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ourdawnishotterthanourday · 3 months

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RAW [M] — Lee Seokmin

✧ If you're a freak and you know it, clap them cheeks ✧

In which Seokmin, your sweet doting boyfriend, fucks you raw for the first time, and ends up discovering his kinky side.

✧ Genre: domestic AU; SMUT [18+], established relationship ♥ Pairing: female!reader x boyfriend!Lee Seokmin ✧ Word count: 6.3k+ ✦ Warnings: nsfw warnings under the cut! ✎ Notes: hope y'all enjoy this little seok fic I wrote for you 🤭 was feeling a little feral, so this concept fit my mood perfectly hehe ♕ Shout out: thanks to my amazing bestie @whipped-for-kpop-fics for making me this masterpiece of a banner AND helping me brainstorm for this one. This one really couldn't have happened without you and your shrexy brain! I love youuuuu 💖 and thank you thank you thank you @wonuvs for beta-reading this for me!! Very much appreciated :3

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

nsfw warnings: outdoor/public sex, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting, spanking, raw sex (the title is there for a reason hehe), heavy breeding kink, feral seok dirty talk, messy creampie (pls let me know if I missed any!)

You had every intention to hang the wet laundry out to dry on this beautiful sunny day. It was a simple task, really, one you could have completed in less than five minutes had you not let yourself get distracted.

Said distraction came in the form of Lee Seokmin, your sweet doting boyfriend of four years, who had decided to take advantage of the nice weather and switch his usual gym session for a home workout in your garden.

It was quite the sight as he sat on the weight bench, his gorgeous sun-kissed arms and legs on full display, toned muscles pulling and coiling with every raise of his arms. His skin was coated in a thin layer of sweat, making his brown locks stick messily to his forehead. It was almost as if he was chiseled by the gods themselves with how absolutely breathtaking he looked in the bright and glowy sunlight.

You had to resist looking over every few seconds as you attempted to put the laundry pieces on the clothes line. But as the minutes passed, you quickly discovered that trying to suppress the urge to gawk at your hot boyfriend was a battle you weren’t going to win, especially when he was constantly releasing those sinful grunts that sent your mind into a frenzy.

Before you knew it, the laundry was long forgotten. The only thing that was going through your mind in that moment was how much you wanted — no, needed — to feel Seokmin’s sweaty body against yours. Thanks to your busy and exhausting schedules, it had been a few days since you and your boyfriend last had sex, which, with a sex drive as high as yours, had driven your need for the man to an all time high.

It was time to do something about that.

Your legs were already moving on their own accord as your hungry gaze settled on Seokmin’s thick thighs, a mischievous smile overtaking your features as you planned out your next move.

Your boyfriend was completely lost in his own world, totally oblivious to the thirsty thoughts floating around in your head as you crept up on him. The headphones he wore drowned out any distracting sounds as he focused on his reps, and with his eyes fully closed, he did not hear you approach him until it was already too late.

“What the f— baby?!” Seokmin nearly dropped the two 8kg dumbbells he was holding when you jumped him out of nowhere, trapping him with your arms and legs like a clingy koala.

“That’s me.” You giggled at the dazed look on your boyfriend’s face as you uncovered his ears.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he breathed, carefully lowering his arms to place the dumbbells into the grass.

You licked your lips, shifting your hips slightly to get more comfortable. “What does it look like?”

“Like you’re trying to kill me,” he groaned before firmly planting his hands onto your sides to get you to stop rubbing against his crotch.

A sly grin tugged at the corners of your mouth. “That’s what I was trying to go for.”

“Oh, were you now?” He raised his eyebrows. “I was almost done with my workout, you know?”

“Hmm, that really sucks then.” You tangled your fingers in his messy hair.

“Give me five more minutes,” he mumbled, briefly closing his eyes at the feeling of your nails scratching along his sensitive scalp.

“No,” you whined, immediately stopping all movement, much to your boyfriend's disappointment. “I need attention now. It's been too fucking long already.”

You didn't care how whiney you sounded. You needed him right at this moment, and you sure as hell weren't going to wait another minute, especially not for him to finish his damn workout.

“But I'm sweaty,” he argued with a scrunch of his nose.

You smirked at that, tightening your grip on his hair as you moved in closer, your lips now less than an inch apart.

“Even better,” you whispered before teasingly brushing your lips against his. “You're fucking hot when you're sweaty,” you continued, which was followed by you shifting your hips once again, this time with a little more force.

Seokmin released a sharp hiss at the throbbing sensation your hips left in their wake. The muscles in his thighs automatically tightened, and so did the grip on your waist, all of which you were more than excited about. You got him right where you wanted, and it was only a matter of time before he would take the bait.

“You're the devil.”

“Only when I have to be.” You grinned, your big twinkling eyes glued to his face as you slowly began to trail one of your hands down his chest. You only stopped when you reached the now very prominent bulge in his black shorts.

“Fucking hell,” Seokmin cursed under his breath when you gave him a little experimental squeeze. It was just a simple touch, but he already felt the arousal gradually starting to overtake his mind and body. Just a minute ago, he’d been in full workout mode, but now he suddenly couldn’t stop imagining you stuffed full with his cock, begging him to make you cum again and again until you could no longer move.

You took advantage of the moment and closed the little bit of distance between you to pull him into a deep kiss. Seokmin didn’t resist, already having decided that he’d much rather spend his time pleasuring his pretty and horny girlfriend instead of finishing the remainder of his stupid arm reps. Besides, you were right. It had been a while since he’d gotten his dick wet, so if you wanted to change that, who was he to object?

It only took a few seconds before Seokmin’s lips were just as hungry and forceful as yours, pulling at your mouth with an eagerness that made your gut clench with anticipation.

His hands navigated down to the swell of your ass, fingers digging roughly into the soft fabric of the yellow sundress you were wearing to press you into his growing erection. You moaned into the kiss at the sudden shift, your own hands moving to grasp at whatever piece of bare skin you could find as you felt yourself grow hotter by the second.

Your patience was slowly beginning to run thin the longer you sat in his lap with your panties soaked and your neglected cunt begging to be filled. You honestly hadn't felt this needy in a while, so you really didn't want to deprive yourself of Seokmin’s dick for much longer. And you prayed that he felt the same.

You knew the man liked to drag the whole thing out with a shit ton of foreplay, which often included endless make out sessions and bringing you to multiple squirting climaxes before he even got to fuck you. It was the whole reason sex with Seokmin had become one of your favorite pastime activities in the first place.

Your boyfriend was a natural at pleasuring you, and he had been since day one. You quickly learned that faking pleasure and Seokmin could never belong in the same sentence. In fact, more often than not, you’ve had to beg him to stop making you cum for fear of passing out from over stimulation. But even in those moments, he usually still managed to pull another few mind-shattering orgasms out of you like the magician he was, and you were certainly not complaining.

It was just that right now, in this particular moment, you needed him to skip the long foreplay and fastforward to the part where he fucked you stupid.

“Min, I need you inside me so bad,” you whimpered in between kisses, hoping your boyfriend would get the hint and give you just that.

He did not get it.

All you got out of it was an appreciative grunt and a harsh squeeze to your backside that did nothing to satiate the pulsing ache in your pussy.

Accepting that you were just going to have to speed things up yourself, your hand sneakily found the waistband of his shorts, fingers already tugging the material out of the way to grab a hold of his hard dick. If everything worked out in your favor, you'd be sitting on it within the next twenty seconds.

“Fuck, baby,” Seokmin groaned, one of his hands clasping around your wrist before you even had the chance to wiggle your hand inside his shorts. “Why don't we go inside before we start ripping off clothes, hmm?”

“No.” Confusion. That’s the emotion that flashed across your boyfriend’s face at the sound of your outright no.

“No? But I thought you wanted to…?” He frowned, slightly loosening his hold on you when he thought you didn’t want to continue.

You quickly wrapped his arms back around your waist before grasping his face in your hands.

“Oh, I do.” A cheeky grin pulled at your mouth. “Right here. You're fucking me here.”

“Right here? O-outside?” Seokmin stuttered, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he seemed to process your words.

Although your sex life was pretty active and more than satisfying, you couldn’t exactly call it adventurous. Despite many of your close friends believing that you and Seokmin were a couple of kinky fuckers, your sexual escapades were usually limited to your bedroom and definitely more on the vanilla side of the spectrum.

Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course. On the contrary, even the most vanilla sex with him felt a hundred times better than the riskier and more experimental sex you’d engaged in with some of your exes, so you didn’t even really miss it. Still, sometimes — like right now — you wished he’d just throw you around and fuck you into the next day for everyone to see.

You were, however, very much aware that asking him to fuck you in the garden was a complete one-eighty from your usual bedroom adventures, and it could potentially get you caught by your nosy old neighbors, which was definitely a con. But then again, you were feeling unusually risky today, so you honestly couldn't care less who got to see you getting railed. Your only concern right now was soothing the ache in your throbbing cunt.

All you had to do was convince your lovely, handsome boyfriend to make that happen.

“Yes, right here.” You nodded and reached up to undo the first two buttons of your dress, taking note of how your boyfriend's eyes automatically gravitated towards your fingers. “Got a problem with that?”

“Well, uh…” Seokmin swallowed thickly as you popped three more buttons, exposing the strapless, lacy, white see-through bra you were wearing underneath. Your hard peaks were poking right through the flimsy material, which made it nearly impossible for him to rip his eyes away from the arousing sight. Your boyfriend was a sucker for your boobs — or any part of your body for that matter — which is exactly why you hoped the next part of your plan would work.

“I think— uh…” He tried to form a coherent sentence, but failed terribly when you popped another three buttons, his eyes following diligently as your action revealed the smooth skin of your stomach. “What I’m trying to s— that…”

By the time you popped the remaining three buttons, Seokmin had completely forgotten what he was going to say. His eyes were practically glued to your body, in particular to the matching see-through panties that left little to the imagination. They gave him a perfect view of your puffy folds and the arousal seeping through the already drenched material.

Seokmin was — understandably — having a hard time keeping it all together.

“Well?” You suppressed a grin to hide the fact that you were thoroughly enjoying the effect you had on your handsome boyfriend. “You gonna help me undress or do I have to do everything myself?”

You got your answer when he planted his lips back on yours without another word, hardly giving you a second to breathe as he pushed his tongue past your lips. You instantly melted against him as your body flooded with heat once more, your hands fumbling to grasp onto his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself.

Seokmin’s fingers made quick work of your bra, skillfully unclasping the constricting garment and throwing it carelessly in the grass. He took a moment to admire your newly exposed flesh, eyes darting from one nipple to the other before they drifted back down to the drenched panties hugging your cunt.

He subconsciously licked his lips as he imagined his face buried between your legs, drowning himself in the taste of your sweet juices while you screamed out his name.

“Stop staring like a creep and do something, please.” Your hand was back in his hair, fingers tightly gripping onto his locks as you pulled at his head, forcing him to rip his eyes away from your pussy and back up to your face.

“You want me to do something?” An amused smile took over your boyfriend's features as he took in your desperate expression.

“Yes!” you nearly cried, feeling seconds away completely losing your shit. “I swear to god, Seokmin. If your dick is not inside me within the next twenty seconds I’ll d— ah!”

You didn’t get to finish the rest of your sentence as you were cut off by your own shriek, eyes going wide with shock as you gaped at a smug-looking Seokmin. Just a second ago, you’d been sitting in his lap, but now you suddenly found yourself trapped beneath him, sprawled out on the metal workout bench and completely at his mercy.

“You'll do what, baby?” Seokmin smirked triumphantly at your stunned face.

“Forget that,” you breathed, using the grip you had on his hair to pull him in for another kiss. “Fuck, that was hot. I want more where that came from.”

“Noted.” His eyes darkened as he pulled back slightly, and you released the grip you had on his head to allow him to lean back further.

Your belly fluttered with anticipation when he moved the fabric of your dress aside to make contact with your bare skin. His hands teasingly began to trail down your sides, sending a series of tingles down your spine as you let your mind run wild with desire.

A shaky breath left your mouth when your boyfriend hooked his fingers into your underwear, excitement filling your body instantly. You were already starting to lift your hips, eager to help him get rid of the one thing separating your cunt from his hungry gaze.

What you didn’t expect was for him to pin you back down and tear your panties right off your body with a single move. You were left speechless once again, watching as your boyfriend proudly held up the torn lace before letting it fall to the ground.

That was definitely going on your ‘Hottest Lee Seokmin Moments’ list.

“You’re really trying to drive me insane over here,” you mumbled when you’d finally found your voice again.

“You ask, I deliver.” Seokmin chuckled and continued to pull his shirt over his head in one smooth movement, revealing a set of mouthwatering glistening abs and a little dark happy trail that disappeared into his black shorts.

“Good.” Your eyes shifted back up to his with a new determination, your legs slightly opening to give him a nice view of your slick cunt. “Then I’m asking you to fuck me next.”

With one hand, you reached for the waistband of his shorts, fully intent on tugging it down just enough so you could pull his dick out and guide it into your dripping hole.

But Seokmin had other plans.

“Now what?” you whined when his hands stopped you mid-move, wrapping themselves around your wrists just like he’d done before.

What would it take for a girl to get some dick from her boyfriend?

“Not so fast, baby. I'm gonna take care of you first.”

You shook your head in protest. “But I don’t want to wait any longer, Min. Please.”

“Do you want my dick or not, baby?” You’d never nodded faster. “Then be a good girl and spread those legs wider for me.”

That little command had you automatically spread your legs wider, a soft moan rolling off your lips as your walls clenched hard around nothing. Never in the time you’d been with Seokmin had he called you a good girl, but you found that you liked it… a lot. And you wouldn’t mind if he called you that more often from now on.

“Oh? Does my baby like being called a good girl?” Seokmin smirked, his dark orbs burning into your own as he pushed your legs back as far as you could manage.

“Yes, fuck… so hot,” you whimpered, your legs twitching when you felt his hot breath ghost over your glossy cunt.

“Keep being good and I’ll keep calling you that,” he murmured right before dipping his tongue between your slick folds.

The debauched moan you released in response was enough to make Seokmin’s cock jerk uncontrollably inside his shorts. In return, he released a deep groan of appreciation, sending a wave of delicious vibrations to your core that automatically had you try to clamp your legs around your boyfriend's head. But Seokmin, who was way ahead of you, had such a tight hold on your thighs that it was nearly impossible to move.

He used that grip to bury his entire face in your pussy, hardly giving himself room to breathe to completely drown himself in the taste of you, determined to get you to squirt your juices all over his face.

With his skillful tongue alternating between flicking and sucking on your sensitive clit, applying just the right amount of pleasure in all the right spots to bring you to the edge, it took less than a minute before you were moaning his name like a mad woman.

Seokmin relished in the lewd sounds he pulled from you, and the way you desperately gripped at his hair to steady yourself as he devoured you, completely drunk on the taste of your pussy. His dick was painfully hard, straining against the inside of his shorts, practically begging him to relieve some of that agonizing tension. But in all honesty, chasing his own pleasure was the last thing on his mind right now. All that mattered was you, your climax, and nothing else.

It was even at the point that he'd momentarily forgotten you were doing all of this outside, in the garden, where any neighbor would be able to hear or see the obscene things he was doing to you. Not too long ago, Seokmin would have reeled at the thought of engaging in risky public sex, but now, here he was, eating you out in the garden and enjoying every bit of it, not a single fuck given.

You found yourself in a similar position, eyes rolled to the back of your head and your body twitching and shuddering from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your nerves. It wasn’t exactly how you’d planned things to go — still no dick — but it certainly helped quench the worst of your sexual cravings. The way the coil in your stomach got tighter and tighter with every swipe of his tongue said enough.

“F-fuck that’s gonna make me cum so fast, holy shit!” you whimpered when your boyfriend suddenly slid two of his long fingers inside you, immediately curling them up to press against that sensitive spot he knew would make you lose your mind.

Seokmin only hummed against your pussy, his eyes catching yours as the corners of his mouth tugged up into a devilish smirk. Then, his hand was speeding up, fingers mercilessly batting against your sweet spot while his tongue lapped at your swollen clit. He watched you succumb to the pleasure with hungry eyes, your face contorted in pure ecstasy as your moans got louder and louder the closer you got.

“You like that, baby?” your boyfriend rasped, his mouth briefly detaching from your clit.

Your cunt clenched around his fingers in response, the only sound coming out of your mouth being a needy whine since you couldn’t find it in yourself to come up with a sane response with how scrambled your mind was.

That was met with a sharp nip at your swollen nub.

“Answer me,” Seokmin growled, apparently not satisfied with your lack of words.

You yelped loudly at the unexpected but very welcoming stinging sensation that had your nerves singing with pleasure. “Shit— yes! I fucking do!”

“That’s a good girl,” he praised with a harsh slap to your inner thigh before taking your clit back between his wet lips.

The sound of the pet name unraveled something inside you, drawing every muscle in your body taut as you were abruptly thrown over the edge. The full force of your toe-curling orgasm caused you to cry out your boyfriend’s name, your legs trapping his head between your thighs while drenching his pretty face with your arousal.

Seokmin was perfectly content like that, groaning into your cunt like a starved man as he tried to catch every last drop of your slick with his mouth. Even when you began pushing at his head to get him away from your overstimulated pussy, it took him another twenty seconds before he finally detached himself, looking up at you with a dopey, satisfied grin and his chin dripping with your arousal.

“You’re insatiable, Lee Seokmin,” you rasped, chest heaving as you tried to recover from the intense high you’d just experienced.

Said man leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss right below your belly button.

“Yes,” He moved up slightly, this time placing a kiss right above it, “I am.” His lips trailed over your breast, goosebumps forming along the way, “But…” He nipped at your neck, “you…” he whispered, his lips hovering right above yours, “were so good for me,” he finished, capturing your lips into another heated kiss.

The taste of yourself on your boyfriend’s lips lit a new fire inside your belly, your skin flushing hot with a new surge of desire. It also didn’t help that his hands were back on your thighs, kneading and rubbing at them, making every one of your nerve endings come back to life under his scorching touch.

“Min, get your dick out and fuck me,” you mumbled against his lips, determined to not take no for an answer this time.

Seokmin was fully prepared to give into your demands this time, no longer wanting to tease you because he was feeling just as desperate and eager to be inside you. There was, however, just one little thing he hadn’t thought of before. But now with you sprawled out before him in all your naked glory, begging for his cock, the little voice in the back of his mind decided to make an appearance.

“Fuck.” He grimaced. “Just hold on, okay? I’ll be right back,” he said, leaning forward to kiss you softly before making a move to get up.

You quickly grabbed onto his arm to stop him, confusion taking over your features at the sudden switch in mood.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“Condoms… don’t have any on me. I’ll quickly grab one from inside.”

“We don’t need them,” you blurted out, immediately biting your bottom lip when you realized what you'd said.

Seokmin’s eyes visibly widened at your bold suggestion. “But you're not on any birth control. I could actually get you pregnant.”

“Would it really be that bad?” At that, the man’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

The topic of kids was nothing new between the two of you. It had come up on multiple occasions during the span of your relationship, and it was pretty clear that both you and Seokmin loved kids. The both of you always jumped at the chance of babysitting his two year-old nephew whenever Seokmin’s sister and her husband needed someone to watch him, happy to spoil him and play with him as if he was your own.

It was no secret that you wanted a big family, and so did Seokmin, so that wasn’t the reason he was a little hesitant to fuck you without protection. He just really didn’t want you to regret anything if you did end up pregnant by the end of it, because a child was a big responsibility after all.

But he also couldn’t deny that he wasn’t tempted by the idea of your warm walls hugging his dick without anything in the way, and being able to empty his load inside your greedy, slick-covered hole like he’d always wanted to do.

It was hard not to give in to that, especially when you were looking at him with those big, seductive eyes of yours.

“Baby, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you shot back, a mix of determination and lust adorning your face as you challenged your boyfriend.

Seokmin frowned, running a hand through his damp hair. “We should think about this…”

“I already did, and I want this. I wanna feel you… all of you… inside me.” You looked up at him with the biggest puppy eyes you could muster.

“Fuck, you’re not making it easy for me,” your boyfriend sighed, feeling completely torn between doing the responsible thing and giving in to his carnal desires.

“Then stop thinking and just fill me with cum.”

Seokmin gulped, letting out a shaky breath as he felt himself slowly start to lose the battle.

“Shit. Are you absolutely sure about this? Is this really what you want, baby?” he asked, placing his hands on either side of the bench to cage you in.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning up to touch your nose to his. “If you're asking me if I want you to fuck a baby in me then yes, I totally want that,” you breathed, a small smile gracing your face.

Seokmin’s dick twitched in his shorts at your declaration, unlocking a new level of desire that he didn’t know existed. His body was full-on buzzing, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he felt the gears in his mind switch to a whole different setting.

You noticed the change in your boyfriend the moment the words had left your lips, the uncertain expression that had been on his face just now making way for a much more ominous expression, one you didn’t quite recognize.

“Min?”

“Bend over.”

“O-okay.” The slight edge to his tone had you scrambling to turn around for him, nearly causing you to fall off the bench in the process as your legs got tangled up in your dress. You planned to rip the clothing piece off your body to make your life easier, but the sudden hand pinning your wrist to your back made that impossible.

“Dress stays on,” your boyfriend’s low voice sounded from behind you as you felt him flip up the material to reveal the supple skin of your ass.

You were about to protest, but the harsh slap to your behind that followed made you think twice about opening your mouth. The impact of his hand connecting with your tender skin pulled a soft whine from you, leaving you with a pleasant stinging sensation that sent a hot streak of arousal right down to your pussy.

There was barely any time to recover from the first slap before he delivered a second one, this one even more intense and brutal than the last one, forcing you to fight down a scream as you jolted forward, barely able to keep your balance since you only had one hand available to steady yourself.

Your boyfriend was no stranger to delivering the occasional slap to your ass, but it had always been in a loving kind of way and never like this… so rough and thrilling. So if this kind of spanking was your boyfriend’s reaction to seeing you bent over in your half-discarded dress, then you had no problem keeping it on.

“Such a good girl for me,” Seokmin groaned, his cock twitching once again as he watched your ass jiggle for a third time when his hand reconnected with your delicate flesh. You could only moan in response as you felt yourself get wetter with every slap, hand gripping onto the bench for dear life while you let your boyfriend have his way with you.

Only after the tenth slap or so, when Seokmin noticed your legs were close to giving out on you, he released the wrist he was holding and allowed you to take a breather while he rushed to shove his shorts and underwear down his legs, finally freeing the raging boner he’d been neglecting for the past twenty minutes.

The man didn’t waste any time as he grabbed onto your waist with one hand, lining up his engorged tip with your dripping cunt with the other.

A shudder ripped through him when he pushed forward, greedy eyes fixed on his cock disappearing between your ass cheeks, slowly getting enveloped by your tight walls as they made room for him.

It was unlike any feeling Seokmin had ever experienced. Although he was barely halfway inside, he was sure he wasn’t going to last as long as he usually would have. Without the usual barrier in the way, he was able to feel it all, every little sensation — the warmth radiating off your walls as he slid in further, your creamy slick drenching his cock from head to base — it took everything in him to stop himself from bursting as he imagined how good you’d look with your ripe cunt stuffed full of his seed.

Seokmin’s pupils were fully blown by the time your ass connected with his pelvis, his jaw clenched and the grip on your waist bordering on bruising as he momentarily stilled to let you both get used to the new feeling.

You weren’t doing much better, trying to deal with the blissful ache whirling in your stomach as you tried to accommodate the familiar stretch. Only this time, you were able to actually feel the bulging veins forking along his length as they throbbed against your inner walls in the most intoxicating way.

“Shit, Min,” you moaned, tightening your grip on the bench, “Just fuck me already. Feels so damn good like this.”

At your plea, Seokmin pulled his hips back slightly, slowly dragging his throbbing tip along your sensitive walls before abruptly burying his entire girth back inside your warm cunt with a loud groan.

“Yeah? Like that?”

“Yes… harder,” you whined, impatiently wiggling your ass in search of more of that delicious friction.

“Fucking gladly,” he muttered, moving one of his hands to your shoulder before repeating the motion again, only this time with a lot more force and speed, which earned him a series of salacious moans that went straight down to his pulsing cock.

It didn't take long for Seokmin to completely lose every bit of sanity he possessed as he vigorously drove his hips into your ass, your pussy squelching loudly every time his cock slammed back inside your slippery hole.

He’d never felt like this before… fully overtaken by this primal need to breed you like the good girl you were, completely set on ruining you with his cock and stuffing load after load of cum inside your hot cunt until you couldn’t fit anymore.

The regular Seokmin, aka the sweet man who made you breakfast every day and made sure you had absolutely everything you could wish for, would have been a messy blushing puddle with all these nasty thoughts running through his mind. But this Seokmin, the pussy drunk, sex-crazed man who was fucking you as if his life depended on it, only felt himself get more riled up with every new lewd thought that entered his mind, not feeling bashful in the slightest.

You honestly didn’t know where the hell this Seokmin had come from, but you hoped that this wouldn’t be the last of him. His rough thrusts had you feeling like a complete wreck in the best sense of the word, causing you to release an obscene number of sounds you didn’t even know you could make. It was no doubt the best dicking your boyfriend had ever given you, but too much for your body to keep up — you discovered that when your legs suddenly decided to give out on you mid-thrust.

Fortunately, your boyfriend was prepared and caught you just in time, firmly wrapping one of his beefy arms around your tits to press you against his bare chest, while his free hand clamped around your neck, forcing you to tilt your head up to the clear blue sky as he continued to pound into your sopping cunt.

“Fuck, gonna fill this pussy,” Seokmin growled into your ear, his breath hot against the side of your face. “Gonna fill it with my cum, fucking show the world you’re mine… get your pretty belly round with my baby,” he continued, never slowing down his unrelenting pace.

“God, yes!” you moaned, eyes once again rolling to the back of your head as your walls fluttered in response to the filth rolling off your boyfriend’s tongue.

“Dirty girl. You like the thought of me fucking a baby into you?”

”Y-yes, fuck… want it, want your baby!”

You didn’t think it was possible but Seokmin’s hips sped up even more after you’d said that, making you cry out loud as you clung onto his forearm to center yourself.

“Gonna fill you up like you deserve, stuff you full till you can’t walk. This pussy is fucking mine… mine to claim.” Seokmin had fully lost himself at this point, spewing all the filth he could think of, completely and utterly enthralled by your sweet raw cunt sucking him in so deliciously.

“Oh god, Min, need you to cum in me,” you rasped, feeling the coil in your stomach start to wind and tighten as your boyfriend continuously battered against your sweet spot.

“So fucking desperate. Such a good girl.” That was the moment Seokmin released your throat and lowered his hand to attach his fingers to your clit, rubbing sloppy figure eights into it while his dick continued to stretch you out.

“Faster… faster,” you urged, feeling your body tense at the sudden surge of pleasure shooting through you.

Seokmin listened to your pleas and sped up his fingers.

“Oh, fuck, right there,” you whined, feeling like you couldn’t hold it anymore. “Gonna cum… gonna cum!”

White briefly flashed before your eyes as you came with a choked gargle of your boyfriend’s name, your cunt clenching around his cock as your body shook violently from the overwhelming sensations.

Seokmin didn’t stop at that, feeling like he was seconds away from reaching his own high. With your fluttering cunt continuing to hold his dick in a chokehold, and you begging for his cum in his ear, it didn’t take him long to get there.

With one last well-timed thrust, Seokmin buried himself all the way inside you, letting his own orgasm wash over him as he felt the first spurts of cum coat your inner walls. Both of you groaned in delight at the unfamiliar but arousing feeling of Seokmin’s cum filling you up for the first time.

Heat bloomed inside you as your boyfriend continued to spill inside you, holding tightly onto you as he rode out the remainder of his climax.

“Fuck, Min, so much cum,” you whimpered when you felt his seed begin to drip out of your swollen cunt and down your thighs. That’s how much there was. It felt like there was no end to it.

“Pussy feels so fucking good, can’t stop cumming,” he panted against your neck, moving his hands to rest on the smooth skin of your stomach.

You smirked, tightening your walls momentarily to pull a little whine from your boyfriend.

“Well, let’s say that I’m not complaining.”

Only when Seokmin’s cock had fully softened and there really was no more cum to give, he reluctantly pulled out of you, not being able to stop himself from gawking at the big globs of cum dripping out of your pussy with his cock no longer holding it in.

“Min?”

”Huh?”

Despite your extremely wobbly legs, you managed to turn around and threw yourself at the man in front of you, wrapping your arms around his neck as you stared into his eyes with a cheeky smile on your face.

“I love you, you know that? You’re a fucking freak!”

Seokmin’s cheeks began to flush at your exclamation, his eyes quickly averting yours in an attempt to escape your intense gaze.

“Oh…. uh, that? Well…” he stammered, one of hands coming up to rub at his neck.

“Are you seriously acting all shy on me now when you just fucked my brains out?” You giggled, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Well, when you put it like that…” He chuckled, a dopey grin on his face.

“Promise me you’re gonna show this side of you more often.”

Seokmin raised his brows in surprise. “You sure? It wasn’t too much?”

“Fuck no.” You shook your head. “It was definitely some of the best dick you’ve given me.”

“I guess I have no choice then, do I?” He smiled widely.

“Nope. Besides,” You leaned in to kiss him softly before whispering seductively, “if you wanna give me a baby, we better do that many more times, just to be sure.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Then your boyfriend scooped you up without another word, your surprised shriek echoing through the garden as he hurried to rush you inside the house, eager to do it all over again.

© All rights reserved — ourdawnishotterthanourday // Please do not repost or edit any of my works without my permission!! If you see any of my works outside of this Tumblr, pls report it to me asap. Thank you in advance!

HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS LITTLE SEOK SMUT HEHE! Would be amazing to hear your thoughts on this one 😋 and PLEASE look forward to the next one 👀 I got some good ideas planned for y'all!

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devilmademewriteit · 2 years

Text

Let Me Love You Like A Woman (Let Me Hold You Like A Baby)

part 3 of Dark But Just A Game

pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: you’re in his place. you’re in his bed. will joel ever be anything more than your dad’s friend who occasionally fucks his frustrations into you, or will you always be strangers?

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, oral [m receiving] fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mentions of reader having long hair; pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel); dubcon (power imbalance); age gap; dbf!joel; angst; mentions of murder and torture.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites loml forever

word count: 4.1k

no use of y/n in this fic

Click here to read part 1, Dark but Just a Game.

Click here to read part 2, Pretty When You Cry.

(neither are totally necessary if u just wanna read some filth, fluff, n angst, all u rly need to know is that they’ve fucked twice before & he’s dad’s best friend lol).

a/n: thank u for all the support on this series. i’m literally so obsessed with all of you it’s not even funny. enjoy this while we collectively grieve the end of the season, & i’ll be here writing fic in the meantime. Don’t forget to join the taglist for any and all upcoming work! -em <333333

—

It had taken all of ten seconds for you to lose your shirt, your jeans, and your most beloved pair of (now ruined) panties after stepping foot in Joel Miller’s apartment.

“‘Fuckin’ soaked already—been thinkin’ about me all day, huh?”

And those tantalizing fingers. They were third on the list of things you thought about when you touched yourself, right after his cock and the insatiable look that haunted his eyes when he was inside you. Joel’s talents were wasted as a smuggler—he’d have made a fantastic pianist or maybe a guitarist with the way that index and that damned thumb conspired to make you sing for him.

“Anyone else touch you here since me?“ “No, Joel—just you—only you.” “Attagirl.”

He’d gotten you fully naked (something he’d never bothered to do before) and writhing in his grip in a matter of seconds, laying rough kisses down your spine with patience and attention. Every single one was a spoken promise: I’m coming back for you.

“Look at you, baby, takin’ a real man all by yourself.”

Hands on your hips, knees pressed to the worn-in mattress—every other word in the English language omitted itself from your vocabulary as Joel drew his name from your lips over and over and over again, the thick length of his cock easing you to oblivion with every gratifying stroke.

“Gonna make this pussy come til’ you’re begging me to stop, sweetheart.”

Feeling his cum drip down your thigh, barely having a second to breathe before being manhandled onto your back, hands searching your body, mapping you out like a foreign land before taking him in again. “It aches, Joel.” Crying softly into his neck, tears of pain and ecstasy leaking down your cheeks. “M’jus’ breakin’ you in, angel.” The smell of his hair anchoring your senses to right here, right now as release washes over you again and again and oh, Joel’s hands on the outsides of your thighs to steady your shaking legs.

“Eyes up baby, wanna see ‘em while I’m comin’ on that pretty face.”

Joel tasted like salt and sin and his stickiness on your cheeks felt warm like a late august sun. Watching you blink your lust-filled and trust-filled eyes, grabbing a fistful of your tangled hair, Joel memorized the way your pouting mouth looked painted with his seed. Thick, dark eyebrows creasing together as a groaned ‘fuckin’ hell’ fell from his open lips—with you, he became an artist, and with him, you were a blank canvas.

Now, the moonlit room was quiet; with every primal need purged from both your systems, your exhausted bodies lay entangled, empty and content. Joel’s heartbeat had settled a few minutes after yours—you’d made note of it with your ear pressed to his chest. But every twitch or fidget from the hand resting on the curve of your waist had your own rhythm picking up double-time, sending hot blood coursing through every now-aching limb.

“You should go,” he grumbles after a while, eyes still closed, body still at rest. Fucking you had basically rendered the man comatose. “Your dad’ll raise hell if he sees an empty bed.”

You scoff. “It’s not like he’s ever cared before—remember when Emma and I snuck out to the old mall and I radio’ed him to get us out?” Joel chuckles, remembering the fond memory. After all, it had been him and not your old man who’d shown up to kick down those crumbling cinema doors, partly rescuing you but mostly reaming you out for being such a careless, stupid teenager.

“And either way, Miller, I’m an adult.”

This time, it’s Joel’s turn to scoff. “Jus’ ‘cause you’re legal, dun’ make you an ‘adult.’ You still whine like a kid.”

You giggle softly as he mocks your indignant tone, feeling the lungs beneath you rumble subtly, too.

Joel was always softest and at his most vulnerable after sex. Well, aren’t all men the same? You figured it was just the nature of the act that left its participants a little more tender and a little less inhibited after its completion. It was strange to remember that Joel was a man like any other.

And the man that you’d allowed to ruin you so skillfully, to burn himself on the archives of your mind, somehow remained a complete mystery to you. He was a tangled web of stifled emotions, unspoken sentences, and chilling stories you’d heard from your inebriated father.

If there was any time to untangle him, it was now.

Joel’s t-shirt is damp with his sweat, and yours, too. What a shame that he hadn’t removed it earlier. He was so very impatient when it came to fucking you, and despite having enough patience this time to get you naked, he didn’t bother to give himself that same treatment. At this point, you felt too self-conscious to ask, pretty well certain that he’d turn down your request, anyways. Peeling your profile from the navy blue fabric, you gaze up at him inquisitively, a steadying hand pressed tentatively against his broad chest.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your voice sounds small, like that of a scared child. It makes you cringe.

“Hmph,” he grunts, eyes firmly closed.

Better than nothing. A start.

“Well,” you begin, painfully slowly, tracing timid circles under his collarbone, “Sometimes, I think—”

“S’great, sweetheart,” he interjects in mock earnestness. “Good for you.”

“Knock it off, Miller,” you slap his shoulder playfully. A sly, amused expression teases his features.

After a long, heavy pause, with only the trickling and creaking of the old building occupying it, you soldier on.

“Sometimes, I think that when you’re… well, fucking me… you, well, you kind of use me to—vent.” There. You’d said it. “Like, your frustrations.”

A long exhalation escapes Joel’s lips as he mulls over your words, choosing eventually to respond with cautious and dismissive humor.

“This your way of askin’ me if you’re more’n my human Xanax?”

“No, asshole.”

He hums quietly. The distant sound of a gunshot travels through the open window, dragging you both back to the present moment.

A forced sigh. “I wanted to ask you what you’re trying to get off your mind.”

Joel tenses almost imperceptibly underneath you, an air of seriousness collecting around him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he grumbles, amusement fading from his tone. “M’not really interested in talkin’ about our feelings together.”

The harshness of his words only entices you to push him again, to understand the man who so clearly understood you. There was something there–likely many things there–that he had fucked into you. Things that you now need to know. Things calling to you like an abandoned childhood home.

You want to pull him into yourself, crawl under his very skin and exist there for a minute or two. In his bed, in his place, and you’re still worlds apart.

“I’m not asking you to talk about your feelings, Miller. I just want to know that I’m not letting, like, a total, raging maniac climb between my knees.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His eyes flit open, and as soon as they do, you recognize the vacant, apathetic expression that had characterized him for you all these years. He grunts, pushing himself up on his elbows, and you sit up, yanking at the tangled sheets to cover yourself.

“Ever been outside the QZ, sweetheart?” He asks, his poorly restrained temper slicing through his words.

Looking down at your hands, you trace the cream-colored creases stretching along the blanket, shaking your head no, side to side.

“S’right. Not a single man on this planet that’s not a total, raging maniac. Enough fear, thirst, or hunger…” something truly terrifying creeps onto his expression, a vision of darkness, unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Not with soldiers, not with your father, not even with Joel.

“Everyone’s a killer.”

You swallow slowly, trailing your eyes up to meet his charged gaze. The room feels cold.

“Are you?”

His shadowed eyes narrow with irritation. “Am I what, sweetheart?”

“A killer.”

Then it’s regret and violence corrupting his features, and before you know it, Joel Miller is somewhere else. It takes a long time for him to come back to you (if you can even pretend to claim that Joel had ever been with you in the first place).

He hesitates, huffing quickly with frustration and looking away for a brief moment before focussing back on you—conceding to your question with a quick nod.

An acidic taste collects on your tongue, but his answer isn’t surprising. You’d always known in some way that Joel had taken lives. Still, it felt strange to hear him acknowledging it, to see the pain that admitting to it caused him. His actions actually bothered him. That meant he had a soul in some jagged, twisted form and that certain things could affect it. Thinking about that made your temples hurt.

“For what reason?”

You can’t help it—you’d come this far, and it felt like failure to quit prying. It doesn’t matter that Joel’s a grenade with no safety lever. You know it’s only a matter of time before he explodes, but you’d grown up diffusing your father daily. Bombs were your specialty.

“Does it matter?”

Upstairs, the floorboards creak softly. It almost makes you jump.

“I think so.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, brow furrowing with irritation. Otherwise, he stays surprisingly level. Some hopeful part of you tries to whisper that some softer part of him actually wants you to get under his skin.

“Alright.” You stare at him, stunned at his forfeiture, as he breathes a dark, humorless laugh. “But you’re gonna hate me for my answer.”

There’s a loaded pause as you gape expectantly at him. His head falls back, eyes fixed to the chipping, washed-out ceiling.

“In the early days of the outbreak, before FEDRA had the QZs figured out… things weren’t easy. You gotta understand that.” His gravelly voice cuts through the room’s silence, vibrating through your stilled body. “I’ve killed, tortured, n’hurt more people’n I can count. Sometimes to save myself, sometimes someone else, ‘n other times… other times jus’ because. And,” he groans, laying his back against the pillows as his harrowing monologue comes to a close, “It wasn’t always life or death, either.”

You pull the sheets in close to your chest, shuddering partly due to his words, partly due to his delivery. As if he was warning you. As if he wanted you to hear the truth and…

And punish him for it.

With his eyes shutting again, he can’t see you studying him. He’s probably assumed that a look of abject horror has poisoned your complexion. As you angle yourself to view his resting body—the pained expression causing his eyebrows to furrow, lips pressed tightly together—an overwhelming rush of adoration expands in your lungs, swelling inexplicably and uncontrollably in your chest. Your thoughts blare at full blast inside your racing mind.

Joel was capable; he had blood lust and an inner violence that meant he felt, deeply, and he’d die—or even better, kill—for those he loved. He was…

Joel was perfect.

Maybe it was a fucked up thing to feel—maybe it meant that you needed to be studied by a team of psychiatrists. Either way, the thought of his agonized soul, carrying on out of sheer spite and a reluctant desire to protect his own had you melting at his side. Joel wasn’t static, unfeeling, or a ghost, he was real, and he was alive. Growing up in a near-dead world haunted by once vibrant cities had made that trait alone extremely precious.

He remains still while you move his arm, wiggling next to him to sit back on your calves and looming over his unyielding form. Maybe he thinks you’ve pulled a gun on him and is just giving you a chance to pull the trigger.

Dropping the pale sheet from your breasts, you caress Joel’s harsh jaw in one hand, sneaking the other down, down his stomach and under the waistband of his briefs.

His eyes surge open, finding yours and filling with confusion. You burn with affection, a kind of fierceness that wasn’t there before.

Brow creasing, eyelids fluttering as he hardens in your grasp. You wordlessly entice him once again, bowing down and over to press tender kisses to his neck.

“I could never hate you, Joel Miller.”

He whimpers softly as you stroke him—tantalizingly slow in big, long pulls—it makes your heart flutter to hear him whine for you.

A refreshing reversal of roles.

You ease your way down, trailing your lips down his scarred side and over to his front, exploring the strip of grey hair marking the center of his abdomen.

Joel watches you, longing on his lips, but the uncertainty still lingers. You need him to listen.

“I’d kill and torture if it meant survival—” you arrive at his hard length, pumping it in your hand right next to your softened features.

“And I would kill and torture for you.”

Without breaking eye contact, you part your lips around the tip of his cock, drinking in his fascination as you take him in slowly, wholly. The head of his thick, impressive length kisses the back of your throat.

Once again, you’re filled with Joel.

A soft hiss, and then his face becomes a symphony of pleasure, disbelief, and, finally, hunger. His large hand caresses the back of your head, capable fingers tangling softly in your hair as you glide up and down his length, tasting the salt of his pre-cum and your own acidity on his satin-smooth skin.

He only parts from your stare when you draw lazy, adoring circles around his tip, throwing his head back and grinding out a ‘Jesus Christ.’

It’s almost too much for him when you start using your hands, making it your life’s purpose to eagerly please every inch, every square millimeter of him. You drag your tongue from the base of his length all the way up to the top, silver-lined eyes boring intensely into his own.

“Shoulda let you do this sooner,” he breathes, gently pushing your head down until your nose brushes against those dark, curly hairs. “Look so fuckin’ pretty with a mouth full of cock.”

There he is.

You pull off him, strings of saliva trailing down from your lips to the glistening tip of his length. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

In a haze, perfectly slowly, Joel throws his head back with a low growl. You stroke him affectionately, spit and his own salt collecting between your fingers as you wait patiently for his reply.

Then he pushes himself up to a sitting position, wrapping his rough hands around your upper arms and easing you up off his length. “Not this time, baby.” You’re straddling him, taking in the unfamiliar care spoiling his tone and softening his hard features when he leans forward, locking you in place like a missing puzzle piece he’d spent his whole damn life searching for. His cock rests between your bodies, pressing exquisitely against your abdomen.

“Only got one more in me, sweetheart. M’not plannin’ on wastin’ it.”

He lifts his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks between them like some kind of priceless, fascinating object. It all feels so paradoxical: innocent despite the filthiness of his words, gentle despite the forest fires blazing in his gaze. Searching your eyes, he runs the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone.

And he kisses you.

It’s not bruising at first—it’s a soft, curious question, an experiment. The grey-flecked hair of his mustache brushes the crescent of your Cupid’s bow, and the feeling almost brings you to tears. So you lean into it, deepening the kiss with hard pressure, searching for the answer on his tongue. That’s when his hands tangle in your hair, and his lips steal the oxygen right out from your lungs as he reciprocates fiercely.

It’s like watching a prisoner take his first steps out into the sun after being held in isolation for a decade. You wonder if it had been that long for Joel.

Without breaking away, you trail a hand down the fabric of his t-shirt. Then, you’re grabbing it from the bottom and hitching it up his abdomen. He pulls away just a half-inch to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, his own marked with apprehension.

“I want all of you,” you plead breathlessly, sliding off his starved lips.

Joel ducks his head, staring at the meeting place between your fingers and his cotton.

“If…” he tries, words clumsy, voice gruff. A bit of bashful humour underscores his tone, too. “F’I let that happen, you’ll see that I’m really jus’ an old man, angel.” You begin to protest, having come prepared with another I-like-them-old-and-decrepit speech, but he cuts you off, anticipating your reaction. “Jus’ been a long time since I looked fit enough for somethin’ like you.”

It’s almost too ridiculous. Joel Miller, worried about how you’ll receive his appearance after you’d deep-throated him for admitting to Geneva-convention levels of violent crime.

This time, it's your turn to cup his face, cradling him reverently between your hands with passionate devotion.

“You and me might be different on the outside,” you begin, surprising yourself with the conviction dripping from your own tone. “But deep down? I’m just as rotten as you.”

His mouth breaks into a genuine smile, and he chuckles, creases lining the corners of his eyes as if carved there by God’s own hand. Nodding with concession, he shrugs his shirt off; you reach out to help him to pull it off entirely.

Scars, definition, and tan skin stretch with every shaky breath he takes. Fuck. The tips of your fingers explore him, honoured by the feel of likely being the first in ages to claim this spot, and that one, and this one here, too–Joel’s turned you into a conquistador, a crusader.

“You’re so, so handsome, Joel.”

It’s not enough to see him, wholly exposed, flesh-blood-skin-scars-and-muscle. Nothing’s ever made you feel so safe and so warm; Joel is a worn-out, hand-me-down jacket that you can’t seem to part with; he’s candles during a thunderstorm, a thick blanket begging you to wrap yourself in it. You want him on you, against you, inside you.

So you take the man, and you kiss him—ardently.

His breathing hitches when you grasp his length, and it stops completely when you slide it between your slick folds, pulling every inch of him inside yourself appreciatively. You swallow his groan as he inhales your gasp.

Your hips move together in tandem. Rocking against his thighs as his hands anchor into your hair, or on your breasts, your ass, your waist—Joel holds you as close to himself as physically possible, threatening to crush you between his arms, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip with a starving kind of need.

Old habits die hard. Joel gets swept up in the way you start struggling to kiss him back, the involuntary clenches of your cunt around his impossibly hard cock, and your helpless fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. Sliding his hands under your ass, he holds your hips steady. Then, he’s spreading you open to receive him more readily, dictating the rhythm, the angle, and the brutality of how he fucks you.

Ruining you to completion was quickly becoming an addiction.

He smiles against your mouth when you give him a muffled “mmm,” releasing your lips to watch, a captivated audience, as your eyebrows knit together, relishing the sound of your lungs filling with short, pleading gasps.

“Gonna be bruised inside n’ out, baby.” Joel’s promise barely registers over the clap of his skin against yours and your own wanton moans. A thoroughly cock-drunken expression and the worship of his name on your tongue win you some hard-earned praise.

“Taken me so many times tonight—been such a good lil’ toy.”

Your lips slide down the stubble and the rough skin of his cheek, limp body giving out with every punishing snap of his hips. Still, you attempt speech, stammering out a “Joel, I-I want—” that’s mostly unintelligible.

“I know, baby,” he coos, words muffled by your hair, hot breath fanning out over the valley of your neck. “S’hard to use your words when you’re jus’ so full, huh?”

After finding the strength to straighten up and face him, your mouth moves from its permanent ‘ah’ shape to string together a pleading, desperate sentence. Joel doesn’t make it easy for you, picking up the intensity of his strokes, dragging you to the edge of bliss.

“I wanna—I want you to show me how to ride you—to take you—please—let me make you come.”

He laughs softly into your shoulder: the sight and the sound of a woman begging to do the work was a kind of rarity (albeit an appreciated one, at his age) in his experience. Acquiescing, he lowers you back onto his broad thighs, slowing his rhythm, and giving you a chance to catch your shallow, uneven breath.

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.”

Like a true cocky bastard, Joel leans back against the mess of strewn pillows, casually tucking his hands behind his head and leaving you to steady yourself on top of him, velvet walls still fluttering and squeezing adoringly around him.

You hold yourself up with your palms pressed flat against his chest. Rock slowly and carefully against his hips, observe the sight of your fingernails pressing into his unyielding chest. A whimper tumbles from your sore, parted lips as Joel’s tip nudges your inner-most sensitive spot.

“Eyes on me.”

Hardened hands reach out to circle your waist. “You look at me when you’re riding,” he instructs.

“Show me how grateful you are for this cock.”

His voice is strict and firm but gentle all the same. Joel relaxes underneath you. It feels good—so good—to watch your body undoing his own; it feels even better when he flexes involuntarily inside you, stretching open your sore, aching, and somehow still needy cunt. Locked into his lustful, dominant gaze, you speed up, throwing your hips back to grind enthusiastically against him. He watches first your eyes and then your breasts, palming them, teasing your hardened nipples roughly.

“You wanna touch yourself?”

Low and gravelly and filthy, his question looms over your body, only adding to the soft thud drumming inside the eager bundle of nerves between your thighs.

He makes you realize that you really, really do.

You nod eagerly at him; Joel gives you a knowing expression of sympathy.

He never could help his condescension at watching you crumble so easily from so little.

“Show me, angel.”

So you do–Joel holds you steady as your hand falls to your clit, drawing clumsy circles over that one aching spot. Your fingers are frustratingly unskilled compared to his, but at this level of arousal, you’ll do anything to ease that mounting pressure. You focus hard, multitasking through your euphoria.

Him watching as you pleasure yourself excites you. Squeezing him harder, riding him with newfound passion—Joel groans as his long-awaited orgasm builds between his thighs, watching you bounce up and down his tense, throbbing length. His darkening eyes beckon you to keep going, to tip him over the edge.

You want to fall into them when he comes inside you.

He knocks your hand away, replacing your index and middle fingers with a broad, calloused, impatient thumb against your grateful bud. “Ohmygod–Joel–” and the rush worsens, his fingers acting as catalysts for the all-too-familiar sensations spreading across your core.

“With me, baby,” his voice is gruff, restrained by need, want, lust. “Lemme feel you comin’ when I fill you up–s’it, good fuckin’ girl–”

Tears collect on your lashes, and a sob heaves from your throat. You reach your climax for him, the ache from your clit spreading to overtake every inch of your body. Joel comes too. He tucks your head into the soft, damp skin of his neck and fists the hair at the back of your head. Your legs ache with absence the moment he pulls his fingers away from your core. Still, his only instinct as his seed spills between your walls is to pull you into himself as tightly as possible, to intertwine himself wholly and eternally with your young, devoted soul.

He doesn’t let you move after it’s over. One arm circles your waist, the other snakes up your back; it feels like standing at the base of the pearly gates of heaven. When his laborious exhales brush the top of your spine, it’s those damn angels sighing.

And it feels like he’s here. It feels like you’ve landed somewhere together, no longer strangers but something else. Something new. Something stronger. Sweeter. And worlds more dangerous.

Joel Miller running his thumb up and down the plunge of your neck. Joel Miller cursing himself for allowing you to take a hammer and chisel to the walls he’d spent painstaking years putting up, eternities before you were even born.

Joel Miller realizing that he can’t find it in himself to let you leave.

“For the record, sweetheart—I’d torture n’ kill for you, too.”

You have no trouble believing him, smiling softly against his shoulder.

—

TAGLIST: @mads-grace4 @anyas-stuff @liviloo12346 @bookofbee @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @stardust-chords-enthusiast @fruitcupsworld @sallymilkweed @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @daydreamerblues @spacelatinos4life @totallynotastanacc @honeycovered-bandaids @daddy-din @cedricbitch @tiredbuthappy @sweetpea99 @ghostfanwriter @daixylie @witchy-jadda @ninebluehearts @jbcalway @jasminedragoon @inkedells @ayehomo @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett

—

Tumblr on mobile loves to destroy my fics by screwing with the last few hundred words SO here are the lyrics to Let Me Love You Like a Woman by Lana Del Rey lmao <3

I come from a small town, how about you? I only mention it 'cause I'm ready to leave LA And I want you to come Eighty miles North or South will do I don't care where as long as you're with me And I'm with you and you let me

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in poems and songs Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me hold you like a baby

I come from a small town far away I only mention it 'cause I'm ready to leave LA And I want (need) you to come I guess I could manage if you stay It's just if you do I can't see myself having any fun, so

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in songs and poems Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman Take you to infinity Let me love you like a woman (let me hold you like a baby) Take you to infinity Let me love you like a woman (let me hold you like a baby) Take you to infinity

We could get lost in the purple rain Talk about the good old days We could get high on some pink champagne Baby, let me count the waves

—

4K notes · View notes

nix-nihili · 5 days

Text

"kiss me."

it's a whisper, soft and breathy, and when charles doesn't say anything at first, edwin wonders if he'd said it at all; if the words had ever made it past the terrified tightening of his throat to sit between them like a ticking time bomb.

but the arms wrapped around him, grounding and warm as the sun had been on a crisp, bright day when he could still feel anything beyond his own orbital path's personal sun, tighten, loosen, then tighten again.

finally, charles pulls back from the embrace and stares at him – catalogues him. edwin resists the urge to shrink away. this is charles after all. charles who has seen him at his very worst in Hell. charles who would burn the world before ever even thinking of hurting him. charles who he is wholly, surely, utterly, in love with.

charles who may love him back.

edwin almost expects charles to pose a question, to ask him if he's sure? as if he could ever not be sure about this.

but charles doesn't do that.

there are hands on edwin's face, cupping his jaw, his chin, his cheeks, gently, oh so gently. another arm brackets his waist, pulling him flush against charles, closer than they already were. edwin sucks in an unneeded breath, his own hands suddenly unsure of where to rest but he doesn't get a chance to properly panic because-

because-

his first kiss had left him feeling like a fish out of water; surprised and confused. all of it had happened so quickly that edwin hadn't gotten a chance to process much of it at all.

but when charles tilts his head closer, closing the gap between them with a gentle tremor in his frame that edwin mirrors, the surprise that accompanies it is for an entirely different reason.

charles kisses like he's afraid. charles kisses like it's his last. charles kisses like he's withholding.

edwin shall not have any of it.

with a crashing tidal wave of confidence, edwin reaches up to hold charles' face, one hand sinking into his curls as he deepens the kiss. there's a gasp, the hand on his waist tightening, and edwin takes advantage of the opening with fully formed intent until they're both crushed together, utterly unsure and uncaring as to where one of them begins and the other ends.

it doesn't matter. none of it matters. all that matters is the positively sinful sounds charles seems to be unknowingly making, causing edwin to sink and fall and topple into the all-encompassing pit that is charles rowland.

a tick, or two, or a hundred pass before they finally separate, panting with the force of it all.

"that was-" charles starts, then stops, gaze flitting all over edwin's face with an entirely different sort of cataloguing aim. edwin finds himself doing much the same: charles looks delightful, cheeks barely coloured crimson, curls falling out of place, and eyes wide.

his lips look thoroughly kissable, a quality edwin had not realised could be heightened and he almost pulls charles in again before charles says- swears, "I love you."

there is a place in edwin's chest that once contained his beating heart, an organ that had only found itself thrumming away thrice after his death: twice in hell and once in port townsend.

and then, here, standing across from charles, does edwin find his heart restarting to the sound of those words. the three words that leave him reeling far more than the kiss ever could have. the three words that pull him closer to the centre of his orbiting pathway to leave a softer, but just as searing kiss.

"I love you too," he says into it with a smile and a beating heart and a love that is mirrored.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #edwin payne #charles rowland #payneland #painland #edwin x charles #charles x edwin #nix writes #jesus christ what the fuck happened #i blacked out and suddenly we were here

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firewasabeast · 26 days

Text

Move In With Me

(idk guys it's Saturday so have some rated M feelings I guess) ao3 link

The scent of sex is heavy in the air. They're both out of breath, exhausted in the best way when Tommy pulls out and drops down next to Buck.

They're a mess. One of them will have to get up soon and get a rag to wipe them down. Tommy's pretty sure it's his turn. He's also pretty sure Evan won't be getting out of bed anytime soon.

Sure enough, Buck flops his arm down over Tommy's chest. There's a few inches of space between them though, so Buck's arm relaxes and falls to where it's barely touching his side.

“Mm,” Buck whines, eyes closed and face half smushed into the pillow. “Wanna hold you.”

“Scoot closer,” Tommy suggests with a laugh, tugging at Buck's arm.

“Nope. Can't. Can't move.”

“How about I move then?” He doesn't wait for a reply. He didn't really expect one in the first place. He raises Buck's arm enough to slide underneath it, resting Buck's hand over his heart. The pounding thud thud thud is beginning to calm now, but his heartbeat is never regular when Evan is beside him.

Buck wiggles ever so slightly until his head is resting against Tommy's shoulder. “Better,” he murmurs with a smile, pressing a kiss to the soft, warm skin. His eyes are still closed. He has no plans on opening them.

Evan's brain may be able to shut off post orgasm, but Tommy's can't always do the same. He loves being alert in these moments. Adores the closeness, the snuggles, the way it makes him feel small and protected in Buck's arms.

He runs his fingers through Buck's hair, listens to the pleased hum that comes from low in Buck's throat at the sensation. He can feel the vibrations of it against his shoulder and it gives him chills in the best way.

These last six months have been the best of Tommy's life. Evan had brought a light into his world that he hadn't realized was missing. As cheesy as it sounded, it really did feel like his world had gone from black and white to full of color the second Evan stepped inside of it.

He was love and he was joy and he did his damndest to see the good in people. He made Tommy feel worthy of a love he'd long given up on.

He loved Tommy's mess, and Tommy loved his in return. The lack of judgement from either side was so refreshing. To be able to confess all your past sins and still have the person sitting across the table with nothing but love in their eyes and adoration in their hearts was something they had both wanted, needed, craved.

Tommy loved that his place was open to Evan whenever he wanted to be there, which was the majority of the time. Occasionally they'd end up at the loft, but more often than not they were at Tommy's place. When Tommy would get off shift and come home to Evan's Jeep in the driveway his heart would skip a beat and a smile would be on his face before he even realized it. He was always hurrying a little faster to get out of his car on those days, opening the door to see where Evan would be. Sometimes, he was working out in the garage, or cooking in the kitchen, or sitting on the couch with a book in his hand, or on the back porch staring up at a nest in the neighbor's tree.

Wherever he'd end up, Tommy was just happy he was there.

Tommy twisted his head at a slightly awkward angle to press a kiss into Buck's hair. “I love you, Evan,” he whispers. Tommy's not even sure if he's awake anymore, but he needed to say it anyway.

Buck moves even closer, hitching a leg to rest over Tommy's, wrapping his arm fully around Tommy's waist and giving him a squeeze. “I love you too,” he replies just as quietly.

Tommy takes a deep breath, uses his other hand to give Buck's a squeeze. “Would you like to move in with me?”

There's a moment where Buck's body tenses, and Tommy has a flash of anxiety where maybe this is too much too fast now. But then Buck is propping himself up on his elbow and staring straight at Tommy. “F- For real?”

Tommy nods, the best he can anyway with the way he's laying. “For real. I mean, if you don't want to yet it's-”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence, because suddenly Buck's mouth is on his and it's a dirty, sloppy, wet kiss with tongues roaming and moans that radiate throughout their bodies. Buck moves until he's seated on top of Tommy, his ass pressed against Tommy's dick in a way that has all the blood rushing from his head.

“I thought you couldn't move,” Tommy teases, his hips already grinding up against Buck's ass.

“Sudden burst of energy.”

Buck moves down Tommy's body, kissing his neck, sucking just below his collar bone, moving down his pec, and lingering over his nipple. Tommy's letting out little gasps now, and Buck loves to watch the way he can make him fall apart so easily. He keeps moving down his abs, over his belly button, until he reaches Tommy's cock.

Breathlessly, Tommy asks, “Can I take this as a yes, then?”

Buck sucks on the head of Tommy's cock, eliciting a whiny, “Fuck,” out of him.

He pulls off with a pop, staring hungrily into Tommy's eyes. “It's a yes.”

#bucktommy #911 #tommy kinard #evan buckley #tevan

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comfortless · 9 months

Text

In Our Angelhood

König x fem!reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. silly & odd strangers -> lovers au, loner/loner dynamic. canon divergent. mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence, hurt + comfort, mentions of religion & religious imagery (Catholicism), light horror/unease, sexism (from a minor, non-canon character), reader and König are both in their 20s. virgin!König -> smut, unprotected piv.

notes: listen…. I was raised catholic but simply do not remember most of my life in the church. take this as a silly fairytale instead of simmering on the religion bits. <3 reader is implied to be a virgin too but we’re not harping on that who cares.

wc: 10k.

You haven’t had it easy, but seeing the angel wander into the cathedral with purple and yellow stains painting his cheeks, his throat, is safe harbor. Oil on canvas to burrow in like booklice. You like the way he takes the front pew, doesn’t hide himself despite the horror that’s been made of his face; tempts god by raising a hand up to press on the bruises, shivers from the pain. His brow pinches when his gaze drifts upwards, as if to think: You allowed this, look at it!

Most days, he doesn’t pay attention to the sermon, his hands consistently prod at his face or twitch someplace bedded down in the fleece lining of the pocket of his hoodie, always dark green or black. You’re not paying attention, either. You could fall into that absent stare easily, find yourself lost in whichever world bathed in static and hellfire that he’s dreaming up.

The Father is wary of him, no doubt. The man fidgets constantly in his place, toying with the unseen thing in his pocket whilst the priest prattles on about the Holy Mother and the blood of a son she watched led away to slaughter. The angel seems to only display intrigue when preaching shifts to mentions of the wrath of god, of sin, of Hell, as if he knows he’s bound for all of it. Heaven’s not spotless, either, full of cobwebs where God exonerates his wrath.

Sitting beside him is unheard of, the other parishioners stay away, whispering behind upheld palms that ‘there’s just something wrong with him’, but you choose to move from your pew to place yourself at his side, crossing the rows of curious gossips with careful strides as you approach his seat. The wooden bench creaks when he tenses, and you can feel his eyes dart to your form while you remain facing forward, but not a word is spoken during service nor after.

You make a habit of sitting next to him each time he wanders into the church with his fresh bruises. A few weeks of this and he comes back with a gash striped down from below his right eye to his jaw, an ugly maroon trail. He makes a point to sit on the opposite end of the bench that day, and you’re left to stew in the rejection that your attempts at providing your comfort and your friendship have failed.

“What happened to you?” Your voice comes out as a mere squeak, staring up at that horrid cut once the sermon has concluded. You’ve got him cornered between the floral dress cloaking you and the wooden bench brushing against the backs of his knees. It’s almost endearing how the sight of a woman speaking to him, caging him in like this makes him panic, his lips part and his eyes dart.

His chest heaves as a sigh leaves him once his head is angled away, eyes staring at the stained glass just over your shoulder.

“Accident.”

It’s said so simply that one wouldn’t believe it to be a lie if he were simply a voice, rather than a fully grown man cowering in your presence. For half a moment, you wonder his age before a response comes to mind. Assuredly he must be like you, mid-twenties and despondent, he comes here all alone, but you never see him around town. It dawns on you then, that the man probably still lives with his parents, maybe they force their fallen angel to attend church just to be rid of him for a few hours.

“Looks bad.” The response isn’t an insult, but you can hear the way his breath is hissed through his teeth, see the way his jaw tightens as though he took it as one.

“Es tut mer leid,” is all he says in reply.

You take a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you fold your arms behind your dress innocently. The other parishioners have long since fled by now, dusted off their sins like crumbs from their hands and passed the doors of the cathedral with sideways glances at the mismatched two still stood before the altar. You get the sense that maybe you’re the only sinner left in this place when König nervously meanders a step away, but when he walks several stunted strides away, stops to give you a glance over the shoulder, that weight rapidly disappears.

His expression shifts, somber and yearning for something that he can’t bring himself to say before he turns away and leaves you to mull in the disaster of your first conversation.

You begin to worry when he stops showing up for homilies, several weeks of sitting alone on their shared pew. Mass is no different, he remains a distant phantom. The cause for his accident could have very well been the cause for a life ended too soon and you worry yourself sick, shifting in your seat until the courage to ask if anyone knows his address is ripped from your tongue. The answer comes relatively easy, coupled with a flighty look from an older woman who claimed to have seen him seated in the front yard of some decaying home, shooting at a barrel with some gun you almost dare to wonder if he entirely, legally owned.

Despite your better judgement you find yourself staring blankly at his front door an hour later, clutching a brown, paper bag full of goodies from the local bakery for him. The muffled shouting from within keeps you from knocking, the voices of two men in some uproarious vocal war seeping out in whispers through layers of insulation and wall. You feel like a terrified animal, rooted in place as you try to make out the cause for such anger within. The dull thud of flesh meeting flesh pulls you back to reality in such a rapid fall, your knuckles wrap at the door immediately. It all falls silent inside, and a part of you is left fearing for your own safety there, as if those words and furious blows would be focused on you for even daring to bring this angelic stranger a slice of raspberry danish and a blue velvet cupcake.

The door swings open with the whine of hinges that likely have never been oiled, and König has never looked worse. His face looks sickly from bruising, the gash partially healed yet split from a fresh blow readily seeping blood against his thick fingers pressed to his cheek. Your chest fills with a rage you’ve never known and you feels your fingernails curl into the bag like claws, ready to push past this weathered angel and beat the Devil himself with your bare hands.

Instead, you smile at him.

“I brought you something.” You hold up the bag to him, and you’re grateful that he accepts it without asking why you bothered at all or how you even found this accursed pocket of Hell.

“Danke.”

He shifts a little in place as he opens the gift, and though he could not bring himself to smile, the way his larimar eyes seem to swim a little displays his gratitude where words fail him.

A part of you might even pay the smallest bit of gratitude to the fact that he doesn’t mention just went on inside there. Though your eyes search his with blatant curiosity, he turns away each time, allowing the words to remain unsaid. You don’t pry, it’s not your place. You know treading here was not your place either. Angels don’t haunt you like stalking predators, they haunt you with a call, a silent song. Fate seemed a ridiculous concept, but you’re drawn to his very presence as you have been since the moment you first laid eyes on him.

You know you’ve finally won his friendship when you find yourself across from him at a picnic table with a coffee he purchased for you in hand. It’s not how you would have ordered it, some overly sugary thing nearly spilling out with whipped cream and caramel, but it suits what you’re feeling. You ignore the taste, sated enough by a conversation that comes so easily between the two of you that you feel you’ve known him for far longer.

König is actually rather teasing and boastful when he isn’t being questioned about his appearance or what goes on in his family home. He tells you of his dream of becoming a recon sniper with ease, and how the Austrian military denied him despite how ‘perfekt’ he was for the role.

You listen intently as he carries the conversation forward, tells you about his rifle, right down to explaining the anatomy of such a thing.

“Scheisse, you don’t care.” He breathes a laugh too soft for a man his stature after he speaks, wiping away a bit of icing from his bottom lip with the knuckle of his index.

“Yes, I do!”

“Nein, nein, girls don’t play with guns.”

So, maybe he’s a little old fashioned and odd, but his voice is sweet like spiced honey, and you couldn’t fathom any place you would rather spend a gloomy afternoon than seated across from him.

“I bet I could be a better sniper than you,” you jest, taking a sip from your coffee with a little grin on your face when you note the slight furrow of his dark brows and the challenging flicker in his eyes.

His face softens as quickly as that surge of determination had come, taking to look you over with a newfound appreciation in his stare instead.

“I could teach you.”

You spend a moment explaining that you were simply kidding, and his eyes light up as a tinge of red seeps into the mottled colors of a sky in the midst of a storm across his pale cheeks. Like the first break of sun when the deafening rain finally falls to a calming drizzle.

“Shouldn’t you know how to protect yourself, though?” He asks, sheepishly turning his head away, focusing his gaze on fallen leaves instead of you. Extinguishing your own steadfast gaze is difficult, when you find yourself further captivated by the man in front of you. Everything about him is enigmatic; even the sparse glimpses into his life he’s offered to you leave more questions than answers.

“Maybe.” You shrug absently as you lower the styrofoam cup back to the table, hands curled around it.

He turns back to you then, slipping a hand into his pocket to fish out a butterfly knife, latch closed around the shiny handle. It’s the very same color of his eyes, barely a quiet blue, though the blade itself is wicked steel, expertly sharpened. You ogle it in your hands for a moment, flicking it open before he swiftly takes your wrist and firmly shakes his head.

“Careful,” he gruffs as he retrieves it, brushing over your fingertips as the blade is taken back into his large hand. He dutifully shows you how to twirl it, performing a series of little tricks without even having to look at the weapon in his hands. The blade’s dance is swift and graceful, not one cut sullies his fingers. His chest puffs in pride when he notices the way your eyes try to keep up with the steel, and the tricks become more elaborate.

“Can I try?”

“Nein… let me show you how to use it first. Bitte.”

With a nod, you find yourself being led away deeper into the park, leaves crunching under the toe of the man’s boots just in front of you. Assuredly, you shouldn’t be so trusting of a titan with a weapon, especially after hearing the violence going on within his own dwelling, yet you don’t question yourself. He fills lapses of silence with a soft hum, likely some song he knows from his homeland, it’s a pretty tune coming from him. The cadence of his voice is something that sets your mind at ease when he does speak— always a rasp with a nearly giddy lilt to it. It’s pretty.

The trail leads you both down to a fallen tree, the trunk is thick and deteriorating, bark springing up with succulent, golden folds of what he tells you to be laetiporus. König guides you down to your knees with a gentle press against the back of your neck, the large hand is shaking when his calloused fingers meet your flesh. He descends next to you and places the blade in your hands once more, guiding you with a patient nudges to your wrist. The base of the fungus is gingerly cut with each metered motion from you both, and eventually a large clump of it falls free right into the lap of your dress.

“Not the best for foraging, but…”

“I like it,” you chime with a smile, marveling at the little blade in your hand before your gaze settles to the cluster resting on your lap. “What do we do with this though?”

König shrugs, lifting the cluster of mushrooms to your face, clutching it as though it were a bouquet of flowers with a wolfish grin on his face.

“Eat it.”

“It’s dirty, you eat it.”

Those broad shoulders shrug again as he peels a bit of it off and shoves it between his lips, chewing the filthy things several times before swallowing it down. Your nose scrunches in feigned disgust, before a laugh leaves your lips at the crooked grin he gives you in answer.

“That’s so gross, König!”

It’s possible that he’s been yearning for someone’s focus to shift upon him like this, not in anger or disgust, but something far more gentle. He lets you keep his knife, and the rest of the afternoon is spent filled with comfortable conversation as you wander around the forest together. When the sun begins to set, you actually find yourself a bit disappointed that he doesn’t suggest a bout of stargazing or something more.

It’s all felt too natural to let go of so soon, and you’ve no idea when you’ll see him again. A seed of warmth takes root in your chest when he walks you back to your home. The friendship is something you’ve both needed it seems, because his smile doesn’t even falter when he leaves you at the door to retreat back to the horrible place that he calls home.

— ཐིཋྀ —

You’re sick the next Sunday. A small cold, nothing worthy of fretting too much over. Over the counter medicine does the trick to keep you somewhat comfortable as you lie back against the sofa, ample pillows and blankets surrounding you. There are chores begging for your attention: the dishes stacked in the sink, a laundry basket full to the brim, and you can’t recall when the last time that you vacuumed was. A few days of forgetting and these things overlap into a miserable, tedious pile.

You wish you weren’t so quick to call blame to one particular reason.

Spending time with the angel has left you carrying a weight you’re not certain you can continue to bare. In fact, your cold may have come from fearing for his safety. Whatever ghouls he keeps locked up in that house, tormenting him endlessly… it’s difficult to keep yourself together when you haven’t seen him in days. He could very well be dead. There’s some comfort in knowing that he knew how to protect himself; he had shown you, and his stature was undeniable evidence of such. It just doesn’t feel enough without the physical proof.

He allowed himself to be hurt anyway. It was strange. Some people were simply difficult to comprehend, and you didn’t even begin to know how to unravel the strange spool that’s rolled into your life now.

Especially not when realization hits and you come to terms with one simple fact: You miss König. His eyes, his strange interests, even the overly-sweet drink he purchased for you— you find yourself missing all of it; the light and the darkness. He knows where you live; he walked you home, and yet, he hasn’t stopped by. You imagine it must be that you merely misread the supposed closeness. It didn’t matter. König was just an acquaintance, after all.

You take your mind off of him by turning on the television, a hand rested over your aching head and the other thumbing at the remote in search for anything that could hold your attention longer than a few seconds. The town is small and the news is never interesting; a traffic jam on a road you’ve never traveled, a safe at the grocery store, the sorts of things that come as nothing more than a buzzing to fill the empty air. Focusing on a movie sounded far too tedious, too. Eventually you give up, turning the television off and tilting your head back to stare up at the ceiling, all white and empty.

The bell tolls again, it’s ringing far softer now from within the walls of your home, drawing your attention back to the woods— to König. Gentle chiming is a strange thing to remind you of the bloodied titan. It exudes a sense of peace, like the safety of church bells. You feel your conscious slipping, curled into yourself there as your eyes flutter shut.

Only, the calm is short lived. A knock comes only minutes later, the soft graze of knuckles against your door as though whoever lurks outside didn’t actually want to disturb you too terribly. After a fifth knock, you notice they’re not leaving. It was probably best to answer sooner rather than later so you might be left to your sulky slumber.

It takes a moment to gather your bearings and straighten yourself out enough for company. Your head is still aching terribly, brain fogged by the weight of your sickness. When the latch of the lock clicks and you haphazardly swing your door open, you’re met with the view of a broad chest covered in black.

“König?” You murmur, raising your head to look up at him. It’s not the sight of his face that you’re met with, only his eyes visible beneath the black fabric concealing him. The remains of an old t-shirt, and you had your doubts that whatever he had hidden beneath it could be any more intimidating than he looks now.

“Es tut mer leid,” he huffs, his voice a bit tight as he stares down at you, pupils slightly dilated and irises flicking from your face to the room just behind you. He looks a total contrast to you, unable to help the slight upturn of your lips from just the sight of him. Perhaps he had missed you, too. “Can I come in?”

Again, you should be apprehensive, but in the end you step aside and gesture for him to enter. He readily obliges, stepping past you as he ducks beneath the door frame and walks a bit stiffly to the center of the room.

“You alright?” You manage, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the wood. The flutter in your chest makes it difficult not to break into a more obvious smile— you’re happy he’s here, even in such a sorry state.

“Ja, just…” König pauses for a moment before taking to the sofa, seeming so much smaller than he truly is when he finally seats himself. “You know Lukas?”

Lukas, a parishioner. The man with the ever-present smirk on his face. You had seen him before, spoken to him in passing a time or two. He wasn’t particularly pleasant. You had even heard him join in with the others, commenting on König’s appearance— a bully and a gossip, no different from most of the others. The man couldn’t have been any younger than you or König, still, he had all of the maturity of a teenager.

“Yes?”

“They kicked me out because of him.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. It wasn’t like the church to turn anyone away, especially not one who had been a part of the congregation for as long as König had. Your bewilderment spurs him to continue.

“At the cathedral.”

“I got that,” you hum out a bit hoarsely as you pad over to sit on the couch, opposite of him. The pitiful look he shoots you then, through the holes in his makeshift mask makes him look like little more than a pleading puppy, begging for comfort that he would never actually request. “It’s alright, König.”

“Nein… I will not get to see you as much.”

If König were not a grown man wearing an ominous veil over his face, you would almost dare to think he was pouting. It’s ridiculous, but it warms your heart that he cares; he enjoys the time spent with you just as much as you did. Perhaps more, if what you’ve gathered about him supplied any hints. He didn’t seem to have anyone at all— only you.

What the church won't tell you is that angels hurt sometimes, too. The Father will tell you that they're The Lord's army, just as impervious to bullets as they are to temptations. With an abundance of wings and eyes, they are such fragile things… how could they truly be invincible? Unlike the seraphim thriving in a heaven far beyond your reach, or the battered angel seated beside you, you won't deny yourself a reprieve or a request for comfort.

“We could just make our Sundays for us, yeah?” You don’t think to stop yourself when you extend the offer to him. The way his eyes seem to light up then is nothing short of a burning ember. Missing tedious sermons couldn’t be that sinful. God could turn the other cheek for now, you thought.

“I would like that.”

You hum in response, reaching for the little bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table as that ache in your head begins to throb again. König’s eyes track you the entire time, shoulders slumping and eyes narrowing when he pieces it together.

“You don’t feel well..,” he says sternly, already rising to his feet to explore your home before a protest can even leave your lips. You hear the sounds of cabinets being flung open in the kitchen, the refrigerator flung open before he returns to kneel at your side with a glass of water. You weakly fumble with the lid of the bottle, offering him your thanks as he holds the cup out for you. Childproof lids are a pain, clicking incessantly rather than just opening when you need them to; each second feels like an hour passing as he stares at you like the strangest little creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

You feel your face warm in embarrassment when he sets the glass aside and pries the bottle from your hands, opening it up with ease before slipping two of the pills in your waiting palm. You down the medicine with a sip of water, nearly choking on it when he raises his hand to your forehead and gently presses against it to check your temperature.

“I’m fine, König,” you huff out, playfully batting at his hand. He remains insistent, not drawing away until you assume he’s convinced you aren’t feverish. “It’s just a cold.”

Your angel has never seemed sweeter than now, with worry painted clear in his blue eyes. He remains quiet, lost in thought for a moment before gently pressing you back against the couch with the press of his fingertips against your shoulder. The throw blanket is tucked over you in an instant. If the thought had occurred to you before, you imagined he would likely be rather clumsy when caring for another, and yet this all feels practiced. He’s told you he’s killed, in the military, yet you couldn’t imagine such gentle hands doing anything of the sort now as you curl up with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Sleep.”

You didn’t want him to leave. Impulsivity is enough of an excuse to take his hand, intertwine your fingers. He doesn’t pull away, not until your eyes close and sleep takes you once more. Only then does he leave your side and your home, locking the door behind him.

— ཐིཋྀ —

“Yeah… he said he saw a demon in there. All shadow.”

“Come on… that’s a lie. You know he was just scared!”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t think he would lie about something like that!”

You’re not trying to eavesdrop. It’s just that teenagers are never keen on keeping their voices down, at least not around here, it seemed. You’re already ten minutes late, having promised König you would meet him at the coffee shop at noon. You don’t have time to be standing around listening to children chittering about town myths. Especially not ones that make you feel so uneasy.

When you had heard them, they were always about the haunted church tucked far away from prying eyes, hidden somewhere in the forest circling the town. No one knew where it was for certain, but many claimed to have wandered there. None of those stories really held any weight; there were no pictures or other fragments of evidence, just voices. The only thing that made those tales seem believable was the bell. You had heard stories about it since you were a child. They ranged from seeing specters, to smelling perfume wafting about in the small graveyard supposedly next to it with no one else around, and even a strange one about finding a corpse there.

Seeing a demon was a new one.

You supposed that someone or something had to be ringing that bell at the odd hours during the day and throughout the night. It was never on time, always several minutes after the beginning of an hour had begun. The thought was a little eerie, and if you thought too hard about it— a little sad. Picturing some poor lost soul stuck there for an eternity, damned to ring a cursed bell only for no one to ever come. In retrospect, it really was no wonder why it reminded you just a bit of him; damned to haunt this town and return time and time again to his own personal Hell.

When the bell chimes again, the children take off towards the noise, leaving you alone on an empty street. Their shouts about how they were going to find that demon and chase it out echo until they’re too far away to make sense of the rest of the conversation.

Your heart feels a bit torn. It was best to leave things like that alone, but… the poor thing must have been lonely, lonely like him.

Maybe it’s a sign from God, as if to remind you of how you’re treading deeper into the dark with every passing Sunday.

You haven’t attended mass since you and König started hanging out. You consider that it’s your own guilt spurring you to fear this unknown thing lurking out in the woods, if it even existed at all. There was something about forsaking a religion you had grown up with for a man you had only just met that was both exciting and heartbreaking.

The walk to the coffee shop feels almost unbearable, your steps sluggish, yet the second you make it inside with the little bell chiming above your head you’re put at ease. König hadn’t taken your tardiness as initiative to leave. The man was tucked in the far corner of the shop, seated at a table too small with his own drink and yours before him.

“No hood today?” You ask as you approach, staring at his scarred face in reverie. The cut below his eye had mostly healed, and you don’t note any new bruising.

He shakes his head with a little smile, gesturing for you to take a seat— not across from him but at his side.

“Do you want me to wear it?” He asks once you’ve taken your seat.

“No, I like seeing you.”

König is handsome. The realization dawns on you, sharp and searing like a bolt of thunder when he flashes you a lazy smile, propping his elbow up on the table to rest his cheek against his open palm.

To quell your sudden embarrassment, calm the warmth pooling along your cheeks, you tell König about what you had heard on your way here. He listens in silence as you prattle on about the haunted church that no one has ever truly found, about the demon lurking in its depths. It sounds silly, even to your own ears as you recount the ridiculous myth you had heard in passing, but König looks a bit more rigid with each word you breathe out.

When you finish, he slowly shakes his head, eyes focused on the door as you take a sip of your coffee.

“You don’t really believe that,” he says.

“‘Course not. I just thought it was interesting...”

“Do you want to see it?”

You pause for a moment, considering the offer. Perhaps with König there you would feel safe, sate your curiosity and enjoy a little adventure as well. You still had the butterfly knife he had given to you, too. Your own little token of protection, and if that failed you would still have an angel at your side. Maybe he would teach you those intricate little dances on the trek there, hold your hand when you found yourself too afraid to brave whatever may come. If you couldn’t find the place at all then that would be nothing more than a nice memory to look back on.

“I think so.” The thought of feeling his warm hand in your own again is enough to spur you on. That feeling may have been more terrifying than any demon at all.

“We will go tonight then. I know where it is.”

“Oh… that soon?”

König gives your shoulder a playful, gentle nudge.

“Ja. I’ll take you.”

— ཐིཋྀ —

It’s not a date.

It’s a misadventure.

Still, you find yourself preparing for it as though it were a date. You bother with a stick of mascara and a bit of lip oil, a dress just slightly more revealing than the ones you wore to service. You tell yourself that you’re dressing up for the memory, not for the angel. That doesn’t stop you from ogling yourself in the mirror, tugging down your dress just a bit so it fits over your cleavage in a way that seems appealing.

You imagine the Holy Mother would probably chide you well if she were to step down from Heaven and see you now, tell you to remain chaste and pure until your wedding night. Oddly enough, it doesn’t tear you up with guilt— it only makes you giggle a bit as you lift the hem of your dress and twirl in place.

It isn’t a date, it’s the least romantic thing you could think of, but he’s coming to whisk you away into the night and it feels like one.

König, gentleman that he seems to be, doesn’t keep you waiting either. You both had settled on going right as the sun began to set after you had finished your coffee and informed him that you needed to finish a few chores and get ready before going on a night long endeavor. Just as the light outside began to turn to a pumpkin glow you hear the knock at the door. It’s louder than the last time he came by— he’s excited too, you can feel it without even gazing upon him.

You take your jacket, patting the pocket to ensure the knife is in its proper place before bounding toward the door, a skip in each step. Tonight would be special, sweet, and tender; it would be all of the things you had repressed since you first saw him.

As you turn the knob and pull it inward, the man hardly has the courtesy to hide his eagerness either. His face visibly flushes when he sees you, all dressed up just for him. You wished you could read his thoughts, have just one moment where you truly had some sort of telepathic ability as you once believed was possible when you were a child.

Graciously, as the two of you begin to venture out towards the woods, with you trying to match his lengthy strides as you walk side-by-side, you don’t need any telepathy.

“You are so pretty,” König mumbles, facing forward rather than looking directly at you. His voice is the quietest you had ever heard it now, barely above a whisper.

If you had the courage to kiss him right then, you would have reached for his scarred face and peppered a dozen over every mark, held him like that until his cheeks went up in flames.

“So are you,” you huff out instead.

Though he doesn’t outright call you a liar, something tells you that he doesn’t believe the words you’ve spoken. The angel falls silent, doesn’t turn to you and merely continues to lead you further out as the sky swells with a brilliant purple, the silhouette of a crescent moon peaking out from high up above. You would tell him a million times if it would make him believe you, then. He doesn’t fiddle with a concealed blade in his pocket around you, and together, he seems so much less lonesome and battered. You know that he’s comfortable with you; his discomfort stems from somewhere within, something you couldn’t reach to pry away from him.

You believe that you’re patient. You could bear anything he had to offer, good or bad; you would accept the burdens just as readily as the gifts— knives and the taste of sugar on your tongue.

The streets of the town aren’t as quiet tonight, and though there are no children with their silly stories idling about, you recognize the voice of a man a few meters off. When you look away from the tree line in the distance, your gaze settles on Lukas leaned up against the wall of the old antique shop. The place hadn’t been touched in ages, yet baubles and little porcelain dolls all covered in a generous layer of dust still lined the shelves in the window. His cell phone is propped between his shoulder and his cheek as he speaks, until his green eyes settle on König who halts in place at your side.

You know that your fantasy of a perfect evening is ruined the moment Lukas rushes a goodbye to whoever was on the receiving end of that call and slips his phone into the pocket of his coat.

“What’s going on here?”

The man is no demon, but he’s arrogant and cruel like one; he sounds enough like one when he laughs in your direction— looks enough like one when he makes a cupping motion before his chest as if to signify your breasts.

König doesn’t respond, but he steps in front of you, shielding you behind him as though you’re a little lamb in need of a snarling maw to keep you protected. You don’t need him to protect you, not truly. You aren’t a little girl, nor are you the one that shows their face covered in a mask of pain.

You’re finally getting a glimpse, a little look at what he must face every time he dares to cross paths with another person.

“We’re just taking a walk,” you say confidently, as you raise your hand to give König’s sleeve a little tug.

Let’s just go.

König doesn’t budge, unmoving like a gargoyle as he stares down at the smaller man before the both of you. His large hands clench at his sides and you see the flames of Hell flaring up in his blue eyes.

“Skipping mass to fuck the freak, is that right?” Lukas tuts with a roll of his eyes.

You’re amazed how Lukas displays not an ounce of fear— even you’re afraid. König wouldn’t hurt you, a part of you was certain, but the way he looked now was so unlike the passive, lost angel you had taken him to be. You take a step back, realizing that whatever comes to pass next is not something that you could stop even if you cling to König and plead for him to clear his mind and let this go.

They’re just words, despite the way they claw at your heart.

“Didn’t think you were such a slut.”

König is no longer much of an angel in your eyes when he leaps at the other man and lands a blow directly to his unsuspecting, smirking face. The sound is a loud, a horrible crack. It’s not like the soft thunder of sudden emotion, but one of a tooth being dislodged from the smaller man’s jaw. Lukas falls back, directly onto his backside against the hard sidewalk with a low groan of pain. His hands reach up to clutch at his face, bright blood trickling from his mouth like a stream.

It’s not enough. Not to König.

Your eyes squeeze shut the moment you hear another thud, and the third sends your running without so much as a thought in your head. The sounds of your own shallow breaths deafen the world around you, drowning out the violence taking place behind. You don’t consider where you’re headed, your eyes remain closed until the sounds of pavement against your soles dissipates and you’re left only with the thumps of your shoes hitting soil.

It’s dark when you stop to gather your bearings. The canopy of tree limbs, crooked and curved above you, blocking out any glimpse of even the moon. You can’t even see your hands when you hold them up in front of your face. When the adrenaline begins to subside, you feel foolish for running away— especially now that you find yourself horribly lost in an unfamiliar area. You turn back to look for the way that you had came, but see no lights from the town piercing through the dark.

You’re alone here, bathed in inky black, in perfect silence.

There are no footsteps chasing after you— König isn’t coming, not to save you. Not when you saw him for what he truly was, you imagined he read the accusation across your face when you ran away from him. It hurts you, too, to think of your lonely angel turned devil. How he saw the word ‘monster’ written in your eyes, wide with fear as you left him. You wondered if he could cry at all, if he was now.

You didn’t even care if Lukas was okay.

You doubted the man was even conscious anymore, lying limp in a puddle of his own blood. Whether he deserved it or not wasn’t for you to decide, but a part of you considers that he certainly did.

Trying to retrace the steps you took in flight proves futile, if anything you think you’ve only sunken further into the woods. Terribly lost and vulnerable, you reach for the knife in your pocket to try and regain some courage only to find it’s no longer there; you must have dropped it somewhere.

The walk feels aimless and fear creeps up on you from every small thing. A snap of a twig off in the distance sends you running once more despite the aching in your chest and limbs. The thought of being utterly helpless with no one in sight to lend their aid brings the sting of tears to your eyes.

Worst of all, however, is the bell.

Closer, it sounds dreadful. A haunting cacophony of noise roars above you, not far off. The bell is rung softly at first, a gentle pull of the rope held fast within it before it begins to grow more desperate, louder still. You swear you’ve turned in the opposite direction when you make it into a clearing, only to find yourself faced with the chapel of myth. The tower housing the dreadful bell is shrouded in shadow, and the damned thing actually has the courtesy to fall silent when you step past the last tufts of shrubbery to make it out into the open area.

The air feels colder here, suffocating almost, as though you’ve been doused in ice water. The silence is more dreadful than the pain emitted from Lukas’ bloody mouth, worse than the ringing of a bell or the droning of another dull sermon.

You don’t fall to pieces, but you do drop to your knees, sullying the ends of your dress with dirt as you stare up at the ominous, white building before you. No demons poke their heads from the windows, no whispering fills your ears from the graveyard mere paces away. It’s void and empty, and that feels somehow worse.

It would be a long night, but you knew wholeheartedly you were not going to find your way home without the sun to guide you. Catching a glimpse of your flesh in the dim light reveals a menagerie of small cuts and bruises, flesh marred from scraping tree limbs and slamming into broad trunks in the darkness.

There was no way that you were sleeping, despite the way you ached for rest. Even blinking made you feel vulnerable and exposed here. This was not an unholy place, but perhaps the most sacred you had ever lain eyes on. It was untouched and wild, even the descriptions of angels written in scripture seemed less so.

You find your footing for long enough to seat yourself at the side of the small building, your head rested against the wall as you draw your knees up to your chest. The sound of your own breath fills the silence in the air, but you don’t feel alone anymore. It’s paranoia and you know it, there’s no way such a humble place could be haunted. Still, the feeling of being watched causes your skin to prickle, and you long more than ever for König’s knife to be fitted between your fingers.

It’s when the sounds of footsteps draw near that you lose all composure. Somewhere off to your right, something was walking towards you— too quick and heavy to be a curious animal.

You rise to your feet in haste and go to the only place you can think of to find sanctuary— directly into the old church, slamming the heavy wooden door behind you. It’s empty inside, apart from an overturned desk and a few chairs you can make out from the dim light leaking through the window. Everything is bathed in dust and it smells nauseatingly sweet and sour, like cobwebs and musk, a combination that does little to set you at ease.

Though the room is small and empty, several doors and a small hallway are off to the back and you imagine the demon leering at you from one of them, just out of sight as you stumble to crouch behind the altar.

You don’t remember when last you prayed, and you don’t bother with it now, either. A prayer wouldn’t save you from whatever horrid thing come crawling out of the woods hunting for you. As if sensing your defeat, the door begins to creak open, the hinges whining as the godforsaken beast began to lumber inside, just as the bell strikes up again.

You swear you can hear the rapid beating of your heart above all other noise, and though you wish for nothing more than to squeeze your eyelids shut and bathe out the sight in nothing but dark, you can’t look away.

The demon is impossibly tall, shrouded entirely in shadow just as the children had said. Its eyes don’t glow and you can’t catch sight of fangs or claws, but it’s ominous enough as it slowly wanders inside, turning its head to look around the room— to look for you.

Your palm rests over your mouth to muffle your breathing, but to no avail. Panic swells within you, its grip tighter than any corset, any vise.

Until your eyes adjust to the dark figure properly. The damned thing is nothing but familiar, comforting even. No demon could ever make you feel as warm as an angel. Your vision fills with unshed tears, relief and regret overpowering any lingering dread.

The demon is not some screeching beast that clawed its way from Hell at all, only…

“König…” You breathe out quietly as you drop your hands to the wooden floor below you and slowly crawl forward. His shrouded head cocks in your direction, and if not for his stature it may have been even cute the way he rushes toward you; thundering steps as the angel no longer walks, but runs in your direction with his arms outstretched.

You lack the time to flinch back from the suddenness, because the moment he reaches you, you’re pulled into a pair of thick arms, shaking as they curl around you tightly. Your face presses into his chest as you circle your arms around his middle in turn.

“Let’s not do that again,” he rasps, pulling you somehow closer as his veiled chin rests against the top of you head. “I am sorry that I scared you… He just…”

“Stop apologizing,” you whisper as your fingers dig into the fabric of the dark hoodie. You didn’t want to hear another apology, not from him; English or German it mattered not, all that concerned you was the fact that the two of you were safe. Heaven and Hell all the same.

König sucks in a breath above you as he carefully pulls you to your feet. The bell and the darkness surrounding no longer brought you fear, only calm in such a protective hold.

He brings you back home, carrying your weight with ease as the forest disappears behind you. The hood over his face remains in place, and a part of you wonders why he even bothered to wear it at all. Perhaps not to scare you further if Lukas managed to open up that wound, or more likely so you wouldn’t have to see the face of a man so easily moved to violence at all.

König drops you off at the door without another word. The butterfly knife you had left behind someplace in the forest is slipped into your hand, the blue handle clasped shut. The weight no longer feels like that of a developing bond, but of parting.

The sting burrows into your heart instantly as he turns away from you. With his first step you find yourself grabbing at his arm, pulling him back with a desperation you had never known prior.

“Please stay,” you voice hoarsely, digging your fingernails into his sleeve. “We were supposed to… to spend tonight together.”

Not here, of course, but out there shivering in fear of the unknown. This doesn’t feel unfamiliar, you know what you’re doing when you offer to let a beast into your home, to lead him to your bedside and hold him throughout the night, and not a word of it slips out carrying the burdens of apprehension.

He turns toward you as his long fingers circle your wrist, thumb brushing against the back of your hand. If you could see his eyes now, you would find the creep of longing buried in a sea of blue.

“You want that?”

“Of course.”

Your bedroom seems even smaller with König inside of it, your bed even more so. The tumble beneath sheets is clumsy, and he has to bend his knees in a way that digs against your own flesh just to fit properly. The veil is cast off with only a muttered complaint in his mother tongue, something you could decipher without even knowing the words. You shush him with a kiss, sweet and gentle when his face is bared. A silent apology for your momentary fear, for your desperate sprint away, for making him wander into that cursed place to bring you home.

He reciprocates clumsily, all too eagerly searching beneath the sheet to grip at your waist as his tongue pries apart your lips. You break apart with a sigh, looking all the part of an adoring devotee as you melt against him, head tucked in the divide between his shoulder and the column of his neck.

“I thought you were afraid.” König sounds a bit dazed, fingers gently prodding against the fabric of your dress as his hand drifts lower to hold your hip. “I was worried.”

“I just don’t understand,” you answer in a soft murmur. “Why you…”

Your voice trails off as he pulls you closer again, his mouth pressed firmly against the crown of your head as he presses a kiss there. There’s a vulnerability to his touch, soft and tentative as his hand trails along your spine, resting just above your rear.

You could ask him anything now and you know that he would supply an answer, tell you any secret you would like to hear, but you don’t. In due time. Right now all that you craved was his closeness as you both drift off to sleep.

— ཐིཋྀ —

The haunted chapel is less so during the day. You haven’t heard the bell toll since last night, any lapse of conversation is filled with the chirping of birds or your own shy laughter each time you marvel up at the man seated next to you, his hand petting your hair, your cheek, anywhere he can touch. There’s nothing ominous about the place anymore, all filled with the bright colors from the stained glass windows as sunlight drifts through, painting the room of broken furniture and cobwebs with softness and warmth.

You’re lying on your back over a soft blanket you had thought to take along, the picnic basket König had pried from your hands on the walk here, once filled with pastries and fruit, now empty discarded at your side.

He tells you of why he stays in that house, deals with his father’s abuse— all for an ailing mother that’s never loved him, not as she should. König takes care of her, demonstrates love the best he knows how despite the absence of it during his childhood. You hadn’t asked, but he speaks more freely with each moment that’s passed since the kiss. It makes you somber, angry almost, that someone you saw such beauty in could be treated this way. You’re no savior, you can’t pull him free from it all, but to offer the angel a reprieve at all is enough. At least, to him.

He even assured you that Lukas, or ‘the arschloch’, was absolutely fine. A few loose teeth and a broken nose wouldn’t kill him, but maybe it would teach him to keep his gossiping mouth shut.

In turn, you tell him more about yourself. He kisses you after each description of hurt, cherishes you endlessly with that adoring gaze, gives you the cutest laugh in response to you telling him that in truth, you wouldn’t have cared if he had punched a hole straight through Lukas. You just hadn’t wanted him to get into trouble, to leave your side.

“You’re like an angel to me,” you murmur softly, your eyes closed as he lays next to you after the innumerable kisses you’ve shared this morning alone.

The words stifle him momentarily, and your eyelids open only to see the man staring back at you with a look of utter devotion. It’s torture for him, maybe, the way you supply him with every spoonful of sweetness he hadn’t tasted prior. He remains silent when his hand grazes the hem of your dress, and you nod to him in silent consent before the delicate fabric is swept up over your head and brought to rest on top of the basket forgotten.

Kisses are sweet like the coffee he gifts to you, but the ones he supplies now are far more urgent, warm like the steel of his knives after being caressed by rays of the sun for too long. It’s worship in a sense, the way he tastes the salt of your flesh from your neck to collarbone, and further to the space between your breasts. Your bra is pushed down, blue lace resting just below your sternum before your mind catches up to you.

“Should we..?” You ask, though it’s not the wrath of God that you fear, only that his clumsy kisses and bereft demeanor all signal that perhaps he didn’t have much, or any experience at all.

His pupils are dilated, eyes nearly black when he seizes the plush skin of your tit in a hand, the pad of his thumb brushing over your stiffened nipple.

“Ja… I want to..,” he mutters quietly, chin resting against your tummy as he gazes up at you. “Can I..?”

König looks cute like this— breathless and pleading, an unhinged sort of desire bared plainly in each word he breathes. Two decades and then some of never having this… and now you’re in his grasp, beneath the roof of this holy place.

“Yes,” you whisper to him, reaching lower to ghost your fingertips over his face, already flushing in color. He leans into your touch pressing a kiss to your palm before rearing back enough to slot his fingers along the hem of your white panties. His breath is almost ragged when he tugs them down enough, to reveal your soft mound and a grin creeps across his lips when he finds you already wet.

Your back arches when the back of his cold hand meets your core, petting you appreciatively there, pulling a shiver from you that only spurs him to carry on. The underwear is discarded in almost record time and the rip of the delicate lace tearing from your body echoes throughout the little chapel. A sulking protest nearly leaves your lips before a long finger is slipped into your slit. König probes at your entrance, gathering your slick onto his fingers with a soft groan that leaves you breathing shallowly. For all his inexperience, he’s eager; eager to prod at you until the digit finds that spongy, sweet spot that brings you to moan. His thumb toys with your clit with each mewl of encouragement spilling from your lips, gently flicking before circling over you until you’re tightening around his finger and soaking the blanket below.

“Are you close?,” he asks through a desperate pant, free hand pawing at the bulge in his trousers.

You shake your head weakly, thighs trembling as he thrusts his finger into you again. “Just feels good.”

That only spurs him to make you come, a second finger thrust into you so quickly you feel your mind go fuzzy. The sounds are obscene enough without the quickened pace of his hand. You’re teetering on the edge within mere moments, crying out his name only to be left entirely empty.

“Hah..” He gives you a little laugh when he realizes what he’s done, torn you away from a near perfect bliss. You stare at him dumbly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as he deftly unbuckles his belt and pries his cock from his pants, flushed red and leaking headily. “I want to feel it…”

To his credit, he’s done well to prepare you for the girth of him, and you’re already too far gone to whine over the loss of relief. “Then feel it. Please.”

There’s no hesitation when he grinds his tip through the mess of slick painting your sex. When he finds that pressing himself against your clit wills you to grind your hips back against him he practically growls. He continues the motion several times before his patience entirely dissipates and the head of his thick cock is thrust into your entrance. König’s head drops against your chest at the sensation of your walls enveloping him, but he doesn’t growl or groan as you anticipated— he hisses, a gruff inhale of breath through gritted teeth.

You’ve fallen into rapture with the first thrust, filled entirely by the length and weight of his cock slowly spearing into you. He’s careful, forcing himself to continue languidly rather than taking you like you know he wished to, a starved man deprived for far, far too long.

König pulls back, grasping at your hips to tilt them upward, looking down at where your bodies connect. You know he’s in that dangerous state of pure euphoria, you feel it too as his cock twitches inside of you, tip hitting your cervix in a way that’s both nearly painful and causing you to leak further.

“You have.. an engel’s pussy,” he grits out.

It’s… embarrassing and ridiculous, his attempt at dirty talk, but despite your shame you pivot your hips forward, grinding against the mess you’re both making on the patch of dark hair above the heavy cock impaling you.

“König… please keep going.” Your voice a mere whine.

He obliges without a second wasted, pulling himself out to slam back into you. There’s no rhythm to his thrusts, not for a while, but each still manages to hit that spot inside of you that screams for his attention. König isn’t trying to be rough or selfish with you, keeping one hand grasping desperately to your hip as he plays with your clit with the other— pinching softly, deftly rolling his thumb over the sensitive bud; continuing his motions until you’re spasming beneath him, clutching him like a vise and weaving your fingers into his shirt to pull him down to you.

You moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue past your lips, rolling it against your own in time with every rapidly faltering thrust. Your climax hits like a flash of blinding light with a mere circle of his thumb, accidentally in time with the head of his length brushing against that sweet spot. It’s not a hiss that König emits then, but a loud groan as you milk him entirely. He comes with you, cock throbbing as he stills entirely, every muscle in his body pulled taut as he floods your cunt with his seed. You hold him close to your breasts as his gasps soft, riding out the fleeting waves of pleasure until he wills himself to pull out and lie at your side.

“Mein Gott..,” he huffs, curling an arm over your waist. You giggle as you relax against him again, turning on your side to bury your face against his chest. Everything feels like the summer despite the chill outside, the winter doesn’t touch you here, nothing could. The stress of yesterdays melt away, the longing finally subsiding, too.

The world fades away there in that old church, cradling you both within its walls until the sun begins to set, golden light filtering into a hazy gray, before you both have to force yourselves to tear apart from the other and carry on home.

“Will you come by tomorrow?” You ask him quietly, as you stand at your doorstep, a hand lingering on the knob.

König nods, hugging you tightly from behind as he leans over to press a kiss to your cheek, another against your jaw as you smile sweetly at him.

“I will come every day, if you want me to.” He murmurs, drawing back just enough to search your expression for any signs of doubt, fear. You don’t feel either of those things, only love; as though being bonded to him like this is something hallow and sacred in its entirety. Nothing clandestine— you would run to the church right now with his hand in your own and make a mockery of all who have used their words to harm him if it would prove anything at all.

“I do want you to.”

He presses a kiss to your temple as he turns you around to face him, squeezing you a bit tighter when his hands find your hips. You kiss him in turn, leaving a trail of demure little kisses along the chest of his dark shirt.

In time, he wouldn’t have to leave at all. For now, the light the two of you share seems just enough.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #könig fanfiction #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic

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luciferlightbringer · 7 months

Text

Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 8

Buckle up, kids

Chapter 7|Chapter 8|Chapter 9|Updated through Chapter 12

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 4.9k CW: Slowburn, Angst,Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, cuddles, depression, anxiety, Sexual fantasizing, insecurity, alcohol/intoxication

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned into a couple of months as your relationship with each other and with the hotel crew continued to grow. It was nice not to have to worry about the "end of the world" clouding the dynamic, but both of you felt a little differently about the current progression of things.

Lucifer loved getting to give more energy to caring about you and Charlie, creating and feeling like he was himself again. The dynamic he had with you ended in more nights of chilling, doing not much of anything other than being with each other. He had attempted slipping in some more cute pet-names into the conversation with you, just to see how you would react, and you seemed fine with it, like everything he did. He kept ending up in the same spot when it came to figuring out how to tell you about his true feelings. His fear of being turned down was intense, but he was more worried about doing something to lose you completely. He logically knew that was silly, but he was so scared to return to the sad disconnected person he was before he met you.

You, on the other hand, were a little scared because of the simplicity and calmness of your time now together. You hade never experienced this in your living life, or hell, so it made you really uncomfortable. He had started calling you things like "Apple" and "Duckie" which you liked, but he was more focused on you and your needs, there was less for you to do. Was he trying to model more of what he needed from you? But then, when you tried to care give for him, he would tell you to just let him care for you. Was he getting bored of you? Were your days together numbered? Would he soon be ok enough to not need you anymore?

Ughh... and why did you care so much? You had numerous other clients drop off during your time with Lucifer, and you had not given them a second thought. Why was this so different? Had you become too attached? Well you definitely had... but why? What was it about Lucifer that had you clawing to make sure he still needed you around? Was it the connection to the hotel? That had definitely made it stronger, but you knew this feeling had lasted before you started visiting the hotel.

The hotel issues was another matter, Charlie had been trying you get you to move in for weeks, and you kept telling her that you needed more time to prepare. You hated lying to her, but you were worried about how that might complicate the relationship with Lucifer, and of course you could not tell her about the dynamic. You would hate for something to happen between you two and then have Charlie caught in the middle, or feeling like it was you or him. She had that enough between Lucifer and Lilith, she did not want to do that to you again. You wanted Charlie to remain fully on Lucifer's side no matter what happened.

You wished you could talk to someone, anyone, about what was going on, but you couldn't, and that drove you mad.

______________________________________________________________

One particular day, it was time for Lucifer to go off to another Sins meeting. Lucifer went off with to his meeting, blitzed through it with a lot more honest vigor and energy than the last meeting, was able to deal with Mammon's complaining, and got it all wrapped up in no time at all.

At the end, Asmodeus waited for the room to clear out before trying to chat with Lucifer again.

"Well, now, someone is in much better spirits from last time~" Asmodeus said wiggling his eyebrows and chuckling.

Lucifer waved his hand, "Oh, ppsssh, golly, is it that noticable? Well, you know, I just got some good advice from a friend, got my confidence and my daughter back, and I'm the happiest I've been in decades. It's not a big deal."

Asmodeus shimmied his shoulders with joy, "Ahh! I am just so happy for you. It's like I always say, there is nothing more healing than some good, earthshattering, dirty, mindless sex."

Lucifer froze, "Ya... a- about that... umm... there... uhh... there hasn't been any sex."

Ozzie paused and cocked an eyebrow at you, "Say what now?"

Lucifer ran some figures through his hair, "Well... t-there almost was! But... then I had a liiiiittle panic attack, she helped me through it and was so amazing about it, I cried myself to sleep in her arms, it helped me sleep and feel better, and then I've basically been falling asleep in her arms every night since..." He ended with a nervous smile.

Asmodeus blinked, and put his hands on his hips, "You fell in love with her, didn't you?"

Lucifer's eyes went wide, "Whaaaaa... no... pffft. You're silly Ozzie, me falling in love with a prostitute? That's... that's" Lucifer looked at Ozzie, holding his stance, cocking an eyebrow. Lucifer deflated, "That's... exactly what happened..."

Asmodeus chuckled looked around before looking back at him, "You wanna know a secret?" Lucifer looked up at Ozzie, Ozzie smiled and leaned in, "You aren't the only one who has fallen for a fling."

Lucifer stared at Ozzie, had the Sin of LUST fallen in LOVE. "Whaa.."

Ozzie help up a hand, "But. no questions right now, we are focused on you. So... you dating her now?"

Lucifer rubbed his neck, "Not exactly... we are together all of the time, but I haven't been able to figure out how to tell her. I'm scared that I'm just another client to her... and that the minute I'm open about this, the fantasy that I have been living in will disappear around me."

Ozzie shrugged, "Well... it might," Lucifer deflated, "butttt... it might also be an open door into the happily ever after that is the rest of your life! You can't let that fear get in the way. Look at what your daughter managed to do with her hotel, look at what you did with reconnecting with her! The risk was all there too, and look how those turned out!"

Lucifer thought, Ozzie was right, he just needed to figure out how to tell you. "Ok... any thoughts on how I should tell her, oh master of Love?"

Ozzie laughed and put a hand on Lucifer's shoulder, "Don't overcomplicate it, just treat it like any other night, adding crazy stuff might make her nervous. Be yourself, be open and honest. If all goes well, she feels the same way and your first real date together can be where you pull out all of your creative, romantic magic."

Lucifer nodded, "Ok... ugh... I'm just still so nervous."

Ozzie shrugged, "Nothing wrong with a glass of wine or two to calm the nerves. You can do this Luc, nothing the King of Hell can't handle." Ozzie started to walk out the door, then stopped, "Go get that girl man."

Lucifer gave a confident nod and teleported himself home. He looked at the clock, he only had.... several hours until you would be over. Ugh, this was going to be a long afternoon. He looked over at his bar, just one glass couldn't hurt? He would be good long before he had to go get you.

Well... Lucifer underestimated how nervous he was, one glass became two, two became four, and by the time it was time for him to go pick up up, he was having a hard time even standing up without swaying. Lucifer looked down at his left hand, and remembered he still had it on. He quickly took it off and put it next to his bathroom sink, touched up his hair, pointing finger guns at himself in the mirror and get set up to go get you. It took him a couple of minutes to get the portal activated and popped in your room, a few minutes later than usual.

You had started to get a little nervous, he had never been late before, but it was ok, he was allowed to be late. That is when he stumbled through the portal and into your room, almost knocking into you.

"Oh! There you are! You are always so prompt, I got a little worried haha," you laughed, straightening him out.

He looked up you, and then he melted into a lovesick smile, "Haha, golly, I'm s-sorry Duckie, the portal was being dumb, haha." He slurred, "I'mmm here now, haha. You ready to go?"

You cocked your head to the side and smiled, "Haha ya, you ok, Luci?"

"Of course my darling!" he said, wrapping an arm around your waist, before tapping his cane on the floor a couple of times, grumbling, before popping back to the manor. Lucifer looked over his cane in one hand, the other arm still remaining around your waist mumbling something about his stupid cane before looking at you, his face melting into happiness again.

"I'll fix it laterrr, hi theree, how are you? You look great todayy," he said hugging you and snuggling into you. You hesitantly hugged him back, you weren't convinced that something happened that day, he was being... more affectionate but... in a weird way. Was... was he drunk?

"Uh... ya I'm good. Busy day of clients, nothing crazy. What about you? Are you sure you are ok? You seem... different today," you said carefully.

Lucifer had no idea how he was coming off, he didn't realize how drunk he was, he had forgotten about the last two drinks in all of his anxious spiraling. "Oh ya, today was great! Sins meeting, paperwork, all went by preeeeetty quickly. Oh hells! Guess what? I was talking to Asmodeus, sin of Lust, right? Dude got a boyfriend! Crazy right? Well... not that he is dating his hook-up, but that the Sin of Lust found love! Oh shit... I wasn't s'pposed to say that. Don't tell anyone, k?"

You nodded, smiling, "Oh ya, that is funny. Not everyday that mindless sex turns into something meaningful, right? Especially in Hell with a Sin like that? But of course, I didn't hear anything" You nodded.

'Oh fuck! That's not what I meant, ughhh that's not what I wanted her to get from that.' he thought.

"I mean! I love the Sins, they always surprise me with ways will people that you never thought they would," he said with a nervous smile.

You played a long with a nervous smile, you didn't know why he was being so nervous and not just telling you want was wrong. But if it was that bad, he would probably burst at some point and then you could be there to support him again. You hated when something was stressing him out, but it made you feel good to feel needed. So you would play along for the night and wait.

"Ya! I totally gotcha! Just like the sinners at Charlie's hotel, even the Sins are able to grow and change," you said with a sweet smile.

Lucifer smiled his love drunk smile, 'Good, fixed it, that was close. She is so beautiful and smart, I love how she words things sometimes.'

Other than Lucifer's apparent intoxication, and him sometimes sneaking off to grab another drink to keep up the buzz, your night was no different than it normally was with Lucifer only... more affectionate? You were really confused, because everything about his behavior was staying something was wrong or that he was hiding something, but other than that he was being very sweet, a little more touchy than usual, which you were fine with, he was allowed to touch you however he wanted of course.

Oh! Maybe that was it! Maybe he was wanting to try being more sexually intimate again and he was just so nervous because of the last time! You wanted to be careful because he was drunk, and you still felt that consent was important, but leaning deeper into his pets and soft touches was not an issue as you snuggled watching tv. At one point, you even placed a hand on his thigh, and he melted into your touch.

As true at that was, for Lucifer overall, that was not his goal for the night. There were so many moments when he thought about just saying that he wanted to talk about his feelings, telling you how much he loved you and wanted you to be part of his life, outside of hiring you, and he wanted to know how you felt. But the stupid words just would not come, and all he could do was compliment you and touch you, playing with your hair and stroking your soft skin. He felt you start to lean more into his touch, and even putting your hand on his leg, ugh, he was going to die.

Eventually, Lucifer had wasted enough time and it was finally time to go to bed. As you two were getting ready for bed, he kept repeating in his head 'JUST FUCKING SAY SOMETHING, ANYTHING! YOU NEED TO TELL HER OR ELSE YOU ARE GOING TO LOSE YOUR FUCKING MIND!'

You had gone into his bathroom to wash your face, and you noticed the ring sitting on the side of the sink. Huh, weird, had Lucifer not been wearing his ring all day? Or did he just usually take it off at night and you only just now noticed? You shrugged, and walked to the bed to get ready for bedtime. You got under the covers and waiting for Lucifer, who was still sitting on the side of the bed staring out.

You were about to reach over to touch his arm and ask if everything was alright, but at that moment, Lucifer snapped. He looked at you, eyes full of desire, and jumped on top of you, pinning you to the bed under him. He just stared down at you, breathing heavily. This both excited and frightened you a little, this wasn't like him.

"Lucifer, what is goin-" you started.

"I love you!" he finally spat out. "I love you and I want you!"

You eyes went wide as you stared up at him.

WHAT.

No, you must have misheard. He... loves you? But you were a nothing? A nobody? Sure you had helped him but... wait, was this a roleplay? Or was this real? Did he actually mean "love" like lust, or like Capital L Love? You ran through every single element of your relationship with Lucifer that both supported and refuted his statement in mere seconds, fact and opinion, memories that you couldn't remember if you were now twisting to validate something more romantic of him than it actually was. Things hotel people had said, the way he had cared for or protected you. Was that actually because he loved you, or did he just want to protect his financial investment? Was this a sick joke?

Lucifer loomed above you, waiting for you response, looking like a tiger ready to pounce on his prey. God he looked so hot, you wanted him to just sink himself into you. No! Stop. You couldn't think quick enough. What should you do? Do you play into it and risk being wrong about what he means here, or do you reject him and wait until he is sober to talk through this with him? If this was a normal person, you would take the risk, but with him... You think about the man now suffering in an eternal loop of torture, you think about the ring on the sink that tied him still to Lilith, you think about how small and insignificant you were in comparison to this beautiful angelic being above you.

No. As much at it hurt, you could not risk reading this situation wrong.

Lucifer had started to lean down to try to kiss you, when you shouted, "No!" and pushed him off of you. In Lucifer's intoxicated state, he was slow to respond, so you were able to easily able to put him off of you before jumping out of bed, tears already streaming down your face.

'No?' he thought, 'What did she mean "no"'?' he thought. Lucifer sat up and looked at you staring at him, heavily breathing and crying. What had he done?

"I... I'm sorry... I don't... I have to think... I don't... I don't want to be wrong, or hurt you, I don't know what to do, what is the right thing t-to do," you choked through tears.

Lucifer started to reach out to you, "Wait... Duckie..."

"No... Lucifer," you started grabbing your stuff to go, "I'm sorry, I need to think about this... I can't do this while you are so drunk... I'll see you later, ok?" You ran out of Lucifer's room, down the long hallway, and out of the manor. You weren't going to even try the driver, you didn't want Lucifer to have the chance to stop you. You would run all the way back home.

"Duckie... (y/n)..." he said before sinking into his bed.

What had he just done?

_____________________________________________________________

You would run for a long time, crying all the way, not caring who saw you, until you got all the way home. You busted into the Lounge, trying to run through up to your room. But guess who stopped you in your path? Cynthhhhia.

"What's the matter crybaby? That big money daddy of yoursssss not give you a big enough tip tonight so you ran home crying?" she snarled at you, grabbing your arm.

"Fuck off Cynthhhhia, just leave me alone!" you said trying to pull you arm out of her grasp, and in retaliation Cynthhhhia instead wrapped her tail around your leg and then let your arm go, making you fall on your face. The patrons and girls in the rooms gasped, this was humiliating.

"How about you make me, bitch! Ya know, I'm sssssso ssssssick of you being Larry'sssss favorite and getting all the good clientssss, while I get jack shit! It's time you learned a lessssson, you ungrateful little bi-"

"Cynthhhhia! That is enough out of you!' Larry screamed. The room parted between him and you both. "Drop her now, and get over here. Gemma, go check on (y/n), will ya?"

Cynthhhhia huffs and lets you go aggressively, and makes her way over to Larry as one of your Lounge friends, Gemma, came over and checked on you. You told her that you just wanted to go to your room, Gemma helped pick you up and half-carried you up to you room while Larry chewed out Cynthhhhia.

"What in the nine circles is wrong with you?! I have had to talk to you about your behavior with customers so fucking many times, now assaulting another girl?! I wanna hear what makes you think this behavior is ok? I don't care if we are in hell, I am not having any fucking cat-fights in here, and you know that!" Larry scolded Cynthhhhia.

"Wha- I... Ugh! Why does she get all the good clientssss! You are clearly playing favoritessss or she is tipping you off or something. I am not getting paid nearly what I was sssssince she showed up. Why am I not getting any high rollersssss?!" Cynthhhhia snarled.

"Well maybe if you put as much energy into your clients as you do going after girls like her, maybe you would have people who wanted to utilize your services. You do not seem to understand the fact that I am not giving you to high rollers because you are turning customers away with your behavior, or they are asking not to work with you anymore!" Larry yelled.

Cynthhhhia gasped, and looked around the room to see other girls and patrons laughing at her, "That's not true!"

"Like it or not, Cynthhh, that is the reality. And since you still don't seem to be getting it, I'm going to give you one more chance to redeem yourself, and if you fuck it up, you are out do you hear me?" Larry said pointedly.

Cynthhhhia tipped her head down in defeat, "Fine, what is it?"

Larry moved to meet her gaze, "Three days, on the phones scheduling appointments for the other girls, no tips."

"But-" Cynthhhhia started.

"It's the phones or you're out, got a problem with that?" Larry glared.

Cynthhhhia pouted, "No sssssir..."

"Good, now, off the floor with you, you are done for the night, I will see you down here at 10 am sharp," Larry then turned and headed to go up the stairs to the apartments.

You had made it upstairs with Gemma, she had asked if you wanted her to stay, but you said no. You just wanted to be alone. Several minutes later, you would be a knock on the door and a "Babydoll? It's Larry."

You sniffled and sat up, "Come in."

Larry opened the door and sighed, "God she is a right bitch, I don't know why I keep her around at this point. Now, what happened?" he closed the door behind him, "I'm not used to you having any issues with Lance."

"It... I don't even know how to explain. He was kinda drunk, he wasn't acting like himself, he didn't hurt me, but he told me something and... because he was intoxicated... I didn't know how to react. He's... got a fair amount of influence... I worried what would happen if I misunderstood the situation. So I panicked, I ran. I'm sorry if he called to complain or anything." You said looking down, covering your face with your hands.

Larry thought for a minute, "Rough situation, intoxicated clients can make things hard. Most wouldn't care, but you have been working with him for a while, it made sense that you would want to stay in good standing with him and not want to fuck that up. Are you worried about future actions? Do you need me to put him on you "No Kiss List"?"

"No, no. Nothing like that..." you sigh and run your fingers through your hair, "I just... I think I just need some time to think... would I possibly be able to take some time off?"

Larry scratched his chin, "Well... I don't know, Babydoll. I could do a day or two, but much past that... I need you, you bring in a lot of money..."

You sighed, "Give me two days and I'll pay for two more of my own days time? That sound fair?"

Larry thought for a moment, "Deal. What do you want me to tell your regulars?"

You sighed, "Just tell them I'm going on a quick rejuvenating vacation, and that their girl will be back for them before they know it." It will worry Lucifer, but you needed the space, you didn't want to say or do anything to fuck up the relationship any more than it already had by you running from him that night.

"Can do." You give Larry the payment for two days on your own time and he leaves your room. "Take care of yourself, babydoll," he says closing the door. You are alone again.

You take your phone out, scroll for a bit before finding a hotel and a ride to the other side of the Pentagram from both the Lounge and Lucifer for the morning, and booked them for as early as possible. You just needed some time away to figure out what to do and to figure out how you were going to respond to Lucifer.

You tried to fall asleep that night, but sleep never came. You spent the rest of the night replaying the situation in your head. Did he really mean it? That he loved you? Did he actually care about you and want you in his life? Or was it all a trick? Why would he say that to you?

The next morning, you packed up, got in your cab and disappeared on your 4 day escape to other side of the Pride RIng, hoping that when you returned, you would have the answers.

______________________________________________________________

That same morning, Lucifer would wake up with a light headache, crumpled in a weird position on his bed. Where were you? Why was he sleeping so weird? The previous night was fuzzy, damn, he had overdone it on the alcohol... Had you just left? That was not like you. What happened?

He got up, put on a robe, and started to walk around the manor, looking for anything that might jog his memory of what happened the night before. Everything looked normal, and all he could remember was the conversation with Ozzie, being a little tipsy getting you, and feeling nervous. The later into the night he thought, the fuzzier everything got. He ended up back in his bedroom for hours racking his brain. He wished he had a way to contact you, to ask you want happened, and you try to figure it out with you.

A while later his cellphone started to ring, he looked at the number and his groggy eyes went wide, it was the Lounge. This was the first time that the Lounge had called him. He picked up the phone and put on his "Lance" voice.

"Uh, hello! This is Lance, what can I do for you?" Lucifer said in a deeper and huskier voice.

"Yes, hello, this Luxurious Lady's Lounge, how are you doing thissss afternoon?" Said Cynthhhhia as pleasantly as she could over the phone. She had done well playing nice on the phone all morning, so now Larry was leaving her to call all of your cancelations for the next 4 days.

"Oh you know, just living the dream!" Lucifer responded. Christ... why did he say that?

"That issss wonderful to hear. We jussssst wanted to let you know that your next appointment for tomorrow evening with (y/n) will be canceled. She will out of town for a little bit," Cynthhhhia said through a fake smile.

Lucifer felt a sense of dread go through his body, 'Out of office? So suddenly?' "Oh! Well thank you for letting me know, I hope she is alright, she is quite a gem, haha."

Cynthhhhia's jaw tightened, "Oh yessss, she just needed to essssscape on a quick rejuvenating vacation." Cynthhhhia looked around to see if Larry was around, he was nowhere, and the office was pretty empty, she smiled, "... Isssss what they want me to tell you, but I don't want to lie to a man like you, Mr. Lanccccce."

Lucifer's heart beat fast in his chest, "Haha, what do you mean?"

"The truth of the matter isssss... you've been put on (y/n)'s "No Kisssss List".... basssssically a ban from being able to work with her," Cynthhhhia said with a wicked smile.

Lucifer froze on the other side of the phone. Banned. She banned you. Months of joy and beauty between you two, severed in an instant. Lucifer felt like he couldn't breathe.

"I'm ssssso ssssorry to break the newssss to you like thissss. She just came back from a.... recent interaction telling usssss she... oh what was it, "Couldn't handle the bullshit anymore" isssss I think how she put it. But we have plenty of other ladiesssss that would be willing to take her sssspot if you'd like," Cynthhhhia continued, looking around for Larry again, still nothing, good.

"That's... disappointing to hear. I thought we had a good connection," Lucifer said flatly into the phone.

"Oh she issss really good at that, a good little actressssss but honessssstly a bit prissssssy and shallow under it all, trussssst me, I'm around her all the time. A real heartbreak, I ssssswear, I bet she would even break the King'sssss heart if she had a chance," Cynthhhia said laughing.

Lucifer saw red with that comment, 'What did she mean by that? Did you tell? Did they actually know it was me? Was that just a figure of speech?' His name got thrown around a lot, so he had no idea in this moment, it just felt really personal at that moment.

"I see, thank you for the information," Lucifer said before hanging up.

Cynthhhhia growled at the sound of the dead line, before putting down the phone, and making a note that "Lance" had been notified of a cancelation and would call back if he wanted to reschedule. Cynthhhhia then moved on to the next of you client's, feeling pleased with herself. If she couldn't have a a high roller, at least she could take out one of your big money daddies.

Lucifer laid back in his bed and tossed his phone over to the side. Everything he had feared happening had come true. Everything he had built with you was gone, and worse, maybe even a lie. He did not want to believe that what you had was a lie, but maybe he was just that stupid after all. He wanted to show up to your room and talk to you, but he couldn't. If he had hurt you or maybe you really were some shallow bitch... maybe this was for the best...

Lucifer crawled back in bed and stayed there for the rest of the day and into the night. He would respect your wishes.

Lucifer would never ask see you ever again.

______________________________________________________________

Can we see why I gave a warning on one last twist? I broke my own heart writing this. I'm so sorry. I promise it will end up ok in the end though for these two. xoxo, dany As usual, leave a comment if you want added to the taglist so that you can get notifications when future chapters drop! Taglist: @froggybich @wonderlandangelsposts @glowinthedarkbones1150 @marydragneell @crescent-z @superdinosaurnacho @jam0001 @kyo-kyo1 @so-get-this-sammy @lilzebeth @kelppsstuff @loquacious-libra @pinkhoneydrop @luleck @writer-girl99 @lavenz @stormz369 @littleladydemon @soujiswife @melday0105 @luluxx118 @sseleniaa @futureittomainn @cktkat @zaneyyyy @uravitsy @liecoris @starlitvenus @hannahrose130 @elleofdragons @butch-medusae @concentratedconcrete @erosamasan @stranger-chan @aquaamethyst96 @lxkeee @holyspacething @hulyenl @leximus98 @lu-ferri12 @mixplara @katnisspeetaprim

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #fanfic #fanfic writing #lucifer x y/n #lucifer fanfiction #hazbin lucifer #lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #slow burn #angst #it will get better

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curseddollfaye · 8 months

Text

boy, I can't wait to get next to you

“Giving you true love in abundance, uh-huh. Giving and taking because we're not a fling. Giving me faith that it's not another”

toxic baby daddy toji! x reader NSFW headcanon

ᥫ᭡ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! ty! please let me know what you think! ^.^ requests are currently open!! ᥫ᭡

masterlist

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ੈ✩‧·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· *ੈ✩‧₊˚

- Firstly, we have to talk about what’s under those sweat pants…

- Happy trail for days, thick thighs for days, back muscles that make you wanna mark him all up. He’s 7 inches soft and I would say 9 inches when he’s fully hard (he be all up in your guts to say the least)

- pink tip, veiny underside, you struggle to take him all into your mouth whenever you give him head. Often having to stroke what doesn’t fit or sometimes when you both are feeling it he’ll shove the rest of it in your mouth; muttering a soft

- “Don’t worry slut, I’ll make it fit. I always do don’t it?”

- He’s a dominate and would never let you sub (again, but that’s a story for another time ;) not that you would want to but Toji is just NOT submissive at all.

- his hands are on of your personal favorites. Apart from the looks of course. If he’s not sex on legs then you don’t know what.

- but you don’t miss the way the cashier from the grocery store slammed your eggs into the plastic bag whenever she saw you checking out with him happy at your trail…he knows he’s good looking too! which doesn’t help much when you’re green with jealously every once in a while

- Toji is 6’1 as established, he towers over you and you can admit proudly that you’ve always had a thing for big beefy men.

- SLUTTY LITTLE WAIST

- He was all muscle, obviously Toji likes working out! He likes lifting weights the most.

- you ask him to skip his morning gym session to lay with you he responds with a sly

- “Baby did you not see the way I was picking up up and fucking you last night? Daddy needs to be strong for his pretty slut”

- doesnt end up going to the gym and lays with you instead because you always get your way

- is very experienced! DUH

- Toji was a known bachelor. Before you he was with many women. He takes pride in knowing that he can satisfy a woman. Especially and strictly when that woman is you.

- Has mastered how to eat your pussy out until you’re gripping his head and crying out

- HE IS A MUNCH!!!!!

- Loves eating your pussy , breakfast , lunch and dinner. He’s not the slightest bit ashamed of it. Watching you quiver him and shake from the pleasure he was giving you did all sort of shit to his cock

- generous lover through and through. Your pleasure always comes first to him

- You will never forget on your first anniversary when he had you spread on the bed.

- Somewhere in Greece

-Thong shoved to the side and he really gave no fucks who was hearing from underneath the balcony

- the bastard had left the balcony doors open..which you hadn’t minded at first. Thinking it was innocent as the sun set and the soft breeze whipped through the silky lace curtains…

- “Gonna show everyone who this pussy belongs to, who makes you cry from how hard you get fucked…you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Toji had chuckled. Holding your legs apart and occasionally letting his hands wonder to grip your tits. The sounds of him sucking your clit into his lips and slurping all your juices into his mouth while groaning from your taste.

- you honestly were so lost in pleasure before you knew it he had manhandled you into the mating press and you were being fucked like you sinned

- LETS TALK KINKS!!

- No secret he had a breeding kink

- Lets be real it took you two year to have this man’s baby which you gladly did!

- Many nights were he’s had you with your legs to your chest while his cock drives in and out of you in a punishing pace. A white ring forming spring his base as your grip his forearms for some stability. Your creamy cunt squeezing him in so well.

- How could he not come inside you? And he does so with filthy words leaving his pretty lips

- “Mmm yeah you dirty fucking bitch take my cum. I’m gonna make sure it catches so you won’t think about leaving me ever again”

- “You want my babies? You think you’ve earned this fucking load? Come for me again and I’ll think about if you deserve it or not”

- “Gonna put my fucking baby into you so everyone remembers who you belong to, ohhh fuck…ahaha….m’gonna make your tummy so round for me. Making those fucking tits leak milk for our baby”

- he’s a big fan of titties

- but one thing Toji truly can’t get enough of is your ass

- worships it as if it’s his personal sanctuary

- you ALWAYS have marks on your cheeks from his bitting and nibbling whenever you two fuck

- because of this one of his personal positions is doggy, this man needs to hit it from the back

- eyes wandering down to watch your sss smack against his pelvis as he grins your hips and sets the pace for you both.

- has definitely pulled out mid stroke and buried his face into your soft pussy lips. gripping them fat of you ass cheeks back while his tongue wildly explored your wet cunt.

- you can only gasp and let out a pornographic moan as your eyes roll to the back of your skull “t-toji…daddy…ahhh!”

- loved LOVES coming inside you, but painting your ass with his white pearly cum is a bonus too

- also cumming on your face

- Toji makes you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, and it’s because he knows you are. He knows men are lined up ready to be with you. Who wouldn’t!! Your a man’s dream and Toji has it in his head that every man that looks your way wants you

- It honestly offends him

- Which is why he always throughly enjoys coming on your face

- His hand moving quick against his cock, red tip leaking pre- cum begging for release, his other hand petting your hair, moving your hair from your face. His thumb slipping into your mouth. Warm muscles wrapping around his digit. You looked so innocent yet so fucking dirty at the same time. Your eyelashes fluttering against your tinted cheeks. His eyes wandering down to look at your plump lips. His thumb fully engulfed as your tongue swirls around it. Your start bobbing your head, mimicking you ducking his cock and his pace around himself starts to stutter.

- Toji swears he’s about to have a heart attack when he wants you tug your tank top down letting your tits spill out for him

- he cums on your face

- Is into taking pictures and photos of you, he keeps them safely in a password and Face ID locked folder on his phone

- is obsessed when you send him pictures while he’s away on business trips or conferences

- One time he had been gone for two full weeks, scheduled to fly back the next day.

- Toji’s had a glass shot glass up to his scarred lip, tossing it back, basking the feeling of success and new beginnings for him. He knew the deal would go off without a hitch. He was Toji Fushiguro after all, he didn’t waste his time.

- A light buzz caught his attention

- His green eyes peered up from his associate , who was happily chatting with one of the investors who was already sold on the idea of investing in Toji’s new expansion of nightclubs in Kabukicho. Japan’s vast nightclub, bars, and restaurant district.

- Picking up his phone Toji smiled at the name

- pretty girl

attachment: 1

- Typing in his password he opened up his messages, his jaw fell slack.

- A 15 second long video of you, your hands playing with your boobs as you sat back in the jacuzzi that he knew too well

- he had it put in your master bathroom shortly after you broke it off, he heard you saying something about being nice to have one to relax your muscles in. he had the money so, why not?

- His finger hovered over the play button, but not before quickly putting the volume all the way down and looked around to make sure no one was in near proximity

- we all know this man is possessive as fuck, doesn’t give two shits that you two are not together because according to Toji

- “tch….Technicalities baby…” he muttered to you when you remind him of the very (annoying) fact.

- his breath hitches when he presses play. Your hair is up, a few strands falling in front of your eyes, soapy tits come into view. Your fingers playing with the soft flesh.

- Toji at that point couldn’t be more jealous of soap bubbles in his life.

- He shivers and feels his pants tighten against his skin.

- The video ends with your smirk on your plump lips. Eyes saying ‘fuck me’ and of course he would if he was there.

- Toji mutters grumpily at your teasing, angry he couldn’t be at home giving you what you desperately need.

- His girl needs to be fucked and he’s away in another country , what an inconvenience for the both of you

- he quickly types a response before getting up to say goodbye to his brand new investors and excuse himself back to the hotel room.

- ‘naughty girl, you better be ready for me by the time I get back to my room or else you don’t come at all tomorrow when I get there’

- Although Toji is a very dominate man, he’s also the softest man for you. You bask it in, and sometimes you never want to let it go. Whenever he’s making love to you on the bed. Passionate sex filled with words of promise and sorrys. Toji lets himself melt into you as you moan into his shoulder while he whispers the sweetest words to you. It often leaves you wondering if you would ever find a man that was willing to give you as much as him.

- it scared the shit out of you.

- “oh fuck baby…babybaby…mmm….mean so much to me. Fuck ‘yer so perfect”

- “Cant ever be with another woman, you’re the only one of me beautiful…You’re the only one for me. This sweet pussy was made for me, takes me so well.”

- “I love you so much beautiful”

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jujutsu toji #toji smut #dilf toji #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fluff #toji headcanons #toji fushiguro x reader #toji imagine #jjk toji #toji fanart #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro fluff #jujutsu kaisen fic #toxic baby daddy toji!

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gildedkrone · 11 months

Note

tbh all I've been thinkin about is being in a relationship with simon n John(price) n often seeing John as a top/dom to simon n like ending up trying to do that to simon only for it to backfire and get urself absolutely punished for trying, n when John comes home to it, he only just gives u both a kiss and asks why ur being punished but does no move to help u :333

KINKTOBER 2023 🔞

“’s that all you can do?”

Shut up. He drawls, honeyed strings of sin spilling from delectable lips and with a hint of mirth in his eyes at your pathetic inexperience when it came to … this.

“Shut. Up.” And punctuated by a thrust of your hips and his lips part slightly.

They part, like the gates of heaven but alas, he is soundless and each attempt strips away at your confidence in this … situation. You had seen Price do it on multiple occasions, so why was it not working on Ghost?

He is wholly unfazed by your attempts to move your hips and for the past fifteen minutes, he remains leery of your intentions to top him.

“Darling, just call it a day, yeah?” No!

The door clicks open to reveal the captain’s slack jawed expression at the scene before him. Ghost is laid on his back propped up by pillows while you are settled between his thighs with your dick in him on the giant sofa in the apartment.

“This is a hell of a welcome home, sweethearts.”

His clothes are quick work and he shuts the door before hands find themselves on your hips and they are calloused, rough in sensations familiar in a feeling of Price. You smell the cigar smoke in hints of woodsy scents when his face rests beside yours on shoulders to take in the view.

“Go on, give a thrust.” You follow his orders and Ghost grunts softly when his walls are pushed apart by the intruding head ending in a shiver. Lubed hands gently massage your ass and the fingers are dancing sensations of ill-concealed lust as Price hummed.

He comments something wrong about the angle of your thrusts—not deep enough and too shallow to elicit any pleasure. Ghost swipes a hand and Price tuts in admonishing noises.

Bring his legs up, lad. Behave, Simon.

The cocky glint in his eyes dares you and it’s a spear of ego, driving you to prove him wrong. To reduce Ghost to a crying, overstimulated mess beneath your body, of flesh ridden with pleasure, too much pleasure and eyes full blown. What a sight it would be, to reduce your superior to a whore of a man in otherwise calm and steadfast manner of a working man; to ruin that stupid collected nature of his demeanour and force moans and drool from that ironclad mouth.

“You’ve got a big dick, lad. Now you’ve just got to learn how to use it.”

Ghost’s muscled and lovely thighs are raised to rest on your shoulders and fuck! The first experimental thrust had you falling even deeper into his ass and ripping a frazzled moan from his stoic mouth. You welcomed Price’s chuckle as he doled out praise while he nudged his dick against your rear.

“Wait, Price—ah!” His grunt is something guttural when Price is fully seated within you in one flush movement. No complaints, lad? No, you tell him. His dick is nicely firm and girthy and the fingers around your hips tighten in preparation for what’s to come.

“Hold on, sweetheart. Let the captain demonstrate.” And then, his hips are slammed flush against yours. You thought it would end there but Price is still pushing to drive your dick home within Ghost. The lieutenant growls something fierce turn airy when Price gives a hard thrust while you are still fully seated in him.

His low chuckles are set against two other men struggling to comprehend the new bout of pleasure in their loins. Whipping the golden shimmery reins of lust again, your gasp is echoed by Ghost when the burn from this new position turns into something wild.

The wildfires of sin burning up in your unfulfilled bodies.

“Fuck! Love—slo-ow down!” The ever stubborn lieutenant still struggles to retain some sense of control. Unfortunately, his partners have no intention of acquiescing and a hand grasps the forgotten organ between his legs.

The first strokes, combined with the rough and persistent thrusts, drowns in him pleasure a lurid gold and the very first of many moans slip through his lips. It’s pumping your ego, to know that he is very much affected by it now. As much as you are with Price’s dick still doing wonders in you.

“See this, sweetheart? This is h-how you fuckin’ do it.” Breathy pauses punctuate his low whisper and you nod blindly while the pace of the tryst is set by the captain and gods above, it’s something carnal—the way Price is rocking into you and the biting of Ghost’s lips and the smattering of pink dusting his cheeks.

He looks so beautiful in the laces of eros, and you renew your thrusts together with Price to really drive the man to hell and back. Mutters and whines grows in volume in beats of “fuck!” and “luvvie!” from the man drunk on pleasure beneath your moving body.

Sweat coats his torso in a light sheen as his abs flex to tighten his core as he tightens around your dick suddenly. It makes you feel all the bigger within him and wrapped up in tight, wet heat are the waves of the high eroding at instincts and control as you concentrate on not cumming right there and then into an ass greedily sucking to keep you in.

Price’s arm comes to wrap around your torso and the thrusts stop. The hand on Ghost’s leaky and angry looking dick stills too and he growls when the pleasure plateaus.

“This what you wanted, darling?” You fervently nod and Price instructs Ghost to beg. The itch in the knot in his groin overpowers his dignity and all sense of shame; broken words are all he can form with quivering lips taut with tension.

Begs, like a cheap common whore for you to move. To do anything to quell that fuzz that is driving him insane with how it consumes his sanity. Price asks if you think he deserves to come. Ghost’s lips are parted to expose the pink tongue brushing across his bottom lip and the occasional fidgeting of that beautiful body all splayed beneath you. You painted him into a pleasure drunk man, seeking nothing but whatever will tip him over into promised ecstasy. He begs, a breathy voice.

“Darlings, please … please! H-have mercy—fuck—I can’t … Price, m-make him move, sweethearts, don’t—”

Price rumbles something affectionate and moves your hips as Ghost whimpers and ramble off phrases of “yes!”. Fuck, no wonder Price loved this position—the cock drunk expression on Ghost’s face and the flimsy shield the human ego is to pleasure—the tip leaking with pre—is tripping your ego all the way up.

“He’s close, darling. Let’s bring him home, yeah?”

Bring him home you will, and the thrusts are absolutely designed to hammer home pleasure in a pinpoint blowing out into skies of euphoria and on the very edge of human perception, where pain meets pleasure and blends into undecipherable sensations wracking the chains shackled around Ghost’s lust to finally tip the man into an orgasm.

He comes with a noisy shout and his walls clench around you vice like while his dick empties his cum in spurts of liquid across his chest. You fare no better and the sudden tightness of his clenching walls tips you over too and your thrusts turn sloppy amidst blasts of hot cum. His cries of “y-yes! fuck!” when you seed him accompanies his instinctual need to milk you of all you have to give. Price comes last, with a grip leaving marks for days and burying himself to the hilt before warmth floods your orifice and leaks out around the member gently softening with each thrust. The captain’s noise of release is cathartic; the stress of the day and job gently easing with his climax.

“H-hope you learned something, love.”

Judging by the fluttering of Ghost’s eyelids and the mess on his abdomen, the man is absolutely fucked into oblivion and basking in the afterglow. Cum dribbles out of his ass when you pull out and Price's hand stops you.

“He’s so pretty like this. Don’t you think so, sweetheart?”

Ghost is a debauched man, laying on the bed with pride bruised and ego clawed by your doing as his chest heaves with each deep breath loud as thunder. Price whispers—one more time, to show him what you’ve learnt.

Ghost barely has time to protest when your dick pushes past his rim as his eyes come alive with disbelief and fright anticipation. Pleasure bubbles in waves and the man grasps your hand in an attempt to halt what’s about to happen. The glint in your eyes paint something predatory and he protests in broken moans when you start rutting into him.

“Fuck! Luvvie … Y-yer fuckin’ heathens”—his slurred speech barely makes it past chapped lips when you thrust into his quivering ass still sensitive from just now—“I—I wer’ fuckin’—right fuckin’ there!”

His curses are blots of encouragement on the spiral of lust entangling into a knot in your groin. The poor lieutenant claws at your hands—indecisive in asking you to stop or to keep going and with his hole stuffed and his dick weeping, you are sure to fuck him into overstimulation and more.

Fuck, if the scene before doesn’t do something to you as he sings for you and the man behind you takes his pleasure in you. Just as it should be, with your lovers in a lust fest that would put the trials of the Greek gods to shame.

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist || kinktober masterlist || thanks @malewh0re for the request (love you mootie)

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captainfern · 1 year

Note

hey captain, it’s me again. I have come to repent from my sins by requesting your blessing with a jealous dbf!price that doesn’t like other “man” (aka boys) around you.

Thank you for your service captain 🫡

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Marigold pt. 3

dbf!Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“Marigold” by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - what the request says but price shows you how jealous he is lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 1.8k • warnings - fem!reader, dad’sbestfriend!price, established relationship?, age gap [whatever you want it to be as long as it's legal lmao], jealous!price, possessive!price, unprotected piv, strong language

mmmmm look at that nose— yooooo what????? girl who said that oh my goddddd... 😏

a longer dbf!price fic will happen soon i’ve just got to start writing it LMAO

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Price never used to be a jealous man.

Past relationships came and went and he never found himself jealous if they spent time with other men, or had male co-workers or friends taking up a portion of their time.

It never bothered him, because he wasn't self-conscious. He knew that, at the end of the day, they'd come home to him.

But something changed within him. The past few months of building this secret relationship with you changed something within him.

Maybe it was the fact you were younger than him, thereby attracting younger men who, from knowledge, Price knew were total fuckheads. Or maybe it was the fact that you were just so nice— so polite, so smiley, such a good girl.

Upon re-evaluation, Price determined it was probably a mix of those two things.

The past week had been taking a toll on him. Watching the way you seemed to attract fucking idiots that fawned after you, showed off to you, all with the hopes of getting into your pants. Price knew you weren't dumb enough to let these morons get what they wanted, but the thought still made his jaw tick.

Today, especially, had him on the edge of his fucking seat. Not in excitement, or anticipation for anything. But because he was this close to ripping the trachea out of this guys throat beside you.

Price's best mate, your dad, invited some other friends around for a couple of drinks. They were mutual friends with Price, too, so he knew what he was expecting when two of them showed up. But he wasn't expecting one of them to bring their young adult son.

"This is Grayson," the friend introduced to your dad. "You don't mind that he came along, do you?"

"Of course not, mate. The more the merrier." Your dad said, offering Grayson a beer as everyone gravitated towards the living room, settling in on the couches there.

Not long after, you came home from work. Your eyes found Price's as soon as you walked through the door, and Price noticed the way your lips quirked at the corners, fighting a smile. Your dad was beckoning you into the living room before the smile could fully settle on your face.

And that's how you ended up here. Sitting on the couch across from Price, resting against the plush armrest. That cunt Grayson— stupid fucking name, anyway— sat beside you. Price saw how well the two of you hit it off. He saw how he made you smile with small joking remarks, how he kept you interested about whatever stupid fucking thing he was talking about. He made you smile, and nod, and laugh, and ask him more questions about his life.

The grasp Price had on his glass of whiskey was turning white-knuckled. If the force increased anymore, the tumbler would shatter.

Grayson dropped flirty remarks as the night progressed, your dad too engrossed in his own conversation to shield his daughter from the ridiculous amount of jokes and chat-up lines.

One thing that did stop Price from beating the shit out of Grayson in front of everyone was that you weren't flirting back. You were being nice, polite, but you shot down each one-liner with a cheeky quip, or a roll of your eyes. But, what pissed Price off was that Grayson, the dumb fuck, couldn't take the fucking hint.

"Hey, you want to come outside and get some fresh air?" Grayson asked you, already half off the couch.

"Um..." You hesitated, eyes flicking subtly over to Price.

He grit his teeth and shook his head, raising his tumbler of whiskey to his lips as he did so.

"Um... I'm okay for now." You said politely, smiling sweetly.

"Okay, no worries. I'll be outside if you change your mind." Grayson returned the smile, then left the room, heading for the front porch.

You fidgeted with your hands on your lap, avoiding Price's eyes. He was looking at you over the rim of his glass, and his stare was hot. So hot, you were starting to feel stuffy.

"I... I'm just going to pop outside..." You cleared your throat, telling your father.

"Alright, honey, see you soon." Your dad waved you off, not giving you much attention after that.

Ignoring Price's stare, you quickly shuffled across the room. You heard heavy footsteps behind you, and you tried not to squeal when you made it into the semi-seclusion of the entrance hall. You knew who it was.

You had a hand on the front door handle when Price's hand engulfed yours, pinning it there. His body pressed to yours, keeping your front pinned against the solid wood door. His chest heaved against your back, and you took a deep breath to try and soothe your nerves. It didn't help, since you could just smell him.

Price did much the same. He didn't even have to take a deep breath to smell your perfume, your shampoo, your everything. A smell he had grown obsessed with these past few months.

"Where're you going?" He asked, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Outside..." You whispered, flinching when a burst of laughter erupted from the living room, just metres away.

"Why?"

"Just... just to get some fresh air."

"Is that right?" The hand around yours squeezed gently. "No other reason?"

You shook your head, body growing warm at the closeness of the two of you.

Price hummed, sceptical.

"Do you not trust me?" You bit out, trying to keep your voice level.

"Oh, sweetheart, of course I trust you," he said, other hand grabbing your hip and pushing your backside into his pelvis. "But I don't trust him."

With that, he let go of you and took a small step back. You felt like you could finally breathe again. You turned to face him, your back now leaning against the door.

"Are... you jealous, Price?"

Price cocked his heat, swiping his tongue over hit lower lip in thought, eyes locked to yours.

"Jealous...?" He whispered slowly as if he was tasting the word.

You waited for his reply, raising your eyebrows expectantly. "Mhm."

He chuckled lowly, shaking his head and finally breaking eye contact, looking at the floor for a moment. When he looked back up at you, his smile faded.

"I am," he said simply. His tone was dark. "You wanna know why?"

You nodded, another loud spurt of laughter sounding from your living room. It made your eyes dart to the doorway briefly.

"Look at me." Price whispered.

You did.

"I'm jealous because I don't like little fuckheads like him thinking he has a chance with you," he said. "I don't like boys flirting with you. Talking to you like you're theirs. D'you understand that?"

You forced yourself to nod stiffly. Was it weird you were turned on by this conversation?

"So, if you want to go outside with him, sweetheart, then be my guest," Price gestured at the door. "But if you do, he won't be leaving here with working legs."

You gaped at him.

"Or a working cock, for that matter."

"Oh my god, Price." You whisper-yelled at him.

You pressed your thighs together, butterflies in your stomach. Was it sick that this was making you horny? You had so many questions for yourself at this point.

"So?" He implored casually, if he hadn't just threatened to turn off Grayson's fucking legs. "Are you going to go outside, or—?"

"Or what?" You whispered. It was meant to be challenging. But it probably sounded pathetic as the heat in your core increased.

"Or are you going to come upstairs?"

•º•

"Mmpf— mmm—"

"Shh, come on, sweetheart, quiet." Price cooed in your air, leaning over your back as he fucked you hard against your bed.

He had a hand to the back of your head, pushing your head into your pillows. His other hand was on your hip with a bruising hold, slamming your arse back onto him, ramming his cock into you over and over.

"Mmm— mhm—" You tried to speak to him. Tried to moan, tried to sob, tried anything.

But he continued to rut into you at an animalistic pace. The only sounds you could hear was the faint slapping of skin, and the subtle wet shlicks when his cock fucked deeper into your wet heat.

"You don't want Grayson hearing you, right?" Price whispered, dragging his teeth along the top of your spine. "You don't want him to hear how good you're getting fucked. Don't want him to hear how wet this cunt is and how fucking desperate it is for my cock. Do you, sweetheart?"

"Un-uhhmmm—" That was meant to be a no.

"S'what I thought," Price increased his pace, dragging his cock hard against your gummy walls, literally pounding you into your mattress. "You're— fuck— you're mine. No one else gets to hear your pretty sounds, or gets to fuck your pretty cunt, but— ah, fuck— me, yeah? Just... fucking... me."

Each word was punctuated by a hard thrust that hit that spot inside you perfectly, and your entire body shuddered as you came around him, crying into your pillows.

He continued to rut into you, grunting deep from his chest, his body curled atop yours while pinning you to your mattress. He cursed, muttering your name around a grunting moan as he came inside you. You whined at the sensation, your cunt clenching around him, milking his release. He groaned, kissing down your back before he pulled out. You felt yourself shiver at the emptiness.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Price asked, gently flipping you onto your back, massaging up your sides.

"Mhm..." You hummed, blinking lazily at the ceiling.

He leaned over you and placed a couple of soft kisses to your mouth. "Was I too rough?"

"No, no, you were good," you reassured him. "Really good. I promise."

"Okay..." Price kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue running along the seam of your lips.

Before the kiss could progress further:

"Price, mate, you up there?" Came your dad's voice from the bottom of the stairs, and both you and Price froze.

Price cleared his throat, shouting back: "Yeah, mate. Just going to the bathroom!"

"Hurry up then! The game's about to start!"

Price shot you an apologetic look as he clambered off of you and began to dress hurriedly. You watched him from your bed.

"There's nothing to be jealous of, Price," you said suddenly, and he paused his actions of buckling his belt. "I only want you."

He grinned, sly, cocking his head. "That so?"

You nodded, smiling with your teeth snagged on your bottom lip in a gesture of bashfulness.

His grin grew while he threw his shirt on. "Good. I only want you, too."

"That so?" You mimicked him, and he chuckled, crossing the room.

He took your head in both of his hands and kissed you. He stroked your cheeks with his thumbs when he pulled away.

"What am I going to do with you..." He tutted, shaking his head.

"A lot of things, hopefully."

"Fucking hell. You'll be the death of me, sweetheart."

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#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #captain john price #captain price #fem reader #captain price smut #price x reader #captain john price x female reader #captain’snirvana #john price #captain john price x you #captain john price smut

1K notes · View notes

bridgetotheskyyy · 11 months

Text

Birthright - Itachi & Sasuke

Kinktober Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, smut, incest, shower sex, bickering lol

A/n: Day 30: Incest! The month's almost done omfg!

Word count: 1.5k

Read on ao3

You loved your family.

And, certainly, your brothers loved you — perhaps too much.

Itachi’s lips lingered for too long when he kissed your hand. Sasuke’s hand always ended on your thigh at dinner. Itachi’s compliments were flirtatious, heated. Sasuke claimed you were his by birthright. The other Uchiha men from the compound knew better than to pursue or proposition you, lest they incur the wrath of your siblings, the strongest the clan had to offer.

It was too much — they were too much. But, you would be lying if you claimed you didn’t enjoy some part of their toy, being the rope in their perennial game of tug-o-war.

You held your head under the showerhead, hoping the hot water would cleanse you of your sins, that the steam might peel the depravity clinging to your skin. You knew what you would do: you would go to Itachi and tell him you would marry him, bribe him, whatever. Just let this end. It was impossible to breathe under the weight of their constant attention …

Shhlack!

The shower curtain blew back. You gasped, spun, fixed your eyes on —

Itachi and Sasuke stood before you, fully nude, smirks curling their lips.

You crossed your arms over your breasts, too shocked to figure the motion as futile. “What — What are you doing here?”

“We were thinking …” Sasuke was shameless, eyes lowered to scan your nude body.

“What kind of sibling would I be if we didn’t help you wash off?” Itachi finished for him. His smile was innocent, sweet, handsome, as though this were the most normal thing in the world.

“If you’d let us,” Sasuke said. Shrugging, he added, “You can always say no.”

You ignored the drool pooling your mouth. They were pure shinobi, refined muscles, blessed with the handsome features of the Uchiha men. Seconds ticked on. Your heart drummed with them. Could you go along with this?

Itachi’s shoulders relaxed. Disappointment. “If you’d rather not —”

“Yes.”

Their eyes brightened.

“Gods, yes.” You sighed. “If it will satiate you two, make you less aggressive, t— then yes, yes!”

“Save the begging,” Sasuke said. “You might need it soon.”

Itachi chuckled at his brother’s quip, but gave you no time to protest or question your decision further as he stepped into the empty space across from you. He silenced your surprise with a kiss. Your hands grazed his arms as they looped around to embrace you. Sasuke was next, stepping in after his brother. You cracked an eye open; Sasuke eyed you hungrily, blacker-than-black eyes curtained by hair catching the shower rain and dousing his toned body —

“Mm!” Your foot popped as Itachi surprised you with the sly invasion of his tongue.

“Hm.” He smiled into the kiss. His hold on you tightened, a hand wandering to grope your ass, your thigh, compelling you to wrap a leg around his.

“You’re hogging her, Itachi,” Sasuke chastised.

“Correction: I’m getting her ready for you.”

You gasped; Itachi’s hand cupped your vulva lovingly before sending two fingers to tease along the length of your slit.

“Something tells me that’s not just shower water,” Itachi teased.

“Mmm …” You moaned, closed your eyes against the delightful sin of Itachi’s fingers curling inside you.

“She probably would’ve satisfied herself if we hadn’t come, Sasuke.” Itachi walked his fingers back and forth, chuckling when you arched into him, lips parting. “We’ve only been here for a few minutes and yet …”

You parsed the movement taking place as Itachi pleased you; Itachi moved aside to admit Sasuke, and he recaptured your lips. Both of them fondle your breasts, one for one of their hands. You let your head fall back into the shower wall, and you open your eyes to see Sasuke knocking Itachi’s hand away and claiming your pussy for himself.

“I thought I taught you to share,” Itachi said.

Sasuke broke away to glare at his brother, the tip of another quip on his lips — before you curled a hand around his hard cock and pumped him with intent.

“A — Ahh …” Sasuke leaned forward, brows drawn together. “(Y/n) …”

“Enough, you two,” You said. “Seriously, remember what I said.”

“She’s right,” Itachi said, gave Sasuke a look.

You rolled your eyes. There had to be some way to shut them up. An idea struck you. You gripped Sasuke’s hips, situated him against the shower wall, while situating yourself in the center, between either brother. Sasuke eyed you with skepticism but said nothing. Itachi pressed into you, his long cock piercing your thigh. You stopped him from coming any closer before settling on your knees.

“Ahh.” Itachi seemed to catch your drift. “At least I taught someone to share.”

“Will you let that go — oh …!”

Your lips sucking on the tip of his cock silenced Sasuke. You pumped Itachi slowly, each sensual stroke easing the tension hidden beneath his composed veneer. You opened your mouth wider to admit Sasuke’s cock, bobbing your head to take more of him as your tongue slipped to massage his underside. Itachi sighed as you massaged his balls, grazing the tip of your nails as you trailed your hand to his tip to restart the whole process.

“You’re very good,” Sasuke breathed out. You flicked your eyes up to him. He followed the ministrations of your hands with an intensity that went straight to your cunt. “This is why you’re ours.”

You popped Sasuke from your mouth, took him in your mouth — halfway, before releasing him again. Again. Again. Sasuke groaned, the sound arising from the pit of his stomach. You couldn’t bear the throb between your legs; you slipped a hand to relieve your clit, massaging the nub as you popped Sasuke from your mouth on last time before alternating to Itachi —

“No,” he murmured as your tongue swept over his cockhead. “No, I’m — too close …” Itachi’s heavy-lidded eyes transferred another cryptic message to Sasuke — before saying it outright: “Take care of her, Sasuke.”

Sasuke helped you to your feet. His harsh kiss sent stars behind your eyes. You startled; the shower wall was cold compared to your heated, drenched skin.

“Be careful with her,” Itachi said, smiling faintly. “She is our sister, after all.”

Sasuke’s movements were so fast, so purposeful. A blur; he pressed you to the wall, a hand propped your leg over his waist, his cock catching into your entrance, his cock sliding in —

“Oh — ah …!” You clung to Sasuke’s back. He took no mercy on you — supposedly because he could feel how sobbing wet you were from the inside — and thrust into you. One, two, three, each thrust harsh, but when you only bit into your lip and gifted him a moan for each he kept with preferred pace. “Sasuke, oh, oh …!”

“She’s so tight —” Sasuke’s breath caught as he fucked into you.

“I can imagine,” Itachi said. You turned your head as Sasuke attacked your neck with kisses and love bites to see him watching, flushed and stroking his cock. “I — have — imagined …”

A few more thrusts and it was apparent none of you would last much longer. You leaped into Sasuke’s arms, legs wrapped fully around him. You threaded a hand in his hair, another clutching his shoulder, and pulled at his scalp. Sasuke hissed at the delicious pain of it and fucked you harder, his hand lowering to flick at your clit. You sighed, resting your forehead against his.

A blink and Itachi was at your side. Sasuke’s head dipped into your neck so Itachi might capture your lips again. Both of their hands fought for possession of your clit now, fingers knocking and weaving. You stroked Itachi’s cock, feeling him twitch into your hand. He fucked into it, peppering your jaw and eventually the back of your ear with kisses.

“Yes, mm!” You bounced with the power of Sasuke’s thrusts. “Fu — Sasuke — please!”

“She’s asking nicely, Sasuke.” Itachi fondled your tit, pinched the nipple. “Cum for us, (Y/n). Do what big brother tells you.”

The prickle of the shower water, your two gorgeous brothers kissing, licking, touching and fucking you all became too much. You threw your head back as you came on Sasuke’s cock. An extraneous warmth hit your stomach and you knew Itachi had come to his end by watching yours. Sasuke pulled out of you at the last moment and jerked his spent onto your thigh. The evidence washed away in the shower as the three of you caught your breaths.

Itachi was there, coaxing you out of your reverie with gentle caresses. “You are incredible.”

You smiled, embraced Sasuke. His head rested against your cleavage before the vulnerability must have chafed against him. He pulled away.

You stopped the shower, rainfall coming to an abrupt end. You raised eyebrows at them.

“We good?”

“Perhaps,” Sasuke said. “You're still ours, anyway.”

“I agree,” Itachi said. “If anything, this has made us want you more now than ever.”

You sighed. You caressed either brother’s wrist, smiling to yourself. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#itachi smut #sasuke smut #naruto smut #itachi x reader #sasuke x reader #kinktober #naruto x reader #naruto x you

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loveindefinitely · 8 months

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ PRINCESS TREATMENT — price + gaz x reader

01 — THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

featuring. kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. fem!reader, fmm, friends to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence, frequent mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, discussions of mental health

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

If you had to say when, exactly, everything changed, you’d put it down to a single monarch butterfly.

Walking down the tight alleyways of Las Almas, the sky a four o’clock black, a lone street light casts a gentle yellow over your frame. The air is stagnant, the warmth of late spring mixed with the type of humidity that only comes before a storm, your boots clicking against the stone beneath your feet.

With a leather jacket wrapped tight around you, you fall into the rhythm of it all. It’s just before five in the morning, and you know that you should be heading home any minute, but you find yourself rejecting the idea.

Everytime you leave for the night, just to breathe, to live for no one but yourself, it gets harder and harder to make your way back through your bedroom window. You know the guards are getting antsy, too, your payoffs for their silence on the issue becoming less and less worth it. Not when it’s becoming an ultimatum between some quick cash and a slow death.

You wish you were given that choice. Mightn’t even care which option you happened to receive.

It’s quiet, in these parts. No sign of the city that had been ruined by mercs, no sign of the destruction that had once lay beneath one man’s boots.

Instead, this city now sits in the firm grip of El Sin Nombre – the way it had once been, and if your family has it how they want it, the way it shall forever be.

Underneath your breath, you hum, a tune you’d picked up from the local radio. Every morning, you listen to the daily news reports, the weather, the latest celebrity gossip. Without fail, El Sin Nombre is never mentioned. Neither are the missing persons, the families torn apart by the woman you call boss.

The end of the alleyway is coming up, the main street ahead barren of people, except the odd homeless person or fitness nut getting their morning fix.

Just as you’re about to turn around and manually move your feet back to your home, the smallest of movements catches your eye, right by a potted plant sitting at the street corner. You’re not sure how, or why, it catches your attention – but it snags it, hook line and sinker.

Quickly looking both ways, you take a cautious step towards what appears to be a small aloe vera plant, stopping in your tracks when you realise what’s perched upon the tallest of the stems, its burnt orange wings fluttering with the small breeze.

A butterfly.

It hasn’t spooked – not yet, not with your careful movements – and it seems so insignificant. So small, with the family homes lining the streets, the independent stores setting up for the day.

With you, your massive life, your massive boots to fill.

And it just sits.

Flaps its wings.

A shot sounds.

Jumping back, your eyes catch the butterfly taking off into the sky, its sun-kissed wings taking it as far away from the horror as possible. Exactly as you should be doing.

Screams echo around you, another bullet sounding, and then another, and another –

Hand resting at the gun sitting in your thigh hollister, you whip your head towards the sound, the yelling, the rushed Spanish leaving people’s mouths. Gringos. El Sin Nombre. Death. Stay down.

Taking a sharp right turn onto the main street’s footpath, another shot fires, this time much closer. Much more real, tangible. Hand fully fisting around the handle of your pistol, you take the corner to the sidestreet – the source of it all – with quiet ease.

Multiple cartel members – expendable pendejos, Valeria would say – have guns not unlike your own, aimed at two separate men hidden behind a parked car. They’re crouched behind it, peaking and launching their own retaliating shots, hitting either shoulders or necks.

They fire off quick, dirty shots, one bursting through the car’s windows, shattering the glass, before lodging in one of the mens’ head. He falls, blood and brain matter splattering on the brick wall behind him. None of the others even spare him a look.

“Get ‘im!” A deep, rough voice calls – British, assertive, mature – the one furthest from you. He’s adorning a boonie hat, pulled down to cover the tops of his ears, facial hair decorating his jawline and upper lip.

They both seem to be exerting themselves, clearly having done a lot of activity and planning before the current scene. Nearly all of the civilians are out of the area, the two foreigners taking care to not harm any of the innocents.

Certainly a step up from the cartel.

There’s four left, all taking shots at the car, some bullets ricocheting off of the flat metal. Back to the opposite wall, you take out your pistol, switching off the safety with a single brush of your thumb. Keeping it extended in front of you, both hands holding it, you make your way silently closer to the confrontation, keeping behind them all.

The second foreigner – tall, all slim muscle, radiating warmth and self-assurance – takes a sweeping step away from the car, delivering final head shots to all but one.

Clawing against the ground, trying to gain his footing, pistol flung metres away from him, he lets out groans of agony. He’s been shot in the knee, it seems like – yeah, definitely been shot in the knee, by the way he screams when he tries to rise on it.

Doing quick head checks, the younger foreigner keeps his gun raised at a safe level, before walking over to the wounded member.

The lone soldier grunts when the lithe man smacks the butt of his gun against his temple, his head twisting with the force of it. You can tell he’s being kept alive.

“Fuck, Cap,” the younger man hisses, hooking his thumb in his vest, throwing his head back slightly. In the streetlight, from your close distance, you can see a droplet trail down his Adam’s apple. Collect at the hollow of his throat, glisten in the dim light.

The other, ‘Cap’, presses his hands against his knees, using the momentum to stand, wiping the back of his glove against his mouth. Quickly scanning his surroundings, you dart behind a small, abandoned street stall, crouching as you do so.

No shots are fired – you consider it a win.

“C’mon, we gotta get ‘im to exfil,” he grunts, and when you move back to watch them in full view, you see him jog over to stand next to his partner. Leaning down, he pulls his arm around the unconscious man, lifting him up with the younger’s help. They swing his arms around the necks of them both, their hands keeping him upright between the two.

“Ale and Rudy are gonna have our asses for the stray shots,” the black-haired one groans, but there’s a relieved smile stretching over his face. “Hopefully this guy has the intel they want.”

“If he doesn’t,” ‘Cap’ returns, a humoured look written all over his face, “We’ll have their asses.”

Intel. They want… intel. On the cartel, on El Sin Nombre. Something you have in spades. In fact, you were probably the closest thing to a gold mine when it came to information of the Las Almas cartel. Wouldn’t even need torture to get you to speak.

You’d heard of Alejandro and Rodolfo. They were considered legends by the townspeople, the men who nearly took down the cartel. The true face of the Mexican Military – not the paid off army.

It was a shame, really, how much of their story wasn’t told.

Being shot if either name left anyone’s mouth made it a difficult one to retell. Especially to you – the Cartel’s Princess – a woman hated for nothing more than her last name.

Your step-father and ‘boss’ refused to speak of them, either. Your limited knowledge pertained to the fact that they were direct enemies of El Sin Nombre, and shared a complicated past with Valeria. You’d asked, once, what happened.

You’d never asked again.

The sun is rising, the hints of morning brushing over the deserted side street. They seem… ethereal, in this light, exhausted from work but cheerful from a job well done. At ease with each other, even with blood decorating their skin, boots covered in red.

You remember when you’d first tried to run away, fourteen and too naive to plan it beforehand, before you knew to slide cash into the guards’ belt. It had been seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds before a bullet had grazed your thigh, and you were brought back to your house. You still have the scar – both physically, and mentally.

Having to learn that running away was never a truly feasible option was a hard reality at such a young age. Sheltered, too – you didn’t understand the true way of the world. What life was like without a bounty on your head and blood money decorating your neck in the form of a pearl necklace. Hands chained with bracelets of pure gold.

The cool metal grows clammy with your own distraught, your index finger hooking around the trigger.

When you were younger, you wanted to become a journalist. You dreamt of the ability to make things known – uncover the dark secrets your family loved to hide. A servant to the public – in the most damning of ways, a true way of protecting without the need for blood on your hands. The only black metal in your hands would be that of a pen; considerably more deadly than a weapon could ever be.

You aim your pistol.

Oh, to be free. To not have to wake up every day, dreading, hating yourself for the sins of your family. Your livelihood. Freedom in not having to choose between being a bystander, or meeting the death of a traitor.

That butterfly, gods, that butterfly. It took itself wherever it wanted – got to experience the world at its own pace. Live for the sake of it, gifting the Earth for the pleasure of it all.

Grateful for just a week of substance. A week of survival.

What you’d do for just a week.

A shot fires, and you don’t move an inch from the drawback. You just stand, watching, as a body falls, and two guns are instantly aimed at you in turn.

Just a week.

Letting the gun slide from your hand and hit the floor, you raise your hands, palms facing the two. They don’t shoot – that’s all you could’ve hoped for. Being reckless was part of being in the cartel, and your very blood ran because of it.

“You want intel?” You ask, loud enough to carry to them, taking a bold step forward. With the sun not having risen, a chill settles into your bones, the tight, silk nightdress you adorn during sleep the only thing protecting you as the breeze brushes open your jacket. “I have it.”

The youngest moves to lower his gun, but a side eye from ‘Cap’ has him raising it again. The way they stare you down has your chest rising and falling in dramatic movements, and for the first time this night, you second guess yourself.

It’s the only chance you’ve ever gotten – you think, reminding yourself – and you will accept it with open arms. Just a week.

Taking careful, precise steps closer, you keep your palms facing them and face a stubborn neutral. You’d been trained in a lot of areas, sparsely, but there was no doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t be able to take either of them in a real fight. Diego had spoiled you with riches and luxury, not sparring and gunslinging.

“Wait –” the younger stretches out his hand, looking to the other with an expression. Like he’d seen a ghost. “She’s…”

“I know,” the other breathes out, his tense stance easing slightly.

As you stand, just a metre or two away from them, you look between them both. Calculating, watching, you slide off your leather jacket and drop it to the ground – showing that you have no other weapons, no bombs strapped to you.

Just a silk, blood red nightdress, an empty hollister, and black leather boots.

“You guys were pretty loud when you said you needed intel,” you narrow your eyes, flitting between them both. They shroud you in their shadows; tall, muscular – military. But not… regiment. Different, more sinister, maybe, more important. “And I saw you kill my auntie’s men.”

They both lower their weapons. Partly stupid, partly an insult. “You’re the Cartel Princess, aye?” The younger raises his brows, looking over you with studious brown.

“I left my tiara at home,” you snark. The younger smirks, approving of your response. Maybe you wouldn’t have to be stepped all over, to be taken in by them.

Jerking his head to the dead body laying between the both of them, the older levels an unimpressed gaze your way. “Was that necessary?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest and righting his posture, looking down at you.

“He was a dick anyways,” you roll your eyes, finally lowering your own hands to rest at your hips. “He tried to offer up his daughter ‘cause he was in debt.”

Both of their jaws go slack.

You shrug.

“Where are you guys going anyways?” You ask, bouncing on the heels of your feet, hands held together behind your back. Looking around, your mouth pulls into a small frown at the shattered store windows. You’d try and leave some money for them when you got back.

The smaller one lets out an almost shocked chuckle. “This isn’t – you’re not hitchhiking.”

Rubbing at the roof of his nose, the one with the boonie hat looses a thick sigh, before giving you an exhausted look. “You’re lucky Alejandro has been after your arse for years. Gaz, get ‘er gun.”

“Yes, Sir,” he jokes, roughly saluting the man before grabbing your weapon. Sliding it into his own holster, he loops his elbow through yours, and starts dragging you down the street, the other walking a bit ahead of you both.

“This went way easier than I thought,” you mutter, realising just how… simple it had been to get them to take you. No cuffs, surprisingly, and no sedatives.

Gaz, as the other referred to him as, looks down to you with a friendly smile. “Most of us know your face. Alejandro and Rodolfo have been looking for you – something about you being ‘one of the good ones’.”

“I’ve never met them,” you admit, a small crease forming between your brows. “I’ve heard of them, but… why do they care about me?”

“Apparently,” the one up ahead darts his blue eyes back to you, “You do, in fact, have ‘intel’. And…” He trails off, before shaking his head. “You’ll see when we get back to base. I think he’ll be quite happy.”

Gaz groans with a laugh. “Hate when he’s giddy. They’re so loud.”

Falling back a little, ‘Cap’ hits his subordinate lightly up the back of his head. “You’re gross. Exfil’s just off to the right.”

“Reminds me of Amsterdam,” Gaz says wistfully, his elbow still linked around yours. This might just be the oddest way to be taken in by a supposed ‘enemy’ ever. Definitely up there.

Turning, you see a black SUV parked off to the side, the windows tinted to the nth degree. You can’t see anything within them except your own reflections, the winding streets behind you three. Looking to Gaz, you ask, “Where’s my carriage?”

He gives an incredulous look. “You’re serious?”

You and his partner answer at the exact same time, the same tone, “No.”

Opening the door to the back, Cap urges the two of you in, before getting into the passenger seat. The cushions are black, too, and comfortable as you situate yourself by the window, Gaz taking the middle seat. So much for space.

“John –”

“Kate, they’ve been after her for years. We owe ‘em.”

A woman, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, looks at you through her rearview mirror. She seems… displeased about your presence.

“You’re making us a bigger target,” she hisses, shooting him an annoyed look. “If they aren’t already trying to gun us down, they’re about to go nuclear!”

“Auntie and daddy don’t like missiles. Said it’s cheap,” you chip in, folding your knee so your ankle rests on your opposite knee, folding your hands in your lap. Damn, you think, You chipped your nail polish. Only lasted a day.

Silence fills the vehicle.

You hum that radio’s tune once more, and Kate exhales a deep, calming breath. Like she’s one step away from whipping out her own gun and shooting you all dead. And then herself.

“Can you turn on the heater? It’s kinda cold,” you ask, hands rubbing at your bare arms. Should’ve put your leather jacket back on before they took you.

“John,” Kate grits out, “I am two seconds away from –”

A shot fires, then two, then three. In one movement, you grab a hold of your pistol from Gaz’s hollister, switching off the safety once more and holding it to your chest. Kate instantly switches on the ignition, accelerating hard enough to have your head hitting the back of your chair with a squeak.

Gaz unwinds the window to his left, furthest away from you, and starts firing at where a dozen or so members stand at the main street, firing off shots at the car. Bracing yourself against the back of the driver’s seat, you take aim.

True as the way the sun is set to rise, you land multiple shots through vital organs, some lucky ones blasting right through their heads. Your wrist aches from the strength of your hold around your weapon, a break from childhood coming back to haunt you. You don’t stop, however, not when you’re nowhere near your breaking point.

Within seconds, Kate drives the car out of their view, dodging potholes like a professional.

It’s five minutes later, when you’re out of the main business streets of Las Almas, that your back hits your seat once more, eyes fluttering shut as you flick the safety back on.

Gaz does the same, his shoulder bumping yours with the width and sheer height of him. You feel small, between him and the door, but not unsafe. Quite the opposite, actually, with the way he sliced through those men with buttery gunmanship.

The silence, this time, is electric. A buzzing in the air, an excitement flowing through your veins.

And then, it hits you.

“Oh, shit,” you whine, dragging your hands over your face and sloping in your seat, lips forming a disgruntled pout.

“What – what happened? You good?” Gaz asks, leaning forward, placing his hand on the back of Kate’s headrest to look over you. His arm is corded with muscle, the sleeves of his shirt pulled up to his elbows, allowing a decent view of his military-grade skin.

You sit your head against the window.

“I left my favourite nail polish at home. And my favourite earrings,” you mumble, upset.

Gaz coughs, then sits back in his seat awkwardly. “...Right. Can’t you just. …Get more? If you’re cooperative, Ale–”

You punch him in his throat, and he wheezes, tears sprouting in his eyes as he coughs. “You don’t get it,” you glare at him, before patting his back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit so hard.”

It’s only then that you realise John and Kate are speaking quietly up the front, low enough to not be heard by the two of you.

“Who do you guys work for, anyway?” You ask, when Gaz stops coughing, instead swallowing mouthfuls of water from the skin in his pack. He stops to stare at you.

“You ask this… now?” He questions, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind.

You shrug. “Even if you guys were mercs or something, I probably would’ve asked to be taken. Wait –” You pause, eyes going wide, mouth going slack, “You aren’t mercs, are you? Please say you aren’t.”

“We’re Special Ops. Dunno how much the old man wants me to say, so, there you go,” Gaz shrugs, pulling on his gloves. His gaze remains on yours as he does so – pulling them off by the tips of his fingers, revealing slender hands. They look oddly graceful, for a seasoned operator, and you can see the tendons pull when he takes off the other.

The sun is high enough to paint the sky in streaks of yellow and orange, swirling with the night’s dark blue. Clouds decorate the canvas like swipes of cotton, the beginnings of what looks to be a perfect Spring day. As you look out the window, watching as you pass the streets of your city, you feel an odd seed of doubt.

Not for what you’re doing – but for what you’re leaving. All of the bodies lining the streets under cartel cloths, never getting to do the very thing you’re experiencing. So many families torn apart without the option of freedom.

The glass is cool against your cheek as you drum your fingers over your lap, the tap tap tap of that song in your head looped.

“You don’t look like your pictures,” Gaz says, then, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you studiously. He appears so relax, seated beside you, tall enough to have his head nearly hitting the roof of the car.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t realise this was a Tinder date.”

He laughs, the sound melting down your spine like the cocoa body butter you favourite. Maybe he was right about the cooperation thing – you could play nice if it meant you got to have your routine.

“I just mean,” he starts, before rolling over the words in his mouth, looking out the window before making eye contact once more. His eyes are so brown. “You’re a lot less… snobby-looking.”

You bite out a sharp laugh in shock. “Excuse me?”

He raises his hands, now, a direct copy of how you’d appeared when you first made eye contact. His smile is devastating as he says, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just meant you have a lot more personality than expected.”

“Thought I was the type to be docile and pretty?” You quip, pulling your hair to rest over your shoulder. “How typically… male of you.”

Placing a hand over his heart, he pretends like he’s been wounded, expression twisting into one of pain. “Ouch, Princess. Way to hit a man where it hurts.”

“I know of many other places that’ll hurt,” you mutter, side-eying him. “Don’t test me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty,” he returns.

The car starts increasing in speed, then, at a harshly quick rate – enough to have both you and Gaz sitting up straighter, checking out your windows and tightening your grips on your guns.

Price turns, twisting where he sits in the passenger seat, looking out the back window. He curses under his breath, before looking between the both of you.

“We have company.”

author's note. please leave a comment or quote reblog if you enjoyed!! i hope you all enjoy this journey with me :) xx

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