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#i need to fuck an old man i think. but this town sucks. no good old men here :

streatfeild · 8 months

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oh shit. i‘m drunk and yearning for human connection. oh god

#but none of the people available are RIGHT for my kind of yearning!!??!!?!!!!!!#shit i don’t know when the last time was i actually felt lonely #maybe in. 10th grade or something #real life is messed up i should stop participating in it #(ignore me please i‘m sounding pathetic bit i need to get it out of my system)#i‘m close to calling my ex flatmate. but. objecrively he kinda sucks and isn’t good for me so. i won’t i promise #shut up kit #delete #why is my phone on 4% i didn’t do anything. i fucking hate apple #also i‘m emotional bc i just watched house 2.02 qnd it MURDERED ME LIKE!!!??!!!??!!!!#???#okay i‘ll shut up now. 3%. i hope apple dies in a ditch #i need to fuck an old man i think. but this town sucks. no good old men here :/

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chaoticace2005 · 3 months

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Why Vox needs to GET THE FUCK OVER THE RADIO DEMON:

(By Velvette, the only competent of the Vees)

(Her list for Valentino here)

1. He’s just not into you

2. We have better things to do than allocate company time to this.

3. He makes you look stupid

4a. He makes US look stupid (and Valentino already does that enough)

4b. Seriously how are we supposed to stop your boy toy from chasing whore around town when you can’t do the same with your ex? We need to set a (gag) good example for him.

5. What do you even see in him? Tacky coat. And that voice is so old-school.

6. You have two people who (reluctantly) want to work with you. Why spend energy on a guy who doesn’t?

7. This was seven years ago babe. Give it up.

8. I’m tired of finding your Alastor Body Pillow around the penthouse

9. Speaking of the body pillow, did you really have to spend 5k on it?

10. Company money should be used for COMPANY things. The fact we even have an “Alastor” budget is stupid. HE DOESNT EVEN GO HERE. ( @onesidedradiostatic )

11. He fucked off once, he probably will again.

12. Do you really want to fuck with someone who has the princess and king of Hell on his side?

13. It makes Valentino insecure about his sexual prowess, which is not good for anyone.

14. I have to LISTEN to him complain about it.

15. No matter how hard you try, nobody will ever beat “Susan” for #1 rival in that man’s heart. (Which is valid cause Susan SUCKS.)

16. Also you’re wasting company time by having Val put together shitty-Alastor look alike porns? Angel Dust does NOT look like Radio Demon ffs, I though Val was the blind one not you.

17. Your screens keep crapping out whenever you think about him, and we’re running out of ones in storage.

18a. I don’t want to keep having to go to overlord meetings for you because you’re having a breakdown over of he’ll be there or not.

18b. Speaking of breakdowns, STOP MAKING THE WHOLE CITY LOSE POWER.

19. You’ve taken over the entire office space with your Alastor-shrine. It’s not really an inconvenience, just creepy.

20a. Not to kinkshame but I walked in on you and Val fucking with Alastor-wigs on, REALLY?!

20b. Also I think you’re making Val insecure about his lack of hair.

21. STOP asking me to design Alastor-cosplay clothes for you. I don’t want anything to do with this.

22. I already have to deal with one pissbaby

23. Seriously, he isn’t into you. Maybe it’s cause you’re a mess. Maybe it’s cause he’s AROACE. Who knows.

24. You keep interrupting channels to brainwash people into hating the Radio Demon, when we should be brainwashing them into other things.

25. We can all hear you talking to yourself in the shower when trying to come up with shitty comebacks.

26. You display your dreams when you sleep, and while it was funny at first at this point it’s so boring. Val and I want to watch something actually interesting for once rather than the same shit.

27. You keep glitching out in bisexual whenever he comes up and it’s annoying waiting for you to put your shit back together again.

28. I’m sick of movie nights where we just watch your self-made compilations of “Alastor’s Epic Fails” or just watch security footage of him at the hotel.

29. Why do you even try and film him? Your shitty cameras can pick hardly anything up.

30. Honestly this whole thing is just pathetic.

31. Like it used to be cute but now?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel memes #velvette hazbin hotel #the vees #valentino hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #voxval #staticradio #radiostatic #one sided #OneWayBroadcast #lostsignal #stupid hazbin hotel lists #staticmoth #hazbin hotel crack

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fettuccin-e · 8 months

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Something Bad

Kinktober Day 20: Corruption

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader, afab!fem!reader, blowjob, face-fucking (do NOT look at me rn), corruption, slightly innocent!reader, age gap mention, Joel is simply not prepared for how filthy his girl is (w/c: 1.4K)

A/N: I believe in filthy old man Joel and younger even filthier girl okay!!! This may have gotten a little out of hand but idk I can't help but ramble about sucking Joel's dick alright?? (I have been using these prompts by flightlessangelwings for Kinktober!)

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Joel Miller is a bad man. A bad fuckin’ man.

He knows it, has known it for years. He has too much blood on his hands, too many skeletons in his closet, to be a good man.

But fuck, this has got to be the worst.

You’re supposed to be off-limits, the pretty little nurse that floats around Jackson, tending to the sick and injured. You, the sweet little thing who's never seen the outside of the town walls, who wears pretty dresses you make yourself and brings fucking baked goods to the patrol groups after they get back.

You, who asks him how he’s been, who traces a gentle hand down his forearm, sending goosebumps across his body. You, thirty fuckin’ years younger than him, and so angelic you practically glow.

You, on your knees on his kitchen floor, sucking his dick like you’re fucking starving for it.

You’d started off so delicate, so innocent, when he’d started this... thing with you. This dirty, nasty secret he has to keep from his own brother, from the entire town.

It had started with a gentle kiss when you’d patched him up after a patrol gone wrong. You’d fashioned a bandage over his chest, and God, when you looked up at him with those pretty doe eyes, he was a fuckin’ goner. He wasn’t sure who moved first, you or him, all he had known was that your lips against his were soft. So soft, softer than anything he’d experienced in twenty fucking years.

“Don’t know how to do this,” you’d breathed against his mouth, your fingers clutching into his shirt, “just know that I want you.”

Joel pulled back, looking down at you with a hard gaze, ready to pull back, tell you this was a mistake, “Darlin’-”

“I know you want me too, Joel,” you’d said, firmer than he’d ever thought you could be. “I just need-” you’d stuttered, and leaned your forehead against his as you collected yourself, “I just need you to teach me.”

It had spiraled from there.

He’d tried to be gentle with you, but fuck, it’s so hard when you’re so soft beneath him, whining his name and tangling your fingers in his hair. You’d been so nervous the first few times you’d done this, nervous enough that Joel had pulled back, night after night, just to make sure you were still alright with him seeing you like this.

“You can say no anytime you want, sweet girl,” he’d mutter, “I won’t mind.”

But you’d always shake your head, eager to learn, eager to please. And fuck, Joel can’t help it when he fucks his fingers into you a little too hard, treats you a little too rough. He’d a bad fuckin’ man, God, he shouldn’t even be near you.

When you’d both started this, you’d been quiet and uncertain about what you wanted, leaving Joel to ease it out of you with soft touches across your body and licks of his tongue into your mouth.

Now, though. Now Joel thinks he’s made a fuckin’ monster.

You crave him in ways he’d never thought you capable of, dragging him to your bedroom when he gets home and stripping him down before he’s had a chance to say hello. You beg him to fuck you, use you, anytime he wants.

“Need it Joel,” you’ll whisper, pulling him with you. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

You don’t even make it to the bedroom today. No, you corner him while he’s making dinner for you both, turning him until his back is pressed against the counter. You look at him with those pretty, pretty eyes, warm and gorgeous and calling to him like a goddamn siren, as you sink to your knees.

“Sweetheart, you can’t-” he stutters over his words like a virgin, and all you do is look up at him as you unbutton his jeans, pull his fly open and free his cock. It’s fucking sinful, the way it looks huge next to your pretty little mouth, the way you press it against your cheek, looking up at him with all of the fucking innocence he’s taken from you.

“What Joel?” You coo, pressing gentle kisses up his shaft before sucking the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it for one horrible, maddening moment, before pulling back again. “You don’t want me to suck your cock?”

Joel is going to fucking die here, in this kitchen, if you keep talking like that, keep licking at his cock and looking at him like that from the floor. “Darlin’, fuck ‘course I want you, but fuck, not here. We can go to bed-”

“Too far,” you whine, and Joel doesn’t have a chance to fucking breathe before you’re sucking his cock into your mouth, bobbing down as far as you can before he hits the back of your throat, and motherfucking Christ, that’s it, he’s going to die.

You suck his cock like a goddamn pro, like you hadn’t just learned to do this a few months ago. And Joel should feel bad, he should feel some modicum of guilt for making this pretty, innocent nurse into such a filthy little thing, but he can’t bring himself to when it feels so good. So fucking hot and wet, and your fingers digging into his thighs over his jeans.

“God damn it, baby,” he grunts when you hollow your cheeks, making it that much tighter and his head is spinning, fuck, he must be losing it. You fucking smile around his cock, bobbing deeper, pumping the part of his cock that can’t fit in your mouth with a slick hand. “Suckin’ me so good, that’s so fuckin’ perfect, shit-”

His hips twitch uncontrollably, shoving his cock far, too far down your throat. You choke, pulling off of him immediately, pumping him in your hand as you gasp for breath. And Joel fears he’ll pass out when a line of spit connects the tip of his cock to your bottom lip. “Shit, sorry, sweetheart-” he grunts, but you only smile up at him, pumping him quick and so overwhelmingly perfect. Joel’s knees threaten to start shaking.

“You can fuck my mouth, Joel,” you say, blinking up at him slowly, sweetly. “I promise I don’t mind.”

Joel’s vision blurs at the edges, and he sucks in a labored breath through clenched teeth as you suck him into your mouth all over again. Your hands wrap around his wrists, tugging his hands into your hair, and fuck, how can Joel resist you? He’s never been able to, and damn it, he probably never will.

He curls his hands into your hair, pumping his hips up into your mouth as far as you can take him, before pulling out again. Fuck, what would people say if they knew Joel Miller had the little nurse, with the baked goods and kind smile, on her knees in his kitchen, fucking her mouth like she’s no more than a filthy fucking whore.

His cock throbs in your mouth as he drags his hips in and out, in and out. You make obscene, sinful fucking sounds, little whines when he pulls out, loud, wet sucking noises when he pushes back in. You just kneel and fucking take it, letting him pull your mouth onto his cock with his fist gripped in your hair.

From the corner of his eye, Joel can see your hand move, subtle and silent. He nearly chokes when that pretty, delicate hand disappears between your thighs, rubbing at your clit through your pants as Joel fucks into your mouth like a goddamn madman. The sight nearly makes him black out.

His orgasm rushes into him without warning, and he can barely choke out a rough, “Fuck, gonna cum-” before he’s shooting his cum down your throat. You moan around him like you love it, the vibrations reverberating up his fucking spine.

Joel Miller is a bad fuckin’ man, but he thinks this might be what heaven feels like. It's probably as close to heaven as he's gonna get.

When he finally releases his grip on your hair, you lean back, letting his sticky cock slip from your mouth, and Joel watches as you stick your tongue out, showing him that you swallowed every drop. Joel’s spent cock twitches between his thighs.

“Take your fuckin’ clothes off,” he mutters, dark and deep and every bit the bad man everyone thinks he is. “Right now.”

You smile softly, standing up off the floor and pressing yourself against him. “Why don’t we go to bed, Joel?” you murmur in his ear, and Joel growls.

He spins you both around until you’re bent over the counter, ass out for him.

“Too far,” he murmurs, and wrenches your pants down your thighs.

#joel and his giant dick will be the death of me #love him for that #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #tlou smut #tlou fic

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skylarsblue · 1 year

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✦Incorrect C.o.D Quotes, AGAIN AGAIN✦

Ghost: Release me, woman. Fem!Y/N: …. *hugs him tighter* :3 Ghost, scared of intimacy: UNHAND ME!- -- (Comedic Death Mention) Someone: I shot you six times hOW ARE YOU ALIVE?! Y/N: Fool! The only one that’s gonna knock me off is ME! Price: *PANICKING*

-- Gaz: What did you do? Soap: ….suckdickonaccident Gaz: What? Soap: Sucked dick on accident! Gaz: HOW THE FUCK DO YOU SU-

-- Gaz: Here. We’ll put your phone on the aux- Y/N: NO DON’T- Speakers on full volume: FUCKFUCKFUCKMEUPANDCUTCUTCU- Price: JESUS BLOODY CHRIST *shuts off radio* Soap: *scratching the inside of his ear* Steamin’ Jesus- Y/N: I tried to warn you! Gaz: Who listens to Slipknot at 0900?! Ghost: *raises hand* Gaz: That’s- okay that’s fair. Soap: I’ve gone deaf. Y/N: You’re a bomb tech, it was gonna happen eventually. Soap: *middle finger* Price: *disappointed sigh* It’s too early for this-

-- (This one’s kinda sad but I couldn't stop thinkin' bout it-) Alejandro: You used to be nice…or did you never used to be? Valeria: … Alejandro: Oh god…maybe you never used to be…

-- Not a quote but if any of you have heard that audio that’s the names of the Princes of Hell overlayed on Funky Town, please imagine Soap & Y/N dancing to the Funky Town portion while Ghost sits there menacingly. Thank you.

-- (Depression joke) Y/N: Ahaaaa I’m soooo unwell. Price: Go to the psyche- Y/N: Ya know what it never was? That serious. It was never that serious- Price: Get your ass back here- Y/N: NEVER!-

-- König: I’ll keep all my emotions right here, and then one day, I’ll die. Horangi: No-

-- (Valeria has no color here, I ran out) Valeria: *eye roll* I am not trying to seduce you. Y/N, bi panicking: …. Valeria, but now smug: Would you like me to seduce you? Y/N: *strained wheeze & squeaky* Already achieved ma’am- Gaz: *listening to a mic implanted on Y/N* God damnit dON’T LET YOUR MOMMY ISSUES RUIN THIS MISSION!

-- (These next two have mental health jokes in’em) Y/N, hyper cleaning the base: AHAHA, yes! I’m finally feeling bett- ah, wait. I’m manic, and I’m hyper cleaning everything, ✨as a diversion✨. Price: P s y c h e . Y/N: Jokes on you, old man. I already have meds for this! …might need to up them though they feel like they’ve stopped working. Price: When did you start to feel they weren’t working? Y/N: Like three months ago. Price: PSYCHE Y/N: ASKING THEM QUESTIONS ABOUT MEDS ARE SCAAAARRYYY Price: YOU KILL MEN ALMOST EVERYDAY Y/N: Fair point. (Take ya meds)

-- Price: I don’t understand you- Y/N: Good! Means you’re probably mentally well. Price: I- Gaz: We really need to like- specify when you’re joking and when you’re serious, you’re gonna give him a heart attack.

-- Gaz: …Hm. Price: You’ve been staring at me for the past six minutes, what is it?Gaz: I think you have a grey hair. Price: Y/N, speeding in: WHICH IS TOTALLY FINE, IT’S BARELY EVEN THERE AND EVEN IF YOU WERE GOING GREY IT’D LOOK FANTASTIC ON YOU. Price: …would it? Y/N: Absolutely! …*thumps Gaz in the back of the head* Gaz: Ow-Uh yeah! Yeah! Actually I don’t even think it’s there, just the lighting. Price: Hm…alright. Y/N: Mhm! *death glare* Gaz: *mouthing* I’msosorry-

-- (Will someone please notice that I write Ghost as "Simon" when he's with Soap and they're being soft? It's intentional-) Soap: I’m not really sure what I’d do if I lost you… Simon: I know what I’d do. Soap: What? Simon: I’d find you.

-- Soap: I got my ankles microwaved. Ghost: X-rayed. Soap: They took my blood away for science! Ghost: Cholesterol tests. Soap: Si had his sinuses…removed? Ghost: Looked at. Soap: Some guy looked at my penis, touched it. That was weird. Ghost, cleaning blood off a knife: That guy wasn’t even a doctor.

-- Medic!Y/N: You think killing is hard? Try healing something. That is hard, that requires patience. Alejandro, watching them bandage his hand: Hm… Medic!Y/N: You can break something in two seconds. *vaguely motions to Ghost, then Price, then at a necklace Alejandro wears that came from Valeria* But it can take forever to fix it. Alejandro: …aye…well said.

-- Gaz: *being annoying and singing a song for the 10,000th time* Price: KYLE! Gaz: I’m watchin’ my tone, dunana. I ain’t talkin’ back, no, why? Cause I’ma get thrown, dunana-

-- Graves: You know, Ghost, real talk bro, you never say nothin’ when you’re around us. Why is that? Ghost: Cause I don’t fucking like you guys.

-- Enemy: I’m gonna send you to God. Y/N: God? I’m insulted you think I’d end up in Heaven. I work hard for my sins, thank you very much. Ghost: We are hostages right now, can you please not-

-- Valeria: And guess who gets to be my little helper.~ Y/N: It’s me, I’m the helper… Valeria: That’s right, you sure are.~ Alejandro: Alright that’s enough! Valeria: What? You don’t believe in positive affirmation?

-- Rudy: Me gustan los perros. Alejandro: Me gustas… Rudy: ….hm. Me gusta un hombre en el ejército. Alejandro: Aye? Rudy: Mhm. Alejandro: *chuckles* Me gusta mi mejor amigo. Rudy: Me gustas.

(This was poorly translated but listen, I tried for the gays)

-- Price: You actually were telling the truth. Valeria: I do that quite a lot, you people are always surprised.

-- Laswell: Don’t pull any of those stunts like you did last time. Fem!Y/N: I made an offering. Laswell: You dropped a dead mouse into that poor man’s lap. Fem!Y/N: Yes! Like a cat. Laswell: You are not a cat! Fem:Y/N: No…tragically, I am a woman.

-- Ghost: Some people are simply…better than others. Graves: You really think you’re that much better than me? Ghost: Oh I think we both know the answer to that.

--

(Needing to fake a date for a mission) Y/N, on the phone: Laswell, I don’t need help with dating. I’ve been on loads of dates! Y/N: *turns and whispers to Gaz* I’ve literally been on one.

-- Enemy: Think you can answer questions without the usual level of sarcasm? Y/N: If you can ask them without the usual level of stupid. Enemy: Where’s your captain and why hasn’t anyone been able to contact him? Y/N: I dunno, I’ve been here, haven’t seen him in days. Enemy: Is he drinking again? Y/N: What do you mean again? He never had to stop. Enemy: But he did have to slow down, is he drinking like he used to? Y/N: Alright, how bout this? Next time I see him, I’ll give’im the field sobriety test, okay? We’ll do the alphabet, start with F & end with U.

-- Graves: And that’s why I personally, don’t agree with your opinion. Soap: Okay, counter point- Graves: Valid argument? Soap: No. Pipebomb!

-- Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Y/N: Y/N: I’ma instigate. Gaz, lightly pulling them back: nnnnoooooooooo-

-- Y/N: Eeraaawr >:3 Gaz: What sound is that? Y/N: A dyianosaur Gaz: A what? Y/N: Dianoswaur. Gaz: Make the sound again. Y/N: Uurraawer Gaz: Oh you talkin’ bout them things from ✨Jerressi PerAHck✨ Y/N: AHAH! Ghost: I’m gonna lose it. Soap: Hush yer mouth, it’s cute. Lighten up ya big log.

-- Ghost: I think I’ve finally had enough. Y/N, getting his antidepressants: I think you’re full of shit.

-- Medic!Y/N: C’mon, stick with me, Ghost. Ghost: Might be time to follow my call si-OH FUCKING HELL WHY Medic!Y/N: You listen here you Fuckin’ bastard, I’m gonna love the absolute shit out of you until you never make a joke like that again. And then, if you still do it, I’ll have the team smother, smother, you in affection. And if you STILL don’t get it, THEN I’m gonna whoop your ass. Shut your perfect fucking mouth, you got that, soldier?! Ghost: ….since when did you get scary? Medic!Y/N: Adrenalin keeps people alive and sometimes we run out of epipens, had to substitute somehow.

-- Price: Now, sergent, what would you rather be? A lion or a panda? Soap: Captain, I’m me. Why would I want to be anything else? Price: I’m not sure you realize how psychologically healthy that is.

-- Ghost, pissed off: Sometimes I can’t stand you. Y/N, while walking away: Then kneel! And while you’re down there, occupy your mouth, you’d do better down there, QUIET, anyway!! Ghost: I-…… Soap: Oooooo…. Gaz: I- I-…they have no fear. None. Absolutely no survival instinct, no self preservation. None!

-- (Younger Y/N as in like…mid-late twenties. Also, this one is long. I might honestly make a lil oneshot with this one and I welcome anyone else to do the same) Y/N: John… Price: I know, I know. You love me. You’ve said it a thousand times and it should just stick, I just…can’t help but think about how you’re so… Y/N: *snort* Out of your league? Price: To put it bluntly. Y/N: Well, regardless of where I rank? I still love you. I’m going to love you for a long time, you’re stuck with me, ya sweethearted bastard. Price, fondly: Ah Dear, whatever will I do. Y/N: Yeaaaah. Besides! Even if I wasn’t completely and utterly, disgustingly, in love with you? …you are way too good of a sugar daddy to ditch. Price: Hah! Oh really? Why’s that? Y/N: Are you kidding?! Paid off house, paid off car, successful military captain, great manners, great dick, extremely attractive, good with kids, good cook, sexy voice. I could go on for awhile. Price: Oh now you’re just feedin’ my ego. Y/N: Yes, yes I am. Price: I’ll get cocky. Y/N: You’re sexy when you’re arrogant too, that doesn’t deter me. Price: *sigh* Far out of my league. Y/N: You’re a rank climber, I think you’ll keep up.

-- (NSFW but it's in a ha-ha funny way, based on a conversation I've had. Kink mentions) Soap: Look, I just...I need advice on how to spice it up in the bedroom. Y/N: Do you know how little that narrows it down? Gaz: I feel there are few options. Y/N: No there are a lot of options, it depends on your level of spice. I dunno your boundaries wit'cha man! Soap: I just need something! Y/N: THERE ARE A LOT OF THINGS! Get some handcuffs, grab a vibrator, TRY ANAL, I don't fucking know! Gaz: *chokes on drink* Soap: Okay, listen- Y/N: No, you listen. Rule of thumb with kinks? It's a mountain and there are three kinds of people on it. People who don't wanna climb, people who want to climb but choose not to, and people who stay climbing. You reach a level of kinkiness and you stay there. You can't go back down the mountain. Me, personally? I have chosen to stop climbing because I know I'll get worse. I'm choosing to stay on my part of the mountain. Where you wanna climb is up to you. Soap: Where do I climb then? Y/N: The beginner's trail is fuzzy handcuffs, orgasm control, and mirror sex. Soap: This is the weirdest advice I've ever gotten. Y/N: It's my specialty.

-- (Follow it up with an asexual joke) Graves: Are you fighting the urge to make out with me right now? Y/N: Not really, I'm really into this pizza though. Soap, in the back: Aw they burnt my fuckin' cookies! Assholes. Y/N: Karma. Soap: It is not my fault I ate the last slice of cake, I didn't know it was yours- Y/N: IT WAS LABELED! Soap: I DIDN'T SEE IT!! Graves: *slowly backs away*

-- Y/N, holding up a coffee pot: Anyone want more coffee? Price: No, we've all had ours. Y/N: *takes off the lid* Cool. Gaz: What are y-NO! Y/N: *chugging from the pot* Ghost: ...This is the peak of mental illness. Price: PUT THE DAMN POT DOWN! Soap: This is the scariest thing I've ever seen them do- Y/N: *fighting to finish the coffee as Price tries to get it away from them*

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iamasaddie · 7 months

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quit it

paring: Joel Miller x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI) word count: 1,3k~ warnings: ER; explicit sexual content; mentions of smoking; oral [m receiving]; light dirty talk; not beta-ed; no use of y/n a/n: something I whipped up right now as I'm struggling to quit smoking and I know Joel would find the right way to help me. dedicated to my chère @milla-frenchy i love you and i believe in you <3 MASTERLIST

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"You know that shit is bad for you, baby."

"Oh, come on Joel, just this last one, I am going to die if I don't smoke right now."

You felt your lips itching for a burn of a filter, your lungs needing the smoke feeling them. You'd been smoking for the last ten years, deciding to quit cold turkey when you got to Jackson. Smoking was a nervous habit, something you picked up instead of biting your nails and chewing your lips raw. You felt good about yourself the first day, proud that you could go 24 hours without even thinking of a poorly wrapped cig that you were used to in the post-apocalyptic world, but now, as your two day streak hit, you weren't so sure you could make it.

Your mood worsened with every hour, everything seemed to piss you off, the last straw was when Joel asked you what was for dinner and you told him to go fuck himself before breaking down in tears. He knew it wasn't you talking, he went through the same bullshit himself, even though his was thirty years earlier and accompanied by as many nicotine patches as the town's drugstore could provide. You weren't so lucky, but he was focused on helping you out.

"You know, the thing that makes you want to smoke is oral fixation."

You raised your eyebrows at him incredulously. What kind of scientific bullshit was that? What made you want to smoke was some kind of shit that made you addicted to cigarettes, it wasn't a fixation.

"Trust me, baby. You know I've been through that before. That's what the doctor told me, you just need to find a thing to fixate on, and you'll forget all about smoking."

He nodded, as if to make his words sound more trustworthy. You were still doubting, though, it kinda sounded like a load of crap. If quitting was so easy, why were people in the QZ ready to all but kill for a pack of fresh cigs?

"So what do you suggest I fixate on?" You asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Some people eat snacks, like chips, or carrots." You punched his shoulder, and he whined leaning away from you on the couch you shared.

"Joel, where the fuck am I supposed to get chips? And it's not the season for carrots, plus Jackson is pretty comfortable, I know, but there's no way people will give me extra snacks just so I don't start smoking. We still have food rations," he scratched his beard, and you sighed. You were doomed. You scrambled to stand up and go to your secret stash of smokes that you hid behind the cupboard, but Joel quickly grabbed your wrist, making you fall into his chest.

"There is another way." His voice dropped low, a cadence you weren't used to hearing in the middle of the day, and you felt your body's usual reaction to his rasp. Heat started pooling in your lower belly, for a moment you forgot why you even started to get up.

"Yeah?" You turned your face to him, your lips almost connecting. "And what's that."

"How about you get on your pretty knees and I'll give you something to occupy your greedy mouth with?"

You raised your eyebrows, chuckling when you saw him keeping the same expression on his face.

"Now you're just making up stuff to have your dick sucked, old man."

"Just entertain me, if I'm wrong I'll go bring you a pack myself."

You considered it. It was a win-win for you either way. If he was right, you'd be rid of your bad habit and satiate the already burning need for your man. If he was wrong, you'd still get to have him, and enjoy a smoke without an accusatory glare from him. You shrugged your shoulders, slowly lowering yourself between his thighs. God, when you took your place there, nothing besides having his thick cock in your mouth as soon as possible crossed your mind. Maybe he was right.

You made a quick work of his pants and boxers under his intense stare. Joel didn't say a word, just lifted his hips helping him free his stiff cock. It desperately begged for your attention and you felt saliva pooling in your mouth at the mere sight of his beautiful tan shaft surrounded by salt and pepper curls around the base, the tip of him dark red and shining with his interest already.

"Come on, honey, take a drag, I see how much you want it."

He wasn't wrong. You hated how he was never wrong. You lowered your mouth, letting a fat drop of saliva lather his dick and he hissed as soon as it touched his burning skin. You didn’t wait for long, letting his pulsing head breach your lips and you both moaned at the intrusion. No cigarette in the world tastes as good as Joel’s precum erecting your tastebuds. He was salty, and you pushed him further down into your mouth, sucking on his steel-hard shaft like you would on a cigarette filter. He was way thicker, though. The girth of him pleasantly stretching your lips, the weight heavy on your tongue as you started bobbing your head up and down slowly. Fuck, he had a point. His taste, the smooth texture of his cock gliding along your tongue and punching bruises into your throat gave you more pleasure than the toxic fumes filling up your lungs.

Joel groaned, placing his hand on your head, and making you take more of him down your throat. "Good girl, just like that. We’ll get you addicted to sucking my cock and you won’t ever think about the damn smokes."

You were already addicted to his cock, had been for some time, but the sound of his fucked out voice made you squirm, wetness pooling in your panties as you started moving faster. Your lips got tighter around him while your tongue caressed the sensitive underside of him. You hummed, delighted in the way he started throbbing, your mind focused on one thing only: his cum down your throat. Fuck, the way he opened up your throat shoving more of him down it until you felt his coarse hair tickling your nose. You stayed like that for a moment, breathing through your nose and letting him feel how your throat contracted around his cock, milking him. "Good - fuckk- good job, baby, gonna fill you all the way up. Every last bit of you, won’t leave a spot for smoke, just gonna be full of my cum."

He gritted his teeth, words coming out slurred, and you brought your hands to his balls, squeezing the tensed up flesh gently and rolling it in your palm. He didn’t have a chance to warn you, just pushed your head off a little, leaving only the pulsing head in your mouth as he filled it with the salty load of him. Fuck, it was a mouthful, like he’d been keeping it for a few days, just waiting for this moment. You felt it pooling on your tongue, cementing the crevices behind your teeth, filling your mouth up like smoke. Joel’s chest heaved and he looked down at you, the last drops of his cum dripping from the head and staining your lips in milky white. He took his hand off your head, cupping your cheek.

"Swallow." You let his load travel down your throat, finding its rightful place inside you. "Good girl."

You placed your head on his thigh, looking up at him and seeing in his eyes that he was far from done with you.

"You know I hate it when you’re right." You pouted.

Joel just laughed, collecting an escaped drop of his cum from the corner of your lips and pushing it back into your welcoming mouth.

***

Two days have passed before you felt the familiar pang of need in your lungs. You were enjoying the mild autumn weather when the itch returned. Without giving it a second thought you hurried back home, finding Joel in the process of cooking you dinner. Taking your hat on the go, you scurried to the kitchen and Joel turned to the sound of your thumping boots.

"Take off your pants, Joel."

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tell me in the comments if you liked what you just read <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #iamasaddie fic #pedro pascal fic

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ayyy-pee · 1 year

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Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Summary: Every choice Satoru makes just seems to be digging himself into a deeper hole. But when it comes to you, he can’t seem to help himself.

Story Warning: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Toxic Behavior, Cheating, Protected Sex (wrap it up kids), Jealousy, Obsessive Behavior, Exes to Lovers (for a lil bit), Gojo is sprung on reader real bad, Dumb Stupid Idiot Satoru, Downbad Satoru

Gojo art by: Ilameys (used with permission)

Available to read on Ao3!

AN: Gojo has been eating my brain so I had to get something out. I've been obsessively listening to LIMBO by keshi and had it on repeat writing this (listen to it if you haven't!) Anyway, enjoy!

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“Satoruuuuu,” an aggravating, whiny voice slurs. “Can you get me another drink pleaseeeee?”

“Hm? Oh, sure.”

Satoru rises from his seat on the couch, running his fingers through his silky white hair. He leaves his girlfriend to chat with her friends as he makes his way to the kitchen for yet another drink. Really, he should cut her off and take her home. She’s insufferable when she gets a drop of liquor in her, not that she’s any less annoying when she’s sober. All the whining, all the clinginess, all the slurring of his name as she wraps herself all around him. It used to be cute when they first started dating a year ago. Now it’s just suffocating. But Satoru sucks it up, though he’s not entirely sure why. Maybe because when she drinks, he doesn’t have to deal with actually trying to have a conversation with her. She’s a bit more tolerable after a few drinks. Annoying still, but less so.

He maneuvers through the crowd of the house party he’s currently attending. It’s packed, the scent of alcohol heavy in the air. Leave it to Suguru to go all out when he’s back in town. The guy invited practically everyone from their time in high school. Since arriving, Satoru’s already run into Mei Mei, Ino, Utahime (unfortunately) and surprisingly Nanami. There’s even students from the Ainu Technical School here. He had no idea Suguru even knew them.

Regardless, Satoru is happy to see everyone. He stops every so often to chat with old classmates as he wanders towards the kitchen. Everyone seems to be doing well for themselves since graduating high school, which Satoru is glad for. No matter how life went, he always wished everyone well.

And life was good for Satoru, too. At 26 years old, he certainly couldn’t complain about much. He’d graduated from high school, gone to college, had a hell of a great time during his undergrad career, got himself a well paying cushy sales job. And he had a girlfriend that he…had been with for awhile. Life couldn’t be better for him.

So why did it always feel like something was missing?

Satoru enters the enormous kitchen and makes a beeline to the assortment of drinks lined along the built-in bar. Of course Suguru has a built-in bar in his kitchen with an array of pre-made cocktails to choose from. Always such a great host when he’s not traveling to clean up celebrity messes for his PR firm.

“Satoru!” A man’s voice sings behind him as an arm slings across his shoulders.

“Haibara,” Satoru greets him. “Back for another drink?”

Satoru grabs one of the plastic party cups from the counter and pours one of the cocktails into it; something fruity and syrupy. He might’ve given it a try if the overwhelming smell of tequila didn’t burn his nostrils. He thinks of his girlfriend, knowing she will definitely feel like shit by the end of the night.

“Hm?” Haibara shakes his head, his raven hair whipping with the movement. “No way. One is enough for me. I have early practice tomorrow. Coach says my swing needs work, so not willing to fuck that up.” Ah right. Satoru had totally forgotten that Haibara played tennis professionally now. He nods, listening to his friend fill him in on what his plans for tomorrow are. Haibara’s wide brown eyes follow Satoru’s movements as he fills his cup. “You, though? I never see you drink at these things?”

Satoru shakes his head. “Not for me. For my girlfriend.”

Haibara’s signature, open-mouthed grin spreads wide across his face. “Oh! You’re still dating her? Wow. Good for you, man.”

Something about the surprise in Haibara’s tone takes Satoru aback, brows knitting at this. “Why’d you say it like that?”

Haibara crosses his arms, his smile melting away with a sigh. “I mean…” Haibara sighs your name quietly. “The two of you were together for a long time before you broke up after high school. We all thought you’d still be together, but if you could end that relationship, I’m just a little surprised you’re still with this one. That’s all. But if you’re happy...”

Just hearing your name on Haibara’s tongue has Satoru’s stomach twisting in knots. He hasn’t seen or spoken to you in years, something he’s been wanting to change for a long time but too cowardly to do so.

Satoru nods, giving Haibara a weak smile. He can admit that his girlfriend was…not the least bit interesting, annoying and did little for him. But he enjoyed her company sometimes.

“Just don’t be surprised if one of us leaves with Y/N tonight, though,” Haibara jokes, throwing his head back with an obnoxious chuckle.

What?

Satoru feels his heart leap into his throat as his crystalline eyes dart rapidly over every occupant in the kitchen, only seeing the familiar faces of his old classmates and a few strangers. There’s no sign of you. Maybe Haibara was just fucking with him.

Satoru laughs to save face, albeit awkwardly. “Funny,” he mutters, staring down into the drink meant for his current girlfriend, though now his thoughts are only occupied with you.

“Hey man, I need to get back to my girl, so I’ll catch you later,” Satoru tells his old friend.

“Yeah, later! Hey!” Haibara calls out to him and Satoru turns briefly. “Let’s get together to play some time!”

“Yeah, sure. Text me!” Satoru calls back, waving as he exits the kitchen. Unlikely, but he appreciates the effort.

Satoru shoulders through the crowd again, carefully holding onto the red cup in hand so it doesn't spill. He takes his time getting back, a new goal in mind: find you. Are you actually here? Or was Haibara just trying to mess with him? His heart pounds hard in his chest as he moves, eyes scanning every face he sees.

It’s been seven long years since Satoru last spoke to you - his first real crush, his first real girlfriend, his first time. His first everything. He wonders if you’ve thought about him at all in this time. He’d be surprised if you did. Things didn’t exactly end well between you two.

......

Seven Years Ago

You and Satoru dated all through high school. Satoru, a star athlete, played many sports and you supported him through them all, cheering for him at every game and helping him with his practice. You two were inseparable. If you weren’t at Satoru’s place, he was at yours. The love was deep between you two and a promise was made that you’d always be together.

But life didn’t always happen the way you wanted. The joy and excitement of being accepted into your dream schools did not last long when you realized you’d be going to school thousands of miles away and oceans apart. It was the first time a true test of your relationship was presented. Satoru was staying in Japan for college while you were headed overseas. Could your relationship survive the distance?

The first few months apart weren’t so bad. Satoru was making friends, excelling at school and becoming quite popular. You were also busy with your new life and hobbies. You made time for each other when you could. But it wasn’t enough. The loneliness Satoru felt without you was all consuming and it was only a matter of time before he found himself sending fewer texts, calling less, absorbed in the newness of college life.

Satoru loved you so much, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew the likelihood of a long distance relationship surviving was slim regardless of who it was. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but the trying part was becoming more burdensome than he wanted.

And it wasn’t as though you had done anything wrong. This feeling Satoru was experiencing was all on him. You made the effort to keep in touch, to call when you could. And you still wanted it to work. But if Satoru were honest, he just wanted to enjoy his time in school without the constant worry of pleasing someone who he never saw unless it was behind a screen. It was selfish of him, but he wanted to have fun. This was a new world and he wanted to be free to explore it.

So he ended things.

He’ll never forget the quiet sobs on the other end of the phone as he sat in silence after uttering the words, “I don’t think this is going to work out anymore”.

His heart ached listening to your hushed pleas for him to not do this, to not end things this way. But it was for the best. In the long run, you’d be happier. He’d be happier and what was that corny saying again?

If you love something, set it free? Satoru thinks that’s what he did that day.

And you were so upset. Rightfully so. You loved Satoru. You were each other’s first kiss, first times before you left for college, first loves. You’d quite literally given everything to each other. But Satoru couldn’t commit to you anymore. He didn’t want to. He wanted to enjoy college, live his life. It may be selfish of him, but he didn’t see it that way. It was his chance to grow.

Even after all of your pleading, he stuck to his guns. It was torture, listening to you tearfully beg him not to do this to you. He had to end this.

So he told you he’d met someone else, that he couldn’t be with you anymore because there was another woman he wanted to be with. The stretch of silence was painful, Satoru quietly waiting to see if you had anything to add. The call ended with you hanging up in his face with only a choked sob as the last thing he’d heard.

Adjusting to life without you proved difficult at first. Satoru isn’t embarrassed to admit he moped around campus for a while before he was able to start trying to move on. After that, the next few months of college were great. Satoru was Mr. Popular, quickly rising to the top of his collegiate sports team. He was the life of any party he went to, the center of attention wherever he went.

Life should’ve felt perfect.

But as the months passed, Satoru found his mind occupied with the thought of you at the worst times.

While his professor discusses marketing strategies, Satoru’s mind wanders to you.

What are you doing right now?

When he’s at practice getting berated by the coach for poor blocking form, he knows he can’t tell him it’s because he’s distracted by the thought of you.

Who are you with?

When he’s giving another girl his number at a party, planning to hook up later, he pushes back the memory of the first time he’d spoken to you.

Where are you?

When he finds himself between another girl's legs that same night, he squeezes his eyes shut, picturing you and biting his tongue as he tries his best not to moan your name.

Do you still think about him?

The months soon stretch into a year and Satoru hopes this intense yearning he has for you will just fade away. He’s not so lucky. If anything, he thinks about you more. He checks your social media profiles to find you’ve removed him as a friend on everything. Of course you did. He ripped your heart in two. There was no way you’d allow him access back into your life. Your accounts are all private, so he can’t see anything and he’s not willing to ask a mutual friend about what you’ve been up to. It only makes him a little bit crazy that you’ve put up this wall between you two so he has no access to you.

Another six months pass and Satoru works up the nerve to text you for the first time since you’d broken up. He hopes you’ll reply. It’s been more than a year. You can’t possibly still be upset, can you? He can admit that he could have handled the way he ended things better, sure. But if he can get past it, you can too, right?

You never respond.

More months pass by and soon another year. One late night, Satoru slips into his apartment after a failed hookup. He pulls his phone out, scrolling through his contacts to find your name. You didn’t reply to his last text. He doubts you’ll respond to this one, but he takes a deep breath and shoots off a message to you before he changes his mind.

Days later, you finally respond. You chat for a while, sending messages back and forth. Generic things, really. Just catching up. Until one night Satoru musters up the courage to call you.

“Hello?” You answer. There’s soft music in the background and Satoru wonders what you’re up to. Are you home? Maybe you’re relaxing and the music is on for background noise. Or maybe you’re with someone, listening to music to set the mood. There’s an unpleasant twist that forms in his stomach at the thought.

“Hey,” he says easily, though he can barely hear your voice over the rapid pounding of his heart. “I figured a phone call may be easier than just texting. What are you doing?”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.” He hears you shuffling around, then the quiet click of a door closing as the music fades out. “I’m actually at a friends for dinner.”

A friend. He wants to ask more about your friend, but he knows he has no right to that information anymore.

“Sorry to interrupt your night,” he tells you, hoping his voice doesn’t betray how tense he is. His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“It’s fine. I have a couple minutes to spare.” You sound relaxed. Like speaking to Satoru doesn’t have the same effect on you as it does on him. Like talking to him is just like talking to anybody else. He knows it’s his own fault it’s this way, but it still stings. “Did you need something?”

You.

That’s what Satoru wants to say. More than anything, he wants to tell you that he wants you back, that he needs you back. He wants to tell you he made a mistake breaking up with you, that he’s so sorry. He wants to ask that you’ll please forgive him.

Satoru wants to say he regrets his decision to call it quits. Wants to admit that he should have made more of an effort to make it work out and not have been so fucking weak. He wants to tell you that if you’re willing to give it another try he is, too.

That’s what he wants.

Because after everything, he still l–

“Satoru?” You repeat your question and Satoru realizes he’s let the silence hang in the air between you both for far too long.

“Oh, I jus–”

“Babe? Dinner’s ready. Do you want any wine with yours?” A deep voice cuts through the quiet and Satoru feels his heart drop hearing someone else call you by the name that was once meant for only his use. He hears soft shuffling and hushed whispers and a “sorry, I thought you were off the phone, babe. You were quiet–”

He can tell you’ve muted your phone. He can’t hear anything anymore. The looming silence makes Satoru want to hang up on you so he can swallow the bitterness he feels. So you had moved on, found someone else who gets to treat you the way Satoru should have. It’s fair. It’s been years since you two had broken up. You’d barely started speaking again. Of course you would find someone new. You were perfect and anyone would be an idiot to let you go. Much like Satoru was.

His thumb lingers over the end call button on his screen…and then you’re back just before he presses it.

“Sorry about that,” you breathe. “Anyway, did you need something, Satoru?”

“That your friend?” Satoru asks, ignoring your question completely. He can’t even pretend it’s not because he wants to know who the hell was calling you ‘babe’.

You clear your throat. “No, ah…that’s my boyfriend,” you finally tell him.

The silence falls over you again for a few seconds, Satoru trying to find his words. Again, it’s fair for you to date someone else. Satoru had ended things. He lost his right to be jealous when he did. And yet, against his better judgment, he leans into the bitterness he felt moments ago, forcing out a laugh. “Good! Oh, that’s good for you. Glad you found someone.”

“...Thanks?”

Satoru hums. “Yeah. I mean, glad we both moved on. I was actually worried when I was calling that you’d still be hung up on me or something.” He winces, but laughs awkwardly again. Knows he just shot himself in the foot. Maybe you’ll just laugh it off, take it as a bad joke.

“Yeah.” Your voice is clipped, short. “Okay, well, it was great catching up with you, Satoru. I have to go now.”

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Got it. Well, have fun at your din–”

The line goes dead.

Satoru tosses his phone to the side, throws himself back on his bed with a groan.

“Idiot.”

You don’t return any more of his calls or texts.

......

Present

Satoru’s feet carry him through the crowd, conversation drifting through the air. He can hear Utahime yelling at Suguru and Satoru resists the damn near instinctual urge to turn towards the screeching so he can join Suguru in whatever antics set her off. It’s always funny seeing how red her face gets. He also hears the sounds of Shoko’s airy laugh as she catches up with Nanami and Ijichi. An odd group, he thinks, but Satoru doesn’t have time to dwell on it because he hears the sweet sound of your laugh and–

Wait.

He stops in his tracks, the drink in his hand sloshing with the abrupt halt. He turns his head to peer over the crowd, but he doesn’t see anything, doesn’t see you. Maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. There’s no way you’d actually be here. You’re overseas. At least, he thinks you may be overseas. That’s the last thing he knew about you for certain. Satoru’s not sure what you’re up to these days. He hasn’t asked, afraid of what the answer will be. He’s not sure he could handle knowing you’re potentially engaged or happily married. Hell, he’s not sure he could handle knowing if you’re dating someone.

His piercing blue gaze finally lands on you and he realizes Haibara was actually not joking about someone potentially leaving with you tonight. Because you’re right there, off to the side of the crowd with some man, giggling at whatever he’s saying.

Satoru knows it’s you, even from a distance. He couldn’t mistake those beautiful eyes for anyone else's, the way they crinkle ever so slightly in the corners when you smile. He could never mistake those luscious, glossed lips he loved to kiss. You’re all smiles, as stunning as he remembers.

Everything keeps moving as time seems to stand still only for Satoru, his eyes never leaving you. And he knows he’s at this party with someone else. That’s what he should be focused on, but you’re all he cares about right now. His gaze locks onto your lips, following the curve of your smile, the way your tongue darts out just a bit to run along your bottom lip, the way those lips form your words.

You may still hate him after all this time, but Satoru wants to talk to you. He almost wants to get just close enough for you to notice him. Maybe you’ll make the first move and talk to him.

‘What the fuck am I doing?’ He thinks, lips pursed in concentration.

He should get back to his actual girlfriend. He’s been gone for too long. She’s bound to come looking for him if he doesn’t get back to her soon. Yeah, he’ll just go back. Talking to you won’t be good for him anyway –

The man you’re speaking to leans forward, his lips moving to your ear and Satoru, with his eyes still glued to your lips, feels his blood boil as he watches them part with what he’s pretty sure is a sigh. When he sees your hand come up to lay on the other man’s arm, his nostrils flare with irritation. When you smirk at what the man is whispering, he feels his jaw tighten. And when the other man’s hand comes to land on your waist, Satoru’s feet move before he even realizes what he’s doing.

As he approaches, the man steps away, a slick grin on his face and you roll your eyes, shaking your head and giggling. Are you actually flirting with this guy? It’s only as he gets closer that Satoru can better make out who it is; poorly done bleach job, shitty eyeliner around his eyes, and too many ear piercings. It’s just Naoya Zenin. From what Satoru remembers, you hated that fucker all of high school.

Unless something’s changed and suddenly you’re into him? Is this who you’re dating now?

Satoru wants to be pissed, but this may work in his favor. If you could be on good terms with Naoya, who you absolutely despised for as long as you’d known him, then maybe you had room in your heart to forgive him for being such a piece of shit to you all those years ago.

Your eyes drift over to Satoru as he approaches you both. And you hardly react, only offering him a small smile before your attention drifts back to Naoya. And though a tiny curve of your lips is something, the lack of a reaction kind of annoys the shit out of him.

“Hey,” Satoru greets, mainly directed towards you because fuck Naoya.

“Hi, Satoru.” You fold your arms over your chest, eyes coming back to meet his. God, you’re as pretty as Satoru remembers you being. This close to you, Satoru can see how much you’ve changed. And time has been very good to you. You’re still beautiful in the youthful way Satoru remembers, but you’re grown now. His eyes trail down your frame quickly, drinking in the way you’ve filled out.

“Gojo…” Naoya says with clear disdain in his voice.

“Zenin.”

And it’s quiet now. Awkward. But it doesn’t matter to Satoru. His eyes are only on you.

You pull your gaze away from Satoru and back to Naoya.

“You look great,” Satoru tells you, sipping the drink meant for his girlfriend to keep himself from potentially following up with something stupid. He grimaces slightly at the taste before trying to cover it with a lopsided grin.

And you give him the same grin back, a little shy. It’s cute.

“Thanks, Satoru. You look good, too.”

“I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Yeah, I’ve been back for a few months now. Just settling back in and working,” your brows knit together as you lean to the side to glance around Satoru. “I’m surprised Suguru didn’t tell you since I just had lunch with him like two days ago.”

He realizes you must be looking for Suguru when you straighten your stance again. Deep in his mind, Satoru makes a mental note to have a word with Suguru about this later. Next to him, Naoya snorts and Satoru has to resist saying something that will surely end with them in a fight. You must sense the tension because you ask Naoya if he can grab you a drink which prompts an eye roll from him, but he goes anyway.

“Doubt he’ll be back,” you mutter to Satoru with a smirk. “That asshole wants to hook up so bad it’s pathetic,” a soft chuckle rushes past your lips.

“Not interested, then?” Satoru jokes, a smile spread across his face.

You narrow your eyes, “Ha ha. You know I hate that guy. He won’t be back anyway. No way he’s gonna waste time getting a drink for someone who isn’t fucking him at the end of the night.”

If you weren’t still watching Naoya push his way through the crowd of partygoers, you may have seen Satoru visibly deflate.

“Ah, good to know you haven’t lowered your standards,” Satoru says and you laugh. The sound makes Satoru’s head spin. It’s been so long since he’s heard it.

“I don’t think my standards could ever be low enough to fuck Naoya,” you clarify, nose crinkling in disgust. Satoru chuckles at your reaction, watching as you shift uncomfortably before him. You fidget with the hem of your dress before you speak again.

“It’s actually really good to see you, Satoru.”

“Is it really?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to reach out for a while. Life just got away from me.”

Satoru’s brows lift in surprise. “Reach out for what?” Your eyes are boring into his, wide and surveying, peering into his soul. Just the way they always did.

“I just felt like things left off on such a sour note with us. And you reached out trying to build a friendship and at the first sign of things getting weird, I just…ran. Didn’t look back. You were trying and I wasn’t. You didn’t deserve that.”

He knows you’re referring to the last time you’d spoken, though he’s not sure why you’re the one trying to apologize.

“And I just wanted to say I’m sorry for being a terrible friend to you.”

You always were way too sweet to him. He didn’t deserve that.

“I should be apologizing to you,” Satoru shakes his head. “I was still jealous back then. When I said I was worried you were still hung up on me, it’s because I was trying to cover up the fact that I was still hung up on you. Hearing your boyfriend call you babe–”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you interrupt, a soft smile gracing your features. Satoru smirks.

“Hearing your ex-boyfriend call you babe, it just…made me feel a lot of things I didn’t understand at the time. I shouldn’t have said what I did to set you off. I’m sorry.”

It’s only been a few minutes of you talking and it already feels like a weight has been lifted, like the wall you put up all those years ago has come down. You both must look strange, just standing off in the corner alone staring and smiling at each other like you’re the only two people in the room.

You talk a bit more, catch up on life. It doesn’t take long for things to feel comfortable between you two again - for your bodies to move a little closer, for your eyes to meet more often, for your shy touches to linger a little longer.

You’ve got your hand wrapped around Satoru’s forearm, snickering at something he’s said. And when you glance up at him, there’s something in your eyes telling him it’s okay to ask this. Because Satoru is happy to know you’re not interested in Naoya, even happier to know you’ve broken up with your college boyfriend, but what he wants to know now is –

“Are you seeing anyone? Dating, I mean,” He asks while he still has the nerve and tries not to let his eyes fall to your mouth when you shake your head and draw your lower lip between your teeth.

“Nope, single and just enjoying life honestly. You?”

Yes.

“Me?” Satoru asks.

Say yes, stupid.

You nod. “Yeah, you. Are you with someone?”

Yes. Yes.

“Uhh, well…”

YES.

The voice in his head is screaming the answer, the one he knows he should give you. The one that would confirm to Satoru that even after everything he’s done, he’s not a shitty person, not a terrible boyfriend. But when he looks at you, eyes shining up at him with those pretty lips curled into a smirk, he doesn’t want anything more than to be with you.

God, he’s such a piece of shit. He knows it. He’s not even thinking about his girlfriend still sitting around waiting for him to come back. He’s got tunnel vision and the only thing he sees is you.

Say yes!

“I…am not…with someone.”

......

The door to Suguru’s master bathroom slams shut, your back pressed against it as Satoru’s lips find your neck, licking a long strip from your collarbone up to your chin.

“Ah- Toru, the door. Lock the door,” you gasp, threading your fingers into his soft tresses to pull him down for a kiss. His fingers fumble around before he finds the lock, quickly turning before he breaks the kiss to focus on your neck again, kissing and sucking, marking anywhere he can. Your hands move to glide underneath his shirt, fingers grazing over his defined muscles and you sigh just as Satoru moves away from your neck to press his lips against yours.

Soft. So soft. It’s been so long since Satoru’s had you like this. He’d forgotten your taste, your smell and right now, it feels like he can’t get enough. Fuck the liquor, he’s drunk on you.

“Can I touch you?” Satoru breathes against your mouth. And you nod, kissing him again. He groans as your lips part, tongue slipping out to glide against his lips, seeking entry. And he obliges, gives you all the access you want as your tongues tangle together. You moan into his mouth, the sound shooting straight to his cock.

The dress you’re wearing is nice, simple but fits your body beautifully. Satoru can’t wait to get underneath it. He reaches down, pulling the hem of your dress up until it’s sitting at your waist. He slips his hand into your panties, hissing when he feels how soaked you are.

“So wet for me,” Satoru whispers into the kiss. “You want me that bad, baby?”

You nod, panting hard. “Yeah, so bad, Satoru,” you moan when his fingers glide through your slick fold, back arching off the door. “Fuck, I want you so bad.”

“I’m yours, baby.”

His lips crash into yours again, fingers working tight circles against your clit. You cry out, your hands balling into fists as you cling to Satoru’s shirt. He breaks the kiss, pressing his face into your neck as one of his fingers finds your entrance, plunging in slowly. Your mouth opens with a gasp as Satoru pumps into you, curling his finger until he finds your sweet spot.

He pulls back, watches your face as he slips another finger inside. He likes the way your legs shake when he turns his fingers a certain way. And the way your back arches off the door when he presses his thumb to your clit. It’s all new to him, these reactions you’re giving. You were a lot younger when you’d first become intimate. Now, it’s clear you’re much more experienced. The thought bothers and excites Satoru.

He pulls his fingers from your core, kissing you when you poke your lip out in a pout. And then he’s bending you over the bathroom sink, pushing your dress even higher before he slips his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them down.

“Fuck, I never thought I’d see you like this again,” he groans, palming himself through his pants.

“Toru, stop wasting time and fuck me, please.”

You’re a lot more demanding now too, apparently. He doesn’t mind.

“Did you miss me?” Satoru asks, because he’s dying to know. Did you think about him when you were with your boyfriend? Were you trying not to cry out Satoru’s name when you fucked him? Did you want him back as much as he wanted you?

Satoru unbuttons his jeans, pulls his pants and boxers down together, hissing as his cock springs free. He’s so fucking hard, he could cum just looking at you bent over the sink like this. But Satoru wants to savor you, wants to enjoy this moment of having you again for the first time in so long. He reaches over and pulls open one of the bathroom drawers, fishing around until he finds a condom and he mentally thanks Suguru for always being prepared.

“Tell me,” he demands, wrapping a hand around his length. He strokes himself lazily as he rips the condom open. He rolls the condom down his length, lining himself up with your entrance. “Did you miss me?”

You’re so patient, waiting quietly for Satoru. Although, he can hear your breathing becoming a little harsher in anticipation. Satoru moves behind you, lines himself up with your entrance and just before he’s about to roll his hips forward, he glances up to see his reflection in the mirror with you bent over and ready for him.

“Look at me,” he says. You look up, watching him through the reflection. Even in the dim lighting of the bathroom, Satoru can see your pupils blown wide with lust matching his own. He wants to see you, wants to see your face when you take him for the first time in so long.

“Look at me,” he tells you again.

“Okay,” you breathe.

“Tell me you missed me,” Satoru quietly demands as he pushes forward, sliding the tip through your folds and sinking in slowly.

“Fuuuuuuck,” your mouth falls slack with a moan. Satoru’s hands find your waist, holding your curves as he sinks into you. “I missed you, Toru. So much, so fucking much.”

“God, baby, you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to hear you say that.”

He’s halfway in and he has to stop to catch his breath because hearing you moan his name like that…He may not make it all the way in without blowing his load right into the condom. You’re suffocating him, clenching onto his cock so hard he’s almost afraid to move.

“Satoru, please. Don’t stop,” you plead. He meets your gaze in the mirror again, sees the way your eyes burn with desire. Satoru pulls his hips back until only his tip sits inside you and then he rolls his hips forward, burying himself as deep in your cunt as he can.

Your walls clench down on his cock and he moans again before he starts to move, pounding into you at an unrelenting pace. You cry out his name and he keeps moving, not letting up.

Satoru brings a hand around your neck, holding your head in place so he can look at you through the mirror. He sinks into you, bending down to kiss along your neck, your shoulders, your back as he bottoms out again and again, moaning his pleasure against you.

Satoru thinks you feel like heaven. It’s the only thing he can think when he leans back and grips on to your waist again, watching your face contort in ecstasy. Every little sound you make, every moan, every sigh, every “right there” you utter brings Satoru closer and closer to his release.

Satoru has missed you. He’s missed the way your skin feels against his, missed the way your breath hitches in your throat when his cock hits just the right spot, missed touching and grabbing the soft curves of your beautiful body. Missed how your ass bounces with each thrust, cheeks spreading just enough to give him a glimpse of that tight little hole he’s never gotten the chance to have. And god, he hopes no one else has either.

More than anything though, he’s missed the way you take all of him, hug him tight like you never want to let him go. Fuck, he could live inside you and never get tired of it. The thought alone, the thought of having you all to himself again has him leaning forward, moaning into the space between your shoulders as he rocks his hips against you. The loud smacking noises of Satoru’s groin meeting your ass echo throughout the bathroom, and he doesn’t care who hears.

“Fuuuck, how are you so fucking tight, still?” Satoru groans, reminiscing on the first time he’d ever had you. An out of body experience for him, personally. Truly unforgettable.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he grunts, feeling your walls begin to flutter around him.

“Toru, I’m close,” you whimper. “So close, Toru, don’t stop.”

“Cum for me baby,” Satoru groans, hand sliding down your side to find your center again. He rubs tight circles on your clit, eyes rolling to the back of his head when he feels your pussy squeeze down on him as you cry out his name, your release crashing over you.

It’s so tight, so fucking tight Satoru thinks he might pass out. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t fucking see straight, you’re gripping him so hard.

“Ah- fuck, oh fuck! I’m gonna cum. Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he grits out as he pushes his cock all the way inside you, thrusting as deep as he can go as hot spurts of cum fill the condom. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against your back as you both catch your breath.

Satoru meant what he said. He never wants to let you go. He has every intention of being with you. After you’ve both come down from your highs and cleaned up, Satoru kisses you gently. He watches as you turn back to the mirror. You’re even more beautiful as you tame your messy hair, fix your makeup and adjust your dress.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asks, ready to make up for years worth of lost time.

Your eyes meet in the mirror, your lips tilting with a small smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

......

Fingers laced, you and Satoru weave through the party together. The crowd seems to have thinned out now with how late it’s getting. It’s the perfect time to get out of here with you, take you home and –

“Satoru! There you are!” A familiar voice squeals. The sound makes Satoru quickly yank his hand from your grip. You stop in your tracks, brows furrowing as you look up at him.

“What’s the matter?” You ask just as this person you don’t know bounds up to him and wraps her arms around Satoru’s neck, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek before she lets go.

And Satoru isn’t sure how he hasn’t noticed this before. It seems like some sick twist of fate that it’s only now that you’re standing next to each other that he sees how eerily similar you and his girlfriend look. It makes his stomach churn.

But his girlfriend, so drunk and so sweet, turns to you and beams as she holds out her hand to you. “Hi! I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Satoru’s girlfriend…” His stomach nearly drops into his ass. “...you are?”

God, he wishes he could teleport out of here. Or that the ground would open wide and swallow him whole, bury him 8,000 meters beneath the earth. Anything to avoid being present at this moment. He peers down at you briefly, your hand extending to shake his girlfriends for only a second. And Satoru thinks he may be imagining it, the sheer anger he can feel radiating off of your body, even as you return his girlfriend’s sweet smile.

“Satoru’s girlfriend?” You ask and he knows you’re making sure you aren’t hearing things. Because not too long ago, he told you he wasn’t tied down to anyone. “I wasn’t aware he was dating anyone.”

“Yep! Been together almost a year now,” she brags cheerily. Satoru really wishes she’d shut up for once in her damn life.

You breathe out a bitter laugh, gazing up at Satoru and he knows he’s not imagining the rage. He can see it swimming in your eyes even as you reach up, your thumb gently swiping the corner of his mouth where apparently remnants of your lip gloss remained. You hold your finger up to show him and then hold it up to show his girlfriend who five seconds ago was too drunk to notice. She seems to have sobered up quickly now, eyes focused on the lip gloss you just wiped from Satoru’s face.

You introduce yourself to her, wiping your thumb off on your dress before continuing, “And I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’m the girl who just fucked your lying boyfriend in the bathroom.”

Satoru watches in ill disguised horror as you crane your next to the side, gesturing to the marks he so stupidly made along your neck in the heat of passion. His eyes find his girlfriend who stands there, mouth agape.

“Satoru told me he wasn’t seeing anyone. If I had known it wouldn’t have happened. And believe me, it won’t ever happen again.” You turn to face Satoru one last time, gritting out, “I can’t fucking believe you. After all these years, you’re still such a piece of shit, Satoru.”

You don’t wait for a response from him, turning on your heel and storming through the crowd. Satoru watches as your back retreats, not sure what the hell he’d say even if he did catch up to you. How could he explain that he lied about his girlfriend because he wanted to spend more time with you? It’s not like he planned on fucking in the bathroom, it just happened. But there was no way you were going to give him a second of your time to try and explain.

There was no coming back from this.

When he finally loses sight of you in the crowd, Satoru reluctantly brings his gaze back down to his probably soon to be ex-girlfriend and is met with a fury similar to yours. Again, the similarities are uncanny. All the love and happiness once shining in her eyes is nowhere to be found as one question hangs in the air between them.

“Satoru, what the fuck is she talking about?”

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AN: OOF, let me know what you think!

Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 3 months

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#395

“Hey Bobby, I’m glad you came. C’mon in. Yeah, my wood shop is grown over a bit. I was hoping you would help me bring it back. Watch your step…. Let me get the door behind you….

“…Well, this is a bit awkward. I guess I will go ahead. When I saw you open the door to the stall next to me, I was just as shocked as you were. I never expected the mouth on the other side of that glory hole that throated my fat dick with expertise to be you.

“I’ve known you since your mom brought you home from the hospital. Your dad and I used to go fishing together. I never would have guessed.

“But then, ever since Beth passed away 9 years ago, I really haven’t done anything with anybody. You are what 16?... 19 really? Well, at least you’re not jailbait anymore. I’ve seen you in town a few times throughout the years, but you have grown into a man…. And you are a damned good cocksucker too.

“Where did you learn to suck dick like that?... From that glory hole? Seriously? That glory hole on the interstate is only a year old. …Two years?

“…Wait, you’re the one who put it in? Well damn boy, where did you get the idea? …From the internet? Damn!

“When I first saw it, I stuck my cock through to see if I would fit. I did. It was freshly done, as it still had jagged edges to it. No one was on the other side. So instead of just waiting, I went to my truck and got some sandpaper. I was sitting on the one side for an hour before a mouth finally came in. My dick slid through that hole so nicely.

“I don’t go there that often. Most faggots don’t know what to do with a fat cock like mine. But you do. I let you go for fifteen or twenty minutes. It felt good. Real good. I haven’t had a talented mouth on it in a long time.

“When I finished, I waited to see who it was. I was thinking that if it was local, I wanted to get something going on the side, something kinda convenient with a local fag. Imagine my surprise when the faggot turned out to be you.

“…That’s not right. I shouldn’t call you a faggot; it’s not nice….

“…Wait a minute. But that’s what you are. Nothing wrong with that in my eyes. I had a faggot in the city I used to use regularly until he moved out east. He was a reseller of my woodwork. I used him every time I made a delivery on Sundays. I would deliver on Sundays when he was the only one in his warehouse, and he would greet me naked. All the time I was there, he waited on me. And whenever I was horny, he was there to take me in his holes.

“How would you like to suck my dick? I’m horny now. And your mouth looks inviting.

“Good. I want you to strip naked. Don’t worry. You are the first person in here in five or six years. Nobody is going to come by. I assume your parents don’t know. They probably would have thrown you out if they had.

“You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone. I don’t intend on ruining a good thing.

“How often do you go to the glory hole?... You certainly are a horn dog. I like that. I would like my cock to be taken care of just as often.

“Remember this dick? It definitely remembers your mouth.

“…Well aren’t you a pretty one. No need to cover up. I’m not interested in your pecker at all.

“Get on your knees, open your mouth, stick out your tongue, and look up at me. Now that’s the look of a hungry faggot.

“No. No. I said I’m not interested in your pecker. Leave it alone. You can jerk off when you get home. When you are here naked in my shop, you have to realize that there is only one cock here that matters, and it sure as hell ain’t yours. You understand that faggot?

“…Good! Now suck! There you go! There’s that tongue…. Ahhh. This is why, when I went to your dad’s barber shop for a trim the other day, I told him that I was looking for someone to help me fix this place up. He suggested you, like I knew he was going to.

“And here you are. Fuck. Your fucking mouth is mine. The best part of not being at the glory hole is that I can hold your head like this. Take it! Take it all the way down. I’m gonna look forward to using this throat every day.

“Yeah, you got the job faggot. Don’t worry you’ll be paid well, and I’m not just saying in cum. Everybody will think that Bobby Reynolds is my new apprentice. But every morning when you walk in that door naked you are my faggot to use, however I want.

“You understand that faggot? Nod or shake your head. Atta boy.

“Right to the root. Try to breathe around it. Oh fuck! This is better than the glory hole. I can control the blowjob. I can feel your throat struggling to throat my dick. I have a faggot on his knees, bare-assed ready to do whatever I tell him.

“Speaking of that ass. Take a moment there to catch your breath while I look at your pussy. Stand up and come over to the shop table. You get fucked at the glory hole as well?

“No. I guess the situation doesn’t lend to it. When was the last time you had a cock in here?... Never? You mean you are still virgin back there?

“Fuck yeah. Wasn’t expecting to pop a cherry today, but damn, it’s turning out to be a great day. Hop up on the table.

“No. No. This IS happening. I’m going to cunt you. On the table son.

“Throughout the day, in between you doing actual work, my cock is going inside your holes whenever I want. Both holes. I’m not going to even ask you first. I’ll push you to your knees or bend you over. This is what I did to the shop owner in the city, and I liked it.

“On your back. Let me lower the table…. Legs up! Rest them on my shoulders. It’s a good thing you put a lot of throat slime on my dick. If you relax your hole and push out a little bit there will be less pain.

“Look up at me. I want to see the pain in your eyes, and your struggle across your face.

“Oh! That’s my head. Relax your whole body…. I’m halfway in. Relax. I’m going to be in here for some time. I can go for hours if I want to. Just go with it.

“There you go! Surrendering this hole to me is going to be your number one job responsibility around here.

“Look at me. You’re doing fine. It’s going to get more intense. I need to turn this into a cunt. I need to get you to the point that your hole can take me at any moment.

“If you want, you can unbutton my shirt and run your hands over my hairy chest. Don’t ignore my nipples. Be gentle with them.

“You ready faggot? Yesterday you were the son of good neighbors down the road, but after today, you will be my cunt. You ready to become that?

“Faggot here we go.”

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unfinishedslurs · 1 year

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jock on jock violence (past steve/tommy)

“Just leave people alone, Tommy,” Harrington says lowly. Dangerously. Harrington’s always been dangerous, in the way that straight, entitled jocks have always been dangerous to Eddie, but sometimes Eddie thinks he dropped the crown to pick up a sword. There’s something sharper about him now, something that wasn’t there before Halloween. Different from the fake smiles and shifty eyes after the Byers kid went missing. Not that Eddie’s been looking.

“Leave them alone?” Hagan demands. “Like how you left me alone?” And wow, is he delusional? Did he just completely forget about his girlfriend, Hargrove, and the entire fucking basketball team?

“Not everything is about you! Seriously, man? You’re just gonna twist what I’m saying like that?” Harrington snaps, and oh, Eddie doesn’t want to be here for this. If the former king and his old lackey duke it out, he does not want to get caught in the crossfire. “Jesus, grow up. Sorry I got sick of being a total dick.”

“Oh, yeah, now you’re just sucking Byers’s—“

“You want to go there? Do you really wanna go there, Tommy?”

Shit, Eddie should not be here for this.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Hagan says, suddenly panicked.

“I thought you liked my mouth.”

Eddie has to practically stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from sputtering.

“What the fuck, man,” Hagan hisses. Eddie knows he’s looking around, even though no one’s in the bathroom except them and Eddie. And Eddie’s never going to breathe a fucking word of this to anyone, on account of not wanting his face rearranged ten times over. “What, are you some kind of fag now? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Harrington almost sounds bored when he replies. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

“I told you to watch your mouth.”

“You gonna shut me up?”

“What has gotten into you?” Hagan finally asks the million dollar question. Harrington’s acting like he’s got a fucking death wish. “One minute we’re calling out Byers for being a creep, and the next you’re dumping me like it’s nothing. And now you’re suddenly best buds? Even after he stole your girlfriend twice? You know how pathetic that is, right? What, do you share her or something? The slut putting out—“

There’s a rustle of clothes, and then a thud, like something—someone getting slammed into a wall.

“Don’t talk about Nancy like that,” Harrington growls. “This isn’t about her.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, man, it’s about you being a total asshole, and I’m telling you to leave people the fuck alone.”

“Or what?” Hagan almost sounds amused, over obvious nerves. He’s not even trying to escape the hold he’s in. “I’m stronger than you, and we both know it. You’ve still got a concussion, don’t you? Hargrove told me he beat your face in.”

“Hargrove this, Hargrove that. You sound like you’ve got a crush or something. You suck him like you sucked me?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“You can’t win this fight, Steve.”

“I don’t need to. Mutually assured destruction, asshole. You stop hurting people, and I won’t tell the entire town about us.”

Oh shit. Oh shit. Harrington sounds serious. It almost makes him sick to his stomach, even as a hysterical laugh tries to bubble out. Who woulda guessed that the former king of Hawkins High had enough guts to paint himself as a queer to their conservative, stick in the mud town?

That is, if Hagan doesn’t fucking kill him first.

“You wouldn’t.” Hagan sounds panicked now, and for good fucking reason. He’s been on the “right” end of what happens to their kind of freaks for years. How quickly would the vultures turn on him? They descended on Harrington pretty damn quick.

“Wanna bet?”

“You do that, you lose everything. Peace, daddy’s money, your precious sports scholarships…”

“I’m not going to college,” Harrington says. “Look in my eyes, Hagan. Do I look like I’m bluffing? I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Eddie has to keep in a scoff at that. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that there’s always something to lose with shit like this. Namely your life.

This is fucked. This is so fucked. Eddie wants out of this stall, Jesus H. Christ. He’d take Mrs. Smith’s class anyday over knowing one wrong move will end with two jocks beating his fucking face in for hearing something he wasn’t supposed to hear. Or potentially having to jump in to try and save Harrington’s stupid fucking mug.

There’s a long pause that does absolutely nothing for Eddie’s nerves, before Hagan finally spits out, “Fine.”

“What was that?”

“Fine.”

“Good man,” Harrington says, as if they’re discussing some kind of business deal and not outing themselves in front of God and Mrs. Jenkins and everyone. “Now get the fuck outta here, Tommy.”

Rustling, quick footsteps, and then the door opens and shuts without a word.

Silence.

Eddie sighs in relief.

“Hello?” Harrington asks, voice on edge.

Shit.

His stall door swings open, and there he is, in all his fallen kingly glory. Bruise over one eye, scowl on his face, and dangerous set to his shoulders that Eddie knows all too well.

“Uhh, hi?” Eddie squeaks. He’s still sitting like fucking Gollum, feet on the toilet, unlit cigarette in hand. He drops it, and neither of them look away from each other as it rolls behind the toilet bowl.

Excellent first impression, really.

“What the fuck, man?” Harrington asks. “Were you just listening to that?”

“Look,” Eddie says quickly. “In my defense, I was here first. Also, if he saw me, Hagan was definitely going to beat me up. Except, uh, you’re definitely going to kick my ass anyway for hearing that, so I probably should just cut my losses and accept death at this point.”

Harrington doesn’t seem to know what to say to this, mouth opening and closing slowly.

“Also, for the record?” Eddie says. “I won’t say anything. I know you have, like, zero reason to trust me, but I’m really good at secrets, dude, like you wouldn’t believe. I haven’t even told Jeff that Gareth—anyways, secrets? What secrets? I didn’t hear anything. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

He gets a scathing look in return. “If you tell anyone—“

“Wait, wait, wait! You said something about mutually assured destruction, right? I get it. I get it, Harrington, fuck, you know I do. Who would believe me if I blabbed, anyway? Who are they gonna believe, the King or the Freak?”

Harrington sighs, but he must see the truth in what Eddie said because he moves away from the stall. Takes a wad of paper towels and starts running them under the sink.

It emboldens Eddie enough to follow him. “I mean, really, they’d probably just call it wishful thinking or something. Plus, I’m pretty sure most of the school would rather die than talk to me, so, like, you’re safe, man. I’ve already blacked it out in my memory, it’s gone.”

It seems like Harrington has tuned him out, pressing the wet paper towels to his forehead and eye. That’s good, because Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore.

“Also, for the record? That was badass. I don’t think I’d have the guts to do that, even if the entire town kind of knows about me anyway. Which, wow, you were really good at hiding it. Hagan I kind of suspected, given the giant fucking boner he had for you, but you—“

“Do you ever shut up?”

Eddie’s mouth shuts with a click. Harrington sighs again and pinches his nose, looking almost like a mother trying to herd her seven rambunctious children into the minivan. His hands are shaking.

“You okay, man?” Eddie finally asks quietly.

Harrington doesn’t say anything, just presses the paper towels over both eyes, like he’s trying to stave something off. Oh, shit, is he…

“Are you…crying?”

“What? No,” Harrington says, obviously lying. “It’s the light, I get headaches. Concussion.”

“Right.”

“Look, can we just forget this ever happened?”

“Already forgotten,” he promises. “But, uh, for the record? That was really brave of you, man.”

“I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

“That actually kind of surprises me, because I could not tell from your voice. You sounded like you were ready to march up to The Post then and there and spill all Hagan’s dirty little secrets. All ‘I’ve got nothing to lose,’ and shit.” He pitches his voice lower, in a mimic of some action movie hero or something.

Harrington finally laughs, and something in Eddie thrills at it. “I pulled that outta my ass,” he admits. “I knew he would believe it, ‘cause to him I already did lose everything. My friends, my girlfriend, my…” he waves his hand around, “my status, or whatever. And a few screws, probably.”

“Well I can attest to the screws, because I think you might be actually insane. You cornered him in an empty bathroom without checking to see if it was actually empty and threatened to out him to the entire town? I thought I was going to have to save your life, Jesus shit. Don’t fucking do that, do you have a death wish or something?”

“I did check,” Harrington snaps. “I looked under the stalls, and none of the doors were locked. Who the hell sits on a toilet like that anyway? You looked like one of those ugly stone fuckers, the ones they put on buildings and shit.”

Eddie bursts out laughing, too incredulous to be offended. “You mean gargoyles?”

“Whatever. Besides, Hagan won’t kill me. He’s too much of a coward.”

“I hate to break it to you, Harrington, but cowards are dangerous too.”

“Not Tommy’s kind of coward” Harrington says. “Not to me.” He wonders about the surety in his voice. Does he think Hagan still has feelings for him? Ex-boyfriends can be the worst kind of assholes. Hell hath no fury like a man scorned. Harrington gives him a look, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. “He’s a bully and an asshole, but he doesn’t have the guts,” he insists. “He’s no Hargrove.”

Eddie sneers. “Hargrove. The guy’s a fucking psycho.”

“Tell me about it,” Harrington says dryly. He finally looks at Eddie, eyes him up and down. Eddie could take him, honestly, he’s scrappy and Hagan wasn’t lying when he said everyone knows Harrington can’t win a fight. Pair that with the concussion he’s sporting, and it’d probably take a love tap to take him down. But he doesn’t want to.

“You’re probably better off without Hagan anyway,” he offers helpfully. It doesn’t work, just makes Harrington look like a kicked puppy, damaged and sad and cold. It makes Eddie want to take him in as one of his little lost sheep, honestly, which is an impulse he pushes far, far down. Abdicated or not, a king is no fit for a freak’s friend. Even if he and Byers have been pretty friendly.

“I know,” he says. “But he was still my friend, you know? Like, the first one I ever had. Maybe that’s why it took me so long to realize.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s an awkward silence, where Harrington turns his focus back to the mirror. Eddie clears his throat and tries to lighten the mood. “So, you and Byers…”

The look he receives could make the Demogorgon shake in his boots. “Don’t you have a class to fail or something? You should probably go to that before—”

The bell interrupts Harrington perfectly, and he snaps his mouth shut. Eddie snorts.

“Think it’s a little late for that, but I know a dismissal when I see one. See you around, Harrington.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hey, remember—“

“I know,” he calls behind him, striding for the door. “Mutually assured destruction!”

Leaving the bathroom feels like being reborn a whole new man. He swears the air is cleaner than it ever was before he went in. His last glance behind himself shows Harrington looking in the mirror, no sign of moving as the door shuts.

As he’s walking to his next class, he spies Wheeler and Byers huddled together, whispering. They look worried.

They both startle when he speaks. “If you’re looking for Harrington,” he says quietly, stopping next to them, “check the smoke bathroom, by the band hall. I think he’s still in there.”

Wheeler’s brows furrow, but Byers gives him a nod, already moving. Eddie moves along as Wheeler shoots him a quick look of gratitude before following, books hugged to her chest.

Eddie doesn’t know what’s going on between the three of them, but he kind of wants to now, especially considering Harrington’s non-answer when he asked. He doubts Wheeler is a cover-up, not after her and Harrington’s breakup and the quiet, lovey-dovey honeymoon phase she and Byers seem to be having. The one that kind of seems to tear Harrington to pieces sometimes, even as he sits with them and walks to class with them and even hangs out with them outside of school, if Jeff really saw the three of them at the diner together last week. Maybe Steve Harrington’s a secret masochist.

Then he remembers the bruise yellowing around his eye, the weird tension he has with the guy who beat him up last year. The way he damn near begged Hagan to beat his ass in the bathroom. Not so secret, then.

Whatever. It’s none of Eddie’s business. He’s gonna soil his reputation if he keeps focusing on Hawkins royalty like this. Never mind the way Harrington’s soiled his own reputation enough. So what if King Steve isn’t king anymore? He’s still just another pretty face.

A pretty face, with nice arms and big eyes and thighs. And he’s queer, and doesn’t seem like the kind of closeted that would have the usual jock shove him away after getting a blowie. Shit.

His lungs itch for the cigarette he never got to smoke. Too bad the bathroom is occupied.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #tommy hagan #post s2 #jock on jock violence au #stommy #onesided steddie #implied stoncy #this is the closest i ever came to finishing something if i ever write a beginning it's going on ao3 #we stay billy bashing 💪#are tommy and billy fucking? up to interpretation #i fully believe eddie would crouch on the toilet to smoke like a fucking gremlin #stranger things fanfic

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sl-ut · 1 year

Text

sweet cliches

NSFW

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pairing: college!abby anderson x fem!preppy!reader

description: just some spicy hcs about abby’s relationship with preppy!reader

warnings: smut, cursing, probably a lot of grammar/spelling mistakes (i was really high when i wrote this), swearing, mentions of drinking and drug use

date posted: 29/03/23

series masterlist

abby’s a service top, that goes without saying

*cough*MUNCH*cough*

early on in the relationship, things are pretty vanilla

she goes down on y/n, y/n goes down on her, done

as time passes, however, abby starts to realise how addicting y/n’s pussy is

she can literally spend HOURS going down on her girl

uses her brute strength to pull her back in as she tries to escape her touch, throwing y/n around into different positions before diving back in

she loves to eat it from behind or have her sit on her face, and she really loves to sixty-nine

she also likes to be standing while she facefucks y/n

there was absolutely nothing more that she loved than the sight of her strap sinking into y/n’s sopping cunt

the girl is strap happy and can dick someone down better than any man

she likes to do this from behind but her favourite is when she leans back and watches as y/n bounces eagerly on it

she likes to let y/n take charge while also reminding her who’s actually in control by lightly wrapping a hand around her throat

the original strap is light blue, though once things get more serious, she decides to order a new one in y/n favourite colour; it’s a translucent baby pink with flecks of glitter within the silicone

it just didn’t feel right to her to continue using the old one on her special girl when she had been using it on others before they started dating–the new one was for y/n and y/n only

scissoring is touch and go with these two

most wlw would agree that when it’s done right, it’s really good, but it can feel very awkward and strange for a lot of the time

for y/n, she’s not someone to get off via scissoring. she likes how it feels, and genuinely loves the idea of the raw, primal aspect of not using fingers, tongues, or toys to fuck

instead, while it definitely feels good, she usually lays there and lets abby use her body to get off

and get off, abby does. abby personally really enjoys it, though she knows that it’s not y/n’s favourite so she doesn’t bring it up often, only when she really needs to get off

abby is a boobie lover

don’t get me wrong, she loves all of y/n’s body, but her mouth literally waters when she gets to paw and suck at her tits

likes holding them in a non-sexual way as well, just cupping them silently as she nods off to sleep

fucking after big games

y/n in her cheer uniform and abby in a pair of sweats that she changed into after the game

if they won, expect passionate and intimate sex, if they lost, expect rough and fast

when she’s not bouncing on the strap, y/n’s riding abby’s thick, muscular thighs

sometimes things can get a little silly

abby can be a bit awkward from time to time, despite the confidence that she practically oozes

she’ll spit out a random little comment that she had intended to sound sexy, and then stop her movements as they both begin to giggle at how strange it sounded

not really smut, but i think the general consensus is that abby wears boxers, but i’m more convinced that she prefers boybriefs to boxers and would actually rock thongs and g-strings (from experience, i know that it’s a lot more comfortable to wear these when playing sports/working out bc they don’t move around and won’t give bad wedgies)

she likes to watch y/n touch herself, but will instruct her on what to do

my girl doesn’t like to share, so any thought of inviting others into the bedroom is a definite no, but i feel like she might be open to letting someone watch?

it would have to be someone that she was certain had no genuine feelings for either of them

maybe someone at a party? they had snuck away for some alone time and some girl stumbled in, sat down, and watched as abby went to town

soft dom

doesn’t like to leave visible hickeys

she cares a lot about her public image, and prefers to keep her private life private

will definitely leave them all over y/n’s tits, thighs, and ass, but will avoid leaving them on visible areas like her neck and shoulders

likes to watch porn together <3

i feel like abby doesn’t have a particular type that she watches, just usually picks something random

but then i love the idea of y/n scolding her and spending like half an hour scrolling through the videos

“i like it when they tell a story”

abby thought this was really funny and adorable

aims to make y/n squirt

the first time it happened, it shocked the both of them

abby had her in a mating press, rubbing her clit and fucking into her with her glittery pink cock

y/n suddenly started to slap her chest and try to pull away, claiming that she was gonna pee

abby was no stranger to what this meant (i mean, who wouldn’t squirt from her) and just kept going, once again using her brute strength to keep her still and praising her as her juices began to splash out all over the both of them

while she might get kinky from time to time, she honestly just loves that kind of soft, domestic sex

it makes her feel so close to her partner

like when y/n slips into the shower with her and just slides down onto her knees, or hoisting y/n up onto the counter while they’re waiting for the coffee to finish brewing

after being together for a few years, she definitely developed a breeding kink

while y/n’s still in school, abby will use sex to motivate her to study

when she’s procrastinating on writing a paper (i’m definitely not self inserting here lol) she’ll offer to get her off for every five hundred words she writes

or she’ll be helping her study and start rubbing her clit, speeding up with every correct answer and slowing down with every wrong one

in contrast, y/n will use sex to distract abby when things are all becoming a bit too much

when she’s stressed over exams and won’t come to bed, y/n will sit on the desk in front of her in nothing more than one of abby’s t-shirts

when abby leans back and tries to scold her, y/n will simply part her legs and expose her leaking cunt to her

abby will try to resist, but will only last a few minutes before grasping her thighs and tugging her to the edge of the surface and going to work

after letting her do her thing, y/n will lure her into the bedroom and will go down on her to tire her out even more

abby can’t stop kissing y/n during sex

it’s always so erotic, y/n will be riding the strap and abby will tear her lips away from the jiggling tits in front of her to jam her tongue into her mouth

it would be soft, though, no clashing teeth or fighting for dominance (there’s no point in fighting for that against abby)

instead, it’s slow, gentle tongues brushing together, swallowing each other’s moans

abby loves fucking after a night out–whether its date night, one of her team dinners, or the pair of them had attended a family function. something about getting to strip away y/n’s pretty clothes and watching her makeup getting ruined from sweat, tears, and abby’s juices

sex on special occasions is both of their absolute favourite

depending on whose occasion it was, the other would do their best to make it more special than usual

after abby’s team won the championship game, y/n surprised her after the big party by wearing her jersey and a pair of lace, crotchless panties underneath

abby went feral for it, not even bothering to take a single thing off of her, instead just pushing the jersey up to release her breasts as she worked her up and down on her strap

when y/n made the dean’s list, abby treated her to an at-home spa experience, taking special care to work her open on her tongue and fingers so many times that she couldn’t remember anything aside from abby’s name

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson fic #lesbian #wlw

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azsazz · 1 year

Text

Dead by Dawn

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, eventual poly!relationship, undead.

Word Count: 3,811

Notes: Mother knows I don’t need another AU but frankly idc 💅🏻

_________________________________________

Day 189

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Fuck me, you think, digging your tattered sneakers deeper into the ground. You’re hoping to gain better traction on the dirty road as you run–sprint away from the creature at your back. Gravel gives way, making the asphalt slippery as you try to maneuver through the barren streets or the abandoned town and away from the monster trailing behind you.

You don’t need to be bolting at full speed, but any form of running is tough due to your injured knee. You’d twinged it the other day as you ran through the forest with a horde of undead lazing after you, locked in on the stench of your blood.

You’d tripped over an upturned root and fell harshly, landing directly onto a stone. The crack of your knee smashing into the rock cracked through the forest and the zoms had grunted loudly in response, almost gleefully, like they knew you’d been downed.

It truly is just your luck.

Something always seemed to go wrong in your presence. If it wasn’t dropping your last can of food into the river while you were crossing it was attracting a group of undead while you were grumbling loudly about just how shit your luck really was. It was the man you’d trusted who’d ended up robbing and abandoning you while you slept, leaving you only with the short knife tucked into your boot at the time.

Hell, you were probably somehow connected to the apocalypse happening.

You chance a look over your shoulder, and for a split second your heart calms and you slow your pace, the road clear behind you.

Hunched over with your hands on your knees you gulp down the arid summer air. The stifling heat chokes you and you cough loudly to clear your airway, sucking in a large breath just as a bead of sweat rolls down your mouth. You wheeze, coughing harder as the tiny offender slips its way down the wrong pipe.

Like you said, bad luck.

Pounding on your chest, you wince. Your hacking will attract more. You need to stop.

Scanning your surroundings, you try to gather your bearings of where you are in this small, rundown town. You were just supposed to be passing through for the usual runs of searching shops for food and unused supplies. Your backpack is a little too light for your comfort.

You’d convinced your comrade to split up, and now you're regretting it more than ever. The town is small enough, quiet enough with the rustling leaves and sounds of birds chirping nearby. There are no human sounds, no scuffing of shredded shoes dragging across the pavement, no snick of safety switches clicking off.

It’s silent.

You cut off your coughing abruptly and straighten, swallowing uncomfortably. Your tongue is thick in your mouth and your throat is dry from lack of water. You’re down to your last bottle, and choking on your own sweat has only made you thirstier. Your heart pounds in your chest, too loud for you to make out the sound around you but it’s then that you realize–

It’s silent.

The wildlife has gone completely still, birds sensing the threats lingering nearby, falling quiet in their nests. Not only do zoms lure for tasty human flesh, but they’re known to trap any living creatures they can.

A low inhuman growl drags your attention away from the trees. It grates against your skull like it always does, a cry for help, a cry for flesh. Your head snaps around back the way you came.

You curse.

Really, really unlucky.

Not one, but three undead come stumbling out from behind the building you’d passed. It’s an old laundromat, and one of the zoms is clad in a half-torn dirty t-shirt that you think could use a good washing. Or burning. They’re tripping over their own stupidly clumsy feet, and when they catch sight of you, pick up your sweaty, delicious scent over the soft breeze, their milky white eyes zero in on you.

Grunting softly, you begin jogging away from them. Running has never been your favorite hobby, but it’s imperative to your survival now. Doesn’t matter that your lungs feel like they’re on fire with every step, your knee sending sharp shockwaves of pain up your leg with each step.

At least it isn’t broken.

Ignoring the throb in your leg, you reach for the holster wrapped tightly around your waist. You’d had to punch another hole into the leather to keep it tight enough not to slip down your rapidly slimming hips. You know you won’t find anything there, that dick had stolen your gun long ago. These days, the worn leather belt housed a knife, but you’d dropped it in the initial scuffle with the leader of the small zom pack chasing after you.

You’d laughed, thought it was your comrade and had shoved the creature off of you. But when your fingers had torn through the delicate flesh on the zombies arm, rotting veins and thin skin spilled out over your hand you were quick to your senses. Reaching for the knife, hand slicked with thick, chunky blood. Your grip slipped once, twice, and the zombie was up in an instant, pushing against the hand you’d planted across its chest.

Finally tugging the knife loose from where it was nestled in your holster was a relief that turned sour as the zombie swiped out. Dumb luck had the flailing limb striking true, knocking the weapon from your unsteady hold. It landed with a soft thump, a small cloud of dust puffing up and clinging to the black blood coated hilt.

Time froze as you stared at the zombie, letting out an unamused puff of air as your heart kicked into gear. It’s head jerked forward on fractured bones, the clacking of it reverberated up your spine like a hot knife, and you winced. The zoms mouth parted and its rotting gray tongue rolled out, lapped at the air, tasting your scent.

It shoved harder against your hold.

You’d managed to wrestle the undead away, pushing it to the ground, but you hadn’t had the time to grab your trusty knife that you’d carried with you since the beginning of the end. You climbed to your feet and side stepped the cracked hand reaching for you, the bony tips of fingers free from dead skin, sprinting away.

Unsure of which way to go, you raced up the road away from where you had last seen your friend. You wouldn’t let her get caught because of your stupidity.

You try to outrun them, weaving in and out of the few buildings in town, but they’re locked on your scent, although you’re pretty sure you smell like one of them by now, you can’t even remember the last time you’d showered.

Rounding the corner of an old bar, you debate stopping for a drink. You pray that there’s an unopened bottle of vodka, or tequila inside. Hell, you’d take just about anything right now.

Making a mental note to come back around and search the bar, you trip. You use your hands to catch you, cursing as your palms scrape against the pebbles and dirt. You hope that there’s no blood, muttering beneath your breath as you survey the alley. There’s a tall chain link fence blocking your path.

Well fuck.

There’s no way you’ll make it up in time, and the drop from the other side is a long way. Plus, you don’t know if your aching knee will be able to support your weight against the flimsy metal, having just fallen on it again.

Your day really can’t get any worse.

Your limbs slide against the dusty ground as you flip over. Your fingertips dig down for purchase. The three zoms are approaching quickly, limping closer to you, keen on getting a taste of your flesh. One of them even looks like it’s smiling, peeling lips torn and curled around blackened rotting teeth, grinning at you sadistically.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

This is it.

You search the alley frantically, hoping that there’s at least a broken bottle from the tavern you can use in defense against the looming creatures. There’s nothing but pebbles and litter, not a single potential weapon in sight. You swallow hard, gaze flitting back to the zombies who moan softly, making grabby hands at you like babies do their mothers.

Your back hits the fence and you squeeze your eyes shut tight, the sun blaring hot across your skin.

You’ve had a pretty good run, you think, for someone who’s luck is as shit as yours. 189 days.

You send a silent prayer up above – although you’re pretty sure whoever is supposed to be watching over Earth has taken a break long ago – and hope that your comrade will be okay.

The zoms are almost on you and you curl tighter around yourself, refusing to open your eyes. If you’re going to go, the last thing you want to see is yourself being eaten. No thanks.

There’s a loud war cry just as the long, overgrown, brittle nails scrape against your cheek. You shudder and a shadow crosses your vision for a millisecond, and your eyes snap open. Squinting against the harsh sun you watch as the zombies arms are lobbed off, falling right onto your lap.

Black blood drips thickly and your empty stomach curdles. With a grimace you shove the limp limbs off of your legs and pull yourself to your feet, the zombies attention turning to the new person in the alley with you.

You loose a sigh of relief at the shaky laugh and taunts thrown at the undead, “Come here, you fuckers!”

It’s your comrade. She’s armed with a landscape scythe in one hand and your knife in the other. The sunlight casts over her sharp cheekbones and her gray eyes are almost as pale as the zoms. It’s unnerving sometimes but right now your chest swells with relief. Her menacing (and slightly crazed) smile has her looking like an angel of death.

“Feyre,” you exhale, head falling back against the chain link fence in solace.

The armless zombie struggles, trying to stagger to its feet, but it ends up inchworming its way towards you and your savior. With one quick jab of your knife to its head, the creature goes still.

Feyre jerks the blade from the body and dances around the other two zoms, swiftly moving behind them. You catch one of their attention, beating your hand against the fence, rattling the metal with your hands. Before one can turn around to face Feyre, she uses her scythe, the curved blade protruding from the stomach of the zombie. She grabs the handle with both hands and lifts with a grunt. The body's decomposed muscle and bone give way as she slices from stomach to head, splitting the damn thing in two. When it falls away it reveals a grinning Feyre.

You grimace at the sight. She’d found that gardening scythe a few weeks ago and now it’s her new favorite weapon.

“Gimme,” you gesture to your knife with a nod of your head, the last zombie still slowly making its way towards you.

“You sure?” Feyre cocks an eyebrow. She’s still on a high from her last kill, “I don’t mind.”

You shrug your shoulders in response, “Be my guest.”

You let Feyre take the last one, sliding the knife easily into the base of its neck. It’s a more humane kill than the last one, and you’re just glad it’s over quickly.

“Don’t drop this again,” Feyre says seriously, striding over the dead bodies and firmly placing the knife back in your hand. Her fingers wrap around yours tightly, making sure you understand the importance of the weapon.

“Not like I was trying to,” you mumble, looking away from her in shame. Your gaze settles on your hands and your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You hadn’t even known the girl long but here she is, saving your life and sticking by your side even though she doesn’t have to.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she admits softly, looking at you with sad eyes. If she’s saying this because she doesn’t want to be out all alone in the shit world or because she feels a kinship with you from what you’ve both been through, you can’t say.

You sigh, frustrated. “I’m no good for you, Fey. You’d be better off without me.” You wipe the blood from your blade onto your already dirty pants and nestle it back in its rightful spot on your belt.

“Stop with that, (Y/N).” Feyre places her hands firmly on your shoulders and stares into your eyes. Her gray iris’ are piercing, similar and yet different than the undead, like she can see all of your deepest secrets and fears, all of the things you’ve had to do to get here, to stay alive.

You’re vaguely aware of the zombie blood dripping from her blade onto your shoulder and you try not to cringe. “Like hell you’re leaving me in this shit hole alone.”

You chuckle softly, ignoring the pang of guilt you feel. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she will absolutely abandon you, your mind supplies.

“Sorry,” you offer quietly.

“Just don’t scare me like that again,” she responds, waving off your apology. There are no ‘sorry’s’ in the apocalypse, no need to ask forgiveness for the evils you’ve committed. You trail Feyre out of the alley, “Use your words next time.”

“Didn’t want to attract more,” you admit, knowing that if you had screamed for help it would only put the both of you in more danger, “Ended up doing that just fine anyway.”

Feyre doesn’t respond to that. She can see that you’re already kicking yourself for what’s happened, even though the both of you are okay. You have a habit of that, blaming yourself for most things that go wrong. You always have.

“You’re limping,” she points out instead, “You hurt?”

“Nah, just fell on it weird,” you try to smile but it looks more like a grimace. “It’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“We should find somewhere to stop. You can rest and I’ll check out the other stores. Maybe we can find you some painkillers.”

The odds are highly unlikely, but you don’t mention it. Not all of the stores in this tiny town have smashed windows and ransacked shelves.

“We’re not splitting up again,” you demand, following Feyre through the broken window of a nearby store. You wince when you lift your leg and pain shoots up it.

You look around the dinghy shop and make a face. It’s a mattress store, and you have no idea how long it’s been since it’s been broken into, but by the looks of the stained and matted mattresses, you can tell it’s been awhile.

Feyre hums in agreement, scythe poised and ready for anything that might pop up and surprise the both of you. You keep your knife tucked tightly in your hand, ready to back her up without a second thought.

“There’s a clothing shop a few stores down. Untouched. Thought we could drag a mattress down there for a night. Sleep on a real bed for once,” Feyre suggests and throws a grin over her shoulder towards you, “Maybe go on a little shopping spree.”

And that’s another thing that differentiates you from Feyre. While she was scoping out for supplies that might actually help you survive in this undead world, you were thinking about booze.

“It would be nice to get some new clothes,” you comment, pulling at the dirty shirt clinging to your sweaty skin. You frown, looking around at all of the mattresses, “And sleep on something comfortable, if we can find one that’s decent, that is.”

Feyre rolls her eyes, “Oh, come on (Y/N). Everyone knows they keep the nice ones in the back. All wrapped up and ready to go.” She raises her eyebrows at you in a silent question, and you nod, silently telling her that you’ve got her back.

Feyre shoves open the door to the storage room and you’re surrounded by stacked mattresses lining the walls.

“Jackpot!”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The both of you had managed to drag a twin sized bed two stores over into the clothing shop with little trouble. You’d ignored the twinge of pain in your leg at the weight. It grows worse the longer you stand on it, but you really do want to sleep in a real bed.

You shove it as far away as you can from the window at the front of the store and tear the plastic wrap off of it. Your heart stumbles as you think that this is what it must feel like for the zombies to tear through flesh. You shudder.

Instead of falling onto the fresh mattress like you want to, you’d gone back out to search for more supplies before the sun sets. You need water, but it’s scarce to come by these days. You each have one bottle left in your bags from when you’d found a pack of unopened water bottles sitting out in the sun in front of a gas station. It probably wasn’t the best thing to be drinking from a plastic bottle that had been sitting in the sun for who knows how long, but you didn’t have the luxury of being picky these days.

You’d seen one more zombie in the drugstore you were hoping to find some painkillers in, but if the spilled pills surrounding the trapped zombie were anything to go by, it looked like they had gotten to them first.

You whistle to yourself as you walk through the aisles, a slight limp in your step. You kick an open bag of chips out of your way, searching for anything that is still usable to eat for the night.

You’d gotten used to the constant hunger pains, the feeling of your stomach trying to eat itself, contorting in pain when you thought about shoveling a thick and juicy cheeseburger into your mouth. As long as your stomach still jumps at the thought of food instead of flesh, you can manage.

Feyre was built for the apocalypse. She’s figured out how to ration, and she’s always planning, not knowing when you’d find your next meal.

Another reason you were so lucky to have her.

You’re frustrated, having walked down the food aisle three times but still coming up with nothing. The only food left was opened or had rotted out a long time ago, and you don’t need to be getting sick over spoiled food.

“Find anything?” Feyre asks, returning from checking the back room and moving over to where you stand.

“A few bandages, but no food,” you sigh, holstering your weapon. “You?”

She shakes her head, “No food either, but I found these,” she tosses you a bottle of painkillers and you smile gratefully. “Fucker didn’t get to those ones.”

“Thanks, Fey.” You immediately tug off the cap and down two. They catch against your dry throat but eventually work their way down.

You tug your backpack off of your shoulder, stuffing the canister inside. It rattles and you remind yourself to stuff a clean sock into it so they don’t move around as much.

The both of you search up and down the rest of the aisles of the small store just in case. Feyre becomes fascinated over a rubix cube you’d found, still in its package. You smile softly at her as she tears open the plastic and mixes the colors. You both need something that reminds you of the simple life before.

You find some chains and padlocks still handing in their spots in the hardware store and you’re both incredibly thankful. Even though you haven’t found more food, you still have a can of beans you can share, and you have clean clothes and a comfortable place to sleep for the night, so today isn’t as much of a bust as you thought.

“Fuck,” Feyre sighs are she settles down onto the mattress next to you. “Been a rough day, hasn’t it?”

You hum in agreement, passing her the can of beans. You’ve both changed, opting for plain t-shirts and new jeans. You’d almost cried when you found a package of unopened socks, shouting for Feyre like you’d found a cure.

“S’just socks, (Y/N). Calm down,” she’d replied, but the relief shone in her eyes as well.

You share the beans, passing it back and forth in silence, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You’d packed up what you could into your bags. They sit at the foot of the mattress, ready and close just in case something happens. Your new running shoes sit neatly next to them on your respective side of the bed.

“Go to sleep, I’ll take the first watch,” you offer, and who is Feyre to argue?

She settles into the soft bed and is out as soon as she’s comfortable, exhausted from today’s events. You’re constantly worn out. There’s just something about the end of the world that is so very tiring.

You hum to yourself, checking the exits for the third time in two hours. You need something to do or you’ll fall asleep. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. Feyre knows it’s because of your slight paranoia that something terrible could happen if you don’t continually check your surroundings. But you’re not wrong.

Checking the lock and chain on the front door, your attention is caught by something moving outside.

You immediately crouch out of sight, peeking out the grimy window into the darkness to see what it is.

Three figures, too fast to be zombies.

Your heart pounds. You can hardly make them out in the dark, but it looks like two people dragging another along between them. They’re tall, you can tell. Must be men. They hurry down the street as you watch on. Your gaze flickers up the street, searching for zombies, your knife gripped in a firm hand, but you don’t see anything.

You wonder if the person they’re dragging with them is injured. They must be, otherwise they’d be running alongside the other two. You wonder how much blood they’re leaving behind as the three of them find an open shop across the street and down a few from where you and Feyre are hiding out for the night. An old cafe of sorts. You’d checked it over earlier, but you suppose it’s as good of a place as any to take shelter in for the night, the window and door still intact.

They’ll be away from monsters, at least.

Everything in the new world is a lot scarier in the dark.

_________________________________________

(Part 2)

#azriel x cassian x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #zombie au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #azsazz

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onmyyan · 3 months

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hello, i LOVE your writing and style and i took a social media break and came back and HOLY SHIT what a time to be alive

i got to thinking about your guys and i do love a reluctant darling, so ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable, so sorry if it does. but the guys doing the absolute m o s t to get this girl to like them. someone who maybe got a couple of rough exes and either knows what to look for and isn't looking for love. and the boys are just like :) oh :) to bad 💐 for you. they get her heart racing and she's a little nervous about it. shes got a mouth on her and aren't afraid to pop off on a rant about how she knows what they are (she doesn't)

Marcos? psh you'll cheat and laugh about it with your friends at some party. you think you can get away with it just cuz you're good looking? go find another person to piss off. and he's all like ☺️you think i'm hot😊😚 love the idea of her being a snarky bar tender at his favorite bar and they have a will they won't they sitcommy type relationship

manny? just buy the book and leave, girlies on the clock, no she doesn't care how good he looks on the motor cycle. totally not. definitely, definitely not. she doesn't worry when he goes really fast on it, it doesn't make her scared. girls just trying to get paid and get peace.

ricky? oh big strong man trying to boss her around? she doesn't need all that. she sees through that tough exterior and her rbf is worse than his. but it ain't resting. she's just loving life with her friends (who aren't as available anymore?? i wonder why??) and she doesn't care when he runs his fingers through his hair. she doesn't want to do that. she'll get her car fixed there- sure- but she won't like it.

gabe? sure he seems fun but ultimately she views him like a movie sequel, seems fun until about halfway through when you see it's the same plot as last time. no way is she falling for that old trick again. yeah he's nice, and and he helps her with groceries when he sees her walking with all those bags. bare minimum raise it, gabriel.

caspian? when's that other shoe drop? when does the sweet charming teddy bear end? (never)and yeah his pastries are delicious. and he's nice. and smells like cookies. and- oh fuck she's in love, better avoid him but SOMEHOW the man is everywhere. doesn't matter. she needs a night in, and yeah she misses him when she's in her place alone. little does she know how close he is. she won't be lonely anymore ☺️

ashley? she can fix up her own house, thank you very much. she's not interested in some old fashion cowboy and his old fashion values. or his arms. or the way he checks in on her, making sure she's settled in ok, finding her way around town, if she's eating alright and if she needs anything and woah- what's wrong with this door? he'll fix it and no. he doesn't want money. she doesn't owe him anything but, if she wants to grab a drink she's always welcome to join him. she won't be thinking about what would've happened if she took him up on that late that night. or how she made fun of his accent.

diego? WHY is there chickens on her door, and WHY is it w o r k i n g? and where is the shirt she was wearing yesterday? it's laundry day. feral fella makes sure everything's going alright and she's got everything she needs. she doesn't want some man following her around like an over grown puppy. or does she?

imagine them giving her they're number and getting a drunk text like

"you don't suck anymore ❤️" and they go feral

anyways hope you like that and are having a good day/night. i do wonder if any of them kidnap darling like in sharing is caring (my guess is ricky, ash, and manny in no particular order) and how they'd deal with a darling like this. have a wonderful day/night.

This is amazing and made me smile like a fool the whole time I read it!! Like wowiewowie you totally nailed the characterization of the guys and I love how sweet and nervous the reader is about this seemingly perfect dude ugh thank you for sending this baby in I adore it

#yananswers #anon submission #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #delmont brothers #yandere oc x reader #caspian delmont #gabe delmont #ashley hunt #ricky delmont #Marcos delmont #manny delmont #diego dumas

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cupidscrule · 5 months

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OLD ENOUGH 2 DIE

Re4 Leon X Fem! Reader

Tw - drug trafficking

P in v, finger stuff

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You were a spoiled bitch, had daddy's money to take care of anything.

"Daddy - pleasee com'on It's only 2k, can you transfer the money? Yay! Thank you daddy mwah"

Spoken into the brand new phone you got, you had money, had everything. Never went a day without living like a queen, never understanding poor people 'ugh why can't you just work harder? Honestly it's not that hard ' said to thousands of waiters at 5 star restaurants. Never even tipped em, throughout high school you were a dick to everyone, if they weren't hot and skinny. Classic mean girl to be honest

"Hunny, absolutely not. We can all tell that bag is a fake, it's embarrassing.. you should honestly thank me for telling you how stupid you look.."

"Oh! That's not.."

"Babes, you know I want the best for you so.. that dress really makes you look fat, maybe wear something more flattering?"

Backhanded comments were your LIFE, had every privilege, didn't even try in school. Just sucked and fucked your way to A's, but you were hot so it's fine! It doesn't matter if the pretty girl makes the slug kill herself? She's all innocent, everyone who tried to defend you was hilarious. "Oh she's just insecure!!" Bullshit, no you weren't? You just hated all those chicks. Rightfully so, they were all annoying whores.

You were just treating them how they deserved to be, not like any of them had a future besides sucking dick.. you're different though, that's what you always told yourself. Sure you dressed like a skimpy bimbo, fucked the sports team twice. But you're different, an exception to the slut rule..

"Daddy can you send me an Uber? I don't have enough money in my account. Dad I said I spent it all shopping- no dad please- it's gonna be night soon, I NEED an Uber. Daddy? UGH" stomping your feet, making your own little hissy fit in the middle of the street, clutching the little pink fur purse you bought, looking around at all the people staring at you. Pout on your face and brows furrowed, throwing your phone on the ground and walking away, you were a good half hour away from home, and these boots were NOT made for walking. They were brand new plus, wouldn't wanna ruin em. And to top it all off it was freezing cold, like -15C. All you had was a white fur coat belted around your waist, with stupid little ear muffs. Couldn't even find matching gloves, freezing cold at Six PM alone on a Friday night, with no phone .. what a perfect day!

Stomping off not really knowin' where you're going isn't that smart though, but you were never a smart kid. Never did drugs or anything like that, just not very smart in the real world. Couldn't read signs, or fight, or have basic common courtesy. Shuffling your feet through the snow for god knows how long till tik street lights flicker on. By this point you got no clue where you are, started off downtown now you were in the middle of fucktown with nothing you recognize, see this is why daddy should've moved to a smaller town after The business deal, that way cops wouldn't be on his ass and you would know where you're going. Sure DC was the place to be! Except for the fact it's the stupidest place to be if your main source of income is drug trafficking, you didn't care where daddy got his money as long as you got it in the end. But what you did care about is when daddy refused to be smart about his shit. Like what are you on if you think moving to Washington is a good idea after makin' a major deal, you're dad was important. He was wanted for a lot. But you didn't do anything wrong, you're innocent! So you never cared about what would happen if dear old dad got caught, he could buy himself out of trouble just like before.

Still aimlessly walking up and down the streets trying to find anything identifiable when you hear footsteps behind you.

Turning your head to see who's behind you, and it's a taller man with blonde hair, it's getting dark so there's not that many details. He's wearing really weird clothes, just staring at you, his eyes narrow and look at your face in the flickering lights before opening his dumb mouth

"Listen, we can make this easy kid. Just come with me back-" he started speaking, stepping towards you. Immediate nope, fuck that, the police actually caught the hell on? AND THEY WENT AFTER YOU? Worst day ever, dropping your bag and making a run for it just like daddy said.

"Sweetie, if the cops ever find you, and are onto you. Run. And run far."

Never actually thought what that old sack of shit said mattered, I mean nothing bad ever happens to you.

Running around corners, frantically, heart racing, why, why, why, why. You had NOTHING to do with daddies private shit, if anything you're a victim to his crimes.. yeah victim! I mean dad was a creep sometimes, huggin' a bit too tight, grabbing your ass like you were his girlfriend. Even though mom was dead for a long time, he never got over her and I guess you looked closest to her?

Running into an alley way, like any smart fucken girl would, totally. There was a chain link fence, then what looked like a field leading to someone's apartment building? Pretty sure someone from school lives there, yeah Milo in Chem 100% does he's the welfare kid and this was the poor side of town. Bingo.

"Ah- not so fast"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Don't even reply, no don't reply, you have about five fucking seconds before getting dragged away and everything taken away. Pathetically trying to pull yourself over the fence, y'know if you really tried you could do it. But you don't try. Feeling a hand grab your ankle, pull you down ripping your cute coat, if you're gonna kidnap a girl at least keep her shit nice damn. He throws you down, trying to scramble up only to get immediately knocked out and your unconscious body dragged away.

"fuck" you mutter under your breath, opening your eyes drowsy, vision kinda blurry but you can see everything, trying to move your hands and legs but then feeling the rough rope press against your sensitive skin, looked like you were an old ass storage unit, some boxes piled up in the corner, walls looked rusty. A table in the middle of the small room, and a guy just standing there. Few seconds later lights flicker on, they're dim but you can now see detail in everything. That includes your unknown kidnapper? Or agent? Or cop? He wasn't really dressed like any of them, wore a dark blue t shirt,tactical black pants, and black gloves. Not sure what profession of people wear that, plus he was too cute to just be a random kidnapper, pretty blonde hair with gorgeous blue eyes and a muscular figure.

"Oh you're awake, huh thought that would've taken longer." He says eyes darting towards you as you try to wiggle out of the rope, it's tight. "Who the fuck are you? Where's my dad! Do you even know who I am?" You say acting as if your dad was a fucken celebrity and not a filthy pig. You knew you were in a deep fucken mess, so when in doubt, lie. Lie about everything, you're innocent, no Mr. officer my father would never! You have the wrong girl I'm just a highschooler !

"Don't play dumb missy, cut the shit. Let's get to the point, I know your dear old dad is involved with a lot. And so are you, aren't you? So why don't you tell me where dad does all his importing and where he gets the shit from, hm?" He says coldly, almost as if he's talkin' to a little kid. "I don't know what you're talking about. Just let me go!" You whine staring up at him, he's just standing infront of you arms crossed over his chest, getting a better look at him, he wasn't just a random guy, he looked important. Didn't know why though, a sigh comes from his lips as he blinks slowly at you, "honey, I really don't wanna get messy. Just hand over the information and you can go back to doin' whatcha do, I don't care." He said, arms still folded over his chest, he was a good fifteenth-ish feet away from you and your chair, you grit you teeth, brows furrowed as you stare at this guy. Pissed off, "don't call me honey, I told you I don't know what you're talkin' about." You mutter to him, pout on your stupid lips.

"You're a bad actor, it's really obviously. Plus you're on file, darling. Now can you just tell me the important stuff?" He said putting on an obvious fake begging face, puppy eyes and all. You were trying to get untied, only getting rope burns on your wrists, squirming and whimpering in that tiny wood chair. "I didn't do anything, I don't know what daddy does to get money.. talk to him not me" you say batting your lashes, pushing your face out towards him, he takes another step forward. Putting his arms down, lookin' at you like you were some thing he found on the bottom of his shoe. "You have the face of a pornstar" he says out of the fucking blue, such a handsome voice but such a shocking thing. "I'm in highschool, pig." You scrowl jaw clenched, tone change from 'inccocent little girl' to 'raging bitch.' like a public appearance vs how you act in private. "Mm, well you're eighteen now correct? Nothing's wrong with that now is it? And it's just a fact, you've fucked and sucked your way up. No way someone like you is about to pass, in truth you're a pathetic attempt at human and a failure of whatever we can even call your sorry ass. But at least you make up with it for a massive rack and cute face"

Ouch. Okay.

Words didn't even form, jaw dropped, eyes shocked. Honestly not even knowing what to say, what do you say to that? 'oh yes sorry Mr man you're right I'm a dirty slut!" Absolutely not, because you aren't. "So, you gonna answer me?" He says, he's just a few feet away from you, leaning down to your whiny ass face. A small smirk on his dumb lips,

"fuck. you."

He just looked blankly, at you, almost dumbfounded by how much of a fucking MORAN you were, tied up in small place, no one knows where you are, daddies house is probobly getting raided and he's waiting in jail or has twenty bullets through his back while you're agonizing this man five times your size whom you are at HIS mercy. But hey, it could be worse. He could've killed ya already, he obviously needs you alive. So you're safe, for now. He cups your chin making you look at him directly

"You're such a dumb whore." He whispers letting you go, can't lie he's hot, feeling a throb in your legs, lump in your throat and pushing your thighs together, dumb little slut. Just fuck my brains out already oh my god.

"Seriously? Getting horny in an integration, fuck little missy you really are a freak." He says laughing to himself looking at your pathetic bitch display, all dumb n needy, breath rasp and heavy, feeling an emptiness only filled by fat dick, staring at the man, didn't even know his name, never told ya. He gets close up again and sticks to fingers in your mouth, pushing them back. Your tounge running around them, sucking, like a good little fuck doll. Sloppy and all wet, pulling his index and middle finger out your mouth saliva dripping off of it, stupid ass smirk on his face rubbing his fingers down your chest, over your pretty white shirt and over your tits. You're still bound to the chair, wanting nothin' more then to get bent over and fucked till you can't even remember daddies in trouble, this entire moment is just pure lust. He gives you the look like, 'is this what you really want? Seriously?' and of course you reply with a

"I'll answer you if you give me what I want."

That's all it took for him to untie you from that god forsaken chair, just to tie your hands together again. Push you onto your back, pressing your thighs apart. You aren't wearing much, your coat was gone lost somewhere in the ally, only wearing black shorts and a white top. Stupid for the middle of winter but it was hot. He takes out a small switch blade from his pocket cutting open your shirt and shorts off, pornstar tits popping out in a little pink bra also exposing the matching panties. Even all finished off with a cute little bow, unzipping his pants his dick springs out, your pussy THROBBING, aching. He cuts the shit off and pushes you firmly on the ground, your arms still bound above your head, his chest just over yours pushing into you, stretching you open. His tip resting nicely in your cervix when he starts rockin' back and forth. Hitting you all the good spots, moaning n' a mess, hes pretty much silent groaning here and there when he speeds up, lifting you up slightly, more like your at an angel on him, he grips your back and rocks you back and forth, feeling your walls tighten around him feeling all numb and high, cumming over his fat cock, his pull out games fast. Just as you finish he pushes you back on your neck and unloads on your stupid face, 'before grabbing you lazily and pressing your body against his, you were all dumb and covered in your own mess. But he was gentle with you, soft, he was nice. Nicer then anyone else had been, softer then anyone else despite fucking your brains out. His breath was heavy as he held onto you, chest to chest. Can't tell if he's doing' this cause he feels some sort of pity for you but fuck if you care it's comforting, you felt all warm and fuzzy. Weird.

"Please don't leave me here."

"I know you're eighteen, years old, but you're still old enough to die. Right here. Right now. So talk"

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gabessquishytum · 4 months

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Hob grows up in a small dead-end town where there are literally no options. Except one: joining the sons-of-anarchy style biker gang that basically runs the town.

The town is not safe. For much of hob’s life, he’s had to keep his head down, trying not to rub anyone the wrong way, trying to survive until he can get out. The police are corrupt and for a while, the gang has been unruly and very dangerous. Hob’s narrowly avoided catching their eye one too many times. Lots of people disappear around there.

But things have just changed.

The old leader of the gang, Dream, spent ten horrible years in jail. He just got back and he is taming his gang again with an iron fist. He’s gathering everyone back to him, chasing down his old right hand man (Cori, who took a shot at him and then, when Dream almost killed him, betrayed him to the cops, getting him locked up.) they say Dream is different. Dangerous and terrifying, but fair. He has rules; he doesn’t abide some of the evils the gang’s been up to in his absence.

Hob was applying for colleges, desperate to get out, until one day, he saw Dream and his whole center of gravity shifts. Instantly, he knew he would follow that man to the ends of the earth.

So hob ditches his plans to leave and sets about doing the one thing he never thought he’d do: join the gang.

The night comes where hob needs to prove himself. No one ever knows exactly what goes on there so Hob shows up to the club house nervous but elated by the idea that he might get to see dream again.

He doesn’t see dream, but dream sees him. And one of his soldiers comes over in the smoke-soaked room and tells hob to leave. This life isn’t for him.

Hob stands his ground and the biker then makes hob an offer. If he really wants to join, he can, but dream doesn’t need more foot soldiers right now. He has another use for him, if he is willing to prove his devotion.

So hob does what is asked of him. He strips down, lays on the pool table and lets himself be used however by whoever. If he lasts the night, maybe he’ll be allowed to join.

For the rest of the night, he is used. No one wants to hurt him—not badly—and hob can feel dream’s eyes on him the whole time.

But dream doesn’t move from his throne. he just watches hob, waiting to see if he will break.

Hob doesn’t break. All he can smell is sex and sweat. He eats out women, and sucks cock. He’s gently fingered open and fucked hard, over and over again. And he begs for more. Hob has come so much he’s coming dry, (moaning Dream’s name) but he still isn’t satisfied. He won’t be, not until he proves himself to dream.

Finally, countless hours later, hob feels a hand stroking through his matted hair. He is a mess. SOmeone’s still gently rocking into his ass but at a snap of Dream’s fingers, that faceless foot soldier leaves them alone.

“You have not yet given up,” Dream muses. “Why?”

Hob can barely think but he move enough to mouth at Dream’s hip. “For you,” he breathes.

Dream hums. “You do not know what it is to be mine. You do not know what you ask for.”

“I do,” hob insists. “I want this.” He’s never wanted anything more. Not even he understands why.

Dream considers him with all the grim absolution of a tired king. “Will you serve me? Be loyal to me? I have been betrayed before.”

“Forever,” hob promises, and offers his entire self, body and soul.

I'm feeling so rough right now so this is a perfect time to post and appreciate this mini ficlet. The setting is so good, the concept has given me so many different thoughts about dreamling in a small-town environment. I am so obsessed with the idea of Hob just dropping his whole life's plan because he saw the most beautiful man in the world and how can he just leave that behind?

And the idea of Hob proving himself to Dream with such dedication by becoming a good, obedient toy for Dream’s people to use? Holy shit. And the thing is, Hob is totally satisfied just knowing that he's serving Dream in some way. Even if Dream never even decided to fuck him, he'd be happy.

I'm so obsessed. Plus, Dream in biker leathers? No wonder Hob is under his spell. The day he gets fucked by a fully clothed Dream is the day he discovers that he can cum untouched.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

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fire and whiskey - joel miller x fem!reader

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summary: you never expected to run into joel again after boston, but here he is, and here you are.

warnings: spoilers for the last of us (i’m six hours into a play-through LOL), a lot of swearing, canon-typical violence, MENTIONS/DEPICTIONS OF ASSAULT (pls do not read if that is triggering for you!), unprotected p-in-v, fingering, oral (m receiving), joel is a grumpy man and I love him for it

a/n: please heed the warnings!! my first time writing joel and I’m kinda hooked. this show is truly going to be the death of me and I can’t wait for pedro’s performance. it’s so easy to see how he’s gonna fit watching the game itself play out.

🍂kay’s autumn adventures🍂

When he grabs you from behind, you don’t make a sound. You’ve learned, by now, to keep things quiet. But you’re still not expecting it, your whole body jolting with surprise and a breath sucked down your throat. Joel’s hand clamps over your mouth, thick fingers nearly cutting off your nose, but you don’t make a noise, letting him pull you backwards away from the clicker, feet scrambling silently over the doorjamb before he pushes it shut, quiet as can be.

“You need to keep your eyes open, girl,” he spits at you, barely above a whisper. It’s nearly pitch-black in the room, but you can just make out the shape of him, and somehow, those dark eyes manage to glitter all the same as they do in sunlight. It’s maddening. “I saw that thing comin’ a mile away. You distracted or somethin’?”

You shake your head, then realize he probably can’t see your head movement, so throw out a whispered no.

Of course, you’re fucking distracted. It’s Joel. Ten months later, and Joel fucking Miller appears out of nowhere like some kind of guardian angel, yanking a runner off you and putting a pipe through the thing’s face. You haven’t seen him since Boston. Since before everything that happened…happened.

Since Jason.

Since Tess.

Fuck, you think inwardly, exhaling against his palm. Tess. Sure, she wasn’t the nicest woman you’d ever met in your life, but she’d helped keep you alive, and you knew Joel was close to her, in that strange, standoffish, I act like I hate you but I’ll be quietly devastated if anything ever happens to you way that you’ve come to associated with Joel Miller. It’s the way of the world now, to a certain degree, but goddamn it if Joel didn’t take it to the next level. Always.

Even after it all, after Jason was dealt with and he’d told you you were square, you still didn’t know where you stood with Joel. If he liked you or hated you, or if he genuinely didn’t give a fuck.

But then earlier, before you’d crept inside the old warehouse in search of supplies, when you’d been knocked into the pavement by a runner and Joel had intervened, when he saw it was you, there was a moment. A glimmer of something, too quick to memorize but there long enough for your brain to fixate on it, to focus on, to dissect.

“It’s you,” was all he’d said, the pipe still buried in the runner’s face, using it as leverage to yank the limp body off of you. “I’ll be damned.”

“Joel fucking Miller,” you’d nearly gasped with relief, throwing your arms around his neck. He’d muttered something unintelligible, giving you a halfhearted squeeze around the waist. “Thank god.”

“Good to see you, girl.”

That had been the extent of the reunion. You were introduced to Ellie shortly after, and to Bill, Joel’s friend from a town over back in Boston. And Joel told you about Tess.

Desperation had pushed you into the warehouse, all of you with growling stomachs and Bill with a bad arm injury. You’d used the last of your pain meds days back, and Joel had bandages, but it wouldn’t do much to ease his friend’s discomfort. When Ellie told you it’d been two days since they had anything to eat, you slipped her half a granola bar you had stashed, and you didn’t miss the way Joel looked at you sideways.

And now you’re inside, your back pressed to Joel’s front and his hand clamped over your mouth. You expect him to smell awful — and mostly, he does — but there’s something beneath it, something manly and comforting and strong.

So yes, you’re fucking distracted.

It’s a few hours before you get out of the warehouse, your arms aching from holding your rifle at the ready, shoulders screaming from the weight of your pack. It’s worth it, though — each of your bags is practically filled to burst with medical supplies, food scraps, what have you.

And the best of all: booze.

Bill had nearly cried when you stumbled on the box, your head cocking to the side when you heard the rattle of glass. The fact that it wasn’t shattered was already surprising, but when you flipped open the cardboard to reveal three intact bottles of good old Jack Daniels, even Joel had mumbled out his surprise.

You find a quiet alley outside the warehouse, hang around long enough for your stomachs to stop eating themselves, and for Bill to swig back most of one of the bottles of whiskey.

“Nature’s Tylenol,” he claims, and you and Ellie let out quiet giggles. Joel cracks a smile.

“Where y’all headed?” you ask, after an awkward silence settles over the group of you and you find yourself desperate to break it.

“That’s the elusive question, isn’t it?” Bill comments, and Joel scoffs. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen any car batteries laying around, have ya?”

Your brow furrows, Ellie laughs, and Bill throws his hands up, muttering under his breath and grabbing his shotgun and heading back for the street. “We going?” Ellie asks Joel, and he nods. “You should come,” she says to you, her eyes bright, tone inviting. It’s sweet. “It’d be nice to have another girl around.”

You laugh, punching her arm lightly, playful. But then you look at Joel, and the feeling withers slightly. “That all right with you?”

“Where’re you headed?”

You shrug a shoulder. “Nowhere fast.”

He lifts his chin, looking down his nose at you. “Well, may as well stay together. For tonight at least.”

“Okay,” you agree, and that’s that.

There’s a lot of walking, quiet conversation passed between you, recounting where you’ve been, what your plan (or lack there of) is, people from your and Joel’s briefly shared past. Bill leads the group of you, bottle dangling from his hand most of the way, and Ellie is a few feet behind, Joel falling into step beside you.

“Been a long time since I saw you,” he says gruffly. Your hands brush as you walk, and Joel flinches, making the space between you a little winder. “Since—”

“Jason,” you finish, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “I never thanked you properly.”

“Ah,” he waves you off. “You don’t have to thank me for anythin’, girlie.”

Girlie. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Even back in Boston, when things were…rough, whenever you’d run into Joel, or Tess would bring you around for a job or something, it was always the same. Those dark eyes, occasionally crinkled at the corners, always giving you a once over. You knew what it was, in reality — he was checking you for bites, anything out of the ordinary, any trace of blood, and, once he knew what Jason really was, bruises. How you doin’, girlie? You eaten today, girlie? You feelin’ okay, girlie?

And after, when he and Tess had burst into your apartment back in Boston, seeing you beaten and bloody in the corner, Jason with reddened fists raised, a feral look in his eye. Not infected, just…awful.

Tess had yanked you to your feet and Joel had stood in front of the pair of you, blocking Jason’s path to you. “Back off.” It wasn’t a request. An order, delivered with a voice like hard steel and a raised gun levelled between Jason’s eyes.

It was a marriage of convenience, in every sense. And not a real marriage, not by a long shot. You’d met Jason somewhere between your hometown in Colorado and the camp in Boston, and it became a matter of survival. You kept his bed warm at night, and in return, he kept you protected, kept you alive. It wasn’t love, not really. Jason had his moments, but the bad started to outweigh the good. And the bruises came later.

Then they became too much.

You hung outside until the curfew reminders sounded, if you could manage it. Bouncing from friend to friend, trying to find odd jobs, asking Tess to find you something to do. You only went home when you got desperate, and more often than not, Jason was up waiting, ready to hurl insults and accusations the second you were through the door. His latest was that you were sleeping with other people, throwing yourself at anyone in camp who so much as glanced at you.

“I bet she’s fucking you too, isn’t she, Miller?” he half-screamed at Joel, waving his hands like a crazy person. Tess tucked you under her arm and you tried to wipe the blood from your face. “Fucking whore!”

He lunged for you and Joel laid him out flat, a gunshot echoing through the apartment. Through and through to his shoulder, the bullet leaving a hole in the wall, casing clattering to the floor. “I said, back off.”

Jason didn’t listen, blind with rage, pulling a switchblade from his pocket and trying to run at you again, ducking in an attempt to move around Joel, but it only made things worse.

The second shot would have gone through his shoulder again, another warning. He would have lived. But ducking put him level with the gun, and instead, it went through his forehead. Blood sprayed, you screamed and Tess shielded you, and his body hit the floor.

Joel put his gun away, gently took you from Tess. “Pack her things,” he said to her, his hands warm around your biceps as he held you up. “I’ll deal with this.”

Tess nodded, disappearing towards your bedroom, and your eyes were stuck on the body on the floor. “He’s gone.”

“He is,” Joel agreed, producing a bit of gauze from his pocket, dabbing at your split lip. “It’s okay, girlie. You’re safe now.”

You’d crumbled into him. Tess let you stay in her apartment a few days, but by the end of the week, you were gone.

“Where did you go?” Joel asks, the question yanking you out of your memories. “After.”

“Salem, for a while,” you answer, staring down at your boots. “Providence for a bit after that, then the plan was Washington, but here I am instead.”

“By yourself?”

You just nod.

He whistles. “I taught you well.”

He had. In the days after Jason and before your departure, most of your time had been spent with Joel. He taught you how to shoot every gun they could get their hands on, setting up target practice with tin cans behind one of the apartment blocks. Bow and arrow too, hand-to-hand combat, knives. You name it, if Joel knew how to use it, he was showing you how to do it too.

And his cardinal rule: never let go of your weapon, not if you can help it.

You nod again, lifting your elbow so it nudges him in the side. He’s gotten a little closer to you. “You did. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you, Joel.”

You swear he blushes.

Another couple hours of travel, and you find a farmhouse, mostly intact. A few smashed windows, sure, but it’s secure enough, far enough from the main roads that you’re not worried about stragglers. Bill and Joel clear the house out first, you and Ellie keeping watch by the road.

“Did you and Joel used to date?” she asks, blunt as anything, while you’re sharing a bottle of water, which you nearly spit out.

“W-what?” You wipe your face, feeling your cheeks heat. “What makes you say that?”

“He looks at you,” she says, shrugging a shoulder, “when you’re not looking at him. Like he thinks you’re gonna disappear or something.”

You choke on a laugh, waving her off. “You’re imagining things, kid.”

“Am not!”

The men emerge from the house then, waving you both in. They’ve set up a barricade of sorts in the living room, a few lanterns lit either side of the pile of blankets stacked on the floor. It’s not a real mattress by any stretch, but it’ll do.

“Gonna go build a fire out back,” Joel announces as you all get comfortable, a slim sense of safety settling over you. “I’ll take first watch.”

He disappears out the sliding door, and you watch until he disappears into the dark. A few minutes later, there’s a spark of light, then another and another, until the orange glow of a fire seeps back towards the house.

Ellie settles down completely, reading a few pages of her comic book before she’s passed out completely. You fold her comic up carefully, pulling one of the blankets over her. You try and get some sleep, tossing and turning for a few hours, but it’s no use. Your eyes keep moving to the sliding door, to the outline of Joel sitting at the fire. Finally, you give up, and get up. Bill is sprawled on the couch, his bottle of Jack cradled against him. You just laugh, pulling your own bottle from your bag and heading outside.

Joel’s fire is impressive, licking up towards the sky, embers crackling into the night as you approach. There’s a fallen log stretched across the ground, Joel sat in the centre of it, staring into the flames. Your foot snaps a twig as you get closer and he’s on his feet immediately, reaching for his gun. But he stops when he sees it’s you, and grunts.

“Sorry,” you say, lifting your hands. “Should have announced myself.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ should have,” he agrees angrily, sinking back onto the log.

“Easy,” you lift the bottle of whiskey. “I come bearing gifts.”

His brow hardens at you. “Fine.”

You take a seat beside him and crack open the bottle. It’s a familiar burn on the way down, a strangely memorable taste that makes you feel like a teenager again, stealing liquor from your parents’ cabinet and sneaking off to parties. It feels like a million years ago.

It’s quiet, at first, the pair of you just passing the bottle back and forth, back and forth. The fire dies slightly at some point, and Joel tosses a capful towards the logs, making you jump when the flames jump high for a split second. “They teach you that in boy scouts?” you ask.

He barks a laugh. That angry tone still sits in his voice, but you can tell it’s starting to break. “I was not a fuckin’ boy scout.”

“I find that very hard to believe, Joel Miller.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Oh, that’s mature.”

A long silence. You swig from the bottle and hand it to him. You’re pressed close to him on the log, trying to steal some of his warmth, your bodies touching from shoulder to hip.

Whiskey gives you a loose tongue. “What do you miss the most?”

He doesn’t answer, his brow turning to hard line on his forehead. He swigs from the bottle again. “That’s a loaded question as any, girlie.”

“I miss getting mail,” you roll over his comment. “Hell, I even miss bills. Oh, and fuzzy slippers. I used to have some that looked like turtles, it was so funny. Don’t get comfortable enough anywhere to even think about taking my shoes off, let alone wearing slippers.”

He laughs again, and the anger is gone. Success. “Turtles, huh?”

“Turtles,” you agree, grinning. “C’mon, tell me, Joel. What do you miss most? From the old days. From the normal days.”

He thinks about it. You can see it on his face, the way his brow pinches, eyes bright with something besides the firelight. The bottle dangles from his fingers; it’s nearly empty. “We need a lot more than one bottle of Jack for me to answer that.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on, I told you mine.”

“I’m not talkin’ about slippers and snail mail, girl. A lot of shit has happened since I last saw you, and even before that, you don’t know my whole story, all right? So don’t fuckin’ pry.”

“Damn,” you breathe out, stunned silence settling over you. He drinks the last of the bottle, and it’s a few minutes before you speak again, the crackling of the fire filling the quiet between you. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Joel. We’ve all been through a fucking lot, okay? So fucking forgive me for wanting to make sure you’re okay.” Sighing, you get to your feet, moving to walk around the fire.

“Listen,” he says, catching your arm as he gets up, moving closer to you as while you’re stepping away from him. “I don’t need you worryin’ about me or checkin’ up on me or anything like that, you hear? That’s not your—”

“Burden to bear?” you finish, quirking a brow, and Joel just stares at you, dark eyes widening like he’s shocked by your answer. “I know I don’t have to, Joel. That’s not why I do it.”

“You’re not listen—”

You grab him by the front of his shirt, fingers curling into worn flannel, dragging him close until you’re nearly chest to chest. There’s a pause, a complete stillness that washes over both of you for a second, his lips parted and yours following suit. Then it’s the scrape of his beard against your skin, biting at your cheeks and chin. He tastes like whiskey, something harsh that slides down your throat, something harsher that you know is just the taste of Joel.

There’s nothing soft about it. Hesitant, sure, but there’s no gentleness, nothing romantic about the way he kisses. It’s intense, his mouth devouring your own, drinking you down in every sense. His tongue dives past your teeth, curling along the roof of your mouth, and you can’t help but gasp back into him, toes curling in your boots as you lean up, desperate to get closer to him, to have him nearer, to feel his warmth as surely as you feel your own.

The fire crackles behind you, the whiskey bottle empty and discarded beside the log you’d been occupying. He finally moves, one hand finding your hip beneath your sweater, the other reaching back and curling in your ponytail, wrapping the length of it around his wrist. He tugs lightly, prickles of tension shooting along your scalp, and you let your own hands dip, sliding right up the hem of his flannel until your palms are splayed on bare skin. You can feel the heave of his breaths against your hands, the racket of his heart against his ribs.

Behind you, someone clears their throat, and you both snap apart like a sprung trap, Joel instantly turning away towards the fire, hands on his hips, while you stumble back a step, covering your mouth with one hand, trying to quell your rapid breaths and aching core.

“Just comin’ to take my watch,” Bill says, eyeing you both. His own bottle of whiskey is at his hip, shotgun cocked over his shoulder, a large machete hanging from his belt. “You two go get some shut-eye.” He brushes past Joel, clapping him on the shoulder as he goes. “Or somethin’.”

You both stand there a moment, shell-shocked, as Bill takes his seat at the fire. In the direction he came, the house glows from the inside, the camping lanterns still lit in the living room. Ellie’s asleep there, you know, and as Joel takes a step, intent on brushing past you, his cheeks bright red even in the darkness, you catch his arm.

“Meet me in the bathroom,” you say. It’s bold, and he freezes, staring down at your hand on his arm for a long moment before his eyes flick up to your face.

“I’m not what you need.” The words are gruff, his brow going hard again, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Cut the shit,” you say, shaking your head. “Now you’re the one not listening.”

Before he can get another word out, you turn on your heel and stomp back to the house. You don’t look back, don’t check to see if he’s following you or not. The sliding door squeaks as you slip inside, and sure enough, you catch sight of Ellie, still asleep, her eyes fluttering with dreams. You don’t want to disturb her.

You almost leave your gun on the kitchen counter as you make your way to the bathroom, but then Joel’s voice echoes in your mind. Never let go of your weapon, not if you can help it. So you don’t, leaving it tucked in your waistband until you’re in the bathroom, letting the door click quietly shut behind you.

It’s dark, save for a sliver of moonlight coming in through the mostly-shattered window. You take stock, ignoring the cracked floor and broken toilet. It’s surprisingly clean, given the state of things, Under the expected later of dust and grime, there’s nothing too unseemly. There’s an empty toilet paper roll still on the holder, a home improvement magazine on the back of the toilet. You turn, pushing a hand through your hair, pulling it loose of the ponytail, and inspect the sink.

The faucet is broken, handles missing and the spout off-kilter. The mirror above is broken, spidering out from a single contact point, like someone punched the glass. Your own reflection still peers back at you, fractured and disfigured. Something about it makes your chest hurt, and you rub a hand across your collarbone.

Just when you’re about to give up, convinced that he’s not coming, the door creaks open. Just a crack, just enough for you to see half his face in the opening it leaves. His gaze is still dark, but his brow is less furrowed, and he’s chewing at the inside of his lip.

Silently, he steps inside, pulls the door shut behind him. You’re leaning against the counter, your hands hooked over the particleboard. He stands in front of you, about a foot of space between you, and stares at your feet.

“It’s not that I don’t want this,” he says, his voice so low and gravelly you almost have to strain your ears to hear. “It’s not that I don’t want you. Fuck, I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you, back in Boston, when that fuck-head was still around. Wanted you back then, want you now, it hasn’t changed.” He inches forward, closing the distance slightly. “But this?” He gestures towards the door — towards Ellie, Bill, the fire outside, the world. “This is much bigger than us. And I can’t—”

“I’m not another thing for you to take care of, Joel,” you murmur, and reach back, pulling your gun out of your waistband, setting it on the counter. “I can handle myself. You taught me how.” His throat bobs. “And you’re right; it’s all so much bigger than us. I’m not an idiot, I’m not gonna stand in your way or make myself a liability. I know the drill. But it doesn’t matter right now.”

You reach up then, pinching the zipper of your sweater, meeting his eyes as you drag it down, ever so slow. His gaze drops from yours only to watch the path, watch the way it falls open once the zipper is undone, revealing your chest and stomach, the black line of your bra, the few scars you’ve gathered over the years.

“This—”

“Stop thinking, Joel,” you tell him, and reach for his hand, pulling it towards you, letting his calloused palm cup the curve of your breast. “Just for tonight.”

“Fuck it,” he grumbles, and then he’s on you. You thought the kiss at the fire was rough, but this is something else entirely. He’s…touch-starved, you realize, with the way he gropes at you, tipping his face into yours while his hands roam every inch of bare skin they can reach. He sighs into your mouth when you let your sweater drop further, the material sliding off your shoulders and down your arms, pooling at your wrists. How long as it been, you wonder distantly, since he touched someone else? Since someone else touched him?

Discarding your sweater, you reach up, working the buttons on his flannel, one by one until his chest is visible, scarred and golden, a light dusting of hair between his pecs. You drag your hand down it, right from the hollow of his throat, riding the soft curve of his stomach until you can hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging him closer to you.

Joel looks down as you reach for his belt, unbuckling it quickly, the clinking sound of metal reaching your ears. He’s nearly panting, one hand curled around the side of your neck, the other braced on the wall beside you. You push your face into his neck, pressing your mouth to his jaw as you work his zipper, sticking your hand right down his pants, under the elastic of his boxers.

He’s big. Big and thick and hard as a fucking rock, hips bucking harshly into your hand the moment you close your fingers around him. “So fuckin’ soft,” he breathes out, and you stroke him once, curving your palm over the tip of his cock, the precum that’s gathered there easing your way as you move back down to his base. “Fuckin’ hell, girlie.”

You have the sense to check the ground before you sink to your knees, making sure there’s no shards of glass or anything sharp before you get down, cushioning yourself on his boots. His hands move, both diving into your hair, curling strands around his knuckles, tugging like he had at the fire. It sets your whole body aflame, and you don’t waste any time, pulling his boxers down and taking him into your mouth, swallowing his cock all the way down, groaning as you do it. The tip of him hits the back of your throat and he bucks forward, thrusting into your mouth. It makes your throat jump, but you bite back the gag, digging your nails into the meat of his ass as you pull back, bobbing your head, curling your tongue around him.

He’s watching you; you can feel it. You tip your head back slightly, cock still pressed between your lips, pulling off of him completely with a quiet pop, letting the tip rest against your lips. He just stares down at you, gaze hard as he is, brows pinched as he watches. Slowly, you open your mouth, the head of his cock brushing past your top lip, giving him just the slightest bit of teeth as you take him again. It makes him groan, the sound rumbling through his whole body, one hand smacking against the wall.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he spits out, and before you can move any further, he’s pushing you back, grabbing your bicep and yanking you back up. “Not gonna last if you keep that shit up.”

He kisses you again, possessive and intense, pouring himself into you as he bites at your lip, rides the line of your jaw, closes his mouth around your pulse and sucks a bruise. A reminder, you think; tomorrow, once this is all over, it’ll just be a memory, and the mark on your skin will be all that remains.

Your leggings are shoved down, the seams groaning in protest, and his hand dives into your underwear, rubbing along your folds, moaning into your mouth when he finds how wet you are. “Gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he grumbles into you, and you can’t help but grin, curling your arm around his shoulders as he crowds you backwards against the counter again. “Pretty little thing.”

Before you can even blink, he’s crouching, tearing your boots off your feet and yanking your pants further down. He shrugs off his flannel then, letting it join the growing pile of clothing on the ground. As he makes his way back up to stand, he pauses, curls his hand around your calf, just below your knee. Everything in you goes tight as a fucking bowstring as he leans in, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of your leg, letting his lips linger before he’s moving back up, capturing your mouth again, the hand not on your leg diving into your hair, keeping your face against his.

He steps between the bracket of your legs, his hips finding a home against yours. You can feel him, hot and heavy and making you ache, the length of him pressed to your dripping cunt. It’s too much, it’s not enough, you might explode if you don’t feel him now.

You whine into his mouth, and Joel pulls back, the corner of his mouth ticking in a grin. “Somethin’ you need, girlie?”

You just whine again, pushing your hips against him, trying to chase the feeling that’s building, desperate for any kind of friction you can get. “Joel, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he mutters.

Then he’s inside you.

And it’s fucking earth-shattering.

You can feel every inch of his cock, every ridge and vein as he pushes inside you. He keeps a tight grip on your hair, panting into your mouth as he sinks to the hilt. He’s cursing under his breath the whole way, eyes flicking from yours down to where your bodies are joined and back up again.

“Wanted you for so fuckin’ long,” he breathes out, starting to roll his hips, giving you slow thrusts that only make the ache in you bubble further. Your own hands find his ribs, nails scratching over bare skin and scars. He feels so good. “So fuckin’ long, girlie. You don’t even know. You don’t even—”

His next thrust is harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the small space, and you both freeze. There’s no such thing as privacy out here anymore, and you don’t want to wake Ellie. But Joel keeps talking, babbling almost, the words grunted.

You bite your lip, and clamp one hand over his mouth.

His eyes flare for a moment, but you’re careful to leave his nose unblocked, his hot breath pouring over your knuckles. He’s still talking, but the words are muffled now, caught against your palm. His teeth nip, but you don’t care. The pace slows slightly, his grip on your hip tighter as he drives his cock into you. Your eyes want to roll back, but you do your best to keep them trained on Joel’s face.

You just wanna see him fall apart.

It doesn’t take long, his orgasm rumbling through his body. He pulls out of you at the last second, thrusts his cock into the spot where your thigh meets your hip, paints your body with his pleasure. Something feral in you wishes he’d cum inside, had covered your insides with him, but you know that’s not practical. It’s not smart.

Once his breathing has returned to normal, you let go, your hand dropping from his mouth, fingers glancing over his lip before it drops back to his side. Before you can make a move, he shoves two fingers deep in your cunt, curling them against something that makes your eyes roll back and you collapse against him, your pleasure cresting high, something akin to relief flooding through you.

“Didn’t think I was gonna leave you hangin’, did ya?” he growls in your ear. A high-pitched moan falls out of you, and Joel rips your head back, covering your mouth with his so he can swallow down your noises. “Good girl,” he says into you as the pleasure rips through you, your limbs electric and static and your whole body going weightless. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Both back down on solid ground, something has changed. You know it. You can see it. His gaze isn’t as hard as he finds something to clean his cum from your leg. He kisses you as he helps your sweater back up your arms, pinches the zipper and drags it up, leans in to peck your collarbone before it’s covered by the fabric. You help each other get dressed, dipping a hand down the back of his boxers to squeeze his ass before you yank on his belt buckle. And once you’re both fully clothed, Joel grabs your face, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and kisses you slow.

Slow, slow, slow. The complete opposite of the kiss by the fire, of the second one that had sparked your wild fuck. It takes you aback, your body curving into his when his other palm settles in the small of your back and pushes you towards him.

Bill is still sitting watch by the fire when you emerge from the bathroom, and Ellie is still dead asleep, thankfully.

“We should actually get some shut-eye,” Joel mumbles, and you just nod, the weight of the day and the exertion catching up with you. “C’mon.”

You lay out on the blanket next to Ellie, putting yourself between her and Joel as he lies beside you. He fights with a blanket; you’re expecting him to drape it over you — and he does — but you’re not expecting him to slide close to you beneath it, fitting himself against your back.

“I’m gonna leave in the morning,” you whisper after a few minutes, and Joel goes stock-still behind you.

“What?”

“This was just for tonight,” you say, and slowly turn to face him. “You said so yourself.”

His arm is slung over your hips, and his fingers curl in the back of your sweater, like he’s trying to keep you in place. Something in his face flickers, and Ellie’s words from earlier echo in your mind. Like he thinks you’re gonna disappear or something. “I know what I said,” he murmurs, but says nothing further.

“Joel,” you whisper, stretching up until your lips just brush against his. His arm moves up, hand cups your cheek again. “Ask me to stay. Say it.”

“I can’t—” he starts, but cuts himself off, nose dragging along yours as he heaves a breath. “Stay, girlie. Please. Stay with me.”

You just nod.

—————

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#joel miller #kay’s autumn adventures #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #my fics #fire and whiskey

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primomover · 8 months

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I just read your goofy terzo head canons and uh. . can I have more nsfw ones for like after reader and his first date?🫶🫶tysm

HELLO ANON I LOVE THIS OF COURSE U CAN!!! TAKE IT ALL!!!!

(nsfw under the cut! gender neutral, but fem leaning in some places)

-he is surprisingly nervous about a first date. he wants everything to run smoothly. he will orchestrate as much as he can.

-you do open the door to him with a rose placed between his teeth, but he quickly slips it back into the bouquet. luckily for him, you think it’s hilarious.

-he has a nice car take you both to a riverfront restaurant, and he buys you the finest drink they have to offer, whether that be alcoholic or not. it’d be an italian restaurant, because he’s nothing if not a creature of habit.

-he lets you do most of the talking, because he cannot get enough of your voice. you think it’s because he doesn’t want to engage with you at first, but he makes sure to tell you that he finds you incredibly interesting.

-there’s a carnival in town too! he is a strong believer in the fact that you’re never too old to have fun, so he will absolutely take you.

-he refuses to go on rides, but he buys you candy floss and cheap cinnamon donuts, playing carnival games.

-the man is a MASTER at ring toss? he makes some sly comment about always being able to get rings onto heads. you just roll your eyes to him.

-he wins you a giant teddy bear. he is terrible with naming things, so simply calls it bear, and it just sticks.

-he takes you for a walk along the river afterwards, your arm that isn’t carrying the bear linked in his. if you don’t want things to go further, he is a perfect gentleman to you.

-he can’t keep his hands off you. the gloves are quickly stuffed into his pocket, his insatiable desire to touch your skin and hear you whine has been haunting him all dinner.

-he’d fuck you there and then if you didn’t mind the idea of people potentially finding you. he’d pin you against a tree, sucking marks on your neck.

-“ah, amoré, so wonderful for your papa, sí?”

-he will cup you just to feel how wet you are, and he’ll make comments about how vile you are for being so soaked when he’s barely touched you.

-as you catch an uber on the way home, he can’t stop running his hands up and down your thighs. you have to fight so hard to stay quiet.

-he takes you to a hotel, not wanting anyone at the ministry to interrupt any time he might get with you. he has the key already, and you start in the elevator, one hand tracing your sides and the other holding your hands down.

-“ah, ah, let papa take the reigns, sí? you don’t need to worry, little one.”

-he will make sure he is so, so gentle with you. he takes you to the bed, lifting you up with his hands under your ass and placing you down on the mattress as he essentially chews on your jaw.

-he loves hearing noises you make. don’t be quiet- he wants everyone to know how good of a time you’re having.

-he has his nipples pierced. he makes you suck on them and he just lets out the most DISGUSTING moans.

-he will not stop until you cum or you tell him you need to stop. he’ll play with you, touch your body and praise you as you cry.

-he throws both of your clothes everywhere. how did your bra end up hooked over the curtain rail? lucifer only knows.

-he will make sure bear is looking away so he doesn’t corrupt the plushie’s innocent eyes.

-when he’s inside you, he speaks so much italian you can’t pick it up, but he tells you how good you’re being, taking him like such a brava puttana.

-you fall asleep naked in his arms with his cock pressed to your chest after he’s painted you, smiling. he is sure to pepper you with kisses, wanting you to know he will be there in the morning.

-“sleep well, tesoro. if every date we have is like this, i’m sure that this will not be the last.”

my inbox is open for requests, both sfw and nsfw for any and all ghost characters!

#ghost #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus the third #terzo #papa iii x reader #papa emeritus x reader #terzo x reader #ghost headcanons #the band ghost headcanons #papa emeritus iii headcanons

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pollenallergie · 2 years

Text

18+ only!!

do not interact if you’re under 18 years old!

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I personally disagree with the headcanon that Eddie can’t cook. In fact, I think that man passed Home Ec. with flying colors in high school. Most of the Hellfire guys took shop class because they thought it was more manly or badass or whatever the fuck, but not Eddie. Eddie needed to learn to sew because Wayne sucked at it and the old lady two lots over was getting real sick of him asking her to use her frail, arthritic fingers to sew yet another goddamn patch on his vest or his backpack or whatever else he wanted to decorate with the logos of his favorite metal bands. Glenda was a sweet lady, of course, and she loved Eddie like he was her own grandson, but even her kindness had its limits. So, he took Home Ec. Plus, he kind of underestimated it and thought it would be like way easier than shop class.

Turns out it was actually insanely more difficult because while Jeff and Gareth got to spend forty-five minutes a day working on bird houses and toolboxes, Eddie had to learn how to operate a sewing machine, create a household budget, change a dirty diaper, and, oh yeah, make like three different kinds of sauce from fucking scratch. Labor intensity aside, Eddie oddly thrived in that class. I mean, he took to the sewing machine like a champ and he made a mean roux for mac and cheese. Not to mention, Miss Bowman absolutely adored him.

That was her first year teaching at Hawkins High, having just graduated college, so she was already plenty nervous. However, it got much, much worse when the, at the time, 16-year-old metalhead, who smelled like a well-used ashtray, sauntered into her class fifteen minutes late and very clearly stoned out of his mind. Imagine her surprise when that same kid expressed a genuine interest in learning how to keep track of household purchases and sharpen a kitchen knife. Unbeknownst to her, his fascination stemmed from the fact that 1) being able to keep track of financial transactions would be super beneficial for him as a rookie pot dealer and 2) the kid liked sharp, shiny things. So, in her blissful ignorance, Miss Bowman actually kind of developed a soft spot for the misfit, much like a little kid might for a scrappy alleycat.

Not to mention, due to him genuinely wanting to learn how to do some of this shit, Eddie rarely showed up to class late or less-than-sober after that first day. He even began to enjoy that class a little bit; the teacher was nice, she didn’t hate him (which was rare), and most of the kids in the class were pretty accepting of him once they realized that he was pulling a stable A-. In fact, the future head-cheerleader, Chrissy Cunningham, even directly asked him for help with her sourdough starter once; which he thought was pretty cool (and also terrifying).

A couple years down the line, his impeccable home-making skills would come in handy when he finally managed to snag the person of his dreams, you. In fact, your first date with Eddie involved him making an elaborate feast of spaghetti in doused in a delightful, homemade bolognese sauce with a side of homemade garlic bread (Eddie made the bread from scratch and everything) and some wine (that he definitely did not steal from a liquor store two towns over because Eddie would never do that), lighting some candles, turning on some soft music (one of Wayne’s old country records; the only one that Eddie figured wasn’t too twangy), and setting tiny kitchen table like it was a fancy table-for-two at some pricey restaurant in the city. It was perfect and, honestly more than you’d ever expected. When he asked you out, you expected a simple movie date or maybe going to watch some band who was not nearly as good as Corroded Coffin play at local bar together, not an amazing home-cooked meal and a night alone with a shaggy-haired, doe eyed aidoneus. It’s safe to say that the pasta wasn’t the only thing that got saucy that night, if you catch my drift. Eddie gave you a taste of his other homemade sauce, if you know what I mean.

So yeah, Eddie Munson can cook. The man is a fucking wiz in the kitchen.

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#why must my brain plague me with random headcanons for edward francis munson instead of letting me sleep???#that being said…#put some respect on his name #the man is a god #can he remember to shower regularly? no #but can he cook a fucking deliciousioso meal for the one he loves? fuck yeah he can #eddie my beloved #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson thoughts #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things vol 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson ficlet #pol’s greatest hits

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