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skbeaumont · 14 days

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Just a Graze | Joel x Reader oneshot

One-shot Joel/Reader. Previously posted in two parts but thought I'd make a masterpost for this one.

Summary: Joel comes back injured, and while you patch him up the tension that's been building for several months threatens to break.

Tags/warnings: dirty talk, explicit content, language, injury detail (not explicit), MDNI, sexual tension, PIV, oral (F receiving), FILTH

Word Count: 4.3k

Joel’s bleeding when he gets back. The screen door clatters shut behind him, wire shuddering against the wood, and you look up from the table. His face is set, a solid frown painted across his features – nothing unusual – but there’s a downward turn to his mouth that you recognise as a pained expression. He steps in and leans against the counter, one hand on the warped wood, the other pressed against his shoulder. Blood seeps through his fingers, clotting around his knuckles, staining his jacket red.

“I’m okay,” he says as you spring up from your place at the dusty kitchen table, “it’s just a graze.”

“Bullet?” You ask, ignoring his attempts to wave off your concern.

“Barbed wire,” he says, letting you lead him further into the cabin, toward the misshapen couch, “stupid mistake, I didn’t see it.”

The shotgun clatters onto the floor at his feet as he collapses onto the couch with a groan. He doesn’t protest as you pull his fist away from the wound, your hand warm against his wind-chilled fingers. The cut isn’t deep, but the wire has torn through his jacket and shirt down to the flesh of his shoulder, leaving a jagged cut that’s oozing blood.

“You must be getting old,” you say, standing to search through your pack for the first aid kit, “your eyes are going as well as your ears.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes. Or my ears.”

“Sorry?”

“I said, there-” he notices your grin, the glint of mischief in your eye. He sighs heavily. “You’re a damn pain in my ass.”

You huff out a laugh and pull a kitchen chair across to sit opposite him. You open the first aid kit – which is really no more than a small washbag stuffed with a bottle of Lysol and a handful of bandages – on your lap, pull out the disinfectant and start unscrewing the cap. “Can you take your jacket off?” You ask, and he nods, starts unzipping it and pulling it off of his uninjured arm. He winces a little as he peels it past his bad shoulder, shakes it down his arm and lays it over his lap, frowning at the gash in the fabric.

“I can patch that up when we get back to Jackson.” You say.

“Ain’t going back ‘til we’ve something to bring back.” He replies, and now it’s your turn to sigh.

“We’ve got two deer and a whole family of rabbits, Joel. There’s nothing else out here for us to get.”

“We both saw that clinic complex, and I ain’t arguing with you about this again. Winter’s well on its way, and we need as much medicine as we can get to make it through. I almost got in today – would have, if I hadn’t got caught on that damned barbed wire. We’ll both go back tomorrow.”

He fixes you with a hard stare, one that makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, though whether it’s through fear or something else, you’re not sure. You’ve been partnering up for a couple of months now, going out on hunts and supply runs, growing slowly closer over long hikes and cold nights camping out under the stars.

At first, he intimidated you. He was cold, harsh; a solid bulk of a man who never smiled and rarely spoke, except to tell you to keep your voice down or stop walking so loudly. But then, gradually, he’d started loosening up around you. A few weeks ago he’d cracked a smile at a joke you’d made – something stupid about a bird in a tree, the kind of joke your dad used to make when you were a kid – and then that smile had grown into a deep chuckle a couple of days later, and then a conversation, whispered and illusive, under a starry sky last week.

This latest trip outside Jackson had been the most enjoyable yet, conversation flowing easily between you, and you were starting to suspect that the strange swooping feeling in your stomach that arose each time he looked at you, or bumped against you as you walked had a lot less to do with how intimidating he could be, and a lot more to do with him.

Now, locking eyes with him over the opened bottle of Lysol, his eyes dark and with an argument boiling up between you, that feeling blossoms into something hot and delicious, stirring a fire in your belly that makes you bold.

“From where I’m sat,” you say, tipping the bottle of Lysol so that the disinfection pours out onto a clean swab, “you don’t seem to have much choice about what we’re doing next. You’re hurt, and I need to patch you up, so stop arguing and take your shirt off.”

He opens his mouth to argue but shuts it again, eyes flicking up to your face. A hint of red creeps up his neck, settling high on his cheeks, tinging them scarlet in the low light of the cabin. You keep glaring at him. He lets out a long breath through his nose and moves to unbutton his shirt. The shirt is old, vintage, even – probably older than you – with mismatched buttons and a crumpled, frayed look. It comes apart easily, Joel’s fingers working down the buttons nimbly until he reaches the bottom. He pauses there, looks up at your face. You look away, because heat is creeping up your own neck now, hot and unbridled, as he pushes the shirt off of his shoulders and lets it fall open onto the couch behind him.

After his dark eyes, the most notable thing about Joel is his stature. He’s tall, and broad enough to fill any room he’s in. You’ve seen him lift grown men like they weigh nothing, watched him pick up a dead deer and throw it over one shoulder without so much as a stumble. Last month you went out on horseback to scope a potential hunting ground, and, sitting behind him in the saddle, you couldn’t see anything past the triangular bulk of his shoulders, your hands clasped easily around his waist. So, yeah, you know he’s strong, could tell anyone that the man is built. But when you look at him in the half-light with his shirt off, uncovered by layers of leather or plaid, the sight still sends blood rushing to your face.

His shoulders are broad, curving into thick biceps that tense as he raises a hand to scratch, self-consciously, at the back of his neck. There are small scars littering his chest, running down in narrow white slices to his belly, which is softer than the rest of him, sloping and scattered with coarse hair that continues below the buckle of his belt. You want to press your face into it, kiss the contours of his bellybutton and the plains of his chest, up to the juncture of his throat, which bobs as he swallows, eyes shifting to catch yours.

“You gonna patch me up or just stare?” He asks, and there’s something teasing in his voice, something that causes heat and slick to pool in between your thighs. “I- you’ve got a lot of scars.” You say, stupidly, tipping more Lysol onto the cloth you’re holding.

“Had a lot of run-ins with barbed wire.” He replies, the words turning to a hiss when you press the wet cloth to the cut on his shoulder.

“Should be more careful.”

“Now where would the fun be in that, darlin’?”

Oh, that’s new. You’ve heard him call Ellie pet names before, laughed when she rolls her eyes and shirks away from his affections, all fifteen years old and too cool to be coddled. But he’s never called you anything but your name – never so much as shortened it to a nickname like almost everyone else does. You flick your gaze from his wound to his face. His eyes are dark, expression unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze makes you look away, cheeks reddening. You pull the cloth away from his arm and start wrapping a clean bandage around his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says, after a pause. “I forget, sometimes. Recently.”

“Forget what?”

“That you’re young enough to be my-” He cuts himself off here, “that you’re a hell of a lot younger’n I am.”

This makes you laugh out loud, a huff of breath exhaled. You’re still opposite each other, him on the sofa, knees spread wide, you in the kitchen chair. If you inched forward only slightly your own legs would be between his.

“Old days I’d have been old enough to drink and drive, and more than old enough to flirt, Joel.”

“That what you want? You want me to flirt with you?” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

You shrug and hold his gaze. “I think it’s what you want too. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I can’t see you.”

You have. He thinks he’s being discrete, but you’ve seen how his eyes linger on your legs, how he can’t help but drop his gaze to your chest when you wear something low cut. A few weeks ago you’d seen him adjust himself in his jeans when you stripped down to your underwear to bathe in a stream you’d come across after two days out searching for supplies.

“And how’s that?” He asks. You have to hold yourself back from leaning forward and kissing the worried crease of his mouth.

“Like you’re a man dying of thirst and I’m an oasis.”

He scoffs at that. “Shoulda been a writer, sweetheart.”

“And how does this story end?”

“Ends with you walking away from me like you should’ve months ago. This,” he flicks a finger at himself and then you, “ain’t happening.”

“Why not? You want it, I want it. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Problem is,” he slides his arms off the sofa, reaching back to pull his shirt back up over his shoulders, “you think you know what you want, but you don’t.” He starts buttoning the shirt, fixing you with a stern look. “Trust me.”

He tries to stand but you put your hands on his knees, holding him in place.

“No way,” You say, your heart thumping in your chest, “you don’t get to decide what I do or don’t want.”

“What do you want? You want me to fuck you? Want me to spread your pretty little legs out across this couch and make you come on my tongue?”

Yes. God, yes.

“What if I do? What if that’s exactly what I want you to do?” You slide your hands further up his legs, holding him down on the couch. If he wanted to, he could push you off easily, but he doesn’t. When your fingertips reach the tops of his thighs he slides his hands over your wrists and pins them where they are, stopping you moving any higher.

“Find someone your own age, sweetheart. Someone whose knees don’t creak when the stand up. Someone who can make you happy.” And then he’s standing up, moving your hands off of him with ease, stepping around you in the kitchen chair to stride to the other side of the room, the tension collapsing in on itself as he tells you to get some sleep, that there’s more work to do tomorrow.

*****

The next morning brings rain. It hammers against the walls of the cabin and drips in through the leaky roof. Joel stands at the window, one hand on his hip, silently looking out at the downpour.

“Tell me you’re not considering going out in this?” You say, moving up behind him to peer out at the lashing rain.

“Might ease up later.” He says, turning to face you. “There’s enough to do in here to keep us occupied, anyway.”

“Guns?” You ask.

“Guns.” He agrees.

Joel’s fanatical about keeping the guns clean and working. It makes sense, you suppose. You don’t know much about his past, about how he and Ellie ended up in Jackson, but what you’ve heard, the snippets Ellie’s confided in you over quiet conversations, makes for grim listening. To Joel, those guns mean the difference between life and death.

And so you both sit at the kitchen table, meticulously cleaning Joel’s shotgun and your pistol, passing cloths and gun oil between you. You make casual conversation as you go, neither of you touching on the events of the previous evening. After he dismissed you last night you’d gone straight to bed, tucked yourself into the dusty single bed in the bedroom while Joel took the couch. Your dreams had been hazy and pleasant, and you’d woken up flushed.

You’re sliding the magazine back into your pistol when Joel jumps and swears, pulling his hand back from where he’s trapped his finger in the loading mechanism of the shotgun. A tiny bead of blood wells up and spills over his fingertip and he sighs heavily. You reach out and take his hand in yours to examine the cut. It's tiny - you've seen paper-cuts do more damage - but Joel's frowning like he's in pain.

“You’ve gotta stop being so clumsy.” You say.

“I’m not clumsy.” He replies, letting you turn his hand in yours, watching you watch his thick fingers, take in the breadth of his knuckles.

“No?”

“No. It’s-”

You're not sure what makes you do it - maybe it's frustration still boiling over from yesterday, maybe it's the way Joel looks at you as you clasp his large hand in your own smaller one - but before he can finish speaking you pull his arm across the table and wrap your lips around his finger. You snake your tongue over the pad of the digit and the noise he makes then - a breathy, broken groan - sends fire surging through you, heat coiling between your thighs.

“Distraction.” He finishes.

When you pull your mouth away and place a wet kiss to the palm of his hand, he slides his fingers across your jaw and up into the mess of your hair. His hand is hot against your scalp, curving around the back of your neck, leading you forward so that he can fit his mouth against yours across the table.

Pleasure flutters out from the pull of his fingers in your hair, and his lips are soft and dry until he opens his mouth to you, guiding your tongue into his mouth, pressing his into yours. It’s slow at first. Tentative, as though he’s waiting for you to push him away. But you’ve never wanted anything more, and when you moan against his lips he stands, bracketing your face with both hands to pull you up from your own chair.

It’s a messy walk backwards from the table. You bump against the broken coffee table, pull away from his mouth to curse and rub your shin, but then he’s falling back onto the couch, pulling you down into his lap so that your thighs are bracketing his legs.

You pause like that, looking at each other, both breathless and dazed, lips bruised.

“This what you want?” He asks again, placing his hand at your jaw gently. His fingers are thick, hand so large that his thumb rests at your temple and while his index finger sits under your chin.

“I want you, Joel. Please.”

When he kisses you again, it’s hungry and animalistic. All pretence of hesitation is gone. He presses his mouth to your throat, lets his teeth scrape the delicate skin below your ear.

“This is still a bad idea.” He says, voice breaking when you roll your hips against his. ”Shit.”

“Please, Joel.” Your voice sounds tiny, shrill to your own ears, desperate and pathetic, but Joel bites at the juncture of your neck and it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except the feel of his hands on your hips, guiding you against him, pulling your clothed cunt against where he’s impossibly hard in his jeans.

“I’m gonna take this off.” He says, pulling at your shirt, tugging it up over your head. “And this.” He runs a hand over your covered tit, pinches your nipple beneath the thin fabric of your bra, rolls it between his finger and thumb while his other hand slides up your back and unclasps it. It falls between you, forgotten immediately.

“Fuck, darlin’, look at you.” He says, running the knuckle of his index finger over the swell of your chest, down along your ribs and across one hip. He lets his hand fall away, brings it back up to the side of your face, pulls your lips back to his and drags your bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth.

Pain and pleasure blossom through you, make you scrabble at the buttons of his shirt, fingers shaking as you try and get them undone. He helps, slides the shirt off of his back, careful where his shoulder is still sore. He balls it up and casts it across the room, then grips your hips and lifts you, turning you onto your back on the sofa, pressing himself between your open thighs. The change in angle presses the seam of your jeans against your clit, a jolt of pleasure rocking through you.

“You ever done this before?” He asks, hovering over you, dipping down to press a chaste kiss against your collarbone.

“I ain’t that innocent, Joel.” You reply, gasping when he pulls your nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth. “Have you?”

This earns you a deep chuckle, a hushed whisper against the back of your neck, “I’ve been doing this since before you were born, baby.”

And, fuck, that shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does. It has your hips lifting up, seeking out friction. Joel notices and slides down your body, dropping onto his knees on the floor. He runs one hand up the inside of your thigh, presses his thumb expertly against your covered clit.

“I’m gonna take these off now, and then you’re gonna come on my tongue. That sound okay?”

You nod, voice lost as he undoes the button on your jeans and pulls them down in one motion, pushing them away in the direction of his discarded shirt.

“Look how wet you are for me already.” He glides two fingers over the front of your soaked underwear, up to the waistband to hook them off.

And then he leans forward, presses light kisses up your thighs until he reaches your cunt. He pauses, blows a cool strip of air against you that has you trying to close your legs, but his hands are there, pinning them open for him. When he seals his lips over your clit and drags his tongue over it you thread your fingers through his hair, pull at the black-grey strands. You squeeze your eyes shut but he pulls away, chastises you gently.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” His voice is like molten chocolate, rich and dark, pulling you back so that you gaze down at him.

He swipes his tongue over your slit, gathers the slick that’s pooling there. He’s like a man possessed, eyes dark, hair standing up on end from where you’ve run your hands through it, cursing and moaning as he slides his tongue over your clit, starting up a firm and consistent rhythm that has you bucking against him. His hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, his forearms corded with muscle, biceps flexing up to those impossibly broad shoulders.

“You gonna come on my tongue?” He asks, hardly breaking away from you to grunt out the question.

“Yes, Joel, fuck, please.” You can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, can hardly force yourself to keep your eyes on him where he kneels between your thighs like you’re an altar and he’s a lonely priest begging for repentance. It’s this thought – the idea of him worshipping you, tongue lapping over your clit, his eyes blazing with lust – that tips you over the edge. Your cunt clenches around nothing, body wracked with pleasure as you come, hard, on his tongue. He grins into your cunt as he feels you come apart against him, continues pressing sloppy, wet kisses to your pussy as you come down from the high, limbs shaking. When you finally push him away, overly sensitive and buzzing with pleasure, he rocks back on his heels, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Your pleasure is painted across his face, his greying stubble wet with your slick.

He crawls back up onto the couch between your thighs, dips his head to kiss you. You taste yourself on his lip; on his tongue when he sweeps it against the back of your teeth, heady and sweet. He presses himself against you, drags the front of his jeans over your bare skin. The buckle of his belt catches against your bare stomach and you hiss into his mouth, reach down to unbuckle it. It comes off easily, falls to the floor with a dull thud, and then you slip your fingers through the buttons of his jeans, undo them quickly, desperate to get them off. He stands briefly, pushes them the rest of the way down his thick thighs and then kneels back between your legs. Immediately you slide your hand into the waistband of his briefs. He feels like velvet wrapped around steel, hot and delicious in your fist. He groans into your mouth as you palm him desperately, sliding delicate skin over the head of him, feathering the pad of your thumb against his slit. When you draw his cock out you break away from his needy mouth to look. He’s big: thick, curving slightly to the left, head already weeping precum.

“Fist feels so good wrapped around my cock, sweetheart.” He tells you, “You gonna let me fuck you?”

It’s the easiest yes you’ve ever given. He chuckles darkly at your needy reply, pushes his briefs the rest of the way off and wraps his own fist around his cock. He slides himself over your cunt, coating himself in your juices. Then he’s notching the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, sucking in a breath as he pushes in gently, slowly, stretching you out deliciously.

“Good girl,” He murmurs, easing himself deeper, feeling you flex and clench around him, “good fucking girl.”

He stills when he’s fully seated inside you, sucks at a spot under your jaw that makes you gasp with pleasure, runs one big palm up your body to paw at your breast, trying to collect himself, twitching inside you with the effort of staying still.

“Cunt’s so goddamn tight, baby.” His voice is broken, pitchy and breathy against your ear.

You run your hands over his back, feeling out the breadth of his shoulders, the thin scars that lace across them, his muscles bunching and flexing beneath your fingers when he finally – finally – starts to move inside you, rocking his hips into yours, dragging himself all the way out and then gliding back in. The head of his cock hits something inside you that sends white hot pleasure jolting through your belly. The cabin is silent now – the rain has stopped – the only sounds are your frantic breathing and low, breathy moans, and Joel’s whispered praises as he rocks against you.

Good girl, so fucking good for me, letting me fuck you like this, cunt so tight around me, could come just thinking about it.

It’s dirty and sloppy and fucking incredible. The power you’ve seen him exert on infected and drunkards and raiders suddenly coiled over you, his muscles pulling you taunt against him when he changes the angle, sits up, pulls you with him so that you’re riding him, his cock somehow buried deeper in your cunt, your thighs bracketing him. You can feel yourself growing closer to release again, pleasure notching up in your belly like fire spreading. Joel shifts slightly again, makes space for his hand to come between you, places his thumb against your clit and presses, draws out slow, gentle circles that match the pace of his thrusts.

“Need my thumb on you clit while my cock’s buried inside you, sweetheart? Gonna come again just like this, huh? Dirty fucking girl.”

His words are like fuel on the fire and within seconds you’re moaning and shaking, cunt clenching around him as you come, harder than before, on his cock. Joel fucks you through it, keeps the steady pressure on your clit.

“Gonna make me come in this tight little pussy,” He says, and you know you shouldn’t, know you should make him pull out, but he feels so good inside you that you grind down on him telling him yes, please, fist your hands into his hair to pull his mouth against yours. The kiss is desperate and messy, all teeth and tongue. He hisses into your mouth as you buck your hips and drive them down on him, and then he’s swearing, fingers digging hard into your hips.

"Jesus, you feel so fucking good, baby, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna- shit.” He pulses inside you, painting your cunt with his come, hot and wet inside you.

You continue rocking against each other, slowly, coming down from the high. When he slides out of you and shifts away the old sofa groans out in protest, springs creaking. It makes you laugh, breathless, racking laughter than drives away the sudden realisation of what you’ve just done, of how you’ve indelibly changed the way you look at each other, the relationship between you.

“That was… fucking hell, Joel, that was incredible.”

He’s looking at you sideways, his hair still a mess, stubble still coated with your slick. He’s naked and vulnerable and you think it might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. When he leans across to slot his lips against yours you grin against him, trying not to think about what happens next.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfic

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miikapie · 4 months

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just thinking ab Geto with a crybaby s/o (nsfw)

hi, this is my first time posting on here :33 idk if it'll be the last. i js wrote this when i got bored while studying. i love geto sm guys hes such a sweetheart

warnings:.. dacryphilia (reader cries during the deed), a little bit of infantilisation?, sweet geto hehehee,also slightly out of character geto? idk, missionary, really bad fuckin grammar dont come at me... anything else to put here uhhh js tell me //mdni.// NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

"mmm...missed this..i missed you.."

his hips rolled slowly into you, his hands smoothing over your thighs he hiked onto his shoulders. at this point, you guys have been going at it for a long while; you've orgasmed more times than you care to count (5 times) but ofcourse, because of geto and his crazy stamina, youve been folded on the bed for atleast an hour. he came home from a particularly long and difficult mission and just..needed you. so bad.

he coos sweet nothings into your ears as he always did, kissing at your neck with the occasional groan. the pace he set was so gentle, his tip kissed your cervix with every languid push and pull through your walls.

"you're so sweet...so good to me baby.." he whispers, the sticky noises of your arousal filling the quiet room

you always found moments like this with suguru to be perfect. just him and you, together, where the rest of the world didn't matter. but for some reason today, just something about it all was just so sensual and at the perfect pace..

with his head buried in the crook of your neck, his hand travelled from your waist to your cheek. what he didn't expect to feel was a trail of ..tears?

funny thing is you didn't even realise it. you had your eyes closed and your head buried into the silk pillow beneath you. you were completely immersed in the pleasure, and didnt notice the fat tears rolling down your face.

his pace slows to a stop and looked into your eyes. you thought the way his long hair cascaded over his shoulders made him look so beautiful..especially now. you looked up at him through teary eyes. he looked worried

"hey...is everything okay?" a frown was shown on his face, as he cupped your cheeks and wiped away your tears. "did i hurt you? you're cryin.."

you sniffled subconsciously, your hands placed over his. you smiled sheepishly and look away. "i.. I didn't even notice" he kissed your forehead sweetly, his facial expressions show he finally understood what was going on.

with one hand on your waist again he started rocking his hips, earning a soft cry of satisfaction from you. "fu-fuck.."

"you feel so good you're crying? ..baby.. you're flattering me..." his coy smile appears as he looked into your eyes, watching your expression twist and turn. it was, almost sinister "i wanna see this expression more often....such a crybaby.."

there was something about that new petname he gave you, the way it rolled of his tongue so sweetly, that made your walls flutter around him. he groaned a little, his pace slow and unfaltering. he gripped onto your waist. " you like that? being called a little crybaby?"

your hips bucked into him and you mewl, loudly. "s-stop, dont embarrass me..suguru.." his hips began snapping into you faster as a response.. another tear falls down your face but this time he kisses it away.

" 's not embarrassing..im into it. keep crying. in return ill keep you all nice and stuffed, how about that?"

thanks for reading HAHA

#geto x reader #geto smut

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golbrocklovely · 8 months

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our girlfriend // sam and colby

A/N: it's my bday and i'm giving you guys a present... aren't i so nice lol i know it's been a LONG time since i posted any form of a fic, and i'm sorry about that. but hopefully this makes up for it a bit. if you squint hard enough, this could basically be a 'careful what you wish for' fic as well (but not really since the boys are just normal and not a demon or vampire). hope you enjoy and let me know what you think !

prompt: you and the boys always had your fun, but you never tried it in public. and now they want to. || fem!reader x sam and colby

trigger warning: SMUT, threesome (but no actual sex), no solby, you are sam and colby's girlfriend…. lucky you lmao, fingering, oral fixation/finger sucking, bossy!bf sam and colby, also very possessive, a wee bit of degradation, mentions of baby, darling, baby girl, love, good girl, slut, and it also takes place slightly in public (but away from everyone)

word count: 2003

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Guys, are you sure about this?" You questioned hurriedly as you rushed up the stairs.

Sam looked back at you, his voice loud over the thumping music of the party. "Yeah, c’mon Y/N. There’s no one up here."

"Probably for good reason." You grumbled.

"You’ve never been one to follow the rules. Don’t start now..." Colby smirked devilishly, his voice right by your ear as he passed you on the stairs.

Reaching the top and with each one of them holding a hand, Sam and Colby pulled you down the hallway. They stopped right outside a door tucked away from the stairs. If someone came up, they would see you. Your heart raced at the idea alone.

Colby leaned his back against the wall as you looked around the corner, glancing at the stairs nervously. He rolled his eyes, pulling you against him. "Baby, you have nothing to worry about. You're with us. When have we ever gotten caught?"

You glared up at him, annoyed. "You literally have a rap sheet that proves you don't know how to hide."

"Someone's feeling bratty tonight..." Sam joked playfully, leaning across from you and Colby.

You gazed at him over your shoulder, brows furrowed. "I'm just worried about someone finding out about us. God knows how the fans would react if they knew..."

Colby's finger lightly turned your chin so that you were looking at him. "Knew about what? That we both love to play with our girlfriend, and now we're trying it out in public?"

You stuttered, the lustful glint in Colby's eye making you blush. "Y-yes. Exactly that."

Colby pouted. "But I thought you loved when we both touched you."

"And tasted you..." Sam replied, sounding closer.

Colby leaned his face in, getting close to yours. "And fucked y-"

You cut him off, slapping his chest. "That's not the issue I have. It's the getting caught part. Or someone seeing us."

"But that's what's fun about this," Sam turned you around to face him, Colby's hands still resting low on your hips. "You're getting fucked as a party is being thrown downstairs in our honor. And if anyone tries to find us, they'll see us all up here... with you. So we gotta make sure we don't get caught."

"Especially since no one is allowed up here." You mentioned again.

"Well, we're allowed up here. No one else is." Colby informed.

Your face scrunched up, "I thought the owner said-"

"The owner can suck my dick. If I want to fuck my girlfriend in a house I'm renting out for a party, I'm gonna do it wherever I want to." Colby ranted.

"Excuse me." Sam raised an eyebrow, a light glare thrown at Colby.

"Right, my bad, Sam. Our girlfriend." Colby responded, smiling.

Sam sighed, "Much better."

"Speaking of...." Colby slid his hand under your skirt, pressing your damp panties against your swollen sex. "Our girlfriend is very wet."

You gasped, your body arching against Colby's. He exhaled as your ass grinded into his crotch. His breath was hot against your neck, raising goosebumps across your cool skin.

Sam's eyes danced up your body, studying it as Colby kneaded your clit slowly. Sam hummed when his gaze reached your face, his voice low, "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Kiss me." You shuddered, grabbing his shirt lightly and tugging him closer.

"She's so aggressive when she's needy." Colby chuckled darkly, applying pressure to his movements.

Sam nodded, leaning in and kissing you tenderly. You could barely breathe to begin with but having Sam's mouth on yours and Colby's fingers on your clit, you felt yourself get lightheaded. It was so overwhelming already, and they barely had done anything to you. God, or the devil himself, only knew what they had in store for you.

As Sam's tongue glided into your mouth, tangling with yours, Colby moved your panties out of the way and slid two fingers inside of you, pumping them at an achingly slow pace. Your breath hitched, a moan falling from your lips. Lucky for you, it was muffled by Sam's mouth.

"What did we say, baby girl? You can’t be too loud. And we know how loud you can get." Sam teased.

"Even with the music playing, they would be able to hear her." Colby sneered jokingly.

"Is that what you want? To get caught? To have all of our friends know you're being fucked by us? That you're needy for us?" Sam grunted, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

"I think that's what she wants. She loves to pretend to be such a good girl, but in reality, she's bad." Colby snickered into your ear quietly. "She's a little slut for us."

"Our slutty little girlfriend who can't stop herself from moaning when we touch her." Sam closed the space between you two, gripping your chin so that your eyes were looking into his piercing blues. "You're so pathetic and horny, aren't you?"

You shook your head, a whimper falling from your lips as Colby slid another finger in. You bit your lip hard to not make a noise, knowing it wasn't doing much to help.

"We might have to cover her mouth, since she can't listen." Colby hissed mischievously, biting your neck softly.

"I know the perfect way to do that." Sam placed the tips of his index and middle finger against your lips, "Open." Your lips fell open instantly, and he snaked them in, resting them against your tongue. "Suck."

You immediately started sucking his fingers, whining around them and bobbing your head up and down. Sam growled lowly at the sensation of you sucking off his fingers. He pushed himself closer to you, sandwiching you in between him and Colby completely. You couldn't have escaped their hold if you wanted it, and you definitely didn't want to.

"Her mouth feels amazing, Colby. You'll have to give it a try soon." Sam closed his tightly, focusing on the feeling.

"I remember how good she feels, trust me." Colby leaned down, pressing his lips to your ear, "You always need something in your mouth, don't you darling? You can't help but want to suck on something. On one of us."

Colby's fingers sped up, a groan deep within your throat rocketed out, stifled by Sam's fingers. You kept grinding your ass against Colby, who now was hard in his leather pants. He followed your movements, his hips pressing hard into you. Your hand gripped his wrist, clinging onto the hand that was fucking you. Your other hand held Sam close as your nails dug into his back.

"Are you getting close, baby girl? Do you want to come?" Sam barked.

You mewled, nodding your head desperately. Sam tsked, leaning his forehead against yours. "Not yet, baby. I think you need a bit more help."

His other hand drifted down, stopping right above your clit. He teased you for a moment, the tip of his finger brushing across it ever so gently. Your body shook and both boys laughed.

Colby feigned concern. "Aw Sam, c’mon now. You gotta be nice to her. She's not gonna make it."

"I guess we traded places this time, since you're the one that's always so mean to her." Sam quipped sassily.

Colby faux gasped, "Me? Being mean?" He leaned into your ear, whispering, "I'm not mean, am I love? You like when I treat you rough. I know you do, sweetheart."

You closed your eyes tight, trying to hold yourself back from exploding. Both of their motions were all too much for you, but you didn't want it to end just yet. You needed it to keep going. You just loved being theirs.

Sam pushed his lower half into his hand that was rubbing your clit, both boys now grinding against you. Their cocks were hard, and they were touching you in all the right places; you could feel your orgasm building up to its breaking point. You needed them to say you could let go. You weren't sure how much longer you could last.

"Feel how hard you've made us, baby girl. You want us inside of you? Wanna get filled up by us?" Sam rasped.

You whined and nodded mindlessly. You couldn't even form words if you want to.

"She's squeezing my fingers so tight. God, I can't wait to taste you, Y/N. You're getting so close..." Colby panted. "Maybe we should let her come."

"Only if she deserves it. Do you, baby? Do you deserve to come? Have you been good for us?" Sam taunted, staring into your eyes.

You moaned around his fingers in agreement, shaking your head again.

Sam bit his lip, glancing at Colby for a moment. "She has been following our demands very well. She made me hard just by sucking my fingers."

"You've been such a needy, good girl for us, haven't you? You take our fingers so well. Do you wanna come? Say you want to." Colby lowered his voice, "Use your words, love."

You choked around Sam's fingers, a 'I wanna come' mumbled through his digits.

Colby harshly snapped in your ear, "Who owns this cunt, darling?"

You grunted out a 'You do', eyes pleading with Sam to say you could let go.

Sam smirked, an almost evil glint in his eye. "I think she can come now. What about you, Colby?"

Colby paused, his fingers still moving at their fast pace. Your body was hot, sweat dripping down your back. Your face was flushed, and you felt like you couldn't breathe as you waited for Colby to say the magic phrase.

He kissed right under your ear sweetly, his lips then pressed against you. "Come for us, baby."

You cried out around their fingers, your body spasming in ecstasy. Sam finger fucked your mouth, making sure your screams weren't heard over the music as he sped up his fingers on your clit. Colby kept the pace as you exploded around him, your juices running down your thighs. He cooed in your ear, speaking softly that you were a good girl, a good slut for them, and that you were so beautiful when you come.

Your pleasure slowly subsided, Sam and Colby resting against you and their motions still. They breathed with you, kissing along your neck and face as you relaxed.

You were about to say something when all three of you could hear someone walking up the stairs. Sam backed up, removing his hands from your mouth and clit. Colby spun you both around, facing the person coming up the stairs. It was a scramble to make sure you looked okay, and you weren't even sure if you did.

A tall man in an all-black suit, one of the security guards, looked down the hallway at you all. "Excuse me, you can't be up here."

"Uh, sorry about that. My girlfriend wasn't feeling too well and the line for the bathroom was kinda long so we figured she could come up here and use this one." Colby smiled, placing you in front of him to cover up his hard on.

"Are you feeling better now, miss?" The man asked, looking at you.

Sam cut you off, thankfully; since you weren't sure if you could even speak yet. He cupped his hands in front of his body, trying to cover himself up. "Yeah, she's good. We'll make sure she feels better later tonight, though. Just to be safe."

You glanced at Sam, and he gave you a little wink.

"Please follow me back downstairs to the party." The man stated.

You trudged down the hall towards the man, Sam and Colby following close behind. Once the man turned around, you could hear Sam smack Colby's arm, saying 'She's our girlfriend' to him. They bickered back and forth until you got to the bottom of the stairs.

Colby smacked your ass playfully, his voice loud enough for only you to hear, "Don’t go too far, Y/N. We're not done with you yet."

#sam and colby #sam and colby fanfiction #sam and colby fanfic #sam and colby fic #sam and colby smut #sam golbach fanfiction #sam golbach fanfic #sam golbach smut #sam golbach fic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock smut #sam and colby x reader #sam golbach #colby brock

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azrielsdove · 5 months

Note

Ive been loving all the fics youve been posting. I had this lil idea that hopefully sparks joy for you if ur requests are open. Its an azriel x reader. Where reader is very cold hearted and kinda mean almost bitchy like nesta. Hates to be touched eapecially on her back. Azriel hates her cuz she so unpleastant and so incredibly difficult. The bond snaps for azriel and hes so so confused because he for sure thought elain was for him. Reader always looks at azriels hands almost disgusted but the truth is that she had her wings cut off and the stumps burned down to her flesh, so her entire back is scarred like azriels hands. Her face isnt of disgust but since he hides his hands she assumes he'd be disgusted in her. Azriel softens up to her when he finds out she has a soft spot for children, maybe she teaches orphaned children in the city. Idk i just like the idea of a cold hearted reader thats just as scarred as azzy but actually has a soft heart for kids. Or maybe shes always longed for a family of her own but cant get passed her own insecurities. You can change whatever you'd like to fit your writing style. ❤️

Thank you love!!!! I am OBSESSED with this idea and took off with it. I decided to turn it into a mini series, when I started writing the Readers POV it was getting wayyyy long. I hope I have done your idea justice, here is part 1 <3

Cold Hearts: Azriel x Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

Pt. 2 Here

***

Azriel couldn’t stand her. She was nothing but cold and hateful to everyone, especially to him. When she had first come to stay with Rhysand in Velaris, he had tried to be kind to her. Rhys hadn’t told anyone why he brought her, and she certainly never opened up about it.

The first day he met her, she was sitting silently in the small library in the House of Wind. Azriel had smiled at her and given a “Good morning.” She had turned sharply to look at him, her gaze focusing on the hand he waved with. He watched the look of disgust come over her face before she turned back to staring into the fire.

Azriel had been a little taken aback. Sure, he struggled with the way his hands looked, and was no stranger to the dirty looks. The look on her face had been nastier than he had ever seen. She looked at his hands like they caused her pain. He left the library after that, not sure what to think.

Many years had gone by since that first meeting, and Azriel preferred to stay far away from her. No one else wears very fond of her either. He still didn’t know why Rhys had brought her here, nor why he allowed her to stay. She spent most of her days locked in her room or sitting in the library. She occasionally came to meals with the family, rarely speaking. And when she did speak? It was always some cold remark, as if she wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else.

So why did she stay?

Azriel pondered that question far too often. When Rhys became trapped Under the Mountain, he had included that everyone should be prepared for war in his last message. Azriel took it upon himself to train her. He had shown up to her room early in the morning, expecting a fight. To his shock, she willingly came.

She took to training quicker than Azriel had thought. She proved to have some skill under that cold shell she showed everybody, even if it took some coaxing for it to come out. He was impressed. Azriel even started enjoying teaching her, until the day she lashed out at him and declared she never wanted to see him again.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong.

He was trying to teach her a slightly difficult new maneuver. She was struggling to angle her body the correct way, unable to understand how Azriel did it. He had reached out to help her, placing a hand on her lower back and shoulder to move her body into place. She shot out of his grasp like he had stabbed her, whipping around to face him.

“What do you think you are doing?” She had seethed, eyes on fire. Azriel had held his hands up in surrender, confused.

“I was just trying to help-“ He had begun, being cut off by her.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking touch me.” She had glared at his hands, a stare he didn’t miss.

“I don’t understand why you must be so insufferable all of the time!” Azriel had snapped, fed up with the constant negativity and judgement that came from her.

“Maybe don’t be a nasty pig and grab up on any female you see!” She had shouted, turning to leave the ring. “Stay away from me. I don’t wish to see you anymore.”

And that was that.

Cassian had taken over her training from then on out. Azriel was fine with it. She clearly had some sort of issue with him, and it seemed to stem from his hands. His ugly, scarred hands. Were they really so grotesque she couldn’t even stand him touching her?

***

When Rhysand had returned from Under the Mountain, things got better and worse. At first, she had been kinder. Azriel had noticed how she rushed to Rhys before anyone else, how carefully she wrapped him in her arms. The two of them had disappeared after that, not seen until the next day. Azriel couldn’t figure out why the two of them had such a bond, why Rhysand cared for her so much. He had just come back and announced that the human girl - Feyre - was his mate, so it couldn’t be a romantic attraction.

Or could it?

Azriel shook his head, demanding those thoughts the leave his mind. Ignoring the spark of jealousy that ran through him. He didn’t know why he cared so much about her.

***

Elain. There was no doubt in Azriels mind that Elain was his. Rhysand had Feyre, Cassian had Nesta, naturally Azriel would have Elain. It didn’t matter that the cauldron had mated her with Lucien. Three sisters, three brothers. Anyone could read what that meant.

Azriel tried not to notice the way she had slunk into the shadows lately. When Feyre first came to the Night Court, the two had struck up a friendship. Azriel couldn’t believe his eyes and ears when he saw how fun and sweet she was with Feyre. It further confirmed his belief that she was so disgusted in his scars that she couldn’t stand to be near him. She had even started to being nicer to Cassian, her training with him going much better than yours with Azriels had.

Once the bond snapped with Feyre and Rhysand, she had taken a small step back from the both of them. When it snapped with Cassian and Nesta, she had backed away from Cass as well. She barely even had a witty retort anymore, choosing to stay quiet most of the time.

Azriel felt like no one else had noticed the change in her. However, he had to admit, so much change had happened in such a short time that he couldn’t blame them for not realizing.

Why did he realize?

Even as she created small friendships with the others, she ignored Azriel. She only looked at him to stare at his hands. He had taken to wearing his gloves around her at all times, but she just stared as if she could see through the fabric. He had spent decades trying to be nice to her, for nothing. She rarely spoke to him, mostly just gave that look to his hands.

She was always going to be cruel to him.

***

Azriel was trying desperately to find a Solecist gift for Elain. He knew he had a reputation for gifts, and he wanted to make sure what he got Elain was perfect. As perfect as she is.

And he had no idea what that would be.

He was wandering the paths of Velaris aimlessly, peering into the stores as he passed, trying to see anything that seemed like Elain. He was getting worried that he would never find anything, turning away from yet another shop.

He stopped when he saw her.

She was inside a little building, large windows open for anyone to see in. He watched as she stood at the front of the room, facing a small group of…children? He angled his body a little to see clearly into the room, listening to her voice come through the window. Her tone was kinder than he had ever heard it. Azriel watched with wide eyes as she demonstrated a defense move-a move he had taught her.

And now she was teaching it to children.

He watched for the rest of the class, amazed at how well the kids grasped onto the concepts she was teaching. He felt his heart skip when her laughter floated out the windows, a bright smile on her face as she looked at one of the students. He had never seen her like this before.

When the class ended he watched as one of the smaller children ran up to her and threw their arms around her legs. Azriel expected her to jump back at the touch, instead watching her bend down and wrap her arms around them. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe any of this. He turned and headed back to the House, the gift for Elain long forgotten.

***

He wanted to approach her. He wanted to ask about the children he saw her teaching. He had a sudden desire to know more about her, to see who she may be under that cold exterior.

Azriel should have known she wouldn’t let him.

It was a few days after he had spotted her in town, and he had finally found her alone in the little library. He cleared his throat as he approached her, hoping to get her attention. Of course, she ignored him. He shouldn’t have been hurt by it, but he had been so hopeful after seeing her with the children.

Azriel called her name.

Her head slowly turned to him, eyes blazing. “Yes?” She asked coolly. Azriel have a small smile, refusing to lose his nerve now.

“I saw you, in town? With the children? I-“ He started, cut off by her suddenly standing.

“Spying on me, are you?” She asked, anger all over her face.

“No! No! I was shopping, for Elain, and I happened to walk by!” Azriel was gesturing wildly, not wanting you to think he was following you. “I saw you and then I saw the children and I was interested. You were, nice to them.” He cursed the words as they came out of his mouth, sounding just as sorry as one could imagine.

She scoffed. “Why would I not be? They’re kids.” Her words were sharp and Azriel felt embarrassment creep up his neck.

“Well, you’re not really nice to anyone.” He bit out, temper rising as she laughed.

“You don’t know anything about me.” She said, looking at him curiously.

“Oh? Is that so?” Azriel felt the words coming out before he could stop them, all the things he had wanted to say for years. “Maybe that’s because you don’t let anyone get close to you. I tried to be your friend in the beginning, just for you to be cold and nasty. You are always cold and nasty. I’ve noticed you slowly losing the friends you have made, slinking off into the shadows. Do you ever stop to think that maybe it’s because you’re a cold-hearted bitch?”

She looked like he had slapped her.

“W-what?” She stumbled out, eyes wide.

Now it was Azriels turn to scoff. “Don’t pretend to be innocent now. You rarely speak to anyone except for Rhys, and when you do it’s usually to tell them to leave you alone! Even when I was trying to train you, you lashed out at me for just trying to help. You have always acted like I disgust you, always glaring at my hands. Do they really upset you so much that you have to act like i’m the worst thing you’ve ever encountered? That you have to look at me like that and flinch when I touch you? I tried to be nice to you, just for you to react like that.” He was breathing heavy, all the hurt coming to the surface.

He watched her eyes flash and then suddenly, she was yelling at him. “How dare you? You have no idea what you are talking about. Are you so self centered that you truly believe everything I do is about you? Do you ever stop for one second to think that maybe, just maybe, I have my own shit to deal with?” Her cheeks were colored red, her hands clenching into fists.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “We all have our own shit going on. It doesn’t mean we take all of our miserable feelings out on everyone else!”

“I don’t! I just don’t have any interest in getting close with you. Not everyone has to want to lick the ground you walk on, Shadowsinger.” She spat out the last word like it was dirt in her mouth.

“Why not? What have I ever done that makes you hate me so? What has any of us done? The only one of us you would talk to for years was Rhysand. Did you love him? Are you bitter now that he has a mate and no one will ever be interested in you?” Azriel knew that was a low blow, but his anger overrode him common sense.

“What are you talking about? The relationship between me and Rhysand is none of your business. For a spymaster, you’re truly horrible at reading a situation.” She was angry, angrier than she had been in decades.

Azriel didn’t care. “No one here likes you. They’ve all moved on from their short friendships with you. Even your precious Rhys has found someone else to occupy his time with. Why do you stay here? You have no one.” He felt the pain in his chest at the expression on her face.

She blinked quickly, fighting tears. “You are the cruel one, Azriel.” She turned and ran from the room, leaving him in the aftermath of their fight.

It was the first time she had said his name.

He felt it snap in his chest, the tug to follow you. He could barely react, the shock of it keeping him rooted to the spot. No, he thought. No. Not her. It wasn’t supposed to be her.

The mating bond didn’t care for his concerns.

***

Please let me know how you feel!! Honestly Pt. 2 should be out tonight or tomorrow, i’m pretty far into it. I’m thinking this will be a 3-4 part mini series!!!

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel #rhysand #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #cold hearts

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yuwuta · 25 days

Text

JUST KEEP LOVING ME THE WAY I LOVE YOU LOVING ME — SATORU GOJO

pairings. satoru gojo/reader

content, warnings. non-curse au, doctor au (reader), ceo au (satoru), no real content warnings, fluff, satoru is nothing but a romantic at heart

word count. 3k

notes. this exists in the post-completion au of a larger universe/incomplete fic of mine, that i will hopefully finish someday lololol but this is way easier to write than that so here you go 🥳

“There are four chairs worth a collective seventy-five hundred dollars in this office, so, pray, tell, why is your ass on my desk?”

Satoru grins at your words, too distracted by taking in the sight of you to take into consideration the underlying threat. It’s been far too long, almost three whole days since he’s last seen you and, god, you look good. He knows if he said that you’d roll your eyes and insist that there’s nothing good-looking about your worn-in business attire and lab coat that was in desperate need of laundering, but it wouldn’t change his opinion: you always look good, and Satoru really fucking missed you.

Which is why he doesn’t say the words, but makes sure to throw a deceivingly charming wink your way so that you get the message anyway. As expected, you still roll your eyes, but he doesn’t mind; you look good doing that, too.

“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” you question, closing the door behind you when you fully step into the room. You make pace towards your desk, attempting to get to the other side, but this is exactly why Satoru chose to lean against it instead of sitting on any one of your very expensive and comfortable chairs—because this way, he’s in the perfect position to intercept your path and pull you to fit neatly between his legs before you can even think about reaching your office chair and ignoring him.

He pulls you by the loop of your lab coat, but his hands quickly find their way to your shoulders, unpeeling the white layer just enough so that your blouse is exposed to him, and he can slowly rub his palms against your arms and shoulders with just enough pressure to hopefully release some tension. You won’t let go of all of it, but that’s alright, because Satoru’s got other methods for taking care of you.

“Hi,” he calls, smiling gently down at you, “I missed you.”

This close, Satoru can see the exhaustion clearly in your eyes. There’s more, too: frustration, guilt, worry—and it takes everything in him not to coo and pull you into his chest and do his best to shield you from the world forever.

There’s a beat before you speak, a small sigh, that’s quickly painted over with a tired smile and a remorseful, “I missed you, too. I’m sorry for being so short, the interim chief has been getting on my last nerves, and—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Satoru cuts in, leaning forward to press a reassuring kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax under his touch. “I know you’re busy. I just missed you.”

It’s not easy to share you with anything or anyone, but Satoru knows that even on the hardest days, you love your job, and that so many people need your brilliant mind. What he does mind is when people make your job harder than it needs to be, and he’s been getting an earful about this new interim chief from just about everybody—you, Kento, Yuuji, Ieiri, even some of your favorite scrub nurses have indulged him in the gossip about the newest common enemy—and he doesn’t appreciate that someone is putting extra stress on his baby. So, even if it is a makeshift massage in your office and distracting you from your paperwork, Satoru will do what he can to help you relieve tension.

You reach your arms to wrap them around his shoulders, taking a half step closer to him, peering up at him. Satoru loves when your arms are around his neck like this; he can’t quite pinpoint why—maybe it’s the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him, the way you’re perfectly nestled under his view, the feeling of being wrapped in you. He does his best to close the loop of your intimacy, resting his hands on the small of your back and pulling you impossibly closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax into his touch.

“You’re sweet,” you smile, rubbing your thumb against the shorter hairs at the back of his head. Satoru feels himself melt into you, too. It’s been too long since you’ve been this close, three whole days too long. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for, baby,” he smiles, stealing a gentle kiss. Satoru loves this the most, loves the feeling of your lips on his—and it’s definitely been too long since he’s kissed you, so he makes sure to do it again, and once more after that for good measure.

But it’s not enough. He’ll have to take you home, sit you on the couch so he can kiss you all night and make up for the lack of kisses and touches and youness he’s been deprived of these past few days. But first, he’ll have to pull you away from your work, and that’s not easy work.

“Come home,” he muses, leaning his forehead against yours, “We can order in, and share your favorite bottle of wine, and watch a movie.”

You lean up to kiss him briefly. “Every time we share a bottle of wine, we end up making out and not watching anything.”

“Do we?” Satoru feigns innocence, “I never noticed. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, though.”

“Satoru,” you whisper, quiet but firm, with a smile that lets him know you want to, but you can’t. It’s a tone that Satoru knows all too well, and isn’t particularly fond of. “I have charts to finish.”

“Finish them tomorrow,” he steals another kiss, “Or pawn them off on Kento,” another kiss, “Or Yuuji. Residents always need more experience—isn’t that what you and Ieiri always say?”

You let him kiss you again, and again, and again. Each time a little longer, a little warmer, a little less innocent than the last, growing from a little, to a lot, to all-consuming. Satoru hums when he feels your nails raking through his hair; an unfortunate move, as the sound pulls you back to reality and away from him in a decrescendo of kisses.

“You’re really good at that,” you laugh, voice soft.

“At kissing?” Satoru dips his head down to taste your laughter against his lips, “Thanks, I’ve had a lot of practice with a very pretty girl.”

“No,” and you’re laughing again, louder this time, and Satoru counts every little giggle as a victory, “You’re good at... seducing me without saying you’re seducing me.”

“Oh, that?” he grins, tucking his pointer and index finger under your chin to meet you in a knowing kiss, “Yeah, that’s a talent of mine, too.”

You let him steal one more, and Satoru doesn’t take it for granted. “Come home,” he whispers against your lips before slotting them in yet another kiss, “I miss you.”

And he can feel it when you finally break, sighing into the kiss, and melting into his touch completely. One more, he just needs one more kiss to seal the deal, and then—“Fine,” you concede, “But I get to choose where to get dinner from.”

“Of course, sweets, whatever you want,” Satoru grins, pulling back to kiss your forehead again, “Now—shall we? If we order in the car, we can probably pick it up on our way home.”

He’s in the home stretch now, but he’s not completely free: if you catch a glimpse of your work, or someone comes in to find you, or your godforsaken pager beeps then all of his plans could come crumbling down before him. The key to transitioning from the “you’ve agreed to come home with him early stage”—if you can count 9:45pm, coming off of a 17-hour work day as early—to the “we are actually leaving this hospital and nobody can stop us phase” is swiftness. This time period is critical, and Satoru is ready for the sprint.

He shimmies your lab coat all the way off of your body for you, checking for the weight of your pager in your right pocket, before hanging it on the back of your chair. He shoos you to grab your coat, and makes sure you don’t get within three feet of this side of your desk—taking your purse out of your locked drawer and closing an open file folder in the time it takes you to slip out of your heels and into your sneakers, and by the time you’re turning back around, Satoru is already there next to you, with your purse in one hand, and his other hovering on the light switch.

He makes sure you’re out the door first, and flickers off the light with a satisfied grin. His baby was coming home early with him, and there is nothing else he’d rather do than spend time pampering you.

You must truly be more tired than you know, because you make no protest when he slings an arm over your shoulder on your way out of the elevator. Usually, you chastise him for any PDA within hospital walls, but tonight you let it be, even leaning some of your body weight against his as you walk. Satoru’s not complaining at all, maybe he’ll try his luck and sneak a kiss on your cheek.

He decides to go for it, leaning over for a kiss, when you suddenly pull away, turning and patting against your side. Confused, and disappointed, Satoru pouts, “We’ve really got to work on this fear of affection you’ve got going on, sweets. It’s the leading cause of makesatorupout-itis.”

“We’ve been over this—you can’t just add “itis” to the end of your words to make them diagnostic,” you giggle, “I was looking for my keys.”

Satoru’s frown deepens. “You have the fancy reserved doctor parking space, they can’t tow you. So, we can take my car home.”

“No, we cannot, because I do not trust you to wake up and drive me back tomorrow morning.”

“Then I’ll get you a cab in the morning, or—even better, I’ll call Ichiji to pick you up.”

“Ichiji is still in Paris,” you remind him. Satoru purses his lips. He did ask Ichiji to stay with Megumi. Damn it.

“I have other cars, you can drive one of them in the morning.”

“And park it where?”

“In your fancy reserved doctor parking—oh, okay I see the flaw there,” Satoru pulls back. You find amusement in his disappointment, but he doesn’t think there’s anything funny here.

He shakes his head. He should have taken a cab from his office, but this is okay, a minor setback, nothing he can’t think around. “New plan: we take your car, and I’ll come by to get mine tomorrow. Easy peasy.”

“Yours will be towed by then.”

“That’s fine,” Satoru shrugs, “I can afford a tow fee.”

“Satoru,” you call, reaching your free hand up to place your palm against his cheek, “We both drive home. It’ll be thirty minutes, tops. Forty if there’s traffic, but if you stop pouting and we leave now, we should be fine.”

Satoru sighs. He knows that’s the most reasonable plan of action, but the simple truth is that he doesn’t want to be away from you right now, even to go the short distance home. He’s already spent the last few days without you, and even though this is calling it in early for you, he only gets maybe four hours awake with you before you’re off again. Thinking about that makes him miss you again already. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care.

“Oh, Dr. (_____), hey!” Yuuji’s voice is an easily distinguishable interruption to your petty argument, and Satoru’s sulking, “Perfect timing—I’m glad I caught you before you left. Is it okay if I ask you to sign something before you go?”

You easily warm up to the younger boy and agree, fondly making conversation with Yuuji as he scrolls through some documents on his tablet. And just as you’ve finished scribbling your signature along the screen, Satoru has a bright idea.

“Hey, Yuuji, you can drive right?” Satoru questions rhetorically, already reaching for his wallet and car keys, “Great! Here’s two grand, it’s all yours if you drive this car home tonight.” Satoru smiles widely, shoving his keys and some cash into the pocket of Yuuji’s white coat.

“What—really? Awesome! But, why—”

Satoru dismisses his disbelief with a wave of his hand. He steps a bit closer to Yuuji, just enough to lean into his ear and tuck a couple more bills into his pocket, “And between you and me, that’s an extra three grand if you finish up a couple of charts for my lady so she can sleep in tomorrow. Not a bad deal, right?”

“Sure, no problem!” Yuuji salutes, “I’d do anything for Dr. Almost-Gojo. Plus, if I’m busy working for her, then I don’t have to babysit cells in a dish for Dr. Gakuganji.”

“Atta boy,” Satoru ruffles his hair, “Catch you later, Yuuji, I’ve got a hot date to get to. And tell Nanamin I say hello!”

You elbow Satoru shallowly, a silent warning to keep his voice down, and a verbal chastising of, “It’s Dr. Itadori and Dr. Nanamin to you.”

“More like Dr. Nanameanie,” Satoru laments, resuming the position of his arm around your shoulder, “I’ve left him six calls this week! He’s so cruel—he knows I have to leave next week and he’s depriving me of one on one time. I think I’m gonna have to sneak into his office at lunch tomorrow and confront him.”

Despite his crass words and dramatics, you laugh, and so, Satoru smiles. He finally gets that cheek kiss right as you two reach your car, bending down to plant one for you at the same time he steals your keys from your hand and banishes you to the passenger seat. He’s not much of a driver himself, despite his excess amount of cars, but you’re his baby and you deserve to be driven around no matter the case, but especially when you’ve spent all day taking care of other people.

Plus, on days like this, if he’s real careful and smooth, you fall asleep in the car and he gets to carry you inside. He makes that his goal for the next thirty minutes, and he succeeds in twenty, confirmed by your soft snores just as he pulls into the curbside pick-up spot of your favorite restaurant. He retrieves the take-out as quietly as possible, before making the rest of the journey home, taking the time to glance over at you during red lights.

Satoru loves the way you look when you’re asleep, loves to see you well-rested, but something even more dear to him than that is a fact that Nanami let slip in the aftermath of a dinner party he’d hosted about a year after you two had started dating: “She never sleeps outside of her bed, for as long as I’ve known her,” he muses, nodding to your sleeping figure on Satoru’s couch, “Not even in the on-call rooms during our 72 hour shifts. She must... she must really trust you, Satoru.”

(He also recalls the awfully strong grip on his shoulder and subsequent shovel talk Kento gave him a moment later. Not that Satoru ever had anything but pure intentions with you, but the threat of breaking Kento’s best friend’s heart was more than enough to keep his commitments in check).

Satoru peers at you fondly in his arms, held bridal style with the takeout in the grip of a pinky finger, glancing up only to nod and thank his doorman for pushing the penthouse button for him. Satoru prides himself on many things, but the one thing he always holds in his highest regards is you: call him cocky, but he thinks he’s quite good at caring for you, that there’s nobody else fit to look after you the way that he can; and knowing that you feel safe in his arms is the highest honor he could achieve in this life.

He sets you carefully on the couch once he steps inside the apartment, and places the food on the coffee table. He debates whether or not he should wake you up now; he hates to, but he knows you need to eat, and, selfishly, he wants to cash in on those few hours he has with you to hear your voice.

He’ll dish out the food first, and then wake you up to eat, he decides. He leans down to kiss the crown of your head, eyes flicking to your face, and pausing at your neck, where your engagement ring rests crookedly against your skin. You must have had an emergency surgery today, he thinks; your schedule for today was originally just to round on post-op patients and attend some meetings, but you knot the ring into your chain when you have to scrub into the operating room.

Carefully, Satoru reaches to undo it from the chain, and slips it back onto your ring finger. It looks pretty against your skin when it’s around your neck, but personally, he thinks it looks best this way, the sparkle of the aquamarine against the halo of diamonds fits perfectly across the width of your finger, just the way he had it made to be.

Satoru bends down even further to kiss the back of your hand, before laying it to rest on your stomach. He might need to bribe Yuuji to take care of some more work for you, you two really should get a move on that wedding planning, and you’re going to need at least a week off to fly and visit his grandma’s pastry shop in Osaka for cake tasting.

He smiles at the thought. He doesn’t feel so bad about waking you up now—wedding talk seems like the perfect way to end the evening if you ask him; there would be no sweeter sound than hearing how you imagine the start of the rest of your lives to be.

871 notes · View notes

cherry-leclerc · 5 months

Text

close call ☆ cs55

genre: smut, humor, established relationship

word count: 1.8k

After a tough season, you and Carlos want nothing more than to unwind. Though, what you have in mind is known for not always having the best outcome.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+... shower sex, fingering

req!... sorry that it took me so long to post! school sucks :(

“Glad that shit show is finally over.”

Charles lets out a loud laugh as he throws his head back, shooting out a quick goodbye. Your boyfriend clumsily swings his arm over your shoulder as you both slowly make your way over to his car. Post-season testing was officially over and now came what you were both looking forward to.

Doing absolutely nothing.

“What should we do now?”

Tapping a finger against your glossy lips, you look up at the sky, trying to come up with an idea. Abu Dhabi was beautiful; there had to be a lot to do. Shimming away from his embrace, you turn to face Carlos. “We should go jet skiing!” His smile drops.

“No way.”

You stick your tongue out as you smack his toned chest. “But it was so much fun last time we went! Oh! Don’t you remember, Carlos?” The way your eyes shine with the memory makes him almost fall for it. But alas, he stood his ground.

“You flew right off the jet and almost died. That was fun to you?” He opens the passenger door. “Because it wasn’t for me.” Slamming it shut, he walks around the car, leaving you to slump into the Ferrari seat.

“I almost touched the clouds,” you try as he clicks his tongue, large hands maneuvering the wheel to reverse out of the parking lot. More like you almost met God. You groan as you turn your music up and roll the window down. You know how much he hated not being able to hear you and talk to you. Or how he hated not being able to see your pretty face when the wind makes your hair fly all over the place. Can you please stop? Bobbing your head up and down to the beat, you look out at the scenery.

“You’re being a brat-”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean - you’re being an angel!” He pulls his phone out before handing it over to you carefully, as if you would bite his head off at any moment. “Go ahead and pull up the directions, preciosa.”

As soon as he parks on the beach, you hop out, giddy with excitement. His hands flies up to fix his sunglasses that were beginning to slide down his nose. He squints at the bright sun. We don’t have the proper attire. Silently, you grab the keys from him as you open the trunk. Neatly, inside a tote bag, is your bikini and his swim trunks. He chews the inside of his cheek. Of course, he mutters as you take his hand and drag him along.

“I know you!” With a firm smile, the Spaniard waves at the older lady. Hello. Rushing past him, she waddles her way over to you. Despite being confused, you still let out a bright smile. Scanning you up and down, she nods excitedly. “I knew it was you!”

Growing a bit protective over this weird encounter, Carlos stands in front of you and forces a polite grin. And it’s almost as if you have no idea over the concept of danger because you just run around him and start introducing yourself. He shakes his head in disapproval, floppy brown hair following.

“I’m Tori! I was your instructor last time you were here! I could never forget someone so pretty.” She turns her attention over to the tall Spaniard. “She almost died on my watch, too. I thought you were about to throw a lawsuit on me.”

“I would have-”

“He’s kidding!” You lean in to hug her as if you're a long lost sister. He makes sure to hold onto the back of your skirt, ready to fling you back. Just in case. “What do you say we just forget about any of that, Tori? I wanna get on the jet ski.”

“Long forgotten! Let’s go.”

Carlos is left with his jaw on the floor as he glares at you both skipping away together.

“Nos vamos a morir.”

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“No. You’re not.”

You narrow your eyes at Carlos as you cross your arms in frustration. He doesn’t even bat an eye at your actions; let alone your words. “I will if you continue threatening me.” Turning to face Tori, who stands next to the white jet ski, you raise your hands up in alarm. “He’s threatening me, Victoria.”

“Por favor…” He rolls his brown eyes. “I’m only doing this because I love you. And because I want us to live a long and happy life together. Have a kid or two?”

“This won’t be the end of the world! I just want to drive it.”

Pressing a quick peck on your pink lips, he shakes his head. “Not this time.”

With a grumpy attitude and a deep frown, you eventually oblige. Taking you by the hand, he helps you take a seat behind him as he reaches out for the keys. Tori smiles. Just ignite it and off you go! Enjoy the ride.

“Mierda,” he gasps as he resurfaces from the water. Treading to keep afloat, he turns his head with urgency to find you. His heavy pants are the only thing being heard as he slowly loses his mind. Feeling something tickle his lower calf, he yelps as he lets out a strong kick against the tides. Poking your head out from underneath the blue waves, you choke on salt water.

“Asshole! You kicked my face!”

“I didn’t know that was you!”

Brushing long strands of wet hair off your eyes, you muster a dirty look. A large smile hugs his lips. “And you said I drive bad…What happened to being an F1 driver?”

Regardless of you pouting over his shoulder, you had eventually found yourself enjoying gliding through the waves. You could’ve sworn you saw a mermaid, too. Though, you can’t exactly pinpoint the moment your boyfriend lost control and sent you two flying.

He gapes before rubbing his hand against his jaw . You shudder. “I drive cars for a living, not jet skis…” You let out a teasing smile. Whatever you say, mi amor.

After your rescue from Tori and the crew, you both agreed to call it a day and just head back to your hotel. Except now, you wouldn’t let the story die.

“He was like, ‘I’ll keep you safe, baby. Don’t you worry, baby.’ He didn’t even last 5 minutes!” Folding over, you twirl all over the bed as you laugh; a frowning Spaniard holding the phone out. Lando cackles loudly from the other side of the FaceTime call.

“And he said you’re the bad driver.”

Jumping up, you nod profusely. “My fucking point!” The brunette briskly ends the call before tossing the phone onto the counter. I think that’s enough, don’t you think? You bite back a much needed smile as you shrug. “I’m gonna go take a quick shower, old man.”

Carlos would like to say that his ego wasn’t hurt, but that would be a complete lie. Maybe it was just a tiny bit bruised. Your words circle his mind as he grows more annoyed. He knows he shouldn’t be because he knows you meant it all as a joke, but now he feels like he has a point to make.

He still had some control.

Humming to yourself, you calmly finish rinsing your hair, making sure to get all the shampoo out. You’re about to turn around to grab your vanilla body wash, when a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist. You scream as you push away, slipping and falling on your butt.

“Oh shit.” Aiming a harsh look at the 29 year old, you throw your head back as you let out a deep sigh. Why, Carlos, why? Hurrying to help you stand up, he kisses you all over your collarbones. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to surprise you!”

“Consider me surprised.”

His long fingers brush down your waist and in between your thighs. You let out a small whimper. “Forgive me? For almost killing you twice in one day. It wasn’t my intention.” He slips in a large finger. “You know it wasn’t my intention.” Your eyes have fluttered shut as you nod. I know it wasn’t. He smiles as he starts circling his finger inside your velvety walls. Letting out a moan, you rest your forehead against his chest.

The temperature of the warm water and the sounds you’re releasing are enough for him to become a tad bit too needy. Pulling his fingers out, he licks them before looking down at your confused expression. Without a single warning, he lifts you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his torso. You shake your head; eyes wide with worry.

“We’re gonna die if we do this.”

He shrugs, a long strand of hair pressed down against his face from how wet it’s become due to the running water. “What’s one more close call?” You’re about to protest, but that quickly goes out the window when you feel him thrust inside of you. Moaning in unison, you tug on his brown hair.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I don’t care.”

Not a single time during your entire relationship have you done anything like this, so, it came as a complete surprise for him to be so good at not dropping you and being able to keep his dirty rhythm. Mewling against his lips, you clench around him harder when he keeps brushing against your g-spot.

“Oh-”

Pressing his lips deeper against yours, he groans. “Stop fucking talking.” But you’re too fucked in the head to register his words. Oh God, Carlos. Shit, shit, shit. You run your nails against his broad shoulders. Just like t-that. Fuck- He slaps a large hand over your mouth as he flickers his dark gaze to you. You can physically feel your soul leave your body. “I said to shut up.” He thrust harder as your eyes squeezed shut. “Shut up or I’m seriously going to lose my mind and I will drop you.” Blinking fast, you nod as you bite down on your bottom lip.

You would do anything in order for him to keep going.

It doesn’t take long for you both to finish together; ropes of white cum painting your insides. Letting out a shaky breath, you lean your head against the wall. He smiles as he sucks down on your neck. Giggling, you pull away as you grin ear to ear. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“I had this one girlfriend-” You pinch his ear with all your might as he lets out a squeak in pain. “¡Era broma!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t find your joke funny.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It wasn’t right for me to say that.” Craning his head down to make you look at him, he lets out a weak smile. “There’s only you, for me. That’s it. No one else matters.”

Climbing down, you kneel down in front of him, taking in his large figure and delicate hand wrapping around his hard cock.

“Best believe there’s no one else.”

1K notes · View notes

eddiesxangel · 8 months

Note

Im gonna need u to elaborate on that post abt Eddie holding ur vibrator 'what kinda microphone is this'

You say elaborate… I say I’ll write a whole fic about it 😅😅

But You Don’t Even Like Karaoke? | virgin!eddiemunson x bestfriend!reader (afab reader)

WC 3.3K

CONTENTS WARNING: SMUT

You invited Eddie up for the weekend to your shabby student apartment. You've been away at Indiana State while Eddie was still stuck at Hawkins High complaining about how life in Hawkins has been so shit without you and needed to get away, coming to see you would be the perfect getaway.

Eddie and you had always been close, so when you told your roomies that he was coming to stay they were okay with it, as long as he slept in your room. They didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night to get something and have a random guy on the couch, which was reasonable because they hadn't met him before. They were excited to finally meet your best friend and you planned to go out to the bars tonight after a very long week of midterms.

Eddie arrived late afternoon, you introduced him to your roommates and he settled in. "It's so sweet you have your own space, we can finally hang out without worrying about Wayne or your parents judging us" Eddie laughed while plopping on your double bed.

"Do you wanna shower before we head out?" You ask.

"Nah I did this morning, I'm okay." He tells you. " Ok I'm going to pop in, You can entertain yourself until I'm back" You give him a wink and leave him to his devices. Eddie scanned your new collage room, it reminded him of your old room at your parent's house. You had pictures of you and him framed along with other friends he didn't recognize. He was always a little nosey when it came to you, there weren't any boundaries in place when it came to privacy around Eddie. You had been friends since the 7th grade, growing up together in your awkward years really bonded the both of you.

You'd told Eddie earlier that you had gotten a new strain of pot from one of the guys you're friends with and that he could light up whenever. You'd left out the baggie and your grinder but Eddie left his bong at home and didn't see yours lying around so he searched for some rolling papers. Rifling through your bedside table is where he looked first. He shuffled through your hair ties, random articles, condoms...

Eddie had known you were no longer a virgin like he still was, he has had zero experience, not even a handjob. Needless to say, Eddie doesn’t get any…. Like ever. Poor thing tries his best but most of the girls he’s surrounded by are in high school and he wants nothing to do with them. He wants a grown woman. He really wants you if he is being honest but he never thinks that would happen in a million years.

He still was riffling deep in the drawer now, he felt something soft but firm, round and long. He picks it up to move it out of the way. He looks at what is your black vibrator. Why would she have a microphone? Eddie moved on quickly because he spots what he is looking for buried under all your crap.

Hours go by and you’re stumbling into your apartment laughing around 1:00am. You offered your room for Eddie to get ready for bed while you took the bathroom. Once you're finished you walk back into your room to see Eddie tucked into his side of the bed. "I meant to ask you earlier but I forgot because we got too high" He laughed. "Ask away" You crawled into your fresh sheets and snuggled into bed with Eddie. "Why do you have a microphone?" He asked. You look at him quizzically because you have no idea what he's talking about. "Are you sure that weed didn't alter your brain?" You laugh as your head hits the pillow. "What do you mean? I saw it" He laughs. "Dude I have no idea what you're talking about? Why would I have a microphone? I hate karaok- oof" Eddie cuts you off by leaning all his body weight over you to reach into your nightstand and pulls out your vibrator. You start laughing uncontrollably, partly because you're a bit embarrassed, and partly from the alcohol.

"What?" Eddie questions inspecting it, once more. you grab it from his hands and turn it on. The object comes to life and a low buzz fills the room. "Why is it buzzing?" Oh, your sweet innocent Eddie, "Ummmm think of it more like a massager..." you turn it off and place it back on the nightstand you turn back to Eddie and can see the wheels in his head turning but no gas. "Ugh, Eddie don't make me say it out loud" You bury your face in your hands and pillows not wanting to look at him when you say it. "I don't get it, you're going to have to spell it out for me, Ms.University" he nudges your arm with his elbow. "It's a vibrator Eddie, you know... like for sex"

The room was still dimly lit, enough for you to see Eddie's eyes go wide. "It’s… it’s a sex toy?" he reaches over you once again to grab it off the nightstand. “Eddie!” you shout then cover your mouth remembering the time of night.

“Give me that!” You try and grab it out of his hands. This whole situation was weird. You guys never spoke about sex, it just wasn’t that kind of friendship. Yes, you liked Eddie, you’ve been crushing on him for years but you would never act on it, or at least you don’t think you would? Like a child, Eddie reached his arm up over so you couldn’t get it “No come on I’ve never seen one before” he pouts. “Ok you’ve seen it now give it back!” You weren’t afraid to crawl over him to get it, you straddled his chest, enclosing him between your bare legs. Your tiny sleep shorts were barely covering your cunt that was practically pressed into Eddie’s face. “Ah ha!” You say victoriously grabbing it from Eddie’s grip. Eddie can feel the blood rush from his face and into his cock. He shifts and clears his throat, “Oh shit, sorry!” You hike your leg over him accident exposing your pussy even more to him. Eddie’s eyes don’t break from your core. You’re blissfully unaware you just flashed your best friend. “Sorry Ed’s didn’t realize” you joke. “Uh yeah, it’s fine” You see Eddie shifting under the covers. “So you always sleep without panties or is that just because I’m in your bed” Eddie asks. “Eddddddddddie oh my god” you burry your head in the pillows debating on sleeping on the couch at this point. “I love when you moan for me baby” Eddie laughs, you try and hurry yourself further into the bed but Eddie grabs your waist and pulls you into him. “You know babe, out of the two of us I should be the one mortified. I’m the twenty-year-old virgin not knowing what a sex toy looks like.” He grips into you tighter and you bury your face into his neck. The alcohol is slowly leaving your system but you still blame it for what happens next. “You don’t have to be” You timidly kiss into the hollow of where his neck and collarbone meet. “What are you-oh that feels good” Eddie sighs into your touch, his chest raging and falling at a quicker pace. “Will you let me take care of you Eddie?” You graze your hand lower down his bare chest, across his stomach down the the waistband of his boxers. “Yes,” he nods frantically.

You shuffle back over him so you’re once again straddling him. You look down at your best friend, taking in his features, he is so pretty. You lean in timidly to kiss his lips for the first time. His plush lips felt so soft when they connected to yours. It quickly heated up, you ground your hips into Eddie, you could feel his hard length pressing into your slit and you wiggled your hips on him. You hear a wine come from Eddie’s throat as you disconnect and start to kiss down from his neck to his happy trail. “I’ve been dying to know what’s under here for years” You graze your hand lightly tracing Eddie’s tented boxers. Eddie’s hips shoot up at the connection. “Eager aren’t we” you giggle slowly revealing his length. “Well you would be too if you’ve waited this long for you too” It doesn’t escape you that Eddie didn’t say “Wait for this,” he said he was waiting for you. You’re stomach flops, at his words and your eyes bulge out of your skull at the size of him. “You’ve been hiding that you have a horse penis from me this whole time?!” You don’t really give Eddie time to answer because you latch your mouth into his tip, not sure how much more you’ll be able to fit into your mouth.

Eddie is in heaven, he isn’t sure what karma he is getting but he knows he must have done something right to have your head between his legs at this very moment. It’s a feeling that he’s never felt before, the warmth of your mouth, the wetness of your lips mixed with the softness of your tongue was all-encompassing. You felt his hand rest on the back of your head, you looked up at him through your lashes, his face blissed out. Your core was dripping already at the feeling of Eddie in your mouth. The way you were making him feel good was only making you wetter. You reached up to cup his hand on your head, coxing him to push you down. “Oh fuck baby, please” he whimpered. You took in more of him opening your throat for him. You bobbed your head up and down his shaft while using the other hand to move in tandem. You had Eddie whimpering “Oh my god just like that! Fuck you’re taking me so well” For someone with no experience he sure wasn’t shy about praising you. It only made you want to pleasure him more. You were the first one to ever touch him like this. You were the first one to ever make him feel this euphoric.

“Fuck I’m not going to last long fuckfuckfuck” You were enjoying yourself too much that you didn’t care about what Eddie was telling you, you wanted him to cum, he deserved to cum. “Wait wait I wanna…shit, I want you to be my first” he pushed you off him. “Really?” You asked. “Yea… I mean.. if you wanna?” he pants. “I do Ed’s” but I gotta get myself ready, will you help me? Eddie nods enthusiastically as you lay beside him and he climbs on top of you.

You walked him through what to do, he was a quick learner. He kissed you down your neck like you did to him earlier. He touched you over your shirt at first, a bit shy. You told him he could touch you, and begged him to touch you as you lifted the big sleep shirt over your head. Eddie’s hands immediately latched on to your breasts kneeling them like stress balls. “Softer please, you’re pinching me” You place your hands on the backs of his to guide him. You tell him that you like it when your nipples are touched. He bowed his head lower, and tenderly he kissed the swell of your breast “Is this ok?” He asks “Yes Eddie, more of that” he brought his warm mouth around your perked nipple. “Oh yes,” you arched your back making your breast squish into Eddie’s nose. Your head spun as he hummed into you, the vibration jolting to your core. “I uh, don’t know what to do with my hands.” He admitted. You took his right hand in yours and guided it past your waistband and overtop of your mound. “Feel me Eddie I’ll tell you what feels good” Eddie’s thick fingers explored your pussy lips, slipping his fingers through your folds he grazes your clit and you jerk at the touch.

One thing about Eddie is that he is very receptive. He does it again to test the waters “oh fuck” you moan. “You like that baby” his confidence was showing “Yes Eddie, fuck keep going” “So this is what that little toy is for? This spot right here?” You nodded your head not able to speak. Why was he so good at this? “Can I try?” He sheepishly asks you. “Yes, Eddie please” he reaches over to get the vibrator you had left resting on the bed. “Hold down on the button to turn it on” “Which one there are three? Why are there three?” He turns it finding the buttons. “The bottom one, the others are to change the pattern and the speed” You point to the power button. “Oh,” Eddie smirks. “Ok playboy let’s not get ahead of ourselves, We will start on level one” The low buzzing filled the room once again. “I should take off my shorts…” you awkwardly suggested. You hook your fingers into the waistband and wiggle your hips up and out. “Ok so, just put it where you put your fingers before” you guide him by the wrist. The vibrator makes contact with your swollen clit. “Oh god yes!” You arch your back in pleasure. The feeling of the buzzing on your clit shot waves of euphoria through you. Eddie couldn’t wipe the Cheshire Cat smile off of his face. Having you at his mercy could have him busting a nut here and now.

Eddie kissed you while holding down the vibrator like his life depended on it. You were starting to get squirmy, your hips gyrated into him “More Eddie, you moaned into his mouth. “What do you want?” He asks “Your fingers, please” you wine. He stops kissing you, you can see the nervous look in his eyes. It’s okay Eddie you won’t hurt me.” You brush a piece of hair behind his ear. A shaky hand grazed your slick folds and pushed up slowly and back out again, he repeated that until you showed him what to do next. “That’s it Eds” you sighed into his mouth. “Now go like this” You wiggled your index and middle finger in a come hither motion. The coil in your lower stomach was getting tighter with each pump of his fingers you were being wound up until it snapped, Eddie feels your walls clench down in him and the thought of you doing that with his cock inside you only got him even more excited. “Oh fuck yes Eddie!” You cried out with pleasure. Your heavy breaths and the low buzz of the vibrations filled the room. “Woah” Edd breaks the silence, “It’s-too much Eds” You push his hand away that was still holding the toy to your sensitive clit. “oh shit sorry” he throws it to the side of the bed and captures your lips into another kiss.

You break the kiss to reach over to the nightstand and grab your condoms. “Holly shit this is really happening,” Eddie says under his breath but you hear him. “If you still want to yeah” You sit up on your knees and tell Eddie to get on his back. “I’ll be on top to start you off ok, Then if you want to switch let me know.” He nods his head like a kid who was asked if they wanted their favourite ice cream. You push Eddie’s shoulder back so he is propped up just a little on the pillows you straddle him again getting yourself situated. “You wanna put it on or do you want me to?” You raise your brows at him. “I’ll uh-I’ll do it” he clears his throat. You pass him the blue foiled pack and he expertly slips it over himself. “You practice this before?” You giggle, he tells you to shut up and you raise up to your knees you grip his solid length in your hand.

You slowly sink down onto him, and Eddie lets out a guttural moan. You cup a hand over his mouth, you don’t want to wake up your roomies. “Shhhhhhh” you sink down slowly, the way he is stretching you out makes you feel so full. You finally make it all the way to the hilt. “You okay” you ask Eddie. That was a silly question, of course, he is okay. You start by grinding your hips releasing your hand from his mouth. “Yea, more than ok babe” You started to bounce on his cock, the way he was stretching you felt otherworldly. “Fuck that’s it, so good f’me” he grits out. He really had confidence for someone’s first time, but that was because he was with you. “Fuck Eddie you’re so big” You let your head fall back. The sight in front of Eddie only brought him closer to the brink. Your tight hot cunt swallowing him, your tits bouncing in his face, he was so close. Eddie remembered what you said about your nipples being sensitive, he leans forward and latches on. Your eyes roll back in your head at the sensation. The room is filled with the sound of pants and skin slapping skin. “Yes! Eddie yes yes yes” You grab the back of his head and rub on his hair. He lets out a moan, so you do it again. Eddie loves it when you tug on his locks. “Fuck baby I’m not gonna last much longer.” He tilts his head up to kiss you, he slips his tongue in your mouth.

You are all-encompassed by Eddie, no one else on earth matters but him in this moment. You let out a small yelp when Eddie unexpectedly flips you on your back. He was feral, he never had felt this before In his life he had to hold on a bit longer, needing to savour this feeling forever. The new position forced his cock to hit your walls at a better angle. He bends your legs so they are by your ears. The look in his eyes has you swimming, he is consumed by you, and he watches his cock disappear in and out of your walls. “Fuck Eddie I’m close, touch me please” Eddie didn’t think twice about grabbing the vibrator. The memory of your velvety walls clench his fingers and drove him to make sure you were the first to cum. He needed you to cum on his cock like he needs air in his lungs. Eddie hammered into you at a pace much faster than you were capable of while riding him. The tingling of the vibrations shook through your core, in less than a minute you were cumming on his cock. You open your mouth to scream with pleasure but nothing comes out, your body shakes with pleasure as your second orgasm consumes you. The second you clenched down on Eddie he was cumming with you. An animalistic groan leaves Eddie’s throat as his hot ropes of cum spill into the condom.

Eddie collapses onto you with a breathy laugh. “Oh my god why did I wait so long to do this” he giggled into the crook of your neck. “Because you never made a move!” You joke back. Eddie pecks your face with a million and one kisses. “Fuck, sweetheart can we do that again?” He rests his head on your chest, looking at you with those baby cow eyes. He grabs your hand and brings it to his chin. “Sure Eds we can do that as many times as you want” Eddie didn’t give you a chance to to recover before he pounced on you for round two….

Master list

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actuallysaiyan · 1 year

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Lose Yourself(Jujutsu Kaisen squirting headcanons)

warnings: smut, squirting, unprotected sex, bodily fluids, AGED UP CHARACTERS, cunnilingus/fem receiving oral sex, threesome/double penetrations, sex toys word count: 3.1k pairings: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader, Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader, Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader, AGEDUP!Megumi Fushiguro x Fem!reader, Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader and AGEDUP!Yuji Itadori/Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader a/n: Here it is! Another post from the poll I posted a while back! Hope you all enjoy! Smut under the cut as per usual!

Gojo loves going down on you. He’ll gladly just stay between your thighs for hours if you’d even let him. He loves all the little noises you make, and he will tease you about it too.

As for squirting, that man made you squirt the first time you were intimate. He was so good at figuring out what you liked best for pleasure, and his fingers and tongue worked you expertly to your orgasm.

Gojo isn’t satisfied one bit if you haven’t squirted at least once during an intimate session. He will work so hard to get you to make such a mess all over the bed and himself. Gojo actually drinks your fluids too, making sure to have his face close to where that sweetness comes out.

He smirks at your fucked out expression. Nothing brings Satoru more satisfaction than to have you like this on his bed. His sheets are soaked completely. His face is dripping from that last orgasm you had. He wipes his face on the back of his hand, looking down at your body. Your plump lips are parted as you gasp for air and pant to catch your breath.

“My, my…” Satoru muses as his fingers trail down your thighs. You shudder as you feel his thumb on your poor abused clit.

“P-please, ‘toru.” You hiccup. “P-please, no more.”

He pouts, “Awwh, but baby, please can’t I have a little more?”

You feel like he is basically mocking you at this point, but you aren’t sure you even have the energy to chastise him. You know once Satoru gets in his mood, he won’t stop. You whine as you feel him beginning to rub your swollen clit, making you writhe on the bed.

“See? Doesn’t that feel so good?”

Your eyes roll back as soon as he leans back down to suck on your clit. You feel his fingers prodding your dripping hole, and you aren’t sure how much more of this you can take. Satoru’s cock is just throbbing at the sight of you. He can’t believe just how good all of this is.

“Pretty girl,” he praises as he slurps on your clit. “My pretty girl gonna cum for me, right?”

“Hnng, ‘toru! Dunno if I can again…”

He chuckles softly, “I know you can.”

His fingers begin curling against the spongy sweet spot inside of you, making your thighs start shaking. Your breath is coming out in small little pants between your whining and whimpering. There’s the unmistakable sound of your pussy squelching from the sweet, sweet stimulation your man is giving you. It fills the room along with the cute little noises you're making from being so overstimulated.

“Make a mess for me, baby.” Gojo coaxes. “Come on,”

It doesn’t take much more for you to let go. Your juices begin gushing everywhere just like before, and you’re soaking everything. Satoru wishes he could have caught this orgasm on camera from how beautiful it looked from his perspective. He slows down his ministrations as you begin coming down from your high.

“Good girl,"

Geto will definitely use toys on you to get you to squirt. He loves tying you up or handcuffing you to the bed so that you’ll be helpless to the intense vibrator pressed right up against your clit. He enjoys watching you squirm from all the pleasure.

He loves going down on you as well. You can even expect him to do this for you so you sleep better at night. It’s just something that Suguru enjoys doing with you, and he enjoys it even more if the two of you decide to do 69.

Suguru will make you squirt with ease, just like Gojo. It doesn’t take long for him to have your whole body mapped up perfectly. All your erogenous zones are remembered and every single little move he’s made that has made you moan, he never forgets it.

Suguru loves having you all bound like this. You can’t move at all, and he has plans for tonight. You’ve been such a good girl this week, he knows he needs to reward you with something good. He’ll spend all night pleasuring you like this if that’s what it takes. You squirm under him, and he watches as your cheeks heat up from just being bound to the bed.

“There,” he says as checks to make sure the last handcuff is well placed. “Now you’re going to be a good girl,”

You nod your head, your brain almost already mush just from just being handcuffed. Every time he shows his dominance this way, you just crumble underneath his touch. Suguru reaches over for the bedside table drawer and he takes out a bottle of lube and your favorite wand vibrator. Your eyes widen when you see it and Geto chuckles softly.

“Awh, my pretty girl is excited. Good, because you’re going to be an absolute mess by the time I’m done with you.”

With one hand, he spreads some of the lube all over your vulva. You squirm when his fingers linger on your clit, making it throb with a little bit of attention. Then he spreads your folds and slips two of his fingers deep into your pussy. You whine at the sudden intrusion.

“You’re going to take every second of this, you got it?” Geto asks, looking deep into your lust filled eyes. “ You remember the safe word, yeah?”

“R-ramen,” you tell him, letting him know you remember the safe word established.

And with that, he presses the wand vibrator against your swollen clit. He doesn’t pull his fingers out either, which only doubles your pleasure. He furrows his brows as he watches you writhe and squirm on the bed. There’s the sounds of your pussy squelching along with the steady hum of the vibrator. And the metal clinks of the handcuffs as you move around aren’t drowned out just yet.

“You gotta make a mess, baby. Or else, you’ll stay handcuffed all night.”

You feel the vibrations so deep inside of you. Your clit throbs with every passing second of this sweet torture. As your thighs begin shaking, Suguru knows you’re getting closer and closer. Soon, your eyes roll back and you’re begging and pleading for him not to stop. And once you reach that peak, Geto knows he won’t be pulling away anytime soon.

Clear fluid splashes everything in sight, especially the wand vibrator and Geto’s hand. He watches with amusement as you try so hard to push the vibrator away, but he won’t do that. You’ll have to either endure or say the safe word for him to do that.

“What a messy kitten,”

Toji is just obsessed with fucking you stupid. He’ll fuck you every moment he gets to be alone with you. And most of the time, him pounding you into the mattress ends up with you squirting all over him and his thick cock.

He’s also big on pushing you back so your pussy is exposed to him and just lapping at you until you’re crying and pushing him away. With your legs over his shoulders and his face just buried between your thighs, Toji is quite content with this.

He’s not opposed to using toys, but he knows he’s more than capable of just making you make a mess with his tongue, fingers and cock alone. He’s all about just fucking you until it keeps happening over and over and over again.

“That’s it,” Toji praises in a raspy voice. “Keep cumming for me, babygirl.”

You can barely keep your eyes open. You’re on your back, having cum for the umpteenth time today. Toji had been gone for some time, so you knew that when he returned home, you’d be in for a whole day of just fucking and cuddling and kissing. And you had thought you were going to be prepared for that. But you couldn’t be any more wrong.

You cling to Toji as best as you can, and he pumps into you a little harder and faster. He enjoys watching as your tits jiggle and he loves having this power over you. Your cunt is just sucking him in deeper, despite your little protestations that you’ve had enough.

“Well, how come your cunt is clamping around me so tight, then?” he questions you, his tone teasing.

“D-dunno, daddy. Just can’t take it anymore.”

He laughs before he presses you further into the mattress. His lips meet yours in a very sensual kiss. He wants you to make another mess. He wants the sheets below you to be completely soaked in your juices. He wants to feel all your juices on his cock and balls. Toji knows that these are the moments he misses the most whenever he can’t be home with you.

“I think you can take more.”

You feel your walls beginning to spasm around him. Toji laughs at your reaction to your orgasm building so deep inside of you. He lets his fingers reach between the both of you, and he’s rubbing your poor swollen clit. You whine and hiss at the stimulation, your cunt gripping him even tighter.

“Your cunt is betraying you, babygirl. I know you want it, you just don’t know how to beg for it,”

His words are barely making sense anymore, but you’re understanding the gist of it. It only takes a few more thrusts before stars dance in your vision. Your whole body burns as you quake and shudder. Your juices are soaking him once more, and you can hear him grunting at the sensation of being milked.

“Such a good little pussy.”

Megumi can be so sweet with you. Whenever he’s in the mood, he is so sensual and he likes to take his time teasing you and making you feel so good. This usually ends with him between your thighs for so long, just making you cum over and over.

But whenever he’s in a bad mood, he likes to tease you. He’ll get a little more rough, pounding you into the mattress and commanding you not to cum until he is ready for you to cum. This often leads to you being edged a lot until you gush all over him.

Megumi finds himself so turned on when you soak his sheets. He’ll literally do his best to try and keep some of your scent on his sheets, even after he washes them. If he even gets one whiff of your pussy, he’s rock hard.

“Take it,” Megumi grunts as he pumps his cock into your dripping hole. “Fucking take it,”

You’ve been whining so loudly, trying to say how you can’t take anymore of his cock. But he knows you’re just being a little brat. Megumi had one of the worst days of his week so far, and he needs this release so badly. His cock has been aching all day from the lack of stimulation. He wasn’t able to see you until tonight and it was driving him insane.

“I waited all day for this, baby.” Megumi groans against your chapped lips. He kisses you so hungrily. “Now, you better take more of my cock.”

His fingers are intertwined with yours as he pounds into you. Your cunt just squeezes him so damn tight, it makes him so hard. It’s difficult for him not to blow his load right now, but he’s just wanting you to make such a big mess for him. He needs to see you squirt all over him right now.

“‘Can’t do it, ‘gumi. S’too much,” you slur as your nails dig into the meat of his arms. “Can’t take it.”

“Poor baby, can’t take my cock anymore, huh?”

His tone has turned into a teasing one. He watches your reaction to his words. You pout and he leans in to nip at your protruding bottom lip. This makes you yelp in surprise and your walls clench around him. A few more thrusts, and he can feel your orgasm coming. Your walls keep clenching around him and your thighs are shaking.

“Let go for me,”

You cry out as the pleasure hits you hard. Your juices begin gushing everywhere and your cunt drives his cock out. He grasps it, and begins smacking it against your clit. You whine his name at the sudden added stimulation, and you gush out some more juices.

“That’s my pretty girl.”

Nanami is a big fan of going down on you whenever he can. He loves looking up at you from between your thighs and letting you mess up his hair by tugging on it gently. He enjoys the sounds you make and your personal flavor.

The man will literally start rutting against the mattress when he eats you out. It’s just all so pleasurable for him. He easily gets lost in pleasuring you. It helps him be able to shut out his thoughts and ease his stress after a long day of work.

Another one of his favorite things to do is have you sitting on his lap, legs spread and two of his fingers shoved into your cunt. Even if you make a big mess on his nice suit, he doesn’t care. He wants you to cum so hard that you’ll make a mess.

“Baby,” Nanami whispers in your ear. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You let out another little whine, the pleasure getting to you. You’ve been on his lap for a little while now, and he’s been pumping his fingers into you. He keeps you resting on his chest, and presses kisses on your neck. From time to time, you jolt from the feeling of him biting down and leaving marks on you. You feel your thighs trembling.

“Are you going to make a mess for me?”

Your mouth feels so dry from everything, “y-yes, daddy.”

You know better than to say no. You’re so obedient when it comes to Nanami. He’s always been so good to you. Ever since you started dating, he’s known how to push your buttons in just the right way. He knows every move to make that leaves you reeling from such amazing pleasure. And when he came home today, he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

“You’re just dribbling all over my fingers, honey.” He presses another kiss to your neck. “Did you miss daddy all day?”

You nod, “Y-yeah, ‘missed you so much.”

Nanami chuckles, “That’s what I like to hear.”

You’re trying to stay focused on what he’s saying, but it’s so damn hard when his fingers keep curling against your sweet spot in the best way possible. You let out another pitiful moan and Nanami smirks. He knows you’re so damn close and you’re about to make such a mess.

“Come on, honey. Daddy wants you to make a mess,”

A few swipes of his thumb on your clit and you’re a goner. The dam breaks and you squirt all over his fingers and his lap. His suit is completely drenched in your juices. The way you keep squirming and shaking, it’s just perfect. He wishes he could have this moment completely seared into his mind.

These two usually have a hard time working together, but when it comes to fucking you and driving you crazy with pleasure, they love to work in tandem. Yuji usually hates when Sukuna butts in, but he knows it drives you crazy when they work together to give you so much crazy.

Yuji is sweeter, more romantic and softer with you. Which makes the contrast with rougher and sloppier Sukuna so much better. The two of them working you towards your orgasm makes you squirt so easily.

The two of them love having you make a huge mess on the bed. Nothing is off the table with the three of you either. Toys, double penetration, tongues that turn into cocks, cocks that turn into tongues…it’s all on the table.

“Hey, you still with me, baby?” Yuji asks, tapping your cheek. Your eyes are basically closed at this point, but you nod and there’s a blissful smile on your face.

“She’s fine, brat. Let’s just keep fucking her!” Sukuna lets out, and you whine his name. He chuckles darkly, and Yuji smirks at you. He knows you’ll say the safe word if you need to.

Yuji just can’t help but worry about you sometimes. Sukuna can be so rough. Especially when they are both so deep inside of you, fucking you until you’re basically passing out on the bed. But you look so blissed out right now. It doesn’t seem like you’re not liking this one bit. In fact, it’s the complete opposite.

“You’re such a good girl,” Yuji praises you. You feel Sukuna’s tongue manifesting on Yuji’s pelvis and it begins slurping at the swollen little nub.

You cry out at the intense pleasure. You’re more than beyond overstimulated right now, but you’d never ask them to stop. It’s not often that all three of you get this time alone. Usually Yuji has to be away for work, which means you get left alone at the apartment. You missed them both terribly whenever that happened, and though you swore you’d never fall for Sukuna, you’ve grown so soft for him. And him, he’s grown soft for you too.

“That’s it, princess. Come on, cum for us.” His words are a little slurred from the pleasure and from him sucking on your clit.

You feel all this intense pleasure building as they keep ramming against your sweet spot. To have both their cocks so deep inside of you and Sukuna’s tongue on your clit, you swear you’ll go insane this time when you cum. It won’t be long now, as you feel your whole body quaking from all of this.

“Yuji…Sukuna…” you try to warn them, but only pathetic little moans fall from your lips.

“That’s it, baby. Let go for us.” Yuji coaxes and you hear Sukuna’s voice right along with his.

Stars dance in your vision and you cling to them. You’re panting and whining like a little bitch in heat. And as soon as the coil in your stomach snaps, you’re screaming and crying out. Your juices are just gushing all over them, soaking them in your essence. You shake as the pleasure comes on like fire spreading all over your body.

Yuji is the first to praise you, and he kisses you so sweetly. You hear Sukuna’s voice mixing in as well, praising you for being so good for them and taking their cocks so well. But now you’ll just have to endure until they both cum.

“What a perfect little cumslut for us…”

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

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Hi can I request a smutty 3/e/32 cause of the heatwave reader shaves Jax Tellers hair. She wears a tiny dress with nothing under it cause it's too hot. and while Jax is sitting there and she's standing in front of him doing her thing he's going insane cause of that dress and starts stroking her thighs n more which leads to sex in the bathroom 🥵🥰

Heatwave.

3. "Will you let me cut your hair?" + 32. "Can I touch you?" + e. Heatwave

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. my first ever Jax fic - god this man is so gorgeous !! anon, i hope you don't mind that i chose to cut his hair rather than shave it - because the idea of shaving his blonde locks breaks my heart honestly :( thank you for this request!! x

my other jax fic.

Pairing - Jax Teller x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! cursing

Word Count - 890

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

You can't watch him struggle any longer.

Jax is in your driveway, working on his bike in the blazing sun. He's shirtless, golden skin on display, sweat dripping down his back. He looks like he should be on the front cover of a magazine.

You can see him becoming irritated. His hair keeps falling into his face, getting into his eyes. He repeatedly pushes it behind his ears, to no avail. It just falls again. You're worried he's going to pull it out in a fit of rage, honestly.

"Jax?" you call, rising from the porch to make your way towards him.

He turns when he hears you call his name, beaming smile on his face. The smile falters slightly when he takes in the sight of you. You're wearing a short, colourful sundress, material swishing around your mid thighs. It hugs your body in all the right places, thin straps revealing your lack of bra. He takes a deep breath upon your approach, begging his mind to stop racing with the filthy thoughts.

"Hi, darlin'," he drawls, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. You're wearing your cherry lip balm, and it takes everything in him not to bend you over the bike right there.

"Will you let me cut your hair?" you ask sweetly, throwing your arms around his neck.

"You want to? Thought you liked it long."

"I do, but it's getting in your way. Just let me take a little length off? It'll stop it from falling in your eyes."

He smiles at the realisation that you've been watching him struggle and could no longer bear it. An angel, sent just for him.

"Okay, baby. Let's do it," he says, kissing you again. Abandoning his bike, he picks you up around the middle and practically carries you inside.

You pull a chair into the bathroom and gesture for Jax to sit while you rummage in the drawer for the hairdressing scissors. When you find them, you move to stand between his legs, big blue eyes watching your every step.

Jax places his hands on your hips while you run your fingers through his hair, combing it gently. You're deciding how much to take off, surveying carefully. You know he won't mind either way, but you still want to make it look good.

You start snipping away, ignoring the beads of sweat that are dripping down your back. It's the hottest day of the year so far, and your air conditioning can only do so much. You wish you could walk around with your shirt off like Jax. He probably wouldn't mind, actually.

His hands migrate from your hips to your thighs, stroking up and down gently. He's making it hard to concentrate, so you double down on your focus, determined to finish the job. Neither of you say anything about the way your breathing has quickened, or the way his is now deep and laboured. His fingers brush higher, and you put the scissors down on the counter.

"What are you doing?" you question teasingly, placing your hands on his shoulders.

"Just sitting for my haircut, ma'am," he answers cheekily.

"Do you try and put your hand up all of your hair stylists dresses, Jackson?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he winks.

His eyes darken slightly as they rake over your body, up and down. He wraps a strong arm around your back, pulling you into him further. The other hand is still tracing patterns on your inner thigh. He dares to move it higher, and lets out a guttural groan at what he finds.

"Fuck, honey. Are you wearing panties?"

"Nope," you reply, popping the 'P'. "Too hot."

He rests his head on your stomach and trails his fingers along the crease of your thigh.

"Can I touch you?"

"You are touching me, Jax."

"No, baby. Can I touch you here? Please?"

To emphasise his question, he brushes his fingers over your clit lightly. You jolt at the sudden contact, throwing your head back.

"Yes, Jax. Please."

You're suddenly grateful for the grip you have on his shoulders. Your knees are buckling already, balance unsteady. God, this man knows how to play you like a violin.

"No more teasing," you pant. "Need you."

How can he say no to that?

He's fumbling to unbutton his jeans, pushing them down his thighs. He pulls you forward so you're straddling him, and lines himself up. In one swift stroke, you roll your hips downwards and he slides home, both of you groaning.

"Fuck, darlin'."

"Shit, Jax. Please."

You use his thighs and his shoulders as leverage, moving yourself up and down. He thrusts upwards, meeting your strokes, sending pleasure prickling down your spine.

"This fuckin' dress," he groans. You giggle, and the vibrations drive him wild.

He can tell you're close when your hips start to stutter, rhythm faltering. He doubles down, thrusting up with more force. Jax bites down on your shoulder, and it sends you over the edge, white hot and blinding.

Your climax triggers his, hips not stopping until you're both spent and boneless. Your foreheads are pressed together, panting.

"I'm gonna buy you a hundred of these dresses," he chuckles.

"Fine by me," you reply, kissing him deeply.

"Good."

"Might need one with sleeves, though. Something's gotta cover this bite mark."

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agendabymooner · 5 months

Text

SOMETHING DIFFERENT !!! OSCAR P. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: oscar piastri wasn’t usually like this, but she was so lost in her feeling that all she could do was listen to him.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, pwp, mean dom!oscar (heavy on dom), fingering, brief mention of overstimulation, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, short smut because i just wrote this lol

note: (s)creaming. pls send some asks my way! enjoy xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

it was as if she had lost her lungs from writhing and whining.

her legs violently shook as she came for the fifth time tonight, her eyes glistening with overwhelming pleasure and her mouth letting out nothing but a silent whine. her body was on fire from the endless orgasms she had gotten through the night.

yet oscar piastri kneeled in front of her with his thick cock still stiff as ever, his chest rising as his head beaded with sweat. he looked at her as if he hadn’t just fucked her brain out for ages.

he wasn’t usually like this. he looked like a man on a mission— a mission to give his girlfriend endless orgasms until she’s unable to walk for a whole month. he just came home from a long double header and here he was now— waiting for her to calm a little bit before his fingers started to touch her glistening cunt again.

he watched her cunt clench around nothing, licking his lips when her cum dripped down to her puckered hole. his fingers slowly pressed and rubbed on her clit, eliciting a mumble of, “too much, ‘scar,” from his partner as he shushed her softly.

he wasn’t like this. he would’ve allowed himself to cum after she’d cum all over his mouth and fingers— now he expected her to cum all over his cock repeatedly and have her beg for it.

he wasn’t this demanding either. if anybody would dare ask what the fuck happened to the quiet and polite oscar, his girlfriend would answer with a shrug… should she come back from her high by then.

“gonna fuck you more, baby,” he murmured, his fingers traced on her lips before sliding two fingers inside her cunt.

she squealed, “o- oh! fuck!” pressure built up in her lower stomach as oscar’s fingers curled up against her sensitive spot.

“oscar, ‘s too much, too- hah! fuck! ‘s too much!” her legs began to kick away from him, but his other hand had pushed her down to where she was and his fingers relently fucked her cunt.

“you got one more,” he muttered and looked at her firmly, “stay still.”

“os- it’s too much! please!” she pleaded. she didn’t even know what the fuck she was pleading for. all she knew was that her body was desperately writhing under his touch and her cunt was throbbing around his fingers.

he tsked, “you have more in you, baby. don’t lie to me.”

“‘m not,” she sobbed, her voice jumping an octave as she cried out, “fuck— i’m cumming again, fuck fuck! shit~”

he crooned, “see? you’re a good girl f’me aren’t you?”

“fuuuuck~ oscar, please,” her eyes were shut tightly as she begged, “i’m gonna— oh my goooood~ can i-“

“can you what, princess?” oscar’s face feigned innocence, yet his thoughts were nothing but sinful as he smirked and fucked her. “tell me. can you what?”

“can i- i-“ she was running out of words, eyes were letting go of her tears.

she wasn’t sure if she hated this version of oscar or not. because oscar trusted her enough to show this side of him— the more assertive and dominant one. she loved him, really.

but god was she so fucking frustrated that he wouldn’t finish her thought process already. he wouldn’t just tell her immediately to cum before she could even say it. he was fucking her relentlessly with his fingers and he was still expecting her to answer.

she whined, uttering incoherent words as oscar tutted and demanded quietly, “i can’t read minds, baby. tell me what you want.”

yet she let nothing out, whining and shaking against his touch.

then… nothing.

she almost cried when the pressure in her stomach faded away immediately, her eyes opening quickly as he looked at her with sheer disappointment in his face.

she babbled, “b- but-“

“you weren’t listening, baby,” he laughed mockingly, pressing a sweet kiss that contrasted with his cruel words, “i told you. if you can’t tell me what you want i’m not gonna give it.”

“os-“ her lips formed a deep pout as oscar scoffed. she was just so fucked out— she couldn’t find herself to even argue.

“you should’ve tried harder, princess,” he murmured, “i would've let you cum again. and again. and again.”

“but you didn’t listen,” he tutted again and clicked his tongue. “you’re so spoiled that you thought you could easily get things that you want without telling me, hm?”

“‘s a good thing ‘m here,” oscar pulled her hips closer to the edge of the bed, the tip of his cock prodding at her wet cunt.

she whimpered at the feeling, wriggling against him before his hand slapped the side of her thigh. the impact left her moaning as he muttered, “you better start asking sweetheart— or else ‘m gonna have to fuck the word ‘please’ out of you.”

so much for a quiet, polite man.

he was so different that she wasn’t sure if she had the answer for the sudden change, either. all she knew was that she needed to behave and be vocal if she wanted to cum on his cock.

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen

♡ moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1

#formula one imagine #f1 imagine #formula one smut #f1 smut #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #op81 smut #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 #oscar piastri x reader #♔ something sinful ⎯ f1 smut

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roselatteswrites · 8 days

Text

warm ways | steve harrington x reader

summary: you and steve enjoy an afternoon together while on vacation in the south of france.

tags/warnings: smut (18+, mdni!), cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, unprotected piv sex, creampie, cock warming, established relationship, fem!reader

word count: 1k

a/n: inspired by rohmer's a summer's tale. regular text size and capitalization under the cut.

cross-posted on ao3

Somewhere in the south of France, 1989

You woke up in a room illuminated only by the warm colours of the sunset. As you slowly roused from your slumber, you felt the trace of lips on your neck. Steve was still spooning you, just as he had been when the two of you laid down for what was meant to be a quick nap. You hummed in delight at the feeling of him mouthing at your neck, teeth grazing and tongue soothing the supple skin.

“Sleep well, honey?” He spoke quietly.

“Mhmm,” you replied sleepily, turning around to see him. You gently raised a hand to his face, thumb stroking his cheek. The sun had left his skin bronzed and starry with freckles. The two of you had spent the day roaming around the small seaside town, admiring the scenery, and taking in the salt-laden air. It was a beautiful day. However, nothing could compare to the view laid in front of you.

“So pretty, Stevie,” you said softly. At that, his eyes softened. The brown irises were almost golden in the sunlight.

“Says you,” he replied, giving you a quick peck on the lips. Before he could pull back fully, you chased the feeling. Your lips connected once again. Delicately, his tongue prodded at your lips, and you allowed him entry. Your tongues danced together, and you could still taste traces of the oranges you two had eaten earlier.

Steve moaned into the kiss, all the while moving his leg to fit between both of yours. A whimper escaped your throat at the feeling of his bare leg pressed against your clothed heat. Hands tangled in his hair, you tugged gently. It was a habit you had developed when you wanted more, and it didn’t go unnoticed. He pulled away, giving you a few more pecks as the kiss slowed.

“Feeling needy, huh?” A slight smile danced across his lips. You nodded, dazed. “Words.” He reminded you.

“Wanna feel you, Stevie,” you spoke, “need it so bad.”

“I got you, honey, don’t worry,” he said as he rolled over to lay between your legs. You could now feel his growing bulge, the feeling spurring you on even more.

He kissed you once more before beginning his descent down, down, down to where you needed him most. Slowly, he slid your bathing suit bottoms down your legs, discarding them somewhere you didn’t care to know.

Two fingers slid between your folds, presenting your clit to him. He leaned down, kitten licking experimentally at your bud before sucking more harshly. Your hands found purchase in his hair once again, and you brushed it back so that you could truly look at him. His eyes stayed trained on yours as he continued his ministrations, alternating between licking and sucking.

You felt your hole clench around nothing, and as if reading your mind, Steve slipped a long finger into you. He curled it up, reaching that spongey spot within you, and you could feel that familiar spark beginning to grow in you, along with something a bit less familiar.

“Steve, ngh,” you tried to get your words out when he suddenly added a second finger, “feels too good, I–”

“Just let go, baby,” he said quickly, “let go f’me.”

The spark grew into a flame that licked at your insides until you could no longer take it. Your orgasm engulfed you and you felt a strange, but not unwelcome, release. You looked down to see Steve, cheeks flushed, and chin drenched in your fluids.

“Fuck,” he gasped, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “just squirted for me, baby.” You went to cover your face in your hands, but he caught your wrists softly.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said, “that was amazing.” He continued, pinning your hands above your head. He left a small kiss on the tip of your nose. As he pulled back, he searched your eyes, but you were still feeling hazy.

“Think you can take me after that?” He asked.

“Yes,” you whispered, “want you.” He let go of his hold on your wrists to slide his swim trunks down. He took his length into his hand, giving it a few strokes. A bead of precum glistening at the ruddy tip. Your mouth watered at the sight.

Soon enough, he lined himself up with your entrance, pushing himself in slowly. He stilled when he bottomed out, and you whined.

“God, you’re so tight after you cum,” he spoke, voice raspy, “can barely handle it.” Once he’d regained his composure, he set a delectable pace. His cock glided between your walls tenderly, accompanied by just the right amount of stretch.

The room was filled with pants, moans, and the sound of skin slapping. When you thought you couldn’t feel any better, Steve brought your leg up, hooking your ankle over his shoulder. At this angle, you felt everything so much more intensely, and you could feel that spark growing once more.

Steve could tell you were close, bringing a thumb down to circle your clit messily. A few more strokes, and you were cumming once again, walls clenching around him rhythmically. The flame, now dying down within you, sparked something in him. His strokes became sloppier, his arms trembling as he tried to hold himself up. You brought a hand up to the side of his face.

“Cum for me, Stevie,” you pleaded.

And he did.

He pushed his hips into yours as close as humanly possible, while rope after rope of his cum painted your insides.

Finally, he stilled, bringing your leg back down and resting his head on your shoulder. You stroked his back until he finally came to. He started to pull out, but you grabbed his bicep, stopping him.

“Can we just stay like this for a little bit?” You asked gingerly.

“Of course,” he said, “just wanna be full of me, yeah?” You nodded, biting your lip.

The moon slowly revealed itself, casting its gentle light across your forms. The sound of the waves from outside the window lulling you both back to sleep.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

#my fics #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #smut #stranger things fic

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nicksbestie · 7 days

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Migraines - M. Sturniolo

Summary : Matt struggles with chronic migraines, and some days there isn't much that you can do, but that never means you don't try,

Warnings : mentions of vomiting and nausea, a small bit of crying

Word Count : 1313

Pairing : Matt Sturniolo/Reader (romantic)

A/N : i got inspo from this photo of matt <3

Living an entire two decades of life with chronic migraines was an absolutely miserable thing.

Matt was nearing his twenty-first birthday, and he was desperate to find something in his life that would help with these migraines. He had gone through prescription after prescription, doctor appointment after doctor appointment, specialist after specialist, and nothing had helped the splitting pain. He had a migraine tracker on his phone so that he could tell the percentage of how often he had migraines, and it was well over sixty percent of every month. It was quite depressing to look at, and even more depressing to live. It really affected Matt’s happiness and day to day life.

All of their YouTube videos were filmed on Matt’s good days. They would change outfits so that they could film five to six videos in one day, gathering a lot of topics so that they would have tons to post when it came time to put them all up. Both of his brothers were incredibly caring and didn’t mind the way that they had to do things, and both wanted to do everything possible to make it easier for their middle sibling. They rode with Matt in an Uber every time his migraine was too bad for him to drive, so that he wouldn’t have to be alone, especially at a doctor’s office, a place he was already generally hesitant to be at. They truly were always by his side, arguing with doctors that told him it was anxiety based, or that he was exaggerating, when he didn’t have the energy to argue for himself.

Today was a bad day for him. Chris and Nick had left before Matt had woken up, so they had no idea that he was struggling, because the light from his phone, even at the lowest setting, wasn’t low enough to not send stabbing pains through his head, so he hadn’t texted. He hadn’t had the energy to call and speak to them either. All he had done was gotten up and shut the blinds, covering them up with blackout screens that he had bought a couple years back, because he needed all of the light out. They worked incredibly well, and he had cut off the dim lighting in his room that he’d slept with, needing complete darkness.

He had no idea how long he had laid there, he just knew he was in pain. Unbeknownst to him, when you noticed that he didn’t reply to your text, you were immediately concerned, and already on your way over. You’d seen that he’d read it, so you knew he was awake, and he hadn’t replied. He never left you on read, unless he couldn’t bear to look at his phone screen any longer, which meant he had a terrible migraine. You’d wasted no time getting ready, and due to the fact that Matt didn’t wake up until almost two in the afternoon, you didn’t get over there until almost four. You had your own key, both because of instances like these, and because of the fact that you had been together for almost two years now. Letting yourself in, you texted Chris and Nick, telling them that you were there as well.

You wasted no time in going upstairs, gently opening Matt’s door, and immediately closing it behind you, because while the light in the hallway wasn’t on, the daylight would filter in, and you knew it would aggravate his head. Seeing him face down on the bed, under covers and pillows, you gently whispered your greeting, telling him so he wouldn’t freak out, though you doubted he had the energy to freak out on you. You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, rubbing his back and laying down next to him. He curled into your chest, and you could see the remnants of tear tracks on his face. You laid a kiss to his forehead, gently running your hand over it and through his hair. Your hands were a cooler temperature, and you could tell that it felt good and soothed his pain for a few seconds. You laid a palm on his forehead, wanting to help him feel better any way that you could.

You laid with him for about an hour, helping hold the trash can at the side of his bed when the pain got to be so bad that it caused him to throw up, helping wipe his face off and get him laid back down, before realizing he hadn’t eaten anything all day, so it probably wouldn’t get much better. You laid there for a little while longer, thinking about what to do to help him, when you remembered a trick that had helped you when you had a terrible migraine one day. You softly untangled yourself from him, whispering that he could stay right there and you would be right back.

You went into the bathroom, turning a small, very dim, light on in the corner so you could see what was going on around you. You began running a warm bath, letting it run while you went to get Matt a small snack. You set it down on the edge of the bathtub, on the side touching the wall, and went to go get your boyfriend. You picked out some clean clothes for him, grabbed him the water bottle from his nightstand as well, and led him to the bathroom. He knew where it was, of course, but the thought of opening his eyes for the chance of any light just made the pain intensify, so he trusted you to guide him.

By this point, the tub was about three quarters of the way full, and you helped him get in. You knew he hadn’t showered that day, and the warm water on your legs and feet helped with your migraines, so you hoped it would help him as well. Judging by the way his face began to relax once he was in the tub, his back against your chest, you were glad it took away a little bit of his pain. You kept the temperature of the bathroom cooler so that he wouldn’t overheat, but not enough for him to get cold. His eyes stayed closed, but they were a calm closed, not a scrunched, wincing in pain, closed. He didn’t speak much, but he took the water and food that he was offered, and a gentle smile crossed his face the longer he sat in the tub.

The longer you stayed there with him, gently running your hands through his hair, the more his breathing evened out, and the deeper it got, and eventually, you realized he had fallen asleep. He had been so tired from being in pain, even though he had only been up for about four hours, that when the pain had lessened dramatically, his body was so exhausted that he just fell asleep in comfortable arms. You stayed there with him until the water went cold, and even longer after that, because you couldn’t bear to disturb him. After about half an hour, you softly shook him awake, gently helping him stand. By this point, you had both basically air dried, and Matt only pulled on boxers and loose shorts to sleep in. You tugged on one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers as well, going back to bed with him.

As soon as he hit the bed, he was about to fall asleep again, and you pulled him back into your arms. You never minded taking care of him, knowing that he loved you more than words could say, and as he whispered a soft “I love you” into your chest, you knew you could do this for him for the rest of your life, and you could die happy.

“I love you more.”

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aizawaz · 1 month

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Task Force 141 headcanons ; ass or tits

Trying to post somewhat consistently, so have this!!

Warnings: afab!reader , butt stuff (oral , fingering , plugs) , impact play , praise & degradation , brief mommy kink (I’m not sorry) , dirty talk , all the good stuff!

! NSFW under the cut !

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley - Tits

Simon is a man that definitely enjoys larger breasts, but ultimately he’s a ‘boobs are boobs’ guy. He’s addicted to the way your plush flesh spills over the cups of your bra (he bought it for you) that fits just a little too small for your taste (he did that on purpose).

Low-cut shirts are Simon’s favourite, he takes them almost as a challenge to see how long he can stare before his dick is hard and he’s all over you. He can never last more than a few minutes, eventually shoving his large and cold hands beneath your shirt to paw at your “perfect fuckin’ tits, dovey. Can’t help but touch ‘em.”

Titty slapper. 100%. Does it as a form of punishment if you were being particularly bratty that day, starting with firm taps to get you riled up before fully administering the punishment. He’s not entirely gentle with it either, slapping until your tits are red and you’re looking all sorry ‘n teary-eyed at him. Even then, Simon doesn’t budge. If anything, he gets crueler, now pinching and pulling on your sore nipples. “C’mon, y’can take it like a big girl, can’t ya?”

Cpt. John Price - Ass

Has a thing for buttplugs, especially if they can vibrate. The first time John turned it on while deep in your pussy, he felt his entire spine tingle and was emptying his balls into you in seconds. Was hooked ever since but never uses it often. Likes to press down on the base with his thumb when it’s buried in your ass, gruffly chuckling when your hips jerk away.

John is a simple man, he sees you with a skirt on and he’s sauntering over to slip his rugged hands beneath the flimsy fabric and grab a handful. Not wearing any panties underneath? Even better, makes everything easier for him. He fondles your ass like it’s nothing but putty, looking over your shoulder to observe how malleable you are and groaning in your ear the whole time. “Hope you weren’t goin’ anywhere looking like this, love. Can’t have anyone lookin’ at what’s mine.”

Similar to Simon, John uses spanking as a punishment. However, he’s not easing you into it like Simon. As soon as his patience is tested, he’s bending you over his knee to teach you a lesson. Don’t expect to leave his lap until his handprint is welted in your skin, angry and red and just the way John likes it. “Maybe next time you’ll be obedient and listen to your Captain, yeah?”

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish - Ass

Johnny’s an ass eater, I gotta say it. He adores the soft squeal you make when his tongue strays from your drenched pussy to instead prod and lick at your asshole. He’s absolutely filthy with it too, slurping and huffing like a starved animal because the taste of you drives Johnny absolutely mad.

He will slip in a finger or thumb while he’s hitting it in doggy, it always makes you clench so much tighter around his cock and Johnny swears he goes dumb for a second when he feels it. “Christ, bonnie. Y’like me playin’ with your li’l ass, huh? Greedy li’l thing.”

Wear yoga pants/shorts around this man and you’re not leaving without him getting a good feel. Comes up behind you and presses his already hard dick into you, grinding against and delivering a sharp slap to your ass. His hands are merciless, groping and squeezing your pliant skin all while murmuring under his breath about how you’re “just askin’ to be fucked, walkin’ around like tha’.”

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick - Tits

Kyle would live between your boobs if he could, no matter the size. As long as he has something to latch his lips to, he has zero complaints. He could spend hours just kissing and sucking your tits if you’d let him, thinks it’s so intimate feeling how your nipple pebbles against his tongue and your heart hammers against his lips.

Push-up bras are Kyle’s bread and butter, they get him so hard and if you pair it with a low-cut shirt he’s cumming in his pants the moment his eyes find your cleavage. He cannot stop staring either, watching every delicious jiggle of your perky boobs as you do mundane tasks around the apartment. “Fuck, babe, you’re drivin’ crazy. I swear you’re doin’ it on purpose.”

Kyle is his most vulnerable when he has your tits in his mouth, and he’s not ashamed to admit that. Having Kyle in your lap, stroking his weeping cock and whispering soft praises into his ear as he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, gets him closer to heaven than anything else. “You have the prettiest tits, momma. Love you so much.”

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod smut #team 141 #john soap mactavish #john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #soap x reader #price x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader

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polarisjisung · 1 month

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BITTERSWEET

synopsis: it's routine— you patch up his wounds and watch them heal, he salts your wounds but doesn't stick around long enough to watch them grow.

wc: 2.7k

pairings: jaemin × fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: mentions of violence, blood, uses of petnames, reader ogles at jaemin for a little while, jaemin gives mixed signals but also not really?

notes: I was supposed to post this last week but the formatting was so off anyways happy renjun day, here's a jaemin fic?

even when he was battered, bruised and most probably broken, na jaemin stared up at you with those shiny eyes, almost iridescent under the moonlight.

you havent seen him in weeks.

you'd like to kick and scream and shout at him for ghosting you all this time, the possibilities of everything that could've happened to him, worrying you endlessly up until now.

you hate him for just showing up like this, out of the blue, you think, but his composure suggests that this isn't as big of a deal as you make it out to be—whether it was weeks or maybe even months later, na jaemin would always circle back to you

like always, there he is stood at your doorstep at an ungodly hour of the night, dripping blood all over the welcome mat that lays on your front porch, his usual carefree self

you know you'll be getting a long scolding from your mother about the kind of company you surround yourself with the next morning, before being forced to rub the stains out of said mat, but in this moment, you couldn't seem to care less

perhaps it's because you swear you've never seen anything prettier, even with cuts littered across his skin, and a swollen eye that would certainly discolour the next morning, he looks ethereal.

for a moment, your jaw hangs low and jaemin holds back a chuckle at the sight, though you wish he hadn't, before you slip to the side and let him in, shutting out the cold as he flings the door to a close behind him, finally turning to face you

jaemin however, had always basked in the warm feeling of admiration that came with your look, though it mostly fell straight through his heart and inflated his sky high ego instead, jaemin wonders how despite his cocky nature you seemed to welcome him all the same

there's an unfamiliar sweetness to his scent tonight, his clothes oozing with the smell of cologne and what any sane person could recognise as perfume— women's perfume.

suddenly you find it difficult to keep looking at his stupidly pretty face, almost feeling sick

admittedly tonight your eyes hold a deeper gloominess to them, bloodshot, because you're tired, he tries to convince himself, but he knows a lot of that redness comes from the purple painted splodges against his skin, the bruises that burn deep inside his being— a burning that seems negligible at the sight of you

"cute slippers" he whispers, the sight of your fluffy pink hello kitty slippers causing the heat to rush to your cheeks

the embarrassment fades just as quickly as it seemed to have taken over your entirety— jaemin had seen a lot worse of you "almost as cute as you" he adds

you brush over the topic like it means nothing, frankly it doesn't, like most things with jaemin

"judging by the state of you" you sigh, two hands on your hips as you look him up and down disappointedly, "you didn't win this fight" and jaemin reels back, far too animated for you to assume he's actually in any pain considering the offended expression he wears, but you know him far too well to fall for his, admittedly convincing, acts

"I won, actually" he says weaving his arms through the gaps between yours to pull you closer, letting then hang at your waist

"sure you did" you nod sarcastically but he only rolls his eyes, following you into the kitchen

he knows what it means when you hold out two mugs, specifically the ones you had hand painted on your trip to the park when you were 5, adorned with the same floral pattern in different colours, and a cheesy quote continued across the two cups— his eyes light up

"hot chocolate?"

and jaemin hates hot chocolate, until its made by you, the sweet, almost childish drink something he could only savour in the dim lighting of your living room

maybe it was because of that specific brand of crazy expensive hot chocolate you used, that tasted a little dark and sometimes too strong for your liking, or maybe, most probably it was the taste of nostalgia that would linger on his lips each and every time

all jaemin knows is he would find himself laughing at the moustache of marshmallow fluff that would undoubtedly form over your upper lip as you carefully dabbed against his wounds with the antiseptic you kept on hand, one reserved solely for him since he was allergic to the regular stuff

he nods, attempting to grin before pulling his lip between his teeth at the sharp pain that strikes across it—hissing.

you laugh, despite the dull ache that takes over your chest seeing him like this

flicking your head over to the sofa is all you can do, worried your voice would give way if you gave the instructions verbatim but jaemin seems to get the memo.

as he takes a seat on your mother's favourite buttoned yellow velvet loveseat— you choose not to read to far into his choice of sofa

you're fishing through the drawers of your freezer to find some ice to help his wounds but all you can find is a bag of dino nuggets and a bag of peas— you decide the dino nuggets have a larger surface area and would probably be a little more help as you emerge through the kitchen door, hoping you made the right choice

jaemin finds the faint look of contemplation on your face far too adorable to hide the smile that reaches his now coloured cheeks, one darker than the other owing to the bruise that blossoms over it

"here" you offer it out to him wrapped in a towel, having learnt from your mistakes the last time you'd accidentally given him freezer burn

"gonna make me do it all by myself doll?" you shoot a questioning look his way "I'm all ache-y"

contrast to his tough demeanor, jaemin looks up at you with a pout and a look of feigned innocence

"yeah? well you should've thought about that before landing yourself in this situation"

you're ready to turn a full 180 on your heels and walk away, until jaemin's fingers wrap around your wrist, bruised knuckles begging for some sympathy

"please?"

ultimately you give in. you knew you would the second he looked at you with those shiny big eyes. you didn't know how to say no, not to him

"fine."

"that's my girl" he beams up at you, you know better than to let his words replay in your mind, his girl, why did that sound so damn good?

as your press the towel to his cheek, the cool feeling against his burning hot skin makes him wince, though you're not sure who's in more pain considering the way you your heart threatens to leap out of your chest

"how many times do I have to tell you to be more careful huh jaemin" you sigh, rubbing circles against his warm skin in an attempt to comfort him, angry eyes latched onto the rough blood stained patches

"don't call me that" his voice drops an octave somehow louder than before despite coming in whispers

"what else shall I call you? is that not your name jaemin?"

his eyes almost flash over completely black as he huffs, "not to you it isn't" and you notice the slither of seriousness that remains unmasked beneath his playful tone— you wonder why jaemin makes no effort to hide the solemnity of his words

but that's who he had always been, hot and cold, difficult to read, even more so to understand, he was confusing at best and so like most things with jaemin, you'd decided putting much thought to it wasn't your best idea, you would only be breaking your own heart.

"oh I didn't know it was different for me" you place a band aid against his wound, reaching to treat the next, your tongue poking out from between your lips causing jaemin to suddenly smile, eyes unwavering from the soft pink skin of your lip

between nights spent in his lousy apartment, cooped up in the illusive comfort of his arms and days spent with tear stained cheeks at the thought of being some disposable little thing in his life, you can't help but find yourself unsure of your place in his life

the acidity rising in your throat should be enough of a reality check for you to know the answer to your question, but self awareness had never been your strong suit.

at times he made you feel like the only girl in the world, most times he made no effort to acknowledge your existence, because jaemin was a man of two extremes

when he cared, or at least seemed to, he did so with his whole heart, and when he didn't— well you couldn't have felt any more worthless

right now his speech is sweet, like his voice is honey and his words are sugar-coated, you're intoxicated by the way his deep cologne overwhelms your senses, making your best attempt to filter out the cheap feminine scent that seems to have blended itself into his

"you know it is doll, everything is different with you" his voice reduces further into deeper whispers, words that hit your mind and soul all at once, heartbeat sounding somewhere in the background as the words echo in your mind

you shake your head.

jaemin had always been adventurous with his words, he was bold to say the least, meaning you knew to take his words with a pinch of salt, or two— however many were necessary really.

drunk on what little love he gave you, you find a sudden dizziness overwhelm you— the good kind that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside even if just for a moment.

honestly speaking, you know you'd believe anything that came out of his mouth— na jaemin could wake up one day and decide the sky was pink and the earth was flat and you'd take it as bible.

you suppose it's just integrated into your genetic coding or something, to be at his beck and call, to let the walls you build around yourself fall down every time, you would protect yourself from the whole world, but the harsh truth was, you couldn't protect yourself from him ,though you didn't mind all that much.

"one of these days I'll leave you at the door to rot" your eyes roll at his words in an attempt to return to the playful mood, and jaemin knows you would never, but the brief mention of the possibility still makes him gulp, sound resonating in his ears

"never" he whispers, suddenly his eyes are glossy and his grip on the warm mug begins to loosen, the thought of losing you never having been one to cross his mind until now, you however, seem as unbothered as before

similar to most things in life, jaemin took you for granted.

but that was the thing, you were unlike anyone, anything, any part of his life— you were special.

jaemin knew you meant a lot to him, it wasn't a secret he tried to hide, not that he was particularly good at expressing it either, but the way your hair falls over your face as you concentrate on patching up his injuries and your skin glows under the dim light has jaemin wondering just how much you mean to him.

jaemin decides you mean the most to him, more than anyone else.

as a man of habit, he wonders what that would mean for these habits of his that you hated oh so much. very little, most probably. he had you amongst a thousand other wrapped around his finger, cast under his spell, deeply infatuated with him but somehow playing with you felt the most special.

that was the problem, you were special to him and as much as he enjoyed playing with fire, jaemin had never thought he'd find himself getting burnt.

you don't realise the silence that befalls the room, nothing but the soft buzz of the fridge or the flicker of the soon to fuse kitchen light mixed with your soft breaths— he had noticed they grew louder as you became more exhausted, guilt beginning to settle somewhere in the pit of his stomach, knowing he was keeping you awake

he was always a little selfish when it came to you, he knew that

your eyes land on jaemin, his flooding with something you can only hope is a feeling of warmth— anything but his usual sudden switch up before he'd announce he was leaving, only for you to see him the next time he got himself like this, a couple nights into the next week most probably, a routine you can't say you had appreciated, nor condoned

most things with jaemin were like this, short lived, and bittersweet, although the bitter part seemed more overpowering at times

you can't help but hold onto the little slither of hope that tonight will be different

"hey doll" his free hand cups your cheek, forcing your noticeably distant eyes into his—but instead of the icy cold stare you expect, you're met with fire, his eyes burning with promise

"hmm?" your eyes lock, "what's up?"

"never stop nagging at me, please" he sucks in a harsh breath, hoping you'll say something to stop him from completely losing control of his words and spilling every thought he's ever held back when it came to you, a lot really

but you only take a sip of the warm drink in your mug, the tones of dark cocoa and the traces of coffee so distinct.

the white foam spreading across your lip as you now decide to tend to the gash beneath his eyebrow, though jaemin sees it as an excuse to take ahold of your face between his fingers, thumb tracing over your upper lip

"cute" your wide eyes make him chuckle, noticing a small speck of white still resting on your lip

"would you look at that, I missed a spot" you find yourself being pulled further into his lap, legs messily sprawled across the couch along with his, you don't mind however, his pink glossy lips the only thing on your mind

you'd like to let him ruin you, make you his puppet, blind you with his warmth and make you his and only his. even if you were his little plaything, it didn't matter, nothing mattered as long as you were his.

"and what are you going to do about it nana, hmm?"

you let your nose rest gently against his, soft vanilla scent mixing with the deep musky cologne jaemin wore, you wonder how it manages to last throughout the day considering your perfumes lasted all of 5 minutes, at best

"whatever you'd like doll, just say the word and I'll do it"

"you promise?"

jaemin nods, "I promise" and he holds you tight, because like all things good in life, jaemin knows one day, he'll lose you too

as you pout your lips at his, a knowing smile in his eyes , the first aid box is long forgotten behind you and your lips fall atop each other, like they'd always meant to.

you can't help but wonder how long jaemin will stick to this promise of his, forever you hope, though you know better.

especially when his hot cocoa flavoured kisses, like the true essence of jaemin, were so damn bittersweet.

464 notes · View notes

softlyspector · 3 months

Text

The second crow

Summary: There's not much in your tiny town, and Joel doesn't expect to stay long.

Pairing: coal miner!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~13.5k

Warnings: once again writing about grief, mentions of suicidal ideation, small town setting and drama, past death of a parent (reader), past death of a child (joel), avoidant reader, mentions of natural disaster, anxiety, brief smut, smoking, alcohol mention

A/N: She wrote another long ass fic! This took months to write and then collected dust in the drafts because I'm scared. This is the kind of thing I post and run away from because there is so much of myself in it. This is probably the most me you will ever get. Please allow me this little moment to be sappy about it in the author's note. I don't know if anyone even reads these but I'm going to shove my love in here anyway. This fic is very special to me for a lot of reasons. It deals with a lot of personal issues I've been grappling with, and it is very much a love letter to where I'm from. I hope you enjoy this fic, can find something in it to relate to, and can appreciate the little slice of idealized love for home I've indulged in here. Thank you for reading! And as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have.

And, he will never, ever know it, but this fic is very much dedicated to my best friend, who was the first person to hang on and say I won't let you go this time.

The door clatters back in the wind; the glass rattles in the frame. Snow swirls into the front foyer before it slams shut again.

A man you don’t recognize steps through the archway, and into the front room. A layer of coal dust lays fine and thin over his coveralls, settled into the creases in his face. He carries a battered miner’s helmet, a duffle bag, a rifle, and nothing else.

“Hi,” you say, surprised from your place behind the kitchen counter, plucking down holiday decorations that had long overstayed their welcome. “Somethin’ I can help you with?”

“Sure,” he nods and approaches, eyes flicking around the small front room, overcrowded with furniture that was in style thirty years ago, peeling patterned forest green wallpaper that you’d love to be able to replace one day, or at least fix up.

You can’t be bothered to feel anything but curiosity.

Strangers are a rare thing.

Rarer are strangers that come from so far away that they do not know not to come inside covered in coal dust and snow, before they have cleaned off. It sloughs off him in minute, shimmering waves, fine lines of black that sparkle in the white, winter light.

Rivulets of sweat cut through the dust on his face and neck, and pools at the base of his throat. Snow melts in his hair and along the shoulders of his coat from the blizzard outside.

A chunk of ice falls off his boot with his final step toward you. You watch it slide across the floor and under the edge of a battered bookshelf. “I’m lookin’ for a room. Guy at the bar pointed me here.”

His accent is a drawl and not a twang, the syllables of his words hang long in the air. Not quite southern. It takes you a long second to pin-point its origin. “Tell me, do they have coal mines in Texas?”

He blinks at you, fingers tightening on the rim of the hardhat in his hands. “Yes ma’am.”

“And did you mine coal there?”

“Can’t say I did.”

“And you didn’t get much snow either, I take it?”

He huffs out a surprised, exasperated chuckle. “Not like this.”

“I figured so,” you smile. “With that way you’re trackin’ dust and ice across my floor. You’d know better than to come in the front door like that. Or at least to stomp off the snow a little.”

The stranger looks back at the mess he tracked across the room and then turns back to you, looking sheepish, maybe a little horrified. “I apologize, I shoulda realized—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shake your head. “It’s all right. But most folks along this street will feel the same, except the bar, so keep that in mind.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“A room you said?”

He nods, then shakes his head. “Well, if I didn’t offend you too bad, that is.”

“You didn’t. But you should know we got a miner’s shower in the basement.”

He just nods again, glancing around the room. You didn’t think someone could get culture shock from your little town, but you think you see all the fixings of it on this stranger’s face. The coal dust and the slushy streets aside, the miner’s shower and kicking snow off his boots seems to have done it.

He looks lost, in more ways than one. Down on his luck, melancholy but different to the kind of sadness you usually see. Tired. Like there's something missing about him.

You go through the motions of asking how long he’ll be staying with you, figuring which room to put him in — end of the hall, you decide, the least drafty of the two. Not like you ever had many guests.

You can’t help feel a little sympathy for him, standing uncomfortable in the middle of the room because you’d pointed out his mistake.

“So, Texas, what brought you to our little town?” You ask and pull on your coat, motioning for him to follow you back outside.

The front steps are slick with ice, in need of another layer of salt. You step carefully over it, the stranger offering you an arm to hang onto as you descend, and lead him around the side of the house, the path already dug out from the snowfall of the previous night.

Dark is falling quick, the sun sinking below the mountains, layering the valley in its usual early darkness, the crests of the hills in the distance cast in an eerie golden orange even through the snowfall.

Texas doesn’t answer you, the tread of his footsteps quiet behind you. When you reach the back of the house, snow up to your ankles padded in from the yard, you turn to face him, snow battering at both of you. “Just work.”

“Why here?”

You like knowing strangers. They’re easy to know, because there’s no chance of them turning and knowing too much, of looking behind your questions and smiles and seeing anything important. You are anonymous to them as they are to you, and that's how you like it. Nothing you might reveal means anything.

He doesn’t answer you and so you leave it. “Well, whatever brought you here, we’re glad to have you. We don’t get many folks from other places.” You turn to the door you’ve led him to, “Now, when you get in from the mines, you come in this way.” You hold up the proper key and let both of you in. “Just to rinse off, y’know? Won’t make you clean up down here, too cold. But otherwise, you can come on through the front door as long as you kick the ice off your boots. All right?”

“Yes ma’am.”

He sounds so serious and polite, brow lowered over his eyes.

“Well, okay,” you smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Yours is the first place Joel lands in a long time that he feels comfortable.

Everything has a worn, lived in feel to it, like generations of families and visitors and travelers have passed there before him, like the warmth of their ghosts still linger in the walls and beneath the floorboards.

The front room is cluttered with books and all kinds of knicknacks, postcards that look like they were sent by people who passed through or visited before the town stopped getting so many visitors. The wallpaper is peeling and the floors groan no matter where he sets his feet.

It reminds him of somewhere he’s been before, or something he used to know, and can’t say exactly what.

Maybe it just reminds him of all the comfortable places he’s ever been, that very particular small town intimacy that he’s tried to remain anonymous and separate from for the last year or so.

He means to stay just until the snow storm passes.

And then it does and he keeps on staying.

It’s funny, how quick he takes to you, feels the ache of something settled just at the bottom of his chest, echoed back at him in your eyes. A kind of loneliness and seeking that he tramps down any time it dares raise its head.

“You know,” you had said the second evening he was there. He had been thinking about getting something to eat, and instead found himself letting you pour him a cup of coffee. “You can stay for dinner. We used to feed everybody who stayed here. But that was before the passenger trains quit running. Before my time, nearly. Now it’s just those guys that pass through and wanna go over to the bar anyway.”

“I don’t want ya to go outta your way—”

“Please,” you’d scoffed. “I’d be glad for the company.”

“All right,” he’d found himself agreeing to that smile, the invitation of company he hadn’t wanted or needed in a long time. “Anything I can help you with?”

You’d shaken your head and he sat when you’d gestured at the table. “Very kind of you to offer, though, Joel.”

He hadn't been sure what to say either, that second night, because he’d been alone for so long, and talk had come at a minimum since he left Texas.

The house sighed and Joel sipped his coffee, watching the points of your elbows, the jut of your hip, as you cooked. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been sure what to say, because you had; well versed in quiet strangers it seemed, which would come to bother him.

He would come to hate how easily you get on with strangers and push everyone else away.

But he hadn’t known that the second night.

Maybe he just hadn’t realized how starved for company he’d really been. But he liked you right away and the way you just talk, every thought you ever had floating up and right out of your mouth without a filter.

It takes his mind off the things he tries to forget anyway.

So, he had eaten with you that second night and every night that he can afterwards.

A week passes and you expect Joel to move on, like everyone does. But he doesn’t, he asks for the room for another week, and then another, and another.

Joel clips steadily into your life, until he’s part of your everyday routine.

He gives you extra money for the dinner appointment he keeps with you each night, though you tell him he doesn’t have to.

He makes himself helpful in the evenings even though you suspect he’s always exhausted but never able to get any shut eye. He drinks coffee by the pot full, and though you wonder what it is that keeps him up at night, you don’t ask. You don’t ask anything of him, because it isn’t your place, though your curiosity burns hot.

The stranger is becoming not a stranger and you don’t know how to feel about that. Maybe this time you would manage to let someone in without feeling like the world might cave in on you.

The stranger, Joel, is kind and sometimes funny. He’s handsome and it’s hard not to like his company. He doesn't talk much but you don't mind.

The dark shadow that hangs behind his eyes has nothing to do with you. But it gets hard to remember that when you end up spending so much time with him.

It isn’t long before your neighbor, and friend, starts in on teasing you about him. Each time Janie comes to the back door with fresh bread from the bakery she makes eyes at you and asks after your handsome boarder.

You claim to know nothing of him, despite knowing so much and so little all in one.

You start to worry every Sunday that he goes out on his own into the woods that he’ll never come back, and that all you’ll have left are the footprints he left in the snow, and even those will be long gone when the year eventually and inevitably warms up.

It scares you that it worries you at all. It shouldn’t matter at all if he suddenly disappeared into the snow.

But he always comes back, never with any game even though you told him nobody cares about the no hunting on Sundays rule, and with a look in his eye that says he did kill something, just not something you could see.

When you figure out he’s carrying nothing to work with him to eat, you insist he go next door and get some pepperoni rolls from Janie. “What is it?”

“What’s it sound like?” You ask and roll your eyes. “They’re good to take into the mines with you. You can’t work thousand hour shifts and not eat. Don’t you have a lunch bucket or somethin’?”

“Thousand hour,” he scoffs. Then, “No, I don’t.”

“Jesus, Joel.”

He laughs and it’s the first time you’ve heard it. It’s nice, and sounds surprised in the air, punched out of him in a short burst. “All right,” he agrees. “All right. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

But he leaves before the sun comes up and comes back long after it’s set and so you can’t just let it go. His whole days are set in perpetual darkness, and the very least he needs to do is eat proper.

You know you shouldn’t, but you worry about him.

“Just do it,” you grouse at him, shooing him away from the coffee pot. “She makes ‘em fresh everyday and it would make me feel better. It’s common, anyway. It’s what a lot of guys take down there. And you wouldn’t want me dying of worry over you, would you?”

Joel grumbles about it, but he does as you ask, and when he comes in in the evenings, he doesn’t look so pale anymore. The bruises under his eyes never go away, the puffy bags of sleeplessness that he supplements with coffee at all hours of the day, morning and night, but he doesn’t look so wan and so it’s better.

Even quiet as he seems to be, he looks at you when you talk and always says thank you when you put a plate down in front of him, and makes it out to be a great ordeal when he asks if he could trouble you for a cup of coffee.

One evening, a couple weeks on, he slumps down at the table with an unusual amount of heaviness. His shoulders are damp with a thousand snowflakes, coal dust rubbed haphazardly off his face, the weight of a heavy sky on his shoulders.

Joel asks for a cup of coffee but he looks like he’s been sleeping even less than usual.

He looks exhausted, purple bags beneath his eyes, and even though it’s none of your business, you ask, “Sure? Might be you won’t sleep.”

“I’ll be all right.” His voice doesn’t leave room for argument, a tad dismissive.

“You’ll eat with it,” you snap. “Or you can go find it somewhere else.”

He blinks up at you, surprised at your tone. “I can be mean, too, Joel Miller.”

It takes a second but he nods. “I’m sorry. I was raised with better manners than that.”

“I know it. It’s all right.”

Almost like an apology, he tells you about Texas that night, about his brother, about what he’s found he actually misses from home, how he used to be a carpenter before he did this, how he can play the guitar.

“What is it you’re lookin’ for?” You ask softly when he stands at your sink with bowed shoulders, washing the dishes, meticulous about it.

He shrugs. “That’s just it,” he says without looking at you, hands reddened with the heat of the water. “There's nothin’ to look for.”

“You’re that Mr. Miller, aren’t ya? Lives over at the inn, right? Have all winter long?”

Joel is in the tiny general store. It’s mid-March and you asked him to get milk. There’s about five shelves total, a freezer, and a refrigerator. He’s been in and out plenty of times without any kind of trouble.

He glances at the man leaning against the cooler door next to the one he has propped open and gives a vague nod. “Sure.”

“Well, we was just wantin’ to know what’s got you hangin’ around over there for so long.”

It ain’t phrased like a question.

Joel glances over his shoulder, finds two women and the owner of the store looking over at them from the front counter.

“Mister?”

He turns back to the man attempting to intimidate him. “That so?”

“Sure do.”

“Well, she don’t seem to have a problem with my stayin’ there,” he grabs the milk you’d asked him for, the least he could do after all those dinners you cooked. He tries to repay you, do things around the place but you’re resistant to it, independent and sometimes angry, and damn stubborn about it. “So I really don’t see what that has to do with you, anyhow.”

The hostility bleeds red in the air. He pays for the milk and doesn’t wait for the change, figuring he wouldn’t get it anyway, and that a few coins didn’t matter anyway.

When he opens the backdoor, snow and ice and street grit knocked carefully off his boots at the bottom of the steps that led up to the porch, you smile at him.

“You got some protective friends.”

“Excuse me?”

He tells you what happened, lets you put a cup of coffee in front of him on the table and press a friendly hand to his shoulder.

And, Jesus, it shouldn’t, but it makes something deep in him ache. If your hand lingered, if it rubbed the top of his spine and between his shoulder blades, he’d be all right with that; he’d lean into it.

But your hand disappears just as quick.

“Oh, honey, they’re just suspicious of anyone that hangs around town for too long.”

“Why’s that?”

“You ain’t noticed? We don’t get people from other places around here, and the ones we have take everything. With not a lot to go around. They just don’t know you.” You smile wryly at him over your shoulder, mouth twisted crookedly. Your gaze flicks over him, lingering for a second, but then you shrug and turn away.

“Make an effort, if you care to. They’ll come around. They just don’t know you, it’s not like you get out,” you rib lightly.

“Cute.”

“Can’t help you go from here to the mines and back and that’s it.” You’re smiling when you say it, the curve of your cheek visible to him even though your back is turned.

He rolls his eyes and you laugh when you catch him doing it.

He can’t figure why it matters to him, but it does.

So, Joel makes the effort, or does his best to.

He makes his way over to the neighbor’s place and offers to fix their front step he noticed was loose, wood rotting through. He fixes someone’s leaking roof. Runs deliveries of groceries to the old folks who can’t get out and regale him with stories that take at least two hours to tell. He shovels snow until he’s so exhausted he does actually pass out at night.

It gets around that he’s handy and not asking for anything in return and a nice young man according to the older people and so he finds he has something to do each evening for almost a week straight.

Maybe that was a mistake, but if Joel knows anything it’s that small, poor towns run on favors. He knows that you smile when he tells you why he’s back so late each evening.

A week or so after the general store incident, he receives a parcel of muffins, and overhears one of the neighbors commending him in your kitchen. “Maybe he’s not so bad. We was worried. No one ever sees him. You should bring him over to the church sometime.”

It shouldn’t matter, but it does. You laugh and say, “I don’t think either of us are the church goin’ type. But I always know a good man when I see one, you should know that by now at least.”

“You sure do. Think he could fix our porch swing before spring comes?”

“Don’t see why he couldn’t.”

He makes an effort to be seen. It’s nice, he guesses, that people know his name again. It’s nice to feel needed somewhere, even if it smarts a little. It’s nice to feel like maybe he isn’t looking for nothing anymore.

Joel tells himself that it just makes things easier for him, just so he can get goddamn milk without being accosted. Milk for you, for dinner.

No, it has nothing at all to do with you, or the way you called him a good man, or the way the tips of his ears went hot with it.

Not getting to talk to you for a week straight in the evenings almost becomes worth it.

It has nothing at all to do with that big lonely hole in his heart, or the memories that snagged like sharp teeth at the edge of that wound.

The mines are way out past the edge of town.

It’s a long damn walk there and back. The morning is pitch black when he sinks into the cold earth, and only dregs of light are left when he comes back up in the evenings.

But the town, when he draws near, sparkles with light, bright with moonlight reflected on the snow that won’t seem to melt, even as April begins to creep in.

Spring should be well on its way, but the world still smells frozen and bruised, like pine needles and coal dust and the enduringly brutal cold.

Most that stay in town are just passing through town, on their way to somewhere else. He finds he doesn’t mind being the only permanent fixture at your place.

Some of them are all right, most of them really, but a few make him wary. He worries about you, though you don’t seem concerned about being alone. He supposes you did it long before he got there, and you’ll do it after he leaves.

They’re gone within days, anyway, so he doesn’t say anything about it. But he wants to, the words like bubbles that want to pop in the back of his throat. He wants to tell you to be careful and not so friendly.

He’s exhausted by the time he makes his way to the basement door, folds away his coal encrusted oversuit and rises off the worst of the sweat and dust quick. He’ll take a proper shower later.

You and him have fallen into a routine the last couple months, the fine sharp edge of April waiting just around the corner, and with it the hopes for warmer weather, that the temperatures will rise and the wind won’t bite quite so harshly.

There’s always something hot waiting for him on the table, even if you aren’t there to see to it. Most nights you’re there, but you are busy. More times than not lately, you’re somewhere else, doing something else, maybe like you’re trying to unstick yourself from him just a little. But you’re just busy, popular in town as a local, a regular nearly everywhere.

He always sits with you when he gets the chance, eats with you. He likes to. It keeps his mind off of what he’d left behind, what he lost.

Just like working himself to death all day does. It’s hard to think beyond the physical, backbreaking pain of the labor to what lay in back in Texas.

You and him create a routine together, solid and steady.

When it’s interrupted, he hates to admit it burns.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that you are profoundly lonely, despite the plethora of people in and out of your life—the visitors and guests, but the townspeople, too. You’re a regular everywhere, and somehow always alone.

You’re friends with the baker next door, at least. As far as he can tell, she’s the only person you’re really close with in the town.

The baker has started coming to the back door in the morning, a sly smile on her face that he’s not particularly keen on. He has started taking the basket from her, answering the knock that never waited to be answered, the door always pushed in before either of you could get to it, a basket of fresh bread and the pepperoni rolls he’d started buying off her weeks before to appease you.

He forgets to eat more than he ever has before. It just doesn’t seem to matter.

A couple times a week, you sit down to cards and cigarettes and drinks with the baker. He listens to the gossip from the front room, a book with words that blur and never sink in propped on his knee. To hear the two of you together, it makes something in his throat close.

He usually has Sundays off, days where he’d climb out into the great unknown of the valleys and hills that surround the picturesque town, almost village-like with all its holiday lights still strung up to keep the long dark days of the enduring winter season at bay, and, rifle in hand, go hunting.

It’s illegal to go hunting on Sundays, but you assure him no one cares as long as it’s after the church services are over.

He never manages to get a shot off anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

Everytime he thinks he’ll be able to lift the gun to his shoulder and pull the trigger at the creature sighted in the scope, he doesn’t, he can’t. He sees his daughter instead. He sees Sarah’s closed coffin; he sees her bloodied face, shards of glass spread around her like a halo of sparkling snow; he sees her blonde hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, tubes crawling in and out of her mouth and chest and arms.

And all Joel has to show for it is a scar across the bridge of his nose, a tight pinch in his right shoulder that hadn’t been there before.

There are a lot of deer around, but birds, too, ducks and geese, rabbits, foxes. All of them remind him of his kid and so the rifle remains unused. He can’t help but feel like he might be killing his kid all over again.

The basement is dark and chilled when he gets in, but not cold or damp. Snow crumbles from his boots and leaves an icy shine behind. There’s a broom beside the door and he does his best to sweep the mess to the drain in the center of the basement floor.

Something weary weighs on him. He feels heavy all the time, tired beyond belief, and like a hole might open up in his chest at any moment, like the heart of him might slip out, bloody and mangled, right onto the floor.

This isn’t the first town he’s stumbled onto, lost and wandering, unable to stay in Texas without thinking of his girl. It is the first town he’s stayed in longer than a week.

It’s been near a year since she passed in that hospital, machines turned off, chest ceasing to rise and fall.

He thought he could take it, be strong, be there as his child died right in front of him.

He’d had to agree to it after all, sign all the right papers and talk to all the right people, and get a thousand and one second opinions from all kinds of doctors to be sure.

No brain activity. No chance of ever waking up. Hung in limbo forever, and he couldn’t abide that, that maybe she was in pain and trying to move on and leave and find rest and he wasn’t letting her.

They assured him that she would not feel a thing, and that was good, but no one warned him that he would be the one taking it all on. It felt like being carved open, split down the middle, like he was raw and turned inside out and someone was holding a hot needle to his lungs.

He hadn’t been able to help the way he fell to his knees and howled, sobbed.

So, after the funeral, he sold his house and left. Did odd jobs and backbreaking seasonal work for almost a year, a different town every week, until he stumbled on this mining town, deep in the hills of some place long forgotten.

By the looks of the buildings, it might have been busy once, trains and visitors and people, but the mines feel like they’ve been there since the beginning of time. There’s something ancient in the air and down in the deep earth.

Maybe he stays because he got into town on the anniversary of the accident.

He’s goddamn stupid if he doesn’t think it has nothing to do with you, though.

Joel should have already moved on when he heard about your little inn, in the bar down the street, but snow had moved in, so thick and white, he couldn’t see more than an inch in front of his face. The roads would be bad for days after, the least he could do was get away from that shitty company housing while he waited, and get a few more days of pay.

But the roads cleared, and a week passed, and then another, and another, and he still hasn’t met that urge to keep moving, to put space between him and Sarah. He only thinks of her when he’s trying to sleep, and those fateful Sundays.

The kitchen is empty and cold when he closes the basement door behind him, a thin wind spiraling in from the cracked open back door.

The porch is dark but the outline of you is clear, sitting on the plastic-covered porch swing with a cigarette between your fingers. “Those things’ll kill ya they say,” he says by way of greeting, leaning against the siding.

“And what exactly do you go breathing in everyday down in them mines that’s so healthy?” There’s a snap in your voice that usually isn’t there, that mean streak that lashes out from time to time.

Joel pulls the door almost shut, shuts the little bit of light leaking outside away. “Are you all right?”

“Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he says. “Should I leave ya?”

It takes a minute for you to answer. “Get a coat and come sit.” After a second you add, “If y’want.”

So he gets a coat and sits next to you on the swing. The plastic crinkles under his thighs. “Do you smoke?”

“I used to.” He should leave it at that but more words follow that he doesn’t intend. “Stopped years ago, a couple months before my - my daughter was born.” He falters a little on the words.

Joel braces himself, stiffens, all the bone and muscle inside of him going deadly tight, waiting for the inevitable questioning. Maybe you don’t care to ask or maybe you feel him tense or hear something in his voice because you don’t ask.

Something pricks at him, disappointment maybe.

“Well, it’s just us here,” you say simply. “You want one?”

Sarah never knew he smoked.

He takes the one you offer and the packet of matches.

“I don’t usually,” you say without prompting. “Smoke, that is. Sometimes when I drink.”

Joel takes a long drag and holds it in his lungs for a long minute. It feels good and tastes as bad as he remembers. “Card night.”

You smile at him, cigarette slowly brought to your lips. “That’s right.”

He almost asks what it is that has you smoking without your friend, but he figures you’re about to tell him anyway. You talk a lot. He likes that about you.

So he waits.

And you don’t say anything.

There’s just a long melancholy silence where your words normally are.

On a usual evening, he comes upstairs and bothers you about letting him help you some way. You don’t like letting people help you, like it even less when he just does it anyway.

On a usual evening, he’s threatened with expulsion from the kitchen, and then gets caught up on local dramas, some of which he is beginning to understand, while he sits at the table with a cup of coffee and you pretend to never need help.

The snow makes a sound as it hits the piles of the stuff that has yet to melt, frozen hard and unforgiving everywhere.

He’s never been around snow, much less sat outside as it fell.

The whole world goes quiet with it, like he got sucked into a black hole and sound got swallowed up around nothing.

And in the silence, he can hear the individual plunks of each flake settling onto the frozen ground. He wouldn’t have thought it made a sound at all.

“You sure you’re all right?” He asks and slips one arm across the back of the swing, realizing that you never answered him in the first place.

You just draw in another long breath and inch closer to him on the swing.

Maybe he’s not as crazy as he thought. When you look at him, there’s something in your eyes, a grief that he feels reflected back in your eyes, sharp like a tack shoved into the delicate skin between thumb and forefinger.

The ache in his chest is present on your face.

“Just one of those days,” you say and smile. “Sorry I’m not myself.”

You’re plenty yourself, just muted. Quiet.

He does quiet pretty well, so you just sit there and listen to the snow, breathe it in, shudder against his arm until he just wraps it around you, trying not to put too much thought into it.

You don’t look at him. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

He’s not sure how long you sit there. He just knows he’s numb when your hand covers his, your fingers feel hot against the freezing ache that’s set in.

“My dad was a miner. Pretty much everybody is around here, I guess. Those mines,” you say and shake your head. “They give. We wouldn’t exist without ‘em, but they take too. They take what they think they’re owed in the end. You can’t take that much out of Earth that old and expect nothin’ bad.” You hesitate for a long moment but when Joel squeezes your hand, you continue. “My dad died in a mine collapse around this time a couple years ago. So I guess that’s what I'm thinkin’ about today.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and, slowly, your head tips against his shoulder. The cigarettes are stubbed out, the butts deposited in an ashtray. “Usually, this time of year all the snow is already gone. And then the rains come and everything floods. And that spring, the mine collapsed with it.”

He thinks of telling you of his own grief, his own loss, and the way he ran away from it. The way he’s still trying to run away from it. But something sharp twinges in his chest and he stays silent. Layering his grief over yours wouldn’t help no one, least of all you.

Telling someone about her, someone who didn’t know her, having to describe her — he wants to, and can’t imagine doing it, all in one.

Maybe it isn’t right to, anyway.

Instead, he squeezes your hand, tilts his chin against your forehead. “You always run this place?”

“No. Back when there were people still passing through, my aunt did. It’s not like there’s much else to do around here so I just decided to keep it going when she left.”

“It’s nice.”

“Think so? One day it’ll be a five star hotel.”

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt it. Almost too rich for my blood now.”

“Honorary guest,” you disagree. “Always. Room reserved for you, just in case.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious,” you laugh and relax fully against his shoulder; the tension bleeds out of you, the curve of you spilling softly into him.

You sit like that for a long time, until the snow stops coming down.

It’s then that the world does go silent as a grave, like the two of you are the last people alive.

“It’s been real nice havin’ you here,” you say suddenly and quietly, like someone might hear, like you might disturb him. The puff of your breath clouds, crystalizes in front of him like something physical he might pluck from the air and put in his pocket.

Glad to have been here, glad to be here, he wants to say and doesn’t. It feels wrong to be glad to be anywhere at all.

When you tilt your face up, your eyes are soft. He doesn’t even think about it.

He just kisses you.

You taste like blackberries, dark sweet and sour. The cigarette on your tongue is only an afterthought. The sound you make when he cups your head in his hands and tips it back, rehomes itself in his chest.

When he pulls you into himself, you sigh.

Five days later, it’s a Sunday. Another snowstorm is passing through the hills, and any snow that had managed to melt that week comes right back.

Joel only realizes when he’s brushing his teeth—preoccupied with thinking about maybe not going hunting for once, and cleaning the damn rifle instead—that it’s unusually cold. He rinses his mouth out and goes to find you.

The steps creak and crack as he descends them, like they’re covered in a spiderwebbed ice that might split and send him into some achingly cold depth if he isn’t careful.

He finds you bundled up in a coat by the backdoor, a scarf wound halfway up your face, just your eyes visible above the fabric.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice muffled and eyes wide. “The heating went out and there’s nothin’ to be done about it until the snow clears up a little and it ain’t supposed to until tomorrow.” You shake your head. “Never snows this goddamn much or this late in the season,” you gripe, a bitterness in your voice.

“Well, that ain’t your fault,” he says, watching you wiggle your fingers into a pair of gloves. He thinks you’re just layering up, but when you reach for your boots by the back door it becomes apparent that you intend to go outside. “And just where do you think you’re goin’?”

You pick up a basket next and reach for the doorknob. “I need wood for the fireplace—”

“Then let me get it for ya,” he says, stepping into his own boots, tugging the basket out of your hands as he goes. “You’ll freeze out there.”

“No, Joel, you’re a guest here—”

“C’mon,” he says. “It ain’t like that now and you know it.” You don’t say anything but when he looks up, you’re frowning at him. “We got anyone else around?”

“Just—it’s just me and you.”

He doesn’t know why you sound so upset about it. “Good. Now where’s the wood?”

You blink and glance away, pulling at your gloves nervously. “In the shed. Should be enough little pieces but the ax is by the door if some of it needs broken up.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll have some coffee ready for you.”

“You don’t gotta do that.” He opens the door, snow swirls in.

“I’m doin’ it anyway.” Then. “Joel?”

He turns.

“Thanks.”

He’s not sure what he’s being thanked for and you still aren’t really looking at him, so he nods and plunges into the white blur that is the back yard, the whip of blizzard wind harsh against his face.

Inside the shed he finds that more of the wood does need axed.

He can’t get the way you looked at him out of his mind. You’ve been busy the last couple days, always out or taking care of something, pushing away any of his attempts to. . .what? He isn’t sure. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he made things complicated, messed something up along the way.

He fears that pushing has nothing to do with the grief that had made a home on your face that evening you spent on the porch together, but what came after and what he hadn’t said.

You have been different too. Like something wary and stiff.

He chops the wood, feels every lift and swing of the ax. It seems to ache more in the cold. Everything does.

Joel shoves the wood into the basket and stacks the extra pieces back onto the pile. The house is marginally warmer than outside without the brutal slice of the wind. He leaves his boots by the back door and finds you poking around in the grate of the fireplace.

You back away when he approaches and it stings that you do.

“Somethin’ the matter?”

“No. ‘Course not.”

But there is. Some kind of wall went up between you the other night. He should have said something. “All right. I’m, uh, I’m gonna get outta your hair for a while.”

He doesn’t think of being in a blizzard, just that he needs to get out of your house before you ask him out of it, before you kick him out of it.

The only thing he can think is that he doesn’t mean shit to you. Somewhere along the way, things got messed up, like they always do. His ex-wife’s face flashes behind his eyes, all that happened with her, all of it that always seemed to be his fault.

Joel grabs his gear and goes out into the blue-white of the snow and makes his usual trek to a spot up in the hills. He sits with his back to a tree and listens to the way the weather beats down. The metal of the rifle goes ice cold between his knees, the bluster of the wind coats him in a perfect white.

He might just be the only living thing out. The world is quiet apart from that brutal, beautiful shush of wind through trees and snow through air.

He’d be ashamed to admit it, but the only thing he thinks about that day, is you.

Joel’s hair is still damp and curling lightly against the back of his neck when he finds his way to the kitchen.

He’d come back frozen to the bone, ice in his hair and eyebrows and the webbing of his lashes. It’s all melted now, and you have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him there, the back of his neck where you know his skin is soft, the feathery thick hair that grows a little long these days.

“You have a minute?” Joel asks, right hand toying with the strap of his watch. He’s looking at you the way he always does lately, like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A stab of guilt rakes pointed talons along your belly.

You did that, you always do that.

Stop it, you think. Don’t do that this time.

“Hey,” you nod, trying. “Sure, I do. Was gonna ask you to come sit with me anyhow.”

He pauses, takes the cup of coffee when you extend it to him, fresh brewed, a peace offering of sorts. Peace over what, you don’t know. “Y’were?” He sounds surprised, takes the cup from you, his fingers brushing yours.

“Sure,” you answer, swiping your hand over your thigh. His gaze follows. “It’s just s’cold upstairs. Electricity’ll be out ‘til tomorrow probably. At the earliest. So.”

He nods and looks down into his cup and you feel bad about the last week again. Of how you’re pushing again and don’t know how to stop. You held him at arm's length, made sure you were out and busy and away, watched him stop smiling at you again, replaced instead by uncertainty.

It’s unfair.

He should probably hate you over it.

You wonder why he’s still here.

When he looks up at you, you smile and his shoulders relax marginally. “All right. I’m gonna get more wood, then I’ll be there.”

You show him the bottle of whiskey when he comes back inside, smelling of frozen air and pine. “Just to stay warm,” you promise.

He doesn’t say no to the drink you pour him, or the way you inch closer to him.

Because it’s cold, you tell yourself, just like it had been on the porch that other time.

The pull of longing in your chest hasn’t eased since then. You shouldn’t have let him, you’re bad at hanging on to people and afraid they’ll disappear, and you’d rather hurt by choice. You’d rather be alone and ache.

But Joel is here and real and still in front of you, still looking at you.

It’s terrible because he wants you to know things about him and you want to run away. You want to push him away, until he leaves or hates you or both. He brought up his daughter and even though you think it might have been an accident, you think he might have wanted you to ask about her.

And you hadn’t.

He doesn’t make it any easier on you by being warm and solid and pressing an offering open arm along the back of the couch.

Just like the other time.

You accept it, because it's cold. Just because it’s cold.

It has nothing at all to do with the way he strokes your shoulder and tugs you close to him, the way his head tilts down over yours when you press the cold tip of your nose into his neck by accident and then leave it there on purpose.

You aren’t expecting him to say anything. The guttering of the candles lulls you to sleep, the pepper of white snow against the black swirl outside soothing. “You know,” the sound of his voice rumbles against your ear. “I didn’t know snow made noise.”

You blink. “What?”

“That sound it makes. When it’s real quiet, you can hear it land.”

“Suppose you can, yeah.”

“My daughter,” he starts and your breath hitches. The broken eggshell of memory delicately being pressed into the palms of your hands. You’re being trusted with something. “She only saw snow once, I think. Real slushy and wet. Not like you get around here. And I don’t remember it makin’ a noise.”

You swallow the instinct to change the subject, to say something dismissive, to push and push.

“Did she like it?” You ask after a moment. “The snow?”

“Yep. Got off from school. Made the world’s tiniest snowman. Maybe only a foot high. Made snow angels that turned out to be more mud than snow. My brother thought that was real funny.”

You laugh and lean into his shoulder. He smells like snow and damp cotton and gun oil. “What’s her name?”

Assuming. No, hoping. You are hoping that he’s just missing her, that the chipped china memory in your palm is of a girl he misses and doesn’t mourn. But you could tell the other day, you could tell by his voice and the way he isn’t with her. If he had a choice, he’d be with her.

Joel isn’t like you.

He’s not the kind to leave someone behind.

He clears his throat. “Sarah. She was, uh, she was twelve.”

“Oh. Oh, Joel. I’m sorry.”

And you are. That is a loss no one should ever know, and Joel is not the kind to carry it well. It leaves those purple circles under his eyes, burrows deep ruts into the arteries to his heart, half his blood just drained away. It leaves the coffee pot empty, it whispers fourteen hour work days, and still no sleep.

It pushes a rifle into hands that always come back without game.

“Anyway, I think she would have liked this shit,” he gestures to the snow beyond the window with the mug in his hand, coffee and whiskey. “Think she would have liked it here.”

“It’s okay, when you get to know the place.” You follow his eyes. “It’s home, anyway.”

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

What part he’s agreeing with, you aren’t sure you want to know.

He looks at you again, and you can’t bear to meet his gaze through the dark that’s fallen on the room, to see too deeply into what lay there. Sharing his daughter with you, that she died so young. A lot of things about him suddenly fall into place in your mind.

The grief and the love with no place to go. It makes sense why he’s there, running away from something that could never be ignored.

You take the cup from him and pull him up by the hand.

He fits against you, pulled in tight, so easily. You feel the brush of his mouth against your cheek, his fingers against your back.

You sway, and there’s no music. You want to say that you’re sorry again. Not for his daughter, because he wouldn’t want to hear it, but for everything else — the running you’re both doing, the snow and the cold, and how clear it is that everything in the world looks like grief and loss and the big hole in his chest.

“I think you should ask Joel to get a drink.”

Janie pauses mid-chop, knife hanging in the air. Your friend the baker turns to look at you over her shoulder. “What did you just say?”

You wince and fiddle with the edge of your sweater. “Joel. You should ask him.”

“Now why,” she starts, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “Would I go and do somethin’ like that?”

“Well, I think y’all would be good together—”

She sighs heavy and long, rolling her eyes as she sits down across from you and takes your hand in hers, still wet from rinsing the vegetables off. “You’re doin’ it again, you know.”

“Doin’ what?” You snap, yanking your hand back, accusatory.

“As soon as you think somebody is getting too close you push ‘em away. I know you know what you’re doin’. And I know if I hadn’t had the sense to hold onto you so hard all them years ago, you woulda done the same to me. And we’d just be neighbors.”

She raises a brow at you when you sputter. But it’s true. You know it’s true.

It happens all the time, with everyone. It always hits you so hard, the sudden smothered feeling, the scared, confused, cornered animal feeling, when hanging onto something seemed impossible and wrong.

“You know that man don’t want nothin’ to do with me.”

“He always answers the door to you in the mornings,” you defend weakly.

“As a favor to you. He does everything for you, and I know you noticed or you wouldn’t be trying to pass him off on me. You don’t gotta be so avoidant. Not everything disappears.”

You know, but you what you don’t know is how to stop it. The sharp talons and fangs that spring out whenever someone gets too close are always a surprise. You hate it when people care about you, when you care about them.

It’s like there’s a box around you, growing smaller with each passing second. So, you flee, before the box crushes you, or before the thing trapped in there with you gets to do it first.

That’s what you’re really afraid of, after all, not that someone might care about you, but that they one day might stop.

“I told him about my dad,” you admit.

Janie freezes, blinks, and then looks over at you. You look back at her, miserable about it. “Oh, honey.”

“And he. . .you shoulda seen the way he—” The way he looked at you. You almost tell her about Sarah, but don’t. That loss isn’t yours to tell, no matter what, even if it would tell her exactly how close he’s drifted to you.

You don’t know what to call it, anyway. The way he looked at you the night of the snowstorm, the air chilled and the whole world cold except for the two of you pressed together. His hand in yours, the mocking remembrance that you had forgotten in that moment to feel trapped.

No, that had come later. When you couldn’t breathe before going to bed, when your skin felt pinched and tight. That moment is tinged in your mind with the heaviness of a hand pinching the back of your neck, instead of the gentle press of fingers to your spine, his mouth against your cheek but not your lips, not again.

“He’ll leave soon and it won’t matter,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “He’s got to be goin’ soon. I know it.”

She pats your hands again, pity in her gaze. “It will matter, and you know it. But it seems to me he’s stuck. And it isn’t this town or those mines that are keeping him here. He wants to hang on. You should, too, for once. He’s looked like nothin’ but a kicked dog lately, and one that might bite at that.”

The snow melts over the next couple of weeks, temperatures rise rapidly. For a while, the sun shines, the weather is nice; the skies a purest bluest blue.

Joel doesn’t leave.

He smokes more on the back porch, his eyes far away and haloed with something distant. He stops hunting on Sundays, and starts going fishing at the lake instead, and unlike before he brings back a haul.

For a minute, it seems like things might be okay. You don’t allow yourself to have any more quiet, secret moments with him, but you don’t push either. You try not to push.

But you wonder if he wants that, if he might have wanted to kiss you again when the heat went out and you were stupid enough to let yourself reel him back to you.

Then, one day, the rains come. Clouds so black they appear blue roll in and sit heavy in the sky for a day, winds whipping the leaves of the trees back so their bellies show. Old warnings about just how bad the weather was about to get.

The skies open up, and the rain doesn’t stop.

For weeks.

Suddenly all anyone can talk about are the floods and the landslides that are likely to happen any day.

You wish they wouldn’t, or at least not to you, or have the decency not to look at you with pity when they talk about it. What if there’s a mine collapse? Well, you think, that too is likely.

The creeks swell until they look like rivers; the rivers glut themselves with so much rainwater the levees threaten to bend and break, the banks of the lake disappear, silt stirred so deeply that the whole lake goes brown with it.

Joel stops fishing.

You expect them to close the mines, at least for a while. But the coal companies have never cared about any of you, and they weren’t about to start.

“Mornin’,” he says, his voice a soft grumbling rumble.

“Hi,” you say, not turning away from your spot by the window, watching the rain pour down seemingly harder.

The rain and all it could wash away, makes you anxious. Makes the whole town anxious. Flooded river plains and lake shores, mountainsides crumbling down to sweep everything away. It’s embedded in you, something your body learned generations before you were born.

A generational curse, a landscape that could steal everything, that had and would again.

“You okay?”

The sound of the coffee pot sliding out of place, liquid being poured, ceramic clicking down onto the counter.

“Yeah. The rain makes me anxious.”

“All anyone talks about are the floods.”

“Same way every year,” you shrug, like it doesn’t keep you awake at night. Like you haven’t stopped sleeping and pace all night long. “Hard thing to forget, once it happens to you.”

Joel makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and joins you at the window. “It’s gettin’ lighter every day, at least.”

You think he means it to comfort you.

“The sound, though.”

The sound of rain tapping at the window is like nails on a chalkboard — warning.

He covers your hand with his for just a second, the squeeze of his fingers around yours barely felt. “I know.”

Too close.

It’s too close.

You don’t want him to know that.

You move your hand before his skin has fully left yours, jerking away like you’ve been stung.

He clears his throat and shifts, floorboards squeaking awkwardly beneath his socked feet.

Socked feet. Hand on yours, rough skin against yours. Tender words, gentle tone.

It all feels like he knows too much, wants too much. You take a step away from the warmth he radiates under the guise of reaching for the handle of the dishwasher. “You think you’ll be movin’ on soon?”

A surprised silence follows your words. “What?”

“It’s just you been here awhile.”

He doesn’t answer and you start to unload the dishwasher, carefully stacking the ceramic on the counter even though you’d normally just put them up in the cabinets. “Big waste of money, stayin’ somewhere like here for so long. If you’re waitin’ for better pay or something, I can tell you it won’t happen. Not even if you talk to the union.”

A long silence follows your words. It’s a buzzing, angry silence. “You ain’t even gonna look at me?”

You shrug and your body continues on autopilot, still not looking at him, stacking dishes one after another.

Clink, click, clink.

The door to the basement doesn’t exactly slam, but it shuts much harder than usual.

You sit the mug in your shaking hands down on the counter and stare at it without seeing.

The pressure in your chest isn’t gone. It never is, after. You push and push and push, until they finally let go. And then the loneliness and pain rub their hands together and slip back into their comfortable home in your chest. It’s almost a relief to have it back.

God, why does someone knowing something about you, caring about you, feel like getting your arteries ripped out, one fine line at a time? Why does it feel like your skin is shrinking and your throat is closing up?

Your eyes sting and you wish you wouldn’t have said it.

But you did and he’d be on his way soon enough and everything would be simple again.

You can remain in your little box all alone with carefully constructed walls that push everyone to the periphery of your life. They belong at arms length where you believe it won’t hurt you when they leave, where you convince yourself you’ll have enough time to recognize the signs and do it first.

He can’t get any closer, can’t see anymore than he already has.

Joel has to leave. You have to push him away, before he makes the choice himself and leaves you bleeding.

But Joel isn’t like you, you think again. He’s not the kind to leave someone behind.

The rain comes down harder.

The house rattles with it.

You think about the mines flooding, and finally cry.

Joel doesn’t leave, but you can tell he’s trying to figure out how to. He’s trying to leave because you want him to, and that’s what matters.

You don’t know how he picks where to roam next and you don’t care. You’re glad he’s going to leave.

He doesn’t eat dinner with you anymore, barely nods at you when you see him though you try to be busy with something else when he comes in in the evenings, or not in the kitchen at all, not in the house at all.

Joel leaves so early in the morning that you don’t see him then either. The ache that slices like a knife through the ventricles of your heart tears open a little wider each day. He makes the coffee now, and always makes enough for you, too, the pot left on to keep it warm for you. One morning you find an envelope in the center of your kitchen table.

Panic overcomes you, until you open it and find a week’s worth of money. Scrawled on the outside, I’m sorry to keep imposing.

You rip the envelope up, angry, because you don’t want to think about what it means that you got scared. Fear that he had already been gone.

Near a week later, late in the afternoon, when the sky is a deep purple, Janie knocks on your backdoor. Her voice is frantic. She smells like raw flour and sliced apples.

There’s mud on her boots and that’s the only thing you can think of as she talks at you, her voice far away.

You think about the mud on her boots and her boots on your floor and how she always takes them off on the porch no matter what.

She’s still talking, words flowing a million miles an hour, and you just think about the smell of bread and how she normally, always, takes her boots off.

She shakes you by the shoulders suddenly, hands clamped tight against your skin. “Did you hear me?” She asks urgently. “One of the mines collapsed.”

“Which one?” You snap, reality snapping sharply into relief. “Which one? They're all shut down but one. Which one?”

One that is empty, or not? The one with people, or not? The one with Joel, or not?

“I don’t know. Nobody seems to know but—”

You pull your raincoat off the hook by the door and shove your feet into the first pair of shoes you see, and dart out and into the rain, the hale of it cold against your skin and your face.

It’s been a cold year. This time last year, it was warm and sunny already, things like a mine collapse a far off, unreal, non-possibility.

The mud sucks at your boots but soon enough you’re on the road and running.

You run and run and don’t feel the burn in your lungs or the pain in your thighs. There’s nothing that will keep you from getting there. The town is small and built in relation to the mines.

You’ve always been a mining town and so it’s not far. It shouldn’t take you long to get there.

Joel walks in the mornings. It’s not far.

But time moves slow, and your body seems to move even slower than that.

Shouldn’t you have known? Shouldn’t you have felt something? The beating heart of the earth tearing something away; that primordial, knowing pit taking back what had been taken from it? What it was owed in return?

Not him. Not him.

He didn’t owe this stretch of Earth anything. And it is not owed him.

The hills and mountains rise up around you, the comforting presence of them, like ancient, silent sentries, suddenly loom a little more sinister. Crumbling and old and vengeful, just waiting to swing a fist down on something you cared about, something you loved, something you always try to push away. Because it would always be destroyed. The town, or a neighbor’s house, or the banks of the swollen river and lake eating up precious farmland.

That’s one thing, though.

Towns and houses can be rebuilt, the banks of rivers and lakes and the sides of mountains reinforced — other things, well, you can never get back.

He has to be okay. When you wanted him to leave, this is not what you meant. This is not what you wanted.

You move backwards in your mind, mapping out all the times Joel has come home. Where he’d usually be in his journey to your house after work.

It used to be he only came home after dark, but spring has arrived and the sun stays longer each day, and you think you should meet him on the road. You should find him at any moment; unless the mine collapsed and he was unlucky, trapped and lost and suffocating; or lucky and already dead.

The road twists and turns. You have to slow because you live in the hills, everything and everywhere is steep. Your chest starts to burn and you wish the trees hadn’t started to get their leaves yet even though it's so late in the season because then you’d be able to see further, you’d be able to spot him earlier.

Maybe it’s too early for him to already be along the road.

Your coat is soaked and so is the little house dress you’re wearing. Your shins and ankles feel cold from the rain and the chill in the air.

But then you bolt around a bend, and there he is.

His name jumps out of your mouth, careens across the gravel road, and echoes around the valley through the din of the still falling rain. It sounds lush against the leaves. It sounds horrible against drain pipes and gravel.

He looks surprised right before you crash into him and lock your arms around his neck. He drops his backpack and catches you, arms circling you tightly.

“Joel.”

“Hey—” The sound of his voice makes your knees weak and you’re afraid for a moment you might slip to the ground, into the graveled mud, and dissolve along with the rain.

“The mine collapsed,” you say, feeling the grit of coal dust beneath your cheek, the warmth and weight of him leaning back into you, strong arms tight around you. His palm slides against the back of your neck, thumb stroking slowly.

“I know it.” His voice is gentle, like you’re a startled, feral dog that might turn on him at any second. “S’why I’m on my way back now.”

You start to shake and cry and he just rubs your back and tugs you more firmly into his chest. He seems to understand what’s wrong. His palm settles against the back of your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his chest as the rain continues to siphon down over you. It’s all right. I’m all right. He repeats and repeats and repeats. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

“Hey,” he pulls back eventually, the cups of his palms cradling your face, pushing the tears away. “I’m gettin’ you all dirty.”

“I don’t care,” you grip his sleeves, press your hands over his. His face is streaked with gray so deep it appears purple, like there are bruises latticed over his face. “I don’t care. And I’m sorry.”

“All right.”

It’s too late, you think. Too little too late, pushed too far, and by your own hand, so you have no one to blame but yourself.

But he’s alive and he’s okay and something precious has not been reaped by the Earth.

You try to step back but he steps with you, not letting you go. Apologies swim to the back of your throat again, heavy on your tongue, but he’s already shaking his head at you.

Hazel eyes stare deep into yours, rivulets of water snaking down the side of his face, tracing through the coal and dirt. You don’t look away from him this time.

Your words get trapped, congested and clogged, sticky and stuck together.

“Joel—”

“Let’s get outta the rain.” His hands slide down your face, briefly slot against your throat, and then trail down your shoulders and arms. “Let’s do that at least. Before you catch your death.”

“Okay.”

You bend down to scoop his backpack off the ground, surprised because he lets you keep it and keeps his hand threaded with yours. His skin is wet against yours, the crinkle of your fingers together just a little uncomfortable.

The rain comes down harder, lightning sparks, the angry slash of violence through the sky, thunder crackling right after.

The walk goes quicker than your run. Time is moving at a normal pace again, you can breathe again.

“I’ll meet ya in the kitchen,” he says when the town and your street resolves itself. He turns and takes his pack from you, pinches your chin between thumb and forefinger and tilts your face up. “All right?”

You nod and release his other hand, and watch him walk away. You know the moment he reaches the back of the house because you hear the clatter of the basement door opening.

You just stand in the front yard for a long moment as shadow fall, as the rain continues down harder than ever.

The rain pounds against the side of the house, the windows when you step inside. The tree your neighbors have been telling you to cut down for years sways ominously, lashing the front window and the siding. The noise of it is awful.

You stand there, dripping pools of water onto the kitchen floor, anxiously waiting for Joel to come up the steps, like you’d gone and pulled a ghost right up out of the ground. He’s all right, you tell yourself. He’s all right. Real and not some ghost.

When he comes up the steps, his gaze flicks slowly over you. He holds a hand out. “C’mon. ‘S get you cleaned up.”

You’re shivering. The material of the dress clings to your skin like webbed silk.

It’s so pathetic, the way he comforts you and the way you want him to. You shouldn’t let it happen. You feel stupid, all that worry after all that pushing.

He follows you up two sets of stairs, to the third floor, the loft where you reside even though so many of the rooms below always remain empty.

Joel settles you on the edge of the bathtub in your little bathroom and fishes around in the cabinets until he finds what it is he’s looking for. He doesn’t ask you where anything is and you don’t offer.

He smells like earth and pine. He doesn’t complain or pull away when you touch that hollow place in his cheek, when you stroke his beard and watch the muscle jump, jaw clenching and releasing.

“Joel,” you say when he kneels in front of you with a washcloth in his hand, a first aid kit open on the bathroom counter. “I’m not hurt.”

He just pats the water away from your face and hands and arms. “Y’are. Musta ran through brambles or somethin’. Legs are all torn up.”

The surprise is muted when you look down and find you have been scratched all to hell.

“I’m sorry,” you offer.

He shrugs. “Nothin’ to apologize for.”

The way he takes care of you is meticulous. Disinfectant and ointment and bandages wrapped around and around. You probably would have just rinsed the cuts out and slapped the biggest band aid on and called it a day, but that’s not good enough for him and that makes you want to cry.

There’s only so long you can handle sitting there, shivering, feeling the press of his very warm hands into your cool, bruised skin, before you’re slipping to the floor too, kneeling with him, asking for forgiveness for something that doesn’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry. And that’s not enough.”

“No.” Hands cupped around yours, stilling the anxious twist of them. “Shouldn’t’ve got so comfortable. I ain’t anyone to you—”

“But you are.”

The words bleed. They are red and bone white and raw and drop like stones between you. He thinks he means nothing. He doesn’t know. “You are. You are. And that’s why.”

Thunder rumbles, and this time, you kiss him.

There’s only a brief second of hesitation.

But then he pulls you in and doesn’t let go, doesn’t complain of the cool tiles and your cooler hands or the way you pull at his clothes.

Joel does jump when you press your hands to the small of his back, when your iced over fingers skim his belly, when you finally get to rake your nails against that coarse chest hair that makes your mouth go dry.

“Hey,” he’s cradling you to him, mouth desperate and eyes wild. “I’m here.”

Go easy with it, his voice asks. Go easy with me.

You knock your forehead against his. “I know.”

Joel nods and his fingers skim up your thighs, beneath the clinging material of your dress. He’s so warm, even though he’d been in the rain too, and his skin feels like it's burning, like the tips of his fingers might sink right down into your flesh.

Cloth parts beneath desperate hands. He cups your breasts in his palms, follows with his lips. Fingers tug your underwear down your legs, and then slide through the core of you, circling and stroking.

It should be a surprise that he’s so delicate with you, but it isn’t.

He kisses you again, his beard scratching pleasantly along your skin. You gasp into him and let him lie you back against the bathroom floor.

The rain continues outside, the lashing the house is getting a far off dream.

The only real thing in the world is Joel, his shoulders beneath your thighs, the clench of your belly, the ache that spreads everywhere.

He presses his forehead to yours when he’s inside you, eyes closed, jaw clenched.

Joel’s mouth parts, he groans into you.

It’s enough.

“Did you know that crows mate for life?”

Joel looks over at you.

Morning is sitting heavily on the windowsill, watching.

His limbs are heavy, sleep pulling at the corners of his vision, darkening the room and dampening the sound of the still falling rain. Your bed is comfortable, and your naked skin pressed to his even more so. “No,” he answers after a minute, just looking at the picture of you, plush curves, the soft spill of softer skin. “Do they?”

You roll onto your side, watchful eyes riveted to him. Slowly, maybe a little shyly, you stretch your arm across his belly. Your fingertips brush his side, and you use the grip to pull yourself even closer. The light is kind to you. You glow in it, lips swollen, the discoloration on your throat from his lips and beard highlighted.

Joel touches you there. You close your eyes for a moment.

“They do. They’re real social creatures, and when their mate dies they make this god awful noise. Sometimes they’ll carry sticks and stones and stuff to leave with the body, like a burial.”

“Mm. Not so different from people.” He thinks of Sarah, the last rise and fall of her chest, the noise that came out of him like something wrenched out of the bottom of his soul. He clears his throat but his voice still cracks a little. “Yeah, reckon we’re the same that way.”

You prop your chin on his shoulder. “Yeah,” you say, voice soft. “There used to be a flock that came around. Or, whatever they’re called, a murder, I think.”

“Murder?” He chuckles and you smile and it’s enough.

“Never heard of a murder of crows? Well, it’s true. The backyard was full of ‘em. For a long time, I fed ‘em. And they’d bring presents to me. Eventually they musta moved on, but a pair stayed. I know I sound crazy but I could tell they were in love. They were mated anyhow, even if they don’t feel love like people do.” You lean into his hand when he presses it to your cheek, like his skin isn’t rough and dry from working so hard, from the long, bitter winter; you lean in like it means something, like the pass of his thumb against the crest of your cheek means more to you than he can know.

He doesn’t know a thing about crows. It doesn’t really matter that he doesn’t, he has a feeling he already knows what you’re going to say.

The limbo he’s been in for weeks has finally ended, of knowing you wanted him to leave but not able to figure out how to give you what you wanted and feeling guilty for it. Just another person he couldn’t figure out how to love right.

Maybe this time hanging on was the right thing to do.

Your eyes flutter closed, head tilted close to his on the pillow, the swell of your body pressed to his. “It went on like that for years. I fed them and they brought me little gifts and everything was fine. And then one morning, there was only one. They mate for life. I never saw the other one again, and it was only a couple weeks, before the other one was gone too. It died.”

Joel leans in, presses his forehead to yours, the rain a painful tattoo against the roof and the windows and the whole wide world. You push into him, returning the comforting pressure, your skin still tacky with sweat. “So you see, I try to avoid being the second crow. But it just means I end up alone and wondering why there was never another crow in the first place.” Your eyes flick open and search his. “So, I’m sorry about everything. I never realize I’m — I don’t know I’m pushing until it’s too late. And I’ve never been good at holdin’ on.”

“I guess I’ve never been too good at lettin’ go,” he admits. “I’m the second crow.”

“I don’t want you to be,” you say. “I don’t want you to be the one left behind. And I don’t want you to leave.”

He nods and looks up at your ceiling. Carefully, you slide closer, until your head is heavy against his chest.

Things change a little.

The rain stops and with it you stop pacing through the nights. Before, he’d listen to the pace of your footsteps against his ceiling, the crack of old floorboards and the snaking sound of water down window panes.

You make every pretense of things being the same until night comes along and you ask him to stay with you. “I just won’t be able to stand it,” you say, nervous hands fisting around the edges of your sleeves. “If you go back to being just a guest. You mean more than that.”

He’s embarrassed to hear it, and likes to hear it all the same.

So, now, he listens to the long overdue hum of springtime insects nestled down into long sweet grass and between the branches of gently swaying trees, like all that snow and rain and blizzards and flooding never existed in the first place.

Most of all he listens to your breathing, slow and even, to replace the sound of your footsteps. The curve of your spine rests against his bicep, the ridge of it like the comforting heel of the mountains beyond your windows.

When he turns and tucks his arms around you, you relax and melt into him so easily it’s like it’s always been done.

So it goes, every single night.

Winter is over, spring arrives quiet.

Joel agrees to go to the town festival with you. Tiny, even by your standards, apparently.

Just some drinking and dancing and live music from a local band. A few games, for which the prizes are all donated.

Things go fine.

He doesn’t mind crowds, though he does prefer to hang on the edges of them.

The night is mild. Your arm repeatedly brushes his.

Joel finds he doesn’t mind that either, the way you stand so close and look at just him. There’s no shortage of eyes on either of you. And when you kiss him, he can practically feel the small town gossip sparkling and wasping in the air like lightning gold, like a thousand bees.

You don’t seem to notice, or maybe you don’t much care. Maybe you’re used to it.

Either way, you’re happy, and that matters to him. It matters to him that you’re happy, and safe, and that you feel those things with him.

“If you’re still here when its warm enough,” you say, “you’ll have to go swimming in the lake. It’s real nice down there.”

It already feels like summer. The air is balmy, the sinking, fading sun he feels like he hadn’t seen in months a red blaze on the horizon.

“Where else would I be?”

You give him a funny look and sip your drink, enthusiastically greeting a couple who approaches. Joel nods at them, takes a swig of his beer, and thinks of his kid. Sarah would have loved this kind of thing, all the people and noise.

He hasn't been hunting in weeks.

“You wanna dance with me?” You smile at him. “Just for one song.”

“Think I’ll say no?”

“I’m actually sure that you’ll say no, Joel.”

He just sets his drink down and offers you a hand. You grin so wide, it looks like it must hurt your cheeks. You don’t dance so much as sway together, pressed tightly together.

“Where else would I be?” He asks again.

“Somewhere else, I guess. Back home.”

Home. He hasn’t had one of those since Sarah died.

This place, as brutal an introduction as he’s had to it, is starting to feel like home. He wants to see the lake in the summer and the trees thick with leaves. The hills probably look beautiful, emerald forests not yet torn up for the things that laid beneath.

It only feels a little like a push.

Instead, he just says, “Yeah. Sure.”

You tip your chin heavily against his shoulder, the weight of your head comforting in its press there.

You aren’t always good about it. There’s a mean streak in you when you feel trapped. Today, you try.

“I’d like it if you stayed.” You say it against his throat, your fingers tangled into his hair, the movement of your hand fond. “If you wanted this to be home for a while.”

He nods, squeezes your hips. “And you should come see Austin. Instead of hearin’ about it. Reckon you might like it.”

“I think I probably would.”

The next morning, he calls his brother for the first time in over a year.

If you read this far, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. Thank you for reading and being here, and as always would love to hear anything you have to share. 💕

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

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