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joelscurls · 9 months

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feel it in your bones

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull.

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling.

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house, re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck.

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont, with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it.

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are.

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor.

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school.

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it.

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.”

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front, scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation.

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project.

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time.

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear.

“Professor!”

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower.

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer, strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name.

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing.

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon.

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.”

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?”

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down.

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes.

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight.

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them.

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting.

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.”

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs.

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer.

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well.

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced.

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...”

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now.

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking.

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that.

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules.

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone.

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs.

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids.

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder.

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky.

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches.

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour.

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle.

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone.

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks.

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say:

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.”

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?”

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even.

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation.

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you.

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.”

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole.

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side.

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks.

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door.

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught.

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.”

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now.

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him.

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames.

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want.

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind.

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it.

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?”

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet.

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin.

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble.

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips.

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat.

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave.

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are.

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.”

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough.

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.”

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles.

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask.

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze.

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his.

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too.

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly.

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it?

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair.

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.”

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you.

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips.

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same.

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out.

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again.

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you.

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible.

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter.

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late.

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.”

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move?

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’.

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it.

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in.

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored.

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot.

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers.

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.”

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive.

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind.

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet.

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time.

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.”

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island.

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes.

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.”

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours.

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you.

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer.

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous.

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer.

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second.

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently.

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel.

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island.

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now.

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling.

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing.

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice.

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it.

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans.

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus.

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much. “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm.

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop.

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue.

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch.

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body.

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied.

But Joel isn’t just any man.

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him.

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move.

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again.

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there.

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking.

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours.

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back. A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words.

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him.

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.”

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven.

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy, cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend.

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound.

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids.

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard.

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels.

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours.

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional.

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it.

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds.

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t.

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.”

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease.

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!”

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again.

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.”

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.”

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.”

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes.

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

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ham1lton · 2 months

Text

my favourite interviewer.

pairings: lando norris x fellow driver’s sister/reader

warnings: jokes about adoption. mentions of bigotry but in reference to o/s’s experiences.

summary: the one where you interview your sister and your boyfriend. also part of the nepo!sister universe.

author’s note: i love nepo!sis/y/n. expect to see her more. also these interviews are quite short so imagine they’re longer and these are snippets. y/n is a better interviewer than i made her out to be 😔💔

liked by vogue, yourusername and 1,827,668 others.

oldersister: check out my photoshoot for vogue! and my following interview with my younger sister yourusername. it was definitely… interesting. link in bio <3.

user1: my favourite sisters made another appearance again!!

yourusername: DON’T! work with o/s! such a DIVA! rude as hell…..

-> oldersister: is this because i said pink wasn’t your colour?

-> yourusername: ALL COLOURS ARE MY COLOUR !! 😡

user2: y/n is so funny throughout this entire interview. a natural comedian.

user5: o/s saying that people don’t take her seriously as a driver is crazy!! she’s a two time champion!! what more does she need to do?

-> user6: it’s nothing that she needs to do. there really isn’t anything she can do to change their minds. it’s bigotry.

user3: o/s is so pretty. full time f1 driver and part-time model.

-> user4: one thing about her, lewis and zhou is that they’re all gonna serve looks and face. holy trinity.

liked by yourusername, gq and 1,223,378 others.

landonorris: thank u gq for letting me cover ur magazine and thank u to my gorgeous interviewer for taking the time out of her day to interview me. btw… are you single 😍

user5: this was so cute!! i love their dynamic.

yourusername: no i’m not single. i have a bf. be professional please.

-> landonorris: ain’t nobody care about him queen. i bet you i could beat his ass 😍

-> user1: i wish i had this confidence.

-> landonorris: leave me alone 😭😭🖕🏼

-> user2: poor lando. getting dragged by his fans, his girlfriend, his girlfriend’s fans and his girlfriend’s sister’s fans😭😭 rip bro 💔😔

-> yourusername: he’s fine y’all. please don’t call paw patrol.

user3: lando saying y/n was his favourite person regardless of what she does 🥺🥺

-> user4: when he cussed out y/n for calling herself boring 😭 he said that’s my gf don’t be disrespectful.

user7: y/n finessing a free lunch and dinner out of her boyfriend and her sister was my favourite part. yass queen 😍 take from the rich.

*liked by yourusername*

————————————————————————

MY NIGHT WITH O/S L/N.

by y/n l/n.

It’s the end of O/S’s Vogue’s shoot. She’s dressed in a black form-fitting silk suit with a pair of pale pink heels. I always knew that my sister was famous but seeing her in the middle of such magnitude truly reinforces that she is not just my older sister anymore. She’s bigger than that. We decide to duck behind the busy shoot into a side room to start our interview.

THURSDAY, PARIS, 11:34PM.

Y/N: Did you expect that I’d be the one interviewing you?

O/S L/N: Honestly? No! I’m happy though to see a familiar face. Pleasant surprise.

Y/N: I’m not gonna hold back on the questions though just because you’re my sister. I need you to know that.

O/S: Wouldn’t expect you to.

Y/N: Just for the record, she’s wearing my lipstick. I told her she’d look cute in it and she refused to listen to me.

O/S: I didn’t expect it to look so cute on me. I don’t wear super bright lipsticks, it’s a orangey-red shade for the people who can’t see it. I got the makeup team to source it for me and tried it on and perhaps… you were right. It’s grown on me.

Y/N: I’m always right.

O/S: Always is an understatement but … you have your moments.

Y/N: So, what would you say it’s like being the only female F1 driver?

O/S: A very unique position to be in. I’m lucky to have such a good support system in place. Y’know? Mom, Dad, my team and you.

Y/N: It’s a lot of pressure isn’t it?

O/S: Yes. As any high profile job is.

Y/N: How do you find the pressure when it comes to being a role model for younger girls?

O/S: It’s a responsibility I take very seriously. I think it’s so important to encourage young children, especially girls, to follow their dreams and help to provide avenues to make them accessible. I would love to see younger generations of drivers that come from a diverse array of backgrounds be in Formula One.

Y/N: Remember when you were younger and you’d go go-karting?

O/S: Yes.

Y/N: Dad would always make me come and watch you. It was so boring but he’d always get us ice cream afterwards if you’d won. That’s why I always rooted for you.

O/S: Says it all really.

Y/N: I was always a tennis fan. Maybe a little basketball or football. Dad used to joke that maybe you were the adopted one because no one else in the family knew about motorsports before you.

O/S: He still does! I found out about F1 at my school library at the age of like nine and begged Dad to take me. I’m very lucky that not only did we have the funds at the time but parents that supported us. He used to drive me everywhere. He still does drive me to the Grand Prix sometimes.

Y/N: Funny how little traditions stick with us, huh? Remember when you started making real money and would take us out for dinner after every win?

O/S: I was so excited that I had the money to treat you all.

Y/N: Definitely. What was the biggest challenge you’ve faced so far in your career?

O/S: It’ll sound trivial but… probably being taken seriously.

Y/N: What do you mean by that?

O/S: As a lot of women in male-dominated spaces might face, it’s hard to overcome the biases against my abilities. People said for a long time that I was only here because of diversity quotas.

Y/N: Even when you won?

O/S: Especially when I won. I like to prove people wrong. I’ve spent my whole career doing just that. I just wish it wasn’t so constant and tiring. I’m just doing my job but because of my womanhood and my blackness, it is immediately viewed as political. Overcoming the preconceptions has become a huge part of my journey.

Y/N: That’s annoying as fuck. I’ve seen it first hand too. You’re an incredible driver. I know I joke around with you and take the piss out of you but genuinely you do inspire me. I might not be racing cars anytime soon but I’ll always be your biggest fan.

O/S: Thanks Y/N. That means so much to me.

Y/N: Now onto the juicier stories. Who are you dating? For the readers who mightn’t know your personal life, I’ll spell it oit for them.

O/S: Oh No…

Y/N: You started off by dating your childhood sweetheart, Clark Jones, and then dated actor Paul Elordi.

O/S: I did. I am single now, as you’re aware.

Y/N: And she won’t let me set her up with anyone!

O/S: Just because you’re happy in monogamous bliss doesn’t mean the rest of us wanna be.

Y/N: Thanks for letting me interview you today O/S, it was definitely the best part of my day.

O/S: You were very good. I enjoyed the questions. Five stars.

Y/N: Wanna go out to eat? Your treat.

O/S: Of course, let me change into something more comfortable. These heels are gorgeous but they are killing me.

END OF INTERVIEW.

————————————————————————

MY MORNING WITH LANDO NORRIS.

by y/n l/n.

TUESDAY, LONDON, 10:34AM.

I was told to pretend to be professional and that I didn’t spend the night with my boyfriend so I left the room at around 7am just so that I could knock on the door again later in my interviewer mode. It’s the night after his photoshoot for an energy drink. Lando opens the door in a plain black tee, a hoodie wrapped around his waist and tracksuit bottoms. He isn’t wearing shoes. He lets me in and I sit on the sofa. We start the interview.

Y/N: Good Morning. Should we start the interview?

LANDO NORRIS: I’m ready whenever you are.

Y/N: I told O/S this but just because we know each other, don’t expect me to hold back on the questions. Don’t expect any special treatment just because I am your girlfriend.

LANDO: Wouldn’t dream of it.

Y/N: Alright, let’s get started. How did you feel about yesterday’s photoshoot?

LANDO: Tried something new and I think it turned out well. Got some cool shots. The energy was great and the team was incredible. It was a fun shoot. Couldn’t complain.

Y/N: Do you think you’re a better racer or model?

LANDO: I’d like to say model but I’d have to say racer.

Y/N: I think you could be a model.

LANDO: Even though you’re biased. I’ll accept that.

Y/N: Not biased at all actually. I’m here as Interviewer Y/N, not as your girlfriend Y/N.

LANDO: Wait. Can I flirt with Interviewer Y/N?

Y/N: No.

LANDO: Boooo!

Y/N: Let’s switch gears, what do you like to do when you’re unwinding?

LANDO: Well, Usually I’d say spending time with you but you’re not my girlfriend soo… I’m going to say streaming with my friends and playing video games. Also watching my girlfriend’s favourite reality shows.

Y/N: You’re a Teen Mom UK fan? And a Real Housewives fan? I thought you didn’t to like them.

LANDO: It’s part of the boyfriend playbook. Pretend you’re bored with those sorts of shows but secretly, you’re incredibly into it. I have to keep up with your interests somehow and I picked the most interesting ones.

Y/N: I don’t blame you. Alright, one more question before I go back to being boring girlfriend Y/N and I have to give back this super cool voice recorder.

LANDO: Girlfriend Y/N isn’t boring to me. She’s actually my favourite person. Don’t talk shit about my girl.

Y/N: Fine. She’s not boring. She’s just less of a technophile.

LANDO: I’ll accept that.

Y/N: My last question is what’s your favourite thing about driving for Formula One?

LANDO: Besides the thrill of racing? And the part where I’m living my childhood dream? Definitely the fans. Their support and energy help fuel me on the track. Plus, I get to travel the world while doing what I love. I think that’s the ideal world for a lot of people. I’m very lucky.

Y/N: I couldn’t agree more. Thank you for letting me ask you those questions. Now, time for me to go back to the girlfriend version of me.

LANDO: Don’t sell yourself short. You’re always my favourite person regardless of what version you are.

Y/N: Flattery will get you everywhere, won’t it?

LANDO: Hey! It’s not flattery if it’s the truth.

Y/N: Guess you’re not just a pretty face huh. Don’t worry, I’ll keep our reality television show marathons a secret between me, you and all the millions of GQ magazine readers.

LANDO: You’re an angel. Lunch?

Y/N: Only if you’re paying.

LANDO: Always.

END OF INTERVIEW.

————————————————————————

912 notes · View notes

drchucktingle · 1 year

Text

trotting past this together

a few chuck posts are makin the rounds today which means i am getting the usual 'chuck is my favorite author i have never read' jokes.

i have talked about how i do not really like this comment as i think there is inherent 'not taking chuck seriously as a sincere and real human' to this. some say 'i do not like erotica' but chuck writes plenty of non erotica so really i think this frequent comment is a sort of subconscious 'i am a fan of the tingleverse but could never PROUDLY be fan who actually reads his queer neurodivergent work, my appreciation MUST have a sheen of irony or winking'. nobody would ever say to stephen kings face 'i love you i am your biggest fan OF COURSE I WOULD NEVER READ YOUR BOOKS YOU GET THOUGH IT RIGHT?' anyway, really consider why you say this to chuck.

REGARDLESS it is JUST FINE buds. we are all on our own trot. i do not hold it against anyone and i understand we have our own journey. i am expressing how it makes me feel but i do not hold it against anyone who says this i have nothing but love for you buckaroos.

ALL THAT SAID since i am getting swarmed with these comments today thought it might be a good opportunity to challenge this notion. i am ONLY POSTING THIS ON TUMBLR because i think this group especially understand supporting art and artists and especially outsider queer neurodivergent arts.

if you are one of these buds who has appreciated my trot for years and never bought a book, or have made these comments without really considering what you are saying over and over again, now it the moment to REALLY support chuck with preorder of camp damascus. i have talked about WHY this timing is important here.

bud to bud, if you have the means to trot in this way and have said 'chuck is my favorite author i have never read' then what better time for the two of us to trot past this block together. NO JOKE, if just one out of ten of my tumblr followers alone preordered camp damascus it would likely hit the national bestseller lists and alter this timeline in unfathomable ways (not the least of which getting to update cover of harriet porber with a 'from national bestseller' banner).

anyway buckaroos, thank you for listening. i appreciate you so much whether you enjoy reading my tinglers or comment 'favorite author i have never read.' you ALL prove love and i cherish our trot together.

PREORDER CAMP DAMASCUS HERE

#favorite author i HAVE read

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dirtytomatoedwrites · 9 months

Text

INDEBTED

Summary: When your father's scandal threatens your family's legacy, Rafe makes you an offer you can't refuse.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x KookFem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Coercive Behaviour, Choking, Graphic Scenes / Smut.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Author's Note: 1000 followers! Wow, I never thought I'd reach 1000 followers. A part of me believes that half of these are bots, but regardless, to those who are real and have decided to join me in my little corner of the Tumblr woods, thank you. Your love and support, especially during these trying times, means a lot. I had this one shot sitting in my drafts for a while and thought I'd finish the damn thing and share it as a thank you. But heed those warnings : it's a dark one. Much love to you all ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Embezzlement.

What a weird word.

It rolls off the tongue with an unfamiliar bitterness. It's the kind of term you'd see in a crossword puzzle, nestled between "clandestine" and "malevolent." You never imagined it would be splashed across news headlines with your family's name and the face of your father in the centre.

For years, your family was among the shining stars of Figure 8, leaders in hospitality, prestige, and wealth. Your home was the epicenter of elegance, the heartbeat of social galas. But now, news vans line the perimeter of your estate, their cameras hungry for a glimpse of the fallen dynasty. While online vultures, under the guise of investigative websites, sift through every chapter of your family's history.

Naturally, it caused a ripple, and as the waves of the scandal crashed onto the shores of Figure 8 with relentless force, family friends who once sought your company now wrestled with their association to yours. The 'friends' who once envied your galas and soirées now whisper behind closed doors.

It was the talk of every gathering. At lunches, tennis courts, even the marina; your family’s name was whispered with a mix of pity and sensationalism. Every disclosed detail, every leaked piece of evidence, threatens to shatter the glass pedestal upon which your family once stood unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the tempest of rumors and glares, your mother remains the eye of the storm. Resolute and graceful, she doesn't waver. The titan of Figure 8's social scene, she's always known how to command a room, and this scandal won't rob her of that gift.

Tonight, at the Midsummer ball, she's an emblem of defiance against the rising tide of whispers. And she does it so effortlessly. She glides through the crowd with that same charismatic charm. She smiles warmly, asking about children and recent vacations, pets, and passion projects, extending olive branches even when met with frosty receptions and curt replies.

You, however, are not as composed. The weight of judgmental gazes is too suffocating, the murmurs too piercing. The confines of the ball, with its glittering chandeliers and faux smiles, become a prison. With each passing moment, the walls seem to close in further. You need air. A moment of solitude. An escape from the suffocating pretense.

Whispering a quick excuse to your mother about needing the powder room, you slip away. The soft hum of the party fades behind you as you venture down a paved stone path, leading to the beach. The cool breeze and rhythmic waves provide solace, a stark contrast to the stifling ambiance of the party.

You had taken off the flower crown your mother had insisted you wear and were about to remove your shoes when you heard it: the soft crunch of footsteps on sand, drawing closer.

Hesitantly, you turned, finding him. The one whose eyes often sought yours in a crowd. Whose lingering gazes you'd always felt but habitually ignored. The same person who continually asked you out, oftentimes rudely and crudely. The one you had rejected, rebuffed, and shut down more times than you could count.

Rafe Cameron.

"Came to rub salt in my wounds?" you asked, unable to mask the bitterness in your voice.

"Now why would I want to do such a thing?" Rafe murmured. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, placing it between his lips. The soft flicker of the lighter momentarily illuminated his face, revealing a brief smirk before the darkness cloaked him again. "I thought you might appreciate some company instead."

The word 'appreciate' ricocheted around your mind, sounding almost absurd in this situation. Company? From Rafe Cameron? The notorious Kook King of Figure 8, a classic case book narcissist who, you were certain, had probably raised a toast to the scandal engulfing your family. At this moment, you'd rather eat glass than accept his sympathy. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the sea, barely acknowledging his presence.

“I'm not in the mood to talk, Rafe," your voice steady but seething with restrained frustration. Your eyes remained locked onto the undulating waves before you. The smell of sea-salt filled your nostrils, and for a fleeting moment, you felt at peace. It lasts all of two seconds before Rafe opens his mouth again.

"Fine, I'll talk. You listen," he asserts, as he settles against a rock. He leisurely inhales from his cigarette before blowing out a plume of smoke into the night air. You can feel his contemplative gaze on you; it becomes evident in the softened timbre of his voice when he speaks again. “You know, it's downright shitty what they're doing to your dad. To your family. To you... I can't stand by and watch."

A scornful laugh escapes you as you finally meet his gaze. "Well, life's not exactly handing out fairness certificates, is it?"

He shook his head, "No, it isn’t. But, it still doesn't make it right. It doesn’t make it fair when your dad claims he’s innocent—”

“My dad is innocent,” you assert fiercely, standing tall, arms crossed defiantly over your chest.

“Oh, I believe he is. But the world? Not so much. Your dad’s always been good to my family. My old man took it hard when he heard. I mean, of all the people on Figure 8 to be arrested for embezzlement, your dad was the last person anyone would suspect—”

“What's your point, Rafe?” You snapped, clearly about to lose the last shred of patience you had.

"I’ve been thinking about it alot, and maybe my family can help.”

Skepticism etched itself clear as day on your face. It seemed ironic that Rafe felt his family could help when Rose and Ward shunned your parents the moment the news broke.

“And how do you propose to do that?" you asked, your voice tinged with mistrust.

Rafe shrugged, a casual gesture that contradicted the gravity of the situation. "My dad, he's got connections—”

“So do mine,” you shot back.

“But did yours play golf with Senator Whitfield every Saturday? Rain or shine? Nah, didn’t think so.”

You felt a moment of silence envelop you both, the distant murmurs of the sea a constant reminder of the world moving around you.

"Alright, I'll bite," you said with a lick of your lips. "What do you want in return? You're clearly not doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Rafe flicked his cigarette onto the sand, extinguishing it with a deliberate twist of his shoe. As he stepped closer, moonlight illuminated his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glow.

“You've got me," he admitted, his smirk devoid of warmth. “I do want something in return. Something that has been on my mind. Something I’ve wanted for a long time now. You."

A shiver raced down your spine, a cocktail of revulsion and trepidation. Retreating a step, your voice quivered but remained defiant.

"So, you're after a date?" You clarified, eyes narrowing. The same date he'd pestered you for, relentlessly, over the past year. The same date you'd denied him repeatedly, because despite being handsome, Rafe Cameron's moral compass seemed nonexistent.

Rafe scratched his ear as he moved slowly toward you, his expression pained as though what he was about to reveal would hurt him far more than it would hurt you.

"Yeah, see, a date won't begin to cover what I'm risking for your old man, given his rap sheet is longer than my arm. No, what I want is far more... rewarding," his voice sank to a sultry whisper as he towered over you.

"And what would that be?" you asked, tension crackling in the air between you.

"I want to be able to fuck you whenever and however I want—for a month, maybe two, perhaps even a year..." he shrugged slowly, "The specifics are negotiable, but doesn't that sound fair? A little pussy in exchange for your dad's freedom?”

The slap was instinctual. Swift. The sting on your palm matched only by the shock on Rafe's face. For a split second, everything was still.

Rafe's eyes turned to steel, his demeanor shifting chillingly in a heartbeat. He closed in, his voice a venomous whisper slicing through the salty sea air. "You must have a death wish" he hissed, an unmistakable dangerous edge to his words. His hand gingerly brushed his reddening jaw, his piercing gaze never leaving yours. "Your dad's freedom? It's dangling by the thinnest thread... The right words from a senator could decide whether he walks free or becomes someone's bitch behind bars."

He paused, his gaze falling to the flower crown in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out to touch it, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate petals, an almost gentle gesture that was jarringly at odds with the tension of the moment.

"If you want to help your dad, having a friend like me might be your best bet." he murmured. "Think it over, yeah?" His gaze lifted back to yours, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you whispered, disgust fueled your retreat as you stormed away, his chilling laugh echoing ominously in the night air.

"You will, princess. When you come to your senses, you will."

Rafe's lingering words pressed on you, growing heavier with each breath. The looming possibility of your father's life behind bars became ever more ominous as Rafe presented a potential solution—a solution with an inconceivable price tag.

How could he even insinuate such a thing? The mere suggestion repulsed you, igniting a fury at Rafe's audacity. Yet the unease gnawing at your belly made you question: to what lengths would you go to save your dad? With your family facing disgrace and teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, Rafe's proposal offered a faint glimmer of hope, even if it took the ugliest of forms.

In the solitude of your bedroom, the pristine walls seemed to close in, just like the midsummer ball. Picking up your phone, you stared at the screen, the bright white light harsh against the dim setting. The contacts list stared back, an overwhelming list of names, none of whom had reached out during your family's time of need.

You scrolled, hesitating briefly before landing on Rafe's name. A whirlwind of emotions — from anger to desperation — consumed you as you pressed on it. Trembling fingers typed, deleted, and retyped a message multiple times, finally settling on the simplest of words.

"We need to talk."

Almost immediately, three dots danced on the screen.

"Tomorrow 7pm, Tannyhill.”

Was Rafe’s curt response.

You could barely sleep that night, as your mind raced, forming what you hoped was a semblance of a plan. You needed to negotiate on your terms, to retain some shred of dignity. It wasn't a detailed strategy, but it was enough to at least get through Rafe's offer with your sanity.

The next day as you approached Tannyhill, you whispered silent affirmations to yourself, reaffirming your resolve, your worth, and the necessity of your mission.

And then, there he was. Rafe Cameron, leaning casually against the frame of the ornate door, a picture of wealth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the impending darkness of the evening.

Rafe opened the door for you, his face betraying a flicker of something you couldn't quite read, but there was no turning back now. You stepped in, ready to negotiate with the devil himself if it meant saving your family.

"Where's everyone?" you asked, there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. Nothing about the situation was remotely pleasant.

"Movies. You know, I hadn't expected a text from you so soon." his voice dripped with condescension, "I was betting on at least a week or two."

"Yeah well, it is my dad's life on the line," your footsteps echoed with purpose as you followed him into the living room, eyes steeling for the battle ahead. "The sooner we finalize our agreement, the quicker you can pull whatever strings you have, right?"

Rafe spun around, his gaze locking onto yours. The sly curve of his lips unsettling. "Sure, I’ll make a few calls,” he stated, voice dark and sardonic, "but it'll depend on the terms we agree to."

"Alright…” you braced yourself, your arms folded trying to regain control. "Let's start with how lon--"

“A year,” Rafe cut in, not breaking eye contact.

"That's out of the question. A month," you shot back.

His chuckle resonated with an underlying seriousness, his eyes narrowing in focus "Sure, we can say a month. You willing to fuck me at least twice a day? No? Then eleven."

You straightened your back, your resolve hardening. "Two months, tops."

His eyes gleamed as he considered your counteroffer. "How about this, we keep our little arrangement going until your dad's free. It could be a month, maybe two…” he shrugged nonchalantly “It might even be a year. It depends on how soon he’s out. What do you think?"

You hesitated, visibly weighing the implications of such an open-ended commitment. Your dad’s charges were serious. The chances of those charges disappearing and him being released in a month seemed like a miracle. "What if it drags on for years?" you whispered.

Rafe’s grin grew more pronounced, relishing your distress. "Well, princess, that's for you to decide. You can always walk away whenever you think it’s unbearable. Does that seem fair?"

"Okay, fine. Now about condoms--”

“Not using them--”

“Oh, we’re using them. I’m not interested in having your kid, Rafe, and I’m certainly not interested in catching anything from you.”

“While I should be fucking insulted” he said dryly “I always glove up and get tested regularly too.”

“Okay, so why are you suddenly against using condoms with me, then?”

“Because I promised myself…” he said slowly, his voice lowering as he made his way towards you, “If I ever got the chance to fuck you, I'd do it raw.”

Your jaw clicked, your hands itching to slap him again. “Weren’t you fooling around with Letizia a couple of weeks back?”

“Yeah, so? I was gloved up.”

“I don't care. You've slept with half the girls on figure 8. I want you fully tested before we even think about doing anything. Condoms every time, no excuses.”

“Alright. I’ll get tested. Condoms while fucking, no condoms for blowjobs.”

"Yeah, about that, I'm not doing oral.'” you said folding your arms in resignation.

Rafe's eyes bore into yours, annoyance coloring his features.

"No. No. You don’t get to dictate how I fuck you." he snapped, his voice taking on edge of authority. "Look, i’m willing to let you negotiate a few terms, give you some semblance of control but it’s got to be worth my while, and for it to be worth it, I get to fuck you how I want, when I want.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve waver.

"Now, here's what I want to make this deal work: when I call, you answer. No matter the place, no matter the time. You show up. Clear?" Rafe said.

You paused before giving a hesitant nod, the magnitude of your agreement dawning on you.

"And if I ask you to wear something specific, you will. No questions. We have a deal?"

Your throat tightened as his demands began to overwhelm you, but you managed a brief nod in response.

"Remember, fail to meet my terms, and our deal ends. Understood?"

Another nod.

"Anything else?"

“When will you make the call?” you asked quickly.

“After our first session,” he proposed, his smile revealing a hint of anticipation. “After that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure your dad’s free”

" I want proof. I want proof that you’d stick to your part of the deal.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good." you said as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Get tested and send me the results," you responded, you're tone neutral, treating it as a standard business transaction. "I'll do the same. We can then choose a time and date."

Rafe nodded in agreement, his gaze intense and piercing.

You extended your hand towards him.

"What's that for?" he chuckled lowly.

"A handshake. To seal the deal."

Rafe reached out, his arms enveloping you in a firm yet tender grasp, pulling you against him. It took everything within you to not push him away.

"How about we seal this deal with a kiss, hmm?" he murmured, "Especially since we'll be doing a lot more than kissing very soon."

Rafe leaned in, letting his lips graze yours. But you stiffened, instinctively tilting your head so that his lips met your cheek instead. A soft chuckle escaped him as he retreated just a fraction.

“Ah ah” he chided. With his fingers gently but firmly cradling your jaw, he directed your face back to his, an unsettling tension growing palpable between you.

"Play. Nice.” he whispered, his voice considerably smug. "Kiss me. Like you mean it." It wasn't a mere request; it was a command that left you feeling completely cornered.

A battle of wills ensued; neither of you making the first move, both of you waiting for the other to blink first. Rafe's eyes never left your own as he leaned in once again, his determination clear.

His tongue gently pushed past your parted lips, and you allowed it, setting off a delicate yet conflicting dance between your tongues and lips.

Groaning into your mouth, his eyes shut as the kiss deepened, carrying an undeniable intensity. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at your tender flesh until his tongue lashed hungrily against yours sending a peculiar mix of tingles and dread coursing through you.

Finally, you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath while your chest heaved. Rafe remained close, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breathing matching your intensity.

"I'll get tested first thing tomorrow," he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and desire. "Make sure you do, too."

"All clear."

That was the message Rafe sent you two days after your heated conversation, accompanied by a screengrab of his test results. Without hesitation, you replied, sending him your own results in return.

As your fingers tapped across the screen, a surge of disgust washed over you. The very idea of being intimate with Rafe was anything but appealing; it fact, it made you feel sick.

You'd never choose Rafe of your own volition. Sure he was handsome but his excessive drinking and drug habits were repellant, and his disdain and bullying nature towards the Pogues was disturbing. None of his qualities were remotely attractive, let alone fuckable.

But then, the stern, resilient part of you asserted itself, urging you to focus on the goal at hand.

This was not about you or Rafe; it was about orchestrating your father's release from prison, a critical mission where failure wasn't an option. With this clear objective ingrained in your mind, you steeled your resolve, preparing yourself for what lay ahead.

When he proposed meeting up that same night, you didn't find it strange given Rafe's impulsive nature. However, the location he suggested did catch you off guard.

It wasn't Tannyhill, the somewhat familiar and comfortable place you had anticipated, but instead, an unfamiliar address. The randomness of the location set off tiny alarms in the back of your mind, making you wary but you took a deep breath, quickly typing out your response-

"I'll be there."

It wasn't just any random address, as you initially thought.

At the front of a gated tree-lined drive stood a prominent sign declaring, “Cameron Developments.” The freshly poured concrete and stacks of lumber clearly indicated that it was a home under renovation.

As you made your way along the winding path, unease gripped you, but the sight of Rafe’s truck haphazardly parked near the entrance reassured you that you had indeed reached the right place.

The estate was draped in an unsettling darkness, punctuated only by the soft chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, and the sporadic glow of work lights from inside, hinting at the ongoing renovations.

Exiting your car, you took a moment to absorb the scene before approaching the house. With each step towards the porch, your heart rate quickened. But before you could even announce your presence, the heavy door groaned open, revealing the looming presence of Rafe.

His expression, obscured by the shadows and dim work lights from within, gave away nothing. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter, then closed the door and locked it.

A knot formed in your throat, a cocktail of dread and adrenaline. Pushing the mounting fear aside, you gathered your voice, attempting to sound braver than you felt. "Alright, let's get this over with," you said.

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Rafe's lips. You felt an icy dread settle in your chest. "Oh, we will," he murmured, "But first, I want to play a game... to make things... interesting." The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive.

"One minute" he said, as he cracked his neck from side to side, his eyes boring into you. "You get a one-minute head start and after that, after that--" he sighed happily "I'm coming for you. Run."

Panic gripped you. "Run? What? What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean run?" you stammered, your voice edged with rising panic.

But his eyes were cold, devoid of humor or empathy. He leaned closer, his voice a menacing hiss that left no room for interpretation. "Run."

A rush of adrenaline hit you, and without another word, you sprinted past him as if your very life depended on it.

You had no clear destination in mind, only the primal instinct to run and hide. Every fiber of your being was attuned to survival. Heart pounding in your chest, you sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps three at a time, feeling the weight of your own desperation in every leap.

At the top, a maze of doors and hallways stretched out before you. You lunged for the nearest one, finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom freshly painted in white. Shadows danced on the walls from the solitary work light, and your gaze immediately snapped to a closet on your right.

Without hesitation, you slipped inside, gently closing the door behind you. The smell of paint and cedar filled your nostrils. Placing a trembling hand over your mouth, you tried to muffle the sound of your heavy, ragged breathing.

Gently, so as not to make a sound, you nudged the slatted shutter doors of the closet closed, leaving only thin slivers of the room visible – distorted, but enough to keep watch.

The ominous sound of footsteps reached your ears; they were methodical, unhurried. Rafe was searching, savoring the hunt. You watched in horror as his elongated shadow, cast by the work light, drifted across the closet. A cold sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to fight back the urge to gasp as the shadow paused momentarily by the closet doors.

After what felt like an eternity, the shadow moved away, and you heard his footsteps retreating. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, you gave yourself a moment to gather your bearings. But you knew all too well you couldn't remain hidden for long; he would inevitably retrace his steps and find you.

Gathering your courage, you carefully eased the closet doors open and quickly scanned the room for an escape route. Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you made your move. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you tiptoed across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards that might betray your presence. But the moment you stepped out of the bedroom, you collided with a solid mass.

Rafe's eyes pierced through to your soul, pure hunger reflected in them as he stared down at you. His hand clamped around your throat, pulling you close as the smell of your fear and his cologne filled your nostrils in a nauseating mix. His lips crushed against yours, ravaging your mouth with an intensity that nearly made you faint.

As your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, you frantically writhed in his grip. Your fists relentlessly pounded against his arm, trying to get him to relinquish his hold on you, but it was no use. In one swift motion, Rafe backed you into the bedroom and forcefully dragged you to the floor, your fingers wildly clawing at his arm as you searched for any type of leverage you could find.

Rafe ravished your neck with unbridled hunger, his other hand violently tugged at your skirt and panties, scraping the skin of your thighs until finding your moist center—the slippery wetness signifying your surrender to pleasure. Rafe groaned as his fingertips slid through your slick folds and into you causing you to gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure.

"For someone who's only doing this to save their dad, you're soaked..." Rafe laughed breathlessly, trailing a line of wet kisses up your throat. "All that sanctimonious bullshit about what you will and won't do and look at you, fucking dripping for my cock—”

"Fuck you!" you screeched, a potent mixture of embarrassment and venomous rage coursing through you has you writhing beneath him, your determination to push him off almost frantic.

"That's it—fight back," he jeered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Fight back. It'll make this all the more satisfying."

You kicked and screamed, only for Rafe to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands connected your wrists together over your head. In a single move, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled you from behind, his erection pressing against your ass.

One of Rafe's hands tears off your panties, your screams in protest seize immediately as Rafe stuffed the flimsy cotton into your mouth.

"There" he taunted with a sinister chuckle, pressing you down further as you desperately attempted to wriggle free. You strained to let out a scream, your voice stifled by the makeshift gag.

That same hand worked feverishly to free himself from his pants. You could feel the throbbing heat of his erection at the cleft of your ass. Could hear him tearing open the condom packet with his teeth, the necessary prelude to satiating his ever-growing hunger.

Not too long after he was grinding the head of his cock against your wetness while you fought to express your protests through the gag.

"No, no, this is what we've agreed to. What you agreed to..." Rafe's breath hitched as his cock slid over your weeping slit. With one hard, raw thrust, barely allowing you time to adjust to his girth, he plunged himself deep inside you.

He wasted no time, immediately beginning his relentless thrusts, utterly indifferent to your muffled struggles behind the gag. Your body writhed beneath his weight, your movements punctuated by desperate grunts, the hardwood floor beneath you offering no mercy.

After a brief moment, Rafe released your wrists and drew you closer, his grip on your hips unwavering as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting force. Your head spun as you gradually surrendered to the powerful cadence of his movements. His hands clung to you possessively, guiding both of you in a desperate, synchronized dance. Every nerve in your body ignited, primal heat surging from deep within.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your body succumbed to his unyielding force. Despite the freedom of your hands, you found yourself paralyzed, incapable of resisting or offering any form of resistance. Instead, you relinquished control, allowing Rafe to claim you entirely.

"I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna cum. Cum with me," he growled through gritted teeth, his tempo increasing to a punishing pace.

You weakly shook your head, 'no,' your determination unwavering as you fought to maintain control over your desires. The mere thought of your pleasure becoming entangled with his, sullied and exploited for his depraved fantasies, was something you could not bear.

"Oh, you'll cum-" he sneered.

In a sudden, ominous gesture, he swiftly removed his leather belt from its loop around his pants and coiled it around your neck, pulling and winding it tightly around his fist.

"If you want to breathe, you'll cum," he snarled, pounding you with relentless force. The room was filled only with the sound of your choked gasps for air, Rafe's ragged breaths, the creak of the leather as he tightened his grip, and the rhythmic punishing slap of his hips against your flesh. You fought with every ounce of your being not to succumb to your impending orgasm, tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes as you waged a futile battle.

The room reverberated with your agonised screams as your orgasm consumed you. Your muscles tensed and quivered beneath you, each wave of pleasure crashed over you like a violent tsunami drowning you. Your fingers clawed at the belt constricting your throat, the leather biting into your skin and to your abject horror, you were gushing around his cock as you climaxed.

Rafe fucked you harder, burying his face in the back of your neck. With a triumphant roar, Rafe's orgasm struck, and he shuddered against you, muffling his moans of pleasure into your skin as he stuffed his cock deep.

Sated and content, he collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and laboured, the condom filled with his cum. After a moment, he withdrew and shifted to lie beside you.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you managed to free yourself from the tight confines of the belt and the stifling gag that had cruelly silenced you. Every fiber of your being, every muscle in your body, screamed with raw pain as you gulped in fresh air, each breath feeling like a hard-won victory. Tears of relief and anguish streamed down your face, and with a shaky hand, you hastily brushed them away.

The room seemed to sway, a disorienting blend of fear, relief, and vertigo threatening to drag you into terrifying darkness.

Yet, slicing through the fog of your distress was the haunting sound of Rafe's laughter. His voice was breathless, yet unmistakably gleeful. His fingers, dampened with sweat, raked through his messy hair, highlighting his heightened state of manic exhilaration.

"Next time," he grinned, a chilling promise lacing his words, "Next time, we'll use rope."

--------------

Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe smut #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #dark!rafe cameron #obx fanfiction #obx #18+ read #dirtytomatoedwrites #dark rafe cameron #smut warning

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fangswbenefits · 5 months

Text

The Arrangement (11) - First Light

Chapter summary: A much needed discussion takes place and it ends with Astarion coating his daggers with poison.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past trauma. Mentions of oral sex. Blood drinking,

Word count: 4.3k

Author's note: I am still unable to reply to comments (I'm waiting for tumblr support to fix this... I read all of the, I promise. You can also send and ask or head to ao3 so I can reply there. Thank you!

Series masterlist

Ao3

Wyll Ravengard was the picture-perfect of integrity.

Well, if you were to exclude his past dealings with the half-devil Mizora. But even then, he had been mostly justified in his assessment of the situation.

So it came as no surprise when you weren't able to find a single trace of judgement on his face.

Only evident concern.

Shadowheart had quickly filled him in on the Waterdeep situation as well as provided him with enough context when it came to Ava.

“Well, this is a… mess,” Wyll eventually drawled out.

Astarion, who was sitting to your right, immediately snickered. “Understatement of the year.”

Shadowheart, who was sitting to you left, promptly quipped, “I wonder whose fault that is.”

He leaned forward to glance at her. “Darling, all that pent-up frustration must–”

You heaved a deep sigh as you nudged him with your elbow, not in the mood to moderate their venomous exchange. “Enough!”

Wyll took a seat across from yours as a Fist stood by his side, hand clasping the handle of his sword in a silent warning.

“You should have told me about your arrangement with Ava,” he said, locking eyes with you. “I know all too well how some propositions are just rotten from the start and doomed to fail.”

Tension and guilt settled in the pit of your stomach.

Not even half an hour ago, you had been able to momentarily push aside the chaos that had been hurled at you in such short notice.

“It seemed like a fair exchange – if her words are to be believed, that is,” you said.

Wyll tensed up. “There is nothing fair about offering your blood to bloodthirsty fiends as an exchange.” He then glanced at Astarion. “No offense.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “None taken, darling.”

But Wyll did have a point even if your arrangement with Astarion was nothing akin to the one with Ava.

Yet…

“Nothing is set in stone. I don't have to go through with any of it.”

From beside you, Shadowheart managed an irritable look. “I cannot be the only one who finds all of this rather convenient. Even if there is someone connected to Cazador after you, why would she withhold that information? Doesn't she need you safe and sound, Astarion?”

“I suppose so, but who's to say? I would need to talk to her,” he said, eyes on Wyll. “I have to talk to her.”

Wyll immediately understood the implication in his words. “Now?”

“Well, obviously not now,” he said indignantly.

The sun was still up and dusk was hours away.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” you intervened, heart racing in your chest. “We need to find out first if there's something that links all of this to Ava.”

“Regardless of that, she still needs to answer for her deranged proposition,” Astarion replied.

Shadowheart scoffed. “You were the one who endangered her in the first place with that bizarre deal.”

He was on his feet faster than you could blink, scowling. “Do not make the idiotic mistake of thinking you are the only one here who cares for her.”

She rose from the sofa, matching his defyance. “Oh, I am sure you care for her – in your own twisted way.”

“Can you two stop it?” you half-shouted, coming to stand in between them before he could retort. “This is pointless!”

They glared at each other in silence for a moment before parting ways, with Astarion sinking down on a chair whilst Shadowheart began pacing around the room, evidently distressed.

“My friends, we need to think critically here,” Wyll spoke again. “Arguing with each other is the last thing we ought to do right now.”

Silence followed as tension dispersed.

“Now, as we wait for Lae'zel and Gale to return, I must ask a few questions, Astarion.”

He crossed his arms. “Oh, this should be fun.”

Wyll ignored his snarky remark, assuming a more serious demeanour. “Why would you resort to her in the first place? Was her promise more solid than the Wish spell?”

“There were no promises made,” he said acidly, a nerve clearly having been struck. “She’s merely experimenting and the prospect seemed too good to pass.”

“So, your blood for a way to lessen your vampiric hunger? That was the deal?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine and you watched as Astarion tensed up slightly.

He had never shared with them just how deep the horrors he endured under Cazador's command truly twisted inside him.

How all of it had taken a toll on his ability to be intimate with someone without feeling tainted.

How it had ultimately driven him into striking a deal with someone like Ava as despair took root.

And it wasn't your place to reveal any of it.

So you merely sat back and observed him in silence.

“It seemed good enough back then,” he said coolly. “Besides, it could also be helpful to the spawn in the Underdark.”

That had Wyll arch an eyebrow. “The spawn?”

“Petras has been sending letters to report back, and – well, let's just say that dealing with 7,000 hungry vampire spawn isn't an easy feat,” he said. “I figured that if her experiment were to be successful, then it'd be beneficial for them as well.”

Oh.

Shadowheart waggled her eyebrows as her feet came to a halt. “So you weren't merely thinking about yourself?”

“Initially, yes. Of course.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“However, I was the one who doomed them to eternal hunger, so it seemed fitting I'd help.”

“They were doomed either way,” you quickly pointed out. “And it was Cazador's doing.”

His head turned to you. “Be it as it may, their hunger isn't sated for long. I know that all too well.”

Astarion wasn't exactly the epitome of selflessness, but you knew he had come to change some of his ways in the past few weeks after all the events that had unfolded.

And when it came to his own hunger, you figured old habits did die hard.

His eyes then landed on your neck for a moment before looking away.

“I reckon I already know the answer to this, but did you even plan ahead?” Shadowheart said, crossing her arms. “How would you even make this feasible for thousands of spawn with just your own blood? Or were they really just an afterthought?”

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Ava was handling the … logistics, shall we say. My blood would be the starting point, but not a requirement.”

She scoffed in utter disbelief. “And you took her word for it… blindly. You simply trusted some monster hunter with a blood fetish? This is ridiculous even for you.”

He was definitely a passionate admirer of the ‘laugh now, cry later’ school of thought, which also meant that when the consequences hit… they would hit hard.

“It's not like progress was being made with the Wish spell, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

A chill rushed through you like a knife. “Only a few weeks had passed, Astarion. All you had to do was wait–”

And then he snapped. His seemingly calm demeanour finally cracking open and revealing the hurt underneath.

“For centuries, all I did was wait! There were times I wished he would just destroy me once and for all to rid me of the burden of being ‘alive’ under such conditions,” he snarled, rising from the chair as he faced you. “I turned away from all that power I could have – the ritual… everything! I – I just…” His voice faltered and he heaved a sigh, reining back his outrage as his face softened into that expression that just broke you. “Is it such a crime that I want better for myself?”

You shook your head, feeling for him, but… “These things take time. Despair leads to rushed actions.”

He grimaced. “So you'd have me turn to hope?”

“Yes.”

He clicked his tongue. “There's nothing quite as cruel as hope, darling.”

You heard Wyll let out an exasperated sigh from across the room. “Astarion, I will not judge you for the decision you made to mingle with Ava – you had your reasons. But the consequences seem severe enough even if she isn't involved in either of the killings.”

He remained silent.

“It's not just about you anymore. She took an interest in her blood and is now using it as a bargaining chip,” he said. “That is unacceptable.”

“I fully agree with Wyll,” Shadowheart said as she came to sit next to you once again.

“And that is why you'll let me go to her,” Astarion said.

“You're still under house arrest. The Council of Four will–”

“To Hells with them all!” Astarion said through clenched teeth, fangs peeking through. “We're your friends, are we not? And since you're so adamant about my fault in this, allow me to set things right.”

“A good call,” Shadowheart chimed in with a nod.

Wyll seemed taken aback by his words and his frown deepened. “I may have the final word as the Grand Duke, but I cannot consciously go against a collective ruling.”

“The circumstances have changed,” Astarion retorted simply. “I will go to her and you're free to have your Fists point a thousand stakes at me along the way if it eases your mind.”

You could tell Wyll felt torn between duty and reasoning, and you didn't envy him in the slightest.

“You don't understand the consequences of–”

Astarion's face darkened and a devious smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, darling. I do understand. I simply do not care.”

Wyll took a deep breath, clearly realising he was fighting a losing battle.

He turned to face the Fist by his side. “Send word to the Council.”

The tall and broad man nodded before exiting through the front door.

“You can't be serious,” Astarion scoffed. “You should have kept this between us. They don't have to know.”

But Wyll merely shook his head. “We can do things your way and my way.”

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“I'm coming with you,” you said, fully determined..

Shadowheart immediately gripped your arm firmly. “No.”

Wyll rose from his seat. “He shall not go alone, but you don't need to get more involved in this than you already are.”

Astarion turned to face you and raised one hand. “Absolutely not. You stay.”

That made your blood boil almost instantly and a flash of anger crossed your face. “I can fend for myself. Just let me–”

But your words were muffled by a deafening swirling and pulsing sound that came from outside.

In no time, the door was slammed open as a visibly irritated Lae'zel stormed inside.

“Tsk'va! Mages and their nauseating portals,” she grumbled before closing the door shut and plunging the room in candlelight once again. “Almost spilled the contents of my stomach. Twice.”

Both you and Shadowheart flocked to her side and you spoke first, “Are you alright? Where’s Gale?”

She nodded dismissively, placing her esteemed greatsword on the long table. “He stayed behind to converse with a few of his acquaintances, trying to make sense of what happened.”

“Well? What happened, then?” Astarion asked as he approached the three with you with Wyll right behind him.

“The man succumbed to a multitude of slashing wounds.”

Your eyes widened as you gasped.

“Slashing wounds? Was it an animal? A monster?” Wyll immediately pressed.

“We do not know. It was a rather brutal sight even for someone like me,” Lae'zel said with a frown.

A shiver spread across your body and you felt nauseous all of a sudden.

“Was there anything odd about it?” Shadowheart asked.

“Because a man being brutally shredded to pieces isn't odd enough?” Astarion said with a scoff.

She ignored him. “Were there traces of necrotic magic?”

Lae'zel arched a brow. “No. What's with this interrogation?”

Shadowheart was definitely trying to find a common element between the two deaths… and Ava.

And it seemed that there was nothing there.

Yet.

“We are trying to figure out if Ava could have had a hand in this.”

Lae'zel didn't budge. “Who?”

“Ava.”

Lae'zel turned to Astarion. “Your hairdresser?”

This time, Shadowheart clicked her tongue impatiently, hands on her hips. “Astarion struck a deal with some monster hunter turned blood merchant and got her involved.” She extended one arm to at you. “This Ava woman now wants her blood for whatever nefarious reason and might also be the one to blame for the death that led to them getting arrest and – quite possibly – the one from today.”

Your eyes widened, quite astonished that she was able to spill all that information in one swift breath.

If the circumstances weren't quite so dire, you would also have chuckled from how she sounded like a child who was telling her strict parent on her misbehaving sibling.

Astarion was obviously offended. “Conveniently leaving out the part where I am entitled to mingling with whomever I want, and that I was completely oblivious to Ava's finding and her proposal.”

Lae'zel glanced at you. “What proposal?”

“It's fine. Don't worry. I won't go through with any of it,” you said reassuringly, placing your hand on her wrist, knowing fully well she was itching to swing her sword on him. “This is all one big mess, but he truly didn't know.”

Shadowheart growled. “You do not have to keep defending him!”

Wyll spoke before you could. “Shadowheart. I understand your indignation, but we need to move on from the constant pointless bickering. What is done is done.”

Astarion clapped thrice. “Ah! The voice of reason!”

She threw him a death glare before crossing her arms and tapping her foot irritably on the floor, but not uttering another word.

Lae'zel, on the other hand, had her narrowed eyes set on Astarion. “You are fortunate she adores that pretty head attached to your body.”

“Was that a compliment, Lae'zel?” he taunted.

“Your ability to turn any remark into an opportunity to feed your ego is truly astounding, Astarion.”

He smirked happily in response. “I do my best – or worst, depending on your taste.”

“Enough of this,” you interjected as you stared at Lae'zel. “When is Gale returning?”

She shrugged. “Unclear. He is also trying to find another contact who might help out with the Wish spell.”

“No.”

All heads turned to Astarion.

His brows knitted together. “No. No one else is getting involved until we figure out what is happening.”

Your eyes met his in mingled surprise and confusion.

Even Shadowheart was stunned silent as her face softened.

“I thought you wanted this more than anything,” Wyll asked.

“Well, yes. But not when people are turning up dead all around me.”

Lae'zel frowned. “So, all of this for nothing? Had a sudden change of heart about your inability to walk in the sun again?”

He rolled his eyes. “Heavens forbid I'm the one pointing the moral compass in the right direction. Don't act so surprised, darling. I still know what I want and what I need to do.”

You closed the distance between you and him, worry brewing in your heart.

“Astarion, the Wish spell isn't easy to come by. It's not easy to find someone willing to teach it and Gale is a powerful wizard and strong candidate,” you said, trying to reason with him as you placed a hand on his arm. “I understand your reluctance, but we might have to wait even longer if this opportunity is disregarded.”

He didn't even flinch. “This is ultimately my choice, and I choose to wait. I've had it with others dictating how I should feel and act. This is the sensible thing to do.”

For centuries, he had belonged to everyone – to anyone – but himself.

Both in body and mind.

So, if this was what he truly thought was best for him, who were you to deny him of it? Maybe you would have chosen differently, but this wasn't truly about you, was it?

He would tell you otherwise, of course. That you had been the stepping stone to his healing process since the nautiloid crash, but you couldn't and wouldn't take full credit for it.

This was a joint effort and you would empower him all the way through.

“I stand with you,” you said eventually said, breaking the silence.

He gradually relaxed under your touch.

Shadowheart spoke next, “I respect your decision, Astarion. We need to see if there is a link between the two deaths. I can go ahead through the portal and ask Gale to return.”

He nodded.

“Very well,” she said with a curt smile.

Wyll approached the door. “I will inform the guards to accompany you once dusk hits, Astarion.”

He nodded again. “Thank you.”

Lae'zel then cursed and left the room with a loud bang behind her as the door closed shut.

Your hand came to his shoulder and his crimson eyes were on you again. “Let me come with you.”

“No.”

You scowled. “I'm not some frail sorcerer. I can stand by your side and help.”

This time, he chuckled. “Sweetheart, you are more capable than most of us combined here. My reluctance doesn't stem from my lack of faith in your abilities,” he said, voice firm and collected. “If anything were to happen to you because of me, I'd never forgive myself. Allow me to handle this.”

Your heart was hammering fast in your chest from his words, and even though you wanted to argue with his decision, you held your tongue back.

In truth, you were mostly scared Ava would have something up her sleeve and hurt him. That was what was eating at your nerves.

But still, you nodded

It was settled then.

You made your way down the corridor, coming to a halt as the faint glow spilled from inside his room.

The door was open for a change.

A comforting smile curled your lips, knowing you'd find him inside.

As you approached the doorway, you spotted Astarion across the room, flicking through a few pieces of cloth placed on the round table.

You knocked twice on the wood “May I?”

He nodded. “It's your house.”

“Well, it's your room,” you retorted. “For now, at least,” you quickly added, not wanting to seem overbearing. After all, he wasn't ultimately here on his own volition.

“You don't have to keep asking,” he said with a faint smile.

Your eyes landed on his bed as you walked in, causing your heart to skip a beat.

A few hours ago, the two of you had been lost in each other's pleasure on that very same spot. Now, the bedclothes had been laid sprawled across it, no creases or any remaining proof of your earlier endeavour.

The two of you had been robbed of after care and a much needed talk about what had happened.

Even if he had seemed quite content during and after all of it, you found yourself always hung on the fear that you had rushed through it all.

So, you needed the affirmation. You needed to hear his thoughts on it and to ensure no boundaries had been crossed.

You approached the table and your gaze roamed cross the clear vials that he had placed by his twin daggers.

Odourless.

Colourless.

Poison.

“Lethal?”

He dabbed a selected piece of cloth on the clear liquid. “No.”

An uneasy feeling began to take root. “Do you think she'll try to hurt you?”

“It would be rather foolish of her,” he mused, dragging the damp fabric along each blade, coating them in a fine layer of poison. “But I've been wrong before about people, so – as they say – better safe than sorry.”

It wasn’t the reassurance you were seeking, but Astarion was more than capable when it came to self-defence.

“Besides, she needs me more than I need her,” he concluded, inspecting the glinting blade close to his eyes. “And if she fails to provide satisfactory answers, the Fists will deal with her.”

You nodded, but still failing to push your fear aside. “What if there is really someone after us? What if she's not connected to any of this?”

You had purposefully let out the faint implication that maybe there was a connection to Cazador. He didn't need to be troubled with that in case Ava was bluffing.

Astarion sheathed both daggers on either side of his waist before his eyes landed on you. “If that is the case, then she will tell me who it is. And she better have a godsdamned good justification for why she thought I would allow you to be involved.”

You absentmindedly bit your lip and he smiled warmly, coming to stand in front of you, wiping his hands clean from any trace of poison.

Silently, he leaned to press a lingering kiss on your forehead, his cool lips making you flinch slightly.

It was as if a surge of lightning had been cast throughout your body, setting you alight.

“About earlier…” you said, swallowing your nervousness.

He traced your jawline with his thumb before tipping your head back so you could properly meet his gaze.

“Darling, already back for another round?”

You broke into laughter. “No! No… that wasn't what I trying to say.”

He tapped your nose lovingly and it was as if the two of you were long-time lovers, used to each other's teases and mannerisms.

Your heart skipped yet another beat.

“I know. Just couldn't miss the opportunity to have you all flustered for me again,” he said with a devious grin. “But do go on.”

“I just want to make sure… it was alright… what we did, I mean,” you said in a whisper.

Astarion's brows furrowed together. “I thought that was pretty much evident…”

A lump swelled in your throat.

You truly didn't want to overstep any lines.

But you had to know. You had to hear it.

“I am talking about… up here,” you said, pressing a finger softly to his temple. “I… just want to make sure you're truly fine. That we're truly fine.”

You held your breath for a moment, dreading a worrisome reply.

He caught hold of your hand and pressed your finger to his lips. “I will always tell you if it's too much.”

A wave of relief washed over you and you allowed yourself to breathe normally.

Still…

You swallowed again. “Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he said, using your own finger to tap the tip of your nose, earning a heartfelt giggle from you.

“So… it wasn't too much?”

“No,” he said truthfully.

You nodded as he gripped your chin. “How did it feel?”

He paused for a while, pondering. “It felt… right.”

Your stomach turned and your heart sped up from how close he was to you.

How close he felt to you.

“I want to kiss you,” he said all of a sudden. “May I?”

You felt as though you would melt into a puddle from how desperate he sounded.

“You don't have to always ask,” you said truthfully.

He then pressed his cool lips to the corner of your mouth and you instinctively gasped. “I just adore the sound of your voice when you let me in.”

His lips moved to the opposite side, lingering there, and a rush of heat pooled in your cheeks.

“May I kiss you, darling?” he asked once more, pulling back just enough for his lips to barely touch yours. “May I taste you?”

Gods…

“Please do.”

He didn't need to be told twice.

The kiss started off slow at first as his lips molded into yours. But as soon as you made way for his tongue to slide inside, Astarion became the image of hunger.

He cradled your face in his hands and pressed both thumbs on your chin, so you'd open up wider for him.

A flash of memory filled your mind and you recalled how he used to do the same whenever you were on your knees, struggling to fit his thick cock in your mouth.

“You can take more of me, can't you, my sweet?” he'd say, voice dripping with lust.

You'd always struggle at first. Always. But he was such a caring lover and he would always ensure you took your time.

You quickly shuddered as your clit began throbbing evenly.

His tongue was as relentless against yours as his cock had once been, but his eagerness and hunger had his razor-like fang nip at your lower lip, drawing blood.

“Shit,” you groaned from the sharp sting.

Astarion immediately pulled back and you stared at him in confusion.

You felt a few drops dribbling down your chin.

Why wasn't he tasting you?

His eyes were fixed on your lips and his eyes narrowed with bloodlust.

“You're letting it go to waste?” you asked, swiping your finger across the bleeding wound.

He swallowed with a strained smile.

Oh, he was struggling to hold back…

“Well, darling… I don't intend on leaving the house with my cock hard with your blood.”

You clenched so hard you felt a gush of wetness being squeezed out.

But there was only so much Astarion could withstand, so you couldn't fight the moan that tore through your throat as he placed the softest kiss to your lip.

“Just before I go,” he whispered. “So I can take you with me.”

You clenched again and you could feel your clit swell up with each throb.

He eventually parted from you, licking his blood-stained lips as his eyes held that lustful gaze you adored.

“I'll be back soon.”

You were left petrified in place as he swiftly made his way out.

It wasn’t fair how soaked you were.

How soaked he had left you.

You glanced over your shoulder and realised the door had been left open all along and you rushed to the window, tugging on the curtain.

The sun had set as he appeared down below, followed closely by two Fists.

And the single mage slayer.

The three of them trailed after his steps and darted off into the distance.

And you realised that without a mage slayer around to keep your magic at bay, you could simply vanish.

You glanced at the vials of poison on the nearby table and smiled.

TBC

Series masterlist

Ao3

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #the arrangement #astarion smut

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sea-lanterns · 10 months

Text

BUSINESS MEETING

synopsis: (empress! AU) the empress goes to inazuma for a business meeting.

featuring: ei, miko, sara, ayaka (ningguang, beidou, keqing, ganyu, yelan and shenhe are all mentioned at the beginning)

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab gn reader, pwp, polyamory, 4some (implied 5some at the end), open relationship, mentions of harem, slight power dynamics, groping, fondling, breast fixation, fin.ge.ring, hickies, marking, voye.urism, mast.ur.b.ation, triple pen.et.ration, may be ooc.

art credits: moonlight garden

“Remember, stay with Ayaka at all times, don’t follow strangers into strange places, and always keep your guard up regardless of the situation.”

Ningguang adjusted the buttons on your coat and cupped your face one last time to get a good look at you. It was the first time in a while that you had to travel without the support of your courtesans, as you were called to Inazuma by the almighty shogun to discuss business affairs and trade. The only courtesan in your harem that was allowed to accompany you was Ayaka, and that was only because Ayaka was a native Inazuman who could translate things for you if you needed help.

The other courtesans in your harem were deeply worried for your safety when the proposal reached their palace. Inazuma had only just opened up its borders to the rest of Teyvat, and when you were called to travel over there with only Ayaka to accompany you, they couldn’t help but fear what might happen once you cross those borders.

“They’ll be fine, Ning. Ayaka is very much capable of protecting our empress,” Beidou hums, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and planting a kiss on your temple. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

Ayaka —who was busy making sure all your things were well packed— jumped when she heard her nickname being called, turning to face Beidou. “Oh, of course. Our darling is in good hands, I pledged an oath to keep them safe, after all.”

Courtesan Ayaka turned towards you with a smile. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll be sure to protect you through rain or shine,” she held your hand protectively before leaning in to kiss you. “Though, in this case, mostly rain as Inazuma often has thundering storms.”

“That’s alright, I don’t mind.” You say calmly, letting Ayaka kiss you while Beidou gets the ship ready for your departure. She had to make sure the Crux was in tip top shape, as it would be holding the most precious cargo of all.

You.

“Fasten the ropes! Make sure everything is tightened to the best it could be! We are escorting the empress, anything that happens to them will be in your hands for the rest of eternity!” Beidou was always quite dramatical when it came to your safety, as she wanted her beloved to be well secured and protected in her hands. “Set the route to Inazuma! We shall arrive there by dusk!”

Ningguang looked at you one last time before suddenly hugging you before you could step foot on the ship.

“Please be careful, my love.” Ningguang whispers, burying her face into your shoulder. “If anything were to happen to you…I…” Your body tensed up under her voice, a tinge of guilt pulling at your heartstrings, as you’ve never heard Ningguang so worried before.

“…I promise I’ll be safe.” You whisper back, cupping the back of her head and giving your courtesan a gentle kiss. “Ayaka will be watching over me. Plus, Yelan taught me a few self defense techniques last week just in case.”

You smile warmly at your lover and assure Ningguang that everything is going to be okay. “If I somehow get hurt while in Inazuma then, well…feel free to kick my ass when I get home.”

“Darling, language.”

“Sorry, I learned that from Beidou.”

Ningguang chuckled at your innocence and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “Well, I’ll be sure to kick Beidou’s ass for teaching you that when she gets back home.”

In the corner of your eye you could see Beidou shivering as if she knew that she was being talked about in a bad way. The two of you chuckle at the sight of her squirming before turning to face your other courtesans waiting at the docks to say goodbye.

Ganyu was a little teary eyed, she was quite sad that you would be leaving Liyue for a while but there was a happy smile on her face nevertheless. She was currently clinging onto Keqing for stability, as Keqing simply pretended not to care or even worry. “Be back soon. Don’t get kidnapped or anything.” Keqing would murmur, looking away briefly as she wanted to hide how much she really worried for you.

“Of course, I promise,” you smile softly, looking over to your other courtesans; Shenhe and Yelan.

Yelan was currently holding onto Shenhe with all her might as she struggled to keep Shenhe from running up on the boat to join you. “Don’t worry about her, my empress. I can stop her!” Yelan would groan, keeping Shenhe tightly in her grasp while the disciple tried her hardest to reach you. “Shenhe please stop moving, I don’t want to use my hydro ropes on you.”

Shenhe was silent as always as she simply craved to be in your presence at all times. She looked up at you with the neediest eyes you’ve ever seen on the woman and it made your heart stop.

“…I’ll be back soon, Shenhe.” You say in a gentle tone, watching as she slowly stopped struggling and simply looked up at you with devoted eyes.

“…Okay.” She says quietly, leaving Yelan to wheeze as she could finally take a break from her struggling. “If you are ever in danger, I will come running as fast as I can.”

“Inazuma is surrounded by water.”

“I will swim as fast as I can.”

You chuckle at Shenhe’s dedication before moving forward to kiss her cheek. “I love you too.” You murmur against her ear, causing the adepti student to blush while doing so.

“What? No kiss for me?” Yelan teases, smirking down at you from beside Shenhe.

“Fine,” you hum, giving Yelan her fair share of kisses before Ganyu runs up from behind and hugs you. “I’d like a turn.” She smiles, nuzzling your face against hers as she rubs her horns against your head.

“Okay, okay…” you giggle, letting your courtesans all suffocate you for kisses before turning over to glance at Keqing, who was still standing idly to the side trying not to appear needy.

…But you knew better than that.

“Do you want a kiss too, Keqing?” You smile sweetly, tilting your head at the Yuheng before watching the cutest blush ever form on her face. “I— w-well…” she bites her lip and can’t help but look away. “I suppose if everyone is getting one…”

You smile and run up to her to smother her in kisses. Peppering her entire face in light smooches before Keqing squirms in your grasp and squeezes her eyes shut.

“O-Okay, that’s enough,” Keqing murmurs, trying not to admit how flustered that really got her. “You should board now anyways, my empress. We wouldn’t want you to arrive terribly late.”

“Ah, you’re right.” You smile before giving Keqing one last kiss on the cheek. “I’ll miss you all. Please don’t destroy the palace while I’m gone.”

“Of course not. That’ll never ha—” Keqing side glanced at Shenhe and Beidou before frowning. “…We’ll be sure to clean up anything before your return.”

“I knew I could count on you!” you smile, patting Keqing on the head while she blushes. “Alright, I must depart now. I’ll see you all in two weeks.”

“Goodbye, darling!” Ganyu smiled, waving farewell as you began walking up to the Crux. Captain Beidou quickly moved down to the stairs before you could climb on, and extended an arm out to you for you to grab on. “Careful now, wouldn’t want the little royal to slip,” Beidou grins, escorting you onto her ship while she begins commanding her sailors for departure.

“Next stop! Inazuma!”

The ship starts to let loose its sails as it begins moving further and further away from the docks. You peeked your head out over the railing and watched as the sight of your beloved courtesans grew smaller and smaller, a tinge of sadness pulling at your emotions as you knew you were going to miss them most of all.

A small pair of arms hugs you from behind and you recognize the feeling as Courtesan Ayaka trying to comfort you. She rests her chin upon your shoulder and looks out at the shrinking sight of your lovers all standing on the docks of Liyue. “You’ll be back soon,” she comforts as she presses a small kiss to your shoulder. “In the meantime, I’ll be sure to entertain you on this trip so it’s not just all business.”

Ayaka smiles and begins listing off all the things you could do with her once you dock at Inazuma. From festivals, to nightly walks, to private bedroom activities in the comfort of the Kamisato estate, Ayaka quickly brought a smile to your face as you turned to face her with newfound excitement and eagerness to what’s to come.

Perhaps these next two weeks without your courtesans wouldn’t be so bad.

As you parted from the Crux Fleet, you gave Beidou one last kiss on the cheek before following Ayaka to her estate with your bags in tow. And by that I mean you had some of Ayaka’s servants carry your bags for you as she didn’t want your arms to tire after the long boat ride to Inazuma.

“Are you feeling tired, my love?” Ayaka asked softly, smiling to herself when she saw you looking around at Inazuma in awe. “…Or, perhaps you’re feeling excited at the thought of exploring a new region with me?”

“It’s a mixture of both,” you hum after some time, walking beside Ayaka with your hands conjoined.

“Then let us rest so that you are only excited for what’s to come,” Ayaka giggles, leading you to her estate as that is where you would be staying for the next two weeks of your time. Ayaka came from the wealthy family of the Kamisato Clan, so it was no surprise when you pulled up to a large estate with guards and servants around. You were used to it after all… “If it’s alright with you, you’d be staying in my room,” your courtesan murmurs, a tiny blush forming on her face. “In my bed…”

“I don’t mind,” you smile, a suggestive smirk forming on your face. “It’s not like we haven’t slept in the same bed before, princess…”

Ayaka flushes at your callout and clears her throat.

“Yes, well…I’ll be sure to make things comfortable.” She mumbles with a blush. “In the meantime, we should rest up for tomorrow’s meeting. The Shogun has requested you come to her estate as early as possible before the meeting.”

“Oh? Must I prepare for anything beforehand?”

“No, but…” Ayaka bites her lip and looks away. “The Guuji seems to have taken a special interest in you, my love, as she offered to serve you breakfast before the big meeting.”

“I see. How generous of them.” You chuckle, letting Ayaka cling to your arm affectionately. Your smile falters however, when you see the worried expression on your courtesan’s face, and you cup her cheek to make her look up at you. “…Are you alright, my dearest courtesan?” You ask with the gentlest of tones, concerned for the well-being of your beloved. “You seem quite worried.”

“Oh! Ah, well…I’m only really concerned about meeting the Guuji of the Narukami Shrine: Yae Miko.”

You tilted your head at her concern. “Whatever for?”

“Well, Yae Miko has a long history of being rather…flirtatious with beautiful people,” Ayaka sighs. “I have my concerns that she only invited you over for breakfast simply because she wants to flirt with you.”

She frowns at the thought and you feel her cling onto you harder.

“I know it is unprofessional of me, but I can’t help but be slightly worried. The three of those women are very powerful in more ways than one, so I only wish for your safety, my love.”

You smiled softly at this reveal and turned to kiss Ayaka on the cheek. “Thank you, I really appreciate it, darling,” you chuckle, “But don’t worry, you’ll be by my side the whole time. Plus, I can take care of myself.”

Ayaka smiles bashfully and nods. “…You’re right. You are the crowned empress of Liyue, you can handle a simple business meeting on your own.” She kisses you back and holds your hand. “Shall we head inside now? I took extra precautions to have my room ready for you.”

You chuckle softly at the thought and squeeze Ayaka’s hand even tighter. “How thoughtful of you, Courtesan Ayaka. Perhaps I should reward you tonight for your generosity…”

The princess grows red at your words and tries to hide how excited she was getting.

“I would like that, my empress.”

When you arrive at the Shogun’s estate, you feel a shiver run down your spine as you’ve never felt so tense and intimidated by a building before. Something about the prescience of the structure holding three of the most powerful beings in Inazuma was finally getting to you, as you squeezed Ayaka’s hand tighter while the two of you walked up the stairs.

“Are you nervous, my empress?” Ayaka asks gently, caressing your palm with her thumb as she was trying her best to ease your quivering nerves. “I suppose I am a bit nervous,” you chuckle quietly, trying to steer your feelings together before you could make a fool out of yourself. “But don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just first meeting jitters. Once we meet, we’ll settle for friendly conversation mixed with professionalism and—”

Once the doors opened however, you were greeted with the sight of a bored Shogun, a teasing kitsune, and an irritated tengu all sitting around a table lined with food. You took notice of how the majority of the foods available were sweet, as that must’ve been a personal request from the Shogun herself. (You took it upon yourself to study the Shogun’s preferences and learned that she liked sweets an awful lot. So much so that you’ve prepared a gift in advance for her in order to get on her good side)

“…Oh dear.” Ayaka murmurs, watching as the three women slowly turned to you at your arrival.

The pink haired kitsune —who you’ve come to know as Yae Miko— raised a brow once she saw you and smirked as she found a new prey to tease. The stone faced tengu general —who you’ve come to know as Kujou Sara— looked over at you with interested yet threatening eyes, almost as if she could kill you right on the spot.

And last but not least, the bored Shogun —Raiden Ei, the archon of their nation— perked up the moment she saw you enter, as she didn’t look so bored anymore. Her eyes followed you and Ayaka to your seats, as her purple irises locked onto you, knowing she would be in for a treat…

“Well you two certainly arrived earlier than expected,” Yae Miko chuckles, her eyes dancing from Ayaka to you. “Forgive us for bickering in front of the empress, your majesty. I am Yae Miko, Head Guuji of the Narukami Shrine.” Her tongue swiped over her bottom lip as she let her eyes roam all over your body. She liked what she saw, and she let you know it.

The intimidating general sighed and stood up to interrupt Miko’s sultry advances. She didn’t want you to get uncomfortable after all…

“It is an honor to meet you, my empress. I am Kujou Sara, appointed general of the Tenryou Commission,” she states while staring directly at you, holding an air of dignity around her while Miko giggles off to the side.

“So formal of you, my general.”

“Guuji Yae.”

“Enough, you two,” The Shogun suddenly says, standing up to give her own formal introduction. “I am the Raiden Shogun, dear empress, but you may refer to me as Ei during the duration of our time. We hope you find our proposals satisfactory and agreeable, my empress.”

She bows to you respectfully and the other two quickly bow in return, causing you to smile softly when they do so and turn to Ayaka with an innocent gaze. “They seem quite dignified,” you whisper to your courtesan, giggling all the while. “Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.”

Oh how innocent you were. A cute, happy empress who had no idea that the other women were looking at you in a way that was akin to a fox staring at a bunny. Miko was licking her lips, Sara was clenching her fists together and Ei was closing her eyes as she was envisioning you in her lap like the little toy they wanted you to be…

But of course, you wouldn’t have any way of knowing that, right? After all, it’s not like thoughts can become reality…

“You should sit down and have a sip of tea, dear.” Miko smiles and ushers for you and Ayaka to take a seat at your chairs. She picks up a teacup for herself and begins sipping on what appears to be a matcha flavored brew. “I’ve done the liberty of asking all the chefs in the estate to make an assortment of breakfast foods that should cater to your palette. Although, some of them may be quite sweet thanks to a certain arrangement by someone…”

She gives Ei a teasing look while the Shogun frowns from her halfway bite of cake. She blushes at the obvious jab at her sweet tooth and clears her throat from the sugary swallow.

“…Sorry.”

You had to stifle your laughter as you found the Shogun…strangely cute. For someone who was feared throughout Inazuma and held great power, she was quite adorable when indulging in her sugary desires, something that made you want to slap yourself in the face as you came here to do business, not stare at pretty women.

“It’s alright, Raiden Ei,” you giggle, lifting up a slice of cake in an attempt to make her feel comfortable. “I too, fancy a little sweet treat every once in a while.”

Her eyes lit up at your words when you took a bite of cake along with her, the Guuji looking intrigued while the General looked surprised. You were quite cute as you tried to assure the almighty Shogun’s sweet tooth, and it made the archon’s heart stir with feelings of attraction and desire.

“…Yes. Yes, you understand me completely,” Ei smiles, looking down at her plate before continuing to eat her cake in silence. The kitsune giggling to herself at this exchange, while the tengu smiles softly at you in appreciation.

It seems like you’d fit right in with these ladies. Maybe more so than you think...

It took a while to get through breakfast —as the Shogun was quite a glutton for sweet and sugary things— but you managed to finish in due time with servants coming in to clear your plates. Ayaka dabbed at her lips with a napkin and smiled at the trio of powerful women.

“Breakfast was delicious, Yae Miko. Thank you for the invite and your hospitality.” She says softly, reaching a hand down to hold yours underneath the table. “I take it we will begin the meeting now?”

“Oh, why of course. But we mustn’t hurry too quickly, we have so much time with the empress after all,” Miko smirks at you with a hungry flicker in her eyes, almost teasing you in a way as the Shogun and her general lock eyes with your body. “No need to be so impatient, Ayaka…”

“F-Forgive me if I came off that way,” Ayaka’s cheeks turn hot. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, princess. I was merely teasing,” Miko giggles, her eyes glowing dark purple with an ominous hue.

“Miko.” Ei murmurs, casting her a glance as if to say “don’t toy with them too roughly.” Luckily, Miko gets the hint and sighs before snapping her fingers.

“I suppose we can begin the meeting now,” she murmurs, a few servants coming in to set down piles of papers and files on the table. Kujou Sara straightens her posture at the sight of the documents before her, and Ei sighs woefully as she hated doing anything remotely responsible but decided to suck it up and deal with it.

“We have quite a lot on our plate after the shutdown of Inazuma, but we hope it doesn’t strain you too much,” Sara says calmly, looking at you with sharp eyes. “Are you alright with this amount of paperwork, my empress?”

“I’ve dealt with a lot more during the awakening of Osial,” you chuckle softly. “Please don’t worry about me, I can take a mountain of documents no problem.”

Ayaka looked quite proud of you when you said this and the other three women looked intrigued. They all glanced at each other with knowing looks, before Ei nods and begins passing some of the documents over to you.

“In that case, let’s get started, shall we?” And with that, the five of you engaged in a brutal business discussion that lasted three whole hours (and counting) as there were so many things to discuss, it would take quite a few days…

While you were used to the long hours of work (thanks to being Ningguang and Ganyu’s lover) you took notice on how it was affecting the women around you as Ei looked bored, Miko looked like she was about to go zoomies, and Ayaka looked in pain because her wrist was cramping up from all the extra writing she was doing.

The only one who looked fine with it all was Sara, but even then, she kept sighing throughout the conversation as the general was more used to dealing with physical affairs rather than political. You knew it was time for a break and stood up abruptly in your seat, catching everyone’s attention immediately.

“How about a break?” You propose softly, looking up at the four women in the room. “We’ve been working for quite some time, I believe we all deserve some good quality rest, hm?”

You smiled so charmingly at them that the four women couldn’t help but stare at you fondly. “A break sounds wonderful, little one.” Yae Miko hums, dropping her pen to the floor. “I could use a stretch break myself.”

She smiled suggestively at you before Sara glares at her to try and keep it in her pants.

“Yes, I believe a break is necessary in order to keep going,” Ei exhales softly, rubbing tight circles into her temple. “I agree.” Sara says with a sigh, before looking over to you and Ayaka.

“Mm, perhaps we should have our lunch break now so we don’t continue working on an empty stomach,” Ayaka chuckles, caressing your hand before looking over at you. “Are you feeling hungry, my love?”

“Just a bit,” you smile, stretching your limbs to ease the muscle tension cramping up your back, but failing to notice the predatory look the Shogun, Guuji and General were giving you, as they were all eying you like a piece of fresh meat.

“…Why don’t we get the kitchen staff to cook us a meal?” Miko smirks cunningly. “Ayaka dear, do you mind heading down to the staff to tell them about lunch plans? I’m afraid it’s a long way down so if it’s too much of a hassle for you, that’s alright.”

“Oh no, I don’t mind Miss Yae,” Ayaka smiles, unaware of Yae Miko’s true intentions. “Shall I head down now?”

“That would be lovely, Miss Kamisato.” Miko grins, causing Ei and Sara to look at each other as if they knew what was about to happen. “Alright, I’ll be back soon then, my darling,” Ayaka hums, giving your hand one last squeeze before making her departure.

“See you soon, love,” you giggle, giving her a small wave of goodbye before being left in the room with Ei, Miko and Sara. Three women who lowkey scared you but you didn’t want to appear rude.

“…Well, isn’t she a sweet thing,” Miko purrs once she leaves, turning to face you. “Isn’t that right, empress?”

Her tone of voice leaves you speechless as it sends shivers down your spine in a warm, yet dangerous way. Sara narrows her eyes when she catches this however, and interrupts the kitsune from going further. “Guuji Yae, you shouldn’t address the empress in such a way,” she says sternly, before looking at you to see if you were alright.

“Oh, it’s alright General Kujou. I really don’t mind,” you hum softly, still eased in your seat as you were unaware of the tension starting to ignite in the air. “Hear that? The empress is alright with it, General.” Yae Miko grins, getting up from her seat to strut on over to where you were seated. “So you needn’t chastise me any longer…”

Sara scoffed at her words and turned away, annoyed with the kitsune’s antics but unable to do anything since Miko was a much higher rank than her.

Meanwhile, Ei was watching curiously as to what Miko was up to, and noticed just how close she was getting to you now that Courtesan Ayaka had left the room.

“You know, you’re quite pretty underneath that veil of yours, your majesty,” Miko hums, leaning against the armrest of your chair and using a clawed fingertip to push your chin upward. “You should show your face more often.”

“Ah, I’m afraid I can’t, Guuji Yae,” you chuckle bashfully. “The veil is a safety precaution. It’s to ensure my identity isn’t too well known to the public eye.”

“Oh, but you are simply just a treasure, little one…” Miko fake pouts, cupping your face with her hands and pulling you even closer.

“Miko.” Sara warns, not wanting to damage the professional atmosphere between you and the three ladies in the room.

“Oh calm down, Sara; I’m merely asking them for a proposal.” Miko tuts, tapping your cheek with interest.

“A proposal?” Sara asks with confusion, Ei following pursuit as she had been quietly watching this exchange the whole time. “Yes, birdie. A proposal.” Miko smirks, pulling your face closer to her. “I want to be one of your courtesans, little one.”

Your face flushed hot when she spoke in that sultry tone of hers, as Sara and Ei stood up from their seats.

“Miko, you can’t just ask—”

“Oh, don’t give me that talk, Sara,” Miko grins, looking over at the General with that sultry smirk of hers. “You two have been eying them since the moment they got here, be honest.”

“Miko—”

“I—”

Both Ei and Sara looked equally flustered, but both couldn’t deny the fact that they did harbor some kind of attraction to you the moment they saw you for the first time. Everyone’s eyes slowly turning to face you, as if anticipating your reaction for what’s to come.

“…Well,” you bite your lip and look away. “There are benefits and downsides to becoming a courtesan and entering the imperial harem. I don’t want any of you to be uncomfortable or disappointed, so please think wisely about this decision.”

“The only benefit I see is you, darling.” Yae Miko chuckles, brushing a strand of hair back. “I would be delighted to become a courtesan of your harem, so long as I get to have you in my grasp…”

“…In that case, I am not opposed to the idea either.” Ei suddenly chimes in, surprising the Guuji and the General greatly. “You are quite a gentle soul, and becoming engaged with the imperial harem will bring benefits to both sides if I’m not mistaken.”

You felt your heart leap at the Shogun’s proposal and you were starting to think this wasn’t real. The Guuji and the Shogun went to become your courtesans? This shouldn’t be real. What is happening right now?

“How bold of you, Ei,” Miko chuckles, still hugging you affectionately. “General Sara? Looks like it’s your turn to be honest about your feelings.”

“Guuji Yae—!” Sara’s face flushed red and she suddenly turned to look away. Too embarrassed to even glance in your general direction as it meant looking at the kitsune’s smug smirk and your cute, blushing face. “Oh General, don’t be like that,” Miko purrs, suddenly leaning in very close to your ear. “Why don’t we show the dear empress just how beneficial we are as courtesans…”

You suddenly yelp when Miko licks the shell of your ear, and Ei and Sara suddenly look alarmed. (And a bit aroused)

“Oh? Did I startle you my dear?” Miko hums, looking down at you in an apologetic way. “Forgive me, I’m just so tempted by my lust.”

“No, it’s alright. I am quite used to sudden affections such as that…” you bit your lip and felt blood rushing to your head. “But uh…are you sure it is appropriate to be doing this in the meeting room? In front of…” you gulped and looked over at the Shogun and the General, both of which were eying you like a piece of candy. “…Others.”

A devilish smirk grew on the kitsune’s face as she trailed a manicured nail down your cheek. “What? Are you afraid of Ei and Sara watching?” She casts them a grin and watches as the two squirm in their seats. “I thought the empress was used to having beautiful women watching them get pleasured. After all, you do have a rather large harem of women devoted to you…”

She purrs and trails her nail lower and lower until it is pulling against the fabric of your collar. Ei, Miko and Sara all collectively swallow their desire at the sight, salivating at the possibility of getting you naked right in front of them. “Besides, it’s not like Ei, Sara and I haven’t shared a person before…”

Your breath hitches when Miko starts moving her hand down lower to give your breast a squeeze. The tiny whimper that escaped your throat did not go unnoticed, as they all slowly inched closer in anticipation to what’s to come.

“Don’t worry, little one,” Miko giggles, waving Ei and Sara over with her finger. “We know how to work together fairly well.”

In a matter of moments, you had Miko pinning you to the chair and making out with you in front of Ei and Sara without a care in the world. You were blushing so much and simply let Miko have her way, as you were used to this situation thanks to your courtesans.

“Ei, come here and help me undress their clothes. Sara, help me carry them to the table. I want them all spread out for us.”

Miko was quick to take the initiative and soon you found yourself clinging onto Sara’s massive arms with Ei quickly untying your robe. You’ve never been manhandled so fast before, and the thought of being tossed around between these three powerful women had you soaking in your panties.

“The empress is so compliant, I’ve never seen anyone so obedient before,” Ei notes as she slips your robe off of your delicate body.

“That’s because they’re probably quite used to this by now,” Miko giggles, two hands moving up to squeeze at your breasts, making you writhe and squirm with need. “Hold still,” Miko suddenly commands, before glancing up at Sara with a smirk. “Sara dear, why don’t you put those biceps to work and keep our Empress still for our break time?”

Although a bit shy, you saw the general move from the corner of your eye to wrap her arms around your neck and hug you from behind. You felt the strong, firmness of her arms holding you down, and soon you could feel all three pairs of eyes locked onto you. Almost as if they were undressing you in their mind with all the things they could do to you.

Now, normally you would be alright with this sort of arrangement, but the thought of Courtesan Ayaka coming back to see this made you frown and look away.

“A-As much as I’d love to entertain you all, I don’t want Courtesan Ayaka to come back and see me this way. She might feel…left out.” You say softly, looking at the three women with concern.

“Oh? That’s very thoughtful of you, my dear…” Miko chuckles, slowly pushing you deeper against Sara’s front, as she had no intentions of stopping soon. “But when Ayaka comes back, we can ask her to join us too, hm? Does that sound like a fair agreement for everyone?”

Sara nods and Ei looks excited, smiling at the idea of a potential fivesome.

“…Oh, Okay.” you murmur quietly, watching as their hands start to roam over the sculpture of your body.

“Excellent!” Miko grins, Ei and Sara staring down at you with delight before moving to touch and grope at your body. Long fingers and calloused palms rubbing against that smooth, soft skin of yours and showing a stark difference between spoiled royalty and hard working fighters.

‘So rough!’ You can’t help but think, whimpering as Sara and Ei’s scarred hands rubbed so tenderly above your chest. Miko’s lithe and feminine fingers running up to your bra to unhook it and set your nipples free. “May I?” The Guuji asks with sexual undertones, Sara leaning in to kiss your neck as Ei watches hungrily for the reveal of your breasts.

“A-Ah…you may…” you mumble with a blush, watching as the kitsune skillfully undid the loops and dropped your bra to the floor. In an instant, Ei licked her lips and dove in to suck on one of your nipples with her tongue. The hot, wet, muscle pushing and circling around the areola, as she begins leaning forward to smother more of your breast into her mouth.

“Nngh—!” Your eyes widened at the pleasurable touch and you buck your head back against Sara’s collarbone, Miko laughing sadistically at the sound, before pushing you back towards her with Sara still gripping onto your body.

“My, my, that’s a cute sound you made, my empress…”

Miko smirks, the wet sucking sounds of Ei pleasuring you only fueling the dirtiness of the overall situation. You couldn’t help but blush as Sara reaches a hand forward to grope at your other breast, as the Shogun and the General seem fascinated by the shape and feel of your flesh.

“Tsk tsk, it’s my turn now Ei,” Miko scoffs after some time, staring at how addicted her Shogun became after just one taste of your nipples. “Move.”

Only the Guuji could command the Shogun like this as she gripped the back of Ei’s head and pulled her away from your puffed up nipple. A string of saliva connects Ei’s tongue to your tit, as Miko quickly takes her place and begins sucking over your nipple like Ei once did.

“Mmpf…” Miko grunts, closing her eyes in pure bliss as she wraps her mouth around your right breast. Ei panting after her turn on your tits, before looking up to kiss you and get a taste of your tongue too. ‘So sweet…!’ Ei couldn’t help but think, parting your lips with her tongue as she Fontaine-kissed you in a way that had you squirming for more.

“Hold still,” you hear Sara grunt from behind, suddenly grabbing your waist and causing you to gasp when she palms your rear.

“For an empress who seems so docile, you sure squirm quite a bit…”

Sara’s husky tone makes you shiver as she moves her hand down to slide over the hidden confines of your legs. Ei and Miko were too occupied with your boobs and mouth to even notice, as Sara decided she was going straight to the main event.

Her rough and calloused hands start palming at your crotch hungrily with a desire to feel your warm, dripping, cunt. The Tengu could barely keep herself from giving into her desires and just ripping up your panties with her nails, stuffing you full with those thick, muscled fingers of hers as she wanted nothing more than to hear you scream.

“…Hey,” you hear Ei murmur, parting from your lips to look down at Sara trying to fuck you early. “General Kujou.”

Sara freezes when she hears her archon catch her, and shyly pulls her hand away from your lower areas. You groan at the loss of contact from down there and pout with frustration, so used to getting your way so quickly.

“Sorry.” You hear Sara murmur in guilt, the Guuji slowly pulling away from your breast and licking up all the saliva that dripped from her lips. “Oh? Is the great General Kujou so eager to have the empress fucked out on her fingers?” She purrs, watching as both you and Sara flush hot at her words.

Ei pouted when she saw how worked up you were getting from Sara’s secret fondles, so she decided to take matters into her own hands and reach down to slip her own fingers into your panties to prod and push at your swelling clit.

“Ah—!”

“Ei?”

“My shogun!”

Sara and Miko looked genuinely surprised when Ei suddenly started toying with your clit, too mesmerized by the reactions you were giving her to utter a single word.

“My, my, how bold of you, Ei…” Miko tuts, watching as more of your privates were revealed to the three women in the room. “It seems like you’re the Shogun’s new addiction, my dear empress.”

The kitsune smirks at the way you squirm and writhe in her grasp, as the Shogun’s hands start to peel back the fancy undergarments of your bottoms and rub circles into the flesh of your clit. Their eyes glazed over with arousal the more they saw how puffy it was getting, and Sara nearly lost herself as she had to clench her fists together to keep herself from fucking you now.

The more you whimpered, the tougher it became to hold back. As all three women wanted to stuff you raw with their fingers until you were left creaming over the table and staining all their precious documents with cum.

“So pretty…” you hear Ei murmur as she locks eyes onto your puckering and dripping hole. Licking her lips as she imagined just how sweet you’d taste sitting on her face with your pussy riding her tongue.

“They are pretty,” Miko agrees, deciding to move two fingers downward and spread your folds apart for all to see. “I wonder if…ah…”

Ei practically moans at the sight as she sees just how wet and sensitive you were from all three women toying with you. It was a sight that made her want to kiss Celestia as she’s never seen such a pretty pussy in person.

“Fuck…” you hear Sara groan, eyes staring at your hole with need as she moved her hand down closer to your entrance.

“Do you think they can take all three of us at once?

“Oh, I bet they could.” The Guuji grins, eager to see how much you could take before making a mess of yourself on the table. “Spread your legs a little wider, darling. You can take all of us, I’m sure you can…”

In a blur of sex-drunk daze, you moan when Ei suddenly enters and plunges her finger deep inside you. Then Miko, then Sara, and then Ei again as she just couldn’t help but stuff a second one in there.

“Oh—! Fuck…” you whine, gripping onto Sara’s muscular arm in order to stabilize yourself from losing it. “Fuck? Did the empress just curse?” Miko laughs, starting to finger you faster. “Who taught you to have such a foul mouth, little one?”

You grit your teeth and can’t help but curse out Beidou in your mind. The pleasure just too good for you to remember your manners, as Ei, Miko and Sara all stuffed you full with fingers that felt so thick and long.

“More…” you mumble exasperatedly, eyes rolled back in ecstasy as Sara moves forward to kiss your neck. “More?” Miko whispers back with glee, eyes lighting up with newfound desire. “The greedy little empress wants more?”

You pouted at Miko’s taunts and looked away to hide your embarrassment.

“Oh, don’t be shy…” Ei murmurs while cupping your face. “We’ll gladly give you more if that’s what you want…”

Ei smiles softly before thrusting her fingers even deeper into you, loving how tensed up you got the harder she went as you were just a precious sight for the archon to admire.

“You’re getting quite tight now, my empress,” you hear Ei whisper, raising her thumb to toy with your clit. “Are you close? Are we making you close to your climax?”

Miko and Sara chuckle amusingly at the sight before stirring their fingers even faster in you. Wanting to see your juices coating their fingers as evidence for how good they were making you feel.

“I’m…Ah…close…” you moan, throwing your head back to stare at the ceiling as shaky breaths and whimpers claw out of your throat. “Harder…Harder…”

“I had no idea the empress was so needy…” Sara husks into your ear, using her other hand to grope at your breast. “Looks like I’ll have to teach them a thing or two about patience…”

You whine as Sara squeezes your breast roughly and begins attacking your neck with dark hickies. Determined to mark you with her teeth while speeding up the thrusts of her thick and calloused fingers. Too lost in the pleasure, you could barely keep yourself sane as you failed to comprehend the sounds of Miko talking to the door. A muffled conversation happening between the three women and a fourth, as the only thing you could hear was,

“Glad you can finally join us, Ayaka.”

From the outside door to the room, Ayaka had been watching through a slim crack in the doorway, masturbating to the sight of her empress being ravaged by the Shogun, Guuji and General all at the same time. She couldn’t help but grow slightly aroused the moment she saw you being fucked dumb, and while she was embarrassed at first, the little droplet of slick that ran down her thigh indicated that she should take care of it as soon as possible…

For the past few minutes or so, Ayaka had her fingers under her dress, fucking her tight, needy, hole to your moans while trying her best not to give up her hiding spot. She felt so perverse, so dirty at the things she was doing, but she couldn’t help but do it anyway, too turned on to care.

So much precum had dripped down her thighs, staining her panties white, while her fingers moved in and out. So close to her release, so close to her climax until she heard something that snapped her out of her daze.

“Would you like to join us, Ayaka?” Miko’s muffled words came from within, causing the princess to gasp once she was caught. “…The empress seems quite keen on making sure you have a turn too. Let’s have a go with them together, shall we?”

Ayaka blushes at the mention of you wanting her to have a turn, and she couldn’t help but let her love for you push through her embarrassment.

She pulls up her panties, wipes off some of her precum, and takes a deep breath to calm down her libido before pushing the door open to see what was going on inside. Her face immediately flushes red at the sight, as seeing your fucked out expression in the middle of those three quickly turned her on again.

“Oh, my empress…” Ayaka murmurs quietly, soaking through her panties once more. “You look so…so…”

“Delicious.” Ei finishes for her, pulling her fingers out of your hole to taste the slick you produced from your orgasm. She hums pleasantly at the taste, before turning to Ayaka and outstretching her hand out to her, fingers still wet with cum and saliva.

“Come, let us enjoy this sweet treat together. The empress is a delicacy meant to be shared after all…”

#raiden ei smut #ei smut #ei x reader #raiden ei x reader #yae smut #yae miko smut #yae x reader #yae miko x reader #kujou sara smut #kujou sara x reader #ayaka smut #ayaka x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin women x reader #genshin women smut #genshin imagines #empress au

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bitchiswild · 4 months

Text

President’s Daughter

GP Yujin x F! Reader Warnings: choking, squirting, cream pie, etc. Word Count: 2.7k A/n: This has been in my drafts for so long FINALLY ITS OUT UGH

Being the president's daughter has its good and bad sides, especially when you're a target. Right after your dad became president, he insisted on getting you a bodyguard, just in case. You didn't like the idea at all—having someone always watching you, being bossy, and all that. But your dad wanted you safe, so you went along with it. That's when he introduced you to Yujin.

"Y/n, this is Yujin, your bodyguard. She's here to keep you safe," Dad said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

I rolled my eyes as I glanced at Yujin, sizing her up with an air of superiority. When I looked back at Dad, I made a show of sighing dramatically. "Fine, whatever," I muttered, reluctantly extending my hand towards Yujin. "Hi, I guess. You're supposed to be protecting me or something."

Yujin gave me a once-over before shaking my hand, her expression neutral as if she had dealt with bratty kids like me before. She simply nodded in response, clearly unimpressed by my attitude.

As the days passed, I made it abundantly clear to Yujin that having a bodyguard was more of an inconvenience than a necessity. I would often complain about her presence, insisting that I didn't need someone constantly watching over me.

One afternoon, while walking through the crowded streets, I grew increasingly irritated by the way Yujin hovered protectively beside me. "Seriously, Yujin, you don't have to follow me everywhere like a lost puppy," I snapped, earning a disapproving glance from her.

Ignoring her silent reprimand, I veered off the path, determined to shake her off. But no matter how hard I tried, Yujin remained steadfast, never letting me out of her sight.

Frustrated and feeling rebellious, I decided to test her limits. "I'm going to grab a coffee. Don't follow me," I declared, darting into a nearby café.

To my surprise, Yujin didn't budge from her position outside. Despite my attempts to push her away, she stood her ground, unwavering in her commitment to protect me.

Defeated, I begrudgingly returned to her side, my earlier defiance replaced by a begrudging acceptance. It was clear that Yujin was more than just a bodyguard; she was a force to be reckoned with, determined to fulfill her duty regardless of my protests.

Reluctantly, I conceded defeat, realizing that perhaps having Yujin by my side wasn't such a bad thing after all.

As you spent more time with Yujin, something changed inside you. Despite originally resisting her, you started to feel drawn to her in a way you couldn't explain.

You discovered that behind Yujin's serious exterior was someone who genuinely cared about you. She didn't judge your flaws; instead, she supported and guided you as you opened up to her.

Through your conversations and shared experiences, you learned to let go of your pride and embrace vulnerability. Yujin became more than just a bodyguard; she became a trusted friend who made you feel accepted and understood.

One night, after drinking too much at a party, you found yourself in a vulnerable situation. Yujin, always watching out for you, came to your rescue, guiding you safely through the crowded streets.

In that moment of vulnerability, you saw Yujin's unwavering dedication and kindness. It made you realize how much you cared for her and appreciated everything she did for you.

From that night on, your feelings for Yujin continued to grow, fueled by gratitude and admiration for the incredible person she was.

As the day of your date arrived, you felt a mix of excitement and nerves. Meeting at a cozy café, you were greeted by Yujin, who surprised you with her casual yet stylish outfit.

Sitting together in a quiet corner, you found yourselves engrossed in easy conversation, punctuated by shared laughter that seemed to light up the room. Yujin's usual serious demeanor gave way to genuine smiles and laughter, and you couldn't help but be charmed by her warmth.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn to Yujin in a way you hadn't expected. Her laughter was infectious, and you couldn't resist joining in. Despite her typically reserved nature, she seemed relaxed and happy in your company.

Leaving the café with a promise to meet again soon, you felt a sense of hope and anticipation for what the future might hold—a future filled with more moments of laughter and happiness shared with Yujin, the woman who had captured your heart.

You still acted like a brat, clinging to your status as a daddy's girl, which seemed to define much of your behavior. However, everything changed when Yujin stepped in and challenged you, ultimately putting you in your place.

Yujin's firm voice cut through the tension, her hands gripping your neck as her movements intensified. "You've been getting on my nerves all day, princess," she declared, her thrusts becoming more forceful as you trembled beneath her touch. "I've had enough of your erratic behavior. If your daddy didn't set you straight, then I will." With each powerful thrust, she asserted her dominance, driving her point home with undeniable intensity.

The room was filled with the unmistakable sounds of your pussy squelching and your whimpers echoing off the walls. Your tightness enveloped Yujin's cock like a vice grip, eliciting moans of pleasure from her lips. Every vein on her throbbing shaft pulsed against your sensitive walls, sending waves of sensation coursing through your body.

"Y-Yujin," you whimpered, your body jerking with each powerful thrust. "What is it, princess?" She asked, her gaze intense as she looked down at you, her necklace dangling tantalizingly close above your face.

"F-Faster, p-please," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper as desire surged through your veins.

With a wicked grin, Yujin increased her pace, driving into you with a relentless urgency that sent shivers down your spine. Her movements became more primal, each thrust hitting you with precision, igniting a fiery pleasure that consumed your senses.

As the intensity grew, so did the rawness of your desire, spilling out in a stream of dirty talk that only fueled the passion between you.

"You like that, baby?" Yujin growled, her voice husky with desire. "You like it when I fuck you like this, don't you? Tell me how much you want it."

Your breath hitched as you moaned in response, words tumbling from your lips in a fervent confession of lust. "Yes, Yujin, yes! I want it so bad. I need you to fuck me harder, deeper. Make me yours completely."

Her grip on you tightened as she thrust into you with an almost savage fervor, each movement pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. With every gasp and moan, you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pleasure of being utterly consumed by her.

Yujin flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass towards her as she thrust her cock inside you, eliciting a sharp cry of pleasure from your lips. Her movements quickened, driving deeper into you with each powerful thrust.

"You're gonna listen to me from now on, right, princess?" Yujin demanded, her voice commanding as she held you close. Your face buried in the pillow, you were too overwhelmed with pleasure to respond, lost in the sensation of being thoroughly ravished.

Noticing your lack of response, Yujin tightened her grip on your hair, pulling you closer to her as she whispered huskily into your ear. "I asked you a question, princess," she murmured, her thrusts never faltering as she asserted her dominance over you with each

"Y-Yes, I promise I'll be a good girl," you cried out, your voice trembling with arousal as the tightness in your stomach grew more intense with each of Yujin's powerful thrusts.

Your body quivered with anticipation, the sensations overwhelming as you felt yourself nearing the edge of ecstasy. Yujin's relentless thrusts only fueled the fire burning within you, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release.

"My good girl," Yujin growled, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she felt you trembling beneath her. "You belong to me now, princess. Say it."

"Yes, I belong to you," you moaned, your words punctuated by gasps of pleasure as Yujin's thrusts continued to drive you wild.

"That's right," Yujin breathed, her grip on your hair tightening as she claimed you completely. "You're mine to control, to pleasure, to punish... however I see fit."

The mixture of dominance and desire in her words sent a thrill through you, amplifying the pleasure building within you to dizzying heights. With each thrust, you felt yourself surrendering more fully to Yujin's power, lost in the intoxicating bliss of being

The bed began to pound against the wall with each passionate thrust, echoing the rhythm of your pleasure-filled union. The sound of skin meeting skin reverberated through the room, punctuated by the occasional sharp slap that added an extra layer of sensation to the electrifying atmosphere.

"Shit, baby, I'm gonna cum," Yujin groaned, her voice laced with urgency as she felt the climax building within her. "I'm gonna fill you up so good."

The thought of Yujin releasing herself inside you sent a surge of desire coursing through your veins, pushing you closer to the edge of your own release. "Yes! Cum in me," you cried out, your voice a desperate plea as you welcomed the impending explosion of ecstasy that awaited you both.

With one final, powerful thrust, Yujin buried herself deep inside you, her body tensing as she poured herself into you. The sensation of her release triggered your own, sending you both over the edge into a whirlwind of pleasure that left you breathless.

As your body shook with the aftershocks of pleasure, Yujin turned you around, her gaze fixated on your abused pussy, still leaking with her warm cum. With deliberate movements, she reached down and pushed her fingers into your sensitive folds, eliciting a whimper of pleasure from your lips as you felt the familiar sensation coursing through you once again.

Removing her fingers, glistening with your combined arousal, Yujin brought them to her lips and sucked them clean, her eyes never leaving yours as she savored the taste of your shared cum. Then, without hesitation, she repeated the motion, pushing her fingers into your mouth, urging you to taste the evidence of your shared passion.

You complied eagerly, sucking on her fingers with a hunger born from the intoxicating pleasure you had just experienced together. The taste of her mingled with your own arousal only served to fuel the fire between you, igniting a newfound desire that lingered in the air long after your bodies had finally stilled.

The action reignited Yujin's hard on, so she pulled you close to her, her arousal evident as she positioned you with your legs folded, knees next to your ears. "I-I can't, too sensitive," you mumbled, your body still buzzing from the intense pleasure you had just experienced.

Yujin, undeterred by your protest, teased your entrance with her throbbing cock, the anticipation sending shivers down your spine. "One more, princess, give me one more," she demanded huskily, her voice dripping with need as she pushed her cock inside you once again.

The sensation of her entering you anew was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but scream out in ecstasy as pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave. Your moans filled the room, mingling with Yujin's own guttural sounds of pleasure as she thrust into you with abandon.

But amidst the pleasure, there were also whimpers of delight escaping your lips, the intensity of the moment threatening to overwhelm your senses entirely. Yujin's dirty talk only fueled the fire burning within you, each whispered word driving you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

"Fuck, you feel so good, princess," Yujin growled, her voice strained with desire as she ravished you relentlessly. "You're mine, all mine. Say it."

"Yes, I'm yours," you gasped, your voice a desperate plea as you surrendered yourself completely to her. "Take me, Yujin, fuck me until I can't think straight."

After your desperate plea, Yujin's demeanor shifted, her movements becoming rougher and more commanding. With a primal growl, she gripped your hips firmly, her thrusts gaining in intensity as she took you with a fierce determination.

"Yeah, that's it, baby," Yujin grunted, her voice husky with desire. "You're mine, all mine. Gonna fuck you real good."

Each thrust was a forceful reminder of her dominance, driving you deeper into a state of euphoria as you surrendered to the pleasure of being thoroughly ravished by her.

"Take it, princess," Yujin growled, her breath hot against your ear. "You're begging for it. Can't get enough of me, can you?"

Driven by an insatiable hunger, Yujin unleashed her desires upon you with unbridled ferocity, pushing you to the limits of pleasure and pain.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Yujin moaned, her voice thick with lust. "Gonna make you scream my name."

With each powerful thrust, you felt yourself teetering on the brink of oblivion, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer force of Yujin's passion.

"That's it, baby," Yujin encouraged, her words a mix of pleasure and command. "Cum for me. Let me feel you unravel around me."

And as she claimed you as her own in the most primal of ways, you found yourself lost in a whirlwind of sensation, completely consumed by the raw, unbridled ecstasy of being utterly dominated by her.

"Fuck, I'm gonna make you squirt," Yujin growled, her voice dripping with anticipation as she sensed your impending release.

“Y-Yujin” You whimpered.

As the pressure inside you reached its peak, Yujin's words spurred you on even further. "That's it, princess, squirt on my cock," she urged, her voice laced with desire as she drove you towards your climax.

With a primal scream of pleasure, you felt yourself gushing around her, your juices flowing freely as you reached the pinnacle of ecstasy. Yujin's movements never faltered as she milked every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body, driving you to heights of pleasure you had never known before.

As the waves of pleasure washed over you, you couldn't help but cry out Yujin's name, your voice a mix of ecstasy and desperation as you surrendered yourself completely to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Yujin continued to thrust into you relentlessly, her movements driving you both to the brink of ecstasy. The sensation of her cock deep inside you, combined with the erotic charge of her commanding presence, ignited a firestorm of pleasure within you.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum inside you," Yujin groaned, her voice thick with desire as she felt her release building. "You're gonna take all of it, princess."

Your body quivered in anticipation as you felt the heat of Yujin's impending climax radiating through her. With each powerful thrust, you urged her on, craving the sensation of her hot release filling you completely.

As the intensity reached its peak, Yujin's control slipped away, and she succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her. With a guttural cry of ecstasy, she buried herself deep inside you, her cock pulsating as she unleashed wave after wave of her essence into you.

You cried out in pleasure as you felt Yujin's hot cum flooding you, filling you up with every drop of her release. The sensation of being completely filled by her only intensified your own climax, sending you both spiraling into a euphoric frenzy of pleasure that left you breathless and completely sated in each other's arms.

After the intense passion and pleasure subsided, Yujin gently withdrew from you, her movements tender as she held you close in her arms. The air was thick with the scent of your shared intimacy as you both lay entwined, basking in the afterglow of your encounter.

Yujin's touch was gentle as she caressed your skin, her fingers tracing soothing patterns along your body as she whispered sweet words of affection and reassurance. "You did so well, princess," she murmured, her voice soft with tenderness. "You were absolutely incredible."

Feeling utterly spent yet content in her embrace, you nuzzled closer to her, savoring the warmth and comfort of her presence. Yujin's loving embrace enveloped you like a protective cocoon, her touch a balm to your soul after the intensity of your shared passion.

As you lay together in the quiet intimacy of the moment, you felt a profound sense of connection with Yujin, a bond forged through the raw vulnerability and intimacy you had shared. And in that moment, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected twist of fate that had brought Yujin into your life.

"Thanks to my dad, I met you," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude as you looked into Yujin's eyes. "My bodyguard, my girlfriend... I'm so lucky to have you."

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