#so i think shed have a soft spot for her! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

undercoverpena · 4 months

Text

it means something

joel miller x f!reader | masterlist

summary: compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show; they make you glow, and feel like something worth choosing.

to @joelsflannel, i took aspects of all your prompts. i tried to make it fluffy, her a little romantic, i tried to give you a quote that i hope you adore, with a man i know you already love. and i sprinkled in a hard day for you, but with some stress-easing fun to unwind with. merry christmas <;3

wordcount: 3.2k warnings: softer!joel, soft sex (p in v), talks of love, jackson era joel, mentions of ellie, joel in a towel (like damn). written for @pedrostories secret santa event.

You’re tired, drained.

Somehow, you find yourself able to drag your feet from the livelier part of Jackson to the quieter, almost more peaceful part. The soles of your boots draw lines behind you, all of which will likely be covered by the newly settling snow within the hour.

It's picturesque, this place. The kind of location you expect would have once been on postcards that people would be sent to loved ones saying 'wish you were here'.

You don't have to wish.

If your eyes weren’t like pinholes, you’d take a second to admire it.

Stamp your boots in one spot, and enjoy the crunch of it under your feet. A thing you’d do on any other day, if not for the fact, that you were so ready to be in the warmth, to be with him—to curl into him and breathe in his scent.

The kind of scent which buries itself into your nose, to your soul. It wraps its fingers around you and digs its clutches into you. Not that you complain. You'd bathe in it if you could, happily letting him smear it over your skin whenever the two of you have the chance.

It’s why you continue to move. It's why you force one leg in front of the other, muscles begging for reprieve.

By the time you’re up the steps, fingers wrapping around the handle of the front door, you realise how badly you wish to shed your layers. Desiring nothing more than to slide out of your coat, unwrap your scarf, remove the hat, gloves and second pair of socks.

Twisting the handle, the door doesn't fight letting you inside. Instead, it welcomes you. Allowing you to move quickly inside, more than anyone would expect from someone so fatigued—removing the layers, hanging each in turn on the rack beside his.

A sight which tugs at something inside you. It loops its fingers around that feeling within, gently pulling—it is all warm, unexplainable; all hard to describe, but the closest word is lovely, nice—welcomed.

That feeling had been born before the end of days, but it had been nothing but an ember then. Now, it was a roaring fire, all lit by him.

You're sure he knows. Not that either of you talk about it. It added to the long list of things you never speak, not for his sake, but for yours.

Even when you first began your… thing with him, you’d found it as difficult as him to know what to call it. Especially, when it had all happened so randomly, with no explanation or sight that it would occur. It just did.

Smiling, you allow yourself a moment to think back to it. How warm it was. How the setting sun smudged an array of shades across the sky, how you'd been bitter about something, mumbling under your breath until a noise cut through your dismay. His laughter. All gruff and born from his throat. It had expelled into the space between the two of you, cut through your bad mood.

Because it had been louder than you’d ever heard it as the two of you walked back, as you did on so many other nights. But that night had felt so different—and it was.

One moment you were staring, and the next his lips found yours, all chapped, but soft. His fingers around your cheek, whispering your name so gently. Stroking your skin, all worn, a bit rough.

Now, the two of you are a habit. A routine.

Nothing has ever been discussed, nothing ever exchanged. Just some nights you ate dinner with him—knee pressed against his. Sometimes your things sat along his in his home, bobby pins and whatever book you were reading.

Some days Ellie let herself into your house, had made a bedroom out of one of your spares, and sometimes she asked if you wanted to come round to theirs.

The only constant thing is that at least once every week, your limbs found themselves tangled with his. His mouth latched itself onto your neck, hand grasping at your breast, fingers pinching the peak of your nipple as he gruffly told you how hard you’d gotten him.

You liked it. Craved it.

Enjoyed the way you took him apart as he focused on making you a mess.

You liked seeing his salt and pepper curls cling to his forehead, liked running your nails through the hair on the back of his neck—back arched into him, feeling fuller than you’d ever imagined you could. Hearing his gruff voice in your ear, saying words he'd never say if he wasn't buried to the hilt inside of you.

But then, you only call him Joel when he's between your thighs too.

"Miller?"

His name rings around the first floor of the house.

Checking the package in your pocket, you sigh as the day drips from your tight muscles. Hand moving to rub the back of your neck, staring at Ellie's half-open comic and the pencils you'd lent her over the table.

You knew she wouldn't reply, not when tonight was movie night. A Christmas one, she'd told you. She had already let it slip she was going, told you as she kept watch on the door so you could continue your surprise for him.

Her request for you to join her faded when you looked up at her, likely seeing the same look which now greets you in the dust-covered mirror.

Kicking off your boots, and removing one layer of socks, you sigh at the way your feet can all of a sudden breathe—even inside his thick socks. Wiggling your toes, you smile as you begin to curl and unfurl them, before your hand finds the bannister, dragging yourself up the stairs until you reach his room.

His empty room.

Heart falling, you consider calling out again. Using his first name this time—letting each of the four letters carry around the house.

But, his bed looks comfortable. It calling to you. Somehow finding yourself lying on it, your face pressed into his sheets, your bones and muscles sighing in relief that you're in a bed.

Eyes wishing to flutter shut, body unwinding against the mattress, the sheets. It’s on the third heavy exhale, do you realise you hear water. It falls in pitters and patters, distantly, likely from the bathroom across the hall.

That’s when a smile curls across your face because you’ve always found comfort in the sound of running water.

Whether it’s rivers or rain, and showers or leaks. It reminds you of calmness, of things fading from reach—washing away, starting anew. Memories of times trying to colour themselves in your mind, fading before they do as sleep tries to coax you away.

The only thing which displaces the grip sleep has on you, is the comforting sight that comes to a stop at the foot of the bed.

Steam swirling around him, all broad shoulders and still damp skin—the hair on his chest, arms, and stomach, clinging in half-swirled curls and straight lines, the towel clutched at his hip.

The first time you saw Joel Miller naked, you’d almost lost the function to speak. All man—all soft and muscle simultaneously. Something constructed from fantasies, made in real life, carved and moulded by hands you think never thought he’d be real. You were close to not being able to speak all over again now.

Eyes tracing, outlining and shading—squirrelling away a sketch of him you’ll think about when the other side of the bed is cold and not filled with him.

“Didn’t hear you come in.”

You hum, lifting up onto your elbows, admiring him, finding him doing the same—even if you suspect you’re not half as good-looking right now as he is.

Least of all when he takes your ankle in hand, moving you sideways with him as steps between your legs now hanging off the bed, the fabric of his towel brushing over your jeans, his palms coming down on the mattress on either side of your neck, staring at you with a look of concern.

“Y’not been sleepin’?”

“Just been busy,” you reply, arms looping around his neck. “Not lots of time to rest.”

You suppose at some point between summer and winter, things became soft—less about need and company, and something along the lines of real.

In another world, one not ridden with fungi and death, you suppose it would have been labelled, added something which tied the two of you together—something meaning more to others than it likely would do to you.

Smiling, you force your eyes to open properly. Watching that look of hunger slowly bleed out over the concern, vanishing entirely when you smirk. If the two of you were different, you suspect you'd tell him you miss him. Tell him you've thought about him.

Instead, you whisper, “Want you, Joel.”

Even more so when you trace the words over his mouth. Aware of his hands on your jeans, and how he's popped open the button, how he's dragging down the zipper. The fabric freely slides from your skin as your hands slide down, dropping to the towel at his waist—thumb digging over it, all ready to pull, unravel it. “Need you.”

His eyes narrow swallowed in darkness. “Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your lips, dragging your fingers to the tuck, undoing it, not taking your eyes off him. Seeing something in his eyes that is more than just reciprocation of the words spoken, but the ones left unsaid.

“You want me?”

However, you’ll have me.

You’re not sure you speak it, but you're sure he hears it all the same.

For how aloof people think he is, he’s a man who listens—not just to the crunch of branches and the rustle of trees, but to the things people don’t say. He hears their secrets and pulls away their lies. Skills he told you one night he levelled up in when the world tried to keep taking more than it had already.

You suppose it’s how he knows you, your body, what you want and what you crave.

More so as he tangles his tongue with yours, all heady—gripping him firm, tightly as his fingers snake between the two of you. Desperation thrumming through your fingers as you push them into his skin, into his muscles—feeling the coil tighten as he moves his fingers with nothing short of precision. Knowing you, having mapped you out, learnt your cues—it’s why you don’t fight it, the incoming wave ready to drench your taut muscles, let him undo you, unravel you out so you’re nothing but spread out for him.

He likes it like that, you can tell. Likes how you surrender to him, how you lay out for him, letting him move you how he needs you.

It used to be rough, desperate—pure carnal. But, it’s been replaced by something else, something not soft or romantic, but you’re sure it’s a distant relative.

Once you’d gotten a bruise on your hip that pulsed, shifted in shades from being nudged against your kitchen table. Now when he leaves them, he traces them with his thumb, hoping to suck out the sting. Because now you’re treated to comfort—too recently washed bedding and his fingers inside your cunt as your body bends into him, practically curls, sings, hums.

“Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

Compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show. Each lick of his gaze makes you glow, and feel like something worth choosing, having been picked, plucked—and placed on some mantle you don’t even mind being perched on.

Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, breathing a struggle, practically gasping, you mumble his name—murmur it, almost a whine. “Fuck me now, Joel. Want you inside of me.”

Then, you’re overwhelmed.

Bathed in both the scent of fresh soap, dewy skin and absolute fullness. Your legs wrapping, crossing at the ankles as he slides into the hilt—pausing, just as he always does, fingers brushing over your jaw until he’s tilting your chin.

That same look—the one you first witnessed after the kiss under the dusk.

It doesn’t vanish until you show him, either in a whisper of the magic words or a movement he can read as a spell. Your hips rolling, rocking—please, please.

Your hands take in the feel of him breathing, the way his chest expands, fills with the knowledge, the realisation, nails digging, almost all in order. One he answers, delivers, fucking stamps.

Joel makes your toes curl, makes white noise appear in your ears, and makes you forget every important thing you’ve ever filed away. All hot, scorching against your skin as you grasp him closer, hoping you’ll be smothered in burns—hoping the same when you swallow his grunts, his hisses off your name. His hips pistoning, aiming to send you over the edge before him, hands—riddled with the evidence of his survival and his new hobby keep you rooted, don’t allow you to wander off into bliss without him.

“Too good f’me, sweetheart.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, right against your pulse, before he licks against what beats under your skin.

You snort amidst your whine, clutching all the strings which keep you whole as you close your eyes—banish him from looking into your soul. He’s seen all there is there, let him in before, provided flashes, evidence of your shattered soul and broken mentality. It comes to the surface easier here, when your walls suck him in, and your body calls for him in a chorus of pleading and begging.

Because you’re close—not needing too much from him tonight, the sight of him is enough. The knowledge of his existence, knowing he’s yours without confirmation.

“There, right there,” you moan, heels digging into the base of his back, feeling the jostle of him, the way he rears and fucks.

He smirks, shifting, just enough to make the head of his cock hit the spot which makes your thighs shake, tremble, fucking quake. His mouth still split open, words there on his tongue, all ready to drape over your skin—

But, you just feel it’s incoming arrival. All white-hot, blinding—too much pressure, yet needing just a little bit more. Your body is not yours, mind empty, gone, faded. You want to sink your teeth into him, bite down, cut into him and leave a mark like the ones he leaves inside you each time the two of you do this.

Because it means something. This. The two of you in this little house in fucking Jackson. Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?

“Yea’,” he grunts, palm on your face, tilting you up roughly, forcing your eyes to open.

And you swear he smiles when they flash open. You swear it.

“Means somethin’, sweetheart. This—fuck—us.”

The words grind into you. As though he's the pestle and your mortar. Your breath is lost, unable to be grasped, your body hanging, pleasure a bigger force—swallowing the room, casting you in shadows and misting over you—until you cry out. Squeezing, fluttering.

Not able to see anything but his face, the look on his face—the twisted expression of his lips and the deepness of his eyes. More black, than brown—but they’re somehow still soft, still full of something you hope is pleasant and full of emotions.

It only vanishes briefly when he spills inside of you.

When he collapses on top of you—his heart hammering against your ribs. And, even if it isn’t the first time, you feel yourself still—pause, no rash movements, because this is nice, this is something you want without asking for it.

“Can’t believe I can hear y’brain already.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes, glancing over—finding his lips have slid into his cheek.

It gnaws at you, the reason for your lack of sleep. The thing which you've traded hours of rest for. That dormant part pushed to the edge by exhaustion, now awake and very much worrying.

“Got you something,” you whisper, biting your lip, watching his brows furrow and lines appear between them.

Standing up, you steal the dressing gown from the back of his door—the one you’d traded for months ago. The one which is far too big, even for him, making it only cosier when you borrow it. Shooting him a smile, you almost disguise it, worried it's far too soft, too normal, before you mumble about being right back.

It's a hurry to the front door, all feet hammering down on wooden steps before your hand digs in your coat pocket, retrieving the wrapped thing you’ve lost shuteye over.

When you enter, he’s under the sheets—hair at odd angles, looking both a mixture of energised and fucked out that you wish you could paint with your fingers, so you'd forever have it.

“Didn’t wanna give this to you on the 25th—just in case you popped a vein trying to figure out what it means.”

Kneeling on the bed, you take a levelling breath, before handing it to him. His eyes travelling from you to it, fingers taking it—all delicate, measured. Before he unpeels the ribbon, undressing it with more care than he often shows you, before it rolls free of the paper you managed to find. It catches the ceiling light, glinting, gleaming, the handle looking even more detailed in this light than under the candles you’d had to use to remain discreet.

In your hand, the knife had appeared large, and menacing. In his, it looked right.

Yet, his face looked as though it was anything but.

Enough for you to prod, needle. To nudge closer on your knees, to smooth out the sheets and then flick your lashes up, finding him already staring, weighing it up—whatever coated his tongue, had been written in his mind.

“Sweetheart… I don’t… I don’t deserve this—”

More words fall in silence, not quite spoken, yet somehow loud.

Enough for you to say his name, to rest your knee on the bed and deeply sigh.

“You…’m not a good man.”

You almost laugh, but you don’t. Crawling up, placing your hand on his chest, you take a shaky breath. “I’m not sure I care.”

And you don't.

Because it's easy to feel something for him, to love him. It's natural, there one day and the day after. It wasn't hard or difficult, but very fucking easy.

Your mouth even opens to say as much, but you close it again before a syllable is muttered.

Wrapping the gift, he moves it from between the two of you, to the bedside table. His fingers linger, hovering over the carved wood—the one which caused splinters and made your eyes almost cross over. “Y’should. M’not an easy man to love.”

“I disagree,” you whisper, fingers having slid up to the base of his neck, your fingers teasing his curls. “Since I’m pretty sure I already feel those things for you.”

His brows lift, and you smile—letting it speak the words you can’t say, and you’re sure he’s not willing to hear.

“Don’t sweat it, alright? You’re mine, I’m yours. Yeah?”

Nodding, he bites his cheek, placing the knife back into the packaging—moving it, replacing what he’d been holding with your wrist as he pulls you close.

“Got you somethin’ too.”

Nose bumping his, you shift closer, thighs finding themselves on either side of him—his hands finding a place on them, sliding up, callouses grazing on your skin, before squeezing.

“But y’gotta wait until the 25th. Like a good girl.”

Smirking, you cup his cheeks. "Okay, Miller. I'll wait."

an: merry christmas, i hope you love this <3

#pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x female reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou joel x reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

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mapiforpresident · 2 months

Text

Most Likely To

Alexia x reader

warnings: none

~~~

It was currently almost Valentine's day, so Barcelona was having all the team couples do some short interviews to post on the actual day.

Alexia was not a fan of this, but she saw that you were excited, she reluctantly agreed. She wanted to maintain her professional captain persona, but she also knew that it was important for people to see that she was also a normal person at the end of the day and that it was ok for her to be dating a woman.

~~~

"Hey, how was your interview," you asked Mapi and Ingrid as they walked out of the media room. They had their interview right before yours.

"It was really good we had to see who knew each other better and Ingrid won. I forgot her first pets name." Mapi told you. "I think you guys are doing the who is mostly likely to challange. I am excited to see if we learn anything new about big tough Ale over here that we didn't know." You laughed at this agreeing that you would make sure the fans learn how much of a softie Ale is for you.

~~~

You and Alexia then walked into the room as the media people explained how it would work and set up your mics. The interviewer then got started facing the camera, "Ok today we have special guests Alexia and Y/n. Today they will be playing the who is most likely to challange. They each have a paddle with their face on one side and the others face on the back. I will ask some questions and they have to show the face of who they think it fits better. At the end we also have a couple questions sent in by fans. Let's get started with the first question.."

"Ok we will start off very easy. The first question is who is most likely to forget their boots at home?"

You both immediately held up the side of the paddle with your face.

"I may have forgotten them before the champions league final. Luckily someone had an extra pair in my size. Ale always asks me three times if I have my boots now before we leave the house." You responded laughing towards the camera.

"She is very forgetful, she even forgot her passport before a game onetime and had to fly in the next day. I definitely made her run extra laps for that." You definitely gave Alexia a few heart attacks from all the times you forget things.

"Who is most likely to cry during a sad movie?" the interviewer queried with a grin.

You both exchanged a glance. You raised Alexia face as she reluctantly did the same. It was no secret to you or the team that Alexia had a soft spot for emotional films, often shedding a tear or two during particularly touching scenes.

As the interview progressed, the questions delved deeper into your relationship, sparking laughter and fond memories between you and Alexia.

The interviewer grinned as she posed the next question, her eyes flickering mischievously between you and Alexia. "Alright, who is most likely to hog the blankets in bed?"

You both hesitated for a moment, exchanging playful glances before simultaneously flipping the paddles to reveal the others face.

You chuckled, nudging Alexia playfully. "Come on, admit it. You're the blanket thief."

Alexia raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh, please. You practically cocoon yourself in the blankets every night."

As the interview drew to a close, the final question sent in by fans brought a sense of warmth to the room. "Who is most likely to surprise the other with a romantic gesture?"

Without hesitation, you both raised your paddles, a shared smile of affection passing between you. Despite the playful teasing and occasional disagreements, there was no doubt that your love for each other ran deep, evident in the small gestures of kindness and thoughtfulness that defined your relationship.

As the cameras stopped rolling, Alexia pulled you into a tender embrace, her voice soft with sincerity. "You know, despite my initial reservations, I'm glad we did this. It's nice to show the world a different side of us, to be able to share our love openly."

You returned her embrace, kissing her cheek lightly, feeling a surge of gratitude for the woman standing before you. "I couldn't agree more, bebé."

The fans absolutely loved the video and seeing this more personal side of Alexia and seeing more into your relationship.

#woso #woso x reader #fcb femení #fcb femení x reader #fc barcelona femeni #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #woso blurb #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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beskarandblasters · 3 months

Text

The Gunslinger

Boxer!Abby Anderson x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Abby Anderson Masterlist

Author’s note: From the results of my poll! Next up is Gym Owner!Abby and an Abby x Reader x Ellie roommate threesome!! (｡◕‿◕｡)

Summary: Your friend, Tyler, drags you to your first boxing match one night. You're expecting to not have any fun at all until you lay your eyes on The Gunslinger also known as Abby Anderson. She spots you during the match but you chalk it up to random eye contact she makes with her fans. What happens when she finds you alone after the match?

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, no outbreak au, idk if the boxing rules + the match are accurate I am but a simpleton, soft dom!Abby, dub con (reader has consumed alcohol), semi public sex, oral sex (reader receiving), strap sucking, strap fucking (reader receiving), Abby refers to the strap as her cock, reader is shorter than Abby but than that no physical descriptions used, nipple play, pet names (good girl & pretty girl), slight degradation (whore), no aftercare, no use of y/n

You’re not going to enjoy yourself. No one in their right mind wants to spend their evening sitting shoulder to shoulder in uncomfortable stands, surrounded by drunk assholes screaming their heads off. And yet here you are, sitting shoulder to shoulder in said uncomfortable stands, holding your overpriced beer in one hand and covering your ear with the other. You’re wearing a skirt and the itchy wood is irritating the back of your thighs. This was all a mistake. Why did you agree to this?

Oh right, it’s because your friend Tyler convinced you to come.

“Can you at least act like you’re having a good time? We’re right in the front row,” he says, pulling your hand away from your ear.

“I’ll try but no promises.”

“You’ll change your mind once you see the Gunslinger, trust me.”

“What’s so special about her?” you ask, chugging your beer so you don’t have to hold it any longer.

“One of the best sluggers I’ve ever seen. Seriously, her uppercuts are devastating.”

“Whatever you say,” you respond, rolling your eyes.

“Do you wanna know why they call her the Gunslinger?” he asks. After every response he turns his gaze across the ring, staring at something but you can’t make out what.

“Sure.”

“Because she’s got the fucking cannons, man.”

“Cannons and guns are two different things.”

“You know what I meant. Seriously, the biceps on this woman are insane.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You’ll be eating your words later.”

He turns his gaze away from you again and this time you see what he’s looking at– a woman sitting in the front row on the opposite side of the ring. She notices him and smiles. You recognize her as the woman he was chatting up when he was in line grabbing your beers.

“You’ve been making eyes at her since we got here.”

“I have not.”

“Yes, you have. And I’d be willing to bet she’s into you, too.”

“...You really think so?”

You open your mouth to respond but Tyler interrupts and so does the crowd, your ears ringing from their boisterous shouts. The announcer steps into the ring, microphone in one hand and the other raised in the air. He’s wearing a black suit and a wide grin, just admiring the way the audience cheers for him, not even one of the boxers.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! And welcome to tonight’s match. Tonight promises to be a classic with the lineup we have for ya.”

“First up we got a rookie in the ring. Fighting out of the blue corner is the Iron Fist, Fiona Finster!”

You turn your head towards the hallway the announcer is pointing at where you see the silhouette of a woman; tall, bulky, a fucking unit. She steps into the ring and sheds her silky white robe, embroidered with The Iron Fist in royal blue lettering. She’s wearing a black sports bra, royal blue shorts, and gloves to match the lettering on her robe. The audience cheers for her but you’re stuck staring at the sheer size of her. If this is a rookie… then what does the Gunslinger look like?

“Next up we have a legend entering the ring. You know her. You love her. Fighting out of the red corner. It’s the Gunslinger, Abby Anderson!”

Entering the ring is a woman who makes the Iron Fist look like a wimp. She’s taller and absurdly muscular, wearing black boxing gloves. Her robe is also black and on the back, in shiny silver letters, it reads The Gunslinger. She takes it off and hands it to who is presumably her coach. Once the robe is gone you can see everything much better and Tyler was right. She really does have the fucking cannons. Her skin is shiny, the bright lights reflecting off her muscles, and her dirty blonde hair is pulled back into a braid. She scans the crowd, mouth curled into a smirk as she watches how the audience cheers for her. She’s confident, well-liked and she knows it. You feel no better than a man the way you’re ogling her, admiring the way the muscles in her back stretch out the fabric of the charcoal gray sports bra she’s wearing. She’s just… impressive in every way and with a body like that the nickname Gunslinger feels earned.

Before she’s finished showing off for the crowd her eyes land on you, meeting your gaze and flashing you a smile. Your cheeks heat up in… embarrassment? No, that’s not right. Flattery? Maybe.

Or it’s probably because you just formed a strong attraction to this woman. And it’s probably the look on your face that gave it away. Your eyes go wide as you stare at her, your mouth falling open in a soft O.

Whatever, the eye contact probably didn’t mean anything. She probably does that with lots of people in the audience; her fans. Unless…

No stop right there. She’s a professional and you’re just a spectator, nothing more. That meant nothing.

The referee enters the ring and goes over the rules with the two women. And once again as she’s listening to the ref she looks past his head and glances at you again. The eye contact is intense, almost too much to bear but you can’t look away. It’s the type of eye contact one would show someone if they’re trying to assert their dominance. As far as you’re concerned, she can dominate you all she wants.

The boxers bump gloves and the first round begins. It’s one of the most enthralling sporting events you’ve ever witnessed. Tyler hands you his beer, too focused on the match to worry about drinking it. But you’re not about to waste the shitty, overpriced beer so you down it, setting the plastic cup on the floor. Despite being an absolute unit, the Gunslinger is quick on her feet, evading most if not all of the Iron Fist’s punches. Every blow the Gunslinger delivers is powerful, making you wince just from observing them. You’re actually enjoying yourself but you don’t know if it’s from the riveting match or if it’s because you’re a little tipsy. Regardless, this is the best turn of events. And the Gunslinger is easy on the eyes.

The match flies by round after round until it’s the final one. You’ve never been to a boxing match before but supposedly the judges don’t announce the score until the match is over.

But that wouldn’t even matter.

Because the Gunslinger delivers a devastating blow to the Iron First– a knockout, right in her jaw. The opponent is off her feet for more than ten seconds. And once the referee finishes his count to ten the match is over. The crowd erupts into overwhelming celebratory cheers.

“And the winner is Abby The Gunslinger Anderson!” the announcer exclaims.

Everyone rises from the stands, hands in the air and cheering loudly. The Gunslinger is presented with a gold belt, throwing it over her shoulder like a sash. She raises her gloved hands in the air, basking in all the applause. She makes eye contact with you again for the third time. This has to mean something, right?

Before she exits the ring, she winks at you, smiling once more. And with that, she’s gone and while you’re left reeling from the intense eyefucking the crowd starts to leave, moving as a large hoard.

“Fuck, Tyler! Go find that girl before she leaves!” you say, elbowing him.

“Really? You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you out front. Just go talk to her before she leaves,” you say, urging him to go.

You remain on the bench, waiting for the crowd to dissipate before moving. The night’s events replay in your mind and you’re amazed you had any fun. Though, it’s hard to tell if you had fun because of the boxing or because of subtle flirting from the Gunslinger. Either way, you’d come back for another match.

Eventually, the crowd disperses and you start to leave, heading to the parking lot to meet Tyler. You’re about to push the door open when a hand on your shoulder stops you in your tracks. Expecting it to be Tyler you turn around and ask, “Did you get her number or what?”

“Whose number?”

Except it’s not Tyler. It’s the Gunslinger.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I thought you were my friend.”

“It’s just me.”

You’re stunned, mouth opening to speak but no words coming out.

“Abby,” she continues.

“Right! That was a good match,” you say, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

“Thanks,” she chuckles, “I’ve never seen you here before. This your first one?”

“Yes,” you admit.

“Did you like it?” she asks, raising her arm above her head and leaning against the wall, inching closer to you. She towers over you but you catch a glimpse of what’s behind her— people who are still lingering around, just like you.

She catches you looking past her and looks over her shoulder. She exhales and says, “Don’t worry about them. Focus on this.”

“Right,” you say with a shaky breath, painfully aware of all the eyes on you. She turns her gaze back to you, blue eyes staring into yours. Now she’s closer you notice the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks.

“Or I can take you somewhere that’s more… private?”

You pause for a moment, thinking about Tyler before quickly deciding that he’s still talking to that girl. You didn’t get a text from him either.

“Please,” you say.

She stands up straighter, removing her arm from the wall and grabbing your hand. She leads you away from the exit doors and towards the hallway she entered, walking right past the group of people who noticed you two in the first place. She holds her head high, not caring about the stares as she brings you to her locker room.

She shuts the door behind you and immediately presses you up against the wall. She palms your thigh, hand inching up closer towards the hem of your skirt.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” she says in your ear. You don’t need to see her face to know that she’s wearing a smirk.

You tell her your name with a shaky breath and she repeats it to herself before saying, “Are you gonna be my good girl?”

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, a shiver running down your spine.

She grabs you by the waist, dragging you to the bench and forcing you to sit down. She kneels on the floor, one hand rubbing your inner thigh and the other pushing you so you’re lying down on the bench. You hear her reach for her bag and out of the corner of your eye you spot her grabbing a pair of trainer’s scissors, like the kind used to remove gauze and tape from wrapped hands. She hikes up your skirt and you feel the cold metal slide across your skin as she cuts off your panties.

“Shit,” you breathe out, feeling her muscular hands pull the fabric off of you.

“Look at you, already dripping for me,” she says, pulling your thighs apart. “Did you get wet watching me fight?”

“Fuck… Yes, I did,” you admit.

“Eyeing me up and down like a whore in my own ring?” she says, getting closer to your pussy. She goes to eat you out, mouth hovering over your clit and warm breath sending a shiver up your core.

“Eyes on me or you don’t get cum. Got it?”

You rest on your elbows, propping yourself up to get a good view of her face buried between your thighs. Her tongue laps at your pussy, swirling around your clit all while her eyes are on you, watching the way your mouth falls open and the way your chest heaves. Her tongue circles your entrance, nose grinding against your clit as her strong arms wrap around your thighs. Fuck, her arms. The veins bulge from her muscles as she keeps a firm grip on you, keeping you flush against her face while she eats you out. The pleasure builds and for a split second close your eyes. But that just won’t do.

She stops, pulling her face back slightly and saying, “What did I say, pretty girl? Eyes on me.”

You open your eyes again, meeting her stern gaze before she goes back to licking your cunt. She squeezes your thighs tighter as she flicks her tongue around your clit before sucking it. A loud moan escapes your lips as she brings you to the edge of orgasm. You cum hard against her face, pussy clenching around nothing and thighs shaking under her grasp. She laps up every last drop of your release before letting you go, rising from the floor and reaching for her bag again.

“Strip for me,” she commands while searching for something.

You pull yourself off the bench, legs shaking underneath you. As you strip your clothes you watch her grab a black strap-on from her bag.

“Do you do this with all your groupies?” you tease.

“Just the pretty ones,” she says, shedding her clothes and putting on the strap, “Now, back on the bench.”

You sit, waiting for further instructions, but instead, she grabs the back of your head and brings you to the tip of her strap.

“Be a good girl and suck my cock,” she says, stroking your cheek lovingly.

You open your mouth and take the tip of the strap in your mouth, wrapping your hand around the base. You bob your head up and down, making sure the strap gets nice and slick, all while maintaining eye contact like you know she likes. Her hand continues to caress your cheek as you suck her off, putting effort in like it’s a real cock she can get pleasure from.

But once she’s decided you’ve done enough, she pulls out of her mouth and pushes you down on the bench. Her strong hands pull your thighs apart again, the tip of the strap aligning with your entrance. Her hands grip your waist as she thrusts into you in one swift motion. You gasp at the sudden length and girth but she brings a hand to the outline of your breast, caressing it before pinching your nipple and saying, “You can take it.”

You nod, looking into her piercing eyes and spreading your legs even wider to accommodate how broad she is. She pinches your other nipple as she draws her hips back and slams into you. Off to your right, you hear people outside the door, shuffling down the hallway. But you’re unable to hold back your moans, not with the way she’s fucking you.

“Abby, what if someone hears?” you manage to choke out.

“Let them,” she says, thrusting into you harder.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse, stars dancing in your vision.

Her hands move to your waist and her strong arms hold you down, her fingers sinking into your skin as she grips you tightly. She pulls you into her all while she thrusts into you. And with one last slam of her hips, you come undone around her, pussy clenching her cock while she fuck you through your release.

“That’s right. Cum on my cock, pretty girl,” she says, her jaw slack and watching how pretty you look when you cum.

Once you’re done, she pulls out of you, standing up to take off the strap and get dressed again. You lie there trying to catch your breath and once she’s clothed she kneels by your side, handing you your clothes and saying, “Come to another match sometime.”

She kisses you, hand gripping your grin before she rises from the floor and grabs her bag, leaving you there in the locker room; a naked, shivering mess.

You sit up and reach for your phone, hastily texting Tyler to tell him you’ll be out front soon. While you wait for his response you notice that your shredded panties are gone, meaning that she must’ve taken them, another kind of trophy for her from this evening. He responds with a thumbs up and you collapse back down onto the bench, giving yourself more time to recollect yourself and replaying the night’s activities in your head.

Maybe boxing isn’t so bad.

Banners by saradika, dividers by firefly-graphics

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson x f!reader #abby anderson x female reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #abby tlou #abby anderson #tlou 2 remastered #tlou 2 #abby anderson fanfic

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wosoluvrr · 5 months

Text

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine || a. russo x reader (1)

summary: everyone knew the game against united was going to be scrappy, but no one was quite prepared for that.

warnings: lots of talking about blood and injury, angstangstangst, a curse word or two, not much else i don’t think

a/n: i love that quote by richard siken and i just have to be different so i figured including it in my first fic/writing thing (?) was the way to go. anyways, i hope you enjoy! i’m happy to be here, and excited to post more and hopefully get to know some of you:) all my love 🤍

"what the fuck is your problem, zelem?" the question came out more like an insult, your body taking over as you moved towards her on the pitch. in doing so, you left alessia's side, the girl flat against the pitch as she gripped at her ankle and fought back tears. vic and lia stayed kneeled beside her, the rest of the team taking notice and making their way towards the midfield where alessia had gone down.

katie only rolled her eyes at your screaming, sparing alessia a quick glance and then focusing back onto you. "i barely touched her, you've all gone soft," she replied with a scoff, her teammates remaining in their positions.

"the audacity you have is a bit mind blowing really, who'd you have to pay to get that armband?"

she doesn't reply this time, her face curling into an expression you can't quite read. you're not sure how the hell you'd come up with something like that, but you opt to keep your expression blank as you turned your attention to the ref who was jogging towards the scene.

alessia still wasn't getting up, the ref signaling for the medics as she made her way from the scene to the two of you. jen was approaching you as well, her face offering a warning for you to take the scolding and not let anything go further.

before the ref can reach you she pulls out a yellow card on zelem, writing her name down sloppily once she arrives and beginning her scolding of the two of you. jen's hand on your shoulder keeps you in your own spot, zelem's eyes fixed blankly on your own as the ref opts to check back in with the medics and leave the three of you alone.

"keep your mutt off my shit, beattie." she begins to storm off but you're quick to follow, your body slipping out of jen's hand as your pace quickens.

your only intent was to give her a push and bag the yellow card, deeming it worth the release of steam. however, somehow seconds after zelem had jolted forward and turned to make her way back towards you, a first slammed square into your face. you ended up on your hands and knees, spitting blood into the grass below you.

medics guessed a broken nose and a split lip which might need stitches due to your face accidentally getting stepped on when the players reacted.

sitting on the locker room floor was undeniably embarrassing, your body slumped against the wall as you struggled to keep the gauze firmly against your face. even with the pain consuming you, it was hard not to wonder just how badly you’d be punished.

benched for x amount of games? kicked off the squad? banned from football for life? the possibilities seemed endless, each one worse than the other.

"that was quite the shove you got in," alessia was standing in the doorway, the large puffer coat on her body making your eyes crinkle in place of a smile.

you didn't dare take your eyes off the floor as the shame burning within you only deepened in her presence. there wasn’t a single part of you that wanted to know how angry she was with you, the thought of her conveying her disappointment making you feel sick.

"your ankle?" you ask, ignoring her insinuation.

alessia laughs gently, properly walking into the room and shedding her puffer onto the closest surface.

"rolled, which really sucks." she moves a stool in front of a bench, slightly limping her way over to you as she extends her hand out. "i'll be out for a few weeks at worst.”

you feel like crying, the girl in front of you wrapped in a bandage and you had somehow managed to make things worse. you accept her hand and allow her to guide you to the bench, your head falling back against the lockers as you groan.

"why aren't you at the hospital?"

"i wanted to apologize before i went," you answer. "my selfishness is making sure i don’t do a very good job at that.”

your voice is more pathetic than you imagined it'd be, the pain from your face spreading all around your body. pain was doable when it was just pain, but this just had too much in it for you to feel able to manage it.

"let me help you," she beats your slew of apologies, hands reaching out to the hold the rag against you. her fingers are cold against your hand for the seconds they do touch causing you to pull away quickly, the burning in your arm from holding it up so long dulling down to an ache.

her pressure immediately becomes too harsh and you moan in pain, arm back in the air as your hand roughly grips onto her own. "please be gentle," you gasp, her face washing with regret as she nods, free hand moving to rest on your bare thigh.

her newly adjusted position has her face far too close to your own and you're certain if your nose was working you'd be able to smell her minty breath. it was really her eyes that had you going crazy, the deep blue they sported making you feel dizzy as you examined them.

"thank you," you start, eyes closing as you continue to fight the threat to cry. "i regret it already, i don’t want to be a violent person.”

you quickly find that it's easier to look past alessia, fixating on the door frame and instead of anything else. she's frowning back at you, trying to come up with the right things to say.

"you're a sweet girl," her voice is barely a whisper. "katie's completely fine, and you're going to be fine too, yeah?"

you nod, finally looking her in the eyes.

“is ella angry, you think?”

you hadn’t even considered how awful it must’ve been for you to start a fight with a team that coincided with tooney. there was somehow more guilt to be felt, your brain imagining the damage you may have caused between the two girls.

she doesn’t answer, eyes narrower than they were before.

"i'm sorry, alessia." it's sincere, your head nodding to convey your feelings better as she nods back, something resembling her usual smile creeping onto her lips.

"you can check that off the list now," she teases, a feeling of relief spreading through your body. “i just want you to be okay.”

you had expected her to be far more angry, far more disappointed in you. but, she's not. because how could she be? it was alessia, after all. sweet, composed, and painfully beautiful alessia.

it's embarrassing how caught you are by her even in the state your in, your mind barely able to keep up with just how closely you're getting to see the girl now. you decide now you have to very carefully memorize the small details of her face, selfishly noting you'd probably never be this close to her ever again.

"you're too good to me," it's barely a whisper, your eyes shamefully fixated on alessia's lips. it's hard to contain yourself anymore, your heartbeat finallt recognizing that there was more than pain against you in this moment.

"no such thing," she says.

she readjusts her hand and tilts your head to the side in an effort to examine if anything else had left you with marks. to her disappointment, she finds the scratches your face had taken from the rest of the cleat on your face. it wasn't a pretty sight, you were sure of that, but her gaze didn't feel like pity.

she was looking at you like she always did, merely taking you in for what you were.

she moves the gauze slowly away, wincing at the what was beneath the fabric. your nose is offset, blues and greens inviting themselves into your usual complexion. dried blood stained it’s way from your nostrils to your mouth, your bottom lip sporting the nasty gash.

it was uncomfortable knowing how ugly you must look right now. you opted to close your eyes and pretend you were somewhere else, desperately trying to act normal when she ran her thumb over your cheekbone.

“i’m sorry about the blood in your mouth,” she whispers. “i just wish it was mine.”

you’re crying now, body shaking with sobs as she pulls you into her chest, your chin hooking onto her shoulder as you cried. alessia’s fingers are rubbing your back, her lips whisper ‘it’s okay’ over and over until you start to believe her.

“i think it’s time you get some help with all this, don’t you think?” you’re still pressed against her, hands desperately clenching her jersey. you don’t want to pull away. you don’t want to leave when you’re certain you’ll never have her like this again.

it’s selfish, having her like this when she doesn’t know the way you feel. it almost feels wrong to be tended to so lovingly by her, your secret administration making the weight of her actions far different for you.

but, of course you nod, pulling yourself out of her embrace and allowing her sweet hands to brush the matted hair from your forehead to the sides. her touch is so gentle you almost cry again, cursing your stupid brain for making things harder.

you wanted to ask her about so many things. you wanted to ask what she had meant about the blood and what she had meant when she chose to rest her hand on your thigh. or why she had chosen to be kind to you instead of absolutely losing her head over your recklessness.

you settle for a later date. “can i call you once i’m finished?”

the laugh she lets out makes you feel warm, her arms helping you to stand up and bracing you as she walks you to the physios. you curse yourself for asking something that stupid, walking into the room with a newfound embarrassment.

“you think i’d let you go alone?”

a/n: part 2, mayhaps? part 2 for a kiss and some confessions, mayhaps? feel free to request, too! i’d love the help :)

#woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #woso fic #alessia russo fic #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #arsenal wfc

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cowgurrrl · 5 days

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Roll The Bones

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Author’s note: I wrote this in the midst of a flare up so please enjoy and be gentle with your disabled friends <3

Summary: A bad pain day with Joel [1.5k]

Warnings: descriptions of injuries and subsequent chronic pain, medical settings and discussion, I think that’s it??

When Joel finds you, you're in a pitiful state. Your arm is folded over your face, covering your eyes even though the blinds are closed and the room is dark. Your right leg is peeking out from under the bundle of blankets and quilt, elevated with a lukewarm towel surrounding the swelling kneecap. The room smells like the salve someone in the town makes that's supposed to alleviate your pain. So far, it's just given you a headache. Your entire body throbs with pain and frustration. It shouldn't be like this, you think ruefully. I shouldn't feel like this.

Joel lightly pads over to your bedside— his footsteps quiet now that he's discarded his boots by the front door— and perches next to you. His hand finds a home on your afflicted knee and carefully maneuvers his thumb over the tendons to help with the pain. You shift the arm covering your face to reach for him, and he smiles.

"There she is," he murmurs as you take him in. His hair is long and a little unruly in the back, but you think it makes him look soft and domestic. He's shed his work jacket and heavier clothes downstairs and is clad in his soft, well-worn-in flannel. He smells like pine and leather. You want to wrap yourself in his warmth but settle for having him nearby. "Ellie told me you were havin' a rough day." He says. It doesn't surprise you that she did, even though you promised her you were fine and didn't need him. It's become rare that she doesn't update him daily on your health.

About a year ago, you were on patrol with Tommy when a Runner came out of nowhere and charged at your horse. She startled and bucked you off before you could regain control of the reins. The Runner was dead before you could hit the ground, and your horse would be recovered within the day, but the damage was done. You broke your leg in two places and dislocated your knee, in addition to a low-level concussion and cuts on your face and arms. When you came back into Jackson on Tommy's horse, half-conscious, bloody, and delirious with pain, Joel was horrified, Ellie even more so.

You were in the hospital for a month as they used what they could to put you in something akin to a cast and reset the bones. Joel and Ellie took turns being guards at your bed, monitoring what they gave you, when, and how much, and how your healing process was going. They were there with you every day, learning the tips and tricks to support you and keeping you sane as you stared at the white walls.

Six months, the doctor said. Six months is all it would take to be back to normal as long as you did everything you were supposed to. Things have gotten better slower than you would like, but they have gotten better. You have really good days where you don't feel anything other than slight twinges when you move your leg in a weird way. Those days, it's hard to remember that you broke it in the first place. But other days, like today, you can feel every muscle in your leg tightening as stiff pain rockets up and down your body. You thought you could persevere enough to go to the store with Ellie, but your body obviously had other plans.

"My leg gave out on me when I was coming down the stairs. Pretty sure I made the whole house shake when I fell." You explain, and his eyebrows knit together in phantom pain as his thumb works your muscle.

"You hurt anythin'?" He asks. "Other than your pride?" You blow air out of your nose in a half-laugh and shake your head.

"Just some bruises," you say. He finds a tender spot in your knee that makes you hiss and ball up your fists, but he doesn't let up until the muscle releases. It's what he's supposed to do: break up the scar tissue, relax the muscles, and hope for the best. It still hurts like a bitch, and it'll hurt more in the morning. He mumbles apologies under his breath and kisses you to try and distract you, but your brain's been running wild for hours. "I went so long without any pain." You finally say, breaking the reverie and collapsing the unwanted space your pain often creates.

"You've been takin' on a lot these past few weeks. It doesn't surprise me somethin' would flare up." It's an honest assessment. He warned you this would happen, but you ignored him. You thought you knew your body better. You wanted to know your body better. The returning thought and the gentle hand on your knee turn your tongue into sandpaper, and tears prick in the corners of your eyes. Despite the low light in the room, Joel catches it and makes a sympathetic noise.

"Hey, talk to me." He says softly, shifting his hand from your knee to your face to catch a few stray tears. You shake your head and try and fail to form the words. Joel is patient. He always is, but he shouldn't have to be.

"I'm so tired of being like this." You whisper, hating the feel of the words on your tongue and hating the sound of them even more. Joel gives you a confused look and pushes your hair out of your face.

"Bein' like what?"

"Sick," you choke out. Now that the dam is broken, there's no stopping the bitter rush of words from leaving you. "We took her across the country and got rid of anyone who even looked at her wrong. Now, I can't even get on a horse without hurting. And I do all the stupid fucking things the doctor tells me to do. I do the exercises and take the medicine and everything, and nothing is making it better, and I'm so tired."

"Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Because I didn't want you to think I'm broken." It's a thought you've harbored since you were laid up in the hospital, unable to even walk to the bathroom without help, but this is the first time you've expressed it. You secretly hoped if you just didn't say anything about it, maybe Joel wouldn't notice. It's a stupid idea, given that your entire lives have changed since the accident. You just didn't want to get thrown away like all the other broken things in this world. Joel takes a deep breath and gazes at you.

"Honey, you aren't broken. Not even close to it," he says. You want to counter him, but the weight of your emotion is too heavy on your chest. "I wanna know if somethin' is hurtin' you cause when you hurt, I hurt, okay? You're not a burden or somethin' to fix. You just… need a little extra care right now, and that's okay. I wanna take care of you."

"What if it's like this forever?" You ask, and he shakes his head.

"It won't be."

"But, what if it is?" More tears fill your eyes as you await his answer. He didn't fall in love with this version of you. You don't know if you could blame him if he never does. But with enough ease and love to take your breath away, Joel kisses your forehead, right where your temple smacked against the cold ground. He kisses your forehead and the white scars littering your cheeks before finally shifting to kiss the knee propped up on pillows and hope. He doesn't flinch at the swelling or the angry spasms. He treats them with care and attention. He treats them as another part of you.

"Takin' care of you has never and will never be on the list of worst things imaginable. Your health is not a sacrifice or a burden on me. If it's like this forever, we'll adapt, but I know you. I know how hard you're workin' to get better. I know we'll find a way to live with this," he says. "But I need you to talk to me when things aren't workin'. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's helpin' and what's not, okay?" You swallow around the lump in your throat and nod.

"Okay."

"Okay," he echoes. "I'm gonna get you an appointment with Dr. Lutton and see if we can't get you on a new treatment plan first thing tomorrow mornin'. Is there anythin' I can do for you until then?" He asks, fully prepared to go to the edge of the earth if you asked him to.

"Can you lay with me?" You ask, and he smiles.

"Of course, baby." He mumbles. He kisses your knee one more time before shuffling to wrap you in his arms. The warmth from his body helps relieve some of your tension and pain, and he kneads calming circles over your shoulders and back. Your focus shifts from the pain in your leg to the song he's humming, the vibrations in his chest a welcome distraction. The pain doesn't go away entirely— you doubt it ever will— but you rest your weary body against his and sleep, finding wholeness in his acceptance of your loss.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01 @acupofhollie

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller comfort #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou #joel tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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senp1i · 5 months

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TWICE - Jihyo x Male Reader req- @dav1233555 [I hope its half as decent as you hoped for] WC: 1629

It was a long day of practice at the JYP building but Twice were starting to perfect their latest choreography. "You're all killing it, just a few more and I think we'll be ready for our comeback" Jihyo says, encouraging the members as she wipes sweat from her brow, breathing heavily. Just then She spots a familiar face in the window of the practice room door and waves, smiling brightly. It was Y/N, her boyfriend, who came to watch them work as usual. Seeing him always gave her that extra boost of energy.

After a few more reps, Nayeon called for a water break, thankfully to which Jihyo hurried out to greet Y/N with a hug. "Thanks for coming by, it really helps having you here." He kissed her forehead. "You're always doing amazing. I'll drive you home after this though, yeah?"He asks, eyebrows raised and a hint of a smile on his lips. She nodded, lingering in his arms a little longer before joining her members.

A few hours later the practice was complete. The girls gathered their things, exhausted but satisfied with their progress. Jihyo said her goodbyes and met Y/N by his car.

It was nearing midnight by the time Jihyo and Y/N arrived at her apartment, both exhausted after their separate long days but still buzzing with pent up energy. As Jihyo unlocked the door, Y/N came up behind her and whispered "Hurry up, I need you" in her ear, eliciting a shiver. No sooner, their hands were all over each other, kissing deep and sloppy as they stumbled towards the bedroom.

"I watched you practising all afternoon, you have no idea what that does to me," Y/N growled between kisses, groping Jihyo's ass roughly through her leggings. She moaned into his mouth, already soaking through her underwear at the thought of what was to come. Wasting no time, they began ripping each other's clothes off in a frenzy, leaving a trail leading to the unmade bed from the night before.

Jihyo's sports bra and leggings were the last to go, revealing perky breasts capped with hardening nipples and the glistening lips of her pussy, already dripping with need. Y/N took a moment to admire the glorious sight before pushing her back onto the mattress, crawling over her body to kiss and suck marks into the soft skin of her neck and collarbone.

"You're so fucking hot when you dance, it's not fair keeping me waiting all day," he scolded playfully, nibbling down to take a peaked nipple in his mouth. Jihyo gasped and bucked her hips up, craving friction where she needed it most. Y/N continued his path lower, tongue swirling around her belly button as his hands caressed her shaking thick thighs.

When his mouth finally met her dripping slit as his nose buried in her curly apex, they both moaned loudly at the contact. Y/N lapped greedily at her folds, tongue plunging deep inside while his fingers joined in rubbing tight circles around her engorged clit. "Oh fuck, don't stop," Jihyo cried out, one hand gripping the sheets while the other tangled in Y/N's hair to hold him in place.

She was already so close from foreplay alone, hips rocking against his talented mouth. It didn't take long before the coil in her belly snapped, back arching off the mattress with a hoarse scream as waves of shudders crashed over her. Y/N licked up every drop of her orgasm, not letting up until she collapsed, sated but still desperate for more.

He shed his boxer in record time, already rock hard and leaking precum at the sight before him. Crawling back up Jihyo's spent body, he kissed her deeply so she could taste herself on his tongue. "Condom, fast," she panted, not wanting to wait another moment for what came next. Y/N fumbled in the nightstand drawer, tearing open the wrapper with his teeth as Jihyo watched hungrily.

The sight of his thick, veiny cock encased in latex had her mouth watering, needing to feel him stretch her walls once more. As he rolled it down his length with a few strokes, she spread her legs wide in invitation. Y/N positioned himself at her dripping entrance, teasing her swollen clit a few times before sinking in with one deep thrust.

They both cried out at the sensation of being joined as one again, still so tight despite her earlier orgasm. Y/N stilled, allowing Jihyo to adjust before beginning a steady rhythm of long, deep strokes. Skin slapped against skin, accompanied by breathy moans and filthy encouragement. "You feel so fucking good baby, ride my cock," he groaned, meeting each of her rolls of the hips.

Jihyo wrapped her legs high around his waist, allowing him to piston in and out at a punishing pace. Her fingers found her clit once more, circling frenziedly as another orgasm built quickly. The lewd smacking noises and Jihyo's delirious babbling had Y/N right on the edge, cock throbbing inside her pulsing heat.

It only took a few more expert strokes to send Jihyo toppling over the precipice once more, walls clamping down viciously on Y/N's cock. The added stimulation was all it took to push him over as well, emptying into the condom with guttural grunts. They clung to each other, coming down slowly from their shared high amongst the ruins of the bed.

Collapsing in a sweaty, sated pile, limbs still tangled intimately, they exchanged sloppy kisses and soft caresses as their racing hearts slowed. "I love you so much," Jihyo sighed contentedly, tracing patterns on Y/N's chest. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, holding her close. "I love you too baby” he replies cuddling closer. They lay wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of their fuckery as their breaths and heart rates slowly returned to normal. Jihyo traces lazy circles on Y/N's sweat-slicked chest with her fingernail, eliciting a contented hum from him at the gentle touch.

Jihyo sighed contentedly as well as Y/N's fingers traced lazy patterns along her bare skin, both basking in the afterglow. Though completely exhausted, her body still hummed with pleasure, every nerve tingling cause of the insane pounding Y/N gave her.

She gazed fondly at Y/N's handsome face, relaxed and giddy. Sweat sheened his skin in the dim bedside light, his lips curled in a sleepy smile, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Jihyo loved watching him in these unguarded moments, free from the stresses of daily life.

Her eyes drifted lower, taking in the chiselled planes of his chest, abs, muscles defined and bulging from years of exercise and labour. Lower, the thick cluster of dark curls between his strong thighs caught her attention, instinctively bringing her thoughts back to the heavy cock, she loves.

Even flaccid from having come a few minutes ago, it was an impressive size, having stretched and filled her so completely. She remembers the stretch and burn, his thick length dragging inside her inner walls with each deep plunge.

Her horniness stirred again low in her belly despite her tiredness whether from the fucking or the prior dance practice, she doesn’t know, her pussy still sensitive and swollen. Jihyo's tongue darted out to wet her lips, craving another lick of their combined musky juices mingling on Y/N's skin. But she resisted the urge, knowing they both needed rest and food after burning so much energy.

Instead, Jihyo pressed a tender kiss to Y/N's shoulder, inhaling his musky, sweaty and just manly scent. Her hands roamed his firm ass and sides, drinking in every dip as if memorising his body. Each touch soothing and stirring, reaffirming their beyond.

Then again, she leaned in to place another tender kiss to his smiling lips, which he returned softly without opening his eyes. "Mmm, you wear me out in the best way, baby," Y/N murmured, his voice low and raspy from all the groaning.

"You're not the only one," Jihyo chuckled quietly, stretching her tired yet satisfied muscles. Her limbs still felt numb from the aftershocks of her powerful orgasms, which Y/N so skillfully pulled out of her over and over with his talented hands and dick.

Just the memory of how he felt pounding into her so fully and hitting her g-spot with each deep thrust had Jihyo's pussy twitching, already growing wetter with want again. As if reading her mind, Y/N said "I'm gonna order us some food. You just lay here and rest that gorgeous , sexy body of yours for a bit." He pressed a final kiss to Jihyo's forehead before reluctantly disentangling their limbs and climbing out of bed, naked muscles rippling with each movement.

Jihyo hummed appreciatively at the sight, giving his ass an affectionate squeeze as he walked away chuckling. She nestled back into the rumpled sheets, inhaling the mixed scents of sweat and sex that filled the air, loving the intoxicating reminder of their combined liquids.

From the kitchen, she could hear the muffled sounds of Y/N ordering takeout on his phone. Her stomach rumbled eagerly at the thought of refuelling after losing so much energy, both from her dancing and the insane pounding her beloved boyfriend gave her. But more than physical refuelling, being with Y/N fulfilled Jihyo's bones in a way no one else or nothing else could.

As exhausted as she felt in that moment, Jihyo knew as long as she had Y/N's love and support and….. the dick of course, she would find the strength to take on anything. Her work as Twice's leader was demanding, but having him come home to make it all worth it. For now, she allowed her heavy eyelids to drift shut, dreaming of a future that didn’t feel that far off.

#smut #kpop smut #smut fanfic #twice smut #jihyo smut #dahyun smut #smut one shot #male reader smut #male reader insert #x male smut #twice fluff #kpop fluff #twice jihyo #jihyo x m reader #jihyo fluff #jihyo x reader #TM smut #twice x oc #twice x reader

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toji-girl · 2 months

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duel husbands | k. nanami & tatsu

tags: fem reader + repost + mini reverse harem + househusbands! Tatsu & Kento + fluff + domesticity + food + foot massage + they're both so fucking in love + they pamper you + explicit smut + I just want them to take care of me + will be writing more about them + fun fact; they also share the same Japanese VA!

Five o'clock could not come fast enough, the time ticked by slowly as some sort of eff you from the world for wishing things would go by faster when all you wanted to do was go home to your husbands.

Tatsu would most likely be the one cooking dinner while Kento tended to the chores and whatever was left of the laundry he couldn't finish yesterday. Your fingers thrummed against the desk, your eight-to-five job was draining but worth it and you did love it mostly.

You thought about the two men at home who awaited your return patiently ready to listen to speak about your day while they pampered and loved on you, it is what you deserve after working hard so they could stay home and take care of that.

A lot of people thought it was backward with how they stayed at home and even more strange that you have two husbands, but it wasn't no one's business and you were happy and so were they.

It was probably the perverse thought that most people had. How does a three-way marriage work? Time, understanding, communication, honestly and just being open does wonders for it.

When people ask that at your job when they find out, especially the women who would light up at your gushing, not about one man but two who worship the ground you walk on and the air you breathe.

"Thinking about your handsome hunks?" One co-worker asked in a teasing voice when she came closer with her bag strapped against her chest with a smile knowing the dreamy look on your face was for.

Your lips tugged into a wider smile as you stood from your desk wanting to go home now when you added your weight to your feet. "I am yes, you ladies have a wonderful evening!" You called out softly.

It didn't take you long to get home, only a twenty-minute track which Tatsu tracked, his phone pinged when you left your job. Not because he doesn't trust you but because he likes to make sure you're safe.

"How long?" Kento murmured from his spot in front of the TV, his eyes trained on the stain on the stand that made his eye twitch because it wouldn't come off. "Two minutes." Tatsu answered.

After four years of marriage, they both had it down to pat now, when to greet you at the door and help shed your clothes off before Kento guided you to the couch into his lap where he massaged your shoulders all the while Tatsu fed you making sure to kiss you.

They both enjoyed this more than anything else, but however, sometimes they didn't like that you had to work long hours leaving them home alone. "Thank you, my babies, how was the day?"

Tatsu stood in front of you letting you trace his scar as he looked up at you from kneeling down to take your high heels off. "It was good, we went to the store and did our duties. How about you?" Kento asked as he stood behind you taking your jacket off with a kiss.

His lips felt warm against the back of your neck as you pulled away from them. "Tiring, my feet hurt so much and I'm exhausted." That was all they needed to hear before you ended up on the couch.

Kento had your feet in his lap making sure his fingers hit the right spot watching your face while your other husband Tatsu made work of your back. After they both took turns feeding and loving on you the dishes were done and the three of you were on the couch now.

You were propped against Tatsu with Kento on the other side of the couch, sometimes you even wondered how they could share you, the jealously did come out and play at times but thankfully they both love you enough to work through it, to them, you're their stars and moon.

"What are you thinking about pretty girl?" Ken asked as he propped his elbow on the ledge wearing nothing but a soft t-shirt and Pj pants, the same as Tatsu and they both looked so good. "Dick."

Tatsu's hands stilled under your shirt as he glanced over at Kento from your shoulder. You giggled a little and nuzzled into Tatsu letting your foot gently grind against Kento's growing bulge. "You two are so good to me, now let me take care of you both. Ok?" You hummed.

They would never say no to that and that's how you ended up face-first in Kento's lap, his dick hitting the back of your throat with your ass bouncing up and down Tatsu's cock with fast movements.

It was a chorus of sinful moans and wet suctioning when they bottomed out inside you on opposite thrusts. Your lips stretched around Ken as Tatsu bullied your most sensitive spot making you buck against him, your back arching higher into the air.

It was incredible how they wove their love into each action they did, fingers and hands ghosted across your sweaty and flushed skin pulling you closer to them getting needy in their own desires to cum.

Both of them panted and petted your heated body as your own climax rose to the surface, the couch creaked with their thrusts that became sloppy when you came clenching around their cocks.

Tatsu was always the last one to cum, and you were the first one, sometimes Kento and you could do it together but you're the one who gets to feel the complete pleasure taking you under.

When they pulled out their cocks softening under the cool air of the living room Kento pulled you into his lap to kiss your face while Tatsu grabbed some tissue to clean you up while kissing your ankles. After that you pulled yourself into the shower with the help of Kento.

An hour later the three of you piled into bed under the covers, dry and naked but warm with limbs tangled together as you lay between the both of them letting their heads rest on your chest as you three spoke about the day and this weekend, it was your wedding anniversary.

an; I know this is all rushed and stuff but I just love them so much and Tatsu has no content really :(

#Kento smut #Tatsu smut #Kento x reader smut #Tatsu x reader smut #way of the househusband Tatsu smut #way of the house husband #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #the way of the househusband reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

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melday0105 · 10 months

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I just had this idea in my head that I don't think it has been written or thought of yet but Miguel needs a soft moment so just imagine Miguel wakes up on a weekend and rolls over in bed looking for his S/O and feels the bed empty. He walks out of the room and hears music playing in the living room and he spots the most beautiful thing in the world. He sees his S/O with Gabriella and their baby girl (yes I believe Miguel O'Hara is a daddy's girl through and through) being carried by his S/O and using her other hand to twirl Gabriella around to the song Milagro by Gloria Estefan and singing along to the song. Miguel sheds a tear because this is the family he has always wanted and dreamed off. After the song finishes and another one plays he walks up to them and gathers them in a hug and kisses both his beautiful girls on the forehead and says " Ustedes son mis princesas más bellas de todo el universo" and he faces his S/O and gives her a deep kiss and says " Y tú eres la reina de todo mi corazón junto con mis princesas y yo siempre las voy a protejer" and he leads his beautiful family to the kitchen to get started on breakfast and enjoy a family outing.

(NOT MY ART BY THE WAY JUST HAVE IT IN MY GALLERY)

#fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara #x reader #fluff #Spotify

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pedrointofolklore · 9 months

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Rosebud

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: carnations bloomed when you saw joel. too shy to admit your feelings, but too overcome to not, you began leaving flowers at his doorstep.

warnings: very brief but graphic depictions of violence, mentions of death/grief, tragic backstory, emotional processing, reader is a loser who falls in love in two seconds, lots of metaphorical language, swearing, mostly just self-indulgent fluff, joel is soft, big age gap (reader is in late 20s), no smut, no use of y/n (reader has a nickname), jackson era.

word count: 6k

a/n: hey y’all. i’m delving into the world of fanfiction writing and i’m tentatively posting this as my first story. this story by @army-author is what inspired me here—i read it years ago and loved the concept ever since. i also super don't know much about flower gardening so apologies for any inaccuracies.

Your earliest memory was sitting in the garden with your mother one September. You were small then, no more than three years old, covered in soil and some residual stickiness from whatever fruit you’d just devoured, watching with a curious eye as your mother pruned her roses.

When you thought of her, you thought of that garden. In your memories, it was a labyrinth. Flowers, shrubs and vines overflowed the yard. You used to fear getting lost in the brambles, but at some point, you started to crave their thorny embrace.

It was a pink rose, so bright and intense, like a painting come to life. She shed the thorns, tucked it behind your ear and pinched your chubby cheeks. That was the first time she called you ‘Rosebud.’ Nobody ever called you anything else.

You couldn’t have known then that you were just a few Septembers away from losing her.

She died on the first day, in the centre of the garden. Your lasting memory of her was your father driving a pair of garden shears into her jugular. She collapsed to the ground, blood as dark as a crimson rose pooled around her as your father wept over her lifeless body. You sprinted inside and threw up.

She died a stranger. You didn’t understand what was happening to her then, but you understood that she was gone before the shears even entered her neck.

It haunted you for the next twenty years—but that person was not your mother.

Whenever the wound opened, and that memory came flooding back, you closed your eyes and thought of her as she truly was—kind, gentle, passionate. You recalled her soft smile, her musical laugh, the books she read, the flowers she loved.

When you were a kid, you thought of her as the sun that kept those flowers alive. As you grew older, she became the sutures that kept you from falling apart.

You knew your father had no other choice, but you could never quite look at him the same. Still, he was all you had, and he kept you safe until the day he died.

It was your mother’s leather-bound notebook that kept you going. She listed every flower she could think of, and wrote the meaning next to it. That notebook went with you everywhere, all across the country. Every new species you came across, you found it in the book, memorised its meaning, and crossed it off your mental checklist.

Flower seeking had to be the most frivolous thing one could do at the end of the world, but it kept you close to your mother, and gave you some semblance of purpose. Each new flower felt like something blooming inside you—your own secret garden that grew from the depths of your soul.

Carnations bloomed when you saw Joel.

He first came to Jackson in December with a girl by his side. They were gone by the next morning, but you saw him. He was coming out of the bar, tugging his coat back on when you spotted him through the crowd of carolling townspeople.

Even from a distance, you noticed the pain in him—a pain similar to yours. There was a wistfulness in his face, a longing for something he missed, and a fear so intense it seemed paralysing. He clutched at his chest, holding in the marigold that grew where his heart should have been.

You wanted to know him.

He came back that spring with the same girl, and this time, he stayed.

It was a while before you spoke with either of them. Everyone who arrived in Jackson had a tendency to be closed-off at first, and you couldn’t fault them for that. You didn’t know where they’d been or what they’d done, but you knew they’d gone through hell.

You met Ellie first. She came by the greenhouse one day, arms crossed and face vacant. Her reticence might have been mistaken for hostility if you didn’t relate so much.

You tore your soil-covered gloves off and wiped a hand over your cheek, probably just further smudging whatever dirt was caked on there.

“Hi there!” You did your best to sound cheerful, to come across as someone who was definitely okay with unexpected visitors. “What can I do for you?”

“Maria told me you might need some help around here.”

You didn’t think you needed help, and it seemed like the girl wanted to be anywhere but here. But as you pondered her, you started to recognise what she was actually getting at.

She didn’t know what to do, but she needed to do something.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Ellie.”

“Nice to meet you, Ellie.” You held out your hand, which she stared at for a good couple of seconds before shaking. “Call me Rosebud.”

“You’re a florist named Rosebud?” She was incredulous, and you didn’t even care that she was making fun of you—it was the first time you’d seen her smile during this entire interaction.

“It’s a nickname,” you told her, “and I'm more of a floriculturist. If you want to help me out, grab some gloves and a trowel.”

“What the fuck is a ‘trowel’?”

You spent the next few hours with her digging holes in the soil, un-potting flowers and planting them in the ground. As apprehensive as Ellie had been to begin with, it didn’t take her long to warm up to you.

The first thing you learned about her was that she asked a lot of questions.

“Why do we have to move these?”

“It’s spring. They’ll do better in the ground.”

“Why didn’t Maria show us this place when we first came here?”

“It was winter. Half the flowers had gone to shit, so there wasn’t much to see,” you replied, flattening the soil around a sunflower plant.

The greenhouse had been established before you got there. Nobody ran it, it was something for everyone to tend to, but nobody cared enough to do so. The gardeners of Jackson preferred to focus on crops that could actually feed them. But then you arrived, and you knew how to grow a thriving flower garden, and with all the bees it brought, it only helped the agriculture. It also meant that Jackson had honey.

“This one’s cool. What is it?” Ellie asked. You looked over at the plant she was settling into the ground—a grassy little shrub with white flowers blooming at the ends.

“Starwort. It means ‘Welcome to a stranger.’”

“Appropriate,” Ellie said. “I didn’t know flowers had meanings.”

“It’s called floriography,” you replied. “I have a book all about it.”

Ellie stayed until the sun began to set, leaving in much better spirits than she arrived. You were used to working alone, and you thought you preferred it that way, but she turned out to be good company. You sent her home with a starwort blossom and a jar of honey as a thank you, and told her to come back any time. You really hoped she would.

You met Joel the next morning.

There was a knock at your door, which you expected to be Ellie back again. Instead, you opened the door to find her guardian standing on your front porch.

Your eyes flicked shamelessly over his form. He was broad, strong, with plaid sleeves hiked up to his elbows—you didn’t know it was possible to be attracted to someone’s forearms. His features were beautifully angular, especially his nose. But it was his eyes that really got you. They were dark like coffee, deep and intense. You could fall into them and never stop.

The garden you carried in your soul had never felt more alive. It was weird you hadn’t spoken yet, but you worried if you opened your mouth, the brightest, reddest chrysanthemums would come bursting out.

“Good mornin’. Sorry to bother you,” Joel finally said, with the rehearsed politeness typical of a Southern man. There was still an earnestness to him, like he didn’t quite remember how to do this but he was determined to try. “I think Ellie was here yesterday?”

“That’s right.” You internally cheered when your voice didn’t fail on you. “Is that okay? I know I didn’t get your permission. She just kind of showed up.”

“No, that’s okay. I just came by to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“She's been struggling to…adjust, I guess,” Joel explained, “but she was in a good mood when she came home yesterday. I think being here helped her, so thank you.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say. People silently appreciated what you did for the commune, but nobody had ever gone out of their way to thank you for anything. It was a little overwhelming.

“Well, she’s welcome here any time.” You didn’t think Ellie was particularly interested in gardening, but you could see that the girl just needed to feel busy, and maybe needed some company. You were just glad she could find that with you.

“Thank you,” Joel said again. “What was your name, darlin’?”

“Just call me Rosebud.”

You expected a laugh, a mocking jab of some sort, but instead he just tilted his head and looked at you with complete sincerity. “Pretty. It suits you.”

Your cheeks were embarrassingly warm.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” Joel said. Your heart fell. “It was nice meetin’ you. And, uh, thanks again.”

He started to leave, but you weren’t ready for him to go. Before you could think it through, you called after him, “Wait.”

You might have imagined it, but for a split second after he turned back around, you could've sworn you spotted an eagerness in him, like he was hoping you’d say that.

“You can come inside,” you offered, “if you want.”

He did.

Five minutes later, Joel was standing in your kitchen, leaning against the counter. You could feel his gaze on you as you moved, getting the water ready and setting out two mugs.

“How do you like your coffee?” You were already sure of the answer.

“Black. No sugar.” Yep.

You poured the coffee into a mug, absent-mindedly blowing on it as you handed it to him. He didn’t wait for it to cool down before taking a sip, not even flinching at the heat.

You opted for tea with a generous amount of milk and honey.

“Thanks for the honey as well,” Joel said. “Ellie loves it. She’s never had anything so sweet.”

“That doesn’t surprise me if she grew up in a QZ,” you replied, turning to face him with your mug cradled in both hands. “I think I cried when I first got here and they actually had sugar.”

“When did you get here?”

“Around two years ago. My dad knew Seth—you know, from the bar—got in touch with him, and he told us how to get here,” you explained. You truly hated Seth, but he did save your ass and that left you obligated to be nice.

“Your dad’s not here, is he?” Joel spoke without any particular sentiment. It was an observation, plain and simple. You didn’t mind, you just shook your head. It felt normal to talk about your dad. You missed him, but his death wasn’t horrifically tragic to you—the man had a heart attack.

“What about you? I mean, how’d you end up here?” You were nervous about prying, or accidentally chasing him away before you really got to talk, but Joel had fascinated you since December. You needed to know more.

“I was in the Boston QZ for a while, left to look for my brother, found him.” He wasn’t going to get more detailed than that. Too much had happened that was difficult to talk about, and you could see that, because it was the same for you.

No matter how much you wanted to, you didn’t let yourself ask anything more. You didn’t ask why he’d been here in winter, why he left so soon, why he came back, why he didn’t come sooner if his brother was here, how Ellie fit into all of it. You didn’t ask, and you wouldn’t ask. All you could do was hope he’d open up in time.

It occurred to you just how different Joel looked now than he did in December, and not just because you were actually seeing him up-close. His whole spirit had shifted. Back then, he’d been like an open wound, barely being held together by exposed, bloody tendons that threatened to snap at any moment. He was different now—still wounded, but no longer in pieces.

There was something else in him too. Something dormant, but always on the verge of springing back to life. A quiet guilt.

“Flowers always been your thing?” Joel asked. You were grateful for the subject change.

“Pretty much. I used to know someone who loved them. Made me love them too.”

He nodded with an unexpected softness in his expression. It wasn’t pity, or even sympathy, but a warm kind of understanding.

“I know the flower stuff seems silly,” you said, looking down into the milky beige of your tea, “but it really is useful.”

“I know that,” Joel said. “I don’t think it’s silly.”

You could practically feel your chest split open that very second. Flowers sprouted from your heart, and they bloomed for Joel. They longed to reach out, wrap him up in their stems and vines and pull him into you.

Carnations. Chrysanthemums. Vervain.

You kept your composure until Joel left. You said your farewells, waved him off, shut the door, and immediately collapsed on your couch in a lovestruck heap. It was all so dramatic, the sofa may as well have been a bed of roses.

It wasn’t just that Joel was attractive—and fuck, he was attractive—it was the way he wholly and truly respected you. Respect was something you’d had to earn from everyone else around here, but Joel didn’t need any convincing. He saw your worth right away.

He was all you thought about for the rest of the day, the evening, until you went to bed that night. Even then, your mind wouldn’t stop racing.

These feelings were big, too big. Keeping them inside hurt, but you feared letting them out would be agony. They were safest with you, blossoming into flowers in your soul, where only you knew about them.

But still, you were wide awake, consumed by the urge to do something, say something.

So you got up, pulled your shoes on, went outside and picked a flower from your garden.

Jackson was desolate as you wandered down the street. The only residents awake at this hour were those on patrol. It might have been eerie if you weren’t so wound up.

You scanned each house as you passed by, looking for Joel’s. Your heart pounded in your chest when you found it. You didn’t need to be so nervous, the lights were off, but you kept imagining someone walking out and catching you in the act. But you’d come this far, and his front door was just a few yards away.

You climbed the stone steps with a quiet urgency, twirling the flower between your fingers one last time before dropping it just outside his door.

A single gardenia.

You were going to leave it at just one flower—you didn’t want to be weird and scare Joel off before you really got to know him. But then Ellie came by the greenhouse again.

“Did you leave a flower on our front porch the other day?” she asked, watering a yarrow seedling.

“What? Why?” You felt so lame, and so stupid for forgetting that Ellie lived there too. Your gesture was bound to get intercepted.

“There was a white flower out there. I showed it to Joel, and we figured it was from you.” It was a very reasonable thing to figure considering it was from you.

“What did Joel say?” you asked, trying not to sound as desperate as you felt.

“He said it was for him.”

“So he took it?”

“Yeah,” Ellie said. “Don’t know what he did with it.”

Ellie wasn’t nearly as invested in this as you were, but it still sounded promising. Joel had accepted the flower, maybe even liked it. The thought made your stomach feel strange, like a bunch of petals were flurrying around in there.

“Well, it was for him…” you mumbled.

Ellie glared at you in feigned outrage. “I’m insulted.”

“What are you complaining about?” you laughed. “I gave you a flower.”

“It’s wilting.”

“Fine then”—you handed her a pair of pruning shears—“go cut yourself a new flower.”

She wandered around the greenhouse for about five minutes and came back spinning a flower between her thumb and index finger. It had pure white petals and a bright yellow pistil. “I chose this daisy.”

“That’s a cosmos,” you corrected. “It represents harmony and balance.”

Ellie assessed the flower in her hand, genuinely mulling over the meaning of it, and you realised how much you appreciated her. She saw value in something you cared about.

“What did Joel’s mean?” she asked.

“I’m actually not sure about that one.” It was a total lie, but you sounded convincing enough that Ellie shrugged it off and carried on watering flowers.

You couldn’t help yourself after that. Knowing that Joel accepted your gift made you want to do it again. And again.

So you did. Every few days, when you were sure he and Ellie were asleep, you sauntered down to their house and dropped a flower outside the door. An aster, agapanthus, camellia…

Joel never mentioned it, and you never really expected him to, but the nods and soft smiles he gave you when he saw you around were enough to let you know he appreciated you.

But Joel would never know the true meaning of your flowers. It was better that way.

Maria and Tommy’s son was born later in the spring, and your garden had never seen so many visitors. The new parents were practically drowning in congratulatory flower arrangements, and eventually Tommy had to tell you to start turning people away.

One of these visitors happened to be Joel, and he was the one person you couldn’t turn away.

Unlike everyone else, Joel came to your door first. The slight nerves he’d had the first time he came over were gone, but so was the facade of sociability. Maybe this uncouth version of Joel should have irked you, but seeing him comfortable enough to drop the pretence just made you like him more.

“I need help with something,” he said, not even bothering with a hello.

“What is it?”

“A gift for the happy family,” he spoke bitterly, like he was actively trying not to grimace as the words came out.

“Flowers?”

“Flowers seem appropriate.”

Joel was strangely upset for someone who was welcoming their nephew into the world. You didn’t know the story between Tommy and Joel, just that they hadn’t seen each other for years before Joel and Ellie arrived in Jackson, and that Maria really disliked him.

But despite his sour attitude, it was clear Joel was trying. Whatever was weighing on him, he was pushing it down and choosing to be thoughtful for the sake of his family. Tommy could deal with one more bouquet.

You walked down to the greenhouse with Joel trailing behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets the entire time. On a better day, you would have tried to make conversation with him, but he obviously didn’t need that pressure right now.

He finally spoke up when you arrived at the greenhouse. “This place has seen better days.”

It wasn’t the flowers he was talking about, it was the structure itself. The contractor in him must have noticed the rusted metal pipes holding everything together, the holes and tears in the plastic sheets, and the fact that there was almost no room to walk.

“I know it’s bad,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It was built before I got here. I don’t think they used their finest materials.”

It was always cramped in here, but Joel being so broad and having such a presence made it even worse. He was closer to you now than he’d ever been. He smelled warm, like fresh coffee and leather and musk. It made your head spin.

“So, what kind of flowers are you thinking?” You needed to change the subject before you threw yourself at this man.

“Uh...pink?”

You laughed—you couldn’t help it. He couldn’t have been more vague if he tried.

“Why’s that funny?” He wasn’t mad, but he did seem impatient.

“Sorry,” you said, fighting back a smile. “Maybe you could elaborate on that?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned, running a hand over his prickly beard. “This is why I need help.”

You felt bad for laughing when he was so stressed out. He was overthinking something that should have been simple, and it made your heart ache for him. He was looking for guidance.

“We’ll do peonies for good fortune,” you told him, “and daffodils for new beginnings.”

His shoulders relaxed as some of the tension left him. Whatever was weighing on him was still there, but this was one thing that made it bearable.

You walked back to your house after cutting the flowers, where there was actually space to work. You expected Joel to leave then, go home and wait until the flowers were ready like everyone else did, maybe even have you deliver them on his behalf, but he stayed by your side.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Joel asked, sitting across the table from you as you worked. “About flowers, I mean.”

You never got into this with anyone, but your inexplicable attachment to Joel compelled you to open up. Whatever pain resided in him reminded you of your own. He understood you.

“My mom had this book. She wrote down the meaning of every flower she knew of, and I guess I’ve memorised it all over the years,” you explained.

Talking about her didn’t hurt like you thought it would. It was actually a relief.

“When did it happen?” You knew what he was asking.

“First day,” you replied.

He nodded solemnly. “Me too.”

This wasn’t the first time you had seen through the gaps in Joel’s armour, but it was the first time he’d made the choice to let you. You didn’t know his limits, if those two words were as deep as he could get, but you wanted to see what would happen if you just asked.

“Joel?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t seem happy about this,” you said, straightforward but still cautious.

“I guess I’m not,” he admitted, looking down pensively.

“Why is that?”

“Just don’t understand bringing a kid into all this.”

You agreed with him. The people of Jackson were as safe as they could be, but outside the walls were infected, raiders, FEDRA, and a multitude of horrors too awful to speak of. It would only take one mistake for Jackson to be completely wiped out. You wouldn’t want to bring a child into a world like that either.

But you also knew that most people who had kids post-outbreak hadn’t done it by choice.

“It’s not as if people have access to birth control,” you pointed out, stacking peonies onto a piece of tissue paper. “But I don’t disagree.”

“It’s just a lot for me to wrap my head around,” Joel continued—or maybe he was starting on a completely different train of thought. “Tommy’s the uncle. He’s always been the uncle. I’m…“

He couldn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

“You still are,” you told him. “Tommy’s still an uncle.”

Joel was silent, letting your words sink in. It was cold comfort, and maybe you shouldn’t have said it, but it was what you believed.

“Why do people call you Rosebud?” The question took you aback. It was completely unrelated, yet felt so important. He was the first person in twenty years to ask you that question.

“My mom came up with it when I was little. It’s what everyone’s called me since.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Joel asked. “Seems like a constant reminder of what you lost.”

It was hard having to live without her, but you never wanted to forget what you lost. “I guess I like the reminders.”

His hand absent-mindedly fell to the broken watch on his wrist, and for a fleeting moment, you were seeing the man you first saw in December. An open wound. Marigold.

“She didn’t stop being my mom,” you said quietly. “I didn’t stop being her daughter.”

And as quickly as the wound opened, it was once again sewn shut. He even managed a smile. “You’re wise, kid. You know that?”

Kid.

Ouch.

It felt like a kick to the stomach. In an instant, the carnations that bloomed when you first saw Joel all those months ago, that had been so red and vibrant, faded into yellow.

You held yourself together until he left. You finished arranging the flowers, wrapped them up, handed them over to him, said goodbye and wished him luck, then trudged over to the couch and flopped down onto it—this time in a dejected heap.

It wasn’t as if you thought you had much of a chance with Joel, but this just felt so awfully final. It didn’t matter that you were basically thirty years old—in his mind, you were a kid.

It was embarrassing. You thought about the flowers you left—a quiet admission of feelings—and prayed the couch would swallow you whole and suffocate you.

You’d gotten it all wrong. Joel never appreciated it. He probably thought it was weird and pathetic but didn’t have the heart to tell you. You wondered why he even accepted the initial flower, and if you weren’t feeling so spurned and humiliated, it might have dawned on you that you were overreacting.

You still left a flower that night, if only to get some closure. It would be the last one you ever left him.

A red tulip.

Joel came to your door one day in July.

You’d come to expect Ellie on your front porch at least once a week, but Joel wasn’t a surprise either. You were friends now, even after such an embarrassing rejection.

Joel still never mentioned the flowers. He was probably relieved when you stopped leaving them and wanted to pretend it never happened, and that was fine by you.

Being friends didn’t help matters though. He was always rough and grumpy in his Joel way, but he was sweet too. So sweet. It felt impossible to move on.

“Hey, Joel,” you said. “Need help with something?”

“I wanted to help you, actually.”

“Me?”

“I can’t keep lookin’ at that greenhouse,” Joel said. “It’s a piece of shit.”

You had to laugh at his honesty. “You want to patch it up?”

“Was thinking of taking the whole thing apart and rebuildin’ it.”

The offer stunned you. It was so generous and so out of nowhere. Your first instinct was to say no, that it wasn’t worth the trouble, but something stopped you. It was Joel coming to you in earnest and saying he wanted to help. It felt like an insult to deny him.

You smiled warmly and nodded. “Okay.”

“When can I get started?” he asked.

Shit. You had dozens of flower pots you didn’t know what to do with. “Uh, I’ll have to empty the greenhouse first. I guess I'll bring the flowers here in the meantime.”

“Ellie and I can help with that,” Joel said. “I’ll go get her.”

You blinked at him. “Now?”

“You got other plans?”

You absolutely did not. “Ah, no. Now is good.”

“Great.”

That was how you spent your day, lugging flower pots from the greenhouse and unloading them in your front yard with Joel and Ellie in tow. It was so lovely it bordered on being painful—pink roses unshed of their thorns pierced your heart.

You let yourself imagine for a moment that this was reality. That you, Joel and Ellie were a weird, happy family. The carnations in your soul had never been more yellow, and you instantly regretted indulging in that particular fantasy.

Joel was already at the greenhouse when you went there the next morning. He was up on a ladder, and half of the structure was already torn down. Rusted metal pipes and discoloured, ripped up plastic sheets were piling up a few feet away.

“Need any help?” you called out.

He looked down at you and smiled—a real, wide smile you hadn’t seen on him before. “You know what you’re doin'?”

“Not really.”

“Then, no,” he replied. “Don’t want you droppin’ anything on that pretty little head.”

Huh?

You flushed all over, wishing your couch was here so you could collapse onto it. Less than two months ago he was calling you a kid, and now he thought your head was pretty. The thought crept in that maybe he was purposely messing with you, but you liked Joel too much to entertain the idea.

“Well, I probably can’t help with the physical labour,” you said, cursing how nervous your voice sounded. “But if there’s anything else…”

“You’re a sweet one, Rosebud,” Joel said. He had to be doing this on purpose. “You just let me do my thing, and we’ll leave it a surprise.”

You laughed. “In other words, you’re telling me to get lost?”

He grinned at you fondly. “Just trust me.”

It only took one exchange for that hope to come back to life. You tried to stop it, tell yourself he was just teasing, that he didn’t mean it that way, but it was too late. Those carnations were already morphing back into a searing red.

You wanted to come by everyday and watch him work, but you stayed away and waited for him to come to you. It only took a few days for him to show up at your door, looking infuriatingly hot covered in blotches of sage green paint.

“Is it ready?” you asked.

“It’s ready.”

You followed along behind him, keeping your eyes down so you didn’t accidentally spot the new greenhouse before he was ready for you to look. You ended up just ogling his ass, which was a decidedly better and much more pinch-able sight than the ground.

“Look now.”

You lifted your gaze, and your hands flew up to your mouth as you let out a dramatic gasp.

It wasn’t just good, it wasn’t just an improvement, it was beautiful—masterfully pieced together with timber and painted the same sage green that Joel was sporting on his clothes. And it was bigger. There would actually be space for you to walk around inside.

Joel started to panic from beside you, and you realised you were crying. “Is it the green? I can repaint it if you hate it.”

You seemed to have lost the power of speech to reassure him, so instead, you threw your arms around him and held tight. The suddenness of it shocked him, and his hands found your waist. You weren’t sure if he was about to push you away or pull you in.

“So, you like it?” he asked.

“I love it,” you snivelled into his shoulder. “Thank you, Joel.”

He hugged you back then, caging you in with his big arms and making you feel so safe. You felt a prickly sensation on your temple as he brushed his lips against it.

Red tulips were threatening to burst out of you in droves. You didn’t want to let go, but you were seconds away from making a confession you couldn’t take back if you spent too much longer in his embrace.

You pulled yourself away, and even with the sun beating down on you, you missed his warmth.

He walked you back home, came inside when you offered him iced tea (you were out of coffee), drank it all even if it was too sweet for him, and all you could do was thank him repeatedly for what he’d done.

“Don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I wanted to do this for you.”

What did that mean?

“I’m sorry I never said anything,” Joel continued, a pink flush apparent on his cheeks.

“About what?” You knew exactly what.

“The flowers. I wanted to thank you, but I didn’t know how. I’m not used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“Kindness.” He almost winced, like it hurt to say.

“It was weird. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t weird,” Joel assured you. “It was…nice. Bummed me out when you stopped.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I get it.”

You didn’t know what to say at this point. You didn’t want to be talking about any of it, and you were about to tell him that, ask him to move on from this, until he decided to put you on the absolute spot.

“What did they mean?”

Fuck. “Hm?”

“The flowers,” he said. “You said flowers have meaning. What did they mean?”

“I actually don’t know those ones.” That harmless little lie worked on Ellie, but Joel saw right through it.

“Why are you lying to me?” He didn’t even sound angry or annoyed, just genuinely curious, and a little sympathetic.

You considered doubling-down, insisting you didn't know, but you couldn’t do that him. It was a vulnerable conversation for not only you, but Joel as well. You understood how hard this was for him, and you cared for him too much to shut him down.

But you couldn’t say it, not verbally. Instead, you grabbed the notebook that was laying on your coffee table and held it out to him. There was a split second as he was reaching for it where you imagined yourself tugging it back out of his reach, forgetting about this entire thing, but then it was in his hands and it was too late. Nothing would ever be the same.

You held your breath as he flipped through it, his eyes flicking over the words. His face gave nothing away, but his finger was tracing over something.

Red tulip - declaration of love.

He gently shut the book and set it down, and your eyes stayed firmly on the floor, hoping if you stared at it long enough it would split open and consume you.

“Are you surprised?” You couldn’t project your voice above a whisper.

“I guess not,” Joel said. It was the honest answer, and the one you most expected. “I thought you were just bein’ nice, then Ellie kept insisting you were interested.”

That girl was smarter than you gave her credit for—and you already thought she was very smart.

“I thought there was no way,” Joel continued. “You’re sweet and young and so pretty. I’m just an old man.”

“I don’t care how old you are,” you replied.

“I’ve done a lot of bad things...”

“I don’t care what you’ve done. I care who you are now.”

You were looking at him now. He looked moved, rapt, and not at all like someone about to deliver a devastating rejection.

“And you want me?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause where neither of you said anything, but the air was thick with an unspoken question: Where do we go from here?

“Can I kiss you, Rosebud?”

You nodded, and he did. It felt like dozens of chrysanthemums, camellias and carnations all springing to life under your skin.

He was gentle in a way you never could have imagined, cupping your cheek with his palm and holding your waist with the other. It was reminiscent of the hug you’d shared earlier, and you wondered if he’d wanted to kiss you then.

His lips were rough, a little chapped, but soft in the way he moved them. This wouldn’t be how he always kissed, you were sure of that. Someday it would be messy, frantic, all-consuming. But this careful, slow movement of his lips against yours was all you needed right now.

He wanted to be gentle with you, because he cherished you like a rosebud.

flower translations:

rose (pink) - perfect happiness

rose (dark crimson) - mourning

carnation (red) - admiration

marigold - grief, despair

starwort - welcome to a stranger

chrysanthemum (red) - i love you

vervain - enchantment

gardenia - you’re lovely

yarrow - healing

aster - symbol of love

agapanthus - secret love

camellia (pink) - longing for you

peony - prosperity

daffodil (bunch) - new beginnings, hope, good luck

carnation (yellow) - rejection, disappointment

tulip (red) - declaration of love

rosebud (red) - pure, lovely

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #the last of us #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #the last of us fanfiction

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xylianasblog · 4 months

Text

Waiting here for you.

Pairings: Agedup! Loak x Agedup! Tsireya x FemHuman Reader

Summary: You had always been in love with him, always attached to one another until he had to leave, one day you visit and find he’s mated. Yet what about you?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, fluff, happy ending, oral (fem reciving), size difference, angst to comfort, established relationship, threesome, let me know if i missed anything

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦ ❀✿❀꒦꒷❀꒷꒦MDNI ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦❀✿❀ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

“I have to leave.” The words felt like knives straight to your heart, killing whatever words you were about to say instantly. “We have to go hopefully not for long.” You straightened up your position in his lap, eyes staring into his golden ones. You refused to cry, refused to shed any tears as you felt your heart breaking at the news of him leaving.

“You will come back to me, right?” You asked, those were the only sentences you could utter as you pressed your hands to his chest, your fingers gently scratching at his smooth skin. At the young age of 13, you knew that you wanted him. All of his love and everything he could give.

At such a young age you knew he was it for you.

“Yeah. Yeah… mamas. I’ll come back to you.” He whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “I promise.”

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

It felt like the days passed by slowly, and each day you’d find yourself waking up and rushing to his home only to remember that he was gone.

He was gone.

They say habits were hard to break and he was your biggest one. A bad habit? A good one? A habit all in one, the only thing you knew was that you often found yourself looking around wondering where your love had gone, had he missed you as much as you missed him? Had he even thought about you the way you think about him? Did he even remember you?

Every day you’d sit and wait; every day you’d run away to your secret spot to pray. How crazy it was for you to pray to Eywa like she could hear you as if you were one of the people and not some human child missing her other half. Praying for her to bring him back.

The months had begun to pass yet you stayed hopeful for his return. He promised and you were sure he’d keep his promise. He wouldn’t break his promise, right? So, you waited and waited. Going as far as even celebrating his birthdays in your favorite place, wishing one day he’d come back and celebrate with you.

It was wishful thinking all the same.

One year passed, then two, and three, before you knew it you were already nineteen. The change was detrimental, yet no one knew how to help. You weren’t yourself; nothing was working and nothing was the same.

Every day you had waited for him to return just like he promised, just like he said all those years ago when he whispered the words so softly into your ear as he held your small body close. He couldn’t break that promise right? He wouldn’t break that promise right?

“Loak.. where are you?” You stared up at the thick foliage that blocked midday sky. “You promised.” You’d sigh, your words carried with the soft whisper of the wind.

Six years gone by within a blink of an eye and yet that empty feeling only grew inside. The void of his absence draining you, depressing you. It slowly killed you. Withered away at pieces of your heart until it felt like there was nothing left.

You had waited, his promise playing in your mind, you waited and waited, just watching as the days went by. The days and nights blurred into one yet nothing, you felt like you were on auto drive. He wasn’t coming, he had lied.

Yes, you were determined to keep his promise alive.

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Once the morning of a new day came you found yourself curled up in a ball in your room, your mind occupied. Thoughts driven and divided, thoughts cloudy and muddled with sadness. The once happy mind you had gone and replaced with broken promises and lies.

“Hey, Y/n. There’s a celebration happening at the Metkayina clan.” Norm started as he peeked his ahead inside your room. “Jake sent us an invite.”

It was quiet for a moment as your mind registered the news, a celebration. You could see Lo'ak? See how he changed? Your eyes found Norms and you smiled, the smallest of smiles, and nodded. Baby steps, right? Maybe he didn’t forget… hopefully he didn’t forget. “Pack up your prettiest clothes, okay? We leave in two hours.”

You couldn’t help feeling of excitement that ran through your body, every inch of you felt alive in the moment.

Without a second thought you ran to take a nice long shower, doing everything you can to make yourself look clean and presentable. After shaving and making sure you were thoroughly clean you put on your nicest prettiest sundress and sandals, even took the time to do your makeup in a nice presentable way. You let your hair flow freely, deciding to let it air dry while you packed clothes.

Once everyone was ready and packed you all set off to the island. You didn’t ask any questions; your mind was reeling. Thoughts of how your love looked now all grown up, was his hair longer? Did his body get better? Was he even more attractive now than he was when he left all those years ago?

You couldn’t focus, couldn’t even think you just needed to see him, needed to hug him and maybe even just touch him. You just wanted. Did he want you too?

God did he even miss you?

The flight felt long, longer than anything you could remember. You felt so ansty, so anxious. Nervousness filled your body, you felt as if you lost the words to speak once you all had finally landed.

Having been greeted by the sullys all except one, you wondered where he was, where he could have gone. No one told you a thing just gave simple hellos and hugs to your small body. You felt like home being with the family, it had been so long you didn’t question their squeamish behavior.

You didn’t question when Jake had pulled Norm off to the side, hands motioning to you in what seemed to be a heated discussion. You watched on before looking around your eyes landing on Neteyam. He caught your eye just as pretty as ever, he only seemed to grow in every way and in that moment, you wished he was the brother that stole your heart away.

“Nete! Have you seen Lo?” You asked once you reached him, bouncing excitedly on your heels.

“No…” his tone was short as if he was hiding something, and that thought hurt but you had to push it away. Biting down on your lip you gave a curt nod as you turned and walked away.

You decided to explore, to find him yourself since everyone was acting so strange. Your mind wondered as you wondered a good distance away. Thoughts of Lo’ak were interrupted by the quiet sound of breathless moans. Your steps faulting for a moment as your curiosity got the better of you.

Your heart felt heavy, and your steps felt heavier, each one felt like you had cement bricks tied to your ankles. The closer to the sounds you got the heavier the weights seem to get, who said waiting six years was enough to break your heart? The sight before you were enough to end your very existence.

There before you was a beautiful girl, with her body exposed. The back of a male that you knew all too well buried deep inside her, whispering sweet things into her ear as he pleasured her. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t bring yourself to leave, all this time you waited for him, for his love. For what was meant to be.

His promise all those years ago really just a lie.

After a moment you found the courage to turn and leave, step after step you forced your body to take. The tears falling from your eyes, blurry vision and a heavy mind. You made your way back in the direction you came, thoughts plagued by what you had saw. The images playing over and over each time you closed your eyes.

By the time you arrived back at the Sullys home everyone could tell you had seen something you weren’t meant to see. They could only offer soft smiles and silence and for now that’s what you needed. At least you thought it was until Neytiri sat beside you, her hand rubbing soothing circles into your back as you pressed your face into her chest.

For that moment, the little bit of time you let yourself cry. The pain of the time you waited sat heavy on your brain. Every part of your being crumbled the moment you saw him in the arms of another.

“Ma Y/n..” Neytiri mumbled as she pressed a soft kiss to your head.

You stayed that way, in the comfort of their home until it was time for the celebration. Once you had come to know as a celebration for Lo’ak and the beautiful na’vi you had seen, Tsireya. You sat and watched as everyone cheered and partied. Your mind wasn’t in it, and neither was your heart, you couldn’t focus on anything. Everything in you wanted to leave, but you couldn’t no matter how hurt you felt you couldn’t run.

Once the celebration came around, you’d be lying if you said everything wasn’t amazing, because it was. How you wished it was you instead, you envied her. She was everything you weren’t and that hurt.

“Hey mamas.” Called his soft voice over the sound of the beating drums. Your body tensed up as you felt his large hand rubbing your back, his touch felt so familiar.

“You didn’t come back for me. You broke your promise Lo’ak.” You whispered as you did your best to blink away the tears. “You forgot about me.”

“No.. no baby I didn’t forget about you.” He started but all you could do was hold up your hand as you shook your head.

“You broke your promise… you didn’t come back to me.” You whispered once more before you left for the night.

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Two days passed and you made it your mission to actively avoid Lo’ak. If only it was easier to do with his mate, you couldn’t hate her. In fact, you couldn’t even look away, she was so warm and sweet, everything about her drew you in.

You often found yourself watching her, being curious about her. Yet never anything more.

“Hi!” Tsireya squeaked as she stopped in front of you. “I’ve heard so much about you, can we be friends? I wish to get to know you.” Her words were so soft and sincere as she stared at you with her beautiful blue doe eyes. You faltered wanting to say but instead you declined politely.

“I’m sorry.” was all you could give.

This continued on with her cornering you, trying to speak to you. Just as you were drawn to her, her soul cried for you, just as it did for Lo’ak. You knew it wasn’t her fault, but you couldn’t help but to avoid and dismiss her.

To Tsireya your easy dismissal of her broke her heart. The action each time hurt her in ways she wasn’t use too, so she turned to her mother for advice.

“I wish to have the tawtute mama, but she ignores me.” Tsireya started.

“Is that so?” Ronal question as she brushed through her daughter’s hair. “You wish to add her as a mate? Have her as your third, yes?”

“Of course mama. She is pretty and I feel drawn to her in ways I can’t explain.”

Her words grew softer as she spoke. The moment was quiet as her mother listened to her.

“Do you hear that my girl? Listen to Eywa in the breeze, her words in the sea. She wills it to be so. The small tawtute. You will care for her? She is fragile, small but not weak. She will compliment you two. Complete you as Eywa has intended.”

Tsireya was determined to find you and fix it all no matter what it took and once her mom finished her hair, she went off to speak with Lo’ak before coming to find you.

Her steps were light, barely audible to your human ears. You focused yourself on gathering seashells and anything pretty enough for the smallest Sully who has grown into a beautiful teenager. Your thoughts a jumbled mess of everything until you heard her voice.

“I wish to show you something! I promise you will like it.”

Your eyes stared blankly at the sand before slowly trailing up along her body until your eyes found hers. The look in her eyes was full of determination, one that even had you momentarily surprised. You let out a small hun

As you slowly stood up, wanting to leave but the feeling of her smooth hand wrapping around your arm stopped you.

“Come with me.” Her usual soft voice was hard as she demanded your time, and before you could dismiss her, she pulled you along with her.

“What- No! You can’t..” whatever protest you had died on the tip of your tongue as you let her lead you away from your once quiet, yet comforting time alone. Your feet were dragged through the sand as you tried to keep up, her steps were much bigger and faster compared to your own.

Why were you letting her lead you away? Why were you going with her? For what reason, was it necessary. The moment she stopped on the dock where her ilu was waiting patiently you should have bolted, should have run as fast as your small legs could carry you yet you didn’t. You stayed.

Why did you stay? Why did you let her put you on the ilu and swim away? All these questions yet there was only one answer. You only wanted one thing. The truth.

You sat there in front of her staring off into the distance, the colors of the sunset blending beautifully as one. For a moment you let the pain you felt the last six years fade away, for a moment you felt at peace. There were no lies, no heartbreak, no broken promises laid before you, just you and the beautifully colored sky.

As the ilu came to a stop you didn’t move, you couldn’t bring yourself too as you pulled your eyes from the sky and to the figure before you. You felt Tsireyas hands rubbing soothing circles on your hips as Lo’ak made his way over to you.

“Mamas, I did not forget about you. I did not leave you.” He confessed and for once your body deflated, whatever hurt you felt bubbled forward as the tears fell down your face. “No.. no don’t cry mamas..” his lard hand enveloped your face, his fingers wiping away your tears. “I always meant to come back to you. For you.”

The sincerity and honesty in his words weighed heavy in your heart. “But... why’d you take so long?"

Lo’ak paused for a moment, his sun-kissed eyes looking over your face before meeting your watery ones. “To be better, to get stronger. To be exactly what you needed.” He took a breath as Tsireya continued to rub the soothing circles into your skin. “I thought about you every day for the last six years, how I would make my way back to you. How I would come back better than ever to be somebody other than the weird freak with the demon blood.”

“Lo… I’ve never..” you started until he cut you off with a shake of his head.

“I know, but I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t.”

He offered a small smile as he lifted your small frame from the ilu, making sure your body was secure in his large arms. He said nothing else as he held you close, your face buried into his neck as he buried his nose into your hair. Breathing in your all too familiar scent that he missed so much. You held onto him for dear life as you felt him walking, the sound of his and Tsireya's steps the only thing you could hear until they both slowed to a stop. He carefully lowered himself onto the ground, holding your body tight. He was making sure you were still pressed snuggly up against his own, his hands moving down to your hips.

“I wish to have you, if you still wish to have me.” Lo’ak mumbled against the top of your head, you pulled away tilting your head to the side before glancing at Tsireya who sat behind you quietly, her patience easily wearing thin.

“But you are mated.” you protested until she finally spoke up. “I wish to have you as well, if you will also have me.” She shuffled closer to you both, your small body now between the both of them as you felt her bury her face into your neck. “I felt it the moment I saw you. Then I spoke with my mother who only helped confirmed. Please? Will you have us? we promise to do everything we can to make up for the lost time.” Her muffled words soft as she spoke to them, her hands sliding around to rest against your stomach.

“Be our mate, be ours mamas.”

Your mind was hazy, and not in a bad way either. You were contemplating, it had never been like Lo’ak to hurt you intentionally.

A small mumbled yes slipped past before you can stop yourself, the words of agreement already being spoke into the air. The pair couldn’t help the way their eyes widened and their ears twitched, they wasted little to no time touching and kissing you.

Lo’aks lips pressed against yours as Tsireyas hands touched softly and gently against your body. Your body felt alive, more alive than you’ve ever felt these last few years. The way you responded to the smallest of touches drove them crazy; and before you could process anything besides his lips and her soft touches your body was bare to them.

Their touches became desperate, you soon found yourself on your back with your head pressed into Tsireyas thighs while Lo’aks face was between your legs. Your body shivered as moans fell from your lips the way they both touched and pleasured you, the desperate touches so eager to please you.

“Fuck baby… I’ve been thinking about tasting you for so long.” Loak murmured as he spread your lips his mouth latching into your swollen nub while his finger was gently rubbing along your slit coating and spreading around your juices. He pushed his index finger inside gently thirsting it in and out slowly to help you adjust.

“Lo..” you whined, Tsireya giggled from above you, her fingers teasing and rubbing your breast. “Shh yawne.. you’re doing so good right now. just let us make you feel good.” She whispered.

You turned slightly just enough to bury your face into her inner thigh, her nails digging her skin. Your whines and whimpers filled the cove as they continued to touch you. Tsireyas soft praises and sweet touches paired with Lo’aks skillful fingers and mouth has you reaching your orgasm quicker than you had expected. Your body shook as your words got stuck in your throat, eyes rolling back from the intensity. It had felt like you entire forgot how to function, your mind unfocused on the fact that you needed air to breathe.

As Lo’ak slurped up your juices Tsireya was peppering your face in light kisses while whispering sweet words as your mind caught up with your body once the high had faded. Your body desperately tried to force the air it was receiving into steady breaths, slowly coming down you felt like you were once again grounded enough to focus.

For a moment all was quiet until Tsireya spoke into your ear, “We aren’t done yet yawne..”

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Taglist: @pandoraslxna @neteyamsoare @hiddensnow1 @criticallybella @sunfyresrider @neteyamsyawntu @tiredmamaissy @headsincloud9 @etherialblackrose @strongheartneteyam @blue-slxt @justcaptainnoodles @neteyamyawne @hotdsworld @luvv4j4ybe11 @itchaboi-itchyboy @eywaite

#avatar twow #atwow smut #atwow angst #loak x reader #tsireya x reader #loak x tsireya x reader #loak angst #heavy angst

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ecoamerica · 25 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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shinsocest · 4 months

Text

No. 001

Notes: first of many reuploads, fave of personal faves ♡ commission for @kailali from once upon a time ♡♡♡

7.7k

warnings: stepcest, marking, piercings, creampies, fem reader, reader is lifted, degradation & praise, oral (both), multiple orgasms, hard s*x soft feelings

It had been a long day.

You sigh and let your bag fall to the entry floor as you toe off your shoes. As the only quirkless member of the Todoroki family you never had a shot at hero work, but that never meant you had no interest in the hero industry. You finally made it into your preferred field a few months ago, a new hire at your stepmother’s ex’s agency in their crisis management department. Whenever a hero or sidekick makes a mistake or a villain causes too much damage before they’re apprehended, you’re behind the scenes doing as much as you can to fix the lives of those affected.

All in all… paperwork is a bitch.

An irritated puff expels through your nose as you nearly trip over an extra pair of shoes in the foyer, but your irritation dispels when you lay eyes on a worn pair of charcoal converse. You sigh.

“Touya?” you call out as you pad down the hall.

“Living room.” His voice is tired, a sleep laden rasp in his throat.

You sweep through the open kitchen, drop your keys on the counter, and make your way to the living room. You lean in the doorway when you catch sight of him sprawled out on your couch, half under one of the softer throws your stepmom got you for Christmas a couple years ago. The light from the tv bathes him in a silver sheen, highlighting his jet-black hair and glinting off the triple helix on his ear, the gift you’d gotten him for his last birthday.

Touya shifts a little more upright as you come into his line of sight and reaches for the lamp on the side table. The soft yellow light helps, makes him look warmer. The picturesque tattoos of burning hemlock dancing up his forearms and disappearing under his shirt look more lively, and you can see the smile on his face as he looks at you.

But he still looks tired.

“Long day?”

You scoff and then laugh a little, your shoulders sagging as you slouch over to the couch. He opens the blanket in invitation and you crawl in beside him, sighing as he wraps an arm around you, your head dropping onto his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you mumble softly, sighing again as he kisses the top of your head. You return the kiss with one to the side of his neck, your lips pressing to the inky vines winding down his throat. “You?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. His voice is a comfortable rumble against your back. “Somethin’ like that.”

Touya uses your apartment as a personal hideout, ever since you leased the place. At his age he's expected to be living on his own by now, but Rei has a soft spot for her eldest son and won't push him out of the nest. Since he promised you he wouldn't argue with your father, he ends up at your place more often than not. Your dad is the type to be optimistic, encouraging, and stern, and Touya doesn't have the best track record with nurturing authority types—or authority figures in general really—given how strict Endeavor was when it came to raising his children.

He squints at the screen as if just noticing it was on. "Movie's comin' on. Wanna watch it with me?"

"Sure. I think I wanted to see this one, but let me change first."

A short trip to your room is enough to shed your office clothes and slip into a tank top and sleep shorts before you're back in his arms, wiggling until you're comfortable and he’s grumbling at you to settle the fuck down.

It may seem odd from the outside looking in to be this close, but it's always been this way with your step-siblings. Natuso and Fuyumi were the middle children, working hard on their futures when your parents hit it off, so it made sense that the eldest and youngest were the ones who latched onto you the hardest.

Shoto was polite in the beginning—earnest, really—and before long he was looking to you for approval even after he graduated from Yuuei. Touya saw you as another little sibling to look after, in his own way. From the moment you’d moved in, it felt like he was doing his best to make sure there was a place in their family where you fit. You always got the sense it was because he felt like an outlier himself. You were just happy to be accepted, and you adored them both, all of them of course.

Barely halfway through the movie, Touya shifts and his hand slides around to your stomach to hold you more comfortably. It makes you warm, dangerously so.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t enjoy how touchy-feely Touya always is, and he always seems to be seeking physical comfort from you. He holds your hand when he walks you to the store, always needs a hug before he leaves, and if he doesn't get a kiss on his cheek before he’s out the door, he will pout at you (aka lots of snark and rolled eyes) until you give in.

“You’re shifting a lot tonight, doll. You good?” Touya hums behind you, sounding distracted and you realize you’d been rubbing yourself back against his—

“Sorry!” you whisper, face flaming.

“Don’t worry about it.” After a minute he mutters under his breath about how warm you are. “Don’t tell me you’re my real sister after all, 's like you're on fire.”

“We can take the blanket off—”

“Nah, ‘m fuckin’ freezing, feels good. My hands are cold, can I?”

“You fucker!” you yelp as he pushes his palms under your shirt, his hands like ice on your skin. His smirk is almost tangible behind you as he reprimands you for squirming when he’s doing his best to battle the sudden chill.

“Keep still, would ya?”

You try to kick his shins but he outmaneuvers you, pinning your legs under his own. He chuckles under his breath as the two of you scuffle for a couple moments, tugging you closer until you give up with an exaggerated huff.

“You good now? You’re missing the movie.”

You grumble as you settle, but your heart still races.

During your half-hearted wrestling attempt it had been easy to miss, but now that you’re relaxed into him again you’re becoming aware of the way Touya is heating up behind you. His palm is nearly searing the skin on your navel now, but you’re too distracted by what’s unmistakably digging into your back at the moment.

You know you’re not supposed to get a flutter of anticipation, but it shudders up your spine anyways. Every now and then his hips rock forward like he can’t help himself, and every time they do, that telltale heat building hot and impatient beneath your skin grows.

His fingers are playing with your waistband like they have so many times before. You’re holding your breath as he dips a little lower than usual and you find yourself wondering, telling yourself you’re not hoping for it…but is this the night he’s finally going to cross the line he’s spent so much time dancing around?

You’ve always known. This dance has been happening for a while. You’ve noticed the way he looks at you, and holds you too close, and you feel guilty knowing just how much you enjoy the attention. He always seems to hold himself back though, neither one of you truly acknowledging the heightening desire that builds in the dark.

Your gasp feels loud when his hand firmly slides into your panties—long fingers toying with the apex of your mound, a breath away from the bundle of nerves that feels like a live current desperate for a trigger—but it’s barely more than a tense inhale.

Touya’s lips are almost on your ear, his breath hot as his words push both of you towards an uncharted precipice.

“This okay?”

You know that this is the moment to turn back. If you say something now, he’ll remove his hand and go back to watching the movie.

Your heart pounds rapidly as you think, but something heated and needy coils tight in you. If you deny him now, would he ever have the courage to come after you again? Displeasure rises bitterly at the thought of him distancing himself from you. You want him. Maybe you’ve always wanted him.

“Mhm,” you manage, breathing just a little too hard to be casual, and you feel his grin against your neck.

“That’s my girl.”

Hot pleasure sparks beneath your skin at his words, but it’s nothing compared to the electric shock as his fingers slip between your embarrassingly wet folds.

“That’s my slut,” Touya groans sharply, his tone low and laced with thinly veiled desire. “Do you know how wet you are? I always knew you were a needy little thing.”

You whine as he parts your folds, tracing over your hole and up to your clit. It’s almost twitching with the desire to be touched, white hot and wanting. “Touya, please.”

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he mumbles, tongue pressing to your neck, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin there as he obliges you. You moan breathily and uncontrolled as he circles the bud delicately, again and again. “You sound so good sayin’ my name like that, doll.”

He’s rocking his hips into you steadily now, grinding against your back.

Heat and frustration is building steadily as your step-sibling continues to play with you, and you realize that he is quite literally playing with you—switching between the way he touches your clit, moving from circling it gently to tapping it, rolling it between his fingers.

Touya knows to be thorough, to find out exactly what you like, to make this unforgettable. He’s listening and paying close attention to the way you react to his every touch. Every now and then slender fingers slide down and he presses a digit or two into your soaked cunt, now dripping obscenely, curling them lazily as he searches for what makes your body sing.

Even with his lazy movements, you can feel something coiling tight inside you. Whatever this is between you, it's been too long coming, your hips jerking as pleasure threatens to undo you. But before you can be taken apart, Touya slips his fingers from your waistband.

You whine at the loss, whipping your head towards him only for him to grasp your chin and pull you closer, his tongue prying your lips apart and delving inside. His fingers are still slick from your juices, gripping your chin tighter as he shifts you under him, supporting his weight on one arm as he kisses you like this is his last chance to.

You don’t have the coherency to tell him it’s not, dizzy with want by the time he pulls back. His sapphire eyes darken when you wrap a leg around his hips to instinctively keep him close, his lips glistening in the flickering light of the tv.

“Tell me you want this.” He stares down at you intently, holding your gaze as he waits for your admission.

There’s no point in denying it anymore. Of course you do.

“I want you.”

Touya grabs at your thigh curled around him and pushes it off, smirking at your pout as he sits back on the couch. “‘S cute, but don’t make that face. Strip all that off, and c’mere.”

You all but scramble as he pats his lap, pulling your shirt over your head and bra following quickly, equal parts pleased and embarrassed when you see the way his gaze is locked on you, trailing down your exposed skin. As you slip the last of your clothing down your legs and step out of it you look at him, confused when he just sits there watching you.

“Aren’t you gonna…” you trail off, eyebrows furrowing.

Touya perks an eyebrow at you. “Didn’t I say c’mere? We were watchin’ a movie, weren’t we?”

His voice is too light, and you know that tone. He’s up to something, but big brother Touya is always up to something. And he always gets his way. So instead of questioning him again, you do what he wants and you settle into his lap, only making a small noise of complaint when he faces you away from him.

He clicks his teeth. “Don’t be a brat now, you were being such a good girl earlier.”

“You’re not being fair,” you mumble, squirming. “Why’m I the only one naked?”

“Cause you’re prettier than me.” He’s teasing and you know it.

Your protest is cut off as he yanks you back against his chest and cups your breasts, slender fingers pulling at your nipples and rolling them.

“Fuck!”

“My cute little whore has such a dirty mouth,” Touya purrs in your ear. “Just sit still. Lemme touch.”

You try, you really do. He kneads at your breasts, smoothes his hands down your body, exploring you languidly. It’s impossible.

“Touya—” you break off with a squeak as he bites your shoulder in reprimand. “Hey!”

Touya laves his tongue over the stinging mark and coos. “Aw did that hurt?”

“A little…”

“Want my cock to make it better?”

You suck in a breath. It comes out of his mouth like a sweet invitation, but there’s just enough insecurity in his cocky tone for you to hear (that only you could hear) that you know he’s uncertain of your answer. His heart is pounding against your back, further betraying his underlying anxiety.

Not one to torture your loved ones, you squirm back on him. “Make it better, Touya. Make me feel better.”

“Say it,” he demands, turning your head to look at him.

Blue eyes glare down at you desperately, searching for any hint that you’re playing him. You’re quick to douse the flames of doubt.

“Fuck me,” you whine. “I want your cock.”

“Shit,” Touya breathes, flopping back against the couch, hiking you further up his lap so he can reach the button of his jeans and pop it open.

You moan at the feeling of something warm and hard sliding between your thighs as he shifts you back into place, before spreading your legs over his own.

"Eyes on the movie, doll," Touya rasps, teasing your slit with the head of his cock. "You wanted to watch it, remember?"

You wanted the chance to see him, the disappointment welling in your chest evaporating as quickly as it appears at the feel of him pushing the head in and out of your soaking heat.

"What about you?" Your last word cuts off in a gasp as he pushes into you fully, his girth spreading you open.

"Was never watchin’ the movie," he breathes, a groan hitching in his throat as the walls of your cunt squeezes him in a vice grip.

It feels different, and not just taboo different.

"Touya, what's that?" You moan as something—several cool to the touch somethings—rub against the front wall of your pussy, making your toes curl as pleasure bolts from nerve to nerve.

“I’ll show you later,” he groans impatiently, his hands fumbling on your hips to hold you still. “J-just, fuck— Lay back, would you?”

You comply, and Touya sinks lower on the couch, his feet on the floor to give him the leverage to fuck into you, each stroke slow and languid. Pleasure courses through your veins, hot and sticky, your eyes pinching closed as you focus on the feel of him.

He’s so long and wonderfully girthy—just enough to feel stretched, the fat head of his cock touching deep every time he sinks into you—but you can’t get over the scrape of those…god, what are those?

You can’t think, your moans splitting the thick air of the living room, legs quivering under his touch as he smooths his palms along your spread thighs. You’re both lost in a loop of exhilaration and long awaited satisfaction, your hips jerking into his every time he sinks in deep and grinds.

His teeth meet your shoulder again, digging into the same grooves he left behind before. Your thoughts are sluggish beyond the haze of pleasure but it feels like he’s marking you, leaving something of himself behind. The thought chases away the sharp sting, winds a sudden coil in your gut, and you suck in a breath as something white flashes behind your eyelids.

“Touya!”

“Yeah, I feel it,” Touya moans behind you—moans, and the sound of it has you clenching around him hard, forcing a choked groan from his lips. “Fuck yeah, doll. Keep squeezin’ my cock like that. Perfect little slut, touch yourself for me.”

With shaky hands you begin to circle your own clit, lightly, the added stimulation threatening to unravel you right now, but you don’t want this to end. Not yet. It feels so good; whines and broken iterations of his name are all you feel capable of.

“Tell me how it feels.” There’s a desperate edge in his voice now, tight with desire and something else, something that sets you alight from head to toe.

“It feels so good! So warm, ‘m gonna—” It’s a borderline sob now, with you feeling as if you’re dangling on the edge of something dangerous. You’re almost scared of the blooming sparks in your belly, but you wretchedly race towards them anyways.

Touya’s thrusts grow a little frenzied, the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you loud in your ears. He’s panting, his groans ragged, barely holding on himself.

“Tell me you love me.”

His voice is rough, but so impossibly tender—needy. Your mind short circuits at the sound, pleasure igniting in your belly and your hand reaches back to tangle in his hair as you fall apart.

Touya groans, one hand tight on your hip as you spasm around his cock, his other reaching around to replace yours, gently circling your clit to help you ride out your orgasm.

“Touya! I love you, Touya—oh, god!”

Touya stiffens and shudders as pleasure melts the base of his spine, zipping up along it, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he spills inside you with a low whimper. “F-fuck—”

You both sag into the couch, chests heaving as you wind down from your respective highs. You squirm at the feeling of him softening in you before he grumbles something unintelligible and pulls you down onto your side with him.

His heart races against your back as he pushes a pillow into place—letting you use his arm as one yourself—and you wonder if he can feel the way yours is threatening to beat out of your chest.

He’s still pressed stubbornly close to you, the rough edge of his jeans pressing into the back of your thighs as he tries to stay buried in your pussy for as long as he can, but he still remains silent behind you, his breath hot on your neck.

“I love you, Touya.”

You say it again, softly this time. You want him to hear it when you’re not swimming in pleasure; you want him to hear just how much you mean it.

Touya hums, a low contented sound. “Always knew ya did.”

He sounds like he always does, snarky, but there’s a warmth in his voice that betrays his happiness.

“So what now?”

“Now we finish your damn movie, and then you need a shower. You’re kinda a mess right now,” he purrs devilishly in your ear, making you shiver even as a new bolt of heat strikes down your spine.

“And then?” You moan as he finally slips out of you, cheeks heating at the feel of his cum spilling out between your thighs.

Touya reaches a hand between your legs, lazily sliding his fingers through the mess. “And then I fuck you the way I really wanted to. I need to see the face you make when I make you cum. Hope you know I’m not usually this sweet ‘nd gentle, right? Think you can take it?”

“So you were just being nice to me?” you tease gently, pushing your ass back towards him. “Do you think I’m that delicate?”

“You better not be.”

“Try me.”

A low groan pulls from his throat and Touya bundles you off the couch. You scramble to your feet before you can fall, and turn to look at him.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, sapphire eyes dark and blown, desire etched into the hard lines on his face. His jeans are low on his hips and he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the couch.

Your eyes trace over the garden of ink on his torso, a swirling mass of flames and flowers that you’ve spent plenty of time admiring in the past. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, used to Touya lounging around the house in the warmer months in nothing but a pair of shorts, but with the darky, needy look in his eyes as he prowls towards you… It’s different now. He’s not stripping to get comfortable.

Anticipation thrills up your spine.

“Shower, now,” Touya rasps, herding you down the hallways towards your room. “And I better not catch you whinin’ cause I ain’t stoppin’ ‘til I’m through with you.”

Sunlight pours through the small gap of your bedroom blinds, but that’s not what wakes you. You’re far too used to it for that. You’re not sure what it is exactly that has you blinking awake.

Maybe it has something to do with the arm wrapped around your waist, or the thigh curled over your own. It could be the mild soreness between your legs, or possibly the stinging sensation of multiple bite marks across your body, courtesy of the perpetrator currently lightly snoring into your shoulder.

You gently turn over, detangling yourself from his limbs as quietly as possible. Touya has always been a somewhat heavy sleeper, so it’s not like it’s hard; but he really isn't a good morning person, so the last thing you want to do is wake him.

He mumbles something and flips onto his stomach, not waking for a moment.

You gaze at him for a moment, eyes soft. His hair is a mess, inky strands sprawled across the section of his face not buried in the pillow. After smoothing the wayward tresses covering his eyes, you sit up slowly, your gaze drawn to the ink twisting up his back. Your fingers trace the lines with quiet reverence.

It really is beautiful; you know it took Touya a long time to get it all done. The hemlock on his forearms drooping and smoking from the surrounding flame turn to vines as they spread out up his biceps, shoulders, and throat. You know on his front the vines swirl throughout a meadow of baby’s breath and gladioli down his collarbone and chest, but on his back they weave around a breathtaking lotus that’s shedding its petals one by one, the ones that fall gathering in a pile at the dip of his spine.

“Ya done starin’?”

You jump as he rolls onto his side to smirk at you, eyes droopy and tired. Touya chuckles at your expression and tugs you to his chest, giving a low groan as he tries to get comfortable again.

“Touya, wait—”

“Just go back to sleep, alright? It’s still fuckin’ early,” he mumbles gruffly, closing his eyes.

But your eyes are wide open, filled with panic. “I said wait, Touya!” you hiss desperately, struggling in his hold to sit back up.

You can feel the heat of mortification storming across your body as you maintain eye contact with the youngest Todoroki, who’s standing silently in the doorway of your bedroom.

His two-tone eyes are unreadable, but you know your younger brother well enough by now to know that the slight pull of his eyebrows means he’s shocked, that the miniscule purse of his lips means he’s upset.

Not that you can blame him. Walking in on your step-sister naked in bed with your older brother is not exactly prime model behavior.

“S-shoto,” you whisper, pitched and panicked. “I, uh…”

Oh, god, there’s no good way to explain this. You’re frozen, too petrified to even shield your body from his hard stare. You’re covered in bites and bruises, hair a mess and you can almost feel your relationship with Shoto shattering to dust when Touya groans dramatically and shoves his face in the pillow.

“Seriously, Shoto, your timing is fuckin’ awful. It’s too goddamn early for this. Try again later.”

Shoto glares at his brother and you can only gape at him as he drops his bag in the doorway and sits on the edge of your bed, right by your side. “You’re too impatient, nii-san. We agreed that we were going to wait.”

“Plans change.” Touya’s words are still muffled into the pillow, resiliently clinging to the notion that sleep is not yet lost. “Snooze ‘nd you lose.”

“Wait, what?”

Shoto doesn’t answer your question, a pout forming on his lips as he traces the teeth marks on your shoulder with a gentle touch. He doesn’t miss the slight wince of your expression; Touya had marked that same spot several times over last night.

“He was so rough with you,” Shoto says softly. “I would have been gentle.”

Touya snorts and raises his head. “Fuck off, I was gentle. …the first time.”

Shoto rolls his eyes. “Kinda hard to believe when she’s covered in teeth marks.”

You’re too busy reeling to take much notice of their bickering.

It’s Shoto; straight-laced, kind, upstanding Shoto. The Todoroki family’s shining star. Why isn’t he telling you how sick this is, and demanding to know what you were thinking crossing the bounds of family in such a forbidden manner?

Shoto notices your rising agitation and murmurs something soothing, trying to catch your attention by cradling your face in his palms. His eyebrows furrow gently at the sight of your quickly welling tears.

“We love you.” He says it simply, like that’s all there is to know.

Touya sits up swiftly since he obviously isn’t going to get to go back to sleep, and croons at you as he kisses the back of your neck, “Want us to prove it, doll?”

Shoto glares at his brother over your shoulder, unimpressed. “You already got to be with her.”

“And I’m gonna have her again. If you want her at all you’re gonna learn how to fuckin’ share, little brother.”

Why didn’t you see it all before?

Shoto has always clung to you. He was almost as desperate for your attention as Touya right from the start. He always insisted you help him study, even when you were certain he knew the material already; he would ask you to cook dinner with him on his nights.

When he graduated he insisted you visit him every weekend so you wouldn’t drift apart; it was him who suggested his father’s agency for your internship, where he debuted as a hero a few years ago. He even wrote your recommendation letter. He would always swing by in the morning with your coffee order, and without fail walked you to your car every night.

His love just wasn’t as obvious, at least not to you. His hugs were quick, like he didn’t want to be touched; his kisses might as well have been ghostlike, like he couldn’t handle being that close. You always thought he was just copying his big brother, but out of obligation, not desire.

“You love me?” You whisper the words looking at Shoto, but the question is for both of them.

"Of course—"

“Don’t be stupid, doll,” Touya mumbles, cutting him off and sucking another bruise into a miraculously unmarked portion of your neck. “‘Course we do.”

Shoto quietly brushes a stray tear from the apple of your cheeks, his lips following soon after. They’re warm, soft against your skin.

He smiles.

“You weren’t around when we were growing up, so it’s not obvious to you how much we’ve changed for the better since you joined our family. I can’t imagine the person I’d be right now if it weren’t for the way I feel about you.”

“Shoto…”

Shoto pulls back, his smile still warming his face, but smaller, calmer. “Especially Touya. I think if it weren’t for you, he would have left us a long time ago. Our father wasn’t…well, you brought him back.”

You stiffen in surprise, and Touya grumbles under his breath, trying to cover his embarrassment with coarseness. “Brat. Don’t go spoutin’ that shit now.”

Shoto makes a low huff of amusement before tugging you out of the eldest’s arms, ignoring Touya’s growl of protest.

“Let me have you to myself for just a minute,” Shoto breathes.

And then he’s kissing you. His touch is so sweet and he’s so warm that you can’t help but melt into him. No part of him is shying away from you now as he pushes himself between your legs, strong arms guiding you back down to the bed.

He’s unyielding as his tongue traces the seam of your lips, a heady desperation fueling him that you can’t help but get swept up in, parting your lips for him with a breathy moan. Shoto hums, his tongue meeting yours tentatively until your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt and tug him closer, and he crumbles. The kiss grows wet, fervent, your head swimming as he refuses to relent, content to taste you even as your legs curl around his waist, spelling your impatience.

“Calm down,” he mumbles against your lips, giving you a small break as he nips gently at your neck, his tongue soothing the bite marks decorating your throat. “There’s no need to rush any of this.”

“I don’t want to wait.” You gasp as his lips move lower, sucking and kissing at your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, down your navel. Sparks follow the trail he’s making, down to where he stops, his eyes staring in disapproval of more bites scattered across the insides of your thighs.

His eyes are sharp as they look to you then Touya when your head falls back onto your pillows, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Is there no part of her you left untouched?”

Shoto glares at him, but Touya stares back, both smug and aroused.

“Nope.”

“You’re an animal.”

“She liked it.”

“Oh my god, stop talking!” you whine, forearms still covering your face. Excitement and arousal is making your body hot and you’re desperate for Shoto to keep going, but you know they could bicker forever. You’ve seen it plenty of times.

His mismatched eyes soften as they flash back to you, and he leans to pull your arms down. When he’s satisfied you’re watching him he continues, pressing his lips to the juncture where your thighs meet your mound.

Your chest feels tight with anticipation as his fingers grope at your thighs, kneading the plush flesh before sliding around to cup your ass. You moan when he inhales the scent of your growing arousal before his tongue peeks out to part your folds, flattening and dragging up through your slit. As he reaches the bundle of nerves at the top, he retreats, blowing on the nub lightly. Shoto’s head swims at the sound of your whine, so he does it again, desperate to hear you make that sound again.

Shoto’s fingers dig into the swell of your ass as he groans and pulls you closer, his tongue delving into your dripping cunt and lapping at your juices. You’re propped on your forearms, watching him with hazy eyes as he tastes you, your chest heaving at the assault of sensations.

He’s gentler than Touya, but that doesn’t make it any less intense. Your fingers grip the sheets tightly as he slurps at your cunt, his tongue blistering on your slit as he draws it up to flick over your swollen clit. You keen when he seals his lips around it and sucks, the touch hot and wet.

The sloppy sounds of him savoring you make your body ignite, your arousal spilling onto the sheets even though you haven’t cum. You’re desperate to, but Shoto’s movements are slow and deliberate—you can tell he’s nowhere near finished.

Teal and brown eyes are not quite closed but far-seeing, as if he’s lost in something—in you. The sight of it tightens something in you, has your shaking fingers reaching for him until they tangle in the crimson strands of his left side. Shoto’s groan devolves into a whine as you tug him closer, the vibrations of his noises making your eyes roll back. The younger Todoroki doesn’t resist your grasp, he leans into it, his tongue moving deeper, more desperate.

You make a noise of approval, your hips jumping when his fingers slip into you, prodding at your walls until your legs snap closed around his cheeks. He looks drunk cushioned between your thighs, the wet sounds and his moans melding together and making your mind melt.

“Fuckin’ shit,” Touya rasps beside you, on his knees now as his fingers form a tight ring around the head of his cock.

Your head turns to him, moaning when he shuffles towards you and presses the head of his cock against your lips.

“Open up, doll. You’re killin’ me, sound so good like that.”

With a soft whimper, you part your lips and he feeds his cock into your mouth with a relieved sigh. As he pushes deeper you drag your tongue over each metal bar on the underside of his cock, gentle with the balled ends, counting five as they push deeper.

Last night in the shower Touya finally let you have a look, grinning at your wide eyed expression as you carefully brushed your fingers along his Jacob's ladder. He’d hissed under his breath as you nudged the last set, the lorum at the base of his shaft.

“Easy, that one’s new.”

That’s what you’re reaching for now as his fingers thread through your hair, his groans rough as he pulls you deeper onto his cock, your tongue swirling at the furthermost metal beads. You preen as he curses at the wet touch of your tongue ghosting the edge of his balls.

Touya pulls out slowly before thrusting back into your mouth; you’re trying your best not to gag, swallowing rapidly as his head touches the back of your throat.

“That’s a good slut,” Touya hisses, holding your head flush to his pelvis. His cock throbs at the feel of your throat closing around him, his head tossing back. “Pay attention to me.”

You whimper around Touya’s cock as Shoto gives a harsh suck on your clit, uncharacteristic of his attentions so far, and your watery gaze flicks downward to see Shoto leveling a heated stare at his brother again.

Touya takes notice, a lopsided grin spreading across his face as leers back at his little brother. “What, don’t like me calling it like it is? She really is a good little whore for me, you know. You should’ve heard the way she screamed for me last night.”

You moan around his length as one of Touya’s hands closes around your neglected breasts, his fingers pulling at the hardened nubs to hear the desperate sounds you make as he rocks in and out of your mouth.

“You shouldn’t call her that,” Shoto mumbles, his eyes glazed as he watches you writhe under his brother’s touch. His chin and cheeks are smeared with your arousal. The beginning beads of sweat have his hair sticking to his forehead.

Touya shrugs.

“She seems fine with it. Hasn’t complained.” He eases out of your throat and watches you inhale sharply, taking in the much needed oxygen.

“Still.”

The younger one sits up and slides off the bed, a smile tugging at his lips at your whine of protest. Shoto pulls his shirt over his head, ruffling his hair and dropping it to your floor before popping the button of his jeans, hooking his thumbs in the waistband to push them off.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve only just started,” Shoto breathes, returning to the bed with a new fire in his eyes.

You inhale shakily at the sight of him exposed, the rippling muscle a sharp contrast to Touya’s lean figure. The eldest is healthy, and in no way out of shape, but Shoto’s strict training regimen has his body in peak physical condition.

There’s clean white and pink scars littering his chest from his escapades as a hero, but it does nothing to take away from his beauty. As he steps closer to you, your eyes trail downward to his pelvis where his cock bobs between his legs looking painfully hard, the pretty pink tip drooling. Your eyes widen; it looks heavy, thick, unable to bear its own weight and leaning to the left. At the base is a well-kept patch of hair that matches his split coloration just like the rest of his body hair.

As if sensing your trepidation at his brother’s size, Touya narrows his eyes and rests back on his haunches so you can take a moment to get adjusted. Shoto pulls you to the edge of the bed, spreading your thighs and standing between them as his hungry stare roves over your glistening cunt before snapping up to meet your gaze. He slides his length between your dripping folds and takes in a harsh breath at the feel of you.

His voice is soft, a light tremble to it the only tell of his nerves. “Do you want me to use a—”

“No,” you mumble shyly, fighting the urge to cover your face as his cheeks pinken at your immediate denial. “I wanna feel you, Sho’.”

“Okay,” he returns, sounding dazed. “Okay.”

Shoto drags the thick head of his cock through your juices again, lubricating himself fully before pressing himself against your fluttering hole, completely focused on the way you respond as he eases himself into your warmth.

You moan loudly at the immediate stretch, head thrown back as he slowly enters you. His eyebrows furrow at your tight heat, and he groans lowly in his chest as he coaches himself internally not to just hilt himself in you.

A strangled sound works its way up both your throats as he drags his hips back and pushes in again, trying to work himself deeper.

“Sho,” you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets as he sinks another inch into you, your eyes screwing shut. He’s so thick you don’t understand it. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s overwhelming, fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back into your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” Shoto chokes out, gripping your thighs tightly to ground himself. “So tight, so perfect. Feels like you’re made for me.”

“Holy fuck.” The words come from Touya, and you barely register the slick sound as the eldest slowly works his fist over his cock. Sapphire eyes lock on to where your drooling cunt is struggling to accommodate even two thirds of his younger brother’s cock.

You can feel yourself getting more desperate, wanting to ground yourself to something, but there’s nothing to hold onto.

Touya eyes the way your chest heaves, goosebumps rising on his skin at the hiccuping mewls you keep making. With an amused huff, he drops his cock and shifts closer until he’s sitting at your side. Shoto glares at him as he gets closer gripping your thighs possessively, but the heat falls short, the feeling of your slick walls too much.

“Just keep going,” Touya mutters gruffly, staring down at your trembling figure as opposed to making eye contact with his little brother. “You should be doin’ this yourself, but as much as I like watchin’ her squirm, she likes it when I touch her.”

His slender fingers trace over your mound before his thumb presses into your throbbing clit.

“F-fuck!” you warble out as heat strikes low in your belly, and Shoto echoes you with a groan as your cunt flutters around him as if trying to suck him deeper.

“There’s that dirty mouth,” Touya coos, voice dripping with playful condescension. He rubs slow, soothing circles around your clit, his eyes almost predatory with hunger. “That feel better? Bet you’re soaking now. Want him to just shove it in you, hmm?”

“Y-yes, yes!” you whine, teary eyes flickering from Touya to Shoto, desperate, pleading. “Want more, Shoto, please. Deeper!”

Shoto shakes at the pure need in your tone, his thighs tensing as his cock throbs. “Shit, sweetheart. Are you sure?”

“Please!”

“You heard her.” Touya retracts his hand, sucking the traces of your arousal off his fingers as he retreats further onto the bed.

Shoto barely hears him, adjusting his grip so that he’s holding your hips as he firmly fucks himself deeper. The gape of your lips, the tears clinging to your lashes: that’s all he can see as he’s finally seated in your pussy. It feels like the heat of you is going to melt him. He groans as you wrap your thighs around his waist and leans down to capture your lips.

You’re taking him like it’s nothing now, your tits pressed against his chest as you arch into him, hips bucking into his as he fucks you slow. His kiss is hot, quick, desperate, but he has to fuck you slow or he’s going to lose it. His body tingles with pleasure as your moans spill into his throat, your nails raking down his back as you ground yourself.

Shoto’s mind swims as you mewl his name against his lips over and over. His head feels full of cotton as his thrusts begin to get a little sharper, jostling the bed. His grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you steadily back into each thrust, pupils blowing out at the way your cries get more desperate, your back arching as your walls clamp and spasm around him. There’s a gush of slick coating his pelvis and the tops of his thighs now, but Shoto doesn’t stop; his hands slip under your back, grasping you tightly as he pulls you up off the bed completely.

You sink deeper onto his cock with a high squeal, and Shoto cups your ass to hold you up a little, widening his stance so he can fuck into you steadily. You whimper at the overstimulation, your teeth finding his collarbone as Shoto mumbles breathlessly.

"A little more, sweetheart. Just a little more, you're doing so good."

Touya snorts. "Now who's an animal?"

Shoto whines and turns, sitting back onto the bed and laying back, raising your hips so he can watch his length pumping into you. Your release is shining between your thighs, everywhere really, sticking to his thighs and matting the red and white of his pubic hair.

When your moans cut off, Shoto looks up to see your lips pressed to Touya's. The elder brother has his fingers between your legs again, rubbing on your clit as he curls your fist around his cock, guiding your hand to stroke it with his own.

The tension in Shoto's gut stretches thin when he picks up Touya's low rasp, biting out between the gaps of his rough kisses.

"C'mon doll, squeeze him for me— You want a break, you gotta make him cum. You wanna make him cum, don't'cha?"

"Yeah, wanna feel him cum," you whimper, tearing your lips from Touya's to stare down at Shoto with pleading eyes. "Want your cum Sho', please."

"S-shit, sweetheart."

Shoto half sits up in his aim to reach for you, his finger’s curling around the back of your neck and pulling you back down with him as he licks into your mouth. His other arm wraps around your hips, holding you down onto him as he grinds his cock into you, moaning shamelessly down your throat at the way your walls are milking him.

“Oh fuck, oh shit—” Shoto breaks from your lips with a low cry, clutching you to his chest; white dots his vision as he gives in, his cock jerking as he unravels, several spurts of hot cum shooting deep into your pussy. “Oh god, you feel so good. You did so good.”

A jolt runs up his spine when Shoto realizes your hips are moving, grinding down on his slowly softening cock.

“So close,” you slur into his chest. “‘M so close, Sho’. ‘M right there.”

“Keep going, sweetheart,” Shoto breathes, trying not to moan at the jolt of overstimulation on his spent cock.

It’s sensitive, but it’s bearable, especially when it’s rewarded as your fluttering walls clamp down hard, your thighs quaking around his own. Your whine is loud even as it muffles into his shoulder, your nails digging into his chest as ride out your orgasm with little jerks of your hips. Shoto can barely comprehend the feeling swelling up inside him as you babble about how good his cock feels, how good he’s making you feel; amazement, pride, and no short amount of giddiness sits warm in his chest.

Shoto rubs a soothing palm up and down your back, mumbling sweet nothings as you relax into his chest, only to groan softly as your hips raise enough for his cock to slip out with a wet sound. His head pops up at the feel of something brushing between his legs, only to see Touya standing above you both, his hands on your hips.

Goosebumps rise on Shoto’s skin as he feels Touya’s hand brush over the tops of his thighs as his elder brother angles his cock towards your quivering, spent pussy.

You moan weakly, but don’t shy away from his touch.

“She looks so worn out, poor thing,” Touya coos, his voice filled with a sympathy that doesn’t match the wicked gleam in his eyes. “But this slutty pussy should be able to take more than this. Don't worry, doll. You'll get used to it soon."

#touya x reader #shoto x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #touya todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #tw.stepcest #yuli writes

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