#he drank and did drugs all the time. he never had a job and would sell weed. our mom was working two jobs most of life because he couldn’t

[flippedorbit]

i truly wish my mom would tell my sister the truth

[abbyromanoff]

ALL GOOD GIRLS GO TO HEAVEN

PAIRINGS: Natasha Romanoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 3,354

WARNINGS: smut, sex in a church, “bad boy” Nat, use of pet names, fingering, really badly written smut, talks of religion, Christianity, insults of God/the religion, ‘good girl’ R, friends with benefits kinda, sinning, mentions of masturbation, mentions of cunnilingus, innocent!R, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Everyone knew the family that lived across from you. Their father, Alexei, somehow made the most in the family with a job he wasn’t allowed to disclose. Some assumed he sold drugs, others thought he ran a prostitution business.

Their mother who you found out was named Melina didn’t acquire a job, she was the more mysterious type. She didn’t talk often, but the other mothers stopped inviting her to their book club when she had mentioned her awards from the gun range; you didn’t even know there was such a thing.

Their youngest, Yelena, somehow always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everyone knew she was the cause of whatever juvenile act was caused but her father seemed to ease any tension with cops due to a hefty pay way. That’s what everyone thought, at least, since most cops didn’t seem to enjoy the family.

And then there was their oldest, Natasha. She was mostly called Nat by her friends, but a skank from anyone else. She was often seen with red bloodshot eyes that were presumed to be the result of weed. She drank like there was no tomorrow and always ended up in the same place as Yelena, an overnight jail cell. If it wasn’t her sister causing problems then it was her, always.

You really didn’t understand the gossip around the four, sure they were a bit of an odd family, but what was the point of judging if they were happy? You guessed it was because of their religious beliefs, when they first moved to the town and your father invited them over for dinner, he was appalled when hearing their lack of faith. The mother believed in a higher power, but her conspiracy theories about such a thing were what set your father off. The rest of them were atheists, that’s when you knew they’d never be allowed in your sight.

Even with your age standing at 19 years old, your parents had all control over you. It was exhausting, you just wanted an escape from their extreme rules. And that’s when you truly met her, Natasha Romanoff.

You later learned that both she and her sister were adopted when she was only six and kept their last names. They weren’t biologically related, but they loved one another as if there were.

You kept your odd friendship hidden from others’ eyes in fear that your parents would find out. Your dad was the priest and very well-known among the town, he’d be beyond disappointed if he heard of such rebelish acts.

But Nat treated you better than anyone ever had, and you were happy when she was near, you couldn’t risk losing that. Your only other friends were the ones your parents had introduced you to because of their acquaintance with the guardians of them, and they were more boring than watching clothes dry.

Nat was fun, she brought excitement and rush. There was one time when she snuck you out of the house to go to a party her friend was holding, you came home feeling more guilty than ever with only two sips of alcohol in your system. And her parents liked you, and so did her sister. They were more laid back, and you found yourself wishing you had the same treatment back at home.

Your parents had wondered what friend you had been spending so much time with, even coming up with the thought of a possible boyfriend. You quickly shut that down with the excuse that you were just so busy with studying for college, it felt sickening to lie.

“Don’t worry about it, we’ve all sinned at least once in our lives,” Nat told you when you expressed your fears to her, it only made the guilt rise. You didn’t even go to the confession box to report your acts in case your father was on the other side and recognized who you were.

“Have you ever tried going to church?” You asked while standing in front of the full-body mirror. You were in your pink and white dress as you placed your earrings on, your hair being done up nicely with a headband to keep it out of your face. You had a light amount of makeup on in order to seem clean but not too clean, you already had to deal with enough catcalls daily. You were very well-known in your area and the boys used that to their advantage, it was honestly tiring. But you had to deal with it, that was presumably the role of a woman.

“Are you kidding? They’d probably hang me if they saw me there. Besides, it seems boring.” You rolled your eyes playfully and walked over to her bed where she laid comfortably. You begged your parents to let you stay at a friend's house and were lucky enough that they didn’t question it when you said the name of their friend’s daughter.

You held her hands in your own, wrapping yours around her fingertips and smiling down at her. You leaned down, kissing her on the cheek and giggling at the blush that covered her cheeks soon after.

“Aww, I thought someone as tough and cool as you didn’t blush?” You cooed in a mocking tone, receiving a soft shake of her head.

“I only blush for you, Cherry.” She loved calling you that after she had kissed you for the first time and tasted your cherry lipstick. Of course, she didn’t put a label on you two and told you it was a friendly act, that everything you did together was saved for only the most important friendships. That meant you weren’t allowed to do such things with anyone else, not even your other friends. But she didn’t break that rule either, so it was only fair.

“Stop calling me that.” You whined, causing a dark laugh to erupt from her.

“But you’re my little cherry, so sweet and tasty.” It was a reminder of your first time shared together when her mouth found place in your most sacred region. She told you it didn’t count as committing adultery unless she was inside of you, so she was allowed to please you all she wanted.

You broke yet another rule when you first masturbated after a phone call with her late in the night. You felt so ashamed, you called her back while sobbing into the phone, little did you know she wasn’t grossed out, she was only smirking. She asked you to tell her exactly what you did, and when you made sure to add that you denied yourself release, she begged you to continue in hopes of hearing you cum for her. You did, just like you followed everything she said. It was almost as if you were her puppet, her toy, but you had never been happier being such.

“I think I should be the one calling you cherry with how red your hair is.” You muttered, running your fingertips through her soft locks and suddenly being reminded of the time you followed this exact routine while you were being thrown over the edge due to her tongue.

“Mm, that feels good.” She moaned, causing your breathing to quicken. “But don’t you have to get to Church before your daddy notices you’re gone, Cherry?” A small pout adored your lips as you had to say your goodbyes, promising to visit her later when you were to sneak out late into the night. You had started becoming an expert at such, but it didn’t rid you of the guilt and shame you held in your heart afterward.

“Sorry I’m late, Daddy, I hope I didn’t miss too much.” You said to the man, kissing his cheek as he gave you a small side hug. His lips landed on your head before pulling away with a smile.

“Nonsense, we were just about to start, angel.” Nat often made fun of you jokingly for your close relationship with your father, but you had just gotten used to the nicknames for each other. You didn’t seem to understand her teasing over what you called him, and whenever you asked she chuckled and told you not to worry, but you wanted to worry. You wanted to understand her and her remarks, all of her friends did, why couldn’t you?

You sat next to your mother and in front of a few people you had grown familiar with. You gave a small wave before turning your attention back to the stand where your Dad stood. He gave you a tight-lipped smile and thanked everyone for coming as you all started your prayers.

There was a creak suddenly heard as the doors to the Church failed to be opened quietly. It was a natural response for multiple heads to be turned, the priest faltering on his words as he tried to remain calm. It was Nat, why was she here?

She was known for causing trouble so it was expected when whispers could be heard amongst the room. She sat behind you and noticed your head not facing her, but you knew she was there. The people next to her scooted over as best they could without creating attraction or seeming as rude. Mark 12:31 ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ it was impossible to do such a thing when a delinquent like herself was right there.

You suddenly felt a small vibration against your thigh where your phone rested and quickly checked it in order to not get a stern talking to from your mother. It was from Nat, telling you to meet her in the bathroom in five minutes. You looked behind you discreetly, seeing the alluring smirk that covered her face.

Five minutes had passed by slowly, and Nat had already left halfway through the wait. She didn’t want it to look suspicious, nobody would notice if she was gone but it would cause a few glances if you were.

You told your mother your planned destination and walked over, making sure to remain silent as to not disturb others.

“What are you doing here?” You whispered out angrily, but you weren’t exactly mad to see her. You worried that someone may have picked up notice on the two of you, surely they wouldn’t have, right?

“Shh, I just wanted to see you, принцесса (princess).” She chuckled and grabbed hold of your waist, pulling you into her as she tried to sneak kisses over your neck. Her Russian always affected you, she was able to pick up on that quickly.

“Is it so bad to visit my angel while they’re at Church?” You sighed as her lips continued their assault, you were praying no marks would be made. How would you be able to look your family and friends in the eyes after that?

“You know, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since this morning.” Her hands tugged on the top of your dress which showed a very little amount of cleavage. She wished she could see more, but knowing that they were for her eyes only was what got her going.

“Really?”

“Mhm, was thinkin’ about how pretty you look in this dress, and how pretty you’d look without it.” Your eyes fluttered shut as her palm ran up and down your thigh, getting closer to the restricted area. She guided you to the sink where you sat on the counter, your legs subconsciously parting while she moved to stand between them.

“W-we’re in Church, Natty, everyone is right outside.” She lifted the end of your dress further up until it rested on your upper thighs. Your panties made their way to her eyesight as she gasped when seeing them, a smirk coming to place on her face.

“Oh, baby…is this all for me?” You shyly nodded with a blush adorning your cheeks. You felt so exposed, so open. But she loved you like this, it was her favorite sight to see.

“Yeah? You got all dolled up for me?” She removed her leather jacket along with her shirt, leaving her in a black bra and jeans. Her abs were on display along with her biceps, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and touching them, shuddering at the feel.

“Like what you see, huh?” She didn’t stop her teasing of your soft skin, forming a sort of obsession with how it felt in her hands. Your chubby thighs looked so cute, she just wanted you to wrap them around her head while she ate you out.

“You keep getting bruises and cuts, I don’t like you hurting yourself.” She grasped your chin in her fingertips, causing you to look back up at her. You bit your lips while staring at her own.

“I’m okay, I promise.” She kissed you with such passion, yet so softly. How she could do such a thing you didn’t know, but you knew you loved every second of it.

“You need to be more careful-”

“Hey, hey, there’s no need to worry your pretty little head off. I’ll try and be more careful, okay? For you.” Her answer satisfied you enough to let the topic drop and allow her to continue her pecks to your hungry lips.

“We don’t have a lot of time now, angel, we need to make this quick before someone notices you’ve been gone so long.” Her fingers toyed with the waistband of your undergarments while you spoke, dragging them back only to release them so it could slap against your skin.

Her digits were cold on your warm skin, sending goosebumps through your entire body. You clung to her body for support, just like you found yourself doing on multiple occasions.

“Please touch me, I-I want you to touch me.” She groaned in response to your worded confession. It was so tempting to just give in, but she wanted to hear it, she wanted to hear how badly you needed it.

“I’m already touching you, am I not?” You whined in hopes she’d understand your high demand. You could feel yourself soaking your panties the more she teased you through them, rubbing your clit in gentle circles before finally pushing the fabric to the side.

“Oh, you’ve made such a mess, baby! You want me to take care of it for you, hm?” You nodded as your hips shuffled closer to her. They were moving on their own at this point as you practically grinded into her.

“Be gentle, please?” She kissed your forehead after agreeing, trying to distract you and make you focus on anything other than the burning pain of her fingers stretching you out. It was only two, but it was enough to cause you to hiss out.

“It’s okay, it’ll feel so much better soon.” She reassured you, smiling when she started to hear low moans coming from your mouth. She started off slow, letting you adjust before increasing her pace.

“Nat- ah!” You let out a particularly louder whimper before she placed her hand over your mouth.

“As much as I admire your pretty noises, I don’t want anyone hearing them but me.” There was slight jealousy in her tone, but you were too enthralled in pleasure to care. If anything, it brought a sense of joy to know the hold you had over her. She was so enticed by your beauty that she didn’t want anyone else to have the pleasure of worshipping it.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous like this.” The sound of your juices sloshing against her fingers could be heard across the small room. She looked down at her watch and noticed five minutes had passed since you left for the bathroom, people had to be curious by now.

You could still hear the distant sound of your father’s booming voice leading the large group of Christians, it only brought a feeling of ignominy and arousal. It was so overwhelming to think that Natasha’s fingers were deep inside of you while your Dad, who held a deep hatred for the woman, was right next door. It was wrong, so deeply wrong, but it felt so right.

“Oh, God!” Her hand had removed itself from your mouth after a small warning, making your pleads now, once again, audible.

“That’s right, I’m your God, baby.” You grasped onto her shoulders as your legs wrapped around her waist, bringing you even closer and causing her to deepen further inside of your tight hole. She didn’t seem to care for the pain your nails caused to her skin, only welcoming it with a delighted hum.

“So tight and warm, you’re so fucking perfect, angel.” She watched her digits disappear before returning to her vision, causing you to follow her line of sight.

“You see that? See how well you’re taking me?” Words seemed to fail from escaping your mouth as a hard thrust from her fingers seemed to have found your spot, the coil in your stomach only tightening further at the newfound feeling.

“Natty, I’m gonna-” You forced yourself into silence when hearing a knock on the door, both of your heads snapping in the direction of the sound.

“Y/N? Are you okay in there?” You bit your lip when hearing your Mother’s gentle voice full of worry, turning back to look at Natasha who only grinned.

“If you want to cum, I suppose you should answer her.” You mustered up the courage to speak, but it ended up resulting in a high-pitched tone that only made the woman more confused.

“Yeah- fine! I’ll be out in a m-minute!” You listened for the approval that she had walked off and let you be, finally allowing yourself to set free the moans you had held back.

“Please…please let me cum, I’ve been so good.”

“If you ask me, I think I would have to say you’ve been everything but, cherry. I mean, letting me fuck you in a Church, the House of God, don’t you feel dirty? Or are you too drunk on my fingers to care?” The realization settled in, you truly were too hungry for her bliss, you were starving. You were a sinner, yet no one ever told you it felt so stimulating to do so. Maybe if you had known how good it felt you wouldn’t have been so pristine, you would’ve been able to remember an enjoyable time that wasn’t just spent with Nat. You’d be free.

“I like being your dirty girl..” It was near impossible to hear, but Nat was able to scoop it out. It made her falter for just a moment, only for you to then feel her grip on your waist tighten.

“You drive me fucking crazy, baby girl.” The room was filled with the stench of sex, easy to sniff out. Her palm was repeatedly brushing against your clit, only causing you to pulse more. You were throbbing, her touches weren’t enough.

“C’mon, make a mess for me, you dirty fucking slut.” The degrading name was what sent you over the edge, never had you thought you’d get off to such disrespect but here you were, coating another woman’s fingers while she spewed words of venom.

“Good girl.” She dragged out, letting you ride your high as your head hid in her shoulder. Your legs shook uncontrollably, the waves of pleasure crashing over you and forcing silent screams out of you.

“I want more.” She mustered out a small laugh that was painted over with her ragged breaths, it sent you a rush of excitement and fear.

“I’ll give you more later. But for now, why don’t you go back out there and try not to think about me too much, alright?” You nodded, stepping out of the bathroom and returning to your seat where you then realized the lack of panties covering your exposed body. She kept them for herself without a plan of returning them, you practically stalled in your spot at the recognition. You still had another hour until you were permitted to leave, you were so screwed, and she loved knowing it.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

jason trying to flirt and reader freaking out gives me life. (dw jason i bet she wants to kiss you too (if she doesnt i might))

When you hesitated to name a book, afraid of being mocked maybe. Or afraid to be vulnerable, Jason took a shot in the dark. Looking up at the shelves. Looking for something well loved. Something you'd keep where you could reach it whenever you wanted comfort. Something you held close to your heart. That you'd read and reread. Worn but not destroyed. Venerated. It would almost feel like something sacred.

Every lonely kid had that book.

And when he locked eyes on it, he smiled. He got up off the floor and walked across the room, aware that he was being watched. He could feel a prickle of warning. A crackle of anxiety tugging at him. And he forced himself to breathe. Yeah, it was a kiddie book. A whole set of them. But, you liked books with happy endings.

"Convert me?" Jason hummed, "I never really liked fairy tales."

"No?"

"It's kinda hard to worry about chivalry when you live like I did," he said sitting back down- suppressing a pang with difficulty. He hadn't thought about his mom and dad in a long time. He kept them buried. It was easier. To not remember the way cancer had a smell. And the way that without insurance drugs just managed the pain. And his dad drank because it hurt. And because it hurt and he drank he couldn't hold a job. And because he couldn't hold a job he just kept doing crimes.

Books had to have a point. Fairy tales and delicate little "girl books" felt ephemeral and frivolous. Austen. Shelley. Poe. Homer. Christie. All that had a point.

"I'm sorry-"

"It's alright," he said exhaling roughly. It wasn't about him. And when he felt you try to pull back, trembling from the strain he shook his head and sank to the floor. "Don't worry about me, okay. Not right now anyway."

"It hurts-"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But if I read this for a while maybe I'll forget-"

"You can borrow-"

"I was going to read it to you," he mumbled, cheeks heating. He meant to just come in and start doing it. He'd hoped you'd just curl up with him and doze off.

"Oh."

"Is that okay?" he asked, not sure what to make of your reaction. Or your feelings. They're still a snarl- and mostly self-hatred.

"Yeah," you murmur. "Your voice is nice when you're not being mean."

[osamucide]

⊹ SEMI-CHARMED LIFE

SHE COMES 'ROUND AND SHE GOES DOWN ON ME AND I MAKE HER SMILE LIKE A DRUG FOR YOU!

wc: 6.4k

cw: sigma x dazai x gn(they/them)+afab!reader, post-canon/canon divergent, language, some plot, explicit sexual content—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, threesome, coaching/guiding, fingering, handjobs, cunnilingus, nipple play, penetration, double penetration, double creampie, spit, teasing, dirty talk, so much kissing, praise, communication, squirting, soft sex, rough sex, hints of fluff and angst, soft dazai, a little bit of mean dazai, switch leaning soft dom!dazai, switch leaning sub!+virgin!sigma, switch!reader, pet names (baby, sweetheart, slut, whore—last two used very affectionately), use of cunt/pussy referring to reader’s anatomy, gambling/strip poker, alcohol+slight dubcon on account of that but otherwise all parties are happily consenting prior, references to pm!reader (and ada!sigma if you squint) but it’s not super relevant, some spoilers for vampire infection outbreak arc/prison break, god will judge me when i’m dead

reid: i have limited knowledge of texas holdem and a huge boner for sigzai. that’s all enjoy

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

“Son of a bitch.”

You sigh and lift your martini to your lips again. It should be too late for a martini, but Sigma's living quarters in the casino is outfitted with a less-than-modest liquor cabinet and while he didn't strike you as much of a drinker himself at first—not while he was on the job, anyway—he could bartend like you wouldn’t have believed had you never seen him do it. Vodka martini, no olive, please.

He had transferred it from his hand to yours with a soft smile that echoed his customer service face; however, he was significantly and refreshingly off the clock, so he addressed you playfully, “007,” as he did and laughed a little as he settled back onto the bed, cross-legged in a triangle made up of you, him, and Dazai.

But that was hours ago. The martini you sip now is your third, and Dazai had graciously made himself at home enough to messily pour up shots between poker games, so it’s safe to say you’re at least a little drunk. Sigma had been looking on in quiet irritation at him spilling remnants of expensive alcohol all over the expensive snakewood. The casino manager couldn’t seem to help but be disarmed by the detective every time he turned around, though, face beneath his messy brown hair alight with intoxication and beaming as he distributed yet another over-poured ounce of sake to both of you still on the duvet. You all drank, poker commenced, money was won and lost.

But that was just the first game. There’s higher stakes this time around.

“I have to fold.” You curse at your shitty hand once more and glance to Dazai, who’s flicking all of his little plastic chips toward the pot.

Of course it was Dazai who’d suggested the stipulations for this game, and of course it’s Dazai who is now letting the words “I’m all in” roll off his tongue while he looks charmingly bored and tipsy.

A few games would not be enough to figure out Dazai’s tells. In fact, a few hundred games would probably not be enough to learn to read him. If it wasn’t evident enough already from his excitement about the idea that he was unconcerned about his chances of being the one with the most clothing left on, it’s certainly evident in the way he’s relaxed now, his fist propping him up by his cheekbone. He peeks at his cards again from where he lounges on his side before he looks up to Sigma with bright eyes and a grin, quiet with mischief.

Sigma could go either way, it seems, from the way his tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth as he idles with an unruly stack of chips. He’s far more expressive, but this is his livelihood; it showed when he faked Dazai out of a 30,000 yen pot last game. Still, this time, this showdown, he pushes the rest of his pile into the center. All in.

The detective flips his cards, pinched between his middle and index finger. Straight flush.

Sigma clicks his tongue and whips his cards down onto the duvet. Straight.

“Hah!” Dazai kicks his feet like a child before sitting up to hoard the large pile. “You both know the rules,” he sings, copying Sigma’s posture as he grabs handfuls of his newly-won chips and lets them rain down over his head. A couple fall into his empty whisky glass.

You and Sigma look briefly at one other before both holding your drinks out for the conniving bastard in front of you to hold, which he does. There’s no agreed-upon piece with which you would begin to undress, so, like any sane person, you reach for your socks.

“Mh-mm,” Dazai hums his dissent through a sip of your martini. “I wanna change one rule. Losers have to undress each other.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s socks, Osamu.”

“Precedent,” he claims with a shrug, switching to take a sip of Sigma’s French 75.

So you and Sigma commence removing each other’s socks in a way that particularly lacks even a little sexiness, but when Dazai starts giggling, you both do, too. You ball Sigma’s socks up and toss them at Dazai’s head, which he dodges and swats back at Sigma. Sigma chucks your own socks at you in return for the indirect fire.

“Hey!” you bite jokingly through your teeth, discarding your socks off the little island of a bed that you exist on right now with these two men, and a moment of reflection strikes you as Dazai buries his face in his hands and Sigma almost tips backwards as they both laugh.

It started months ago in Meursault when you tumbled into the block where Gogol was challenging Dazai and Fyodor to his game after freeing them from the Infinite Dice Room. You, as a low-profile, high-priority Port Mafia affiliate aligned closely with the gravity user Chuuya Nakahara, had followed him into the prison as reinforcement; how Gogol and Dostoevsky were even aware of your existence then, you still aren’t sure. But you ended up there, watching Dazai and Fyodor shoot up lethal poison before dispersing to make their escape. You originally stayed with Nikolai to watch it unfold, but scampered off at some point when Chuuya appeared in danger of drowning. Your ultimate goal had been to help the Detective Agency and by proxy Dazai, but you’d be damned if you stood by while your executive was in a dire situation. It all turned out well, except for Sigma’s prolonged comatose state immediately after the prison break and everything that followed. But all that wasn’t important—not to right now, anyway.

What sticks in your mind and resurfaces now was the way you had watched on the monitor as Dazai—a former associate of yours, to say the least—paraded Sigma through the halls of the prison, teasing him, poking at him, dancing with him. It would’ve been borderline-adorable behavior from anyone sane in a normal situation, but Dazai had a way of driving people to the edge with the timing of his antics, and Sigma was quick to crumble under the pressure of the circumstance. What sticks more is how quickly the casino manager surrendered his trust to the quirky brunette inmate along their journey out of the building that day.

And what sticks most is how Dazai looked at him.

You remember observing a hint of something in his gaze that was usually only reserved for people who held important information, nurses in hospitals who’d taken his phone, occasionally you and Chuuya back in the day if he was feeling especially unhinged—the like.

And you remember looking at Sigma the same way over the screen—all sharp features, milky skin, elegant locks, and a hot trigger finger. His conviction over his purpose was alluring to you, who always understood your purpose to be pure survival. To Dazai, whose purpose seemed to be dying. Sigma was something entirely different from either of you, and when you all reconnected by the chance of business after the chaos, it was difficult to ignore the feelings dredged up from such a stressful time. It wasn’t like you’d always had your eye on Dazai or anything—no, surely not—but anyway, the click between the three of you back in Yokohama was inevitably pursued outside of work. A former DOA associate, an Armed Detective, and a Port Mafia subexecutive meeting up in the Sky Casino for drinks and Texas hold ‘em was certainly unprofessional in one capacity or another, sure, but you can hardly find it in yourself to care as Dazai hands you your martini back, face pink from cracking up.

It’s funny to you, how you never feel out of place between them. Sigma is leaning over onto your shoulder to stifle his dying laughter. You just shake your head as Dazai picks up the cards to deal.

The next game whirls by. You are the first to end up without a shirt, where Dazai and Sigma, both with their seemingly endless respective streams of luck, split the winnings over an evenly-matched two pair. You sit sheepishly after it’s your turn to deal, trying desperately, now that you’re losing in a tangible way (the three of you never use real money), to conjure up ways to gain back some ground and maybe not finish out the night as the only one naked.

“Sigma, deal,” Dazai purrs as if this isn’t Sigma’s show. You have your arms crossed over your chest as two cards flutter down in front of you, and you look at them, thinking, hoping—yes, maybe if Sigma would put a Jack down you could—

But any strategy you’re beginning to formulate is effectively zapped off, like a power button on a remote extinguishing a television’s display, as Dazai takes your wrists in his hands and guides them down to your lap.

“Why are you sitting like that?” he asks so innocently. “You’re hot. Stop hiding.”

You’d be blushing if it wasn’t for the alcohol making an appearance on your cheeks already. You giggle a little again, his touch making you feel more lightheaded than anything you’ve drank thus far. Sigma turns to you for your action, but your eyes are locked onto Dazai’s, so he does the only thing that makes the most sense in his own intoxicated mind—he grips your chin, not too harshly, and turns your head toward himself, in all his pastel, angelic beauty.

“Your turn,” Sigma says gently. While he doesn’t comment on what Dazai has said, and although his hand doesn’t hold the same menace that Dazai’s seems to, the tilt of his lips speaks a silent agreement.

Just as both of their fingers are beginning to overwhelm you, they retreat.

And you look down at your cards again, and your train of thought is as good as gone.

“Um—sorry, uh…”

You push 6000 yen into the pot, and Dazai follows.

And soon enough, like clockwork, you’re removing your pants—no, Dazai is removing your pants as Sigma gathers his winnings, and you’re unbuttoning Dazai’s shirt, and this has to be some sort of plot against you, you think, because the room is suddenly hotter, nevermind the alcohol, and you swear Dazai and Sigma are exchanging looks the way you and Dazai had months ago before leaving Meursault.

But you keep your composure. If there’s one thing you were used to dealing with, it’s sexy, scheming men, and it’s rare you ever let them get the best of you. Poker aside, you won’t crack. You can’t. Your drunkenness, now subsiding into hazy exhaustion and a twinge of need you won’t admit to yourself just yet, bolsters your pride, if anything. These two will not break you. You’ll make sure it’s the other way around first.

Another two games pass, and you finally have the mind and hand to win, which is what leads you to the scene of Sigma inching Dazai’s underwear down his thighs.

The casino manager’s face is broken out madly. He’d lost his own shirt but in all remains the most clothed out of all three of you; your dignity is preserved in your undergarments, and Dazai only ‘tsks as he steps out of his boxers just to lay back down on his side, propped up on his hand, in his spot on the bed.

“Well,” the detective laments, his practiced dramatics coming out to play. “I’ve officially lost. What to do now…?”

You look as unfazed as you can by Dazai’s nudity; Sigma’s eyes, however, are everywhere but the brunette.

You hum thoughtfully, considering your nails. You have your little heatstroke from before under control, it seems, but you’re biting your bottom lip raw at the shift in the energy of the room.

You crawl to sit against the headboard of the bed, shooing Dazai out of your way as you do so—it’s the same luxurious snakewood that the liquor cabinet is made from, and it doesn’t budge when you lean back against it. Dazai sits beside you, one leg curled beneath him and the other hanging off the edge of the bed as you kick the duvet down at Sigma, adjusting yourself so your bare legs are extended and crossed at the ankle. You smirk, only softly. Dazai scoots closer to you when your pinkie wraps around one of his fingers.

Sigma, hunched in on himself at the end of the bed, breathes deeply as you turn your gaze to him and pat the spot on the other side of you. He’s willed up by the expectant look on Dazai’s face, and he takes his seat at your side; he looks to the brunette across your side profile, and you hook each of your legs over one of theirs.

“What else is there to do?”

The question comes from you as you look between them, stroking both their knuckles; Dazai’s expression grows more sinister by the second, and he looks past you too, to Sigma, whose eyes are wide. You follow Dazai’s vision.

Sigma gulps and finds himself nodding. He knows what at, but he can’t bring himself to say it as you flick your gaze down to his parted lips.

You lean in.

“This okay?”

He’s still nodding. His head only stills when your hand leaves Dazai’s and reaches up to cup his face.

And you kiss Sigma with an open mouth. He shivers and leans into you. Your hand falls back to blindly search for Dazai’s cock.

Dazai is half-hard just watching you slip your tongue past Sigma’s lips; you thumb his tip teasingly, giving him a few squeezes and drawing soft breaths from him as the pastel-haired man reaches up for your neck. It’s obvious Sigma’s never kissed anyone like this before, but he follows your lead like a first-time ballroom partner, letting you nip the beginnings of moans out of him as Dazai watches, watches.

When you pull back, Sigma is in awe. His eyes don’t open for a few seconds, and you smile, endeared.

“You’re a good kisser, Sigma.”

His eyes snap open. “R-really?”

You nod. “But I think Osamu could train you even better.”

Something flashes across Sigma’s face—not discontent or anxiety but pure surprise, and you turn back to Dazai for his appraisal. He’s biting the inside of his cheek as your fingers work him up and down, torturously slow. Before anything else can happen, you lean into Dazai; he’s eager to receive your lips, force the gasps that belong to you into your mouth. You think you’ll play them like a pair of cymbals, if they let you. If Dazai lets you. It’s looking like he might.

You tilt your head back as Dazai works his way down your throat, leaving bruising bite marks as you touch him. You find Sigma glazed over in awe—the next thing you do is encourage his face toward yours again, so you can kiss him while Dazai marks you. You don’t hold back the sighs that come from your diaphragm. Sigma swallows your breath with greed. You cup his jaw, your noses bump; he grows more confident by the second, and as Dazai traverses back up your neck, you leave him whining, removing your hand from his cock to push the two men’s faces together.

Soft hums reverberate between their kiss. You look proudly upon your work as their hands find one another, frantically, on jaws, on shoulders, on chests. Sigma reaches to pick up where you left off, but second guesses himself.

“It’s okay,” you whisper to him. “Right, Osamu?”

“Mmhm.” Dazai bites into the other man’s bottom lip. Sigma yelps into the lack of air between them. You guide his hand, which finds Dazai at his base and sends him moaning into the kiss.

With your hand wrapped around Sigma’s wrapped around Dazai, you latch onto Dazai’s neck to return his bites. Your head buzzes with anticipation; it’s so hot to watch them, low-lidded and on two different levels of experience, talking to each other without speaking. You move Sigma’s hand up, down, up, down. Dazai breaks away to let a full-bodied moan into the air; he makes up for contact by resting his forehead against Sigma’s, peering down at where the two of you are working him into a mess.

“That’s it,” Dazai pants, but he looks smug. “Unh—feels good.”

“Hear that?” With your free hand you tuck a thick lock of Sigma’s silvery hair behind his ear as you mumble into it. “You’re doing so good.”

“Tell me what to do,” Sigma breathes, and he sounds so desperate that it makes you throb. “Don’t know what ‘m doing, please, tell me what to do.”

“Exactly what you’re already doing.” You let go of his hand and let him stroke Dazai by himself. Dazai nods weakly, needily, cock twitching as Sigma explores; the pale-haired man’s thumb circles his tip the same way yours did, but faster. When you lean over to spit on his cock over Sigma’s hand, the brunette’s jaw falls slack and the two melt into another kiss; you don’t even have to enlist Dazai’s hands as, through his pleasure, he fumbles for you. You uncross your ankles, and he rubs you impatiently over the final bit of cloth that remains on your body. Your lips find Sigma's throat next.

All heaving breath against each other, you move like this for a bit, learning one another. Dazai reaches to pop the button on Sigma’s pants as he’s tugging at your underwear at the same time.

You both turn your focus to Sigma as you kick your last layer off; he stumbles upward, back onto his feet, and you and Dazai pursue him as he’s helping you both push his pants and boxers off in one collaborative swipe. He’s never been hard like this before—sure, Sigma’s not a stranger to sexual arousal, but he’s only ever touched himself. Call it a side effect of the imposter syndrome or throwing himself into his casino or the fact that this is his first time being alive, but as Dazai sits on the edge of the bed looking like a hungry animal and you toss his pants away, he can’t imagine why any two people as physically gorgeous, intellectually dominant, and purpose-driven as the two of you would want to engage with him like this. He’s excited, he can’t deny it—his cock is straining almost painfully as it bobs in the air now—but there’s a line of tears forming on his lash line, and you’re fast to catch him.

“Sigma,” you call him back from inside his head. Dazai’s fingers have found his hip; they rest there tenderly. “Sigma. We can stop. It’s okay.”

“No,” Sigma all but cries. He aches to be touched the same way you and himself were both touching Dazai. “No, no, don’t stop, I just—I’m—”

A single tear splits down his pretty pale skin. He looks back and forth between you both.

“Sigma,” you say firmly. “Talk to us. It’s important.”

“I—” He gathers himself, voice cracking only once. “I want this. I want it so bad. I can’t believe I deserve it. You’re both… I just don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to... not be good.”

You look to Dazai, who looks uncharacteristically tired for a moment; it’s an understatement to say he understands exactly what Sigma is trying to articulate, but he’s not a man of sentiment, so you pick up the slack. Collaborative. You wind your fingers between Sigma’s and lead him to sit next to Dazai.

You stand, bare, in front of the two of them, also bare; they’re both so beautiful in their own ways. Dazai, with his dark features, cutting cheekbones, flexing jaw, bandages outlining the contours of all his lean muscle. Sigma, all heavenly light, awkward hands, unmarked skin, thin sheen of glistening sweat.

“You don't need to worry,” you reassure him. “We just want you. Right, Osamu?”

“Mmhm,” Dazai hums again. Not a man of sentiment, but he presses a series of kisses to Sigma’s cheek before smiling devilishly. “We’ll take care of you. How about that? Teach you how to fuck.”

Sigma shudders at his words; his eyes still flit nervously, but fall at rest when you sit opposite Dazai and run your fingertips across his thigh.

“Yes,” he responds just above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dazai echoes.

“Okay.” And you. “Can we touch you? Or d’you wanna watch us?”

Sigma contemplates. His cock jumps at the mere mental image of watching Dazai fuck you; he could get off like that and be totally content, but his mind drifts back to your hands, Dazai’s hands, and how selfishly he was campaigning for you both to touch him just minutes ago. “Touch me, please.”

Now it’s you looking across Sigma’s side profile at Dazai. He mirrors the look in your eye, and you lean over to press a kiss to the brunette's lips before you traverse the plane of Sigma’s chest. Dazai reaches for his cock.

And just like that, Sigma is in heaven. His hands fall behind him on the bed to steady himself as Dazai goes through a motion Sigma’s performed so many times on himself, but it feels so much better now—he doesn’t know if it’s Dazai’s calloused fingertips or the curling heat you both create in his pelvis by just kissing him, talking to him, loving on him—and he’s throwing his head back, embarrassed to make noise but in such ecstasy that he can’t help it, won’t help it. You giggle lightheartedly against the shell of his ear when he does, and he loves it. Loves it. Wants it to last forever. Dazai sucks on his collarbone and you tweak his nipples and he’s twitching, twitching, building up so quickly he’s afraid he’ll be spent soon.

"'M gonna... oh—gonna cum if you don't s-stop—"

But it isn't a request to, so when you and Dazai's hands both leave him, he's sent reeling just like you were during the last game. Sigma's chin meets his chest as he recovers from what feels like Dazai's revenge for the bluff that worked on him earlier, and he looks at you both, glazed over with lust.

Your eyes are so warm when they slide from Dazai back to him.

“So handsome. You’re gorgeous, Sigma.” It hardly matters who says it—the other agrees.

“Tell us what you want.”

"Well, um," he asserts, pulling his shaky legs up into himself and leading you by the arms to pull you back to the headboard. "This part seems pretty self-explanatory. Dazai, I think you should show me how to..."

You perch at the head of the bed again as he trails off, and Dazai looks like he's ready to have fun with what's coming next.

"Show you how to...?" he prompts Sigma to finish his sentence, and Sigma's nudging his way between your legs; your lips turn upward at his burst of enthusiasm, and the words get stuck a bit as he settles on his stomach in front of you.

"Touch them. I've really never done this before." He blinks up at Dazai. Weaponized incompetence has never been so sensual.

And Dazai takes the bait and crawls next to him, gripping your thigh a little too hard as he presses his shoulder to Sigma's. "Certainly. Give it your best shot, I wanna see what I'm working with here." It's so natural for Dazai to take on the mentorship position, even in this situation. You can't help the way you giggle at them; their eyes linger on each other a second too long to imply nothing before Sigma turns his attention to you.

You think he'll start with fingering you, but he dips his head down and goes right for your cunt—you're unable to suppress the oh! that leaves you as he licks a sensual and slow stripe from your hole to your clit. Knowing Sigma, you understand that his mind is probably still swimming with self-doubt as he rolls his eyes up to yours, but you can't find any of it. It's all too hot. His pretty pink lips undulate as he tastes you, delicately, and Dazai lets out a surprised noise of his own.

"Seems like you’re alright." Dazai's grinning. "But I'll help you out. Stay there."

So Sigma latches onto your clit, drawing another series of gasps out of you, and Dazai plunges his middle finger into you. You’re so slick, so ready for them that there's no resistance; Sigma's experimenting with his tongue, then his lips, then alternating, and Dazai keeps digging his fingertips into your thigh, your hip, as he works you open on his hand.

"God, with how wet you are, I think we could get you to take both of us."

Your eyes—which you hadn't realized had fallen shut as you wound each of your hands in either of their heads of soft hair—fly open at that. Sigma pulls away too. Tortorous.

"At the same time?" You're unsure if it comes out of your mouth, too, but Sigma asks it—with a sense of wonder that, had you said it, would've been overshadowed with a little apprehension. Dazai looks up to you for approval.

And while it's daunting—neither of them are small, that's for sure—you can't help the way your hips roll at the thought of being stuffed with them both. At the same time. How intimate it would inevitably be, their cocks pressed together as they fuck you. So you nod, vigorously.

"Gotta get 'em ready, though," he lectures to Sigma, snapping back to his instructorly tone as his hand falls on top of yours in his two-toned hair, pushing his face back into your cunt. "Put that mouth to work. You got it, baby."

Sigma hums against you at the nickname and the vibration sends your head lolling back again; Dazai looks wicked as he straddles your leg, still reaching down to split you open, now on three fingers instead of one or two. He kisses you hard.

The attention from both of them is unbelievable—you see now what had them both falling apart so quickly. Something about two sets of hands wandering your body sets lights off behind your eyes. Sigma’s reaching up to paw at your chest, flicking and pinching your nipples the same way you had his; before you know it you’re panting like a dog into Dazai’s mouth and soaking the bed below you.

“Fuck—you two.” You’ve got one hand still twined in Sigma’s hair. You’re almost grinding onto his nose, and he’s lapping up everything you’re giving him like a good boy. Your other arm winds around Dazai’s neck as you pull him closer and bend your knee to nudge his balls. He humps against what you give him. Lewd, wet sounds fill your ears.

“That’s the plan,” Dazai singsongs, pretty teeth visible. Amidst your frantic hips, he shuffles behind you, never breaking the heated kiss you share more than he has to. Those teeth find your lips and you gasp, you moan, you’re so impressed at how quickly Sigma is picking up on this new art, and with so little instruction, really—he watches you and Dazai make out from his place between your thighs and thrusts his hips against the bed at the sight. You notice.

“Sigma, come up here.”

His lips leave your cunt hesitantly; truth be told, your taste is more inebriating than all the alcohol he’s had. He’s rock hard, and you split your attention between him and Dazai as you lift your hips up, arch, and angle Dazai’s cock against your pussy.

His lips catch Sigma’s as he sinks into you; a whine falls from you at the stretch, and you can feel Dazai shake as he waits to move. When he parts from the kiss, he wraps his hands beneath either of your thighs, spreading you open wide.

Sigma all but gawks at the way Dazai’s dick is buried in you from below. You reach behind you, give his brown hair a tug that has Dazai thrusting up roughly, and Sigma would let your moan shatter his eardrums, his entire being, if he could. He sees the whites of your eyes, the white of Dazai’s fingertips as he grips you hard, the white of Dazai’s precum and your slick dripping down onto the sheets, and his hips lunge forward at nothing. Your cunt looks delicious. Dazai looks delicious, all furrowed brows and bitten lips and groans that bubble up from his chest. He fucks you fast.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Osamu! Unh, uh-huh—”

Dazai echoes your own name back to you. “Yeah, fuck—you feel so good.”

All the combined sounds are like a symphony to Sigma. He palms his own cock; no way he can cum just watching now, he decides. He needs to be in you. He doesn’t want to be an observer. Sigma catches Dazai’s eyes as if to say can I? But Dazai’s already smirking and breathlessly slipping out of you, holding you up and open still as you reach for Sigma with one hand and will him into you. You suck him in, god—thank god you’re already so wet and fucked open, because he’s not an inch inside of you before he loses himself and thrusts forward wildly.

“There you go,” Dazai encourages, grinning as the pale-haired man’s composure crumbles. “Isn’t that pussy heaven? Just like that, Sigma. They’re fuckin’ creamin’ all over you, look.”

Look, as if his rosé eyes could possibly leave the place where you’re swallowing him in. Sigma’s grunting—he’s never known himself to be noisy during pleasure, but this is another level, your cunt so warm and milky and squeezing him like you’ll never let him go.

The curtain of Dazai’s bangs falls across your shoulder as he kisses you there, mutters filthy musings into your ear while he watches Sigma sink into you over, over, over.

“How’d’they feel?”

Sigma’s unprepared for the way his own voice sounds, wound tight and concentrated while he tries and fails miserably not to whine. All that voice turns into babbling. “So—so, so fucking good, I’m—ah, I’m gonna fucking cum—”

"Woah, woah, alright. Not yet. Give 'em a breather. They're gonna need it, after all." Dazai's still laughing as he puts the brakes on Sigma with his feet—that's especially funny to him, but the way Sigma almost chokes at the way Dazai stops him is even better. Sigma, all sweat and arousal, sinks back onto his knees. You, too, squirm at the loss of stimulation, pushing soft lavender and silver off his forehead where it sticks; when Sigma’s hips don’t quite quit, even with nothing around his cock, Dazai chuckles out a “Looks like you need it, too.”

You trace Sigma’s tangling fingers as you catch your breath, interlocking both your hands with his. Dazai lets up on your legs—your hips will thank him later—letting the flex back into a more comfortable position. Your back rests against his chest, and he plays with your clit lazily.

“This is gonna take some patience, okay?” Dazai is addressing Sigma more than you; you’re guiding Sigma’s hands down to your cunt where he and Dazai move in a figure eight that keeps you occupied.

They're gonna need it, after all is what's registering in your mind. "Osamu—" you start, but he's shushing you.

Once again, Sigma's watching Dazai ride you up by your thighs so he can buck up into you, much more tactfully than the pale-haired man was just seconds ago. Perhaps more neglected than either of you at this point, Dazai's voice is gruff as you squelch around him.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart. Hah." His teeth sink into your shoulder as you croon.

"Dazai—" Sigma starts this time, but the other man answers all his questions with a single look.

"You’re gonna go back to what you were doing,” Dazai breathes, his gaze trained on Sigma as you writhe.

“Please, both of you—”

“Be patient,” Dazai means to snap at you but it’s too melted, too lovey. Anyway, he’s egging you on with his next words. “C’mon, Sigma, you’re gonna give ‘em what they want, right?”

And Sigma nods like he’s in a trance—your cunt already looks full around Dazai, but he needs urgently to be in you next to him. He thinks he’ll explode in all the wrong ways if you don’t let him in. He needs it, so he lines himself up below your clit, above Dazai, looking for anywhere he can slip in; it takes some of Dazai’s fingers, some of yours, but soon enough he feels the veins of Dazai’s cock on his underside and your pulsing walls to the top of him. He’s in. He’s actually in, and his head falls onto your shoulder, and it takes everything in him not to let his full weight slump directly onto you and Dazai. You’re bleating, sobbing, laughing through the stretch, and when Sigma’s tip nestles next to Dazai’s deep inside you, you feel full. Whole.

“I’m gonna stay still.” Dazai sounds just as affected as both of you, but he keeps his facade up a few seconds longer to guide you both to the beginning of the end. “Want you to fuck them, Sigma. Hard.”

And he doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s difficult to pull back and push in at first—you’re so fucking tight and Dazai’s so fucking big, and even though you’re spread apart, Sigma feels like he can’t get close enough to you. Your cunt weeps around both of them, protesting the stretch that your brain adores, but you let up. And he fucks you, soft at first, and then hard.

All three of you are jumbled noise; skin on skin, teeth on lips, moans on shoulders, wet smacking and sliding and sobbing as you take both of them. Your gut heats up with each push, each pull, each frantic grasp, each broken sound the two men let out as they frot inside of you; Dazai’s biting your shoulder again, letting his sweet little protégé do the work. Sigma digs his nails into you wherever he can find purchase.

“Oh—fuckin’ harder, Sigma, baby, please—” you beg.

“Our pretty boy fuckin’ you good?” Dazai doesn’t wait for you to answer. “You gonna go stupid on his cock, huh?”

Sigma couldn’t answer the question even if it wasn’t rhetorical; all of his coherence is gone, and you took it. His thrusts grow erratic, remarkably unpracticed and blatantly virgin, but the repeated pounding of the head of his cock against the entrance to your cervix makes your eyes impossible to keep open, then impossible to keep closed, so you teeter between hyperalert and falling apart. Dazai rubs your clit as Sigma pushes your knees further back with sudden aggression, pins your thighs closer to your shoulders as he fucks you and creates an otherworldly friction against Dazai. He’s gone, he’s lost, and he looks so gorgeous whimpering and whining, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he screws his eyes shut and his mouth falls open over and over again. If anyone’s going stupid, it’s Sigma.

But the longer he fucks you, the more limp you fall; your head falls to rest on Dazai's shoulder as Sigma puts everything into you, and the brunette laughs like the asshole he is, even through this. He’s hardly doing better than either of you, though, and his words fly.

“My two beautiful little fuckin’ sluts, so—unh, so hot. So hot. Look at what I turned you into.”

Neither of you have any hope of answering. His voice just throttles you forward, and Sigma’s grunts ante up—he’s almost yelling, shouting as he exerts himself, as he does everything his body will let him to get himself there, and bring you with him, too.

“Ah! Angh—anh—ah, ah, ugh!”

And you reply with, “Ah! Unh—oh, oh, oh, please, please, please!”

And Dazai drinks it all up, finally letting his eyes roll back as he pulls Sigma down for one more messy kiss—one that sends Sigma headfirst into his orgasm, and he cums, rutting into you while your cunt spasms, squirts, begs for Dazai to follow. It’s like white heat rolling off of him in waves; Sigma’s brows lift as if finding a sort of clarity, and your eyes are wide as you clutch the two men, and Dazai follows shortly after—the mixture of their cum inside you sings the most disgusting and yet most satisfying sounds of the evening. Your legs snap shut around Sigma’s waist as he rides all three of you out, all sweat and tears and incredulous moans that die as he slows to a stop, still stuffed inside of you.

Three pairs of lips are dry, bitten raw—chapstick’s the first thing on Sigma’s mind as his head clears, but he feels himself and Dazai spill out of you, and you and he both reach for him, pulling him down into the pillows as whatever dream the three of you just exited settles around you like dust. He’s sticky, too, but he doesn’t hate it—how can he when you’re between them, throwing one leg over Sigma’s waist and tangling the other with Dazai’s behind you? You head falls into the crook of Sigma’s elbow, and his other arm drapes over Dazai’s, which holds you close by your waist as Dazai’s chin settles on top of your head—not unlike a three-piece puzzle, snapped together and in your right place.

“Oh, fuck.” You’re still leaking. “That was wonderful. Both of you.”

Dazai chuckles again. Unnervingly charming, even after cumming so damn hard. Sigma doesn’t want to know what he looks like himself.

“Who knew there was a whore in the casino man?”

You smack Dazai’s arm, but now you’re all laughing again, even Sigma. He feels… proud. You look so satisfied, so tired. The way your eyes slide shut after pressing such affection into his own prompts him to do the same.

Tired as he may be, though, he can’t lie and say that he’s not still incredibly turned on—you wiggle a little to get comfortable between them, and Sigma feels his cock spring back to life when you brush him, when your fingertips skate over the small of his back. He can’t reflect on what just happened—it’ll have him hard again in seconds.

“Excited again already, huh?” Dazai pokes. Sigma’s face burns.

“Ugh,” you groan out of sheer exhaustion, “if we go again, you’re both taking turns.”

Dazai looks thoughtful. “Hmm. Perhaps we could reprise rock, paper, scissors.”

And Sigma, having begun to nod, stops. “Absolutely not.”

[slutshamethesquirrels]

A First Time For Everything

choso x fem!reader

length: 10.7K

tw: religious guilt, drug use, nsfw, loss of virginity

You left your small hometown to pursue your dreams. Along the way, you've encountered new experiences and challenges that shake your beliefs to your core. In your new city, you meet Choso, who challenges your beliefs and introduces you to a different way of thinking. As you navigate this evolving new life, you find yourself drawn to him, leading to an exciting journey and a whole lot of firsts.

All you could think about was how disappointed your mother would be. You could see her there, in your tiny hometown, crying into a cup of coffee at the local diner, her friend rubbing her back affectionately. She'd tell her friend that she didn't know where she'd gone wrong, and her friend would sigh and quote scripture and tell her some old saying about how no lamb can stray too far from the herd for the shepherd to find again.

Would the preacher give a sermon on Sunday morning? About the devil and how he presents not as himself, but as pleasure? As sex and drugs and money? As freedom?

Six months ago, when you’d graduated college and took a job in a big city a thousand miles away, you'd never have pictured yourself in the predicament you found yourself in now. You wanted to experience, to learn, to breathe in the world around you and expand your mind. To you, that meant working, and trying new foods, maybe taking an art class.

It definitely never occurred to you that it might mean sitting on the cement of a skate park with three alternative men, watching the youngest of the three pack a - what did they call it again? - right, a ‘bowl’ full of weed to pass around the circle.

It makes you nervous, watching the setting sun dance off the pink top of his hair, handling an illegal substance so brazenly, out in the open like the cops couldn't roll up at any minute, like god wasn't watching-

A hand on your back between your shoulder blades, rubbing affectionately, reassuringly.

You look up to meet his eyes, flashing a small forced smile.

“I’m okay, Choso. I promise.”

Ah, if the devil presented as everything you wanted, then Choso Kamo may be Satan himself.

He’d frightened you the first time you'd met him. It was at a bar, sometime early in the night. You’d never drank before and wanted the experience of sipping a cocktail at the high tops, maybe shooting pool with a handsome stranger. You'd quickly learned that cocktails were vast and varied, and strangers came in so many different shapes and sizes out here. Unfamiliar ones, scary ones.

You’d simply asked the bartender for the special, and had been met with something that tasted like drinking straight cough syrup. It made you gag. Too heavy, too sweet, and to top it all off it burned.

He’d slid up to the bar a few seats away and you'd almost pissed yourself. He was huge, muscular, with a thick solid line tattooed across the bridge of his pierced nose. Tattoos decorated his arms, plastered the muscle that threatened to tear the fabric of his intentionally tattered t-shirt from the inside out. It was a deep maroon color, and it made the pale of his skin almost glow in the dark bar lighting. He was distressed jeans and combat boots and danger and fire. Alternatively styled hair, pigtails that somehow looked masculine on him. Tattoos and piercings and just the faintest hint of eyeliner. He was everything you had been taught to avoid. Everything that had ever been off limits.

And the way a match ignited in your stomach as you watched him order? That was definitely the cocktail.

And the way saliva started to pool in your throat when you watched him reach into his pocket to produce his wallet with special attention to the way his eyelashes fluttered? That was definitely the cocktail.

And the way you felt like vomiting when he'd caught you staring? Stupid fucking cocktail.

Or that's what you had told yourself.

When he’d approached, it wasn't what you expected, not at all what the movies taught you. He’d introduced himself, shook your hand, asked what you were sipping on.

“I actually-” you’d looked at your glass in disapproval “I don't know. I don't really drink but it's kind of gross.”

He’d giggled, boyish and in direct opposition to his appearance and you'd had to grip the bar for support despite already sitting.

“Yeah, I bet! Looks like it's 98 percent juice.” His brows had raised, a genuine smile plastered across his face. The whites of his canines made you feel like you were dying in the best way possible. It was overwhelming. You couldn't breathe.

“You can try mine, I haven't touched it yet. So, you know, no cooties or whatever-”

He slid his glass over to you. It was clear and bubbly, a lemon wedge floating in the top. Unable to even speak real human words back to him when he looked so good, you'd hesitantly pulled his straw between your lips, eyes gazing up at him as his gaze locked directly onto the way your mouth moved, unsure of why his expression faltered momentarily.

You took a sip and your face lit up. It was refreshing, almost like sparkling water. The liquor was there, but it didn't burn like yours. It was smooth and cooling.

“This is so good!”

He seems to be pleased by your excitement, his smile going soft “Yeah? It's a gin and tonic, I can buy you one, if you'd like.”.

Your expression must've told him you weren't sure. Isn't that what men did when they wanted to have sex with you?

“No expectations, I promise.”

He seemed so genuine that you'd gladly agreed.

And when he'd asked for your number, or if you wanted to hangout at his house with him and his younger brother, or if you would like to learn to skateboard- it was much the same.

Since that night, the two of you had melded into each other's lives effortlessly. Choso was sweet and kind, always respectful. His younger brother Yuji lived with him after the untimely passing of their mother. Yugi’s boyfriend, Megumi, was always around as well. Being around the three of them made you nostalgic for something you never had. Sometimes, the feeling you would get when watching the siblings fight over a game of Monopoly called back to the tightness of your chest during worship on Sundays. You used to think it was God speaking to you, but now you weren't so sure.

You weren't sure what the nature of your relationship was with Choso, either. Sometimes, he felt like a friend and nothing more. When he’d send you random goofy memes, or pretend to be upset when you couldn't come over. Other times, you thought that maybe he liked you. When you'd sit a little too close while watching a movie and catch him more concerned with watching you than the film. Or when he'd walk you to your car at night and linger just a bit too long at your window. Or when he’d insist upon you staying the night. But when you did agree to stay, he’d always tuck you into his bed and then head downstairs to sleep on the couch, often complaining the next morning about how Megumi and Yuji kept him up all night.

You didn't know the first thing about men, but surely if he liked you, he’d make the first move, right?

On the other hand, you'd come to learn just how shy Choso actually was. He preferred ordering delivery to avoid talking to strangers, wrote down scripts for himself before making phone calls, and tried his best to keep interactions with cashiers and bank tellers to a minimum. You’d wondered before what made him talk to you in the bar that night all those weeks ago.

“You sure? You look like your eyes are about to pop out of your head- ow!” Yuji’s voice brings you back to the present, giggling as he fails to dodge a playful blow to the back of his scalp from Megumi.

“I’m fine , you guys! I promise!” you insist as Yuji finishes packing the bowl with the corner of his lighter.

A few short minutes later and Choso’s on his knees in front of you, holding the bowl for you with a steady hand as you take a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally for your first time ever smoking. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, your father yells and throws a glass plate at the dining room wall, but even the glass shattering is hard to hear when Megumi and Yuji are peering around Choso on either side, their faces akin to children on Christmas. Like getting you high for the first time was the greatest thing they'd ever do.

“Ready? Last chance to chicken out.” Choso’s words are teasing but his tone is gentle, kind. He's offering you a lifeline in a way that will still make him seem cool in front of his brother, and you know it.

“I was born ready.” you bold-face lie.

With that, you attach your lips to the mouthpiece, your eyes following Choso’s hand as he brings the flame of the lighter to the bud, giving you a gentle command:

“Inhale. Slowly.”

And so you do. He’d warned you that you wouldn't get anything until he moved his thumb from the air hole on the side, but somehow you’re still shocked when the flavor hits you. It's foreign, earthy, a little sour but not entirely unpleasant. It tickles as it slides down your throat and Choso pulls the glass piece away from you, passing it to Yuji.

Coming up isn't half as pleasant. The ticklish feeling now burns, and your lungs feel tingly and odd. You cough, once lightly and then violently. By the fifth one you think you may throw up. Your mouth feels dry and you can't comprehend why the boy’s would willingly do this to themselves.

It doesn't take long to understand, though.

Within a few minutes and another turn in the rotation, the world is softer, your thoughts not so organized and pointed. Everything is pretty, and silly, and any sensory input feels like you're experiencing it for the first time.

Yuji asks you stupid questions, has you rattling off haphazardly strung together and entirely too far thought-out opinions. Megumi seems to find this greatly amusing. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh, you think.

And Choso?

He keeps inching closer. You're not sure if he even intends for it to be that way, but eventually you end up sitting between his splayed open legs, your back against his chest and your fingers absentmindedly toying with the frayed holes in the thighs of his jeans. If the weight of the two of your bodies is too much he doesn't say so, his palms splayed out on the concrete behind him.

The two of you watch the younger couple skate from above, your eyes carefully trailing back and forth between them. You weren't sure how they ended up together. Megumi was a bit of a hard ass, he almost came off as pretentious if you didn't know him well enough. And then there was Yugi, who was loud and rambunctious and overly extroverted. You wondered who had bullied who into falling in love, and you giggle at the thought.

“What is it, pot head?” Choso asks from above you.

The boys had been teasing you about your “weed problem” all evening.

“Do you think Megumi bullied Yuji into dating him or was it the other way around?” You ask candidly, and this time Choso chuckles, vibrating your spine.

“I’d put money on it being the other way around. Yuji’s tougher than people give him credit for.”

A few silent, thoughtful moments pass and then he adds:

“Plus, Megumi’s super introverted. He's kind of like me in that way. I can't imagine he'd make the first move.”

For a moment, it's lost on you, but after it rolls around in the fuzziness of your brain for a while it dawns upon you that his words might've been a hint of sorts. You shift so that you can see his face, your legs swinging over his thigh and your elbows resting on the other for support, half laying on his lap.

“Yeah?” You prod, trying your best not to get lost in the deep chocolate of his eyes or the curve of his jaw.

He really was beautiful. Today, his hair is down, surrounding his face in a shaggy frame that makes him look a little softer. There's a red twinge coating the skin of his cheeks under his tattoo, but you couldn't decide if it was from the heat or not.

“Yeah” he breathes as his eyes scan your face, almost like he's in awe of you.

His eyes settle on your lips and you watch him swallow harshly.

It reminds you that your own mouth exists, and its dry as hell.

“Choso?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm thirsty.”

Your admission seems to jar him out of the haze as he cracks into a giggle, his nose scrunching up and eyes crinkling at the corners. You're pretty sure he's never looked better.

“We have some water bottles in the car, you wanna walk with me?”

Of course you do, you think you’d go everywhere with him if you had the time and money to do so.

A few minutes later the two of you are sitting in his car with the AC on full blast and the radio on low. Of course what was supposed to be a two minute venture out to the parking lot had lengthened when Choso had offered to show you a new band he had discovered.

Usually, his music was too heavy for you, but you actually didn't mind this one all that much. It had it's moments, but the incomprehensible screaming was spaced out, intermingled with melodic guitar and an only-slightly intolerably whiny vocalist.

“So, does this one get the y/n stamp of approval?” He asks.

You faux-ponder for a moment, tapping your finger against your chin thoughtfully before you give him the expected answer:

“No, but it's better than the last one.”

“Oh, come on! I thought for sure I’d have you this time!” He groans, jutting his bottom lip out like you’d really hurt his feelings.

“Sorry, big guy. The only whiney little man I like is you-”

It slipped out before you could even stop yourself, your face immediately flushing at the admission, horrified that you just said that. You were never smoking weed again.

What if he didn't feel that way? What if he was disgusted by the thought of you having feelings for him? What if he didn't want to be friends anymore? What if-

“I mean, I-”

“Do you mean it?” His tone is flat but his eyes are wide, observant, drinking in every minute detail of your expression. You're mortified.

“No!”

“Oh.” His face falls and his shoulders droop, and your heart cracks a little at the sight.

“I mean, not like that! I just-”

He chuckles a little, but it sounds strained. Slumping into his seat and tapping his hands on the bottom of the steering wheel awkwardly, he doesn't pull his eyes from his own fingers as he speaks “Y/n, it's fine. Really. You're not obligated to like me just because you're a woman and my friend. I'll live.”.

Fuck.

How were you supposed to fix this? How could you get out of this situation without admitting to your little crush? Either way, the dynamic of your relationship would change from here on out.

You tried to summon your bravery, but in the end it was futile.

You didn't like the way the change was playing out.

Choso’s texts to you slowed over the next few weeks, and then eventually stopped altogether. You had yet to be invited back over to his place or out to the skate park by him personally, instead getting invites from Yuji, all ending with the speculation that you could come “if you want”. Not a direct invitation, not a enthusiastic expression of a desire for your presence, and definitely not from the person you wanted it from.

You wondered if you had told him the truth, would it be like this?

You missed him. The smell of his cologne, dark and earthy and smokey. The way it felt to fall asleep on his shoulder watching TV. His penchant for take out, his awkward demeanor. You’d even forced yourself to listen to his playlists. It felt like a piece of you had died.

Out here in the big city, surrounded by a million strangers, yet feeling alone because the ones you chose had been taken from you as punishment for your lack of nuts.

You check your phone after work before heading home, unsurprised to find no new notifications, but disappointed nonetheless. You almost text him, tell him you miss him, but it felt wrong. So instead, you put his playlist on and start your drive.

Fittingly, it was pouring rain, effectively turning the concrete of the city into a pond. Traffic creeps forward, inch by miserable fucking inch, and you think how much better this would be if he was in your passenger seat. Shit, it would even be better if you could just call him. Your emotions swell and blur together. You're mournful over the loss, regretful over your choice of words, angry at him for not just telling you what he was thinking. Angry at your hometown for driving you out, angry at your mother for never calling, angry at god for keeping the rest of the big wide world from you for so long. Angry at god for keeping Choso from you for so long.

Someone blares on their horn a couple lanes away and you sober, come to a revelation of sorts. You’d thrown god the middle finger a long time ago. He couldn't stop you from living, from experiencing. And by that logic, he couldn't keep Choso from you either. Not if you had any say in the matter.

You don't drive home, taking a turn instead two exits early. You’d memorized the route to their house, didn't need a GPS to lead you into their suburb.

When you pull into the drive Choso’s car is the only one parked outside, but quite frankly you didn't care who was there. You march out of your car with the determination of a soldier, not bothering to worry about how the rain was absolutely pouring down. By the time you reach the door you’re absolutely soaked, with your hair plastered to your face and your business casual button up transparent, clinging to your frame.

You pound on the door with force and wait for a few moments, and then pound again. You know he doesn't like to answer the door to strangers. He's not impolite enough to tell religious canvassers to piss off, and everytime it's a salesman he buys whatever product they're pushing just to get them to leave.

Third time's the charm.

He opens the door in nothing but a charcoal pair of sweatpants, his hair messy and disheveled like he’d just woken up at 6pm. His tattoos are on full display, but his torso remains untouched by ink, giving you a full view of his pecs, his abs, and that v shape above his hips that has you breathing funny. You shamelessly trail your eyes down his body.

“You're soaked.” He meekly points out, and you realize he must've been sizing you up as well, because his lips are parted and his face is flushed when you jerk your eyes back up to meet his gaze.

Fuck it.

You take two steps forward and jerk him down to you by the nape of his neck, crashing your lips into his with a fervent heat. You would explain later. Right now all that mattered was the way he grunted against your lips, the way his tongue felt pushing past the plush barrier to swirl against yours, the way his hands gripped your sides like they were sculpted to do just that. He tastes like weed and mint and something sweet, and you think you maybe could get addicted to something like that.

He pulls back but you’re not finished yet, lapping hungrily at the sensitive skin of his neck. It was the best you could do with the height difference.

“Y/n. Inside, please.” He slurs, groaning and gripping you tighter as you transition from licking to sucking, ignoring his request entirely.

You hit a spot he must like, because he gasps and then his hands are scrambling to the wet backs of your thighs, hoisting you up to his waist and retreating into the familiar space.

Once the two of you are inside he sits you down, his hands scrambling to put some space between the two of you, grasping at your wrists and pushing on your chest just slightly. You both know he could easily shove you off if he wanted, but as always his manners are entirely too poised for that type of behavior.

But you’re hooked on the flavor of his skin, lapping at any place you can reach with desperation. You missed him so much, you needed him. Closer and harder and more-

He barks your name, unusually harsh, and it snaps you out of your lusty haze a little.

“Sorry,” He apologizes when he catches your disappointment, his hands reaching up to cup your face, lips pressing to the damp skin of your forehead gently to remedy his harshness “You're absolutely drenched, love. And it seems like we need to talk.”.

It's almost impossible to tuck away your need, but you manage, somehow.

Thirty minutes later and you're wrapped in one of his hoodies, the sheer size of it large enough to fall at mid-thigh.

With the daylight streaming through the window, Choso’s bedroom looks different. You’d never noticed before just how much of a collector he was. You knew he had shelves full of nick-nacks and oddities, but in the light they seemed far larger in number than you’d ever noticed before. He had an interest in the occult, a fact that had once scared you, but now you knew it to be harmless.

Every crystal, jar of herbs, and statuette had a meaning. You’d ask him about it sometimes, which rock was supposed to represent good fortune, or which little wax sealed spell jar was for protection.

Choso viewed spirituality not as a guide book for how to enter heaven, but an encyclopedia for exploring the unknown. You loved that about him. He didn't need one divine being to judge whether or not he was a good person, he just was .

The two of you sit at the top of his bed, your backs pressed against the headboard, your legs against the top of his plush comforter. It's such a deep shade of purple it's almost black.

The tension between the two of you is somewhat awkward. You were sitting close enough to feel each other's heat, but neither one dared to touch. You kept yourself busy by twisting your fingers together, trying not to think about how tense he was beside you. His arms were clenched tightly across his chest, as if defending himself from the thick air, and when you stole a glance at him you wondered how he hadn't bitten through his cheek yet with how hard he was chewing on it.

Several times, one of you opens your mouth to speak, but words evade you.

Eventually, you tap your bare toes against Choso's playfully. Once, twice, three times.

“Weirdo,” he teases “You come in my house, you kiss me, you steal my clothes and now you wanna hold toes?”

You gasp, full of faux offense “Excuse me?! I am not trying to hold your toes! If I wanted to hold your toes, I’d do this- ”.

You slide your body down a bit so you can reach and curl your toes over the top of his. Immediately, he recoils, sarcastically gagging, but its interrupted by giggles as he tries to no avail to squirm away from you.

“You freak!” He laughs, desperately shuffling away from you as you latch onto his body, attempting to reach his foot again with your own playfully. He squirms downward to use his height to his advantage, his giggles getting a little higher pitched as he evades your desperate attempt.

“Is this some kind of weird religious trauma? Jesus liked to wash feet, not touch them together-”

He's shit talking between giggles and now you're giggling too, sliding down the bed to try and reach him once again, your lip pulling between your teeth mischievously as you frantically wave your leg, toes pointed like a ballerina. You pay absolutely zero mind to his protests. So close, so close-

He practically shrieks your name when he feels your toes graze against his skin and the sheer girlieness of the noise has you erupting into genuine, chest rattling laughter, and before you can recover, he's reached over you to hook a large and under your knee, flipping you across his waist with ease so you’re straddling him, genuinely beaming as you try to catch your breath, your hands pressed against his bare chest to support yourself.

After a few moments, the realization sinks in that you’re here, in Choso Kamo’s bed, with no pants on. Straddling him with your knees struggling to even touch the bed underneath, the only thing separating your most private area from the skin of his abdomen being the thin cotton of your bikini cut panties.

His expression softens as he stares at you, lost in the way your lips part and your eyelids get heavy as he brings a hand up to fix pieces of your hair that were out of place, the both of you completely lost in the moment.

“I’m so sorry Choso-” you start, finally attempting to address the elephant in the room.

“Don't be, there's no need” he murmurs as his fingers move from your hair to your jawline, his thumb grazing the soft skin of your cheek tantalizingly slow “I told you, you're not obligated to feel-”.

You're glad he's not dodging the issue, but you can't let him continue that line of thinking for another fucking second. It was killing you, so you cut him off.

“But I do, Cho. I do feel…” You sigh, your eyebrows furrowing as a knot rises in your throat. Why the fuck was this so hard?

And he wasn't making it any easier, the way his hand was trailing from your face to your neck, across your shoulder and down your clavicle like it had a mind of its own. You have to fight not to shudder.

You close your eyes, avoiding his gaze and focus hard on spewing what needed to be said, wanting it out and over as quickly as possible.

“I like you. I liked you the moment I laid eyes on you. I just didn't know how to say it and when I did I didn't mean to. And you looked so pretty and I didn't want to fuck anything up and so I tried to shove it all back in but it was too late and I-”

Words are tumbling out of your mouth quicker than your brain could proofread them, your hands balling into fists as you metaphorically word vomit into the sticky air in front of you, and it's not until you feel Choso shift underneath you that you stop.

He's pushed himself up on his palm, his free hand moving to tangle in your hair and pull your lips to his, a silent way of telling you he understood. This kiss wasn't like earlier, this one was gentle and poised, every little motion of his mouth overly intentional. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip and you gladly grant him access, sighing against him as he strokes the inside of your mouth with the grace of a painter intending upon a masterpiece.

Momentarily, he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours and panting slightly, his eyes fluttered shut as he basks in your warmth. The air between you is thick and sweet, a mixture of clean oxygen and your breath swirling together.

You know what he's doing, trying to regain some control over himself. The two of you have talked extensively about your background, he knew you were a virgin. He didn't want to do anything you weren't comfortable with-

“You’ve been holding back this whole time” you let the words tumble out in a whisper, and you smile when he nods, the sweetness of the entire misunderstanding exploding through you.

“I never wanted to force you into anything,” He sighs “God knows you’ve had enough of other people guiding your decisions for you.”.

“Was that a play on words?” you try not to giggle, but he snorts and then you’re both laughing, with him shifting your bodies again so you're fully in his lap, his legs curling underneath you and his arms squeezing you in an almost boyish way, his giggles getting lost in your hair where he buries his face.

***

“I want to have sex with you”

You’re firm and unwavering in your disposition, face stern and hands pointed at your sides. You stand in front of the coffee table where Choso currently has one boot clad foot perched, his long fingers working on weaving the laces around the hooks in a far too intricate pattern.

He stills momentarily, staring at you with a slight blush creeping across an almost unreadable expression before he chuckles, returning to the task at hand.

His reaction causes you to cross your arms across your chest and reiterate “I’m serious. I want to have sex with you.”.

Since your initial miscommunication with him, you’d come to the conclusion that you would simply have to be direct with your wants and needs from him.

He doesn't pause this time, but does lift his head to shoot you a glance, flashing a much softer smile this time. It reminds you of when you first met him.

“I know, I’m sorry. You just said it so officially. I half expected you to be wearing a lapel collar blazer and holding a briefcase. It was cute.” He speaks as he finishes up with the first boot, and then quickly moves onto the next.

He was getting ready for work and looked absolutely scrumptious. His hair was pulled back in his signature buns, little pieces falling forward to frame his face, and his uniform clung to him in all the right ways. He swears he doesn't actually do much as a security guard, but everytime you see him in uniform you can't help but melt a little.

‘Remain strong’ you tell yourself.

“Well maybe if you could take a hint I wouldn't have to present myself like a legal case,” your tone was teasing, but it was true.

Earlier this week you'd crawled in his bed with nothing on but a thong and one of his t-shirts, pulling his arm around you and settling the flesh of your ass firmly against his boxers, innocently “adjusting” your position repeatedly. When his cock was hard enough for you to feel it spearing your thighs you thought you had him hooked, but he simply pressed chaste kisses onto your neck a few times and told you goodnight.

The day before that, you’d met him in his bedroom when he got home fresh out of the shower, nothing but a towel clinging to your frame and pulled him in for a steamy makeout session. It had ended with him offering for you to wear an outfit of his.

Just last night, you’d made sure to pick a movie with a raunchy sex scene, and even though you’d watched his face flush and his breathing falter, he didn't so much as attempt to make a move on you.

He says your name gently as he finishes up with his shoes and rises from the couch, making his way over to you and wrapping his fingers around your jaw, manually forcing you to look up at him.

“I can take a hint just fine, baby.” He coos, his voice dark and smokier than you’d ever heard it, seemingly out of nowhere “It's just that I'm a patient man. I was waiting for you to use your words.”.

You're already putty in his hands, beet red and gripping his uniform desperately as he captures your bottom lip between his, rolling his tongue along the tender flesh before sucking harshly, pulling your lip between his teeth and biting lightly.

It shouldn't be enough to have you dripping onto the soft cloth of your underwear, pushing muffled whimpers against his lips, but here you are anyway.

All too soon, he pulls away, leaving you breathless as he makes circles beneath your ribs with his thumbs.

“Unfortunately, though, my little legal council, I do have to work-”

“Call out.” It sounds like a plea.

He giggles, allowing his forehead to fall against yours just briefly as his shoulders shake with the sound.

“Cho!” You whine, desperate and slightly embarrassed.

“I can't call out horny, my love.” He’s still giggling as he says it “Plus, if it's what you want, that's fine but I’d like to have time to dedicate myself to making you feel good. It's your first time, you deserve that.”

His words soften as he speaks, and he plants another kiss on your lips, muffling your resigned response.

“You gonna be here tonight? When I get home?” He asks, his voice suggestive.

You hadn't been planning on it. It was usually a dice roll, whether you’d end up at your own apartment or his house by the end of the night, but you needed to go home. Your drawer full of clothes here was dwindling and you desperately missed not having to hear Yuuji and Megumi in the other room.

Plus, you worried sometimes that you needed to relax, to give Choso a chance to breathe. He was an introvert, and even though he never seemed to mind your presence you were always worried that you were overstepping boundaries.

“I was planning on it.” You lie, unsure if you were convincing.

“Shame,” he sighs, pecking your nose before heading towards the door, strong hands reaching for his keys hanging on the rack “The boys are gonna be here. I figure you don't want them hearing-”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean, I-” you scramble for words and he turns to watch you fumble desperately to communicate, giggling through pearly white teeth.

“I can be at home. Tonight.” You take a deep breath, feeling like the air was all of a sudden too hot in the room.

The look on his face is one of pure adoration. His eyes drink you in like fresh water in a desert oasis. You’d been taught that God was the only one who could love you unconditionally, the only one who could marvel at the way your soul had been sewn into your body, but there in that moment, you had the thought that Choso Kamo just might be able to as well.

He crosses the room once more, and when you think he's going to kiss you again, push a little harder against the thin bubble of list pooling inside you, he shocks you by wrapping his arms around you instead, pulling you into him and squeezing you tight, like he didn't want to let go.

The hours pass all too quickly. They also drag on like snails on the sidewalk.

You do everything in your power to prepare yourself. By the time you've driven home and shaved every feasible inch of your body, showered like you could never be clean enough, and applied enough lotions and oils for the next seventeen years, you still have four hours until Choso gets off work. Two and a half of those get filled with cleaning, not that your apartment was dirty in the first place, but you vacuum and dust and wash your bedsheets. You consider scrubbing the grout in the kitchen, but decide against it, not wanting to ruin your immaculately washed form with sweat.

Picking out what to wear is another daunting task. You weren't one for expensive and skimpy lingerie sets. You’d never considered the possibility that anyone would be seeing that secondary layer of clothing. Would Choso be disappointed in your plain black cotton panties and a matching black bra? Realistically, no. You knew he thought you looked amazing in anything. But there's still a small part of you that thinks maybe he will be.

In those last few hours, the nerves really settle in with the reality of the situation. You stand in front of your bathroom mirror in your underwear for what feels like an insane amount of time, scrutinizing your body. Every stretch mark, patch of cellulite, scar and wrinkle screams at you. The way your underwear digs into the soft fat of your body makes you sick. You imagine Choso swallowing his disgust to power through it, and flip off the lights to go pull on some shorts and a t-shirt.

And when he texts you to let you know he's on the way, you feel like you may vomit, a mix of excitement and shame flooding your system.

Beneath his notification is one from your mother. She doesn't reach out much these days, and when she does, it's always an attempt to guilt you into returning home. In her mind, it's not too late.

She doesn't know how far you’ve strayed. You're no longer a girl in the middle rows of pews with your blossoming body swallowed in a light pink dress from your neck to your shins. You don't find excitement at the glances you would steal with the choir boy while he sung the good lord's praises.

These days, you drank and smoked and spent your nights in the bed of an unwed man who thought Jesus was no more than a person who once lived. No more or less than himself, or you, for that matter.

The bible verse she's sent you today seems fitting.

1 Corinthians 13:1-13

She used to tell you, when you were tiny, with dirt stained knees and sunburned cheeks, that when you found your husband, you should replace the word “love” with his name. And if you could not recite it and believe it to be true in it’s new form, he simply was not the boy for you.

Choso Kamo is patient, he is kind. He does not envy, he does not boast, he is not proud.

You see him in flashes. How he patiently waited for you to make a move on him. How he was kind enough to bolster you through every step of your new journey. How he was quiet, gentle, humble in his words and his actions. The blush of his cheeks, the warmth of his embrace-

Choso Kamo is not rude, he is not self seeking, he is not easily angered, he keeps no record of wrongs.

He took your misplaced rejection in stride. Never once did he snap at you. In those weeks you’d been separated, he’d drawn into himself. And when you'd showed up on his doorstep with no justification, he'd welcomed you back with open arms, dressed you in his own clothes, held you like a precious gift-

Choso Kamo always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves.

Yuuji had told you one night over a midnight snack about how Choso had immediately cleared out the guest bedroom when their mom had passed. Yuuji, before that point, was old enough and had more than enough money to have lived on his own, but Choso had insisted on him moving in. He’d told you, with a saccharine half smile as he stared into his bowl of cheerios, that he thought that Choso wanted what was left of their family to persevere. It may have been small, torn from years of hardship, but they were gonna make it good. They were gonna be the kind men at the end of the street who neighbors called when they had a flat tire. Their home would be a safe haven, a place to rest when their friends were weary. After that conversation, you’d crawled back into bed with Choso, who was fast asleep, and cried into his shoulder. Your sweet boy, your angel-

Choso Kamo never fails.

That one doesn't count, you decide. It was too unrealistic. But then you rephrase it a little, and it sounds about right:

Choso Kamo’s love never fails.

Yeah, that was more like it.

But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

For we know in part and we prophesy in part

You send your mother back a message, entirely too brief. You are no longer sure if you believe in god, but what you are certain of is that you are going to live each moment of your life like it's your last. You’re helplessly in love with a man who practices witchcraft and smokes weed more than he breathes air. But you followed her rule, and he fits the standard. You don't want to hear her opinion, and your father, god rest his soul, may be rolling in his grave, but he's probably not burning in hell, because it doesn't exist.

but when perfection comes,

A knock on your door, in an all-too-familiar corny little rhythmic jingle that warms your heart.

the imperfect disappears.

You block your mothers number and toss your phone on the plush surface of your sofa and practically run to the door, throwing it open and then leaping into Choso's arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, burying your face in his neck and drinking in the smell of his cologne.

He's unprepared, stumbling slightly as he catches you, a breathy “Woah, there!” escaping his lips as he steps with you in his arms over the threshold of your apartment.

“What happened to ‘Hello’?” He teases, pressing soft kisses into your hair “-Or ‘Hi, how are you?’.”

All the while he's struggling to kick his shoes off and get the door locked without setting you down, giggling at himself candidly in your ear. Every rattle of his chest only has you pulling him closer, latching onto him impossibly tight. It hurts in the best way possible. You never thought you’d find this, you could be barefoot and pregnant in that choir boy’s kitchen right now. But he was here, and real, and patient, and kind, and hopeful, and trustworthy, and all that stupid shit the pastor used to yap about on Sunday morning.

“What is up with you? You cosplayin’ a boa constrictor or what-? Oh- What's wrong? ”

His tone softened when he pulled back to look at you and saw large tears rolling down your cheeks.

Even now, with a downturned brow and a pout plaguing his features, he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. His hair was down, his face free of any of his typical makeup and his skin baby soft and butter smooth. Beautiful dark eyes traced worried patterns over your face, searching for the cause of your tears. His grip on your thighs tightens, protective.

“If you changed your mind-” He starts, voice low and hushed.

“No.” You cut him off, and plopped your forehead against his, probably a little too hard but he’d be okay. You’d tease him about his thick ass skull later.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.

You swallowed your fear, your reservation, the silly, petulant notion that Choso held anything in his chest but genuine adoration for you.

“I’m crying because I’m happy. You make me happy.” You murmur, your eyelids slipping closed. You can't bear to look at him when you say it.

“I love you, Choso Kamo. I love you.”

The air freezes, tenses, and you can swear for a moment the world stops turning. You pry your eyes open against your will to look at him, and he's staring at you in awe, worrying his lip between his teeth, and- were there tears welling in his eyes?

“Say it again.” He whispers “Please.”

“I love you-”

He cuts you off, pressing his lips to yours feverishly. It's gentle, but you can tell he's fighting himself, his hands trembling against your thighs with the force he’s using to force himself into taking his time.

Lips and tongues melding as he carried you down the hall, soft whimpers escaping his lips as your fingers twist in his hair, willing him somehow closer than he already was, wanting him to take your body, and maybe your soul, make it his. He could have it, all of you if he wanted, you knew he'd keep it safe.

“Again” He commands as he lays you on your bed, his hands working your shirt off like he couldn't stand the fabric that hid you from him for a second longer.

“I love you, Cho.” You watch as he pushes himself up off the mattress, standing so that he can pull his own shirt off, revealing that tantalizingly hard frame that you’d fantasized about since the first night you met him. He doesn't give you much time to admire the view before his rough palm is sliding along your freshly bare skin from your hip to the side of your neck. His other hand plants on the mattress beside you, holding himself up as he presses his lips to yours again and then allows himself to leave a sloppy trail of wet kisses across your jaw and down your neck. His tongue is hot and desperate, flicking against your skin and leaving cracks of electricity in it's wake.

“Ah, fuck-” the words seem to bubble out of your lips from nowhere as he transitions from licking to sucking, the slightest bit of pain outlining the pleasure. The hand that's been resting against your neck slides down and around your body, and you arch your back so he can undo the clasp of your bra, running your hands along the defined ridges of his back and trying to remember every breath, every touch, every feeling he’s giving you.

How could this be wrong, when his tongue gliding along your collar feels like heaven? How is it that you were reveling in sin if him removing your bra from your chest felt like removing everything that's ever caged you? How was it blasphemy if the way his eyes held contact with yours as he drew stars along your nipple with his tongue felt like worship?

It also felt like hell fire, though, the way there was heat coating every inch of the room, every inch of your body, pooling inside you and sloshing against every flick of his tongue.

Your body knows what you want, even if you don't, and your hands tangle in his hair and push him downwards, urging him to pick up the pace.

He chuckles against your skin, muttering a hushed “So fucking cute-” before kissing your nipple once more and following your silent command, mapping out the skin of your abdomen with his tongue, humming in satisfaction against your skin, his eyes fluttering shut as he leans into the taste.

His hands trace your sides until his thick fingers are hooking under the rim of both your shorts and your underwear, pulling them off in one fell swoop.

And then there you are, naked in front of the most attractive man you’d ever seen. Naked in front of a man who looked like everything you’d ever been warned about, but acted like everything you'd ever been taught was good.

He looked otherworldly, with his hair fluffy and tousled by your fingers. His blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, all the way down his chest, and you notice for the first time the tent in the front of his sweats. His eyes scan you, gliding over different parts of your form, looking hazy and far away, almost lost-

One hand moves to part your knees, which had subconsciously moved together to cover yourself, but he doesn't push, instead lifts his eyes to you, smiling softly. Adoringly.

“Can't do anything for you if you don't let me see, babe.”

You nod, slowly, and begin to part your legs, but something about your face makes him falter, moving to grip your knee and stop you.

“What's wrong, y/n? Do we need to stop?” He's stone-serious all of a sudden “We can stop whenever you want. I promise I can wait.”.

Patient. You remind yourself. Choso Kamo is patient.

“N-no!” You find your words, and he relaxes a little, his grip on your knee loosening “I just- What if you don't-”. You feel embarrassment stinging hot on your cheeks.

His brow furrows as he questions you “...Don't what?”.

The words feel like shattered glass sliding out of your throat:

“What if you don't… like what you see?”

His face falls, and for a second he looks genuinely sad, and you think you’ve ruined it. Again. There's a few silent moments where you think he's gonna call it off, help you redress and leave you here to sleep alone. You recall how you felt in those few weeks of not talking to him the first time.

…But he doesn't. His hands reach out for you and you take them, allowing him to pull you into a sitting position while he stands at the edge of the bed, holding your face upwards so that you have to look at him.

“Y/n.” His tone is somewhere between a scold and a plea, a warning and a prayer “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I am lucky to have you.”.

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes as you draw a shaky breath “I just-”

“Aht.” He stops you, pressing his lips to your forehead in a sickeningly sweet gesture “Let me show you.”.

He pushes on your shoulder until you lean back on one of your palms, and this time when he parts your legs to hike your knees up on his hips, you allow it.

He grabs your free hand and and turns it over in his own, speaking softly, slowly:

“I love your hands, and how small they feel in mine.” He kisses your knuckles, humming against your skin as he continues “I love it when you wrap your arms around me at night, how soft your skin feels against me.”.

He starts at your wrist, planting kiss after kiss, trailing upwards until he lands in the hollow of your throat.

“I love your voice, love to hear you say my name-”

“Choso-” you whine, the flick of his tongue causing your hips to instinctually rock. His clothed erection grinds against your bare clit and you gasp at the contact. It was unfamiliar, but so so fucking good.

“Mmm, yes, baby. Just like that.” He praises, his voice low and husky, and his hands move to your hips to guide you in grinding against him, the pace slow and rhythmic, tantalizingly slow.

“I love these little love handles,” He's speaking through breathy pants now, index fingers tapping against the skin beneath his hands to point them out “They're so hot, doll. You have no idea. I wanna bite them so bad. And just look how nicely they fit in my hands.”.

He's melting you, you're head tipping back and your mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut as you jolt with every brush of your clit.

“I said look-” he growls, and brings one hand up to the back of your hair, jerking your head forward. Your eyes fly open in surprise at his sudden forwardness, only to be met with the sight of him grinding against you, the front of his sweats absolutely soiled by your wetness- or maybe his precum from the other side. Both? Probably both.

But he was right, if you didn't know any better, you'd think your hips were hand carved to fit into his palms.

“Cho, please, please!” You have no idea what you're begging for, but you need more, the unfamiliar heat building in your stomach becoming damn near unbearable.

He chuckles, not his usual way but something a little lower, huskier, almost taunting, and takes a slight step back. You open your mouth to whine about the loss of contact, but then he's kneeling by the bed, throwing your legs up over his shoulders and you realize- oh fuck .

“I love these little tiger stripes” He's back to his monologue, tracing the stretch marks on your inner thigh with his lips.

“So. Goddamn. Pretty.” His words are punctuated with kisses in between “How many years did it take you to grow them? Hmm? How many good meals and growing pains and jeans sizes are painted here, baby?”.

He's babbling, lost in adoration, and all you can do is gasp and whine and keen as he draws closer and closer to your core. You're overwhelmed, by him, by his words, by his lips. Your insides have been blended up and set on a low simmer, sure to bubble and boil until you're completely caramelized, an entirely different form than when you first started.

He presses a chaste kiss to the hood of your clit, almost innocent, and you tense, your whole body coiled in anticipation as you prop yourself up on you elbows to look at him with blown pupils.

“Can I?” He asks, and before the words are even out you’re nodding eagerly, unable to even form words with the way he's got you wrapped around his metaphorical finger.

Tentatively, almost experimentally, he licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, smirking as your back arches into the feeling. It was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, it was indescribably good. Your hands find his hair faster than you can stop them, instinct taking over as you push him down into you by way of gripping his hair, your body aching, pleading for him to do it again.

And he happily obliges, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you down so he can work his magic, and holy hell did it feel like magic. If your brain wasn't absolutely melted, you’d thank him for suggesting your apartment instead of his house. The sounds that we're escaping you were loud and high pitched, broken syllables of his name intermingled with cursing as he draws figure eights on your clit with his tongue, gradually picking up pace until you're tossing your upper half back onto the mattress, feeling like he was pulling your very soul from your body in the best way.

“Want my fingers inside you, love?” He pulls away, just briefly, back to kissing your thigh languidly as he waits for you to sober a bit and give him proper consent.

“Yes, yes, yes-” You're helpless against him, trying to roll your hips back up to his face, only to be met with the pressure of his hand against your hip, holding you in place. You’d let him do whatever he wanted.

“Okay, okay!” He giggles, and this time it sounds genuine “Relax for me, pretty girl, it shouldn't hurt but if you're tense…”.

He trails off, pressing a kiss to your other thigh as you settle yourself, laying back with your eyes closed and taking deep, slow breaths while trying not to tremble.

You feel his tongue again first and immediately jolt, and he mumbles your name almost disappointedly, like he expected you to tense again the second he touched you. You mumble an apology, trying again to relax, focusing on the way his tongue felt working your body.

It doesn't take long for the heat to return, soft whine's escaping your lips as you let him take control, loving the way he groans against you, like getting you off was a pleasure. With each stroke an unknown feeling was building in your core, a live wire winding tighter and tighter and-

You gasp as you feel a sudden pressure, his finger pushing into you slowly, carefully, pumping in time with his tongue, working you from the inside and out.

You're back up on your palm now, your free hand reaching for his, tangling your fingers in his, squeezing as your face falls into an opened mouthed silent moan. He hesitates, just briefly, and the panic at the idea of losing the feeling helps you find your words:

“Nonononono, don't stop, Choso, baby, please- please don't stop it's so good, please- please!”

His eyes crinkle at the corners, smirking against you. You didn't give a fuck. Let his ego inflate until it bursts. Let him think he owns your body, because goddamn, you’d let him. You wanted him to. Anything, anything so long as he didn't stop.

Without warning, he slips another finger in and the stretch along with the swirl of his tongue is unreal. You cry out, squeezing his fingers impossibly tight and doubling over just slightly. He's hitting something inside you that you didn't know existed, some type of magical button that had that coil in you wound so tight you feared it might break. And then you feel it, a sharp and hot sensation, brought on so suddenly it had your eyes flying open and sent you scrambling backwards away from him.

“Stop!” You bark, and immediately he pulls out of and away from you, but keeps your fingers intertwined with his, his face crunched in concern.

“You okay?” He asks, genuine worry plaguing his very being “Something hurt?”.

“Yeah, no, it felt good, I just- I felt-” You struggle to describe it, searching for a similar sensation in your mind to compare it to.

While you think, he presses small kisses to your knee, his eyes not as concerned as they were a moment ago, but still cloudy.

“I think I have to pee?” You finally state, but it comes out as more of a question than a matter of fact.

His eyebrows jolt upwards as he breaks into a wide open mouthed grin, and then he laughs in that way that makes you melt, in the way that makes his nose crinkle up and his eyes look like crescent moons.

“Baby!” He cackles incredulously, rising to his feet and placing himself up on the bed, his shoulders resting against the pillows.

“What?” You whine, mildly embarrassed, but take his hands when he reaches for you, letting him guide you until your straddling his hips, shuddering as you feel his still-hard cock spearing your ass.

“You were gonna cum, that's what that was.” He chuckles, pulling you forward to kiss him. You can taste yourself all over him and it lights you on fire.

Choso, smiling, giggling, rock hard beneath you, swirling his tongue around yours when you find yourself smiling too.

Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

“Cho?” you murmur against him, and he hums inquisitively back against your lips.

“Make love to me. Please. Need you close.”

“Yes ma'am. At your service.”

In a few moments, you're on your back in front of him, your thighs spread around his own, watching him roll a latex condom over his length. An artist couldn't paint a view as beautiful as the one in front of you.

Fully protected, he leans down over you, and before he can move to do it himself you’re lapping hungrily at his bottom lip, willing him closer, wanting him to invade your every inch, stake his claim in you.

He hikes one of your legs up with his hand under your knee and you feel him nudge against your entrance, and you surprise yourself with your own feelings. There's no fear, no shame, just love and want.

“You sure?”

“Choso!” You fuss, and he giggles, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead and then resting his own head there, nuzzling you gently. Anyone else, it would be gross; both of you had a sheen of sweat glistening across your foreheads.

“Deep breath for me, sweet girl.” He murmurs, and you do, drawing a heavy lungful of his breath and the hot air surrounding the two of you. At the peak of your intake, he pushes into you, slow and careful, stretching you around him with the patience of a teacher and the intensity of a priest in the height of surmon.

It was all-consuming, the absolutely delectable way he fit inside you, his tip grazing your cervix just ever-so-slightly. Maybe it was the way he’d brought you to the brink of cumming (apparently) before, or just the way your body craved him like water, but he was right; it didn't hurt. Pressure, sure, but not pain.

“Gonna move-” He speaks, and you realize you’re affecting him too. His brow is knitted, bottom lip trembling between his teeth, voice cracked and whiney.

“Please, Cho?” You whimper out, sliding one hand around his back, the other intertwined in his dark hair, now damp from desperate sweat.

He presses his lips to yours and begins to rock his hips, slowly at first, until he hits that sweet spot inside you again, earning him a puppy whine from what felt like the deepest part of your guts. From there, he's zeroed in on that spot, rolling his hips in a way that has him grinding against it over and over.

Each stroke pushes you closer to the brink of enlightenment, you think, modulates your very being with the way that heat is rising inside you again. He moans and whines and whimpers against the crook of your neck as he works, giving away just how much you’re really doing to him, whether he wanted you to know or not.

It makes you smile through the pleasure, and if any sounds could escape you other than moans you may have giggled. He was so fucking cute.

The pressure inside you intensifies, builds until every stroke is crashing over your body in boiling waves, and you feel that hot sensation again as he picks up pace, your pussy twitching around him desperately and your thighs tightening around his back, warning him you were close.

“Say it again for me, baby. Please?” He pants, propping up to watch your face as you inevitably would come undone beneath him.

One of his hands reaches down to circle your clit as you cry out.

“I love you. I-I love you, Chos- nngh, fuck! ”

You cum, for the first time in your life, and it feels like you’ve stepped off the edge of a cliff, adrenaline and excitement exploding from your core. Against your own will, your head flies backwards into the pillow behind you and your body clenches from your scalp to your toes as you ride out your high.

A curse, followed by a keen from Choso as he’s quick to follow behind you, his thrusts becoming sloppy and slow as he pumps hot ropes of cum into the condom.

He presses into you, resting his body weight against you as the both of you take a moment to catch your breath. It's crushing, his weight, but you couldn't think of a better way to go, so you let him. As you regain some semblance of control over your body, your fingers find their way to his back, swirling along the defined muscle in languid motions.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

“Oh,” He says after a moment, casually, like he'd forgotten to tell you some half hearted plans “I love you too, by the way.”.

You giggle, and jerk his face up to look at you, your hands pressing into his cheeks and puckering up his kiss-bitten lips.

“You are an idiot, Choso Kamo.”

masterlist

[weepingchronicles]

platonic yandere hunter headcanons

tw/cw: yandere behavior, stalking, creepy(?), drugging(tranquilizers), guns mentioned, hunting obviously, cussing, kidnapping

a/n: i guess this is my first yandere oc? I don't know if he'll ever have a name or background but I'll just call him hunter

He acts like a friendly neighbour at first and for right now that's all he is.

To be honest, there is something slightly off about him.

The way you've never seen him without a weapon of some kind draped across his back. Or the way he leers and asks you questions slightly too personal.

"Where are your parents?" "Oh, are you close with them?" "Aw, that's a shame."

Still he was nice, enough. He never crossed a line. If he saw you getting uncomfortable his teasing and questions immediately stopped. So, that must be a green flag?

During winter, you had stopped hiking and going out to the trail you normally would. I guess the time spent away from you made Hunter fall deeper into his obsession with you.

He'd follow you to the grocery store, dentist, whenever you'd leave your house. He'd justify thinking it's just to keep you safe but didn't clarify on what.

During this, he'd learn more about you. Your habits, schedule and personal life.

You didn't have a good home life as far as he can tell. Sometimes he'd hear shouting within your house right before you burst out and slam the door to walk off some steam.

He thought he could treat you better, give you the home he thought you deserve. He had begun to think he knew you better than anyone else did.

Once you're back in the forest again is when he'd slowly force himself into your life.

He'd somehow "bump" into you whenever you're hiking and escort you. Saying "It's too dangerous for a kid like you to be walkin alone out here." You were creeped out to be honest but he was somewhat right.

Although he was actually pleasant to be around, one time he took you to the river and helped you catch a fish. He offered to help you cook it back at his place but you declined.

Other times were more silent but eventful, you'd both sit and enjoy the nature breeze, the birds. Sometimes when you were lucky a deer would run by, blessing you with its innocent presence.

You asked why he hadn't shot it, considering his job is to hunt.

"Because I'm with you, kiddo."

The more time you spent with him, coincidental or not, you slowly began to open up. He somehow knew your likes and dislikes in which you couldn't help but ramble about when brought up, he found it entertaining.

All your baggage too began to untangle. You'd talk about your problems with your family and how you go out into nature to get away from it all. It becomes your only safe space.

Hunter understood easily, he was always attentive when you talked of your parents but you failed to notice the murderous look in his eyes whenever he heard something that ticked him off a little too much.

You began to see Hunter as a father figure. I mean, he'd comfort you when you were sad, took you out fishing. He was more of a father than your biological one.

One day after fishing, he asked you if you wanted to go back to his cabin and cook it. He'd always ask you but always declined, but this time you actually felt safe enough to accept.

Hunter was delighted and drove you to his cabin further into the woods.

It was a lot nicer than you expected, you think it would look like a cabin from a horror movie or something but it was newly furnished or just well kept.

Hunter told you sit down and get comfy while he prepared the fish.

You did so in the living room. He gave you some hot tea but you never actually drank it, being far more interested in his home.

Hunter never talked about himself or family, you thought maybe it was because he was divorced or just secretive about personal things.

But as you roamed around the living room you noticed there were no framed photos at all.

Well, there was one. It was a photo he has taped on his window above the sink with him and you. You had caught your first fish and he wanted to take a photo to celebrate which you begrudgingly complied.

You roamed around more, careful with your footsteps to not make any creaking. You didn't want him to think you're snooping, I mean you are, but not in a bad way!

You came across a room that was slightly ajar enough to peek in. It was his bedroom.

His bed was messily made and on the dresser were empty or half empty beer bottles. Leaning on the wall were a couple shotguns, you didn't know if they were loaded or not. The only innocence misportraying his room were these lilacs in a vase you had collected on a hike with him. They were slightly dying, hunched in posture while a couple petals fell.

You roamed around more, you found the bathroom down the hall and passed the kitchen without Hunter noticing as he was cooking.

You had looked in every room so far besides the basement.

It was sketchy you will admit, but maybe that was your guilty conscience punishing you for snooping around.

You had went down a couple of steps and there was a hall. Most of the rooms down the hall were normal, for extra storage, that kinda thing.

You made your way down to the final door. It had a slide bolt lock and was probably the only door where the paint was peeling.

You figure it was just another storage room or maybe a place to keep his guns..(why would he need that kind of lock anyway?)

You open the room and peek inside, you find a light switch and turn it on. The room is ghostly cold, making you scrunch up your shoulders in chills.

What... the fu-

Your mouth fell slightly agape. The room had posters of your favorite media and characters plastered on the walls. On one side was a dresser and on-top were some of your childhood plushies that mysteriously went missing awhile ago.

"What the fuck is this.."

The most scariest part to you was that in the center was an old mattress covered by a thick blanket and few pillows. Alongside was a long chain connecting to the wall, it was meant for someone.

Your heartbeat sped up, Hunter was not who you thought he was.

You quickly ran out and went upstairs again, standing in the hall where you could hear Hunter humming to himself while cooking.

You froze there for a couple seconds, debating on what to do. You could just make a run for it but you don't know the way back home and it would take forever to get back on foot. Plus, he has guns. The other option was to pretend everything was fine, all good. You didn't know how well you could that, putting a hand to your chest made you feel your frenzied heartbeat. What if he knew something was up and killed you? What if you pretend and stay but he kills you anyway?

Your thoughts began to blur as if you were a deer caught in headlights, you only snapped out of it once you heard Hunter calling your name.

"There you are! What's wrong?"

You felt your lip twitch, control yourself.

"I- I was looking for the bathroom." You felt your throat suddenly dry up, like you've just been in the sahara desert.

Hunter chuckled at this and gestured to the bathroom that was just further down the hall.

His smile faltered when he realized you wouldn't move yet when he reached out to your shoulder, you instinctively backed away.

"Kiddo?" He said, slightly confused and panicked. He looks down to the basement and saw the door was still open.

Realization hit him and he was trying to muster up an explanation, anything.

But you were already running, you didn't have enough time to put on shoes so you were running on only your socks.

You tried to remember the path you came from, you couldn't just run down the road he'd easily drive by and catch you. Everything in the woods looked different as the sun began to set and the sky was cast with an orange hue, it was almost more alive than in the daytime.

You didn't stop to look behind you, only running as fast as your wobbly knees could take you but you could hear your name being called in the distance which somehow urged you to sprint faster.

Fuck, maybe your parents were right in saying to do Track and Field. You were panting, your chest felt itchy and your cheeks burned yet felt cold all at the same time. You knew you couldn't yet stop though.

Finally, once you couldn't hear your name being called is when you stopped by a large stone.

You tried to contain your breaths but they came out in only puffs as you regained control of yourself.

How the fuck were you supposed to get home now!?

In a state of hopelessness you began to softly cry. You came into the woods because it was your safe space but all you want to do right now is be back home on your bed.

Before you went into a full breakdown, you heard the familiar call of your name again.

Hunter.

You gasp and hide behind the large stone, accidently falling in a small river and biting your lip at the freezing water.

You peek out the best you can without revealing your hiding spot.

You see the blurry image of Hunter walking, is he...

Is he holding a gun!?

"Kiddo!? Come here, I'm not going to hurt you. Let's just go back to the cabin and get you warmed up."

'Um, I think I rather freeze to death out here, thanks.'

You knew he was getting closer as the creaks in the twigs and leaves louden.

Feeling you have no choice but to make a run for it, you do. Either he finds you hiding, shoots you or you run and he tries to shoot you.

"(Y/N)! Come back here now!"

Is this guy really trying to get you to come back willingly? Why is he not shooting?

"Come back or I'll shoot!" Oh, there it is.

You don't stop running however, you run in a zig zag motion to make it hard for him to shoot but I guess he never told you how good of a shot he was.

A shot came to your left calf and another at your shoulder, making you crash into the dirt and solid ground in front of you. You thought it would hurt more, a bullet ripping into your flesh like a fucking parasite. But what you felt was stinging.

Yeah, it still fucking hurt but it wasn't a pain you expected from a bullet wound. In that last moment you have consciousness, you turn over peering down at your calf and seeing a dart poke right into it.

A dart?

Hunter rushes by your side, finally catching up to you.

Your instincts urge you to escape but a numbness spreads throughout your body, making your eyelids so very heavy.

He lifts your head in his hands, caressing your hair and brushing away dirt on your face.

"Shh, it's okay now. Just go to sleep, everything will be okay once you wake up."

You tried to move, run, protest, anything! But it felt like someone put a weighted blanket over you, or more like ten blankets.

You began to lose consciousness and your eyesight blackening. You could feel your wrists and ankles getting tied together. You were pulled over what felt like Hunter's shoulders, as if you were a freshly caught deer. Maybe that's how he saw you.

You didn't have much of a say either way as he trudged further into the woods again, carrying you.

a/n: woop yay!! my first original character! feel free to ask any questions bout him, if you have any. I might make a part 2 to this when I feel like it but I have a bunch of other requests to do at the moment. also let's not talk about how it's almost 6 am and I'm writing this

[goldustwomun]

will we talk? (j.p.)

pairing: bodyguard! james potter x baker! reader

summary: it was only meant to be a one night stand-- a pretty fucking amazing one night stand, but one night nevertheless. so when your dad informs you of a bounty on your head and beloved bakery, you expect just about anyone in the world but james to show up as your newly appointed bodyguard. he doesn’t even fit in with the decor!

warnings: allusions to sex (minors dni!!!), swearing, mentions of a sketchy job (drugs, arms, trafficking etc. u kno the drill w/ obscure mafia stuff), very very hot james xoxo

wc: 2.9k+

note: guess who’s back! (back back) back again! (again, again). anyway, hey :) i had random lines written for this for over a year & tbfh first yr of uni was great and then shit and then really shit so i had no desire to write, but i want to try!!! i really do!!! please, <3 comment & reblog <3 it means the world to me & literally every writer out there! excited for u all to read this :)

Some might say it’s obscene to be sat at a bar, three vodka cokes down, when it was only just past 7 o’clock. The sun still stared pointedly down outside the window, streets bustling with people only just starting their commute home. And sure, any other young adult might have used this opportunity to meet some friends, have a quiet night in, maybe text that one guy on Tinder they’d been putting off meeting– something, anything to fill the awkward lull in time that wouldn’t be too much of a regret the next day.

Some might say it’s obscene, but you like to think it’s just another Tuesday.

The problem with Tuesdays is that more often than not, Wednesdays tend to follow. And it was at noon on the dot that you’d have to make your forty-minute bus ride downtown (a mistake in itself when all anyone could smell was weed, piss and something else indistinguishably rancid), into the one office building that seemed to substantially out-tower the others like some sort of architectural pissing contest, only to sit in front of your Dad and his ever-overpowering bluntness.

And it’s not like you despised him with every molecule in your body– rather, a few molecules here and there. He loved you, that you were certain of, but owing anyone money, your own father especially, made relationships uncomfortable in a sticky, sweaty, clammy-hands kind-of-way. He had always been an immovable figure, suspiciously mafia-esque, even, but of course, you’d never dare broach the subject.

So, Dad, Pa, Father dearest– are the rumours true? Do you really run an underground boxing ring? Or is it arms? Drugs, maybe? As long as it’s not human trafficking, I’ll still love you!

Some things are better left untouched. If ignorance was bliss, you were determined to remain in whatever liminal state of unknowing you’d been in your entire life.

And while he kept to himself and you did to, the last Wednesday of every month, noon on the dot, was not to be messed with. You’d learned that the hard way when you’d missed one during a particularly harrowing cold. It’d been like a SWAT team smashing through your apartment windows when you’d forced her eyes open.

So instead, you gulped down another glass of scathing liquid, all but gagging near the end at the acidic taste of un-mixed liquor swirling around the bottom of your glass.

It was Tuesday, after all, and you hoped if you drank enough, there would be a chance you’d be able to zone out tomorrow– a sweet spot you’d yet to master (somewhere between mildly hungover but still coherent enough to please him).

“What is that– your fourth? Fifth?” A voice questioned alongside a scratch of the bar stool to your left. It was deep, curious, deliciously rough– enough so that your mouth quirked behind your glass, bracing yourself for the face attached to such an addictive timbre.

“Third, actually–” you turned, finally taking in the tousled, black hair, crooked nose with rounded glasses perched on top of them, “--have you been counting?”

He had a kind of all-consuming appearance. Dark yet boyish when you noticed how his smile leaned one way, and a slight chip in his front tooth. An athlete, maybe? You were going to thank whatever misguided angel, deity or God herself had brought him to you.

You didn’t make a habit out of chatting up posh-looking lads with egos that rivalled even that of Icarus and his melting wings, but maybe just this once you’d give in– actually take what’s being offered.

“Huh– dunno why you’re sounding so smug, love. Three drinks and it’s not even dinner time. Some might call that a problem.” Almost immediately that smile of his morphed into an all-knowing smirk, a teasing gleam swimming about in those swampy hazel eyes of his.

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Who? Eighteen year olds having a taste of their first legal drink? Not sure three drinks add up to literal alcoholism, love,” you threw back, defensive, accompanied by that kind of uppity tone in your voice you despised hearing in others’.

His irrefutable bemusement only sharpened the knife poking away between your ribs. Your frown deepened, and so did his grin, but still, his hands flew up in mock-defence as if your words could bite back (and boy, did you wish they could).

“My bad, sweetheart, only teasing,” he assured, nodding at the bartender and then your now-empty drink. Another one, his practised movements seemed to say,

“Do you make a habit out of calling girls alcoholics and then buying them a drink?” you asked, curiosity taking over your irritation.

He shrugged and you couldn’t help but follow the movement, watching as his broad shoulders seemed to invade your space with such careless effort. “So far, just you. It’s something new I’m trying out. What do ya’ think, is it working?” Again with that boyish charm– some sort of arrogance and humility all at once.

Your head shook in an immediate no, but more so to hide the smile that had unwillingly crept onto your face. You knew, with the way things were going, that you’d give into just about anything the man offered (of which he’d not even hinted at yet, but you were just so mesmerised and maybe a little tipsy so you didn’t quite care enough to think of how desperate you may be coming off).

“‘M James, by the way,” he offered as a white flag, a surrender, if you will. You accepted by returning the formality and raising your new drink to his own– a half-empty glass of clear liquid and ice.

“What is that?” you motioned to the beverage in question, “like– 10 shots of straight vodka at once?”

He snorted, a little ugly yet somehow endearingly attractive. Fuck. “Even better, actually– water.”

“And is that new as well, to go with the accusations and drinks?”

“Oh, yeah– I’m really trying to commit to this new year, new me thing,” he bounced back effortlessly.

“It’s November,” you deadpanned, brow arched.

“So I’m either a month and a bit early, or eleven late,” he quipped. You were stunned by the easy rhythm of your back and forth, wondering in what world someone like him could exist– a paragon of a man or whatever the scholars called it. “And while that’d be a fun little story if it were the truth, ‘m actually starting a job tomorrow. Big one, as well. Figured some self-restraint was in order.”

And it was only then that you’d noticed just how little space there was between the both of you, having somehow drifted closer, closer, closer like galaxies hurtling towards each other.

You all but swallowed, staring at his drink held between you, a last barrier that seemed both momentous and insignificant. He’d got you caged in as well, an arm lazing on your backrest, near enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin, blood, maybe even his desire. And his legs, in a somewhat similar position, only a whisper away from knocking into your own.

You considered giving in right then and there, urging his mouth to yours, maybe leading him to the restroom in a grungy stall you wouldn’t otherwise go near on even your worst, most wasted nights.

“Self-restraint with the drinks only, right?” you questioned, tearing your gaze from his glass to his eyes, only to find them already fixated to you. His mouth was perched open, a glide of his tongue against his bottom lip, and the action draws you closer to that chip in his tooth you’d noticed earlier– the one that begged you closer. For inspection, a taste– whatever.

“Oh, but of course. It’s my undoing really, my Achilles Heel, my Hubris,” he seemed to murmur, his words a secret between the two of you. You felt bold then, a rush of heat pouring through your veins as your palm came to rest on the thigh closest to you.

His eyes flickered down for a moment, as if making sure it was real — that touch — before they returned to you. Waiting, watching, with bated breath.

“What is?” you asked, questioning if you’d missed a part of his sentence or if he really was striking you speechless and a little stupid with his words.

“Pretty girls with drinking problems,” and you couldn’t help the surprised laugh that burst from you. He grinned and it was pure majesty.

“Yeah?” you mumbled, inching forward.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, sealing his mouth to yours.

It was bright, too bright in his office– like the ceiling lamps worked part-time in interrogation rooms on the weekends. As much as you needed to be alert, comprehensive, at least mildly sober– it just wasn’t going to happen.

Last night had been something else entirely– the kind of mind-blowing fuck you could only ever dream about, when nights were lonely and the left side of the bed cold for too long. Your memory was somewhat hazy, tinged red with lipstick and lovebites and kicking the duvet out of the way to reach more skin. It was scathing yet sweet and a kind of ruination you welcomed with open arms.

But it also ended abruptly when your eyes flickered open the next morning (a few hours later, more like) and he was already gone. You knew it was for the best– you barely had time for yourself, your family and friends, let alone a stranger with a quick (and skilled, in many ways) tongue and wit.

So there you were, jarred by the empty feeling seeping into your bones. And the lights (had you mentioned the lights?).

“Now, how have things been going this past month?” your Father asked in that all-business, no-nonsense way of his. You think he knows you’re hungover but like all things in your relationship, the two of you choose to ignore it.

“There haven’t been as many customers as I would have liked. The school down the road has been half empty since most of everyone is on study leave, but I–”

“I didn’t ask for excuses, only how it’s going,” he interrupted swiftly. A stabbing pain seemed to appear at the base of your skull as you conjured the remaining energy inside of you to not roll your eyes at your own Father, as well as the man you quite literally owed thousands of pounds to.

“Of course, my bad,” you bit out, taking a deep breath before continuing. “The shop wasn’t as successful as previous months but I’ve got the money here anyway so I’ll still be on track.”

He nodded, accepting your answer and the envelope you placed on his otherwise scarce desk in front of him, before he slid the money, unchecked, into his top drawer.

You sighed, hurrying your words and rushing to gather your things and be out of that dreary office, “Well, if that’s all, I’ve got some errands to run and–”

“--Actually, there’s more I need to discuss with you.” For the second time that day, he cut you off and you fell, defeated, back into the cold leather of the chair. You tilted your head in some sort of half-nod that said, go on.

With his hands clasped in front of him, a stern front if there ever was one, he continued. “As you know, my work is complicated–” (you frowned) “--complicated and expensive. And when one is dealing with the amount of money this company makes, things can get… messy.”

To say you were confused would be an understatement. An actual conversation, albeit clouded with obscurity, about his job? “And when things are messy, one tends to make enemies.”

You couldn’t help how your frown deepened, but you held back any concerns before they could make their way past the tip of your tongue. Your Dad wasn’t one to be interrupted, even if he was particularly talented at doing it to others.

“Essentially, there’s someone who’s not very happy with me–” your mouth opens finally to prod at his statement but he continues anyway, “--and despite every precaution I have taken in order to keep you safe and separate from my work, it’s unfortunately backfired this time around. And so, for your safety, I’ve hired a bodyguard to watch over you for at least the next few months.”

He finished and then there was a resolute silence hanging over you as you took in his words.

You couldn’t help it– you burst out laughing.

“Dad, you’re not– I mean–” the sentence barely made its way out of your mouth before you were overcome with a fit of nervous giggles once more. This is absurd. “You’re not being serious, you can’t be. Right?”

Silence.

Oh.

So that’s when the panic set in, your fingers clutching the armrest on either side of you until your knuckles were white. “Holy fucking–”

“Language,” he scolded with no particular bite and you couldn’t help but scoff,

“Language? Seriously, language. That’s all you have to say. You’ve just told me there’s some kind of bounty on my head and that I need a bodyguard– like, a person to follow me around, twenty four-seven, and carrying a gun or some shit– but all you can think to say to me is fucking language?!” Your breath came out in quick pants, jumping to your feet as you paced the office.

This must be a joke, you thought incredulously. You can’t have some stranger following you around. You had a business to run, croissants to sell, debt to pay off! Who could possibly–

And somehow it got worse.

He walked in and the two of your gazes connecting immediately, like magnets (though this time in a completely different context with your own Father as a member of the audience). You could see, from your place by the window, how his irises grew imperceptibly wider for barely a second as the recognition set in.

“No. No, no, no,” you blurted out immediately, mouth still wide from shock and suddenly you questioned whether your rapid heartbeat was a surprise or something close to a heart attack. Oddly, you’d have preferred the latter.

“Sweetheart,” he had pulled out the big guns now, “this is James Potter.”

“Dad—” you tried and failed to interrupt.

“Don’t worry about the logistics, I’ve sorted it all out. I’ve already rented the apartment next to yours so that he’s nearby at all times. He’ll need to be hired as an employee at your bakery– you know, for appearances sake— but don’t worry about the cost, i’ve got it covered.” Your mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish out of water.

“And most importantly, he is not to leave your side. Ever.” He said it with ease like he hadn’t just informed you that your one night stand had turned into your shadow for the foreseeable future.

James had yet to say anything, his face a facade you wished you could slap off in that moment. Instead, he stood stalk still, arms poised behind him like some sycophantic robot ready to do whatever your Father pleased.

“He can’t be my bodyguard, Dad,” you urged, rushing to his desk, palms slamming down in front of him.

His response was a raised brow (you shared that in common). “And why’s that?”

It’s like you could hear James’ heart skip a beat, probably because yours had as well. You couldn’t tell him the real reason– that’d be a death wish, for the pair of you, if there ever was one.

“It’s just– he’s too big!” James didn’t smile, not outwardly, but you could see it in his eyes when you glanced his way. “I mean, he’s scary or whatever. He won’t fit in with the decor and it’ll scare away the customers,” you reasoned.

He finally spoke and it was then that you truly did consider walking over and slapping him across his stupid, gorgeous face. “What customers?”

You scoffed, whipping your head towards him. “Oh, screw you!”

James looked as if he were going to bite back, mouth poised for a reaponse, but your Dad cut in to save the two of you from outting yourselves.

“That’s enough. This isn’t up for discussion. James is your bodyguard and you’ll have no say in the matter.”

You deflated immediately, collapsing into the same chair you’d sat in, clueless, earlier.

So much for one night.

comment & reblog :)) if u have any ideas for the next chapters do lmk!!! woo!!

[janovavalen]

what are you .°୭̥ ❁ ˎˊ˗ au! aegon targaryen x fem!reader

summary: a night out was what it started as but when it ended she was a different person, a different thing.

warnings: drinking, blood mentions, vampire beings; smut: oral (f received), p in v, overstimulation—might seemed rushed but it’s meant to feel like that

word count: 3k

y/n never went out much, but when she did she went all out. her friend had invited her to her anniversary party for working with the very well known singer as his manager. she loved her job and would do nothing to change it.

y/n worked with her parents who are known for being doctors, their own hospital and all. she never enjoyed it however but she did whatever she needed to pay the bills.

‘happy anniversary lydia!’ y/n yelled as she sipped some of her wine, lydia smiled sweetly as y/n gave her a kiss on the cheek—‘aw thank you baby! it’s so surreal, i wouldn’t do anything to change it. and your to thank for it all’ she cooed as y/n rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

y/n had introduced her to the job position wanted sign on instagram and helped her get the job, the singer she works for so happened to be known within her families hospital business by being in and out of them at his young age.

‘no no, that was all your talent to blame, i only pushed you a little to get it’ y/n commented while taking another sip of her drink, her friend shook her head and leaned into her side, everyone else that was invited had already been out on the dance floor, y/n herself didn’t really want to do that so stayed next to her friend.

‘hey not to freak you out but that platinum blonde over there had been eyeing you down since we got here’ lydia commented, y/n raided a eyebrow and looked out in the dance floor to see not one but three platinum blondes at a circle table as they drank, one a girl with long hair and a boy with long hair as well, y/n was a bit jealous of how healthy it looked.

looking a bit harder y/n noticed the one with shoulder length hair looked her up and down with a small smirk, she grew nervous and turned away.

‘oh god..he need to stop’ she whined while her friend laughed—‘what? why! i’d say he’s your type from head to toe’ lydia reminded.

‘no no that’s exactly why he needs to stop! my top is beyond toxic and from the looks of it he’d leave me on read after a one night stand if i were pregnant with his baby’ she held her head in her hands with her eyes covered as lydia busted out laughing.

‘y/n! stop it! just have fun, your in your twenties and it’s time to enjoy your life, you work your ass off everyday and you need a good one night stand anyways’ lydia reminded, y/n scoffed with a grin while lydia laughed.

looking over to see him still looking at her she smiled a bit and looked away; making her wine move around the cup with the slight movement of her wrist, she groaned at the thought of actually giving in.

just as she was about to do it she heard someone clearing their throat—‘excause me, but can i have this dance with her?’ she heard a man’s voice. looking up to see the platinum blonde standing next to their table, lydia gasped a little and turned to y/n giving her one last smile and squeezed on the arm for good luck.

‘she’s all yours’ she commented before getting up to leave. y/n was definitely going to scold her for that later, looking up and smiling a bit, he did the same, holding his hand out for her to grab cautiously.

it was a strange thing but the first thing she realized about him was his piercing gaze that lured her into him and freezing cold hands. she could’ve sworn she touched ice when touching his hand.

getting to the dance floor that seemed to be exactly into the middle of the floor, the people surrounded them in their own worlds, making out, laughing, drunk, high on whatever drug they’ve taken that night, and mindless of the fact they had work tomorrow, after all it was thursday night almost friday morning of eleven thirty.

his hand on her waist, and the other holding her hand, hers on his shoulder and the other in his own as well.

‘i just have to say your extremely beautiful, and sexy’ oh; what formal words and phrases to use for a woman you’ve never met. she smiled a bit and hummed—‘thank you very much, your very alluring and cold’ she said back with a slight joke.

he chucked a bit and shrugged.

‘low blood since birth i suppose, you seem to be full of it; very warm, and tan’ he said, she didn’t know if it were her lips or her neck he’d been staring at; but for once she’d rather it be her boobs.

‘so, what do you do for work?’ she wondered, trying to make some sort of talk or conversation, the awkward silence between the two with the only thing being peoples life and music surrounding them.

‘work in the day, get to get free at night. work for the day club on fourth’ he said while turning her around like some princess.

‘hm, i think i've heard of it. my parents went to it once or twice but only for medical reasons. are you their assistant or something?’ she wondered, hoping she could probably find out his name.

‘no i’m the son of the head owners, aegon. my brother and sister over their aemond and helaena’ he said as if it were nothing at all.

aegon ? helaena, and aemond…targaryens? she was in the distance of targaryen royalty basically. y/n always envied them sometimes and the whole city, basically the world.

‘a—aegon targaryen?’

‘ah yes, you’ve heard of me, glad to hear. i’ve heard about you as well, your parents mostly but you yea. y/n l/n yes?’ he said, smiling a bit, she smiled back a bit nervous but was hesitant.

‘yeah, they’re known for they’re work i suppose’ she grinned. he smiled back and started to look at her lips or neck again while she grew nervous.

‘if you want to kiss me just do it—‘

just as she said that he practically threw himself at her, his lips on hers and the kiss wet, violent and just what y/n liked. she hummed in his mouth as his lips and tongue fell over her lips and in them, their tongues fighting for dominance. she let his kiss travel to her neck where she almost moaned at the presser of what felt like his teeth grazing her neck.

‘come to my place, i won’t let you down i promise’ he mumbled into her ear, moaning as he did so along with a gentle kiss on her earlobe, she nodded her head.

pulling her out of the building and what seemed to be a taxi already waiting for them, the two getting in and kia lips finding hers quickly, the taxi driver didn’t even ask where to, he just started driving off immediately. she didn’t even bother to wonder.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🧛　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

when they got to his place, it looked like a haunted castle, the brick walls all over, it stood on a large mountain and just to get to the front door was a whole hike up. y/n liked the fact she didn’t have to climb to get to her house but also found it pretty, it has a dark aura that she enjoyed. it gave it character.

‘what a lovely home’ she complimented while he only shrugged. pushing open the large dark wooden doors he was greeted by the form door.

‘ignore them, my parents insist on having maids all over the house for no reason at all’ aegon mumbled. getting a cup of liquor that seemed to be waiting for him at the table in front of the door.

walking in she held whe small purse in front of her figure. looking around to the large steps in the middle of the entrance, a large hallway and the light of a warm fire filling the spaces that were too dark to reach.

y/n noticed how the home was filled with dark curtains all through. she didn’t want to comment much or think about it, everyone had their likes and dislikes on the sun.

walking up the stairs and getting to the top, a large hallway leading down to his room. the two entering y/n was suddenly brought to his lips ok need once more. humming as his hand squeezed her thighs, she let him pick her up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

aegon’s hands on both of y/n’s thighs to support her as they kissed deeply, her hands rested on both sides of his neck. as she felt him walk to the fire place with a fuzzy blanket set on the floor she felt her back being laid down gently, her legs still wrapped around his as she felt him gently push himself against her.

‘shit…this is so bad’ he mumbled into her neck as he kissed down to her breasts, then made his way down to her stomach. pushing up the tight white button up shirt she was wearing she moaned when he began to suck on her skin, moving down and pushing the skirt she was wearing up and out of his way.

‘fuck’ she whispered, her hands finding way to his head, pulling his white hair as he moaned at this. her body was beyond warm and she could feel his cold touch all over her body that stung her like a seething fire.

her heat begging to be paid attention to was granted then he kissed it softly, moaning while they kept eye contact he let his lips wrap around her and began to eat like he’s ever eaten before, moaning out as she let her legs grow weak but tried to keep them wide for him, his hand resting on her thigh while pulling her leg up and over his shoulder.

groaning into he she moaned and held his hand, intertwining with his cold one. as she felt her climax he pulled away making her whine out in displeasure—‘w—what are you doing?’ she mumbled.

he smiled and pushed himself back up to her face, kissing her deeply and gently placing his two fingers into her cunt, she let her mouth drip open, his still set along hers as he smiled.

‘is that good? hm?’ he whispered. she nodded fastly with her eyebrows scrunched together. he could feel her climax and didn’t want that to happen, not yet at least.

‘shit…oh my god—yes’ she whined out, her voice getting higher and higher—‘don’t cum yet’ he told her and she whined, placing his hand down and unbuttoning his pants, he pumped husnelf a few times before entering her, she gasped but was in bliss.

her body warm and soft, her hand going to his back, scratching it ever so lightly while he pounded into her. first it was soft but then it was rough, fast..almost at a inhuman speed but she didn’t care, he must of had crazy stamina—‘fuck! fuck!’ she yelled as he moaned, picking her up while his strength kept her moving on him.

pushing her against the wall she moaned sweetly as he groaned into her neck, wrapping his hand around her throat and kissing her lips hard, she hummed at the kiss.

she didn’t know when it ended or when it started up again, but the next thing she knew, she was on the bed, the wall; cold on her back, the floor once more and the table that sat in the middle of his room. the two of them cumming numerous times over and over, her hair messy and her body marked with purple and red highlights of his lips that sucked hers.

laying in the bed when her stomach on the soft sheets and the cover lightly wrapped around her lower back. his hand was set against her as well as they both slept soundly. y/n however felt a strange pain in her neck that tempted her away.

groaning and getting up slowly to not wake up aegon. y/n searched for her underwear and a shirt, putting the two on and leaving.

she made her way out and down the hall, her hand touching the walls to find her way along with the intense headache that pounded against her skull.

finally finding what seemed like a bathroom, she pushed the door open and turned on the light. looking into the mirror and seeing, blood.

‘the fuck?’ y/n mumbled. was this guy into kinky shit she didn’t know of and why didn’t she feel it a while ago? leaning into the mirror she touched it slightly, her hand shaking and gasping to see two large holes on the side of her neck.

‘oh god’ she whispered.

‘he’s done it again’ a voice spoke. screaming and turning around she saw the long haired boy from the bar, aemond. he was standing near the door with a darkened gaze—‘what?’ y/n started to step back into the sink hoping for some type of space between the two.

he signed and stepped closer—‘he was always reckless i supposed. liked to play with his food’ aemond mumbled. she gasped out and almost fell but he rolled his eyes, not entertained at all, he moved out the way letting her down the hall.

her head was spinning, what was going on? the small ladies lights made her beyond dizzy, it looked like she was falling down a rabbit hole.

her hands on the walls to steady her body, she screamed when aemond was in front of her once more, turning in disbelief at the fact he was once far behind her.

‘what is going on? please just let me go home please!’ she yelled, begging. he tsked and shook his head.

‘i’m afraid that’s not possible, sweet thing. you’ll have to see for yourself soon enough’ screaming when she felt hands on her back she turned to see helaena, she had a look of sorrow on her face.

whimpering when helaena let her cold hand touch her face she felt some sort of calm wash over her, her body beginning to feel tired, her eyes dropping.

‘hm, sweet thing…such a frail life, taken from your hands by me who has no idea of what it is to live’ she whispers, her voice was sweet, loving, angelic. y/n would assume she had children by the way she handled y/n.

all a sudden her body gave in on itself and she fell asleep, the last thing she saw before falling was helaena catching her in her arms.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🧛　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

waking up with the sound of yelling she groaned and let her eyes open. looking at the blurry figures of a man and woman and on the other side of the bed aegon.

the woman had long beautiful red hair and the man shoulder length blonde, they much he his parents—‘how could you be so reckless! so stupid to do this to her!’ the woman yelled, pointing at y/n who was currently suffering a headache that seemed to not end, and a strange hunger.

‘how would i know she’d turn that fast! usually i have time, five hours!’ aegon whined as he placed his hand on his head in stress, she was confused again.

his meal? not knowing what life it? turn? y/n groaned and it got the attention of the people. their heads turning to her as she sat up—‘oh, honey please. set down and rest—‘

‘no i must leave..my mother is expecting me—‘

‘no no lay down, sleep..we’ll get you some tea and medicine for your headache, yes?’ the woman pressed her hand on y/n’s shoulder, gently pushing her to the bed and soon her cheek for comfort.

‘what? what’s going on? why can’t i leave?’ y/n mumbled.

‘we tend not to when it’s day out, you will be fine darling just you wait here’ the woman led aegon and his father out of the room, she felt a strange feeling in her stomach once more and winced in pain, her heart however, sadden at the fact aegon had left.

her body cold and shaking she placed a hand on her head and groaned again in pain. soon a knock rang through the room and hurting her head—‘yes?’ she whispered, the door pushing open to show a shaking woman.

she held the tea and a pill for her to take, y/n didn’t know how or why, but she could practically smell her from across the room. not like that however, like smell a sweet bitter smell, a metallic almost.

‘h-here you are, miss.’ the woman said. y/n didn’t know what came over her but she stood up slowly and made her way over to the woman.

‘the tea miss. alicent ordered you to take and the pill to help—ah!’ while she spoke y/n charged for her neck; biting into it and humming in delight, the warm liquid running down her throat and easing her headache and stomach pain, the woman falling down to her knees and the glass cup of tea in her hand breaking y/n held her shoulders and sucked her neck.

moaning when she was done she snapped back and gasped—‘what the fuck? what the fuck!’ y/n screamed while she backed away and fell on her butt.

the door pushing open slowly—‘i knew it, aegon you’ve done it!’ alicent yelled while slapping his shoulder making him wince.

she screamed and cried into her hands, what was going on? why was this happening now? why did it happen to her of all people…was she what she thought she was?

‘yes..you are what your thinking and no there’s no cure’ aegon mumbled while stepping over the maids body.

‘what…no—why? this can’t be happening!’ she cried while unbeknownst to her, her hair was growing white from the roots.

aegon felt bad, he knew the costs of sleeping with her but..he couldn’t help it. she looked like her so much.

‘it is..and i’m sorry it happened to you. but, it’ll be okay, you’ll be fed, and you’ll have me…if that helps—‘

‘why the hell would i want you!’ she yelled, crying into her hands once more.

he winched and looked away, not knowing what to do. he hated seeing people cry because he didn’t know what the hell to do—‘listen..you don’t know it now but things will change all around you, and you’ll need me sooner or later then you expect…’

‘why? why would i need you?’ she wondered, her eyes puffy from tears and her cheeks wet.

‘you’ll know in due time, my love’ he mumbled. his hand going through her mixed color of hair. she shook her head slightly and looked down only to see her hair; platinum hair on her shoulder .

‘what…’ she whispered, picking her hair between her fingers and shaking her head, letting her other hand go to the top of her head and moving all her hair to her shoulders.

‘is my hair…’

‘yes…a side effect’ he told her. she almost cried again but shook her head, turning to him—‘what else will change?’

looking to the side he named a few things, the only ones she highlighted was, couldn’t enter the sun or she’d burn, couldn’t see her reflection because she was dead, her body would be cold to the touch to others, her hair was white, she’d stay this age forever.

forever twenty two.

‘do we die at all? in any way?’ she wondered. he shook his head—‘only by the sun, to the heart or starved’ she nodded slightly and blinked.

‘and…how old are you anyway?’ she wondered.

‘three thousand and twenty two’ she tried not to show her shock but he was pretty sure he could she it, he laughed a bit and shrugged.

‘how did you turn?’

‘my sister, she was bitten by my brother and so on so fourth’ nodding in understanding, y/n would hate to turn her parents.

‘you can stay here…for your parents sake’ y/n looked over at him and nodded—‘wait can you read my mind? you did it back there not too long ago?’ y/n asked, he nodded and helped y/n stand.

‘helaena can control those by the touch, aemond can practically see what your afraid of and use it to his advantage by making you see things, i can read minds, my mother and father however..i don’t know’ y/n nodded at what he was saying as he sat her down on the bed.

‘you should rest…you’ll be in pain sometime soon, your teeth will come in and it will feel as though you are dying’ aegon felt bad beyond words, but all he could do was help and warn her along the way.

‘wait’ she whispered as he went to leave, her hand holing his. letting her pull him in she placed her hand on his cheek and leaned in, kissing him slightly.

it was wierd but she could see something, she could see herself? she could shed the two of them..but she looked different, wore different clothes and so did he.

pulling apart slowly aegon read what she was thinking and smiled—‘we’ll talk about it soon, in time’

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter Two}

Alastor x (fem) Reader

My eyes slowly opened, a soft groan left me. I slowly sat up, this time feeling more comfortable. My heart raced as I memories replayed in my mind. I had fallen from heaven into hell with no explanation as to why. I got badly injured. I even made a deal with a demon. "Finally awake are we?" Speaking of. I glanced over at the bedroom door, in the entry way was Alastor.

"How are you feeling?" He asks. I look back at my once injured wing, it was healed over.

Though, a few feathers were missing from the now scar that was left from the protruding bone. I look down at my legs next, they were healed as well. I wasn't as sore as I was before, thankfully. I look over to Alastor before speaking. "I'm fine." I tell him.

Alastor approaches the bed to look over my wing. "I see I haven't lost my touch." He says smugly. I avoid his eyes, unsure of what to say. What was there to say? My eyes trail to a window across the room. I could still see the pentagon, ever bright in the crimson sky.

And far up above past it, would be heaven. "Alastor?" The demon hums in response. "I can go back now right? I can fly again, can't I?" I asked. "You could try." Alastor began. "However, I advise against it. I might have set the bone back into place and healed it, but I can't say if it wouldn't break again if you tried flapping your wings. Hollow bones can be very tricky. Flying might not be the best idea at the moment." I didn't like hearing that, and yet he went on.

"But let's say you could fly right now. How would you escape hell?" I look at him, trying to answer, but couldn't find the words.

Surely I could have just flown up couldn't I? But now that I really thought about it, if the winged demons have not found their way into heaven by flying upward...How could have I?

"Not even Lucifer himself can leave this place. There is only one person who can grant you entrance into heaven. And I think you know who."

"God." I sigh. "I don't even know why I'm here. Surely god has not casted me out purposefully." Alastor only shrugs. "Who can say? But I did promise I'd help you find a way, and I intend to keep my word."

"Not to offend. But how are you going to pull that off?" I asked. "Perhaps I could convince your god to reconsider?" Alastor says with a laugh. Right, like god would listen to a demon of all people. "You're going to convince god to let me back into heaven? I don't think that will work." I say, clear hesitation in my tone.

"My dear, you'd be surprised by just what I can do." Alastor said lowly, the static in his voice sharpening for a moment. That put me at such unease, a shiver ran up my spine.

"I do believe I should do a bit of explaining. It might make things a little easier. We will be apart of each others afterlife for a while, might as well get to know each other." Alastor then went on about just who he was and what his status meant in this place.

He was an overlord, well known for all the terrible reasons, and feared by all. When he was gone talking about himself, he waited for me to tell him about myself. "Um well. I was quite the boring person while I was alive, I must admit." I started.

"I grew up in a small town, worked a simple job, and attended church every week." I tell him. "I never did drugs or drank. I tried my best to keep myself in god's light. Be the best version of myself I could be. And I was given paradise after death as a result. It was my devotion to god that allowed me to enter the gates of heaven. That only further confuses me as to why I ended up here. I was a good person. I was...Wasn't I?" I trailed off, not realizing the silence that followed until Alastor spoke up.

"Afraid I can't answer that." He says with a shrug. "But I can't say this much. While you're here, you might as well forget that "good person" behavior of yours. That means nothing in this place. The sinners out there will eat you alive." He smirks.

"And your appearance won't help you either. An angel like you? You'll be hunted down and then who knows what will happen to you then. Well, I can think of a few things. You wouldn't like it if I told you though."

"No...I don't think I would..." I muttered. "So, am I suppose to stay here then? Hidden?" I asked. "Perhaps." Alastor says before falling silent to think. After a minute his grin widens. "Or perhaps not! I can disguise you, that way you can blend in with the rest of the scum out there." My expression turns into one of confusion.

"You can? How?" I asked. Alastor took my hand and stood me up off the bed. "It's a simple trick I know. This won't take long at all, just..." Alastor waved his hand, and just like that a necklace appeared out of thin air.

I took it from him and stared at it for a moment. It was pretty, I admit. "Go on then." Alastor insisted. I glance at him before looking down at the necklace one more time before finally putting it on.

I gasped as I felt my body change. It was painless, but still felt odd as it happened. After a few seconds the feeling subsided. "My, get a look at you!" Alastor looks me up and down. He leads me to a full length mirror, and once again I felt air leaving my lungs as I stare at my own reflection.

My skin was now a pale blue, that blended into black on my arms and legs, down to my hands and feet. My (color) hair, now an inky black. My white feathered wings, now dark bat wings. I wore a knee length black and white dress with long puffy sleeves. And my eyes, the whites of them were filled black, only broken by my white pupils. As I spoke, I could see sharp teeth peaking out from behind my lips.

"I look so...demonic." I mutter. "But of course! That's the point isn't it?" Alastor pats my shoulder. "Now, I have matters to attend to. I hope you don't mind tagging along." I turn to face him. "Just what matters exactly?" I ask warily. "Tending to a hotel along with a few colleagues of mine." That...That's it? Working at a hotel? "Oh um. Ok, sure. I'll try and keep out of the way."

"Then let's be off!" Alastor takes hold of my hand before snapping his fingers. And within seconds, we were at the doors of a hotel. I look up at the building. "Hazbin Hotel? How...fitting?" Alastor chuckles before leading me inside. Right away we're we're met with a demon, a rather cheerful one at that.

"Welcome back Alastor! We could use all the help we can get to...day. Oh, hello." The looks to me. She was around my height. She had long blonde hair, and wide red eyes.

Her rosy cheeks defined as she smiles. She straightens out her red pantsuit uniform trying to look a bit more presentable. "What's your name?" She asks politely, which I was surprised by. "Y/n." I tell her. "Nice to meet you Y/n. I'm Charlie." She holds out her hand for me to shake. I take it, her grip was shockingly gentle. "Are you here for a chance for redemption?"

"Excuse me?" I ask, blinking owlishly.

[kazu-naito]

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄 — cassiel x audrey

astrea's broken heart | rating T | @rc-catalog

Audrey was leaning against the counter, staring at the wall filled with every type of alcohol one could imagine. After the last few days all she needed was a good drink, but unfortunately for her, she wasn't a connoisseur in the matter - for a moment she wished David was there to serve her something. Defeated in her mental quest, she ended up settling for scotch and poured herself a glass.

Not that used to strong alcohol, Audrey was taking her sweet time and slowly sipping the amber liquid. It tasted very woody, but she also noted a sweet undertone to it. She ruminated with it while watching the moonlight from the window - the faint gust of wind and outside noises were just in sync with the layers of her drink: slightly unpleasant and smokey at first, but ultimately soothing.

Audrey wasn't thinking about anything in particular as the liquid burned down her throat, but at the same time she was lost in thought, locked inside her own mind. So much so that she didn't even hear Cassiel coming in. “Really? A Glengoyne?” His voice startled her but she was too tired to even show it, “I didn't know what to pick.” One look at her and Cassiel could tell something was wrong, she wasn't in the mood for jokes. Was that how others felt around him? He didn't really care. But for some reason he did care about the fact she was drinking alone in a dark room, illuminated only by moonlight. He didn't know how to console people, that was kind of her job, not his, but he wasn't going to leave her alone. He circled the counter and grabbed an Ardbeg bottle, “You should try this one, it has a far more complex taste,” he poured himself a glass and looked at her, to which she nodded, so he gladly poured another glass.

For a while they drank in silence. Audrey didn't feel like talking, but she was grateful for Cassiel’s presence, she was surprised at how easily he read her. He somehow knew she wasn't seeking advice nor someone to listen to her wailes, but deep down she didn't want to be alone. The shimmer of the night illuminated their faces, making them look like otherworldly creatures - the scene in itself was ironic, an ethereal exterior and the most mundane worries raging inside.

She glanced at Cassiel, nudged him slightly and they looked into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity. It’s no wonder people say the eyes are a portal to the soul, they could see so many emotions that would never be voiced, so many contradictions: fear, longing, anxiety, calmness. Cassiel was looking at Audrey like she was made of crystal, he could see right through her. “I can handle it,” he whispered. Their hands were now touching, and neither of them dared to move.

The touch of an angel. The taste of a drug. The look of a stranger who has seen too much. The addictive, albeit fleeting, bliss they were experiencing at that moment. His words touched a rough spot deep in her soul, hardened by time. How come this man, who hardly knew her, was showing more sympathy than those she had known for years? People didn't care about others’ problems, not really. They asked questions out of politeness but hoping no one would start venting - they didn't want to hear it, no one did. Audrey was used to it, she tried to ignore her problems just like everyone else did. But he wasn't asking out of politeness, he was genuinely concerned. She knew how to read people well, in fact, she got paid for doing that, and yet she still wondered if it wasn't just the alcohol clouding her mind. That seemed more believable than someone actually caring. But he did care, and deep down she could feel it, faint as it was.

“Nothing comes for free, Cassiel.” She broke his gaze and downed the drink. Indeed it tasted better than what she was having before.

“But you can pay with your heart.” He refilled her glass to the brim, spilling some of it on his fingers. “If you got one.”

Audrey laughed hoarsely. She couldn't tell whether the man was joking or not, but she decided to play along anyway. “Tell me all your questions, all you got to ask.” Cassiel was licking his fingers and shuffling his mental cards, even though Audrey said to ask everything he knew whatever he asked first was gonna determine the entire conversation.

“It’s not just about the beast.” He wasn't asking, he was stating a fact. “What happened to you?” Audrey was always so composed and took her job very seriously, she'd try to understand everything instead of panicking. So if she was willingly drinking a ridiculous amount of strong alcohol it could only mean she already knew something he did not.

She was silent for a long time, pondering what to say. He was very vague in his question but she knew what he meant. What happened to you in your past? Before you became a psychiatrist?

“I grew up in a very religious community. Many things I could not explain happened there. I’m no stranger to death, and my blood is not innocent.” Audrey was mostly emotionless, as if she was recalling a long lost tale, but the way she spat out the last part made it clear those were vivid memories that she could not bury, no matter how hard she tried. Ever so attentive, Cassiel knew exactly what she meant by that: whatever happened in that community, her family was involved; maybe deep down she thought she too was to blame for it.

Cassiel linked his pinky finger with hers, snapping her out of the melancholic stupor she was diving in. Upon noticing a lone tear slowly making its way down her elysian face, he couldn't hold it anymore - he pulled her into a very much needed hug. Tears were flowing relentlessly now, an ocean of words built by her own silence that almost made her drown. Cassiel held her close, not letting go.

Audrey started speaking again, telling Cassiel about her most traumatic experience - how she felt the pressure as she sunk deeper and deeper and how eventually the need to scream was gone. She learned to deal with it, she locked it all away in a vault profoundly into her soul, she had to wear down to her knees to cancel their names from each one of her experiences. She started anew, she managed to leave it all behind. Tears were still silently running down her face, her words were painted blue, but her heart was unusually warm - as for once, she wasn't alone. Cassiel was calming every tornado in her blood with his gentle touches and reassuring whispers.

“I swear to God that from tomorrow there will be no more pain.” He was cupping her face, tenderly caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I could bring the world down to its knees for you.”

In a way, her chest was opened up during her childhood, a moment in which they took everything she got without ever caring about the consequences. She believed in no devil, for she thought hell was empty and all of the demons were roaming free in the world - she had definitely witnessed it firsthand. However, at that moment Audrey believed in it again. The existence of a Devil implies the existence of a God, she was sure none of them were real, but how else could she explain Cassiel - if not someone sent by God? She leaned into his soft touch as her chest was opened a second time, now it was filling up with everything she had previously lost. She didn't need the alcohol anymore, she was drunk off of him. Audrey couldn't truly give a shit about the danger she’d have to face, she knew he'd come along.

“Just don't leave me alone.”

[dylanisdazed]

so yall know i got an online job. well its online but its also local and today i had to meet with the boss man. he's like 65.

i went in there late cuz i had the kids and stuff so i waited until parker was home to watch his brothers.

so i walk in his office and he closes the door.

he says you drink? you look like you like to party.

i kinda laugh. like idk what this old man means. im 23. yeah i do like to party.

so i say yeah, i like to drink.

he says what do you drink?

i say pretty much anything but i really like bourbon.

he has glee in his face. "BOURBON! my boy! that's a man drink. that's awesome, it'll put hair on your chest! I've got bourbons I'm sure you've never had."

so he tells me to sit down. he pours half a glass of bourbon in the office. i drink it with him. then he pours another. he asks about my major and my life and i tell him about adam...

he's been married to a woman for 40 years and they have 3 children.

He talks about being a teen in the late 70’s/early 80’s. Honestly the conversation wasn’t too bad but as he talks about all the exploring he did…with marijuana, other drugs…and sex…he shifted his eyes and was staring into my soul.

Then without asking he pours a third drink. And moves over closer to me. I should have just said I didn’t want anymore but there really is something to the whole power dynamic that I just drank it. I felt so uncomfortable. I’m alone with him in his office and he’s got the door closed (no one else was at the office it was 6 pm) and I’m drinking a third glass of bourbon with this guy.

He watches me sipping the bourbon and says “I have to say, you’re a beautiful boy” normally I would be flattered hearing that and I just can’t describe why but it’s like I instantly felt how millions of girls must feel everyday when an old man in power is trying to take advantage of me. But I’m also polite and southern and idk so I smiled and said thank you and to help my nerves finished the drink.

He goes “you must really be a good time Dylan, you can hold your alcohol. I’m gonna have to use this whole bottle on you”

And that’s when I really felt weird and scared. Not to mention I had accidentally left my cell phone in my Jeep.

I sorta laughed and said I’ve got to drive home and I have eaten much today. He goes “Come on we’re just getting started”

I say I really need to go, my kids are waiting on dinner and he replies “you’re just a boy yourself, it’s interesting hearing you say your kids. It makes you even sexier.”

I laugh and say thanks but I need to go. I started to stand up and he put his large hand on my thigh (he’s like 6’5) and sort of held me down.

He said “you’ve got to have at least one more drink with me, an ending drink.” I just felt kinda helpless and didn’t have my phone and I was getting pretty drunk at this point so I said okay. He said “good boy”

He pours a last and stronger drink. I sip it as he stares into my soul and talks about how his wife is in Arizona and he’s pretty lonely and reminiscing on his youth and fun sexual explorations. He put his hand back on my thigh and started rubbing up towards my cock. I feel kinda dumb because I just sat there. I was scared and shocked and drunk.

He told me I had a pretty mouth and began unzipping his pants.

Then. THANK GOD. His office phone rang. He looked defeated. He picks up and I hear his wife. “Why are you still at the office? Your phone pinged you at the office.”

“Yeah honey, I’m just finishing up reports, I’m in no hurry with you out of town.” Blah blah blah

I finish my drink. Stand up and head to the door. I wanted to get out of there while he was still on the phone because I could tell he wouldn’t stop me or say my name while his wife was on the phone. I just turn around and do a wave and pretty much bolt to my Jeep.

I start driving immediately, wanting to get away from him. Then I start bawling. Nothing even really happened and maybe I’m just over dramatic or more innocent than I thought but I felt dirty and scared 😭😭

I’m driving drunk and crying and I called my mom. She tells me to tell Adam and so I do but when I get home Adam is waiting for me and consoles me but…he’s the most calm, gentle hearted person I know and he’s like homicidal angry.

“GIVE ME HIS NAME. IM GONNA KILL THE MOTHER FUCKER”

I’m like no ur not gonna do anything like that…

He’s like I’m waiting outside that office and I’m gonna kill him.

😭 it was kind of scary but also very heartwarming and sorta hot seeing him that way 😂

Anyway……. I’m sorry for the long and poorly written story.

I’m okay and we’re taking care of the matter and Adam is also okay and didn’t kill anyone 😂💚

Thanks for the love and concern.

It’s been hard the last few days because I keep thinking about it and wondering what would have happened if his wife hadn’t called. I can’t help it, but my body starts to shake violently when I think of it. I’m shaking now writing all this. 😭😭

But just know overall I’m okay and things are being handled. 💚💚

I’m not gonna talk about this again, at least not for a long time because it scares me.

Please don’t ask me questions about it. 💚💚 I felt like I owed an explanation though and I appreciate all the concern and well wishes.

Now back to fun Dylie!!!

[bau-drabbles]

keep me in your orbit and you'll know you drag me under...

i can't really miss you when if i'm with you

"hey" spencer's voice was gentle, as he softly knocked upon your office door. your back was to him, looking at yourself in the mirror on the other side. you silently cursed yourself for not leaving earlier, just needing some space from everyone. especially your boyfriend. these feelings came far too often recently, swirling in your head until he was gone. and it hurt to say that, your whole world usually revolved around him. but lately it felt like it was on its axis, completely tilting away from everyone. like everything you had ever known was thrown upside down.

the rest of your team had said their goodbyes. all too eager to dive into their couch and watch movies but you needed time and space to process the day. preferably by yourself. your mind was afloat with thousands of thoughts. each dragging you further in the abyss that lurked just under the waters. and you didn't need him to see you this vulnerable. it doesn't make any sense, how could you grow to abandon the man you loved so fiercely?

and when i miss you, it'll change the way i kiss you

reid watched you silently, biting his lip to refrain himself from saying anything. he so desperately wanted to embrace you but he also knew that right now, you were overwhelmed and he wouldn't add on to your stress. still every day, it felt like a tiny part of you wasn't there. like you were sand, slipping through his fingers. and he couldn't do a thing about it.

he noted your bau vest was discarded, your shirt was stained with blood. the wound on your arm was sore, the medic was concerned as they sewed it up but you couldn't feel a thing. he offered to help but met with the same answer like before, it was as if you couldn't bear to be in his presence.

"hey" your voice sounds monotone, tightening the bandage on your bicep. the blood had stopped for a while but it didn't stop the shooting pain that ran through your body. still the physical pain was better than the emptiness that lay far too heavy on your heart.

you see his face slightly drop and you felt guilty for shutting him down but you didn't want to talk to him. lately the world had become so heavy and before you would have found your refuge in reid, now you couldn't wait to escape him.

it was like a suffocating bubble, without the comfort of the light at the end. you were desperate for any indication that it would pass but the more you held onto hope, the further you felt yourself drowning in despair.

baby, you know time apart is beneficial

spencer leaned against the door, his heart breaking piece by piece. it was as if you weren't here, a small child was in place of you and he wanted nothing more than to hold you tight until those pieces fixed themselves. until you were yourself again. he wanted the y/n he had before, so full of light and affection all for him. he craved your love like a drug only this time, he wouldn't be as lucky

you felt horrible for hurting the man behind you, he didn't need to be here and yet he was. everytime you snapped at him, he took it all. gave you a hug and a kiss, made sure you ate and drank water, tucked you in, gave you kisses. he was the perfect boyfriend in every way. so you don't know why your heart feels so empty around him.

originally he thought it was a phase, jj had once said she and will went through something very similar. it was human to be burnt out and add the stress of the very demanding jobs you both had, it was only natural that there'd be a bit of space between you

but they came back together after a couple weeks and spencer had never felt so far away from you than he did now.

it's like i'm the universe and you'll be nasa

he knows that you're being distant, you know he does. he's a profiler and a genius for a reason. but everything he does, it feels like it's making you recoil further away from him. he wanted so desperately to know what you were thinking, what was happening, why you were being off with him.

he knew some parts of it. this job was difficult, you were relatively new to the team. and the effects of it were beginning to take its toll on you. when it happened to him, he had derek and jj to rely on. to help him come back stronger. now that it was happening to you, he was desperate to help you. but you never wanted him.

it felt like sometimes he didn't truly know you, the true version of you. was what there to fight for? why were you even together?

you were hellbent on not showing any emotions, determined not to break. to everyone, you had looked fine. but every night a piece of that facade would crumble and out spilled those forbidden tears until the sun awoke and you became a polished perfect ssa agent once more.

"y/n...." spencer entered the room but your form straightened, indicating the moment you both shared was over. it had been like this for a couple days now. everytime he thought he was close to you, everytime he thoughts had made some progress it all crumbled in his hands. like fate playing a cruel joke, maybe in this lifetime he would never get the love he so desperately wishes to seek out. perhaps he would never know what it feels like to be wanted, to be cherished, to be adored.

usually, i would orbit around you

"what do you want, reid?" you broke him out of his thoughts and he looked slightly alarmed, shifting to his full height. the use of his last name indicates that you're not in the mood tonight. he's not surprised, it feels like anything relating to do with him you don't have the slightest bit of interest.

"i'm here for you, you know that" he tries to smile but you can't find it in you to match it. your heart stings a little, he was the perfect boyfriend, of course he was. he gave you hugs and kisses, made sure you ate and drank water, constantly made sure you were okay. and these feelings of resentment, of emptiness, you tried to hide it all. and at first it was easy, the cases took up all your time. but even showing intimacy, showing love, it was too much.

the lines between you were blurred, he wanted more and you didn't know what you wanted. things were moving too much, too fast. you thought it'd be fine, every couple went through their own issues. but you could see how at ease he was with jj, penelope, emily. everyone but apart from you. how easily he could dissolve into laughter, how conversation seemed to flow so naturally. and with you, it felt like a script he had rehearsed many times.

"what's wrong, y/n, please" his voice is a soft plea and your own heart is hurting at the pain you're putting this man in.

"nothing-" you begin but he cuts you off sharply, his brows formed into a set frown.

"it doesn't seem like nothing" his tone is a little passive aggressive, his frustrations practically swimming off of him. and he had every right to be, you were closed off and cold towards him. such a stark contrast to how you were a mere few weeks ago.

"i'm not arguing with you spencer" you grit out, clenching your fists to keep your words reeled in. it wasn't the time to get angry and truthfully you weren't. you were exhausted, tired. it felt like you were constantly 10 steps backwards, all the time. like you could never be enough, for the world or for him. he takes a deep breath and his shoulders deflate, a saddened expression painting his features.

but gravity seems to be the only thing that's pulling me

"i'm.... sorry" his gentle whisper came but you could feel a surge of tears overtake you. why did you feel guilty? this was the man you wanted for so long, he was perfect. you should've been at his side, holding him close. you should've been reassuring him, giving him love, doing practically anything but your feet were glued to the floor instead. watching the man you loved fall apart piece by piece

reid takes in a deep breath, rubbing the space between his brows. maybe a night's sleep would be okay, maybe all would be well but his rational side screams at him, telling him it's bigger than that. still, he chooses to stay in his delusions unable to face anything else right now.

he had the keys in his hand already to go, looking at you expectantly. but you couldn't move, it felt too soon. you had to sort yourself out before you could pursue anything more.

"no, i'll take a taxi. it's fine" you shrug on your jacket and bag, walking towards your door.

"but-" "it's fine" you don't really want to be in his company tonight, everything in you wants to be away. locked away in the sanctuary of your home, wrapped in a big blanket and never facing the world for a good few days.

it didn't feel like anything was pulling you towards him, how before affection and adoration coursed through your veins when you used to see him, it was nothing now

it scared you, he was a good man. he didn't deserve to be hurt more than he needed to. but was it better to supress all these feelings and pretend they didn't exist? would you grow to resent him, would you blow up and scream at him?

spencer's hand was outstretched to stop you but you had made your way to the elevator. and as you stepped on, you made eye contact with him one last time. everything in you wanted to stay back, to apologise at him, to be in his embrace but you wouldn't do that again.

the bell dinged and you were the first to look away, feeling his gaze burning holes into your skin. to your relief, the doors close and it feels like it was placing a barrier in between you both. both literally and figuratively. you relax against the wall, gulping down oxygen but it doesn't feel like its reaching your lungs. the tears sting your eyes and you're internally thankful for the short distance from the lift to your car.

one thing certain, it was simply much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch you at all

you'll be my rise and shine soon as them stars align

[malaintentions]

I miss when I was able to vent on here but I have gotten to the point where I’m scared to. I get scared that people who I have gotten close to at some point or even talked to would judge me. judge my life, or judge those I speak about but here goes nothing because I have absolutely no one to vent this to.

For starters, I know I should be at a point of my life where my parents relationship and decisions should no longer affect me, I suppose mind my own business. For as long as I can remember, their relationship has been the most traumatic memory for me growing up and until now.

It all started when I used to have the nightmares of my dad cheating on my mom. Every weekend who would go out with friends and drink while my mom was always home with my brothers and I. There would be nights when my dad would come back home being extremely verbally abusive towards my mom. It would scare, I would cry. As I got alittle older I would find hiding spots to go cry in because the screaming, yelling, and the sound of things being thrown would scare me. At the town we lived in everyone knew my dad was cheating on my mom but at the time she didn't believe it then we moved away. The problems still continued, dad still drank and fought with mom. I would hide underneath my bed or outside in the backyard because I couldn't take it.

Geez all my built up hurt and emotions has me crying.

As I got older I resented my dad. I hated him for the way he treated my mom and the way he talked about my mom's family. I had such a shitty relationship with my dad. once I was in middle school I wouldn't talk to him. at the time dad was doing drugs and drinking which made him continue to be violent. he also treated my youngest brother differently because he thought my little brother wasn't his (which he is). I also grew very depressed and developed an eating disorder. I was weak both physically and emotionally, and when I was 13 years old I wanted to kill myself. No one knew that I had ever thought or felt that way because I always kept everything to myself.

As I got into high school, dad didn't drink as much but his personality never changed. When I was 17, I caught my dad sleeping with another woman. After that our relationship worsened. I never said anything what had happened but my dad treated me like shit. He told me I was "useless" and "unlovable" and "not worthy for anyone." I hated him. Meanwhile he would agree with my mom and accuse her of cheating with his best friend at the time and his best friend's son. and I so desperately wanted to move out of the state for college but I chose not to.

Then we moved further away in the middle of my senior year and once I was in college, things seemed to have gotten a bit better. The year I was pregnant with my daughter, my dad fought with me all the time because he thought I was always covering up for my mom. At the time my mom never did anything wrong, he was the one with the guilty conscience.

After my daughter was born I hoped that my dad would change, I really wanted him to but it got worse and I could take seeing my mom get treated like shit everyday so I told her about my dad cheating when I was 17. Until this day my dad blames me for their relationship going worse (today). Me telling her exposed us to many things we didn’t know before. The year prior my dad had been texting and calling an ex girlfriend , and his whole family knew he had been in contact with that woman. My mom lost her shit. She chose to forgive him but my dad never changed. Never did anything to show that he was sorry or regretted it.

I will never forget the day when he told my little brother that at one point he thought he wasn’t his. It broke me to see his face. It broke me to hear my dad say that to him.

A year later my mom had been cheating back on my dad with a man she had met at her job. His wife found out and all hell broke loose. Dad never found but they had cut contact shortly after.

Which all of this leads to today..

Yesterday my mom, daughter, and I were planning on visiting the lavender fields since we were planing to stay the night at my grandmas. But she turned around to get meet up with the man she had cheated with two years ago. I didn’t know how to process this information, I had feeling. But I was hurt that’s she used me to go do some shady shit. I’ve never felt soo hurt and disappointed. I’m a firm believer when the doors have been closed, they should remain closed. She is no longer the woman I could look up to.

I’m lost, angry, and I hate everything. I have no positive male or female figure in my life anymore . I just don’t see the use of it anymore. I genuinely wish I could disappear, start my own life, have my own family because the family that made me isn’t my family.

[theplumsoldier]

aftermath [2]

summary: you, joel, and ellie enjoy a meal, and as joel tries to make conversation, you become aware of your lack of social skills

pairing: joel miller x reader

word count: 2397

warnings: mentions of drugs (weed), self-doubt, description of reader's wrinkles, reader's age specified (37)

series: aftermath, part 1

Joel returned with not one but four rabbits, the poor fluffs tossed over his shoulder, a somewhat proud demeanor in his bearing.

In the meantime, you had gotten to know Ellie a bit. You had counted on her having already fallen asleep when you returned, seeing as she was oh-so-exhausted. No, she was a curious, quick-witted child who liked to poke her nose where it didn't belong. She reminded you of yourself at that age, and you couldn't help but snort at the way she annoyed you straight away. Back then adults didn't like you much either, at least your teachers did little to hide that fact, and your parents; even less.

It was specifically when it came to materialistic things Ellie could not stop herself from snooping.

Over the years you had amassed a rather large collection of books, comics, and board games, even though it proved difficult to enjoy the ladder seeing as those typically required more than one player—bar that time you managed to play an intense game of Stratego with your drunken self.

After having skinned the rabbits and done all preparations with the help of Joel, you told him to go be with Ellie. He protested, saying helping out was the least he could do, but you insisted.

It was not that you did not need any more help, for you still needed to clean the potatoes and get some ingredients from upstairs. Really you were thankful for his help, although it was indeed the least he could do, but you found yourself unable to concentrate on the task at hand in his company.

Joel had begun asking questions about you, surely not in an attempt to make you uncomfortable but it was that exact effect he had on you. Socializing wasn't your strongest suit and it seemed that once you were all in one room together, each going about your own business, there was this pressure on your shoulders to become a conversationalist and engage in small talk. In your dreams, it always came naturally and it had been so long speaking to someone that you failed to remember just what was so difficult about it, well—now you remembered: you didn't know what to answer nor when you should ask a question in return. Judgemental thoughts stopped you from just speaking freely, making all sentences curt and unnecessarily harsh.

You knew it was yourself making nothing serious into something insanely weird, but you couldn't help it. It had always been like that. With no people around you, it had become less of a pest, but now that you had invited—not one, but two people into your home, this lifelong problem was once again prevailing.

You mentally cursed yourself for not having a joint rolled up and ready, knowing it would help your impediment. You had been slightly surprised by yourself earlier, only now realizing how different you might seem, quiet all of a sudden. It had probably been the adrenaline making you less self-aware and you hoped they wouldn't notice the difference in behavior. You weren't quite sure why you put so much thought into it, but your best guess was the human company.

While Ellie lounged on the couch with her nose in a comic, Joel asked for permission before looking through your books, to which you merely nodded and he realized you primarily had fiction, specifically science fiction and fantasy.

He never had been big on reading, seeing as his contractor job took up most of his time. When he would get home from a long day he usually found it difficult to concentrate on a book, which was why he usually watched television as it did not require his full attention. Back then, he only ever sat down and read the newspaper as he drank his morning coffee.

Joel figured he would give the book The Time Machine by H.G. Wells a shot and he quickly found himself drawn to the story, not noticing when you had disappeared upstairs to gather ingredients.

Upon entering the room which you had transformed into a greenhouse late last summer, you were happy to feel the air moist and heavy. It had taken many losses, a lot of reading up on herbalism, and a lot of patience to find the plants sprouting but it had finally paid off, and the overpowering yet fresh scent of various herbs.

You went with merian, thyme, and rosemary, a proud expression tugging at your features, proud of the little garden you had managed to create.

You checked the soil before going back down, ensuring the herbs were tended to and that the clear tarpaulin kept the rain out from entering through the large hole in the roof. While you had made plans for restoration all throughout the house, you had decided to keep this room mostly as it was, deciding years back that you would need somewhere to keep plants and such when the earth froze in the winters. With half the roof missing from this room, it seemed suitable to merely put a tarp over it for the greenhouse effect.

Later in the evening, you glazed the meat with rosemary and thyme marinade, cut vegetables, and cleaned the potatoes, putting it all together in a casserole and over the fire so that the whole house smelled delicious with a strong aroma.

"Fuck, that smells good!" commented Ellie, eyes wide as she watched you remove the lid. "Holy shit."

The rabbit had such a golden glow it damn near looked like a rotisserie chicken. Poking at the meat with a fork, you were content with the amount of juice it had gathered from the vegetables and cut through it. The meal tasted as great as it looked, and you knew whatever they had expected, your guests were not disappointed.

During dinner, Joel asked about the ingredients and how you managed to keep fresh vegetables and obtain seasoning, to which you hesitantly replied. You were unsure what these people would do, what kind of lengths they would go to, once they found that this home was not half bad. If they were to try and kill you to settle permanently, you would not be surprised.

You had seen what this new world had done to even the kindest people, so you were not about to let your guard down to feel comfortable around some nice people. Experience had taught you as much and as the phrase "fool me once" grazed your mind, you tensed up and suddenly became hyperaware of their every move, watching Joel as if the fork he used to shovel food into his mouth would be his weapon of choice.

For the rest of the night, you kept your distance, cautiously keeping an eye out.

This mien did not go unnoticed. With Ellie in his care, it was his job to look out for danger and where clickers and such had a specific mien giving their trouble away, humans tended to behave in suspect ways.

The way Joel saw it, there were two options: either you were - like he himself was - suspicious as a result of limited human interaction and awkward therefore, which he concluded would be a result of your conversational skills (or lack thereof). Or you were waiting for them to sleep so that you may kill them and put an end to this visit.

Either way, Joel knew to be wary of you. That did not stop him from quizzing you about your situation, however. While you cleaned the table and filled the casserole with hot water to let it soak while also using it as a dishpan

"You been 'ere alone the past 20 years?" questioned he, hoping to paint a picture of the circumstances. Joel knew this situation easily could go sideways if anyone suddenly showed up. It was long ago he had learned that one territorial person was better than two, which meant the fewer, the better.

Luckily for him, you did not pick up on his double-dealing tone. You were far too concentrated on what he said, not what he meant.

Joel immediately detected you tense up, like you had at dinner, and when he pointed his eyes at you, yours were blank, staring into the grimy water in the makeshift dishpan.

"It's..." stuttered you, clenching your jaw in realization, and looked up at him. "It's been 20 years?"

Joel did not know what to say, realizing he had assumed you were aware of the time that had passed. He watched as your lips drew into a sharp line, feeling an overwhelming gush of guilt. Still, his self-reproach did not hinder his analytical mind and he decided that it would make sense for someone who lived in total isolation to not keep track of such a thing. He figured that if he had been alone all these years, time would be the least of his worries.

A surge of cold air made you cast your glance back down into the dirty water, his words and then silence being all you needed to suddenly become very, very sad.

Inhaling, your breath came out ragged. Now you really hated not having a joint at hand.

You didn't know why, but with these news unexpectedly dawned on you, it felt as if something expanded in your chest. A void, or maybe something filling it? Although you felt sad, you also felt your breath hitch as if you were exhilarated by this information. 20 years.

That's a long time.

That would make you 37 years old.

When you chuckled Joel's eyebrows went from sitting in a tentative crease to drawing close to his hairline. The same laugh this woman he used to date would emit whenever she was pissed. Crazy, Sarah would call her. It's in her eyes, she said. Joel hadn't noticed he had taken a small step back.

You cleared your throat, discerning a certain worry on his face so you shook your head, a wry grin unable to leave your lips now. "I... yeah—I've been living alone—sorry, what year is it?"

"2023."

Yeah, 37. Holy shit.

Without saying another word, you picked up the plate and continued cleaning. Joel caught on, thinking it best to not poke your mind anymore. For now, at least. He could practically hear the gears turning in your head, so the two of you finished doing the dishes in silence with only the light splashing sounds from the water and plates clamoring as they were stacked on top of another.

After dinner, you went into the bathroom to check on the wound Ellie had been so kind to give you. The bandages needed changing and while you did so, cleaning the area in the proces, you found yourself inspecting your features. Honestly, you would not have guessed you were 37.

There were fine lines around your eyes and a hardened crease cutting the space between your brows, however, there were no darkness circling your eyes, nor those heavy bags that usually makes elderly people's faces look perpetually puffy and scrunched up. Upon closer inspection, you found that wrinkles had formed on your neck, and the skin attaching your ears to the sides of your face had little lines adorning it.

Compared to what you remembered from the vague memory you had of your mother's face when she was in her early forties, you figured the years had been kind to you.

Had you been asked you would have guessed you were younger, for you thought 20 years of this life that you had lived would have taken its toll. Subconsciously you began thinking about your lifestyle, for you had indeed been getting sleep, you ate well and despite not having seen an infected in a long time - your guess would be years but you had recently come to understand you had absolutely no sense of time - a day did not pass without doing some kind of work around the house which had your heart galloping. Keeping all the obvious reasons for living a stressful life in mind, you supposed you had been living a rather healthy couple of years. Of course, social interactions were uncommon, to say the least, but that had never been something that bothered you.

It grazed your mind to think of these people in your home as an opportunity to brush up on conversational skills. Perhaps interaction did not have to be as difficult a thing as your mind made it out to be.

That idea was wiped from your mind the minute you entered the living room again, though. With Joel's eyes torn from his book and on you the second you stood there, ready to "give it a go", an invisible tail gave away your cowardice and you immediately went into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

No, not doing that.

Joel couldn't keep his attention on the book, eyes being torn from the pages and mind wandering at the faintest sounds. Ellie had fallen asleep, her mouth slightly agape with soft snores escaping whenever she turned in her slumber. Joel felt a warmth in his chest as he watched her with such a peaceful expression on her face.

When you came out from the bathroom, his gaze instinctively shifted to your frame. He offered a small smile but the second he did your eyes widened you turned on your heel and disappeared into the bedroom.

Joel's eyes lingered on the door until he figured you had gone to sleep, before turning his attention back to the book. His eyes read the same line he had for the past hour or so, but in a curious way, the sentence changed to the thoughts running through his brain, occupying the pages with his wonders rather than those of H.G. Wells.

A minute later you exited the room again, this time with two blankets clutched to your chest. Hurriedly striding up to him, your eyes glued to the ground.

Joel stood up as you neared him, thanking you and accepting the blankets as you extended them, shoving them into his chest, and only then you looked up, nodding.

You took the chance to watch him more closely, inspecting his features in the dim light of the fireplace. He was even more handsome up close.

Stepping back, you offered a barely noticeable nod. "Good night."

[flowerprincesscherryblossom]

our deal

pairing: Optional BTS Bias x Female Reader word count: 997 warnings: angst, smut, fwb relationship AO3 A/N: Hope you like it and that you have a wonderful day wherever you are💜

Every night was the same.

He walked through the door after being let in, took what he wanted from her and left before sunrise, only to come back the next night to repeat the cycle they grew so accustomed to. That was the norm.

Unless he became busy with his job, then she wouldn't see him for days, weeks or months. They wouldn't talk in that time apart, they barely talked at all when they were in the same room, he was only there of one thing and would save all his talking for that. But when he came back the routine would continue as if nothing had happened in the between.

Every night with him was filled with immense pleasure that, try as she might, became desperately addicted to. In the time separated she looked for the same trill in somebody else - it didn't matter who as long as she could get her mind off of him but no one ever seemed to work. With others, the only way she could ever finish while having someone inside of her was to think of him.

His hands grabbing her hips with enough force to leave bruises in their wake that would be there for her when he wasn't and the way his fingers felt inside being her mouth, cunt or ass. How he loved to tease her with them and rarely let her cum like that. After that using her fingers felt wrong and unsatisfactory.

His mouth, how she loved that mouth of his. With a simple kiss, it would make her weak in the knees, how he would mark her as his in every part of her body - showing off his possessive side, wanting everybody to see who she belonged to. He told her once that he loved to see her fall apart on his tongue and how he wished he could live between her thighs. That voice was also something she couldn't live without, how he would boss and degrade her but also praise her with such care and adoration.

His cock that always left her feeling so full no matter which hole it filled. How he made her see stars with every thrust of his hips against her own, against her ass or even when he fucked her mouth, no matter the position they were in she always felt wetter just having him inside. That was always their favorite way to end the night, with him pounding against her saying how much of a good girl she was for taking him so well while incoherent thoughts and words were all she was left with. Her neighbors probably knew of him with just how much noise he would have her make and never being told to keep quiet about it. How she loved when he came inside.

After everything was done he would get up to grab a towel to clean her and himself, get dressed and leave without another word. There were a few times she remembered him staying with her until she fell asleep and sometimes even fell asleep before her, but as dawn approached she always found herself alone in bed with his side cold. Unlike the mind-blowing orgasm he gave, everything else felt anti-climatic.

She knew what she was getting herself into when she agreed to have sex with him the first time. At the time she had a small crush on him and while never speaking her feelings, she agreed when he propositioned it as a one night deal - she would rather have one night than nothing forever and she knew what the following days would be like, the heartbreak of never having him to herself was something she was ready to endure.

But she wasn't expecting him to keep coming back for more. And without realizing, as their nights together continued to grow, so did her feelings for him. He became a drug to her, an addiction, the air in her lungs, the water she drank, something she needed to survive. And she thought that, in a way, she was the same to him.

But alas, that was just foolish thinking. She saw him with another woman, in ways she wished he would act with her, a few hours before he layed on her bed while she rode him. They weren't exclusive and as long as protection was involved he couldn't care less if she fucked someone else, and now she knew why he had said that. There was always a different woman with him through the course of the day, but during those few hours in the middle of the night he belonged to her and nobody else could deny.

She was scared, terrified even, to one day accidentally tell him her feelings. She knew he would leave her without much thought and have someone else satisfy him for the night at a snap of a finger, he stated as much before. It happen after sex and he felt unusually chatty while trying to get her to sleep and told her how many girls he left behind because they caught feelings while he just wanted sex and nothing more, even joked that if she ever wanted him to leave that would have to say that she loved him. Her heart broke that night, and as soon as heard him leave the tears cascaded down her face.

She wished she could just tell him to leave. To never come back. To find someone else to be his fuck toy for the night. But she couldn't. She was in too deep at this point and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get out.

She knew as soon as he knocked on her door that she would greet him with open arms and spread legs, willing to have him take everything he wanted from her without a second thought. And when she found herself alone the next morning nothing but regret and tears would follow.

That was their deal.

[cross-word]

Right person Right time

Ethan Landry X male reader

Tbh I never knew if I wanted to make a pt2 to the other one but. I got this idea like the second I woke up so I wrote it

Word count: 827

It had been two years since you were hit by a car. Mindy wouldn’t let Ethan near you after finding out why you ran into the street without looking. You finished your education and moved back home unfortunately Ethan’s hometown was also yours.

You never noticed him before but now he's the only thing you notice from his beautiful brunette curls to his 6’2 height everywhere, your local convenience store, to the mall, and now across the street. “Mom how long have they been living here” you ask pointing across the street “oh since we moved in, they were there before us” you never knew Ethan lived across from you.

What are the chances of that?

You were scrolling through dating apps hoping to find a connection but all that pop up is men in their 40’s or guys who clearly are not old enough for this app. When you stumbled upon Chase he was 2 years older than you, he had a job and he was looking for a relationship.

You two talked for weeks before he asked you out on a date.

Your parents were gone, it was just you home alone and soon chase would pick you up for your date.

You sat in the living room waiting for Chase to text you when a knock came from the door. You opened it to see Chase with the nicest outfit and most beautiful smile. But you can’t help but steer your eyes to the house across.

He was watching Ethan from the living room. He might not notice, but you knew he was watching.

You walked to Chase's car and drove away. You watched as a nice casual restaurant showed up. You two talked for hours until you went to the bathroom. You drank your drink, it tasted weird you thought.

“So is anybody at your house” Chase asked “no, my parents are gone for a vacation they’ll be back tomorrow though” you say that your eyes start feeling heavy.

You watched as Chase paid for the meal and took you to his car driving back to your house. You drunkenly walked over to your front door. When you pushed against it. Chase was kissing down your neck and touching you in places you didn’t want to be touched.

“Stop. Get off me” you tell him trying to push him away. Failing as the drugs flood through your veins, suddenly you feel the weight of him fall off. You look in front of you as he is being beaten by a person.

The same person came up to you “are you ok Y/N” they asked you shake your head as a no he grabbed your keys and opened the door. Letting you slump down the couch.

You get up feeling disoriented you look to the kitchen seeing someone cook you walk in to see Ethan “Jesus what are you doing here” you ask him “first of all I’d be more grateful to the person who saved you from getting date raped” he says giving you a plate with pancakes, bacon and eggs.

“I deleted your profile on that app no one’s is going to bother you anymore” he says patting your back “where’s the dude” you ask him “in custody I called the cops and they found date rape pills in his pockets” he says.

“Thanks, Ethan” it felt weird saying his name after what he did to you “can we try this again” he ask “hell no, after you cheated on me it’s going to take a long time before I even trust you again” you tell him chugging down a cup of apple juice.

Long time it did, everyday Ethan would talk to you before you go off to work, ask how work was when he saw your car drive in the driveway.

It took 1.5 years for you to consider liking him back but it was worth it. That’s what Ethan says.

What broke your don’t date ex’s rule was when Ethan surprised you with Valentine’s Day balloons and you agreed.

Slowly you and Ethan started to date and he kept his promise, he never cheated, he never even looked at another person even when they were hitting on him he would look at you with the most caring eyes and they walk away.

Eventually Ethan’s parents wanted to retire so they sold the house to him and sailed across Europe and wherever else they wanted to travel to.

It didn’t take long from him and your parents to convince you to move in. Your mom never wanted you to move out worried you’ll move far and Ethan wants a house where you and him can do anything you two like and anywhere. Never have to worry about your parents walking in on you.

Now here you are, sleeping in the master bedroom with your fiancé tucked into your neck while your dog is tucked into your other side.