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#next episode’s gonna fuck all of us up right
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helluva boss s2e6 reaction
I HAD TO CUT IT DOWN TO 1 EPISODE CAUSE I HIT THE IMAGE LIMIT LMAO. SORRY EPISODE 7 IN ANOTHER POST
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episode 6
oh my god. okay. fizzarolli right at the start we're already off to a great start
oh my god????
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okay I think I'm starting to see the parallels between fizz and angel dust, I did hear mammon was abusive? idk? didn't expect that not all the deadly sins would be nice like ozzie, beelzebub and lucifer
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HAHAHAH OH MY GOD
UH HUH.......
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"LOVE. IS. STUPID."
yeah I understand why they were screaming at moxxie and millie now
THIS FUCKING CAPTION LMAO
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HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOO
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OHHHHHH MY GOD
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oh boy
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yeah I like where this is going
awwwww
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OH MY GOD we're getting blitzo-fizz stolas-ozzie parallels now aren't we
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oh here's the part about ozzie condemning love potions, one of the things I heard about
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Asmodeus: Well, I can tell ya, if you're looking for a love potion, you came to the wrong fucking guy. I don't fuck with that artificial bullshit! Lust shouldn't be about force... It's an ART! To be earned, and enjoyed. It's all about that journey to Pleasure Town... You feel me?
based ozzie
HAHAHAH oh my god these messages
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oh my god
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LMAOOOOOO
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I love this little exchange they're having it's so funny
Blitzo: Point is, royal demons don't give a shit about guys like us. They're all the fuckin' same. Fizzarolli: That's not...! A-always true...
oooooh this is supposed to be a comparison between ozzie and mammon now is it
ooooh boy (also what the fuck is this shot LMASKDSOGKOHDOMHS)
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oh my god what happened between them
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oh my god???
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oh my god.
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HIS MUM? aw. man.
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man so it's not even their fucking fault, who decided to lie to him like that what a dick
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HAHAHA aww
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hahhaha awwwwww
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LMAOOOOOOO????
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WHAJAJASKLGSDSDKFDLGLG WHAT IS THIS SHOT
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WHAT IS THIS
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THAT GUY WITH THE HEART EYES???? I'M CRYING
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awwww
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I'M CRYING?????
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HAHAHA OH MY GOD
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OOOOH HAHHAHA
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LMAOOOO the captions at the end, I hit image limit so
BTW: DON'T WORRY. The quieves all made it home safe and sound <3
but yeah this was GREAT. I was gonna put episode 7 together with this but um. I ended up going too crazy and hit the image limit in one episode whoops. dw, next time, EPISODE 7. and more fizzarolli
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hexthespectre · 1 year
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why the fuck is watching anime actually making my mental health better
#Hex's Life#I've been in a massive slump lately#it just comes with being unemployed for me. I need to be working on SOMETHING or I start to lose it a bit#but lately I've just been in this permanent bad mood and I havent even been able to look at any of my creative projects...#I've been trying to keep up with housework and exercise instead to try and improve my mood enough for me to be creative again#but instead I just kept feeling worse and worse because all I was doing was repetitive tasks#then tonight I said ''fuck it!!'' and binged a few episodes of My Next Life As A Villainess and suddenly I feel a lot better????#I think its because I realized this is the first time I've done something just for fun in the last... idk how long lmao#not to make progress. not to charge up for whatever my next silly little task is. just to enjoy myself.#fuck I feel like I havent even been enjoying video games lately because of that. I've just been going from one grind to another#(which is normally fine!! i actually love grinding lmao. its just when real life is also a grind that I run into trouble with it I guess)#I think I'm gonna start giving myself more time to just kick back and enjoy some stories#whether it be anime or tv shows or podcasts or books!!#maybe it wont make me more productive but that isnt what I need right now!!#what I need is to get my mood back to normal!! THEN i can worry about being productive again lmao#(and I mean I'm heading back to my parents' place for the weekend so I can also boost my mood by using the punching bag there lol)#(there's no better serotonin source than smacking the everloving SHIT out of an inanimate object shfkgkghsghdjhkh)
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total-dxmure · 3 months
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✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE
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pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader
summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?
warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff.
⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅
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“The fact that she’s military is the only thing saving her ass right now.”
Ellie kept her head bowed down low, her hands clasped in between her legs as she hunched over in the seat, making herself as small as possible. Her knuckles were bruised and scrapped to hell, the blood already dried and crusted. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, and if she thought about that fact for too long she’d probably have an episode. Either that or she’d throw up all over the sheriff’s office.
“Boss, I really appreciate you calling me instead of booking her. You have to understand that she’s in therapy and is on a shit ton of medications. Is the guy gonna press charges. . . ?” Hearing her best friend kiss up to his boss on her behalf had the vein in her forehead twitching.
“Technically the boy was shoplifting, so I doubt he’s gonna go forward with any sort’a legal action. I know she was trying to help, but she used excessive force. Beat the poor kid black and blue. . . I mean-” The officer lowered his voice, and Ellie could hear Jesse’s chair creak as he leaned forward. “His damn tooth was knocked out.” The sheriff whispered.
She closed her eyes tight, running a shaky hand over her face. She should own up to all of this and apologize. This was her fault, so why. . . why was she just sitting there? It was like she was glued to the chair, unable to move her head up. She couldn’t look Jesse in the eye. She was ashamed of herself.
Because she smelled like greasy, unwashed hair and cigarettes, was wearing the same pair of jeans she’d worn yesterday when he invited her over to his and Dina’s for dinner, and now he was having to pick her up at the police station for starting a fight.
A pack of beer. That’s what she’d pummeled the boy over.
He couldn’t have even been her age. He looked freshly legal, and something in her fucked up mind told her that it was okay to hurt him like that. The second that the nice elderly woman behind the counter had started screaming about a man stealing from her, some sort of switch had been flipped in her brain. Loud noises always made her feel anxious, but screaming like that? She couldn’t have stopped the meltdown even if she’d wanted to. So she dropped what she was holding and ran after him. What happened afterwards was. . . well, it was a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and rubbed her temples, trying hard to remember.
Her therapist called them “PTSD episodes”. Random things triggered a breakdown: loud noises, gunshots, screams, flashes of light. . . they were unavoidable. She’d lose total track of time when it happened. One second the door to Ellie’s walk-in closet was closing behind her, plummeting her in darkness, and the next she’d be laying on her back in the middle of her room, balling her eyes out. Living like this was hell, but no matter how many mind-numbing pills she was prescribed, she still found it nearly impossible to function.
She didn’t want to scare her loved ones. When Joel called she just. . . lied. It made her feel dirty. It was wrong and she knew that, but it was better than the alternative. Being a liar was better than being a broken failure.
“Yeah, I’m doing great. My therapist is on to something, I think.”
“Come on, rambo. Let’s get you to bed.” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing better than to pat her on the back like he used to.
Ellie knew it hurt him to see her flinch under his touch. She swallowed back bile and stood up, practically having to drag herself out of the officers office. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t thank him or- or anything.
But then he did that thing. . . he thanked Ellie.
Ellie didn’t give a shit about the military discounts or the cheaper car insurance- she got a nice cushy check from the military every month just for breathing. She didn’t want pity or thanks simply because she didn’t deserve it.
“Thank you for your service, Williams.” The sheriff’s voice reminded her of Joel’s. For some reason that made it hurt even worse.
Still, her muscles tightened, and she worked hard to straighten her posture.
“It was my privilege.” It was a well rehearsed response. It didn’t even sound like her voice when she had said it though, and it scared her.
As she followed Jesse out to his truck, she tried to ascertain whether she was just beginning to disassociate or whether or not this was all just another strange side effect from her meds.
She blinked and suddenly she was already situated in the car, Jesse on the main road to get the both of them back home. He had the radio turned down to just a hum, his sleepy eyes glued to the road in front of him. The clock on his dashboard told her that it wasn’t just “late” anymore, but “morning” now. Ellie sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she tried to map out exactly how many minutes she had just lost.
“Fuck.” She breathed, pressing her palms against her eyes.
She needed to call her therapist sometime today. She needed. . . She needed a lower dose of medication. There’s no way any of this was normal.
“Have you eaten?” Jesse asked, turning his head to finally look at her.
Ellie wished that he felt inconvenienced by her. Anger would be better than pity, but the look in his eyes was anything but annoyance. Jesse looked like he was close to tears. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and Ellie felt called to reach her hand out and place it on his shoulder. She wasn’t a very touchy person these days (and it’s not like she was to begin with), but he needed it.
“Not in a couple of hours.” Ellie answered him, letting her fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt.
He nodded and cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. When Ellie dropped her hand and turned to look out the passenger side window, she could have sworn he lifted his arm to hurriedly wipe at his eyes. She couldn’t be sure though. . . seeing as she was now legally blind in her left eye. The wonky eye and the thin scar that started in the middle of her forehead and ended on her brow bone were the only physical reminders that she had of the explosion.
It seemed so miniscule compared to all of the shit that was going on in her head. She’d much rather have a destroyed body than a brain that didn’t work right anymore.
“How about you sleep in the guest bedroom? Dina’s probably worried sick about the both of us. Let’s. . . let’s spend the day together. Yeah?” It sounded like he was pleading with her.
There was a brief moment of heavy silence. No matter how much of a burden she saw herself as, the thought of going home right now frightened her. Ellie was terrified that she was going to end up all alone in this world, but she couldn’t stop pushing everyone away. It’s almost as if. . . she knew that she was bound to self-destruct at some point. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that.
“She’s going to kill me.” Ellie groaned out, dramatically banging her head against the headrest.
Jesse’s lips twitched up into a smile, but he was quick to try and mask it. “Nah. Dina? Mad at you for getting arrested at one thirty in the morning? No way.” His tone was sarcastic, and Ellie appreciated the fact that Jesse could still joke under circumstances like this. It made things feel almost normal. Almost.
Ellie winced, dragging a battered and bruised hand over her face. She had no idea why she’d been at the gas station picking up a bag of pretzels and a pack of ding-dongs that late at night. A documentary about the recently discovered Exo-planet was on the Discovery channel, and she’d actually worked up an appetite after it was over. She missed acting her age. Maybe that’s why she ended up getting into her Jeep. She was tired of feeling nostalgic and actually wanted to do something for herself. As minuscule as grabbing snacks from the gas station down the street was, it still felt out of the ordinary for her. Special.
Dina was sitting on the couch when the pair slunk into the house, walking on their tip toes in the hopes that the creaking wooden floors wouldn’t wake up JJ. Ellie froze in the entryway, green eyes wide as she took in the female’s crossed arms and death-glare. She was in trouble, which meant that Jesse was in trouble as well by association.
“Do you know what time it is?” Dina whisper-yelled, throwing her arm in the direction of the clock on the wall.
Ellie squinted her one good eye, noting that it was now four in the morning. She’d lost three hours. She should have been passed out on her prescribed sleeping pills by now, plagued by vivid nightmares. Instead she was intruding on her two best friends, and for what? ‘A pack of beer’, she reminded herself. A god damn pack of fuckin’ beer.
Ellie’s mouth went dry, her lips moving but no words escaping her. How many times had she apologized to Dina since she’d gotten home after the accident? Still, her best friend’s anger was better than Jesse’s pity. The sleeves of Ellie’s flannel tightened around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Dina’s posture as if to protect herself. She slipped a hand up, covering her neck anxiously.
“I’m getting better, D. I’ll schedule an emergency meeting with my therapist and-” Ellie sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.
What she was doing couldn’t be called living. Ellie was simply existing and not doing a very good job at it either. She was tired of being tired. She blinked her misty eyes, turning to face the kitchen. She refused to cry. Once she started she couldn’t be sure that she’d be able to stop.
Jesse and Dina’s shoes were all neatly laid out by the front door and JJ’s baby bag was sitting on the dining room table. This was a family that she had just burdened. Her eyes snagged on JJ’s highchair, and then the guilt was building right back up in her chest.
Guilt and jealousy.
Ellie had once had hopes of starting her own family eventually. When did she lose her grasp on that? On her lifelong dreams and aspirations? She wanted to help people- save people- so when had she become the one that needed saving? The marines hadn’t ruined Ellie. Ellie had ruined Ellie.
“No, you’re not.” Dina said simply, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “Ellie, look at me.” Her voice was commanding despite her sadness.
Ellie’s eyes fell to the floor, but she turned her head to face Dina, green eyes flickering up to her face. Bottom lip quivering, brown eyes misty- Dina looked miserable.
“You’re not getting better.” She whispered to Ellie, shaking her head to drive the point home. It looked like the words physically hurt for her to say.
Every excuse that she could have given dissipated. Suddenly she felt naked, utterly exposed. Every nasty, jagged scar was on full display. How many times had she said that to the people that cared about her?
“I’m getting better.” “I actually feel a bit better today.” “You don’t have to worry about me. The meds are really working this time.” Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened but she had become a liar. A damn good one too. Dina was looking at her now though, really looking at her, and Ellie’s face crumpled.
“Fuck.” Ellie whispered to herself, moving her hands to cover her face.
Jesse stepped behind Ellie, wrapping his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. A sob caught in Ellie’s chest and she strangled it before it could escape her. She couldn’t lose it. She couldn’t let her shoulders sag, couldn’t allow herself to feel everything in front of her best friends.
“I called Joel,” Dina finally said, leaning against the back of the couch, her knuckles going white with how hard she gripped the leather. “And he bought you a plane ticket. You’re flying out tomorrow.”
“No,” Ellie was already shaking her head before Dina had even finished her sentence. “How could you do this?” She felt the betrayal like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, eyes wide in silent desperation.
Please let this be a nightmare.
Her hand desperately flew to her arm, giving it a sharp pinch. The floor didn’t fall out from under her. She didn’t sit up sweating in her tangled sheets. This was actually happening. Actually real.
“You’re flailing, Ellie. We thought that eventually you’d level out,” Dina tried, taking a few steps towards Ellie and her husband. “But you’re only getting worse.”
“I’m getting better.” The well rehearsed line was the only thing she could think to utter. She prayed that eventually she could convince herself of that too. If she said the words enough times then maybe, eventually, they would become her reality. Perhaps she could somehow manifest her recovery.
“When was the last time you ate a solid meal? You barely touched your plate the other night. And I know you aren’t eating the food that Jesse drops off for you.” Dina was pointing out her flaws as if she didn’t see them all herself.
A full stomach meant nausea.
“When was the last time you showered?” The dark haired girl questioned.
Showering meant closing herself up into a tight space. It meant getting naked- seeing her scars. Remembering what happened to her and the rest of her unit.
“We know how this will end, Ellie. I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of my life for calling Joel. I refuse to lose you like this.” Dina’s voice quivered as she spoke, but her eyes hardened. She was resolute about her decision.
Jesse’s arms tightened around Ellie and suddenly they no longer felt like a comfort but a prison. She needed air. Needed to call Joel and apologize. Needed to tell him that she was fine. She was fine. She would be just fine.
“I can’t breathe.” Ellie managed to whisper out, knees buckling from underneath her. It felt like the world was finally swallowing her up whole.
She was a failure. She’d failed Jesse, Dina, JJ and Joel. Why couldn’t she just be normal again? Why couldn’t she just fucking breathe.
Jesse let go of Ellie as she began gasping for air, helping to sit her down on the cold hardwood floor. It felt like everything around her had slowed down to a crawl, but her mind- it had sped up to a breakneck pace. She couldn’t turn it off. Couldn’t turn off the thoughts and the images and the feelings.
She’d killed her unit. It was her fault that they all died. They had all been taken home in body bags, and what had Ellie gotten? A fucking government issued check every month that she blew on booze and a Purple Heart that collected dust.
“D, get the medication that’s in the cabinet and a glass of water.” Jesse called out to his wife. It sounded like they were underwater. She was drowning.
“She’s ripping her fucking hair out, Jesse.” Dina called out in panic, rifling through the medicine cabinet with shaky hands. Her best friend gripped her wrists, forcing them back down to her sides. Strands of Auburn hair were tangled up between her clammy fingers.
JJ must have woken up because of the comotion. She could hear him crying from the other room. Screaming for his mother.
Blood. So much blood. It’s coming out of her mouth, what do I do? What do I do about internal bleeding again? Wasn’t I trained for this? Breathe. She’s not breathing. Are there other landmines? Can I drag her to safety? Where is everyone else? H-How. . . How can I help?
“Swallow, Ellie.” Dina was crouched in front of her, forcing her lips open to slide a pill onto her tongue.
“It was my fault. I-I fucking,” She choked out, gagging at the taste of the pill that was beginning to dissolve on her tongue. “I led them out there. Oh, fuck.”
Dina was beginning to panic, pushing the plastic cup up to Ellie’s mouth in the hopes that she would drink. She did, choking back the water in deep gulps. The water helped to fill the aching pit that was beginning to grow in her stomach. Water poured down the sides of Ellie’s lips, but she kept drinking. Deep, thoughtful gulps of ice cold water.
“Should I call an ambulance?” Dina finally asked, her eyes flickering between Ellie and her husband.
“No. No hospital. Just go sit with JJ, alright? I’ve got her.” Jesse told her, letting go of Ellie’s hands so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her against his chest so that she couldn’t stand up.
Ellie blinked and Dina was gone, the sound of her bare feet jogging down the hall was the only reminder of her presence.
“Joel isn’t going to judge you, Ellie. We all just want to help. So let us, alright?” She knew he was telling the truth, but the thought of Joel seeing her as lesser-than killed her. She would crumble completely if Joel looked at her with the same sorrowful eyes that Jesse did.
Joel was newly retired though, and the last thing he needed was to put up with his PTSD-ridden adopted daughter. She was tired of feeling like a burden, but where had standing on her own two feet gotten her? Arrested on multiple occasions? So she relented. She surrendered to the idea of sleeping in her old bedroom and taking up space in Joel’s too-big ranch home.
“Okay.” Ellie croaked, feeling the medication kicking in. Sleep. All Ellie wanted to do was sleep.
“Okay?” Jesse repeated back to her, needing to know that she was serious. The last thing he probably wanted to do was wrestle Ellie onto the plane. He wasn’t entirely sure he could overpower her when it came down to it.
“Okay.”
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Grief was an uphill battle. One minute you’re laughing with your friends and then the next you’re laid up in bed, tossing and turning with the realization that what could have been was now an impossibility. You missed Abby. You missed the life that you could have had with her. All of the memories and milestones you missed out on were soul crushing the second that the sun went down.
You were left in your empty house, laid up in the bed that the two of you once shared. Her scent had long since washed out of her pillow. All that was left were pictures and a gravesite that you still couldn’t bring yourself to visit. Life doesn’t stop when you lose somebody though. People eventually become less forgiving as the months pass by.
So you squeezed your eyes closed and hoped that sleep would come sooner rather than later. You had an early start tomorrow for work, and the last thing you wanted was to show up with puffy eyes.
Life was getting better though. The pain wasn't as debilitating as it had been months ago, and for that you were thankful.
One step at a time, one day at a time.
You were still breathing, which was exactly what Abby would have wanted for you. The overwhelming grief hadn't killed you, no matter how many times you'd secretly prayed that it would. You were still here and that was good enough.
For now, at least.
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dollfacefantasy · 2 months
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would you write a threesome w leon and chris… because… like maybe leon is your (older,,, like death island) boyfriend and he introduces you to his friend chris!! and idk you three end up having a threesome (consensual)… and you’re embarrassed because. you’ve never done this before n you’re all clingy with leon (maybe daddy kink??) n he’s like comforting you as he and chris fuck you at the same time ?!?!?
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pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader x chris redfield
summary: your boyfriend leon wants you to get a little more comfortable with his friend chris.
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, double penetration, oral (f receiving), fingering, daddy kink, size kink, age gap, dacryphilia
word count: 6.6k
a/n: thank you anon for sending this idea, it's right up my alley fr. also thank you for sending it again after i fumbled the bag the first time🤭🫶. the next threesome fic will be coming soon, i just ended up having more inspo for this one lol. hope you guys like it. reblogs and comments are super appreciated <3
tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi
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“I’m just saying I think you both would really like it if you gave it a try,” you say, a bright smile on your face as you walk up the path to your and Leon’s shared place. Him and his friend trail behind you with equally pleased looks, the friend in question being Chris Redfield.
“No way. I did try it, and it was boring. Slow and drawn out. Also, it’s so unrealistic,” Chris says.
“Booooo. It’s not even slow. Stuff happens in like every single episode, at least in the early seasons,” you argue in an attempt to convince the pair to watch one of your favorite shows, “I just think there’s a lot you guys would like about it if you weren’t so impatient.”
“Babe, it’s got like, what? Over five seasons? I don’t have that kind of time,” your boyfriend replies.
You playfully roll your eyes and unlock the front door, stepping inside followed by the two men you were with. “Whatever. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go change cause this skirt is like super itchy,” you tell them.
Before you can walk away, you feel a familiar palm swat your ass. “It’s like super cute though, shows off those pretty legs,” Leon teases, his tone affectionately mocking.
You whip around to shoot him a glare, face hot with a mixture of emotions, mainly embarrassment with a pinch of arousal. 
“Leon,” you whisper, giving him a look that says not in front of Chris. 
He simply chuckles at your quiet protest and shakes his head with amusement, ruffling your hair and planting a kiss on your forehead before sending you off. You catch Chris’s gaze as you turn to leave. To your surprise, he isn’t rolling his eyes or visibly wishing for the two of you to get a room. He’s smiling. His expression is different from the one you were used to seeing on Leon, but it still held the same patronizing adoration that soaked your panties in seconds.
Brushing it off as your imagination, you scamper down the hall to the bedroom. You hum to yourself as you drop your skirt and kick it into the laundry. Rifling through your drawers to find something more comfortable to wear, your hands search through some different clothes before settling on a pair of loose pink shorts. After pulling the soft garment over your legs, you look in the mirror and then decide to slip your bra off too.
Sure, some people would frown on that move, but you were in your place and it’s not like Chris is a total stranger. He was one of your boyfriends closest friends. You’d hung out with him and Leon together multiple times, and from what you gathered, he was pretty cool. It’s not like the two of you were best friends yourself. Like your boyfriend, he was quite a bit older than you. But just as you bridged that gap with Leon, so far it seemed like you managed to bridge it with him too. To say the least, he didn’t strike you as the type to have an episode over your nipples peeking through your shirt.
Unbeknownst to you however, while your thoughts lingered on the men down the hall, their conversation centered around you as well. They had taken to the couch, sitting close to each side and leaving a space for you in the middle.
“She’s a cute little thing,” Chris chuckles, watching the hallway you had gone down.
“Mhm,” Leon confirms simply. He was scrolling through the tv, trying to find that show you’d been talking about.
His friend looks over at him. “You sure she’ll wanna do this?” he asks with some uncertainty in his voice, “She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who’s had a whole lot of experience with this type of thing.”
“Trust me, she’ll be into it. I can’t even tell you how wet she gets just from talking about shit like this,” he reassures, “You just gotta let me ease her into it.”
Chris opens his mouth to respond, but he cuts himself short once he hears your footsteps approaching. You bound back into the room. Your eyes catch on the way they’re sitting, closer than you would expect. They still left room for you though, so what does it matter, right?
You hop onto the couch and tuck yourself against your boyfriend’s side, gently kissing his jaw as you get comfortable and curl up on the cushion. He smiles down at you and returns the affection. He pulls you closer, but your feet are still brushing Chris’s thigh with how close he is.
“We were thinking we could watch an episode of that show you were talking about, see if we really would like it,” Leon tells you.
“Really?” you ask, a little surprised, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s fine, baby. Chris doesn’t feel like driving home just yet, and you know if you’re happy, I’m happy,” he says.
You look over at Chris who nods. With that, Leon puts on the show. The familiar intro music plays and you watch the screen as a scene that you’d seen a million times plays out. You sink into his side, settling against his warm body. The episode plays, and you point out little things you like or remember something specific about. Both men nod and chuckle at your excited remarks.
Even though the couch and cuddling are comfy, your legs start getting a bit cramped from being curled up for an extended amount of time. You squirm around a bit, wanting to just stretch out. Chris prevented you from doing that as his bulky frame occupied the space your legs could be.
Leon smirks as he notices your restlessness. He shifts around a bit himself and leans back further into the couch. His feet rise up and land on the coffee table a few feet away, his legs stretching out in front of him. He doesn’t even have to see your face to know your eyes catch on his limbs. Their state of being outstretched only makes your need to do the same more intense. He gives Chris a quick glance.
“You uncomfortable, honey?” the larger man asks you.
Your eyes dart up to meet his. Hearing that pet name coming from anyone else but Leon left you flustered. You tried to reason that it didn’t mean anything. This was clearly another instance of you overthinking. Maybe Chris was just the type of guy who said that sort of thing? The kind that called cashiers sweetheart or darling. The kind who’d put your hand on your waist when saying excuse me. You didn’t remember him acting like this any of the other times you’d met him though. He was always polite with you, but that was about it. Maybe you just didn’t notice before?
“Um… I’m fine. Just a little cramp,” you explain.
He smiles at you, that same kind from earlier. “Well, I don't bite. You can stretch your legs out if you want to, princess,” he teases.
Princess. Ok that was definitely something. That name was reserved solely for the man whose arm was around you, and it usually came out only when he was prepping you to take his cock. You typically heard it as a coo when you were already crying out your own special name for him. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. The two just went hand in hand. Honestly, you couldn’t really hear one without the other following close behind.
That’s why you get all timid and shy so easily. You were pretty sure Leon had psychologically conditioned you or something. Just a few touches in the right place, some words whispered in your ear in the perfect hushed tone, and you were a goner. Suddenly, your brain would feel soft and malleable. Urges appear within you to sit in his lap and cuddle. You’d just wanna look up at your daddy with dazed eyes and have him stick something in your mouth.
And sure, it wasn’t like you were brainwashed or something. You still possessed self control. It wasn’t like he’d pet your head and call you his baby, and you’d instantly lose yourself over it. It was just a slow slip into this side of your personality, and being around Chris didn’t exactly deter those feelings from coming out either because just look at him. He looked like he was meant to be called daddy. Whenever Leon would tease you in front of him, it felt like you soaked your panties even quicker than normal.
You're snapped out of your analysis of this moment when you feel a large, warm hand wrap around your ankle. He pulls your leg out, and in-turn, drags you closer. A soft squeak escapes you as your body slides down Leon’s. Your back is still resting against his side, just lower. More of you is spread across the sofa, and your calves were fully in Chris’s lap.
You look up at your boyfriend to see his response to his friend’s action, but he didn’t even seem interested. He barely spared you a second glance in your new position, simply adjusting his arm to accommodate the new location of your head. He wraps it below your jaw and has you rest your chin on the bend of his elbow. His fingers start rubbing soothing, little circles on your shoulder. Meanwhile, Chris’s large palms merely rest on your legs. He gives you a smile before turning his eyes back to the tv screen. You quickly follow suit. If he wasn’t thinking this was weird, you weren’t going to make it weird by dwelling on it.
For a while, it’s fine. The three of you continue watching the show, albeit a little more quiet than before. Leon’s hand remains on your shoulder and keeps up his light touches. Your body relaxes again though as you let go of any nervousness you had. But then, Chris starts moving his hand too.
His palm smooths out over your lower leg. His other hand rubs your ankle, his fingertips coasting over the joint. One is moving in long strokes while the other stays in tight circles, but both go at a sensual pace, slow and teasing.
Your head turns to look at him again, but you find his stare is still on the characters of the tv show. You watch his hands move. They’re now essentially massaging your legs. His hand that had been lower has risen and works on the muscles, digging his warm digits into the flesh.
You squirm a little, trying to alert your boyfriend that his friend was touching you in a way that seemed more than friendly. It doesn’t work though. If he does see, he doesn’t mind because he simply leans down and plants a gentle kiss on the top of your head before reverting to his same position. You almost felt crazy for a second. This wasn’t normal, was it? Had you just lived your life not knowing that it was a regular thing for a boyfriend’s friend to give you a massage like this? Was Leon ok with it cause he was there so it couldn’t go too far? You really had no clue.
If you were being honest though, Chris’s hands didn’t feel bad. Not at all. They felt really good. They were big and warm and moved with strategy. They hit all your sweet spots. Kinda made you wanna crawl into his lap so he could rub more of your body, but that was the problem. This wasn’t right. You felt that saccharine heat creeping up your spine and seeping into your head, but you shouldn’t be feeling that for anyone else besides the man behind you.
Now guilt casts a shadow over you too, and the pair of emotions was a volatile mix. You didn’t even realize it, but your nipples had started to stiffen. Your thighs shift against each other, and had you really been paying attention, you would have seen the way Chris’s lips slightly quirked up into a smirk. Your body gets a little tense as you run through the possibilities of what you should do in this situation.
As if Leon could sense your thoughts racing, his hand lowers and starts rubbing your arm. Deciding to remain where you are for now, you press your cheek against his bicep for comfort. Not that you could see, but just like Chris, his expression grows smug. His hand readjusts again so it’s closer to your chest. Your eyes widen as he basically starts feeling you up. His hand squeezes your breast before his fingers circle your nipple, gently tweaking the hardened bud. 
At the same time, the hands on your legs start moving higher. The broad strokes begin meeting your thighs too. Little bumps of anticipation erupt across your skin. You already knew your center would soon be slick. 
Your head feels hot now. It made you feel a weird kind of dizzy. Even though it was only a few hands and simple touches, it was so much. Combined with the fact that it was so unusual, you started feeling overwhelmed. Your pulse pounds in your ears and your hands feel tingly. You feel a whimper rising in your throat. When he finally glides his hands up to the hem of your shorts, your legs jerk and you scoot back.
By the time Chris looks over, you’re already in Leon’s lap, arms around him, face buried against his neck. He’s worried for a second that something was seriously wrong. Profuse apologies rush to the tip of his tongue, but Leon signals him to just wait.
“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?” he coos, a hand sliding beneath your shirt to rub your back. Of course, he knew the answer already. He knew exactly how you got with this kind of stuff which is why he knew exactly how to handle it.
You end up simply shaking your head, unable to articulate the exact reason for your distress. Because really, nothing was wrong. Everything felt right. But it shouldn’t feel right? Maybe that’s what was wrong. That’s too much for your mouth to get out while you feel like this though.
“Aw, is my pretty girl feeling shy?” he whispers and strokes your hair.
You nod, pulling back a little to reveal your face and look up at the familiar set of eyes you found so much comfort in. He gives you a small kiss of reassurance before continuing to coax you with his low and soothing tone.
“Oh sweetheart, why are you shy? You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about,” he says.
“Because…” you start softly, nervously glancing at Chris only to see him watching the entire exchange. You force your attention back to your boyfriend. “Because Chris is here.”
His chest rumbles with a low laugh. “Oh, princess. That’s not a reason. Didn’t you like how Chris was touching you? Wasn’t he making you feel good?”
“I guess…” you admit.
“See? You don’t have to be embarrassed around daddy’s friend. He only wants to play with you because you’re so cute,” he teases and lands a barrage of kisses on your cheek.
You were going to freak out about him using the d word in front of someone else, but looking over at Chris, he didn’t look at all shocked. His eyes were soft and comforting as they watched you, but you were still a little uncertain. You turn your face back into Leon. He keeps rubbing your back and holds you a little closer on his lap.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, baby. I just think you’d have a lot of fun,” Leon says softly, “You know how wet that pretty pussy gets thinking about someone else watching you with daddy, joining in because he just can’t resist a good girl like you.”
He was right. He knew your fantasies like the exact situation playing out in your living room right now. But it was scarier when it was real. You didn’t have the control anymore. That's what made it exciting too though.
“It’s just Chris, honey,” he continues reassuring you, “He’d never hurt you. He thinks you're as precious as I do. But even still, daddy’s gonna be here the whole time. You know I’d never let anything hurt my girl.”
You soften up more, relaxing under Leon’s touch and tender words. As you’re thinking it over, leaning towards going through with this, Chris scoots closer to the two of you on the couch. He tentatively places his hand on your leg and caresses your skin.
“It’s up to you, babydoll,” he says, “I only wanna help your daddy make you feel good.”
Oh god. He was a natural at this, talked down to you just the way you liked.
“See, princess? There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Leon says. He strokes some of your hair back and watches as you look at the other man, deciding whether to let him in or not. He chuckles in your ear. “He’s acting cool, but you don’t know how bad he’s been wanting a turn with you. I’m sure you’ve seen him staring. Sometimes I think he’s practically drooling watching you. You know he goes home and strokes his dick raw, wishing it was your pretty little hands instead.”
It’s obvious there’s some truth to Leon’s statement from the way Chris remains silent. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you mull it over. Why was it so bad? You wanted it and they both wanted it. Why should you stop yourself?
You look up at your boyfriend and nod, silently communicating that you wanted this. He smiles and shifts you in his lap so that you’re in a more accessible position. One hand rubs your inner thighs while his other arm stays wrapped around your body to hold you close. 
Upon seeing your confirmation, Chris comes even closer. As he gets situated, Leon leans in and connects his lips with yours in a few soft kisses. Your noses brush and breathing deepens. He strokes your cheek before pulling away and looking in your eyes.
“Why don’t you try that with Chris, baby? Give him some of those kisses he’s been dreaming about,” he breathes.
Your focus shifts to the man sitting to your boyfriend’s right. Eyes casting down, you bring your head forward, and Chris closes the gap. Your breath hitches when you feel the unfamiliar lips meet your own. They’re noticeably different from the pair you were used to, but it wasn’t a bad different.
You move your lips with his, shuddering a little when you feel him grunt. He struggles not to take more than what you give. Leon watches on with a grin, stroking your hair and making sure it was out of your face. Your hand maintains an iron grip on him the entire time. 
“Such a good girl,” he purrs in your ear.
All three of you had long stopped paying attention to the tv, so Leon shuts it off. He then leans in to suck little love bites onto your throat. You whine into your kisses with his friend. The sound causes you to open your mouth, allowing Chris to slip his tongue in to meet yours. You moan and reciprocate the advance. His smiles against your lips as his hand glides up and gropes at one of your breasts, drawing another whimper from you.
Several hickeys later, Leon removes his mouth from your neck to admire his work. His fingers drag over the wet, darkened skin. He licks one more stripe over the area before leaning back and pulling you with him. You’re slightly out of breath, eyes dilated, and lips a bit puffy.
“Aw, look at that face,” Leon teases, talking more to Chris than you, “She loves her kisses. Sometimes I think she likes it more than the actual fucking.”
“I could tell. All those sweet sounds she was making,” Chris chuckles. His chest rises and falls in a pattern similar to yours.
“Oh yeah, so sensitive, my baby,” Leon coos, “You wanna go sit in Chris’s lap and give him some more kisses?”
You shake your head and tighten your grip on his hand. They both smile at your timid display.
“My mistake. You just gotta give her some time to adjust. She’s not used to anyone but daddy. Isn’t that right?” Leon jokes.
You nod and snake your arms around him, hiding your face against his chest again. He couldn’t get enough of how clingy you became when you felt like this.
“No, no. No more being shy. C’mon, his lips still have your spit on ‘em. There’s no reason for you to hide,” he teases you and guides your head back up to see your eyes, “You still wanna do this, don’t you?”
You nod again, looking up at him with those loving eyes.
“That’s what I thought, so how about this?” he starts. He gets your arms to unlock from their position around him and tucks his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt. “How about we show daddy’s friend more of this precious body, yeah?”
You lift your arms and allow him to tug the fabric up and over your head. Your breasts spring free, but his hands are immediately there to cup them, knead the flesh, and tease your nipples. From his place next to the two of you, Chris’s eyes drop to the swell of your chest.
“You’re even prettier than Leon told me, baby,” he coos before leaning in, giving you one more kiss and then trailing his lips down the side of your throat. They glide over the warm skin and across the expanse of your chest.
Your boyfriend’s hands drop from your breasts, letting Chris’s take their place. You shift and lean back so your back is pressed to Leon’s chest, giving the other man more access. He fondles them before latching his mouth onto a nipple, his tongue swirling around the little peak. A little sigh escapes your lips to the pleasure of both men.
“I think she likes that, Chris,” Leon croons, his hands rubbing up and down your sides.
Chris sucks on the pebbled nub a bit more before alternating to the other one. He spends less time over there before just kissing all over your chest.
“Got such pretty tits,” he grunts, laving a tongue across your skin.
Your face heats up at the compliment, and of course, Leon knew without even having to look. He could tell by the slight way you squirmed your hips on his lap.
“Aw, princess. You like when daddy’s friend calls you pretty?” he coos. Once he sees your little nod, he continues. “How about you let him pull down your shorts and see how cute your cunt is next.”
You agree to this with no hesitation, trying to elevate your hips so he could remove your clothing. Chris smirks at your overt desire. In a quick move, he scoots back and pulls by your hips so that you’re laying across the couch again. Your head is on Leon’s thigh so you can look up at him while your fingers remain tightly interlaced with his.
The larger man peels your shorts off and then your panties. He gazes upon your dripping cunt. His thumb drags up and down through your slick in an exploratory touch.
“Oh, honey,” he breathes, circling your clit. His hand moves down again before he slides two fingers into your hole. “You’re gonna take our cocks so well. Pussy this pretty is made for that.”
You suck in a gasp that turns into a long whine as his digits fill you up. His fingers were nice and thick, filling you up just right. Your eyes flutter, and your head presses against Leon’s thigh. Chris starts pumping them in and out, stroking your inner walls.
“That’s right, baby,” Leon reassures you, “He’s gonna open you up, and you’re gonna feel so good.”
A breathy whimper falls from your lips. Your hips rock a little, but Chris allows it, enjoying your enthusiasm as you become more comfortable. You feel his fingers curling within you in motions that drive you wild and have your hands grabbing at the edges of the couch cushion beneath you.
“There you go, sweet baby. Am I doing it right?” Chris asks teasingly. With your frantic nod, he works a third finger into you. Your eyes roll back and you choke out a moan.
Leon smiles down at you and strokes your hair. His bulge grows harder, watching you get so wound up for his friend.
“Make sure you rub her pretty little clit, Chris. She loves that,” he says, “Might be a little sore since she likes to play with it so much.”
Chris grins at that, taking his turn to tease you now. “Is that right? You like playing dirty, princess? I bet you can’t help it. Cute girls like you get needy so easy. Can’t think without making yourself cum every few hours, yeah?”
“Mhm,” you whimper and nod.
“I’ll be gentle then. Think your sweet spot just needs some special kisses,” he coos.
He bends down so his mouth can be level with your cunt, a bit of a challenge with his size, but he manages. His lips meet your clit and give you some soft kisses. A little flick of the tongue and the light movement of his flesh against your sensitive bundle of nerves has your walls fluttering around him, little mewls escaping your lips.
Then, with a harsh suck to your clit, he works a fourth finger inside you. Your legs kick a little, but he simply slides them to rest on his shoulders. Every little twitch next to his head has more of his blood rushing south. Your hips buck too as you adjust to the minor stretch.
“You’re daddy’s perfect girl, you know that right? Girl of my fuckin’ dreams. Doing so good for me right now,” your boyfriend says from above you. His eyes watch on fondly as Chris slides basically his entire hand in and out of you. “Think you can cum for Chris, baby? Gush all over his fingers so it’s nice and easy for him and daddy to fill you up?”
You nod quickly. 
Chris sucks harder on your clit and flicks his tongue against you with more fervor. His hand finds a rhythm that you seemed to like, had you twitching more than before. He could hear your voice rising to a higher pitch.
“C’mon, pretty girl. Make your daddy proud,” he murmurs against your folds.
You really don’t know what it was, but that phrase does you in. You turn your face against Leon’s hip, dig your fingers into his palm, and erupt into a frenzy of whining and bucking your hips. 
Chris continues his efforts, relishing the sensation of your slick coating his fingers and palm. His lips gradually loosen on your swollen bud. He gives it a few more licks before sitting up and gazing down at your blissed out body.
They both give you a second to rest before Leon sits you up on the couch. He gives you a quick kiss and looks into your eyes, hazy from release.
“Think you’re ready for daddy and Chris to fuck you?” he coos and rubs your cheek.
“Mhm,” you hum, returning his loving stare.
“Of course you are. My sweet girl,” he says.
The two men don’t waste time undressing themselves. Clothing piles up on the ground as they match your nudity. Both of them stand as they undo their belts and drop their pants. You’d seen Leon’s dick a hundred times by now. You watch him pull it out and give it a few strokes. The tip flushes bright red like always, a couple familiar veins span up the side. You turn your attention to Chris, looking upon a sight you hadn’t seen before.
You’re snapped out of your post-orgasm stupor when you catch a glimpse of the appendage hanging between Chris’s legs. Just like every other part of him, it’s noticeably thick. The length was good too, sure, but it wasn’t the main attraction. His cock didn’t get as red as Leon’s, but it still had the veins. He even had a few beads of white, sticky precum leaking from the head.
“Oh, you like what you see, baby?” Leon teases when he notices your wonder, “I’m sure Chris would be happy to let you suck on it next time.”
“Daddy, it’s not gonna fit,” you say, looking up at him and ignoring the tempting idea of giving Chris a blowjob.
He smiles down at you, simultaneously condescending and affectionate. “Of course it will. C’mere, princess,” he says. 
In no time at all, Leon’s back on the couch, guiding you on top of him. You crawl to meet the place he’s directing you. Lowering yourself against him, your front rests against his and your head lies near the crook of his neck. The warmth of his body comforts you but not enough to push out your concerns completely.
“You don’t have to worry, sweetheart. I’m gonna get you nice and comfy on daddy’s cock, and then Chris will just slide right in,” he reassures you, “You’re gonna feel so good. You just let me take care of everything.”
His arm had already slithered beneath your hip to line up his shaft with your entrance. He runs the tip through your soaked folds then pushes in. A whiny moan escapes you, and your arms wrap tighter around him. The feeling wasn’t a new one, but it still felt so good. He works himself in and out slowly, hips rocking off the couch in small thrusts.
“That’s my girl, taking it just like you’re meant to. I’ve got you trained so well,” he murmurs against your hair.
The entire time, you feel Chris’s eyes on you. His pupils fixated on the sight of Leon pumping in and out of your gushing cunt. You hear him spit down onto his hand and know he’s started to stroke himself in anticipation. Other than that, he stays quiet, locked onto you sucking up every inch of your boyfriend's cock.
Leon continues gliding in and out. You feel the muscles in his chest and neck straining with the pleasure your pulsing walls give him.
“Fuck, you’re so wet. Chris did a good job with you,” he groans. His breaths become ragged as he staves off true euphoria. This couldn’t end too quickly. “You know, babydoll, I don’t think you said thank you to Chris for making you feel so good. That’s not very nice.”
You whimper as your brain registers the implication of his words. At the moment, you were more focused on rolling your hips with Leon’s, but you force some words out of your mouth cause you’re a good girl after all.
“Sorry daddy,” you say, cut off by a whine as he pokes a sensitive spot, “T-thank you, Chris.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he responds. You can hear the satisfaction in his voice, but you don’t have the chance to linger on it since you feel his broad palm land on the small of your back. His fingers rub the skin gently, as if to keep you calm while he positions himself on his knees behind you. You whine again and cling harder to Leon.
“You can say thank you better than that, baby,” he teases, trying to keep any fear away from you. He presses a kiss to your temple as well and rubs your back, “What are you thanking him for?”
“Thank you for making me cum, Chris. Your fingers and kisses felt so good,” you whimper, adding on the last bit before Leon could correct you further.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” he repeats with excessive adoration, “You deserve it for being such a good girl. Besides, that pussy was so fucking sweet, makes me want another taste.”
You squeeze around Leon and bite your lip as your lower belly erupts with butterflies. And then you feel it. You feel the hot tip of Chris’s heavy cock nudging at your entrance above Leon’s. You tense and dig your fingers into the flesh of his back.
“Just relax, baby. You’re gonna be just fine. Daddy’s right here,” he coos and holds you tighter against his chest.
“You ready?” Chris asks softly.
You squeeze your eyes shut but nod, waiting to feel the stretch.
And it comes right away. You gasp as another cock enters you. Whining, your hands scramble to grab at something. Leon takes one and squeezes it lovingly, pausing his thrusts. You bury your face against his skin, your chest erratically puffing as you try to accommodate the sizes. Both men are groaning, eyes fluttering or rolled back, muscles flexing as they take in the tight, wet heat engulfing them.
“Doing so good, pretty girl, so good,” Leon mutters.
You can’t fathom any kind of response. The burning sensation of both of them was still so intense and from what you could tell, Chris wasn’t even all the way in yet. He was still pushing forward as far as he could. At a certain point, you can’t fight off the tears pricking at your waterline. Your free hand clamps over your mouth as a choked cry tumbles out.
“So fucking tight, I could cum right now,” Chris grunts.
Leon’s hand covers your right hip, tracing tiny soothing circles over your skin. Chris occupies your left, digging his fingers into the flesh. The subtle difference between the two sides drives you further into the throes of ecstasy.
When Chris manages to bully his cock nearly all the way inside you, as deep as it could go at least, Leon feels your hot tears sliding off your cheeks and pooling on his chest.
“Oh, poor baby,” he croons. He lets go of your hand for a second to swipe a few drops away, but then he takes it back. “You ok, honey? Too much for you?”
You weakly shake your head that it wasn’t too much, sniffling between whimpers. They’ve both stopped now to let you get used to the entirety of them. The site of your connection pulses with need on all three accounts. You feel Chris gripping you a little harder in an effort to keep his composure.
“My tough girl, so brave for daddy. Makin’ me so proud,” he whispers and kisses your hairline.
“So fuckin’ pretty too. You look gorgeous all filled up like this,” Chris moans from behind you.
His gaze remains on his and Leon’s cocks splitting you open. He starts rocking his hips a bit, groaning at the combined feeling of your slick walls with Leon’s length rubbing against his. Leon starts moving again too.
You let out a sound that’s between a yelp and a moan. Both of Leon’s arms snake around you to keep you engulfed in his embrace. He’s more vocal than usual, the mix of stimulation getting to him as well.
“That’s right. You keep crying for your daddy. Let me hear how much you need me. Just cry it out like the good little girl you are,” he mumbles against you.
Once you’ve become comfortable with the stretch, it starts feeling better than you’d imagined. In tandem, they’re stroking every part of you. They slide in and out, back and forth, pulling soft whines from you. The only noise apart from the three of you grunting and moaning, is the obscene noises that come from them pumping into your wet pussy. You feel your ability for coherent thoughts slipping away. You just wanted to be full of your daddy and his friend.
Chris smacks your ass while picking up his pace a bit. “Now she’s getting into it,” he says.
You get a little louder to both their enjoyment. Grabbing at Leon a little more, you shudder while hearing moans bubble up from his chest and out of his mouth.
“That’s cause you’re such a good girl. Right baby?” he asks, his voice breathier, “So good at whining for your daddy’s cock.”
You nod without a second thought. You’re panting a bit as the thrusts start hitting just right. Your expressions and the tightening of your cunt give you away. You hear both of them groaning and getting a little more primal with their movements.
“You feel that, Chris? She’s getting closer. Can always tell by the way her pussy starts trying to keep me in. So desperate for some cum,” Leon says.
“Yeah. I can feel her cute little cunt begging for it,” Chris growls.
They’re both going harder, making your mind get all fuzzy and causing more tears to fall, although by this time they’re purely tears of pleasure. Your cries are whiny and needy.
“My baby, my baby,” Leon grunts while lacing his fingers in your hair, “I want you to cum for me, ok? Wanna feel you cumming all over our cocks. Show Chris how good you make me feel every single night when you start clamping down on me.”
You don’t finish right then. It takes a handful more thrusts from each of them to hit the right buttons and work you over that edge, dropping you into a pool of euphoria. The bliss washes over you, and as Leon described, your pussy squeezes around them in waves. They’re both moaning now, grabbing you harder, sighing and gasping. You twitch on top of Leon, and he holds you close and helps you through it.
“Look at that sweet face. Always so pretty when you let go,” he mumbles just for you to hear, “Keep cumming, dolly. Want you feeling like you’re in heaven.”
Leon’s the first to blow his load, shooting it deep inside you. He pumps it in while you’re still releasing. His own hips twitch and buck while that hot, sticky liquid flows from him. 
Chris takes a bit longer, savoring every last moment he has inside your precious cunt. He keeps thrusting after you’ve finished, making you squirm with the slight overstimulation. Leon hisses too, feeling the friction from his movements against his dick.
When he finally does cum, your body is overtaken with a shiver. He fucks it deep into you. His thrusts don’t weaken while he spills it inside of you. He keeps moving in powerful strokes until he’s satisfied.
After he’s truly done, Chris leans down and kisses the space between your shoulder blades. “So good, pretty baby,” he praises softly before pulling out.
It feels weird just having Leon’s dick in you. It’s your normal but so strange now too. He slides himself out next though, so there isn’t too much time to fester on that. Sitting up, he pulls you with him while covering your face in kisses.
Everyone is laid back right now, letting the post-high wear off as you all come down. You stay curled up to Leon like you always did after finishing. He rubs your back like normal, knowing your head was most likely still up in the clouds. Eventually, all of your breathing steadies and returns to a regular pace.
Your hazy eyes open and gaze over at Chris. “Thank you Chris,” you say, tone a bit dreamier than it usually is.
“You’re welcome, honey,” he says, smiling at you.
“Look at you, so polite,” Leon teases, “By the looks of it, you’re gonna be sitting on Chris’s lap soon enough and leaving me on the sidelines.”
You shake your head and nuzzle him. All of you take a brief moment to finish the descent back to normalcy. Chris stands to pull on his pants again. 
“We’ll get there one of these days,” he jokes.
“I don’t know about that. This one’s a daddy’s girl before anything else,” Leon says, before smooching your forehead.
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yours truly and forever || j. miller
summary: you find ellie and joel in need of help, desperately. you take care of the two, when affection for joel creeps up on you and you can’t shake it. he can’t stay, but maybe, if you don’t think too hard about it, that won’t matter. 
an extension from the end of episode six, “kin”. 
warnings: female reader, kinda reference to the events of the game, so potential spoilers for the season i guess?, angst, smut, smut with feels, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink (?), half proofread, not as feral as what i usually write? kinda soft sex. let me know if i missed anything.
word count: 5.6k (i think this is officially my longest fic???)
A/N: episode six destroyed me on a different level. didn’t stop my thirst tho. also, i am NOT a medical professional so the terminology and stuff is probably not correct. tried my best.
here’s my masterlist if you’d like to read more of my work!
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“I think we’re safe.” Joel’s weak body slumped off the horse, falling into the snow. “Joel, no, no, no! Shit,” Ellie cursed as she dismounted the horse and scrambled to him. She called his name to no avail, using his hands to cover the festering wound on his abdomen. “Joel, open your eyes. Open your eyes. Joel, you gotta get up,” she pleaded. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I can’t fucking do this without you. I don’t know where the fuck I’m going, or what the fuck I’m gonna do. Joel! Please. Joel, please.”
She sat fisting his collar, pleading for him to open his eyes, when she heard the sound of hooves shuffling through the snow. She first thought Shimmer had run off. Whipping around, the horse was right where she left it. The panic that was already coursing through her became more potent. She reached for her gun, ducking in the snow next to Joel. She could almost taste her fear on her tongue as a figure on a black horse trotted over to Shimmer. Reaching out a hand to stroke Shimmer’s muzzle, the figure said, “Hey, girl. Where’d you come from?” It was a woman’s voice. Ellie clutched her gun, just the way Joel had taught her. The woman dismounted her horse, boots crunching in the snow as she walked around Shimmer. When her gaze trailed down to the young girl with a gun pointing at her, she brought her hands up slowly, non-threateningly. 
“Stay back!” Ellie shouted. She couldn’t see much of the woman, a bandana covering her neck, reaching under her eyes. She had a hat on, one of the ones Maria had worn in Jackson. She was well bundled for the weather, Ellie noted. Must live around here. 
“I’m not here to hurt you. Just saw a stray horse. Thought someone might need help, is all,” you said, hands still in the air. “And it looks like I was right.”
Ellie glanced towards Joel. “How do I know you’re not gonna kill us? Fucking eat us, or something?” She spat. 
You laughed, “I’m not going to eat you. That’s what my cattle and crops are for.” You told her your name. “I’ve got a house just a few miles up. I was doing a perimeter check before I found you, actually. It’s secure. I can help your dad there.”
Ellie didn’t bother correcting you. Instead, she contemplated taking you up on your offer. Well, if she didn’t go with you, Joel was dead. If Joel died, she might as well be dead too. “Fine.”
“Will you lower your gun so I can help him?”
She put her gun down, watching as you calmly moved towards Joel, hiking him up over your shoulder and situating him on top of your horse. You sat behind him, his weight fully leaning against you, as Ellie mounted her horse. “This way,” you said, pressing your calf into your horse’s ribcage to get her to go. Ellie followed close behind as you led her to your home. 
“Why’re you helping us?” Ellie asked when you were about halfway there.
You took a few seconds to answer. “There was a time when I needed someone to help me, but nobody would. This way, come on.”
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You put the passcode into the keypad, opening the gate, gesturing for Ellie and Shimmer to go in first. You followed her, instructing her towards the large white house that sat in the middle of the property. When you got to the porch, you dismounted the horse and placed the man back over your shoulder, climbing up the steps. Ellie dismounted too, looking for some place to tie the lead. 
“Don’t worry about that. Fence goes all around the place. Come help me open this door,” you said, occupied with trying not to let him fall from your shoulders. His frame was much bigger than yours, making it difficult to balance. Ellie twisted the nob and pushed the door open. You found your couch immediately, laying him down as gently as you could, shoving a pillow under his head. “Stay here with him. I’m gonna go grab my kit.”
She waited there with Joel until you returned, squeezing his hand, praying for him to wake up. Praying that they were safe here. 
When you returned, you were carrying a giant leather bag. She had expected a simple first aid kit. At her puzzled expression, you said, “Normally, I’m doing surgery on the horses or cows, not men.” She nodded in understanding.
As you set up with bedpans, scalpels, scissors, gauze, anything you might need, Ellie took a moment to look around. Hung on your walls were portraits of anything and everything. She’d always loved art, never having the time to really explore it herself. This place didn’t look like it was home to someone who was gonna slaughter them. “I’m Ellie,” she said, making you turn from your stool by the couch. “That’s Joel.”
You gave a reassuring smile. “Nice to meet you, Ellie.” Now, you pulled down the fabric from your mouth and threw your hat down on the floor, shucking your jacket off too, hoping it would make you less intimidating to the young girl. “Might wanna get comfortable. This’ll take awhile. 
Ellie made herself a home on the loveseat adjacent to the couch Joel was on, taking her jacket off and laying it next to her backpack. “How did this even happen?” you asked as you sanitized your tools.
“He got stabbed,” she said, looking down at her hands. “He didn’t even notice at first. He…” she trailed off. You gave her a look of understanding.
You cleaned the area and got to work. You were happy that he was unconscious. All you had was horse tranquillizer, and you were almost positive that it would kill him. Joel twitched and squirmed a little, but you were calm as you worked.
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Ellie’s eyelids were drooping and her head was falling when she heard you say, “All done,” as you wiped your bloody hands on a rag. She got up to get a look at Joel. His bloodied shirt and jacket were off, showing the wound on his abdomen, all stitched up. “See that area around the wound?” You said, fingers gently grazing over the skin. “It’s pink. Means there’s probably an infection. I’ll see what I have, but I don’t think I have enough antibiotics,” you said as you cleaned the blood from your tools. You saw a look of disappointment in her eyes. 
“But,” you started, “there’s an old pharmacy a mile or two from here. I can go tomorrow. See what they have.” She nodded, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Come on, help me get him upstairs.”
The two of you took him to one of the guest bedrooms, laying him down on the bed. You slid his thick jacket back on, but left it unzipped so you could easily redress his wound. “I can show you to the other guest room. Mind, I don’t usually have visitors, so it’s-”
“No,” Ellie cut you off. She flushed. “Thanks, but I’m staying with him.” You nodded. She didn’t want him to wake up alone. 
“Alright, then. There are blankets in the closet over there,” you pointed. “My room is across the hall, at the end. If he wakes up or something is wrong, come get me. I’m leaving for the pharmacy at dawn, so help yourself to anything in the kitchen. You can shower if you want, too. If he wakes when I’m gone tomorrow, don’t leave. I’ll need to give him those antibiotics as soon as I get back.” She nodded. You began to walk out of the room, but she stopped you by calling your name. You turned.
“Earlier, you said that there was a time when you needed help, and nobody would give it to you…?”
You sighed. “A while back, about ten years ago, before I settled here, I was travelling with some people and my little brother. He ended up getting shot. His leg. I couldn’t stop the bleeding and…they just left us there. Left him there to die,” you swallowed, looking down at your feet. She looked at you, offering a sad smile. “Night, Ellie. Get some sleep.”
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You returned around noon the next day with the antibiotics for Joel. Announcing yourself when you walked in, Ellie came stumbling down the stairs. You took in her wet hair and changed clothes. There was hope in her eyes, but also urgency. “He woke up! Just for a little while. He was pretty out of it, but he asked where we were,” she said.
“And what’d you tell him?” You said as you took your outerwear off and grabbed your bag with the antibiotics. 
“I told him we were safe. He wasn’t awake long enough to give him the full story, but now he’s all sweaty, and mumbling and shit and-”
“Shit,” you cursed, rushing up the stairs past the girl.
“Wait, what is it?” she called after you.
“Sounds like he’s got a fever. Could have delirium, too,” you said as you entered the room Joel was in. He was clammy, sweating, chest heaving, body radiating an ungodly heat, mumbling incoherencies. You moved his jacket to the side. “Looks like the infection is spreading,” you mumbled. Grabbing the syringe and bottle from your bag, you filled the syringe, sticking it into the pink flesh of Joel’s stomach. 
“He’ll need another dose in a few hours. It probably won’t kick in until the second or third dose,” you said, wiping the sweat from his head and neck with a rag. You turned to Ellie, who’s eyes were fixed on Joel, yet distant. “Hey, did you eat yet?” She shook her head. “Let’s get you something to eat, then,” you said as you led her to the kitchen.
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Four days passed before Joel woke up. Four days spent mostly at his bedside, reading some book in between administering his doses. Making sure Ellie was fed. On the second day, Joel woke briefly again, panicking. However, Ellie was able to calm him down, reassuring him that they were safe. On the third day, you got through to Ellie a bit more.
“So, what brought you two this far out?” you asked innocently, closing your book and resting it on your lap. She seemed to freeze.
“We, uh…we were looking for Joel’s brother. We ended up near the university and got ambushed,” she said. She was lying. That was fine. You couldn’t really blame her. You hummed in response. 
It was silent for a few minutes before she spoke again, “He’s not my dad, you know.”
You offered her a soft smile. “Okay.” You went back to reading your book.
On the fourth day, when Joel woke up, you were in the kitchen doing the dishes left from your lunch with Ellie. A few hours ago you had re-dressed his wound and given him another round of antibiotics. The angry pink of his skin was subsiding and he was no longer feverish, resting peacefully on the bed. You hummed to yourself as you scrubbed the plates in the soapy water. 
Hearing two voices from upstairs, you dried your hands on a dish rag and made your way upstairs. The deep, gruff voice halted as your footsteps sounded out against the hallway floor.
“It’s safe, I promise. I trust her.” Ellie’s voice, pleading. A grunt.
You turned the corner with a polite smile, resting against the doorframe. You took the man in, greying hair dishevelled, sat up, staring daggers at you. 
“Good to see you awake,” you said, telling him your name. 
“How long was I out for?” he asked, his voice a gruff southern accent, but still laced with distrust. He was on edge.
“Five days.”
He looked at Ellie, who nodded. He groaned, eyes training back to you. “Where’s my stuff?” 
“Ellie has it all in the other room. Your horse is in my stable.”
“Then we’ll be on our way,” he said, attempting to get himself up, a groan of pain ripping through his chest as you walked forward, pushing him back down by the chest.
“Hold on, cowboy. You were stabbed. You have an infection. You’re in no shape to go back out there. Besides, there’s a storm rolling in soon.” You reached to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of antibiotics and the syringe. 
He looked at Ellie. “She’s telling the truth. She found us when you fell off the horse. She brought us back here. Stitched you up and shit. She even went out to get you those antibiotics. She’s the reason the both of us aren’t dead. She’s been feeding me and everything,” Ellie said, then quieter, “I trust her.”
Joel looked you up and down. You held up the syringe, asking silent permission to give him another dose. “Fine,” he grunted.
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It took a few weeks for Joel’s infection to heal and for the winter blizzard to pass. After about a week of bedrest, as prescribed by you, Joel was walking around with Ellie, going to the dining room for meals rather than you bringing them to the bed, and even helping you with small tasks. The truth is, Joel felt indebted to you for saving his life. For taking care of Ellie. For going so far out of your way to bring them safety. After a while, he was able to trust you. 
But there was more. As he helped you put away the dishes, your fingers would brush as he passed you a plate, the air between you two going still. You’d be silent for a few moments, continuing your task, before picking conversation back up as though nothing happened. You’d be out in the stable together, brushing the horses. One of them would whinny and you’d genty laugh. He found your laugh infectious, finding a smile spreading across his face and a chuckle falling from his lips. When you caught his eye, he’d flush, looking back at Shimmer. She’d nudge him with her muzzle, as if to prompt him to say something more to you. He never would. Or maybe it was the time you were eating dinner with him and Ellie, pouring yourself and Joel wine. You had reached over to give him his glass, knocking yours onto yourself in the process. You had cursed, lifting your shirt over your head, white undershirt untouched by the stain. You didn’t miss the way Joel looked away, warmth rising up his neck. Ellie didn’t miss it either, as she held in a laugh and nudged him suggestively, lifting her eyebrows. You didn’t say anything. 
Between the lingering touches, the fleeting glances, and the burning moments, you knew that there was something unspoken that hung thick in the air between you and Joel.
After three months, Joel was fully healed. The storm lasted about a month, the last winds finally subsiding. Ellie had slept in. It was just you and Joel having coffee. You leaned against the counter. He sat at the table, facing you. You were making light and easy conversation, as it usually was between you two.
He cleared his throat and looked into the liquid in his mug. “We’ll be outta your hair in about a week, if that’s okay. Don’t wanna overstay our welcome,” he said, avoiding eye contact. You began to protest, but he cut you off, “You’ve already done so much for us,” his voice was like honey, thick and smooth. There was some kind of resistance mixed in with it. “Don’t worry about us, darlin’.” The name rolled easily off his tongue. It was a recent development, always something endearing. You figured it was just his way of showing he trusted you.
You huffed. There was no arguing with him when his mind was set on something. “Alright, then. Take any supplies you need. We’ll load up your horse the night before you leave,” you said, pouring the rest of your coffee down the drain and leaving the kitchen. Joel caught the hint of…something, in your voice. Sadness? Anger? Loneliness? He recalled a conversation he heard you having with Ellie about two weeks back.
“Doesn’t it get lonely out here? All by yourself all the time?”
A brief silence. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”
Joel thought he was doing what was best by ignoring the searing touches and stolen glances, ignoring the feelings in the pit of his stomach. He thought that growing attached to you would only hurt the both of you. He knew he was right, but he began to wonder if you might be worth the pain.
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That night, after you had bid Joel goodnight and Ellie was already asleep, you sat on your bed, in your thoughts, when soft knocking came from your door. “Come in,” you called out. The door opened and you looked up to see Joel. There was something behind his eyes that wasn’t there before. Guilt?
He approached you slowly, “May I?” You nodded. He took a seat next to you at the edge of your bed. 
How was he supposed to start?
“I, uh,” he sighed. “I’m not very good at this. And I know we aren’t leavin’ just yet. But I wanted to, uh, thank you. For helpin’ me. Us. We’d both be dead if it weren’t for you. And for your hospitality.” He looked at his hands resting on his lap. “You’re a real good person for that.”
You just shrugged and offered him a tight-lipped smile. Silence hung thick in the air between you two.
He cleared his throat, getting up from the bed. “Well, I guess I’ll get-”
“Why won’t you stay?” Your eyes met his, brows furrowed, something anxious brewing behind them. 
“I’ve gotta get the girl to her people,” was the only thing he could offer. He felt at a loss. You just nodded, standing in front of him. 
“Am I ever gonna see you again?” It was more of a plea than a question. 
Joel swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Your gaze drifted down to the floor. “What happens if you get hurt again, and there’s nobody like me there to help you?”
In an unexpected move, both by you and him, he grabbed your face with his hands. “I’ll be just fine, darlin’.” Your hands slid atop his.
“You don’t know that.”
He began to lean in. “I don’t know,” he said, his breath warm across your lips. “All I know is that now I’ve got somethin’ to come back for, someone I-”
“Don’t tell me you want me,” you cut him off. “Don’t tell me you want me now, when you’re about to leave.” He closed his eyes. Your hands fell from his. You moved out of his hold. “I can’t do this.”
The loss of his hands on your skin felt sore, wrong, but you knew that if you let him touch you, he’d hook you in, and it would hurt all the more to say goodbye in one week’s time. 
“Please,” you whispered, eyes closed, a single tear streaming down your cheek. You could feel the warmth of his body leave, hear him close the door gently behind him.
You didn’t rest much that night. 
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Every day for a week, you rose early, making breakfast for Ellie and settling back in your room to sit with yourself. Peering out of the window every day, you couldn’t help but stare out at the snowy planes of Colorado, taking in the austere, frozen environment you’d settled in. The desolate feel of the earth around you only made you realize how lonely you had been before Joel and Ellie had showed up, longing for something, anything, but always left unfulfilled. In Ellie’s bright smile and Joel’s unspoken touches, you thought that you might’ve landed a few companions who could keep your soul warm in the winter. It felt like you had lost something when you realized that wasn’t the case. 
When you ventured throughout the house to shower, cook, or do household work, you found yourself tiptoeing, almost like you didn’t want to get caught. You savoured your conversations with Ellie, but you kept your words to Joel down to necessity. Short responses to his questions, shorter replies to yours. Never touching, in fear that the friction, like electricity, would spark something that neither of you could stop. Holding your breath when he was close to you. Avoiding eye contact. Never giving more than you had to. You both thought it would be easier to part this way, the fire growing in your insides unsatiated. 
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The night before he was set to leave, you found Joel in the kitchen, rough fingers silently brushing over a map laid out on the table. 
He jumped at the sound of your voice, “I’m gonna go get your horse set with the things you’ll need.” He turned to you.
“I’ll come give you a hand,” he said, downing the last of his coffee and grabbing his coat. 
The walk to the stable was thick with tension, the dense silence lingering between the two of you. The sun was out, casting the image of your shadows on the crunchy snow. When you reached the large door, you slid it open, letting him go first. You still couldn’t look at him. 
You trailed behind him as he moved towards Shimmer, grabbing her saddle and slinging it over her back, fastening it. You knew Joel carried all of his guns on his person, so you began filling the saddlebags with medical supplies, ammo, water, cord, tape, anything you had stockpiled that might help him and Ellie get to where they needed to. 
“All set,” you said, fingers running over Shimmer’s mane. 
“Thank you,” Joel breathed. He was looking at you, searching for your eyes. You could feel it.
You nodded. “Don’t worry about it.” A few moments of rigid silence. “Leaving at dawn?” The question fell past your lips before you could think about it.
You saw him nod out of your peripherals. “Yeah.”
You give a nod, lips pursed. Still looking at Shimmer. Still avoiding his gaze. 
“Will you look at me?” He said suddenly, voice demanding, but ultimately soft.
You didn’t obey, looking at your feet instead. “Why?”
“It’s been a week. I know you’re givin’ me the cold shoulder, but at least look at me. Don’t act like you hate me. You’re killin’ me, darlin’.”
You blew out a puff of warm air. “If I look at you…” you started, nearly losing your gall. “If I look at you, I’ll forget that I’m trying to let you go.”
The words were thick, heavy. They hung between you two as if they were forbidden.
“Then don’t let me go,” he said, taking a step towards you. 
You said his name in a warning, taking a few steps towards the door. 
“You don’t have to let me go. I know I’m never gonna stop thinkin’ ‘bout you, honey. And I can’t promise that you’ll see me again, but I’m damn well goin’ to try to make it back to you.” 
You sniffled, “You don’t mean that.” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“I do. I mean it with all of myself,” he said, moving forward to press his forehead against yours. “Let me show you.”
Once again, you could feel his breath on your lips. His were just inches from yours, almost touching, but never quite close enough. You finally looked at him, tears brimming your eyes.
“I can’t give you much, but let me give you what I can,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his forehead into yours harder, more desperately.
At that, you broke. “Okay,” you breathed.
He took that as permission to lean himself into you, the skin of his lips grazing yours, breath mixing with his. When he finally connected his lips to yours, it was like he breathed a warmth into your body, lighting every nerve. Your hands tangled in his hair, his cupping your face. The kiss started chaste, but became breathy and passionate. It ended with your lips red and swollen, both of you needy and desperate for something more. Always more.
The rush through the snow, through the front door and up the stairs to your bedroom was needy, your hand in his, dragging you behind him, nearly sprinting with anticipation. 
As Joel was locking your bedroom door behind him, you were fisting the collar of his shirt and kissing him. Your mouth opened wider for his tongue to explore, whines muffled by his mouth. The kiss was all the things you couldn’t say, I want you, I love you, stay.
He walked you backwards into your bed, falling on top of you when your legs hit the edge. Your hands found solace in his hair, tugging just right, making him groan into your mouth. He parted from you to grab the hem of his shirt and tug it over his head. Now, your fingertips explored the expanse of his chest and soft stomach, soft pads tracing the scar that brought you to him. Kissing into your mouth, across your neck, sucking at your pulse point, his fingers grazed the hem of your shirt.
“Can I?” He asked between kisses to your collarbone. You nodded, lifting so he could pull it off.
“Take it off,” you said, left just in your bra. His fingers reached behind you to unclasp it, pulling it off and revealing your tits. He barely hesitated, taking one in his warm mouth and palming the other. Your hands fixed back in his hair, moaning. “Joel. Fuck, I need you. Please,” you whimpered. After weeks of building up the tension, of his fingers tracing your skin just for them to stop, staring at his lips and yearning, you needed him. More than anything.
Joel groaned. “Beggin’ so pretty already for me, honey,” he said as he moved down your body, undoing your belt, sliding it off with your pants and chucking them to the ground. His fingers smoothed over your panties, noticing the wet spot growing in the centre. He grinned, “Let’s see how wet you are, hmm?” Pushing the fabric to the side, he could almost moan at the sight of your drooling cunt. “Fuck,” he said, running his fingers through your slick folds, brushing your clit gently, sending a shiver shooting through your spine. “This wet already? All for me?” 
When you didn’t answer, he pinched the inside of your thigh gently, “Answer, honey.”
“All for you. Only for you, Joel.” You were breathless, nearly delirious. You’d give anything for him to touch you, to put you out of your misery. 
Joel eased one finger inside of you, then two, and began pumping them in and out of your slick folds. You moaned wantonly, all shame abandoned. “That’s it, pretty girl. Takin’ my fingers so well. Squeezin’ them so good. Can just imagine how you’re gonna feel wrapped ‘round my cock.”
You could feel the knot in your core get tighter and tighter every time his fingers hit that spot inside you, obscene noises coming from your cunt. He could feel you sucking his fingers in, growing tighter around him. He eased a third finger in and used his other hand, previously squeezing into your thigh, to rub circles on your clit. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you sputtered, getting closer and closer. 
“That’s it, honey. Cum on my fingers. There it is,” he said as you clenched around his digits, moaning his name like it was the only word you knew. He rubbed the flesh of your thighs as you came down, kissing the supple flesh of your thighs. When you caught your breath, you pulled him back up into you. 
You began to notice the firm tent pressing against you. Surely, he was begging for release, too. Who were you to deprive him of that? 
“Your turn,” you said.
Flipping him over, you began to undo his belt and slide his pants off, laying your head on his thigh, when he stopped you, resting a hand on your jaw.
“Honey, if you put me in your mouth, ‘m not gonna last,” he says, slightly flushed, chest heaving just as bad as yours. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked similarly to how he did when he was feverish. Delirious. “Just wanna be inside you. That okay?”
“Fuck, yes,” you breathed, crawling back onto him. This time, he flipped you over, caging you between his arms. He shuffled his boxers off, his hard length springing out and hitting his lower stomach, tip weeping precum. You couldn’t help but whimper. “Fuck, you’re big.” He chuckled, flushing a little. “How’re you gonna fit inside me?”
“Relax, honey. I worked you open. Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch,” he assured you, pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips. “Ready?”
“Yes,” you breathed. “Need to feel you. For so long.”
He lined himself up with your entrance. You held your breath, letting it out in a moan as he sunk into your waiting cunt. He groaned when he was fully sheathed inside you, the sound coming deep from his chest.
He kissed you as you took him in, your body accommodating his length. “Move. Please,” you moaned into his mouth. He pulled out, sliding back in with the help from your slick. He set a slow but hard pace, clutching your body to his as he speared in and out of you. His lips barely left yours, sucking in each other’s moans and converting them to breath. 
“So tight, fuck,” he moaned. “Already clenching around me. Feels so good around me, pretty thing.”
You moaned his name, a needy, desperate call for him to go faster. He picked up his pace, breath becoming erratic, a slight sheen of sweat breaking out across his skin.
“Not gonna last long, honey,” he groaned. 
“Neither am I. Cum inside of me, please. I want all of you,” you begged, too out of it to think of the consequences. He let out an obscene moan at the request.
“Want me to fill you up, yeah?” He said as he roughly fucked into you. “Fill you up so good that it’ll still be leakin’ outta ya tomorrow?” He was delirious, almost pussy drunk. You were both chasing your release, clinging to each other like there was no tomorrow. Because there wasn’t. Not for the two of you.
“Joel, I’m…oh, fuck!” you moaned as your orgasm hit you, knocking you into hysteria. 
“Right behind you, pretty girl,” he said, grunting. “You’re squeezin’ me so good,” he moaned, finally spilling into your cunt. He pulled you back into him as you both finished, moans muffled by each other’s tongues, sucking, biting, licking, kissing.
When the ecstasy ended and he could feel you squirming underneath him, he pulled out gently, taking care not to brush your clit too roughly. He watched as his cum leaked from your puffy hole, taking two fingers and shoving it back in. You whimpered a little at the contact. “I know, honey. Just makin’ sure I’m gonna stay inside of you.”
He finally laid down next to you, bringing you into his chest. You shoved your head in the crook of his neck, taking all of him in. 
You didn’t have to talk about tomorrow, or think about it. You just needed to be here, in this moment with him, face nuzzled into his neck, his seed still leaking out of you.
Tomorrow could wait.
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You woke like you normally do, to the rays of splendid sunlight shining in through your thin curtains. Stretching, you remembered last night. Your hand reached for the spot you left him in, finding the bed cold. The cold of the sheet travelled through your fingertips, up your arm, through your shoulder, into your chest, and hit your heart. You scrambled out of bed, throwing on whatever you could find, and scrambled downstairs. 
There was no evidence that he had ever been there, except for the two pieces of paper that sat on the kitchen table. 
Your breath hitched as you picked the first one up, tears threatening to spill. It was a drawing done in simple graphite. A drawing of you sitting next to Joel, who was laying in bed. She had done it when he was still feverish. In the bottom right corner, she signed:
“Thank you for everything. I know it will work out. -Ellie”
You clutched it to your heart as you picked up the second one. A letter. It read:
My girl,
I hope you can forgive me for leaving you no room for a goodbye. Part of me thought it would be easier this way, not having to think about what you were going to say, or what you should have said. The other part of me wanted to stay in that bed with you, cozied up in your arms, until the two of us were too old to get up. I want you forever. 
But I made Ellie a promise a long time ago. She’s got nobody left. She’s just a girl, and I can’t leave her on her own. The guilt would eat me alive a lot quicker than any infection could. I have to get her to her people. When I’m done, I promise you that I’ll come back. I’ve marked your little farm on my map, there’s no chance of me missing it. Before you, I would’ve laughed at the idea of forever. Forever seemed like too long living in this world. Now, all I want is forever if I can spend it with you in my arms.
Thank you. For more than you know. I’ll see you soon.
Until we meet again.
Yours truly and forever, 
Joel Miller
part 2
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matrixbearer2024 · 1 month
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Enough With The Schemes!
Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader
A/N: Ngl I kinda had this in my drafts just because I didn't know how it'd ever fit into the story but I decided to fix it up and post it after @vespers-night-sky's fanart for the "Get Off My Screen" Series- the direct continuation and reader's death is in the works folks, I've just been trying to figure out the pacing ahsojskqjds- I am not gonna be a Hazbin Hotel episode jkjkjk Anyway, thank you thank you THANK YOU ALL for the support with the series and think of these little things as filler episodes before the big reveal. Anyways, as usual- happy reading and I hope you all enjoy! The series in it's entirety can be found on my blog under the #Get Off My Screen Series
You didn't know how much more of Vox's shenanigans you could take.
First it had been the wallpaper war-
Until now you couldn't stop his face from being a permanent fixture to your devices-
But it was fine, he could have that!
You lamented over not having [Favorite Fictional Character Name] in your backgrounds anymore but you know what it was fineeeee-
You honestly couldn't tell if having his glitchy grinning face was an upgrade or cringe central.
Then he figured out how to absolutely lag out your computer at some point.
You seriously wanted to punch his monitor head from frustration because of it.
Especially when he had the nerve to laugh at your irritation-
This asshole-!
Now, he was absolutely blowing up your phone and devices with memes or just anything under the sun.
Not that messing with the notification settings would help-
Because somehow he'd figured out how to completely bypass those too.
If this was why that Alastor guy and Vox had a tiff you could practically relate.
Your phone just continued to buzz and vibrate on the table next to you.
Not that you could be fucked with it at the moment trying to cram a paper your professor assigned last BLOODY MINUTE!
That was of course until the Vox desktop companion grabbed the cursor and just didn't let you have it back.
As much as you tried, the darn thing only emoted angrily and refused to give you back the damn arrow.
Your eye twitched as you tried to maintain your cool, only to get up from the desk and scream obscenities to no one in particular.
The day had been a particularly bad one and you really just couldn't deal with Vox's bullshit right now.
"Helloooooo! HELLOOOOOOO?! Earth to (Y/N)! Pick up your fucking phone!!!"
Oh for the love of god he better not have changed your ringtone too-
You rubbed your face in an attempt to calm down before finally checking your phone.
Honestly you expected it to be something really stupid, but seeing what his messages were about made you feel slightly guilty for ignoring him the whole day.
Vox grew used to the routine you both had, so it was no surprise that your sudden inactivity drove his anxiety up the walls.
Poor guy thought of all the worst possible cases that could've happened to you-
He'd greet you in the morning and you would always reply afterwards while eating breakfast.
Save for the times you'd gotten sick or just felt under the weather.
After all, you had classes in the morning and he had broadcasts to air.
You also hated being tardy, similar to how he saw punctuality as something extremely important.
The two of you would intermittently chat within the day and tell each other if you had work to do so you both could leave each other alone for a designated time.
Vox often didn't adhere to this, but he'd always keep his distractions to a minimum if you asked.
Actually neither did you, sometimes you'd be the one spam sending him anything you could think of just to give him a taste of his own medicine.
Then you would wish him a good night's rest and he would eventually reply back with a silly gif or emoji that bode you the same.
He just grew used to it, the familiarity of your companionship in his monotonous day to day.
So whenever something fell apart in the routine you both had, Vox couldn't help but worry that something happened to you.
Whether you'd gotten sick or just anything worse-
It didn't sit well with him when you didn't reply to his morning message like you often did.
Constantly checking his phone for any updates from you to find nothing.
Zilch, none, zero.
The worrying feeling only grew as time ticked onwards.
Even at your busiest you would still shoot him a memo saying that you were.
Which only made this radio silence-
Haha see what I did there-
Worse than it really was.
So what did Vox do?
Absolutely blow up your phone and devices trying to get your attention.
Only when he realized you were doing something on your laptop did he let the desktop companion he made for you interfere.
Not that he even really understood what he'd stuck his hands into.
"What the hell even happened to you today? You didn't even reply to any of my fucking messages! I thought something happened to you!"
"Well SORRY I couldn't reply to your terminally online ass. I was busy dealing with my shitty assignment workload."
The TV overlord quickly picked up that you weren't in a pleasant mood.
The way you typed was just a dead giveaway.
Glancing up at his schedule, Vox notified his secretary to cancel a few of his meetings before he replied to you.
"Anything I can help you with? I'm free for a good few hours."
You were taken aback by his offer, every time Vox would help you he didn't even bother asking.
He just straight up started editing whatever you were working on no matter what you said.
Who was this guy and what did he do with Vox-
"You aren't trying to bullshit me are you? Cuz I'm not in the mood."
"I can tell dollface, let me guess- your shitty professor again?"
You ended up ranting about the abruptly given assignment and just a bunch of other things that slowly ruined your day.
Vox just agreed with you here and there, shooting one word replies or emojis to show he was still listening.
All the while he made the desktop companion let go of your cursor and he looked over your work.
Wow your writing was still absolutely shit-
"So now I've gotta submit this fucking paper before midnight or I'll get a 40% deduction."
"Don't worry about it, we can finish this in an hour. Anything else?"
It was an economics paper you were struggling on and this was Vox you were talking to.
You shouldn't have been surprised that he already knew his way around the topic.
You glanced up from your phone and already saw him editing your essay.
Why didn't you just ask him for help sooner??
"I think I can handle the rest. Thanks anyway, mind if I put on some music while I write?"
"As long as I get to pick some of the songs."
"Deal."
It shouldn't have done anything really.
You shouldn't be having this funny feeling in your gut.
A fuzzy warmth that bloomed because Vox was so quick to drop everything and help you.
Even if it was just something minor like your paper.
Still, you couldn't help but smile as you put on some relaxing tunes and typed away alongside your favorite digital companion.
Just like that, you both melted back into the usual cycle of talking and working.
A casual harmony that you were more than happy to just live in for the moment.
BONUS:
Both you and Vox were just casually chatting by the time his secretary called him away for the scheduled broadcast.
Of course, you wished you could see what he was actually doing but stopped before you could say so.
Instead you just wished Vox well in the broadcast.
"Of course doll, and you know me! I'll be just fine."
Well, his broadcast was going fine-
Until his screen suddenly glitched and randomly played a tune from your playlist.
Had he forgotten to unlink himself from your devices?
It took a few seconds for Vox to compose himself but his show thankfully went on without another hitch.
You on the other hand?
You were just having a personal concert in your room to unwind while waiting for Vox to come back.
So it came as a surprise when the song you played randomly paused and made the Bluetooth disconnect sound.
You didn't connect it to anything-?
Though your questions were eventually answered when Vox blew up your phone again.
This time you couldn't help but laugh.
You were friends with a demonic overlord sure-
But it was hard to fear him when he was such a doofus.
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sturnsbae · 4 months
Note
can you write something about how the fans have started speculating something between you and chris??
RUMORS FLY - CHRIS STURNIOLO
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summary: you and chris have been talking, and the fans are starting to notice.
warnings: none!
-
as nick and matt argue about god knows what into their microphones, chris stares down at his phone with a small smile. “chris what’s your opinion on this?” nick asks, but it appears chris hasn’t heard him.
“chris, get off of your fucking phone. we’re on the podcast! who are you even texting that’s so important right now?” matt groans. quickly after being called out chris puts his phone away. he’s very clearly flustered, and he says, “i was just um— texting nate!”
“texting nate? with that big of a smile on your face? i didn’t know nate was so funny… but whatever can you please just get off of your phone and help us settle this debate,” matt says, glaring at chris with a wondering eye. not even his brothers knew about you and chris, but they were bound to find out soon enough.
chris feels his phone buzz on his lap, and he waits until he has a chance to answer it. he doesn’t want to tell you that he’s recording because he doesn’t want to stop talking to you, so he tried to multitask, but clearly he’s not very good at it.
nick suddenly gets up and walks over to chris, snatching his phone from his hands. as he does so, he see’s your contact name and the photo of you and chris cuddling at the top of the screen. “oh my god that’s—“ he blurts out, but immediately stops himself. “—enough! i’m taking your phone until the end of the episode” nick says, immediately catching himself before he reveals you and chris’ secret.
chris’ cheeks turn bright pink, and his heart rate is through the roof. he knows he’ll be grilled with questions once they’re done recording, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for that yet. eventually the pod is over, and immediately nick hands chris his phone with a smirk.
“have fun texting y/n!” nick shouts as chris begins walking downstairs to his room. a loud gasp can be heard from matt, and chris can feel his cheeks burning up. he scurries into his room and replies to your texts, and immediately opens tiktok to rewatch the tiktok you guys had made a couple days ago. he scrolls through the endless comments, and begins to notice a reoccurring pattern.
“are they dating?!”
“oh i ship this”
“i think they’re dating! i mean, y/n is wearing his brand…”
and so forth. he bites his cheeks to hold his smile in, but ultimately fails when he sees all of the support even when you guys haven’t gone public. as he scrolls through his phone, a gentle knock can be heard on his door.
“come in nick!” he exclaims, not even looking up from his phone. he knows it’s nick because matt has a tendency to just walk in, or bang on the door. one or the other.
“can i ask you something?” nick asks, sitting in the end of chris’ bed.
“yeah, anything,” chris says, putting his phone down and fixing his posture.
“why didn’t you tell me and matt?”
“um— well we aren’t really telling anyone. i mean we’re not dating yet, but—“ he pause, “actually i don’t really know, honestly. i guess i’m just nervous that if i start telling people things will go south,” he shrugs.
“are you planning to ask her out soon?”
“yeah, i am actually. i was gonna do it this weekend, and make it a big surprise for the fans but now i don’t know. the fans are already speculating things, so i feel like i should just scratch the whole big idea i had and ask her the next time we hang out.”
“oh! that was also one of my questions! how the hell have you been hanging out with y/n and both me and matt didn’t know about it?! we live together and i still didn’t know!”
chris chuckles, “there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me nick. and it’s gonna stay that way, so if you could stop asking me a million questions that would be great,” he sarcastically grins, and nick just rolls his eyes. nick closes the door behind him, and chris immediately goes back to texting you.
the podcast episode was posted a few days ago, and immediately the fans have been questioning who chris was texting. there have been many many guesses, but most have been you. chris feels like it’s his fault, and the last thing he wants is for you to feel like you’re being led on, so there’s only one thing to do.
“y/n, i have a question,” chris says nervously, looking down at you as your head rests on his arm.
“what is it?” you ask, knowing exactly what it is. or hoping, at least.
“well, obviously i like you. a lot. and i was just wondering if you wanted to make this official? will you be my girlfriend?”
“of course i will chris, is that even a question?” you giggle, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of chris’ shoulders. he smiles at you and gently places his hands on your cheeks, pulling your faces towards his. your lips melt together, and your hands find their way to the back of his neck.
you both end up falling asleep in chris’ bed, and while you both nap, you’re unaware that nick and matt both arrive back home. they enter chris’ room after calling his name a few times with no response, only to see you both asleep. of course, them being the immature boys they are, take your guys’ picture. unfortunately, you learn about this the hard way when you see the photo in their photo dump a few days later. you gasp and immediately check the comments, expecting tons of hate comments.
“i knew it was y/n! they’re so cute!”
“AWWW”
“cutest couple ever”
you immediately text chris, and you both share a big grin over the situation. although you never would have expected your situation with chris to have gotten semi-exposed, you were just glad everyone was so supportive.
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cyanferret21 · 1 year
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Weapons also have souls au
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Did I just simply make 2012 & rise crossover? Yes, yes I did!
Did I also add some ✨mystic✨ to it for spice? Yes I absolutely did!!
Am I gonna do this one post and never return to this idea ever again(like I did with my rat au)? I really fucking hope not!!!
The idea itself is that one of 12!turtle’s enemy got so fed up with them that they got their hands on some mystic stuff to capture brothers in weapons and banish them to another dimension. Anything to “never see their stupid turtle faces again!”
To everyone’s surprise it actually worked. And unfortunately for turtles …. That’s how one, what seemed like normal, mission turned into catastrophe. One by one brothers got separated and locked up in their own weapon: Leo in ōdachi, Mickey in kusari-fundo, Raph in tonfās and Donnie in some strange bo stuff (I have no idea what the name of the weapon was in first episode, if you know tell me) . After this they were just dumped through the portal in whatever dimension, those bad guys couldn’t care less honestly.
And that’s how 2012 Leo, Raph, Mickey and Donnie got into Rise!dimension. But…!!! They happened to appear in Hidden city long before Draxum’s mutant warriors were even in plans. Weapons were passed from hand to hand, but never stayed long with one holder. Different yokai complained about seeing and hearing strange things the more they used the weapons. But with every next holder it was getting more and more obvious that these weapons were not just haunted, but possessed mystic powers. With this rumours going around Hidden city about ōdachi that can creat portals and tonfās that make you bigger and stronger, that’s how Baron Draxum found out about them and decided that he wanted them in his collection.
And would you believe me when I tell that that’s where Draxum got the idea for his human-destruction warriors to be turtles? When he tried to use kusari-fundo and saw a vision of a ninja-looking turtle yokai that was yelling at him to be freed and was challenging him to a fight! He was mesmerised by this creature’s body structures, the possibility of a shell to be a natural protection, ability to breathe underwater. It was a perfect choice of an animal for a warrior to be mutated from!
That’s where 13 years later, our rise!bois are coming into view! Story goes the same as in the “Mystic mayhem” episode, except…. When rise!turtles tried to use their new mystic weapon and it was malfunctioning, it was mostly cause it was their first time using it, but also cause 12!brothers were being kinda salty about not being used for over a decade and they were trying to get some fun out of all this situation. After all, who could have known that their new holders are gonna finally help them reunite with each other. Not right away, but in time…
And if you’re asking yourself right now “But what about Donnie?” Well…remember how he didn’t take the “glowy weapon”? Yeah, at some point in the story they’ll have to go back to Draxum’s destroyed lab and hope that 12!Donnie and stuff he’s in did survive the explosion.
But for now R!Donnie is just like:
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Next
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straylightdream · 3 months
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what am I missing?
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act eleven: “At least I didn’t walk on you guys naked.”
feat: bang chan x f.reader, seo changbin x f.reader, han jisung x f.reader
↳ in your mid to late twenties you’re left wondering if you missed your sexual awakening. With a the help of friends you start to really find yourself.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole angst, a little fluff, body image issues, and self doubt, cussing all smut warnings listed below for what is in this story.
series masterlist
𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.
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𝐚𝐧: I’m interested to see what people think about each of the boys right now n
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole nipple play, clit and vaginal fingering, lots of dry humping and some dirty talk, oral (fem & male receiving), piv, unprotected sex, groping, threesome, use or traffic light system, choking, and spanking, the mc calls herself a slut more warning to come. Soft but dominant jisung, kinda sub reader for jisung. Being tied up during sex. Names such as, baby, my girl, and princess
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Laying in Chan’s bed his body is right behind you as he rolls his hips into yours at a slow pace. His hand grips your breast touching your sensitive nipple just the way you like. Your hand grips the sheets below. Leaning your head back you give him full access to your exposed neck.
“Baby,” he moans against your neck.
“Ch-chan,” you can barely piece together his name. The angle he’s entering you in over and over has him brushing the spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Each thrust leaves you gasping feeling like you’re on the verge of falling apart. His hand rests on your soft stomach. He squeezes the flesh before pulling your hips back against his meeting his thrust. The feeling of his hands all over your body makes you feel dizzy.
Your night started out innocent after you got back from the diner. Chan made it seem like he only wanted to cuddle. You just watched a couple episodes of a show you had been watching before you laid in his bed curled up next to each other. His morning wood poking your side as you woke up let you know his body was betraying him. An innocent morning kiss soon led to both of you shedding your clothes.
His slow thrusts were firm and each time hit the sensitive spot inside of you it left you feeling desperate for more. Your orgasm washes over you like a hot wave. Your brain can’t seem to form any other words than his name. Reaching back you grab his hand holding on tight. Your head rolls back resting on his shoulder as your walls contract around his length.
“Fuck,” he groans.
“Chan-.” You’re a mess completely drunk on the feeling of your orgasm.
“Fuck I’m gonna to cum.”
“Please.” Your high is still washing over you as you push your hips back. He never stops as you ride out your high. He picks up his pace, snapping his hips into yours faster.
“Say my name.” He moans as your high is ending.
“Chan, baby.”
His thrusts are getting sloppier. He’s on the brink of falling apart just like you.
“Chan you feel so good,” you moan as his hand moves to your core. His finger makes quick work on your sensitive clit. A white hot feeling takes over you as he comes moaning your name. His hands don’t leave your clit until they fall apart again moments after him.
Your chest rises and falls as you struggle to come down. He holds your body close to him pressing his lips anywhere he can reach. You stay like that for a while. Both of you just silently coming down from your highs as he kisses your shoulder over and over.
He removes himself from you and quickly ties off the rubber before laying on his back as his chest rises and falls. He doesn’t say anything, he just pulls your naked body practically on top of him.
You just lay there for a long moment taking in his closeness.
“I could go for some coffee,” you say before pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone.
“Let’s get up and make some coffee and breakfast.”
Crawling out of his bed. You pull on your underwear and wonder if you should just put back on your work clothes. Before you can even start to get dressed Chan hands you an oversized sweater you’ve left here before. He pulls on just a pair of boxer briefs not bothering to put on anything else.
“I don’t have pajama bottoms,” you sigh.
“So just wear your sweater and underwear. Hell you can walk around naked if you,” give you a cheeky smile before he leans over and presses his lips to your cheek.
“Meet you in the kitchen,” he taps your butt before walking out of his room.
Meeting Chan in the kitchen he makes you both a cup of coffee. He mentions being hungry so you both work on making some bacon and eggs together. Things between you feel so easy as you help each other cook. Chan takes every moment he can to either touch you or give you a quick kiss.
Sitting there together eating breakfast as you talk about work and about another friend's upcoming birthday. After eating you even do the dishes together. Walking into the living space you’re caught off guard by the sound of the door pin pad being accessed. The front door opens and you’re shocked to see Changbin walk in wearing his gym clothes.
You’re instantly reminded that Chan is only in his underwear and you’re wearing an oversized sweater with panties no bra on.
“Hey,” Changbin says awkwardly. His eyes stayed locked on you, not even bothering to look at Chan.
“Bin what are you doing here?” Chan steps closer to you.
“I was gonna see if you wanted to go to the gym. I had no clue that YN is here.”
“I spent the night,” you finally speak up.
“Oh,” Changbin instantly smirks, raising his eyebrow.
“At least I didn’t walk on you guys naked,” Changbin laughs.
“You’ve seen me naked,” you say.
“True and I would love to see you naked again, it’s just Channie over here. I would really prefer not to see his dick right now.”
Chan scoffs before sitting on the couch.
“Did I ruin a moment?” He sits his backpack on the ground.
You look over at Chan who looks unamused by the appearance of his best friend. You move over and sit down next to him. Chan gives you a soft smile before looking over at Changbin. “No it’s fine Bin.”
“I feel like I should go,” Changbin says.
“You can stay Bin. I was thinking YN and I could watch a movie and hang out.”
Changbin pauses and looks at you before he looks between you and Chan. “You should stay. We’re just hanging out right now.”
He takes slow breath before he moves over and sits down on the couch next to you. Chan rests his hand on your thigh as he turns on the tv. He flips through Netflix as he and Changbin try to pick something to watch. You don’t say anything, you just take in the comfortable feeling that has taken over you. This situation should feel weird but for some reason it doesn’t. You know Chan might feel a little awkward about this but he’s acting like everything is fine.
Changbin nudges your side without saying anything. You look over at him and he gives you a smile. He leans over and presses his lips to the top of your head before leaning back and getting comfortable.
“I have to say I feel a little overdressed right now.”
“I can get dressed,” you say, realizing Changbin might feel uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to get dressed. I’m talking about Chan who is just chilling in his underwear.”
Chan looks over and raises his eyebrow before squeezing your thigh. “I’m comfortable, and last I checked YN is comfortable.”
“Are you comfortable?” Changbin asked.
“Absolutely.” You feel like the Changbin question has a double meaning but right now you don’t want to think about that. You just want to enjoy the day with both of the boys.
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Regarding my taglist: I’m tagging so many people like 300+ people and the the amount of reblogs and interactions I’m getting compared to my taglist make me quite sad. I kindly ask if you request to be tagged that you interact with my writing. It takes me a really long time to make sure I tag everyone. Im going to start removing silent readers and blank blogs to make tagging easier. If anyone wants to be added to this stories taglist I have decided to close it for now. I can’t add anymore people unfortunately. Im really asking for interaction if I’m spending the time to tag you.
Thank you to anyone who has been replaying to the post and reblogging them.
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delimeats-000 · 5 months
Text
Just the Editor
summary: chris teasing the podcast editor takes a little turn
warnings: language, make outs, dry humping
requested.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
im editing a podcast for THE sturniolo triplets. this is big, like huuge. these guys got me through senior year of hs, and now im their editor, like wtf.
on the set beyond the wall that divides us i can hear the guys laughing with one another.
they’ve been recording for about 2 and a half hours. they should be done soon and come check the final product of the last pod i edited.
soon enough they finish their current recording and come to the editors office.
“Hey y/n/n.” nick says.
“Hey nick.” i get out of my chair to hug him and greet the other boys. “Im pretty much done if you guys wanna take a peek on the last episode.”
“Oh i have a meeting with madi and laura that matts gonna drive me to.” nick hesitates. “If chris is up for it he can stay and watch.”
“Yeah i can come pick him up after the meeting.” matt chimes in.
“Ok sounds good.”
no it doesn’t, two of three triplets gone leaving me with the third that i just so happen to be absolutely smitten over.
matt interrupts my thoughts, “Alright cool. We’ll be back.”
“Be good Chris.” nick laughs before heading out the door and closing it behind him.
i turn to face chris. i hope to god he doesn’t see how nervous i am.
“Ok so you ready?”
“Uhh yeah, you got pepsi?”
“Yeah there should be some in the fridge downstairs.”
“You wanna lead me over there? Please?”
“Of course.” i stand up and quickly walk to the foor opening it for him.
“No no, ladies first.” he winks.
fuck.
“Thanks.” wtf, THANKS, dumbass.
he laughs tho, ok cool, play it cool.
we walk down the stairs and into the kitchen in silence.
“Do you want one or two?” i say bent over in the fridge reaching for his pepsi. he steps close behind me, resting his hand on my lower back.
“Lemme get two, just in case.”
“ok.” i feel weak, his hand feels so firm and strong.
compared to the cold room i was in his hand is hot and the temperature change makes me shiver.
“Are you ok?” he asks as i stand up.
“Yeah just cold.”
“Here take my sweatshirt.”
before i can decline the offer he’s already taking it off revealing a wife beater that lifts halfway up his torso as the sweatshirt comes off. my eyes go wide and i dont get the chance to fix my expression before he notices the blush on my face.
he laughs softly, “Here goof, put it on.”
i take the sweater and put it on.
“You look good.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem, lets go watch the pod.”
“Yeah.”
my face is most definitely flushed, im hot, genuinely burning up and the sweater is making this worse now, but it smells so good. i cant take it off, not yet.
“Ok here you go.” i pass him my laptop and headphones so he can watch the pod on the loveseat in the office.
“Yo, you’re not gonna watch with me?”
“Uh, i guess i can.”
he scoots over and hands me the other headphone. he presses play. i cant even focus on the video in front of me, all i can think about is the fine ass man right next to me. shoulder to shoulder i swear i can feel his heart beat. there’s no way in hell im playing this cool. i just know im shaking. please god dont let him notice.
but he does anyways.
he pauses the video, “Is everything ok.”
i dont want to look him in the eyes, im gonna give it up. “Mhm, yeah.”
“Look at me.” he says quiet and gentle. but i dont look.
he grabs my face turning me towards him.
“I said look at me.”
he’s serious this time, his tone still quiet but now firm.
“Sorry.” i mumble.
“Shh, don’t apologize.” a smile grows on his face. “Whats on your mind?”
i shrug, struggling to make eye contact.
“Tell me, baby.”
im sure he could see the shock on my face because his subtle smirk turned into a soft chuckle.
“you’re pretty, chris.”
“You think so?”
i nod my head quickly.
“You’re beautiful, y/n.” he leans closer. “Can i kiss you?”
i nod once more before his lips land on mine.
he starts slow speeding up the kiss getting more rough. his tongue now caressing mine. he slowly runs his hand down to my neck and lets the other rest on my hip.
his sloppy kisses lead down my neck and i feel him leaving his mark. i let out a moan from the sharp pain, as i reach to grab his hair.
he bites harder making me let out another moan before he lets go, breathing hard he says, “Keep moaning for me, baby.”
“Yes sir.” i say as he goes back to making out with me.
i straddle his waist taking control grinding on his dick feeling the bulge grow larger.
“Fuck. Ke-keep going.”
now kissing down his neck and grinding against his hard cock, ive got him moaning for me.
then.
there’s a knock.
“Heeeyy.”
its nick. he opens the door to me struggling to get off chris. chris is completely unfazed as im absolutely embarrassed.
“Chris.”, matt laughs. “You didn’t.”
Nicks jaw completely dropped he turns around and walks out of the room.
Matt daps up chris before leaving too.
Chris stands up walking towards me, “Call me ok?”
i nod and he kisses my cheek before heading out the door.
i fall back onto the loveseat in utter disbelief.
“He forgot his sweatshirt.”
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
dialogue key: nick - matt - chris - y/n
hope you like it, love you 🫶
EDIT: Pt 2 Out Now
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hellishjoel · 6 months
Text
playing hooky
9.2k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader
Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter l Next Chapter
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summary: Frankie calls in sick for his shift. You simply must investigate. 
warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), mentions of reader previously being on her period, smoking w33d, getting h!gh, swearing, pet names (angel, princess, etc.), handjob if you squint, oral (f! receiving), unprotected p in v, h!gh sex, aftercare, tangled feelings/messy emotions, sitcom vibes
A/N: tune in next time for a special halloween episode of Table for Two! 
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“We’re not at the diner right now, y’know? We can,” he pauses to find the right words, seeming to get lost in the beautiful hue of your eyes. “We can take things slow. Wanna take my time with you.” 
You purse your lips as you scribble another drawing on your order pad. You’re sitting at one of the empty barstools at the counter, one leg lazily swinging back and forth while the other is brought up under you. 
“You’re gonna get hip dysplasia.” Carla, your sarcastic manager, hums as she passes you. She playfully smacks you with her own order pad before she settles down beside you, a loud and tired sigh leaving her ruby-red lips. She rolls her swollen ankles, a side effect of being on her feet all day. A side effect of being alive. 
Your eyes lightly screw together, eyebrows knitting in curiosity. “I thought only animals get hip dysplasia.” You trail off and watch her sit with slight confusion. She parts her lips and takes a breath before her face contorts in thought. 
Finally, Carla reemerged with a new confidence. “No, baby, because my cousin- my second cousin,” she illustrates all of this with her hands. “They were born with it! I swear, look it up.”
You stifle a giggle before you both hover over your phone in search of the truth via Google. That’s when you clock the time. 
Your head swivels to the wall clock and confirms it’s half an hour past five in the evening. “No Frankie tonight?” You ask, eyes still attentive to your phone as you attempt to try and hide any obvious interest or concern. Where the hell was he?
Carla eyed you up and down. Since when did you start caring if Frankie showed up for his shifts or not? She decides not to press it, clearing her throat as she moves off her barstool once she hears the doorbell chime, a new customer sauntering in. 
“Just said he was under the weather. And we don’t need another sick line cook, that’s for damn sure. Everyone would be coughin’ and sneezin’ over their undercooked bacon and runny, nasty eggs.” She said with a little umph at the end for distaste. 
You sigh and nibble on your thumbnail. 
Frankie was a bit of an ass, but he made the shifts go by faster. Yes, even before you started fooling around, he was entertaining. 
Let’s see, there was the night he tried to see how many coffee cups he could stack and if he could make a tower to the ceiling - he tried this multiple times, and each attempt left glazed ceramic shards everywhere, to which Carla made him sweep up.
There was another time the diner needed supplies, and Rudy, the owner’s son, sent you and Frankie on an errand run. He pushed you in the cart through nearly the entire store, in search of toilet paper and paper towels, dish soap, and other amenities. Frankie bought you a Redbull at the end of it. 
Now, more recently, Frankie fucking pavloved you! Like a damn dog! Every time you worked a shift, you got ferociously horny. You had gotten so used to clocking in, working for a bit, then getting your needs met. And now that you had finished serving time being on your period, you were needy for what you missed while you were surfing the crimson wave. 
Your foot, more anxiously now, taps against the metal stand of the barstool you were sitting on, huffing in annoyance hearing that Frankie was ill. The pit in your stomach was already coiling, searching for a release that just wouldn’t be satisfied tonight. Or would it?
You’re not in the back kitchen as much as everyone else, but as the end of your shift wound down and it was nearly ten o’clock, you decided to piece together a panini and a side of fries for Frankie. You thought about how he learned you weren’t feeling good just last week, and he knew how far a simple meal went to make you feel better. Maybe you could do the same for him. And that was it. You swear there were no ulterior motives. Just a nice coworker bringing a bite to eat. 
You yank your phone from your uniform. Your fingerprints smear your phone screen with grease from the fries. 
text me your address if you’re still up
frankie (work) Huh?
You have to will yourself not to roll your eyes. 
read the first message again and ask me if you’re still confused
frankie (work) Okay sassy pants 194 Rivercrest Apartments #501
His stupid reply leaves a broken, twitchy smile on the right side of your mouth. Stupid asshole. 
Once the restaurant closes, your clunky car takes you across town to Frankie’s apartment. Your gleamy, tired vision catches the streaks from passing cars and street lamps. You pull into a visitor parking spot and let out a disgruntled sigh as you sit in silence, waiting in your idling car.
A weird part of you is nervous. Overthinking. Was this taking it too far, helping him out while he’s sick? 
You push aside any nerves and force yourself out of the car, a death grip on the doggy bag of food you had packed him. The evening Texas air tickles your bare legs, trying to adjust your uniform under your jacket after it got smushed around in the car. You buzz his number before you hear the entrance’s lock click, allowing you in. 
Glancing around for an elevator is hopeless. The entrance leads you straight to a set of stairs,  and you clench your jaw in annoyance. God dammit. You were not a woman who prayed to the cardio gods. 
Your lungs feel strained, and your feet ache, desperate to sit down after your shift and the mild hike up to Frankie’s apartment. You rap your knuckles against his door in disdain, lips parted with a few light pants for breath as you wait. The door had a few random dents and marks, obvious trails of someone moving items in and out of the apartment over time. The numbers on his door were crooked, the paint chipped. Did he have to live in such a sketchy place? It looked like the birthplace of tetanus. 
There were a few heavy footsteps on the other side before the door jangled open. And a very healthy, Frankie opened the door. Your face fell, and your eyebrows furrowed. A heavy whiff of weed smacked you in the face, and you swore it nearly gave you a contact high, even from the hallway. 
Frankie was all too happy to see you here. You drove all the way to his apartment just to see him. His face was dripping in a smirky grin. He barely fit through the door frame, his large broad shoulders and tall stature filled the entire rectangular entrance. He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against his door. He was perfectly fucking fine. 
“Hey, princess. Surprised to see you-”
Your lips purse and your eyes screw tight as you smack him with his bag of food. “What the hell-” smack, “is wrong with you! Fuckin-” smack, “asshole!” 
He’s slow to defend himself at first, letting you exhaust your hits as you fist the brown paper bag in annoyance. Finally on the last hit, he swipes the bag from your hand and sighs. He’s trying to dial down his stupid smirk, but it ends up turning into this stomach-twisting, sweet smile. 
You pinch the bridge of your nose and chew on the inside of your cheek. “Carla told me you were sick.” 
“I am sick.” Frankie playfully defended, standing straight and shrugging his shoulders with a half-innocent smile. “Sick.. and tired of working.” He laughs at his own joke, and you bite back a smile. Such a fucking dork. 
You’re at a weird standoff outside of his apartment. It’s like he’s holding your invitation to enter over your head, and out of your reach. He wants you to ask. You want him to ask. You’re both so goddamn stubborn. You cross your arms and stand straight, eyeing him down. 
Frankie rolls his eyes, his smile breaking into a larger one as he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. “So fuckin’ difficult.” You hide your smile as your face lightly glides against his chest, unintentionally inhaling his scent. By the looks of his hair, he was fresh from a shower. 
Frankie closes the door behind you, and his front brushes against your back as you stand in the tiny entrance hallway to his apartment. Music was playing deeper inside. 
His hands gently settle themselves on your arms, slowly coasting his warmth up and down your goosebump-covered skin. You inhale slowly, your back lightly resting back against his front. He was so easy to sink into. But then you remember how he bailed on work today, and you jut your elbow into his gut. He lets out a puff of air at the force you hit him with. 
“You’re such an ass ditching work. Ditching Carla.” You say as you step away from him and invite yourself further in, exiting the dark hallway and working your way further into the apartment. “We had to make do-it-all Paul step into the kitchen. Do you know how terrifying that is? Such a dick, Frankie.” 
“And you’re so sweet for bringin’ me food.” You hear him rifle through the paper bag, digging out his packaged food, and seeing him smile at the contents. “Thanks. You shouldn’t have.” He brushes past you and towards the kitchen while you stand in the living room. 
You didn’t concern yourself much with Frankie up until recent events, it was odd to see his evil lair. Okay, he wasn’t evil, but you know what I mean. You take in as many important details as you can while you slowly peel off your jacket and toss it on his couch. 
It’s quaint, really. He has no other furniture in the living room besides a couch, which you feel is by design. It sits perfectly opposite his mounted flatscreen. The walls are plain beige but are decorated with band and movie posters. You admire one that was purposely framed, unlike the others, with signatures. You didn’t recognize the band, but by their look, they seemed like an 80s rocker group. 
Below his flatscreen was an impressive vinyl collection, a record spins, and you recognize it as the melody you initially heard upon entering. It was serene, jazzy almost. 
“This is what you listen to when you’re alone?” You tease, kneeling down and flicking through a few album covers to see his taste. It was expansive, to say the least. There were only a fair few that you recognized. TOTO, ABBA, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Metallica, a little Van Halen, and a whole lot of The Beatles. 
Frankie sucks the salt from the fries off his fingers, seeing he’s already munched on half his panini. “It’s something I listen to when I’m stoned.” He half-jokes, a slight smile on his face. So that’s what he’s been up to. 
“You called in so you could lay around your apartment and get high all day?” Your tone is playfully judging, but he gives you a proud nod, not a care in the world behind those slightly glazed eyes. 
“I didn’t really lay around all day.” His tone is softer since you’re both so close. He’s standing just to the right of where you’re kneeling down, your head could lay against his thigh if you wanted. “I was trying out some new recipes and shit.” He mutters as he points a thumb behind him and to the kitchen. You glance up and notice his pretty curls in the light. You don’t often see him without his hat or his bandana. Come to think of it, you don’t really see him outside of his yellow-stained apron. 
Your eyes slowly took Frankie in, seeing him casually for the first time outside of work was startling. He was big. Tall and broad, with squishy thighs and a soft tummy, strong arms, and defined biceps. He was comfortably relaxing in a pair of black basketball shorts that landed just above his knees, eyeing a few tattoos by the hem. On his upper half was a tattered, well-loved Lakers shirt with a small tear at the shoulder, which has since been sewn closed. He had a little bracelet on, one of those leather brown ones that twisted around his wrist, accompanied by a spherical, multicolor beaded one. 
Your eyes linger for a hair too long, and now he’s already smirking at you. “Like what you see, princess?” God, that stupid fucking nickname needed a break. Heat shoots up your spine nonetheless, and you have trouble staring daggers at him like you usually would. 
You huff a breath through your nose and stand up on your feet, raising your eyebrow at him. “What do you mean you trying new recipes? You can actually cook?” It sounds rude and sarcastic, but you thought Frankie just goofed around at work and cooked for the cash, not as a hobby. You slowly make your way past him, eyeing his kitchen in the process. 
There are recipe books, honest to god recipe books. Big ones, small ones. Different categories of food outlined on the covers and spines. And his kitchen was a chaotic mess, with multiple cutting boards of varying sizes across his already limited counter space. There were bright-colored vegetables cut up and diced, the scraps having been tossed in a spare plastic bag sitting on the sidelines. There was an open bottle of soy sauce and another for sesame oil, a little tin of cornstarch, and diced chicken sizzling in oil on a frying pan. 
You take a few steps in further, your sneakers landing on linoleum as you really smell what’s simmering in a large skillet. Mushrooms, bell peppers, green onions, broccoli, and peas are cooking in a thick sauce, coating them amidst freshly minced garlic onion.  Your lips part as you inhale, and you can’t believe it. You don’t even know what it is, but it smells heavenly.
You finally have to ask, because hunger is carving a hole in your stomach. “What are you making?”
Frankie parks his hands on his hips and looks at you with knitted eyebrows. “What? You’ve never had stir fry before?” 
You purse your lips and reach for the spatula, looking to Frankie for reassurance, to which he nods his head. Go for it. 
You smile as the vegetables sizzle once you push them around on the pan, relishing in the attention as you allow the other less glazed vegetables to catch some heat from the burner. Frankie hums, like he’s debating something, like he’s learned something from his little experimentation. He reaches past you, his front brushing against your shoulders as he reaches around you and adds a little brownish-amber liquid to the pan. It sizzles, splashes, and dances across the different vegetables, which makes you grin. 
You were never big into cooking, especially since you started working at Tommy’s Diner. You’ve seen enough grease to last a lifetime. You were fine settling in on the couch with a bowl of cereal and a glass of cheap wine. You saved making extravagant dishes for when you had a date over, and even then, that was risky. 
But there was something about Frankie actually knowing how to cook cuisine that you liked. “I didn’t know you knew how to make dishes besides burgers and fries.” 
He sneers and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling the entire time and lets you continue slowly shifting the vegetables around, watching as the glaze sizzles. “I didn’t know you cared enough about me to visit me at my apartment. We’re both a bit surprised tonight.” This was your worst nightmare. 
“I only came here under the impression that you were sick-”
“So you came to my aid?”
“Psh,” You huff, “You wish. But no.” You insist more forcefully, setting the spatula down and turning to face Frankie, who is all too close to you. You lose a lot of your angry traction as his hand finds your hip, feeling his fingers flip to the stovetop’s burner switch to a lower setting. 
His hands navigate you away from the oven, your back flushed against his counter now. His eyes trail you, grazing over your body as his hips now plant you in one spot. You swallowed a lump in your throat, your still resisting hands planting against his chest. You can feel his cock twitch against your thigh. 
You can’t explain why your fingers twitch and start to clutch his shirt, pulling him a little closer. Stupid Frankie with his goading smirk, bringing his forehead down against yours. It was so hot in his kitchen, in the middle of summer. You feel a bead of sweat sprout behind your ear and lightly glide down your neck as you flutter your eyes closed. It wasn’t often you felt your power to resist him rendered useless, but tonight you felt like he had a quite literal home-field advantage. 
“You want me to stop?” He asks, voice low and lust-drenched. His leg parts purposely between yours, jutting them open and spreading what was his. 
Your throat is closed off, the lack of air draining from your busy head. “I..” Your words fall off, distracted by something scampering through the living room.
“Do you have a cat?” Your eyes light up as you slink past Frankie. He found your stray of attention a bit adorable, despite being given a slight case of blue balls. 
You carefully padded out of the kitchen and into the living room, using the excuse to slip off your sneakers at the entrance. The small orange cat had curled up onto Frankie’s couch by your tossed jacket from earlier, forming a perfect circle amongst all of its tangerine fluff. Its eyes were closed serenely, absent of a new presence. It was fucking adorable, in short. 
Frankie was still flummoxed in the kitchen, adding the cooked chicken into the stir fry before turning the burner off and putting his masterpiece aside. “That’s Leo.” He announces, Frankie’s voice carrying annoyance that he lost a sure thing in the kitchen. Now you were cooing over his cat. 
He settles two bowls on the counter and adds the stir fry to each, a few splashes of the sauce splattering around the rim of the bowl. With two forks randomly stabbed into the piles of food, he walks one of them out to you. “Could have eaten this whole thing by myself.”
You smile, taking the offering and humming as you flop on the couch, the orange tabby finally peeking its eyes open. “I don’t doubt that, so thanks for sharing.” You recognize how he had eaten the panini and fries, and he was still excited over the stir fry. Poor guy probably had the munchies like crazy. 
With the kitty taking up one of Frankie’s couch cushions, he’s forced on the end with you in the middle. He sets his food aside on a spare side table and reaches for a small pipe, your breath pausing at the sight. “You want a hit?” He asks.
His face glows orange as he flicks on the lighter, spreading the flame over the green, now black, substance in the tiny bowl. He inhales, and you watch in mystification as he takes in the smoke filtering through. Your heart thumps harder in your chest, the right side of your mouth twitching up in a sly smirk. 
Let’s smoke weed with Frankie Morales tonight. 
He lets out a labored breath, the smoke flying loosely in the air and creating hazy grey circles that flood the ceiling before disappearing altogether. The stench fills the small apartment rather quickly. 
“I get really weird dreams after I smoke.” You whisper, biting down on your lower lip as you glance down at the pipe he’s holding, a small glow still coming from the weed. 
“It’s still lit if you want some.” His voice is low from smoking, and you have to clench your thighs closer together. Damn this stupid uniform, you wished you would have brought a change of clothes so you’d at least be comfy eating stir fry, petting his cat, and getting stoned with him. 
He raises the piece in an offering, and you look to him for one last look of reassurance. It’s polite to be offered free weed, especially since he’s the one who paid for it. He gives you a nod and looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. Are you crazy? If you want it, take it. 
So you do. And you smoke it. And you pat yourself on the back to do so without coughing. It’s a small hit, but you don’t need much, your brain already feels like it’s as light as a cloud, dancing in slow motion. You giggle by accident. 
Frankie lets out a sputter of laughter, watching you get high with him is a bit comical. “Princess knows how to smoke. Kudos.” 
You let out a puff of laughter through your nose and grab your warm bowl of stir fry, stabbing into a green pepper. “Shut up, Frankie.” 
He ends up putting on a show you both agree on, something comical that makes you both laugh your high asses off. You eat the stir fry and almost forget Frankie is the one who made it. It was delicious, you ate everything down the the finely chopped green onions. 
You both shared another hit, and you felt like you were loosening up. Any need to hold onto control slipped through your fingers. Any issues you had been dealing with drifted away. And you realized how stupidly happy you were to be beside Frankie. Trying to do anything of actual initiative went out the window after your second hit. You both found yourselves on the floor of Frankie's room, sat side by side, heads resting on the edge of his bed as you both stared up at the ceiling and spoke gibberish. 
“Aliens?” He asks, your thighs brushing. 
“Of course.” You hum, slowly blinking in a gentle haze. “Ghosts?”
He sighs and takes a long time to answer, which apparently offends you because you snap your head up and look at him in disbelief. 
“You can’t be serious. If you believe in aliens, you have to believe in ghosts.” You argue as you stare at his fan. 
He lets out a throaty groan, closes his eyes, and runs his hands down his face. His curls are pretty. They haven’t been run through a million times yet or smothered by a bandana or hat. 
“I think… I do believe in ghosts. I just don’t want them to bother me.” He says, a weak smile on his face. 
“What? Like you’re afraid to be haunted?” Your head lays back on the bed but rolls over, watching his profile while he continues to look up absentmindedly at the ceiling. 
He’s silent for far too long. Finally, he rolls his head over to face you, your noses lightly brushing. He’s so close that looking at him feels a bit cross-eyed. 
“Wait- what? Sorry.” He finally says with a broken, short laugh. 
“Can you focus?” You ask teasingly, pushing your hand up against his cheek and making him stop staring at you. 
You take the soft silence as an opportunity to rest your hand lightly on his thigh. He does the same, except he feels the warmth of your skin and the material of your uniform. Goosebumps form shortly after, and you smile shyly up at the ceiling. 
“Have you…” You start to say but trailed off, bashfulness overcoming you. 
“Have I what?” He asks. You both blink slowly as a car’s lights flash through his window only for a few seconds, lighting up the dim room before it is filled with darkness again. The moon and an orange lava lamp was the only source of glow. 
You distractedly look away from him, admiring a tapestry on his wall and his soft comforter. “Have you had sex with someone high?” 
He shrugs and slowly smiles before gently nodding his head against the edge of his bed. “Yeah. Have you?” His head rolls over to look at you again. You feel his warm gaze, but you just keep your eyes locked on his ceiling fan. 
Warmth and a subtle shyness flush across your chest, your thighs nearly trembling in excitement. “No.” You whisper. 
He doesn’t say anything, but he watches you for a few moments. 
“Want to, though.” You finish, feeling a knot slowly grow in your stomach. 
Frankie’s eyes flick to your long lashes, then down to warmth creeping up your neck. “Yeah?” He asks.
You gently nod, too, eyes still too shy to meet his own. “Yeah-” 
He doesn’t let you get out one more syllable. His large hand comes up and meets your cheek, guiding your head to meet his gaze.
Frankie kisses you deeply but at a slow pace. And you’re feeling a desperate hunger to have him. You eagerly cup his cheeks in return and swing a leg over his lap, intensifying the kiss as your hands glide down the landscape of his clothed chest, bunching up his shirt in the process. You feel like a horny jackrabbit, but it’s really all his fault. You can feel his half-hard cock as you grind the center of your pelvis over his own, whimpering into his mouth desperately.
“Take care of me,” you whisper, and it ends up sounding a little more like a desperate, whiney plea. 
Frankie’s lips part against your own, feeling the neediness of your touches. His hazy vision peers open, breaking your kiss for a moment. 
“Hold on, baby,” He sits up a little bit against the bed, his eyes scanning yours with a certain deepness. 
You pause, your chest heaving lightly as you regain your breath. “Frankie, come on, don’t make me beg.” You say as you lean in once more, but he catches your face and pauses your movements. You feel like a deer in headlights, static tingling in your ears as you feel a sudden rush for embarrassment. Why wasn’t he just as excited? Or eager? Or desperate? Were you the problem?
Suddenly, your eyes were dashing around for an escape. Then he speaks your name. Soft, gentle, careful. Hear him out. You swallow your pride and stay seated over his lap. 
“We’re not at the diner right now, y’know? We can,” he pauses to find the right words, seeming to get lost in the beautiful hue of your eyes. “We can take things slow. Wanna take my time with you.” 
You can’t help but let an awkward chuckle escape between you, eyes having a hard time meeting his. You playfully scoff and smack his shoulder lightly to regain a sense of control. “Shut up, Frankie.”
His head cocks, and he looks at you with that stupid fucking smirk. “You don’t know how to take it slow, do you?” 
His words antagonize you, and your eyes light with fire. A defensive fire, because he was right. 
Slow meant feelings, slow meant experiencing, slow meant bonding. You weren’t slow. Sex was supposed to be fast, hot, desperate, counting down the seconds until a sweet escape, racing to an orgasm, chasing it like a fever dream. You weren’t good at slow. 
You hate that Frankie has learned this about you. Giving up the upper hand wasn’t in your caliber. And you find yourself frowning as you look down at him once his smirk washes away. He’s looking at you like he cares. Even with you both stoned, brain’s hazy and light, he sees through all that and looks at you like he gives a damn. 
He lightly shrugs his shoulders and softens the hold he has on your face, his thumb gently stroking along your cheekbone. “Can show you.” 
Hesitancy screams across your blank face, but he reads you better than anyone else. He speaks your name, more genuinely explaining his offer. “Let me teach you.” 
You let out a gentle sigh, slowly giving in to temptation. Because having him at all was better than not. So you take it slow. Frankie teaches you zen. Teaches you how to melt. 
One of his hands falls from your cheek and lands on your waist, gently stroking your hip in a soothing slow circle. It feels like heaven. 
His brown orbs dip close, and you let him take the lead. He kisses you tenderly, soft. His tongue lines your lower lip once he’s ready to lightly increase the intensity, begging your mouth for permission to part. If it was any other night, your tongue would be down his throat, and you’d be a grinding, sloppy mess in his lap. Let him teach you.
You take a deep breath in as your tongues tangle. 
It almost makes you giggle again, because it feels stupid, but you sort of like it. 
His stubble brushes your face, and you fight to release a moan. Frankie’s hand on your hip shuffles to your lower back, and you feel him add pressure. Your chest meets his, and you let yourself melt into him. His strong torso easily keeps you both up. Your heavy breaths hit the room, and you force yourself to pull away for air, despite how much you enjoy making out with him. He grins at the sight of satisfying you. 
Frankie pushes a stray hair that’s fallen out from your loose ponytail behind your ear, smiling as his hands move to the back of your uniform. This will be the first time he actually undresses you properly, not just shoving the material up past your ass so he has access to your pussy. 
“You know how to work the zipper?” You playfully ask as you settle your head on his shoulder, taking the slower moments to breathe and relax. 
He stuffs down a chuckle and nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think so. Am I doing it right?” He asks as he guides the zipper down your back, feeling your flesh exposed to the rest of his room. 
You purse your lips and slowly sit up in his lap, watching him take in a deep inhale as your centers brush lightly. You hide your coy smile as his eyes light with excitement, but he’s made a point to be slow with you. You guide the sleeves of your uniform down to your hips, exposing your breasts to him. Giggles leave your mouth as you wiggle out the last bit of your dress, Frankie is more than happy to help you. 
“I’m feeling a little alone here.” Your voice is soft, tugging at his shirt before you push it up just past his pecs. Your high ass got a little distracted, staring at the hair sprinkled in dark trails across his torso, feeling him struggle in his shirt as he laughed. 
“Focus, princess,” his arms tangle with his shirt before he tosses it off, especially since you started slacking. You shyly smile and flutter your eyes down to his warm body as your hands explore the landscape for the first time. You had yet to undress each other like this, you sort of liked it, especially with this whole slow and steady thing going for you both. 
Frankie leans back against the bed, admiring the sight before him. You feel a little awkward, goosebumps rushing up your arms as you shyly smile and playfully push his face away. “Stop staring, perv. You’ve never seen a pair of tits before?”
He’s quick. “Not a pair that nice.” 
You smile and crack out a laugh, knowing sex has never felt this casual before. No pressure. Good vibes. And it’s not just because of the weed. It’s because it’s Frankie. And he looks at you like you put the sun in the sky and you could do no wrong. But then he starts staring at your tits, and you realize he’s just another guy. 
His hands caress your waist, thumbs dipping into the curves and appreciating the way they run up you like beautiful rivers. You decide to do the same. Your hands slip lower, letting his happy trail guide you to his black mesh basketball shorts. His rough and calloused hands cup your tits, taking them in his palms and giving you a tentative squeeze. He’s figuring you out, what you like, what makes you squirm and whine. As soon as he pinches your nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers, a broken gasp is elicited from your mouth. 
“Shit,” you curse breathily. Everything was a bit heightened right now, including your sensitivity. It felt like a million little strums were being played, making your spine shiver and your head grow foggy. And you were determined to make him feel the same way. 
You bite down on your lower lip, fishing your hand into his shorts and fisting a hand around his already hardening cock. A smirk tangles on your lips as he lets out an earthy grunt, low to the ground and heaven to your ears. 
You start a bit fast, eager to please, wanting to see him tremble for your touch.
His lips meet yours in a distracting manner, rocking your steady pace. “Slow.” He murmurs against your lips, and you gently nod, a shy smile spreading from embarrassment.
“Slow.” You whisper, your lips brushing his. Your ego trips on the power you have over him, fisting him, his heavy length weighing in your hand. You couldn’t even fully wrap your fingers around him, he was all just… girth. Your body ached for him, needy for the feeling only he could satisfy by being inside of you. His tip trickles with precum, and a low moan drips off his tongue like honey. It fuels you. 
“Spit on my cock, princess.” He grunts out, his face leaning in to capture one of your nipples in your mouth. You squeak lightly in excitement before doing just as he asks of you. 
You angle your head over your centers, letting a long line of saliva puddle down onto him. It meets the strokes of your hand, and Frankie’s jaw twitches as he squeezes your breasts involuntarily harder.  You let out a long whine as your nipples form peaks between his fingers, feeling your heart thrum against your chest. 
Frankie likes how you look on top. Back arched, chest pushed up, messy hair falling loose, eyes lit with an eagerness and curiosity for him to teach you the method of going slow. Admiration mixed with respect. He feels like he’s dreaming. 
All he can imagine is you like this, bodies in sync, riding his cock. Tight walls milking his cock for everything he has. His skin becomes riddled with goosebumps, thinking about your nails digging into his chest, your tits rocking up and down, how he would tumble out moans of your name and squeeze your hips with adoration. Yeah, he’d like to see that one day. 
He’s not sure how much longer he can last with merely your hand on him. 
“C’mere, baby.” 
A gasp of surprise jumps from your throat before you can stop it, Frankie managing to stand up off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist for security. His strength, how easily he lifts you and shuffles you around like a ragdoll spurs white hot heat in your stomach. You were going to fuck him good if you ever got past the going slow part. 
His smirky mouth meets yours in a hot kiss, one heavier than before. Like he’s needy for you. Your eyes melt closed as your fingers wind into the pretty curls that were formed at the nape of his neck. Your back meets his mattress and blankets, your fingers dance along the pattern, your high mind hypnotized seeing Frankie on top of you. 
His body rests between your parted legs. You whimper into his mouth, feeling his hardened cock resting against your core. 
“Take my fucking panties off,” you beg more than you mean to. 
Frankie tries not to sneer. His teeth capture your lower lip, and you mewl out a moan before he lets you go. 
“To hell with going slow.” 
You hastily nod, feeling his fingers grip your panties at either side of your hips before he shuffles them down. You whine with how the sticky center stays latched to your core, he gently peels it loose with a hellish smirk. 
Frankie’s heart thrums against his chest and echoes into his ears. Hearing you desperate for his touch was heaven, he felt undeserving to have such an angel vying for his attention. “So wet f’me, barely touched you, princess.” 
He discards your panties to the side, off on the floor with the rest of the clothing you both have shed. You’re completely naked together, makes you a little nervous. 
Frankie promised to speed up, but you’re finding harmony in the way his soft lips trail down your body, leaving wet prints between the valley of your breasts to the soft skin of your stomach. Your breaths come out heavier, thighs shaking as he drops back down to kneel at the edge of the bed. His hands grip your thighs and yank you impatiently closer to his eager mouth. You whimper as your body is shuffled closer, your fists that were clutching the sheets being torn away. 
You giggle as your thighs shake around his head, feeling those perfect kisses move between the warmth of your legs. 
“Fuck,” you finally let out, excitement seeping through your bones. Frankie’s stubble drags across the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, and again, you feel that heightened sensitivity that makes your stomach roll. 
Frankie decides that dragging out the teasing is enough. He wanted to taste you, every mile, every inch, every centimeter. 
Your core glistens in his eyeline, begging to be touched, kissed, fucked. He can’t help but dive in. His dopey brown eyes meet yours as his face disappears lower and lower before he’s past the valley of your tits, and all you can see when you crane your neck are those mocha brown eyes. 
His tongue tastes you, and divides your folds, as he laps up your juices. 
The feeling is exhilarating, like the rise and fall of a roller coaster. 
A gasp riddles its way up through your throat, concaves your chest, and your pupils blow wide in excitement. Frankie enjoys your taste but aims to pleasure. His mouth latches onto your sensitive clit and suckles, his tongue intervening every few swipes to flick across your clit. Rise. 
His large hands grip the outside of your thighs, pinning your lower half to his mattress, and lapping over you in a heated race to the finish line. Your face contorts in pleasure, fingers drifting down your stomach before you wind them in Frankie’s hair. He growls against your pussy, you’ve never felt your blood pump faster. Fall. 
“Fucking- Christ,” you push out, gripping his hair strands tighter and making him grunt hot heat against your core. “Feels so fucking good- oh my god,”
He pulls away for a breath and sucks a love bite into the sensitive flesh of your thigh until it swells pink and purple. One of his hands on your outer thighs wraps around the shell of your body, playing with your clit. He slowly shakes his head as he looks at you. You wonder if he shares your hazy vision. The pleasure makes you feel like you’re seeing double. 
“Christ isn’t making you feel good,” his words make you whimper, “I am.”
You quickly nod, but you realize your body can’t move quickly under the influence. You’re just hazily bobbing your head, your hand in his hair dropping to his strong bicep. 
“Frankie, I need you,” you plead as you gently sit up on your elbows and cup his cheek, wiping your glistening slick off his pretty bottom lip. “Need you inside of me.” You whisper, a desperate look splashed across your face. 
You hated how much power he had over you. He almost just made you cum from playing with your clit. You need him biblically, fully, flesh and blood, blood to bone. It was carnal, primal. 
He doesn’t need much further convincing. Frankie preferred to pull an orgasm from going down on you, but he listened to your needs and what you wanted. 
His lips meet yours in a hungry kiss, working you further up the bed and letting you collapse into his pillows. Your eyes catch the sight of a dream catcher while his tongue tangles with yours. You flush at the taste of your own arousal. That’s when you realize his hand is still between your thighs and working soothing circles into your clit. 
You whimper as he adds a tad bit more pressure, and you feel the white-hot heat of adrenaline making your stomach pool even more excitement into your tummy. 
“Frankie,” you whisper softly, and his forehead rests over yours while he guides his shaft to your center. 
He lines his tip up and down between your folds, your jaw dropping as he sickeningly uses your slick to lube himself. He lets his entire shaft rest against your sex, and he does slow thrusts back and forth, lining his entire cock with you. Holy fuck. A shiver was sent up your spine, goosebumps parading across your body. 
Your chest swelled for him. 
“What do you say?” He asks in a taunt, knowing how weak you are. 
You huff and move your hands up his arms and hang them loosely around his shoulders. He complies in moving in closer. 
“Please.” You finally admit between gritted teeth, which makes him grin. 
“Alright, princess,” his forehead now rests against your temple, cocking his chin down to get a better angle of your centers. He guides his tip to your entrance, slow and patient, before he notches himself inside of you. 
Your eyelashes flutter, and you watch as his eyes clench closed. He likes to act all tough like he wouldn’t fold for you, but you know he would time and time again without having to say more than a simple please. 
Both of you share unsteady breaths. It feels like a dam is giving way inside your chest. 
Frankie thinks how he has never been inside a tighter pussy, squeezing the last bits of air from his lungs. 
Your walls pulsate around the intrusion, but your dripping core and his wet tongue from earlier allowed him to slowly push in, inch by inch. 
You swallow a lump in your throat. You don’t realize your eyes are closed, and you're gripping him around the neck to keep him close until he sponges a soft kiss to your cheek. 
“Alright?” He forces out. It’s like you’re choking him, and it makes you twitch up a smile. 
“Mhm,” you muster up, feeling his chest rumble lightly with laughter. 
“Baby,” he whispers, and your chest surges at the pet name. “Can’t breathe.” Oh, shit. You damn near had him in a headlock.
You loosen your grip around his neck, shyly smiling as your desperate hands look for something to ground you. 
Frankie stays flushed inside you but shifts to be more centered over your body, gently resting his forehead just above yours. 
“C’mere,” he whispers before he takes your hands. You decide not to question why he interlocks your fingers. But it feels safe, and you’re still high, so you’ll blame any poor decision-making on that. 
“Fuck me,” you finally grit out, desperate for him to just fucking, “Move.” 
Your whine is met by him reeling back his hips, only for him to plow right back into you at an unforgiving rate. A gasp ripples through your throat, and you feel like screaming. Your entire goddamn body was on fire with the way his girth parted your walls, splitting you open. You let out a string of whimpery moans, and your eyes glared desperate daggers into him. 
“S’what you wanted, right?” He grunts out, jaw tight, pretty curls falling limply in front of his eyes and crowding his forehead. “You wanna be fucked hard, is that it?” He can barely speak authoritatively, you’re squeezing him like your last lifeline. 
But he’s right. Tears cloud your vision, and you weakly nod as desperate puffs of air leave your pretty parted lips. “Yes,” you squeak out, relaxing your hips so Frankie falls into you more. 
“Feels so fucking good, can’t-” An eager cry leaves your lips as he pulls himself out, just to thrust right back in and rocking you further up his bed. Your chin tips to the ceiling as you curse every god, man, woman, whoever the hell created Frankie Morales. 
“Can’t what, princess?” His tone is lower, sinister even as your walls twitch around him but only gush out more arousal for his cock to slide in and out of you. 
You find it hard to string together syllables. So he squeezes your hands that you’re holding for dear life. He stills inside of you until you answer. 
“Shit,” you whimper. 
“Can’t what, angel?” He probes again, cocky asshole waiting for his answer. 
You whimper and peek open your eyes. The right side of his face is highlighted silver from the moon, your hazy vision thinks he looks like an angel. His hand wanders between your centers and finds your throbbing clit, making you cry out the answer. Your face crumbles as you own up to what you need to say. 
“Fuck! Fuck, Frankie! Can’t go without your dick,” you pant out as he subtly rocks into you at a good pace upon your confession. “Can’t even go- can’t even go a week without it,” you admit in defeat. 
That stupid, cocky smirk of his graces his parted lips. It’s crooked and perfect, and he’s fucking you like your life depends on it. Because it does, you think. 
His thighs clap against your ass, pounding you into the bed, drilling you into place, suffocating the air from your lungs.
Your vision goes hazy, seeing white, then rainbow, then stars. They cloud your vision, and you’re not sure if you’re still high off the weed anymore. Or just high off Frankie. 
You whimper strings of his name tangled with profanity, he’s still filling you to the brim. It once seethed hot with pain, but now your stomach is contorting in pleasure. It’s like he knows exactly how to crack your vault, penetrating your walls, unlocking something deep inside of you that no one else manages to know the code. 
His messy fingers continue to circle your clit, and you know your end is coming. 
Frankie’s grunting with every thrust, moaning a symphony of your name every chance he gets. He likes holding your hand, resting his sweaty forehead against your own, listening to you beg for his cock, for your finish. It’s the only thing he wants to give you. He’d be at your every beck and call if you let him. He wouldn’t mind if the only thing he ever got was a fraction of your praise. 
Frankie’s thighs clap against your ass, the sound echoes around his bedroom. If his neighbors didn’t know his name, they did now. 
“Fuck! Frankie!” You cry out, feeling every inch of his cock massage your insides. His tip kisses your cervix, and your jaw drops. Nothing more comes out of your mouth, so your blown-out eyes do all the talking. 
I’m so fucking close.
“I know, baby, feels good, doesn’t it?” He grunts as his balls slap against you. “Feels good having my fat fucking cock inside you, huh?” 
You shake under him, your thighs clench around his hips, and you pray to the gods for making Frankie. You take back what you thought before, you need him. 
You don’t care that he’s a little older, that he’s an asshole, that he eggs you on. 
Because in the shelter of his bedroom, locked in your embrace, he swallows your name and persuades you into pleasure, time and time again. 
Your clit tingles, and your walls furiously clench around him. Finally, your mouth finds words to try and elaborate on what you’ve been holding inside. 
“Fucking- shit! Fuck me harder, right there- fuck me, Frankie! God- I’m coming!” You cry out as his pants fill your space, fanning across your face. He fucks you harder and faster as you near your orgasm, wanting to help you reach it. And he gets you there.
Your back arches, and he groans lowly as he stills inside of you. It’s almost beautiful the way you cum in unison. 
Your hands hold his tighter, and he reciprocates by squeezing gently. I’m right here, I’m here, baby. 
You’re not sure how long you lay there, still. Your hips get a little achy. He feels you twitch and knows it's time to let you go. 
A gentle whimper leaves you as he pulls out. You feel a bit empty, a little cold.
His sweet laughter makes you peek open your eyes. He’s trying to move out from around you, but you haven’t let go of his hands. 
You shyly let go, and both of you squeeze your hands to flex the knotted muscles and stiff knuckles. You close your legs and lightly curl up. He doesn’t come to rest, he gently pats your outer thigh once or twice before he disappears to his bathroom. 
You think he couldn’t have been gone for more than thirty seconds, but he comes back in a fresh pair of boxers and his basketball shorts, his tanned torso still exposed for your viewing. 
“Frankie,” he pauses like a deer in headlights as he stands up from grabbing your panties. “I’m gonna… spill.” You finally pitch out, a bit embarrassed. 
“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. He circles back to the bathroom and grabs a towel and a wet washcloth. 
“Sorry, my brain is all-” he starts to say, but you quickly shake your head. 
“I know me too. S’okay.” You whisper with a smile as you weakly sit up on your elbows. The record playing in the living room had stopped. He shimmies the towel under your hips before he aids you with a clean washcloth. 
Feels too domestic, so you take over, much to his annoyance. You wrap yourself in the towel once you’re done, and sit up to retrieve your uniform. You dread putting it on. 
“Can I take the towel for the way home? My underwear is still too..” you trail off. Soaking wet was the words you would have used. 
Frankie’s face screws up in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. 
“You’re going home?” 
Now your expressions match. “Yeah?” It sounds more like a guess than a statement. “What else would I do?”
Frankie shifts back and forth on his feet before he sits down beside you on the bed. “Dunno. Stay here.” 
You take in a hesitant breath, and he feels it. “You shouldn’t drive home, you know. You’re stoned. And tired. Don’t need you falling asleep at the wheel or some shit.” 
You frown. Staying here does sound nice. Thinking about going down those five flights of stairs with your jelly legs sounds like a walk to hell. 
But there’s a certain rule about sleeping over. One you don’t want to cross. You and Frankie are just fooling around. Nothing more. 
“I don’t know, Frankie.” You say with a small frown, tightening the towel around you even more. His sullen look deepens at your words. He doesn’t want to overly convince you. If you want to go, he doesn’t want to stand in your way. 
You chew on your bottom lip and weigh your options. You don’t want to go down the stairs. You’re tired as fuck, and you don’t want to get pulled over or something else. And you really don’t want to put your uniform back on. And you want to stop trying to put issues in your own way when you really just want to stick around. But the decision is made for you. 
“Stay.” 
Your eyes meet his. He’s more certain now, going after what he wants. 
“Stay the night, it won’t kill you. I’ll get you something more comfortable to wear, and you can just…” he trails off and shrugs. 
“Stay?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. He nods. 
You sigh loudly but inevitably smile as you point to his closet. “I need a shirt. Please.” 
A big smile glides across his face, and you can’t believe you’re the one who put it there. 
“Alright, princess, whatever you say.” He squeezes your thigh and stands up, his back to you as he fishes through his closet and smells a few shirts to see how clean they are. 
You roll your eyes and sigh as you fall back into his pillows. 
You change into something clean, you hope it’s clean, and end up curling into a protective ball under his covers. 
His cat, Leo, circles up by your feet, and you coo, gently stroking the pretty fur along his back. Frankie retrieves two glasses filled with water and hands you one. You instantly take a few gulps before your hand gently strokes down the shirt he’s put you in. It swims a bit on you, but you like it. The hem hangs at your thighs. 
“Can you get in here?” You ask impatiently. “M’getting chilly.” You whisper with a coy smile. 
Frankie blows out a few candles in his living room and finishes putting away any leftover stir fry. 
Your high has worn off, and now you’re just a sleepy little thing. A long shift plus getting railed would be your new nighttime sleep aid. 
Now that the apartment is drenched in darkness, he pulls back the covers and moves in beside you. Cuddling was not an option. He spoons you, yanking you halfway across the bed and out of your little ball. His warm flesh meets your back, and you hum at the feeling. He was a furnace. His head settles above yours, you feel the stubble gently poke at your hair. Your eyes are already closed as his arm wraps around your waist, an affirming hand settling on your tummy. He must need skin-to-skin contact because his hand slips under the shirt he’s put on you and settles on the warm skin by your belly button.  
You let out a short little laugh. “You do this with all the girls you sleep with?” 
“No.” He quickly says, and your eyes peek open. 
“No?” You ask curiously. 
“No. Just all my coworkers I sleep with.” You roll your eyes and reach around to slap the back of your hand against his hip, forcing out a chuckle from him. 
“M’kidding.” He somehow pulls you closer. Your head rests comfortably on his bicep, the cold tip of your nose warmed by his flesh. 
Questions pour out of your stupid brain. Were you the only one he was sleeping with? If you weren’t, who else was there? Was this normal to him, cuddling after a friends-with-benefits situation? Did Frankie want something more? 
You sigh and close your eyes, attempting to shut off your brain as your finger lazily draws shape on his forearm. 
He murmurs a goodnight against the shell of your ear. You blame how happy and comfortable you are right now on his cat. And it somewhat makes you feel better. You never pictured falling asleep beside your coworker, let alone Frankie Morales. 
Sleep eventually overcomes you. You dream of Frankie sitting in a bowl of stir fry like a hot tub. 
---
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carolmunson · 7 months
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agitated from the shadows, can i take it all back? (older!modern!eddie)
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part seven of however many. orange colored sky set list summary: things simmer in the summer, and as it comes closer to a close, whatever is lying beneath comes to the surface. and it's more than eddie bargained for.
tw: 18+ minors dni. this series is about an age gap relationship (reader is in late 20s/early 30s, eddie is in late 30s early 40s. they're around 12 years apart), arguing/yelling, references to drug use, references to smut, references to domestic violence. songspiration: episode | gallant (this is one of my favorite songs of all time so i recommend listening)
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Eddie was always a little sad when Steve left after visiting, but his heart was beating fast in his chest when he hugged him goodbye. Getting Harrington's seal of approval was all he needed to hear. "Keep her around Munson. She's special, you're not gonna top her." "Oh Steve, my guy..." "I'm topping her all the time."
He couln't help the swell in his chest when you both first met, like you'd known each other for years without trying. He even got a little jealous when the night's you'd stayed over, Steve would spend his time deep in conversation with you. You'd trudge upstairs long after Ed had gone to sleep, learning more about him through Steve than he'd told you himself. You guess Steve would know better than anyone else.
You tried to make yourself scarce though, leaving them to their own devices. You knew they had traditions and plans, they spent a couple days out in the Hamptons to say high to another friend. And that was fine, you had other things to catch up on. Work, bills, the world around you that wasn't in a haze of Eddie Munson. You had to cancel a night to see him play at Rockwood Music Hall with Steve when you were too hung over from a birthday party. You hadn't seen that group of friends since college -- it would be stupid to sit at home just because the guy you were seeing was busy. He wasn't even your boyfriend. After a fortnight of semi seeing each other for finally had a night alone. He treated you to drinks at a bar between your respective places. The night was humid, air thick while you both sat otuside sipping your final glasses of wine and stealing bites off each other's plates. You decide to walk back to his place, following the walkway next to the bypass through central Brooklyn. You split a cigarette, talking about the rest of his trip -- you talk about work and the dramatic break up of two of your friends. He lives for the gossip.
He lights another cigarette while you both turn down the top of the street from the parkway. Right at the rotary where you both got caught in the rain on your first date. The street is pretty bare outside of a few cars coming down and around, families normally don't like to hang out too late. All the restauarants were closed for the night. The orangey streetlights glow over the sidewalk, competing with the lighting from the grocery store's red and blue signage, the neons from darkened bakeries and bars. You peer into the windows of apartments that are too high above you for anything discernable outside of a plant or nice light fixture.
"Oh," he starts, letting the smoke out from his first drag, "How was your friend's party? All I heard about was your hang over."
You smile to yourself, "It was fun, got a little too fucked up -- which you heard all about -- but I had a good time. Probably shouldn't have gotten so drunk and then tried coke for funsies -- that was a choice."
"Hm?" he asks, his brows raise while his head turns towards you fast, "What was that?"
"Oh, I didn't tell you? Yeah, I tried coke," your voice is casual when you tell him, like it's not a big deal. You shrug and your nose scrunches, "Probably don't see myself doing it again though."
"Probably don't?" he asks, nodding slowly while you both make your way further down the street to his apartment. He pulls another drag, letting the smoke out before tucking his lips into his teeth.
"Yeah I just -- I dunno," you shrug, "Didn't really love it. It was whatever."
"Y'shouldn't be doin' that shit, peach," he mumbles, "'Specially if I'm not around."
Your brows quirk when he flicks the finished cigarette into the street, "Excuse me?"
"Just..." he sighs, eyes rolling while he considers whether it's worth the fight, "Forget it. S'fine." You're both silent while you make it up the stairs to his apartment, he seems unenthusiastic about you being here this time around. Deflated. You both kick off your shoes at the doorway before heading inside, putting your bag on the entry way table behind the bowl where he puts his keys and wallet. He pulls off his shirt while making his way to the metal spiral staircase, not even tossing you a glance while he heads upstairs. "You comin' back down?" you ask, wondering if you should follow. "Mhm," he nods, "Just changin', gonna shower."
"Can I..." but you trail off, not wanting to invite yourself -- uncomfortable in the silence. In the way he doesn't look at you, in the way he feels far away. The sound of the bathroom door closing puts a weight in your belly, your heart thrums, heat rises on the back of your neck. You settle in on the couch, the steady hum from the central air makes your eyelids heavy -- it was already a late night. You scroll on your phone, listening while the water hits the shower floor up stairs, wishing he'd invited you up. You feel sticky from the heat outside, from the bar air, from the beer someone spilled on your legs. Maybe you should just go. He appears at the top of the stairs when you open the Uber app, clearing his throat to get your attention. He's there in his sweats again, shirtless, tattoos shining under a layer of lotion rubbed into his skin. He tied his hair up, curly wet bun sloppily piled on top of his head, bangs fuzzily drying over his forehead.
"You can hop in if you want," he says, making his way down, "I left a towel by the sink for you. I um, I got that facewash you like -- that one you told me about. It's in the shower already, next to your loofah."
"Oh," your heart flutters a little, voice still meek and quiet. He still doesn't look at you. You exit the app, clicking your phone to sleep before standing up to make it to the stairs, "Thanks...thank you." He shrugs his shoulders when he looks over at you as if to say 'don't mention it'. He barely looks at you when you head up stairs, busying himself by filling up a silver REI canteen by the sink.
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He did leave a towel, as well as a change of clothes. At least you knew he wanted you to spend the night. It's not like he'd let you leave the house this late anyway, you roll your eyes at yourself when you think about booking an Uber moments before.
You take your time, letting the hot water pour over you and calm your tense shoulders. Washing away the stickiness in your chest and on your skin. You scrub your face of any remaining makeup that had melted off on the walk home -- happy to not be using whatever random cleanser he got, trying to pretend he knew anything about skin care before you came along.
Some time had passed by the time you finished, padding down the stairs to see he’d pulled on a shirt. His hair hung in frizzy curls down to his collarbone again, drops of water during the worn black fabric blacker. He’s still in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher with tight shoulders and furrowed brows like he’s thinking about something. “Thanks for the jammies,” you chirp, sitting at the island on your designated barstool. “Yup,” he says, not turning to see you – very interested in the glassware he’s holding instead. Your shoulders droop with how curt he’s being, not used to this sort of standoffish attitude. He didn’t even get this miffed when you shrugged off his suggestion to watch Lord of the Rings and sided with Steve to watch Almost Famous. You hadn’t seen it in years. 
“You okay?” you ask, his shoulders tense. “Yeah baby, I’m okay,” he says, but he shuts the dishwasher a little too hard for that to be true. 
“You don’t seem okay.” 
“I’m fine.” 
“Is this about the party?”
“I said I’m fine, peach,” he repeats. 
“I mean, it’s just a party Ed, it’s like – people go to parties –” 
“I said I’m fine.” He looks at you for the first time since you got in the house. It’s pointed, accusatory, and as much as you wish it didn’t, you immediately get defensive. 
“Wait -– ” you let out a bitter laugh, “Are you mad about the coke? Seriously?” 
“Drop it,” he says lowly, “Let’s not –” 
“Are you seriously upset because I did coke at a party and you weren’t there?” you’re incredulous, “You? Eddie ‘Can’t Remember Berlin’ Munson?” 
“Stop, just forget it–” 
“No, let’s not stop – let’s not drop it. What’s your problem with me going out and enjoying myself? You mad I’m having fun without you?”  “It’s not about you going out and enjoying yourself. That’s not what it is.”
“Then what is it? What is it about me going to that party that’s got you so pissed off?” "'Cause I don't like that -- I don't like hearing that you're out getting sloppy at parties. I don't like hearing that you're trying new shit just for fun when you're by yourself," his gaze is hard while he leans over the island, chain dangling down from his neck. "I'm not by myself, I'm with my friends," you argue back, "Jesus Christ, Ed, I'm almost thirty years old."
"Coulda fuckin' fooled me," he snaps.
"Oh I forgot, you know everything. You've been there, done that. You know so much better than me, don't you?" your sarcasm makes him bite his tongue, anger teasing down his back in a blaze. Eddie hates that he has a short fuse -- he doesn't want to have one with you.
"Who'd you even get it from?" he asks, "Did you know 'em? Did you know if it was clean? Did they test it?" "Do you always know where your drugs are coming from?" you counter back. "Yeah, peach," he says with a nod, "I fucking do. I always know. God, it's like you think you're fuckin' invincible or some shit. I swear --" "I know who I got it from, it was clean -- the guy's loaded," you explain, face hot with frustration, "Can't imagine he's out there passing out fake stuff." The guy's loaded. So it was a guy -- Ed feels sick in a way that he hasn't in years. What was some guy doing telling you to try his shit? How drunk were you? Did you think he was cute? Rich guy? Did he try to pull one over on you? "How much did you pay for it?" he asks, crossing his arms. "What?"
"I wanna know if this guy scammed you, how much did you pay?"
"I didn't," you shrug. Eddie gets quiet, jaw clenching when you mention you got drugs on the house. He only knows one way that that's possible and it makes a rage in him bubble that he tries so hard to contain. His tongue runs over his teeth, trying to choose his words carefully. "You didn't pay for it?" he asks, the question clipped and tight. "No," you shrug innocently. "Did you fuck 'im?" "Wh-what?" the question punches out of you in shock. Why would he ever ask that? Why would he ever assume that? "You heard what I said," he bites, "Did. You. Fuck. Him?"
"No, I didn't fuck him," you hiss back angrily, "Why would you ever ask me that?"
"Can't think of another way to get drugs for free," he challenges back, "Did'ja suck him off? You're always tellin' me how good you are at it -- did you give him a fuckin' show?"
"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" you get up off the barstool, posture matching his with your arms crossed tight around your chest.
"I'm just asking you a question," he repeats, his shoulders raising up and down in big breaths. "And I answered -- I didn't fuck him for free drugs," your head ticks to the side, "Sorry, not all of us have read the Eddie Munson doctrine."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm just saying that I didn't do what you would've done." Your smart smirk when you finish your sentence makes him dig his nails into his biceps, a reminder to keep his hands to himself -- to calm down. This isn't about the drugs or the guy that gave them to you -- but he doesn't like that this is how you see him. Someone whose reckless and careless, someone who uses people to get what he wants. "Who do you think you are?" he snaps, "Huh? You don't know what you're talking about."
"If the first thing you think when I say I got drugs for free is that I fucked for them, then it's pretty clear that's how you go about your own business. How many people have you fucked for drugs?" you ask, "Actually, a better question would probably be how many people have fucked you for them?" "You told me you used to deal -- so c'mon loverboy, how many women did you have fuck you for drugs? If that's how to do it." Eddie shakes his head, eyes shut and jaw tense, taking a shaky deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, "I never had anyone fuck me for drugs."
"So why would I have done it? Why do you always assume I'm doing something wrong? Why do you always expect me to act like I know what you know all the time? And better yet -- why does it even FUCKING matter?!" your voice grows higher and louder with each question, watching him get more and more frustrated while you continue, "Why does it even matter when you don't commit anyway? Maybe you're fucking around!" "I'm not -- ugh -- I'm not fucking around, peach!" he snaps back, chucking his water bottle hard into the sink with a loud clang. "Nice, Ed," you nod, arms crossing tighter around you, "Real nice -- what, you gonna hit me? That what's next on your list? Really put me in my place? Sounds so fucking familiar, I wonder where I heard it bef--" "SHUT UP." His voice booms through the kitchen, making you flinch. "Don't you EVER say that shit to me," he bellows, finger pointing directly in your face from across the island, "Don't you EVER make that comparison." You stand there, chewing on the inside of your cheek while he yells. "Do you feel better?!" he asks, voice hoarse and deep, graveled with anger, "Do you feel better now, peach?! Did that help?! Do you feel fuckin' validated?" He watches you shake your head no, tears starting to pool in your eyes. They look up at him, glassy and wet, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. He takes a deep breath, chest sinking when he sees the way you look at him -- silenced and quiet now, because he scared you. Because he's scary -- and that's why he shouldn't be with anyone, that's why it's too much to feel this way about someone. You wipe at your cheeks when the tears spill out, a few whimpers coming from you when you start to cry from how he yelled. From how you don't really know what you're both fighting about, but you both really know and it's terrifying. "Don't -- no baby, I'm sorry, don't cry," he says, his own breath shuddering, "I didn't mean to yell, I'm sorry. I won't -- I won't ever raise my voice at you like that." He rounds the corner of the island, coming to meet you on the other side with extended arms. His hands find their way to your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tears gathering at your lash line, "I'm so sorry, I won't ever yell like that again. I promise. I -- I'm -- there's no excuse for that." He leans forward to leave a soft kiss on your forehead and the tip of your nose, "I'm sorry."
"That's - sniffle - not what I need you t-to be sorry f-for," you stutter out. He frowns back at you and nods. "I -- peach I just get worried, that's all," he confesses, "I don't really think you went and slept with that guy I just --"
He swallows, thinking about the words he wants to say. His hands drop from your cheeks to pull you in to him. He settles on the barstool, pulling you close to stand between his legs like he has before. "I don't wanna not hear from you for a week only to like, get a text or call from your sister that something bad happened," he says, his dark brown eyes getting as glassy as yours the more he thinks about it. "I know you're an adult, I know you can take care of yourself and that you're safe," he assures, "I promise, I know. I'm just scared." "What're you scared of?" you ask. "Losin' you," he shrugs, "To y'know, addiction or whatever -- or worse. I don't wanna lose you -- I really like having you around. Your -- you've added so much to my life in such a short period of time and I -- I don't know, peach. I think since Steve's wife I just -- It's something I think about." "You being scared doesn't give you the right to accuse me of sleeping around," your face hasn't softened at his explanation, not letting him get away with being an asshole. He likes that about you -- you don't take his shit, "It doesn't give you the right to talk down to me like I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."
"I know," he nods, "That was unfair." "I think you're just trying to find reasons to make me seem not worth it," you let out without waiver, "Even if you have to make them up."
"No," his brows furrow, "No, you're so worth it. Why would you say that?" "You were so quick to accuse me of some wild shit," you scoff, "It's like you're trying to fight with yourself about it. About how you feel and like -- maybe that lady from the bar a while ago was right. Maybe I have been just for fun for you. You got to play house with me, you got to see what a relationship is like for fun and now you can ruin it cause you're over it. Or you're bored." "No -- " he starts, heart thrumming in his chest, throat getting tight, "Peach that's not it at al--" "It seems like it --" "Did you not just hear what I said about losing y--" "I don't wanna hear it, it's just bullsh--" "Baby, I'm trying to be honest with y--" "This is starting to feel like a shitty game that you're trying t--" "I love you." You stop talking at the slight raise in his voice, the weight of the sentence hanging over the both of you in the kitchen. "God peach, I -- I fucking love you. I'm in love with you," he breathes, like he's fully realizing it for himself, too, "I...shit, I think about you all the time. I go to sleep excited cause I know m'gonna see you the next day I...Jesus babe, I -- I love you." Your lower lip wobbles again, "Yeah?" "Yeah," he nods, sighing weakly, "I knew when we got you your glasses. I knew -- I think I knew from the start. And I'm scared cause I -- I don't love people like this a lot." "Just Steve," you sniffle with a watery laugh. He lets out a chuckle, reaching out to pull you close to him by the waist. "Steve's different," he shrugs, "M'never gonna love anyone like Steve."
"I'm sorry for what I said," he reaches up again, running the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, "I'm sorry for yelling." "I'm sorry, too," you match him, hand reaching up to run your fingers through his bangs, pushing them away from his forehead to kiss it. His eyes shut closed at the soft touch, feeling you step close to him while his face rests on your chest. "I..that was fucked up of me to bring up your dad," you shake your head, "I was just angry I -- I'm so sorry." "It's okay," he mumbles, wrapping his arms around you. He rests his chin on your breasts, looking up at you, "I -- I've done a lot of work to not end up like him. Sometimes it still gets the better of me." "But I need you to know something," his face is soft but serious, "I will never put my hands on you, ever." "Okay," you nod, giving him another kiss on the bridge of his nose. "Only if you ask," he smirks, "Only if you want me to. If we're doing that." You both giggle in that way that couples do when they're being gross, holding each other on the barstool. Silence carries over you when the giggle runs out, both of you exhausted from the night -- from fighting. "I love you, too," you whisper down to him. "Thank god, cause I was really nervous that I just sort of let it all out there for nothing," he whispers back. He stands up, still wrapped up in you, offering you gentle kisses. He holds you there for a minute, you hold each other -- he realizes how tender he is with you. How you pull all of this tenderness out of him. "You're my girl, right?" he asks into the top of your head. You nod into his chest, his hand reaching up to caress over your hair. "Are you mine?" you ask into his shirt. "Yeah," he smirks into a low laugh, "Yeah, I'm your girl." "Can we go to bed?" sleepiness coats the question, a neediness lacing your voice. "Mhm." He leads you up the stairs, calling to his Google home to turn the lights off when you both make it to the top. He got a new candle for his room, something with oud in it. Woody, deep, musky. Ahead of the season. You slip into bed at the same time, leaving your phone on the side table while he slips his glasses on to check something on his. You watch him with his bedside lamp illuminating him from behind. It catches on the frizz in his wavy curls, tied up in ponytail. It bleeds over the slop of his nose and the whites of his eyes. He catches you when he puts his phone to the side, smiling. "What're you lookin' at?" he asks, slipping his glasses off and click out the light. "You just look handsome," you shrug. He murmurs a thank you before dipping down to kiss you when he slides under the covers. For the first time in forever he doesn't want to have sex after a fight -- it almost feels cheap. Like it's a cover -- like he's not really sorry, like he didn't mean all the things he said. "Night, pretty." He pulls you into him when you settle in, your back pressed up against his chest, "I love you." "I love you," you say back, eyes closed, encased in his arms. He's never held someone so tight to him. Not since Chicago.
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MANIAC — CHAPTER [22] of RED LIGHTS [18+!]
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“Who was that crush, Jisung?”
“Like I-I said… I still have that crush…”
“Then who is it?” you specify further.
“It’s… you.”
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← previous part | next part →
💻 Who can resist their so-called enemy, when they’re spending relaxing time together in a hot tub? Well, you sure can’t—although Jisung’s main goal for today is to finally explain the true version of what happened between him and your close friend years ago.
❗️You, Y/N, are part of this year’s season of Red Lights, starring as the main character, surrounded by eight very different men that you have all met before. In order to decide how the story unfolds and what happens in following episodes, select an option for the poll after reading a chapter.
🛷 CONTENT INFO: skz ot8 x afab reader [not at the same time], pls refer to masterlist for more info, reality/dating show AU, minors do not interact since it includes topics only suitable for adults, content warning under the cut
📕 WORD COUNT: 5.3K (what do you expect it’s a jisung chapter after all)
🎸 SPOTIFY PLAYLIST
🥀 CONTENT WARNING: mention of betrayal and rumours, mention of slut shaming, jealousy, explicit sexual content [semi- protected sex, squirting, reader gets called doll, baby and good girl]
The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.
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Jisung stares into his reflection in the mirror. Nothing seems to work—he’s adjusted his hair for the nth time now but still it’s not even close to his liking.
“Just wear your hair like that.”
“Hm?”
“Y/N likes long, messy hair,” Hyunjin says, giving some advice to his younger friend.
“Okay, thanks,” he replies, unsure what to say instead.
Jisung does as he’s told, dishevelling the hair a little, as the wavy strands are now pointing in any direction possible. Yes. That’s good. He looks great. It’s gonna be okay.
God, why is he so fucking nervous?
“You’re excited, Ji?”
“Y-Yeah,” he answers, before turning around and walking towards the bed, where Hyunjin is sitting. He places the remaining items into his duffel bag—a towel, underwear to change into since he is wearing swim trunks underneath his jeans right now, some slippers and the case for his glasses.
“Nervous?”
“Kinda,” Jisung admits with a shy chuckle.
Hyunjin doesn’t quite get why his friend would be nervous. He’s sure this date won’t go that long. You don’t like Jisung and he doesn’t like you that much, either. It’s still weird why he was casted in the first place. Hyunjin has been wondering these days who could be behind the whole concept of Red Lights but he couldn’t find any useful clues. He stopped contemplating once he got bored of thinking about it.
“Why? You’ve been in front of cameras for some days now. Why would you be scared?” he asks with a slight scoff.
Why is Jisung making such a drama out of this?
“It’s– I’m not nervous,” the younger one lies through his teeth.
“Do ya think she’s gonna kick you out, huh?” Hyunjin provokes him, not any bad intentions behind it.
“I-I don’t know.”
But with the state that Jisung is in right now, he doesn’t really care about jokes. He’s gonna tell you about the whole Sooji dilemma today. After all, this is what you deserve—have deserved all this time but especially after that move that she pulled at the Halloween party. You need to know the truth. This isn’t even about Jisung’s feelings for you but you should know that one of your closest friends is a traitor.
“Nah, I don’t think so. After all, Minho is still here, too, and she probably hates that guy,” Hyunjin wonders, getting up from the bed now to grab a bottle of water.
“Hm,” his friend hums in a quiet voice.
“God, Ji, what the fuck is going on with you? You look like a cat on hot bricks,” Hyunjin adds. “Or a squirrel?”
“It’s– nothing… just nervous,” Jisung says.
“But why are you of all people nervous? You have nothing to lose, right?”
Wow, drag the knife a little deeper into the wound, Hyunjin.
Jisung is very much aware that you can’t stand him—personality wise, attractiveness wise this is a whole different story—because of some bullshit that Sooji said years ago. He feels even more pathetic about the fact that he’s still crushing on you after how you’ve ignored him all this time. It’s never been entirely hateful—you didn’t say absolutely mean things to one another, it’s always been rather… distant.
However, this perspective changed twice within the last four months. The first time was Jisung’s birthday party and your little meeting in his storage room. The second time was your Halloween party, when he, one, defended you against rude comments the other guests made while you were playing truth or dare and, second, how he took care of you when you were absolutely shitfaced that night. Jisung brought you to bed—with Seungmin’s help—and watched you fall asleep. All while he was totally drunk, too. But he cared for your well-being a lot more.
Everything that happened after this is an absolute blur—so, Jisung is glad his brain was able to hold onto this memory at least.
“Right, Ji?”
Hyunjin’s friend still doesn’t answer, his head hanging low by now.
And then Jisung can see an actual light bulb appear above the older one’s head.
“No… it all makes sense now,” Hyunjin says, holding back a scoff.
“What?”
“You actually like her… you like her, don’t you?”
“Shut the fuck up, Hyun,” Jisung brushes the accusations off.
“Oh, you totally like her. I can’t believe this.”
Hyunjin’s voice is increasing its volume now, as he hastily walks around in their shared room. God. How has he never noticed? Of course. Of fucking course.
“Are you jealous?”
“Jealous? Jealous? No, I’m not jealous,” he spits through gritted teeth.
“You totally are,” Jisung chuckles.
And about that Jisung is very much correct. Hyunjin’s heart is beating at lightning speed, threatening to burst out of his chest. Fuck. The sole idea of Jisung and you together lets jealousy rush all over him.
Why is he even jealous of Jisung? Well, he’s jealous of all the other men, too, but Jisung is the least likely to get you, after all.
“Please… jealous of who? You?”
Jisung's heart clenches a little. “Maybe.”
“Why would I be jealous of you?”
“I don’t know… I mean, I’m still here,” Jisung says, shrugging his shoulders.
“Yeah… but she hasn’t gone on one single date with you yet,” Hyunjin replies, his words being a lot harsher and louder than intended.
He doesn’t want to be mean to his good friend. But being in this mansion here, cameras around him almost all the time, with seven other men who openly share their fantasies about you whenever they sit together in the evening, has made him irrational and short-tempered.
“Y/N is saving the best for last. Are you afraid of losing, Hyunjin?”
“No.” His voice is stern but not convincing at all. “I actually think… we should expand the bet.”
What?
“Expand it?”
Jisung has totally forgotten that the bet even exists, if he’s honest.
“Hm. We shouldn’t bet on who stays longer on the show but maybe who kisses her first– oh, wait. I’ve already done that,” Hyunjin says with a chuckle.
Jisung scoffs, “What’s next? You’re betting who’s gonna fuck her first?”
Hyunjin’s eyes darken. “That’s a good idea.” He dramatically takes a pause. “However, that has already happened too.”
“What? Here on the show? When?”
“Not on the show,” Hyunjin continues. “But she’s begged me for exactly that like a thousand times before in our apartment. Happened in October and since then we couldn’t stop. Last time was on our couch, the day before we went here.”
Hyunjin doesn’t care anymore that he breaks paragraph 25 of the contract.
‘You are not allowed to share any possible experiences with one of the other participants that happened before the show with another candidate.’
Jisung chuckles. He turns around to face his friend.
“Why are you laughing?”
“If you count it like that, then I actually won that bet. In my storage room. In September, at my birthday party,” Jisung snickers, before clicking his tongue.
What? You had sex with Jisung?
“Are you kidding me?”
“No, Hyun. So, this bet doesn’t work,” he speaks through gritted teeth.
“Hm. We could still bet on who wins the show,” Hyunjin offers with a mischievous smirk plastered all over his pretty face.
“Do whatever you want…”
Jisung closes his bag, before he slips into his sneakers. One last look in the mirror finally makes him satisfied with his current look.
“What? Getting scared now, hm?”
Hyunjin follows him, walking towards the door together with his friend.
“No I– I just don’t think it’s right to bet on Y/N,” Jisung admits.
Hyunjin rolls his eyes at this, “Come on, as if you care. You guys hate each other.” His friend doesn’t respond, gaze directed towards the carpet. “Jisung?”
“What?”
The older one’s eyes widen, as his mouth falls agape, “No… you seriously do like her, huh?”
Jisung sighs, throwing his bag over his shoulders, while he opens the door and slowly steps into the hallway.
“Yes, okay? I like her, do whatever you want with that information… like you said, I don’t have a chance anyway. So, just let me make the best out of this date before she votes me out of the show anyway. Feel free to already pack my suitcase in case you get bored.”
“Ji… I–“
But the door closes shut.
💻
You seriously didn’t expect to meet your so-called enemy on a date in a hot tub. Maybe it just plays right into all those fantasies you’ve had about him—which increased in quantity and quality since that encounter when you were searching for a bottle of vodka back in September.
“Hi,” you say when Jisung approaches you.
He looks almost… nervous.
“Hey.”
The man clears his throat, before he stands right in front of you. He’s got a towel in his hand, his bare chest being revealed to you and the camera. You can’t help it—your gaze flickers down, taking in the breathtaking view of his half naked body. God. Life is fucking unfair.
“Are you… o-okay with this?” he carefully asks.
You don’t feel like teasing him today—shocking, really—when you notice how tense he seems to be.
“I’m fine with this,” you reply with a soft smile. “And you, Sungie?”
Fuck. It’s rare that you call him by that nickname. He once confessed during some drinking game with the friend group that he likes being called by that name. And when you repeatedly did that at the Halloween party when he was taking care of you, Jisung knew he was gonna fall in love with you all over again.
He gets a little flustered when you reach for his hand, guiding him towards the tub that’s filled with steaming hot water. Painfully slowly, you pull the thin black dress you’re wearing over your head, leaving you in your two piece swimsuit.
Jisung gulps, when he sees you like this. Sure, you went on vacation together before with the friend group but he was able to hold himself back at that time—well, until he was alone and disappeared in some bathroom stall, seizing his fist around his hard cock, imagining it was your pretty cunt, until he’d cum all over his hand and stomach. God. How much he’s been missing your pussy.
He gets woken up from his daydreams, when he takes the first step into the warm water. You still lead the way, until the two of you sink down on the bench that’s integrated in the hot tub.
God. He looks ethereal. But you’re actually here to also get to know him better. You’ve done a lot of thinking—not just on the show but also these past months. What kind of changed your view on Jisung—besides that time spent together at his birthday party—was Seungmin telling you that the both of them took care of you when you were drunk on Halloween.
You don’t remember much of that night. You don’t remember this certain scene either. But your childhood friend wouldn’t lie about stuff like this. Your heart skipped a beat, thinking about the idea that Jisung might care a little more about you than you’ve always thought he did. However, this wishful dreaming disappeared again when you reminded yourself what his reputation is… or was.
The hot water feels so good. It helps you ease your mind. In addition to that, it’s both a nice but also disappointing thing that the bubbling water is covering Jisung’s chest.
“I didn't expect you to actually stay on the show when you saw me here the first day,” you decide to start a conversation now.
What? Jisung thought you’d be the one to kick him out?
“I mean… we’re friends, right? Not the closest but…”
“Friends? I thought we see each other as enemies,” you half-jokingly say.
“Enemies to lovers?”
You roll your eyes, trying to hold back a laugh.
“Ji…”
It’s been some time that you've been alone with him. Even apart from what happened at his birthday, you rarely spend time together alone which is mostly, no, entirely to be blamed on you.
“No, but you see me like that. I don’t. If it wasn’t obvious, I like you very much,” Jisung admits, getting all nervous again.
This is an idea of directing the conversation to what he’s been dying to confess, right? You’re gonna vote him out of the show anyway tomorrow so he can just pour his heart out and then drive back home, before he drowns himself in his own embarrassment.
And whereas he’s listening to the splashing sound of the water hitting the walls of the tub, your head is busy with thoughts running in circles.
Jisung likes you? He likes you very much? You’re aware that most of the hatred is on you but after all these years of you ignoring him because of what he did to Sooji you’d expect him to feel the same about you by now.
“How would that have been obvious?”
He looks at you, “The storage room adventure?”
“That– God, don’t call it that. Besides that, I thought you were just horny,” you say.
This wasn’t anything serious, right? Jisung doesn’t do serious after all. That’s why he’s on the other team on this show, this is why he made that move on you that night—to make you just another one of all those girls he fucks.
“Yeah. Horny for you,” he giggles.
There’s the typical bratty Jisung again. You think back to the time you were together. How he flirted with you, provoked you, until you were begging him to touch you. God, you left the remaining piece of your dignity inside his stupid storage room. But you’d do it all over again, if he asked you.
However, this won’t distract you from who Jisung really is. A fuckboy. A guy that goes around to sleep in another person’s bed each weekend. That’s what he does, right? That’s what Sooji says until this day, after all. And she knows him quite well. Unfortunately. God—you can’t believe you’ve been jealous of her all this time. Why on earth are you attracted to Han Jisung?
Well, first of all, he’s absolutely handsome and the life of any party.
But it isn’t just that. Thinking back to when you first met, way back before him and Sooji were a thing, you actually got along quite well. This is also the reason you’ve been left wondering all this time, if there could be more…
Anyway. Back to the conversation and the real Jisung.
“You… if I hadn’t been there you would have just fucked some other girl,” you say with a scoff, crossing your arms in front of your chest.
Jisung’s face falls, “What? No.”
He’s confused. Sure, Sooji has shared some pretty bad lies about him these past years but that fake reputation you’re referring to was about college time.
“Well, yes. That’s what you do. At least that’s what you did on campus,” you add, not quite getting why he’s trying to contradict it.
“My body count is three, Y/N.” Jisung hastily blinks, speaking with a stern voice. “Two, if I don’t count you.”
You chuckle, “Stop lying…”
“I am not. If I was to lie about it I’d make the number higher.”
Oh, God. No, no, no. Something tells you that he isn’t lying.
Could that be true?
Is Jisung actually less experienced than you?
So he only slept with you, Sooji and some other person?
“But… you used to be a fuckboy,” you insist.
“That’s what Sooji said,” Jisung replies.
“And I…”
“Yeah, yeah, blah blah. You believe her, I know. You believe a fucking liar,” he interrupts you.
“And I should just believe you because?”
“You don’t have to believe me either. I’d like it if you formed an opinion on your own, to be honest.” 
The conversation dies down a little. Jisung takes the time to dive under the water for a few seconds, wetting his hair in the process. When he comes up again, you believe he looks even more beautiful than he already does.
Fuck. This is your chance. Something tells you that he isn’t lying. There wouldn’t be any reason for him anyway, right?
After all these years, you need to know the truth and he deserves to show his side of this disaster.
“Okay. Tell me your version of the story, Ji,” you say with a quiet voice.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” you encourage him.
Jisung gets all shy and nervous. Fuck. This is actually the moment he’s been waiting for all this time. He’s always told himself—mainly for his own dignity—to only share the truth if you explicitly ask for it. And here you are now.
“Okay… uhm… God, I’ve waited like three years for this and now I’m fucking overwhelmed,” he confesses.
But you send him a kind smile, feeling a little bad that you haven’t even given him a single chance in all these years, so you’re here to make up for it now. Your hand brushes over his chest and for a moment you swear you can feel the beat of his heart.
“Take all the time you need.”
He nods. How on earth is he supposed to calm down when you’re so close to him? Touching him. Looking at him like this. Being as pretty as you always are. He’s glad that the water is covering most of your body.
God. Jisung. This is not what this conversation is about. Get it together.
He takes a deep breath.
And another one.
Then he starts.
“So… yeah… a few years ago Sooji and I started dating because, you know, our friend groups started interacting since you and Chan got close.” His gaze finds yours and when he sees how you’re attentively listening to him, he gets encouraged to continue. “It w-was all fine until… uhm… until I realised that I couldn’t do this anymore.”
You nod, carefully taking in all the words he speaks, “Would you like to share why? Because in Sooji’s version you ghosted her and became a fuckboy.”
Jisung blinks. God. He has to do this with slow and small steps.
“Yes… I… had feelings for someone else.”
“Sexual feelings?” you tease him.
“N-No… romantic feelings,” he immediately contradicts. “It started as a simple crush but… became more over the years. I’m still not over them, nothing has really changed over the years.”
You wonder who they are. But you decide to not ask him that. At least not for now. It seems as if telling this story is actually hard for him. Well, under the circumstances that it’s true what he’s saying, this is an actual dilemma to be in.
“What happened then?”
“I broke up with Sooji,” he continues. “I felt very bad for it but I was honest and told her why… also told her who that person was… so, she decided to spread that rumour around about me being some disgusting fuckboy as some type of revenge, I guess.”
There are tears in his eyes.
And this is all you need to know that he’s speaking the truth.
Why haven’t you realised earlier? You’re so good at finding out what his role is when playing Mafia or Werewolf but didn’t grasp it in real life?
If you’re honest, deep down you’ve always known that there was something suspicious about this whole story. And deep down you’ve also known that Jisung might have been the actual victim here.
But maybe you didn’t want to live in a world with friends that lie to you. So, making Jisung the bad guy was easier.
“Who was that crush, Jisung?”
You need to know. It must be someone that Sooji might have gotten jealous of. You’ve talked a lot about the jealousy topic with your female friends—she was always on Minho’s side for some reason, probably because she’s similarly possessive like your ex.
“Like I-I said… I still have that crush…”
“Then who is it?” you specify further.
Jisung takes a deep breath. This is it. He can do this.
“It’s… you.”
Your eyes widen.
He’s had a crush on you? All these years?
Your heart skips a beat.
Of course. It all makes sense now. Like he acted with you in the beginning. How he became distant once you believed those accusations about him. The way he looked at you that night. And the fact that he took care of you when you were so drunk on Halloween.
“Seriously?”
“Yes,” he sighs, “I’ve had a crush on you for years. Once I got to know you better, it just developed further and… yeah… here I am, years later, making a total fool of myself.”
You remember that Jisung and you had gotten along quite well in the beginning. He even invited you over once—everything staying innocently—as you realised you share a lot of interests.
“You’re not… making a fool of yourself. It’s… God, I’m so sorry how I treated you, Jisung. I was being so unfair.”
“I get it. Sooji is your friend.”
“Was,” you emphasise.
“I… I understand, Y/N. You also don’t need to say anything, just kick me out of the show so I can finally move on and–“
You interrupt him by placing your hand back on his muscular chest. His heart is beating so fucking fast again. Reaching for his wrist, you guide his palm right where your heart is, showing him how quickly your own is running right now.
“I can’t explain it… we have to get to know each other more, I kinda messed up on that… but I’ve never actually hated you. I hated those rumours. But I-I’ve always found you attractive, you know, and I know that we share lots of interests and all.” You take a deep breath. “We wasted so much time, God…”
Jisung brings his hand to your face, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear, “It’s, okay, Y/N.”
“No– I– I was so mean to you when you didn’t even do anything this whole time…”
He scoots closer now, “We can start over. How about that?”
“O-Okay,” you let out.
“Hi, I’m Jisung. Nice to meet you.”
You can’t help but giggle, “Nice to meet you, Jisung. I’m Y/N.”
“What are your favourite fruits?”
You look at him dumbfounded, “Uhm… strawberries. Yours?”
“Good choice. I like cherries most,” he says. His fingers are pointing at his ears now, showing that he’s wearing cherry earrings. You’re only noticing now. They look gorgeous. Just like him.
Time flies by when you’re with Jisung. You don’t know if it’s been an hour or more that you’ve been talking, sharing some funny stories and memories with one another, making fun of your shared friend group.
Speaking of said friend group, the topics get a little more serious now and regarding all the jealousy drama you’ve been through in your past, there’s a question left that you’re dying to ask. You remember that whenever someone—no matter if a friend or acquaintance—made some rude comment at the Halloween party while playing that truth or dare game and you were… pretty ambitious and honest, Jisung was there to defend you.
That night you also dropped the number of men you slept with. You don’t know if the others remember, you were all pretty much hammered and you forgot about half of it.
“Do you… have an issue with my body count being that high?”
Jisung stares at you in disbelief, “What? No. Why would that be an issue?”
“Uhm… do you remember the Halloween house party at our place?”
“Well… I don’t remember much but I remember that there was one, yes,” he chuckles.
“I don’t remember much either but… when we were all having some talks about… sexual stuff I felt like a few people were judging me,” you confess, feeling embarrassed when you think back.
“Who? Me?”
“No, surprisingly not you. Uhm… Chan… Sooji… Hyunjin, although that makes no sense since he is literally a man whore,” you explain.
“I will always defend you if anyone makes another dumb comment, yeah?”
You smile, “Thank you for this.”
“Don’t praise me for the bare minimum, Y/N.”
He’s right.
“Do you have an issue if… some of the guys I slept with were here at the show?”
You leave out the fact that all the men participating in this show are also the exact men you’ve ever had sex with.
“No, I don’t,” Jisung says with a stern voice.
“If… one of them was Hyunjin?”
“No, no problem,” he says, very convincing.
“And… Chan?”
“Y/N, I seriously don’t care. If it's the case then you probably had a reason to do that, yeah?”
“You’re not even jealous?” you ask.
Jisung smirks, clicking his tongue, “Why would I be jealous if it was me who gave you the best orgasm of your entire life?”
You feel heat creep up to your face and all that brat does is chuckle.
“You look pretty like this, you know,” Jisung softly whispers all of a sudden.
“Like what?” you ask, tilting your head.
“All flustered because of me.”
You roll your eyes.
“I’ve thought a lot about that night, you know?”
You get all shy again, when you say, “Me too, Sungie.”
His gaze flickers down to your lips. He’s a little nervous again, unsure if he should take the initiative and do what he’s been dying to do since September.
But you’re faster, reading the signs just right, when you smash your lips into his.
You stay like this for some seconds—mouths being pressed against one another until he slowly starts moving.
And when he invites your tongue in, you can sense the taste of the utmost desire burning on it. You feel a little dumb for only fully realising now but Jisung is all you’ve ever wanted, ever needed—on every level imaginable.
You forget about time and even about being on a reality TV show for these past days when you’re with him. He’s kissing you so hungrily, so passionately—not comparable to any other experience you’ve had here. Jisung has hovered you into his lap by now and when you start grinding over his hardening bulge, his hands wandering upwards to cup your covered breasts, the water turns into waves.
God. You can’t hold back and you don’t even want to.
“Y/N?”
Jisung suddenly disconnects his lips from yours, looking at you with dark eyes.
“Yeah?”
“I think we’ve been here for almost two hours… how about we take a shower and talk more outside, if you like?”
You nod, “I’d like that.”
💻
Well, taking a shower might become taking a shower together real quick, when you’re in the bathroom together. Jisung is still standing there in his swim trunks only, ready to hop inside.
“You wanna go first?” he asks then.
Taking a few steps towards him, you throw your arms around his neck, “How about we go together, hm?”
Save some water and all, right?
That’s how you find yourself with your not-so-enemy under the streaming water a minute later. Jisung has ripped the swimsuit off your body, stripping you naked just for him. You look like a Goddess. There’s no doubt.
His lips are attached to your neck, while your face is pressed against the shower wall. One of Jisung’s hands is sneaking around to your front—as if you’re on autopilot, you part your legs a little for him, so that he has better access to get right between your thighs. It doesn’t take him long to spread your pussy lips apart, before he starts playing with your clit.
When you let the first moan slip out of you, Jisung chuckles, continuing placing rough kisses and bites on your skin. God. This feels so good. You know exactly why you were so eager that night in September. And you think you’re even more eager now.
Jisung has dipped two fingers inside of you, scissoring you open. Maybe, if you’re obedient enough for him, he’s gonna give you what you’ve begged for the last time he had you in this position. You’re basically halfway there—just like your orgasm—since the two of you have gotten a bit closer emotionally now, too.
The reason why he left that night was simple—first, he wanted you to crave more, second, he wanted some revenge for how you treated him all this time.
However, Jisung is a maniac when it comes to you. When you’re with him like this, the world shuts off and you become his centre of attention.
A few minutes later, when he’s curling his fingers just right inside of you, he has you reaching that sweet relief. God. It was just yesterday that you did the same with both Jeongin and Minho—and now you’re here with your former enemy.
“Ji?”
“Yeah, baby?” he whispers into your ear.
“I-I’m clean. And on the pill… if you… you know.”
He chuckles, “I’m clean too, doll.”
Jisung spins you around, pinning you against the wall of the shower. “You wanted my cock, right? Beg for it again, baby.”
You know exactly what he’s referring to. It wasn’t your proudest moment but you’d do it again and again. And exactly this is what you’re doing now, too.
“Sungie… please,” you look at him with a pout, “need you inside of me… need you to stretch me and fill me with your thick–“
“Okay, okay,” he chuckles.
Jisung grabs you by the hips then, telling you to jump. Your legs seize around his waist and a moment later, you feel the tip of his cock teasing your entrance.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks once more.
“Fuck me already,” you tell him, clicking your tongue.
And he does slide the first few centimetres in, effortlessly, thanks to how wet you are for him. Still, he gives you some time to get used to the feeling. Jisung might not be as huge as Hyunjin is or even Chan, but he’s definitely on the girthier side.
When he fills you with the remaining length, he positions his lips right at your ear, just to whisper, “Yes, what a good girl, biiiig stretch, hm?”
You let out a moan, hastily nodding, telling him to start moving. Jisung does exactly that, as he begins thrusting his cock into your hole.
“Here you go, doll, take my fucking cock,” Jisung grunts.
Oh, God. You’re not gonna last long.
“Fuck– I already feel you clenching around me, doll,” Jisung says between moans.
He changes the angle a little, pounding deeper into you. You can’t help but tighten the grip around his upper body, as your head falls forward, landing in the crook of his neck. To make him feel even better, you decide to attach some little kisses on his skin right there, destined to turn them into a visible memory of this afternoon.
“Sung– s-so good, hmm,” is all you’re able to speak, followed by some mindless babbling.
“Cute little thing, can’t get enough of my cock, hm?” he hums into your ear, using almost the same words like that night.
“Right, yes, right there, Ji–“
Jisung brings one hand right to your clit, rubbing your sensitive bud, as he drives you closer to the edge.
“Come on, doll. Be a fucking good girl, will you?”
You hastily nod, as the feeling takes over you. Your vision goes blurry, as you scream your lungs out, chanting his name like a mantra, once again squirting all over him. Jisung helps you through your high, while he feels himself getting closer, too. He slips out of you, placing you back onto your feet.
To his surprise, you drop down to your knees, stroking him, until he reaches his climax and spills his seeds all over your tits.
Jisung is fast to help you up and clean you with the running water, before he places a soft kiss on your cheek.
“Thank you for this afternoon, Sungie,” you say, giving him a soft smile.
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Results of poll 21 from NO DIGGITY [previous chapter]:
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[This is for a future chapter again! But wtf this is like 1 vote more isn’t it??]
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❤️‍🔥 AUTHOR’S NOTE: ahhh it was so much fun writing this chapter. jisung my one and only finally got a chance too ❤️ i hope you like him as much as i do :( thanks for reading and interacting, i love you all and wish you the nicest day :) thank you for being here and making this story what it is, it wouldn’t be possible without you 🫶🏻
© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited
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amuseoffyre · 4 months
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Got pondering today on the baseline for Ed's experience and life up until he arrives at the Revenge, based on the various fragments of backstory and implicit history that are scattered throughout both seasons.
"we're just not those kind of people"
recurring violence - his mum's black eye and the kraken flashback, which carries over into Ed's instinct to recoil from anyone touching/coming near his face (except Stede)
"Remember how he stabbed us?" "He treated us like dogs. Like worse than dogs" - introduction to a world beyond his family and it's even worse and relentless
"his name was Felix and he was a really nice guy" - his peers being killed slowly and painfully as punishment in front of him
"It's poison!" / "I got the gift you left me, in my glass" - not even food or drink were safe
"that's what you fucking get" - a system of anticipated and constant violence
"cutting off a bloke's toes and feeding them to him for a laugh", "love a good maim" - inured to doing violence to others without question
"I don't wanna go back to the old days, drinking all the time" esp. after Jack's condescending "I didn't know I had an audience with the fucking pope" when he tries to refuse rum - twice, Ed comments on two of his friends about their drinking and twice, he gets scoffed at and then takes a drink from their bottles himself
"I was gonna kill him and burn his face off" - Anne and Mary (his peers from his youth) nodding in agreement that this is normal
"Run me through" / "Whip my balls!" / "Six inches of steel right in you" - violence and brutality as foreplay (And ohhh this puts a whole new light onto his extended freak out about Stede and him sleeping together straight after the Ned Low incident)
Knife Parade - finding it silly and funny and utterly unaware that he was terrorising people because he'd grown up surrounded by that kind of behaviour with Jack, Mary and Anne.
"Didn't apologise for shit" - no apologies, no admitting mistakes, no awareness of doing something wrong (and once he realises, he promptly apologises to Fang and then, awkwardly, stiltedly to Izzy the next episode)
"Your friends are very troubled" / "Yeah. Well, they're pirates" - the self-awareness there that this isn't a normal, healthy way of behaving
No wonder having a glimpse of something different with nice clothes and good food and marmalade and well-meaning friendship opens a door he never knew was even an option 😭
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howdoyouwhiskit · 4 months
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*deep breath* so I’ve been meaning to make a big post about House re:mobility aids and chronic pain treatment for a LONG time so here we go this is gonna be a long ride that probably won’t make a lot of sense in regards to a linear narrative so buckle up motherfuckers
Disclaimer: I am disabled, have chronic pain, and am an ambulatory mobility aid user. I have experience using a cane, forearm crutches, a rollator, and a walker. I understand everyone’s experiences are different. I am writing this from my personal experience with mobility aids which may influence some interpretations of things
Let’s start with the obvious one, House uses his cane wrong. They recognize this in canon. It isn’t simply a case of “oh the show writers were lazy and it’s never mentioned.” What I haven’t seen people discuss is that using a cane the way House does (in my experience anyways) fucking hurts. It isn’t comfortable at all. It feels awkward and clunky and at least personally within a few minutes of using a cane in that fashion my *entire body* hurts. Plus, it doesn’t even really help take the pressure off of my leg pain.
Given the all of him there’s two conclusions that I’d like to make about this (and remember this isn’t canon, just simply my interpretation as a disabled person):
It’s very obvious that House has Feelings about mobility aids. Society can often make people think that using mobility aids is a weakness. Admitting something is wrong. House very clearly doesn’t like to do either of those things. I personally have incredibly complicated feelings about mobility aids that I can’t even begin to put into words. I see myself in House in this regard.
I can’t help but think that him using his cane incorrectly is some fucked up form of self punishment. It’s been brought up in canon that House has a tendency to self harm in various ways. I don’t think that people realizing that him using a cane incorrectly could be related. For those who are unfamiliar, using any mobility aid (even a cane) incorrectly can cause damage. I do not claim to be a doctor but I imagine that House would be dealing with back and shoulder issues at minimum from using his cane the way he does.
The next thought I have is something I think about a lot. It’s clear House’s pain fluctuates, as it does for a lot of chronic pain patients. What I don’t see a lot of people talking about is realistically he could fluctuate mobility aids with the fluctuations of his pain. Yes, I understand there are limitations within his career as a doctor, but this is House MD were talking about there isn’t exactly always exact medical realism is there? I just can’t help but wonder, what would House’s life look like, if he let himself use something other than a cane?
I know there’s an episode where House does use a wheelchair for access to an accessible parking space, and I really really wish they expanded upon this more in canon. Personally, I think House needing to be (but not necessarily acting on it) a part time ambulatory wheelchair user makes sense.
I’ve read some fic/headcanons about House needing a wheelchair (Berber it be due to an advancement in disability or as an acceptance of his current disability) yet everyone talks about him using a shitty hospital grade chair. He’s a doctor who probably has great insurance plus a lofty department head paycheck. If House were in a position to have a wheelchair, he could very very easily access a top of the line custom made chair.
I understand the representation of the standard hospital chair often comes from a place of ignorance about custom wheelchairs, I really do. I just think that the concept of using a hospital chair permanently can cloud the judgement of if it’s truly a “bad thing” or not. Hospital wheelchairs are fucking uncomfortable and not easy to use. A custom chair, when built right, is none of these things.
Just, I’d love more House fanwork that embraces the idea of mobility aids. No, I don’t mean make House randomly decide “oh I’m gonna accept help now” and make him OOC. No, I mean let’s actually dive into House’s feelings about mobility aids, create some fanworks where maybe he works through some of his internalized ableism and self hatred and lets himself be accommodated. I hate seeing fic after fic that makes it seem like it’s some tragedy that House needs crutches or a walker or wheelchair. I want it to be normalized. Disability can be progressive and that’s just life. Yes, it’s upsetting. Yes, it can be sad to those involved. No, it doesn’t mean the end of the world.
Now I think it’s time to talk in regards to the treatment of his chronic pain, outside of the way he accommodates his mobility. I think that, while this is probably related to the writers wanting to stick to the “addicted to Vicodin” plot line, House’s pain management in the series, sucks, to put it lightly. I’ve been to multiple pain management programs (both at formal PM clinics and informal PM done by other specialists) and any doctor worth their salt would have had him on some sort of nerve pain medication and probably some form of muscle relaxer from the very beginning. While, yes, one could argue that House is on these medications and it’s just not mentioned, I really really don’t think that’s the case. You could also argue that he may have been offered these things, and simply refused them. This could very well be the case. However, that doesn’t erase the fact that these things could be helpful.
When House is off Vicodin, they have him substantiating off of exclusively ibuprofen. I’ve had chronic pain bad enough to need opioids treated with high doses of ibuprofen and in my personal experience, it doesn’t do shit. It just upsets your stomach and risks kidney issues and doesn’t actually help with the pain. The fact that just because he deals with addiction he doesn’t get proper pain management is BONKERS to me.
I understand that they were, within the shows canon, attempting to claim that at least some of the pain was psychological. Just because someone’s pain is psychological doesn’t mean you do not treat it. There are plenty of ways to treat psychological pain. Again, one could argue that House simply refused. Again, I’d say that you might be right.
You notice that I say that House very realistically could’ve refused various treatments that could make his life better. Just like how it is with his cane, I believe this is an effort at self punishment. If these efforts at self punishment are conscious or not is genuinely up to you. I personally view it as unconscious, but again, as I said in the beginning, I’m interpreting this the way I see things.
Anyways, just needed to get my thoughts out there, as a crippled person who’s been obsessed with House since before they realized that their chronic pain wasn’t normal. Since before they realized that the word disabled was something that could be applied to them.
Feel free to reply to this with thoughts or questions and y'all are more than welcome to DM me to pick my brain about this!
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tossawary · 3 months
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Overall, in the live-action "One Piece", I liked the way that they did Mihawk visiting the Baratie. I still prefer the manga/anime (Zoro SEES Mihawk fuck up an armada and this wonderful idiot is like, "Yeah, I'm gonna fight him next,"), but I understand why they shifted the Don Kriegs around in order to fit the arc they had created for their limited number of episodes for the East Blue Arc, and I think it was probably the right choice even if it changing the Don Kriegs does give us less of the Baratie crew. All of the arcs were filed down and I can just go back to the manga to see all the East Blue minor characters properly.
I like the fact that OPLA has such a different feel. I think it's fun when adaptations embrace the fact that they're inherently different. I really liked Nami and Zoro's little drinking and questions game. And I thought Usopp getting super drunk at the bar and Mihawk being RIGHT THERE listening to him talk was SO FUNNY. Like, yeah, that gives off the vibe that this warlord does just casually visit bars as he travels, in between fighting armies for funsies, and now I get to also imagine Mihawk casually shopping at specialty goth clothing stores and buying bottles of wine to go as he travels. (And now I have to wonder what would have happened if Zoro had run into Mihawk somewhere like Funky Bar (the bar he mentions to Kuro, which yeah, they did kind of make it sound like a gay bar).)
I like Usopp/Kaya, but now I also like to imagine for a second that Usopp could have accidentally (or on purpose! If you're not going for Usopp/Kaya) HIT ON Mihawk at the Baratie. Maybe he was just trying to compliment the guy's fit or remark on his beautiful eyes or something, because Mihawk definitely has an aesthetic going on, and these words came out a little too flirty? Maybe it was a random bout of drunken courage sure to collapse quickly?
And, in this silly OPLA AU, I like to imagine Mihawk leaning into this at least for intelligence-gathering, like, "Let me buy you a drink. Tell me more." (Side note: Mihawk doesn't really seem like a bar hookup guy to me, like, in general, but counterpoint: SHANKS sure does!)
So, Nami, across the bar, can be like, "Whoa, Usopp's actually pulling some guy." (Mentally, she is evaluating Mihawk as, like, a sugar daddy robbery target. It's like second nature to her at this point. Are they going to have to interfere? Usopp is REALLY drunk. Can she swipe Mihawk's wallet if they interfere?) And Zoro turns around to look and he pauses for a really long time before saying, "...That's Dracule Mihawk, the World's Greatest Swordsman."
So, things proceed pretty much the same way from there, Zoro challenges a warlord and nearly dies, but now Nami and Zoro can hold "flirting with a warlord at a bar" over Usopp's head as an embarrassing story FOREVER. (I think if Usopp tried to own this misunderstanding to lessen the embarrassment, his lying would take over, and this would somehow lead to widespread rumors that someone on the Strawhats is secretly MARRIED to Mihawk or something, because Usopp's luck is terrible. The Navy has to reach out to Mihawk like, "ARE YOU IN LEAGUE WITH THE STRAWHATS THROUGH MARRIAGE?! CONFIRM OR DENY." And Mihawk thinks it's so fucking stupid that he refuses to answer at all.)
After the timeskip, the first thing that Zoro ends up saying to Usopp after 2 years is something like: "Mihawk says hey."
Usopp: (⁠・⁠o⁠・⁠;⁠)
Did Mihawk really say hey? Does he remember Usopp at all? Is Zoro just fucking with Usopp? Usopp will never know. (Maybe Mihawk said something like, "My regards to your crew," but Zoro is totally just fucking with Usopp.)
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