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softlyspector · 9 months

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Decaf

Summary: After your first tattoo session with Joel, you can't stop thinking about him or, his touch. And it terrifies you.

Read Honeyed first where: You put aside your touch aversion for a tattoo from Joel.

Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~10.1k

Warnings: a smidgen of angst for fun 😌 then comfort, slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, the 'believes they're hard to love, loving them is like breathing' trope, reader has issues with touch and is mostly touch adverse (joel's workin' on that though), tattoos and getting tattooed (the process isn't really described), description of a past abusive relationship and a bad experience getting tattooed, undefined unresolved previous trauma, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this

A/N: This is dedicated to all of you who are also touch adverse. I hope you like this part as much as the first, and feel seen and heard. I love you and thank you for being so kind and open with your love and your own experiences. May you find the patience and love you deserve in your own Joel.

Once again, we’re ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. Editing this was a labor, so if there are any mistakes blame my tired eyes. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

Joel doesn’t want to walk you home, though he figures he should.

It’s the polite thing to do. The kind of thing his mother and grandmother raised him to do.

And it's got nothing at all to do with prolonging this very long day with you. No, nothing so self serving and selfish as that.

His little doe he’d lured so close, still so out of reach with hidden tattoos not on her hip. It’s scary, the want that wells up in him, the desire to see you step that much closer to him, until you feel safe enough to nestle in his shadow.

If you were the deer, he should be the tree, the shade, the haven.

Rage, incandescent and warm and comforting in its familiarity, wells up in his chest again when your earlier admission plays through his mind.

Nothing brings his anger, quick and deadly, like those he cares for being harmed. Rarely did he see cause for it to break the surface—not since Sarah was born and he had a better example to set, not since Tommy calmed down and stopped getting in so many fights.

This, though, with you—the thought of you being harmed, brings it all rushing back. He hopes to never lay eyes on your ex, for everyone’s sake.

I had bruises for a couple weeks after, you’d said. It hurt. He wanted it to hurt.

Those words had stung on their own, but then you’d continued.

I think he wanted to brand me. He wanted to leave a piece of himself on me, whether I wanted it or not.

It grates on him, that anyone could hurt you that way, that anyone would even think of it, and get away with it.

You’re happily finishing the last bite of the quartet of tacos he’d gotten you, unaware of the turmoil that drags taunting claws into the fleshy parts of his chest.

You nod along to the Cash song still playing over the outdoor speakers, though now at a much lower volume as the night wanes later, a content expression on your face.

He likes watching you eat, likes it even better knowing you’re eating something he got you. It satisfies something weirdly primal in him.

The side of your leg is still pressed to his, warm and pliant even through two layers of denim. The buzzing flaxen glow of the sting lights halo over your head; it casts your face in shadow, the long feathers of your lashes spiking down your cheeks.

You seem more relaxed now. The tension in your shoulders has loosened, the crease between your furrowed brows gone as you ball up the used napkins and toss them into the little paper boat the tacos had been on.

He refuses the last few sips of lemonade, and so you drink the rest instead.

“Well,” you say, your voice a little sheepish and shy, that soft round look coming back into your eyes. He imagines you with the twitching, sensitive ears of a doe, poking through your hair, alert and suddenly wary of the extended hand you’d been so trusting of minutes before. “I should probably let you go. It’s late.”

You say it like you think you’ve been keeping him there, taking up his time that he’s eager to get back.

But you haven’t, and he isn’t ready to let you go.

“I’ll walk ya home.”

“It’s alright,” you say dismissively, gathering the trash and standing before he can do it for you. “I’m only a couple of blocks over,” you say over your shoulder as you walk away.

“I’d feel better if you let me,” he admits, following close behind you.

You toss the trash and then turn back to him, nervously running your palms along your thighs, eyes flicking over him. “This is a safe little town, you know,” you reassure him. “Like, I’m pretty sure my neighbors don’t even lock their door.”

Joel blinks. “But you lock your door, don’t ya?”

An inexplicable smile pulls your mouth up at the corners. “Yeah, Joel, I lock my door.”

“Good,” he says gruffly, shoving down the protective feeling that had been rising in his chest. It’s an insane feeling, one that sets something he thought long dead on fire within him.

You just watch him for a moment, knowing eyes sliding over him. “Well,” you relent and jerk your head toward one of the side streets. “I’m this way, if you’re sure you have time.”

Like time had anything to do with it.

He gestures you ahead of him, his eyes falling down the curve of your spine, the shape of your hips and thighs. He’s still trying hard not to think about the bumblebee and the antlers tattooed somewhere on your body, all the parts of you he hasn’t seen.

He’s trying hard not to think about a lot of things.

Like how your skin felt under his hand, dewy and warm. How he’d spent most of the day with his hand covering yours, the hummingbird beat of your pulse against his fingertips.

He’s trying not to think about how good you smelled that close, raw and unfiltered, how irritated he had been when the sharp smell of disinfectant had chased it away.

You carried the smell of summer with you wherever you went, like sunshine and coffee, iced sugar and coconut.

He walks with you through the navy darkness in silence, the flash of amber street light the only thing illuminating your way. It feels nice. He feels like the rest of the world has turned its face away, that it's only you and him and the ghostly eyes of the white glow of the moon peeking through the quickly dissipating clouds.

The Texas dry heat would be back with a vengeance in the morning, but for now the street is pleasantly humid. The air still smells like petrichor, like damp concrete. He should savor it. Tomorrow, the blindingly hot smell of asphalt and dust will return and chase this moment in the dark with you away.

You seem almost better suited to the dark, to the quiet smooth pleasantness of it, like your fear can’t reach you there if it can’t see you, if you can’t see it. Like a prey animal that only ventured into the safety of night.

So he lets the silence last, because it's comfortable, and he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary chatter anyhow.

He can’t remember the last time he did something like this, felt the brush of someone else’s fingers through the dark and the accompanying zing it sent up his arm. He forgot how amplified everything could feel, especially in the low light.

The walk to your apartment is short.

You only live a few blocks from the center of town, and only a few streets over from the studio. He imagines you walking this path each day with the intention of coming to see him, with the intention to walk by the studio, even before you knew him—in the sun, all summer.

You live above the town’s sole bookshop. It’s cute, like the rest of the town is. It’s unbelievable how idyllic the town is, like it’s cut straight from the pages of a romance novel, or one of those shitty Hallmark movies.

He stands just outside the circle of the security light that blinks on over the door. You fiddle with the lock for a solid minute, jiggling the knob just so and then twisting the key in a pattern that you seem to know well, until it finally yields and opens.

Joel clears his throat. “Y’need someone to look at that?”

You don’t seem to hear the question mark tagged onto the end of the question, or to realize that he’s offering to fix it. “Yeah, I know,” you roll your eyes. “I’ve asked my landlord to look at it a couple of times already but they haven’t gotten around to it—”

“I can take a look for you sometime,” he clarifies. “It won’t take but a minute—”

“That’s alright, Joel,” you interrupt quickly and dip your head, embarrassed suddenly. “I’ve let you do way too much for me today. Everyday.” Before he can contradict you—because he isn’t sure what the hell you feel he’s done for you, you step back through the door and hover there in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.

The security light casts your face in harsh shadows, the dark stairwell behind you reaching black claws out to hook around your frame.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. You just linger there, fidgeting with your keys, looking for all the world like you have something you want to say to him, like you don’t want him to go either.

Joel watches you, waiting for you to say something, to be the one to sever the connection between you and say goodnight. His chest feels tight as he waits for you to decide, waits for you to decide his shade was a place you could be safe.

Besides, he’s still trying to figure how to say goodbye to you, still trying to figure how he’s supposed to pry apart the sticky want that thrums against his skin. Still trying to figure out what exactly had gotten into him, what had gotten into him in the weeks and months you’d started coming by.

He supposes it's just been a long time. He supposes he’s just out of practice at having feelings for someone.

It’s been just him and his girls and his brother for so long.

He must take too long trying to figure things out because you smile at him and glance away, your expression apprehensive and unsure. “You will let me get you back for the tacos someday,” you warn softly. “‘Night.”

Then you shut the door. He hears you bang up the steps, your footfalls fading until he can’t hear them anymore. The security light flickers out and he’s plunged into semi-darkness, but he doesn’t move until a light finally comes on in one of the upstairs windows a few minutes later, the silhouette of your body outlined behind a sheer curtain.

It’s only then that he turns away and walks back the way he’d come. He smiles to himself and then feels stupid about it.

He’s too old, he thinks again, for his chest to be twinging the way it is, to be smiling in the dark, and missing someone he just left.

He’d see you tomorrow, anyway.

Just as he always did.

Just like you always do.

Joel is distracted the day after your appointment.

Your scent lingers in the air of the studio. He mistakes every shadow that passes the front window for you. The image of you under the soft light in the center of town is imprinted behind his eyes. The way you’d smiled, the feel of your skin under his fingers—soft and damp in the humid air that had ballooned after the day’s rain, consumes his every thought, has his eyes shifting to the front window every few seconds. His back gives an unpleasant spasm from how quickly he turns at even the slightest noise, always thinking it's you finally pushing the door open.

But he sees more than your shadow and the ghost of your silhouette in the window.

Joel sees all the imagined, soft skin under your clothes where an antler tattoo is hidden. Untouched, unexplored skin that he would very much like the chance to explore and touch, if ever you gave him the chance, if you ever wandered that close.

It’s a fine idea.

That you’d come into the studio and lean against the counter and watch him work on a design for someone that isn’t nearly as important as you are.

But, the day wears on, and you never show up.

The day after Joel tattooed you and bought you sugary lemonade and tacos under golden light that you etched divine, you don’t stop in.

You don’t even walk by.

It isn’t unusual for you to go a few days between visits to the studio. He tells himself that it’s normal, fine, that you have a job and a life and that sometimes you don’t get the chance to come by. He tries not to worry about it.

On the second day, with your image still fluttering behind his eyes, the weight of your gaze still heavy on his skin, he starts sketching another design for you. It distracts him, at least, because you don’t come in on the second day, either.

You don’t come in the day after that either, or the day after that. His girls stop by for dinner on Friday evening, and Ellie crashes on his couch for the night to help out in the shop the next day. All that Saturday, all he can think about is you, pushing the door open slowly, pausing in the entryway like you always do with watchful eyes, skin shimmering with sweat from the sun and heat, cups of coffee in hand, one for you and one for him, just like always.

He imagines you smiling at him, your shoulders loosening when your doe eyes land on him, the uncertainty and trepidation melting away because it’s him. Because it’s just him. It’s just the two of you.

But the image, the fantasy, never comes to fruition.

Ellie snaps at him around noon to stop being so fucking weird, dude.

Sundays—the shop is closed, so he doesn’t see you then.

By Monday, five days after he tattooed you and walked you home in the dark, as the sun sets on a ragingly warm evening, Joel is convinced that you aren’t going to come by the studio anymore.

He keeps working on your new design.

Then, a whole week goes by, and then another, and you still don’t drop by, you don’t even walk by, though he catches a few glimpses of you down the road—in front of the boutique, the coffee shop, the record store a few doors down. He sees you at the farmer’s market that pops up every Saturday in the town’s center.

He dreams of you, dreams of the willowy, softly plush curves of your body. Joel dreams of you at home with him, in his bed. He dreams of pushing your shirt up, palming every delicate part of you, tracing his fingers over your hidden tattoos.

He always jolts awake when the dream version of you pushes him back and kisses him hard, his hands cupped around you, your thighs, your breasts, the dip of your waist and belly.

It’s distracting, the ghost of you everywhere he looks. He can’t even bring himself to take your painting down from the front window. The doe you don’t see yourself in.

Adjusting to your absence is hard. He hadn’t realized you’d wormed your way into his daily life so firmly, like an invasive species the environment grows around, and turns when it's taken away.

In one particularly low moment two weeks on, he takes a stroll a few blocks over, worried that something might have happened to you, that something might be keeping you away. He sees you inside the bookstore you live above, newly purchased novel in hand, feet curled beneath you on a sofa in the window.

You seem fine, though an inexplicable twinge of jealousy plucks at his heart. He never thought that you might hang around the other shops like you did with his.

And you never come by.

You don’t owe him anything, certainly not your company.

He resigns himself to not seeing you until your second session, when he’ll finish your tattoo and probably never see you again.

Joel scares you.

His hand lying over yours all day; his offer to fix your door; the way he looked at you intense and heavy and waiting, wanting—it all terrifies you.

The words to invite him up for something to drink had sat heavy in your mouth before you changed your mind and left him where he stood. You’d bothered him enough, taken up enough of his time.

You aren��t sure what southern manners had led him to take you to get tacos and lemonade but surely he’s had enough of you.

I’ve let you do way too much for me, you’d said. And he hadn’t disagreed.

Instead, you lurch up the stairs, let yourself into your apartment and stand breathing hard in the dark entryway, back against the door. Your forearm aches just a little, but in the pleasant way it always does after getting tattooed, instead of in the painful, raw way the one from your ex had.

The familiar itch below your skin that had started with Joel’s art is now overwhelming, because you know what the shape of his hand feels like. You know the precise weight of his palm over the back of your hand, and against the column of your spine. You can’t forget how his jean clad thigh felt against yours, how nice the brush of his fingers had been through the dark.

His voice was so low and graveled when it brushed against your skin, it tingled through your whole body, down to your toes, to the pit of your belly. It was low and intimate and felt like everything he said was just for you, like it had brushed against every tiny hair on your body.

I’m not markin’ you, because it's not mine. It’s yours. It’s for you.

They were words for you, special for you, reassuring to you, spoken so kindly and in defense of you against someone he would never meet, over something that was not his fault and that he hadn’t been around yet to prevent.

There’s a kinetic energy under your skin that burns, like pages of your story with him are already set aflame. Don’t burn this bridge, you think and lean hard back into the door. You close your eyes and tangle your fingers together, squeezing so tight it hurts, until you pinch your skin. Please don’t let me burn this bridge.

You like Joel, more than you have any right to. He feels safe and sure and solid; he’s kind. He scares you, but in a way that makes you want to claw your way through the dark back to him, to see if he’ll touch you again, speak low and kind just for you, work on art made just for you.

When you finally catch your breath, you flip on the lights and toss your keys down as you cross your small apartment. You scrub a hand over your face and take a deep breath from between your fingers.

A moment later, you pluck up the courage to glance out the window, just in time to catch Joel’s broad shoulders turn the corner in the distance back onto Main Street.

Something in your chest pangs, the strings of your heart pull tight and hard up against your lungs until your throat closes.

The feelings he planted in your chest, nestled among your ribs and wove between your veins, seem unfair. It seems horribly unfair, harsh even, that you should be left with the tips of your fingers smoldering, hesitantly reaching out for more.

He’s left a sea inside you, a lonely dark hole. You knew it was there, that black, open emptiness. You’d felt it all your life, but now you know what it feels like when someone sees it, shrugs, and asks to be a part of it. You know what it's like, now, to have someone stand, patient and still on the shore.

He’s left you wanting, craving something that you’ve feared for so long, that always felt wrong. And when your skin started to go tight and your muscles contracted and pulled, he’d somehow known, heard the pain buried away, and released you.

You can still feel the ghost of his knuckles brushing against your wrist on the dark walk to your apartment. You can feel his thigh against yours while you ate tacos together and listened to the folks of your small town laugh and dance to old country music. You can feel his palm cupped around your wrist, dwarfing your hand beneath his.

You can still feel his calloused fingertips, catching at your palm and the inside of your wrist.

He makes you feel safe and seen, like it’s okay that you lingered in his studio for weeks, bothered him endlessly, without any guarantee that you might one day schedule an appointment and actually get tattooed.

You thought the wantneedpull would subside after finally starting the tattoo but its only gown. The pain you waited for, the urge to flee from your own body never came with him. You want him closer, want the warm rough press of his palm against yours. You just want—you’ve never really wanted anyone closer but you want him closer.

You want Joel so close that nothing else bleeds through. You want to melt into the palms that cupped you so gently, so carefully.

You want to become carefully molded wax in his capable hands.

Inexplicably, for the first time in so long, you want someone to touch you. You want to feel Joel’s hands everywhere, anywhere he could reach and even all the places he couldn’t.

And it terrifies you.

You mean to go back to your normal routine, but the first morning you try to stop by the studio, you can’t make your feet carry you there. You pause halfway between the coffeeshop and the studio, Joel’s usual order clutched in your hand.

The gnawing, empty, raw hole inside you has only grown. You look at your pretty tattoo and think of the gently rough hands that had created it, the furrow between his brows while he worked, the scar over his nose, the strong, broad slope of his shoulders, and you feel anxious.

You want it so badly, and yet—

He’s just your tattoo artist. He probably only put up with you hanging around his shop everyday, bringing him coffee, talking his ear off, because there was the promise of money, the promise of work.

You’d just done the stupid thing and gotten attached to him, to the studio, to your fucking tattoo artist. You are just a client and you long to melt into him. You long to press yourself against him, feel the crush of his body against yours.

That want makes you wary, phantom pain, phantom aversion crawling beneath your skin right after.

It makes your head spin, it makes you feel crazy, that you can’t even decide what you feel, what you want.

It’s better if you stay away, give yourself time to forget the itch, forget the feel of his hands, so you turn away and circle the block, back to your apartment where you set the cups on your kitchen counter and take a deep breath.

Your chest is tight, your mind a snarl of half formed thoughts.

Tomorrow, you think, will be better.

But it’s not.

Each day you think about going over, and you don’t. You feel wound tight, like clockwork left to rust. You dream of Joel, his hands everywhere and nowhere, the warmth of him like a ghost you can’t shake off.

The feelings you try to avoid, the desert dryness of need and emptiness that the loss of his touch inspired, doesn’t go away. It gets worse; it outweighs the fear, the aversion.

You only dare to go as close as the record store, checking he was still there, like the whole place would suddenly disappear if you stopped going by, like a witch’s cottage after a botched, half-worked spell.

You feel cursed, like soot, like a monster waiting to steal the soul of the light.

You’re burning your bridge and you don’t know how to stop.

Joel is still there, where he’s always been. His art is still there, though you’re so far away now, you can’t see it clearly anymore.

But you notice among the still ever rotating collection of art and pictures in the window, one always remains.

You know without seeing it that it's the painting of the doe looking over her shoulder, bees flocking like long forgotten gods around her ears.

Ellie and Sarah ask about you on the third Friday that goes by without you stopping in.

The temperature has cooled off a little, the warmth of summer receding just the tiniest bit. The kitchen table is laden with chinese takeout boxes, rice already spilled across one of the placemats.

“You haven’t been talkin’ about her so much,” Sarah notes curiously.

“Yeah, and you’ve been way more cranky than usual,” Ellie adds.

“Ain’t had cause to see her,” he deflects, reaching for the yet un-spilled carton of rice. “Hasn’t been in the studio since her first session.”

The kitchen suddenly falls silent, the clatter of cutlery deadened as it’s set on the table. “What do you mean?” Sarah, he thinks, sounds mildly offended on his behalf.

“Just what I said,” he grumbles.

He doesn’t need to look up from his plate to know Sarah and Ellie are exchanging a look. “Why not?” Sarah ventures to ask, her tone calmer.

Joel shrugs and finally looks up at his kids. Sarah’s head is tilted to the side ever so slightly and Ellie’s brow is furrowed. “Busy, maybe,” he explains. “Got better things to do.”

“Bullshit!” Ellie explodes suddenly. “What happened? Did you do something stupid?”

He sighs hard through his nose and shovels orange chicken onto his plate with more force than necessary. “No.” Then he reconsiders, goes over every moment of that day again in his mind. How much he touched you, selfishly, when he knew you were adverse to it. “I don’t know. Could be she was only around this summer to see if we’d make a good fit.”

There’s another beat of silence before both girls are arguing with him. He lets them go on protesting it for a few minutes before he waves them down. “She’s got a lot goin’ on that you two don’t know. Somethin’ might’ve spooked her that I didn’t realize.”

“Like what?”

Your ex-boyfriend and your badly healed tattoo flashes through his mind. The bruises you said you’d had for weeks afterward, how badly it had hurt. The way he’d held onto you all that day.

Guilt pools in his chest, floods his lungs.

He doesn’t know what might have spooked you.

Just hopes it wasn’t him.

“Well, have you tried to talk to her?”

Sarah peers at him with wide eyes, fingers delicately folded around a pair of chopsticks. “No,” he admits.

Ellie makes a discontent noise. “Just fucking talk to her, man,” she says.

“You always do this, dad,” Sarah says suddenly, shaking her head.

“I do not—I don’t—” he stammers. When was the last time he’d had the opportunity to fuck something up? “What are you talkin’ about?”

They both shrug. “It’s like you don’t ever wanna be happy sometimes. She makes you happy and you always think of everybody else, it's okay to think of yourself sometimes. Maybe whatever’s going on with her doesn’t have anything to do with you. Not everything is your fault.”

He can’t figure a way it's not about him, though, that it might not be his fault.

Joel clears his throat and looks down at his plate. “All right, tell me what you two’ve been up to this week.”

“Hey Joel.”

Joel glances up, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. You’re distorted in his vision for a moment before he reaches up to take them off.

Your shape comes into sharp relief, a balm after not seeing you for so many days. You look cheerful, happy to see him.

Excited, even.

He hasn’t seen you in a month.

You’d messaged back and forth with his kid about your appointment, about today.

He hasn’t heard your voice in a month.

Seeing you now, despite thinking about you, dreaming about you everyday, makes some part of him close off, go cold and hard. “Howdy,” he says, his voice toeing the edge of polite and flat. The smile on your face fades a little.

Though the sunshine is bright as always, the air outside is chilly for Texas. You’re wrapped in a sweatshirt. For the first time since he’s known you, all of your tattoos are hidden, most of your skin is covered.

You blink owlishly, your fingers flexing nervously around the cups in your hands. “I brought you coffee,” you offer.

He makes a noncommittal noise and jerks his chin towards the door behind the counter. “C’mon, I’m already set up.” Joel turns.

“Oh,” you say, your voice following him to the back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was late.”

“You aren’t,” he grumbles softly. “Had another client this mornin’,” he says, needlessly adjusting and straightening the supplies he had set out, keeping his back to you.

He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to get through this with you—ain’t sure how he’s supposed to make sense of how much it hurt that you’d stopped hanging around. There’s a feeble little thread of hope in his heart that you’ll explain it away, that you even noticed you’d changed your routine. A tiny, weak little thing that makes him hope you thought about him too.

Stupid.

That painful tug of hope makes him feel like a teenager, like an idiot kid who read into every little thing like it was a sign until reality started to distort.

He’s always been that way, hopeful and goddamn stupid. It’s why he hasn’t really been with anyone since Sarah’s mother left. It’s how he got tangled up with Sarah’s mom in the first place. He gets stupid when he thinks he feels something, and he’s never been good at figuring how to hold onto something like that, something so delicate.

He always ends up loving too hard, too much. He always crushes the thing before it has a chance to bloom. His girls, they were his only exception, the one thing he was mostly good at taking care of.

“Guess the coffee was a stupid move, huh?”

Joel turns at the sound of your voice, pulled away from the half self-deprecating thoughts floating through his mind, and finds you hovering awkwardly in the doorway, fingers fidgeting anxiously around the cups. You look like you did the first time you came into the shop, stiff and unsure, wide eyes peering at him like you’re waiting for him to give you a reason to run.

The doe waiting for the snap of the twig beneath a hunter’s boot once again.

Something twinges in his chest, the sharp pain slicing through bone and tendon.

He doesn’t want to be the hunter to your doe.

“No,” he straightens, making an effort to soften his voice. “‘Course not.”

You step cautiously closer, extending one of the cups toward him. “Well, it kinda is.” You smile a little. “You won’t be able to drink it while you work, contamination and all. I just—I was on autopilot again, I guess.”

He takes it from you, the paper cup warm in his hand, and tries not to think about how autopilot for you meant unthinkingly buying a cup of coffee for him.

Again, you’d said. Have you done it before? Accidentally bought coffee he never received?

“Well, thank you, sweetheart.”

You swallow and glance away, nodding at the ground instead.

A long silence stretches between you, and unlike all the times you came into the studio before—it's awkward and heavy. He takes a sip of the coffee and finds it sours instantly in his stomach, mixing unpleasantly with the nerves.

Yeah, he’s exactly like a damn kid.

And he’s not good at this. He’s never been good about bridging silent gaps.

Not with words, anyway.

It doesn’t help that you seem to take up the whole room, the smell of sun and coffee and leaves curling on the air.

He sets the cup aside and goes about washing his hands instead. “Go on and get comfortable,” he directs over his shoulder. “Just like before.”

When he’s done scrubbing his hands in the sink and putting on gloves and fighting the urge to inhale the scent of you penetrating every cubic inch of air in the room, he turns to find you sitting and stripping out of your sweatshirt.

He inhales sharply when the shirt beneath lifts with the material, exposing him to a strip of your skin. You tug it back down, hiding skin that he’s dreamed of in the last three weeks, that he’d like to tease his fingertips along, if you let him, if he could lure you that close, convince you to trust him that much.

It seems like a fucking pipe dream now.

You look soft and rumpled as you fold the sweatshirt, fisting your hands anxiously around the edges of it in your lap.

The tendons in the back of your hands flex, bone straining against the flesh. You’re tense, nervous.

“You’re alright,” he drawls, despite himself. The words come out soft, and your shoulders loosen and slump as you release a breath. Whether you stopped coming around or not, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. “C’mere and lemme see it.”

You offer your arm to him and Joel takes your wrist in his hand, just like he had the last time he’d seen you. He’d touched you a lot that day, and you had let him. You’d let him touch you even after you left the studio and he hadn’t had a good excuse to keep doing it anymore.

Now, he relishes the feel of your delicate skin against his again.

“Looks good,” he says, stepping unconsciously closer to you. “Healin’ good anyway.”

You glance up, the side of your knee brushing against his thigh. Warmth radiates from your body, and settles into him in the invariably cold studio. A smile tugs at your lips and the tension disappears from your forehead. “You’re allowed to compliment your own work, you know. It’s beautiful. Probably my favorite.”

He doesn’t answer, fighting the clawing ache in his chest. “I do okay, I guess,” he concedes, turning your arm. “Just glad I didn’t hurt ya.”

You frown but don’t say anything as he goes through the motions of cleaning your skin and settling in on the stool next to you. You settle back in the chair, a cloud of your scent caccooning both of you, undercut by the annoyingly sharp smell of the disinfectant.

He covers your hand and squeezes the tight fist your hand curled into until you release the tension and relax. “Good,” he murmurs. “Good job.”

You chest hitches and you glance over at him, the movement sharp, but he doesn’t look back at you and you don’t say anything.

It’s quiet for a long time, just the buzz of the tattoo gun to keep him company.

He wonders what it is you’re thinking about. Though your body remains loose, the furrow between your brows is pinched tight in thought.

Joel doesn’t bother you, focused instead on his work, on monitoring the flex of your hand beneath his. He doesn’t strictly need to touch you like this, but he wants to, and it seems like you don’t mind.

At least, you hadn’t minded a couple weeks ago.

Maybe that’s what has your forehead so scrunched up. Maybe—

“I didn’t think you would.”

He glances up, those big eyes he sees in his dreams staring down at him. “What’s that?”

“I didn’t think you would hurt me. I mean—really, I’ve only had one bad tattoo experience,” you say with a roll of your eyes, dismissive of your own pain, like that’s not one too many times. “The rest of my—the rest of my issues are mine. Even from before that happened.” You don’t look away from him. “Besides, Ellie assured me beforehand that you have a light touch.”

Yeah, he thought he’d heard her saying that. He’d been both embarrassed about it and warmed.

“Well, I guess she’s right. Never had any complaints.” He leans back and takes his hand off of yours, flexing his fingers and stretching out the pinch in his spine.

One thing he did not relish about tattooing was the way he had to be hunched over. It makes him feel achy and old even if he knows it’d be much worse if he was still working with Tommy.

You nod and fidget with the hem of your shirt with your free hand. He watches you for a long moment, still not saying anything.

Even though things are a little awkward, he feels better, having you there again; knowing for sure that you’re okay because he’s seeing you with his own eyes. His kids might be right, that it’s all right to think of himself for once. Or, as Ellie put it, to just fucking talk to you instead of making assumptions.

“You ain’t been around much lately,” he offers, extending that metaphorically slow hand to you as he always has, asking for the nugget of whatever truth you held onto so tightly.

Maybe it was never about him, just as Sarah had said.

He looks away from your eyes, goes back to tattooing your arm, filling in your piece, the design he’d worked on for a whole summer. Just for you.

The tattoo suits you. He feels an odd kind of pride that you liked his art enough to trust him with designing something, with putting it onto your skin, and your trust is something he never could have hoped for.

“No,” you start, your voice a bit hoarse. “I guess not. I—I just figured that I didn’t have an excuse to stop by anymore.” You pause and swallow. Your voice is clearer when you speak again. “And you’d already been so nice about me taking up your time.”

Joel has to pause again and glance up, just to judge your expression. To see if you’re serious.

You aren’t looking at him, but staring at the far wall as though the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen is etched there. Your features are tense, like you’re trying not to show what you’re feeling. “Taking up my time?”

You shrug, the easily startled anxiety threading back into your eyes. “And,” your voice is shaky as you continue. “I was a little—I don’t know. Afraid. I guess.” Something must show on his face, the swoop of his gut visible on his features because you hurry to explain. “I just…I’ve never trusted someone the way I think I trust you. So. That’s scary.”

There’s a lot of things he could say, a lot of things he should say, but Joel isn’t exactly good at that kind of thing. He just knows he hates when you look at him with trepidation and weariness.

So instead, he covers your hand again and squeezes tight. He refocuses on your tattoo, on the transformation of your skin. He isn’t sure what to make of what you’d said about trust, or your honesty about it, so he pushes down the feeling that wells up into his gut at that admission. “Well, it ain’t no trouble. Havin’ you here. It was mighty quiet without you around.”

It’s hard to say, somehow, the words sticky and catching in his mouth. A quiet descends in the wake of his words, the low buzz of the tattoo gun driving him crazy. He wishes you’d say something, anything, but he doesn’t have the heart to look up and see if you’re looking at him with big, startled eyes.

“Oh,” you say eventually, softly.

And then—“It was quiet for me too. I missed coming by. Why didn’t you ask after me? Ellie could have gotten to me.”

Joel had considered it. He’d figured you’d had good reason to stay away. And he guesses you had, just not the ones he thought.

It hadn’t been about him, really.

“You’re real skittish,” he settles on telling you the truth. “Didn’t want to push you further than you’d already gone.”

He nods, wipes your skin gently with a damp paper towel. “I looked out for ya. Kept thinkin’ y’da come by.”

“Oh,” you say again and this time the word is laced with surprise. “I…didn’t know that. I looked for you too.”

Joel shrugs in what he hopes is an offhand manner. He cares more than he wants to admit, more than he can admit.

“It’s just because you missed having someone bring you coffee,” you tease gently when he doesn’t respond.

He snorts and the lingering tension dissolves. “Don’t do that again,” he says, still not looking up at you. “Coffee or not.”

Joel shrugs on a dark red flannel before he shuffles you out the shop’s front door.

The air is chilly but dry, and it burns the inside of your nose. In truth, the temperature is mild, not worthy of shivers or flannels, but compared to the unending heat of summer it's practically cold outside.

The skin of your forearm feels warm beneath your opposite hand clutched over the fresh ink, safely and carefully wrapped. You can’t stop looking at your now completed tattoo, still smiling to yourself about the way Joel seemed irritated that you not only paid him for his work but tipped him too. You told him to think of it as repayment for the tacos and lemonade but that had only made him frown harder.

“You don’t have to walk me home,” you say, even though the last thing in the world you want is for him to let you go on alone.

“Sure I do,” he says, turning away from the door.

Arguing wouldn’t change his mind, and you don’t really want to anyway.

Joel urges you down the sidewalk, his gait jilted and slow.

There’s an inch of space between you as you walk down the lamplit street. The horizon is a haze of orange, casting the wide open sky in shades of lavender and periwinkle as it darkens and evening sets in. You can feel the heat of Joel’s body, so close by.

It’s nothing compared to his hand over yours, the warmth and all consuming size of it. You don’t know if you’ll ever have cause to feel his hand again, now that he was done tattooing you.

Joel shifts so his hand hovers at your lower back, guiding you lightly. The gesture makes your skin prickle pleasantly, itchy with heat and that strange want that never went away. You wish he’d put his hand against your spine like he had when he’d gotten you tacos, so you could lean back into it, so you could feel the pressure of his hand.

He doesn't. Joel walks you along the street quietly, his hand painfully close to you and yet not close enough.

That alone makes you ache.

You don’t expect him to say anything as you walk along, mainly because you’re the one that’s always nervously chattering at him, half waiting to be snapped at. He tells you about Sarah’s course load for the upcoming fall semester and how Ellie’s nearly done at her apprenticeship. He talks quickly, like he’s trying to catch you up on a month worth of things you’d missed, like it mattered to him that you had.

He tells you about the clients he’d tattooed, and the designs he’s still working on. He wavers when he mentions the designs and you hope maybe he’ll ask you to look at some of them but he quickly moves on.

When you get close to your apartment he abruptly goes quiet and pulls his hand away from your back. Just like the last time he hovers just outside the halo of the security light over the door.

You struggle with the door like you always do until it finally pops open with a groan. This time when you hover in the doorway, you pluck up the courage to ask what you hadn’t been able to the last time.

“Would you like to come up for some coffee?”

“Late for that, ain’t it?”

Your heart sinks, breaks somewhere along your ribs. “Guess so,” you admit, gripping the edge of the door. “Thanks for walking with me, I’ll, uh—”

“But I would like that,” he cuts you off. It's so unlike him that you just stare for a moment. “If you’re offerin’, that is.”

You smile. “I am.”

He gestures you forward, reaching out to catch the door in his hand.

You slide into the dark entryway and Joel bolts the door shut behind you before following you up the stairs to the landing where you unlock your apartment door without so much struggle. “I can look at that other door,” he offers again, sounding sheepish this time, like he’s sorry for bothering you about it again.

“I’d like that,” you say, and let him in ahead of you.

You flip on the lights as you move past him to the kitchen, tiny and cluttered and too warm. You sweep your mail off the breakfast table and point Joel into one of the chairs when he starts to shrug out of the flannel.

Both chairs have jackets hanging from the back but he just drapes his over what’s already there. His shoulders strain at the material of his shirt, bunching around his biceps and under his arms, across the incredibly broad plains of his chest.

You yank your eyes away from him when you start to follow the vein in his arm, thinking you’d like to know what his skin tasted like there.

Heat floods your chest at the thought. It’s unlike you, makes you feel shaky in a good way. It’s been years since you’ve thought that about someone, and try as you might you can’t remember if you’d ever looked at your ex and thought something like that.

You wonder what that bit of skin feels like, how soft and firm the inside of his bicep must be.

He looks comfortable and domestic in the warm glow of your overhead kitchen light when he sits down.

You can’t look at him for too long without something in your pulse jumping, a raw little needy nerve that demanded attention. You want him to touch you again, to reach out and hold your hand so delicately in his.

Instead of dwelling on that thought, you turn to your coffee pot, deftly fixing it to brew before you turn to rummage through your fridge. “I have something stronger, if you want it. I don’t like drinking after getting a tattoo.”

“You shouldn’t,” he advises. “Ain’t good for healin’. You should eat somethin’, though.”

“I figured you’d have something to say about that,” you roll your eyes and turn to put the blackberry pie in your hands onto the table. “I won’t complain this time as long as you have some with me.”

He stares up at you, an odd look in his eyes. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it was affectionate. “All right, dear.”

Dear. That’s new. It makes you feel light, like bubbles are popping in your veins.

You nod at him, warmth spreading beneath your skin, before pointing to the pie. “From Flu’s. You been to Flu’s? She has the best pie. It’s blackberry.”

“Sure, me and the girls have been a few times. Coffee’s good there. Blackberry’s one of my favorites,” he rumbles, and you can’t tell if he’s lying or not. You have a feeling that even if Joel hated pie and was allergic to blackberries, you’d never hear a word about it.

Joel doesn’t look away from you. His gaze slowly shifts from your eyes, to your hand planted on your hip. He slowly reaches out and curls his hand around your wrist. The slow way he does it stills your heart and all the worries shelved inside it. All the room he gives you, to be skittish, as he called it, and afraid, makes your throat go tight and hot. He handles it like it’s not something to fix, just something to accommodate, figure out with you. “Thank you, sweetheart. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get the coffee?”

“It’s my house,” you gripe softly, no bite behind your words. His skin is fever hot against yours, like an ember pressed against your jumping pulse.

But just like the last time he tattooed you and insisted on something to eat, he scoffs at you. His thumb slides across the inside of your wrist. “And you were the one that lost blood today. Sit, and tell me where your mugs are.”

You slowly sit across from him, your wrist still in his hand. “Good,” he releases you and stands. The little bit of praise goes straight to your belly, just like it had at the shop. It settles warm inside you, a good kind of tense. “Cups?”

You point him to the correct cabinet, exhaustion overcoming you all at once now that you’ve sat down. You watch him pour the coffee, offer to get you cream or sugar even though he doesn’t know where those are either. You have to point him to where the plates, and then the cutlery, are kept.

It's an odd little hope that flits through your mind, one that wishes for a day when he would be familiar enough with your things that he wouldn’t need to ask.

He returns to the table and cuts two even slices of pie and plates them before returning to his chair.

You’re just about to dig your fork into the pie when his hand curls around yours again. He isn’t looking at you when you glance up, glad that he still wants anything to do with you, that he so carefully touches you, gives you the thing you crave and fear and are too afraid to ask for.

“Don’t do that again.” He squeezes your wrist gently, voice that quiet, low drawl, an echo of what he’d said earlier.

It’s the same thing he’d said at the shop and you don’t have to ask what he means. You wouldn’t anyway, not when the vulnerability in his voice seems to cost him.

He’s not sure how it happens, how he spends all night at your kitchen table with your trembling pulse beneath his hand.

He’s too old to be doing this type of shit.

He’s got an ache in his neck now that’s going to get him teased by just about everyone. His girls and Tommy already get on him about being a crotchety old man—between the glasses he refuses to wear besides anytime he needs to read something small and the landline phone and his attitude generally.

Yeah, his neck and back issues are going to be next on the docket.

But he can’t really bring himself to care, not when he’s gotten to sit with you through the night and listen to your voice, not when your hand is still securely within his and you haven’t given a single indication you’d like him to let go, not when your calves are crossed with his beneath the table.

He lets himself imagine it better, imagine it more.

You curled in his lap, head on his shoulder, fingers tangled up in the fabric of his shirt or knotted into his hair. In this stupid little dream of his, you’ve just woken up instead of staying awake through the night. You say good morning and he pours you coffee.

He thinks, too, of pressing you back into the table, finding what lay hidden on your skin. He’d go to his knees for you, he’d worship at your feet, if you asked him to.

He wants it so bad he can taste it, but he settles for what he has here with you, the limit you’ve guided him to, hands tangled and legs crossed.

The sun dawns a white gold through the sheer curtains over your kitchen windows. You’d never pulled the heavier drapes closed and the street light had cast your face in shadow when you flipped out the harsh overhead light.

You watch the sunrise, and Joel watches honeyed light shift over your face.

He likes your little apartment. It’s cluttered and homey and reminds him of his parent’s kitchen when he’d been growing up. You have art and photos stuck to every inch of bare wall. The blanket over the back of your couch and the shaw over one of the chairs is crocheted. There’s evidence of all kinds of little projects scattered around your apartment.

Even the little breakfast table he sits at is hand painted.

“You never said you were an artist,” he’d said early on in the night.

“I’m not,” you’d ducked your head and deflected. “Not like you at least. It’s not like I’m any good.”

You’re plenty good. “Right,” he agreed. “Not like me. It's better than mine. You could do your own sketchin’ for a tattoo.”

Even though you’d been embarrassed he could tell you were delighted he thought so.

Now you turn your face toward him in the comfortable silence that’s descended, half your features in shadow. You smile and your teeth shine. “Good thing today’s a Sunday, right? You don’t have to worry after rushing to open the studio.”

You tug your hand back from his and stand, gathering both mugs before you cross your tiny kitchen to set about starting a new pot of coffee.

He watches you, absently stacking the plates crusted with blackberry filling.

Your shirt rides up a little when you reach for the coffee canister, a thin strip of skin showing between your rumpled shirt and your jeans. He’s reminded again of all the places he wants to touch you, to touch the soft curves of your body, trace that line of skin and seek out each of your hidden tattoos.

Not on your hip, you’d said.

So where? Where hasn’t he seen?

The velvet of your thighs, the silken skin of your ribs and back, between your breasts, your sternum.

The kitchen fills slowly with light, orange and red on the far wall, undulating lines of light slicing apart the worn wooden floor. He picks apart the place with his eyes while your back is turned—the paintings and photos you don’t think anything of, the postcards stuck to the fridge, the hand painted, hand knitted-ness of everything, the mismatched mugs and glasses, chipped at the corners, the tiny dish of kibble on the floor—

“You got a cat?” He figures he would have seen a dog by now.

You turn and follow his eyes before you smile. “Sometimes. He comes and goes whenever he likes. He’s not really mine.”

“How’s that?”

“How’s what?”

“That he comes and goes?” Joel stands, meanders a couple steps toward you, trying to discreetly stretch out the throbbing nerve in his back.

“I leave the window cracked in my bedroom.”

And he hates that, just like he hates the thought of you leaving your door unlocked and he just like he hates the thought of you struggling with the door in the middle of the night when he hasn’t walked you home. “Shouldn’t be doin’ things like that.”

“Knew you wouldn’t like it,” you smile, repeating your earlier sentiment and he has a feeling it’s going to become a common refrain. “He’s probably sleeping just now.”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’ll drive me crazy.”

“This town is the safest place I’ve ever been.”

“Hate to see where you’ve been before.”

You laugh and ask him if he wants to get breakfast when—

“Shit,” he slides a hand over his face. “I told my girls we’d have breakfast. Start of the school year tradition, Sarah's first day back is Monday. I gotta drive down to Austin.”

“It’s still early,” you reassure him without turning, but he can see the way your cheek curves with a smile he can’t see. “I’ll put your coffee in a thermos to go.”

Joel takes the last few steps toward you and leans against the counter. Your breath hitches and your eyes flick up to his, big and shining bright as they always are. A slash of sun falls over them, lighting up your irises. The coffee pot bubbles and hisses, percolating slowly and you don’t look away.

Your lips part softly and your breath fans across his chin. “Don’t gotta leave this minute. I got some time,” he says, watching those doe eyes of yours flick across his face, to the corner of his mouth.

You move a bit closer, your foot slotting between his, and he feels like you’ve finally drifted close enough. Finally come close enough to feel safe, to rest.

You lean into him first, eyes fluttering closed, shoulders relaxing against the line of his body. Joel presses one arm around you, slides his fingers along the column of your spine, and for a moment you stiffen in the cage of his arms.

“You’re all right,” he murmurs and loosens his hold a fraction, but your body suddenly goes lax against him. Your nose slots against his throat, fingers curling gently into his t-shirt. You release a long, slow breath against his throat. “You’re okay.”

He isn’t sure what he’s trying to reassure you of, but it doesn’t much matter because you seem to know, to get his meaning.

“I know I am,” you sigh.

He can feel you breathing, the rise and fall of your lungs, the press of your breasts against his chest. You’re soft in his arms. “Good,” he says, nose against your temple as he slides his hand to the back of your neck, keeping you pressed there. “Good girl.” He feels you shiver and holds you closer, tighter than should be possible.

Your hand is hot when it slips beneath his shirt, pressed against his lower back for the briefest moment before it disappears and roots down into his shirt again, your breath shaky.

When he rubs the tense muscle of your neck you make a noise that forces him to stifle a groan and pull back just slightly.

“You okay?” He asks, ignoring the fire burning low in his belly, trying to temper himself.

Your eyes are damp, the corners wet. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I’m—”

He cups your cheek, tilts your face up, sweeps his thumb over your cheek.

“I’m just a fucking mess, Joel. I always have been. For a long time, I have been. And I don’t know why.”

“Why what?” His eyes are on your mouth, then your eyes, the image of the divot in the bottom of your lip lingering in his mind. “Sweetheart?”

The big, scared, doe-eyed look you send him breaks his heart. “Why it’s so hard. To touch people and be touched.”

“You’re doin’ okay,” he strokes your cheek again, slides his other hand to your hip. “Seems to me anyway.”

“For now. I’m work. I always have been. And I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

He thinks of your pretty little apartment decorated with your own arts and crafts that you dismiss with a wave of your hand, the way you think you bother him, your insistence of paying him back for his time. You make yourself small, and he thinks you have more scars and worries from the past than you realize.

“Trouble? You’re the least troublesome person I know,” he says. “My idiot brother, Tommy, now he’s trouble. Still gotta bail him outta trouble sometimes. You? Nothin’ about you is trouble.” You lean into his hand, watching him closely.

He can’t believe his silent extended hand, his patient hand, has been rewarded with this. “And I don’t mind hard work.”

You search his eyes for a long time, not blinking, not looking away, as you reach up and hook one hand around his wrist. He can see you trying to convince yourself to believe him. You swallow and place your trust in him again, if not necessarily your belief. “Okay.”

“All right. You wanna get breakfast with me and my girls? I’ve been wantin’ you to meet Sarah.”

“She won’t mind?” you ask, gently pulling yourself out of his hands, tugging his hand away from your face.

He lets you go, recognizes the trapped, pained, fearful wanting on your face. You need space. “They think I don’t know it’s more for me than them. They stopping carin’ about it sometime in middle school. Hell, Ellie ain’t even in school anymore. I’m holdin’ on to them bein’ kids, I guess.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He stands aside and lets you fix the coffees. He pulls his flannel off the back of your chair when he passes it on the way out and drapes it around your shoulders.

When you’re in his truck, fiddling with his radio, he catches you clutching it closer, your nose dipped into the collar.

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #honeyed fic

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navybrat817 · 3 months

Note

can we just take a moment to ✨appreciate✨ this? because I know where I’m looking… what about you? 😏

I'm INNOCENT, Lana. And you send me this?!

Wicked Tongue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky has a wicked tongue. Word Count: Over 500 Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f. receiving), reader is thirsty, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a menace, okay?). A/N: I swear, I'm innocent! But something short and sweet for a Sinful Saturday. ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You tapped a finger against the drink you were holding, refusing to take a sip as you watched Bucky laugh at something Steve said. The love of your life was trying to kill you. Not literally, but it certainly felt the way. Why else would he pick a suit that molded to his beefy frame like a glove? What reason did he have to pull his silky long hair back like that?

He already had to fix it once since he decided to shove your dress up and sink to his knees before you left for the party.

“That’s it, baby. Pull my hair. Show me how much you love it when I fuck you with my tongue.”

As much as you loved Bucky eating you out, he loved it even more. You were certain there wasn’t another man on the planet who enjoyed the taste of pussy as much as he did. You ignored the twinge of jealousy because it wasn’t just any pussy he wanted. It was yours and yours alone.

Hell, if someone told him the sun rose in the east and set in the west, he’d argue that it went up when your legs opened and went down when they closed. Because the entrance to heaven existed between your thighs and it was only fair that he worshiped it with his mouth. You blessed him when you came on his tongue and he lapped up your offering with a groan every single time.

It felt almost as good as when you fell apart on his cock.

“Fuck,” you whispered when he swiped his tongue along his lip again.

Each time his tongue darted out of his mouth was like a personal attack, a jab to your core. You could still feel the indents from his fingers when he gripped your ass, shoving his face as close as he could so he could lick his way into your dripping cunt. The iron-clad grip nearly kept you from rocking your hips down, but it couldn’t stop the hot slick that rushed out of you when you came.

“Make a mess all over my face. Wanna taste you later.”

As if he sensed your stare, his sapphire eyes glanced your way from across the room and you forgot how to breathe. The beautiful bastard stared right at you as he dragged his tongue over his lower lip, slowly, deliberately. The way he sometimes did with your clit. You didn’t have super soldier strength, but you nearly shattered the glass in your hand from how hard you squeezed it when he winked.

And your panties were wet before, but now they were soaked.

You nodded toward the hall since you couldn’t find your voice. Bucky would help you find it. He’d make sure you moaned his name. Maybe even loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Excuse me, punk,” Bucky said to his best friend before he set his drink down. “In the mood for something a little sweeter.”

Something only you could satisfy his wicked tongue with.

We deserve this, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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ambrosiagoldfish · 3 months

Note

HI! Can I request Vox, husk or anyone else with a s/o who has an addiction problem?

Yes I know my Grammar and punctuation is out of line 🙏🏽

Hazbin Hotel x Addict!Reader

(Vox, Husk, and Angel Dust)

Viewer Discretion is Advised!

Warning: Drug/Alcohol Abuse, Gn!Reader, Reader being defensive, happy-ish endings.

Request Box: Open

Word count: 1170

A/n: Hi! Thank you for the request! This is my first time writing both Vox and Husk so I had to do some research (and by research, I mean reading 2+ hours of how other write them) to get an idea of their main characterization.

I really enjoyed writing this as I personally have my own experiences with addicts and how it’s affected me as a person. So this was also a little bit of a vent post if anything. I also added Angel cause I think it fits the theme but also he’s one of my comfort characters and writing for him made me happy.

Hope you enjoy <3

Proofread like once so sorry for any mistakes!

Vox

He’s used to being friends/knowing addicts. I mean one of his closest allies (And TOTES not previous hook-up buddy) Valentino, is also an addict who also employs many as well. So he’s not a stranger to it.

So mostly he’s indifferent to it, almsot desensitized to it. He doesn’t really see a danger to it, I mean we’re in hell and you can’t exactly OD and die

But of course, death isn’t the only thing that can happen when you're an addict. The breakdown of you as a person often happens, as well as you being reckless with money. And this is where Vox starts to have a problem.

If you’re in a relationship with Vox, then clearly you mean a lot to him, he may not be the most expressive about it but he does. So to see the partner that he has opened up to and grown attached to deteriorate slowly in front of him is something he refuses to accept.

So one day he cancels a meeting with his staff and calls you to his office so you two will be alone. When you get there he gives you a cup of coffee and you catch up a bit. How was your day? Have you ate yet? Those kinds of things.

Until finally he decides to just break open the floodgates with one simple statement.

“Darling… I think you should get clean”

You were caught off guard at first

“It’s fine, What’s the problem? we’re in hell”

He then comes out with his honest opinion

“*Sigh* I know it’s hell and you can’t die… but surely you can see how it would make me a bit… worried for you.”

He paused

“I mean even last week you spent all the allowance I gave you on it and you would have starved if I didn’t buy you food, surely you can see why it’s a fucking problem!”

Eventually after talking and depending on how it goes you either agree to go clean or it ends with an argument and he’ll just try again later.

If you agree, he’ll make sure he’s with you ever step of your sobriety. Considering he’s one of the top rising Overlords and owns VoxTech he’s got money so He’ll higher the best people to help you go clean(Do therapist exist in hell?)

“Thank you dear, you have no idea how much this means to me”

Husk

Similar to Vox in a lot of ways but also really different. He himself is an addict with alcohol so he clearly understands the struggles of it.

He has lots of walls up but for someone who “lost the ability to love” he sure does care a lot for you. I don’t think he would try a get you to go clean, at least not right away (or even at the beginning of the relationship) simply cause he thinks he doesn’t have a right to judge. So in all honesty he might just let you be.

That is until he realizes that you do it to forget things and ignore your problems/past. He knew first hand that drowning your sorrows away with your choice of addictive vice did nothing but harm you.

Then when you two are alone at his bar he’ll talk to you about it in a similar way he did with Angel. Perhaps a bit more softer than he did with Angel but even then “softer” is a bit of an overstatement.

“Look, I know you got a lot of shit that you don’t want to think about… but doing this *sigh* it’s not going to work, at least not in the long term.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He laughs. I mean, you were right. He was single handedly the worst person to be judging you. But surely you can understand his point of view, right?

Either way though, he leaves it alone again. Occasionally bringing it up when you’re both alone. He expresses the same sentiment about it each time hoping that eventually, hopefully…you’ll come to see from his perspective.

When you do finally see that he’s worried for you and understand why, you agree to go clean. Which, for once in a long while, made his supposedly cold dead heart melt.

“Glad you finally came to your senses… Seriously, I’m glad…”

Angel

He is THE addict of the show, so obviously he knows what you are going through and THEN some. Now,. Here’s the thing, how he handles it depends HEAVILY on when exactly you got with him/when you started having you addiction problem.

If you started dating him when you already were an addict he most definitely wouldn’t question anything about it. Hell, chances are you both might have taken part in it together. And it’s only when he starts making progress in the hotel (post EP4) is when he starts realizing how bad of an influence you both were on each other.

If you started sometime AFTER you both started dating then this boy would honestly feel terrible about it, ESPECIALLY after EP4 when he actually started being sober more often. He’d feel like he was a bad influence on you and that it was his fault you turned to your addiction.

Either way though, he will eventually realize that he doesn’t want you to be/continue to be on the same path he was. He’d talk to Charlie about arranging you to stay in the hotel, either in your own room or you guys could share one (he would honestly prefer the latter) and then after the preparations are made he would finally ask you too

Angel wasn’t expecting it to be easy, he gets what it’s like to suddenly be asked to go clean. And he knows how addicts act when they don’t get there vices, how he acts. So he mentally prepared himself for the worst first before asking you to come over and talk.

“Uh… Y/n can I talk to you about somethin’?”

You nod your head

“I’ve been thinking and… I think you should crash here at the hotel with me… and’ go clean.”

You only laugh “Angie I’m glad this hotel thing is workin’ for ya but that’s not really my style. No- I mean, I’m fine!”

Angel knows he put you on the spot, so he lightens off a bit but continues pressing on. He explains how he feels and how he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, to end up where he is. The poor boy starts crying honestly with how much he’s worried. He rarely opens up to people so this was a big step for him.

Seeing how much he cared and worried about you really put into perspective how important this was to him. So you agreed after some thinking.

“*sniff* thank you Baby, I’ll be there with you every step of the way… I love ya’ you know.”

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queenie-official · 5 months

Text

‘Grey sweatpants’ Modern!Anakin

main masterlist

pairing: Modern!Anakin x reader

a/n: saw this clip and knew i needed to write for modern Ani about it🤭 a bit of childhood friends to lovers for you 💋

growing up with Anakin gave you a lot of opportunities then most people got with there crushes. for instance where most had to wait till they where comfortable in order to be seen a certain way by their partners and vice versa, you had the privilege of maybe being overally comfortable with him.

i mean it didn’t mean anything you where childhood friends after all- except it did mean everything, at least to you anyway.

you’re the one with the crush on him, meanwhile Anakin was completely oblivious to this fact. you where sure if he had even an inkling that you liked him he would change how he acted with you, not big things but the small things that where more important to you. like the nicknames he used, and the way you’d cuddle when you where having a bad day- obviously to others that looked like something more but this was a completely normal thing for you and Ani.

So was dressing in whatever was most comfortable. For Anakin that just so happened to be shirtless with a pair of grey sweats…

god, you would think you’d be used to it by now. this wasn’t even close to the first time he’d worn this and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last. or maybe it would if you couldn’t control yourself, i mean you where practically drooling over him.

As per usual Anakin was completely unaware, focused on a personal project he refused to tell you about. you sat on his bed watching him contently, eyes tracing over the way his back muscles moved with each shift of his arm. counting the freckles and resisting the urge to walk behind him and kiss each one.

letting out a longing sigh at the thought that unfortunately drew Anakin’s attention to you, turning to face you with a raised brow. “what was that for?” he asks while looking over your face trying his best to read what was wrong, which usually came pretty easy to him.

“what was what for?” you ask feigning ignorance as you shift so that you’re now laying on your stomach, playing with the edge of his blanket as you speak. your question makes him role his eyes, standing up so that he could walk over to you. big mistake on his end- your eyes immediately fell down to his waistline, trailing over his happy trail the led straight down into his sweats. your imagination running wild as you looked him over, feeling your throat run dry before you forced yourself to look back at him.

Meeting his eyes with a blush hoping he hadn’t noticed you checking him out. The greyish blue you normally saw was swallowed by his dilated pupils… oh he definitely saw you. your whole body flushed maybe this was a sign that him finding out you liked him wouldn’t be the end of the world.

he places his hands on the footboard leaning over it slightly. the muscles in his arm flexing as he grips it, looming over you from where you laid. feeling your heart beat race from his simple actions. “what’s going on with you lately?” he asks but the question seems empty, like he already knows the answer but just wants to hear you say it. you feel frozen in place, internally debating wether to just tell him or come up with a excuse. had you been acting differently? you thought for sure you where doing a good job at hiding your feelings- then again Anakin always was good at reading you, years of friendship only aiding his abilities.

“Nothing, im fine…” you answer, moving so that you where sitting up. feeling like you were on more common ground with him no longer towering over you as much. of course he didn’t believe that, he knew you.

he licks his lips as he stares down into your eyes. usually you’d at the very least still have a basic idea as to what he was thinking but the look he was giving you wasn’t one he’d ever used before. it gave you chills, made your thighs squeeze together subconsciously. oh… made your.. that’s what that look was.

“it’s seriously nothing Ani” you try again, not wanting to admit your thoughts. mostly out of embarrassment now than out of fear of rejection. Anakin scoffs looking off to the side, his brows now furrowed slightly in thought. you could see when something clicked in his mind. what, you weren’t sure but as he stood up straight and walked over to his bedroom door to close it you had a feeling you where about to find out.

he locked it before turning back towards you, arms crossed against his bare chest. abs on full display, his sweats hanging deliciously on his waists. you where doing it again, forcing yourself to look back up once more. you startle slightly seeing him staring at you with a devilish smirk on his face. “fine, i guess i’ll just have to pull those thoughts out of you myself” his voices is a few octaves lower then his usual deep gravely tone, making your stomach twirl…

okay 🙈i hope you guys like this- you can just use your imagination for how the rest of this goes ✨ Anyway i have so many drafts atm that i need to finish so can’t wait to share that with you guys. Love you all Xx<3

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bucketsofmonsters · 1 month

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Deep Water - Part 3

cw: the ocean, almost drowning, kidnapping, more tags to be added as the story continues

merman x fem reader

Word count: 5k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

On your first day of work, you were already regretting not pushing harder to get your siren to promise you he would stay away, glimpses of a snaking tail under the water every few hours stopping your heart for a beat every time.

You ignored your first sighting, reporting into the office, getting a list of duties and of expected intake for the day.

You asked when you’d be paid, part of you worried he’d say at the end of the month and you’d be stuck without a place to stay for weeks. You let out a sigh of relief when he said at the end of the week. Only two more days then. You could manage two more days. You were sent off on your way without much else said.

No one was assigned to help you, to figure out what you were supposed to do or how to start, so you did the only thing you could think of. You went and found Finn.

His face lit up the second he saw you, dropping the box he was holding to run over to your side.

“Hello little lady, how’s your first day going?”

You glanced back at the discarded cargo. “Do you not need to get that?”

“Is this going to take long? Okay, you probably want help, I’ll be right back.”

He rushed over to the dropped box that at the very least didn’t look like it had been damaged and hauled it over to a safer location, amidst some other unpacked boxes.

He was back at your side before the incredulous huff of laughter managed to escape you, giving you a sheepish look. “Sorry if I’m overeager, we don’t get many pretty girls out here, I’ve gotta try and help you before someone else snatches you up.”

You gave him a humoring laugh, more polite than anything.

You had a feeling your intentions with one another did not align, but he seemed pleasant and helpful and whatever his intentions happened to be, you could use that right about now.

And he held true to his word. For the rest of the day, he helped you figure out your various duties, largely abandoning his own, only occasionally popping out to make excuses or run and do something that others laughed and insisted really couldn’t wait.

The day passed quickly. The work wasn’t particularly hard, just repetitive. Finn did his best to help but once you realized he couldn’t read, it became a little more difficult.

He still hovered over your shoulder, something that you appreciated but had the unintended consequence of you having to struggle to pull his attention every time you caught another flash of scales out of the corner of your eye.

They seemed particularly likely to appear whenever Finn set off from his latest task he was ignoring to help you again.

You bristled at the thought, trying to tell yourself you were making up patterns, that it wasn’t anything at all.

At least you hoped you were. If it was a pattern, you were going to kill him.

Even once you got the hang of things, Finn refused to actually leave you, insisting that it was improper to abandon you on your first day. You just smiled and continued on, set on getting everything done. First impressions were important after all, and you needed to look just as valuable as your sister had been.

Before you knew it, the day was over and people had begun filing out. It wasn’t empty, the dock was never really empty, but it had quieted down and you finished the last of your work, marking everything down as neatly and perfectly as you could.

“I can take that back for you!” Finn exclaimed as you carefully looked over your work for any glaring mistakes. He seemed excited to find something he could actually help you with.

Part of you wanted to refuse, to take it back yourself, but he seemed too excited, refusing felt like kicking a puppy. Besides, you imagined he’d have a few kind words to say about you and that couldn't hurt.

He came darting back over in minutes, that persistent, goofy smile plastered across his face as he skidded to a halt. “Mission accomplished, ma’am,” he said with a little salute.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” you said, trying to push as much gratitude as you could into your voice.

“Now that that’s done, I was wondering if you wanted to go out or something. I could get you some drinks or food or whatever, celebrate your first day being over.”

There it was, exactly what you’d worried this had all been leading to. “Finn…”

Water came splashing up through the gaps in the wood on the dock, drenching the pair of you.

You jumped, reflexively and far too late to save yourself from any of the water.

As you looked through the slats, you could have sworn you saw the glint of scales.

“Yes,” you blurted out, bringing Finn’s attention back to you. “That sounds great.”

You gave him what felt like a poor approximation of an excited smile.

“Really? That’s amazing. The ocean seems to have something to say about it. She’s nervous, poor girl. Promise I won’t leave you behind.” He spoke down to the waves, attempting to lighten the mood as he saw your face go white in your newly wetted skirts.

You smiled, your heart hammering in your ears, and after another quiet little bit of reassurance, he scurried off, telling you to stay put while he found a coat he’d discarded earlier in the hot sun and promptly forgotten about, and then you could be off.

Simon, you guessed that was what you were calling him now, decided that was an opportune time to breach the surface of the water and look up at you with those big, golden eyes.

An anger that had been simmering quietly inside of you at every flash of scales you’d seen throughout the day came to a head as he had the audacity to simply appear like this. “Go away,” you hissed, the words coming out louder than you meant them to.

This wasn’t like the day before. You knew Finn would be back any moment, you didn’t have time to argue on the shore.

He remained resolutely above the water, looking up at you with a determination that almost frightened you set across his impish features.

When he opened his mouth, you held your hands out, trying to tell him to stop, that it wasn’t safe.

And then he started speaking and your hands fell limp to your sides, warning him not seeming quite so important anymore.

The words sounded different. Maybe he was singing? It was hard to tell. You couldn’t even make out the words, couldn’t understand any of it. All you knew was that he was there. Why were you all the way up here? You should be down there with him. Maybe then you could understand.

Whatever noises he was making, ones you were too far away to really hear, wormed their way right through your ears into your head, snaking their way around inside you, taking up the space where your thoughts were moments ago.

There was nothing but him.

Everything else faded away until all you could see was amber eyes.

And then, walking carefully and intentionally, you tumbled into the water, seemingly of your own accord.

The second you hit the icy water, the warm calm you’d been pulled into dissipated. You weren’t sure if it was the shock of the water or your head going under, no longer able to hear the hypnotic noises from the siren you’d thought was harmless. At least to you.

And what a foolish notion that was. He was a siren. It didn't matter if he'd saved you or not, of course he was dangerous. You weren’t special to him. Why would you be?

As you tried to come up for air his arms met your shoulders and pushed you deeper and you realized, horrifically, just how wrong you’d been.

You didn’t understand why he did what he’d done, why he’d helped you before. Maybe he’d just been playing with his food, toying with you until he got bored.

Your mind newly cleared, you fought to swim up. As you did, his tail wound around your legs and you saw a pout break out across his face.

Panic rose in your chest and he watched, head tilted, examining you carelessly, with your legs still bound together under the water.

He looked at you, eyes big and bright and expectant, flicking across your face as he tried to fight back a smile.

You struggled and his hand grasped yours, keeping it in place, effortlessly keeping you under the waves. The bright look in his eyes shifted to confusion, seeming baffled as to why you’d rather breach the surface than steal a kiss from him and let the cold water invade your lungs.

As he stared expectantly and confused at you, you wiggled just enough to free one leg, something he seemed unconcerned with as he continued to hold you under. He knew he was stronger than you, that you had no real shot of escape. You both did.

That didn’t matter to you. You brought your knee up as swiftly and firmly as you could in the cold water that forced a horrible, sluggish feeling into your limbs, and kneed him right in his gills.

That seemed to activate some instinct in him and he wrapped entirely around you, effortlessly countering you at every point of struggle. They were the movements of a practiced hunter.

You kicked and fought and made every attempt to break away and breach the surface but he was too strong, too practiced at this. At holding people down.

You wondered how you matched up to them, how hard you fought compared to his other prey, if he’d remember this at all once you were gone?

At some point in the struggle you must have kissed, in the loosest sense of the word. You missed it in the flurry of movement, just another brush of skin against skin in the struggle. It must have happened though because as your lungs burned just a bit too much and your brain forced you to inhale, you didn’t choke on water but instead felt the burning soothe and your instincts calm, despite the salt water flooding inside you.

Regardless of your newfound ability to breathe, the fight and lack of oxygen had weakened you and your struggle slowed.

As it did, he rose to the surface

When you breached the waves, the dock was nowhere in sight. You had no idea when in your fight he’d dragged you out to sea or how far you’d gone.

“You can breathe,” he said, looking at you with that same quiet confusion as when you’d fought against him. “I made sure you could breathe. Why do you still worry?”

You inhaled in an attempt to answer him with a screamed admonishment and then, before a word could escape you, you were coughing up water

He sat patiently as you did, his arms wrapped carefully around you.

The last time you’d coughed up water like this, you’d been too relieved to be alive to really notice it. You did not have that luxury this time. The saltwater burned coming up, your lungs feeling heavy in your chest as the water poured out of you.

It felt like you were dying. You didn’t understand how you weren’t.

He didn’t seem concerned, just holding you as you fought to empty your lungs so you could finally inhale, every attempted inhalation just stirred the churning water in your lungs, agitating them further.

As you finally emptied your lungs, you sucked in air. Your chest filled and it hurt more than it brought you relief.

“You have to take me back,” you forced out, the burning in your lungs exhausting you past the point of screaming at him.

His lips pursed into a pout and his eyes darted away from yours. “You don’t even like it there,” he said, sounding openly disappointed, not even attempting to hide it. But then, why would he? You were at his mercy, he could do whatever he wanted to.

“I like it better than I like it here,” you said, gesturing around you at the open ocean.

He looked around at the ocean surrounding you and then returned his gaze intently to your face. “I can take you somewhere else.”

“You know that’s not what I mean, you’d better not…”

And then he was off, swimming quickly through the waves.

He kept your head above water carefully, although you still had to keep your mouth firmly shut to avoid inhaling anything, but even that didn’t slow him down.

And then, with no warning, you were going down, back through thick water. You didn’t have a chance to gather your bearing before it was too dark to see anything, Simon’s grip on your arm was the only thing cutting through the cold black abyss around you.

Your arm brushed against hard rock, scraping painfully before it was gone and you found yourself disoriented in the space around you once more. You could be surrounded by rock for all you knew, inches away from it. There was no way to tell, no way to really know anything about where you were being dragged.

Your fight renewed as your air began to run out and the darkness still imposed itself around you. You knew better, knew you couldn’t get away. Even if you did, you didn’t even know which direction was up anymore. Your instincts, however, were not so easily suppressed by silly things like facts.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to kill you. Even more than that, as your time under the water dragged on, why he was going to kill you? Maybe you’d upset him, made an unforgivable mistake when you kicked him or complained just a little too much. The way it looked now, you guessed you’d never know. You didn’t have the oxygen left to figure it out, your brain starting to get foggy.

And still, it continued. He dragged you down and down and then your head breached the surface and as you gasped in air, the word flipped right side up once more.

You dragged air into your pleading lungs, this time no wretched water biting your throat as you did.

Your lungs still hurt though. A quieter ache.

Your eyes adjusted slowly to the dark and you could barely make him out in what appeared to be a cave, the moon shining in through a few holes riddled in the rock above you.

“You could’ve killed me,” you said, desperation creeping into your voice.

His head tilted. “No. I know how long it takes a human to drown. You were fine.”

His words did nothing to settle your unease

“Is this better?” he asked, gesturing around to the cave you’d approached from beneath.

The water was just a small pool in a larger cave, leading off a few feet before revealing a glimpse of the outside world through the holes that let the light in.

You hauled yourself out of the water to look and saw that there was no other way out, only the horrible, dark path through the water he’d taken you through.

You couldn’t get out of here on your own.

Even if you could, you had nowhere to go. There was probably just more open water outside these walls. Even if there was land, you had no idea where you were.

You wondered if Finn was worried about you yet. Maybe he was. Or maybe he thought you’d abandoned him, left him alone on the dock in lieu of having to go out to dinner with him.

You weren’t sure which you were hoping for, which was better for him to believe. Which would be easier to explain when you returned? If you returned.

“You need to take me back,” you said, trying to force some authority into your tone.

“Can I ask you some questions about humans?” he asked, completely ignoring you.

“No,” you snapped. “You can’t. You can take me back.”

He drifted towards you and you pulled back further onto the patch of dry land.

That seemed to hurt him, like he couldn’t understand why you would possibly be wary of him.

He rested his head on the rocky shore, looking defeated, slowly drying blonde hair curling up around his eyes as it was freed of some of the weight of the water, and you fought to not think that if he hadn’t just done what he did to you, maybe he’d look sweet.

“Who was that?” he blurted out, his head lifting with his words as his jaw moved against the stone below him.

“What?”

“On the dock. He was talking to you, you were leaving with him. Who was that?”

“Who, Finn? Why do you-” A thought began to dawn on you. “His name is Finn. You hang around the dock, do you not know him?”

He shrugged in the water. “I’ve seen him.”

“And you care now? That’s kind of sudden.”

“I guess.”

“Alright. Did you kidn- Did you take me so I wouldn’t go with him.” You did your best to keep your voice measured in an attempt to get an honest response from him.

“You’re supposed to go to the beach. You weren’t going to the beach.”

“No, you rejected my deal, remember? I thought I wasn’t going to the beach because you were just hanging around.”

He rolled his eyes just barely, enough to make a quiet irritation stir in your stomach. “Can’t talk to you when I’m around,” he said, matter of factly. “You said you’d go to the beach.”

“I know, but something came up. I’d have come back. I can’t miss one day?” you said, trying to reason with him.

“One day? It was the first day!” he said with a huff.

“I hadn’t even left yet, how did you know I wasn’t going to go meet you.”

“Were you?” he asked, and you didn’t have a good answer for him.

“We’ll never know, will we? Because you decided to kidnap and almost drown me.”

“I didn’t almost drown you. I would never drown you.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Alright, well at the very least you decided to hurt me.” Sharp words bounced off the stone walls of the cave.

His eyes widened. “I hurt you?”

“Yeah, of course you did. I couldn’t breathe. And that’s beside how bad coughing up sea water hurts.”

He shook his head. “You’re fine, why would it hurt?”

“Simon,” you said, “It hurts humans when we can’t breathe. And we aren’t meant to have to breathe water, it burns when I have to get it out.”

For someone who presumably had drowned dozens of humans, he seemed to have little idea how drowning actually felt. To be fair, he probably didn’t have many chances to learn about the human side of the experience, you didn’t imagine many survived long enough to tell him about it.

“Oh,” he said, deflating a little. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Right, just to kidnap me.”

He nodded with no air of shame regarding his actions. “Yeah.”

You settled back against the wall of rock behind you, trying to think of what else you could say to get yourself out of there.

He looked up at you and suddenly he seemed unbearably nervous. “You want to leave.”

“I thought we discussed this, I have to leave. I can’t just disappear, there are people waiting for me.”

“Finn,” he asked, saying the name like it tasted rotten in his mouth.

“Yes, Finn. I told you, I can’t just disappear.”

You had to lean closer to him to hear his next words at all, his voice unbearably quiet. “It’ll hurt you.”

You slid back into the water beside him, hope sparking through you. “I’ll be fine, I just want to get out of here.”

His hands snaked around your sides, pulling you close to him. “Do you want to hold your breath or breathe the water?” You could feel his breath on your skin as he spoke. You didn’t understand how breathing worked for him, where his lungs ended and his gills began.

You shivered as you thought back to retching up the water, how it had burned coming up, how the attempted gasps felt inside already heavy lungs. “I’ll hold my breath.”

He nodded solemnly. “I will be fast.”

You sucked in a breath before he pulled you down, a luxury you had not been granted last time.

He was true to his words. You could feel the water rushing past you as you held your breath, clinging to him the whole way.

When you breached the surface, your lungs didn’t hurt quite as much as they had the first time around. His grip on you was tighter than when you’d arrived, a fear present in him that wasn’t before.

Your hands were wrapped around his neck, the desire to get yourself away from him gone now that you were fairly certain he’d bring you back, even if he wasn’t happy about it.

He brought you to the shore, a familiar spot.

Something occurred to you as you found yourself in shallow water. “How’d you even know where to take me? When you first found me, you took me right here.”

“I know where the ships are going. Always to the same spot.” He sounded almost annoyed at the ships’ predictability.

“Well, they have to go to a dock.”

He grumbled in response, his discontent evident. You weren’t sure how much of it was from this grudge against ships and how much was because he’d had to bring you back to shore.

You pulled yourself out of the water and wanted just sit there for a while, regain some of your energy.

The second you hit dry land, Simon was gone, disappearing before you could say so much as another word to him.

You didn’t really have time to talk or rest anyway, running back onto the dock as quickly as you could, hoping Finn hadn’t left yet.

You found him standing alone on the dock, looking dejected right until his eyes drifted towards you. His eyes widened as they met yours and his expression shifted from surprise to concern, rushing towards you.

“What happened?” he asked, pulling the jacket he’d run off to retrieve over your shoulders. “I thought you’d gotten bored and abandoned me but a swim at this time of day hardly seems like a good idea.”

“I fell in. Guess I’m more tired than I thought,” you said with a sheepish smile, hoping it was anything close to convincing.

His hand drifted up to push wet hair away from your face. “I’m sure you’re not feeling up to going out anymore…”

“No,” you said, not thinking of Finn at all but instead set on rebelling against the attempts to stop you from going. It wasn’t fair to Finn, but by the time that occurred to you, you’d already spoken. “I mean, you waited all this time for me, it would be rude not to go.”

He seemed too excited to notice how suspicious you were being. “Alright, but make sure you’re not overextending yourself.”

You nodded with an unenthusiastic smile and let him lead you off to a tavern somewhere.

It was a largely uneventful evening, all things considered. He bought you some soup, something nice and hot that you could feel in your bones, creating a comfortable warmth in your core.

Your reticence to talk was barely noticed. Finn seemed more than happy to fill the silence, letting you bundle up under the thick wool of his coat and focus on your food.

Before you knew it, it was gone and there was nothing left to distract yourself with.

You waited for Finn to finish whatever story he’d been telling that you hadn’t been listening to and said, “This has been lovely, but I should be getting back.”

He laughed. “What, back to work? I’m not that boring, am I?”

You started as he pulled you fully out of your head back into the tavern. “What? No, of course not.”

“So where are you staying then?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Nowhere. I’ll find an inn after I get paid but until then-”

“You could stay with me!” he blurted out before you even had the chance to finish your sentence.

You weren’t quite as enthused. “Look, Finn, I don’t…”

“This isn’t me trying to come onto you, honest. You shouldn’t have to stay out in the cold, it’s not right. I mean, no wonder you're tired. If you don’t get some proper sleep you’ll drown, and then who am I supposed to try and impress every day?”

It was most certainly untoward, but the offer was tempting nonetheless.

You reevaluated Finn, trying to determine how much you really trusted him. Enough for dinner, sure, but enough for this?

You thought about spending another night alone on the cold shore and decided that yes, you did trust him enough for this.

As soon as you nodded your assent, he grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the stairs in the tavern.

You couldn’t help but think that taking you to the tavern he was staying at felt presumptuous but the allure of a warm room and blankets were too strong for you to say anything to that effect.

His room was decently sized, with a large bed pressed against the back wall. Reassuringly, he started to set up a space on the floor for you, moving some blankets from a chair in the corner to the floor.

To your chagrin, he began to settle into the nest of blankets on the ground and you immediately moved to set it right.

“Absolutely not, you will not sleep on the floor in your own room.”

He looked up at you with big, sad eyes. “But-”

“No buts, I will leave.”

He sighed. “Fine. But know that I’m not happy about it.”

You settled onto the floor and he slid another blanket off the bed onto you. You accepted it without argument, allowing him this at least. Besides, you were in no state to be turning down blankets.

It was late and the blankets helped against your still damp form. The calm itself was refreshing and you fought the urge to thank Finn, who seemed like he’d already drifted off to sleep since you’d begun to settle down.

You had no choice but to try and follow him.

You slept restlessly but at least you slept.

#terato #merman x reader #merman x human #monster x reader #monster x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend #merman #Simon is crazy this chapter #Don’t invite a wolf into your home and then be surprised when it bites

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our-destiny · 1 year

Text

Yandere Winter Soldier x GN!Hydra!Reader <3

Trigger Warnings: Hydra employee SA's reader, murder, dehumanization, creepy staring from Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier being protective, Hydra generally being shitty, I continue to be terrible at endings - If I missed anything please tell me

I am not responsible for the media you consume, read the warnings, minors dni

Want to read more of my work? Check out my Masterlist

Word count: 1027

. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ . * ✯. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ .

The Winter Soldier took a liking to you. He would ignore his handlers, staring at you whenever you're in his line of sight, never taking his eyes off you even while answering his handler's questions. It was unnerving, to say the least. No one knew why he liked you so much, but he didn't really do anything else apart from stare at you so they didn't bother worrying over it, just tried to keep you away from him as much as possible so the soldat wouldn't get distracted. That, however, was a mistake.

He started missing you. Missing your presence, your voice. Soon enough he started asking where you were, refusing to follow orders until he saw you. He had this weird fixation with you and Hydra couldn't do anything about it, he was their best Asset, and you were just a Hydra worker; replaceable. They humoured his desires, making sure to have you in the room with him at all times, which seemed to placate him, being able to watch you made him more... submissive, it seems. Calmer. He went back to following orders, not causing a fuss or refusing to speak. But eventually the Asset wanted more.

He stopped responding to his handlers again, just sitting there, staring at you, not moving or speaking. Up until this point you had never spoken to one another, the soldat just watching you while you squirmed under his harsh gaze, Hydra wondered what would happen if you.. called out to him. Said his name. Gave him orders.

One day the soldier was doing his usual stunt, not responding to his handler in favour of watching you breathe. A few of the officers started whispering among themselves, glancing over at your direction. A minute later the soldat's handler turned to you and spoke.

"You. Talk to it." You stood there dumbfounded. What did he mean 'talk to it'? "Come here. Stand in front of it and talk to the Asset." Hesitantly you stepped forward, his handler moving out of your way so you can stand directly in front of him. The soldat looked up at you from where he was sat, his eyes holding some sort of reverence for you, lips parted in awe. What should you say? You can't ask him how his day was or talk about the weather so what should you say? You settled on his name. Well what Hydra called him at least.

"Soldat." His eyes softened slightly, responding immediately to your word. "Ready to comply."

You glanced back at his handler, not sure if you should continue. After getting a slight nod from the officer you asked him, "Mission report?" Your voice was shaky, not used to giving orders and still not used to the way the soldat stares at you, but he responded anyway. For the first time in who knows how long the Asset complied without any fuss, detailing his mission to you. A feat no other Hydra employee could achieve recently.

Hydra quickly realized that this was the only way to keep their most prized soldier submissive. He'd only take orders if they were from you, always seeming eager to please you, saying "ready to comply" with a bit too much enthusiasm. When he came back from missions he'd relay the details to you, seeming to search your face for some sort of approval, like he wanted to know he did you proud, did what he was told to do like the soldier he is. The Asset worked harder, strived to please you, carried out your requests with fervour. You quickly got promoted to his handler. Not much changed, all you had to do was give him orders, orders which you were told to by higher officers. It kept him happy for a while, you having control over him, talking to you daily. But once again, he wanted more.

Other Hydra employees usually tried not to bother you, you were obviously precious to the soldier and crucial to getting the soldat to comply, but recently there was a new employee, a man that had not realized your importance. You could never really get comfortable working for Hydra, still talking with a quiet voice and trying to avoid any attention and he thought he could take advantage of that, cornering you one day in the hallway, pushing you against the wall trying to feel you up. Unfortunately for him the soldat was just returning from a mission and everyone knows the soldat immediately goes to see you after his missions. The Asset was not happy to see someone else feeling up his handler, and he was even more upset that he was making you uncomfortable, forcing you to do something you didn't want to. The Asset handled it a lot more maliciously than he usually would on missions, first focusing on getting the employee off of you, then only focusing on hurting him, nothing else but the crunch of his bones breaking beneath the soldier's metal fist, making him regret even touching you. Only when he was unrecognisable did he stop, turning to you to grab you, holding you in his lap, arms slightly shaking, growling at anyone who got too close.

After that... encounter he became more physical in a way. He didn't like it when someone got too close to you, wrapping his arms around you protectively. He got closer in general, getting closer to your face while staring at you, eyes lingering on your lips, so close you could feel his breath on your face. Sometimes he got confident, brushing his lips over your temple or cheek, as if testing the waters. Gradually, he applied more and more pressure to those half-kisses, until he was kissing you fully and often, whenever you gave him an order or he came back from a mission he'd kiss you, sometimes on the cheek, on the forehead if he was feeling particularly protective, but mostly on the lips.

It was some sort of fucked up obsession the soldat had for you, the want for you to own him and for him to own you, you're his and he's yours, no one else matters.

. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ . * ✯. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ .

Reblogs make tumblr go around and are very much aappreciated <33

#yandere marvel #yandere bucky x reader #yandere bucky barnes #yandere bucky #yandere winter soldier #yandere mcu #yandere marvel x reader #dark mcu #dark marvel #dark bucky x you #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!buckybarnes #dark winter soldier #the winter soldier #winter soldier #also note that i do not like hydra #fuck hydra

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lilywastaken · 1 year

Text

⇝ SICK DAY SCENARIOS !

CC!DreamWasTaken, CC!Sapnap, CC!GeorgeNotFound, CC!Quackity, CC!Karl Jacobs x GN!Reader.

SUMMARY: taking care of CCs when they're sick :( <3.

WARNINGS: SFW, a few spicy moments here and there, illness, a tiny drop of angst in Karl's part!

A/N: I'm alive!! The brainrot is real for these guys so I just had to write something, even if it's a bit crap LMAO. It's my first time writing for Karl/Quack, so they might be a bit weird/stiff, apologies! Once again, requests are open!! Please don't forget to reblog/comment if you enjoy the post, it helps a lot!! Thank you for reading! <333 If you see any mistakes, do not hesitate to let me know, please!!! I wrote this quite late so there might be a few!

MASTERLIST.

DREAM:

"Feeling a bit better?"

You whisper softly as you open the door to your boyfriend's bedroom, noticing that he had made his way off his bed and onto his chair, legs up and pressed to his chest with his knees tucked under his chin, the bright screens of his monitors reflecting onto his sad face.

"Mm…"

His broken whimper makes you sigh, walking over to him carefully and placing the bowl of chicken soup next to his keyboard, leaning down to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

"You should be resting."

You're about to lean back until Dream grabs your arm, his pointer finger coming up to tap his lips, hopeful eyes staring up at you.

"Clay. You're ill."

"Which means you're refusing to kiss your poor, suffering boyfriend?" He sighs dramatically, his voice deep yet nasally due to his stuffy nose, leaning into your touch as your hand comes up to cup his cheek.

"Are you ready to take care of me when I inevitably get sick, sweetheart?" You coo back, watching his expression morph from one of self-pity to one of dread.

"O-of course." He mumbles, hoping you don't remember how stressed he was when George had gotten sick a few weeks ago, running around the house looking for medicine in hopes that his friend wouldn't die. "Still… What if the cure to my sickness is a kiss from my beautiful partner?"

"Oh?" You play along with a smile, your hand coming up to play with his hair and run your fingers through his dirty blond curls, watching him flutter his eyes closed to enjoy your touch with a smile, half expecting him to start purring. "Well…" You sigh dramatically in defeat, leaning down so that the tips of both your noses are bumping. "I guess if it helps."

Dream makes a soft noise of excitement before you press your lips to his, his soft hand holding your head to his to slot your lips together easily.

"Now get to bed." You snap as soon as you pull back, causing him to huff and pause whatever video he had been watching.

"Fine." He grumbles like a child, lifting himself up and taking a few moments to make sure he isn't about to collapse before turning to you, letting you lead him to his mattress, onto which he immediately collapses on with a loud groan.

He situates himself under the covers and outstretches his arms to you expectantly, yet instead of your warm body he finds himself holding the bowl of soup you had brought.

You press a kiss to his forehead as he begrudgingly starts to sip on the soup, his gaze softening as he realises you're not about to leave his side.

Needless to say, the next day you were as ill as he was.

SAPNAP:

A loud groan resounds across the house.

You try your best to ignore it, going back to scrolling through your phone and scratching behind Patches' ears.

Another groan, louder this time, finally brings your attention away from social media and back to reality, frowning at the unending dramatic groans that come from your boyfriend.

You sigh, carefully pushing Patches off and starting your trek upstairs, listening to the borderline fake sounds coming from inside the room.

"You sound like you're dying."

You comment as soon as you push open the door to his bedroom, rolling your eyes with a smile as you meet your boyfriend's gaze, his lower lip curled into a pout as he makes grabby hands at you, his bed covered in what you assume to be snotty tissues.

"I am dying, darlin'. Feels like I'm being ripped apart."

You laugh, making your way towards him and sitting on the edge of the bed, and placing your hand onto his forehead, frowning instantly at how hot he feels.

"Wait, are you actually sick?"

"Yes!" Sapnap whines, throwing his head back and slamming it accidentally onto the wooden headboard, whining at the additional pain. "You thought I was fakin'!?"

"I wouldn't put it past you." You grumbled, wiping some of the sweat on his face with your sleeve, watching him try to adjust in his bed just to be closer with you. "What hurts?"

"Everything." He sighs out, closing his eyes in pain as his head throbs.

"Everything?" You repeat, unamused, already getting up to retrieve an ice pack from downstairs, hoping to cool down the fever he seems to have caught.

"Yes, every-" his eyes snap open as soon as he feels the bed shift, whining. "No, don't leave!"

"Nick, I need to get you something for your fever!"

You struggle against Sapnap's grip as he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapped around your waist and stubble scratching against your cheek.

"No… all I need is you, darl'." He grumbles against your skin, peppering sloppy kisses onto your neck.

"You're delirious." You sigh, melting into his warmth as he pulls you under the covers, sniffling and whining with every move he makes. "You'll take some medicine later, right?"

"Mhm … yeah." He says drowsily as he starts to fall asleep right there, listening to your breathing as a means to calm himself down. "Anything for you, sweetheart."

GEORGE:

How can George still be asleep?

You think to yourself as you stare mindlessly into the TV, the plate of food you had been eating abandoned on the coffee table as you take note of how long it had been since you had seen your boyfriend after last night.

You know he's prone to sleeping in for long, but not this long. Especially now in Florida, where the sun rises earlier and helps him wake up at the same time as you and your roommates.

Once you give your half eaten plate to Dream, you carefully push open the door to your boyfriend's room, stopping for a few moments so your eyes get used to the darkness his room was covered in.

"George? Are you awake?"

Treading carefully so you don't trip on any loose cables or stuff that he might have tossed onto the ground, you finally reach his bed, kneeling next to him and placing your hands on the body beneath the covers and shaking softly.

"Georgie?"

"Hmng."

You feel him turn around, meeting his gaze despite the darkness around you, watching as his pained expression turns into one of relief.

"Hi…" He mumbles, voice coarse as if he had just finished screaming for over an hour, reminding you of that one time he had lost his voice after a particularly long stream. "Time…?"

"Almost 4." Your hand comes up to push back his bangs, a shiver racking through his body as your cool touch makes contact with his atypically hot skin. "What th- do you have a fever?"

"I think." You feel his arms creep around your waist, pulling you closer with abnormal strength and placing his head onto your lap, snuggling himself into your thighs, letting out a shaky sigh at the warmth. "Tried getting up this morning and I think I passed out."

That would explain the crash Sapnap had claimed to have heard early in the morning.

"You passed out? Why didn't you call me?" You whisper back, running your fingers through his hair and massaging the back of his neck, a spot you know always gets him weak. "We could've brought you downstairs so you weren't cooped up like this."

George laughed as the image of Dream and Sapnap dragging him downstairs came to mind, but the sudden stabbing pain that attacked his lungs caused him to start coughing with a whine.

"I'd rather just stay up here with you." He started to manhandle you to lie under the covers, his hands warm on your hips as he quite basically shoved his face into your chest, trying to calm his raging headache. "We can order something later… I just want to be with you for now."

You chewed on your lower lip before your hands came up subconsciously to bury themselves in his soft locks, a whine leaving his lips as your nails started scratching at his scalp. "Fine. Just for a bit, okay? You still have to eat, we got to get you medicine, and you probably stin-"

You squeaked as he nipped on your skin in an attempt to get you to shut up, rolling your eyes at the smirk on his pretty lips before he fluttered his eyes back closed, a silent way of telling you that he was going back to sleep.

QUACKITY:

"You're an idiot."

Your boyfriend sputters out a confused sound as he walks into the kitchen, not having expected to be instantly insulted first thing in the morning.

"Huh?"

"Why are you half-naked!? You're sick!" You point at his feet and then his shorts with your spoon, making him groan and roll his eyes.

"It's hot!" He throws his arms up in the air as he sits down at the kitchen island, ignoring the way you frown at him. "And I'm not sick. I'm fine. It's just a cold."

"That still counts as being sick." You mumble under your breath, pushing a plate of food in his direction before pulling off your hoodie (which casually happened to be his) and handing it to him. "Put it on. I don't want you getting worse."

"...fine." He mumbles, starting to eat once it's on. "Thank you, mi vida."

Your face heats up at the casual nickname, nodding as you start on your own breakfast, too busy scrolling on your phone to notice the way your boyfriend starts squirming in his seat, sweat dripping down his forehead as he tries to focus on his food.

"You alright?" You finally realise how sick he looks despite having looked fine mere moments before, face flushed and skin sickly pale as he wipes the sweat away with his hoodies sleeves.

"Mhm. Okay." Your hand reaches over to cup his cheek, almost flinching back at how hot his skin feels. "Jesus! You're so fucking hot!"

You instantly regret what comes out of your mouth at his cocky expression, watching him m lean into your hand and sigh dreamily, eyelashes fluttering open and closed as he speaks.

"You think I'm that hot, babe?" He purrs out, despite the absolute pain that's racking through his body at the minute. "Damn, didn't expect you to be bold."

"Shut up." You pinch his cheek, forcing a high pitched cry to leave his mouth as you turn around to look through the medicine cabinet. "I meant you're literally hot, Alex."

"So you think I'm not figuratively hot?" You refrain from the urge to groan at his teasing, pulling off the cap to some medicine and dropping a pill into a glass of water.

"If you keep acting like this, you'll be less than hot to me." You snap, handing him the drink and waiting for him to down it like he usually does when it comes to ill-tasting medicine. "Go lie down, I'll make you some soup."

Before you can leave, he grabs your arm, pulling you into the space between his open legs and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"With me?" He mumbles into your hair, causing you to roll your eyes at how clingy he's become. "Come on, cielo. We can just order soup."

"But will it be as good as my soup?" You brush some of his longer strands of hair away from his eyes and trace the invisible lines between the beauty marks on his face.

"No… but I'd take cold soup any day of the week if it means having you in my arms."

KARL:

"Your nose is running."

You comment as you watch your boyfriend sluggishly make his way towards the fridge, eyes barely open and sweatpants almost falling down his waist.

"Mhm."

He doesn't even acknowledge your words, digging through the countless cans in the fridge to pull out some orange juice, instantly downing it without a second thought.

"Sorry. You want some?" He slurs, extending his arm and offering you the carton.

"Just finish it, Karl. I'd rather not get sick."

You notice that instead of his normal sleeping shirt he has a button up on, the buttons all messed up from probably trying to do it on his own in the bathroom mirror.

"You going somewhere, baby?" You comment on his appearance, frowning as he instantly nods, throwing the carton into the bin before looking for some snacks.

"Filming with Jimmy." He casually says, as if he hadn't been battling with a fever for almost a week. "I volunteered yesterd-"

You slap your hand over his mouth, stopping him from talking and meeting his shocked gaze, feeling his hands immediately find place on your waist out of instinct at how close you are.

"You're not going anywhere, Karl. I don't want you to get worse." You comment with a frown, having half expected him to lick at your hand when you had covered his mouth, but the sad look in his eyes feels worse than how that would've. "Please. You've been in pain for almost a week, I just want you to get better."

You let go of his face, moving your hand to cup his cheek and watch him press into your touch, nodding solemnly.

"Just don't like being useless. I wanna do stuff, I want to help!" He whines, closing his eyes as if afraid of your reaction to his complaint.

"You're not useless, though. You're sick. I'm taking care of you because I love you and I want you to get better. Jimmy's your friend, he'll probably won't want you working while you're sick, either." You lean up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a comforting hug, his cool hands roaming your skin under your shirt. "So get back into your pyjamas and get to bed and I'll bring you some food, okay? Then we can watch a movie, whichever one you want."

He nods enthusiastically, taking his turn to cup your cheeks in his hands and pepper kisses all over, brushing your lips with his before pulling away, aware of how sick you'd get if he gave you what he had. "I love you!" He says before rushing back upstairs giddily, not even waiting for you to say it back, aware that even without saying it, you do.

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mondaymelon · 1 year

Text

— 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝗲𝗻: 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 ♥

: sumeru edition!! : (haitham + kaveh + cyno + tighnari x gn!reader) ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

AL HAITHAM is a man of few words.

because of that, you aren't able to read his expression most times - and many things go unsaid. there are a lot of things he wants to tell you. if you'd let him, of course. he just doesn't know how to ask - or how to bring it up, so haitham just stays silent.

it's only on quiet nights like these where his true feelings toward you begin to escape from his serious facade.

he whispered your name. "are you awake?"

when you didn't respond, the corners of his lips curved upward, just the slightest amount.

and then there's a warm hand on your head, stroking your hair reassuringly. his steady breathing is methodic as he leans forward and gently kisses your forehead, before whispering:

"rest well, my love." ♥

it's no overstatement to say that KAVEH is quick to anger.

but he tries not to stay mad whenever the two of you butt heads. after all, if the contender is his favorite person in the world, he really can’t, can he? then he’d just be acting like a terrible boyfriend!! :(

so every time he gets upset with you, or vise versa, he's got to find a way to make up with you! in the end, it's only fair!

kaveh insists on treating you to meals, even when you know he has no mora to spare. it's his way of showing how much he cares for you!! besides, if he has to room with al haitham, so be it. it's better than not being able to see your joyous face when you get to eat delicious food!! it makes kaveh unwillingly smile no matter the occasion.

but even the renowned architectural genius has his shortcomings. it's... well, he's not great at apologizing - or admitting he's wrong. he can't help the way his ears and cheeks flush as he starts to stutter... he's not supposed to make any mistakes!!

"i-i'm s...sorry...!!" he can't even meet your eyes, but all you can think is:

"adorable." ♥

CYNO wants to do everything he can to see you smile.

which is selfish of him, he'll admit that. but he witnessed you cry once, and that was enough for him to swear to never let that happen again - at least not while he was in the picture.

hmm... just how should he make you happy?? tighnari insisted his jokes really weren't funny... but maybe if he told them to you?

and he does just that.

it doesn't go two minutes without a wisecrack from him - but for some reason, you just can't seem to stop laughing. maybe it's his actual humor, or maybe it's about cyno himself, but there's just something about him that makes you smile without fail.

and when cyno is able to see that expression on your face, his heart flutters. he can't stop the way his heart is beginning to pick up pace and the way the atmosphere just feels warm. all he notices is how you look so immaculately beautiful right now - like someone from another world - so perfect, and all his.

so it was okay to be selfish this once, right? ♥

TIGHNARI tends to rant to you. a lot. he's got quite the mouthful to say about his coworkers and acquaintances.

however, that's not exactly a surprise. his temper and character is well known amongst the forest rangers and even the civilians through his sassy manner of speaking and how harshly he reprimands those who ignore the rules of the forest.

so when he comes home from work to the shared home and settles onto the couch next to you, taking in a deep, aggravated breath, you already know what's about to come.

but, somewhat surprisingly, he happens to a good listener as well. (and not just because of those fluffy ears of his!!)

maybe it's a bad day at work, or maybe you just woke up on the wrong side of bed - tighnari will listen to it all, letting you lean on his shoulder while you ramble away. he waits until you're done speaking before offering a couple sentences of gentle advice, then opens his figure, inviting you in for a hug.

and how could you refuse?

you mumble into his embrace, face warm. "thanks, nari."

"it was the least i could do." ♥

(a/n) fjaldjg fluff. god i love kaveh so much hes just??? ???? ahem. tell me any characters you'd like to see + any prompt if you want !! thank you for reading ♥

he's so babygirl

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sweet-lover-girl · 10 months

Text

(There is not title.)

Hi! Hello! I’m not to sure if I’m back but I wrote this and I-I like it..and I hope you do too! I I wrote this in like three days and reread it so much. I can’t read it again right now, so please avert your eyes to any lingering mistakes.

Minors please, do not intact. That’s it.

Warning(s):reader has hair(not specified) smut, reader is a whiny bag in this(like actual whining) Praise, oral sex(Abby receiving) fingering(Abby receiving) overstimulation, lesbian sex, top!Abby, bottom!reader, hair pulling, cursing, oral fixation(?), face fucking, gagging(Abby finger fucks your throat)spit kink, dacryphilia, face slapping(just once I believe) brief mommy kink, oh and Abby says ‘fuck’ a lot(and I think that’s it?)

Smut under the cut!

———

“H-hey easy baby,” Abby stutters as you continue to lick at her clit even though she already came, her hand was tangled in your hair, pushing you away gently so she doesn’t hurt your neck, but you just keep lapping at her wet pussy, your tongue flicking at her sore clit— making her sharply hiss out a quite fuck.

Abbys hips grind up against your face as your fingers found their way to her clenched hole, the muscle still pulsing softly from her last orgasm. You moan as you felt how wet she was, your finger tips drenched in her cum and whose to blame you when you just couldn’t help yourself and bury your face deep into her cunt - sucking up her clit into your hot mouth and twirling it like a piece of candy.

“Fuck!” Abby yelled out, slamming her fist down onto the bed making a muted ‘thud’ sound and her legs shaking from overstimulation but she didn’t push you away. Abby wouldn’t admit it - but she was a masochist when it came to overstimulation as she fell in love with that sweet pain that came with it.

Abby grunted and tangled her other hand in your hair griping it tightly as she bucked her hips against you face,”Stick out your tongue.” She barked. Your eyelashes flutter and you stick your tongue out, whining when Abby began to ride your mouth.

“Hmm, good girl— good fucking girl.” Your girlfriend praised you making your own wet cunt drip. You sat up straighter and flatten your tongue out, the tip of your tongue grinding up against her clit just right and Abbys hips jolt upwards as she lets out a quite moan, her head falling back down onto the pillow as she mumbled, “‘m gonna cum baby girl— fuck, gonna cum.” Still ridding your face Abby felt that familiar heat build in her lower belly,”Shit.” She whined as you began to nod your head up and down quickly, keeping you tongue stiff as you rubbed it against her clit.

The tips of your fingers start to circle her clenched hole before gently pushing in. Her walls clamping down on your digits the farther you push them in, but you go slow, scissoring your fingers a little once she relaxed. Curling your fingers you easily find your lovers g-spot, thrusting and fucking up into the sensitive gooey spot as Abby lets out sharp cries from the intense pleasure. Your mouth waters when you get a taste of her cum dripping onto your tongue. You practically go feral and jolt forward, closing your lips tightly around Abbys clit as you place your free hand on her lower abdomen and press down, your fingers still thrusting and curling up into her g-spot milking it hard and fast.

“Oh my god! Oh fuck—“ Abby gasped, her right hand letting go of your hair to hold onto your hand that was in her stomach. She rolled her hips as you sucked her clit harshly, you hum as you close your eyes and once again ignore Abbys weak attempts to try and push you away, fucking your fingers in and out of her dripping pussy at a steady pace, your wrist cramping slightly but you refused to stop, not until she came on your tongue by your hand.

“Baby I’m—“ her stomach tightens as her muscular thighs clamp down around your head while she lets out a deep groan. You were in heaven. You could hardly get any air in, not that you were worried about breathing right now.

Abby’s back arches and her legs shook, tremors running down her spine as her breath caught in her throat, sweet blissful orgasm rushing over her. The tight hold she had on both your hand and hair was hard enough to make you whine, but you don’t stop her, not when she was feeling this good.

She lets out a broken whine before suddenly taking a sharp inhale, panting as she rode her high for as long as she could. “Baby, oh my god-“ Abby exhaled, she felt as if she could hardly speak.

Abby cries when you roll her clit on your tongue before clamping your lips down around her pretty pink jewel and pulling up a little— only to let go of her clit to watch it bounce. Dragging your hand down from her toned stomach, you use your fingers to spread open her lower lips, her soft blonde hair tickling the palm of your hand. You watched as her clit twitches in pleasure.

She is so fucking pretty.

Her hole clenching around nothing and the muscles in her thighs trembling when your warm breath fanned over her wet clit. Dropping your head down your tongue slides into her, licking and lapping up the mess she had made, generously cleaning it up. Your fingers keeping her pussy lips open, making sure nothing touches her clit as you eat her out.

“Okay fuck— stop, stop.” Abby grunts as she pushes you away once more, pulling you away from her throbbing cunt - making you whine and flick your tongue out— trying to get one more small taste of her.

“Shh it’s okay babygirl, I’ve got you.” Abby whispers as she sat up, her hand coming up to cup under your chin, her fingers digging into the hinges of your jaw to make you open your mouth so she could shove her middle and index finger down your throat making you whimper before it was cut of by a gag.

“I know baby,” She says as she pushes her finger further down your throat, feeling your throat close up around her finger tips making her grin.”I know, my sweet angel just needed something in her mouth.”She hisses, Abby felt her cunt heat up once more at the tears falling from your eyes. Some sick, twisted part of her loved this side of you. She loved how no one but her got to see you submit like this, to be so trusting in her to take care of you turned her on like nothing else. It was so intimate to Abby and she cherished ever moment of these vulnerable sides to you.

“I got you sweet girl.” Abby leaned in and kissed your forehead as she thrusted her fingers down your throat again, her pussy throbbing when you let out a harsh gag. She pulled away and looked at your face, seeing the tear stains and drool dripping from your chin - she thought you were so fucking beautiful.

Abby giggled when she pulled her fingers from your mouth, your saliva dripping from her fingers. She lifted her hand up in between the both of you and spreads her fingers open slowly and watches as the wet strings spiderweb before a few snapped. Closing her fingers tightly before opening them once more to watch the flithy scene again, she does this a few more times, shifting her eyes up to look at your face. Your mouth was slightly agape and your pupils were blown wide, absorbing that beautiful color Abby came to love.

She hums cupping your cheek in her hand, her wet fingers felt cool against your hot skin. You sigh and close your eyes, nuzzling into Abbys large warm palm. Your cheek suddenly stings and your head jolts to the side, gasping as your eyes flew open, you felt your pussy throb and drip making you wiggle and squeeze you thighs together. Abby smacked your cheek, not enough to severely hurt you, but just enough to were you’ll feel it for the next hour or so.

Cupping you chin again, Abby turns your head to face her. Her eyes narrowed despite the smile on her face,”You ‘my good girl?” She asked in a voice two octaves lower then usual. You nod your head quickly but stop when Abbys fingers dig into your cheeks, making your lips purse slightly, her smile disappears,”Try again.”

“Yes mommy, ‘m your good girl.” You mumble out.

“Mm, that’s what I like to hear.” Her smile returned making your eyes light up and you sit up to try and kiss her. Abby chuckles softly and leans down to meet you half way, the kiss was soft and tasted like sugar. She hums into the kiss before pulling away, placing her thumb over your lips when she saw that pouty look on your face.

“Why don’t you,” She looked down to your lips, “Let me return the favor baby girl.” Abby whispers as she leans in once more to kiss you— but pulls away last second making you huff out an exhale and look at her with sad puppy like eyes, making her grin.

“What you say baby?”

“Please mommy? Please, make me feel good.” You beg.

“Oh well, when you beg so pretty like that how can I possibly say no. Hm?” Abby said and ran her thumb across the swell of your cheek.

She gets up from the bed and helps stand you up from the floor and places her hands on your waist, her broad frame looming over you as she bends down to kiss your lips softly once more before pushing you gently towards the bed,”Go lay down, now.” She commands and you follow.

———

I need to eat her out so bad

I love y’all!☺️💖

#abby anderson #abby anderson/reader #abby anderson x you #abby tlou #abby anderson x female reader #abby x reader #abby anderson/you #abby anderson smut #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fan fiction #abby x you #Abby Anderson Blurbs

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cherrychilli · 4 months

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Slip of the Tongue

A mini series I 18+ I Enemies to lovers

Chapter three

Chapter Summary: Things turn sour in the days after you scramble out of Eddie's trailer, leading to an interesting confrontation at your old alma mater.

Chapter warnings: Oral sex (m)

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It’s been a week since that day in Eddie’s bedroom.

During that time, you hit the books, powered through your shifts, made it to every lecture and finished your midterms, now holding the fruit of your labor in your hands.

You managed to score in the 90’s again, relief filtering into your lungs with deep, calming breaths because it accounted for 25% of your final grade. With your academic progress still intact, you slipped the glowing results sheet into your bag, allowing yourself to think of your neighbor again.

And as weird as it is to say, you do feel strangely grateful for his contribution.

You’d awoken the day after bolting out of Eddie’s place with your head already crowded with thoughts of him but admittedly, having slept better than you had in a long time. He’d talked a big game and he delivered – the encounter having unwound you enough to get back to work with renewed focus.

So yes, you were grateful but also, you were furious.

Seven whole days had passed by and you hadn’t seen Eddie once.

You tried not to read into the fact that for that entire week, you didn’t hear him play his guitar once. Tried not to let your chest cave in when you didn’t catch him outside working on that tetanus trap on wheels he called a van when you took off for work. Tried not to grit your teeth when you didn’t run into him even when you returned home. Every trace of him gone.

It wasn’t that you wanted to see him exactly, but you couldn’t ignore how his absence made you feel – like a mistake he was trying to run away from.

On day four, the day after your exams, you’d even gone so far as to try wheedling some answers out of Wayne when you passed by the older man on your way to work, attempting to be as inconspicuous about it as possible.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to share a few polite words with Wayne whenever you ran into him but it was out of the ordinary for you to bring up his nephew in any other context that didn’t have to do with a noise complaint.

Segueing into it as gracefully as you could manage, you tried to make it sound as offhand as possible, like a casual observation rather than the heavily rehearsed thing that had consumed your mind all day.

“It’s been pretty quiet in the park lately. He sick or something?”, you asked him while toing at some nearby gravel like your own interest in the question was waning.

You refused to say Eddie’s name, afraid that just by mentioning it, it might put a crack in the eggshell thin mask that holds your hurricane of emotions at bay.

As you had expected, Wayne regards you with some surprise – catching his nearly imperceptible squint, his craggy brow crinkling too. It was both unavoidable and understandable. You would have reacted the same way if you were him.

The weight of his second long silence borders on excruciation, something almost surgical about the way he assesses you. Dissecting you is what it really felt like but thankfully, he shows you mercy.

“Says he’s got things to do at school – doubt there’s any studying involved though”, he lets out a huff, a dry, almost laugh that conveyed his long suffering history with his nephew’s unbeaten record for flunking.

Eddie willingly spending more time at school? The same boy who once climbed down out of a second story window, slipped and hauled ass on a sprained ankle just to get out of taking a math test?

So he was avoiding you.

Despite the bitter taste clawing at the back of your throat, you mustered up a laugh of your own and hoped it was convincing enough, waving goodbye to Wayne as you parted ways.

For those seven days you blocked out the thought of Eddie as best you could but now that your exams were no longer a concern, you were finally free to confront the spineless louse.

If he thought he was going to be safe holed up at your old alma mater he was dead fucking wrong.

Treading fire onto campus, you marched through waves of highschoolers, making a steady beeline for the drama room, remembering that was where he held those weird meetings with his weirdo friends in their weird matching t-shirts.

The teenagers hastily parted off to the side in an effort to get out of your way, some of the seniors who recognized you beginning to whisper, speculating as to what brought you back and looking so incensed.

Stomping up to the room, you let loose all that had been simmering inside you – all that frustration from being evaded and those acrid feelings that felt too close to rejection, parting the doors open forcefully with both hands. It makes for your desired entrance when they swing back and bang closed behind you like a thunderclap, startling the boy who’d been busy scribbling in his notebook getting ready for his next campaign.

His pen clattered to the floor from where it flew out his hand and bounced off a nearby theater prop. You can’t be sure given how abrupt it was but you think he might have yelped too, a high pitched eep like some sort of puppy who had its tail stepped on by mistake.

Sitting askew on his carved wooden throne, Eddie’s cast in warm hues of orange and yellow underneath stage lights and candlelight but nothing shines brighter than the sheer surprise overwhelming his face. It pleases you more to recognize the unmistakable tinge of fear he’s incapable of hiding behind his wide eyes when they land on you.

Good. He should be scared, your mood far from friendly as you turn to lock the door behind you and retrieve the key, clutching it tight in your palm.

Was this overkill? locking him inside with you? You didn’t think so. Not after he’d weaseled his way out of talking to you for an entire week. You weren’t about to leave room for him to plan an escape route too.

You stepped closer to where he cowered at the D&D table, your lips pulled into an imitation smile, curved up exactly like one but so clearly absent of any sweetness or warmth, only radiating danger.

To Eddie, your menacing saunter resembled a cobra leisurely winding its way up to cornered prey, jaw seconds away from unhinging to swallow him whole.

He flinches when you slap down your results sheet on the table, now crumpled from how you had it clenched in your fist on your way over here. Better the paper than his neck you supposed although truthfully, you were still on the fence about that.

“Uh, what’s this?”, he finally dares to speak, a nervous croak of a sound that scratched its way out of his throat, cautiously leaning closer to examine the paper. The spiteful devil perched on your left shoulder chittered and sneered, whispering all sorts of encouragement to make you reply with spite, to make some underhanded remark about how you’re not surprised he couldn’t recognize anything that didn’t have a row of F’s stamped all over it given it’s his second time repeating senior year.

But the lenient angel on your right shoulder leaned in and spoke reason into your other ear, dulcet but insistent reminders that you only came here to inquire, not injure.

The devil withers away with a snarl when you clench your jaw, holding your tongue at bay, unable to spit that kind of venom at Eddie.

Before now, your main gripe with him was his disruptive influence, the way he wedged himself into your life like a splinter caught underneath your fingernail with his head rattling music and blood boiling snark. Grinning like his biggest pleasure in life was annoying you enough to darken his bedroom window day after day with a face full of fury and a mouthful of fuck you’s. He was too carefree for your liking as well, able to shrug off his plummeting grades when a minor slip of yours would have you digging out your emergency pack of cigarettes to chain smoke the stress away in secret. But taking shots at his intellect like all the other assholes you went to school with felt too…slimy.

The same assholes who had looked down on you and your trailer park background. The same assholes who rolled their eyes when you got accepted to your College of choice. The same assholes who cackled when you had to enroll in a nearby Community College instead when your family’s finances fell in the red.

Maybe you weren’t a cobra after all, only masquerading as one.

“My midterms. I passed”, you answered him flatly, watching recollection flash across his face.

The stress it had caused you was the reason why this all started in the first place after all.

“Couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t helped me out”, you added pointedly, tone almost accusatory.

Even under the vivid stage lights that paint his complexion like a sunset, you can still make out the way his cheeks pink up at the vague mention of what had happened in his bed that day.

“Oh, uh– that’s great”, he offered you something that resembled a smile, face so twisted with nerves that he couldn’t get his lips to curve up the right way. Jesus, you’d never seem him like this before. He was barely recognizable and for the first time in your life, you found yourself preferring his usual tornado presence and boisterous anti charm.

“Yeah. So, why’ve you been avoiding me?”

His jaw tensed at that, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Obviously, you hadn’t come by to say thank you.

“Listen, the club will be here in an hour. They already know I’m in here so just give me the key and…we’ll talk about this later, okay?”, he attempted to negotiate with you in the same way one might try to approach a skittish horse, overly cautious with an undertone of fear, holding out a shaky palm to collect the key but you weren’t about to give in now.

“What, so you can find somewhere new to hide?”, you sneered.

To show him you’re serious about seeing this conversation to the end you make a show of dangling the key to the drama room in front of his face – his only hope of escape, but it’s what you’re doing with your other hand that gathers his attention.

Hooking a finger into the neckline of your t-shirt, you pull it low enough for your cleavage to show, soft swells sitting high on your chest, framed by pretty lace. And despite the dread trickling down Eddie’s spine, thick like tar, one thing becomes abundantly clear in that moment.

He’s only a man.

The little flash of tit is enough to trigger his hormones. Stupefied, he takes in an eyeful, committing the contours of your breasts to memory – the newest entry into the sordid vault of his spank bank before he’s able to snap out of it. He attempts to snatch the key from you but he’s too slow, stomach cartwheeling as he watches it disappear into your cleavage when you tuck it away for safe keeping in your bra cup. Honestly, he can’t decide if he’s more upset about it or turned on.

Face twisting with exasperation, he locks his eyes back on yours.

“You’re being ridiculous!” he accuses with increasingly reddening cheeks.

Unbothered by the claim, you shove a couple of dice and a few of his notes aside to sit yourself on the edge of the table, arms crossed underneath your breasts, showing your defiance.

This isn’t like when he’d gotten you to beg for your release, chipping away at your resolve with his touch and tongue until you crumbled under the weight of ecstasy. You’ve molded yourself into an imposing shadow of the girl who came undone on his sheets, obstinate and immovable and it’s clear that you’ll sooner wear him down for an answer even if it means being stuck here in this room all night than leave without one.

Eddie’s hardened expression falters as he realizes this, sighing. Relenting.

“Fine”, he slumps back in his chair.

“I didn’t mean to…I didn’t know what to say– “

“Bullshit”, you cut him off with an icy scoff. Eddie Munson at a loss for words? Sure. And Steve Harrington’s a bald virgin.

“It’s not bullshit”, he attempts to deny, some heat behind his words.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who offered to help me “relax” in the first place?” you bit back with heat to match.

Your rebuttal has him silent – both of you knowing he can’t argue otherwise.

“Where’d all that bravado go, Munson?” you poke again just to see the vein at his temple bulge but he doesn’t answer, jaw set firm.

You’d hoped to scare it out of him at first or even force it out of him by locking him in here but for once that metalhead menace is tightlipped and damn good at it.

Taking another moment to consider your options you gird yourself to ask the one question you’ve been dreading. Casting your eyes down, arms tightening under your breasts, the key shifts into an awkward angle, jabbing your soft flesh but it’s not nearly as unpleasant as what you have to say next. You weren’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer but you force it out, tongue turning more sour the longer the question sat there unasked.

“Do you regret it?”

It’s the way your tone loses all of its heat, crumbling slightly at the end of your question that makes him feel like the world’s biggest jackass. Another awful second of silence passes before you’re startled by him shooting out of his seat, chair screeching noisily against the floor as its forced back so quickly, his hand reaching for yours but he stops short of your fingers touching.

This close, you can smell him again. That same scent that clung to his bed. That same scent that hung on your hair. The same scent you reluctantly washed away in the shower that night you got back home. It makes you feel woozy, like a cloud full of pheromones to the face. If he takes one more step, you’re afraid you might leap up and bite his chest through his shirt like an animal in heat.

“I don’t regret it”, he answers you, gentle. Honest.

And just like that, all the anxiety you’d carried around for a week unravels with those four words. In its place, relief strummed on your ribs like nimble fingers plucking strings on a harp, a hopeful tune building up to a crescendo inside your chest. But you don’t let it show – forcing an impending smile away, keeping your expression unreadable because you liked the way he looked back at you, sweating with uncertainty.

“Okay – then you wouldn’t mind me returning the favor, would you?”, you rose up from the table, placing a palm in the middle of his chest.

“Huh?” he stumbles back, the back of his knee connecting with his chair.

“Fair’s fair right?”

With a little effort, you push him back into his seat, dropping down to kneel between his legs when they spread for you.

“Shit shit wait- really?”, he sputters as your fingers climb up to his belt, working open that damn handcuff buckle you’d become curious about to the point of near infatuation in the last few days.

You roll your eyes in reply like his question is a nuisance to you, growing excited under the surface.

Popping open the button on his jeans and pulling down his zipper, you can see that he’s already half hard underneath his boxers, a thick outline of his cock growing more prominent.

He’s warm in your hand when you pull his jeans and boxers down to grasp him, watching it spring up, feeling him grow harder by the second. Your fingers are dwarfed by the size of him although you already expected that after what you had seen in his trailer.

Eddie tenses when you bring your face closer, lips parted, breath puffing against his flushed, throbbing tip. Just a little more and-

“But before I do, you’re going to tell me why you avoided me”

He blinks back at your wicked smile and sharp eyes, plummeting.

“You’re fucking evil, you know that? First you hold me hostage and now you’re going to interrogate me with your fist around my dick?”

You grin back, squeezing him mostly gently, the warmth of your hand alone enough to make him feel compliant.

“Do it or I’ll stop”, you threaten sweetly.

Somehow, he likes the sound of that even less than the fear of you doing something like snapping it clean off.

There’s something so perversely satisfying about getting to use his words against him – withholding his release in the same way he had done with you. Being on the other side of it, you now understand why he enjoyed it so much, the potent thrill of being in control.

“Fuck okay”, he lets his head fall back to thud against the back of his throne, the column of his neck stretched and bared for you to see the way his Adams apple bobs in his throat with a thick swallow.

“I thought about you all the time…” he starts, tipping his chin down to look at you again, eyes dark and shadowy from this angle. “Shit, I couldn’t sleep after what happened in my bed – had to get away because I knew if I saw you again, I’d just drag you back there”

Something about the image of him manhandling you, maybe even hauling you over his shoulder, all overcome with unbridled cave man lust for you as he takes you back to his bed brews excitement in your bones. You only hoped it didn’t show on your face.

“And I knew that- well, I thought, because you didn’t actually say, but all you wanted was a one time thing…right?”, he asks, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

That was your intention when you first climbed into his bedroom, yes. But now…

“You seemed to hold back just fine when I came in here”, you skirt around the question in favor of focusing on what he’d said before that, starting to stroke him slowly as a small reward for his honesty.

“You scared the fuck out of me”, his breath grows shorter now that you’re moving your hand. “And we’re in school – didn’t think you’d actually come down here. You liked this place less than I did”

That’s true, you did. You just didn’t expect him to have noticed, let alone have remembered that fact. Guess all that ganja didn’t total his memory completely.

“Well, I couldn’t just let this go on after everything that happened”, you state plainly, twisting your wrist slightly around his base before pulling back up to trace his tip with your thumb.

This time he doesn’t shy away from the vague mention. You can almost see the memory reflecting off his umber eyes as it replays in his mind.

“Didn’t even want to throw my sheets in the laundry”, he admits, a throaty timbre to his tone that makes you stroke him faster.

“That’s gross, Eddie”, you deride, nose wrinkling but he can see right through it. He recognizes it easily – the same forced disgust you’d showed him when he flicked his tongue at you and offered to get you off, trying to hide how much you liked it.

“Could still smell you on them even after they were washed you know – even though I knew they were clean. Like one of those subconscious things or whatever. Every time I thought of you, I felt like I could still taste you on my tongue”

He’s clearly done holding back, no longer the shrinking Dungeon Master you’d stormed in on not too long ago. This is the Eddie you knew well and knowing the thought of you had affected him to the point that it impacted his senses, haunting him even, makes you rush with pride.

“I never got to taste you”, you suddenly recalled, surprised you’d forgotten even for a moment considering how much thought you’d given it in the few days prior.

And with that you leaned forward, lips parting, tongue seeking his cock, licking from the bottom of his veiny shaft up to the head.

The slow, wet drag of your tongue along his sensitive skin is the kind of sensation that will not leave him quietly, groaning around all kinds of expletives as his palms clamped down on the armrests of his chair, knuckles turning white.

Taking the first few inches into your mouth, you wrapped your lips around him and sucked slowly. Swirling your tongue around the leaking tip, you get a proper taste of him, collecting a dribble of precum before pulling off. The texture of it is silky on your tongue as you sucked the mix of tangy and salty sweet onto the roof of your mouth, letting it slide down the back of your throat like honey and swallowed.

“What else did you think about?”, you asked, missing the sound of his voice as you moved to lick along his shaft again, tongue feeling around the veins adorning it.

How he’s able to keep up a conversation when you’ve got your mouth on him like this he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s the fear that you might threaten to stop again. Maybe it’s the way your eyes look up at him all cloudy with need and your thighs clench together when he talks about the thoughts he’s had about you.

“Everything we didn’t get to do that day. I know we only agreed on helping you out but after watching you tidal wave my bed I couldn’t help myself”

The crass description nearly makes you snort against his dick despite yourself; your whole face going supernova with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. It makes Eddie grin.

“I thought about this a lot. I couldn’t believe it but I knew – you wanted me in your mouth back then too, didn’t you?”

Imparting a little honesty of your own, you answer him with a whisper, licking off another clear bead of precum from his slit. “I did”.

Eddie's eyes lit up, lips turning up into a smirk. “Watching you leave after that was torture, you have no idea. You’ve ran that smart little mouth of yours at me for years – hated missing my chance to shut you up for once”

That earns him a deadpanned look and calls for a warning.

You bring a hand down to squeeze his balls and smirked when he groaned, this time nearing on pained, hands releasing the armrests with his palms held up in surrender.

“Okay okay! Easy. You’re a soft spoken delight, alright?”

With a pleased chuckle bubbling up your throat, you relinquish your hold to massage them gently instead, rolling them in your palm, continuing to stroke him with your other hand.

“Did you think about fucking me?”

“Yeah…”, he answers at the end of a thick gulp.

“How?”

“Huh?”

“How would you fuck me, Eddie? rough?”

He considers it before answering. “Not at first…but yeah, I’d – fuck, do that again? – I don’t think I could be gentle for very long because I know you can take it”

It’s like he’s reached inside of you and flipped a switch you hadn’t even been aware was there. You’d been wound so tight for so long. You needed him to use you.

“Could you be rough with me now?”, you asked, triggering a sly quirk of his eyebrow.

“You asking me to fuck your face, sweetheart?”

There’s that cocky edge again and you're quick to spar with it.

“Yes or no, Munson?”, you return, all stony faced. There won’t be any begging from you today.

He frowns when you pull out his last name again.

“Aren’t we beyond that now?”

You grin back, too stubborn for your own good.

“No”

Eddie's frown fades, a grin stretching across his face to match your own.

“Open your damn mouth”

Ringed fingers weave into your hair as you part your lips for him, allowing him to breach the wet velvet of your mouth. His girth puts some strain on your jaw but you’re able to accommodate him, tongue cradling the underside of his cock as it glides over the muscle. You’re doing well so far, letting the hand on your head, firm but gentle, guide you down until the tip of his cock bumps the back of your throat and you gag.

“Go on – choke a little for me”, he grunts.

Tears wet your eyes as you try to breathe through it, throat squeezing back against the intrusion, saliva pooling in your mouth as it begins to drip past your lips.

Eddie starts to thrust into your mouth and you take him as far into your throat as you can manage. Your nails dig into his thighs through the short, ragged pumps, past even what you thought to be your limit when your nose presses close to his pelvis, brushing the thatch of hair at his base. You find that you like how he smells there too – musky and masculine.

The sounds you pull out of him make your core ache – every hitch of his breath, every choked off moan, every rumbling groan and throaty grunt. But you stamp down the hot roiling in your belly and ignore the sticky need pooling in your panties because you really did mean what you said about returning the favor. It was your turn to please him, sidelining your own pleasure for the time being in the same way that he had done for you. Not that there wasn’t any pleasure to be derived from being in your position.

The part of you that was greedy savored every sound and liked knowing you were making him feel good – that all those noises he was making was because of you. And the part of you that was competitive took pleasure in knowing you were proving he wasn’t the only one here with a skillful mouth.

Growing more and more used to it, you take it well as he fucks your throat and he tells you as much.

“Knew I was right about you. Knew you could take it – Christ, yes, just like that”

The praise makes you bob ardently, saliva soaking his cock, trailing down to his balls. You’ve adopted a pace of your own now, Eddie’s fingers still tangled in your hair but no longer guiding you.

"Shit– I’m gonna cum. where do you– "

You pull off his cock, his eyes trained on your wet, swollen lips gasping for air, your hand taking over to pump his spit-soaked length.

“Do it in my mouth”, you finish for him, desperation staining your tone.

You take him in your mouth again, not all the way this time, using your hand to stroke what you can’t fit past your sore lips anymore.

“Fuck – oh g- fuck”

Eddie’s hips jerk and then it happens – you feel the hot lines of his release begin to spurt onto your tongue, tangy and creamy thick. You swallow it down with his dick still in your mouth, throat contracting around his twitching, spent length. You pull off slowly until it’s just his tip your lips are wrapped around, lingering on it, sucking it like you don’t want to let go. You’re forced to let it slip from your mouth when his groans near pained again, sensitivity proving too much for him now.

Sitting back on your haunches, you watch his chest puff up and down while he recovers, head thrown back against the back of his chair.

When he’s able to, he puts his softening cock away, redoing his jeans before he pulls out a bandana from his back pocket and offers it to you.

“It’s clean I promise”.

The sweetness of the gesture makes your stomach flutter. Managing a meek ‘thank you’, you use the dark material adorned with bones and skulls to wipe your lips and chin of the sticky mixture of saliva and Eddie’s spend.

Next, he offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you off your knees and on to your feet.

“Listen, I’m sorry for last time. When you had to leave, I mean. And for avoiding you after that”, he informs you, much more tender than you're used to with him.

“I didn’t even get to uh…”, patiently, you wait for him to finish but he doesn’t, watching his face twist, all conflicted. You can see the thought ping pong around inside his head, wishing you could just reach in and pluck it out for yourself but he brushes it off before he’s able to share it with you, leaving you wondering.

“Never mind. Jeff and Gareth are going to be here soon and you probably don’t want to be seen in here with me like um, thisss”, he drags out the single syllable, unsure of a more tactful way to phrase it.

You don’t need to ask him to know that “thisss” means you look like a fucked-out mess because that’s exactly how you feel with your unruly hair and your sore jaw.

Just as before, there’s too much that’s been left unsaid but the threat of another close call has you reluctantly fishing the key out of your bra, tossing it at Eddie while you attempt to tame your hair back into something presentable, wiping off your damp cheeks too. You’re yet to realize that you haven’t returned his bandana, still clutching it in your hand.

Eddie catches the key though he doesn’t make a move towards the door, staring down at his palm like he’d just been gifted a bar of gold.

“It’s warm”, he says quietly, one of those thoughts that wasn’t meant to be said out loud but slipped past the barrier of his lips quicker than he could notice, you surmised.

It’s kind of cute actually – that dopey, spellbound look spilling over his face.

“Unlock the door, Eddie”, you sigh, subduing a laugh. At least you didn’t accuse him of being gross again like you would have an hour ago.

“Oh, right”

He steps over to the door while you gather yourself, daylight shining into the dingily lit room when he unlocks it and pulls it open.

After a quick look around outside to make sure no one sees you leaving, he steps back and holds the door open for you but you linger.

…all you wanted was a one-time thing…right?

No. Not anymore.

You weren’t sure what the two of you were now. Neighbors who got each other off? Former enemies but not really friends with benefits?

The specifics didn’t matter. At least, not right now. All you knew was that you didn’t want whatever this was to end.

Turning to Eddie, you say something you never thought you would. Not to him.

“My family’s gone for the weekend. You can come over tonight…if you want”

The smile that crosses his face is both warm and cocky, much like the one he’d flashed you from his window when this all began.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”, you soften but only slightly. Unsmiling but not inimical.

“Oh, and if you stand me up?”, voice heating up, you jabbed a finger against his chest, right between the L and the F of his Hellfire shirt. “Try to run away again?”, you jab again and he staggers a step back, wincing when you press over the same sore spot again. “I’ll nail your balls to your front door, understand?”

For a moment he stares back at you. Stunned. And then, true to the freak riddle that he is, he smiles back even brighter.

Tag list - @honey-flustered @cryingglightningg @cadence73 @taccobelle @mrsjellymunson

#eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader

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starsxblazing · 2 months

Text

Cause and Effect (Part 3)

a/n: please excuse any proof reading mistakes because my brain is still mush after working my 40 hours this week. I was too excited to post the next chapter simply for all of your amazing responses!

You huffed in annoyance from your lack of sleep just as the sun was beginning to rise in the sky. Sleep had evaded you for the majority of the night because you just hadn’t been able to calm your mind. The happiness and excitement that you had felt just for having someone pay you some attention made you feel horrible about yourself, like you were no better than a toddler. It didn’t seem to bother the male that you had found such a sense of peace with just by being in his presence for just a few minutes.

Hope surged through you at the thought of him and found yourself praying to whatever the Fae believed in that you would see him again today. You dug through the clothes that you had been given but you didn’t have the energy to put much thought into anything. A grumble of your stomach had you completely abandoning the idea.

“Good morning,” you mumbled sleepily, still in your pajamas, when you entered the dining room with the male from the day before and Mor sitting at the table.

“Good morning,” Mor replied with a small smile. “We weren’t expecting you to be up so early.”

“I do rise early sometimes,” you chuckled as you took a seat beside her with the male sitting across from you. “But everything.. It’s hard to sleep now.”

“That’s completely understandable.” Mor rubbed your arm for a moment in a comforting manner. “We’re glad that you are out here with us.”

You gave her a small but sad smile, unsure of what to say. It was obvious that none of them knew about you and even though it hurt, you did your best not to show it. Feyre had mentioned in a conversation that you accidentally overheard that the food here was delicious and now that you had a taste, you weren’t sure if you could ever go back to normal human food. The thought had you returning to the day that you had been forced into the cauldron and realized that you didn’t know anyone’s name and most importantly, how they all were doing after injuries.

“You were hurt.” You locked eyes with the hazel ones across from you. “And your friend-”

“We’re alright,” he assured, causing you to slump in relief into your seat. “Cassian’s wings are healing as we speak.”

“I’m so glad.” You gave him a gentle smile before gazing at his wings momentarily. “I can’t imagine how much pain that you were in. I feel horrible that I didn’t even think to ask you last night.”

“It’s okay.” He gave you another genuine, small smile that earned a near silent gasp from the female beside her. “You have been through more than any of us can imagine.”

“I don’t even know your names,” you mumbled, choosing to ignore his reassurance since you were trying to avoid the thoughts of your own.

“You’ve met Mor.” He gestured towards the female beside you who simply rolled her eyes. “Cassian, as I said, was the one that was injured as well and Rhysand is our High Lord of the Night Court.”

“Oh.” It was hard to keep your mind from the horrible memories, the thoughts making your heart hurt even more now that you knew their names. “Have you heard from Feyre?”

“She will be alright and will be back as soon as she can,” Mor answered confidently.

Your sister had obviously thrived since she had become High Fae and you couldn’t help but wonder if you or your other sisters would be able to do it as well even though you didn’t have much of a choice. A part of you wanted to adjust but at the same time, you were terrified of the life that you had been unwillingly shoved into. You were at least trying to be friendly even though Elain still refused to speak and Nesta was being her usual angry self.

You weren’t sure how to feel with everything that was going on around you but your mind began to drift back to your human life. Your favorite holiday would be arriving in a few months and you hoped that it would be something that would be accepted for the first time. Remembering that you didn’t know the male’s name, you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Are you stingy with your name?”

“No,” he chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you repeated, finding that you liked how it rolled so simply off of your tongue.

He seemed to like it as well due to the smile tugging at his lips but you chose to ignore it, opting to eat what you could. You could feel his gaze on you and noticed it for yourself when you glanced at him from your peripheral as Mor began to tell you what Velaris had to offer.

“It sounds beautiful,” you sighed in awe.

“I could take you.” Your eyes met Azriel’s, noting that his expression was neutral even though you felt like he deeply wanted you to agree. “The city is meant to be seen at night.”

“I would expect nothing less from The City of Starlight,” you laughed, noting an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t place.

You listened to stories pour from Mor and your emotions turned over in a constant loop, wondering if you would fit into this tight knit family. It was something that you had never had and so desperately wanted. You hoped that now that you and your sisters were all together that the family dynamic might change, hoped that you would finally become important. Deciding to try to interact with your sisters, you gave them a small smile and a nod before going to find them.

Just as you expected, Elain was still staring blankly out of the window with Nesta in a chair in the room and reading a book. Your oldest sister’s flat stare fell on you and although you felt uncomfortable, you held your ground and held onto hope.

“How are you both doing?” you asked quietly, eyes darting between them both.

“How does it look?” she snapped, her ever snarky tone lacing through each word.

“All of this is so hard and I want to try to help you if you would let me,” you offered, gripping your intentions with a steel grip so that you didn’t back away.

“Why don’t you go back to the male that you decided to prefer your company with?”

“Then why did you even bother to make him leave me alone!?” you exclaimed as your pain began to overwhelm you.

“Go. Away,” Nesta growled.

It took all of your self control to hold back your tears as you darted back towards your room. Loneliness, which was a feeling that you were well acquainted with, overtook all of your senses. Even though you were used to it, it hurt even worse with the circumstances that you were now in. It felt as if it was impossible to sort through without your own family's help. You could only hold onto hope that you may have found real friends with Mor and Azriel.

You stayed in your room for the rest of the day, not bothering to leave for lunch or dinner. A knock had sounded on your door after each missed meal that followed with Mor’s muffled but concerned voice sounding through the wood. You had jumped up from your bed whenever the sun began to set, remembering that you had a late afternoon with Azriel planned. It made some excitement return because you truly did love his company.

Mor was at your door once again while you were staring at your new wardrobe as if she already knew of your struggle. She laughed at your confused expression and joined you to look at the variety of the obviously expensive dresses. It was more than welcome and you decided to let her make the choice for you since you knew next to nothing about dressing up.

“This is so hard,” you whined but fell quiet at the gorgeous blue dress that she pulled out.

“What about this one?” she asked, a knowing twinkle in her eye that you didn’t understand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything so nice in my life.” You stared at it in awe and the female seemed pleased. “I love it.”

“I thought that you would.” Mor gave you a brilliant smile before directing you to the vanity. “Now let’s get something done with this beautiful hair.”

A blush rose to your cheeks at the compliment since you hadn’t received very many. You watched her work, noting every small movement that she did so that you would be able to do it for yourself at some point. The loose curls that ended up forming was something that made you feel brand new. Your eyes burned from the tears that wanted to form at the sight of yourself once you were fully dressed and staring at yourself in the mirror.

It was the prettiest that you had ever felt in your entire life and you finally felt as if you actually meant something, even if it was only a fleeting moment. You took a deep breath before you rounded the corner where Azriel was waiting in an attempt to keep your newfound confidence.

His face instantly softened when he saw you and you could feel Mor’s eyes on you from behind you. Heat rose to your cheeks once more, unaccustomed to having a male look at you in a way that didn’t mean that he only wanted to sleep with you. He guided you to the balcony, his hand barely brushing against your lower back.

“The House is warded against winnowing so we will have to fly,” he started gently, watching you with nearly invisible caution. “There is always the option of the ten thousand steps to the city but that would ruin your beautiful dress.”

“I’ve never flown before.” It was hard to speak and keep the shock from the simple compliment from your tone before eyeing his wings. “It sounds scary.”

“I promise not to drop you,” he chuckled, the noise almost inaudible.

You nodded despite your fear and focused on your excitement for the night.

Tag List:

@amara-moonlight @allygrace74 @sidthedollface2 @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @kalulakunundrum @historygeekqueen @bubybubsters @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @caroline-books @justvibbinghere @wisdomofthebrain @nighttimemoonlover @cleverzonkwombatsludge @alessiazeni @rhenysz @ladespedidas @meritxellao @candyjaypoppins @carnationworld @mulansaucey @why4anne @tsibba01 @sassyangel16 @aetherl0l @wallacewillow0773638 @cherryinsalemverse @lupinswolfsbanes @amysangel @ayme301 @sassyslytherinshai @zeroangelo13 @sirens-and-moonflowers @evye47 @starcrossedsan @impossibelle @landofpetrichor @tuggboatfishin @dr4g0ngirl @one-big-fangirl @mistyheart @ang-taylorsversion @youngblood199456 @anuttellaa @thestartitaness @fxckmiup @glitterypirateduck @mika-no-sekai-blog @oucereeng @mariahoedt @sleepylunarwolf

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel

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navybrat817 · 1 year

Text

Harmonious

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You may think you're a pawn in Bucky's life, but you are his queen. Word Count: Over 1.7k Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, implied vaginal sex, possessive behavior, dirty talk, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Nix gifted me with this beautiful edit and I decided to make it a prequel to Husband and Wife. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner by the amazing @sgt-seabass and divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You weren't sure how you found yourself in Bucky's study, which would also be yours in time. The day passed by in a blur as you tried to remember when exactly you went into the warm, spacious room and shut the door. You weren’t sure why you chose that spot in particular to hide. As if you could escape from your fiance long enough to get peace.

Maybe some sick part of you wanted him to seek you out, which he did. Even if you tried to run, he’d hunt you down. He'd always find you. He’d win.

"Your move, Printsessa."

Bucky's voice beckoned you back to present as you realized he started the game. You stared at the chessboard, like it would provide answers to the questions about the future you didn't dare ask, before you lifted your gaze to the man you would soon marry. He chose to slick his hair back tonight, which drew your attention to his sharp blue eyes and well-groomed beard. The tuxedo, tailored to perfection, emphasized how large and imposing the member of the Bratva is.

Knowing personally how large Bucky is everywhere had your thighs rubbing together before you could stop yourself. Your traitorous body outweighed your heavy heart. One day they would be in harmony.

What’s so wrong with loving him? Why shouldn't I let him consume me?

You tore your gaze away to look at the chessboard again. He opened with the King's Gambit. Fitting since he lived like royalty. A ruler of everything he touched.

Including you.

So would you allow yourself to be his queen? To be by his side through everything? The ring on your finger may say you'd be his, but he wouldn't own you. Not yet.

In time.

Bucky would see to it.

"Do you remember what happened the last time I beat you at chess?" he asked as you slowly moved a piece.

"You put this ring on my finger," you told him, holding up your left hand.

And he spent the night ruining you with his mouth and cock.

"You almost beat me. It isn't often someone keeps me on my toes," he said, smirking when you wrinkled your nose. "It was a beautiful night. I won’t forget it."

You didn't need the reminder, but you refused to tell him that. How could you deny the beauty of it when he pulled orgasm after orgasm from you? Could you argue when he whispered how much he needed you by his side? The man had the world in the palm of his hand, but he needed you.

Why?

You hadn't done anything special to get his attention, but you had it all without asking. Even when you tried to close yourself off to him, he wiggled his way in. How did he do that?

"Am I just a game to you?" you asked suddenly as he made his next move.

"We're playing a game, but you are not a game to me."

"Why do I feel like a pawn then?"

Bucky appeared unphased, but you knew better. This was a man who would destroy anyone who looked at you the wrong way if you asked. To suggest that he was using you for anything was an insult.

"You're not a pawn in anything," he said fiercely, keeping his eyes on you as he brought his drink to his mouth and downed it in one gulp. "You're my queen, Solnyshko."

You ignored the flutter in your heart when he set the glass down and reached across the table with his metal hand to touch yours.

"And who said you're my king?" you whispered.

"You did when you said 'yes'," he told you, pulling his hand away so you could take your turn.

"I haven't said 'yes' yet," you retorted, knocking one of his pieces away with more force than necessary.

He snorted as he watched the pawn hit the carpet. "You're mine, Printsessa. Or did you forget?"

Your pussy clenched in interest at the thought of him reminding you, but your mind refused to let you give in.

At least, not right away.

"Like you'd ever let me forget," you said, pointing a finger at him. "It's your ring on my finger and your last name I'm taking. What are you taking of mine, besides my body?"

Bucky's eyes darkened a shade as he sat back in his leather chair. Goading him into a fight wouldn't do you any good, but he liked that you pushed. He craved both a worthy opponent and a partner in his life. You were the one he chose to let in.

But the man had many doors to open and you only had so many keys in your grasp.

"It's your heart I want," he said more to himself than you, but you caught the longing in his voice as he looked away.

You paused for a moment, his admission nearly bringing tears to your eyes. "I wouldn't have agreed to marry you if you didn't have it."

Despite the fact that he could bend the world to his will, he would never force you to be with him. There was still so much you didn't know about him though, like his past. You knew just enough to acknowledge that his family wouldn't be there. Not with his parents in the family cemetery.

Did he not trust you with his secrets or did not he not trust himself?

He didn't smile when he looked back at you, but his shoulders sagged in relief. "And I'm yours as much as you're mine."

Fighting him was a losing game. He defeated you the moment he decided he wanted you. What was it you were arguing about to begin with?

Bucky Barnes is a dangerous man, yes, but he would never pose a threat to you.

You would always be in his care.

"Beat me and we can move the wedding up a week," you proposed as you resumed the game.

Bucky considered it with a grunt. The sound brought a smile to your face. No one else would dare tease him about his reactions to anything.

"Two weeks,” he suggested, licking his lips. “And we leave right for the honeymoon after the ceremony so I can fulfill my duty to you as your husband."

"We're having a reception," you stated, wrinkling your nose again to hide your growing arousal. "But we can move it up two weeks if you win."

"When I win," he corrected you with the utmost confidence.

"Just play," you grumbled as he chuckled.

Neither of you spoke for almost an hour as you concentrated on the game, but you stole glances at each other between moves. Why did he have to look so handsome in his tuxedo? Did he wear it just to have you lust after him? A taste of what your wedding day would bring?

He probably had the bowtie in his pocket to use around your wrists later.

"Checkmate."

You sighed, but nodded when he grinned triumphantly. He beat you fair and square. You should have seen that coming.

"Good game," you said, putting your hand out for his in a mock handshake. "You get to marry me two weeks sooner."

"It's a good thing I already prepared for that," he smirked as you raised an eyebrow, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it instead of shaking it. "Oh, I moved the date up this morning."

"You what?"

"I moved the wedding up," he said as you yanked your hand back. "Are you that surprised? I want you to be my wife sooner rather than later."

"Jackson. Buchanan. Barnes."

The cocky look on his face had you seeing red, but part of you also felt flattered that he couldn't wait to make you his wife.

I can't let him know how gone I am for him, fiance or not.

"Get on the table and I'll say I'm sorry."

It was your turn to smirk. "No."

The dangerous glint in his eyes as they raked over your body made your core throb.

"I can either apologize with my tongue or with my cock," he offered in a low voice. Possessiveness knew no bounds when it came to him. "Either way, you will get on that table and spread your legs so I can worship you."

Suppressing a shudder, you reached under your dress and slowly removed your wet panties. You surprised yourself by making it through the entire game. "Make me," you said, tossing the fabric into his lap.

If he wanted you so badly, he could work a little for it.

His hand shot out, the chess pieces scattering across the floor along with the board. You didn't flinch. Having the attention of one of the most powerful men in the world would make a lesser person crumble. But you weren't easy to break.

You are his equal.

"Is this a taste of what our honeymoon will be like?" you asked as he got to his feet.

"Not just our honeymoon. he rest of our lives," he said, moving around the table to tower over you. "There is no me without you, Solnyshko."

You didn't stop him as he gripped your arms and pulled you to your feet. You allowed him to devour your mouth with his before he put you on the table, careful not to hurt you. Those very hands of his destroyed his enemies, but he only brought you pleasure. He would give you a home. A future.

All you had to do was let him in.

"Show me why I'm making the right choice by marrying you," you challenged him as he shoved your dress up around your hips.

Bucky sank to his knees, digging his fingers into your flesh as he spread your legs. The man who bowed to no one else dropped down to service you. That was the kind of hold you had over him.

In your heart where you tried not to acknowledge it, he had the same hold over you.

"If the mess you make on my beard won't be enough to show you, I'll make sure to do it with my cock."

He laced his fingers with yours, anchoring you to him as he got started. Your king would take his queen tonight and many nights after. He would prove that you brought harmony to each other. And you wouldn't do a damn thing from this day forward to stop him.

I love them. Can't wait to share more of their journey. Love and thanks! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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builtbybrokenbells · 5 months

Text

CAPITAL VICES | GREED

Greed: an intense and selfish desire for something

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, semi public sex, pretty public sex briefly 😭, quickies, fingering (f!receiving), sir kink, lots of dirty talk, touch of degradation, touch of praise, lots of flirting, teasing, cum play I suppose?, name calling, mentions of toxic relationships, brief mentions of abuse/abusive relationships, mentions of cheating, drinking, swearing, fluff, sorry if i miss any!

hi!! i got internet today and finally finished this up. so happy to get back into the swing of things. my second roommate finally moved in and life seems pretty okay for once. as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🫶🏻 also this chapter is a wholeee lot, some fluff, lots of filth, and for once, not really much angst!! (Lightly edited too, my apologies)

😈: Call me?

The text tone rang through the air, immediately breaking your focus from the screen of your laptop. You read over the message a few times, hating that it immediately prompted a rush of emotion straight through you. It was despicable that he had so much power over you by simply existing, and the fact that he barely said a word made it all the worse. Perhaps the most incriminating notion of it all was that you were ready to drop everything you were doing in exchange for a moment of conversation with him. Instead of feeding into the temptation, you typed back a simple response.

You: Busy.

The read receipt immediately sold him out, letting you know that he was sitting in the chat awaiting your response. Somehow, he knew you wouldn’t comply. It was a tell tale story, him giving you an order and you doing whatever you could to ignore it. Eventually, he got his way, but you did always seem to put in a good effort. Within seconds, his name lit up your screen with an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, debating on whether to answer or decline. After a few moments of awkward staring, you hit the green button. Before you could even utter a greeting, he was already speaking.

“What’s got you so tied up that you can’t talk, angel?” He asked, the sultry tone immediately sending a wave of butterflies through your stomach.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Jacob.” You snipped, setting your phone down beside you on the table. After a moment of silence, the vibrations began again, showcasing his request for a video call. This time, he really did begin to get on your nerves. Reluctantly, you accepted. “You’re needy today.” You rattled off the astute observation in an attempt to get under his skin, but it did not seem to bother him. He remained silent instead of spewing out a counter argument, looking a bit tense as he studied the screen. “Christ, what is your problem?” You asked, propping your phone up against your laptop screen.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” He asked again, relaxing once he’d recognized the familiar paintings hanging on the wall of your bedroom.

“Working.” You said, biting down on the inside of your lip as you zoomed in on the photograph you were editing. Your eyes flickered back to your phone, the sight of his face nearly knocking the breath from your lungs. “I, uh, I’m just working on some wedding pictures.” You found it difficult to keep your rigid exterior when your eyes connected with his, the soft brown immediately warming your cold expression. “Why the video call? Worried there’s another guy in my bed?” He let out a chuckle, but did not deny the accusation. You knew that’s exactly why he called, but he refused to admit to his jealous tendencies. Although there was no relationship between you two, it was quite apparent that the two of you were only concerned with seeing each other.

“It’s nearly six; why are you still working?”

“Just want to finish these up. I’ve had them for a couple weeks now, and I usually don’t like to keep them this long.” You explained, touching up the lighting in the background of the photo. “Someone has been distracting me.”

“I wonder who that is?” He smirked, happy for the recognition.

“Yeah, I wonder.” You rolled your eyes. “Is that why you called? Looking for some late night entertainment?”

“You always think the worst of me, darling.” He smiled, rustling with something off camera. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“You know you don’t have to compliment your way into my bed.” You glanced at your phone, noticing his eyes lingering over you as you spoke.

“Maybe I just wanted to be nice.” He offered, knowing that his compliment had nothing to do with his desire for sex. You were both aware that all he had to do was show up and he would get exactly what he wanted, but it was more than that to him. He liked to call things as they were, and if that meant flattery in any sense, he was more than happy to dish it out.

“You? Being nice?” You raised an eyebrow, unbelieving that the compliment was without any deeper significance. Even after days full of sweet words, you still had difficulty trusting that he was sincere rather than doing all he could to keep you on his hook.

“Oh, shut up.” He dismissed you. “What are you doing in an hour?” Your eyes flickered to the clock in response to his question.

“Well, that depends if you mean exactly an hour from now. At 6:47, I’ll probably still be sitting here working, but at 7, I’ll be cozying up with a bottle of wine, wondering when you’ll come knocking on my door.” He laughed at your need for theatrics, finding your wit incredibly alluring.

“How about at 6:30, you have your hair done and put on a pretty little dress, and at 6:45, you answer the door and let me take you to the bar for a few drinks?” He offered, unwilling to take no for an answer.

“Why would I come with you to the bar when I can get drunk at home?” You questioned, already knowing that you would obey his wish and be waiting for him well before he arrived. It still proved plenty of fun to push his buttons, and you couldn’t resist. “It would be much more peaceful; I wouldn’t have to listen to you all night.”

“You’d love to listen to me all night, don’t fool yourself.” He brushed you off. “I know I’d love to listen to you all night.” His tone dropped as he added the second part, letting you know that conversation was not something he was expecting to come from your mouth by the end of the evening.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You rolled your eyes. “Why waste your money on drinks when you can come fuck me right now?” You posed the idea, hoping that he might comply with the request so you didn’t have to waste time dressing up. It was a fruitless endeavor anyway, knowing that when he got his hands on you, the dress would be long forgotten and your makeup would be ruined.

“Because I’m going to the bar with my brothers, angel, and I’d really like it if you came, too.”

“That seems awfully domestic.” You muttered. “Meeting the family definitely isn’t my definition of casual.”

“It’s my definition of friends.” He argued. “Besides, you’ve already met Josh. I know you’ll have a great time.” You heaved a long sigh, saving your work and facing the phone fully. He gave you a smile when he noticed your attention was focused on him.

God, how he loved to be the center of attention.

“Then I’ll take you home,” he explained, making sure you were listening carefully “and I’ll fuck that attitude out of you, all night long.” Your cheeks dusted pink at his vulgarity. Although you had effectively said the same thing, it always seemed dirtier coming from his lips. “Sound like a deal?”

“6:45, Jacob. Don’t be late.” You warned.

“For you? Never.” He smirked, ending the call with no formal goodbye. You sat for a moment, shaking your head at the strength in which he affected you. Without any further debate, you closed your laptop and stood from your chair, making your way to the bathroom to hop in the shower.

It had been about three weeks since the fateful night at the bar left you tangled in Jake Kiszka’s web. Three weeks of constant certainty that the two of you would remain solely connected through intimacy but neglect any romantic feelings. It was working out well, but your excessive indulgence had been pushing boundaries of greed since the first night you met. Now, it was uncommon for you to spend a night without being immersed in him, whether than be at your own home or at his. Your bed smelled like him and his memory was embedded in the fabric of your pillowcases. And in your shower, and your kitchen counter, and even your living room furniture. There was no part of your home that was free from the mark of his memory, and even if you tried to convince yourself to hate it, you knew it was there to stay.

There was not a surface in your household that was free of his touch, and not a fiber of your being that was free of his deadly charm. He had a hold on you stronger than anything you had felt before, and it was welcomed, even if you refused to admit it to him. Jake’s company was fantastic, and the fact that you could indulge in it without worry of further commitment or heartbreak was comforting. He was not in love, and neither were you, and you were both content with the knowledge that you did not have the intent to be with each other in such a way.

He had become your friend despite your reluctance to accept it. On top of that, he’d become the very thing that haunted every thought and dream that crossed your mind. You were a woman gone mad, desperate for a hint of attention and begging for the grace of his hands. The concupiscent nature between you was near embarrassing to choke down, and the strength in which you felt for him was incomprehensible. You needed Jake in the same way a starving man needs food, and the pleasure that he gave you had long surpassed a need for survival; sometimes, it felt as though it was the very thing that your being was put on earth to receive. Pleasing him went hand in hand for all he gave to you, and you were fine knowing that the two coincided with perfect unity.

He was placed in your life for many reasons, and sometimes you believed none of them were good, but you knew that you would go to the ends of the earth to reward him for the service he provided you. It was a relationship built from sin, yet even the barren depths of hell could not scare you away from him, because an eternity filled with suffering would be worth the moment of euphoria you felt at his hands. He was the devil, and you were the worshipper that in turn, gave him all of his power. He would be nothing if you were not feeding in to him, but the chains that bound you to him were so tight that they had fused to your skin. It was a vicious cycle that both of you were aware of, yet cared little about freeing yourself from it.

Love, although not something that you wanted to admit to, seemed to be creeping up on you with the utmost of silence, trying it’s best to kill you before you ever noticed it’s company. You were not in love with him, and even when he was wrapped around you in the most intimate display, you still did not feel the emotion. But, just because you did not feel it, did not mean it did not exist. Love was everywhere, surrounding you at all times and existing within you even while asleep. It was not love in the traditional sense, and nowhere near close to the kind that made you want to get married and settle down with children. It was the love of his company, and the love of his sharp tongue and sweet words. It was present in the shared jokes and coffee in the morning after spending the night together (Coffee and lunch had become routine, because you did well to adhere to your no breakfast rule).

It was different than any love you had experienced before, because it was not the type that made you willing to sacrifice yourself on his behalf nor go insane trying to love someone who did not love you. It was enjoyment in his company, and the laughter that hung in the air. You loved him as a friend, and you were in lust with him as a person. You were not dependent on his help to survive, but you did not want to picture a life without him in it. He was a great companion, and a fantastic friend, but you could not seem to view him as anything more. You did not want to blame it on his character, because it was simply not true. Jake was fantastic, but it was your own personal issues and morals that stood in the way of anything further than casual sex. So far, despite your limited time apart, he hadn’t seemed to overstep any boundaries or push your limits. As far as you could tell, he was content with the same things you were, and he had no interest in anything more.

For now, it was a comfort to know the both of you wanted the same outcome, but perhaps it was the most dangerous thing of all. The only thing that was worse than one person falling unwillingly, was both of you falling unknowingly.

You climbed out of the shower, drying off as you checked the time on your phone. Once your body was free of any water droplets, you wrapped your hair in a towel and moved on to your closet. Your eyes scanned your wardrobe, landing on a cute little black dress. You slipped it on, settling your arms in the long sleeves and straightening the front. It had a plunging neckline, the bottom of it reaching just under your chest on your sternum. You searched your room for tape to hold the soft fabric in place. When you were certain it would not move, you fixed the bottom, settling it mid-thigh. You took a quick look in the mirror, content with your choice and ready to move on to makeup.

In the bathroom, you had a constant eye on your phone to ensure Jake wasn’t texting or calling. He hated to be kept waiting, and you liked him enough to not want to push that button. You ran a comb through your hair as you blowdried it, adding a few loose curls to the ends for some volume. With little time to spare, you dusted some eyeshadow over your eyelids and put some mascara on your lashes after dabbing on a touch of foundation. You picked through your lipglosses and rushed through the application after hearing a knock sound on your door. With a small smile on your face, you rushed to greet your company for the night.

When you opened the door, you nearly fell to your knees at the sight. Jake was dressed in all black, with similar clothes to the night you met him, but somehow he seemed even more beautiful than he did then. There was a chain dangling from his neck and a few rings on his finger, and of course, the familiar cocky smirk adorned on his lips. You began to realize that Jake would not be himself without it. “6:45 on the dot.” You noted, your brain finally catching up with the moment.

“Told you I’d never be late for you, angel.” He recalled, taking a long look over you. “Seems like we match.” He tried to hide the lustful staring, but his eyes were permanently fixated on the exposed skin on your chest.

“I guess so.” You said, your eyes just as focused on the unbuttoned portion of his shirt. The need you both displayed for each other was shameless, and it was the loudest thing in any room you entered.

“You look fantastic.” He said, taking a step forward and letting the door close behind him. When he did, you caught a strong scent of cologne that was unfamiliar to you. It was new, it seemed expensive, and it was so heavenly that it was difficult not to tear his clothes off right then and there.

“Is this what you had in mind for a pretty little dress?” You teased, giving him a smile.

“Even better than what I had in mind.” He corrected, snaking his hand to your hip and pulling you into him. He brought his free hand to your chest, gently running the knuckle of his index finger down between your breasts and stopping at the same spot that the fabric resumed. A shiver went down your spine at the light tickle of his touch, and your skin ignited with a fire that could not be contained. “All of this just for me, sweetheart?” His tone was low and gravely, overtaken by desire for you.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, honey.” You brushed off his claim, yet both of you knew the defence was weak. You dressed to impress him, and his eyes and hands were the only thing you wanted on you. “Maybe I just wanted to make a good first impression.” He raised an eyebrow at your statement, challenging you without saying a single word. You nearly faltered under the weight of his stare, but you remained strong despite your tendencies to submit to him.

“Your idea of a good first impression is dressing like a whore?” He questioned, but the harsh words did not match his stature nor his tone. It was incredibly playful, almost as if he was trying to initiate foreplay already. Your cheeks burned red at the statement, but you continued holding his unwavering stare.

“Worked on you, did it not?” You asked, a small smirk playing on the corner of your mouth.

“So you’re trying to get them into bed, too?” He did not lighten up on his intense gaze, but somehow you were just content that you seemed to catch his undivided attention.

“If I remember correctly, you were doing all of the trying that night. I wasn’t interested in taking you home.” You reminded him of his relentless efforts and your continuous rejection as if it hadn’t been playing on repeat in his head since it happened. His hand slipped to your ass, bringing you closer to him with a force that made your head spin.

“Are you trying to get yourself in trouble again?” He asked while his fingers pressed into the skin that was already bruised from the night before. The pain held little importance compared to the mess that was beginning to form between your legs. “Why is it so hard for you to admit that you want to look good for me?”

“Because I’d hate to fuel your ego any further.” You snipped, but your hand was in search of him, landing on his side as you attempted to pull him closer. “And I’m not a liar.” You were, but neither of you needed to point out the obvious.

“That’s okay, angel. You don’t have to say it. Your body does all the talking for you.” He loosened his grip, giving you a small pat on the ass. You couldn’t help the frown that took over your face as he began to pull away. He caught sight of your expression, pausing for a moment as a glimmer of joy filled his eyes. “So that’s what it is,” he muttered, his gaze flickering to your lips. “You were hoping to piss me off enough so I would fuck you before we left.”

“No,” you shook your head, rejecting the idea even if he hit the nail straight on the head. He gave a low chuckle, leaning down and pressing his lips to your own. Your eyes fluttered closed, finding your prior arguments ceasing to exist within seconds of his touch. When he pulled away, the smile had returned to your face as if it never left at all.

“I missed you, sweetheart.” As domestic as the statement was, you couldn’t argue with it, for you had missed him just as much.

“I know.” You hummed. You did not have to say it back because he knew you did, too.

“Get your stuff so we can get going.” He ordered.

“Pushy,” you muttered, but turned to do as he asked.

“The faster we get there, the faster we can come back here.” He explained, watching you intently as you walked away from him. He was already itching to get that dress off of you, and it was no secret. You could see it in his eyes.

“Could just stay here.” You offered, calling out from your bedroom. You weren’t opposed to meeting his brothers; far from it, really. You quite enjoyed Josh’s company when he showed up unannounced at Jake’s apartment, and you could only assume you’d get along just as well with the others. What you did like more than drinking was the sex Jake had to offer, and you knew sitting tipsy in a bar booth was nowhere near as enticing as having him alone in your bed.

“You don’t sound very excited.” He noted, holding his hand out for you to grab as you walked out of your room. With little hesitation, you slipped your own into his and flicked the lights off.

“I am excited to meet them, but more excited about what comes after.” You corrected, pulling your keys out to lock the door behind you.

“Trust me, angel, if you’re good for me tonight, I’ll be good to you.” You nodded, knowing that he wouldn’t lie to you about that. As for being good, you weren’t sure if you could uphold the standard, especially to his expectations. Holding your tongue had never been a strong suit for you, but you could definitely give it a shot.

“So what do they think we are?” You asked, letting him guide you to the passenger side of the car. He opened the door for you, allowing you inside. Once you were settled, he closed it and got in the drivers seat. “Do I have to pretend that we’re in love, or do they know what we’re doing?”

“Sam and Danny think that we’re friends.” He chuckled, starting the car before looking over to you. “Josh only knows better because he saw you in my apartment.”

“Ah, so I’m a dirty little secret?” You raised an eyebrow. He smirked, giving a shake of his head as he slipped his hand to your thigh. You rested yours on top of his, hoping that he would keep it there for the whole drive.

“No, sweetheart.” He said, backing out of your driveway and into the road. “I just wanted to avoid them having any impression of you in their heads before they met you.”

“What does that mean?” You questioned, looking out the window as he drove.

“That means,” he paused, turning up the radio only slightly “you’re more than just someone I have sex with. I didn’t want them to know you as that, because you have way more to offer.” You couldn’t deny the tugging of your heartstrings as he spoke, finding his response genuine and sweet. “I don’t want them to like you because they feel like they have to. I want them to like you because they got the chance to know you like I do.”

“No pre-existing conditions,” you whispered “thank you, Jake.” Instead of a verbal response, he gave your leg a light squeeze. “You must bring home some interesting women if you’re scared they’re going to feel required to like me.”

“Why do you think I don’t date?” He quipped. His tone was light, but it didn’t seem like he was joking. For a moment, you felt like you could see straight through him. For another, you felt like you could relate to him. You did not know how to respond, so you didn’t. You were not in the game for comfort or therapeutic measures, and neither was he.

As you looked out the window, a strange feeling washed over you. You did not know Jake nearly well enough to be so entranced by him. You had pegged him as a whore without really knowing who he was, and you had built your walls up so high that you could not see over them for long enough to understand Jake for what he truly was. He did not seem to want a relationship with you, but he did want to be involved with you, and so much so that he hadn’t let you forget it since the minute he walked into your life. It did not appear that he was entertaining anyone else, and in truth, you did not fear he was simply because you knew he did not have the time. Between working, texting or calling you, or being with you, he seemed pretty preoccupied. More than that, he seemed content. In some strange way, you were, too, and one of the biggest problems you had with dating had already been conquered without you even realizing it.

Jake was integrated in to your daily routine so well that it almost seemed empty without him, and it was not in the negative way you perceived it to be in the beginning. He was a positive addition to your routine rather than a distraction, and he did not interfere with the things you believed he might. When you found clothes he forgot, you washed them and folded them alongside your own to return to him at a later date. He watched whatever you put on the television without a complaint, and offered you new music rather than forcing it upon you. He took up space in your bed, but did not impede on your own. He did not keep you up at night by snoring or stealing blankets, and often times, you slept better with his lazy arm slung over you. You did not want to wed him, but he had certainly proven that he was not a waste of your time.

Denial is a stage of grief, after all, and grieving your former self was all you had been doing as of late.

“What’s your favourite color, Jake?” You asked, looking back over at him. He glanced at you from the drivers seat, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he processed your question.

“What?” He laughed, still unsure of your words.

“Your favourite color.” You repeated as if it was a completely normal inquiry.

“Uh… red, if I had to pick.” Fitting for the devil, you thought.

“Okay.” You nodded, looking back out the windshield.

“Why do you ask, sweetheart?”

“I guess I just feel like I don’t know enough about you sometimes.” You explained, feeling a small spark of embarrassment ignite in your chest. “We spend so much time together and I don’t even know your favourite color or which brother is your favourite, or anything like that.” He let out another hearty laugh at your words, finding your desire to know more about him intriguing.

“So you want to know me, now?” He asked, surprised that you were asking questions first.

“We’re friends, are we not?” You snipped, your tone sharp and defensive.

“I’d like to think so, but you seem to disagree.” He chuckled. “Ask me whatever you want angel, and I’ll answer.”

“Whatever I want?” You raised an eyebrow, wondering if he realized the extent of his promise. He did not try to take back the claim. Instead, he nodded his head to show you he was being truthful. “Okay, I guess I will, too.” Although begrudgingly, you thought it was only fair to be open and honest with him if he was willing to do so with you.

“What’s your favourite colour?” He asked, curious himself.

“You’re pushing it.” You warned, a smile on your lips to show you were joking. “Green. Dark forest green, like the way the trees look when the sun has just set.”

“Good to know.” He said, making sure to store the information in his mind.

“Do you do this often? Or am I just one of a kind?” You finally spewed out the most pressing question in your head.

“No, you’re one of a kind.” There was no room for doubt in his answer, because his tone was laced with utmost certainty. “I’ve never done this before, actually.”

“So why am I so special?” He looked back over at you, studying your face as he formulated a proper response.

“You’re different than anyone I’ve ever met.” He started slow, trying his best to word it properly. “I don’t like dating, and I don’t like commitment all that much, but I liked you from the minute I saw you. I wanted you, but for some reason, I wanted to know you even more than I wanted sex. I didn’t want to leave in the morning and never see you again.” He said, focusing on the road as he spoke. “I figured I’d shoot my shot and if you turned me down, no harm no foul. Then I started talking to you, and I knew there was no way I was walking away without you. Your snarky little comments and your sarcasm was impossible to ignore, and your lack of interest was just making me more interested. You had a comeback for everything I said, and I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who I clicked with like that.” He shrugged. “The sex was mind blowing, and you get along with Josh really well. Was kind of a no brainer for me.”

“Oh,” you nodded, feeling your cheeks warm with another blush. You hated that you always seemed to be blushing when he was around. “I, uh, I don’t like that stuff either, and I really don’t like one night stands, but I liked you too. I’m pretty stubborn, and I think I just assumed you were lying to get what you wanted.”

“S’okay.” He gave your thigh another squeeze. “I get it. People suck.”

“Yeah, they do.” You agreed. “I told myself a long time ago I would never date anyone again, and I still feel that way, but I do like you and I like what we’re doing.”

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, but I’ll always listen.” He promised, pulling into the parking lot of the bar.

“It’s not a very long story, but I wouldn’t want to bore you with it.” You shrugged.

“I’ve got all the time in the world.” He assured you, putting the car in park and turning his attention towards you. When you caught his eye, it was astounding how much care was held in his gaze.

“I’ve gotten my fair share of strange looks and whispers around town for the last few years.” You explained. “Usually when you’re divorced before 25, people talk. At 22, it was even worse.” He did not change his expression, nor did he make a move to speak. He was listening, and he knew he would listen to you until long after the sun came up with no judgement and no interruption. In the three weeks he’d known you so intimately, never had you mentioned a word about your past so bluntly. He was desperate to know you, and he felt lucky that he was even getting the chance.

“I was stupid, and I married my high school sweetheart. At eighteen, he bought a cheap ring at the nearest pawn shop, and I wore it proudly, just like it was the most expensive diamond in the world. By nineteen, we were moved in to a shitty house in the poor part of town and I had his last name. Life wasn’t glamorous, and it certainly wasn’t easy, but I was happy. I worked part time as a server ay diner off the highway and made the rest of my money taking shitty pictures off my dad’s old camera from the 90’s.” You said, looking down at his hand burning into the skin of your thigh. It looked prettier on you than your ex’s ever did, and even in the short time you knew him, you knew that for certain. “When you’re that young, you don’t listen to anyone. No matter how many times I was told I was making a mistake, I didn’t listen. Kids never do.”

“What happened, angel?” He asked, noticing the disdain growing in your eyes.

“People change.” You finally looked up to meet his eyes. “Sometimes for the better, but most of the time, it’s for the worst.” You weren’t sure why you felt so comfortable telling him everything, but you didn’t feel the need to hide anything from him, and you knew that no matter what, the story would be safe with him. “By twenty, he’d already slept with half of the women in the neighborhood; it didn’t seem to matter if they were married too. If anything, I think he liked the thrill more than he liked getting off. Before I turned 21, he stopped saying I love you and turned to fists and raised voices. I was lucky that my sister opened up her spare room to me when I finally found a way out, and I was even luckier that he had a good job and lots in his savings account when I took him to court. I got a restraining order and changed my name, and bought a house on the other side of town with the money I got in the settlement.

“I had no idea, y/n.” He said, a spark of sadness showing in his eyes.

“Of course you didn’t. I’m not that person anymore, and I never will be. I don’t talk about it because it’s not who I am, and it’s not something that holds any value anymore. I changed, and I got over it; it was five years ago, but I don’t date anymore because I don’t think I could ever give anyone any power over me again.” You were lying through your teeth, because you knew he held a power over you, even if it was not romantic. Your strength astounded him, and as much as he wanted to voice his willingness to protect you for the rest of his life, he knew you did not need it. You seemed like you had more strength at 27 than he could ever comprehend in his lifetime. “It doesn’t change the person sitting next to you; I’m the same as I was the minute before I opened my mouth, and I don’t want you to think differently.” You took in a long breath. “Friends know each other, Jacob, so don’t ever doubt our friendship again. You know more about me than most of the world.”

“Understood.” He smiled. “Friends it is then, angel.” He was estatic to finally hear the words come out of your mouth without hesitation.

“What about you, then? Dating isn’t your game either, so I hope your story isn’t as tragic.” You joked, trying your best to lighten the mood. The tension was heavy in the air, and unlike usual, it was not sexual in any way. The weight of your confession was crushing the both of you, and you desperately wanted to change the subject.

“No, not quite.” He chuckled, understanding that you wanted to joke your way through the hurt. “Cheating takes a toll after a while, and I guess lots of people find it a fascinating hobby.” He explained. “After it happens so often, you get sick of pouring your heart into someone who doesn’t really give a shit in the end. I dated a girl for a very long time. We met not long after I graduated and we stayed together until about a year before I moved here. Loyalty wasn’t her thing, and I think I was too blind to see her for what she was. The guys hated her, but love makes you stupid.”

“That it does, Jacob. That’s why I don’t do it.” You said. “I value my sanity far more than I care about being alone.”

“Right,” he nodded “I spent a few months heartbroken, and then I just stopped caring. I had a few one night stands, but I didn’t really like it. Sex is fun, but when you told me there was no point in getting to know someone only to try and forget them in the morning, I couldn’t have agreed more. When I met you, and you felt the same ways I did, and you understood that sex is different than a relationship, it was like a breath of fresh air.”

“It was.” You agreed. “I like being friends with you, Jake, and I really like having sex with you, but that’s why I was so stern about not falling in love. I’m not ready for it, and I probably never will be.”

“I get it, and I feel the same way.” He sighed, happy to know the truth about the situation.

The only unfortunate part of the truth was that it did nothing but open the next door that was in the way of falling for each other.

“I’d like to know you, Jake.” You admitted. “Really know you, like more than what we’re doing now.”

“I’d like that, too.” He smiled.

“Still no breakfast, of course.” You informed.

“Of course not. Wouldn’t dream of it.” He laughed, genuine happiness radiating from his features. You felt a flutter of warmth in your stomach, finding yourself almost too excited to see him happy. “Would you like to go inside?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded, unbuckling your seatbelt. He got out of the car to open the door for you, holding your hand as you steadied yourself on your feet. When he was certain you had your balance, he slipped a loose hand to your lower back. “I’m excited to meet them.” You assured him, knowing that he had fear of you going because it felt obligatory.

“Good, I know they’re excited, too.” A small smile crossed your lips as he opened the bar door for you, allowing you inside first. When he stepped in beside you, his eyes drifted across the filled booths. Ray caught sight of you from the bar, sending you a wave as he studied the sight before him. Not once in the last five years had he seen you walk in the bar with someone by your side, but he was happy to see the smile on your face. Usually it was hard to get one out of you until you were a few drinks deep.

Jakes eyes landed on a familiar face and he began guiding you towards your company for the night. You drew in a deep breath, settling your nerves as you tried your best to convince yourself the night would be good. “Hey!” An excited voice called out. The familiarity was nice, and you looked to meet Josh’s eyes as Jake pulled up a chair at the end of the booth. “I was beginning to think you’d never show up.”

“Sorry, that was my fault.” You chuckled. “I was caught up with work.”

“No need for apologies, you’re here now.” He assured you. You looked to the other side of the booth, catching the curious eyes of two more boys. You gave a warm smile, extending your hand out to shake theirs.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You said, shaking the first boys hand.

“I’m Danny.” He smiled, his eyes lingering over your face. He seemed sweet, and you didn’t even need to talk to him to sense his kindness. It was radiating from him. You did the same with the next boy, already knowing who he was without him saying his name. If you ran into him on the street, you were certain you’d recognize him. He looked so similar to Jake that it was nearly alarming.

“And you’re Sam?”

“So he’s told you about me?” You had to laugh at the similarity between his statement and the one Josh gave you when you first met.

“Only good things.” You promised.

“I can say the same.” He grinned. “I hear you play piano?” He raised an eyebrow, curious about the fact.

“You heard correctly.” You nodded. “My mom thought it would be a good way to keep me busy, and she was right.”

“I’d love to hear you play sometime.” He said, genuinely curious.

“I’m sure we can arrange something. I hear you’re quite talented, too.”

“You should come to our next show.” Josh offered, cutting in with his grandiose idea.

“I’m sure she has better things to do.” Jake chuckled, rolling his eyes at his brother.

“No, I’d love to, actually.” You shut his notion down. “I haven’t even heard him play yet, so maybe we could kill two birds with one stone.” Sam nearly choked on his drink at your words, looking over at his brother with wide eyes.

“He hasn’t played for you yet?” He asked, looking back to you. “I have a hard time believing that.”

“Guess we just never got around to it.” Jake said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck while he hoped they would drop the subject.

“Are you nervous?” Sam asked, even more baffled than he was before.

“No,” he snapped, shutting him down. “Quit it.” You chuckled at the altercation, finding their banter funny. Seeing them so close and comfortable with each other made you miss your own sister. She had moved a few towns over the year prior, and you hadn’t seen her much since. Sam seemed to back down at his sharp tone, settling back in his seat while he sipped on his drink. “Do you want a drink?” Jake asked you, prompting you to sit down beside Josh in the booth.

“Yes, please.” You smiled, following his order. Jake nodded, already knowing what you wanted. He hadn’t managed to forget a single thing about you since you first met. Sometimes, it felt like the knowledge plagued him and he would die from the sickness of needing more.

“So, y/n.” Sam said, watching as Jake disappeared from sight. “What do you do for work?”

“People pay me to take their picture.” You explained. “Weddings, maternity, cheesy family portraits, all that fun stuff.”

“Ever do photography for a band?” He asked.

“No, but your brother has been trying to convince me to do your promo shoot for the new album.” You admitted. “It seems like it would be fun, but I don’t know if I’m what you’re looking for.”

“Don’t say that.” He scoffed. “I’m sure if Jake is okay with it, you’re more than fantastic. He’s pretty picky when it comes to band stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” You asked, intrigued by his words.

“Yeah,” all three agreed, the response heavy. “The whole music thing was his dream, so he’s pretty specific. He must like you a lot.”

“Oh.” You cheeks tinged red again, almost flattered that he thought highly enough of you to want to work with you. “Who knows, maybe he can talk me into it.” You shrugged. “So you’re the bassist and he’s the drummer?” You asked, pointing to Sam and Danny for their respective roles. They nodded, confirming your words. “That’s cool that you all get along so well.”

“It’s tough by times.” Josh admitted, not willing to pretend it was always sunshine and rainbows. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, one. She’s only a year older than I am.”

“So you get it.” Sam chuckled.

“I do. She’s my best friend, but we do hate each other. Just part of the sibling relationship, I think.”

“Exactly.” He nodded. With that, a drink was sat in front of you and Jake took a seat in the chair at the end of the table. He gave you a small smile as you thanked him, but moved on quickly. “Water for you? That’s new.”

“Driving tonight.” Was all Jake replied, uncaring about having to stay sober. Getting you home safe was his only priority.

The group descended into small talk, starting first by trying to get to know you, then slowly moving on to joking and laughter. It was nice feeling like you fit in straight away, and during the entire night, you never felt out of place. Jakes brothers were arguably easier to get along with than him, and you were happy you hadn’t shied away from the invitation. For once, company seemed to make your night all the more memorable rather than put a damper on it. You found the boys fun to be around, and you could not remember the last time you laughed as much. Somewhere between drink three and four, Jakes hand slipped to your knee underneath the table. You barely paid any mind to it, and if anything, it was welcomed. You could never seem to convince yourself to disregard his touch, and often times found yourself searching for it.

The group joined together and purchased some shots for the table, which only began a gruelling game of quarters. The tension was high and the competition was fierce. Josh and Danny started, then you and Sam went head to head. Even though Jake wasn’t drinking, he stepped in for a few rounds, which eventually landed Josh in the chair at the end of the table and Jake taking post in the booth next to you. The innocent hand on your knee steadily grew more comfortable, which then provoked him to move his fingers further up your thigh. His touch was searing, and quickly turned into the only thing you could focus on. You were stuck on the inside of the booth, knowing that you would not be able to step away to calm yourself down unless he allowed it.

In essence, you were trapped, but it was not striking a fear within you; instead, there was an excitement to see how far he would take things before he backed away.

When Sam and Danny found themselves in an argument with Josh over something so small and trivial that you had missed it entirely, you felt Jake’s hand sneak even further up your leg. He settled his hand under the hem of your dress as his fingers were nearly brushing against the fabric of your underwear. Your breath caught in your throat, but you could not deny your desire for him to keep going despite the very real possibility of being caught. It was always the same with him; no risk was too high, because the reward would outweigh the risk any day.

“Jake,” you whispered, glancing over at him through the corner of your eye.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” He asked, his expression nearly fooling you into believeing he was doing nothing at all.

“Behave.” You warned, but you were hoping he wouldn’t listen. He never did, and you weren’t truly expecting him to, anyway.

“What ever do you mean?” He smirked, turning his head down towards you ever so slightly. With a little help from your own neediness shining in your eyes, he managed to push your legs apart just enough to run his finger over your clothed cunt. You let your eyes flutter closed, trying your best to keep a straight face while he continued on his torment. He took in a long breath, nearly feral at the feeling of the arousal pooling between your legs. Your departure was long overdue, and he had been waiting to get you out of the dress as soon as he showed up at your door.

“You guys want to play a round of pool?” Sam asked, his attention suddenly on the two of you. You opened your eyes, trying extra hard to make sure your expression wasn’t giving away the incriminating act Jake was doing under the table and out of sight.

“What do you think?” Jake asked you, clearly trying his best to push you to the limit. As he asked, his touch grew stronger and more pronounced, focused intently on the thin lace that was covering your clit.

“Sure, why not?” You breathed, hoping that a quick answer would divert the attention away from your flustered expression. “I suck though, I’ll warn you now.” You gave a nervous laugh through clenched teeth, trying your best to ignore Jake’s antics.

“You okay? You seem a little… distant.” Jake pressed, hoping you might crack under the pressure.

“Yeah, think I just drank too much too fast.” You brushed him off, now determined to prove him wrong. “Might take a little break for a while.”

“Wouldn’t want you getting sick.” He sympathized, although clearly fake and only offering the statement to keep you in the position for as long as possible.

“Of course not, I’ll be alright.” You said, holding his gaze. There was a fire in his eyes, dangerous and mischievous, and yours were pleading with him to surrender. You were caught in a stalemate, neither of you willing to back down, yet neither of you able to win.

“Shall we play?” Josh asked, also seemingly invested in yours and Jake’s staring contest.

“Sure, just give us a minute. We’ll meet you over there.” He assured them, not looking away from you as he spoke.

“Okay.” They agreed, sliding out of the booth and making their way towards the pool table. Once they were out of earshot, you opened your mouth to speak.

“You trying to get us in trouble, Jacob?” You scolded, noticing that he still failed to withdraw his hand.

“No idea what your talking about.” The smirk on his lips was infuriating, but what even worse was how badly you wanted to lean over and kiss him. The devil made his presence known in the inviting warmth of his brown eyes, falsely claiming peace and serenity despite the invitation being nothing but filthy underneath the surface. “What’s wrong, angel?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you scolded, but could only care about his finger that had dipped underneath the fabric he had been teasing you through.

“Jake,” you hissed, but it was not with discontent.

“If you give me a kiss, I promise I’ll behave for the rest of the night.” He informed you, watching your lust clouded eyes with a type of longing you could not begin to comprehend.

“A kiss? That’s it?” You questioned, squirming underneath his stare.

“Yeah, haven’t gotten once since we got here.”

“Because your brothers think we’re friends!” You argued.

“Think that jig was up a long time ago.” He laughed, finding his power over you near comedic.

“Christ, kiss me then.” You rushed out, nervously watching to make sure nobody had picked up on your obscene display. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet exchange. It was nowhere near the same intensity of what he was doing beneath the table. As he pulled away, so did his hand. His promise was kept, and you finally felt like you could take a full breath of air. “You are needy today.”

“Get over it.” He gave your thigh a squeeze, humour laced in his tone. “Let’s go kick their ass in a game of pool.” You nearly had whiplash at the sudden change in direction, but you couldn’t seem to find it within yourself to be upset with him. He extended his hand out for you to grab, helping you to your feet as you straightened out your dress.

“I told you I suck at pool.” You warned, praying that he didn’t get his hopes up.

“Even if we lose, I still consider it a win if I have you as my partner.” You thought your face was going to ignite in flames from the intensity of the blush on your cheeks. He led you towards the rest of the group, keeping a steady hand on your back so you didn’t stray too far from his side. When you rejoined the rest of the crowd, you realized they barely noticed the length of your absence, too busy hitting balls aimlessly across the green velvet of the pool table. As you watched Sam line up a shot, you realized that you might actually have a chance at winning. He seemed worse at the game than you, if it were possible.

“Good thing they don’t pay you to play, Sam, cause you’d go broke.” Jake said, watching a striped ball bounce of the side and crash into the 8 ball, sending it straight into the corner pocket. You giggled at the sight, watching Sam shoot his brother a glare as he straightened up.

“I’d like to see you do better, then.” He held his arm out, prompting Jake to grab the cue. He obliged, taking a long look over the table before settling on a solid ball. He lined up his shot, and with one swift moment of his arm, the white ball knocked the blue one into a side pocket. With a cocky smirk, he handed the cue back to Sam, rejoining you without saying a word. “Show-off.” He muttered, fishing the balls from the pockets and racking them in the middle of the table.

“Just admit you suck.” Jake laughed, pulling you into his side even further without even realizing it.

“You just want to impress her,” Sam snipped. “Let’s play, then we’ll see who sucks.” Jake opted not to respond, but he went to the rack on the wall and grabbed a cue for himself. He motioned for you to pick one for yourself, which you did with great hesitation. If Jake thought Sam was bad, he certainly wouldn’t be pleased with your performance.

“You’re up first, sweetheart.” He said, gently nudging you towards the table. You let out a long exhale, taking a step towards the table and bending over to line up the cue with the ball. From behind you, you heard Jake take in a sharp breath, unsure of what his issue was. As you broke the rack of balls and straightened up, you turned to look at him. The far away look in his eye was familiar, and your eyes widened at the realization of why he reacted so strongly to the innocent moment.

He had worked himself up teasing you at the booth, and was almost brought to his knees from the sight of you bent over the table.

‘So much for the boys thinking we’re friends.’ You thought, but you could not seem to be upset at him. The knowledge that you drove him crazy was nothing short of an ego boost, and you understood that you had a chance to get revenge for his merciless actions just moments earlier. You took a few steps towards him, turning to watch Sam take his shot. As you did, you made sure you were close enough for your ass to brush against him gently. His hand shot to your hip, holding you firmly in hopes that you wouldn’t move any further. You bit back the smile begging to break on to your lips, knowing that it would not take much to get him in the same state he had you in before starting the game.

“Easy, angel.” He whispered, his voice low but the warning clear. “Wouldn’t want to get us in trouble, would you?”

“No, sir.” You replied, just quiet enough for him to hear. But, trouble was the only thing you wanted to get into, and you weren’t sure how much longer you were willing to wait. He gave your hip a gentle squeeze, happy you were in clear understanding. With that, he stepped towards the table and started his turn. Josh was sat on the table opposite of your own, watching carefully in hopes of calling someone on an infraction of the rules. When he returned to you, he seemed a little more relaxed and forgiving of your actions.

“Another drink?” He asked, noticing that yours was nearing the end.

“Sure,” you nodded, looking up at him with a smile. “Thank you.” He nodded, leaning down and pressing a small kiss to your lips. You knew it was to satiate his own need for you, and the small contact would give him enough satisfaction to make it through the rest of the night. You watched as he walked towards the bar, a small smile stuck on your face as your head swam with intoxication.

“Not a girlfriend, eh?” Josh said, raising an eyebrow. Your head snapped towards him, almost embarrassed at his confrontation.

“Not a girlfriend.” You confirmed, firm on your stance.

“Can you be?” Sam asked, laughing at your response. “We like you.” Your heated with a blush (or the alcohol, you couldn’t really tell), happy that they seemed to take to your company well. You would be lying if you said you weren’t afraid of rejection.

“You can like me without me being a girlfriend, you know.” You said, watching as Danny finished up his turn.

“Obviously,” Sam rolled his eyes “but I think we can all agree we would like for you to be one. Don’t want him to fuck it up.”

“He can fuck it up just the same with a label.” Your counter arguments barely seemed to phase the three.

“I never thought he’d find someone nice. Everyone else was… well, horrible.” Sam chuckled, turning his attention to you fully. “He seems to like you a lot. He talks about you all the time.”

“He does?” You questioned, shocked at the statement. He nodded in response, looking to make sure Jake wasn’t already on his way back to the table. “Didn’t think we were that serious.” You said, making a note to discuss it with him when you were alone.

“I don’t think he does, either.” Josh laughed. “We just think it’s a shame you’re not. He has a pretty bad track record, and he kind of swore off the whole dating thing. He was insufferable for a little while, and then he met you. Seemed like it cleared his head a little bit. It’s nice.”

“Oh,” you said, feeling dread settle in your stomach. The cold feet you got from his simple statement was astounding, and you felt like running out the door and never looking back. You were not ready for feelings, and he promised to abide by the rule. If he was acting differently when you weren’t around, you weren’t sure you would be able to keep up at the same intensity without setting some boundaries.

“He’s on the same page as you, friend who is a girl.” Josh assured you, wanting you to know that you didn’t have to worry. “I think we all just like you, and we hope that you stick around for a while, at least.”

“Okay,” you calmed slightly, happy that Josh recalled your statement from the first time you met. “Because friends is all I do, Joshua.”

“Right,” he agreed, but it did not seem like he believed you. “You’re the friend that so happens to be a girl, and he’s a boy that is indeed just a friend.”

“Perfect, you got it.” You laughed, nodding in agreement. Just as you settled back into silence, Jake made his return from the bar with your drink in hand. Somehow, when he was back in sight, the fear disappeared and was replaced with a sense of calm. His eyes caught yours, and that little smile on his lips told you that everything would be alright and you need not worry about a thing. When he was a few feet away from you, the gravitational pull that constantly surrounded him seemed to pull you in, muting the rest of the world and allocating your energy solely on him.

“My turn?” He asked, handing you the whiskey glass.

“No, it’s mine. Too busy talking.” You admitted, your eyes never leaving the entrancing features of his face.

“Or were you just waiting for me?” He teased, his eyes watching you with the same intensity. “Am I your good luck charm, angel?”

“You wish.” You brushed him off, but your smile told him his comment was welcomed.

“And?” He raised an eyebrow, appalled that you ever thought differently and wondering what your issue with it was. He loved being needed by you, and that had never been a secret. You smiled, giving him a slight smack on the arm before turning towards the table. You looked over your options, but not in hopes of winning the game. Instead, you pondered the best spot to lean over the table to drive him just as crazy as the last. You were like two sex-crazed demons, doing whatever you could to instigate the inevitable and making each other suffer in the process. Greed had become you long before the night of drinking ensued, but your infatuation with each other seemed to hit an all time high, for not even a public setting could keep your hands away from each other.

You walked to the other side of the table, making sure you picked a ball that was in front of him. You leaned down, low to the velvet and lined your stick with the cue ball. Your dress left little to the imagination as is, but with the help of gravity, anything left to wonder was quickly answered. Jake had a tight fist around his cue, knuckles white as his eyes fixated on the fabric ever so slightly pulling away from your skin. You drew your arm back, putting a little more force than needed into your strike, making sure that you looked up at him to see his reaction as the top of your dress struggled to remain secured to your chest. He caught your eye, his jaw clenched tightly as he tried to remember where you were and who you were with. When you returned to your upright position, you gave him a subtle wink so he knew your intent was personal.

Sam moved to take his turn, completely unaware of the silent battle between you and his brother. You brought your drink to your lips, so invested in your own game that you let a dribble of whiskey fall from the cup and trail down your chin. You swallowed down the burning liquid, knowing that his stare hadn’t once broken from the obscene display you were putting yourself in. The cold droplets fell from your chin down your neck, eventually reaching the valley between your breasts. Slowly, it melted into your skin and disappeared into the fabric resting on your sternum. When you withdrew the drink from your lips, you thought you might have pushed him too far. As he watched, it almost seemed like his brain was short circuiting as he tried to keep up with the vile thoughts he was having about you. The interaction was so small that nobody noticed it other than him, but he was so invested in you that not a single motion would ever be missed.

Your skin was ablaze with desire from the thought of his hands alone, and neither of you were interested in the game of pool anymore. Reluctantly, Jake took his turn, glancing at you intermittently between his shots. By the time Danny took his, there was only the eight ball left.

“Can you help me?” You asked Jake, giving him a small, innocent smile.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam shook his head, shutting it down. “That’s cheating.”

“How so?” Jake asked, uncaring for any rules and itching to get his hands on you.

“We can’t do that!”

“Actually, you can.” You corrected, walking over to meet Jake by the cue ball. “You just don’t want to. Or, you didn’t think to ask first.” Sam gave you a glare, clearly not liking the two against one outlook.

“Grand chancellor will allow it.” Josh interjected, finding Sam’s discontent hilarious. Even more than that, he was hoping Sam would actually ask for Danny’s help if you missed.

“Who made you the grand chancellor?” Sam argued, clearly fighting a losing battle.

“I did,” Josh said, giving him a smile. While Sam argued his point with Josh, you and Jake had taken it upon yourselves to lean down over the table to line up your shot.

“You’re being a brat, sweetheart.” Jake whispered in your ear as he settled himself behind you. “That’s not very nice. Thought I told you to be good for me tonight?” His hand came up to your arm, fixating them in the correct position as his other one held your hip.

“I think you’re just horny.” You shot him down, completely ignoring his accusation. “I’m just trying to play pool.”

“No, you’re just trying to be a cocktease.” He corrected, his tone quiet but his delivery harsh. “You want me to take you into the bathroom and fuck you?” You could not deny the dull ache between your legs that stemmed from his question. “Is that what you want, sweet girl?” He hummed, his mouth settled just over your ear. A shiver ran down your spine, completely unfocused on the shot he was supposedly helping you take. “Answer me.” He hissed, guiding your arm back to fake the shot, getting you used to the motion.

“No, sir.” You lied through your teeth, knowing that it was exactly what you wanted. You did not think you could survive the drive home without a taste of what he was offering. As you spoke, you made sure to push your hips back into him only slightly; it was not enough for anyone else to pick up on, but the erection growing against your ass told you he’d noticed it as clear as day.

“What do you do to me?” He muttered, flickering his eyes between the white and black ball. “This is how it’s going to work, okay?” He said, taking a deep breath. “After we win this game, you’re going to go to the bathroom. Stay there for a while, I’ll pretend you aren’t feeling well. Then, I’ll come and check on you, and I’ll fuck you so good that you won’t even remember where we are.” A light gasp left your lips as your cunt clenched around nothing. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” You muttered.

“Good, now hit the fucking ball and get this over with.” Instead of responding, you drew your arm back and hit the cue ball with just enough force to send the eight ball into the corner pocket. As you did, he made quick work at adjusting himself before anyone else noticed. Sam was so busy fighting with Josh that he didn’t even notice your stellar victory.

You straightened up with a smile on your face, knowing that Jake was the reason behind your success, yet still feeling proud that your hands made the winning play. Danny, who couldn’t have cared less about competition, applauded you and offered a high five. You responded with the same energy, jittering with excitement. When Sam turned to face the table, his expression was filled with disappointment at losing. You did not have the desire to console him over the loss, instead muttering a quick word about a good game before excusing yourself to the bathroom. You bustled to the other side of the bar in the direction of the bathroom, estatic when you found it vacant and awaiting your arrival.

You closed the door and clicked the lock, taking a quick look at yourself in the mirror. You straightened your hair and wiped away any specs of mascara that had fallen. Your foot was tapping against the ground as you waited for the knock, feeling like the seconds were more similar to eternities. Eventually, there was a soft knock on the door. With a breath of courage, you unlocked the door and opened it. You barely had a spare second to greet Jake, because he was already pushing his way inside and slamming the door behind him. He was in such a rush that one hand was already reaching for you as he fumbled with the lock.

You did not have the chance to say a word before his lips were on yours, desperate and angry at your relentless efforts to get under his skin. His hands shot to your hips, pulling you into him as the kiss dissolved into a messy and sloppy display of emotion. You let out a moan into his mouth, already descending into euphoria from the feeling of his body so close to yours. His fingers snaked under the skirt of your dress, forgoing any formalities as he bunched it up over your hips. Once your lower half was uncovered, he gave a hard tug on the elastic of your underwear by your hip, destroying yet another pair in wake of desire. In truth, you did not care; the only thing you cared about was him being inside of you, and you feared you would go insane if you had to wait a minute longer.

He gripped at your hips again, picking you up and roughly settling you on the counter while never breaking the kiss. You locked your legs around him, drawing him closer while hoping he never had to leave. If you could stay tangled amidst the web of his sinful touch forever, you would never have to search for anything more. “Did you think you were being smart pulling a stunt like that?” He asked, finally parting from you in a mess of heavy breathing. “Did you think being a tease would get you want you wanted?” He pressed even further, stopping his tornado of inquiry to bring his hand to his mouth and spit onto his fingers. “That you would get away with it without any punishment?” He lowered his hand to your cunt, the feral energy finally bubbling to the surface and ravishing his expression.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You pleaded, painfully aware of his touch that was so close yet just out of reach. “Didn’t mean to upset you.” You rushed out, looking down at his fingers just inches away from your heat.

“No?” He asked, his jaw hard set and his eyes dangerous. “Then what did you want, angel?” He was withholding any reward until he got a suitable answer from you. “Tell me exactly what you wanted, and I might be nice enough to give it to you.”

“I wanted you, sir.” You said, looking up to meet his eyes. “I wanted you to touch me. I need you to touch me. I can’t wait any longer.” You whined. You could not find it within yourself to be embarrassed about your own desperation, because your need for him far outweighed your own ego.

“Yeah? You want me to touch you, sweet girl?” He questioned, moving his hand just a little closer to you. “You just wanted me to take care of you? Make you cum all over my fingers right here in the bar?” Your face flushed at his vulgarity, but it only turned you on further. You could listen to him say nothing but filth all day and you would hang on to every word.

“God, yes.” You nodded, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his. “Please, Jake. I promise I’ll be good for you.”

“So fucking needy.” He growled, but his hand connected with your aching core as he spoke. You gasped at the sudden change, not expecting him to give in so easily. He spread your arousal to your clit, slipping his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves as he dropped his middle and index finger to your entrance. You bit back a moan as he began pumping his fingers into you, moving his thumb in time with his fingers. “I love it.” He confessed, nearly breaking down from your sounds of pleasure. “You know I’ll always give you what you want, baby. Just have to say the words.”

“Feels so good, Jake.” You whimpered, closing your eyes in bliss as he remained on a steady pace.

“As much as I’d like to stay here and fuck you all night, we have to make it quick. Don’t want people wondering where we are, do we?”

“No sir,” you agreed, using his body as support to keep you upright. You had an iron grip on his bicep, your skin electrified when his nose brushed against yours. You were only concerned with the pleasure steadily rising in your belly and the boy who was standing before you. When he was with you, with his skin on yours, nothing else in the world mattered, and nothing to come in the future would ever matter half as much. He was everything, and you were slowly coming to terms with the notion. Jake was the only man that held any importance in the entirety of the world, and the only one you ever wanted to touch you like such. He was an addiction, a disease that ravaged your whole body and left nothing behind. He was more evil than you could begin to comprehend, but you felt blessed to have him around.

The devil was the master at the game, convincing you that his company was a virtue when in reality, it was only the beginning of an eternity of suffering.

“This is what you needed, angel?” He crooned, watching his own work unfold in real time. His eyes were locked on his hand, his breathing laboured and his mind lost within the fantasy of fucking you again. “This is what you wanted so bad?”

“Yes, sir.” You groaned, feeling your heart thud against your chest. Your entire body was no longer under your command, now completely subject to whatever he felt inclined to do to you. You did not care, and you didn’t think you ever would. Even if he decided to bestow suffering, it would still be better than any kindness from another.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” You nodded against him, your legs trembling with the threat of your climax. “Don’t be shy, baby. Let the whole bar know how good I make you feel. I want to hear all of those pretty noises.” You were trembling under his touch, and his words struck the nail into the coffin. Without ever loosening your grip, you descended into an orgasm stronger than any you had ever felt before. You tried to cry out his name, to thank him for the grace he had given you, but you could not speak anything coherent. Even in the mess of jumbled thoughts where his name was most prominent, you could not seem to find the strength to speak it. As you rode out the high, he used his free hand to undo his belt buckle while continuing to pump his fingers into you. Before you had time to calm down from the excitement, he had freed himself from his jeans.

He withdrew his fingers, but you didn’t have time to grieve the loss of contact before he was pushing himself into you. Once he bottomed out inside of you, he brought you closer to the edge of the counter, allowing for easier access. “Fuck.” You cursed, letting your head fall back as you focused on the feeling of him. Sometimes, when you thought about it for too long, you convinced yourself that he was perfectly crafted and put on earth just to please you. The way your bodies moved in sync, moulding together in perfect harmony and pleasing each other just how you needed without even having to try. It was so hard to deny that it made your head spin, and the intensity in which you felt it to be true was nearly overwhelming.

“Tell me how good it feels, angel.” He purred, burying his head in your neck as he sucked at the sensitive skin.

“So fucking good, baby.” You sighed, tangling your hands in the hair at the base of his neck. You tightened your legs around him, hoping to bring him even closer than he already was. “You fill me up so good.”

“Such a dirty little whore.” He groaned, losing himself to the pleasure. You were both pent up, ready for a release before you ever made it to the bathroom. “Do you like being a whore for me, baby?”

“I love it,” you confessed, feeling the knot tightening in your belly, ready to let go at one slight movement. You were holding back, wanting to experience the height of the pleasure at the same time as him. You did not care that the entire bar likely knew what the two of you were doing, and you didn’t care about the awkward stares that would ensue when you emerged to join the crowd. You only cared about the boy you were wrapped around, and the fact that you got to spend the rest of the night with him after you went home. “I’m gonna cum, Jake.” You warned, a sharp gasp sounding as he pulled you towards him as he thrusted into you. The tip of his cock slammed into your cervix, sending a jolt of pain through you that was satiated by intense pleasure afterwards.

“Yeah? You want to cum with me?” He hummed, straightening up to catch sight of your face as you descended into your second orgasm. You nodded, your fingernails clawing at the fabric of his shirt to hold you in place as if you were scared of floating away. “Let go, angel. Cum for me.” You bit down on your lip, suffocating the moan that was trying to break free as he continued on his relentless pace.

“Oh, god.” You muttered, your eyes squeezed shut in bliss as your limbs began to tremble. He leaned down, capturing you in a kiss in hopes to silence your cries. He was only willing to share so much of you before the greed began to take over. He wanted you all to himself, and he wasn’t shy of that fact. Your moans fell directly into his mouth, feeding into his already wicked ego. The fire that burned in his heart was directly acreddited to you and your pleasure, and he survived solely of the way his name rolled so beautifully off of your tongue. As much as you were addicted to him, he knew that he was just as much, if not more of a victim to you.

The orgasm washed over you at the same time as his, both of you reaching your peak in a mess of curses. You sung his name like a hymn, and he uttered yours like a repentance. Neither of you could withstand the weight of the sin, but you were happy to die in each others arms. As you came down, he slowed his pace, careful not to make a mess of both of you. You let out a collective sigh of relief, the ghost of your orgasms still tingling over your skin as he pulled away. You couldn’t help but let out a whine of discontent as he pulled out, already missing the feeling of him inside you. He chuckled at your expression as he watched your face.

“Don’t be greedy, sweetheart.” He said, heaving a long sigh. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you, yet. Don’t think you’re going to get away with all of that teasing.” Your cheeks burned red at the thought, knowing that once he got you out the door, you wouldn’t be able to escape the repercussions of your actions. Even so, you knew that the punishment would be pleasurable, and you were already itching to take him home. He helped you off the counter, but stopped you as you made a move to clean yourself off. You looked up at him, confused at his intent. Before speaking, he grabbed the fabric of your dress and pulled it back down over your hips.

“What are you doing?” You breathed, looking up at him.

“That’s my way of making sure you say a quick goodbye.” He smirked.

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head, making a move to get past him again. He held you a little tighter, giving a disapproving tsk.

“Get out there,” he ordered, clearly showcasing his seriousness. “Finish your drink and say goodbye without making a mess, and then I’ll take you home and finish what you started.” You held his stare, both of you intense and unwilling to back down. “Clocks ticking, angel.” He reminded.

“Fine,” you huffed “but you better not pull any tricks once we’re out there.”

“Me? Never.” He grinned, a sparkle of adoration in his eye as he tried to gauge your comfortability with his request.

“Wipe the lipgloss off your face. Don’t think pink is your color.” You snipped, straightening your hair and your dress before stepping out of the bathroom without another word. He laughed at the fire in your eyes, doing as you asked and straightening himself up, too. When he left the bathroom, he watched you walk back towards his brothers with nothing short of love for you in his heart.

Although he’d never admit it, he was falling just as hard as you were. Greed had finally played its fatal part in the impending outcome of your situation, and sealed your fate of being infinitely intertwined with Jake Kiszka in a way you had been desperate to avoid.

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