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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Dirty Work 38

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I've been awake since 2am.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

After breakfast, you get ready to go into town with Frigga and Hela upon their vaunted ladies’ trip. An air of uncertainty persists around what exactly that means. Flowers, shopping, and what else?

You try not to let the mystery overshadow the Odinsons’ hospitality. You’d hate to come across ungrateful after all they’d done. Odin and Frigga hadn’t asked for anything in return all while receiving you with an open hand. Just like with all things, you go along to get along.

The drive has you in a sort of trance as you watch the landscape pass. The lush greens and speckles of violet and pink across the fields, thickening to looming forest of coniferous pines and towering oaks. Finally, the wilds thin into even ground and open into a township with a painted wooden sign.

The buildings are old but well-kept. Not like the large city with its pitted brick and steaming sewers. Every street here is like those that surround Laufeyson’s own estate. Curated and pristine. Just like the Odinsons themselves.

You pull in at a large gated lot. The iron barrier is overgrown with flowers and as you enter, you gape around at the expanse of petals and stems. You’ve never been anywhere so spectacular.

You trail behind Frigga as she browses the selection. You shy away from Hela but she’s hardly concerned with you as she admires a bunch of dark roses. You peer around as an assistant approaches at Frigga’s signal.

“What do you think, dear?” Frigga calls to you, “we want white for the event. Lilies, baby’s breath, gardenia?”

You blink and give some thought, “what about daisies?”

She smiles, “daisies, so simple but pretty.” She turns to the assistant, “do you have many?”

“We should have a few boxes ready for delivery,” she answers.

“Wonderful, we will have some daisies. Oh, and we could have some wisteria hanging. Mm, and miss, white tulips? You have those too?”

The assistant scribbles on her pad, “we can do those as well.”

“Hydrangea,” Hela insists as she approaches, standing behind you, “for the posts.”

“Yes, certainly, hydrangea,” Frigga repeats with a sharp point to the assistant. “Oh and lastly, I spoke with Val about the moonflowers, tell me they’re ready.”

“Yes, Mrs. Odinson, we have those set aside already.”

“Good, good,” Frigga remarks, “well, we’ll look around a bit more and let you know if anything else is required.”

“Yes, Mrs. Odinson,” the assistant nods and prompts strolls away.

“You wouldn’t like a splash of red, mother? Maybe some black?” Hela muses, “this Walpurgisnacht will be blinding.”

“Oh, tosh,” Frigga dismisses, “we have a theme. Which reminds me, darling,” she turns to you, “do you have a white dress packed?”

“White?” You blink, “um, no, I didn’t…”

“Not to worry, it’s why we came to town,” she tweets.

“Oof, mother,” Hela cringes.

“Well, I know you certainly don’t have suitable attire,” Frigga reproaches.

“Actually, I’ve a marvelous white jumpsuit selected for just the event,” Hela challenges, “I can listen, I just often choose not to.”

Frigga gives a pinch look before she returns her attention to you, “well then, our task will be easier. I think chiffon might be nice…”

“You know, mother, I do feel as if I’m being replaced,” Hela snickers. You send her a guilty look but her smile holds no malice. She winks and arches a brow. “And yet I do think this little creature will look delectable in white.”

“Mm, yes,” Frigga side-eyes her daughter, “you do have a way with words, don’t you?”

“Oh, pardon me, I should be more like my brothers, would you prefer Thor,” Hela mocks and reaches for your hand, taking it as she caresses it emphatically, “oh lady, you are beautiful, I should wonder if what you hide under your skirt is equally as stunning–”

“Hel,” Frigga exclaims, mortified as she snatches her grasp away from you.

“Ah, alright, Loki,” Hela clears her throat and stiffens her posture, adjusting a non-existent tie, “yes, you are rather adequate. Hm, very acceptable.”

“Don’t,” Frigga commands, “you didn’t have to come if you’re only going to make a joke of it.”

“Oh, mother, that’s simply what it is, a joke,” Hela bats her lashes, “loosen up. Is that not what this day is for? To enjoy ourselves?”

Frigga sighs and shakes her head as she turns away. Your mouth slants as you watch after her nervously. Hela clucks and flicks her fingers dismissively, “once she has a taste of wine, she’ll let go.”

✨

You stand in the fitting room, staring dreadfully at the two hangers. One chosen by Frigga, the other by Hela. They are both beautiful but you’re not certain either of them suit you. You feel the long chiffon as you mull over the choice.

“Well, darling, let us see,” Frigga calls through the curtain.

You wince and recoil. You pull down the longer of the two, the flowy chiffon that caught Frigga’s eye. The one-shoulder cut cinches to draped skirt which drowns you. You look at yourself in the mirror and frown. The fabric seems to drown you.

You turn with a swish and pull back the curtain, stepping through awkwardly as you tug the skirt out of the way of your feet. Hela makes a noise somewhere between a snort and a gasp. Frigga fawns and daintily touches her cheeks.

“Oh, gods, that is gorgeous, isn’t it?” She comes forward and pinches a fold in the skirt.

“She looks like she’s caught in a snowstorm,” Hela muses, “please, she won’t be able to do much in all that.”

“I suppose,” Frigga backs up and folds her arms, “but I like the style, perhaps we might find something similar with less length.”

“Try mine,” Hela demands.

You look between them, not daring to argue with either. They seem to do enough of that. You spin and sweep behind the curtain once more. You shed the chiffon layers and pull on the satin sheath. There isn’t much to it. Thin straps and not much length, a slit up your thigh. It’s more lingerie than a dress.

You peek out shyly before you make yourself come out. Frigga’s face flushes and her lips part. Hela smirks and tilts her head as she bites her lip.

“Oh, fabulous,” Hela remarks.

“She cannot wear that,” Frigga throws a hand up.

“Why not, she has nice legs.”

“That isn’t… appropriate.”

“Well, mother, she can’t dress like an old matron either.”

“It was a perfectly nice dress–”

“For 1912,” Hela shoots back.

You shrink before them and let their back and forth fade into the background. You glance over the rack of white garments and zone out. You just want this to be over. You’re tired of being pulled back and forth like a game of tug-of-war.

Your name draws you back and you focus on the women watching you. You wince and teeter on your feet, “sorry, I was distracted.”

“I was saying,” Hela intones, “we should let you choose.”

“Me?” You blanch.

“Well, it is your dress,” Frigga utters reluctantly.

“Oh, but I… don’t know much about… clothes.”

“Never too late to learn,” Hela insists, “go on, have your pick. Surprise us.”

You glance back at the rack and wiggle your fingers. You slowly approach as the two other women retreat, still muttering to each other. You push through the hangers; too heavy, too stiff, too sheer.

You think you like this one. A simple sheath lining with a mesh overlay, little crepe flowers sewn into the out later. The straps are slender but the bodice is straight cut. It’s wonderful and dreamy. You take the hanger and quickly scurry back behind the curtain.

You switch out the short dress for your pick. You look at your reflection and nearly stagger. You love it. It’s adorable. You go to the curtain and brace yourself. What if they don’t like it? You exhale and ready yourself for disappointment.

You step through and the women face you. Neither say a word as they look at you. They consider you, eyeing you head to toe. Oh no! It’s hideous, isn’t it? You have no taste.

“I love it,” Hela chirps, “what about you, mother? Isn’t it gorgeous on her?”

“I… it’s so… you,” Frigga squeals, “yes, it’s perfect. And the little flowers. Ugh, amazing.”

“Really?” You stand on your toes nervously.

“You must have it,” Hela insists, “next, shoes… the pairing must be perfect.”

“Shoes…” you murmur. Does it ever end?

✨

Your day doesn’t end after the boutique. The tumultuous night slumps in your shoulders and droops in your eyelids as the hours stretch on. Your next stop is a sleek white building with sparkling glass doors. As you enter, the sterile lobby has you minimizing yourself in fear of staining the pure white tile or breaking the crystal counter.

Frigga and Hela strut towards the woman who stands behind the glass table and greet her breezily. She welcomes them by name as you trail behind like a mouse. You don’t belong here. Not a place like this. You might be with them but you’re not one of them.

Once more, you sink into a daze, trying to distance yourself from the present. From those feelings of unbelonging. Those old wounds from the schoolyard when you stood by the fence and kicked rocks, not daring to provoke anyone with an errant gaze.

“Dear,” Frigga jars you as she gently touches your arm, “did you have ID?”

“ID?” You say dumbly, not processing her request at first.

“They serve alcohol so it’s required to check-in,” she explains.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you clumsily grab your purse and unzip the top. You dig out your ID card and hand it over. Frigga has a brief glance at it before handing it over. The twitch beneath her eye worries you; has it expired?

You wait as Hela taps her short nails on the counter top. Finally, the woman behind the counter approves you for entry. You still don’t really get what this place is. There’s no signs aside from the marquee in swoopy cursive; Hvergelmir.

Another woman appears and takes you through an angular doorway. You’re guided to a private room with robes on hooks, cushioned benches and small cubbies. You watch Hela and Frigga as they remove their heels and set them on the low rack. You do the same, doing everything they do at a delay.

They tuck their bags into the cubbies and undress without shame, keeping only their underwear on as they wrap themselves in the silken robes. You face the corner as you strip and pull on a robe yourself.

It isn’t until you move on to the next room that you realise what this place is. A spa. You’ve never been to one but it’s exactly like you’ve seen on television. You recline as a woman smears your face with a mask and places cucumbers over your eyes. It’s relaxing even if it feels a bit strange.

After laying there for what seems like forever, a woman comes in to offer stemmed glasses of sparkling wine. You remove the sliced veggies from your eyes and accept one in kind with the other women.

“I think I might get a wrap,” Hela declares, “I need the cleanse.”

“Mm, I think I might do the steam room,” Frigga drawls before she sips from her glass. You take a tiny sip, reminding yourself of your last indulgence and the disaster that followed. Hela downs half the glass in a single gulp.

“What about you?” Hela looks at you pointedly. “Would you like to join me for the seaweed wrap?”

“Um, what is that?” You ask.

“Oh, darling,” Frigga sits up and grabs a leather folio, “have a look. You can choose whatever you like.”

You accept the little booklet and open it up to the laminated inside. You read through each item and the description below. The steam room sounds uncomfortable, you’re not a fan of sweating, and the seaweed thing sounds slimy…

“Mud bath?” You read allowed.

“Good choice,” Hela praises, “I might join you after my wrap.”

“Oh, okay,” you close the book and put it on the small round table close to you.

Frigga picks up the small golden bell and rings it. The same woman appears and Frigga lists off the treatments for each of you. She’s led away first, then someone comes to fetch Hela, and finally, you’re taken away by another woman with a high ponytail.

The woman helps you cover your hair with a towel and hands you back your wine glass. She leads you into a room with long rectangular tubs filled with reddish brown muck. She points you to one at the end and you put your glass on the little ledge that juts out from the side.

She helps you remove your robe, “you can keep your underwear on if you like. We can provide a fresh pair after, but you may want to remove your bra.”

You nod and dip your head down to unhook your bra. She reaches to take it and you hesitantly hand it over. She hangs your robe from a hook on the wall and leaves you there. Alright, so you just get in?

You step over the high wall of the tub and lower yourself into the warm mud. It doesn’t feel too bad. You slide around slightly before you’re able to find your bearings and reclining against the slanted back. Is this relaxing?

You close your eyes but not for long. You end up staring at the lines between the ceiling tiles. You stir the mud with your fingers. You feel childish, like you're making mud pies.

You stop as you hear voices. You peek over for just a moment as someone else enters. A tall woman with a swirl of black hair escaping the towel on her head strides in, her tall figure draped in one of the ivory robes. The attendant takes her to the tub across from yours.

You try not to watch as she opens her robe, revealing her sleek body shamelessly. She eases into the tub with a sigh and the attendant leaves. You keep your eyes up as tension fills the space.

“The mud is nice today,” she says, startling you.

You nod and look at her as she stretches her arms around the walls of the tub. Her chest is barely concealed by the muck.

“You don’t come here often. I’ve not seen you around.”

You shake your head, “first time.”

“Ah,” her blue eyes gleam, “special occasion?”

“Erm, not really, I… Walpurgisnacht,” you pronounce the word delicately.

“That’s not for a few days,” she intones.

“You know it?”

“Yes, of course, everyone around here does. And this year, with Frigga hosting, it will be a spectacle.”

“You know Frigga?” You wonder.

She laughs, “of course I do. Who doesn’t?” Her tone is dry and her expression haughty, “how do you know her?”

“Um, I… work for her son,” you utter flatly.

“Thor?”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you correct her.

“How amusing,” she smirks, “what’s your name?”

You answer, your chest binding up tightly. You feel like you shouldn’t be talking to her. Something about the way she grins.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she purrs, “I’m Sif. You might tell my ex-husband I send my regards.”

You swallow dryly and stare at her. Your heart is pounding and your ears ringing. Sif? In the flesh? She’s absolutely gorgeous. You can see why she haunts the Odinsons. She’s perfect.

Now you know why you will never live up to Laufeyson’s expectations. Why he’s so hard to please. Compared to her, well, you can never compare to her. She is immaculate.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #au #maid au #thor #avengers #mcu #marvel

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redrose10 · 9 months

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Chapter 3 is here! Next chapter in a few days!

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word Count: 3,609

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

In no way were you going to to cry in front of a couple hundred strangers. You decided to focus in on a bouquet of flowers that were just behind Yoongi’s head to try and distract yourself. A beautiful set of blue hydrangeas. You chose to ignore the words that were being spoken by the minister standing between the two of you. Instead your thoughts were brought back to being seven years old and laying in your Aunts back yard on her swing while she read the newspaper. The hydrangea bush next to you was in full bloom providing an intoxicating scent and a beautiful hue of purples and blues. Your aunt gently stroked your hair while she told you about some recipe that was listed in the paper, asking you if you thought she should try it for dinner one day. It was one of the last times you remember feeling genuinely happy and at peace and loved.

You’re brought out of your trance after you hear the officiant whisper your name. Yoongi is looking at you with one eyebrow raised. The officiant speaks again, “Y/N, do you take Yoongi as your husband now and forever?” Unable to speak you nod your head and the ring is placed on your finger. A few more words were spoken and then you were welcomed to share your first kiss as husband and wife.

You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about what it would be like to kiss Yoongi. You wondered how this would go. Should you take his hand? Will he caress your face? Does he even want to kiss you? Moments later he leaned in. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla stronger than ever. Briefly he looked into your eyes and you saw something different. Not the usual disgust or indifference. His eyes showed that he was nervous. Maybe even scared. Before you could think there was a quick touch of your lips and then he backed away leaving you wanting more. He grabbed your hand dragging you down the aisle behind him while the crowd cheered and congratulated you both. Maybe you were seeing things but you swear you saw the tiniest bit of pink brush across his cheeks.

Afterwards the guests were ushered into the reception area to enjoy cocktails and appetizers while Yoongi and yourself were whisked away to take photos. The sweet photographer tried her hardest to make it seem like there was a lot of love and admiration between the two of you. However no matter how hard she tried the atmosphere was anything but that. Thankfully the photo session was over quickly and it was time to begin the reception. Dinner was served and then after a couple of speeches guests were encouraged to hit the dance floor to celebrate. Mr. And Mrs. Min paraded you around introducing you to a bunch of people whom you assumed were very important to their empire based on how they talked you up. After what felt like an eternity they excused themselves and you were left alone for the first time since the morning. That’s when you realized that you hadn’t seen Yoongi in quite a while. Scanning the room you couldn’t catch any sight of him. Curious as to what he was up to you started wondering the halls which may have been your biggest mistake of the evening.

Making your way down a dimly lit hall, the carpeting muffling the sound of your heels, you were startled when a door a few feet in front of you swung open and a disheveled looking Yoongi came stumbling out. His hair was a mess and you watched as he finished zipping up his black dress pants and then adjusted his belt to the correct position. He was closely followed by the same blond from the earlier ceremony stumbling as she finished pulling up the top of her barely there dress.

You felt a burning sensation in your throat and tears forming in your eyes. It was suddenly hard to breathe as if you were being smothered. You knew he wasn’t going to be the picture perfect husband but you didn’t think he would cheat on you and at your wedding reception of all places.

Quickly you turned and made your way back to the party area not noticing the way Yoongi looked after you.

Realizing that you needed some air you found the nearest exit door and stepped out onto the terrace. The cool air feeling good on your flushed skin and in your lungs. You felt like the last little bit of hope you had at a happy marriage was just crushed. Trying to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself you were interrupted when you heard the latch of the door click open.

“Y/N”

Turning around you faced Yoongi standing by the door. Hands in his pockets. Unreadable expression on his face. It looked like he had fixed his hair since it was no longer sticking up all over the place and was back to laying down styled like nothing had ever happened. Without saying a word you turned back around to stare out at the city below you. A strong breeze blew through the air putting you into a deep shiver. Seconds later you were wrapped in warmth. You were hit with a familiar smell. Cinnamon and vanilla. Noticing the black fabric draped around your shoulders you realized that Yoongi had placed his suit coat around you to try and bring you some warmth and protection from the chill in the air. Twenty minutes ago the gesture would’ve caused your heart to explode. But thinking back to Yoongi walking out of the room with that woman making it clear as to what they had done, probably while he was wearing this same suit jacket, you felt dirty having it touching you.

“Y/N, I know this isn’t ideal. That this isn’t how we had imagined our lives going so I don’t mind if you want to see other people behind closed doors. We just have to put on an act for the public but when no one’s watching you’re free to do whatever you want.”

You replayed his words in your head. Was he trying to clear his conscience because he knows he got caught? Maybe feels a little guilty and will feel less guilty if he knows you’re also out cheating on him? Does he think that he’s being kind towards you by doing this? You couldn’t stop the laugh that left your mouth. Shaking off his jacket and letting it land on the ground, not caring how expensive it was, you looked up at him and held up your left hand to show the wedding ring that hasn’t even been on your finger for a full eight hours yet.

“I can’t. I’m married and I’m not a disgusting, low down, uncaring, selfish, ignorant, cheating, loser, asshole like you Min Yoongi. You better not get caught either. It’s in your end of the contract.”

With that you turned and walked into the reception area taking a seat at the wedding table and downing your glass of champagne and also Yoongi’s that was sitting next to it. You have no idea where all that came from but it felt good. You snuck a peak out of the tall glass window to see Yoongi still standing there, hands in his pockets, mouthing something to himself before turning back to look out at the city below.

You groaned when your alarm went off the next morning. Why did you agree to a 6am flight again? Slowly you rolled yourself out of bed trying not to wake the loudly snoring figure next to you. You forgot just how cute Jimin looked while he was sleeping. All curled up in a ball with a deep pout on his lips.

Of course you didn’t spend your wedding night with your new husband. Especially not after the events at the reception. You and Yoongi were supposed to share a night in the biggest hotel suite in Seoul but you knew there was no way you could face him. After your little outburst on the terrace the rest of the reception was even more awkward especially having to share your first dance with him. You spent most of the dance staring down at the ground blaming it on having two left feet and not wanting to step on Yoongi’s expensive dress shoes but you and him both knew why you couldn’t look him in the eyes. The night ended with you spotting Yoongi standing in the corner talking to one of his business partners when your favorite blond woman walked over handing him a piece of paper with what was surely her phone number on it before giving him a kiss on the cheek and walking off. There was no way you were going to be stuck in a room with him after all of that.

Thankfully Jimin had planned ahead booking himself a room at the same hotel figuring he’d be too drunk to get himself home at the end of the night. You jumped in the shower letting the hot water soothe your sore muscles. Once you were thoroughly cleaned you put on some light makeup and a comfy outfit. Today you and Yoongi were heading off to your honeymoon. A week spent on a tropical island. You didn’t mind the ocean but you really hated the hot humid weather. The sand that got everywhere. The guaranteed sunburn no matter how careful you were. Yoongi had asked where you wanted to honeymoon. You’d always wanted to stay in a cabin in the Swiss Alps during the winter. Something was always so comforting about the snow. The cold feeling invigorating and refreshing. You imagined sipping a mug of hot chocolate by the fire place while wrapped in a blanket. Maybe going for a walk and taking in the beautiful scenery. With Christmas just around the corner there’d probably be lots of decorations. Yoongi had nodded at your request like he was accepting of it so you were shocked when he told you that your honeymoon would be taking place in Fiji, somewhere that is the complete opposite of what you had asked for. But at this point what could you really expect from him.

All of your bags were packed before the wedding so you just threw in some last minute essentials before zipping up the last one. You didn’t have to take much. Just a duffel bag and a carry on for your makeup and important items. Growing up without having much you learned that you didn’t need much to be happy. Walking over to the bed you quickly realized that trying to wake Jimin up from his hangover induced coma was going to be useless so you placed a kiss to his forehead and grabbed your bags heading out the door.

You were startled when you opened the door finding Yoongi with his hand raised as he was just about to knock.

“Oh sorry. I didn’t expect to see you there.”, you said hand clutching at your chest.

He hands you over a warm to go cup. “I texted Jimin to ask him what your usual coffee order is but he never responded so I got you a vanilla latte. It seemed like a safe choice for you.”

You gave him a tight lip smile and took the cup from him. Truthfully you weren’t much of a coffee drinker but the fact that he actually put effort into something made your heart twist a little and some caffeine in your system wouldn’t hurt right now either. Gently you shut the door behind you and began to walk down the hall when you heard someone mumbling your name by the elevators. When you turned you were greeted by a young man. The poor thing looked like he was being crushed by the weight of all the luggage he was carrying as he desperately tried to keep everything together. Once you looked into his eyes you immediately recognized him as one of Yoongi’s interns, Jungkook. You’d met him a couple times and he was always very sweet and polite.

“Mrs. Min, let me take your bags for you.”, he said reaching out for the duffle bag in your hand.

You chuckled, “Oh no it’s okay. It looks like you’ve got your hands full already. Plus I’m definitely capable of carrying a couple bags down to the car.” Taking another sip of your coffee you waited for the elevator to arrive. Once the familiar ding of the bell sounded the doors opened and you stepped onto the platform making room for Yoongi and Jungkook. You couldn’t help but notice that Jungkook seemed a little less frazzled and Yoongi was carrying one of his own bags now. A small smile crept onto your face at the thought that maybe your words struck a nerve with him.

The car ride to the airport was mostly silent until Yoongi cleared his throat, “I waited for you to come to the room last night. I wanted to talk about things.” You continued to look out the window as the you passed by the buildings before responding, “I figured you’d be busy and didn’t want to be in the way of anything.”

Before Yoongi could speak the driver announced your arrival at the airport. You’d never been on a private plane before. The only plane you’d ever even been on was the one you took to South Korea and that definitely wasn’t private so it was nice. The plane ride and the following drive to the resort remained pretty much silent minus the occasional question or statement.

The suite at the resort was of course luxurious. You stepped out onto the balcony and were immediately hit with a wave of the heat and humidity that you hated so much. But you did have to admit that the view was stunning. Crystal clear water. White sand. Palm trees and tropical flowers wherever you looked.

Walking back into the cool air conditioning you took a look around the room and felt a sudden rise in your body temperature. The cause of this-The one king bed staring back at you. Normally a couple on their honeymoon wouldn’t think twice about sharing a bed but you and Yoongi had an odd situation. He must’ve noticed your new concern because you heard him chuckle from the other side of the room.

“We’re adults Y/N and we’re married. We can share a bed for a week.”

All you could muster was a nod and a tight lipped smile. Part of you wondered if this meant he’d keep his hands off of other women on this trip. Or maybe the two of you would finally-

“I’m heading out Y/N. Don’t wait up.”, he said and you looked over watching him grab his room key and head out the door not even looking back. Of course, you sighed.

Not wanting to leave the room you ordered yourself some room service and called it an early night. When you woke up the following morning you felt more refreshed than you had in a long time. It was definitely the comfiest hotel bed you’d ever slept in. You began to feel slight movement next to you and that’s when you remembered that you were on a honeymoon with your husband.

The movements stopped so you thought it was safe to take a peak. Yoongi had stayed as far on his side as he could. Looking over you once again admired how handsome he truly was. If you didn’t know what kind of person he was you’d definitely have a huge crush on him. Maybe you did anyways. He was still in his clothes from earlier. He smelled like a brewery with a hint of that familiar cinnamon and vanilla scent.

He must’ve gone out drinking all night and came back at some point while you were asleep. You weren’t sure if you were relieved he came back at all or upset that he spent the first night of your honeymoon downing whiskey at some bar. The forever comforting person in you didn’t want him to catch a cold from the air conditioning that you had set on full blast so you tried your best to shimmy the blanket up to his shoulders to cover him and that’s when you noticed it. Right on his neck just below his ear. A kiss of red lipstick stared back at you like a forbidden tattoo. Curiosity getting the best of you and knowing that he was still too out of it to notice you gently tugged down the collar of his tshirt revealing what you had feared. Several more kisses of the same color lipstick painted his chest along with a couple love bites. Feeling like you were going to be sick you quickly ran to the bathroom shutting the door behind you.

After a long hot shower and taking your time getting ready you finally felt like you could face the world. Yoongi was sitting on the edge of the bed his head in hands clearly feeling the effects of the night before. He heard the jingle of your purse and looked over noticing you standing there in your pink sundress with the sunglasses to match. He thought it was cute how you always tried to accessorize your outfit with something matching in color.

Your original plan was to ask him to come have breakfast with you and then see if he wanted to go to the beach. Even if you hated it you were still going to try and make the most of this trip. But after this morning you don’t want to be in the same room with him. Silently you walked out the door letting it shut behind you and made your way down to the resort cafe.

The next few days were spent the same. You and Yoongi spent most of the day doing your own thing until he’d stumble into bed at some point during the night. You didn’t even bother looking for any signs of what he did out there. At this point you didn’t want to know.

On the last night you decided to treat yourself to a nice dinner out. Yoongi had been gone all day and you knew he wasn’t going to spend the evening with you anyways. The food was incredibly delicious and you had a really nice time with the waiter, Hoseok. He was like a big ray of sunshine and for that one dinner you were able to forget everything that had been happening. The two of you exchanged numbers so you could get together for lunch next time he visited his parents in Korea. As you were walking back to your room you came across two people all over each other in the hallway. The man’s hands were slowly going farther up the shirt of the brunette he was with. Soft moans could be heard between the two of them. Normally you’d be pretty off put that two people would be so open in public but you were happy that someone was getting intimacy. You were craving any sort of touch and these two just made you want it more.

That was until the woman accidentally dropped her purse and bent down to retrieve it revealing the man that she was with. Yoongi looked at you with his classic unreadable expression. The woman standing back up realized you were now present. She was understandably confused as to why you were waiting right there.

“Oh I’m sorry. Is this your room?”, she asked looking back at Yoongi for an explanation.

Deep down you had thought he’d tell the truth. Let her know that you were his wife and he was caught. That she needed to leave. That this was your honeymoon. That he wouldn’t bring another women into your hotel room while you were there with them. Instead he just sighed,

“Yeah this is my sister Y/N. She’s sharing a room with me unfortunately.”

You felt your heart crack. The woman looked a little shocked pulling away, “Oh I’m so sorry. Maybe we should continue this elsewhere.”

You watched the smirk spread across Yoongi’s face, “Nah she won’t mind. Right Y/N?” In your head you screamed, “Yeah of course I mind. You’re my husband and you expect me to just sit there while you fuck some other woman.” But instead you gently shook your head and watched as Yoongi pulled the woman back into the room with him kissing her as he went.

You stood there and watched the door slam shut. The faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla the only thing remaining in the hall with you. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t sit in that room with them. So instead you made your way down to the lobby. At this time of night all the restaurants were closing up and you weren’t much for the bar scene so you grabbed a water bottle from a vending machine and walked out to the beach to wait it out. Once you felt you had a safe spot chosen you took a seat down in the sand. As you stared up at the sky you felt the exhaustion taking over your body. Slowly you laid back allowing the warm sand and the sound of the ocean waves to lull you off to sleep. The smell of the salty air a welcoming change to the cinnamon and vanilla that was slowly driving you crazy.

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #min yoongi #arranged marriage au #bts fanfic #bts yoongi #ceo au #yoongi au #yoongi #bts x reader #bts fic

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goosefruit · 10 months

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5 times vanessa brought you flowers (drabble collection)

vanessa shelly x fem!reader

tw: none

a/n: i need her to show up at my door with a bouquet of flowers ples

Hydrangeas

The first time Vanessa showed up at your door with a bouquet of flowers was on the night of your first date.

She nervously shuffled her feet, wondering how you might react to her last-minute grocery store purchase. In her defense, she had just finished working a night shift mere hours before she had to start getting ready for tonight.

An arrangement of baby blue hydrangeas laid in her arms, with little white flowers filling the gaps.

Vanessa had stood in the flower section of the store for a good half hour as she tried to decide on the perfect offering for you. The obvious choice would be roses, but she was afraid of coming off too strong.

After all, she had only known you for a week, after dancing with you at a bar. Even then, there was a spark between the two of you that she had never felt before, and she knew that she would do anything to have this work out.

So she decided on something perhaps even more thoughtful than roses.

The hydrangeas had caught her eyes the moment she saw them. They were the same shade of blue as the sparkly aquamarine earrings you always wore (she knew because you were wearing them the night you met, as well as in most of your Instagram pictures). Something about the delicate hue reminded her of your soft smile and gentle eyes.

Those same blossoms of blue were seen in your favourite vase for months after, its petals dried and preserved.

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Wildflowers

For your one year anniversary, Vanessa had planned a picnic in a nearby meadow.

You sat under the warm May sun with your eyes closed, leaning against your girlfriend's shoulder. The occasional cool breeze tickled your skin as you basked in the sunlight, sighs of delight falling from your lips.

In every direction, fields of colour stretched on for miles. Flowers of all shapes and sizes were beginning to wake from their winter slumber, with many already in full bloom.

Groggily, you opened one eye to admire how wonderfully Vanessa’s blonde locks gleamed in the afternoon light.

“Hey honey,” she smiled when she noticed you staring. Giving you a peck on the forehead, she began to stand up. “I’ll be right back.”

You thought about following her, but were in way too comfortable of a position for your muscles to want to move. Instead, you laid back on the picnic mat and listened to the birdsong overhead.

Vanessa returned soon after, prancing towards you in her pretty pink sundress. She held out a brilliant bundle of wildflowers: reds, blues, oranges, and yellows amongst various shades of green. The stems were tied together with a blade of grass, assembled into a perfect little bouquet.

“For you, my beautiful girl.”

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Lilies of the Valley

This time, Vanessa had to ask the Internet for help.

You and her had been in rocky waters for the past week, arguing over trivial things such as who was going to do the dishes.

She knew that you were only matching her attitude, as she had been quite unfair in how she spoke to you lately. Really, she didn’t mean it—the long, stressful shifts at work had gotten the better of her, but instead of talking it out, she pent up those emotions until they overflowed.

Vanessa knew she had to do something to clean up the mess that she had created.

A Google search for apology gifts gave her a list of ideas, and she set out for the store while you were at work one day. It took her several tries before she found a florist that supplied what she was looking for.

The vase held a bunch of delicate little white flowers, each hanging off of thin green stems in rows. There must have been at least a hundred of them, every one perfectly bell-shaped.

She recalled that you had once stopped to admire a patch of these on a walk, which is why she recognized them almost immediately when they came up on her search. Apparently, they symbolized apology, amongst other things.

Knowing that she would already be at work by the time your shift ended, she left the flowers alongside a note on the dining table:

My dearest Y/N,

You are my world, but I haven’t been treating you like it lately. I’m sorry that I’ve been a terrible communicator, and for taking out all my stress on you. You didn’t deserve that.

I got you a little something here: Lilies of the valley. It has a pretty name, just like you.

I know it doesn’t make up for how I acted, but take it as a token of my love. Really sorry I can’t be home tonight; you know how my shifts are.

Maybe we can do something fun when I get back?

I’m going to do better from now on, my love <3

-Nessa

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Roses

On Valentine’s Day, you received the sweetest, reddest roses.

Vanessa had taken a day off just to prepare for the occasion, taking it upon herself to decorate the entire apartment with candles and petals.

At her insistence, she picked you up from work, wearing a suit so nice it made you feel underdressed in your plain blouse and jeans. The look was completed by a rose between her teeth, one corner of her mouth lifted in a gentle smirk. You giggled at how ridiculous but sexy she looked.

She presented you with a bouquet she had hidden behind her back, a dozen more roses bound by lace and gold wrapping paper.

Each flower had been carefully handpicked by her, the process having taken her nearly half a day at the florist’s. She made sure to select only the most vibrant ones, with every petal intact, for her babygirl.

They smelled so good, it made your heart flutter. Of course, you knew that roses were known for their fragrance, but something about getting them from the love of your life made the sweet scent all the more mesmerizing.

To top it all off, the lace holding everything together had the same colour and pattern as that chic white lingerie set you knew she loved seeing you in.

You took a mental note to change into it before the evening’s fun.

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Paper flowers

You were puzzled when Vanessa took an unusual interest in the crafts section of the dollar store.

Your girlfriend had never expressed herself as an artistic person, always leaving all the home decor DIY stuff to you. But now, she was buying stacks of coloured paper and disappearing to her office with them for hours at a time.

You had been reading on the couch one Sunday afternoon when you felt her hands cover your eyes from behind.

“Don’t peek! I have a surprise for you,” she whispered excitedly.

You nodded, keeping your eyes shut as she set something down on the table in front of you.

“Okay, now open your eyes!”

The product of her mystery project blew your mind beyond words.

In a tall glass vase, she had placed paper flowers of all different colours, each resembling different species with shocking accuracy. They were folded with such neatness that you immediately understood why it had taken Vanessa so long.

“I saw a video online, so I knew I had to make some for you,” she grinned cheekily. “The papercuts were all worth it.”

You grabbed her face and kissed her, all while a singular thought circulated through your mind: How many other hidden talents did this woman have?

#fnaf x reader #vanessa afton #vanessa fnaf #vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa monroe #fnaf vanessa #wlw fluff #flowers #vanessa shelly drabbles #vanessa shelly imagines #vanessa shelly fluff

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cloud-player · 1 year

Text

Dates with HSR Men

> Gepard, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan

> Gender Neutral!Reader, non-explicit, canon-compliant

◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。

Gepard

• As captain of the Silvermane Guards, Gepard doesn't have much free time, really. When he's not in the front lines guarding against fragmentum monsters, he's on missions to rescue drifters or settle disputes in the Administrative District. Suffice to say, he doesn't have much time off.

• But when he does get time off, Gepard almost runs towards the Goethe Hotel, where you're staying. He had already passed by the flower shop, a bouquet of expensive hydrangeas in his (clammy) hands. Citizens were looking at him in curiousity and interest because it's so rare to see the esteemed captain bashful and blushing.

• When you finally come down to the lobby, Gepard's breath audibly hitched and you swore he almost looked like a stone statue. A handsome, god-like statue.

• "Where do you want to go?" Gepard asked, even though he already knows the answer and you both are walking towards it: the Belobog Theater. But still, because he's a noble gentleman, Gepard always asks. It's cute.

• The play is enchanting and the entire time, Gepard held your hand. You thought he was paying you more attention than the play, to be honest. You scold him for that, but Gepard just smiles and presses his lips to the back of your hand. He reminds you that he's seen the play before and just wants to see you enjoy it too.

• "Did you have fun today?" He'd ask, walking you back to the Goethe Hotel after a filling dinner at one of the prime restaurants in the Administrative District. Gepard stopped at the entrance, hesitating for a moment before taking a deep breath, as if building up the courage for something.

• Gepard isn't big on public displays of affection, so it was a (welcome) shock when he suddenly pressed his lips against yours. It was a brief, passionate kiss, but it sent shivers through your spine and shot warmth to the very tips of your fingertips.

• With a promise to message you again when he's free for another date, Gepard smiles and bids you goodnight. You spend the rest of the night on cloud nine, reliving the kiss and the day in your mind until you fell asleep.

◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。

Dan Heng

• Dan Heng barely leaves the Archives Room, so when he finally got over his emotional constipation long enough to ask you out properly, you were really expecting the date to take place in his room anyway.

• "I asked Pom-pom to make your favorite food. They don't allow me in the kitchens." He mutters shyly, letting you inside the room. Dan Heng had redecorated a little for the date-- the books and papers were cleared away and there was a soft, fluffy carpet on the floor.

• "March and Himeko also told me I should..." Dan Heng trailed off, blushing. He produced a bunch of origami paper flowers arranged in a bouquet and gave it to you. "A gift for tonight."

• He also said Welt reminded him to be courteous and gentlemanly around you, though Dan Heng grumbled out that he didn't need reminding like a child. You laughed, telling him that it just means everyone on the Astral Express genuinely cares for him.

• Dan Heng then asks if he can show you something. He turns the main lights off and presses a small button on the side. A hologram of all the planets and star systems you have travelled to shoots up above you both.

• "I asked Mr. Yang's help for this." He admitted. You shove him lightly, enthralled by the sight of the cosmos. Dan Heng lays you both down on the carpet so you can stare at his creations.

• You noticed he was looking at you more than the hologram. Dan Heng reddens at being caught, but he resolutely stares at you again until you're also a blushing mess. He reaches out and holds your hand, both of you in silence until sleep comes.

• Of course, Pom-pom disrupts your sleep a while later to remind you to go back to your own cabin. You woke up to find yourself wrapped in Dan Heng's arms, and Pom-pom gives you both a soft look before finally acquiescing and letting you stay in Dan Heng's room for the night.

• You sighed in relief and buried your nose into the crook of Dan Heng's neck, feeling his hold tighten around you. And with that, you drift back to sleep.

◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。◍ ✧⁠ *⁠。

Jing Yuan

• Jing Yuan doesn't let his heavy workload stop him from taking you on a date. In fact, he even disguises your dates as 'civic duty' so he can get away from the older generals trying to get him to stay in the office.

• Still, walking around with the general himself in Central Starskiff Haven just garners so much attention and onlookers. Jing Yuan doesn't seem to mind, just as long as he gets to hold your hand as you stroll along the bridges.

• He rents the best table at the tea store, the one on the second floor overlooking the entirety of the place. It gives the best view and enough privacy for Jing Yuan to rest his chin on his hand and gaze at you while you talk about your insterstellar adventures.

• You're worried you might have bored him, but Jing Yuan placates your fears by saying that he's more than at peace listening to your stories and playing with your fingers as you wait for the rose tea and carrot cake arrive.

• "That reminds me..." Jing Yuan pulls out a small box from his pockets. "This was Yanqing's idea." He tried to downplay his own thoughtfulness as you opened the box to reveal a golden orchid brooch. He smiled at you when you excitedly pinned the flower onto your shirt.

• "It matches your eyes." Jing Yuan never runs out of things to say that make you blush, but before anything else happens, a messenger runs towards your table and hands Jing Yuan a scroll indicating that the Divination Commission was summoning him-- and thus ending your date.

• Deeply regretful, Jing Yuan reluctantly stands up. The messenger then added that you were also being summoned by the commission, and Jing Yuan visibly brightens. He insisted you go together, calling his private starskiff. While waiting, Jing Yuan slips his hand around yours once again.

• He never let go.

#honkai star rail #hsr gepard #hsr dan heng #hsr jing yuan #honkai star rail fluff #honkai star rail fanfic #gepard x reader #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #cloudnotes

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zeherili-ankhein · 4 months

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Here's part 2!!

Part 1, Part 3

A bunch of purple lily of the valley

Uhhhh a buch of flowers (I don't know what it looks like but it's the same as lilies) but it definitely looks like some kind fantasy fire power flowers

A BIG BLUE LOTUS (I was actually thinking of Ramayan when I made this, so this is kinda like a offering to Maa Durga)

A orange lotus with red core (again this looks like some kind os fantasy world flower)

The red lotus I made for Vasant and it's identical blue lotus.

Now it's a reference to “Lalkomol ar Neelkomol” (I am big Thakumar Jhuli fan ykr)

A pink lotus bud (it was actually too small to bloom lol)

Another sunflower but yeah still not really

Some hydrangeas of all colours (I don't know what to do with them T_T I just kept making them while talking to my friend on call)

Next part won't be flowers but other things..

@foreignink i love tagging you lol @tum-naam-sochlo-merese-ni-hora lo aur phool lelo 😭

#paper flowers #paper craft #origami #desiblr #desi teen #desi tumblr #desi tag #desi

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eikaebana · 6 months

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Elevate any setting, be it indoors or outdoors, with the timeless elegance of our Hydrangea bunches, perfect for weddings, office events, or any occasion that calls for a touch of natural beauty. Shop now to avail exclusive offers! Visit us: https://shop.eikaebana.com

#hydrangea flower bunches #flower bunch #artificial flower bunch #hydrangea flower bunch #eikaebana #artificial flower bunches #india #delhi #eikaebana flower shop #wholesale flowers #flower wholesalers in delhi

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cherubispunk · 1 year

Text

THANK YOU, MR. MILLER - bfd!Joel Miller x Reader

summary: caught up in the devistation of you parents ever crumbling marriage, you seek help and comfort from your older neighbour.

a note from lucy: this is one my faves i've written so far. I hope you enjoy because I did.

playlist

wc: 7789 warnings: 18+ MDNI! no outbreak au! bfd!joel, angst, fluff, smut, p in v smut, fingering, oral - fem receiving, light choking, age gap (reader is twenty one, joel is in his forties), swearing, mentions of infidelity and divorce.

Most days you wished you could tie your fluctuant thoughts together in a neat little bunch with a ribbon, maybe yellow or blue, knot it into a bow. Like a bouquet of flowers. Except they were not flowers. They were brambles and stinging nettles and those weird little dandelions that only stay pretty until a gust of wind strips them bare to their stalks.

To spite this, you had an avarice for perfection. As a result of all the times life seemed to spiral out of control. Like ivy up the trunk of the oak tree in your back garden. You cried the day your father had to saw it down; Only being Eight and watching through the sliding glass doors of your living room. Your treehouse came down with it. All that was left was a stump now smothered by your mothers prize winning hydrangeas. Tonight seemed to be one of those moments. One of those life altering experiences that are jarring even if you see them coming.

Deep down, in the pit of your gut that formed first at the family dinner table through awkward conversation, you knew it was coming. Your brother who left home a year before you, yet to return even once from the army, knew it. Everyone else on the street did too. Heck, maybe the whole of Austin’s suburbia knew? Knew about the pathetic crumbling foundations your parents’ marriage sat on. It was tilted at an alarmingly steep angle as pillars of salt corroded, eroded, dissolved. It was jarring in a way that knocked air out your chest and winded you. A way that blew your eyes wide. Now, without you or your brother in the house, they had no reason to keep up appearances behind closed doors as well as in the open, and they slipped.

It's why you found yourself staring at the front door of the Miller household. Praying that the only friend you had in close vicinity, heck in Austin, full stop, could hear you rant about the shit you encountered barely mere moments ago. The same shit that was happening under the roof of your childhood home. In your parents’ marital bed.

Just like the decay of a loving vow, It was no secret you had changed over the time away. You filled out your clothes more, despite losing a little weight from how skint college made you. Long gone were the awkward blemishes to your skin, and growth spurts that made your jeans too short in the leg, and growing pains of puberty. You had a little skip in your step. One that was no longer weighed down from the dull life you lead when back home. Your first year of college was difficult to begin with. But you slipped into routine there. And you found your people. A few friends, some on your course, some not. But coming back after your third year…it was…new again.

And the way Joel’s eyes roved over you for a split second upon seeing you at his door— it made an invisible shiver of something jolt down your spine. A shiver that rattled each vertebrae. It had you smoothing over the hem of your shirt into your stupid little gym shorts. You chose to wear them because it was comfortable to travel in. But now you felt cold and small under his gaze, like an ant under a. His face softened when he saw the shimmering streaks of tears run down your pretty little face, eyes red while you reached up to wipe your nose and sniff. God, the ground should just open in a gaping hole and swallow you, bones and all.

“Uh, sorry to bother you so late, Mr. Miller.” You choked, closing your eyes and holding in breath, cursing how easy it was for you to cry. Your mother often chided you for it. Said ‘no one likes a crybaby’. And your father would butt in with ‘stop having a bubble’. Words that still sting as they yelled out in echoes in your mind while you stood on his doorstep. “Is…” another sniff, “is Sarah in?” Joel’s head tilted to the side slightly, only askew as he tutted slightly and offered a sympathetic smile of pity, “No. She’s with her boyfriend. Ain't been back yet.”

“Oh.” You nodded. How foolish you had been to think that your end of term dates aligned with hers. “Okay. Thank you anyway.” You turned to leave, only getting about ninety degrees in your turn on his doorstep before he stopped you.

“Do you want me to give her a message when she gets back tomorrow?” He watched as only your head turned back towards him, your feet staying firmly planted to the floor. Jesus Christ, you missed the sight of him. Missed seeing him in the mundane setting of suburbia. It made it so much more interesting. His shirt, it hugged his torso, the sleeves clinging to his large biceps like a second skin and stretching the dark fabric taut. A deranged part of you slipped back to your 18 year old self, peeking through the window to see him pushing the lawnmower across his front lawn in the dry heat, a dark patch of sweat collecting on the dip of his lower spine and across the wings of his shoulder blades.

“No. That, uh…it's not urgent.” You tried, the corners of your lips tugging a smile, a sad little one that made you look far worse. A lie smeared across your now pale face.

“You look tired, Sugar.” He said, the words seeping into the very marrow of your aching bones, wrapped up in that southern drawl you missed hearing through your open bedroom window. In the morning’s when he called out to his brother if he picked him up for work. Tommy, you remembered, was his name. “You got somethin’ weighing on your mind?” You willed yourself to shake your head, but you couldn’t bring it within yourself to lie right now. So instead you just nodded. “You wanna come in for a second?” He asked, glancing between you and the house across the street. The one unspeakable acts of infidelity were currently happening just beyond the white picket fence, and the manicured green lawn. It made your stomach twist into knots and your belly churn in a queasy mix of bile and the muffin you got at the airport that early morning. His eyes, however, stayed on you when you too glanced back, swallowing dryly when he saw the soft curve of your ass hang out the bottom of your bunched up shorts, the soft, malleable skin teasing him, making him hot beneath the collar. He had to adjust his jeans slightly as they got a little tighter, the nasty thoughts of how the swell of your rear would ripple with the dents of his fingertips if he was rough enough. Would they leave bruises on your skin?

Fuck. Joel cursed himself in the tangled confines of his mind. Damining for the sexual frustration that caught him off guard. He hadn’t had a good fuck in years, but the way your tear stained cheeks glowed in the dim light of his porch had him caught up; Wondering if you’d cry like that for him as he bent you over his kitchen counter, tits pressed to the linoleum, cheek smushed under his hands, your body jolting from erratic thrusts, his hips sapping into your behind. Would you cry out his name? Or would you resolve into whimpers and whines? Joel would admit, using the sight of you as a way to set his dick wet was the lowest of low, a depth he didn’t think he’d reach even in the throes of painful, biting sexual frustration. But it seemed to have boiled down and condensed together over the years. And being parched of the sight of you, your innocence over the time you were away — to then have you flung back at him? It had him growling in his own mind. Clawing at the yellow wallpaper. Just shy of a year since seeing you last over the street. That’s all it took for desire to light a fire in the pit of his belly and set up camp. And it wasn’t a traveller anymore. It was there to stay until satiated. The length in his jeans wanted him so gravely of that.

Pervert. He thought to himself bitterly, laced with a vehement venom. It neighboured his lust for you.

“Okay.” He found himself blinking once, twice, a sharp inhale of air waking him up as it shot through his nose. You replied with the affirmative!

“Okay.” He nodded back, jaw ticking, the muscle in his neck flexed under the pressure of his teeth biting together, making you want to mimic it with your thighs— to ease the ache just slightly.

He stepped to the side.

With an audible gulp, one that made you cringe, you tiptoed on a proverbial tripwire, a livewire, into the foyer of his house, past him. A breeze followed you through with gusto, making a mockery of your senses as it blew his scent into your face when you turned back round to face him. He closed the door and you felt a relief, one that was short lived because you were now surrounded by him. His smell, his sight. Everything about him, it was clinging to the walls, painted a white that you imagined glowed a warm, mellow yellow in the morning light. An oddly domestic thought to be having given you were thinking of all the ways he might just make you fall apart just two seconds ago, drooling over him his tight fucking t-shirt.

It did look so warm, though, a faded black from being washed so often, the Rolling Stones album cover printed on the front was cracked, like the canvas of an old oil painting. Specks of white fluff clung to the fabric, a normal sight. But it did nothing to help your want for him. It would smell so richly of him, so lavishly of Joel. You knew it.

‘God, this was so inappropriate!’ You scolded yourself in your head, letting him lead you into his kitchen. If you had a tail that little fucker would be folded shamefully between your legs, curled in sin.

The only sound in his kitchen came from a fan that hummed weakly as it oscillated on the counter. It reminded you of a thought you had when leaving university for the summer. Would I miss the cool rain of Colorado? You felt a lot like that fan. Pathetic. Swinging meekly between left and right. Never able to stick to one side due to the instability you grew up around. Smothered in.

“College good? People treatin’ you well?”Joel asked as he filled up a glass of water for you and slid it across the counter your way. You nodded tentatively, wetting your lips with your tongue before raising the glass to them. He watches with a secret hunger as the cool glass met your lips and you take a small sip to soothe your parched dry throat.

“Yeah.”

“Where'd you go again? Washington, right?” “Colorado.” You corrected him.

“Colorado. Right.”

He paused after nodding…and the air was once again stagnant due to the fall of conversation.

“What major?” He asked again, making you look up at him in a skittish movement. Like a fucking deer in headlights. You wanted to bolt like a rabbit at the sound of a shotgun instead. I’m your disgust, your feet stayed firmly planted into the linoleum tile of his floor.

“Uh, I'm studying education.” He nodded, pursing his lips as he mulled the thought over in his head with a nod.

“You wanna teach then?” He inquired. You nodded, “Sounds about right. You were always so giving. Very selfless of ya.” You set the glass down, swallowing down the sip you took just before. You can’t help but smile a little at that, eyes closing as you let yourself feel — for just a moment — that you were meant to be laced up in his words; Wrapped and held in place by a little bow. Like a birthday gift, or something under the decorated tree at Christmas.

This little second to yourself didn't go unnoticed by Joel. It made his heart thrum rapidly, pinch behind his lungs in the cage of his ribs. It had him up in arms again over his riling thoughts. They stuck to the walls of his mind, clinging to them like a rabid animal. If you’d let him, he'd sink his claws and teeth into the action upon those images. Spur it into play. Maybe sink his teeth into the plush of your skin too. Would you like that? To be carnally desired. Would you consent to that horror born of lust? He thanked the separation of the kitchen counter hiding his cock that pressed to his thigh under his jeans, blood flowing south as you held back tears again after a wave of short lived relief.

“What’s up, pretty girl?” He asked. Making your eyelids spring open again to meet the dark chestnut of his irises. The warm hue from the under cabinet strip lights illuminated the individual honey gold flecks in them. You swore your knees buckled, joined groaning. “You got a lot running round that head of yours.” He pointed out, noticing the tight scrunch of your brow. It would curl like that out of pleasure, give him half a chance. He was sure of it. Fucked out and overstimulated, limbs sprawled out beneath him like a wire in a snare trap.

Your silence was deafening and he sought out to fill it when giving you another once over. Her rounded the kitchen counter, praying your eyes stayed on his because the way your shirt swallowed you whole had him wishing he was the one doing that instead, covering you with himself. Holding your naked self to his chest. Feel.

“You wanna sit for a bit and talk about it?”

You gnawed at the tip of your thumb, a nervous habit that had Joel wrapping his large hand around your wrist and pulling it back. His digits engulfed your wrist completely. His size compared to yours was startling. His smile was kinda, masking the thoughts of what those tiny hands would look like, wrapped round his dick as he hissed at the friction your smooth plans would give him. Would it wrap round the girth perfectly? Would your thumb meet your middle finger as you took hold onto him? Probably not.

He swallowed, trying not to think the same for your lips as you once again darted your tongue out to draw the plush pink of your bottom lip between the whites of your teeth.

Instead, he settled for pulling you gently forward, cheating you round towards the living room with a steady palm to the small of your back. He felt the jolt you made, and then the way your muscles eased, the arch of your spine soothing and straightening out.

With a gentle touch, he led you to the sofa, sitting beside you. Waiting for you to speak.

“E-everyone saw it coming.” You croaked out, an annoyance and intolerable hate for yourself and your dumbfounded stupidity pinching at your sides. “Even I saw it coming! I just don’t understand why I had to find out in such a-“ Joel watched your eyes dart around the carpet of his living room, as if the answer would lay right there, nestled between the threads and fibres, “a messy way…” you continued with a small voice. He titled his head towards you, raising his brows with gentle ardence for what you had to say.

And so you spoke. Told him of the messy tangling of your fathers limbs with another woman’s. The sound of them. Disgusting. Gut wrenching. How they mingled with the bedspread in a frantic assembly of passion and appendages.

Joel’s face turned into a grimace. He knew. He saw the two of them enter your home together when washing the dishes of his meal for one. Drunk, cheeks flushed with the secret they carried. An infidelity. He’d seen your mother commit a similar sin earlier this very week. He cleared his throat, resting a careful hand on your thigh, one that would make him lose control had it not been for its place just above your knee. Any higher and he was in hot water. He knew it.

“Sweetheart,” he started in a soothing, sympathetic but also telling manner, “Adults don’t always get it right. We…we ain’t perfect either.” He tried. He felt like he was having a conversation with Sarah. A torture of de ja vu. Way back when. Years ago she asked what happened to her Mummy. And he had said the same line of truth. A bitter, harrowing truth. But one everybody discovered sooner or later. He wished you knew it before and he wasn’t the one to twist those pretty features into pain instead of pleasure. He was silently begging to whatever higher power that was watching, that he wasn’t being perverted. That you didn’t see this is some little trick to get you vulnerable, in a headspace where he could fuck you until you felt better. Or until you entirely forgot. Forgot all but the way to mouth out his name in a shrill cry.

If you even knew in first place all the things he wished to do with you. To you.

“Sometimes you just find someone who ain’t right. They might be at the time. And you feel so sure ‘bout it that you make promises.” You listened, relayed it in your mind while you bit the inside of your cheek in futility. It wasn’t easy. Not by any means a conversation you wanted to have. But it was needed. The two of you knew it. A twisted part of you was glad it meant you got a chance to talk to him. To have him touch you gently.

He reached forward, tucking a single lock of hair behind your ear to see the hues of your irises. The way they gleamed slightly with tears. It was the prettiest sight of total devastation he had seen. Joel was no man of hubris, but he’d be damned if he didn’t think that getting you on all fours, crying a little for him in pleasure would boost his ego.

You glanced up at him, grinding your teeth together nervously while the ghosting of a calloused fingertip skimmed the top of your right cheekbone. If it weren’t for your thighs sticking uncomfortably to the leather of the sofa in this heat, you would have decayed to submission and slipped to the floor.

Joel let his knuckles that he cracked together to feel the grounding of physical pain, feel a comfort instead as they skimmed down your jawline. Physicality was so much tamer to him than emotion. There was the promise of knowing when you’d feel better that came with the ache to his joints and lower spine.

'`Thank you, Mr. Miller. It’s okay.” You sniffed, “I- I’ll be okay. I think.” Joel let a kind smile spread over his face.

“I know you will. You're a strong little lady. But please, call me Joel” Your eyes closed again and you swallowed. But opening them – that was the damning part. Because the moment they did, you saw how he flickered between each of your eyes. It must have been the intimacy of having the permission to use his first name, because it had you inhaling deeply in need of him.

You were surely frozen to the spot, his hand moving slightly higher up your thigh in a gentle caress before dragging back down to squeeze your knee. You let yourself have the pleasure of gazing at his lips. A mistake because it made you yearn to kiss him more. How would rough hairs of his upper lip feel against your cupid's bow?

It seemed your body moved of its own accord, for your lips met his. It was unlike anything you could have imagined when in bed, two fingers buried in your pussy, imagining they were his. His hot breath fanned over your lips, making you want more. But it was cut short when he pulled away with a groan.

Your skittish nature took hold of the reins and you jumped back, springing to your feet, hands tugging in your hair. “Oh, god- Joel- I…” You stammered, tears once again welling in your bloodshot eyes, “I’m so sorry. I thought…”

What? What did you think? That something would come of kissing your older, very age inappropriate neighbour? Fuck.

He stood up quickly after you, fists balled as if he was holding something back. Joel watched as you paced the floor once, twice, stopping at the far end of the room by the wall, distance yourself from the magnetic pull you had to him. “Hey, it's okay.’ He assured, taking a tentative step closer, hands now flat, fingers spread slightly as he tried to calm you down. “I’m not mad, sweetheart, okay?’ You took a breath in through your nose. Let it out again in a tremble of breath.

Another step closer. He was closer than needed, but you weren't the one making that call. He was. So you took it as a good sign, still pleading for his forgiveness though.

“Sorry.”

“You don't have to apologise for nothin’, Sugar.” He assured with that slow southern drawl again. It stretched out his syllables and smoothed out his vowels with it. God, it was a beautiful sound. One you wanted to muffle with your lips, with your legs over his ears. He was now an inch away from your chest, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. “I’d be lyin’ if i said I hadn’t wanted it.”

The sentence sent a jolt throughout you.

“Look at you.” He mumbled into the crook of your neck, the junction of your throat. A swallow passed through it, the cartilage of your windpipe flexing under his lips. “Too beautiful not to be touched.”

Those words struck a certain chord on your heartstrings. Plucked away at them like a harp. Made the beating of that very organ thrum in song. A tuneful symphony he felt through your pulse.

Too beautiful not to be touched.

No one had said that to you before. No one. And it was like a life altering experience. A mere ‘thank you’ didn’t feel like enough to respond with. It felt pathetic to say in comparison. And silence was so much more pathetic. But you couldn’t really articulate anything to say back. You just…stood there in awe of him as he continued to place careful, open mouthed kisses to your neck.

“How would you do it?’ You asked breathlessly, eyes closing, lashes fanning out over the tops of your cheekbones, “T-touch me?” You stuttered through fragmented, beating breaths. His kisses, they grew messier by the second now, and he hummed in amusement into your skin. Into the heat of it that crept up your throat. This was so wrong. So perverse it hurts is what he thought. But the pleasure from just his lips — it stung at the backs of your eyes like a prickling of tears; Oh god, it felt right. Right. Real. So, so…real- it was real. Repeating the word in your mind had it losing its meaning for a second, a jumbled up sound in the voice of your inner ear, your articulatory process working overtime just to feel into him. Feed the need for him.

“First.” He started, pushing you gently by the slope of your shoulders, until your back collided softly to the painted plaster of his living room wall, “I’d push you up against the wall.” He paused, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your collarbone, the shallow skin that was teased into view for him as he hooked a finger into the crewneck of your large t-shirt. “And then, I’d pin you down.” The thought made you whimper, a pulse of pleasure aching between your legs. Unquenchable, not able to be soothed by anything that wasn’t the touch of his rough fingers, the calloused pads of his digits. Middle and forefinger.

“You want that?” You nodded frantically in reply, breath catching your throat as he tugged at your shirt more. “Words. Use that pretty mouth of yours for words, sweet thing.”

“Y-Yes, Joel.” You stammered. Pathetic. Embarrassing. But it was impossible when his whole weight, his broad frame, toned with years of manual labour, pressed you into the wall. “Yes.” He let out another amused hum, except it tailed off into more of a growl now. A guttural one that rumbled in the back of his throat and reverberated in your ears. Rattled your ribs until they ached. It pinched them. The skin over them too and the lungs under them as well. Lungs that shivered from his touch.

“You wanna feel pretty.” It was not a question. A statement of understanding. One that made you think he once cracked open your skull and read each thought. The pages of your diary, even. Back to front. Cover to cover. Scour each word, ravage it of meaning the same way you wanted him to do with you. To your cunt that pulsed and soaked the fabric of your underwear. It made the skin of your inner thighs sticky as it dripped down gluttonously. “You want me to make you feel pretty, hm?”

“Please.”

He pulled back, a gleam in his eyes, and an almost evil smirk to match curled at the corner of his chapped lips. “I can do that, sweet thing.” He cooed, lulling you into a false sense of security. “I can make you feel pretty. Matter of fact, doll. I can make you feel fuckin’ beautiful.” You were now waving a white flag over your head to him. In that battle between your morality and lust, the turmoil of your needy, disgusting thoughts that echoed in your bones. It filled the hollow space between them. He stole away into it. He would make you feel pretty. Beautiful. He said so himself into the skin of your neck that now prickled violently with goosebumps. They made his words physical, scribing them out. A beautiful collision. And a stunning one it would be if he defiled you with the thrust of his hips. He’d make space for himself anywhere and you'd let him. Let him make roots in your mind. And not just the thought of him that you conjured up. No. He’d anchor himself there. Without your help. He’d make them himself. Without your involvement or investment.

It was no longer a question of how much you were willing to let up to him. How much of yourself you’d give up to him and set in his possession. It was now the complete certainty of how much he wanted. Or needed. You saw in his eyes he needed it. A comfort, a release of clashing teeth and viced limbs to his waist and back. It frightened you how easy it was to give that to him. To let him take that pleasure and make it his. His. His, his, his. Carve out a chunk of yourself from your arms that you hoped would surround him in the throes of messy heat. Give it to the man on a silver platter, surrounded by pomegranate, cherry and apple. Sweet fruits of you. Your fruits of your labours to him.

“We should stop—” Joel said into the skin of your neck, hands grasping at your hips, upper thighs. His fingers sank and embedded into flesh. He kept changing his mind, you kept changing your mind. But the actions he bought on, pressed to your skin by crafted lips, a little too far away in his own head — they went against his inhibition. Perfectly encapsulated the erotic stimulation as his hand slipped down your side to tangle messily with the hem of your shirt.

“We should.” You agreed breathlessly, immediately, chest in tandem with his, it’s rise and fall as they beat ceaselessly together, touching up to one and other.

“—But I can’t.” He continued.

“Neither can I. So please don’t.”

Being wanted. Wanting too much. It fed the idea of him but left you starving as you found those roots you made of him in your head being overgrown and overtaken by his own now. It was happening. In his own living room. Behind the closed curtains as he drew closer, closer, the windows seemingly fogged up to the outside. The suburbia that held its messy and primitive life, guarded by picket fences. Greying and peeling picket fences. Not white. Not pure. Not anything but decaying. Oh, you’d decay into him in a heartbeat. Give it all to him. Let him take it. Going through to the beating of your heart and crashing through your ribs. Rip it out your aching, pinching chest. A gaping hole left behind.

He didn’t stop. And thank god he didn’t. Because the way his hand smoothed between your thighs, between the seam of your shorts. Maybe it was something that was so taboo no one spoke of it? Maybe you too wouldn’t even speak of it after this. But it was too addictive to bother you. It seemed to flare your synapses, send shockwaves of rolling pleasure, cascading from your slouched shoulders as you slumped slightly more into him and off the wall. Your head spinning in circles loosened your chemicals. An endorphin rush. Pulled out your centrefold, staples bent and mauled as your pages fell from the book and onto the floor in front of him. Letting him tear you apart column by column.

“Lean back, pretty girl.” He commanded softly. Deftly. It made you feel like fine art, sculpted veins of his hands that flexed as they palmed your cunt through the two thin layers of fabric, slick clinging to them. You obeyed so well.

Joel’s curved, rigid nose ran along your carotid artery. The one that thumped with your quickening pulse. This anticipation and forbidden pleasure made him realise he was always more comfortable in chaos. In something a little out of the ordinary and unstable. Unhealthy. Joel gave into the temptation of low hanging fruit because it was there. And you got so little from anyone that what small intricacies you were handed, you let him. Let him as he snatched it up and bit a hunking chunk out of your soul. A souvenir for himself. Pulled the apple from the tree in the garden of Eden, sank his teeth into it, let the sweetness seep out of the core onto his tongue as it unravelled into addiction.

You were his apple now, and your teeth were bared to him, like his were to the delicate, shallow skin of your neck, the ridges one slopes of your collarbones. While his fingers, long and thick, slipped past the hem of your shorts, deeper past the little bow in the centre of the hem of your underwear. The crown of your head fell back gently to plaster, and mouth fell open with a small high gasp as he finally made contact with your clit. He hummed again. The slick you offered him made it so easy to give an experimental circle of his fingers.

Middle and forefinger pinching it slightly, circling it the way you felt you circled each other before now.

“Don’t wanna break you, sugar. Gotta be careful.” He said as his fingers coaxed you into bliss. Toes curling in your socks and high top converse.

“Please- I don’t care if you do- just—“ More. You needed more. Nothing, no matter how much you dreamed of this, seemed to be enough yet. “More. Please let me have more.”

“How much more?” He growled, rolling his hips into your thigh as he lost a little composure. It was just as he thought. Your begging was so sweet. Did God feel this way when he heard prayers?

“Inside. I want to feel you inside.”

His breath hissed in his throat as it caught between the walls of his windpipe and the strings of his vocal cords. With a slow, dragging pace of rough fingertips, he moved further down your slit, spreading your lips apart and holding a single pad of his digit to your hole, teasing you at your entrance. He growled again, teeth and mouth parting as he sank them into your shoulder. It made you cry out in a sharp wail when he slipped a single finger into your fluttering heat, cunt suffocating his digits. He was up to his middle knuckle deep in you, pulling out to do the same with two now. Middle and forefinger, curling them. Physically be king you towards a release. Your legs tensed and relaxed as each wave of pleasure rumbled through you. Hips bucked slightly into him and his free hand grapes at the flesh of your hip once more to slam your ass back into the wall.

“Good girl. Such a pretty little lady. Beautiful little cunt for me.” He cooed after unlatching his mouth from the purple bruise of a bite mark on your shoulder. His hot breath kissed the shell of your ear and made the ache settle into pleasure deep in your walls. Right at the end. Right there. “Is it all for me?”

“Yes!” You whimpered, “Yes— all for you, Joel.”

“Mhm. Good girl. Beautiful little lady.”

His fingers seemed to pick up a pace, but it was hindered by the tight material of your clothing. So he opted to shove it over the swell of your ass, down to your mid thigh. Not bothering for want and need of pressing his fingers back into you. Plunging them back into your tight heat. The warmth and wetness lead to lewd sounds squelching between your quivering thighs, the meat of your flesh.

“Good girl.” He whispered again, grasping your chin in a vice grip and pulling you closer, crashing his lips to yours in a clashing of teeth and mingling of moans. “So fuckin’ needy. So fuckin’ Love it.” Joel growled, “And it’s all for me. Makin this old man feel so special, doll.”

Tears burned your eyes with the white hot pleasure that coarser through you like a racehorse. They slipped from the threshold of your waterline, and the moment he tasted them against your lips, he pulled from them, licking a hit stripe up your cheek. He lapped them up, inhaling deeply through his nose, caught up in everything your body gave him. “Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ beautiful. Make you forget about it all. Only want you to remember my name.” You nodded, his fingers now up to the hilt in your tight little hole that clamped around him, threatening to spasm as you lost control.

It burned in your lower belly. The crying, shrill screaming promise of climaxing.

“You’re so close. Can feel it.”

“Yes, Joel.”

“Want you to come for me. Let that pretty little cunt of yours come on my fingers.” It was purely debaucherous, disgusting how fucking good it felt. It made you angry for some reason unknown to your mind. But your orgasm was so tangible at the time you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You cried out, your slim fingers gripping at his hair, fisting the curls between your nails and palms. It burned you up inside. Or was that from his fingers? Fuck, the thought of his cock and what pleasure it would unfold inside your anatomy had your mouth watering.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He growled obscenely into your ear as the most animalistic howl you had made yet tore through your bronchioles and rattled in his ears; Bounced from the walls.

The moment your walls stopped squeezing him he pulled his fingers from your messy heat and shoved them past your lips, teeth scraping at his knuckles. “Taste it. Ain’t it beautiful? Ain’t you just the prettiest little gift to me?” You nodded, eyes locking zealously with his while you cleaned his fingers of your release. The tang of your juices had your eyes rolling back in your head. And Joel wanted more. So he pressed them further into the cavern of your mouth. His blunt nails passed the hard palate of your mouth, pressing into your soft palate nod. And the gag you gave out had his already angry cock twitch viciously in protest behind his zipper.

“Gonna get you naked now, Sugar. Gonna see what pretty little body you’ve been hidin’ away from me all this time.”

You nodded frantically, these moments of oblivion being all that you needed now. The infidelity of your parents’ now a thing of the past, cast to the attic of your mind palace. The walls are now painted in colours of him. Lifting your arms to aid your own undressing, he yanked the hem of your shirt up, tossing it aside, large hands now hooking into your bottoms and pulling from your still quivering legs. Those same hands, ones that you were convinced were crafted and out into this very earth for your pleasure, hooked under your thighs, lifting you up into him. Legs wrapped around his waist without hesitation while he carried you to his stairs, ascending them with haste burning in his stomach. Your hands tugging at his hair and your lips to his neck made his strides larger, taking the steps two at a time.

You were well into the belly of the beast now. Consumed and swallowed, wallowing in a haze of postcotial bliss.

His foot kicked open the door of his bedroom, and you felt the spring of the mattress under your back, pushed down from the rebound as he found himself once again on top of you. His hips now met yours, still clothed and he could feel your wetness seep through the waters of clothing.

“Please, Joel, wanna feel you.” He was slowly going at you with a stitch picker, pulling you apart from the seams of your fabric. And he relished in it. You both relished in it. “Wanna see you. All of you. Please?”

A hand of his hooked behind your calf, pulling each of your shoes from your feet, followed by your socks and he smirked devilishly down upon you. “Oh, yeah?” He asked, chuckling evilly to himself. A sound that made you writhe atop his bedspread; Made you want to creek into his skin and barks yourself between his spine and ribs. Any free space of him.

“Yes! Please.” You begged, reaching out to grasp the hem of that shirt he wore. It’s faded fabric bunching in your meagre handfuls. He growled, dragging you closer by the swell of your thighs, pressing the hard and defined line of his dick through his jeans into your wanting slit. Pink and puffy cunt swiping against denim. The friction made you jolt.

“Sure thing, Beautiful.” – ‘I’ll make you feel fuckin’ beautiful.’ It echoed again in his words and wanting, hungry actions. – “As soon as I taste that gorgeous pussy of yours.”

He sank to his knees, joints not clicking because he felt young. Fucking Alive. A hot stripe made by the flat of his tongue made you mewl, a hand in his hair once again. The other splayed out on the covers, propping you up to get a view of him buried so deeply between your thighs, nestled into their apex, tongue fucking into your fluttering hole and the tip of his nose pressed to you clit. Your brow scrunched, jaw unhinged. Like him. With every slight roll of his head, the defined curl of his nose brushed your clit deliciously, each nerve ending of the bud was alive, live a livewire. It rattled in your bones, steam through your blood. Tingling as the sensation spread through your limbs, almost like pins and needles.

The angle was altered ever so slightly as he hooked both of your knees over his shoulders, inhaling the sweet musk of your cunt. He growled into it, lips smothered in your juices that gushed onto his tongue.”Come on, little lady. Wanna taste you gushing over my tongue.” Joel mumbled drunkenly between your parted thighs, his eyes boring deeper holes into your already blown pupils. Dilated and wide.

It was all the coil needed to burn brighter and tighten in its twisted knot, snapping clean in half as you reeled. You shoulder blades crashed back down to the mattress, back arching, strung tight in a deep curve while you writhed. He tugged you closer, moaning lowly into the seam between your thighs, slurping needily at what your body gave him. He hummed, addicted now. That taste was fatal. He had his forbidden fruit and he’d jump to far higher branches to get another taste if it came to it.

“Taste so good. So fuckin’ good, doll. Like sugar.” He cooed again, pulling back once he had his fill for the time being. A good thing because the way the scruff of his chin rubbed at your thighs was starting to become harder to ignore.

You watched through heavy, half lidded eyes as he pulled off his shirt to reveal sweet skin, the slight pudge of his stomach. You followed the smattering of hair in his happy trail down to his jeans, just as he popped the button.

“Gonna fuck you real good, now, Sugar. Gonna make you feel so beautiful.” You believed him. Every word as it became gospel to the pair of you sinners. “Gonna me you want it even after this.”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled, hypnotised by his fingers as they hooked into his jeans. He tugged them down over his hips, dragging down his adonis belt, softer, less harsh compared to the contours of the rest of him, such as his arms. He pulled them down in one swift motion with his boxers, his heavy cock slapping onto his lower abdomen, thich, red, the tip swallowed and leaking, drooling gluttonously with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length.

His hand wrapped around it, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. Fucked out from merely his tongue and fingers. He squeezed the base of his cock with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath.

“Promise it’ll only hurt for a bit, Sugar.” He swore sweetly at the sight of your anxiety. How you shifted slightly atop his covers. He was able to read you so well, like a book he had scoured the ages of every night before bed. It made you feel special. Sacred. The way he did it so easily. It was everything you wanted. Someone to tell you and assure you of your safety even when you didnt voice a single concern. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

He ran the tip up and down your slit, having to hold back from slamming into you when the bulbous head notched at your entrance.

“You on birth control, beautiful?” He asked as he leaned over you, bent at the waist, wrapping your legs around him securely.

“Y-yeah.”

Joel took that as a go ahead to push into you, pressing his hips flush to yours as you swallowed him inch by deliciously thick inch.

“Good girl.” He crooned, spelling both of his psalm over your hairline sweeping the hair that stuck to your forehead in the sheen of sweat atop your skin. His large hands dragged over the top of your skull to the crown of your head, down the back of your neck. The delicate dragged of roughened skin made a trail of goosebumps rise over your skin, blazing in his touch’s wake. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms, still buried to the hilt inside you. How he had so much restraint, he didn't know. And neither did you. But the needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside.

The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palms. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and ground and hissed in your ear, grip tightening in your neck. You felt it tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt. Suckong him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spotted slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure.

His fingers gripped tightly at your hip, thin brushing over your hip bone down your mouth to toy with your clit. And action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn't help but stare in awe as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train.

He came undone coon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, leaving another beautiful purple mark on your flawless skin. His thumb still rolled over your clit gently, helping you ride that experience out for all that it was worth.

And then he scooped you, took care of you, let you stay the night. And when you were asleep, wrapped up in his sheets, clean, loved. He stole away downstairs, gathering your clothes, bunching up your panties in his fist, hiding them away in his nightstand.

Not that you would have cared.

You didn’t have to gather your thoughts anymore. Joel replaced them and the stinging nettles and the brambles and the dandelion stems with pretty sunflowers, lavender and sweet peas. And he tied them up with a sweet little ribbon of pure gold. Just for you.

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