

“Jason, let go of your father and get inside.” Both stop and stare. You raise your brow, you feel drained, and at this moment, you are considering listening to your therapist and just giving Jason over to Ari. “Inside.” Ari lets him down, and Jason begrudgingly heads inside, a pout on his face. You look up at your ex-husband, seeing him already staring down at you, a particular look in his eyes. “Did you need anything else? Want me also to cook dinner for you and your date?” You huff, slamming the door in his face before he can say anything. You turn and notice your son has wandered off. “Jason! Where are you?!” You walk up to his room and find him sitting on his bed with his arms crossed over his chest and a grumpy look on his face. “Really? You’re going to see your father in a few hours. Is spending time with me that bad?”

“Don’ want to be here! It’s boring, no fun! Daddy place better!” You nod. “I hate you! Why did you make daddy leave!” Oh, the three words a mother always wants to hear come out of their child's mouth. Note the sarcasm.

“Okay. You sit here and throw a tantrum.” You walk away, swallowing that damn lump again as you enter the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of wine, gulping some of it down. What you didn’t know was Ari never had a date. He just wanted to know if you would grow hurt by the news and if you still love him. A few hours pass by. You’ve fed your son before sitting in front of the tv, awaiting Ari’s arrival, continuing to drown your sorrows with alcohol, but not enough that you can’t look after your son. There’s a knock at the door. “Jason! Your father’s here!” You are between a scoff and sobbing as you hear his excited footsteps, running through the house and to the front door, followed by a happy squeal when he’s met with his father.

“Daddy! I missed you!” You stand behind and watch as they embrace each other.

“Hey, buddy. I missed you too. You ready to go?” Jason nods excitedly, but before they can leave, you stop them.

“Ari, can I speak to you before you go?” And again, you are met with annoyed looks from both of them. “It won’t take long.” You sigh as he tells Jason to go to the car and wait for him before giving you half of his attention, raising a brow and waiting for you to continue. “I thought that maybe you’d like to have Jason longer than the weekends, and it might be good for him to be with you.” You won’t admit that it hurt to say it because, really, you just wanted your family back to the way it was. But it was for the best, Jason obviously didn’t want to be around you, and Ari probably never wanted to see you again. So why get in the way?

Ari looks shocked before nodding. “Really? And you wouldn’t mind?” You shake your head, even though inside you are screaming yes, you would mind so much, and to come back to you, to love you again, but you swallow that down. “Okay, I’ll grab more of his things, then.” He walks past you, and damn. His scent still causes you to become weak in the knees, and the cologne he wears brings back memories of when you first bought it for him. You missed him, god, you missed him. Once Ari returns with his hands full, he nods and enters the car, driving off and leaving you alone in an empty house.

You close the door, sink into the couch and continue to drink. What was the point of staying sober when it hurts too much? Your mind becomes fuzzy as you watch the people on the screen move around, the alcohol hitting faster because you haven’t eaten. What was the point? It wasn’t like anyone cared if you did or not. You missed your husband, missed when he’d make sure you had eaten, made sure you were okay, and surprised you with random gifts and kisses. You missed him desperately. Why did it go wrong? What was wrong with you? What did you do? You huff, skulling your drink as you think, who cares.

And soon, filled with those delicious fuzzy drinks, you drift off to a blissful sleep, into a happier place where your marriage didn’t fail, where your family were still together. Because in your dreams, he loves you back.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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