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shellshocklove · 1 month

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wet nights | joel miller

pairing/AU: bfd!joel miller x female!reader – no outbreak

summary: getting beer spilled down your dress at your best friend sarah’s birthday party might not have been so bad– not when her dad can help you clean up.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 25 and joel is 47, reader is described as wearing a dress, swearing, use of pet names, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, exhibitionism, praise with a dash of degradation kink, one small touch of your clit, soft dom!joel, use of sir, cum play, no use of y/n

a/n: mom said it was my turn to write bfd!joel lol. basically this is just me wanting to write joel getting his cock and balls sucked bc it's what he deserves 😌 as always thank you to @dustydaddyyy for reading through this for me! and happy reading <3

main masterlist / ao3

Nodding your head to the beat of the music you gulped down a cooling sip of beer. The bar was stuffed to the brim tonight for Sarah’s birthday. Every chair and booth occupied, large groups huddled together against the walls, and a growing crowd of brave, seemingly deep enough down their drinks, dancers moved across the makeshift dance floor. Leaning against the bar right at the end, you were shielded from the continuous line of people looking for a drink to sate their thirst on this hot summer night.

You’d missed Sarah since graduation. She’d moved back to Austin to be closer to her father – a man you had still to meet even after all these years of knowing Sarah. You’d met in undergrad where you’d had a couple of overlapping classes the first year. She’d been one of those people where you’d just clicked, like a hand in a glove, you two just fit together.

Now you had moved to Austin. It wasn’t exactly planned, but you’d applied to a postgraduate program at the University of Texas, not necessarily thinking you’d get in– but then you had. Sarah had been ecstatic when you’d told her. You hadn’t seen her in person in over a year, but you couldn’t wait to live in the same city as your best friend again.

But first, her 25th birthday party.

Tonight would be your first night out as a new Austinite. Sarah had invited all her closest friends and family to her favorite bar to celebrate. You’d dreaded it a little, you weren’t gonna lie. That nagging anxiety had bubbled under your skin all week at the prospect of being the only one at the party who didn’t know anyone already. Sarah had told you not to worry though when you’d voiced your concern to her a few days ago – she’d introduce you to everyone – nothing to worry about, and she’d been right.

All Sarah’s friends had been extremely friendly and nice, and you’d been taken under their wing immediately. Quickly, your anxiety had melted away, condensing into nothing as you’d started to have a good time.

It was deep into the summer, and Austin had shown itself from its hotter side the last few days. Inside the bar everything ran hot, even with the AC on blast and with the amount of people who’d made their way inside in the last hour, looking for a good time on a Saturday night, it never stood a chance.

Trying to cool off you’d excused yourself from your new group of friends to order yourself a cold beer. One of the ACs blew cold air directly towards the bar, keeping the frantic bartenders cool as they pushed out order after order of drinks. You watched them from where you stood perfectly in the wind of the AC, glass raised to your lips when you felt a hard bump against your shoulder.

“Fuck,” you cursed as your full glass of beer spilled all down your front, staining your white summer dress.

“Shit– sorry, sweetheart.” You didn’t have time to react as your beer was lifted out of your wet hand and placed on the rough wood of the bar.

Looking up from your ruined dress you took in your beer thief as he reached across the bar for some napkins. He was older, forties maybe, maybe older if you were to take the sprinkle of salt and pepper in his hair into consideration, but he was gorgeous. A strong jaw and sculptured nose. Clad in a t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans, you thought he looked casual– not like he belonged to the rest of the birthday party. The material of his t-shirt strained against his bicep as he leaned back from over the bar – a stack of napkins now in his hand. Standing to his full height before you, you noticed just how broad he was, and it made a drop of desire pool in your core.

The man’s previous frantic movements came to a halt as he took you in for the first time; his dark brown eyes rolling down your body and leaving a trail of heat. His fist full of napkins stalled when his eyes landed on your dress, quickly diverting them with a loud clearing of his throat.

“Um– here,” he said, voice strained as he handed you the napkins.

Pulling your eyebrows together in a frown, you looked down at yourself again. The fabric was completely soaked through, and you felt a prickling heat tickle your cheeks as you realized you now looked like a walking ad for a wet t-shirt competition.

“Oh shit,” you muttered, taking the napkins from the man as you tried your best to cover yourself.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart– bumpin’ into ya like that.”

Pressing the napkins to your dress you shook your head at him, “It’s fine– eh,” you looked up from your body.

“Joel,” he introduced himself.

“It’s fine, Joel. It was an accident. I’ll just go to the restroom and try to get the stain out,” you said with a grimace, and reached for more napkins.

“Let me help ya,” he offered as he placed a friendly hand on your elbow.

As Joel guided you through the crowd towards the toilets, hand hovering at a polite distance behind your back, he continued to apologize.

“I feel terrible– let me at least pay for it if it ends up needin’ replacin’.”

Inside the bar’s toilets, you jumped up on the stone countertop lining the wall, turning the closest sink on.

“It’s okay,” you repeated as you busied yourself with trying to clean yourself up, “This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten beer spilled all over me,” you said with a teasing laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Standing beside you with his hip leaning against the stone and a knee popped, Joel huffed out a strained laugh, a laugh somewhere between embarrassment and relief.

“Yeah?” He questioned, eyes falling to your working hands.

“Tell you this much– I’ve had plenty of wet nights.”

A sound escaped Joel at your words, one he quickly tried to cover up with a cough, and you realize your innuendo a second too late. When you looked up from your hands, eyes wide, you noticed that Joel’s cheeks had flushed slightly, like he was embarrassed that he’d even caught onto the innuendo you hadn’t meant to make.

“Oh! No, not like that–” you rushed, tone slightly mortified as your eyes met his, trying very hard not to stutter through the rest of your sentence, “I–uh... I only meant that I uh–... I‘ve had plenty of situations in which I’ve gotten wet–”

At this sentence, Joel raised his eyebrows in a look that seemed half-surprised, half-amused, and your stomach dropped even further into your ass in embarrassment.

“–with water!” you clarified quickly, before you scrunched up your nose in embarrassment, closing your eyes as you huffed out a laughing sigh, “There’s no way I’m getting out of this gracefully, is there?”

You heard Joel’s chuckle to your side, deep and syrupy, like the stuff you’d liked to pour over your pancakes in buckets when you were a kid.

“You’d have gotten away with it if you hadn’t started explainin’, I think,” Joel told you, his tone joking, and you chuckled bashfully, nodding before you looked up at him.

There was a moment in which you exchanged a look, before you felt the smile break over your face and you dissolved into embarrassed laughter, shaking your head as Joel laughed, too.

“Off to a great start,” you muttered in between chuckles, “First week in Austin and I’m already making passes at handsome strangers in bar bathrooms.”

“I never said I was complainin’,” Joel said jokingly, and you let out a chuckle, “First week in Austin, hm?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod, “Here for a postgrad.”

“Smart and beautiful,” he mused, “Reckon I should spill beers more often if this is what I get in return.”

Delicate wings fluttered in your tummy at his words as a feeling of excitement filled your chest. Looking up at him with a raised teasing eyebrow you said, “Not sure spilling beer on someone is the tried and tested formula.”

“Well, that depends, really,” Joel answered back in a teasingly contemplating voice, “‘s it workin’ on you?”

Your stomach dropped slightly at his words, and when your eyes moved to meet his, he was looking at you with a look that made your insides burn.

“Maybe,” you told him with a teasing smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

You were never usually this bold, but there was something in the way he was looking at you and the syrup-y tone of his voice. You could tell he knew what he was doing, knew exactly what to say, and you wanted more. Biting down on your bottom lip coquettishly, you leaned backwards on your arms, giving Joel a full view of the soaked front of your dress, and more specifically, everything he could see underneath.

“And what works on you, Joel?”

You watched with some satisfaction as Joel's eyes ran over the length of your chest, before he quickly redirected them to your eyes.

“You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman here, sweetheart,” he almost whispered, his eyes as dark as the Austin summer night sky. You gave a noncommitted shrug as a teasing smile tugged at your lips. Then, you leaned forward so that you were closer to him, feet dangling slightly.

“I never asked you to be,” you told him, your voice low but not quite a whisper as you looked up at him through your lashes.

Behind your rib cage your heart quickened with excitement as Joel’s darkening gaze bored into yours, and you knew you him right where you wanted him. His eyes danced over your face for a moment, before they flickered down to your lips. It almost made you stop breathing for a second, the tension in the air between you so thick you could cut it with a knife. There was just something about this man, something about Joel – and in this moment you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anyone before.

Maybe it should’ve scared you, the speed at which you’d fallen under his spell (or was it the other way around?), but right now, with Joel’s darkening eyes staring into yours, you couldn't bring yourself to feel any fear. You could only look at him, could only feel his breath fanning over your lips and the intensity of his gaze on your face.

“You’re trouble, aren’t ya?” Joel’s voice was low, not quite a whisper, but full of deep bass.

You felt the expanse of his hand fall on your bare knee, rough and calloused over where your sundress had ridden up.

“Nothing you can’t handle.” You batted your eyelashes semi-innocently, spreading your thighs slightly, which made Joel’s mouth twitch in amusement.

“’s that so, darlin’?” He asked, taking his place between your legs, your face now only inches from his as he looked down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Mhm,” you nodded slightly, your hand falling over his to guide it slowly up your thigh, “Don’t you wanna find out?”

As Joel’s index finger made contact with the side seam of your underwear, he closed the space between you and pressed his lips against yours. The hairs of his mustache tickled your cupid’s bow as he dove deeper, lips rolling over yours. You sat up slightly when his other hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your core rubbing up against his growing bulge. You whimpered against his lips at the contact, and Joel inhaled it, consuming every breathy moan and whimper.

His hand slid slowly downwards to your ass where he gave it a nice squeeze, pulling you even closer when your legs came up to wrap around his waist. He licked at your lower lip hungrily, and you opened yourself up to him to allow him to deepen the kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. He was a great kisser, probably the best you’d kissed. His lips moved expertly over yours, soft and firm at the same time as he guided you through it.

The grip on your ass tightened again and soon you were half-way to hanging off the counter as he rocked his front steadily against your core, where your arousal had started to pool. The kisses turned needier then, shorter and desperate between quiet whines. You could feel the shape of him against you, hard and thick, and big. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you as you imagined yourself on your knees before him, the weight and taste of him on your tongue. He was so fucking hot, and you wanted him so fucking badly.

“Can I suck your cock?” you panted through frantic kisses.

Joel pulled back slightly, head tipped back to find your eyes.

“You wanna suck my cock?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. You only nodded, head tipping slowly with the bite of your lip.

Joel tsk-ed, “Dirty girl,” he said and rocked his hard bulge against your core, which earned him a moan. It made a wicked grin spread across his face, like he’d just proved a point.

His hands left your body as he slowly stepped backwards – that same cocky grin adorning his features as he nodded towards one of the stalls. Jumping off the countertop, you almost tripped over your feet to follow him inside.

“Relax, baby– ain’t no need to get on your knees until after we’re inside,” he teased, holding the door open for you, bicep bulging against the fabric of his t-shirt. Fuck, he looked so hot.

“Ha-ha,” you fake-laughed at him with a teasing roll of your eyes as you stepped past him and into the bathroom stall. When the door clicked behind him, followed by the unmistakable sound of the lock turning, you felt a pair of strong hands land on your hips as he pressed his body against your back.

“I’m only teasin’,” he reassured you in your ear, his breath fanning over the shell and sending a tingle down your spine. Turning around in his hold, your own teasing smile spread across your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yeah?” you queried with the raise of an eyebrow, “Well two can play that game, sir” you teased as you slowly sunk to your knees, missing the way Joel reacted to the title you’d assigned him.

From above Joel watched you, body relaxed and composed like he wasn’t about to get his dick sucked, but the lust in his eyes gave him away. Your teeth caught on your bottom lip as you fumbled with his belt, the sound of metal clinking bouncing off the tiles as you focused on popping the button on his jeans and pulling the zipper down. You couldn’t take your eyes off the shape of him hidden behind the denim, and it made your mouth water, your thighs squeezing together. You were mesmerized as you let your pointer finger run over the covered length of him, the cotton fabric of his boxer briefs soft under your fingertips.

For a moment, you couldn’t believe what you were about to do – suck a man you’d just met less than an hour ago off in the bathroom stall of some dingy bar? But then again, something excited you about it.

Maybe it was Joel? Or maybe it was the thrill of it all– of maybe getting caught?

“Go on, darlin’, it’s okay– be a good girl n’ take it out f’me,” Joel ordered from above, his voice dropping an octave. You looked up at him, caught the way he studied you, gauging your every move and reaction.

Then something shifted in his eyes, a flash of insecurity making its presence known, “Or don’t– we can stop f’you want– if you ain’t feelin’ it anymore.”

You shook your head before he’d even finished his sentence. God, no! You sure as hell didn’t want to stop.

“I wanna keep going, Joel,” you smiled, your fingers hooking into the elastic band of his boxer briefs.

A genuine smile bloomed across his face then, his rough hand coming down to cup your chin, “That’s good, baby,” he said, swiping his thumb slowly over your skin, before he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Know you’ll be good f’me, won’t you?” he whispered against your lips, drawing a breathy whine from you at the praise.

“Yes,” you sighed, almost breathless as he kissed you again quickly before he murmured against your lips, “Yes, you will, darlin’– you’re gonna choke on my cock ‘n thank me for it, won’t ya?”

He was driving you mad with all these questions. In just a few minutes, this man had turned you inside out, pushed every button to turn you on– you were practically swimming in your panties, your mind clouded in hazy arousal.

You didn’t know what to do, and not thinking clearly, you chased his lips.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chuckled, pulling away slightly, “lemme hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you sighed again, “thank you for giving me your cock.”

“Thank you for giving me your cock, what?”

This manwas relentless.

“Thank you for giving me your cock, sir?” you tried, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.

Pleased, a satisfied grin pulled at Joel’s lips. He rewarded you with a quick kiss before he pulled away, standing to his full height again.

You couldn’t wait any longer, you needed to touch him. Hooking your fingers into the elastic band of his boxer briefs again, you slowly pulled them down, revealing inch by inch of the base of his fat cock.

He was big, and the sight made your mouth water, but what excited you the most was the weight of his heavy balls.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes wide with fascination.

His hand found the back of your neck in a grounding hold as he guided you closer, your lips bumping against his tip. “Give it a kiss, baby… just like that,” he praised as you did exactly what he wanted, placing a kiss to his cock the same way you’d kissed his lips.

Over you, you could hear Joel release a content breathy chuckle, “That’s so good, baby, such a good girl.”

Egged on by his praises, you shifted a little on your knees, steadying your hands on his thighs as you pooled a blob of spit in your mouth that you let drip down the head. Joel watched you intensely as you used your dominant hand to slowly work the spit over his length, earning yourself a strained grunt. He grew even harder in your hand as you familiarized yourself with the weight and size of him in your hand.

“Wanna taste it, sir,” you said and placed another soft kiss to the head, swiping your tongue over the slit to taste the precum that had started to pearl.

“Yeah?” he taunted, almost degrading, “You wanna taste my cock that badly?”

“Y-yes,” you whined, looking up at him through your lashes.

Joel watched you for a beat before he tapped at the hand wrapped around him, shooing it away as he fisted himself. “Open wide then, honey, ‘f you want it that bad,” he said, slapping his cock against the side of your face.

Your mouth dropped open in an instance as Joel stuffed his cock inside your mouth slowly. You opened up as wide as you possibly could, relaxing your jaw to accommodate the size of him in your mouth. It was a wide stretch, and the tip touched the back of your throat far too soon, making you gag around the head.

He pulled back to let you breathe for a moment, before he sunk back down your throat again, a large and grounding hand resting at the back of your head. The second time you were more prepared to take him, holding him in your throat for a few moments longer before you started to gag. Over you, Joel let out a strained grunt; the noise sending a bolt of arousal straight to your core.

After that, Joel let you take the lead.

You started out slow, taking the head into your mouth as you let your spit-covered fingers glide over his shaft in an experimental tug. Under your fist, a slick sound echoed off the tiles with every jerk of his cock. You made sure his cock was thoroughly coated in your spit as you set a steady rhythm. You let your tongue glide over the underside of his tip, his hips bucking when you dipped your tongue into the slit.

It was sloppy, and wet, and the noises coming from your throat were entirely too obscene as you started bobbing your head, taking him down your throat.

“That’s a good girl,” Joel praised you, helping guide his cock down your throat with the hand resting at the back of your head. “You love suckin’ cock, don’t you? Love havin’ a big cock fill up that tight throat?”

Suddenly, you heard the muted music coming from the bar grow louder before dying again at the sound of the door slamming shut. You stilled your movements in panic as you heard someone slip into the stall to your right. Your eyes met Joel as you slipped his cock out your mouth, but to your surprise he looked far from concerned about the new audience.

Stretching his neck he turned his head in the direction of the occupied stall, while he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock. Even in his hands it looked big, and you started to wonder how you’d ever managed to fit it down your throat. A beat passed before he turned his head to look at you again, a wicked grin coating his lips as he bobbed his cock in your face, rubbing the head over your closed lips before he slapped it lightly against your cheek.

“Open up,” he mouthed with another light slap to your cheek. His actions made a tingle of arousal spread throughout your body, and you realized in shock how much the thought of getting caught turned you on.

You did as Joel said and opened your mouth for him to feed you his cock again. He watched you very closely this time, letting you ease yourself down his cock at your own pace, trying your best to be quiet. When the very tip of your nose made contact with the thatch of coarse dark hair at the base and your lips were snug around his cock, Joel couldn’t help himself. The grounding hand at the back of your head held you down as he shoved himself as deep as he possibly could down your throat, his balls bouncing against your chin at the movement.

To your right you heard the unmistakable sound of a toilet being flushed and a lock being twisted. Your eyes welled up with tears, your vision fogging over as you tried your best to fight against your gag reflex. Over you, Joel watched you with a proud smirk on his lips. When the sound of the sink turning on echoed through the restroom, you allowed a whimpering gag to escape you as you squeezed your eyes shut.

It shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did, but the thrill of getting caught choking on an older man’s cock, a man who was essentially a stranger, made you wonder if you could come untouched. You were so close already, just a flick of your clit would send you off the edge of bliss.

Your eyes were about to roll back into your head when Joel finally pulled back. You gasped violently for air at the exact moment the door opened, filling the toilets with loud music for a moment before you and Joel were locked away again in your own little world. Like you were on autopilot, your hand slipped between your thighs to find your clit, and soon you were withering with your orgasm.

“Oh, there you go, honey, come all over those fingers f’me, just like that,” you heard Joel say, though the force of your orgasm made it seem like he was far away, like your ears were filled with cotton.

When you finally calmed down, you steadied yourself with a tug at Joel’s jeans – the fabric rough under your fingertips. Over you Joel fisted his cock as he watched you with a wild look in his eyes.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot comin’ like that just from gettin’ your throat fucked.”

“Thank you, sir,” you managed to let out, your voice strained and hoarse.

Realizing he must’ve been close, you sat up straighter on your knees, ready to pull him off the edge too. Leaning forward, you stuck out your tongue, licking a fat strip up the seam of his balls to the underside of his shaft. His cock jumped in his hand as Joel let out a breathy laugh.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, “Look me in the eyes honey– look me in the eyes when you lick my balls.” Joel jerked his cock above your face as you continued to lick at his heavy balls – your eyes locked with his.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he choked out through groans, “Suck on ‘em, baby, suck on my balls.”

Blinking up at him you tried your best to fit one of them in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking greedily and lapping at the skin, before you moved on to treat the other with the same amount of love.

Joel’s mouth dropped open in a gape, his breath coming out quicker and more staggered. He squeezed himself harder at the base with each jerk before skating his thumb over the swollen head, massaging it.

“Fuck,” he panted, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna fuckin’ come.”

Popping his balls from your mouth you hurriedly sat up in front of him, the tip off his cock brushing over the plump of your bottom lip with every thug of his cock.

“Please, sir,” you begged, “Please, come in my mouth.”

Joel wasn’t one to deny your request, especially not when you were sat so pretty in front of him with your tongue sticking out.

A second later, Joel shoved his cock in your mouth and came – balls drawn tight as he shot his load down your throat. The force of it made you gag a little at first, the restriction around his sensitive cock only making him come harder. He groaned above you as you sucked him dry, before he pulled back when it was too much, and caught his breath.

“Say Ah,” he said, a gentle but firm hand cupping your jaw. The squeeze of his fingers made your mouth drop open to reveal the cum coated on your tongue and where it pooled at the back of your throat. “Don’t swallow– Let me see, darlin’.”

Your smile fought against his grip. Sticking your tongue out the best you could, you let him see the state he’d left you in; chin coated in saliva, tears starting to dry on your cheeks, mouth puffy and fucked, and marked in this stranger’s cum.

“Pretty as a picture,” he tutted before he let go of your jaw, and with a pat to your cheek finally gave you permission to swallow.

After that it was like the spell had broken between you. Joel helped you to your feet, both of you giggling when your legs wobbled like a foal unsteady on its feet. He held you upright with a strong hand to your waist, while the other one traveled up the length of your body to cup your face, and bring it closer to place a slow and sensual kiss to your lips.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’d never done anything like that before?” You asked him a moment later as he helped you clean your face by the sink.

Joel gave you a look in the mirror.

“You don’t?” you exclaimed.

Joel gave you an infuriatingly casual shrug, “It ain’t your first time suckin’ dick that’s for sure,” he teased with a pinch to your side which made you jump.

Giving him a playful shove, you said, “I’m not lying! I’ve never had a one-night stand.”

“Well, the night’s still young,” Joel joked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and dipping his head to place a soft kiss to the column of your neck.

You leaned into his touch, feeling the soft grip of his hands on your body, and the soft presses of his kisses as you watched the two of you in the mirror. You found that you liked the reflection looking back at you, and if you were lucky, you hoped he liked it too; maybe enough to want to see you again.

“I can’t go back out there like this,” you said after a moment.

Your dress had finally dried, but so had the beer – staining it yellow.

Joel lifted his head from your neck to rest his chin on your shoulder as his eyes scanned your body in the mirror.

“I have a flannel in my truck I can borrow you?”

“More layers in this heat?” you questioned, already sweating at the thought.

A wide grin spread across Joel’s face, full of mischief, “I guess I’ll just have to take ‘em off of you later, then.”

Turning around in his hold, you wrapped your hands around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair curling at his neck as you met his eyes. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” you whispered, painfully aware of the wet stain of arousal soiling your panties and sticking to your cunt.

“No, it doesn’t,” Joel hummed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

“Wanna get out of here?” you asked and brushed your lips over his.

A moment later Joel guided you out the restrooms with a protective hand resting at the small of your back. Weaving through the crowd, you’d made your way almost to the exit when you heard a shout of your name over the music.

“There you are!” Sarah shouted again as she moved through the crowd towards you and Joel, arms reached out to the sky.

“Oh! And you’ve finally met my dad!”

i hope this was okay and that someone liked this? as always feedback as a comment, in the tags, as an ask or reply is very much appreciated, and they make me super happy! <3 i'm very curious to hear your thoughts about this! <3

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 7 months

Text

Simon screwing you in the shower.

The warm water dripped over your bodies like rain, coating everything inside of the shower with a layer of wetness. Sealed inside the oasis, a thick layer of heavy condensation filled the air, making all that you touched from each other to the walls slick.

Simon's large hand dug into your hip, making sure he had a good, strong grip on your thigh that he held up against his side so that he could thrust inside you easily.

Your hand was pressed against the foggy glass of the shower door, using it as a bit of leverage to keep you steady while those wide, muscular hips of his ground into your own as they rolled his cock into your pussy over and over again.

"Fuckin' hell," that husky voice hit your ears over the sound of the running water. His raw lips had just disconnected from around the tender flesh of your neck to move higher up towards your ear as he left a trail of burning kisses all along the moist surface.

Head back as he worked his magic, you felt him hum into your skin, his hips never loosing speed as he kept that's delirious rhythm steady on. "Cannot get enough of ya," he growled. "Even when I'm inside ya, I need more. I'm fuckin desperate, luv. Goddamn desperate."

Two beefy arms shoved you back suddenly as Simon pulled out of you, making you hit the back wall with a light thud as your body bounced off of it, but quickly you were scooped back up as he wrapped those arms back around your waist to hoist you up, making you throw your legs around him to hold on.

"Goddammit, I can't take it, need more... now," the desperation in his tone made your legs vibrate. Your clit twinged as he moved in and caught your lips with his own, squatting down so that he could realign his cock with your entrance and strike back up into you in one smooth motion.

All this wet, all this warmth, all this tepid flesh at his disposal, that only made the primal part of himself gain full control. As your bodies slipped and slid across each other, your back pressed firmly against the shower wall as your tits were pressed into his chest, he could do nothing more that rut into you like some beast hell bent on getting what was his.

His pace caught right back up to where it was seconds before, not a moment to spare. "You've put me under a spell, ya bitch," he grunted with the force of his thrusts. "I can't stop fuckin' pining for this tight little pussy. Gonna go fuckin' mad."

Your forearms wrapped around his broad shoulders as you held on while he bucked wildly in and out of you. The muscles in his back contracted and released under your fingertips, another sign of just how desperately rough his movements were.

His flesh was on fire, burning for you and only you, and even the water from the shower head was no help in taming it's flames. There was a part of him that worried he would not be able to stop until he had completely devoured everything inch of you; that was how strong his need was.

"Mine," he claimed aloud as you whimpered into his shoulder, his cock hitting that specific bundle of nerve ending inside you. "You're all mine, sweetheart. Ya got that? I can't fuckin' stand the thought of anyone else havin' ya, ever."

"Yes," you breathed, "say it again baby."

He smirked. "You're mine, mine. No one else can ever fuckin' touch ya. I ain't ever sharin' all this beauty."

A blanket of steamy air surrounded you both as the hot warm continued to pour in, locking out the entire world from the inside of the shower so it felt you were a million miles away. To be in such a place, in the throws of passion as Simon declared his claim to you, it was all so overwhelming that your body ached lustfully for release.

Fingernails dug into his back as the last bits of your sanity had you clinging on for dear life, the raw lines across his shoulder blades stinging from the water pouring down the contours of his back. "Goddamn, I just wanna keep my cock buried in you foreva," he hissed at your delicious roughness as your hips rolled over him, the pressure nearly at its peak. You were panting like a bitch in heat and he was doing everything he could to push you over the edge.

Pumping in and out of you with everything he had, his head wandered down the front of your chest as he squat down a little more, his mouth hungrily searching for it's prize. Finally he is able to reach your tit and greedily he took the nipple into his mouth, sucking on the supple flesh as the tip of his tongue rolled around the silk smooth areola.

God your soft breast felt like heaven in between his lips, the damned flesh so juicy. He had to press his body even harder into your own to keep you from slipping, but it was worth it just to keep your tit locked in his mouth.

"Fuck, Simon," you moaned, your fingers running up the back on his neck to his head where you tangled them into his short, wet locks. That mouth was making you vibrate as the sensation of suction sent shocks of pleasure tingling down your spine.

Not one to ever leave any man behind, Simon unlatched from the first breast to give the other the same amount of attention. It was all too much, the pumping between your legs mixed with the tingling sensation at your breasts, and that heated pressure began gathering in the pit of your stomach, about to violently through you off.

Your hips ground more into him, he knows that telltale sign that you are close. Amber eyes met yours again as he moved back up to his full height; he needed to see it, the look in your eyes as you come.

"I know you're close, luv," he says assuredly. "That's it sweetheart, come for me. Come all over my fuckin' cock. Goddammit I need you to come for me...so bad..."

Simon had to have it, you orgasm; he needed to know that your body responded to his in that very precise way that would make sure you'd never stray. He desperately needed to be the one to get you off. And as he staved off his own orgasm, he would.

"Don't stop," you begged as your head fell back against the wall... as if Simon would ever even dream of such a thing.

"Not until your legs are fuckin' quakin', sweetheart."

His thighs were burning with shooting pain as he continued to squat under you, but he didn't stop; it was worthy any amount of discomfort to see you come completely undone.

Your fingers in his hair clenched down, yanking wildly at his hair as with a few more precise thrusts that warmth finally shot through your torso and you rocked forward against with a cry.

"A-ah... f-f-fuck..." you stammered as your orgasm shook through you.

"That's it," Simon coaxed you through it, "ride it all the fuckin' way with me, luv...almost there..."

And not even a few seconds more he followed suit, a gravely roar ripping through his chest as he milked himself completely dry, his body convulsing with the strength of his ejaculation; fuck did you always make him come so hard.

"G-goddamn..." he said through heavy breaths, his soaking head coming to rest with it's forehead against your shoulder.

He did not let you go until you had both calmed, just letting the sound of the running water and your breathing lull you both back down. Picking up his head from your body, he laid a breathless kiss up on your lips, his face resting against your own from sheer exhaustion.

"Told ya you'd fuckin' enjoy it," he said, playful smile plastered to those full lips.

Carefully he set you back on your feet, your legs wobbling tiredly from the exertion. "You could make me enjoy anything," you admitted freely. "We'll have to do it again sometime."

Simon's fingers twirled the loose, wet strands of your hair between them. "You got it wrong, luv, ya see it's you that could make me enjoy any fuckin' thing. My beautiful girl, I'd have a right ol time in hell if you were the one to take me there."

His large hand lingered against your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft, supple skin. "You've got me fuckin' whipped, sweetheart, and I am more than fine to keep it that way."

He held you close, peppering your cheeks with stray kisses as he moved you both back fully under the shower head, ready to clean up the delicious mess he had just made.

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mochie85 · 4 months

Text

Blue Christmas

One-Shots Masterlist | Complete Masterlist | Secret Santa Masterlist

Summary: You ask Loki to give you something special for Christmas. A/N: This is a Secret Santa gift for @divine-knight-hand. I wanted to give you everything you requested, my love, but I already wrote something similar a while ago. For the sake of not sounding repetitive, I altered your request just a little bit. I hope you still like it. However, please check out the other story because it checks off all your points! And is Christmas-themed! Mayari: If You Let Me. Also, sorry for the cringy title. I couldn't think of anything else. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: Over 2.7k Warnings: Explicit. Smut. P in V. Jotunn Loki (yes, cuz he's a whole warning!)

You crossed your legs as the last rays of the sun were trickling down on your body. Your book was discarded on the ground as the condensation from your Pina Colada dripped down onto the side table.

Loki had surprised you and whisked you away to the Fiji Islands for Christmas— no more crowded New York streets. No more dirty ice falling onto you from the splash of an oncoming taxicab. And certainly, no more missions and assignments till the New Year.

It had been an exhaustive nineteen-hour flight. Especially since he didn’t tell you anything he was planning. When you came home to your room earlier that day, you were greeted by Loki with two suitcases on either side of him.

“Merry Yuletide, Darling,” he said as he rolled your luggage over to you and kissed you on your lips in greeting.

“Loki- what?”

“No time to explain, we need to leave now in order to catch our flight,” he said ushering you out the door by patting you on the bum. You jumped up with giddiness, planting a lipstick-stained kiss on his cheek. He was always surprising you with little trinkets and excursions.

“Thank you, sir,” you said in a deep voice.

“Ooh, you dangerous nymph. Go on. I need my wits about me till we get on the plane. I can’t have you distracting me.”

“Then, after?” you asked luring him to a sinful promise.

“After,” he promised in the same breathy tone.

That was two days ago. Loki had kept his promise, and then some- inducting you both into the mile-high club several times over.

Now, here you were in a private villa surrounded by an infinity pool that stretched towards the Pacific, watching your godly boyfriend come out of the water. He ran his hands through his hair, combing the droplets from his tresses. Beads fell down the defined lines of his muscles causing you to heat up in the already balmy weather.

The sight of Loki, wet and in nothing but short swim trunks, was enough to make you convulse. You were sure that if Michelangelo had a model for David, it would’ve been Loki. And knowing Loki, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was him.

He came up to you, lounging on your chair, and shook his wet hair in front of you to tease you. “St-stop!” you laughed as you playfully pushed him before you got completely wet.

“Awe, come on, Darling. I thought you liked me wet?” he charmed as he sat next to you and leaned in for a kiss.

“I have to admit, it is kind of refreshing.” You said as your hands guided themselves around his slick body. “It’s so hot here. I might need something to cool me down,” you tempted.

There was a flash of understanding in his face. Nights of hedonistic pleasure and anticipation of his moods taught you how to read him. If you weren’t so attuned to him- so zealously infatuated with him and his praise over you, you would have missed it. But you didn’t.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Nothing. I just-” he paused for a second, trying to find the right words. “There was a reason why I chose Fiji.”

“You mean, the beautiful waters and sandy beaches weren’t enough of a reason?” you joked.

“It’s in the southern hemisphere. Which means that it’s summer here whilst still cold and winter back home.”

“Why would the season be an issue?”

“Contingency.”

“Contingency, for what?” you asked confused.

“It was about what you wanted for Christmas,” he answered slowly. Confusion still clouding your memory. Little bits and pieces of a long-forgotten conversation nipped at your mind as you tried to piece together what you had asked him to give you.

As if to remind you, Loki raised his hand and cupped your face. As he did so, his fingers turned a beautiful shade of blue. It was fair, yet sharp. It reminded you of the color of blue thistles on a cold afternoon.

As he touched your cheek, a shiver ran down your skin making you shudder for the first time since you arrived. Realization struck you as you remembered the conversation you two had a month ago.

“I think I know what I want for Christmas,” you lured him in. “And what is that, my Darling?” Loki said absentmindedly while looking through his mission briefing. “You." “You already have me,” he scoffed, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I meant…all of you…the other you…” you trailed silently. Loki looked at you bewildered. There were many nights he had dreamt of taking you in his other form, wondering how you would react to him. He’s postponed showing you this long because he was afraid of his feral nature. He would be at the mercy of his urges and base needs. Loki wasn’t quite sure how to ease you into that new situation. Would he be too much for you? Knowing your adventurous spirit, you wouldn’t mind having his beastly side take you. “Why, you little nymph. Now, why would you want to see that side of me, hmm?”

Excitement bubbled up inside you. “Loki, I-” you started, but he quickly put a finger to your lips to quiet you.

“I want this, Darling. And I want it with you. So, if at any point in time, you want to stop, you know our safe word.” You nodded your head enthusiastically and Loki chuckled. “But I should let you know, that…there was a reason why I’ve waited this long to show you. I become somewhat different when I change. Jotunns, in their very nature, are severe. Harsher. They have to be, to live in the climate they do, and survive.”

You sat there, fervently hanging onto every word Loki was saying. “We relied upon each other for strength, for warmth, basic needs…” Loki trailed off, tracing your lower lip with his cold finger. “You can imagine the creativity we had in finding ways to keep our blood warm and stave off the frigid climate.” You nodded solemnly at his words as if they were gospel.

“If we do this, I need you to be in control. Do you understand me, Darling?” he asked, inching closer to you. You felt a shiver run down your body. You focused on his eyes as his lips weaved a spell for you to follow. “I won’t know how much is too much. How rough is too rough.”

Loki grabbed your hips and sat you on his lap. The sudden move made you yelp into his arms. “Sorry, my dear. You see, I’m already too excited. My body is reacting to you.” He ran his nose up and down your neck. His cold hands encircled your back, caging you on top of him. “I’ve wanted to take you like this for so long.” His hands entwined themselves with your hair and pulled as his lips met yours in a crushing kiss.

You held on tightly, with your legs wrapped around his waist, as Loki stood up and walked both of you to the edge of your bed. When he broke the kiss, you heard him moan before he continued to suck a bruise onto your neck.

You felt his body change. The hairs atop your skin began to stand as the temperature began to drop. The once-sweltering heat that prickled your skin was replaced by the cool tingles of his touch. It surrounded you and enveloped you in a cold caress. You finally understood the need for a warmer climate. With a slight force, he released you from him, falling onto the soft mattress below.

That was when you had your first glimpse of his true self. The beautiful shade of blue you had seen earlier spread throughout his body. His form was somehow sharper, more jagged. Yet still soft and giving. He had markings defined by fine lines and grooves. They traced over his muscles and sinew, highlighting the best parts of himself. You followed them with your eyes as it led your stare down to his protruding cock. Your jaw went slack as you noticed how hard he was for you already.

Loki watched you appraise him. Your wanton eyes grew darker, and your breathing got quicker. His senses picked up every reaction that your body was going through. He was prepared to confront your fear or disgust, but he couldn’t see that in your face. Instead, he saw hunger and need. He could smell your desire growing for him and it made him feral. He wrapped his hands around his shaft, stroking himself to the sight of you, ready and waiting on his bed.

Loki felt ravenous as he knelt over you on top of the sheets. He spread your legs apart, seating himself in between the warmth of your thighs. His heavy cock resting atop your wet cunt. His hands eagerly tore up your swimsuit as they explored and venerated your body. His lip’s sole mission was to mark bruises where his hands had trailed, following the chill of his touch.

“…Loki…”

“Shh, Darling. I won’t hurt you. Unless you want me to,” he winked as he nipped the underside of your breast. Too many emotions. Too many thoughts. They were swirling at the forefront of his mind wanting to be said. His desire for you was overwhelming him.

In this form, he felt more primal. His emotions were stronger and almost frightening, but all he felt was fire. Everywhere. An all-consuming heat that wouldn’t dissipate until he had claimed you. His need for you was never as aggressive as it was right now. If he wasn’t careful, he knew he could easily hurt you. He needed you to be in control.

“Don’t stop,” you begged him.

“And what would you have me do my Darling?” he breathed onto your skin. “Tell me, and I will comply.” Loki was giving you the green light. The authority to take over because he wasn’t sure if he could be gentle enough not to harm you.

Oh, but the fire. The fire inside him wouldn’t relent. “Shall I force my cock down your throat till you gag for me to stop?” he suggested with a grin. You bit your lip and moaned as the image took hold in your mind. You moved your hips involuntarily, rubbing against his hefty shaft.

“Maybe I’ll edge you for the rest of our stay. Keep you here tied to our bed, my little slave, until I’ve properly bred you.” Loki seized your lips and held you down on the bed. His cold hands capture your wrist in an icy grip.

“S’cold,” you gritted.

“You can take it. You don’t mind a little bit of frostbite. Don’t you, my love?” He ground his hips as he bit into the soft flesh of your shoulder, leaving teeth marks in their wake. You felt his hard cock rub against your sensitive nub. It elicited the most erotic noise from your lips. Loki fought to keep his composure. With every moan you made, it got harder and harder for him to control his urges.

“I thought this was supposed to be my Christmas present,” you sighed, regaining some form of authority and clarity. You intertwined your fingers with his and signaled him to turn over with your hip. You pushed his shoulders down onto the bed as you straddled his waist.

Loki looked up at you in all your glory. Your beautiful face shining down with love and adoration was enough to heal the worry and anxiety he was feeling. “I want to admire my present,” you pouted as your eyes took all of him in.

His mischievous smile broke through as he raised his arms and placed his hands behind his head. “As you wish,” he hissed as the corded muscles in his biceps swelled.

You traced his beautiful blue markings down from his arms to his pecs. “You’re beautiful,” you whispered absent-mindedly, getting lost in the exploration of his body. Loki blushed at your words. He had never heard that word describe his Jotunn form before and it ignited a warm glow inside of him. Different than the fire, but still heated.

You leaned over him as your study led you to his neck and handsome face. You traced his dark lips as he opened them. His bright ruby eyes concentrated on you. “I love my present,” you whispered before you gently kissed him. “Thank you.”

Loki deepened the kiss, his tongue invading yours, as he wrapped his arms around you once again. His cold touch left a trail of goosebumps as he squeezed and grabbed your ass. He raised you slightly with one hand. And with the other, he guided himself into your entrance. The slick of your arousal coating the tip of his hard cock. “Are you ready for me?” he grunted. You nodded your head, keeping your lips on his, not wanting to break contact.

He thrust deep into your body. His heels held on against the mattress of the bed. He held your hips stable as he continued to drive upwards slowly- savoring how snug you were around him. Every pull of your tight pussy made him moan your name. “…yes…” he whined.

You sat up, holding onto his shoulders for support. “I need you, Loki,” you pleaded. Your nails dug into his dark skin as your hips took over his strokes. “…deeper…faster…”

“Take me then, Darling. Use me.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to do this for you. To be good for you. With each push of your hips, he unraveled each time. Crowning to a tight knot in his abdomen.

You waited patiently for him to open his eyes and see the love and pride you had for him. When he did, you were met with an intense sparkle of carmine. Desire and vulnerability shone through, swirling in his gaze. His brows furrowed with pleasure as he bit his lip. “…oh, fuck…” he cried.

You moved faster. Your swollen clit rubbed against his dark curls adding to the already heightened pleasure you were building. You took his hands from your hips and guided them up your body. You placed them over your bouncing tits and he squeezed- rubbing your hardened nipple with his thumb.

“That’s my good little whore,” he gasped. “You like it rough don’t you?” You squeezed tighter around him in answer and Loki couldn’t stop the wolfish grin on his face.

He swallowed thickly watching you enjoy his touch. “Loki” you screamed. The only indication that you had reached your climax and was about to topple over. You trembled over his body screaming his name over and over as you came down from your bliss.

“Don’t stop, Darling.” He pushed harder into you. “Ride me,” he commanded. Loki watched as you clenched around his hard cock- disappearing into your wet folds. The sight was enough to make him tremble.

God, he was so much bigger in this form. You had to push hard to meet the hilt of his shaft. You raised your hips and dipped back down eliciting the deepest groan fleeing his lips. “That’s a good girl,” he whispered. “Fuckin’ good girl.” His head tilted back and the desire to claim you came back. He had to take you faster. Harder.

He dug his heels back into the mattress and slammed his hips upwards. The gasping air leaving your lungs, the wicked moans filling his ears. All of it coerced him to cum inside you- finally releasing his pent-up yearning. Loki couldn’t stop the moans or praises leaving his lips. Your name peppered in with teasing curses and praises. “You always know how to make me feel good, don’t you, pet?” he prized as he took a deep breath to steady his exhaustion.

“Mmm, yes sir.” You kissed him ardently, taking his breath away from his already spent lungs. You trailed your kisses down to his neck and onto his panting chest. Each kiss made your lips tingle and chilly.

“We should probably get ready for dinner. What say you, my love?”

“Hmm? Maybe in a while…I’m not done playing with my Christmas gift yet.” You responded as your lips traveled further down towards his already hardening cock.

Loki smiled as he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of your warm tongue on his cool skin. “In a while,” he repeated. “Fuck…in a while.”

🏷️ @emarich7 @michelleleewise @coldnique @psychospore @lokisgoodgirl @silverfire475 @fictive-sl0th @springdandelixn @wheredafandomat @goldencherriess @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @tallseaweed @holdmytesseract @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @chrisevansmaindish ++

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mrrharper · 2 months

Text

Academic requirements

Coach received some worrying information about one of his star players, DE1. His performance at practice and during games was still very good, great even. But it was all overshadowed by some disturbing reports. DE1 's grades have gone up since last season and he was seen walking around campus with a textbook in his hand. Moreover, his turnout at frat events dropped below 100% and he has been seen interacting with multiple nerds at least three times within the previous two weeks.

This was enough for Coach to get concerned, so he invited DE1 for a chat in his office. The jock entered the room and sat in a chair in front of Coach's desk. DE1 was one of Coach's finest specimens - he was absolutely huge. 6'5 and 260 pounds of pure muscle, with arms ready to tackle a mountain, pecs and shoulders prepared to withstand the pressure of the entire offensive line and legs the size of tree trunks. An absolute stud, and perfect advertisement of Coach's training methods.

Coach greeted DE1 and explained why he asked him to come - he laid out all the concerning rumors that were spreading withing the building of the Athletics Department - about his focus on studying and interacting with non-jocks. DE1, in turn, was confused by what he heard and didn't really know how to respond to his Coach's words.

He didn't have time to come up with anything to say though, as right after he finished speaking Coach turned his computer around and DE1 was now looking straight into a monitor displaying a condensed version of one of Coach's trusted hypnotic videos. The jock's attention suddenly shifted towards the screen, forgetting about anything else. His whole body relaxed in the chair, his legs now wide apart and showing off his bulge, visible through his shorts.

As the video showed shirtless jocks working out, then jocks in full gear tackling each other during a football game, then jocks partying and drinking while dancing with only boxers on, DE1 began drooling. As he did, subliminal messages continued to make their way into his brain

DUMB

BRO

FLEX

OBEY

LIFT

PARTY

JOCK

DAWG

The sounds encoded within the video only amplified these commands. Coach looked from behind the screen as his best edge rusher took in everything Coach wanted and slowly, but surely, returned to his proper ways - a jacked brute, capable only of lifting, partying and sacking every QB he encounters.

After a while the video came to an end. Coach took back his computer and DE1 blinked a few times, then wiped most of the drool form his face and scratched his crotch.

"uhhhhhhh, Coach.... what... happened, bruh?"

"Everything's fine. Let me ask you a few questions. What's your name."

"DE1, Coach, duh."

"And who are you?"

"Am the best DE in the conference, Coach!"

"What's your approach to college and classes?"

"Duuuuude, that's some nerd shit, lemme tell ya, Coach, I do just enough to go above the NCAA threshold for scholarship athletes, bro, huhuhuhuh"

"Good, DE1, and do you stay in contact with people who don't play football?"

"Ugh, dude, Coach, me? With a fuckin' nerd? Bruh, am doin' just fine with the dudes on the team. Ain't no one else I need to stay in contact with, Coach"

Coach grinned as DE1 responded exactly the way he was supposed to.

"Thanks, DE1, you're free now. Don't be late to tomorrow's practice"

"Will do, Coach!"

A day later Coach was notified of DE1 posting a shirtless photo on Instagram with the caption reading "who ready for that Alpha Phi beer fest bruhs?"

#jock #football jock #football machine #jock hypno

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thatdeadaquarius · 5 months

Note

About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

2K notes · View notes

xazse · 7 months

Text

JJK MEN X PUPPYGIRL!READER

Notes: Hi, This is for my lovely jjk enjoyers, and its pretty long

Pairings: Puppygirl!FemReader x Geto, Gojo, Nanami, Toji (Seperate)

Tags: They might be ooc, SMUTT, Fluff, Hybrid!Reader, Blowjob, Pussyeating, MeanMen!,Manhandling, and more!, NOTPROOFREAD,

Gojo

absolutely loves you so much, when it came to finding his perfect match he stumbled upon you. You were like his carbon copy in personality, all excited and jumpy: though at times it can be a little too much if he just got off work after a long day of the higher ups nagging him, but nonetheless he reveled in your attention.

He also loves how you jumped at the opportunity to give him the wettest kisses ever! Peppering kisses all over his face while telling him how you waited soo long for him. Though from him checking the cameras all you did was sleep the entire time and occasionally grab something to eat, then go right back to napping all cute.

Oh god Gojo absolutely adores teasing and leading you on. It riles him up to see you pout when he tells you a little lie, you just trust his word a little too much! But when he sees you on the verge of tears he’ll coo and bring you into a warm hug: while still adding fuel to the fire in a condensing tone: you don’t realize because ur a little.. well dumb!

NSFW:

On some days Gojo thinks you’re the one teasing him, you’re positioned in his lap, legs wrapped around his torso. Giving him such sweet kisses oh he loves it so much. One kiss on the corner of his lips and one directly on the lips: you obviously aren’t even aware just how much you’re riling him up.

When you’ve decided you’ve had enough of kissing, you take to licking him softly, a gesture meant to calm and relax him: it does the total opposite he revels in it, feeling his cock stir in his pants. He was damn near excited when he picked up on you wearing the thinnest, tightest shorts, squeezing the outline of your cunt so lewdly, his money very well spent. Your pink tongue glides out to slide against the bottom of his lips to the top, he gladly and all too eagerly opens and latches onto your lips, already searching for your tongue and he starts sucking on it loudly, Gojo loves how within a few seconds you’re already mewling into his mouth, trying your hardest to not nip at him with your sharp teeth.

Everytime you pull away with strings of saliva breaking, he pulls you right back in, you should know better by now not to give away when he’s trying to make you feel good.

He takes it upon himself to shimmy you out of your shorts, no panties of course just the way he likes it.

He lines himself up with your awaiting hole, gojo tries to be super gentle since he’s aware you hate the stretch of his thick length, it just overwhelms you too much. You’re whimpering in his neck as he brings you around him. Pitiful pleas fill the room, right until he has you flush against his torso, his cock twitching slightly in you, the warmth you provide has him near bucking his hips into you but he remains calm.

Big strong hands grip your ass and before you know it, he’s lifting you up his cock slowly, only the tip inside before he slams you down using about only a fraction of his strength. You moan In pleasure and just a little pain.

After awhile of gojo repeating this process, not even yet breaking his pace, You’re a mess, feeling his fat cock drag against your sensitive walls over and over.

Nanami-

Nanami was a little different when it comes to selecting his favorite girl, he wanted someone calm and collected. At first he got what he wanted, you obeyed, listened so well, he loved you on your best behavior: staring up at him with star-stuck eyes when he gave you a direction.

Until you started to get really comfortable with him, that shyness which was your shell had begun to open up and Nanami was in for a real hellstorm. You had began to get really really clingy, whining and pouting when he would have to leave, clinging to him at the door, practically in tears trying to persuade him to stay. He of course couldn’t stay and sadly had to leave you to your own: reassuring you that he could see you in the cameras and talk to you, with this Information you begrudgingly let him go.

When he had checked the cameras sometime after you were on the couch laying down with his shirt being used as a pillow, your ears downturned in signal that you were not happy one-bit. When he spoke, rather low your ears perked and you jumped and quickly scanned the room, he slowly coaxed you towards the camera and he witnessed the cutest dopey grin on your face, you sat(pulled up a chair to sit near the camera) there and listened to Nanami talk just about anything.

NSFW:

Nanami’s favorite thing to do is focus solely on you, he just loves you so much, you’ve managed to implement yourself Into his daily routine. He won’t be complete if you aren’t cuddling with him at exactly 9:30, though his stoic nature will never let him say that outloud so he relays it by small lingering kisses.

Nanami knows how easy it is for you to get horny, your ears and tails betray you when they tuck themselves under and you tuck your tail in-between your legs: trying to hinder the painful throbs within your cunt, he knows it all too well, knows his goodgirl: you, wants him so badly but doesn’t wanna disturb his sleep incase he has to get early.

Nanami always has to take the lead to touch you, so he makes his move, sliding himself inbetween your legs, and you happily obliged by moving your tail out of the way.

Peeling off your panties is an easy task, Nanami wets his fingers before deftly swirling them around your clit, already attacking the source of your pleasure. You groan and move to grip his hair hard, he doesn’t mind at all.

His skilled tongue collects your cum before spreading it everywhere, getting you nice and wet. His mouth moves further up towards your clit, giving teasing little licks, his large hands grab the back of your thighs and push them, giving him a more lewd view of you spread open just for him. Cute whines leave your throat as he takes the time to admire the sight before him: cunt drooling just from a little foreplay.

Within the next few seconds he’s sucking on your clit, absolutely loving the taste of you, you mewl his name shamelessly. bucking your hips onto his face for more.

With all this nanami can finally slip two thick fingers into you, and that he does, he doesn’t wait till you adjust, simply fucking you with the digits while your head is thrown back moaning even louder, small pleas fill the air for nanami to let you cum. His fingers push the deepest they can go and you feel little pulses within you, awaiting before they finally get stronger and you cum right on his face with a loud moan, he’s already working on lapping up all the juices decorating your cunt.

Toji

Oh brother, Toji loves his pup SOO stupid, he wants her to rely on him completely, that’s where you come in, a dumb pliant thing, willing to let him do just about anything to you, and still have a blinding smile on your face. He loves the evenings where he can simply relax with you on top of him: belly flat, but he’ll never admit that outloud and especially not to you. It’s the time where he can softly stroke your hair and rub just behind your ears while you rest your eyes in complete content.

Toji notices your drooling habit a bit late, he’ll catch you staring at a certain item with some type of newfound interest, with your mouth slightly open, but there’s a simple fix where he taps your cheek twice before all that attention is once again back on him: he revels In it.

Speaking of you being too stupid, Toji does everything around the house, he can’t even trust you to wash a dish before that empty head of urs takes you somewhere else. So when he’s doing housework he’ll sit you in front of the Tv and throw on some cheesy romcon that’ll keep you busy: though it won’t even last two hours before your wandering around trying to find him.

At times you can be kind of a thorn in his side when you want to be, maybe even giving him a little attitude when he asks something of you, it surprises him every time you shoot back a snarky remark because it’s just THAT rare. He’ll ask you to repeat yourself with a serious look on his face before you back down and just does as he says.

NSFW:

When you do decide to keep that stinking attitude of yours up, ur in a world of painful pleasure because toji is mean as hell.

When he fucks you he likes to make it HURTTT, so when he’s balls deep in your poor abused pussy, slamming his hips against your ass repeatedly you can only mewl out apologies on how you’ll improve, Toji knows you’re lying of course you are, he can’t see your face but he can feel, feel the little quirk of your lip, but it doesn’t further frustrate him, no it drives him to push you even further, more than you can possibly handle.

He switches positions to pressing you into a tight mating press, youre a whole mess, dried tears, hell even new tears take their place on your face. He begins his pacing starting off slow, but eventually speeds up to what he was giving you before. It feels so good you can’t help but slur into the air on repeat. Tojis hand moves down to your tail where he yanks on it as he moves, your reaction is quick, yelping to move your tail but his grip remains tight.

After a quick while of him using you like a toy solely meant for his pleasure, your habit starts to show itself, Toji groans at the sight, this just puts the icing on the cake for him at least.

He leans in and pressing his thick tongue into your mouth, you can’t deny him when you feel like you’re already on the edge of losing yourself, so he indulges, giving you sloppy kisses whenever he can while you tighten around his cock over and over.

Toji lifts his hips up and slams back down into your already spent cunt, that’s when you start to attempt to away from your impending orgasm, he doesn’t let you move even an inch, letting you silently know that it’s gonna happen: and it sure does, he feels you spasm and twitch around him, pulling him in deeper while you cry out in pain, it hurts but the pleasure outweighs it by a ton, with ragged breathes you finally cum, your pussy contracting and convulsing while he still pounds away at you.

Geto-

Geto merely tolerates you, there’s no inbetween, he’ll let you do as you please as long as it doesn’t involve his work. But when said work is done all your attention is on him, it does feel nice to have a little stupid thing to do his bidding. You’re already on him as soon as he gives you permission, sliding yourself between his big arms and nuzzling into the crevice of his neck, it amazes him how you haven’t picked up on just what he does at work, do you know he's killed people? Of course you don’t and he’ll continue to keep you in the dark about that aspect.

When you latch onto his neck and begin to suck softly he doesn’t push you away like the first time, he had noticed a while back his pup has a habit of doing this every so often, quietly whining against him. You had mumbled to him it had something to do with your teeth, and needing something to keep you busy from the slight throb in them. He enjoys this much more than anything in the quiet space of the living room.

You love when he begins patting your tail and ears at the same time, bonus when he slips a large thigh inbetween yours and slightly bounces you, encouraging you to not stop the soft suckling.

Geto also loves cooking with you, by cooking with you he means you latched onto his torso your tail swishing back and forth so happily, following behind every step, you absolutely do not let go, until everything is finished do you finally allow him to breathe, but as soon as your plate is cleaned you’re back on him. Deft fingers combing through his beautiful black locks.

-Some days Getou has to leave for days at a time he’ll prepare some food while you’re sleeping worryfree.

NSFW:

Geto loves you in between his legs, loves when you see him spread open on the couch, practically inviting you with his happy trail on display. You show no hesitation when you crawl towards him. Your hands gripping on his fat cock, he hisses behind his teeth but continues to let you do your thing.

Freeing his cock from their confines you take to slowly stroking him but also watching his expression with a new found-interest. After a while of gathering him up you wrap your pretty lips around his tip and suckle lightly. Geto has told you how he hates when you don’t just get to the point but right now he can’t seem to give a shit, right now want he wants is to fuck your throat till its raw. When he makes an attempt to help you, you call his name in that whiny tone, telling him to let you handle it.

He doesn’t argue, but he does sit back to get more comfortable. You take him in your mouth; slowly taking him deeper and deeper inch by inch, sucking from the tip to his middle and suctioning your mouth, he groans, relaxing his head on the back of the couch. His thick hands go to knead your ears; to spur you to take more of him, you oblige and do what he wants, you can’t take all of Suguru, so both of your hands fill where your mouth can’t.

You completely pull off to suck on his neglected balls, he moans not really expecting you to do that, the heavy things fill your mouth, you continue to jerk him off while you remain down below. He feels his lower abdomen tighten and tighten and his panting speeding up, before he’s spilling his thick load.

#jjk smut #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #toji x reader #toji smut #geto x reader #geto smut #hybrid reader #Jjkzsworks

2K notes · View notes

formulaforza · 9 months

Text

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. winter, the first time. the start of the year, the start of it all. minors dni, nsfw warnings under the cut. 7k words part two part three part four part five

18+ because: brat taming, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, spit, unprotected sex, overstimulation, booty call!, masturbation (f receiving), voyeurism, mad sass, fucking porn without plot basically.

There’s nothing special about the club scene in Monte Carlo. If you’ve been to a club in any major city, anywhere in the world, you’ve been to a club in Monaco. It’s all neon lights and kaleidoscope colors and poorly lit dance floors and mid-tier DJs who think they’re the next coming of Jesus.

Tonight is no exception. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of floral perfume and alcohol, the entire room shaking with the pulsating beat of the bass, reverberating off every single corner and shaking the liquor in your glass. Bodies move—yours included—half in sync with the music, half in step with their drunken stupor. Perched in the safety of Charles’s section, away from the swaying forms of laughter and shouting and screaming, your entire body thumps alone to the beat from the DJ booth a couple meters away.

Across the section, Charles sits stoic on a couch, taking up a seat and a half and frozen like some magnetic force. His eyes are stuck on you in a way that pulls goosebumps from your skin, makes you irrational angry at him. You’re feeling particularly bratty today, egged on by the tequila and his visible annoyance.

You’re on your way to interject into his pity party when your sister catches your arm, pulls you by your bicep to dance with her. Her palms are sweaty and cold and you hope that it’s the condensation from her cold glass that’s got her all clammy. The two of you have always been quite a sight after a few drinks. You get your tolerance from your mother, are both disastrous lightweights, feel the need to give any and everyone around you a show.

The two of you twirl to the music with little effort, laughing like you’re seven and the hazard littered floor under your feet is the old brown carpet from the family room you grew up hosting dance parties in. It’s all hair and giggles and hands in the air like you just don’t care. Everytime your glance catches his, he’s staring back, nursing his drink and half participating in a conversation with your brother-in-law and Jo.

“What’s his fucking problem?” you ask, leaning over to shout into your sister’s ear.

“He can’t dance,” she slurs. You snort. He can dance.

You whistle, loud and commanding and cat-call-ish even though he’s already watching you. “Charles! Get out here and dance, you fucking buzzkill!”

Your sister joins in on the fun, playfully swaying her hips to the music, tossing out an imaginary fishing line to her husband and reeling him over, calling along teasingly to Charles. “Yeah, show us what you’ve got, Il Predestinato!”

Charles rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I don’t dance,” he calls back with a soft chuckle. He tries to play it cool, like always, but everyone in the room knows you’re pushing his buttons. You always are. The reason he keeps you around is the same reason you stay around; your families’ relationship predates any animosity between the two of you. That, and the friend group was founded before you loathed each other and it would be too much work to try and split it up now. You’d probably never see Joris again.

You dance closer to him, putting on a dramatic show and a poor fight against the urge to continue challenging him. “Come on,” you tug on his arm, just out your bottom lip into a pretty little pout. “Live a little.”

He’s never been able to turn down one of your challenges, however thinly veiled they might be. It’s his own personal sore spot, the one that you poke and prod as often as you can. Competition has always been the foundation of your mutual annoyance, it’s not going to suddenly change after some eighteen years of consistency. Finally, he relents, lets you think you’re pulling him to his feet, dragging him to dance with you and your sister.

His moves are stiff and awkward, almost hard to watch. You laugh, because he’s wound up so fucking tight in two weeks you’d have a diamond. “See!?” your sister laughs, the contagion of it spreading to even the brunt of the joke. “I told you!” she continues, slinking her arm around her husband’s neck sloppily. His arm grips her side to hold her steady. It makes you feel sick.

A smirk tugs on his lips, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something more in his eyes. Not annoyance or frustration. Something seven, something innocent and childish. It’s fleeting, and you take a deep breath because the music feels quieter now. You down what’s left of your cocktail to clear your head, to calm the sudden flutter of nerves.

The more he drinks and the longer he’s forced to dance, the lighter and more magnetic he becomes. “You know, Charles, I never thought I’d see the day,” you tease. He’s been in a near constant state of pity-party for weeks now, ever since his dumb ass got dumped by another girl wildly out of his league.

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is as amused as it is drunk. “Don’t get too excited. It’s the liquor,” he retorts, a piss poor attempt at downplaying how much fun he’s having. He wouldn’t dare to give you the satisfaction. You lean in closer, brush your body against his, fueled by the noise and the alcohol.

“The liquor doing the touching, too?” you ask.

He’s always been a touchy drunk. Since before you and your friends were allowed to drink, he’s been hands-on. And maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s grabbing your hips, the first time his broad hand is flat over your stomach, but you’d never noticed him as this touchy with his girlfriends or his girls that appear when he’s around. Whatever it is, the more he drinks, the more comfortable he is with his hands on you, and the less you find the nerve to care.

It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, though. Every touch burns your skin. It’s a sick little game you two play. Sick and twisted and so, so unlike the two of you.

Watch yourself—he warns, hand on the small of your back. You play with fire. Well established and well documented, though; you never back down either. No, the thrill of annoying him is enough to dive head-first, to push his buttons until they stick. “Am I?” you ask, as innocently as the tequila can muster, taking hold of his wrist and moving it so his arm is wrapped around your midsection, fighting to settle in the space between your waistband and shirt hem.

You respond to every one of his careful touches, ever lingering finger on your arm and your waist and your back. When you close your eyes, you imagine the nonsense patterns he draws on your skin like it’s on canvas in a museum, hung front and center just for you. Your inhibitions are slipping too, and you let yourself trail wandering fingertips over his body, too.

This isn’t the Charles you’re used to, the one you go head-to-head with every fifteen minutes. This is something entirely new, so far into uncharted territory you’re not even sure which way is north. There’s something particularly intriguing about the nerves bouncing around your gut.

Everything fades away into the dark and crowded club. You don’t know if your sister and brother-in-law are still standing there, if any of your friends are. All you know if the electric charge of this, of every teasing remark and touch that draws you closer, forces you to test the waters of the newfound layer of tension.

Everything is building, it feels like, to some grand crescendo of emotion and desire. Before there’s room to explore it, though, to dive deeper into the unspoken shift, the moment is interrupted by the return of the friends you didn’t notice leaving.

The night drags on, the lines between annoyance and attraction blurring into some chaotic muddle of intoxication. Nothing is clear, nothing except the sobering and unignorable pull. It lingers in the air above you, in the space between like a secret just begging to be unraveled.

You’ve got another drink now, because you can only think of one decision that would be worse than more tequila. In due time, you’re worried you’re a lost cause when it comes to that choice as well. His eyes stay on you, even from a distance, and you revel in the glory of his attention. Embolden by it all, you continue fucking with him. “Having fun yet, Charles?” you ask, knowing smile, voice dripping in subtle suggestion.

He raises a brow, the corners of his lips quirking up. You don’t think you’ve ever spent much time looking at them, the soft shade of pink and the softer skin. “I suppose I can tolerate it,” he replies with teasing eyes. He’s irritated by your laugh, by your proximity, by your lips brushing against his ear when you whisper; you’re not the only one here trying to have fun. His jaw tightens but he doesn’t take your bait. Instead, he pulls you closer, sways in rhythm with you and replies, “I’m here to enjoy myself, not entertain you.”

He sends your brattiness running full-tilt. Forces you to carefully consider every movement, every ounce of playfulness that you allow to seep into your demeanor and the proactive sway of your hips. You grin at him every chance you get, sly and calculated, daring him to resist.

You lean in close, brush against his ear and can blame it on practicality, on the bass and the music and the DJ if anyone were to question your actions. You rest a hand on his chest. “I know you love my attention.”

His breath hitches at your audacity, heart racing so quick you can feel it in your palm. He pulls you closer, dangerously close to your lips and says, “you talk too much. Maybe it’s time someone shuts you up.”

You scoff, low and teasing. “I’d like to see you try.”

[18 minutes later]

You step into the well-lit lobby less than a pace behind him. Your hands are interlocked, have been for every block of the darkened streets—since he grabbed yours and pulled you out of the club. “Admit it,” you giggle. “You love having me push your buttons.”

He remains stoic, jaw set as he pushes the button on the elevator. The tension is at a boiling point. You’re either about to kill each other, to be on the news for some grand double murder, or something so, so much worse is going to unfold.

He leads you to the apartment without a word, but as soon as the door closes behind him, all is lost. Your head is bumping into the drywall before you even realize what’s happening, his lips harsh against yours, the pent up frustration and desire snapping like a dried twig.

It’s fierce and passionate and while you never, not for a single moment in your life, imagined what he would taste like, you somehow knew it would be like this, cool and fresh and drunk. He licks into your mouth, messy and intense, teeth clacking and both of you fighting for some nonexistent upper hand.

Fireworks are going off outside. They shake the windows with explosive gravitas as you’re blindly led by his backwards steps down the hallway. You realize that in an entire lifetime of knowing each other, this is the first time you’ve been in his place. It’s not what you expected, from what you can gather—all clutter and red cars and a boy who never had to drop his dream. “They’re going to look for us,” you say between sloppy, open mouthed kisses.

He mumbles against your skin, strong hands on either side of your jaw. “Let them look.”

You walk through a doorway, into a bedroom clad with clutter and blue sheets. He would have blue sheets. There’s another firework, loud and booming, it makes you jump. You check your watch over his shoulder, pretend your hand doesn’t shake. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Okay.” Your knees bump into his and he sits on the edge of the bed.

You laugh, climb onto his lap, your arms strewn around his shoulders, broad and strong and you laugh again–this time into his mouth. What the fuck is going on. Seriously, what the fuck is this? “Happy New Year.”

He sighs, pulls his mouth from yours long enough to roll his eyes, to speak annoyedly into the hot air between your lips. “Yeah, whatever. Happy New Year.”

“Charles,” you mutter, hand on his chest. You think he’s going to regret this more than you will. People have always told you he’s the best kind of person. You’re not held in the same regard, and you know it. Some people are made to regret and others are made to be the regret.

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs, but it’s curt and passive. Annoyed, as always, even when he palms at your ass, traces his hands along the bottom of your hiked up dress and pulls you down against him with a bruising grip. “Shut the fuck up.” You tug at the hem of his shirt, pull it off over his head in a swift movement.

“You’re doing a piss-poor job at making me.”

He moves you like you’re a fucking doll, like it’s lightwork, tossing you down against the mattress and swapping your positions in a swift movement. The strength and agility of it makes your head spin. He’s not supposed to make your head spin, he’s supposed to make it ache.

But no, no. You do ache for him. All of you aches for him, for his calloused hands and the roughness of his jeans against your thighs and the soft contrast of his lips against everything else. It’s embarrassing. You can’t believe he’s got you like this, hands pinned above your head while he buries his tongue in your mouth, grinds his hips against yours. The coarse denim is almost painful on your sensitive skin, but the growing bulge pulling the fabric tight is more intoxicating than any cocktail.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he says, bites a bruise against the skin just above your clavicle. “Spoiled little shit.”

He sinks to his knees, big blue or green or whatever fucking color his eyes are today watching you intently, boring into you with blown, hungry pupils. His fingers trail along your underwear, pulling the thin, lacey fabric to the side, and then removes them all together. He gloats when he runs his thumb through your folds. “So fucking wet.”

“It’s not for you,” you goad.

“Oh?” He nods slowly, spreading your slick with the steady digit, watching you carefully for reaction. “For who then?”

Your eyes flutter shut when the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, circles it slowly, teases you. He’s unfocused, his mind lapsing and giving you a much needed in, a clear shot to piss him off. “Your teammate.”

“Fuck off.” You first.

“You’re right, Charles,” you speak slowly, careful to control your breathing, to hide every tell you might have. “Someone should shut me up. Do you know anyone?” Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curls them like someone had given him a diagram of your body. You gasp at the suddenness of it all. Yeah, he mutters, utterly delighted with himself. Yeah, I think I know someone.

You roll your eyes, push his head down, down, mouth onto your core. There, in the midst of licking a long stripe through your cunt, he fucking laughs, shakes his head with a subtlety you’d never perceive if it wasn’t for the tip of his nose bumping your clit when he does it. At least he can follow basic fucking instructions.

His dick must hurt pretty damn bad, all hard and swollen in his pants, because he’s unbuttoning his jeans and freeing himself from the constraints of the fabric while lapping at you, the other hand still fucking into you with steady pace and hazy curl. You can’t see it, view obstructed by the mattress and limbs and hair, but you can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s trying to get himself off at the same time he works on you.

You’re not going to make his job that easy. You require all of his attention, pure and undivided and hopefully just as infuriated as you are. You reach down to the apex of your legs, pull his head up by his chin. “Just fuck me, already, you prick.”

He rises to his feet, shakes his head, “you’re a needy little thing,” he remarks. Needy? You haven’t fucking seen needy.

He guides the head of his cock through your folds, spreading slick and spit and smacking himself against your cunt.

Your lips purse into a sharp line. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” He taunts, “you’ve been teasing for hours.”

“It’s different,” you grumble.

“How?” You could strangle him, him and all his questions. What’s a person have to do to get fucked properly around here? You already sacrified your morals by pulling tight against the navy blue sheets. A woman can only make so many sacrifices.

You groan, heavy and exasperated. He’s such a pest. “It just–oh, fuck you–” without warning, he plunges into you, buries himself in your cunt until he bottoms out, skin on skin and the sore sting of him stretching you. Your fingers bruise into his arms, nails scraping over his shoulder blades with a gasp. He gives you no time to adjust to him, rutting into you with deep, measured thrusts. What was that, he prodes. Somehow, you find the poise to stabilize yourself, to reply smugly. “it just is.”

His objective isn’t your pleasure, no. That would be his prerogative, a side privilege, a requirement in his quest to get you to close your mouth and stop pestering for once. Making you come is just another box to check.

You don’t fuck someone if you’re not going to finish, though. Sleeping with Charles might be a lapse in judgment, but being someone’s play toy, letting him reap without sowing, that’s a complete disregard of your dignity

Your fingers find your clit, circle it in just the right sequence, combining with the curve of his cock to push you closer, closer, closer to the edge of the fucking world. Your entire body burns, everywhere, all over, all at once you sweat. Tell me–he insists, voice short and breathy. Tell me when you’re going to come. “I thought you were trying to shut me up?”

“Just, fuck, just tell me.” He palms over your breasts, still covered by your bra and the fabric of your dress, however thin. “So many fucking clothes,” he grumbled, stalling inside you, hands slipping under your back, between you at the mattress to pull you off the bed. You hastily pull the dress over your head, toss it somewhere onto the clothing cluttered floor. Better? You ask. “Better,” he nods, bites your bottom lip roughly, licking against your teeth. One of the hands that explore the skin of your back make quick work of the clasp on your bra, dropping the straps from your shoulders and your back is against the sheets again, his hands groping at you, pinching your nipple between his middle and ring finger, working over it until you’re humming profanities and huffing into his mouth.

Hate and desire is such a fine, blurry line. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar.

“M’gonna,” you choke on your words. “I’m–shit–I’m coming.”

“Yeah,” He picks up his pace, maintains a steady, toe-curling rhythm. “Come for me,” his voice heavy and growled. “Come on my dick.”

You do. You come for him, hard and long, wrapping a leg around his hip in a failed attempt to still him, to just be full of him and nothing more. He’s stronger, though, and fucks you through the whole thing, faster, harder, big hands braced on your hips for leverage. You explore the idea that a person really could be fucked in half, forced right open.

“Good try,” you sputter, shaky and broken words leaving your lips before you’ve found a gravity that isn’t him. You lean up to kiss him, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and pull him to meet you halfway. Your fingers tickle the short hair at the nape of his neck, raise goosebumps to his skin. “Maybe next time,” you hum into his open mouth.

He spits a long string of saliva into your mouth when you move to close the gap. You laugh around it, down it in a single gulp and lick your lips, sticking out your tongue to showcase your empty mouth, big innocent doe-eyes watching his reaction, his eye roll and devilish smirk.

“Like I said–” you start, but he’s flipping you over, tossing you around like a ragdoll. You giggle, high on the teasing and the taunting and then he’s fucking your face into the mattress. He’s got your hair gathered up into a ratty ponytail, uses it like a handle, forcing your back into an arch, your ass to perk up into the air.

God, he’s so fucking deep, turning you into a mess of bruises and sweat stricken skin. Your hips bounce back against him, angle in any imaginable way in an attempt to feel him deeper, to feel him in your stomach and your chest and your head. To feel him everywhere that counts.

“Putain, taking me so good, baby” he groans, lets the praise and the pet name slipping past his lips in a moment that goes unnoticed by neither of you. He smacks your ass with a firm hand, trying to mask his words after they’ve already been spoken. Your eyes roll back into your head and you come again, without warning. You decide before you get to think about it that it was the stinging imprint of his hand that pushed you tumbling over the edge. Whatever the real reason, you’re up two-nothing, or, depending how you look at it, he’s the one winning.

That’s all any of this is, one big game. A power struggle. You’re always fighting to win, and this is not different. If there’s a way to lose at a game where everyone is supposed to win, one of you is going to fucking find it and force it on the other.

You’re the one doing the flipping, now. The pushing and the shoving so he’s on his back. You straddle him and he gives you this look like he’s fully pussy-drunk, sick and euphoric and floating somewhere far from here. You’re so winning at this. “Jesus Christ,” you poke, “wipe your fucking drool.”

His entire face contorts when you sink down onto him. Everytime you think you’ve reached a limit, he finds a way to hit a spot impossibly deeper than the last. His hips lift up off the bed to meet you halfway, rutting into pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had, hand moving to your cunt, thumbing lazily at your clit, leaving you fuzzy and drunk in a mess of mumbled moans above him.

When you come for the third time, messy and sweaty, nothing that leaves your lips is distinguishable, a mess of French and English and curses and nonsensical mewls. “Fuck you,” he moans, breath shaky when he pulls himself out of you. Your body clenches around air, aches for him to return.

He does, after he moves you back into the position it all started in. “So close,” he tells you, sinking slowly into you, his sigh hot and alcoholic on your shoulder. His pace is slow, then fast, then slow again. He’s as rapid as his breath is irregular. You better pull out–you groan, every muscle in your body strung out and exhausted and you’re coming again. It’s blinding white behind your closed lids, ears ringing and muscles flexing involuntarily. He’s wrecked you, finally, left you a mumbling mess.

He pulls out almost in sync with your orgasm, jerks himself no more than twice between your legs before he’s coating your stomach in hot stripes of cum, loud, guttural moans leaving his lips in a way that looks and sounds practically pained. “Christ,” he heaves, watches on as your fingers dance through his orgasm, spreading it over your skin and coating your fingers. You don’t break eye contact when you stick two of them into your mouth, swirl your tongue around them tauntingly, sucking them clean and pulling them from your mouth with a pop. You hold the clean hand up for him to see, palm facing him. When you turn it, you pull down all but your middle finger, flip him off cockily.

He swats you hand away, “Never fucking again,” he tells you.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” you scoff. “I never want to see the inside of this apartment again.”

“Why are you here, then?” He remarks, turning the corner into what you assume is the bathroom, tossing a towel to you from across the room. You clean yourself up before anything dries, before coming up with a quick rebuttal.

You don’t come up with one, mind as tired as the rest of you. This game has been exhausting. “We’re never talking about this,” you say, pulling your dress over your head, stuffing your bra into your handbag because you aren’t sure you have the strength to clasp it closed. “Ever.”

“No shit,” he says, tosses your underwear in the general direction of you.

You bend over to pick them up, step into them with the snap of the elastic. “Promise me.” You have no idea where your shoes are, but he’s already ushering you out of the room, herding you down the long hall with wide, swooping waves of his arms.

“I promise.”

“Pinky,” you say, spot your shoes haphazardly stepped out of in the entryway. You don’t have any memory of them ever being on.

“Absolutely not.”

“Charles,” you lean against the wall to slip your heels on, hook up at him with a sober glare. He closes his eyes like you won’t be able to see them roll behind his lids, pinches the bridge of his nose and squints before dropping a heavy breath, holding out a pinky to you. You interlock it with yours. “Thank you.”

He pulls his hand from yours, turns the lock on his front door and swings it open, fingers wrapped around the edge, other hand gesturing out into the hallway. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“With pleasure,” you say, stepping past him and into the well-lit hallway of sprawling marble floors. You stop in front of the elevator, press the button and wait for his inevitable comment.

“The whole brat-schtick you’ve got going on isn’t as believable when your leg shakes underneath you,” he calls down the hall. You don’t turn your head to face him, just extend your arm in his direction and flip him off. You hear his chuckle as he latches the door shut behind you.

Everything about today has been dreary–from the near constant mist that falls over the city, to the chilly temperatures, to the poor excuses for men that grace the screen of your dating app. This is not how Fridays in your twenties are meant to be spent, sulking in the dark of your bedroom after a miserable day at work.

You’re supposed to be out, partying with friends and making drunken decisions that have you waking up in a stranger’s bed after a good night you hardly remember.

God, you need to get fucked. It’s been months. Two months and ten days–not that you’re counting. Because you’re not. Counting. You aren’t.

You’re just restless, basking in the loneliness of the night, unable to shake the weight of your thoughts, of two months and ten days ago. Of Charles and how infuriatingly good he’d made you feel. The complexities of your relationship, the shift in the very DNA of what you know, it makes your heart race–a messy muddle of annoyance and desire that yearns to be untangled.

You give up on the dating apps, know that even if you do match with someone, there’s nothing that can be done to solve your problem tonight. You opt instead to scroll through social media aimlessly, searching for any distraction from the ache in your gut. Your hand unconsciously slips under the hem of your shirt, cups your breast while you scroll and scroll and scroll. It does little to quell your struggles. In fact, the game is over the moment you become conscious of your hand’s placement, the moment you start to massage your breast, to run your fingers over your nipple until it’s hard and perky.

You switch to the other breast, fingers gently tracing over the skin, sending chills up your arms, pinpointing the ache in your core. Your hand slides down your stomach, dips below the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear. You’re so worked up–pent up, reaching a boiling point.

Your middle finger glides through your folds, grazes over your clit, teases the slick at your entrance before dipping in, collecting enough to spread it around. Your clit is swollen, needy like the rest of you, and the pad of your fingers do little to relieve the pressure. Your fingers move clockwise, then counter. Vertical and horizontal and every combination of every direction and even though you can’t remember the last time you were this horny, this desperate to come, you can’t.

You slip in a finger, and then another, try to find the right curl and the right spot–to no avail. Now, you’re thinking about his fingers, about how much bigger his hands are, how his nimble fingers pumped in and out of you with sheet-gripping, whimper-inducing pace.

Your phone taunts you, his contact behind the locked screen just waiting to be messaged.

You try to resist. You hate him. He hates you. God, he knows how to fuck you, though; veiny hands and thick cock leaving you a writhing mess. Fuck. Fuck, why can’t your fingers move the way his did?

You cave, reaching over to grab your phone and text him. Hey. What are you up to tonight? It’s a mistake, you know that it is. He’s so damn annoying, there’s nothing about him that doesn’t drive you up a wall. Frustration makes the heart go fonder, you suppose, or maybe the cunt ache harder.

Within moments, your phone is buzzing against your palm with his reply. Chilling at home. You coming over?

You roll your eyes. No.

Ok.

You bite your bottom lip so hard you think you might accidentally draw blood. It’s phantom, almost, the way you can so perfectly imagine the sting of him stretching you out, the soreness of his bruising kisses, the swollen, wet head of his dick slapping against your clit. Come over.

You couldn’t pay me.

Door’s unlocked.

Give me 20.

You’re in the bedroom when he knocks. Three times, you wonder why he isn’t just walking in. You ignore the banging, let the universe decide for you if he’s meant to turn back and walk his happy ass out of your building. The universe decides he won’t be doing that, though, because he knocks again. Louder this time.

You pull yourself out of bed, feet creaking on the hardwood floors as you move to pull the door open. “I told you it was unlocked,” you grumble.

“Eh,” he shrugs, dumb fucking grin on his face. “Wasn’t up for your games.”

You internally debate just how bad you need him here, if it’s worth all the trouble that is him. It’s not, almost certainly it isn’t. You invite him in anyway.

“So, what’s the deal? Can’t get yourself off, so you call me?” He teases. Your frustrated blush gives you away before a witty comeback can slap the smirk off his face. “Oh my god,” he chuckles. “I was fucking around, but really?”

There’s no point in trying to lie now, not when your face has already betrayed your trust and revealed the truth. “Calm down,” you groused. “The last thing this world needs if your head to get any fucking bigger.”

He continues laughing like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. You want to smack the smile off his face, dimples and all. “The last thing this world needs is for this–” he gestures between the two of you, “–to become a thing.”

You mock his movements, the dumb look on his face. “This is not a thing. It’s just two friends–”

“–We aren’t friends.”

You sigh through gritted teeth. “Two not friends helping each other out.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, chews on the inside of his cheek while his eyes trace your finger, head to toe and back to head again. “You do know how ridiculous you sound, right?”

You breathe out in resignation, heading down the hall towards your room. “Can we just get on with it?”

“No.”

You stop in your tracks, turn on your heels. What the fuck is he here for, then? “No?” You close the gap between the two of you, plant your hands firmly on either side of his jaw and kiss him, all tongue and spit and rough lips. You knock him off balance, falling out of step when he kisses you back with a matching intensity, hands hovering over your hips. He doesn’t rest them there, you can feel the warmth in the space between your skin and his, the force that pulls you together.

When he does settle his hands, it’s not to deepen the kiss, to swallow any more frustration. It’s to put distance between your mouths. “I want you to–”

You nibble on his earlobe, cut him off with your hushed words. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, I want–”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he commands, voice failing to waiver to your hushed level, an air of snugness to him.

“Charles,” your voice cracks with his name, a hint of your under the surface insecurity peeking through, putting themselves on display for him. Here! Here! Look at me!

“Show me, or I’m leaving,” he says, and it’s all throaty and husky.

(Eleven minutes later)

Legs spread for him, two fingers moving busily against your core, circling your clit, teasing your hole.

He stares at you like he can see your fucking soul, watches from his spot across the room, leant against the old wooden dresser, arms folded and ankles crossed. You stare back–harder, maybe–like if you win the little contest your cheeks won’t burn so bright, you won’t feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so embarrassed.

Those feelings fade, they do, with each flick of your wrist. With every glance of his hungry eyes to your fingers, to your cunt, tracing their way up and down your body, you feel calmer and calmer. And when he runs his hand over his mouth, along the stubble of his jaw and off his chin, you’re closer and closer.

It pulls whimpers, soft and slow and sweet, from your lips. There’s a sick thrill to it, to him seeing her like this, all needy and open and sensitive. It’s empowering, almost.

He breaks no more than twice, watches every brow quirk, lid flutter, and lip twitch with raw, intimate eyes. He’s less interested in what you do to yourself, the curve of your fingers or the noises they create, than he is in the way you react to the movements.

“You’re not even fucking watching,” you say, the letter sounds falling to your breath, hitching as your fingers angle just right.

“Watching what matters.”

“Oh? And, uh–” you huff. “What’s that?”

He laughs, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. You’ve always thought they made his smile so childish, like you can’t take anything seriously when it comes from someone with primary-school dimples and giddy eyes. You don’t struggle to take it seriously, now. “You’re thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh parting your lips. “Says who?”

He pushes himself off the dresser, saunters over with heavy feet, stopping at the foot of the bed. “What are you thinking about?” He humors.

Your eyes roll. You’re thinking about a lot of things. Half a dozen, atleast. About your fingers, the way they move against your swollen cunt, sticky with creamy slick, and how his fingers are that much longer than yours. About how loud he walks, how his heavy feet stand at the end of your bed, crossed arms that pull his t-shirt tight across his chest. About the fact that you’re not sure you locked the door behind him because you were so distracted by the way his sweatpants hung from his waist. About how he doesn’t bother to adjust or hide the protruding bulge under the fabric right now. About the curve of his cock, about how pathetic and full it makes you, utterly unable to spend time thinking about anything but how well he stretches you out. About his hair, flat and straight and wholly unstyled, how your hands would mess it up so nicely, tug and twist until he has something smart to say. Beyond frustratingly, he’s right. As you quickly approach a high, breath quickened and movements desperate, all you’re thinking about is him. “Things.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, ever the rake, unsatisfied with your response.

You add a third finger, steady pace and a held stare. The muscles in your leg twitch. You’re so fucking close. “What are you thinking about?”

He sways, rocks his weight from his left foot to the right, runs his tongue over his teeth. “Things.”

A coy smile upturns the corner of your lips. “Mmhmm,” you mock.

He moves around the bed, trails his fingers over your skin; from your ankle, along the bone of your shin, a bruise on your knee. They stall on your thigh, trace small, soft circles on the inside of your leg. “You really want to know?”

He’s such a tease, keeps moving up, up, up, over your stomach and through the valley of your breast. “I–ah– I,” you stutter through your words, fingers working tirelessly to push you over the edge. Restless, further irritated by his delicate touch, his fingers up to your jaw now, slotting themselves there, you nod. “Yes.”

He leans over you, your lips inches apart, open and hot breathed. “Too bad,” he whispers into the space between, closing the gap and kissing you with an insatiable kind of fervor. Your fingers still, your other hand reaching to grip the back of his neck, to pull him deeper into the kiss. It’s a kiss that’s half as good as the sex, the breaking of the unbearable tension that’s filled the room while he’s watched, the promise of what’s to come. A lustful implication. His hand leaves your jaw when you pull apart for air, moving over your stilled hand. “Let me?” He asks, and it doesn’t feel like much of a question, the way he’s already slipping his fingers under yours before you can even squeak out an answer.

There’s something entirely different about his fingers, like the way that you can’t tickle yourself. You can’t predict his moves, every movement of every ridge of his fingerprints is something entirely surprising. “Yeah, fuck, you make, ah, make yourself…” You give up on the sentence, your body failing your mind in its ability to spit out a comeback. Yeah, you wish you could tell him. Yeah, make yourself fucking useful.

He laughs, slides his long middle finger inside you, pumps it twice and slips in another. You gasp at his sudden movement. “You’re embarrassing yourself, baby.”

Your back arches off the sheets. “Don’t call me that,” you seethe.

“But,” he curls his fingers against the spot you’ve been trying to reach all night. A moan tumbles from your mouth and he smirks. “It makes my job so easy.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was going to let you come first, but,” he chuckles. He’s so proud of himself it makes you ill. “If you insist.”

His hand stills, threatens to pull out of you entirely, but you’re covering it with your own, holding him there when you look up, hips instinctively grinding against him. “I’ll kill you. I will.”

You’re pushing him out of your apartment by the end of night, locking the door behind him. Your leg shakes when you slide down the door onto the floor. This is the last time, it has to be. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence. Thrice. Thrice would be a pattern. You won’t let it become a pattern.

You wake up at seven-thirty and your hair is still in knots, your body still aching from him. You find a new bruise every time you look in the mirror. You can’t shake the image of his messy hair, of the feeling of the brown locks between your fingers and the sound he’d make when you’d tug on them.

It won’t be happening again.

#oi #this is getting me sent to hell.#charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc series #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #ferrari

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dilemmaontwolegs · 11 months

Note

Charles jealous and possessive, i love your writing! Smut please!

Expensive Affection || CL 16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x stripper!reader Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, oral, rough sex, choking, biting WC: 1.8k

F1 Masterlist

You weren’t even listening to the song as your body fell into the familiar routine and the metal of the pole warmed in your palm as you twirled around it. Cold hands reached from the bar stools lining the stage, their fingers damp from the condensation on the beer bottles they nursed. You plastered a fake smile on your ruby painted lips as they slipped cash into the flimsy thong and helped themself to a grope of your ass despite the keen eyes of the bouncers standing in the wings.

It galled you to dance for these men night after night but living in Monaco wasn’t cheap and it beat working minimum wage. There was one perk to working at the exclusive strip club and he was sitting in the shadows at the back, a bottle of Belvedere Vodka unopened on the table of the large booth he had to himself.

Charles never came with anyone, not like the other men who brought their friends or business partners, or the girlfriends their wives didn’t know about. He always came alone and he always left alone. But you made sure his time in the club was never lonely.

The song ended as your feet touched back down and you gathered the diamante bra that you had come off during the chorus along with the cash that littered the stage floor before blowing one final kiss to the top tippers and sashaying off so Roxy could take over. You didn’t even make it to the changing rooms behind the stage before a finger snapped your way and Dwight pointed to the dark corridor leading off from it.

“Room three,” he said as he tapped his watch. “One hour.”

You nodded and rushed into the changing room so you could toss the cash in your locker and change into the red lace babydoll Charles loved so much. With a quick check in the mirror, you reapplied the lipstick that matched the outfit and swapped the thigh high boots for the pair of Louboutins he had gifted you.

The man had an obsession with red.

Charles was already in the room when you closed the door behind you and you waited for the blinking red light in the corner of the room to stop before either of you spoke. The cameras were supposed to record every second of the private dances but Charles paid enough to ensure his privacy was kept exactly that, private.

You drank in the sight of him, lounging comfortably on the velvet chaise with a crystal tumbler of vodka dangling from his fingers as he swirled the clear liquid around. At some point between leaving the mainstage and arriving here he had tugged his tie from his collar and now the top two buttons were open, teasing you to reach forward and bare even more of his skin.

“You’ve been busy,” you said as you poured yourself a drink and watched him over the rim of the glass. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming back.”

He curled a finger and you stepped closer as he beckoned you to take a seat on his lap. “If that were true, you wouldn’t still have this waiting in your closet for me.” His fingertips teased across the hem of the babydoll across your thighs as his lips whispered the words across your collar before he kissed your racing pulse.

“It was wishful thinking,” you purred as your fingers pulled his shirt from where it tucked into his suit pants. “I missed you.”

“Did you?” He took a deep breath in as he took your glass away, reaching over to place it with his on the table. When he turned back you caught the way his eyes narrowed and he stood up abruptly, turning and caging you beneath him. “It didn’t look that way when you were shaking your ass for those guys out there.”

You bit your lip to stifle your laugh but the corners of your lips still curled up in amusement as he pressed his in a tight line.

“Something funny?” he dared as he traced a thumb over your ruby lips before his hand trailed down the column of your throat.

The weight of his body pressed against you and your lips parted with a gasp when the cold metal of his belt buckle touched your clit through the thin lace. “Yes…” you answered as you reached between your bodies and began unbuttoning his shirt. “It’s hilarious actually. I couldn’t give a shit about anyone out there. They can look all they like but there’s only one man who can have me.”

“I hate that they see what’s mine,” he growled before he crushed his lips to yours, his tongue dominating yours as his fingers tightened enough to remind you of their controlled strength. He bit your lip enough to draw a surprised yelp from your lungs before he tore the babydoll open and roughly palmed your breasts. “I hate that I have to share these with those fuckers.”

He pinched one nipple and rolled it between his fingers as his mouth sealed over the other, sucking it to a stiff peak before dropping to his knees on the plush carpet. “Who do you belong to?” he asked as he spread your legs and bit the soft skin at your inner thigh.

“Ah, Charles!” you cried out but the pain quickly turned to molten fire that ignited your core.

“That’s right,” he chuckled against your skin before licking your pussy through the lace that was already damp with your arousal. He hummed deeply as he tasted you before pushing the thong aside so he could devour you completely. “You belong to me.”

Charles’ nails left half moons in your skin as his fingers gripped your thighs and tugged you closer to push his tongue deeper inside you and your head fell back as you saw stars. His name filled the room but not a sound would be heard outside the thick walls so there was no holding back when he replaced his tongue with his fingers, curling them deep into your cunt while he lapped at your clit.

“Oh, Charles, right…there…” you moaned as you combed his hair back, your fingers clutching the soft strands to hold him right where he was as the tightening in your core erupted into ecstasy.

Your fingers released the hold on him but he wasn’t finished with you just yet as he added another finger and sucked your puffy clit until your legs trembled around him. You screamed with the rapid orgasm that chased the first and wet warmth gushed from you as his fingers found that perfect spot that left you helpless to the release.

“Fuck, you are perfect,” Charles stated proudly as he rose to his feet. His half unbuttoned shirt was damp from where you had squirted over him and he licked his fingers clean before snapping his belt off and shoving the trousers down his legs.

You wanted a taste of him when you saw the creamy beads of pre-cum that he smeared around his tip with his thumb before fisting his thick shaft and pumping it lazily. You were ready to beg for a taste until he erased your ability to think and speak when he slapped your overstimulated clit with his dick before spearing your cunt with a hard thrust.

“Oh, fuck you’re tight,” he moaned as your pussy stretched with a sweet burn.

Your nails dug into his ass, spurring him to move as he tried to be a gentleman and wait for you to adjust to his size. “Just fuck me already, Charles. Make me yours.”

He rose to the challenge, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest so he had the perfect view of his cock disappearing inside you as he slowly rocked his hips. You knew he was teasing you, you knew he wanted to drive you wild. From the frustrated sound that came from deep in your belly he knew it was working.

“Touch yourself, bella. Touch yourself like you did while I was away.”

You reached between your legs and circled your clit as he started to move faster and he moaned as your pussy clenched in response. His bottom lip pinched between his teeth when you took his hand and brought it up to your throat where he didn’t need any more encouragement as he gently squeezed the sides.

“Harder,” you begged breathlessly.

He didn’t question you, he knew exactly what you could handle as his fingers tightened and his hips snapped forward until the sounds of your bodies colliding filled the room as loud as your moans.

Unintelligible words tumbled from your lips as lightning flashed across your vision and your clit throbbed beneath your fingers as you came again. Your walls clamped down on Charles and his hand slipped from your throat to your hips so his grip could leave bruises where he pulled you against his thrusts. His rhythm faltered and he buried himself as deep as possible with a shuddering breath and you felt his cock pulsing inside as he painted your walls with his release.

He collapsed breathless atop you and left delicate kisses across your shoulder that were a stark contrast to how rough he had been. Charles was complex that way, and more expressive than anyone you knew. There was no hiding with him, if he was upset he wasn’t afraid to show it, if he was jealous…or sated. He could express himself freely within these walls.

You lazily brushed his hair as he rested his head between the valley of your breasts and asked him about his time away. He huffed at the question and muttered that it wasn’t good before explaining how everything that could go wrong with his race did.

“I just wanted to come home,” he said as he peered up at you, “see your beautiful face.”

“I missed you too,” you admitted before sighing and pushing him back so you could sit up.

He moved off you, tucking himself back into his trousers before catching your hand as you stood up. “Where are you going?”

“You only paid for the hour,” you said as you forced your shaking legs to carry you to the door, his fingers slipping from yours. “I have to get back to work.”

“How much?” he asked as he reached into his jacket hanging over the back of the chaise and pulled out his phone.

Your hand froze on the door handle and you turned to him with a frown. “For what?”

“You.” He turned his screen to show his bank account, more zeros than you could comprehend in his balance. “How much for every hour?”

“Charles…”

“I’m done sharing you.” Two long strides brought him chest to chest with you and he pinched your chin to keep you from looking away as he shoved his phone into your hand. “You are mine, I don’t care what it costs. You belong to me.”

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine

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foone · 1 year

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A good teleport should be barely noticeable. One moment, there's no one there, and the next moment, there is. No flashes of light, no sound, you could literally blink and miss it. You often don't even see them at first, because the human eye is watching for movement, and a well-done teleport has no movement, just an instant change of nothing becoming something. It's a subtle art, the kind practiced endlessly by magicians, and that goes doubly for anyone trained as a war wizard. You want to turn the tides of a battle with arcane powers, or slip an assault team in behind enemy lines, to decapitate (sometimes literally) the opposing force? You have to be discreet. You have to perfectly balance the spell so that your strike force can slip in unnoticed, with a bit of magical help, and teleportation is one of the trickiest kinds of magic to make unnoticeable. The universe doesn't like it when nothing becomes something, and vice versa. It tends to notice, and people around tend to notice as well. So there's really an art to a good teleportation spell, and you sometimes see the grand masters of the field give demonstrations before crowds of less experienced magicians, often to roaring applause.

This was not one of those teleportation spells. This was a C-, barely passing, "SEE ME AFTER CLASS" written on your homework type of teleportation. The kind you do when you don't have time to prepare, when you don't give a damn who notices your arrival, because the one thing that's of highest importance is that you Stop Being Here and start Being Somewhere Else. This teleportation spell would give anyone magically sensitive headaches for days, and you would have trouble missing the bright flash and deafening noise that accompanies a body's-worth of air having to get out of the way in an instant. If you could hear the fabric of space, it rang like a bell hit with a sledgehammer when that teleport happened. Light-years away there was probably some little green men confused at why their new gravity-wave-detector appears to have told them a black hole merger just happened on the surface of a habitable planet.

And through that cacophony of light and sound and gravity, there stepped a man. He was silent for only a moment, and then screamed in terror, almost equaling the sound that had come shortly before. He ran, his rationality giving out, managing to function only at the instinctive reaction of an animal that is on fire and needs to move, now.

Because it's one thing to know, intellectually, that there are planets out there where the evaporated water from lakes and oceans collects in the lower atmosphere, and somehow condenses into visible structures of suspended water droplets, which then sometimes comes crashing down to the ground. That makes sense, in the way that you can read about sex or skydiving but it can in no way compare to experiencing the real thing (and hopefully not at the same time). There's a huge difference between knowing that there are planets with precipitation, and being in the middle of a rainstorm, because your emergency teleport dropped you on the outskirts of Seattle in the middle of the wet season.

Rudapedi Yonfer is being rained on for the first time in his life, and the master magician is terrified in much the way you would be if you opened the door to your bathroom one morning and there was a cheetah sitting in your bathtub.

#my writing #mundane kaya sona

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thefreakandthehair · 10 months

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a little fluff for @starrystevie's birthday! hope it's the absolute best day! ✨

Eddie misses Steve.

It's equal parts cute, and maybe a little pitiful because it's only three days in Chicago for his friend's Bachelor Party, but it's already been two days and he misses Steve. Bandit digs his claws into Eddie's thigh as he makes biscuits and begs for pets, curling up comfortably next to Eddie's lap and leaving Steve's side of the couch overwhelmingly cold and empty.

"I know, kid. I know," Eddie coos, scratching their cat behind the left ear as he purrs.

He's glad that Steve had been able to get the time off from work to go, and he's glad that Steve's made friends on his recreational basketball league, and he's not jealous. At all. Not even a little bit.

... Okay, maybe he is a little bit jealous that Brandon gets to see him sweaty and gross in the June heat, running around doing whatever jock-activity they've planned in the backyard of their rented house all weekend, but who can blame him? Steve never gives him a reason to feel insecure so he knows this isn't about Steve. It's not rooted in anything even remotely related to him or their relationship— it's all about Eddie and the nasty voice in the back of his head that pulls out a bullhorn and screams not good enough on a loop.

Condensation from the beer in his free hand drips down his wrist as he rests his elbow on the arm of the couch. It's not the first time he's felt this way, and Steve himself has admitted to feeling the same way from time to time, so he knows that it'll pass. He just needs to focus on something else: DND campaign planning, sketching, writing, cracking out the ol' guitar. He could rewatch Howard the Duck for the hundredth time, or maybe even Labyrinth—

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Eddie's phone buzzes on the coffee table and he fully expects it to be Gareth or Jeff, or maybe Robin. They have plans later that night, both of them missing Steve and all. What he doesn't expect is a series of text messages and 19 photos from Steve.

How funny. It's been five years since they'd become EddieandSteve but seeing Steve's name and smiling photo on his phone sets his little hummingbird heart aflutter even still.

steve 👑: it's so goddamn hot here steve 👑: we're playing cornhole now and just threw a football around steve 👑: sweating all the beer and vodka out as a I go, that's healthy, right? don't worry, I'm drinking a shit ton of water.

Steve includes a selfie of himself, smiling closed-lipped with a baseball cap on backwards and the neck of his tee-shirt drenched in sweat. Eddie wants to lick him dry and that's a thought he'll never tell a living soul, probably not even Steve. No, no definitely not Steve. He'll never live that one down.

steve 👑: oh, and fishing was good! we made some bets on who could catch the most and then who could catch the biggest. I tied for first place for the biggest and I caught 17. brandon got 20 so he won that bet. I'm only letting it go because it's his bachelor party lmao

Eddie swipes to the next photo, one of Steve and Brandon holding their two biggest catches. Steve's sunglasses are sliding down his nose, no doubt from the sun warming his glistening skin, and he's smiling wide against the railing of a boat. As much as he misses him, Eddie can't help but mirror his smile. Call him lovesick or 'down bad', as Robin says, but seeing Steve happy makes him happy.

He continues swiping and reading the little blurb attached to each photo, some of which don't even include Steve but Eddie appreciates them all the same. They don't include Steve, but it feels a lot like Steve trying include Eddie in the weekend. The last picture is one of the entire group, all dozen or so guys lined up on the ship. Brandon stands in the center surrounded by the rest of the group with Steve shuffled in no meaningful spot but to Eddie, Steve is the center of every photo, every moment, everything.

Eddie starts to type a response when his phone dings again. This time, Steve sends a voice message and Eddie presses play so quickly, he nearly knocks poor Bandit off his lap.

Hey, takin' a break from cornhole. I won, by the way, had to make up for losing to Brandon in the fishing bet.

Steve laughs and Eddie's stomach flips. Robin's right. He's down very, very bad for this man.

But I just uh, I miss you, and I know maybe that's sorta lame but I do. The party's great and all, but I can't wait to get back home tomorrow. Tell the kid I said hi. I love you, Ed.

He replays it a few times and shamelessly taps Keep so it doesn't disappear before sending his own voice message.

It's no more lame than me sitting here with Bandit sharing how much we miss you, so you get a pass. I mean, you get a pass on everything all the time, but don't let that go to your pretty head, okay? I'm so fucking glad you're having fun and sowing your jocky oats, but selfishly, I can't wait for you to get home. I'll make it worth your while.

He huffs air through his nose and laughs low in his throat.

Oh, and Robin's coming by in a little bit so I'm gonna grab a bottle of wine. Don't be surprised if you get a FaceTime call later. I love you too, Stevie. So goddamn much.

Eddie sure does miss Steve, but it stings a little less knowing that Steve misses him, too.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steddie ficlets #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things ficlets #st fic #st ficlet #myblurbs #myfic #alcohol cw #eddie and robin do indeed facetime steve later a little wine drunk and steve obviously answers immediately #he misses his boyfriend and his best friend so fucking much #he gets to pass the phone around a little bit and introduce everyone #proudly (and a little drunkenly) proclaiming how much he loves his two favorite people #they play two truths and a lie over facetime with the rest of the bachelor party #when steve gets home the next day eddie and robin get standing invites to everything forever <3333 #no one look at me this idea came from nowhere and i know it's not any of my wips BUT the worms drive the bus

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goldenroutledge · 10 months

Text

intimidated

pairing: jj maybank x kook!reader

word count: 5.3k

summary: you’re there for jj when it matters most. (inspired by this post)

warning(s): sprinkles of angst, but fluffy in the end.

a/n: the song i had in mind while writing this was intimidated by kaytranada & h.e.r <3

jj maybank masterlist

JJ Maybank didn’t need handouts. As he told it, his independence was his most valuable asset. It’s what made him a pogue through and through. “Is freedom anything else than the right to live as we wish?”— An Epictetus quote JJ scribbled down, bored as ever in his freshman English class. His life motto condensed into twelve simple words, whether his newfound ‘freedom’ was out of his control or not. Either way, he played the cards he was dealt.

His friends— no, scratch that— his family, were his escape to comfort. A soft, pillowy landing from the nose dive that was his life. A foreign concept to him until he met John B, then Pope, then Kiara, then you. A refuge of safety, ironically enough, given the many times you all had looked death in the face.

Even though the pogues had already started wearing matching friendship bracelets that Kiara made by the time you came along, it was a smooth transition when you were welcomed into the group with open arms. By some more than others at first, given your kook status. But just as they’d embraced Kie, your initiation into the group was no different.

While it took time for JJ in particular to come around, his reservations were understandable. At first, you gave him his space and he gave you yours. Always letting him set the tone and lead the way.

As time went on, JJ soon decided he wouldn’t mind having you around him all the time, there was no going back. JJ loved to the point of no return, and it was incomparable to anything— or how anyone else could ever make you feel.

At times, he felt like that was all he had to offer. Nothing but fierce loyalty and protection over the ones he loves most. But you. To JJ, you were the fine line between hideaway and heaven itself. Even if he thought he may not end up there, he was sure that it would be you he’d meet at heaven’s gates.

Amongst any conflict or tension within the group, you always provided a safe haven for him to retreat to, though he had difficulty admitting it. In a way you had a solution for everything. Keeping tensions low and spirits high in the process. You were the original peacemaker of the group, before his precious gun came along.

Right now, it was almost all he could think about while he sat there, beer in hand, listening to John B and Sarah argue in the distance. How he wishes you were here, to ease his nerves and settle the anxiety simmering in his chest.

JJ hated this. He hated that nobody seemed to get along anymore. With all that was going on with the others, he wouldn’t even think to mention his problems. The looming eviction notice on his house, one of few things he had left on this island. While everyone’s lives continued to progress, JJ’s was at a standstill. No job, no parents, and now his friend group was falling apart at the seams. And with everyone else occupied these days, he was alone.

JJ, selfless as usual, would hate to bother you, no matter how badly he wanted to. He knew you’d have some inspirational shit to say to him. Though he’d poked fun at it sometimes, he’d never needed anything more right now.

The sound of footsteps came before JJ saw them, watching Sarah storm off and away from John B as he stood there, tense and silent.

JJ could be hot headed at times, that was no secret. He could understand his friends' quarrels to an extent. But he couldn’t look past the fact that you all were supposed to be sticking together, especially right now. When he said that nothing good could happen once you all returned to Kildare, he knew he was right. Call it a gut feeling.

Naturally, Sarah told you everything. Confidant, mom-friend, advisor— all titles bestowed upon you by your close group of friends over the years. You’d always tried to be as neutral as possible in times of conflict. Though in matters of the heart it was nearly impossible.

Days after her fight with John B, she found herself laying on your bed, venting all of her bottled up frustrations about him and the state of their relationship.

“I’m a mess, Y/n. I feel like such a mess.”

You looked at her sympathetically, knowing there wasn’t much you could do. Just listen, just be there in her time of need.

“So, I took my bag from the Chateau and I left. Kie’s parents told me I couldn’t stay, then I went to JJ’s and he wasn’t home. He’s working at Guffy’s again last I heard.”

You briefly glanced up at the mention of JJ’s name— and it didn’t go unnoticed by Sarah. Instead of divulging about it, she continued her rant.

“Then I was just wandering around, because it’s not like I had anything better to do. And who sees me drinking at Tiki Bar? Topper.”

“Topper?”

“Topper.”

You internally cringed at the mention of the Thornton boy. He was always nice when you saw him, nothing bad nor good to say about him. But you knew deep down he was Sarah’s achilles heel. He reminded her of everything she once had, the person she once was. Lately, you couldn’t help but crave some normalcy too.

“So.. what happened?”

She sighs heavily, dropping her hand across her eyes. “We went to Mase.”

“Alone?”

“We went with some people from KDC. The old crew, Kelce, Phoebe…”

“Is that it?”

“We made out.”

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut in fear of your reaction, knowing it’d probably show on your face before anything.

“Oh.” You swallowed back any judgment you might’ve had, compartmentalizing your love for John B and choosing to hear Sarah out. “And how do you feel about it?”

“Awful. I mean Topper has been so good to me lately with everything going on, he’s always there to pick up the pieces and I just feel bad. It was a mistake.”

“It can’t happen again, y’know. Not if you want to work it out with John B.”

“I do, I wanna work it out with him.” She urged. “And then the next morning we had breakfast. Kie came into the restaurant and saw us together and I think she got the wrong message. She said she’s staying out of it but I can tell what she’s thinking.” Sarah takes a deep inhale, and a deep exhale to follow. “What do I do, Y/n?”

It still baffles you at times that you’ve become the voice of reason. You hope Sarah doesn’t notice that you feel uneasy about the whole thing. “Just… be honest. Don’t let John B find out from anyone other than you. He’s gonna be upset but he has a right to be.”

The blonde sits up, crawls over to you and envelopes you into her arms. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Sun reflected brightly off the boats docked at the marina, the two smoothie cups in your hand sweating from the sweltering heat. Your family's boat was kept here at Guffy’s; particularly when your parents weren’t in town to cruise around the island and daydrink with their kook friends.

At least you had an alibi, just in case you happened to run into JJ. The two medium strawberry banana smoothies you carried might need some explanation, though.

Ever since you all had made it back to the island, JJ had been hard to track down. He was rarely in one place for too long. So where else better to catch him than at work?

“Y/n? How are you doing today?” Billy questions from a distance away, putting on his friendliest smile for the daughter of his best clients.

“Can’t complain. Happy to be back.”

“And it’s good to have you back. Everything alright with the boat?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine, I just realized I left behind my favorite sunglasses.” You explained, hoping your excuse sounded authentic enough.

“Alright. You take care, now.”

“Actually… I was wondering is JJ around?”

“Maybank? He was here a few days ago.”

“Hm, I could’ve sworn he was working today.”

Billy sighs, eyebrows furrowing. “Listen, Ms. Y/l/n, I know you want to advocate for your boyfriend and all but JJ can’t work here.”

Confusion spread through your features this time as you genuinely had no idea what the man was getting at. You chose to not correct him when he’d mistaken you for JJ’s girlfriend.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good kid. I know he wants the job back but Guffy put a pin in it. I’m sorry. Really not much I can do.”

You forced a polite smile on your face as the dots connected, remembering the melting smoothie you held in your left hand while your half-finished one remained in your right. The two of you exchanged brief goodbyes before you quickly left the marina.

If JJ really hadn’t been working at Guffy’s again, where the hell was he? His act of disappearing was unmatched, but so was your skill of guessing.

If a game of hide-n-seek is what he wanted, a game of hide-n-seek is what he will get.

Grass brushed against your ankles as you approached JJ’s home, your steps careful as you looked around for him.

Going to JJ’s home was forbidden. When Luke was around, that is. He was a phantom— an ugly, dark presence looming over the quaint home that would otherwise feel serene. The chirping birds in the trees couldn’t tell the difference.

You haven't been here many times. The times you had been here weren’t anything you nor JJ wanted to remember. The feeling of uncertainty creeped into your mind from your past visits. You never knew what to expect.

To your left, there was a beautiful, never-ending view of the water past the grass of the Maybank’s yard. You hadn’t noticed that before. This spot had probably seen some beautiful sunsets. In a moment of imagination, you almost pictured sitting there with JJ on the plush green, hand in hand, watching the warm hues of the sky melt into a dark night.

The caution tape wrapping around the wood of the house caught your interest as you made your way onto the porch, also noticing the eviction letter left on the door, moving closer for a better look.

“Y/n?”

JJ called out, appearing from around the corner of his home, startling you out of concentration as you re-read the notice again and again.

As if you didn’t come over to finally see him in the first place. Though you couldn’t speak— for once unsure of what to say. ‘Sorry you’re getting evicted?’, it just didn’t sound right. Then again it might’ve been better than standing frozen and staring at him, silently, like you were doing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I- um…. I brought you a smoothie.”

You held out the cup, approaching him and handing it to him. He stood there dumbfounded, eyebrows furrowed. His lips eventually pursed into a smile as a way to say thank you. This wasn’t the relaxed JJ you were accustomed to; nonetheless he was still the JJ you loved.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you. The smoothie.”

“You came all the way out here from your mansion on Figure 8 to bring me a smoothie?”

“What?” You scoffed, his tone dictating where the conversation was headed. Most likely nowhere.

“Go back to reading by your pool or something. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I haven’t heard from you in days, JJ. I’m just checking up on you.”

“So what? You touring around the Cut now? Delivering smoothies to lost pogues? Is Heyward’s your next stop?”

He resumed tinkering with his bike, and from the looks of it he was working rather aggressively— desperate to distract himself from the conversation at hand.

“I miss my best friend. Am I not allowed to miss you anymore? I mean it’s not like we were stranded on an island together… not knowing whether we would live or die!”

“Well, we’re not exactly a big happy family right now. You should know that.”

“Yeah. John B and Sarah are on some kind of break. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see you, that doesn’t have anything to do with us. I thought we were past the whole picking sides thing.”

“I’ve been busy.” JJ shrugs.

“Busy working? At the job you lied about having?”

His eyes snapped to yours immediately. Your heart clenched as soon as the words left your mouth, you didn’t mean to go too far. But at least you had his attention.

“What, are you stalking me now? Or did you hire a P.I. to figure that out?”

“Hilarious, JJ. I was at the marina earlier to grab something off my boat. Actually hoping I would run into you but, whatever.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

A few moments of awkward silence lingered between the two of you, as you kicked a pebble around with your foot.

“I know you don’t owe me anything… but you could’ve just told me.”

He paused his movements, thinking about how he was going to respond.

“Tell you what? That I prefer mixed berry over strawberry banana?” He jested, smiling to himself.

“I’m not talking about the smoothie, idiot.”

His eyes drifted over to his home, knowing exactly what you were thinking, just afraid to acknowledge it.

“My problems aren’t your problems, Y/n.”

“And I know that. I just wanna help you, however you’ll let me.”

“Well, you can help me by not helping me. I’ll figure it out. Always do.”

“All I’m saying is you don’t have to figure it out alone. I’m here.”

At that, he dropped his tools, running tense hands through his hair. “But you aren’t here! You don’t have to live like this and you should be glad that you don’t!”

He raised his voice at you, frustrated. JJ was never good at putting his feelings into words, especially when it came to actually expressing them.

He didn’t know how he could tell you about everything. The worst day he’s ever had, the lowest he’s ever been. He couldn’t see a way in which he could tell you all of it and carry on the same. You were always a constant in his life. He needed it to stay that way, by any means necessary.

“That doesn’t make sense, JJ. What’s the point of having anything nice if I can’t share it with the people I love?”

The both of you were taken aback at what your explanation implied. In actuality, it took all of your power not to say those three words to him outright. But you couldn’t, not like this.

“You don’t have to pretend to care that much. I’m sure you can find another community service project to focus on.”

“Community service?” You chuckled emptily, baffled at his ridiculousness, though deep down you knew this was how he dealt with things. He simply didn’t know anything other than defensiveness. “That’s what you think this is?”

JJ closed his eyes in exasperation, wishing this conversation away. He could hear it in your voice, your feelings were hurt. Maybe not as bad as when your 8th grade crush asked someone else to the Valentine’s dance— but even a little was too much.

“If you’re gonna reduce our decade of friendship to me doing charity work, I guess there’s no changing your mind. I’m just wasting my breath.”

The words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to apologize instantly, but now he wasn’t sure if his apologies were something you’d wanna hear at the moment. He wasn’t sure if you’d believe him.

For all the disingenuous apologies he’d accepted over the years, he’d hate to put you on the receiving end of one. Even if his heart truly was in the right place, JJ couldn’t muster up the courage to show it.

“You don’t have to antagonize me. Because everything you’re blaming me for, it isn’t my fault. Just like this isn’t your fault either.” You gestured to the eviction notice at his door.

“Yeah.” He mumbled. “You’re right.”

“Say what you want about me, but I just wanna know that you’re okay. And if it’s an apology you’re looking for, you’re not gonna get it. I’ll never apologize for that.”

He nodded, unsure of what else to say. All he could do was try to understand.

Realizing he had no further comments, you turned your back to leave.

“Will I see you at the Chateau tomorrow?” You asked over your shoulder, hope remaining in your voice despite the uneasiness that remained between you two.

“Don’t count on it.”

“Alright, well… bye.”

JJ waves, before muttering a monotone ‘thanks for the smoothie’ as he watches you go.

Since returning to the island, it was an unspoken thing that you all were to meet up at the Chateau at some point. And with all the new developments in your lives lately, these meetings were much needed.

Pope handed you a beer as he came into John B’s living room, opening one of his own as he sat down beside you.

John B and Sarah seemed to be laying low, but it was clear they were back together or had come to some sort of resolution.

Kiara was going on about how much shit her parents had been giving her lately. They’d been hovering— watching over their daughter’s every move from the moment she set foot on the island again.

Pope told the group about how Cleo had won over Heywar in record time, much faster than John B or JJ. Pope’s parents simply wanted the best for him, and knew that the danger and mischief his friends came with couldn’t be productive.

“We’ve been best friends for what…? 13 years?” John B recalls. “And your dad can hardly stand the sight of me but Cleo won him over in a few minutes? How?”

“Are you surprised?”

“Not at all.” John B holds his hands up in surrender to Cleo, Pope smirking beside her as he witnesses the interaction. “Just confused.”

“I have many superpowers, John.”

“Apparently! Winning over Heyward is like, unheard of in this group. At least for JJ and me.” John B explains, sipping his beer.

“Speaking of, where’s he at?”

At the shift in conversation, you can feel several pairs of eyes fall upon you. All you can do is act as normal as possible, tipping off any of your friends always ends badly in the case of keeping a secret. Until the cat’s out of the bag, your friends will make it their personal mission to reveal whatever it is you’re hiding.

You raised your eyebrows, pretending to only catch onto their stares moments later. “Why’re you looking at me?”

“No reason. It’s not like you guys are secretly together or anything.” Pope mutters under his breath, catching a glare from you at his false claim.

“We’re not. I wouldn’t know where he is.”

John B hisses, pretending to shiver. “Is it a little chilly in here? Or is that just Y/n’s cold shoulder?”

You roll your eyes, further proving his point until Sarah chimes in, pondering if she should speak up about what she knows.

“I actually stopped by JJ’s the other day. He.. wasn’t home.”

“Oh yeah, didn’t he go fishing? Probably not back yet.” John B remembers.

“I don’t think he’ll be going home anytime soon.”

At this your eyes meet Sarah’s hazel ones, full of hesitation. You shoot her a look of ‘whatever you’re about to say, don’t’, and you hope she is wise enough to pick up on it.

“Why is that?” Kiara questions, confused.

“He got evicted.” Sarah blurts, regret spreading through her expression as she sees you react; you don’t react. And that slightly terrifies her.

“Really?” Pope asks in disbelief, though not too surprised. More so disappointed that his best friend had to endure this, silently at that.

“Yeah. When was the last time anyone’s heard from him?”

The group silently recollects for a few moments, Kie pulls out her phone to review her latest texts with the man in question.

Instead, you’re wondering how the hell Sarah even knew about this to begin with. How long could she know about this and just stay silent? Forget not telling the group, how long could she keep this from you? How could she not help her friend who was clearly in need of support?

“How long have you known?”

Sarah appears confused, wondering where your line of questioning is coming from.

“I- uh. After John B and I fought I went there, remember Y/n? I was hoping I could stay but he wasn’t home. That’s when I saw the eviction notice.”

“And you waited, I don’t know, a week to bring that up?”

“Y/n, it’s not like I intentionally kept this from you, okay? We know how protective you are over JJ.”

Her words strike a cord within you, already on edge regarding JJ Maybank because of your argument with him the day prior. It was still a sore subject, even more so made by having no one to confide in about it.

“It’s not about that, Sarah. You didn’t even have to tell anyone at all but you didn’t think to maybe find out if he’s okay? At the very least?”

“I was a bit homeless at the time, Y/n, sorry about that.”

“Oh, right. You were too busy hooking up with Topper to care about the well-being of our best friend? Good to know the bare minimum is impossible for you.”

Sarah scoffs, John B shakes his head in exasperation. Kiara stays silent mostly, being no stranger to your and Sarah’s sister-like fights. She couldn’t even disagree with you, though with her parents keeping her on lockdown it was hard to do anything about it. She wasn’t in a place to have an opinion.

Pope and Cleo shared looks, communicating wordlessly as they had grown to do. Being away at Heyward’s kept them out of the loop quite a bit.

“JJ will figure it out, Y/n. Relax.” John B reassured. Though he was defending his girlfriend, now that they were in a ‘good place’ again, you felt anything but reassured at his carelessness around the subject. You’d think of all of you, John B would understand the most.

“Relax? Why should I relax if JJ is in trouble? If anything, you’re too relaxed!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way but you don’t have to take it out on Sarah, this isn’t even her fault! Not all of us want to fight your battles.”

“If you had any sense left you’d realize this isn’t about me. This is about our friend, who I thought we all cared about. At least enough to share this kind of news. We’re talking about his well-being here, I mean he’s losing the house he grew up in and nobody seems to care about that?”

“If he wanted us to know, he’d tell us.”

“Like he’s ever going to do that! You know better than anyway that he won’t!”

“It’s not my problem.”

“Mhm. It’s a shame JJ’s busy solving all of yours.”

“Y/n, please. Can we just have a chill night?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be his ‘best friend since the third grade?’ Because you don’t fucking act like it.” You huffed, standing up to get rid of your beer can. At this point you were rambling to yourself, more than okay with the group hearing what you really thought about them and their carelessness for the situation.

“Indeed. Which is why I don’t need to force him to tell me shit, okay?”

“Why are you such an asshole, John B?”

“Y/n, I just found my dad. So, excuse me if JJ’s living situation isn’t at the forefront of my mind.”

“I never said it had to be, but you’re acting like you don’t even care!”

“I do care! We all do!” John B shouts. “And maybe if you’d let up on him he’d actually come to you about this stuff!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying, maybe JJ would give you the love you so desperately crave if you weren’t fucking suffocating him.”

“John B!” Kiara warns.

Sarah held her face in her hands, knowing John B had crossed the line. Maybe he had one too many beers in his system. Either way, hell was about to break loose. And when it came to JJ, hell hath no fury like you did.

Your head felt like it was about to explode. How could your friends seem to be so comfortable with this? The same friends that claimed to leave no pogue behind, to never turn their back on one of their own.

If that was true, then what was this? From the looks of it, nobody even pretended to give a damn.

“You’re fucking terrible, John B. This isn’t even about me at all! You just can’t stop deflecting from what a shitty friend you are. I mean, JJ would die for literally every last one of you guys. And he almost did! On multiple occasions! But instead you’re gonna neglect the one person who's seen you through all your bullshit and as soon as it’s over you’re gonna pretend like nothing happened? Like the Earth is back on its axis? The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you, John B. That’s just not- that’s not something you do to someone you love.”

There wasn’t a need to announce your departure, as it was so quiet inside that you could hear your own breathing.

As hard as it was to fight with John B like that, you couldn’t deny the weight that had been lifted off your chest. Your spirit was lighter. It was therapeutic, really. So therapeutic you felt peaceful enough to go home and take the longest nap ever recorded, maybe in John B’s own hammock just to prove a point.

Entranced in your own thoughts, you didn’t even register JJ resting in the hammock himself, hands intertwined behind his head. Not asleep, but wondering what your next words will be. The walls of the Chateau were thin enough, echoes of your voices amplified by the open windows.

He wasn’t sure if you simply didn’t notice his presence or if you were flat out ignoring him, walking past like he was invisible. Testing the waters, he called out from behind you.

“I never really thanked you for the smoothie.”

You froze in your tracks, face heating up and muscles tensing at the thought of the argument he probably just heard and decided not to barge in on.

“It’s alright. Wasn’t looking for praise.”

JJ met you halfway, taking note of your tired eyes and your feet dragging against the grass.

“So, what? You’re picking fights for me now?”

“You heard?”

“I think Ward Cameron heard. All the way from Guadalupe.”

“Stop it.” You warned, cracking a smile for a split second. JJ was good at that. Making you smile no matter the circumstances. “I stand up against injustice. That’s all.”

“Then are you still mad at me?”

“About what?”

“Yesterday. The whole… note on door situation.”

“Could never be mad at you, JJ. Especially not about that.”

He softly smiles, one that you return. It’s been a long time since you’d shared a small moment like this. Too long.

He gestures for you to come closer and slide into his arms as he’d held them out for you, just like you belong there.

“I am sorry, though.” JJ mumbles the words softly, almost into the crook of your neck as if he was speaking to you and you only. “I know you’re just trying to stick around for me.”

“Yeah. Just trying to be wherever you are.”

“You don’t have to fight for me, y’know.” I’m already here. Though you may not have caught on instantly, nothing he’s ever said has made as much sense.

“Sorry, J. Sometimes I just feel like we don’t deserve you. Like I don’t deserve you.” You admitted sheepishly.

JJ scoffs, and you’re not sure why. He’s often sarcastic, but it’s hard to tell what he’s really thinking in these situations.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/n?”

Your eyes meet his, hesitation behind them.

“You’re the one who doesn’t deserve me? Is that a joke?”

You looked at him as if it were obvious, like the line had already been drawn in the sand. This fact had already been decided; there was no going back, not now, and not ever.

“I know I’m not the smartest person, okay, but you’re making no sense.”

“Come again?” You asked, equally as confused as he was. It was incredulous for anyone to believe JJ of all people wasn’t worth it— as if he wasn’t worth someone who would go to the ends of the Earth for him, someone who would defend him six ways to Sunday. There was no one in your life more deserving of such a thing.

“Listen, Y/n...”

“No! You listen. Nobody should treat you like that. Especially our friends! As if their problems are bigger than yours or something. It’s just fucked up for any one of them to act like they don’t care because I know deep down, they do. They care just like I do but they just suck at showing it. Mostly John B. He sucks the most. And I’m not exempt either, I mean I should’ve checked on you sooner-”

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda.” JJ interrupted, placing his hands on your shoulders. “Y/n, it’s okay. I don’t need anything.”

“I know that. I just want to love you. Because I really do. I really love you, JJ. Like bad. So bad that it’s probably sad at this point but I really don’t care anymore! Not about what John B has to say, not about anything, because I’ll never regret it. I’ll never wish that I didn’t love you.”

That stupid weight again, feeling as if it’s taking off like a rocketship and leaving your conscience for good. It makes you want to scream the words from the rooftops. Over and over and over again.

Confessing feels good, but kissing JJ feels damn euphoric. His lips are on yours before you can even register what’s happening, too busy being self-aware to realize the way his eyes turned glossy, or the way he’s gently got one hand on your waist and one hand caressing your cheek.

“He’s got it all wrong. I love you, too.” JJ confesses after pulling away from you, briefly taking his eyes off yours to glance at the Chateau. His head shakes as he says it, that starry glint in his eyes so undeniably present. “So bad.”

He earns a giggle out of you as he mocked your words to him just a few moments ago. But now, things were changing. He couldn’t stand before you and pretend he didn’t feel the way he did. Not anymore, not ever again.

Not after you’d shown your love for him so confidently to everybody, time and time again. JJ Maybank wasn’t sure about many things in life, but you weren’t one of them. This was surely the best decision he’d made in years.

“Come over.” You whine between kisses, breaking him out of his trance. If you let him, he’d kiss you forever, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

JJ raises his eyebrows, smirking.

“For dinner. We’re having sloppy joes.”

JJ, unresisting temptation, leans in again and moans against your lips dramatically. “What about dessert?”

You give his hair a tug and kiss the smirk off his face, whispering to him a secret.

“And maybe dessert.”

taglist: @ilovejjmaybank @missevi @nxsmss @cameronsrafe @msgorillagripcoochie @bibliophilewednesday @tovvaa @rudybarnes @annab-nana @reawritesthings @moniamaybank @outerbankspreferences @laneylaneylaney @jjpouggues @pogueslandia @mildkleptomaniac @whcclxr @mrs-cameron @it-was-never-meant-to-be-boys @alanniys @amourology @luversgirl + jj maybank taglist: @destourtereaux

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bruisedboys · 4 months

Note

could you do anakin looking after you while ur drunk or high 🫠

hi honey yes I absolutely can!! sorry for any inaccuracies in this, I don’t drink and I actually have not watched a star wars movie in months 😭

anakin skywalker x fem!reader

“Give me a kiss,” you say. ‘Demand’ would be the more accurate word. Anakin’s eyes blow wide.

“What?” He asks through a startled laugh, more shocked than anything. You’ve been home all of thirty seconds and you’re already all over him. He’s never trusting Ahsoka with you again, he decides.

“A kiss,” you say again, like it’s obvious. You tilt your chin up towards him, chest flush with his. “I want one. Please?”

Anakin blinks. “Sure,” he says, properly dumbfounded. He leans down and kisses you. The taste of liquor on your mouth is strong. Your lips are sticky and warm.

You make a pleased humming noise against his mouth and screw your fingers into his collar. Anakin has to pull back lest he get carried away. You chase his lips, eyes half lidded. When you realise the kiss is over, they blink open as if your eyelashes have been glued together.

“You taste like a minibar,” Anakin tells you fondly. He slides his hands from your shoulders to your elbows. “How much did you have to drink exactly?”

Your brows furrow and your nose scrunches. “Don’t know. Not that much. Like, five?”

“Five what?” Anakin asks, a bit horrified.

Your face scrunches even more, like the effort of remembering is gruelling. A few seconds pass and then,

“I can’t remember,” you admit, forlorn.

Anakin rolls his eyes. You’re hopeless. He’s going to have a word with you in the morning about limits. Admittedly, he should’ve talked to you before you left with Ahsoka, but he was too distracted by your pretty going-out outfit. It’s all rumpled now, and your hair’s falling out, but you’re still the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Right,” he says, half amused and half exasperated. “Well, how about I get you some water, hm? You look like you could use something that’s not laced with alcohol.”

You don’t answer, but you also don’t protest as he guides you over to the sofa. ‘Guides’ is being generous. He’s practically carrying you. He doesn’t mind, even though you’re dead weight in his arms. He sits you down and goes to move away but you cling to him, your hands hot at his hips.

“Y/N,” he says, exasperated. He’s glad you’re half-cut so you don’t notice how much your needy touching affects him. “C’mon, trouble. Let me go.”

You pout at him. “Can I have another kiss?” You ask, looking awfully hopeful. He’s sure you’re making your eyes like that on purpose, all shiny and pretty, nothing short of captivating.

“After you’ve had some water,” he promises, practicing some restraint for both your sakes. He covers your hands with his and eases them off his hips. “Sit pretty, okay?” He leans over and cups your warm cheek briefly. “I’ll be back.”

You give him a sticky sweet smile as he leaves. He fills a glass for you with cold water and ice in the kitchen. When he returns you’re exactly how he left you, if not somehow prettier.

“Here, sweetheart,” he says, handing you your water. He keeps a hand under your glass while you drink, worried you’ll drop it, but you’re very careful and you finish half the glass in a few big gulps.

When you’re done smile at him, lips shiny with condensation. “Kiss now?” You ask adorably.

Anakin gives in. He can’t say no when you’re asking like that. He bends at the waist to kiss you, one hand under your chin, one making sure you don’t drop your drink. You respond with startling enthusiasm, pushing up into his kiss eagerly, your hands grabbing at his waist and pulling him between your legs. Anakin laughs like mad and draws back.

“Sweetheart,” he says, chiding. He holds one hand to your cheek to stop you from continuing your chase for his mouth. “Don’t.”

You frown around his palm. “Why not?”

“You’re really quite drunk, if you haven’t noticed,” he tells you, amused and lovesick at the same time. He drags a line down your jaw with his thumb. “Do you have a headache, honey?”

You shake your head viciously. Anakin thinks if you didn’t have a headache before he asked, you probably do now.

“No,” you say primly.

Anakin hums. You’ll have one in the morning, probably. Though he hopes if he can get enough water in you tonight it’ll hopefully make things better for you when you wake up tomorrow.

He tucks some of your hair behind your ear where it’s come loose. The smile you give him in return is blinding.

“Finish your water, sweet girl,” he says, fonder than fond. “Then I’ll help you get changed and we can go to bed, how does that sound?”

You make a pleased sound as you bring your glass to your mouth. Anakin can guess well enough what it means.

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

BABES IM ON THE FLOOR 😭 I watched this Price Voice Lines Video and my god 🫠 His voice is so deep im litrally insane. Could you maybe do something with his lines around the 13:35 mark, where he’s being a self-sacrificing jerk? 🤭 Maybe the Reader is with him on a mission or something and like their both super protective and trying to save eachother or something ❤️

All, Most, Some, None

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Snow melts in the heat of blood.

WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, major character death(s), some fluff in the beginning, protective!Price, pre-relationship pining, obliviousness, blood, bullet wounds, hurt/no comfort, etc. no happy ending

A/N: You know I have to finish out my requests with just pure heartbreak.

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

You look out over the dark landscape and take down a breath as the atmosphere of the camp behind you murmurs like a warm drink. Night had fallen swiftly two hours beforehand when you’d first volunteered to take watch, your smile bright and eyes eager. Snow was just beginning to slide down from the gray sky, thick clouds hanging like a navy cloth—splotch marks of yellowish stars a far-off glimmer of infinity.

When the footsteps echo out, coming to your position, you already know the weight and pace of who it belongs to; can trace the way his feet will conform to the dirt and the crunch of white powder. A grin flickers your lips easily but you don’t bother looking over your shoulder.

John huffs as he takes his place beside you on the lookout, crossing his arms over his chest. In the corner of your eye you spy on his loose yet measured face, that authoritative edge that seeps into his skin at times.

For a long moment, the two of you look out over the earth, studying the dips and drags of the Northwest Territories of Canada in early winter. While cold, the jackets the both of you wear take the chill off well enough. Along the body of your MK14 EBR, your fingers rest casually—no need to be tensed and ready. Your sharp eyes hadn’t spotted anything for eons.

“Sitrep, then, Sol?” You hum under your breath as John looks over at you with a raised brow.

“Rabbits and Caribou, Sir.” Your voice goes teasing, “I think we’re boxed in from all sides—I suggest immediate evac.”

A low chuckle and a firm shake of a beanied head, a puff of condensation as the darkness seeps over all to be seen. John glances at you with a smirk.

“Unfortunate, seeing as we just got here.” You smile and laugh deep in your throat. It was at moments like this that you thanked whatever deity was out there that Captain Price had seen your potential all those years ago.

He’d handpicked you when you were nothing but a Private—brought you up with knowledge and stern, yet gruffly companionate, assistance all the way to Lieutenant. You don’t know the exact moment when you started to get flustered around him.

Your chest is tight right now, fingers that were once cold going clammy as you twitch them. Inside your chest, your heart pounds blood into the thin drums of your ears like boot-thumps. Clearing your throat, you shift your feet and push out, “Did Laswell get in touch?”

“Ah,” John shakes his head, taking a breath as he says, “Negative. We’re on our own for this.” He turns his head fully to you and for a moment you’re enraptured by the shine in the depths of his blue irises. Teasing, “Think you can handle it, then?”

You turn away quickly, face burning.

“Doubt me?” Matching his jab you smile widely. John chuckles and jerks his shoulders, grunting as his chin tilts.

“Never.” Hiding the violent burn of your cheeks, you look at the landscape quickly, nails tapping the metal of your gun.

“Sol?” John speaks after a moment of tight silence. You blink over with an interested look, cocking your head. The Captain had shifted to fully face you, and one of his hands itches at the side of his finely-trimmed beard. Fast eyes glance over your form like a studious teacher—your lungs still inside of your ribs. John mutters, “Stick near me tomorrow, yeah? Want you on my six.”

Touched, your brows still furrow with confusion.

“Don’t…you need me to lead Unit Two?” John’s already shaking his head, gritting his teeth. It’s like something’s bothering him.

Feet taking you forward, you grab onto his bicep and stare into his tense face with slight concern. “John?” You ask, lids narrowing.

The man stills at the sensation of your touch, even separated by the layers of his gear and jacket. Eyes slip to yours and lightly soften, the edges easing in their relentless wrinkle of dark thoughts. Like the star that your codename emulated, you seemed to be a ray of illumination for the Captain, and John’s nose twitched before his eyes quickly looked away from your open face.

It wasn’t right to think the way he did about you.

“Just have a feeling, Love,” he shakes his head slightly, clearing his throat. Your hand drops from him and he stops himself from snatching it back.

You smile at him, huffing a laugh.

“Well, who else’ll be able to take my place, then, seeing as you’re so eager to have me by you?” Gazing behind you into the small camp, John grunts, keeping his eyes on you. A small smirk slips over his lips and pulls his beard back.

“Daniels has got it…copy?” Your throat hums in consideration before you nod in a firm flinch of your head.

“...Alright.”

“Good.” The Brit shifts his feet and the snow squeals. Snowflakes collect on the top of your head, sitting atop your scalp like tiny insects as the swell of your mouth goes back in a grin. John blinks at you, and before he knows it, he’s extending his hand up to his beanie with little thought beyond how lovely you look like this.

He plops the fabric down on your head and you snap a hand up to press into it in shock. The man’s large frame slinks back as he takes his leave with you looking back at him; his feet make tracks, leading away to mirror the ones that came before.

“Don’t get a cold, eh? I’ll expect you to be back in your tent within the hour, Lieutenant.” Face burning, you can’t answer.

Blue eyes peek over a wide shoulder. Something sparks in those met gazes, a pinprick of wonder and deep affection. Perhaps it was even love.

The snow falls faster, and as John disappears into the darkness the chill of the open ridge suddenly seems less violent than your pulse as it thumps to the humming of the earth. Hiding a giddy smile, you look back out and rub at your neck; hat upon your head perfectly ingrained with a scent of charcoal and pine.

—

“Leave me! I won’t make it!” The words made your stomach drop through your intestines. Shouted over the open line John’s voice barks the order like a knife with break-neck efficiency. No hesitation.

It had all gone to shit in a matter of hours. The sun was just on the horizon, spreading its hands of dawn over the camp that was awash with blood and bodies. Enemy soldiers, the ones that your squad was tasked with taking out within the next day, had killed the next sentry on duty after you and stormed your position.

To think you were minutes away from being that very sentry was mind-numbing. But now the real problem was the state of the camp.

John had been hit through the right thigh.

Taking cover behind a large pine tree, you dart out at every other interval to fire rounds into anything that dashes like a wild animal into the open. Most of the squad was dead—the rest scattered in the sparse cover that was offered or in the process of dying. Snow melted in the heat of crimson fluid.

Spying the downed figure of your Captain, you growl and sprint out before you can talk yourself out of it, taking the recoil of your MK14 EBR into your shoulder and teeth gritted. John writhes on the ground, trying to maintain control over the remaining forces as his leg is limp and useless. He growls out in pain as his head hits the ground behind him.

“Fuck!” He shouts. You feel a bullet whizz past your head as you skid down to your knees beside him.

“Sol!” He glares at you as you survey the damage quickly, ducking when the metal projectiles get gradually closer and closer. There’s shouting in the far treeline; death cries. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!”

“You’re stupid if you think I’m about to do that to you!” You yell, jerking your gun up to release three bullets into someone who had burst out with a raised assault rifle. Pain flares in your left bicep, but you barely notice it beyond a strained, instinctual, whimper. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Panic had gone as deep as your DNA, seeing the large pool of blood around John, his venom-laced words that stem from agony.

“Leave! Fucking hell, Lieutenant, that’s an order!”

“John,” you shout, “shut the fuck up!” The man’s eyes go wide with shock. It wasn’t often that you swore at him.

Making your hands dive under your Captain, you loop your hands behind his shoulders and latch at his armpits. With all of your might, you shift and begin dragging him backward into the trees; gritting your teeth at his pained yell and the bare of his own pearly whites.

Moving like this was stupid, you wouldn’t be able to take out your gun without dropping John—and you certainly weren’t going to do that. Not on your life.

“Christ,” the Brit groans, and you frantically watch the blood trail he leaves behind along the ground. Like a rabbit who’d gotten his leg bit off by a wolf but was still trying to run.

There was too much blood.

Agony explodes in your side, but you keep dragging backward with a new hitch in your lungs; eyes awash with tears before the air leaves you with a ragged and violent gasp. The sounds you hear from all around are horrible—the screams and the popping of rapid-fire shots. Sucking down oxygen with a vile cough, you get John behind a cropping of rocks and have to settle him down as you hack into one of your arms; chest shuddering.

There is a pressure inside of you that digs into your flesh, but the adrenaline floods your brain over the alarm bells, drowning them.

You pull back your arm to see blood. But it doesn’t matter—not now. Not with John like this.

Looking down, you stare into his eyes while you get to your knees by his side. His gaze is wide and stuck at your abdomen with panic, where you already know the damage a bullet can do.

“Love…” he begins, but his fingers curl into fists of pain instead. John breathes heavily, and when you look down to his thigh you find far more than one bullet.

There were three, all spaced out in an arch. One at his thigh, one up on his pelvis, and the other directly in his stomach. Your eyes widen with mute horror, mouth stuttering as your throat closes.

“Yeah,” blood bubbles from John’s mouth as he chuckles in quick gasps. “No good, eh?”

Tears build in great waves, but you force out, “No,” growling, you feel your own blood stain your gear and clothes. No exit wounds for either of you, you can already tell. “No, John—not like this.”

“Sweetheart,” he tries, but you grip the beanie on your head and shove it into his stomach, pressing on the wound there as he wheezes and you sob.

“No, John!” A large hand finds the back of your hair, and you shake your head wildly.

Blue eyes stare with regret and torment before darting back down to your wound. You can feel it—you already know; knew the moment the stray bullet hit you.

The both of you…

“I’m sorry,” he says, quietly so that you have to strain to hear it above the noise. “I’m sorry, Love.” With a shiver of intense throbbing, the strain growing, you dart forward with waning strength and place your lips to his.

Bloody hands grip his cheeks, slipping over his beard in fruitless desperation. Blood coats your mouths, but the moment of pure love and tenderness takes over. For a minute you can both forget the chill of metal and the blood pooling to the ground. The shaking in your muscles.

You can forget that the both of you are dying.

John keeps the back of your head to him as strength begins to slip. When you pull away with quivering limbs, his thumb weakly brushes your undereye to dispel the bitter tears. He hums with wet eyes.

“I never got to take you out, did I?” You slip down beside him, shivering and losing heat not only because of the snow. Limbs grow heavy and in the back of your mind, you know you should be afraid—terrified. Maybe you were.

The comment makes you want to scream and rage and wail.

“No,” you instead say, laughing through a sob at the cruelty of it all as you latch onto him. “No, you didn't, John. But I’m here now. I’m right here.”

Eyes slide over your face as you stay near him; waiting. A tiny smile as his bloody fingers brush your cheek.

“When we get back I’ll show you ‘round Hertfordshire,” you both know that will never happen. His forehead knocks against yours. “You’ll love it, Sweetheart. Know you will.”

“I will,” you promise, knowing you can’t. The world besides both of your eyes swirls. “Anywhere with you, John, is worth going.”

It’s obvious what you mean.

John presses his lips back to yours with one last whispered breath of his vow. “I’ve loved you since I first saw that beauty of a smile.”

The two of you whisper promises and secrets as the gunfire dies down, lips making up for all of the times you should have kissed before and now don’t have the time to. Eyes don’t leave each other as the blood keeps flowing into two large pools of crimson sin. You’re drowned in it—flooded in it.

You should have told him sooner.

“I’ll find you,” you whisper, eyes fluttering. But the body is long cold.

You let your muscles loosen as the last of the fight leaves. Content, even in this, but for the simple fact that John’s arms are around you forever in this moment of endless infinity. The sky rolls back, and your last view is of him.

—

In the snow, preserved by the elements even weeks later, they would find your bodies, curled amongst themselves as if to protect one another. They would say that it had been because you were cold, freezing, and bleeding out from your wounds that you’d huddled for comfort. But that wasn’t the truth.

The two of you had never been warmer than when you were with the other.

What they couldn’t account for were the twin smiles on frosty lips.

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