#and the answer. is that they are Kind of boring

[musingsofheaven]

Omg I’d die if you wrote something on Joel miller x younger bratty reader who he think sis a bad influence on Ellie!! Then they end up fucking really rough and angry but it’s so filthy and delicious?!?! Maybe he’s choking her to keep her quiet but she also wants to ride him and not give in!!! Like I love the switch up

RAISED WRONG.

summary: You’re younger, loud-mouthed, and definitely a bad influence on Ellie. Joel knows it. Won’t stop showing off, getting under his skin, acting like you’ve got nothing to lose. Then he drags you into the dark and finally does what he’s been dying to shuts you up with his hands and fucks you until you so deep.

pairings: joel miller x afab bratty!reader

warnings: 9k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. age gap. rough sex. choking kink. manhandling. degradation kink. oral fixation. tit play / nipple play. breeding kink. smoking. read & consume responsibly.

note: first time writing joel hehe… i stayed up all night like a little vamp <3 like actually 2am to 8am. i don’t know what happened but it felt important. i’m really sleepy now and kind of stupid about it and now i’m so tired i could cry 🧍‍♀️ reblog or like if u did !! follow + send an ask if u want more (but i write so slow bc i have 1 braincell and it’s scared of me sorryyy) ok love u byeeee uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 🫀 (As of 11 am on my time i noticed the fic was cut (the first half) so i edited it again and pasted it… i am sorry!)

They see you before you see them.

You’re half-crouched in a blown-out gas station, dragging one boot behind you as you sift through a collapsed aisle, rifling through broken shelves like you’re expecting a candy bar to fall into your hand. You’re just looking for something edible. Or shiny. Or stupid enough to add to your collection.

You don’t even clock the footsteps at first-maybe you do, but you’ve gotten good at ignoring shit. A click, a shuffle, the low weight of suspicion pressing into your spine. You only look up when a voice barks behind you, rough and already tired: “Turn around. Real slow.”

You sigh like someone just asked you to do something boring. Then you roll your eyes, glance back just enough for the smirk to rise.

“You lost or somethin’?”

The man doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say anything either. Salt-and-pepper beard, jaw locked tight like he’s halfway to shooting. The kid next to him squints at you.

“She doesn’t look infected,” the girl says.

You raise your brows at that, scoffing as you turn, hands half-raised.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Where’s your group?” the man asks, voice sharp.

“Not here,” you reply, flat.

“That’s not an answer.”

You sigh again, this time more annoyed. “I came from that way,” you say, nodding vaguely over your shoulder. “It’s gone now. Fireflies, Fedra, raiders-take your fuckin’ pick.”

The woman beside him stiffens. “You see who did it?”

You snort. “Do I look like I stuck around to get names?”

The girl tugs on his arm. “Let her come. If she turns, I’ll stab her first.”

You laugh-sharp, surprised. “You’re fun.” She’s easy. You clock that immediately. Could probably talk her into anything.

“I’m right here,” the man mutters like it’s personal.

You take a slow step forward. He doesn’t flinch, but his jaw ticks hard.

“I’m not sick.” You lift your shirt just enough to show skin-clean, unbitten. “You can check. Or shoot me. Your call, old man.”

He glares.

The girl grins. “She could be useful.”

“She’s gonna be a pain in my ass.”

“Same thing,” you say, already walking like it’s settled.

You fall into step somewhere in the middle-not in front, not behind. Just out of reach. Feels like they’re circling you, but what can you do?

You walk for hours before the man-Joel, you overheard-finally says what’s clearly been stuck in his throat:

“You were with them?”

You glance sideways. “With whom?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

You smirk. “I’m not playing.”

He chews on the silence. Doesn’t push. Not yet.

Ellie-she never stops talking. She keeps throwing you glances, like she’s still figuring out what kind of weird you are. At one point, she asks if you’ve ever stayed in a hotel like the one you just passed.

“Does sleeping under one count?” you ask. “With a hole in the roof?”

She snorts. “You’re weird.”

“You’re loud.”

Joel clears his throat behind you. You grin.

That night, you crash in a half-flooded warehouse. Tess posts up by the doors. Joel plants himself between you and Ellie, arms crossed like a bouncer who never clocks out.

“You don’t trust me,” you say eventually.

“I don’t know you.”

Fair enough. You don’t trust him either. That’s just how it is out here-everyone’s a threat until they’re not.

“You could ask better questions.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You ever kill a man?”

You smile in the dark. “That’s the first thing you wanna know?”

Silence.

You shift slightly, one arm folded behind your head. “Do you think anyone out here hasn’t?”

Another pause. The air gets heavier.

“I didn’t shoot first,” you add. “Not the first time.”

He doesn’t respond. You can feel his eyes though-tracking, imagining, dissecting. The kind of man who chews on suspicion like it feeds him.

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” he asks, finally.

“Boyfriend,” you lie.

“Dead now?”

You grin up at the ceiling. “Aren’t they all?”

He doesn’t say anything else. And you fall asleep with that little echo in your head-you want people to think you’re dangerous. Not a warning. A memory.

The days start blurring after that. Joel watches you like you’re a bomb no one bothered to defuse. Like you might sprout claws or snap someone’s neck just to prove a point. Ellie’s warmer-she shares a busted pack of crackers with you that Joel clearly gave her, even if she pretends it was her idea. You blow a gum bubble in her face and she nearly chokes laughing. Joel glares.

You sneak into a warehouse on a dare and come back with rusted junk and a chain of dog tags you tuck into your shirt like they matter. Ellie finds fuckass nail polish in a med kit and paints your nails at camp. Joel mutters something under his breath about softness and being a bad influence.

“You’re just pissed ‘cause you forgot how to have fun.”

He storms off. You don’t know if it hit a nerve. You hope it did.

The next day, you teach Ellie how to flip her knife. How to spot tripwires. How to curse in a language she doesn’t know. She says it to Joel and he looks like he aged ten years in one second.

That night, you sneak her a cigarette. Okay. Maybe that one’s on you. She gags, calls it gross, then takes another drag just to prove she’s cool. You tell her she’s not. She flips you off.

Then Joel comes stomping back from patrol-and freezes the second he sees smoke curling from her lips. “You wanna tell me what the fuck this is?”

Ellie drops the cigarette like it’s radioactive.

You don’t even blink. Blow the last of the smoke toward the trees. “It was one drag.”

“She’s a teen.”

“And? You think the apocalypse waits for birthdays?”

He steps toward you, slow and sharp. Each step feels like a warning.

“You’re a bad fuckin’ influence.”

You smile. All teeth. Like you’re proud of it.

“Guess it’s a good thing you’re around to balance me out.”

He finds you ten minutes later, footsteps heavy, pissed off. Doesn’t say a word at first-just stares at you, jaw tight, like he still hasn’t decided whether to drag you back inside or leave you there to rot.

“Y’know,” he mutters finally, voice low like gravel, “you act like you wanna get left.”

You don’t look at him. Just tap the ash off your cigarette and watch it drift. “And you act like you still wear a badge.”

He scoffs. Doesn’t move. Just leans against the opposite wall with that arms-crossed stance like he’s about to book you for resisting arrest.

“You keep pushin’ her like that, she’s gonna get cocky. Gonna get hurt.”

“She’s smart,” you snap back, too fast, too sharp. “She’s not gonna break just ‘cause I taught her how to hold a knife.”

“She’s a kid.”

“She’s surviving.”

He glares. “You think you’re funny.”

You drag slowly. Blow smoke right past him into the dark. “No,” you say. “I think you’re scared.”

That shuts him up.

For a second, it’s just the buzz of bugs and the soft hiss of your cigarette burning down. You catch it, though-the way his jaw ticks. Like you hit something that shouldn’t be touched. Like fear’s the only thing he hasn’t figured out how to bury.

“Finish your smoke,” he says finally. “You’re takin’ second watch.”

Then he turns and disappears through the window again like you’re not worth the rest of the argument.

You wait until the cherry burns too close to your fingers. Let it sear, just a little. Something to bite down on.

When you crawl back inside, Ellie’s curled up against Tess, dead asleep. Joel’s posted by the door, arms folded, head tilted like maybe he’s dozing. He’s not.

You sit by the window. Pretend to keep watch. Try not to count the seconds.

Then you get bored.

His bag’s right there, half-zipped, practically asking for it. Sloppy.

You inch closer. Quiet as a shadow. Fingers ghost over the zipper, slow and deliberate. You feel it first-canvas, frayed at the edges. A roll of gauze. A folded-up map. Then something else. Thin. Glossy. Familiar weight. A photo. You start to pull.

And then, too fast, his hand clamps around your wrist like a trap snapping shut.

Your breath catches. Not from the pain, but from the heat of him suddenly there-his body close, his voice like a cut.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You don’t answer. Don’t move.

“Get up.”

Still frozen.

“Now.”

He doesn’t yank you or shout. He doesn’t have to. He knows he can't-not when people are sleeping and he doesn’t want to waste any energy on it. He just moves you, dragging you by the arm through the far doorway into the next room-what used to be an office, maybe, or a supply closet. But it looks fucked up now. The door creaks closed behind you. He presses you back against it, not rough, but firm. Angry. His jaw locked so tight it looks like it hurts. “You goin’ through my shit now?” he mutters. “You that fuckin’ stupid?”

Your lips part, words half-formed, but he leans in close before you can say a thing. It's making you feel claustrophobic, a little, because he's so close you can smell the smoke still clinging to your shirt, the sweat on his collar.

“You don’t touch my things,” he started. “You don’t go near that bag. You don’t-fuckin’... poke around like you're some kind of thief or a fucking spy.”

You stare up at him, eyes sharp despite the dark. You almost melt by his voice but you're more stubborn than him so you reason out. “You were asleep.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He’s still holding your wrist. His thumb presses into the bone just enough to remind you who’s stronger. Like he's trying to make a fucking point.

Too bad you're younger and more smug and have that false confidence in you. You smile, breathless. “Little jumpy for someone with nothing to hide.”

He lets go of you like it burns. Then steps back. Runs a hand through his hair, pacing once like he’s biting back every word he wants to scream. Like he wants to throw shit. When he turns back, the look in his eyes is wildfire barely leashed.

“You try that shit again,” he mutters, voice low and trembling with restraint, “and I swear to god, I’ll leave you behind.”

You just look at him. Head tilted to the side. That same bored, half-lidded stare that’s been pissing him off since the day he met you. And it’s not that you don’t take it seriously. It’s that he can’t tell if you do or not. If you’re bluffing. If you’re always bluffing. You don’t respond like he’s the one wasting time.

Joel steps closer. His boots scrape against broken tile and dirt and something in him snaps. Not loudly-nothing about this is loud. He looks at you in the eye. It’s something small, tight, and final. He's like trying to see something through it. A pressure point breaking. “You’re like a fuckin’ splinter,” he says, slow and seething. “Can’t pull you out. Can’t ignore you. Just-there. Every goddamn second. Buried so deep it’s driving me insane.”

You raise your brows, you hum like you acknowledge it but fear not, you are mocking the shit out of him. Still no smile, not this time. “So yank me out, old man. Or stop whining.”

Swear to god, he almost did something just because of that filthy mouth of yours. There’s something wild in his eyes now, something unspoken and filthy and so close to the edge it hums in the silence. One wrong move and he’s either going to drag you outside and leave you in the dirt or maybe finally pull the trigger.

But he slams his hand against the wall beside your head instead. Just once. Flat-palmed. Not like he's planning to punch it or you. Looks like he's trying to ground himself. It makes the drywall crack and rain dust down your shoulder, but you don’t flinch.

His face is close. His voice is rougher now, lower, cracked and hushed but absolutely fucking furious. “You think you’re tough. Think you’re smart. You don’t even know what you’re playing at.”

You lean in just slightly. Mouth near his ear. You almost want to lick it up just to push him more but you didn't, instead you say, “You’re the one playing.”

His hand closes around your throat. Not hard. Not fully. Not in the way he's going to kill you. Just there-pressing. Cautionary. Not enough to choke, but enough to warn. And fuck if your breath doesn’t hitch anyway. Not out of fear. Something hotter. Lower. He sees it. Feels it. That pulse kicking under his palm.

And you-so smug, so sick in the head, so you-you grin. Just a little. Like a fucking sick fuck. Like you are enjoying it. Just to piss him off more. Or maybe you really like it. Maybe.

Joel swears under his breath. It’s not anger anymore-it’s wrecked. Like he knows better but he’s already lost. “You wanna push me?” he asks. “Wanna see how far?”

You nod once. Calculated but teasing him. “Been trying. Is it working?”

His grip tightens. Your head hits the wall behind you-lightly, but it jolts. You smile again like you are just rage baiting him because you know he will it up. And then his mouth is right there, hovering, like he could bite or kiss or breathe fire. You don’t move. You don’t blink.

And then-nothing. He yanks his hand away. It almost makes you protest and whine. He turns. Paces once, twice, jaw clenched so hard it looks painful. His back’s to you now, like he can’t even look at you without-“Get some rest,” he says through his teeth. “Before I do something fucking stupid.”

You don’t move. Don’t speak. Just stare at the tight set of his shoulders, the twitch in his jaw, the way his fists flex like he’s picturing your throat in his palms. And then softly, you mutter, “You already do.”

That lands. His head tilts-not enough to look at you, just enough to make you feel it. The crack in his control. The split is right down the middle. But he's curious what you’re going to say.

“Taking me with you? Stupid,” you go on, voice lazy, thick with sleep and smoke. “Letting me stay? Again, stupid. Letting me close? Real fuckin’ stupid.” You take a step forward, slow as anything. “But you haven’t stopped me, have you? Haven’t thrown me out. Haven’t told me to go.”

He doesn’t move.

“Almost like you want me here,” you say, mouth twitching. You lick your lips and chuckle.

That’s when he turns. And it’s slow, heavy, deliberate. Like every inch of movement is a loaded threat. His eyes meet yours, hot and blazing. He doesn’t look tired anymore-he looks starving. “I should knock your teeth in,” he says.

You grin. “You’d miss ‘em.”

His hand fists your collar and yanks you forward so hard your back slams the wall, breath catching in your throat. You feel it made you out of character for a second. His thigh wedges between yours, keeping you pinned like he wants to hurt you with it. “Say another word,” he growls, “and I’ll make you swallow it.”

You exhale like a moan, all wide-eyed and wicked. Like the little brat you are, you say, “Please.”

His mouth crashes into yours, rough and clumsy and furious. You kiss him back like you’re trying to win. Hopefully him, but you already know that you already won him. He groans. You drag your nails down his side. You made sure your nails go dug and make him feel those little moon shapes. He hisses and bites your lip. He palms the back of your neck, presses his forehead to yours like he wants to drive you through the wall. You rock your hips against him, just enough to test the waters and he grabs your jaw so hard it aches.

“Keep quiet,” he mutters. “Or I’ll shut you up myself.”

You giggle. “Try me.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t move for a second, either. Just there and holding you. Just stares at you like he’s trying to see past your skin, past the grin curling your mouth, past every smartass thing you’ve said since the moment he met you. And then he does something worse than yelling. Something quieter.

He presses more, but it’s all weight and intention, jaw set tight, hands flexing like he’s deciding whether to grab you or walk away again. His hands are back on your throat before you can blink. Not tight, just like a moment ago. Not yet. Just resting there, rough palm to your pulse point, like he's about to tweak. “Still feel like giggling?” he says low, thumb brushing your jaw.

You grin wider. Because, of course, you do. You just have to keep running your mouth. “Yeah,” you whisper. “You gonna do something about it, or just keep standing there like you’re scared of me?”

He exhales through his nose. Frustrated. Starving. Like he hates that you’re getting to him again. Like he's been trying to control himself since the moment he saw you. Then his grip tightens- just enough to shut you up like he promised, just enough to feel the way your breath skips under his fingers.

His other hand catches your hip, walks you back from the wall close to the door till your ass hits the edge of the half-collapsed table behind you. It creaks under your weight, but he doesn’t let go.

You’re both quiet now. Breathing hard. Heat knotting thick between your bodies like it’s been waiting. Like it's boiling and ready to put in a coffee.

“You always this much of a pain in the ass?” he growls. His hand drops from your throat only to catch the flannel tied loose around your waist, yanking it like it personally offended him. Like he hates this little flannel always covering your waist or arms, depending on your mood. “What is this, huh?” he mutters, twisting the fabric in his fist like it’s just another excuse to keep you close. “Somethin’ to hide behind? Or you just like dressing like trouble?”

You smirk, lips swollen, eyes heavy. “Maybe I just like being grabbed.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts coming out of him. And then he pulls- hard enough to undo the knot and let the shirt fall open. He stared for a moment to see your body. The shape. His hands remain skimming your hips where your shorts ride up high, rough fingers brushing the waistband like he’s debating how far he’s willing to go. Spoiler: too far. Way too fucking far.

“You don’t listen,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, like he’s trying to justify the way his mouth finds your neck again, his hand already sliding low. Jesus, you can see the way he tried to control himself. To don't do shit, but you just keep pushing him.

You gasp, grip curling in the fabric of his shirt as your back hits the table harder this time. “You want me to stop?” you whisper, teeth grazing his ear, giving it a peck.

He chuckles darkly, low and bitter and close. Before his hand slips beneath your shirt slowly, unforgiving. Rough palm skimming over your ribs like he’s checking for something- damage, weakness, regret- but all he finds is heat.

You arch into it, just a little, just enough to be obvious, and the growl he lets out sounds like it got dragged out of his chest by force. So you tilt your head, mouth brushing his jaw. “What’s the matter?” you murmur, syrup-sweet and smug. “Been a long time, old man?” You almost laugh when you say that because you feel like it's accurate.

His hand freezes. Just for a second. Then he laughs- cold and low and not nice at all. “You got a death wish,” he says, dragging his fingers higher, over your bare stomach, up under your bra. Just staying there for a moment to see your reaction. “Or you think this is how you stay useful.”

You hum. “Is it working?”

He answers by biting the side of your neck. Hard. Just shy of bruising. He doesn't even care if it will mark. If people will see. If it will have an implication or a blunt message.

Your jacket’s still on, bunched around your shoulders, half-pinned beneath you. His other hand shoves it up roughly, exposing the top that’s clinging damp to your skin. You see him staring, especially at your chest, and smirking.

You make a soft, teasing noise- half moan, half mockery. “You gonna say thank you after?” you whisper, breath hitching as his thumb grazes your nipple through the fabric which made you hold your breath. “Or you just gonna grunt and roll off?” But he doesn’t answer. He just pushes your thighs apart like he’s done talking. You laugh, breathless. “No, please? No foreplay?”

His hands grip your hips like he’s about to rip you down the middle. “You want me to beg?” As if he's seriously going to consider it, going to beg for you.

You open your mouth- don’t even get the smartass comeback out before he lifts you. Hands under your thighs, dragging you up from the table. You gasp, startled. Arms clinging to his shoulders, legs locking around his waist on instinct. Like it's on the default settings.

And then he drops- not hard, not rough, just fast. He carries you down to the floor like he’s wrestled with the idea for too long and finally gave in. Like you weigh nothing. Like he doesn’t give a shit who hears anymore. Like he doesn't even give a shit if this will bring you to death. But he just settles between your legs, knees pressed into cold tile, your body open for him and still so fucking clothed.

Your jacket’s still on. Shirt too. So he shoves it up- not gently. Rucks the fabric under your arms, hand dragging up your stomach before he slips his fingers under the bra and pops it loose. You both know you can't not really hot naked in this fucked up building. The cups of your bra fall forward. Your nipples catch the cold air, already reacting and sensitive.

He groans. Low. Gutted. Like he’s actually mad it looks that good. Like it's the best feature on you. Like he's so fucking turned on. (He is, you can feel his hard on through his pants because he's so close to you.) Then his mouth is on you- hot and punishing. He sucks hard, open-mouthed and desperate, tongue dragging over one nipple, tongue swirling to it while his thumb teases the other. His stubble burns. You arch into it, gasping, and that only makes him rougher.

His hand moves to your shorts. Not yanked- unfastened. Careful, but still not slow. He undoes the button, lowers the zipper slowly like he wants to hear every inch of it give. Then he grabs both the denim and your panties and pulls, drags them in one go, halfway down your thighs with one bruising tug that knocks the breath out of you.

You feel the air hit between your legs. Feel him pause. He pulls back just long enough to look. Still can't get off from the way your chest look, eyes locked to yours- like he wants to see the second you realize how fucked you are. Then his hand is on his belt. Unbuckling fast. Jeans shoved down just enough to free himself, nothing more. Just his cock standing tall and proud.

He doesn’t even take them off. He just gets his hand under your thigh again, pushes your knee up, and presses into you. Guiding himself where he wants it. It's slow, thick, and unrelenting when he's testing it outside of your hole. He doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t speak. Just shoves in one sharp, angry thrust that knocks the wind out of you when he finds the right moment to do so.

Your back arches clean off the floor. Almost freezes when you take him whole. Your body is adjusting to him. Your jacket twisted beneath you, thighs spread wide under the weight of him. You cry out before you can stop it, your hand flying up to grab at his shirt, and your hand holds it tightly.

He can't really blame you for reacting that way. He knows people aren't really active in doing this kind of activity considering what's happening around the world. He can even feel it. You're tight. God. “Shh,” he growls, already driving into you again, harder this time. “You wanna wake ‘em up?”

You bite your lip. Shakes your head. Try not to scream. He’s not giving you time, not giving you anything but the full, merciless length of him, over and over like he wants it to hurt. And it does. You feel it everywhere. Your spine, your ribs, and your jaw are from clenching so hard. “F-fuck,” you gasp. “This you bein’ careful? D-damn you.”

He slams deeper. Doesn’t answer. Making you feel more of him.

Your nails scrape down his stomach- just under his shirt, not gently- and he snaps. You just need to feel him. One hand flies to your throat, not choking hard, just enough to still you. Just enough to own you. “You keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth,” he mutters, “I’ll shut it for you.”

You giggle- wrecked and breathless, because even now you want to push him. You don't even know why it made you giggle, maybe it's the fact that he's hot? God. Maybe because you're just sick and enjoying it.

So he does squeeze a little harder. Makes your head spin just enough. Keeps fucking you through it, rough and fast and filthy like he’s mad he likes it this much. Like every thrust is another reason he should’ve left you behind. And god, you love it. You’re still half-dressed, your bra pushed up, shirt bunched at your collarbones, jacket riding your arms. You look like a fucking slut at this moment, the kind the looking for a quick fuck. While he got his jeans shoved down just enough and he doesn’t care about the rest- just fists the fabric of your shirt and keeps going, fucking you into the cold floor like it owes him something.

“You- fuck- you’re not gonna last,” you rasp, choking on your own grin. “Been too long for you, huh?” You tease him. You know that it's been too long. For you too. That's why it's making things better. You're tighter. He's eager. What a good combo. Surely it will be more enjoyable for him.

He growls- low in his chest, animal and mean- and suddenly his mouth is on you again, teeth dragging along the underside of your breast like it pisses him off how good you taste. He doesn’t ease up either- still thrusting, still punishing, grinding into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever get and he wants it etched into your bones.

His tongue flicks over your nipple, wet and hot, then he sucks hard- mouth working like he’s angry about it. Like he's getting something that's not there. Like he wants to ruin the way it makes you gasp. One hand braces beside your head again, the other gripping your hip, dragging you back into every brutal thrust. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn,” he mutters against your skin. “Drives me goddamn insane.”

You laugh, breath hitching when he bites- hard enough to leave the shape of his teeth. “Yeah? Then shoot me, old man.”

He lifts his head, stares down at you, jaw clenched and eyes wild. The sweat on his brow is starting to drip. You’re both half-undressed, panting like animals, his hand tightening on your hip hard enough to bruise. “You think I won’t?” he grits out. “You make me wanna do all kinds of stupid shit.” Then he fucks into you even rougher. Like punishment. Like proof.

You moan- loud this time- and he slaps his palm over your mouth without thinking, silencing you with a glare. “Keep quiet,” he said. But you’re smiling under it. Smiling like you won. And he knows it. So he keeps going. Fucks you through the smile. Through the hand over your mouth. Through the anger in both your bodies like it’s all either of you has left.

Your teeth sink into his palm- hard. Not enough to break skin, but close. He jerks like he’s been shot, hips stuttering just enough to loosen his grip. You take your chance. Wrists snap up. Knees shift. And then with a grunt and a twist of your hips, you push him off, flipping him onto his back so fast it knocks the breath out of both of you. You have the strength to do it after all those survival skills you have.

He grunts as his spine hits the cracked floorboards, hands already catching your hips out of instinct- just as his cock slips free, thick and wet and twitching between you. “Jesus Christ,” he snarls, already half-rising like he’s gonna pin you again.

But you’re faster. You straddle him before he can do shit, jacket still on, tits out, sweat slick between your ribs. You drop your weight down just enough to let your slick cunt press against his length- not taking him in, not yet. Just grinding your slit to him slow, lazy, torturous, your ruined shorts halfway down your thighs. “Aw, what’s wrong?” you murmur, mocking sweetness. “Thought you said I was gonna make you do something stupid.”

He grabs your waist like he’s going to break it. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t buck up. Just breathes- harsh and heavy, nostrils flaring, eyes locked on yours like he’s never hated anyone more in his life. Or wanted them this much. “You like bein’ a brat, huh?” he growls.

You rock your hips once. Just enough to drag your slick over his tip. Enough to feel him twitching. A whimper escapes him before he can swallow it. “Not a brat,” you whisper, grinning now. “Just figured you needed help finishing the job, old man.”

That does it. In one breathless move, he raises your hips before lining himself to you and he yanks you down, sheathing himself deep again- all the way, no warning, no grace. You gasp, head thrown back, spine bowing as he fills you. “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, hands bruising on your hips. “And ride me.”

You brace your hands on his chest- hot and hard and heaving- and start moving. Slow. Torturous. Rolling your hips like it’s a fucking lap dance, like you’re not even really doing it for him. Just chasing your orgasm, dragging your wet cunt along his cock until he’s twitching inside you again, jaw clenched so tight it could crack.

He doesn’t speak. Not at first. Just watches you with that blown-out, murderous glare like he wants to kill you for making it feel this good. And that’s when you really start to talk. “Y’know,” you murmur, voice syrup-sweet, “I think you were full of shit. Back there. When you said you’d leave me behind.”

His hands tighten. Fingers digging into the soft of your waist like he’s warning you. But you just ride slower, deeper, grinding your clit against the base of him until your lashes flutter. He's so deep, you might think he's kissing your inside with his tip.

“I think you like the trouble,” you whisper, grinning now. “You like the mouth. The attitude. The fact I don’t listen.” You lean in, press your palms to the floor beside his head, and fuck down just right- his head thumps the wall behind him.

“I think you wake up pissed every morning ‘cause I’m still around. But you don’t send me away.” Your breath ghosts over his cheek. “You let me talk to her. You let me sit at your fire. You watch me all the fucking time.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just pants, breath flaring hot against your throat as his hands start to move again- one trailing up your side, the other gripping your ass hard enough to bruise.

“And now you’re letting me fuck you,” you laugh, breath catching as you rock your hips a little faster. “Face it, Joel. You’re gone. You’re fucking- ”

His hand clamps over your mouth again. Not rough this time. Just firm. Possessive. His other hand snakes into your hair, pulling your head back so you have to look him in the eyes. “Don’t say another word,” he growls. “Or I swear- ”

Your teeth graze his palm again. Not biting this time- just testing. You're licking it like you're making out with him while you're grinding and looking at his eyes.

He shudders. Then thrusts up into you hard enough to split you open again, growling through his teeth like he hates you for every word you’ve ever said.

Your tongue darts out, slow, shameless, as you lick a stripe across the center of his palm.

His whole body jerks. So you do it again. Sloppier this time, your eyes locked on his like you know exactly what you’re doing. You press few pecks before licking again. Like you want to see how much filth he can take before it breaks him. You drag your tongue up to the base of his fingers, then you move your hand from his palm and close your lips around two of them and suck. Like you're showing him how you'll suck him off. You licks the tip of his fingers before circling your tongue on it.

He groans- low and guttural, almost like pain- and drives up into you harder, faster, both hands flying to your hips now like he’s done letting you have any control at all.

“Jesus- fuckin’- Christ,” he grits, his thrusts turning brutal. “You’re- fuckin’- insane.”

You laugh, or try to, but it gets knocked right out of you with the next thrust. He’s fucking you now like it’s punishment, like it’s the only way to shut you up, to get even for every time you ran your mouth or disobeyed or looked him in the eye like he wasn’t the one holding the goddamn gun.

“Can’t stand you,” he snarls, but it’s hoarse, ruined. His eyes flick to your tits bouncing with every snap of his hips, to your mouth slick with spit and spitfire, to the soft bite-marks he left on your throat. “Goddamn- you feel like this?”

You moan into his shoulder, teeth sinking into the fabric of his shirt, barely able to breathe with the way he’s slamming up into you now, fucking through the grind of your hips until all you can do is take it. And you do. You take it like a fucking champ.

He palms your ass, pulls you down as he thrusts up, deeper than before, cruel and so fucking good it aches. “You think you can mouth off like that and still get away with it?” he growls into your neck. “Still ride me like you own it?”

Your voice is a whimper now, breaking under the rhythm. “M-maybe.” You whimpers and blush like his words make you feel shy.

“Yeah?” he spits, grabbing your throat- not choking, just holding. Just enough to make your eyes widen. “Then let’s see how long you last.” His hips don’t stop- not even for a second. He keeps fucking up into you from below, relentless, brutal, like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out. Maybe you like it. Maybe you feel something you shouldn't. Belonging. Claim. Butterflies. But his hand- his other hand- slides between your bodies, palm dragging up your belly until it finds your chest.

You gasp.

He grins. Mean. Doesn’t break pace. Just squeezes- rough, greedy- thumb swiping over your nipple like he wants to feel how raw it gets. You’re still in your shirt, still in your bra, both shoved up and out of the way, and he palms your tit like it’s something he earned. Like he’s entitled to it now. “Fuckin’ knew you’d feel good,” he mutters, voice dark and ragged. “Knew you’d break like this.”

You shudder, hips twitching from the overstimulation, but he grabs you- keeps you flush against his chest, keeps you there. He rolls your nipple between his fingers just as he thrusts up again, and the sound you make is more than a moan- it’s wrecked, wrecking, the kind of noise that feels dangerous to let slip. He likes that.

You can feel it in the way his mouth drags hot and heavy over your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin like he might bite again if you don’t behave. But he doesn’t stop touching you, doesn’t stop fucking into you, chest to chest like he wants to melt you down into him. You feel it first in his hands- tightening on your hips like he’s about to do something reckless. And he does.

He stops. Just for a second. Just long enough to let you feel it- his cock twitching inside you, your muscles clenching down in anticipation. He lets you sit there, suspended in heat and want, then thrusts up once- deep and sharp. Another, harder. And one more, just to watch your mouth fall open, your body jolt helplessly against him. “You think you’re in charge?” he breathes, smirking now. “Cute.”

And then he moves. Fast, brutal, smooth- his grip shifts, his weight rolls, and suddenly you’re on your back. Your shoulders hit the floor, thighs still wrapped around him, and he doesn’t waste a second. Slides right back into you, rough and steady, fucking you like he’s reclaiming something that was never yours to take. “Thought you had me, didn’t you?” he mutters, panting against your throat. “Fuckin’ brat.”

And then he’s pressing into you, hand splayed on your stomach like he wants to feel how deep he is. On the other hand, curling under your knee, pushing it higher to fold you open for him- give him more room to ruin you with every relentless, punishing thrust. He’s pounding into you now, no rhythm- just force. Like he’s trying to fuck the attitude out of you, like it’s the only language he knows. Like every thrust is another shut the fuck up he didn’t say out loud.

You whimper. Moan. Claw at his back like you’re trying to hold yourself together. And still- your mouth runs. “F-fuck- this is why you’re so uptight?” you gasp, voice cracking as he grinds in deeper, your words hitching on every thrust. “Could’ve just- ngh- jerked off like a normal person, Joel- ”

He grabs your thigh and slams into you hard enough to knock the breath out of you. “That's what you want?” he snarls, voice hot and fraying against your cheek. “Want me to shut you up with something down your throat next time?”

You shudder. Cry out. Legs jerking around his waist, holding him in without thinking. But you’re still grinning. Lip split. Teeth glinting. All nerve. “Y-you say that like- fuck- like there’s gonna be a next time.” That gets him. He groans, low and guttural, almost helpless, because you’re squeezing around him now- tight and soaked and fucking taunting him.

You’re breathless. Back arching off the floor. Body bouncing with every thrust- and still, somehow, your mouth won’t quit. “Y-you like this, huh?” you pant, half-laughing, half-moaning. “All that talk and you still can’t stop fucking me- ” Joel growls- deep and vicious- and his hand flies to your throat. Not choking. Just holding, just enough to pin you there, make you look at him.

“You don’t know when to stop,” he mutters, breath ragged. “Goddamn mouth on you…”

His hips grind in deeper, harder, meaner because he's most likely talking about himself when he said you don't know how fo stop. His other hand cups your chest, thumb dragging roughly over your nipple, and you gasp, arching up into it like you can’t help it.

But then you laugh again- wrecked and gleeful and cruel. “This is why you’re mad all the time?” you whisper. “Cause no one lets you fuck the fight outta them?”

That nearly breaks him. His jaw clenches. His thrusts stutter- hips grinding deep, punishing. And when you tilt your chin up like a dare, voice trembling but still sharp, he snaps. “God, you’re a fucking brat,” he growls.

Then he grabs your tits- both, rough and greedy, thumbs flicking over your nipples until your back bows clean off the floor. He pinches- hard- and watches your mouth drop open on a sound you try to swallow. “Uh-uh,” he mutters, dragging one palm up to your throat again, not squeezing, just holding- steady pressure that makes everything tighter, makes you throb. “No shutting up now. You wanted to talk? Talk.”

You whimper. One of those high, broken ones you didn’t mean to let out. He rolls your nipple between two fingers and fucks up into you again- slow this time, deep, cock dragging right over that spot that makes your thighs twitch. You gasp like it’s your first breath in minutes. “Thought so,” he says, low and mean and fucked-out. “All that mouth and now you can’t even finish a sentence.”

You’re blinking up at him, wrecked and twitching, your hands scrabbling uselessly at his wrists, not to stop him- just to touch something. His hands are everywhere- tits, throat, waist, like he can’t pick which part of you he needs to ruin more.

He leans in. Breath hot against your ear. “Look at you,” he mutters. “Fucked dumb already and I’m not even close.”

Then he thrusts, hard- one palm sliding back down to your chest, thumb circling one swollen nipple again just to watch your face twist. You bite your lip. You try so hard to be quiet. But it slips out anyway. The broken, breathy, please- like your body said it before your brain could.

And Joel just grins. Dark and awful and proud. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until his thumb brushes over your nipple again- slow this time, like he’s testing you, watching the way your hips buck just from that. “Sensitive, huh?” he mutters, dragging the pad of his finger over it again. “Figures. Got a mouth like yours, gotta be soft somewhere.”

Your lip trembles. You shake your head, try to glare- but it’s ruined by the way your breath hitches when he pinches.

He watches your reaction, eyes flicking down to your chest like he can’t help it, like it’s the only thing in the room worth looking at. His cock still deep inside you, barely moving, like he’s savoring the way you pulse around him every time he tweaks one of those pretty nipples.

“God, look at ‘em,” he breathes, thumb dragging across again. “Bouncing every time I move. Can’t even touch you without you fuckin’ whimpering.” You grit your teeth. Bite your lip. Anything not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. So he pulls back. Slams in again. You sob. Just a little. “Yeah,” he grits. “Thought so. Not so smart now, huh?” He leans down- licks a stripe up your chest, then bites one nipple, hard enough to make you cry out, back arching straight into his mouth.

Your hands fly to his hair- grabbing, tugging, anything to ground yourself.

Your legs are trembling now, wrapped tight around his hips, your body working against you. You’re close. You can feel it.

And he knows. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, mouth still wet against your skin. “These tits… Christ. Could spend all night right here- just keep you pinned and pretty like this.”

You moan. Loud. Desperate. “Joel- ”

His mouth is still on you- sloppy, greedy, obsessed. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your tits with his tongue, dragging it in circles around your nipple until you’re twitching beneath him. His teeth graze again. Bite. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it. “Fuck,” he mutters, low and guttural, more to himself than you. “Soft little thing. Gonna ruin me.”

You whimper when he licks a stripe back up your breast, mouth settling over your nipple again like he can’t stop. His hand squeezes the other one, big palm rough over your skin, like he wants to know how heavy it feels, how full. “Gonna get even bigger, ain’t they?” he grits, voice hot against your chest. “One day. Round and heavy. Shit- dripping.”

Your whole body jolts. “W-what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps sucking, deeper this time- harder- like he’s trying to coax something from you that’s not even there. Like it’s the end of the world and you’re his only vice left. “Bet you’d be so fuckin’ full,” he breathes, half-mad. “God, just the thought- ”

You whine. Head lolling back. Your thighs twitch, clenching around him without meaning to. “You like that?” he growls, rolling your nipple between two fingers while his cock grinds in deep. “Bet you’d keep me fed, huh? Tits all swollen, dripping warm down my fuckin’ throat…”

Your stomach flips. Heat rolls through your gut like molten honey. “Joel- shit- ”

“Yeah,” he rasps, finally dragging his mouth off your chest just to look at you- really look. “Wanna see you like that. All used up. Full for me. My girl.” You shiver. Clench down on him so tight his jaw locks.

And then he’s slamming back into you like he wants to fuck that whole idea into existence. Anchoring himself, as if he lets go, you’ll disappear. And he can’t have that. Not now. Not when you’re beneath him like this, fucked open and whimpering, tits flushed from his mouth, body made to take him. “Shit- gonna fill you up,” he rasps, voice shredded with heat. “Fuckin’- gonna take it, huh? Gonna keep it?”

You choke on your moan. He doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t even give you time to think. Just keeps rutting into you, filthy and deep, his hips snapping like it’s instinct.

“You don’t even fuckin’ know,” he mutters- half-laugh, half-growl- as he presses you down harder into the floor. “You mouth off and push and act like you don’t need anyone, but this-this is what you’re made for.”

You whimper- legs twitching, heels digging into his back. He grabs your thigh again, pins it open, and spreads you wider.

“Bet you’d be perfect with my kid in you,” he grits. “Fuckin’ perfect. Swollen and sore and full- mine.” Your mouth falls open. No sound comes out just air, broken and helpless, because you feel it now. His weight of him. The size. The claim.

“You feel that?” he pants, grinding in deep, hips flush with yours. “That’s what you get for runnin’ your mouth. You want me this bad? You take it. You fuckin’ take all of it.”

You’re close. So close it aches. But he doesn’t let you tip over. Not yet.

His mouth returns to your chest, tongue dragging across your nipple like he owns it. He groans like a man half-feral. “Gonna watch ‘em get big. Heavy. Gonna fuck you slow when you’re full. Keep you wet all the time so it’s easy to slip in again.”

“Joel- p-please- ”

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is a growl, all pride and possession. “Gonna breed you right. Gonna fill you ‘til it sticks.” And then he fucks up hard, deep enough to bruise, and you break- eyes rolling back, body pulsing around him like your cunt knows exactly what he’s giving it.

He grits out a breath, baring his teeth like he’s proud of what he’s done to you. Like this is what he’s been waiting for. You twitch under him, clinging, whining, and he just smirks. “Yeah,” he mutters against your jaw, voice shredded and dark, “this is how you like it, huh? Can’t even fuck you unless everyone’s asleep- unless it’s fuckin’ nighttime and no one’s watching.”

You whimper, half-gone, still gasping as he grinds in slow, brutal, mean. He chuckles- mean. “Guess that’s when you’re the most behaved, huh? Quiet and needy. All that mouth, but only when the sun’s out.”

You bite your lip. He presses deeper. “Gonna start fuckin’ you every night. Every fuckin’ night I get to watch. When they’re sleepin’. When you’re already soft and tired and so fuckin’ wet for me you can’t talk back.” He drags his palm down your stomach- grips your thigh again, fingers bruising. “Bet you’ll start begging for it. Pretend like you hate it, but you’ll be waiting. Stayin’ up late just to get ruined.”

You’re shaking. Boneless. Fucked half-dumb. But your voice still works- barely. “Y-you always this chatty… after rawdogging someone into the floor?”

Joel just growls- laughs sharp through his teeth- and fucks into you again like punishment. He fucks into you harder- mean now, chest heaving, voice cracked open with heat. “Fuckin’ made for this,” he hisses. “Smart mouth, dumb fuckin’ body.”

You try to answer but can’t- you’re too full, too fucked out, just clinging to his shoulders while your back scrapes against the dirty floor. And he loves that. Loves that you’re quiet now. “So much attitude,” he pants, thrusts getting shorter, sharper, messier. “And for what? Huh? You talk all that shit, and here you are- takin’ me so deep I could fuckin’ mark your stomach.”

He palms it, broad hand splayed low over your belly, like he’s imagining it- imagining leaving something in you. “Bet you’d like that. Keepin’ it in all night. Walkin’ around full of it like it means somethin’.” You whimper. He grunts. “I’ll do it,” he breathes. “Next fuckin’ time. Not pullin’ out. Gonna leave it in make you sleep with it.”

Your body jerks under his, legs locking around his hips, and that does it- he snarls, pulls out fast, and fists himself hard, just once, twice, until he’s spilling across your stomach in hot, messy streaks.

He pants above you, jaw clenched, chest rising like he could still keep going if he wanted to. His cum drips down your skin, sticky and hot, glinting in the low light. And still- still- his voice doesn’t soften. “Next time,” he mutters darkly, thumb dragging through the mess on your belly, smearing it slowly. “You’re gonna keep it.”

You’re still panting when he touches your stomach- fingers dragging through the mess he left there like it means something. Like it should’ve gone deeper. He stares at it for a beat, jaw tight. Then wraps his hand around his cock again, still half-hard and twitching, and starts stroking- slow, rough pulls, using his own cum as slick.

You can feel him watching you. Watching the way you’re still shaking, legs parted, flushed and ruined, and not even trying to hide how much you want more. “Would’ve bred you if I fuckin’ could,” he mutters, voice low and bitter. “Would’ve filled you up for real.”

He sounds angry about it. Not at you- at himself. Like it kills him that he can’t. That's all he can do is make it look like it. And then he’s pushing back in. One filthy, forceful thrust- shoving all that comes back inside you like he’s trying to fake what he can’t have. Like he needs it to look real. Feel real.

You gasp, eyes going wide, body jolting under him. He groans into your neck, hips grinding with each deep, punishing thrust. “You feel that?” he breathes. “Messy and full- like you should’ve been. Like I should’ve done it.”

You whimper. Moan. Your whole body pulses like it believes him. But he just fucks you through it- slower now, meaner, desperate in a different way. Like he’s chasing the illusion of something permanent. Something that might’ve belonged to him, in another life.

You’re both still catching your breath. His cock’s still half-hard inside you, your thighs still trembling, your shirt pushed up and bra hanging off one arm like a war trophy. There’s sweat on your stomach, spit on your tits, and his come smeared in a messy stripe just under your navel like a goddamn signature.

And yet somehow- your brain resurfaces just enough to deliver one extremely cursed, extremely rational thought. “…We should probably find condoms,” you mumble.

Joel lifts his head- barely. Just enough to narrow his eyes at you like you’re the crazy one in this scenario, not the man who just rage-fucked you raw in a building full of sleeping people.

“I mean it,” you say, breath hitching when he shifts slightly, cock twitching inside you. “Like- I don’t think I’m trying to be someone’s mom in the apocalypse.”

He blinks at you. Still panting. Still buried inside. You keep going, because you’re annoying. Because you’re you.

“Couldn’t even get prenatal vitamins. Just a can of expired shits.”

“I’m serious,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through the come on your belly like you’re testing the viscosity of regret. “Next run- we’re raiding the pharmacy.”

Joel drags a hand down his face, mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You tilt your head. “What? You don’t wanna be a daddy again?”

His only response is a grunt- and then he pulls out with a groan, wiping his hand roughly down your stomach like he’s trying to erase the evidence, except all it does is smear it worse. You sigh.

You both lie there for a second. Staring at the ceiling. Panting. Degrading in silence.

Then, finally, Joel mutters: “…We’ll look for condoms.”

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨��𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[andy-15-07]

Hey, can I request Joel Miller x reader where reader is Dina’s older sister (like late 20s). They secretly like each other, nobody knows – Joel doesn’t want to pursue anything because he thinks she’s too young for him, and she thinks he doesn’t really like her. Everything changes when they go on patrol together, she gets him to talk and open up a bit. They come back to Jackson and there’s some party at Tipsy Bison, so they join everyone else. They end up at Joel’s house (smut) and Ellie walks in in the morning, catching them in the act…

What the Morning Brings

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1752| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Most days in Jackson passed with a quiet kind of peace. Your mornings started with coffee on the porch, evenings with a book and maybe a slow walk around the fence line. You’d lived a whole life before this,losses, grief, survival,but Jackson was the closest thing to stability you’d known in years.

And then there was Joel Miller.

Ellie’s pseudo-dad. Grumpy, grizzled, quiet. Rough hands. Warm voice. Eyes that watched too much and gave away too little.

You were Dina’s older sister by seven years,not exactly a kid, but Joel still looked at you like you were one foot in adolescence. He talked to you politely, never too much. Never too close. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t eat at you.

You liked him. A lot. Not just for the obvious reasons,the broad shoulders, the drawl, the way his hands flexed when he fixed a boot or lifted a crate,but for the way he carried everything, like it was his responsibility to hold up the world.

And you hated that he’d never do anything about it.

“Patrol?” you blinked at Maria. “With Joel?”

“Yeah.” She handed you the clipboard. “Ellie’s got a sore ankle, and you’re next on the list. South ridge and back. Shouldn’t take more than half a day.”

You didn’t know whether to groan or thank God. Instead, you just nodded and left to pack your rifle.

The ride was quiet. Typical Joel.

Snow crunched under hooves and the distant mountains glittered with frost. You’d always liked the cold,it made people slow down, made silence feel heavier. More honest.

“You always this chatty?” you finally asked after an hour of walking the fence.

Joel gave a grunt. “Ain’t much to say.”

You cast him a glance. “Bullshit. You’re just good at pretending you don’t have thoughts.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. “You don’t give up, do you?”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Not when I want something.”

He raised a brow. “And what is it you want?”

You hesitated. The question was casual, but your chest felt tight.

“To know why you act like I’m off-limits.”

Joel’s eyes flicked away immediately. “You’re young.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“Still young.”

“And you’re what? Fifty?”

He frowned. “Not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He turned to you, voice low and even. “The point is, I’m not gonna be the guy who messes up a young woman’s life because he’s lonely and wants a warm body in his bed.”

You stopped walking. “Is that what you think this would be?”

He didn’t answer. The snow fell gently between you, and his jaw was clenched tight.

“I’m not some little girl who doesn’t know what she wants,” you continued. “I’ve lived through the same shit you have. Lost people. Survived. Fought. I’m here. I’m whole. And I want you. Not because I’m bored. Not because I need fixing. Because I see you.”

Joel stared at you for a long time, expression unreadable. Then he turned and muttered, “Let’s keep moving. Snow’s picking up.”

You didn’t speak the rest of the patrol. But something was different.

He walked a little closer. He handed you jerky when you stopped to rest. He looked at you like he didn’t know what the hell to do with the way you cracked him open.

By the time you got back to Jackson, the sky was a watercolor of pale oranges and purples. You were chilled, tired, and emotionally drained,but then you saw the warm glow of the Tipsy Bison.

“You going in?” you asked as Joel tied up his horse.

He hesitated. “Maybe for a bit.”

You smiled. “Buy you a drink?”

His brow arched. “You offering?”

You didn’t answer. Just pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The Tipsy Bison was loud. Laughter, music, the clink of glasses. Dina waved from across the room, her hand wrapped around Jesse’s. You nodded at her, then slid onto a stool near the bar, Joel settling beside you like muscle memory.

You bought him a whiskey. He didn’t say thank you, but the nod he gave you felt heavier than words.

Two drinks in, Joel’s shoulders relaxed. Three in, you caught him watching your mouth when you laughed at something someone said. Four in, his knee brushed yours and didn’t move.

“Wanna get outta here?” he asked softly, close to your ear.

Your heart pounded. “Yeah.”

You didn’t talk on the way to his house. The air between you was taut, electric. The moment you stepped inside, Joel barely got the door closed before you grabbed his collar and kissed him.

He responded like a dam breaking.

His hands cupped your face, then your waist, pulling you in like he’d starved for this. He groaned into your mouth, low and needy, like it had been years since he’d touched someone like this. Maybe it had.

You pulled your coat off blindly. He fumbled with the buttons of your flannel. When you reached for his belt, he grabbed your wrist gently.

“You sure?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded. “I’ve wanted this since I first saw you.”

Joel swore under his breath and kissed you again, slower now, like he was savoring the moment.

He picked you up, lips on your neck, and carried you to his bedroom.

Clothes hit the floor. His mouth mapped a trail across your collarbone, your chest, your stomach. He took his time, like he needed to memorize the taste of your skin, the sounds you made when his hands gripped your hips, when his tongue flicked over your nipple, when his mouth dropped between your thighs and stayed there until your legs were shaking and you were moaning his name like it was holy.

“Fuck, Joel,”

“Say it again,” he muttered, mouth hot against your inner thigh.

“Joel,” you whimpered, nails curling into the sheets. “Please.”

He hovered over you then, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry. “Condom’s in the drawer.”

You reached, handed it to him. He rolled it on with shaking hands.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

He paused. Then kissed your cheek, your jaw, the shell of your ear.

“More than okay.”

He slid into you slowly, watching every inch disappear inside you, his breathing ragged.

You gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “Jesus, Joel…”

He didn’t say anything, just rested his forehead against yours and moved,slow, deep thrusts that made your toes curl. His hand slid under your thigh, lifting you for a better angle, and when you clenched around him, he grunted.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he murmured. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

You cupped his face. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He made love to you like it was the only language he knew. No rush. Just raw, burning need wrapped in something tender. Something honest.

You came first, legs trembling. He followed soon after, groaning your name like it was ripped from him.

He collapsed beside you, breathing hard. You turned toward him, chest still heaving.

“Still think I’m too young for you?” you teased softly.

He smiled, real and unguarded. “Still think I don’t like you?”

You grinned and kissed his jaw. “We’re idiots.”

“Big ones,” he agreed.

You curled into his side. His arm wrapped around you.

And then,

The door creaked open.

“Joel? Are you,” Ellie’s voice cut off.

You both froze.

She stared from the doorway, eyes wide and very aware of your very-naked bodies.

“Oh my fucking GOD,”

Joel sat up, yanking a sheet over you both. “Ellie!”

“Jesus Christ,” she gagged, backing up. “Nope. Nope. Nope. I’m erasing this from my brain. Goodbye forever.”

The door slammed shut.

You stared at Joel, wide-eyed. “Well… that’s one way to make it public.”

Joel groaned and flopped back onto the bed. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”

You giggled, unable to help yourself. “At least now she knows I’m not just your ‘young friend.’”

He glanced over, smirking. “She’s gonna kill me.”

“She’ll live.”

Joel reached out, brushing hair from your face. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You kissed his fingertips. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

The next morning, sunlight filtered through thin curtains, painting lazy gold stripes across the rumpled sheets. You blinked awake to the sound of soft footsteps in the hallway,and then a cautious knock.

“Joel? You in there?” Ellie’s voice was muffled but unmistakable.

Joel groaned and threw an arm over his face. “Ugh. Give us a minute?”

You propped yourself on one elbow, sheet wrapped around your chest. “Early bird, huh?”

Ellie’s footsteps paused. “I,look, I’m sorry I,I didn’t mean to barge in last night. I just… I had a nightmare and thought you weren’t here.”

Joel peeled back the sheet just enough to flash his trademark cranky grin. “Scared of the dark?”

Ellie’s head poked through the door. She was wearing Joel’s old flannel,half buttoned, one sleeve hanging off her shoulder. She cleared her throat. “Couldn’t find Dina. Thought I’d check on you.”

You leaned forward and gave her a gentle smile. “Hey pumpkin. I’m fine.”

She hesitated, then hopped onto the edge of the bed, perching awkwardly. “Right. I’m sorry if I made things weird last night.”

You sat up fully, pulling the sheet snugly around you. “Not weird,” you said softly. “Just… not exactly what we had planned.”

Ellie looked sheepish, glancing at Joel. Joel rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled. “Ellie, you know us. We’ll be fine.”

Ellie nodded, eyes darting between you two. “Okay. But, uh… breakfast?” She managed a small smile. “I’m starving.”

You exchanged a grin with Joel. “Sounds perfect,” you said, swinging your legs over the side. “We’ll make pancakes.”

Ellie beamed. “Yes! Pancakes!” She stood, then paused. “So… no one’s gonna talk about last night?”

Joel reached over and ruffled her hair. “Not unless you want to.”

Ellie rolled her eyes but didn’t protest. As you grabbed Joel’s worn T-shirt to throw on, you felt his hand find yours under the sheet. In that simple squeeze, you both knew: whatever awkwardness lingered, it would dissolve over breakfast and laughter,and maybe a playful,just maybe,long nap later.

You caught Ellie’s eye as you headed toward the kitchen. “Don’t tell Dina, okay?”

Ellie laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me… for now.”

And with that, you stepped into the morning light, hand in hand with Joel,no longer hiding, no longer afraid of what people might think. Because here, in Jackson, family meant more than blood. It meant loyalty, love… and sometimes, a very unexpected wake-up call.

[lavieenpasdedeux]

Open Up To Me

Lewis Hamilton x AFAB reader

Summary: You’ve had your fair share of terrible boyfriends in the past, but Lewis was helping you heal. There’s one thing you haven’t worked up the courage to do with him yet though… until tonight 🤭

WC: 2.2k

Contains: age gap implied, comfort, holding hands, nervous reader, gentle lewis, kind of softdom? lewis, oral sex, fingering, mind blowing head basically

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁. ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ :. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ -˚̣⋅ .

The first time you saw Lewis Hamilton in person, he was standing across the room at a charity gala, laughing at a joke. His features were soft and gentle, a genuine smile inviting people in. You knew who he was- how could you not- but despite his fame and glory he was the most down to earth guy in the room, listening intently to everything you said- caring about you.

You never expected him to remember your name, let alone ask for your number.

It’s been four months now. Four months of early morning texts, late-night talks, and weekends that feel like something out of a dream.

He’s older than anyone you’ve ever dated- wiser, quieter and more composed in a way that makes your past relationships pale in comparison. Every day he managed to surpass the bar you had, surprising you and loving you in ways you didn’t think possible. 

At first, you were waiting for him to realise he could do better than you, that he deserved someone as put-together and as uncomplicated as he is. Instead, he listened. He heard your worries and your doubts, comforted you as you confided in him about how your exes made you feel as though you weren’t good enough. He saw your insecurities and he made it his mission to help you love yourself as much as he loved you. 

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me, love.” he once told you as you told him what was on your mind, “I love you as you are. You’re perfect as you are.” he whispered, kissing you softly.

Emotionally healing was easy when he was by your side, but there was something more… sexual you hadn’t quite managed to get over your nervousness for yet.

-

-

At first, Lewis intimidated you. Not from his world titles, the private jets, the sharp suits and worldwide recognition. It was the way he carried it all- the quiet confidence. He could walk into a room and make it feel like everyone else faded into a blur. He never demanded attention, but his air commanded it all the same.

You’d never dated someone like him. Older. Settled. So sure of himself. He was the pure definition of a gentleman. Lewis made eye contact and didn’t look away. He asked questions and waited for the real answers. That was new. Unnerving. Nobody had ever tried to truly get to know you before.

However, this meant he saw right through you- the way you’d pull him back up to kiss you when his kisses wandered too far down your body, how you’d take him into your mouth but not let him repay the favour, how you’d change the subject when he tried to ask you about it.

You shied away from letting him taste you- your insecurities always got the best of you. Sure, you enjoyed the thought of being taken care of like that, but it would have to stay there. In your imagination, where you can’t be disappointed again.

Lewis respected this, he didn’t ever want to push your boundaries too far. Besides, you were both more than happy with your sex life.

Tonight, it was late. Rain drizzled down the windows of his penthouse, city lights casting soft shadows across the hardwood floor. The door closed behind you, the sound muffled by your laughter as Lewis lifted you into his arms. The two of you had been to a rather boring gala that Lewis was forced to attend, so you passed the time in the most fun way possible. Flirting.

His hand on your thigh, stolen glances and light kisses: he knew how to drive you crazy. Whisperings of how beautiful you look and how he can’t wait to take you home were going straight to your core. The way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, like he wanted to devour you was setting your nerves on edge, building you up to now.

He carried the both of you into his bedroom, depositing you on the bed. Placing a quick kiss to your forehead, he turned to stand in front of the mirror, taking his blazer off and pulling his tie from around his neck. You followed suit, kicking off your heels and pulling your hair out of its updo. 

“Babe can you unzip me?” you went to where he stood, hands snaking up to his broad shoulders to push his shirt off.

He smirked, his large hands turning you so your back was to him. You couldn’t help but stare at Lewis through the mirror, watching his concentrated eyes as he pulled the zip of your dress down agonisingly slowly- his fingertips light as they grazed your skin.

He caught your stare and smiled- gentle, loving.

“You okay?” he asked, voice smooth and deep, like he already knew you weren’t.

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?” he smirked, enjoying teasing you.

“You.” your voice was small, the tension shift clouding your senses.

“Yeah? I’ve been thinking about you too, baby. About tasting you.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes shifting from lust to anxiety. You didn’t know how to respond to his boldness. 

Lewis turned to stand in front of you, his hand warm as it slid along your hips- his thumb moving in gentle, absent circles.

“You go quiet when you start doubting,” he murmured, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Don’t hide from me. Tell me what’s holding you back… please.”

You sighed, considering your next words carefully. “I just… I think about it, I think I want it but then it’s like the past comes back to me, you know? Nobody has ever wanted to before, I’m scared I’ll disappoint you, or you’ll think I’m gross or-”

“Baby.” He interrupted your stream of anxiety, his hand coming to brush against your cheek as he met your eyes with affection. “You know I could never think that about you. You will never disappoint me.” he said simply, leaning in- his lips almost touching yours. “And I need you. I love you.”

His mouth met yours before you could answer, and everything else melted away. His kiss was patient, like he had nowhere else to be, like you were all that mattered in the world.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead pressed to his. 

He smiled, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone. “Do you trust me?”

You laughed lightly. “You know I do!” You hid your face in his chest, the honesty and the eye contact overwhelming. “I’m just scared! And you’re scary. You’re so experienced and so confident, it makes me nervous.” you pouted as a joke, trying to brush off your nerves with humour.

He laughed, gently pulling your face off his chest so you were looking at him again. 

“None of that matters. All that matters to me is you. If you’re not ready then that’s okay, baby, but you know…” the smirk returned to his face, his thumb brushing your cheek, “the best way to get over fear is to face it.” he offered, an air of mischief evident in his voice.

His lips met yours, soft and reassuring. With Lewis, the world felt quieter. Softer, and stress free. He always knew the best way to care for you, to dissipate every one of your worries. 

His breath was warm against your jaw as he kissed just beneath your ear, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every inch of you. You were lifted into his arms again- his lips not leaving yours as he laid you on the bed, climbing on top of you.

"Still thinking?" he asked, voice low and teasing- his lips ghosting above yours.

“No.” you said quietly, holding back a grin but barely managing a breath. "Not anymore."

Lewis's hands moved down, tracing the soft curve of your hips before pulling your underwear down and off of you. His fingers grazed the insides of your thighs, the combination of the cool air hitting your cunt and Lewis’ teasing making you gasp. He always touched you like he was learning you for the first time, even after all these nights. Like no matter how well he knew your body, he wanted to know more- what made you gasp, what made you melt, what made you lose the ability to think.

His lips met yours, more passion behind it than before. His fingers left your thigh, the tip of one running through your folds to gather your wetness, his tongue slipping inside your mouth as you moaned at the feeling. 

He began to circle your clit with the pressure and the speed he knew drove you crazy, making you moan into his mouth. He chuckled, moving to kiss your neck as his finger slipped into you. You expected him to do what he usually did, fuck you with his fingers until your legs were shaking. Instead, he brought his finger to his mouth, his eyes locking onto yours as he sucked your wetness from it.

You were shocked, your eyes going wide and your breath hitching in anticipation for his reaction. Your rising fear was cut off by a low groan emerging from Lewis’ throat- his eyes closing in pleasure. 

“I knew you’d taste good, baby, but fuck… you’re divine.” 

His reaction left you speechless, you could think of nothing more to do than pull him into a searing kiss, your hips bucking against him- desperate for some friction. You could feel his smirk against your lip, satisfied by your need for him. He finally plunged two fingers into you, slipping them in easily from your wetness. He began to stroke your g spot- his kisses travelling down to your neck again- but this time, they didn’t stop there. 

His pace sped up, your back arching as his lips touched your collarbone before travelling down to your breast. His kisses were soft, featherlight. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing it. Your skin was on fire, buzzing with anticipation. His lips moved lower, ghosting over your stomach, stopping just before he reached your cunt.

His hands wrapped around your leg, lifting your thigh gently as he settled between them.

"You're so tense, love." he whispered, kissing the soft skin. "Nothing has to happen until you’re ready. Just relax."

He kissed your thigh again, higher up this time, his lips soft and gentle. His eyes met yours from between your legs, but instead of shrinking under his gaze, something in you unfurled. The way Lewis looked at you- it held no judgement or superiority, just pure adoration and care.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, lips brushing over your lower stomach now.

There was no pressure from him, nothing that induced anxiety in you like the men you’d been with before did. 

“Are you sure about this, love?” his eyes held an air of concern, not wanting to coerce you into something you were uncomfortable with. “We can stop whenever you want.”

You were breathless, lust clouding your mind. Lewis had broken down your walls so easily, with such gentleness and care, that it left you desperate for him, for whatever he could give you. 

“Lewis…” you breathed, “I need it…please.”

His lips returned to your thighs, dangerously close to where you needed him. 

“Of course, baby.” he smiled.

His hands moved to grip your thighs, caressing the soft skin as he positioned them over his shoulders- spreading you wider for him.

He placed a slow, lingering kiss at your lower stomach- moving lower and lower until..

Finally, his tongue ran up your opening- tentative and gentle but sending shivers down your spine.

His eyes met yours as he watched for your reaction. He saw your head tipped back in bliss, eyes squeezed shut as your back arched. A long groan of pleasure left your throat, almost sounding like relief as his tongue circled your clit.

Your hips ground onto his face as Lewis increased the pressure of his tongue, his pace speeding up bringing a whine from your throat.

He chuckled, the vibrations going through your core.

“Yeah? You like this, baby?” he had a faint smirk on his face, but pure love in his eyes.

Your hands shot to his head, holding it as your raised your hips again.

“Lewis! Please don’t stop! Please.” you begged, desperation making your voice break.

He smirked again, placing a quick kiss to your clit. “Of course.” He lifted his hand to hold one of yours, resting your interlocked fingers on your stomach. “Whatever you want, love” he whispered, before diving back in, instantly matching the pace he had before.

As he wrapped his lips around your clit and began sucking, his other hand snuck between your legs, a finger slipping inside of you.

A broken moan of euphoria erupted from you. Making Lewis’ lips curl up slightly. A soft sheen of sweat coating your skin as your orgasm crept up on you, Lewis’ tongue working with expertise and precision.

Your grip on his hand tightened as he added a second finger into you, the pace of his tongue remaining powerful and steady. Your thighs tensed, your throat almost sore from the guttural moans of pure ecstasy that never stopped- signifying your orgasm was close.

White clouded your vision, your ears ringing as your legs shook around his head. He continued to lick at your clit, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm. It seemed to go on forever, soaking the soft bedsheets as you chanted his name- the pleasure he was giving you almost overwhelming.

Eventually, you crashed. You practically collapsed onto the bed, panting for breath. You’d never had an orgasm so intense before, and it left you in delirious and exhausted bliss. A huge grin on your face as your eyes drifted shut.

Lewis climbed up to you on the bed, positioning you to rest on his chest, his arms wrapped around you.

“So, you liked that?” he asked you, mirth in his voice.

“Mmm yeah, it was fine.” you joked back, your voice soft with tiredness.

“Fine?!” he exclaimed in mock surprise , “Babe, we need to change these sheets… and get you a towel.”

But, neither of you moved. The rain continued to pour outside, and the two of you laid entwined together. Lewis was your sun, and you knew he’d always be there to prove your doubts wrong. To love you for who you are.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁. ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ :. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ -˚̣⋅ .

A/N

please be nice to me :( this was weirdly hard to write?? i wanted to capture the soft love vibes as best as i could.

i hope y’all enjoyed this!! i might rewrite sometime in the future and try and improve this. i def need to write more for lewis if lh44 has no fans i am dead

[waitforyrlove]

rafe got a little jealous, just a little right?

the music was loud, thick in your chest, and the room was lit up in gold and red like it was trying too hard to be important. you were leaning against the bar, laughing a little too politely at something the guy next to you said — tall, clean cut, some stranger in a button-up who clearly thought he had a shot. he offered to buy you another drink and you nodded, mostly to be nice.

but then you felt it — the shift. that heat crawling up your spine. rafe was watching you.

you looked up and there he was, across the room, eyes locked on yours like he was seconds from losing it. jaw tight. hand clenched around a half-empty glass. he didn’t blink. didn’t move. until he did.

you barely had time to straighten up before he was pushing through the crowd, all quiet fury and sharp edges, his presence swallowing everything around you. he didn’t even glance at the guy. just stepped between you like he belonged there — because to him, he did.

“The fuck’s this?” he asked, voice low but sharp. “you entertainin’ now?”

you blinked, already tense. “Rafe, it’s not—”

he turned to you, that smile on his face — not the good one. not the real one. this one was all teeth and danger. “Nah, it’s cute. didn’t think we were playin’ that game tonight. guess i missed the memo.”

the guy held up his hands, laughing nervously. “Hey, man, relax. i didn’t know—”

Rafe didn’t even look at him. “you do now.”

the guy backed off, and Rafe didn’t say another word until it was just the two of you again. his hand slid down to your waist, possessive, fingers pressing in a little too hard.

“You like the attention that bad?” he asked quietly, leaning in, lips brushing your ear. “you that bored of me already?”

you pulled back slightly, annoyed. “it wasn’t like that.”

“No?” he scoffed, eyes dragging down your face like he was trying to read something underneath it. “he got your number? make you feel special?”

you didn’t answer.

so he grabbed your jaw, not rough, but firm enough to keep your eyes on his.

“Look at me,” he said, voice flat. “i don’t give a shit who talks to you. they don’t touch you. they don’t want you. you understand?”

you nodded, just barely.

his lips brushed your cheek, slow and mocking. “Good. ‘cause next time he even tries? i’m not talkin’. i’m breakin’ something.”

and then, like nothing happened, he smiled. that soft, dangerous, rafe smile. the kind that meant it was over — until it wasn’t. his arm wrapped around your waist, and he guided you through the crowd like he hadn’t just threatened someone for breathing too close.

like you were his.

because in his head, you always had been.

© waitforyrlove. all rights deserved. do not copy my works. or modify my work.

taglist: @fawnquette @et6rnalsun @mattscoquette @mattslolita @flouvela @bella-loveschris @lovingregulusblack @sarosfilms @annsx03 @eliana-4200 @wakeupitschrizz @emely9274 @sturniolossss @sturnslutz @sturnlsstuff @sweetcowboycollection @sturnioloangell @xoxoshanelle-blog @marrykisskilled @wastelandzella @inspiredangel

˙ . ꒷ 🪽 notes from author ˙— have a good night everyone.

[mooningningg]

Notes, my brain is just filled with roommate sukuna ughh.

★ Roommate!Sukuna who can't keep his hands to himself.

You're not dating.

You're not dating.

You’ve said it so many times that even you are starting to tilt your head and wonder if you’re lying.

Because roommates don’t do… this.

Roommates don’t slap your ass in the middle of the kitchen just because you’re in his way grabbing a spoon.

“‘Scuse me, princess,” Sukuna says behind you as his palm cracks across the fabric of your shorts. You yelp. He smirks, crowding close as he opens the cabinet over your shoulder like you’re not even there.

You try to glare up at him. “You could’ve just said ‘move.’”

“I did. With action.”

Roommates don’t randomly walk past the couch where you’re sitting with your friends, loop an arm around your waist, tug you back into his chest and ask casually, “Hey, you see my black hoodie?”

The one you're wearing? Yeah. That one.

“Right here,” he grunts, fingers slipping under the hem like he’s about to yank it off. You have to slap his hand and shoot him a don’t you dare face before he finally backs off, grinning like the devil.

Your friends stare.

You clear your throat. “Don’t mind him.”

They exchange looks.

Later, one of them corners you while you’re pouring drinks. “So like… what are you guys?”

You freeze. “What do you mean?”

“Come on,” they whisper, eyes wide. “He literally grabbed your waist like you were property and then sniffed your neck.”

You blink. “Oh. Yeah, he does that.”

“So…?”

You hesitate. Smile a little. “Roommates…?”

They stare at you like you’ve grown a second head.

He’s touchy like it’s built into him. A hand on your hip when you’re both brushing teeth. Shoulder pressing into yours when you’re walking down the hall. Sprawled out across the couch and dragging you onto his lap like it’s nothing, arms slung lazily around your waist while you whine that there’s “literally a whole other cushion.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles into your neck, “but that one doesn’t have you on it.”

If you try to move, he holds tighter. Not in a you can’t escape way, but in a try and see what happens way.

He’s never pushed your boundaries. You know that. If you ever actually told him to stop, he would — not without a muttered insult like “boring ass”, but he’d stop. And you haven’t. Because, well… have you seen the man?

Shirt always missing. Tattoos crawling up his arms and across his chest like they were painted on by sin itself. Low voice, low eyes, smirk that could probably be outlawed in 43 states.

Yeah. You’re not exactly complaining.

When you're sick, he's a different kind of annoying. Tells you not to breathe on him and then lays right next to you. Feeds you soup and talks shit the whole time.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.”

He scoops more broth into your mouth. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

You’re falling asleep to his hand absently rubbing circles into your hip. You should ask him to move. You don’t.

When you’re dressed up for a night out, he stares too long. Calls you a brat, tells you not to get kidnapped, then kisses your temple on the way out like that’s normal.

Sometimes when you get back, tipsy and laughing, he’s still awake.

Still touchy.

“You have fun?” he’ll say, cornering you in the kitchen again, his palm sliding across your lower back as he traps you near the fridge. “Didn’t let anyone else touch you like this, right?”

You never answer. Not with words.

You call him an ass.

He calls you worse.

But when you fall asleep with your head on his shoulder during a movie, he doesn’t move a muscle. Just watches the screen like it’s no big deal while his hand drapes around your thigh like it’s his.

You’ve been just roommates for eight months.

You don’t know how much longer you can pretend.

And you’re starting to think?

He’s not pretending at all.

[maugustiee]

somebody else pt 2 where reader/marie gets her lick back on smoke.

“You Missed Me, Right?”

Smoke (Elijah) x black!reader

Elijah had been gone three days.

Just three.

But to Marie, it felt like three weeks. The silence in the condo felt wrong without his presence behind her when she cooked, the way his eyes followed her all the time.

But more than anything… she was bored.

Too put up. To obedient. And it’s summer? Oh she was gonna do something tonight.

So when Camryn texted“club diamond letting females in free before 11.” Marie slid on her dress and heels like muscle memory.

She didn’t ask permission. Didn’t even think about it like that. Elijah wasn’t her father. He wasn’t her keeper. Just her man.

A controlling, possessive, not-a-fan-of-her-being-out-past-midnight kind of man.

But he was out of town. Handling business. And she was in a black V-neckline that dipped low showing cleavage, dress with lip gloss that shined every time she smiled.

And to top it off with her diamond necklace that read “Elijah”

No, she looked dangerous.

⸻

The club was packed. bodies swaying under lights, the bass thumping hard. She danced with Camryn. Laughed.But when the DJ dropped “freak hoe”.

Oh the liquor kicked in real quick.

Hands on her knees, back arched,and ass moving wild.

She knew people were watching. Didn’t care. That was the point. To feel seen. Free. She wasn’t doing anything wrong… just dancing.

She wasn’t anybody’s property.

That’s what she told herself.

Until 2:14 a.m. when her phone lit up.

Elijah: You having fun?

She sipped her martini rolling her eyes.

She didn’t respond right away. She stepped outside with Camryn, pretending she needed air.

Marie:

How do you know where I’m at?

The three dots started typing, then stopped.

Her phone rang.

She didn’t answer.

⸻

He didn’t text again that night.

Didn’t call.

When she got home, she slept like a baby. She wasn’t even worried about Elijah Moore coming home.

But she knew he would be soon.

And when he came back.

Elijah didn’t yell. Didn’t throw things. He punished with distance. With a cold stare and a tighter grip.

So when he finally walked through the front door the next evening, Marie was ready.

He set his suitcase down without speaking. His eyes flicked over her once, unreadable, and he headed straight for the kitchen.

Marie followed.

“You want something to eat?” she offered, pretending to be casual, softening her voice.

He didn’t answer.

Just poured himself a glass of sweet tea.

The silence stretched.

“How long you think you can ignore me Elijah.”

He finally looked at her.

And that was worse than anything he could’ve said.

Like he was studying her. Planning something.

“Say whatever you need to say,” she pushed. “Get it off your chest.”

Elias took a sip of his drink.

Then he walked past her.

No explosion. No confrontation.

Just… dismissal.

And that?

That pissed her off.

“You just gonna ignore me now?”

He paused at the hallway, glancing over his shoulder. “You do what you want, I’m just doing the same.”

Marie scoffed, walking after him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Elias turned slowly, calmly. “It means I give you space, and you forget who you are to me.”

His voice was low. Measured. Deadly calm.

“You not mad that I went out. You mad cause I didn’t ask.”

He didn’t respond.

“You think cause you pay bills and take care of me, you get to control everything I do?”

Elias stepped forward, towering over her.

He didn’t yell.

Didn’t push.

Just made the floor feel like it shifted under her feet.

But she wasn’t about to cave and be the weaker link tonight.

She reached up, slid her hands up his chest slowly, her voice softer now.

“You missed me, didn’t you?”

Elias stared at her. Said nothing.

So she pushed higher pressed her lips to his jaw.

“I looked real good in that dress, didn’t I?”

No answer.

Her hand slid lower, palming him through his slacks. His jaw clenched.

“You could’ve said something,” she whispered. “But you’d rather ignore me and make say sorry.”

She pulled back, looking him in the eyes. “But I’m not sorry.”

She turned, walking to their room, grabbing his hand leading him.

Elias followed, wordless.

She laid him down crawling on top of him.

“I’ve been real patient, you know,” she said, between kisses. “Real soft. Real sweet.”

She leaned down, grinding against him in just the right rhythm, slow and deep enough to draw out his low groan.

“But sometimes,” she whispered in his ear, “you forget who keep you calm and collected.” She unzipped his slacks.

She sank down on him in one slow motion, locking her gaze with his.

Elias’s fingers curled into the sheets.

Still silent.

Good.

Marie rolled her hips again, rising and falling with steady rhythm. She didn’t rush. She watched him unravel bit by bit under her pace, until he broke and grabbed her hips hard, like he couldn’t help it anymore.

she moaned, low and smug.

Elijah growled under his breath, but she only smirked.

“Uh uh. Don’t touch me Elijah.”

And to her surprise he obeyed.

She rode him slower then, deeper. Letting him feel every inch, every shiver of pleasure she gave herself on top of him. And when her thighs started to shake and her body clenched, she pulled him in and whispered:

“You gon let me do what I want?”

Her voice caught in a whimper as she came, dragging him over the edge with her.

And Elijah?

He nodded, eyes locked on her like she’d just ruined him and he liked it.

[rafesyangel]

Spanking with bratty reader!

It started over something so small at least to rafe , That new designer purse you needed sat behind glass at the boutique, and Rafe usual stoic, grumpy, self walked right past it like it didn’t even exist

You stomped through the house like a storm in pink kitten heels, mascara smudged slightly and lips pouty
“You never get me anything! I asked for that bag once you’re so fucking cheap, Rafe!”

You begged. You whined. And when he told you,for the millionth time this day , “You don’t need that shit,” you exploded again

“Oh my God, you’re such a bitch, Rafe. You never give me what I want!” You screamed at him from across the room

He paused, Real slow,

Just stood there, unbothered at first like he didn’t even hear it.

But his fingers twitched at his side like the calm before the storm

“I said calm down” he still was somewhat calm

“Stop with this fuckin-“

“Say that again?” His voice was low Dead serious now

But You, like the spoiled brat you were, rolled your eyes and said it again. “You’re a bitch. A boring, cheap, slef conscious bitch—”

You didn’t even finish the word this time

Next thing you knew, you were over his knee on the big leather armchair, your legs kicking like a tantruming doll, Your little shorts were yanked down, panties bunched at your knees. His big, warm palm came down hard on your ass

SMACK

He was already unbuckling his belt, heavy jaw tight, muscles flexing beneath his shirt “What did you say again?”

You tried to run but He caught you in two steps, dragging you over his lap like you weighed nothing again

“Talkin’ to me like I’m some wallet for you to scream at?” He barked at you

Crack

His palm hit first again, You squealed under him

You yelped a mix from pain and pleasure “Rafe..!”

He answered with another,Then another.

“Keep talkin’, brat,” he muttered, voice sharp but quiet, as if he was more disappointed than mad. Which somehow made it worse “Calling me all kind names now?”

His next hit landed straight on your pussy , right at the center, that madd you mewl under his palm

You gasped, grabbing at the armrest. “Owwww—I was kidding..pleasepleaseplease..stop” you kept squirming and mewling trying to get away from his iron grip on you

He didn’t stop. “No” spanking your pussy more harder now

“You weren’t.You’re spoiled, You don’t think ‘no’ was enough.”

You sniffled, voice hitching, cheeks burning with more than just the spanking, “ but I wanted it—!”

“You wanted it?” He asked voice clearly mocking you
“You don’t need anything but discipline, baby.”

Next thing you know, you were being dragged to the bed, he pinned you down there and kept going, hand altering between your pussy and ass

The sound filled the room, right along with your whines and sobs

"Rafey…pleaseeee”

CRACK

"Try again.”

“Nooooo”

Crack

“Say it” He kept going this time now his fingers were playing with your entrance

“Say it princess ”

You finally cracked, legs trembling, face soaked with tears, your voice small and wrecked.

“I’m sorry, Dad…I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean it…please”

And just like that the dam bursted you knew he had his way with you , even when you kept crying for the next hour on his lap while he was trying to calm down he even brought you his favorite plushie

He still got you that bag at the end

[elowmojo]

- 10 JUNE 1985 -

It was a beautiful day, I'm alone in my room, pacing back and forth, not really sure what to do. I'd dumped Lucas for the 20th time, Dustin was at his “nerd” camp, and El and Mike were too busy kissing to give me any of their time. I didn't feel like playing third wheel… All I wanted to do was go to the movie theater to see this new film that had come out a few weeks ago. But I have no one to go with and, more importantly, no one to take me there. And there is no way to ask Billy to do me that favor— I already know what his answer would be… I can't wait for this new Mall to open. I heard there's going to be a movie theater inside! I'll still give it a shot and ask my mom if she can take me there, but she works so much that I hardly ever see her. - That's what I thought… I'm going to spend hours bored again. ARG!

- 11 JUNE 1985 -

I tried my luck again, but then another thunderclap rang out in the house. Billy had the misfortune of being in the kitchen when I asked my mother to take me to the movie theater, and of course his father was there… And he forced him to play chauffeur. I didn't even dare look at him, but I could feel his icy stare freezing me in my tracks. Billy got angry because, obviously, he had other plans, another date I guess. I'm yet another burden for him… If that stupid movie theater wasn't so far away, I would have figured out a way to get there on my skateboard. It would have spared us another family “drama.” Car ride will still be a real treat, I can't wait :) Okay, I'm being a bit harsh… Even though Billy was still a jerk, he was less of a jerk than he used to be. We'll see what happens. I'm finally going to see The Goonies!!!!!

- 11 JUNE 1985 -

Okay… I've had a really strange day. The movie was cool. It felt like watching our gang, but in the movie, instead of fighting monsters, they had to find some kind of treasure. But I digress. I thought Billy would just drop me off and leave, like he usually does. I was waiting in line to buy my ticket, then Billy stood next to me in line. He even came to see the movie with me. It was really weird, okay, because of me his plans had changed, but nothing was stopping him from going to his date during the movie. It was strange because I really enjoyed the moment despite everything. Well, he didn't stop complaining and making comments throughout the movie, but it made me laugh. Especially when he shouted “Here comes the potato!” every time Sinok appeared on screen. He probably wanted to sabotage my session, but he failed. The only person whose session he sabotaged was Erica Sinclair, who kept turning around to tell him to shut up, Billy just threw popcorns at her face and called her a shrimp. She was really furious! I know someone who's going to have to put up with her anger tonight. I never thought I'd write such things, but it was really cool. I spent à good day. It was one of the rare times I got to have some “fun” with him, without us insulting each other or hating each other. I even felt like we were like real brother and sister. It was a pretty nice feeling. Even though I know it's only temporary… Everything went back to normal once I got home. But hey, at least I had a good day. I hope there will be more like that.

[ Sorry if it's not good, I'm pretty bad at writing and my english is really chaotic, but I loved this idea of Max diary journal to share some happy, or bad moment with Billy, cuz I really love them together T_T ]

[edawgz]

ᝰ.ᐟ saturdays in september

| pre-outbreak! joel miller x reader. ~1k words. fluff, domestic.

masterlist. | oneshot masterlist.

You don’t wake up to an alarm for once, at least not today. You woke up to just the warm sunlight that was peeking through the blinds, painting faint golden lines across the cotton sheets tangled around your legs. The clock says 8:47, and for once, it feels like permission instead of guilt. No errands, no calls, no school lunch to pack, and no bosses to answer to.

Just a Saturday still in early September, when Texas is trying to remember what fall feels like.

And Joel -- still here.

You feel him before you open your eyes. One heavy arm flung over your waist, his chest warm and pressed against your back, with his breath soft and steady at your shoulder. You shift a little and hear a half-asleep grumble in your ear, gravelly and low, and then his hand flexes at your stomach, pulling you closer like you’re some part of a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

“Mornin’,” he rasps, his voice thick with sleep.

“Barely,” you mumble, eyes still closed, cheek buried in your pillow.

“You movin’ already?” he asks, not accusatory, it was more like he’s genuinely wondering why you’d ever get up when this exists.

“Not really,” you say, “Just thinking.”

He kisses the back of your neck, barely a brush of lips, but it makes your whole body go still for a moment. Joel doesn’t say a lot in the morning (he’s not a man of many words anyway), but that kiss says I’m here. Says You’re safe. Says I ain’t goin’ anywhere.

You sigh, finally turning toward him, and he adjusts easily to let you bury your face in the crook of his neck, one hand smoothing over your back like muscle memory.

“How long until Sarah wakes up?” you ask, voice muffled.

He huffs a small laugh into your hair, “She’ll probably smell the coffee before we even make it.”

You smile, and for a while you just lie there like that. The house was quiet except for the ceiling fan and the occasional creak of settling wood. Joel’s fingers drew lazy shapes on your back as your breath synced to his without meaning to.

This life is… simple, but good. Built one brick at a time.

It didn’t start with fireworks. Joel wasn’t the kind of man who exploded into your life with charm and grandeur. He was quieter. Showed up to help you fix a broken door, then he made sure he brought you extra screws and said “Keep ’em” like it wasn’t a big deal, only to come back the next day to check if it was still holding.

You didn’t even realize you were falling for him until you were sitting across from him on the floor of your living room, eating takeout from plastic containers, watching him listen so carefully to the things you said, it was like none of it bored him, like you made his world a little bigger instead of smaller.

And now he’s in your place for every weekend and every quiet morning. Folding himself into your life like he’s always been meant to be here. Sarah too. You adore the girl, hence why you set up a space for her in your small house so it felt more like a home. This was exactly why she insisted on coming over with her dad last night -- that, and the fact that free food was offered.

Eventually, you shift again. “C’mon. We should make breakfast.”

He groans like you’ve just asked him to chop wood in the middle of July. “Thought you said we weren’t movin’.”

“I said I wasn’t moving. You’re the one who keeps squirming.”

He smirks, eyes still half-lidded, and you regret that immediately because now he’s fully awake, pulling you back down as you try to sit up.

“You gonna make me pancakes again?” he murmurs, one hand finding your hip.

“Only if you make coffee.”

“I always make coffee.”

“That’s because you’re better at it than I am.”

“And you’re better at pancakes.”

There’s a short beat where you just stare at each other, both smiling now, and you realize that.. God, this is it. This is the dream, the thing you thought only lived in other people’s stories. Not just love, but ease, trust, and a morning where no part of you is braced for the fall.

You tap his chest with a finger. “Up, Miller.”

He groans again, but sits up with his hair mussed, voice scratchy, and shirt wrinkled. Regardless, he follows you into the kitchen with the kind of quiet devotion that doesn’t need to be named.

Joel’s hands are steady as he works the coffee maker, moving around your little kitchen like he’s memorized it, which he has. One cupboard creaks and he fixes it without being asked, muttering something about hinges and oil. You’re at the stove, making a mess of flour and eggs, pretending you know what you’re doing while he sneaks chocolate chips into the pancake batter behind your back.

“Don’t think I don’t see that,” you call over your shoulder.

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

By the time Sarah shuffles in, hair a mess and eyes still squinty, the table’s already halfway set. She climbs into a chair with a yawn and mumbles something that sounds like “Is that bacon?”

Joel ruffles her hair and kisses the top of her head. “Sure is, kiddo.”

And something about watching him move around your kitchen with his daughter, watching the way he fills this space, not like a guest, but like someone who wants to make it better? Well, it does something to your chest. Something warm and deep and certain.

Later, after breakfast, when Sarah’s settled in front of the TV and the dishes are done, Joel leans against the counter beside you, arms folded. He looks at you like he’s thinking something he isn’t quite ready to say out loud.

You nudge him with your hip. “What?”

He shrugs, eyes on the window. “Nothin’. Just… like this. All of it. It’s good.”

You reach for his hand, fingers slipping between his easily. “Yeah. It is.”

And you stand there like that for a long while, simply watching the sunlight stretch across the floor, listening to Sarah’s laughter from the next room, and holding on to the kind of peace you didn’t know was possible.

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

JEALOUS BOY

I can't stop writing for him these days hah. Tagging @shintaru @hyukwwn @zyart-jpg @sylith dividers cred: @enchanthings

AN: I don't really like what I write recently but, well, still writing during these times can be helpful for writer's block, right?

You didn't even do anything. It was just a stupid game.

A game called Truth or Dare. You were just with your friends — Hyuk was there too. Y'all had bit of alcohol, dancing, singing but got bored of it too quickly.

"Why not play a game? Truth or Dare maybe?"

You remember your friend offering the idea — it was sweet, innocent idea purely for entertainment purposes.

Until it escalated. Maybe the alcohol kicked, maybe they were just joking — you hope they were — when they dared you to kiss your friend, knowing damn well Hyuk was there too.

Obviously you refused, but the very guy who you were dared to kiss had audacity to kiss you on the cheek.

Yeah, everyone just laughed at that time, except Hyuk and you—especially Hyuk. Throughout the entire party, he was so tense, his mood completely ruined.

And that's how you ended up in this situation, at your home, staring at Hyuk from another room.

He was silent, way too silent. Just scrolling through social media — not distant but just...closed off. His eyes were just glued on his phone even though he was just scrolling through your Instagram page, he hasn't even glanced at the banana you gave him earlier.

With a sigh, you gathered courage to talk to him. It's not like he was scary, it's just strange to talk to him now, you're not used to seeing him upset or jealous — it's rare sight to behold.

"Hyuk." You called him, taking steps towards him. He just glanced at you, his cheek getting squished by the pillow.

Without saying anything else, you plopped on top of him. He didn't resist, but let out a deep sigh instead.

"I'm sorryy." You apologized, for second time already. "About earlier...I'm surprised he did that too. I guess he was drunk and thought since it's a game—"

"Bullshit." He cut you off, his voice firm and unyielding. "At the last party, he had strong alcohol tolerance enough to drink 30 glass of wine, but now you're telling me he got that drunk with just one glass he's been sipping entire time?"

He wasn't jealous, not really — okey, maybe a little, but it was just bothering him how you had no problem being friends with a guy who clearly likes you.

You spoke up again. "So you're saying he did that on purpose?"

"Pretty much, yeah." He huffed, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

The realization coloured your expression — realization that he wasn't just jealous, but upset. Maybe even feeling kind of betrayed.

To be honest with yourself, you aren't exactly the type who's good with words either — pretty much like him. But even so, that didn't stop you from suddenly kissing his cheek.

He was caught off guard and before he could even say anything, you kissed his nose next, then his other cheek.

"What are you doing?" He asks as you kissed his forehead.

"Making it up to you." You answered.

His lip twitched slightly upwards. "You think that's enough?" He questioned you, raising his eyebrow slightly, his muscles much more relaxed now.

"Then how do you want me—"

You couldn't even finish your sentence when he crashed his lips to yours. His kiss was intense, as if he was trying to claim what was rightfully his, leaving you breathless in the process.

His hand cupped your cheek, his right hand resting on the small of your waist. You almost let out a moan, wanting to back away and inhale air already but he didn't let you, instead he kissed you further.

The intensity of this almost made you dizzy but for a moment, it felt like his lips were addictive, stronger than the scream of your lungs.

When he finally pulled away, letting you catch your breath, you couldn't even process when the kiss ended, as if all you senses were messed up due to sudden rush of oxytocin.

You fluttered your eyes open, met by his dark eyes that reflected your face. Though not deeply visible, his cheeks were flushed pink and his breath — messy.

"Just..." He spoke up. "Don't continue talking to him."

"I won't. I'll block him too." You promised and left small peck on his lips.

His lips stretched in genuine smile — finally. Finally he wouldn't get to see that asshole anywhere near you again, he wouldn't have to get territorial over you every single time you met up with your friends just because he was here. But what made him happiest is he got you all for himself once again. And there was no better feeling than that.

"I love you." He suddenly said, his left hand now pushing the strands of your hair behind your hair.

"I love you too, dummy." You declared, lowering your head to his chest, resting your cheek right where his heart is. His heartbeat was fast and bit messy, it was almost chucklesome. He had his cute side, after all.

You passed remaining hours resting on his chest, even though he fell asleep himself. At least he wasn't upset now, nor jealous or tense. Just safe and relaxed. And you swore you wouldn't make him upset ever again.

[airybcby]

જ⁀✦ just to sit outside your door

( oliver aiku x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — I REVIVED THE LOST OLIVER FIC!!

♡ word count — 1.5k

♡ content — oliver aiku x fem! reader, nicknames 'angel' and 'princess' , roommate! oliver, playboy! oliver, mutual pining, mention of drinking & clubs ( not explicit ), i really dont know what else, not proofread!!

♡ synopsis — mints and closed doors. that's what separated you and oliver aiku from being a couple. well, that and the fact you two swear there's nothing going on.

── .✦ i slithered here from eden, just to sit outside your door

The hallway always smelled like cologne and someone else's perfume. You could tell if she wore floral or fruity before you even turned the key. 

Tonight, it was jasmine and vanilla, and the second you stepped inside, you spotted stilettos tossed carelessly by the door.

"You're an angel, you know that?" Oliver's voice rang out from the couch.

He was lounging like a king, shirt half-unbuttoned, lips slightly swollen, hair messed in a way that said he didn't care enough to fix it—but still looked unfairly good. 

There was a glint in his eye, casual and amused, like he already knew you’d brought the mints again.

You held up the fresh pack and dropped them on the console. "You're a menace."

He gave a half-smile, tossing a lazy glance over his shoulder. "You love me."

You didn't answer. You just walked past him, caught a glimpse of a red bra hanging off the back of the couch, and sighed.

Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you a second later.

It wasn’t always like this. 

When you first moved in, you thought the roommate thing might be a disaster. Oliver was… well, Oliver. 

Star athlete. Incorrigible flirt. The kind of guy who flirted with bartenders, professors...

and probably someone’s grandmother if he was bored enough.

But you two clicked.

Fast.

You had the same favorite ramen spot. You both hated doing dishes. 

You shared late-night ramen on the floor when the fridge broke, binge-watched entire series in one weekend, and somehow, somewhere along the way, your routines became entwined. 

You didn’t mean to get this close.

But now?

Now you were his best friend.

And he was yours.

Even if your parents didn’t believe you. 

Even if his teammates kept raising eyebrows every time they caught you two curled up on the couch together.

Even if you had to answer the same questions over and over:

“No, we’re not dating.”

“He’s like my brother. Except less annoying.”

“Yeah, we cuddle. It’s not weird.”

It was domestic. It was comfortable. It was safe.

But it was also dangerous, in a way you didn’t let yourself think about too often.

The first time someone caught you dancing together, it was slow.

You were at a team party, someone’s birthday. Music was low, drinks were flowing, and the lights were warm and golden. 

You were leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping something sugary, when Oliver appeared in front of you, hand extended.

“Dance with me,” he said simply.

You laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stalling.”

He didn’t wait for your answer. He just tugged you into the center of the room where the couples had started swaying. 

You let him. Of course you did. 

How could you say no when he looked at you like that?

His hand settled on your waist. Yours looped around his neck. 

Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, as they always did. 

The music was slow, but your heart was racing.

You tilted your head up to look at him. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

You scoffed, tried to look away, but he leaned closer. You felt his breath on your cheek.

“I like this,” he said softly.

You pretended not to hear him.

Later, the music picked up. Someone cranked the volume. 

The beat dropped, and suddenly the living room turned into a makeshift dance floor. Your drink was cold in your hand, and your body was warm from the wine and the way Oliver’s hand slid around your waist like it belonged there.

He pulled you into him, moving in sync with the music. You danced like you’d done it a thousand times. Like you knew each other’s rhythms.

 Every touch was casual—except it wasn’t. Every brush of his fingers felt electric.

At some point, someone shouted over the music:

“Just kiss already!”

You and Oliver burst out laughing.

You didn’t kiss.

You went home together.

And, like always, you said goodnight.

And, like always, your doors shut behind you.

The date was your friend’s idea.

“You need to get out,” she said. “With someone who doesn’t leave bras on your couch.”

You rolled your eyes but agreed. The guy was nice. He wore cologne that wasn’t too strong. He had a nice smile.

But he wasn’t funny like Oliver. He didn’t know how to tease you without making you feel small. His laugh didn’t echo in your chest. His eyes didn’t make you forget what you were saying.

You picked at your food. Smiled when you were supposed to. But all you could think was:

He’s not him.

Oliver was at a club.

Loud. Crowded. Familiar. But something was off.

He leaned against the bar, drink untouched in his hand, staring out at the dance floor.

Someone touched his shoulder. “You look lonely, Aiku.”

He forced a smirk. “Just tired.”

A girl leaned in. Her perfume was heavy. Sweet. She touched his arm.

“Dance with me?”

He hesitated. Looked down at his phone.

No new messages.

Just a blank screen.

“I should go,” he said, more to himself than to her.

And he did.

He got home just before midnight. The apartment was too quiet without you. He paced for a bit. Changed into sweats. Brushed his teeth.

And then he heard the key.

He stood there as you opened the door, still in your dress, shoes in your hand. You looked surprised to see him standing so close. Neither of you spoke.

Then—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t rough. It was honest.

You dropped your heels with a soft thud and gripped the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him closer. The world narrowed to the feel of his lips, the way his hands cradled your face like you were something precious.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together.

Breathing heavy. Eyes locked.

“…Hi.”

He chuckled, lips brushing against yours. “Hey.”

You didn’t laugh this time. Neither of you did.

Because something had changed.

Something had always been there.

And now it was real.

You stood there with his forehead against yours, breathing in the same air, heart racing in your chest. His hands were still on your face, his thumb brushing your cheek like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Then—like someone flipped a switch—he took a step back. Scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m gonna, uh… brush my teeth again. You still smell like that overpriced wine you love.”

You blinked. “And you still smell like desperation and club sweat.”

He grinned. There it was—his usual defense: banter.

“Nice to know I’ve still got it.”

“Goodnight, Oliver.”

“Night, princess.”

And just like that, the hallway was empty again. 

Two doors closed. 

One kiss hanging in the space between.

You didn’t sleep.

You tried. 

You lay there with the blanket kicked off, staring at the ceiling, arms folded across your chest like if you stayed still enough, your brain would follow.

It didn’t.

Because—holy sh*t. He kissed you. And you let him. You kissed him back. It wasn’t a maybe. It wasn’t a "what if."

It happened.

You sat up in bed, eyes wide in the dark.

“Did I actually…?”

You buried your face in your hands.

Oh my god. He kissed me. I kissed him. Oliver kissed me.

You got up.

His door opened before you knocked.

He looked like he’d been pacing. No shirt, just sweats slung low on his hips. His hair was all over the place. And he definitely hadn’t brushed his teeth again.

You stared at him.

“Were you waiting for me?”

He scoffed. “What? No. I just—heard your meltdown through the wall.”

Your stomach dropped. “You heard that?”

He smirked, leaning on the doorframe. “Word for word.”

You shoved past him into his room. “Okay. No. We’re talking about this.”

He closed the door behind you. “Didn’t know we needed to. You kissed me back.”

Your head whipped around. “You kissed me first!”

“Yeah, and you didn’t seem mad about it.”

He sat on the edge of his bed, arms braced behind him. “You wanna talk, let’s talk. Just don’t act like I ambushed you.”

You folded your arms. “So that’s what it was? Just... a heat of the moment thing?”

His eyes met yours, and for once, he didn’t deflect. Didn’t crack a joke. He just shrugged, almost tired.

“No. It was a ‘you walked in, and I realized I didn’t wanna keep pretending I don’t want you’ thing.”

You went still.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this is. I just know I missed you tonight. And not in the roommate way. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when you got home, I didn’t think. I just… yeah.”

Silence settled between you. Not heavy. Just real.

“…Okay,” you finally said.

He blinked. “Okay?”

You took a breath. “So what now?”

He gave a half-laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. You tell me. I’ve never done this before. 

You know—wanting to be with someone and not immediately screwing it up.”

You walked over, standing between his knees. His hands naturally found your hips, and your fingers rested at the nape of his neck.

“Then let’s figure it out,” you said.

He looked up at you, smirked softly.

“So… are you gonna sleep in your room or mine tonight?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning, Aiku.”

“I’ll leave the door open.”

this came to me in a dream (jk i was just thinking abt him)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

✦ tags ✦ @irethepotato ✦ @kiyy0mei ✦ @x3nafix ✦ @sugacor3 ✦ @ohagiyoo ✦ @virgothesimp ✦ @werfiedeii ✦ @chiieni ✦ @syleepy ✦ @academiq ✦ @peachysaki116 ✦ @manjirosanosgirlfriend ✦ @anqelkoz ✦ @silverwings920 ✦ @nishinoyaismycutie ✦ @sunathetuna ✦ @alexiaray ✦ @megumismyhusband ✦ @yutamy1beloved ✦ @luvlynabi ✦ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[fookinfandoms]

Let’s Be Pals

one-shot(?)

Sir Jimmy Crystal x Reader

summary: You left Holy Island with your nephew Spike, not wanting him to be on the mainland on his own. With your sister now gone, he’s the only family you have left, that is until you come across a tiara wearing stranger.

a/n: Obviously ‘you’ as the reader are Scottish, given where we are in the film. This was just a random little thing I thought about and decided to write. I will sooooo delete this if his character ends up being incredibly irredeemable. Also in true me fashion, watch me turn this into a part one and part two. And the fact I’m writing something for this mf before Remmick, lord.

Not edited.

warnings: canon-typical violence (infected), blood, coarse language.

please let me know what you think! unless it’s to be mean, then die. likes and comments mean the world!

“Why did you stay with me?”

His voice is soft, surprising you yet again. Spike had been quiet for a few hours now, the young man still wondering over whether or not his decision to stay on the mainland was the right choice.

You turn to look at him, your eyebrow raised. “Hm?” The two of you had found a spot on the side of a decaying road, cooking a fish over a fire. “What’ya mean?”

He prods the fish with a stick again, turning it over the fire. “You should’ve stayed home,” Ah, here it is. “You didn’t have to stay with me, I would’ve been fine on my own.”

Shrugging, your back rests against a large rock as you watch him continue poking your dinner. “I know you would’ve,” Your hands play with the ripped fabric on your pants as you speak, your eyes scanning the environment every now and then. A machete pokes at your thigh, the large knife resting in its holster. It was uncomfortable in this position, but you knew better than to take it off. “Maybe I just wanted to enjoy the sights too, ever think of that?”

Spike turns to you with a blank expression, causing you to grin. Eventually his own lips tilt in a smile, and he rolls his eyes.

Twelve.

He reminds you of Isla in every way. She’s been gone for 28 days now, but deep down you knew she had been gone for awhile. When her mind let her, she was your older sister, the one who helped raise you after dad passed. The one who would speak of the mainland and how it was before the rage virus took over.

When her mind became clouded, you weren’t her little sister anymore, you would be mum, or nan, sometimes even calling you Spike.

You sniffed, bringing yourself back to the present. It didn’t matter, she wasn’t suffering anymore.

“You’re my blood Spike, where you go, I go,” Your elbow reaches out to nudge him as he nods reluctantly, feeling guilty for bringing you along. “I watched you be born lad, no way in hell would I let you go explore this shithole without me.”

“You were a kid when I was born.” He answers in a matter of fact tone, causing you scoff.

“Eighteen, thank you very much,” You begin to stand, stretching out your arms as you once again begin looking around, watching the two points of entry on the road. “Was about time your ma popped you out too, I was getting bored having no friends.”

“I was a baby.” Spike’s eyebrows furrow and you grin, shrugging again.

“Only new people we got on the island were babies Spike, if I wasn’t doing hunts - I was babysitting you.”

He nods again. You’d done countless trips to the mainland, being one of the top archers on Holy Island. The groups became smaller and smaller as more people stopped coming back, and eventually the hunts became just you and Spike’s dad, Jamie.

It was isolating in a way. You had been just a baby when the virus took over, having grown up on the island with your dad and sister before his passing shortly after. Some kind people took you both in, you both grew up, Isla married Jamie and started their little family as you shared a house with a different older couple.

You were surrounded by people, surrounded by a community that cared.

And yet, there still felt like there was nothing for you. Surviving was the goal in the end, but living felt nearly impossible. Majority on the island had already found their special place in the world, found their special someone.

It’s why you took up the hunting role as soon as you were old enough. Getting to see the mainland, exploring what once was, running into the odd village here and there. It kept you sane, even if the infected kept you awake at night.

As if hearing your thoughts, a shrill from an infected echoes off the rock walls around you. Immediately your hand reaches for the bow that rested on the ground, the other reaching for the quiver beside it, strapping it onto your back.

Spike stands as well, his gaze looking everywhere for the cause of the sound. “Should we move?”

You hold up a finger, telling him to wait. “We need to see which direction it came from,” You answer softly, reaching back to grab an arrow, nocking it, waiting for what’s to come. “No point running if we don’t know where it is.”

He nods, swallowing his spit as he readies his own bow. You look around again, hearing another shrill. The sound bounces around the rocky terrain, but eventually the body of an infected running from the west greets you.

So much for dinner.

The naked man sprints upon spotting you, his arms flailing around as he screeches. “We can take it.” Spike nods at the bloodied creature, and you shake your head.

“When there’s one there’s more,” You line up your shot, waiting for the infected to lift his head as he yells again. You release, and the arrow goes flying, landing in its forehead. “It was too loud, more will come.”

More sounds can be heard, one of them sounding almost like laughter.

A cheer.

More infected begin running in from the end of the road, and you grab Spike’s shoulder, pushing him forward to the east. “Go,” You push him a little harder, urging him to move. “We’ll flank them down, just like we practiced yeah?”

He nods with a shaky head, anxiety evident in his eyes as he grabs his bag, beginning to run in the direction you wanted. You take another infected down, a woman, and she falls roughly to the surface, tripping another.

Running after your nephew, he takes another infected down as you catch up to him, waving him forward to follow you. The two of you run side by side, occasionally turning around to take down more infected. Your thighs burn at the action, not having ran this much since your encounter with an alpha a few weeks ago.

Your stomach drops as you’re met with a face full of boulders. The screams of infected echo behind you as you search around for another exit, but the only way through is over. Grabbing Spike’s shoulder again, you begin pushing him towards the rocks, tilting your head towards the next step.

“C’mon lad! Up and over,” He’s got two feet on the first boulder as his eyebrows furrow, watching you intently. “Move Spike! Start climbing!”

Turning around again, you notice more of the infected beginning to follow after the first group, the numbers having doubled. Lining up another shot, you take one down as another falls limp behind it, Spike having killed the other.

“I’m not going leaving you!” He yells, reaching back for another arrow.

“Am not arguing Spike,” Your words come out almost like a growl, wanting nothing more than to protect your nephew. “Climb, now!”

He jumps down beside you, and if there was time, there would’ve been a few coarse words leaving your lips. The boy shoots down another, the arrow landing in its throat as it gurgles and pummels to the floor.

The two of you continue, pushing back until your feet touch the rocks behind you. The infected just kept coming, the sick ones just following the screams of others for a chance of food.

Reaching back, your fingers flail around for another arrow, and your curse, realising you were out. Spike had a few more to go, and you throw your quiver to the ground, the bow following with it as you unholster your machete.

Spike’s eyes widen, and you press forward in an attempt to keep him behind you. “Spike,” you urge, turning your head slightly, keeping your eyes on the handful of infected continuing their run towards you both. “Please climb, now.”

You would never forgive yourself if something happened to him. Isla and your dad would be screaming in heaven at you for endangering him in any way.

“You’re out here because of me,” The twelve year old answers, his hands shaking as he nocks another arrow. “Where you go, I go.”

The wee bastard repeats your words from earlier, and you give him a tight smile, nodding once. “Alright, but if I do a really cool self sacrifice, ye better make sure your arse is over those rocks before I turn.”

He grimaces at the thought, and you don’t have time to reply, an infected lunging for you with a cry. Turning just in time, it falls against the boulders, and it’s about to lunge again when you strike, your machete reaching between it’s eyes.

Kicking it away, you begin charging forward, meeting the other in the middle. Swinging the large blade from the side, it hits the infected in the neck, the blood spraying around as you hide your head behind your arm, being sure to not get any in your eyes or mouth.

The cycle repeats a few more times, other infected being taken down by the tween behind you, but like clockwork, more begin to show up, clumped in twos or threes.

Jogging back to your nephew, he points out that he’s nearly out of arrows himself, and you frown, gripping the machete in your hand as you look back to the road.

There’s no way the two of you would be able to take them all down.

An arrow whizzes past you as Spike kills another infected, and a loud whistle from above brings your attention elsewhere.

Instinctively, you stand in front of Spike, finding a group of non infected standing around you two above on the hills.

They’re all blonde, holding various different weapons as they eye you both with grins.

Are those fucking tracksuits?

“Wonderful shot!” The man in the centre yells out, his knee bent against a rock as he grins. Gold jewellery stands out amongst his black and white track suit, rings adorning his fingers as he points down at the infected. “Mind if we step in?”

Your eyes narrow at the man, confusion evident in your features as the grip on your machete tightens. Blood drips from the tip as you hold it up towards the oncoming threat. “By all means!”

His grin grows, and the people around him begin chuckling, bouncing around as if they were eager to help.

“Hold.” He holds up his finger, eyeing the naked and bloodied people running towards you two.

They begin getting closer, too close for comfort, and your chest begins to ache in fear, stepping in front of Spike again with your machete raised. “Any fucking day now!”

The man’s head tilts as he chuckles, repeating the word. “Hold.”

You growl in frustration, walking forward and ready to strike at the infected that charges ahead at you. It’s head had just started flying through the air as you hear a swift and sharp ‘fucking go.’

Blond hair begins whipping around the site, the people from above flying down from the rocks with their large sticks. Some flip from their positions, landing near you as they begin attacking the infected, laughter filling the air as they smile from ear to ear, enjoying the kills.

Stepping back, you and Spike let the group take the remaining infected out, watching with furrowed eyebrows and confused expressions over what you’re both witnessing.

By the time the last one’s dead, the remaining member of the group, the one who had done all the talking, climbs down, joining the rest.

He walks towards you with a swagger, his eyes unashamedly looking you over. The grin doesn’t leave his lips, and he chuckles once more.

Is that a fucking tiara on his head?

“Well aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes,” He whistles again, his gaze never leaving yours. “That was some fine shooting before, real nice.”

You just nod, choosing to ignore the first part of his sentence and using the time to catch your breath after the ordeal.

He wasn’t ugly by any means, quite the opposite, but there was something about him you couldn’t put your finger on. Maybe it was the fact that everyone around him had the same hair, or it was the tracksuits, either way, you had to be careful.

“Jimmy Crystal,” The stranger holds his hand out, the grin growing as he tilts his head, waiting for your reply. “And you are?”

“Grateful,” Is all you say, nodding towards Jimmy and his group. “Thank you… For uh, helping us.”

He pulls his arm back, but he doesn’t look annoyed by your dismissal, if anything, he’s more intrigued. He shrugs nonchalantly, looking at the dead infected as if they were a mere inconvenience. “No worry, couldn’t turn down a damsel in distress and her little lamb.”

He lifts his chin towards Spike, who still stood behind you. “What about you little man? That was quite some shooting coming from you too, your ma teach you that?”

“She’s not my… she’s not, this is my aunt,” He tells Jimmy your name, and you turn slightly, giving your nephew a look as if to say ‘really?’. He ignores you, keeping his attention on the blond man in front. “I’m Spike.”

“Spike,” Jimmy repeats, before his eyes lock in on yours once more. He repeats your name, slower than Spike’s, nodding as if giving his approval. “S’good thing seeing other families out here, don’t see it much nowadays.”

Families? Apart from the hair, his group didn’t exactly look related, but you kept your mouth shut. Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you realised you were still gripping your machete.

“I think you two need somewhere to rest yeah?” Jimmy claps his hands together, reaching out again with an outstretched hand towards Spike this time. “What’ya say, let’s be pals.”

Spike shakes his hand before you can protest, and the young man looks up at Jimmy with a worried expression. “My aunt’s been on watch the last few days,” You say his name in warning, hating that he was giving these strangers information, but he continues. “We just need somewhere where we can sleep for a few hours.”

“We’re fine Spike,” You butt in, raising a hand towards him, but he shakes his head, clearly still feeling guilty for your lack of rest and food. “We’ve thanked them, that’s all we can do.”

“Nonsense,” Jimmy snorts, his gold chains and crucifix swinging around his chest as he hunches over to face Spike at eye level. “You’re a good lad looking after your family, that’s the kind of people we like around here.”

Jimmy stands once again, walking closer to you as his grin softens, a softer smile on his face as he holds his hand out for the third time. “Come with us,” He says your name carefully, as if you’d strike him down for saying it. “Ye don’t know us - sure, but for Spike’s sake, let the boy have a rest… even if it’s just for a little bit, I think you both need it.”

Truthfully, you did. The fatigue was growing stronger, and you’d be no use to Spike if you couldn’t keep your eyes open. You knew he was just trying to find a way to make you agree, but there was still that lingering feeling of the unknown.

It was obvious you didn’t have supplies worth taking, and truthfully why would they bother saving you both just to kill you later?

“Okay,” You answer softly, seeing Jimmy’s eyes light up at your response. “But we won’t be staying long.”

The blond man raises his arms in defence, nodding before he pressed his hand to his chest. “Knowing such a beautiful creature such as yourself will be safe under my roof, I can die a happy man.”

You raise your eyebrow at him, before turning to Spike for a moment. “Can you go collect our arrows?”

The boy nods reluctantly, walking off to retrieve any that were still intact. You watch him for a second before looking back to Mr Crystal.

“You’re quite the character, aren’t you?” You ask, and he laughs loudly, almost proudly at the term.

He shrugs, answering you in between chuckles. “Not sure what ye’ mean?”

“You’re wearing a fuckin’ tiara,” You point towards his head with your free hand, before waving your finger towards the rest of his attire. “Not to mention all this.”

“You like?” He quips, and the words almost make you smile, almost, but it was enough for him to notice the subtle change in your face. “Yeah you do.”

Scoffing, you turn your attention back to Spike, who was busying himself a few metres away, pulling more arrows out of the dead infected.

“I meant what I said before, you’re quite the beauty aren’t ye?” Jimmy continued, and you scoff once more. “Not trying to be weird, just think we all need to spread the love around a bit more yeah?”

“I think this country has done enough spreading shite around,” You retort with a chuckle of your own, watching as Jimmy seems pleased at being able to get something other than reluctance out of you. “But thank you.”

“Don’t thank me love, it’s true,” He pats your shoulder gently. “We’re gonna be great pals you and I, I can just feel it.”

Strangely enough, you could feel it too.

[slvtf0rchr1s]

. . . SMOKING WITH BSF!CHRIS ೃ࿐

ⓘ . . . SMUT.ᐟ, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!!), sub!chris, riding, praise kink, smoking weed, getting high, idk what else.

a/n: so random, so slutty, so stupid. but i wrote it anyway!

english is not my first language!

: ̗̀➛ enjoy sluts,

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

smoke traveled up the room, collected itself into a big fog to then disappear out of the window. laughs were shared, some shorter and giggly but most of them loud and real. your body felt like it was on fire, the good kind. you felt good.

chris was sitting opposite of you, his legs wide while he leaned against the pillow, that was situated against your bed frame. you were on a pillow as well, legs crossed and body leaning towards chris. in the middle of you guys was a ashtray.

“no fucking way,” you bit your lips as chris nodded, confirming. in between his fingers balanced a joint. “did you actually say that?” you asked with full disbelief, not believing him for a second. he nodded again with glossy, red eyes, taking another hit before passing the joint to you with a sheepish smile. you took it greedy and put it in between your soft lips.

“i know i fucked up didn’t i?” chris’s voice was low as he raised his eyebrows, a knowing expression on his face. you took a hit, sucked in the smoke and let it travel down your lungs before blowing it out.

“you did.” you said with a laugh and he let out a chuckle. you took a few more hits and passed the, almost gone, joint to chris. you were both high as fuck. eyes being red and hanging low, body language a bit to forward and a mouth that wouldn’t stop running. after a beat of silence and you watching chris blow out the smoke, he spoke up.

“truth or dare?”

you raised your eyebrow amused. “what are you, ten?”

“nah, jus’ bored.” a smile twitched at the end of his lips as he looked at you with a challenging expression. after a short moment, you tapping your chin as if you were thinking, you nodded your head. “okay. truth.”

“pussy,” you heard him mumble and you immediately hit his arm playfully. he laughed and let out a hum, thinking about what to ask you. “have you ever..” his smile widened. “regretted a hook up?” you laughed and took the joint from his hand, taking a hit before nodding. “yeah,” you answered instantly, looking at your best friend with a disgusted face.

“the guy was ugly and couldn’t even kiss right.” you vaguely recall, making chris throw his head back, laughing loudly. “okay okay, my turn.” you said excitedly, clapping in your hands. “truth.” he said simply and you laughed.

“pussy.” you repeated his words, making him pout playfully.

“kink?” the word was simple and straightforward, it made him raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“okay freak,” he said playfully, taking a hit and throwing his head back, blowing out the smoke straight up into the air. you laughed as you took in chris’s face. his eyebrows were slightly pinched in amusement but thought. his mouth was formed in a “o” shape as he was blowing out the smoke. he cleared his throat, causing you to blink a few times.

“this is gonna sound freaky as hell,” he began slowly. your whole body leaned into him, you were interested in what he had to say. “i like being praised.” he said it fast, not looking you in the eye as if he felt embarrassed. you couldn’t help the curious smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

“praised?” you questioned after a best of silence, eyebrows raised in amusement. he slowly looked up, a little smile on his face and he nodded. “like praised as in..”

he interrupted you instantly. “let’s not ask further questions.” you laughed at his behaviour, the slightest blush painted his cheeks red, making him look adorable. “‘kay,” you simply said, but the teasing smirk still didn’t leave your lips, making chris shift nervously. “truth or dare?” he murmured softly, voice a lot softer than before, as if all the cockiness was sucked out of it.

“hmm, dare.” a smile was plastered all over your face, the joint touching your lips suggestively.

he shakily let out a breath and he looked at you with something, something more. “show me a smoke trick.” the question was not what you expected at all, you expected something unfiltered, not so innocent. you smiled at him as he looked at you, chest heaving up and down fast.

“okay.” you said with the same teasing smirk, bringing the joint to your lips and taking a long drag, leaving a cloud of smoke in your mouth. he looked at you, waiting patiently what you were about to show him.

your smirk widened. your left hand came up a grabbing his jaw forcefully, but not too hard. you felt his breath hitch. your mouth, filled with smoke, leaned into chris’s, and you slightly grazed his lip before blowing the smoke in his mouth. he froze. you leaned back after a moment. “blow it out.” you said softly. and he did. the smoke, that just seconds ago, was in your mouth, slipped now past chris’s lips. his eyes were on you as the smoke hit your face softly. after he let out all the smoke, you slowly nodded, lips twitched in a smirk and eyes on him.

“good boy.”

✧*:.｡.

you don’t know how it exactly happened, but within a few minutes, clothes were laying around, scattered across the floor. you were on chris’s lap, kissing him passionately as you stabelized yourself by holding onto his shoulders. he let out a satisfied hum as you deepened the kiss, slipping your wet tongue in his mouth and tangling it with chris’s.

you grinded against his lap, hips rolling in circles, pressing your pussy, covered by your panties, against him. “fuck-“ chris let out a curse, gripping his hands in your thighs. his jaw was clenched. you smirked down at him, rolling your hips a little faster, basically dryhumping him.

“y’like that?” you asked, voice covered with desire. he nodded eagerly. “fuck yeah i- oh!” he let out a whimper as you pressed down harder on him, the friction sending him pleasure through his whole body. “i-i need you,” chris’s pleas was desperate and it made you chuckle lowly. you hummed, before leaning your head towards his ear, a filthy whisper leaving your lips shortly after.

“then have me.”

chris didn’t know how fast he needed to pull his boxers down. the material had a wet patch in the front, making it clear how hard chris must’ve been. your panties came off not long after. chris’s eyes were locked on yours, a desperate expression on his face.

his hands were gripping your hips, leaving bruises with how strong his grip was. he pulled you down on his lap, a hiss leaving his mouth as your bare pussy grazed his tip. you tutted in a disappointed tone, pulling yourself back up again. “come on chris,” you said in the sweetest, but yet, dirtiest voice. “ask nicely.”

a whine slipped past chris’s lips and his hands moved from your hips to your waist. “please,” his voice was breathless. “please i need you to fuck me.” the words left you clenching around nothing, as chris’s eyebrows knitted together in a pleas. a smirk appeared on your face. “c’mon chris, you can do better.”

he sighed shakingly at your teasing words. “fuck please- please ride me, please make me feel good, please ma i-“ he rambled on, words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.

a satisfied expression took over your face. you finally had him right where you wanted. “such a needy boy,” you spoke softly while slowly sinking down on him. chris let out a moan, a real, desperate moan, as you pussy swallowed him.

“fuck.” he breathed out, eyes down, looking at how you took him in. “eyes on me.” you said as soon as you noticed him looking at the place where you both were connected. he obeyed and his eyes met yours. “good boy.” you praised him, earning a whimper from him.

you started to move, slowly but steadily. your hips rolled in a circular motion, pleasure flooding through your and chris’s bodies. chris’s hands were everywhere, on your hips, moving towards your waist to then grip themselves to your thighs. the room filled itself with panting and moaning, mostly coming from the desperate boy underneath you. the longer you kept your slow but oh so teasingly pace, the more you grow desperate yourself.

“please,” chris’s whimper slipped past his lips. “please ma, you’re killing me—“ you looked down at him with a big grin.

“what do you want, pretty boy?” you asked in a sweet voice, grazing his cheek with your hand. chris moaned again. “fuck- need you— need you to go faster, please-“

and you did.

as soon as the words left chris’s mouth, your hips started to move faster, searching a pace that you both would like the most. chris threw his head back in satisfaction. “fuuuckkk—“

a moan of your own escaped from your mouth, but you didn’t care. after a few seconds you fully started to bounce on him, pussy swallowing him whole. moans left both your mouths as you both grow closer to the edge.

“fuck i’m gonna- i’m gonna-“

you stopped all your movements at chris’s words. he whined, a pathetic sound rolled off his tongue. it made you realise how far gone he was.

you smirked. “not so quick, baby.”

he whined again and tried to keep himself from bucking his hips up into yours. you leaned forwards and placed your mouth on his jaw, leaving soft kisses all over his skin. he whimpered.

“please, please, please make me cum, i can’t hold it that much longer, fuck-“ he begged, voice whiny and needy. your mouth moved from his jaw, down to his neck, to place even more teasing kisses. “you’re that desperate?” you mumbled against his skin, the question leaving your mouth with a knowing tone. he nodded eagerly.

“yes, yes, please just make me cum-“

you pulled back from his neck, to meet his eyes. he looked fucked out, eyes low, mouth agape and face flushed. without saying anything else you started to move again, snapping your hips in a fast pace. his eyebrows knitted together in pleasure, sounds leaving his mouth. your body felt hot, and after a few moments you realised you were about to reach the edge. you looked down at chris, who seemed to have the same tightening knot in his stomach, that was about to break.

he looked at you, really looked at you. “i’m gonna cum-“ he whimpered and you smirked. “c’mon, cum for me.” you demanded him in a low voice, brew the fanning in his face. he took this as a green light, and he immediately came down his high. his cum filled you up within seconds, dripping out of your cunt afterwards. moans left his mouth along with yours, a euphoric feeling traveled through both your bodies as you came with him, squirting all over his cock. “oh fuck!” you moaned as you released yourself, just like he did.

you panted, trying to catch your breath as you looked down at chris, a smile tugging at your lips. his hair was a mess, his body was shaking slightly. you kissed his ear, then his cheek, then moved on to his forehead to finally press a soft kiss on his lips. he hummed in satisfaction, completely giving into your touch.

“you liked that?” you asked, even though you knew the answer. he sighed shakingly before locking eyes with you. “fuck yeah.” you smiled at him, fingers tangling themselves in his brown locks.

“good boy.” you said lowly.

his eyes widened and you looked at him with a confused expression, before noticing something hard, poking you. you glared at chris with disbelief written all over your face.

“chris. are you serious?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n idek where i was going with this. not proofread and not edited yet cause im a lazy fuck

-ˏˋ 🏷️ ˊˎ @sturrrrnslvt @evansturn @hotgirlbl0gger @mattsnontattooedarm @m0llyl0ve @courta13 @fratbrochrisgf @pinkflirtaous @grace-sturnz @chrislittleslut @chrisissos3xy @chestersturn

[wxsteriawishes]

love languages for each lads guy

rafayel

G (giving)

R (receiving)

words of affirmation (R)

it's reassurance. it is verbal communication. he loves it, he needs it, he craves it. it's how you figure out so many of the pet names that get him going. he can't get enough of it. when you tell him how soft his hair is, how breathtaking his eyes are, how perfect his skin is. even if he's heard it a million times before (and he has), it's different when you tell him. it's real, it's true when you say it. how gorgeous his work is, how unparalleled his talent is, how no one else can compare. it stems from his past, more specifically his past with you. he needs to know the nights you spend together mean just as much to you as they do to him. if you didn't know any better, you'd think he didn't care. but you did know better. and he did care. you could see the way something in his eyes shifted when you praised him, like he was waiting, expectant. he'd glow the rest of the day when you blurted out how pretty he was, how sculpted his body looked. your words were motivation. sometimes he'd ask you outright. "what about this one, cutie? like it?" he grins at you, his eyes crinkling as he asks you. he tilts his head like he already knows your answer. he knows you'll say yes. but his heart still swells when he actually hears it. and then you point out the pigment he'd worked his ass off to make, the brush strokes that made rafayel's work his, his eyes narrow a bit. you have all of his focus now. he was watching you very closely now. you weren't just throwing out compliments, they were genuine. when you finally turn to him, you notice the intensity in his eyes. suddenly, you're worried you've said something wrong. "good eye," is all he murmurs, gazing down at you through dark lashes. and you have to look away, barely getting out a thanks.

quality time (G AND R)

he needs to be around you. like a puppy, he follows you around. and when you aren't within arm's length, he actively seeks you out. "there you are." his shoulders relax once he sets his eyes on you. even if he doesn't show it, he needs to make sure you're safe and he won't let anything hurt you while he's there. it's like you can never get rid of him. you're not sure if you even want to. he absolutely loves spending time with you. having romantic dates at home. you teach him how to bake something while his favorite music plays in the living room, swiping frosting on his nose and taste-testing the finished products together. he helps you with a painting, but one thing leads to another and suddenly you're both covered in colorful fingerprints and brush strokes. your bodies littered with all kinds of shades. everything feels so easy with him. one afternoon, you find yourself reaching out a spoon of food to his lips. he doesn't show his surprise, simply taking a bite like it wasn't as intimate as it felt. instead of simply picking you up for a date, he's coming earlier and earlier to watch you get ready. to lounge on your bed, watching you style your hair. sometimes he tries to do your makeup, dusting your cheeks, your lips, your eyelids with pigments he's picked out. sarcastic jokes are exchanged often. and never a boring moment between the two of you, not with his theatrics and your obvious love for his drama. "i think i deserve a kiss for each day you've been gone." he looks to the left, offering his cheek so you can give him a peck. he can get clingier after some of your lengthier missions, but you don't mind it one bit. and if he ever is missing you, he'll make sure you know it. "i've been so lonely without you. . ."

physical touch (G AND R)

rafayel maintains his mask well, a disguise of a man full of sunshine with endless smiles to give. it took some time to undercover what was beneath the surface, but even now, you found yourself forgetting that he's not just full of joy all the time. he uses this to his advantage. when his many innocent touches stray too far down or too far up your body, you're left hot and bothered while he continues on with his day. you can't look at him, trying to hide your flush, feeling stupid for thinking such thoughts the whole day. it's when you catch his sly little grin later that evening, "what's wrong, cutie?" that you finally understand his intentions. you forget he's just as needy as you, if not more (it's definitely more). it's evident in bed, when he can't help but push you over the edge again and again and again. you forget that an artist like him cannot paint passion in the way he does, without having something (or someone) to be passionate about. it's always sudden. while you're in a bath, after a bathroom break at the gym, he thrives on keeping the thrill alive in the relationship. and he's good at it. and he loves it when you're mad at him. more of an excuse for him to drag you back to his arms. "aww c'mere, where ya going?" you throw insults at him but he only smirks, watching you get angrier. if there was one thing he loved better than a kiss, it was a kiss when you were this pissed off.

acts of service (R)

he never thought about it before, how much he admired the way you went out of your way to help others. whether it was by feeding a stray cat outside your apartment building or by comforting a friend crying in your arms. he never realized how much he appreciated it when you did it for him. when you made him breakfast in bed, attempting to draw a heart with maple syrup on his pancakes. when you found him sitting in front of a blank canvas for hours and you forced him to get up, to watch a movie with you and bought his favorite ice cream flavors. when he has to go to an art exhibition and you help him get ready, to encourage him. but when you button his shirt up, drape the overcoat across his shoulders, tying his necktie ("do you even know what you're doing?" he teases), he only wishes the moment was longer. you inspire him so easily, without even ever knowing it. when you're showering together and you're shampooing his hair for him. when he repays the act, going through your complex hair routine and admiring the way you look before him. the love he has for you is overwhelming and every little thing you do for him only strengthens the feeling.

gifts (R + G)

he loves it when you give him a gift. he doesn't even care about the gift. he just melts at the idea of you, thinking of him and deciding to give him a present. and he doesn't know if you feel the same about his gifts, but he tries. his paintings, of course, thomas manages to somehow steal away to a local exhibition or a famous art gallery. but he gets to keep each picture he takes of you, each drawing in his sketchbook, each painting he hides well enough, no matter what thomas does. those are all for you. yes, you have your own personal photographer each time you need him, but when he makes a collage of your eyes, your skin, your hair, your nails, a testament to your beauty, you can't help but sit in awe. when you peek into his sketchbook and find doodles of your name, your essence is in every building, every flower, every curve drawn. as if he can't get you out of his mind, no matter where he goes. you'll constantly find canvases littered around your apartment. one pushed underneath your bed on your birthday, one hiding in a kitchen cabinet on valentine's day, countless images to show you how rafayel sees you. how perfect you are in his eyes.

[mooningningg]

"ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ? ʜᴏᴡ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴀʙɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ?"

Sukuna, Toji, Nanami, Gojo, Suguru, and Choso.

Genre, Fluff!!! Notes, what a fun request from an anon, I had sooo much fun making this.

★ SUKUNA RYOMEN

He was lounging on the couch, one arm behind his head, the TV playing something he wasn’t watching. His son climbed up beside him, plopped onto his stomach, and asked the forbidden words.

“Daddy? How are babies made?”

Sukuna blinked. “What?”

“Babies,” the kid repeated innocently. “Like… where do they come from? How do they get in tummies?”

He sat up like he’d been electrocuted.

“Who the hell taught you that question?” Sukuna demanded, scowling.

“No one,” his son said with a shrug. “I just thought maybe you’d know.”

Sukuna looked around like he was searching for backup. “Shit. Why the fuck ain’t your mother here for this?”

“Is it a secret?” the kid asked, eyes wide.

Sukuna scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, the kind that ruins childhoods.”

He sighed hard, then muttered, “Fine. Babies are made when—when two people… ugh. Never mind.”

“Do you even know, Daddy?” his son said smugly.

“Course I know! I made you, didn’t I?” Sukuna snapped. Then paused. “Shit, that sounded worse.”

He got up. “Go ask your mother. Or Google. Actually, no, don’t Google. I’ll block the internet.”

When you walked in and asked what was going on, Sukuna pointed at your son and shouted, “Your spawn asked me about reproduction. You deal with it. I’m going outside to scream.”

★ TOJI FUSHIGURO

You weren’t home. It was just Toji and his son at the dinner table. Spaghetti night. Sauce on faces. Vibes were immaculate.

Until your kid slurped a noodle and casually asked:

“Dad, how do babies get in mommies’ tummies?”

Toji froze, fork mid-air.

“Uh… what?” he asked, swallowing too fast.

“Like, how was I made?”

Toji looked around. “Shit. I was hoping I’d be dead before this conversation.”

His son tilted his head. “So…?”

“Alright, listen,” Toji muttered, rubbing his face. “There’s a thing called privacy, yeah? And your mom and I—we, uh…”

He trailed off.

His son blinked. “Do you not know either?”

“Don’t get smart with me, I invented you,” Toji grumbled.

Then he leaned forward, voice low.

“Look. When two people love each other, or get bored enough, they… do a thing. A grown-up thing. That ends with nine months of suffering and one hospital bill.”

“Oh,” said his son.

Toji leaned back, relieved—until the boy said, “So like wrestling?”

“…Worse.”

★ KENTO NANAMI

He was reading the paper when his daughter padded into the room and tugged on his sleeve.

“Papa?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

She looked up at him, serious as a heart attack. “How are babies made?”

Nanami blinked slowly.

He folded the paper with surgeon-like precision. Set it down. Cleared his throat.

“I see.”

His daughter waited, eyes wide.

“Well,” he said, straightening his tie despite being at home, “When two adults love each other very much, they share a special moment. That moment creates life.”

His daughter nodded thoughtfully.

“And how does that moment work?”

Nanami stared into the void.

You walked in just in time to hear him say, “—and that’s why you’ll learn biology when you’re older.”

You raised a brow. “What did she ask?”

“She asked how babies are made,” Nanami said plainly. “And I gave her a legally sound, age-appropriate, emotionally distant answer.”

“…So you avoided it?”

“I restructured it.”

★ GOJO SATORU

“Dad, how are babies made?”

Gojo choked on his juice box.

You both stared at him as he sputtered.

“Where—where did that come from? Who put you up to this? Was it Nanami? This feels like a Nanami thing.”

“Just tell me!” your child whined.

Gojo held up a finger, suddenly Very Serious. “Okay. But only because I love you and I don’t want you to learn from the internet.”

He bent down to their level. “Babies are made when two adults really love each other. Or when they make a huge mistake. Either or.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Satoru—”

“I’m kidding!” he laughed. “Okay, for real—when two people kiss real hard, and cuddle super close, a magic stork comes from the clouds and—”

“Liar,” your kid frowned.

Gojo clutched his chest. “Wounded! My own child!”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll handle this.”

He grinned. “Please do. I'm sweating.”

★ GETO SUGURU

It was quiet. Too quiet. Suguru was sipping tea, reading peacefully, when your daughter crawled into his lap.

“Daddy?”

He hummed. “Yes, darling?”

“How are babies made?”

Suguru blinked.

Set the tea down. Smiled politely. “You know… I think that’s a question best saved for when you’re a bit older.”

“But I wanna know now,” she pouted.

He tilted his head. “Alright. Well… there’s a seed. A very special one. That’s kept safely in a… garden.”

You walked in right as he said that.

“A garden?” you repeated.

“It’s a metaphor,” he said, not missing a beat.

Your daughter squinted. “So you planted a seed in Mommy’s tummy?”

Suguru smiled. “Exactly.”

You: “Don’t teach our daughter flower sex.”

Suguru: “I panicked.”

★ CHOSO KAMO

He was lying on the floor with your kid watching cartoons when the question dropped like a bomb.

“Dad, how are babies made?”

Choso blinked slowly. “Huh?”

“I mean… where did I come from?”

He sat up, thinking hard. “Okay. You ever seen cake batter?”

Your child blinked. “What?”

“So like, Mommy and I are the ingredients. But there’s mixing involved. Stirring. Heat. A whole mess.”

“Did you bake me?!”

Choso snorted. “Kinda.”

You peeked in from the kitchen. “Choso!”

He turned. “I’m making it fun!”

Your child gasped. “Am I a cupcake?”

“More like a spicy muffin,” Choso said proudly.

You sighed. “I’ll buy a book.”

[dreaminofdixon]

Nineteen.

Please be responsible for your own eyes and brain and what they consume. :)

We sat beneath the tree, its thick, sun-bleached branches throwing patchy shade over us like some lazy attempt at a roof. The air was still, the cicadas finally shut up for once, and the dry grass crackled any time we shifted. It was too hot to breathe. Too quiet to ignore. And way too loaded to be innocent.

The kind of quiet where if one of us said the wrong thing, we’d either screw each other senseless or never speak again.

I dragged a fingertip down the lines of his palm, slow and idle, pretending I wasn’t counting his scars like some lovesick idiot. Each one was a story. Each one made my chest ache. But I played it off like I was just bored.

Honestly, I was trying not to crawl into his lap and make a terrible, amazing mistake.

“You think we’ll stay here long?” I asked, voice light, casual. Like my heart wasn’t on the verge of throwing itself at his feet.

“Nah,” he said, low and certain. No hesitation.

Daryl’s gut twisted.

He didn’t want to lie.

They weren’t gonna stay. That was the truth. Nothing ever lasted—not in this world. But the look on her face when she asked? He hated himself a little for the way it made his chest pull tight.

I nodded. “Figures. Too many vegetables growing. Can’t have nice things.”

He huffed. I pretended not to notice the way his jaw twitched, or how his eyes flicked to my mouth for a beat too long.

“Think we’ll ever find a place to just… be?” I added. Quieter. Too close to real.

He didn’t answer right away. Just shifted beside me, then reached for my leg like he couldn’t stop himself. “C’mere.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I swung into his lap with zero shame, straddling him, knees pressing into the dirt, heart thudding like it wanted out. His hands found my thighs, big and hot and a little too confident for someone trying to behave.

I laughed, a little breathless. “This seems wildly inappropriate for a public park.”

His fingers drummed slowly against my leg. “Ain’t a park.”

“Still. Could get arrested.”

His gaze dragged up to meet mine. “Ain’t nobody gonna stop me.”

Christ. He didn’t mean for it to sound like that.

But it was true. He couldn’t stop himself either. She was on him, straddling his lap, soft and sharp all at once. Her mouth was right there. And it was over the second she kissed him.

I leaned in, curled my hand along his jaw, and kissed him like I’d been thinking about doing it every single goddamn night for the last three months.

Because I had.

His mouth crashed back, hungry. Years of silence, of pushing people away, of telling himself he didn’t need anyone—undone in one kiss.

She tasted like heat and sweat and the possibility of something better than survival.

His hands squeezed my ass, dragging me harder against him, and I whimpered. No sarcasm in that one. Just raw, real, aching want.

Jesus, Daryl thought, nearly undone. She felt like something he didn’t think he’d ever get. Like home. Like hell. Like everything.

“You kiss like you mean it,” I murmured, brushing my mouth along his.

His voice was rough. “‘Cause I do.”

My heart stuttered so hard I almost forgot to play it cool. Almost.

“Okay, damn,” I whispered, teasing. “Way to ruin my whole disaffected survivor thing.”

He kissed me again, slower now. Like he didn’t want it to end. Like maybe he didn’t want to go back to pretending we were just friends. Just bodies.

I tugged on his bottom lip with my teeth, and he made a low, guttural sound that went straight to my core.

“You keep doin’ that,” he warned, voice low, “I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

I grinned. “What, this?” I did it again.

That was it. His control snapped.

He flipped me onto my back so fast I let out a very undignified squeak—and then a laugh that got cut off by his mouth. The dry grass scratched at my arms, but I didn’t care. Not when he was kissing me like this. Not when his body was heavy and hot and pressed against every inch of mine.

She was so warm. So real. And he’d tried—goddamn, he’d tried—not to feel this. Not to need this.

But the way she arched into him, the sound she made when his hand slid under her shirt, the way her breath caught when his mouth found her neck—

He was gone.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” I whispered.

“You already did,” he muttered into my neck, biting just enough to make me shiver.

His hand slid under my shirt, over my ribs, fingers trailing fire, and I arched into him, breath sharp and needy. He ground against me and I whimpered into his mouth again, hands scrambling at his back, desperate to drag him closer.

And still. Still. Not enough.

And then he stopped. Just. Stopped.

I gasped, “You’re really gonna stop now? You’re seriously gonna pull the noble act?”

He groaned against my skin. “Fuck. Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m literally riding you in a field right now. You’re tempted.”

Shit.

He froze.

Not because he didn’t want her. Because he did—so bad it hurt. But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not in the dirt. Not the first time. Not when he hadn’t even told her the truth about what she meant to him.

His forehead dropped to hers.

“Please,” she whispered. “Daryl.”

His name in her voice undid him.

He swallowed hard. Chest heaving.

“Not like this,” he said. “We waited this long. I ain’t gonna do it in a field like I don’t give a damn.”

I dropped my head back in the grass with a frustrated groan. “You’re killin’ me. I hope you know that.”

“Good,” he said. “Ain’t fair if I’m the only one sufferin’.”

“I have never suffered more in my life,” I deadpanned. “Bring on the walkers, honestly. At least they don’t tease.”

He chuckled—a real one, low and wrecked. He kissed me again, then pulled my shirt down, smoothing the fabric like it might help.

“I swear to God,” I muttered. “If you tell me this is ‘worth the wait,’ I will actually bite you.”

“You already did.”

“Then I’ll bite harder.”

His smile was pure danger. “Yeah? Promise?”

I groaned, flopping dramatically. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“I know,” he said, dry as hell.

I stared at him, breathing hard, eyes narrowed. “Shane would’ve already—”

Before I could finish, his mouth slammed into mine, possessive and brutal and perfect.

“Shane ain’t never gonna do shit,” he growled into the kiss. “Yer mine.”

Daryl felt her tremble under him and nearly lost it again.

The sound she made when he claimed her—it was all he’d ever need. All he’d ever wanted.

Everything in me clenched.

“Okay. You really gotta stop talking like that,” I whispered, dazed. “That’s not helping the situation.”

He sat up and dragged me with him, arms wrapped tight around my waist. “You’ll get what you want,” he said. “Soon.”

My heart skipped. “You know I don’t do well with delayed gratification. I want fireworks. Moaning. Maybe a pulled muscle.”

He smirked. “Bet you’ll beg real pretty.”

I gasped, scandalized. “Excuse me, sir. I am a lady.”

“Sure ya are.”

He helped me up, but when I stumbled into him, he didn’t let go. His forehead rested against mine, and for one breathless second, it was just the two of us again—no games, no teasing.

Just want.

“I’ll make it worth it,” he whispered.

I nodded. “You better.”

He kissed me one more time, slow and steady, then we turned back toward the house like we weren’t both seconds from combusting.

"Wait!"

I jogged back to grab my hair clip, twisting my hair into something halfway functional. He plucked a piece of dead grass from it as I caught up to him.

“Can’t leave evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” I said, fluttering my lashes. “A very wholesome Bible study?”

Daryl didn’t say a word.

But he looked at her like a man seconds from falling apart.

And I smiled. Not a little one. Not the smirk I used to get what I wanted.

A real one.

****

I know I've been slacking, and I apologize. I have no excuses other than laziness and...not wanting to go back through and try to edit/revise what I've written to make it worth reading? lol

Hope you enjoyed!

@imadisneyprincessiswear

@knight-of-the-doctor

@lisluvstwd

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