#blood n booze

[demonicnarwhale]

hi this has been in my comics folder for a while and yeahhhh some DD HB romance moment

[mistyorchid]

Meet-Cute

Old Man Logan x fem! reader

Summary: Failed talking stages inspire you to meet someone irl. Riding an older man in the backseat of his limo makes you forget about the immature boys who ghosted you on Hinge. Meet-Cute Ch. 2 Warnings: MDNI, 99.9% porn, no use of y/n, age gap, reader is 21+, fingering, riding, size difference, praise kink, pet names (doll, baby, sweet/good girl, sweetheart), unprotected p in v, light slapping, oral (male! receiving), creampie, car sex (nobody's around tho), logan's slutty glasses. wc: 3k

Hinge. The app designed to be deleted. You smiled as you pushed the cart, daydreaming about chucking your phone into the nearest lake. The few matches that you received often ghosted you after a week, afraid of committing to a real date.

So here you were, aimlessly strolling through a grocery store. Desperately begging the universe for a real man.

You spent an embarrassingly long time curating the perfect outfit to attract a guy worth your time. Casual enough for a quick errand, but still chic. I want to be with someone who admires my confidence. They shouldn't reprimand me for expressing myself.

That's how the feminist part of your brain explained your attire. The other touch-starved half, however, wanted to wear the shortest skirt you owned just to feel men stare holes through it.

You turned into the bakery aisle and pretended to evaluate the nutritional contents of a massive chocolate cake. Maybe this could be plan B, if tonight's endeavor was hopeless.

The comforting hum of fluorescent lights softened the sterile environment around you. Memories of simpler times floated in your mind. Handmade school lunches. Gentle kisses placed on your knee after a bad fall. You closed your eyes, lulled by the promises of love you were granted as a child. Now an adult, you yearned for a partner that could nurture you in a romantic way.

Logan overheard a bag of produce spill onto the floor as he picked up a shopping basket. The cashier dropped it when he saw Logan's blood-stained dress shirt.

Mumbling a string of profanity, he decided to release some steam. "Show's over!" he snapped, flippantly tossing his right arm behind him.

Ignoring the shocked gasps of the other shoppers, Logan sulked further into the store in search of something to soothe his palate.

His doctor tentatively ordered him to "lay off the booze," a suggestion that left three deep puncture wounds in the drywall of his office. Alcohol numbed the emotional and physical pain that plagued him, but it also further delayed his healing powers.

Logan's skeleton was withering away, and all he wanted was a fucking sweet treat.

Your body braced for impact as your chest made contact with a shopper haphazardly turning into the aisle. After dropping the cake onto the pristine white tile, you closed your eyes again, salvaging the moment of peace that was stolen from you.

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole." You reluctantly opened your eyes and were met with the solid torso of a man.

Slowly raking your gaze up his body, you raised your eyebrows at the sight of his bloody shirt before meeting his narrowed eyes.

Crows feet radiating from the corners. Prescription glasses. He appeared much older than you expected from your brief contact with his chest.

You silently cursed your luck. This meet-cute plan was steadily evolving into a meet-angry situation.

"Not smart to close your eyes in public," he huffed, staring pointedly at the fallen cake. It was hard not to notice your mini skirt. He hasn't seen a skirt that short since the 60s.

Although you had pulled away from him, the man's eyes lingered on your chest. The playful baby-doll top hugged your cleavage in all the right places. Your glossy lips donned a similar shade of pink. He quickly resumed eye contact, feeling like a dirty old man for imagining them wrapped around his cock.

She's too young, you sick fuck. Logan's internal monologue worked overtime to maintain a shred of decency.

Your face turned away from him at the impending embarrassment you were about to put yourself through. Smirking, you shyly retorted, "Not smart to stare at a girl's tits in public." You gently pushed up his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose.

Closing the gap between your chests, you tip-toed to reach his ear before whispering, "It's okay . . . I want you to."

The answer to Logan's suffering was sweeter than any slice of cake he could have indulged in. A pretty little thing was actually flirting with him, a cynical ex-soldier worn by the unforgiving rings of time.

Logan's hands found the back of your elbows and slowly pulled you closer to him. You gasped as you felt his belt buckle catch on the flimsy fabric of your top.

"Careful, doll," he grunted, leaning down to meet the side of your face. "I'm old enough to be your father."

You defiantly peered up at him through your lashes. "Yeah, and . . .?"

The man slowly distanced himself from you, gently tugging the hem of your top down to its original state.

Okay, definitely not the best response to seduce an older man. You chewed the inside of your cheek, stunned by your juvenile comeback.

"I'm sorry, kid. Forget I said anything," he muttered before turning into another aisle. He mentally kicked himself for letting the interaction go that far. Although his aching body and mind yearned for some relief, he wouldn't take advantage of some young girl.

He hurriedly stomped past the cashiers, swiping a few cigars from a distracted employee's station.

After the initial shock wore off, you quickly followed the older man to the parking lot. Totally not stalker-ish at all, right?

You wanted to take care of him. His reluctance to return your lust-sick gaze should have deterred you, but it only made you more desperate.

You watched as his hands dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. The chipper click of the limo doors unlocking motivated you to get his attention.

"Hey! Can we talk?" You yelled, raising an outstretched palm to stop him from getting inside the car.

Logan froze at the sound of your voice. He contemplated being responsible, slamming his door and driving off without a second glance.

The gentle pressure of your hand wrapping around his wrist made him think extremely irresponsible thoughts.

Turning around to meet your gaze, the older man swiftly opened the passenger door. "Get in. Now," he growled.

Words betrayed you. All you responded with was a surprised squeak as he used your grip on his wrist to push you further into the vehicle.

His eyes widened as you briefly parted your thighs to get settled in the lush leather seat. The sinfully short hem of your skirt bunched up, revealing your underwear.

Logan whipped his head to the front of the limo, avoiding the sight of your body. Unfortunately, he couldn't avoid how you felt against his. You sat at an angle towards him, knees pressing against his thigh. His body tensed as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Why were you following me, huh?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes. "I've had a long fuckin' day and I need answers." He couldn't believe that a young woman like you would be interested in him.

"Yeah, you're old enough to be my father, maybe older-" you paused to move your left hand onto his thigh. "-but I'm done playing with boys." You shyly turned your head before continuing, "Need a real man."

Logan was done holding back. Now, it all made sense. Your lack of direction in the store, the low cut of your outfit that was way too sexy for a late night grocery run. We're both adults, he reasoned. She wants this.

He gingerly cradled your jaw with his large hand, turning your head towards his. "You sure about this, sweetheart?

You covered his hand with your own, bringing your lips to his in a spontaneous kiss. "I-I need to hear you," he stuttered.

"Shut up and fuck me, . . . " you sighed, pausing to ask for his name.

"Logan . . . call me Logan, doll." His left hand snaked around your waist, bunching the delicate material and exposing your breasts.

As you leaned into his palm, he fished the limo keys out of his pocket and clicked twice, locking the doors. He fondled the underside of your tits before rolling the sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You were grateful for the tinted windows that shielded your embarrassing moans from the public.

"Already whining for me, hm? So fuckin' needy," he hummed, pushing up your top even further. You crossed your arms to undress, but Logan swatted them away, explaining, "It's cute. Wanna see your tits bounce for me, baby."

He gripped your ass with both hands and effortlessly swung you onto the broad expanse of his lap.

Your back arched as his rough palm cupped your pussy, thumb languidly tracing your sensitive bud through the cotton.

"But this . . . has to go," he drawled, tugging the elastic of your panties before letting it go with a faint snap.

It was too much. You were splayed over the lap of a stranger, hips wantonly rocking yourself over his prominent bulge and mewling as your sensitive clit caught on the rough fabric of his slacks.

He stilled your movements with his hands, lovingly kneading the flesh of your hips. "You okay with this?" he asked, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt. "Yeah, Logan . . . more than okay. Need you."

You loved that he was confident enough to take what he wanted but also gracious enough to check in, unlike the boys you were used to fucking around with.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your skirt and panties, skillfully pushing your legs against your chest as he pulled them off. He decided against slicing them off with his claws, not wanting to hurt you. "Fuck. You're so pretty. My sweet, sweet girl . . ." he cooed. You whined as your aching cunt was finally exposed to Logan's hungry gaze and the chill night air. He groaned as you resumed desecrating his lap with your juices.

Your breath hitched as Logan traced two fingers along your bottom lip. You granted him access, playfully darting your tongue around his digits.

After his fingers were thoroughly soaked, he used your saliva to gently trace your hole, noticing the faint flutter of your walls.

"Need me to fill you up, hm? Poor baby's clenching around nothing. Let me fix that . . ." Logan's palm brushed against your clit as his fingers plunged into you, setting a steady pace.

You were incredibly wet, but he needed to prep you for his thick cock. He drooled, collecting a heavy wad of spit onto his tongue before letting it fall onto your pussy.

"Ah-ah!" You exclaimed, surprised by the contact. You bit your lip, cheeks flushing at the lewd feeling of his spit mixing with your wetness.

He used his other hand to slap repeatedly against your puffy folds, mesmerized by how vulnerable you were being for him.

"Yeah, you like that?" He whispered, curling his fingers as they met your cervix. You covered your mouth, desperately trying to maintain some modesty. Logan withdrew his left hand to pry away your arm and swallow your moans, sloppily slotting his lips into yours.

You gasped into his mouth as you felt your cunt spasm around his fingers, gushing all over his tight slacks.

"Oh, fuck! Logan . . . " you mewled, biting his lower lip while he continued to finger you through your orgasm.

Your head fell into the inviting crook of his neck, nuzzling his graying beard. "Atta girl, come for me," he cooed.

Logan peered down at you, noticing wet droplets dampening his beard. You were silently crying, tears cascading down your puffy cheeks before landing on his face.

At first, he was alarmed. "Hey, hey, shhhh," he purred. "What's the matter, doll?"

His cock twitched when he realized you were smiling against his neck.

"Nothing's wrong, Logan . . . you make me feel so good, that's all."

He planted a sweet kiss on your forehead. "Yeah? Want me to make you feel even better? Fill you up for real this time?"

You nodded dumbly, still basking in the haze of your release.

"Nuh-uh. Words." The simple command made you rut into his lap.

You shuddered while responding. "Wanna feel you inside me. Need your-" Logan bucked up into you. "-cock."

He slid his hands under your thighs, briefly pushing you forward so he could unbuckle his belt. Your small hands slinked toward his waist. "Let me do it," you pleaded, hastily sliding his belt through its loops and tossing it to the floor.

You pulled his cock out of his slacks, leaning down to press sweet little kisses to the head. Your thighs burned with the effort, but it was worth it to feel him momentarily lose control. Logan hissed sharply, "Good girl, fuck-" before guiding his thick cock into your heavenly mouth.

You licked a prominent vein that teased its way above his waistband. The taste of him was utterly intoxicating. You moaned onto his length, choking back tears as he suddenly thrust up into your eager throat.

The delicious weight of his cock on your tongue was short-lived. He cupped your face, forcing your mouth to slide past the tip with an obscene pop.

"Won't last long if you keep doing that, doll. Takes a lot less to get me riled up these days," he explained.

You nodded as you straightened yourself, using your knees to hover above his lap. He teasingly ran the flushed tip of his cock through your folds before sinking into your weeping pussy.

"Oh my god! fuck-" you cried, lowering your hips to embrace his full length. Your hands found stability on Logan's shoulders as you bounced on his cock.

Logan stared in awe at your tits. They were practically spilling out the sides of your cute top, jiggling with each movement of your hips.

As he admired your form, you drunk in the sight of his coarse salt and pepper beard. His wiry glasses barely held onto the slope of his strong nose due to your eager movements. You paid special attention to his crimson-stained shirt, wondering how he was enduring the wounds.

"You're hurt." You stated, pausing to slowly unbutton his dress shirt.

Logan's hands grabbed a handful of your ass and slammed you down onto his lap, forcing you to continue taking his cock.

"Never said you could stop," he huffed. "It'll take time, but I'm healing."

You gasped as your clit hitched on the bunched fabric of his slacks, frantically shrugging off his shirt in the process. A devastating moan ripped from Logan's throat as you peppered kisses on his wounds. The coppery taste of his blood was oddly soothing, reminding you that the man buried in your cunt was real and not just a figment of your lust-fueled imagination.

Logan loved how dazed you looked, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, your pupils dilated and glossy. His cock twitched every time your soft tits brushed against his face. You whined as the steady rhythm of your hips faltered, hinting at your imminent release.

"Lean forward, baby. Let your old man take care of you," he sighed, wrapping his broad arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to slump forward, arching your back and playfully wiggling your ass in the air.

You yelped as he slapped your ass with enough force to feel the sting radiate from his outstretched palm. "Such a fuckin' tease," he growled, filling you up in one thrust. He set a punishing pace that made you sob into his chest. The loud squelches of your release echoed throughout the limo, mirroring your high-pitched wines.

"Oh, my god! . . ." you mewled, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. Your breath hitched every time his hips met yours, balls slapping against the sensitive skin of your ass.

He fucked up into your cunt, relishing the fact that you'd probably never had a cock as big as his. Logan stared at where you were connected, hypnotized by the subtle drag of your folds along his rugged length.

"Don't know what I did to deserve a pretty girl like you." His teeth tugged on the delicate strap of your top, exposing your breasts. His mouth enveloped the bud, gently sucking and pulling as they hardened.

"Logan . . . can't take it anymore. I'm close." You clenched around him, earning another hard slap on your ass.

"You gonna come for me sweetheart, hm?" He somehow increased his pace, hips drilling into your sensitive cunt. "C'mon, come all over my cock. Such a sweet young thing, so eager to please . . . " he hummed into your ear.

"And just so we're clear, I am definitely older than your father." His filthy words made you arch even higher, stilling your hips mid-air and allowing Logan to fuck you through your release.

The sound of you faintly chanting his name as you came sent him over the edge. "You can take it," he encouraged as your pathetic whines intermingled with his unabashed groans. His hips drove home, bouncing you harshly against his tense thighs and spilling into you with a low growl.

You almost blacked out at the feeling of his cum spurting into your walls, reaching even further when Logan buried his cock to the hilt. You clenched around him, overstimulated and thoroughly fucked.

"That's it, just relax . . . You look so pretty milking my cock," he praised, brushing stray hair away from your face.

You managed to sit upright and shakily moved to lift yourself off his cock, but Logan quickly steadied your hips. He's still hard, you realized, fascinated by his renewed vigor.

He panted, obviously just as spent as you were.

"So, uh, tomorrow, the Italian place on fifth street, 8 PM?"

You narrowed your eyes, incredibly confused at his choice of words after experiencing the best sex you've ever had.

"Our first date," he clarified. He kissed your cheek and you blushed at the contrast between the innocent action and the fact that his hard cock was still buried in your cunt. "After all, I'm a real man, right? And real men plan dates." He plastered on a cocky grin, repeating your earlier statements.

"Okay, old man. It's a date." You smiled, kissing his mouth with passion.

Ah!!! I had so much fun writing this. Old Man Logan, when will it be my turn >:[

[scatmaan]

the thing abt olav is hes so beautiful and has pretty lips but hes also gross and is always covered in at least 3 layers of filth and blood and his wives take turns holding him down to spray water on him

[flowersforbucky]

acquainted

bucky barnes x reader (undercover stripper reader x undercover bodyguard bucky)

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (male and female receiving), vaginal penetration, language, strip club setting, creepy dude being a piece of shit, violence and a brief mention of blood, protective/possessive bucky, reader is afab, no use of y/n, touch her and die trope, Bucky might have a slight lingerie kink... 18+ only!

word count: 3.3k

author's note: wow okay this kind of got away from me. this is probably the filthiest thing i've ever written. felt my heartbeat in my pussy while writing this. hope you enjoy!

The pulsating fuschia and lime green strobe lights illuminating the club had been making your eyes throb for the last three hours. EDM plays so loudly that you're surprised blood doesn't trickle down from your ears. Not to mention the suffocating combination of cheap perfume, body odor, cigars, and booze that permeates the air makes your empty stomach churn.

If you never step foot into another nightclub when this is all over, you'll consider yourself lucky. Not just any nightclub - one of New Orleans’ scummiest strip clubs.

Five goddamn nights of this operation and not a lick of progress.

Your objective was simple - obtain proof that the owner was operating a sex trafficking ring out of the club, and then call for the back-up squad parked a block away. So far, you had not been able to acquire any kind of definitive proof. No hints of anything shady going on behind the scenes, and you had yet to even see the owner make an appearance at any point since the mission began.

Everything seems as above board as a strip club can be.

One last night, you compromised with Fury. One last night and if it went as the last few have, you were done, and he owes you a few days of paid leave for putting you through this.

“If you don't stop picking at your garter belt, it's not going to have any sequins left.” Bucky's low voice murmurs through the communication device placed discreetly in your left ear.

“If you don't stop watching my every movement, you’re not going to have any unbroken toes left,” you threaten lightly, taking a sip of your drink - just a Shirley Temple, to keep up appearances. “Shoes like this could do a lot of damage.” You glance down at the pointy heels of the black velvet stilettos.

“Is that not my job?” he counters. You don't have to look over at where he's standing in the corner of the room to know he's smirking. “To not take my eyes off of you?”

“Then do your job. Watch me. You don't have to make comments on my sequins to do that.”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “I'll be over here, admiring your sequins from afar. You won't even know I'm here.” The com line clicks off before you can retort.

Except you absolutely would know that he's here. Just as you have the previous four nights of this mission - painfully aware that he's here, tracking your every movement in the skimpiest outfits you've worn in your life, doing the most provocative dances imaginable, and flirting with men that you wouldn't touch with ten foot long poles in real life, all while he keeps to the sidelines in case something were to go wrong.

Keeps to the sidelines and just watches you. Even when one of the dancers approached him to ask if he'd be interested in a private dance once he's off the clock on the first night on the job.

Even when there's gorgeous, topless women crawling on the stage and all but humping the pole in his direct line of sight.

He isn't here to look out for them, of course. He is here solely to keep you safe if things were to go sideways. But you had assumed you would have caught him sneaking glances at the dozen other women at least once by now.

It's almost your turn to go up on stage. You've performed a solo set every night so far, and you still feel every bit as nervous as you did the first time.

You enjoy dancing, actually. In the comfort of your own room, when listening to music alone. When you go out with friends, occasionally. When you took ballet lessons as a child. This, however, was leagues out of your comfort zone.

“The creep from a couple nights ago is back,” Bucky's voice is a strained whisper in your ear.

“Gonna have to narrow it down a bit for me, Barnes. You could be referring to at least half of the men in here right now.”

“Sitting in front of the stage, to the left,” he mumbles back. “He's wearing a red wife-beater–”

“See him,” you interrupt, your eyes zeroing in on the short, stout, beady-eyed fuck who had been thrown out of the club night before last. One of the other security guards on duty chucked him out when he repeatedly got too handsy with one of the girls who had been giving him a lap dance.

“Fantastic,” you huff under your breath, as you finish touching up your lipgloss and reapplying the iridescent baby pink body glitter across your chest. “Just in time for my dance.”

You get up from your seat at the bar and adjust your lace bustier and thong as the announcer calls your stage name.

“He won't lay a finger on you,” Bucky assures you as you're walking up the steps of the platform.

There's a weak round of applause and a few whistles as you take your place on the center of the small stage. You give a vague nod in the direction of the DJ’s booth to indicate you're ready for your song to begin.

An upbeat but sensuous synth-pop song pours out of the speakers throughout the room and you begin to sway your hips.

You're hyper-aware of the fact that you can see Bucky making his way closer to you, away from his position in the back of the room. He settles when he's just a few tables behind the man in the red wife-beater.

There's an eruption of butterflies in the pit of your belly at how close he is. Each night prior to this, he has kept to lingering around the exits and the far wall towards the back of the club. Now, he's close enough that you can actually see his eyes following every languid movement that your body makes around the pole.

“Take your fucking top off!” a grating voice bellows from the audience. “We want to see your tits.”

You don't have to look to know who the voice belongs to. You decide to ignore him, hoping he would stop if you didn't give him any attention. You go to wrap your thighs around the pole again, preparing to spin–

“Did you not fucking hear me?” he shouts even louder this time, audible to everyone over the roaring music. “I said take your fucking–”

A flash of movement in your peripheral vision causes you to freeze around the pole. You turn your full attention to the ruckus, just in time to see Bucky fisting the man's greasy, shoulder length hair and pulling his head back. The music comes to an abrupt pause.

“You don't fucking talk to her like that,” Bucky snarls. “In fact, you don't talk to her at all, you don't look at her, you don't even breathe the same fucking air as her.”

The man is thrashing around, trying and failing miserably to get out of Bucky's grasp.

“Let me go you fucking–”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Bucky snaps the man's head forward, sending his face crashing into the granite tabletop.

The instantaneous pool of blood that contrasts so starkly against the white stone snaps you out of your fear-stricken trance.

Bucky pulls his head back up, forcing the man to look up at him.

“It's not my fault she refuses to show off those perfect–”

You all but jump off the stage - miraculously not breaking an ankle in the six inch heels - and rush over to where Bucky still has the man's hair yanked into his fist.

Just as Bucky is beginning to shove the man's head downwards again, you place both of your hands on his chest, gently but effectively shoving him backwards. He immediately releases his grip on the man as the other few security guards on duty arrive to detain the pervert.

“Hey, hey,” you place your hands on his biceps, trying to turn his attention to you and away from the man who he's still glaring after, as he's hauled off by security. “I'm fine, yeah? Everything is fine,” you try to assure him, though you're not sure your shaky voice sounds very convincing. “He's just a creepy, entitled asshole.”

Noticing that Bucky is shaking beneath your touch, you rub your hands up and down his arms in hopes of calming him down.

He finally meets your gaze. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just stares at you as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Go get dressed,” he orders you calmly after a moment. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here.” You want to leave too badly to even think about objecting.

You make a beeline for the changing room, where you throw on a sweater and force your pants over your heels, not even bothering to change out of the lingerie and stilettos.

Bucky's waiting for you right outside the door as you sling your duffel bag across your shoulder.

“How mad do you think Fury will be that we are abandoning our positions?” you ask in a hushed tone as Bucky ushers you through the club, his metal arm wrapped around your waist.

“Not as mad as I am that he's had you doing this bullshit for no reason for almost a week now.”

You and Bucky exit the club as quickly as possible, ignoring the curious and confused stares of the other dancers and security guards. He guides you down the block, then through an alleyway where his motorcycle is parked in a heavy silence - other than the obnoxious clanking of your heels against the pavement.

Bucky straddles one leg over the seat of the bike, taking his place in the driver's position and then hands you the helmet.

“Wait,” you pause before putting it over your head. “I'm starving.” Your stomach growls, as if on cue. “Can we stop and get some take-out?”

He looks at you incredulously. “I just shattered that guy's nose and likely severely concussed him and then just dipped. Our cover is essentially blown, don't you think we should get back to the motel room and lay low until the morning?”

“There's a Chinese place open late just a few blocks from the motel–”

“If I say yes will you put on the helmet and get on the bike?”

Taking that as a win, you slide the helmet over your head and hop on behind him. You wrap your arms securely around his midsection in a tight hug and he takes off down Bourbon Street.

You spend the drive trying to ignore the thought that of all the times you've ridden on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, you don't remember him ever feeling so tense beneath your touch.

Half an hour later, you're lounging on the rickety motel bed, stuffing your face full of sweet and sour chicken and vegetable fried rice while Bucky fills Sam in on what happened over the phone.

He sits in one of the small chairs at the singular table in the corner of the room, his posture rigid. He answers all of Sam's questions with clipped, one-word responses as he massages his temple between his thumb and forefinger.

He hangs up the phone, refusing to meet your gaze. Instead, he pretends to be interested in the episode of Family Guy playing on the old motel TV.

“Your egg rolls are going to get soggy,” you tell him, pushing the to-go box across the mattress towards him.

“I don't have an appetite right now,” he says, picking up the box of food as he stands. You grab his bicep in your hand as he begins to walk past where you're sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,�� you say, stopping him. “Everything's okay. Really. Don't let that guy get to you–”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” He snaps, pulling his arm from your grasp. You sit back, too stunned by his reaction to know how to respond. You just stare after him as he crams his take-out box into the motel room's mini fridge.

“I shouldn't have reacted so harshly,” he says after a moment, still facing away from you. “I couldn't stop myself. He spoke to you that way, and I could have killed him and not thought twice about it. Probably would have if you hadn't intervened.”

He turns back to you. You're frozen in place.

“Do you know what that's like?” He asks, taking a step closer to you. “To feel like you aren't in control of your own body? To be so irrationally protective of someone that you'd kill for them without a second thought?”

You feel like all air has been stripped from your lungs. He's just inches away, staring down at you from where you sit on the edge of the mattress. The way he's looking at you makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

“Because that's what you do to me. That's how you make me feel.”

Heat pools between your legs.

“Come here,” you say - it sounds more like a question than a command.

He closes what little distance is left between the two of you, and pulls you up from the mattress by the tops of your arms so that your body is flush against his.

His mouth hovers over yours - not quite making contact, though you can feel his breath fan across your skin.

He takes his flesh hand and cups the side of your face with it, his thumb trailing across your bottom lip. His metal hand wanders down your back until it reaches the curve of your ass - grasping your cheek in a firm hold and squeezing until his touch borders between pleasure and pain.

“This is what I wanted to do to you every time I saw a man so much as glance in your direction in that club,” he whispers against your mouth. “I thought about bending you over the stage and making them watch me take you right then and there, but they didn't deserve to see that.”

“They aren't here to see us now,” you murmur as you bring your hand to cup the noticeable bulge of his jeans, eliciting a hiss from him. “So what are you going to do now?”

There's a dark grin spread across his face. He pushes you, softly but effectively, back down on the bed. You scout back a few inches on the mattress, and then bring one of your feet up to remove the stiletto heels that you'd completely forgotten to take off upon returning to the motel with your haul of Chinese food.

“Oh, no,” Bucky laughs lowly. “I want you to keep those on. I've grown to like those quite a bit.”

Your cheeks warm in both arousal and bashfulness. You begin to push your pants down your thighs as Bucky kneels on the ground and helps you maneuver the fabric around your shoes. The sweater that you threw over your bustier goes next.

You're left in the lingerie set that you wore at the club.

“Call me jealous,” Bucky sighs as he begins trailing sloppy kisses up the insides of your thighs. “Call me possessive, call me crazy..”

You lay back down against the scratchy comforter as Bucky gets closer and closer to where you're aching to have him the most.

“But I don't want anyone seeing you like this but me.”

He pulls the already soaked lace material of your thong to the side, exposing your cunt.

He licks up your center torturously slow, causing you to let out a sharp exhale. He repeats the motion, and then locks his lips around your clit. Your hands shoot to his hair, fisting your fingers through the short brunet strands.

He eats you until you're a mewling and squirming mess beneath him.

You come hard, clenching your thighs around his head and riding his face through your orgasm.

“Stand up,” you instruct him as soon as you can think semi-clearly.

He obeys without any hesitation. The warm glow of the singular lamp in the motel room highlights the way your slick coats the lower half of his face.

You get up on your hands and knees before him and he lets out an audible groan at the sight in front of him. He bends down enough to kiss you - cupping your face in both of his hands and tipping your head up to give him a better angle to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moan into the kiss - the ache between your thighs reappearing already.

He removes his hands from your face, unbuttoning his pants while still kissing you.

You pull away to help free his cock from the confines of his boxers. Your mouth waters at what's directly in front of you. He's impressively long and girthy, with a thick vein running up the side.

You pump him a few times in your hand, swirling your tongue around the pre-cum dripping from his slit. He's already putty in your hands - groaning above you and placing his metal hand around the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you.

After you've run your tongue up and down his length a few times, you spit on the tip of his cock and massage it over the entirety of his shaft before taking him as far into your mouth as you can in the first go. He throws his head back, moaning your name.

You feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag before pulling back.

He curses under his breath, nudging himself slowly back towards your throat again.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he praises and you moan around his dick. He gradually increases the speed at which he pumps himself into your mouth, obscene noises echoing off of the thin motel room walls.

When he pulls out, you feel drool running down your neck and mascara-tinted tears leaking from your eyes.

“You're so gorgeous like this for me,” he tells you, and despite knowing that you look thoroughly fucked out, you believe him. “Will you turn around?”

You do as he asks, turning around on your hands and knees. You lower your chest down to the bed so that your ass is angled upwards.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts under his breath. He grips your hips with both of his hands, yanking you to him. His erection juts against the cloth of your underwear.

He tugs them aside once more, giving him access to tease your slit with the head of his cock. You rock backwards, grinding against him. He brings his flesh hand around your stomach and reaches down to rub your clit as he begins to slowly fill you from behind.

He pauses for a moment once he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him before he starts fucking into you.

The combination of him slamming into you at such an intense angle and massaging you so perfectly has your climax building shamefully fast.

You grunt his name, bouncing your ass to meet his thrusts. “I'm gonna come,” you mewl, knowing he's on the verge of doing the same as his movements become uneven.

One, two, three more pumps and you can feel your pussy clenching around him as you come together.

You pull off of him, collapsing onto the bed and rolling onto your back. He crawls over you, propping himself up on his arms above you.

“You know,” he stares down at you, his eyes trailing to your breasts that are now spilling out of the black lace bustier. “As much as I hated every second of that mission, I do hope I might get to see you in some of these outfits again.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist!!!

[heirofnight]

meddling, pt. 4

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 4.6k - we have a lot of ground to cover with this one

summary: reader accompanies azriel to an event at the house of wind that rhys is hosting for the summer court. fluff, angst, and jealous (borderline murderous) azriel ensue.

also based around this request: would you consider writing a protective/jealous azriel? like maybe someone is getting a little too comfortable with his mate lol

a/n: so sorry for all of the slow-burn pining that has taken place thus far. i think you'll find that this part will make up for that. as always, pls leave feedback! hope you love it <3

read parts one, two, and three

rhysand was hosting a courtly event at the house of wind this evening. you weren't quite sure of the political details regarding the whole thing, but you'd deduced that tarquin would be visiting from the summer court after hearing various brief conversations that cropped up during meals.

such as the one that took place during dinner at the town house the night before.

"so, rhys, what exactly is the nature of this party we're hosting for summer?", cassian had asked, shoveling a spoonful of roasted vegetables into his mouth mid-sentence. a few droplets of the lemon & herb sauce had escaped his spoon, splattering against his bearded chin. you'd smiled at the sight, azriel hiding his own huff of laughter behind the rim of his wine glass.

rhys leveled his brother with a blank stare, shaking his head in mock disappointment at cassian's less than stellar table manners.

"it is not a party, cass," rhys drawled, sounding bored. "tarquin is visiting to discuss a few matters regarding the new treaty. however," rhys paused, taking his own sip of wine, "he's also bringing varian and cresseida," another pause, "and i believe - fifty others from his court," rhys finished, pushing his fingers into his temples.

cassian snorted, raising a dark eyebrow, "so - a party," he smirked, resting his elbows on the dark wooden table before him. "i propose we break out the expensive booze for the occasion," cass stated, attempting to use his most noble voice.

you met azriel's amused gaze from across the table, a dimpled smile spreading across his cheeks once you'd both locked eyes.

he shook his head in feigned exasperation at cassian's antics, and you'd nudged the toe of his boot with your own under the table, huffing a laugh.

"cassian, you will be on your best behavior," rhys stated, pointing a lithe finger in the war general's direction. "you're already on thin ice with summer - we need not encourage them to send more blood rubies our way," the high lord exhaled, stabbing a fork into his piece of roast.

you'd cleared your throat then, sitting up a bit straighter in your chair.

"am i allowed to join?", you'd asked. every head at the table lifted to look at you, surprised expressions on their faces. as comfortable as you'd become around the family, you still really only engaged with azriel on a consistent basis. and, as isolated as you'd been during your first few months residing at the house, no one truly expected you to willingly participate in this not-party.

your eyes darted from rhys' pleased expression over to azriel's honeyed gaze. he peered at you tenderly, with eyes that looked like hazel pools of pride.

he was, indeed, proud. proud that you'd spoken up, proud that you'd asked to join the rest of them for a gathering that would have otherwise made you feel the need to hide yourself away in your rooms only a few months ago.

"of course you can, sweet y/n," rhys said, voice oozing delight and charm.

your smile threatened to split your face in half, and you found azriel's eyes again. he nodded once, encouragingly. his own smile grew marginally, a dimple peeking through.

he tried his best to hide his budding fondness towards you around the rest of his family - especially cassian. his brother would never let him hear the end of it, otherwise. such busybodies, all of them. azriel was terrified of his family's meddling tendencies potentially spooking you in the opposite direction.

but, even with all of that being said, azriel couldn't help the words that spilled from his lips before he could stop them:

"uh -," he set his wine glass down gently - holding the stem between his fingers, swirling the liquid once, "you can accompany me, if you'd like to. if that would make you more comfortable," he said confidently, voice unwavering.

if his family had to witness him asking you to be his plus one to a formal party, the least he could do was sound like he wasn't nervous to do so. but, he was. he was very nervous.

however, the butterflies in his chest threatening to rip through his skin and flurry throughout the room only thrashed harder when he watched the way your eyes lit up at the offer.

your gaze flit around quickly, surveying everyone else's expressions - you were met with soft smiles as the family silently watched the sweet exchange. and then there was cassian, sporting a smug smirk as he pushed the food around on his plate.

you looked back to azriel, his expression soft, his fingers tapping quietly at the base of his wine glass.

"i would love to, az," you said graciously, and you sent another nudge to the toe of his boot with your own foot under the table - a 'thank you' said in a language that only the both of you spoke.

now, tonight, you were preparing for said event - having no idea what to expect. what you did know, though, was that you were attending it with azriel. a fact that definitely added a bit of pressure to the evening.

you knew that az would be a perfect gentleman, as he had been since you'd met him nearly eight months ago. but, you were developing very loud feelings for him - feelings that you were unable to shrink and contain in a quiet corner within your heart and mind any longer. they were boiling over, pushing and shoving to make themselves known.

and, honestly, if he didn't reciprocate those feelings, you weren't sure how you'd recover. this was not just some juvenile crush - azriel had helped mend together the pieces of you that were left jagged and splintered upon arriving in velaris. after your past, after the shattering pain you'd become used to, azriel had taken gentle hands and sanded away your abrasive edges.

you took a deep breath, studying your appearance in the floor-length mirror that was propped against your armoire. nuala and cerridwen had assisted you in getting ready for tonight, and honestly, you almost didn't recognize yourself.

your hair was set in long, elegant, loose curls down your back - the skin there exposed due to the gown you'd chosen. a black, silk, floor-length number that appeared as though tiny stars had been woven throughout the fabric. your makeup was beautiful - glowy and fresh. you looked happy. you looked like you belonged.

you were stunning, and you'd hoped your chosen ensemble would turn the head of the one male you couldn't stop thinking about.

little did you know, azriel hadn't been able to turn away from you since you'd arrived.

it was now half-past-seven, and you knew az would be knocking on your door soon to escort you downstairs for the party.

azriel shut his own bedroom door, waiting for the quiet click of the latch before descending down the hall to your chambers. he tugged on the left sleeve of his suit jacket, worrying over the fit of the formal clothing he'd chosen for the evening.

he stopped in front of your door, and opted to readjust his silver chain - a beautiful gift you'd given him only a month prior - to assure it laid correctly, before knocking. his wings twitched in anticipation, and he really hoped he wasn't over-dressed. he glanced down at his black dress shoes, his black slacks. he frowned, slipping a hand into his pocket to fidget with truth-teller nervously.

before his thoughts became too loud, too stifling, he heard your doorknob turn from the opposite side of the threshold.

and there you stood, in a dress that very well may have been sewn and stitched with the sole intention to bring him to his knees in front of you.

that, paired with your innocent eyes peering right up at him had azriel malfunctioning.

his mouth opened and closed several times as he took you in. open. close. open - you thought he may finally say something, but, alas, he closed it again.

while his mind was spinning, thrashing, screaming, his shadows had gone eerily still.

cauldron... boil me, was the only clear thought that he was able to translate from within the absolute stirring storm that was happening internally.

should he bow? he felt the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees and worship you like you had created him with your own hands.

speak, you fool, he commanded himself, realizing that the silence had stretched on for far too long.

"you-", he forced out, swallowing hard. "i am very lucky to have you on my arm this evening," he spoke, taking all of you in once more. you'd placed a dainty gold necklace around your neck, one that trailed right between your cleavage and down the front of your dress. azriel took that detail in now, his fingers twitching at the sight of it.

and you, well. you were struggling to keep your own composure from where you stood. this male in a suit was absolutely devastating. a suit that hugged his tall, muscular form so well, you'd wanted to personally thank the individual who tailored it.

the chain. your eyes snagged on the chain almost immediately. it sat against his bare clavicle, and that's when you'd realized that his chest was showing completely. he'd left the top three buttons of his black, silk dress shirt undone. his tan skin, marked with swirling illyrian ink, showing, and a chain?

you'd really hoped that cassian had convinced rhys to serve the expensive booze tonight. you were going to need it.

the party was progressing along, and after a few glasses of lavish wine, you'd felt loose enough to unabashedly enjoy yourself. azriel was doting, attentive. he'd provide you with a refilled glass every now and then without you even having to ask. he'd paraded you throughout the busy space with a chaste hand on your lower back - your exposed lower back. the feeling of his silver rings against your bare skin sent a bolt of lightening up your spine each time he guided you throughout the room. he'd gently check on you every now and then, asking how you were feeling, if you felt okay, if you needed anything.

and as the night further progressed, and more drinks were had, you found yourself leaning into his strong frame as you both mingled with various partygoers.

azriel had loosened up quite a bit himself - his own drinks allowing him to open up a bit more than usual. wide smiles were being thrown your way more frequently now, and his affectionate hands had found your body on several occasions as if they were acting on instinct.

he leaned into your ear, making sure his next words were only for you.

"you are stunning," he'd said in a gravelly voice, a single wing wrapping around your back as he spoke. he pulled back to take a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours in the process.

you'd blushed, face on fire. but, the alcohol had made you a bit bolder than normal, so you unabashedly placed a hand on his bare chest as you took your turn leaning into him.

"i was hoping you'd think so," you said, your voice smooth as the silk you were wearing. your eyes traveled along the expanse of his face. his long lashes, freckled nose, full lips. your gaze landed on that damned chain once again, and you trailed your tongue across your lips subconsciously.

azriel tracked the movement, his breath hitching at the sight of you. the wing wrapped around your back tugged you in a bit closer to his body, and you stumbled slightly in your heels before pressing your shoulder into his.

"i always think so," he whispered, matter-of-fact.

you paused with your wine glass halfway to your mouth, locking your clouded gaze with his own molten-honey eyes.

he stared back, unblinking. he felt as though his chest was going to cave in. you were ruining him in the best way possible. his slightly drunk mind was swimming in thoughts of you, and he did not care if he drowned right where he stood.

just then, a tendril of shadow darted to the shell of azriel's ear, whispering something that only he could hear. you watched his expression drop momentarily, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"i'll be right back, okay? rhys, he-," he started, huffing out an exhale. "just, i'll be right back," he swallowed, downing the rest of his glass in one go. he was clearly disappointed in the interruption of your intimate moment, a moment that really seemed like it may have ended with his lips on yours.

he went to turn around, his wings tucking in tight to his back in preparation of having to push through a crowd of people. he reached an arm back behind him, wrapping a scarred hand around your wrist. peering over his broad shoulder, he met your eyes.

"will you be okay?," he paused, searching your features for any sign of discomfort at the prospect of being left alone.

you smiled, nodding once, "i'll be at the refreshments table - i need a refill," you offered, nodding your chin towards the large, extravagant spread at the other end of the room.

he nodded, offering you a dimpled smile.

"i won't be long, promise," he said, squeezing your wrist gently in a reassuring gesture.

you watched as he disappeared into the crowd, only the apex of his wings peeking over the heads of party-goers.

you loosed out a breath, making your own trek to the opposite end of the room with the sole purpose of refilling your glass.

you stood next to the exorbitant spread of food and drinks placed around the massive refreshments table, taking everything in with your back to the crowd. you were lost in thought about how much effort rhys put into this entire evening, how detail-oriented he was in his planning, when you felt a warm hand on your bare shoulder.

a hand that you knew was not azriel's.

you peered over your shoulder hesitantly, immediately feeling nerves flood your chest and stomach. you knew almost no one here tonight, aside from azriel and the inner circle - the amount of guests from summer out-populated your small group in excess.

and sure enough, your eyes met those of a summer court male, his orbs twinkling as he took in your appearance appreciatively. he made no effort to hide the way that his gaze raked over your form from head-to-toe, his eyes traveling all the way down to your heeled feet before they snapped back up to your face.

"well," he crooned, "i knew rhys hid away the good liquor, but i had no idea that he was in favor of hiding beautiful females, too," he purred, stepping a fraction closer to you. you turned to face him completely now, arms crossing over your chest to hide yourself from his wondering eyes.

"what's your name?," he continued, pausing to sip his drink, "and more importantly, where have you been?", his eyes sparkled, pure male confidence oozing from every pore on his body.

you opened your mouth, eyes flitting around the room to plot a potential escape route. you were not comfortable. not at all.

az, please come back, come back, come back, you chanted silently, your eyes dancing around the room quickly in hopes of spotting the tips of his wings amongst the large crowd. he knew that you'd be here - in this general area. surely, he'd come straight here to find you. right?

the male before you tutted quietly, grasping your chin with his thumb and pointer fingers to turn your head back towards him, wanting your full attention. he was also wearing rings, but his jewelry didn't have the same gut-twisting affect on you as azriel's had. no, your gut twisted now for a completely different reason.

"eyes on me, little one," he cooed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. you bristled, internally recoiling at his touch, at the term of endearment he'd bestowed on you.

the summer male's hand went to your shoulder, his fingers grazing the skin as they traveled down your bare arm.

"be careful," you heard a familiar voice snarl from beside you. his tone was cold, rough, and left no room for discussion.

azriel.

the male before you dropped your gaze immediately, standing up straighter in az's newfound presence. he dropped his hand back to his side, his fingers twitching as he stepped back from you - curiously eyeing azriel instead.

"ah, the shadowsinger," the man said, attempting to sound far more confident and at-ease than he obviously was. "to what do i owe the pleasure?," the summer male continued, swishing the wine around in his glass.

you didn't miss the way his eyes flashed with unease, and you almost let a smirk form at the sight. you glanced over at azriel, his shadows now swirling around him in agitation. his honey eyes, normally flooded with so much soft, affectionate warmth when settled on you, were now hard, narrowed, and full of ice. this was the feared shadowsinger of the night court - a side of him you had yet to see.

"you'd be wise to walk away," azriel started, his voice sharp. his hand found your lower back, much like it had the entire evening. except this time, it felt claiming, possessive. the cold metal of his rings were a nice reprieve from how warm your skin had become due to this entire interaction.

the male faltered for a moment, but he tried his best to glom onto the last fragment of dignity he had left. "now, now, azriel. there's no need to cause a scene over a female," he spat the word as if he were disgusted by it, and you felt azriel's hand twitch against your skin.

"i've caused a scene for far less," azriel deadpanned, voice lathered in irritation, "and mind how you address her," he continued, "i'd love nothing more than to personally deliver the hand that you used to touch her right back to tarquin's front gates," azriel's deep voice was death personified, and the summer male before you was smart to heed the warning. he exhaled a clipped breath before turning on his heel - striding away into the crowd and out of sight.

azriel let a low growl rumble deep within his chest as he kept his eyes locked on the retreating male, his eyes narrowed. he only allowed his gaze to find yours once he was sure you were both safe from his lingering presence.

you turned your body toward his, azriel's hand still splayed across your lower back. you had no idea what to say, where to start. there were too many emotions to sort through, too many feelings to give names to - and the liquor circulating through your veins wasn't helping, either.

he watched your expression carefully, his eyes softening - the way they always did once he'd sought you out. he rubbed your lower back affectionately, his pointer finger tracing small shapes across your skin.

"sorry," he finally muttered, his eyes searching your own, trying to gauge how you were feeling. he'd never wanted you to see that side of him - that cruel side of him that was able to inflict unimaginable pain and suffering onto the unfortunate soul at the other end of his blade. he didn't want you to run in the opposite direction, although he wouldn't blame you if you did.

after all, as someone who was so used to being shrouded by darkness and shadows, he'd come to believe that he didn't deserve to sunbathe in the light. and that's what you were - a blinding, all-compassing, warm beam of radiance.

his reaction to the summer male was instinctual, second-nature. and that particular reaction was azriel grasping onto every ounce of restraint that he could muster. his knee-jerk urge involved putting the knife in his pocket to good use.

"sorry?," you questioned, brows furrowing. "azriel, for what?", you continued, stepping closer to him, every instinct in your body compelling you to comfort him, to smooth out the concerned lines that had formed between his brows. to wash away the ashamed look that was threatening to flood his amber eyes.

"that-," he sighed, clearing his throat, "i shouldn't have acted that way," he finished, reaching up to absentmindedly run his fingertips across the chain that hung around his neck.

you tilted your head to the side curiously, "i'm glad that you did," you confided, "he made me horribly uncomfortable," and azriel bristled once more at the notion, at the idea of another male intruding on your personal space - going as far as to touch you.

his nostrils flared, and you offered him a comforting smile, wanting so badly to calm him down. you tipped your chin towards the outdoor balcony, resting a hand on his upper arm.

"i'm in the mood for some fresh air," you spoke, stepping around the side of his body to begin leading the way to the large glass doors that led outside. "join me?", you met his gaze hopefully, and azriel wondered if you knew that he would never say no to anything that you asked of him.

he nodded once, his hand still firmly splayed across your lower back. he followed you through the crowd and took his place beside you once more as you approached the balcony railing.

you stayed silent, peering up at the twinkling stars that blanketed the night sky. azriel glanced over at you, both of his hands now taking purchase on the railing.

your mirrored his actions, resting your own hands next to his as you leaned over slightly to take in the sight of velaris below - mesmerized by the smoking chimneys, the bright lights of the rainbow, and the sidra that flowed amongst it all.

"so beautiful," you whispered to yourself, awestruck by the picturesque view spread out before the two of you. it was so extravagant, a living, breathing work of art.

azriel swallowed, his eyes boring into the side of your face. he nodded once, "beautiful," he agreed on a breath, but he wasn't referring to the same view that you were.

the starlit sky perfectly matched the dress that looked as though it was poured over your body, and azriel didn't have much composure nor restraint left in him. not after the last few months, not after he'd seen you in his clothing, not after the affectionate glances and nervous touches shared between the both of you in a room full of others that had no clue, not after sitting across from you for dinner each night - where he'd started looking forward to your little foot nudging his own beneath the table, and not when another male had just tried to sweep you away from him.

his wings flared momentarily, the action allowing him to release some tension before they settled proudly against his back once again.

he stared at you for a moment longer, before touching that chain around his neck one last time - grounding him, giving him courage.

"y/n," he whispered, his large right hand lifting from the railing momentarily - before gently placing it right on top of your much smaller, softer one.

you looked over at him then, expectantly. you were so beautiful. so soft, so elegant, so perfect.

"i'm going to kiss you. do you think that would be alright?", he asked on softly, taking a deep breath of crisp evening air.

your eyes widened, and you blinked. your cheeks turned the sweetest shade of pink as your processed his question.

you felt frozen - of course that would be alright. you'd daydreamed about this moment for months. how his lips would feel, taste, how they'd move. would he be rough, gentle, would he use his tongue to explore your mouth? where would his hands go, where would your hands go? what if you were bad at-

just kiss him already, you scolded yourself, and before you could allow your nerves to take over, you nodded eagerly, a bashful smile creeping across your rosy features.

azriel exhaled a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding, had almost convinced himself that he'd been rejected. he wouldn't have been wholly surprised, but still - it would have been agonizing all the same.

he stepped closer to you, his gentle fingers splaying across the left side of your jaw. as he angled your face upwards towards his, he allowed his thumb to caress the skin of your cheek, smiling at the warmth he felt from your perpetual blush.

"i've been thinking about this for so long," he whispered, ghosting his lips across your own. he shuddered at the feeling, the contact.

finally, he thought to himself.

you nodded, placing a hand on his bare chest.

"me too," you whispered back, nuzzling the tip of your nose against his. his other hand gripped your waist at the action, squeezing once.

and upon hearing your reciprocated want, azriel surged forward, his lips finding yours immediately, as if he'd done this for centuries. it wasn't rough, but it definitely wasn't gentle. you could feel months of repressed want flowing through the both of you, clashing where your lips met. exploding into fireworks and stars, creating vibrant new galaxies at the contact.

he squeezed your waist once more, feeling the fabric of your dress between his fingers. a soft groan trickled up his throat and directly into your mouth, and you almost burst into flames at the sound.

your hand slowly slid upward, caressing the bare skin of his chest before gripping his chain into your fist. and of course, this sent thoughts that were far from innocent cascading into azriel's muddled brain. he pulled back from the kiss, only a fraction, and his knees almost buckled beneath him when you chased his swollen lips with your own.

he leaned into you, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth gently, and you let out a reactive whimper at the feeling. his head was swimming, and as much as azriel prided himself on being a gentleman, you were eliciting feelings that were too overwhelming, too much. his instincts were screaming at him to lie you down, spread you across his mattress, really show you how much you made him feel.

he pulled you against him, his wings wrapping around the both of you - to shield you from sight, to keep you warm, to bring you closer.

his lips met yours again, and his hands traveled from your waist, back up to your jaw, holding your face between his hands as if he were granted the honor of holding the most precious jewel ever discovered.

he supposed, in that moment, he was.

finally, he pulled away, placing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. he brushed loose strands of your hair behind your ears, smiling fondly at you.

"gods," he whispered, catching his breath. "you are such a dream," he finished, taking all of you in hungrily. he would never be satiated enough, not now that he's finally tasted you.

you sucked your lower lip into your mouth, still tasting him there, and his pupils dilated at the action.

smiling, you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the clasp of his chain, "speaking of dreams," you mused, "i've been dreaming of this for a very, very long time," you smiled, playing with the cluster of curls at the nape of his neck.

"well, i hope i didn't disappoint," he teased, his hands finding your waist once more, fingertips grazing the exposed skin of your back.

you huffed out a laugh, resting your forehead against his bare chest, "you know," you started, tone laced with mock contemplation, "i wasn't able to really tell," you glanced up at him with a smirk.

azriel cocked an eyebrow, smirking down at you knowingly.

"i think we should try again, just to be sure," you quipped.

azriel laughed, a beautiful, melodic sound.

you didn't have to tell him twice.

a/n: FINALLY. i've heard all of your pleas, ok. here is the long awaited KISS <3 i hope i did it justice. pls leave feedback! this took me so long to execute properly, and i truly hope you loved it. my heart is a puddle on the floor !!!

tag list: @stressed-reader @vhjlucky13 @scarsandallaz @victory-salads @weirdo-fun @topaz125 @mrsjna @lovegoodlunaa @lilah-asteria @andreperez11 @luna9876 @kennedy-brooke @coolepowersthings @saltedcoffeescotch @99sunflower99 @nikt-wazny-y @rose-girls-world @mariacbzs @jesskidding3

[lunartulips]

𝐴𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅 𝐴𝑆 𝐴 𝐵𝑂𝑌𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑁𝐷 { 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑂𝑁𝑆 }

⇣

Very loving lover. To say the least. Probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him since he’s been in hell

Alastor would greet you in the morning with a big smile

“Good morning! It’s absolutely deadly in hell isn’t it?” Or if you walk in and see him eating then he’ll offer you a plate. Even if it’s a dead deer.

“You look well-rested, care for some deer?”

Since he’s the radio demon and feared by many he’ll make sure that you’re protected at all cost. Even bribing Husker to watch over you when he can’t, with booze of course

“Do take care of them I’ll be stepping out for a moment”

“Yeah yeah, got it now go”

Compliments I feel are a must. He’ll say compliments during the day or randomly. Smiling and looking straight at you when he does.

“My, don’t you look breathtaking today-!”

Flirting, probably would or won’t. When he does he’ll be a gentleman when he speaks. Holding your hand and adding a gentle kiss when he’s done, very like him. In a low tone voice to feel flirtatious

“My my, what a darling demon we have here~”

“Acting shy now? How adorable”

Alastor would be very protective and wouldn’t hesitate to tear a few limps off to protect you. Since he’s so gruesome with handling ‘enemies’ he’ll probably distract you from seeing such things with your own eyes. Or hold you close to his chest as he unleashed his wrath on another

“Hm? Oh don’t worry at all-! I’m simply ℒℰᎯᏉℐℕᎶ Ꭿ ℳℰЅЅᎯᎶℰ….”

“Don’t worry, how about some dinner hm? I’ll let you wait inside-!”

Very cute nicknames for you. Like darling, dearest, and honey. Alastor will call out to you using those names to find you, even in front of everyone, had no shame or embarrassment about it

Even outside of the hotel when he takes walks

“Ah-! There you are darling-!”

Oh boy….when this demon is jealous it’s every sinner for themselves. With you he’ll do his best to hold back so he wouldn’t scare or hurt you. Of course everyone else from the hotel will be staring and just watch. Charlie would probably try to calm him down before more heads roll. But Angel Dust would probably edge him on.

“Uh, Alastor? Please calm yourself please?”

“No! Keep going! So them who Y/N’s lover!”

There’ll be lots of blood and destruction when he’s jealous but of course he’ll won’t immediately go to violence when he’s jealous. Alastor can also stay close to you and place a protective hand either on your shoulder or around your waist. And would just give them eyes of death to the demon or person who dares talk to you in front of him

Dates would be very causal. Either meat dinners or hanging out with him listening to the radio

Love Language would be Quality time <3

Walks around the city in the wrath ring or joining him in his recoding studio when he’s on the air. When you work in the Hazbin Hotel he’ll pop in to checkup on you. And, when needed, he’ll help you in any way he can. He’ll make sure that you to have lots of time together both during work hours and when you clock out.

“You look like your struggling with this, allow me my dear-!”

Holding hands will be included with this relationship, along with him smiling a lot both at you and in general. Like the gentlemen he is he’ll make sure that your smiling with him.

“You’re never fully dressed without a smile~”

Alastor would be a very interesting demon to date with. Protective and old fashioned. Always smiling and would hum songs to you when you’re stress

Not only that. He’ll make sure you will avoid the three V’s/Vees. Especially Vox. If that does happen or you accidentally cross paths make sure you have a pair of sunglasses and stay behind a strong building before things get very ugly well quick unless you want to see such horrific scenes

But if that doesn’t happen then all things should be float

𝐴𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅 𝐴𝑆 𝐴 𝐵𝑂𝑌𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑁𝐷 { 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑂𝑁𝑆 }

written by Lunartulips ☾ & ✿

[motherofagony]

FIRE WALK - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.

New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.

That’s what the news says.

August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn. 

It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.

Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.

You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.

There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.

He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.

You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink. 

He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.

And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.

You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.

He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem. 

You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.

If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.

You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.

But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.

And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.

“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Yeah fuckin’ right.

He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks. 

You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.

Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.

The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.

You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!

A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck. 

There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.

“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”

“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.

That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.

“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.

Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.

Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!

You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.

You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.

You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.

But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

So you don’t.

You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that. 

The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.

Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.

Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.

You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.

It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.

When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.

“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”

You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.

His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.

The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.

It irritates you, and you can’t say why.

The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.

“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.

He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”

You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.

“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.

—

Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.

Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.

You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.

Your breath hitches on a soft swear.

When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.

It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water. 

“Um… thanks?”

“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.

“Listen, uh —”

He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.

Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.

You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.

“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”

This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.

“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.

“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”

You smile. Typically, yes.

“Joel.”

His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash. 

And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.

—

You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.

You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.

Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.

Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.

Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.

Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.

You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.  

You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no. 

Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.

You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.

He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.

You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.

He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.

“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.

You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.

It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.

But you’re so tired.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”

“You got enough time for that?”

And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.

You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.

He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.

When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.

He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.

You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.

Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.

“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.

There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.

He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.

Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you. 

Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?

Isn’t there a catch?

He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.

His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.

He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.

Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven. 

You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.

“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.

Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.

You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.

You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.

He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.

“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.

You feel that little pull at your navel.

And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.

When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.

It’s fucking filthy.

Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you. 

There was always a little gold for contorting your body.

He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.

You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it. 

When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control. 

It’s new, different.

But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.

“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”

Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.

“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”

Oh.

He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.

He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.

Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.

He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.

“This alright?”

You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.

“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”

You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.

“Yes. Fuck.”

That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.

He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.

It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove. 

You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.

It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.

The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.

Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.

He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.

When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.

At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.

It’s all too much, too pure to be real.

Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.

You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see. 

He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.

You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.

If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.

And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.

—

The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.

Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.

“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.

More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.

You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.

Fuck.

You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.

But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.

Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.

Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.

There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.

The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”

Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.

He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.

Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.

It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.

“The hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.

He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.

There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.

“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.” 

He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.

A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.

Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.

He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.

You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.

You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.

Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.

You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.

But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.

He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

He tells you to never say sorry to him again.

—

Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.

You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.

You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.

Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.

You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.

He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.

He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.

There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.

At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.

Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.  

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.

Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.

Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit. 

The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust. 

Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.

But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you. 

They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.

And they’ll stay through every season.

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ SPARKSTONE

tw. blood kink, noncon, pain play, lashing/whipping, toji’s foul n mean, degradation, prostitution, daddy kink, kinda size kink as always w me heheghe wordcount. 4.6k

a/n. thank you a million to the loveliest friends who always keep me goin when i'm having a hard timEEE rhi, wil and dymmiEE thanK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR betaing ily so much ♡ i hope i did the big man justice he is so yucky n i love it,, also extra shOutout n love dym bc she gave me the vision i saw i came i had to have it so !! iLY ILY ILY

fushiguro toji x fem!reader

If you know one thing from your years hiding in the shadows of the more powerful, it’s that danger has a taste. It sticks to your skin, longing for an opening. And tightens around your organs as you swallow it down, setting your hairs on end. Instinctually, humans know danger when they sense it, and by that same measure, they’re usually smart enough to hide before they get found. You might be simple prey in the eyes of the strong, but you hate the feeling deeply, and avoid it where you can.

You’re always aware of eyes that trail you, and you can smell it in the air.

The burgundy walls and nice chandelier bloom like a flower when it gets dark out. It fits the business. Like moths to a flame, that warmth lures men with a promise of a warm body and expert secrecy, and usually that’s plenty. Luckily for you, most of them leave before their wives start to wonder, which means you don’t have to deal with the drunk and impatient by the time you come in for a shift by early morning. Your days are easy, if you pretend you don’t know what types of people stumble home from their rooms in the seedier back of the building. Smelling of booze and body fluids and most of all, sex. That’s how it is.

Sorcerers are people too, by your cousin’s words. He’s not wrong. By the types of people that come in and out of the doors day and night, he made a smart investment starting this place a few years ago, and you’re grateful to get to work here. There’s no place for small-fry cursed energy users out in the daylight— and you’re not exactly dying to lay your life down for others in the first place. It’s this, or even less savory jobs for those people like you, who see things that others don’t. You’re more than happy with a simple life sitting behind the front desk, and going home to crash before the grosser individuals have a chance to harass you.

Which is why your skin itches a bit when the soft cling of the bell sounds so late it’s early. You’ve barely had enough time to open the doors. For not the first time, there’s a soft buzz of a warning sign that greets you as you sigh. Isn’t 5 in the morning a little early for even the more degenerate types? You get up to hang your jacket in the back room as you hear heavy steps make it into the foyer, and swallow. The slight pulling of cold under your skin has your lips pressed tight, swallowing. They don’t ring the bell, don’t yell or break things, don’t even talk. But they also don’t turn to leave.

So you smooth your hands down your pants, and eventually walk back to your spot behind the counter. It’s still dark out, still has the uncomfortable pressure that lingers as you cast a quick glance around the room.

And all you see is eyes that pull a cold shiver up your spine so quick it freezes you in place. The dark figure is splayed out with his arms over one of the couches, but those sharp eyes don’t move an inch from you when you meet them. Narrowed in their cold, metal blue darkness, and all-consuming. The man is not young, not old - but definitely older than you, scarred and quiet, and you can’t help it- when that foul, dangerous taste wells up in your mouth in the form of saliva.

After only a few seconds, you grab the phone and ring a number one, taking it off the horn for your own safety. It rings as the man gets up with a sigh and walks towards you, only leaving the space of the desk between you two. There's a soft mumble on the other side of the call, but because the horn is pressed to your desk, you can’t make out exactly what’s said before the customer - you assume he’s a customer, judging by the foul sort of stench of death that follows him around - clears his voice.

Only a sorcerer can have that sort of smell, and no sorcerer would enter here if not out for one thing. You don’t normally do intake, you realize as your hand trembles just slightly. You leave the horn of the phone for a pen instead, and try to rid your throat of the thick block that pushes on your windpipe. “Welcome. How can I help you?”

The man’s hair is messy, lazy, much like his clothing is; and he takes a moment to look around before his eyes flick to the stack of notes before you, the phone, and then you again. “Ah, uhm. Are there rooms open this late? Or early, I guess.” He ends up saying, a bored sort of lilt to his deep voice. You can’t even meet his eyes, but you can feel the painfully intense stare that doesn’t move from you again as you put on your best smile.

“There- should be, yes. Hmm, let’s see. Do you have a preferred girl you’d like to see here today?” Your hand only stops shaking when you press the tip of the pen to paper, if only to give your hand something to do as you quickly flick between the pages of the book.

“Not really.” He runs his hand under his nose, before leaning both forearms onto the desk and invading your space too much. You barely resist the urge to jerk back entirely, and feel the heat travel between you two. See, you were never able to fight curses. But you did always have a good nose, and his presence is like maggots crawling around under your skin. It’s unbearable. Your lids flutter as you stop flicking, and just focus on not throwing up entirely. Every part of him stinks of rot, oozing danger enough to suffocate you.

You simply pick one of the names at random, and start digging through the shelf for the correct key as fast as you can. Your heart hammers in your chest like that of a hummingbird, and is almost loud enough to keep you from hearing him when he speaks again. You can’t quite bear to meet his gaze, but one look up at his mouth reveals a tiny sort of curl to his lips that’s just as upsetting as the stench that swirls around the room. Everything feels wrong, and you want to stop yourself from hurling your guts out over the table. The man taps his finger on the counter a few times. “Are you new?”

Your head shakes faster than you can think about the answer. It wouldn’t be of any use lying anyway. For some reason, you feel like he’d be able to see right through you. When you finally find the right key, you feel like a weight lifts from your chest, and you slide it across the stone towards him. “I always work the morning shift, I don’t do nights.”

“Hm.” He doesn’t need to say anything else. Only when you slide the paper form across the table too,  do you notice the call has disconnected - you’re not sure for how long - and you manage to force your eyes up to face him for just long enough not to seem impolite. But your blood still feels uncomfortable and itchy, even when he slowly picks up the pen and starts writing his name down at the top of the form. After a few seconds, he clicks the pen to his chin, and looks down at you with a coy smile as he straightens up. “Actually, what about you? You’re a skittish, little thing, and I have a bit of a hunger for something light and fresh today— I had the longest night ever.”

His scar pulls when the smile gets a bit more predatory, and you feel pinned in place like an insect under a magnifying glass when he aims the pen at you. “Looks like you’re a good listener, sweet girl.”

“I- I-” you start, stepping back until your back hits the wall and even then, there’s not nearly enough space between you and him, “I just work as a receptionist. I don’t do-” You might puke after all. Those eyes only seem to get wider when your bottom lip wobbles, and you feel the sick sense of glee he gets rather than see it. You don’t think -no, you know- you couldn’t take him in a fight, but still your fists ball up tight.

The lift dings though, to your relief, and a familiar face rushes out to give you an up and down. Your cousin’s got a bed head, deep grooves under his eyes as he jogs up beside you. “What the hell, you’re fine! When you didn’t respond on the phone I thought something might’ve happened to you.” You can’t say anything back, but you’re so glad to see him your mouth drops open and a little whimper comes out of your throat despite yourself. The young man frowns, before glancing to his side and - pauses. You can’t exactly place the expression he gets, but he must feel what you’re still feeling laced in the air, because he blinks a few times before taking a step back. “What’s this?”

“I was just telling him I’m- o-only a front desk worker,” you start, shuffling uncomfortably when those steely eyes find your body, giving you an awfully unsubtle once over. Pig. He doesn’t even bother to hide the way he’s undressing you with his eyes. Your cousin thankfully hums in agreement, and crosses his arms over his chest. “So-”

The brazen noiret doesn’t hesitate to nod though. And the confident tone from earlier doesn’t waver a bit. It’s like he’s barely inconvenienced by your statement at all. Like you’re playing hard to get. You’re not. "That's fine by me. But I’m going to be the exception.” Under his sloppy clothing, there’s no doubt he’s fit. He’s tall, and obviously wired with thick muscle that makes his shirt cling to his biceps, even more when he crosses over the furniture to reach a hand out to you, and make your shivers so much worse. “Come, little deer. I’m gonna have some fun with you.”

Your cousin places a hand on the other man’s shoulder though. “She’s not that kind of employee, sir. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, or else-”

“Or else what?” You swear you can feel a pin drop when his eyes finally move away from you, now at the other man. Your heart still beats wildly. “How about this, huh. You let me play with your little friend here, and I’ll decide not to kill you, her and then everyone in here for making my long night even longer.” He doesn’t even have to straighten up for you to feel like he means it. Even without flashing a weapon, or pulling out some fancy cursed technique, do you feel the increase in thick waves of tension; drowning you in that same, rotting stench of incoming disaster. You can’t ignore it, can’t do anything but gasp shallow, little breaths when he does round on your family, squaring up to him.

Though they’re both about as tall, the stranger’s built like a brick wall. He must know that, because he laughs. “I’ll be very nice to her, don’t worry.” His eyes tell everyone daring to take a peek that he doesn’t mean it, but at least you don’t flinch when he looks at you this time. Ah, that’s right. You really do hate sorcerers. The black haired man walks past to come grab your arm, and tosses the key you provided him earlier high into the air before catching it. It instantly is too tight, and hurts. You plant your heels into the floor, hang back with your whole body. You want to scream. Your other hand claws at his strong palm -wrung like a vice around your wrist- and you start to whimper.

“N-wait, let me go. I don’t work here like that, I- leave me alone, let me go!” You get pulled along anyway, like you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum; he yanks you with barely any effort and sends you stumbling behind him. “No, I don’t want- aniki! Aniki, tell him- I’m not- I’m not for sale.” Hair whips around as you try to plead with the man left standing in the lobby, but though he looks guilt-stricken and apologetic, he doesn’t move from his spot. You don’t have a say in the way the man dressed in all black drags you behind, even when you try to make yourself dead weight and stop him. “No, no, no, wait, please! Kou aniki! Kou~ help me!”

You get it.

“Let me go! Let me go, pl-please! Hck.” Your voice breaks when wetness spills down to your hot cheeks. Really, you do get it. But the lamb still spooks when presented with the gun, even if it doesn’t run.

You’re sat on the edge of the bed as tears run down your cheeks and drip off your nose.

You can’t imagine it makes for a very appealing sight, but whether it’s indifference or sexual gratification, it’s clear your grief doesn’t matter to him. Toji, he said his name is, but you only know that ‘so you can cry it later’. It makes you sick - the sight of him makes you want to dig your nails into your own palms until you bleed. This is how it is for the weak everywhere, right? Sit and wait to die. As the cold embraces your body again, you sniffle, but wipe the tears away. You’re not a fan of waiting.

If he’s going to do it, better do it quick. Before you decide to start biting anyway. The dim lighting of the reddish room doesn’t do anything to warm the mood except make you even more aware of him as he kicks off sandals, slowly, demanding attention. He stares you down like a predator keeps an eye on his prey. The scent is still suffocating, but there’s a more alarming feeling blanketing your senses now. You’re scared. There’s nothing you can do about it, it’s in the goosebumps on your skin as he walks closer, and you scoot back onto the soft mattress to avert your eyes to yourself.

You’d rather go out kicking and screaming- but with your fear ran so high, you settle for the second best thing. “So, you’re not going to kill everyone, but just me, huh?” He’s taking off his belt as you ball your hands in the fabric, and force yourself to watch him under heavy lashes, with as much hatred as you can. “You like that? Scaring girls half your size?” You’re not sure either why you’re running your mouth. It must be the high of incoming death. “Does that make you feel powerful?” He doesn’t even pause, and pulls his shirt over his head to drop it aside too, then licks his lips.

After a slight moment of silence, he just shrugs. “Yeah. It does.” You scramble back until you reach the head of the bed, and pull your knees to your body. And the man crawls closer anyway, reaching to grab one of your ankles and drag you back. You don’t know why you’re struggling. It’d be easier if you laid down and died. As if reading your mind, he chuckles as he yanks you down until you’re spread out on your back, and pins you in place beneath his heavy body. “Don’t be so frightened. I’m not actually going to kill you.” He pushes over you, and makes sure you’re nose to nose when he talks next, basically drooling as you try to escape from him. “Just going to hurt you pretty bad. Don’t you like that?”

You struggle against him, but it’s not enough. He ties your hands to the bed painfully tight, letting the frayed edge of the rope burn into your skin each time you move- and proceeds to cut your clothes off with the knife that was hidden in his waistband. The torturous pace at which he does everything is almost worse, setting your entire body on end with anticipation. You thrash against him as he places a thigh either side of your body, and grabs your face in a large, rough hand. Once again you feel reminded that you’re really nothing in the face of someone more powerful. It’s frustrating. It’s annoying, and hurtful, and a migraine starts gnawing at your head as you glare up at him. And he almost pouts at you in mockery. “It’s cute that you’re trying so hard. You can cry, you know?” He leans in to lick along the shell of your ear down to your neck. “It’s going to happen sooner or later anyway. Why deny yourself?”

The hot touch of his tongue sears into your skin like it’s poison. You try to pull your wrists loose again, to no avail. The skin just feels achy and burning. “That’s really what you want to do, right? Cry for mommy and daddy to save you?” When he pushes back up to your mouth, laying his filthy lips on you again, you’re quicker than you think - and actually manage to bite him. It’s not enough to cause much damage before he jerks back, clenching one hand over your mouth to shut you up. But he runs a thumb along his bottom lip, and slowly starts grinning. Blood glitters on that finger before he licks it away, and raises his dark eyebrows at you. “Aren’t you brave…”

Before you have time to prepare yourself, that heavy palm meets your cheek, stinging it all over and rushing blood to the surface — it’s hard enough to pull real tears out of you, and your nose to start running as you bury your face into your arm. The sting spreads under the surface like fire. The low chuckle he lets out is mean and predatory, definitely when he takes that as an opening to start groping you through your bra, and soon that’s shoved up too to let him pet all over you. “Good. I don’t have to feel bad about all this, then.”

“Mh- hck-,” you whimper, trying to ignore the painful tugs he gives your nipples, pinching you. It still sends heat to your belly, and somehow that’s the most embarrassing thing of all. You hate him. More than anyone. “I-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. I won’t believe you anyway.” He quickly whispers back, leaning in to force his mouth to yours and kiss you, tongue pushing against your teeth until you give in. He tastes like blood. His own, from the cut that’s not yet closed up; and he kisses like he’s trying to consume you. Rough hands knead and toy with your tits until you start squirming, before they glide down and make enough space to peel your panties down your thighs torturously slow. “Ahh, you look good like this. So pretty. Stay there.” He chuckles to himself as he gets up and you whine, not for him, but more his dragging it out. It’s not like you have a choice about staying…

When he comes back to you, something cold makes you jerk your eyes open. It’s something long and capped metal at the end, not sharp enough to stab you clean through— but it’s still hard and sharp and anxiety has you freezing below him. “Wh- what, what are you-” Would anyone even come help if you screamed? 

Toji slaps the thing into his palm a few times, before those mean eyes glide over you, and you find yourself crossing your legs tight to protect your most sensitive areas instinctively. The sound of the metal whipping through the air is more than enough to put fear into you. Your lip trembles when he gets back onto the bed, and mirth plays in his eyes. “This is going to hurt.” Then he whips his hand down and instantly, your eyes shoot open with pain. Blood splatters as he cuts you open, each impact leaving a cut and nasty thumping that will make a bruise, telltale sign of a cursed tool.

“Ack- no, no- please stop! Stop, stop, please! Please, it hurts! It hurts!” Your eyes clench shut, but tears well up and come out anyway, making tracks down your cheeks. It stings so bad, and after even just a few lashings, you can’t stand it. Everything’s glowing and burning, hot all over as your knees knock together. Another whip has you trying to pull your arms out harder, to no avail. You don’t want to look, but the pain in your hands tells you that the heat running down your arm must be blood. Didn’t he say he wasn’t going to kill you? “Please, please, Toji. I’ll do anything! Anything, please- j-just no more.”

“I refuse.”

“Please~” you sob, only opening your eyes to see how he stands bent over you with his tongue caught between his teeth, head tilted in curiosity like a dog. The whip is dripping red, hot blood down onto his hands, and though it seems impossible to have so much blood coating everything- it’s yours, right? He stays quiet for a moment or two, and the thick tears wobble over your vision. “Please, I don’t want to die. Please. Please. I’m -” your throat closes up when he leans his heavy weight down over you and hovers his lips over your mouth, “I’m beg-begging you.” One hand comes up to grab your face, and he buries his nose into your throat, where a wet tongue starts swiping along your skin.

The soft groan he lets out is foul, coming back up with his mouth full of your blood, and he grins. “Keep going. Beg like a good girl~” Then he dips down, forcing his tongue and the coppery, familiar taste into your mouth, melting his lips to yours as he hums. His strong chest meets your naked, pitiful form as one hand comes down to yank your leg up around him, and the kissing gets more distracting, warmer, deeper — you want him to stay just like this. “Keep talking,” he whispers again, lower this time, and when you’re opening your eyes his stained hands are back to kneading your tits. “You’re sort of cute covered like this, whining like a baby. C’mon.”

Red’s covering everything. Every cut on your body is searing and tight and painful, and he’s pushing his thumbs along the closing wounds as if he’s trying to leak every last drop out of you; but you can’t really feel it. It must be adrenaline you feel coursing through your veins like a drug, goading your heart into pumping so hard you can see it bounce through the skin. “Pl-please.” Your chest rattles, as he watches you. As he degrades you, lifting both your legs up to your chest to spread you for him. “Please, Toji. Please f-fuck me instead. I w- need you to.” He takes the knife used to cut off your clothes, and ever so slowly drags it along the supple inside of your thighs.

And though you jerk, and your jaw clenches while tears fall, you can’t help it. You’re shaking your head, but your pussy clenches around nothing. “Please, please, need you. I’m sorry, I want- I want it. I wan’it… daddy.” Despite the short inhale he takes, sharp eyes pinning you beneath him like the crying mess you are, it’s not his reaction that has you blushing, heat filling your entire face with that cottony feeling. You’re so fucking weak. It’s pathetic.

“Hah,” he snorts when watching you wiggle and cry, presenting your wet, little hole to him, “whiny brat.” His hand lands onto your pussy and it makes you jerk again, squirming against his strong grip, before he turns his palm to grind into your clit and his fingers teasing into the soft folds. The wet squelching doesn’t stop the stinging tingling down your entire body, but - it’s also so unfair. You can feel yourself drip as his thick fingers slide in and out of you again and again, pushing into your plush walls just right. “Call out for daddy, go on.” You don’t want to know how much of it is blood, or how much is your own body betraying you.

You don’t see when he takes off his boxers, now finally as naked as you are - but you do see it when he starts rubbing the head of his heavy cock over your slicked up slit, catching your clit every once in a while. He cocks one brow at you at your silence, and softly hums a deep, raspy breath. You really are weak. “Daddy, daddy, please- pl-hck- please put it in, I’m losing my mind.”

“Seems like it,” he mumbles back, a cocky grin reappearing right before he grabs himself by the base and leads his fat cock inside you with no further warning. He’s too big as soon as he shoves himself inside halfway, grabbing your hair as you wiggle against him. The other half is forced deeper as his cock bumps your walls, makes your pussy drool and clench, and your mouth hangs open as you try to keep from screaming. Your back lifts off the bed a few times, legs opening wider to make room for his thick thighs as he bottoms out and stretches you too thin. “That’s a nice noise.” He’s laughing.

You can’t relate. Your entire body feels wound too tight, legs locking around his glutes in the naïve hope for some reprieve— before he pulls back and holds himself above you. Scared pecs and arms flex when he pulls all the way out, only to thrust back in too deep and have you choking on it. It’s hitting so deep it leaves you speechless. “Make it again,” he gloats as he chuckles into your face, before kissing you again, and this time he bites your lip, hard enough to taste copper. Oh, fuck. You cling onto the ropes for dear life with your numb fingers, and try to wrap your legs back around him with a choked whimper; but you can’t.

You’re shaking, and your pussy’s clenching and sucking around him hard each time his hips meet yours and heavy balls smack against your ass. You feel like he’s going to fuck you through the wall. Drool’s mixed with the blood you swallow, letting his tongue melt to yours, and make you even more needy for air. Each pump inside you gushes more slick out of your cunt, lewd noises and ‘pap’s filling the room along with his grunts. And you only pull away to gasp, and get pulled down onto him again and again. “Daddy, daddy, I’m- gonna- cum.”

And he plants a hand on your throat to squeeze until your eyes cross, free hand going to hold your shivering thighs in place as he buries his cock deep into your plush walls. “Dumb, dumb girl- I don’t need- ugh- you to tell me that.” You’re folded double entirely as he keeps the rhythm entirely ruthless, and your belly starts tightening under your body jerks shut around him, crying out. You can’t even feel your hands anymore, and your breathing’s so shallow and confused you’re lightheaded. Your toes curl so hard you feel like you’ll pass out, but Toji doesn’t stop. Not even when hot ropes of cum fill the heat of your spasming pussy up and spill out— he doesn’t even slow.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[waataah]

Jealous/Possesive Sanji plagues my mind<3

✧ sanji vinsmoke x fem!reader ✧

｡･ﾟﾟ･ (nsfw, fem!reader, 18+ only, mdni, 3rd pov) ･ﾟﾟ･｡

content/cw: NSFW, heavy-petting, light-petting, kissing, praise, worship, jealousy, rough play, first-time and sexual themes.

summary: Sanji is quite the gentleman when he needs to be, especially around y/n. But once he sees you having a drink with Zoro can he contain the jealousy within him? Or will the gentleman's act come to an end?

word count: ~2041 words

・❥・Your body is all mine.

“So you and the chef have been dating for a while huh? Never thought that idiot would be able to maintain a relationship with anyone let alone a woman” the green-haired swordsman scoffed.

“Yeah I never thought I would date that perv either… but he grew on me what can I say?” she laughed in response to the other's words.

The two raised a toast and drank their problems away, because even in a perfectly healthy relationship, who doesn't have their own issues? The two gulp down their booze and laugh a bit over the pervy cook.

“You know Zoro I can tell he’s grown on you too y’know? You act like you hate him but everyone knows you're both friends” she laughs. 

“Shut up! Who would be friends with a loser like that idiot?” the green-haired man scoffed.

Y/n didn’t exactly enjoy her boyfriend being talked about like that by her friend but she usually overlooked it since she knew Zoro was typically like that.

While the two continued to chat and drink at the kitchen table, Sanji stood at the door that was slightly ajar. He lit his cigarette and listened to each word his girlfriend and the moss head would say. He felt a pang in his chest and knew he was jealous of the two of them laughing and having a drink with one another. He understood that y/n was his girlfriend but just the sight of his lover and the person he gets along with the least having a laugh still made his blood boil. 

After he heard y/n get up she said, “Well I have to get back for night watch, so same time tomorrow swordsman?”. Sanji quickly left upon hearing those words.

Zoro lifted his glass towards the girl and continued to drink the night away scoffing at the nickname you and the chef loved to call him. However, he did appreciate you occasionally taking over the night watch duty since he's the one who does it often. 

Y/n usually didn’t mind taking up night duty, the Thousand Sunny’s lookout tower was very secluded perfect for when she wanted alone time since she always shared a room with Robin and Nami. The look tower was a perfect place to have silence. But not tonight. 

Once in the tower, the hatch and ladder were closed and locked behind y/n with a cross-armed Sanji standing between her and the entrance.

“Hello, my dear~”.

“Sanji? What are you doing up weren't you asleep?” y/n was a bit shocked by the blonde waiting in the tower.

Sanji paced around the room and looked at all the workout equipment that Zoro had thrown about. He looked upset but y/n really didn’t understand why.

“Well I wanted to get a cup of tea and bring it over to my sweet y/n before heading to bed but it seemed the kitchen was occupied” he looked over with a strained smile. He took a drag from his cigarette and put it out, tossing it to the side not caring where it landed since it was “zoro’s space” after all.

It finally clicked with y/n, Sanji's tone of voice, and him seeing her with Zoro. He was jealous, though she doubted he would admit it. Y/n decided to stand still and wait for her lover to calm himself down. Eventually, he sighed and threw himself back onto the seats that lined the wall of the tower and gritted his teeth together.

“So… would you rather date that swordsman than a perv like me? You even take up guard duty for him every once in awhile…” he said with his head hanging low, he was pretty upset over the conversation he had heard. Sanji could feel his heart squish with pain, he hated being jealous. But he knew that just meant he did love y/n.

Y/n sighed and walked over to her lover, she tilted his chin up and gently placed a kiss on the blonde's lips. Sanji’s body shivered in response, his hand quickly making its way over to y/n’s waist and gripping onto it not wanting to ever let her go. 

“I think I like my pervy cook much more than anybody else” she giggled softly against his lips.

Sanji looked at her and pulled her by the waist to sit on his lap, y/n happily obliged. 

“Why do you take his guard duties?”.

“So I could have some alone time and let the poor guy rest”.

“Why do you drink with him every night?”.

“He’s the only other MAN who would give me slightly more serious life advice than any of the other guys here” y/n sighed. 

“Sure I could ask Robin and Nami but they tease me much more than Zoro, he usually only makes fun of you rather than my problems” y/n laughed.

Sanji let out a small sigh of relief and rubbed y/n’s hips gently with his thumb, it gently making it’s way into her shirt to touch her skin.

“And you swear you prefer me over that moss head?”.

“Whose lap am I sitting on right now?”.

Sanji felt a switch inside of him, the two of you were alone. Everyone was asleep, Zoro probably fell asleep the moment y/n walked out of the kitchen. The two of them hardly ever got alone time, the ship was always busy. Whenever the two of them were alone to share an intimate moment it would always be ruined by Luffy, Franky, and Ussop. But this time it was different, the lights were off and everything was quiet. Just y/n and Sanji’s breath silently echoing throughout the small room.

More of Sanji’s fingers slid up y/n’s shirt earning a small gasp from the woman, Sanji’s eyes never leaving hers. “May I my dear?”.

His words were slightly desperate but calmer, this would be the first time the two could share this type of moment so y/n quickly nodded a ‘yes’ in response. Sanji swiftly pulled his hands up to remove her bra only to find she was not wearing one. 

He halted in his tracks and looked up at y/n, “You were with Zoro… braless…?”.

Y/n laughed nervously and looked anywhere but at the chef, “H-he wasn’t looking… if a-anything he's not interested in-”.

Her little excuse was quickly halted by the blonde as he swiftly took off her top and used his tie to wrap her hands together with no easy way to make them come undone. Sanji’s jealous pangs riled up inside him more causing him to lose all sense of treating their first time sweet and perfect. He had always had an image in his mind of his first time with y/n. Candles, flowers a nice comfy bed and take her sweetly, passionately, and gently. But right now he wasn’t thinking straight. He would take her here in Zoro's gross sweaty gym watch tower and he didn’t mind treating her a bit rough.

It’s not as though he had never seen y/n naked before, some times before breakfast there were times to have some quickies, so he had definitely memorized y/n’s perfect delectable body. Sanji took one of her soft breasts and cupped it in his palm, the other hand keeping a firm grip on the tie restraining her arms.

Sanji let out a small laugh and pulled her by the arms closer to his body, “I would love to praise and cherish your body princess…but knowing that another man could have easily done this to you makes me a bit…upset”.

“So I might just have to leave proof that your body is all mine”.

Y/n was a bit shocked at this new Sanji, she knew that he would get jealous from time to time and start yelling at any other man who laid eyes on her, but this was different.

It was actually kind of hot. 

Y/n blushed at his words but didn’t dare to retaliate, “Go ahead… I won’t stop you”.

This sent Sanji soaring, he let go of Y/n’s tied arms and left gentle kisses against her exposed chest and left his mark all over, easily visible marks that wouldn’t leave much room to wonder. His hands explored her body and gently grasped onto her breast. His head leaned forward and he swirled his tongue around her hard nipples, taking in her sweet flavor. Causing her to moan sweet melodies to his ears.

“Fuck… y/n you are intoxicating my love” he mumbled against her breast.

Her face turned a light shade of red before muttering some words that he wouldn’t even hear. Sanji just made muffled sounds before setting her down on the seat and quickly tugging off her shorts and panties to the side, tossing them somewhere in the room. He left trails of kisses down her thighs and left more marks scattered towards her heat. Once he reached the top he eagerly started to eat at her wetness as she held back her moans of pleasure. He let his free hand wander back up to her breasts and fondled them while pinching her nipples. The muffled screams and moans held back by her lips were only making his cock twitch with anticipation.

“I need you, my love…” it sounded like a statement but he looked up at y/n as if he was asking for permission. She giggled and nodded to him.

After licking up all the juices he could, savoring every last drop he began to tug at his belt and pant button as he finished up his tongue's work. He let a few moments pass before finally setting his pants off to the side and stroking himself while prying away from y/n’s slick wetness. He pumped himself a few times before looking at her once again, but the thoughts of jealousy once again plagued his mind. He without warning thrust into her entrance causing her to gasp out from his length.

She always knew that Sanji was rather large, though it didn’t hit her till he filled up her insides entirely. 

“S-Shit S-Sanji” she muttered out between her moans which she couldn't keep back anymore. Each thrust was harder than the last, Sanji had previously teased her with his long slender fingers telling her she would have to ease into his size one day, but he was relentless. Sanji let out low guttural groans, though he wanted to take his time and admire y/n’s beautiful body, he wanted to make sure no one else could even think of touching his woman. He had to make her his.

Sanji could feel his high ready to come, he gripped onto y/n’s hips with one hand and untied the tie from around her wrist. Y/n felt herself clench tightly around his length and once let free she wrapped her arms around Sanji’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. The two moaned into each other's mouths, making the kiss sloppy but passionate. Sanji came first, his release was hard and went deep inside y/n’s body, he then pressed his fingers against y/n’s clit rubbing it in circles while she screamed his name. 

“S-Sanji! I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum”.

“Do it, my gorgeous girl… cum on my cock”.

His words tipped her over the edge, she squeezed around him once more and felt her body pulsate and shiver from the pleasures. Y/n panted hardly able to catch her own breath. Sanji sighed in contentment, looking down at the mess he made of y/n. He pulled out of her and watched as his cum dripped from her hole with a sly smile on his face. Hickeys and sweat littered her body, and Sanji admired his work. He gently pulled her back over to him and took off his suit jacket and placed it around her shoulders. The two of them cuddled up, y/n looked down at herself embarrassed, and covered her body with his jacket. 

"There's no way I can hide all of this with my clothes...".

“Now I can say you are officially mine~”.

[angel1010xx]

ｎｉｇｈｔｍａｒｅｓ

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Nami, stop!” Running with as fast of a pace as you could manage, you chased after Nami, crying out for her to stop. She was heading straight into a trap—but why wasn’t she stopping? Why couldn’t she hear you? And God, why did your side hurt so fucking bad?

A jolt of pain caused you to fall to your knees, scraping them and your shins against the rough cobblestone road. Your hands went to your side, pressing down hard, and you looked down.

Red. There was so much red.

Tears fell from your eyes as if they were a waterfall, and you shrieked in utter agony and fear. You didn’t have the strength to stand. You didn’t have the strength to move at all. 

Barely managing to lift your head back up, you gazed on as Nami got overpowered by the devil fruit users that attacked the crew. You glanced to your right—there was Chopper, laying in a pool of his own blood, body small and misshaped. You glanced to your left—there was Franky, lying still, limbs missing. 

Dazed in shock from what was going on around you, and from the pain in your abdomen, you hardly registered when two hands fell on either side of your head. Someone was standing behind you. However, you did feel when they twisted your neck, and with a quick ‘snap,’ the pain was gone.  

Thud.

You gasped and wheezed, pushing your upper body up off the floor. Sweat was dripping down your face, and your body was soaked in it. Slowly, you managed to piece together that no, you weren’t dying in battle. You were in your cabin, you had just rolled off of your bunk, and you were in your underwear—no bloody clothes and no fatal flesh wounds. 

Your shoulders hurt from the fall, but this was much better than a nightmare.

Groaning, you began to stand up. It was hot. You were thirsty. Why did the kitchen have to be so far away? I need to ask Franky to put some mini-fridges in the rooms, you mused. 

You grabbed a robe off the hook on the wall, and wrapped yourself in it as you left your cabin quarters. It was cool outside, and it was a welcome change. You took a few deep breaths.

In… out. In… out. Someone please make my heart stop beating so fast.

“Can’t sleep?”

You squeaked in surprise, stumbling a bit while you whipped around to see Zoro. He was sitting while leaning against the main mast that led up to the crow’s nest, a slight flush on his face that was a little damp. You eyed the bottle at his side. “Yeah…” you muttered. “Are you training? This late at night?”

He just shrugged. “Can’t become the greatest swordsman if I don’t make time to train.”

“Training? With booze?”

“Mind your business. Gotta practice being battle-ready under any condition.”

You huffed, pulling your robe tighter around you while you moved to sit down beside him. Zoro silently picked up the bottle and gestured it towards you, and you chose to take it. You put the bottle to your lips, took a gulp, and groaned as the alcohol burned down your throat. “I don’t drink much.”

“Oh yeah?” Zoro mumbled as you handed him back his liquor. “Good. It’s not good for you.” A few silent moments passed while the swordsman placed his attention on your heavy eyes. He gestured towards your face, hand still holding the bottle. “You’re tired. You look like you’ve been crying.” You sighed, then placed your head on his shoulder. “Bad dreams. I’ll be alright.”

Zoro tensed up slightly, but didn’t move to get you off him. Mr. Rough-and-Gruff had a soft spot for his crew, and maybe more so for you. “I have strong friends,” you whispered. “I don’t have to worry about any of them, especially not the king of hell right here.” Zoro chuckled. “No, definitely not.”

You two stayed there, quiet, and comfortable in the moment. Neither of you remember when you two dozed off to sleep, lying against the mast.

*_______*_______*________*

Nami yawned and stretched, still shaking off her sleep as she left her quarters as the sun rose. She had to go find Robin, and Robin had been on night watch, so Nami was heading towards the crow’s nest.

What Nami was surprised to see, was you and Zoro sound asleep on the deck. Your head was still on his shoulder, and your legs were up against the side of him while his arm was around your waist. She smiled. 

Nami turned her head as she heard the door to the kitchen slam open. There, in the doorway, stood a very pissed off Sanji. Wasting no time, Nami rushed him, placing her hand against his mouth and pushing him back into the kitchen. She listened as Sanji shouted a bunch of obscenities—“Damn that mosshead! Defiling a princess! His hands shouldn’t be on such an angel! It’s a crime against humanity!....”

Nami laughed at him. What a sore loser. 

[demonicnarwhale]

yay more Diamonds Boobs (he doesn't have any. mf would be concave if that was a thing) (loser lol) and Hearts Boobcars stuff

[devilmademewriteit]

If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

TAGLIST (cont’d in reblogs): @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @redhotkitchen @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @kamcrazy123 @wclverine

[internet-succubus]

breakfast at toji’s!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

content/tags, mdni!: frat boy!toji, unprotected/creampie, both parties are intoxicated, friends to lovers, confession, use of babe, baby, doll, darling, standing sex, fluffy aftercare <33

a/n: aaaaa my first post! i’m excited and i hope i can post semi-regularly lol bc i have lots of ideas. any feedback is appreciated! thank u to @screampied @tonycries @gumified @fairy-angel222 and more for writing stuff sooo good that i had to try it myself

word count: 3.1k

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in this moment, it seemed like toji fushiguro would be the death of you, and if that was the case, you know you’d go out doing something you loved. and in this moment, that something would be grinding yourself onto his body like there’s no tomorrow. his strong hands secured their place on your rocking hips, his thumbs pressing into the crest of your pelvis. you knew that you’d see bruises there when you inevitably woke up in his messy sheets, but that didn’t matter right now. all that mattered was the feeling of his cock thump thump thumping away at your cervix. the sensation made your jaw drop and head tip back in raw ecstasy.

”come on baby, don’t quit on me now,” he growled into your neck. you could barely make out his words over the deafening bass of the music in the next room. your best-friend-turned-fuck buddy had pulled you away from yet another one of his fraternity’s weekend parties after seeing the way your drunken body moved under the blinding, colorful lights. the sound of his voice made you lock your legs around his waist even tighter, and the feeling of your trembling thighs wrapped around him made toji snap his hips impossibly faster. your whorishly short dress was bunched at your waist and the straps were slipping down your shoulders, but all of that paled in comparison to the way he was fucking you. it was almost animalistic, the way he had your back pressed against the wall. you could feel his building desperation as he huffed and groaned softly, trying but failing to keep himself quiet.

your nails dug into his shirt, the thin fabric pathetically stretched over his broad shoulders. over the past few years, he had gone from being a quiet, reserved boy to a hulking mass of a man. the sudden change in his physicality awakened something within you. toji winced as you curled your fingers, your nails nearly drawing blood. the smell of sweat, booze, and marijuana filled your nose. the filthy sound of his balls slapping against your ass made your breath catch in your throat. “look at me, yeah? k-keep those pretty eyes on me doll, i’ve got you.”

his voice pulled you back to reality and your eyes dragged up his clenched jaw to his face, an expression of pure desire molding his handsome features. your eyes met his, their dark green hue almost lost in the low lights around you. toji smiled when you finally managed to look at him. his lips parted in a smug grin, his sharp canine teeth catching the light. the scar across his lips flexed deliciously and for a second, you thought you saw the light. but it was just him, fucking you like his life depended on it. “you look so beautiful b-baby, all desperate for me,” he breathed. your expression shifted to match his, preparing to fire back at his little jab.

“s-seems like- nnghhh- you’re the desperate one h-here babe,” you bit back, your smile widening. matching his snarky comments was something you always enjoyed about your close friendship, and it was all you could do to keep yourself from melting in his strong arms. the feeling of his cock stretching you open was clouding your senses and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you came.

“sh-sh-shut up,” toji muttered through clenched teeth. his hands tightened around you and you could tell he was nearing his orgasm too. his cock twitched inside you and the friction against your g-spot was overwhelming. you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck, the metal of his silver chain pressing into your palms. your head fell forward and your forehead rested on his. being this close, you could detect the faint smell of his cologne and it sent you into a frenzy. before you knew it, you were screwing your eyes shut and babbling about god knows what. “what’s wrong doll, c-can’t talk? does it - shit - f-feel too g-good?” if he wasn’t so fucking sexy, you would have slapped him. knowing him, he would have liked it, the dirty bastard.

every time your hips met his, the small patch of pubic hair above his cock pressed against your clit just right. as if he read your mind, toji moved one of his hands to your front, pressing his thumb against your sensitive bundle of nerves. if you weren’t so cock drunk, you might have been able to tell that he was frantically spelling words on your clit. T-O-J-I-T-O-J-…

he moved his other hand up to your chest, cupping one of your tits in his strong hands and pinching your nipple between two of his fingers. the sudden stimulation made you squeal, and as soon as he heard the noise, his lips crashed into yours. the kiss was sloppy, wet, and downright disgusting in how your tongues moved together in unison. the sour taste of his cheap vodka and fruit punch chaser made you furrow your brows together as you moaned and whimpered into his mouth. toji swallowed every sound happily, humming against your lips. you could feel him smile again. he knew that he was the best you ever had, and that no one could ever come close. he’d never tell you, but fucking you the way he did was his twisted way of claming you as his own. his girl. after just a few hookups, he had learned almost every possible way to make you unravel.

toji’s deft fingers were unrelenting, his thumb still working on your clit as his other hand switched breasts, scooping it up and squeezing it firmly. at this point, his hips slowed. he focused more on angling himself so that he hit that sweet spot deep inside of you- the one that made you see stars. you appreciated the reprieve. despite how close you both were to your orgasms, and how dangerous it was to be fucking so close to a packed dance floor, you wanted this to last forever. normally, you’d both be exhausted, but the adrenaline and alcohol gave you just enough stamina to keep at it.

the slow flow of his hips into yours was almost romantic. you took the opportunity to press your chest into his, wanting to close any distance between your bodies. the hand on your breast slid across your sweat-slicked skin and rested over your thundering heartbeat. toji took a second to pull away from your lips, a string of spit still bridging the gap. his eyes focused on that spot on your chest as if he could see your skin jump in time with your quickened pulse. he then looked back at your face, seemingly searching for the answer to an unasked question. breathlessly, you asked, “yeah?” raising an eyebrow to motivate him to speak. his movements slowed to a stop and your hips rested on his. cockwarming wasn’t something either of you had discussed previously, but the way he filled you to the core prompted you to make a mental note to bring it up later.

the man looked down nervously, moving his hands to support you by the waist. small strands of his hair stuck to his damp forehead. without thinking, you raised one of your hands to push it back, slicking his hair back in a way that you hadn’t seen before, but grew fond of in that moment. toji’s eyes flicked back to meet yours, and he opened his mouth to speak. he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. the shots he ripped at the pregame weren’t helping with his judgment, but they sure did make him feel more confident.

looking into your eyes like a deer in headlights, he whispered, “do you like me?” the question caught you off guard and you stopped, considering it carefully. his sweet smile and soft expression made you feel like the only girl in the world.

”of course i like you, toji, what kind of question is that?” his face changed slightly, a pang of frustration causing him to press his lips together in a thin line.

”no, like, do you like me,” he repeated, placing emphasis on that second “like”. it seemed like your encounter had taken a sudden, more emotional turn than you expected. your feelings towards him as of late had become a complicated mess that you couldn’t handle confronting, especially since midterms were coming up and your grades were in desperate need of a boost. whenever you thought of him throughout your days, your heart did a small flip in your chest.

since you had graduated high school, he took the opportunity to use college as a way to “start again”. while he was skipping classes, he started going to the gym and making more time for friends. his intimidating appearance was jarring for most, but once he started talking, the tension dissipated and he suddenly found himself a new friend group. after a few weeks of pestering, they convinced him to rush one of the biggest frats on campus, claiming that the brotherhood was a life changing experience. and that, of course, he would be drowning in pussy. truth be told, he really only joined to get them off his back. toji had no interest in meeting girls when you had been at his side for several years already.

despite his busy schedule and the endless stream of girls throwing themselves at his feet, he always made time for you. he regularly met you at your dorm to walk you to class and caught you for lunch when you both had some time to spare. your platonic relationship suddenly shifted when you were both drunk at the first party of the semester. he was showing you around his frat house’s upper floors, laughing at how messy it was. there were dirty bongs and half empty bottles of beer on every flat surface, but having him guide you by the hand made it all seem okay. it wasn’t until you tripped over your own feet and landed in his arms that you had been so close to his face. in the spur of the moment, you pressed your lips against his and he whisked you into an empty bedroom where you had sex for the first time. since then, he had been your go-to guy for dick.

your brief period of reflection was interrupted when toji called you back to reality. “hey, you okay?” he asked. you were still pressed against him, his cock starting to grow soft inside you as you considered his question from earlier. finding the right words was hard, and this didn’t seem like the time for a heart to heart, so you settled for something simple.

you leaned back in to place a quick kiss on his lips before pulling back and stroking his cheek with your hand. “yes, toji, i like you. now that we’ve got that out of the way, d’you wanna cum inside me or not?”

your answer seemed to satisfy him, and with a quick peck to the corner of your mouth, he smiled and replied. “it would be my pleasure, darlin’.”

”great, because my feet are starting to get numb and i want to be able to walk after this,” you laughed. your laugh slowly turned into a sharp inhale as he pulled his hips back and snapped them forward, hard and fast. toji worked his way back up to a quick pace, perfectly hitting that spot again as his hand snaked down your body back to your clit.

”sounds like a challenge, then,” he said darkly, hitching you up slightly to stabilize your weight against the wall. with your body readjusted comfortably, you could better focus on the way he pounded into you. it was different this time- the movement of his hips felt more intentional, more loving, despite their punishing speed.

a feeling of warmth spread through you, and the pleasure had you biting your lip to keep quiet. one hand remained on his face and the fingers of your other hand slid through his hair and secured a tight grip. the dull pain made his mouth open and his head tip forward, looking down at where your bodies met. you gushed around his cock as he thrusted, a faint ring of sticky precum and sweat forming around the base and dripping down his thighs. the sight made him even harder, and you could feel him growing inside you. “christ, you’re tight,” he whispered under his breath.

again, you could feel your orgasm fast approaching, and you were sure he wasn’t far behind. your thighs burned as you pressed them firmly into his waist, but nothing could slow him down. the timing of his skin slapping against yours almost matched the rhythm of the song that shook the walls of the house, the music still blasting loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

a switch flipped inside you and the electric waves of your orgasm rocked through your body, your pussy clenching around him like a vice. wanton moans and whimpers slipped past your lips as your body shook, with no end in sight to the pleasure you were experiencing. toji leaned in and nipped at your earlobe, the unfamiliar sensation making your walls ripple around his cock. “o-oh my god- toji toji toji- fuck! h-holy fuck i’m fucking c-cumming,” you moaned. your voice broke slightly and your noises turned to short screams as he continued to fuck you through it.

”that’s it baby, say my name, who makes you f-feel this good?” he growled into your ear. his balls tightened and his orgasm caught up with yours, his cum shooting out in short spurts that coated your pussy in a sinful shade of white. you both let your instincts take control as your bodies shook and your orgasms wound down from a white hot fire to a sweet burn in your abdomens. his thumb was still tracing patterns on your clit as he went soft inside you. he would have stayed there for hours if you hadn’t started shaking from being too overstimulated. a small noise of discomfort escaped your throat. that was his cue to pull out and gently lower your unstable legs to the ground. he kept his hands on your waist as you took deep breaths and reacquainted yourself with gravity once more.

toji then pulled your dress back down, but not before observing the filthy mixture of his cum and your juices sliding down your thighs. once he memorized the glorious sight, he smoothed his hands down the front of your dress, doing his best to hide the fact that he just fucked you silly. he did not do a good job.

he stepped back and took your hands in his, drawing small circles on your knuckles with his thumbs. the both of you took a second to come back down and sealed the moment with a deep yet soft kiss. when you pulled away for a breath, his eyes met yours and all of a sudden you were giggling. his innocent look of confusion made you laugh even more, and soon enough you were covering your face with your hands. nothing in particular was funny, but the alcohol in your system was still metabolizing, and you couldn’t control yourself.

seconds later, you felt you feet lift off the ground again as toji scooped you up to carry you bridal style. “what’s so funny, huh? you laughin’ at me punk?” he teased. your giggles died down and you caught your breath, sighing now that you could fully relax your tired body. the ache of being folded like a pretzel in his arms was starting to set in, and you were grateful that you didn’t have to walk on your own feet.

”no,” you said with a soft smile, “i’m jus’ happy, that’s all,” you assured him. you. let your eyes slip closed and fell into a state of consciousness between sleep and wakefulness, letting toji carry you wherever he saw fit. as you felt him walk up the stairs and open a door, you smelled the familiar scent of his bedroom. it was a pleasant surprise after being stuck in a hot basement of alcoholics for a few hours.

your eyes remained closed as he laid you on his bed gently, the mattress cradling your body. toji began undressing you again, softly asking you to sit up so he could lift your dress overhead. he tossed it in his laundry pile to be assessed later and stepped into his bathroom to retrieve a washcloth to run under warm water.

when he returned, your eyes were still shut. he ran the washcloth over your body, cleaning off the sweat that pooled around your hair and between your breasts. he then worked his way between your legs, moving slowly as not to overstimulate you further. once you were cleaned, he made another trip to the bathroom and returned with a makeup wipe, carefully holding your chin as he did his best to remove your smeared mascara and lipstick. his large hands felt heavenly as they grazed along your nose and lips, removing as much makeup as he could so you could sleep comfortably.

toji cleaned himself up as well and grabbed a big shirt to pull over your head. he loved the sight of your naked body, but seeing your smaller frame swimming in his worn t-shirt made him feel things. after his bedtime ritual, he climbed into bed and pulled you close to him, and in your light sleep you threw an arm over his broad chest and a leg cross his waist. he didn’t plan on moving, but now he was certain he wasn’t going anywhere without you, not tonight, and not ever again.

he kissed the top of your head, and hoping you were still awake enough to hear him, he asked, “wanna talk over breakfast tomorrow?” your body remained still as you huffed out a small noise in agreement, after which he started to think about which of his favorite hangover cures he would have you try in the morning. in the moments before he dozed off to sleep as well, he matched his breath with yours. toji thanked whatever deities in existence that he had chosen you, and more importantly, that you had chosen him too.

[simp-ly-writes]

Safehouse

Pairing: Platonic!Task Force 141 x Reader

Summary: When a mission goes south, the team is looking for a safehouse to keep their heads down but little do they know of the small family you keep hidden away from the world.

Warnings: some light swearing and depictions of blood.

A/N: Inspired by the Avengers: Age of Ultron - Safehouse Scene.

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

The night mission had gone terribly. You had been deployed for over six months now and for all that stress to amount for nothing had a new rage encompassing your mind- distracting you from the bullet wound you sustained while trying to escape from a collapsing building. The intelligence your team was meant to collect falling down with it.

Shaking your head at the back of the SUV, you grasped your thigh tight- doing your best to hold the bleeding. Gaz was doing is best to help aid your wound as Johnny fished around in the trunk- throwing medical supplies over the seats as he let out a string of curse words and unknown English.

"Fucking-hell Johnny- you curse more than I do- and I am the one bleeding!" You croak out, sweat dripping down your forehead as Kyle fishes out the bullet. John is doing his best to keep the car ride smooth as Simon tries to radio Laswell to only receive silence in return.

Communications were down, Simon is now telling Price off for driving shit as you were about to lose your shit if Kyle did not get this bullet out of you sooner and Soap stopped sounding like a chicken with its head chopped off while flinging himself around in the trunk.

"Hows it going back there Gaz?" Price asks while gripping the steering wheel- your sharp breath intakes of pain are sending guilt flooding down his spine. He should have accounted for the possibility of more hostiles being at the location.

"Oh you know Captain, its going swell- blood and all sorts," Kyle retorts, his hands shaking as he finally gets ahold of the bullet and starts to carefully remove it from your body. The car runs over a hole in the road causing his hand to waver significantly as he apologizes to your groan of pain. The metal tools digging into your skin again.

"Any pain receivers back there Soap- booze... anything?" You ask as your vision turns slightly blurry, your head swimming side to side as the car turns from the ever-growing pressure in your thigh.

"Negative. Can't find anything back here- Simon, you have a torch up there in the glovebox?" Johnny calls out before swearing once more as a piece of gear slams on to his hand. Shaking out the pain a flashlight hits him square in the head- "thanks-mate, much appreciated."

"No problem," Simon replies calmly before testing the radio once more, looking in the rear view mirror in pity as he witnesses your pain without being able to do anything about it.

Kyle fishes the bullet out of your thigh, dropping it into a clear plastic bag before temporarily dressing your wound as you whisper out your thanks, your voice gone horse as the need for sleep overtakes your body.

"Hey, hey, hey. Gotta stay awake for now. Your wound will soon become infected if I can't dress it properly. We haven't got enough supplies in here-" Kyle starts to say before Price cuts him off- taking another sharp turn as you make your way out of the city.

"Anyone know of any places we can stand down for awhile, get their leg done-up?"

The car is met by silence as you groan out, closing your eyes harshly before cursing. Simon turns to look back at you- he knows what you are planning to say before he tilts his head to your opening eyes. Asking if this is really what you were going to do.

You only nod once before looking through the rear-view mirror at Price, "I know a place..."

"Tell me which turn to take next." And before you know it, the last of your secrets withheld from the group are about to fall like a house made of cards.

--

The sun had began to rise as Price pulls into the dirt driveway. A dull-yellow farmhouse sits atop a hill with a wrap-around porch to add to its charm. Gaz looks out the window and back at you, confused as to why you know of this place- seemingly off-the-grid. You only offer a small bittersweet smile in return before asking him to help you out of the car and to the front door.

Johnny stumbles out of the trunk as Simon pulls him aside, warning his best-mate to keep his outbursts and comments to a lesser state before walking up the front stairs. Soap looks around with squinted eyes, the garden is well-kept as is the exterrior of the home. The lawn freshly mowed as a swing drifts lightly in the wind from under an oak tree just down the hill. A few sets of bikes sit by the garage- painted a farmhouse red as he hears you fumble through your keys kept within your tactical vest.

Swearing out, Simon shoves him once in warning before the door is opneing and the boys soon follow you inside. Dusting off their boots while staring into the space in awe.

"This is not the usual safehouse- what is this place?" Gaz asks you while stepping into the living room and picking up a picture frame from a side-table. He looks at the image intently before turning it to the Captain who clutches the frame in his hands, a softness coating his eyes as he stares at your back.

You are unknowing of their stares as you walk into the kitchen. The sink is flowing as dishes are being stacked on the countertop. A radio plays a distant tune from the sunroom as you wrap your arms around your partner who looks up quickly. Viewing your reflection with theirs as they scream out in suprize. Dropping the plate while drying off their hands- they give you a large hug and kiss on the cheek, you feel as their hands shake against your form.

Price, Johnny, and Kyle all race over to the commotion as Simon leans against the archway to the living-room, his eyes crinkled as he hears feet stirring from up the stairs.

Wrapping your arm around your partners waist, they lean their head on your shoulder before narrowing their eyes playfully at all the new bodies in the home, "And who might these people be, luv?"

"Hmmm, just a couple of strangers from work" you say in a teasing tone before kissing their forehead and casting a smile at Johnny who stands with his mouth-agape.

Price steps forward, your wedding-day picture found back on the table as he extends his hand towards your partner- giving it a light shake while introducing himself. His brain still firing on how you managed to hide this all from him for years. His eyes shift over to your own, his head with a slight tilt as you mouth, not now at the sounds of little feet running down the stairs- calling out your name.

"Mom/dad! you're back-you're back!" they call out, clashing into your legs as you wince out slightly- your wound still open as your partners eyes fall to it in shock before removing the children from you.

Kissing the tops of their heads and giving their hair a slight ruffle. You look over at Simon who stands with his arms crossed by the stairs- someone is a bit disappointed. "I think you forgot to hug Uncle Simon back as well," you tease out as the children jump up and down before tackling the man to the ground.

Shaking your head at the scene as your partner laughs beside you, Kyles cough breaks your focus as he points to your leg, "ah-yes, sweetheart? do you know where the medical kit is?"

"by the sink dear... I will... leave you both to that one," they say with a slight wince escaping their mouth at their ends yet their eyes hold determination- you will be getting an earful of it tonight in bed.

Giving them a wide smile, you crack Gaz one on the back before hobbling over to the kitchen sink once more.

--

As you exit the room, Kyle following in tow. John speaks to your partner, "Had I have known- I would have never came here. I apologize for barging in on your family."

Your partner looks as the men, throwing a waving hand in their face, "My love did their best to keep this place off the files and databases- that could only last for so long- I suppose. Laswell did her fair-share to help us as well- she knows of our situation all too well..." they trail off- staring at Johnny's freshly inked tattoo with a smile.

"You know- I was very confused when they wanted to get new ink done. Good to see the reason why now- I was always happy to know they had more partners out there. Thank you for making sure they come home to me every time... I-I would never know what to do without them- the kids would say the same."

"It's an honour truly, ma'am/sir, serving by your partners side. Seeing what you both have made here... it only pushes me to work harder in order to obtain the same," Johnny says, a blush coating his cheeks as he feels Simon staring him down from building legos with the kids on the rug. The masked-man gives Soap a nod in gratitude before introducing the kids as your partner moves to clean the upstairs guest rooms.

--

John exits the house, seemingly overwhelmed by the images and nature of the estate. Looking at the various rolling hills, the flowers drifting in the morning breeze as birds sing in the air. He closes his eyes, standing on the porch- letting off a sigh.

"Everything al'right, John?" Gaz says from the doorway, drying off his hands with a hand-made hand towel. The Captain closes his eyes before turning around to answer, "I think that an old man like me is discovering everything that this job hasn't allowed me to do."

"Cap-" Gaz begins to reply, his eyes falling in worry as he walks over to Price.

"No, no. Its what must be done so others can have lives like this," Price says while shaking his heads and looking off to the side. You yell lunchtime from the kitchen as every flocks to the sunroom overlooking the farm-grounds.

╰┈➤ A/N: hope you enjoyed this!

[munsonsmixtapes]

hiii im wondering if i could put in a request?? 💕

something like you’re dustin’s older sister and you’ve always despised eddie no matter how hot you thought he was and you two were always bickering at eachother and you guys are like enemies right, one night at a party there’s like this crazyyyy sexual tension between the two of you and you guys can’t help but look at each others lips while arguing with eachother like normal and you guys crash lips and it’s like angry sex and soooo hot!!!

Eddie Munson x Henderson!fem!reader

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) both Eddie and reader are very degrading towards each other, grinding, Eddie receives a hickey, spanking, anal

You had hated Eddie the moment you laid eyes on him. And he didn’t like you either, telling you as much with absolutely no shame. Too bad you could also dish it out. For once, someone was actually putting Eddie Munson in his place and he just couldn't stand that. Because he was the dungeon master for every campaign, everyone just let him say and do what he wanted because without him, there wouldn't have even been a game. Not you, though.

You were always able to get him right where it hurt and he just couldn't stand it, because for once, you were someone who was hating him for exactly who he was and not who everyone thought him to be. You knew he wasn't some evil devil worshiper who was running a cult and that got under his skin, that you were calling it just like you saw it.

Things between the two of you had gotten really bad when you had started a rival DnD club. The other players wouldn't let you back in because all you did was argue with him and ruin the campaign for them, so what else were you supposed to do, not start your own group?

And when Eddie caught wind that you were trying to convince Dustin to join your club? Well, you might as well have stabbed him in the back because that would have hurt a lot less. Dustin might as well have been his younger brother and now you were stealing him away? Sure, you and Dustin were actually related by blood, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"I'm not doing it, y/n," Dustin told you as he got into your car as you picked him up for school. You didn't even have to speak for your brother to know exactly what you were going to ask. You had been asking for weeks and every time it was the same answer. You weren't really that upset and you understood that it was because he had a special bond with Eddie, but you were his sister, didn't that count for something?

"Making me choose between one of my best friend and my sister is really unfair, you know that?" He asked, throwing his backpack into the floorboard.

"No one's making you choose, Dustin," you shook your head as you put the car in drive. "You have a special bond with Eddie and he made his club first so I guess I can let it slide."

"So you'll stop with your stupid feud?" You didn't think it was that serious, but maybe you weren't seeing the big picture like Dustin. You were only seeing it from your point of view and it seemed like Eddie was the one who was always instigating your arguments.

"Yeah, Dustin," you looked over at him for a brief second before tuning back to the road. "We'll stop."

You hadn't lied when you said those words, but the second you spotted him across the room at a party that Robin had invited you to, your blood was boiling. You didn't think he even knew Steve like that, so you had no idea why he would have been there. Probably the free booze. Definitely the free booze.

You wanted to say something to him, but you weren't sure what. You had promised Dustin, but he wasn't there, so you could say whatever you wanted to Eddie and your little brother never would have known.

"Please don't," Robin whined as she saw what you were about to do. She grabbed onto your arm and tried to hold you back, but your mind was already made up.

You downed the rest of your drink and slammed the cup down onto the coffee table before making a beeline for the metalhead. God, you hated him. And how could you not with his stupid perfect hair and he stupid pretty brown eyes and his stupid pink lips that you wanted to kiss?

You wiped the thought out of your head and continued to walk towards him. It was as if everything had happened in slow motion. In the time you had gotten to the party and gotten your drink, one of your shoes had come untied and you had stepped on it, causing you to fall right onto the floor in front of everyone.

Eddie didn't know what he was doing, but he was quick to help you to your feet. You didn’t know why you were wearing heels when you knew that you’d be drinking, but the damage was already done.

“I don’t need your help,” you told him, trying to push him off of you, but he wouldn’t let you go as your legs were giving out once again.

“Yeah, I can tell,” he rolled his eyes and you hated how you could feel the heat of his hands through your shirt and how his warm brown eyes were filled with concern. “Falling for me, hm?”

“Not even close.”

“Right,” he nodded. “You just can’t hold your liquor.”

“Right on the money, Munson. Guess you’re not as dumb as you look.”

“Can we move this little conversation somewhere else?” Robin asked, appearing by your side. “It’s a little disruptive.”

“The conversation is over,” you grumbled, finally getting Eddie to let go of you. He was about to walk away, but Robin grabbed him by the arm, preventing him from getting too far.

“But it’s not,” she said, also grabbing hold of your wrist. “I think I speak for everyone when I say that you need to talk whatever this is out.” She rested a hand on each of your shoulders and led you up the stairs to the nearest room which just so happened to be a guest room.

“Robin, what are you-” you both said in unison, but she shoved you into the room and both she and Steve stood against the door so neither of you could open it.

You tried to opened it but it wouldn’t budge. You then let Eddie try, but he couldn’t get it either, the effort being no use. You were now stuck until they let you out and you knew that you would have to stay there until you worked things out.

You couldn’t believe you hadn’t seen it sooner. You fell right into your friends’ trap and now you were going to have to stay with the metalhead who you despised.

You sat down on the bed with a sigh then collapsed onto your back, accepting defeat. If you couldn’t get out without reconciling, there was no use in fighting. The bed was actually kind of comfortable so you could have stayed there for quite a while if Eddie didn’t start yapping.

He stood by the door, sipping on the beer that was in his hand and you found yourself letting your eyes take over his body. He was dressed in a cropped band t-shirt and pair of short shorts. He looked good and you almost wanted to tell him as much, but you didn’t want to feed his ego.

He turned to you, setting his beer on the dresser before making his way towards you. He stood in front of you, giving you a view of his great legs and you he to tear your eyes away from him.

“Like what you see?” He asked, his tone becoming very flirty. His pink lips twisted into a smirk and you almost wanted to kiss him. Almost.

“Not in the slightest,” you grimaced. But you did like what you saw. Maybe a little too much.

“Oh sorry, here. Let me give you a better view,” he turned around and purposefully dropped his keys, slowly bending down to pick them up, wiggling his ass as he did so. And damn did he have a great one. Why did you want to look and why did you kind of want to give it a slap? It was right there. All you had to do was reach over and-

“I caught you looking, l/n. You can touch it if you want. I won’t tell anyone,” he winked as he set his keys next to his beer. He then crossed the room and planted himself right next to you so that your thighs were touching. "I bet you've even thought about me naked," he teased his face a little too close to yours for your liking. You could see his brown eyes perfectly and could count every single eyelash if he had stayed there long enough.

And the thing was, you had thought about him naked. Even though you never would have admitted it. Sometimes when you couldn't sleep, you'd use your fingers to entertain you and maybe sometimes your mind would wander to Eddie. Maybe he was hot. But only maybe. There was no way in hell you were going to tell him as much. He didn't deserve to know how much you thought about him.

"It's okay if you have," he assured you. "Because I've thought about you naked. And believe me, in my dreams, you look hot as fuck."

"You're disgusting," you grimaced, but really, it was kind of turning you on. You felt your cheeks getting hot and you turned away from him. "I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on earth."

"Woah, sweetheart," he put his hands up in defense. "No one said anything about us sleeping together. I was just talking about fantasies."

"And that's all it's going to be, because in case you forgot, Munson, I don't like you." You stood from the bed and stepped away from him, knowing that you only needed one more push and your lips would be on his.

"I don't like you either sweetheart, but I'm just trying to get along with you because of Dustin, because unfortunately, you're related to him."

"What do you have against me? What did I do?"

"Nothing, actually," he replied, leaning back on his hands, crossing one leg over the other. He was looking hotter by the second and you needed to turn away before you did something stupid. "I just like pushing your buttons. But you clearly seem to hate me. Wanna share with the class?"

"You're arrogant," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "You think your hot shit because you play DnD, but guess what, Munson? So do a lot of other people. I think you're just mad because I'm a better DM than you." That seemed to unleash something in Eddie because before you knew it, he was standing from the bed and making a beeline for you.

"Hey, no one is a better DM than me," he jabbed his finger into your face. You kind of liked when he got angry. There was something about it that made you want him even more.

"Oh, I beg to differ," you chuckled, stepping closer so that you were toe to toe with him. "Even Dustin says I'm better than you."

"No he didn't." You could see his gaze moving down to your lips and you mimicked his actions, trying your best to be more subtle than he was.

"No, he didn't," you shook your head. "But you believed it for a second, didn't you? God, you're so easy to rile up, you're so-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Eddie grabbed you by the neck, pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss. You gasped into his mouth, but quickly responded by moving your lips with his. Your hands quickly wound into his hair as his went to your waist, wrapping around it tightly as he tried to remove any space between the two of you.

Just as his tongue swiped along your bottom lip, you pulled away, not wanting things to get too heated. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and Eddie desperately wanted to nibble on it. Now that he had gotten a taste, he felt like he could kiss you for the rest of his life and never get bored.

"We can't do this," you said, stepping away from him, but he just followed you, backing you up until your back hit the dresser. You wanted him to kiss you again, even wanted to let him go all the way, but there was something about it that felt wrong. Mainly because you were Dustin's sister. Not that either of you would have told him.

"Why not?" He asked, licking his lips and he didn't miss the way you were looking at them, like they were a glass of water and you were absolutely parched.

"Be-because of Dustin."

"He doesn't have to know, but if you don't want to kiss me, then that's fine," he turned towards the door. "We can just go downstairs and tell Steve and Rob that we made up-"

But before Eddie could get to the door or finish his sentence, you turned him around to face you, throwing yourself into his arms before pressing your lips to his in a messy kiss. He was quick to respond, moving his lips with yours, his hands slowly moving up to your waist again.

He licked into your mouth and you moaned as his tongue swirled around yours, backing him up to the bed. He collapsed onto it, taking you with him and you were quick to straddle his waist. You kicked off your shoes then pulled away before pressing a kiss to his cheek, moving his hair out of the way before leaning down, your lips hovering over the shell of his ear.

"I'm gonna show you who the real master is," you whispered and Eddie could feel his dick hardening at your words.

You then pressed a kiss to his neck, peppering the spot with them before adding in your tongue. You could feel his heart racing against your lips and almost wanted to laugh. Good. You had him right where you wanted him. 

You began to suck on the skin, wanting everyone to see exactly what you had done to him. He laid there, pliant to your touch as you marked him up, wanting to let you do whatever you wanted to him. The woman he had been fantasizing for months was on top of him, giving him a hickey so who was he to deny you? This was just a wet dream come to life. 

His hands moved up the back of your shirt, his fingers digging into your back as you continued to work, a moan escaping his lips as he did so. Your teeth grazed the skin and his heart rate skyrocketed, another moan falling from his lips, his fingers digging even further into your back.

Once you felt like your work was done, you pulled away, smiling down at his neck that was now shining with your spit and the hickey that was forming. You had given multiple in your lifetime, but thinking about the fact that Eddie Munson was now going to be walking around sporting the mark that you gave him suddenly made you feel very wet.

He pulled you in for another kiss and you were the one to dip your tongue into his mouth, slowly grinding against him as you did so. You could hear a whimper in the back of his throat and let it die on his lips as you continued to kiss him, still grinding against his cock that was getting even more hard by the second. 

You pulled off your shirt and Eddie stared at your chest, his eyes filling with lust. You stared down at him and continued to grind on him, knowing that he needed just a little push to get the little whimper to pass through his lips. 

“l/n, please, can’t take all the teasing.” His whining was so hot and making you even more wt as you thought about him actually needing you that bad. 

“Gonna need a bit more, Munson.” You were grinding even harder now and Eddie swore that he was going to lose his goddamn mind. “C’mon, beg me.” 

“Please,” he whined again, more passion in his words. “I mean, do you need to see my cock to see how desperate I am?” You knew he was exaggerating, but you actually did want to see his cock, wondering if it looked anything like you thought it did. 

“I do, actually,” you nodded and his hands moved to his shorts and seeing how his dick was tenting in his pants, you could already see what a mess you had made of him. You got off of him and let him get the shorts off, followed by his underwear and you couldn’t help but stare at him, lying there with his cock in full display, the thing much bigger than you had anticipated. 

You followed his lead and stripped your underwear before your skirt and you could see Eddie’s mouth fall open as he stared at you, lust clouding his eyes even more. You then pushed him onto the bed before retrieving a condom from his pocket, opening the packet then rolling the thing onto his cock.

“Don’t think this is because I like you or anything,” you told him as you straddled his waist again, slowly placing yourself onto his cock. “This is just because you’re here and you’re hot.” Eddie had no problem with that. Why you were fucking him was none of his business. He was perfectly happy with you using him for his body. 

“I don’t care,” he shook his head. “Use me.”

“Oh, I intend to.” You leaned down and pressed a hot kiss to his lips before you began to ride him, bucking your hips against his in a slow motion to get used to it before picking up the pace. Your hands found his shoulders and they dug into his skin as his moved to your waist, the same treatment given to your hips.  

You watched him as you continued to ride him, seeing the way he was already coming undone doing something to you. Your movements got harder and faster and clearly that was what Eddie was wanting considering that he was more responsive to you, moans and whimpers falling from his lips. 

“Knew you’d look hot underneath me,” you said, your breathing getting labored, but Eddie only thought that made you even more attractive. “I mean, look at you, I’ve barely even done anything and you’re already fucked out.” Eddie almost wanted to see what he looked like to know if you were telling the truth or messing with him because he thought that he had been pretty nonchalant up until then, Okay, maybe except for the begging. 

“Gonna need for you to beg for me again,” you said and you were getting too cocky for Eddie’s liking. You were so confident that you were driving him crazy, and you were, but he didn’t want you to know just how desperate he was for a fuck. 

In one swift move, he sat up and pushed you onto your back so that he was on top. It was about time he taught you a lesson, making you moan so loudly that the rest of his house could see just how well he fucked you. 

“I’m the master now,” he said, pinning your arms to the bed. Your mouth was wide open and for once, you didn’t have anything to say. You were shocked by the sudden movement that you needed to catch your breath, but Eddie pounding into you made your brain short circuit. 

He was going so fast and hard and all you could do was moan, loving the way he wasn’t being gentle. He was whispering the most filthy things into your ear and you felt so overstimulated, but didn’t want it to stop. This was easily the best you ever had even though you never would have admitted it. Eddie’s ego didn’t need to be fed anymore. 

“Now you’re the one who’s going to have to beg,” he said, stopping his movements completely. He just stared down at you with his big brown eyes, a hint of mischief behind them just like always. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, his moving slowly against, giving you just a taste, but not the full thing. He didn’t want to spoil you, after all. 

“C’mon,” he urged against your lips. You needed him, but there was no way you were going to beg. You didn’t beg. If it came down to it, you’d just finish the job yourself and make Eddie watch, punishing him for what he had done.

“Not a chance,” you replied. “I can stay here all night.” Eddie didn’t like that response. In retaliation, he sunk deeper into you, fitting all of himself into your cunt and he had to hold back a laugh as he watched you gasp. You just needed a little push and you’d be whining his name in no time.

You couldn’t hold on any longer, very close to giving in, the feeling of his entire cock inside of you getting to you. You thought you could take it, but you really couldn’t. It was more painful than you would have thought and it was driving you crazy that he was trying to make you seem like you wanted him more than you did. You both were just fucking each other because you were there. And maybe you were attracted to him a little bit, but that was beside the point.

“Eddie, please,” you begged, your voice much more whiny than he would have expected. “Eddie, please fuck me.” This was exactly what he was wanting and it really wasn’t that hard to get you to submit. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it sweetheart? All you had to do was beg daddy.” 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“Oh, don’t start that or else I’m going to have to punish you.” He pounded into you once more which elicited another delicious moan from your lips. Your grip on him was becoming more rough and he wanted you to hurt him, wanting to be able to see your marks when he looked in the mirror. 

“You say that like this wasn’t already a punishment.” You were giving it back to Eddie and every response almost made him short circuit since the women he usually slept with submitted so easily, obeying his every command, just wanting to impress him. But you, you were different and he liked that. He liked how bratty you were behaving and was going to have fun punishing you. 

“Turn over,” he commanded, his eyes growing dark. 

“Eddie, what-” you were trying to ask him what he was meaning, but he just cut off. 

“I’m not speaking fucking gibberish, y/n, I said. Turn. Over.” He pulled out and you flipped over onto your stomach, a gasp leaving your mouth as his hand made contact with your ass with a loud smack. He did one more, harder this time and you were becoming concerned about how much you were enjoying it. 

You moaned as the smacks continued and before you could even process what was happening, the spanking had stopped. You tried to turn around to see what he was doing, but he pushed your face into the mattress and pounded his cock into your ass, his movements fast and hard. You turned your head to the side so you could breathe and your fingers dug into the comforter as he continued, another moan slipping from your lips. 

You knew that Eddie was a freak in the bedroom, but not this much of one. And did it make you a freak that you were enjoying what he was doing? Definitely. And now you weren’t sure how you were going to go on knowing that this was what you could have had all along if you had stopped your stupid feud. 

“See what happens when you talk back?” He asked, giving one more push and now you were coming undone, an orgasm ripping through you as he removed his hand from your face. You screamed his name and he chuckled to himself as he had you exactly where he wanted you. He then pulled out and disposed of the condom before helping you to your feet. 

You both got dressed, the tension having died down and now you couldn’t look each other in the eye after what you had just done. You cleaned yourself up then put on your clothes, turning your back to Eddie as you did so, suddenly feeling exposed. This was definitely a one time thing and now you were going to have to masturbate for the rest of your life since none of your other hookups would ever compare, Eddie always on your mind as you got yourself off.

Once you were dressed, you turned around to see him grabbing his keys and shoving them into his pocket before reaching for his beer. He stepped closer and tilted the bottle towards you as if he was offering you some. You took a sip, grimacing at how warm it had gotten then handed it back to him. 

Eddie then grabbed hold of your waist and pulled you to him before pressing a kiss to your lips, this one soft and gentle. Just as you were getting into it, he pulled away, pecking you then turning to the door. He rested his hand on the handle then turned to you for a brief moment.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he winked then fled the room, leaving the door wide open. You quickly followed him, stopping in the doorway just in time to see him bound down the stairs to join the party where everyone was hopefully oblivious to what you had just done. 

You waited a few seconds and followed, heading down the stairs just in time to see Robin handing Steve a twenty dollar bill who pocketed it. They both caught your gaze and waved you over, both wrapping an arm around you.

“So how was he?” Steve asked and you tried your best to hide your smile. 

“Oh, we didn’t do anything,” you shook your head, hoping that they would buy your terrible lie. 

“Oh please,” Robin knocked her hip against yours. “We could hear the two of you fucking like bunnies up there. Now come on, let’s get you some water, looks like you need it.” She led you to the kitchen to get you the water and you turned your head in just the right direction to catch Eddie staring at you. He raised his bottle to you and you nodded in response. 

“Same time tomorrow?” he mouthed and you nodded enthusiastically, fully prepared to give him your number after you got your water. Maybe you didn’t hate each other as much as you thought. Maybe all of your attraction to each other was hidden by your supposed hatred. Well, now you supposed you were enemies with benefits and you had absolutely no problem with that.

[licorice-tea]

The Object Of All My Desires

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: so much angst, unrequited feelings (or so law thinks!), pining, yearning, (verbal) fighting, cursing, reader refers to law as a “stalker”, which is valid tbh bc he’s being a little weird, but not really, strawhat reader

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: oh my god i spend so long on this and i just kept hitting mental roadblocks! but then, tonight i got the inspiration to write like ~500 words and finished it up. there were only meant to be 2 parts, but similar to the second season of bridgerton (which it’s inspired by) there will be a 3rd! (the 1st part is based on the first meeting of kate/anthony, this part is based on that entire pinning phase+the confesssion, and the last will be shorter and basically be a resolution of everything.) also, im looking for beta readers! pls dm or comment if you’re interested!!! and if you’d like to be tagged in the next lmk! thanks for reading <3

Part 1 • Part 3

The second time you and Law were around one another long enough to have to face the other and, god forbid, speak, would come 2 years after your first meeting. After all your training apart from your crew, you had finally united and started traveling together again. You and your nakama took on all the challenges Fishman Island had thrown at you and soon moved on to the next adventure: Punk Hazard. It was there you met the standoffish Captain of the Heart Pirates again, and he proposed an alliance to Luffy between your two crews. So here you are; in an alliance with a captain you’d managed to piss off 2 years ago, and who clearly still carries that grudge with him.

Law already doesn’t like being part of the alliance with Straw Hat- but you only make it 1000 times worse. It’s unbearable having to be on the same ship as you, let alone sit at the same table over meals or pass each other in hallways. Not to mention, you seem to make everything a competition. And he doesn’t want to be in as childish a feud as the one that the swordsman and the love cook have, but you’re forcing him to act that way. You’re absolutely insufferable, and how he ever found you remotely intriguing or pretty to begin with is beyond his comprehension.

And yet, Law can’t pull himself away from you, nor you from him. He lingers in dark hallways just to pass by you as you go about your errands on the ship. He stares long enough to burn holes through you, then turns away milliseconds before you catch him (or so he thinks.) But every time you approach the reserved man, he exudes an air of annoyance.

It all makes you wonder, “What’s his deal?” Besides your little tiff back in Sabaody 2 years ago, you’ve never done anything to offend him in his time on the Sunny… Maybe you just need to clear the air. Yeah, that’s it; confront Law and ensure there is no bad blood between the two of you. No grudges, just goodwill.

You hope.

~

The Strawhats and co (Law) are docked at a small island, just for a day or so. Frankly needs supplies, Sanji; ingredients, Chopper; medicine, Zoro; booze, etcetera. And since most of the others have something specific they’re in search of, you have a free day to explore and shop!

You bid Brooke goodbye and thank him for watching the ship, then make your way up the dock and into town. It’s a quaint area, but the market near the entrance of what resembles a town square is overflowing with interesting bits and baubles.

Though you are happy to have this time to yourself, you’re not alone. Law is a mere 20ish feet away. He doesn’t greet you or even make eye contact, instead choosing to lean into shadows and stand behind vendor booths. You can tell that he’s trying to go unnoticed, pretending to be interested in whatever wares the shopkeepers have for sale every time you turn back to check for him.

And it’s fine, for a while. This could be a good opportunity to try and talk to him and ensure that the two of you are on good, if not neutral terms. It’s a little strange that he’s following you now after the two of you have had close to no interactions during his week or so on board the Thousand Sunny, but you don’t mind.

You cannot, however, pass up the opportunity to harmlessly scare him when he gets momentarily distracted by one of the little shops. While Law is reading titles of comic books (how strange…), you double back so that when he looks up, he can’t find you. He scans the marketplace, but to no avail- you must have run off somewhere.

Then you tap his shoulder, and the man nearly jumps out of his skin as he whips his head around to see who it is.

“You really like stalking me, huh?”

“…I’m not stalking you.”

“No? Well, whatever you want to call it, it’s the second time it’s happened.”

“What are you-“

“Sabaody, 2 years ago.”

“I wasn’t stalking you then, either.”

“Fine; following me through at least 3 groves while trying to be quiet and stay out of sight.”

Law scoffs. “Whatever.”

“Hm…” You lean to the side to see what’s behind him; display shelves with various comic books. “What were you looking at?”

“Nothing, I wasn’t even looking here.”

“Ah, so it’s ok for you to lie to my face, but not me to you. Got it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

You nearly laugh. 2 years ago, after proceeding to follow you through several groves of the Archipelago, Law had insisted on knowing if you were a pirate or not, and the conversation had somehow escalated into an argument. It was a stupid little thing. But, you find it funny now, which is why you’re attempting to make jokes about the encounter and ensure him there are no hard feelings reserved over it. “Again, Sabaody.”

“Well… maybe you should stop carrying a grudge over that.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I only bring it up because I think it’s funny.”

“I think it’s childish.” Law doesn’t know why he says this, to be honest. He wants to come off as smart and witty, though he might not have executed it very well.

With a scoff, you cross your arms. “Law you’ve refused to even look at me in your time with my crew. When I try to talk to you, you act like you don’t hear me or straight up ignore me. Then you go and stare at me from across as if I can’t see you. And I’m childish?”

“Yeah, you are, and I don’t like you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Better than you being an awkward asshole with no explanations as to why.”

“I’m not fucking awkward, shut up.”

“Oh no, you just follow people around for the better part of an hour without talking to them. Very charming.”

Law huffs, unamused, and storms off without another word.

You sigh and continue browsing the stalls. “Ok, so, maybe there is some bad blood between us….”

~

Things are awkward between you and Law for the remainder of the evening. Not only is he avoiding you, but you’re also avoiding him. And though you still try your best to be at least a little friendly, he straight up ignores all of your attempts. Whereas before your little confrontation in the marketplace, the stoic man would have at least responded with an eye roll.

When it’s dinnertime, you take your seat next to Robin as usual. Casual conversation and laughter flow around the table easily and seemingly endlessly… until Law walks in. He sits in the only empty chair, next to Chopper’s, and nods at Sanji in thanks for the food. And you, foolishly, try to incorporate him into the conversation. Maybe you do it to try and heal the small rift between the two of you, or maybe you simply want to provoke him further (though you'd never admit it.)

“So, Law, how was your day?”

Everyone pauses their conversations to not-so-discreetly listen in. They had also recognized the growing tension between you and the ally captain, for seemingly no reason at all.

“Mind your own business.”

“Hard to do when you’re always in mine.”

He nearly spits out his drink.“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m starting to get sick of your behavior, y/n.”

“So sick that you just can’t seem to leave me alone?”

“Watch the way you speak to me-“

“My apologies Law, I’m so used to being watched by you rather than having conversations, I must have forgotten my manners-“

“Shut up!”

“Fuck you!”

Now that both of your voices are raised, the crew sees it fit to intervene.

“Watch how you speak to them, Trafalgar-“ Sanji warns.

Similarly, Robin tries to talk you down. “Y/n, he’s our ally-“

The attempts to calm what had nearly turned into a screaming match prove futile, as Law storms out. You scoff and cross your arms. He’s so infuriating, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Silence passes as your crewmates look between each other, none wanting to be the first to… console you? Admonish? Give advice.

“You two should talk, y/n.” Says Robin, ever so mature.

“If he wants to talk, he can come to me instead of constantly staring at me from across the deck without saying anything.”

“Well, he’s clearly not very good at showing it, but you realize that he likes you, don’t you?”

You blink and turn to look at her. This must be another one of her dark jokes. “Very funny, Robin.”

“Oh, y/n, come on!“ Usopp groans; he’s had enough of the yearning and tension. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“No! Because he doesn’t like me. He’s been holding a stupid grudge against me since the first time we met back in Sabaody-“

Nami backs up Usopp’s point; “A crush, y/n. He’s had a crush on you and he’s too shy to talk to you normally-“

“So, what, it’s ok for him to just watch from afar but then act like a jerk when I try and talk to him?”

Surprisingly, Chopper speaks up next. “…Maybe your intentions came off different than intended?”

This makes you bite your lip in thought. Perhaps they had.

Nami pats your shoulder, “Now, go work this out so the rest of us don’t have to deal with all your unresolved tension.”

You unintentionally pout; the last thing you want is to talk to Law right now. But, your crew urges you on, and all but pushes you out the door.

~

You find him pacing back and forth on the starboard deck of the Sunny.

“Law?”

He whips around and you swear you see his scowl become even more pronounced than usual. The crease between his brows deepens, as the corners of his lips turn into a borderline pout. “Not done tormenting me?

“Tormenting? I just… I came to talk to you.“

“I find that hard to believe. From the moment we met, you have been nothing but rude and a nuisance to me.”

You scoff, all plans of reconciliation forgotten. “Believe me, Law, the feeling is mutual.”

“Fuck off.”

“This is my ship, so why don’t you fuck off? Jump overboard for all I care.”

“Maybe I will if it gets me away from you.” Law turns on his heel and storms off the open deck and into a hallway.

“Good luck swimming, asshole!”

Your rebuttal brings him right back to his former position, face to face with you so that your screaming match can continue “I hope you know that every moment I have to spend on this ship is torture, y/n, all because of you.”

“I haven’t done shit to you, Law.”

“Then whose fault is it that I feel this way? Go on, name someone else so I can take it out on them instead.”

“It’s your fault if you feel any type of way about me besides amicably. I’ve been nothing but kind, and-“

“Bullshit. Whether you know it or not you’ve done… something to me, I can feel it.”

“Oh yeah? And since when do you know anything about how you feel, all you do is brood.”

“I don’t brood. And I know that you are the bane of my existence.” He spits back, making sure to emphasize the word bane.

You hold your breath, refusing to play into this childish argument any longer. Or maybe it’s because, even if it’s just a little, his words genuinely hurt. You realize then, that you don’t want to be the so called ‘bane of his existence.’ He takes your silence as an opportunity to continue, though at a much lower volume than before.

“… And the object of all my desires.”

After a moment of disbelief, your scowl turns to a raised brow. “Excuse me?”

“Every one of my waking hours is plagued by thoughts of you. It doesn’t help that I can’t go anywhere on this goddamned ship-“

“Don’t you talk about the Sunny that way-“

“- without seeing you!”

“Well you must enjoy being around me if you’ve decided I’m,” you create air quotations with your hands, “the object of all your desires.”

You feel so out of your depth now. All you know to do is to bite back with witty remarks, even when he opens up to you. And he seems to do the exact same.

“It’s a nuisance.”

Your lip trembles, but you refuse to cry in front of Law while he plays this sick mind game with you. “I didn’t know liking me was such an awful fate.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “There are so many other things I should be focused on, but all I think of is you. It’s not awful, but it’s making me weak.”

“You’re such a prick, Law.”

He’s bewildered, mouth gaping as he tries to understand what could’ve been wrong with what he’s just confessed to you. “I’m saying I like you, y/n, I- Do you hate me that much?”

“No, I don’t hate you, idiot! But you- when you started traveling with us, you made me feel like I had done something to offend you, and then when I confronted you about it in the market you started to really hold a grudge, then you - I just- that’s not how you treat people!”

“Y/n-“

“Are you messing with me right now, Law? Is this another play to try and gain the upper hand in this… ongoing thing we have?”

“No, I wouldn’t…” He trails off and shakes his head. He probably would, if he weren’t so enamored with you and on the condition he possessed the social skills to pull off such an elaborate scheme. “It’s not.”

You’re silent again, but both you and Law are refusing to break eye contact. He must notice your still watery eyes and trembling bottom lip because he steps forward. His hand travels to your arm, then your chin. Forced to look at him, you are pained to see a similar unhappy look in his eyes. Minus the tears. You could almost take him for sorry if it weren’t Trafalgar Law, of all people. So instead of falling into his arms like you suddenly feel a desperate need to; you step backward.

You fold your arms over your chest as you look off somewhere- anywhere besides his eyes. “Law, nothing good can come of this.”

“This? What is this, y/n?”

“These.. feelings.”

“You feel the same?”

“I didn’t ask to feel this way!” You bite back, “But… yes, I do.”

“So what should we do?”

“We aren’t going to do anything, Law. You just stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine.”

“I thought you didn’t like that I was avoiding you?”

“Well now that I know why, what else can be done? Nothing can happen between us, Law. And we can’t allow feelings to complicate this alliance. I can’t allow that, at least; it’s too important to Luffy.”

He searches for reasoning that will trump yours but comes up with none. And so, with a heavy heart, he concedes. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Nothing happened.” Law confirms.

“And nothing will.”

You nod and start walking away. “Goodnight, Law.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

And once you’re back safely in your room, the tears start to spill. You hate this- you hate him. You hate the way he makes you feel. You hate that you’re in love with him, and it took you this long to realize.

The tears don’t stop until you’re knocked out, and by the time you wake up, they’ve stained your cheeks.

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