A Haircut || Kyojuro Rengoku X Reader

Intoxicated (NSFW)

Paring : Incel!Shigaraki x Drunk!Reader

Tags : Drunk sex, Blow Jobs, Hand jobs, Thigh Riding, Riding, Vaginal Penetration, Unprotected sex, Creampie, slight voyeurisim (Dabi), Pervy Shiggy, Name calling (Whore & Angel), Gaming sesh, Pre-PLF coded shiggy (Idk, I just like him that way), Happy Ending <33

Summary : The pent-up sexual frustration was building up while drinking with your colleagues, so you took a half empty bottle and went to the one guy you hoped wouldn't say no, Tomura Shigaraki.

Tomura was the type to stay in his room in the base, doing whatever incels liked to do.

When you'd pass his door, you'd hear the clacking of a keyboard accompanied by various sound effects from video games. Just like tonight, you passed by his room while you heard just that.

You knocked on his door before waiting afew seconds, you pried the door open to see his back turned from you and eyes fixated on his monitors like always.

"Hey boss, y'gonna join us?" You asked, holding the alcohol bottles for him to see. His head only turned enough to see you in the corner of his eye, red crimson eyes seeing the bottles only to look back to the screen.

He wasn't wearing any headphones, so he was obviously ignoring you as a 'no'. You rolled your eyes before heading out of his room, closing the door in front of you.

You sat with the rest of the league. "Where's sigaraki?" Spinner asked when he saw you."He doesn't wanna join, too busy with his game or somethin' " You sighed before sitting down.

It didn't matter to them that he didn't join, but that was to them. You were at least hoping to get close to him yourself.

You'd catch him talking to Spinner about their games or Twice and Toga bothering him while you watched their antics. He avoided conversation when it wasn't needed, but he avoided you constantly. Giving you a quick answer or two if needed, then storming off.

To you, he was mysterious and attractive in a questionable way.

But to him, you were like a drug, something to stay away from. More like an innocent angel, something he shouldn't ruin with his incel bullshit.

The countless times he'd have to run back to his room with his tail in-between his legs and a painfuly hard cock all because you wore shorts that day.

You were adorable and hot. It was so unfair having someone like you on the team right there yet so out of his grasp.

He wouldn't call you a "crush" just a fuckable inconvenience.

So like that the night continued, most of them talking to eachother drunkenly telling their stories with the enthusiasm of a child, yet you we're still getting tired of them, no wonder Shigaraki always hid in that room of his.

You were drunk, the noise of your other drunk colleagues made it worse.

The worst thing was that you were horny. You hoped tonight would fainally be used to get rid of all your pent-up frustrations from the busy month, but once you got the invitation to drink, you couldn't say no.

You considered Dabi. His scars were hot, but he was too much for you. Toga? She's cute, but there's no way you could handle her. Spinner was on another dimension at this point, and Compress already called it a night and retreated to his room.

So you took a half empty bottle and went to the one guy you hoped wouldn't say no, Tomura Shigaraki.

You stood in front of the door, not hearing the clacking keys anymore but some streamer playing in the background. You didn't know which, and you didn't care.

You knocked a few times, waiting a few seconds and entering.

He noticed you enter, of course he didn't pay any mind to you, eyes still on the screen.

You stumbled to him, placing the alcohol bottle on his table, "I told you I'm not drinking." He stated, the rasp in his voice sent shivers down your spine, yet it was so addictive. turning his squeaky gamer chair to face you.

You didn't even bother to give him a response, getting on your knees with your face in between his legs, already working on the tie on his sweatpants.

"What are you!-" You hushed him, pulling down his boxers and licking the limp shaft until it got hard. you didn't know what excited you more, the fact it doubled its size, or you couldn't even close your fist around it.

You swirled your tounge in circles around the red swollen tip, giving it the occasional kiss to tease.

The door was still slightly pryed open, open enough if someone walked past in front of the door they could see you seducing the boss so drunk on Hennessy you couldn't even think.

The streamer still talking away to their chat, not knowing one of their viewers were about to get sucked off during the stream.

"Hey whore! Cut it out, you're drunk." He called your attention hoping to snap some sense into you, you were unknowingly about to give Tomura his first blowjob.

"So?" You said in a loving tone, a small giggle slipping through your lips as you lowered your head.

"It's Tomura." He said, reminding you like you mistook him for someone else, "I know." You looked up at him, your hooded eyes staring into his, admiring every feature.

The beauty mark near his lips, his deep red eyes, and the fluffy hair almost curtained over his eyes. You never really realized how cute he was out of his uniform.

Tomura swolled anxiously. If this was his fate, then so be it.

Your mouth engulfed him, tounge licking every inch of skin and sensitive gland on his cock, it would occasionally twitch on your moving sloppy tounge.

His left hand clicked the space bar, pausing whatever he was watching as his attention was now greedly stolen by you.

His right hand was placed on your head, mindful of his pinky. Petting your soft hair as your head bobbed up and down.

His raspy moans and groans polluting the room as a bit of the noise slipped through the open door, the praises of "fuck yeah." Slipping through his wounded lips, and his slightly fucked out expression lit up by the monitor.

He watched your cheeks hollow and plump lips move on his girth, tounge teasing every vein you knew was sensitive and your hand stroking whatever you couldn't handle, he was scared he was gonna wake up if he moved too much.

His abdomen tensed from the pleasure, eyes closing shut yet desperate to watch you, struggling to catch his breath in between his moans.

His mind went black, only hoping that he did join you guys for drinks. Maybe he'd find out why out of all the annoyingly hot people on the team, you chose him.

You slipped him out of your mouth, wiping the spit off your chin as you got back on your feet.

His crimson eyes met yours, confused before you straddled him in his chair, sitting over him as you removed your pajama pants, making them puddle on the cold floor.

His mind was racing, miltipule thoughts suriging a storm in his mind but he saw the one thing that could possibly make it stop and not ruin the sight, he took the bottle off the table taking a few swigs before looking back at you.

You seated on his clothed thigh, frilly pink panties against the boring Grey sweatpants he'd sport every day.

Pink fabric already stained with your lust as you grinded against his clothed thigh for friction you only dreamed of.

His finger was under your chin, forcing you to look at him. With your pleading hooded eyes and quivering lips, not to mention the adorable flushed cheeks from the achohol.

All you wanted to do was rub your needy sex against the muscle of his thigh as your hands explored the body under his black hoodie.

His sadistic eyes looked down on you when he'd occasionally jolted his leg up to make your squirm and shiver.

You heard footsteps grow closer, walking more like drunkenly stumbling to the door.

Averting your eyes was a mistake, only to be told off with a demanding "mm-m, eyes on me." From Tomura.

Of course, you complied, even stroking him during it.

The contrast of feeling your soft hands around his length was so much better than his calloused hand he used.

Shuddering breaths inches away from your lips as your hips rocked back and forth, knowing the eyes on you, yet you couldn't see who they belonged to.

Compress is asleep, Spinner? No, he wouldn't stay that long, Toga? Probably would walk away just hearing the sounds. So it was Dabi, that creep.

Even though the embarrassment was painful, it still felt good to know someone's watching you have the privilege to grind on the boss so earnestly.

Stroking his cock as his hands were busy holding your face up so he could examine you and holding the shared alcohol bottle in his other hand.

Tomura let go of your chin, giving you the opportunity to look while he guided your legs to straddle him.

And your guess was correct, you and Dabi were looking at each other as he leaned against the doorframe, giving you a condescending grin as he watched you fall apart on the boss's deadly touch.

You looked back at shigaraki, he was well aware of the captive audience watching the both of you be he didn't care as usual, he didn't care who you'd fuck after this, aslong as he got to right now.

He guided your hips to lower onto him, slowly sinking down on him.

he held you by your hips supporting your movements, controlling your pace as you grinded with him inside, you moand into his ear only to get him harder, twitching against your gummy walls.

It didn't take long before he made you start bouncing, he looked at you so enfacueted, you looked so perfect to him, hair a mess and so intoxicated on his cock, your arms wrapped around his neck as you pleaded for his kisses.

Dabi watched the scene, feeling his cock strain against the fabric of his clothes, watching your adorable expressions while you fucked someone with that kind of power.

It was annoyingly hot.

He could watch all he wanted, but he knew once Tomura was done with you, you were forever off limits.

He closed the door infront of him, giving you both some privacy before leaving to his room, probably just gonna stroke himself to that mental image of you fucking him instead.

Tomura took his fainal drink, placing the empty bottle on his table. Sure, it tasted bad, but at least he was feeling even better now.

His hands fainally explored your body, tracing your curves and stomach before finding their place on your waist, thumbs rubbing against the skin over your ribcage.

Your foreheads pressed together, moaning against his lips as he watched how your warm body moved, tempered by the alcohol it only made everything better and a bit sloppy.

Your insides coating his cock in a white opaque liquid from all your pent up frustrations, all those nights you couldn't get off from the busy schedule.

Your legs tensed, feeling him hit your sweet spot over and over again, so painfully good it had you seeing stars every time you rutted against him.

The sudden ego boost getting to his head watching you writhe on his cock, your hands pawing at his soft hair, giving the occasional tug.

Your back arched, his face buried in the crook of your neck, working on a few love bites and hickies to discover in the morning.

He was bigger than expected or you were just more pent up than you knew, regardless of who needed this more you knew this wouldn't be the last.

Your bounces became faster, more needy for the feeling of his tip hitting your gushing cervix, the smug smirk you saw on his face, and the ghostly touches on you skin.

Your movements were animalistic, yet something about his static nature claimed you, watching you get off drunkenly using him.

You were zealous on the pleasure, now pawing at his hoodie, tugging as a sign of your limits before he clicked his tongue stealing your attention.

"Just a bit longer, angel." His raspy voice saying sweet things, maybe it was the alcohol but that meant a lot to you.

He knew you weren't as innocent as you looked, coming into his room to suck and ride him, yet something about you was angelic.

Not to mention the look of bliss you had on your face at that name, 'angel, angel.' His voice ricochet around your head.

"I don't think I can, boss." You managed to slip through your moans, so adorable that you're still calling him that.

"It was an order." His voice low, almost like a growl. His lips met the skin of your jaw, and you tried your best to hold on, savoring the sensations.

Your shakey legs and breaths were so painfuly obvious to him that he had to watch you like this for even a bit longer.

He hasn't felt touch in a while, and now suddenly being flooded with such intimate contact made him berserk.

With one pull on your waist, he thrusted into you, releasing all his pent-up seed inside you, flooding and painting your gummy walls with his warm fluids.

The knot in your stomach shaped with his forceful actions, making you squirm on his lap and grip on his clothing while letting out the most erotic moan he's ever heard.

Far better than whatever porn he used to watch.

•••

You woke up with a pulsing headache, eyes opening to see the familiar room and Shigaraki on his computer set up that was right beside his bed.

He sat there peacefully, headphones in so you wouldn't wake up from the various video game sound effects he'd usually blast.

An empty Hennessy bottle on his desk and your pajama pants nicely folded at the feet of the bed, you sat up, gaining Tomuras attention.

He looked at you, acknowledging your presence for what felt for the first time.

He braced himself for the names you'd call him 'creep, pervert, peice of shit' he was ready for anything except when you stayed quiet, rubbing your eyes adjusting to the harsh light of the monitor.

You didn't care that you were half naked in his bed, just caring about where breakfast is.

"Hey, wanna get pizza?" You said casually, your voice still a bit groggy.

Tomura removed one side of his headphones, "seriously? That's all you're gonna ask." He said in his usual dead tone, his raspy voice with a croak as you guessed he woke up only a few minutes ago.

Unlike last night, he was playing a single player game so now he had the privilege to pause so he could actually listen to you.

His headphones dangled around his neck, turning his chair to face you.

He saw you already on your phone, looking through the pizza shops website for new deals.

"Are you ignoring me?" He asked, his voice turning gruff. He could ignore everyone if he wanted to, but he couldn't stand being ignored.

"No." You said clacking away at your phone screen. "I asked you a question, and you didn't answer properly. You're actually ignoring me." You teased.

"Now what do you want." You said placing the phone to your ear, "Anythings fine." He muttered as you spoke to the employee on the other side of the phone.

•••

You sat on the floor of his bedroom, eating slice after slice while he ate beside you having your first conversation together when he suddenly asked a question.

"Do you remember last night?" He asked before swallowing down the food he was eating, "Last night? A couple of things, why?" You asked back, hoping you didn't have anything important you had to do that night.

"Well, we fucked last night. Don't know if you remembered that." He said, a pink hue forming on his cheeks from the embarrassment of having to remind you.

"Yeah, I remember." You said grabbing another slice like it wasn't anything important.

He was honestly stunned how comfortable you were like this, sitting with him on the floor eating pizza while you only wore your panties and top. You were practically strangers last night.

"I'm the one who initiated it dumbass, of course I remember." You said,"Not everything, but I know it was good." You confessed.

It was like a weird dream, remembering fragments of the night every few minutes.

"So, why?" He asked, almost concerned in his sentence. "I was horny, You were cute. You connect the dots." You said with a giggle in your sentence.

"Right.." he said, he never had anyone call him that.

Minutes pass, hours, actually. Yet you willingly stayed in his room listening to him rant about his games, and he'd listen to you rant about your interests.

When night feel you decided to head out, you both spent the whole day talking you lost track of time, Shigaraki watched you walk away opening the door before he spoke.

"Hey," he called out, you looked behind you to see him pulling out a set of controllers for the both of you.

He mentioned he had a few controller friendly games on his PC a few hours ago.

"About those games.." he cut his sentence, trying to find the words until he noticed you shut the door and walked towards him.

He was never the best with words, but you understood him and the awkward language he spoke.

You sat in between his legs, grabbing one of the controllers from his hands.

He memorized every button on the controller already, so he wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you seated as his chin rested above your head.

He'd talk to you later about getting a separate chair if this would be a usual occurrence, but right now, it was just you and him with the controllers and monitor.

Finally, replacing your noisy teammates with the peace you found in each other.

A/N : I'm alive!! Sorry I haven't posted, I got my first case of REALLY BAD writers block, but now I got back into my element!

(Solution to Writters block : Get zonked 🍃)

To all of those who sent asks, I SWEAR I DO ALL ASKS JUS GIVE ME SOME TIME <33 :sob:

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

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prequel to this iguess🤥

New Horikoshi illustration for a 1/1 scale figure of Deku for the Art Exhibition

he just be

Space Void with Moon Phases Eyes 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘

⚾🔥🧊

Henry Cavill for “The Rake” Magazine | November 2017

Under The Setting Sun || Chapter I

Words: 1705

Warnings: none

SUMMARY: When the world is falling apart, the only thing that humanity needs are heroes. Namely the united heroes. In an uneven fight against the forces of evil, they will have to lay down their fate on the edge of the providence. Which of sides will suffer a defeat and which will plunder in glory after a delightful victory?

Author: Manaick

A/N: This is our interpretation of Avengers: Infinity War {We based our story on the trailer and our own premonitions regarding an upcoming movie}. Hope you will enjoy it.

This was their only home. The spaceship was simply constructed of something iridescent. Straight lines were forming the walls, a large window at the front was allowing to navigate properly. The frame around the surroundings was filled with ominous brittle silence, for there was no gravity to hold them firmly nor was there gravity to supervise their zeal and minds. They somehow knew that something was around.

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