#he was actively worse to me than i was to him but the moment he went too far i cut him off and took all the friends in the divorce

[miinatozakiii]

but i’ll love you better, if you let me

son chaeyoung x fem!reader ; angst, smut

synopsis: “you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.”

wc: 7.4k

warnings: smut; thigh riding; jealousy ; cheating!! ; readers a meanie lowk; men mentioned ; smoking; cursing; alcohol; lalala whatever else i missed ; not proofread

a/n: happy late chae day!!! ALSO i don't condone cheating… HOWEVER.

chaeyoung watches you closely, a cigarette perched between your lips as a subtle smirk dances across your features in response to the news.

“boyfriend?” you scoff, almost as if it’s a joke to you. “right.”

furrowing her brows, she looks at you, almost offended.

“what’s with the tone?”

"nothing, nothing...," you mumble, your eyes drilling into hers with intensity. she shrinks under your gaze, just as she always does when you give her that look. you light the end of your cigarette, inhaling shallowly before exhaling a small cloud of smoke.

chaeyoung crosses her arms. “i’m serious.”

“yeah?” you say teasingly, smiling like she’s an idiot. “does this boyfriend have a name?”

“haesol.”

“right.”

she’s a little frustrated at the tone of your voice, plus the little look you give her. the way you pay no mind to this new information – your eyes squinting and the look of incredulity you give her – brushing it off as some stupid, laughable lie ticks a nerve in her.

you inhale deeper, then sigh out the smoke slowly.

“alright, new topic,” you suggest, handing her the cigarette, which she rejects by pushing your wrist away, to your surprise.

“why are you acting like this is some stupid joke? don’t you care?”

yes, you did care. the notion of chaeyoung being involved with a man earned a visceral reaction from you, a combination of disbelief, frustration, and disappointment. the idea honestly seemed preposterous, even laughable, but your reaction had no sign of amusement. if anything, it left a bitter taste in your mouth, worse than any cheap hangover remedy. 

“i do care.”

offering the cigarette to her again, you raise both brows expectantly as you urge her to take it. she reluctantly accepts it from in between your fingers, then holds it to her lips.

you continue, looking away from her now and towards the street, “i just don’t want some guy taking so much of your time, time we could be using to hang out. besides, i don’t know him, you never even mentioned the guy.”

as the anger subsides, chaeyoung's features soften, her expression shifting to one of understanding. in the gentle glow of the setting sun, she’s a little cuter when she looks at you like that, her usual appeal heightened by the softening light.

you glance at her and smirk before looking back at the ground, leaning against the wall of the building behind you. 

the two of you have developed a reputation for being nearly inseparable. whether it's in class or during free time, the two of you are almost always together. chaeyoung was in two of your classes, and not the tedious prerequisite classes offered, the ones that people willingly chose based on their interests: music theory and art history.

you noticed her from first glance, taking note of the pretty girl in your two classes. she was striking; tattoos littered her skin, her unconventional style, and sick piercings. yeah, definitely your type of person, she was bound to lure you. however, you didn’t chase, so instead of actively pursuing her, you opted for more subtle approaches. you'd steal glances in her direction, flash a smile whenever your eyes met, or create chance encounters like accidental bumps or brushed hands, all of which served as silent invitations for her to make the first move.

from the moment you shared your first cigarette in the streets at night – outside your now favorite bar as a way to escape the rest of your classmates – a strong connection formed. 

chaeyoung hands you the cigarette back; you inhale deeply again, letting the smoke fill your lungs.

“if he’s uglier than you i won’t accept it.” you mutter, knowing you won’t because there’s no one more striking than her. 

“people are more than just looks you know.”

“that only applies to women.”  you grin. “now, let’s go get dinner. i’m hungry.”

she rolls her eyes at you and playfully pushes your shoulder before swiping the cigarette from your fingers. you chuckle at her reaction, then tilt your head, silently urging her to walk with you to a nearby restaurant down the street.

-

you shouldn’t have gone out with san and wooyoung, especially not on a thursday night because now it’s friday morning and you can still feel the hangover.

you wait on a bench at the little park on campus, the ache in your head still present even after your first class, despite gulping down a bottle of water and two advil tablets prior to it. 

chaeyoung asked to meet there, talking about some “surprise” she had. 

after waiting five minutes you finally feel your phone buzz in your hand, seeing the notification pop up on the top of the screen.

[11:28pm]

chaeyoung: i’m here

chaeyoung: to your left

you turn your head, noticing your best friend walking alongside a taller man, their hands interlocked. your stomach churns at the sight – you almost throw up in your mouth. taking a deep breath, you rise from your seat and make your way over to them, meeting them in the middle of the sidewalk.

chaeyoung had told you about him two weeks ago, even mentioning him here and there but you didn’t think you’d actually meet him, not now.

he wears a small – clearly forced – half-smile, one that you have the urge to wipe off his face. his hair is a messy, platinum blonde, with roots starting to show. a loose-fitting black tee drapes over his frame, paired with dark, baggy jeans. he’s also taller than you, maybe two or three inches taller, but not crazy tall. he's not the worst-looking guy, but you can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

“people are than just looks you know,” her words repeat in your head – you try to consider them.

“haesol, this is y/n. she’s my closest friend.” she says, then looks at you with sparkles in her eyes. “y/n, this is haesol, my boyfriend.”

“boyfriend, right.” you respond, tone acidic.

“you’re the best friend?”

the best friend? yeah, you’re not really fond of the way he said that. but to be fair, your tone wasn’t as nice either.

“yeah.” you force a friendlier expression after glancing over at chaeyoung, smiling at haesol now. “it’s nice to meet you.”

“same here.” 

it’s undeniably awkward, with chaeyoung by his side and your unpreparedness to face – well, him. you can’t help but glance at their locked hands, immediately looking away after it had disgusted you enough.

chaeyoung clears her throat before saying, “um, y/n, i was just wondering if you would like to get lunch with us? the two of you can get to know each other.”

a little sigh leaves your lips because really, you don’t want to know him any more than you do. but lunch with chaeyoung is something you can never pass up, especially when she’s looking at you all hopeful and shooting a little pout.

“i’m down, yeah.”

“great.” she says, “perfect.”

you and haesol make eye contact again before chaeyoung pulls him away, expecting you to follow.

-

to keep it brief, lunch was alright. it was rather quiet, unlike your usual conversations with chaeyoung, which are filled with laughter and tend to be more lively. with him there, you felt somewhat out of place, finding his stupid looks at chaeyoung irritating and the constant touchiness made you lose most your appetite.

when haesol was distracted by his phone or momentarily left the conversation, you found it easier to simply talk to chaeyoung. however, as soon as he looked back at her, you would fall silent again. 

you found his demeanor too blunt and his tendency to boast about himself irritating. his lack of attention to chaeyoung while she was speaking, instead focusing on his phone, only added to your irritation, making you scrunch your brows and send judgy looks.

“y/n, why don’t you tell him about yourself?” chaeyoung says to break the random moment of silence as you all eat. 

you blink, swallowing the rice you had been eating. “oh, like what?”

haesol seemed more focused on the food in front of him, paying little attention to the conversation. chaeyoung, on the other hand, noticed the lack of information being shared about you, which confused her. to her, you were the most interesting person in the room.

“haesol, you know y/n is in a band?”

you ‘re quick to cut her off, “it’s just a gig, not that serious. just… extra money.” you widen your eyes at her, tightening your jaw to send a little message. 

“oh, that’s cool i guess.” he says, shrugging at you. 

“she plays guitar and sings–”

“it’s just a side thing.” you say sternly. 

haesol doesn’t notice the look you give chaeyoung, too unbothered by your presence as a whole. you give him a little look before crossing your arms.

“haesol,” you begin.

he finishes chewing and swallows before humming a “ hm?”

“what do you like about my best friend?”

he pauses, thinking to himself (you would’ve answered without hesitation).

“she’s cute and every time i talk to her she listens and laughs you know. she’s hot.”

“right.” you mumble, then look over to chaeyoung, who’s smiling like an idiot. “okay.”

his phone – which had been set on the table for once – started to ring. you eye him as he picks it up, answering with a snarky tone that you hate; the urge to punch him in the face eats you up, but you manage to hold back.

you can’t do this, he’s not any of the few men you tolerate, everything about him pisses you off. you’re going to burst any moment and it’s better to let the fire die down.

“i should get going.” you suddenly speak, not caring that he’s listening to someone through the phone. “i have things to do. sorry chaeng.”

“you haven’t finished your food.” she says, furrowing her brows.

you shrug. “not hungry anymore. you two have fun.”

chaeyoung doesn’t get another word in, you’re already up and ready to go by the time she opens her mouth. haesol doesn’t bat an eye, letting you leave without questioning it.

-

from then on, whenever you and chaeyoung meet alone or with friends, the mere mention of haesol makes you feel a sense of discomfort bordering on nausea. you find yourself growing slightly distant, just enough to create a subtle but noticeable shift in your interactions, especially when haesol is brought up and acknowledged. 

so chaeyoung stops mentioning him, completely disregarding him whenever you’re near because at the end of day she just wants what you two have to be normal. at the end of the day she craves any attention you give her rather than haesol.

and things get more normal from there on out, as long as he’s not involved.

but it still lingers in her mind, you and haesol, you. 

(that’s really complicated to think about, so chaeyoung doesn’t really think on it that much.

but she really should consider why you plague her mind a little more than haesol.

a lot more.)

–

you look down at your notes, spinning the pencil in between your fingers. “the free response ones, they’re worth more points than the multiple choices, sixty percent. i think we have to apply abstract expressionism to pieces and the text, and then there’s some romanticism that we have to use. it should be relatively simple if you just bullshit it with the examples given but–”

you look up again, chaeyoungs eyes drill into your whole being. 

“what?’

she frowns. “you don’t like haesol, do you?”

“we need to study for the exam chaeng.” you grumble, followed by a sigh.

“you’re avoiding my question.”

sitting back in your seat, you look at her, frustrated. then you drop your pencil down on your notes, cursing under your breath.

“i don’t like your boyfriend, there, happy?”

“why?”

“he pisses me off.”

“did he do something to you?”

“did he need to? do i need a reason? i don’t want to waste my time talking about a man or thinking of one. can we just study?” your voice raises a bit, you’re clearly annoyed; chaeyoung decides to let it go, letting you continue on with what you were saying. “anyways, i think chapter 16 and 17 are what we need to focus on.”

chaeyoung stiffens in her seat. “yeah, okay. i have notes for that.”

“great.”

the atmosphere in the study room becomes heavy, almost suffocating for both of you. even worse is when you both sit in silence, poring over notes, the only audible sounds being the scratch of your pencil against paper as you jot down key terms, and the rhythmic tapping of chaeyoung's foot against the ground. the tension hangs thick in the air, palpable yet unspoken.

you look up again, sighing.

honestly, you feel bad (not really, it’s haesol you’re talking about. but chaeyoung? yeah, you can’t bear to see a frown on that pretty face of hers), but you can’t control how you feel about her boyfriend. about her. 

chaeyoung’s been a little crush, well, maybe little isn’t the right word. you’ve never done anything about it because there wasn’t a need to, it wasn’t clawing at you. not until now at least. 

she’s been available, single, yet you never even thought of asking her out or anything, just small advances and subtle hints to something. 

cigarettes shared in more places than you can count on one hand, letting her hold onto your waist as you drove her home on that motorcycle of yours, carrying her over to someplace safe while she’s batshit drunk, and even lending yourself to her when she needed someone to literally lean on. you let her sprawl all over you, despite hating physical touches from anyone else. 

wasn’t that enough? how dense did she have to be? or really, the question was: were your advances really enough?

and now? god, she has a whole boyfriend, it fucking kills you. the mere thought of him being in her life makes it all miserable, you can’t look at that beautiful face of hers or interact with her normally without that weird feeling in your heart, the feeling hurts you, eats you up inside. it’s all because of her boyfriend, the fact that you can’t have her, even though she deserves you instead of him.

the last thing you want is the feeling of your chest being split into two, so you avoid the thought of haesol as a whole.

(it seems to be failing, considering how often you think of chaeyoung, then of him, and now your whole heart feels like it’s being pounded by a hammer 24/7.)

you break the silence, looking up from the notes chaeyoung had passed to you. parting your lips, you don’t speak, instead, pondering, thinking of what to say. 

as you look at chaeyoung, you can't help but notice the subtle changes in her appearance. her hair is a little shorter than before, framing her face in a new way. but it's the nervous way she rubs at the tattoos on her hands that catches your attention. those tattoos, the ones that litter her hand, are familiar to you, more familiar than you'd care to admit. you’ve thought about them in too many ways, some ways you’re a little too embarrassed to admit.

“did you get a haircut?” you ask, raising a brow.

chaeyoung looks at you in surprise, the tension already sizzling down as the conversation starts. “yeah, just a little off the ends, some touch up’s on the layers.

you pause, then reach to run your hands through her hair.

“it’s cute, i like it.”

chaeyoung smiles, finding herself blushing at the sudden compliment. “thank you.”

“hey, after this, let’s grab something to eat?” she laughs, smiling at how anticipated you are. “of course.”

“let’s head over to shin’s–her bibimbap is good, cheap, and the best i’ve had.”

“okay, okay.” she snickers, grinning. “you pay.”

“yeah yeah, whatever.”

it’s these little moments that saw at the growing tension between you two, surely but slowly. 

and then the two of you laugh in between note taking again, it’s easy to ignore the elephant in the room considering how you two are; oblivious, pining a little more than both of you would like to admit, and too conflicted to even consider confrontation or communication.

as the two of you laugh in between note-taking, it's easy to fall back into the comfortable rhythm of your friendship. you both choose to ignore the elephant in the room considering how you two are—oblivious to the deeper undercurrents, secretly pining for each other more than either of you would care to admit, and too conflicted to even breach the topic of confrontation or communication. so you laugh, you joke, and you carry on, pretending that everything is just as it should be, even when it's far from it.

-

haesol turns his head. “something on your mind baby?”

gross, chaeyoung furrows her brows at the petname, weirdly enough. 

his arm is around her, hand resting on her shoulder and her head rested on his bicep. they’re watching a movie, chaeyoung blinks, responding lowly, “oh, no.”

“seems like it.” haesol says, but doesn’t pry.

you’d pry, you’d do something to make her confess her worries. haesol simply pushes her closer into him, eyes on the screen of the tv.

chaeyoung wants to push aside the strange pounding of her heart whenever she's around you. she wishes she could stop catching herself checking you out, feeling every unfamiliar flutter and pang in her heart. it's all so foreign to her, and it makes her uneasy. she doesn't like the uncertainty, the conflicted feelings swirling inside her chest, the questions without answers, everything that has to do with you. 

sometimes she even wonders what it would be like if you were in haesol’s place, like right now, watching this movie with her, with your arm under her head instead of his. maybe if she was next to you, then maybe her evening wouldn’t feel like such a waste right now.

“i think,” chaeyoung starts, “i think im going to go to sleep. i don’t feel well.”

“what? seriously?” haesol asks, there’s a hint of annoyance in his tone. “um, feel better, drink water or something. i’ll be in bed later.”

chaeyoung forces a smile, pursing her lips a little tighter than she’d like, then walks over to his room, flopping on his bed.

she checks her phone, a text from you pops up.

10:53pm

you: wyd

a small smile forms on chaeyoung’s lips.

chaeng: about to sleep

you: at ten–almost eleven, on a saturday?

you: something up?

chaeng: just not feeling it

you: are you sick? haesol is with you right? is he taking care of you?

her brows furrow; this is the first time you’ve mentioned his name. sure, it was through text, but you acknowledged him. she tucks herself into the blanket and stares at the text before responding.

chaeyoung: we were watching a movie and i felt a little tired, just went back to the room to lay down

you: right

you: you better pick up, im calling

she reads your text, and not even five seconds later feels her phone ring, looking at the contact photo of you in some stupid hat in one of those photobooth pictures, as well as your name pop up in bold on her screen. she presses the green icon, bringing the phone to her ear lazily.

“what’s up?” you ask. she hears a bit of noise in the back, it sounds like you’re at some bar, maybe outside of it, probably with some of your other friends who have a higher tolerance than her. 

“y/n, i’m just tired.”

“right.” you say calmly, she hears the faint sound of you inhaling, then a small exhale. “and that boyfriend of yours isn't taking care of you?”

“we were just watching a movie and i don’t know, i just felt… uneasy.”

“he’s giving you migraines.”

“it doesn’t work like that.”

“thinking of how easy it is to dismiss how you are, the thought of him gives me one.” you admit, “if he weren’t so dense then he’d be with you right now–who finishes a movie by themself? who lets their girlfriend feel sick–alone?”

chaeyoung groans. “why do you care so much about him now? you’re always acting like he doesn’t exist and god– are you, are you drunk?”

“no.” voice firm and stern. 

you lean against the balcony in the outside area of the bar, sighing; you’re a liar, and most definitely drunk. how could you not be after soyeon had coaxed you into those shots? on her tab too.

“why are you sulking.” you question, your voice not so far from a mumble.

"i'm not," chaeyoung is also a liar, she is sulking, her body limp against the mattress as she lays on the bed. she's still processing the events leading up to the movie: her and haesol had made out, one thing leading to another which led to them fucking–and not for the first time, maybe the fifth or sixth time, she can’t remember any of it since it was all so… anticlimactic. she's left feeling a pit in her stomach, even worse than the one after their first night of intimacy.

you can hear the bullshit in her voice, the alcohol takes over your senses and you say, “i’ll be over at the park–you know which one. be there.”

“y/n, what? wait–”

“i‘m not letting you sulk alone, stupid.”

“haesol’s going to–”

“i don’t care.” you spit, “when did i ever?”

–

–

you sit at one of the benches, a water bottle in your hand while you try to sober up. to be fair, you’re not off the walls drunk – you can still walk fine, function really well, and honestly, you’re basically fine – but drunk enough to say something a little too bold for your liking. 

the moon is up, pretty full considering it’s the end of the month. it shines down on you, down on your tired features and bothered self because of this whole new problem chaeyoung brought as soon as haesol appeared: an unsure heart.

never were you the type of person to go crazy over some crush, you never let it ruin you, but now, it’s doing just that. 

chaeyoung approaches you, catching the way your hair flows down behind you, a glimpse of your crewneck, and then you turn to the side little as if youve sensed her from behind; chaeyoung looks at you, mesmerized. 

there’s something to be said about your appearance, it’s no wonder you’ve caught many eyes, and especially now, under this glow– and maybe it’s the feeling of seeing someone, you, who doesn’t make chaeyoung uneasy – you look effortlessly wonderful, even if it’s just your side profile facing her.

you turn, smiling like you’ve just seen the rarest star after you catch chaeyoung in your line of vision.

(she’s brighter than a star, much brighter.)

turning back to stare at the lamppost in front of you, chaeyoung sits down, you feel her presence and sense her in your peripheral. then you feel yourself blush, taking in everything in front of you; you smile like an idiot, and idiot head over heels. 

“you are drunk.” chaeyoung says, “liar.”

“you lied first. it’s 1-1.” she crosses her arms, leaning away from you–she’s mad, or at least annoyed–you frown. “hey, what’s up?”

“y/n, you piss me off sometimes you know?”

“what? did i do something?”

she scoffs, looking at you in disbelief. 

“i thought we were best friends, you know? and i could tell you anything, i can tell you anything, i have told you anything. but lately? it’s like, i have to continuously avoid potholes just to keep you from being all pissy.”

you sit up, furrowing your brows in offense. “excuse me?”

“y/n don’t fucking give me that.” she says, tears welling up in her eyes. you stay put, backing down a bit and start to listen. “all i’ve wanted to do is talk about haesol, and you aren’t even willing to do that; you’re the only person i feel like i can talk to about him. and these things? they all bother me, but as soon as i open my mouth and you guess that it’s haesol? you fucking back down.”

“chaeyoung i–”

“do you know how hard it is? the one person i want to talk to and won’t even listen.” she turns away from you, letting her eyes fall to the concrete. “you’re the one person i can turn to, and honestly–it’s embarrassing to admit–but i’ve grown so attached to you, i mean, even when i’m with him; all i think about is you.”

your brain is still foggy, maybe that’s why you’re getting so emotional. the thought of you pushing her away, all because of a man–it’s selfish, so incredibly selfish the more you look on it. 

“i’m sorry.” is all you can utter, looking at her with sympathy and guilt etched on your features. “i’m sorry.”

“you should be.” she’s silent after that, still looking down at the ground while you study her every move and emotion.

she feels a shoulder graze her, then an arm extended behind her back. you push her a little close into you, just enough to make her feel better.

“i’m sorry for dragging you out here and… ignoring everything. i’ve just been really conflicted and i’d really love to tell you why, but i just… can’t.” you confess, looking down at your shoes. “you can tell me anything, always. i never want you to feel like you can’t.”

she turns her head, looking at your face illuminated by the glow of the night and the streetlamp. 

“i hate that you make it so hard to be mad at you.”

“be mad at me, it’s what i deserve.”

“i’ve tried.”

you smile, it’s a little uncertain, but it’s something to clear the air momentarily.

“what’s been going on with haesol?” you pry, it hurts to ask, but for the sake of chaeyoung; you pry.

“god y/n, there’s so much.”

“like?”

she looks at you, then around the park. it hits her that her surroundings are… not her most ideal environment to tell you about haesol, her sex life, and everything that’s been upside down; she doesn’t know where to start.

you read her mind – you always do, somehow – and pause her right where she is.

“maybe we should go to my place, i should be sobered up by then. i hope.

-

the two of you make it to your place, chaeyoung had called a cab because who knows how bad you could get. still, you’re pretty manageable, especially only a few shots. you’ve sobered up completely by the time you reached your place, finding your keys and letting both of you in.

chaeyoung catches a whiff of bourbon, cashmere, vanilla, and amber, with hints of the signature cigarette smell laced within. she makes her way to the little sliding door leading to the small balcony—the same one the two of you always go to when it's late, when you're both tired, and when there's a lot to say. it's a space filled with unspoken words and shared moments, where only each phase of the moon has heard everything you two have to say.

chaeyoung watches you trudge along and lean against the balcony next to her when you arrive. you shuffle through the pocket of your jeans for a box of cigarettes, and she notices that it's half empty. you take one out, then fish for your lighter with a floral design on it. bringing the flame up to the end of the cigarette trapped between your lips, you light it—a routine that chaeyoung could never quite get used to. and honestly, the way you handle the cigarette is hotter than it should be.

smoke leaves your mouth in small increments as you ask, “so, you and haesol?”

“oh, yeah.” chaeyoung says, almost distracted by the way you stare out into space. “we’ve, well…”

“what’s the biggest problem on your mind right now, we can start with that.”

“we– well–” and chaeyoung thinks to herself, thinking of the moments prior to being near haesol and watching that movie, ane even their first night of intimacy. she thinks of how he touched her and how it wasn’t as striking as it should’ve been, how long he lasted – which, wow, was not long – and honestly just how he pleased himself more than her. “we fucked.”

the cigarette almost slips from in between your fingers. “wait, what?”

“we’ve fucked a couple of times, i just, it wasn’t all that.”

“jesus, you’ve been through hell.” you joke lightheartedly, which earns a giggle from chaeyoung.

she takes the cigarette from you, then draws deeply from the cigarette. “it wasn’t too bad, like, i didn’t mind but, it was really–”

“disappointing? men are like that.”

“you and men.” chaeyoung scoffs, inhaling again.

“i’m serious, and being sexually frustrated is serious too.” and then you eye her–dangerously. chaeyoung tries to ignore the way you looked at her, it lasted a second but there was definitely something on your mind. she holds the cigarette to your lips, you move your head forward to catch it in between your lips, inhaling as you fix your crewneck. “you deserve better.”

“he’ll get better.” she says it almost like a manifestation, something she’ll write down on paper and put under her pillow so she’ll finally cum without instructing too much.

“you shouldn’t have to wait for someone to fuck you right.” you begin, and maybe you haven’t sobered up, because then, she widens her eyes after you say, “bet i could make you feel good.”

the world seems to come to a standstill, you lean against the balcony, your tricep resting on the metal railing, fingers holding the half-smoked cigarette as you cradle your face in the same hand. your gaze meets hers with an intensity that suggests you've just posed a question— and honestly, chaeyoung might have sulked to such a point that she's seriously considering it. that small, mischievous smile playing on your lips might just be enough to sway her decision.

“that’s cheating, i–”

“you don’t have to.” turning your head to teh side and puffing. “it was a suggestion.”

maybe chaeyoung is desperate (she most definitely is), because wow, that smirk is growing into a cocky ass grin that shows your teeth and the prominent canines and–

“are you drunk or are you serious?” chaeyoung asks you, looking you dead in the eye. 

eyeing her from the side, you respond, “you want it to be serious?”

she gulps. “no strings attached?”

“none have to be, friends with benefits is a thing, chaeyoung.”

she gulps again. “okay, yeah, sure.”

you smile, then smush the cigarette into the ashtray down on the small stool you have out, then tilt your head to urge her inside.

she follows you to the couch, sliding the door behind her before you sit down on the couch, watching her hesitantly follow. she stands in front of you and you eye her like she’s your prey.

she doesn’t question how your moral compass is fucked, especially after you’ve suggested this, knowing she’s with haesol. but she doesn’t think of whatever your morals and rights or wrongs are after she catches you unzipping your fly, sliding the little metal button out from the slit and–

you’re sliding down your jeans – baggy and a dark navy – they land at your ankle before you retreat back into a lounged position on the cushions. her eyes follow the jeans as they scrunch up at your ankles, then trail up your surprisingly toned legs, and then stop at the calvin klein underwear you have on.

you rub your hand on your thigh, sliding it down to your knee and making eye contact with her.

“c’mere.” you pat down on your skin. “you've been complaining about him and i just... wanna make you feel good for once. that alright? i kind of owe it to you for being so shitty.”

chaeyoungs breath hitches involuntarily as she looks down at you, her morals trying to win her over but god is that difficult to do when you’re so–

you’re sliding off your crewneck, it reveals a tanktop under, and of course, the various tattoos littered on your upper arms and shoulders. she bites her lip subtly.

yeah, there’s no going back on this one.

chaeyoung gives in because c’mon, this is a fantasy that’s been in the back of her mind, and her cunt is screaming louder than ever than when she’s been with haesol. honestly, her pussy whispers when she’s with him, and now it’s yelling–more than ever just seeing you sitting there on your couch, legs slightly parted as you eye her.

there’s a pretentious smirk trying to tug at your lips, but you fight against it and clench your jaw. 

she lets out a long breath before moving over to settle herself down on your thigh, the contact makes her shiver.

"there we go," you whisper softly, drinking in the sight before you. your fingertips dance along the curves of her ribs, hidden beneath the fabric of her cropped, white shirt. her breath stumbles as she tries to focus on you, or anything in the moment, really. "you’re so pretty, you know?”

instinctively, she ruts her hips against you, a soft breath escaping her lips. her skirt allows easy access, easily pushed aside to let her soaked panties glide against your skin. the fabric covering her folds adds to the tantalizing allure, fueling the urge to tease her further.

no foreplay has made chaeyoung feel this desperate for stimulus on her cunt, no one has made her feel this hot and heavy. you haven’t even undressed her yet and she’s already leaving a trail of arousal on your thigh like that. 

chaeyoung slides off the jacket she has on – haesol’s denim jacket that he gave her two days before – and throws it carelessly on the floor, not minding where it lands or what happens to it. the main event is you, all attention is on you. 

the guilt that should've been sitting in her stomach, stabbing her through the heart and holding her down went out the window as soon as your fingers landed on the edge of her skirt – but there was none of that, not when you started to tease your fingers along her skin. 

“how about this too?” you suggest, tugging at the fabric of her skirt, a sly smile gracing your lips. “tell me… you want it off?”

“yes,” she says immediately, almost like a breath. “please, fuck, yeah take it off.”

“how eager.” you snicker.

her skirt is off now, leaving her in soaked underwear and that t-shirt of hers. she’s slipping back onto your thigh, your special seat for her now. honestly, from the way she looks and feels–sounds… yeah, this spot might have to be reserved for her and only her.

the smirk on your face is smug as your eye her hips, placing both hands on them and slowly grinding her on your skin. chaeyoung, who’s not used to this extent of pleasure, moans immediately, biting her lip in embarrassment to suppress anything else that manages to slip out.

you can’t help but laugh under your breath, amused by how pleased she is. you kind of feel bad – if she feels this good from just grinding, how bad is that dick of her boyfriend’s? you pity the girl, so as her best friend, you have to give her what she’s missing.

she’s moving her hips on her own now, scooting up closer to you so she can plant her hands on your shoulders, making it easier to fuck herself on your skin. your groans are low, almost airy here and there while you watch, occasionally helping her out by pressing up against her. 

you can tell she’s doing everything she can to hide the sounds she’s making, desperately biting back moans that you want to hear. you’re not going to let her stay quiet, not when she sounds so pretty all because of you. all for you.

sliding your hand up, you press your thumb on her bottom lip, allowing her plea’s to be heard as you forcefully part her lips, your grip on her jaw almost deathly.

“f-fuck y/n, w-wait.”

the grip on your shoulder tightens, making you groan yourself. she looks down at where her clad cunt meets your skin again, scrunching her brows hard as she desperately ruts against you. 

her voice swells the more she rubs against you, the sounds coming out her mouth reverberating like a symphony building to its crescendo. aggressively, you grab her hips again, shifting her down roughly against your thigh. she throws her head back, mouth widening as a loud, shaky moan escapes. then, like a symphony's final movement, everything harmonizes. 

the sound of your name being cried out when she cums resonates, lingering in our ears, a perfect harmony that captivates you, making you smile. she throws her head down on your shoulder, muttering your name over and over while her hands desperately claw against your shoulder, tricep, skin – against anything.

she’s still moving against you, but slower now, trying to ease herself back down from cumming for the first time in a while. even when she did cum that one time from haesol, it has never left her as shaken up or satiated as this.

your hands stabilize her by the hips as she pulls away, her face inches away from yours. you manage to get a glimpse of her underwear – completely wet, like a tidal wave had crashed against it – smile to yourself, pleased.

“how was that?” you ask, “seemed good.” your voice is low, speaking from the throat as you soften your tone.

“s-shut, “ she starts, then presses her lips against yours, making you hum surprisingly. “up.”

it feels right, so fucking right despite how morally wrong it is. 

she’s basically on your hip now, mindlessly grinding in your lap as she kisses you. it’s slow, sensual, and so goddamn intimate considering this is the first time you’ve done anything remotely… romantic? anything that really crossed the line of “friendship.”

then you’re sliding your tongue against the space in between her lips, earning access to her mouth as you slide your tongue in, exploring her like she’s some eighth wonder of the world. she moans into the kiss, it’s muffled, but it’s great. more than great–amazing.. you kiss and kiss like there’s no tomorrow, fighting for air by the time your lips’ part. and now it’s your time to admire your mess: tangled dark hair framing chaeyoung’s face, her puffy lips and flushed cheeks, and those lidded eyes. 

your lips move to her neck, making her grip at you as soon as you make contact with her skin again. you’re like a fucking drug to her, she’s getting high just from this small dose of you and she might just get addicted after knowing how the high is. this might just be worse than her smoking habits, but if it’s you? she doesn’t give a fuck.

“y/n, fuck wait,” chaeyoung sighs, getting up to slider her underwear off and throwing it to the side. “again, please.”  

you laugh, more than happy to comply. “of course, as much as you want.”

the rest of the night is filled with chaeyoung’s moans, your soft voice coaxing her as she stimulates herself, and the last thing on either of your minds is haesol, because that’s a worry for later.

she cums again a few minutes later – surprisingly fast, but just as good, and you’re not judging her either way. poor girl. she goes a little limp after that, resting against you, still in your lap, and letting her head settle on your shoulder while you rub her back.

“you gonna stay the night?” you ask her, feeling her breath against your neck. “because you can.”

chaeyoung pauses, she doesn’t answer. 

she pulls away from you, then gazes at your face. you look back at her, not really expecting anything, just looking at her. chaeyoung breathes out, then places a hand on your neck before she kisses you.

she whispers against your lips, “i’ll think about it.” 

–

the next morning chaeyoung is still on your couch, a blanket trapped between her legs while most of it is on the floor. the scent of coffee being brewed fills the air. 

she rises from the couch, running her hands over her face with a sigh before tending to her tousled hair. she’s not wearing anything, she’s completely bare. as she turns, she notices your back turned to her, engrossed in pouring a cup of coffee. you’re only wearing a sports bra on top and low-rise jeans lazily wrap around your waist, revealing your underwear.

 the sound of your yawn reaches her ears, and then you turn around with a cup in your hands, holding it to your lips. you both make eye contact.

the silencing squeezes you two, squishing your skin and almost breaking your bones. chaeyoung looks away first.

“you’re awake.” 

she’s not looking at you, instead looking around for the shirt you’d taken off before making her cum the second time around, finding it on the edge of the couch.

“yeah.” chaeyoung responds quietly, “i have to go.”

there it is, you expected this, but it still disappoints you a little, even if you assured that it was “no strings attached.”

“do you need a ride?”

“i can text haesol.”

your jaw tenses. 

she has a boyfriend, right, haesol. chaeyoung has a boyfriend who seems more attached to his phone than to her, failing to truly listen to her. he overlooks the qualities that you find captivating, a boyfriend who... well, is just a man. you try to convince yourself that you've forgotten, but deep down, you know you never really did. if anything, knowing that you can, scratch that, you did make her feel better than her boyfriend boosts your ego, even if just a little. 

you should feel guilty, like you’ve just committed a terrible crime and someone is waiting outside with handcuffs ready to put you behind bars but– you don’t feel any of that, honest to god you dont give a fuck about that. you made chaeyoung feel good, great, fucked her with your thigh, and honestly that’s enough to completely push guilt out your body.

she’s fully dressed again after putting on the jacket that was across the living room on the floor. she looks walks over to you, stealing a quick glance to the tattoo on your ribs and the little one above your waist.

"i can’t believe i did this," she mumbles quietly to herself. then, she looks up at you, gulping. “we need to keep this a secret, okay?”

“i know, i figured.” you respond bitterly, even though it was you who started it in the first place. “so what's next? you're still going to go back to him? are we just going to fuck and forget?"

chaeyoung winces, feeling the pang of regret and uncertainty. 

she’s undoubtedly whipped, she can’t go back to haesol like everything’s fine. she didn’t answer his texts, his calls–anything. and despite how negligent he is–and also the fact that he’ll never make her feel the same way as you did – chaeyoung wants to go back to him, he’s her boyfriend after all. she already left him last night with no explanation, the least she can do is go back. but everything in her heart and head is telling her to stay here with you.

“i just… need time to think about it, y/n.”

you narrow your eyes at her as you sip on your coffee. “right.”

chaeyoung approaches you, frustration etched on her face. your demeanor is elusive, she hates how difficult you are to read. it’s hard to decipher whether you're angry, disappointed, or both. as you search for your phone, turning back around, she feels her shoulders sag with disappointment, her steps heavy as she reluctantly heads towards the door.

“i really thought you’d finally open your eyes, but i guess i was wrong.” you finally say, hearing a pause of silence before you hear the door open. 

a few seconds pass before you hear it close. chaeyoung’s gone.

#twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #twice chaeyoung #chaeyoung smut #son chaeyoung #chaeyoung x reader #son chaeyoung x reader

[shirtlessradfahrer]

I absolutely love songs that immediately (or almost immediately) let me know what sort of energy to expect for the whole duration of the song. I love a consistent, aggressive, often mechanical rhythm that confidently pulls me into the song and forces my scatterbrained mind to stick to the musical “path”. Within seconds of hearing Fantastista for the first time last year I knew I had a new obsession, because it stimulated my brain oh so perfectly, as did the vast majority of his other songs. I think that (Fantastista), Hirttää kiinni, Siitä viis and Toiset samanlaiset are in my most frequently played partly for that reason.

Kot Kot, uh….does not do this. I was actively fidgeting in my chair from how irritated I was during the first listen. It frustrated me because I felt like I was being teased with spoonfuls of something really good, but as soon as I could begin to savor the taste, he yanked the spoon from my mouth and shoved a completely different spoon in instead. And tbh I'm not a fan of the increased amount of singing being added to his songs lately, but that should probably be a separate post. There are very brief, fleeting moments of joy, but before I know it, it's over.

But after several listens and going through the lyrics…I guess that’s the point? He's in a frustrating loop. He's momentarily filled with joy, but it's over all too soon, and he doesn't know where or when he'll find it again-besides The Party, so that's what he chases, for better or for worse. And if I'm being real, I've been stuck in a similar emotional loop to what he's describing more times than I'd like to admit. I still don't really love the song, but I...really appreciate it? It's hard to describe

In any case I have to say I respect him so much for trying something different, even if it’s not quite what I expected. It’s both deeply satisfying and unsatisfying at the same time, but I feel like that accurately sums up how he feels as an entertainer at this point. And it makes me even more curious (in a good way) about what the next album will be like

Also if anything like this means more visuals like t h o s e than you know what I actually have no complaints, 12/10 six out of five stars god fucking bless you man

#käärijä #alright back to crying over that red album

[eastgaysian]

Sorry this is a dumb question but can you explain why tomshiv is not abusive? Shiv seems to hit a lot of textbook behaviours of emotional abusers

thank you for your follow up clarifying this was in good faith bc i checked my inbox yesterday right after getting high and was like man come on. don't do this to me. but yeah i can talk about it, it's obviously something i have a fair amount of thoughts on

on a fundamental level, i take issue with the assertion that there are 'textbook behaviors of emotional abusers' in the first place. distilling abuse down to a set of behaviors is, imo, effectively meaningless and totally unproductive. it's not the behavior of an individual that defines abuse, it's a specific and intentionally cultivated imbalance of power and control within a relationship. victims of abuse can and do resort to survival mechanisms that could be considered in isolation as 'abusive behavior', the point is that you can't consider them in isolation. there's a gulf of difference between the same actions when they're coming from a person in a position of significant financial or physical or social power over someone else, or when they're coming from the person at a disadvantage.

i think viewing abuse as a set of behaviors also encourages you to treat interpersonal abuse as if it's discontinuous with systemic abuse, which is inaccurate and unproductive. a key part of succession's premise is that, because the family is literally the business, the familial abuse within the roy family is inextricable from the broader systems of capitalism, patriarchy, and the sexual violence and abuse endemic to them. with regards to how the show satirizes and critiques these systems, i think it's very telling that all of the characters are to some degree complicit and/or participants in abuse, but logan is the only one i'd say is unambiguously and intentionally presented as 'an abuser' (whose abuse is not an isolated product of him as a person, but integrated into/inseparable from the capitalist system which persists after his death). still, logan isn't reduced to a one-dimensional angry, abusive dad, he's given depth and complexity. his continued insistence that he loves his children isn't treated as something that's untrue, but that doesn't make it inherently good, and it certainly isn't incompatible with him abusing them.

circling back to tom and shiv. their relationship is unhealthy, it's not good for either of them to be married, shiv does fucking awful things to tom and tom does awful things right back, i'm not questioning any of that. but at my most cynical and bitchy, what it comes down to is quite simply: shiv doesn't have enough power over tom to be abusive, systemically or personally.

the thing is sometimes you see people say 'wow, if the genders were reversed people would say tom and shiv's relationship is unambiguously abusive!' which... hrm, but really the issue is that. the genders are the way they are, that's for a reason, and yes, that does make a significant difference in how we perceive their relationship and power dynamics. tom holds very real and present power over shiv as a man and as her husband, proposing to her when she was vulnerable in a way that placed huge pressure on her to accept and then trying to get her to have his baby so he can become patriarch. shiv's the heiress with the legitimacy of her family name and generational wealth but she is continuously, unavoidably subjected to gendered discrimination and violence. she's never allowed direct access to real power - she has to rely on the men around her, her husband or her brothers, and if they don't feel like humoring her she's shit out of luck.

this doesn't cancel out like a math equation, but it definitely makes things much more complicated than shiv being an Evil Bitch Wife to her Poor Pitiful Husband. when shiv finally does push tom too far, he immediately, successfully, goes over her head to her abusive father to fuck her over. maybe shiv wants to be her father in her relationships and exert the same kind of control he does. but she doesn't and she can't! she does not have that power! she cannot stop tom from kicking back and his hits are significant. as much as she might like to pretend otherwise, tom not only has always had the power to leave in a way shiv doesn't, he had and has the power to fuck her up badly, and he's used that power. that is simply not the power dynamic between abuser and victim to me.

i also have to say that abuse is not always going to be definitive black and white. in real life there are plenty of unambiguous situations but there are also plenty of complicated situations, and applying judgments to fiction is not always straightforward. i can't exactly call someone 'wrong' for personally being uncomfortable with tom and shiv's relationship or believing shiv is abusive, but i'm very skeptical of the viewpoint and the motivations or assumptions that are often contained within. if shiv is abusive, she definitely isn't uniquely so among the cast, so you had better be applying that label and any associated moral judgments equally across the board.

#mingbox #abuse mention #might self destruct this tag later but it's like. #my relationship with my ex was definitely unhealthy and fucked me up but it was not abusive because fundamentally. #he was actively worse to me than i was to him but the moment he went too far i cut him off and took all the friends in the divorce #if he had more influence in our social circle or could actually successfully emotionally manipulate me it would've been much worse #but he didn't so it wasn't. i won the idgaf wars and everyone liked me better because i am not an asshole so i peaced out. #he's a dickhead and i had to leave that relationship for my own good. still it was not abusive #chalkboard

[lilgynt]

obligatory dad i will beat the shit out of you if you put ur hands on my mom moment

#personal #just broke up a fight then put my dad down for bed with a whole lecture #but definitely a moment #i think forcing them to let go of each other was more emotionally than like #more emotional for me #idk sternly talking to my father #anyway i didn’t tell him but i did tell my mom next to him in a normal speaking voice #if he gives you any issues call me if he touches you yell and i’ll fucking take care of him #then emphasized to him again my mom needs to sleep for both their sakes or else she’s gonna attack him #he cannot talk to her touch her he doesn’t have to sleep but he can’t bother her #and then left but i heard him talking to her so i came in and was like #why do i hear you talking to her? no talking no touching. let her sleep. if i hear it again i’ll come in again. then left #oh and mentioned how my mom has to be awake in four hours and i have to been awake not to long after we need to sleep #anyway i don’t like talking to him like that bc like #a lot of this isn’t his choice his brain is actively fighting him and making him like he is #and good news we’re getting someone to stay with us sunday and physical therapist coming in tomorrow to help dad #a lot of this isn’t his choice but there’s only so much my mom and i can do 24/7 #i hope my mom knows i’m not kidding about that like #not in a weird way but also ma’am he’s just some guy who beat me as a kid most days and ur my mom for better or for worse #like that’s genuinely not asking a lot #i mean kinda fucked up old dude with dementia but like i know him and he had it coming and if he puts his hands on my mom etc etc #and i mean mostly i just want him safe and comfortable i don’t want to upset him or hurt him #but like if he tries it honestly probably won’t even be hard to just keep him down #he might still have a decent amount of muscle mass over so can’t ignore that but also he’s an elderly blind man #and i outweigh and am taller than him #like not gonna say oh easy peasy cause he does have a decent amount of strength left but pretty sure i can keep him down or kick his ass

[gutsby]

Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

#ONE CABIN 🏚️ #ONE BAND #ONE DREAM #ONE DIRECTION #IF YOU THOUGHT I WAS GONNA BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS YOU WOULD BE MISTAKEN HAHAHAHA #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel

[hxltic]

i absolutely need suna x reader having secret sex while the miya twins are a room across🫣

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

You had no real attraction to Suna, but it was just one of those nights where your brothers came home after a game, bringing his friends along with him to celebrate, and to avoid sitting in their sweat, they had to shower. Thank god you took yours before the boys made it. Being the last to shower when the floor is wet and it’s steamy already is literally the worst shit ever.

The problem was, Suna never really came over; therefore, he had no real way to know which room was your brothers’.

He had specific instructions to shower and take some clothes from his room. Looking back on it, he should’ve asked which door it is, but strutting back with nothing but a towel on his waist is not an option. So, he resorts to opening every door until he finds what he would think is the room of his teammate. Or rather…either of them?

Instead, the knob twists as you’re fully bent over in your walk-in closet, digging through a basket of clean clothes for a t-shirt. Of course it had to be the second you wanted to change when he walked in, and not when you were comfortably reading in bed with a little light on earlier. There’s no bra on your chest now, just a pair of navy blue lace panties.

Hey! On the bright side: they could’ve been cotton with “kiss my ass” stamped on the back.

Your arms draw up in an effort to hide your chest when you hear the twist of the knob and the door come flying open. Key word is effort, because now your breasts are pressed up against each other, which Suna believes is ten times worse for you than the position he found you in. At least when you were bent over, he had to imagine whatever he couldn’t see.

“Holy— shit!” you exclaim, eyeing the man at your door that’s actively dripping water on your carpet. His hair is fallen and sticking to his face messily, just enough for you to spot his slim eyes. He doesn’t say anything at first.

It’s mainly just him blinking blankly at you while you panic, searching the room for literally anything to provide some decency, but once you render the clear lack of any emotion you currently possessed in his body, it calms your nerves a bit.

He’s seen a woman before. It doesn’t make him any less prone to being attracted to puffy lips and nipples only covered by an arm, but it somehow soothes you to know he won’t make a big deal out of it and maybe not even mention it to your siblings.

Eventually, you throw on the nearest shirt over your head and pull your hair through, dirty or clean, still with no pants to match.

You sigh deeply, “What is it Suna?” It comes out in an irritated grunt.

“You know my name.” His eyebrows raise with surprise, but not as high as the average person’s would.

“Yeah, I do. Is there a reason you’re still here?”

He presses on: “How do you know it? Do they talk about me a lot?”

Your head drops in your palm to shake back and forth. “I can’t do this right now,” he overhears your mumble.

“My bad, I was looking for Tsumu’s room but got jumpscared instead.”

Despite saying this, he still stands in the doorway— not with it cracked, but with it wide fucking open— and it’s then when creaks from the stairs clears the air between you two. He doesn’t move, but you quickly shove him over to peek around the corner, then drag him into your bedroom before whoever it is gets the wrong idea by the view from the hallway.

While you’re turned after throwing him mindlessly into your room, he readjusts the falling towel around his waist. What he said finally hits you a few moments too late.

“Jumpscared?! You? I’m in the comfort of my own room when you barge in with nothing on!” Your hands gesture up and down his body as you scold him. “And don’t talk about my body like that!” Only he doesn’t really look at your eyes. When you’re done, he finds your attention.

“It was really an accident, but I’ll stay until whoever goes back downstairs,” he shrugs. “And why does it smell like sex in here?”

Your cheeks redden. There was a reason you were looking for a change of clothes. “It doesn’t.”

“Yeah, it does.” He flops back onto the bed carelessly, dipping your comforter.

“Stop! You’re getting my sheets wet.” His body has only slightly dried, but with the full head of hair he has, it hasn’t dried at all. “Suna, get up.”

“They probably already are.”

He closes his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. His stature was not what you thought it’d be. He was tall and packed with muscle in his legs. You could tell that much by the pictures if you didn’t figure it out by the fact that when he’s sitting you’re still face to face, but on top of that, his abdomen was carved and his arms carried some weight too. Nothing compared to the sheer size of his thighs though; they had to be the size of your head. Just by photos he’s an average high school athlete, so it almost appears fake.

Unfortunately, as you were looking, his eyes had opened and he’d been watching you inspect him. Suna will always preach there are benefits to being as quiet as he is, like how he can pinpoint that your fingers come to pinch the edge of your shirt.

You clear your throat in hopes it will gather your thoughts too, then rectify his past statement. “They aren’t.”

“Right… like all the red tabs in this book are for nothing?” He reaches beside him to take it in his hands, then he flips through the pages quickly until he comes across one. “‘I run my fingers down her trembling thighs that yearn for my touch. You’ll take it like a—’”

Before he can finish what you remember is very unfortunately highlighted, you crawl over him to rip it out his hands and throw it. You chuck the literature nowhere in particular with embarrassment that can’t get any higher as he laughs, then you quickly retreat with a knee up on the edge of the bed. His laughter is a sweet sound. It makes sense why he’s friends with your brothers.

You don’t even notice you’re half-straddling him while you point your finger in his face. “What I read is none of your business.”

He spoke clearly and assertively when he read, and the last thing you need him figuring out was how bad your body desired he’d read the words to you again; he was already too observant.

“Of course. Forgive me for saying such vulgar things around my friend’s sister. She would never do such a thing.” Finally, he slowly sits up, which naturally makes you rise with him, so you place your hand on his shoulder to prevent from wobbling. Your thigh is beside his with your foot unstable on the floor. “She’s just so sweet and innocent, and definitely not up here alone reading book porn.”

Your breathing picks up at the proximity and the pressure of a question you can’t avoid. You search between both his eyes that do the same to you. He deserves a medal or something, because fuck— the shirt lifts just a little bit every time you fiddle with it and the lace sticks to your skin like glue. “I— uhm,” you stutter, removing your stability from his body and backing away from the bed.

Of course, to add to the fucking embarrassment, you stumble backward, but he reaches out to you. His hand firmly wraps around your wrist and the other is hooked behind your back when he jerks you back up to him. He only releases your wrist.

“Is that all you read?”

You shake your head. “I read regular romance and fantasy too.”

He nods, “Ah, I see. So you want the prince of a faraway land to twirl you around in his field of flowers saying how much he loves you, then you want him to make you beg to come?”

Your eyes shoot wide at the comment, only stretching the lazy smirk on his face.

“N-no,” you reply, even though that does sound extremely appealing.

“But you do want someone to ‘run their fingers down your trembling thighs’ though, right?”

To emphasize his point, he lets the knuckles of his hand trickle down the back of your thigh, just barely grazing the skin. The sensation shocks you and almost sends you forward. This can’t be happening. Actually, you pray it isn’t, so your eyelids slam shut.

This prompts his other hand to pinch either side of your jaw gently and drag your face to his. “Or lay you back and tell you to take it like a good girl.” His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, then back up, noting the state of disbelief your countenance holds. He flattens the hand that stops just under your ass.

You almost melt in his hold, and this he knows because of the long breath you took after his words. It’s easy to infer you’re fairly untouched by not only your responses but how receptive you were. It was you two, only about an inch from each other now, waiting to see who would make the next move and risk something far worse than just a growing attraction. The twins flash in your head as a beat passes and you swallow.

“Yes. But that has nothing to do with you.”

Suna shines a smile with his teeth. “Your thighs are rubbing together.”

You look him up and down. “So?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You don’t look him in the eyes, they drop to your pillows. Before you can separate the thighs in question that are only disconnected by his fingertips, he nudges you forward onto him, bringing your hands back to his shoulders. You’re completely straddling while attempting to keep your eyes locked on his when his entire torso is on display. He leans forward to speak just above a whisper in your ear as if this is a normal occurrence.

“I can feel you dripping all over my hand.” The cool of his breath tickles your neck, only worsening as he continues. “Why is that?”

You’re at a loss for words at first, but you suck it up, holding your own. “Nothing to do with you. Maybe I went too hard earlier.”

He wholeheartedly chuckles at this response. “So you admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you were up here fucking yourself to your book?” His voice is an echo behind you since he’d decided to rest his chin comfortably on your shoulder.

“Yeah. Yeah— I guess I do. It’s not like you didn’t come in here and figure it out yourself,” your eyes roll.

“Which part were you reading?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence. “She’d just decided to drop her toxic ex-boyfriend and his sister came to console her. The way she did it was kind of fucked up, and I think the slow burn is what made me look past it, but anyway— she brings her to a party, the boy she meets there happens to be the barista at the place she orders from every day, and he has a history with the main character’s ex. He hates him even though he’d gotten over it as years passed, but she really wants to get back at him, so they send an anonymous short video of them, um… together, and he gets really pissed off.”

Suna is quiet as he reviews what you just said. He admires your perception of the book and the passion to read. He goes, “You’re into that?” and then it’s your turn not to say anything, even with the amusement lacing his tone. You grow fidgety, and just when you don’t think any more words will be exchanged, he suddenly demands, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That. What you just did.” You shifted your weight from leg to leg as the silence grew longer. Just to see, you do it again.

“You’re grinding against me when you do that by the way.”

You giggle maliciously, continuing to go back and forth. It’s payback for teasing you the entire time. He comes to hold your hips still to prevent further movements, but in protest, you create an arch in your back to actually roll your hips down instead, ensuring he felt it.

“Okay, really, unless you want to move like that with my cock nine inches inside of you, I suggest you choose your battles now.”

You finally halt at the words because he was dead serious. He feels scratching along his shoulder blades at your fingers curling up in response, but not removing yourself. He still rests his head beside yours. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re into that too?”

So that’s how he ended up with his back to your headboard, head tipped up, looking at you through his pretty eyelashes as you wrap your hand around his slick length and reposition it to line up. You lower your body down, allowing your walls to open up for him. The stretch hurts only a little just because he’s so big.

You hadn’t kissed him the entire time, so he groans desperately when you wrap your fingers tightly around his neck and come close. He allows you to no matter how hard you squeeze.

This drives up your confidence with your pretty lace panties pushed to the side, making you raise to your feet.

“Shit,” he grabs ahold of your ankles between half-lidded eyes, and his mouth slightly dropped like he can’t believe what the fuck he’s seeing. “If Atsumu could see you now.”

The mention of your brother at all should turn you off, but it doesn’t. It only fuels you knowing that you’re actively riding his teammate. In fact, you must tighten around him, because he knows immediately.

“What? Does that turn you on? Fuckin’ slut.”

You whimper at the words, pressing your lips forward to his. You kiss him the best you can as he hungrily reciprocates.

The bed moves forcefully, but Suna knows the other guys are probably too busy downstairs to hear it, and whoever is in the other room may only potentially be a problem. So up and down you go, now slamming your ass against him and reddening his slightly tan, freckled skin.

“hhhmmm,” you whine, breathing shallow.

The brunette lets you go until your legs burn and you’re slowing pace. It’s driving him insane watching you chase your orgasm, using him like he was the perfect replacement for your fingers, in your own little world with your face twisted up in ecstasy and muscles straining. You were too stubborn to stop when he offered it to you, but he doesn’t mind. Not everyone has legs like his.

He instructs while inching his hips up the bed, “Fall back to your knees.” You do, and he grabs one wrist in each hand before digging his heels into the blanket and pounding up into you at a pace you don’t think you could ever meet. It’s rough and loud and you can feel his balls coming up to strike you from behind. Quite literally, it takes your breath away.

“fuck fuck fuck yes,” tendrils of your hair fall over your face when you lay your head down over his shoulder for stability. Aside from not being able to move, this is the best angle for the both of you. Your tits move over his face, which would allow him to suck and bite as he pleases while holding you still, and with the tilt of your body his fat tip reaches your most sensitive part.

You bounce over and over and he wishes he would have pulled your shirt up first. He’s grunting in your ear dangerously.

“Was this in your book too? Is this when he told her to take it like a good girl?”

You try to answer but it’s incomprehensible with the speed of his thrusts. “Again.”

“Y-yes,” you retry, finally getting something out. He’s satisfied with this, so he lets go of your wrists and pushes you upright, only slowing for the moment. This time, he wraps his fingers around your neck, just enough for you to breathe, while rolling his thumb across your revealed clit. The veins of his forearm show themselves and he peers up at you with a glare as if you were the most irritating thing to him.

How hard you were holding him is nothing compared to how hard he is holding you, and just that thought has your eyes threatening to fall closed.

“Then be a good. Fucking. Girl,” he punctuates each word with a harsh upwards cut of his hips, “and take it.”

“Oh God,” you connect your own weak hands around his, your mouth falling open with every moan that floats into the air. He holds your gaze with his threatening eyes, and if you tried to look anywhere but him, he’d pull you right back. “Suna, I’m coming,” you rush it out like there’s no stopping now. And honestly, you’re currently wishing you didn’t say it at all, because you know if he told you not to, your body would try its best to comply.

“No the fuck you’re not.”

Godammit.

Removing his finger from your nub, he moves the hand to meet the other at your throat. You couldn’t speak even if you wanted to, which you did, just to let him know that this would only make it worse. There’s a movement: you’re coming down on him yourself with the force of the thrust driving you up.

Your mouth creates the words, but they don’t come out. Suna knows anyway. “Please.”

“No.” And it’s as simple as that, because then he says, “Do you hear that?”

Of course you don’t, he just asked to see if you were sane enough to come back to your senses and focus your hearing. His tight hold on you is enough to leave a mark, but not enough to prevent your head from slowly shaking back and forth.

“On the other side of that wall is your brother. Both of them.” Your eyes shoot wide at the same time his thrusts calm down. He still continues, it’s just with a deep grind to prevent the hard slapping of skin, and he brings your forehead to his as he speaks to you. “Come now and both of us are in trouble.”

He has valid reasons to infer that it is specifically the twins, but he’s sure you don’t want to hear those right now. If it was up to him, you would have been throwing your head back and showing that arch he imagines you had before he intruded in on you changing, but holding it above your head like meat to a starving dog was fine too.

“Please let me come Rin, please. I’ll be quiet,” a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose ends your pleading, hoping it softens him up with the use of his first name.

And maybe it worked, because his eyebrows curl upwards with pity when he explains, “We both know you’re too vocal for that, princess. How about we try something else?”

You nod frantically, raising off his length and letting him lay down completely while you wait for directions. He gets situated by moving pillows out of the way. “Come here.”

You realize now the pity he expressed was fake. Swinging your leg over his waist, you begin to line yourself up.

“No. come here.”

You stare at him dumbfounded.

“Up here, towards me,” he ushers his hands. You scoot closer towards his chest with your hands on his pecs, not sure how much closer the two of you can get.

“My face, baby.”

Instead of getting angry with you, he kept his tone. It was little but it made you feel good. “Oh.”

You come to a hover over his lips, contemplating a lot and nothing at the same time, mainly if this man was really under you telling you to do what you’re doing.

“Sit.”

“Are you sure?” You clarify.

“Yes. Sit before I make you read your porn to me.” This brings your eyebrows in with a crease and you drop with no remorse on his lips. His face is smothered somewhere between his eyes. The only thing visible is his damp hair.

Unfortunately for you, he enjoys the thrill of not being able to breathe.

You’re less than two minutes into absolutely grinding on his tongue, chasing the vibrations of his grunts and groans by tugging on his hair. Your other hand is covering your mouth.

Thankfully, because there’s a quick knock, and Osamu’s voice passes through the door. “Pizza’s here. You okay in there?”

You nod as if he can see you. You then realize he cannot.

Shakily, you call out “Yes.” The only way to not moan while Suna slides the muscle between your lips to taste all of your slick is by biting your lip. His fingers grip the fat of your thighs.

“Okay.” In the background there’s another voice, presumably your other brother. Finally, they become faint until you hear the stairs, and you allow yourself a little freedom.

“Rin,” you look down fully expecting to meet his eyes, but you can’t see him past your hair.

“Hmphh?”

“I’m close— can I?” On cue, he pushes in as far as his tongue can go inside your hole. He nods yes, simultaneously flattening it to lick all of you in one stripe before deliberately sucking your clit.

To muffle your sounds, your hand comes to cover your mouth once again and you’re somehow managing to prepare for your eyes squeezing shut at the same time as your muscles tensing. Suna can feel you dripping, literally this time.

this was kinda rushed

©️hxltic

#suna imagines #suna rintarō #hq suna #suna rintaro x reader #rintarou suna #suna haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyū!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #haikyu x reader #haikyuu smut #god i want him so bad #tictalks #haikyuu suna #suna rintaro #suna x reader #suna smut #suna rintarou #suna x you #suna headcanons #hq smut

[igotanidea]

Too much : Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Request: yes! Anthony and his wife having an argument.

***

„My lord.”

One of Bridgertons’ most trusted servant knocked on the door of his office and was bold enough to enter inside without invitation.

„I specifically told everyone to not disturb me.” Anthony muttered, not giving his man more than a grunt of annoyance.

Viscount’s sudden change of attitude has been the talk of the whole house lately. After months of sweetness and caring and love between him and his beloved wife Lady Y/N Bridgerton of house Y/H/N something has switched.

For worse.

Man of the house has became distant (again), leaving his wife to tend to herself. Suddenly, his duties, his visits to the sibling’s, social activities (which was a synonim of spending hours at gentleman’s club) and travels to the other parts of the kingdom (seemingly to inspect the state of assets) took most of, if not whole of his time.

Everyone’s noticed.

And even without the viscount and his wife ending up on lady Whistledown’s latest brochure.

But truthfully with lord Bridgerton’s stubborn nature and finality there wasn’t much anyone could do, even considering all the sympathy for his young wife.

„I’m afraid you have a very important visit my lord.”

„Just tell whoever it is, that I’m not taking visits at the moment.”

„My lord -”

„Thomson, did you not hear what I said?” finally Anthony raised his gaze on the poor servant.

„It’s the viscountess, my lord.” the other man stuttered.

‘My mother?”

„Your wife, sir.”

„Oh, right....” of course, now Y/N was the viscountess, but somehow it was easy to forget she has been holding that title.

„Shall I - shall I tell the lady to come back another-?”

„No. No I’ll see my wife now.” Anthony sighed and since there was no other word from him the butler froze, unsure of how to behave „Well? Let her in, will you?” there was the annoyance again.

The door was opened and there she was.

Y/N. In all her glory, looking beautiful as always, wearing that dress that always took Anthony;s breath away since she nearly glowed while walking. Her smile did not even falter for a second as she nodded to the servant in a silent acknowledgement, but her eyes were cold and sad, uncovering she hasn’t in fact been well lately. Regardless of the rumours, allegations that the viscount stopped loving her after no more than a year since marriage and got himself a lover (please don’t let it be Sienna all over) she held her head high and kept the appearances. No one had to know that the cheerful, graceful viscountess Bridgerton were spending her nights alone in a cold marriage bed, tossing, turning, tormenting herself with thoughts and longing for the embrace of the man she loved with all her heart.

‘Husband.” she said calmly once the door closed behind her, leaving her just standing in front of him awkwardly.

„Wife.”

„I didn’t have the faintest idea I do need to announce my visit in advance. I shall correct that mistake in the future if that’s your wish my lord.”

„Is there any specific reason of why you’re here Y/N?”

„Is my presence here this disturbing to you my lord?”

The scribbling on the paper was the only answer she got and it finally broke all her inhibitions and pretences.

"Anthony!"

"What?" he snapped looking up at her from the pile of documents on his desk.

"Talk to me!"

"I'm busy!"

"And I'm lonely! You've been spending time with Benedict and Colin and Daphne and your siblings and god knows where else but not me!"

"They are my family, Y/N."

"I am your family! This is not what your mother-"

"Don’t you dare-" he stood up abruptly almost tripping the chair, throwing daggers at her. "Don't you dare say a word about my mother!"

Now that's a drama the whole household heard.

„Your mother-” she tried again, this time more sternly taking one step forward „showed me nothing but kindness. Your whole family showed me nothing but kindness. All of them. Except-”

„Don’t finish it.” he warned but it came much more like a spat.

„-you.”

„Well I didn’t force you to marry me!”

The silence that fell between them after that one sentence was deafening. Nothing has ever hurt Y/N this much in her entire life. Never before Anthony has let himself say such cruel words in the moment of weakness and anger. All because he felt too much, because he needed and loved her too much.

„No.” she said with a tiny voice, her face going as pale as the wall behind her. „no, you didn’t force me. Not sure if you didn't do it to yourself.”

‘Y/N....” Anthony took a step towards her reaching his hand in a poor attempt to form a word that would remedy the situation, help him explain himself and bring her some comfort. „I didn’t mean-”

„I’m sorry I’ve seemingly ruined your life, my lord.”

„That is not-”

„Please accept my deepest condolences and apologies for ruining your blooming love life with that actress you knew. Know. Shall you remind me her name?”

„Y/N!” he shouted in pure desperation.

„Her name, Anthony!” now she was using her noble voice, leaving no word for discussion even to the viscount.

„No.”

„Sienna.” Y/N hissed through clenched teeth, her behaviour far from lady-like. „That’s her name isn’t it? Sienna?”

„You can’t help but remind me of the past mistakes, don’t you, my lady?” her husband  growled turning her back to her not wanting to see her face anymore. „You’re the one I vowed to.”

‘Forcefully, apparently. Maybe the only mistake you made was letting me walk the aisle and taking my hand while saying I do.”

„Maybe it was! Maybe I didn’t give enough thought to it! Perhaps I didn’t consider that seeing you every day, walking the rooms of my house, using the title of my wife, naming yourself viscountess Bridgerton will be too much to bare to my heart!”

What Anthony did not consider at that moment was that Y/N would take it way differently than he intended.

He was merely thinking that it was too much too handle cause he was not used to being so attached, so dependant, so - well,forgive me the word - needy. Of her, her touch, her words, her presence, her everything. Hence the distant he put between him and his wife. Perverse nature made him run away before loosing her.

Ironically, causing her to turn away, barely holding back tears, instead of falling into his arms. (such a surprise, right?)

„Forgive me my lord, for keeping your mind occupied with my humble person for too long. I am but nothing if not a modest woman, unworthy of the attention of the viscount.”

Oh god, what did he do...?

„You are -”

„Below you. Obviously. Perhaps I should have considered your coldness and self-isolation as well. I don’t -” she gulped „I don’t understand what happened to you, Anthony.”

„I-” as pathetic as that was her husband was trying to explain himself to her.

„Feelings overwhelm you Anthony.” that was something he could not disagree with „Now, my lord, if you’ll excuse me, I shall leave, since as you said - you’re busy and I clearly bring you this much displeasure. I shall not bother you again any time soon.”

Before he could stop her Y/N bowed to him in a way more formal and distant way Anthony would wish for, and simply walked away. Leaving him frozen, desperate and broken with the urge to run after her, apologise and reason with that fiery woman who always knew how to make his blood boil. He wanted to hold her, love her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear while feeling her in the most intimate way a man and a wife could ever be together.

But did nothing while she disappeared behind the door.

„Prepare my carriage” she  commanded the first servant that came her way.

„Yes, my lady, may I ask to what destination?”

„I’m going to visit my sister-in-law.”

„Certainly lady Briderton. It’ll be ready for you.”

„And not a word of it to my husband.”

„But my lady -”

‘Not a single word. This is an order, not a request.”

She needed a word with the only person who could possibly understand.

part 2 possible... (I think ;) )

edit: not enough

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fic #bridgerton angst

[eyelessfaces]

apology

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: miguel hasn’t come home in weeks. he tries to make it up to you.

warnings: smut, porn with minimal plot, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, a bit of angst, we're a bit mean to miguel because we're mad at him

tags: f!reader, sub!miguel (hell yeah), we make miguel suffer (sorry bb)

word count: 1k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

Miguel hadn’t come home in weeks, and it was with a guilty pinched smile and a bouquet of flowers that he reappeared at your doorstep. 

When you first saw him, you wanted to take the flowers from his hands and slam the door right in front of his face, but you knew that he certainly had a good reason and excuse to have done what he had done. 

He didn’t tell you much about it; you figured it was more about his spiderman activities than about his work, because he rarely told you about the spider stuff, wanting to keep you as far away from it as possible. You were sometimes mad that he wouldn’t tell you anything about it, but he kept on insisting that it was for your own good, that you shouldn’t get too close to it. He had already paid the price.

He apologized, apologized and apologized about not coming back for so long. You told him that it was fine, but he knew it wasn’t, he knew that you were hurt, he saw how you wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

He didn’t need this; he didn’t need you to hate him, it might be even worse and scarier than every universe collapsing.

He owed you an apology, a real one. He didn’t know if what he had in mind could work, but he could try.

Which was why he found himself with your thighs caging his face, your hand tightly gripping his hair. He sometimes got carried away, kissing and biting at your thighs while he repeated that he was sorry, over and over again, before you tugged his hair into diving back into eating you out like it was the last time he did it.

If you repressed your moans to let him know that you were still mad, he was doing all the contrary. He deeply enjoyed this, and he wanted you to know it. If he could spend the whole night between your thighs he would, and even though his crotch ached for some friction, all that mattered to him at that moment was you and your pleasure.

He mouthed at your pussy as if he was making out with it; licking long, slow and languid stripes through your folds, gathering your slick over his tongue as if it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. 

He pulled away to kiss the inside of your thighs, and just as you were about to scold him for it, he left a kiss at your clit before gently curling the tip of his tongue around it, making a strangled moan leave your mouth. 

He smugly smiled at your reaction but quickly got back to work; he actually thought of something better, and pulled away, making you groan at the loss.

He laid down on the bed and pulled you on top of him so you could straddle his chest, and you huffed out a laugh when he started to beg you to sit on his face, pulling your hips higher up his body so you could use him as you wished.

“Use me baby, I deserve to be used”

And it was a good idea, you had to admit. You could control it all now, grinding onto his face as if he was just an object. His nails were digging into the meat of your thighs, marking crescents into your skin as he hummed against you, his broad hands then shifting to your ass so he could knead the tender flesh, pushing you even lower onto his face. You even wondered how he could breathe, but your concern quickly flew out the window when his nose rubbed against your clit. 

Your hand had unconsciously fisted onto his hair to hold him in place as you rocked yourself harder against his tongue, fucking it until you lost your mind; you pulled away and straddled his chest just as you were about to come, leaving him confused and wondering as he caught his breath, the lower half of his face drenched in your juices. 

He licked his lips clean, looking up at you with half lidded eyes, so fucking pussy drunk. He sounded so gone when he asked you why you pulled away, but he looked even more gone as you got rid of his pants and explained that you wanted to come on his cock but that he wouldn’t get to come.

He let out a small whimper when you lowered yourself onto him, his hands finding and gripping your hips in a bruising hold. 

You bounced on him at an unforgiving pace; his head was thrown back into the pillows as he let out small moans, trying to contain himself.

You leaned onto him and kissed his neck, softly biting at the warm skin before repositioning and putting your hands over his chest, his muscles softly twitching under your touch, your soft moans driving him even crazier.

You were close, you knew it, and so did he. He watched down to where you were connected and bit on his bottom lip as he guided your hips up and down, your rocking more languid as you tried to reach your peak. You felt him twitch inside of you and reminded him not to come, and he responded with a small wail as he nodded, still biting hard on his bottom lip, the poor skin almost bleeding.

You came with a silent cry, his hips snapping up into you and burying himself even deeper as he worked you through your orgasm, focusing on every muscle of his body to try not to come as you rode out your high on his lap, his own about to tip over the edge. 

He whined as you climbed off of him, his orgasm stolen away from him, just as you had promised. 

You watched with awe and a sly smirk as his body stiffened, his cock twitching desperately in front of you, his hands pawing at the bedsheets in frustration. 

You smirked proudly, putting a hand at his cheek before kissing his lips then his forehead, his eyes shutting tight.

"Look at you baby" you cooed, looking down at your hand softly stroking his thigh to tease him even more, so damn close to where he needed you. “Maybe I'm a bit less mad at you.”

—

please give me feedback if you liked this, I appreciate every single comment and they motivate me to keep going!!

masterlist | taglist | ao3

spiderman 2099 taglist: @bubuslutty @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @cocodiem @pedropascalsidechick @spxctorsslxt @roxannarichie @vicolangelo @amb3rrz @inluvvwithme @friedwings @chaotic-neon-sign @foxglove-grove @ilovemiguelohara @pandq707 @gobblegluckgluckgod @weasleybuns @midgardian-witch @daemontqrg

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 smut #oscar isaac

[optimist-pine]

Bodyguard

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: people are naked, but it's barely even borderline suggestive

Summary: You need a bath, but there's no way you're going alone

Era: Season 1, the Quarry

Your skin practically crawls from the buildup of dirt, sweat, and who knows what else that's managed to accumulate over the past three days. You still haven't quite adjusted to the reality of not having on-demand access to a hot shower and your scalp is all oily, and itchy, and eugh - gross. A little shiver runs down your spine at the thought - well, maybe that's just more sweat...

The bold shades of the sunset are beginning to fade as you make your way to the Dixon brothers' camp. Currently they're the closest thing you have to neighbors, your tent being between theirs and the rest of the group. You're dying for a quick dip and rinse in the pond, but you don't actually want to die for a bath, and you know it's a dumb idea to go alone. Everyone else seems busy though and you've come to the conclusion that Daryl seems to be your only option.

Most of the others actively avoid the brothers, and you can't say you blame them. Merle's constantly stirring up trouble and being a general annoyance, and Daryl's quick to jump to his defense. But, on the rare occasion when Daryl isn't being held under Merle's thumb, you catch glimpses of a very different person than what he usually puts out.

He's sitting in an old lawn chair by the side of a fire when you approach, poking a stick around in the coals. Little sparks shoot off where the fresh evening air hits them, and the smell of woodsmoke fills your lungs.

"Hey." You greet. A spot of doubt begins to arise within you, but you quickly stamp it out. With recent events you were beginning to discover that there wasn't much room left for second guessing or overthinking anymore.

"Need somethin'?" He asks, eyes flicking up to you for a moment before returning to the flames.

You hang your thumbs in your belt loops, fingers tapping against your hips. "If you're not busy, I was hoping maybe you could go down to the water with me? I'd ask someone else but they all seem rather occupied at the moment... and I don't think Shane'd let me go alone." You say.

He looks up, jaw set awfully close to a scowl. "I ain't gonna be yer damn bodyguard." He huffs.

"No- I don't want you to watch me or anything like that- I guess I'm just asking for companionship?" You reply. "You could do whatever you're gonna do here, but just do it down there?" You hike your thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the pond.

He stays silent, but a sudden chorus of laughter flows out from the direction of the rest of the group. You study the way the firelight smooths out his rough edges, and you can't help but wonder if the look in his eyes is just boredom or if it's really loneliness.

"Unless you prefer Merle's company, then by all means I'll leave ya to it." You continue, trying your best to ignore Merle sawing logs in the tent, and erase the image of his hand too close to his crotch from your mind.

He jams the stick into the dirt hard enough that it remains standing when he lets go. "A'ight. Lemme get 'mah stuff."

"Awesome, I'll be over at my tent when you're ready." You smile, pleased and a little surprised that you'd managed to get him to say yes. Admittedly, Merle wasn't so bad when he was passed out, but it was reassuring to know that you were at least preferred company over an unconscious jerk.

---

Dirt and gravel crunch under your boots as the two of you walk, your knapsack bouncing steadily against your back with each step. "Thanks for coming with me. I'm not necessarily afraid of the dark or anything, but there's a lot worse things in the woods now than just coyotes." You explain. "And it's just nice not to be alone."

He simply grunts in response.

Good thing you didn't ask him along for his conversational skills.

When you reach the edge of the water you find a rock close to the shore to set out clean clothes and a towel. You see Daryl settle down, back propped against a boulder as he starts rummaging around in his own bag. "Whatcha gonna work on?" You ask.

He pulls out a whetstone and a couple large hunting knives. "Cleanin' mah tools." He replies.

You begin to undress, but a feeling of uncertainty causes you to pause. "Man, I wish I didn't feel like he's sitting up there right now with those binoculars..."

"Who? Shane?" He asks sounding surprised.

"Yeah." You shudder. "Guy gives me the creeps."

You hear scrape of the knife grinding against the sharpener. "Well, hurry up an'ere won' be anythin' ta see." He says.

"Yeah..." You keep your eye on Daryl while you finish, but he doesn't lift his gaze even once beyond sharpening his knife. "I won't be long." You assure him as the cool water rises around you.

As soon as you're far enough in you dive forward, the rush of water instantly reviving and refreshing your whole body as it flows past. You rise upwards as giddiness fills you and you break the surface with a laugh. "This is heavenly!" You gasp. You continue diving and twirling, every sore muscle and painful bruise easing away.

You pause to catch your breath and a small splash has you immediately alert. You left your knife up on the shore with Daryl, but you hadn't heard any sounds of alarm from him so surely it's not a walker. But when you look to the shore the sight has you almost equally as shocked. Daryl is chest deep in the water - bare chested that is - ripples being sent out across the still expanse as he sinks further in.

"Hey!" You yell. "I asked you out here because I thought you weren't some sorta pervert!" You hope it's dark enough that nothing in the water is visible because he's only getting closer.

The moon is full and bright, and the way it reflects off the water makes him look almost ethereal. "Can't protect ya if I'm up'ere an' yer alla'way out 'ere." He reasons.

"I don't need protecting." You roll your eyes. "And all the weapons are up there, Dixon!" You send a splash of water directly into his face.

He returns the splash. "Looked like I was missin' out on alla fun." He shrugs. "'Sides, ya never know when somethin' might jus'-" he disappears under the surface of the water and barely a second later something wraps around your ankle, tugging you under the surface.

When you're released you bob back up to the top wanting to be stern, but you're too busy giggling and swallowing mouthfuls of water to do so. When he surfaces behind you, you turn and splash him again sputtering, "Daryl you- that's not- I can't-" and end up full on belly laughing while trying to stay afloat.

You think you catch the shadow of a smile on his lips before he turns and floats away, like he's done nothing worthy of retaliation. 'Oho boy is he gonna get it.' As quietly as possible you lower yourself in the water, and using shadows from the moonlight, you swim under his head. Reaching up with both hands you use all your strength to grab his shoulders and pull yourself above the surface while pushing him down as hard as you can. Then you make a break for it.

You hear him gasp for air, coughing and sputtering as you swim as fast as you can in the opposite direction.

"Get back 'ere, woman!" He shouts, his tone highly amused. "Yer gonna hafta pay 'fer that!"

You don't realize how loudly you're laughing until the beam of a flashlight is suddenly shining directly in your face.

"Everything alright here?" Shane questions, standing on the shore not far from your and Daryl's discarded clothes. A few of the others are with him; Dale, Andrea, T-Dog, and Morales.

Even in the chilly water you can feel your skin begin to flush all the way down your neck. "Yes! All good!" You squeak out, squinting in the harsh brightness.

"We heard yelling." Andrea chimes in.

You're confident that in all your life you've never been more embarrassed. "That was laughing, guys. I wanted a bath and I asked Daryl to be my bodyguard. We were just, uh, blowing off some steam and I guess we got a little loud... Sorry if we worried anyone." You glance at Daryl who appears to be doing his best impression of the invisible man.

You can make out Dale's hat exceptionally well even in the darkness. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Their hesitation to leave sparks frustration within you - do they really think so lowly of Daryl? Is that what this is all about? Sure, nobody really knows him all that well, but you're all practically strangers and he's done alright by you. The desire to defend him takes over and you snap at the group, "Ah, what're y'all, the fun police? Go ruin somebody else's night and leave us be."

You don't take a good breath until they're all headed back to camp, and it's once again quiet and dark. You sigh, tilting your head back to watch the stars so high above as you float. "Dead people walking around eatin' living people - ya think they'd have bigger problems to deal with than a couple'a skinny dippers." You remark.

A quick exhale of a laugh, not quite a snort, echoes across the pond. "People're always jealous of'a good time if they ain't havin' one." He says quietly.

You pull your fingers through the water, feeling the tension push against them. "So... are ya feeling jealous, or did ya have a good time?" You ask.

"S'pose it wasn't too bad." He says. "But I ain't yer damn bodyguard."

And you grin.

---

Yeah, maybe it's a little awkward getting dried off, getting dressed, and walking back to camp but you sleep more soundly than you have since you arrived. And maybe you're a little annoyed with the way everyone seems to have nothing better to do than gossip, but that new gleam in Daryl's eye when he looks at you wipes it all from your mind. And maybe a lot of things suck, but at the end of the day there's someone who actually likes you, and maybe that's enough.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #optimist pine #twd season 1

[judithhhh]

an angsty one w judeee! like they're having a bad fight over smnth and they go to bed in seperate rooms still upset. reader comes out in the middle of the night for like idk a glass of water or something and sees a bouqet of flowers on the kitchen counter that Jude must have went out and got after their fight. with them is a little note like an apology or something and its so sweet and they make up ! :)

love note (one-shot)

jude x reader

summary: read the request!

thx for your request, hope u like this :)

fighting with jude was the last thing you had planned to do in the only week he was available to come see you. but there you were, going to sleep in another room and actively ignoring the man instead of enjoying the few moments that were given to you to spend with your boyfriend. you hated the rare but still real screaming matches you had with him. the reason was always something stupid and you two’s bad temper only made things worse. this time, he was the one who started it, mad that you had still not decided if you wanted to join him in madrid or stay in england. at first you had tried to calmly explain to jude that you had your own life here and that leaving everything behind was not a easy thing but your calm tone was replaced by harsh screamed words when he just would not understand your point. you said things you regretted, mentioning issues that you knew hurted him, but in the end you knew that you were right. jude couldn't deal with the fact that your entire life was not dedicated to him and he had to get over it.

trying your best to silence your sobs, you took your favorite blanket and pillow from your bedroom and went to install yourself in the guest room at the end of the hallway. you knew your boyfriend was downstairs, probably still fuming, and it allowed you to do your night routine without bumping into him. you were snuggled into the unfamiliar bed listening to your comfort show when you heard the front door slamming shut and you could not help the unhealthy thoughts that filled your mind. you trusted jude with all your heart but you worried that maybe he went to seek comfort from another girl. a girl that could give him her everything unlike you. you shook your head, still determined to stand your ground on your opinion, and decided to go to sleep. it took time for your mind to shut up and let you fall asleep but when it did jude had still not come back to your house.

you always had problems sleeping an entire night without waking up so it did not surprise you when your eyes shut open at four in the morning. usually, you would have taken advantage of jude being here and you would have snuggled into the man but obviously the current circumstances did not allow you to do so. you sighed and stretched your limbs before going downstairs to drink a glass of water. passing by your bedroom, you saw that the previously open door had been shut close signaling that jude was back. it gave your mind a bit of reassurance but you stayed upset. you did not open the lights and preferred to shuffle around in the dark for a glass. the view of your kitchen, plunged into darkness except from the moonray escaping from the slightly open blinds, gave you some comfort and you sat down on your couch slowly sipping your water. you were looking into the empty space in front of you when a moonray illuminated an object in your kitchen that was not usually there. opening the light in the room, you saw the flowers placed on the kitchen counter. you sighed realizing that jude still thought he could win you over with simple gifts like this. you still took the effort to fill up a vase and went to pick up the flowers to put them in it. when doing so, a small pink note you had not noticed before fell to the ground. you picked it up and read the words written on it.

‘’i love you more than anything, no matter where you are, no matter if you're close or far away from me. you're always in my heart and that's the only thing that counts. sorry for being such an asshole baby, i regret everything i said today. whether you choose to stay in england or go to madrid is your choice, and i respect it.

ps. i know you're probably gonna read this in the middle of the night, wake me up when you do.’’

at the end of the note, jude had drawn two wonky stickmans with a heart at the top, his attempt of drawing the two of you making you laugh. the sweet words brought tears to your eyes, you were quite a sensible person, but the last sentence made you chuckle. he really knew you more than anyone. you debated going to wake him up now or giving yourself the night to think about it but the idea of going back to an empty bed seemed way too depressive. you quietly made your way back upstairs and stopped infront of your bedroom door. you were apprehensive, a bit scared that this conversation would lead to another fight, but you opened it anyways. the sight of jude hugging a pillow made you smile, you knew he had missed your presence just as much as you missed his. you went and sat on the bed next to him and softly stroked the nape of his neck, knowing it was something that he enjoyed so much it would probably wake him up. jude seemed to wake up from his slumber as a few sighs escaped him. his eyes opened and you read the hint of stress in them as he saw sitting next to him.

‘’ you okay love?’’ he asked voice still raspy, just like you loved it

‘’mmh, i saw what you wrote’’

your answer woke him up entirely and he sat up to face you. his hand reached to fix your slightly messy hair before he dropped it back down, not sure if you wanted him to touch you right now. the two of you looked at each other without uttering a word for a few minutes until you decided to take the first step.

‘’i’m sorry for some of the things i said too, jude. didn't mean it really, i was just mad because of… well you know.’’

‘’you were mad for a reason, i was being unreasonable.’’

he sighed before continuing

‘’i miss you when you're not with me but i really do mean it, whether you stay here or come with me it's your choice and i love you.’’

‘’baby, i wanna come with you so bad. i just need time to organize everything here, you know. but i swear that when i’ll be ready, i’ll take the first flight to madrid and i'll join you there.’’

‘’you will, really?!’’ your boyfriend exclaimed, eyes light up

‘’yes jude, but that doesn't mean i'm going to be settled in madrid next week. it might take time’’

‘’i don't care my love, you just made me the happiest man by telling me you’re gonna join me’’

jude was smiling hard, his mind already thinking about the joy of having you close to him at all times. finding him absolutely adorable, you threw yourself on him and tucked your head into his neck. the boy laid back into bed with you in his arms.

‘’you don't ever talk to me like that again though’’ you whispered to your boyfriend

‘’never again baby i know’’

‘’and you don't go to sleep without wishing me a good night ever again’’

‘’you're the one who went to sleep in the other room’’

you side-eyed jude and he sighed telling you that he was only joking. laying in his arms, you felt tired yet again and was ready to go back to sleep. you lifted up your head to talk to your boyfriend but frowned seeing him already fast asleep. you lightly slapped his cheek and he woke up, surprised.

‘’i said to not go to sleep without wishing me goodnight jude bellingham!’’

‘’yeah, yeah good night baby love you” he said tiredly, falling back asleep immediately after

you sighed at his nonchalant behavior but was struck by a wave of fatigue and you too was back asleep in jude’s arms.

#football #football imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude x reader #football x reader #jude bellingham x reader #hey jude :)

[noyasmashing]

Between Lines

Sub!Kenma x Fem!reader

CW: caught jerking off, reader a lil mean, begging, kenma being a cry baby, phone smut

A/N: Kinda rushed this one tbh.. I don’t know if I’m a fan of it but I liked the idea

WC: 1,360

Kenma's quiet demeanor was a defining trait, one that set him apart from the crowd. He wasn't one to actively seek out friendships, nor did he make much effort to engage in conversations with girls.

However, you were the exception. The circumstances of how your nightly calls began was something Kenma could not recall; but it was evolved from your shared love of video games. But once the controllers were set aside for the night, the conversations continued.

Despite his reputation for silence, Kenma was an attentive listener. He found solace in the sound of your voice, absorbing every detail you shared – whether it was the latest gossip, your favorite TV shows, or the mundane details of your day. He was content with this, offering only occasional interjections or quiet chuckles in response.

When the topic inevitably turned to him, Kenma's responses were dry, stale. I mean, you tried to talk about him, but it’s like he was on a witness protection program. He always found a way to turn the conversations back to you.

You weren’t exactly sure why, as sometimes you would have to ask “Are you still there, Kozu?"

A soft "mhmm" would be his only response, a subtle reassurance that he was indeed still listening.

Tonight was no exception. The clock ticked past 10:00 pm, leaving Kenma’s room dark as he lay on his bed, phone pressed to his ear. Your voice filled the room, animated and excited as you recounted the latest episode from your favorite TV show.

"But can you believe that plot twist?" you exclaimed, your excitement palpable even through the phone.

"Yeah, it was unexpected," Kenma replied, his tone calm but laced with a hint of amusement.

As the conversation continued, Kenma found himself lying there, feeling embarrassingly aroused. Lately, he had been struggling to find release, but there was something about the sound of your voice that seemed to make him undeniably hard.

His hand started to wander lower, venturing into forbidden territory where his boxers were already dampened with precum.

"That reminds me, Kozu! What you pulled off during the last match was pretty impressive," you enthusiastically complimented him, completely unaware of the effect your words were having on him.

“o-oh really?” He asked shakily, shamelessly teasing his overly sensitive pink tip.

"Mhmm, good job, Kozu.” You chuckled, praising him once more for his gaming skills.

Now, of all times, was the worst moment to praise him like that. He was already so aroused! The tone of your voice, your affectionate words, and just your presence in general was too much for him. By now, he was shakily jerking himself off, beads of precum leaking out of his tip.

He attempted to stifle his sounds of pleasure, but his efforts were in vain as a loud moan escaped him, broadcasting through the mic. His moment of ecstasy was abruptly halted when the realization of his mistake hit him.

"Kozu?" you asked, surprised at his unexpected reaction. Kenma didn’t know what to do with himself. He could die right about now. The one time he decided to let into his urges and he gets caught!

Before he could gather his thoughts to respond, you continued with a mischievous tone, "Have you been getting off to my voice every night?" Kenma's cheeks flushed even deeper as he struggled to find words, caught off guard by your bold question.

"N-no... I just... I'm sorry," Kenma whimpered out, his embarrassment evident in his voice. Somehow, he found himself even more aroused than before. Being caught by you had an unexpected effect on his body.

He braced himself for your potential reaction—scolding, perhaps even the silent treatment, or worse. But instead, your voice cut through his panicked thoughts, softer than before, calm and understanding,

"Did you cum yet?" you asked curiously, your tone indicating a desire to help with his predicament.

"W-what?" Kenma asked, still expecting a reprimand from you, his confusion evident in his voice.

“Cum? Did you?” you asked, this time with a slightly firmer tone.

"N-n, no.. no I didn’t," Kenma told you anxiously, unable to believe you would ask him something so intimate.

“Do you want to?” you inquired, your tone still gentle, yet probing. Kenma couldn't decipher how you felt about the situation, but he responded with a shaky "yes," although it was an obvious answer.

Your light laughter filled the air, further fueling Kenma's embarrassment. "I won't stop you, Kozu. I was waiting for something like this to happen," you admitted seductively, your words sending a shiver down his spine.

Kenma let out a soft whine, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and arousal coursing through him at your candid admission.

His hand slowly made its way back down to his aching cock, ready to relive himself of this burning feeling.

"What... what do you mean?" Kenma let out shakily, running his hand over the length of his throbbing erection. God, he was incredibly turned on right now, teetering on the edge of climax with every touch.

"Oh, come on," you teased, as if he should have known what you meant all along, though maybe he did, he wasn't sure. "Do you think I spend hours talking to you even when it’s late just for fun? I like you, Kozume. I really do," you confessed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

This time, Kenma let out a loud moan in response. You? You liked him? It was all too much for him to process.

"I want to see you," he whined, his voice filled with desperation, the sound of his frantic movements against his cock audible through the speaker, causing you to clench around nothing.

"You sound so pretty right now. I wish it was my hand doing the work for you," you remarked, ignoring his attempts at flattery.

He continued to diligently pleasure himself, while you comforted him with soft words, unwittingly encouraging his actions.

His breath became heavier, punctuated by moans and whimpers. "Please," he breathed out, nearing the edge of his climax.

"Please what, Kozu? Do you want to cum?" you asked warmly, causing him to nod his head rapidly, as if you could see him.

"Hmm?" you questioned at his silence. He let out a shy "can I?" seeking your permission for release.

"I don’t know…" you trailed off, feigning contemplation. "I’m kind of upset you touched yourself to my voice without me knowing. You're such a little pervert," you chided, and Kenma couldn't help but let out a mangled sob, his hand slowing its pace in response to your disapproval.

Hearing his slowed motions, you quickly scolded him,

"Don’t slow down if I didn’t tell you to.” This time you were much harsher than he expected. Tears began running down his burning cheeks, small apologies leaving his wet lips.

“If you wanna cum, beg," your demeanor shifted quickly, fueling his arousal even more.

He couldn’t believe you would make him do something so lewd, but he was too far gone to stop himself, "Please.. p-please [name], 'wanna cum so bad! I'm sorry.. mm sorry!" Kenma's voice came out in pitiful sobs, his desperation evident.

The sound of your tongue clicking, as if you weren’t satisfied with his pleas, only made him more desperate.

“I don’t know… maybe I should make you wait until I can touch you,” you remarked. But all Kenma could focus on was the “until I can touch you.”

The thought of you, looking at him with those pretty eyes as you made him cum on himself over and over again, was too much.

He let out more pleas and whimpers, his hips buckling pathetically into his own hand.

“I need to cum, it hurts. I haven’t in sooo long. Please, just this once.. one time,” he rambled, trying to convince you.

"Alright baby, let it out," you finally relented, and Kenma's moans grew louder as thick white ropes of cum flew out from his sensitive tip, coating his pale stomach. Small thank yous and pieces of your name left his lips as he hit his peak.

"Who knew someone so quiet would moan so loud," you remarked, a hint of amusement in your voice.

#sub haikyuu #dom reader #hq kenma #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #sub!character #sub!kenma #haikyu x reader #haikyu smut #haikyuu #dom!reader #phone #begginer writer #haikyu x you #kenma x you #kenma x y/n #haikyuu kenma #kenma #kenma fluff #video games #smut

[gojoluvs]

Forever yours.

⤿ Satoru Gojo × reader

Summary, The only reason why you even agreed to marry him was for your father. Now you wish you could go back in time and reject the offer.

Warning/ tags; angst, profanity, smoking, cursing, smut, cheating, mean gojo,

Genre; angst, cheating, infidelity, jik, Gojou × reader

Notes: the tag-list is open if you'd like to be mentioned everytime i update just send me a message also sorry for the spelling errors I didn’t have time to edit :c

9.5k words

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Feeling the warmth of the sun peek through the window, you awoke with a sense of longing.

Feeling the bed empty, you just sighed, realizing that Satoru was nowhere to be found and here you were, laying down on your honeymoon bed. Closing your eyes, all you could do was imagine how you used to wake up next to Toji, and how happy he looked to see you awake. You remembered how he used to caress you after you shared your good morning kiss, and tears began to well up in your eyes as you longed for those moments once again. But you also knew that those memories were in the past and that you had moved on.

"No, I swear to you," you could hear Satoru arguing with someone.

His voice was filled with frustration and desperation, as if he was trying to convince the person of something very important. His words were muffled, but his tone was unmistakable – he was pleading with them to believe him. Despite not knowing the context of the conversation, it was clear that Satoru was in a heated argument.

Confused, you got out of bed feeling a bit sore from last night's activities. As Satoru clenched his phone, you noticed him heading outside to talk to someone. You couldn't help but wonder who he was arguing with and what it could possibly be about.

As Gojo's friend spoke on the phone, he seemed to grow more and more agitated. "Listen Geto, please keep her distracted for now. I know how she gets when I'm out of town," he commanded, clearly worried about something.

"Don't worry, I've got it covered," replied Geto, Gojo's trusted friend and partner in crime. "I'll make sure to keep her entertained and away from her phone." Geto knew that Gojo's girlfriend was prone to constantly checking her phone, so he made a mental note to keep her busy with activities and conversations.

Noticing your presence, he began walking towards you, a look of desperation in his eyes. "Listen, I got to go. Just please do what I tell you," he pleaded before hanging up and letting out a heavy sigh.

"Who was that?" You questioned, watching as he walked past you and into the door. Rolling his eyes, you followed him inside. As he walked towards his desk, he replied, "Just another annoying colleague." You couldn't help but wonder why he seemed so irritated by this person's presence.

Right, you almost forgot that this man hated your guts. It was clear that he didn't want to be anything more than acquaintances, let alone friends. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

"We have a long day today, so wear your best outfit because I'm taking you out." Walking into the restroom, he closed the door.

As you stood there in awe, you couldn't help but wonder why he was suddenly taking you out. Did he have important business associates in town? Or was he trying to impress someone by showing off his new wife? The possibilities swirled through your mind as you anxiously waited for him to reveal the reason behind this unexpected outing.

Walking back outside you grabbed your phone hoping you could take a picture of the sunset and post it later.  Despite not being as famous and recognized as Satoru you did have a hefty amount of followers.

You quickly snapped a picture before heading back inside. Your heart dropped when you saw a notification, "Toji zen'in added to their story." Biting your lip, you clicked on the notification, taking you to his story. Your heart broke as you saw a photo of him and another woman.

To make matters worse, there was small writing in the photo that said, "Happy birthday to one of my greatest friends ever." It was clear that Toji was hanging out with other women now.

All you could do was feel disappointed that you were no longer in his life. Toji was your first love, your first best friend and your first everything. Letting him go now was possibly the worst thing you could ever do. With a longing sigh you walked back inside the house, deciding what you were going to wear for later.

As you stood in your closet, staring at your clothes, you couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness. Toji was the one who always helped you pick out your outfits and now he was gone. You never thought you would have to make these decisions alone again. With a heavy heart, you chose an outfit and got ready for the evening ahead, trying your best to push away the thoughts of Toji and the pain that accompanied them.

"You would look better if you wore white, compliments your face." he said, snapping you back to reality. Raising an eyebrow, you couldn't help but question his statement.

"Does it really compliment my face more?" you asked, slightly skeptical. He simply shrugged in response, leaving you to ponder if his opinion was genuine or just a ploy to get you to wear white.

You could see his tall figure leaning on the door frame. He had some black pants on but his hair was still wet. As you tried to turn away, you couldn't help but feel flustered at the sight of his bare chest. Quickly turning back around to change, you tried to push the thoughts out of your head. 

Before you knew it, you were already inside a Rolls Royce that Satoru had rented. You were in the front seat, watching the clouds slowly move as you thought about your new life back home. You used to work for Toji's company, but now that you had split up with him, you had to figure out your next move.

Would you stay in the same industry or try something completely new? It was a daunting thought, but you were excited for the possibilities that lay ahead.

As you stared at the ground, lost in thoughts, you couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. If only you had followed through with your feelings for Toji, maybe you would have a different life now. But instead, you chose to marry Satoru, hoping for a better future. Yet here you were, still struggling and hoping for a job from your husband's family.

And as you thought about Satoru and his lover, you couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't taken the next step in their relationship after dating for so long. Perhaps things would have been different if you hadn't married him. But it was too late for what-ifs, as you were now stuck in a bittersweet limbo, unsure of what the future held for you.

The constant thoughts and questions about why your father chose the Gojo family continued to linger in your mind. You couldn't understand why he would choose them over all the other families in the neighborhood.

You couldn't recall ever being close to the Gojos, especially Satoru, who seemed to ignore you most of the time. The only time he ever showed any kindness towards you was when he gave you his umbrella on a rainy day in high school. But even then, you could sense his disdain towards you. You couldn't help but wonder why he never showed any interest in you, even though you knew you were not the most attractive girl, you were sure you were still worthy of someone's attention.

You still remembered the day your family got invited to one of their annual big parties. You had no friends there, only Satoru. Despite feeling like a lost puppy, you followed him around until he suddenly turned on you. He told you to leave him alone and that he didn't want to be associated with someone like you. To this day, you are still confused as to what you did wrong to get on his bad side.

"We're going to be meeting some of my friends who stay by here so please, be at your best." nodding your head all you could do was keep your head low.

You just wanted to go home. forget about this whole stupid marriage. However, as you follow along to meet your soon-to-be spouse's friends, you can't help but feel a sense of dread and sadness. You know that you're only going through with this marriage for the sake of your family's business and reputation, and not because of love.

Your heart aches as you remember your true love, who you had to leave behind for this arrangement. You can only hope that your true love is happy and that someday you can be together again.

You might've been married to Satoru but your heart only belonged to one man. The man who helped you throughout everything. He was your confidant, your best friend, and your soulmate. The one who knew you better than anyone else and loved you unconditionally.

Despite your marriage to Satoru, your heart never wavered and remained devoted to this man who had been there for you through thick and thin. No matter what obstacles you faced, he was always by your side, providing unwavering support and love. He was the true love of your life, and no amount of time or distance could ever change that.

Hopefully Toji would wait for you, because you knew deep down you wanted only him. This marriage meant absolutely nothing to you and you were going to keep it like that. You couldn't risk losing your true feelings for Satoru, no matter how strong they were, and you were determined to keep them buried deep inside.

You couldn't let yourself fall for him, because if you did, you were afraid of what might happen and how it would affect your life.

As you sat in the passenger seat, watching as the car passed by the city of Santorini, you couldn't shake off the feeling of anxiety. Meeting his friends for some reason made you feel scared and uncertain. Did they know that this marriage was fake? Did they believe his lies? You couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the truth came out.

You knew your sole purpose in this arranged marriage was to give birth to an heir to their company. You always wanted kids but you wanted to have them with the man you loved. However, you were forced into this marriage and knew that you couldn't do anything about it. Your heart broke knowing that you would never have the opportunity to have children with the person you truly loved.

Despite the challenges, you were determined to give this child the best life possible. You knew that their parents may not have loved each other, but you were committed to making sure their upbringing was not affected by it. You were determined to provide a loving and nurturing environment for them, and you were ready to face any obstacles that may come your way.

feeling the car arubtly stopped you raised your head. Seeing a beautiful beach house in front of you. Satoru rolled down the window pressing the small button to talk in the intercom in the gate.

"Its Satoru Gojo, im here for the party." he said. Greeting the guard and gave his name, waiting for the gate to open. As the car slowly made its way up the winding driveway, you couldn't help but admire the stunning architecture of the beach house.

The sleek design, the ocean view, and the lush landscaping all added to the allure of this luxurious property. You couldn't wait to explore and relax in this beautiful setting.

You quickly grabbed your purse and headed out to the car. As you closed the door behind you, the wind gushed and blew your hair gently. The chilly atmosphere sent shivers down your spine. Suddenly, you felt Satoru's arms wrap around your waist as he led you towards the entrance of the house.

Before you entered inside he stopped you, "wait, take out your phone and take a picture of us together. post it later." he said. Nodding you grabbed your phone out of your purse. Leaning your head towards satoru, you smiled.

Before you could even protest, he snatched your phone and stuffed it into his pocket. "You won't be needing this today. I'm keeping it until later," he stated sternly, giving you a piercing look.

The door opened and you were greeted with a tall man with blonde hair. "Satoru, nice to see you." He said hugging him before landing his gaze at you.  "I see you brought a guest, i'll tell shoko." he said smiling at you before motioning to come inside.

The man, whom Satoru introduced as his friend Kento Nanami, smiled brightly at you. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said with a warm handshake. His blonde hair was neatly styled, and his tall frame exuded confidence.

The man's words were barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. He gestured towards the door leading to the back, which opened up to a stunning view of the beach.

"Everyone's outside if you'd like to follow me," he repeated, beckoning the others to join him. "And feel free to come by anytime, the beach is always open for our guests." With a smile, he stepped outside.

There was a pleasant atmosphere, with everyone dressed in bright summery colors. Soft classical music played in the background, while the sound of people chatting filled the air.

The house was undoubtedly expensive, but its breathtaking view of the beach made it worth every penny. Its grand size and stunning surroundings left you feeling awestruck.

"Is that who I think it is?" said a woman with long brown hair, her slight eye bags only adding to her undeniable beauty. She seemed to be in deep thought, her gaze fixed on the figure walking towards her. As they got closer, she couldn't believe her eyes - it was her childhood best friend who she hadn't seen in years.

"Shoko," Satoru smiled before embracing the woman. "How have you been? It's been a while since we last saw each other."

Shoko smiled warmly and replied, "I've been good, thank you. How about you?"

"I've been good as well," he said, introducing you to his friend. As you shook her hand, you couldn't help but notice the warmth in her smile. "And this is my wife, Y/N," he continued.

"I see geto has been putting in the work," he said, placing a hand on the baby bump she had.

"Don't say that... It was unexpected, but yes, Geto is the father." She smiled, placing her hand over his.  "I never thought I would be doing this with him, but I couldn't be happier." They both looked down at the baby bump.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal at the mention of a baby, especially when Satoru had touched her belly with such adoration. It was a harsh reminder that he only wanted you for a child, nothing more. You looked at her with a mixture of sadness and longing, unable to find the words to express your feelings.

Satoru was casually talking to shoko, making comments about her pregnancy and how happy he was for her and geto. You stood there baffled that he had the audacity to act so kindly to them but never to you. Deep down you wondered how he'd be if you'd never married him.

Despite the amount of people at the party, you couldn't shake the feeling of shame and regret for being there. The sight of the other woman, who was most likely his true love, only added to your feelings of inadequacy.

You couldn't help but think that he never truly loved you, and never will, because of the arranged marriage your father forced upon you. You didn't want to show your tears in public, so you silently told yourself to "suck it up." But deep down, you couldn't ignore the fact that his lover must have had it worse than you, being in love with a man who only saw her as a pawn in a business deal. You couldn't help but feel envious of her freedom.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of resentment towards Satoru and Shoko. You knew you would have to live with him until you bore a child of his, but the thought of being left again made your heart ache. You longed for true companionship and love, but instead, you were forced to endure a loveless marriage for the sake of bearing an heir. The loneliness and emptiness you felt only grew stronger with each passing day, and you couldn't help but wonder if this was truly all life had in store for you.

Your silently closed your eyes, letting the smell of the beach fill your nose. Exhaling, trying to recompose yourself after almost crying. You licked your lips before putting on a smile and opening your eyes again. You couldn't help but feel grateful for the peaceful setting of the beach and the calming sound of the waves crashing against the shore. It was the perfect place to gather your thoughts and regain control of your emotions. As you took a deep breath, you felt a sense of relief wash over you, knowing that you were able to overcome your emotions and put on a brave face.

You walked towards satoru, your heels clicking with each step. You hooked your arm with his before engaging in the conversation he was having.

"So, will you be the godmother and godfather of my child?" She said scrunching her nose. You were taken aback by her request, unsure if you were ready for such a responsibility. Your husband's hesitant look mirrored your own thoughts. You

You took a deep breath before finally answering, "We would be honored." Shoko's smile widened as she thanked you both, and you couldn't help but feel excited for the journey ahead as godparents to her child.

As he walked away, you couldn't help but notice the look of concern on his face. You wondered what could be going on inside his mind and if everything was okay. Shoko's presence also made you feel a bit uneasy, as if she knew something that you didn't. You found yourself anxiously waiting for his return, hoping that he would come back and explain the sudden tension in the air. "It'll get better."

"What do you mean?" you asked, turning to face her with a confused expression. She tucked a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear as she looked at you with a pitiful expression.

"I know about everything, but please just give him a chance," she pleaded with a heavy sigh, placing her hand on her belly and starting to rub it. "I know it may seem like he hated you, but the truth is, he doesn't. He's just struggling to deal with his own emotions, Y/N." She looked at You with compassion, hoping to ease the tension between you and Satoru. "Please, give him a chance to make things right."

"I know it may be difficult for you to understand, but there were things that happened before you came into the picture," she explained with a sigh. "Him and Jiiyuu had a long history before you arrived, and it's not your fault that he's acting this way." As you stared at her, you couldn't help but feel baffled by her words. How could he blame you for something that happened before you even knew him?

You avoided her gaze, staring at the floor you just wanted to disappear. To never been seen again, maybe then you could feel loved. Despite not knowing Satoru as much and just being recently married your heart ached. You knew him for almost all your life and for him it was like you were a mere bug in his life, easy to be forgotten.

The pain of unrequited love consumed you as you stood there, unable to face the woman you had spoken to. You couldn't help but feel invisible, ignored and insignificant in the eyes of the one you loved. No matter how much time and effort you put into your relationship, it seemed like you were never enough for them. And as you stood there, longing for their love and attention, you couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it to continue chasing after someone who would never truly see you.

"I see," your voice barely audible. You felt the need to swallow, holding back your tears you continued to look at the ground.

"Just please," She grabbed your hands placing hers on top of yours. As her warm hands consumed yours, you felt the sudden feeling of coldness gone, even if just for that simple moment she stared at you. "Give him a chance," she pleaded, her eyes filled with sincerity and hope.

In that moment, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of doubt and hesitation fade away as you considered her words. Maybe, just maybe, she was right and you should give him a chance. You had to remember he lost someone he loved too.

You smiled kindly at her, thanking her before going off to find your husband. You bit your lips trying to spot your white haired husband but it didn't take you long. You spotted him speaking animatedly with Kento and another man wearing glasses.

You debated on walking towards him, what if you were a nuisance? Or what if he just didn't want to try in this marriage as you did. These thoughts swirled in your head as you stood at a distance, unsure of what to do. You didn't want to bother him or make things more difficult, but you also couldn't help but feel hurt and frustrated by his lack of effort in the marriage. You were torn between approaching him and confronting him, or simply walking away and accepting that things may never change.

Your thoughts were abruptly disturbed when you saw a man with pinkish hair approaching you. He stood tall and had two small tattoo markings on his face. As he got closer, you noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes and your heart began to race.

"What's a pretty lady doing out here alone, huh?" he said, grinning as he stuck out his hand in a polite manner. You kindly smiled back, unaware of who the man was. You didn't mind the company and thought it would be nice to have some conversation.

"Oh please, you must have me confused. I'm no pretty lady," you giggled, correcting the stranger. You then introduced yourself and accepted his hand, shaking it firmly before he introduced himself in return.

"I'm Ryomen Sukuna," he introduced himself, a mischievous grin on his face as he stuck his hands into his pant pockets. Despite his playful demeanor, it was clear that he was a handsome man. "Nice to meet you, Y/N Gojo."

"So tell me, are you here alone or with someone?" Tilting your head to where your husband stood you sighed.

"Im with my husband, you might know him actually." He raised one eyebrow, pouting his lips he looked at the crowd trying to guess which one was it.

"Hm, is it that ugly fella with the black hair?" You giggled, rolling your eyes at him. You shook your head in denial. "No, that's actually some random person I don't know," You replied with a smile. "But nice try."

"Try again." You said, shaking your head as you grabbed a pastry from the pastry table. You couldn't resist indulging in one before heading back to your seat. You had made your way over to the table without even realizing it, too absorbed in the conversation with a certain man.

"Oh I see, you're talking about Gojo," he said, pausing to point his finger directly at where your husband was sitting. "That albino looking guy," he added with a smirk.

Before you could even engage in an actual conversation, you were pulled away from the man, your husband standing in front of you defensively. "Don't talk to my wife," he said, his tone filled with jealousy and possessiveness. It was clear that he didn't trust you and didn't want anyone else to have a chance to get close to you.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a sly grin forming on his lips. He had always found Satoru's rigid attitude towards relationships amusing. But now, as he leaned in closer to Gojo, he couldn't resist teasing him about his own love life. "Oh please, funny coming from someone with..." he paused dramatically, enjoying the way Satoru's expression shifted. "with a lover."

"I can't believe you would choose that disgusting excuse for a person over a mature, respectable woman like her." He said, with a hint of bitterness in his voice. He then quickly composed himself and found his way back to his seat. Satoru grabbed onto your arm, pulling you along with him to your seat as well.

You could feel the tension in the air as you avoided his gaze, knowing that he was fuming with anger. He was visibly biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to control himself, his anger only intensifying at the mention of his lover and the insult Sukuna had thrown his way. Despite the fact that you were the one wearing the ring, it was clear that he did not care about you at all, and it was painfully evident in that moment.

You gripped the fabric of your white dress, feeling the soft material between your fingers. As you ran your hands over the delicate fabric, you couldn't help but admire the intricate stitching and the way the dress hugged your curves perfectly. The softness of the fabric against your skin made you feel elegant and confident, something you hadn't been feeling in a while.

Shoko smiled as she addressed the guests, her voice projecting through the microphone. "Thank you all for coming, we'll be having games soon as per every baby shower has one. These games are a fun way for everyone to participate and celebrate the new arrival. We hope you enjoy them and have a great time!"

Truth be told, you wanted to run and escape from this form of everyone's expectations. You longed to return to your old life, free from the pressure and obligations that came with being the chosen one for an arranged marriage. You felt sorry for yourself for being so naive, thinking that Satoru would just accept the situation without any objections. In all honesty, who would want to be in your position?

However, you couldn't help but feel envious of the vastness and freedom that the sea represents. You longed to be able to travel and explore without any responsibilities or worries holding you back. As you gazed at the sea, you couldn't help but compare your stagnant and unfulfilling marriage to the endless possibilities that the sea seemed to offer.

You stayed staring at the sea, lost in thought about your miserable life. You wondered if maybe being with Toji, your best friend and lover, could be like the sea - a source of solace and escape from your troubles. The rhythmic crashing of the waves and vast expanse of the ocean seemed to offer a sense of peace and possibility that you longed for in your daily life.

The wind gushed over you, a few of your hairs falling out of place. Bringing up your hand to fix it you tucked your hair behind one ear. You longed to be loved, to be someones everything again. Maybe it was regret you were filling, or maybe you just felt like you deserved absolutely nothing. As you sat there, the emptiness inside you grew, and you couldn't help but wonder if anyone would ever see you for who you truly are and love you unconditionally. The loneliness and longing for a deep connection weighed heavily on your heart, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing from your life.

You never wanted to be the cause of someone else's heartbreak, yet here you are, living a life that was meant for someone else. You can't help but feel guilty and unworthy of any love. Every time you looked at Satoru, you were reminded of the fact that you were not the one they were meant to be with. It's a constant internal struggle and you can't help but wonder if things would have been different if you had just followed your heart.

"Y/N?" You're thoughts were interrupted by Shoko, her hand sticking out to help you get up. "It's you and Satoru turn for the blindfolded diaper game."

You took her hand, following her to the center. Everyones eyes looking at you and your husband. They handed you a blindfold. Grabbing the soft fabric they placed it on your eyes, tightening it before starting the game. Every other couple had their own doll, having to change the diaper before anyone else did.

"Go!" Shoko giggled seeing everyone start.

As the game began, you could hear the sound of rustling fabric and giggles from the other couples. You and your husband carefully felt for the diaper pins and began to change the doll's diaper, trying to do it as quickly and accurately as possible. The crowd cheered and laughed as the game progressed, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with the other couples.

Despite the blindfold, you and your husband worked together seamlessly, and in the end, you were declared the winners. As the blindfold was removed, you were surprised.

"Y/N and Satoru take that one! Seems like she's a lucky lady, huh? He knows how to change diapers!" exclaimed one of Shoko's friends.

You chuckled awkwardly as you found your seat, sitting down next to your husband. "I didn't know you knew how to change diapers," he said with a genuine confused look. You looked down and shrugged, "I guess I learned something new."

You caught a look on his phone, seeing he was texting a certain number you remembered seeing.

before you knew it the day had come to an end, you were already back at the Hotel cave you had rented out. You felt mentally and physically exhausted. For some reason you felt more at peace now. Maybe it was because you had come to realization that you could never make Satoru love you, but yet you knew you had to try. At elast for Toji, his last words being "Take care of yourself, okay?” It hurt so bad.

Satoru was in the restroom getting changed, practically forgetting about your existence. You stood outside, feeling a mix of emotions - irritation at being forgotten and a sense of loneliness.

“Toji… Please never forget about me.” As you stood there, lost in your memories of Toji, you couldn't help but feel a sense of longing and sadness. Even though he was gone, he was still a big part of your life, and you could never forget about him. The thought of him fading from your mind was unbearable. You hoped that wherever he was, he knew how much you missed him and how much he meant to you.

You threw yourself on the bed, kicking off your heels and undressing yourself, you unclipped your bra and grabbed a big T-shirt stopping as you recognized it. It was one of Tojis shirts or rather as he said, his “lucky” shirt. He had explained to you that he met you with this shirt on so he had gave it the title the “lucky” shirt as he was lucky enough to meet you.

As you held the shirt in your hands, memories of him flooded your mind. You remembered how he would always wear this shirt on your date nights, how he would always smell like his cologne mixed with your perfume when he wore it. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized that you would never see him wear it again. You threw the shirt back onto the bed and collapsed onto the pillows, wishing you could turn back time and hold onto those happy moments forever. But now, all you had left were memories and his "lucky" shirt.

Hearing the doorknob unlock you quickly grabbed the shirt and put it on, leaving you in just ur panties and Toji’s shirt. You grabbed the soft sheets of the bed and pulled it down, going under the sheets you faced away from Satoru who has just gotten out the restroom. You didn’t dare to say a word to him.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you pretended to be asleep. You didn't want to face the awkwardness of the situation and you hoped he would just leave you alone. But then you felt the bed shift as he climbed in next to you. Your heart raced as you felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you close.

"Why do you smell different, more..." he paused, slowly sitting up from the bed and turning on the small lamp next to him. "You smell like cologne," he said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He couldn't quite place the scent, but it was definitely different from the usual lavender and vanilla perfume you wore.

You tried to reply before he took the shirt off you, “Its Toji’s isnt it.” He stared at you not daring to blink, his intense gaze making you feel vulnerable and exposed. You could see the anger and betrayal in his eyes as he realized you had been wearing another man's shirt.

"I didn't think it was such a big deal," you covered your chest with your arms as a shiver ran through your body. The coldness of the hotel cave was biting, causing goosebumps to emerge on your skin. You could feel the chill in the air, but it was nothing compared to the icy feeling in your heart.

Satoru gripped the shirt before throwing it, most likely hiding it later on. “A big deal? my wife wearing another’s man shirt? not a big deal?” He scoffed grabbing one of his shirts and throwing it to you.

"You must be stupid or something," he muttered, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "And don't pretend to be shy. I've seen your breasts before." With a scoff, he turned off the lamp and lay back down in bed next to you. You couldn't believe his audacity and felt hurt by his crude words. It was clear that he didn't value or respect you, and you couldn't help but question why you still stayed with him.

Today was your last day of the so called “honeymoon”.

You loathed every moment spent here with Satoru. You envied anyone who didn't have to endure being in his presence. You would rather be dead than ever come back here with him again.

You hated the fact that you married such a handsome man. You couldn't help but feel conflicted, as his sleeping figure appeared so peaceful and innocent. It was hard to reconcile this image with the way he treated you, with the hurtful words he would say and the way he would make you feel small and insignificant. Yet, here he was, arms wrapped around you, his touch so gentle and loving. It was a constant battle between your heart and your mind, torn between loving and loathing this man. But in this moment, as you awoke to his sleeping figure, you couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different between you two.

As expected, he wasn't wearing a shirt and you were surprised to find that you weren't wearing one either. You couldn't help but feel a rush of heat to your cheeks as you realized you were practically skin to skin with him. The close proximity and lack of clothing added an unexpected tension to the situation, making your heart race and your mind race with thoughts of what could happen next.

Despite your initial attempts to escape his grasp, you found yourself unable to resist the comforting presence of the man in front of you. You couldn't help but feel drawn to this peaceful version of him, free from his usual toxic behavior. You gently placed your hand on his smooth, shiny skin, reveling in the softness of his cheek and the fullness of his lips. Your thoughts turned to kissing him, but you quickly scolded yourself for even considering such a thing. He may be different now, but he was still the same man who had caused you so much pain.

You gently brushed one of his hairs out of his face, revealing his forehead. With a sigh, you spoke his name, "Satoru." You shook his shoulder, hoping to rouse him from his slumber.

His blue icy eyes staring back at you, he released his grip and rubbed his face tiredly. "Mm, Gmorning," he grumbled, clearly not a morning person. Despite his rough exterior, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and comfort in his presence.

“Today's the last day of our vacation and I want to do something memorable, something that will make this trip even more special. Please, can we do something fun and romantic together?” He let out a deep sigh before getting up from the bed.

Without saying a word, he walked straight to the restroom, leaving you feeling disappointed and unheard. You could hear the sound of the faucet being turned on, a clear indication that your requests were being ignored.

Once again you were alone, somethinf you were going to have to get used to now. You got up grabbing the white t-shirt your husband gave you last night.

You walked outside extending your arms up stretching your sore muscles and gazing at the sunset. You took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, salty air and feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin. As you looked out at the stunning view of the caldera and the sparkling Aegean Sea, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and contentment. Despite the painful memories associated with this place, you knew that this beautiful view would always hold a special place in your heart. You took another deep breath of fresh air and let out a content sigh, feeling the tension from your muscles slowly dissipate. The warm sun on your face and the gentle breeze made for the perfect morning routine.

You could feel the tension in the room as you walked in, but you didn't know how to break the silence. Satoru seemed completely absorbed in his phone, not even sparing a glance in your direction. You walked straight towards the restroom, in need of a bath. You stripped yourself off your clothing. immediately going into the hot shower, feeling it go over your body you could finally relax.

As the warm water cascaded over your body, you could feel the tension and stress melting away. It was as if the shower was washing away all the worries and troubles of the day. The soothing sound of the water and the comforting warmth enveloped you, providing a sense of calm and peace. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, feeling grateful for this moment of relaxation amidst the chaos of the day.

Suddenly, the sound of the bathroom door opening caught your attention. You turned to see your husband walking in and casually brushing his teeth, not even noticing you in the shower. As you watched him, you couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness and disconnect. Despite being in the same space, it felt like you were in different worlds.

“Listen, we’re going to go eat dinner then we can go see what we can do alright?” You hummed in return not paying attention to a single world he said. You knew that his words were empty and insincere. He had a habit of saying things to placate you, but his actions always spoke louder.

You just wanted to go home, to find a new hobby to preoccupy yourself with. You got yourself ready, elegant enough for a so called “dinner” he was taking you too.

He emerged from outside grabbing his wallet and keys he closed the door before heading out by the parking area. “Its kind off like a cruise but its only for a few hours so stay with me at all times, got it?” You nodded back entering the car with your husband.

As you drove to the harbor, your husband explained that the boat you were about to board was a yacht rented out for private events. You were excited for the mini cruise and couldn't wait to see what the night had in store. As you boarded the yacht, the sun started to set and the view was breathtaking. You thanked your husband for the surprise and promised to stay by his side throughout the night.

The sun was setting, casting a beautiful orange glow over the ocean and the yacht. As you stood next to Satoru, you could feel the warmth of his arm against yours. You both tried chatting with the other couples on the yacht, enjoying each other's company and the stunning view. The drinks were delicious and you could feel yourself relaxing more and more, grateful for this chance to spend time with Satoru. Maybe this trip would be the turning point in your relationship.

You felt the vibration through Satorus pants, indicating that someone was trying to reach him. With a brief apology, he excused himself and made his way to the other side of the yacht to take the call in privacy. From your spot on the deck, you watched as he paced back and forth, his expression growing more serious by the second. You couldn't help but wonder who could be calling him in the middle of your vacation again.

Feeling dejected and alone after being stood up by Satoru, you decided to drown your sorrows and headed to a nearby bar. While nursing your drink, you struck up a conversation with a group of people who, to your surprise, were also on their honeymoon.

Particularly, you had met this rather old couple, they were in their 40s and said that this was their third time back in the mini cruise. They were sitting at the deck, enjoying the ocean view and sipping on some cocktails. "We just love the atmosphere and the relaxation that comes with being on this cruise," the woman said, smiling at her partner. "It's like a mini vacation from our busy lives," the man added, nodding in agreement.

"You're absolutely gorgeous!" exclaimed the woman as she took a sip of her cocktail, once again admiring the stunning symmetry of your facial features. She couldn't help but notice the way your eyes sparkled in the dim lighting of the bar, or the way your smile lit up the room. It was as if you were the perfect combination of beauty and charm, making it impossible for her to take her eyes off of you.

"Thank you so much, you look rather gorgeous yourself," you replied, smiling at her compliments.

"Now tell me, why are you here all by yourself?" The woman asked, tilting her head with curiosity.

"Well," you begin, trying to come up with a plausible excuse, "I just needed some time alone to clear my head. It's been a stressful few weeks and I wanted to take a break from everything." You flash a fake smile, hoping she wouldn't catch on to your lie about your husband. You knew he was here, but he was too busy talking to his mistress on the phone to notice your absence.

As you stood nervously in front of her, she playfully nudged you and said, "Well, let's hope some young, handsome man here can swoon you and steal your heart." You couldn't help but laugh at her teasing words, and her smile only grew wider. She gestured for you to come and talk more, and you found yourself feeling more at ease in her presence.

You tried to look for satoru, to no avail was no where to be found. You sighed in disappointment following the middle aged couple back outside. “You know i used to be just like you,” she said.

You tilted your head confused, “Just like me?”

“I would often take spontaneous trips to new places, whether it was a nearby hiking trail or a faraway city. Being in a new environment helped me to relax and forget about my stressors for a while. The excitement of exploring a new place and the freedom of being away from my usual routine brought me a sense of peace and clarity. And even though it may have seemed impulsive to others, I never regretted taking these adventures to clear my mind.”

"That's also how I met my now husband," she continued, "and I can tell you from experience that it's important to always be certain if the man you are marrying is the right person for you." She went on to give you further tips and advice on marriage, sharing her own personal stories and lessons learned.

You didn't know why she was so comforting, maybe it was the way she kind of reminded you of your mother in some way or maybe because you needed someone as wise as her to speak with you. You were grateful for the empathy she showed towards you and the insightful advice she gave. It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders after talking to her.

"You're a beautiful young woman," she said, smiling at you before taking off her sunglasses. "Never settle for less because there's always someone who would do anything for you." Her words resonated with you.

Almost the entire night you spent it with the couple, talking about your future and what college you went to. The whole night was filled with laughter and you had realized mid way through it that Satoru still hadn’t came back.

You had found out the womens name was Akari Nitta, she was probably one of the nicest people you had ever met. As the night went on, you couldn't help but feel grateful for meeting Akari Nitta. Her kindness and warmth made you feel at ease, and the drinks only added to the pleasant experience. You found yourself opening up to her, sharing stories and laughing together. The alcohol slowly took over your body, making you feel lightheaded and carefree.

Despite just knowing the couple for a few hours, you felt an instant connection with them. It was as if they could see right through you, making it impossible to hide anything. Before you knew it, you were pouring your heart out to them, telling them everything that had been happening between you and your husband. Akari's anger was palpable, and you knew she would do anything to protect you from Satoru's mistreatment. "Oh sweetheart, don't cry," she said, wiping away your tears as they fell down your cheeks.

Although you despised alcohol and the hold it had over you, you found it to be a temporary escape from the harsh reality of your life. It was a fleeting moment of calm amidst the chaos and pain that plagued you daily. It was a temporary numbing of the emotions and memories that haunted you, making it easier to endure the present. But deep down, you knew that alcohol was only a band-aid for your problems, and it would never truly solve them.

To make matters worse your husband happened to appear by you after the many hours he was gone he was surprised to see you crying. “Y/N, whats wrong?” You could tell he was genuinely concerned as to why he came back to his wife crying.

Jiyuu had been drunk calling Satoru, telling him how she missed his touch and how she wouldn’t wait for him to divorce you. The whole time without you knowing he was calling her and couldn’t even be with you on your last day of your honeymoon.

"You... You're a disgrace," she said with venom in her voice as she spat at Satoru, who looked back at her with a bewildered expression.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" His eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer. You stood there, confused and unsure of what was happening.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she continued, her voice shaking with anger. "How could you treat such a wonderful and sweet girl like absolute shit? And then insult her like if it was her fault?” Her words pierced through the air, leaving him speechless and ashamed. People stopping by see what was going on.

His eyes widened, “Listen old hag, Shes my wife and stay out of our love life.” He narrowed his eyes as his anger flared, "I don't need your meddling in my relationship! She's my wife and I'll handle our problems on my own." He clenched his jaw and shot a fierce glare at the old woman, challenging her to say anything else.

Her voice trembled with emotion as she continued, "She deserves to be treated with love and respect, not like a worthless object." Her words were filled with anger and disappointment towards the man standing in front of her. "You are nothing but a coward, incapable of taking responsibility for your actions." She turned and walked away, leaving the man to contemplate his behavior towards the girl. “wonder how disappointed your mother would be.” she spat back Shaking her head.

The yacht abruptly stopped, causing you to stumble into Satoru's arms. "Toru, let's go home, please," you slurred, clearly intoxicated. Satoru could tell that you were completely wasted and in no condition to continue partying on the yacht.

The words the woman had said hit him hard, he carried you to the car and placed you on the passenger seat. You had fallen asleep once he carried you. As he drove, he couldn't help but replay her words in his mind. He sighed not wanting to deal with anything else. His world already felt like it was crashing and this? Just made it worse. He wondered how he was going to handle this situation and if he could even fix it. The weight of it all suddenly felt too heavy to bear.

The car ride was quiet, save for the occasional snore from you as you slept soundly in the passenger seat. He couldn't help but feel conflicted about his feelings for you. On one hand, he wanted to stay true to his commitment to jiyuu, but on the other hand, you brought a sense of peace and comfort that he couldn't find elsewhere. He knew he had to be careful, not wanting to lead you on or hurt jiyuu in any way. But deep down, he couldn't deny the guilt he felt for you.

He couldn't bear the thought of losing Jiyuu again. It was like a constant ache in his chest, a reminder of the love he once had and lost. He couldn't understand why he resented you so much, why he treated you so badly when you didn't even want the marriage either. He was torn between his loyalty to Jiyuu and his duty to make the marriage work. But deep down, he knew that he could never truly love anyone else the way he loved Jiyuu.

However, he was determined to make his dream a reality, even if it meant sacrificing his marriage and causing heartbreak. In the end, he was able to be with the person he truly loved, but at what cost?

He parked the car before getting out and carrying you once again, he could obviously tell you had one to many drinks as you couldnt even wake up from it. Finally he made it to the house Gently placing you on the bed, he changed you out of your clothes and put you in something rather warming. All he could do was just stare, stare at your flushed cheeks and your glowy skin. He could tell you had been crying because your lips were slightly more plump and your eyes were a but puffy.

Feeling a pang of guilt, he couldn't help but wonder what could have caused you to drink so much. He made a mental note to check on you in the morning and make sure you were okay. As he turned to leave, he couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness over you, even though he barely knew you. He hoped that you would be okay and that he could help you in any way possible. With a final glance, he quietly left the room, hoping that you would wake up feeling better in the morning.

He didn’t mind picking up your stuff and putting it in your suitcase, remembering that you had to wake up early tomorrow he ordered room service and asked them to bring some Advil for the headache you were sure going to have tomorrow.

He couldn't quite put his finger on the reason for his sudden change in behavior towards you. It could have been the influence of the stranger's words, or perhaps it was the weight of his guilt that finally caught up to him. Whatever the reason may be, it was clear that he was making an effort to be kind to you in this moment.

As he lay in bed, he kicked off his shoes and reached into his pocket to grab his phone. He scrolled through social media, occasionally glancing over at you lying next to him. Suddenly, his phone vibrated, and he quickly sat up, intrigued by the notification. He leaned over, seeing your sleeping figure he sighed in relief. He opened the message, seeing it was Jiyuu trying to text him at 2:04 in the morning.

+1 *** *** ****; love you Toru, don’t forget that.

He bit his lip contemplating if he should reply back, 'Toru...' he remembered the nickname gracefully slipping out of your mouth, and for some reason, it made him smile. He couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and fondness towards you.

Taglist; @allofffmypeaches @shycreatorsandwich @ryumurin @cloudsinthecosmos @4-everm-0-re @kurookinnie @bluebreadenthusiast @diannana @haurno @fouyumixuri @numblytemporary @spin-garden @oyaoya-bungeegum @we-loveebony @katteddie86 @mine-lu @rosso-seta

#arranged marriage #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jjk smut #gojo satoru #gojo satoru angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #mean gojo #modern au jjk #cheating gojo #sukuna #shoko ieiri #geto suguru #jjk fanfic #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

[lavender-devotion]

Gambling With Souls (Alastor x GN!Reader)

Summary: You made a deal with Husk a long time ago, and ended up paying a lot more than you bargained for. Now you worked in one of his casinos, waiting on him and the people he gambled with hand and foot. One day Husk is challenged to a game by another Overlord, one with red eyes and a sharp ever-present smile…and, despite everything, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. What happens when the two of them start gambling with souls…and yours is thrown into the betting pool? Disclaimer: Husk is going to act pretty different than he does in the show and, yes, he's not going to be very nice to you---this is not me demonizing him. He's an Overlord, he's gonna act like one.

Tags: Alastor x GN!Reader, No Use of (Y/N), I only know Texas Hold ‘Em so that’s what we’re going with, One-sided Husk x GN!Reader (maybe, idk, it's up to your interpretation) TW: Abuse, Alcohol, Groping Word Count: 3.3k Read it on Ao3 <3

The moment you'd agreed to gamble with Husk, your life had ended.

You were a strong demon, not an Overlord---considering you hadn't owned any souls---but still not someone to mess with. Still, it was an incredibly stupid idea to gamble with an Overlord like him, especially since he was known for his proficiency in such things. You didn't remember what exactly had possessed you to think you could possibly win, but it didn't really matter now, did it?

He'd challenged you, and you had accepted.

You lost.

And now your soul was his to do with as he pleased.

Of all the demons who owned souls, Husk was considered by far the worst. He was a gambler and a drunk. He won hands, yes, but he also lost them---and it wasn't exactly uncommon for him to bet the souls he owned in lieu of money. Especially against other Overlords.

You could be working for him in one of his casinos as a dealer and in the span of one hand you were suddenly being dragged to the Vee district and forced to work as a porn star for Valentino, subject to his abuse and the abuse of your "co-stars," only to see your pain broadcasted across Hell to get people off.

Or to the Carmine district to work in a factory, building weapons that would probably kill you one day and dealing with the effects of the toxic gas and physical labor, slowly decaying over time.

Or to the district owned by Zestial...no one knew what happened to the souls he owned, and you sure as hell didn't want to find out.

Oddly enough, though, Husk seemed to take a liking to you. He always had you work at his personal gambling table---serving drinks, food, or rigging the game in his favor when he was in particularly deep shit and didn't want to lose.

And he never bet your soul.

Ever.

Sometimes he would bet you doing certain...activities, sometimes he would bet your time, sometimes he would bet a kiss, but never your soul.

Sometimes you were grateful for it, for the security it brought and the routine---you were rarely ever caught off guard when it came to Husk. Grateful for the knowledge that, hey, at least you would never be traded off to someone worse.

Other times, however, you hated it. Hated that he treated you like his prized show pony, hated that he was willing to pass you around but never loosen the chain on your neck, hated the fact that there was no escape...

...at least, there was no escape, until Husk gambled with him.

----------

It was never a good thing when Husk called you over to his table, so when one of the girls you worked with waved you down and directed you over to him---right before the end of your shift, I might add---you were...less than thrilled, let's say.

It had already been a hard enough day. It was like every jackass in Hell had decided to all get assigned to your tables at once---being loud and unruly, smacking your ass, spilling drinks, causing trouble---and, of course, none of your coworkers were any help. Your feet were killing you from all of the moving around, a customer had spilled a drink on you so now your uniform was more uncomfortable than usual, and you could definitely feel a migraine coming on.

The last thing you wanted to do was stay however many hours past your scheduled time just to plaster on a fake smile and be Husk's plaything. All you wanted was to go home and go to sleep, but the universe apparently hated you.

Fuck your life.

As you approached Husk's table, your attention was immediately drawn to the man sitting across from him. He was noticeably taller than Husk, even without the antlers atop his head---joined by a pair of red and black ears that matched the rest of his hair. He was dressed in a red suit and tailcoat that seemed to be 1930's in style, and a staff in the shape of a vintage microphone rested right next to him.

What was most eye-catching about him, though, was his smile.

Husk was an irritating man, that's just what he was like. He was arrogant without the sense to hide it, too certain of his own success every time he played a game, a hefty shit talker, usually drunk, and irritable and rude when he wasn't. Half of your job was often playing nice to soothe his opponents, trying to keep him out of trouble. Like I said, he was an irritating man.

And yet, even though it was obvious that Husk was getting on this man's last nerve, his smile never faltered. It was...unsettling, to say the least. Oddly enough, though, you found your interest in the man piquing---he didn't look like the type to gamble, after all, so what was he doing here?

As soon as you made it to the table, you plastered on a smile of your own and greeted them, mentally preparing yourself so that you didn't try to throttle one or both of them.

"Hello gentleman," you said, voice falsely bright and cheerful, "will I be dealing for you today or grabbing some drinks?"

Husk turned to you, grinning cockily and...oddly not drunk. Not sober, of course, but clearly more sober than you'd ever seen him before.

"Dealin' for us today, sweetheart," he said, smooth and low---almost flirty. You mentally shuddered.

Despite your distaste, you nodded and made your way to the middle of the table, going ahead and opening a fresh deck of cards before shuffling them---waiting for Husk to tell you which game they were going to play, and therefore what you'd be dealing out.

He turned to his opponent, "now, what game 're we playin'?"

"Your choice," the man replied, his voice overlaid by sharp radio static.

Husk laughed, and part of you wondered if this stranger had a death wish. Didn't he know who Husk was? Didn't he know what a terrible idea it was to give him, not only the advantage of playing in one of his casinos and choosing the dealer, but also the advantage of choosing the game?

What was he playing at?

Never one to pass up an opportunity to gain the upper hand, Husk---grinning---told you the game he wanted to play, and you began dealing out the cards. Quickly, the stranger recognized it.

"Ah, Texas Hold Em', hm?" He hummed, static crackling slightly in an almost-laugh, "a classic! What made you choose such a game?"

"I just figured a basic game like this would be easy enough for you to keep up with," Husk replied, the little insult sliding smoothly off his tongue. The stranger's eyes narrowed and you cringed, mentally praying to whatever god would listen that he wouldn't take his anger at Husk out on you, as was all too common among the characters he gambled with. Thankfully, his eyes never left Husk and he made no move to harm you as you set up the game, now divvying up the chips between them.

Just before you were about to start the game, however, Husk held up a hand to stop you---a dangerous glint in his eyes that made you shudder.

"Why don't we make this game a little more interesting," he said, and you could already guess what he was about to suggest.

The stranger's head tilted ever-so slightly, "what did you have in mind?"

"Why don't we gamble with something a little more valuable than money...something like the souls we own."

The stranger's smile widened imperceptibly, and you got the uncanny feeling that this is what he'd wanted in the first place. Not Husk's money, but the souls in his possession.

'Perhaps Husk's soul as well,' something in your mind whispered, but you brushed it off. Husk never gambled his soul either, so there's no way that would happen---even if that was what the stranger was there for.

Once the stranger voiced his agreement, Husk snapped his fingers and his chips radiated with a silver glow, each chip being branded with a mark that symbolized exactly whose soul was being bet. His soul was branded on a Black chip, the most expensive piece---ever present, even if he'd never bet it. Yours was a Red, the second most expensive.

He gestured to the stranger, signaling that it was his turn. The stranger followed suit and snapped his fingers, this time a bright green enveloping the chips in front of him---starkly contrasting to the rest of his appearance. His chips were now branded with their own marks as well. A Black chip with green details was branded with a bright red 'A,' and you could only assume that was his own soul.

After it was clear that the two were ready, you flipped the first three cards, and the game began.

----------

At first, things almost seemed normal, once the game had started.

You dealt the hands, split the chips in the betting pool, and watched as the two Overlords went back and forth with the flow of the game. Occasionally another one of Husk’s employees would come over and serve them drinks, but other than that none of it caught your attention.

Well, one thing caught your attention.

The stranger’s shadow.

It seemed to dance around with a mind of its own, never losing its smile, just like the stranger himself. The shadow sometimes messed with the chips on the stranger’s side of the board, sometimes it played with the ice in the empty glasses on the table, but most of the time it seemed almost…fascinated by you.

It messed with your hair, helped you shuffle and collect the cards, tugged playfully at the edges of your uniform, and simply stuck by your side most of the time. It was a nice change from the attention you were used to dealing with from customers, or from Husk himself.

The way people would scream at you when they were angry, the wandering hands that would grope or hit or grab, the catcalls and lustful threats, the glasses of alcohol that people would throw at you…this was nothing like any of that. You liked it, it made you feel…precious, in a way. Valued. Cared for, oddly enough.

The stranger seemed amused by the antics, occasionally raising an eyebrow at his shadow only to receive an innocent shrug in response.

…

Husk, on the other hand, was not so amused.

“Get control of your fuckin’ shadow,” Husk snapped at the stranger as it tugged gently on a piece of your hair, drawing a small smile from you. One that immediately disappeared as you heard Husk’s voice.

“Now now,” the stranger chastised, seeming even more amused at Husk’s irritation, “it’s only having a little fun, no need to lose your temper.”

Husk muttered something under his breath, no doubt some string of insults, but still, he dropped the subject. You tried not to pay any more attention to the shadow after that, not wanting Husk to get angry at you as well.

Husk didn’t seem to notice…but the stranger did.

“Husker, you have quite the specimen working for you here," he said, radio static curling around his voice in an almost...flirtatious(?) purr as he turned to look at you, "what's your name, my dear?"

You flushed slightly before giving him your name, asking his in return. After all, you'd prefer to stop thinking of him as "the stranger."

He repeated your name slowly, sounding out each syllable, before responding, "Alastor, it's a pleasure to meet-"

"Your turn," Husk interrupted, voice grating, and the stranger- Alastor's gaze snapped to him, lip curling even as his smile stretched.

"Of course," he replied, irritation clear in his tone, "pets have such short attention spans, wouldn't want you getting distracted from our game, now would we?"

"The only one getting distracted here is you."

Alastor only hummed in response, raising the bet as he did so.

You glanced between the two, the tension between them palpable, and you were more than a little worried that a fight might break out---but, thankfully, neither made a move towards the other. They just sat there, glaring.

You cleared your throat, trying to dispel some of the animosity, "raise or call?"

Husk pushed a stack of chips forward, "raise."

----------

This is how the game went, back and forth.

Husk winning some hands, and Alastor winning some in return---almost like a dance, a game.

You watched, enthralled, as the two continued on...and as Husk slowly, surely, lost more and more souls. Usually, when it was clear that one of the players were going to lose, they would call the game off---cut their losses and stop before things got any worse.

But, for whatever reason, Husk refused to do just that. In fact, the more hands Husk lost, the more determined he seemed to keep playing---to the point where, if you didn't know him well, you'd think he was gambling under the influence. It was...surprising, to say the least, and by the time Husk seemed to realize how deep of a hole he'd dug himself into, it was too late. His only choice was to keep playing and hope his luck turned around.

He had no reason to be worried, though, and he knew that.

All because he had you.

You see, there was a reason why Husk always had you serving his table. It was because of your power, what you could do for him during these games.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly what your power was, since it manifested differently depending on what you used it to do, but---in simple terms---it was almost like you had control over reality. A small part of it, at least. You could control things...well, under your control. Your appearance, the clothes you wore, anything you made, or---in this case---any game you dealt for.

There weren't any rules against the dealer controlling the game. Husk made certain of it. There was even a clause in the fine print of every contract people signed to play with him, one that gave you full permission to do as you pleased during the game, as long as you were the dealer.

So, sooner or later, Husk would give you the signal to turn things in his favor and you would do as you were told.

...

Well, apparently, it was sooner.

Husk gave you the signal, and you sunk into the familiar warmth of your power---subtly seizing control of the game. You knew the cards in Husk's hands and in Alastor's, as well as all the cards on the board.

Alastor would have two pair, Husk would have one.

Your fingers twitched slightly and the unflipped cards changed, giving Husk three of a kind and Alastor one pair.

Husk won that round.

Safe to say, Husk started to get "spontaneously" lucky, and get some of his souls---his power---back. Alastor, surprisingly, didn't seem at all bothered or shocked by this. If anything, he seemed completely relaxed, as if he wasn't losing hundreds of souls with every hand. It unsettled you, and it definitely seemed to unsettle Husk---even though he tried his best to hide it.

Eventually, though, just as you thought that---surely---Alastor had had enough and was about to call the game off, he said something that stopped you in your tracks.

"All in."

Your power faltered for a moment as you stared at him, eyes wide, and you lost all knowledge of what was on the board. Husk was staring too, mouth hanging open, before a surprised laugh slipped from his mouth.

"You're kiddin', there's no way you-"

Once again, Alastor simply said, "all in."

Sliding his soul chip forward. Smile ever-present.

You glanced at Husk, silently wondering what he was going to do. Even with you controlling the game, he'd still never gambled his soul. Whether that was because he didn't trust that you'd let him win or because he didn't want to take the risk of your power failing, you didn't know, but still...he never bet it.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for his answer, and, after a moment, Husk shook his head in disbelief...before calling Alastor's bet. A first for him, and for you. You took a deep breath and took control of the game again, ready to change the cards, before Alastor---once again---stopped you in your tracks.

"Is this what you want?" He asked, and you froze.

"...what?"

"Is this what you want?" He repeated, sounding genuinely curious, "to spend the rest of your afterlife working here, for this man? Letting him bet your body, your choices, letting him control your free will?"

You blinked. Surprised.

No one had ever asked you what you wanted before.

"I don't..." you trailed off, unsure of exactly what to say to that. Unsure of how to answer the question.

Husk glared at him, the topic of conversation clearly hitting a nerve, "why don't you shut the fuck up and mind your own business you-"

"You don't have to, my dear," Alastor continued, cutting Husk off, "you do have a choice, you know. You could choose to help me, instead of him, or to let fate take its hold."

It hit you then that Alastor knew that Husk was cheating, that he knew you were helping him. And still, he played the game...still, he treated you with kindness and respect.

He was right, though, you did have a choice. The contract of the game specified that you could do whatever you wanted with your control of the game, so long as you were the dealer and not one of the players.

If you wanted, you could make Husk lose.

You could force him into the same position that he'd forced you into.

You could break free from his grip.

Husk growled your name and your gaze snapped toward him. It was a warning, a threat. He owned your soul, he could do whatever he pleased with it, so you better listen to him.

Alastor said your name softly, drawing your attention back to him. A careful reminder. You still had a choice in this, Husk couldn't make you do anything right now. You could always choose not to help him, to help Alastor instead. All for the chance at a better life.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes...

...

...before letting go of all control of the game.

Whatever happened now, it was up to the cards. Not you.

Husk slammed his hands down on the table, making you jump back as piles of chips tumbled to the floor, but before you could get farther away, he lunged at you and grabbed your throat---seething with rage.

"YOU FUCKIN' BITCH, HOW DARE YOU-"

Before he could finish his sentence, or cause you any harm, a green chain suddenly formed around his neck and pulled him back---making him fall to the ground. Your gaze snapped up, only to find Alastor at the other end of the chain---his shadow laughing behind him, grin wide. From there you glanced at the table, only to find-

Alastor had a Royal Flush...

...and Husk had nothing.

You glanced back at Husk and then, again, at Alastor---the reality of everything slowly setting in. Your soul no longer belonged to Husk, even if you were still tied to another Overlord. Now, though, Husk had fallen from his ivory tower.

Now he was just like you.

You couldn't help the hysterical laughter that bubbled up from your chest, a weight you hadn't even known was there suddenly disappearing. It was over. It was all over.

"I guess the house always wins," you managed to get out through your laughter, unable to contain the bright smile that took over your face. You were free of him. You were free of him.

"Indeed, my dear," Alastor replied, chuckling at your little joke, "I can already tell, you and I are going to get along just fine."

You would never admit it, but you thought so too.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #devotion’s posts: fic stuff 🪻

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Better, Hidden Half

Requested Here!

Part 2 Here >

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader (takes place in The Rookie 1x20-2x1)

Summary: Tim doesn't tell just anyone that he's married. When he's quarantined and his life is threatened by a fatal virus, he asks Lucy to call you, and ends up showing everyone what you mean to him.

Warnings: angst, fluffy comfort at the end, spoilers for episodes 1x20 and 2x1 (this is basically a rewrite, but still includes a brief reference to the suicide line from Tim). reader stress cleans?

A/N: The anxiety/stress cleaning bit is completely self-indulgent; sorry. I tried to manipulate Tim's conversations with Lucy to make them sound more platonic (I don't know if it worked though). I absolutely love this idea and had a ton of fun writing it!🤍

Word Count: 3.9k+ words

Tim Bradford is a man of few words, and he keeps his life separated into two distinct areas: work life and personal life. He tried to bring the two together once, but hated the constant worry that someone from his work life would threaten to hurt people in his personal life or worse, act on their threats. For that reason, for his family’s safety, Tim keeps his life separated, and only a choice few have been chosen to be trusted with a glimpse of both sides of Tim. Angela, Wade, and on occasion, Bishop, see a side of Tim that doesn't exist when he's at work.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How is she?” Angela asks, sitting beside Tim for roll call.

Tim rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “I trained her, I’m sure she did fine. Better than your golden boy boot, anyway.”

Angela smiles and leans in to whisper, “Didn’t mean Chen.” She turns her attention to Jackson, calling, “80 might be the passing grade, boot, but if you don’t get at least a 90, you should turn in your badge on general principle.”

Tim leans forward to add, “Officer Chen, I will take it as a personal insult if you get anything less than a 93.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy answers. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do with all your new free time? Might I suggest a book club?”

Angela elbows Tim under the table, and he glances at her quickly, giving her a displeased stare which only makes her work harder to hide her smile.

“What are you talking about?” Tim asks.

“You know, after I pass, there won’t be any more daily evaluations to write.”

“Whether I evaluate you daily or weekly, I will continue to judge you every minute. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

As Grey enters, Lucy turns to Nolan, who whispers, “I can’t believe he’s single.”

“Tell me about it,” Lucy replies, rolling her eyes. “Evaluating a wife daily would cut into his ‘man of honor’ time.”

They silence as Wade directs the TOs to only take easy calls while the rookies finish their last shift before their exams. When Tim assures that he follows direct orders, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, knowing that Angela and Bishop are ready to tease him the moment he looks in their direction.

✯✯✯✯✯

7-Adam-19, silent hold-up alarm activated at Madame Megan’s psychic shop. 2417 Vine. Code 3.

Tim and Lucy enter the back room, taking control of the situation quickly, and he dials in once again to being a cop. Not a family man or anything of the sort. Just a police officer.

As Lucy walks out, and the (fake) psychic hits on Tim, he can only think of one thing. Excusing himself from the room, with a lack of grace that is unlike him, Tim lets his mind wander for just a moment. He thinks of a promise he made, a vow he took, and then his focus is back on his new case, a missing person discovered by a phony Hollywood psychic.

✯✯✯✯✯

Miles away, you are trying to focus on work, though you find it much harder than Tim to simply push your family and your personal life from your mind at a moment’s notice. Fiddling with your necklace, you refrain from grabbing your phone, wanting to text the only person on your mind. Oblivious to the dangers Tim is learning about from the CDC and Homeland Security, you sigh and clench your hands into fists before attempting to focus again.

Before you make any progress on starting the project awaiting your attention, your phone rings. Tim’s name appears on your screen, and you rush to answer, dread filling you. He never calls while he’s working, and you immediately expect the worst. Surely if it were something terrible, Angela or Wade would call you. If Tim is calling, that means he is okay, he is alive.

“Hello?” you ask, releasing a sigh when Tim says your name.

“Are you alone?” he adds, his voice strained.

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“I need you to stay where you are or go straight home. There’s a terror cell with a biological weapon; we’re doing everything we can to find them, but I need to know you’re safe.”

“Tim- yeah, of course. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I- I really can’t say anything else. Not about what we’re doing. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”

“I will. Be careful, Tim. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Your phone beeps as the call ends, and your hand finds your necklace again, one finger slipping into Tim’s wedding ring. He leaves it with you each morning, taking it back with gentle touches and loving kisses when he returns each night. Today, all you can do is trust that he is good at his job and that he will protect you and the rest of LA, and then come back to you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim and Lucy approach one of the possible address in the search for newly discovered members of the terror cell.

“Man. And here I thought that test was gonna be the hardest part of my day,” Lucy muses.

“Best case scenario, it’s tomorrow’s problem,” Tim points out. His thoughts, however, are stuck on you, especially when Lucy asks what the worst case is.

“Took you long enough,” the man, Peter Langston, says as he opens the door. “Bag’s in here.”

“Sir, we’re here about the bus you took from Phoenix,” Tim explains.

“No kidding. I called you about the bag.”

“And what bag is that?”

“I thought it was mine on the bus. I picked it up by accident.” Tim follows Langston into a bedroom as he continues, “Noticed as soon as I got home. Called right away. Still took you guys like six hours to get here.”

“Uh, sir, we’re not here about a bag.”

“So, you don’t have mine? My computer’s in there… I went through this one for an address, and all I found was some weird science equipment.”

Tim glances back at Lucy, who calls for the task force at the mention of ‘weird science equipment.’

“Sir, did you touch anything in there?” Tim asks, pulling gloves on.

“Yeah, I cut my finger going through it looking for an address. Some kind of broken vial.”

Tim’s eyes widen and his breath catches as the man raises his bloodied finger, adding that it hasn’t stopped bleeding since it was cut. Hemorrhaging, Tim knows.

“Everything okay in there?” Lucy calls.

“Yeah. Just stay out there,” Tim demands.

The man coughs, and Tim flinches as blood lands on his neck and up onto his jaw. Looking down at the blood on the man’s shirt, Tim’s mind forgets the divide between work and personal life. He takes the initiative to lock Lucy out, slamming the door on her to keep her safe, but his true concern is you. If something happens to him, who will look out for you? Who will be your shoulder to cry on? In a moment, as the reality of the situation dawns on him, Tim thinks like a husband, and he begins to regret keeping you, his wife, hidden for so long.

“Tim, no!” Lucy yells, but she steps forward too late.

Tim is on the other side of the door, a new division created as others are dissolved.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim finds baby wipes on a nearby changing table, wiping the blood from his skin as he lies to Langston, telling him it will be okay and distracting him with meaningless treatments to combat the “bad case of the flu the police were warned about this morning at roll call.”

Langston disappears into the bathroom in search of cold medicine, and Tim walks to the door to ask Lucy, “Everything all right out there, Chen?”

“Uh, yeah. The CDC’s on their way,” she responds. “Hey, you need to come out of there.”

“That’s not gonna happen. Got to keep this contained.”

“Tim-“

“It’s gonna be alright, boot.”

Tim knows that Lucy is concerned about him, and he is similarly concerned for her. He feels responsible for her safety as his rookie, but his thoughts toward her are completely and totally different from his fears concerning you, driven by love rather than mutual respect and duty.

“You keep your head in the game, okay?” Tim encourages Lucy. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

As Tim looks at the blood-covered wipe in his hand, he thinks of you, and how you’ll respond to the potential notification that he didn’t make it, taken from you by the very thing he tried to protect you from. He turns his attention back to the sick man feet away from him before his thoughts spiral. Tim needs you, so he needs to focus and survive.

✯✯✯✯✯

While the CDC is arriving at the house and quarantining Tim and the infected man, you are pacing in your shared bedroom. Memories of you and Tim exist in every inch of this house, and every moment that goes by without an update increases your worry. Walking into the closet, you find one of Tim’s recently worn shirts, changing into it before picking up the remote to distract yourself. With Tim’s pillow clutched to your chest, you try to laugh at the ridiculous sitcom on the screen, but it doesn’t work as well as you hoped.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Officer Chen, you want to tell me what happened?” Dr. Morgan asks, dressed in full hazmat gear as she enters.

“Yeah, uh, the bus passenger mistakenly grabbed the wrong bag, and the virus must have been in it because he coughed up blood on Tim,” Lucy explains.

“Did you get any blood on you?”

“Uh, no. I was out here. Tim immediately closed the door.”

“Smart man.”

Tim hears Dr. Morgan’s comment and clenches his jaw, knowing you would disagree entirely. At least in this case.

“Hey, doc,” Tim greets, standing against the door.

“How you doing?” Dr. Morgan inquires.

“Fine. But Mr. Langston’s struggling a little.”

“Can you describe his condition?”

“Yeah. He, uh, started coughing blood about 20 minutes ago. Now he’s got a pretty wicked nosebleed.”

“Why aren’t they coming in? Where’s my ambulance?” Langston asks.

“It’ll be here any minute. Just… stay put. Save your energy.”

Lucy interrupts to ask, “Where’s the vaccine?”

“Still in the air,” Dr. Morgan says. “Should land in the next hour or so.”

Scoffing, Lucy argues, “You can’t make Tim wait in there. He might not be infected.”

“Sorry. Quarantine rules exist for a reason.” Dr. Morgan turns to the door and asks Tim, “Officer Bradford, do you mind if I put you to work while you wait?”

“You want to know what’s in the bag?” Tim knows digging through the contents is dangerous, but waiting without doing anything won’t increase his chances of getting home to you.

“Yes, I do.”

“Copy that. Chen, I’m gonna turn on my body cam. You can monitor it from out there.”

“Okay. Please be careful,” she responds.

Tim hears your voice in his mind, telling him the same thing. He trusts himself to listen to you more than his rookie.

“All right. Here we go,” Tim says, using his baton to open the bag.

“Wait. Wait. What is that bottle?” Dr. Morgan wonders.

“Looks like the delivery device,” Tim guesses, raising it carefully from the bag. “It’s a misting fan.”

Dr. Morgan calls Homeland Security with the new information on how the terrorists are planning to spread the virus. As Tim continues searching the bag, failing to find identification or target information, Lucy sees Langston raising a chair in the mirror and yells for Tim just before he is knocked unconscious.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your house is as clean as it has ever been. Using your nervous energy and anxiety-fueled need to move, you clean each room in an attempt to keep your mind from worrying about Tim. You could call someone and ask for an update, but they probably can’t tell you anything. The only comfort you have is knowing that Angela and Wade would call you if you needed to know something. The silence is deafening, but it’s also a good sign.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim? Tim!” Lucy continues, growing concerned at the lack of reply.

Tim opens his eyes, moving backward quickly when he sees a puddle of blood running toward his face. He sees Langston standing across the room, mumbling about needing to get out as he tries to break the window. Tim tases him as he stands, and Lucy’s concerned yells continue. Covering his face with his shirt, Tim handcuffs Langston to the bed, shuffling backward as Lucy demands his answer.

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” he replies, breathing heavily. “Well, that was fun.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tim chuckles. “Kind of depends on your definition of the word.”

While Lucy tells Dr. Morgan to get the vaccine, and the LAPD sends patrol units out to find the other terrorist, Tim keeps his eyes on Langston, but his mind is on you. He should ask someone to tell you and find a way to let you know what is going on, but part of him knows that you are separate from this for a reason. You’re likely worried enough without knowing that Tim’s chance of being infected rises with each moment.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim watches Langston die, unable to do anything as he begs for help and convulses. Imagining himself in Langston’s place, Tim decides that he has to do something. He can’t go out like that, he won’t, but more importantly, he can’t leave you wondering. If Tim dies today, he is not dying without talking to you one last time, showing everyone around him that you are the best part of him.

He leans against the door in silence until Lucy says, “Hey, I, uh- I just checked with Dr. Morgan. The vaccine’s minutes away.”

“You know, you’re good at a lot of things – lying isn’t one of them,” Tim replies.

“You think I’m good at things? Can I get that in writing? … How are you doing? Are there any symptoms yet?"

"I’m sweating like a pig. But it’s probably because it’s 100 degrees in this room.”

Tim sighs just before Lucy assures, “It’s gonna be okay. I really believe that.”

“I’m sure you do. But if it isn’t-“

“Don’t think like that. It’s-“

“If it isn’t,” Tim repeats. “I’m not going out the way my man Pete here just did.”

“What are you saying?”

Tim sighs again, realizing what he said. He would never leave you like that; he’s a fighter. “I need you to do something for me, Chen.”

“Anything.”

“My- my wife is probably worrying herself sick right now. If this doesn’t end like you think it will, can you tell her that I fought to get home to her? Just- just keep an eye on her if anything happens. Wade and Angela, too.”

“Wife?” Lucy asks softly.

Tim smiles, glad to talk about something other than himself or the virus released in the room with him.

“Yeah. We eloped a while back; Grey, Lopez, and Bishop were there.”

“You’ve never mentioned her.”

“I keep her separated. She - everything in my personal life – would be at risk if there wasn’t a divide there.”

“I get that. What’s she like?”

Tim says your name, closing his eyes and picturing you as he tells Lucy how beautiful, kind, and loving you are. “She’s my better half. I don’t- can’t imagine not going home to her.”

“I promise, Tim. I’m confident you will go home to her, but… I promise.”

“Thank you,” Tim says quietly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Please tell me that’s the vaccine,” Lucy says when Dr. Morgan returns.

“It is,” she answers quickly, walking toward the door quarantining Tim. “Stand back, Officer Chen. You’re not wearing protective gear.”

“Yeah.” Lucy steps back, hoping Tim is okay, and that he gets to go home to you.

“Officer Bradford, it’s time to let me in,” Dr. Morgan calls.

Tim opens the door, greeting Dr. Morgan before answering that he’s not feeling too bad. She tells him that she’s going to administer the vaccine. “It’s experimental, right?” Tim asks.

“That’s correct. So, we’re just going to have to wait and see what happens. Maybe nothing. Maybe you grow horns. But for now, I’d say you might’ve dodged a bullet.”

Tim looks at Lucy to ask, “Can you get Lopez? Ask her to call for me?”

Lucy nods, pulling her radio out to contact Angela. She knows that Tim will need you, no matter how the vaccine works… or doesn’t.

“Lopez,” she says, sighing before saying, “Tim wants to know if you can call his wife.”

“Of course,” Angela answers. “She’ll be at his side, even if I have to go get her in the shop.”

Lucy smiles at Tim, and he sighs as Dr. Morgan administers the vaccine. There’s more hope surrounding Tim now, but the fight may not be over yet.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you see Angela’s name on your phone, you consider not answering. Biting your bottom lip to hold your tears in, you answer.

“He’s okay,” Angela begins.

You sigh in relief, a few tears breaking free anyway. “Thank you, Angela.”

“The vaccine is experimental, so they’re taking him to the CDC for observation; you can visit with the proper protective gear. Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“See you in a few. And, just so you know, he didn’t call me.”

“Who did?”

“His rookie.”

Angela reminds you that she’s happy to pick you up if you want before ending the call. Tim mentioned me, you think. Then you wonder whether or not that’s a good thing.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, I heard you guys saved the day,” Lucy says, exiting Langston’s house to meet Nolan, Jackson, Lopez, and Bishop.

“It was a group effort,” Jackson corrects.

“Glad you’re okay,” Nolan expresses.

“Me too,” Lucy sighs. “I- I mean that you’re okay, too.”

“How’s Tim?” Angela asks.

“I think he’s gonna be all right. Now, 24-hour observation at the CDC.”

“I’ll bet my pension he just told doctors Tim Bradford does not ride in a wheelchair,” Angela jokes as Tim walks out.

“Only way I’m leavin’ out of here is on my own two feet,” Bishop imitates.

“Don’t you guys have paperwork to finish?” Tim retorts.

Tim looks at Lucy, nodding his thanks before continuing to walk toward the car waiting to transport him to the CDC. He stops suddenly in the yard, growing dizzy before he falls backward onto the grass.

“Officer Bradford!” Dr. Morgan yells.

Lucy, Angela, Bishop, and Jackson run toward him before the CDC holds them back. Someone calls for an ambulance, and Angela backs away to make a call.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What happened?” you ask, answering Angela’s second call.

“Meet us at Shaw instead of the CDC,” she says.

You can hear yelling in the background, and repeat, “What happened?”

Angela says your name, unyielding as she says, “Shaw. I’ll meet you there.”

You inhale deeply, turning toward Shaw. Knowing that you have no chance of beating an ambulance escorted by police cars, you grip the steering wheel, hoping that Los Angeles traffic has grace on you, and you make it to Tim’s side quickly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim better make it,” Jackson says.

“He will.” Angela knows that he’s a fighter, but she also knows that losing him will destroy you. He has to make it for himself, for the police department, and most importantly, for you.

In the ambulance ahead, Tim goes into anaphylactic shock. Lucy helps the paramedics and glances at Tim’s left hand. The line where his wedding ring sits is barely visible, but she whispers for him to keep his promise, to keep fighting.

Once the ambulance and the police cars enter into the hospital parking lot, Nolan notices a woman with a gun, alerting the officers surrounding the ambulance before the firefight starts.

Lucy covers Tim in the ambulance as the paramedics assist him as well as the injured medics. Nolan shoots the woman in the shoulder, but his gun jams as he moves closer to her.

Tim opens the ambulance door, downing the armed woman on a surge of adrenaline. Stepping onto the ambulance driveway, he asks Nolan if he’s okay.

“I should have reloaded on the move,” Nolan mutters. “You?”

“I should’ve taken yesterday off,” Tim answers.

“Alright, Officer Bradford, let’s go,” a nurse says, pushing a wheelchair to his side.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Angela!” you call, jogging to her side.

“Don’t freak out,” she begins, but your eyes widen when you see the bullet holes covering, well, everything.

“Where is he?”

She nods, leading you around her shop. Tim is standing beside Nolan, arguing with a nurse.

“I can walk. Clearly, I’m fine,” Tim argues.

You don’t think about how many people are watching as you walk to Tim’s side. He turns toward you, his eyes softening when he sees you.

“Get in the wheelchair,” you demand.

Tim sighs but does as you say. Nolan and Jackson look at each other in shock, and Lucy smiles as she says, “His wife.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk into Tim’s hospital room, he looks like he’s been waiting for you.

“I’m sorry,” he begins.

“For what? Not listening to the nurse?”

Tim chuckles as he raises his left hand, pulling you to his side. “No. I’m sorry for not showing you off more, for never telling people about us. I worried you; I know I did, and you don’t deserve any of it.”

You lean forward, running your fingers across Tim’s jawline as you smile. “You don’t have to show me off. I know why you do it, Tim. Being a secret, being separated and safe, I get it. What I don’t like is not knowing if you’re okay.”

“I don’t want the separation anymore. You are my entire life, and- I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but I’m not risking this again. The idea of not making it home, leaving you alone, with no one knowing you or how much you mean to me… that was terrible, and I’m sorry.”

Pursing your lips, you lean toward Tim and look into his eyes before scanning your eyes over his face.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Trying to figure out where the Tim I know went.”

Tim smiles, moving over in the bed and tugging you against his side. He taps your necklace before raising your hair away from your neck. You unclasp your necklace, sliding Tim’s wedding ring off the chain. Tim lays his left hand in your lap, and you put his ring on slowly before kissing his hand.

“I love you,” Tim says.

“I love you. And I accept your apology, even though I didn’t need it.”

“Ready to meet the rest of my-“

“Friends?” you fill in, smiling.

“Colleagues,” Tim finishes, shaking his head as his arm tightens around your waist.

“Thank you for making sure Angela called me.”

“How clean is the house?”

You laugh, pressing your face against Tim’s shoulder. He knows you well, and though you didn't know what was truly at stake over the last few hours, you did miss him.

“Hey, Mrs. Bradford,” Wade greets, smiling as he leads a small crowd of officers into the room. “I have some rookies here who don’t believe someone would marry Tim.”

“I changed my mind,” Tim replies. “Get out.”

You elbow him gently, smiling as you stand. “It's much easier when he doesn’t tell people. No association to him.”

Tim laughs behind you, and after shaking hands and introducing yourself, you return to Tim’s side: where nothing can hurt you, everything is safe, and you’re the most important thing in the world.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader

[drabblesandimagines]

Pink Gingham

Leon Kennedy x reader Established relationship, all fluff

It had been a long week at work. A number of your colleagues calling in sick and multiple projects in the pipeline, you’d tried to take up some of the slack with ill-advised early starts and late finishes...

Truthfully, if Leon hadn’t been away on assignment, you wouldn’t have volunteered for so much overtime.

The house still felt too big compared to the apartment you’d once shared, so the more time out of it at the moment the better, in your opinion. You’d started to feel a little off Friday morning, cast it aside as nothing that a lie-in Saturday would sort, but still found yourself awake at sunrise.

You’d got up, checked your phone to see if there were any messages – zero – showered and dressed, and taken the early wake-up call as a sign that you shouldn’t lie in today, but instead head downstairs to start on the long list of housework that had been neglected with good intentions.

You fill the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water and begin to wash the numerous glasses and cups that have built up. It must be the steam from the sink because there’s sweat on your brow by the second cup. You reason you should wait for the water cool down and take a bottle of water out the fridge, greedily gulping down half the thing before you change tact to loading the dishwasher.

After loading up the racks, you still feel too hot for what should for such a menial task. You’re feeling more akin to that time you tried to join Leon in one of his ridiculous work outs in the garage. To top it off, the beginning of a headache is now beginning to pound at your temples. You try and rub it half-heartedly away with your fingers, finally fighting back a yawn.

You check your phone again – still nothing.

It wouldn’t hurt to go back to bed, would it?

--

Your phone buzzes almost violently on the bedside table, startling you awake. The headache you had before you’d laid down for what might turn out to be an ill-advised nap doesn’t seem to have shifted, even with the painkillers you’d taken. In fact, it feels worse than it did, graduating into a horrible, constant throb around your temples.

You weakly kick the duvet off of you, feeling flush – should have got changed into your pjyamas rather than getting in bed fully dressed - and reach out blindly for your phone, holding it above your face to squint at the screen, trying to decipher what it was determined to tell you.

Two new messages from Leon.

Finally on my way home, sweetheart. Wrapped up yesterday but they wouldn’t discharge me till this morning. ETA 210 minutes.

You would’ve rolled your eyes at the acronym if it wasn’t already hard enough to focus.

And before you ask – bit bruised. Don’t recommend a prison tour…! All good otherwise x

Leon had set out on an assignment the previous weekend and you hadn’t heard much from him besides one text message a day, a sentence of more than three words if you were particularly lucky, often sweet words...

"All good."

"Miss you, sweetheart."

"I love you."

"Recycling out tomorrow!"

..or reminders about something you'd forget to do completely if he wasn't around. In fact, that’s the way it had always been if he was on what you’d call 'active duty', not just him in a stuffy suit up DC way, trailing behind the President. It's not like you’d got used to not hearing much from him, just that it was expected.

There was always that little lump in your throat when he was away, of course there was, that this would be the time you wouldn't hear from him at all and there'd just be a knock on the door, agents dressed in mourning suits.

Besides, you’d rather his focus was on coming back to you in one piece than trying to compose an update whilst shielding from bullets or something horrifying.

You haul yourself out of bed, immediately regretting it when your vision swims and you fall back down heavily on the mattress, balance somewhat abandoning you.

Probably just got up too fast, you reason, try and shrug it off. There’s there niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach that you’re not well, but you’re going to remain in denial about it. You hate being sick, will never acknowledge you’re feeling under the weather to your grave and just muster on. It’s all psychological – it’s just a headache, you haven’t drunk enough water, not after you’ve sweated the last one out, didn’t have a proper breakfast either.

You’re fine. There’s too much to do, anyway. Every single time Leon had arrived home from an assignment it had been to a clean house and a home-cooked meal keeping warm in the oven, his favourite sweatpants fresh out of the dryer after you’d convinced him to soak in the tub – worked wonders for tense and bruised muscles – and you’ll be damned if he didn’t have the same today. It’s what he deserves.

He'd beam as soon as he walked in, wrapping you up tight in his arms, pressing a kiss against your temple and you’d run him said bath, finishing off dinner to be served for when he returned downstairs. What would follow would be an early retreat to bed, sometimes for devouring kisses and more, or just embraced in each other’s arms.

Leon’s text was from a while ago, so he couldn’t be too far away. Probably be hungry as well – often running off pure adrenaline when he was fighting for his life, then had an insatiable appetite on his return – so you really should try and see what you could combine from whatever’s in the refrigerator.

Ugh – you hadn’t done a grocery run in a few days. That had been on your agenda for today, though you’re not sure you’ll have time for that now. The laundry hamper is close to overflowing, the dishwasher definitely needs running after you crammed it full after dinner last night, some rogue plates and glasses piled up besides the sink and definitely a few rooms would benefit from the vacuum being run around.

You don’t even what to think about the garbage and recycling situation.

So much for his usual welcome home deal, then.

You get up a little slower this time, rewarded for your efforts by no spots of black in your vision and carefully head out the bedroom and towards the stairs, perhaps gripping the banister a little too firm on your descent than usual.

The easiest task by far is to pop the tablet in the dishwasher and set that to run, so you do that first, though making sure to bend down slowly after the previous bouts of head rush. After it whirs into action, you grab an apron off the hook – a pink frilly gingham one, a gift from a friend – and turn your attention to the fridge and proceed to stare forlornly at the contents, hoping for inspiration to strike.

You close the door in defeat and lean up against the counter. Maybe there’s some pasta and sauce in the cupboard…? Your thought is cut off as you hear the front door unlock.

“Sweetheart, you home?” You want to think it’s the sound of his voice that makes you weak at the knees, but you’d be a liar.

“In the kitchen!” You call back, keeping yourself propped up against the counter. Usually you’d be rushing towards him, colliding into his chest for a hug but everything feels impossible.

“Hey.” He smiles, creases at the corner of those blue eyes you could stare into for hours. Though he wasn’t lying in his text about the bruises – there’s a black eye blooming, currently a rather pleasing shade of purple, and plenty of other marks and scrapes littering his arms.

“Hey. Sorry, I haven’t started dinner yet.” Leon raises his eyebrow at that, and you feel awful, but it’s not for the reason you think. “No, sorry. I mean, welcome home! I’ll just star-” You stand upright, intending to head over to the cupboard in search of something, but your step is a bit too heavy, too quick to move and your vision swims again.

“Whoa.” Leon catches you by your shoulders, holding you up. “You feeling all right there, sweetpea?”

“I’m great.” You try and shrug him off, but his heavy palms stay in place. “Are you okay?”

His brows furrow, eyes scanning over your face. “You look hot.” The concern gives way to a grin as he realizes what he’s said. “I mean, not the usual hot. Warm.”

A hand remains on your shoulder while he moves the other to your forehead, gauging your temperature, but you’ll be damned to admit it feels soothingly cool. “I’ll turn the AC on. Let me-”

“Shit, no. You’re burning up.” Leon’s eyes widen, a worried crease appearing on his brow. “How long have you been like this?”

“No, it’s just…” You pull your head back from his hand, reluctantly. “It’s just hot in here.”

He gives you a skeptical look as you try and step around him – a look that would usually be accompanied with his hands on his hips if he didn’t still have one keeping you in place.

“How long?” He repeats, his mind racing, heart pounding. It was protocol to be decontaminated after any interaction with a BOW – he’d showered and changed clothes since Alcatraz. Hell, he’d bagged up his old ones to be incinerated, just to be sure. He knows it’s not logical, he can’t have brought something back with him and it affect you this fast, but the worry still surfaces. “From before I got home or just now? Did you feel a sting or anything?”

“Sting? No.” You shake your head, scrambling for excuses. “I’ve had a headache all morning but I probably haven’t drunk enough water. And… And I didn’t have the AC on or the windows open today, it’s probably that.”

“Mm-hm.” He relaxes a little, he’d already began calculating the distance between here and the lab. “Have I told you before that you’re a terrible liar?”

“Honestly, I’m fine,” you protest, taking advantage. “I can get dinner started at least. You go relax and I’ll…!”

Your vision swims again from sudden movement, but this time it’s from Leon sweeping you up into his arms. He doesn’t even let out a grunt, even though you know he must be aching from the amount of bruises he has.

“Sweetheart, we’re barely into the afternoon. You don’t need to worry about dinner - you’re going back to bed.”

“No, I’ve got so much to do.” You lament, though you don’t fight as he adjusts his hold on you, wrapping your arms around his neck as he heads towards the stairs.

“So? I can handle it.”

“But you just got back, I should be looking after you.”

That’s the way it had always been. Leon comes home and you’re there for him, however he needs you to be. Sometimes he’ll tell you about what happened as he cuddles into your chest – likes to hear your heartbeat, reminds him of some good in the world – but you’ve failed miserably this time, not even remotely prepared.

“Sweetpea, I know you hate being sick but you aren’t going to feel any better pushing yourself, okay? Let me fuss over my favourite girl for once.”

You don’t say anything as he places you gently down on the bed, sitting up against the headrest. He goes over to the dresser and pulls out one of his t-shirts, tugging the knot of the apron strings loose before softly asking you to put your arms up above your head. It’s all gentle touches, removing the apron, coercing you out of your top and into his, shuffling you out of your jeans and pulling back the covers for you to get in.

“These the painkillers you took?” He lifts up the box from the bedside table, eyes skimming the instructions and dosage.

“Yeah.” You mumble back, nuzzling your cheek into the pillow. “I don’t remember when though.”

“We’ll hold off a couple more hours, then, before another dose.”

He grabs the glass that was sat beside the pills and retreats into the bathroom, where you hear the tap run for a moment before he’s back at your side, placing down the glass of water. He crouches down besides you and gently brushes some of your hair behind your ear.

“Can I get you anything?”

You open an eye. “You.”

He grins, gets to his feet and carefully clambers over you to lie down at your back, draping a heavy arm around your waist.

“Only for a bit, though. Don’t want you overheating from me.”

“Mm-hm…” You mumble into the pillow, feeling your body relax. The weight of his arm feels nice – reassuring. “Love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

It isn’t long before Leon can hear your breathing change, assuring him that you’ve drifted off to sleep. He could stay there easily, just close his eyes and nod off and though he knows you would never oppose that, the way you’d be so determined to get the house in order... A flash of pink gingham on the floor makes up his mind.

---

You wake up alone in the bed, a little confused, but clear of the awful headache. Looking for the glass of water you know that Leon left there earlier, you notice that the bedside table now holds your phone, plugged into charge. You sit up slowly – still wary of dizzy spells - greedily drink from the glass of water, feeling it slip down your throat into a particularly empty stomach. Seems like your appetite had decided to reappear.

The digital alarm clock over on the dresser shows that it’s gone 8pm and, most intriguingly, the laundry basket is now empty. Huh.

You don’t bother to dress as you head downstairs, still clad in Leon’s t-shirt. The TV’s playing on a low volume, a candle burning on the coffee table. You can hear the thrum of the washing machine from the utility and when you head through to the kitchen, you find Leon hunched over the sink, apron strings tied around his waist as he dips a glass into the soapy water. The dishwasher is slightly ajar and you can see it’s been emptied, and he’s washing everything left in the sink – by hand.

He looks over his shoulder with a hesitant smile at the sound of your footsteps and then turns, drying his hands off on the apron – the pink frilly gingham number seems to suit him a little too well.

“Hey. Not sure you should be up yet, sweetheart. You were a bit unsteady on your feet earlier. Go sit down for me?”

“Okay.” You nod, and he’s pleased that you don’t protest – putting it down to the fact that you still must be feeling somewhat lousy. He traces your footsteps as you plod over to sit on the sofa though, just in case, and watches you curl up against the armrest.

“You feel up to eating something? I ordered in some soup earlier. Can warm it up on the stove now if you like – it’s your favourite.”

You nod. “That sounds nice.”

“Coming right up.” He pulls the blanket from off the armchair – the one that’s usually reserved for movie nights – and tucks it around you, pressing a kiss on your forehead as he does.

He turns to head back to the kitchen when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, causing him to pause.

“I’m sorry I’m an awful patient.”

“You’re not, just stubborn,” Leon corrects with a cocky grin, but it doesn’t have the desired effect as the pout remains in place on your lips, thoughts spiraling. “But so am I.”

“No, I should be looking after you. You should be coming back to everything in order. Whatever this is won’t be anywhere near as bad as what you’ve been through - those bruises look so sore an-“

“Hey, it’s not a competition, sweetpea.” He says, softly, crouching down in front of you, rubbing your thigh with his right hand. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“It feels like I’ve let you down.”

“Never.” He says, firmly, giving you thigh a squeeze. “Actually impossible. I’m just glad I got back in time to keep an eye on you, I just hate the idea of you feeling lousy on your own.”

The washing machine beeps from the utility and he gets to his feet, passing you the remote from the coffee table. “Why don’t you find us something to watch, and I’ll move the laundry to the dryer and get that soup warmed up?”

“If you’re sure.”

He bends down, presses a kiss against your crown.

“Positive.”

He only makes it a few steps back towards the kitchen when you call out, looking bashful.

“Leon?”

“Mm?” He twists slightly to look back in curiosity.

“You look cute in that apron.”

He gives you a twirl, ending with a beaming grin. “I know.”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

[nouearth]

rated i for impatient.

steve harrington x male reader.

summary: in the middle of a slow afternoon at family video, steve has an idea on how to past time, and it involves you and your mouth.

wc: 3.4k. warnings: explicit smut, handjob (r!giving), blowjob (r!giving), mouth-fucking, deep-throating, lots of spit, gagging, bantering, workplace quickie, co-workers, established relationship, rough!steve, but also gentle!steve, bigdick!steve.

a/n: and it's been a hot minute since i've written smut, as well as a full one-shot!! i swear, i feel like my small hiatus made me forget everything, lol. but i hope it's as good as my other stories and i also hope you guys enjoy steve's first appearance on my blog!

“Dude, you seriously couldn’t wait?” 

Heavy footsteps followed Steve as he dragged your trudge into the storage closet. Even though his back faced you, he responded with a shimmy of his shoulders, the flight of muscles equally excited to cease the sluggish afternoon.

“Oh, come on!” He shut the door once you entered with a distressed groan. Though, he knew you didn’t mean it despite your pointed tone. 

“I know you want to.” Steve sang with a tease, cornering you against the door with a playful dance, and a smile that had charmed you since the first time you had met him. 

You’d been keeping track at how many times Steve had simply captivated you with his presence. It was embarrassing because you’d lost count since day one. The only statistic that you did know was that you were losing.

Losing bad.

Always a goody two-shoes and extra responsible, yet somehow, you were never a prude and knew how to have fun. If only you weren’t so hesitant in this moment. It was your first week, your fourth day at Family Video, and you wanted to make a great impression, even if it was only something to fill up your time during the summer.

He continued to dance, singing a tune that had been stuck in his head since three mornings ago, and your lips curled into smile while he performed within the narrow space. A few stumbles threw him off balance, but upon seeing your lips bitten to hold back a laugh, the following trip had been intentional. 

Steve collided into you, though barely as he caught his weight against the door. A whisper of gasp dried your throat when the sudden thump by your shoulders jolted you and his face rushed close to yours like a bullet. Your gaze widened in surprise, only for them to roll once it catalogued the mischief on his face. “You know Keith kind of hates you, right? You’re going to be fucked if he catches you slacking again.”

“Me?! I’m sorry, are you a ghost or something? A figment of my imagination? Worse… I’ve huffed paint too many times when I was little, and now it’s all catching up to me.” There was amusement on his face and it reflected off of your smile. 

You straightened your posture to match his eye level, and rebutted his theory with the light touch of your nose to his. He laughed, wrapping his arms around your torso. “You’d get in trouble too, you know. Last time I checked, most sexual acts involve at least two participants.”

“Yeah, well, he likes me unlike you! If anything, he’d probably blame you for being a bad influence or something.” The possible truth expelled a groan out of Steve, but it doesn’t stop him from pouring the remainder of his frustration into your mouth. 

You took him in stride, earlier hesitance burying into the back of your mind when the fresh mint of his breath began haunting your mouth. Then, completely into obscurity when his tongue slid over yours, sloppily in hopes of awakening a fruitful lust, akin to his, within you.

“Steve… come on,” You pulled away, but Steve immediately captured your lips again in a tongue-swelling kiss. “What if customers come in?” You panted in between breaths, squeezing at his firm back to distract yourself from the growing tent within your khakis.

“I’ve been here longer than you, studied the activity down to the seconds.” He pressed into you, hip to hip, until you could feel his own muscle growing against yours. “We have at least ten minutes.”

“Ten?! Dude, that’s not enough—“

“Please?” Steve suddenly pulled your hand from his back and into the firmness of his bulge, looking into you with a desperation that rivaled the yearning freedom of his erection. “Please…” The curl of your hand was imposed by his grip, folding them until you had a handful of his bulge, throbbing at the mere friction of your warm palm.

“Fuck,” The determination in Steve’s gaze, as well as the devilish guidance of your own cock stirring against you, had your hand leave the aching muscle for a brief moment to hastily unbuckle his belt. You pressed your lips back to his, and muttered with a grimace. “You’re owing me one after work.”

“God, I love you.” He sighed with relief upon knowing that the heavy pressure in his pants would soon be released, thanking you by taking your cheeks into the dip of his palms and kissing you warm and wet. Even if it was going to be a quick one, his main priority was to be liberated of the painful throbs that had led him to this desperate juncture.

As much as Steve hated confined spaces, the feeling of the storage space closing in on him had only been fleeting because his desire for you was gravity-defying strong. It expanded the proximity at his very will until you were the only subject framed in his field of vision. 

Lips plumped from the bites he took from your flesh earlier, balmy skin speckled with a flush that he’d been the sole creator of, he couldn’t get enough of your presence. He took in your woody scent with deep inhales as he moved his lips to your neck, and your hands began digging into the waistband of his pants, pulling Steve close with a hard yank to harbor every warm breath into one another again.

With one swift pull, the belt collided with the floor and your hands worked at the zipper like a tailor until the khakis dropped and pooled around his ankles. You accompanied the leather and fabric seconds after, kneeling onto the cold surface with the eager guidance of Steve’s caresses to the back of your head. 

Kneeling face-to-face with his bulge, you couldn’t stop yourself from drooling even if Steve was covered. You could outline the girth of his cock, plumping and thickening under your piquant gaze, and then throbbing when you followed the curve with your palm in eager cycles until the waistband screamed for your attention. 

Your fingers hooked into the elastic band and in one slow pull, you revealed Steve’s erection in all its glory. Thick and unkempt hairs billowed first, and you played with the anticipation as you dragged the waistband over his length, weighting it downwards until all that was left covered was the plump tip that you can still taste from a few nights ago. In a final yank, Steve’s cock sprang up proudly and his groans were heavenly in its accompaniment. The weight of his large cock made him bounce in several reps before it was kept still by the warmth of your hand, then another over the remaining curve to amuse yourself with his blessed size.

“Jesus, did you not jerk off this morning? Haven’t seen or felt you this hard before...” Your mouth fell open in awe, and also in preparation to loosen the muscles in your jaw while your hands slid over him in slow strokes. Every vein throbbed at the delicate touch, pulsated strong when you squeezed a few sticky drips of his pre-cum from his spout. They would’ve landed on the undeserving floor had you not stuck your tongue out in time, lapping him up from the underside of his cock to the smooth pink rim. 

His cock jumped when your other hand dropped to fondle his balls, hanging low as if they awaited to be grasped and swung. You did exactly that as you licked the slit of his tip, amusing yourself with Steve’s package that you had sucked and fucked before, yet still managed to be surprised despite your many affairs.

“Not since we last fucked, to be honest.” At first, he balled the end of his shirt and raised it high to prevent it from obstructing your view, exposing the happy trail that you always traced over with your tongue on lazy Sundays. “Guess it wasn’t the same.” But the defy work of your hands spread the boil in his stomach to the muscular arch of his back, hot and heavy on his body until the weight of his shirt was thrown off. Moans exhaled in breathy tremors as you squeezed his shaft and pulled him forward and back in wall-closing jerks. 

“Well, I’m sorry for the long wait.” Your strokes continued while you sealed a wet promise to the pink glans. “I’ll make it worth it.” You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out to welcome the following sticky slaps of his heavy length in disgusting delight, holding him like a marker as you patterned his thick pre-cum over your pair of lips before the salty flesh was vaulted into your mouth with an inhale.

His length pushed your mouth open in an accommodating stretch, almost pleasurable if he hadn’t been so difficult to take in. The first few inches gagged you, ached a muscle in your stomach when you flexed. It was traditional at this point, and your routine often consisted of stroking the shaft that had yet felt the heat of your mouth. The sliminess of your tongue as you bathed Steve’s cock in stomach-churning sin, lapping the musk of him from the loose scrotum to the plump head. 

And it was a routine to attempt to take him again. You spat in your hand before lubing his stiff in a glaze that caught the light of his eyes, then the hiccup of his moan. “Fuck, you know I love it when you do that…”

“Yeah?” You smiled, his compliments sent straight to your erection while the sticky sounds of bubbles and drool soiled his cock in pure lust in lazy strokes, then sealed when you wrapped your lips around him again, and pushed down when the pulse of his veins beckoned you.

The size of his cock drew a moan out of you, tremors rimming the shaft while you prepared the opening of your throat little by little. Drool leaked from either corners of your mouth, staining your flushed skin and then the floor, but you hadn’t been bothered to save them despite your reputation of being a clean-freak. 

When it came to Steve, you were in a state of delirium that had forgotten who you were because there was only one purpose on your mind: to pleasure. 

“Shit, (M/N)—“ His hands had left you to fold his arms behind his head, allowing his silhouette to become yours to own and to rapture over as you worked him like one your favorite treats at the candy store. He slipped in and out of you, closer to the barrier of your throat with the help of his thrusts, and the only time you’d take a break was when you suckled on his balls. As his cock hung over your face, head dripping in saliva and thick pre-cum, you found enjoyment in rolling his balls like dice: another one of Steve’s favorite moves.

Steve was heavy on your tongue and the only way you could thank him for blessing you with his fruitful cock, was to love-bomb him with all of his favorite desires. You lined the underside with your tongue until your lips met the pink glans again, speckling it with a playful pecks before weighing his shaft down with your spit once again. “Have you always liked it sloppy?”

“Mm—no…” He murmured, and you looked up into the heaviness of his lids, surprised by his confession. “Not until I met you. For others, it’s kind of gross, but… you do it differently. Tastefully, and I’m not trying to be funny.”

You laughed at the unintentional joke and Steve joined your amusement with a smile, petting the back of your head before it was guided back to swallow him whole this time. Your mouth stretched wide the more he pushed you, burying the remnants of your humored-self into the pit of your throat with the ample of his throbbing erection. Your hands held around his thighs to brace for the oncoming gags and Steve does the same around your head, threading his fingers into your hair with a strong grip as he pushed, and pushed, and pushed, until tears brimmed the highlights of your eyes.

“Holy shit—“ Steve was enamored by the feeling of stuffing you whole. The confines of your mouth and throat restricted the blood flow around him, yet he couldn’t have felt himself pulsate more, stiffen harder in between your godly gags and whimpers. The scratches at his thighs was a telling sign for him to pull you back, and so he does in what felt like slow motion. His cock unsheathed out of your throat like a sleeve, unraveling a spell of gasps and bubbling moans in midst. 

“You did so good, baby… fuck.” Cupping your cheek, he briefly bent down to meet you in the middle of his gratification, kissing you proud and golden on your breathless smile before he tore himself away to spit inside of your mouth and submerging his saliva down your mouth with his cock again. Despite the sting in your eyes and throat, you were compliant to his every move and welcomed the sheathing of his wet flesh in prideful determination.

Steve’s hands had moved to either sides of your head, where he had complete control of every bone and muscle of your neck, and the desire to fuck your tight mouth had become a victorious reality. Your lips pressed into his unkempt hairs when he forced you down again, tasting the sweat that had been harbored within the strands. 

From then on, your gags had only become motivation as he rode the rhythm of your delectable sounds with sharp and eager thrusts. Gasps and coughs stuck to the slick of your throat while Steve’s cock fucked them down in repetitive and selfish strides. Your head moved from the guidance of Steve’s hold, meeting the bow of your head with a forward thrust and ramming into the back of your throat while you spilled sheltered saliva—thick and bubbly in its journey to form a puddle on the floor. He repeated after barely giving you enough time to catch your breath, choking and fucking your mouth with his cock while you writhed on your knees in intimidation. 

Steve sheltered you close, curling his body over you as a satisfied moan added to the thick air when he shoved your head deep in between his legs, keeping you still in midst of your squirms. Whenever you tried to pull back, Steve only thrusted and pushed you further into your struggle for freedom. He drowned you in your own saliva, locked you of your only source of oxygen as your nose pressed deep into his pelvis, and gagged you to the point of leaving scars on his thighs as your fingers curled into his flesh, desperate for a whisper of air to breathe back into you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You finally get your wish when he yanked you back, and you inhaled with a slobbering gasp, coughing out the oxygen that he had buried from within you.

Throughout all of this, you gazed beautifully up to him, Steve thought. From the highlights of the whites to the color of your orbs, you glistened like nature past dew point, and his chest swelled in agreement. His heart pulsed faster than the rhythmic sucks and strokes of your mouth and hand as you’ve gone back to sucking him, fisting him into your mouth as your mouth began aching from deep-throating, breath recovering from being face-fucked. It was a curse that you put on him, where he closed his eyes to the merit of your tongue and couldn’t bear to look at you again because if he did, he knew he could come all over your face right then and there.

“Close—fuck.” His shoulders rolled back and one hand pushed the sweat off his forehead back into the fluff of his hair, while the other maintained on your head, keeping you in close proximity.

“Fuck, Steve…” You sniffled, desperately tasting the salt off the tip of his cock while you snapped your wrist back and forth in jerking him off. Your free hand ran over his stomach, then down his flexed thighs, and you squeezed to remind him that he was spellbound under your touch. His gaze casted downwards to meet yours once again, and he nodded as if he understood. 

The pressure on the back of your head hardened, but it was your own will that had you slobbering all over him again. You took him his cock back in with desperation, the memory of how salty he had tasted days prior fortifying your delirious state of mind. You sucked Steve off, swallowed him whole, fucked him into your fist, then into your mouth, and it would repeat until he nested his hand into your hair, tightly curling them into a fist as he came undone into your mouth.

“Fuck—“

Steve’s cock pulsed in heavy bounces and his balls bounced in its drain as he emptied himself inside of you. Warm and thick seed accompanied the fill of your mouth, and your hand reached down to massage his sack, aiding the scrotum to dump the remaining few shots into the pool of cum. Slowly, you pulled back with your lips pressed tight in caution of wasting the fresh fluid, and you swallowed slow and proud, savoring every gulp that ran down your violated throat as if it the cure to the sore. He watched you, panting heavily, and his cleansed cock twitched as you quenched upon his energy for the day. 

“You don't have to swallow it al—“ Before he could finish his question, you stuck your tongue out to reveal the abyss of your mouth, and the limp of his cock roused with one more throb before finally hanging low in between his legs. Steve was left astonished, and there was a flicker in his eyes before he helped you back on your feet. “Come here, I need to kiss you right now.”

A laugh was caught in between your lips when Steve kissed you with a familiar sweetness that always rattled the butterflies in your stomach. He pulled you close to pacify the flutter of their wings, and sighed into you before a hand gently caressed the middle of your throat. “Did I go too hard?”

“I would’ve said something if you did, Steve.” You’d come to realize that it always took more than a smile and comforting words to appease his guilt, and so you pressed fleeting pecks to the center of his lips, then began massaging the sensitive fill of his cock in slow turns. “I mean, if you want, we can go for round two right now and—“

“Okay, okay.” He pressed a laugh into your lips and leaned his forehead onto yours for the moment you two shared a gaze. Looking into you, it dismantled all of his worries, as it did for you, and it was only when the cold bit at his naked body that roused him from the daze.

“I should probably put my clothes back on.”

“Dude, are you saying that isn’t your uniform?” You gasped. 

“Dude,” He took you by the back of your head again and kissed you once, grinning. “Shut up.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like! feedback is also much appreciated!

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