#ily i'll be your friend though

[sandyspaghettibag]

I've grown to have the hugest little crush on my straight boy friend who's all over dating apps trying to get a girlfriend. Keeps getting stood up, keeps getting played by girls who don't respect his ADORABLENESS. And I'd fucking make out with him for hours but he's straight and I'm closeted so that's not really going to work

[formayhem]

look, I'm gonna say something maybe controversial but

it's on sight next Saturday if anyone tries to come for Mew 😤

[luveline]

bEGGING for something with the marauders with drunk reader at a halloween party!!! make it literally anything you want follow ur heart ily and ur writing is AMAZING!!!!

thank you, ily ♡ modern au, fem

The rugby uniform felt like a funny idea at the time, but now you're cold and wondering how James manages to stay warm when he plays. You must ask him. 

He sits on the couch with Remus and another friend, Frank. You like Frank but he's not one of your boys, leaving you no options —you have to slide yourself between Remus and James, emphasis on have to. Remus touches your waist unthinkingly as you do, like he might catch you if you fell. 

James is ecstatic to see you as always. "Where have you been? I was about to send out the search party." 

He's been very, very pleased with you upon the reveal of your costume. Like, pleased enough to take a handful of your thigh and squeeze at the soft inner part greedily. You lean back into Remus, enjoying the feeling and wanting his comfort. He's used to it, and  he adapts by pressing his face indulgently to the side of your head. 

You giggle. This is usually a nice feeling, but drunk? You're euphoric. 

"You can't stray too far, lovely, I need my victim," Remus says. 

"Where have your fangs gone?" you ask, pointing at your neck. "I made the bite mark so perfect. Everyone will think I have rabies if you don't commit." 

James laughs like you're hilarious. Later, you'll find out that you didn't quite say every word that you thought you said, and that you'd been slurring your words into one another to create Frankenstein's sentences. 

"Everybody already thinks you have rabies," James says. He's wearing a chef's costume from a show he likes, a white shirt that's sleeves strain against his biceps and a blue apron. Sirius spent an hour drawing tattoos into his brown skin with a sharpie. "That's why we've decided to put you down." 

"I'll have one last night of passion with her first, if you don't mind," Sirius says, announcing his presence. 

You like the sound of that, lifting yourself away from the other two boys and their touches to take Sirius' fine hands. He's in a button up and tie, the sticker on his chest proudly proclaiming, Hello, my name is: Dave.

"You're here to kiss me, right?" you ask.

Sirius grins and presses a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. "My little alcoholic, you smell like lambrini. What did we say about lambrini?" 

"Uh, that it makes me sloppy drunk." 

"Exactly!" He kisses your cheek, working an arm around your shoulder as though showing you off with pride to the other boys. "My darling, you're so smart." 

"Not that smart, she still drank the lambrini." 

"Remus, don't start," Sirius admonishes. "You just hate that she chooses me when she's drunk." 

"You're her enabler," James says, "of course she does. But before she was drunk she chose to dress as me for Halloween, so if anyone is the favourite–" 

"Oh, please don't start," Remus says. 

The boys start, arguing over who your favourite is. It's a silly pass time with no real merit but no malice, either, and you're just drunk enough to goad them on. "Maybe Remus should be my favourite. After all, he's my vampire. Our love is, like, eternal." 

The furrowed brow he gets whenever the other two boys debate slips. "It's so eternal," he says, nodding confidently. "Quite right, dove." 

"Eternal doesn't mean better." 

"Then what does it mean, Sirius?" 

You decide that James' lap looks comfortable and that you might be here for a long time, so you push his legs down flat and sit carefully (not very carefully in reality, but in your heart) on his thighs, socked feet pulled up onto the couch, sideways and skewiff in his company. 

"Well, obvious winner," James says, encompassing your back with a big arm, pulling you into him. Under his hand your shoulders feel like a more delicate system; you aren't necessarily small, but his touch feels so everywhere, a pervasive feeling of safety and comfort in the palm of his hand where it grasps you. 

"You have the more comfortable seat," Sirius says nonchalantly. "It means nothing." 

Remus pulls one of your socks up where it's slipping down your calf and Sirius interrupts the arguing to ask if you need a glass of water. You don't have favourites. They're each incredibly lovely in their own way. 

[coff33andb00ks]

vivvvv how about…

11 + 24 with lando 😊

"It's impossible to get rid of me."/"Are you awake or asleep?"

driver + number = drabble <3

maddie babe ily

warnings: disgusting perverted amount of fluff

Lando Norris is, in his own words, a little bitch.

Granted, he said those words when he was drunk and a moth flew too close to his face, but you'll never let him forget that he uttered them.

Nor will you let him forget you have video of him screaming in terror and running straight into the glass door of the balcony to get away from the moth.

It's what your friendship is based on: embarrassing moments that the other finds hilarious but no one else would understand. Like the time you spent three minutes telling a store mannequin what you were looking for, or the time Lando locked himself out of his apartment at four in the morning. He has a tendency of doing that, so much so that when it happens he shows up at your place.

Like he is now, in his joggers and slides, without his wallet or phone, smiling sheepishly at you like it isn't three a.m.

"Don't you have other friends," you grumble, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands.

"None that'll answer the door this late," he sighs.

You sigh and step back to let him in, pretending to be unaffected by the scent of him freshly showered. "How'd it happen?"

"Took out the trash and thought I had my key in my pocket." He looks entirely too comfortable in your tiny apartment, shirtless and his hair still damp.

Nodding, you shuffle to your bedroom to collect the spare key to his place. That he'd given to you so casually, like it was a normal thing for him to hand out an extra key, when you knew it wasn't because even Fewtrell didn't have a spare key back when Lando lived in England still.

"C'mon, you know I'll need it. Besides, you're the only one I trust to have it." He dropped the key - attached to a Snoopy keychain that you remember him buying in Vegas - into your purse. "There. Now it's impossible to get rid of me."

As if you'd ever want to.

He follows you into the bedroom and you're painfully aware of your unmade bed and the clothes you'd left on the floor. Which is ridiculous, because it's Lando, he's been in your bedroom before, he's seen your dirty underwear–

Just not at three in the morning...

"Fuck," you mutter, turning your purse upside down to empty it onto the dresser. The essentials of your life spill out, lip gloss and gum and wallet and keys - but not Lando's because that one stays on its Snoopy keychain it's special - and hand sanitizer and notepad and six pens and tissues and the ticket stub from the movie he took you to see two weeks ago and a friendship bracelet and two pads. Everything but his key.

"Don't tell me you've lost it," he says.

You scoff at the idea. You may have lost your mind, your sanity, and sometimes your wallet, but you'd never lose his key. Your sleepy mind scrambles. Two weeks ago you pulled it to give to him and–

"Oh shit it's at my place," he mumbles, clapping a hand over his face.

"Lando!" you groan, sweeping everything back into your purse.

He's sorry, you're annoyed, and after bickering uselessly you tell him to just go to bed, he can get his superintendent to let him in in the morning.

It's not unusual to share a bed with him. Lando's a clingy, touchy feely person, half the time you travel with him he ends up taking you into staying in his room. Ostensibly because he likes to talk but really because he wants to cuddle.

"You awake?" he whispers in the darkness. "Or asleep?"

You don't answer, because you know he's about to say something profoundly sweet or incredibly stupid.

He presses his face into your hair and sighs, much like an exhausted dog finally settling down for a good sleep. "I do it on purpose sometimes," he whispers. "Cuz I sleep better with you than when I'm alone."

As confessions go it's probably your favorite. But you have to pretend you don't hear it. You're smiling though, and you let out a sleepy little hum. And you feel him smile.

[jayke0]

And They Were Roommates

Pairing: Marc Spector x fem reader

Summary: You catch your roommate, Marc, having some private time, and it's only when he comes at the sight of you that something inside you is released.

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: Friends to lovers?, Male masturbation, fluffy/soft sex, Marc being insecure at first cuz he hasn't had his chode ridden in a while, some nipple play (f receiving), protected sex (pill), mention of female masturbation, p in v, breeding if you squint, creampie, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 2,275

A/N: Uhmmmm so i accidentally posted this too early, so if you see it please reblog so it reaches others! Thankyouuuu

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

…………......................………………………………….

Marc Spector had always found himself to be a very private man. You're lucky to have even gotten a glimpse at his phone that one time, given how precisely he guards what little personal belongings he has and hides his emotions behind a stone-cold glare.

That's why he always waits for you to go out before he touches himself.

He'd gotten into the habit of it after realizing the wall dividing your bedrooms is so paper thin that he could hear every word the character was saying on whatever show you'd been watching at the time.

The anticipation; the waiting was always the worst. You'd take your sweet sweet time getting ready and checking your shopping list, only to forget something and come back 2 minutes later; luckily, he'd gotten used to that part too. Though, as much as he pretended he hated it, he actually found it quite endearing; a little quirk of yours that made you so fucking adorable to him.

“I'll be back in an hour!” Marc hears your voice echo through the hall, simply responding with a grunt that was somewhere along the lines of ‘alright’. He hears that first front door slam and waits a couple of minutes, before excitedly scrambling to his bedroom, cock already twitching at the prospect of release.

He'd had a particularly hard few days (pun intended), and with you deciding you didn't want to venture out, he was left to let his mind wander, only to blueball-ball himself in the process.

He's quick to grab his earphones and settle down comfortably in his bed, pulling his t-shirt off swiftly and practically ripping his jeans off. It doesn't take long before he's got his cock in hand, fisting his throbbing length harshly as girly moans fill his ears and do wonders for his imagination.

Oh, how he tries not to think about you. He knows It's creepy, and he knows that if you found out you'd probably kick him out with nothing but the clothes on his back, but it's so hard. His thumb swipes over the tip, collecting the beads of precum and spreading it over himself.

You're always so perfect, so gorgeous. The sun always seems to land on your face beautifully and illuminate each of your features. He twists his hand expertly and pulls a string of breathy gasps from his chest as he squeezes the tip.

The way you walk through the living room in just a towel, dripping wet; it's almost like you're tempting him.

He's now frantically thrusting into his hand at the image in his mind, low moans and growls escaping through his gritted teeth as his head tilts back and the tendons in his neck bulge at the stretch. That coil is tightening faster that he can control, his brain foggy with thoughts of you, just you you you. The thoughts are so close that he swears he can hear you calling his name, begging him to ruin your cunt and fill you u–.

A cold feeling runs through his body as his head shoots up, his eyes meeting your shocked gaze. Unfortunately for him, that's exactly what he needed as he's sent tumbling over the edge. Hot white ropes spill from his ruddy tip and splatter across his toned chest, huffed moans and curses falling from his lips as he fucks his hand through his orgasm.

It's only when he finally opens his eyes again that the guilt hits him and he scrambles to pull his boxers back up, trying to put his still throbbing cock away.

“Fuck, I'm so sorry, didn't realise you were there! I- I had my headphones in–.” He pulls them out, trying to wipe the evidence of his sins off of his chest, but your soft hand stops him; yes, you had gotten closer.

You watch as his dark eyes trail up your arm to your face, a cocktail of dread, fear, and… something else, all brewing in his gaze; it makes you want him even more.

“I'm not mad, Marc.”

“Creeped out, then?...”

Your thumb runs over his knuckles, feeling how warm and soft his hands are. “No. I mean, I probably should be, but fuck,” your eyes are drawn to his twitching length fighting against the restraints of his tight boxers. Carefully, you crawl onto the bed, straddling his legs far enough away from his body so he can push you off if he's uncomfortable.

You inch closer to him, “ ‘s this ok?” Hands either side of his thighs, your words are soft and breathy, your eyes gazing at him with a look that is sickeningly sweet.

It makes his head wurl, a tight feeling constricting in his chest as the prettiest girl in the world sits virtually in his lap. “Yes–” his voice breaks, making you chuckle softly. “Yeah, it's more than ok.” His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest, and you feel it as you place your hands on his chest to shuffle closer to him.

“You looked so handsome like that, Marc.” You compliment with a smile, leaning in to brush your lips across his and feel him take in a sharp breath. He catches your lips and pecks them with adoration, letting a longer kiss linger on them as you press closer to him still. After a few seconds, he moves his hands to rest on your waist, one running up your back to cup the back of your head as he runs his tongue along the seam of your mouth, and you happily oblige.

Months worth of feelings are poured into the kiss, both of you slowly and softly lapping and sucking at each other's lips before you dissolve into panting messes, biting and licking fiercely as if trying to eat each other whole.

“God damn, Spector, you're a great kisser,” you giggle softly, pulling from his lips to appreciate the shiny and red mess you'd made of him. A familiar growl rumbles in his chest, one that you'd learnt was an appreciative noise rather than something to be put off by.

“You can talk, y'know. You're not gonna scare me off.”

Briefly, you see insecurity paint across his face. It's something that you'd never seen before, a small crack in the otherwise solid structure of his frigid expression. On instinct, you brush his curls from his forehead and cup his cheeks, “I trust you, Marc, it's ok. I'm not here to judge you.”

His shoulders seem to relax as he nods a little, “I'm sorry. I don't do this often, if you hadn't noticed.”

You laugh softly and pat his chest, “that's ok, neither do I,” you smile as you sit back on your heels and pull your t-shirt off over your head. You take his hands gently and place them on your breasts, “none of them were you.”

You swear that you see him change in that moment, your words sinking in and his eyes turning hungry. His thumbs run over your hardening nipples as he surges forwards to seize you in another burning kiss that has you hot and breathless this time.

“Jesus, Marc…” a soft whine is pulled from your lips as he glides his lips down and over your neck, focusing on the pulse point below your jaw by nibbling and sucking softly. He's surprisingly quick at unclasping your bra, and he pulls away a little to admire your body.

“Shit, you're gorgeous,” he mumbles, thumbs running underneath your boobs before they work up and run across your nipples, making a gasp get caught in your throat. “You always have been gorgeous. I always look at you and think ‘fuck how doesn't she have a boyfriend yet?’”

“ ‘Cause I've been waiting to fuck my roommate…” You chuckle softly, feeling him chuckle too as his head dips to your chest and he takes your nipple into his mouth, tongue sliding over and swirling around the hard bud in a way that leaves you grinding against his thigh. Suddenly, your jeans feel so restricting, like they're choking you, stopping you from appreciating any pleasure that Marc offers you, which is why you're quick to unbutton them and slip them off… All while your roommate sucks on your tits.

“God. Do you know how many times I've touched myself hoping you’d catch me?” Your words are breathless as your body rolls against his mouth and a pleased noise from the man reverberates over your nipple. “Left my door open just a crack in hopes my moans would grab your attention, and you'd come and fuck me right…”

He audibly groans at that, pulling away to look at you again while his hands travel to your waistband.

”You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear that.”

He hungrily pulls your underwear down your thighs and off with his own following soon after, leaving you both naked and messily grinding against each other as you're caught up in yet another kiss.

You glance down eventually, being treated with the glorious sight of his thick cock throbbing and spilling pre-cum… Or maybe it's cum from his previous orgasm, either way it makes you clench your toes.

“It's bigger when I'm this close,” a nervous chuckle leaves your lips.

“I know, I know. That's also why I don't fuck much.” He laughs breathily and grips his length at the base, running it between your sopping folds and circling your clit perfectly. You grind down on his tip with a moan and pant.

“We don't have too, if you don't want to.” He reminds softly, pressing a few more kisses on your jaw, but you're quick to shake your head and grip his shoulders, “I need you inside me, Marc. Needed it since the day i fucking met you.”

You certainly don't have to tell him twice.

He's sinking inside you before you can even process his tip probing your hole. It's such a delicious stretch, one that spreads throughout your body and along your nerves. You sink down on him further, wanting to sheath him inside you whole.

You'd like to think that Marc knows you're on birth control, given the endless packets and the way you often rant to him about the imperfections of the drug. You're hoping he knows this, because you're hoping he cums inside you.

“Fucking hell Marc, shit…” You pant softly and look down between your bodies, your hands holding onto his shoulders As he grips your waist and guides you; down down down till you're sat in his lap.

You feel so full like that, and honestly you could probably just roll your hips and cum right there, but it's not long before your roommate is lifting you off of himself just to impale you once again. A rush of pleasure runs through your veins and makes your cunt clench around the girth, both of you groaning as you capture his lips again.

“Dammit… you're lucky you're hot, or I would've kicked you out–ah- for being a creep–”

“You were the one watching me stroke my fucking cock. You liked it deep down.” The man growls on your lips, making a whimper rise in your throat as you nod a little, dumbly. His breath is hot on your lips, each of your moans being swallowed by laboured gasps from the other as his hips rock up.

Although the pace isn't fast, you already feel wrecked. The stretch is so fucking good, and the way he hits your sweet spot everytime has you weak at the knees for this man, your groans turning into gasps and drawn out moans.

“M-arc, honey, I'm not gonna last much longer…” You whine pathetically, but this only makes him move faster, now bringing you down on his cock as he thrusts up harshly and sends waves of pleasure through you as he does so. “That's it, baby. Wanna feel you cum All over my cock; cum all over your roommate's cock… shit, you're so filthy, sweetheart.”

His words have your nails digging into his shoulders, your thighs burning as they finally give up and you let Marc use you, use your cunt for his own damn pleasure. The whole idea has you arching your back, and finally, with your shaky fingers circling your clit, you go crashing over that edge. Your thighs instantly clench together as whorish moans are pulled from your lungs and fill the room, ecstasy washing over you in waves and taking you to a place that you didn't even know existed, not until Marc.

Your clenching cunt is what finishes Marc off, that and the beautiful sounds you make as you come. Your walls milk him dry, taking every drop from him and more as he fills your cunt with that delicious warmth.

You sink back down on him finally and practically collapse into his chest, your arms wrapping around His torso tightly as you try and catch your breath.

The warmth that spreads through Marc's heart in that moment is almost unbearable. It's a feeling he's wanted for a long time, one that he doesn't even know how long will last, but he's sure as hell is not gonna waste it worrying.

You feel his large arms wrap around you tightly, a kiss placed on your shoulder, and then his warm breath sending goosebumps over the back of your neck as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Never took you as a cuddler, Marc Spector.” You mumble softly into his chest, listening to the rhythmic thump of his heart as it slows to a comforting pace.

“I'm full of surprises, sweetheart.”

...........................................................................

Tags 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @ominoose @mynamesstevenwithav @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @cupidysm @clemdango04 @flowercrownonapegion @spxctorsslxt

[freakoont]

❝𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬❞

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐨 𝐄𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐚 【ＳＦＷ　ａｎｄ　ＮＳＦＷ ｉｎｃｌｕｄｅｄ】

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

GENDER NETURAL BUT AFAB READER sorry :')

REQUESTS ARE OPEN ! check the bottom of this post for information <3

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

【ＳＦＷ】

When you first start to begin noticing signs of having a crush on him, Ranpo immediately picks up on it.

Does he actually say or do anything about it? No . . . Not for a long while.

He's not embarrassed or nervous about it, actually he uses your little crush as a advantage to tease and mess with your cute little brain !

"hey, (Y/N) can you get me some pockys? I'm about to die from hunger, y'know!"

"..I'm busy, Ranpo."

"oh, fine."

...

"oh yeah, (Y/N) I seem to recall you were staring a lot at me earlier, which is kind of odd for a friend-"

"I'll get those snacks now"

Ranpo's never had a crush or significant other, so there are some things he doesn't know what to do. but he mostly treats your relationship the same way he treated you back when you were just friends

At first, he was a little nervous about saying things like 'I love you' because he thought it sounded cringe, but after a short while he needs to hear you say it 30 times a hour with lots of kisses💋

Ranpo can be a little shit at times, but he makes up for it for his good memory and always being able to understand you better than you know yourself.

Example: Ranpo will always remember little things about you! He noticed you staring at a T-shirt in the mall once and suddenly you've got it gifted to you, "from the worlds greatest detective; to my favorite assistant"

A lot of times when you're working in ADA, Ranpo will just hop onto your lap and keep still and silent as he eat snacks.

He loves being in your presence, just being around you is enough.

He's not crazy on PDA, usually holding your hand and dragging you along with him. He'll occasionally tease and embarrass you in public though, most of the time it isn't intentional

"(Y/NNNNN) :( can we please go to that bakeshop !"

"we were just at one. Besides, you still have that cake to finish at home."

"..."

"WHAT THE- GET OFF MY BACK YOU CRAZY MAN-"

"LETS GO TO THE BAKESHOP THEN-"

Ranpo is a BIG cuddle bug! He loves being little spoon especially. Just laying on top of your chest or besides you as you caress his hair and kiss his forehead

He'll melt from your touch

He's a baby

Ranpo doesn't usually get jealous. It's a rare thing actually, he's a chill guy and just uses his deduction to know you love him 110%

He's probably gotten used to Dazai flirting with you, before you two got together, that he's unbothered by other people

TXT: "Ranpo ! Some guy is flirting with me !"

TXT: "👍"

TXT: "do you not care that someone is trying to get with me?"

TXT: "woah there. FIRST OF ALL☝️ I've already deducted that you wouldn't do anything to hurt me. You care to much. SECOND OF ALL☝️ I've also deduced that he's drunk"

TXT: "I'll go buy you some ice cream now..(⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)"

TXT: "👍"

...

TXT: "ily"

TXT: "I love you too(⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡"

I feel like Ranpo isn't good with feelings and his words. When he notices that you're angry or upset, he'll kind of just be lost on what to do to cheer you up

He'll make some unhelpful comments here and there, trying to cheer you up and joke around... But then it might piss you off a little more

HE'S TRYING(⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

He's bad at reading emotions, and when he does understand he'll share his snacks and keep quiet...

His love language is: words of affirmation and physical touch

He's not one to use pet names, just usually call you by his own nickname for you and that's it. Occasionally he'll call you his 'favorite assistant' or his 'watson'

Ranpo gets a boost in his confidence whenever you praise him. You and Fukuzawa are definitely the most important people in his lives, meaning your words mean SO MUCH to him

If you're the type to like cooking and cleaning, you've won him over. He hates chores and loves just sitting around and eating snacks

If you feed him as he sits or lays on your lap he'll literally die a happy man

❥๑━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━๑❥

【ＮＳＦＷ】

Ranpo is a switch, but definitely leans towards a bottom more

He'll be a very loud person in bed when you're on top of him.

If you tease him and poke at his sensitive parts, Ranpo will get flustered. You will catch him blushing and trying to keep quiet, just poke at him some more

Of course, don't be mean to him though. He only likes it when you praise him for doing good, because he's very inexperienced.

Ranpo is good at giving oral, he knows how to read you and where you like to be touched the most

Whenever Ranpo has a rough day, he'll either want you to ride him to make him feel better or he'd want to eat you out

"Mmmm... You look so good riding me like that,"

"just like that, Aah~"

"Love, I'm gonna- A-Ah"

He's noisy, but you can shut him upಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

Ranpo doesn't have that strong of a sexual desire. Sex isn't the most important thing to him. it's you🫵

If you ask him enough, praise him all day, and have a little teasing at eachother, maybe your lucky enough to walk home with him pulling you into the bed(⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

His favorite positions are cowgirl/reverse cowgirl, anything with you taking control

He's very lazy and will let you do most of the work

Ranpo actually doesn't have any kinks, and I know a lot of you will be like "no he'd have a praise kink☝️" but I'm sorry to say that, Ranpo would 100% find the idea of kinks disgusting

LIKE I KNOW. I can see him having a praise kink too but it just fits so well for him to find 'kinks' disgusting

He doesn't like using toys either. Well, specifically for himself

If he feels like teasing you and edging you on, expect him to be using a vibrator on you and moving it around to get you moaning, but that's it really

If you're a easily-embarrassed or awkward and shy person, he'll definitely tease and mess with you when he's taking the lead

He's definitely had you doing things with him in the office and after you're finished you'll be like, "did... Did that really just happen?🧍‍♀️"

"Ranpo, the others are gonna be back any moment, please let's just finish at home.."

"Mmm, not a chance... Now, if you're so worried about it, you better start moving faster for me, sweet one.." he spoke, his hand on your ass as he straddled you on his lap as he sucked on a lollipop, his eyes were on yours. His other hand moved up your back and caressed your body.

How did you ever get dragged into this with him? Oh wait. It's Ranpo.

Ranpo loves face sitting

He'll eat you out like a unspoken religion, digging his teeth into your inner thighs just to hear your sweet noises as he knows he's doing good

He also loves it when you leave lipstick kisses all over him

YOU'LL LITERALLY MAKE HIM ALL NERVOUS AND BLUSHING. He'll be at a loss for words and start to ignore all eye contact

༻༺━━━━⁎∗.*.∗⁎━━━━༻༺

REQUESTS - I am accepting any requests for any character for the following fandoms:

Bungo Stray Dogs, Genshin Impact, Danganronpa, Ninjago, Southpark, Obey Me, 7 Deadly Sins, Tokyo Revengers, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, Death Note, Walking Dead, Demon Slayer, Assassination Classroom, Hunter X Hunter, Komi Can't Communicate, Diabolik Lovers and Doki Doki Literature Club

I will write any of the following: smut (all characters WILL be aged up), fluff, crack/joke, specific plot, angst, HC's, BL, GL

Do not expect me to write any of the following: intense gore scene, sexual themes that are disturbing to most people and anything that will get me banned for a specific and obvious reason.

I accept requests for any character from any of the fandoms I have named :)

[cheollipop]

ginger & cinnamon tea

navi | taglist

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

w.c.: 3.5k

tags: smut, fluff, established relationship, sick fic

after his roommate suggested a way to get rid of the sniffles, san – being the trusting friend he was – just had to try it.

warnings: praise, begging (so... much... begging), pussy-drunk! san, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (boooo!!! 👎🏻), multiple rounds/orgasms, multiple creampies, a sprinkle of overstimulation, a hint of anal (m receiving), one (1) chomp, san's stamina is through the roof in this one oof, perhaps a slight breeding kink bc why not, I think that's all-

A/N: here it is... my first smut fic (yes, its another sick fic. we won't speak about it)... I'm absolutely terrified posting this, but I really hope you all enjoy reading it! a special thanks to alyssa (aka @toxicccred <3) for entertaining my horny thoughts for literally hours yesterday. mwah ily lots.

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

San's sneeze blasted through your phone's speaker, your body flinching back at the sound.

"Sorry," he smiled sheepishly.

You shook your head, a small smile on your face as you watched his face sink deeper into his pillow.

"Does your head still hurt?"

He hummed. "It's not as bad. I think the painkillers have finally kicked in."

"What about your fever? Have Woo check it for you."

"(Y/n)."

"Have him make you some soup as well. With extra veggies-"

"Baby, calm down. It's just a cold," San chuckled, the sound coming out rough and gravelly.

You pouted, eyebrows furrowing, exhaling a long sigh. "I hate not being there for you when you're sick. This business trip wasn't even that important." You slumped back in your armchair, yet to change out of your clothes and into something more comfortable.

"You're coming back tomorrow," he reminded you, clearing his throat, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "You can give me all your love and attention then."

His words brought a smile to your lips. Perhaps it was also the two dimples you loved so much peeking out to greet you.

"No kisses, though."

His bottom lip jutted out. "I guess I'll settle for cuddles."

"Then I'll be sure to put my all into them," you promised.

You kept the call open while you went about your nighttime routine, telling San about your two-day business trip, and how your boss got too drunk and embarrassed himself over dinner. Sliding under the covers, your skin glowing with the fresh layer of skin care he had bought you for valentine's day, you rested your head on the pillow. Neither of you spoke, simply pretending that the other was an arm's reach away as your breaths slowly evened out, falling asleep to soft smiles and pretty dimples.

--

The door opened after a few seconds of you knocking, a large smile on the man's face greeting you.

"Welcome back!"

"Thank you, Woo.” He pulled you into a hug, squeezing you once before letting go. You spoke while you slipped your shoes off, "how's he doing?"

"He's a big boy, don't worry too much about him." Wooyoung walked with you as you made your way to San's room.

You breathed out a laugh. "You know I can't help it."

Wooyoung only smiled, ruffling your hair before disappearing into his room – the door adjacent to San's.

Peeking into San's room, your eyes instantly met with his. He was sitting up in bed, holding a tissue to his nose. You couldn't help the grin splitting your face, nearly hopping with excitement as you made your way towards him. San threw the tissue god-knows-where and held his arms open for you, wrapping them around your frame once you were close enough. You pressed your lips to his forehead, smacking a kiss onto the heated skin before sitting by his side and relaxing into his embrace.

"I've missed you, my love," San muttered against your hair, kissing your temple. His voice was hoarse, and you could tell he had a stuffy nose.

"Me too. So much," you inhaled his scent, hands running up and down his clothed back.

Wooyoung peeked his head back into the room, gym bag slung over his shoulder. He smiled at the sight of the two of you holding each other so close, he wasn't sure where you began and where San ended.

"Alright, lovebirds, I'm going to the gym for a few hours," he spoke, unsure if you could even hear him from how deeply molded into each other the two of you were.

San waved at him with one of the hands wrapped around your back, and you sent him off with a quiet "have fun."

Wooyoung hesitated at the door, peeking in once more, the corner of his lips curling into a sly smirk. "You know…"

You turned your head to look at the man, raising an eyebrow at him, urging him to speak.

"They say some sweet lovemaking gets rid of colds prettyyy quick," he winked.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you could see San's ears turning a bright red – yet you weren't sure if that was Wooyoung’s doing or the cold's.

"Ya!" San grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him.

Wooyoung ran away, effectively dodging the swarm of pillows being thrown at him, his squeaky giggles echoing in the apartment even after the front door clicked shut behind him.

"Sorry about that. Just ignore him," San pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, tucking you back into his chest.

You let out a breathy laugh, nuzzling your cheek against San's collarbone. "It's Wooyoung, I'm used to his antics by now."

"You're right," he grinned, laying down on his bed, taking you with him.

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better, Sannie?"

"Just let me hold you," he flexed his arms around you, squeezing you for a few seconds before relaxing again.

You hummed, letting your eyes flutter shut, your hand sliding under his shirt to settle against the soft skin of his hip.

You remained that way, limbs tangled up with his under the comforter, your cheek pressed to his chest as it rose and fell steadily. You felt his breath hitch, chest hiccuping as he cleared his throat repeatedly. You raised your head to meet his eyes, your hair disheveled and tangled from where his fingers had been running through it.

“Are you okay? Does something hurt?”

His hand smoothed down your unkempt locks, cupping the back of your neck and giving it a small squeeze. “I’m okay,” he cleared his throat again.

You stifle a laugh at his attempt to hold back his cough. “Don’t hold it back, you idiot.”

He pouted, muttering under his breath, “such heartwarming words.” He hid his face in the crook of his elbow and coughed, the sound ripping through his chest. He winced, eyes shut tightly and the corners of his mouth turning downwards.

“Oh, baby,” your fingers ran through his hair, scratching at his scalp before moving down to cup his cheek. San leaned into your touch, turning his head to kiss your palm, his skin heated against yours. “I’ll go make you some tea.”

“Don’t go,” he mumbled, taking your free hand in his and interlocking your fingers with his, giving them a tight squeeze.

“I’ll just be a moment,” you leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Just stay here, I don’t need any tea,” San touched his forehead to yours.

You kissed the tip of his nose, then placed another one on his cheekbone. “Yes you do.” Untangling yourself from him, you made your way to the kitchen, stopping at his bedroom door. “Just call out if you need me.”

You left the room, finally allowing yourself to laugh at the expression San was giving you – bottom lip jutting out, eyes big and pleading.

He was so cute, you thought, as you stared at the boiling water. Dropping a few pieces of ginger into the water, followed by a stick of cinnamon, you left them to boil on low heat for a few minutes. You turned the stove off before placing a tea bag into the kettle and watched as the liquid slowly darkened.

Pouring the steaming tea into his favourite mug, you walked back to his room.

You immediately noticed his restless shuffling under the thick blanket, his breathing heavy and labored, a sheen of sweat reflecting the dim light from the small lap perched on his bedside.

"San?" You hurried to his side, setting the mug down by the lamp before placing your palm on his forehead, worried his fever might have returned. "Does anything hurt?"

"(Y/n), please…" He muttered, voice so breathy his words were barely coherent, still fidgeting under his blanket.

"What's wrong, Sannie?" You began to push the blanket off him, allowing the cool air to hit his heated skin.

Your worry faded as soon as you pulled it off his torso, leaving it gathered at his knees. Your eyes traveled between his pants – pulled midway down his thighs – and his hand, wrapped around his hard length, his hips thrusting into his fist with vigor.

"S-san! What are you doing?" Your hands twitched at your sides, not knowing what to do, your eyes stuck on San's lower half. Arousal pooled between your legs, waves of heat surging through your body.

"Please, (Y/n)- ah," he whined. His fingers squeezed around his girth, the breathy moan that escaped his lips going straight to your core. "Please, help me. Wooyoung said-"

"Sannie, Wooyoung’s an idiot. You need to rest," your voice wavered, prying your eyes off San's middle to meet his eyes.

"Please… please, please, (Y/n)."

You were stuck battling between your morals and your arousal, rubbing your thighs together as you struggled to speak. But San was looking up at you with hooded eyes, lips parted as he panted heavily, hips never ceasing their movement. You eyed the bead of precum leaking from his tip – how his hand smeared it down his length with its relentless movement. With those flushed cheeks and whispered pleads – how could you ever say no?

"What can I do to make you feel better?"

"Ah, San. Fuck. Your mouth is so-," warm, you wanted to say before San ripped another moan out of you, your hand fisted in his hair as he lapped at your cunt like a starved man.

He slipped another finger alongside the two he had stuffed inside you, curling them to drag along your walls, pressing against the spot that made your back arch, your breathy moans egging him on.

"Taste so good," he nuzzled his nose against your clit, his tongue slipping down to lick up the wetness dripping out of you and around his fingers. His hips rutted against the sheets where he laid on his stomach, eyes fluterring shut as he breathed heavily against your folds, drunk off your arousal.

"Oh, God. San- hnngh," your hips jumped off the bed, your hand on the back of San's head helping you push him closer to your core. "I'm about to- ah, baby, you're making me feel so good."

San's fingers thrusted into you harder, encouraged by your praise, pressing against your sweet spot every time he pushed back in. His tongue was back on your clit, alternating between lapping at it and sucking it between his lips. Your back arched once more as waves of pleasure rushed through your body, your thighs shaking around San's face as he helped you ride out your high, his fingers deep inside you while his tongue worked to swallow everything you gave him.

Panting heavily, your eyes closed, trying to regain your breath. "Shit, San."

San climbed up your body, his chin dripping with his spit and your arousal. "Did that feel good?" He looked at you through hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling at the same rate as yours.

“Yes, San, it was amazing,” you breathed out a laugh, jumping when the tip of his cock brushed against your sensitive clit. San leaned closer, his chest pressed against yours, head tucked into the crook of your neck.

"Can I-" San pressed his lips against your skin, taking the shell of your ear between his teeth, the hand not holding him up wrapping around his cock again. He pumped himself a few times before running his tip along your folds, his precum mixing with the spit and arousal.

You tucked a few strands behind his ear, holding his cheek in your hand, smiling when he nuzzled into the touch. "Kiss me, Sannie."

San shook his head against your palm. "I don't want to get you sick."

You moved your hand to his nape, pulling his face closer to yours, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, smiling against the skin. "I think it's a little too late for that."

That was all it took for San to slam his lips against yours and moaning into your mouth, his teeth clashing against your front ones, desperately biting into your bottom lip.

"Let me have you, please, let me," he whispered against your lips, diving back in to suck your bitten bottom lip into his mouth.

You nodded, reaching down to take his length between your fingers – eliciting a sharp hiss from the man above you – and positioned him at your entrance, adjusting your position to take him more easily. San pushed forward, his tip breaching your tight hole, sliding more of his length inside you as his tongue ran over the roof of your mouth, sucking your tongue between his lips. He bottomed out inside you, pulling back to pant against your lips, his moans breathy and needy. Grinding his hips against yours, your eyes rolled back with a whispered fuck.

San pressed his forehead to yours, struggling to keep his eyes open while your walls squeezed around his length. "Is that okay, baby? God, you feel so good, I could cum right now."

"It feels so- so good, Sannie," you cupped his cheeks, one hand slipping down to his neck. "Just- please, move."

With his lips attached to your neck, he gave a few slow thrusts, the stretch of his cock between your walls almost overwhelming. You wrapped your arms around San's shoulders, feeling his muscles flex under your touch.

"I need-" he panted against your skin, lips pressed to your cheek, peppering open-mouthed kisses all over your face. San bent one of his knees, pressing it into the mattress by your hips, your thigh hooked over his. "I need more, please. Can I have more, please baby?"

San's eyes were teary as they stared into yours, pleading, his hand squeezing the flesh of your hip, cock dragging against your walls.

Your hand slid down to his lower back, lips pressing against his jaw. "Take what you want, Sannie, I'm all yours."

Digging the knee by your hip into the mattress, San pushed his cock all the way inside you, rolling his hips until they were flush with yours, your eyes rolling back at the stretch. With a hand on the underside of your thigh, he bent it back until your knee rested under your armpit before he began to piston his hips, building a steady rhythm as he fucked the moans out of you. San’s lips pressed gentle kisses down the column of your throat, stopping to suck and bite at the flesh, leaving behind a trail of purple and blue bruises that you would scold him for later.

He breathed heavily against your skin, a mix of grunts and airy moans escaping his lips. “You’re so perfect, every last bit of you,” he took your nipple into his mouth, giving it a sharp suck before biting down on it, your body jolting under him.

“San – a-ahh – more, give me more.” Your whole body spasmed every time his cock brushed against your sweet spot, his hand pushing your other leg over his shoulder, folding you in half so he could fuck you even harder. “You feel so good, baby. So, so good.”

“Fuck. I’m not going to last,” he tongue made a trail up your cleavage to the hollow of your neck, moving to your face and slotting his lips against yours, running his tongue over your teeth.

Please, please, please, you repeated, unsure of what exactly you were asking for, San’s hips slamming so hard against yours it left your brain lagging. He brought the hand on your thigh down to your sopping folds, two fingers rubbing hastily at your swollen clit as he tried to bring you over the edge with him. Your walls clenched around his throbbing cock as a numbing wave of pleasure coursed through your body. San’s hips stuttered, managing a few more thrusts before stilling, cock pushed all the way inside your pulsing cunt as the familiar warmth of his cum took over your senses. A series of high-pitched moans escaped his lips as he emptied his load inside you.

He pulled out just enough to shoot the last rope of cum onto your mound, rubbing it through your folds with the tip of his cock, your legs closing in around his hips when he brushed against your clit.

He looked down at the mess he had made before sheathing himself back inside your cunt, pushing some of his cum out in the process.

“S-san!” Your hips jolted, trying to move away from him as you began to feel overstimulated.

“I’m sorry, please, just-” He rocked his hips into yours, his face tucked into your neck, his hot breath blowing against your skin. “I need more, (Y/n).”

Your thighs shook uncontrollably around him, the pleasure mixing with pain as your nerves went into overdrive. But San was looking at you with teary eyes, sniffing every other second as his nose started running. He looked so fucked out, hair disheveled and the sheen of sweat covering his body reflecting the dim light. He pushed his hips flush against yours, grinding slowly, unable to stop himself as waves of pleasure shot through his spine.

“Please… just one more… please, baby, will you give it to me?” He pressed his lips to your cheek, then to your nose, and finally your mouth, placing short sweet kisses on your lips while he begged you for more.

When the tears welling up in his eyes – a mixture of his cold and the pleasure overwhelming his every sense – dampened his precious skin, his eyes glimmering as he looked down at you, you knew you had lost this battle. Perhaps even the war, and everything in between.

“I’ll give you anything you want, Sannie,” you whispered against his lips, moaning into his mouth as his thrusts picked up their pace, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing between the four walls.

Sliding his arms under you, he held you closer to him, your tits squeezing against his chest as his cock slid in and out of you, pushing directly against your g-spot with every thrust. San’s moans got louder – needier – as he pumped himself into you, desperately chasing his high.

“You’re taking me so well, my love – ahhh – fuck, (Y/n), every single inch,” he bit down on your shoulder, squeezing your waist so tight he was bound to leave bruises. “I’m going to fill you up with so much cum, it’ll be dripping out of you for days. You'll take all of it, won't you?”

His words made your walls clamp up on him, his thrusts faltering and turning sloppy. “Please, Sannie, want your cum so bad – hnnngh,” your nails dragged over the soft skin of his back, your eyes rolling back when his fingers made contact with your clit, rubbing at it desperately, reveling in the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock. “I’m- fuck, I’m so close.”

"My pretty baby," he slid his tongue over your parted lips. "So beautiful, letting me fuck my cum into her."

Your hand slid down his slick skin to squeeze at the firm flesh of his ass, making him groan into your neck. Slowly, your fingers made their way between his cheeks, brushing over his puckered hole. San’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, pounding his cock into you with fervor as you sunk the tip of your finger into his ass, feeling it clench around your digit. A familiar warmth surged through you as San pumped his cum into you, sliding his cock in and out of your abused cunt as ribbons of white painted your walls. He slowly stilled his hips and you felt his cock throbbing inside you, his cum fucked so deep into you, you feared no contraceptive could stop you from bearing his children. He leaned in, pressing his mouth to yours as he filled you up; his lips parted after a few seconds, the pleasure leaving him too fucked out to do anything but moan and groan into your mouth.

“(Y/n), baby, you feel so good... it won’t stop coming out,” he ground his hips into yours, feeling more of his cum filling you up, a stream of it leaking out and pooling on his sheets.

The tears in his eyes, the euphoric expression on his face, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your sensitive clit, the feeling of his cock buried so deep within you still shooting out ropes of cum – you weren’t sure what threw you off the edge, perhaps it was all of those factors combined. Your toes curled, and you could swear you saw stars, vision blurring as your body writhed under San’s, clawing at his back while he helped you ride out your high.

Your legs didn't stop spasming even after San plopped down on his side next to you, reaching out to brush your hair off your face, his palm cupping your cheek, thumb rubbing against the flushed skin. “Are you okay?”

You blinked slowly at him, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Mmm, perfect.” You turned your body to face him, your knees shaking in the process – and San may or may not have smiled proudly at that. “You know, I would have hid your scarves a long time ago if I knew you could fuck like that.”

Your giggles vibrated between the walls as San attacked you, fingers prodding at your sides, limbs too heavy to fight him off your body.

--

Wooyoung peeked his head into the room, grimacing at the overbearing stuffiness. Looking around, he noticed the pile of clothes thrown into one corner, soiled towels tossed in the opposite direction. A pair of bodies slept soundly, tangled up together under the thick comforter, San's soft snores breaking through the stillness in the room.

Wooyoung’s hand reached up to cover his mouth, stifling a squeaky laugh as the realization hit him.

“Holy shit, they actually did it.”

apply for my tag list here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[iiwaijime]

endgame: day one (i)

mlist.

nobara and yuji help you pack; to say the least, you're nervous. a whole week with someone you barely know. you stuff your clothes haphazardly into the bag, barely listening to anything they're saying.

"y/n! stop zoning out, did you hear what i said?"

"no, sorry yuji," you reply automatically.

"he said, inumaki may be a bitch and a brat sometimes, but he's a good guy," nobara tells you helpfully.

"that's not what i said!"

"i paraphrased."

you raise an eyebrow. "a good guy, yet you called him a bitch and a brat in the same breath."

"hey, i'm just being honest!" nobara tosses another pair of jeans at you. "this'll do. close it, yuji!"

"yes ma'am!"

you smile at the sight of them — two of your best friends — even as their chatter dissolves into giggling and hitting each other on the shoulders. "i'm really lucky to have you guys," you say aloud.

"what's all this sappy bullshit?" questions megumi from behind you. "since when do you like us?"

"y'know, just saying. in case i get murdered at inumaki's."

megumi groans unamusedly, but hands you a bag anyways. "snacks for later."

saying goodbye to them feels like you're getting married in the 1950s and leaving your parents' home forever, even though you'll be gone for a week at most, and you already know you'll be texting them all day. still, it's extremely nerve-wracking to spend even an hour in the same place as inumaki, alone. megumi drives you there, a surprising gesture considering he's always on your ass for not driving yourself. and then he's leaving again, and you're standing at the doorstep of an enormous penthouse like you're homeless, ringing the doorbell while you pray to be struck down by something else — you're not really sure what.

toge inumaki opens the door, and from the start it's clear that he's not expecting you. his hair — or what can be seen of it, anyways — is messy, and he looks like he's just woken up. (is he even wearing pants?) his eyes widen when he sees you. "shit, this early?"

"i think i'm exactly on time," you reply coldly.

"what?" he fishes his phone out of his pants pocket — to your relief, he is wearing shorts — and checks the time. "oh what the hell, i overslept."

"yeah..." you don't feel quite as enthusiastic.

"um, i'll show you to your room, and then we can draft out the formatting when i have breakfast."

breakfast? it's a little past three in the afternoon, but oh well. he shuts the door, then clears his throat. you turn to look at him, and your heart jumps up to your throat. he's pulled the hood down to reveal his pale, messy hair, and you forget who he is just long enough to register the fact that he's terribly attractive, even with the bedhead and puffy eyes. and then you remember that he's a stuck-up loser prick, and the thought is forced away from your mind. "yeah?"

"it's just comparing our routines, right?" he asks you. "for an entire week."

you nod, still speechless from the momentary revelation from half a minute ago. the heat on your cheeks refuses to dissipate.

sparks fly!!!

sorry for the delay, i got into haikyuu and lost all inspiration until reading two fics that caused me to mental breakd(ance/own) this morning.

also i feel like inumaki is lowkey chill about finding yn attractive but yn is dying on the inside.

i stepped on an entire lego set maybe 3 minutes ago and it broke under my foot and it still hurts

my pookies at poopynation, also mimi and nora, ily guys yall my faves fr nghh

tags r open !

likes n rbs r appreciated <3

TAGLIST !! @inumak-eumine @dawnisatotalqueen @satoryaa @punkhazardlaw @carefree-flowerchild @fawnios @shokosbunny @nakopii @lemonnotade @cloudnaiii @bellsoftheball @bubbleteanadboba @shuuji71 @maywill0ws @diorzs

tumblr cannot find some usernames, sorry!

[cutecatlov3r]

𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

izuku midoriya x reader ! (fem)

synopsis: when an innocent religious boy comes into your hands the only thing you can do is ruin his pure mind.

word count: 3.5k

warnings/tw: all characters are 18+, no quirks, college AU, corruption, mentions religion, a little bit of disrespect about religion, praise, oral (m!), hickeys, masturbation(?), facial, finger sucking, hair pulling, piv, unprotected sex, and... I'll let you figure it out.

a/n: gah this is a virgin izuku book >///<... stay tuned for the end... trust me, you want to read it. oh and please like, comment. and re-blog ily ! don't copy my work. not proofread. who wants a part 2 ?…

song: HEAVEN AND BACK [Chase Atlantic]

You yawned, moving through the crowded party. Sighing, you tried looking for your roommate, Mina Ashido. You must admit, you already have had a couple of drinks so you were pretty buzzed, walking around all the flashing lights didn't make your mind feel any more at ease.

"Y/n?~" a voice asked you. It was a feminine voice, a voice you knew way too well.

You turned around to see your roommate. She looked drunk off her ass. Her hair was frizzing up, her shirt covered in alcohol, and her eyes barely open. You shook your head, snapping a picture of her to show her in the morning.

You giggled, watching her stumble into your arms.

"Mina, are you ready to go home?" you asked, only a bit concerned for her well-being. She can get a little crazy at parties

"Y/n~ Noooooo, I don't wanna go home yet~ *hic* Plus you still haven't even met my *hic* friends~" she slurred, furrowing her eyebrows.

The whole reason you were at the party is to meet Mina's 'Out of town' friends. Oh, trust me, you've met her main group, sleeping with all of them whenever you feel like it. You couldn't help yourself! You regularly call Bakugou over to fuck you whenever you want him to, but that's a whole different story.

"Mina? Oh! Mina! There you are," a familiar face said, sighing in relief. The familiar face was none other than Shoto Todoroki, you've met him a few times, he didn't go to your university. Not to say that you two fucked or anything but you guys definitely did some hand stuff not too long ago.

Shoto is from a Christian school, he doesn't believe in the ways of God but he is forced to go. Every weekend he comes to your university's parties to disobey his father and obey his own beliefs. He is an atheist, not caring for religions, you can say the same thing.

"Aw, Shoto! I didn't know you were here," you teased, giving the boy a tight hug. You adored his sensitive reactions to your slightest touch. He hugged you back.

"I didn't see you here, glad to know you're here though," he smiled, holding on to your waist. Was he being more bold today? You rolled your eyes, taking his hands away from your waist, the only thing on your mind was making sure Mina got home safely. You shouldn't get distracted by Shoto's charms.

"Where's *hic* Zu... Zuku... And Chako?" Mina cried, shaking Shoto's shoulders. Shoto looked at your calm face, pausing his train of thought before turning back to Mina.

"He's upstairs, he needed some air. You know how he gets around crowded places. And Ochako is with Jirou and Hagakure," Shoto replied, shrugging.

Mina shook her head, too dazed to say anything to Shoto.

"Zuku?" you questioned. You were unfamiliar with the name. You knew Ochako, only due to her relations with your girl friends.

"Izuku," Shoto corrected. "He's a friend of ours from my school, could you go and grab him? I think he's ready to go home, he doesn't do so well around big crowds. I'll try and get Mina out of the house too, she looks really... Not well..." he muttered.

Mina whined, protesting against him. Of course she wanted to stay but she needed to leave, she was well over being blacked out.

"Don't make us call Sero, you know he will whoop your ass," you commented, sternly.

Mina shut her mouth, quickly. "Yes ma'am," She was ready to comply with whatever you guys said.

"He's in the last room down the hallway," Shoto explained, picking up Mina. He tossed her over his shoulder, trying to get through the crowd.

You nodded. All you have to do is grab Shoto's friend, you trust Shoto enough to leave him with Mina. You know he'd never do anything to make a woman uncomfortable, ever.

You made your way upstairs. The bass of the music made the entire house shake. You were surprised the party hadn't gotten a noise complaint yet. Moans and groans filled the hallway you walked through, horny adults probably filled every single room available for access. You made a mental note to call Bakugou over tonight for some fun.

Eventually you reached the last door of the hallway. Slowly, you opened the wooden door. The room seemed empty from the looks of it, you decided to look around. A huge bed was in the middle of the room, furniture organized around. The room did have a nice color pallet, white and gold. The two colors that embody purity, you loved them.

"Izuku?" you called out, exploring the dim lighted room.

The door to the balcony opened, stepping into the room with you was a fluffy green haired boy. The darkness of the room was hard to really see any features of him. The moonlight from outside did let you see the little freckles displayed on his face though.

"U-um... Who... Are you?" the male asked, shutting the door behind him quickly.

"Are you Izuku?" you asked, wondering if you might have gotten the wrong room.

The boy nodded his head.

"Oh, Shoto wanted me to come and grab you," you conversed. You walked over to a bedside table, turning on the lamp that was on it. You didn't really enjoy being in the dark. Once you turned around you finally saw the man you were speaking too. His eyes averted from your figure, you were in a proactive outfit that showed all of your natural curves. He wore a regular shirt and jeans but what had your full attention was the silver cross that dangled from him neck. One word... Innocence.

A sinister smirk appeared on your lips. "Or we can stay here and get to know each other," you suggested, shrugging. You sat on the bed, waiting for Izuku to join you. Izuku was flustered by your boldness. He took a deep breath, thinking back on what Shoto had told him about meeting new people. He never really came out to parties, usually the only places he went that had lots of people is church.

He made his way to your lustful energy. Izuku sat on the bed with you. "I'm Y/n," you greeted.

"I'm Izuku Midoriya," he said, giving an unsure smile.

His emerald colored eyes were a sight to see, they were beautiful. You shook your head, snapping back into reality. Izuku just stared at your own hypnotizing gaze.

"I heard you go to Shoto's school. You believe in God?" you asked, curiously.

"W-what?! Of course I do! God is my ruler. He is my only God," Izuku rambled. You thought his little ramble about God was adorable. He seemed very passionate about his religious beliefs.

All you could do was shrug. "I can't relate but I respect your beliefs,"

"Why can't you relate? Do you not believe in our lord and savior?"

You shook your head 'no', earning an audible gasp from Izuku.

"What? W-why not?"

You began to feel annoyed by the way he was talking. "Izuku, don't you ever have temptations?" you questioned, trying to explain how you feel.

Izuku began to look off to the side. "We aren't supposed to..."

"Well! We are human! We can't help how we feel," you interrupted, laughing.

Izuku cocked his eyebrow. "I never follow my temptations. They must be kept away, giving into them is a sin,"

You rolled your eyes at the word 'sin'. It rolled off his tongue so smoothly, you were buzzed from the party earlier so maybe that's why you decided to say...

"Have you ever sinned?"

Izuku looked at you, his mouth hung agape. You bet he never expected you to ask him such a personal question.

"O-of course not!" he said, furrowing his eyebrows. He seemed offended by the question.

You hummed to yourself, leaning close to the poor boy's face. Suddenly, you found yourself straddling his empty lap. He didn't dare touch or look at you, he was easily embarrassed. His face was a beet red hue. His hands nor face paid attention to the temptation of your body.

"You've never..." you thought. Smirking, you leaned into his ear, "Touched yourself?" you finished. Your breath was close against his neck, making him shiver underneath you.

Izuku's heart beat felt rapid. He had no words, seemingly. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. He did not partake in such sinful acts.

You almost laughed in his face thinking he was joking. But on further inspection, he seemed dead serious. This made you excited. You loved sleeping with virgins. They always had the whiniest moans and the warmest cum. You loved taking advantage of them, making sure to make them feel pathetic.

Your hand crept up to his face, grabbing his cheek. "Do you want me to show you how to touch yourself, Izuku?" you asked, as innocently as you could.

And with that, you felt something hard underneath you, this boy had gotten a boner, a boner that you wanted to get rid of.

"I...I shouldn't," Izuku mumbled, feeling as if he were spinning.

Your lips found their way on his neck, sucking on his soft skin softly. He let out a whimper, his whimper made you want to go insane. But! You know you should take it slow, it is his first time after all.

"Do you want me to touch you?" you asked, feeling your core already to start to burn.

"N..N..."

"It's a sin to lie, isn't it?" you teased, not really knowing if it was a sin or not.

"Touch me,"

With that being said, you smashed your lips against his. Izuku let you kiss him. But what got him more interested was when you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He seemed like a natural to you. Your tongues were in sync, making you want him even more.

After releasing your kiss to breathe in some air, you looked into his eyes. Lust. He was being lustful in this moment with you. It made you eager to ruin him.

"What do you want me to do to you?" you asked, pushing his back on to the bed. He laid under you as you sucked on his skin, making sure to leave purple marks. They way he crumbled under your touch felt so sexy to you.

"D...Do w-whatever you want to me," he moaned, finally having the courage to put his hands on your waist. They ran up and down your hips. grinding your body slightly on his hard clothed cock.

You smiled, removing your clothes, only having a bra and panties on, this would be his first time seeing a woman naked. You felt excited knowing that. You helped Izuku get him own clothes off, leaving him in his boxers. The tent built up in them almost had you drooling at the sight.

He couldn't look you in the eyes, he stared at the ground, holding his cheeks to relieve them as they were burning. You were stood up, Izuku's legs draped over the bedside, he was anticipating for more.

Getting on your knees, you made sure Izuku kept his eyes directly on you.

"I'm going to show you how to please yourself, kay?" you said, pecking his lips.

"H-ow do I do that...?" he asked, almost stuttering.

Instead of explaining, you grabbed his hand. You wanted to tease him before touching him. You let your warm tongue touch the pads of his finger tips. You noticed his dick twitch due to your action. You began to suck softly and slowly, Izuku was in a trance, wishing it were his cock instead.

"Let me see it now, Zuku,"

Izuku felt his blush come back to him, he must've felt too embarrassed to pull out his cock, he kept stuttering and rambling on and on. You rolled your eyes, playfully, finding your own hands to be the one to reveal his dick. His dick was long and thick, you've never seen such a perfect one.

He whined as your soft hands started pumping his dick slowly.

"This is how to please yourself, give me your hand," you ordered.

Without any thought Izuku gave you his hand. You wrapped his own hand around his dick, making him pump it himself.

"Does that feel good baby?" you asked, ready to make him feel even more relieved.

"Y-yes," he moaned.

You grazed your thumb over the tip making him feel jolts of pleasure.

After watching him pump his cock in front of you a few times, you were ready to wrap your lips around his length. You wanted him to cry out your name- No- You needed him to cry out your name.

You took off Izuku's hand from his own length, giving him your full attention.

"Keep your eyes on me Izuku," you said, in a serious tone.

He nodded his head, fast.

You stuck out your tongue to lick the tip of his dick. He tossed his head back, making you feel more heated. In an instant, you took his whole tip in your mouth, sucking on it soft and slow. He groaned, trying to stop the urge to grab your hair. You noticed his hand hovering over your head, was he trying to be respectful? You rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand and placing it in your own hair.

"You can pull my hair baby, don't be shy,"

Izuku blushed at your words but found his fingers gripping right where your scalp is. You loved it, he's learning so easily.

Your wet tongue ran up and down his shaft, earning moans and groans from Izuku. He started to gain more confidence, moving your head down further. He wanted you to take him fully but he was too shy to say.

After a few minutes of pants, moaning, and suckling noises, you felt Izuku get more tense and sloppy as he moved your head. He was close to cumming.

"This... Feels so good," he moaned, his hips rutting upwards on instinct.

"You're such a good boy, does the good boy wanna cum?" you asked, rubbing his dick in your hands. Both of your hands rubbed him in all the right ways.

"C-cum?" Izuku questioned.

Oh of course! He is a virgin, he doesn't know about these things. The cross around his neck was connected to his chest due to the sweat. You laughed in your head, knowing you're stealing one of God's little angels.

"You'll understand when it happens, for now, just lay back and let me make you feel good, hm?"

Izuku understood, laying back down, propping himself on his elbows to look at your face.

You continued to suck on him, anticipating to feel his warm cum on your face.

"W-wait!" Izuku shouted, a look on his face signified he was unfamiliar by the feeling.

You knew what this meant, you kept using your hands and tongue faster.

"A-ah no! Something... Ah~ No I think I'm going to-"

You took out his cock from your mouth, rubbing it up and down while he shot his hot cum on your face. He felt ecstasy.

"S-so good!" he praised, panting.

You licked up all of the cum you could off of his dick, making sure he watched. His face was red.

"That was too good," Izuku said, sitting upwards. He got up to grab his shirt off of the floor. You sighed, understanding he was ready to leave.

"What? Leaving too so-"

He wiped the cum off of your body, feeling embarrassed that you have his sperm all over your cute face. Your cheeks burned up, no one has taken care of you after doing something like that.

"S-sorry about that," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck.

You gave him a smile, feeling an unfamiliar sensation deep down in your heart. "It's no problem," you said, taking a seat on the bed.

Izuku sat next to you.

"T-thanks for that... I've never done anything like that before," he sighed.

"You think we're done?" you giggled. Of course you weren't!

"Are we not?" Izuku asked, confused.

You shook your head, straddling Izuku's lap. This time instead of being so shy, he seemed less anxious, comfortable, and familiar. His hands gripped your waist, guiding your hips to grind against his dick, causing him to get hard once again.

"Let me ruin you Izuku," you whispered, kissing him passionately. He kissed you back, wanting everything from you. He needed you.

"Please y/n... Ruin me,"

All you could do was smile at his words, he was ready for you and only you.

You got off Izuku, slowly removing your panties. After removing them you sat back down on Izuku's lap.

"What are we doing next?" he asked, fiddling with his hands.

You honestly didn't need foreplay, you were ready for him. You were ready to ruin him, to make him connected to you by soul ties.

"Izuku, lay down," you demanded.

Izuku did exactly what you said, laying down right in the center of the bed, his body propped into the soft, silky pillows.

You crawled over to him like a hunter stalking its prey. You had no hesitation to pounce on him. You hovered yourself over his dick, wanting to see his facial expressions as you put it in. Though you weren't a fan of riding, you always were when it came to virgins.

Your eyes landed upon the cross around Izuku's neck. God can't help his poor soul now.

Slowly, you began to sink down on Izuku's cock.

"Warm... So good," he whispered.

Your gummy walls held onto his dick tightly. The lewd noises you were making were beyond comprehension.

"I can't... Too much," Izuku whined, closing his eyes, holding on to your hips.

"You can take it baby, so big and ready to fill me up," you said, finally pushing yourself on his dick fully.

He let out a moan.

You allowed him to get familiar with the sensation of your walls, not wanting him to cum so quickly.

You began to move yourself up and down, Izuku's hands attached to your hips as you rode him.

His dick filled you up, hitting all the right spots. You moaned, sinking down on his cock.

Moans and whimpers could be heard throughout the room. This feeling is one that you could never give up.

Over time you began to pick up the pace, Izuku was huffing and taking deep breaths as you sped up. He was so sensitive after you made him cum earlier, he wanted to try and make you feel good too, which is why it's taking everything in him not to cum right then and there.

"F-fuck Izuku~" you moaned, feeling the knot in your stomach ready to be released.

You felt yourself moving faster, wanting to chase your own orgasm.

"G-god! So good! I can't hold it in," Izuku whimpered.

You smirked at his words. "God can't help you Izuku," you said, slyly.

For some odd reason that turned Izuku on even more, rutting his hips upwards. He hugged your waist, slamming you down on his cock. You were surprised by his actions but didn't care, he was eager, it's his first time, of course he was.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, feeling your orgasm near closer and closer. You couldn't help your eyes rolling back, it all was too much!

His dick hit your favorite spot, earning loud moans.

"Right there Izuku~" you panted, almost sounding like you were whining.

Izuku understood, moving your hips faster. Fucking into you as much as he could, hitting your spot over and over, continuously.

"Gon-Gonna cum!" you cried, ready to become undone.

Izuku just couldn't contain himself, his dick went in as much as it could, his hot seed pumping inside of you. The warmth of his cum made you reach your climax.

You both panted for air. You got off of the boy, laying beside him. That fucking session was a pretty damn good one.

"Thank you Y/n. I've never felt so alive," Izuku said, turning to face you. He had a smile plastered on him. His smile made your heart flutter.

Your stamina was all used up, you could barely look him in his eyes. You were happy to be of assistance for him.

"You were such a good boy," you said, leaning into kiss him.

He grabbed your cheeks, kissing you until you fell asleep. He wanted to take such good care of you after you helped him out. He placed a cover on top of you, admiring your cute face.

"Asleep already?" Izuku asked.

You didn't hear a word he said, already fast to sleep. You were insanely worn out.

He giggled slightly, kissing the top of your forehead.

...

"Fucking idiot," he muttered, rolling his eyes and getting off of the bed in search for his boxers. "When Shoto said it'd be this easy... I didn't think he meant this easy," he commented, ripping off the cross necklace from his neck. He threw it somewhere in the room, not caring for things like 'God'.

Once he found his boxers, he walked over the the dresser, taking out his phone, hidden behind some perfumes, which was recording the whole scene between the two of you.

"Too damn easy," he smirked, checking the video quickly to see if it captured everything, and trust me, it did.

3 Missed calls from Ochako <3

Izuku scoffed at his notifications, dialing the missing call back. He didn't want to deal with her bullshit right now, he wanted to smoke a quick cigarette before having to be by her side all night. The phone number answered quickly.

"Where are you babe? You've been missing for awhile now," the girl said, sounding worried.

"I just needed some air, I'll meet up with you in a bit,"

"Okay honey, bye, I love you,"

"I love you too,"

-

[sluts4matt]

Could you make a fic where its Chris (or Matt) and you forget something in the tour bus because you were busy trying to find a top to match your pink fresh love sweats (He is also wearing sweats ofc 🤭). he is a little upset/mad at you and he starts walking to the bus and you run after him to help find it. you have a small attitude when he says he doesnt need help finding it. he gives you a little attitude adjustment and the both of you walk out of the bus with what you forgot but you got caught afterwards because somehow you put on the opposite pants

i cant write for the life of me but if i could i would make this so toe curling and sheet gripping

ty @mattsfavwh3re ily

BACK OF THE BUS - CHRIS

pairing: dom!chris x latina!reader

summary: as if you taking a while to get fully ready didn't irritate chris enough, the small attitude you catch with him when you forget something on the bus pushes him over the edge.

warnings: SMUT, p in v, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk, pet names (use of ma and princess), semi-public, degrading, rough sex, praising if you squint.

word count: 1457

author's note: this is why i sucked in school because deadlines were not my strong suit. back of the bus is finally here though, so i hope you enjoy reading it.

the tour bus had arrived in salt lake city a few hours before the third day of the show. your boyfriend christopher had invited you on his, nick, and matt's tour 'the versus tour'.

the boys each had an associated color and would be going against each other in mini games. "hurry up, ma," he huffs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he zips his camo pants up.

the two of you were in the back of the bus, getting dressed. "i can't find a top," you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. your bright orange bra standing out against your tan skin. after all, you had to wear your boyfriends color.

"what about this?" you sigh, holding a small black top up to your body. he glances at it, nodding his head. "yep, just hurry, i'll be out here when you're done," he gives you a quick kiss, before sliding the door open enough for him to squeeze out.

he slides it shut once again and you huff, pulling the black top over your head. it landed just below your boobs. you slide on a pair of white and black nikes, sliding the door open.

"you ready?" the three boys ask in unison, their attention on you. you nod your head, humming at your friends.

the four of you were walking through the parking lot to the venue. the three boys had been talking and messing with each other the whole way, you had just been walking behind them quietly, texting.

chris nudged you with his arm, "who you texting?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "my mom," you mumble, shivering slightly as the wind blows. you shut your phone off, wrapping your arms around you.

"cold?" he asks, wrapping an arm around you. you nod your head before feeling around your pocket for your lip gloss. you patted each leg, frowning when you didn't feel the tube.

as a safety measure your hands go to your boobs, squeezing them. chris looks at you funny, "i left my lip gloss on the bus," you state, a pout on your lips. he sighs, rolling his eyes slightly.

"your strawberry shortcake one, correct?" he asks, already turning to walk away, not waiting for an answer. "yes," you say, quickly catching up with him, which was quite hard because his long legs were taking such large strides compared to your small one.

"i can go get it," you breathe, finally catching up. "don't need your help," he huffs, continuing to the bus. "but it's my lipgloss," you state, rather confused, though there was slight attitude in your tone.

chris stops, causing you to bump into him. he turns around, his hand gripping your jaw. "watch who you're copping an attitude with ma," he growls. you bite your bottom lip, looking up at him.

you bat your eyes innocently. "yeah?" he asks, tilting his head to the side, "gonna listen? or do i need to teach you a lesson?" he asks.

"teach me a lesson," you say, an innocent smile on your face. he harshly tugs you closer to the bus, tugging you up the stairs to the back where the two of you got ready.

he bends you over, your hands going to the wall to steady yourself. his hand collides with your ass, rubbing at the pink fabric. his other hand pulls down the fabric, revealing the thin fabric of your matching orange thong.

his hand collides with your ass, a moan falling from your lips. his hand goes to your ass cheek, rubbing it, trying to soothe the pain. "daddy's little pain slut," he mumbles, making a makeshift ponytail with your hair.

his hand connects with your ass again, causing a moan to leave your lips. his hands land on either side of your hips, his bulge pressing against your ass.

"please, daddy," you whimper, wiggling your hips against his. he hums, leaning down to place open mouthed kisses on the back of your shoulder. "daddy's little slut, so impatient," he says, his teeth tugging at your earlobe.

he tugs the thong off your hips, letting it fall down your legs, resting on your shoes. he spits onto his hand, rubbing the spit all over his cock.

his hand collides with the soft, tan, skin of your ass again, a moan escaping your lips.

his cock pushes into your warm hole, a gasp leaving your lips. "so big," you whine, pushing back into him. his hands grip your hips, a low grunt falling from his lips.

"i'll never get tired of that," he groans, beginning to thrust into you. "you like that baby? when my cock stretches your little pussy out?" he asks, his thrusts beginning to become faster.

a series of moans and whimpers fell from your lips, his thrusts bringing tears to your eyes. "yeah?" he asks, grunting, his grip on your hips getting tighter, "gonna cry? gonna be daddy's little slut and cry?" he asks.

you nod your head, whining. he smirks, his hands moving to the small of your back. he leans forward, his head pressing into the side of yours. his thrusts become rougher, his grunts sounding through the bus.

"so pretty and tight for me baby," he groans, his head dropping against the nape of your neck. you gasp, feeling his cock hit deeper inside of you. "d-daddy," you whine, his cock hitting against your g-spot.

"c-cumming," you sob out, your body shaking. your orgasm washes over you, a loud cry falling from your lips. "good girl," he mumbles, pulling out. you think you're done before chris is spinning you around, hoisting your body up.

your legs wrap around his waist as the tip of his cock prods at your soaking entrance. "you're so beautiful," he mumbles, thrusting his entire length into you.

your head falls against the wall, a low moan falling from your lips. "feel so good baby, so wet for me," he says, his mouth pressing against the side of your neck, his teeth biting and nipping at the skin.

your hands grip his shoulders, "cum in me," you moan, your head thrown back, giving him the perfect access to your neck. "yeah? want me to fill this pretty cunt?" he asks, his voice deep, vibrating against your skin.

you nod your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "use your words, ma," he grunts, his cock thrusting in and out of you. "mm, g-god," you squeak, not able to form them.

he tsks, a frown appearing on his face, "i know you can speak baby," he coos. "use. your. words," he grits out, his thrusts becoming rougher with each word, a cry escaping your lips.

"yes," you pant, his cock hitting against your g-spot, another orgasm washing over you. a high-pitched scream falls from your lips, your body shaking.

he doesn't stop thrusting, the overstimulation making your thighs shake, and a pool of heat settle between your legs. "yeah?" he asks, thrusting particularly rough, another scream coming from your throat, black mascara-stained tears stream down your cheeks.

"d-daddy," you moan, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your tear-stained cheek. "almost there baby," he mumbles, his forehead pressing against yours, his eyes fluttering closed.

his cock twitches, warmth filling your stomach, a low groan leaving his throat. you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck, your head falling against his shoulder.

his cock pulls out of you, the mixture of your cum dripping down your thighs. he held you against the wall as your legs twitched, still coming down from the high.

"you did so well ma," he mumbles, setting your legs down. your knees buckle, being able to feel his cum dripping down your thigh. he grips your waist, holding you up. he walks you to the couch, pulling a new pair of panties from your bag.

he slides them up your legs, kissing his way up. "gonna walk 'round with my cum in you, yeah?" he asks, a smirk on his lips.

he slides your pink pants up your legs, helping you stand before fumbling with the button. "so pretty," he mumbles, pressing his lips to yours. he grabs you a jacket, to which you gladly except.

he grabs your lip gloss and your hand, pulling you back out of the bus. he stops when you get to the last step. "get on my back," he tells you, knowing your legs were probably sore.

you climb onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck. his arms come under your thighs, holding you up.

he begins walking again, not paying mind to the crowd of screaming girls.

tag list:

@hysteria-things @tillies33ssss @soimightlikeoldmen69 @sturniolossss @freshsturns @etvar12 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloa @chrryclouds @sturniolho @sturniolowhore @imwetforyourmom @novasturniolo03 @spencerstits @junovrsmp4 @breeloveschris @skyslondon @stars4chratt @monkeyscientist22 @sophssturn @hearts4chris @l5ka @strombolilovr @blahbel668 @sturncakez @livvy4realll @raysmayhem-72

[strlingsav]

Bestie. Can I request Keegan. He needs the Savannah treatment. Tension with reader and they bang. That’s all I need.

Can be enemies, can be friends who refuse to acknowledge the tension, what ever you fancy. ✨🌚❤️

Anything for you and your man 🫶🏻 ily

Requited

– Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

— Tension between yourself and Keegan comes to a boiling point post-mission.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Your recon-patrol mission had finally come to an end, an exhausting endeavour among the rubble of No Man's Land with a short detour. Alex, having been successfully extracted from the stadium, was all too keen on retreating to safety and crashing for the evening. You yourself found the invitation for sleep nearly impossible to resist, but your stomach had been growling loudly for majority of the evening.

You'd showered, scrubbed every particle of blood, dirt and sweat from your body, still sore from the day's work. Your arms ached, legs stiff and your back tight; the warm water worked at the knots in your muscles, but a good night's rest was still calling to you. You opted to find something to settle your stomach, before heading to bed.

Elias and Thomas busied themselves in the kitchenette, raiding the cabinets for some form of liquor to wash down the stress of the day. You tried to slink into the room unnoticed, hide your presence under the loud laughter and talking from only a few feet away. Your eyes shifted as you caught a glimpse of Keegan, hands on the table, nodding along with the conversation.

You'd first met Keegan under complicated conditions- working with the Federation to further their cause, you'd only recently come to join the Ghosts and their efforts against the organization.

He'd nearly killed you when you met, filled with unbridled rage as he demanded to know Rorke's whereabouts and what exactly you knew of him. It was a long night of interrogating, shouting, swearing; threats passed between you before it crumbled with your confession. News of your commanding officer's betrayal spurred your decision to leave, whether it meant joining Keegan or being executed.

You were shown mercy, recruited to their task force with the overwhelming knowledge and insight you held of the federation. You were valuable, though still sat on the outskirts of their brotherhood, a stranger.

Your feelings for Keegan were layered between pure hatred and attraction, though they had softened over the last few months while working with him. In fact, to your reluctant dismay, you even had moments of weakness where he was endearing.

It grew from a vague fondness to entertaining the thought of his hands and lips on your body. Even now, noticing the swell of arousal seeping into your lower stomach.

You'd never admit it- you clung to the shadows, kept yourself hidden from the spotlight and cooperated as best you could to avoid ruffling feathers. Making yourself obvious was not in your interest, nor was drawing attention to your conflicting feelings about Keegan.

You were a bit annoyed with yourself for finding Keegan's presence, physical appearance, even his voice from across the room- to be attractive instead of irritating.

You'd be lying if you hadn't imagined what it would be like to kiss him- after a long day, to pull the mask off his face and taste words of affection and praise in that gruff voice that gave you goosebumps. Only late at night would you let the thoughts snowball, otherwise, he was still as far out of arm's reach as he'd always been.

You noticed most of them, including Keegan, were half-way to intoxicated. You tried to wiggle your way in unnoticed, but Merrick drew attention to you as soon as you stepped in the room, calling out your name.

"Join us," He gestured, waving you over to the aged table. "Long day calls for a drink."

"Just getting something to eat. I'll see you in the morning."

You'd managed to find a ration hidden in a scarcely-stocked cabinet, and held it up to show him.

Keegan's eyes followed you in your military-issued T-shirt and sweatpants that you managed to fit into so well. Ghost trails plagued his vision, watching you dig through the cupboards for a utensil of any kind, then straighten again. He took a shot of the cheap liquor being shared, his eyes narrowed at you, when you turned and met his gaze.

"The Rookie's too good for a drink with us," Keegan spoke up, indifference in his tone, but you picked up on a sour note. "Let her go." He shrugged.

You wanted to pretend it didn't sting- the rejection hurt more than you cared to admit, especially given the man it came from. It wasn't like you were trying to weasel your way into their good graces, but some slack would've eased your nerves.

Keegan didn't look away when your eyes met his, instead, he took it as a challenge. A dare, of sorts- who would cower from the exchange first. It wouldn't be him, couldn't be him; not with the alcohol in his bloodstream and sudden onset of intrigue - or something like it- simmering in his gut.

His eyes moved to the outline of your curves. Sometimes, he swore you knew exactly how you made him feel; infuriatingly aroused. It always irked him, the feeling of betrayal, like allowing himself to picture you in any way other than the enemy made him a traitor.

His brain hadn't yet entirely rewired itself to see you as his teammate. He still held contempt for your past secrecy and cooperation with the federation. It was only a coincidence that this contempt manifested itself into a sick irony of attraction, admiration, lust.

He had been impressed by your commitment to your cause, though your new-found loyalty to the Ghosts was much easier to digest. He was still suspicious, of course- good looks and a glimpse of your ass wouldn't change that, but his mind always wandered to what you felt like, sounded like, especially if it were to involve him.

He'd spent more than a few frustrating evenings with his legs spread, head against his pillow, fist wrapped around his cock as he imagined you riding him- something he desperately wanted to stop doing but couldn't. You didn't help, either; always unknowingly adding to the collection of mental images he'd circle back to in the darkness of his bunk.

"Nothing you could say would interest me anyway, Russ." You answered, watching him drop the bottle from his lips.

Elias and Merrick hid their grins, watching Keegan's face drop.

You bowed out, a sliver of pride settling in your chest, and strode away to your bunk to devour your meal. It wasn't worth the extra effort to stay and argue, wasn't worth destroying the already delicate ecosystem between yourself and Keegan. Anything tipping it off balance would be potentially catastrophic for you and the task force.

Your nerves had settled after retreating to safety, though were quickly rattled again as Keegan appeared at your door nearly half an hour later. You set the rations aside, standing to meet him, before he entered of his own accord.

"Do you like being alone, rookie?" He asked, leaning against the door frame. His question came in the form of an accusation, rather than genuine curiosity.

You hated the nickname- your rank was equal to that of Keegan's, though he liked to be poignant about how he viewed you. You weren't yet truly a part of the task force.

"No, I'm just tired."

Your argument was cut short as he neared you, uncharacteristically bold. You'd known him as a quiet man, a bit antisocial when he wasn't working- but his demeanour had changed, his tone cutting your words in half. You suspected the alcohol had something to do with it.

"I've seen you sneaking off. Makes me think you're hiding something."

You quirked a brow up, knowing you'd hurt his ego with your snide remark. You wanted to scoff in his face, but swallowed your attitude for later. As he came closer, you felt a familiar tremble of arousal beginning in your gut- the same one that shouldn't be there.

"Not hiding, just staying out of the way." You insisted.

"I know your history."

"I don't have anything to hide," You said, lifting your head to meet his eyes.

You gulped, hoping he was oblivious to the unsavoury thoughts and feelings you'd been experiencing about him. Surely, he was suspicious because of your past with the federation- still, your heart raced in your chest for all the wrong reasons.

"Seems like you do. And I don't think you've forgotten how it ended last time."

You breathed out, now imagining his large hands punishing you. The bittersweet sting of his palm against your ass while his hips rocked into you- it made you shiver. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping it was more subtle than it was.

He closed in on you, nearly chest-to-chest.

"I have nothing to hide," You repeated, watching his brows furrow.

"Bullshit," He scoffed. "I can see it on your face."

"Sergeant," You warned, feeling flustered and overwhelmed, but now filled with a bit of contempt for his relentlessness. "If you have reason to believe I'm hiding something, say it. Otherwise, I'm going to bed."

He set his jaw, taken aback by your sudden influx of confidence. He was almost confused, the liquor amplifying every emotion he was feeling, including the strange sensation in his gut that yearned to touch you, feel your lips just once even if never again.

"You're trouble, rookie. I just know it." He shook his head.

"Maybe," You said into the air, locking eyes as he licked his lips. "Or are you just looking for it?" It wasn't meant to be laced with a sultry tone, or sound so deviously sexual, but it hit Keegan's ears and caused a rush of blood to his groin.

He shook his head again, trying to lose the wild thoughts that snuck up on him. He knew you were trouble- maybe not a traitor, but a damn tease. His cock was already pushing against his jeans just watching the furrow of your brows and small pout you put on. Everything about you was inviting- your eyes, your lips, your smell.

"I don't need to look, I know it when I see it."

"You're just looking for a reason to get rid of me, Russ."

"I'm looking for you to be honest," He growled. "You've got something you're not sharing with the rest of us."

"I'm entitled to my privacy."

"Not with your past offences."

"Are you always an asshole to your teammates, or do you save it for me?"

"You'd know if I were being an asshole."

"I'd hate to be around when that happens."

"I think you can handle more than you let on, Rookie."

"If my position on this task force is too much for you to handle-"

His hand came up to rest beside your head, his body moving closer yours, leaving barely an inch between you. It became clear when his next words passed his lips, what exactly his intentions were.

"I can handle you, rookie," He said; quiet, but filled with the deep husk of his voice in your ear. "I promise you that."

Your knees nearly melted, dropping an inch as you met his gaze. Your hands flattened against the wall, your stomach tying itself in knots.

A surge of arousal awakened your confidence once more- fairly certain that his interrogating was not the result of suspicion, but lust. You straightened your legs, finding his eyes as you stood up.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Sergeant. I'd hate to be disappointed." You pursed your lips, afraid that you'd gone too far, that he hadn't meant what he'd said the way you perceived it.

But he cracked a smile- a twitch of his lip that made you exhale harshly. He liked a challenge. Didn't back down from dangerous or difficult conditions- he was notorious for his resiliency. You weren't going to be an exception, not when he wanted you so badly.

The air stood still for a moment- the two of you silently reading the unspoken words settled in your eyes. It was tense- undeniably rigid, heat passing between your bodies.

Without another moment passing, he lifted his hand to the back of your neck, rough callouses scraping your skin as he pulled you closer. His lips engulfed yours so quickly, it shocked you, caused your teeth to clash together and your brain to pause for a moment while you registered the chain of events.

Whether passion or frustration, he opened his mouth, forcing yourself to do the same, and slid his tongue against yours.

Your small squeaks and quick breaths turned to quiet moans as his other hand snaked around your waist, pulling your groin flush with his. You could feel the thick length of his cock pressing against your abdomen, and a flutter of excitement tickled your insides.

Your hands lifted to his shoulders, wrapping around to feel the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer into you, pressing your breasts against his chest.

"Shit," He cussed, low and quiet. He prompted you to jump up into his arms, his hands gripping your ass as he held you close to his groin.

You clung to his waist, reconnecting your lips as he travelled slowly to the small bed against the wall. With each step, your lips and teeth knocked against each other, tongues sliding together, hands tangled in his short hair.

He dropped you down, eyes locked on yours like a predator about to devour his prey. He used his hand to push the waist band of your sweatpants down, finding you bare beneath them. In response, he groaned.

"Damn, you infuriate me," He breathed.

"Shut up," You replied.

You pressed your lips against his again as his fingers crept toward your pussy, two of them beginning to rub circles over your clit, in turn causing your back to arch off the mattress. He watched with parted lips, so focused on your expression of pleasure he nearly forgot about the aching in his pants.

He listened to your sweet moans of desperation, watched your lips part as you breathed deeply, moaned quietly. Your arms had tangled themselves around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly as he slowly forced his fingers inside you.

His head dropped, eyes wandering to your breasts, hard nipples pressing against your T-shirt, and the view of his fingers inside your wet cunt as he yanked your sweats off.

He could hardly believe how soft you were- tight around his fingers and almost moulding around them. He flicked them inside you, massaging the spongy dome that made you clench around him, while his thumb returned to your clit.

He took a deep breath in, resisting the urge to slide inside you without anymore delay.

"You are trouble," He breathed, his head dipping down to your ear. "Were you thinkin' about me before I came in here?"

You opened your eyes to find his, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words to respond. Haphazard strokes over your clit were already helping lead you closer to orgasm, and his fingers filling you only pushed you over the edge.

"I-" You gulped, pausing to catch your breath. "I was thinking about you," You answered. It was honest, vague- there were too many things you'd thought about.

"Thinkin' about the guy you hate making you cum?" He sped up his pace, earning a tortured squeak from your lips.

"Asshole," You breathed.

"Give it up, baby. I know you wanna cum."

You wanted to be irritated, but his fingers were still inside you and he showed no signs of relenting until you climaxed, which meant there was no focusing on anything other than the building suspense in your gut.

It unraveled quickly, especially with his confession to paint a vivid picture in your mind. Your pussy convulsed around his fingers, and his lips found yours amongst your open-mouthed moans.

You were muffled by his lips, whimpering quietly into him when he removed his fingers and undid his belt in one fell swoop. He had hardly dropped his pants off his hips before he was pulling your shirt over your head and lavishing your breasts with hot kisses.

Your breathing increased, chest heaving as he savoured the taste of your skin, ran his warm tongue over your nipples. At the same time, he guided his cock to the heat of your pussy, gently probing before sliding deep into your soft, silky depths.

He groaned harshly, matching a soft moan that bubbled up from your throat as you felt his cock fill you. Your chest flooded with warmth, abdomen clenching as he reached your cervix and pulled back.

He cursed, gathering your hands in one of his and pinning them above your head.

"You feel just as good as you look," He grumbled, his hips moving slowly.

Your nostrils flared as you tried to regain some semblance of control, widening your legs to allow his hips to become flush with yours. Your back arched again, unintentionally wrenching against your flesh restraints before settling beneath him.

"Keegan," You whimpered, meeting his gaze as his pace began to pick up.

His breaths of exertion fanned your face, disappearing until he was beside your ear and you could hear every moan and groan that left his lips.

His cock continued to penetrate your walls, shifting your hips to angle it in a way that made your teeth clench. His cock rubbed against your clit, simultaneously stimulating your G-spot.

Your eyes squeezed shut, hands flexing open and closed while he met your hips with aggressive thrusts. Your breasts were pressed against his chest, quiet moans escaping between deep breaths.

"You're hard to resist, you know that?" He grunted.

You turned your head, watching him as he watched you. His hand released yours, and you took the opportunity to force him beside you, sliding over his lap as he lay back.

His brows lifted in shock, lying back as he helped guide you over his lap.

"It doesn't have to be that way," You breathed, repositioning yourself until you were comfortable. "Stop the interrogating, and I'm willing to surrender- anytime."

You gently sat down, his hand helping to guide his cock back inside you with a short grunt.

He grinned softly, until you moved your hips forward and rode his lap. His hands flew to your hips, grabbing at your flesh. His palm left a quick smack against your ass.

"Deal," He nodded. "Just don't stop now."

You continued, grinding your hips against him, thrusting his cock inside you. Your hands planted themselves on his chest, your hips moving at a pace that began to cause a build up of tension in your stomach.

His fingers began to rub circles over your clit again, causing a shudder to run through you before you continued.

"Shit-" He cursed, feeling you pulse around him. "Shit baby, that's it."

You exhaled, throwing your head back and watching the ceiling as you tried to avoid cumming, to avoid giving him the satisfaction of making you orgasm twice; but your stomach twisted with pleasure.

Your fingers dug into his skin, your head falling as your orgasm descended and you froze. Aside from your hips grinding sloppily, your lips were agape, breath stopped.

Keegan continued, gently thrusting up into you as he neared his own orgasm, watching your eyes meet his with desperation, pupils blown from the adrenaline and oxytocin in your veins. His hands moulded to your hips, gliding around your waist and thighs until he reached your hands on his chest.

"I'm gonna cum, baby," He moaned, squeezing your hands before letting go.

You didn't relent, continuing to ride his cock until he went rigid. His fingers probed your flesh, grabbing harshly as he released inside you and his hips stuttered. He shivered, blinked a few times before he regained sentience and met your gaze.

"You're trouble," He grinned, exhaling harshly. "But I won't hold it against you."

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here. 

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it. 

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!). 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :) 

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table. 

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.” 

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering. 

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it. 

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying. 

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height. 

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment. 

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head. 

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar. 

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself. 

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you. 

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems. 

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned. 

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift. 

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies. 

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two. 

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear. 

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.  

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!” 

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour. 

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill. 

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger. 

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all. 

Will be hard. 

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you. 

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you. 

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving. 

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide. 

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual. 

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow. 

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.” 

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too. 

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done. 

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target. 

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man. 

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening. 

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted. 

You are done waiting. 

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention. 

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours. 

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully. 

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table. 

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself. 

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie. 

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched. 

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.” 

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament. 

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning. 

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed. 

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.” 

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.” 

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?” 

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation. 

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks. 

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.” 

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets. 

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend. 

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door. 

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit. 

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances. 

There is a beat. 

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts. 

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him. 

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally. 

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz. 

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you. 

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently. 

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them. 

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to. 

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once. 

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him. 

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is. 

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion. 

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.” 

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all. 

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger. 

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.” 

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now. 

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor. 

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way. 

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go. 

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again. 

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose. 

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him. 

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.  

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?” 

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does. 

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you. 

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it. 

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it. 

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side. 

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical. 

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again? 

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.” 

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments. 

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.   

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good. 

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks. 

“I see you, baby.” 

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him. 

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark. 

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words. 

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand. 

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth. 

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in. 

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you. 

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?” 

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender. 

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago. 

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?” 

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly. 

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you. 

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are. 

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you. 

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well. 

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end. 

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could. 

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.  

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms. 

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer. 

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm.  You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises. 

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners. 

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now. 

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe. 

“I’m just gonna leave,”  he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying. 

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.  

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow. 

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him. 

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at. 

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words. 

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.” 

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are. 

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do. 

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly. 

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man. 

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion. 

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second. 

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him. 

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that. 

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet. 

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next. 

And the next. 

[underoospeterparker]

CONGRATS ON UR MILESTONE BABY!!! i’d like to request 🪸 CORALS !! with the idea of cowboy!james and innocent!reader in mind teeheeee <333

YAY babe thank you so much ily!!! challenged myself to use some slang hehehe

join the celebration

cowboy!james potter x innocent!fem!reader, 0.9k words, hurt/comfort, angsty

tw: (slight) violence, blood mention, toxic ex, swearing

James strolled over with the confidence of a man who'd already won his race. "How're you ladies doing tonight?" He asked you and your friends, leaning over to plant a kiss on your forehead.

"Well, bless your heart for asking," Mary Rose blushed, "we're fairin' just fine," she added, a huge smile on her face. James reciprocated it, but it wasn't as pleasant as hers had been.

When she turned around, you rolled your eyes and James chuckled, taking a seat next to you. "No need for jealousy, darlin', you know I'm all yours," he said, his voice deep and quiet. This time you were the one blushing, forced to hide your red face in the crook of his jacket.

It was a second later when you pulled away, and you noticed Mary Rose's glare from across the bench. James surveyed your eyes quickly, a touch of concern in his big brown eyes. "You alright there, sweetheart?"

You were quick to nod at him. Giving him your best smile, you asked, "when's that race of yours happening?"

He checked his watch on his wrist, then got up to stand. "Reckon it's about to start in a blink of an eye," he replied, grinning at you. "I'd be mighty honoured to have you by my side, darlin', will you come to cheer me on?"

Mary Rose was quick to speak up. "You bet your spurs we'll be there, cowboy!"

James looked at her with a small smile, then turned to you as she began getting her things ready. "I'll be front and centre," you reassured him, and his face brightened. "Wearin' my finest cowgirl hat," you added, giggling softly. "Now go show 'em how it's done."

Your boyfriend saluted you and head off to the races. "Yeehaw," Nellie squealed, tugging at your arm as you laughed along with her. "Let's mosey on down, ladies!"

While you climbed down the stands, hand-in-hand with Nellie, Mary Rose pulled you aside, her grip tight on your arm. "Don't think for a moment I didn't notice you cozying up with my ex. You better watch your back, partner!" Mary Rose's nails dug into your skin, drawing blood. She pulled away when Laura called her over, waving with a fake smile on her face.

You winced as you looked down at your arm, crescent moons left in her wake. You covered it up as best as you could, pulling your jacket on although it was mighty hot outside. Then, you returned to the race tracks to watch James ride.

"Ladies and gentlemen, gather 'round," the announcer clapped his hands excitedly, "we've got a lineup of fine cowboys ready to tear up that track. Among 'em, we got James Potter!" The crowd roared with enthusiasm as James made his way onto the track, a massive grin on his face. You waved happily at him when he blew a kiss to you good-naturedly.

Mary Rose turned around to look at you, glaring. "Say, (Y/N), I need to make a trip to the outhouse. Would you be so kind as to join me?"

You couldn't refuse, not with all of the girls surrounding you, so you nodded, even though James was about to ride. Mary Rose would have done much worse if you hadn't.

She gave you a smile, then pressed a heavy hand to your back, leading you to the bathroom. James, however, noticed your disappearance soon after, and swiftly mounted his horse. He quickly rose over to where the girls were stood. "Where might I find (Y/N), ma'am?" He asked Nellie pleasantly.

Nellie pointed over to the outhouse, and James nodded, saying, "much obliged, my friend."

He climbed over the fence, although the announcer was yelling at him to get back over and on his horse. James started to jog over to the bathroom, starting to get worried. "Shucks," he said under his breath, swinging the door open to find you cowering in a corner, a bruise blossoming across your face.

You managed to gain some confidence, however, and you struck a painful punch across Mary Rose's face, so hard that she stumbled backwards. "You bitch! I'm gonna-"

James stepped between the two of you. "Hold your horses," he said, his face hard. "I'd never lay a hand against a lady, but you raised a finger against my sweetheart. So I'd suggest you keep your distance."

With tears in her eyes, Mary Rose nodded and stepped out of the way. James turned to you, nothing but care and worry in his eyes as he surveyed the damage.

"James," you murmured softly, "any reason you're lingering 'round here instead of hittin' the track?"

He smiled, "I gotta take care of my girl, y'know? She's my top priority." James cupped your cheek, face softening when you grimaced in pain. "Shhh, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he crooned over you, wrapping you up in his arms, "don't you worry. I'm gonna take good care of you." He paused, making sure you were listening. "And I ain't one to make empty promises, darlin'."

You smiled up at him. "No doubt in my mind, cowboy."

[hotxcheeto]

Heyyy, I hope you’re doing well ! I am so happy that you opened your requests again ! I would love to read a young vi x reader where through some actions the reader makes Vi realize that she’s gay. I hope it makes sense lol and thank you if you write it !

━ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐕𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Vi x Fem!Reader 

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, vi has a wound in #3, mentions/descriptions of blood and pain ( vi ), hidden feelings, friends to lovers, happy ending

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - sorry it took forever!!!!! this is such a cute idea thoughhhhhhh thank you for requesting this! ily! <3

REBLOGS ARE EXTREMELY APPRECIATED AND NOTICED!

Vi wondered three times if you were gay, three, and probably more that she doesn't remember. But these moments she does, and looking back, she wonders if it was her not getting it right away, or you not giving it too easily.

It was probably both. Yeah. It was definitely both.

#1: The time when Powder and you were hanging out, and Vi was a bit too close by, and couldn't help but listen in. But it didn't give her any answer she was looking for.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Powder asked, scribbling onto the wall beside your bed. "Yeah, I believe in a lot of things though. Things people call crazy." Powder dropped her marker and turned to you, seeing you laid out on your pillow while staring up at the top bunk.

"Like what?"

Nearby Vi sat quietly, staring at a puzzle cube in her hand, rotating it again and again but never solving it. You had before though, many times actually, you even tried to teach Vi.

"Reincarnation. Fairies. True love and soulmates." Vi looked over at that, hands faltering around puzzle. "You believe in fairies?" Powder giggled while Vi was much more caught up on something else.

"Yep, I bet that one day I'll even see one." "Will I be there?" You nodded happily, sitting up and crossing your legs. "If you wanna be. Vi too, if she wants." Your eyes then snapped to hers, Vi looking away with a coat of blush on her cheeks.

"No way, she'd just scare away the fairies." You giggled while Vi huffed and tossed aside the cube. "No I wouldn't, you would. You're too loud for your good." Powder stuck her tongue out at this, making Vi roll her eyes and do the same.

"Alright you two, that's enough." Powder then looked back at you with a grin. "What about other things?" "Hm... like I said, I believe in soulmates, dragons are probably real. Magic."

Vi then laughed, catching your attention.

"What? Think I'm ridiculous?" She quickly shook her head, brushing her hair back while swinging her leg over the chair arm. Dangling it off the ground.

"No, but soulmates? Magic? Never seen it." You huffed. "So? Just because you've never seen it, doesn't mean it isn't real. I've never seen you cry, but I believe you're capable."

Powder nodded profusely, sliding off the mattress and walking towards her sister.

"She's got a point." The blue haired girl said, skipping towards the couch. "Shut it Pow." "Oh c'mon, Vi!"

You watched the two sisters glare at one another, silently watching while amused. Standing up and off your bed to walk towards Vi.

"Besides, everyone has a soulmate. You can't go through life alone." Vi's smile faltered at this, Powder no longer listening and having skipped off to bother her inventions that had yet to work.

"How do you know?" You shrugged, looking off while leaning against her chair.

"Well, I think that at some point everyone has had one. Romantic or not. And they may have lost them, they may have married them. But they've met them at some point. They feel it. They know."

You looked away at the walls of the room, thinking for a moment while biting your lip.

"And?" You looked back at her, meeting her eyes. "And some people, people kind of like you, just don't care. They don't chase that feeling, that person. They give up or they convince themselves they're nuts. I believe when you feel it, you go for it."

She snorted, standing up, taller than you as she moved to walk in front of your frame still sitting on the arn. Unfazed at her lack of belief.

"You really believe some guy is just out there and ready to find you?"

"Who said it was a guy?" You swore her face changed, barely, but it changed. "And I never said it was romantic." And then again, it changed once more, but again, you didn't notice. "But yeah, probably."

It was quiet, Vi staring into your eyes as you stared back.

"Y/n!" You looked over, Powder holding a few of her monkey's in hand. "C'mon we have to test them now! You promised!"

"Alright, alright I'm coming."

Vi watched you disappear, off with her sister, wondering much more about what the feeling you described, actually felt like.

#2: When Milo was a little too close to Vi's curiosity, and it ended up with you both giving away a little more than you realized.

"What about that guy?" Milo pointed to a man walking passed, Powder gagging and shaking her head. "He's hideous." "I thought you two could be soulmates!" Milo then joked, turning to smile at you while you only rolled your eyes.

"What about you Y/n? What are your opinions on that fine man?" You giggled crossing your ankles while shrugging. "He's... alright?" You swear you heard a few snorts, Powder and Milo glancing at each other. "What you don't think he's cute?" "Not really my type?" You shrugged once more, looking at them both with a questioning expression.

"I don't get it? What's so funny?" You asked, messing with your fingers. "You've said that about everybody!" Milo began, "Same thing every time, do you even have a type?" He grinned, Powder leaning over farther to be able to see you better, kicking her legs off the wall of the building.

"I do. And it isn't you, or that man." Laughter came from behind you guys, all three of your bodies shuffling to turn around. "What's funny Vi?" Milo asked, a slight frown complementing his furrowed brow.

"You don't have a chance in the world Milo." She laughed, her hands in her hoodie pockets, still dressed in what she slept in. "And you do?" You swore her face turned light red, but you didn't pay much attention, looking back down at the streets.

"What about her?" Powder pointed at a woman, walking down the road with her arms crossed. "Now that's what I'm talking about." Milo nodded earning himself a smack on the back of the neck from your pink haired friend. "Shut it Milo."

"What? Don't you agree, Y/n. She's pretty!" All you could do was laugh, then nodded. "I mean, yeah, I guess. I think, though, everyone has their own beauty to them." "Except for maybe Milo." Vi joked, Milo glaring at her. "I wouldn't talk if I were you since you seem to have a type too."

You didn't notice, but Vi couldn't help my glare at Milo, a laugh coming from Powder as she stood up.

"I'm bored, you should come play with me Y/n, Vander just got me new markers." You turned the little girl, nodding. "Sounds good, just give me a sec." Watching Powder skip off, Milo followed after her with a mutter of nonsense towards Vi, leaving you and the girl alone on the rooftop overlooking the slow to set sun.

"So I hear you have a type?" You giggled, glancing over to Vi while bumping her shoulder. "What? No, he was just being a dick." "So you're telling me you haven't had a crush?" She hurriedly shook her head. "No, just... I dunno. Never put a lot of thought into a girlfriend."

"Ahh, okay." You hummed. "What about you?" Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, watching you take a deep breath as the orange colors reflected your eyes. Her own breathing not quite catching up with the rest of her.

"Never put a lot of thought into dating, like you said." Vi nodded, biting her lip as she thought about her next question, but before she could ask you interrupted her.

"I should probably get down there with Pow, she tends to get impatient when I spend too much time with you. Scared I'll pick a favorite sister."

A smile a lingered on her lips as you stood from beside her, brushing off your pants before meeting her eyes.

"I expect you to be down, help me come up with good backstories." You jumped to the main part of the roof. "You're better at it." Vi then said. "But you're my memory, I can't remember all my best details. Quit looking at the ladies on the road and come hang out with your bestest friend in the whole world."

Her face went up in flames once again, looking away from you, though this time you caught it. Biting your lip with a grin.

"Whatever, I'll check you later. She's a ladies, lady, hates my guts." You rambled to yourself, Vi scoffing. "I'll be there soon, moron."

#3: Or the time Vi got hurt, not the first and not the last, but you were there again, and she realized that something in her hoped you'd always be.

"Ow, ow, ow.." Vi muttered to herself, lifting the side of her shirt in order for her to see the giant cut that rested on her hip. The memory of snagging it on the broken pipe replaying her mind once again.

"Mother-"

"Language.." You walked in after, carrying a first-aid kit in hand and a few other things with your arm. "How'd this one happened?" "Don't wanna talk about it." She said, anger lingering behind her words and a sour expression on her face.

"Alright then, sit please." Despite the frustration, Vi plopped down on the couch, feeling you softly pull her shirt up higher exposing her stomach to the cold air. "I'll be done before you know it, promise."

The guilt then set in, Vi looking away from you as you began to clean the blood around the cut. Focusing on being as light as possible in order to not hurt your friend.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, almost inaudible if you hadn't been sitting as close to her as you were. "It's okay Vi." "Not it's not, I feel like an asshole." "Never said you weren't." You met her stare, giving her a wink before pouring your cleaning liquid right onto the wound, watching her hiss in pain.

"You okay?" "Yeah, yeah fine." You continued to patch the wound, wiping away everything else before laying the bandage overtop of it. Vi staying silent nearly the entire rest of the time.

"Sorry about ruining your time with your friend." "We're not friends" You giggled, tapping her to sit up so you could wrap the bandage around her stomach. "What?" "Well-"

"Vi." Vander's voice came from behind you, Vi's eyes shifting from your own to right beside your head. You turned around, facing the man who had his hands on his hips and a worried look in his eyes.

"What happened out there?" Vi huffed, rolling her eyes and smacking her hands over her face. "Milo happened." "Again?"

You began to pick up your things as they talked, standing up when Vander's hand rested itself on your shoulder. The man smiling at you.

"Thanks for looking after her." "Anytime, but hopefully not again too soon?" A laugh passed through Vi's nose, the girl watching you put everything away and leave the room.

She began to hum and nod to everything Vander said, standing up from the couch. A sudden curious energy running through her, wanting her question to be answered before you could return to your friend. The one that was a little too touchy for her liking.

"Yeah no problem we'll be more careful, swear it." "Vi, are you even listening?" She nodded quickly. "Yeah, of course." "Vi." She grinned at him, walking towards the stairs.

"We'll be careful next time, swear, but you should really be lecturing Milo since he's the one that got us into that mess." Vi moved her hands around dramatically as she spoke, crossing them over her chest. "Not me. Okay? See you later!"

She skipped away before the man got a chance to argue, Vi practically flying to the front of the bar. Looking around for any sight of you.

And for a second, there wasn't one, unable to find you lurking in any of the corners or chatting around any of the tables. It was like you'd disappeared.

"Boo!" "What!" Vi whipped around, breathing heavily with her hand resting on her hip where it hurt. "Sorry, had to take the chance! You should've seen your face!" "Fuck I hate you." You continued laughing, looking around.

"What were you looking for? You seemed worried?" For a moment Vi noticed the flash of worry that crossed your face. "Nothing. What happened to that girl, that you're 'not friends' with?" You shrugged, taking her arm and walking towards an empty table. "Didn't work out." "What didn't work out?"

You sat down, Vi across from you while you grinned.

"A lot of things, and she was one of them."

"Why are you so cryptic?" Vi then asked, resting back against her chair. "Why are you so boring?" "Got me there, cupcake."

#1: The time she finally realized.

It was late, and it had been a long day, yet somehow you couldn't sleep even if it would've saved your life. Instead you sat up, laying on the couch while everyone slept around you, curtains keeping them from the rest of the room.

You instead messed with the puzzle cube, solving it before closing your eyes and mixing it up once more. Opening them to solve it once again. You did this over and over before your mind was fried, looking around in the darkness.

You wondered if Vi would mind being woken up, but instead you decided against it. Standing up and walking back towards your empty bed, except it wasn't empty anymore.

"What are you doing?" You whispered, almost startled at your voice that you hadn't heard in the hours of silence. "Making myself comfortable, my bed is too hot and Claggor snores too loud. It's quiet and cold over here."

"So invade mine, thanks." She smiled at you, despite both of you barely able to see each other. Vi then felt you climb beside her, then over her body to sleep beside the wall.

"Geez, you're hot Vi." "Thanks, cupcake." You laughed, shoving her shoulder before laying down, opting to only rest half the blanket on your legs. "Not like that, asshole." "What? You don't find me pretty?"

You finally laid against the pillow, rolling your eyes as you relaxed into the mattress.

"I find you very pretty." Vi felt her face heat up, covered by the inky room that kept her flustered state hidden. "Thanks, can say the same for you." "Such a ladies lady." It was Vi's turn to roll her eyes, hand messing with the very end of her tank top.

"Do you say that to all the girls?" You then asked, moving to rest your cold cheek on her chest, her arm still up and behind her head, closing your eyes when you felt her lower it around your shoulders.

"No, only you." You then giggled, moving to touch her stomach with your freezing fingers. "Holy shit!" She whispered, making you hide your laughter with your other hand.

"Only me, huh?" Vi hummed. "Liar." "What about you and that guy from earlier? Bet you thought he was pretty." You snorted, opening your eyes again. "No way, he's not my type."

"What is your type?" You thought for a second, opening your mouth before taking a breath. "Girls. With pink hair and loud mouths." You could feel her freeze up, hand coming to a still from twirling her shirt. "They also have to be considerably dense to flirting."

"You have a crush on Sevika?" You sputtered out broken sounds, digging your face into her stomach as you laughed, her lip between her teeth so she didn't burst out in giggles. "How'd you know?" You sat up, a grin on your lips while her eyes focused in on your face.

"You made it so obvious."

For a second you went silent, staring at one another in silence. The moonlight finally shifting into the room, hitting Vi in the face.

"Why didn't you tell me?" "It was fun, watching you squirm around the question." She scoffed, pushing you away. "Thanks."

You then turned to roll over, Vi continuing to watch you.

"What? No goodnight kiss?" You turned your head, gesturing her forward, the girl leaning towards you.

"C'mere." You grabbed her, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Give me a real one tomorrow, that way its on your terms. Besides, I've waited long enough for you to make a move. Now I'm giving you a go ahead. Make the most of it."

Vi nodded, a cute sparkle of excitement on her face.

"Deal."

[gretavanmoon]

an omnipresent force•

hey friends, so in recent days I've realized that Tumblr is nothing but an open place to dump our wild, running thoughts, right? a place to express our art and let creativity flow in its rawest form, whether or not the work is unfinished or tied up with a big red bow. my docs is littered with unfinished ideas and half-written junk, and they're just sitting there. why? they're collecting dust, and I don't like dust.

ive consulted with my nearest and dearests on if this thought process is wack or not, and they don't think it's TOO wack, I hope. but anyways, here's a little preview of something I started a long time ago. It's got a couple chapters complete, a couple outlined, but it has no end in sight. and I don't really care. I wanna share it, because I love it, and completing multi-book works is a feat I'm familiar with from writing the Vigilance & Valor worlds, and without @gretavangroupie encouraging me to write like the wind, those things would STILL be sitting in our docs COLLECTING DUST (with absolutely no fault to her stamina, but by fault of mine lol)

so I'm gonna post this, it's messy and unfinished and kind of unedited, because who cares? we read for indulgence and escapism, and we write for the same reasons.

maybe I'll finish this one day, maybe I won't. nevertheless, enjoy it my loves ;)

also ily so much @builtbybrokenbells & @farfromthehomelands for the encouragements

Warnings: Mentions of Death & Dying, Pain, Loss, Crying

•

“Do you remember it, Y/N? Do you? Are all of your memories still alive? Do not ever let your mind be one to settle, my love. You know that. That is essential.”

His voice is strangled and pained as he tries to speak quietly in the shadows that have fallen across the large room, pushing his words out with haste as his eyes scan behind me. Waiting, anticipating someone to come unnoticed into the room with us. I take sight of his rigid and shaking body laid out across the cot, the white sheet wrapped around his freezing self.

"What did they give you, Paps? What did they drop into your eyes?" I beg. His pupils are dilated and the whites of them are now a deep red, swollen and blotchy as he struggles to focus in on me.

"My memories, my love... they've tried to take them. But the rash, it's taking me faster..." he moans.

His calloused hands desperately grab at mine, the beds of his fingernails torn and caked with dirt. “Promise me you’ll never forget… the things we thought we’d have forever are long gone, now, and we’re never getting them back. Keep your memories, Y/N, think about everything that you can, often. Speak them, share them- but only when you know you’re surrounded by those you can trust. Otherwise, keep them within yourself, and use them to keep going. Keep pushing through to the next sunrise…” His wrinkled and bruised palm then rests gently across my chest as it heaves with sorrow and exhaustion. I can’t stop this… There’s nothing more I can do for him…

“I won’t, I won’t ever forget…” My promise feels futile in the moment as I croak the words out, but I know that I will take charge of myself and bring it to fruition when the time is right. When I don’t feel as though I’m going to drown in my own tears as they feel like puddles around me. When my chest isn’t weighed down with the guilt of leaving him behind without a proper burial. When my body isn’t begging me to run as fast as I can. 

I squeeze his hand. 

“We’ve never seen times this dark, my love, and I fear that you will be the one to see them even darker. But don’t fret, darkness is only the absence of light. And where there is light, there is love. Never let yourself forget.” A quick and tight smile ghosts my lips as I remember his favorite song. “The photos, the books, the songs… sing them all the time. Keep the melodies alive, and don’t ever let yourself forget the words.”

His fingers drift down the line of ink that paints my forearm, each tattoo a memory of times that we will never get back, sounds that we will never hear again unless we sing them out loud, hoping that our memories serve us right. His sullen eyes snap to me again as we both hear a crash in the room behind us. I rip my sleeve back down to cover my arm. Nothing to show my identity.

My body urges itself to prepare to run, and though he knows that I must, he pulls me back down to speak to me again, his voice still hushed and dry as his body wracks with pain.

“Remember when you were a child, no bigger than a grasshopper, and I’d sit you on my knee, teaching you how to put the needle on the record so you’d always have the ability? And how we’d sing the songs together, and I’d play the melodies on the piano… you’d dance, oh my love, you’d dance!”

“I remember, of course I do!” I cry through a weakened smile, the memory of standing on his feet as he twirled me across the firelit living room now feeling like it was a thousand years ago. 

“Never cease your movements, my sweet.” His eyes scan behind us again, his weak hands squeezing mine in return. “Move until your muscles are sore, move until your feet are tough and hardened. Keep your body in good health, because in turn your mind will act along with it. Remember the trees, remember the clouds. The grass, the streams, the way the air smells before a rain, keep it all…memorize it. Categorize, record, and repeat. Your grandmother’s recipes, they’re still in the book. Her plant descriptions, her foraging tools, her gardening plans… study them, Y/N. Memorize. I’ve taught you well, we all have, you must seek and find what’s on the other side of this, my love. You’re prepared, it’s up to you. Find your clan, sweetheart. This isn’t the end. Many have forgotten what the emotion feels like, by now. But you know what love is. Track it down, and hold onto it with everything you’ve got left. Do you hear me? Love, honey. There are more of us. The good ones, they're still left. Find them. Find them!”

I nod harshly as the noise behind us crashes again, likely pulling down my makeshift barrier of tables and chairs. His breathing is weakened, and his chest rattles with a sound no man should ever make.

“They can take our things, but they can’t take our memories. Ever.” He taps the side of his temple with one finger. He knows just as well as I do that they can take our memories, and they have. They've already begun to take his. But his immunity to their drugs and schemes still proves itself strong, just like mine does.

“Share them, please… pass them along, and remember the memories that others share with you, too. You’ve always had the biggest heart of all of us, don’t try and argue with me. You’ve got more wit in your little finger than we all had from our heads to our toes. And any of us would have willingly admitted that, my sweet. Go- get out of here, while you still can. Remember my words, my love. Our history can’t be unwritten if you keep it here, in your heart.” His frail, bruised fingers tap my chest again as if to remind me where my heart sits, still beating with strength as his struggles to pump his blood supply. “Run, love, go! And don’t even think about turning back for me. I’ll have taken my last breath before you even cross the threshold. 

I love you, you love me.”

As I bring his hands up to my trembling lips, I feel the coldness of them like I’ve never felt before, as if they had been sitting in a bowl of ice water. The sound behind me crashes again, this time louder, and I know they are getting closer to us, now. I kiss his digits and smooth his silver hair back, whispering out a choked ‘I love you back’ before I turn and let my feet carry me toward the light peeking from under the towering double metal doors.

I hear his voice in the distance, crackled but still just as powerful as the man that made it.

“Remember, your memories are your own. Go and find the good ones, Y/N! Find them!"

•

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[morning-star-joy]

and I'll never see you again if I can help it

a stranger's heart without a home Chapter 6

Pairing: rivals to friends with benefits Joel x F!Reader, Post-Outbreak

Chapter Summary: You and Joel fall into a temporary truce after your patrol. At Tommy's urging, you go out for drinks with the two brothers. When you and Joel find yourselves alone after, the tension between you continues to rise until it snaps again.

Chapter Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) Mutual Masturbation, Unprotected p in v sex, Drunk Sex, Dirty Talk, Brief Mention of Masturbation (f), References to Previous Smut, Language, Alcohol Use, the sexist asshole from Chapter 3 makes a reappearance & tries to sl*t shame Reader but gets put in his place by both Reader and Joel, Brief Bar Fight, Mild Description of a Shallow Cut/Injury Treatment

A/N: Translation: Qué mala eres = You're so bad (ty to my wife @cynibuns for helping with the translation ily here's your writing cred)! Also, Chapter 14 will be up on ao3 tomorrow! Most likely evening-ish PST when I get home from being out of town. Hope you’re all having a lovely weekend!

Wordcount: 10.4k

chapter 1 || chapter 5 || chapter 6 || masterlist

ao3 link

The severity of the tension between you and Joel lightened, if only slightly.

You wouldn’t say he treated you warmly now, but the harshness of the chill he regarded you with did lessen. Joel would greet you when he saw you now, either with a slight nod or your name spoken as an acknowledgement. You returned the niceties with your own, and even though they were simple, they lessened a burden you hadn’t realized you had felt since the man returned to town.

Tommy was happy about this perceived change in your relationship with his brother, to say the least. If you and Joel found yourself in the rare circumstance that you were seated next to each other for a meal and not biting each other’s heads off, it felt like Tommy would appear out of nowhere to slap you both on the back in barely contained glee.

“We gotta go out for drinks tonight,” he would say with a grin, to which Joel shook his head to himself and you laughed disbelievingly.

“Maybe when the kid is old enough to come with us,” you would remark cheekily, referring to the latest addition to the Miller family, knowing from how you remained Joel’s patrol partner that the bundle of joy still needed both parents around to help.

Those patrols with Joel weren’t as awkward as they were before, either. There wasn’t much more talking between you, but you fell into step with each other easier, taking out both Infected and the occasional bandits with less difficulty.

While it wasn’t the same as your familiar contest with Tommy, your traded banter with Eugene or your mentorship with Jesse, you found yourself actually coming to appreciate the steadfastness of Joel’s presence when he rode and fought beside you. When he wasn’t treating you with such extreme disdain, you could almost understand why Tommy was so fond of his brother.

Almost.

Joel still irritated you. He was just as gruff and rude as ever, even if he wasn’t as antagonistic towards you as before. If you would try and crack a joke, he would just stare at you until either you awkwardly coughed, or he just shook his head and looked away. If you would try and ask him questions, he would give you short, one-word answers that got you nowhere.

He still annoyed you. Especially when his hand would brush against yours as he handed you some rations. Or when he stood so close you could smell the earthy, heady scent that made your head spin. Or when you would feel him watching your ass as he boosted you up to an area you couldn’t reach, but looked away quickly whenever you glanced back at him to try and catch him in the act.

Joel was still a bastard, because he wouldn’t say anything about those moments. But later you would replay them in your mind, helpless to the memory it brought to the forefront of your mind, unable to suppress it any longer.

It was embarrassing, how often you had slipped your hand between your legs as you thought of Joel at night. In the back of your mind, you could almost remember the feeling of his fingers playing with you instead. You would try to relive how it had felt for those fingers to be rubbing your clit and thrusting in and out of you. You would visualize being bent over your own kitchen counter as he fucked you against it, moaning into your pillow as you made yourself cum again and again just from the memory of his touch.

That memory almost felt like a hallucination, the fact that you had actually had sex with the grizzled, stoic survivor seeming more like a fever dream than reality. At times you were certain you really had just dreamt it. But then you would remember the morning Joel had passed by you as you sat on your porch, drinking coffee from an engraved mug, and how fast he had looked away as his steps quickened past your picket fence.

Oh, so he does remember, you had realized as you hid a smirk behind another sip of your coffee, glad you had been sitting outside that morning to catch his reaction to you drinking from that mug.

It was infuriating, because that heat that simmered between the two of you was still there, even as you both tried your best to ignore it in the light of day. What you did with yourself at night with the memory of him, however, was your secret alone.

And that was fine. You were finally settling back into the calm that Jackson offered. Those hiccups Joel had thrown into your practiced routine were smoothing over with the strange, unspoken truce between the two of you.

But then that was also ruined, the night Tommy actually did manage to take you both out for those drinks.

Your discomfort at the situation was matched only by Joel’s as Tommy shoved whiskey filled glasses into his hand and then yours. You shot a glance at Joel from the corner of your eye, watching as the man lifted a shoulder in a resigned shrug before tossing back the shot, followed by Tommy and then you.

Tommy’s joy as he ordered another round was almost infectious, a smile tugging at your lips as you glanced over The Tipsy Bison to see it busier than it was most nights. Either the warmer weather was brightening everyone’s spirits, or they all just had the same spontaneous burst of energy that Tommy had when he showed up on your doorstep to drag you out with him. Joel had been standing behind him, looking more uncomfortable than you had ever seen him as he looked anywhere but at you while you stood in your doorway.

The second sign that your fever dream of him was real, and that he remembered it just as much as you did.

“So,” Tommy sighed after knocking back another shot, placing his cup down and grabbing the bottle of whiskey the bartender had left to make refills easier for the three of you. After refilling his glass, Tommy turned back to you and Joel with an easy grin. “I’ve heard good things about your patrols.”

Neither you nor Joel said anything as Tommy sipped from his glass, waiting for you to reply. Which you didn’t.

“Guess you don’t hate each other as much as you thought,” he teased, waiting to see if he could get a reaction out of either of you.

You merely shrugged, and Joel took another sip of his whiskey.

Tommy sighed, shaking his head as he picked up the bottle to refill your glass once you finished it off.

“Well you're both chatterboxes, aren’t you?” he muttered, shooting you both a bemused look, though it held a fondness to it. “Can’t imagine all the riveting conversations you must have on those patrols.”

You glanced at Joel as you sipped at your refilled drink. Neither of you had spoken about the heated argument and ugly words you had thrown at each other during your patrol to the ski lodge, or the panic attack that he had witnessed you having. 

The latter you figured he avoided mentioning out of some kind of understanding. You remembered seeing him stumble out of the bar last winter, how he had leaned against the frozen pillar for support. How you had approached him to put a hand on his shoulder, just as he had done to you, even as you both flinched away from being touched during your respective moments of anxiety.

But the argument, you weren’t sure why Joel never brought up again. He had made his opinion of you and your history with the Fireflies, his disdain for the tattoo on your skin, quite clear. Whenever you felt confused on how he had seemed to just let it go, you remembered that look he had given you when the storm had begun to clear outside; the realization you weren’t privy to passing over his face before he offered an olive branch in reaching out his hand to help you up, an unspoken peace offering you had accepted. You didn't know what had spurred him on to extend that unspoken understanding that had settled the disdain-fueled friction between you, but you figured maybe it was also the reason why he never brought up the argument again. 

Your name being spoken pulled you out of your internal monologue, and you turned your head to see Tommy looking at you, brows furrowed in puzzlement.

“Hm?” you hummed, about to take a sip from your drink before you realized it was empty.

Tommy reached out for the bottle again, whiskey pouring into your glass as his brow smoothed out and he smiled cheekily at you. A glint of mischief was in his eye, a flush from alcohol tinting his cheeks.

Oh, this was either going to be very good, or you weren’t going to like this at all.

“When are you finally gonna let me set you up with someone?”

You coughed, holding a fist up to cover your mouth as you nearly choked on your whiskey.

“Sorry?” you spluttered, baffled at the sudden topic change as Tommy’s smirk widened, and you felt a heavy gaze settle on you from your other side.

“Come on,” Tommy drawled, his voice playfully boisterous as he leaned back against the bar. “Having somebody is great! And I haven’t seen you with a beau since the moment I met you.”

A laugh escaped you, turning into a fit of disbelieving cackling spurred on from the whiskey as you shook your head at your friend.

“If Dina hasn’t gotten anywhere in that hopeless endeavor, neither are you,” you teased, your laughter doubling at the playful roll of his eyes.

“Qué mala eres." The Spanish rolled off his tongue in a sigh, the language slip a sign that the alcohol was going to his head, and you sighed as you threw back another shot. “You’re missing out, my friend.”

Your head shook, looking away from Tommy only when the weight of the stare on your back had become so heavy that you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

When you turned back to Joel, though, his eyes had already moved away, scanning the crowd in the bar as he sipped silently at the whiskey glass in his large hand.

You blamed it on the effect of the alcohol as you observed how the lights of the bar seemed to brighten the brown hue of Joel’s eyes, making them appear a lighter color than how dark they usually looked. Despite your better judgment that told you to look away, your gaze followed the line of his nose down to his lips as he drank his whiskey, and you couldn’t help but wonder for a moment what it would feel like to have those lips pressed to your own, the one thing that he had denied you when he had fucked you.

His tongue darted out to lick at the drops of liquor on his lips. Desire pooled between your legs as you looked back up, and you jumped when you saw his gaze was fixed on you.

Oh, fuck, you thought to yourself, that desire intensifying as he arched a brow at you, and you realized that he had caught you looking.

Had caught you wanting.

Your hand tightened on your glass, glaring up at him even as his lips twitched into an almost imperceptible smirk.

But it was there.

And it was satisfied.

That damn, nearly unnoticeable smirk made your cunt throb as you realized that you still wanted him. And judging from the look he fixed you with now, maybe Joel still wanted you too.

You looked away hastily, knocking the rest of your whiskey back right as Tommy spoke up again. 

“So, big brother, how’d your date with Esther go?”

Whiskey got stuck in your throat as you choked, coughing as you lowered the glass, and Tommy’s hand began to thud on your back to help you clear your throat.

“You okay?” you heard him ask, and you nodded, clearing your throat of the more intense burn the alcohol had left as it didn’t go down your throat as smoothly as it was supposed to.

“Yeah,” you croaked, shaking your head with another cough as you waved your hand dismissively. “Yeah, I’m good.”

You ignored the looks each brother was giving you as you stared straight ahead, refusing to look at either in protection of your own pride as Joel asked Tommy, “What’d you say?”

The question made you bristle, something in his tone telling you that Joel knew exactly what Tommy had asked, but wanted that line of conversation to continue.

Or maybe the whiskey was just going to your head, you thought as you turned back around to the bar and grabbed the bottle to refill your glass.

“Esther!” Tommy said brightly, and you held your glass a bit too hard. “How’d it go? Did you like her?”

Joel shrugging caught your attention, and you looked back to see he was looking out of the corner of his eye at you, before he looked away and replied to Tommy, “Yeah, she’s nice.”

You turned back to your glass, taking the whole shot before refilling it again.

“She has a great sense of humor,” you heard Joel add, your fingers tapping impatiently on the counter as you chewed on the inside of your cheek.

“See, I told you!” Tommy’s voice was full of excitement, even as your mood continued to worsen the more information was revealed about Joel’s apparent fucking date. “I knew you’d like her. You’re a good match.”

Another shot was knocked back in one smooth motion before you spun around to face the brothers again.

Joel went on a fucking date. 

Joel “I’m not sticking around here”, doesn’t-want-a-relationship fucking Miller went on a fucking date.

The thought made you bristle with anger, even though you knew it shouldn’t. It made you mad because, fuck, going on a date meant that he might be getting his dick wet with other women, when he had already fucked you and was looking at you with that dark, sultry gaze earlier as he licked his lips and fuck.

It took you a moment before you noticed that the attention of both Miller men was on you, and you realized slowly that the expletive had actually left your mouth instead of just staying in your mind, interrupting whatever they had been discussing now.

You looked from Tommy’s confused expression to Joel’s blank one, the slight curl of his lip that he hid behind his whiskey glass telling you all you needed to know as your gaze shot out towards the room.

Over in the corner of the bar, Gustavo was playing his trusty banjo with a few other musicians. A small group of residents, friends and couples, were dancing in an open space next to them.

A smile grew on your lips as you slammed your empty glass back down on the counter, sending Joel and Tommy an easy grin while you walked backwards away from them.

“If you’ll excuse me, boys,” you drawled, giving them an over-dramatic flourish of a bow, one you thought Dina would be proud of, “I’m going to go dance.” 

Your smile melted into a smirk, your gaze lingering on Joel for a second too long before turning around and confidently making your way to the area where people were dancing.

The shots were definitely going to your head, but you found it hard to care where the music was louder. It didn’t take long before you were swept up in a dance, spun around in the arms of a man whose name you couldn’t remember. It wasn't often that you allowed yourself to let your hair down like this, but the rhythm of the music, the fast pace of the dance, and the alcohol dulling your thoughts made the memories you always tried so hard to forget fade further into the background.

And if the carefree feeling from dancing wasn’t making you laugh, then it was the feeling of a heated stare fixed on your back as you giggled and turned through the steps of the lively dance.

You could feel his eyes on you, and even though you didn't look back towards him as you danced, you knew it was him. That intensity was unmistakable, familiar now in its weight as it focused on you, even as you weren't looking directly at him. It spurred you on, getting closer to your dance partner than was necessary, and relishing in the feeling of that stare sharpening on your steps as you did so.

After a few songs you were starting to feel too hot, too dizzy to continue this charade. Exchanging lighthearted bows with your dance partner, you laughed a bit more before backing away. While you had approached the dancing with an ulterior motive—one that seemed to have been successful, judging by the gaze you could feel on you throughout the dances—you found that you had actually enjoyed yourself, your head clearer and heart more carefree than you had felt in ages as you tried to find where you had left the Miller brothers.

“Whore,” a voice pretended to cough as you passed by a table, and you paused.

You turned slowly, that rare happiness you had felt evaporating as you looked back to find a face you had a hard time placing a name to. He looked a little younger than you, his features weaselly as he held back a snicker, surrounded by a group of a few other stupid looking young men.

“Excuse m—”

“What was that?”

Your own voice was interrupted by another, one lower and more menacing than your own, coming from some place close behind you. 

Glancing back over your shoulder, you saw Joel had found you before you could find him. His face was carefully devoid of any telling emotion as he stared past you at the man who had apparently just majorly fucked up by calling you a whore.

You looked back as the man shifted, seeming unsettled by Joel’s presence, and then it clicked. This was that bastard that you had been drinking with last winter, the one who Joel had knocked on his ass in the snow outside this very bar.

“Alright,” you sighed as you pushed a few loose strands of hair out of your face. “Let’s just—”

“You heard me,” the man at the table repeated, trying to sound confident as he pushed himself to his feet, even as his voice was shaking. He glared back at Joel, seemingly spurred by some stupid sense of wounded pride or suicidal tendencies. “I called her what she is: a whore.”

You laughed, louder than you should, devoid now of any carefree feeling from earlier. Surely you were drawing the attention of those drinking nearby, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about that right now.

“Right, I’m a whore for drinking and dancing with friends?” you asked, eyes blazing at the audacity of this man as you felt Joel shift and move around you. “Because I refused to sleep with you when you asked so pathetically?”

The man whose name you still couldn’t remember—something that made the situation even more hilarious, even though nobody knew that fact except for you—took a step towards you at that last jab you made, though his path was quickly interrupted as Joel stepped in front of you.

Joel’s hand grabbed the man’s shirt roughly, pulling the bastard closer as his carefully stoic face began to melt into a rare display of...anger? It was an intimidating, nearly terrifying look that you had seen directed towards you once, but now it was showing in defense of you.

“You speak that way to a woman again, and you won’t be so lucky as to leave with just a bruised ego this time,” he murmured, the low words deceivingly soft as they rumbled from his chest.

The weaselly man looked between Joel and you, forcing laughter even as he could tell he was outnumbered. His next words were his own fault, the final nail in the coffin as he sneered to Joel, “Shit, I can’t imagine the pussy is actually that good for you to defend—”

A crack filled the air as Joel’s fist collided with the man’s face, sending him flying back into the table where his friends sat behind him.

“Joel!” you shouted, grabbing his shoulder to try and pull him back, even as he didn’t budge. “Jesus, Joel, you can’t just—”

You continued to tug at his shoulder, and when he finally looked back at you, the man shifting on the table caught your eye, and your words cut off. The glint of something sharp followed the sound of glass shattering, and you stepped in front of Joel before you could think twice about it. Your arm lifted to defend yourself, letting out a yelp of pain as you felt the broken bottle slash across it.

Chaos descended upon the bar. 

Shouting rose up around you as you saw a few men grabbing the stupid son of a bitch who just tried to instigate his own funeral by attempting to cut Joel. You turned, the sound of Tommy’s voice shouting pulling your attention as you saw your friend holding back his brother, who was trying to escape his grip to fight the bastard with barely contained fury.

“One punch,” you heard Joel muttering angrily as Tommy kept pulling him back. “Just one punch, teach him a fucking lesson—”

“You already taught him a lesson, Joel, you broke his fucking nose!”

You blinked, pulling your arm up to look at the blood trickling down it. While you felt slowed, almost out-of-body by the combined dampening of adrenaline and alcohol, the action seemed to finally grab the attention of Joel and Tommy. The men abruptly stopped their struggle as they turned to you.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Tommy addressed the gathering crowd loudly, pulling their scattered attention to him as he stepped forward to grab your assailant by the back of his shirt collar. He shifted into his authoritative tone as he continued, “No more excitement for tonight.”

Tommy looked between the bleeding man he was holding onto and Joel, sighing before he said in a level tone that commanded respect, “Maria will have a word with you both tomorrow. For now, go treat your wounds.”

He gave a small shove that was hardly gentle to the guy, who stumbled away as his friends rose to escort him out. Tommy glanced at you, mouth opening as Joel pressed some clean napkins he had picked up from a nearby table against your bleeding cut.

“I’ll get her treated and home safe,” Joel said quietly to Tommy, the younger brother glancing between you two with a furrowed brow before you nodded at him.

“Go tell Maria what happened,” you added softly as you held the napkins to your cut. “I’m fine.”

Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered something along the lines of not knowing what to do with the two of you, before leaving with a nod and short farewell.

Joel’s hand found a spot between your shoulder blades, gently ushering you out of the tense atmosphere you had created and into the fresh spring air outside. The chill of the late night breeze sobered you up a bit as he continued to lead you in a direction that you slowly realized was in the opposite direction of your house.

“Wait, but my house is—”

“I have first aid at my place,” Joel interrupted your confusion in a short tone, to which you raised an eyebrow in response.

“So do I,” you said slowly, watching as he stared at the dark street ahead like he was refusing to look at you.

Even with his hand still pressed firmly on your upper back.

“I don’t know where stuff is in your house," he muttered, still not looking at you as you turned onto the darker streets of one of the residential districts in Jackson.

You snorted, a small smirk creeping on your lips as you blamed the alcohol flooding your system for fueling your cheeky remark.

“Yeah you do,” you muttered, and he finally glanced back at you in disbelief when you added, “You know where the mugs are, at least.”

Joel shook his head as he led you to his house, saying nothing else aside from muttering to himself, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You laughed at that, unable to resist the humor in his exasperation at the situation, even as his hand finally fell from where he had been guiding you when you stopped outside a large house. When he led you up the steps and through the gate to his new home, you whistled low, nodding in appreciation at the scale of it.

“Damn, Joel, they set you up in a place way bigger than mine," you drawled, smirking again as you heard a quiet scoff escape him from where he had moved to walk ahead of you.

Yeah, the alcohol was definitely to blame for sarcastically teasing Joel so much, even as he continued to give you replies that were as short as always.

“Shut up,” he muttered, though not unkindly as you crossed the path up to the porch.

A smaller building nearby caught your eye as you waited for Joel to open the door, and you turned to see a garage with the lights on a bit farther away from the house.

"What's that?" you asked, nodding towards it, and Joel followed your gaze after the front door swung open. 

"Ellie lives there," he muttered, offering no further explanation as he walked into the house, and you followed without any more questioning.

The few tones Joel spoke with were familiar enough now for you to know when not to press something. Even though you tolerated each other's presence more than you had before, Ellie was still a topic that he rarely discussed, and you didn't push him on it. It wasn't your business, anyway.

You glanced around you, trying to take in your surroundings as you entered the home, maybe gain enough of an opinion to critique his taste in décor if it was poor. But he herded you down the hallway, not giving you a chance to collect any witty remarks as you walked through a makeshift washroom-closet and into a kitchen on your left.

“Really, a kitchen again?” you teased, snickering at his annoyed huff as he sat you down at a small table next to a window, even as you were surprised at your own blunt reference to an act neither of you have dared to discuss openly since his return.

“You’re insufferable when you’re drunk,” Joel muttered, maybe more to himself than to you as he went back into the washroom to rifle through something.

“Says the drunk man who broke somebody’s nose,” you bit back with no small amount of snark, unable to hide your smirk as he reappeared with a first aid kit and a humorless expression that made you laugh.

Joel pulled the other chair at the table over next to yours, sitting in it as he set the first aid on the table.

“Insufferable,” he repeated to himself with a shake of his head, opening the kit and pulling out the supplies he needed to clean your wound.

Joel peeled away the napkins that had stuck to your skin, and if he saw you wince, he ignored it. He focused on his task, making no attempt at small talk as he made sure the bleeding had stopped before applying disinfectant. You held back any reactions from the sting, watching him as your head tilted in quiet observation, his silence giving you a moment to think.

Genuine surprise had flooded your being when Joel had stood up for you at the bar. While you had seen hints of a rare, odd sense of something almost akin to chivalry in the older man, the fact that he went so far as to break a man's nose rendered you into disbelief.

If somebody had told you months ago that Joel Miller would deck a man in the face because they had called you a whore and made an out-of-pocket remark about your pussy, you would have laughed for a long, long time in incredulity. Hell, you still wanted to laugh from doubt at it happening even now. There was no time, no universe, in which Joel—the man who had regarded you as nothing more than a nuisance—would commit such an act for you.

Yet here you were, sitting in his kitchen as he tended to a shallow wound that you had taken on his behalf. A favor for a favor, you supposed—his defense of your honor, your defense of his body.

“What?” Joel asked, sparing a glance up towards your analytical gaze and pulling you out of your inner monologue. He looked back down at your cut, wiping the cotton drenched with disinfectant over it again as you considered how to respond, wondering how much of your thoughts you wanted to reveal, if any of them.

“Just thinking about what a Southern gentleman you are,” you finally revealed in a light tone, holding back a snicker as he shot you a bemused glance.

“What?” He repeated, his voice holding more confusion this time, and you sighed. The sound was melodramatically tired, as if you were exasperated by his lack of understanding. Inspired by Dina's penchant for theatrics, even though you were only teasing right now.

“That’s the second time you’ve defended my honor,” you said the last few words cheekily, mocking a posh accent when you spoke of honor as Joel huffed at your strange show of dramatics. The next words were more serious though, more contemplative as you observed him and asked, “Trying to repay those debts?”

He shook his head, tossing the slightly bloody cotton pad to the side as he picked up a medicine cream that would help the cut heal.

“Still doesn’t count,” Joel muttered, squeezing some of the cream out onto the tip of his forefinger before gently running the rough digit along your injury. The feeling of his coarse touch against your skin made you shiver, the sensation a reminder of how it had felt when he was thrusting his fingers inside of you.

“Because I could have handled it myself?” you finally asked once you had pulled yourself out of the vivid memory, blaming both the flashback and the flush on your cheeks on the whiskey.

Joel hummed in affirmation of your question, screwing the top back on the cream once he had finished spreading it along your cut, and setting the tube back down.

“I lost my head,” he finally said quietly after a moment of silence, and your gaze refocused back on him from where it had been wandering around the room, taking in his interior design choices. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Eh,” you shrugged a shoulder, a small smile tugging at your lips. You didn't know why he had lost his head, but you found yourself unable to ask why before you admitted in a softer tone that you surprised even yourself with, “I don’t…not appreciate it.”

Joel didn’t look at you, and you didn’t look at him as you cleared that hint of softness out of your throat and mind. You were unaware of the sentiment until you had said it, and you were eager to rebury it in the back of your mind, in the empty grave all memories of Joel had managed to claw their way out of since his return to Jackson. Maybe if you buried it well enough now, he would stop haunting your subconscious.

You took another moment to glance around his kitchen that was much larger than yours. The sight of a coffee pot on the stove made you laugh, turning back to him with another smirk as he picked up a roll of gauze.

“Are you going to offer me a cup of coffee?” You asked slowly, not really sure where this constant influx of sultry snark was coming from, but you were powerless to stop it. Must be the alcohol.

You were surprised by the quiet chuckle that left Joel’s lips, a sound you had never heard before that made your heart skip a beat. The small smirk dancing on his lips made your stomach flip as he replied surprisingly smoothly, “I guess I do owe you one, huh?”

A smirk of your own was your only reply as he spared a glance up at you. Joel shook his head, gaze turning back down as he bandaged up your arm.

“That’s a bit overkill,” you remarked, examining the bandage he had wrapped around your entire forearm as you rotated it once he had finished.

“It gets the job done,” Joel sighed, packing the first aid kit back up and flipping it closed again. “You should be glad it wasn’t deep enough to require any stitches.”

“Because you would’ve done a shitty job and given me an ugly scar?” you asked, not expecting a response as he stood and took the kit back to the washroom.

“Yup,” you heard his deep voice respond from the other room, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the blunt admission as you leaned back in your chair.

It was...weird, this almost amicable atmosphere between the two of you. You had never spoken to each other so easily before, and you blamed the strange phenomenon entirely on the whiskey you both were drunk off of.

Glancing through the other doorway into the adjoining dining room, you noted that Joel had a lot of warm earth tones in his home. It was cozier, more homey than you would have expected. You wondered idly if Tommy or Ellie had helped him with the furniture choices, or if it had been all him.

The colors and the feelings they evoked also reminded you of how he smelled of that earthy scent you couldn’t name as he licked and bit down your neck.

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat as arousal stirred within you. Joel walked back into the room, pulling your attention when he sank back into the chair that was still next to yours, his knee brushing against yours once he was seated.

Silence that had become typical between you fell again.

“So,” you started slowly, fingers tapping against the table, desire pooling between your legs as his knee brushed against yours again. You cleared your throat, trying to find a topic to distract yourself from the fact that his presence was much too close to you now, nothing distracting you from his annoyingly magnetic presence.

When a topic from earlier flashed through your mind, you grasped onto it quickly as you teased, “Esther, huh?”

Joel groaned, running a hand over his hair and effectively messing it up, the look of the disheveled, gray curls only making your lust stronger as your knees pressed together. Shit, maybe this topic wouldn't work.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, not looking at you in favor of rubbing the badly healed scars on his knuckles that you had noticed in your kitchen months ago.

His words were pointless though. Despite your best judgment that told you to take the opportunity to switch the topic, you had already started, and you wouldn’t stop now.

“With a name like that, she must be as old as you, right?” you asked, arching a brow as he turned to watch you blankly. You couldn't stop a snicker and smirk as you added, “Like, from the 1800's old?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head as he rested an elbow on the table and dropped his face into his hand.

“Can’t imagine the sex is good, if she’s that old,” you continued, spurred on by his exasperation, and grinning impishly as he groaned into his hand.

“She’s nice,” he finally muttered, hand falling away from his face even as he kept looking down at the table, and you nodded along slowly.

“Right, nice," you assented, not sure why the words made you restless as you glanced away from him.

You kept nodding, looking around the kitchen, when your gaze fell on the coffee pot again. A smirk grew on your lips as your eyes darted back to his, and your chest fluttered in excitement when you saw he was looking at you from the corner of his eyes now.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t think you were the type who liked ‘nice’, Miller.” The words were dark, almost sultry, and you saw something in Joel’s gaze shift as it focused entirely on you.

“Oh yeah?” His deep voice rumbled in his chest, his arched eyebrow begging for more of your defiance as he leaned towards you just an inch. “And what type do you think I like, exactly?”

Your fingers continue to tap a rhythm against the table, slowly moving closer to where his own hand rested until you were right next to it. Your touch hovered inches from him even as you continued to tap the surface around his fingers, avoiding touching him directly, only letting your fingers graze against his occasionally. A whisper, a temptation, a plea to touch him again.

“Sluts,” you answered slowly, the filthy term rolling off your tongue as Joel’s eyes darkened on the way your mouth formed around the word. “If I’m remembering correctly.”

He said your name in a low tone, the sound a warning, but you only saw it as a challenge.

You leaned closer, your fingers still dancing around his hand, head tilted with a sly smirk. Joel’s knee pressed harder against yours as you slowly spread your legs, and his gaze flashed down between them, his hand curling into a fist as he understood exactly what you were implying.

“You’re drunk,” Joel said quietly, voice husky as he tried to turn you down, even as he refused to look away from your opened legs.

“So are you,” you whispered, your fingers finally grazing directly over the top of his hand, and he jolted.

Joel leaned back from you, gaze darting away from you, and your stomach almost dropped from disappointment, maybe even embarrassment, before he looked back at you not even a second later.

“I—” Joel shook his head, swallowing thickly. “We shouldn’t—”

His eyes caught on your seductive smirk, and he shook his head again, the defenses in his gaze falling all at once as he breathes out, “Fuck.”

Joel’s hands were on you within a second of the murmured curse, pulling you roughly out of your chair and into his lap. His head buried in your neck, tongue and teeth finding your skin as you moaned loudly from the feeling of him suddenly pressing against you because finally, finally. You had been wanting him for weeks, even though you had tried to deny it, and now you finally had him again.

And maybe you were both drunk, maybe you both would regret it in the morning. But you wanted him now, just as much as he wanted you, and that was enough.

Your hips rolled, pushing your throbbing clit against the erection that was growing in his pants already, even as all he did was mouth at your neck.

“I make you this hard just by being in your lap, Joel?” you murmur, continuing to grind your hips against him, and he grunts.

“Shut up,” Joel muttered, pulling his head back, and you darted down towards his lips before he grabbed your chin in a firm hand.

“No,” he said stiffly, his gaze serious even as it became clouded in lust from the feeling of your clothed pussy pressing against his hard dick in his jeans.

“You have this rule for every girl you fuck?” you whisper, rolling your hips against his faster, and his look of annoyance faded into one of hazy desire as his eyelids fluttered and his head fell back. Your tone was more biting as you added, "Did you have it for Esther, too?"

“You really do have a sharp mouth, don’t you?” Joel muttered, and you laughed, jolting forward and pressing against his chest when he suddenly slapped your ass. “Pants off. Now.”

“So demanding,” you chastised, even as you stood and did what he told you to.

You made a show of it, your fingers circling the button of your pants before unbuttoning it. Joel’s eyes were glued to your seduction as you slowly unzipped your pants, then slid them down until they pooled at your feet on his kitchen floor, and you stepped out of them.

“Panties too,” Joel murmured, his hand rubbing his thigh as he leaned back and watched you, and you laughed breathlessly.

“What happened to your Southern manners?” you teased, and Joel raised an eyebrow.

Without a word, his finger reaches forward, dancing along the hemline of the dark, simple panties you were wearing. His finger curves under the band on your thigh, the rough pad of it skimming against your skin before he grabs the banding and swiftly yanks, snapping your panties and letting the fabric fall to the floor.

You blinked rapidly, unable to help the light laugh of surprise that left your lips even as he nodded towards the table behind you.

“Sit.”

Shifting backwards, you pressed your hands against the table and hopped up, bare ass pressed against the cold surface as you smirked at him. You spread your legs for him, and Joel inhaled sharply through his nose, his hand twitching on his thigh as if he wanted to touch you, but still he held back.

“Touch yourself,” he murmured, and your eyes widened before the words sent desire curling low in your stomach.

You placed your hand on your lower stomach, fingers spread as you dipped down lower, until you slid them through your folds that had grown wet from his words and your grinding against his hips.

“Already so wet,” Joel muttered, his hands moving to slowly unbutton his jeans even as he kept watching you touch yourself.

The sight of him unzipping his pants caused your breath to hitch, your wet fingers tracing up to begin to rub slow circles over your clit. You bite your lip, feeling the pleasure start to build as you touch yourself while Joel busies himself with pulling his cock out of his pants. 

It was the first time you had actually seen it and, fuck, he was big. You already knew he was, had felt every delicious inch of him deep inside of you. But seeing the strong, stoic Joel Miller sitting in front of you now, legs spread with his cock in his hand, hard at the sight of you, was enough to shoot you even closer to an orgasm.

“Don’t you want to feel?” you whispered, shivering with a moan as you watched Joel lift one of his hands and lick his palm slowly. A brief thought passed through your mind, wondering what that tongue would feel like working at your clit instead of your fingers, and you began to stimulate yourself faster.

“Oh, I will,” Joel gave a small smirk, one that grew just a bit at the moan that left you at the seductive teasing and that downright fucking sinful smirk.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes glued to his hand as it found his dick and he began to pump himself slowly.

Joel grunted, and you locked the sound of it away for later, for those lonely nights where you had only your own hand and no other company to bring you pleasure. He fists himself almost lazily, eyes drinking you in as your fingers picked up on your clit. Your mouth opens, breath coming in small pants as your hips begin to lift towards your own touch.

“That’s it,” Joel murmured, and you resisted the urge to close your eyes and tilt your head back, too intoxicated by the sight of him getting himself off just from watching you touch yourself. “Make yourself cum because of me.”

A loud moan escapes your parted lips, hips bucking up into the air as you rubbed your clit faster, finding just the right angle as your pleasure crests, then explodes through your body as you lose yourself in the mind numbing bliss of an orgasm.

Joel stood as you moaned through it, hands finding your sides to lower you back against the table even as your thighs twitched from the aftershocks of the orgasm. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you spread across his table, your face flushed and pussy dripping wet from an orgasm, before he collected your release on his fingers and spread it across his dick.

He pumped himself a few times, placing the head of his cock against your entrance as you looked up at him, licking your lips in anticipation.

“You ready?” he asked quietly, and you nodded quickly, legs wrapping around his hips as he slowly pushed into you.

Even though you had already felt him inside you before, it felt just as delicious as the first time you had fucked as his dick entered you inch by inch. Your cunt gripped him tightly as he bottomed out, his palms placed on either side of you, bracing himself against the table as he leaned down.

For a moment you wondered if he was going to break his rule, but Joel stopped before he could get close enough to kiss you. He seemed to be trying to collect himself, brows furrowed and eyes dark as sin as he pulled out of you a few inches to thrust back in.

You moan at the same time he does, though Joel was much quieter as he pulled out to thrust back in again.

And again.

And again.

The sound of the wooden table creaking, the legs scraping against the tile of the kitchen floor as Joel fucked you was almost as deliciously sinful as the sound of skin slapping against skin with each thrust. One of your hands grabs the edge of the table above your head, your other hand snaking down to rub your clit as he begins to thrust faster.

“Fuck, you—” Joel cut himself off, still holding some part of himself back, even now when he was fucking you like you were both utterly depraved, sinful beings. Which you might be.

“So good,” he finally mutters, his hands coming up to grab the top edge of the table around your hand, his forehead falling to rest against the table next to your head so you could hear every grunt, every sharp breath of pleasure leave his lips as he fucked you. “Feel so good.”

“Mm,” you moaned, nodding desperately to agree even as the ability failed you to concisely word the pleasure that was building. “Close. I’m close.”

Joel also nodded beside you, turning his head so his lips could graze your ear.

“Cum on my cock,” he whispers against it, breath fanning against the sensitive skin, and your hips jerk forward to meet his hard thrusts, fingers desperately rubbing your clit until the climb of pleasure broke, and your orgasm washed over you.

Your back arched as you cried out from the intense pleasure, soaking in the feeling of your quivering walls gripping every inch of his dick as he fucked you through your high.

“God,” Joel groaned, grabbing your hips as he leaned back, pulling you roughly against him to meet each of his hard thrusts. You fought to keep your eyes open, vision blurry as you watched his head lean back, lips parted as his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

He bucked into you hard once, twice, before pulling out, his hand finding his dick as he pumped the cum out of his cock to land on your inner thighs. Joel panted, eyes opening and glazing over from the ecstasy of his orgasm. His chest kept heaving as he continued to catch his breath, even as his gaze lowered to look at you spread out and well-fucked on his table beneath him, his cum dripping down your thighs.

“Here we are again,” you murmur once you could find your voice, the words hoarse, your eyebrow arching as a tired smirk turns up your lips. “I think you might have a thing for kitchens, Joel Miller.”

A huff that sounded a bit too much like a laugh escaped Joel’s lips, and he shakes his head as he tucks his softening dick away. He turns, walking over to his counter, and your head drops back against the table, mind swimming with the desire to give into the gentle lull of sleep in the sweet afterglow of sex.

“Here,” Joel murmured, and you opened your eyes to see he was holding out a hand towel he had used to clean his hand.

You take it with a nod of thanks, pushing yourself up with weak arms until you were sitting up well enough so you could clean the mess he had left between your legs once again.

He took the towel back once you were done cleaning yourself, moving into the attached washroom to supposedly drop it somewhere to be cleaned later before walking back out to meet you. 

Joel’s hand reaches out, an offering to help you up, and you give a small, amused smile at the familiar situation as you take it.

You stumbled a bit as you stood, and Joel’s hand tightened on yours minutely, helping you steady yourself. You murmured a tired thanks, leaning down to pick up your ruined panties, shoving them in the pocket of your pants once you pulled them back on.

“I’ll walk you home,” Joel said quietly, and your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you looked at him. He rolled his eyes, gaze averting as he muttered, “I promised Tommy.”

“Ah,” you nodded, the thought of your friend making you wince because, shit, you’ve fucked his brother twice now.

Maybe Joel was thinking the same thing, because you both went quiet as you fixed yourselves up so you looked presentable enough in case you ran into anybody else on the walk back to your house, and not like you had definitely, without a doubt just fucked each other. Your legs were shaky as you left Joel’s house, but you had walked further distances on more unsteady legs before. This wasn’t that hard. 

It was quiet, the chirps of insects the only sound you could hear other than the echoes of your shoes tapping against the pavement as you walked down the empty streets of Jackson. Luckily, you didn’t end up running into anyone as you rounded the corner onto your street, and saw the familiar Number 27 that you called home.

Or tried to call home.

You sigh quietly, hands shoved inside your pockets as you glance back at Joel. The two of you came to a slow stop in front of your fence, and after a moment of trying to catch his eye and failing, you shrugged to yourself as you reached out to push the gate open.

“We can’t do this again.”

The words made you pause, and you glanced over your shoulder back at Joel.

He still wasn’t looking at you, his gaze turned up towards the night sky. Jackson wasn’t so well-lit that you couldn’t see the stars, and one glance up showed that the multitude of those stars were twinkling in the clear expanse of midnight blue before you looked back down.

Your eyes traced over Joel’s face, over the strong nose, gray scruff, and wrinkles that were from both age as well as a hard life of survival and loss.

“Yeah,” you found yourself agreeing quietly, your feet shifting away from him, walking backwards down your path as you didn’t look away from him just yet. “Yeah, we can’t.”

Finally you turned, walking silently the rest of the way up to your porch. It wasn’t until you were through your door and shutting it behind you when you felt that familiar, intense gaze on your back.

You ignored it.