#WARNING: CONTENTS OF FIC ARE HELL-FIRE HOT!

[fordarkisthesuede]

It's midnight. The moon has long since set. The few celestial bodies I could glimpse above my head are covered by clouds. The lights downstairs are out by now. Only the streetlamp shows the shadows of the styrofoam cemetery I put up two weeks ago.

The cool night air is filled with anticipation. It comes in through my window, flowing in my fingertips and prickling at my brain.

The veil between worlds is thin again.

And my dear, sweet readers... I have such sights to show you.

THIS TIME...on seasonally-appropriate kink THE WHOLE NINE YARDS:

[horrorhot-line]

drapetomani

(n.) an overwhelming desire to run away

➵ pairing: saiki kusuo/female! reader

➵ word count: 3.9k

➵ genre: porn with plot. first kiss fic technically. (slight angst?)

➵ warnings: minors dni, public sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, risky situations, first kiss fic (technically)

➵ summary: for the first time in all his teenage years, saiki gets morning wood. to his disdain, he realises every time he’s near you, it comes back. Or, saiki’s acting weird and you try to get to the bottom of it— things don’t go as planned. you take each other’s virginity.

➵ masterlist  (requests are open)

➵ previous part - fika

the following content is protected under copyright laws. do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own. all credit goes to the creators of the piece of media included in the work below, I only own the words. 

© 2024 horrorhot-line

before you read:

‘saiki telepathically communicating with reader.’

‘reader thinking or interacting with saiki through thoughts.’

“saiki talking without moving his mouth.”

“saiki talking using his mouth.”

notes: originally this was supposed to be a oneshot, but i thought it’d tie well into my series so here we are, this lovely idea came from a request from dear anon, found here, grab a glass of water, dive in and don’t forget to touch grass afterwards. enjoy!!! 

also: note this is after saiki’s birthday in august, in his third year at highschool (making him over 18).

SAIKI IS 18+ IN THIS SMUT, WATCH SEASON 2 EP 13 (link here for condensed explanation) I REPEAT SAIKI IS 18+ IN THIS SMUT.

rewritten: 

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Saiki had no idea how he had found himself in this position, you underneath him, tears pricking your eyes, pleading him to do something. Anything.

The cold surface of the desk beneath his palm was a stark contrast to your warmth. With one hand on your hip, his voice came out strained.

"It's all your fault." He stated. But that couldn't have possibly been him talking, could it? "If you had just left it alone..." Saiki couldn't for the life of him understand what he was feeling. There was a hot pit inside his stomach, and his nerve endings felt like they were on fire.

He felt himself furrow his eyebrows, and clench his jaw, but at the same time, it didn't feel like he was doing those things. It felt like he was astral projecting, but he wasn't. Where the hell was he, and how had he ended up here- with you under him?

The sound of your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Please," You begged, and Saiki couldn't wrap his head around what on god's green earth was going on. It was only then when his eyes looked down between the two of you, that he realised the gravity of the situation. Was that...? No, no way.

Saiki would never admit it, but the soft sound that left you before you clasped your hand on your mouth to muffle the noise did things to him. Fuck...

Saiki shot his head back, his grip on the edge of the desk tightening as he moved forward to feel your body against his.

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Saiki had a disastrous life- that much was a fact. Another day meant another nuisance, regardless of whether it was his classmates trying to steal his precious time, an end-of-the-world disaster or someone trying to catch his attention. There always had to be something. The last thing he expected was the issue this time to be his own body refusing to listen to him.

When he abruptly woke up, drenched in sweat, his heart beating out of his chest, his mind went at a million miles per hour. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, the sound of your voice fresh in his mind proved only one thing. He had a wet dream. About you, of all people.

Him? Saiki? The man who had prided himself on being in control at all times? It couldn't have been him. Had it been a premonition? Impossible. He would never let something like that happen in a million years.

He had no intention of making any moves on you. Yet. He knew of your feelings for him, and he chose to take his time. So of course, he wouldn't skip multiple chapters and fuck you. No way in hell. He refused to stoop to the likes of Toritsuka. Saiki was no pervert.

He acted as if he hadn't dreamt of you in his arms, or having sex with you, pretending like it hadn't affected him. Even though he couldn't shake the thought of you in a vulnerable position under him.

Saiki sighed, if he didn't get up soon he would end up being late for school. He moved to take the covers off him only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw what was in between his legs. A boner. He silently gazed at it, horrified.

Saiki felt like he had been swallowed up by some black hole, his brain short-circuited. No no no no no. This could not be happening. Not to him. He had never had a boner in his life! In all his teenage years, he prided himself on not letting something as preposterous as hormones get to him. The boy had never lusted over anyone in his entire life except maybe you, so why now?

'Why does god hate me?' He thought to himself.

Saiki wanted to disappear, teleport to the nearest abandoned galaxy and waste away. Saner heads prevailed, though. He would go to the bathroom and have a cold shower to get rid of this abomination.

After a long session of drenching himself in freezing water, cursing himself out for the whole situation and questioning his reality, Saiki used his powers to dry himself off before putting his uniform on. He was so lost in thought that he hadn't seen you coming until he heard the doorbell ring.

His expression darkened, and he teleported downstairs to where Mrs Saiki was, still preparing breakfast. "Tell her I'm already at school." Not wanting to stay around for extensive questioning from his mother, knowing her well enough to predict she'd grill him and then force him to walk to school with you. 

He was gone in a flash, leaving Mrs Saiki dumbfounded. Her, “Ku!” Had fallen on deaf ears.

His boner was back.

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Saiki had been avoiding you all day, and as much as you didn't want to admit it, it hurt you. The fucking bastard dodged you at every turn. Is this how Yumehara felt that first week you joined PK academy when she tried getting his attention?

Probably not, since you were sure she thought the universe was keeping them apart. You on the other hand knew he was using telepathy to keep his distance from you, and you couldn't understand why. Had you done something?

The last time you saw Saiki was the day before and everything was fine. He didn't act any different and yet today he steering clear of you, even going out of his way to use his powers, risking getting caught just to avoid you.

You scowled, thinking back to the previous events that took place. You had shown up at his house only for Mrs Saiki to tell you he had already left for school. As if the two of you didn't walk to school every day together- which you did, with no exceptions.

At that point in time, you had thought it was weird. It wasn't like Saiki to forget. You reasoned that maybe he was going to stop a disaster, or something had come up, telling yourself you'd ask him when you saw him at school.

When you tried to say good morning to him in class, he got out of his seat and walked out of the classroom, Nendou following in tow to ask him if he wanted to get ramen after school. You stood frozen in place, wondering what you had done.

Was it something you had said? Thought? Had you made him uncomfortable somehow? You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, why did it hurt so much? Maybe he was keeping his distance because of Teruhashi? That had to be it.

'Kusuo?' You'd ask him just to make sure. When no reply came back, the sinking feeling in your gut worsened. The rest of the day went by with Saiki rushing off every time you tried to talk to him. In between classes, he'd disappear just so he could avoid you. During classes, he didn't look your way or talk to you once.

You were sure then that it was something you had done. The man you were in love with was ignoring you and stung. Your mind was a mess and you tried to run through every time you had interacted with him before today to pinpoint where you had made a mistake.

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Truth be told, Saiki felt bad. No, he felt worse than that. In trying to avoid you, he had created a misunderstanding, inadvertently hurting you. He sat through classes hearing your thoughts, fully aware that you were blaming yourself when it wasn't your fault, to begin with.

How was he supposed to tell you he woke up this morning with a boner because of you and now his penis seemingly had a mind of its own? He'd rather die than do that, he would never be able to live with the humiliation. Saiki shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to act suspicious as he once again used his psychokinesis to move his pants so his boner wouldn't be visible.

He sighed inwardly, 'Good grief', he thought to himself. 

Saiki had realised that his situation would get worse any time he was around you. Every time you were in his vicinity, blood would rush to his dick and the boner he tried so hard to get to rid of would pop back up.

Saiki agonised over wanting to tell you that you hadn't done anything wrong and stopping his dream from becoming reality. Big mistake. A huge one, because the warm pit in his stomach managed to spread at the memory of this morning.

Saiki clenched his jaw for what felt like the hundredth time that day and raised his hand at the teacher, trying to keep his voice steady as he excused himself to go to the bathroom yet again.

The psychic knew what masturbation was but had never tried it himself in his life. There was no need to, until today. No harm in trying. He sighed, hoping no one would walk in as he undid his belt and sat down on the toilet seat. Wrapping his hand around his dick, he tugged at it experimentally, hissing when he felt how sensitive he was.

After a few minutes, his condition not getting any better, he decided this was all so stupid. Absurd. Ridiculous.

Even masturbation wasn't helping and to make matters worse, he couldn't help but think about you. He felt dirty. Saiki wordlessly pulled his pants back up, grinding his teeth at all the confusing emotions he felt. The most powerful being in the universe, bested by human anatomy? The situation was almost laughable.

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By the end of the day, you had one goal in mind. You were going to get Saiki to fess up. The bastard was supposed to be your boyfriend? best friend, and yet he made every effort to dodge you like you were some venereal disease. You huffed in annoyance, clicking your pen impatiently, as you watched the hand of the clock slowly move. It was torture.

When the alarm sounded at the end of the school day and chimed throughout the building, you didn't even bother packing up your stuff. You walked to Saiki's desk and stood in front of it. You knew he wouldn't teleport with half the class still around. If he did try, your hand on his arm would make sure you'd get teleported with him.

After the class had cleared out, you cleared your throat. "Kusuo." No reply. Saiki had made it his life's mission not to make eye contact with you and it only infuriated you further. The least he could do was look at you after treating you like a ghost all day. You wouldn't let him escape this time.

"Kusuo, we need to talk." You stated, watching him closely. What the fuck was his issue today? He wouldn't talk or look at you. You furrowed your eyebrows, exasperated at the whole situation. A moment of silence washed over the two of you and you observed as Saiki shifted, trying to step away from you.

Your grip only tightened, not willing to let him slip through your fingers again. "Let go." Was the only thing he said and you felt like you had been slapped in the face. You were beyond furious now, how could he act like this when a few weeks ago he said he'd think about the two of you? You gave him time so why was he being like this?

"No. Tell me why you've been ignoring me first." You said sternly, not budging. You were hurt, and it turned to anger mixed with frustration. Why was he being so difficult? Did he change his mind and decide he didn't want anything to do with you? He should have at least had the balls to say it to your face.

Saiki, still not looking at you, turned his head to stare off into the distance, "Let go. Please." His voice was hoarse, and you hated the butterflies that went crazy inside your stomach because now was not the time! He sounded hot. Curse your inability to control your hormones. You didn't move, too shocked that the prideful man in front of you had just begged you, and he sounded so fucking good while doing it.

Out of nowhere, you felt the ground shift below your feet. Your vision blurred, everything moved so fast and when you could finally see clearly, you realised you were pinned on the row of desks neatly placed next to each other at the back of the class next to the windows, with Saiki towering over you.

His hand was placed next to the side of your head, the other holding your wrist. He was between your legs, finally looking at you now. That's when you saw it, the fact that Saiki was flushed. You had never seen the man blush like this before, not to mention his breathing sounded heavy. His eyebrows were scrunched and his eyes were hazy.

You were gobsmacked not understanding what the hell was happening. Why were you pinned, first of all? And why did Saiki look like he was struggling? Worry crept on you until he shifted against you- that's when you felt it. It was like you had been doused with water, frozen in shock.

There was no way, no fucking way. Because unless you knew better you could swear you felt something hard pressed against you. Saiki groaned above you when you tried to move, his grip on your wrist tightening as he screwed his eyes shut.

"Stop moving, you're making it worse." You looked up at him, confused as hell because the guy in front of you was miles from the Saiki you were used to. 

The guy had the expressive capabilities of a rock and yet here he was acting like he had been switched out with an alien. You didn't even to question the problems he had in his pants. It was your turn to flush red, and you were sure the colour covered you head to toe.

Your head was spinning, trying to connect dots and grasp at straws only to come up empty-handed. You waited, wondering if you should even voice your questions. "...Kusuo, why is your dick hard?" That seemed to make it worse because he only clenched his jaw as hard as he could.

You shifted again experimentally because how could anyone expect you not to when the man who owned your heart was doing exactly what you had dreamt of for months? You'd be lying if you said you weren't turned on. You were acquainted with the feeling of drenched underwear.

You didn't realise when your mind wandered to all the scenarios you had thought of before today, snapping out of it when you realised it was affecting Saiki. He groaned again- you swore you felt him twitch against you and fuck did it do things to you. You rolled your hips against his, not being able to hold yourself back and when he moaned, the warm feeling between your legs increased.

You couldn't help but peer between the two of you, your skirt hiked up slightly. You tried to relax, bringing your free hand to touch his chest and it didn't make it any better for the psychic. His breath shook as if he was trying with every fibre of his being to control himself. You watched as his temple and sharp jawline shifted, no doubt because he was clenching it again.

Your lips parted and you lowered your hand down his chest, enjoying watching the effect it had on him. He shivered under your touch. What a confidence boost it was to watch the guy who refused to show his emotions to anyone, become putty in your hands. Take that, Teruhashi!

"Do you want this?" You jolted when he spoke up, causing him to hiss. His hand shot to your hip, gripping it tightly. It took a moment to register what he had said. "Wha- where is this coming from?" His face scrunched at your answer, exhaling through his nose. "Fuck, before I lose all reason- Do you want this or not. Hurry." 

Saiki’s only solution to this whole thing was to get his release, here and now- he knew his issue wouldn’t go away until he did something. It was a rational decision.

When you met his gaze, hooded and hazy, all reason went out the window. Of course you did, was that even a question? You had wanted him from the moment you started falling for him, you wanted him to make you, his. Mark you up until everyone knew you belonged to him. It didn't matter if it was in a classroom or on your bedroom floor, anywhere was fine as long as it was Saiki.

His breathing turned heavier and you realised he could hear your thoughts. "We-well, yeah. I do-" Saiki didn't waste a second, moving back to unbuckle his pants. You watched him, and when he was done, he caught you off guard. He leaned forward to kiss you, and you let out a squeak in surprise.

Your hands unconsciously found purchase around his neck as you closed your eyes, practically melting into him. When his tongue pushed against your lips you parted them. He moved your skirt up and you lifted yourself slightly off the desk to make it easier for him.

When he broke the kiss to stare down at you, you were panting. Fuck, you could never get enough of this man. He owned your heart and now he was going to own your body. He kissed you again and when you felt his dick line up with you and he thrusted into you, all you could do was moan into his mouth and tug at his pink locks- careful as to not knock out his control devices.

Tears pricked your vision, it didn't hurt as much as you had thought it would. Your heart swelled knowing your first time had been with Saiki, even though you hadn't seen it coming. He broke away from you to look between the two of you and you did the same. "It's all your fault." He stated, his pink brows still furrowed.

Words could not describe how fucking hot he looked. Sweat beading down his ivory skin, cheeks flushed, brows furrowed and hooded eyes clouded with arousal. All you could do was stay silent, not fully registering the fact that Saiki was now all yours. You wanted to etch yourself onto his skin so no one would ever dare look at him again. "Please," You begged him to move and he groaned yet again.

"If you had just left it alone." He continued, before jerking his hips forward until he was buried inside of you. You moaned, slapping your hand on your mouth as you screwed your eyes shut at the feeling. God forbid anyone lurking around the school heard the two of you.

When you opened them, you watched Saiki throw his head back in pleasure. He swore when he felt you tighten around him before he leaned down so he was against you. There was a pause and you knew it was him waiting for you to get used to his size.

You were sure you stopped breathing, he wasn't extremely big but fuck did he hit all the right spots. You wanted to cry- bawl your eyes out because you loved this man with all your heart and you just didn't know how to show it. With how deep your feelings were, would you ever be able to? You wanted him to move and make a mess of you. Make you his over and over again.

He did just that, he held nothing back as he relentlessly pushed in and out of you. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair yet again, pulling at them. You welcomed his kiss, his tongue brushing against yours as he fucked into you.

He held your hips down as he tried to get as deep inside of you as he could, not taking any breaks. When he slowed down you whined, only for him to roll his hips against yours to see how you'd react. When you got louder, Saiki knew he was doing something right, and continued until he saw your eyes roll back.

When he went back to relentlessly thrusting into you and you gazed at him through hooded lashes, you jolted at the feeling of his thumb brushing against your clit. You cried out, so incredibly sensitive and turned on. You tightened around him yet again and he groaned at the feeling, all while rubbing slow circles into you. You wrapped your legs tightly around the small of his waist.

Tears fell from your eyes, overstimulated and touch-starved to the point where you'd felt you'd cum if he continued. You tried to tell him to stop but he shut you up with another kiss, his hand grabbing the one you reached out to stop him with, pinning it down above your head. "Cum for me, Y/n. I want you to cum." You begged helplessly, for what you had no idea.

Your eyes shot open when you felt the familiar feeling of your release coming. You met Saiki's concentrated gaze, his other hand squeezing your wrist. You cried out his name over and over again as you came around him, wailing at the feeling of being so full.

He panted, following you as he fucked his release into you, pumping you full of his cum and not stopping until he was sure there was nothing left. Sweat covered your back and you tried to control your breathing. Saiki leaned forward, placing his hand on either side of your head on the desk. You opened your mouth to tell him that the two of you should clean up, but he spoke before you could.

"Again."

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bonus:

After Saiki had fucked you until he was satisfied 6 times in total, he vanished from your sight. You covered your lower half, making sure his cum didn't leak out and drip onto the classroom floor. He reappeared as quickly as he left with a towel, a water bottle and a pill sachet which you found out was plan b.

You had to give it to him, he was thoughtful. After he had cleaned you first, and then himself, he didn't waste a second. He grabbed you before you could say anything, picking you up bridal style before he teleported you both to his room. You were spent, completely drained.

He gave you that look he always did when he was feeling guilty and you reassured him that you were fine. "I enjoyed it, so stop feeling bad, idiot." You stated as you rested on his bed, too tired to move.

That's when you remembered why you had stopped him, to begin with. You stared at him as he placed himself on his chair next to his desk. "Why were you ignoring me?" You asked softly, having had all the annoyance fucked out of you earlier.

You tried to control your shock when Saiki told you why. "I had a premonition we'd end up having sexual intercourse and every time you came near me, my penis would get hard." Typical Saiki, blunt as always. You decided against teasing him over the fact that his ears were red or the fact that he wouldn’t look at you. Who knew he was shy?

“I am not.”

Before you could quiz him more, Mrs Saiki walked into the room. When her eyes landed on you and she scanned your body, she gave you a knowing smile. "You can stay the night, Y/n." You were so confused but decided not to question it. Saiki's expression darkened when Mrs Saiki spoke before she closed the door.

"Stay safe, you two." Your mind went blank because you knew what her words meant. How the hell did she find out?!

"What a bother. You have hickeys all over you Y/n... and so do I."

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next part - lethargy

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[darkenedurge]

Part One Here.

.

“ “𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲,” 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭,

“𝐈𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭.. 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐲 𝐦𝐞. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨..” ”

.

CONTENT : Fem. Reader | So, P in V Sex | Face Sitting/Riding | Oral, F. Receiving | Religious Guilt | Slight After-Care (Cuddles) | Falling in Love (and it’s consequences).

A/N : Sorry this is quite short, I hope you enjoy regardless! Reminder that this is a part two, however it can be enjoyed as a stand-alone, short fic. If, that’s your jam.

.

˚ ✧.

"Shit, shit, Enver.." You grind, helpless and relentless against his face – his tongue, clumsily circling your clit; his hands, resting upon your thighs, fingers kneading into the supple, softness of your flesh. Enver groans, the sound reverberating – riding through your body, head to toe.

Your chest heaves, orgasm creeping up far quicker than you'd anticipated – your hips drive harder, stifling him beneath your pleading cunt. Your hand, gripping a fistful of his hair. Tugging, fingers curled against his scalp. Another groan from Enver, and you're tipped over the edge. Trembling, legs shaking, you rut out your high – before collapsing, rolling onto your back.

Enver's face is slick with your juices, lips and stubbled chin glistening beneath the dim lighting of the candles that adorned your shared walls. He's above you, without a word, fingertips ghosting over your bare skin – tracing the outline of your waist. You reach up, thumb trailing his lower lip – earning a smile, as he presses a kiss to the tip.

"I adore you," He says, in his usual grumble – though, his voice is notably hoarse from the guttural groans he'd released only moments prior; "I hope you know that."

You hum, letting a brief moment of silence pass. "I know," You then reply, tone uncharacteristically gentle for a creature as violent as yourself – "And I adore you."

Enver responds by dipping his head, burying it in the crook of your neck, peppering sloppy, needy kisses to your skin. You know him well by now, know that it's a silent request for entry – a silent plea to feel you, around him. Your legs spread, a silent reply, resting either side of his hips.

He adjusts, face greeting you with a lazy smile – as his cock pushes into you. A familiar stretch, a familiar warmth. You cry out, with a swift, huff of a laugh to follow. Oh, how you'd missed this – despite the fact that it had only been days, perhaps a week at most.

"Gods," Enver grunts, guiding himself into his usual rhythm, "How do you always feel this incredible?"

You moan, shamelessly, the sound muffled as Enver captures your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. His tongue tangles with yours, and you can still taste yourself on him – drawing a second, keening moan from your throat.

“Such pretty sounds,” The comfort of his voice greets you once again – he’d grown fond of that, talking, praising, while he was inside of you – “All for me.”

Enver’s hips are driving into you harshly, seeking to batter that sweet, sweet spot he’d abused so many times – steering you to ecstasy, and even further beyond. Your moans devolve into helpless whimpers, nails decorating his skin in crescent grooves – some, painted with slithers of red. Blood.

“Enver,” His name, spoken almost as a warning, “If you keep doing that I’m gonna–”

He hushes you, clicking his tongue – “Ah.. that’s the idea, little one. We’re going to come together.”

And come together you did. It’s electric, dizzying. It’s hot, like the very fires of the Hells themself. Hot, yet a shiver still courses through your body as it’s pinned beneath him – hips, still pistoning, in and out.

Eventually, though, he stops – head in the pillows, drawing the covers over both of you as you curl at his side, fingertips tracing his chest hair. Spent, your eyes flutter.

Until. You remember.

Murmuring, “Father, please forgive me.. forgive me for I have forsaken you..”

Enver makes a soft noise, one you can’t identify. It’s not one of displeasure, nor is it one of approval. “Must you always pray after we make love, dearest?”

A sharp intake of breath, that’s then released, and you urge yourself closer – nestling further at his side, head upon his shoulder; his arm, laced loosely around your waist, free hand combing fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry,” You say, with audible guilt, “It just.. terrifies me. You terrify me. I’m not supposed to..”

“Hush.” Enver interjects, a kiss pressed to your temple, “Rest. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Father, Father.. forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.

[anto-pops]

Hushed Whispers - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: After working Sebastian into a frenzy before class, he refuses to acquiesce to your half-measures and steals you away to finish what you started.

Alternatively summarized as you and Sebastian having frantic, semi-public sex in an empty classroom.

Based on a request I received for “impatient broom cupboard shenanigans” except they aren’t in a broom cupboard, but SEMANTICS.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, rough sex

Full fic can be found here on Ao3!

You should have known you were playing with fire the second you rolled out of bed this morning. 

It had all started with a few light touches to motivate Sebastian into waking up. Nowadays he was all too content to tug the covers over his head and sleep through whatever class he was supposed to attend, so you’d taken the liberty of… enticing him, into turning his brain on. 

With your hands. On his cock. 

Maybe it was a little cruel in hindsight, but you hadn’t counted on Ominis drawing the curtains around the bed at the same time Sebastian was really getting into the feeling of you stroking him. Blue balled and embarrassed, you’d walked to breakfast with the two Slytherins in a tense silence. Sebastian was rigid, his lips pressed in a hard line as he doubled his efforts not to shift his hips too much while he walked, lest he come in his trousers from the friction. 

Now seated inside the Great Hall, Sebastian looked deep in thought before he asked, “Do you think Professor Weasley will let me retake the exam tomorrow if I skip today?” The fork in his ironclad grip seemed to be on the verge of bending in half. 

Ominis scowled at his plate, having expected him to say something like this. He had known exactly where Sebastian’s one-track mind would steer him after interrupting you both this morning. “Not without cause, and your boner isn’t a valid enough reason to miss an exam day.” 

There was no helping it– you snorted into your hot chocolate. Ominis continued to dissect his food in favor of entertaining his friend’s lust-fueled thoughts, and as you brought the rim of your cup to your lips, your eyes connected with Sebastian’s dark, suggestive gaze. 

Merlin’s beard. You shouldn’t have laughed. 

“We’ll meet you in class, Ominis.” Sebastian declared, smacking his fork down on the table and hauling you to your feet by the fabric of your robes. 

You hastily set down your drink before it could slosh all over the table. “We? Wait, what–” 

“Are you serious?” Ominis groused, and his brows slammed down atop those narrowed, milky blue eyes. “I am not covering for you this time. You can take the detention you’ll get in stride.” 

“Don’t bother, we’ll be there.” With that the brunet spun on his heel, dragging you with him as he strode out of the Great Hall and led you down a deserted corridor near the Courtyard. You were barely walking, completely at Sebastian’s mercy as he practically carried you by the scruff of your clothes to wherever he wanted to take you. Your feet caught on a few loose stones on the way, but your boyfriend simply tugged you upright before you had the chance to stumble. 

“Sebastian– wait, what the hell are you thinking?” 

He abruptly dipped to the right, pulling you into an empty classroom and throwing you against the wall as the door clicked shut beside you. “I’m thinking you should finish what you started this morning, darling.”

Before you could respond, Sebastian had captured your lips in a brutal kiss, biting and licking with an intensity that left you dizzy in his strong arms. You melted as he fucked his tongue into your mouth, clinging tighter to his shoulders as he brought one of his hands up to begin undoing the buttons on your blouse. The other delved lower, tracing up the burning skin of your leg and bunching the material of your skirt into a heap below your navel. When his fingers slipped under the cotton of your underwear, he swiped a digit through your wet folds, and you gasped into his mouth, garnering a chuckle from him. 

He teased around the bundle of nerves you were both desperate and loathing for him to touch. There wasn’t a lot of time before the two of you needed to be in your seats with your quills and parchment out, ready to take your Transfiguration exam. Sebastian might not care about his attendance, but you didn’t want to go out of your way to invoke the wrath of Professor Weasley. 

As though he could read your thoughts, Sebastian broke away from the kiss to mouth wetly down the column of your neck. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” he bit at your pulse gently, making you sigh and tip your head back against the wall. “I’ll be so good to you, but if I don’t have you now I’ll fail that fucking exam regardless of whether or not I’m there for it.” 

“F-Fuck, Sebastian,” you whispered into the empty air, and he rewarded you by roughly pressing circles around your clit, pinning you more firmly between his body and the wall so he could focus solely on shattering your composure. “We could be back at the dorms in like, two minutes.” 

He pulled away from your love-bitten neck to stare at you fixedly with those lust-dark eyes, “Or we could be fucking in two minutes.”

Touché. 

You finally relented, throwing caution to the wind as you wound your arms around Sebastian’s neck and crushed his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. To hell with it, you thought. You’d been just as disappointed leaving things the way you did this morning, even if seeing Sebastian so worked up was an added bonus to the whole thing. He met you halfway, leaning into you further to completely overwhelm your senses until all you could taste, hear, smell, and feel was him. Sebastian’s fingers resumed their ministrations against your core, drawing small twitches and breathy moans from you as he reduced you to a mewling pile of limbs. The steady roll of his groin against your thigh had you eagerly writhing back on his hand, hungry for more than just his teasing touch. 

When Sebastian finally thrust a slender finger inside of you, he practically lifted you onto your toes with the vigor he exhibited. The feeling had you groaning into his mouth, your nails digging painfully into the bare skin of his neck, and the sting had his cock twitching enthusiastically in his pants. 

“Hah,” he chuckled down at you, secretly losing his fucking mind at how perfect you looked trapped between his flushed chest and the wall. Your eyes were pinched shut with obvious desire as he stroked inside your pulsing heat with his finger, and when he went to add a second, you couldn’t help but shamelessly buck against him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “You’re enjoying this a bit more than you let on.” 

He felt your nails scrape up the nape of his neck before you grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerking his head forcefully to the side, and he swore your penetrating gaze bore into his very soul. “You started it.” 

All of his brain functions ceased when he felt you bite down on his pulse, working an angry bruise of your own into his freckled skin with a fervor that nearly had him coming in his trousers then and there. “Fuck, darling–” 

“Hurry up and fuck me already,” you kissed at the blossoming hicky once, twice, then began trailing one of your hands down to the leather of Sebastian’s belt. Your fingers had barely grazed the metal buckle before he was ripping his fingers out of your cunt to grip you by your hips, lifting you up easily so he could carry you to a desk a few feet away. 

In an instant Sebastian deposited you there and spun you around, aggressively yanking your skirt and undergarments down to your knees in one quick motion. As soon as you were exposed to him, he was pushing your chest into the cool wood, trusting you to lay still for him as he hastily undid his belt and shucked the material down some to free his painfully hard cock. Peering at him over your shoulder, you watched hungrily as Sebastian’s swollen member sprung free from his trousers, and you licked your lips when your eyes caught sight of the bead of pre-cum leaking from the head. 

Sebastian leaned over you then, his delicious weight sandwiching you against the desk, and he took a brief moment to relish in the feeling of his cock rubbing between the shapely curve of your ass. A small, needy sound slipped from your clenched teeth at the sensation, and Sebastian’s fingers wound their way in your hair to jerk your head back to meet him. At the same time he pulled your head towards him, he slammed his hips forward, sheathing himself in you so fast and so abruptly that your spine rounded and you were pressing back against him with everything in you. 

“Fuck– mmph–” His other hand flew up to your mouth, muffling your cries of delight as he set a brutal pace. 

“You have to be quiet,” Sebastian growled the demand in your ear, and the gravelly tone to his voice made you whimper. “Or are you trying to get us caught, hm? Do you want everyone outside to hear you begging for my cock, screaming my name for more?” 

He punctuated the question with a particularly forceful thrust, and the action had you jolting against the desk, the pain in your hip bones quickly blurring into tingling pleasure. Unable to form words around his hand, you could only moan feebly in response. Your nails dug fitfully into the wood under you as you rutted back with the slightest give you were allowed, desperate for more friction– more of anything.

Sebastian released his hold on your hair to rub firm, titillating circles against your clit, and the sudden attention left you breathless for all of two seconds before you wailed his name from behind his hand, the muffled sound doing more for Sebastian than he cared to admit. He knew you couldn’t keep quiet if you tried. Even if he hadn’t been chasing the sounds out of you, your voice never failed to make an appearance when his cock was making quick work of you. 

He gave up on muffling your voice then, letting his hand trail down your throat to grip you and pull you back on to his cock with precision that left your legs boneless. Sebastian felt you sag underneath him, your pulsing walls warning him of your impending climax. “You want more, darling?” 

Sebastian ground hard into you when you opened your mouth, drawing a high pitched whine from your kiss-swollen lips instead of your shaky confirmation that yes– you wanted more– but he already knew that, and he gave you a few quick, rough thrusts to appease the growing fire in your gut. 

“Sebastian, fuck–” you gasped, clawing helplessly at the hard surface beneath you. “Please, please, like that like that–” 

He grinned into the crook of your shoulder. Just a moment longer– your frantic little noises were igniting a storm in his veins. “Like this?” He rolled his hips slowly into you, his thrusts deep but so far from enough. You couldn’t fight your disappointed sigh as you shook your head, craning your neck to the side to peer at him through the corner of your eye. “Or like this,” Sebastian whispered, pulling out nearly all the way before ramming his cock into you once, twice, and then he was seeing stars from how suddenly you tightened around him. 

“Yes! Oh fuck– please, yes–” Throwing your head back against Sebastian’s shoulder, you arched impossibly further into his hold, letting him drag your body back onto his shaft however he pleased because fuck– you didn’t even need to say anything. He was fucking you so rough and so perfect, it took everything in you not to scream his name loud enough to alert the entire school to your escapades, but even if you did, you doubted you would give a shit at this point. 

When you came, you did so with a hoarse cry of Sebastian’s name, and the feeling of his fingers digging harder into your throat to pull you back onto his cock mercilessly brought you higher than you thought possible. Sebastian continued to rub small, overstimulating circles over your clit as you crumbled apart, causing you to shake and writhe under him. With every faltering thrust, he ground his balls against your ass, stealing his pleasure from you desperately, and when he finally followed after you into white bliss, Sebastian swore the ground fell out from under his feet.

With one final grunt, Sebastian collapsed against your back, mindlessly rutting into you to milk the last bits of cum from his softening cock. He sighed, thoroughly pleased with himself now that his baser urges had been satiated. The tips of his fingers traced small, soothing circles along the skin of your thigh, and you shuddered at the feeling. 

He honestly wasn’t ready to pull out yet, but he knew some part of your recovering brain had to be uncomfortable wedged against the desk. “Sweet Merlin, Darling,” he managed to utter before pushing himself onto his elbows and letting his cock slide out of your familiar warmth. “You alright?” 

“I can’t feel my legs,” you groused, voice slightly muffled since your cheek was pressed against the wood. Sebastian laughed softly and looped his warm hands around your shoulders, standing you upright so he could pull your underwear and skirt back up for you. As he stood to fix his own trousers, the two of you finally got to take a good look at one another, and you both went slack-jawed at the sight. 

Sebastian had a telling, red hickey right above the collar of his shirt. It was too far above his neckline to stand a chance at being hidden, and even if it could have been concealed, vicious welts left from your nails stretched up the expanse of his neck, disappearing into his hair. It looked like one of the cats had gotten ahold of him and emerged victorious. 

In turn, you looked absolutely wrecked. Sebastian considered dimly that he might have gone overboard with assaulting your neck throughout the entire ordeal; between the assortment of love-bites that now lined your throat and the finger shaped bruises that curled under your jaw, he imagined your only saving grace from prying eyes would be a giant scarf. 

Unfortunately, there was no time to run to your dorms to grab extra clothing. The bell tolled then, signaling the start of the school day, and you realized with thinly veiled horror that you only had five minutes to get to Transfiguration. 

“Shit, we have to go,” you leapt off the desk in a flash and nearly collapsed to the floor from how jelly-like your legs were. “Fuck!” 

Sebastian was there steadying you in a heartbeat, his chest swelling with barely contained pride. He’d fucked you so hard you couldn’t even walk properly… he was so going to pass that exam now. “Need a hand?” 

You fixed him with a pointed glare as you hurried to adjust your robes, “Those hands have done more than enough, thank you very much. Besides, you should be worried about yourself– that hickey isn’t going to hide itself.” 

Sebastian mirrored your actions, fixing his trousers and smoothing away any wrinkles in his uniform. Then he smirked, “Why would I want to hide it? I love wearing your brand on me. It’s hotter than hell– so’s that constellation of bruises you’ve got going on.” 

“Don’t remind me,” you muttered, but the words were devoid of any genuine frustration. Mostly, you just wanted to make it to class on time. Combing through the final tangles in your hair, you took Sebastian’s hand in your own, tugging him towards the door. “Come on, if we run we can make it in time.” 

“Can you even run? It didn’t look like your legs were working ten seconds ago.” 

“Merlin’s bloody balls, Sebastian, I will withhold sex from you for a month if we miss this exam.”

The two of you made record time, with Sebastian borderline carrying you to Professor Weasley’s class in a similar fashion to the way he hauled you from the Great Hall earlier. When you both slumped in your seats beside Ominis, he acknowledged the two of you with a grunt. Your eyes scanned the classroom in a bid to make sure that you truly had arrived before your Professor, and when you spotted Imelda and Garreth across the room, your stomach sank. 

The Slytherin Quidditch Captain was snickering demonically behind her sleeve, whispering something to Garreth, whose face turned an impressive shade of red once his eyes flickered to your neck. He gave you a bashful wave when he saw you staring. 

Imelda spun in her seat to grab Natty’s attention next, and before you knew it, you watched as Imelda pointed at her own neck, then jerked her thumb over her shoulder at you. Natty’s gaze found yours in an instant, and her expression transformed into something coy and knowing. She grinned boldly at you, giving you a thumbs up that Sebastian caught sight of, much to your dismay. 

He chuckled next to you, unashamed at the attention, and poked at one of the many marks that now lined the column of your neck. You shivered at the touch, well aware of the painstaking day that now lay ahead of you. Scarf or no scarf, your friends’ knowing stares would haunt you for the foreseeable future. 

As your head tipped forward and thunked against the table, you found yourself honestly wondering if detention would have been preferable to this unique form of torment.

[alastorsfuckassbob]

You're Never Fully Dressed-

Alastorxfem!reader

oh boy everyone's favorite! Please I have never written before, I just figured I'd give it a shot it was 1:35 and I was not feeling sleepy so an hour later here it is, its not edited so SORRY ABOUT THAT- all of my friends are normal and would definitely not proof read this hot garbo!

Basic Plot!! Yikes another song fic i know i KNOWW, the reader knew our good pal Al in her life but oopsies he "left" her (he died duh) and now shes taking a sad hot girl bubble bath to reminisce!!

Lyrics are bolded, past events Italics for the most part.

ALSO Please DNI if you're a minor k thanks bye!! You are responsible for your own internet consumption, so here are the warnings! If you don't want to view that ✨dont✨

Warnings include:

-Swearing

-Violence

-Alcohol Use but not abuse! (its hell duh)

-Abusive Relationships

-Slight Innuendo but not a strong one!

-Angst

The fire danced, flitting left and right. It was different than any other fire set in hell, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone or destroy anything. It was just a small flame, melancholically melting the dripping wax down the white lilac scented pillar. Floral scents were hard to come by unless you made them yourself, it was hell after all, its not like theres a flower garden planted on every corner. The candles single wick didn't produce more than a drop of light. It just flickered every now and then, entertaining its own little lonesome sway. Your demeanor softened as you looked at it from the petal filled bath you currently resided in.

Oddly you felt at peace, understood, almost comforted. You had learned to dance the same way it seemed. You caught yourself when you fell, twisting and turning to please an audience. It was a cruel existence. At least the flame looked content in some way, at least it would never know what it was like to contort under the will of another. Yet it was still a light in darkness, shining for no other reason than to survive...All it could ever do was take, even if it didn't want to, fire needs to burn. To burn it must destroy. You sighed sinking deeper into the bubbly water. You didn't want to think about your past. Not anymore. You didn't have to anymore anyway. Life had not been kind to you and that constant displeasure followed you through your death and into the pits of hell. Funny how suffering could follow biting desperately at your heels and the man who was so "desperately" in love with you in life just couldn't find it within himself to stay...God you sounded bitter. To be fair you were. After all he had ruined your life and he didn't even know it...It wasn't that bad was it? You probably would still be in hell regardless, even without his "involvement" or lack of- you had always been a sinner. It wasn't worth it to be upset, not anymore he's most likely dead, you definitely are, whose to say if he'd even wind up down here. You paused a moment, laughing at the silly conclusion overthinking had led you to.. no that fucker is definitely in hell. Sweet as he was up front, he had a dark side that went much deeper than his soft exterior could cover. You closed your eyes..

1923- Central New Orleans

Suddenly it was 1923. The flower lined streets of late spring in New Orleans. His smile never wavering as he dragged you from store to store. As your dear companion, and biggest supporter, he had asked you to assist him at the radio station. Now that you had finished school you would need a job anyway. You'd always had a beautiful voice and a knack for writing. It just made sense. His hand squeezed yours lightly pulling you from your thoughts. In his hands, he held a burgundy day dress and a matching bow.

"Darling, would you try this on for me? I believe it is high time you were rewarded for all of your hard work. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color"

You smile softly at his gentle tone, taking the delicate dress in your hands. You find yourself caught in his eyes. It feels like you two are the only people on the planet

You feel the familiar sensation of tears on your face, you open your eyes again, you hadn't realized you'd started crying.

you let out the shrill scream you didn't know you were holding in. the fluke of champagne you had so tediously been savoring since you began your bath cracked slightly. You downed the rest of the glass, and grabbed the bottle sitting lazily on the floor. You didn't want to think about him or your life anymore...but it consumed you. You had so many more important things to fret about in your..current..environment. Songs to sing, bitches to kill, people to fuck. A grand glorious array of newer shinier problems, and yet you were stuck sulking about the past. You take a deep breath shaking slightly despite the warm vanilla scented water surrounding you. You remove your hand from the water motioning to the shadow hiding behind a vase (of no more than slightly wilted roses). It slinks forward at your beckoning, climbing to the white marble countertop of your vanity, it clicks the worn down knob of your rickety old radio. light jazzy music trickles out and fills the air with lovesick nostalgia you weren't entirely prepared to let in. No matter what he had done...you would always fall back to him. Even if he was nothing more than ill-fated failed fourteen year "endeavor". fourteen years is quite a long time, even if the majority of it was spent more or less platonically. You really did love him. Love doesn't always follow those that leave, you are testimony and truth to that. You let your mind wander guided by the static filled notes of the radio.

Hey, hobo man

Hey, Dapper Dan

You've both got your style

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

Even through the shudder of the static, it really did sound like him. Despite being the "host" of the station. He had his fair share of performances. For such a Hell bound soul he had the voice of an angel.

You close your eyes once again and allow the melody to take you back to an easier time.

1926- New Orleans, Your apartment

You sing along with whatever tune the radio gives you. You're at peace, simply existing for no other reason than to be with your friend.

"Dance with me my little canary, your voice lights a fire within me"

He pulls you in by the waist. His hands splayed across your hips holding them with a gentleness you'd never expected him to hold for you. He leans his head down against the yours and places a chaste kiss on your forehead

"Alastor" you giggle, the sensation tickling you slightly. "You are quite ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?" he feigns hurt. "My darling I am so far from ridiculous the word does not find sense within my ears" he spins you around and into his chest, you roll your eyes ignoring his antics

"Dearest are you aware you are speaking with the future of radio?"

"The future of radio? Please Love, don't jest. The 20s surely have more in store than you" You laugh into his chest and he shockingly laughs with you.

Neither of you know it but you are both so drunk on the sound. To you, his laugh sounds like the swift church bells that used to ring throughout your home town whenever someone got married. It feels familiar and yet like a distant memory. It makes you want to hear it over and over again until your ears stop working, and even then you'd settle in just fine feeling the vibrations of his chest. He sounds like home. To him, your laugh sounds like the rushing creek and smooth algae covered stones resting deep beneath the trees draped in Spanish moss of his mothers cabin in the woods. Just hearing your laugh he can feel the spotted sunlight speckling his freckled face underneath the big willow tree. You sound like home. Everything about you- it felt like home to him. His hands were crafted to hold soft curves of your body. His ears were made to hear your voice and your voice alone. You were purpose, his home. You don't know it, but it is that realization that sparked the idea of marriage into his heart.

That fire was put out not long after.

You at least had those nine years as his friend, three years as his "copain" if you will- and two years as his fiancée...and so many years alone. You only spent 14 years in the company of this man. You had lived before knowing him a good 17 years, and a good long bit after.

Why were you so stuck?

You hum along subconsciously, the objects in your bathroom begin to glow a familiar pink, levitating slightly in the air as you continue to hum. Your ability isn't weak by any means, but for some reason you were. You were nothing in comparison to hells overlords, especially the newest trio of Vs. Your power is so deeply connected to your voice, how can you hold power when it doesn't belong to you anymore? You drift back to the memory of your arrival. Scared, alone, dressed a great deal less than modestly, and equipped with nothing more than a pair of horns, some wings you couldn't quite use yet, and a thin devil like tail. It was only your third hour in hell. You didn't understand the rules. You were playing a twisted game in which you didn't realize you were just another piece of.

Shock can make a person anxious and fear will make them stupid. He was tall and smelled distinctly of cigars, soured whiskey, and something pungently sweet you couldn't name. It burned your nose as you inhaled it. You would become well aquatinted with the smell of lust in the years to come, you just didn't know it yet. It seemed innocent at first, just a simple contract, no different than a job. All you had to do was sing and dance at a club, in exchange for safety. But it was different and it wasn't innocent. He was cruel and yet no different than so many of the men you had dealt with in life. He agreed to your terms of anonymity and thats about it. You had your private life and his life. Valentino never played fair. You didn't know that yet, and now you're hells favorite sinner, a least no one knew it was you. If he had asked you another day later you would have realized you could have probably fended for yourself, with some difficulty anyway. At least you wouldn't have to be in this mess. You wouldn't be fucking six people before noon. You wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises and scars...Maybe you could have found him, Alastor that is. Maybe you could have at least been friends again. Its silly to hope for anything more since your romantic relationship ended...✨the way it did✨

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

1931- New Orleans, The river

The two of you sit beside each other in a small wooden row boat. Your hair is tied back with your signature crimson ribbon. He fiddles with the pocket of his jacket. The Louisiana soundscape of crickets, frogs and running water accompanies your conversation. Fireflies light up the air, almost bringing the stars down to your fingertips. With a buzz and a gentle green glow, the small creature lands on your hand. Your smile leaks wonderment and Alastor can hardly contain the love he feels for you.

As a Radio Host, he is quite agile in the way of words, yet something about you has him constantly at a loss. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to say his voice wavers as he begins to speak.

"y/n, I want to thank you for the effect you've had in my lif-"

"My love look at the stars!" You didn't mean to cut him off, Your arms stretched upwards your face turning to meet his. The stars were so much brighter then they were in the city, it was only natural for you to be excited

"Yes doll, I see them, they're the same as they were last night and many many nights before hand"

You let out an impatient huff

"that doesn't make them any less beautiful." a mischievous glint hides in your eyes "now wouldn't it be so dreadfully terrible if I got bored looking at you just because I've already seen you before?" You fake a yawn and look at him eyes seething with boredom

"It would be so dreadful considering I was about to propose to you"

There is no other word to describe what you felt other than shocked. You had been an item for quite some time, but you never figured he would stick around (and "seal the deal" if you will).

Tears begin to run down your face rambling small words of agreement and love. You had never expected him to..love you that way. He was who he was, a dreadfully popular radio host, and you weren't really anything more than an assistant. People really only listened for him..yet in this moment, he was speaking only for you.

"I love you so dearly my y/n. If life without you exists I do not want to exist through it"

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

1934: New Orleans, Alastor's house

The house was empty. He was gone. Fully and truly gone. It had been a year since you'd seen or heard from him and six months since the birth of your son. It didn't feel like your house, it didn't feel like your life anymore. It was all still his. His things still bled into your side of the closet, his last purchase, a book, dust encrusted and unread. The blankets and pillows set on the couch exactly as you both had left them after falling asleep to the rain the night before he left wordlessly. You found yourself sporting one of his shirts more often than your own...until eventually they didn't smell like him anymore. The whole house used to reek of his signature vanilla smell. Theres nothing left here but dust and the crooked board of the desk he insisted he could build himself "just fine".

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

1936- New Orleans; ✨that shitty bar you performed at✨

"Get the fuck up you bitch"

You felt his hand tangle in your hair and pull you to your knees. All you could do was groan in pain.

"I'm so sorry it won't happen again I promise"

You mutter almost to yourself. He rolls his eyes shoving you into the counter smashing a glass in the process. Your vision blurs for a second seeing the glass shards decorating your h/c locks in a halo. You feel the blood trickle down your forehead.

"Do you think anyone else would hire you? A whore with nothing to her name and a useless ugly bastard child from god knows who?" You feel angered at his words. Insulting you is one thing, but your child?

But then it sinks in, he's right. The 30s are a sick decade, nothing progressive about them. No one else would hire you. You are lucky to work here..despite it all. You tell yourself anything is better than living on the streets. The mantra doesn't dull the pain but it makes it easier to put up with. You don't have a choice. You have a child to take care of.

"Get rid of him"

you stay silent unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Get rid of the boy. I don't care if you leave him in a box on the street or kill him yourself"

He reaches for a small silver knife under the bar's counter. He places it against your throat.

" y/n..You won't like it if I do it dearest, besides you are saving him the shame of having a mother like you. At least if he's adopted elsewhere he has a chance at a half decent life" he took a deep swig from his un-shattered glass of whiskey, looking at you with such deep distain.

You had never hated anyone the way you hated that man..But he was right. You would never be able to give your baby the best life. It would never get better because you couldn't make it better. So you found a young couple not to far from New Orleans, they took him in, and he got to be happy. he ended up living a successful life. He still is. If nothing else theres that. You know your own misery doesn't automatically allow others to be happier, but at times its what keeps you going.

Your mind is flooded with more and more thoughts. Thousands of little memories pilling themselves on top of you. Who would've thought, even deceased, even owned by Valentino, even trapped in an ever so violent place, the real plight of hell would be your thoughts. You light a cigarette and get out of the tub. You throw on a dark red robe and sit on the vanity's counter to brush your damp hair. The song continues into a jazzy interlude before it reprises again

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But, brother

You're never fully dressed

You're never dressed

Without a smile

You stretch out your wings in the mirror, looking at your demonic self. No matter how many times you catch yourself in the mirror, even after ten years of this hellish existence. It still strikes you as odd. You look more or less the same. The same hair color and skin tone, although slightly more grey. The tail was just fucking weird no matter how long you had it. The song erupts into the finale distracting you from your thoughts. You begin to sing along with it, smiling softly. It really does sound like him. The same pink glow takes over the room as well as your body, Your eyes begin to glow that same soft pink, your hair floating above your shoulders.

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

You're never fully dressed without a smile

The last line comes out much quieter than the rest. A sense of sadness overtakes you once again as you realize how pathetic this whole night turned out. You'd spent the whole night "Simping", as Velvette would say, over a relationship that ended decades ago. Yikes. The static from the radio clicks up a few notches, You cover your ears at the sudden noise. You quickly reach for the dial in order to turn off the device..And then you hear it. You hear him.

"Dearest.." Its almost unintelligible through the static

You think you've finally fucking lost it. Ten years in Hell and you've officially gone "delulu"...another Velvette saying but it feels fitting.

“y/n.”

He called softly, the static in his voice heavy and nearly unreadable.

You almost didn't believe it.

"Y/n" He repeats the static fizzling out leaving his voice raw and almost natural. Fuck this was real. You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You weren't sure if he could even hear you..how he would respond? Would it be worse if he did? It had been an entire decade since you fell, All of this time- he never bothered to contact you. Why now? Why so much later?... Had he forgotten about you? Did he just..die? You cant discern which is worse...that he had left you and your son and lived a long guilt free life...or that he made no attempt to even speak to you in the decade you had inhabited the same existence.

Ok that was all like exposition and shit..considering part two but I AM VERY TIRED RN

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Posting schedule: Friday Misdemeanor, and Wednesdays for one the occasional one shot. Tag lists are always open. 

Join us in the VoxTek Discord server for a Vox themed Hazbin place to hang and get teasers for upcoming chapters! 

my AO3 and Kofi

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart 

Banner Alastors done by @blobin456drawz, Banner done by @redvexillum

Human Alastor x married reader Rated Adult for adult themes,triggering content and sexual content. Potentially DD:DNE, mind the warnings Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, murder

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50

MisD Sidepieces: One shots or fics that take place in a MisD AU or are MisD canon but written by another.

Inappropriate Demeanor by @nyx-umbrakinesis (Canon placement, end of chapter 22)

Audio Chapters by Nyx Productions: Chapter 1: part 1 part 2, Chapter 2:  Part 1, part 2, part 3, chapter 3, Part 1, part 2, part 3, Chapter 4: Part 1, Part 2,  Chapter 5: Part 1, Part 2, Chapter 6: Part 1, Part 2

For Eternity (Completed)

Banner by @redvexillum

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult Warnings: This fic contains sexual content, explorations of consent within Angel Dust's contract in relation to sex work, Sexual assault, Possessive and obsessive behaviors, Power dynamics, Adam being an ass, kidnapping, Vox is in hell for a reason, Val is in hell for a reason, Vox has a weird thing for Alastor, Angel Dust is sweet as pie, murder, revenge, implied sexual assault and harassment, miscarriage and death.

Summary: Isabel died young, leaving behind her husband to pick up the pieces. Finding herself in Heaven, she waits for her husband to join her. And waits. And waits. Years and decades pass as she faces the realization that Alastor may not be joining her in Heaven, leaving her largely alone in a realm of double standards and fake smiles.

She must decide if she is going to move on from her marriage or do whatever it takes to reunite with her husband. Would he even still want her? Would she survive the dangers to find him? Would the cost be worth what could be gained?

Is Heaven really Heaven if the one you love isn't there with you?

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Another day in Paradise (On hiatus)

Pairing: Eventually Alastor x OFC, later- light Alastor x ofc x Lucifer Rated: Adult for eventual smut Content warnings: It's Hazbin Hotel- this feels redundant. Sex, eventual smut, referenced implied suicide to be discussed in more detail later, drugs, drinking, poor coping, toxic behavior, controlling behavior, cannibalism, idk, it's fucking Hazbin Hotel, if it's worth a content warning it's probably going to come up at some point? Religious trauma. reader has a name/is a oc.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

A Taste of Sugar

Alastor x reader Rated: Adult for smut TW: blood kink, bondage, reader with trauma from food insecurity Summary: As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

Chapters: 1,  2 

Wild Flowers (One shot)

Alastor x readerRated: Adult, 18+ Content warnings: Sex pollen trope and related questionable consent due to intoxication, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, praise, dancing that shouldn't be that sexy, biting, a touch of blood drinking, female masterbation, some possessiveness, Alastor being a bit of an ass

Summary: You had always loved flowers, so when you found a patch of pretty purple wildflowers growing in the small forest behind the hotel, you didn't think twice about picking a small handful to bring back to your room. While they smelled lovely, you were wholly unprepared for the side effects of exposure or the repercussions of offering the terrifyingly handsome Radio Demon a smell on your way to your room.

With your body burning from the inside out with an overwhelming need and a displeased Radio Demon pushing his way into your room, you have no idea what you're in for.

All you wanted was to pick some flowers but you got so much more.

Audio version brought to you by @nyx-umbrakinesis,  Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6.

Steamy Situations 18+  (One shot)

Alastor x readerRated: Adults only Warnings: Smut. It's shower smut. Female bodied reader. Careful with your shower sex.

Summary: You're hot and bored and your husband is busy working. If only there was a way you could distract him, get some of his attention and cool off. Audio Fic credits: Read by the lovely @nyx-umbrakinesis (Audio fic part 1, part 2)

Read me to sleep? (One shot)

Alastor x readerRating: G Summary: After a long, shitty day out and about you drag yourself home to the hotel to seek shelter and comfort in the one place you knew you could find it.

Home is where the heart is (One shot fluff) 

Vox x Reader Rated: General Warnings: I accidently spilled a little angst on the fluff serving. Sorry?

Summary: You're cooking dinner when your secret boyfriend comes home. Caught up in the moment, confessions are made and hearts are put on the line.

A Bed of Electric FLowers (One Shot)

Header done in part by the wonderful, amazing, fantastical @redvexillum

Vox x ReaderRated: Adult CW: Sex pollen trope, sex toy use, female masterbation, Vox's glowstick dick, way too many tv details, Male receiving oral,

Summary: A unexpected floral arrangement is delivered to your door as you're trying to ignore the lingering absence of your flat faced boyfriend. When Vox returns home and finds you in a compromising position, he's eager to assist even without a clue as to what has you so worked up.

Sister Dearest (One shot)

Requested: Vox x Alastor’s!Sister!Reader rated: Adult

Summary: Sneaking out of the protection of the protection of your brother's district was dangerous. Not only did you risk Alastor's wrath, you risked catching the eye of some unsavory characters. While you could meet many friends upon the streets of the forbidden tech district, you find Vox and his alluring promises of a good time.He knew of your brother and seemed to hold no animosity, surely he was a friend to the Radio Demon, right? Surely you could trust his company, right?Right?

Power (One Shot)

Vox x Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Warnings: Porn without plot, Power dynamics, Secretary reader, Choking on dick, Office blowjob. 

Summary: Vox is wound tight after his on air showdown with the newly returned Alastor. The show must go on though and you have just what he needs to get into the right headspace to move forward. 

(None, for now)

(None, for now)

[babyblue711]

Temptation

Ettore (High Life) x Reader - Part 1 Summary: Tired of the monotony of everyday life aboard the spaceship, you decide to start a little game to taunt Ettore. But your plan backfires and now you must deal with the consequences of temptation. This fic was heavily inspired by these two songs. I recommend giving them a listen before continuing: "Fill the Void" by Lily-Rose Depp & The Weeknd and "Little Girl Gone" by CHINCHILLA Words: 6.3K

Warnings: PLEASE READ! NSFW, Smut, Mature Themes 18+, Sexual Content 18+, Noncon, Dubcon, Rough Sex, Physical Violence, Mention of Suicide, Mention of Physical Abuse, Language, Degradation A/N: Consider Part 1 to be "just getting warmed up". I hope you all enjoy! Thank you to @arcielee for beta reading and @myfandomprompts for providing most of the pics and gifs! Dividers by @firefly-graphic

Every day was the same.

Trapped on this doomed spaceship that was destined for hell, every day felt like a relentless loop of monotony and misery. Same work, same people, same experiments, same old bullshit every fucking day. 

The utilitarian living quarters of the spacecraft make you feel like you are in a mental hospital, cold and uninviting. Every facet of the interior is minimalistic; a mix of sterile clinical spaces and dimly lit, shadowy corridors. Blue light shines at night that’s supposed to help the inhabitants sleep. The bland functionality and oppressive “sameness” just makes you want to scream.

Some days it all becomes too much to bear and you feel a small part of you snap. You despise feeling helpless and not in control of your life anymore; with each beat of your heart, white hot fire courses through your veins. At times, you yearn to unleash your fury on someone, anyone, to let out the pent-up frustration that has been building within you for far too long. But then the storm inside of you passes and you settle back into your repetitive routine once more. 

Your fellow shipmates are a bunch of criminals and weirdos. You try to make due with what you have, except for Dr. Dibs, whom you hate with your whole heart. Her cold demeanor and cruel experiments are a constant source of dread. She seems to derive pleasure from the suffering she inflicts upon you and the other girls aboard the ship.

Although you aren’t really sure you could call them friends, there are a few people you were “ok” with, mainly the other girls that also had to suffer through Dr. Dib’s sick experiments. A few of the guys are alright too; Monte is a loner that mainly keeps to himself and you’ve never heard him say an unkind word. Tcherny’s favorite place on the ship is the makeshift garden and you couldn’t blame him since it reminds everyone of Earth, of home. 

Ettore is…unusual. He has a certain aura that just feels…off. Your hair stands up on the back of your neck whenever you catch him staring or whenever he passes too close in the corridor, as if an electric current surrounds him, radiating off of his body. He’s a man of few words; you’ve rarely ever heard him speak. 

Amongst the girls, it’s well known that he doesn’t give a fuck if he is caught staring or leering, which he often is. Boyse especially dislikes him because he gives her the creeps. She normally has trouble sleeping at night because she says she can feel her skin crawl when he looks at her. You try your best to just ignore him most of the time. 

Until one day, during lunch in the cafeteria, you are sitting with the girls, mingling and talking quietly, when you feel a tingle go down your spine. You glance up and immediately make eye contact with him. 

His eyes lock onto yours, and you find yourself momentarily captivated by the intensity behind his gaze.

You were already having a bad day and you can feel the beginnings of another storm brewing inside. You’re sick of Ettore’s shit so you stare right back, issuing him a challenge in a silent duel to look away first. The air seems to sizzle with tension as you watch his glare harden when you don’t look away, like most of the girls normally do; he looks positively predatory with his sharp angular face and dark blue eyes. 

You refuse to let him intimidate you. Your eyes are watering but you’re too involved in this stupid little battle of wills to concede to him now by blinking. Thankfully, a welcome interruption arrives in the form of Monte. Having not noticed the little contest between you and Ettore, he walks right in front, breaking the spell between you two. You blink rapidly and take a deep breath, watching as Ettore leans around Monte to look back at you, an unspoken promise in his stare that seems to say, I’m not done with you yet. You roll your eyes and look away.

“What are you looking at, Y/N?” Boyse asks from beside you, snapping you to attention. 

“Uh...nothing,” you mumble back, not really wanting to engage with her.

“That fucking creep. He sits across from us to stare at us on purpose, have you noticed?” Boyse says, noticing the trail of your gaze.

“Yeah, I know but don’t let it bother you, Boyse, just ignore him,” you try to diffuse the situation. You don’t want to be involved in yet another incident where Ettore made a girl feel uncomfortable. Boyse goes back to picking at her food silently and you do the same. 

You ignore him now; he isn’t worth your time or attention. Even though you get a bad vibe from him, you can’t help but notice a certain attractiveness about Ettore. He is tall and lean, with corded muscles on his arms, toned chest, and abs. He has a very angular face, strong jaw and chin with a sharp nose and luscious lips. You have to admit that you had never seen a man with as beautiful lips as his.

Lost for a moment thinking about his body, you bring yourself back to the present. You scold yourself; perhaps the monotony of this ship really was driving you insane, lusting after someone who gave off such ominous vibes. You swore to hate men for all eternity after what you had endured. That’s how you ended up in this hell hole to begin with….

After years of torment and physical violence of both you and your mother, you finally snapped and murdered your abusive stepfather in his sleep after he was passed out from another drunken rage.

But, despite arguing in court that your actions should be considered self defense after years of abuse, the jury found you guilty and sentenced you to life in prison...or join this sick experiment in space. You aren’t remorseful that you had killed your step-father. He got what he deserved and no other woman would have to deal with his violence ever again. However, when your mother learned that you had chosen to accept this mission in space, she couldn’t bear the pain of losing her only daughter. She took a bunch of pills and never woke up. 

Now, you are an unloved, unwanted murderer and no one cared if you lived or died. This mission is perfect for people like you. 

You’re standing in line for the shower that evening, towel in hand, when Ettore walks by; his hair is still wet from his shower and he’s wearing a fresh set of scrubs, towel slung over his shoulder. You see him coming and avert your eyes so as not to attract his attention. He saunters over anyway and you know he’s trying to annoy you on purpose.

He stops right beside your left shoulder and you reluctantly bring your eyes up to meet his gaze. His presence is imposing and you can't help but notice how much taller he is compared to you, making you feel small and vulnerable in his shadow. He leers, invading your personal space and it takes everything in you to not step back from him as he looks down his nose at you. Your eyes lock in a tense standoff, each daring the other to back down. 

Despite your inner resolve, you feel a knot of tension in your stomach, and your hand instinctively tightens around the towel you're holding. It takes all your strength to hold your ground, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he sneers in a low voice. 

You realize that he is trying to intimidate you with some stupid alpha-male shit, but you are not afraid of him. Fire burns hot in your blood and you are ready for a fight.

“I’m not doin’ shit, Ettore, now fuck off,” you say back aggressively, letting him know you won’t be an easy meal with your tone.

“The fuck you aren’t,” he growls lowly, deep in his chest. He steps closer to you, suddenly trailing a finger from your eyebrow down the side of your face. The gesture is so unexpected that you flinch and freeze, staring up at him with wide eyes mixed with confusion and defiance.

“C’mon, love, I know you’re just playing hard to get,” he whispers as his eyes look you up and down suggestively. Finally, he turns and walks away.

As he exits the bathroom, you let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding and think, What the fuck was that? You curse internally; you knew you shouldn’t have started anything back in the cafeteria. Now he thinks you’re interested or some shit. But…maybe you were, in a way? You feel conflicted, knowing that he thinks of you as an easy target. 

Finally, it’s your turn for the shower. You undress quickly and start to relax as the hot water streams over your shoulders. As you’re washing your hair, an idea comes to you and butterflies flutter in your chest at your wicked thoughts, the most excitement you’ve felt in a long time. Because of your abusive past, you refuse to let anyone ever make you feel small and insignificant ever again and decide on the spot that Ettore is going to become your next target of torture. You knew his weakness; you’d exploit his obvious sexual deviousness, which was probably fueled by the rules on the ship that the inmates couldn’t engage in any sexual behavior with each other.

A dark chuckle escapes your lips. You’d show him who’s boss. Given the lack of privacy on the spacecraft, you’d never fear his retribution; you could tease him mercilessly and always be able to evade any potential advances if he thought he would take things further…or so you hoped. 

A tiny alarm bell rings in the back of your mind. You knew that what you were planning was the equivalent to waking a sleeping dragon but you didn’t care. You are so beyond sick of the monotony of everyday life that you convince yourself that you needed this little extra bit of spice as an escape from the mundane reality of your circumstances.  

So, you allow this little game to proceed between you and Ettore, a cocktail of emotions swirling within you: boredom, lust, anger, hatred, desire—all of them fuel this strange dance.

As the days pass by, you continue to provoke him with stolen glances and lingering eye contact that says more than words ever could. He responds eagerly to your meager attention, just as you knew he would. His advances quickly became more pronounced as simple stares turn into physical contact: brushing your shoulder on purpose as he walks by, daring you to react. Anytime you are in the same vicinity as him, you feel a magnetic energy pulling the two of you together. You have created this friction on purpose to drive him mad, but you can’t help but feel like you are getting caught up in it too…  

Something had awoken in you that night when he touched your face in the bathroom. A wild, feral animal rattles at the bars of this proverbial cage that you had locked away deep inside a long time ago. Women aren’t supposed to be sexual creatures in the same way men are. It was a part of yourself that you have spent years hiding because you are afraid you’d just be labeled a whore or a slut. But what did it matter anymore on this dreaded spaceship? You can’t deny that you, too, feel a deep void, an ache in your chest, a need for something more.

Upon arriving back at your bunk one evening, you hear a deep breath from behind you. You whirl and see Ettore across the hallway, standing in another doorway, watching you. It’s the most provocative he’s looked thus far since he’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. You hesitate, then decide to make a show of looking him up and down, biting your bottom lip, secretly admiring his toned chest and abs. When your eyes flick back up to his face, his gaze locks onto yours as he reaches into his pants and starts pleasuring himself right in front of you, not caring if anyone saw. 

Your eyeballs pop in shock at this brazen display of desire. Your heartbeat picks up and a million thoughts start to race through your mind. Should you tease him in return? What if he decides to come into your bunk? Red flags wave a warning in the back of your mind and you knew you were walking on a razor’s edge. You think he’s about to take a step towards you when, thankfully, a door slams nearby and Ettore vanishes into the shadows. You let out a deep breath, doubting your stupid plan to taunt him that was working way too easily. A ripple of unease flows through you. You could feel that he was like a volcano waiting to explode. What would you do when he did?

You decide to ignore him from now on to try to diffuse the tension you had built between you both. He needs to get a grip and, honestly, so did you. So, as much as you despise it, you release your frustration within “The Box” when it all becomes too much to bear. 

A few nights later, you are walking back to your bunk after visiting The Box. Still unsatisfied, you turn the corner and see Ettore scrubbing the floor in front of you, his back to you. He is shirtless again, dressed only in orange cargo pants. He doesn’t look around and you don’t think he’s heard your approach. You pause behind him, admiring the way his shoulder and back muscles ripple as he scrubs the floor. He has three tattoos, all black triangles; one on his right forearm, another on his left bicep, and finally, one on the right side of his neck. You assume they are symbolism for some type of gang. You’re staring, openly, almost hypnotized by the movement of his muscles. 

“I know you’re there,” he says suddenly and you jump out of your revere, heart leaping into your throat. He continues to mop the floor, not even bothering to turn around.

You feign nonchalance and start to walk by him, glancing down just as he is looking up at you.

“I can do you better than that box, you know,” he purrs at you with a cocky smirk. 

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen at his words. Your heart pounds and you know you can’t give him any encouragement, so you give a noncommittal grunt before hurrying back to your bunk. When you lay in bed that night, you know, deep down, that if you stood there and watched him any longer, half naked on the floor, you might just be tempted to find out for yourself. 

The next day starts like any other. You’ve been assigned to organize the storage room; a redundant and mundane task, located in the bottom level of the ship. You’ve been at it for a couple of hours, in the middle of inventorying the stockpile of supplies, when you feel a presence from behind. You don’t know what tipped you off exactly because he hasn’t made a sound, but you turn to see him silently shutting the door behind him and locking it, staring at you with a predatory gaze.

“The fuck do you want?” you ask aggressively, firing up at once. Anger is your first line of defense as your heartbeat picks up, but the smallest thrill of fear laces up your spine. An alarm bell goes off in the back of your mind, a small voice is screaming a warning to get out of that room. You are quite alone down here in this part of the ship and you doubt anyone would hear you if you try to scream. This was it…you had pushed him too far and now the consequence was right in front of you, looking at you mercilessly. 

“I think you know what I want,” he almost growls, voice deep. “You have a choice, we can do this the easy way….or we can do this the hard way,” his gaze hardens as he stares at you.

“Fuck off,” you say defiantly back. Inside, you are cursing fluently. You knew this day would come, knew he wouldn’t be able to resist temptation. He chuckles as he steps closer until he’s right in front of you, looking down.

“You wanna know what I think?” he says, and you really don’t care what he thinks but you know he’s about to tell you anyway so you don’t even bother responding. “I don’t know what you did to land here on this cursed spaceship, but I think, deep down, you’re just a good little girl, pretending to be bad, aren’t you?” He says this as if hoping to corrupt your innocence; you smirk to yourself, thinking he has no idea who he’s messing with.  

You raise your chin, looking him straight in the eyes and you just can’t help the words that escape from your mouth. “Well…this good little girl is only a bad girl for the right man,” you say with fire in your gaze, taunting him on purpose even though you know it’s a stupid thing to do. “And that sure as hell isn’t you.” 

You could feel the heat radiate off of him from the proximity of his body so close to yours. He smirks and his eyes darken dangerously as he takes the bait.

“Is that so?” he says easily. “You’ve been provoking me for weeks. You think I didn’t know exactly what you were doing all along? I saw you staring at me too. I think you want me as much as I want you.” His eyes seem to burn into you with desire, lust blowing out his pupil.

“It was just a stupid little game, Ettore. It didn’t mean anything, it’s not that serious,” you know you’re babbling as you try to remain calm by playing it off like you don’t know what he’s talking about. His nostrils flare as he sniffs out your lie and you suddenly feel like a mouse that has just wandered into the lion's den. “Besides, you know we can’t,” you say sternly, referring to the rules, trying to get him to see reason. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it. And I don’t give a fuck about Dibs’ rules,” he says menacingly. 

Rage starts to come to your rescue as you realize he’s not going to listen to a word you say.

You level him with a hard glare. “I don’t fucking want you, Ettore,” you growl back at him.

Panic seizes you for a moment when he reaches for you suddenly and cups your face with his hand. His thumb runs over your cheek in an unexpected gentle caress before moving over your lips, pulling your bottom lip down. His eyes flick up to yours as lust surges through your core at his touch.

“Such a smart little mouth you have,” he says quietly as he takes a deep breath. “I won’t have a problem fucking the brat outta you.”   

He moves so fast you don’t even have time to blink as he lunges for you, spinning you around and smashing you against some cardboard boxes stacked against the wall nearby. His fingers have a tight grip on your hair as he pushes your face into the box, using his knees to kick your legs apart, unbalancing you, one hand grabs your left arm and twists it behind your back. He moves at such a lightning pace that it momentarily takes your breath away.

He pulls your head back from the box by your hair and bends your neck to the side so he can run his nose from your ear to your shoulder, groaning like an animal in heat as he savors your smell. Your heart hammers in your chest. Shockwaves roll over you at the speed of his assault and you can’t even form words yet, only whimper slightly from the pain of having your hair pulled. At the same time, wetness pools at your center. 

“I gave you an opportunity, didn’t I?” he whispers darkly in your ear. “It didn’t have to be like this, you stupid little cunt,” he grunts as you try to struggle with all your might to get away from him, but he’s just too big, too heavy, too strong to break free of his grasp.

Rage boils in your blood as you realize just how well and truly trapped you are. Deep down, you knew this would happen. You realize he saw an opportunity to get you alone and he took it.  You know what’s about to happen and you know you can’t stop it, but you aren’t going down without a fight. 

Your breathing is fast as he starts kissing your neck, biting down on your pulsepoint, feeling your heart race.

“Fuck you, Ettore,” you say through gritted teeth. 

Provocatively, he grinds his hard cock against your ass through your clothes. “Oh, you will,” he growls as he lets go of your hair to effectively pin your arms behind your back with one hand. With the other free hand, he starts exploring your body, running his hand over your breasts and squeezing until he trails down lower, dipping his fingers under the band of your pants. 

You truly lose it at this moment as you feel him reach for your core. You struggle and fight for all your worth and he's forced to stop his path to your center and hold onto you tighter to keep you from getting away. His fingers latch around your throat and he squeezes hard, immobilizing you easily as you struggle to take a breath. His body pushes you further into the boxes, leaning his weight on you.  

“Stop fighting me,” he loudly growls into your ear aggressively. “You stupid little bitch, I know I do things to you too, just the same as you do me,” he breathes harshly. “Look how your body responds to me,” your nipples are pebbled against your shirt and he could clearly feel them when he assaulted your front a moment ago. 

“And I bet, if I touched you right now, you’d be wet, wouldn’t you, love?” he licks the outer rim of your ear and releases his grip on your throat. As you gasp and suck in air, as his fingers reach below your panties and his fingers find your slippery core. You whimper and draw shallow breaths as he groans into your ear when he feels how wet your cunt is. 

He dips down to your opening and gathers some slick, bringing it up to circle your bud and you feel the fight slowly leave your body. It has been so long since a man touched you, you feel like a switch has been flipped, lust now running rampant through your veins, like a shot of ecstasy to your system. He feels you relax under his hand and loosens his hold on your wrists that are still pinned behind your back. You moan softly and lean into him.

“That’s what I thought, you little slut,” he whispers in your ear. You allow yourself to enjoy this moment, but you’ve already formulated a secondary plan and intend to make him pay for this too. You’re simply lulling him into a false sense of security right now. By loosening his hold, he’s actually done exactly what you wanted. You let him circle your bud for a few more times, before you tense, spinning around and shoving him away from you as hard as you can. You aren’t the only one who’s going to feel pain today as renewed rage pounds in your chest.

You leap at him and the fight for dominance ensues as you grapple with each other, falling onto the floor. Physically, you know you are no match for him, but taking your anger and frustration out on him just feels so good. You kick and punch and scratch and scream. He’s doing everything he can to block and contain your flurry of blows but he’s not hit back yet either. Even if he does, that’s nothing new to you; you still have plenty of scars from your step-father.

You’re on top at first, but you’re under no illusion that you’re “winning”, just simply letting the frustration out as you claw at his chest. He quickly decides he’s tired of being your punching bag and he flips you over and lays his full weight on top of you, pinning you to the floor. 

You wrap him in a bear hug on the floor, thinking that if he can’t lean away from you to punch you, you’re safe from any strong direct hits from him. You’re both breathing heavily, Ettore trapped between your legs and you try to kick him from your position but he grabs your hip and pinches harshly, causing you to yelp in pain. 

He wiggles free of your arms, pinning your hands above your head with one of his as he looks down at you, fury in his gaze.

“Are you fuckin’ done yet?” he taunts you, knowing you’re pinned now. 

You literally growl back at him like a rabid, wild animal and show him your teeth; maybe he’ll think you’re insane and he won’t want to continue this anymore. It doesn’t work...

He smirks instead. “There she is…you weren’t lying earlier about the bad girl thing were you? I got myself a right little she-devil, haven’t I?” He chuckles darkly, a menacing sound causing fear to tingle at the base of your spine. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you tamed by the end.”

You don’t respond, distracted by his other hand that has traveled up your shirt, roving over your breasts. You try to buck him off but he’s just too heavy and you barely get him to budge. In alarm, you realize you’ve missed your chance to escape. He watches your face as he touches you and you glare back up into his eyes, hating feeling helpless like this. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he squeezes your breasts and then runs his warm hand down your ribs. 

Hatred and fury pound in your chest, but you’re caught off guard that he isn’t beating you to a pulp. It’s what you had come to expect from men, especially after the physical altercation you just had with him. Involuntarily, you feel yourself relax a little at his touch and your breathing becomes a little more steady. After a few more moments, he notices the tension leave you and suddenly his lips find yours in a violent kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. He starts grinding his pelvis into your aching cunt and you moan into his kiss, hating yourself for liking this but you succumb to his attentions, unable to resist more. Animalistic lust and desire blooms from deep within, your head swirls from his kiss, your body aches for his touch.  

You surrender the fight. “Take your shirt off,” you say when you both come up for air from your kiss; he knows he has to let go of your hands in order to remove his clothes.

“Are you going to stop fighting me?” he asks and you nod. He smirks, “so you gonna be a good girl now?” 

“Shut up, Ettore, it's your dick I want, not you,” you growl back at him and his grin widens. 

He lets go of your hands and quickly pulls his shirt over his head. You notice the red marks on his chest from where you clawed him earlier. You watch his abs contract with each panting breath, noticing his defined chest and lean muscles of his arms. You feel more wetness pool in your core as your eyes appreciate his body. 

You reach for the bottom of your shirt and surprise him by removing it yourself, your breasts pebbling in the cool air; you barely bothered wearing a bra anymore. He looks down hungrily at them, running his hands softly over your nipples. You arch your back and he immediately takes one in his mouth, the other rolling your nipples between his fingers. Your hands are in his hair as you grind your hips into his hard length. He bites down on the skin of your left breast, sucking a bruise onto the skin while massaging the other one firmly with his other hand. He moves upwards, kissing along your collarbone until he reaches your neck, biting, licking and sucking at all of your exposed skin. You rake your fingernails down his back, becoming impatient for more. 

He pulls away from your neck and sits up, reaching for your pants. You lift your hips so he can remove them completely. He admires your naked body, laying bare on the floor beneath him, the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, your wet cunt open for him. From his position kneeling between your legs, he takes your knees and spreads them apart, opening your pussy more for his view, groaning deep in his chest as his eyes feast upon your body. Deciding to tease him a little, you reach down and start playing with your bud and he stares shamelessly.

“Fuck,” he murmurs and watches you for a few moments. “Such a needy little slut aren’t you?” 

You moan and grind into your own hand, fingers dipping down to your entrance to gather some slick onto your fingers. You bring them up to your mouth to taste yourself, knowing that you’re about to drive him absolutely wild. Since he’s seen your “feral animal” wild-side, now you want to see his too. 

His mouth hangs open, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breathing as he watches your lips close around your fingers as you taste yourself and moan. His restraint snaps in an instant.

He pulls down his pants, freeing his large, veiny cock and gives it a couple pumps, watching your face. Your eyes widened at the sight; his cock is bigger than you expected, long and thick, a pearl of his spend visible on the tip. Your eyes meet and you’re sure he can see the slight trepidation in yours as he smirks. 

“You can fuckin’ take it,” Ettore says confidently, as if this is supposed to reassure you. He doesn’t waste any more time as he lines himself up with your entrance.

You were wet and willing and ready for him but you cry aloud as he sheathes himself fully in one thrust, not caring to take things slow with you. You pant and arch your back as his large cock fills you so completely full, eyes popping a little at the intensity of the intrusion. The stretch burns more than you anticipated and you focus on breathing through the pain.  

He gives you a few shallow thrusts before mumbling, “Fuckin’ hell, your pussy is so fuckin’ tight - sorry if that hurt a little after all,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound sorry at all. 

He pauses for a moment as he watches your face wince at the pain. He doesn’t give you long though, knowing that he’s hurting you but can’t seem to control himself as his hips start to snap into yours at a steady pace. 

After a few thrusts, you’ve adjusted to his size and pleasure starts to course through your core. You begin to meet his thrusts with your hips. He seems to take that as a sign to speed up as he suddenly pounds into you, much harder, causing you to cry aloud not from pain, but from pleasure.

His hips snap into yours as he fucks you hard, brutally, wickedly, deliciously, and you groan as lightning races from your cunt into your chest. Pleasure starts to build deep inside as his thick cock continually rubs your g-spot. He grabs one leg and puts it over his shoulder and leans over you, changing the angle, driving you wild and your walls start to clench around him.

“Gonna cum for me already?” he pants, an amused smirk on his luscious lips.

“Fuck, Ettore,” you mewl as the pleasure starts to overwhelm your senses. It had been so long since you felt this good. “Harder,” you challenge him, as if he isn’t already fucking you hard enough.

He glances up at your face before withdrawing completely and you feel momentary emptiness at the void left behind as he pulls out from your aching pussy. Flipping you over on your stomach, bringing your ass back in the air as he kneels behind you. You prop yourself up on your elbows as your knees dig into the cold, hard floor; you know you’ll have bruises on your knees from this position. He thrusts back into your aching core with a guttural groan and you feel a stinging slap to your rear end. You cry aloud and mewl pathetically, then feel him yank on your hair from behind. He pulls you up so that your palms are now resting on the floor, your neck pulled back, held by his grip in your hair; he fucks you ruthlessly as he rides you from behind. His other hand grips your hip so hard you know you’ll have more bruises tomorrow.

You both are panting heavily as he lands another blow to your ass, harder this time, you’re positive a red handprint remains and you may even form yet another bruise with the strength of his slap. He doesn’t even bother to run his hand along the tender skin to soothe it, he just keeps thrusting with single-minded intensity. The slaps sting but in a pleasurable way as you feel your core become impossibly wetter each time he hits you.  

You reach a hand down to play with your pearl, your walls clenching around his thick cock as pleasure coils low in your belly.

The bites, the bruises, the ache around your throat from being choked, the pull of your hair on your scalp, the sore spot on your ass cheek from his repeated slaps, the drag of his thick cock inside your wet, tight pussy causes your mind to go blissfully blank, all of the sensations overwhelming you. Your eyes roll in your head and you idly wonder how much pain and how much pleasure your body could handle until it snaps. 

Ettore can feel your orgasm approach as your walls start to spasm around him. 

“Little slut, gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you?” he growls, increasing his tempo. 

You have the wherewithal to get out one request before it’s too late. You try to speak in between his brutal thrusts. “Please…Ettore,” you pant. “When you cum, pull out.” All of the women who had gotten pregnant through Dibs’ sick experiment ended up dying. You didn’t want that fate just yet.

He doesn’t respond, continuing his pace and your breathing becomes harsh as you approach the precipice of your orgasm. The coil snaps and your release rips through you, obliterating everything else, your vision goes white. You cry out his name as he continues to fuck you through your high. 

“Fuckin’ shit,” he grunts as he feels your cunt clench down on him. Your orgasm is still rolling through you but he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls out and paints your ass with his spend. 

He finally lets your hair go and you collapse onto the floor and he falls next to you. You both pant and breath harshly for a few minutes, not saying anything. As you come down from your high from your intense orgasm, reality sets in: part of you feels satisfied for the first time in a long while, the other part of you feels like you can’t believe you just let that happen to you. You wanted it but you didn’t want it; you didn’t know how to feel. You feel relief that he at least listened and pulled out. 

Finally, he sits up and starts looking for his clothes. You take one last deep breath and are about to do the same when you unexpectedly feel him clean his spend off of you with his shirt, making you jump a little. He’s a little rough with the wiping but the gesture is almost nice for Ettore. He throws your shirt and pants over to you and you both get dressed in silence. 

He helps you up off the floor and lifts your chin with his finger.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he warns, looking deep into your eyes. You nod in acquiescence, there is no way you’d ever tell anyone, but you give him the reassurance that he needs.

A smug smile plays on his lips. “So compliant now, I see. I told you I would fuck the brat outta you.” You scowl and try to pull away from him but he’s trapped your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He leans in closer and you think he’s about to kiss you, but he doesn’t. 

“You’re mine now, mine to use whenever I want, my own little slut, you fuckin’ belong to me. Don’t forget it,” he squeezes your chin and gives you one last dark glare before opening the door and exiting the storage room, leaving you stunned. 

You watch him go and feel a little paralyzed. You feel as though you just opened Pandora’s box. 

What monster have you just unleashed?

>>> Part 2

Tags: @peonamay @quinnquinn317 @pandemonium105 @aemondsscar @cyeco13 @multyfangirl @chainsawsangel @boundlessfantasy @bellaisasleep @sylas-the-grim @megatardisbaby

[featherandferns]

F.W.B : where are they now?

jj maybank x fem!reader

content warning: mentions of sex; alcohol; violence

word count: 1.4k.

read F.W.B | Thank you so so much for 1000 followers!!! Since starting this blog in May of 2023, I have written so many characters and storylines. I get so many lovely anon messages telling me about their favourite universes and wondering what happens next after my fics have ended. So, I thought to celebrate 1000 followers, I’d indulge. Here’s the (current) where are they now for all of my fics so far…

You land on the mat with a smack. Blood fills your mouth, sticking to the guard, and you spit it onto the floor. It’s an ugly swirl of pink-ish saliva. The referee is going to start counting you down any minute. Your head is pounding, body aching, ears ringing. It’s one of the biggest matches of the school year so the room is packed to the brim. People are cheering and chanting and it creates a dichotomy of pandemonium. For you, it’s the biggest match of your career. The college that could supply you with your dream scholarship and ticket out of a trailer-park life has sent a scout here tonight. They’re here to see you. Clinging onto that, you rock onto your knees and spit once more. The ref has started to count. You close your eyes and try to steal yourself. That’s when you can make it out. 

JJ’s voice carries over everyone else's, singing to you like a siren. He’s hollering like someone’s house is on fire. 

“Come on, baby! Let’s go!” 

Your eyes shoot open and you seek him out. Front row - stood settled between the Pogues who are egging you on - JJ’s clapping his hands and nodding emphatically. He meets your gaze and it hardens you. Ignites you with newfound vigour. You grit your teeth and give him a barely-there nod, and then you’re hopping back onto your feet. A new wave of cheers crashes around you as rock on your toes and heels, readying your fists. You settle your gaze on your competitor. She isn’t that big. Isn’t that strong. You can take her. Picture her face morphing into Kelce’s. Into every person who’s ever wronged you, made fun of you, looked at you the wrong way. Growling, you waste no time in throwing the first punch the minute the ref allows. As your gloved fist meets her skin, you hear JJ shouting. 

“That’s what I’m talking about! Let’s go, mama!”

JJ’s endless support energises you for the rest of the night like an endless line of cocaine. And when your competitor finally taps out, on the brink of blacking out, and the ref holds your arm up in victory, JJ’s celebration is louder than an erupting volcano. 

The second you’re free from the ring he tackles you in a hug. 

“That was fucking insane, baby! God damn! That was hot as hell!”

You laugh as he practically wrestles you in his enthusiastic embrace. He breaks apart from you when you’re ushered into the changing rooms. You speed through the post-match clean-up and emerge in a pair of his sweats (tied double at the waist to keep them from falling down) and an oversized t-shirt from a competition you won a couple of years back. The look on JJ’s face would make someone think that you’re dressed to the nines for the Oscars, though.

He hooks an arm around your shoulder, grinning proud, and the two of you load into the Twinkie with the other Pogues who share their congrats on your win. You still haven’t shaken him when you pull up to the Chateau. Loud chatter warns of your coming as the six of you walk up. It looks the same as always aside from the makeshift banner hung along the porch. It’s made of an old fitted sheet; you can recognise JJ’s handwriting from a mile away. In his familiar scrawl, it reads Well Done to the Sexiest Girl on Earth. 

Amused, you look at JJ and quirk a brow. “Sexiest girl?”

“Just stating facts,” he shrugs with a grin. 

“He needed my help on how to spell it,” Pope chimes in as he walks past, heading for the cooler. JJ prods him in the chest before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. Leaning your head back against his chest, you sigh and let JJ sway you in his hold as the other four chatter. 

“That was a hell of a fight, huh?” JJ says, just loud enough for you to hear. 

Looking up at him, you find his eyes already trained down on you. Smiling, you reply, “I know. I’m pretty impressive.”

“And modest,” he says, squeezing your body teasingly. 

“And sexy, apparently,” you add, referring to his banner. 

“Like that’s a surprise?”

“Mm, you got a point,” you say, playing along. “You might’ve mentioned it a few times.”

“Happy to mention it a few more,” JJ grins boyishly, dipping his head down to meet your lips with his.

You easily twirl in his embrace, coiling your arms over his shoulders to deepen the kiss. His tongue shamelessly slips into your mouth and his fingers slide under your t-shirt. 

“Knock it off love birds,” Kiara calls. 

There’s no hurry to break apart. 

“You guys make me sick,” Pope mutters, collapsing into a chair. 

JJ gropes your ass before walking away just to irritate his friend further. Your cheeks flame hot despite biting back a smile. Your boyfriend flashes you a grin and tosses you a beer. The two of you settle into seats and join the conversation with the others. John B starts up the music and the six of you get to celebrating.

Beer pong and wrestling and impression-offs and dumb drinking games. You and JJ shotgun a beer and once downed, JJ slaps your hand into a bro-like hug and plants a kiss to your lips. The juxtaposition is the perfect summarisation of your dynamic. Jesting and casual in front of others, and sweet and sentimental behind closed doors. He knew the deepest and darkest parts of you, and you him. 

“Thank you,” you say to JJ at some point in the night. “For all this.”

“Course,” JJ replies. He says it like it’s obvious; like it’s ludicrous to think that he wouldn’t go all out to celebrate your success. 

Finishing your beer, you look around the night-casted scene and find your eyes settling on the banner once more. Something occurs to you and you begin to laugh. 

“Wait, what would you guys have done if I didn’t win?” you ask.

“I guess we would’ve taken that down,” John B says, nodding to the banner, “and made it a feel-better-soon party?”

“I mean, celebratory beer and sad-times beer are the same beer, so,” JJ agrees, tipping his bottle up as he makes his point. 

“We knew you were gonna win though,” Sarah says from John B’s lap. 

“The odds were literally stacked in your favour,” Kiara adds. “With the winning streak you’ve been on lately? Girl!”

“That’s actually a common misconception,” Pope says. Everyone groans and JJ tosses a handful of grass at him. “I’m just saying! It’s called hot-hand fallacy!”

“Dude. Not the time,” JJ says.

Pope shuts down his spiel with that. You shoot him an apologetic smile, appreciative of his Pope-like support. A yawn slips out and suddenly the exhaustion from your earlier fight hits at once. JJ seems to notice, always hyper-aware of you. 

“Wanna head home?”

“I’m beat,” is your reply. 

“A’right, we’re off,” JJ announces, finishing his drink with two swigs and ditching the can. He takes your hand to help you out of your seat and the two of you make your way to the drive. The others holler their farewells and final congratulations on your scholarship win. Their indefatigable conversing fades into the soundscape of the night as you and JJ walk back to your house, fingers intertwined. 

“So, college, huh?” he says. 

“College,” you hum. 

“What’d you think that’ll mean for us?” 

You smile and glance up at him, and for the first time in your life, realise that you’re not afraid of losing him. “Same thing as always. Great sex and great company.”

“Just in another city?”

“It’s only Raleigh,” you hum. “Two hour drive tops.” 

“Sides, not like I’ll be going to college anytime soon, so I can just come visit you,” JJ agrees. 

You nod and lean against his arm as the two of you continue to walk. “I love you, y’know? I wanna make this thing work.”

“It will,” JJ assures. “You’re the best sex I’ve ever had. I’ll chase that to Raleigh.”

“Spoken like a poet,” you sardonically return.

His ambush of wet kisses to your cheek has you laughing, pawing him away. His hand finds yours and the two of you finish the journey to your house, hearts intertwined like your fingers, the future unclear aside from the fact that you and JJ would face it together.     

[whorediaries-09]

maneater;

pairing- neighbor!james potter x reader warning(s)-18+ content, stalker behavior, darkish themes but reciprocated. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- i'm sorry about the harry potter fic. i've realized my mistake, and thus i've deleted it.

the slut club

i wanna see you all on your knees, knees

he was feral. you were standing by the window, your curtains folded, stripping away every piece of clothing you had. the moonlight reflected on your skin. you were a goddess, a descend from heaven in his eyes. you were a beauty he wanted only for himself. heat crept up to his neck when you turned around, revealing your breasts. he wondered how you would look if he marked the skin, of places only he could see. he wondered how your skin would feel against his lips. he thoughts led him to a place, of transcending heaven. it was sheer hell, when his hand unconsciously travelled to his crotch. he could feel the heat radiating off his body. he bit his lip, as guilt pooled within the pit of his stomach.

it was wrong he thought, so wrong. but it felt so right when he slid down his pants, sliding his hand on his cock. it felt heavy within his own grip. and for a moment, he could swear you looked into his eyes. of course he wouldn't miss the fire in your eyes. the same eyes he loved, lusted over for. he imagined how you'd look up at him when you sucked him off. he imagined how his cock would look sliding between your breasts.

he felt the rush of hormones firing within him. it felt wrong, but he couldn't resist you. he couldn't resist the thoughts that clogged his head. you made him crazy, drove him into a hell of sheerness of lust and ecstasy. the heat crept within his skin when he felt his orgasm escape, painting his pants.

'shit,' he whispered, as his eyes crawled over to your window. the curtains were drawn, the lights were out.

*****

the bed was stuffy. the air was too warm on his skin. he was breathless. it was as if a weight pressed upon him. the sleep that had crossed his head was slowly escaping.

'come on james, show me those pretty eyes of yours,'

was he dreaming? he didn't want the sleep to escape him now...

the weight now pressed down on his sides. he felt something on his hair, a soothing sensation. he didn't want it to end. he closed his eyes tighter, trying to escape back to sleep.

trying.

a familiar flowery scent infused with a musk of vanilla haunted him. it was so near, yet so far. it was his mind, playing dirty tricks on him. it was his thoughts. it was your scent. he'd caught up on it when he'd helped you pick up your fallen groceries. you were about to fall on broken eggs, but he'd caught you, feeling your body through your clothes. you'd given him a quiet thank you and a smile, and he thought his heart would've broken with how you stared at him.

'come on, wake up baby,'

his eyes fluttered open, as he escaped his sleep. his eyes widened. it wasn't out of fear, rather about how you were on top of him, straddling his chest. you had a wicked smile on your face, a fervorous lust in your eyes. it felt like a dream come true. your fingers were buried in his curls. his lips parted, and he whispered your name. it was sweet from his tongue.

'you've been a very naughty boy james,' you whispered into his ear. your hot breathe fanned over his face and over his tender features. his heart fluttered, as your hips moved towards his crotch. you sucked on your fingers,

'answer me honey, hmm?' you pushed your fingers into his mouth. his lips wrapped around your fingers, as he sucked deliriously on them, trying to feel your skin on his tongue. you moved down, now straddling his waist.

'i-i'm sorry,'

you stared at him with malice in your eyes. throwing him a dirty, lopsided smirk, you started grinding your hips against his. soft moans left his mouth paired with feeble whimpers.

'are you going to be a good boy? are you going to behave yourself james?' his whimpers increased. he was putty in your hands. he'd be on his knees for you. he'd do anything you'd tell him to. just to be your good boy.

because you were his drug, a poison to be addicted to.

[party-hearses]

i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 3

do i get callous, or do i stay tender

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

pairing: joel x ofc!reader, ex!tommy x ofc!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 8k

chapter summary: the boundaries of your new relationship with joel are explored.

chapter warnings/tags: no outbreak AU, soft!joel, age gap, alcohol, language, characters eating food, alfred hitchcock, allusions to verbal/mental abuse (not joel), dry humping (i guess?). let me know if I’m forgetting anything!

a/n: this feels very ‘slice of life’, but it’s important to me, dammit! I love each and every one of you (yes, you!) who read, comment, and reblog. this fic is my baby, and every interaction means the world to me. @nostalxgic beta’d for me, because she’s the best human in the world and I love her to pieces.

comments and reblogs are appreciated! support your creators!

There was, Joel knows, a depth to the things you had shared with him. He just doesn’t know how to piece them together.

You had led him, a proverbial blindfold over his eyes, to the darkest recesses of your psyche. Allowed him to graze those things with his fingers. Not to grasp, never to grasp, but to ghost the ridges of his rough digits against the truths they contained. Visceral and unrefined, flexing without giving, beneath his prodding touch. A reluctant invitation.

He had wanted to claw his way in. He had wanted to rip you apart, to gorge himself on your suffering. To lick your velvet bones and make his home inside your ribcage. Half heaven, half hell.

Instead, he finds himself turning your words over in his head again and again, whiskey a thick smoke on his tongue. The television is still on in the background, the light flickering across the angles of the room, casting everything in jagged shadow.

Frustration curls tight in the pit of his stomach. Understanding feels just out of reach — as if the words you had spoken had been in secret tongues. If only he could decode it.

It will take time, he knows, to learn your language. To speak the complexities, to articulate the syntax. To appreciate the nuances from the inside, wrap his tongue around the letters. It will be an exercise in patience, he is sure, but one that he will commit himself to. He hungers to be fluent in reading and speaking you, to savor the delicate flavors of your dialect.

You, the unknowable creature asleep just down the hallway. That his hands had been on; that had made his cock twitch and ache; that had looked at him with those wet, pleading eyes, desperate to be known.

He rolls the wrist that holds his whiskey glass in a circular motion, eyeing the contents intently.

Asking you to stay in his home was a calculated risk. It had been when he’d first done it, and it remains to be the longer you stay. Tommy’s involvement — even in the capacity of ‘ex boyfriend’ — makes things complicated, and Joel knows that those things will border on volatile once he finds out where you are.

Not if, but when.

And truly, Joel doesn’t know what he’ll do when that happens. He hasn’t thought that far ahead, his vision too clouded with you, you, you.

He had known, since the first time you stood in his kitchen, a case of Shiner in your small hands, that the hot knife of devotion he felt when your eyes met his would eventually destroy him. Inevitability twisting its hands into his gut, whispering in his ear to prepare for his own eventual decimation. Lamb, meet slaughter, it said.

He’d let Tommy beat the shit out of him, he thinks, if it keeps you in his proximity.

The acute awareness of it had caught him off guard. Mutual, useless damage — two unfillable voids recognizing one another from across the room. A collision of fire and the ocean floor.

You, in a little black tank top and jean shorts, the tender flesh of your thigh peeking out just below the hem. Shoulders bare, warmed from the afternoon sunlight, skin aglow. It took strength he didn’t know he possessed to not sink his teeth into you right then and there. Lick up the slender column of your neck. Feast.

Tommy, grinning and oblivious as all fuck to the cosmic shift taking place two feet away from him.

Joel wanting to slug the smugness off his younger brother’s face. He knows Tommy — knows him always as a collector of people, of experiences. Not handling things — beautiful, fragile things — with the care they ought to be handled with. Leapfrogging from one thing to the next, nothing but ruin in his wake.

And oh, how Joel wanted to ruin you — but not in the way he knew Tommy would.

Your words to him tonight make his skin itch with that same recognition. That same inevitability. Asking you to stay meant there was no going back — that you would either let him swallow you whole, or he’d die trying to.

Throwing his head back to drain the glass, he savors the burn of the liquor sliding down his throat before flipping the television off and rising from the couch. Retracing his footsteps past your room, a dull throb settles again between his thighs at the thought of your body pressed against his.

It wouldn’t be difficult, he thinks, to open your door and take. He knows you because he knows himself, and what little restraint he has left is stretched thin.

But he will be patient, because it is you. Because he knows how this ends. Because he wants you to want it, too. To need it like he does. To reveal yourself to him in your own time, fragment by fragment. To recognize the inevitability.

And so he closes the door to his bedroom, himself on the wrong side of it, knowing that that is what a better man would do. And like a better man should, he falls asleep to images of your supple skin rippling beneath him, your mouth open and wanting.

You are unknowable, but you have never been a stranger.

You’re still in your dress when you wake up the next morning.

The hem is bunched up around your waist, your panties on display for the four walls of the empty bedroom. The slippery material clings to you, flesh slick with sweat, in a significantly less flattering way than it did last night.

Everything about you is less flattering than it was last night — the shimmer and sugar of it all worn off in the sweltering light of midmorning.

With a groan, you roll onto your back, the hard edges of your phone cutting into the flesh of your hip beneath you. You can’t bring yourself to look at it, to relive the previous twelve hours of…well, everything. Hands and drinks and tongues and flesh and desire and Joel’s voice.

Something else shifts into focus from behind the hazy veil — Joel carrying you to bed. Half-asleep and just on the other side of drunk, drippingly saturnine and pathetic. The recollection of it makes your chest pinch; the most recent admission into the museum of your naiveté.

You scrub your hand across your eyes, thick black flakes of mascara crumbling off your lashes and landing on your cheeks, chalky streaks of it painted across your knuckles. A strange laugh bubbles up in your throat — you can’t even imagine how wrecked you look.

Sharp hesitancy crests your lungs, tempts you to curl up further into the blazing bedsheets, to avoid. To shrink back into yourself. You raise a hand to your still-swollen lips, delicately pressing your fingertips into their fullness, the memory of Peter’s mouth slotted over yours replaying behind your eyelids.

You wish you had been drunk enough to forget that part of the night — but only that part.

Ava’s fingers interlocked with your own, the holographic sheen of her love wrapping around you, the way all of your pain had spilled out into her waiting hands on the dancefloor. Her magic had dug its tendrils into the soft muscle of your heart, her dreamy voice in your ear an incantation: I have the best feeling about you staying with Joel.

It was those things that you never wanted to forget.

And Joel — Joel. The way he had angled his body towards you, had been so attuned to your words. The consideration in his face as he absorbed them all, brows knitted in concentration. The restless twitch of his fingers.

Him sliding his hands beneath your body, pulling you close to his chest.

Everything had poured out of you so naturally, without any of the apprehension or anxiety you’d come to call companion. The sutures you had sewn years and years ago had been neatly, delicately, untied by Joel’s nimble fingers, in a way that you don’t even think he understood. And it took almost nothing.

Like something magic.

Fire crawls across your already heated skin, not so much a realization but a possibility.

It’s the only reason you get up, and peel your dress off of your sticky body, and let the cold water of the shower chill you. Your lungs open up, the buzzing of your nerves quieting under the stream.

Joel hears the quiet patter of your bare feet on the hardwood before he sees you. The beating of his heart matches the measured pace of your steps, both quickening as the distance between you closes.

He glances sideways, pulse hammering when you finally enter his line of vision. The wet ropes of your hair cling to your neck, dripping down the fabric of your threadbare t-shirt. There’s something so cozy about it, a significant intimacy that comes with knowing you’re just out of the shower.

It’s vulnerable in a way that he’s all too cognizant of.

“Hey.”

Your voice is sweet, if not apprehensive. Testing the waters. You gently pop a hip into the lip of the kitchen counter, next to the full, still-steaming coffee pot. Joel is situated at the stove, pan of something resembling food in front of him, his own mug clutched in his left hand.

“How ya feelin’, champ?” There’s a crooked smile on his face, one that disappears behind the curve of his mug as he brings it to his mouth.

You laugh, a gentle sigh of a laugh — a laugh that invigorates his blood more than the coffee does.

“I’m actually okay. Y’know, considering.” You tip your head to the side, watching as he stirs whatever it is in the pan. A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth, seeing him cook. It’s endearing, being allowed a peek into his life.

The way his cheeks round out tell you that he’s still got the same small smile painted on his face, despite the way it’s hidden.

“Mind if I have some?” You gesture with a flick of your chin to his coffee, clocking the way his face immediately falls, eyes narrowing in your direction.

“Y’already know the answer t’that.”

Gaze darting back to the stove, he’s quick to set his coffee to the side, muttering a curse under his breath as he lowers the flame burning under the pan. You twist your body to grab a mug from the cupboard and fill it with the blazing hot liquid, crossing the kitchen to settle at the table.

The subsequent silence is companionable, and you let the coffee rouse the parts of your brain that haven’t quite caught up with you, yet. You watch the strong muscles of Joel’s back, rippling and pulling under his shirt, as he extends his arm to pull a plate down from a different cupboard.

It’s mesmerizing, the agile way he moves, so it catches you off guard when he slides the plate and a fork in front of you, steam rolling off the scrambled eggs and slices of toast.

You hadn’t even noticed him using the toaster.

“Oh,” you squeak, blinking away the surprise you know is written all over your face. “You shouldn’t h-”

“Wanted to.” It’s kind, but matter-of-fact. A stern statement to dissuade you from arguing back.

As he lowers himself into the chair across from you, tossing his own full plate onto the table, you can’t help but remember his hands on your jaw the last time the two of you had been here together.

Together.

He immediately digs into his food, shoveling it into his mouth and slurping his coffee. You drop your gaze to the plate in front of you, picking up the fork and gingerly shuffling the contents of it around.

Something close to guilt needles at your stomach, and all too suddenly the words are hot on your tongue.

“I lied to you last night.”

Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look up at you — just keeps chewing and swallowing.

“Yeah?” Another bite, more chewing, swallowing again.

“I…I kissed someone. At the club.”

The confession hangs between you, though he remains as taciturn as you’ve ever seen him. It’s only when he draws his mug up to his mouth that he even meets your eyes, subtle amusement dancing in the liquid amber of them.

It’s candy Pop Rocks compared to what would have been Tommy’s dynamite.

Joel hasn’t stilled at all, continuing to drink his coffee and scoop his eggs on top of his toast.

“You…asked if I met anyone. And I lied to you.”

Toast halfway to his mouth, the small pile of eggs perched atop it dangerously close to slipping off, he pauses. His brows pull together in a question that you can’t quite read. An epiphany that you’re not privy to.

Lowering his arm, your eyes follow the eggs as they fall to his plate with a muted plop.

“Y’don’t owe me anythin’, Peach.”

Liar.

“But I-”

He shakes his head, and whatever it was that you wanted to say dies in your throat. “Y’had a reason to not tell me. And that reason belongs to you and you alone.”

You scrunch your brows together, an unfamiliar feeling building in your chest. He watches as it happens, his own chest pulling tight at the recognition of your uncertainty, of the doubt in your eyes. He’s quick to lean over the table, over the momentarily forgotten plates of food, to soothe your skin with a knowing drag of his thumb. The fork in your hand falls, clattering against the ceramic.

“Hey. Soften up, darlin’. Just don’t want you to think y’have t’tell me anythin’ y’don’t want to.” His voice is low, eyes intently searching yours. “Doesn’t mean I don’t understand why you’re tellin’ me.”

There’s something so tender about the way he tells you this, the way he touches you, that you’re sure you’ll spontaneously combust. Nothing has ever belonged to you — and only you — before. Not even your thoughts have ever been your own, the space reserved and velvet-roped for the ghosts of your shortcomings.

And you know that though Joel doesn’t quite grasp the gravity of what he’s saying, the words are bubblegum and champagne to you. Exactly, perfectly right.

“You’re good. It’s okay.” He gently brushes a still-damp tangle of your hair back over your ear, and you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is pounding. “Y’don’t always have to be so…hard on yourself.”

You’re good.

“Say it, Peach.”

Like he can read your mind. Like he can reach directly inside you, all those ties he’d undone, to extract the most vulnerable parts. Soften them. Shield them. Nurture them.

As though he can taste the desperation surging off your skin.

“I’m good.” Your own voice is so small, you hardly recognize it. The words taste bitter, grapefruit with the sugar dusted off. Unearned.

“You’re good, sweetheart,” he repeats, the rough tips of his fingers sliding along your jaw as he pulls his hand back, dropping it to retrieve his abandoned toast. “Now please eat. It’ll help.”

Hesitantly picking up your fork again, you mirror him — biting and chewing thoughtfully, humming as the toast settles in your stomach. Sipping your coffee. It’s almost easy.

Joel makes it easy.

Every now and again he flicks his eyes up to watch you, to make sure you’re actually eating, silently pleased as the amount on your plate slowly diminishes. He finishes before you do, shoving his plate forward and tipping back in his chair, fingers wrapping around his mug comfortably.

Moving the last bits of egg around the perimeter of your plate, you take the opening as Joel’s shoulders relax against the slatted wood.

“I, um, didn’t think you’d be…like this.”

It catches him off guard, a warm laugh betraying his usual stoicism. The levity of it curls around your limbs, climbs the length of your spine. “Oh yeah? ‘N what’d you think I’d be like?”

Avoidant. Brooding. Grumpy.

“Much less…pleasant?” You crinkle your nose at the word, not satisfied with it. “Or, like, you’re kind of…nice?”

This time he laughs out loud, angling his head back and opening his mouth wide. The sound of it lights you up from the inside, sparkly and hot.

“I mean…oh my god, that’s so stupid. I just mean…like, I think being here…will be good for me.”

You’re babbling now, skirting around the fact that you think being around him will be good for you. But something deep in your stomach tells you that he already knows. That he’s always known.

Dropping his head to his chest, you think you see a light sprinkle of pink break out across his tanned cheeks and nose. He clears his throat, mouth obscured by his coffee mug.

“I’m nice t’you, sweetheart.”

The remainder of the day is spent zeroed in on your work laptop, still at the kitchen table, legs stretched across the chair Joel had occupied that morning.

He had slipped out after breakfast to run errands — a few work related, a few personal — asking if you’d wanted to come. The invitation had made your heart swell, the feeling of being wanted stirring in your veins. It was hard to resist, the promise of more time with him so incredibly alluring, but you’d declined, work hanging over your head like a raincloud.

“It’s Saturday, Peach,” he’d murmured, eyeing you as you’d flipped open the slender screen of the device.

“Good thing I don’t have any plans, then,” you’d replied, clicking the trackpad to open your multiple files — budgets and spreadsheets and invoices stacking one on top of the other — thoughts turning to how much you’d rather be climbing into Joel’s truck beside him.

But he’d backed off, dropping a quick squeeze to your shoulder before leaving.

It’s not until he’d been gone for some time that it strikes you how different the interaction was with Joel than it ever had been with Tommy — no exasperation, no stomping out of the house, no argument. And you can’t compare them, you know, because he’s not Tommy, and he’s not your boyfriend —but it’s stable, sustainable. A quiet admission of knowing what you need. Of some kind of trust passing between the two of you.

A disruptive ringing snaps you back to reality, your fingers still resting on the keyboard of the laptop. The screen has gone black, an indication of the amount of time passed.

With a slight shake of your head, your eyes track to the smaller screen, your sister’s name and picture lit up. Uneasiness rolls through you, as it always does when she calls.

“Hey, Kit.” You drop your head back onto the curved wood of the chair, exhaling shallowly through your nose.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

You can hear the shrieking of children in the background, the clatter of pots and pans and running water.

“Are you doing the dishes?” It’s in your best interest to sidestep the question, her giving you the perfect opportunity to do so.

“I didn’t think you’d actually answer.”

The fingers of your other hand find the bridge of your nose, squeezing gently.

“I’ve been…busy. Work has been a lot.”

Liar sits just below your diaphragm, pendulous and dark.

“And how has living with Joel been?”

You should have known that she’d cut straight to the point. Like she always does.

“It’s fine, Kit. It’s been going really well, actually.” You can’t help but snap, the tranquil feeling of Joel’s confidence in you waning into annoyance at being treated like a child by your sister.

Beyond that, a significant part of you is determined to protect the strange, placid thing between you and Joel, whatever it is. Whatever it isn’t.

Kit sighs, but it’s soft. “I’m just calling to say hey. We haven’t talked in so long.”

“You’re calling to check up on me.”

“Is there something so wrong with that? I’m your sister.”

“Not my mother.”

You regret the words as soon as they pass your lips. You can feel her hurt seeping through the phone, from thousands of miles away. It cuts to your core.

“Kit, I didn’t-”

“You’re right. I’m not your mom. But you could at least be fucking kind to me, because I am all you’ve got.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Kit rarely — if ever — curses, and it hits you like a punch in the stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears immediately swimming in your line of vision. “You just, remind me of her so much sometimes, and…and I…”

“Have a lot of unresolved bullshit with her.”

“Yeah.”

She’s never said the words aloud before; it’s a subject the two of you had always avoided into adulthood. The crevasse between you, wide and gaping. Hearing her say it, acknowledge it, feels like sucking fresh air into your lungs after holding your breath underwater for too long.

“Daniel! Stop hitting your sister!” She suddenly calls out, and the moment crashes down at your feet.

“Look, um, I’m working. Let’s talk later this week, okay?” You sniffle, salty tears threatening to spill over. “Love you.”

You click to end the call before she can protest.

Rubbing your hands down your face, you wish you hadn’t even answered. Talking about her is never easy, but talking about her with Kit is something you’d danced around for years.

The phone begins to vibrate again, and you almost swipe to ignore it, assuming it’s Kit angrily calling back. But it’s Joel’s name splashed across the screen, and your heart thrums with familiarity. With relief.

“Hey, darlin’.” He says when you answer, the warm timbre of his voice washing everything else out of your head — Tommy and Kit and work included. “I’m thinkin’ about orderin’ pizza, that sound okay t’you?”

“Please, that sounds great.” And it does. Easy. Low maintenance. Comfortable. Exactly what you need. “But only if we can have beers, too.”

He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. “Read my mind, Peach.”

“You’re in the same exact place you were when I left,” Joel exclaims as he walks through the door, a rack of beer on his hip.

“Money never sleeps,” you reply, closing the laptop with finality and stifling a yawn.

“Maybe not, but you need to.”

“Mmm, pizza and beer first,” you hum, pushing yourself up from the table and joining him at the counter, his hands already tearing at the cardboard.

“Anythin’ excitin’ happen while I was out?” He holds a bottle out to you, fingers grazing yours as you take it. A thrill shoots down your spine, settling between your legs.

You lean back against the sink, drawing in a deep breath before tipping the beer back into your mouth. “Nothing I’d love to revisit at this moment.”

The only thing you’d love in this moment is to bask in Joel’s magic — let it wash over you, head to toe. Erase the terrible things you’d said to Kit. Be good again.

He quirks a brow at you, but doesn’t press. Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a pizza app pulled up. You shake your head, pushing it away.

“I will eat literally whatever you order.”

Shrugging, he drops his gaze to the screen, thumb flicking up to scroll through the menu slowly. “Hope y’actually mean that. Might try to order a gross pizza just to call y’on your bluff.”

45 minutes later, you’re both on the couch, beer and pizza in hand, an old movie playing in the background. One of your favorites — a sprawling mansion on the English coast, a haunted marriage, the shadow of a mysterious ex-wife, Rebecca. One of Hitchcock’s best, in your opinion.

Joel is happy to oblige, love a good black ‘n white slipping out of his otherwise full mouth.

As much as you love the film, you’re preoccupied with the way the evening sun casts the room in a golden glow, and how it seems to accentuate Joel’s innate softness. A softness you feel privileged to see, to have lavished on you. You want to drown in it — let his kindness corrupt you, let him untangle you.

Selfish fizzes at your fingertips, creeps up the span of your arms.

You shift your focus to the ropey muscles and tendons of Joel’s neck, gaze climbing up his strong jaw, covered in a smattering of salt and pepper scruff, to the long line of his aquiline nose. He balances his half-empty beer bottle on his knee, fingers wrapped around the neck of it.

And if you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, you don’t want to think about anything else. You don’t want to consider what it all means, yet. You want to just exist, here, with him. Watching the way he watches the movie, the way he gulps his beer down.

Hidden from the rest of the world.

Tucking your legs up underneath your body, you let your head loll on the cushion of the couch. You’d hide forever, if you could.

You stretch your arms above you, a sleepy, dopey grin splayed across your mouth — secure glowing fluorescent at the apex of your thighs. The movem ent draws his attention, as though he’d heard your pulse cry his name.

“Tired?” His voice thick, eyes tracing the soft shape of your arms as they reach skyward.

“Mhm. But I wanna finish the movie.”

A coy, sideways smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and he leans forward to place his pizza plate on the coffee table.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he drawls lowly, sloping back to slide his hand across your shoulders and wrap his fingers gently around your bicep to tug you closer. Turning, you meet him with wide eyes, glittering in the dark, your heart a trembling magic eight ball — are you sure this is okay?

And without words, he lets you know that it is. Lets you know that he wants you to.

Guided by his large open palm, you carefully curl into his side, dropping your head to his lap. You pull your legs up to your chest, both hands nestling narrowly under his thigh. His hand hovers over the soft curve of your hip, a barely-there touch that makes you ache.

You draw in a deliberate breath, holding it deep until he finally lets his hand drop to the exposed flesh between the band of your shorts and raised hem of your t-shirt.

A million sparks of light burst over your skin, fireworks exploding across the creamy silk of it. Your eyes flutter closed, hyper-aware of every tense of his fingers. The movie continues to play, but the whole world has fluctuated to both start and end in the exact place that he touches you.

As though there is no before this moment in time, only after.

Inevitable.

His hand slides up the length of your body, over the notches of your ribs, and higher still so that his fingers skim the delicate line of your neck. You can feel him relax further into the cushions of the couch, broad body molding to its shape, and you wonder if he’s concentrating on you as hard as you are on him.

In an answer to your unspoken question, he begins to tenderly stroke the spread of your hair, fanned down your shoulders and pooled in his lap.

“Y’know,” he mumbles, eyes still cast to the television, “we had breakfast and dinner together today.”

“We did,” you agree, a slight simper at your lips.

“‘N the world didn’t end, did it, Peach?” He angles his chin down to look at you at the same time you tilt your head to look up at him. He hasn’t stopped caressing the silky locks of your hair, and when you meet his eyes, he grasps a fistful of it gently. The pleasurepain of it makes your blood hot.

“No,” you whisper, “it didn’t.”

He leans closer by just a fraction, and you can’t help but be entranced by the shape of his mouth as his plush lips form the words that cross them.

“Want it to be like that everyday.”

He’s looking at you like there’s a peephole into your soul — a pinpoint view of the feral thing inside of you, on display for him. He’s looking at you like it excites him.

“Me too, Joel,” you breathe, the possibility a white static between you.

Not a single thing outside of the two of you exists in this moment. He prefers it that way, having you all to himself.

“Like you bein’ here, sweetheart.” There’s not a trace of hesitancy in his voice, but he says it like it’s a secret. “Like you workin’ at my kitchen table, and havin’ pizza and beer, and watchin’ old movies with you. Like wakin’ up knowin’ you’re here.”

He moves to trace the outline of your bottom lip with his thumb, and you’re suddenly looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, breathing stilted.

Closing the distance between you, he noses along the soft cut of your jaw, burying his face in your hair. He wants to drink down the way you gasp when he does; the sound burned into his brain, knowing it will come back to him when he’s stroking himself off later.

The elastic compulsion of his need so prominent, so inescapable, that the next words out of his mouth surprise even him.

“Go to sleep, Peach.” His mouth is on your ear, goosebumps rising in the wake of his breath over your skin. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

Taking one last deep breath of you in, he pulls back, resuming running his hand up and down the hills and valleys of your body.

The most that he’ll allow himself.

“I said some fucked up things to Kit today. She called while you were gone.”

The words fall out of your mouth, buried shame and anger spilling out with them. A confession.

Joel hums, hand still roaming, almost absentmindedly. It’s reassuring, a reminder of his words — you’re good.

“Siblings are…hard,” he suggests, emphasizing his point with a quick press of his fingers into your hip. “They get your best ‘n your worst, and don’t have a choice. It’s…safe to put the hard things on ‘em.”

“And bein’ the older one is…is…” he continues, pausing to clear his throat, voice tinged with something you can’t name, “a lot of responsibility. ‘N y’always wanna do right by them, y’know? Protect ‘em. But sometimes y’can’t. Hafta let ‘em figure it out on their own. Fuck up on their own.”

The silence that hangs in the air is charged with unsaid words. Unasked questions. Realities and consequences that neither of you are ready to explore the depths of. Guilt.

“Do you think I’m fucking up?”

“No, sweetheart. But I can’t say the same for other people.”

He squeezes your side again, letting his fingers linger just a touch longer than he had before. Dizziness snakes up your vertebrae, cloudy and disorienting. Desire. Want.

It’s a torrid kind of want, one that burrows under your skin and makes itself known. You think Joel can feel it, too, the way his touch roves over you — can feel it burn ing hot at the intersection of your skin and his.

But your brain pulls your body back, settles it to a low simmer. Reminds you to think instead of act.

And eventually, you fall asleep doing exactly that.

When you wake up later, sleep-drunk and unsure of the time, a too-bright infomercial in place of the movie, Joel is still there, just like he’d promised, head dropped to the flat of the couch, softly snoring. Chest steadily rising and falling, fingers curled into your flesh, firmly clasped just below your ribcage.

You don’t move an inch, afraid to wake him, and fall back asleep to the sound of his breathing.

A week passes. Then two weeks. And before you know it, summer winds into autumn, and the two of you slip into an easy routine — somewhat delicate, somewhat hesitant, but comfortable. And you feel silly, now, considering how naturally effortless it is. As though it could have always been this way.

And truly, that’s the hardest part to navigate. Drawing the line between what is, and what you want it to be.

Neither of you has brought up that night, at least to one another. But after you’ve gone to bed each night, you replay it in your mind, the feeling of his hands on you the image at the forefront of it; his name a whimper on your lips as your own fingers crawl beneath your panties.

Each night, wishing they were his.

It’s far too easy to overthink, second guess, dissect the way Joel’s fingers brush yours as you hand him his coffee, or the way his lips quirk up while he watches you struggle to assemble a bookshelf.

“Peach, please let me help. Promise it’ll be so much faster.”

Your indignant scowl, arms twisted over your chest in defiance. His soft laugh, deft hands picking up where yours had left off, piecing the cheap wood together without a hitch. Sitting back on his haunches, massive fingers tugging at your forearms to untangle them. The sticky warmth in his eyes when you let him.

“See? Coulda just asked me.”

Ensuring a soft landing, in every sense of the word.

The routine you’ve created is grounding, satisfying. Something to focus on aside from your intensely confusing feelings about Joel, something that pushes everything else to the back of your mind. Something to lose yourself in.

It’s not much — no caviar and lingerie and nightcaps, but it’s yours. An ardent, fulfilling thing that makes you feel steady on your feet. That makes the sharp, prodding fingers of your thoughts dissolve into a gleaming mist. Even the edges of the words in your head, the angry curvatures of your mother’s voice, bleed into nothing in the safety net of him.

The magic of it lies in its simplicity: taking turns cooking, laundry on Sundays, greetings with warm smiles even when you have to work late or spend entire evenings parked in front of your laptop. Some evenings he’ll go to the local dive with friends, some nights you’ll bury yourself in a book in your bed. The divine act of surviving.

The foundation of something, being constructed slowly from the ground up. Methodically. Each brick a meaningful gesture, word, moment.

You, being rebuilt from the ground up, at the skilled hands of Joel Miller.

A way back to yourself.

And it’s not like you don’t catch him watching you while you work, or let him drag your legs over his lap while your laptop perches precariously on your thighs on the couch. His hands are on you in some way or another more often than not, and you like it. You want it.

If only it were that easy.

If only it could be so uncomplicated — some semblance of normal.

But it’s not. And you know it never will be. So you take what you can get — reveling in the hours spent watching movies together, the errands run together, the shared jokes and spilled chinese takeout. Your own brand of normal.

And he tells you, often, how much he prefers this kind of normal — the one with you in it.

“You ‘n me, Peach, remember?”

The line a continuous, hazy blur — what is, and what you want it to be.

“Hi babe! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, so we should go out tonight? Thoughts? No, wait — don’t think about it, we should just driiiink about it! Love you!”

Ava’s chocolate-box trill fills the cabin of your car. Rain drizzles lazily down the windows as you click to replay the voicemail, the familiarity of her elongated words and upward inflection making your heart ache. It’s not the first time she’s invited you out since what you’ve come to refer to as the incident, but it’s the first time you’ve felt genuine remorse at turning her down.

But you will do so without hesitating, the grocery bags in the trunk of your car being the only thing on your agenda for the dreary Friday evening.

Typing out a quick text to Ava (sorry babe! raincheck!), your thumb lingers over the thread just below hers. Clicking it open again, the words on the screen send a languid fire rolling through your veins.

You: I’m cooking tonight

Joel Miller: whatever you want, peach

Whatever you want.

The possibility licks hot at every inch of you.

The kitchen has become your favorite place in the house. The heart of it, the life of it. You’ve memorized every nook and cranny, each knot and split of the woodwork. The contents of all drawers and cabinets, the haphazard organization of it all.

You move around the room fluidly, exuding a sense of belonging that’s not lost on Joel. Body propped against the doorframe, he watches as you pour and stir and salt — as comfortable, as confident, as he’s ever seen you.

A bittersweet conception stirs in him, the edges of it coming into soft-focus. Before it can fully form on the screen of his mind, grow roots in the cavern of his heart, he clears his throat to get your attention.

“Peach.”

“Hmm?” You twist just enough to catch his gaze, clocking the expectant look in his eyes. Immediately laying the spoon in your hand on the counter, you face your entire body to his, matching the open expression.

“Close your eyes.”

You obey without question, squeezing them shut and unfolding your hands in front of you like a prayer. There’s the sound of his feet and a quick hiss as Joel opens and closes the refrigerator, placing something cold and dewy in your open palms. Your fingers automatically close around the curves of it.

A wine bottle.

Dragging your bottom lip with your teeth, the corners of your mouth quirk up. Your lashes flutter open, gaze sweeping over the intricate label — a golden goddess, surrounded by ribbons of different shades of pink and blue, dotted with tiny golden star details. The shiny, beveled type spells out Prophecy just below the image.

“This is my favorite.” There’s awe in your voice. Reverence. It shines in your irises as you look up at Joel, who is posted up against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Was on sale.”

He breaks into a smirk, cheeks flushing as your sweet laugh fills the space between the two of you.

“Either way,” you respond, humor bleeding into the edges of your voice, eyes rolling fondly, “mind opening it up while I finish everything else?”

Raising his hand to retrieve the bottle, he’s quick to wrap his fingers around the arches of yours. He tugs once, firmly, pulling both you and the bottle close to his chest.

It rattles the air in your lungs, the tiniest oh fanning the base of his throat. He dips his head to meet your gaze, breath punching warm across the bridge of your nose and cheekbones. It’s dizzying, the closeness.

“How’d you know?”

You’re asking about the wine. There’s two inches of space separating you, and you’re asking about the wine.

He leans down further, the slope of his nose pulling across your cheek to graze the shell of your ear. His breathing is deep, measured, in control.

“You brought’t over for dinner once. Said the same thing — was your favorite. I just remembered, that’s all.” He says it casually, as if discussing the weather. As if knowing your favorite wine is the most natural thing in the world to him. “Wanted to get you somethin’ special.”

Whatever you want, Peach.

Your fingers draw swirls against the bottle, the heat from his leeching overtop of them. His grip tightens, words ringing in your ears. You can smell his shampoo, his cologne, him. The spicy warmth of it is mesmerizing — it infiltrates your senses, knocks you off balance.

The rest of the world feels a million miles away.

“Shit!” you hiss suddenly, wrenching your hands away and spinning to remove the saucepan from the flame. “I don’t want it to scorch.”

Joel hums amusedly, hands scrambling so the bottle doesn’t slip and shatter. You then hear him begin to drag open and slam closed multiple drawers, the clang and clatter of various utensils nearly drowning out the swearing under his breath.

“Where’s the damn—”

“Here.” Using your hand not balancing the saucepan, you stretch to retrieve the corkscrew buried in the drawer closest to you, watching through your lashes as he meets your extended grasp to take it.

His gaze lingers on you a split second, corners of his mouth downturned, brows drawn low. Analyzing. Memorizing. It doesn’t last long, him turning on his heel to retreat to the kitchen table.

Something about the way he does it pulls at you, a tangle that you can’t quite find the end of. It’s kindling to the fire smoldering low in your belly, the one you’re desperate to keep at bay — the one that roars back to life as Joel carefully pours your favorite wine into two plastic solo cups.

You can’t help but watch, the repetitive glug glug glug of the liquid into the cup matching the beat of the nearly-boiling blood in your veins. A sheepish smile overtakes his stoic facade, his eyes meeting yours across the room.

“Don’t have any wine glasses.” He nods to the plastic cups, a gentle laugh at the very edge of his words.

“Wouldn’t want one anyway,” you reply, mirroring the way his cheeks round out in a grin.

You’re just spooning the pasta and sauce onto plates when he materializes at your elbow, making a grab for both dishes.

“Uh! I don’t think so!” You click your tongue against your teeth teasingly, blocking his body with yours. “You go sit. I’ll bring them over.”

“You cooked,” he protests, smooth palm grazing your ribs in another attempt to bypass you.

“So you can clean, if you’re worried about it.” Flashing another brilliant sideways grin at him, you pick up a plate in each hand and nudge him backwards with your hip.

“Yes ma’am.” It’s a capitulation, a willingness to step back and let you lead him.

The notion strikes hot against you, nestles in the aching space between your thighs. It scales your stomach, gains speed in the span of your arms, makes your fingers tremble as you set the plates on the table.

“Cheers,” you mumble, scrabbling to pick up the flimsy cup, tipping it just so in his direction before taking a sizable gulp.

As he parallels your action in bringing the wine to his mouth, you wonder if there will ever be a time when he doesn’t trigger the roiling heat in your veins.

Then again, you think, maybe you want him to stoke that in you — always.

Fingers delicate around the body of your just-refilled red solo, you make your way from the kitchen to the couch, where Joel is slouched back, legs parted. It’s impossible not to drag your eyes across the muscled heft of his thighs, to not linger on the way his jeans stretch to accommodate him. His heavy hands rest on the bulk of them, fingers spread languidly.

While you watch him, he’s watching you. You can tell by the way his digits flex and relax, callused pads pulling patterned lines over denim. Keeping his composure, despite the way the wine ignites him. Despite the way you ignite him.

The lights in the room are low, the comforting drum of fat raindrops on the glass panes of the window constant. Your limbs feel loose, a combination of Joel and the wine. There’s a record on low in the background, but you don’t know who. You’d settled on the cushions while he’d taken the shiny disc out of the dust jacket gently, dropped the needle softly, with the most care you’d ever seen, and let the smooth rhythm of it fill the room.

“You gonna cook like that more often?” It’s casual, airy. As if the walls of the room aren’t closing in on the two of you, pushing you nearer and nearer to him.

Inescapable.

You giggle — you fucking giggle — stepping over him to curl back into your place on the couch.

“If you’ll let me.”

He scoffs, turning his body to face you. “Let you?”

You smile dreamily, looking up at him through your lashes. He’s close enough that you can climb over him, bracket his thighs with yours, take his hands and drag them up the length of your body.

There’s no voice in the back of your head telling you not to, for once. No whispers admonishing you, reminding you that you’re wicked and worthless and unlovable.

So when he repeats himself, asking “let you?” in a thick voice, you do.

Your body moves before your brain has time to react — you throw one leg over his lap, hands grasping for purchase on the back of the couch for balance, situating your thighs on the outside of his. It’s a snug fit, one that opens your hips wide, the stinging stretch of it pushing you forward. You relax your core over his, the zipper of his jeans biting into the ice-cream flesh of your inner thigh.

And when your brain finally does catch up, all you can feel are his big palms cupped around the backs of your thighs, kneading the exposed flesh there. His fingertips barely graze beneath the hems of your sleep shorts, and you’re all too-aware of how close they are to your center.

There’s a satisfied hum on his lips, a knowing growl in his throat. A silent admission of how long he’s waited for you. A confession of a different kind of hunger, a kind with legs and buoyancy.

His eyes burn into yours — no traces of hesitancy, surprise, guilt woven into the golden gleam of them.

Twin masks slipping at the same time. Resolve stretched to snapping, satisfaction within tasting distance as you grind down into him — just once, desperation sliding down your spine.

“You can have whatever you want, Peach.” His voice is low, a wanton whisper that punches somewhere near your throat.

Those words again.

Whatever you want.

You’re looking down at him, his irises shining with earnestness, and you can’t help but raise your hand from the couch to card through his thick waves. But he catches your wrist before you can, bringing it down to the heat of his mouth to press his lips to your open palm without breaking his searing gaze.

You moan. At least, you think you do, though it’s a quiet, broken thing. A whine. A plea.

His thumb swipes back and forth over your wrist, your hand small in his grip. You watch through hooded eyes as he lowers it to the crotch of his jeans, your breath catching in the cavern of your chest as you feel him for the first time.

It’s somewhat surreal — the thickness of his hard cock in your palm, separated only by the material of his pants. Every fantasy you’ve harbored about him unwrapped at the tips of your fingers, his hand pressing yours into him, unforgiving and firm.

His other hand swallows the curve of your thigh, chases up your side to grasp at your hip, dragging your cunt over him. He drops his head back, repeating the action, the ropes of muscle in his neck pulled taut as he bites back a groan.

Your head is swimming — Joel’s heady scent and bruising touch combined with the wine makes everything feel soft-focus and shimmery, like a dream. You cant your hips again, focusing on the way his jaw ticks when you do, lost in watching the way his body responds to yours.

The reality of it sits heavy between the place his skin meets yours — breaths mingling as a cry of finally, finally, finally. It consumes you both in such a way that neither of you hear a key turning in the lock, the door slamming open, or heavy boots in the entryway.

It’s not until he speaks that both you and Joel snap your heads in his direction, chests heaving, hands climbing. Caught.

“Guess it’s true, huh? Y’really are enjoyin’ my sloppy seconds.”

[dabisqueen]

Life for Sale

Dabi x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: roughly 7.8K (sorry!!!)

⇢ plot: being forced to work as a sex worker for the Yakuza feels like hell on earth. Until one day a dark haired man with beautiful azure eyes steps into your room.

⚠️This fic contains dark content and might be triggering. Mind the warnings!⚠️

⇢ warnings: 18+, kidnapping, sex work, loss of virginity, n0ncon, violence against reader (slapping, biting, knife play), mentions of blood, fellatio (m receiving), stepcest, fingering, creampie, orgasm, use of fire quirk, slight g0re, angst, hurt, fluff (happy ending)

⇢ Personal note: this is my submission for the "1-(800)-ASS-FOR-CASH ! Collab" hosted by @/killsaki. With all that happened lately in my life, undergoing surgery and experiencing the paralyzing feeling of not having control over my own body, this work reflects a lot of those emotions. It's dark, yes. But bear with me: Dabi is a sweetheart and we have a happy ending!

After he's done, you sit up and offer to clean him. As usual, he accepts the invitation and you stick out your tongue, licking and lapping at his now flaccid member until all of his cum is swallowed by you. His face is flushed when he mutters some kind of a thank you, stuffing himself back in his pants and zipping it up.

Turning to grab his coat, he leaves out the door, stopping once to nod at you in approval.

Another satisfied customer.

Looking at the clock you sigh. You only have ten minutes to clean yourself up and get ready, before the next client steps through the door. Ringing the bell for the maids to change the sheets, you hurry off into the bathroom to take a quick shower.

[...]

With you and your mother being quirkless, your life turned rough when your dad passed away, with no one interested in taking you both in.

Not until your stepdad came into play, marrying your mom after a short courtship. He had money, which was a much needed blessing. Yet he never revealed details about where it came from.

With you moving into his house, the harassment started. It was subtle at first - lingering looks, the affectionate brush of his hand over your back, the way he insisted that you called him "Dad". But then it became increasingly intrusive, with him entering the bathroom while you showered, your panties going missing and you having to leave your bedroom door open at all times. Your mom, oblivious to his prurient behavior and heavily dependent on him, kept ignoring your complaints, even forbidding you to address it.

And then one night, when your mom was already asleep, you were startled awake by noises downstairs. Noises that you couldn't quite allocate. So you got out of bed to take a look.

Halfway down the stairs you froze in place. A woman you didn't know nor recognized, was propped up against the wall, her dress scrunched up to her belly, your stepdad buried deep inside her. He turned his head to smirk at you, dragging his member slowly in and out of her wet cunt. Still frozen in place your breathing picked up, dizziness overcoming you.

"Now that you know my dirty little secret." He didn't pause but continued to fuck her, while you looked on in shock, "How about you becoming my dirty little secret?"

And while he kept fucking her, he reached into his pockets to take out his phone. Dialing a number he held it up to his ears, his eyes not once leaving yours when he rasped, "Hey boss, I have a little proposition for you…"

[...]

You try to hide it, you do. One of your regulars did it again, against your will - binding your arms and then sucking a bruise while you couldn't do anything about it.

Of course, it doesn't not go unnoticed by your boss.

His palm comes down hard on your cheek. It makes your vision blur as the hot stinging pain spreads across your face and you taste copper in your mouth.

"I said no marks on your body!" you hear him growl.

"Sir, I told him not to–" you try to defend yourself.

"I don't care!" He glares at you from above. "You have a job to do."

"Yes sir." You bow your head in defeat, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of your mouth.

Your boss stands there and takes you in. He doesn't speak, just observes your submissive form. Then he sighs and cocks his head.

"I really like you." His gaze is soft, he's almost sweet. "You're the best, highest-earning – and I really don't want to hurt you, you got that?"

You silently nod, a single tear breaking loose and trailing down your cheek. A sick twisted sense of pride fills you at his words.

"He's one of our best paying clients." His voice was soft but stern, "It's your job not to get marks on your body, not his."

You nod again.

"If I see one more mark on you," pulling out an intricately engraved pocket knife, he flips it in his palm, "I have no other choice than to make you regret it."

"Yes sir," you repeat again and he seems satisfied, putting the knife back in his pocket.

"And now get ready, the clients are waiting…" Your boss turns before throwing one last glance at you with his golden slithered eyes.

Strutting through the door he disappears and you wipe away the tears from your eyes. Fixing your makeup and concealing the bite mark as best as you can, you sit down obediently on the bed again, just in time for the door to open.

[...]

A tall, raven-haired man with a patchwork face, dressed all in black and a white shirt struts into the room, hands stuffed nonchalantly into his pockets.

The door falls shut behind him and silence takes over, as he takes you in with what seems a bored expression.

Your gaze takes in his unique appearance.

It's not like anything could scare you away, you've had many types of men - or hybrid - as clients so far and nothing puts you off anymore.

But this one is different. He is genuinely handsome. His face is as chiseled as a museum statue and his heavy lidded eyes are of mesmerizing turquoise color.

"How can I service you today?" you ask politely, looking up at him while you kneel on the floor in the accepting position.

"Hm, dunno," he drawls, strutting past you to flop down on the bed, legs lazily spread. "I'm here 'cause Sako took me."

His mesmerizing azure eyes roam the spartanly furnished room before meeting yours. You stand up silently and walk over to him, sliding your leg over his to settle in his crotch.

"Well, you paid for the whole package so let's start," you breathe, leaning in further.

You can't deny that he's even more handsome this close, kindling an unknown rising desire in your nether regions.

His smirk grows wide when you start gyrating your hips, grinding down against his crotch, feeling a bulge starting to grow between his legs. Leaning back on his hands, he watches intently as you rake your hands up your body, over your breasts to squeeze them, tilting your head to give him a coy smile.

The way he stares back at you with hooded eyes and a smirk on his lips makes you want to kiss him. But unless it's requested you don't ever kiss clients.

His eyes turn darker, doing things to you that you can't explain and his hand rises to cup your jaw, pulling your face up to his. This close you just see his eyes, blue like the ocean and you can't help but get lost in them.

"Lay down and lean against the wall," he speaks with a sultry, husky voice, his lips brushing over yours and for a second your brain stops functioning, “Can you do that for me?”

There is a pause before he leans forward and closes the gap, his mouth pressing against yours. You gasp against his mouth, his tongue grazing your bottom lip and you open obediently.

You've been kissed before, but it has always been desperate on your clients behalf. Desperate and sloppy. This isn't that. This is slow and deliberate. Like he knows that each second his mouth is on yours, his tongue touches yours, it makes you want to squirm. And you do.

Just as fast as it happened it is gone again and your lips part. Just then do you notice how your breathing has hitched, your eyes have fluttered shut.

He chuckles, seeing the desperate state you are in. With a slight pat on your buttcheek he nudges towards the wall and you follow his orders, crawling off his lap. Sliding over to the wall, you rest your back against it, spreading your legs in anticipation.

Much to your confusion though, the handsome stranger just nestles in between your thighs, his back resting against your chest.

Tilting his head back to look at you from under raven bangs he says, "Go by Dabi. And now tell me about yourself…"

[...]

Just a day ago, you had caught your step dad with another woman and were still shaken. Reluctantly, you were on your way home to your mom when a van stopped beside you and several men jumped out to grab you. Your screams were muffled by a gag stuffed into your mouth while you struggled to break free. But they were much stronger than you, the tattoos covering their body speaking for their ruthlessness and brutality and you were pulled into the van, kicking legs easily restrained.

They forced a blindfold over your eyes, strong arms holding you in place as the car started moving.

After arriving at your destination, you were dragged into a room and forced down onto your knees. The blindfold was ripped off your face and bright light flooded your vision. You flinched instinctively and had to blink a few times, getting adjusted to the spotlight shining into your face in the otherwise pitch-black space.

A man stood above you, his golden half-lidded eyes coldly looking down at you. His auburn hair was kept short, intricate tattoos peeking out from underneath a black shirt with a white tie.

He studied you, while you gathered all your courage and spoke, "This must be a mistake, please let me g—"

A searing pain shot through your cheek where he slapped you across your face. You cried out and again a hand came down on the other cheek, making your head jerk violently to the side.

You started sobbing, snot and tears running down your face, never been hit before, fighting with the urge to vomit.

A cold, dark voice spoke, "Who gave you permission to speak?"

You stayed down, head slumped on your chest as the pain slowly numbed, your stomach still in turmoil. You gave in, then, knowing you didn't stand a chance against him. Against them.

A hand roughly yanked you up by your arm and you stood on trembling legs, gaze still glued to the ground.

There were footsteps rounding you as the man in black took you in.

"And she's a confirmed virgin?" His head turned towards the shadows in the dark.

"Yes, Sir." The low timbre of a man replied back, "We double checked with him."

"I see. He's trustworthy." He stopped, extending his hand to run over your soft hair, "Get her cleaned up and the auction ready, she'll bring in a lot of money."

And with that he turned and walked off into the darkness, leaving you to face your new life in the underground world of the Yakuza.

[...]

Dabi's visits become more frequent – and each time you sit down on the bed and talk. Running your fingers through his hair, you admired the softness of his raven spikes, your gaze lingering on his lips, softer than the softest thing you can think of, yearning for the next gentle, longing kisses you will exchange.

He always seems to relax around you, sometimes almost falling asleep in your lap.

The pieces of your heart that have been struggling to fit into this world become so quiet when cuddling with him; it is as if they find peace with him. And you start feeling safe in his arms.

He snuggles up against you, back to chest, your heartbeat slowly adjusting to his, as if your bodies react simultaneously to each other's warm touch.

And you catch yourself growing fond of his visits.

He seems to feel the same, gracing you with small tokens of affection, sometimes Mochi or Dora Yaki, other times Melonpan or fresh strawberries. Always something that leaves nothing but a hint of sweetness on your lips – easily mistaken by other clients as lipstick flavor.

They are subtle gestures, but the side glances he is giving you, the way his cheeks dust pink when you caress his skin don't go unnoticed. And there's the growing feeling of warmth inside of you, a rising desire and longing you've never felt before.

[...]

Never had you imagined losing your virginity this way, in a lust house, being auctioned off like some animal to the highest paying bidder. Who was on top of your naked body right now, buried deep inside of you, having robbed you so easily of your purity.

His hot breath fanned your face, making you turn your head to avoid his labored panting. A droplet of sweat broke loose and dripped onto your face. You whimpered, trying to wrench your head away as the strong salty and musky liquid slipped past your lips and spread across your tongue.

Your mind was blank as you lay limp under his large body, the fat of his sweat-coated skin dwarfing you under him.

Your sobs mixed with his deep grunts as you noticed his movements becoming erratic until he eventually stopped, his cock twitching as it unloaded its sticky load inside of you.

You stayed like this, another drop of sweat falling onto your skin and slipping past your lips as he grunted and panted heavily, still cumming inside of you.

Eventually, he slid out of you and stood up, wiping himself off with the soft towels provided before he got dressed again in his business suit.

Without even granting you a look he grabbed his suitcase and stepped out the door, leaving you laying on the sheets, thin rivulets of pink cum dripping down your swollen folds and onto the sheets below.

[...]

Faux kindness spreads across his face as his fingers pump in and out of your throat. Replacing them with his girth, you whimper when he thrusts into you with one strong move. Huffing, he pulls out at an agonizing pace only to slide his length back into you. You don't gag when his length slips past the resistance in the back of your throat. No, you relax and let him toy with you.

Because it's a game you both play.

He runs a falsely sweet thumb across your cheek, wiping away the tears sitting there. Your eyes flit up to look at him from under your thick wet lashes, knowing he likes that.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, licking over his lips. “You always look so good like this.”

Pressing his hips forward, he mercilessly fucks into your mouth, pushing the thickest bit of his cock into your throat over and over again.

You need him to finish soon, you want him to, so you hollow your cheeks, making him moan even louder and dig his fingers into your hair.

"I love you so much, you know that?" Seeing the tears run freely down your cheeks now makes him thrust forward even harder. "My precious little girl…"

You nod, taking him over and over again, the wet slap of his constant thrusting filling the otherwise quiet room.

Time blurs along with your vision but then you feel his thrusts becoming more erratic, turning into a rough grinding in your mouth.

When he cums, the hot salty liquid fills your mouth and you dont swallow. And when he squeezes the final drop out of his tip and pulls out, you open your mouth, showing the pearly cream sitting on your tongue and teeth.

He gently strokes your cheeks and you actually make out a glint of pride in his eyes before he orders, "Swallow."

And you do, feeling the warmth slide down your throat and filling your tummy.

"You're always such a good girl for me," he tucks himself away, and grabs your chin, lifting it for your eyes to meet, "You know that, right?"

"Yes." You obediently answer, as always, a forced smile spreading across your face, "Dad."

It's a game. At least that's what you tell yourself.

[...]

"I want to do something different today," Dabi's low rumbling voice sounds and he catches your wrist, right when you are about to crawl onto the bed as usual.

Confusion is written in your face when you turn towards him. Without saying a word, his palm presses against your chest, pushing you down onto the mattress. You let him, a tingly feeling of tentative excitement spreading in your lower belly.

His coat lays on the floor already, right next to his boots. Just wearing his shirt and stitched pants, he crouches over you.

Your chest is heaving with anticipation and you bite your lower lip, trying to withstand his intense turquoise gaze. And his lips pull up into a smirk, seeing you flustered beneath him.

You stay like that, his warm breath on your lips, his smokey scent surrounding you like a warm blanket. It's just you and him, as if nothing else existed around you.

Eventually, he breaks the silence.

"Undress," are his simple words as he sits back on his heels, the corners of his lips pulled up into a boyish grin.

And you do, one by one your pieces of clothing pile carelessly on the floor next to the bed, like unwanted skin shedded.

He hums in approval as you lay on your back, your plush breasts spilling off to the side, your mound freshly shaven.

His hand extends and hovers over your belly, a warmth emanating from it that is mirroring the one spreading in your core.

"Dabi…" you start.

But he interrupts, tutting quietly, "Shush, just don't do anything…"

Leaning over you, his lips feel like velvet as he kisses yours, slowly moving to your neck, across your right collarbone, and down to your breast. Your nipples grow taut, and your toes curl at the sensation when he kisses and sucks the right bud, finishing with a swirl of his tongue.

Moving across your valley to repeat the same with your other breast, he continues his attention as he places a trail of kisses and nibbles along your chest.

And then his hand makes contact with your skin and a shudder crawls up your spine. You can't help a soft gasp from spilling from your lips and he chuckles, low and deep.

He starts stroking your skin, along your breasts, cupping them and weighing their heaviness in his palms.

He continues caressing your body and you can't help your eyes from fluttering shut, this kind of affection so foreign to you.

Your body is on fire by now, an embarrassing dampness spreading between your thighs and wetting the sheets below.

Dabi reaches your mound and cupping it, you jolt, your eyes flying open. His eyes are dark, filled with lust as he takes you in. Somehow he's managed to take his shirt off and you gasp when you see the scarred tissue spreading across his abdomen.

You don't speak. There's no need.

He places a chaste kiss on your mound and then down your sensitive inner thigh, starting to kiss them. It kind of disappoints you when he spares your needy cunt, with you being beyond wet and dripping with need.

And then his tongue licks over your clit and you almost lift off the bed, a jolt of pleasure darting through you. His gaze never leaves yours, monitoring your reactions as he continues sucking and lapping at your clit, the tips of his fingers just lightly grazing your folds.

You inhale and exhale, knowing that you've never wanted anything more than this and it surprises you when your hips move on its own, pressing forward against his fingers.

"So needy," he remarks against your hot swollen nub.

"Dabi, I need–" you start, and he sighs a long, "I know…"

A fire ignites within his eyes as he pushes in and you didn't know that you are capable of feeling this way. His strong fingers slide in and curl up, and your back arches on its own again. It is unlike anything you've ever experienced, a heat flowing through you as he massages your inner walls with his digits.

While he continues to lap at your clit, you can't control your body, the heat turning all consuming, your legs shaking uncontrollably. You grip the bed sheets, overcome with sensations you've never felt before — and then an orgasm surges from your core. You gasp at its intensity, helpless as your muscles twitch and convulse around his digits. But he doesn't stop, his tongue continuing to circle your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

He helps you through your climax and then your body flops limp onto the bed. Your mind is foggy, floating in the clouds, your whole body prickles with heat and desire when Dabi pulls his fingers out and licks them clean.

"Damn, you taste delicious–" he rasps before sitting on his heels to pull down his pants.

You open your hazy eyes and bite your lip as his cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen. It was thick, hard, and—your mouth parted. It was pierced.

Leaning back over you, his cock nestled at the entrance to your core. His bulging arms support his weight on either side of your head and you're looking into each other’s eyes.

He kisses you, deep, with passion and longing and through the haze of your first orgasm you feel a new heat starting to kindle in your core. Dabi pulls from you and looks deep into your eyes, as if he's searching for something.

You look into his eyes and there is something so mesmerizing in the way that he looks at you. You've never seen any man look at you in such a way.

"Are you ready?" he asks and you nod, your heart melting, never having wanted anything more in your life.

Cause no one has ever asked before.

He leans in and kisses you with a gentle touch, before he pushes his hips forward. You moan as the thick head forces your folds apart and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from wincing as your cunt makes way for his cock.

It continues to slide inside, inch by delicious inch, one barbell after another. You can feel your inner walls give way to his impressive girth and exhale when he stops halfway in, giving you time to adjust. Nibbling on your skin and pressing soft kisses against your neck, he then gently pulls his hips back only to slide back into you.

The drag of his cock against your walls has you arching into him as he lifts your legs to lay on his wide shoulders, pulling back out just to thrust in again, his cock beginning to pump in a smooth motion.

Suddenly, Dabi shifts, adjusting himself before starting to drive his hips into yours with fervor, watching you intently for any reaction.

And you give it to him– his tip suddenly brushes up against a spot that has your eyes fly open, a lewd moan escaping your lips.

"There it is." Dabi smirks as his thrusts are getting a little harder, making sure each one slams against the spot that makes you desperately latch onto him and sob out loud.

"That good, huh?" he laughs. But it's genuine.

You lose your ability to speak, head lolling back and your moans heighten as you feel yourself reaching your climax quickly.

He leans down, pulling you into a mating press as his lips melt against yours before latching onto your swollen nipple and starting to suck.

“Oh…fuck…oh…fuck…” you sob and whimper, your body trembling and shaking all over as you writhe on the bed beneath him.

And then without a warning, a thunderous orgasm shudders through your body, stripping you from all rational thoughts. Your walls clamp down on Dabi's cock as you come hard, screaming his name over and over again.

His pace quickens as you continue to twitch around him and then he stutters, a breathy groan leaving his mismatched lips. He bottoms out inside you, his tip kissing your cervix and then his cock pumps warm creamy cum into you, flooding your pussy.

It forces your climax to resurface, making you continue to tremble in his hold. You keep milking him for every drop of fluid, writhing against his hold in ecstasy, constant pulses of pleasure shooting through your body.

You don't know how long you stay like this, with him buried deep inside of you, his head nestled against your soft skin. You gently brush your hands over his back, enjoying the bliss that is still present in your body.

"Dabi?" You finally find your voice again and speak.

He hums in response, pressing a gentle kiss against your still erect nipple. You breathe in his scent while caressing his back and his arms tighten around your body and pull you closer.

"It's time–" you urge, seeing the progress of time on the clock.

"No it's not," he mumbles against your breast, shifting slightly without pulling out. "I paid for the entire night…"

[...]

The feeling of cool water running over your heated skin feels like a relief, like jumping into the waves of the ocean after a hot day in the desert.

Dabi left a while ago, as he saw it fit for you to have the night off, providing you with ample time to refresh yourself and rest.

You close your eyes, your arms circling your waist, the feeling of the first orgasm in your life still lingering inside of you. Visions of Dabi appear before your closed eyes and you feel a pang in your heart, your belly fluttering at the thought of him. He surrounds and envelops you, filling your mind with only one thought. Him.

As you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in a towel, you proceed to dry your hair. After applying the required makeup, you click the light off and step through the bathroom door only to stop dead in your tracks.

Your boss and another man with thin, dark eyes and pale chin-length hair stand in the room. Your boss turns to look at you, eyes dark and cold.

"I've noticed you've been enjoying yourself lately…" He cocks his head, a faux smile spreading across his face.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." You smooth down your towel in an attempt to hide your trembling hands.

Your boss notices though and takes a step towards you, "You know the punishment for lying, right?"

You nod, tentatively, as he steps closer, his cold gaze never leaving yours.

"Are you sure you're not hiding anything from me?" he snarls. "Money, food or— gifts?"

You shake your head again. And then you see it. The small flask hiding in his hands. The one that Dabi gave you a while ago. One with a perfume in it that you are only to wear when he visits. It has been your little secret, and he only gave it to you with your promise of keeping it safe and hidden. Yet apparently, nothing can be kept a secret from your boss.

Your breath hitches as you realize that you have lost.

"I'll go easy on you." Your boss's words are smooth like honey. "I don't want to hurt you more than you deserve…"

You swallow and your gaze drops to the floor and you give in, then.

"On the bed," your boss orders and you follow, letting the towel drop to the floor, hoping to get off lightly as you kneel on the mattress.

The pale haired man kicks off his shoes and turns to nod to his boss before unbuckling his belt. His pants pool on the floor and he kicks them off before taking his place, kneeling behind you.

"Ass up!" He slides an arm under your waist, propping you further up.

You wince when his palm comes down on your butt cheek, painting it an angry red shade. His other hand wraps tightly around the nape of your neck, pressing your face into the fabric.

All fight drains from you, the only thing you hear is the rushing of blood in your ears.

"You know I have to do this, right," your boss drawls, standing off to the side, watching you. "You deserve this."

You manage to nod as another hand slaps across your butt cheek.

Palming his erect cock in his palm, the pale haired man slides it up and down your folds, selecting the bit of wetness on his tip. And then, without a warning, he slams his hips forward, breaching your entrance and sheathing you on his dick.

You cry out, your body consumed by searing pain that slices up your spine into your brain. Fresh hot tears burn at the corners of your eyes and you try to relieve your agony by pulling away from him.

"Stop squirming, whore," he growls as he starts moving, impaling you onto his thick length over and over again. "This is what you're made for."

Continuing at an even, hard pace, you're done pretending, nails digging into the sheets. Your tears and drool soak into the soft material pressed against your face.

"She's such a good fuck," he coos, grabbing your hips to pull out and slam into you again with full force. "I heard she is – but this is amazing, man."

His pace turns brutal and you claw into the sheet, the ache in your core becoming unbearable while your boss watches on, leaning against the wall. The sheet is soaked with your spit and tears, as his friend keeps fucking mercilessly into you.

You can distantly feel the man's thrusts becoming more erratic. They turn into a rough grinding in your cunt and it doesn't take long for him to stutter as he nears his high, a frothy white ring adorning the base of his cock as he grunts, "Ah shit, take it all."

He leans forward, canines sinking into the soft flesh of your shoulder as he spills his seed inside of you, marking you. Inside and out.

You start thrashing in his hold, realizing what is happening and try to wiggle away. But his tight grip on you is relentless, as he sinks his teeth deeper into your skin, until blood draws and trickles down your shoulder.

Then his teeth are gone as he straightens up and pulls out. You collapse forward onto the mattress, your used body sprawled out on the sheet, a large bloody bite mark blooming on your shoulder.

"Sorry boss," the pale haired man wipes his mouth and grins, getting dressed again, "Couldn't control myself…"

Your boss closes his eyes and sighs. Kicking off the wall, he walks over to you and squats next to the bed, inspecting the wound. Your hazy, red eyes meet his, panic written in them.

"Please, boss–" you whimper and he reaches out to draw a knuckle over your cheek with false care.

"What did I tell you about leaving marks?" he says, though not without sarcasm dripping from his tone and you wince, "You know what this means, right?"

"P-please boss," there's panic in your voice as you try to get up, "It was a mistake, I p-promise…"

"You've been making too many mistakes." Your boss pulls the knife from his pockets. "You need to learn a lesson."

You start sobbing and he tuts quietly as he stands up again, "Now, be good and spread your legs."

The other man kneels down next to you, bed sinking in as he rolls you over on your back, securing your arms over your head. Shaking violently with fear, you press your thighs together when you hear the sound of the blade of a knife expanding.

"Open up," your boss coos and you close your eyes, "If you want me to go easy on you."

Hesitating a second you sob loudly before letting your legs fall to the side.

[...]

As Dabi pulls you closer you brace yourself for the entry. Even though he is gentle, you feel it. Each and every barbell entering makes tears spring to your eyes, and you turn your head, trying to hide your pain stricken face.

When he's halfway in, he stills and you exhale shakily, just noticing how you had held your breath.

"What's wrong?" Dabi's smoldering turquoise eyes skit to yours, searching for an answer.

"N-Nothing," you mutter but can't suppress the shakiness in your voice.

"I'm asking again," Dabi speaks, this time deeper, more concerned, "What's wrong?"

You don't answer, the burn in your core is blinding, and you bite your lips not to whimper.

You feel his weight shift and a small cry breaks free before you feel a palm cupping your face and slowly turning your gaze to meet his.

His azure eyes search your face and stop at the sight of your trembling lower lip, the salty tears sitting in your lashes. Within a second he pulls out of you and you know what's about to come.

"Shit, you're bleeding!" His palms rest on your inner thighs, seeing a thin rivulet of blood trickling down your ass. "Was I too rough?"

You shake your head, still not meeting his gaze.

"Talk to me!" His expression is strained, his brows knitting with worry. "Why are you–"

And then he stops, realization hitting hard. His nimble fingers slide forward, towards your entrance.

"Dabi don't, please–" you beg but he ignores you.

Slowly spreading your folds he sharply inhales at the sight.

"Who did this?" he growls dangerously, turquoise eyes flashing dangerously at you. "I want you to tell me."

Pressing your lips together you shake your head.

"Goddammit, tell me who did this to you," his tone becomes more threatening, "You know I'm not good at this emotional stuff- but you can trust me!"

You hesitate a moment but then shake your head, too much in fear over what your boss might do to you if he finds out.

"Tell me, now!" His voice is full of scorn, a weird eerie light emergency emanating from his palms, "You're safe with me!"

Not being used to his harsh tone, you wince, "Dabi, he's too powerful, I–"

His eyes rage with fury, it's just a moment, a moment in which you see hurt in his eyes. Hurt, and worry for you.

And then he jumps to his feet.

"Fuck this shit…" Pulling his pants back up he grabs his boots and coat, "Fuck it if you don't trust me…"

"Dabi, wait, it's not like that!" You prop yourself up, a hand reaching out for him.

But all you see is his black coat flapping behind him as he disappears out the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

And you break down and cry.

[...]

One hand grips your head while the other leisurely rests on his hips as a deep and raw moan rises up his throat. Your eyes, wet with ruined mascara, flicker up to his immediately from where you are on your knees, sucking his dick into the back of your throat.

"You're my little girl – daddy’s little girl, right?" the low timbre of his voice fills your ears.

You only manage to nod in response and his speed picks up, fucking your throat, with his hand holding your head in a tight grip.

He's close, you can feel it and you brace yourself to take his load when all of a sudden the door gets kicked open and you choke around his length.

"What the–" the man manages to say before he is ripped from you and thrown to the floor, his pants puddling between his ankles, his erect cock bouncing against his abdomen upon impact.

"Did you cut her?" Dabi growls, hovering over the man crouching on the floor.

"Who do you think you are, barging in here just like that?" The man scrambles to his feet, pulling up his pants and buckling them up, his face contorted with anger.

"I asked you a goddamn question!" There's flaming fury in his eyes and he raises his hand, that eerie blue light emanating from his palm again.

Jumping to your feet you stumble towards him, your hand wrapping over his, tiny compared to his. "Dabi, please don't!"

His cold eyes snap, burning into yours, "Give me a good reason why I shouldn't."

The man watches the scene with a pleased grin spreading across his face.

"Dabi, he's…" But you can't say it, not here, not now.

"Go on, sweetheart," the man says, his grin growing wider. "Tell him who I am…"

"Fuck off–" Dabi growls, throwing the man a dark look, "Or otherwise I might forget myself."

"Dabi–" you plead, but he doesn't budge, "Just– just leave, ok?"

"Give me a reason why I should!" he growls again, "Who is he?"

You know that this game is set for you to lose no matter what you say. It's always been like that.

"He's—" the next words come out almost as a whisper as your gaze drops to the floor in defeat, "He's my stepdad."

"What the fuck?" Dabi sucks in his breath, disgust written on his face.

In the following silence there's only coldness. And it makes you shudder even though the room is warm. Your stepdad shifts his weight and crosses his arms in front of his chest, his grin growing wider by the second.

"This is sick. And you're still protecting him ?" Dabi's face is grave as he turns to stare at you for a long moment.

You don't answer. You're torn between choosing Dabi, yet too scared of what your boss might do to you. He has connections, he will come after you and hurt you. Or even kill you.

You lower your head and press your lips to a thin line, tears gathering at your lash line as your fists curl into balls, nails digging painfully deep into the flesh of your palm.

Silence engulfs you. Thick, suffocating silence.

"I see…" Dabi finally says, voice empty.

Turning on the spot, he exits the room, leaving you with tears streaming down your face. You feel your stepdad approach and grab your shoulders to turn you around. Then he beats his entire weight onto your shoulders, making your legs buckle and you sink to your knees.

"Now, where did we leave off?" he mocks, opening his pants, taking his half hard member in his palm and presenting it to you.

And you obediently open your mouth for him to slide his now twitching cock inside.

[...]

Game over.

That's all that comes to your mind when the men come in at night, dragging you roughly off the bed, making you scream out in agony.

A gag is stuffed in your mouth before your arms are tied up behind your back and a blindfold pulled over your eyes.

They shove you outside, the frigid air washing like ice over your exposed skin. Your breath rises in puffs from your nose, as you tremble in the cold, with nothing on your body but your underwear.

And then you're forced to a stop, the man who's holding you tightens his grip while you whimper at the pain shooting up your arm. Your head nervously jerks up as steps approach and come to a halt right in front of you.

Several moments of silence follow, and you shiver, the cold creeping into your flesh, your hands starting to lose their feeling.

"What were you thinking," the unmistakable voice of your boss suddenly sounds through the night, "Letting some lowlife scare our best client, my best man, like that?"

You want to explain what happened, beg him for mercy. Instead, the gag in your mouth swallows your sobs as fear creeps up your spine as the first drop of salty liquid runs down your cheek.

"You know I really like you, I hate doing this." His voice sounds again, it's the same caring voice that spoke so often to you, "But this is what you get for upsetting me."

He sighs and another shiver runs up your spine. Then he steps closer and you can feel the heat radiating off his body right in front of you.

"You started off so promising–" You feel a knuckle caressing your cheek, wiping away the tears that leave cold streaks down your face.

Then he moves and whispers, so close that you feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, "But I guess you're just another whore now…"

And then he's gone, steps leading away from you as his harsh voice tears through the deafening silence as he orders "Take her away, I don't ever wanna see her again."

[...]

You are sprawled out on bed, the words "Load-Count" and "Cumdump" under your tits across your tummy in recently healed scars. Below your belly button are an array of carved lines, scattered all across your delicate skin, creating a sickening pattern of old scars and newly carved, bloody ones.

Your chest heaves in a mixture of gags and increased sobbing, as your arms are bound to the bed, the ropes so tight they are cutting into your skin.

Several men surround you, all of them barring multiple stages of colorful tattoos, Koi fish, Phoenixes, tigers, dragons or Chrysanthemums.

You have given up whimpering, you can't even, with one of the men stuffing your mouth, dragging his thick member over your tongue into your throat, relishing the way you helplessly lap at the underside of his cock.

A man right across from him kneads your breasts, palming his cock in his hand.

A third man keeps burying himself to the hilt inside of you, his grunts mixing with the groans of the other assailant.

With each thrust inside of you your tits bounce, and you're forced deeper onto the cock buried inside your throat. And with each thrust the ropes tear further into your skin, fresh trickles of blood running down your wrist and dripping onto the sheets.

The men have been going at it for hours, taking their turns marking you. Just like every day. For how long, you don't recall.

Ever since they moved you into this hellhole, you lost track of time. Disconnected from reality, the wish to live had died a while ago, sending you down the windy road of despair. It is like you are dead inside.

The men increase their pace, nearing their high, each using you as they pleased regardless just for their own pleasure.

Over the sounds of the wet slaps and deep grunts no one notices the commotion in front of the door. There's a muffled roar behind it and then silence, while smoke starts to seep through the cracks between door and ground.

The heated groans of the men increase as they near their high when suddenly the door gets kicked open and Dabi storms in through a cloud of smoke. Fury written on his face, he's on the man between your thighs in an instant, gripping him by his shoulders and yanking him back, pulling him out of you.

His left arm raises and a bright blue flame shoots across the room, engulfing the head of the man buried inside your mouth. There are no screams and when the flames die, you watch in horror as a charred stump sits where his head used to be. It takes a few moments but then his body drops back, his cock being pulled out of your mouth with a lewd pop.

Before the man on the bed can react, he's pulled off and slammed against the wall, palm pressed to his chest before he also drowns in a deadly blue blaze.

Releasing his grip on the charred corpse, Dabi turns to see the remaining Yakuza dash towards the open door. But it's too late. He is cocooned in a ball of searing, flesh eating heat just as he reaches the door, the screams dying off and the body slumping to the ground.

Then silence falls, the only sounds audible being those of the flickering flames eating away at the scorched human remains. Dabi stands in the middle of the room, drawing ragged breaths, smoke rising from his skin and clothes as he slowly turns towards the bed. Relief spreads across his face as he nears and crouches down before you.

Your hazy gaze meets his as he leans over you, gently brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your pale face.

"Hi there, pretty." He gives you a weary smile before leaning over you to burn through the ropes, freeing you from your restraints.

"Dabi?" you whisper, too weak to move.

"Shhh…," a thin trickle of blood runs down his cheek and he wipes it off with his thumb, "I've been looking all over for you."

"My boss," you groan, a wave of exhaustion flowing through your body. "He's going to—"

"Don't worry," Dabi rumbles soothingly, "He's never going to hurt you ever again…"

You are slowly losing the fight with consciousness and close your eyes. He drapes his coat over your naked figure before you're gently being lifted up and carried off through the door.

"Let's go home" are the last words you hear rasped against your ear before darkness engulfs you and you go limp in Dabi's embrace.

[...]

You jolt and turn as you hear the door open. It's a habit you can't seem to shake, even after all these years and your heart races in your ribcage. The panic doesn't last long though because you know there's only one person who enters this apartment.

"Dabi!" You smile, wiping your sudsy hands off with the towel next to the sink.

Placing the towel back on the counter you take a step forward, watching him throw his coat over the couch and kick his boots off. Then his handsome face looks up at you.

"How's my little doll doing today?" He grins and struts towards you, pulling you into a gentle embrace, nuzzling his sharp nose against yours.

"Stop saying little," You gently swat his arm as you giggle, snuggling your face against his broad warm chest, "I'm huge!"

His gaze drops to where your bodies connect, your swollen belly comfortably resting against his pelvis. His warm calloused hand trails down your side and comes to rest on the big mound, gently stroking back and forth.

"So, how are you doing?" he whispers, his eyes filled with love and adoration. "The burns still holding up despite the stretch?"

"Don't worry," you say and pull up your shirt, revealing purple scarred tissue stretching impossibly tense across your swollen belly, "It's fine, see?"

His hand comes to trace over the scarred tissue, the one that he had caused, erasing the horrid words that were once carved into your skin — and with that all memories of the past.

"Perfect," he says and his eyes flick up, the mesmerizing turquoise of his irises peeking at you from under heavy black lashes, "You're perfect–"

His hands rise to cup your face as he cranes his neck, pausing a second before gently pressing his mismatched velvety lips against yours.

Life is still a game. But a beautiful one indeed.

[...]

[beelsnack]

Imperfect - Obey Me! Boys and an MC With Scars

Continuing my trend of hyper-specific self-insert fics lol

This is me projecting a little bit, I have quite a few scars. I'm diabetic, so I don't heal very well. Also, the scenario described in Mammon's part actually happened to me, so...yeah, ya boi is projecting.

There is a part two in the works, I just don't want to make this post too long.

Content Warning: Mention of self-harm in Belphie's part.

-----

Lucifer: “Can I ask you something?”

The two of them were enjoying a rare moment of peace, sipping on hot drinks together in the early morning. Most of the occupants of the House of Lamentation were still asleep, or the ones that were awake were busy doing their own thing. For once, it felt like the world was allowing them to take a break.

Lucifer set his coffee cup down and regarded them with the soft, fond look that he seemed to reserve for them alone. “Of course, my dear.”

“If you could…” the human cleared their throat, shifting their weight around nervously. “If you could get rid of my scars, would you?”

Lucifer’s expression hardened, and for a moment they were worried they had made him angry. An apology was halfway out of their mouth when Lucifer stood, making his way over to their side and cradling their chin in his gloved hand.

“If you wished it, it would be so,” he rubbed a thumb over one of the pock-marks on their cheek. Not only had cystic acne left a constellation of marks across their face, they had always bruised easily so even the mildest of injuries left scars. 

“But you are exactly the way you need to be as you are,” Lucifer continued. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

Mammon: “Did it hurt?”

At first the human thought that Mammon was attempting to use a cheesy and potentially blasphemous pick up line on them. But when they looked up from the TV show the two of them were watching while curled up in their bed, they realized that he was looking at the faded red-purple marks adorning their legs.

“Well, it didn’t fucking tickle.”

Mammon flushed. “I didn’t - I mean - uh, shit, um - “

They shoved him good-naturedly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Both of them sat in silence before they decided the awkward tension was too much. “You wanna know how I got these scars?” they asked, in a terrible Joker impression.

“Not if you’re gonna sound like Heath Ledger while telling me.” 

The human snorted. “It’s not even that cool, honestly. I was helping move some furniture, and the house had a pretty long set of concrete steps. I was going backwards down the steps, lost my footing and ate it from about six feet in the air.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Mammon hissed, wincing in sympathy.

“I have one on my arm, too, but that one’s a bit more faded,” they held up their forearm. The discolored patch of skin was barely visible in the dim light from the TV, but Mammon could still tell it couldn’t have been a pleasant experience. “Had a split second to chose between bashing my head in or fucking up my arm.”

“...I’m glad you chose your arm?” Mammon shrugged.

“Me too,” they laughed.

Leviathan: He was staring.

The human was starting to get a little uncomfortable with how intensely Levi was looking at their face. They knew the scar on the left side of their face was intense - it had been a constant reminder of the house fire they had survived when they were younger. But Levi didn’t have to stare at it like he was committing it to memory.

“I’m just thinking…”

“Thinking about what?” The human wished they had a hood to hide behind or something, they were starting to get angry. 

Levi must have realized his error, because he suddenly turned bright red and looked away, hand covering the lower half of his face in embarrassment.  The human felt a little bad, but at least Levi wasn’t gawking at them anymore.

“...y’look…lrpzuko…”

“...Come again?” 

“I said you look like Prince Zuko!” Levi blurted before pressing his hand harder against his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m just gonna - “

“Wait,” the human pulled up their phone camera. “...I kind of see it, holy shit.”

Satan: “So where did this come from, anyway?”

He knew it probably was committing some sort of social faux pas to ask, but Satan was a curious creature by nature, and he figured that he and the human were close enough. Figuratively and literally, considering they were laying with their head in his lap while the two of them were reading.

When they made an inquisitive noise, he idly drew a clawed finger down the long, jagged scar decorating their forearm. He felt them stiffen against his legs, and when he looked up he saw the apprehension on their face.

“I…God, it’s so stupid…”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Satan urged. They hesitated a bit before sighing.

“I was fighting with this kid in…it was either middle school or early high school. I went to walk away because I was kind of getting sick of arguing with the moron, but when I turned around they shoved me hard enough to knock me over. I kinda like…flung my arm up, to protect my face, y’know? And since it was outside it got all scraped up. Never healed fully, I guess, so now I have this.”

Satan hummed thoughtfully, tracing the outline of the scar. It was faint, barely visible in dim lighting, but it was obvious that the human wished it wasn’t there.

“You fought back, right?”

“Duh.”

Asmo: “You seem very focused there, darling. Don’t quite know your shade?”

The two of them had been standing in the foundation section of the local Dephora for a while now. Asmodeus knew the store like the back of his hand and had already scooped up all of his favorite products in addition to a couple new drops that had made their way onto Devilgram. The human, however, hadn’t moved for about 20 minutes.

“I mean…I know my shade, but…” they hesitated, hand idly drifting towards the side of their neck. “Coverage is more what I’m worried about.” 

Asmo’s brows furrowed. The human had a scar from when they got splashed with hot oil as a child, and they were notoriously self-conscious about it. Aesthetically, Asmo understood - it wasn’t pretty, it looked like it had hurt and if he could he would use every bit of his magical power to get rid of it completely. But it was part of the human, and Asmo loved it regardless.

He slipped a hand overtop of the humans, causing them to look up at him with worried eyes. Asmo’s own eyes softened, and he leaned over to press a gentle kiss to their forehead. “Darling, if you do want to cover it up to boost your confidence, I will gladly help you pick out foundation and concealer. But you know you don’t have to if you truly don’t want to, right? That I’ll love you no matter what?”

The human looked away, but Asmo still caught the shy smile they wore as they leaned into his hand. “I know.”

Beelzebub: “Can I help you?”

Admittedly, the human was a little paranoid about whether or not people were staring at them. But this time, it was very clear that Beelzebub was staring at them, and they weren’t sure how they felt about it. They were cooking dinner, after all, they might not even be the thing that Beel was staring at.

“That mark on your shoulder.” 

Immediately, the human tensed up. They had thought that the shirt they were wearing covered up the conspicuous birthmark on their right shoulder, but apparently not. “What about it?”

Beel paused for a moment. “It looks like a potato.”

They turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Does it? I can’t really see it all that often.”

“Mm,” Beel nodded before unfolding himself from the stool he was sitting on and coming up to hug the human from behind. He leaned down to nuzzle affectionately against the mark, and the human felt their apprehension begin to bleed away. “I like it. It makes you, you.”

They remained silent for a moment before a small smile tugged at the corner of their lips. “Thanks, Beel.”

Belphegor: “Did you do that to yourself?”

It took a minute for the human to realize what Belphie was talking about. They had just changed into their pajamas, and they honestly had thought Belphie was asleep. But apparently he had been awake enough to notice the evenly-spaced cut marks along the insides of their thighs.

“...Yeah,” they muttered, hiding their face in his chest. So much for a peaceful night’s sleep. “A while ago.”

“Why?”

They shrugged. Honestly, thinking about that particular time in their life wasn’t something they did often, at least not consciously. Every time they did, their heart rate increased, their breathing sped up, and it suddenly felt like they were in that dark room again with nothing but their spiraling thoughts - 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Belphe muttered against their hair. “Stay with me, now, okay?”

He ran a hand up and down their back soothingly, and it would never surprise them how gentle Belphegor could be for a demon.

“You want to know what I think?” Belphie allowed his fingers to trace the marks along their thighs, but the touch was distinctly platonic. 

“Mm?”

“I think,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of their head. “That you were going through a lot, and those scars are proof that you made it through.”

The human stilled, processing, before they snuggled deeper into Belphie’s embrace. “You think so?”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed sleepily, hand stilling against the small of their back. “Not that I’m glad you have them, mind you, but nobody goes through hell completely unscathed and you shouldn’t feel ashamed of them.”

[caeli0306]

Chapter 4 of Violet Sorrengail's Guide to Spinning a Scandal is now up on AO3!

Chapter 4: Offer No Apologies is now posted on AO3: READ HERE

LMAO remember when I said yesterday that I deleted 2k of the fic? Well, lol, I deleted a whole lot more than that after. I completely changed how I thought this was going to go. So for those of you that want this fic to be longer, rejoice! We're going to have a chapter 5. In other news, please read the chapter notes for trigger warnings. We're getting EXTREMELY angsty in this one folks. For those unfamiliar, this is my @rq-gift-exchange fic for the wonderful @witch-and-her-witcher.

Summary:

Violet Sorrengail is a highly effectively political crisis consultant. Xaden Riorson is poised to win his late father's old senate seat. The hatred between the two runs deep, but its been years since their fiery classroom debates in college, and Violet was certain she'd never cross paths with him again, until her expertise is required to keep doctored stories that could sink Xaden's campaign from gaining traction just before the general election.

The chemistry is off-the-charts, the tension has every other staffer fleeing when the two end up in the same room, and the fire that existed between them is as hot as ever. But as time goes on, Violet begins to realize exactly how true the saying, "There's a thin line between love and hate," really is.

===

Xaden freezes as soon as he notices me, and I have to fight not to roll my eyes. With how surprised he acts every time he runs into me, you’d think I wasn’t the person he hired to run his entire fucking senatorial office.

“Sorrengail,” he greets, tone stilted.

“Mr. Riorson.” I nod, and I feel a bit bad when he winces ever so slightly.

We stand there awkwardly, just staring at each other, until one of the workers taps me on the shoulder, requiring direction for where to put the contents of a box. One last glance at Xaden, and I see a stormy expression that wasn’t there before.

I ignore him and get back to work.

Rhiannon meanders in 30 minutes later, her arms laden with boxes filled with files. I relieve her of one, direct her to put them in my newly assigned office. We dump them in a corner, and she wipes the back of her hand across her forehead.

“I saw Xaden stomping out of here a few minutes ago,” she hedges slowly, looking at me for my reaction. I turn away. “What the hell is going on with you two?”

I still haven’t told her the full extent of what happened that night, or the morning after. I didn’t tell her about the quiet intimacy, the hand-holding, the kisses on my head. I didn’t tell her about the moment I was no longer in denial, or how I pretty much tore my own heart out and stomped on it a few minutes later. I didn’t tell her about how I did it for Xaden’s sake, and how I’ve managed to make both of us miserable as a result.

[sweetlittlegingy]

Burning House

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♤ Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Y/n "Tilly" Tillerson

♤ Word Count: 6.3K

♤ Warnings: Smut 18+, family fighting, reader gets hit (not by Rhett), angst, fluff

♤ A/n: I haven't written smut in years, so let me know. Also, I'm 30 minutes late, but this week has been a lot. Also, you are responsible for your own content consumption. This is an 18+ fic, please respect that.

♤ Library | Main Masterlist

The shatter of glass pulls you from your thoughts, a reminder of where you were. Thrown once again into the fire. Tugging your jeans the rest of the way up, you button the brass button. The tank top you’re wearing sticks to you like a second skin, in the hot Wyoming weather.

Yanking it off you grab an old Coors shirt, slipping it over you frame, before reaching down to tug on your boots. Mud flicks off on to the carpet, making you roll your eyes, you’d have to clean it before your mother saw.

You hadn’t been home in almost four years, leaving Wabang in the dust when you got accepted to Montana State to pursue a degree in business.

Montana had been your number one choice in schools for two reasons; it was out of state away from family, and it was still close enough that Rhett could drive down. It’d been at least 8 months since you’d last seen him, to say you were wound tight was an understatement.

The harsh reality of your father getting sick and you having to come home was thrown into your face, not even a week ago. Your mother made it quite clear, that whether you wanted to or not, you would be coming home with her.

Growing up as the youngest Tillerson, and a girl at that, hadn’t been an easy feat. The constant reminder that you would never fully be in control of your life, not while being a part of this family at least.

Luke and Billy were fine, as fine as they could be. Luke was so far up your mother’s ass, that you were surprised he could even function when she wasn’t around. While Billy was completely brainwashed by your father.

Though you would have happily dealt with them over your father and Trevor. Those two had tempers and matched against your own; the state of your life had been on fire for as long as you could remember.

The three of your tempers flaring at every incident, ended in more fist fights than you could remember, and the list of broken items was never ending. Fuel was just added to the fire when your mom was home, having all four of you in the same room always ended with Sheriff Joy, coming out on calls of domestic disturbances.

A quick look in the mirror, you double-check your makeup and hair and decide that you're more than hot enough to make a surprise appearance at the Handsome Gambler. Another crash has you looking back at your door, silently wondering what the hell was wrong now. Pulling open your bedroom door, you can hear the yelling voices of Luke and Trevor. Forgoing your hat for the night, you make your way to the den.

There was only one hat that you be wearing tonight, come hell or high water it would be yours.

Both voices raise, nearly scream, when suddenly a third voice cuts through causing you to pause your descent down the stairs.

“What she wants doesn’t matter, damn it.” A rough cough rises from your father’s chest, “She doesn’t even know what the hell’s going on, if you two idiots could keep your voice down.”

You mind races, trying to think of anything they could be talking about. Though you come up blank, having been gone you hadn’t worried about your father and brothers.

What in the hell could be so important that they needed to keep it from you? Staying on the stairs, out of sight you wait for them to go on.

“She’s gonna find out, I’m surprised Rhett hasn’t already told her. Abbott doesn’t know how to keep his fucking mouth shut.” You’d known that was Luke, his voice not rough like your fathers and Trevor’s. 

Though you couldn’t figure out why in the world they were talking about you and Rhett. It had been years since they’d seen the two of you together and there was no way they knew the two of you were still a thing.

The two of you grew up together, best friends since you were children. You knew every part of each other, sharing your deepest secrets, and eventually an unbreakable love. Puberty had hit the both of you like a fright train, leading to you two fucking in every pasture between his and your house. Fucking; eventually turned into more, friends falling in love hard and fast.

You’d officially been together three years when you graduated, though your story tale came to a sudden halt when you received your acceptance letter. With you moving and Rhett actively pursuing bull riding, the both of you had decided to end your relationship.

The both of you left it on good terms, and Rhett still came up to Bozeman, the six-hour drive nothing compared to trips he made on the circuit. You hadn’t told Rhett that you were coming home, the spur of the moment decision made by your mother prevented it, but you knew he’d be out tonight.

No longer giving a shit if they saw you, you make your way down the stairs. Their talking cutting off completely when you came into view, your brothers and father staring holes into your head as you push through the den into the kitchen.

“Don’t stop talking on my account.” The snap in your voice is evident.

The four sets of eyes following your every move, still not talking, as you dig around in the key jar.

“What are you doing?” It’s Trevor that speaks up first, his tone already pissy.

“What’s it look like?” You throw him a look over your shoulder, your gaze condensing in every way. His gaze back is still questioning, and you wonder if he truly is an idiot.

“I’m getting the fucking keys Trevor.”

A smile graces your face as you find the set to your father’s new pickup, the one he hadn’t been able to drive since he’d gotten sick. You raise your hand in triumph showing them, and silently waiting for the pushback.

“Where do you think that you're going?” This time it’s Luke that questions you, his tone less sharp not wanting to set off your temper.

Luke had learned over the years what buttons not to push, while Trevor knew exactly which one to push. It was like he thrived off the idea of making you mad, to see just how much you’d blow up.

“I’m not going to just sit around; I don’t really feel like listening to ya’ll fight. Mom might have forced me back, but she didn’t say I had to stay on the ranch.” Your eyebrow slightly raises “I’m going for a drink.”

Before you can turn to leave, a harsh, forced laugh falls from Trevor’s lips.

“When did you turn into such a fucking bitch? Saying that mom forced you here, like this ranch isn’t the thing that’s given you everything.”

Your jaw ached from how tightly you’d clenched it, all of them just staring at you. No words to defend you, you hadn’t expected it, but it would have been a nice surprise.

Trevor might have been right about your childhood. Getting everything you wanted, it wasn’t like you asked for it, it was just there. The exact way it was for each of your brothers, the only difference is that you left, and when you left so did daddy’s money.

Sure, you could have asked, begged, but you didn’t need it. You maintained a job with a company up in Bozeman, that paid you more than enough to live and the thought to being debited to this place, was enough for you to live on a smaller means.

“Unlike you Trevor, I no longer live off Daddy’s money. Though since I’m being forced to stay here, I will be taking liberties. The first on being, using the damn pickup.” The rattle you made with the keys, finally setting him off.

You’d said the wrong thing before, but the fire in Trevor’s eyes hadn’t been one you’d personally seen. Before you can make a move for the door, he was on you, the whip of your head and crack of the back of his hand on your face echoing through the kitchen.

Silent rage, you couldn’t feel the pain. The heaving of your chest should have been notion enough that you were pissed. It’s not till you feel the blood running down your lip, that you realize he’d done damage.

Sure, Trevor and your father had hurt you before, but it had been a long time since they had struck you on the face. You raise your hand up, still clutching the keys and brush your fingers over you lip. The blood smears as you do, feeling an evident spilt and swelling.

No one moves, Trevor stands just in front of you, while the other three don’t do so much as comment.

The harsh laugh that falls from your lips, should scare them. You never wanted to see a pissed off woman laugh, that was common sense, but to see a pissed off Tillerson woman laughing.

They should have been running.

Acting on pure instinct your fist reals back, flying at Trevor before anyone can react. The resounding crack of his nose brings you joy, his figure doubling over sightly. Your fist already rising back, ready to maim him. You’d seen bright red and you didn’t want to stop, not when he was the one doubled over in pain.

It’s only the feeling of Luke wrapping his arms around your waist, and dragging you back from Trevor that makes you stop.

“Calm down, damn it.” It’s your father that yells, the four of your gazes snapping directly to him.

Your lips curl back in disgust, of course it wasn’t an issue if you were the one bleeding. Oh, but if anyone touches poor Trevor, the fucking world was ending.

You scoff, shaking Luke off and double check that you still have your keys. Grabbing your purse, that had fallen, you move to leave, leaning into Trevor as he tries to stop the bleeding.

Your voice as sharp as a knife, “I’m not little anymore Trev. You touch me again, and I’ll kill you.”

Pushing past him ,you brush off your shirt noticing that drops of blood had collected on it. Cursing you brother once again, you head out the door, only offering Billy a goodbye.

Walking to the truck, you can’t stop the smirk that rises on your lips. You were ready to get absolutely hammered and fall into Rhett’s bed in a tangle of limbs.

Not caring that it’s your father’s truck, or that it was in fact brand new, you peel out the drive gravel flying. Your fingers beat along the steering wheel, music blasting and windows down.

Flicking down the visor you silently thank your father, you didn’t smoke normally, but occasionally you’d light one up. Flipping open the box of Marlboro’s, you slip one between your lips. Grabbing the lighter in the cup holder, the sweet relief the nicotine gives you instantly calms your jittery limbs.

The cigarette only just brushes against the left side of your bottom lip and has you wincing, the pain finally setting in. You’d need a stiff drink to take that edge off, the glowing neon sign of the Handsome Gambler a welcomed sight.

You’d checked your lip in the mirror, grimacing slightly at the swelling and taking a wet napkin to your chin, removing the dried blood. The music can be heard before you even make it to the door, upon opening it, it increases ten-folds. Rumbling through your body and instantly soothing you. The red glowing neon of the bar was a tad obnoxious but wasn’t unbearable.

The click of your boots draw eyes to you instantly, though the only set you're looking for sits at the end of the bar. Leaning over a glass of whiskey, unfazed by his surroundings.

You don’t take time to acknowledged anyone else, your sights set and your feet carrying you without another thought in the world.

He doesn’t notice you leaning on the bar next to him, surely overthinking his last ride, and it isn’t until you grab the hat off his head that you get his attention. You’re sure that bar goes silent as the hat settles on your head, a familiar piece; one you’ve worn on many occasions.

Your hand is reaching for his whiskey before he can even comprehend that it’s you. Shooting the drink back, you rest the glass once again between his fingers and let your eyes finally meet his.

Wonder and questioning cross his face. His eyes going to your lip and your positive you see a flash of rage, before his eyes move to the hat on your head and a smug smirk settles on his lips.

“You know there’s a certain rule about stealing a cowboys hat Tilly?”

His nickname for you falling from his lip, nearly has you melting into a puddle on the ground, but you hold strong.

A hum and a nod of your head is the only recognition you given him, before moving to him. His legs opening for you like muscle memory, and your arms lacing around his neck. Your mouth resting just inches from his ear, your breath hot against him.

“And I fully intend on cashing in on those rules tonight, Abbott.”

The way his grip tightens on your waist has your toes curling in anticipation, the burning in your core igniting now that Rhett’s within your hold. Your eyes meet his and your breath catches, the blue of his eyes no longer visible. His pupils blown, watching your every move, and full of want.

It’s his hand that comes up and knocks the brim of his hat up, his eyes taking in the way your lips part as tiny soft pants fall from them.

Every time, it was like this. Like no time had passed since the last time your trembling form was under him. The way that your body became putty in his hands would have been annoying, if you didn’t like it so damn much.

No, those hands and his mouth were a God sent you were sure, or maybe hell sent. Given the way they could have you trembling like a leaf and Rhett’s name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Your lip slips between your teeth, gently biting it, not caring any longer about the cut. Your stare is unwavering, neither of you paying mind to the bar surrounding you and you can’t deny the way your body craves him.

The whiskey you shot earlier didn’t come close to warming you up like he did, as his hands leave a trail of flames in their wake gently rub up your sides.

“You that needy, you have to come down here to me? Nobody work you over like me, hmm Tilly.”

You know he’ll question you later, want to know the full story. But it’s the fact that he knows just what you need to hear, the need to forget all the shit, that has you wanting to crawl up into his lap.

“No baby, I came cause I heard you needed me.”

Your hands slip into the hair at the base of his neck, lightly scratching and he can’t hide the shiver that slips up the base of his spine.

“Heard none of the bunnies could take you like I can. They're just too breakable for you.”

The tension has the both of you leaning in closer to each other, waiting for the other one to beg. You can feel Rhett’s breath hot against your lips, just barley touching, though not nearly like how you’re craving him. The need to have him flush against you, making your legs shake as tears run down your face.

Rhett caves just barely, his tongue slipping out and licking at your bottom lip. Swiping over the cut, a stinging jolt of pain and need courses through your veins. The moan that erupts from your chest, makes him smirk and pull you closer to him.  Your thigh barley nudging the front of his pants, his cock hard and pulsing against the thick denim.

Glancing down, the imprint against his jeans has your core clenching and a tiny whine coming from your throat. A chuckle falls his lips, his hand coming to rest on your cheek, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You that needy, girl?”

Your head is nodding before you can even think to stop it. The need to be owned by Rhett, out-weighting your usually independent nature. He knew it, he always did. It was one of his favorite things about you; how you were a spitfire to anyone else, but when he pushed just right, you’d be on your knees.

The closeness in proximity to each other, leaves no room for outside interference.

You hadn’t seen her coming back from the bathroom, in her barley there shorts, and trashy boots. Though the whiny voice stating Rhett’s name pulls your gaze to the girl standing next to you.

Rhett’s vision never leaves your face, waiting to see how you’d react. He always loved to see you get territorial, and had a habit of forgetting to tell you about other girls hitting on him at the bar.

Your eyes rack up her form, your head tilling to the side as you take in her appearance. Looking back the Rhett, you see him shrug his shoulders, silently telling you to handle it.

Turning to her, the smile dropping from your face, “He’s got his hands full bunny.”

The hands once on your waist, slip down to grab your ass. Giving it a harsh squeeze, that has your legs clenching.

“I already claimed him for the night.” Her tone bitter, acting like she has made some miraculous point.

Your jaw ticks at her stupidity and the fact that she thinks that she has some claim over him.

The only person that had a claim over Rhett Abbott was you, and it always would be you.

Turning to full face her, Rhett’s hands settling on your hips, hands sneaking under your shirt.

“No bunny, you didn’t.” The tone of your voice is sharp and you’re sure the once loud bar has gone silent.

“For one, he’s a person, not an object, and “claims” can’t be made over him.” You take a step closer to her, your gaze unwavering. “Though if anyone has a claim over him, it’s me and this damn hat proves it.”

The flick of your finger against the hat, has her eyes rising to the hat resting on your head. Her eyes find yours again, and you can see the gears trying to turn in her head. Just as her mouth opens to say something; you’re quick to shut her up.

“I think you’d better leave bunny, unless you wanna find out just how I got the split lip.”

Her eyes flicker to your lip then back to your eyes, fire burning behind your gaze, and you watch as she realizes how serious you are. Her face falling and a slight fear crosses her eyes before she’s turning and walking away.

You turn back around to Rhett, a smug smirk resting on his lip. A new hunger burns in his eyes as he watches you and his hands slide back down to grab your ass.

“You put a claim on me girl?”

“I’ve had a claim on you, since that first time you fucked me behind the church.”

You can see the memory flashing through his mind, and before you realize it, he’s up and pulling you out of the bar to his pickup.

Your back hits the passenger door of his pick, your gazes watching one another. It’s you that sneaks up a hand around his neck, pulling his lips to yours. Not caring that you were the one to break this time, all you knew was that you needed Rhett like you needed air to breathe.

The clash of your lips against one another, stings slightly against your split lip, but the way Rhett’s leg slots between your knees has you forgetting.

It’s when Rhett nips at your bottom lip that has you cursing. Rhett’s fast to pull back, his eyes dropping to your lip and that anger from earlier reappears.

“Who the fuck did it?” the question leaves no room for you to evade it. Trapped within his arms and his hard gaze.

“Trevor.” His name taste like acid on your tongue and your sure Rhett doesn’t miss the way your grimace.

The hands at your hip tighten, surely causing bruises, and your hands drop to rub Rhett’s shoulders. A silent gesture from you, telling him that you’re okay.  

“I’ll fucking kill him.” And the heat between you is forgotten by him. The only thing incasing him now, was his anger aimed directly at your brother.

Rhett feels the way his breath picks up, he knew that your family was a bunch of assholes and that you all fought religiously. Hell, he’d been there for a few of them when you were both still in high school.

But to hear that Trevor had physically put his hands on you, set off something entirely new within him.

He doesn’t hear you; a ringing has started in his ears, and he can’t stop the replaying imagery in his mind of Trevor hitting you. He’s making his way around the pick-up and climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Tilly get in.” His voice is harsh and has you climbing in quickly.

Before you know it, he’s pulling from the parking spot and heading back towards both of your homes.

“Rhett what are you thinking?” though you don’t receive an answer, the sound of gravel underneath the tire’s echoes through the cab.

You can see the steam rolling off him and though you should be scared, you know that Rhett would never hurt you. The split in the road ahead is looming, one to the Abbott Ranch and the other to your families.

Looking over to Rhett you can see his hands shaking in rage. Reaching over you take one of his hands from the steering wheel and hold it against your lips. Giving his knuckles repeated kisses, as his gaze settles on your face.

“Pull over baby.” Your voice is soft and not demanding, though you know that Rhett will listen to your gentle request.

The truck stops in the middle of the road, and you can see a storm rising up against the mountains. Much like the one that is clearly racking through Rhett’s mind, he’s eyes look back to your eyes, watching the way you continually kiss his knuckles.

A shuttered breath leaves his lips, and his head is bowing down into his chest. His voice quiet, but you still hear him.

“He hit you.” The shake and pain in his voice is clear as day. “He put his fucking hands on you, and they did nothing.”

His face snaps to you, as you go to correct him, words failing you. His gaze proves that he already knows the truth.

“Okay, so they did nothing. What’s new?” The laugh that leaves you is more strained than you planned, “I got a good hit in though, think I broke his nose.”

Rhett watches you as you tell him, a chuckle leaves his lips at your comment. The hand you’d been kissing, raising to brush against your cheek.

“My Girl.”

Such wonder and love in his tone, his eyes showing nothing but pride in you. The feeling rattles you to your core. You and Rhett had broken things off, but that didn’t mean you stopped loving him.

The look he’s giving you, makes it seem like he still loved you too. You’re up and climbing across the truck before you can seconded guess the decision.  

Climbing over into his lap, needing to be next to him, to feel him and know that he was with you.

He welcomes you, grabbing your hips to settle your thighs on either side of his lap. One hand coming to rest on your cheek, grazing the split in your lip once again.

“He deserves so much more than just a fucking broken nose.” You nuzzle into his palm, placing kisses into it.

“And you would have killed him without a seconded thought?” Your laugh is silenced, as Rhett straightens your face to look at him.

“I’d burn the fucking world to the ground for you Tilly.” The way he says it, causes your core to clench.

A commandment of love, without actually saying the words.

You know that he would, but hearing the rasp and seriousness in his voice, made you feel like you were about to combust.

Your lips surge forward, kissing him in the only way you know how to express your feelings. You needed him and you didn’t care if you were in the middle of a public road. You needed him to quench the burning in your core. To make you scream his name, to feel his length hit that spongy little spot that only he reached.

Your need for him, drowning out the pain in your lip.

Your teeth clashed against one another, Rhett’s hand rising up to knock the hat off your head.  His hand settling at the back of your hair, pulling you down harder into him. His hip bucking slightly as you grind down against his hard length, pressing into you through the two layers of denim.

The harsh tug on your hair has your head dropping back and an airy moan falling from your lips. Rhett’s lips trail down your neck, wet open mouth kisses left in his wake.

You’d missed this, the way that only he knew your body.

And just like every time, his lips settle over the junction of your neck and collarbone, teasing and biting the spot.

Your hips push down harder, your core burning with need, his lips never leave your neck. Marking you as his own. No one would question if you were together by the end of the night, he was gonna make sure of it.

It’s the nip of his teeth, that has you let out a loud moan, and your hips moving on their own accord. His hands falling to your ass, pushing, and pulling you.  

“Atta girl, let me hear you.”

A whine breaks through your lips at the praise, keening in delight. The cab of the truck getting entirely too hot, and Rhett’s hands find the bottom of your shirt tugging it over your head.

Your lips finding each other again, tastes of whiskey and mint reach your lips, your tongue teasing his bottom lip.

His hands grasping and running over your unclothed top, hands slipping behind you and flicking the clasp of your bra.

Your eyes meet each other, time slowing. Your hands hold your bra in place, Rhett’s hands raising to trace your arms. His fingers slipping into the straps, to tug them down softy. His mouth descending to your collarbone, kissing over the tops of your breast.

Your back arches, your hips lifting slightly, chasing his tongue. He laughs at you softy, before striping your bra completely from your body.

A low groan leaves his lips, watching your chest rise and fall with each breath.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” His hand rising to cup one breast, thumb grazing your nipple. A shiver consumes your body, as your nipple erects in the cool air. “Such a pretty girl for me.”

He smirks at you, a teasing look that has you whining and your hands pulling his head down.

“So fuckin’ needy.”

The only reply falling from your lips is a moan, as his lips wrap around the bud. His other hand coming up to tug on the other. Your hands raking through his hair, tugging him forward, the tug of his teeth on you makes your head drop back. Your eyes falling shut, enjoying the way Rhett encompasses you.

He works your body over, still full clothed in front of you, and yet has you begging for release.

Quiet pleas fall from your lips, your need consuming every inch of your body.

“Please. Need it, Rhett. Need you.”

His hips buck up into you, and a high-pitched whine leaves you. Your hands moving to paw at his shirt, the need to feel him, is the only thought coursing through your mind.

You try to unbutton his shirt, but you can’t seem to process it. An upset whine from you, has Rhett’s hands replacing yours, getting the shirt off far quicker than you could.

Your hands falling to trace along his stomach, a smile gracing your lips, and you’re leaning in to kiss him.

Pressing into to him, needing the feel of his skin pressed against your own. The kiss far more than just that, Rhett’s hands rising to cradle your face, and, in that moment, you know you can’t leave him again.

He was as much a part of you, as your need to breath. Without him; it was like you’d been under water, your surrounding muffled. Being back; was like you were experiencing the world again, like you’d been gasping for air, and he was that first breath.

“Need you, Tilly.” The hand cradling your face, has his thumb tracing along your bottom lip. Gently tugging it down, you nipping as his thumb, your gaze never leaving one another.

“Let me have you.” The look in his eyes, pleading for you. Not for just a fuck; but you, wholly.

“I’m yours, Abbott.” Kissing him softy, leaning back to mutter against his lips. “Only ever been yours.”

He sucks in a harsh breath, his eyes watching you, silently questioning you. Waiting for you to laugh in his face, to tell him you didn’t mean it.

“I’m serious Rhett, —” Your voice cracks slightly as you watch him, overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through your body. “I — I’m not leaving you again. I can’t.”

You're afraid that tears might fall, the events of the night weighing on you. You know that Rhett loves you, you don’t need to hear it, he’d showed you how he did your whole life.

“I love you so fuckin’ much Tilly, never been anyone else. Not even with you gone.” Your breath is sucked from your chest when he mutters it. Your eyes shocked and questioning. “No one else baby, not even the bunnies.”

The revelation has you surging forward in need, finding out that he had always been yours, sets your skin a flame. Your hands fall to this belt buckle, tugging it undone, as he works at your jeans. The both of you curse as Rhett gets your jeans unzipped, but can’t lower them down your legs. You rise up, ripping them and your panties down your legs, and throwing them into the back of the truck.

Rhett laughs as you do it, your friendship and teasing spilling through the tension momentarily.

“Don’t laugh a me.” Your voice is teasing as you say it, loving the ways his laugh is so carefree. “Now get those off.” You motion to his jeans, more than ready to feel all of him against you.

“Yes Ma’am.”

He pulls them down quickly; a groan leaving his lips at his hard cock snaps up to rest against his tone stomach. The tip red and dripping with precum, your hand reaching out to stroke him.

His length pulses in your palm and you can’t stop the way you bite your lip. The need to taste him overwhelming; the need to have him groaning under your touch.  

His eyes move down to glance at your dripping heat, his hands reaching out to grab you instantly. Fingers tracing down your hip bones and up your thighs, teasing you, your cunt clenching down in anticipation.

“Touch me, please Rhett.”

As the last syllable of his name leaves your lips, his fingers ghost along your slit. Slipping into you slightly, then pulling out to graze your clit. Your hips buck as he does it.

Rhett’s other hand comes up to rest on your hip, holding you in place.

“Hold still.” The bite in his tone pulls at your core, his eyes watching your reaction. Gaging just how far he can push you, and when you bite your lip, his hold on you tightens a bit more.

“You gonna be my good girl?”

The way your eyes snap up to him, slightly glazed over, and the hurried nod you give him, makes him let out a low groan.

His fingers slipping back into your tight channel, nudging that spongy little spot, barely grazing it. Your hips drop farther onto his lap, working to feel him just a bit deeper and when they don’t, you’re crying out.

“Need your cock.” The burning in your core insufferable; and making your mind hazy.

“Take it darlin’.” His nose nudges against your own, lips barley touching.

“Take what’s yours, baby.”

Heat surrounds you, your mind lost in need, and you’re moving to hover over his cock as he finishes the sentence. Your mind only clearing up slightly, looking up into his eyes.

“There’s never been anyone else for me either.”

And you’re sinking down around him.

Those eight months apart, make it feel like he might break you. Your legs tremble, your heat stretching and you’re cursing out.

Your head drops back as a gasp falls from your lips. His cock hitting that little spot perfectly. Too deep, but not deep enough.

A string of breathy whines fall from your lips, and Rhett swears you’ve never looked prettier.

Eye’s glazed over, lips unable to form words, so fucked out, and all you’ve done it sit on his cock.

His hips buck up just sightly, and you’re dropping forward leaning against his chest, mumbling incoherently.

“So, fucking tight for me baby.” His hips buck once more, enjoying the reaction from you. Like his cock has broken your mind, leaving you to be his perfect little doll. “Such a good pussy baby.”

The praise has you keening against his chest, your hips rising up slightly, before dropping back down. Your heat clenching around him, like a vice, his own head dropping back to rest against the seat.

“That’s it baby, take what you need.”

His words spur you on, hands resting on his shoulders as your repeatedly rise and fall on his length. Your hands move to the back of his hair and pull him forward. Needing to feel his lips on you, the pace of your hips speed up.

The burning in your core only rising. Mouths barely touching each other, as breathy whines fall from your lips, working to keep yourself upright.

A particular hard thrust from Rhett has your head dropping back and a loud moan to leaving your body.

Rhett’s lips surge forward, working on your neck as your fingers dig into his scalp.  Tugging and pulling his hair as you climb higher.  

 He can’t hold himself any longer, grasping your hips he pulls you up off himself only slightly. Before you can even register what’s going on, Rhett’s got the center console up and you laid out stretching across the seats.

His eyes watch the way your chest rises in hurried breaths, how he’s got you laid out before him like a god damn feast.

He’s sinking back into you, grabbing both your legs, and wrapping them around his waist. Fucking into you at a feverish speed, your hands above you, grasping the door handle. White knuckled and crying out every time Rhett surges forward.  

The heat within your core becoming all too much as he fucks you. Hips snapping, and hitting that little spot, that has tears gathering in your eyes.

“Please, need it.”

Your babbling uncontrollable, body withering underneath Rhett.

“I’ve got you Tilly.” The snapping of his hips speeding up, and his hand reaching up to cradle your face. Your wild eyes silently beg him for more, anything to push you over the end.

His own release, tittering on the edge. He needed you to come first though, need it to see his girl fall apart on his cock.

To feel your cunt clench down on his cock, as you screamed out his name.

A sharp whine leaves your lips and Rhett feels you clench around him. His hand resting on your face, thumb stroking your cheek, waiting to give you that final push.

Your eyes fall to each other, silently begging.

“Let go baby, daddy’s got you.”

You tumble over the edge, hands grasping at Rhett. Cunt clenching around him, as his own hips stutter.

“Wanna feel you daddy. Need to feel your cum.” Your voice is breathy, as you clench around him even tighter.

Rhett’s hands fall to rest by your head, hips stilling as he coats your walls. His hips slowly fucking into you, coating you completely.

Claiming you as his, and his alone.

His face rests in your neck, as he feathers gentle kisses across your neck and jaw. Causing you to giggle, when he kisses behind your ear.

The both of you enjoy the feeling of each other, needing this moment of peace in each other’s presence.

Rhett pulls away slightly and your hand holds onto his cheek as he stares into your eyes. Love seeping from them, and incasing the both of you.

There would never be anyone else for you, he was it.

Your first love, your best friend, and the man you wanted to marry. How you stayed away for so long eluded you, but you wouldn’t be doing it again.

“I love you, Rhett Abbott.”

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Ear infections- Jay Halstead

Authors note: you guessed it, home girl is sick again. I wrote this fic a while ago, but it applies to me right now so I figured with my lack of current content, I’d post it.

Again, to all those waiting for ficrecs, I am working on them. I’ve been having some major writers block while dealing with some new medical issues and mental health issues. Thank you all for your support and love. I hope you enjoy this fic! ❤️

Summary: You wake up with an ear infection and migraine. The Halstead brothers come to your aid.

Warnings: mentions of sickness, mentions of needles, mentions of medications, mentions of vomiting.

~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up just like you always did with Jay, but the ear that was laying on his chest felt like it was on fire. You muffled a groan and pulled away from Jay, attempting not to wake him. Unfortunately, Jay was a light sleeper so he groggily reached out for you.

“Wha time is it?” Jay mumbled, placing a hand on your thigh. He was sure the alarm didn’t go off yet.

You sighed, looking over at the red numbers on the digital clock. “It’s only 5. Go back to sleep.” You murmured, leaning forward and running a hand through Jay’s hair.

Jay cracked his eyes open more when your hand came in contact with his forehead. Your normally cool hand was hot. He studied you in the dark. He could see your right hand cupping your ear and your face pinched in pain. Jay grabbed the hand you were running through his hair and kissed the back, sitting up as he held it. Before you could react, Jay’s right hand made contact with your forehead. Jay sighed in sympathy. “Baby. Your burning up.” Jay whispered.

You nodded your head slowly, tears now leaking from your eyes. “It hurts.” You whispered, leaning your head into Jay’s shoulder.

Jay kissed the top of your head. “What hurts sweetheart?” He asked, rubbing your back as you shook against him.

“My ear. Can’t hear.” You choked out, trying not to sob as your resolve finally broke. “Need Will.”

Jay was alarmed. You had an intense fear of needles and hospitals like Jay, so you never asked for a doctor or went willingly. “Okay baby girl. Let’s call him, okay?” Jay said, kissing your head again.

You nodded and let Jay move away, but when he stood, you scrambled after him. “No.” You squeaked, reaching for his arm. Jay stopped and let you latch on. “I’m comin.” You whispered, looking at Jay with big, scared eyes.

Jay nodded, “of course sweet girl.” He said, leading you into the bathroom once he got his phone off the night stand. Jay placed you on the counter as he called Will, rummaging through the cabinet.

Will: Jay, it’s like 5 am. What the hell man?

Jay: I need you. It’s Y/n. Jay could hear Will shift in bed, whispering to Nat that he’d be right back.

Will: What’s wrong?

Jay: Thinking she’s got an ear infection. I’m about to check her temp. She asked for you.

Will: put her on.

Jay put the phone on speaker and handed it to you to hold.

“Will?” You whimpered, leaning your head into Jay’s shoulder once again.

“Hey you. What’s going on?” Will asked, voice deep with sleep.

“My ear hurts so bad.” You sobbed. “I can’t hear Will.” You explained, lightly tugging on the earlobe.

Jay sat you up and swiped the thermometer across your forehead. “Hey man. It’s 101.6.” Jay sighed, kissing your forehead.

Will sighed on the other end of the phone. “Jesus Y/n. You don’t do anything half way.” Will joked, moving about to get some clothes on. “I’m gonna run to Med and get some ear drops and antibiotics. Jay, you need to work on getting her to eat something and get that fever down. I’ll be there soon.” Will instructed, immediately hanging up.

You sighed and handed Jay his phone back before leaning into his chest. Jay held you for a minute, leaving a lingering kiss on the top of your head. “Baby? What can I get you to eat?” Jay asked, leaning back to look down at you.

You shook your head. “No food.” You whimpered, keeping your eyes closed. “Migraine.”

Jay sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought. “Okay sweetheart. You gotta eat something.” Jay whispered, leaning over to flip the lights off, knowing that it normally aggravates your migraines. “How about an apple sauce?” Jay bargained. “If you eat that and drink some Gatorade, you might feel a bit better before Will gets here.” He coaxed, rubbing your arms as you shivered against him.

“Kay.” You mumbled, leaning further into Jay’s hold, wrapping your legs around his waist. “M cold.” You huddled up as close as you could get to him, hating the way you shook to your core.

Jay wrapped his arms around you, attempting to provide you with some body heat and comfort. “Okay baby girl. Want my army sweatshirt?” Jay asked, snuggling his nose into your neck as he felt you nod against him. “Okay. Hold tight.” Jay said, lifting you up after you wrapped your arms around his neck. Jay walked you into the bedroom, sitting you on the bed while he went to the closet to find the requested hoodie.

“Ummm. It’s in your drawer.” You whispered, pointing toward his dresser.

Jay chuckled, going to where you led him. “Now, why is that?” Jay lightheartedly joked, pulling it out of the drawer.

“Smells like you. Traps it.” You murmured, lifting your hands so that Jay could put the sweatshirt on you.

Jay smiled as he gently slid the item of clothing on you. He always wondered how you got his smell back into that sweatshirt, and now he knows your secret. What you don’t know is that he will now be storing your favorite shirts of his in his drawers to keep the scent for you.

“Thanks.” You mumbled once the sweatshirt was placed on your form. You hummed in delight as Jay leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Time for apple sauce and meds baby.” Jay murmured, bending down to pick you up again. He waited until your face was in his neck before he started walking. It was still dark out so he was gonna need some light to see what he was searching for and you had a better chance of not being bothered if your face was hidden in his neck.

Jay walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light. You kept your face tucked against his neck as he went about getting the things you needed. He grabbed an apple sauce from the pantry and one of your bottles of Gatorade before turning on the pantry light and cracking the door. Once he had the items sat on the counter, he went to flip the main light off before placing you on the counter.

You pouted at Jay, poking your bottom lip out and giving him the saddest face you could muster. “Jaaaayyyy.” You whined, missing his contact and not wanting to put anything in your body.

Jay chuckled, having stepped a few feet away to put some coffee on for himself and possibly Will. “Y/nnnnn.” Jay mimicked back, glancing at you from the coffee pot. “Nope. Not the face. You have to eat.” Jay said, turning away from you and standing strong.

You knew the face almost always got you what you wanted, but it was a long shot when it came to your health. You sighed, looking down at the apple sauce packet in your hand. “Fiiine.” You groaned. “Open it?” You requested, holding it out toward Jay like a child.

Jay was amused, but also worried. You tended to act more childish the higher your fevers got. “Yes ma’am.” Jay chuckled, clicking the last button to start the drip before he made his way back to you. He effortlessly opened the packet and held the pouch to your lips. “All of it.” He stated, leaving no room for argument.

You rolled your eyes but compiled. You knew Jay meant well and was also following orders from Will, but you were so scared of throwing up from your migraine. You pulled back about half way through, covering your mouth with one hand and holding your stomach with the other.

Jay sighed, placing the pouch to the side and reached up to pull your hair away from your face. “Shhhhh. Just breathe through it.” Jay soothed, reaching for his phone again. “Nice and slow. I’m gonna have Will get some Zofran, okay?” Jay asked, not expecting an answer as he called Will and told him the other need.

After a few minutes of careful breathing, the nausea passed and you picked up the apple sauce packet, tears in your eyes. You closed them as Jay reached a hand up to cup your face, rubbing his thumb across your cheek and catching the tears on the left side. Will would be there in about 5 minutes, so all you had to do was wait.

“Couch?” You asked, placing the empty packet on the counter. You snuggled into Jay, kissing the side of his neck.

“Okay sweetheart.” Jay complied, picking you back up. Once he had a secure hold on you, Jay grabbed your Gatorade before walking into the living room and sitting you down on the couch. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and covered your legs before he sat next to you. “You gotta drink some of this and take these pills for me, okay?” Jay said, pulling the pill pack out of this pocket and cracking the Gatorade open before handing it to you.

You nodded slightly before taking the pills from him and drinking it down with a quarter of the Gatorade. “No more. Please.” You whispered, feeling nauseous again.

Jay nodded, taking the Gatorade from you. “No more. Good job baby.” Jay praised, lightly kissing your forehead.

Will knocked on the door, causing Jay to pull away from you. Jay let Will in, pointing to the living room before going into the kitchen.

“Hey sis.” Will greeted you quietly, coming and sitting next to you. “Jay said he just gave you the pills. He’s gonna get the thermometer. How yah doin?” Will asked, placing a hand on your forehead.

You closed your eyes, leaning into your brother in-law’s touch. “Hurts. Nauseous too.” You breathed out, shifting to lean back a bit more as you peered at Will through half lidded eyes.

Will nodded, taking out his scope. “That’s what Jay said. Let me look in your ears, okay? Then I’ll get you all fixed up.”

You nodded your consent and allowed Will to stand up and pull away from you. Will checked your left ear first to compare it to your right. Jay came in as Will began looking at your right ear. You whimpered on contacted, causing Will to apologize profusely and promise he was almost done. Jay came and sat next to you, setting down a bowl and swiping the thermometer across your forehead.

“102 Will.” Jay mumbled, putting the thermometer down and taking your hand in his.

Will sighed, pulling the device away from your ear. “You’ve got a pretty nasty infection Y/n. Looks like middle and outer ear.” Will said, putting the used cover to the side before placing his instrument back in his bag. “I’m gonna give you a shot of Zofran, then I’m gonna leave you and Jay with your ear drops and antibiotics. Okay?” Will said, looking between you and Jay.

You nodded, paling at the idea of a needle. Your stomach was already churning. You squeezed Jay’s hand, closing your eyes as you breathed.

Jay saw your struggle, so he reached for the bowl and placing it in your lap. Will gathered your hair, holding it out of the splash zone with one hand and grabbing the prepped needle with the other. Will and Jay made brief eye contact before Will stuck the needle in your arm at Jay’s nod.

The prick sent you over the edge, gagging into the bowl Jay held in your lap. Will was quick to inject the medicine before tossing the needle in his bag to take care of later, but be out of sight for you and Jay. Will helped balance the bowl while Jay slid closer to you, trying to provide you with some comfort.

“Sh Sh Sh. It’s over. We’ve got you. It’s alright.” Jay kept saying, trying to convince you, but also himself. “It’s okay hunny. It’s alright.” Jay soothed, rubbing your arm where Will poked you in order to stop the throbbing.

You nodded, finally getting ahold of yourself and leaning back into Jay. Will took the bowl and went toward your bathroom to take care of it. “Sorry.” You whispered, still trying to catch your breath.

“No sweetheart. It’s alright.” Jay said, kissing your temple. “You know I completely understand.”

“Well, she needs to take more fever reducers. Those just came back up.” Will said, coming back into the living room. “Let’s give the Zofran a few minutes to work. Then you need to eat something else and take more meds. Okay?” Will said, coming up to you and Jay, grabbing his bag. “I’m gonna go back home. You guys take it easy today and call if you need anything.” Will said, coming and placing a kiss on the crown of your head and ruffling Jay’s bed head before leaving.

Jay pulled you into his arms, eyeing the medicine bottles Will left for you on the table. Jay felt zoned out. A lot had happened in less than an hour and he was still exhausted, so you had to be too. “Baby?” Jay whispered, noticing your breathing beginning to even out.

“Hmmm?” You hummed in answer, feeling completely zapped.

“I’m gonna call in for us. Think you can try some more apple sauce and take those meds before we go back to bed?” Jay asked, pushing your hair away from his face.

“Kay.” You mumbled, not having enough energy to fight. The Zofran worked quickly, so you didn’t see why not.

Jay made a quick call to Voight to let him know of the situation as he grabbed another apple sauce for you and some more fever reducers. Though he had to force you awake, you took what he gave you willingly before letting him carry you back to bed.

[aeor-is-for-reccing]

Babygast: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have nine (nein) fics that feature Caleb and Essek being parents! Check them out below the cut, and don't forget to comment or leave kudos if you liked them!

Whistle Song by Chekhov (115412, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Implied past child abuse

Caleb and Essek find themselves the targets of the oddest Assassination attempt. They also get saddled with the Assassins themselves, because they can't find it in their hearts to leave them to their fate. Cue a long process of trying to understand what the hell is going on, and protect the two girls trying to kill them.

Reccer says: the characters are very well studied, Caleb and Essek are very IC, while exploring the sudden responsibility thrust upon them. I adore the twins, and I love the emotions conveyed, the conflict, the struggle to become something other than what they have been told they are, and accept the love and connection offered to them.

care under fire by hanap (2067, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Yasha comes to relieve Essek from the woes of new parenthood, when Caleb and their daughter are ill, and he is being stretched thin.

Reccer says: This fic is very sweet and a lovely little look into Caleb and Essek, but more broadly, the Nein's, future!

Lichtenberg Figures by Twistmalchik (2746, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Male Pregnancy

Essek is uncomfortable one night from his and Caleb's daughter not breastfeeding any longer. Caleb helps him out in quite an unconventional way.

Reccer says: This fic is incredibly sweet and very, very hot! I love how the author approached this kink, it feels very validating as a trans reader and I appreciate that!

Family Resemblance by firefright (1289, General) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Verin meets Caleb and Essek's baby and is utterly charmed by her.

Reccer says: This is a very, very sweet fic of a lovely moment in time! I really love the banter between Essek and Verin, feels very accurate to their relationship.

Fond Mistakes by firefright (644, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek's and Caleb's daughter has a question for one of her fathers.

Reccer says: It's exactly the kind of question a child would ask irl, which makes it funnier.

the fugitive's version of shelter by hanap (28208, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Male Pregnancy

Caleb and Essek navigate the early stages of their relationship, which is complicated by one, Essek's fugitive status, and two, his pregnancy with Ludinus' children.

Reccer says: This fic is lovely! The fact of Essek's entire situation creates very engaging, tense situations throughout the narrative, and seeing the wizards navigate through them is an absolute pleasure. Furthermore, Caleb's utter devotion to Essek and his children and their wellbeing is the sweetest and most integral element of the story, and makes the whole thing really nail the chosen family theme!

Everything New by Moonsp1r1t (2860, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: None

Caleb is a doting dad to his new baby and has to figure out babysitting arrangements

Reccer says: SUPER fluffy!!

And then two recs for: Lay Your Bones by LadyOrpheus (17166, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: None

When Essek is captured by the Dynasty, Verin finds himself in the unexpected position of meeting the Mighty Nein and meeting the niece he didn't know he had

Reccer 1 says: Very interesting character explorations plus a very cute baby! Fun plot too Reccer2 says: Babygast is the CUTEST. The parts with little Yuna are so sweet

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast.

Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we're going to visit some old favorites again with a recurring theme!