#I may start writing this honestly because fuck man

[thatbitch151]

I want accurate fanfiction of my favorite characters in the Troubled Teen Industry

I want to see Deku getting yelled at for helping his friend through a panic attack

I want to see Kacchan get injured in a hold because he got angry and the staff decided to run and tackle him onto concrete floors

I want to see Todoroki get blamed for making his parents upset and told how it’s all his fault he was abused

I want to see Tsuyu get parentified by a therapist and told she has to get her shit together because “who’s going to take care of her siblings? As the eldest child that’s your job.”

I want to see Kaminari and Mina get berated for zoning out and having ADHD and being unable to focus like other people and told that there’s something severely wrong with them

I want to see staff excusing Mineta’s sexual harassment and assault because “you shouldn’t have tempted him” and because his victim “tempted him” I want to see them both be equally punished

I want to see Kirishima be put in solitary confinement for months because he joked around and the staff didn’t like that

I want to see what happened to me and what I saw happen to others happen to my favorite characters

[5sospenguinqueen]

Bedtime Stories | Daniel Ricciardo x Author! Reader

Summary: For the past six years, you've been dreaming of a future with Daniel. Until one silly little interview shatters every illusion.

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Baby fever. End of a relationship. Daniel bashing.

Female reader with various faceclaims. Takes place in the 2022 season.

Main Masterlist

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User 2 no, it's not an announcement. her best friend is currently pregnant and she was gushing about looking forward to aunty duties

User 3 omg her and daniel would make the cutest babies though

→ User 4 i bet she can't wait until they have their own mini-me

User 5 imagine our rom-com queen going from writing the cutest but filthiest fiction imaginable to writing about why you should eat your carrots

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22•05•22

User 6 i can't believe this man was talking about being in the height of his career when he's been nothing but a flop since leaving red bull

User 7 the way he's been stringing this poor woman along for 6 years, knowing how badly she wants children, to then decide in a random interview that he's never going to have kids because they would be a 'distraction'

User 8 fans spotted y/n running from the pits once she saw that daniel was safely done with racing

User 9 i fear we may be witnessing the downfall of something we once held sacred

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16•06•22

fallontonight just posted

liked by YourUserName, kellypiquet and others

fallontonight did you know @ YourUser Name was once chased by a kangaroo? find out how in tonight's episode of The Tonight Show 📚🦘

4,477 comments

YourUserName thanks for having me! ✨

User 11 excuse me, ma’am, reassess what

User 12 daniel has been absent from her last 3 posts

→ User 1 not even in the likes or comments

→ User 2 and he didn't even congratulate her on the recent book launch

→ User 3 ya’ll are reaching. he's busy racing. she's busy doing book promo. they still follow each other

User 4 anyone notice she didn't look as happy as she usually does

→ User 5 yes! and i swear she got teary when talking about her life plans 🥺

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YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, mclaren and others

YourUserName my happy place 🌊🐚🦀 Aug '22

4,990 comments

User 6 does this mean a new book is coming soon

→ User 7 girl, we’ve just had one. let the woman rest

→ YourUserName sorry, my lovelies but i don’t think i'm in the right headspace to being right a romance novel at this time

→ User 6 confirmation??!?!

→ User 7 we’re children of divorce

→ User 8 honestly fuck those two because i couldn’t have cared less about vroom vroom boys until mother started dating one and now i'm crying in class ‘cause they’re over

landonorris get that bread, queen 🍞

→ YourUserName who let you out of daycare

→ User 9 not y/n and lando interacting like she didn’t break his teammates heart

→ User 10 more like his teammate broke y/n’s heart. let's not make daniel out to be the victim here

kellypiquet p said get writing those children’s books so she can brag about aunty y/n to her friends

→ YourUserName my sweet girl. i saw the cutest dress the other day for her so I’ll pop round soon x

→ User 11 i love their friendship

→ User 12 get this woman a child. She’s too sweet to be stuck in cool aunt mode forever

User 13 anyone notice she didn't do her annual birthday post for daniel?

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04•09•22

User 14 no because the interviewer was so real for that. checo has a few children and he’s currently 2nd best. max is nowhere to be seen on the grid he's that far ahead and he makes sure p is his priority when she’s there so???

→ User 15 and the way he stormed out. i bet PR are sooo happy with him

User 16 nah because mclaren recently announced that they’re not extending his contract so he currently doesn't have his seat and doesn't have his y/n, all because he thought he was better than that

YourUserName posted a new story

danielricciardo posted a new story

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danielricciardo just posted

liked by landonorris, estebanocon and others

danielricciardo yesterday was something. p17 wasn't the result we were expecting, and the media were a challenge but it's always a delight to be in Suzuka. Moving on to the Americas

5,509 comments

User 1 maybe if y/n was there, you wouldn't have done so badly

User 2 maybe if he had a baby waiting in the paddock he would’ve had more incentive to do better

mclaren we’ll get them next time 💪

User 3 letting mclaren and lando down

→ User 4 the real reason he and y/n broke up is because he has no wins. she should move onto lando or something

→ User 5 he’s way too young for her

→ User 4 they'd make a good looking couple tho

(comments have been disabled for this post)

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19•10•22

YourUserName just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, bloomsburypublishing and others

YourUserName thirty, flirty and thriving. please enjoy a small snippet of my 30th birthday, organised by my favourite girl. these are the nice moments before she plies me full of cocktails and i become the sloppiest person in monaco tagged: kellypiquet

kellypiquet any chance to celebrate you 🤍🤍

→ kellypiquet and an even better chance to drink the entire bar and force max to carry us home

→ maxverstappen1 i'm just glad i was able to pull you both out of the sea before you drowned

landonorris can't believe you tried (and failed) to stop us from gatecrashing

→ YourUserName it was an exclusive event, we don't let randos in

→ landonorris i know you're joking but it still hurts my feelings

maxverstappen1 happy birthday, sloppy. you don't look a day over 40

→ YourUserName i'm gonna let that slide but only because i love the bag that kelly told you to buy

User 7 happy birthday to the best author

User 8 happy birthday queen

carlossainz55 happy birthday, y/n 💐

liked by YourUserName

danielricciardo happy birthday x

User 5 kelly and y/n look like the funnest people to hang out with

→ User 6 literally need to know how to become part of their duo

lewishamilton happy birthday, y/n. have a lovely night 💕

liked by YourUserName

mclaren happy birthday to papaya's favourite author (we're still waiting for a racing rom-com that is quite clearly about your favourite f1 team and their super sexy admin) 🥳🥳

liked by YourUserName

This is going to be part of a Baby Fever Angst series with the other drivers. So, multiple drivers are going to have an smau like this.

Max’s Version

I do have Part 2s planned if people want them but also happy to leave it like this :)

[eustasskidagenda]

anon asked: Hi, fellow Kid-Stan, I love your writing, it's so well-written! So I hope my request isn't too weird, but would you mind writing some headcanons with a fem reader afraid of having sex with Kidd, Zoro, Law and Sanji if that's okay. Like because the reader is stressed about getting hurt (maybe because of their size or because it’s been a long time since the last time the reader had sex, no heavy topic involved!) Thank you if you consider writing this scenario and please, can I stay anon if you post this?

Hello, dear anon! Thank you for requesting and your kind words, it was interesting to think about how those dummies would act in this situation. I hope you'll like the result.♡

☆Kid, Zoro, Law & Sanji with a s/o afraid of having sex

CW : n/sfw, MDNI, f!reader, size kink, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), v. sex, unprotected sex, protected sex, dirty talk, praises, Sanji talking in French because I could die for this, Kid is cursing as always, let me know if I forgot something

WC : around 2,000

You can read the part two here & the part three here

Kid

Let's assume it's your first time in the same bed: Kid being... Kid, his first reaction would be to grin cockily or even laugh proudly. He thinks you're actually praising him for his size. Please keep going, it’s music to his ears. He loves praises and when you acknowledge his size. It fuels his ego tremendously. "I know it's big, that's enough praise. Wait, were you talking seriously?" 

Seriously, Kid, ugh. 

So, once he realized you're not praising him but rather really stressed, he's still pleased with himself.

Kid is a man of action; talking, trying to understand, or reassuring is not something he's easily able to do. Because honestly, he would just say something like "it's just sex, I'm not gonna hurt ya, look how wet you are" 

Whenever there's a problem, he's more inclined to take action to find a solution. So his first reaction is to ask if you want to stop. Although he may be cocky and carefree, he would never cause harm to anyone he truly cares about. And no one will have a good time if you're too stressed. Totally pointless. 

So you have to tell him you want to continue, but you're nervous because Kid is not the one to indulge into sweetness and his size doesn't make things more easily. 

"Then, come get what you want by yourself" he would say before laying on his back, his cock twitching impatiently. Kid doesn't often let his partner ride him, except when he's feeling tired. His body is truly a beautiful throne to sit on. A toned and beautiful body, covered with scars, like war paint, full of stories and secrets.

Once you finally straddle him, he would hold your hips firmly as you line your wet pussy up to his cockhead. When you slowly impale yourself on his thick member, he would let out a low, animalistic growl of satisfaction. You feel too tight around him, and you feel too full with him buried deep inside you, stretching your walls. 

He would guide you down his cock until his balls deep inside you. The expression of pure delight on his face is truly mesmerizing. Riding someone as tough and impressive is quite intimidating, so he would hold your hips, helping you to move up and down, as you slowly adjust to him. "Fuck, look at you, taking me all the way in like the good girl you're"

He feels your walls tightening him as you start to move faster.

"Take it easy" That's the moment you will hear his shaky breath and deep growls. He can't handle how good you feel. So wet, so hot, so tight as you walls spasms around him. His cock is throbbing inside you and he grit his teeth, holding your hips that firmly it will leave bruises on your skin tomorrow.

He's truly trying his best to not just hold your hips and slams inside you as his usual rough and merciless pace. He wants to transform you into a whiny mess. 

"Shit, y/n, let me fuck you." 

And once you finally get used to him, then prepare yourself for the wildest ride of your life. You better hold onto those sheets tightly. Because he will slap your ass, pull on your hair and fuck you with enough intensity to leave you breathless and exhausted.

Zoro

Zoro has not a lot of experience because he's way too focused on his goal of becoming the greatest swordsman ever. Even when it comes to sex, he's a bit oblivious. So you better have to be precise and explain things correctly, so that it takes over his mind. As Kid, he's not a man of many words, he doesn't really know how to reassure you. Like, okay, it's been a while since the last time you had sex, but the same applies to him. At least you're in the same situation, isn't that nice?

He's trying his best.

Once he's sure you want to keep going, he will consider the whole thing like a training: everyone needs a good warm-up. So prepare yourself to have your pussy eat for a long, long time and to cum at least once against his lips. He may not be the most experienced, but he learns quickly and your body language is like talking to him. 

He would then slowly push two fingers inside you, feeling how wet you are for him. "Looks like my girl is ready for me, yeah?" 

Try not to be too embarrassed when he hungrily licks his fingers covered in your wetness, like if it were a precious cup of sake. The way your body looks and tastes is truly intoxicating. How could he get enough of your shivering, moaning, sweating, begging, and slow pleads when his head is buried between your thighs? 

"Now open your legs for me" 

Eyes darkening with lust as he sees your folds exposed, his cock twitching and throbbing. Although he is thick, he never realized it. So you better prepare yourself. 

He would look into your eyes just to be sure you're still willing, before placing his hands on your shoulders to pinning you down the mattress, shifting his weight so he can position himself at your entrance. 

Thrust forward, filling you up in one swift motion. He's completely focused, as if it's an important battle. And actually, he's really struggling to stay nice and slow for you. He's quiet. Breathe deeply and make low grunts close to your ear.  When you begin to scratch his back, he becomes confused. Why are you doing this? Does it hurt or feel good? "You doing okay?" 

If you tell him you need more now, he will give it to you as hard as you want.

"Such a brave girl"

Law

As a good doctor, his first reaction is to understand the cause of the problem. Is it a physical or psychological problem? Sex can be painful if you're experiencing too much stress or vaginismus. If he wants to help you feel better, he needs to understand what's going on. He’s a logical man, he can't act without a good understanding of what's happening. 

He would probably cover your body too, in order to preserve your intimacy while you explain him you're just a bit stressed because it's been a long time and you often face pain when it comes to sex. 

"Sex isn't supposed to hurt or to be stressful. Do you want to continue?" 

As you slowly nodded, he would kiss your forehead and then slowly remove the bedsheets, revealing your bare body to himself. 

He wants to reassure you even if he struggles with intimacy, including in the bedroom. He's not that kind of guy having sex with random people. If you end up in the same bed, it's because he genuinely cares about you. And damn, he definitely knows how to take care of your body too. He has divine hands. Good to heal, but also to help you reach new heights. The way he runs his hands along your body, your inner thighs, your pussy, and then your clit causes shivers down your spine. 

And when he slides two fingers inside your core, damn, the only thing you can do is arches your back and beg for more. He’s the king of fingering. You can't help but cum as his thumb circles your clit while he pushes his long fingers in and out of you. When he removes them, his tattoos are soaked with your wetness, you are flustered, and he's content with himself. He can't help but grins, licking his fingers while watching your reaction closely. Even in bed, Law likes to tease you.

"Need me so bad, y/n-a?" with a slight pinch on your nipple 

He's a doctor, so he will wear a condom. Even if you're wet, he'll reach for the bottle of lubricant and then sloshing some onto his palm before smearing it over his length. The emo boy myth is true because his cock is long.

Usually, Law struggles with eye contact, it's too intimate for his sake. But for once, he will let you lie on your back, spreading your thighs enough to fit in between. His tattooed chest slowly rises up with each breath, making him look beautiful over you. 

"You're ready?" 

He's a smart and careful person, so he'll go slowly and check your expression to ensure you're alright. He feels the tightness around his cock. So wet, so hot. His hands are shaking on your hips while he gently steady you. "Everything's fine?"

Slow and deep strokes as you trace the tattoos on his arms and chest. With his lips sealed to yours, he swallows all of your moans. And his low, deep breaths are leaving you in shambles.

Sanji

Oh, sweet Sanji. Similar to Zoro, he's not the most experienced, but he has a kind and compassionate soul. He would let you explain yourself, running his hands all over your shoulders, hair and stomach, trying to soothe you as you confess you're scared because it's been a while since the last time you had sex.

Sanji would never judge you. He would offer you sweet kisses to cover your body, promising to take things at your own pace. And if you need to stop, please just tell him. He would try his best to hide that he's a bit nervous too; nervous about hurting you or not being good enough for you. 

Gentle kisses on your neck, breasts, lower stomach, inner thighs, and hands running all over your skin, fondling your breasts softly with a heavenly touch. He wants to take good care of every inch of your skin because your body is so precious, perfect and beautiful. All your shivering, moaning, and the way you look at him with pure love on your face... it melts his heart. He desperately wants to be inside you, but he'll never rush the whole thing. Like a good meal, sex deserves to be appreciated. 

Probably the king of oral sex, he could keep his head burring between your thighs for the entire day and still can't get enough of how good you pussy feel and taste. He is fond of eating you out, hearing you moan, feeling you shivering and beg for more. The way your body is arching, how you grab his hair, pressing his lips more firmly against your wet folds. Not only do his hands know how to cook, but they also know how to please your body. Slowly circling your clit, fondling your breasts, and caring for every inch of your skin, making you melt and beg for more. You forgot you were tensed and stressed with all his attention. 

Sanji being Sanji, he would love to bind your wrists with his tie, but he knows it's not the time for this. "I need to be inside you, mon amour" (my love)  His cock is painfully hard and twitching, leaking in pre-cum.

As you spread your legs, letting him know that you're ready for more, Sanji would try his best to hide how stressed he really is. He doesn't want to hurt you. Fingers entwined with yours, a lot of eye contact as he slowly pushes his cock inside you. "Shh, it's okay. You're so tight. Laisse-moi te faire l'amour" (let me make love to you)

You softly moan as he penetrates you completely. You were stressed about getting hurt after such a long time without having sex, but Sanji is so soft that it didn't hurt even a bit. Even if you're relaxed, he would ask, "Am I hurting you?" And when you confirm that everything is more than fine, he can't help but sigh in relief. His fingers are still entwined with yours as you use your other hand to softly pull on his hair.

Slow and deep strokes. "C'est si bon d'être en toi" (it feels so good to be inside you) He is not ashamed of moaning. Moans that are really pretty. The feeling of your skin against his, how wet and welcoming you are inside. This is too much for him to handle. 

Naturally, when it came to aftercare, he would rush to the kitchen to make you a good meal. 

Sanji is so sweet please, help.

[remlionheart]

NSFW Alphabet: Osamu Dazai Edition ♡

♡༊·˚ mdni. ((dedicating this to my pretty gf @bratbby333 since she's the dazai to my chuuya and some of these situations were in inspired by our unhinged 5 hour long facetimes calls, *cough cough* "blood-chilling" *cough cough* ♡)) this was honestly so much fun to write. dazai would be SUCH a diva in a relationship but he would also be so loving and protective ugh. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡༊·˚

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dazai's almost always the first one out of bed after the fact. He already has a shower running for when he comes back into the room to hand you a towel and a glass of water. You tell him that your legs are too tired to walk all the way to the bathroom so he scoops you up into his arms. The two of you laugh as he carries you into the steam-filled room. He lets you get under the water first, squirting a generous amount of shampoo into his palm as he instructs you to turn around. "Suppose your hands are too tired to wash your hair, hm?" You bite back a smile, giving him a pitiful nod in response. "My poor girl." He hums. His long fingers massaging into your scalp feel like heaven. He leaves light kisses along your shoulder, running a washcloth over your body while whispering sweet little nothings like "How'd I get so lucky?" into your skin as he cleans you off. It's hard to believe this was the same man who was making you beg on your knees for him just twenty minutes ago.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Aside from his body's infuriating aversion to death, there aren't a whole lot of things that Dazai doesn't like about his appearance. Aesthetically speaking, he finds himself fairly attractive so it's hard to narrow down one thing he likes best. If he had to though, he'd probably go with his hands. He's always gotten compliments on them, but after seeing what strong reactions they're able to coax out of you so easily, he's realized they're one of his most valuable assets. As cliche as it may be, your eyes are his favorite feature. He finds it adorable how they always tell him what he needs to know without you ever having to say a word. They tell him when you want more, when you want less, when you're about to hit your breaking point. They guide him in the right direction every single time. Plus, they're just so fucking pretty to look at.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The only thing more blissful to Dazai than hearing or seeing your orgasm is tasting it. His head is buried between your legs, his fingers pumping in and out of you deliriously as your thighs start to lock around him. You're spasming for him again, your voice breaking as you call out his name and your hips buck up towards him. "Dazai, I can't -" You whine. "'m so... sensitive -" "C'mon baby, please." he groans, "Just one more f’me." his tongue swirls against you with fervor, his digits still greedily plummeting into you. "Lemme taste it, lemme feel it. You’re sooo close." His fingers curl at just the right angle, his tongue faithfully lapping against you as you finally fall apart for him. He moans at the sweetness that spills down his chin. "You taste like fucking ecstasy, you know that?"

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It's not necessarily a secret because in his defense, if you were to bring it up or ask him about it, he'd tell you the truth. But Dazai can't help it that you've never inquired about his exes and he's certainly not going to offer up the fact that he knows every single person you've ever been with going all the way back to the boy you kissed on the playground when you were 4 years old. Or that he just so happens to know all of their current addresses and their moms’ maiden names and where they work and their social security numbers. I mean, does it even really matter anyway?? He just got a little curious, that’s all!!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dazai had been with his fair share of partners before meeting you. Sex wasn't something he was ever shy about. He did a lot of experimenting, especially when he was spending the majority of his time drinking. He's always felt comfortable in his body and never saw the big deal about sharing it with someone. It wasn't until the two of you started dating that he realized just how binding sex could be. That it could transcend well beyond the simplicity of skin against skin contact. Being inside of you was the closest thing he'd ever felt to a religious experience. It felt like coming home after a long day. No matter how many hookups he'd had in the past, there was nothing that could've prepared him for how good you'd feel.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes any position that allows him to see your face. His favorite is probably fucking you from the side though, both of you facing each other with his arm hooked under your thigh, letting him go as deep as he pleases. He gets lost in the way your pupils dilate when he plunges into you. The security of your arms wrapped around his neck as you whimper and wriggle against him. There's something so intimate about watching you come undone from this view. Feeling you drench him while he kisses you over and over. "Let it out, baby. I've got you. Doin' so good - fuck, baby you're doin' so good f'me."

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

As passionate as Dazai is when it comes to being inside of you, he's still able to find a level of a humor in just about anything. He's a Gemini, after all. If he's too serious for too long, he'll simply die. You're on top of him with your hands tangled into his for balance as you grind against him. Your hips are rocking back and forth at a pace that's making his breathing uneven. You feel proud, thinking his reaction is a sign of you doing a good job until you watch his head roll to the side, a stupid smile suddenly visible as he tries to bury his face into the pillow. You quickly realize it's not a moan that he's holding back, but a laugh. Your movements come to an abrupt pause. "Dazai." He tries his best to keep it together, but the scolding tone in your voice coupled with the stern look you're shooting him is only making it worse. “Wait, listen -" he tries to explain himself, but he's powerless to his own thoughts. A burst of suppressed laughter fills the room as he covers his face with his hands, still feeling the weight of your glare on him. "R - remember -" he struggles “Last week? When you were telling me about that book you were reading and...." he nearly snorts. "And you described it as -" Your lips press into a flat line, your eyes glazing over as you realize what he’s getting at. You knew the second you messed up that phrase, you'd never hear the end of it. "Are you seriously still laughing about the fact that I said 'blood-chilling' instead of 'bone-chilling?'" "BLOOD-CHILLING!" He repeats with the most obnoxious cackle, narrowly dodging the pillow you throw at him.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Dazai spends more time grooming himself than you do. Hours in front of the mirror looking at himself from every angle to make sure what he's done is up to his standards. He's subscribed to one of those manscaping services where they mail him out a surprise bundle each month of new products to try. When you go down on him one night, he asks "...Does it smell like teakwood?" Your head pops up immediately, unsure if you even want to know what he's hinting at. "What?" "Nothing... it's nothing."

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

In love, Dazai worships you. He has every inch of your frame memorized and knows exactly what each tiny movement and whimper mean. He's studied your body like it's his lifelong passion and he's learned how to make it respond so well for him. Your hips just barely buck up while he's on top of you and he smirks, his hair lightly brushing against your forehead. "You sure can handle the whole thing? Figured you'd still be sore after last night." You shake your head back at him with the poutiest expression, your core aching for more. "I can take it." you insist, "I can -" He challenges your sureness, giving you another inch only to see your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your hand gripping onto the sheet above you. He'd never deny you of anything you wanted, but especially not when you looked this gorgeous. He grabs your hand, tangling his fingers into yours before drawing back and burying himself into you. "That's my girl." he groans, reeling in the way your walls so eagerly swallow him. Your breathing is erratic, your composure completely gone as you writhe and clench around him. He knows you're right there. You start to close your eyes, but he stops you, bringing his free hand under your chin to redirect your attention back to him. "Let me see it, angel. Show me." He slams into you again, giving you every inch of him this time. "Show much you love this." And you do. You show him three times in 20 minutes how much you love it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Dazai's the first to admit that he has a high libido and if the mood strikes, he's going to do something about it. He gets bored easily, so he has a variety of different mediums to get the job done - the 'hidden' folder on his phone that's filled with pictures and videos of you, romance mangas, fleshlights, audio porn, hentai. He's not afraid to experiment even when he's alone.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dazai is a true switch and will really fall into either being dominant or submissive depending on the situation. There are nights he gets off work and starts throwing out demands like, "On the bed. Now. Legs apart f’me." as he strips out of his jacket and pushes you down further onto the mattress. But, the are other times where he's dying not to be in control anymore. Where he's had to make too many decisions and he revels in the way you take the reins. The way you climb on top of him and whisper "good boy" as he grows hard beneath you. The only thing he loves more than making you beg is begging for you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Dazai has a bit of a thing for voyeurism and recklessness so when Kunikida hires a driver to pick the two of you up to take you to a dinner for the ADA, Dazai has no hesitation on hiking up your dress in the back of the limo. Peeking up every so often to see if the driver has even noticed the way your tits are pressed up against the window for passing cars to see as your vehicle speeds down the highway. You arch your back perfectly for him, giving him full control as he plunges into you. Your walls are so snug and gushy, he knows he won't last long. But you're enjoying this just as much as he is, playing with your clit as he grabs your hair and pulls you up to kiss him. "You like knowing that people can see me fucking you?" he whispers, biting down on your bottom lip. "Your cunt’s drippin’ alllll over me.” "Fuck - yes.” You moan, feeling your legs beginning to shake as you let out a strained. “I’d let you fuck me anywhere.” His smirk deepens, his thrusts becoming more frantic. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep, angel.”

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Dazai's pretty easy to wind up in general, but he definitely has a thing for asphyxiation. Perhaps it stems from the lingering effects of suicidal ideation, but the feeling of something cutting off his airways makes him feral. When you're on top of him and you reach for his throat, he nearly fucking melts. If he could choose any way to die, he'd request for it to be at the mercy of your loving fingertips digging into the side of his neck.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There aren't many things that Dazai wouldn't do. Not just sexually, but in general. His curiosity almost always gets the better of him no matter the situation. The only time he's ever told you no was when you were being too hard on yourself. He walked in on you picking at your body in the mirror. Pulling your skin in different directions to see what you'd look like if your arms were thinner or what you'd look like if your nose leaned more to this way instead of that way. His heart sank. All of the post-work fantasies he had built up over the day disappeared the minute he saw how frustrated you were. "Hey," he whispered, coming up behind you and gently wrapping his arms around your waist as his chin rested on your shoulder. "Please stop being mean to my girlfriend. She doesn't deserve that." You tried to brush it off as a joke, leaning up to kiss him while he held you, but he pulled back. "I'm serious." he ran light fingers over your stomach, his eyes locked with yours in the reflection of the mirror. "We're not doing anything until I hear you say at least five things you like about yourself." He could see past almost any crime or murder, but he drew the line at you degrading yourself.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Dazai's all about both, but if he's being completely honest with himself, he loves the feeling of your mouth around his cock. How cute you look when you struggle to take the whole thing. The way your eyes widen when he thrusts into your throat. How thorough you are, turning the act of going down on him into a work of fucking art. Even though you’re the one submitting to him when you get on your knees, he still feels like he's at your grace. You feel so good, he'd do anything to keep your lips wrapped around him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Just like anything else, pacing could go one way or the other. The thing about Dazai, is he wants to do whatever you want to do. Even when he's in more of a dom role, your pleasure is still his main focus. There's no such thing as wrong time or wrong place as far as he’s concerned. If you wanted him to fuck you slow and sensually in the club bathroom, he would. He'd dim the lights, lock the door, lay his jacket down for you to sit on as he propped you up onto the sink and kissed you passionately. If you wanted fast, rough, filthy sex by candlelight on a bed of roses, he would. He'd wrap his hand around your pretty little throat, mocking the way you're struggling to breathe as he bullied himself into you while you’re surrounded by romantic ambiance. Whatever you want, he does too.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If there was a tornado approaching your house at a reasonable speed, Dazai would still find time to have a quickie with you. Especially if he thought it was the last thing he might ever do. He wants to feel you as much as he possibly can. The construct of time really means nothing to him. You have to log onto a work meeting in five minutes? "I can fit under the desk, baby :((( they won't even see me. Just spread your legs and keep a straight face, okay?" Your parents are on their way over? "They drive so slow anyway, angel and the door's locked. Promise we won't get caught." You're waiting for food to be delivered? "Bet I could make you cum twice before the doorbell even rings." Getting to spend five minutes in you is always better than spending five minutes out of you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Dazai isn't just willing to take a risk, he's usually the one pushing for it. Any time your phone rings, his hands are suddenly roaming along your body, his fingers dipping into the softness of your underwear as he starts to kiss your neck. He knows you're on the phone with your boss, that makes it even better. He wants to see how long you can keep your composure while he torments you. Your eyes are like daggers when you look back at him, but your cunt betrays you entirely, grinding against him needily while he smirks. He picks up the pace, reeling in the subtle way your thighs shake. You're trying so hard to sound so professional and coherent, but your thoughts are everywhere. You're having to hit the 'mute' button every few seconds just to let out a whimper. Dazai nips at the nape of your neck, slamming into you with an extra finger this time causing you to nearly drop your phone. "Ahh ~!" But there's no time to hit mute with how he's suddenly plunging into you. Your boss asks if you're okay and you have no choice but to hang up. "Dazai -" you try to keep your voice firm, but you can barely see straight the deeper he sinks into you. "What - the... fuck -" Each word is a moan, your hand grabbing desperately onto the collar of his shirt. "Dazai," "Somethin' wrong, baby?" "Dazai, you can't -" But he already is. He already is so bad. "Dazai, please." You're not even sure what you're pleading for anymore - if it's for him to stop or continue. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, your heart slamming into your chest as more uncontrollable whines fill the room. "Dazaaiii ~" you whimper again, soaking his hand as his thumb brushes across your clit. "Ohmygod, fuck. You can't keep doing that." "No promises." He smirks, carefully pulling out of you before bringing his fingers to his mouth. "It's not my fault you taste so good."

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

It all depends on the mood, Dazai's pretty versatile. Could he fuck you for hours? Yes. Has he? Many times. It's no secret that he loves watching you struggle to walk the next day after having your legs pinned against his shoulder. But he knows he can't do that every time. He generally tries to follow your lead and give your body what it wants - whether that's 20 minutes of gentle, deep, intimacy or an hour of a mating press followed by overstimulation. As long as you're getting off, so is he.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

His nightstand is filled with an assortment of silicone stimulants for the two of you. Cockrings and vibrators and bondage kits. Out of all of the subscription services he has, getting a bundle of mystery toys delivered to his house each month is by far his favorite. He always waits 'til you come over to open it. Pouring you both a glass of wine as you divvy them out and argue about decide on who gets to use what on who.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Osamu Dazai lives to tease you. As far as he's concerned, the only reason the sun rises each morning is so that he can find new and exciting ways to make you grovel for him. He'll tie your hands together above your head, slowly unzipping his pants in front of you. Forcing you to watch as he strokes himself above you, groaning out lewd little nothings like, "Oh fuck, 'feels soo good." while he smirks at your pouty little face and the way you begin to squirm underneath him impatiently. “See how hard I am? God, just imagine what it'd feel like inside you." His hand pumping uppp and doownnnn tortuously out of reach. "Tell me baby, would you want me to go hard and fast or reeaall slow and deep?" He fucking moans while you writhe helplessly against the mattress, your neglected cunt throbbing. "Dazai, please." "Poor thing." He mocks, still jerking himself to the sight of you looking up at him with pleading eyes. "You can do better than that though, can’t you angel? C'mon, make me believe you.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

There's no denying that Dazai's loud. You make him feel so fucking good and he wants you to know. He'll have a fistful of your hair, groaning out your name while your tongue swirls around his tip. "Fuuuck.” He whimpers. "Oh - my… god." Tiny hearts cloud his vision as he watches your throat fill with his length, the heavenly sounds of you gagging on him echoing across the room. Your eyes gloss over, spit pooling down your chin when you look back up at him, your tongue still pressed firmly against his base. "S'fucking gorgeous when you suck my cock." His praise only make you go faster, drawing out the prettiest whines from him. "Nnngh ~ don't stop, baby.” His grip tightens in your hair. "Don't. Fucking. Stop." His hips buck up with each syllable, his rhythm unrelenting as lecherous tears begin to spill down your cheeks. You keep going though, drowning in the noises he's making for you. "Right there, right there. 'm gonna - oh fuck. 'm -" You feel him twitch inside your mouth before a flood of warmth suddenly coats your throat. "Swallow f'me, angel." his voice is so heady and delirious, it comes out as more of a beg than a command, "Fuck... Yeah. Just like that, mmm, god, just like that." You take it all in, not letting one drop go to waste. "You're sucha good girl, you know that? Sucha good fucking girl."

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Dazai gives the illusion that he's not jealous. That it doesn't bother him in the slightest when you go out with your friends or when you stay at the gym longer than you said you would. He does trust you - completely, actually. He knows you'd never do anything to jeopardize your relationship with him. It’s the outside world he doesn't trust. When you're driving home from work, he's watching you through the location sharing on your phone. He stares at the screen intently until he hears you pull into the driveway. When you’re at the bar, he knows the importance of girls’ time and he’d never spoil that. He simply wants to make sure no one is bothering you. He shows up, stealthily lingering in the background, watching his pretty girl laugh with her friends and dance with a drink in her hand the way she should. He loves seeing you have fun, he doesn’t want to take that away from you. He just follows behind your Uber to make sure the driver gets you to where you're going safely. He's seen too many tragedies between working for the PM and ADA, he can't take the risk of letting anything happen to you. So, he doesn't. There's absolutely nothing off limits to you. The entire world is yours. You just... might see a man in a suspicious looking jacket that bears an eerie resemblance to your boyfriend trailing behind you from time to time while you're out. It's only because he loves you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Standing at a solid 5'11, Dazai's decently tall and slender - surprisingly muscular underneath all of those bandages. His waistline is so pretty and his hands? God, those long beautiful digits have brought you to your breaking point more than a few times. Besides excelling in dexterity, he's also packing. A perfect blend of length and girth that curves ever-so-slightly as if it was made for the sole purpose of hitting your g-spot.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Dazai would bend you over in in front of the Pope if you'd let him. He's unapologetically ready to go at any time. He can't help that you're just so gorgeous and that his eyes are always glued to the way your hips sway when you walk in front of him. He yearns for you constantly, even when you're not around. If he could have a 10-hour loop of you moaning his name that's what he'd use as white noise to fall asleep to each night. He can't help that his dick twitches at the thought of you. It's not his fault you're so pretty :((((

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Rest has never come easy for Dazai. He's tried every natural (and narcotic) sleep aide he could get his hands on. Put down multiple bottles of Pinot Grigio and still found himself up for days on end. Up until he met you, he didn't think it was possible for him to sleep for more than two hours at a time, but the first time you invited him over to your apartment changed everything. The two of you had been talking for hours - laughing and debating and sharing secrets over a bottle of cherry whiskey. He could've stayed up long past sunrise with you but when he noticed how tired your eyes were getting, he offered to take you to bed instead. Both of you stripped down into lazy pajamas. You, in an oversized t-shirt with nothing underneath. Dazai, in his boxers. You looked so peaceful when your head hit the pillow, he was sure that you'd be out soon, but to his surprise, your body had other plans. Your lips were soft against his, your hands gently roamed along his body as you pulled him on top of you. You smiled at the way his hair tickled your forehead. The sun was just barely creeping through your curtains, grazing your face as he slid into you, highlighting the pleasure that had taken over your features. It was all so hazy and comfortable. Your room filled with heady mid-morning noises while his body thrusted generously into yours. There was something so intimate about it that it nearly brought you to tears. You felt full in every sense of the word. When you were both good and spent, the two of you laid in the middle of your bed with your head nestled into his chest. He played with your hair, watching you fall asleep in his arms. He'd never felt more human than he did in that moment. His eyes closed, his mind turning off for what felt like the first time in years as he drifted off with you.

ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ

‎♡‧₊˚ here's chuuya's version if you're new here ‎♡‧₊˚

[bro-atz]

prelude in e minor

in which: your brain tells you to focus on your education, but your heart tells you to focus on professor choi.

pair: professor!san/afab!reader

word count: 4.7k

content: angst, smut, teacher x student relationship (college level, so it's completely legal mind you), san is a cellist, themes of infidelity, soft and sensual, completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

author's note: ...yes, i know, i write a lot of san angst/smut let's move on... also, i don't recommend listening to the song that inspired the title if you don't wanna cry but if you do, listen to the cello ver

network: @cromernet

taglist: @k-hotchoisan @eyeryis @sinnarols @aaasia111 @sunshineangel-reads @hwallazia @dazzlingstarrs @dutchessskarma @yourlocaljonghoe apply for the permanent taglist here! professor!series: yunho pt. 1, yunho pt. 2, san pt. 1, san pt. 2, yeosang, seonghwa

He seemed too young to be a professor. It could’ve been because he aged beautifully or something along those lines, but he looked too young to be a professor. That was the only logical explanation you could come with as you gazed fondly at the professor you had come to appreciate greatly.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted.

“Good morning, S— I mean Professor Choi,” you caught yourself before you could address him in the professional manner that he hated.

“Still waking up there?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah…”

“That’s alright. I am too.”

He gave you a small smile that made you want to rip your heart out and hand it to him on a silver platter. You had to slap your cheeks to get it together, making the man laugh at your actions— he thought you were trying to wake up, but in reality, you were trying to slap the improper thoughts in your mind.

The thing was Professor Choi San was more than a music teacher— he was an artist. He created beautiful melodies that entranced you. At first, you thought it was the melodies you were falling in love with, but as you paid close attention to him— you had to because how else were you going to learn?— you started to note the little things like the way his well manicured fingers nimbly glided along the strings, the way his hands danced as he drew the bow across, and the way he was so focused on the gorgeous piece of wood between his legs.

Those little things piled on. During your one-on-one lessons with him, you couldn’t help but admire the way a couple strands of his hair would fall over his forehead. You wanted so badly to trace your finger over the constellation of moles on his cheek and neck, and God, you’d do anything to feel his fingers press into you as they explored the exposed parts of your body.

You slapped your face again, startling the man who was busy tuning his cello.

“D-do you need coffee or something, Y/N?” he asked with a look of shock on his face.

“Ah! No, I’m fine. I’m good now,” you declined.

“Alright. Let’s begin.”

The second you laid your eyes on your sheet music, all the dirty thoughts you had swarming your brain about Professor Choi vanished, and you were focused. Your heart may have wanted the professor, but your brain always made you fixate on your degree. Work first, love second.

“Okay, that was a solid run,” he said with a proud beam on his face. “There’s some sections we could clean up… Can you start at the fermata and end at cut time?”

You nodded and did as he asked, your fingers working effortlessly during the first couple of measures, then you struggled slightly when you got to the run. It was only the run that got you, honestly, because the section after was solid, but after fucking up the run, you messed up the rest of it.

“That gliss is not fun,” your professor noted after you muddled through the rest of that section. “Start slowly. Get the fingerings down for it first.”

That was the issue. You weren’t used to the key signature of the piece, and you had marked up the notes that were in the run, but that simply wasn’t enough. You worked through the notes slowly, but you still kept messing up here and there. Sighing deeply after messing up the run for the nth times, you lowered your bow and cracked your neck, hoping that making yourself less stiff would help.

“Here,” Professor Choi finally spoke up after watching you struggle for what felt like an eternity. He set his cello in its stand and walked over to you, your breath hitching at the sight of him approaching you. “Let’s go over the notes together.” 

Your mind was scrambling and your heart was racing when you felt San’s arms wrap around you, one hand over yours on your bow and the other one matching the placement of your fingers. You thought you were going to lose your damn mind especially when you got a good whiff of his cologne, but when you focused on the pages in front of you, your mind returned to work mode.

He ran through the notes painfully slowly with you, his warm touch turning hot and starting to burn a hole through your skin, but you were so hyper-fixated on the run that you didn’t realize how your body was reacting to him. Finally, Professor Choi let go of you, but he stood right behind you as you went through the run all on your own, this time acing it.

“Oh my God,” you turned around and looked at him happily, your eyes sparkling. “I thought it was going to take longer for me to get that!”

“You’re a fast learner, Y/N. Be more confident in yourself,” the professor responded, his body still right behind you.

You gave him a quick nod and turned back in your seat so you could play the run over and over again, your fingers dancing on the strings as you mastered something new today.

Professor Choi returned to his seat, his cello immediately going between his legs before he could even sit properly. He sat and watched as you went through the entire section perfectly. He was in trance until you called his name and asked for the next section.

Those moments when the professor physically helped you learn the sections you were messing up were the moments you lived for. Sometimes, you considered intentionally failing a section just so you could have him near you because you knew that you could never be with him. He was your professor, and that’s all he was ever going to be. And the other thing was that he had that gold band wrapped around his ring finger. It was never going to happen. You just had to settle for these small, stolen moments.

Usually, you were good. Hell, you were fucking amazing and talented; after all, if you weren’t, you never would’ve been accepted into your esteemed college of music. However, you were all sorts of off during this solo lesson.

Why? Because of that man. He always wore a three piece suit that always reminded you of dark academia fashion— he apparently had no idea what that was— but today, he took the jacket and the vest off. The sleeves to his button up were rolled up, exposing his thick, sturdy forearms, and his biceps bulged as he held his cello in place. God dammit, how on earth was his suit jacket able to hide Professor Choi’s insane build?

And so, you were distracted as fuck, and you kept messing up— well, it was a combination of him and the sheet music you were sight reading when you were supposed to have practiced it before the lesson.

“Again,” your professor said, his low voice interrupting the pathetic, quivering notes of your cello.

Professor Choi was a patient man, but you had messed up so many times that you could see the frustration on his face, his eyebrows getting more furrowed by the second.

You took a deep breath and started again, your eyes fixated on the notes on the sheet. You were doing a solid job until you looked up at Professor Choi during one of the rests and saw him standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Your rest went on for too long, and you fumbled trying to get back into the song, only for the notes to come out wrong and really wrong.

“Stop,” he said, startling you so much that you nearly dropped your bow. He took his glasses off— fuck, he looked so good even with his glasses off— and rubbed his temples before sighing and putting them back on.

His eyes met yours, and the second you made eye contact, you noticed the tiny little mole above his eye, your gaze softening as you admired it. “Hey,” he snapped you out of your trance. “Look at me.”

You did as he asked, and your heart skipped several beats. You had never seen this look on his face before, this look of concern with his lips nearly pouting, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes sharp. You could barely breathe normally as he approached you and knelt by your chair.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice a lot softer from the strict tone it was at earlier, making your heart pound faster than the vivace tempo on your sheet music.

Yes. I need you to wear your goddamn jacket before I lose my fucking mind.

“No, Mr. Choi, I’m fine” you replied, your voice nearly cracking and exposing your lie because you were not fine. However, you didn’t have to lie as you continued, “I just didn’t prepare for the piece today. I’m sight-reading it right now.”

“It’s not the piece, Y/N. You’re excellent at sight-reading.” Professor Choi clearly didn’t buy it, a knowing glint shining in his narrowed eyes. “You seem to be distracted. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m just tired, is all.”

“These early morning lessons must be getting to you,” he mumbled, finally letting you off the hook. “We’ll switch your timings to the evening, is that okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Truth be told, you liked the early morning lessons because it allowed you to have the rest of the day to yourself. But, you also didn’t mind the evening lessons, because that meant your lesson could go over time if needed.

“You know,” Professor Choi spoke softly, nearly making you jump as you didn’t realize he was still by your chair. He placed his hand on your knee and said, “You can always come to me if something is troubling you.”

“I know…”

“Good. Okay, let’s just stop here for today. Next week, we’ll meet in the evenings, okay?”

“Okay,” you felt like you could finally breathe the second he got up and walked to his chair across from yours, the knot in your stomach untangling.

“And be sure to have that sheet music perfected.”

Fuck.

“Okay.”

Next week had yet to come, and you were all sorts of antsy in the days leading up. It was just your normal lesson with the same professor, but at least with a morning lesson you were so drained from the night before that it made it easier to focus on lessons instead of fawning over Professor Choi.

You were wandering around campus as you waited for your friends to get out of class— your class ended well before theirs, so you always had time to kill. You decided to head to the campus coffee shop and look over the sheet music for your lesson when you spotted him.

Immediately, your heart tightened. You knew about the gold band, you remember staring at the gold band and thinking how nice it would be if you had a matching one, but you completely forgot that there was a person who had the actual matching ring, and she was standing right next to him.

The woman was beautiful with long, dark, flowing hair that cascaded down her shoulders and back, her looks completely complimenting her husband’s. And then, hugging his waist as he supported her, you saw his daughter, a beautiful blend of both him and his wife.

You knew he had a family. You knew it, but that didn’t stop your heart from weeping. Rather than continuing to wait for your friend, you rushed back to your dorm, and you shut yourself in before leaning against the door and sinking to the ground.

You had no reason to cry. You shouldn’t have fallen for the professor in the first place, and this was the price you had to pay. You should’ve listened to logic, listened to your brain over your heart, and none of this would’ve been happening.

You couldn’t focus on anything at all— it was to the point where you literally just sobbed over your sheet music, your tears staining the pages of the perfectly preserved original sheet. So, you spent the rest of that week throwing yourself a pity party. The image of him, his wife, and his child burned into your eyes and brain, and every time you thought about it, it made you cry all over again.

Why did you have to go fall in love with a married man?

Thankfully, your eyes were not red when you met with Professor Choi for your evening lesson, but your heart still hurt, and your brain was all fuzzy. Worst of all, you didn’t perfect the sheet music as he had asked. Perfect.

You played a grand total of six notes before Professor Choi stopped you.

“Stop lying to me. Clearly, something’s up with you,” he sounded irritated, but his tone was soft, as if he was frustrated not by you, but because of lack of understanding. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

God, you hated when people asked you that. No matter what the circumstance was, the words “Are you okay?” always made you cry. Your eyelashes fluttered as you looked down at your lap in attempt to keep the tears inside without making it clear to him that you were about to start crying just as you had been for the past several days.

But he noticed anyway. He quickly placed his cello on his stand before crossing the room and sitting right next to you. He gently took your cello and bow out of your hands, allowing you to just bury your face in the palms of your hands.

“Hey, talk to me,” he said softly. His hands pulled yours away from your face. He held one of your hands while quickly wiping the tears from the corner of your eye with the other, his eyes filled with worry. “You can trust me.”

“I’m just having trouble coming to terms with some things in my life,” you told him, intentionally being vague to protect your feelings. “I haven’t been able to focus all weekend because of it.”

“Do you want to talk about—”

“No,” you refused before he could even finish his sentence.

“I think talking it through would be help—”

You cut him off again by saying somewhat harshly, “I can’t and won’t talk about it with you.”

You shakily exhaled heavily, tears still filling your vision. You got up and tried to get your things and leave, but Professor Choi wasn’t done with you yet. He got up as well and grabbed your arm, turning you around to face him. He had a firm grip on you, but he made sure not to hurt you— he just didn’t want you to run away.

“What do you mean?” he asked you, his voice full of hurt. “Why can’t you talk to me about it?”

You kept quiet and avoided eye contact. You just wanted to get out of there and get away from him before you completely broke down. Yet, you couldn’t because he had both your arms pinned on either side of you, his firm hold on you making it impossible to get away from him.

“It’s because of me, right?”

You pressed your lips together and gave up. You gave up trying to get away, trying to not cry, and trying to deny your feelings. You responded with a tiny nod. Professor Choi let go of you immediately, a sudden realization dawning on him.

“God, uh, Y/N… I’m so sorry— I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. You must be so uncomfortable… No wonder you’re acting like this. I— I thought I was careful in hiding my feelings, but you must’ve realized it… Shit, Y/N, seriously, I’m so sorry.”

His feelings? What? Your eyes dried up immediately and flew wide open, and your brain went from crying to just pure confusion. There were about a million questions you wanted to ask him, but there was only one you could squeak out.

“What?”

“You’re uncomfortable because I have feelings for you, right?”

He… He what? He has feelings for you? He has feelings for you?

“I didn’t… I didn’t know…”

“Then… Why…?”

“Because I’m in love with you, Pro— No, San,” you said his name for the first time out loud.

San exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. He, too, had a million questions on his mind, but before he could utter any of them, you continued.

“But… I shouldn’t be. It’s wrong, and you’re already—”

“Don’t,” San covered your mouth with his hand. “Don’t say it’s wrong. Don’t say what we both feel is wrong.”

And with that, San moved his hand to your cheek, and he guided you to his embrace. He wrapped an arm around your waist and cupped your face as he gave you a tender kiss charged with all of the feelings he had for you right there in the practice room. You clutched the collar of his shirt as you pushed yourself further into his kiss, his embrace reciprocating by pulling you closer to him.

Everything was a blur after that. The two of you packed up your instruments and left campus quickly, only to end up at a hotel, your shoes flying off the second you entered the room. San was impatient the second you got into the room, but he didn’t rush a single thing. His kisses may have been intense, but in the same breath, they were gentle and kind. He hugged you while still kissing you and brought you to the hotel bed so that he could pin you down, his lips unable to get enough of yours.

He kept sighing your name, his husky voice making you yearn for him more, making you lust for him more. You slipped his tie off and tossed it somewhere quickly so you could start to work on his buttons. San groaned as he felt your fingers graze and move down his exposed chest, your hand going further as you continued unbuttoning. When there were no more buttons left for you, your hand cupped his clothed cock, the huge bulge aching to spring forward. You heard a hitch in San’s breath as you stroked him from the outside, and when you worked on his belt, he dropped his head to the nook of your neck and let out a little laugh along with a pleasureful sigh.

“San,” you murmured as he nuzzled his nose into your neck, his lips leaving faint kisses in the process. “God, San… I want you so bad…”

“Is that so?” he responded in the same register.

He raised his head to meet your gaze, the two of you breathing heavily in unison. You gazed at his face and brought your hand to his face as you looked at the moles on his face, the moles you couldn’t help but love, the moles that you wanted to connect. You started with the one near his eye and lightly trailed your nail along his face to trace across the ones on his face then the ones on his neck. Your eyes had been following the path of your finger, so when you stopped and rested your hand on his neck, you looked to see him softly smiling, his eyes exuding affection. He kissed you again, but it was a slow kiss, a long kiss, a kiss that made shivers run from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer,” you whispered to him when the kiss ended.

Wordlessly, San sat up, revealing just a sliver of his bare torso. He shed his dress shirt and let it fall to the ground. You stared at him in awe— he had such broad shoulders and a tiny waist, not to mention the thickness of his muscles, his entire being making you want him more and more.

The ethereal view of the stunning man didn’t last long. He moved back towards you and pulled your shirt off, then bra, then pants, then panties. His head remained down by your crotch after he stripped you bare, his finger nearing and teasing your clit while his other hand pushed your thigh upwards, your calf nearly resting on his shoulder.

“You’re even beautiful down here,” you barely heard him say, flushing your entire body with warmth and slight embarrassment.

The second you felt San’s tongue against your clit, your entire body reacted. You gripped the sheets with your fingers and toes, and your back arched, the man’s singular action enough to drive you crazy. He then sucked on your clit as he slid two fingers into your cunt, his fingers spreading inside you the deeper they went. You moaned and sighed loudly the more he catered to you down there, the pleasure starting to build up in your stomach.

As soon as he prepped you enough, San moved away from you, disappointment and slight fear seeping into your brain. He got off the bed and pulled a condom out of his wallet before removing the rest of his clothes. You saw his cock spring up, the thickness and length of it scaring you slightly. You bit your knuckle as you watched him roll it on, his hand stroking his dick slowly as he climbed back onto the bed.

San got back on the bed and knelt between your legs. He continued stroking while placing his other hand flat on your stomach. You watched as he licked his lower lip while rubbing the tip along your folds, and he bit his lower lip when he started pushing into you. He exhaled long and lowly as he fully entered you while you opted for a quiet moan. You could feel his every single movement the deeper his cock drove into you, his girth alone starting a fire in your belly.

His thrust following, however, was not as kind. He had moved his hand from your stomach to your waist, and he was gripping your waist in a way that made you have feelings of desire, a feeling you hadn't felt from another man in a while. He didn’t rut into you with his full force, which made you scared for when he did because the feeling his waist hitting yours already made your thighs sting. Plus, every time he pulled out, you felt like you could feel your walls being ripped out, making your eyes watery. You grabbed the pillow behind your head and tore holes in the pillowcase while you squeezed your teary eyes shut as San started speeding up, short, labored breaths leaving both you and the man.

You felt his hand over yours, making you open your eyes to a tear-blurred sight of San above you. His neatly styled hair was now slightly wet with sweat and shadowing his eyes, and you could see him gritting his teeth as he looked at you with narrowed, lusty eyes. His hands moved to lace his fingers with yours. A tiny bubble of his perspiration rolled down his nose and dropped to your cheek, the heat from the sweat making the blush on your cheeks deepen.

“You…” San sighed as he continued rolling his body into yours. “You’re so beautiful… Exactly how I imagined you would look— Hnngh— under me…”

“San— Ah!” You wanted to respond to him, but he finally used the entirety of his strength to ram his cock deep inside you, the action completely taking you by surprise. You flung your head back and cried his name loudly as he relentlessly thrust into you.

White filled your vision when you felt him hit your cervix, and you could only continue to see white as he leaned further into you, making your back leave the bed and his cock rut into you at a different angle. You came hard, your walls clenching, your fingers squeezing his, your tears escaping your eyes, your arousal squirting out of you.

You thought he would cum, that the experience would be over, but San wasn’t about to let this moment end so fast— he only had the one condom, and he wanted to fuck you longer, harder. He grabbed your waist and lifted you so that he was sitting on the bed and you were sitting on his lap, his cock still inside you and somehow filling you up more than it had when he had you splayed on the bed.

His hands guided you. They went under your ass, and he did most of the heavy lifting for you were still recovering from your first orgasm of the night. You held onto his shoulders and looked down at his face as he looked up at you, the two of you sharing your thoughts wordlessly. You brought your lips to his and let his tongue violate yours. Your hips moved slightly, your body rolling into his as he continued to assist you riding him.

You pushed San’s shoulders back, making him lay on the bed and you on his chest. His hips were still moving, still going, still ramming into yours, and his large hands were holding, groping, squeezing your ass. You, meanwhile, started leaving kisses on his beautiful, olive toned skin. Your hands wandered over his chest, your fingers running over his nipples and making his breath hitch. He groaned deeply and spread your asscheeks as he moved your waist forcefully, his hips continuing to ram his cock into you from below.

“S-San,” you whimpered as you started to see stars cloud your vision. “I’m a-almost—”

San brought one of his hands up to hold the back of your head and bring your face to his so he could kiss you as the two of you came. You moaned and cried softly into his mouth as you felt a deep sigh rumble in his chest. Your pussy and his cock both twitched and throbbed, and when he pulled out, you felt as though you were empty, that you needed him to be inside you to make you whole again.

You wanted to tell him to fuck you again, but before you could, he got off the bed. He helped you to your feet and said quietly, “Go take a shower first.”

There was something ominous about the way he said that, but you listened to him regardless. He showered shortly after you finished yours, and while you were sitting on the bed trying to situate yourself, he emerged fully clothed, a dark look painting his face.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone curt but sorrowful. “We can never do this again.”

“W-What?”

“I made a mistake… I’m sorry. You can stay here tonight since the room is paid for, but make sure you check out in the morning.”

San tried to turn to leave, but you grabbed his arm before he could even take one step towards the door.

“What do you mean? You’re the one who told me not to say this was wrong, so why are you all of a sudden changing your mind?!” you didn’t want to yell at him, but you felt so wronged that you couldn’t help it.

He removed his hand from your arm and looked at you, the affection in his eyes now fully replaced by disappointment and regret.

“I know… I did say that. But, Y/N, I shouldn’t have… It was my mistake, and I don’t want to make it again.”

San turned to leave again, but you hugged him from behind, making him stop in his tracks. You buried your face into his broad back and started crying, your tears staining the fabric of his dress shirt. “I love you, San! I love you, so please don’t do this to me,” you sniffled. 

He remained motionless in your embrace, slightly defeated. But, he managed to wriggle out of your arms as he said. “I love you, too; but I also love my family, and I shouldn’t have done this to them. I’m sorry, Y/N. We never should’ve done this.”

The words rang in your ears long after San had left the room. You buried your face in your hands and bawled your eyes out as regret filled your body.

He was right. You never should’ve done it. At least your heart wouldn’t have completely shattered if you didn’t.

[thelastofhyde]

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra​​ @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !​

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet. 

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?” 

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s. 

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point. 

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

 “you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure. 

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass. 

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

 and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time. 

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you. 

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms. 

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.​

[hoshigray]

I WANT TOJI TO GUIDE ME (like literally almost teach me) HOW TO GIVE HIM HEAD PLZZZZ

Ohhhh, I don't know how tf I'm gonna write this, but here we go!! Hope I did alright on this one hehehe~ *sweats nervously*

Cw: Toji x fem!reader - oral (m! receiving) - it starts off cute but gets dirty, so minors DNI - reader admiring Toji's dick lol - face+throat-fucking (Toji goes at a reasonable pace) - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, sweetie, mama) - heavily detailed descriptions of a blowjob - praise - Toji laughing at you asking him to help bc what are boyfriends for, but you get a laugh out of it too - some humor. Wc: 2.8k

"You okay, kid?"

"Hmm?"

"You look lost in thought about somethin'."

"I do?" He lifts a brow and nods at you. "Oh, it's nothing, Toji, honest." The man looks at you for a few seconds as if he doesn't believe your answer, yet he goes back to watching the television, and the big hand on your shoulder brings you closer to him.

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon, and you and Toji are watching your favorite sitcom on the couch in your living room. But the show wasn't capturing your attention like it usually does. Instead, your mind wandered to other matters. Other...explicit matters.

How explicit? The two of you have been together for a long while now, and you can honestly say things have been going great. For him to be your first serious relationship — plus him being older and more mature than you — it's nice to know that things have been going way smoother than you'd thought in the beginning.

Although things may seem fine, something has been clouding your head recently. This is where explicit matters come into the conversation.

Through all this time together, it just occurred to you that you haven't given Toji head. Scratch that: you've NEVER given a blowjob, period.

It's always been the other way around. Not that you're complaining, because your boyfriend seems to enjoy eating you out. And he's actually good at it! Like, really good at it. Just reminiscing all the moments he's had you turn into jelly with just his scarred lips and relentless tongue is enough to make you go dizzy.

It's a pleasure how attentive he is to you during sex. And you appreciate that he cares for you in that regard...yet you can't help but feel like you're not a good partner in bed with your lack of reciprocity.

And it's not like you don't want to give him head. Because trust, you would've done so already! The real problem is that...you don't know how.

You've watched videos and read articles on how to do it, even practicing on a banana (per your friend's advice). Nevertheless, whenever you wish to initiate; or the opportunity arises, you just freeze on the spot and force yourself to forget about it. It's as if researching and amping yourself up is way easier than the execution.

Though, you can't just let your man be the only person doing the work — sex is supposed to be enjoyable for both parties, damn it! And you're gonna push yourself to have his dick in your mouth one way or the fucking other! But......where the hell do I start!!??

You release a defeated sigh, bringing your hand up to massage your forehead from the endless banter in your brain. And Toji watches you from his peripheral, his brows drawing downward at your display of frustration. "Alright," his gruff voice snaps you back to him as he lowers the TV volume. "What's goin' on in your lil' head, baby?"

You blink at his question. "Hmm? What do you—"

"Aht aht, don't do that with me." His jade eyes harden, and you hold back from finishing whatever you were going to say. "Somethin's wrong, so tell me. I'm over here watchin' this stupid show that you dragged me on to, and you're not even paying attention."

"Hey! It is not stupid," you counterargue, and use his comment to dissuade him from the topic. "You were very invested last week when my favorite character punched the guy she likes for stabbing her in the back! So who are you to—"

"Y/n." It didn't work. Your name was thrown at you with such seriousness that there was no use in trying to distract him. "Tell me what's goin' on. If somethin' is bothering you, don't be scared to come to me about it." He says it sternly, yet he's still gentle with his delivery.

"Toji..." You can only call him by name before he leans forward to kiss your forehead, and it almost melts all your worries away.

"Tell me."

The two of you look at each other for mere seconds, you searching for any sign of uncertainty before confessing your thoughts to him. You sigh once more and lean onto Toji, his hand rubbing on your shoulder — a silent gesture of him giving you all the time you need before confiding with him.

You told him, "Don't laugh, okay?"

He scoffs. "Can't make promises I can't keep, kid." His smile manifests when you shake your head at his shenanigans. "I won't laugh, angel."

When he uses the pet name on you, it seals the deal. It's now or never.

"I was just thinking that...I might need your help with something."

A brow is lifted. "With what?"

"Umm, it's..." Your fingers find each other to fiddle with to keep you busy from the awkward tension. "It's for......y-you know—"

"I don't know."

"I-ahem-I want," you can only gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob in your throat. ".........Iwannagiveyouablowjob."

No words. No movements. Nothing. Only the noise from the TV gives a sense of life to the silence following your confession. Even the big hand on your shoulder chose to remain completely still. And you can feel the slight quiver of your lips start to come to fruition.

Nothing happens until you feel a jolt on the shoulder you're resting on. Your face blooms hot, and your lips can't fight the uncomfortable twinge. Oh, this motherfucker is about to laugh.

"Is...Is that—ahem," A tiny gust of wind exits through his nostrils, trying to extinguish the beginning of a chortle. "Is that what was botherin' you this entire time?"

Now your ears get hot, and all you can think about is how you'll dig a nice big hole for yourself to crawl in later. God, why me??!

"W-Well, I mean, I notice how you're always doing it on me," another jolt from the older man. "And...I just feel like I'm not doing my part." He lifts his hand from your shoulder and rests it on his face. Fits of chuckles silently enter the air. "But I don't know how to....do that kinda stuff. So, I was just wondering—" He starts smacking his thigh, and with the twitch of your eyebrow, you've had enough. "Toji, I swear to Christ, if you don't fucking stop—"

And with that, the floodgates opened. The laughs he was doing a terrible job suppressing wheezed out, his hand covering his eyes while the shit-eating grin was present with laughter seeping out his system. You cover your face with your hands, shielding away from the embarrassment and not letting him hear giggles of your own.

"Oh shit, c'mere ya damn cutie." Toji pulls you in with both arms, caging you so he can place a kiss on your temple. "Pfft, kid, I'm not laughing at you. But goddamn, you looked so fuckin' stressed fr' no reason."

"But it is a reason!" You chuckle under your hands, only prompting your boyfriend to laugh harder. Once he calms down, you explain yourself further. "Toji, I'm serious. We've been together for this long, and it's always been me getting eaten out. I just think it's unfair that I get to feel good and you don't, ya know?"

He snickers. "I'm always feelin' good when I fuck the shit out of you."

"You KNOW that's not the same thing!!" Toji barks a laugh from you yelling at him, and you can't take this anymore. Removing yourself from him, you get up from the couch before you sink further into the internal pool of regret. "Just forget it. This conversation never happened...I'll just go to sleep." And hopefully, die of suffocation from my pillow.

However, before you could step toward your bedroom, Toji quickly caught your wrist. You reluctantly turn to see him looking at you with a playful smirk and soft hooded emerald eyes. "Not so fast there, sweetie." His hand slides down to fully grasp your hand, engulfing it with his size. "Ya know, you're a real cutie when worryin' about me. But don't go thinking you're not making me feel good, because you do with what you got. I woulda found someone else if you didn't." You briefly glare at him, though you know he has a point.

"Yeah, I know. But I want to do more. You always take good care of me, so...I wanna do the same for you." And Toji knows you're serious about this. It doesn't matter if you can't look directly at him because of your bashfulness; your words are sincere. God, you looked so cute it drove him crazy.

He sighs quietly with a smirk, his thumb making circles on the back of your palm. "Well, if you're really sure about putting y'r mouth on my dick," and before you could fully process his words, the older man spreads his legs for your eyes to observe. And the first thing that corrupts your vision is the outline of his erect cock, the tent prominent through his dark sweatpants. "Looks like ya got yourself a lesson. Up for it?"

You gawk at his erection for three extra seconds before you look at your boyfriend and give him a nod for confirmation. Seems like your plans of suffocation and dying in a hole have been postponed to another day.

Toji grins hard, his teeth peeking through under his scar, and then he points to the floor with his chin. As instructed, you kneel between his legs.

He pulls down the waistband of his sweatpants, freeing his cock from the clothed prison for you. And you're in awe with the sight before you. Of course, you've known his girth to be immense. You've had the damn thing inside you, for God's sake. But now, seeing his length so close, it's hard to believe you had him before. You can take note of every dent and vein of his shaft, how they structure all the way down to the base, and the pinkish-red color of the tip. It all overwhelms you and makes you second-guess what you're about to do...and the throbbing sensation down south flourishes.

"Like what ya see down there, angel?" The heat on your face worsens when you glance up and see Toji sneering down at you, and a hand comes down to massage your cheeks. "Try lickin' it first."

You gulp before following his suggestion, opening your mouth for your tongue to flick on the frenulum of his cock. You can hear him moan from the action, so you proceed and lap around the head of his cock until you feel adventurous enough to take his glans in your mouth. Toji groans from the wet walls of your mouth, and your teeth brushing against his glans makes his body jerk. "Hmmm, be careful with y'r teeth, baby. Relax that jaw and puff those cheeks a bit fr' me."

His comments are taken wholeheartedly, making sure everything goes right for him. Your cheeks go hollow for you to suck his cockhead and take in a few more of his length, his hums of pleasure egging you on. It goes well until the tip hits your uvula, resulting in your gag reflex. And Toji is quick to gently pull you from him, your saliva coating his dick.

"Woah there, sweetie. Don't forget to breathe." He coaxes while you cough. Your eyes start to water as you gasp for air to even your breathing. "We can stop now, don't want you chokin' on— Aisssh!!."

He's unable to finish his sentence when your hand strokes his cock, paired with kisses to the underside of his shaft. "No, I can keep going." You look at him with half-lidded eyes, having the man twinge his lips upward.

"Alright, then we're gonna go slow, okay? No rush." He aligns his cock to your lips, waiting for re-entry. "I'll push, and you breathe."

You give him a nod to signal you're ready, and your mouth agape to take in his returning limb. Toji brings your head in while you remind yourself to breathe, but your body jolts when you feel the tip come almost close to your uvula again. "Relax, mama, relax. Keep taking deep breaths fr' me." He coos at you, and you do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Once you slowly move, Toji aids you by gently pushing the back of your head toward him. And a wave of astonishment and relief hits you when you manage to have his dick hit the back of your throat.

"There ya go, cutie." He smirks at you, aware of your tiny display of giddiness. "Now, try goin' at your own pace."

With a few bobs up and down, slowly but surely, you get used to having Toji's cock in your oral cavity, going at your own tempo and enjoying yourself with this. Your movements are filled with confidence, and you whimper every time you try to go as far as you can but not too crazy.

And Toji loves every second of it. Your moans vibrate the walls around his cock, and it turns him on even more when he peers down to see you suck on him so deliciously. Spit covers your lips the more you take him in your mouth, and he groans when he feels your hands stroking him and kneading his balls (something you've learned to do from the articles you've read). "So good...Hmmph! So fucking good..." It's been a long time since Toji's been given a blowjob, and it feels so good to have you — his sweet thing — do it for him.

But then a thought pops into his mind, and the pleasure in his body churns into a different path of want and need. "Sweetie." Your eyes flutter up at him when he calls you, stopping midway through. "Wanna go a lil' further than this?" It takes a moment for you to register, but you give a curt nod with a hum on his dick, which he can only assume is a "yes."

"I'm gonna stand up, okay? So keep taking deep breaths and follow my lead." You don't answer, only gaze at him as you mentally prepare yourself. Toji rests a hand at the rear of your head as he gets up from the couch, keeping you still on his cock in hopes you don't choke. Now he's standing upright, and his sweatpants slide down to his sturdy thighs. He places both his hands on each side of your head. "I'm gonna start moving slowly, 'kay baby?"

And so he does, unhurriedly pushing his shaft into you, and your hands find purchase on his thighs as he does so. His dick that once stopped at the back of your throat eventually finds its way deeper within, and you're senses are clouded with his smell when your nose and mouth meet his pelvis. It all feels so overwhelming that tears start to form.

Toji lets you adjust to all of him for a while, grinding his hips on your lips to fully accommodate his whole girth, prompting more muffled mewls from you. He ruts his hips at your face when he notes your steady breathing. Gradually, every inch of his cock sinks into your mouth. Your head starts to pound as you enter a haze.

The pace of his thrusts eventually goes faster and faster by the minute, and the tears finally come down with every jab to your throat. Saliva runs down your chin with the smack of his balls, the head bullying your insides with the erratic rhythm. Your nails form scratch marks on his thighs from all the stimulation you're going through, but you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't feel so fucking good. Having your boyfriend's pelvis smack on your face on par with the sounds of you sucking him off felt like fire to your eardrums. So hot but so electrifying the more you indulge yourself.

As for the older man fucking the hell out of your face? Oh, how he missed this. It's been so long since he stuck his dick on such a pretty mouth. And your throat's tight, velvety walls have him rutting for more. He knew this would make his thirst return, and now he was sure an addiction would form from this. But right now, he can feel the surge of his orgasm arise, and his brows crease with a guttural groan as he thrusts into your face with harsh motions.

"Shit, ahhhhh shit, shit," It's so close, almost there. "Gonna cum, mama, gonna—Mmmm! Haaah, oh fuck, oh fuckin' Christ!" Through his moans of pleasure, Toji releases his load down your throat. And you're in no other position than to just take it, whimpering blissfully onto his length as he gives you a few more ruts to your face.

When he's done experiencing his ecstatic high, the older man withdraws himself from you. Your throat and mouth become empty except for his essence that you swallow. Strands of spit and come connect your wet face to him for a crude yet intimate moment before they break out.

He pulls up his sweatpants and drops down to wipe your pretty face with his hand. "So? Was I a good teacher?"

[red-viewe]

general lilia x reader thoughts 🔫 (part two✌)

COLORED TEXT IS FAE LANGUAGE (tw: metions of bl99d, swearing)

Part 1 part 3

---

'Fuck my life.'

Here's the tea. You found a half-dead but sexy asf fae on your sidewalk and decided, 'Hey! Let's bring him in, warp him up and fall asleep!' Which was a stupid decision, because now, you're leaning against Mr. Hot Guy's head, pretending to be asleep, because right now, THE FAE GUY IS AWAKE AND HE MIGHT KILL YOU.

After about 5 minutes of awkward silence, this happened.

"I know you're awake."

He said, as he slowly started to get up from the couch. "W-wow, i didn't think you would notice..." God, get yourself together, dude.

"Where am I?" He says, turning to the very sweaty(?) you. God, this man is so hot.

"You're in my house...in the woods, a-and you shouldn't stand up right now, you're still injured.

" You abruptly stand and gently push him down back on to the couch.

"I'm Y/n L/n, by the way... " Mr. Fae still seemed to be om guard.

"Why did you save me? Don't you know about the war going on right now?" He asks in a stern tone (which was kind of hot...).

"Well, war is stupid when you can literally solve everything without death." You say as you walked away into the kitchen.

"...Is that so.." He mumbled.

---

It toke time for the fae to tell you his name, you respected that. You wouldn't tell a stranger your name either. (Expect you did, but we ignore that) Afte a while, he finally said to juat call him Liliy. Being shot in the stomach with an iron arrow, it toke Liliy time to be able to actually move, but it was progress.

Your days suddenly became more interesting, as you spent more time with him, learning more and more about him.

Like how he's insanely good at games, even when he doesn't try, or when he sometimes helps you prepare for the day before you open the bar.

---

"I'm not playing with you anymore." You cry in a joking tone as you lose yet again another game of chess.

"Pft, if you'd like, perhaps you'd desire an easier game? May i suggest rock paper sissors?" Liliy says with mischievous smirk on his face.

"Oh, screw you."

'Is this man trying to poison me?' Was the first thought you had when you opened the lunch Liliy attempted to make for you.

"It can't be that bad..." You say out loud, slightly gagging when you scooped up some of the meal(?) onto your spoon.

---

And...sweet moments, which made your heart beat a little faster and your cheeks warm up.

---

"Sleeping late, beastie?" Liliy said, as he toke some of your hair into his hands and started combing playing with it, making you blush when you felt his breath a little too close.

"Mhm, I'm doing some stinky taxes before i go to bed." You said, writing down information. After a while of liliy playing with your hair, you started to feel drowsy and fell asleep, waking up the next day on your bed, with a half asleep liliy next to you, staring at you with half closed eye lids and a blush on his face.

'How are you so freaking fine?'

---

You honestly did not know when you and the fae started getting so comfortable with each other, but are grateful for your friendship with Liliy.

---

The some of the buildings were set ablaze, others half torn apart, and human bounty hunters were tearing the town apart looking for Lilia Vanrouge. Rumours of the infamous general seeking refuge with someone spread far and wide, wide enough to reach the ears of the royal family. The bounty on his head was more than 9 million thaumarks, and bounty hunters were eager to find the fae.

'Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck' You screamed on your mind as you swiftly ran back to your home in the woods, running from the danger.

"LIliy!" You burst into your home, praying that your fae would still be there.

"Y/n." Liliy was dressed in the armour you found him in, with his gargoyle mask on this head, carrying his weapon. "I have something to tell you, beastie."

"That you're Lilia Vanrouge, I know." You're not stupid. You saw the bounty posters. Bro.

"Are you leaving..?" You silently said, eyes meeting his.

Lilia stepped closer, his voice now low and soft.

"I have to. If I don't I- You- my queen needs me, and it's too dangerous for me t-" You hug him, eyes watering. Lilia's arms gently embrace you, and he kisses your forehead. "I swear I'll be back, my love"

Tears fall down your face, as he slowly releases you and leaves, turning back for one last glance of you.

'Please come back'

--

Authors note

This one was a bit sad😭 maybe if i finish part 3 i can make some side stories with crack and stuff 😭🙏Would you like that ?🤔

(Also just comment if you want to be tagged if theres a next one)

(Tag list: @anonima-2)

[bones4thecats]

What Are They Like As Parents? - Hazbin Hotel

Type of Writing: Random Idea Characters: Vox, Valentino, Velvette, and Alastor Name: What Are They Like As Parents? Idea-Gifter: Random Thoughts

A/N: This is basically an AU where they married their S/O in real life and had a child with them back then. But, due to issues with birth, their S/O died with the child. So there will be trigger warnings when it comes to that. Also, the type of demon the reader is is listed below! Have a nice rest of your days/nights, my lil bubbles🫧

P.S: The Reader goes through birth, so they're headcanoned as female, but a gender is not fully noted

⚠️ Trigger Warnings: Death, Swearing, Miscarriage, and mentions of Assault ⚠️

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Technological-Demon! Reader ; Medical Technology

📺 Vox and you were very close when alive. Growing up together and eventually falling in love and marrying

📺 Sooner rather than later, you were expecting a baby boy, in which you two decided to name him (M/N). Unfortunately, due to difficulties during birth, Vox had lost not only his unborn child, but he lost his spouse

📺 Ever since that day, the man had driven himself further into his work, trying to push the memories of you both with your bump past him, he didn't want to remember how you smiled so gently at him as you died, or how the doctors tried saving you as blood erupted around your form

📺 It was because of how he held himself to such a low-degree that Vox had passed away, and due to his actions in life, he was banished to hell

📺 He believed he deserved it, but now he could start anew, and that was where he grew back into power and eventually met a fairly new Overlord, one that had your same name

📺 Once he asked you and learned that you and your son were transferred to hell, he grew upset, why on Earth were you, the sweetest being he had ever known sent to hell? And why was his son, who never did anything in life, get sent here?!

📺 Every other Overlord, besides Alastor, was on-edge when your small son crawled out from your hand, being nothing but small shocks before turning into a mixture of Vox and your's demon forms

📺 He just smiled lightly and kneeled in front of his child, patting him on the head and declaring how he'd protect you guys till the end of time, in no way was he going to allow you guys to slip from his grasp again

📺 Now, as your son was made into the form of a young child (4-6), Vox always tried to keep his anger on the down-low. He didn't want his son to only see his father angry and full of rage

📺 While he may seem like a horrible father at first, once he got used to the fact that your child was interested in your occupations, you being a medic of the Overlords and him being the head of VoxTek, he smirked at Valentino and Velvette before holding his child and gloating about his company

📺 Speaking of the other two Vees, they adore your child. Valentino loves to help your son with his social skills, and he tries keeping his business on the down-low around him, he doesn't need to get shocked or nearly have his wings amputated by Vox and you again

📺 Velvette on the other hand, she loves to test her outfits on your child, from helping him find the most suitable outfits to having him listen to something on her phone as she speaks to her two main allies during a meeting, she is honestly a decent aunt

📺 Vox also has a wild obsession with watching Alastor fail, so if he were to ever see the Radio Demon talking to you or his son, he'd lose his shit, not caring who was there to watch

" I swear to fuck, you old-timey shit-stain, if you ever try touching my S/O or my son again, I'll fucking kill you and drag your corpse all around hell for the all people to see. "

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Insect-Demon! Reader ; Rosy Maple Moth

❣️ Valentino and you married quite early in life and had a very active life

❣️ It was due to your shared actions that you found of you were pregnant quite early, which made him try calming down from his actions and begin to coddle you

❣️ Unfortunately for him, your body couldn't quite handle the stress of birth, resulting in your demise, along with your daughter. And due to this event, he was driven mad

❣️ This was where he developed his abusive personality, constantly yelling and assaulting his workers, including Angel Dust when he first arrived and signed a contract

❣️ It took a while, but one he had heard about a new Overlord that looked a lot like Valentino (in terms of species) with a daughter that looked nearly identical, he decided to attend the next meeting without his fellow Vees

❣️ It only took a quick glance for him to know exactly who you were, in life you loved to mess around with roses, so it only made sense that you'd become a demon in relation to that plant

❣️ Once the meeting ended, Valentino walked up behind you and hugged you, wrapping his larger wings around your form as he felt your tiny orange-yellow antenna tickle his chin

❣️ Valentino also loves his baby girl a lot, spoiling the young girl with everything she could ever want

❣️ Once you and her walked back into his life, everyone within his studio learned who you were quickly, you were the long-time spouse of Valentino's, and the father to his young daughter

❣️ They also took notice of how more collected he was, and while he did have his moments of anger, he rarely ever laid a hand on his employees, unless he got angry enough

❣️ Valentino also swore on his afterlife that he would never touch anyone in the ways that he would touch you or your daughter, which allowed your new friend, Angel Dust, to be more free with his time

❣️ Much like Vox, he doesn't seem like he'd be a good parent. And they're kinda right, but only with certain situations

❣️ Valentino doesn't know what to do when it comes to certain scenarios, like when your daughter asked where children came from and you had to wrap your pink and yellow wings around his mouth to silence him from giving a very detailed story of how she came into existence

❣️ Vox and Velvette are also fairly involved with helping him raise his child, Velvette loves to help her dress, from giving her small clips to put in her hair to giving her full-fledged outfits, she spoils her just as much as Valentino does

❣️ Vox also spoils her, but he also knows when to be strict, he mostly just watches her whenever Valentino and you get busy with running the studio in V Tower. He's been declared the 'Godfather'/'Uncle' of your baby

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Bird-Like-Demon! Reader ; Peacock

📳 Velvette and you agreed that you'd raise your child together, despite knowing that it wasn't her own, rather, it was your ex-husband's

📳 He had abandoned you with your unborn baby a few months prior to you and Velvette married, and it was on your honeymoon that you went into labor

📳 Sadly, you had lost the baby, and eventually lost your life due to internal injuries just a few months later, prompting your wife to go a hint overboard with her actions

📳 When she died, she never expected to see you sitting across from her at an Overlord meeting, your long tail feathers falling onto your lap where a small boy sat, playing with them

📳 She looked up in shock as you told her of your son, how you both were banished here, your son due to the fact that he had the potential to due just a horrid things as you, and that angered her

📳 Velvette loves to mess around with your feathers that laid behind your head, the ones that only flare up when upset or feeling any kind of strong emotion

📳 She also adores to have you carry her, since she was fairly short when it comes to sinners, and you were very tall when it came to the species

📳 Now, when it comes to your son, she loves to dress him up, acting as if he was a small mannequin that she needed to make look as gorgeous as possible, and thankfully he looks a lot like you, meaning if something looked good on you, it would no doubt look good on him as well

📳 If your ex-husband ever came by to take his son back, she would straight-up ruin his life, literally. She'd post everything around to make him lose his title, and if that didn't work, she'd just kill him, she doesn't care which he chooses

" I swear to you, (R/N). If you ever, ever, try to come here and demand to have the son that you abandoned in the first place, I will do two things. I'll ruin your fucking afterlife by stripping your title away, and I'll make sure during the next Extermination, you get a very long and fucking long death, try me, bitch-boy. "

📳 Velvette also is a fairly good step-mother to your son, she loves to give him small trinkets she finds around. One time she came home with a small present from the store, and when your son looked at the tiny necklace that opened to show holographic photos of you three together, you couldn't help but fall for her even more

📳 Much like with the other Vees, she does involve Valentino and Vox with her step-child's life

📳 On average, she has Valentino just help watch him, leaving Vox being the head of watching him, she doesn't need to have you on her ass about how Valentino took her son to the studio to observe his work

📳 Vox is the official 'Grandfather' of your son, while Valentino is more like the 'Funcle' of the two

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Mythical-Creature-Demon! Reader ; Wendigo

🔘 Alastor and you shared a lot in common during life, from your cannibalistic and murderous crimes, you both bonded over the fact that you were able to keep it all away from people's eyes, despite your high-ranks in society

🔘 He was the head of his own radio broadcast, while you were the head of a small orphanage that took in any child that was needing a home without any problems

🔘 Ever since Mimzy introduced the two of you and you learned of your situations, you decided to 'help' one another out, and by that, I mean by covering for one another

🔘 This teamwork led to you guys falling in love, in a twisted way that is. He loved you for how you would just casually keep a smile on, and you loved him because of his owl personality

🔘 While many didn't expect him to ever fall in love, due to him being a canonical aromantic, they did find it funny to watch him just smile and treat you like a member of royalty

🔘 He never really did find a need for intimate actions, but one drunken night and a lot of pregnancy tests later, you found of you were carrying his child, alerting him to keep you away from your previous crimes. He didn't need you or the child getting harmed

🔘 Alastor may not have shown it, but he was very heartbroken when the doctor released the news that you had lost your baby, and eventually your own life

🔘 Knowing due to your crimes that you'd end up in hell, Alastor would sit at your grave and speak of how he'd see you sometime soon

🔘 And he was right. He had found you once again during his first Overlord meeting, what he did not expect was seeing your young son sitting on your lap while gnawing on a small hunk of deer meat

🔘 He knew that this was your shared child, and he welcomed the youngling with open arms and a fully-fledged smile, his sharp teeth matching his son's

🔘 Speaking of your son, he loves to spend time with his father, learning how to play the piano and singing old songs with him as you stood off to the side with Husk and Niffty, watching the boys have fun

🔘 Alastor only allows you and your son to really touch him without many warnings, and while it took a lot to get used to, he loves watching him randomly grab his staff and try singing in the microphone

🔘 Much like his father, your son can use tentacles and use his powers to make his voice radio-sounding, and it is the funniest thing to watch members of the Hotel go nuts hearing so much of the noise

🔘 Due to being the son of the Radio Demon and the Wendigo Overlord, many don't even dare trying to touch your son, well, except for Vox and Lucifer

🔘 Vox one time had decided to try holding your son without permission, resulting in him being sent flying across the meeting room by your husband

🔘 And when Lucifer first arrived and began to tickle your son to make him laugh, he stood off to the side with his ears pushed backwards in irritation, watching his son smile by such a fatherly action not being made by him was annoying

🔘 And, because of your declaration, you named the members of the Hotel as your son's 'Godfathers'/'Godmothers', only having Husk and Niffty as the 'Siblings' of your son

[parkerpeter24]

Hello, i hope you are doing great. Can you write something where Peter is hurt and the reader is taking care of him but suddenly he swears and their son hears it and starts repeating it.

i like this one

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

masterlist

“where’s spidey junior?” peter hissed through the pain, trying to divert his mind from the throbbing he felt as you cleaned the cuts right over his rib.

“sleeping.” you assured, wincing with him as you cleaned the numerous cuts, “said he missed you at dinner.”

“i’m sorry i couldn’t make it to dinner.” peter gave you a sad smile but you quickly shook your head.

“don’t worry. i read him his favorite story book in ‘dada voice’.” you chuckled, making peter join you, then wince at the antiseptic you put over a cut at his collarbone.

“i’ll make up to him tomorrow.” peter nodded to himself as you put a bandaid on his cut.

“i know you will.” you smiled and held his face gently, expecting any more cuts other than the ones you could see on his forehead. your hand must have brushed against a bump on his head because he gasped in slight pain the next second.

“fuck!”

you quickly removed your hand, letting him inspect the spot himself, “uhm, everything okay?”

he nodded and relaxed, “got thrown against a billboard.” saying that, peter sounded as casual as he did the day he told you that your two year old climbed up the wall.

“fuck.” your eyes widened at the new source of voice. such a little voice it could only have belonged to a three year old boy named ben. your child.

peter wore the same expression as you as he pulled the covers up over his spider-man suit which was resting on his waist, “ben-”

“mommy, what’s a fuck?” the little boy padded over to you, rubbing his eyes.

you pursed your lips, looking at your husband as you held back a laugh, whereas he looked horrified at having taught his son a word he didn’t really mean to.

the little boy spread out his arms and you held him, keeping him in your lap as you settled on the edge of the bed, “why aren’t you asleep, benny?”

you asked, rocking your toddler back and forth as you tried to lull him to sleep.

“dada said fuck.” he looked up at you with sleepy eyes and you couldn’t hold back a laugh this time.

peter looked at you apologetically, “n-no, ben. i didn’t! i said fu-dge.” peter smiled deliberately wide, making you chuckle.

“come on, let’s get you back to bed, sweetie.” you carried ben over to his room, placing him in his crib, “now close those heavy eyes.” you cooed at him, watching the doe brown eyes fall shut at your request.

you smiled, feeling peter sneak up behind you as he kissed your neck. you let him wrap his arms around you as you watched your little boy sleep before pulling peter with you to go back to your room.

“i’m a horrible father.” peter whined, burying his face in your neck as soon as you shut the door to your room. you chucked, “stop laughing at me.”

“i’m not laughing at you, no.” you shook your head gently, “you both are so alike honestly.” you smiled softly, running your hands through his messy, yet soft hair.

“please don’t tell him what ‘fuck’ means-”

you laughed again, dragging peter carefully towards your bed, “peter, he’s three. he was half asleep. he’ll probably forget what even happened by tomorrow.”

“if you say so...” peter replied, feeling little to no reassured at your statement.

when next morning came, peter was in the kitchen, making a breakfast for his family. it was his way of making up for missing dinner. he hummed a soft tune– may’s favorite song as he remembered– as he made ben’s favorite chocolate chip pancakes.

it was a few minutes later when you carried little ben to the kitchen area, letting him down as he ran to hug his dad. you took over the pancakes as peter re-bonded with ben.

the laughter from your husband and your kid was enough to brighten your morning as you plated the pancakes with a side of sliced up banana.

you seated yourself beside him as peter blowed over the pancakes– not wanting the little one to burn his mouth or anything– as he cut up a little piece of it.

the second ben at the pancake, his eyes widened with happiness and peter smiled proudly, “how’s that, benny boy?”

“fuck!” your little boy gave a toothy grin, making peter’s smile fall.

“ben no-” peter facepalmed and ben eyed his dad in confusion before he turned to you.

you chuckled and held his little face as he mumbled, “no fuck?”

you shook your head as peter spoke for you, “we don’t say that word, ben.”

“dada, you said fuck.” ben pointed out, looking at the brunette with curious eyes.

“i clearly made a mistake.” your husband sighed.

“fuck?”

peter’s head dropped, as he felt there was nothing else he could do.

unless he asked doctor strange to wipe the word from ben’s mind.

[crowcravesmore]

When I Get My Hands On You. (Soldier Boy Fic).

Soldier Boy/Ben x F!Reader 18+

Summary: Slight AU + 'Still Awake'. After everything, Vought decides it's better to keep Soldier Boy out of the way instead of putting him back under. Out of the way is a McMansion out of the city, a plot of land, a mountain and all the time in the world. He's got everything he needs, and yet there's still something missing. He figures out what it is very quickly when you show up. What a lucky man he is.

Song This Fic is Based On: Superbad Mantra - JAWNY, Christian Blue.

A/n: I'm so excited to post this fic, it was so much fun to write, and my first time writing for SB. I wrote, and rewrote this fic a couple of times, and this plot + ending just feels right. Let me know what you think. -Kash

Word Count: 3.5k

Tags & Warnings: 18+ Only, Cursing, Ben wanting you BAD, smut, drinking.

+

Never in a million fucking years would Ben admit to being tired of it all. The fighting, the anger, the planning, the business of it. But he is. Ben’s tired of fighting. He never wanted to be mixed in with Vought new affairs. So he’s almost ecstatic when they decide to just keep him hidden in the woods instead of putting him under again. He’s their Golden God, (well he used to be) so their version of hiding him is a red brick Mcmansion 40 minutes outside the city. When he sees it for the first time he gets a wave of –I don't know– peace? Ecstasy maybe at the sight of it. 

Let me paint the picture of Ben’s newfound paradise. It’s on about 15 acres of land, surrounded by woods with a little creek tucked inside. When you come down the driveway there are rows of pine trees shading the pathway. To the east there’s a mountain, about a 40 minute hike to get to the base of it and an hour to get to the top. To the west there’s a river, a quarter mile wide and too long for Ben to guess. Big enough for him to fuck off on it for hours and still not see anyone. He gets a dock, a pontoon, plus a couple of trails all to himself. 

 All on the promise that he stays hidden, & out of the fray. 

If we’re being honest right now, even with all of this, Ben told them to fuck off. He isn’t a pet to lock away when he’s not needed, he has–had a life. He deserves a life. 

“We can’t guarantee you a life outside of what we’re offering you now, Ben,” Jeremy, Vought's coordinating agent for Soldier Boy says. He’s a weasley looking man, short with neatly parted black hair & wire-framed glasses. They’re standing on the back deck of the house, looking out to the river as the sun starts to set. His suit’s a little too tight, and not at all fitting for the summer heat. He keeps pulling at his tie, and dabbing his forehead with his pocket hankie. “All we’re asking is that you remain here for now, and once we’re able to settle our affairs and guarantee you a position without ..” He trails off. 

Ben already knows. “Yeah,” He’s annoyed. “ Once you can get my sperm mutant under control, I get it.” He nods, and mulls over the thought for a moment, taking a good look at the property. It’s honestly, truly, not a bad deal. He’s just pissy because—“I’m not stayin’ here without getting high, Johnny.” he says matter of factly. 

Jeremy doesn’t even miss a beat, he’s nodding immediately. “Understood, Vought is very aware of your extracurricular activities and we’ve already supplied you with a month’s worth of—” 

“I’m gonna need more.”  Jesus let him finish.

“Yes, sir,” Jeremy wipes the sweat from the back of his neck, and pulls a phone out of his pocket. “We have a delivery guy coming once a week with groceries, as well as anything else you may need. Just text this number with your list and we’ll send him over asap.” He hands Ben the phone and motions out to the water. “This is a great offer, Ben. No other Superhero is getting a set up like this, unlimited food, wifi, a boat—” 

“It’s a pontoon.” 

He ignores him. “And enough weed, coke, and whateverthehell else to kill all of Manhattan if you want it.” He locks eyes with Ben, smiles, & It’s quite frankly almost eerie. “Just stay here and let us handle the rest.” 

He sits on it for about 10 seconds, before nodding and turning the phone over in his hands. 

“How long?”

And that’s just the least of it. 

+

About a month into it, Ben starts to get a little….restless. Yeah, sure, that’s the word for it. He’s content with the land, and the food, and the drugs, and has even started a little garden. It’s not huge, but he’s already gotten a few sprouts from his potatoes, so that’s something. 

However, he’s still Ben. Still Soldier Boy. Still a man of needs, and cravings like he’s always been. Only now it’s panged with something like loneliness. Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe it’s the memories of his old life, and how everyone he loved turned against him. He was a son of a bitch, so maybe he deserved it. Whatever, anyways—

It’s a tuesday night when he finally hits fuck it territory. He’s been watching porn for three hours, and is–honest to God–tired of his hand & a screen. He swipes out of PornHub, and looks up the nearest Gentleman's club outside of the city. Because that’s what he is, a gentleman. 

He gets dressed and walks two hours into a small town and makes a beeline for ‘Synn’. It’s a ‘not too shabby’, but shabby, looking gentlemans club on the east side of town, right off the highway. It’s a one story concrete building with tinted windows, & nondescript except for the giant neon purple sign outside. ‘Synn Gentlemen's Club’ it reads, with the silhouette of a woman next to it. The inside does it a little more justice. It’s got dark purple walls, and an honestly very well stocked bar all on a landing, plus a few tables and chairs. The floor is scattered with stains, and the walls have a faint smell of cigarettes. The rest of the club is almost like one giant conversation pit, with stairs leading down to the main floor, & two main stages right in the middle of the room. Both stages have mirrors at the back of them, so wherever you are in the club you can get a view. God does he love the view. 

Ben loves women. I don’t know if you know that, actually I know you don’t know that, but he does. The way women talk, the way they walk, move their hips, their lips, their touch, their smell, their taste. Fuck, he loves the taste. He’s a bit more partial to older women, but lately he’s bent his own rules. Twenty-four is the youngest he’ll go, and even then it’s…iffy. Maturity is a big thing for him. 

Here he’s happy to bend his rule to accommodate. He sits in a darker corner, his hat pulled low, and just enjoys the show. An hour, and nine beers in, & He’s gained just enough confidence to catch eyes with one of the girls in the club. She’s pretty, not exactly his type, but pretty. Long blonde hair, and a tiny sparkly pink one piece that barely hides anything. 

Believe it or not he’s shy. Tonight Ben’s shy. Only because he’s sure he’s toeing the line right now being here, but he's feeling more hands on, so when she asks if he wants a dance, he immediately says yes. It lasts all of two minutes. He wants more, but not with her, and he can’t even put his finger on why he stops her from asking if he wants to go to the VIP room, but he does. He pays her and immediately leaves. 

Back to his hand. Back to missing….something.

+

A week later, right as he’s snorting enough coke to down two bull elephants off of his coffee table, the doorbell rings. He quick sniffs, and wipes whatever’s left on his nose onto his gums before standing up. “Shit,” he half groans as he wobbles. Everythings a little too turnt at the moment, so he immediately sits back down and puts his head in his hands. “Oooooh, shit.”

He’s about 40 seconds deep into an almost meditative state when the doorbell rings again plus five knocks. This time he hears a “Hellooo?” And a softer, “Fuck, it’s hot please hurry up.” from the other side of the door. He knows you don’t mean for him to hear it, he can’t help it. He wishes he didn’t. Everything is too bright, and too loud, and his jaw is starting to grind from all the coke so no, hearing you or seeing you for that matter is not on his list. 

Regardless, when you start knocking again he’s up. In three seconds he’s around the couch, and swinging open the front door. The heat hits him immediately and so does the sight of you. Oh God she's gorgeous. He’s gotta lean on the doorframe a bit to keep steady, and get a good look at you. 

You’re standing in the doorway with two arms full of groceries. He’d completely forgotten about …Matt? Max? The guy Vought hired to buy him groceries, toiletries, and drugs. The other day he let himself in when Ben didn’t answer the door fast enough. Ben was shitting, and didn’t hear the doorbell. Or the door open for that matter. He scared Ben when he walked into the kitchen, & Ben threw a chair at him. He–thankfully–only shattered his collarbone. Needless to say the poor bastard quit while being loaded in the ambulance. The important part of that story is you. Standing here now instead of Mr. Irrelevant. 

Ben smiles at you and silently thanks God for the summer heat. Your gray T-shirt is just tight enough around your chest that he can see the outline of your nipples. I promise he’s trying not to stare, so he’s gotta work a little harder not to let his eyes drag down body. 

“Excuse me,” He’s not doing a good job.You’re just so pretty, baby. Even when you frown like that. “I’m y/n,” You say it slowly and a little sarcastically. You caught him staring, he knows he deserves it. He honestly likes it. “Jeremy sent me to drop off your groceries since Jackson–” That’s his name! “–quit. I’d shake your hand, but,” You hold up the bags, & Ben immediately reaches to grab them out of your hands. You look too good to work at Vault. Long lashes, pretty lips, and the way your hips curve in those shorts. He’s gotta ignore how much he wants to-

“Let me help with those,” He cuts his own thoughts off. “Are there any more in the car?” 

You nod. “Yeah there’s a lot more, let me help you at least.” You turn to walk back down the pathway. 

He takes a few steps out, and too eagerly says “No, Ma’am. Let me get em’.” Ma’am.

You don’t even stop walking. You just wave him off and say “It’s alright, I want to help. Honestly if you want to relax I can get these unloa–” He’s not listening. He’s coked out & kind of dazed, but he’s still a gentleman. Sort of. He can’t help but to watch your ass as you walk away. Your shorts look perfect on you, and everytime you step your ass jiggles a little. 

He just met you and he can tell you don’t like him. He stares too hard, his hair is a mess, he’s wearing stained sweatpants and a stained tank top to match (Had he realized you were coming he would’ve gotten dressed), and boy does he like you. He already knows he’d devour you if you give him the chance. Give em’ the chance. 

It takes about six minutes to unload everything out of your truck, Vought’s truck as you tell him. They gave you something big enough to haul all of his things in. A shitload of food, clothes, toiletries, fishing equipment, new hiking boots, and a black duffle bag you weren’t allowed to look in. Ben helps as much as he can which helps speed the process along. Now, however, he’s just sitting at the kitchen island bouncing between small talk, and admiring you put his groceries away.

“So,” He puts his forearms on the countertop and leans in. “Are you from here or..” Ladies and gentlemen, Soldier Boy! Jeez, try a little harder.

“No actually,” You say, pulling a couple of cases of strawberries out of bags, before putting them in the fridge. “I moved to the city about a year ago when I got hired at Vought.” 

“And is this all you do?” You’re doing amazing, Ben. He cringes a little at himself for saying it like that. ‘All you do’ , it’s a little condescending. 

You don’t even let it phase you. “No, actually, I’m Jeremy’s assistant and team lead.” You say before dropping down to a squat to load a few cases of beer onto the bottom shelf of the fridge. “I’m just here because I haven’t had time to hire a new personal shopper for you. I’ll have one for you by next week though, I promise.” 

Oh, please don’t promise that.

He tries so hard not to watch you, but Jesus he can’t help it. He’s got his eyes locked on you. The muscles in your back move every time you pick another case up, & your ass is sitting so prettily as you sit on your haunches to balance yourself. You stand back up, languid and smooth and your legs are so fucking-

“Okay,” You say, turning back around. He’s looking straight at you, and praying you didn’t catch him staring again. Part of him hopes you did. “That’s about everything, I don’t think you need help putting your personal items away, do you?” 

He fights the urge to say yes. “No, I-I’m good, but are you busy?” What is he doing? 

You pause and your eyebrows raise. “Uh, well today’s my day off, but-” 

“Stay for a bit,” It’s a statement he says more like a half-question.  “If you’d like. I have a-uh pontoon, and I’ve wanted to take someone out on the river since I got here. It’s my thanks for you using your day off to come here.” He smiles, and tries not to be too obvious about how much he wants you to say yes. 

“That’s kind of you,” You say smiling back before walking around the island towards your keys on the table. “but I have to go, I have a few errands to run.”

He’s good at hiding disappointment. He shrugs a bit, and keeps a warm smile. He can’t help but like the sound of your voice, even when it’s letting him down easily. “Okay, well can I ask you for a favor?” 

You put your hands on your hips and look up at him. “Sure, what can I do for you?” 

Sweetheart, so much. What he actually says is, “If you have time, would you mind coming again next week instead of someone else?” Oh he’s bold about it. “I just-” He shrugs. “I like our conversation. More than mine & Jacobs.” 

You laugh, and it makes him wanna be good to you. “His name is Jackson, and I’ll see.” You look him up and down, and Ben swears you bite your lip a bit. “Let me see your phone, I’ll give you my number so you can let me know if you need anything else.” You hold your hand out, and he’s immediately passing his phone to you. 

Oh he needs a lot. “Oh I need a lot.” He says before he even realizes it. Fuck. 

You just chuckle and keep putting your number in. You’re cool, you’re so fucking cool, you know that? When you finish you hand it back to him, and his hand grazes yours. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t really like that.

“So if I text you tonight and say I need something, you comin’?” He says, saving your number.

“Nope,” You say matter of factly, walking to the front door. “But give me a week, if I can’t find someone for you, you’ll see me here again.” 

He follows right behind you, eyes burning a hole into the back of your head. He does a little jog to grab the door before you do, and opens it for you. “Don’t look too hard then, that pontoon is just waiting for a chance at you.” And so am I. You give him a look at that statement, but say nothing.

He leans against the door as you walk out, and follows you all the way to the truck. “Can I only text you for things I need?” He says before reaching to open your car door too. Again, Ben is a gentleman through and through. 

You sit in the driver's seat and ask. “Is there another reason to text me?” 

He’s standing between you and the door now, and if we’re being real honest, he likes looking at you like this. The SUV is high enough that you’re eye to eye now, and he’s got a helluva’ view. He steps in a little & you’re even prettier up close. Nice cheekbones, pretty lashes, full lips. He puts one hand on the truck and keeps the other on the door, and leans into you a bit. His heart, Jesus, jumps a little when you don’t lean away from him. His breath deepens when you start looking him up and down too. Fuck, this is a moment. 

Sweetheart, you’re givin’ him all sorts of ideas to hold on to, you know that? 

“Absolutely, I needa’ get to know you a little better. Seeing as you know where I live and all.” He’s all eyes on you. His voice is kind of low now, and he can’t even help licking his lips. “You sure you don’t wanna stay a little bit longer? Let me cook you somethin’, show you how much I appreciate you, Y/n.” He’s practically drooling it out. 

He’s–okay–he’s not even trying to hold back how much he wants you. His voice is too low, he’s too close, and looking you up and down too much for it not to be obvious. You clock it, immediately, and–against your better judgment–lean into him. So close that your noses almost touch, and you reach your hand behind him. 

“I appreciate the offer but,” You say, grabbing the door. “I’m a little busy tonight.” 

He wants you so bad it hurts, and he just met you. He can’t help it, he’s leaning into you, eyes closing, and–

“Ah,” You almost whisper, smiling and pulling back. This is so funny to you. “I’m not the one for that, but I appreciate the thought. Excuse me.” you look behind him to the door and he doesn't move at first. 

Instead he just eyes you. He’s never had a woman play with him like that, and he’s torn between wanting more and none of it at all. You are the one for that, you’re just not there yet. You will be. He steps back, and you close the door, starting the car before rolling the window down. 

“You have my number, Ben,” The way you say his name makes him want to howl. “Call me if you need me.” 

“I promise I will, Y/n.” He says as you back up, turn, and pull down the driveway. He doesn’t go inside until your suv is out of his sight. 

+

“Fuck, Y/n,” He moans, sitting back in his bed & jerking himself off to the thought of you. “Yes, baby, keep ridin’ it.” 

He’s panting, eyes closed, imagining you on top of him. Fucking him like your life depends on it. He’s never heard you moan, but he's imagining something sweet, and addicting coming out of you. He starts bucking up into his hand, and imagines you whining at how deep he’s going. 

‘Be-e-en,’ You’d moan, mouth open and drooling from how good he’s hitting it. You would grip his hair and bounce on him the way you know he likes it. ‘Ben, please baby, harder!’

He starts fucking himself harder at your imaginary requests. He’d do any–and everything you told him to, and quickly at that. “Fu-uck, y/n, you know I like that. You know I like that, baby.” He moans to no one, but the thought of you. 

He imagines you swirling your hips on him, looking him in his eyes while you say, ‘Fuck baby I’m gonna cum. Ben, please,’ & he can’t hold it anymore. You are, even in his imagination, just too much. He cums all over his hand and stomach, and moans your name a couple of times for good measure. 

And for a while he just lays there. Panting, eyes closed, mind full of you. Fuck ‘Synn Gentlemens Club’, you’re what he’s been missing. That thought really wakes him up. He just met you, and compared to the hundred other women he’s slept with in his lifetime, you knock him back a little. The way you talk, the way you walk, how you laugh, and even how you tell him no. You’re not taken aback by him, you don’t fear him, you toy with him a little bit and what’s worst of all is he likes it. He really likes it.  He likes it so much that he wipes his hand off on his stomach and grabs his phone. Immediately finding your name and texting you a simple ‘Hello’.

+

A/n: Thank you for reading <3 If you want to be tagged in the next chapter you can DM me or reply to this post!

[fiendishfables]

Future (short) series idea

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Fem! Angel! Reader (I’m probably going to make different versions for each, so a Male and GN, as well)

Feedback on the idea is very much appreciated; I would love to hear y'all lovely peoples thoughts on this concept I am stuck on. Its nothing special but still, haha-

Also don’t forget, my requests are always open! Please, request, request, request! I need things to write! :D

Synopsis/General idea: Reader is one of Adam's assistants/part of the exorcist angels and Lucifer comes to visit Heaven with his daughter, Charlie Morningstar, Princess of Hell and owner of the Hazbin Hotel.

Lucifer is instantly entranced by the reader, as he recognizes them from back when he used to reside in Heaven; when he too used to be an angel all that time ago. The reader and Lucifer, when they both had been in Heaven, had snuck around and hooked up a couple times, but it had never gone public and was never intended to.

He is staring at you throughout the whole meeting with Adam and Lute, (when he's not busy glaring and making smug faces at the 'first man' from across the table), oblivious to what his daughter is preaching or trying to. The reader is well on Charlie's side and on-board with her ideas; she tried many times to convince Adam before and now, or to atleast think about it.

The reader ends up coming to hell with Lucifer and Charlie because she wants to ‘check out’ the hotel and this cooperation Charlie is trying to make with Heaven. Lucifer looks about ready to burst from excitement.

(End of part 1?)

Maybe there is a day before she comes down to hell, and not right after the meeting. Lucifer could be standing in his room in front of his mirror, trying to pep-talk himself into making a good impression on you. Charlie is possibly there to reassure her dad that he looks fine and that he won’t mess things up(again); she’s secretly so thrilled that the reader is able to make her dad feel so giddy and happy, especially after Lilith. He needs someone to keep him company and you seem like just the soul to do it. But of course there is the problem with the reader being in Heaven and Luci being in Hell; good ol’ forbidden love

Charlie ends up showing the reader around the hotel when she comes down from Heaven, and Lucifer sort of just stands by awkwardly. The reader is a bit cold towards him, but they are mainly just scared that he might disappear from their life again, and maybe even a tad resentful at him for being so stupid and doing whatever it was that made him fallen in the first place.

But then of course they end up having sex in the hotel after Charlie offered the reader a stay for the night so they didn’t need to go back to Heaven so late in the night. Make-up, angsty, lovey dovey, etc. Reader may also slip up and call him Luci a couple times instead of Lucifer; she only called him Luci back when they were both in Heaven together and good friends

Honestly- I have no fucking idea where this is going, but if anyone would be interested in reading this small series I’m coming up with, please interact/let me know! I plan to start working on it after I get some requests done. Just had to get this spew of word vomit out of my head-

[catboybiologist]

Hi! I’m CatboyBiologist.

Formerly a femboy, now a trans woman just starting HRT, and a PhD student in molecular biology. I started using this online persona as a fun, shitposty way to explore gender a few years ago. I post selfies (generally sfw, but somewhat sexy, so minors and ppl who don’t like that have been warned), rambles about science, tutorials and advice from the stuff I’ve learned by being a femboy in the past, nature pictures, stuff about the ocean, my adorable grumpy little tortoise, and unsolicited opinions on random nerdy topics. Any pronouns are fine. I don’t plan to socially transition for a while, and still present as a man most of the time, so I’m used to whatever you wanna use for me (for now, I’ll update this if that changes). Please send me pictures of your pets or other cute animals in your life!

As a scientist, I’m also documenting my transition! This google sheet will be updated at least monthly. I also have additional metrics I’m keeping to myself, and pictures that go with this, but I’m not sharing them publicly yet. Keep in mind that this is just one person’s experience with HRT, and may not represent universal trends!

Adding a little something here, bc I think it was an interesting bit a writing: if you want to see me respond to a transphobe about what "biologically female" means, here's a thing I wrote about it. CW for transphobia and discussion, obviously.

Also, if any of my measurements look weird, its entirely possible I fucked up. Let me know if anything looks off!

Here’s some of my favorite pre-HRT pictures:

If you want to see more of my pre-HRT selfies, browse the “femboy” tag on my blog!

And as of this writing, I’m only 2 days after the start of HRT, so here’s a picture with my tortoise that’s technically post-HRT (but with 0 time for actual changes):

If you want to see my future post-HRT selfies, browse the “trans selfie” tag on my blog!

Also here's another really cute picture and fanart of my tortoise by @whalesharkcat:

I have affectionately given my tortoise the title of The Grumpus.

I also wrote a couple of tutorials and general vibes about being a femboy before I started HRT:

Sometimes I make shitposts of myself, I don’t take myself too seriously:

This includes the way I came out on tumblr:

And here’s an overly serious, long ramble about trans thoughts and things that I wrote shortly afterwards:

Later addition: Someone asked how I take selfies, so I wrote a quick and dirty guide with some tips on how I do so in response to their ask:

Oh yeah and apparently I was a 196 microcelebrity? I never to thought I was popular enough for that but apparently some people do 🤷‍♀️. So uh, hi 196 tags, I'm abusing you for my pinned post LOL

As for terminology, I personally do think of myself as a “man who is becoming a woman” as opposed to having always been a woman. If that doesn’t resonate with your experience, I totally get that! But that’s why I freely call pre-HRT me a femboy, while still calling post-HRT me a trans woman. I’m also keeping the blog name as CatboyBiologist for the forseeable future, because at this point, Catboy just seems like a gender neutral term to me.

I’m also trying to put together a script for a podcast regarding how studying biology influenced my perspective on sex and gender- lmk if there’s any interest in that! It’s probably gonna be way too long and indulgent but oh well.

So uh. Yeah. I don’t end these types of things well. Byeeeeee

[dolldefiler]

Hey :)

I just wanted to say truly how incredible your writing is. I find myself refreshing on tumblr desperately looking for a new story from you whilst I mindlessly rub myself away to all the dirty things on here because it just works like no other if I’m honest..

Also wanted to say thank you for seeming like a genuine person on top of all the sex-stuff, a lot of people abuse the space with this sorta stuff so it’s refreshing to see a double edged sword type thing I suppose.

Now I guess onto the reason I gathered the courage to ask (even though I’m still on anonymous…) I was wondering if you’d be up for letting me share my fantasy and if it sparked any inspo, if you’d be open to doing a request whenever you got the free time?

One of my biggest fantasies in the world is being kidnapped, raped and gaslighted, with heavy heavy tones of misogyny. Idk something about a sexually fuelled patriarchal society really does something to me :0 but unfortunately it’s kind of hard to communicate that desire to anyone at risk of it being taken completely the wrong way (oh the joys of having these kinks) and so I fear I’ll never really get to live out any variation of this fantasy with someone I trust

I just imagine being taken one day, because I’m just a girl and it’s a man’s right to take me if they choose. He takes me back to whatever secluded hole he’s got to keep me in, and it’s brutal and harsh at first - tied, bruised, etc etc. Then as the days, weeks, months go by I begin to develop Stockholm syndrome or I’m just plain old gaslighted into thinking this is all women are made for. Maybe he recorded me saying degrading things about myself in the first few days, which I said out of fear but you play them back for me and convince me that I meant them and you never asked me to say those things, it must just be truly who I am. Maybe he’d reward me when I gagged on his golf with the most simple thing like a stroke of my hair while he brutally fucked my face, but the small sign of affection (even when being used so aggressively) would be the gentle touch that I had been craving in the months he had kept me locked away. Besides the first time he raped me (so he could hold my pleasure during it as a tool against me), he would edge me from the very start, breaking me, making me crave the pleasure against everything screaming in my body saying not to. Taunting me by saying if I could cum just one more time, he’d let me go.. but of course he’d never let me. Teasing me by saying if I do as I’m told he’ll think about letting me get extra close to the edge that day, because at this point being allowed that would be the closest I would ever get. By the end of it my rewards would no longer benefit me, I’d be thankful when he said I could cockwarm him whilst he worked, or if he said I could be spend hours and hours worshipping his cock with my mouth, even when my jaw began to hurt. He’d only fuck me ass unless he wanted to edge me and get me close, or to breed me full of cum. If I ever took a misstep, like missing a single drop of cum after he came, I’d be punished. I’d be thankful to serve him, I’d learn to speak to him as my superior and all my pleasure would come from serving him. I could be completely rewritten and by the end of it he could let me go with no worry, and I’d be his forever..

ANYWAYS… ahem. I think I may have got carried away.

Even if you don’t write anything like this, honestly it was kind of fun just typing it out.

Other than that, I hope you are doing good!

From a very horny anon (who maybe recently has maybe weirdly started subconsciously picturing some imagined version you in this fantasy)

-🍒

Aww, this is such a cute message to receive (and as ever with these asks, I apologise for taking a century to respond).

I would love to steal some girl away from her home, snatching her up like she's property to be claimed. Snatching it up, like it's property to be claimed. She'd struggle at first, screaming and crying, violently thrashing against her ropes and threatening to call the police. What a silly little sex doll. The police wouldn't care about her. They'd probably stolen away their own little fleshlights.

I'd beat her of course. Stupid fucking rapetoys need it sometimes. They need to understand that they're nothing until I give them a purpose. I'd lock her in a dark room with no clock, no water, not a single sound to accompany her but the sounds of soft sobbing and heavy breathing. She'd mark the passing of days from my sharp footsteps as I'd come down to feed her. Beat her. Abuse her.

I'd speak to her sometimes, whispering degradation into her ears. Taking off her gag to encourage to degrade herself for me, if she wanted food. The only human contact she'd know would be intensely degrading. Every vile word of degradation she'd whisper about herself would earn her a pat on the head or kiss on the forehead. I'd reward her for breaking.

I would record every trembling word of hate she'd say about herself and rape her to the sounds of it. I'd spread apart her cunt on my cock and pound away at her, recording even that, raping her endlessly to our homemade porn. To our rape videos. She'd watch her own face become stained with tears. She'd hear the nasty things she'd hear about herself. She'd lose her mind. Did she truly want this? Did she really hate herself?

I'd reassure her that this was normal. That it's okay to hate yourself. That all she needed was me. I'd strap a vibrator against her clit and drill into her ass, jerking off inside her to the sounds of her intense degradation, to the her loud, screaming in those rape videos. I'd teach her to love the feeling. Then I'd leave her again. I wouldn't speak to her for days, silently feeding her. She'd have to choose between eternal silence or... something that made her feel alive. Something that made her feel like a woman. Something like a pathetic fucking rapemutt.

I'd choke her out, squeezing her tighter and telling her that I'd stop if she only just told me to. I'd stop if she degraded herself. I'd stop it if she just said anything. But my hand would stop her. I'd watch her become unconscious and limp every time, and wake her up to my cock raping her ass violently and my palm slapping her sharply. I'd only use her cunt to reward her. To train her into loving my cock stirring up her insides in a way that didn't leave her screaming.

I'd rewrite her so thoroughly she wouldn't even be able to consider disobeying me. The police might stop burying their cocks into their own fleshlights and knock on my door. They might question her. They'd get nothing. She'd defend me and tell them she ran away with me. She'd fervently tell them how I'd saved her from her old life. How I'd helped her. They'd take one last look at her and leave my house. Perhaps I'd breed her as a reward.

[ave09]

moon knight headcanons:

they make you cry during a fight

note: once again, my personal headcanons. jake’s kinda sucks because i haven’t seen enough of his character 😭

i have a lot of inspiration to write for the moon boys, so if you have a specific scenario for a headcanon that you’d want to see, please comment or send it to my ask box

also… y’all interested in other oscar character headcanons..? like poe dameron, santiago garcia, jonathan levy, or even a mister miguel o’hara? let me know :)

steven

steven hates arguing. 

but it happens from time to time. 

and he is absolutely wrecked the moment he sees those tears.

“no-oh bloody hell-luv-“

he immediately moves towards you, cupping your face, trying desperate to wipe the tears away.

“darling, i’m sorry—i’m sorry—i never meant-“

would definitely start crying as well, and pull you into a tight hug. 

he holds you close, patting your head, running his hands through your hair, “i’m sorry. for everything.” 

from that day forward, he did his absolute best to have calm conversations and to not argue because he could not bear to see you in such pain ever again.

marc

now this man is very stubborn. very. he’s a master at arguing. 

he lies his way through anything if he can get away with it. 

but one night, he takes it too far. 

when he sees your tears, he is silent. unwavering. 

he knows he fucked up. just like he does everything, or so he thinks. 

it takes a few minutes for him to snap out of it before he moves towards you, slowly, cautiously.

he then will open his arms for you, “c’mere.” 

marc will hold you close, whispering in your ear.

“i’m sorry baby. i’m so sorry.”

that’s how you will stay. just quiet. alone. together.

marc cannot promise that he’ll stop arguing, it’s in his nature to bicker. 

but he can promise that he’ll never cross a line to where he brings you to tears ever again.

jake

for a man with homicidal tendencies, he’s honestly a sweetheart. 

he shuts up the moment he sees you crying. 

begins mumbling in spanish, cursing himself before approaching you. 

jake isn’t a touchy feely type of guy, but he’ll take your hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“lo siento, cariño. forgive me.” 

he immediately wants to forget about it, so he proposes to do something for you. make dinner for you, help out with chores, he’d do anything to see you smile after what he’d done. 

jake lockley may be a lot of things, but never does he want to be the man who you cry over.

[n3xii]

why do you feel stuck?

this spread is designed to help you identify why you are feeling stuck right now, as well as what you can do to get yourself unstuck. take a deep breath and choose an envelope from below

i also have personal readings available for an affordable price, check my pinned post for more information!!

Pile one-

your current situation: 8 of wands

i honestly think taking action is the biggest hurdle for you, taking the first step and actually taking action may feel bigger than the task itself. perhaps you may have just overcome some hurdles or blockages that might have previously been in the way, and now that the path is clear, it feels impossible to go forward. i also feel that this represents the momentum it takes to get something going, you may feel that your energy ebs and flows, perhaps motivation and passion are fleeting emotions that you cannot rely on to take action. this makes you feel stuck as a consequence.

what do you need to let go of in order to move ahead: the hanged man

ok, i feel like you're waiting for an external force to thrust you into action, you've taken the passive stance towards your own goals because you find it difficult to actually start. you're waiting for something else outside of you to give you the momentum, this could be another person you're waiting on, a sign, the feeling of motivation. but spirit is communicating that this passiveness is something you need to let go of. stop waiting for something else to spring you into action, the first step has to be done by yourself

message from spirit: boundaries

i think establishing some borders between yourself and what you will and will not tolerate is something that can actually help you become unstuck. this can be boundaries with other people, as well as boundaries with yourself, such as what behaviors and treatments you will tolerate towards yourself. people forget that the relationships they have with themselves need boundaries too.

Pile Two-

your current situation- seven of swords

the message im getting with this is self sabotage, you're in a situation where you are trudging upon your own steps forward by looking back, looking to other people, and looking everywhere but in the direction you're going. i feel like you could be comparing yourself to others, even comparing yourself to your past self as well. there may be somehting you feel you need to tuck away to the back of your mind because you perceived it as bad or undesirable.

what do you need to release in order to move ahead: nine of swords

so far im getting that this is an issue occurring mostly on the mental plane which one of the denser energies in someone's aura. this means your thoughts and words need to be something that you become more aware of so you can identify what exactly you are thinking about on a daily basis. journal, get a mood tracker and write your daily thoughts and feelings. become familiar with what you are saturating your mind with. this card tells me that you need to release overthinking, obsessions, and memories. specifically you need to release the recurring thoughts you have, the fears and paranoia that you may have that are causing you to self sabotage.

message from spirit: attraction

you are a powerful person and manifester, you could be spending more of your energy attracting what you want if you wanted to. now can be spent thinking about what you want to attract into your life and what you want to repel from it. your energy is precious, dont fuck with it. instead of comparing yourself or saturating your mind with obsessive, negative thoughts, direct your mental energy towards something that is positive.

Pile three-

your current situation: the star

the star conveys healing, hope, optimism, and a balance between both the physical and spiritual world. you're in a place where you may feel stuck, but you are actually just healing and recovering from something. the star comes after the tower in the tarot, which indicates the healing process after something major has been unraveled, you may feel like you are behind, or that you should be already healed, but let your spirit and body take the time it needs. you are healing from something, mental or physical at this time

what you need to release in order to move ahead: six of pentacles

i feel like you may have this lingering sensation and feeling that you owe other people something, that you aren't keeping your end of a bargain. this could be you feeling the need to maintain balance in a relationship, friendship, work partnerships etc. you may feel that you aren't being fair or balanced in those relationships but that is actually something you need to release. nothing is expected of you at this time, release the sensation that you need to make up for or do something in return.

message from spirit: power + 4 of pentacles

conserve your power, and know that you are powerful. dont expend energy you dont have right now, just hold onto it knowing that you have it. im also getting that ancestral work may be important right now. as you are healing, tapping into your ancestors and your lineage may give you the extra support and power supply that you need to recover. ancestors play an important role in supporting, when channeled you can rely on them to give you the energy and the momentum to support you on your healing energy.