#anyway if I ever try to do something like this again know that the palms will be light | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rhaenyratargcryen · 2 months

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you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)

masterlist ❈

summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits

also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3

all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this

It has been one hell of a week.

The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.

You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.

“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”

“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”

You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian.

One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch.

Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.

The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”

Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.

“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”

You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”

“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”

Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.

“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump.

“You need any help over here?”

You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”

No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.

“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”

You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him.

“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government.

This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:

Please let it be the only time.

After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.

“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”

It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.

“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Where we headin’?”

“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”

“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”

“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”

Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”

Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.

“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”

“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”

He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.

“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris.

“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”

Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head.

“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”

You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.

“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”

“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.

“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”

You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.

“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.

“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours.

You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze.

Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.

“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”

The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.

The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.

“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.

“So what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.

“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”

You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”

Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.

There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.

“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.

What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?

As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.

You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.

Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.

Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.

“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”

Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.

“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.

“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”

“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”

Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.

He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”

You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”

“God, but I do love making you laugh.”

You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.

“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”

“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”

“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”

“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”

You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head.

“Seriously. You always know what to say.”

A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.

“What’s up?”

Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”

The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.

You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.

“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”

“Tyler?”

His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.

You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.

“Stay?”

You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”

With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.

“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”

You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.

“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.

“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.

“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.

“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”

You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more.

“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.

Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.

“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”

“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.

“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”

You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.

“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.

“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.

Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”

He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.

He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”

You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.

“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head.

“Shampoo?”

You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.

You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head.

“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”

“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”

So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.

“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”

You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”

You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.

“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”

You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.

“What are you –”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.

One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.

“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.

“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.

“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.

“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”

“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.

You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you.

“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”

His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”

Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.

“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”

Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once.

You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans.

With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.

His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.

“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”

Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”

You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”

A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.

Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated.

A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.

“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”

You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.

His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.

“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”

You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.

“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.

Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.

You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.

His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”

He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”

If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.

A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here.

Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.

“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”

Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.

“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”

“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”

You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”

He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”

Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.

“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”

Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”

He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.

“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”

You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.

“Damn, Owens!”

The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.

Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.

“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.

“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”

“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”

The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”

You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.

“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”

He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”

Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”

You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.

“Or something.”

#twisters #twisters 2024 #twisters movie #glen powell #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens smut #glen powell x reader #glen powell smut #as a former tyler dater this was soooo triggering for me to write #JFNLKQJBNF

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alicentofhightower · 2 months

Text

the cost of a dragon

pairing: addam velaryon x wife!reader

synopsis: addam is covered in cuts and scrapes from falling and running in the forest, and now you must take care of him.

includes: fluff, episode 6 heavy spoilers, probably historically inaccurate w some parts but we’re just gonna Let That Slide, not proofread again oops

wc: 1.3k

a/n: i love him so bad. rn my top 3 tb characters are rhaenyra rhaena and addam. he’s so sweet!! i really hope we get to see a lot more of him in the next few episodes

Addam is bewildered when he returns to your home, panting, eyes wide and mouth agape. You’ve never seen him like this, but you guess that it’s the dragon laying beside your house that’s done it.

“What’s happened?” You exclaim when you see the way he’s stumbled in, bleeding from a cut on his cheek.

“…The, the dragon,” He mumbles, locked hair spilling over his shoulders. Addam walks over to where you stand by the kitchen table, hands gently grasping your forearms, as yours do his, thumbs running over your skin to ground himself. He smells strange, like something otherworldly. Could it have been because of the beast outside your door?

“It came to me, followed me through the woods by the shore. I think I’ve claimed him. Yes, that’s what I’ve done. I must go.” Addam attempts to retract himself from your grip, but to no avail.

The pots and pans inside rattle when the silver creature lay its head on the yard outside, no doubt resting from its flight. “Please, my love,” Addam insists. “I need to go and see the queen myself. She is in need of more dragons herself, is she not? If I serve her, perhaps she will allow you and I to live at Dragonstone with her. This is our chance.”

You shake your head, apron ruffling from the beach’s wind blowing through the window. Addam has always been ambitious, has always wanted the best for you and himself. He’s fiercely loyal to you, a quality that made you want to marry him in the first place.

“Addam.” Your hands fly up to cup his cheeks, stopping him from continuing on with his tangent. “You’re covered in gashes and dirt and sand. At least let me lend you a hand.”

He softens at that, jaw seeming to unclench. Addam’s brown eyes have always been expressive, and now they seem to look at you as if you’re the sweetest person he’s ever known. “…I suppose you’re right,” He mutters, “but we must make haste.”

Finally, you let go of each other. You use one of your hands to intertwine your fingers with his, and the other to grip your skirts as you lead him to your room. It’s small and modest, mostly swallowed up by the bed you share. “Sit,” You say, almost commandingly, quickly fetching a spare piece of cloth by the tub in the main room and a bowl of water.

Addam’s eyes almost glint at the way you flounce about before him. He spreads his legs so you are able to stand between them, chin tilting up so he can make eye contact with you while you fix him up.

“Let me see.”

He holds out his right arm, palm up, covered in tiny scratches and sand from his poor attempt to escape from his new dragon. Seasmoke, he remembers. Addam squeezes your right hand lightly while the other cleans him up.

You barely manage to suppress a heavy scoff at the mess in front of you, but you dab gently at it with the towel anyway, soaked with water. “What did you do?” You ask, brows knitting together. “Did you try to run from it?”

“Yes,” He admits, face scrunching together at the fresh memory. You’ve told him to be careful of the sky-beasts constantly looming over the two of you, and he knows he’ll be scolded for trying to escape the damn thing.

You shake your head, mostly to yourself, and Addam’s shoulders deflate. “Well, what would you have done?” He asks, exasperated. “My apologies for wanting to come home to you tonight.”

You pinch his arm. “I only worry for you,” You say, voice soft. Addam and his brother, Alyn, are the only family you’ve left; you’d never known your father, and your sweet mother had died of a fever shortly after your seventeenth nameday. She hadn’t been able to last, to see you wed the man you love so dearly.

“…What will you say, when you see Queen Rhaenyra? She may think you are coming as a foe, to battle rather than service.”

Addam hisses as you brush against a particularly deep cut, eyes squeezing shut. “Sorry,” You say, and he only tips your interlaced fingers up to his lips and kisses the back of your hand.

Your husband pauses after he lets your hands back down, considering the weight of whatever his words to the Black Queen will mean. He almost thinks of it as a duty, to you and his brother. To further your ever so small family.

“I suppose the words will come to me when it happens.” He swallows harshly, eyes averted from yours, darting around like he’s telling himself to fucking think.

You’ve moved onto his other arm, now, and suddenly the odor of him has become unbearable. It’s nothing like anything you’ve smelled before.

Grimacing, you drop the washcloth and cover your nose with your hand, taking a step back. “What?” questions Addam, clearly confused. “What’s the matter?”

“Gods, you fucking stink. What is that?”

Addam laughs. He laughs, tension seeping out of him as he does. “It must be the dragon,” He claims, reaching out to grab your waist and pull you back towards him. “Don’t mind it, please.”

You’re unable to fight the smile you feel blooming, because despite the fact that your husband reeks of his new dragon sleeping outside your home, and your feet are sore from walking to the markets, only to find nothing, and your nerves are set ablaze thinking of his meeting with Rhaenyra, Addam is here. He’s here with you, holding you, safe in the comfort of your humble little home.

The feeling is fleeting, only settling in you for a moment, but you tip your head down to press a kiss to his mouth. “You must be vigilant,” You plead when you pull away, ignoring the way Addam’s lips seem to chase after yours. “And you must return to me. I do not know what I would do if I were to lose you.”

“I will be. I swear it.”

You brush away the dried blood on his cheek with the cloth, frowning. “We should leave, shouldn’t we? Fly to Essos, where we will be safe without the threat of war. That dragon is large enough to saddle three, isn’t it? We can go-“

A thumb soothingly presses against your lips, silencing you. “…If I can put the thing to use, it will strengthen us. Strengthen whatever I have with my father.”

Addam had always been desperate to get the same attention from Lord Corlys that Alyn had always seemed to receive after he’d saved the man. You’d never spoken to the Lord Velaryon yourself before, but it was hard to miss the way he’d stare at you when you visited your husband in the shipyard, almost melancholically.

“I do not care for jewels and gowns and for you to be gilded in glory, Addam,” You state, pushing his wrist away from your face. “I care for you. Should we not go now? I could find your brother.”

“No.” He shakes his head, standing from the bed, now towering over you. His fingers, callused from his seemingly never-ending work on Lord Corlys’s ship, caress your waist almost reverently.

Almost every inch of your skin heats up when Addam leans down to kiss your chest, right where your heart is. The skin is covered by the sea-blue gown you wear, a white apron tied about your waist, and you shudder at the feel of his lips on such an intimate spot.

He kisses up from your bosom to your mouth again, firm and sweet and longing. There’s no guarantee you’ll ever see him again, but some strange part of you feels that all will be well. It’s a naive thought, perhaps, but one you welcome nonetheless.

“I will come back to you,” He promises, voice rasping. “I love you.”

#hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #addam velaryon x reader #addam of hull x reader #addam velaryon fluff #addam of hull fluff #hotd fluff #house of the dragon fluff #team black x reader #the blacks x reader

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ponderingmoonlight · 3 months

Text

Hashira reader smacking Zenitsu and sending him to her crush Iguro to teach him a lesson

original idea and inspiration by none other than queen @sitarawrites and this post right here

Pairing: Obanai x fem!hashira! reader

Word Count: 1,1k

Warnings: Zenitsu being a creep and getting payback for it

„Please, you have to give me a chance!“

„Zenitsu, I think that’s enough-„

„You have to be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen! Let’s marry as long as we’re still alive!”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, you creep?”

“I’m so so sorry for his behavior-“

“What’s going on here?”, you interrupt the little chit chat in front of you sharply.

You sign to yourself. Just like you expected, another wave of losers that just arrived. 2 girls, a few of those basic guys and…

You furrow your eyebrows, a wave of nauseous disgust getting a hold of you the second you see him. That blonde haired guy who looks at you as if you’re a piece of meat.

“Oh, who are-“

Without even allowing him so finish his sentence, you grab his blonde hair with one hand while smacking him flat-palmed with the other.

“Just let me make a few things clear before we’re even starting”, you hiss, mindlessly dropping his crying figure to the ground.

“If you didn’t catch it already, I’m a hashira and you are here to train under me. But I’m not like Mitsuri or my former master Himejima-sama. We won’t pray around here, we won’t laugh. But most important of all, don’t you dare to piss me off by disregarding me in some sort of way. Got it, Blondie?”

“I think he understood, (y/n)-san!”, the red-haired boy next to him shouts immediately while throwing his unconscious body over his shoulder.

“I know you’re still listening. If I catch you hitting on a corps member like that one more time, I’ll burry you under rocks before sending you over to Igoro-san”, you bark at the boy who again, screams out in sheer fright.

Apparently, his horrible behavior towards females isn’t the only annoying thing about that guy named Zenitsu. If it wasn’t for Kamado, he’d hide inside his room the whole day while crying his eyes out.

“I promise he acts different when he’s unconscious!”

“Do I have to slap him again, then?”

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

Urgh. If it wasn’t for that crow sent by Ubayishiki-sama himself, you would have drowned that boy in the river nearby immediately. And that nice little interactions with a certain someone.

“If he doesn’t treat you right, send him my way. I’ll make sure he’ll never cry again.”

“Nice try Iguro-san. But Ubayishiki-sama forbid me to hurt him and I’m sure the same goes for you, unfortunately.”

“Is he still looking at you all the time? Then it might be worth it.”

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t. But if I catch him crying around like a baby one last time, I’ll send him to you personally.”

“I’ll take that as a promise, then.”

You smile to yourself while reading those well-written lines. Igoru-san…truth is, you definitely kept an eye open for him these past months. Out of all the hashira, he’s the only one you’re really keen to talk to.

“Ahhh, it’s so cold!”

“Zentisu, calm down. Don’t you remember what (y/n)-san told you about-“

“I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE! THIS IS LIVING HELL! THAT WOMAN IS THE DEVIL HERSELF! I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE TANJIRO!”

“Please calm down-“

“I’M SURE THE GIRLS AT THE BUTTERFLY ESTATE MISS ME, I’LL JUST RETURN TO AOI AND THE GIRLS-“

“You’re not going anywhere, you fool. I’m having enough of your bullshit”, you interrupt his pity party along with a harsh bow into his stomach that surely makes him see stars.

“I’m sending you to Iguro myself.”

Another well-placed hit, a passed out Zenitsu before you even get the chance to hit him.

“Please, allow me to go with you, (y/n)-san. I don’t think Zenitsu will survive the training of the serpent hashira on his own”, a gently voice speaks out next to you.

Urgh. You hate to even consider Tanjiro’s words. But there’s nothing you’re able to teach him anyway. No matter how much you hate to admit it, but that Kamado boy definitely is something special.

“Fine”, you grumble.

“But only because I want to get rid of you.”

“That’s totally fine! Thank you for teaching me hand to hand combat anyway!”

“Yeah, whatever. Just carry that prick and follow me.”

Your heart beats a little faster with every step you come nearer to the serpent hashira’s estate. How is he doing? Is he excited to see you, what will he say? You haven’t seen each other since the last hashira meeting, didn’t have the chance to speak properly since forever as it seems.

But now is your chance. When it means seeing Iguro-san, that douchebag did have a purpose after all.

“Did you take out the trash, (y/n)?”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. You didn’t even sense him until he stands in front of you, both eyes set on you with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I can’t take that whining baby anymore. Make sure to treat him right”, you explain briefly.

“Oh, and I took Kamado with me.”

“Tanjiro Kamado”, Iguro-san hisses, his eyes shooting pure venom Tanjiro’s way.

“Bring that useless boy inside and get some rest yourself, Kamado”, you instruct the boy next to you who springs into action immediately.

“He’s doing pretty well”, you mumble more to yourself than actually talking to Iguro-san.

“Doing pretty well?”

Faster than you’re able to react, you find yourself breathlessly pinned against a nearby tree with his eyes almost piercing trough you.

��I mean…yeah”, you breathe out.

“But I actually came here because I missed you”, you add with unusual low voice.

Is that blush creeping up your cheeks? The serpent hashira almost doesn’t believe his ears. You, missing him? He never thought you’d actually like him, that feelings like missing someone like him could actually exist. But you hold his gaze with reddened cheeks. And you’re here, between his arms.

“I…”

He kind find the words. In fact, it seems like his mind and body aren’t able to function normally anymore.

“I need to go”, he presses out.

“But Iguro-san, I-“

He’s gone as fast as he came, leaving yourself leaning against the tree like an idiot.

What was that?

-bonus-

“I’ll let you suffer for making (y/n) uncomfortable. Did you flirt with her?”

“W-what? Me? I’d never d-do that!”

“I’ll kill you-“

“Please don’t kill him Iguro-san!”

“I’ll kill you as well. You made eyes at (y/n)-san.”

“We’re so screwed”, Zenitsu hisses through gritted teeth.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine

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joelscruff · 1 year

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truth or dare (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

notification blog | kofi | in honor of my bestie han @swiftispunk who recently celebrated her birthday (and in honor of spooky season starting 🎃) i thought i'd step outside the boundaries of what i usually write and try something new. i'd also like to give a huge shoutout to @toxicanonymity whose entire masterlist greatly influenced my desire to try something like this. please heed the warnings!!! and as i said this is my first time writing anything like this so pls be kind 🫠

summary: a harmless game of truth or dare ends with you tied up in a certain mysterious neighbor's garage. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: dubcon (reader is given a choice to leave, but not immediately), dark!joel, age gap (reader is college age, joel is in his fifties), unprotected p in v sex, use of restraints, ropes, spanking, degradation, sir kink, dirty talk (use of 'little girl' as a pet name), face fucking, rough sex, creampie, brief anal play, humiliation, inappropriate use of a household item (he puts a flashlight up her cooch), marking (with a sharpie), size kink (joel is much bigger than reader and can lift her), pls lemme know if i forgot anything word count: 8.3k

Your palms are sweaty, fingers sticking to your skin as you stand at the edge of the property with goosebumps already blooming along your flesh. The air is chilly, that end of summer evening air flooding your nostrils as a car drives past through streams of leftover rainwater, headlights blurring your vision for a moment. It passes quickly and you're alone again, standing on the street corner with a mixture of anticipation and dread filling your trembling body.

Everything had been fine about twenty minutes ago. A typical party with your hometown friends, one last hurrah before everyone splits off for the third year in a row to go back to their respective colleges, back to long lectures and underwhelming frat boys. It had gone the same way it always does when you get together - shots, secrets, schemes. No end of summer party could ever be complete without a game of truth or dare, not for your crowd anyway.

It had started simple. "Which one of us had the best glow-up this year?" "I dare you to text the last guy you slept with." "What's the kinkiest thing you've done with somebody?" "I dare you to show us the last nude someone sent you." Typical borderline adolescent challenges, things you all still followed through with despite being too old for the game - it's the principle of it, to indulge and pretend, if only for a little while, that life is as simple as it once was.

"Who's the last person you had a sex dream about?"

You'd twisted your hands awkwardly in your lap, felt heat rush to the apples of your cheeks. Usually a question like this wouldn't make you hesitate, but the subject of the answer had been a slightly embarrassing one. As soon as the name Joel Miller had fallen from your lips, you'd been met with screams and squeals and excited chatter from every direction.

"He's so fucking creepy though," one of your friends had said with wide eyes, palm over her mouth, "He gives off serial killer vibes."

"Oh please, he's not that bad," another had chimed in, "He's just a loner, kinda mysterious. I see the vision."

"Are we forgetting the part where he's old as hell? Dude must be in his fifties, at least."

"But that means experience."

"It could also mean limp dick."

"You guys are disgusting," you'd moaned, leaning back on your hands, "It was one dream, let's move on."

And they had. Briefly. Until it was once again your turn and they'd all rounded on you with cheshire cat grins and glinting stares. You should have known what was coming when you chose Dare.

"I dare you to go over to his house."

You'd resisted, of course. The dare itself didn't even make much sense; what were you meant to do? Go over and ding-dong-ditch his front door like a twelve year old boy? But it had only snowballed from there, all five girls tossing in their own thoughts and ideas, talking and giggling over each other. "She should ask him on a date." "She should just flirt a little bit, see how he reacts." "She could see how far she can get with him, maybe?" "Oh shit, that's good."

You could have always said no - there was no way any of them could force you to do it, even if it would have ended the party abruptly with grumbled complaints and a slammed door. But the more they talked the more you found yourself listening, letting the concept sink in, the images of the dream you'd had the other night flooding to the front of your mind. Mysterious and elusive Joel Miller, big hands covered in the motor oil he uses to tinker with his truck, trailing his messy fingers between the swells of your breasts...

They'd managed to convince you just by the reminder alone, though also due to the fact that they'd each tossed in a twenty dollar bill and stated that simply getting a kiss on the cheek would warrant a win. The prospect was intriguing; it would be a testament to your own desirability, your game. How far can you get with your quiet neighbor who probably hasn't touched a woman in years? Who'll probably fold the second he realizes someone as young and beautiful as you is interested in him?

"I'll do it," you'd said with a smirk, rising from the hardwood, "How hard can it be?"

Harder than you thought, apparently. Because now you stand a few feet from Joel Miller's house, loitering soundlessly at the edge of his front lawn, hesitating. The sun has gone down, turning the hedges along the side of his property into frighteningly tall shadows, dark and menacing. A light breeze flows past and you wrap yourself tighter in your well-worn maroon cardigan, shivering, staring at your boots and wondering if you can really bring yourself to do this.

It'll be so humiliating if he rejects your advances. On the other hand, will it somehow be less-so if he returns your flirtatiousness and you then have to reject him once you've gotten what you came for? How will that make you look? You're not even really sure why you care - probably because the man has done nothing to you whatsoever, nothing that would warrant such a foolish prank as this being played on him. It makes you feel bad, in a way. As much as you and your friends make fun of him, he really is just a man who keeps to himself - perhaps this is going too far.

You notice light flickering nearby, a reflection of fluorescents in the puddles of his driveway. You figured he'd be in his garage - it's where he spends most of his time, bent over the exposed hood of the truck he's seemingly been working on ever since he moved in at the beginning of the summer. You've never seen him drive it, never even seen him leave the property, but you've passed by the house on more than one occasion. You've seen the way he rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, forearms splattered black and grey, expression focused on the task at hand while sweat drips from his greying temples.

Having a sex dream about him really shouldn't have been that shocking, now that you think about it. The man is a mystery, sure, but he isn't ugly by any means.

You swallow down your qualms, picturing the faces of your friends more than likely smooshed against the living room window a few houses back, watching. As soon as you turn the corner, you'll disappear from view, obstructed by the hedges and the sudden darkness of night. You take one more deep breath, one last burst of chilly evening air into your lungs, and accept your fate.

He doesn't notice you walking up his driveway, taking slow and meager steps as you assess the open garage, the truck with its hood popped as usual, the flickering of the florescent lights hanging from the ceiling. He doesn't notice you, but you notice him. You spot a pair of steel toed boots and long denim clad legs sticking out from underneath the truck, hear the clink and clang of metal against metal while he tinkers with something down there, unseen. As you reach the garage it becomes apparent that you still have one last chance to end this before it begins, turn around and take the loss.

But you don't.

"Excuse me," you offer in a weak voice, teetering nervously at the edge of the garage door, neither inside nor out - neutral ground.

The clinking stops, replaced by the steady pounding of your heart in your chest, the heaviness of your breathing. You try to loosen your hands from their fisted forms and unclench your fingers, focusing on the stretch of flesh and bone while the legs beneath the car slowly begin to inch forward. He's not laying on any type of support, one of those wheeled contraptions you've seen other people use - no, he's simply got his back to the ground, a back and body that's slowly coming into view.

His black and green flannel rides up where he's been laying on it, as well as the grey t-shirt he wears beneath; as he slides out from under the car you spot a bare sliver of skin just above his waistband, a patch of hair that trails down into his jeans. A lump forms in your throat. When he finally peeks his head out, you swallow around it and try to remember to breathe.

Greying hair slicked back behind his ears, cheekbones smeared slightly with something black, scruff lining a strong yet soft jawline, a plump bottom lip, and those eyes... dark brown, almost black. It's the face that's practically been haunting you all summer, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.

His brow furrows as soon as he sees you, "Can I help you?"

It's not the first time you've heard him talk, but it's certainly the first time he's ever spoken directly to you. His accent is stronger than you remember, words slipping smoothly past his lips like butter as he eyes you from the floor of his garage, knees up, hands still hidden in the darkness. A few seconds pass before you realize he's asked you a question.

"Oh, um-" You haven't thought this through very far, that's for sure. What the fuck do you even say? You take a breath and remind yourself that you're good at this, have seduced your fair share of frat boys in the past two years with minimal effort and have never heard the word no. Sure, Joel Miller isn't a frat boy - far from it - but underneath his cold exterior he's still very much a man, and very much capable of falling under the spell of a beautiful woman. You hope, anyway.

"I was just taking a walk," you lie, "Saw your light on, thought I'd come say hi."

He stares at you blankly, like he's unsure exactly how he's supposed to respond - or perhaps he's already seeing through your façade. You take a step into his garage, poised at the edge as you lean casually against the opening.

"Honestly, um-" you push some hair behind your ear and attempt to look shy, though it's not a huge jump from how you're actually feeling, "I've been meaning to talk to you, before I go back to college."

At your words he raises an eyebrow and slowly brings his hands downwards, palms pressing flat against the dark concrete. You watch as he eases himself up and out from under the truck, and god he's tall - tall and broad and huge compared to you, a fact that sends a little flutter into your belly. He takes a step toward the work bench against the wall, eyes still on you as he reaches down and picks up a rag to wipe his hands, big and wide and streaked with oil. You remember your dream and feel a twinge in your underwear.

"Talk to me about what?" he asks, massaging the rag against his fingers.

You shrug as nonchalantly as you can, taking another step inside his garage, closer to where he stands at the work bench. You cross your legs in an attempt to show them off, stretching your ankle toward a spare tire on the floor and accentuating the sheerness of your black tights, the little run that splits the material at the inside of your knee, the hint of bare skin that peeks out beneath.

"Nothing in particular," you say, keeping your voice soft and steady but doing your best to keep that shy girlishness present, "Just... wanted to." You peer up at him from under your lashes and bite your lip, then reach out your hand for him to take. You say your name.

He assesses your hand but doesn't take it, brow still furrowed. "Joel," he replies, "And I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment. Don't really have time to talk." His voice is cold and gruff, absolutely no sign of interest or attraction - dammit.

"What're you doing?" you ask, tilting your head.

He continues to stare at you blankly, "What does it look like I'm doin'?"

Okaaaay, then.

You shrug again and take another step, turning to look at the wall next to you. Tools line the shelves, wrenches and screwdrivers and the like dangling rather precariously here and there, smeared in motor oil and dust. It's a mess but you'd be willing to bet that it's organized chaos, that he likes it this way.

"What's this?" you ask, pointing to a particularly large object, something that looks like a mixture between a pair of scissors and a wrench.

"Bolt cutters," he supplies you monotonously.

"Ohh," you say with a nod, leaning a bit into the confused pretty girl stereotype and hoping maybe he's a sucker for it, "And what's that?" You point toward a small cylindrical object, black and tactical, only a few inches long.

"You never seen a flashlight before?"

Oh. Right. "Woops," you giggle, "Sorry."

You turn your face to look at him sheepishly and he's still watching you, big arms now crossed against his broad chest - impatient. Well, this is clearly not working either. He's frowning, eyes so focused on your face that you feel almost naked beneath it, like he's staring into your soul. You clear your throat awkwardly and tug your bottom lip between your teeth, breaking your own gaze away from him and trying to find something else to comment on.

"So you've been working on your truck," you state, gesturing toward the vehicle as if only just noticing it was even there, "What's - uh - what's wrong with it?"

He's clearly not buying into whatever the fuck you're even trying to sell. He remains silent, eyes still on you, and suddenly it's like you've never even interacted with a man before - and to be honest, maybe you haven't. Frat boys are certainly not men by any means, and nowhere near in the same league as Joel Miller by a long shot, probably almost triple their age with a dark and mysterious aura that feels almost suffocating. He just stares at you, slightly unnerving, but also seductive in its own way, almost like he's challenging you.

"What do you want?" he asks blankly.

"I-I told you," your voice is already faltering, losing its flirtatious edge the more you realize how dumb of an idea this was, "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, I got that," he says stiffly, "Why?"

You've already exhausted the avenues you thought might work, which means you've got one last chance before he sends you packing. With bated breath you take the final few steps toward him and - averting your gaze - you reach your hand out to touch his forearm with your fingertips. It's feather light, but you're suddenly very aware of the goosebumps that rise on his freckled flesh, the way the thick hair on his arms seems to stand on end the second your skin touches his. Okay, now we're getting somewhere.

"I think you're handsome," you murmur softly, feeling warmth rush to your cheeks when you realize that it's not a lie. And it really isn't. As your gaze gradually tilts up you catch a glimpse of the hair on his chest, peeking out from under his grey t-shirt. You spot his pecs beneath the fabric of his flannel, see the throbbing veins in his neck, the coarseness of his scruff, the sharp curve of his nose, and those fucking eyes - looking at you with a darkness, a lust, that wasn't there before.

He's not just handsome; he's fucking gorgeous.

"What're you doin'?" he asks you, that gruffness still present but being taken over by something else, something darker.

"Nothing," you breathe, still trailing your fingers along his forearm until they reach its apex and dip into the soft part behind his elbow, damp with sweat. You swallow, throat going dry as you stroke his skin with your thumb.

"Doesn't feel like nothin'," his voice is quieter, matching yours, and he tilts his head slightly as he continues to stare into your eyes, "Why're you really here, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. The word sends a burst of warmth to your chest, a smile to your lips. You unlock your eyes from his bashfully, watching your own movements as you trail your fingers back down toward his hand and wrap them around one of his fingers, so thick compared to your own. You squeeze gently, biting your lip again as you peer back up at him. Here it is. Moment of truth. You tilt your head up slightly, eyelashes fluttering as you lean forward to connect your lips with his.

Except, they don't connect.

Instead he pulls his hands away from you, brings them upwards and wraps them around your upper arms, squeezing tightly. Your eyes widen, confusion flooding your features.

"Turn around and bend over."

"W-what?" Shock doesn't even begin to describe the ice cold feeling that now makes its way through your body, edged with something else - something you can't explain.

"Turn around," he repeats, his big hands squeezing your arms even tighter - relentless, firm - as he peers down at you with a dark hunger in his eyes, glinting black beneath the fluorescents, "And bend over."

He does not give you another chance to obey - you're too frozen in surprise and confusion to do anything yourself. Instead, he uses the force of his weight on your arms to spin you on the spot, shoving you against the work bench. You feel one of his hands move from your arm to your back, pushing hard until you fold, warm cheek coming to rest against the cold wood.

"Wh-what are you doing?" your voice is meager, weak, and you feel him wrap one of his hands around both your wrists like it's nothing, pinning them against your back like they're simply twigs in his wide palm.

"What you're clearly fuckin' beggin' for," he replies gruffly, and you feel his other hand at your skirt, feel the brush of his fingertips at the hem as he reaches upward to grip the band of your tights. Your eyes widen and instinctively you pull back, pull away - he just pushes you back down.

"I'm not-" you begin, shock quickly being replaced with fear when you realize how easily overpowered you are, how fluidly he's able to tug down your tights and expose your ass to him, clad in only a black thong already lost between your cheeks.

"Oh, you're not, huh?" his voice is cold and stoic, angry, "You think you can play games with me, little girl?" His hand comes to rest against the swell of your behind and you suddenly feel his breath above you, hot in your ear, "Tell me why you're really here."

You try to lift your head up to look at him better but he just shoves you back down again. Panic floods your body, mixed with the unmistakable burn of arousal. You feel yourself twitch in your underwear, feel a sudden gush of warmth spill inside the fabric as he begins to trail his finger up and down the thin line of black cotton.

"I-I'm..." You're at a complete loss for words, unable to articulate anything, unsure of what exactly is happening - or about to happen. Two minutes ago you'd been sure he was about to tell you to leave, practically kick you out of the garage himself, and now you're not sure leaving is even a possibility.

He pulls his hand back and you cry out when it comes down to slap against one of your cheeks, a sharp sting and burn you hadn't been anticipating.

"Tell me why you're here," he repeats - authoritarian, firm.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out except a frightened squeak, something which clearly eggs him on even more. He spanks you again, harder this time, palm flat and wide against your pebbled flesh. The sound that slips past your lips is somehow akin to a moan of some sort, guttural and deep.

"I'll just make it harder and harder, sweetheart," he says then, and the pet name no longer contains the warmth it did mere moments ago; instead it's cold and detached, mocking. You're still reeling when his hand comes down to slap against you again, even harder this time, and your hands ball into fists behind your back as you let out another low moan. More slick gushes into your panties and it's impossible to deny that somehow, despite the fear twinging in your heart, you're so fucking turned on.

"M-my friends," you gasp out, and you feel him squeeze your abused ass cheek which you're sure is already dark with his handprint, "They- they dared me to see how far I c-could get with you."

He lets your words sink in for a moment, squeezing again - tighter, so tight that it hurts. You whimper against the wooden top of the work bench, legs shaking.

"So you came here to get fucked," he finally states.

"N-no, I swear, I-"

"Wasn't a question," he interrupts, and you feel his other hand tighten around your wrists, "You came here to get fucked so you're gonna get fucked, end of story."

"But I-"

Without any warning he suddenly pushes himself up against you from behind, the rough denim of his jeans pressing deliciously up against your exposed skin. You gasp, eyes going wide when you feel the long, thick shape of his dick between your cheeks, huge and hard. He holds it there, his free hand coming down to lay flat beside your head against the work bench.

"You feel that?" he asks, voice suddenly quieter but still full of that ice cold malice, "You feel that cock?"

Fuck. "Y-yes," you breathe, "I feel it."

"You have five seconds before i close this door and stuff you full, understand?" Suddenly all you can hear is the heavy sound of his breathing, the panting of your own, the thud of your heart where it presses painfully against the wood. He's giving you an out.

"I- I-" you swallow, brows furrowing when you feel his hand slacken around your wrists. You could pull away now, yank yourself out of his grasp and sprint down his driveway, return to your friends. Forget this ever even happened.

It's your last chance.

"Five," he begins, breath warm against your face.

Run. Just run.

"Four."

But why?

"Three."

Why don't you want to run?

"Two."

Why do you want to stay?

"One."

He pulls his hand up from the work bench and hits a button on the wall, eliciting a loud mechanical noise to your left as the garage door starts to close. You watch with wide eyes as your chance to leave slowly vanishes inch by inch until it's gone completely, and yet no part of you itches to run, to escape. There's nothing to escape from, you realize. You want to be here. You want him to fuck you.

As the reality of your situation starts to settle, his grip around your wrists tightens once again. You sense him reaching up somewhere above you, and you suddenly feel the harsh texture of what feels like thickly braided rope wrapping around your wrists. The realization that he's restraining you sends another pool of release into your panties, another faint squeak past your lips.

"You gonna stay still for me?" he asks, voice dark and clearer now in the silence of his garage, no sounds of rain or cars to disrupt you, "Huh? You gonna be a good girl?"

"Yes," you breathe, nodding against the wood.

"Say it."

"I'm gonna stay still," you promise, "I'm gonna be a good girl."

He finishes knotting the rope around your wrists, tight and uncomfortable against your skin. He pushes his groin up against your ass again, brings his now free hands downward to reach through your cardigan and squeeze your breasts. Your nipples are hard beneath the soft cotton of your shirt, no bra between the layer of material and your bare skin; he tweaks them in his fingers and you shudder.

"These are mine," he whispers in your ear, scruff nuzzling against the side of your face, "These tits, this ass," he drops his hands from your breasts to squeeze your cheeks again, "and this pussy." His hand drops to the puffy shape of your lips beneath your thong and you whimper. "Understand?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes, what?"

You're not sure what he's asking for, what he wants you to say. You take a guess. "Yes, sir," you whisper, and you feel him smile against your ear. Bingo.

He doesn't bother to pull your tights down the rest of the way; instead, he rips them, pulling them apart in his big hands and reaching inside to curl his index finger around the thin strip of your thong. He pulls it - hard - and it rips from you with a rough tearing sound and a painful sting, eliciting a loud gasp from you which he rewards with another spank.

You feel his finger slip between your lips for a moment, gathering some of your release before he pulls it away. "Juicy fuckin' pussy," he mutters, and you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone, vulgar in the quiet room. You have no time to ask about protection, no time to even really process how quickly this is already happening, before you feel the warm tip of his cock pushing against your twitching hole. You gasp again, hands furling under the ropes.

"Shh," he quiets you, stilling for a second, "Don't squirm."

"Sorry," you whisper, tears pricking in your eyes, "I'm sorry."

"What're you sorry for?" he murmurs, feeding his cock to you in small increments, reveling in the noises falling past your lips. It's so fucking big, bigger than you'd anticipated - it feels like he's spearing you, splitting you in half, especially without much preparation. It stretches and burns, but the warmth of it, the way it pulses as it invades your body, just makes you gush even more. "Hm?" he continues, "What're you sorry for? You sorry for squirmin' or sorry you pissed me off?"

Your eyes roll back as he bottoms out, his pubic hair pressing coarsely against your pussy lips, heavy balls firm to your ass. You try to speak but it's hard to get the words out when you're so full, the wide tip of him pushing into your cervix.

"You a virgin?" he asks you then, voice changing for a moment, like for the briefest of seconds he's wondering whether he should have gone slower.

You shake your head quickly, "N-no," you manage to gasp out.

"Feel like a fuckin' virgin," he grunts, pulling out and then immediately slamming back inside. Your head bumps against the work bench, a groan falling from your mouth as he makes a home inside you. "Christ," he mutters, "Tight little thing. You feel me in your stomach, baby?"

You're not sure he wants you to answer, but it becomes clear when his hand slaps down on your ass cheek again and you cry out.

"Yes," you moan, then quickly amend, "Yes, sir."

"S'what happens when you come in here, actin' like a little slut," he suddenly reaches for your cardigan and yanks it off - it catches on your restrained hands and he simply rips it and tosses it to the floor, "But then again, you're not actin', are you? Huh? What's a slut like you doin' wearin' all these fuckin' layers?"

"I'm s-sorry," you repeat, already mourning the loss of your favorite sweater, now ripped to shreds at your feet.

"Sorry's not good enough, little girl," he breathes, thrusting into you again so hard that you yelp, cheek still pressed into the splintered wood of the work bench, "That's it, fuckin' take it."

He fucks you without any reservations, any inhibitions. Your legs shake and you can hear the slap of his hairy thighs against yours as he pounds into you relentlessly. You have no choice but to take it, the stretch of his huge cock becoming less painful the more he gives it to you over and over, the room full of the wet squelch of your pussy gripping him. He grabs your hips, fingertips digging into your bare flesh as he takes and takes; you wish you could see his face, wish you could see how he looks when he's fucking you, getting his pleasure. The thought makes you whine, tears streaming down your face as your body moves back and forth against the work bench.

It feels fucking amazing. You've never had a cock as big as his before, never been fucked so deep and so hard, like he doesn't care if he breaks you, makes you cry. He hasn't touched your clit and yet you already feel you could come from just this, just the relentless push and pull of his dick inside you. Unfortunately, just as soon as you feel your orgasm starting to build, he pulls out. Your brow furrows.

"Stand up," he orders, "and turn around."

You obey, relief overtaking you as soon as you're no longer bent at such an awkward angle. The moment you turn to face him you barely get a look at his face before he's reaching down and tearing your shirt in half - easily, like it's nothing. You don't even have time to wonder how the hell you're gonna get home with all your clothes ripped to shreds when his mouth is suddenly wrapped around your left nipple, and you whine at the sensation. You peer down at him, biting your lip and watching his wet lips suckle around the hard bud, beard scratching deliciously against your skin. Your hand aches to cup the back of his head but it's still pinned behind your back, tied tight beneath the rope.

"Fuck," you whimper, and his dark gaze flashes up to meet yours as he sucks, the hint of a smirk on his lips when he pulls away.

"Feels good, does it?" he asks, and seeing the words come out of his mouth is somehow more sinful than when you could only hear them, "You like bein' used?"

You nod almost immediately despite never having experienced anything like this in your life - though admittedly you've undeniably wanted to experience this, ached to have somebody take control, tell you what to do, make you do things. It's like you've somehow known subconsciously all summer that Joel Miller could be that person for you, despite never having said two words to him. It was just a feeling, an instinct, and that dream...

"Yeah?" he continues, and suddenly his hand comes up to cup your pussy, thumb finally pressing against your clit. You cry out, tears still trickling down your cheeks. "Said you were in college, right? You take any college dick up here? Be honest now."

You nod again, "Y-yes."

"How many?"

"I... I don't know," you breathe. It's the truth, and you can tell as soon as the words leave your mouth that it does something to him. He presses his thumb harder against your clit, two fingers slipping up inside of you.

"'Course you don't know," he murmurs, pushing them as deep inside as he can, making you whimper, "You wouldn't know, would you?"

Your thighs tighten together - squeezing his hand - and he just smirks again, curving his fingers and making you moan. Your lower back digs into the work bench as he stands, pushes you up against it and peers down into your eyes again with a hunger that's only getting worse. You assess his expression, the pout of his lips as he fucks you with his fingers, the focused lines creased into his forehead. So fucking handsome.

"You're not a good girl," he breathes, nose brushing yours, "Knew it from the day I saw you. You're just made for takin' cock. Am I right?"

"Yes," you whisper, nodding shakily and bumping your lips up toward his - he pulls away again and you can't help but feel disappointed, aching to feel his lips against yours.

"Tonight you're made to take my cock, that clear?" he continues, and you watch as his other hand travels downward to wrap around it - just out of your periphery. He's too close to you, crowded so much in your space that you know he won't like it if you break eye contact. You can tell by his arm movements that he's pumping himself at the same speed he's fucking you with his fingers, inhaling deeply, "I'm gonna ruin you, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not."

"Y-yes sir," you whisper, voice squeaking when he speeds up his fingers and pumps them in and out with fervor, thumb rubbing furiously against your clit. Yet again he brings you almost to the edge and then removes his hand completely, stepping back with a low chuckle when you whimper pathetically.

Your disappointment only lasts a moment because now you can see him, see the girthy length of him that's already been inside of you hanging out of his zipper, glistening with your slick. He's huge, tip dark and intrusive, beads of his own arousal dripping from the slit; your mouth waters. His eyes cast down to where you're looking and he smiles, dark and mocking.

"Never gonna see another dick like this, darlin'," he breathes, "So you better start showin' your appreciation." His eyes glint. "Kneel."

You're practically already on your way to kneeling before he says it, in awe of the sheer girth and shape of him. The second your bare knees hit the cold floor he's crowding you again, hand coming around to hold the back of your head.

"Open wide, baby," he murmurs.

Your jaw drops and he plunges inside your mouth quickly and seamlessly, making you gasp around his length as your eyes widen. You can't breathe, looking up at him with more tears already fogging your vision as he immediately slips into the depths of your throat with no hesitation. You gag, eyes bulging as you attempt to swallow around the intrusion, find your breath, but it's impossible.

"Yeah," he breathes, both of his hands cradling your face and holding you still as he lets his cock sit unmoving in your throat, "Yeah, that's it. That's what you're made for."

He only holds it there for a few seconds but by the time he pulls it out you're gasping for air, coughing and spluttering as tears stream relentlessly down your cheeks. He keeps cradling your face, tuts to himself as you try to get your breath back. The head of his cock bumps softly against your bottom lip.

"Not off to a great start, are we?" he murmurs, "Let's try again."

He pushes his cock past your lips again and you try your hardest not to gag, a little more prepared this time. The pulsing head of his cock situates itself firmly in your throat, the pubic hair at the base tickling your nose while his balls bounce against your chin. You look up at him with pleading eyes, watch as he stares down at you with nothing but malice in his expression, contempt. You're just a hole to him, nothing more.

He pulls out and lets you gasp another breath before he's shoving himself back in, hands moving back to hold your head firmly as he fucks your face. You don't move - you don't need to; he does all the work as he drags your head back and forth along his cock, hitting the back of your throat over and over again until you're gagging and practically sobbing for air. Your knees ache against the concrete floor and you know you'll have bruises tomorrow, know that you probably won't be able to swallow properly for a few days either. Somehow, you don't really care.

When he's gotten his fill he yanks himself out and allows you to catch your breath for a few seconds, throat constricting around nothing while you choke and gasp.

"Stand up," he orders, and even though you're still gasping for air you manage to bring yourself back up, legs shaking. Saliva drips down your chin, drooling from your mouth in long strands, but with your hands tied you can't make any attempt to clean yourself up - he probably wouldn't want you to anyway.

His wide palms are suddenly on your hips, and he picks you up and places you on top of the work bench with minimal effort, arms bulging. You're completely naked now save for your ripped tights while he's still fully clothed, dripping cock still peeking out past his zipper, covered in your saliva. He steps between your legs and pushes your thighs open, then slips inside of you once again in one short push, making you yelp.

"Oh, please," he grumbles, gripping your hips tightly and pulling your bare body taut against him, head hitting his chest, "We both know you can take it."

It's not like you have any other choice at this point. He fucks you harder than he had before, now that he has easier access, can pull you so firmly against him that his entire length is continuously swallowed up entirely by your dripping pussy. His nails dig into your skin as his cock fucks up against your cervix over and over, so relentless it's almost painful. It's overwhelming how huge he is, not just his cock but his body in general, the way he towers over you and watches your expressions as he takes what's now his.

"Poor little thing," he mumbles, bringing one of his hands up to thumb the tears on your face, "Never been so full, huh? It's okay, shhh," his finger finds your lips and pushes against them almost mockingly, like he's chastising you, "Shhh, this is what you asked for, remember? S'what you wanted." You shake your head but he just nods, "Yeah, it is. You wanted that cock and now you're gettin' it."

Suddenly you're being lifted from the workbench, carried in his embrace with his cock still buried deep inside. You cry out, wrists straining against the ropes, itching to wrap your arms around his neck and hold yourself up with more stability. His arms come up to stretch along the expanse of your back, holding you still and pulling you even closer. As if on instinct your legs bend upwards to wrap around his waist, curling around his lower back while he pistons inside of you without restraint, without mercy.

"Fuck," you almost scream, feeling the rough denim of his jeans scratching against your ass, the heaviness of his balls slapping against you over and over again, "Fuckfuckfuck!"

"Yeah, there she is, there's that little slut," he says, a smile spreading across his face, voice somehow calm despite the fact that he's pounding into you over and over, "Nothin' like gettin' fucked stupid to sort ya out, huh? Needed to be punished, didn't you, sweetheart?"

You don't answer, can't answer, eyes rolling back as he fucks you with abandon. Of course it's not a surprise when he lands a hard spank against your ass, grips your cheek tightly in his palm and growls roughly in your ear, "Answer me, little girl."

"Yes," you force yourself to gasp out, head tilting back, "Yes sir, yes."

"S'right," he mutters, and you suddenly feel the pads of his fingers against your clit, rubbing at an aggressively fast pace that sends depraved noises spitting past your lips, "Come on that cock, tighten up that little pussy even more for me, baby, come on."

It only takes seconds for him to make you come, your eyes rolling back as your body shakes and writhes in his grasp. He doesn't slow his movements, keeps fucking you deep and hard as your legs loosen at his waist and you flop like a ragdoll in his arms.

"Chokin' that dick," he murmurs, "Had so many cocks in this little hole and you're still the tightest thing I've fucked," his brow furrows as he watches your face, watches as your eyes flutter open and your jaw slackens, "And what about your other hole, baby?" You feel one of his fingers prod against your asshole, circle the rim as he continues to bounce you up and down, "Ever had a cock in there?"

You tense up a little in his embrace, eyes widening. At your reaction he slows his movements, still holding you upright and allowing you to just sit on his cock for a moment while he continues to prod your asshole, "I'll take that as a no," he mutters, "Think my cock'll fit up there?"

"It won't," you whisper immediately, shaking your head.

He assesses your expression, eyes trailing up and down your face calculatingly, like he's weighing the pros and cons. Your heart stutters in your chest and you feel that fear from earlier slowly begin to creep back into your psyche, hands shaking under the rope.

"I won't," he states, and relief floods through your body; you relax in his embrace, becoming aware again of his cock still buried deep inside you. He very carefully prods the tip of his index finger inside your asshole and your eyes go wide again, mouth opening in protest. "Yet," he amends, smiling coldly at you, "I won't yet. Not today."

He pulls his finger out and walks with you to the work bench again, places you down gentler than before and peers at you with something in his gaze that you can't place, a curiosity that wasn't there before. It's gone in an instant though, and then he's fucking into you again without warning, gripping tight to your hips and slamming back and forth until you see stars.

"You thought this'd be so funny, didn't you?" he growls, looking at you again with that detached contempt, black eyes locked with yours. He brings his hand down and starts rubbing your clit again, not caring that you only just came a moment ago. "Thought you'd come here, have your fun, and leave again. But it's not so funny anymore, is it? Huh? Is it funny?"

"N-no," you gasp out, overstimulated to the point of even more tears as you squirm and writhe on the work bench, pussy aching from the insistent way he's pounding you and the relentless rubbing of his fingers against your clit.

"S'the last time you show up here tellin' lies," he mutters, "Understand me? Any time you come into my house from now on you're gettin' fucked, got it?"

"Y-yes," you cry, hands futilely attempting to ball into fists behind your back, and he shakes his head.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir!" you scream it, and just as the words pass your lips he stills inside of you, cock twitching as he starts to come. Your eyes go wide, mouth dropping open as his hand sends you into another climax just as he reaches his. Your head falls against his chest and you hear him groan above you, feel the way his cock pulsates and throbs and spits his cum in long and heavy spurts. Your thighs twitch and you feel his hand at your back, pulling you in close as he cups the back of your head.

You stay like that for a moment without speaking, your heavy breaths the only sound in the garage other than the rain now pelting heavily against the door. You swear you can hear his heartbeat.

"Good little girl, warmin' my cock," he murmurs in your ear, and you're still catching your breath, eyes closed, sobs wracking from your throat repeatedly. "Full o'me, huh? You feel all that, baby?"

You can only nod against his chest, wrists still straining against the rope as your toes curl somewhere below you and your body continues to shake. His cum settles warmly deep inside and your eyes roll back a bit when he pushes in further, like he's trying to keep it inside for as long as he can.

"Guess I found a new little cum dumpster, huh?" he whispers, carding his fingers through your hair, "I'll have to say thank you to your friends, or -" he pauses thoughtfully for a moment, "maybe I'll just have to send 'em a little message back with you."

You pull your face back from his chest, peering up at him with tired confusion. He reaches down and pulls out one of the drawers of the work bench, coming back up with a sharpie. You watch with fluttering lashes, unable to stop him - and not really wanting to - as he uncaps the marker and pushes your hair out of the way to write something across your chest, the cold tip making you jolt slightly.

"Shh," he murmurs, "It's okay, I'll untie ya in a sec."

It doesn't take him very long to finish writing whatever it is on your skin, and then he's slowly pulling his cock out of you. You whimper at the loss, thighs twitching as you peer down and watch his softening length slip past your hole, followed by a steady stream of his cum. He quickly reaches up and pushes what he can back inside, thumbing it back in carefully while the reality of what's just happened really begins to settle. You just let a man in his fifties tie you up, use you, come inside you, and write on your chest.

"Can't have all that slippin' out yet," he mutters, "Now, what can we use?" His eyes dart up to the shelves above you and he reaches up to grab something; when his hand comes back down you see the pocket flashlight from earlier, see the slightly flared base and know almost immediately what he's planning on using it for.

For some reason - whatever reason it is that you stayed here after he gave you an out, whatever reason you really came here in the first place - you don't protest.

He brings the flashlight downwards and quickly removes his hand from your pussy to replace it with the wide end, slipping it inside with only minimal resistance. You whimper and he hushes you, brushing his nose against yours as he assesses his handiwork.

"That should do it," he murmurs, then peers back up at you and pushes some stray hair out of your face "You keep that in there 'til you get home, okay?" His eyes have softened a bit, looking more similar to the way they did when you first showed up - is this the real him? You honestly have no idea.

You don't say anything, just nod slowly, feeling the anxiety from earlier begin to sink in yet again. How are you going to get home when you have no clothes? How are you going to explain to your friends what happened? How can you tell them - or show them - what you let him do to you?

These questions are clearly none of his concern. You watch as he backs up and gestures for you to stand with him; you do, with beyond shaky legs and the cold metal of the flashlight between your thighs.

"Turn around," he orders.

You feel him untie the rope from your wrists, essentially ending your time here - whatever it even was. It somehow doesn't feel real. You let them hang limply at your sides, feeling embarrassment flood your cheeks as you turn back around to look at him. He's watching you with a smirk, arms crossed - his dick is back in his jeans. He looks no different than he had when you arrived.

"Now get the fuck out," he says, dark eyes glinting once again under the flickering fluorescents, "before I change my mind."

The air is still chilly. The road is still wet. But thankfully, there are no cars.

You don't know how you manage to get home without anyone seeing you - hunched over, naked in the darkness, avoiding the streetlights, trying to ignore the ache between your legs and the icy intrusiveness of the flashlight still lodged inside of you - but you do. Your palms are sweaty again, heart pounding at the thought of your friends coming to greet you at the door, for the shock and confusion and screaming to begin - but that doesn't happen.

The moment you're back in the house you pull a jacket down from the coat rack and cover yourself, tiptoeing past the living room and waiting to be accosted by the friends who put you in this situation to begin with. Instead, they're nowhere to be seen. You hear the faint echo of laughter from the kitchen, hear the sounds of glass clattering and a fridge being shut. It's like they've already forgotten you even left, like the game meant nothing, and they've already found something new to entertain them, something better.

As if your futile attempt at getting a kiss on the cheek from Joel Miller is already something lost in the past.

And, you think, as you shakily climb the stairs and creep into the bathroom, tear the jacket from your shoulders and stare at your bare chest in the bathroom mirror, see the dark permanent lines that read TRUTH OR DARE...

Maybe that's how it should be.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #*

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whateveriwant · 11 months

Note

Can you please do Task force 141 finding out they’re having quintuplets! I’d imagine that they wouldn’t plan to have that many….at least not all at once 🧍‍♀️

Ghost

When the technician points out the five distinct dots on the ultrasound, he immediately goes dead silent

I mean, he's always pretty quiet anyway, but this is like quiet quiet

He doesn't utter a single word for the rest of the appointment, nor on the ride back home for that matter

This has you more concerned than you care to admit because you know that, not that long ago, he didn't think he'd ever have (much less want) kids of his own some day

So now that he's learned he's about to have five? You can't imagine what's going through his mind right now

It isn't until you're walking through the front door that you're being stopped with a gentle hand tugging on your wrist

You turn to look at him and, without a word, he drops to his knees before you, rolling up the bottom of your shirt to expose your belly

He'll press the softest of kisses just beside your navel, before looking up at you with expressive eyes that convey the foremost thought in his head: Thank you

Soap

Nearly shits a brick the moment the words leave the technician's mouth

All the color swiftly drains from his face and he has to sit down before he keels over right in the middle of the office

It's not so much fear that has him going paper white but pure shock at hearing the unexpected (yet not unhappy) news

While you'd already discussed having a big family together one day, you didn't think you'd get it done in one fell swoop

However, maybe you should've seen it coming since you both come from families that have had multiples

The possibility of this happening was decently high, so in a way, you're not all that surprised by the revelation

Once he's composed himself and is a little less ghostly pale in the face, he's eagerly requesting the technician to print out an excessive number of copies of the ultrasound

Why? Well, he's gotta send them to everyone, of course! His family, your family, all the lads at work. Hell, maybe your neighbor Charlie would like one too. Better print several just in case

Gaz

"C– Come again?" He thinks he misheard the technician at first

However, even hearing it a second time, he has to stand up, round the bed, and get about an inch away from the monitor to confirm for himself

It's almost comical the way his eyes widen at the screen, darting around the black and white image like he can't comprehend what he's seeing

It'll take some coaxing to get him back in his seat, and as he does, you hear him mumbling to himself – something about nappies, never sleeping again, and *shudders* University

At some point, out of the corner of your eye, you see him messing with his hands

He's putting his palm in front of his own stomach then drawing it about a foot or two away, as if trying to visualize the size your belly is destined to grow

Even when you get back home, it's like reality hasn't fully hit him yet

It's not until you find him at 2am looking up double decker prams that you realize it's finally starting to sink in, and he's more than ready for the challenge ahead

Price

Seems awfully calm when the technician breaks the news to you two

Based on his reaction – a light smile and mere "Oh, that's wonderful" – you'd think he'd just been informed of the weather or something

To be honest, his reaction (or lack thereof) is a little disarming, but you don't comment on it until you're buckling up in the car, mentioning his seeming total lack of nerves about the future

He chuckles and jokes that he already has to look after three big kids at work. What's five little ones at home to compare?

Though you think you can see what he's getting at, his cool-headedness about it all still has you in a bit of a tizzy

Is he not even a little surprised by the news? After all, it's not every day that people fall pregnant with quintuplets

At your question, he smiles and leans to press a bristly kiss to the back of your hand. When he pulls back, he's smirking, giving you the smuggest look you've ever seen from a man

"Told you I've got strong swimmers, love"

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lovebugism · 7 months

Note

can i request angst☹️☹️shy!reader barely ever talking and being soo hyperaware of everything and steve slowly breaks her out of her shell? then she overhears him saying she talks too much and she just feels bad and reverts into herself

Angst w happy endingn if possible please ily!!🫶🏼

ty for requesting!! — steve tells you he likes when you talk a lot (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 1k)

Your smile is wide and unknowing. Steve thinks there’s something extra special about it because you don’t even realize it’s there. “—And since Eddie was working the register, he let me take one of the new tapes for free. You know, to try it or whatever, and he was all like, ‘flattery works with me,’ and I was like, Steve would keel over if he was here right now.”

A giggle spills from your mouth when your rambling ceases, lips curling and eyes crinkling.

Steve blinks at you with his own absentminded beam, too busy thinking about how pretty you are to react properly to your story.

Your smile sobers slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” he assures with the shake of his neatly styled head, rogue strands of chestnut hair draping his forehead. He shrugs and leans his elbows over the Family Video counter you stand across. “You’re just… You’re talking a lot. ’S nice.”

Your face heats. Your chest burns with a similar fire. Your eyes widen ‘cause you didn’t realize that you hadn’t shut up until now. “Oh… Sorry—”

“No, it’s good!” he tells you, laughing. “It’s a compliment.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah! I mean, I used to have to bribe you to get you to talk about your day. Remember that?”

Benny’s Burgers was your very best friend at the start of your relationship. Steve would always buy your dinner — not in exchange for you to talk exactly, but in the hopes that the additional time spent with you would help you open up. It did. Most of the time, anyway.

Your nose scrunches. “I thought you took me out because you liked me?”

“I took you out ‘cause I liked you and because the sugar rush from the milkshakes made you talk more.”

You nod once. “Right.”

The conversation ebbs. The store gets eerily silent without your voices to fill it. Steve, undeterred by the lapse in dialogue, flashes you a lopsided smile. “Wanna show me the tapes you bought?”

“Yeah,” you murmur and push off the counter.

Steve watches you over his shoulder while you saunter down the hallway where your bag is kept. The breakroom door squeals open and shut again. A voice sounds suddenly from beside him. “Nice job, dingus,” Robin chides, gritty and montoned.

His head snaps to the other side, brows twisted with confusion. “What?”

“You hurt her feelings,” she answers like it’s obvious, dropping a stack of VHS tapes on the counter with a heavy thud.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You said she was talking a lot.”

“I said that I liked it!”

Robin rolls her ocean-blue eyes, huffing ‘cause he’s too oblivious to get the point. “Yeah, but if I said, Wow, you have a ton of gel in your hair— but it’s styled really nice today, it’d give you a whole complex. Wouldn’t it?”

The make-believe compliment is dreadfully backhanded. Steve’s face floods with a gentle horror, the realization of a fallacy he hadn’t realized he’d made. “Shit…”

“Exactly,” Robin deadpans. “Now go take care of your girlfriend, dingus.”

He finds you in the breakroom, idling in place. You’ve got the cassettes in your hands, and you fidget with them between anxious fingers — like you were planning to come out sometime, but not quite yet.

You tense when the door creaks open, relaxing again when Steve enters.

“Whatcha doing?” he wonders with a crooked, pink smile.

“Getting the tapes,” you answer in a mousy voice, waving the pieces of plastic in your hand.

The door clicks shut behind him. He inches towards you, fond and terribly soft with it. “I missed you,” he confesses in a faint murmur. His wide palms settle on your sides. You warm instantly under his touch.

“I was gone for two seconds,” you respond with a quiet laugh.

“Yeah. And I felt like I was dying.”

You meet his pout with a small smile, blinking up at him with sparkling doe eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I just love being around you, alright? Sue me,” he argues, squeezing softly at your hips. With a quieter smile, he confesses, “And when I said you were talking a lot— I didn’t mean anything by it, you know?”

You’d disappeared back here because you thought it was something silly to be so upset over. He’d told you it was a compliment, but it didn’t really feel like one. Your brain refused to be anything other than hurt by his well-intentioned remarks. The ache in your chest became unignorable, and you shrunk inside yourself accordingly.

“I know,” you murmur.

“I love hearing you talk,” he tells you, shy smirk widening to a lopsided beam. “It’s my favorite thing in the whole world, actually.”

Your lips purse to the side. Your anxious hands fidget with the plastic cassettes in your palms, aching to hold him. It takes you a moment or more to find the courage to speak. “I’m just… I’m normally super aware of… when I’m talking too much, you know? I was just… Excited, I guess.”

“You were. And it was really fuckin’ cute.” A laugh sputters from his lips. He wears all the love he has for you in the deep honey of his eyes, rich and swimming with warmth. “I love seeing you happy.”

“Well, you make me happy…” you whisper, gaze averted. “So, it fits…”

“Yeah, it does,” he murmurs in response, ducking down to kiss you. It’s chaste and terribly fleeting — lips locking together one moment and then smacking in protest when they separate the next.

It takes your eyes a second too long to flutter open again after he’s pulled back from you. You find Steve already grinning as he nods to the tapes in your hands. “Wanna pop those into the radio? So we can listen to ‘em while I work?”

Your brows pinch with a distant worry. “Won’t Keith get mad?”

“Probably,” Steve answers with an uncaring shrug. “You don’t have to worry about him, alright? I’ll take care of you.”

You melt.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble

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luveline · 6 months

Note

Hey my lovely, could i equest a blurb where reader seeks one of spencer's hugs and he's all soft and mushy about it!! I just think he'd give really warm hugs and want one so bad!

shy!reader + post!prison Spencer have a hug

Spencer understands why you might find him intimidating. He did go to prison for a few weeks, and even if the idea of his being a potential felon didn’t scare you, there’s nothing wrong with being nervous around the unknown. You’ve had a few more weeks to get to know the others on the team. He tries not to take it personally that you’re closer with some of them than you are him.

Plus, you’re awfully shy.

Spencer’s been trying to communicate that he’s an idiot. He was shy, once, and he tends to be shy about things now, too, even if he’s taken to hiding that. He hides a lot, these days.

But things aren’t hopeless with you. You’re inarguably his best work friend now that Morgan’s not around, taking the desk next to his —through coincidence or insistence, he has no idea.

“What flavour do you have today?” he asks.

You show him your bag. The convenience store outside of work has the strangest sweets from all sorts of places. You’ve been bringing in a different bag each day, and you always share. “Today is apricot and peach ‘millions’,” you tell him, shaking the bright pink bag like a rattle.

Inside, the millions bounce against each other like miniscule polystyrene balls but with a heavier weight.

“Awesome!” he says, holding out his hand. “Please?”

You rip the corner and tip a generous helping of candies into his palm, doing the same in your own hand. “Ready?” you ask.

“Three, two, one.”

You both tip your heads back at the same time. Apricot and peach are similar flavours, and Spencer can’t tell the difference when they’re both in play. He can also taste apple juice and the sharp citric acid flavour they put in every candy.

He can’t tell if you like them. He quite enjoys it, will happily eat the leftovers if you’re not interested, but your attention isn’t on the candy when he looks up. You’re staring straight at him.

“What?” he asks, perturbed.

“Nothing, just. Had a rough morning. Thanks for trying the candy with me.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry. Let me know if there’s something I can do to make you feel better. I can make you a cup of hot chocolate?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Spencer’s sure that to an outsider, he and the team appear to travel to a hundred cities a month. In reality, cases aren’t as densely packed, especially with the government expanding their profiling teams, and the majority of Spencer’s day is spent answering emails and giving advice to agents, law enforcement, and his colleagues. He doesn’t see much of you (where you’re forced to work ViCAP calibration as newbies usually are, almost like a hazing) but he does take you that hot chocolate around lunch time. Just to make sure you have the option.

It’s sometime past four PM when you appear again.

“Hey,” he says, turning to you where you’re paused behind your desk chair, “you're finally done?”

“Not yet. So many case files to transcribe, opinions to cross check, signatures and…” You wince. “It’s a lot. You already know.”

“I don’t, actually. I only ever had to do ViCAP as punishment, and I was extremely well-behaved. For a while, anyway.”

You hesitate with something heavy on the tip of your tongue. You’re like every profiler wherein your tells are self-identified and quelled, but you’re still so new, and Spencer’s an expert. You want to ask him for something, but you don’t think you’re allowed. If he presses the issue you’ll shut down, and if he offers you another cup of hot chocolate you’ll simply drink it without letting him in on the real secret.

Spencer waits.

“Spencer, you don’t have to say yes, just… You’re the nicest friend I have, and you always know what I need to hear. Um, I know you don’t like touching people and I wouldn’t ask you to if you don’t want to, but it’s been a really long time since someone hugged me, and…” Your voice gets quieter and quieter, until you’re whispering, and then fizzling out.

“You want a hug?” he asks, surprised.

“If that’s okay.”

“I give really good hugs,” he warns, climbing from his chair immediately, arms opened, an unmissable invitation. “You’ll never get over it.”

“Really?”

He can’t believe you came to him specifically for a hug. He’s gonna lose his mind. Gentle, Spencer ushers you into his arms, head quick to duck down, his thumb on your shoulder.

You could’ve asked anybody in the office for a hug. Penelope would have hugged your brains out. Emily, Unit Chief and secret sweetheart, would’ve taken you off of ViCAP and given you a loving pat on the back. But you didn’t ask Penelope or Emily, you asked him.

“You don’t have to ask me first,” he says quietly.

“You don’t like touching.”

“That’s more to do with germs, and I’m not worried about yours,” he says. “Unless you’re about to tell me you have a headache.”

“It’s like this pounding behind my eyes,” you say with a laugh.

Spencer smiles, his mouth and nose to the side of your head. He gives you a good ten seconds of quiet, his palm warming your shoulder, before he murmurs, “Any better?”

“You’re really warm,” you murmur back.

Spencer resists the urge to squeeze you. “It's the oxytocin.”

“Or you’re just really, really warm.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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radio-writes · 7 months

Note

Going on anon bc this is a bit messed up but can you write Alastor x reader where Alastor uses sex as a form of torture?

Fuck your God and His Righteous Hand(s)

Synopsis: Hasn't Alastor always been such generous partner? Hasn't He always provided for you? Given you everything and anything you ever wanted? Except for your freedom of course.

The night you decide to run away from his graciousness, you find out just how generous he could be.

Warnings: noncon, forced relationship, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, physical harm to reader, degradation, smut, over stimulation, tentacles are used (I probably missed a lot, let me know)

Tags: Alastor x fem!reader; dead dove do not eat

MDNI

Your heart beat loudly against your chest, your breath ragged and heavy. Branches and twigs snapped and broke and fell all around you as you ran.

Not that you could hear any of it over the overwhelming sound of static flooding your ears.

As if the dark wasn't terrifying enough, you had to stumble through the woods with tears blurring your vision too. Arm stretched in front of you, swatting away vines in your path as you desperately tried to get away.

You had to get away.

You couldn't get away.

You could almost feel the ground shake beneath your feet. You could almost feel his breath that skimmed the back of your head. There was no use in running, but run you did anyway.

You kept running even when you felt his clawed fingers grab at your shirt; the fabric tearing easily.

You kept running even when you could hear his voice right by your ear. "I think it's in your best interest not to anger me any more, darling."

You couldn't keep running when a heavy, velvety tentacle wrapped around your ankle; your breath knocked out of you as you tumbled onto the forest floor.

Your hand outstretched, palm reaching into the darkness. It was a terrifying, unknown, and threatening darkness—but to you it still meant freedom.

That was the last clear thing you saw before you landed flat on your stomach, the weight of your failed escape weighing you down more than the dark shadow around your leg.

He was laughing.

He was out of breath, panting almost as heavily as you were, but he was laughing.

You heard the crunch of leaves and twigs as he approached your collapsed form. No longer rushing, no longer frantic. He seemed to take his time as he walked towards you, now that he's sure you couldn't get away.

Still, the tentacle holding you down tightened—a warning not to try anything again.

Not that you could. The moment of rest allowed to you as you laid on the ground, made the pain and exhaustion of your body much too apparent for your liking. Your legs felt like led, the numerous scratches from who-knows-where all sung in a harmony of stinging pain.

Even when you knew you couldn't run anymore, your mind frantically whirled through ideas. You tried to think of something, anything, to keep away from the Radio Demon.

At least until his shoes finally came into your view; the red accents bright against the inky darkness. They stopped right by your head, and suddenly it felt too dangerous to even think.

You found the dirt and mud of the forest floor much more appealing than having to look Alastor in the eye, so you kept your head down. Your head shrunk into the ground as the man looked down on you.

"I must admit, I hadn't expected you to run." Alastor said, still a hint of laughter in his tone. Had you looked up then, you would have seen just how much of a mess you've made of the demon. His hand pushed his red hair back from his forehead, sweat trickled down the side of his neck.

But it wasn't his unusual state of exhaustion that would have been shocking if you looked at him right now. No, what would have been surprising—what would have been unnerving— was the wild, desperate look in his glowing red eyes.

While you were scared, desperate to get away.

He was terrified, desperate to get you back.

The view of your small figure as you weaved through trees, dipping in and out of his sight had filled him with such cold, heavy dread.

Almost as much as the sight of your hand nearly meeting that of another demon's.

"Oh! But you're so filled of the unexpected today, aren't you, darling?" You could hear the spite in his tone, but you didn't dare raise your head.

You felt him step closer.

"I mean, I hadn't expected you to try to sell your soul to another demon, either." You cringed, lifting your arms over your ears as the static warped his voice terribly.

You felt a heavy weight on the back of your head. It rested there briefly, before it shoved you down further into the dirt. Your face pressed down into the mud, but you didn't dare fight back. You didn't dare move. The most reaction you allowed yourself was a small whimper of fear.

The sound fueled Alastor's rage, already barely kept under the surface of his smile. His eye twitched in annoyance. Why were you shaking? Why were you afraid?

Shouldn't you be kissing the foot on your head right now? Shouldn't you be thanking him for saving you from making a terrible mistake? A soul as unique as yours would have been wasted on a demon like that.

This ungrateful behavior, this attempt to leave him, just wouldn't do.

His foot left the back of your head, but it allowed no relief. The black tentacle wrapped around your leg swiftly yanked you up.

Your eyes widened in shock and your hands dug into the ground in an attempt to stay there. But it isn't a surprise that your flimsy resistance was easily broken through. The world soon turned into a dizzying blur of colors as you were lifted into the air. The trees floated from above and the sky was a muddy mess of leaves and roots, your arms hung limply above your head. The blood that now rushed to your head didn't help you in making much sense of what was happening.

But none of that mattered when your eyes finally met Alastor's.

As you were held up by your leg, upside down in the air, Alastor's usual wide smile looked like a snarling frown. His narrowed eyes did nothing to help the fear that quickly ate its way through you.

It was silent for a moment. Tension so thick in the air that you found it so terribly difficult to breathe.

But when he finally spoke, you thought to yourself how you actually preferred the suspenseful quiet.

"Have I not been the perfect partner?" Alastor asked. The static over his voice now eerily back to the usual amount. His tone was cheery, light, like this was just another early morning chit chat over breakfast between the two of you.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak.

The black appendage holding you up tightened, your skin already beginning to bruise. Although, it seemed that was the only indicator of Alastor's true mood, as the demon remained composed in front of you.

"Have I not given you everything you wanted?" He asked as he brought you closer to him.

When you didn't respond he brought his clawed hand up to your face.

You flinched, feeling his cold skin against yours, fearing that he'd tear right through your flesh.

But his touch was gentle. His fingers softly brushed away the mud and grime from your cheek.

"I've bought you everything you liked. I've protected you. Fed you." His voice was so soft, soothing. Like an old radio show you would have listened to while you drifted off to a restful slumber.

"I've even fucked you through your pathetic little heats." His claws dug into your skin. Blood gushed down your face, the scarlet liquid stung your eye even as you clenched it closed.

"I've spared useless, disgusting sinners on your request. I've played nice for you. I've given you everything." His hand shifted from your cheek to your neck, his grip tight, threatening.

The static over his voice once again horrid as it deafened you. His eyes, now drowned in black, narrowed into a glare at your form.

Your hands flew to your throat, pulling at Alastor's fingers. "Please, I'm sorry, Al!" You begged as you struggled. Your body flailed and squirmed as he held you above him, looking almost like a fish torn from the sea, desperate to breathe.

"Oh you're sorry?" Alastor's head titled to one side as he watched you. "That absolutely changes everything then!" He said cheerily, mockingly.

The tentacle holding you up loosened out of nowhere, sending you down into the mud for a second time that night.

You managed to keep yourself up by your arms as you greedily heaved in air back into your lungs. Your head still spun from the rush of blood, and you felt like you were about to vomit out whatever flesh Alastor made you eat earlier that day.

You felt something at your chin—Alastor's microphone it seemed—and it tilted your face towards him. Your teary eyes met his cheerful ones, and your chest tightened. It's been a long time since you've even stepped outside, but you now felt more trapped than you ever have before.

He bent down, lowering his face closer to yours as he smiled down at you.

"Since it seems like I've neglected my dear darling partner for so long that they've decided to seek attention elsewhere, I think it's best to spend some nice quality time together. Don't you think that'd be nice, sweetheart?" Alastor's voice held no threats. Promises. Only promises.

You shook your head no before he even finished talking. A desperate shaking hand reached up to him. "No, please. Al. Anywhere but the radio tower again. Please."

"Don't worry, doll. This time will a bit different." He assured.

You moved quickly, hurriedly, scrambling to your knees ready to beg at his feet. But before you could even part your lips to start, Alastor had both of you melted into shadows.

You re-materialize in the one place that haunted your dreams. The one place in Hell that truly, actually, did feel like hell to you.

Your blood felt frozen as you remained on the floor. Eyes wide in fear as you stared at the control panel.

Alastor turned his back to you, humming cheerfully, nonchalantly, as he made his way towards the main seat. "There's no need to look so alarmed," He said, you could almost hear the way his eyes rolled at your stupid expression. "We won't be having any special guests for this broadcast."

You finally tore your eyes away from the contraptions. Your gaze landing on Alastor's wide back as he slowly removed his coat. "You...you won't be torturing some poor soul?" You asked confused—and admittedly a little hopeful.

You couldn't count the horrible days he had made you sit and watch and listen as he took his sweet time tearing souls apart. How he joyously broadcasted the tortured screams for his Hell's entertainment.

Alastor's grin widened, stretched just a tad bit too far, before he turned his head to look back at you.

"Oh," Heavy static morphed his voice once more. "I didn't say that."

You didn't have time to react before his tentacles sprouted from his back, his inner shirt ripping to make way for them. They grabbed at your limbs, slithering around to get a tight hold as they pulled you to him.

A scream ripped from your throat at the sheer suddenness of it, and it made Alastor's heart leap in his chest. Oh how he loved those adorable reactions of yours.

"That is delightful! But do save your voice, dear. I do have to start us off first," He said gleefully as he turned around to fiddle with the controls.

You heart sunk. Eyes wide as the realization hit you. He wasn't going to force you to listen to someone being tortured.

"Alastor, wait—"

"Why hello, you wayward sinners! Hope everyone's having a wonderfully hellish time right now, because boy do I have quite the treat to make your evenings even better!" Alastor spoke into the mic, his eyes gone black as he held your gaze. "Yes, indeed, this one is going to be very special."

"Al, please—" You bit your lip, cutting off whatever pleas you were going to throw at him.

One of his tentacles pressed against your clothed mound as the others held you in the air. It quickly worked its way under your bottoms, ripping through it easily and exposing you to Alastor's lazy gaze.

"Don't, please. I'm so sorry, Al. I won't do it again, I promise, please." You whispered, not wanting all of Hell to hear how you begged for mercy.

"What's that, darling? I'm afraid you'll have to be a little louder for our lovely, horrid, listeners." Alastor mocked, just as the tentacle between your legs started to slide between your folds. Another made quick work of your already torn shirt.

You grit your teeth and clenched your eyes closed. Stubbornly, you refused to make a single sound from Alastor's ministrations.

But you know how this ends.

You're hardly the first soul he had broken during a broadcast.

You, of all people, knew that well.

Another one of his appendages slithered its way to your core. It teased at the entrance, pushing, testing your hole.

"I hope everyone has a lovely time!" You hear Alastor speak to his listeners, just as a scream ripped through your lips.

You weren't nearly wet enough to take him. Your walls resisted, but not enough for his strength. The black shadow pushed its way deep into you, others coiled at your legs to spread them apart. One remained by your clit, lazily flicking along.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You cried as Alastor fucked his tentacle deep into you. The harsh thrusts sending your ample chest bouncing.

Alastor didn't respond, he rarely ever does to his victims. He preferred to let the song of their anguish play uninterrupted. But he did find himself paying more attention than he usually did to the way your body reacted to him.

His gaze locked at the way his black shadow disappeared into your slick hole. How it came back to light drenched in your juices, only to push back in harsher. How your little pussy stretched wide around his tentacle to accommodate its size.

His eyes traveled further up, watching as he wrapped one tentacle around your breast and squeezed. A lovely horrified sound coming from your lips from his actions.

He watched as you sobbed, attention fully on him. Only on him. And he couldn't deny the rather unfamiliar heat the pooled in his stomach at that fact.

The tentacle at your clit moved faster, pressing down just the slightest bit more at that little bud. You tried your damndest to silence the screams from your throat, but as your mouth fell open, you could only do so much.

The coil in your gut snapped easily. Alastor tightening his hold on you as he kept your spasming form in the air for his entertainment.

Your juices flowed down his dark appendages as it kept up the pace. Tears forming in your eyes as they gave you no reprieve, no time recover.

You fight against his hold, aching to close your thighs and catch your breath but the dark shadows merely pulled them apart wider. You pulled at you arms, wanting to push away the damned things from your core but you were merely held back the same way.

"Wait, please, stop." You were barely able to form a coherent sentence. The tentacle inside you opting to curl just the right amount to hit that soft, perfect spot inside you with every thrust. That spot that Alastor knew drove you wild when he fucks you through your heat, after a lot of begging on your end, at least.

You clenched down on it, that being the only thing you could think of that you could still do to slow this down. It unsurprisingly did nothing but make you feel more of each drag and pull against your walls.

Another orgasm is stolen from you as a tentacle began to grind itself up and down your sloppy slit, drenching itself in your slick as it attempted to join the one already fucking you. Your screams broadcasted for all of Pride Ring to hear.

It doesn't stop. He doesn't stop. His dark shadows held you still, fucking into your cervix without mercy, playing with your clit, your breasts. Pulling yet another sloppy orgasm from you.

"No more," You heaved. Alastor's assault seeing no end near. "I can't. Al, please." You begged.

You craned your neck over to look back at the demon. You find his gaze no longer on you or your body, but on the papers in front of him. His script.

He was idly jotting down notes, chin rested on the palm of his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He almost looked bored, but the twitch of his ear as you called out his name showed you he was still paying you some attention.

"Alastor, please," You tried again. "I am sorry. I won't do it again. I won't leave you again." You sobbed.

The tentacle inside you pulled out to your brief relief, only for it to slam harshly, deeper back into you. It's pace at breakneck speed that even with the tight hold around your limbs, your body was moved with every push and pull.

"Oh, I'm sure you won't, darling." He finally replies to your pleas, although he didn't even glance your way. He continued correcting his notes, your sweet begging made for a wonderfully sweet background song. "Because why would you ever leave someone as generous as me?"

He ripped orgasm after orgasm from you. Your release dripped and drenched the floor of his radio tower. You begged til your throat was raw for some reprieve, for some forgiveness. But Alastor went about his way around the studio. Fixing this and that. Barely paid you any mind.

It was only when you've stopped pulling against his hold. When your legs had gone slack in the air, and your screams faded into whimpers did Alastor finally approach the control panel again.

"Wasn't that just darling! A wonderful performance, if I do say so myself," He laughed into his microphone. "I'm sure you lewd folks enjoyed yourself as much as our star of the night here, so make sure to keep an ear out for my next broadcast!"

His eyes finally land on your exhausted body. Your chest heaved with every labored breath as Alastor's tentacles finally slowly pulled out of you. A wet shlop of your juices dripping out as it did.

He slowly lowered you onto the ruined floor, and your dazed eyes locked with his.

"There will definitely be more of where that came from." He said, less of his usual cheer. His tone lower. Threatening—no, promising.

You didn't move—you couldn't move—from the floor. You simply watched as Alastor shut down his broadcast and took his time straightening out and cleaning up his work station. He was humming cheerfully, seeming to be in a much better mood than when the night had begun.

When he was finally satisfied, you watched as he walked to where you were, stopping by your feet as he smiled down at you.

"Well, you've definitely seen better days." A laugh track followed his mockery.

"I'm sorry." You heaved out. You hoped this was the end of it. You hoped he would just throw you back and lock you in his room again. Anything but stay in this wretched radio tower. "I'm yours. I won't try to run anymore."

Alastor chuckled at your response, moving to rest his cane against the wall before he reached up to his neck. He slowly loosened his bowtie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Oh I know you know that." He said waving off your words as if they didn't matter.

He lowered himself over you, his towering figure blocking out what little light you had. "But I'm afraid I need a bit of a reminder about who you belong to."

His hand made quick work of his trousers, pulling his hardened cock free.

His claws were at your waist and they pulled your limp body closer to him. Not that you offered any resistance.

"You can do one more for me can't you darling?" He wasn't really asking.

You can't. But you nod your head anyway.

He pushed into you easily. Your previous releases coated him and allowed a slicker entry.

Your back arched despite exhaustion, and Alastor drank in your pained expression. "There's a good girl. Always ready to ruin herself for her lover." You heard him say. "Don't worry, I won't make this long."

But of course that was a lie. He pulled back so slowly, revering in the way your drenched walls felt around him; how they clenched around his cock like how he saw them do around his tentacle. Then he thrusted himself back harshly into your sloppy hole, forcing what little sound you could still make out from your lips.

He fucked into you, slowly, deeply, maddeningly. Making sure you both felt each and every drag of his heavy cock.

He wasn't one to crave sex as much as most of hell, but when it was with you—his precious partner, he had to admit he didn't hate the sensations all too much. And if it meant reminding you who was in control, if it meant making you owe him, making you dependent on him, making you crave him, then it was all the more enjoyable to see you fucked out and speared on his dick.

One of his hands made its way to the back of your neck, pulling you up into his lap. He fucked up into you as your head lolled to the side, struggling to keep your body upright.

Alastor drank in your expression. Your glazed over eyes, the tear stains that smeared through the mud and blood along your cheeks, the drool dripping from your split lips. Yes, this is what you deserved for even daring to leave him. This is what you needed to be reminded on just how good a partner he is.

He wrapped a tentacle around your hips, keeping you steady as he pounded his cock into you. His free hand now moved between you, to your clit.

Your hips spasmed as he drew quick circles on the bud, but you fought the instinct to squirm away. You wouldn't leave him.

You can't leave him.

You know that now.

Alastor's grin widened when he noticed your actions. "There's a good girl." He purred again, leaning down to your neck to lick up your skin.

"Let me feel you cum on my cock now, darling. Let me feel how much you want me to fill you up." He whispered, his sweet voice right by your ear as he pressed down harder on your clit.

You whined, tears pouring from your eyes once more as he tore yet another orgasm from your weakened body.

Your fluids drenched his dick, soiling his pants as you came around him. Alastor all but tore your skin as he gripped you tight. His own pace finally picked up.

You felt him twitch inside you, before the hot feeling of his seed soothed your battered cunt.

"Tell me, would that scum have let you cum like this?" Alastor whispered in your ear. He held you tightly, his head still at the crook of your neck.

"No," You responded weakly. You felt him twitch inside you again.

You tried your hardest not to think back to the poor sinner, ripped limb from limb in a blink of an eye. Their body likely still stomped down into the mud of the forest floor.

"Would any other wretched soul be able to give you what I give you?" Alastor asked again. He playfully nipped at your ear.

"No," You responded again.

"So who do you think can treat you, treasure you, best, my dear?" He pulled back, his smug smile loomed over you as he held your chin for you to keep his gaze.

"You, Alastor. Only you can treat me this good." The words were bitter in your mouth

You hadn't sold him your soul. And he would never ask for it.

But you were his and his alone, nonetheless.

"And don't you ever forget it." He mused, pushing you back down to the floor as he began to fuck himself inside of you again. His previous release slowly pushed out with every slow thrust.

"Be still for me, darling," He whispered sweetly. "Let me have my fill of you for now."

I don't usually write smut but this request sent me haywire. Hope I didn't disappoint, anon! I loved your demented request ♪

#tw: noncon #tw: physical harm to reader #tw: forced relationship #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #smut #alastor smut #alastor x reader smut #vien writes #vien answers #requests from a lovely anon #MIND THE TAGS PLEASE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD

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hanaruri-tunes · 1 year

Text

The demons’ reactions to Y/N asking them to fuck them (headcanons/short scenarios)

⚠️ As usual MDNI!!!

The MC can be whichever gender you want in this one. (Pretty sure I managed to keep it ambiguous?)

What follows are individual scenarios btw, it’s not MC asking every single one of them at the same time haha (I could write one like that as well though if people like this one? Not sure of how well it would turn out but I could.)

Anyway, enjoy 👇

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Lucifer

He could tell something was different right away. You’re not the type to be shy with them and particularly not him. Sometimes your blatant disrespect towards him is refreshing… sometimes it’s infuriating, and yet here you are now, shifting in place, fiddling with your hands and looking down nervously. It catches his attention right away.

"Is something wrong? Y/N, if something is troubling you, you can tell me. In fact, please do so freely."

"...lease …uck me."

"...Excuse me?"

Surely he heard wrong, no matter how honest you are, there’s no way you would ask something like that with no build up-

"Please, fuck me…"

"..."

Lucifer puts his hand over his mouth, trying to hide his delight in vain. He has always wondered how to go about it, what to plan, how to charm you and get you in the palm of his hands. To think that you would come marching right ahead, falling into his hands on your own just like that. He approaches you, taking you into his arms, feeling up your body against his.

"But of course, no need to be so shy about it. Shall we go upstairs Dear?"

Mammon

Mammon felt like something was a bit different about you tonight. You kept coming closer to him, more than usual, brushing over him, smiling at him in a special way. Were you seducing him? Because if you were, it was 100% effective! But well, wouldn't it be rude to point it out? What if you stop? What if it wasn’t on purpose? So he keeps quiet and you get more and more frustrated with his inaction until it explodes.

"...Don’t you want to fuck me?!"

"Wha- Yes?!?"

Thinking twice? He didn’t even think once. He was surprised for sure but when you ask for something like this, there’s only one correct answer to give. In a flash, he pounces on you.

"Anytime, anyday, whenever you want. Please only come to me Y/N…"

Leviathan

You were harder to handle today than you usually are. Leviathan is used to holding his breath when you hug him or kiss him on the cheek. He’s used to looking away when you bend down or shutting his eyes tight when your face gets too close. But today? Today was different. You kept clinging to him, not giving him any personal space. Constantly praising and teasing him. His heart had skipped at least eleven beats in total, and even that might still be an understatement. Levi ends up breaking, asking you outright if something is wrong.

"C-Could it be that you want something from me? Sorry, I really don’t know um, if uh. Well I just don’t understand where you're getting at."

You hold back the urge to facepalm, well, it’s not like you didn’t see it coming. Leviathan thinks that he’s so unattractive that no one, and especially not you, could ever want him.

You press yourself against him, circling your fingertips on his chest.

"Jeez, you really are an idiot sometimes Leviathan… I want to fuck you. You get it now?"

His third member rises immediately at the request while his mind is still buffering.

"Uhh?? Um, y-yeah? I mean, errr. Are you like, 100- no, 1000% sure? O-Out of all my brothers me??? Isn’t that um, of course I’m not judging but maybe I’m not-"

You kiss him on the corner of his lips, shutting him up.

"I only want you to fuck me, can you do that?"

"Y-Yes. Anything you want...! ♡"

Satan

There he was again, nose stuck in his books. However your perfume caught his attention right away. You always smell nice but this fragrance was different from your usual scent. It was more mature, more seductive, more… He looks up to you, even your clothes show more than usual. Your hairstyle is different as well. Are you going out? So then why did you come to him? He coughs.

"Excuse me for staring. You look very good. Is there a soirée tonight that I’m not aware of?"

You look to the side, a bit flustered. Without a word you sit next to him on the sofa, then you slide your hand on his knee, not daring to go up to his thigh yet.

"...Would you like to fuck me?"

"..."

Silence.

He’s processing your request, making sure he understands your intentions. After a couple of seconds that seemed to go on forever, Satan closes his book and leaves it on the table. Then he leans over you, encouraging your hand to go higher on his thighs.

"Well, since you asked so politely how could I ever turn you down, hm?"

Asmo

He can tell right away what you really want since he is the avatar of lust. However he lets it play out, curious to see how you’ll go about it. Will you be all shy and cute or will you be more confident? He enjoys seeing the gears turning in your head as you’re awkwardly holding your hands together, sweating from the pressure. However he doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable when asking for something as wonderful as sex, especially with him since he is quite the fanatic.

"Relax your shoulders and breathe Y/N♡"

He places his hands on your shoulders, sliding them down your arms then going back up only to fall down again, on your back this time. He starts massaging you, whispering sweet nothings in your ears, making you comfortable and eager rather than nervous and scared.

"...Asmo?"

"Mh-hm?~"

"I’d like you to fuck me, is that okay?"

He stops, then pulls you over. Your back against his chest, he whispers his answer.

"What a coincidence, that’s what I’ve wanted to do to you since the very first time we met♡ How lucky that you asked for it first..."

Beel

Beel is devouring a rotisserie chicken in the kitchen… again. It seems like that’s all he does, everytime you want to find an appropriate moment to ask, well, it never is a good moment. You look at him, your spirits down, readying yourself to leave as usual. Surprisingly, he stops you and invites you to sit down.

"Y/N… Lately you always look sad when I see you. Would you like some? You know if you’re hungry you can always ask me to share."

"That’s not it Beel…"

You look down, discouraged from asking for it. All Beel always thinks and talks about is food anyway. Will he even care if you ask him something like that? Maybe he has no interest in such things, or in you.

Beel puts the food down, looking grim.

"Beel? What’s wrong…?"

"It’s difficult to enjoy the food when you look down, somehow even the taste turns foul when you’re sad."

Your chest feels tight at his words, maybe it would be good to just be honest and get it over with.

"Beel, truth is- Uhh. ... I want you to f-fuck me… But well, I can understand if you’re not interested in that sort of stuf-"

Beel’s eyes light up, his gaze stuck on you.

He takes you into his arms, carrying you out of the kitchen, heading up the stairs.

"B-Beel?!"

"That’s all you wanted? Should’ve said so earlier, I’ll finally be able to quench my hunger for a while."

Belphegor

You came to wake him as you do every morning, since you’re apparently the most skilled at this task according to the others. Still, some days it’s a challenge even for you. Like today for instance: he keeps complaining, bitching and moaning. You’d like to make this easy for the both of you but it’s complicated to keep finding different ways to encourage him to get up. Kisses, hugs, dates, and the exact same offers rarely work for over 3 times in a row. It pisses you off, could it be that he just got tired of you already?

You give up and lie down next to him, sulking and muttering.

"Asshole… What if I asked you to fuck me. Bet you wouldn’t even care, hm?"

Belphie’s eyes shot wide open, then he turned over to you. Extremely attentive to your every move and word.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Only good boys who get up at reasonable times have a right to have a go at me."

He clings onto you greedily, begging you to repeat.

"Come on, pleeease? I’ll get up right away if you ask for it."

"Nope, too late to smother me now."

He puts his hand on your waist, grabbing it firmly and pulling you towards him into the bed.

"...Please? I’ll make you feel so good you’ll be the one to ask to stay in bed."

You ponder it for a bit… Well. Truthfully, you do want him so- Shyly, you ask him.

"Mh. Then um. Will you fuck me good…?"

You feel him smile against your neck, and he answers.

"I promise I won’t let you go until you’re completely satisfied with me. ♡"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Doneee.

And my askbox is open just so y’all know, no promises on anything but do know that anything you send will definitely be seen/read even if I might not be able to answer to everything! I don’t know if I can say that my "commissions" are open but if you send me ideas and I like them, there is a chance I might write some stuff based on them 🫰

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me smut #om! leviathan #om! belphie #om! satan #om! beelzebub #om! lucifer #om! mammon #om! asmodeus #obey me!#reader #y/n #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #hanaruri writes

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synthetickitsune · 4 months

Text

Bunny Troubles ✧ h.js

Pairing: Joshua Hong x reader (gn) Genre: fluff Summary: Who’d have thought a man like Joshua could turn into a puddle of misery on the whim of a little bunny? Word count: 1.9k Warnings: i never owned a bunny in my life so excuse any innacuracies for the sake of the plot A/N: this is once again @hanniedream's fault because ofc it is, because it always is

“Uhm, love?” you say shyly, quietly, trying hard to conceal your nervousness.

“Love? Is something wrong?” Joshua catches on immediately regardless of your efforts or the fact that he can’t even see you through the phone. You can only sigh.

You look at your friend for support from where she’s sitting with a bunny in her arms and she gives you a thumbs up before you step out into the hall and close the door behind you.

“What do you think about a week of bunny sitting? My friend is going on a vacation and her parents canceled on her last minute.”

“Say that again,” you can hear your boyfriend pause whatever he was doing.

“Shua, you heard me,” you groan, “She will give us everything we’ll need and she’ll bring the stuff over and help me bunny proof the place. It’s just the living room, so it doesn’t wake us up if it’s noisy in the night. She even made a little pamphlet with instructions and important information and the vet’s contact if anything happened.”

You can practically hear the way he holds back a sigh. Waiting for his answer, though, you already start to imagine the little fluffy creature hopping around your living room.

“What if it doesn’t like me?” he asks. That wasn’t really the concern you were expecting if you’re honest.

“Come again?” you deadpan.

“The meerkat on set didn’t like me either, what if I’m just cursed to be disliked by tiny animals,” there’s a pout in his voice, which is pretty much a sign of your victory.

“No no, my friend said it’s the cuddliest bunny she ever had and that it likes being handled,” you coo excitedly, “And the few times I came over it was really sweet and friendly. It cuddles with me today too.”

“But I’m meant to be your cuddly bunny,” Joshua grumbles very quietly on the other side of the phone.

“Baby I think I’ll need to start recording these calls,” you tease and chuckle when you hear your boyfriend whine some more. “Anyway, it’s just a week. Please? She really needs the help and nobody else is available.”

“You know I can never say no to you,” he sighs, “But I don’t want to hear a word of getting one for ourselves, yeah?”

“I promise,” you try to hide your excitement, “I love you. We’ll be waiting for you to come home.”

“I’m kicking it out if it doesn’t like me,” he warns you playfully before saying his goodbyes and hanging up.

“I’m home,” Joshua calls upon closing the front door behind him carefully, mindful of the creature whose presence is already noticeable by the little fence standing in the doorway of the living room.

“Welcome home,” you call back, your voice soft and clearly strained with emotions. He chuckles to himself, first making his way to the bedroom to change into something comfortable before joining you.

He secures the temporary precaution once he steps into the room and smiles again seeing you sitting by the cage with your hand at the door and the bunny sniffing your palm curiously.

“Getting friendly?” he teases, sitting down a good distance from you to avoid scaring the animal who’s already eyeing him with what he thinks is caution.

“I just fed her some snacks, so I think she hopes for more,” you coo without really looking at him, “Her name is Lola by the way.”

He scoffs, making you groan too. “I know, okay? I wasn’t the one naming her.”

“I can see the resemblance though,” Joshua shakes his head with a smile. The bunny’s colors do kind of resemble those of the character. “Do you think she’ll hate it if I come closer?”

“Nope, just take one of those and you’ll be fine,” you nod towards a little packet lying on the floor next to the cage, “I promise I’ll clean up tomorrow, I just didn’t feel like it this late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassures you, quickly stealing a kiss while you move to make room for him at the cage’s open door. The bunny stays surprisingly calm, only putting his paws down on the ground instead of looking out of the cage.

“Hey little one,” Joshua coos at the fluffy ball, and you can already see the enamored sparkle in his eyes, “Let’s get along, hm?”

The bunny’s nose twitches before it returns to its original position and after sniffing Joshua’s fingers for a bit, it discovers the treat and eagerly takes it from him.

“I think she likes you,” you chuckle. Your boyfriend then moves back to give the bunny space and lets you pull him in for a proper kiss this time.

“How was your day?” you ask, resting your head on his shoulder as you watch the bunny bobbing its head and hesitating by the open door, unsure if it wants to explore the unfamiliar territory.

“Good, nothing too exciting. She’s cuter than I expected though,” he leans his head against yours.

“Not one word of wanting to get one for ourselves,” you tease, earning yourself a gentle nudge. “Let’s watch something on tv? Maybe she’ll feel more comfortable if we’re not this close. Oh, and I could show you the guide we got.”

The rest of the evening is spent on the couch, Shua resting in your embrace as you go through the brochure together - and him googling tips on how to befriend a bunny faster. Although the animal in your care seems tame enough that his research might prove to be completely useless.

The bunny doesn’t venture too far away from its cage, but simply the fact that it left its safe sanctuary is a win in your books. The television is just a nice background noise while you both focus on the curious creature hopping around.

Over the next couple days the bunny gets quite comfortable. Soon enough it’s exploring the entire expanse of the living room, trying to escape further and you let it - with your strict supervision. The animal is an angel, cuddly and sweet - both to you and Joshua. You were a little skeptical when your friend told you her bunny is the friendliest she’s ever seen and wouldn’t last a second in the wild but turns out she was right. And it also turns out that she’ll be her own bunny’s second favorite human when she gets back.

You can’t say you’re surprised exactly when the bunny starts to clearly prefer Joshua’s attention, but it’s very entertaining that your boyfriend keeps trying to persuade the animal to like you more. It’s not that it doesn’t like you, it does, and it’s very affectionate with you. It’s just that wherever Shua appears, you’re immediately just a back up human.

The bunny lets itself be handled and carried by him, and it’s impossible for you both not to swoon when you see how tiny the animal looks sitting in Joshua’s hands or held in his arms. Treats work well to lure it away from your boyfriend, but it quickly returns once it finishes eating it. At least it’s not jealous and is willing to share him with you, and your boyfriend glows like the sun with you cuddled into his side and the bunny sleeping on his chest.

Anyway - Joshua is the bunny’s favorite human. Even your friend confirmed that much when you facetimed her one night and showed her how her pet behaves.

That’s why it is so confusing when your boyfriend calls you in distress.

“Baby? Baby I did something and now she hates me!”

It takes you a second and another whiny babyyy to process what’s going on and drop the dinner preparations for the sake of your boyfriend and his side chick’s drama.

Joshua sits with his back against the couch, already looking at you with a pout and eyes pleading. You try not to laugh seeing him and look for the bunny instead - not too far away and… stomping her little feet? Thumping.

“What did you do?” you accuse, pretending to scold him as you sit down next to him.

“Nothing! I don’t know,” he whines, turning his head left and right, throwing pleading looks yours and the bunny’s way. “Why does she hate me?”

“I don’t know, but according to the guide this means she’s annoyed, so what did you do to her?” you try really hard not to chuckle at his distress. Who’d have thought a man like him could turn into a puddle of misery on the whim of a little bunny.

“Nothing,” he mumbles with a sigh, extending a hand towards the animal. It pushes it away with its paws with another thump and you do fail and laugh at that. You’re quick to coo over your boyfriend when he turns to you with disbelief written all over his face though, his pout deepening.

“We’ll figure this out, Shua,” you chuckle, kissing his cheek, “You’re her favorite, remember?”

He nods, sighing as the bunny thumps again. It’s cute as ever, maybe more so throwing a tantrum like this.

“So what did you do - what were you doing before she got like this?” you ask, rubbing his arm soothingly. He leans into your touch and he looks so miserable that you almost feel bad for laughing.

“Nothing, I told you,” he -thump- sulks, “I was just petting her.”

Thump thump.

“And then?” you prod.

“Nothing.” Thump thump. “I was petting her and then I stretched, so I- oh.”

Oh indeed.

“Why would you stop petting her and then be all surprised that she’s annoyed with you? Do you have any idea how upsetting it is?” you frown at him.

“Why am I being targeted?” he grumbles before smirking a little, “But thank you for your insight.”

You push his shoulder. “Don’t give in,” you tell the bunny.

“No no no, I learned from my mistakes,” Joshua turns towards the bunny and slowly extends his hand to its little head, “I’m so sorry, little one. Forgive me please.”

He pets it slowly, his fingers stroking the soft fur with patience and dedication that really makes it seem like he’s begging for forgiveness. You regret not having your phone on you to take a video.

And then suddenly the bunny starts moving, no longer thumping its legs but instead slowly walking towards your boyfriend before climbing onto his legs and settling on his lap. Joshua beams at you and resumes petting the bunny, overjoyed at being forgiven.

“Am I the bunny whisperer?” he whispers, cooing at the fluffball in his lap. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, and a drama queen,” you tease, but he ignores you in favor of making up with the bunny. It’s a cute look though, so you don’t mind not bickering with him.

“I know I said I don’t want to hear a word about-”

“No.”

He pouts at you when you shut him down immediately.

“Let’s just offer a free bunny sitting whenever, hm?” you suggest.

“Let’s steal her,” Joshua wiggles his brows at you mischievously. You breathe a long sigh.

Then again maybe looking at Joshua with a cute fluffy bunny cuddled up to him every day wouldn’t be so bad. Especially if all it takes for him to get all pouty is a few annoyed thumps.

Now you can only hope your bunny of a boyfriend won’t take on any of her habits.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #joshua x reader #joshua scenario #svthub #seventeen reactions #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #joshua fluff #svt fluff #svt x reader

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sun-snatcher · 1 month

Note

That Kitsch!Gambit is so steamy LORD PLEASE write a Channing!Gambit version. I know you don't write smut but. Just a taste. Please. You'd be doing the Channing girlies a service.

♧ | own sweet time ; ‘24!Gambit

summ. A supply run goes sour. You and Remy pass time in the Void the only way you know how. pairing. Void!Gambit x f!Void!reader a/n. A blurb. Allusions to smut but really it's just heavy-petting and a make out. Anyway. Don’t look at ME. You people asked for this!

The Void is vast.

Vast usually means quiet.

Which, really, is a double-edged sword for your situation at the moment. It all depends— but logistics is honestly the last thing you’re caring about in this seedy, rundown 80’s Diner that you and Remy have temporarily camped in for the night after that tragedy of a supply run, no—

Not when you’re purring under his heaty touch, and he’s sweeping you off your feet to corner you against the counter with his eyes half-mast, and that damn smirk across his face.

He always likes to play with his food.

“Foldin’ your cards already, chèr?”

Your hands roam uselessly across the armour over his chest, finding purchase at the thick muscles of his arms caging you in.

“Mh. You’re a cheater,” you volley, dragging him close by his coat and tip-toeing to meet him in a quick there-and-away kiss.

A dimpled smile. “S’only one thing I play dirty at, chèr.”

You roll your eyes, but your huff of laughter betrays you. “You talk too much.”

“That so?” he hums, cutting.

You can’t even answer.

The taunt is enough to have him dipping down, snaking his hand loose around your neck like a collar, and devouring you like his life depended on it. Raw hunger. It sends your world careening; body unravelling. You want to reach out incase you fall apart— you want to be touched and surrounded and kissed.

“Up,” he instructs, voice like roughstone; and when you obliged obediently, let him hike you up around his hips and keep you from falling with nothing but a single arm wrapped around you, he croons out the approval that makes your head swim;

“Attagirl.”

Some strangled sound— a wanton plea, probably— escapes you. It’s hard to miss his smile against your lips; Likes when you preen for him, the smug bastard.

He settles you fluidly on a booth table, and you barely have the time to catch your breath until he’s leaning his tousled-head down again, tilting your chin up with his fingers, and nosing a bruising kiss over your lips and to the tender pulse beneath your jawline.

“Remy,” you manage, half-whined and half-croaked. “Please.”

He shushes you. Three consecutive tuts, almost. Chiding. It stirs something in you.

This— arrangement— has been routine enough for him to know exactly what makes you tick; know what disarms you; lets him have his way. You hardly remember when it all started. Time doesn’t matter in the Void. Somewhere between his suggestive banter, and your wandering gazes, and both of your lingering, purposeful touches— you and he found comfort burying in each other with this make-shift intimacy.

Casual, you remind yourself. This is… casual.

He grazes tongue and teeth against your collar. Canine-sharp.

Christ. The whole Devil thing makes sense, doesn't it?

And Gambit runs hot. Smouldering to the touch— warm and kindling and as searing as brimstone. You wonder, idly, if it has something to do with all the kinetic energy coursing through him; if it’s ever intentional. An exposed livewire that singes and thrums throughout your body as he mouths at the thin skin of your flesh.

“Remy.” You arch, helpless, trying to get impossibly closer to him.

He slides his palms up, rough and excited, working your body firmly where and how he wants you, back down the cold metal of the table.

It’s enough force that you thud the back of your head.

You barely notice it, too distracted with the pressure of him, but Remy does— and then he’s quickly pulling away from a wet kiss at the hollow of your throat.

“Y’alright?” he withdraws, slowing considerably. Irises fade bright fuschia to sea-green. The roughness in his touch quickly melts away. "M’sorry, chèr."

His powers bleed through sometimes whenever he’s kickstarted with adrenaline; tends to give way and have him end up using more force than necessary. His thumb sits at your bottom lip, breath curling with yours as he checks you over with a flickering gaze.

“It's okay,” you murmur, already pulling him forward. (You forget just how much that Cajun accent of his does it for you.) "Didn't hurt me, sweetheart."

He seals you into a talisman of a kiss. Another apology; a promise. Gambit didn’t mean to, chèr, it translates. 'Lemme make it up to you.

Gentleman at heart. Always. You love it about him.

Gambit may have learned how to make himself a hard read from his years being a thieving, gambling, cheat; but Remy’s touch— sleight, dextrous hands borne from mastered legerdemain— never fails to give everything about him away.

Everything devolves into something more tender, now. Like he’s making up for his harshness. You can feel his fingers slide from your jaw and run through your hair to cradle the crown of your head— quiet precaution from hitting it again as he latches onto your mouth.

Subtle awareness; Not only a turn-on, but also sickeningly sweet of him.

Too much, truthfully, for this to be just a casual thing between you both.

Sweeter than whatever had been in the air that day Elektra had sent you both out on a recon that turned sour, and he came away with bruises on his chest so dark he looked like a walking contusion— and you took care of him afterwards in the only way you knew how:

Sitting astride on his lap, and letting him mould you into his blissful distraction; have him forget the pain; disassemble the raw dread in his marrows after such a close call.

He shifts you carefully to the table edge, nudges your knees wide so he can stand bracketed between your legs. The skirting coat he shoulders slowly slips off.

...God. You’re going to leave half-crescents around his biceps by the time he’s done with you.

“Easy, chèr,” he laughs, when you entwine your fingers with his, anticipatory. It's a cigarette-burn of a voice; drowned in hazy, saccharine affection. “Gambit ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Too sweet, you want to scold him—

But then he’s pressing against you, looming above you like a shadow, and every single thought dissolves into eager pleasure as he curls another hand under your shirt and drags up, up, up.

Too sweet. Sweet, and takin’ his own sweet time.

Laissez les bons temps rouler, or whatever it is he says.

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moonstruckme · 3 months

Note

hi i have a request that you're obviously under no obligation to answer but i saw that you did a royal au for sirius and i was wondering if you'd be open to doing another?

something like they're in a secret relationship and they're at the same ball and trying to act like they're the picture of good behavior but sirius is being subtly flirty and a menace?

Thanks for requesting sweetheart! Slight deviation, they're not together but this takes place just a bit after the first one <3

prince!Sirius x princess!reader ♡ 2.2k words

Seeing as balls are generally marketed as the pinnacle of refinement, you hadn’t expected this to be so loud.

Every time the hum of conversation rises, someone keeps telling the musicians to play louder too, until people have to raise their voices and it starts over again. A victor-less battle. You have an inkling that it might all be easier to handle if you had just a bit more wine, but you’re on your best behavior for your new family.

You try not to wrinkle your brow, leaning closer to the man in front of you as the violins crescendo. “Sorry?” you ask, politely as you can.

A flicker of irritation crosses his face. You try not to wince. He tells you the title of his job again.

“Ah.” You nod, trying to look as though you understand the importance of this jumble of fancy-sounding words. “That’s so interesting. What does that entail?”

He’s thrilled you’ve asked. As the man launches into a thorough description of his day-to-day duties for the kingdom, you contemplate how surprisingly relevant a competence in lip-reading might be to your new role as princess. Is this something you’re going to have to do all of the time? You haven’t been able to make out half of what this man has said since he made his way over to you.

It’s pointless anyway. As soon as you notice Sirius Black standing behind him, you’re gone.

It’s been hardly a week since your illicit meeting with the Black heir. You’d munched on chicken nuggets, traded complaints about palace life and your wildly different upbringings. When a guard had come to fetch him back to his parents you’d hid behind the door, and to the best of your knowledge you’ve both pretended the meeting never happened ever since.

Now, he’s dark and gleaming under the light from the chandelier. He smiles dashingly at someone shaking his father’s hand, standing beside both of his parents and slightly in front of another boy you suppose must be his brother. You haven’t actually seen anyone in his family before now, but the connection isn’t difficult to draw; they’re eerily similar. Pitch black hair and pale skin stretched tight over delicate bones. Most horrifying of all, they’re wearing identical shades of black, the homogeneity of the men’s suits too precise to be incidental, except…

Sirius’ suit jacket shimmers with a silver sheen in certain lights.

Your lips curve before you can stop them. You hardly know him, but already this seems typical; he has to be different. Has to set himself apart. It’s less tiresome than it ought to be.

As though your thoughts have been broadcast across the room, Sirius’ head turns minutely in your direction. His eyes catch you and hold you.

It’s lucky the man standing in front of you doesn’t seem to notice how your gaze has wandered. He chatters on, unaware that your palms have slickened or that your heart has started pittering fiercely inside your chest. Sirius says something to his companions and peels off. He starts towards you.

You look back to your conversation partner, managing a nod of faux comprehension just before he reaches you.

You let your eyes flare as he stops beside the two of you, willing some surprise into your expression, but your voice comes out even more startled than you intend when you hiccup out, “Your highness.”

“Your highness,” Sirius says back, the faintest of smirks curving his lips as he inclines his head to you, then the man in front of you. “Lord Chamberlain.”

Shit. How does he know this guy’s name and you don’t?

Lord Chamberlain looks nearly as caught offguard by the prince’s notice as you are. “Your highness.” He puffs up. “I didn’t realize we would be enjoying your presence this evening.”

“Yes, my brother was supposed to be the only one accompanying my parents on this visit.” Sirius sounds even more polished than the last time you spoke with him. There’s an easy grace to his posture, an inherent knowledge of the tiny moves that allow one to conform to the etiquette of this culture which you’re still struggling to grasp yourself. But his eyes flash when they meet yours, a glimpse of that waggish boy you met in the sitting room. “However, during my last visit I found an interest in your lovely kingdom I’ve not had before.”

Lord Chamberlain begins to prattle on about the perfect astuteness of the prince, the many, many attractive qualities of your kingdom, few of which would be quite so perfect if not augmented by himself…Sirius nods with practiced diplomacy, waiting only for the man to take a breath before he turns his attention fully to you.

“I hoped you might join me for a dance,” he says, leaning closer so he doesn’t have to raise his voice over the music. “The next one is about to start.”

“Oh I’m not supposed—” You cut yourself off, eyes darting to the courtier monitoring you from the edge of the room. You imagine you’re not supposed to say what you’re not supposed to do. “I’m really not much for dancing.”

“Come on.” Sirius’ expression is teasing. “It’s rude to turn down an invitation from your guests. Isn’t it, Lord Chamberlain?”

Lord Chamberlain looks as though if Sirius proves that he knows his name another time he might be in danger of swooning.

“Yes,” he chokes out. His eyes when they meet yours are something akin to desperate. “Princess, it’s good form.”

You catch yourself chewing the inside of your lip, stopping as you look back to Sirius. You don’t think he would tattle on you for violating whatever atavistic rule requires you to dance with him, but Lord Bootlicker might.

“All right,” you say. Far less polite than society allows, you’re sure, but Sirius grins nonetheless.

“Excellent.” He takes your hand, leading you away. “Always a pleasure, Lord Chamberlain.”

The other man stands where you left him for a handful of moments, looking dazed, before beelining towards a server carrying refreshments.

“I don’t know any of the dances,” you hiss at Sirius as he guides you onto the floor. “I’m supposed to be staying away from here.”

“It’ll be fine,” he promises you, with the sort of confidence only a silver spoon can imbue. “If you just follow in the direction I lead you, your dress will cover up any missteps and I promise not to squeal if you step on my toes.”

You try to give him a droll look, but you can already feel it happening. You’re succumbing to his charms again.

There are only a few other partners around you, but here in the center of the room the noise seems even more overwhelming. Conversations overlap, laughter rings out, and music echoes off every wall in the large room. And just in front of you, still holding your hand, Sirius Black is watching you with his flagrant intensity. Even his eyes are too loud.

He leans close to your ear, breath fanning over your cheek. “Scoping out your dancing competency wasn’t really my aim,” he says. “I only wanted to get you close enough to have a conversation without shouting.”

You fear your thoughts must be bare in your expression. That afternoon in the sitting room was certainly memorable for you, but you were far from expecting Sirus to single you out afterwards. For all his talk about the novelty of you, he seems like the sort of person to have interesting interactions wherever he goes.

“Put your hand on my shoulder.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Sirius grins, and you realize your slip. No matter how the courtiers you’ve been assigned have drilled into you excuse me, sorry, pardon?, Sirius undoes all your practiced manners with ease.

“Your hand,” he says again, “goes on my shoulder.”

Just as you settle it tentatively atop of the faintly shiny material of his suit jacket, the music starts. Sirius places a sure hand on the small of your back and grins when you jolt.

“Easy,” he murmurs, taking your other hand and tugging you gently to the side. Everyone else steps that way too, and you let him lead you through the first steps of the dance. “I won’t bite. Not in front of your grandmother, anyway.”

You press your lips together to hold in a laugh, eyes finding your grandmother, the Queen, watching you from across the room. She’s smiling faintly, but the courtiers with her look less than pleased.

You swallow, turning your attention back towards Sirius. “They’re upset with me,” you say. It’s a relief to speak at a normal volume. You know your proximity means he’s the only one who can hear you. “I told you I’m not supposed to be dancing.”

“They’re not upset that you’re dancing, they’re upset you’re with me,” he replies easily. He guides you into a turn that curls you into him, his arm laying across your chest for just a moment before he turns you back out. “I have a bit of a repute.”

This, of all the things you’ve learned about Sirius Black, is the least surprising.

“So, you’re trying to ruin me, then?” you ask, half teasing.

Sirius grins sharp as a knife. He leans close. “Sweetheart, I want to ruin you in all sorts of ways. That’s just not one of them.”

Your momentary confidence drops right down to your stomach. If you thought you’d be able to play with Sirius and keep up, clearly you were wrong.

“We’re going to do a spin,” he warns breezily, saving you from any response. He lets go of your waist, holding your joined hands aloft and using them to guide you away from him and into a twirl.

Only, you go for it too quickly. You’re back in his arms while the other partners are still going through their slow turns. Sirius’ laughter barks out of him loud and sharp before he catches himself.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, resting your forehead on Sirius’ chest and shutting your eyes in mortification.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Sirius is still shaking with quiet laughter. His hand is friendly on the small of your back. “That was stunning. All the other ladies wish their skirts had fanned out the way yours just did.”

“Is skirt fanning really the object of the dance, though?”

“It’s eye-catching,” he maintains. You can hear the smile in his voice. “You can make anything lovely. Now stop hiding before one of your keepers has a stroke.”

You remove your face from his chest hastily. Your eyes flit to the courtier at the room’s edge before you return them to Sirius, cheeks burning.

His look softens. “Don’t fret, gorgeous, you’re not the only one who’s committed a faux-pas just now. That laugh earned me a proper glare from my mother. As soon as the dance is over, they’ll throw us into the dungeons together.”

“Well, at least it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to down there.” You bite down on a smile. Sirius, you’re beginning to notice, has a way of making all your worries about fitting into polite society feel silly. Nothing feels very serious when he’s around. Ironically enough. “Do we really have a dungeon?”

Another startled chuckle goes through him. This one is quiet enough not to raise any eyebrows, more’s the pity. “Not one currently in use. It’s a relic, with a door going out to the street so tours can go through.” He smiles, borderline sheepish. “I went on one when I was twelve.”

“You did?” You can’t stop the smile that leaps up on your face now. It shouldn’t be so easy to picture Sirius as a child, but it surprisingly is. A bit shorter and skinnier than he is now, skin and bones and night-black hair darting around and causing trouble. It’s an odd feeling to think that he explored your family’s palace long before you could, somehow both twinging and reassuring at once. “Is there a reason you’ve been here so often?”

Sirius looks genuinely surprised at that. “No one’s told you?” At your bemused look, he blinks, seeming to compose himself. His hand flattens on your back. You hadn’t realized he’d been gripping you. “Our families have been friends for literal centuries. My great-great-great-aunt was close with your great-great-whatever, and we’ve never let our claws out of each other.” He gives you a conspiratorial look, leaning closer. “I can’t attest to the relationship between the current ruling generations being quite so amicable, but we cling to each other nonetheless. Trade relations and all that. All that is to say,” he backs up, gifting you with a smile, “we really will be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Oh.” Your chest flutters with an unidentifiable feeling. You don’t know if you can handle seeing much more of Sirius Black. Every time you meet, it’s like he whittles away all your weeks of training and posture correction with a look. You’ll never make any progress if he’s constantly around to trip you up. “That’s nice.”

“You’re doing remarkably well,” he notes. You look up, for a moment worrying that he’s read your mind (he seems prone to doing that), but Sirius goes on. “I don’t know what you were talking about earlier, you’re a natural at this. My toes remain unsquished.” He gives you a secret smile. You return it wobbily. “There’s another spin coming up,” he says with a teasing glint in his eyes, “think you can handle it?”

Honestly? You think you’re already dizzy enough.

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