#<3 thank you for the Not Empty Threat :3

[lemonadehtwooh]

My threats are not Empty, Hello mutual.

HELLO!!!!!! <3 :D!!!!!

Have some pictures of the Eclipse I got ^v^

[capn-twitchery]

oh hey back to red honey talk :3 how would Twitch feel learning about scenarios where people consumed it against their will? ie. jamie's situation, or the situation with victor albert being given it as a baby

please you can't come in here with a :3 right after "red honey talk" when that's like waltzing into my inbox with a hydrogen bomb

anyway this got me Thinking. i think twitch would simplify red honey in their brain for a long time into Just "people only take this by choice and totally disregard or even enjoy my/other victim's pain, and that makes them bad." because that's a lot easier to process! i can't imagine they're putting a lot of thought into whoever is consuming the red honey or why, they just know it causes them pain

so i don't think it would even occur to them (or, more accurately they just don't like to think about it) that someone could do all of that, and then ALSO inflict it on other people to make them suffer too. that's a whole new level of fucked up for them to process

that said, if they Did find out--once they'd gotten over the "oh god do people actually do that" hurdle, more than anything they'd be understandably Fucking Furious at whoever forced someone to take it against their will. does red honey not already cause enough pain that they have to bring in other innocent people too?? i think twitch would 100% consider it one of the most evil things anyone can do

as for whoever was forced to take it-although they're Obviously uncomfortable with the concept of anyone taking red honey, they'd understand it wasn't their choice. they absolutely do not want to talk about it, it gets left at that, but they wouldn't be upset at the person.

(extra for funsies: one possible exception is if it was their memories. that would complicate things. they still wouldn't blame the person who experienced them, but the concept of being around someone who knows that they went through that and knows things about ""twitch"" that twitch doesn't even know themselves, and doesn't want to know, makes them feel 1000 emotions they can't put a word to.

if it was someone they didn't know well who approached them to tell them, they're getting kicked to the ground + threatened with a sword to never, ever speak to them again or they're getting permakilled.

if it was someone they knew & liked--honestly, they're still getting threatened with a sword and told to stop talking Right Now do not say another fucking word about this we are forgetting this happened and you are not ever mentioning it again.

but even with someone they were close to-they would find that incredibly difficult to move past. they have a very real fear of people seeing them differently because of the cage gardens or because of something related to who "they" were Before the cage gardens that they're not even aware of themselves. even if it's pity, or sympathy they don't want it!! i think thy could move past it eventually, providing that doesn't happen, though. and providing the person respects their wishes, of course)

[six-six-cicada]

if u can't find a cat to purr at u find the next best thing [guy who can also purr]

[joycrispy]

Awhile ago @ouidamforeman made this post:

This shot through my brain like a chain of firecrackers, so, without derailing the original post, I have some THOUGHTS to add about why this concept is not only hilarious (because it is), but also...

It. It kind of fucks. Severely.

And in a delightfully Pratchett-y way, I'd dare to suggest.

I'll explain:

As inferred above, both Crowley AND Aziraphale have canonical Biblical counterparts. Not by name, no, but by function.

Crowley, of course, is the serpent of Eden.

(note on the serpent of Eden: In Genesis 3:1-15, at least, the serpent is not identified as anything other than a serpent, albeit one that can talk. Later, it will be variously interpreted as a traitorous agent of Hell, as a demon, as a guise of Satan himself, etc. In Good Omens --as a slinky ginger who walks funny)

Lesser known, at least so far as I can tell, is the flaming sword. It, too, appears in Genesis 3, in the very last line:

"So he drove out the man; and placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life." --Genesis 3:24, KJV

Thanks to translation ambiguity, there is some debate concerning the nature of the flaming sword --is it a divine weapon given unto one of the Cherubim (if so, why only one)? Or is it an independent entity, which takes the form of a sword (as other angelic beings take the form of wheels and such)? For our purposes, I don't think the distinction matters. The guard at the gate of Eden, whether an angel wielding the sword or an angel who IS the sword, is Aziraphale.

(note on the flaming sword: in some traditions --Eastern Orthodox, for example-- it is held that upon Christ's death and resurrection, the flaming sword gave up it's post and vanished from Eden for good. By these sensibilities, the removal of the sword signifies the redemption and salvation of man.

...Put a pin in that. We're coming back to it.)

So, we have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword, introduced at the beginning and the end (ha) of the very same chapter of Genesis.

But here's the important bit, the bit that's not immediately obvious, the bit that nonetheless encapsulates one of the central themes, if not THE central theme, of Good Omens:

The Sword was never intended to guard Eden while Adam and Eve were still in it.

Do you understand?

The Sword's function was never to protect them. It doesn't even appear until after they've already fallen. No... it was to usher Adam and Eve from the garden, and then keep them out. It was a threat. It was a punishment.

The flaming sword was given to be used against them.

So. Again. We have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword: the inception and the consequence of original sin, personified. They are the one-two punch that launches mankind from paradise, after Hell lures it to destruction and Heaven condemns it for being destroyed. Which is to say that despite being, supposedly, hereditary enemies on two different sides of a celestial cold war, they are actually unified by one purpose, one pivotal role to play in the Divine Plan: completely fucking humanity over.

That's how it's supposed to go. It is written.

...But, in Good Omens, they're not just the Serpent and the Sword.

They're Crowley and Aziraphale.

(author begins to go insane from emotion under the cut)

In Good Omens, humanity is handed it's salvation (pin!) scarcely half an hour after losing it. Instead of looming over God's empty garden, the sword protects a very sad, very scared and very pregnant girl. And no, not because a blameless martyr suffered and died for the privilege, either.

It was just that she'd had such a bad day. And there were vicious animals out there. And Aziraphale worried she would be cold.

...I need to impress upon you how much this is NOT just a matter of being careless with company property. With this one act of kindness, Aziraphale is undermining the whole entire POINT of the expulsion from Eden. God Herself confronts him about it, and he lies. To God.

And the Serpent--

(Crowley, that is, who wonders what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway; who thinks that maybe he did a GOOD thing when he tempted Eve with the apple; who objects that God is over-reacting to a first offense; who knows what it is to fall but not what it is to be comforted after the fact...)

--just goes ahead and falls in love with him about it.

As for Crowley --I barely need to explain him, right? People have been making the 'didn't the serpent actually do us a solid?' argument for centuries. But if I'm going to quote one of them, it may as well be the one Neil Gaiman wrote ficlet about:

"If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition, the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of progress and of civilization." --Robert G. Ingersoll

The first to ask questions.

Even beyond flattering literary interpretation, we know that Crowley is, so often, discreetly running damage control on the machinations of Heaven and Hell. When he can get away with it. Occasionally, when he can't (1827).

And Aziraphale loves him for it, too. Loves him back.

And so this romance plays out over millennia, where they fall in love with each other but also the world, because of each other and because of the world. But it begins in Eden. Where, instead of acting as the first Earthly example of Divine/Diabolical collusion and callousness--

(other examples --the flood; the bet with Satan; the back channels; the exchange of Holy Water and Hellfire; and on and on...)

--they refuse. Without even necessarily knowing they're doing it, they just refuse. Refuse to trivialize human life, and refuse to hate each other.

To write a story about the Serpent and the Sword falling in love is to write a story about transgression.

Not just in the sense that they are a demon and an angel, and it's ~forbidden. That's part of it, yeah, but the greater part of it is that they are THIS demon and angel, in particular. From The Real Bible's Book of Genesis, in the chapter where man falls.

It's the sort of thing you write and laugh. And then you look at it. And you think. And then you frown, and you sit up a little straighter. And you think.

And then you keep writing.

And what emerges hits you like a goddamn truck.

(...A lot of Pratchett reads that way. I believe Gaiman when he says Pratchett would have been happy with the romance, by the way. I really really do).

It's a story about transgression, about love as transgression. They break the rules by loving each other, by loving creation, and by rejecting the hatred and hypocrisy that would have triangulated them as a unified blow against humanity, before humanity had even really got started. And yeah, hell, it's a queer romance too, just to really drive the point home (oh, that!!! THAT!!!)

...I could spend a long time wildly gesturing at this and never be satisfied. Instead of watching me do that (I'll spare you), please look at this gif:

I love this shot so much.

Look at Eve and Crowley moving, at the same time in the same direction, towards their respective wielders of the flaming sword. Adam reaches out and takes her hand; Aziraphale reaches out and covers him with a wing.

You know what a shot like that establishes? Likeness. Commonality. Kinship.

"Our side" was never just Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley says as much at the end of season 1 ("--all of us against all of them."). From the beginning, "our side" was Crowley, Aziraphale, and every single human being. Lately that's around 8 billion, but once upon a time it was just two other people. Another couple. The primeval mother and father.

But Adam and Eve die, eventually. Humanity grows without them. It's Crowley and Aziraphale who remain, and who protect it. Who...oversee it's upbringing.

Godfathers. Sort of.

[fayes-fics]

Lessons In Motion

Lessons Series Masterpost

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: An eventful carriage ride with the boys.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest, dom/sub dynamics - dom!Bridgertons sub!reader, masturbation, dirty talk, mild degradation, light spanking/slapping, hair pulling, vaginal fingering, cockwarming, exhibitionism, breast play, edging, bondage restraint, sensory deprivation (blindfold), anal sex, vaginal sex, double penetration.

Word Count: 6.3k

Authors note: Is this the threesome I should be writing? No of course not. Sorry. This was indeed inspired by the synchronised head tilt in the s3 trailer 🤷‍♀️ Part of Lessons-verse, chronologically this takes place before Lessons in Breeding. Thank you to @colettebronte for betaing. Enjoy! <3

You bounce nervously in your shoes, craning to see the ride you are awaiting. 

You slipped out the side entrance of the music hall, eager to escape prying eyes, leaving them to exit through the front, picking up their family carriage together. Being a guest in the family box for the evening is one thing; an unattached woman leaving publicly with two of the most eligible bachelors in the country is another matter entirely—you have no desire to provoke the wagging tongues of the Ton. But that does not mean you wish for your night with them to be over, far from it.

With a whinny, a two-horse carriage rounds the corner into the quiet street a few hundred yards from the venue and comes to a halt before you. The windows are all obscured by thick, draped curtains. So much so that you hesitate, hang back under the shadow of the mature oak. Until that is, the door swings open, and a very familiar face pops out, expression bemused.

“Does my girl not wish for a carriage?” Anthony teases with an expectant, fond tone.

You giggle and rush towards the vehicle, climbing in quickly. The door slams behind you as a fist knocks upon the ceiling to indicate for the driver to move on. The carriage is dimly lit by one tiny glass lantern flame flickering, both sets of eyes are eager on you, that molten heat in your belly as you sit opposite them, both so handsome.

“Did you enjoy your evening, gentlemen?” you query, feigning innocence.

They both comedically tilt their heads in brotherly unison, matching bemused grins claiming their lips as Benedict giggles behind his fist.

“Considering where you had your hands all night, you know well we did,” he pipes up, raising an eyebrow pointedly. 

“Twas rather a boring recital, sir.” Your invocation of his play title makes his chest swell and his pupils dilate. “Should I not have kept myself sufficiently entertained?” He appreciates your sass, nodding with a knowing smirk. 

Indeed, you were greatly entertained. But not by the singing onstage. Sitting in the Bridgerton family box, a rigid cock in each hand as you teased them mercilessly, the angle of the seating allowing you the privacy to do so unseen by other patrons. Never letting either of them climax, taking them somewhere close then backing off, each huffing quietly, a white knuckle grip on their chair arms, as your fingers were coated with pre-cum. Most entertaining indeed. At one point, Anthony had hissed how he would have you on your knees and down your throat if you prolonged the torture much longer, but you knew it to be an empty (and entirely welcomed) threat. Now, in the privacy of the carriage, you rather suspect you are about to be taught a lesson for that cheeky behaviour.

“I do believe it is time for payback, brother,” Anthony opines, voicing your exact suspicions, them exchanging their trademark glance—so much communication with no words.

“Yes, I rather suspect a lesson is in order: that which you do unto others, you should expect done unto you,” Benedict forebodes.

Your stomach ripples as he grabs your ankle and roughly pushes it out wide, a hand travelling up your leg, gathering your dress around his forearm as he does. Soon, they discover the secret you held this evening: that you wear no chemise, no stockings, no undergarments at all, in fact—just your blue silk dress and ballet-style shoes.

“You filthy little vixen,” Anthony growls as he sees a flash between your legs.

“Do not pretend this type of indecency is not exactly what you want from her, brother,” Benedict counters dryly as his hand trails up your inner thigh, your breath quickening as he reaches your apex. You cry out, staring Anthony down as Benedict's fingers plunge into your pussy, burrowing deep, leaning his head into yours. “Always so hot, wet and wanting, are you not?” he rumbles into your hair as his fingers start to rock.

“Yes sir,” you know better than to ignore a question that is asked of you. “Only for you and my lord,” you add, knowing they always want to hear it.

“That is right,” Anthony preens, fighting with the buttons of his trousers and taking his sizable cock in hand, watching you moan and squirm on Benedict's invading digits, dripping down onto his palm, the sounds he draws from your body already obscene. You have been soaked since teasing them at the recital.

“I bet even the driver can hear this tight little cunt. Our filthy beautiful girl just drenching herself like the bitch in heat she is…” Benedict remarks casually.

You love it when they call you such taboo names in play, an illicit thrill running down your spine as he smiles predatorily and curls his fingers, hooking against your pussy wall, making you gasp. It's not quite enough pressure. Your head swings to look at him, silently requesting more.

He chuckles. “What did I tell you earlier?” 

“Teasing?” 

He nods as you pout, sliding his lips right to your ear, his breath hot there. “Until you are a mindless and trembling creature who will do whatever we tell you to.” 

You bite your lip and exhale raggedly, your belly constricting at the thought and at the sight of Anthony lazily pumping his cock, wanting to ride it so much your fingers flex upon the velour bench seat, rocking your pelvis with each stroke Benedict takes, hoping to catch a dash of friction upon your engorged clit. He tuts admonishingly when he senses what you are trying to do, curling his free hand around your inner thigh and spanking there. A stinging slap that makes you jump and mewl.

“Stop trying to come so hastily, darling girl. We decide if and when that will ever happen…” Anthony calls out from across the carriage, grabbing your leg and pulling it high and wide. He yanks off your shoe and bites your instep, not hard, but enough to make your whole body jerk, so you slide deeper onto his brother's fingers, moaning and throwing your head back, the rocking motion of the carriage somehow making it a worse tease.

“‘Tis not a long ride to either of your lodgings… surely you cannot tease me forever,” you speculate, spiralling slowly under such expert ministrations, an itch in your brain that needs to be scratched, even your teeth feel on edge.

“Oh, my girl, we are not headed to either place. Oh no. We are headed to our country retreat. The ride will take the rest of the night,” Anthony crows. “Our family will be remaining in London. So it will just be the three of us… with hundreds of acres to ourselves,” he grins devilishly, still slowly pumping his cock as he speaks.

“But…” you splutter, “I have nothing with me! No dresses, no shoes...” fretting mildly even as your stomach quivers with the thought of time spent alone with your boys.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Benedict chuckles in your hair,  rotating his fingers so they drag over that sensitive spot that makes you shudder. “As if we are going to let you wear anything except our jewels. You shall be naked for days.”

“If you truly object, say your word now,” Anthony states clearly.  “And we shall drop you at your home.”

Benedict pauses his motions, awaiting your answer, both always respectful of your full consent. You look at them in turn, then merely shake your head fractionally, basking in their wolfish smiles. Wanting to do this with them—a new illicit adventure. The idea of days alone with both of them in a luxury country idyll is so beguiling. And a definite step forward in your dynamic as a throuple.

“Well, then, might as well tear off this dress right now; start as we mean to go on, right brother?” Benedict breezes as he withdraws his fingers from you, making you whine at the loss. But then he trails them across your decolletage, dipping his head to suckle your juices from your skin, his teeth sinking lightly into the swell of your breast, making you groan loudly and push up into his mouth.

“Agreed,” Anthony practically growls, pushing his trousers further down, cupping his balls now with his other hand.

“But my lord,” you stumble, tearing your eyes reluctantly from that tempting sight up to his face. “I need my dress to alight from this carriage when we arrive. Surely your staff should not see me naked?!" Your dissent is light, core pulsing at the mental image of them parading you naked up the front steps of a grand country house for all the gathered staff to greet your debauched arrival.

“Please,” Anthony withers, “what is a touch of nudity when they will likely find us fucking you in every way and place possible? Our darling little plaything, always so keen, are you not?” 

“Yes, my lord, Always.” 

Your whisper is obedient, watching him squeeze his cock more forcefully in his fist, his gaze locked between your splayed legs as Benedict yanks down your neckline roughly. The sound of fabric tearing fills the carriage, then their approving grunts as they realise you are without stays. 

“Get her naked, brother,” Anthony orders brusquely.

He sets about the task with enthusiasm, your dress ripping along the seams as he deploys both large hands and tears the fine silk asunder. It is one Anthony had paid for, so you do not mourn its loss, you rather suspect he will replace it with one identical in short order.

“If I am always to be naked, then will you warm my body when I am cold, sir?” You coquette, batting your eyelashes, playing up the damsel in distress to Benedict as he pushes aside the remaining fabric from around your front.

“Always sweet girl,” Benedict promises duskily, trailing his palm down your flushed skin, pulling you in for a kiss that is all tongues and heat. It has you canting your now naked body into his, desperate for his fingers, or even better, his cock, to be inside you.

As if sensing your need, Anthony intervenes as your lips break apart, perhaps jealous at the amount of time his brother has had with you. 

“Alright, enough of that. I think you are plenty prepared now. Come, my girl,” Anthony pats his thigh invitingly, “come sit on my cock.”

You make a victorious noise and slide out from around Benedict, Anthony grabbing your waist and spinning you around to face away from him. 

“Hello, my darling girl,” Anthony greets, his tone like velvet, pulling you snugly against his frame, the brocade of his waistcoat tickling your spine.

Your responding greeting turns into a cry as he guides you down onto his cock, splitting you open in that way it always does, a stretch that is just the right side of discomfort, that heavy weight pressing far inside that you yearn for.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, grabbing your jaw and pulling you back into a plundering kiss, making you pliant in his arms.

“Fuck me, my lord,” you beseech when you realise he is holding your hips down with a slight force, preventing any movement.

“But we have hours,” he drawls unhurriedly, “how about you sit still and just enjoy the ride, hmmm?”

You mewl in protest; as much as the carriage ride is indeed a pleasant rocking motion, your clit is throbbing, needing friction, craving release. You attempt to coax him by squeezing his cock so he groans throatily.

“Stop that. If you defy me, I will never let you come.”

He forcefully grabs your knees and drapes your thighs on either side of his woollen trousers that are bunched around his hips, then splays his legs wide. There’s a burning stretch on your inner thighs as he now holds you obscenely open. You are powerless to do anything but sit obediently upon his cock, whining slightly as the need claws at the edges of your mind.

Across from you, Benedict watches, seemingly transfixed by the sight of you naked and pinned open, speared on Anthony's cock, whimpering as your attempts to move are quelled by those firm hands clamped on your hips. You watch as he unbuttons and takes himself in hand, just as Anthony had, his eyes hungrily raking over your body. It makes you want to climb into his lap and fuck him over and over. 

“Will you fuck me, sir?” You lobby, hoping it will get a rise out of Anthony, that it will catalyse him into taking you hard, possessively.

“You know I will, sweet girl,” Benedict responds huskily. “But as my brother says, we have hours, and you will learn your lesson today…”

“I promise I have learned my lesson not to tease either of you,” you implore sincerely, hopeful for absolution, but both of them merely huff a laugh, suspecting it a hollow pledge. 

You pout again but relent, leaning back into Anthony, accepting your fate. His lips graze your temple as you rest your head on his shoulder and try to get comfortable. Try to ignore the pulse in your engorged clit with every heartbeat. Try to ignore the press of his frenulum inside, a pressure you feel compelled to rub against. Try to ignore that tingle in your nipples where they pucker hard, desperate for a tongue or some rough fingers.

And that is how you stay for what feels like an eternity. Just the noises of movement and horses upon what is now a dirty track, bright moonlight seeping through the cracks in the curtains as you sit in silent submission, The rocking of the carriage meaning you must occasionally endure the jolts of his cock against your hilt, making your breath catch. Your eyes alternate between fluttering closed and opening to see Benedict idly grasping his cock, but it's too tempting a sight, so you swallow hard and close them again. 

However, with your eyes closed, you see worse images dancing before you, taunting you. Flashes of them both lathing their tongues all over your skin, of you on your knees between them, a cock in your mouth and one pounding into your pussy, a loop of carnal push and pull. It makes you leak more, a trickle leaving your body and pooling at the base of Anthony’s cock, nestling in his hair there.

“I can feel how aroused you are,” Anthony purrs into your hairline, almost startling you after many minutes of quiet. “How it is taking every fibre in your being not to defy me. Let’s see how good you can really be for me. Remember, you may not move.”

That’s all the warning you get before his warm, lightly quill-calloused fingers slide over your clit, rubbing an agonisingly light, slow circle. Not enough to do anything but make you shudder and pant, needing more, tiny sparks igniting through your heavy pelvis. Fighting so hard to keep your hips still, wanting more than anything to buck up, bear down onto the hook of his fingers, frottage yourself until you come clenching around his cock so steely and hot inside you.

“Please, my lord,” you grit out, turning to bury your nose into him, huffing his spicy amber cologne, lips brushing the rasp of stubble on his strong jaw.

“I could listen to you beg all night,” Anthony confesses and there’s an edge to his voice that is dark, dangerous, unyielding. 

You lament when his fingers disappear, but he rolls his hips with the motion of the carriage, his cock sliding just a fraction deeper, making you cry out, the change of angle promising so much. Your hand flies out for purchase upon something solid but instead seizes the carriage curtain, unintentionally pulling it back so the glass is revealed.

“Oh, excellent idea!” Anthony lauds. “Yes, show yourself to the world, darling girl; show what a wanton thing you are for us.”

By now, though, the busy streets of Mayfair are long behind you. You are out in the darkness past Blackheath, moving fast down the Dover road to rural Kent. If there are any prying eyes, they will only catch a glimpse of you utterly naked, seated upon a clothed Viscount.

“Open the rest, brother,” Anthony clips.

Your eyes ping to Benedict as he releases his cock and pulls open the draped fabric on either side, hooking it back so the inky blackness of night is all around you.

“Imagine being seen, my girl,” Anthony baits. “There could be a highwayman right now lurking among those trees.”

Benedict leans forward, his hand suddenly clasping the jewelled necklace draped around your throat, the one Anthony presented you with just last week. His motion pulls you upright away from Anthony, the tilt of his cock inside you catching your breath.

“They may want this darling girl,” Benedict joins in. “Will you give it to them? Or will you offer something else instead in order to keep it? A more precious jewel perhaps….” He releases your necklace and trails that hand down between your breasts, over your belly, spidering lower until he grazes your clit. “Will you allow him this? Your greatest treasure?”

You moan loudly at his expert touch, a stroke of his middle finger under the hood of your clit making your whole body quake.

“N-no sir, I would not,” you stumble. “That belongs to my lord and to you.”

“Oh, good answer,” he winks, eyes twinkling in the moonlight streaming in as his now wettened finger traces back up over your belly. “But what if that is what we wish? To watch you be fucked by a stranger? A thief in a mask? Would you then?”

“I would do whatever you and my lord want, sir,” you pledge truthfully, then inhale sharply as he grabs the back of your neck and moves in close, his lips ghosting yours as he speaks again, teasing you with an almost kiss.

“I could watch you be fucked by a dozen men and enjoy every single one. I do so love the way your eyes roll when you are being taken rough. How you always, always plead for more, greedy little one that you are.” 

Your eyes flit down to see his other fist speeding up around his cock. It makes you clench around Anthony, who groans hard, the air in the carriage somehow notching hotter, tighter, like it’s a fight to breathe.

“Sir,” you murmur on his lips, “Please help me; I am in such need.”

You feel as much as see that crooked, laconic smile claims his face, his cock still in hand. “What do you want from me, darling girl? Be specific, maybe I will do it…” 

“Suck my nipples,” you request boldly at his enticement as he tilts back to watch you speak. “Maybe bite them a touch? Use your wonderful fingers upon my pearl; you can surely see it is so swollen...”

You know such explicit language will work for him, and sure enough, his nostrils flare as you ask for precisely what you need, his tongue flicking out to trace around his lips.

“Brother, will you allow it?” Benedict checks, his gaze flitting briefly to the man you sit upon.

“I will,” Anthony concedes, “on one condition: do not let her come, not yet.” He grabs a fistful of your hair, making you inhale sharply, jerking you back against his body, trailing his nose over your cheek. “I do so need her desperate and crying pretty tears for me before I shall allow that.”

Benedict slides to his knees before you, between your splayed legs, and you tremble as his damp lips ghost over the valley between your breasts, nuzzling your skin, inhaling deeply, trailing the point of his nose left to your nipple. You moan loudly as he suckles you into his hot mouth, lips pursed around your puckered teet. Then he glances the edge of his front teeth over your skin, causing a shudder down your spine. His hand cups your other breast, fondling your nipple with swipes of his thumbpad, teasing, while his teeth clamp down and tug away—a beeline to your core. 

You mutter a curse and thrash your head a little, settling on pressing your nose into Anthony’s neck and whimpering lightly, so much sensation coursing through you, his cock is still rigid and unrelenting inside you. Muttering as Benedict keeps feasting upon your breasts, biting, suckling, fondling, not allowing you one moment without the tormenting thrill, a quake in your thighs, an odd tingle in your arms, a pressure behind your belly that is a ball of need, wound tight like a spring.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” Anthony sighs, wrapping an arm around your head, his bicep bulging against your face through his jacket. “Now you have some sense of how we felt earlier tonight…”

At that, Benedict slides his thumb over your clit, flicking in a sideways motion that has you screaming into Anthony’s skin, clawing your hands into both of their hair, grasping their scalps and making them both growl.

“My lord, sir, please….” 

It's a broken, pitiful sound, teetering as you are, reality a blur, a buzz in your brain that is febrile. A tear of frustration prickles your eye at the prolonged agony of denied ecstasy. Just as you are incapable of defying them anymore and have to break, Benedict pauses, pulls back, and watches with that killer smile as you protest even louder, breasts wet with his saliva, goosebumps covering your entire body.

“She is so beautiful like this, brother,” Benedict groans, grabbing himself again and squeezing a few times as if staving off his own orgasm. “You should see it from here….” he adds as he falls back upon the opposite bench.

“I want to,” Anthony confesses, kissing your temple. “I want to see what you look like, my girl, struggling like this; I wish this damn carriage had a mirror….”

“There is one way….” Benedict shrugs, probably aiming for nonchalant but missing entirely. “She may do the same to me?”

“Do you want that, my girl? To sit upon my brother as well?”

“Yes, my lord,” you confess, always eager to gratify them both. “Will I be allowed to come if I do?”

He chuckles into your skin. “Not yet. But if you are good for him too, maybe then.”

Hope flares as Anthony closes his legs and hoists you up and off his cock, you emitting a slight lament at the loss of him as he helps you to turn around and guides you onto Benedict’s lap. Before you know it, you are once again invaded intimately, the stretch different in ways you can’t fully articulate but just as wonderful. Sliding deep, Benedict’s responding moan is hot in your ear as you settle upon him. He hooks your legs over his in the same manner Anthony did, pushing his knees wide open, perhaps even more so, and you hiss at the tugging sensation in your tendons.

“See, brother?” Benedict crows. “Look how spectacular she is…” the words are nuzzled into your temple as he drops a sighing kiss there.

“‘Tis quite the sight…” Anthony agrees lowly as he starts to unwind his cravat while sitting back to admire you. “But I feel she may need those rebellious hands restrained….”

Your belly roils as Anthony grabs your wrists, jerking them forward and binding them with the soft white silk, looping the fabrics many times before tying a tight bow that is unyielding. He doesn’t even ask for your colour, knowing such things are always a green light. What’s new is he guides your bound hands up high, then backwards, curling them behind Benedict’s head with an amused arched eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare move those arms until I say so,” Anthony warns, and all you can do is nod and bite your lip.

“Oh, excellent idea,” Benedict rhapsodises, staring fervently down the plane of your body draped naked over him.

It’s all at once similar and yet different to moments ago with Anthony: the stretch of a cock impaling you, the ache in your thighs forced so wide open, but now with the pulse in your wrists with your hands bound behind Benedict’s strong neck, your fingernails sinking into the plush ruched fabric on the wall behind.

“Watch me, my girl,” Anthony commands.

Drowsy and shaky with unmet needs, you observe as he touches himself again, his proud cock still glistening with your juices as it passes through his fist, tempting, teasing you. Attempting relief by undulating upon Benedict, but balance is more difficult now your hands are bound, instead resorting to supplicant pleas, hoping his empathetic nature will win out.

“Not yet,” he soothes through gritted teeth, but you can sense his quandary, wanting so much to rut into you, his hands flexing upon the dip of your waist. 

“You believe I have learned my lesson, do you not, sir?” Your soft appeal is blatant manipulation, reluctantly looking away from Anthony to twist sideways and stare beseechingly into his hazy blue eyes, finding a storm of desire there. Your lips tingle for his kiss as he goes to answer but is interrupted.

“Stop trying to cheat my girl,” Anthony counsels tersely. While he has welcomed Benedict into your dynamic, sometimes residual jealousy rears when you appear to have a moment of connection with his brother, wanting to gain control—the upper hand.

“You heard him. So, are you going to be a very good girl for me?” 

Benedict’s voice is a resonant vibration through your back, his frilly shirt tickling your spine. You would do anything for him when he asks like that. Your resounding nod is rewarded with a kiss, and his long fingers snagging around your nipples, your pussy clenching reflexively upon him as his tongue rolls over yours. It makes him stutter a growl into your mouth, which tastes like sin laced with smoky whiskey. 

And so you do as asked—sitting meekly, submissively, that heavy distracting weight inside you keening quietly, throbbing between your legs as Benedict tweaks your nipples almost lazily between his paintbrush-calloused fingers, his lips on your neck, sucking gently, a sensation that is all soft, wet heat. Your hooded gaze is glued to Anthony idly stroking himself, only a fraction of movement designed to keep himself aroused, no doubt. 

Minutes tick by, so you lean back into Benedict’s body as his touch softens, allowing your breathing to syncopate to his, his chest rising and falling against your back. Despite your thrumming arousal, the effect is soporific, and you find yourself growing so sleepy, eyelids too heavy…

…“Wake up, sweet girl,” Benedict’s bemused voice rings in your ear.

You startle, having no concept of how much time has passed. You are impressed when you realise he is still rock-hard inside you, your legs closer together now.

“For how long was I asleep?” You query, stifling a light yawn. A warmth blooms behind your ribs when you realise that, at some point, they unhooked your arms from behind Benedict's head, your hands resting in your lap, still bound in Anthony’s cravat.

“About a quarter hour,” Anthony chuckles. “You looked so peaceful, but we decided to rouse you to deliver the good news. We believe that you have indeed learned your lesson, sweet girl….”

“Yes, my lord, I have!” You enthuse, suddenly awake again, feeling an instant quickened throb in your clit, hoping it means they will finally take pity on you, fuck you, let you come.

“Then it is time for your reward…” 

Anthony’s tone is both benevolent and filthy as he flicks open a small vial that he must have retrieved from somewhere while you were sleeping. He shuffles his trousers down his legs a little further, the smell of olives and clove swirling in the air as he pours the oily substance onto his cock. 

“What is my reward, my lord?” You ask as your stomach clenches. 

But you already know. There is only one reason he does this. It’s when he wants to claim your bottom, not your pussy.

“You get both of us inside you at once, darling,” he answers with a dangerous smile, and Benedict groans as again, on instinct, you clench around him in excitement.

“She likes that idea, brother,” Benedict offers sardonically from behind you.

“Use your cravat, sir, blindfold me,” you petition, twisting your head to look at him, wanting to feel as much as see tonight.

“By god, I adore you,” Benedict gruffs, his voice laden with admiration and arousal as he dives in for a quick kiss. 

Then you feel him fighting off the teal silk behind you, unwinding it rapidly before settling it gently over your face, the gossamer soft fibres still warm from his neck, scented lightly of him. He ties a bow behind your head and then drops a kiss on your shoulder. Then two sets of hands assist you up off of Benedict's cock. You revel in their touch as they gently spin you and guide you backwards onto Anthony’s now bare lap, his trousers around his knees.

As the carriage rocks gently, two oiled fingers slide between your cheeks, and Anthony whispers sweetly as he swirls a finger around your bottom, extolling soft praises as he always does when he takes you here, preparing you for him. 

When you murmur that you are ready, you exhale shakily as you feel that intense blunt pressure, now more familiar to you, as he breaches your tight hole, your body stretching to accommodate his oiled cock, slowly sinking into his lap as you take slow, relaxing breaths. 

“Exquisite,” he stutters, his hands moving to hold your waist tightly, guiding you the last few inches until you are seated to his root—the utter fill like a sense memory. After a few moments of allowing you to adjust, Anthony changes his stance, pulling your legs open wider and shifting inside in a way that feels pleasurable and makes your hands flex in your binding.

“You like that, do you not?” you can hear the smirk in Benedict’s voice even if you can't see it, feeling his intense gaze upon your body as you raise your head to the sound of his voice and nod.

“Hands above your head, my girl,” Anthony instructs, and instantly, your hands shoot up, the silk binding on your wrists flexing as Benedict grabs your arms and hooks them behind Anthony’s head, his heat looming over you as he does so.

“Good, now are you ready for me too?” he checks, and you just know he has an arched brow, that menacing look; you can hear the pump of his cock in his fist, saliva gathering in your mouth at the very thought.

“Yes, sir.” 

“You do not want gentle tonight, do you?” Benedict intuits, likely seeing the hunger writ large across your blindfolded face as he kneels on a little footrest; you can feel his hips at the perfect height, the edge of his cropped jacket snagging the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“No, sir.” 

“So very different to the first time we did this,” Anthony remarks knowingly in your ear, invoking the memory of that landmark night in your burgeoning dynamic—the night you truly became a throuple.

It makes you almost wistful even in this carnal moment, that now familiar press of both their bodies, of being sandwiched between them as Benedict leans in. Although tonight, it is not warm skin upon yours, but the slight scratch of wool, the tickle of silk as they remain clothed. 

“Perhaps we indulge you too much, with both of us at once…” Anthony chuckles.

“No! Let me have both..” you twist back to implore him, even though you cannot see. “I need you both so much, my lord, sir, I am aching…”

“Well, I cannot deny such a pretty appeal as that, brother,” Benedict avows, and that is all the warning you get before he guides himself into you. 

You groan loudly as his tip nudges into your pussy, the stretch of two cocks always making your eyes roll, your toes scrunch hard. Anthony’s hands grasp your thighs, holding you open as Benedict slides deeper inside, their breath uneven, knowing they can likely feel the pressure of each other as much as you can. A curse slips from your lips as they both finally rest entirely within you.

“Darling girl, you always take us so well,” Benedict’s voice lauds, dark and decadent, “so magnificent.”

Your eyelids flutter hard against his cravat, bound and blindfolded, split open upon two cocks… you can think of nowhere else you would rather be.

“Please fuck me…” you entreat, feeling as if you have been pleading for hours with them, your mind scratchy, clawing, like a wild beast clambering up the sides of the carriage, wailing to be sated.

You almost howl as finally, finally, they take pity upon you. Benedict withdraws and then thrusts back into you, aided by the rocking motion as the carriage hurtles through past the fields of Kent, the journey seeming to speed up, mirroring the fevered atmosphere within.

Blindly, you seek a kiss from them both, swivelling to Anthony, then Benedict. Desperate, hot, open mouths meet as you start to set a rhythm together, the friction and fullness radiating pulses of pleasure outwards from where you are joined.

You love it when you are caged between them like this, pinned, hands tied, unable to see. Unable to do anything, indeed, but submit to their whims, entrusting your body and gratification utterly to them, to lay back and take it. Take the endless surges of pleasure, the push and pull, the drag of them both inside you as they change tempo, catching you unawares and making you moan and babble. The noises they wrench from your body are drowned out by the thrum of wheels upon dirt, by the thundering of hooves before you, all of you chasing destinations, literal and ephemeral. Windows fogging with panted breaths, the carriage air almost cloying, all three of you moaning unfettered as pleasure mounts.

“Do you think the coachmen above can hear us?” you gasp out, eyes rolling at the overwhelming sensations of both moving within you, their hips snapping roughly.

“Do you honestly care?” Anthony challenges, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he rolls under you.

“She wants them to watch, most likely,” Benedict pants, his hands a vice-like grip on your waist as he fucks into you.

When you do not respond they both huff a laugh.

“Your silence says so much,” Anthony remarks and suddenly, your hair is in his fist, the force making your back arch, sliding both of their cocks deeper, your moan unbridled. “Whose good little whore are you?” he demands hotly, a glance of his teeth upon your jaw.

“Yours,” you rasp, eyes fluttering against your blindfold, head tilted to the carriage ceiling, feeling the burn on your scalp, your nipples pebbled hard against the rough rasp of Benedict's jacket lapel.

“Then repeat it,” Benedict bites out, his mouth sucking harshly upon your shoulder, leaving his mark, a darkened patch you know he will have you look at in the mirror in the coming days.

“I’m your good little whore,” you echo breathily, for them both, the degrading words ratcheting you higher.

They both groan at your utterance, their hands becoming a more urgent hold. Fingertips grazing and tweaking your nipples, you know not whose. Teetering so close, you beg. Beg them to go faster, to touch your clit, to hold you down, be rough, do anything to make this fever upon your skin, buzzing in your mind, break over you, release you from this prolonged heightened state, leaking profusely around their cocks, slack-jawed, strung out with need.

When a hand worms between your bodies, snagging against your clit, you convulse around them, both groaning at the restriction, curse words falling from them in harsh pants as finally you reach the peak you have been seeking forever. One flick of a thumb, and you are gone.

The intensity of your orgasm is breathtaking: transported and hurtled into the skies far above, your whole pelvis contracting and rippling around both of them as they cry out as your vice-like grip. Static buzzing in your skull as they seem to sandwich into you even harder, your lungs gasping for air as your body feels rearranged, your mind floating on a sea of bliss as their movements become harsher, more desperate, you pulling them over the edge with you. Benedict withdraws suddenly, a warmth splashing upon your lower belly as Anthony growls hard under you, feeling the ripple of his cock as he releases inside your bottom.

For a few moments, it’s just panted breaths, all slumped together in a damp pile. Exchanging sated smiles as they tenderly unwrap the cravat from around your eyes and wrists, delicately kissing your skin as you rearrange. Playtime over, back to yourselves, a shared affection between that is undeniable now.

“How much longer until we reach your country home?” you ask as you curl up into their joint embrace, hands caressing your skin in soothing swirling patterns, a languorous pull in your bones now that you are finally satiated. A flickering glow behind your ribs at the idea this is just the start of something new with your boys.

“I have absolutely no clue, my darling,” Anthony confesses with a carefree bubble of laughter, “and I do not particularly care as long as you are in our arms, right brother?” he adds, tilting his head leisurely towards Benedict.

“Absolutely,” Benedict concurs, “If only all carriage rides were this stimulating…” he jests wistfully.

“They could be… if you always take me with you,” you breeze, giving him a chaste kiss.

“We shall never travel again without you,” Anthony attests over a stifled yawn, his stubble abrading your collarbone as he burrows his head into your neck and sighs contentedly.

And that is how you all finally rest, a tangled pile of limbs, your naked body warmed by their tight hold as the carriage whisks you through the countryside under a blanket of stars. 

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[luvsupa]

003 | JEALOUSY?

tags: trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, angst, tension, smut, ōral sex + fingering (f!recieving), petnames, revenge sex. don’t know what to add </3, mdni.

w.c: 2.6k

a/n: THANK U GUYS SOSO MUCH FOR 1K FOLLOWERS <33

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

you lie in bed, staring blankly at the wooden ceiling, sleep evading you entirely. he floods your mind—lewd images, the sounds, the intoxicating scent that clings to your senses, refusing to leave.

his voice.

sukuna, the king of curses, always knew exactly how to get into your head, how to twist your thoughts until he owned every part of you. you scrunch your face in frustration, knowing he sees you as a plaything—something weak, something to be toyed with.

you glance around the room at the other servants, sleeping peacefully in their single beds, until your gaze lands on yorozu’s bed, neatly made and empty.

a bitter feeling stirs inside you—she had spent the night in sukuna’s bed. yet, even as he fucked her senseless, his attention was entirely on you. his eyes, those cursed, cruel eyes, never left you.

quietly, you rise, slipping on a thin cotton robe. with careful steps, you tiptoe out of the room, the wooden door creaking slightly as it opens. you nearly scream as uraume appears before you, arms crossed, their expression as neutral as ever.

“g-good morning, uraume,” you stammer, bowing slightly in respect.

“the king has requested you clean his chambers,” uraume states, and just hearing his name sends a shiver down your spine. that twisted bastard—he’s trying to get inside your head again.

“tell sukuna i do not wish to see him,” you reply coldly. for the first time, you see a flicker of shock on uraume’s face, their eyebrows raising at your blatant disrespect toward the king of curses.

“now, if you’ll excuse me, i’ll be starting my duties early.” you walk past them without another word, leaving uraume speechless at your audacity as you head toward the garden doors.

the sun peeks over the tall mountains, casting a warm glow over the vibrant garden. you stand for a moment, looking up at the orangey-blue sky, before walking deeper into the garden.

you begin your work alone, plucking ripe fruits and vegetables, making sure everything looks perfect. but then, you freeze.

you can feel his presence, dark and oppressive, lingering somewhere nearby.

your heart races. he’s angry—you know it. you must have upset him by refusing his orders. you keep plucking the fruit, desperately trying to ignore the growing sense of dread as his aura thickens, almost suffocating you.

and then, suddenly, his presence vanishes.

you furrow your brow in confusion, turning to scan your surroundings. nothing. he’s gone just like that?

you try to convince yourself that he’s gone, but before you can fully relax, a rough hand grips your face, yanking you around. your breath catches in your throat as you find yourself face to face with sukuna. he looms over you, taller and more terrifying than you remember, his four eyes glowing with a predatory hunger that makes your blood run cold.

“you thought you could ignore me?” he growls, his voice low, almost a purr, but the underlying threat is unmistakable. his grip tightens, forcing you back against the rough bark of a towering oak tree. he’s so close, his body heat searing into you, his scent, a heady mix of blood and something darkly sweet—overwhelming your senses.

“you think you can defy me, woman?” his voice is deceptively soft, but it only makes the fear coil tighter in your chest. his lips brush against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as he inhales deeply, savouring your scent. “you’ve been blocking me out, haven’t you? my clever little girl.”

his words are laced with a twisted kind of praise, but there’s nothing comforting in it. his breath is hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to trace the shell of your ear, making you squirm involuntarily. his grip on your face is firm, almost possessive, as he presses himself against you, his presence overpowering.

“fuck you,” you manage to spit out, your voice barely more than a whisper, but the defiance in your words only makes him chuckle darkly.

“such a filthy mouth,” he murmurs, amusement flickering in his eyes. his other hand trails up your neck, his fingers elongating into sharp, black claws that press dangerously against the pulsing vein in your throat. he’s toying with you, every touch calculated to draw out your fear, your arousal.

“so brave, yet you tremble under my touch,” sukuna’s voice is a husky whisper, dripping with sadistic pleasure as he watches your reaction. you hate the way your body responds to him, how the proximity makes your heart race, your thighs press together in a vain attempt to quell the heat building inside you.

his bottom eyes catch the movement, and his lips curl into a knowing smirk. “how delightful,” he sneers, releasing your neck and stepping back, leaving you breathless and trembling against the tree.

sukuna hums, turning to leave without a word, no goodbye, nothing. you’re left standing there, breathless and shaking, knowing you’ll never truly escape his grasp.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

the evening buzzes with activity as servants and guards rush to prepare the dining hall for the zenin clan’s arrival. you overhear whispers about toji, the head of the clan, who commands both fear and respect. a secluded home within the estate has been prepared for their stay, a gesture of hospitality from sukuna himself.

you slip into more formal attire, the fabric soft against your skin, when a soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. uraume steps in, their expression unreadable.

“the king—”

“i’ve already spoken to him, uraume,” you interject, catching a flicker of irritation in their eyes.

“the king has requested that you serve the food at dinner for the zenin clan,” uraume continues, their tone firm. your brow furrows in confusion, but before you can protest, they add, “i will not tolerate any disrespect towards sukuna-sama, so i suggest you comply.” with that, they leave, offering no room for argument. you let out a frustrated sigh, knowing sukuna is up to something.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

the estate is a flurry of movement as everyone gathers outside to greet the zenin clan. the grand entrance is framed by koi ponds and cherry blossom trees, their petals drifting in the breeze. the noise of the crowd quiets as everyone falls into place, a wide path left clear for sukuna and uraume.

the chatter dies as word spreads that sukuna is approaching. everyone bows as the double doors swing open, revealing sukuna in a black kimono with gold accents, his hair slicked back with a few strands falling against his face.

fuck. he looks so good, you think, your heart skipping a beat.

uraume follows behind him as they move toward their spot at the front. just as sukuna passes by you, your heart clenches. you barely manage to lower your head in respect as you notice his hand intertwined with yorozu’s. she throws a smirk your way, and your eyes flicker between them. a gasp escapes your lips as you catch sukuna’s lower eye locked on you, a smirk playing on his lips as well.

the gates swing open, and the zenin clan’s carriages roll in, the horses' hooves echoing against the stone. the zenin’s guards step out first, followed by a tall, broad man in a black haori. he moves with an air of authority, his eyes locking onto sukuna’s with a tension so thick it feels like the air might crack.

“zenin,” sukuna calls out, their gazes locked in a silent battle for dominance. toji strides forward, his hands casually behind his back, his presence as commanding as sukuna’s.

“ryomen,” toji responds, his voice deep and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. you study him more closely, noting the scar on his lip, the sharpness of his gaze. he catches you staring, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. sukuna’s gaze follows toji’s, his jaw tightening, a vein pulsing at his temple as he harshly releases yorozu’s hand.

“uraume, show our guests to the dining hall,” sukuna orders, his voice low, his breath quickening with barely restrained anger. toji’s eyes flick between you and sukuna, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he catches onto the tension.

as uraume leads toji and the rest of the zenin clan inside, toji deliberately brushes past sukuna, the slight contact sparking a flash of rage in sukuna’s eyes. he clenches his fists, fighting the urge to unleash his wrath, the air around him crackling with suppressed power.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

sukuna, toji, and the rest of the zenin clan settle into the dining room, the air thick with chatter and underlying tension. you stand quietly in the corner behind toji, your gaze drifting to sukuna seated at the other end of the table. yorozu is by his side, her smile wide as she leans into him, desperate for his attention while he pets her head, his eyes never leaving you.

the chefs signal that the food is ready, and you step forward, carrying the largest, heaviest plate. as you approach sukuna, yorozu stifles a laugh, her eyes gleaming with mischief. you carefully place the dish in front of sukuna, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, making your heart race with nervous energy.

you retreat back to your spot behind toji, aware that he’s been watching your every interaction with sukuna. he hums, a smirk tugging at his lips as he senses the tension.

“is the food to your liking, lord zenin?” you ask softly, leaning down so only he can hear. but sukuna’s piercing red eyes catch every movement, his stare burning into you. toji turns to you, his gaze appreciative as he sets his utensils down.

“y’er a cute one, hmm? call me toji, baby,” he purrs, his voice dripping with charm. you smile, flustered by the attention, while across the table, yorozu desperately tries to capture sukuna’s interest, even going so far as to eat from his plate in an attempt to please him.

suddenly, sukuna’s voice booms out, calling your name with a force that silences the entire room. all conversation stops as you freeze, your exchange with toji abruptly cut short. you take a hesitant step toward sukuna’s side of the table, but before you can move any further, toji grabs your arm. you gasp, turning to find him grinning, his eyes alight with mischief.

in one swift motion, toji pulls you into his lap, your squeal echoing in the now-silent dining room. “ryo’, let the girl rest, yeah? workin’ too much, baby, isn’t that right?” he coos, his hand resting possessively on your thigh. sukuna’s expression darkens, his anger barely contained, only held in check by uraume’s firm grip on his shoulder, reminding him of the guests in the room.

the dinner continues, but the atmosphere is charged. sukuna’s eyes never leave you and toji, his rage simmering just beneath the surface. toji, sensing sukuna’s barely restrained anger, keeps pushing, his hands wandering over your thighs, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers sweet, seductive words.

toji takes your hand, kissing it softly, his eyes locked on sukuna’s with a smug, taunting look. sukuna’s fists clench, his entire body tense as he fights the urge to tear toji apart.

“meet me in my chambers,” toji murmurs, his voice low and full of promise. you giggle, caught up in the flirtation, but the sound barely leaves your lips before sukuna abruptly stands, the ancient chair crashing to the floor.

“dinner is over,” sukuna announces, his voice cold and final. confusion ripples through the room as he storms out, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall. yorozu calls after him, but he doesn’t even glance back, his rage blazing as he disappears from sight.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as nighttime falls, you find yourself at the guest estate just a few minutes from the main one. with a nervous knock, toji answers the door, his grin widening before he pulls you into a deep, feverish kiss. your tongues intertwine, frantic and messy, at the entrance where anyone might witness the two of you.

toji pulls away, his large hand cupping your face. “who is sukuna to you?” he asks, his voice a husky murmur that makes you choke on your saliva, caught off guard.

“h-he’s my king, toji,” you stammer, leaning into his touch, your breath coming fast. he chuckles, a dark glimmer in his eyes.

“i see how he looks at you—he’s always been possessive with… women,” he says, his gaze wandering as a wicked thought forms.

“are you up for something adventurous?” he whispers, his lips trailing fiery kisses down your neck. you tilt your head, desperate for more.

“I want you, toji,” you whimper, and he chuckles, pulling out a black blindfold from his pocket.

was he prepared for this all along?

“may I put this on you?” he asks, his voice dripping with anticipation. you nod eagerly, unable to contain your desire. toji smirks, guiding you to turn around as he binds the fabric over your eyes, plunging you into darkness.

you ache to see him, to watch the way he moves, but the blindfold denies you that pleasure. “we just need to walk a bit, and I’ll give you everything you want,” he promises, his arms lifting you in a bridal style.

the journey feels endless until he finally lays you down on the softest bed you’ve ever felt. he undresses you slowly, making you shiver with anticipation.

toji’s mouth descends on your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipples- alternating from each breast.

“n-need you inside me,” you moan, your voice trembling with need. he kisses his way down your body, his lips blazing a trail to your aching cunt.

“such a needy one,” he teases, his voice rough as he slides two fingers through your slick folds. he circles your entrance, collecting your essence before pushing his fingers inside. your gasp is loud, your body arching as he thrusts deep, his fingers curling to hit your sweet spot. the room fills with the wet, lewd sounds of your pleasure.

“you’re drenched,” he growls, sliding his fingers out to deliver a stinging slap to your cunt, making you hiss. he licks his fingers clean, savouring your taste before diving into your pussy with feral intensity. his tongue explores every inch of your velvety walls, making you clench around him.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he groans into your core, the vibrations sending electric jolts through your body. your legs try to close around his head, but he forces them open, his face and the sheets below soaked with your arousal.

“toji, I need you inside me,” you moan, the knot in your stomach tightening, your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“are you out of your fucking mind?”

you freeze.

your heartbeat halts as his voice cuts through the haze. confusion and fear grip you as you realize who’s in the room.

toji doesn’t stop; if anything, he devours you with even more intensity. loud slurping heard from below as you press your hands to your mouth to muffle your cries.

shakily, you pull off the blindfold, blinking against the bright light. below you, toji’s face is a mask of wicked satisfaction, strands of saliva and cum connecting him to your swollen cunt.

your gaze travels to the end of the bed, and your blood runs cold. sukuna stands there, his four arms bulging with veins, his nails longer and sharper than before.

this is sukuna’s room—the very place where he was with yorozu the night before.

your eyes dart between toji and sukuna, realizing you’re in deep trouble. toji orchestrated this, deliberately placing you in sukuna’s room to fuel the tension between them. “m-my lord—” you begin, but toji spits flat on your cunt, slapping it loudly as you moan uncontrollably.

“c’mon, baby—tell ‘kuna how I’m making you feel.”

[alastorss]

HIIII so i had an idea for like a reader that's crushing on alastor, and angel dust making jokes about it in front of alastor and basically what would happen once he catches on

Have a lovely day, get good sleep!!!<33 luv ur writing<33

a/n: hello sweets <3 thank you and i hope you like this!

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Alastor has watched you splash your martini all over Angel's face so many times this week, he's almost certain the star is provoking you on purpose just for a free drink.

In the short time he's come to know him, he's learned that if there's one thing Angel Dust is good at—besides looking pretty on film—it's that he can be absolutely shameless.

Alastor remembers, with a twinge of disgust, that the spider had once told him he came with built in reins. That comment kept him seething for hours.

And now, poor you, having fallen into the trap of his intricate web—the Radio Demon would be laughing if he didn't actually feel slightly bad for you. He knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of those comments, after all.

You, unlike your four-armed friend, have a capacity for shame the likes of which have never been seen before. All hot cheeks and wide eyes, lips pulled into a straight, thin line—embarrassment burns in every corner of your expression.

Though, that's probably why Angel has taken such a liking to teasing you.

Here he is again, crawling over the bar to get into your face as soon as Alastor appears in the room. His voice is low and melodic, so quiet the Overlord can't quite make out the words until—

"Look, hun. Your prince charming!"

Alastor raises a brow as he takes his seat next to you at the bar, setting down his newspaper.

"What was that?" He asks, eyes flickering between you and a coy-looking Angel Dust.

"Oh, nothin'. That right, sugar?"

You look nothing but utterly defeated, martini forgotten and abandoned. "Angel..." you mutter in warning. The spider only shrugs and gives you a toothy little grin.

"Hey Smiles," Angel suddenly grabs you by the cheeks and turns your face to look in Alastor's direction. You only blink at each other in surprise. "Cute, eh?"

You quickly smack his hand away from you, swivelling around to glare. "Quit it!"

Angel puts his hands up in mock surrender. He huffs, backing off. "Okay, okay! Fine! You two are unbelievable."

With that, he stalks off to bother Husk instead. You sigh in relief, head hitting the bar counter. For a moment, you completely forget that Alastor is still sitting beside you.

"Care to explain?"

He watches as you nearly jolt out of your skin, amused at how flustered you are from a little teasing. It's rather cute.

"It's nothing!" You sputter, waving your arms around in panic.

But you can't fool Alastor. Not anymore.

It hadn't clicked before—that perhaps there was some merit behind Angel Dust's words. He had gotten so used to empty threats of sexual advances that he had ruled out the possibility that the star was being a little serious for once.

He wasn't exactly subtle, always jumping on the opportunity to make your cheeks burn whenever the Radio Demon was around.

"It didn't sound like nothing," he sings, leaning in closer to you so he can gauge your reaction.

As expected, you nearly leap away from him when he suddenly invades your personal space. He snickers.

"Not you too..." you groan.

"Why, I didn't know you had such a crush on me, darling~"

"You're the worst."

"Ah, and I suppose that's why our dear friend has been teasing you about me all this time? Because I'm the worst, and you hate me?"

He's getting entirely too close. His face is nearly touching yours.

You stare at him in bewilderment, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, you manage to stammer out a weak retort.

"You should butt out of other people's business."

"It sounds like it's about to be my business, dear. You know, if you liked me so much, you could have just told me instead of Angel Dust."

"I preferred it when you were just a regular asshole, and not a cocky one!"

"Oh, how you wound me~"

"Shut up!"

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete @squiword7 @clarakainda

[wasitforrevenge]

oh sweetheart

pairing: boxer! ellie williams x f reader au

word count: 1.9k

rating: 18+

warnings: boxer!ellie, drinking, smoking, cursing, creepy guy but ellie comes to ur defense!! ellie has lots of tattoos, fighting, threats, idk if im missing anything (no character description or anything specific)

summary: you didn't expect to meet her on this night out.

authors notes: hi friends! this is my first time writing and posting on here hopefully you enjoy, please reblog, like or follow! lets be mutuals :) anyways feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated! ellie williams has me on my hands and knees!!! i hope you enjoy! i like the idea of making this a series if it works out and ppl like it, so pls let m know!! thank you :)

PART 1 | part 2

series masterlist <3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

loud. everything is loud. the smell of sweat and blood stains the air around you. the sounds of people cheering and shouting towards the center of the large room. the lights are buzzing above you as you are walking into the entrance of the shitty run down gym your brother, jesse, and his girlfriend, dina, ended up dragging you to tonight.

you didn't mind coming along with him but this wasn't what you expected to be doing tonight. after a long shitty week of unpacking your new apartment, you kinda just wanted to end up a hole in the wall bar and drink your stress away but he had other plans. which including watching grown men beat the shit of each other for their cut at the end of the night.

it was intimidating, walking through the crowds of people you didn't know until you finally make it to where his friends were waiting for you guys. they were sitting at a table with a clear shot of the fight which was surprising since the whole place seemed to have more people in it then it could fit. you make your way awkwardly to the empty seats saying a gentle "hello guys" to your brothers friends who you didn't knowl. you sat next to dina as jesse made his way to the bar with your drink orders.

after you graduated highschool, you moved to new york and spend 4 years there working in a small cafe you lived above but now at the start of the summer, still not sure what you should be doing with your life. now you're 22 and you've moved to the city of jackson to be closer to your older brother and his girlfriend. you were excited to start fresh in a place where no one knew you yet, you were ready to leave your old life and those toxic things in the past. but you wondered if it was even possible.

you spend the next hour talking with dina and catching up on the things that have happened since you moved, "have you started looking for jobs yet?" she asked as you both sipped on the second drink of the night that jesse went and brought back a bit ago. you've only met a couple times in person since they started dating about 2 years ago but you loved her, she was making this night a lot better. "not much luck yet, i don't know what to do, luckily i have some time to figure something out." you responded. she went to say something but then the loud speakers around the room started blaring music and the countdown to the match that was about to start.

jesse tapped dinas shoulder to go watch with the rest of them. dinas eyes met yours and asked, "are you coming up?" you started getting nervous as the people started getting louder and crowding towards the center ring and told her that you'll stay here and watch. they both nodded and said they'd be back when it was over.

you took this opportunity to finally go get some fresh air since the crowd isn't all over anymore and it was a straight shot to the door you came in, you walked over to the side of the building, definitely feeling the drinks you had, you let your back rest against the concrete wall, finally cooling you down on this hot summer night. there's people standing outside talking but they payed no attention to you. you stayed against the wall as you pull out the cigarette pack from the pocket of your thin dark green jacket and the lighter out of your back pocket in your jean shorts. you cursed yourself for not buying more but its a bad habit and you know it. you pulled one out and put it in your lips as you brought the lighter up and took a drag, finally letting the anxiety go as you stared off into the sky.

"excuse me miss, you shouldn't be out here alone, a beautiful girl like you," a man with a rough voice said but you didn't move to look, suddenly wishing you never left your apartment to begin with, "hello i'm talking to you, its not nice to ignore people, ya know," he slurred his words as he spoke. you turned your head as you went to tell him to leave you alone but instead, he was standing in front of you before you knew it you dropped your smoke and now he's practically cornered you.

he was so close you could smell the alcohol on his breathe as he spoke again, "now are you gonna talk to-" you leaned away from him as he was interrupted by the sound of a door opening a few feet away, he looked towards it but then turned back to you just as quick, almost touching you as he went to speak again but he was beat to it.

"get off her." you didn't even realize the door had opened until you heard her.

the man looked back towards the door to the figure in the light, he squinted and when he got a good look, he suddenly backed off and put his hands up. "hey hey i wasn't doing nothin- it was nothing!" he shouted back to whoever was next to the still open door, light shining into the alley.

the door slams and the light fades as the figure walks closer towards you and your eyes meet the deep green eyes of the person who just saved you as she turned to the man who was just cornering you against the wall.

"it doesn't look like nothing, i mean, really? you're fucking joking right?" she questioned him as she looked him right in the eyes.

"i said it was nothing- she was flirting with me and-" he was cut off as she laughed loudly. "yeah you're full of shit, get the fuck out of here and don't let me see you again or you'll regret it." she said as she stepped closer towards him, almost at the same height, he looked scared of her. "okay, okay- fuck 'm leaving!" he slurred one last time as he turned around and headed the opposite way of the run down gym.

you stood there as the interaction happened, not sure what to do or say yet, you were silent as he walked off, and those green eyes met yours again and you saw her lips moving as she was speaking but you caught nothing she said. "hey, you okay there?" she asked you as she went to stand in front of you, looking you up and down, checking if you're psychically okay while she gave you a second to process before she asked you again.

"hey sweetheart, you okay?" she asked and grabbed your arm, not in a way that the man would have but like she was actually making sure you were okay, and this time you finally heard her.

"h- yes im okay, just- fuck- yes thank you." you said finally getting a good look at her now that she's up close and touching you. her eyes were greener than you thought, her short auburn hair with some pulled back into a bun, the big moth tattoo wrapped around her right forearm that was still holding onto yours, other tattoos littered her arms and some poking out under her t-shirt she was wearing. she was so close to you and it sent butterflies through your body. now is not the time, you thought to yourself.

"are you sure- 'm sorry that happened, fuck him." she said roughly, not towards you but him.

"its okay, thank- thank you for helping me" you said gently to the girl who was still looking into your eyes. you had been so focused on hers that you didn't even see the tiny scars, small healing cuts and the bruises that were fading until you looked over her face again.

"yeah of course, are you here alone?" she asked you curiously still holding on to you, you weren't even phased by it. you told her you were here with your brother and she nodded her head towards the door, "lets get you back to him before anything else happens sweetheart" she said as she guided you to the door, hand on your back, as you swallowed and went first.

suddenly all the sounds that you had not realized you had been blocking begin again, smells of the sweaty bodies surround you again and you felt too hot, either because of her or the summer heat trapped in here. once you made it inside, she moved her hand off the small of your back and told her to go find your brother and to get home safe. when she walked away, you realized you didn't even know her name.

you saw dina, sitting along with a few of jesses friends and made your way over to her. the match must've ended while you were outside. you walked through the gym to sit back down, moving carefully to avoid touching anyone. once you made it to the table, dina wondered where you had ran off too. "oh just went out to get some fresh air," you said back to her smiling, not wanting her to worry. she told you jesse went to get more drinks and after the encounter outside, you needed it.

jesse came back a few moments later, holding a round of shots for you three. "here you ladies go," he spoke with a happy look on his face. you smiled slightly back and took the glass as dina laughed at him. you took the shot, trying to forget what happened outside with the man but not what happened with her. you wondered if you would see her again. is she here to watch? could she work at the bar? is she here with friends too? your thoughts were interrupted by an announcement over the speaks that the final match was gonna start soon.

dina and jesse were telling you, "its the last one tonight and the last ones are always the best so lets go!" you would rather sit and order another drink, but what if something else happened cause you were alone? so reluctantly you got up with them and got closer to the middle ring, you heard the loud speakers announcing the boxers as they entered the ring. you weren't even paying attention, nothing could stop your mind racing with thoughts about the girl outside.

you shake yourself out of the trance when dina reaches over to you to touch your hands that were shaking but you didn't even realize, you look to her and give her smile that she returns, then she looks back to the ring and you turn your head to follow her eyes to the center. and your breathe caught.

thats her.

thats the girl who saved you outside.

the girl with her hands wrapped in tape and the mouthguard in.

the girl who wondered if she'd ever see you again either, not that you knew that, but she hoped it wasn't the last time.

you wondered what she thought as you both stared back at each other. you heard the coach start the countdown. you just watched her.

...5

...4

...3

...2

as the buzzer started, she smiled directly at you then turned to throw the first punch.

[targaryen-dynasty]

WORSHIP ME INSTEAD.

Maegor Targaryen x Niece!Septa!Reader

The Gods have been unhappy with your uncle for some time now, but perhaps he's just needed to give them an offering… a sacrifice in return for a healthy heir all along. And what makes a better sacrifice than a septa?

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT - MDNI; very dubious consent, canon typical incest/targcest (uncle/niece), blasphemy, corruption, corruption kink, size difference, semi public sex, female reader (mentions long, silver hair as appearance)

WORDS: 3K

NOTES: you're all getting some big tiddy daddy as a special treat and to officially end my 3k celebration! thanks to everyone that has participated by asking questions, by writing their own fics, and by just supporting me. also a special thanks to @zaldritzosrose and @arcielee for betaing this. <3

The atmosphere in the newly completed Red Keep is strange. It never was comfortable or calm, not even when your father sat the throne, but it feels as though a dark veil is hanging low over the castle and its staff, not even sparing the king and your uncle, Maegor Targaryen. 

You’ve been gone from court for quite a while, being sent to Oldtown to become a septa by the very hands of the man you’re serving now, which has made the change in atmosphere even more apparent to you. 

Several deaths haunt the castle — Ceryse Hightower’s being the most recent one — and you can only fathom the pressure your uncle holds on his shoulders at this very moment. He does not have an heir, one wife after the other perishes, and the boy that poses the biggest threat to his claim to the throne, your brother Jaehaerys, has fled the castle of Dragonstone with your mother after the passing of the Dowager Queen Visenya. 

You were not mad at being sent to the Starry Sept, for it allowed you to leave the insanity of your own House for an unknown amount of time. It was when you’d been called back to King’s Landing that you could feel your mood sour. You were brought there with no real task for you at hand which forced you to take over some duties Grand Maester Benifer assigned you with. 

Your whole day has been spent in the Keep’s library, making you forgo your hood at one point and therefore allowing your silver tresses to cascade down your back freely. Wearing the hood is no necessity, hence your lack of concern should someone walk into the library and catch you without it. 

With several books in hand, you sort some of the scrolls and books that had been brought to the royal chambers before, putting them back to where they belong. 

You are too engrossed in your task to notice that you’ve been alone for the longest of time, only aware of that other presence the moment the raspy voice fills the room. “Septa,” he almost says it in a mocking manner, and you immediately know who it is that has joined you. 

Turning on your heels, you crane your neck to meet your uncle’s eyes for a moment. “Y-Your Grace.” You dip into a slight curtsy, placing the books in an empty place on the shelf.

Heat warms your cheeks in his presence. Even during your childhood, you have always found a liking for your uncle and enjoyed the way he allowed you to leave the boredom of your princessly duties to take you flying on Balerion or let you watch him train with the sword. 

“At ease, Septa,” he replies, flicking his hand as if he means to dismiss your stiff posture. The library is not well lit, a few candles sparsely placed here and there granting for most of the light, and yet you still notice the way his eyes rove over your form slowly and deliberately. “I trust that all is well in the Keep?”

Your heart races in your chest underneath his gaze, as if he contemplates eating you, and it makes you swallow thickly. “Oh, yes, of course. Everything is well, Your Grace,” you say, trying to keep your voice as calm and polite as possible, though you can not help but feel your pulse quickening at the hunger in his eyes. 

His lips curve into a smile, clearly taking pleasure in the way you’re squirming beneath his gaze. “And your duties? All going smoothly?” He takes a step towards you, looming over your small frame. 

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to keep your composure, more so as his pleasant scent fills your nostrils in a way you can’t describe. Taking in a shaky breath, a shiver runs down your spine. It’s been easier being close to him when you were all but a child he’s bounced on his knee, not a woman grown.  

“Well enough,” you reply a beat later. “The new midwives are coming along wonderfully. The Queen can know herself in good hands should she be with child soon.”

Maegor just hums in response, reaching out a hand to drag his knuckles over your cheek, his calloused fingers rough against your soft skin. Even from this little contact he can feel how warm your flesh is, and a heat grows in his loins at the thought of how warm and sensitive your skin would be if it was no longer covered by your septa robes. 

“That is good then… Septa ,” he says, hesitating to use your title. His voice has dropped lower as his hand travels to your jaw, his thumb caressing your chin. 

Your eyes widen, but you don’t dare to step away from him for fear of the consequences. “... Your Grace?” You eventually find the courage to whisper. 

His fingers graze your jaw, gently tracing your features. A low hum rumbles in the depth of his chest. You don’t know that he’s always found you beautiful, much more than your younger sister Rhaena, and even more now that you’ve become a woman grown. You’re so unlike the women he usually entertains himself with. “Yes, Septa?” With these words leaving his lips, his hand travels down to your neck, gently wrapping around your throat, grasp firmly but not enough to hurt you. 

Drawing in a deep breath, that is the moment you decide to bring some space between you again, taking a step back. But much to your surprise, his grip does not falter, hand still around your throat with his arm just outstretched. “I–” you swallow thickly, not able to keep your gazes locked. “This… This is highly inappropriate, Your Grace.”

Maegor merely scoffs, and although his hand follows your movements, it’s clear it’s meant to stop you from getting away from him. His thumb gently runs along the sensitive skin of your throat, feeling your pulse quicken beneath the pad of it. “Inappropriate?” he murmurs, his dark blown eyes drinking in the sight of your slightly parted lips. “When have I ever cared for what was appropriate, Septa?”

It feels as though the gentle brush of his thumb coaxes another shiver to run down your spine, and you catch your mind straying to the thoughts of what it would feel like if his fingers were anywhere else but your neck. 

“Must… Must I remind His Grace that it was him sending me to Oldtown to become a septa? I–I have vowed–” you trail off, your voice shaking slightly. “It is not very proper for a septa to be touched in… this way.”

Moving forward again and closing the gap that has formed, his hand around your throat stops you from backing away. “It’s not proper, no…” he murmurs, leaning forwards to bring his lips on level with your ear. “But then again, I’ve never been a proper man.”

You suppress an involuntary gasp as you feel his hot breath fanning over your skin, enough to nearly melt you here and now. Perhaps his grip leaves you more as a willing prisoner to his mercy rather than his prey. A part of you wants to pull away, yet the other part is afraid of angering him by doing so. 

“Y–Your Grace…” you whisper, the sound of your voice almost breathless as his domineering presence makes it difficult to think straight, “... please.”

The wicked smirk on his lips grows wider at your pleading. He can feel himself getting lost in your voice, so soft yet sounding so helpless in his presence. If it hasn’t been obvious before, he takes immense pleasure in the way he towers over your frame, making you appear so small and fragile clad in your septa robes. 

“Please what, niece ?” he says, leaning in even more to brush his lips against the shell of your ear. 

You try to tilt your head to get away from him, squirming in his grasp, but to no avail. “Īlon kessa daor,” you try to reason with him in the tongue of your ancestors, a small flicker of hope that this brings some sort of clarity back to him. We should not. 

But Maegor just chuckles lowly, the grip around your throat tightening slightly. Your breathing is uneven, shaky even, with your body pressed against his, and he relishes in the feeling of your vulnerability. “Kostilus īlon kessa daor,” he replies, a dangerous lilt in his tone. “Yn gaoman sīr jorrāelagon raqagon ra nyke kessa daor.” Perhaps we should not. But I do so love to indulge in things I shouldn’t.

Before you can answer, you’re spun around by him, the movement unusually fluid and graceful, as if he’s done it plenty of times before. Your back presses against his sturdy chest, pinning you between him and the bookshelf with no way to escape. The hand from your throat rests on your waist instead, the fabric of your robe pinched between his fingers.

“That’s much better, is it not?” he teases in a murmur. 

The vow of chastity you’ve sworn plays over and over again in your mind, but does little to stop your knees from growing weak at the proximity. 

“This is not a good idea… uncle ,” you protest quietly. It’s completely out of place for you to address him as such, he is the king and you’re a mere septa that has set aside her last name, but neither the Mother Above nor the Maiden can stop him from getting under your skin. 

“Perhaps, but where is the fun in a good idea, huh?”

You’re a septa, and you’re supposed to be a pious and celibate woman, but at this moment all you can think of is how good it feels to have him this close to you, so very close to giving you more – something you’ve craved for a long time. 

Both your hands are captured by his paw, pinning them behind your back and making you unable to move. While his lips explore the side of your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses, his other hand rucks up the skirt of your robe, bunching it around your waist. It’s pinched by the fingers of his other hand, held high and allowing him to pay more attention to your undergarments. 

If you weren’t so distracted by the coarse hairs of his beard scratching the sensitive skin of your neck with each kiss he pressed to it, you would have attempted to squeeze your thighs together, making it more difficult for him to tug down your smallclothes. But alas, your mind and body are too far gone from all the summers you have spent untouched and unsatisfied, addicted to the rush his touch sends through your body. 

He is hard and heavy behind you, the outline of his thick cock pressing against the curve of your arse. You're too desperate for something you have only imagined at night, making you arch your back as though you mean to make him hurry up. You can feel him fumble with the laces of his breeches, undoing them one by one. 

“We’ll just have to be good at not getting caught,” he rasps against your neck. The robe you wear offers almost no liberty to push it down to reveal more of your soft skin and the curve where your neck meets your shoulder to him, and so he has to make do with your neck alone. 

Your uncle is met with little resistance as he sheaths his hard cock inside of your warm cunt, filling you up at once. Not even the sharp pain of his teeth sinking into the skin at the curve of your neck grants you enough distraction from the stinging that comes with accommodating his size, your cunt struggling to take him completely. 

“By the Seven,” you whimper, your hands clenching to fists in his grasp while your walls flutter around him.  

Your soft whimpers are enough to drive him further into his need for you already, and the gentle rolls of his hips make your knees slacken, caught by him bringing his free hand to your chin to pull your body against his. “There is no need for the Gods here, my sweet Septa,” Maegor rasps into your ear, emphasizing his words with a particularly harsh thrust of his hips that makes you choke on a whine. “You may worship me instead.”

His grip on your chin forces you to tilt your head back and arch your back against him to hold up with the slowly increasing pace of his thrusts, and your teeth digging into your bottom lip is a fruitless attempt of yours to stifle a moan coaxed past them by that. 

The sound of your moans and whimpers sparks something in him, prompting him to growl against your skin. It tightens the grip he has on your chin to the point it becomes borderline painful with how much he has tilted it back. 

“Don’t hold back,” he grunts, resting his forehead against the crown of your head. “Let me hear you, sweetling.”

Although your mouth is agape, no more sounds than breathy whimpers and whines leave your lips, despite the reckless pounding of him. But when another moan manages to escape your chest, it strains your throat to the point you have to cough once. 

Sensing your discomfort, he eases the grip just slightly, shifting it to your throat and allowing your head to tip forward again. You’re desperate to fill your lungs with air, yet each breath is knocked out of them by the merciless snaps of his hips. 

“That’s it,” he groans, nudging your legs further apart with his foot. “The Gods have been unhappy with me for some time now, but perhaps I’ve just needed to give them an offering… a sacrifice.” He’s just rambling into your hair at this point, and your mind is too hazy to really process anything he says.

You’ve been so inexperienced and have spent so much time completely untouched that even the slapping of his heavy sac of stones against your pearl brings you a pleasure beyond imagination. 

He towers over you, your small frame completely hidden by his significantly taller one. It’s such an easy game for him to keep you where he wants, to use you however he pleases, and at this point you’d let him do whatever he desires with you for as long as you get to relive the sensations you feel over and over again. 

Your peak washes over you in an ambush, the pleasure all but soaring through your veins. But his assault on your cunt doesn’t stop, and when the urge overcomes you to squeeze your thighs together, it doesn’t seize. 

“Perhaps the Gods haven’t been giving me a healthy heir because they need me to fill you up,” he growls as if he’s been waiting for this since the moment he’d sent you to Oldtown, his voice raspy and thick with need. “Perhaps the Seven will bless me with a son if my seed quickens within you.”

His words nearly send you to your knees if it wasn’t for his muscular arm wrapped around your frame. A renewed wave of your arousal oozes out of your cunt at the thoughts of you carrying his child, yet it also makes you shudder, a feeling of guilt lingering in the pit of your belly. “By… By the Gods… T-The Seven would not–” you protest weakly, your voice a little more than a gasp. But even to your own ears your protest sounds more like a pleading than denial. 

Pulling you even closer against him, Maegor nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing the exposed flesh of your shoulder gently. “My little Septa,” he murmurs, the nickname almost sounding like an insult and a taunt. “You say we can not, yet you press yourself against me… are you so desperate for my cock?”

That is the moment you lose any resemblance of restraint you’ve held before, your mind becoming blank, his merciless pounding, and words forcing every thought right out of your brain. You whine a string of incoherent words, rambling one ‘yes’ after the other. 

It’s as if he’s just as desperate, because you can feel his thrusts becoming more and more erratic, a sign that lets you know he is about to topple over the edge. With a few more thrusts, he forces his thick cock into you, until a strained groan heralds his peak. His twitching cock spills his seed deep inside of your quivering cunt, and you squeeze him ever so tightly in response, all but milking him for every drop. 

He squeezes your flesh and trails both his hands over your body, mapping out the curves hiding beneath the robe. His thrusts grow leisurely, the feeling of pure bliss subsiding rather quickly for him. 

Shame and guilt for what just has happened overcomes you, growing stronger the moment he pulls out and you feel the remnants of his spend idly trickle down your thighs.

You don’t dare pull around. You don’t want to meet his gaze, to see the smugness and satisfaction written over his features at having convinced you to give in to him. 

“I suppose I have kept you away from your duties for long enough,” he says, his voice dripping with irony. “You’re a septa, and I believe you have some more duties to tend to.”

Nodding weakly in agreement, you can’t shake off the feelings of being exposed and vulnerable under his piercing gaze. It takes a moment for your brain to function again, the fog of need and pleasure only slowly clearing from your mind. 

“You’re right, Your Grace,” you say, voice weak and shaky. “I should… I should get going…” Dipping your head in a nod, you’re quick to scurry off, hastily looking around on your way out of the library in hope of no one having seen you in your moment of indiscretion.

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @k4marina @foxyanon @peachysunrize @nats-whore

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[milkloafy]

STUCK WITH YOU — BLADE

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: in which you get sick and blade is wondering how the hell he got stuck having to take care of you. ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: sickfic, fluff, swearing, gn!reader, stellaron hunter!reader, reader doesn’t like room temp water LMAO only ice cold, blade’s kinda mean but a softie trust me u.u ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.8k+ ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: i haven’t written for blade in ages so i am very rusty but i hope u enjoy <3 this is a self-indulgent fic i wrote while sick and bed-ridden yesterday :c if any of y’all got the summer cold/flu too i hope u feel better !! :> 

You felt like shit and the last thing you needed was someone threatening you to get better. 

It would have been one thing if those threats worked in scaring your illness away. But you were certain that it did the opposite of help— It simply gave you an unwanted headache instead. 

“Can you stop glaring at me whenever I blow my nose?” you demanded with a sniffle, tossing your tissue into the trashcan Blade so graciously placed next to your head.

“Can you stop blowing your nose so loudly?”

You glared at him, responding by grabbing another tissue and blowing your nose even louder. You winced at the force, feeling a slight throb in your head from the overexertion.

With an ever-present scowl on his annoyingly handsome face, Blade shook his head at you. You could practically sense the disappointment and annoyance radiating from him. “Don’t make yourself feel worse.” 

“I’m not trying to,” you said, choosing to lay back down on your bed rather than arguing with him.

Your throat was sore, your nose was both runny and stuffy with no in-between, your muscles were achy, and your body was tired. There wasn’t much fighting spirit left for you to spare in your current state. Hence, the reason the Stellaron Hunters had Blade stay behind on the mission until you recovered enough to join everyone. Why they didn’t leave someone more personable and caring like Sam behind was beyond you. But you supposed you should be grateful Elio let anyone stay behind instead of having you recover alone. 

Coughing, you reached for a glass of water to moisten your throat only to find it already empty. You groaned to yourself, the thought of having to get up from your warm and cozy bed to fill up your water in the cold, cold kitchen made you shiver. 

With a sigh, Blade exited your room while muttering a quick, “Stay put.” 

You blinked blearily, eyes barely able to follow his quick-moving figure out the door. 

In a flash, Blade returned with two separate cups—one filled with clear water, and the other with warm tea. He set them both down on your nightshade, collecting your empty glass to clean in the sink. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, touched that he brought you drinks without you having to ask. You grabbed the glass of water first, letting out a giggle when you saw the single ice cube floating on the top. With a smile, you questioned, “One ice cube?”

Blade shrugged, a nonchalant look on his face that one could easily mistake as uncaring. “You don’t like room temperature water. If I brought warm water to you, you would rather die of dehydration than drink it.” 

A nodded sheepishly, unable to deny what came out of his mouth.

“Still, you need fluids to feel better. I figured one ice cube might be enough to satiate you.” 

Staring at the melting ice cube, you assumed it didn’t do much to help the temperature of the drink, but the thoughtfulness of your fellow Stellaron Hunter was enough to coax you into drinking it regardless. 

“That’s…surprisingly sweet of you,” you said, taking a sip of water. It was, in fact, not cold enough for you, but you still pushed onwards. “Thanks, Bladie.” 

The scowl on his face deepended. “Don’t call me that. And drink the tea. I put honey in it since its anti-inflammatory.” 

“Your frown lines are forming prematurely,” you jested, setting the glass of water aside to pick up the steaming cup of tea. The warm mug felt hot against your skin and you felt a droplet of sweat forming on the side of your head. In the blink of an eye, you threw the blankets off your body and fanned yourself dramatically with one hand. You shared a look with Blade. “It’s too hot for tea.” 

“It’s not too hot, you just have a fever,” he said with annoyance, walking over to the thermostat and turning down the temperature regardless of his words. “But you can wait for it to cool down then—” 

Before he finished his sentence, you had already taken a sip of the drink. Immediately, you felt a burning sensation on the tip of your tongue and jumped. “Ow!” you yelped, placing the mug down and glaring at it. “That’s hot!” 

Blade glared at you. “Tea is typically made from hot water. I just told you to wait for it to cool down.”

“But you said that after you told me to drink it!” you sniffed, nursing your tongue by dipping it into the lukewarm glass of water. “You can’t give a sick person mixed signals like that.”

“You’re sick, not incompetent.” He paused. “Not more than normal, at least.” 

“Hey!” you protested. At the sudden overuse of your voice, you felt your throat growing more irritated. You coughed and coughed, taking in deep breaths of air to stop yourself. 

He folded his arms as he scolded you, “Don’t overexert yourself. Get some rest.” 

With tears forming around your eyes from coughing, you matched his haughty expression. You croaked out, “You’re naggy. Did you know that?”

“Only to those who don’t listen.” 

“You tell me like a million different instructions! How can I listen?” you retorted, your headache coming back as your shoulders tensed in irritation. 

When he noticed your slight wince of pain, Blade sighed and relented. He walked over to the side of your bed and picked up the cup of hot tea. With a blank expression, he blew the surface of the drink, cooling it down until the steam went away. 

“Here,” he said as he held out the cup to you. “Now drink.” 

Your stared open-mouthed at the drink. You felt as if he was giving you whiplash with his crass words and caring actions. You didn’t quite know how to feel, but you knew you were at least a bit grateful. 

Carefully, you sipped the cup of tea Blade gently (and begrudgingly) placed in your hands. This time, you did not feel the scalding heat burn your tongue. 

“Thank you,” you said, chugging as much of the tea as you could. “It wasn’t hot that time.” 

He nodded in response, stepping away from the side of your bed once he confirmed you finished your drink. Blade studied you as you laid back in bed, closing your eyes to try to soothe all your ailments. It didn’t work, but you would certainly keep trying. 

Without the blankets covering you, you felt cold again despite the sweat you felt gathering on your forehead. You heard rustling and the clanging of glasses next to you.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Blade walking away with the dirty cups in hand, muttering something about how he wasn’t your maid. You smiled weakly, knowing he was doing his best to take care of you regardless of his bitching and moaning. 

Blade returned with a slightly damp washcloth in hand, folded perfectly into a compact rectangle. You sniffled through your stuffy nose, watching as he held out the washcloth to you, before taking it back last minute. Confused, you pulled your hand back as well. 

“I’ll just do it. Before you mess up somehow,” he said, leaning down by your side and placing the damp washcloth on your forehead. 

The instant he placed the towel on you, cool relief coursed through your body. You shivered at the sensation, letting out a noise of satisfaction. 

You peeked one eye open, looking at Blade with another sheepish expression. “Thank you. Again…” 

“You don’t need to keep thanking me.”

“I do!” you insisted, staying as still as a board despite the passion in your voice. “I know you would rather be out on a mission right now, following Elio’s script with the others. But instead you got stuck here taking care of me.” 

He folded his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “It’s not your fault. Kafka forcibly volunteered me.” 

You chuckled lightly at that. It certainly seemed like something Kafka would do. Either to annoy Blade, tease you, or irritate the both of you just for fun. 

“You just need to get better soon,” he said as if it were that simple. “Then we can both get back on the field.”

“Is that why you’ve been such a good little nurse, Bladie?” you teased, touching your fingertips to the cool washcloth on your forehead. 

He glared at you, but there was no anger behind the expression. “Call me that one more time and you will see what happens.” 

“Will you bring me more hot tea to burn my tongue on?” you asked in mock horror. Despite his menacing-sounding threats, you knew Blade would never hurt you. 

“I’ll bring you room temperature water with no ice,” he promised blankly. 

Your mouth dropped in surprise and you shook your head fervently, the small towel falling off your face. “No, please! I won’t call you Bladie again.”

Blade rolled his eyes at your dramatics but immediately went to pick up the fallen washcloth. “Stop moving around like that. You’re going to make your headache worse.”

“Sorry, mother.” 

He scowled and plopped the washcloth back on your forehead, less gently this time than the first. You stuck your tongue out at him in response before feeling another fit of coughs come your way. 

Once you managed to soothe your throat and gather your breath, you sighed. “I hate being sick.” 

“Then drink more fluids and go to sleep.” Blade grabbed the glass of water from your nightstand and began to walk out with it. “I’ll get you some more before you try to rest.”

Closing your eyes shut, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself despite your discomfort. He had a rough exterior, but he surprised you with how much effort he put into helping your sick self out. 

His hidden thoughtfulness was enough to stir something in your stomach—butterflies, you hoped, and not an unwanted stomach bug to add to your list of ailments. It was unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. 

Blade entered your room one last time for the night, bringing you a new glass of water with a single ice cube, and a fresh new washcloth folded to perfection. 

You giggled, noticing his attentiveness to detail. “Thank you, Bladie. I really appreciate all of this.” 

He sighed but didn’t argue when he heard that nickname. Thankfully, he did not take the ice cube out of your water and hand the glass to you lukewarm.

“You are so… You’re welcome,” he relented, replacing the damp towel on your forehead with a fresh and cold one. “Now, hurry up and recover.” 

“I’m trying,” you laughed, no longer annoyed by his impatience. “I’m sure I will, with you doting on me like this.”

“I don’t dote.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bladie,” you sang softly, your eyes finally feeling heavy after drinking more water and relaxing your muscles with the help of the cool washcloth. “I’m finally getting sleepy…”

He nodded. “That’s good.” 

“Mhm,” you murmured, your voice drifting into a sleepy mumble. “‘M tired. Goodnight… Blade.” 

There was a long pause before you heard Blade’s response while you drifted off into a deep slumber. “Get well soon, Y/N.”

[corollaservant]

Sweet Delight // Gojo x f!reader (18+)

Synopsis: You are too nice to be serving rude customers for minimum wage. Rest assured that Satoru will take care of it.

Warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, noncon/very dubious consent, somno, stalking, knives, deception, mind games, murder mentions, violence (not to reader).. that's all.

A/N: Yan!Gojo is Joe Goldberg to me, idk. Beta read by my guy bsf who said the ending sucked (inspired by quote used in this book)

It started on a Friday afternoon.

He was a regular, came to the store every day to get his coffee. No sugar. Iced. The order was unlike him, he seemed sweet, or at least friendly and inviting, he had the type of eyes your friends gushed over when talking about their favorite movie stars, too blue, too inquiring.

At first he smiled and handed you a bill, told you to keep the change and asked you if he could sit outside for a bit. Of course, why wouldn’t he? The store offered it and he knew it, he was just being polite. He would read from a book, whose cover you couldn’t see, seemed too absorbed and you often wondered how he could concentrate with the café’s obnoxiously loud music (owner’s order to attract customers). He’d more than often catch bystanders attention, be it his white hair, his tall physique or his peculiar blindfold, which he wore sometimes instead of sunglasses, the man was attracting people like a magnet. This one time a couple of girls sat down next to him and talked purposefully loud. He lifted his chair and brought it closer to the register, closer to you. Yet, he still didn’t speak.

The first time he spoke to you besides a thanks and can I sit outside for a bit was when a customer harassed you verbally. You got the order wrong and while you offered a second free drink, he started calling you worthless. Your eyes watered and voice broke as he stepped in

“Please do not offend the barista, it was a simple mistake.” He spoke calmly while being twice the size of the customer.

“This is none of your business, sir..” The customer scoffed as he tried standing upright to make himself taller.

“I said.” Satoru sighed “Please get the fuck out the store or it will be..sir.” While there wasn't any physical threat, the tone was convincing enough to have the customer backtrack, hiss and leave the store empty handed.

“I'm sorry for that.” You told him as he looked at you.

“Don't be, this wasn't your fault.”

“I'm Satoru by the way, remember me?”

Of course you did, he was the most loyal customer.

—

It happened on a Friday afternoon.

Your shift started at 1 PM and ended at 9 PM sharp. Satoru had a meticulous routine: 1-3 was for observing. He wouldn't call it stalking, no, that word was degenerate and he wasn't like that. He was just observing you, your hands, as they moved, expressions as you skimmed milk and some of it spilled on the counter, your interactions with customers. He couldn't risk another incident like before. 3-6 was when he usually made an appearance. Black coffee. No sugar, iced and the table just across the bar; close but not too close. He was disappointed today, you hadn't looked at him once—well, in your defense the café was crowded, yet you still looked gorgeous, even with your sleep deprived eyes and disheveled hair, so soft and pure. He loved that. What would it take for him to get your attention? He found himself balancing between proclaiming his feelings and showing you them but decided on the latter. He would—today.

6-9 he had to wait in his car this time, it was raining but he couldn't leave you out of his sight, what if something happened to you? Your stupid manager had you close the store at 9 PM all alone in the dark, what a cheapskate cunt, not hiring a second person on the shift. Should he kill him? No, that’d be too soon. He would make an appearance before nine anyway.

8:40 was when he got out of the car, sloppily wearing a balaclava he’d gotten from Suguru (his seventh grade ninja Halloween costume) and his usual black work uniform. A knife was in his hands as he noticed you from across the road washing some cups. Perfect, you weren't looking but also careless of you, exactly as expected. He barged in the store and tried his hardest to make his voice drop an octave deeper, shit, would you recognize him?

“Give me your money or I'll stab you.” He was laughing internally but had to put on a fake growl, your expression was priceless.

“P—please don't kill me!” was the first thing you said (brokenly mewled) as your poor hands started shaking.

“I said now.” He said as he stabbed the blade in the air. Damn, that was too easy, you were too gullible.

“P–please I will, I–I am all alone.. one moment–'' Poor you, you had already started crying, tears were falling down your face but you didn't seem to notice. Should he stop this now? Probably.

“How incompetent are you? Are you this slow with customers too?” He decided to tease you a little longer, thriving off of your reactions.

Your eyes shot up for a brief second, was it the customer with Satoru a few days ago? He had said something along these lines, but this couldn't be. He was way shorter and had stopped coming ever since Satoru put him in his place. You were thankful for that.

Your hands opened the register as the paper bills you held threatened to soak, you still had one glove on... you looked a bit silly.

“Hey, hey..” Satoru’s voice quickly returned as the mask was removed “It's just me, see?” He whispered, trying to soothe the tone as your eyes widened.

“S–Satoru, what!?” Your voice trembled as the money fell from your hands and you took a step back.

“I wanted to pull a prank on you, I'm sorry if I scared you.” He smiled apologetically but you still couldn't utter a word.

“W-why would you do that? That's sick!” You cried out as he came behind the bar and tried to pull you in an embrace, knife now tucked in his jacket. To get close to you, to teach you a lesson, to make you need me would be his answer. You punched him on the chest, muffled cries fell from your lips. Well... you couldn't land a blow, that was for sure, but you looked cute with your clenched fists taking out your anger on him.

“F–fuck you!” His firm hands stopped your weak, aimless punches and you sobbed on his chest. You smelled divine, even at the end of your shift.

Was this love?

“Hey.. come on now, I said I'm sorry, okay?” He said as he pulled away.

“Came to say I'll stay with you till 9, it's not safe out there.” He promised as you wordlessly returned to the sink. He'd make you love him.

Around 9:10 you closed the store. His prank had slowed you down, exactly as expected, he figured it wasn't often you lost control and he was proud it affected you. It made you susceptible to control. You silently sat with Satoru outside while he insisted on driving you home.

“I don't need a ride. I'm fine.” It wasn't funny to tamper with your feelings like that, he didn't seem like the type and he'd taken you by surprise; actions like these didn't align with the image he painted for himself. He was always so kind, so protective, so—

“Give me the fucking store keys!” was heard before you turned your attention to the voice ahead of you. A man shouted, not too loud to alert anyone but enough to make a point. The street was empty and he was holding what seemed like a paper bag as you turned to Satoru.

This surely had to be another one of his pranks? You were about to laugh when you looked at him. He seemed taken aback, frozen in his spot and his eyes squinted as your heartbeat accelerated.

“What is it with this neighborhood and robberies?” Satoru talks after a while, his tone is confident as he looks at you and the guy growls. Why is he so calm?What is going on?—

“Shut the fuck up and give me the keys or I'll fucking blow your heads off!” The man says moving his hand to your direction, was this guy bluffing? Did he even have anything under the bag? Was your life about to end? It wasn't like people didn't talk about the criminals in the neighborhood—you’d never work there if it wasn't for necessity.

“And if we don't?” Satoru stops you from reaching for the keys as he fights hard to wipe off the grin on his face. Well, that was unexpected, but he isn't scared, he never is, as you interrupt.

“Satoru! P–please! Let me give him the keys!” You cry out, the day straight out of a nightmare the longer it drags on and you honestly can't put up another fight. You'd rather have whoever this was steal an insignificant amount of money from the register than end your life. Sure, there wasn't much to live for, but it was always different when under real threat.

“You’d give him the keys, really?” He scoffs annoyed. He couldn’t believe what a victim you were, couldn't you see he was right there for you? Despite his abilities you still failed to see him. Silly you.

“What c-can we do? He..he– and we–” Was this really the time? Why is he even negotiating this?

“Bitch, stop talking.” The guy spits, tired of your back and forth, as Satoru finally addresses him.

“That’s not very nice.” He is calm.

So calm that you almost don't see his fist obliterating the guy. One punch and he's knocked down, Satoru climbs on top.He pulls his fists down interchangeably but it's fast and you can't count, must be about seven that leave the guy with no time to react, hands to his sides as he yelps. Satoru reaches for his pocket and is about to grab the knife, when he feels two warm hands touch him and he turns around.

“P–please! Let's just go home!” You sob, eyes wide and the pain in your voice breaks his heart. Home, you said? He gets up and kicks the man’s limbs like a soccer ball—blood oozes down his mouth onto the curb and he chokes on some of it. Satoru's knuckles are stained but he gives you his hand as the pulp ahead withers.

Home.

-

He gave you clothes, a sleep set he had in his closet, you’d never know it was specifically tailored and cut out to your size, how would you know? It’s not like he’d tell you he stole (he called it borrow) articles you discarded at work. Your jacket when too hot, a change of pants as he brought them to the store's bathroom and returned them just as discreetly at 5:30 PM. They smelled like you, but he couldn’t categorize the odor, it was too hard. As for the color.. that he didn't care about. Anything would work really. His mind couldn't stop racing when he heard the shower head start, you'd never agree to his hospitality but that was his home, his rules. You also had a very rough day and it didn't take a lot to convince you.

He offered you his bed, he’d sleep on the couch and despite you objecting, he got you to comply. He could only imagine how much today drained you— physically and mentally. He let you sleep, he wasn't some monster, plus he had work to do. You’d wake up around 9, he calculated, so he had time.

When he finally sat down the couch, he couldn't sleep. Knowing you were there, so close and so vulnerable broke him. He didn't wait for his hair to dry — spot cleaning blood on the sink stole away his energy as he slipped on the bed, you were facing the wall and he placed his arms around you. You made no noise but you didn't seem to be sleeping heavily either, you’d slightly toss and turn. Poor you, was it a nightmare? He smelled your shampoo, it wasn't yours really but a variation of the ones you had at home as his fingers went through strands of your hair. He came closer, wanting to feel your body's heat and moved to your chest. His fingers sought your heart as he felt your pulse. A cock pressed against you—he’d been hard for some time and it wouldn’t go away as his palms searched for your nipples. One pinch and they were already hard, shit, he thought as he moved his dick on you. What if he went lower? Would you be a good girl for him? He moved to your belly as he put one leg softly over you, angling his cock directly at your cunt's entrance from behind while he rubbed against the folds, palms finding you from the front. He loved this embrace, all his to play with. He traced the slit and rubbed some more. You felt so soft and tempting. He’d bet no one could protect you like him and that gave him motivation. Yeah, that was right, he deserved a little thank you for his hard work. He fondles your cunt while his stiff cock annoys him, he’ll deal with it later. He buries a finger inside you, your cunt is wet, he thinks and you're not even conscious. Satoru pumps it slowly, it lubricates you in the process as it coats him halfway—he groans far from your ear and pushes another. You inhale sharply.

He pops them in and out until he fears he's becoming too fast so he removes his palm and uses your slick for his pleasure now. Boxers and sweatpants are removed as he wraps around the shaft, his precum gets smeared on his cockhead and he brings it down his base, it creates a wet mess and he gets off on it. He doesn't need much visually, your back softly breathing is enough to pump faster but— you felt so warm, he reasons, should he? You’d be his soon enough so might as well. He quickly turns to your side and lowers the set you're wearing (you'd think he intentionally sized up so it'd be easier to pull them down) as he pushes your panties to the side. You were a naughty girl, wearing a thong to work. Too dangerous, the world had many perverts. He puts his stiff cock on your entrance as he tries to shove just the head first; he hisses at the contact and you move, it's too late to back down now and he grows desperate. Within a second he tilts his hips into your needy cunt—he doesn't flatter himself, he's big so it's no surprise you groan and he assumes open your eyes. You feel tight and warm and he doesn’t care about your shock—he’s close.

“What.. agh—what are you doing?!” You're cut off in between moans as he ruts into you, you choke on a cry and he picks up his pace. His cock is stuffing you to the brim, it hurts but he can't be considerate. You feel like you can't breathe, dizzy from a nap and a repeated thump down your core. Yet, a primal instinct of pleasure washes away a conscious you telling yourself it's wrong and fuck— you moan out his name. Why do you moan?

“Shit, couldn't help myself, sorry baby.” He breathes out as he bucks his hips up and you feel too full.

“Satoru! S–stop...” But your pleas fall on deaf ears as he continues, hands caressing your chest and his breath on your neck while your hips are brought to clash onto his and nasty sounds come from the contact.

“Fuck, so pretty, baby, hm?” He moans and he’s already close, cock throbs as you prettily squeeze him in. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this before, it’s like you’re made perfectly to accommodate him and look at you!—clenching your cunt like some slut.

“N–ugh– Satoru please—” You cry out, scared but with a heat coiling low that makes you unable to protest louder. You think of his kind eyes, heartwarming grin (“Got these bad boys for you”, as he gave you your favorite cookies) but soon they're gone away—

—replaced by his cock rutting in your damp walls. You're unwillingly sucking him in, you can't think straight, he's... good? No. He's disgusting for this. Water blurs your eyesight—it's too much.

A hand is on your clit as he bites your soft neck at the same time. God, how he longed for this. Having you in his arms. He adored you.

“Want to come on my cock, like the helpless slut you are, baby?” He whispers but it's soft—like he's teasing you for missing the bus and you cry.

“I- agh-n-no..please—” You muffle and beg and his hand circling your clit slaps on the nub repeatedly as you jerk; “I can't—I–” He doesn't pay attention, his cock is ripping you apart and you have to let go—riding out an unwarranted orgasm. He loves your mess, no, he loves you and since you're conscious (not that it'd matter), he lifts your leg up as he angles himself so deep, you yell; overstimulated and still scared.

“Satoru, e–enough!” He's bottoming out in between sticky walls and you ache, hoping for an end.

“Don't be selfish baby—fuck!” He groans as large palms squeeze around your neck and then he's cumming — fast and as much as possible, you think. It feels warm and disgusting, his breathy moans are on your ear as you force your eyes shut. What doesn't make it inside, seeps back out but it’s not a lot, since you’re fully stuffed and he takes his sweet time to pull out. You just feel that good. He plants a kiss on your back as he returns with towels and puts you back to sleep. You cry—he estimates 15 minutes before you give up and let sleep take care of you.

One step at a time.

-

It's your 3 month anniversary. He doesn't tell you that of course, its embarrassing because it's 3 months since he found you, 2 days since he introduced himself. You still work at the café but you don't have to worry, soon you’ll never have to work again, he has big plans. He is proud of himself for finding you, it wasn't often someone intrigued him so much. He liked how genuine you were, naive and a bit dumb of course but that was exactly what made you so pure. He’d bet even at your lowest, you'd never cuss anyone out. Like for example that cunt of a customer the other day but it was fine, he’d do it for you, actually—

A message from Suguru pops up.

“Comin tonight?”

“No, have plans.” He gets bored easily and this time isn't an exception.

“Again? New record?” He can always read Suguru's irony. Funny of him to think he'd stop there.

“I told you I’d take care of it.” Satoru hastily types.

That guy really shouldn't have called you a bitch, it wasn't even in the script. Look where that got him. In Satoru's trunk ready to meet Mr. Worthless. He shuts his phone, he thinks about throwing it away, there's no need for it anyways. Especially when you're here.

He thinks about some quote his dad used to tell him, how did it go? Some are born to sweet delight—

14 minutes till your shift ends. What was it?

—some are born to endless night? It all makes sense now, it rhymes, that's why he still remembers it.

Or maybe you just give the first part a meaning.

[untolduttering]

I’ve Got You

Summary: Reader, terrified of needles, injures themself badly enough to need stitches, and does what they can to avoid getting them. Sanji, however, would never let you suffer so.

Tags: Sanji x gn!reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, blood, medical needles, open wounds

Word count: 4.4k

I made one for Law ages ago, and thought it’d be fun to write a version for Sanji, (you all should thank @yourboyhack for encouraging me <3 <3 <3)

Several mistakes were made on your part. First, you had let yourself stray from the rest of the group. You weren’t one to get lost easily, and so when you wandered farther than everyone else, it didn’t raise any alarms. You yourself were confident, and there hadn’t been any clear threats. It was an uninhabited island like any other, the forest like any other. But that had been your second mistake. You underestimated the terrain. A cursory glance left you thinking you could venture out without any real equipment. It was a simple walk. But the air held that earthy scent that meant it had just rained, the earth loose beneath your feet. The third was just not taking anyone with you. A second set of eyes would have pointed out the drop, or at least have caught you when you slipped. Instead, you threw your arm out behind you, desperate to grab any sort of branch or root, or even the ledge, but you found purchase in neither.

The drop wasn’t that far. It was the sort of fall that would have merely been embarrassing, only leaving you disgruntled because of the mud in your clothes and your own stupidity, if it weren’t for the rock jutting out. You hit it on the way down, thigh catching and tearing along the jagged edge. The breath left your body as you hit the ground, and you laid there for a moment, completely still, to breathe deep and try to reorientate yourself. You dreaded the bright pain that was building in your leg, not wanting to know the extent of the damage. When you finally brought yourself to do it, a hiss slipped between your clenched teeth. It was difficult to know how deep the gash was with all the blood that had already welled up and began to drip, but you knew it was bad. Your stomach turned at the thought of what it’d take to heal it, your mind touching and recoiling away from the thought of stitches.

You hurried to stand, ready to prove that it was not that bad. Your legs shook as you stood, but less from pain and more from the shock. As you started your search for a way out, you found it difficult to put too much weight on your injured leg, but it was manageable. What kind of Straw Hat were you if you couldn’t? You were fine, you told yourself. You could suck it up and fix it.

The little gap in the earth you had fallen into wasn’t all that deep. You couldn’t even call it a ravine, really. The little hill up and out to leveled ground was close and short. It made it all the more easier on your part, but also more irritating. This, out of all things, was what had caught you unawares? It was not something you were going to be eager to explain.

You hobbled your way back. It took longer than your way in, but at least you knew the path there. You kept a hand pressed to your wound, an effort that wasn’t doing much but making your hand a sticky mess, but you didn’t have much else to do for it. In this one instance, you were relieved to find the ship empty when you made your way back. Carefully, you climbed the gangway and stopped on the deck, listening. There wasn’t a reaction from the crow’s nest, nor one from the upper decks, which meant that whoever must have stayed behind was busy in one of the rooms or below deck. It meant you had to tread carefully.

Usually, you would head straight for Sanji and let him tend to you. It was a ritual at this point. One of you got hurt and offered themselves to the other, relishing the admonitions to be more careful and the skin to skin contact. The trust and love required to allow the other to dirty their hands as they helped them in such a vulnerable state. But this time, you hesitated. You’d never been hurt like this before. And it wasn’t that you didn’t trust Sanji to help you this time. He was more than capable and would be more than willing. His soothing hands and sweet words were all you wanted at that moment.

It’s that you were afraid. The threat of a needle and thread loomed over you. You didn’t know if it was something that Sanji could do, but his skill wasn’t the worry. It was the needle going in and out, slicing through and dragging the thread through your skin, an intrusion that wouldn’t be removed for a while.

You trudged ahead to the bathroom. You could handle this. Sanji was busy anyway, wherever he was; it would have been rude to interrupt and ask him for help over something as simple as a cut. It wasn’t all that deep. Blood had made a fine layer on your leg, but that’s what blood did. Like most wounds, blood made it look worse than it actually was. There was a simple first aid kit that sat in the cupboard of the bathroom, and that was all you would need.

You moved as quietly as possible, as the bathroom was behind the kitchen and getting to it required walking atop it. You hoped that the gentle sounds of water lapping at the hull would mask the creaking of the wood beneath your footsteps. When you made it near the kitchen, you could hear the sounds of Sanji cooking, and cursed your luck that it had been him to stay behind. It made sense, as he would be making lunch for a voracious group of pirates that would be tired from their ventures. You hoped that you could be cleaned and fixed by the time you saw him again. It would make it easier to brush it all away. You kept your steps light as you continued, praying he would not notice. But Sanji had keen senses, and a radar that was attuned specially for you.

Dread became a terrible weight in your stomach at the sound of the voice calling out behind you. You’d reached the door of the library, and quickly shoved yourself behind it in case his head popped up.

“Y/n! Is that you, my love? Lunch is almost ready!” Sanji yelled.

“Yeah! I just need to go to the bathroom real quick. I’ll be right down.” You shut the door and scurried up to the bathroom before he could answer.

It made it more difficult now that he knew you were there. A timer had been set. If you took too long, he was going to come and check.

You stripped down to your underwear, your clothing a dirty mess and now a hindrance. You grabbed the first aid kit and a towel, and settled yourself on the tiled floor, facing the door you’d locked. The trek had left you exhausted and woozy. The task at hand was beginning to feel insurmountable and the sudden feeling of hopelessness washed over you. Sanji’s pampering had left you soft. You wanted his hands on you more than ever, for him to take the weight of responsibility and take complete care of you. But you just couldn’t let him.

First, you used the shower head to rinse all the blood and dirt off, biting hard into your lip as you flushed out the wound. You tried to dry the water off afterward, but it was difficult when the blood wouldn’t stop flowing. You pressed the towel down, waiting for a bit as the blood soaked into the fabric before trying again, but it simply was not working. You had to close it before trying to get any cleaner. Flipping open the kit, you rooted around for butterfly bandages. You were able to apply two before your skin was too slick for the bandages to stick. You grabbed the towel and tried to wipe away the blood with a clean patch, but it smeared it more than anything. Your head was starting to swim and the blood was getting everywhere, all across your thigh, leeching onto your other leg. All over your hands and under your nails. In some spots, it’d dried down and become sticky. The rest left you too slippery. One side of one of the bandages you placed popped up. Your eyes started to burn with frustration.

And then there was a knock at the door.

“Y/n? Is everything all right? You’ve been in there a while,” Sanji asked from the other side.

“I’m fine! Just getting cleaned up.” You hoped you sounded normal, that no strain peeked through.

“Cleaned up? Did something happen?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual grime from hiking.”

“Ah, do you need any help, my dear? I could scrub your back for you.” His voice took on a sultry, flirty tone.

“No!” You said it too fast, too aggressively, and tried to fix it immediately. “It’s just a quick one, no need for help.”

It was wrong. You knew it as you said it. Normally, you would have said yes, ready to take full advantage of an empty ship, or if not, you would have at least flirted back or teased him. But it was hard to think of the right thing to say at the moment.

“Oh.” The dejected tone of his voice sliced right through you, worse than the rock had. “Have I done something wrong?”

Of course he would ask. Of course he would think himself at fault. Why else would you reject someone you loved so dearly, craved so constantly? You didn’t know how much longer this would take. You could send him away, but he’d come right back if you didn’t leave soon after. And the clothes and the towels, what would you do with those? And the wound itself, just how the hell were you supposed to keep that hidden? It would hurt him to know that you didn’t come to him for help.

“No, no, of course not. I just…” You trailed off. The throb of your leg and the tangy scent of blood and the wetness of the floor was making it hard to think. The light was too bright and yet its sharpness didn’t make fixing your wound any easier. You kept moving in a helpless circle of wiping blood and trying to get the butterfly bandages to stick.

Maybe a little truth could help. “I got a little scrape and wanted to handle it myself. I’ll be out soon, I swear.”

“What? Are you alright?” The door handle jiggled. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Fuck, why did you think that would help? You had just told yourself how it wouldn’t help to tell him. “You were busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Sanji knew, though. He always knew. You loved to distract him in the kitchen, doing anything to keep his attention on you. “Let me help you. I’m not busy now.”

He was never going to let up until he got a look at it himself, to at least assuage his own worries. You would want to do the same for him.

“I can’t—“ No, that wasn’t right. “It’s fine.”

“If it’s fine, then let me see it, baby.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. Say no, and it would confirm suspicion. Say yes, and you had to let him in. And you were in no state to find a better way around it. You snatched some gauze, pressing them to the wound, and started wrapping your leg. “Y-yeah. Just a second more.”

“Y/n,” his voice was serious, the closest to stern he could get with you, and dripping with concern. The door handle was jiggling again, now like he was doing something to it.

“Just a moment, I swear.” Lifting your leg to move the wrapping under it hurt and you harshly sucked in a breath, fingers shaking. A few tears snuck their way down your cheeks. Why, why, why was it so damn hard?

The door swung open and all you could do was feel the fear and shame that flooded your body. You were like a child caught doing something naughty, and your mind reeled with how you could defend yourself. The gasp that Sanji let out rang against the tile, and made even louder to your ears by your panic. You looked up, hair hanging in your face.

On Sanji’s end, only one eye poked through that curtain of hair, the rest of your face hidden. It was wide, red-rimmed, and filled with threat. You were a feral animal, back hunched and body tensed, ready to sink your teeth in. Blood was smeared across every available surface, and all over you. Mud still clung to your skin, bits on your shoulders, arms, and ankles where you hadn’t cared to clean yet. If it were anyone else that had stumbled upon you, they would have backed right out from fear. That look in your eye and the redness that surrounded you would have set off alarm bells, the scene making it seem like it was not your own blood you were coated in. And that you weren’t going to stop at one victim.

But it was Sanji, and it was you. You could be crouched over a corpse, soaked to the elbows in another’s blood, an organ pressed to the mess of your mouth, and he would still approach you. Cradle your face and wipe a thumb across your chin and ask if you needed anything else. And so he lept towards you.

“Oh gods, my baby—”

“Don’t!” It was a shrill, ugly noise. You lifted your hand, palm out and fingers spread wide to keep him at bay.

He froze, unable to disobey any command from you. But it pained him to do so, for you to ask that of him. “What happened?”

“I fell. It’s fine, though. It’s not bad. The blood just makes it look bad. But it’s not.” The words came out in a rush.

“Y/n, it looks very, very bad.”

“It’s not! It’s not. I don’t need anything more than bandages.”

Sanji swallowed and slowly crouched down. “Can I look?”

“N-no. Because it’s okay.”

He only looked at you, eyes squinted and eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed together and the corners tugging down. He looked so worried, so scared. A pain twisted in your chest.

“I don’t need stitches,” you whispered, trying to reassure him.

And then he understood. He understood your sneakiness and your panic and your refusal. It wasn’t exactly him you were rejecting.

“Oh, oh baby,” he said as he reached towards you.

Unconsciously, you flinched away from those hands. The softness of his voice let you know that he knew the root of your fear, that your words had been an admission, which meant he would do what he could to make those stitches more bearable for you. But you didn’t. Need. Them.

“Stop it. I’ve got it,” you snapped.

Hurt flashed across his face, but he stopped reaching for you. Instead, he sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. Softly, he said, “It’ll go faster, smoother, if you let me help you.”

You bit down on your lip and hunched your shoulders. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want him to be. Tears started to well in your eyes again and it made your stomach burn brighter with anger and shame. “I don’t need your fucking help.”

“It’s okay to be afraid,” he continued. “We all do things while scared all the time. And I’ll hold you through this one the whole time. You know I’ve always got you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to hand yourself over to him so, so badly. But you could see it so clearly, the needle breaking your skin and diving in. Dragging itself so painfully through and out, emerging red with your blood. And the thread that followed, prolonging the pain as it dragged through as well. And the dipping and tugging and pulling that followed, again and again. Your throat felt dangerously tight.

“I don’t want to,” you cried.

“I know. I know, I know, I know.” You felt the slightest brush of skin along the ankle of your uninjured leg, and when you didn’t flinch or pull away, he wrapped his fingers around, rubbing soothing circles. “But you have to. And you can do it. I know you can do it.”

You shook your head, back and forth, back and forth. You tried to tug your leg away but he held firm, and you hadn’t tried all that hard in the first place.

“My baby, my lover, my heart, please?”

His plea broke through it all. Fear could be so tiring. Exhaustion made it harder to fight, to keep your eyes open. Sanji’s words washed over you again and again, always a balm to the worst pains. You wanted him to whisk away all your problems, but this one you had to sit through. However, you’d be in your lover’s embrace, and couldn’t that mean that you could tough it out?

“I’m gonna go get Chopper, yeah?” he asked.

You didn’t answer, instead leaning back and letting your head fall to the side. You sluggishly shrugged one shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to your knee before leaving. In his absence, the fear slowly coiled its way back, the anticipation making it return. You pressed your palms to the tile and tried to push yourself up to run away, but your body was disobeying you. You just couldn’t get your legs beneath you, which meant there was no way they’d hold your weight. Your stomach flipped at the sound of footsteps and hooves clipping.

“Oh no! Oh, Y/n!” Chopper’s little voice exclaimed. You started to curl in on yourself, dragging your injured leg in and away, opening your mouth to snarl, but then Sanji was there, wrapping his arms around you. He pulled you close and you shoved your face into the crook of his neck, a move of pure want and instinct. You inhaled his scent and it left you feeling a little more steady.

He buried his nose in your hair and rubbed your arms as he said, “You’ve got this. You don’t have to look, just sit like this. It’s nice, right?”

“I’ll be able to numb the area, but it does mean I’ll have to inject it with a syringe. You won’t feel any pain from the stitches though!” Chopper explained.

It was nigh impossible to fight back now. Out of all people to snap and bite at, could you really make it Chopper? You would really feel like the villain then. “Okay,” you croaked.

“Okay. I’m gonna start now, first by cleaning up the wound.”

Your blood had gone tacky in the time it took to fetch Chopper, and so the gauze being peeled off your skin left you tensing your muscles. You gripped a handful of Sanji’s shirtfront, tugging it towards you.

“Breathe, my sweet, breathe,” he cooed as he petted your hair.

Both boys inhaled sharply at your fully revealed gash. You didn’t turn to look, quickly frankly sick of looking at the damn thing. Sanji’s hold on you tightened and you felt guilty at all the anxiety you were causing him.

You tried to be as still as possible as Chopper cleaned, but it was difficult not to twitch at every sting. There was a silence when he finished, only interrupted by the sounds of Chopper rifling through his supplies.

“Now for the numbing. Are you ready?” Chopper asked.

“Go ahead,” you said, trying to get your voice to cooperate, to sound steady. It wobbled anyway.

“Lunch is sandwiches, if you’re still hungry after. If… it’s still there, actually. I’d thought you would come out sooner, so I left it in the kitchen with everyone else’s, and you know how Luffy is, that insatiable asshole. Hopefully the others keep it from him, but with him, it’s always a fight.” Sanji’s rambling caught you off guard, and in trying to pay attention to what he was saying, the needle went in and out without bothering you much. Your breath hitched a little at the fluid entering your muscle, but you were too distracted thinking about Luffy stealing your food to give it more thought. You didn’t really have an appetite at the moment, but it was your sandwich that Sanji made for you. And you each had a favorite, one specific to each of you, so Luffy knew better.

“He better not,” you huffed.

“If he did, I’ll kick his ass,” Sanji answered.

You let out a little huff of laughter at that.

“I’m still deciding what dinner is, though. Is there anything you’ve been craving?” he asked.

It was hard to think of what you’d want. “I don’t know. Maybe something with pasta?”

He hummed. “Red or white sauce? Or maybe something different?”

“Um, probably white. Or something more cheesy?”

“Ooo!” Chopper butted in with. “I want something more cheesy.”

The conversation went on just like that. Sanji’s hand roamed, kneading and rubbing at your arms, then your hips, then upper thighs, all in an endless circle. You could feel the stitches, the needle entering and exiting as Chopper worked, but you never felt any pain. It was an odd sensation, like it was more the idea of it than the reality. Sanji’s other hand never left your head, either cupping your cheek and pressing you to his chest, or running his fingers through your hair. Each time you turned your head, wanting to maybe steal a glance, he’d push you right back, knowing that letting you look could send you reeling all over again. His thumb would softly trace your jaw after he did, or his fingertips would ghost over your cheekbones. It was grounding, and safe, to be so engulfed by him.

“All done!” Chopper said after a while.

You pushed off of Sanji’s chest, swatting away the hand that protested it. Your gaze bounced off your thigh, only catching it in your sight for a second before grabbing Chopper and pulling him in for a hug.

“You’re the greatest doctor to have ever existed. Thank you, Chopper,” you told him.

He giggled and wiggled in your grasp. “Aww, you’re just saying that. You can’t flatter me.”

After you put him down, he reached for fresh gauze and bandaging to finish helping you, but Sanji butted in.

“I can do that later, Chopper. For now, they still need a bath.”

“Alright,” he answered. “I’ll be out on the ship then. Make sure to not submerge their wound, though!”

Sanji gave him a thumbs up. “Got it.”

After Chopper left, Sanji slipped out from behind you, slowly and gently as he could so he wouldn’t jostle you. He started up the bath and then turned back to you, kneeling between your legs, so that he could remove the rest of your underwear.

“Think you could lift your hips for me, sweetheart?” he asked.

You were stiff from sitting so long, and now the pain from the other bumps and bruises from your fall were making themselves known. It took you a second, but you were able to do as he asked.

“My poor, poor baby. I’ve got you, though. I’ll take good care of you,” he cooed.

When Sanji lifted you up, you couldn’t help the little whimper that came up and out of your throat. Immediately, he apologized and kissed all over your face as he lowered you into the bath. He started with your injured leg first, beginning with the mud caked to your foot and ankle and then worked his way up, removing the remaining crusts of blood. His fingers barely brushed your skin when he cleaned your injury the best he could, his eyebrows twitching and apology ready at every flinch and hiss. He massaged you as he scrubbed and rinsed, trying to remove the aches and hurts from your body. Every so often, he pressed kisses into your skin, long and loving. You were fully limp by the time he washed your hair, only emitting a satisfied sigh as his fingers worked through your locks. When he finished rinsing, you reached up and pulled his face to yours, and kissed him.

“Thank you, my love. You’re much too good to me,” you said.

He tutted. “I only give you what you deserve, and even I’m not fulfilling that properly; you deserve so much more. You are my everything.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and that I pushed you away. I’m sorry that I snapped and swore at—”

He cut you off with a kiss, this one more urgent. “You have nothing to apologize for. Ever. I’m the one who should be sorry. I failed you.”

You sat up straighter. “What? How could you have failed me?”

“I should have been there for you, but I stayed behind. I should have made sure you weren’t alone, or been selfish enough to ask you to stay.” He ran his thumb over your cheekbone, his face full of regret.

“No, no. You’ve done more for me than you could ever imagine. You made me feel safe, you always make me feel safe. It was my own stupid mistake, not yours.”

Sanji’s mouth twitched upwards only a little, and you could tell he was still beating himself up, that no matter what you said, a small part of him would always blame himself. He would just never know how truly amazing he was.

You sighed and kissed him softly, on his mouth, his nose, his cheeks and then his mouth again. “Will you lay with me?”

“Of course.”

“For a long, long time?”

“Yes.”

“For however long I want you too?”

“There is not a single demand of yours that I would ever deny.”

You were being needy, taking more and more of Sanji than you should have. But it was impossible not to when he made you feel like heaven. You were ready to let him dress you and coddle you for a lot longer, and looked forward to a cuddle session that lasted hours.

With Sanji around, there wasn’t ever anything to worry about.

[slu7formen]

Girl first of all I want to say that I'm OBSESSED with your writing I love it.

Second of all I would like to make a request about Luke so hear me out.

Luke and reader were in a relationship before he betrayed camp and they were head over heals for each other and then he stole the bolt and when Percy discovers he's the thief the reader is there feeling betrayed and specially heartbroken even though Luke ask her to go with him but she doesn't accept it because she's so loyal to camp and her friends.

Time passed and even if she wants to hate Luke she loves him more than anything. And Luke loves her too so instead of asking Annabeth to escape with him he asks reader and she accepts.

I want to see everything in here fluff, angst, everything you think about.

I hope you like this request and make it real for me because I've been having this idea for over a week.

Okay but I feel so bad ‘cause I totally forgot I had this story FULLY WRITTEN and READY to be published (‘cause I LOVED it), I’m so sorry angel, made you wait a lot more than just a week 🥺, but thanks for reading my stories <3

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: luke´s a traitor, betrayal, use of yn, swearing, kinda angst (?, KISSING, lil book spoiler

₊˚⊹♡

The crackle and pop of the bonfire filled the air, a comforting contrast to the vibrant bursts of color exploding overhead. The annual fireworks display was in full swing, casting shadows on the faces of your friends huddled around the warm flames. It was a picture of peace, a moment of respite amidst the constant threat of monsters demigod drama.

You stole a glance at the empty space beside you. Luke, your boyfriend, had told you he'd just be back in a minute. A few minutes had turned into an eternity, but you chalked it up to his usual impulsiveness. He'd be back any minute, with his signature smile and an arm wrapped around you.

You knew it.

From the moment you met, you and Luke had been inseparable. You were his confidante, his anchor in the chaos of being a demigod and his messy life. He was your rock, always there to make you laugh, to understand the weight of your heritage in a way no one else could.

The warmth of the fire danced on your skin, but a shiver snaked down your spine. Something felt off. The chatter of your friends seemed muted, replaced by a dull ache in your chest. You couldn’t deny the way you noticed how Luke has been acting lately. So weird and distant towards you the last couple days. You loved him, fiercely and unconditionally. You'd been there for him through thick and thin, especially after his quest left a jagged scar across his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes.

But then he suddenly just, snapped.

A memory surfaced in you , sharp and unwelcome. It had been months ago, a conversation in the darkness of his cabin in a particular cold night. Luke, his eyes filled with a desperate fervor, had confessed his anger towards the gods, his belief that they were cruel and neglectful parents. He'd spoken of tricking the Olympians, joining forces with the Titans to fight for a better life for all demigods.

The anger in his voice, the glint of rebellion in his eyes, had scared you. The scar on his face, a reminder of his failed quest, seemed to burn brighter that night.

You understood his anger. The gods were far from perfect, their neglect and cruelty evident in countless demigod lives. He'd begged you to join him, his voice filled with a desperate hope. But you'd refused, your loyalty to Camp Half-Blood and your friends unwavering. You had spent hours talking him through it as you held his hand, reminding him of all the good the gods had done, no matter how flawed they might be. He'd looked lost at the time, seeking comfort in your touch. You'd thought you'd reached him, extinguished that spark of rebellion.

You really believed that conversation was long forgotten. But there was a reason why you remembered it.

Some movement at the edge of the woods caught your eye. But it wasn't the boy you were expecting. Percy, his face pale and etched with worry, practically stumbled into the fireplace, his chest heaving and his grip tight on Riptide.

A pang of concern shot through you. "Percy?" you called out, concern lacing your voice. You pushed yourself off the ground, walking towards him. "What happened? Where's Luke?"

Percy hesitated, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. Shit, should he tell you? His silence was a hammer blow to your gut. You knew, with a chilling certainty, that something was terribly wrong.

"What?" you choked out, the question barely a whisper, expecting some kind of answer from the blonde boy, but nothing came from his trembling lips. The air felt dense, with a truth you desperately wanted to deny. You saw Luke getting into the woods with Percy, you saw it. And now, he was nowhere to be seen.

Then, it clicked. A cold, horrifying truth began to dawn on you.

He lied.

Without a word, you pushed Percy aside and started running, towards the woods. Your heart hammered against your ribs, like a trapped bird desperate to escape. You plunged into the darkness of the forest, the path you'd walked countless times with Luke now leading you into the unknown.

"Luke!" you screamed, your voice raw with anger and despair. You wove through the trees, the undergrowth tearing at your camp shirt, but you didn't care. You had to find him, to confront him, to understand why he'd chosen this path, if he chose it, why he'd lied to you.

But with each passing minute, hope crashed over you. The forest grew denser, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the frantic beat of your own heart. There was no sign of Luke, no echo of his footsteps, no smell, no sense of his presence, only the chilling truth hanging heavy in the air.

He was gone.

He had left.

You sank to your knees, the weight of betrayal crushing you as the first tears you ever cried for Luke Castellan, started to fall. The man you loved, the person you'd trusted with your life, had chosen darkness over everything you held dear. He had chosen Kronos over you.

Grief, a cold and relentless serpent, coiled around your heart. And that feeling never seemed to leave.

The year that followed was a blur of sadness and a desperate attempt at normalcy. The silence from Luke was deafening. Not a single Iris-message, not a single sign of the one who once, was your boyfriend.

You knew you wouldn´t be able to return to Camp, at least not for now. Every corner held a ghost of Luke's smile, every sword clang a reminder of his battles and his betrayal. Your friends, the true ones, bless their hearts, tried everything to cheer you up from a distance, but their efforts felt like trying to pick up the pieces of a broken glass in the sea.

You opted to stay home that summer. But even there, away from the prying eyes and hushed whispers, escape from Luke's betrayal seemed impossible. Messages and news found you no matter where you hid. News of Luke leading a rogue army aboard a stolen cruise ship, rumors of him serving as Kronos's right hand while the Titan slumbered – it all reached your ears.

The nights were the worst. The darkness mirrored the hollowness within you. Tears would stain your pillow as you relived the events leading up to his betrayal. You once seemed to dream about seeing him again, and now you only screamed when you saw his face in your nightmares.

The memory of his touch, the warmth of his smile, the nights you spent loving each other with the sheets tangling in your legs, all felt like cruel illusions now. Yet, a part of you, a stubborn, illogical part, still clung to the love you once shared.

And Gods, did you try to keep yourself as busy as possible. You threw yourself into your studies and little courses here and there, seeking solace in facts and logic. You even began working, a boring but well payed summer job. Yet, the pain lingered, a dull ache that refused to subside.

The more you tried to banish these visions, the more vivid they became. You missed him like a starving man craved a feast, a yearning that gnawed at your insides and threatened to consume you. Frustration gnawed at you. How could you still love someone who'd betrayed you so utterly? How could your heart still ache for a man who chose war over you? The questions echoed endlessly within you, a relentless chorus fueling your self-conscious.

How could you be so weak?

These consuming questions were your companions for a whole year. But as the second summer after Luke's betrayal rolled around, a shift occurred within you. The raw, agonizing pain began to dull, replaced by a quiet resolve.

Finally, you decided it was time to take back control again. Camp Half-Blood called, a familiar haven among the storm. You returned a changed person. The vibrant smile that once adorned your face was a ghost, replaced by a guarded expression that spoke about the pain you harbored in silence. The camp's familiar energy felt hollow, a constant reminder of the happiness you'd lost.

Training became your sole solace. You'd disappear into the arena for hours, your celestial bronze sword a blur as you cleaved through training dummies, each swing fueled by a potent cocktail of grief and anger.

Exhaustion became your closest companion too. You pushed yourself to the limits of your endurance, hoping to find oblivion at the bottom of an empty fuel tank. But sleep, when it finally came, offered no escape. You'd dream of him, leading his army of rogue demigods, his eyes filled with a fanatical zeal that chilled you to the bone. And in those dreams, you'd see yourself, standing beside him, not out of loyalty to his cause, but out of a desperate yearning for the boy you once loved, still love.

In the quiet moments, when your friends weren't around, the dam would break. You'd collapse onto your cool and empty bed, tears streaming down your face, a raw, primal sob escaping your lips. The memory of Luke was no joy anymore, it haunted you like a specter.

You hated yourself for the traitorous flicker in your heart, the desperate, illogical yearning for him. It wasn't the war that tempted you; it was him.

You hated how much you missed him.

The scent of rain clung to the humid night air and to you like a second skin as you zipped up your duffel bag. Another summer at Camp Half-Blood loomed, promising a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and pain, but more training. The worst was yet to come, so you needed to be ready.

New York City, with its cacophony of car horns and the anonymity of millions, had become your refuge these past few months. In Manhattan, the memories of Luke seemed to hold less power for some weird reason, their edges dulling with the passage of time. You'd spent the past months in this tiny apartment, the silence deafening compared to the constant hum of life at camp.

Just then, a sharp rap on the door shattered the silence of your apartment. It was past midnight, an unusual time for visitors.

Adrenaline surged through you. Months of living fully alone had honed your senses. You'd become acutely aware of the city's underbelly – the flickering shadows that could hide monsters thanks to the ever-present mist. You'd seen them stalking the streets, stalking you, their true forms hidden to them mortals, an unsettling feeling crawling up your spine whenever their paths crossed yours. They never attacked, but their chilling presence followed you like a phantom.

Grabbing your necklace, you asked, "Yes?"

Silence. You weren't taking any chances. Pulling down at the pendant once, the necklace morphed into your celestial bronze dagger.

You took a step, two. Could it really be a monster? Could it really be some creature trying to get to you, by knocking on the door? With a shaky breath, you cracked the door open just enough to peek through the gap, hiding the dagger behind your back.

The sight that greeted you stole the air from your lungs.

Standing on your doorstep, bathed in the harsh glow of the hallway light, was Luke. His dark hair was windswept, his face etched with a gauntness that hadn't been there before, but his eyes – those were the same eyes that had haunted your dreams for months. They held a desperate plea, a flicker of the boy you once loved struggling to break through the hardened shell of the man he'd become.

“Luke?”

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and a tangled web of emotions. Time seemed to warp in that hallway, a single moment stretched into an eternity. Luke looked different, yes. The carefree boy you knew had been replaced by a man hardened by experience, his features etched with lines that spoke of battles fought and burdens carried. But his eyes, those brown eyes that had once held a mischievous twinkle, now held a deeper sadness that mirrored your own.

"Hi" Luke finally said, his voice raspy.

You stood speechless, the dagger still clutched tightly in your hand. Years of longing warred with the fresh wounds of betrayal. You wanted to scream at him, to unleash the torrent of hurt and anger that suddenly washed over you. But something held you back, a flicker of curiosity, maybe.

"Um, can I come in?" he continued, his posture pleading despite his attempt at nonchalance.

Jesus. Was that all he had to say? After everything, after what he did, all he could muster was a request to enter your apartment? A tide of anger threatened to drown you. Did he not understand the gravity of what he'd done? Did he not realize the pain he'd caused? But you forced your thoughts down. You weren't a child anymore, throwing tantrums wouldn't solve anything.

"Are you armed?" you asked, your voice flat, devoid of any warmth.

Luke flinched at your question, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "You think I wanna hurt you?" he countered, his tone defensive.

"Last time I saw you," you spat back, your voice laced with bitterness, "was three years ago, and I know your little monsters are keeping an eye on me. The first thing I'm supposed to think about is whether you want to hurt me or not."

He sighed, a long, weary exhale. Unzipping his jacket, he turned slowly, patting down his pockets before turning back to you. His eyes, once alive with mischief and love, were now filled with a desperate sincerity. "See? No weapons. Just me."

You studied him, a battle raging within you. One part of you wanted to slam the door, to let him know that he wasn't welcome. Yet, another part, a smaller, more vulnerable part, couldn't help but cling to the flicker of hope that flickered amongst the ashes of your love.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you stepped aside, allowing a sliver of space for him to enter. "Fine" you said, your voice devoid of warmth. "But you better have a good reason to come here"

Luke hesitated for a beat before stepping inside. He closed the door softly behind him, the sound echoing through the tense silence. He stood there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the room, landing finally on the packed bags besides the tv.

"You're heading back to camp?" he asked.

You flipped the dagger in your hand, and the celestial bronze morphed back into the golden necklace. "What do you want?" you repeated, your voice still sharp, a shield against the emotions swirling within you.

Luke stood awkwardly in the doorway, the once carefree boy replaced by a man burdened by the weight of his choices. His leather jacket seemed to hang heavy on his broad shoulders.

"I…" he started, then stopped, seemingly unsure how to proceed. He cleared his throat, the sound scratchy and unfamiliar. "You look different" he finally managed, the words tumbling out awkwardly.

You scoffed, a humorless sound that surprised even you.

"Look, yn" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper, "I wanna talk, okay? I know what I did was wrong. I know I hurt you."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "You could say that again."

His fingers twitched at your bitterness, but pressed on. "I came here because..." He hesitated again, seemingly wrestling with an inner turmoil. "Because I-"

Frustration bubbled up within you. This cryptic approach, this lack of honesty, it was infuriating. "Because you what, Luke?" you demanded, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Because you decided to grace me with your presence after leading a rebellion against the gods? Or maybe because you just wanted to see if I'm still waiting for you?"

You watched his face harden, the vulnerability replaced by a familiar defiance.

"Don't twist this" he snapped, his voice firm. "I came here because..." He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours. "Because I miss you, yn. I miss us."

The air crackled with a tension so thick you could almost taste it.

You took a slow step towards him, then another. He took notes of yourself as you did. The way you had grown internally was so intense that he could sense it everywhere. He might have betrayed you, but that only helped you get on your feet stronger, grow stronger. Become the warrior he always knew you were.

Then, in a move as instinctive as it was fierce, your hand lashed out. The slap connected with a stinging crack, the sound echoing through the apartment like a thunderclap. Luke's head snapped to the side, a crimson handprint blooming on his cheek. Shame flickered in his eyes as he scoffed, quickly replaced by a dull acceptance.

He deserved it, that much was clear.

"How dare you?” you spat, your voice shaking with barely controlled fury, "How fucking dare you come back here after what you've done? After leading a rebellion against the gods, after putting everyone we care about at risk? After betraying me?"

Luke took a shaky breath, running a hand over the burning mark on his face. "I'm sorry” he said, his voice low and ragged. "I'm so sorry. I know I hurt you, and I know a simple apology won't erase the pain or fix things. But you have to believe me, I never meant for things to get this bad"

He stepped towards you, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture, but you flinched back, the space between you a tangible barrier. "Don't touch me" you warned, your voice laced with ice.

He lowered his hands, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I know you hate me for what I´ve done. For joining Kronos, I-“

"You think this is all about Kronos?" you cut him off, your voice shaking with barely contained fury. "You think the reason my heart has been broken these past years is because you joined a fucking Titan?"

Luke remained silent, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a collapsing mountain. He knew better.

"This is about what you did to me, Luke" you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. "I was with you, all the time. I was your girlfriend! And you betrayed me. You left me alone” your voice broke so hard that you had to take a second to swallow the big gulp that was forming in your throat. “Everyone at camp looked at me after what you did," you choked out. "They either felt sorry for me, or they insulted me, saying that I was still loyal to you, that I was a traitor."

You closed your eyes for a moment, the pain etched on your face a stark reminder of the devastation he'd wrought. "You were the most important person in my life" you cried, your voice raw and vulnerable. "But you? You let Kronos fill your head with empty promises, and just like that, you forgot about us."

The truth felt like a bitter pill to swallow. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I asked you to come with me" he finally whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I gave you the chance to leave with me."

"And even after I said no," you countered, your voice trembling like the finger that was now pointing at his chest, "you still left. You threw me away like shit. And do you know what the worst part is?" Tears streamed down your face, tracing a path through the dust of old heartache. "That as much as I try, I can't seem to hate you."

A sob escaped your lips, shattering the fragile dam you'd built around your emotions. "I still love you, Luke" you confessed. "Even though it's a love that fills me with pain, it's still there. I hate myself because I dream about you, about the way things used to be. But when I don't, I feel like a piece of me is missing."

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears and a raw vulnerability that left Luke speechless.

What had he done?

"I hate myself because I can't help but pray for your safety, even though you never seemed to care about mine. I hate myself because even after everything, I still love you, Luke."

Your heart felt like a shattered kaleidoscope, a million shards of love, anger, and pain reflecting back at you in a distorted reality. You walked and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs racked your body.

Luke, his heart heavy with a remorse sharper than any weapon, watched you crumble. The carefree girl he fell in love with was gone, replaced by a woman etched with the scars of his own actions. Hesitantly, he reached out, placing a hand on your back as he sat down next to you, a gesture of comfort that felt more like a branding iron on his guilt.

"yn” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I still love you too."

You didn't respond, the sobs coming in ragged gasps as your body struggled to contain the storm within.

"I know I left you" he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And you didn't deserve it. But… I was so lost, so angry. Kronos promised me power, a solution to all the problems I saw. He convinced me that Olympus was corrupt, that the gods didn't care about half-bloods like us. And when you said no, he-, he told me to leave you behind, said that it would be easier for everyone…"

His voice trailed off. Easier for who? Easier for him, perhaps, to sever the ties that bound him, to plunge headfirst into a rebellion fueled by manipulated ideals.

"But it wasn't" he choked out, a tear escaping his eye, carving a glistening path down his cheek. "Every day, every step I took… it was a constant reminder of what I'd lost. The guilt was eating me alive, yn, you have to believe me”. His hands desperately reached for yours, trying to get your fingers to intertwine by placing his over yours.

Tears welled up in his own eyes. "I regret everything. I mean it. I don't want to do this anymore."

You finally lifted your head, your eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. Luke looked different to you now, the bravado and arrogance gone, replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

"Don't want to do what?" you asked, your voice hoarse.

"This” he gestured vaguely to himself, but you didn’t quite catch it. "Following Kronos. Helping him rise to power. It's wrong. I can see that now."

“Little late to that, isn’t it?” you blurted out.

He took a deep breath, his expression resolute. "yn, there's a reason I came to you. A reason I risked Kronos' trust in me." He paused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Kronos wants me to become his host."

And the world seemed to suddenly stop. You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Your mind raced, trying to process what he had just said. Luke, your Luke, becoming a vessel for the monstrous Titan?

"What?" you croaked, fear coating your voice like frost. Your eyes darted around, searching for a way out, a solution, anything. But Luke wouldn't meet your gaze, his jaw clenched tight, a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. "No. No, he can't. It's not possible."

The thought of him, Luke, being consumed by Kronos, twisted your insides into knots.

Luke, however, seemed to gather his resolve. "Yes, it is" he said, his voice low and strained. "There are things you don't know, yn. Things I've done."

A cold dread gripped your stomach, a physical manifestation of the terror that clawed at your insides. Your mind raced, desperate for answers. "Then tell me" you only managed to say. "Luke, what have you done?"

He hesitated, looking around as if afraid someone might be listening. "There's no time now" he finally said, his voice tight with urgency. "But I promise I will explain everything. That's not why I'm here."

Taking a deep breath, he dared to reach out, his hand gently grasping yours, finally. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, a stark contrast to the chilling fear that gripped you.

He called your name, his voice softening. "Come with me" he said.

You only feel capable of frowning your brows in confusion. "Go where?" you asked, your voice wary.

"Anywhere" he said, like a plea. "Let's run away, together. It can be just you and me again"

He leaned closer, the air around him crackling with a tension that mirrored the storm within you. As his forehead rested against yours, a jolt of electricity shot through you. It was a familiar warmth, a spark that had ignited countless stolen kisses and whispered secrets back when your world wasn't teetering on the brink of war. His other hand cupped your cheek, the touch a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. His hand, usually warm and comforting, felt cool against your burning skin, a physical reminder of the distance that had grown between you. Yet, despite the chill, a wave of longing washed over you, a yearning for the simple comfort of his touch.

But reason tugged at you, a voice of caution in the midst of the storm. "But Luke," you stammered, pulling away slightly, "If you escape, Kronos will come for you. He'll come for us, and-,"

"I don't care" he interrupted, his voice resolute, yet laced with a tremor that betrayed his bravado. It was as if he was on the precipice, teetering between defiance and the vulnerability of a man on the verge of breaking. "I'll fight everything that comes for us. And if the war happens... I'll fight. I'll fight for everyone, I’ll fight for you. I'm not losing you again, yn."

His words resonated deep within you, a desperate echo of the love you still harbored for him, a love you thought you'd buried beneath layers of anger and sadness. You saw the fear in his eyes, a fear that you sadly shared, but beneath it, a flicker of something else – a raw, desperate hope. And as you looked at him, a wave of relief washed over you.

The relief of knowing he wasn't entirely lost, that a part of the Luke you loved still existed.

"I love you" he confessed again, his voice trembling.

Looking into his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling within them, the truth resonated with you. "I love you too" you whispered, the words tumbling from your lips like a long-awaited confession.

The world did indeed, stop. The rain, a relentless symphony against the window pane, faded into a distant murmur. The thunders became a muffled echo. In that moment, the only reality was the space between you and Luke, charged with the unspoken electricity of your confessions.

He leaned in further, a hesitant question in his eyes. A flicker of fear danced in their depths, a scared boy seeking forgiveness beneath the warrior's facade. You watched him, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest.

With a sigh that trembled on your lips, you closed the distance. Your lips met in a hesitant touch, a tentative exploration of a forgotten familiarity. Three years of longing, of unspoken words and simmering emotions, poured into that kiss. It was sweeter than you'd dared to imagine, a warmth that spread from your lips and drizzled down your chest.

Unlike the passionate encounters of your past, this felt different; like kissing him for the first time. Luke's lips moved against yours with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine. He held back, his desperate desire tempered with a respect that surprised you. You knew him.

But then, you yielded. Your lips parted, a silent invitation, and his tongue met yours in a dance as old as time. A full, heavy and angry thunderclap erupted outside, a jarring contrast to the intimacy unfolding on the couch. But you paid it no mind, lost in the whirlpool of rediscovered affection.

Your arms encircled his neck, a desperate hold. He, in turn, cupped your waist, his touch lingering on the curve of your hip as he gently lowered you onto the soft cushion. His body hovered above yours. His lips, however, remained glued to yours, a relentless exploration that spoke of a love both fierce and fragile.

The kiss deepened, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. You felt the familiar rhythm of his heart against yours, a counterpoint to the frantic beat of your own. It was a melody of second chances, of unspoken apologies and nascent hope.

His hand trailed down your back, teasingly brushing under your shirt, sending shivers dancing across your skin. You arched into his touch, a wordless plea for more. But just then, he pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions.

His voice, a husky murmur against your skin, sent shivers down your spine. "I missed this so much," he whispered, his lips trailing down the delicate column of your neck and the dip of your collarbone. His warm breath mingled with your own, a heady mix of emotions swirling around you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, the familiar texture a stark reminder of the past you both desperately clung to. He reached for your pulse, slowly sucking in before letting it pop.

"I wanted to feel you every night" he confessed. "Every night, I dreamt of you." His words were a stark contrast to the cold, distant Luke you saw in your dreams, the only vivid memory you’ve had of him the past years.

"Luke" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to speak.

He didn't stop. His hand drifted down your torso, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your lower tummy. Every touch felt like a brand, a searing reminder of what you had lost and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

"It was a mistake" he said, his voice thick with regret. "A big, fucking mistake. Leaving you, betraying you-, it was the biggest mistake of my life. My life doesn't make any sense without you."

With a strangled sound, Luke deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own. You clung to him, a drowning sailor grasping at a lifeline. The scent of leather that clung to him was intoxicating, a familiar anchor in this storm of emotions.

"Luke" you managed to gasp between kisses, a flicker of reason breaking through the haze of desire. You needed more than just words, needed a binding promise, something concrete to hold onto if you were to take this leap of faith.

He stared at you, his eyes a storm of emotions – desire, confusion, and a flicker of something that might have been annoyance. But before he could respond, you pressed on.

"Swear on it, Luke" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "Swear on the River Styx” you repeat. Luke’s eyes dart back and forth, from your lips, to your eyes, to filling up with confusion. “I’m not-,” you cut yourself off as you feel your eyes filling with tears again. You bit your tongue before speaking, “I’m not letting you hurt me like this again"

You knew it was selfish, a desperate attempt to safeguard your heart. But Luke was here, finally, after all this time. You craved the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence. The thought of letting him go again, of enduring another betrayal, was unbearable. Yet, a part of you, still scarred from the past, craved a guarantee, an oath sworn on the most powerful river in the Underworld. It was dangerous, yes, but did you care?

Did he care?

Luke's expression hardened. The River Styx, held a weight that couldn't be ignored. The river he already bathed himself in. It was a binding vow, a promise etched in the very fabric of existence.

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of doubt, a hint of manipulation. But all he saw was the vulnerability, the fear – a vulnerability born from the scars he himself had inflicted.

"I swear on the River Styx" he said, his voice low and solemn, each word heavy with the weight of the oath. "I swear I won’t ever leave you. I swear I love you. I swear I'll fight for you, for us, with every breath in my lungs."

[ddejavvu]

I can't get the thought out of my head... Animagus r x Sirius and being annoyed with him. So she does annoying cat things back (pushing things off of tables, swatting at pens while he writes, sitting on his stuff). U do such a good job!!

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10

--

"Don't."

Silence, where Sirius's narrowed eyes flatten out even further, the left one twitching, "Do not."

Your paw moves a fraction of a centimeter closer to the glass on the edge of his table, full of steaming tea. It's not a drink Sirius particularly enjoys, but it'll soothe the sore throat he woke up with, and he'd prefer it in a cup, not on the floor.

"If you push that off of the table, I'm placing a permanent sticking charm on that sweater Lily made you," He warns, his eyes harsh and holding nothing but truth. You bristle at the threat, hissing your displeasure.

Confident that you'll leave the cup alone, he turns back to his assignment, "You're acting like a child."

You nip at his finger, and he yanks it into his lap, "Ow, twat! I told you I was sorry, okay? I didn't realize we'd run out until the storm had already started."

The source of your foul mood is none other than the empty bag of salmon jerky that sits in the trash can in Sirius's dorm, your favorite snack while in your feline form. Sirius takes care to keep it stocked for you, but he hadn't noticed the dwindling supply until the blizzard outside had raged well beyond the acceptable errand-running limits. You're stuck inside without your favorite food, and you're pissed.

"I know you're not happy," He acknowledges, and you reach out a paw to bat at the quill in his hand, "But there's no need to throw a temper tantrum.

Temper tantrum? You're not even close to a temper tantrum, and you meow with as much disdain as you can manage, wondering what the best place to bite him would be.

You could go for the hand, but it's already cradled in his lap, and you're not intent on breaking the thin skin of his inner wrists. You could aim for his ear, but it's out of your reach, and he might catch on before you could properly nip him. You leap down to the floor and Sirius seems relieved that you're no longer tormenting his essay, checking for inky pawprints on the parchment that prove to be absent.

"Thank you, darling," He calls, his voice far too haughty for your liking, "See, I told you there was no need to fuss, we'll stock back up on that nasty fish crap-"

Nasty fish crap! You decide on his left ankle.

"-when the storm's- Ow!"

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Okay so what if like the reader is a big prankster(preferably in Gryffindor) and she like plays a prank on the Slytherins but Blaise catches her and eventually it leads to spicy stuff 🥵🥵

I love this idea. Thank you! <3

Caught

Blaise Zabini x Gryffindor!F!Reader

Warnings: a teeny tiny bit of blackmail, unprotected sex, oral(male receiving), cussing

18+ Minors DNI!

You and your friends had a little rivalry with the Slytherin boys. It was all just pranks, nothing harmful. You guys didn’t hate each other, but you played into the house rivalry of Gryffindor vs Slytherin. You guys actually found it fun. No hard feelings between each other.

This time, you had the brilliant idea of rigging it so when they got their clothes out of their lockers next for quidditch, they would get covered in a red powder that stained the skin pretty well. So you snuck down to the locker rooms after you thought everyone had left. The locker rooms were empty so you started working on rigging all the lockers, which was definitely going to take a while considering how many you had to do.

You were about halfway done, trying to hurry up and finish just on the off chance that someone-

“What are you doing?” A voice said behind you and you jumped, turning around to see Blaise leaning against the lockers behind you. Shit.

“Nothing.” You lied, shutting the locker you were working on.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Blaise smiled. “You can tell me, I won’t be mad.”

You hesitated. If you told him, he would tell his friends and the prank wouldn’t work. But he might let you go. “A prank.”

“I can tell that much. What’s the prank?” He asked.

“The prank won’t work if I tell you.” You said, smiling sweetly.

He pushed off the lockers and took the few steps to step in front of you, leaning closer to your face. “I won’t tell.” He said, still smiling.

“I’m not saying anymore.” You said, backing up into the locker behind. Bad move.

He followed you, trapping you against the locker. “Come on. I won’t say anything. I just don’t wanna be on the receiving end of that prank.”

“No.” You shook your head.

“I could always go get Snape…” You knew he wouldn’t, but that threat hung in the air for a moment before you decided to do something stupid to save yourself.

You kissed him. You had wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and kissed him. His hands moved to your waist as he kissed you back, leaning you against the lockers. You were hoping to catch him off guard and then slip away, but he seemed ready and made it so you couldn’t just leave.

“Thought you would surprise me and then just get away, huh?” He said as he moved his lips to trail kisses along your neck.

“I was hoping so, yes. Seems you caught on.” You said, sighing softly at his kisses.

“I’m not as dumb as I look, love.” He said before biting softly at the skin on your neck.

“Clearly.” You moved a hand to tangle in his hair as a small moan escaped your lips.

“I’ll make you a little deal, then.” He said against your neck before moving to the other side. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here, you can have your little prank, if you help me with something.”

“And what’s that something?” You asked, but you were sure you already knew the answer.

Instead of saying anything, he grabbed your arm and brought your hand to his crotch, where his dick was already straining against his pants. Your eyes widened slightly, but you didn’t move your hand away. You already were feeling yourself get wet from those kisses, you couldn’t deny part of you wanted it anyways. “So…Are you going to take the deal?” He asked, biting at your neck again.

“Yes.” You nodded.

“Good.” He said and pulled your hand away so he could undo his pants. He pushed them down along with his underwear and pulled away from your neck to see your face. You were staring at his cock and something about that look made him harder. “Come on. On your knees, baby.” He said and backed up to give you room.

You listened and got down on your knees, feeling the cold, uncomfortable ground. But you didn’t mind, you were too focused on his dick. You wrapped your hand around it, giving it a stroke before teasing his tip with your tongue, looking up at him. He moaned softly from your touch and wrapped his hand in your hair, pulling your hair away from your face.

“I think you can do better than that, right?” He said before pushing your head down so you took him in your mouth. You gagged as he hit the back of your throat and he groaned. He seemed to like that a lot. “Glad we could finally put your mouth to use since you didn’t wanna talk.” He teased as he guided your head up and down his cock. “Fucking hell, this is definitely a much better use of your mouth.” You moaned around him in response. “Wonder if your pussy’s better. You want me to fuck your pussy, baby?” You tried humming out a ‘yes’ around him, but that was a little hard when he kept hitting the back of your throat. He seemed to figure it out, though, because he pulled your mouth off of him and helped you stand up. “You really want it, ma?” He asked as he put his hands back on your waist.

“Yes. Please, I want it.” You nodded.

He smiled and moved to tug your bottoms and panties off before he worked on your shirt and bra. He pulled off his shirt as well and kissed you again, pushing you back against the lockers. He brought his hands to your legs and lifted you up, keeping you pressed against the lockers as he guided his cock to your entrance. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” He said before he started pushing in, making you moan in reply. He bottomed out and you both moaned as he leaned his forehead on yours. “You’re fucking tight, baby. Shit.” He said before he started thrusting.

“Oh my god. Fuck.” You moaned, throwing your head back against the lockers, your arms holding onto him tightly.

“Is that good? Does that feel good?” He asked, kissing along your jaw and neck again.

“Yes! Feels so good, Blaise!” You nodded.

“Are you trying to let everyone back at the castle know how good I’m making you feel?” He teased, but did nothing to quiet you.

“No! Fuck! Just feels so good.” You reply, crying out as he starts thrusting harder.

“Yeah? You wanna cum on my dick, beautiful?” He asked, moving a hand to rub at your clit.

“Fuck! Yes! Please!” Your nails were digging into his back now and he hissed slightly from the pain, but kept going.

“I don’t know. You were trying to play a prank on us. You think you deserve it?” He teased, biting down on your neck again, pulling a whimper from you.

“Yes! I’ve been so good for you. Please.” You nodded.

“Hm.” He hummed against your skin before pulling back. “Fine. I wanna see you cum then. Look at me.”

You tilt your head back down to look at him as he keeps fucking into you. It was hard to focus on him when your eyes wanted to roll back in pleasure, but you managed as you were moaning and crying out for him. Only a few more thrusts and you came, crying out his name like a prayer as he helped ride out your orgasm. He wasn’t far behind you as he pulled out and came on your stomach and tits.

He brought you over to the showers in the locker room and helped you clean up. You both went over to collect your clothes and get dressed afterwards. He went over to open his locker and before you could warn him, the powder exploded on him, covering the top half of his body and you stood there covering your mouth, trying not to laugh.

“You better run, baby.” He warned without even looking at you.

You finally laughed as you took off, leaving him in the locker room covered in the red powder.

[tremendum]

Setting the Mood ; Mr. Miller vii

[not my gif] pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, some use of she/her, use of the words girl/woman) rating: explicit. [18+. mdni] word count: 10k summary:  ❝Joel's warming up to you in the way that feral cats warm up to a box with blankets in winter - cautiously, with a rigid spine and many false alarms.❞ warnings: power outage, one mention of cobwebs lol, smut - oral (f!receiving), nipple play, teasing, overstimulation, anal fingering (brief sorry), face sitting, pussy slapping!!!, tit slapping (once), begging, choking (light), fingering, rough sex, praise, dacryphilia, degradation, threats of using sex toys, Joel is less mean than normal, pussy drunk Joel!, squirting, brief mentions of guns/canon typical trauma and violence. also fairly fluffy. emotionally constipated joel and reader <3 notes: thank u all for ur patience & here's the next part! and Joel is a MUNCHHH in this one lol. special thanks to the anon who recently sent me such kind words about this series, as well as the other anon who gave me the inspiration & all the suggestions for this fic!!! this one's for u guys <3 [this is part seven of the Mr. Miller series.] [masterlist]

[important - this is the last fic that will be using my taglist. moving on, I've made a notifs blog - @tremendumnotifs - for ppl to follow for notifications. tysm!!] ★  

"'s gettin' dark out there." Joel broods, eyebrow furrowed as he stares out the window into the dreary wink of evening, a dark gray clouding the sky as sheets of rain slam onto the pavement and pelt onto the gardens lining the block. "stormy." 

you can't help but quirk your brow as you take in his worried form, the way he peels back the curtains like a wartime wife awaiting a letter or a figure appearing in the driveway. you have to fight back a laugh, instead putting on a straight face as you lean towards him, capturing his gaze. 

"she's handled worse." is all you say, giving him a shrug - one that's met with a glare. "I know." he retorts, voice soured; a clench of a jaw before he turns back out, brooding, sighing, gritting his teeth. okay then. 

you shift yourself, plopping heavily onto the couch - you're still not used to being in this house, even in its simple glory. Joel's boots, muddy by the door, Ellie's drawings littering the walls like little trophies Joel silently boasts about - none of them have frames, though you decide in a better world, they probably would. empty mugs of half-drank coffee on the counter next to the sink, a discarded hand knife on the dining table. 

it's almost a complete mirror of your current house - with a tickling thrill, you'd realized this faintly the first time Joel'd thrown you onto the ground in his foyer months ago. he's since grown gentler with the way he handles you, at least, when he wants to. 

even now - his tolerance, vastly expansive compared to months ago when a breath in his direction would cause a snarl within a second. now, he even initiates conversations - not often, but enough for you to feel like, at some point, things did change with him. Joel's warming up to you in the way that feral cats warm up to a box with blankets in winter - cautiously, with a rigid spine and many false alarms. 

you don't particularly mind, either - Ellie and Dina have been helping you with the winter garden greenhouses a lot, and even Joel has stopped by on his way back from patrols to check in, lingering with glares or stares depending on his mood. he even came over to help you try and fix your porch steps leading to the backyard - free of charge, though you sent him home with some of the biscuits you'd made earlier that day. 

you still get on each other's nerves - snide remarks, passes at the other's intelligence or capability. Joel criticizes you nearly every chance he gets, but you've come to decide it's a defense mechanism and not entirely in his full control. you, similarly, tease him every moment you can for his dramatics, but suddenly clam up and scamper away at any semblance of feelings or emotion. he always lets you come back though, without any mention of it. 

"are you seriously worried about her?" you ask, sighing gently. you see the uptick in his brow when he looks at you, but you quickly follow up - "because we can go find her." you add, softer.

his jaw loosens slightly and he sighs heavy. "no, 's fine. I know she's at Dina's. just bein' dramatic." 

you shoot him a look with your brows raised - no shit, Joel - but the withering look he gives you shuts your trap before you can go and run your mouth.

so you let him relax in his own way - pacing in near silence for several minutes before he stops, makes an internal decision to pour you and him each a finger of some amber whisky, and then drains it all in one go. you opt to sip yours.

the wind is what has you in a disturbed state - it howls louder in the basin of this valley than it ever has before in your life; screaming down the streets, blowing through the rush of firs that line the outskirts of downtown. and now, it uses its immense force to slam weeping drops of precipitation into the gardens hard enough to form bits of cold hail - a threat which, had it not been twenty years into the end of humanity, would likely still put gardeners to their beds with a curse to Demeter. 

but now, circumstances are a bit more dire. losing crops, especially at this time of year, could be fatal. 

"y'done with that?" his voice pulls you from your thoughts, looking up to see him standing above where you perch on the couch, gesturing to the towel in your lap. you blink, nodding, "-oh. yes, I am, thanks." 

you use one last handful to scrunch up your wet hair, handing him the towel expectantly - but he stays rooted just in front of you, eyes staring unblinkingly at you. a sense of warmth floods through you, starting in your face and spreading over your chest and abdomen. his eyes are softer than they usually are; you lift a brow, his dark gaze unmoving. "something on my face, Miller?" you ask, lifting a brow. it's snappy - you don't necessarily intend it to be, but you can never tell with him. 

he blinks, grabbing the towel from your hands which he'd provided for you when you'd arrived, sending you a grave look. "don't you start with me." he snaps back, turning to walk off towards the laundry room. the room, you think with foolish butterflies, where your jacket hangs up with its orange, janky stitching over the right side to dry. in some ways, a mark of Joel Miller. you smile down to yourself, staring at the spot he'd just stood. 

you swallow your thoughts. you were here for a reason - not to get distracted, but to make a cake for Ellie. Joel had asked you a few days ago to help him bake a cake - for no apparent reason, you don't think her birthday is anytime soon - you'd agreed because, aside from the fact that there's little you wouldn't do for the girl, you haven't baked one in a long time and the lavender you'd grown last summer and dried is begging to be used in a cake batter.

"we need to get started soon!" you call out, shifting slightly to try and find his concealed body somewhere in the house. a faint call of his gruff voice responds to you, but you can barely hear through the onslaught of rain outside; suddenly, and with a careless flicker, the lights all shut off. 

the whirring of heating stops, too, until everything is dark and silent.

you stare with shock, blinking in the dark - the house is silhouetted by the darkening sky, plagued already by thunderclouds. fuck. 

"Joel?" you call out, rising on your feet to find him - you remember him mentioning in one of the first rounds of patrol with him - before anything, back when he really was just Tommy's brother - that he'd been some sort of handyman pre-apocalypse and so how the fuck has he just tripped the fusebox- 

you feel him before you see him, unfortunately. 

Joel, for all the time you've spent intimately knowing what his body feels like, shocks you every time by his sheer strength, the size of his shoulders and the broadness of his chest - especially when you slam into him in the dark. 

"fuck," you both chorus at the same time, you stumbling back and him likely rubbing his shoulder. you groan as you hit a thumbtack stuck in the wall with your head, rubbing the spot sorely in the dark. 

"the power's out." he states, irritation laced through his words. you roll your eyes, knowing it's unlikely he'll even see them in this light anyways.

"hadn't noticed."

your voice is flat and the silence that follows turns your face hot, taking a breath as you rock on your heels. "well I didn't do it." he states obviously, causing your brow to lift slightly until you look out to see through the muggy windows against the downpour that the whole block is out of power. damn weather. 

"found a flashlight." he clicks it on, the light faint and dying as he brushes a few cobwebs from his hand - you realize the flashlight must have been from before the outbreak, with the original owners. but then the light is illuminating in your face; your eyes squint and you bat it away from you with a hiss, glaring at the man in front of you. 

"what are you, a vampire?" he's holding in a laugh, you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, "you tried to blind me, that was a perfectly acceptable reaction. besides, I'm sure the batteries in that thing are a second away from corroding. don't put that near me." 

he sighs, setting it beside him on some half-wall and you cross your arms. "suppose a guy like you probably doesn't have many candles, do you?" you ask, rocking on the balls of your feet - you really don't wish to spend the evening alone in your freezing house - nor in one that is completely dark. 

"do I seem like I'd have any candles?" he asks, equally as exasperated as you. you let out a frustrated groan, leaning against a wall and jumping when you poke your hip into a table you hadn't expected to be there. you ruminate for less than a second before perking up, gasping in a sharp way that has his hand finding your elbow in alarm.

you ignore the flip of your heart at the gesture, tilting your head instead. "I have some. at mine." you say, shifting on your feet. it looks borderline dangerous to go outside right now - as you look out, it must occur to Joel that he's still holding your elbow because he jerks as if to remove it, but instead slides his hand up to hold your shoulder. it makes your heart skip a beat and you scarcely move a muscle. 

Joel huffs a long-suffered sigh, before nodding. "let me get my boots." 

getting to your house was less of a disaster than it should have been; Joel had the foresight to stuff a change of clothing into a bag after a brief argument about him not owning any umbrellas ('you don't have a fucking umbrella?' 'well pardon me for not havin' a Wal-Mart to stock up at during a fucking apocalypse.') and had held the lid of a trash bin above your heads as you ran, avoiding as much pelting hail as possible, to your front porch. you knew he was irritated - with the weather, with the fact that Ellie wasn't home, maybe even that you didn't get to make the cake - enough so that he wouldn't even make eye contact with you as you fumbled, fingers frozen and wet, for your key.

to your embarrassment, it's too stuck in the keyhole and your door wouldn't budge. it'd grown sticky and misshapen after the heat and sudden cold of winter, the frame wholly unfit to keep a functioning front door on its hinges.  

"for god's sakes, give me them." he snapped, pushing into the frame and snatching the keychain from you, tinkering until he was able to slam into the doorframe with a grunt and burst it open.

"we needa fix that." he observes, ridding himself of his boots as you slink into the dark house after him, your face hot at his automatic assumption that he would help you fix your doorframe. he hadn't been particularly happy about fixing the steps for you, but he'd done it without being asked.  

once you're rid of your wet coat and boots, you grab Joel's arm in the cold, dark space of your entry way and start to lead the two of you rather quickly up to your bathroom.  "where the hell do you keep these things?" he grumbles until you've fumbles your way into the master bath, feeling around in the dark under the cabinets and avoiding stray screws sticking out near the drainpipes; it occurs to you that perhaps you should saw them off. maybe you could bribe Joel into doing it for you when he comes round to fix the doorframe. 

seconds later you spin, holding up thick candles triumphantly, smirking as you shove three of them into his surprised arms. the lighting in your house is interrupted by the flash of lightning, flickering brightness over the dark porcelain tiles. "good thing we like to share, right Miller?" you smirk, grabbing the rest of the candles, eyeing the Epsom salt in a mason jar in the fading light, mentally noting to use that next time you take a bath.

he grunts at your words and you grin, shrugging. "what's mine is yours, right?" you ask sweetly.

 he gives you a look as you make your way to the main bedroom to grope around for a lighter or matches - you can feel his irritation starting to wane away, slowly trickling like the beginning of a stream. "when did I ever say somethin' like that?" 

you shrug with one shoulder, sending him a dark grin, "well you sure must've thought it that night when you invited yourself in to my bathroom." 

it's quiet aside from the storm - your stomach broils in anticipation, heat and some kind of arousal tickling at your guts. there's nothing you love more than irritating him.

you tilt your head, desperately wanting to add more, but not in the particular mood to start a real fight. 

Joel, at your words, doesn't get mad - instead he just stares on at you, much too silent, brooding.

his eyes swirl seductively, as if reliving that night in his head. you sure are - his stare, the way his eyes had trailed over your body, the soap slipping over your pert tits and just begging him to join you. in your mind, you leave out the blood and the wound from your stomach, the yelling from Joel and... well, everything that happened after that. 

his eyes trail over your body, getting stuck on the curves of your hips and breasts, before meeting you again. when he opens his mouth, the words are not what you'd expected. 

"this is too many candles for one woman to have in her bathroom." he grunts, shooting you a stern look that seems nearly sinister in the dark moonlight. the rain pours relentlessly on the roof and onto the windows, streaks in the reflection sliding down his broad chest. 

bending over to reach the matchbook on your dresser, you toss him a little grin, "never said they were just for me. believe it or not, I tend to enjoy setting the mood." 

his brows raise, setting the candles on the surfaces around him - two on the nightstand, one on the bench at the foot of the bed. you light each of them gently.

"set the mood." his voice is flat, twinging slightly with a hard jealousy that nearly has you floating. 

"that's right." you nod, lighting the candles with a gentle smirk. he hums, crossing his arms as you cross to his side, lighting the candles and avoiding his eyes, suddenly very aware of the central piece of furniture in the room - your bed - and the lack of any chairs or couches. 

"did you bring a lotta men into this room t'set the mood?" he asks suddenly, sending a wave of arousal through you. you hide your smirk as you turn back to him, illuminated by the flicker of candlelight. the implication of his words - did you - like he knows that you're only sleeping with him now. that he likes it that way. 

you nod, "only the nice ones." your voice is nearly a purr; his eyes are dark pools, widening in the abyss of desire that threatens to swallow you both whole. his hands find purchase on your hips as you tilt your head. 

"Ian?" he counters - both of you know the answer - but you don't mind leaning in to that curling, angry monster of jealousy that hides itself as indifference.

"maybe." you retort, leaning closer to him, tilting your head to keep eye contact. "it's always so much better when it seems romantic. they're not as selfish. less rough-" you see his eyes flicker when your hand coming to trail over his broad chest. "let me cum as much as I want." 

of course, this was a fib. there were scarce numbers of people you let into your bed as is - even fewer who ever made you cum at all. Joel surely knows this - but his hands tighten around you all the same. "s'that right?" he asks, head tilting down to stare deep into you. you swallow, nodding with a grin. "it was much more civilized. and they weren't afraid to ask me to drinks or to come have dinner." 

his smirk drops and, for a moment, a pang of guilt hits you; you hadn't meant to bring that up, in fact the prospect of going on a date with Joel scares you more than most things in the world - but he moves on quite quick. 

"how many times?" he says instead, cutting off your spiraling thoughts. your confusion must show on your visage; Joel tilts his head, staring at you sternly, expectantly. "how many times did he make you cum?" 

you blink, trying your best to continue your little white lie, but instead, your voice shakes out, "th-three." you admit. the smirk that curls under his stubble sends a flicker of dread through your gut - he's seeing straight through you.

you've cum three times with only one man - he's standing right in front of you, and he certainly knows it.

but he likes to play the game. so he nods, "okay, baby. three. I can beat three." he says simply, thumbs starting to rub slow circles into the skin exposed above your waistband. your cheeks heat, "wh-what?" you ask dumbly, watching the twitch of a grin that flickers across his skin in the dewy glow of the candlelight. 

he shrugs, "been dreamin' about tasting that pretty little cunt all week." 

your eyes widen - a hot coil of arousal swirls in your core as you stare up at him, wishing you'd swigged that whisky that lies over at Joel's in the dark like he had, if only for the courage. 

because mutely, you've realized this is the first time anything has been initiated between you without an argument - and by Joel, nonetheless. he seems almost bashful when you look back at him.

"why'd you wait this long, then?" you ask, trying to sound coy but instead sounding very aroused, out of breath. 

he lifts a coy brow. "waitin' for you to set the mood, I guess." 

you stare at him for a moment.

his eyes flicker in some foreign kind of shyness, and then it occurs to you; you nearly burst out in laughter. "-was that a joke?" 

your heart skips a beat when Joel lets out a small smile.

it's warm, syrupy - full of light. you nearly forget why you're laughing. "maybe. don't matter." 

he seems so soft, so shy - as if embarrassed that he's admitting how bad he's wanted you all week. like you haven't been the same way.

but you can't seem to let it go - "a joke, from crabby old Mr. Miller?" 

but you knew it'd come, using his name like that.

his hand is strong when he grabs your jaw, gentle but stern, and fighting his own smile - the smile lines around his eyes glowing and beautiful. you wish you got to see them more. 

"doll, I thought we've talked about bein' respectful." he lifts a brow and you nod, swallowing your laughs quickly as his hand squeezes on your cheeks. "now, we've made it look real nice in here, haven't we?" 

you take a moment before realizing he's waiting for an answer - you stand taller, nodding, "yes, sir." you agree, fighting the growing heat within you. 

he nods, "'s right. so I'll treat you real nice, just like the boys you talk about." he sneers, weakening your knees. he moves you both slowly toward the mattress, tilting his head, "do you want that?" 

does he even have to ask?

"yes, please, I want it." you agree, the desire to have him between your thighs growing unbearable. "we need'ya to come three times. you're going to count for me, aren't you?" 

you wish more than anything you could defy such saccharine, sweet condescension from the man in front of you - but you've always been weak for him and his cruel mouth. you nod, staring up at his dark eyes, letting him push you onto the mattress gently. you faintly wish you'd taken the time to make your bead neatly this morning - but the thought is pulled from you as you note Joel's sudden hesitation. you tilt your head, about to ask if he's okay, when he abruptly speaks. 

"you're so fuckin' pretty, darlin'." he says suddenly, looking at you with that exact stare from earlier on his couch; your heart flips as you stare up at him, swallowing. his hands come to your shoulders, moving until he's standing flush against the edge of the mattress, your thighs spread open for him to caress your neck gently. your heart pounds at the stark honesty of his words. 

"beautiful." he whispers, feather-light touches over your neck, your chest shuddering and breaths short, staring in silence. "d'you know that?" 

he's being uncharacteristically soft, and an inkling in your mind wonders if it's all a show - never would Joel Miller willingly be kind in such a manner. so giving, so... loving. 

that panic that often finds you in the more tender moments flares up. you swallow thickly, "are you gonna get to it, or just stand there and stare at me?" you snap, the panic rising at his words. 

his slow movements upon you stop, his eyes meeting yours sharply. something changes in him, a shift that is foreign and also familiar; as if snapping out of some trance and back into his original state.

"I'll do whatever the hell I want to." he snaps, "and you're gonna take it because I'm choosing to be nice to you." his voice is unforgiving - the cold tone with which you're used to. where you're safe, unafraid of what lies beneath tender caresses or words. "you hear me?" 

you swallow down heat, a pool leaking into your panties - you're unsure if it's the way he was softly caressing you or the roughness of his words - probably both. "yes, Joel." 

he lifts a brow, correcting you. "sir." 

you swallow, nodding. "yes, sir." he leans over, kissing the crown of your head gently. "that's good. now I don't want to hear another fucking word out of you unless you're counting for me." he stares down out you, skin glowing under the scruff of his facial hair light up by the glow of the candles. he nods at your silence, a small smirk. "always liked you better when you're fucked so stupid you can't get a word out, anyways." 

you don't dare speak, but you shoot him a withering glare, one that has him chuckling. "y'always act like such a brat, but you always end up doing what I tell you, don't you?" 

you stare at him, your heartbeat in your throat, sat below him with your neck craned up. he raises his brows, hand coming to caress your jaw, "yeah, you do." he nods, "pussy can't get enough, huh?" 

he's speaking in rhetorical, but you still want to slap him across the cheek.

you press your thighs closer but any kind of relief is prevented by his own legs as he stands between them. he leans forward, then, one hand pushing your jaw back until you're forced to look up to the ceiling; his other, snaking around your hips to thumb at the hem of your top. 

his breath is hot as it hits your earlobe. "s'okay, I can't get enough of this pussy, either." he whispers, teeth nipping at your soft skin.

you sharply exhale as his hands tug on your top, releasing the looser buttons until it's held by only two of them, near your collarbones. he hums lowly, fingers rising to undo them himself. your skin is a wasteland of goosebumps, anxiously waiting for his touch. 

he groans when you let the top slide off of you, your bare chest glowing alight by the candles. his eyes swallow you whole, amiring every part of you; your face burns warm, even as his hand trails one light finger down, over the swell of your left breast and brushing against your perked nipple. 

"knew you weren't wearin' a bra." he grunts, his teeth scraping over your throat, "saw it the moment y'walked through my door. sat all pretty on my couch, teasin' me in this top." he growls, hands sliding over your shoulders to grope at your breasts. 

you let out a sudden sigh - you hadn't noticed the baited breath that'd been held in your lungs the moment Joel'd pushed you onto the bed - you feel about to burst with need, your eyes pleading up at him. "sounds like you were just lookin' for it." you snap, eyes narrowing as you grow unwilling to play such games with Joel. 

he wastes no precious moment; the smack is delivered light and playful to your right breast, stinging in pleasure as you gasp in a breath. his hand soothes over it even as he sneers in your face, leaning into your space, "did I tell you you could speak?" 

you glare defiantly, "I thought we'd established by now that you always let me get what I want. you might even want it more than I do." 

his hand finds its old home against your throat; holding you towards him, not restricting your airway but claiming you anyways. you feel another gush of arousal at the move, his eyes glaring into you. "oh, you'll get what you want, sweetheart." he says, voice holding no kindness, but an ominous amount of sincerity. "gonna be real nice to ya. all you're gonna do is sit here and look pretty. can you count to three?" he asks, voice rude. you glare back at him, "obviously." 

he smirks, "we'll see." 

and then he starts. 

you aren't sure what you expected, but Joel wasn't lying when he said he was going to treat you nice. caresses over your skin, growing clammier by the minute- his clothes, still on and still wet from the downpour, sticking to his broad shoulders and expanse of his chest. his lips pepper over your neck, your jawline, teasing the corners of your mouth and releasing a cacophony of butterflies before dipping back down to your chest. 

his hands are so large, gentle and intentional as they slide over the warmth of your skin. "pretty girl." he mutters, leaning so that one knee corners you, pushing you backwards until you're laying back on the mattress. you shutter a gasp as his thumbs and forefingers find your nipples, thumbing over them and sending currents of pleasure through you. 

your whimpers and soft gasps are swallowed up by the sound of the storm against the roof, the cold house warming up by the second. he watches with lidded eyelids as his fingers twist your nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from you, pleasure blossoming through your body. you squirm, but he soon grows impatient, standing back and grabbing onto your ankles, tugging you towards the edge of the bed. 

"keepin' all these slutty candles around, huh? how long you've been wanting to use these with me?" he asks gently, his fingers fumbling with your waistband. you help him, shoving them down your legs along with your panties, tossing them to his left. 

"the candles aren't the ones that are slutty." you gasp as he pulls you closer to his hips, lifting you slightly of the mattress. his hard cock, separated from your yearning cunt by his denim, presses deliciously into you. he actually laughs at this; a shake of his head and a flutter of his eyelashes. "y'got that right." 

he doesn't tease you like you'd expected - no, instead one finger circles your slit, gathering the sopping slick that leaks from you before gently sliding into your desperate heat. 

you mewl loudly, eyes scrunching shut in pleasure. his finger is thick, warm; curling slightly as he slowly thrusts it into you. he hums lowly, one hand lowering you to the mattress then sliding up your skin to palm at your tits - they're stained with a few lovebites, brazen and still lined with excess of Joel's spit. it makes you shiver in pleasure. "that's it, baby." he growls lowly, "tight, real tight for me." sweat lines your brow as a low coil grows in your abdomen. 

you nearly speak out of sheer habit several times, jolting when he hits your sweet spot repeatedly, hand flying to his hair and holding tight; he groans at that, deep and sweet. your eyes fall to his bulge and your hands move to palm him eagerly; he hisses in pleasure but the fingers not inside you catch your hands.

"not right now, sweetheart. not gon' be selfish, right? 's all about you." 

when he adds a second finger, you're already squirming, regretting your doubt that he'd tease you. he's excruciatingly slow, gentle - his hand slides up to hold you by the throat, pushing you against your mattress as he starts to curl his fingers, thrusting harder. 

you moan deeply as he finds your spot; your clit aches, neglected and throbbing, and your hand almost moves to relieve yourself before you second guess yourself and remain with your hands on his bicep.

you sigh, eyes rolling back as he fucks his fingers into you, wishing more than anything that his mouth was on you. or his cock in you.

his hand is a steady warmth against your throat and you know he can likely feel all the failed words and moans as they die out in your throat. he grins, fucking you steady with two fingers, "is there somethin' you wanna say, baby?" he asks, feigning genuine concern. 

you groan out in frustration, that hot simmer growing as pleasure streaks through you. you glare at him, surely an amusing sight with the tears of frustration in your eyes. he tuts, pouting lightly. "c'mon, you can say it." 

you swallow thickly at his permission, his hand peeling away from your throat momentarily to caress your jawline with his thumb. "use- use your mouth. please," you gasp, desperate as you move your hips against his fingers. he hums, "what, y'can't cum like this?" he asks, his fingers starting to pick up their pace. you grip his forearm and neck, gasping as your back arches from the mattress. 

his fingers drag over your slick channels, the noise of your pleasure echoing as you nod, face crumpling in ecstasy. "fuck," you whimper, tugging on the nape of his neck. 

he smiles, a dark thing in the dim light. "bet you can. let's see it, sweetheart." 

you groan as the pad of his thumb finds your swollen clit; explosions of light appear behind your eyelids as he adds a third finger, his thumb rubbing circles around your sensitive bud. 

his hand leaves your throat to press against your stomach; "y'feel that, darlin'?"

the pressure nearly pushes you over the edge, your thighs shaking as you grab for the bedsheets, hands leaving Joel in the shock of your nearing orgasm.

the noises echo in your ears as his pace picks up impressively; your knees shake as they start to close, your muscles seizing in pleasure. your whine is higher than normal as you squeeze around his fingers, white hot pleasure spreading. 

you cum with your head tossed back, legs closing tightly as one of his hands tries to pry them open, fingers fucking you through your high.

you pulse, riding your high with stuttered breaths, fingers twisted into the sheets as he pumps his own into you languidly. 

you remember wryly what Joel had asked of you, and you croak through a dry throat, "o-one."

you feel a huff of breath against your cheek before he hums. "that's good, baby." he murmurs, watching your cunt twitch, your arousal leaking out of you around his fingers.

you moan lowly as his fingers leave you, rising to his own lips to taste you; his eyes stay on yours as he palms himself lightly. you eagerly swallow, shifting your hips towards where he stands. yes, you need him in you-

he shakes his head at you as throws your legs away from him - you watch in shock as he starts to move. he pulls himself onto the mattress, laying upon your pillows, looking at you expectantly. "c'mere, baby." he mutters.

you blink at him, seeing his expression and slowly crawling to straddle him. your clit bumps against the denim of his crotch as you slowly rolls your hips over his, his straining cock delicious against you. 

his hands find your hips and force your movements to halt with a strong grip. you stare at him, feeling embarrassed and confused, unsure what he wants. 

he shoots you a look when you try to press yourself against him again, his fingers digging into your hips- "if y'think I'm fucking you tonight, you've clearly misunderstood."

your face must drain of blood as you stare at him, heartbeat pounding in your chest as you squirm. he moves down slightly, nodding upwards towards the top of your bedframe. "c'mere. and hold onto the edge if you can't handle it." 

with a shaky breath and butterflies in your chest, you let him guide you upwards, until you're hovering over his face. 

you let out a breath of desire, already throbbing in need; he stares up at you, "thought you needed my mouth on you?" he sneers. "play with your tits, baby, and ride my face." your fingers rise to your breasts, teasing your nipples gently as you whimper. 

"now." he growls, hands pulling your hips down onto his face.

you gasp in shock, forehead and hands hitting the wall behind the bedframe as you jolt to stare at him. his tongue drives a fat lick through your soaked cunt, tasting your spend as your hips buck. your clit brushes against his nose- fuck, his nose; strong and slanted, beautiful as you press against it once again. pleasure shoots through you, curling your toes as you press against him. 

all you can feel is Joel - your hands return to your breasts, if anything so that you have something to hold on to as ecstasy courses through you. his tongue circles your entrance lightly before sliding into you. you groan out, head falling back as you grind against his face; his groan reverberates in your cunt as a jolt of satisfaction causes your legs to weaken. "feels so good," you whimper, breathlessly; you don't even care that Joel told you not to speak, all you can think of is his tongue on you. the heat of your second crest starts to bubble over already; you let out a long moan. 

you feel one of his thick fingers slide over the globe of you ass, gathering your slick before prodding gently at the tight ring of muscle below your cunt.

you gasp in shock, desire flooding you as need spurs you on, "fuck- please, sir, yes." you gasp, hoping the honorific will inspire him to give you what you really want.

he does. his finger breaches your hole slowly as you keen forward, gripping onto the headboard. he moans into your pussy as gushes of pleasure gather from the sensation and you whimper lowly, the feeling of his nose against your clit mixing deliciously as he slides his finger deeper into your ass.

if there's a better thing than having Joel's mouth on your cunt, it's that he can't speak like this; you start to move your hips, riding over his nose and fucking back onto his digit as he groans lowly.

"fuck- fuck." you groan, legs quivering, threatening to give out. he hums, leaning to chase your pussy as you move up, starting to move his finger inside your tight channel, his eyes staring up at you; you lock eyes as you thumb a nipple and your eyes roll back at the wide-blown pupils that meet you. 

his hands, large and strong, pull you back against him, cementing you as he laps at your pussy, fucking his finger into you quicker and bringing you so close to your orgasm that you fall back slightly; your hand stabilizes yourself on his clothed chest; rolling your hips, the new angle sets your cunt into a wild frenzy of clenching, feeling incredibly close and chest stuttering as you near your high. 

his finger leaves you suddenly as he pulls you towards him again - you barely have time to whimper at the loss of feeling before his tongue is flicking over your clit again, sending streaks of hot pleasure through you.

he's delving into you once again, his nose rubbing against you, your hips sliding over his face and finally pushing you over the edge. 

your yelp of pleasure tails into a moan as you roll your hips, cumming on his face as you ride it out once again, legs shaking impossibly. you're muttering swears mixed in with his name as you ride out your second orgasm, shaking in desire.

"two," you whimper, sweat breaking on your forehead as one of his hands slides over your thigh, raking blunt nails over your skin. but he continues, your cunt sensitive as you jolt away from him as you catch your breath; you slide off of his chest to the mattress, your whole body tremoring with pleasure.

his face is flushed, chin glistening with your juices as he sits up, muttering, "don't you move." 

you stop your movements, staring with hot cheeks and a swollen cunt as he turns, hands finding one of your pillows. 

he leans forward to prop your head upon it; you gape at him in confusion, still pleased at the relief of strain in your neck but knowing you'll cum one more time before he's satisfied.

your body already yearns for it - you realize with a hot flash of arousal his intentions as he slinks backwards then, sliding to his knees. 

your legs, despite yourself, spread for him. he smirks, "look at you, sweetheart, so willing for me."

you bite your lip, "just make me cum again," you say breathlessly, finding your strength again. 

he raises his brows, "you sure you can handle it?" he asks, his palm sliding to cup your puffy cunt, the stimulation making you gasp. and then he slaps you, landing a harsh pressure on your clit that has you yelping, knees closing.

his other hand parts your legs, smacking you repeatedly until you yelp out, "yes!" 

he stops his ministrations, instead rubbing your mess of juices all around you, causing you to sigh a gentle moan. he presses a kiss to your inner knee as he hums. 

"I want eyes on me, sweetheart. can you do that?" 

your eyes flick down to him as he settles between your quivering legs with a grin. a gentle kiss above your mound that has your eyes fluttering. "yes," you say breathlessly. 

he rewards you with his lips against your cunt once again; it's immediately sending you over in stimulation, your legs tightening around his head before you gasp at the feeling, his tongue flattening over your swollen clit and plunging again into your entrance. 

it's not long - your body is buzzing with electric desire, throbbing and jolting every time Joel's hands spread your legs open wider; your ankles curl and press into his back as his tongue alternates between flicking your clit and stroking as far into you as he can.

he's groaning into you, using his fingers to spread you further open for him; eating you out like it's his favorite meal. you're not sure if you'll stay conscious after your next high - you feel it creeping towards you and you whimper to Joel, starting to feel too sensitive. 

"Joel- it's-" you whimper, pulling back and starting to crawl away on your hands, your legs tremoring with pleasure, moving up the mattress. he growls, hands grabbing you and pulling you back to him.

"not done with you yet." he murmurs, lips attaching back to your cunt. you buck your hips at the pleasure of overstimulation, hips moving away. 

his hand grabs your ass, pulling you once again towards him, "stop fuckin' squirming. thought you wanted to get to three." 

"I do," you whimper, gasping as his tongue traces around your pussy lips, tasting you and groaning into you. his face glistens with your juices and it's everything you can do to keep staring at him; he glares at you, "then don't complain." 

his tongue licks a stripe up you again, swirling and sucking on your clit, and within moments you're nearing your high.

then suddenly everything - your fingers twist painfully as your body goes rigid, hitting your orgasm with a scream, your legs shutting around him and muscles spasming.

"that's right, sweetheart, ride it out." he mutters into you as you shutter, unable to form words but babbling his name incessantly as you push yourself up the mattress, away from the stimulation again as pain and pleasure swirl around your body.

fuck, you almost- you felt something different about that last one. he pulls himself until he's leaning over you, "think you're forgetting somethin'." he teases, his hands running up until they palm your tits.

you groan, hands shaking as they push against the mattress, the warmth of his body delicious. your eyes are fluttered shut, "two." you realize your miscalculation as it leaves your mouth -"n-no-" your eyes widen at your slip-up and you shake your head, embarrassed; your mind too consumed by Joel to fully function.

you wish he would just fuck you - his cock is unbelievably hard straining against his jeans and you urge to take him in any way you can. you'd let him have anything. 

Joel sneers at you, amused by your flustered state. "d'they teach kids to count in these fuckin' FEDRA schools anymore?" he growls, slapping your pussy once more and making you yelp.

if you'd been paying more attention to his words, you'd have snarled that you learned how to count in public school, before the outbreak - and that he's a fucking idiot; you can't, however, as you're slapped on your sensitive clit once again.

fuck - a streak of euphoria through you at the jolt has your back arching. 

"shut up, Joel." you whimper, "can you just- please, can you fuck me?" you ask, brows knitting together. he sighs, pulling back to stare at you with a stern stare. "just a little bit?" you beg, a ravenous force spurring in your blood. you need him.

"god damn it." he snaps, "I'm bein' so good to you, and all you can do is bitch and moan about my cock. got you so fuckin' obsessed, don't I?"

you groan in frustration, half of your body screaming to let yourself rest and half of you searing with desire and frustration. his words fluster you; even more so as he leans forward, hand spreading you apart to roll his clothed hips against your bare ones gently.

you let out a mewl, hips jerking back at the directness of the denim on your clit, the sharp sensitivity hitching in your throat. you ache and clench around nothing, your cunt begging to be filled by him. "please, Joel. I'll do anything." you insist smally, eyes fluttering shut. his lips ghost over your hairline and then peck your cheek in a shocking show of kindness. 

"you can take it?" he murmurs against your lips. hope sparks in your heart and your bare ankles wrap around his his, pressing him against you, "yes, yes." you promise, nodding eagerly. he hums in thought.

"I'll fuck you with my fingers, then." 

you gasp, hips jolting when his fingers spread your sopping lips, his eyes intent on your face as he circles your entrance. the tip of a finger notches against you and you flutter around him; your hands grasp onto his forearm and shoulder, staring up with a gasp. you're aching - you need him, any of him. 

"Jesus, look at'you." he groans, muttering as his head dips to watch your pussy suck his fingers in with ease. he slowly pushes until he's knuckle-deep, groaning, "greedy little thing." 

but his eyes stare and he doesn't move; you take it upon yourself to rock your hips, gasping at the pleasure you find as you take him even deeper.

he looks desperate, with his eyes wide, curls wet, mussed, and peppered on his head. "baby, I've gotta taste you." he grunts, suddenly sliding back down to lay between your legs; you mewl in shock as his mouth attaches to your clit in moments.

his fingers, then, start to thrust. gentle, at first, but you're so stimulated you shake your head, "can't-I can't." you whimper.

he shakes his head, the action notching his nose once again against your clit and sending shots of euphoria through you. you feel numb and on fire, eyes rolling back.

"you can, and you will." he mutters into your pussy, tongue sliding across the sopping plane of you as his fingers pick up their pace; your thighs clench shut around his head and squeeze - you can't help it - and he moans a genuine sound of pleasure at the feeling. 

"you were so ready to when it was my cock. maybe I should use some of your toys you love tellin' strangers at bars about so much." he grunts, "make this little pussy cream even more."

your face burns as your eyes snap to him; a shiver of interest is soon overcome with the knowledge that you couldn't handle that; you glare at his words, anyways. that was one time, to him. when you were drunk. sure, not the best first impression, but- look where it got you. 

you shake your head as you writhe below him, his lips returning to your sensitive mound to suck harshly as his fingers start to pump harder into you. he decides for himself with a hum, pulling away slightly, "no, you taste too fuckin' good. gonna stay here all night." 

you believe him. 

he tears you apart, tongue lapping you up, twisting his fingers, curling them as he slides them into you; the noise of your cunt wetly taking Joel's fingers and mouth make your eyes roll back.

he's everywhere - your fingers twist once again into the bedsheets, your toes curling as all of your muscles tense. 

his fingers leave you suddenly, the feeling leaving you to suck a gasp into your lungs as he trails his hand over the valley of your breasts and into your mouth; you suck your juices off of his fingers eagerly, your mouth falling open in a yelp when he nips gently at your clit. 

you jerk away, knowing you're sharply close to your next orgasm, your body tremoring and tears forming in your eyes.

the overwhelming pleasure is building immensely and you squirm away from him with a gasp hands coming to cover your pussy as it spasms, aching and leaking arousal.

"J-Joel- I can't," you wail. 

he tuts, "c'mon, taste fuckin' amazing. love this little pussy." his arms snake around your hips, dragging you back and smacking your own hands away from your core. you sigh at the gentle swirl of his tongue through your swollen folds, hands carding into his hair and gripping tight. he mutters it quietly, "jus' one more, sweetheart, you can do it." 

you whimper, a tear streaming down your cheek and onto your neck, "I can't, it feels so good, I can't-" you whimper, a direct contradiction to the shaking quiver of your thighs as you roll your hips, savoring the feel of Joel's thick tongue against you. 

he hums lowly at your hip's movements and it makes you scream; the vibration and the nudge of his nose on your clit too much- 

it hits you all at once. 

you can't see anything; your hand flies to the sheets as one hand pushes Joel hard away, euphoria slamming into you harder than you ever have.

you feel the pads of his fingers, swirling over your clit as your hips buck wildly. you're sobbing, a state of bliss you've never felt before. your orgasm lasts much longer than you'd expected, euphoria rolling in waves that keep coming to shore.

when you come to, pussy still clenching in residual flutters, you have to suck in a deep breath.

through your tears, you see Joel's face; the bottom half is soaked in your juices, even the mattress is damp from your high - oh. you didn't know you could do that. 

he presses a kiss to your thigh - you jolt, whimpering lightly. he shushes you, hands finding your hips as you shake, trying to come down from that high. "four." he mutters, smirking as you groan, your head falling back. "fuck." you hiss, throat raw. 

"that wasn't so hard, was it sweetheart?" he snarks, still not moving from between your thighs, though you're sure they're dead weight on top of his shoulders. says him.

"fuck you, Joel-" but your words stop short and you gasp, hands flying as you feel Joel's tongue lick up the side of your cunt; "I can't Joel-" you sob, shaking your head, "'s too much."

you're so overstimulated you feel like you're floating -  but after your shock you realize he's avoiding the sensitive areas, gently swirling his tongue in your wetness. tasting you just for the sake of it. he just shushes you once again- "hey, hey," he soothes, hand petting your hip gently, "just tastin' it. gotta clean you up." you shouldn't, but you feel a hot flood of arousal just at his words. your hands relax in his hair as he slowly moves his mouth around you, avoiding your oversensitive clit mercifully. 

"you just rest. did real good, sweetheart. was so fuckin' sexy." you can't rest, though your body slumps and your eyes shut - his tongue runs lazy, thick circles around your pussy, gentle. you can tell - it's not for you, and maybe it never really was; Joel's loving it, and he's not planning on stopping anytime soon. 

and you stay like that - eyes closed, catching your breath and calming your tears, as Joel's hands run soothing shapes over your side and thighs, his mouth not leaving you for a second.

it was minutes, could have been almost an hour, and you slowly fell from your teetering edge of unraveling; instead, a slow burn was once again ignited in your stomach as Joel lapped away at you, eating you out gently and devotedly.

occasionally there was a groan or a moan from him, gentle - or a mutter into you about how good you tasted. you'd move your hips gently when something fluttered deliciously and you chased that feeling, thinking of all Joel's words tonight which have made you flush - and most of them praise. 

he's like a man starved. 

and by the time you start to climb that hill again, your muscles aching but pussy fluttering in desire, you're burning up. you cry again, gently.

he brings you to orgasm a fifth time with a moan into your pussy and your hand gripping his own for dear life.

he laps everything that spills from your weeping cunt as you let out a scream of his name, swallowed by the noise of the outside thunder. you shake and tremor, blissed beyond anything you've felt, tired and spent.

he holds himself to you and you have to twist, crawling away from the devilish mouth that calls your name, his hands gentle as he lets you go; finally having mercy on your destroyed body.

you feel like you're floating, unable to stop shaking. 

it's then that he chooses to strip down to his boxers; you watch him with shock as he does so, unsure if he's going to propose you take his cock now - you don't know if you could.

instead, he drops a kiss to your forehead. "I'll be back." 

he's in there long enough for you to deduce that he's decided to take care of himself on his own, in the shower - a decision that disappoints you but also seems very thoughtful. there's that flicker of selflessness you see sometimes in Joel - the things he tries to hide.

you hear the faucet running in the bathroom and when he comes back, there's a washcloth and a cup of water for you.

he doesn't wipe between your legs until you're done shaking - and after, you sit there, your hand curled around his bicep, while he soothes over a few strands of your hair.

"gonna need new candles." you mutter, nodding to where they all sit, dripped down to within an inch, wax splattered atop your table and over the side of the foot chest. 

"I'll get you a million candles 'f you let me taste you like that again." his chest rumbles as he speaks. a flicker of butterflies once again appear in your chest and you shrug, "I know I said I like when it isn't rough..." you trail off, face burning, "-but none of them ever did... any of that. and I really liked that." 

besides, you both knew the moment it left your mouth that your words weren't true - in honesty, Joel has done nothing but rough you up and you always crawl back for more. you wouldn't have it any other way.

he scoffs, "good thing you're mine now." he mutters, "taste like fuckin' heaven. could watch you squirm all day." he drops a kiss to your temple and your eyes bore down at your lap; his words hold a semblance of possessiveness - not unfamiliar to this thing that you have with him, but now much more meaningful to you. why is your heart fluttering so fast, a grin growing on your face? 

he clears his throat after a moment, shifting to sit up. in the process, your arm falls from his and you turn to look at him. 

"do you remember last time I was in here?" he asks suddenly and you have to snort. "was dying of infection, yes I remember." 

he sends you a look. "you were not dyin'. don't be dramatic." he counters, eyes narrowed.

you grin, rolling your eyes, "you were the one who was acting like it was such a big deal." you defend with a shake of your head. he sighs, "well I-" he stops short and it occurs to you that he's having trouble getting words out.

you look into his eyes gently, and he's searching yours. you're not sure what he's looking for. "shit," he mumbles, looking slightly lost - you've seen him like this, before - once. 

"I'm tryin' to be less...mean. when it counts." he says intently, looking at you. "y'know, after we talked, and I..." 

he trails off but you wait patiently for him to find his words.

he finds them eventually. "-well, that time I was here, when I helped you with your bandage..." he stutters his way through it and takes a deep breath. "I said something, that night." he starts again, running his hand over his face.

"you tend to say a lot of things when we're together." you supplement, your heartrate picking up. you're starting to feel your fight or flight kick in. 

he rolls his eyes. "yeah, well. I said... that you were probably hopin' I would want t'make you my girl." oh. yes, you remember that. "-and I said that it was pathetic you'd think that." he says, not looking at you.

you too look away; yes, he's said many cruel things to you - that one, in particular, has haunted you many nights after waking up from dreams of warmth and sunshine and Joel's hand in yours. 

"one of your best lines yet." you say, unsure what else to do. your gut twists in rejection at just the memory - then, it'd been in the heat of an argument and you'd just used it as kindling to fuel your fire, but it has since become a more prevalent proof every time you start to think too much about the what ifs. 

Joel isn't amused by your words. "I'm just saying, if you did ever want somethin' like that - not that you would, but...it wouldn't be pathetic." he finally finishes. "it was a stupid thing to say." he mumbles quickly, still looking away - through the dim glow of the dying candles, you can see the red on his cheeks. 

you feel hot, the implications of his words. he wouldn't mind if you wanted him to be yours. if you wanted to be his. your stomach flips.

grazing your hand over his back, you brush your lips to his shoulder. "you didn't mean it. we say a lot of things we don't mean. both of us." you answer softly, your lips caressing his bare shoulder. you feel the goosebumps under you across his skin at the touch and fight a small smile.

“remember when I tried to hit you?” you ask, thinking back to that disastrous dinner and the delicious aftermath on his foyer floor.

he smirks, finding the courage to look down at you. “think ‘bout it a lot.”

you hit his shoulder playfully, shaking your head with your own wry grin. of course he does.

he looks at you faintly, a hint of a smile flickering over his face. "we've been through a lot of shit together." he murmurs. he eyes the dresser across from you, lit up by a candle; you don't know how, but somehow he pinpoints exactly where you've hidden your gun, in your sock drawer. and he probably knows exactly why it's hidden.

"-don’t get me wrong, I like this thing we got goin’ for us, with the teasing and fighting - but I just want you to know I trust you. and I care about you." he says just as gently, his face flustered. your face heats at his words, a gust of affection blowing through you at his bashfulness.

you smile, leaning in to him; your hands snake around his neck as you gently pull his face to you. he finds more words, "sometimes you're a pain in my ass-" he raises a brow before you can snap back at him- "-but nothing you could do is... pathetic. 'specially not thinking something like that."

his eyes are large and hold none of the desire that they did thirty minutes ago; instead they hold something much deeper, more vulnerable. you don't feel scared by it.

you smile, "I trust you, Joel." his eyes stare into yours unafraid. "thank you. I care about you too."

and you're not ready to say everything else to him - no, not yet, even though your heart's known it for a while and so have you, somewhere in the back of your mind. 

you do want something like that. you want exactly that. 

"-and," he starts, "since this was your idea of something more civilized," he sends you a look through the corner of his eye; you know this isn't the worst of your sins committed with Joel, but you recognize his sentiment with a smirk, thinking back to your earlier words. you hide your growing smile as he adds:

"-maybe we could get drinks sometime." 

taglist closed - this is the last fic that will be using my taglist. moving on, I've made a notifs blog - @tremendumnotifs - for ppl to follow for notifications. tysm!!]

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