#it was probably coming from the woods across the street

[thriftedtchotchkes]

how do you sleep?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

word count: 3.3k

“Whas’wrong?”

You didn't mean to end up here again. It's the third night this week you swiped Joel's key from under the doormat and found yourself standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Can't sleep," you reply, barely above a whisper. Exhaustion seeps into your voice, permeating your limbs the longer you remain standing.

He already knows why you're here. Ever since you, Joel, and Ellie arrived in Jackson and were offered homes of your own, rest evades you more than it ever did on the road. It's too quiet here, and your racing mind fills the silence with the horrors of a life lived in constant fear.

You know you're safe now. You know that, but it's not enough to convince your body or quell the ever-present tightness in your chest telling you to run, to hide. Your fears are more potent in the dark, and the shadows creeping from wall to wall have sharper edges. Teeth that threaten to tear you apart and rip away everything and everyone you've fought so hard to protect.

The walls and floorboards creak with life that shouldn't be present in an empty, two-story home—too big for a single person, and yet still yours—and quickly begin to sound like impending death.

Nowadays, more often than not, you seek out a different kind of shelter. The familiar, comforting embrace of the man who kept you warm and protected through harsh winters and from monsters prowling in the night. That's where you belong.

Crisp bedsheets rustle in the dark and then you hear Joel pat the mattress twice—an invitation to occupy the space beside him, the one he always leaves empty just in case.

"Well, c'mon then. Hurry up," he grumbles, still half-asleep. But he isn’t frustrated. He's tired, just like you, and he'll probably sleep a lot better knowing both of his girls are resting soundly under his roof.

You trudge over and waste no time burying your face in his bare chest, breathing in pine and cedar wood shavings before exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. Throwing a leg over his thighs, you mold into him, rubbing your cheek into coarse curls and marveling at the calm, steady rhythm beneath you.

It feels good to be home. You're not sure why you let Maria give you an entire house to yourself when everything you could ever want or need was right across the street. Every time you end up back here, you wonder. And every time you leave, you wish you'd stayed.

He wraps you up in his arms and tugs you into his side, murmuring your name with soft lips that tenderly caress your forehead. They're so warm, just like the rest of him, and you find yourself aching to feel them on yours. It's a line neither of you have ever crossed, but tonight's been rough.

For what felt like days, you were forced to watch as your worst nightmares came to bloody fruition. You were dragged through the most brutal outcomes of events you already survived and could do nothing more than pray you'd wake up soon. When you finally came to and checked the clock, it had only been an hour and a half since you'd passed out. The moon was still high in the sky, taunting you with the promise of more. More dread, endless brutality.

Joel can make all of that go away, if only for a few hours. He always does, but tonight...you don't want to talk about it tonight. You don't want to think about it, about anything at all. You just want him.

You'd feel selfish asking for more if there wasn't already something between you. Something nurtured and gradual that's been building for months, beginning on your travels across the country and coming to an unignorable head here in Jackson.

Back then, it was stolen glances while you bathed together in streams and fleeting touches in your shared sleeping bag under star-filled skies. It's more intimate these days. He holds your hand when you're anxious, and you kiss away the frown lines and frustrated wrinkles that mar his skin.

Every day, you skirt the line between platonic companionship and whatever's starting to simmer below the surface. You're scared to hope he feels it too, but the thought of remaining in this undefined middle ground scares you even more.

The furnace drifting in and out of consciousness next to you radiates with an addictive heat you've told yourself to ignore for a long time, but it's quickly becoming an impossible feat. Pressed into his side, you're trying and failing not to writhe against him. But he's starting to notice.

His hips jerk every time your core drags against his bare thigh, a slow, repetitive grind you really shouldn't continue, but feels so fucking good combined with the slick pooling between your legs. You should stop—really, you should—but his breathing's changing and hitching, catching in his throat every time the growing tent in his boxers meets the friction of your inner thigh.

Then, he gasps something cognizant and urgent, and you know you've been caught. His hand snakes down to your ass and traps you against his side with a grip so firm, plush skin spills between his fingers.

“Woah, hold on there," he breathes out heavily, and his gaze drops to yours curiously. His eyes are wide open and alert, shining with the faint reflection of moonlight streaming through an adjacent window. Bright and yet pitch black as his sleep-addled brain struggles to catch up with his body. "What's goin' on with you tonight?"

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, debating whether or not to ask for his help. His expression is gentle but otherwise unreadable, and there's a chance this could go very, very badly. Maybe you'd be better off apologizing, but you don't want to. You're not sorry for needing him.

And the longer he waits for an answer, the more his body convinces you that he wants the same things you do. His hand is still on your ass, kneading as he urges you to rock into him, but he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. Then, his thigh flexes and a rush of wetness coats your already soaked underwear. His expression falters, and you know he can feel it.

His voice is tighter when he speaks again, but that tinge of concern is still there. He wants to make it all better, but he can't unless you tell him how. Your hand tenses where it lies on his chest, and he covers it with his own.

"What can I do? Just tell me how to help you—whatever it is, I'll do it," he murmurs, brushing his thumb reassuringly across your skin. You tilt your chin up and suddenly you're close enough to breathe his air. Closer than you've ever been and yet still not close enough.

"I need you to...," Fuck me. But it sounds too crude. A quick fuck isn't what you need right now. You need to be full of him, to hold him deep inside you and keep him there for as long as this night will allow. "...make me feel safe again."

"Tell me how," he repeats as you struggle to bite back a moan. He's working you against him intentionally now, encouraging you up and down his leg, and it's making your brain go a little haywire. "What do you need, baby?"

"Joel," you whine at the endearment, an intense heat building at the apex of your thighs. That's new. You want to hear him say it again, to devour every word as he buries himself inside you over and over. You will him to understand. "I need you."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, steeling himself before nosing into the hairs at your temple. The gesture is so tender and affectionate even as he bucks into your thigh, and it's painfully obvious how hard you're making him. He nods slowly and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.

"Okay, baby. I got you," he murmurs, his lips trailing down to your eyelids, then the apple of your cheek. "I'll make it all go away, alright? M'gonna take care of you."

And you believe him. He rolls you onto your back and you gasp as his entire weight presses you into the mattress. It's more than just comforting. You feel protected. He's shielding you from this horrible, broken world, somehow managing to prove that there's still goodness to be found. And it's on top of you, broad and strong, and wanting you just as badly as you want him.

Big hands cup your cheeks and his lips meet yours, so much different than the familiar press against your forehead or the top of your head. You're in unknown territory, but he guides you carefully and moves slowly, taking the time to explore and savor. The taste of spearmint begins to overwhelm your senses as the kiss deepens, and you lick into his mouth impatiently, already craving more.

But after years of quiet observation, Joel knows better than anyone how to temper you. Ducking down to bury his face in your neck, he kisses along the underside of your jaw, regaining control of the pace with a sharp, halting suck. And while he refuses to let your urgency rush him, he still allows your hands to roam his skin and tug at his boxers, letting you take what you want—like his only goal is to make sure this lasts long enough for him to fulfill his promise.

A disgruntled groan bubbles in your throat, and you feel him chuckle. "Y'know, patience is supposed to be a virtue," he mumbles, amused, his beard scratchy and grounding against your skin. You huff in response.

Tonight doesn't feel like a night for virtues. Not when things are finally changing in your favor. After so much time, so much running, you actually have somewhere to go—and stay. You're not running away anymore. You're moving towards something that feels real, and dependable, and safe, and you're doing it together. And now that you're so close you can taste it, you're done waiting.

"You're really gonna start caring about virtues now?" you ask skeptically, slipping your hands past the waistband of his boxers to grab his ass.

He hesitates, then huffs out a quiet laugh. "Fair enough."

And with that, you both know the time for talking is over. Something shifts and you're on the same page, ready to take as much as the other is willing to give.

Joel begins to drag your shirt up to reveal more, but suddenly feeling stifled, you take over and remove it completely. The look on his face makes it more than worth it. It's not the first time he's seen you naked, but as his eyes rake over your bare curves, it feels like it could be. Reverently, he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply before charting a path lower.

His mouth feels hot as he laves and nips across your collarbone, and he shimmies further down the bed until he's just barely ghosting the swell of your breasts. You gasp, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a bruise below your nipple and soothes the sting with his tongue. Licking a wide stripe past the darkening mark, he captures the bud between his teeth, another hand sliding up your stomach to cup your other breast while he alternates between swirling and sucking.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire. The ache between your thighs worsens the longer he continues, but instead of squeezing them together for relief, you wrap your legs around his waist and tug him onto you. By now, you're so wet, there's no way you're not soaking right through your underwear and into his boxers, and you hope he can feel it. If your increasing volume isn't enough of an indication that you need him inside you, then maybe this will be.

He lets out a pained groan into your chest, and you clench in satisfaction. He immediately grinds down, thrusting into you like he's forgotten about the layers of clothing still separating you. You don't bother to remind him.

Bucking him off, you quickly wrench down your underwear then reach for his, yanking them off while he sheds his t-shirt. Your fingers close around his cock before his shirt hits the floor and he startles before melting into your grip, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting around a cross between a sigh and the neediest whine you've ever heard.

You feel that telltale whoosh between your legs again, and after pumping him a few times, you guide him toward your entrance. In the back of your mind, you know you're taking a risk without a condom. You should be safer, more responsible. But it's Joel. It's always been Joel.

His eyes shoot open once he realizes where you're leading him, but you only bite your lip and nod, your expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. An unspoken agreement passes between you, a quiet understanding cultivated through years of friendship and now something more. Then, he presses inside and your mind goes blissfully blank.

No more horrors, no more fear. Just Joel keeping his promise and doing exactly what you trusted him to do. He encompasses you entirely, pressing the length of his body flush against yours as he works himself into you. The stretch was nothing you ever could've anticipated, but it grounds you in the present moment. It's everything you told yourself not to hope for when you showed up on his doorstep tonight.

His movements are slow but powerful, and he rests his forehead on yours, eyes alert and acutely aware of every change in expression. The intensity of his gaze and the slick sound of him burying himself to the hilt should make you self-conscious—it's all you can see and hear, but that's the point, isn't it? To get lost in the way he drags so perfectly against your walls and grinds his hips into yours on every thrust, slow and steady.

He's attentive, cataloging whenever he makes you moan a little louder or your eyes roll, and repeats it again and again until you're writhing underneath him. Your nails rake down his back and scratch at his scalp, and he jerks forward whenever you're a little too rough, hitting so deep, it feels like he's grazing your cervix. But the longer he continues to give you everything you want, the more his body trembles with the effort of holding himself back.

You know Joel, and you can tell when he's resisting an urge. His biceps tense where he's propped on his forearms, bracketing your head, and there's so little space between you, you can feel his abs flexing every time he plunges back inside you. He needs more and you want to give it to him.

Lifting your head, you bridge the tiny gap to meet his lips. "Joel, c'mon. You can fuck me harder than that, I'm not gonna break," you mumble between open-mouthed kisses. That catches him off guard.

He accidentally lets himself go for a thrust or two, and you're cut off by a moan, your walls squeezing him so hard, it's painful. Somehow, you manage to recover just long enough to gasp out the rest. "It's okay if you need something from me, too. Just take it. I trust you."

For an agonizing moment, Joel pauses to observe you, waiting for something in your eyes to contradict the permission you just gave him. But when he doesn't find it, he shakily exhales the breath he'd been holding and his head drops to your shoulder. The groan that follows rumbles so deeply in his chest, it makes your stomach drop. Then, without warning, his hands are gripping your thighs and he's rutting into you like a caged animal finally set free.

There he is. The man who never hesitated to gun down anyone who threatened the safety of his loved ones and did whatever it took to bring his girls home.

Recognition washes over you and fills you with a familiar feeling of security. It's something only Joel has ever been able to give you. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his hair, hoping to return even a fraction of that feeling.

As he gives into his body, he starts to ramble, his words muffled and lost to your delicate skin. But you don't need to hear him to know what he's saying. With every thrust, the bed frame rattles and gets the message across loud and clear. Your heels dig into his back, encouraging him forward, begging him to keep going, and he obliges, quickly reduced to helpless grunts and curses.

The room gets increasingly hotter and more humid, and the cool air flowing through the window isn't nearly enough to provide relief, but neither of you seems to care. You're a little in love with the way your bodies slip together, sweat and slick intermingling seamlessly.

Everything is so wet, and it feels incredible—your skin against his, your walls pulsing around his cock. He's molding into you, so close that you can't do much more than swivel your hips into his, and it's sending you hurtling toward the edge faster than you can fully process. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs your clit just right, and when he adjusts the angle to fuck you deeper than before, you hit your peak.

You dissolve into a whimpering mess beneath him, desperately riding out your orgasm as he groans and abruptly bites down on your shoulder. Releasing your legs to grab your waist, he forces himself impossibly further inside you and grinds into your spasming walls until he's coming with you. He gasps his way through it, stilling while he lets you milk him dry, then collapses on top of you and gathers you in his arms.

For a while, you both struggle to catch your breath. The mattress is bare save for the fitted sheet, your clothes, pillows, and blankets having been kicked or tossed onto the floor. It feels nice like this—to savor the winter air cooling your bodies and to just be held. Without letting you go, Joel lifts his head to kiss the teeth marks he left on your shoulder apologetically and then shifts higher to press his lips against the underside of your jaw.

"You alright?" he asks gently, his voice a little gruffer than usual from the exertion.

"Mhm," you hum, nosing into his temple. "More than." He sighs and almost sounds relieved.

The thought makes your heart ache. If he's worried he crossed a line, well. He did. You both did, but it was a long time coming and you don't regret a thing. You squeeze him a little tighter as if to tell him, and he allows himself to melt into you briefly. Then, he draws back to cup your cheek and guide your lips to his.

He kisses you slowly, taking the time to appreciate the sensation of your mouth against his without any urgency. "Feel better?" he murmurs after reluctantly parting from you. You keep him close.

"I don't think we have to worry about any more nightmares tonight," you reply with a small smile. He returns it, eyes crinkling fondly, then rolls you onto your sides to settle in for a good night's sleep.

As you start to drift off, you hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath that you don't quite catch. But it sounds a lot like, "Might be time for you to finally move in."

thanks for reading!

[hxzbinwrites]

Hey!! Saw that u were taking request <3 I was thinking that an Alestor x wife!reader being a power (but absolutely terrifying) couple would be soooo cool, like maybe they already knew each other from when they were humans, and Alestor is just 10000% a simp for his wifey lol. Hope u like it!

Alastor x Wife! Overlord! Reader | Forgiveness |

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Death, Killing, Mentions of Alastor being a Cannibal, Reader makes STUPID DECISIONS

In the Pride Ring is where all of the sinners and Overlords alike mingle. The uppermost ring of Hell and the closest to Heaven. That’s where some of the most feared and powerful beings live. Two of those entities being Alastor, the Radio Demon, and (Y/n), the Jazz Demon.

Together, they rule their districts with an iron grip. While some Overlords team up, like the Vees, Alastor and (Y/n) were the first to do it. Well, it makes sense really, especially because they were close during their respective times alive on Earth.

——————

Three gunshots were heard that fateful night. One ending a mans life by his hand, one ending the witness’s life by his hand, and one ending his by justice’s hand. No more Bayou Killer, but he took two more lives before he went. Awful, sick man. Good thing he’s in Hell now…

Alastor hissed as his back hit the pavement. His squinted eyes took in his surroundings, he was in Hell. Hmm, no shocker there. What was a shock was seeing the body next to his.

“Ugghh” They groaned, sitting upright on the pavement next to him. They locked eyes. It was (Y/n). Before Alastor could even speak, she pounced on him, pushing him back into the pavement.

“You sick son of a BITCH!! YOU KILLED ME!! SHOT ME LIKE I WAS AN ANIMAL FOR YA NEXT MEAL!!” She yelled, shaking him back and forth by gripping his collar. His collar looked identical to hers, and he tuned out her yelling, he noticed her attire. She was now wearing a black suit with red and white accents, one that looked like a reverse image of his. Except a few details weren’t the same, hers looked more feminine, but also had less harsh edges to it. She looked more elegant while he looked more harsh.

He then looked up to her face, she had red eyes and long, silky black hair, with red underneath. He looked to the top of her head and noticed two fluffy, black ears. They were currently pressed to her scalp, a clear indicator of her unhappiness at the current moment.

“AND TO THINK, AFTER ALL OF THAT BEGGIN, YOU WAS JUST DYING TO GET ME ON YOUR RADIO SHOW!! WELL LOOK AT US NOW, MR. ALASTOR. LOOK. AT. US. NOW. WHAT EVEN ARE YOU, YOU SICK FREAK. EVERYONE KNEW THE BAYOU KILLER ATE FOLKS. IF YOU WERENT SHOT, WERE YOU GONNA EAT ME?? WAS I GONNA NOT EVEN BE ABLE TO HAVE A BURIAL NEXT TO MY PA, CAUSE YOU ATE ME!? OH LORD HELP ME!!”

Alastor rolled his eyes, feeling no remorse for the doe that whined above him. (Y/n) was a famous musician in Louisiana, particularly in Jazz. Alastor had begged her to come onto his radio show, play some tunes for his devoted fans. She agreed, but that night Alastor didn’t show to the studio. She heard shouting in the woods across the street from the building, stupidly she went to investigate. She saw the oh so famous radio host, and with a bang of a shotgun the other man was dead. Probably in Heaven now. Trying to stay silent, (Y/n) tried to back away before a branch snapped, like a doe her eyes widened before she darted away, only to be shot right in the heart and drop down to the ground. She heard another shot faintly in the distance before she felt the wind brush past her as she fell.

“My dear, I apologize.” Alastor said, gently grabbing (Y/n)‘s hand. “It was never my intention to make you my target. I knew that if word got out about my….hobbies….that my reputation would be ruined. No more radio show.”

“You can apologize for the rest of eternity” She scowled, smacking his hand away before standing up,” You’re a MONSTER. Leave me ALONE. Hopefully someone down here will be nice, but I’m not taking no help from you”. (Y/n) finally walked away, leaving a very annoyed Alastor sitting there.

———————

About 20 years later

Alastor was a feared Overlord now, rising the ranks out of seemingly nowhere. Even with this newfound power and respect, (Y/n) still wanted nothing to do with him. She was famous in her own way. Music was not very abundant in Hell, and she profited off of that. She had little to no competition in the music industry. Becoming an icon of Hell, her name was in everyone’s mouth, making Alastor yesterday’s news, which irked him to no end.

‘I need her.’ Alastor initially thought,’ with someone as influential as her now, having her on my side will make my power increase tenfold.’ But after many times of asking over the years, he just yearned for her admiration. Not only to be on his side, but by his side. He didn’t know where the newfound obsession came from, but Alastor knew he wouldn’t stop until he brought her to him.

Alastor made his way to her huge studio, basically a small turf at this point. Without ever fighting, she’d managed to become a little bit of an Overlord, just not to the extent she could be called one. He made his way up to her penthouse, knowing the way by heart since this is not the first time he’s made a visit for an alliance.

“What Alastor.” (Y/n) asked, not even looking up from her sheet music she was writing.

“Hello my dear!” Alastor said,”lovely to see you again! I just miss you so much darling!”

“Miss me from what?” She said, turning around to meet his eyes,” we were aquatinted when we were alive, and then you killed me. What exactly do you miss me from?”

“I just miss seeing you.” He said in a softer tone,”Please (Y/n), you must realize that your death was an accident. I was never planning to hurt you. I was never planning to do anything to you.”

(Y/n)’s head tipped down, her ears pressed to her scalp,”but you did, Alastor. You killed me.”

“My dear….” He said, getting closer slowly, like she’d dart off at any given moment, just for him to not see her ever again. “My dear, I cannot imagine the pain you’ve gone through. I know it’s been a few years now, but that’s a few years you could’ve still been alive. Found a husband, had a better music career, just lived. I took that from you, and I’m…..I’m sorry.”

“I know Alastor.” She said, hugging him. Even though he hated when people touched him, she did not know this, so he internally decided to let this one time be the exception. “You know I can never fully forgive you….but after all of these years, I think I can at least try to have you in my life….but if you screw up ANY, I’m gonna kill you. I don’t care if you’re an Overlord or whatever the hell you’re doing, I will kill you like you killed me.”

“Hmm, fair enough” He shrugged, breaking off the hug as he sat down in the chair across from hers.

———————

Present Day

“So hold up” Angel said, looking at the two powerful Overlords,”He literally killed you and you were like, ‘oh well, I forgive you’. What the hell (Y/n)?”

(Y/n) was a true Overlord know. Once she let Alastor back into her life, he taught her the ways of toppling Overlords. She didn’t posses near the amount of power that he had, so he did the gruesome part for her. Building her musical empire (and later on having to shoo of Vox who begged her to join his up and coming ‘Television’ idea after Alastor shot him down).

“Oh I’d hardly call it forgiving.” Alastor said,”I get constantly reminded about it every day, multiple times a day. You wonder why it took us 60 years to even get engaged.”

(Y/n) just rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Alastor smirked, looking over at his wife.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? The man kept coming by begging me every week for TWENTY YEARS!! Lovesick puppy if you ask me.”

Charlie squealed, hugging onto Vaggie. “Look Vaggie! That could be us one day!!”

“I hope not” Vaggie said,” A freaky cannibalistic overlord and his delusional companion. I’m fine with staying as us.”

“No Vaggie! I meant married! Wouldn’t that be fun!! Married for a long time!! Forever!!”

While Charlie was helping Vaggie stop short circuiting, (Y/n) and Alastor just looked at one another with a knowing glance. Alastor took her hand and kissed her knuckles, smiling up at her.

“Thank you again my dear, for letting me back into your life. I’m eternally sorry for what I did.”

“I know you are Alastor, plus I’d be dead already now regardless.” (Y/n) giggled,”I still don’t know what overcame me that day. I mean, who lets someone back into their life after doing that!! I am glad I did though. It’s like you said in that apology, I have a husband, I have a huge music career, but I’m not living, technically, but it feels like it!!”

Alastor chuckled,”that’s right, my precious doe. Now, I am off to go grab lunch for the both of us! If you excuse me, I shall make a trip down to the Cannibal District, and then over to the grocery store for your food!”

———————

Word Count: 1,560

[bluetimeombre]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲𝐩𝐨𝐨L 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢e

Deadpool and Wolverine but your lady pool and an absolute SLUT for Wolverine.

[this is a complete self insert with just everything I was thinking about during the movie and since then I’ve watched it three times. It gets better every time. Snippets of the movie, will probably do a part two. SPOILERS!]

part two

Warning/disclaimer: femreaderxwolverine, sexual content, sexual language, offensive language, just being a whore the man, cursing, repeat daddy issues, never proof-read.

After digging up Logan and expecting to find a shirtless and oiled-up Hugh Jackman, you were a little more than disappointed to find the bones and metal. 'Damn it! Shit! Fuck! They Les Mis'd him!'

Eventually, you settled down next to the remains, against the same log that had impaled him. 'That was weird,' you chuckled. 'I'm much calmer now. Look, I'm not a woman in stem but you seem incredibly dead to me. Oh, you sexy lump of bones and metal. I would have let you slide them into me any day.'

'But it's good to see you,' you pat his knee. 'I gotta be honest, I've always wanted to ride you, Logan. Oh, whoops, I meant with you. Ha! Who am I kidding, no I didn't. Just you and me, getting into it. And I mean into it. Every style. Doggy. Sixty-nine. On the kitchen counter to the bathroom. Till my back broke. Yea, we'd have been good together.' You ranted, fantasies flying across your mind too quick to focus on one.

With your red-gloved hand, you jerk the chin. 'G'day mate, there's nothing that'll bring me back to life faster than a big bag of Marvel cash. Ha- I hear you, Hugh. But no, no, no, no you had to go and get all noble and die for real. I could really use your help right now. And a massage. Your big manly hands just rubbing all over me-'

Just as you were about to go into further detail about what you want him to do to you, the sound of portals opening and heavy boots stomping closer alerted you.

Quickly, you pulled the skeleton down on top of you.

'There are two hundred and six bones in the body. Two hundred and seven if i'm watching Van Helsing.'

Que the fucking montage.

You have a mission. Find a Logan to take back with you. First up you end up in a bar, catching an axe as it was thrown at you. 'Logan! I'm gonna need you to come with me.'

The Logan sitting at the bar slowly turned to you. 'Who's asking? ' He slipped from the bar stool to reveal a 5'3 Logan.

You coo. 'Well, who's this little ankle biter. Did you stick the landing little guy? Yes you did, comic-accurate short king. Such a cute little Wolvie.'

The little guy started stalking toward you.

'Que the fucking montage.'

You found a Wolverine for the seventies, or eighties, something close enough to that, one hand missing. 'Oh yea, sexy, you have anchor being written all over you.'

You found patch Logan. 'Oh hello, Patch. Should've worn my white suit.'

You found another old man Logan, sitting solemnly on his front porch. 'Howdy! Oh, I see, you're the daddy issues one. Good to see god has answered my prayers. So soldier, do I need to be a bad girl so you put me over your knee, daddy?'

Another was tied to a cross with red bloody skulls acting as a floor.

One was dressed in a tight yellow and brown suit, walking through the woods. 'Hubba hubba. Classic! Now, you fought the Hulk in this suit, right?' as he snicked his claws out, the green of the beast reflected from behind you. 'I am Marvel Jesus you dull creature and I will not be-'

One, your favourite, was working on a bike in a tight white vest and dark pants. You drooled. 'That's the whole goddamn package right there. You know from behind you look a bit- holy Shit!' he turned, and everything about him was Wolverine. Except for the fact he was Henry fucking Cavil. 'The Cavalry has arrived. The prophecy has been fulfilled. Can I say, sir, sorry, daddy- on behalf of all of humanity, this just feels right! We will treat you so much better than those shit fucks down the street!'

He took the cigar from his mouth, stalking to you. You had never been so aroused in your life. 'You were just leaving'

Giggling and twirling your hair, you hold a hand out, ghosting over his chest. 'Can I just, one- one touch. Oh my god! You're like Superman or something.'

He punched you right into the Logan you needed. Thank you Cavil.

'You two gonna fuck or fight?' asked the bartender. 'Both if i'm lucky,' you said.'

'Oh look at those sexy little jammies, that only took twenty fucking years!'

The trash heap was the last place you wanted to end up, but when you woke to Logan looming over you, a snarl on his face, you sighed in relief.

'Well, hello sexiest man alive, 2008. Wanna give me a hand? Or head?'

He sniked his claws out.

'Kinky! That's new for Disney!'

He dug his claws into your ribs and dragged you up with them. 'Where the fuck are we?'

'I dunno, but it looks a bit mad maxxy to me. But that would be IP infringement right?'

'Fucking jokes,' Logan uttered. He threw you over his leg, your back breaking.

'Till my back breaks, Wolvie!' you yelled out, quickly rolling yourself back up and shaking it off. 'Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm a big fan. How about we strip off our suits, take a tumble in the sand, get to know one another you know. Personally, I'm more of a cowgirl fan but I'm willing to do whatever you want baby.'

'You're unbelievable,' he grumbled. It was still sexy. He turned his back to you.

'Oh, I see, is that what you did when your world went to shit!'

He paused, his head slowly turning to you. 'Say again, bub?'

'Oh, I am so horny right now.'

The two of you engaged in a fight, and not the sexy stradling fight that would happen later, but the guns firing, swords slashing kind of fight. that was only interrupted by a familiar voice.

The only other voice that could have you dropping your panties as quick as Wolverine. He was hooded, hidden, but you knew him from your sex dreams.

'Dear god almighty, it's him.'

'Who?' growled Logan.

'Don't be jealous baby, I have two holes for a reason. Don't worry gorgeous, you're gonna encounter some delicate language, a smidge of ass play but we've been prohibited from using cocaine, at least on page.'

He raised a hand. 'They're coming.'

'Who's they?'

The three of you watch cars and trucks drive through the waste, keeping you trapped. There were familiar faces, Pyro, Toad. And Sabertooth.

The mysterious figure jumped down and mastered the superhero landing that had you clapping your hands and jumping up and down.

'Oh my god! Oh my god!' you held onto Logan's shoulder as you jumped while he just glared at you.

'I've got this,' the man takes down his hood, showing the beautiful, hot, strong, handsome, hubba-hubba worthy, Chris Evans.

'Oh yes, you do sexiest man alive, 2022!' you cheer.

'Stay close,' Chris- or Steve- called back to you.

You stalk over to him. 'Aye aye, Captain.' you wrap your arms around his stomach, fingers trailing over his abs. He removes you and you groan, sulking. You walk back to Wolverine and jump onto the side of his hip.

Instinctively he holds your ass which makes you giddy before he realises his mistake and drops you.

'You're not gonna love what happens next,' shouted the captain.

Your jaw dropped from behind the mask. 'Holy shit, omg! No way, he's gonna say it! He's gonna say it!' you flick one of your swords that was still poking out of Wolverine's chest. 'Avengers-'

'Flame on!' Steve- no, Johnny- yelled and took to the skies in a ball of fire.

It was sort of stupid in hind sight as Pyro lifted a hand and extinguished him, causing him to fall from the skies and go crotch first into a billboard.

'No!' you screamed, rushing to him and rolling onto his back to get a look at him. 'No, no baby, stay with me. Let me take a look!' you tried to pull down his pants but Logan literally pulled you off him.

You were tied up with Wolverine on the front side of you and Johnny on the back. When you woke, you giggled. 'Woah, just like my dreams.'

Johnny woke to, lifting his head from your shoulder. 'How long was I out?'

You smirk under the mask, looking back to him. 'Not all of you was asleep, say Cap, is that a Glock in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

'Is that Chuck? Hey Chuck, over here! Hope it's you young, god, we got James Macovy in this?' you yelled as a wheelchair rolled out as you entered the thing that was apparently large Paul Rudd.

'Cassandra Nova. Charles's twin,' the villain introduced herself.

'Holy shit,' said Logan.

'How was anal birth?' you asked.

Cassandra smirked. 'You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.'

'Right!' you cheered. 'Just wait till this ends, the smut is off the charts!'

She took the chain from around the two of you but you wrapped yourself around Logan's arm, he only grunted at you. He only pushed you off when you started to go off and off about what Johnny said about Cassandra. 'People think i'm a shit talker but this guy-' you chef's kiss. 'Next level!'

Cassandra, with a flick of her hand, shed the skin from him as he fell in a heap of bones and blood and skin,

You cried out, holding onto Logan for dear life. 'My favourite Chris!'

'You silly little bitch, you just got him fucking killed!' yelled Logan.

'Fine, spank me then! P.S. Do you know what he was doing to the budget!'

You were brought to Ultimatum with Cassadra, Oliath or the other British villain, but all you wanted was to save your world, bang Wolvy and go home.

'I didn't want it to come to this, either you help us or my boyfriend here is gonna perform the whole of Greatest Showman as a one-man show,' you warn.

'I'm not her boyfriend,' Logan grumbled.

Cassandra went on a trauma dump that had you groaning. 'Couldn't you just turn into accomplishment like the rest of us?'

But I'm not like the rest of you, except maybe the Wolverine, now we could be truly terrifying together.'

'Sorry lady, he's taken!'

'Not for long,' Cassandra smirked and as Logan attacked, she sent him in the ground and away from you. You only whined at his disappearance, a whine that turned into a groan when Cassandra's fingers entered you in the worst way possible. Through your head.

'What can I see here?' she asked. Cassandra gasped. 'Oh, you are a whore.'

Oh yes, she saw the million filthy things you wanted to do to Logan.

The two of you made it out and to the diner where Logan was intent on finding food and taking rubbing alcohol shots. When he sat across from you, chucking a tin of spam at you, you pulled of your mask.

Logan stilled, looking at you with finally something a little different than anger.

'What?' you asked.

'I thought you'd be ugly under there.'

'No- no, that's the Deadpool. I'm better, and a self-insert.'

The two of you took to walking through the rather nicer side of the waste. You had his hand in yours, swinging it happily like you were a couple before he threatened to chop your hand off.

'You said Logan was a hero, what happened?' he asked.

'You died. Technically you were chest fucked by a tree, but really you just ran out of batteries trying to save this girl- a kid really. Always wanted a man who's good with kids. The shit heels who grew her in a lab called her x-23, but she was just a kid. A smaller, cute and mean version of you. Yep, you saved her, very hero, very demure.'

The two of you were interrupted when a bark sounded over the hill and the BEST DOG EVER ran out to you, ears flapping in the wind, tongue out as it always was. The little boots. The collar. It was Dogpool.

You threw off your mask and picked her up, cuddling her close. 'She's coming with us.'

'No she's not!' he argued.

'Yes, she is!'

'No!'

You pulled out your puppy dog eyes and lifted the dog to your face and slowly the resolve in his face slipped.

'Sorry!' another man ran out, chasing after the dog.

'Fucking shit bag!' you cursed.

It was another dead pool, a good-looking one with long hair.

'What's Ryan Reynolds actually doing here, I thought I replaced him?' you said.

'In here everyone calls me Nicepool.'

'Can we have your dog?' you asked immediately.

He laughed. 'over my dead body!'

You nod, thinking about it but Logan holds out his arm before you can even move.

Whatever Nicepool was saying was you didn't care as you cooed and hugged the dog closer and Logan watched.

Fuck, he was paying attention to you.

'Why are you so nice?' you asked eventually.

'It costs nothing to be kind,' he said.

'Shutting the fuck up is also free,' said Logan.

You bite your lip in his direction. 'God I am so attracted to you right now. This is Logan, he's usually shirtless but he's let himself go since the divorce.'

Finally, the Nicepool took you to his ride to get you and Logan and the dog to the borderlands.

It was a honda fucking odyssey.

Logan wasn't willing to listen to your complaints. 'Get in the fucking car.'

'Make me, Daddy,' you said.

He took one step closer to you and you backed away with the dog. 'No, we're running away!'

Logan forced her from your arms and handed him back to the Nicepool.

'The corn was to dense girl!' you called after her, pouting.

Logan shoves you into the passenger seat while he takes the wheel.

You pull of your mask, hair falling around you like you were in an advert. 'So, what shall we do to pass the time...'

Honda Odyssey coming soon, that my friends, is called edging.

[theorphicangel]

bookshop owner!reader with tattoo artist!suguru is actually brainrotting my mind.

coincidentally, the two stores are directly opposite each other and you can’t help but be drawn to the simple tattoo parlour across.

in bold, the name of the parlour stands above, clean and glistening windows with italic writing promoting to customers. if you squint you can spot artworks displayed in the window, even from afar you can tell how detailed and professional they are.

you’ve never been one for tattoos, your excuse being that you have a low pain tolerance for getting them. but in reality? you’re scared of the idea of a tattoo being permanent , the idea that you’ll get a tattoo you’ll regret or the design will come out ugly or that it’ll—

“do you need help with that?”

a silky voice interrupts your thoughts as you stood staring at the the shop with a cardboard box in your hand. the box contained one of the last piles of books for the store, new arrivals were to come in the next few weeks finally filling up the shelves.

a tall, long raven haired man stands besides you with nothing more but a friendly smile on his face. he stands in a large dark blue sweater, a paper cup of coffee in his hands probably from the local cafe on the same street as you.

it takes you a few seconds to snap back into reality, noticing piercings on his bottom lip and eyebrow.

“I’m fine! thank you.”

“I can take that in for you or at least hold the door open.” the stranger suggests, raising a brow.

a shift appears in pit of your stomach — would it hurt to say yes?

“that would be great, actually.” you return a friendly smile.

as you make your way inside with the assistance of the coffee scented stranger, he begins to make conversation, helping you to the back rooms. “you interested in the tattoo shop across the road?”

you let out a huff, “oh no, not for me. tattoos seem…” you pause for a split second attempting to find the right word, “regretful.”

“how so?”

you ignore the teasing charm of the stranger and continue to give your explanation.

“well for one… it hurts like shit.” you start, “and what if the designs don’t come out the way you want or the person tattooing you messes up? now you’re stuck with this permanent mark on your body, it just seems like a waste of time and money to me anyways.” you huff, finally placing down the box amongst a pile of identical boxes.

the scent of old wood and dust fills your nostrils. The building was older than most among the street yet it still held some sort of modern look. cosy and comfortable was the atmosphere you had wanted to create for your bookstore and it took you ages to find this hidden gem, sending the deposit almost immediately.

the stranger lingers by the doorway of the back room of the store, his dark hair tied up into a man-bun yet it doesn’t fully restrain the few locks which seem to escape. he’s pretty, you muse, as he opens his mouth to speak again.

“maybe this would be some bad news for you but I actually own that tattoo parlour.”

he says it in a lighthearted tone but that doesn’t stop your stomach from dropping any harder.

“oh.”

awkward silence swiftly crashes into the two of you, your face heats up in record time.

you fucking idiot—

“it’s nice to meet you.” the stranger finally speaks, outstretching a hand and as he does so, his sweater rides up his arms a little where you see black ink begin to pattern across his skin.

“shit, m’ so—

“don’t worry about it, s’ not for everyone.” he smiles again with that friendly smile you saw outside. you shake his hand tentatively hoping that he wasn’t offended by your comments. his palm feels soft in yours, fitting into his perfectly. quickly you pull away before you get too absorbed in your thoughts.

“call me suguru.”

you repeat his name and for a second he swears there’s nothing but pure nectar in your voice.

in a reply you introduce yourself and a flash of white teeth come your way in a full grin. he tries out your name for the first time too, adding a compliment.

“I’ve been wondering when they were finally going to sell this building. ” he begins. “I think a bookstore is perfect for this place.”

your face heats up again and Suguru asks for a tour. the store isn’t fully ready yet but you’re hoping for an opening at the end of the month.

“I hope to get an invite.

“Of course, we’re practically neighbours, you’ll be the first to know the date.”

“glad to hear it.”

as he leaves, you wave him over to the other side of the street watching him open up his store.

for the first time in your journey you can’t help but feel a tiny spark inside of you that makes you feel excited for the change coming up ahead and in particular, getting to know this suguru more…

join my summer event here!

[candycandy00]

congrats on 2k!! Character: Gojo AU Setting: Mascarade Level: NSFW Mood: Writer's choice Kinks: Praise and Spanking

Once Upon a Time - A Gojo x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! First up is Cinderella starring Gojo! You met Prince Gojo as a child and fell in love, but you’re sure he doesn’t remember you. When you’re forced to take your stepsister’s place as his “pleasure” for the evening, you’ll get your reunion, but it might not be what you hoped for.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Fairytale AU. Gojo as Prince Charming. Reader as Cinderella. Dubcon. Coercion. Oral. Spanking. Rough sex. Light bondage. Mentions of abuse by the wicked stepmother and stepsisters. 

Any and all feedback would be appreciated so much! There will probably be three parts. Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear.

The crowds are bigger than usual today as you walk along the cobblestone street, carrying a bag of items you bought at the local market. You’re in a hurry to get home and start dinner before your stepmother gets angry. If you’re even a few minutes late, she’ll either take the rod to your arms or not allow you to eat. 

Someone in the crowd calls out, “Look, there he is!” Another voice, feminine, excitedly yells, “Prince Gojo!”

The sound of his name stops you cold in the middle of the street. You look out across the river of people, across the roadway reserved for carriages. On the opposite street, flanked by guards in crisp uniforms, you spot him. 

He’s difficult to miss. Taller than everyone else nearby, with stark white hair, flawless skin, and crystal blue eyes brighter than the sun. He’s smiling and waving at the people as he makes his way down the street. 

You can’t help stopping to watch, dinner be damned, because you and the prince have history. Even if you’re certain he doesn’t remember it.

You were ten, he was twelve, and you didn’t even realize he was the prince. He’d introduced himself as Satoru when he found you ducked behind a set of stone steps leading to a flower shop in the town square. You had run away from your house after the first time your stepmother used a rod to beat welts into your arms and hands. You were crying, covered in marks and bruises, still grieving over the recent loss of your father. 

That’s when a radiant boy with an angelic smile appeared, asking you what was wrong. You were embarrassed to be seen that way, so you wiped your face and said you were fine. 

“You don’t look fine,” he’d said. “Want me to help you?”

You couldn’t fathom how a boy so close to your age could help you, but you were glad that someone wanted to. Soon after, you heard voices calling out the name he’d given you, and he blanched. “Ugh, that’s my nanny,” he said with a grimace. Then he looked straight at you with those beautiful clear eyes and said, “You ran away from home too, right? Let’s run away together!”

Satoru took your hand and pulled you out from behind the steps, dragging you along with him as he ran down the street. As a child, at that moment, you thought you were actually free of the abuse you endured at home. Satoru was going to take you far away, and you’d never come back. 

Of course, you were both children, so running away together meant making it to the edge of the woods and playing among the trees for a few hours. You held hands and danced beneath the shade of the forest canopy, chased a rabbit that refused to let you pet it, pretended to be a princess that he rescued from an imaginary ogre, and laughed together under the setting sun. 

It was the most wonderful day you’d ever had, until you both got hungry. When he suggested going back, your heart sank, but even at that age you understood the reality of your situation. 

Back in town, you stopped in front of a fancy boutique and looked through the display window. It was full of dazzling dresses, hats, and jewelry. But what drew your attention most was the pair of delicate glass slippers, with their shiny inlaid stones and lovely shape. 

Satoru stood beside you. “Do you like those?” 

“They’re beautiful,” you replied, staring at them longingly. You’d seen them there many times before, and you spent every available moment standing in front of that window, enjoying the view. 

Satoru disappeared, and a few seconds later a lady came to the other side of the window and retrieved the slippers. You watched in shock as Satoru walked out of the boutique with a package in his hands. He reached it to you. “Here. We probably won’t see each other again for a long time, but maybe these can cheer you up when I’m not around.”

You opened the package, already knowing yet not believing what was inside. Those beautiful shoes were in your hands! Even though you didn’t fully understand how valuable they were, you did grasp that not just anyone could walk in and buy them. “But… they cost a lot of money, don’t they?” 

He grinned. “That’s no problem for me. And I know they’re too big for you now, so when you’re older, and they fit you, come see me. I’ll make sure you never cry again!”

You hugged the shoes to your chest as you looked up at him. “How will I find you? Do you live nearby?”

He laughed. “Oh, you’ll find me. Trust me.”

At that moment, a royal guard appeared, looking a bit frazzled. “There you are! The whole castle is in a state of panic, Your Highness! Where have you been?”

Satoru shrugged. “I was just playing with my friend.”

The guard called to another passing guard, “I found Prince Gojo!”

Your eyes went wide as you realized exactly who you’d been playing with all day. As the guards led him away, he looked back at you over his shoulder and winked.

From that moment on, you have been deeply, madly, in love with Prince Gojo. 

When you got home that night, you managed to hide the shoes before your stepmother found you and punished you severely. You knew she would either take them for one of her own daughters who were slightly older than you, or sell them. 

Occasionally, when you’re certain that no one will see, you pull the shoes out and admire them. They make you think of Satoru, of his beautiful crystal eyes. You’ve been trying them on for years, and now that you’ve grown up, they fit you perfectly. 

He told you to find him, but you know exactly where he is. At this very moment, he’s only feet away from you. But the reality you’ve come to accept, one he probably didn’t realize himself as a child, is that someone like you could never approach the crown prince. You’re the daughter of a minor lord who died years ago, leaving his meager fortune to his wife, your stepmother, who only shares enough with you to keep you alive. You have nothing but shabby old dresses to wear, and you smell of sweat and hard work. 

No, best to simply love him from afar, to long for him, ache for him, but never reach out to him. 

As you watch, he disappears into a cafe, two of his guards following and the rest remaining outside to keep the crowd from storming the place. Prince Gojo is extremely popular with the common people, especially since his father has basically turned most of the ruling duties over to him. Poverty is rare, crime is even rarer. Prince Gojo’s policies have benefitted everyone. Add to that his otherworldly beauty and his friendly personality, and you have a monarch that’s beloved by all. 

A few times a month, he comes to the small town surrounding his castle and spends all day and evening there. He interacts with the people, hears their concerns, and patronizes local businesses. You’ve heard whispered rumors that he invites pretty young noblewomen to his room at the inn. Your heart burns to think of him with other women, so you try not to think about it at all. You’ve also heard that he’s being encouraged to take a wife soon. You try to think even less about that. 

In the end, you make it home ten minutes late, and your stepmother gives you ten lashings across your extended arms with the rod. You barely flinch when the rod connects with your skin. You’re used to it by now. Even though you’re an adult now, you have no means of surviving without her support. She controls your father’s estate after all. You have no choice but to endure her abuse. 

While you cook dinner, your two stepsisters sit at the table, demanding to know when you’ll be finished. 

“Just a few more minutes,” you tell them, stirring the pot of stew on the stove before checking the bread in the oven. 

“It better not be longer than that,” one of them says, “or we’ll tell mother you’re slacking off!”

The other laughs loudly. “So hurry it up, Cinderella!”

You wince. Cinderella isn’t your name. It’s a cruel nickname your stepsisters gave you after you cleaned the fireplace one day and emerged covered in dirt and cinders. 

Without another word to them, you finish dinner. When your stepmother joins them at the table, you serve all three of them bowls of soup, along with fresh buttered bread, and then take your much smaller serving to your tiny bedroom to eat alone.

*************************

Prince Gojo is sitting in one of the finest restaurants in town. The food doesn’t compare to the luxurious dishes he’s served at the castle, but he enjoys trying new dishes. He smiles to the cook who brought out his plate. 

“It looks delicious!” he tells the elderly man. 

The man beams with pride. “Thank you so much, Your Highness! We’ve prepared a special dessert for you as well. Please let us know when you’re ready to try it.”

Gojo grins at him. “That sounds great! I appreciate your kindness!”

Once the man walks away, Gojo looks across the table at his friend-turned-advisor. “So? Do you have things lined up for me tonight?”

Geto Suguru smiles as he takes a bite of his own meal and slowly chews, then wipes his mouth. “Not yet, but I will by nightfall. Just enjoy your dinner and stop being horny for five minutes.”

Prince Gojo laughs. “You know I can’t do that! I don’t know why you don’t pick a girl for yourself. I see the way they look at you. They’d probably rather sleep with you than me!”

Geto shakes his head. “You bring enough drama to my life already. I don’t need romantic entanglements making it worse.”

Gojo lowers his voice. “Romance has nothing to do with it. Just unmarried adults enjoying each other’s bodies for the evening.”

“Regardless, I’ll pass for now,” Geto says. He takes another bite, swallows, then asks, “Do you still want the lady I bring to wear a mask?”

“Of course. When I’m in town looking out over my loyal subjects, I don’t want to be recognizing faces and remembering fucking their brains out.”

Gojo says it in an airy, careless way, but it’s important to him. It would be too awkward to climb out of his carriage and see a dozen faces he’s covered in his cum.

He’s been inviting ladies from town to visit him at the inn for a few years now. When he first came of age, he started going to high end brothels. But his presence in such places caused a scene every time, and he felt too exposed to try some of the more… daring activities he was interested in. The last thing he needed was a bunch of vulgar rumors going around about him.  

It had been his friend Geto’s idea to invite noble ladies to privately visit his room at the inn. Being a rich, handsome prince who is actively searching for a wife means there’s no shortage of women throwing themselves at him. But he had stipulations: no women under age twenty, no married women, and no women who were not excited to be there. 

Geto does the selecting and vetting, keeping a keen eye out for any hints of someone being pressured or coerced. If he gets even the faintest whiff of something like that going on, he shuts it down immediately. That’s why Gojo can relax and enjoy himself, even if the ladies pretend to be shy or reserved at first. 

Prince Gojo signals for the old man who owns the restaurant. “Sir, I’m ready for my dessert now!” he calls, then he gives Geto a sly grin. “At least my first dessert of the evening.”

*************************

Later that night, after you’ve cleaned the kitchen, tended the fireplace, and sewed a loose button back onto your stepsister’s coat, you finally sit down for the night and pull out a tattered old book to read. You’ve read it dozens of times, but it’s one of your favorites. 

You only make it a few pages in before your door bursts open. Your stepmother gives you a stern look and says, “Come to the kitchen. Now.”

This is somewhat unusual for her, as the woman is normally in bed by this hour. You wonder what’s going on as you walk into the kitchen behind her and find both your stepsisters sitting at the table. One of them looks upset and the other looks worried. 

Your stepmother walks over to stand behind them. She puts one hand on the shoulder of the one who looks angry. “We have a situation that needs resolving,” the older woman says, lightly rubbing her daughter’s arm. “This little fool volunteered to go see the Prince at the inn tonight.”

You feel like you’ve been punched in the chest. Your voice sounds tiny and hollow when you say, “What?”

“Obviously she’s not going,” your stepmother says, and you feel a sense of relief. 

The stepsister turns to look at her mother. “But I want to go see the Prince! He’s so handsome!”

There’s fury in her eyes as your stepmother says, “No daughter of mine is going to be a whore, even for the Prince.”

Your stepsister frowns. “I’m an adult! I can do as I please!”

“Not while you live under my roof!” your stepmother says firmly. “Now we have to do something to fix this. Changing your mind suddenly would anger the Prince, and we do not want to risk his wrath.”

Without really thinking, you speak up. “I don’t think he’s the kind of person to get angry about that.”

Your stepmother glares at you. “Stupid girl! What would you know about the Prince? He’s a man, and they’re all insatiable beasts! No, the only way to salvage this night is to send someone in my daughter’s place,” she says, looking at you pointedly. 

No. No no no. She can’t be thinking of sending you, can she? You don’t know which scenario is more horrific: your abusive stepsister being intimate with the man you’ve loved for most of your life, or you having to be intimate with him while he doesn’t know or care about you at all. You’ve never even been touched by a man before. “I can’t,” you say weakly. “Please don’t make me do this.”

Your stepsister looks between you and her mother. “You’re going to send her?! Cinderella?! That’s not fair! I want to be the one who goes!”

An outburst like that from you would have earned you at least fifty lashes, but your stepmother merely gives her a warning look and says, “Think about what you’re saying. The Prince will sully her, use her up, and then toss her aside. She’ll be forgotten by morning. Do you really want that for yourself?”

You feel tears in your eyes, and your heart is pounding wildly. Is that really what will happen? You’d rather die. You’ve dreamed of the Prince making love to you since you were a teenager with blossoming desires, but if it’s just hollow, loveless sex from his perspective… you can’t imagine anything more unbearable. 

“I won’t do it,” you say, surprising yourself. You’ll take however many lashes you have to. You can’t endure having your heart broken in such a way. 

Your stepmother looks at you with cold eyes. “You’ll do it or you’ll get out of my house. Right this minute. I’ll cut you off completely.”

You’re stunned by the threat. This is your house! You were born here, all your memories of your father are here. You sometimes go into his untouched study just to feel his lingering presence. The thought of being locked out, with nowhere to go, while these people lounge around in your family home, fills you with both sorrow and rage. 

“Alright. I’ll do it,” you say, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. 

You’re given one of your stepsister’s dresses to wear. It doesn’t fit perfectly but it looks much better than the rags you normally wear. Before dressing, you wash with rose-scented soap, fix your hair as best you can, and even dab on a bit of your stepsister’s lip color. Before leaving, you glance at the small cupboard in your room where the glass slippers are hidden in a brown cloth bag behind some books. 

Would he remember you if you wear them? Would the sight of them stir some distant hazy memory of a pitiful little girl he was nice to once? You open the cupboard and pull out the bag, clutching it in your hands. If they could make him feel anything at all for you, even just a tiny spark of nostalgic affection, maybe you could endure this. 

You carry the nondescript bag with you as you walk out the door, not wanting your stepmother to see them. There’s a carriage waiting for your stepsister outside, but you’re the one who climbs in. You change out your plain satin slippers for the ones made of glass, praying they will give you strength. 

When the carriage arrives at the inn, a guard helps you out and directs you to go inside. Your heart is like a hammer in your chest. You’re finally going to be face to face with the man you’ve longed for all these years. 

And he’s going to have no idea who you are. 

The inside of the inn is cozy, not too lavish, but clean and comfortable. There’s a welcome room, with a desk set up to accept guests. There’s a set of wooden stairs going to the upper floor, which itself creates a balcony over looking the welcome area. You can see rows of doors from down here, and you wonder which one Prince Gojo is waiting in. 

Another guard ushers you up the stairs. You walk very carefully, afraid of damaging the glass shoes. At the top, a door opens and you see the Prince’s advisor, Geto Suguru. You’ve seen him often in town, almost always by Prince Gojo’s side. He gestures for you to come inside, so you do, finding yourself in a room much larger than you expected.  There are two chairs, and Geto takes one while telling you to take the other. 

As you walk across the wooden floor, your shoes make more noise than you intended. Geto looks down at them. 

“Glass slippers? How unusual,” he says before his eyes flick upwards to study your face. “What’s your name?”

You feel a stab of panic. Should you give your stepsister’s name? Or would you get in trouble for lying? “Um, would it be alright if I use a nickname?”

“Of course.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Then call me Cinderella.”

He raises his eyebrows at this, but says nothing more about it. “I’d like to discuss some rules before you go to see the Prince,” he says. When you nod, he continues. “You are not to discuss anything that happens in the Prince’s room, with anyone. Even your family. The Prince has some rather… eccentric tastes, so some of the activities he engages in might seem strange or perverse. You are welcome to refuse these activities if they make you uncomfortable. If at any time you decide you don’t want to do something, simply tell him to stop, firmly and clearly. Our Prince may be a ravenous beast, but he’s still a gentleman. He will treat you as a lady and respect your wishes.”

You feel a bit of relief to hear that, though you wonder if word would somehow get back to your stepmother if you refused to sleep with the Prince.  

“Do you understand?” Geto asks, watching your face intently. 

You fidget in the chair. “Yes, I understand.”

He’s quiet for a moment, staring at you. Then, “Did you come here by your own choice?”

You look up at him in alarm. Does he know? How could he? You have to cover for yourself somehow. “I want to see the Prince,” you say, and the honest emotion in that statement gives your voice an earnest edge. 

“I see,” he says, then he stands up. He pulls something from a pouch and hands it to you. It’s a lovely silk mask in the shape of a butterfly. “The Prince insists you wear a mask to protect your own identity. It’s to help you feel less self conscious.”

You hold the mask in your hands for a moment before pulling it on, tying the ribbons behind your head to secure it. You’re not sure how you feel about it. He definitely won’t recognize you now, but there was almost zero chance of that happening anyway. 

When ready, Geto opens the door and leads you out, then to the next door over. He knocks three times, then opens the door. “Go on in,” he tells you with a charming smile.

You take a deep breath, willing your hands not to shake and your heart not to race. Then you walk into the Prince’s room, Geto behind you. 

Prince Gojo is sitting on the bed, but he stands up when you enter. Here in front of him, you can see just how tall he’s grown over the years. With a start, you realize this is the closest you’ve been to him since that day when two children held hands and danced in the woods. His face is even more beautiful up close, his eyes even more striking. And he’s wearing that same easy going smile you loved when you first met him. 

“Allow me to present Miss Cinderella,”

Geto says. 

“Cinderella? That’s a unique name,” Gojo says, those eyes you love so much looking right at you. 

“Th-thank you, Your Highness,” you say, lowering your head in a tiny bow. He spoke to you! And you spoke to him! 

Looking at the floor, you notice that the room is covered by an ornate rug. That’s why your shoes made no noise. You hope he notices them, but so far his eyes seem to be drawn to your chest and your hips. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Cinderella,” he says, looking at your eyes through the holes in your mask. “Let’s enjoy each other’s company tonight.”

You nod, too nervous to speak again. Beside you, Geto laughs breezily. “Don’t be so shy. The Prince does bite, but I’m told it feels marvelous.”

Prince Gojo frowns at him. “Suguru! Don’t say things that might give her the wrong idea!” 

Geto shrugs, then says, “I’ll take my leave now. You two have fun.”

Prince Gojo is smiling at you. “We definitely will.”

Before leaving, Geto’s eyes shift to your feet for a moment, then back to your face. He leans closer to you and says in a quiet voice, “I hope your Prince is everything you’ve dreamed of.” And then he’s gone, sweeping out of the room and shutting the door behind him.  

Now alone with the Prince, you feel your nerves becoming increasingly frayed. He steps closer to you, probably eager to begin. He’s a healthy man in his prime, after all. You’re still looking down, afraid to meet his gaze. His eyes are so piercing, they scare you. 

Suddenly you feel his hand on your face, and he gently tilts your head up so that you have to look at him. “Are you actually frightened?” he asks, the self assured grin from before gone. “Or are you just shy?”

“I’m just shy, Your Highness,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice from quivering. “I volunteered of my own accord.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “Now just relax, and I’ll take you to heaven.”

You blink up at him, feeling heat spread over your skin. “O-okay.”

He leans forward, and you think he might kiss you, but instead his head dips and he kisses your neck. “Take off your clothes,” he murmurs against your skin. 

You shiver at his touch, your nerves practically on fire now. He steps back to give you space, and begins unbuttoning his crisp white shirt. With a feeling of defeat, you step out of the glass slippers and sit them aside. You glance over to see that he didn’t even seem to notice them. He’s too busy pulling the belt off his pants. 

With his shirt now open, you can see his finely toned chest and abdomen. He looks like he was carved from stone. You blush furiously as your fingers fumble with the buttons and ties on the bodice of your dress. You’ve never worn it before tonight, so you’re unfamiliar with its various closures. 

Prince Gojo steps close again and helps you with the dress. You can’t help noticing that his hands seem practiced and skilled at opening women’s dresses. When he’s done, you’re left in your thin but modest slip, feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been. The fabric is white, nearly sheer, with thin straps at your shoulders. It hangs to your knees, and beneath it is only a pair of panties.  

He doesn’t remove your slip right away, perhaps giving you more time due to your shyness, but his large warm hands glide over your body as he kisses your throat again. 

You can’t keep yourself from trembling at the feel of his soft lips pressed against your skin. He draws back to look at you, at what’s visible of your face beneath the mask. His thumb traces over your red lips, painted with your stepsister’s lipstick. 

He wears the most angelic expression as he looks down into your eyes and says, “I’m gonna cum in this pretty little mouth.”

You draw in a sharp breath, your heart pounding so hard you’re certain he can hear it. Before you can say anything in response, he’s tugging your arm to pull you toward the bed, where he sits down. He spreads his thighs apart, gives you a sultry look, and says, “Kneel for your Prince.”

Part of you wants to flee from the room and never look back. But another part wants to do literally anything he says. Caught between these two urges, you ease yourself down to your knees before him. He opens his pants and reaches one hand in to pull out his stiff, hard cock. You stare at it, comparing it to all the silly daydreams you entertained over the years, trying to imagine what it looks like. Somehow, it’s even more magnificent than you pictured in your mind. Tall and pale and beautiful, like him, with a tip flushed slightly pink. It’s much bigger than you thought it would be, though it’s also the first one you’ve ever seen outside of crude drawings.

He reaches down and takes one of your hands, then pulls it to his thick shaft. Your fingers curl around it carefully, and he moves your hand up and down. “There, just like that,” he says, releasing your hand so that you’re stroking him on your own. It feels strange. You assumed a cock would be a bit more delicate. You’d seen boys fall over in pain if they were hit there, after all. But Prince Gojo’s is sturdy, firm, strong. You notice the tip is glistening, and you lean forward slightly to get a better look. 

“Why don’t you have a taste?” he asks, staring down at you, a casual smile on his lips. 

Your eyes shift nervously from his beautiful face to his leaking cock. You lick the edges of your lips, forgetting the lipstick you’re not used to wearing. Then you extend your tongue and flick it lightly over his tip, smearing some of the clear fluid. It tastes different from what you expected. Not bad or gross at all. It simply tastes like him. You give another feathery lick, then another, and then you feel his hand on your head, patting it. 

“You’re adorable,” he says, smiling sweetly at you. “Now open wide and take my cock down your throat.”

You flinch at the words. Hearing such vulgar things being said in his lovely, pleasant voice is making your head spin. But you do as you’re told, opening your mouth widely. And as he pulls your head forward, you feel his hard cock slide between your lips and rest on your tongue. 

Yet another act you imagined countless times. And now, you have the cock of the man you love in your mouth, so instinct takes over. Your tongue moves, licking the meaty shaft and drenching it in your saliva, helping it to ease further in. Your lips finally reach the base, creating a red ring there as you struggle to breathe through your nose. He fills your whole mouth, and much of your throat. It’s uncomfortable, but you’ve dreamed of having him in your mouth for so long, you don’t mind the ache. 

You feel confused as you begin bobbing your head, moving up and down his length with your lips. The Prince you’ve longed for is using your mouth for his own pleasure, not really caring who you are. But this is your only chance to touch him, to taste him. Should you just let go of your romantic dreams and let yourself enjoy the physical sensations? Can you even separate the two? 

After a while, Prince Gojo takes hold of your hair and pulls your head back, not harshly but firmly. “Mouth open, tongue out,” he says, “and don’t spill any, Cinderella.”

On your knees in front of him, you open your lips and let your tongue hang partially out of your mouth as you look up at him. Your lips are quivering, your eyes glassy, as he strokes himself a few more times before shooting ropes of sticky cum onto your tongue. Most of it slides into your open mouth, but some drip down your chin. Reflexively, you catch some of it with your fingers and lick them clean. 

This cum is precious to you. It’s proof you pleased him, and it comes from your beloved. You feel the need to savor it. You glance up to find the Prince staring at you with slightly widened eyes, lips parted, a pink tint to his face as he watches you enjoy his seed. 

For a moment he doesn’t say a word, seeming almost transfixed, but then he laughs and says, “Oh no, you spilled a few drops. Looks like you disobeyed your Prince! How shall I punish you?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” you tell him, still licking your lips to gather any cum you missed. 

He stands up, then helps you to your feet. “To start with, let’s get rid of this,” he says, sliding your slip up your body and over your head. His eyes move to your bare breasts, making you blush again, but then he reaches forward and pulls your panties down to your ankles. You step out of them somewhat clumsily, trying to keep your legs together. 

Taking his seat on the bed again, the Prince takes a moment to look you up and down. Your face is burning with embarrassment. The Prince is seeing every inch of you! 

After a moment, he takes hold of your arm and pulls you toward him. He’s still wearing his unbuttoned shirt and his pants, making you feel even more exposed. You allow him to move and maneuver your body however he wants, and soon you’re in the most humiliating position of your life: lying face down, your naked body draped across his lap.

He pulls your wrists together behind your back, holding them in place with just one hand while his other hand rubs over your ass. When he squeezes the flesh there, you give a tiny squeak of surprise. You can’t see his face from this position, but you hear him laugh. It’s a sound you’ve always adored. Then you hear his smooth voice, a little deeper than usual, say, “So cute and helpless. So many things I could do to you.”

The words make you squirm a little in his lap, and to your horror you realize you’re wet. You can feel a slickness between your thighs, and you pray he doesn’t notice. 

His hand leaves your ass, and then suddenly comes back down in a slap that makes you yelp and jerk. His other hand is still firmly holding your wrists, so you’re still in position as his hand comes down again, making a loud sound that reverberates around the room. 

It doesn’t really hurt, just a bit of a sting. You have plenty of experience being hit by someone who actually wants to hurt you, so you can tell the difference right away. No, what makes this so bad is the embarrassment, the vulnerable position, and the fact that you can feel your arousal smearing all over your thighs. Should you tell him to stop? He would, you know that. But your heart is so conflicted. You want to be with him, in any capacity, but simply being used this way is emotionally damaging. 

He gives a few more slaps to your ass, then rubs it again. When his hand slides down between your legs and his fingers reach the wetness there, you freeze, going still as a statue, barely even breathing. You feel his fingers part the damp flesh and then stroke the sensitive little nub inside.

“Ahhh!” You let out a shameful cry, trying to jerk away from him, but he’s still holding you in place. 

He withdraws his hand. “You’re drenched, Cinderella. Do you like being at my mercy? Restrained and helpless?”

Your mind races. Do you enjoy it? Of all the scenarios you imagined with Prince Gojo, this one was never part of it. But you can’t deny the thrill of being held down by him.

He gives another slap, and you cry out again. There’s a pause, where he doesn’t move or say anything, then his hand releases your wrists. You feel him rub gently over one of your arms, and remember the welts covering them. 

Suddenly he turns you over in his lap and pulls the both of you up. “Let’s do something else,” he says, for the first time seeming a tiny bit awkward. He directs you to lie down on your back while he pulls off his shirt and pants, finally standing fully nude in front of you. 

It’s a glorious sight. Every single inch of him is truly beautiful. His clothes had made him seem thinner than he actually is, and now you can see the taut muscles along his arms and torso. He notices you staring, and grins. 

You blush and look away, but it does you no good. In the next second he’s climbing onto the bed and pushing your legs widely apart. You gasp in surprise, mortified, but as he stares down at your dripping, bare pussy, there’s a hunger in his eyes. 

“I told you I’d take you to heaven, remember?” he asks, and then his head lowers, and you feel his lips on your delicate flesh. 

Your body jolts, but he has his arms around your thighs, holding them apart while his fingers open your folds. His tongue glides over your swollen clit, coating it in his saliva. You begin to tremble, your hands gripping the sheets for dear life as his lips close around the little bundle of nerves, suckling gently. He pulls away, only to press his tongue inside you as his thumb rubs circles into your clit. 

You cry out, over and over, your back arching off the bed. You love him so much! And he’s bringing you such pleasure! You think your heart might burst. 

Something is going to burst. You feel something building, like pressure inside your core. His thumb is relentless, becoming more aggressive as his tongue gathers your wetness and slurps it into his mouth. You’re so sensitive, the stimulation almost hurts. 

But he keeps going, his thumb only moving faster, applying more pressure, until finally the dam breaks. Pleasure washes over you like a flood, your body twitches and shakes, and Prince Gojo’s thumb slows to languid, soft motions while you ride out your first orgasm. 

You’re left panting, dizzy, your skin flushed and dewy. You look up to see the Prince raised up on his knees, staring down at your spread open body, licking his thumb. 

If you can burn one image from this night into your memory forever, this is it. He’s never been more gorgeous. But then your eyes move down and you see that he’s fully erect again, his cock somehow looking even bigger than before. 

He slips his hands under your ass and lifts your hips from the bed, pulling you to him. You almost panic. You almost tell him to stop. You wanted your first time to be with the Prince. But you wanted it to be romantic, full of love. Now, he’s about to take your virginity, but he doesn’t love you. He doesn’t even know your name. 

You close your eyes, deciding to let it happen. You suppose you should consider yourself lucky to be deflowered by the man you love. 

You feel him push into you, slowly, and you’re shocked by how deep he goes. You feel yourself stretching, maybe even ripping, as a small amount of warm fluid, probably blood, leaks out around his cock. He’s clearly trying to be careful, but he’s just too big, and his fast breathing indicates he’s having a hard time holding himself back. 

You feel his hand on your face. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice strained. You nod, then you hear him say, “Look at me.”

You open your eyes, only to be met with his stunning eyes boring into you. “I’m gonna start moving, okay?”

“… okay,” you say in a tiny voice, feeling like a small prey animal beneath a giant wolf. 

He begins thrusting then, slowly at first but going so very deep. At some point he picks up speed, his hands gripping your hips tightly. Soon he’s practically slamming into you, grunting each time his cock buries itself to the hilt in your aching pussy. 

You feel so many emotions, you can barely make sense of them. 

The man you’ve loved for so long is inside you! 

He doesn’t care about you at all. 

He’s enjoying your body, you make him feel good! 

He’s done this with countless other women. 

He made your body come alive with pleasure! 

He’s being too rough with you. 

That roughness, that pain, is somehow turning you on. You’re practically gushing as he pounds into you! Your body is as confused as your heart. You can’t even tell what hurts or feels good anymore. Then you realize with some alarm: you don’t care. You don’t care if he hurts you. You only want to feel him. 

Completely overwhelmed, you feel tears flood your eyes, and you can only hope the mask hides your face enough, that you can hold back your sobs, so that Prince Gojo doesn’t realize how you feel. 

***********************

Prince Gojo grunts when he feels Cinderella clench his cock tightly, like her pussy doesn’t want to let him go. He can’t remember the last time he’s been this riled up. 

At first, he thought she was just putting on a shy act to tantalize him, but when he thrust into her for the first time he realized she was a virgin. Probably not an act then. 

That probably should have concerned him, but she’s so wet and so tight, the little moans and cries she makes are so sweet, that he’s losing control of himself inside her. 

He hasn’t missed the way she looks at him, even through the mask he can see there’s something beyond the usual admiration or shallow crush on a popular figure. And the way she licked up his cum as if it were her last meal… he literally felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

And so he shoves into her as deeply as possible, loving the feel of her around him, and when he looks down at her face again, he realizes she’s crying. Tears are dripping down her cheeks, under the mask, and her body is shaking. It’s almost enough to make him stop. Almost. 

Instead he leans down over her, pulling her upper body up and into his arms, cradling her. “You’re so pretty,” he says in his softest voice. “You feel so good. You’re taking my cock so deep…”

She sniffles, burying her face in his shoulder, her hands clutching his arms. Then he hears her voice, so quiet yet so clear, say, “Satoru…!”

He freezes, his eyes wide. Her face is hidden from him, but he heard her clearly. None of the women who visit him at the inn have ever called him by his first name. It’s always “Your Highness”, or if they’re the bold type, “Prince Gojo”. 

But the way she said it, as if it was natural to her, surprised him. His name, a personal, intimate thing for him, reserved only for those closest to him, spilled from her soft ruby lips like a prayer. The sound of it, somehow familiar, sent a shiver rippling through his body. 

He pushes in deeper, his fingers digging into her skin, and she cries out, clenching him even tighter. Her whole body quivers as she cums again, little sobs wracking her form. The feel of it is enough to push him to his own climax, and with a groan of pleasure he cums, realizing a moment too late that he came inside her instead of pulling out. 

He holds her as they both come down from their shared high, her warm walls still clamped around his throbbing cock. After a long while, much longer than with any other woman, Gojo separates from her and they both get up from the bed. 

They both dress in silence. He’s usually chatty at times like this, but his mind is elsewhere, still in those moments when he was inside her, when she said his name. 

He glances over to find her back in her dress. She reaches up toward her mask, probably to remove it and wipe her eyes, but he stops her. 

“Don’t take it off until you’re out of the room,” he says, though part of him wants to rip it off immediately. 

She looks at him then, and gives a small, uncomfortable smile. “Of course, I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“This way is better for both of us,” he tells her, though he feels conflicted. He wants to ask her name, her real name, but that would defeat the purpose of the mask. Instead he says nothing as she gives a small bow and leaves the room. 

Gojo flops across the bed and sighs, his thoughts still full of Cinderella. After a moment, he notices a sound coming from outside his room. Perhaps on the stairs?

Click, click, click. 

Over and over. The sound calls to him. He stands up and crosses to his door, opening it slowly and listening. 

Click, click, click. 

What is that? It stops, then starts again but softer. He walks out and looks over the railing, down to the first floor. Cinderella is walking toward the door. The light glints off something on her feet, and he focuses on her shoes. 

Are those… glass slippers?!

It can’t be! 

Suddenly everything snaps into place. The familiar welts on her arms. The way she looked at him as if she knew him. The way she called him by his first name. 

The way tears spilled from her eyes. 

It’s her! The girl he’s been waiting for all these years! 

He runs toward the stairs, shouting, “Wait!” but she’s already going through the door. 

By the time he runs down the steps and flings the door open, she’s gone. He looks both directions on the street, but it’s dark, and there are still crowds of people moving about. She’s nowhere to be seen. 

Cinderella has vanished into the night. 

[covetyou]

open hand or closed fist would be fine

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con, vaginal fisting, oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V, creampie, praise kink, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.7k chapter summary: You see Joel everywhere, the sight of him alone making you even more desperate. You turn up to his door, drenched from the rain, and let him give you (almost) everything you need.

A/N: I cannot believe there's only one week to go. Thank you so much for all your support. ily 💛

The last few days I've been chanting "fist it fic, fist it fic" whenever I've gone to write for this. They hype has been real and the triumphant and feral SCREAM I let escape my body when it was done. You probably all heard it. And the amount of squeezing and examining my own hand I did this last week? Unreal. I am deeply acquanted with my own fist anatomy now.

4k of this is pure porn, 2.5k of which is fisting and the build up, my fucking god.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

song: cherry wine by Hozier

You see him everywhere. You're really not looking for him, but everywhere you turn it seems he's there too. Turning a corner as you walk your dad to a job. Talking in the street, Tess by his side, her eyes briefly catching yours as you stare, a smirk tugging at her lips when you dart your eyes away.

You even see him at work. He ignores you, of course, turning to your colleagues to pick up food, exchanging flirty quips and a wink with one of them, making her giggle and bat her lashes, before walking away without a single glance at you.

It's driving you mad. You don't want to talk to him, you wouldn't even dare to, but seeing him is sending the thread of want through you scalding hot, burning through your veins. There's no let up and there's no relief, no matter how much you make yourself come.

Thankfully, collection day comes around fast.

Your dad had been good recently, even with the change in weather. He maybe could have stretched his pills further, gone a bit longer between collections, but you were eager to see Joel again, and even more eager to have him look at you, to touch you. Seeing him around so often had done nothing to ease your desperation either, and by the time your free day rolls around you're trying not to bounce off the walls.

And, of course, it's fucking raining. You hold off as long as you can, watching as the rain drizzles consistently from the gray sky for hours. With no sign of letting up, you head out, resigning yourself to a damp walk to Joel's apartment. You're going to be wet by the time you get there anyway, rain or not.

You're not quite wet through when your cold knuckles tap against the wood of his door.

When he answers, he takes your breath away. He's stood there, pants slung low on his waist, towel thrown over his shoulder, hair damp and touselled. He's shirtless, his usual shirt no longer stretched across the width of his shoulders, and you gape at him. If the last few weeks hadn't been enough to send you stupid with want for him, this certainly has sealed the deal.

There's a glass of whisky in his hand and he takes a sip, looking at you, before he says anything.

"Did you not see the rain?" he quips.

Your skin prickles and burns just looking at him, the cold wet from outside already leached from your bones just by setting your eyes on his bare skin. You swallow heavy and he's talking again before your brain can kick into gear.

"You really that desperate, ain't you?" You don't answer him. You know he's not talking about the pills any more and you know he already knows the answer.

His eyes roll and he twitches his head to the side. "In," he says, moving from the door, taking another sip of whisky. "And take this shit off, I don't want you drippin' on my floor."

You take your coat off and hang it on a hook on the wall, reaching for the button on your pants just as he throws the towel at you.

"Dry yourself off."

You keep your eyes on him the entire time you strip off the rest of your wet clothes. Now that the towel is gone from his shoulder you can see everything - every scar and blemish on his broad torso, every curl of hair. You've never seen him shirtless and you want to take in every part of him now whilst you still can. He might dress whilst you blink and then the moment will be over. Who knows when you'll see him like this again.

"So, you're so desperate for it you came here in the rain, huh?" He asks, taking another sip from his glass. You don't answer. You're stood in just your panties now, grateful for the warmth in his apartment, but that does nothing to stop the pebbling of your nipples and the shudder that creeps down your spine.

"Dad's out of his meds, he -" you start.

"Sure. S'always the pills," he scoffs. "Don't think I ain't seen you lookin' at me. It's like I'm being fuckin' watched with you out there."

You couldn't really help it, if you saw him your eyes were magnetically drawn to him for as long as possible. You didn't think you'd been that obvious but, well, you'd not exactly tried to hide it either.

He's approaching you now, whisky glass discarded on the table.

"Look at me," he says, tilting your head up with a finger. You reluctantly drag your eyes away from his chest and meet his gaze. His own eyes are burning into yours, maybe as much as yours are to his. If you didn't know better you'd think he felt as needy as you did. You hope it's even for you specifically and not just needy for a warm, wet hole.

"What are we gonna do with you, huh?" You shrug - you didn't mind what he did with you, to you, you just know you needed it. "Something's got you showing up needy and wet to my door sweetheart, gotta do something about it. Can't have desperate sluts like you lookin' at me all the time without repercussions."

At his words you tense.

"Hm? Is that what you are?" he's whispering to you now. "S'not enough that I'm giving you your daddy's pills, is it? You need me to give you more."

You nod. You need fucking more, anything more.

"Take the rest of this off. Y'know I like lookin'." He pings the waistband of your panties against your hip, the elastic sharp against your cold skin.

He could complain as much as he liked about you watching him walk down the street, but the way you looked at him in those moments would never compare to the way he looked at you now. You liked him looking.

You quickly tug your panties down your legs, wobbling as you stand upright. You reach a hand out to him to steady yourself, not wanting the humiliation of falling on your ass in front of him and desperate to feel his skin under your fingertips again. His hand reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can make contact.

His thumb brushes across the inside of your wrist. Your heart is hammering and he must be able to feel the thrum of your pulse beneath the thin skin of your wrist. Air huffs from his nose, a single dry laugh coming from him.

"You're wet already, ain't you? I can tell, sweetheart. Always been able to tell." Then he strokes a single thick finger over your body - across your arms, over the swell of your breast, down the valley between your tits, across your belly, stopping at your mound and pulling away.

"Let's get you what you need then, huh," he tucks hair behind your ear, never letting go of your wrist with the other. He's already tugging you to his bedroom when you nod, closing the door to keep in the warmth.

He drops your wrist, telling you to make yourself comfortable as he moves to the window, closing the curtains, keeping yet more heat in.

You climb onto his bed, scooting yourself up and sitting yourself by his pillows, watching his every move.

"It's been a while since I got a proper look at that cunt," he says as he turns around to approach his dresser.

You spread your legs for him instantly, no shame and no heat in your cheeks as your thighs fall flat to the bed, spread so wide the stretch in your hips is almost painful.

He laughs at you, shaking his head and muttering under his breath as he pulls his belt from its loops, placing it onto the dresser before popping open the top button on his pants. You're still staring at his crotch, willing the zipper down with your mind, when he's crawling on his knees toward you, a rough hand smoothing up your calf as he goes.

With no warning, hands clamp around your ankles and you're being yanked down toward him, slipping down the bed and back hitting the mattress with a thud, knocking the air from you.

Joel lets out a deep breath, moving closer to you, massaging your thighs in both of his hands, squeezing the meat of them and dragging thick fingers across your flesh over and over until his fingers meet at the crease of your thigh.

"Jus' look at her," he breathes, eyes transfixed on your cunt. You roll your hips, pulling a smile across his face as he tuts at you. "So desperate."

You nod, trying to hold back a slew of begging as his hands run across your thighs and finally - fucking finally - pull you apart and start stroking your lips, spreading slick over your pussy with one thick finger.

"Barely even touched any of this yet," he says tickling your clit with his index finger before dragging back down through the wetness of your cunt, "and just look at you. You're a fuckin' mess."

You wiggle at the touch of his finger, shifting your thighs to ease the stretch in your hips, and he's holding you down with both hands, staring at you with a stern look.

"I know you want me to spank your pussy again sweetheart, but keep 'em open, lemme see the mess you made."

You moan at the mention of it, tempted to let your legs twitch closed to feel the clap of his hand on your cunt.

"If you're good I'll spank your pussy another time," he smirks as he says it, but you hope he means it.

"I'll be good," you promise in a whisper, watching as his eyebrows raise at your words, shaking his head.

He covers your bared cunt with his hand rubbing softly, gently jerking the nub of your clit between his fingers before spreading them and ducking his head down to swipe his tongue where your clit peaks out from between his fingers. "We'll see how good you are."

His hand drags down you, two fingers stroking your empty hole before pushing in smoothly in one movement. Your cunt is so slick there's no resistance, and Joel notices.

"So easy," he taunts, looking down to where his fingers push into you. "You been keepin' her stuffed at home?"

You had. You couldn't lie. Tess's fingers had felt so good in you, you often stuffed three of your own into yourself and pretended they were hers. You look at him and nod, watching as a soft Fuck falls from his lips. He pushes his fingers down inside you, stretching your hole open as he massages from side to side. The deep pull makes you groan.

You feel his teeth graze your clit, making you buck into his hand just as he's pulling his fingers from you and replacing them with three, sliding them in and flexing them inside of you. He licks at you once more before sitting back on his haunches, watching your hole grip tightly around his fingers.

"My dick not been enough for you?" he suddenly asks, pulling down his zipper and tugging at his pants to free his cock.

You start to shake your head. "It is I-"

"Don't lie to me," he cuts you off, distracting you with the increased movement of his fingers in and out of your hole as he suckles your clit back into his mouth. He releases with a wet pop, giving your cunt a broad lick, sitting back once again. You watch him tug on his cock, fingers still buried in you, thighs still spread and pussy dripping.

He's reaching now, over the side of the bed, fingers keeping a slow pace inside you, the slow drag of them stretching your walls as he flexes and swirls them in you. You hear a familiar snick and look down to see a bottle just as a cold trickle of oil hits your clit, drizzling down to fingers spread into your pussy, funneling it in. He removes them, rubbing broadly over your entire mound with his hand, smearing oil everywhere. You don't think about how fucking long it'll take to wash off this time, you just think of how wet he's making you, staring burning heat straight into your core as he massages your oiled cunt with his heavy hand. You were already a slip and slide, but now you're impossibly wet, cunt and inner thighs shining with oil and your own slick.

His fingers push back into you, the stretch move obvious than before, when you realize four of his thick fingers are seated in you.

"Good girl," he says as you moan, feeling so stretched but not full enough, you want him deeper, you want more. "Your own fingers feel as good as this?"

"Not even close," you say around another moan. Of course they fucking didn't. You wondered if he ever thought about what you did to yourself in the dark of night, what you did the chase the feelings you'd only been able to get in his apartment. You wonder if he ever touched himself to thoughts of you too.

"That's cause a needy pussy like this needs more than your little fingers."

You nod. He'd never said anything more true - you needed more.

"I'll give you more, sweetheart."

A wicked smile pulls at his lips, sending a thrill through you. You'd stopped expecting anything of your visits to the nice apartment on the other side of the QZ, leaving your fate up to Joel entirely the minute you stepped through the door. You could trust him, in some sick twisted way. Somehow, he'd never showed you reason not to.

His fingers push in, curling and squelching inside you as he fucks you with them. A calloused thumb finds your clit, rubbing slick oil across the bared surface of it, making you squirm, throwing your head back as you plead with him.

"That too much?" You shake your head. "Didn't think so. It ain't enough, is it?" You say nothing, just whine through the wet sound if your pussy being fucked by four of his fingers.

There's more pressure, a deeper push of his hand, the ridge of his knuckles stretching and burning the entrance of your pussy as he pushes. The feeling startles you, and you shoot up onto your elbows.

"Wait," you gasp, "What-uhhh."

"Shhh," he says, pushing a hand down onto your lower belly to keep you still.

His slicked thumb never stops circling your clit just as the widest part of his knuckles breach you - he can feel a jerk of movement as the rock of your hips into his palm, desperate to take more of him in, is stopped by the weight of his hand on your belly.

"Fuck, that's it sweetheart. You can take it, just a little more." His words, as always, generate a surge of wetness from you, and with that his four fingers slip into you past the solid ridge of his knuckles and down to the palm of his hand. The only thing stopping him from slipping into you completely is the jut of his thumb.

You pant and still, willing yourself to relax, but instead whine with the immense fullness in your cunt. The length of Joel's cock had prepared you for intrusions battering your cervix, but his impressive girth was nothing compared to the width of his hand.

"Oh I know, I know, that's so much ain't it. So much for this little pussy." He teases a finger around the swollen skin of your hole as he admires the look of his fingers buried in your cunt.

He places a gentle kiss onto your clit, the gentlest he's ever been with you. "Doin' so good for me." He kitten licks the sensitive nub, distracting you from the stretch in your cunt, and before you know it you're liquid beneath him again, writhing on his bed and moaning his name as you get teased closer to the edge once again.

"So good. Reckon you can take it all, sweetheart." He had a knack for asking questions that were never really questions.

"N-no, I can't, it's too much," you beg, his fingers still wedged deep inside you. "This feels good, I promise."

He begins to move his hand, flexing his fingers at first, before twisting his palm this way and that. You stare, mesmerized between your legs as the opening of your cunt stretches across his twisted palm.

"S'not gonna be too much. You'll like it, I promise. Look," he pulls his four fingers from you, the burn so much less this time, and you feel yourself stretch over the bones of his knuckles again before the pressure releases and you're left totally empty.

You whine with the loss.

"She just wants to be filled up. She's gapin' and empty right now, sweetheart. She needs it." He kisses your clit again, holding you open with thumbs that you feel slip inside of you and tug you apart.

He plunges four fingers into you again, drawing them together as much as he can as he fucks you past his knuckles again in one movement, aided by the slick of oil that's now dribbling out of you and making a mess on his sheets. You only just feel his knuckles pop inside you before they're pulling out again, the sensation making you feel weak as you let your arms fall and drop back onto his bed once more.

When he goes to push back in, his thick thumb joins his fingers. You feel it as his knuckles approach your cunt, the stretch even more this time.

"Wait, no I can't do it," the words tumble from your mouth in a panic. You're gripping his sheets, trying not to slam your legs closed at the intrusion of most of his fist seated inside you.

"Yeah you can, you can take it. You wanted more. Remember how empty it feels?"

You nod. You remembered, you felt so fucking empty without him inside you.

A slick hand smooths up your thigh, calming you. "Then lie back and close your eyes, sweetheart. Greedy girls gotta get their pussies stuffed."

The hand never stops caressing your thighs, dragging oil slicked fingers up and down your skin, turning you to putty with each stroke. By the time he's pushing in again, your legs are pinned back, spread obscenely, just for him, as your pussy stretches wide over his fingers.

His hand stills on the apex of your thighs, holding you down, stopping your hips from moving as he tries to seat his entire fist in your desperate cunt. You start to whine when his knuckles pull at your entrance, the sting of the stretch stronger again now.

"You can take it, you can take it," he murmurs, spurring you on.

You breathe deeply, uncontrollable whines falling from your mouth, the stretch is so much you feel like you might burst. You take a deep shuddering breath to steady yourself, and as you breath out Joel pushes his fist in harder, any resistance giving way to his force.

The sound he tears from you as he pushes his fist fully into your pussy is animalistic, guttural. It roars from you and he continues to fuck his fist into you until your hole is clamped down on the thickness of his wrist. You throw your head back and reach for him, fingers touching his where they rest on your leg and you grab onto them.

"Fuck yeah, that's it. That's fuckin' it." He lets you grip his fingers, still moaning as the blood pounds in your ears.

He's smiling up at you, almost laughing, when you next look down.

"Got my whole fuckin' hand in your pussy sweetheart. Hole is so stuffed and stretched out now."

His cock had been a stretch at one time. You were usually so wet that it parted you easily, but you could still feel that ache inside you as you gave way to him. This was new. Even rock hard and standing to attention, his cock had a softness to it. His hand did not. Calloused palms, rough fingers and bone did not yield or give way. The ridges of his fist felt foreign inside your cunt, and yet part of you still wanted to ask for more.

One breath, then another, and another, and your fingers are relaxing their death grip on his own. He twists his hand inside you from side to side just a fraction. Feeling so much moving and writhing inside you feels strange, but the fullness in your cunt and the depth of his hand have you moaning again, throwing your head to the side.

"That good?"

"Yeah, 'sgood," you whine.

His hand twists more, the ridge of his knuckles dragging on your inner walls.

"Ohhhhhh."

"Oh fuck, that's it," he says, pulling his fingers away from your grip and finally letting go of your hips.

You hear the wet sound of his oiled hand on his cock as he strokes himself, gripping his tip tightly and jerking it slowly at the sight of his hand buried in your cunt. Your pussy pulses around his fist as you watch his thumb swipe at a bead of cum about to drip off the tip of his cock and onto his pants to join a wet patch forming there. For all the mess you were making, it seemed he was making plenty of his own.

"Sit up now, want you to watch," he's saying, letting go of his cock and stroking around your stretched hole, dragging more wetness up to your clit.

Joel moves his fist, twisting this way and that, before dragging it back from you. His hand barely releases from your cunt, the edge of you stretching over the lowest part of his palm, before plunging back in. His eyes are locked on your pussy, watching his fist gently fuck into you. You groan at the sight, at the feeling.

"That feels good, huh?"

"Yeah," you whine. "I wanna cry," you're suddenly saying, because it's true, it's so much, so good, that you want to do nothing more than sob.

"That's because you've been so desperate for it, sweetheart," he says, stroking your clit more firmly now as his hand continues its movement in and out of you, barely breaching you before punching in a little further each time. You can see your lower belly bulge and move with each movement of his fist.

"Please," you're begging again. "It's so much. It's too much." You could be begging him to stop, for more, to come, to take it out, you don't know.

"S'too much for your needy little pussy, I know, but I ain't takin' it out 'til you come on it."

"Oh, fuck."

You almost come there and then, but then he's lowering his face back to your pussy, replacing the roll of his fingers with the lick of his tongue.

You start to garble, a blurred mess of words falling from your mouth. You have no clue what you're saying, you just know that you can't stop, can't do anything but focus on the whole fist fucking into your cunt, stuffing you full as he suckles your clit so delicately.

"Stretching you out, no one's gonna wanna use you after this. Goin' to ruin this pretty pussy."

You start begging again. "Please, please ruin me. Ruin my pussy. Please, please." You feel him smile into you clit and you know you're done for.

He latches fully onto you, sucking hard as he flicks his tongue over and over. His hand punches in harder, faster, fucking you and filling you more than anything before. Your insides feel like they're being shifted with each thrust of his fist, your womb jerked forward and back. You're so near, so close and then the hand on your thigh pushes on your belly, feeling each deep punch of his fist as he bottoms out.

The pressure builds and explodes almost instantly, your whole pussy clenching down on his fist, drawing him in with each pulse of your orgasm. Your hips rock, thighs try to clamp shut around his entire body as you scream - scream - into the cavern of his bedroom. He doesn't stop, doesn't relent, fucking his hand into you deeper and deeper as you come undone beneath him.

Only when you stop writhing and your back falls flat against the bed does Joel stop, disengaging from your clit with one final pop, stilling his hand inside you.

He watches as you come down, glassy eyes staring into space as you sigh in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm of your life.

"Was that enough?" he asks you as he kisses along your mound. You're shaking your head before you even realize what you're doing.

"Such a needy hole that even stuffed full of my hand it ain't enough?"

You moan, shaking your head. No. It's not enough. It feels so much, so full, stuffed to the brim, but it's not enough.

"Oh fuck, 'course it's not enough for you, sweetheart. Look how fuckin' greedy she is. You want more fingers?"

"No, no," your head is filled with as much clarity as delirium. You don't know where you are but you know exactly what you want, what you need.

"But you need more, sweetheart," he taunts, pushing his fist into you more.

"Hnnnng. Your cock," you gasp out. "Please. Your cock. I need your cock."

"Not sure you're even gonna be able to feel it after this, but I knew I'd have you beggin' for it sooner or later."

He's tugging his hand from you, gently pulling his entire fist out of your body as you bear down and groan with the pressure. It releases with a wet squelch and you watch as he immediately places it over your mound and lower stomach.

"All of that was in there," he says, almost in disbelief. He looks down at your pussy, still gaping. Thick fingers drag back down, past your over sensitized clit and around your hole, watching as you bring yourself together.

He moves closer to you, moving his slicked hand from your body to his own, covering his length with it as his palm slips over himself with ease, massaging his balls before teasing his tip. It's so angry and red now, desperate for some kind of relief, relief you want to give him.

"If you want it that bad, you're gonna have to put it in."

You grab at him, his cock looking huge in your hand. You line him up, dragging his glistening head through your folds before pushing him to your entrance. You roll your hips, feeling the ridge of him drag across your hole before you rock against him, letting the tip of him breach you. You feel your stretched walls pull around him, letting him in, wanting to swallow him whole.

"That's it sweetheart, you put it in," Joel coos, stroking your thighs as your rock yourself onto his tip. He starts to rock his hips with you, plunging his cock into your further as your hand still grips him.

You want to reach out and touch him. Run your hands across the planes of his body, feel how his muscles stretch and contract with every movement. You're still instead, holding his cock as he fucks it inside you.

"Let go now, let me all the way in." You let go of him, gripping your own thigh instead of pulling him toward you like you so desperately want, and he's bottoming out inside you with a deep groan. His cock retreats almost all the way before plunging back in to the hilt again, and you gasp when his tip collides with your cervix.

He watches your face as he bottoms out each time, eyes locked with yours. You feel so close to him, he's so near, you could just reach out and touch him, hold him to you, kiss him.

Before you know it, the world is spinning. He's pulled out of you and flipped you onto your front, laying you flat on his bed. He pulls your ass cheeks apart, notches himself back at your abused hole and pushes in with one easy movement. You grip the sheets, stifling your gasp into his pillow before he's yanking it away from you.

"Nuh-uh, lemme hear those pretty noises. Sound so good when you're moaning on my cock."

You let him hear you, not holding back a single moan as he fucks into you from behind, his weight heavy on your legs. His body falls forward, and he's threading strong arms under your body, hooking them over your shoulders. He holds you tight, the closest thing to a hug you've ever felt from him, as he pulls you down onto him with every thrust.

You're about to turn your head, turn so you can see him, so he can run his nose along your cheek, but a hand grabs your hair, yanking your head back as he slams his hips down into yours.

"Fuck," he gasps into your ear. "Can you even feel that? Can you even feel my cock?" You can feel every part, every ridge dragging across your insides in ways you've never felt from anyone before. You nod your head, hair tugged in his grip as you move.

"Oh fuck yeah, had my whole fucking fist in you but you're still clenching around my dick."

Your mind is blank, you feel dumb from his cock and his fist, fucked out whilst still being fucked. The best you can do is moan out a garbled "yeah" before going back to unintelligible babbling and moans.

"Good girl. Always takin' it all so well. This pretty pussy'll take anythin' I give her, won't she?" he whispers to you, like it's some kind of secret and not the most obvious thing in the world. He nuzzles your hair - he nuzzles your fucking hair - and you're soaring, floating above the clouds on a high you will never come down from.

"Joel, fuuuck."

He's all around you, warm breath on your face, grunts straight into your ear, the sweat of his chest slick on your back, his broad hands anchoring him down to you. You feel his whole body start to tense, shaking and quivering. His hips stutter, slamming into you hard once, twice more before he groans deep, burying his head in your neck.

His weight relaxes on top of you, pushing all air out of your lungs, but he's gone again before you start to struggle for breath, pulling his cock from your used hole. He spreads you, looking down at your pussy, pink and swollen from being so used, first by his fist and then by his cock. Cum dribbles out of you, down to your clit, and he takes his softening cock, swiping it up your folds and to your ass, squeezing out the last dribbles of his cum and wiping his tip on your ass cheek.

You lie still, hoping he'll lie next to you for a while, but his weight leaves the bed and there's the rustle of his jeans as he pulls them on. Before you can even turn around he's opened the door and left you alone, still dripping his cum.

You flop back down, face into his pillows, mind reeling. He'd been so close, felt so near. You could've reached out and touched him, grabbed him, but you didn't. And then the moment was gone. Every time you got near to something, it was gone before you could make up your mind. You were so frustrated you could scream.

Instead, you bury your head into his pillow and breathe deep, calming yourself.

The bed shifts again soon after. You didn't hear him come back in, but Joel's rough hands are lifting your legs and pulling the fabric of your panties up to your knees before he climbs on top of you and yanks them up the rest of the way. He massages your ass in his hands, smearing the remnants of his cum into your panties with the action before climbing off of you.

"You gotta go," he says, simply.

You turn round immediately, panties crooked and not quite covering your pussy. You scramble for an excuse, a reason to stay.

"What if my clothes are still wet." You want more time. You want to stay longer, cocooned in the warmth of this room. Maybe if you stay longer you'll get to feel the weight of him on top of you again.

"It's still rainin' outside so they'll be wet when you get home anyway," he doesn't look at you as he pulls a t-shirt over his head. "Pills are on the table."

And he's stalking out of the room again. You see him flop down onto the couch and pick up a book, as if nothing had even happened, as if the hand holding the pages open hadn't just been buried in you.

There's a chill in the room as you stand. Your clothes are still wet as you put them on. The pills burn your hand as you pocket them, wanting to do nothing more than throw them back at him. If they were for you, you would.

He doesn't walk you to the door, doesn't see you out. You unlatch it and twist the handle yourself, pulling it open and stepping through.

"You gotta stop lookin' at me so much," he calls out as you go to leave. "Not gonna protect you if some asshole thinks you're one of mine."

You don't turn to look at him, you just leave, slamming the door behind you as you make to walk home in the rain.

You didn't even want him to kiss you anyway.

next part

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[zepskies]

Strong as Blood - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out? 

(In other words: This is the story of how you and Ben discover that you’re pregnant.)

AN: This two-part fic can be read as stand-alone, but it’s really a bonus sequel to Break Me Down!

Word Count: 4,500

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, fluff, and a smutty ending. 

To find the chronological reading order for the series, check out the series masterlist. ⤵️

💚 Break Me Down

Part 1: “Probably Temporary”

Make no mistake. Ben was still a terrible cook.

He’d sort of gotten the hang of the grill though, even if he technically wasn’t supposed to be smoking meat on the apartment’s second-floor balcony. 

You peeked out at your boyfriend through the sliding glass door to make sure he was still doing okay. He caught you though, and shot you a wink.

He was very proud of his grill. 

We’re so gonna get in trouble with the homeowner’s association, you thought, but you couldn’t help a smile. You obliged him when he beckoned you over, and you slid the door open. 

“Almost done? I think our neighbors are going to complain again,” you said with a laugh. Ben rolled his eyes.

“It’s a bit of smoke, not a fucking forest fire,” he groused. “Let those uppity fucks complain. Bet’cha they won’t have the balls to say shit to my face if I go across the street for a little visit.” 

You soothed him with a hand along his shoulder. It also gave you an excuse to check on his progress. You considered this episode to be a success, considering the balcony wasn’t up in flames this time. And the steaks actually looked good. Not brittle pieces of charcoal, but not raw and bleeding either.  

“I think those are done,” you advised. Ben followed your gaze and nodded. He used his bare hands to turn the foil-wrapped potatoes, just because he could. 

“Why don’t you take ‘em in while I finish up these potatoes,” he said. “How’s the rest coming?”

“Good. I’m about to take the casserole out of the oven,” you said with a nod. Meanwhile, he placed the steaks in a glass dish that been sitting near the open grill. He handed it to you, but you almost dropped the steaks when the hot glass burned your hands. 

You hissed in pain, while Ben caught the dish with both hands. His brows furrowed, first in surprise, then in thinly veiled concern when he looked over at you. He reached out for your shoulder. 

“Damn,” he said. “Didn’t seem that hot…you okay?”

You looked up from your stinging hands and sighed at him in exasperation, but you couldn’t get that mad at him. He sometimes couldn’t gauge things like this when it came to what he could handle, versus what your normal human body could. 

“Yeah. I’ll just break out the aloe. First, let me get some oven mitts,” you replied, but your answering smile retained some good humor. Ben quirked an apologetic smile of his own. He decided to follow you into the kitchen, taking the steaks in himself. 

You grabbed your favorite green oven mitts and carefully took out the veggie casserole. It smelled delicious, but Ben still peered at it over your shoulder when you placed it on the counter. 

“Don’t you look at my casserole sideways,” you quipped. “You need to eat more veggies.”

He leveled you with a dry look. “You saying I’m getting out of shape?”

“God forbid,” you gasped, playfully jabbing at his firm abs with a mitt-covered hand. “I’m just saying, your super metabolism is compensating for a lot of booze and Taco Bell.”

Ben rose a brow at your cheekiness. He drew closer behind you, trapping you against the counter with one hand braced on the edge, and the other sliding up your jean-clad hip. 

“You’ve got some nerve. I don’t talk shit about the stash of Twix bars in your nightstand, do I?” he remarked. He nipped at your ear, making you flinch and giggle. His beard was also tickling your neck. 

“You’re peeping in my nightstand now? How dare you,” you teased. He snorted in response. 

“Please. Your purple vibrator isn’t exactly a fucking mystery to me,” he retorted. You felt his smirk growing against your neck. “Might wanna keep it away from the chocolate though. That could get messy…unless you want it to be.” 

Your body shook with the effort of containing your laughter. He was so fucking gross.

“Don’t you need to check on the potatoes?” you asked. “I don’t want to have to pressure wash the balcony again.”

Ben made a sound of agreement, but was sure to swat you on the ass before he went. You jolted, but you just shook your head with a blush and a smile. 

It had been over a year since you and Ben had moved in together. Already you’d had your first fight as a true couple, your first Christmas, and so many other challenges, large and small, that had all come to solidify one thing for you.

You were happy. Maybe for the first time in your life. 

It just came with some…small caveats, you reflected, as you reached into the fridge to find the jar of aloe vera. Before you slathered some onto your hands, you realized they were no longer red, and they didn’t even sting anymore.

“What the hell?” you muttered. You put back the jar and rested a hand on your hip. 

Well, maybe you hadn’t burned yourself as bad as you thought. 

With that oddity still in your mind, you pulled on your oven mitts again and took up the casserole with the intention of bringing it to the dining table. Admittedly, you were a bit distracted. You didn’t remember about the raised ledge in the doorway to the dining room until it was too late.

You tripped, and though you managed to make it to the table, you gasped when you broke right through the wood. 

The table just seemed to give up when you hit it, cracking in half, and sending you tumbling to the floor with hot casserole heaped on top. You were still stunned when Ben tore back inside. His green eyes were wide, his brows furrowed as he took in the state of you on the floor with the broken table.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, though he bent down to help you up. He checked you for injuries, but both of you found nothing. 

“I’m okay,” you said, a bit shakily. “I tripped, that’s all.”

Ben’s brows raised as he looked from you to the shards of the table. He knocked on the wood surface. 

“Cheap piece of shit. Where’d you get this thing?” he asked. 

You flickered at a smile and admitted, “IKEA.”

Ben shook his head. “We really need to broaden your palate.”

You insisted you were all right. But he insisted, without words, on checking you over again. His hands brushed down your shoulders and arms, your hands and neck.

He held your face in his hands, and he let out a deep sigh. You just smiled up at him, though inside, you were hiding a bit of worry yourself. 

That table hadn’t been cheap. It was solid pine wood. 

But Ben seemed to believe you. He also seemed a bit exasperated. 

“I should just layer you up in goddamn bubble wrap. The way you find ways to break yourself is beyond me,” he muttered. Your lips pursed. 

“I resent that—”

“I’m sure you fucking do.”

“Besides,” you said, a smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth. “What a pain in the ass would it be to unwrap me?” 

Ben huffed, even as his hands traveled down to wrap around your waist and pull you in close. 

“True,” he smirked. “You’re already a pain in the ass as it is.” 

You opened your mouth to mount an indignant protest, but he shut you up the only surefire way he knew how. His kiss was swift, deep, and left you humming into his mouth in surprise. 

But you soon pulled back, brushing a thumb along his chin. “We’ve got to clean up this mess. And…did you get the potatoes?”

Ben thought for a moment, but then his mouth firmed into a line. 

“Shit,” he muttered, and released you to run back to the grill. 

That night, you stood barefooted in your nightgown and took a moment alone in the bathroom to breathe. And to think. And to test the strength in your hands, by bending one of Ben’s metal wrenches like it was a useless paper straw. 

Okay, now you were panicking a bit. 

What the fuck? you thought. You had only ever experienced super strength when you were on V24 (which you had not taken, let alone the permanent stuff). 

But…if you thought about it, there had been one other time when you had felt this strong. And it had been when you were in the hospital, almost two years ago, after Vought Tower collapsed. You’d needed a surgery you might not have lived through. It was Ben’s actions that had saved you…after he donated his blood.

Unless he was somehow giving you transfusions without you knowing, there was only one other possibility you could think of for Ben’s DNA to somehow be in your system…

Holy shit, you thought. And you sat down on the closed toilet. Hard. Enough to dislodge a decorative dish that was perched on a shelf behind you. You gasped, but weren’t able to catch it before it hit the ground loudly. You winced and picked it up, even as you heard Ben’s steps approaching the bathroom. 

“You okay?” he asked predictably, through the closed door.

“Fine!” you said, your voice too high. You cleared your throat and tried to normalize your voice. “I’m fine, just dropped something.”

“Christ. You going for a record today?” he remarked. 

You rolled your eyes. 

A few minutes later, you finished in the bathroom and tried to act as normal as possible as you slid into bed next to your boyfriend. He was watching TV, but he glanced over at you. You knew he was silently assessing you, seeing if you were really okay. 

You gave him a smile and leaned over for a goodnight kiss. You attempted to be chaste, but he deepened it. He slid an arm around your waist and tilted his head, slipping his tongue between the seam of your lips. 

You welcomed him at first…but a tremor of warning flashed in your mind, along with the persistent thought that had followed you from the bathroom.

Should I tell him? 

You didn’t know why your inclination was to hold it in. There very well could be something wrong with you. But if your suspicions were true, then you wanted confirmation first. 

“What’s the matter?” Ben asked. He’d pulled back, sensing your distraction. You came back to yourself.

“Nothing, just tired,” you said, stroking his chest over his shirt. 

Ben looked into your eyes, his face more or less stoic. You saw the way he was trying to get a read on you though, like he didn’t quite believe you. You couldn’t blame him, but you could be very convincing when you needed to be.

He eventually nodded, letting you turn away from him to slip under the covers. Even though you felt the sting of your lie tingling unpleasantly down your spine. 

You met Dr. Tonya Baker at her office in the Supe Affairs building. She’d been Vought’s top scientist, up until last year. After Stan Edgar’s death and the company’s collapse, the CIA recruited Dr. Baker. 

You didn’t like her. Nor did you trust her, exactly, but she had assisted Dr. Vogelbaum when Becca Butcher came to him with a unique problem. Now, Dr. Baker was the only one left with the knowledge and resources to advise you.

And she was able to confirm your suspicions. She came back with lab results while you sat up on an examining table. 

“You’re eleven weeks pregnant,” she informed you. 

Even though you’d been somewhat expecting it, suspicion and knowing were very different things. You took in a shaking breath, and through your shock, you were smiling. Happy, and even relieved.

Until Dr. Baker spoke again. 

“The super strength is probably temporary. A side effect of the fetus’s genetics. But, it’s also advantageous for you,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “This makes it much more likely that you’ll survive the birth.”

Your breath ceased at that thought, not to mention her clinical delivery. 

“Always with that delightful bedside manner, Doctor,” you quipped. All of a sudden, you were feeling lightheaded. 

Or maybe you were just freaking the fuck out. 

When you got home that evening after work, Ben watched you. 

He knew something was off with you the second you walked through the door, pale and pensive. Still, you flashed him a greeting and a smile that didn’t reach your eyes on your way to the bedroom. 

So he followed you. And the fact that you didn’t even notice, even flinched when he dropped a hand on your shoulder, told him that you were more than just distracted. The last straw was when you walked into the dresser while glancing back at him. You hissed and shook out your sandle-clad foot. 

Now, you were injury prone at the best of times, but this was a bit much, Ben thought. 

“Geez, I didn’t even hear you,” you said, trying at a chuckle. “Normally you thud around in those combat boots like an elephant. We’re lucky no one lives below us—”

“What’s the matter with you?” Ben asked. He was never one to beat around the bush. 

Your eyes widened a fraction; unease crept down your spine, but you gave him a quirk of your brow. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You fucking heard me,” he said. His gaze was hunter green, serious, and focused down on you.

“I’m fine, Ben—”

“No,” he snapped. “There’s something off with you.” 

You bit your lower lip. It seemed your boyfriend knew you better than you thought. You’d had a plan though. You had wanted to wait until you had a moment to shake off your anxiety and focus on the good when you sat him down this evening.

But you should’ve known better. Ben was remarkably impatient, even when he didn’t know what he was in for. 

And he got tired of waiting for your answer. 

He changed tactics, reaching for your arms. His grip was firm, but gentle in brushing his thumbs back and forth across your skin. His mouth was in a line, and you caught the concern hiding under his furrowed brows. 

“What’s so bad you can’t tell me?” he asked. 

You looked up into his eyes. Despite yourself, you had to smile. I’m not playing fair, you realized. 

“Okay, come ‘ere,” you said. You took his hand and led him to sit with you on the bed. Pulling his hand between both of yours into your lap, you sighed and thought about how you were going to say this. 

After a moment, you got a burst of inspiration. You held up a waiting finger to him and went into the closet to pull out one of your 25-pound hand weights. It might as well have weighed a pound, for how light it felt. You brought it back to the bed, and Ben stared back at you quizzically. 

“So…I didn’t get that table from IKEA,” you confessed. “It was solid wood, and I really did break straight through it.”

He rose a brow. “All right…”

You then showed him your newfound strength, by breaking the hand weight in half with your bare hands. His eyes widened, making you giggle a bit. You deposited both metal heads into his hands. He considered them, then you. His brows were knitting together even tighter. 

“What the hell—”

“Remember when you donated blood for me, when I was laid up in the hospital a couple years ago?” you asked. “I got your super strength for a day or two afterwards.”

Ben nodded. You had been a bit more than laid up, but semantics, he guessed. He was getting more confused by the moment. 

“Well this time, I’m told it’s also temporary…for the next seven months or so,” you said with a playful smile. 

Ben considered your words. He turned them back and forth in his head… 

Finally, his gaze flicked from yours to the broken weights in his hands. And he tossed them to the floor with a heavy thud on the hard wood. 

You giggled in earnest when he reached for your face with both hands. His eyes searched yours for any hint of a joke, his jaw tight and working. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?” he asked. His voice was a hint unsteady. You smiled bright and covered his hands with your own as the beginnings of tears stung in your eyes. 

“Not this time,” you said. “Ben, I’m pregnant.” 

It took him a moment to register your words. You saw the moment it all finally set in, with new realization etching into his features.

Never once had you seen this man tear up. He turned his face away, but you still caught the edges of his emotion. 

You reached for his bearded cheek, turning him back to you. His eyes were red and starting to shine, even though he was fighting it. A muscle in his jaw clenched, and then eased.

After a beat, his hands moved down from your face to brush down your arms, down your sides and around your frame. He pulled you into his lap, for which you went willingly into his arms. And your tears fell in earnest when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You knew what this meant to him, but you still couldn’t help but prod at him.

“Are you happy?” you teased, rubbing his back. Ben huffed and brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes. 

“What do you think?” he countered.  

Your hand moved down to slip under his shirt, gliding over the taut muscles in his back as they responded to your touch. You met him with a small smirk. 

“Show me,” you challenged. 

His lips quirked; that was all the encouragement he needed. Ben’s hands moved to tangle in your hair and squeeze the curve of your waist, bringing you flush against him when he kissed you. You inhaled deeply. Your nails dragged up his back, applying some pressure that made his shoulders twitch. 

You didn’t know what your newfound strength felt like to him, but for Ben, you felt solid in a way you hadn’t before. He could let go of some of his self-control and knead your hips with a force beyond bruising.

He could veer away from your lips and raze down your neck, and give your shoulder a love bite that would’ve drawn blood. Now it didn’t even break your skin. It did, however, earn him a pleased gasp. 

Maybe he’d just have to keep knocking you up, he thought. So you’d always be this strong.  

You started rucking up his shirt first, and had to push him back to even get it off him. After that, all bets were off.

It was a mad scramble to shed each other’s clothes, with Ben not being able to get away with his usual manhandling. Your smile grew, as you now had the strength to literally push back and make him work a bit harder for it.  

He smirked up at you when you managed to take him by surprise and push him back onto the bed. You’d successfully bared him for your gaze, but you still had your bra and panties on as you climbed over him and straddled his lap. 

Ben held himself up with a hand on the bed as the other slid around your waist and hooked you in. You took his face in your hands and gave him the full force of your passion.

Your lips claimed his in a devouring kiss, teeth clicking and tongues dueling for dominance. And you ground down your clothed core against his rising length, earning his groan of appreciation into your mouth.

With a flick of his wrist, your bra strap snapped off in the back. You huffed, knowing he’d probably broken the clasp.

Ah well, I’m about to need new ones soon enough.

The thought made you smile against his lips. You let him pull the bra down your arms and wherever he decided to fling it off to. You thought he might start traveling down between your breasts, as was a favorite path of his to map out.

But then, in one smooth motion Ben had you flipped over onto your back. He grinned at your yelp of surprise, but he didn’t give you a chance to recover. He latched onto your neck again, this time on the other side as he scraped his beard and teeth across your skin.

Meanwhile, you moaned encouragements in his ear while his heavy hand squeezed one of your breasts, rolled a thumb over a pert nipple. 

You trailed your hands down his chest, soothing over golden tan skin and freckles and sculpted muscle until you reached his hard length. You earned a straining grunt from your man as you teased the sensitive flesh, a thumb circling over its weeping head. 

Ben grabbed your wrist and gave you a warning look. “Can’t let me fucking concentrate, huh?”

You just grinned and took his hand instead. You dragged it down your body until you guided his fingers into your underwear, between your wet folds. 

“Ben, I need you,” you said. But your need was already in your eyes. Your skin was on fire wherever he touched, and deep inside, where you burned for him most. 

Ben felt it in your iron grip on his hand, now almost as strong as his own. Your legs curled up his thighs to wrap around his hips, teasing him with the soft promise between your inner thighs. So how could he do anything else but give you what you wanted? 

He teased between your folds with his fingers first. Gathering some of your wetness, he circled over your clit firmly. You whimpered as your back arched in response. 

“Gonna sing for me, baby doll?” he teased. Your breathing became more labored as his fingers continued to play with you, but you managed to offer a small smirk. 

“You gonna make me?” you asked. “Think you need to bring out the big guns for that one.”

Ben chuckled. As usual, you were being a little shit. 

So he brought you to the edge of your release, just with his fingers. You were starting to squeeze them tight with your inner walls, your moans getting more urgent. But he withdrew his digits at the last moment, leaving you panting and confused.

“What…”

He smirked down at you and wrapped his slick fingers around his cock, stroking himself a few times. You watched him with expectant, hungry eyes.  

“You want the big guns, I’ll fucking give ‘em to you,” he said. It made you huff, but you had to smile as he returned to you. He hooked his fingers on the hem of your panties and slowly, torturous, he pulled them down your legs.

Those same hands then traveled back up, gliding across your skin with purpose. Your breath shallowed in anticipation.

He eventually gripped your hips, pushing your thighs up a bit farther, and you lined his cock to your entrance. Your heels dug into his ass and added a bit of force when he pushed inside you. And your moans tangled together along with your bodies.

You fairly pulsed inside, and he felt it in your inner walls wrapped so fucking tight around him. His forehead briefly fell to your shoulder. Even though you were panting for breath, you still soothed him, carding your fingers through his hair. 

Normally he’d be going off at a relentless clip by now. But Ben started slow, rolling his hips back and forth into yours at a steady rhythm that managed to take your breath away and make your toes curl.

His name fell from your lips, reverent and pleased. You felt every part of him as he plunged inside you, and it was incredibly fucking hot.  

He took a moment to meet your eyes. He gave you a grin that softened the hard edges that so often lined his face in times like this. And you realized then what was happening.

Ben didn’t do slow. Not for long anyway. But it seemed like he’d taken your challenge to heart. In fact, you had a feeling he was showing you what he couldn’t quite put into words. 

When he reached a hand to part your folds and circle two insistent finger pads around your clit, you couldn’t help but grip his arms tight enough to bruise him. Your mouth opened on a keening moan.

Combined with his deep strokes starting to brush all the right spots inside you, it had you squeezing on him from the inside as you came hard, and made it known in his ear.

“Fuck—” Ben’s brows furrowed as your release finally triggered his own. And his voice joined yours, muffling in the pillow under your head. You shuddered as he spilled deep inside you. 

Your arms came around his back and held him to you for a moment afterwards, just stroking his back, his shoulders, his neck, whatever you could reach while you both caught your breath.

Eventually, Ben’s lips found your neck. You felt the shape of his smile grow there. 

“Too bad you’re already knocked up, or that could’ve been a great way to bring in our second kid,” he remarked.

This time, it took a second for his words to click together in your mind. As soon as they did, you uttered a laugh that shook both of your frames. You swatted his ass in reproach. He smirked down at you.

“I can't with you,” you said. Though you were still giggling. “You’re just gonna have to wait for the first one to come out of the oven.” 

Ben’s smirk evened out into a grin, his face almost boyish in his glee.

“Well, what can I say, baby? You’re a damn good cook.”  

AN: 😂 Well then. What did you think of how she broke the news? And Ben's reaction to finding out he's finally going to be a dad? 🥹

But of course, it's not going to be all sunshine and roses in Part 2. The reader and Ben reveal the good news to her family, and as we all know, he's hoping for a son...

Next Time:

“Hey,” she said. “You know how much I care about you, right?”

“And where’s this going?” you quipped. But you turned around and gave your little sister a half-smile. You knew what she was about to say.

“So what are you going to do about that?” she asked, gesturing to your man in the kitchen. “Mr. Macho wants his prized stud. What happens if he doesn’t get him?”

You sighed. “Ben’s wanted this for a long time. He’s got an idea in his head of what it’s going to be like, and…we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Keep reading: PART 2

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[nhlclover]

𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 | 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

summary: after breaking up with luke, you realize that he wasn’t just another boy.

warnings: drinking, throwing up, cursing, sad girl behaviour

word count: 1.2k

The smooth tequila rolls right down your throat as you slam the shot glass back on the bar top. You recognize that you’ve hit your limit when the alcohol didn’t even burn when going down.

You were a mess. Everyday following your breakup with Luke, you’d been a mess. He’d made a mess of you.

You’d tried to wash your hands of him, going to a bar every other night, but not even the strongest spirits could rid you of his. He seemed to haunt you, with bits of your relationship coming back every time you were out.

“Why does every bar play this damn song?” You groan, dropping your head to the sticky wood.

The sound of French Montana fills the room. Unforgettable initially started as a joke between you and Luke, as it was a song that tended to play in every space the two of you went together. On the radio during drives and in restaurants on date nights.

Eventually, it became your guys' song. Anytime you heard the song, you thought of your boyfriend ex-boyfriend.

“Y/n, love is a lie.” Yasmina said.

You’d heard those words countless times over the past couple of weeks. It was something of a mantra you and your friends lived by.

“I know, I know! I’ve always been able to move on so easily.” You say. “But with him… with Luke it just… hits different.”

You drop your head back to the table, feeling the tears well in your eyes. The tears seemed to come anytime you were reminded of Luke, which was proven to be often. The last few weeks had been hell for you, reeling from a love you never intended to have.

“Y/n please don’t tell me you’re crying again?” Tasha groaned.

“I just…” You heaved. “Miss him.”

A hand rubs across your back, offering sympathy and comfort. “I need another shot.” You declare.

Your friends shoot each other concerned looks but you’ve already flagged down the bartender and ordered another shot of tequila.

The new alcohol that enters your system leads to more rambling about Luke.

“They say that if it’s right, you know, right? If breaking up with Luke was the right thing, I’d know. In my soul.” You mumble. “But it feels so fucking wrong!!”

Your friends let you babble on for a few more minutes before Yasmina decides your night is done. She takes care of your tab while Tasha calls for a cab. She guides you out of the front doors and onto the sidewalk, keeping your stumbling frame steady.

Suddenly your mind is filled with images of Luke, holding another girl in his arms. You pictured him loving another girl the way he loved you; gently, but fearless enough that he’d fight you when you were being stubborn.

You’re not sure if it is the thought of Luke with other girls or simply the copious amount of alcohol you’d consumed so far, but the contents of your stomach spill out and onto the street.

Tasha holds back your hair, another wave of nausea coming over you. You wipe your mouth, straightening up. Your friend gazes at you, a look of pity painted on her face.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You pout.

She sighs. “It’ll get better, hon.” She says. You slump down to the sidewalk, setting yourself on the curb.

You prayed she was right.

Tasha says a silent thank you as the cab pulls up in front of you guys. “Okay missy, go home and sleep this off, okay?”

She guides you into the back of the cab, setting you down on the seat.

“I miss Luke.” You slur. The door slams shut beside you and the driver pulls away from the curb.

The drive back to your apartment was filled with silent tears. You’d ruined yet another evening with your grieving. It probably wasn’t long till they stopped inviting you to the bars, your sadness being too contagious for them.

The cab pulls up outside your apartment. You stumble out of the cab and up the stairs inside. You haphazardly toss your keys to the counter, teetering to the bedroom.

Your bedroom reflected the way you felt. Messy. Clothes were thrown around the floor, your bedding remaining unfolded and rather in a clump on the mattress. Luke’s hoodie was on the corner of the bed. It no longer felt like his hoodie, but rather yours. He’d given it to you early on, before you were even dating. His smell was long gone from it, now replaced with your perfume.

The little pieces of Luke you refused to throw away or give back were scattered around your messy room. Everywhere you looked in your room you were reminded of him.

The hat you knew sat on the top shelf in your closet was like a beacon, calling your name. You opened the closet door, seeing it sitting atop the box that contained mementos from your relationship. The God awful Yankees hat that Luke always wore taunted you. It reminded you of all the little things in your relationship.

You grabbed the box, taking it to your bed and carefully peeling the lid off as if something was going to jump out at you. Right at the top was a photo of you and Luke, still in his game day equipment from his first game as a part of the New Jersey Devils.

Underneath are a series of birthday cards, photos, and various ticket stubs from Devils games that you’d attended. With each artifact you pull out, the tears intensify until your vision is reduced to a blurry mess.

Mentally, you cursed the space that you asked Luke for. There was a lot of uncertainty in your life, with having recently graduated and needing to find a full time job in your chosen field. You felt overwhelmed and confused, leading to you having doubt in your relationship. Luke tried to convince you to stay, but you didn’t listen.

You asked for space and he listened. You hadn’t seen him in just over a month and it has been the hardest month you’d ever been through.

You couldn’t understand why you were still hurting. It wasn’t like you to still be caught up on something you ended.

The sudden sound of keys jingling in the door pulled you out of your daze. There was only one other person who had a copy of your keys. The door clicks open and shut, the sound of shoes shuffling through the apartment. Your bedroom door creaks open, Luke’s head popping in the doorway.

He takes in your sad sight, you with tear filled eyes, bundled up in blankets with mementos of your relationship scattered around the sheets.

He wastes no time in joining your side, curling up next to you. You slide right into your arms like they were built to hold you. The tears don’t stop, if anything they fall harder now that Luke was holding you.

It takes you a minute to calm down, finally speaking after a couple of minutes. “I was wrong.” You croak. “I was so so wrong, Luke.”

He shushes you, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. You look up to him, his hair inviting you to run your hands through it like you once did. His eyes look back into yours, carrying pity undoubtedly for you and the state he left you in.

You chuckle looking away and peeling yourself from his arms. “I’m such a mess.” You say.

Luke reaches back for you, pulling you back in. “Shut up, you're beautiful.” He says.

You slot in between his legs, his arms finding their natural spot.

“You still melt my world, dream girl.” He whispers.

[octuscle]

Hi, im a 19 yo nerd, yesterday some kids wre playing with a soccer ball in front of my house, the ball got into the garden of my house and when i threw it out, i didnt nlticed i threw it a bit far and it arrived into the house across the street, breaking a window, the neighbor, a single man, came to my house and told my parents what i did, he demands i repair the window by myself, i dont know how to do that, can you give me a little help?

First of all, you do what you do best. You sit down at your computer. Enter "repair soccer window" into Google. A lot of things come up that won't help you at all. Care tips for footballs. And advertisements for household contents and liability insurance. The soccer care thing doesn't look very helpful, but it might be interesting.

Shit, you can waste a lot of time on the Internet very quickly. After half an hour, you're back to the current and upcoming match day in the Premier League. But you still don't know anything about repairing windows. "Repairing windows". Perhaps it would help to remove soccer from the search query. It doesn't matter why the window is broken. It just needs to be repaired.

Now we're getting closer to the point. Lots of tutorials on youtube. Surely there's something there. Unfortunately, you don't even know what kind of window is broken. And what exactly is broken. Damn, just how many different types of window panes there are. You can find an article about German windows. They have a lot of damn cool features. I wonder if that would be a market to sell and install German ones here. What this tilt function is supposed to do is still not clear to you. But these shutters on the windows are hot shit. You'd like to install something like that at your parents' house.

You're guaranteed not to install something from Schüco for a few thousand dollars in your neighbor's house… You're assuming that your neighbor will have vertical sliding windows in most of the rooms, just like you do. Probably made of aluminum. A shame, really. Horizontal sliding windows made of wood with glazing bars would fit the character of the house much better.

Haven't you ever worked for your neighbor? You must still have plans and views from the street side. Or at least a photo. Yes, here. Where were you standing again? How hard did you throw the ball? What was the wind like? Just because you did an apprenticeship as a carpenter doesn't mean you're stupid. So it's probably the window of the study on the second floor. Yes, it must have been rotten, you can see that quite clearly in the photo. Just replacing the glass won't help much.

Nowadays, working on the computer is half the battle. Calculating material requirements, programming saws for cutting. And downloading some porn in between. Hehehe, unlike your father, you don't need to hang up raunchy calendars in the workshop anymore. Your father is hardly ever seen here anyway. It's no longer his world. In his day, a carpenter needed a hammer and a saw, he used to say. Old man, those days are long gone.

Before you start, you went to your neighbor's house across the street. Real life is sometimes more reliable than virtual life. But it was the right window, you measured it again with your laser measuring device. You had miscalculated by a few millimeters. You are a craftsman with passion and dedication. You don't mess around. You deliver precision work.

"Mr. T, better than before my throw," you say with a grin. But it's the pure truth. But you know exactly why your neighbor insisted that you carry out the repair. He'll do anything to get you to fix things in his house. And when no more chairs tip over and no more doors squeak, you'll take care of Mr. T. yourself.

He asks if you can have a look at the shower after the window. While you take off your dungarees, you say that you are a carpenter and not a plumber. You will probably need help. You don't have to ask Mr. T for long.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

WHAT? I live 20 min. from Edgewater, NJ where this home is. It's right on the Hudson River across from NYC (hence, the name Edgewater). Not only is this a flipper's unfinished project, but he's made a complete mess of it. And, he wants $1.388M for an unfinished, messed-up 4bd, 3ba home?

First of all, he's calling this clearly older home a 2023 construction, and records show that he only paid $375K for it! This guy's delulu.

The front door lock & handle are crooked.

Okay, so the entrance has to be fixed, including the floor.

I'm confused w/all this big furniture. Is he trying to add the sunporch to the living room?

What is happening here? It looks like he tried to combine the entrance hall with the living room, including the sun porch, b/c the rooms were probably very small.

There's no kitchen, so the new owner will have to do a complete kitchen. He made a ceiling, though. I don't know if the windows are good.

He made a bathroom off the kitchen. The wood frames around the windows are rotted.

Needs new window in the bath.

Oh, this is a disaster. He ruined all of this tile. Yikes! This has to come down, I don't know if it can be saved.

He put in a digital thermostat.

There are no floors in the house and the stairs aren't done.

The bedrooms are very small. After a new owner pays him over $1M and does all the reno, the cost of this house would go way up and it wouldn't be worth it.

So, he's got a small closet in this bedroom.

This must be a larger closet in the primary bedroom.

What a tiny shower. Oh, that's not gonna work. It looks silly.

There's no property to speak of. This house has no patio, this is just where you come down the back stairs. He tried to make it a patio w/all this ridiculously large furniture.

Look at this chair right next to the stairs to the basement.

The property line may end at the wall, according to the property map below, but I can't be sure.

I don't think that the property behind it belongs to the house, either, it looks like another street, so the line probably would end at the wall.

He includes a beautiful view of the NYC skyline, here, through a small hole in the trees. When the leaves fall, you may see more.

https://www.zillow.com/homes/332-Undercliff-Ave-Edgewater,-NJ-07020_rb/37882876_zpid/?

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Feast

07/25/2024

Pairing: Vampire!Hozier x reader

Word Count: 7,286

Warnings: vampire au, language, alcohol, blood, blood sucking, thoughts about unaliving oneself, fingering, light choking, oral (f receiving), penetration (also the reader is female and has hair covering their neck)

Summary: You had heard rumours about the man living in the old mansion down Hollows Lane. Gruesome ones. Enticing ones. Little did you know they were all true.

A/N: I blame hoztwt and my undying vampire kink for this.

Picture found on Pinterest

If you enjoy my story, liking is great, but leaving a comment or reblogging is the stuff that keeps me going. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

 There were rumours about the man living down Hollows Lane. Gruesome ones. The first time you had heard them, you had laughed out loud. A simple prank, you had thought, gone by the end of the month. But they just did not stop. 

There were also other rumours. Enticing ones. The man was a seducer, they said, a master of his art, and he knew how to have a good time. You had heard women gushing about his talent, about how they had never been satisfied like that before. It was almost too good to be true. Especially since all he wanted in return was a tasty meal. 

A small price to pay if the rumours about his unearthly qualities were true. And as soon as the thought had manifested in your mind, your ears picked up the deep roll of thunder in the distance. A warning, maybe. Probably not. Still it was enough to make you trip and stumble a few steps forward. With a deep breath you steadied yourself, pressing the basket of food you carried to your chest. Just one more turn, one more road to walk down. You could already make out the roof of the grand mansion at the far end. There was a whisper, carried on the breeze, as if it was calling you, a ridiculous thought, you chided yourself, but still your feet had picked up their pace again, the determined clicking of your heels on the pavement the only noise in the lamplit street. 

Finally you reached the iron gate and its signature creak brought back memories from the first time you had walked up to his doorstep. You had been so nervous, almost dying inside from anticipation and anxiety alike. 

You had no idea how this was supposed to work. All you had was some kind of code word you were expected to say to him. 

The large door knocker felt heavy and ice cold as you lifted it and brought it down three times. For a long while, almost an eternity, nothing happened, and you were about to turn around and leave when finally the dark wood in front of you moved. And there he was. He was even more beautiful than the women had described and you doubted there were words in any language to do the looks of this man justice. 

“Can I help you?”

He just stood there, waiting, glancing down at you as he towered in the doorway, but that was all it took to stun you into complete silence. Your mouth felt utterly dry, your tongue too heavy to move even if the code was short and easy to remember. 

“Are you quite well?”

At least you managed to nod and that seemed to please him somehow. 

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you blurted out, your brain happy to start with something simple. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

He held out his hand to you and you took it without hesitation. It was soft and warm and his touch almost had you miss out on the moment when he drew in a sharp breath, his upper lip quivering strangely, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared and soon you doubted whether it had been real or just a product of your shell-shocked brain.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Yes! I mean, no. I—” One eyebrow shooting up, he observed you carefully as you stumbled across your own words. “I’m sorry. I am so nervous and I have no idea how this works.”

“I can see that,” he chuckled. “But there is no need to be nervous. Just tell me the words and you’ll be fine.”

His green eyes were so calming as they seemed to stare right into your soul. It should have worried you, should it not, that he seemed to be able to glance at the deepest, most well-hidden parts of you so easily, but instead you felt yourself relax under his gaze. 

“Carpe noctem,” you finally managed to pipe up.

“Good girl.”

His voice was low and raspy and you felt your walls tighten around agonising nothingness upon his words. He smirked, knowing full well what he was doing to you already and as much of a warning signal this should have been, it turned you on beyond reason. 

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” You shook your head. “And the rest of this will be just as easy, I promise. All you need to do is be back here on Saturday, exact same time. Dress to your liking, I want you to feel as comfortable as possible. And bring all the ingredients to your favourite meal.”

You nodded mechanically.

“Are you sure you got it?”

“Got it.”

Gosh, why were you like this? Why could you not just be chill about this? You were embarrassing yourself in front of a man who would supposedly shag the brains out of you this Saturday if one could trust the rumours in this town for once. He on the other hand seemed completely unfazed, maybe even enjoying your flustered state, telling from the satisfied smile on his face. 

“Okay, see you on Saturday, then,” you were quick to end this torment, even waving stupidly at him as if you had not already done enough to traumatise yourself. But he was just as quick as he caught your wrist mid-air, a movement too fast for your eyes to catch up and he did not even allow you a second to blink before you found yourself pressed up against his body, one arm slung around the small of your back to keep you in place. 

“Goodbye, angel,” he whispered, his breath mingling with yours in the tiny space that was left between your mouths, a space he was keen to erase completely as he leaned in. His kiss was featherlight, making you doubt once more whether this was actually happening or if his lips on yours were just another product of your delusional mind. All you knew was that it made your knees weak and you were very thankful that he was still tightly holding you. 

Even more so as a sharp sting shook you from your hazy state. Your lip. And the distinctive metal taste of blood. 

“What the hell was that?” you hissed in irritation, two fingers finding your lip and as you pulled them away, the dark red liquid was shimmering in the eerie light of the evening.

“Just a little appetiser.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him off, but once again you found yourself rendered speechless by this man. And he knew how to use your petrified state as a strong hand wrapped around yours, holding the fingers laced with blood in place, and then his mouth opened to take them in, licking them clean as he stared right into your eyes from underneath those impossibly long lashes. 

“Can’t wait for Saturday to come.”

You did not know how often you had gone over this scene in your head these past days. It made you shiver, every time, but even more than that, it made you want him, to a point that you started to question your sanity because you knew you would never find peace again if you did not have him. Just once. 

And so you had done exactly as he had told you. You had come back, Saturday, same time, wearing your favourite dress and heels, both red like your lipstick. The outfit was not really comfortable as he had suggested, but no other item of clothing in your wardrobe managed to make you feel yourself as much as this. And god knew you could use as much confidence as you were able to muster. 

In your hand you carried a basket full of ingredients for your meal, no matter how odd his request still seemed to you. Why would anyone see a self-made meal as a fitting price for…well…for what he was about to give you in return? Living in a home like that, he surely was wealthy enough to afford a cook if he did not want to prepare his own meals. Would that not be much easier and less risky than having to eat a surprise dish from someone who did not know half the time what they were doing? Maybe he had some weird food kink or it got him off to watch other people work for him. 

Whatever it was, he left you no time to think about the matter further as the door suddenly swung open. Your hand was still hovering awkwardly mid-air since you had just been reaching for the knocker. And it stayed there for a moment longer, your nervous system sent into overdrive as you took him in.

He was even more radiant in his gloom tonight, if that made any sense at all, but there were no better words to describe the pull he had on you. He was dressed in all black, jeans, denim jacket and shirt, which conveniently was not buttoned up to the collar, thus allowing a fine view of his fluffy chest. Different to your first meeting, he had decided to pull half of his hair back in a ponytail, allowing the rest of his curls to fall freely around his shoulders. He might have trimmed his beard a little as well, but you could not tell for sure, the memory of your last encounter still a bit blurry around the edges. 

But all that seemed secondary when he fished your hand out of its weird position and brought it to his lips for a gallant kiss.

“You’re back.” He was beaming, his eyes so full of joy that you almost believed he had doubted you would return. “Come in.”

He still held your hand, making a welcoming gesture with the other, waiting patiently for you to step inside. Another thunder rumbled through the night, louder this time, and you hurried to cross the doorstep. With a heavy thud, the door of the old mansion fell shut behind you, causing a violent shiver to run down your spine. And you could not help but feel like red riding hood in your dress, who had just entered the wolf’s den, fully knowing he would devour her. 

“Welcome to my home.”

And what a home it was. Dark wood and old carpets dominated the place, staircases wound their way upwards elegantly, leading to even more rooms that seemed wasted on one inhabitant alone. Oil paintings decorated the walls, portraits as well as landscape scenes of places far and near, and here and there antiques caught the eye, collector’s pieces, possibly, or family memorabilia, passed down from generation to generation. And as if that had not been enough to remind you of those old gothic movies, the whole house seemed to be covered in a sheen of gloomy, flickering light, as if it was solely lit by candles. But of course that was ridiculous, nobody sane would rely on candles today instead of electricity. It must be some of those ultra-realistic LED candles that sat on the chandeliers and candelabras you passed by on your way as he lead you deeper into his lair.

To your great relief his kitchen was up to modern standards, at least far more modern than the rest of the house seemed to be and you thanked the heavens for that. Even the thought of having to cook in a kettle over an open fire doubled your nervousness in an instant. 

You did not speak much as you went to work, but you knew you had his full attention. You could feel his eyes on you, observing your every move, following you around as you tried to concentrate so you would not mess up dinner. An impossible task, it seemed, but what could you do? Sending him away was rude and out of the question. This was his home, you had come here of your own free will, knowing full well the terms of this deal, and if you wanted your needs satisfied, you would satisfy his, even it meant to have your every move studied.

“Wine?” 

You almost jumped out of your skin. He was so close, his voice coming from right beside your ear. Accompanying his words, he pushed a glass of red wine into your periphery. You hummed in affirmation as you took the drink from his hand. Eagerly you set it to your lips, gulping down a swig and then another as you found it did nothing to end the sudden drought in your throat. And yet you found yourself leaning back against him the moment his hands found you. One was careful to brush away the hair from your shoulder, while the other tenderly glided up and down your arm. You felt his chest move as he inhaled deeply, bringing you even closer, letting the deep vibration of his satisfied hum take hold of you too. 

“Mouthwatering,” he concluded, and he was already pulling away, the last you felt of him the brush of his fingertips against your neck. 

He must have lied to you, a white lie, but totally unnecessary as he did not seem to intend in the least to eat the meal you had prepared for the both of you. He sat across from you at a table that felt uncomfortably large at a dinner for two, twisting a glass of wine in his hand. Yet he was neither drinking nor touching the food on his plate.

“Are you not hungry?” you inquired, already unable to hide the miffed undertone in your voice.

“I am,” he stated plainly as if your question had been obsolete, as if in fact your question was the confusing bit of this conversation and not his totally antithetic behaviour.

“Is the food not to your liking then?” you refused to let him get away with it this easily. And as you waited for his answer, your fork dashed down to impale an innocent piece of vegetable.

“It looks delicious.”

He sported a smile, totally unfazed by the message of the little stunt you had pulled. If this man intended to seduce you by giving you the full boyfriend experience, even the aggravating and irritating parts, he would be in for a surprise tonight.

“Then why don’t you eat?”

“I will.” He had just finished his statement when lightning stroke, bathing the room in its cold, white light and for a second your heart stopped in your chest. It was only an instant, but the picture of him had been distorted completely, his mouth wide open, a pair of razor-sharp fangs glistening in the eerie light. 

You did not dare to blink, and still you must have, as only a moment later, everything was back to normal, he even continued speaking as if nothing had ever happened.

“All in due time, angel.”

Angel. He had called you that before. You had no idea what about you exactly made him think this was a fitting nickname for you. You certainly did not think of yourself as a being of light, and no one else before him ever had. Not that this was a bad thing, on the contrary. But what bothered you about it was the fact that he had already chosen a term of endearment for you, while you did not even know his name. 

“Will you at least tell me your name?”

Your voice sounded awfully strange to your own ears, a mixture of pouting and whining. It never sounded like that, not even in your lowest moments. And there had been quite a few of those.

“You can call me Andrew.”

“Andrew,” you repeated, letting his name roll over your tongue as if you were testing the sound, testing what it felt like to form the name with your mouth. It was not intentionally done, but when you looked up from your plate, you found his eyes already glued to you, and the hunger reflecting in those deep green orbs made you shiver in anticipation.

An anticipation you felt now more than ever, and it was threatening to drive you to insanity as you casually flicked through his record collection after dinner, trying very hard not to let your nerves get the best of you. You had moved to the living room now, or was it his music room? You had no idea, but the piano and the record collection let you assume as much. 

“This one.”

You pulled the LP from the shelf and handed it to him. Andrew was already waiting by the record player, taking it from you. 

“Great choice,” he commented. "Unbelievably talented musician, and an exceptional woman. You would have loved her.”

“You say that as if you knew her personally.”

“I did,” he stated as he found your gaze, and not for a second did you doubt that he was telling the absolute truth, however impossible it seemed. 

“How?” 

You watched him walk over to you, and you both knew that he would not answer your question. He did not need to. But instead of taking the last way out and run, you took the hand that was already waiting for you and nothing you had done in your life before had ever felt this right. 

There was just one question left to ask, you wanted to blurt it out and get it off your chest after it had pestered you for days, but you waited until you had both sat down on the chaise longue by the window. 

“So, ehm, how is this gonna go?” You were still holding his hand, your fingers playing with his as you spoke. “Do you want me to tell you what I like?”

“No.” His voice was like velvet. “There is no need to tell me. I will know.”

“Know how?”

He slowly detangled his fingers from yours, and when his eyes found yours again, something about them had changed.

“I can sense it, your desire.” His words had distracted you, allowing his hand to move unseen. It found you, found the sensitive spot of bare skin right above your knee. He did not even have to look and had found his aim still, making you suck in a sharp breath of air as his warmth seeped into your skin, gliding higher and higher up your thigh until his hand had vanished underneath the hem of your dress completely. “I can sense what brings you pleasure.”

Your eyes must have fallen closed under his gentle caress, and yet the touch of his lips did not startle you as they found the outline of your jaw. He moved slowly, placing featherlight kiss after kiss along the path to your ear.

This was the moment. It had come at last. Time to give him his part of the bargain. And so you brushed your hair aside, craning your neck to allow him full access. 

“Not yet, angel,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, “not yet.”

Instead of the teeth you had awaited, his palm settled on the most delicate spot you had offered him. He placed it right above your pulse, claiming what was his to take whenever he desired. He could probably feel it, feel the blood rush through you, and the thought was enough to coax a soft sigh from your throat.

But your pulse against his fingertips was not the only thing he could sense. Above it all he heard it, loud and clear, the thunderous drum behind your ribs, as if your heart was waiting for the right moment to break free. That would not be necessary. There were other ways to free you.

You moaned, a sound that warmed his icy heart, and when he let his hand glide up your thigh, your legs fell open for him. He blindly followed the moist heat, his eyes never leaving your beautiful face, watching as you slowly let go. Soon you would be lost to the world, your world, and would become part of his instead. He was just about to tear the last barrier, fisting the exquisite fabric, he gave it a harsh tug and there was nothing left between you and him any more.

You were so soft, softer as the finest silk, and the moan that fell from your lips when his fingers dove in between your silky lips to spread the slick that awaited him was so sinful it almost swayed him to allow himself a little taste of you. But he knew better than that. The wait would only heighten his enjoyment. He would not let his ravenous thirst ruin that for him. 

Your head sank back as he slowly slipped inside of you, exposing even more of your neck as another sinful sound broke from your lips. This was impossible, he needed to do something, to silence you for a while until he had gathered enough strength to withstand the urge to sink his teeth into you and suck you dry. And so he pushed his thumb past your lips until he felt your tongue press against it, sucking it in deeper. 

Soon he had found the right rhythm, pumping in and out of you, crooking his fingers every now and then to brush along that sensitive spot inside of you. He loved how the stimulation made your breath hitch in your throat, how your eyelids fluttered in that tiny moment of pure pleasure. It drove him wild, to play you like that, and for a second he forgot himself, his thumb gliding out of your mouth to squeeze that frail neck of yours. 

He let go immediately when he heard your heart skip a beat, it had startled him, but your whine came instantly, eyes flying open to find his, begging him silently to do it again. And who was he to deny you your pleasure? So he squeezed again, lightly at first, then harder until your hand grabbed the collar of his jacket, your back arching as you pulled yourself closer to him. 

You were close, so close, and he wondered…Tilting your head back, he dove into the crook of your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along the prominent vein. He could taste your pulse against his tongue, taste the sweetness of his triumph as he felt your walls clenching down on his fingers. Just one more step, one more ace up his sleeve to drive you over the edge. He knew you could feel it, feel the slight sting as his fangs brushed along your neck, teasing the skin they would soon break, a promise so ardent it left you no choice but to come with a desperate shout. 

He held you as you trembled and shook, riding out your high against his fingers. You were enchanting in your rapture and it was in this very moment that he vowed to give you everything you wanted, he would cater to your wants and needs until you felt you could take no more. 

He had never understood those who got high on striking fear into the hearts of their blood donors. Fear only staled the taste, while satisfaction heightened it. All those hormones, serotonin, oxytocin, prolactin, dopamine, adrenaline, mixing to form the most delicious concoction. 

But there was something more to it. The truth was, he liked giving something back. It made him feel less guilty about what he had to do to survive. He had not really chosen this life, well, he had, but he had been young and in love and full of hope that sharing eternity with her, the one who had turned him, would be worth it. It had not even lasted a decade before she had tired of him. Apparently commitment was not only difficult for beings with a limited lifespan. 

But with her gone, everything had seemed pointless in the beginning. All the things he had given up to share this life with her, he missed them terribly. And he loathed the killing, the never ending thirst. He had thought about ending it, numerous times, but he had always found more reason to hold on. And with a few alterations of the rules, he had also found a way to make it work.

He did not kill anymore. There really was no need to. Except for the fact that there were no witnesses if he did. Still, it was possible to survive on smaller portions of blood. He needed to feed more often then, which in turn increased the risk of getting caught. And so he had come up with this transactional system over time.

It was as easy as it was effective: he gave them what they wanted, and in return he could feast. Before he let them go, he made sure to erase certain memories of the shared time, and since he was good at his side of the transaction, they came back freely.

But this right here, you, you were more than a transaction. It had been nothing but a matter of business with the others, sex was just sex, a means to get what he wanted. But for the first time in forever there was something more than hunger he wanted to sate. He wanted you, wanted a taste of what it felt like to be alive, truly alive, not just a slave to the never dying thirst. 

It had been a while, and he had been sure he had forgotten by now what it felt like, but with you, so full of life as you writhed with lust in his arms, he remembered everything. And he needed more of it.

You must have sensed it, that he was about to let go, and his punishment came promptly. “Andrew,” you whimpered, as if his absence was pure agony, and he hurried, moving with lightning speed as he disposed of his jacket and made his way down to the floor. He knelt between your legs, pushing up the red fabric to expose his next treat. He was ready to dive in, to devour you, lick you into oblivion, but the gentle touch of your hand as it cupped his cheek held him back. 

Your eyes were so soft, full of affection and he felt a sting in his chest as the thought crossed his mind that he did not deserve this. Not at all. He was merely using you and still… His lips pressed to your palm in a tender kiss. The gesture did not even remotely match the endearment your eyes held, but it would have to do, for now. 

And then you surprised him again. In the blink of an eye your eyes darkened, your hand moving into his hair, while the other pulled the red fabric even higher. And on your lips, those pillows of sinfully smeared red, formed a smile that would surely bring him to his knees if he was not already kneeling. 

Eager for the touch of his lips you pulled him the rest of the way and his mouth found you with a moan, as if you were the most exquisite he had ever tasted. But what did it matter what you were to him? To you, he was the best you had ever had, and he had not promised too much when he had claimed he would know how to please you. He did. Oh god, he did. 

Swirling his tongue, he drew small circles around your clit until tiny stars started dancing before your eyes. But he had no intention of ending this so soon, you knew, as his tongue slowly glided all the way down to your wet entrance, teasing you, just to glide back up. He repeated his sweet torture a few times, over and over, until you lost count. And just when you thought he would never stop this torment, his tongue dipped into you. Hooking his arms around your legs he pulled you closer, sinking even deeper into you. You keened, one long, drawn out cry of pure delectation. Both of your hands had vanished into his hair by now, securing him right where he was. Not that you feared he would cease his endeavour, but you needed to feel him, needed to feel that this was real and not just a fever dream, your mind caught in divine delirium.

“Andrew,” you sighed breathlessly and for a second he stilled, dark eyes staring up at you, searching intently for any signs that you wanted him to stop. But you did not. Far from it. And so his eyes dipped back down, his upper lip quivering treacherously before his tongue darted out to lick one long stripe along your crevice. He sighed, eyes falling shut as he inhaled your scent, and you could feel your walls twitch upon the ferocity of his gesture. His forehead creased, nose scrunching as he bared his teeth, the two prominent fangs now unashamedly on display, and like a savage beast he leapt forward, to devour you properly. 

“Yes, yes,” you yelped, fingers tightening in his hair and he growled against you. “You’re gonna make me—” But you did not get to finish that sentence before your orgasm washed over you in a mighty wave, drowning out everything but you and him. Completely out of control, your legs wrapped around him, locking him up in the prison of your thighs where he still worked you, fervently, until your body went limp and your legs finally released him. 

Your eyes still closed, you could feel him, his kisses on the inside of your thighs, his movement as he left his spot between your legs, slowly crawling up your body while he covered it in more kisses, your hips, your stomach, your cleavage, your neck. You held him there for a while, relishing in the feeling of his mouth right there, right where it belonged, but all too soon for your liking he pulled away. 

Your tiny whine made him chuckle, and the most beautiful of smiles still curled his lips as he resurfaced from the crook of your neck.

“Should we take a little break?”

“Never.” Your answer was finite. You did not need a break. In fact it was the last thing you needed. There was something else you needed more than anything, and your fingers had already set out to get you exactly that. Skilfully they worked, opening button after button of his shirt, revealing more of that fuzzy chest. And now it was your turn to taste him, to kiss and lick that milky white skin while you kept on freeing him from his clothes. With a moan he sank against the back rest, one hand vanishing into your hair. He did not do anything, left it all to you, let you take what you wanted in your own sweet time. It was only when you had unfastened his belt and opened his trousers that he helped you shimmy them down his long legs. You had thought he would look more vulnerable once you had completely bared him, but there was nothing vulnerable about him. He was still exuding the same predatory power you had felt the moment you had first laid eyes on him and you knew you were damned for it, but it pulled you to him like a moth to a flame. 

“Turn around for me, angel,” he ordered and you did. Kneeling on the chaise longue, back turned to him, you melted into his touch as his fingers found the hidden zipper on your side. He was in no hurry to pull it down, allowing himself to revel in every inch of your skin that came to light, dragging one finger along it, all the way down to your hip, where he gathered the fabric in both of his hands and pulled it above your head. 

In an instant his hands were back on you, exploring your body. One arm hooked around his neck, you exposed yourself even further for him, and when he finally cupped your breasts, kneading them tenderly, playing with your hardened buds, you sank back against his chest. Wedged between you, resting right between the cheeks of your behind, you could feel him, all of him. And it was more than apparent that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

Carefully your hand moved through the tiny space between your bodies until you had found him. He hissed as your fingers closed around him, teeth sinking into your shoulder as you moved, slowly, stroking him, worshipping the silky hardness until it was not enough anymore to feel him like that. 

You guided him, bending forward until you could feel the gentle press of his head against your entrance. Lazily you dragged him up and down, coating him in the juices he had so expertly coaxed from you. 

“Fuck, angel, you are so wet.”

And with that you pushed your hips back, sinking him deep. Your reward was another growl that echoed through the silence. He was quick to pull you up against him, burying his face in your hair. He just held you like that for a while, enjoying your bodies in unity, his hand right above your heart, his breath drifting through your hair and down your neck, covering you in goosebumps. 

But then he came to life, his hips moving, slowly at first, then faster, and once he had found his rhythm, you knew you were lost to him. It was perfect, just perfect, the steady rocking of his hips, his hand following the call of your sex, vanishing between your thighs, while his other still held you, trailing up your chest until it had found your throat, gently applying just the right amount of pressure. There was no way you would last long. How could you with the amount of pleasure he coaxed from you, leading you towards your next high as if he had been born for that purpose alone. 

His lips found your ear, mouth falling open to lick along the bow it formed. “Come for me, angel. I know you want to.” And while he still whispered the redeeming words, you obeyed him once more. 

You would have tumbled and fallen from the might with which your high took hold of you, but he held you tight, mumbling soft words into your ear as you moaned and sighed and mewled like a possessed woman. Softly he pulled you back with him, moving your malleable body around until he had you straddling him, your head resting against his shoulder while his hand drifted soothingly up and down your back.

You had no idea how long the two of you had been sitting like this, your hand on his chest, his heartbeat steady underneath your fingertips, calming you until the fog that had clouded your mind had cleared. 

“I always thought vampires did not have a heartbeat,” you rambled as you pushed yourself off of him. 

Andrew smiled, like a mushy drunkard, you thought, and for a second the word besotted came to mind. But of course that was just you seeing things that were not there. And he made it so easy for you, this fantasy, even reaching for you to rest his hand against your cheek. 

“There is much for you to learn then.” 

And when he pulled you in for a kiss, you did not care anymore whether this was a fantasy or reality. Like a drug, his lips drowned it all out, the doubt, the white noise in your head, and made you focus on him alone, his mouth, kissing along your jaw, down your neck, rekindling the flame that had just cooled down to a faint glimmer in a heartbeat. 

“Andrew?” He hummed against your pulse, and you had to swallow hard, forcing down a moan, before you could continue. “Will you make me come again?”

He still did not leave his favourite spot, as if you had simply asked him for the time and not to fuck you again. “If that is what you want.”

It was. It was all you wanted, all you could think of right now. And since he made no inclination to give you what you wanted anytime soon, you reached for him. With a gasp you found him, still hard and ready for you. And as you guided him once more to where you needed to feel him, you told him about something else you wanted, something you longed for even more than for your next high. 

“I want you to come with me this time.” Your words finally made his mouth still, his head slowly coming back to light as you continued, “I want to feel it, want to feel you, deep inside, pulsing in your rapture.”

A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and there was something about his eyes that made you want to run, something wild, something carnal, something you could taste on his tongue as he pulled you in for another kiss, deep and searing, while he pushed up inside you in one sleek thrust. You pulled away in a gasp, panting heavily as you stared down at him. He had the audacity to smirk, his eyes darkening with every passing second.

“Go on then, angel. Make me come.”

As he spoke, his hands had grabbed your hips. He was guiding you now, the roll of your pelvis against his, just for a while, until he trusted you had overcome your surprise. And when you moved on your own, you could feel his hands wandering up the length of your back. His tenderness was misleading, your suspicion proven right as he dragged them back down harshly, his nails surely leaving trails in their wake. You keened upon the unexpected sensation, your head lulling back. And it seemed this was the moment he had been waiting for all along. Immediately his head dove down to your chest to claim his reward, sucking in your nipple like a starved man.

You felt as if you were falling, tumbling through the air while he kept on ravaging you. In a desperate attempt to save yourself, to grab onto something for dear life, your fingers found his hair again. You pulled and still he did not budge, tormenting your soft flesh until you were betrayed by your own body and he was rewarded with an unhinged twitch around his length. 

“It feels so good,” he moaned, and then it seemed you were not the only one who found herself betrayed by her own body when he confessed, “You feel so good.” 

And while you were still soaring on his declaration, however insignificant it might have been, he hit that one spot inside of you that made you clench even more violently than before. He moaned again, a low, guttural sound that made you quiver, and when your eyes locked with his, another smirk had found its way onto his lips. Like a bloodhound he had locked onto that spot that made you dizzy with desire, sending those tiny shocks through your body with every hit, they spread and pulsed, crawling along your skin until you could feel the racing beat of your heart underneath the thin layer of skin that covered your neck. 

He must have felt it too, one arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, while he used his free hand to brush away every last strand of hair from your shoulder. His gaze found you once more, and now the hunger was more apparent than ever, wafting through the dark pools of green, mixing, until they had lost all colour and you stared into pure darkness. 

Giving permission was easier than you had thought, it felt natural to nod, to watch his fangs grow to full size once he knew you did not oppose, to feel him grow inside you at the same time, and just as his teeth broke through your skin, he came, giving you everything he had while he took what he needed in return. 

You had feared it would be painful, but all you felt was pure bliss as he feasted on you, as he stilled the craving that he must have felt all night, stilled it on you. And as you gave yourself to him completely, you were carried away by the unexpected momentum of your high. You fell again, spiralling through a tunnel of colours that burst through the darkness around you. You felt light as a feather, but plunged down with the speed of a rock. And yet there was no room for fear. Not even as the colours began to fade and you were left with nothing but darkness. 

You were dizzy, almost delirious, fighting so hard to hold on to consciousness, and if you failed, it would be his fault entirely. It was not supposed to end like this, but you had tasted so good, so scrumptious, that your taste had sparked the faint hope he would finally be sated. An illusion, of course. This hunger would never end, but it had made him foolish, had made him take more than he usually did, almost too much. It had taken him everything to pull away, just in time, as it seemed.

A soft sigh came from the place against his chest where your head rested. He was still cradling you, softly rocking you back and forth after he had mumbled his futile apologies. You probably did not even hear them in the state you were in. The state he had put you in. 

He cursed himself as he carefully scooped you up into his arms. He usually did not let the donors stay over, never, that rule had not ever been broken before, but he did not care about rules anymore. What he cared about was you, and you needed rest.

Slowly he lowered you onto his bed before he laid down by your side, draping the sheets over you both. 

“Sleep, my angel, you deserve to rest.”

You looked so peaceful in your slumber, and he did not even question why his hand reached out for you. Lovingly, he brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen into your face, his fingertips gliding across your brow, your cheek. He wanted to touch your lips as well, but he was afraid he would wake you, and so he kept his distance, his fingers still tracing their form, even if he could not feel their silky touch. 

You were different. He had felt it all along, but it was only when he had tasted you, rich and warm on his tongue, that he had known for sure what it was that set you apart from all the others. You were what the likes of him called an old soul. One that had lived many lives and carried the wisdom of the centuries. Maybe that was why you had read him so easily. He was sure you had at least felt it from the beginning, what he was, and the fact that you had chosen to seek him out nonetheless still irritated him.

However odd all of this might seem, he was more than aware that finding an old soul—or being found by one—was a rare thing, especially today, when souls hardly lasted for one full lifetime. Maybe he should keep you, just for a while. To take care of you, your old soul and the body that housed it. Just to make sure the world would not lose another precious being like you. 

Metamorphosis (Sequel)

***

taglist:

@rosecentury

@lowkeysimpinloki

@fightmespideyboy

[granolawriting]

A change in fate ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

pairing: no breakout!Joel x fem reader

Summary: Your toxic ex kicks you out of your place without another word. Only hiring a mover to get your stuff somewhere else. And when Joel finds you in a state of disarray, and stays indifferent, you butt heads until it comes to a head when your paths cross again after that night. That time, much more complicated.

Content warning: age gap, you're 21 and Joel is mid 30s to early 40s. Enemies to lovers.

word count: 4k

A/N: this is the first of a two-part series inspired by an old movie I grew up with. If you can recognize it, I'll like, give you a really big treat. no nsfw this chapter, but the next one will. And as always, let me know if you like my work or if you have any suggestions for anything else I could write :)

Part 2 out now!!: to make you forget

“NO. No. No no no no no no no NO!!!” 

Your fist hits solid wood once more. Every slam that pounds upon its impenetrable front leaves a mark on your hand in the shape of bruises and soreness-- you try the door once more. It's locked, as it had been the last ten times you attempted to open it. Desperation laced in the fruitless fervor that played its sound of metal clanking on metal as the knob refused to turn. 

The thump on the ground follows a fall of your knees. Defeated, hopeless, in a dress that isn't even yours. Tears stream from your face in such passion you can't even feel them anymore as more of you is wet than it is dry. You imagine you look a mess, hair disheveled as you held it as you screamed at him-- makeup once beautiful and elegant streams down and across your face in the motion your hands chose to wipe away your tears. 

A screeching of tires followed by the shutting of a door is what knocks you out of this pathetic display. A man walks over to you and begins to pick up the boxes right beside you, carrying them to the back of his truck that has the title “MOVERS” painted on its side. You clamor to your feet, disorientation doesn't help the heels strapped to your feet as you chase after him;

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going with those? Who the hell are you?”

Rancor coats your tongue as your anger spits out onto him, He stands in the middle of an empty parking lot with only the light emanating from houses and lamps decorating the street are you able to take him in. 

He was tall, perhaps 6ft, an older man. Salt and pepper hair covered just above his forehead and a stern face was complimented by equally gruff facial hair of similar color, and a frown that seemed natural for him. He wore an old jacket-- probably made in the same year you were born with plaid linings on its inside to support a Carhartt branded outside. All the clothes upon his body seemed worn, from the stained jeans and a belt fitted so many times it might as well have been made for the exact curve of his body, to the heavy worker's boots with every scratch telling a story beyond your years. He looks at you. Up and down his eyes register curiously the woman that stood before him. He scoffs, and with a low Texan drawl he replies in kind; 

“Well princess, looks here like someone was kind enough to get yourself a mover for all them boxes outside the house. ‘Supose you know where i'm to drop em off?” 

“They can stay right here.” 

It comes out of you not in a literal sense, but you guess a plea of desperation. You can't imagine that this is actually happening. You can't just leave. After all the years you spent with him, all the hours you poured into his care and the best he can do is call up some old guy to take your shit somewhere else? 

“Now you know I can't do that. I ain't come all the way down here just for’ nothin. Now, I was hired to move, least you can let me do is my job.” 

His palms outstretched to you as he finishes putting the first box in the back of his truck, looking to you with little care for what you’re properly going through, moreso just a plea to let him go home sometime before 1 in the morning. 

your breath grows uneven again, you feel something build up in you again as you just refuse to accept this. Turning your back to him, you storm over to another box untouched by him and kick it, screaming and crying and truly just making a mess of yourself as you collapse once again on the curb of the sidewalk. Folding your arms across your knees, and with a head buried deep in your chest you sit there for a moment as you listen to the crunch of his boots against the loose gravel along the pavement trail back and forth past you as each box is stored into the vehicle. 

“Still haven't given me an address. Or were ya’ thinkin' of just sitting here and lettin' me take yer’ things?” 

Irritation follows his tone as he becomes increasingly impatient about your behavior. 

“I don't have anywhere to go.” 

“Surely you got someplace. Now get a move on, I'm bout damn tired of all this.” 

He drags you up by your upper arms, feeling his calloused hands hold onto the smoothness of your body as he lifts you to your feet. Shocked though, you push him away from you in haste;

“I can get up by myself. Thank you very much.”

You dust yourself off for just a moment before continuing, he looks at you with impatience.

“And I need a ride.” 

He stammers a bit as he begins to speak, 

“A- fucking,? Damn. alright then. Just get the hell on alright? Sure you wouldn't want em’ having to pay me extra.” 

He walks back to his truck as you follow, The two footsteps upon the concrete road are all that can be heard in the neighborhood as your pain slowly wells into your chest, and the outbursts cease. 

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

“Now, listen here. We've been drivin' for damn near an hour now, and ain't nothing come of it. Where the hell am I takin you? Or I'm about to leave ya on the side of the damn road. I've got a kid at home.” 

“Just take me to the other side of town.”

“Are you fuckin kidding me? Now, I don't know what you've got goin on and I truly, don't want to. But you're real damn selfish ya know that? Makin me drive all over town like this like I'm some goddamn taxi. This place best got some money to pay me for.” 

His voice is deep, gruff, and when laced with the anger of a despondent woman who seems as if she has all the time in the world he's not keen to hold back judgment anymore. His hand grips the steering wheel firmly and doesn't look at you for a moment as he speaks to you. 

You're taken aback, to say the least. After the pain you've felt, the torment you've faced the only thing to greet you is the unwanted mouth of some old man who doesn't know what he's talking about.

“I'm selfish? You don't know the night I've had. How can you call me selfish? You were hired for a reason so why don't you just do your fucking job okay? As long as you’re getting paid it shouldn't matter a damn to you.” 

You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms in his passenger seat, watching him with disdain as he grips the wheel and drives relatively carelessly through the empty streets just to get you out. 

After a few minutes more, and by a few you mean around 30, you find yourself in front of a home you’d never think to see again truthfully. As you take in the sight of it, a simple house facing an otherwise unimpactful street, but you held memories of all your years within the confines of these blocks. You were home, after so many years away. 

“Get out.” 

He says bluntly. The clock shines a bright 1:47 on its dash, signifying that you definitely didn't meet his “before 1” pleas. But damn, could he have been any nicer about it? 

You watch as he hops out of the car himself, to the sound of a hard opening of the back that held all your belongings. And as you made your way ever so slowly out of his truck, trying to not fall as the step was coated in the darkness of the night that was no longer politely illuminated by street lights. As you made your way to the concrete below you, rounding his truck was he almost done putting your stuff back out, only on a different curb this time. And without a second to spare, he gets back into his truck, and leaves. Not a word said to you, not even an exchange.

What an asshole. 

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

“So you’re telling me, that the man you were with for how many years, kicked you out for what?” 

The voice of your childhood friend rang once more through the old walls of the house, in the kitchen where you two sat. this was her family home, one that she now inherited, and one that after many years of silence on your part, she gladly opened up to you as well. 

“We were together almost 3 years. And he just, found another girl I guess. But she was in my closet, filled with her clothes. It's as if he’d moved me out overnight. He didn't have a word to say to me, it's like I never even mattered to him. But I've told you this time and time again, what more can I even do at this point?” 

She repositions herself with her legs crossing over one another as she looks for a response, taking a sip of coffee before having it dawn on her. 

“Today. 3 pm. Uncles holding a barbeque. You remember my uncle right? Everyone will be there. Maybe we could find you a good little rebound to bring you down to earth.” 

“Are you- a rebound? Seriously? Is that all you can think of right now?” 

“Listen. The only thing you can do with a broken heart is fix it. And that doesn't happen in a day. Least you can do is get something tasty to chase the pain with. Like hot old guys. You’re only 21! This is the prime time to do whatever you want.” 

You think for a second. Letting this wash over you as you try and figure out the next thing to do. Do you really doll yourself up after the most traumatic evening of your life is not even 24 hours in your past, just to eye all of your friends older relatives, and family friends that you’ve been ogling at since you were 16? 

I mean fuck it, what else are you going to do. 

Following your friend up the stairs, she lets out an excited giggle at the prospect of having you back after so many years. There's so many things to tell, different people to see, and subsequently laugh at, but the best of all her skills with a brush have gotten much better since the last time she helped you look good. Much better, apparently for as you looked at yourself in the mirror you could barely recognize the woman looking back at you-- let alone any trace of the girl sat in a torn dress the night before screaming outside her ex’s house. 

You put on a pretty yellow dress, adorned with flowers It's hemmed all properly frilled to some level, and the flow of the skirt portion barely getting over your back end does the top also treat you well; a low neck cup to shape your chest perfectly as the daintiness of your outfit, paired with little yellow heels, made you look properly irresistible. 

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

“Guess whos backkk!!!”

The excited shrills of your friend beside you make everyone who'd arrived at the party thus far to crane their heads back to look, all of which subsequently smiled with shock as they looked upon you. None of them had seen you since you were 17, about 18 years old. That's when you left, the moment you could. Looking back you missed all of this so much, the community, the story told in every face that looked upon you. But all is lost now and the most you can do is make the best out of the time you have right now-- and as it stands you’re at the center of it all. 

They approach you by the droves, asking every question they can that have undoubtedly had rumored answers to in your absence; detailing from where you've been, what you’re doing, where you go to school, where you work, and most hurtful-- how your ex was doing. You briefly told them all that you and him had since parted, and that you were just getting back on track, spending some time at your friend's house in the meantime. They all looked upon you in sympathy, but as more people entered the party the more they dispersed to greet other guests. 

“Oh my god, is that who I think it is?” 

A low, familiar tone enters the backyard where you stand, and turning around to face you is your friend's father. Who, for most of your life was like a father to you as well. He opens his arms and you follow suit, embracing him in what feels like a much-needed hug, before setting you down again to continue talking to you. 

“Oh, honey if, if I'd known you were coming I'd have brought you something. How long has it been since I last saw you? God, you seem so grown up now. It's like I barely even know you.” 

His head moves to look behind him for a second, and soon he ushers someone forward to join in the conversation. 

“Ah, there's something I'd love for you to meet. This is a good friend of mine, Joel. I haven't had him around any of these much, he just moved back here from Texas a couple weeks back. But he's someone I've known my whole life. Kinda like you and my daughter in a way!” 

Though as the man who emerged behind him reared his head, you couldn't believe your eyes. It was him, of course, it was him. That asshole that drove you home like you were the greatest burden he's ever had to carry. 

“Yer fuckin kidding me.” 

He looks at you in shock. Nothing more. However, you see that to his side is a young girl, no older than 12 who seems to be in awe over you. Her hair was tucked into each side of her face to illuminate it in a crown of curls that came to her shoulder and stretched all the way to her ears in volume. She wore a small shark tooth necklace, and some form of singer on her shirt that you didn't recognize.

He-, Joel, looks down at her; 

“Sarah how bout you go say hi to your friends for me. I'm gonna be busy a moment” 

She runs off, and your friend's dad begins to speak again. 

“Do you, know each other from somewhere? I can't imagine you do.” 

“She's that insane little girl I told you ‘bout. The one kickin n’ screaming all over the place. Reason why Sarah hadta’ stay the night at your place.” 

“The insane little girl?” 

You chime in.

“There's no way- Joel, you’ve probably got the wrong girl” 

“No, he has the right one.” 

You stare directly at him, sending daggers into each of the brown eyes that look back at you. 

“He kicked me out of his car at almost 2 in the morning without a single word. Isn't that right?” 

Though no matter how piercing your gaze it fails to impact him as it should, for with equal level tone he snipes back; 

“Yep, after makin me drive all the way cross’ town just cause she wanted to. Knowin I got someone waitin’ for me. Clearly, something she don't understand all too much anymore.” 

That was unnecessary. 

Something brews inside of you as you glance upon his finger void of a ring, even a tan that would indicate its recent removal. Though as the only sane-minded person seemingly left to observe watches your eyes as you make such a connection, he swiftly puts an end to it. 

“Now, Joel. you know how young girls are they-” 

“I'm not that young.” 

“Alright well, they. Are just passionate, that's all. She was with him for how many was it now? Three years? Left the moment she turned of age. Clearly she just doesn't know how a mans supposed to be. This is all she really knows.” 

This is all she really knows.

That's all that rang through your head as the conversation died and Joel exchanged brief apology. That in a way, he was all you really knew. And now you’re back home, and you don't know what to do with yourself, really. You don't know what you like, or what you don't like. It was all just, him. For so long. You vowed to yourself that day that, no matter what went on you would say yes to anything. To embrace kind of, anything that came your way as some divine fate, or at the very least a fun experience. 

As the night droned on, and you fielded the barrage of squeals, hugs from people you don't remember, and a bit more liquor you could've accounted for, the night came to a slow end. Feeling eyes on you constantly was one thing, but feeling the eyes on the man with who’d you'd had a comfortable reunion was even worse in a way. Although, as you looked upon him in your own moments you saw in him something unveiled after the veil of hatred and sorrow fell off of you. Something, interesting about him. Attractive. Obviously nothing you were going to personally indulge in, but an interesting assertion nonetheless. He stood in the light of the evening, fairy lights covering the backyard as it illuminated his now more time-appropriate outfit; one of marginally better jeans and a plaid shirt, rolled to his elbows to reveal what were impressive forearms, and with the proper fit of his shirt, showed an impressive physique for a single dad.

… … …

 Thats stupid. Anyways, the night drew to a close and as you saw your friend too wrapped up in the conversation of someone relatively older than her, you decided to take the few blocks walk home, especially since you didn't have a car anymore either. Though as you exit the front door to travel down the sidewalk you hear a familiar accent call out to you after only a few feet have been made distance between you and the doorframe; 

“Ya’ walking home this late at night?” 

“Yeah, I am. Not like I've got a car do I?” 

You turn your body to look at him, but only after you've finished your sentence, using the body language of someone unequipped for any more stupid banter to cue him into leaving you alone. 

“How’s about I drive you home. Least I can do after what I’d said today. It wasent quite my place.” 

His voice has an unfamiliar tune of sympathy as he lets out that apology of sorts, so you engage. Though, begrudgingly. 

“Don’t you have a daughter to take care of? That seemed what got you so mad before.” 

He sighs a little, you notice you've hit a bit of a nerve. 

“Well, she’ll be stayin' at a friend's place for a few days, really hit it off. Got nothin but time on my hands now.” 

“Well in that case I'm not gonna say no to a free ride. Obviously.” 

You smile a bit, a first with him. Other than ones of sarcasm, every interaction you've had with him thus far hasn't been all that pleasant. And he smiles back. And, as the light of the moon shines down upon his weathered face, the smirk on his makes your smile grow even more. 

Hopping into his car once more, you take the road to your place with a little more enjoyment than how it transpired the night before. This time, the sound of his music accompanied by a hum through his car is what played to fill the silence of the atmosphere. Something old, country, of course. You’d never heard it, and it sounded well beyond even his years. But despite that, there was a comforting air that was shared in the car-- cool air blowing in from the windows rolled down, watching as his arm held on to the side of the car door from the open window, tapping its side in unison to the beat. 

“This here is it right?” 

Pulling up to your shared home you felt almost a little reluctant to respond with a yes. Though when you do, he steps out of the car as you do as well. You watch as he awaits your circle to the front where he stood, as a means to walk with you to the front of your door. Looking at him curiously as you reach the entrance, he gives response to your motions, though you watch as his fingers fiddle with one another ever so slightly as he poses such a response;

“It ain’t right leaving a lady to walk all by herself after dropping her off. And, I just wanted to say again that it ain't my place makin assumptions about you like that. Wanted to know if I could make it up to ya’. Kinda seems like lifes dealt you a bad hand right now, thought to offer you a drink over it.” 

A drink? 

You thought about that for a second. The man that kicked you out of his car, literally less than 24 hours ago, is now offering to take you out for a drink. Well, it was as a means for apology. So that's something. Nothing more to it, it's a Southern thing. They drink to anything. Especially sorrow. 

“I think I’ll have to take you up on that. You’ll know where I’ll be.” 

You reply with a smile that grows just large enough to show your teeth. He gazed at you for a bit longer, as his eyes grew brighter at the prospect of an invitation accepted. He was a lot less harsh than meets the eye, it seemed. But you still weren't properly convinced. And, there was still much a mystery about him that although intimidated you, enticed you even more. You cock your hip to the side of the doorframe, leaning up against it as he spoke to you as a means to accentuate your figure just a bit as he looked at you. Just to see what would happen. 

“Oh, alright then. 7 alright with you? I’ll come pick you up course’.” 

“Seven’s more than alright with me. I'll see you then, Joel.” 

As you bid farewell to him, you watched as his eyes tracked your movements as you did so. The way your hips have shifted place, the tone at which your voice shifted ever so slightly. He took in your gaze, a small cat eye that sharpened your eyes paired with the sly smile of a woman your age was enough to catch his stare for a moments longer than it should've. You relished in that. 

He leaves you off with a nod and a smile, though you take the time that he walks back to his truck as a means to take in all that he was without interruption. He was handsome, to say the least. There was something to be said about a man with southern hospitality and an ass made from manual labor that reached deeper into a realm of attraction that was often untapped by the men of your age range. And you enjoyed greatly that you’d discovered such a thing. 

Tomorrow, 7pm, Joel. 

[bettyfrommars]

On Your Knees

mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

18+only, jealous!eddie, unprotected sex, bathroom sex, mutual pining

The year is 1991. You work across the street from Eddie's garage, and the two of you have been flirting for months. Neither one of you make a move, though, but when Eddie sees you out on a date at The Hideout with someone else, he realizes he doesn't want to share you.

Word count: 3.8k

Song Inspo: No One Like You/Scorpions and On Your Knees/W.A.S.P.

You’re finishing up dinner on a date with a guy you don’t even like, and you’re bored as hell, when you realize that the restaurant he took you to is only two blocks away from The Hideout. Your heart grows arms and legs and does a cartwheel as you think about Eddie. Eddie Munson, the one who turns wrenches at the gas station/mechanic shop across from the cafe where you’ve been working to pay off your student loans. Eddie, the one who calls you Princess, and you hate it, but he calls you that anyway. Eddie, the one who sat with you and made you laugh when you found out your parents were getting divorced. Eddie, the one who has a secret crush on you, but keeps his distance because he thinks you’re too good for him.

Eddie, the guy who hasn't dated anyone all summer because he compares everyone to you, and they all fall short.

Tonight, you’re with Troy: he just graduated with a business degree and his dad owns half of Hawkins. He has an Andrew McCarthy look about him, but he spent almost the entire evening bragging about all of the hot women he’s dated, and reminding you what a catch he his. Before Troy drives you home, you tell him you want to see some live music at The Hideout, that a friend of yours has a band that plays there once in a while.

“Have you ever been to that place?” Troy asks, a disgusted look on his face. “It’s a dump. We’ll probably get hepatitis just from sitting on the seats.”

There is a guy at the door on a stool with long blonde hair and a handlebar mustache wearing sunglasses at night taking the $1 cover. He doesn’t check your ID’s but he does look you both up and down with a grunt as Troy passes him the cash. A waft of cigarette smoke billows out as you enter, the old wood plank floors squeaking under your feet. On stage at the end of the room is a band covering No One Like You by Scorpions, and you notice right away that none of them are Eddie. It’s not until you realize how disappointed you are that you finally come to terms with the fact that you do, in deed, have a thing for Eddie. It was always a possibility in the back of your mind, but now you’re not sure why you didn’t realize it sooner.

It would be too obvious to turn around and leave now, so you ask Troy to get you each a beer. Eddie told you that there are never many people at The Hideout, and he was right, but the crowd that chose to be there was plenty enthusiastic. You were able to find two stools at a small, round table against the wall that was sticky to the touch. You watch Troy wipe the top of his beer bottle of with the inside of his polo shirt. You’re facing the stage, sipping your beer, enjoying the crowd, pretending to hear whatever college glory story Troy is telling you. You were putting your beer down to clap at the end of the song, but then…

There he is, in the flesh: Eddie Munson.

You see him sitting three tables away, near the middle of the room, and just as you realize it’s him—his eyes connect with yours. You have a sharp intake of breath at how good he looks sitting there in his leather jacket with his long hair all around him. Normally, you see him during work hours and he wears his coveralls and his hair back in a ponytail, which you also find sexy as hell.

Suddenly, you don’t want him to see you here with Troy. You don’t want him to think that this date means anything to you. You put your head down as if the beer bottle can hide you. But when you lift your eyes to sneak a glance at him again, you see he’s still looking at you; his eyes shifting from you to the back of Troy. He lifts his beer bottle in greeting, his eyebrow up, his face unreadable. You’d always known Eddie to be quick to smile—always joking with you and teasing you; trying to find any reason to touch you or talk to you when he came around before work, on his lunch break, and sometimes after work if he saw you closing up. But, in that moment, his face was anything but pleased.

You curse under your breath.

“What was that?” Troy asks, his face cringing at the next song (On Your Knees – W.A.S.P.)

You smile because you have no idea what he just said.

Troy chuckles, picks up your hand, and puts the back of your fingers to his lips to kiss them. You don’t even need to check and see if Eddie saw that, because you know he did. You force yourself to count to ten before you look in his direction again.

But he’s not looking at you this time, he’s talking to one of the two other guys at his table. A sexy waitress wearing daisy duke shorts to show off her long legs and a low cut shirt to show off her goods, was at his table, probably taking their drink order. To your chagrin, the hot waitress moves behind Eddie’s chair and bends over to wrap her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his head. Eddie sat there and let it happen; he looked like he was enjoying himself, one side of his mouth kicking up in one of those playfully devilish grins. In a follow up bold move, the waitress slides around to sit in his lap, her arm around his shoulders, her mouth only inches from his.

You jerk your head away so fast, it’s almost like you got slapped. You pretend to watch the band over Troy’s shoulder, not sure if you could handle it if you had to watch Eddie kiss someone else. Just as you are internally screaming at yourself not to look over again—you do it anyway.

The waitress is on her feet now, but Eddie has his arm hooked around her legs, her ass close to his face. With an adoring smile, she runs her hand down Eddie’s hair, and then gives him a wink before she walks away.

Eddie’s eyes snap to you.

You look down at your beer and choke, but turn it into a cough, and cover your mouth with your hand. The thought occurs to you that he was egging that waitress on to get back at you for being there with Troy. What did Eddie have to be jealous about? He never asked you out on a date or let you know he had any romantic interest in you. Sure, you suspected that the feelings between the two of you were growing, but for all you knew, you were misinterpreting things. You both graduated from different high schools, and Eddie liked to joke that you never would’ve given him the time of day back then. You were the prom queen, and he was The Freak.

“You okay?” Troy asks, putting his hand on your arm. “You ready to get out of this shithole?” But he only mouths the word shithole, as if anyone could hear him over the music.

You swallow hard and give an enthusiastic, albeit fake, “yes! Absolutely,” but first you needed to use the restroom; you’re not sure what is going on in your gut, but it feels like a swarm of butterflies wielding knives.

You stumble a bit getting off your stool, but then collect yourself, faking a confident smile. Troy lets you know that he would meet you outside in the car. Feeling somehow justified to do so after Eddie’s handsy nature with the waitress, you kiss Troy on the cheek as you head to the bathroom with your head down.

Ducking into the narrow hallway that was off to the back of the stage, you exhale a long-held breath, steadying yourself against the wall. The hallway is painted black brick, plastered in stickers, hand-drawn band posters, and graffiti. There is a payphone separating the two bathrooms, and when you pull open the door with the outline of a stick figure in a dress on it, you’re relieved to find that it was a one-person bathroom; gas station style. The bathroom itself is filled with graffiti tags and stickers as well, and there are peoples names etched into the mirror, along with phone numbers and curse words.

You make sure the door is locked, and then start pacing back and forth. “Damn you, Eddie,” you whisper to the emptiness around you.

You brace your hands on the edge of the white porcelain sink, meeting the eyes of your reflection in the mirror; they are positioned right under a very crudely carved broken heart outline. “Get a hold of yourself,” you’re still talking to yourself---Eddie Munson is slowly but surely making you certifiable. Everything is cool, everything is great. You’ll make a beeline for the exit, and you won’t have to see which girl he has on his lap now.

You shake your hands out, sigh heavily, and then unlock the door on an exhale.

As you come out, another woman who had been waiting gives you a dirty look and then goes in behind you. Once she shuts the door, you realize that you’re standing out in the dark hallway with Eddie.

He’s leaning casually against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest, and then he lifts his chin at you once you realize that it’s him, a bored look on his face. “What are you doing here, Princess?”

“Hi Eddie. I have to go now,” you say in a rush as you move to walk by him. In response, he stretches his arm out, takes a big step, and plants his hand flat on the wall next to you, using his body to block your path, his wallet chain hitting the brick with a clack.

There is a dramatic pause as it takes you a few seconds to find the strength to look up at him, and meanwhile you stare at the tattered metal t-shirt under his leather. There is a tightening in your chest: part confusion, part fear, and part deep, primal need that makes your core throb.

When your eyes slowly climb to his, you see that the pupils in his chocolate brown eyes are blown, and his lips are parted.

“What do you want, Eddie?” You ask, trying to read the hard set of his jaw.

He moves closer and lowers his head so that your eyes are now on the muscles of his neck, his heart beat visible.

“Is that your boyfriend?” His voice is a low murmur.

In a strange burst of frustration, you cock your head at him, pulling back to meet his eyes again. “What do you care?”

The woman comes out of the bathroom and give you both a side-eye as she walks by.

You follow suit and duck to the side to move around Eddie, but he is quick to switch positions---stretching his arm out so that the flat of his palm meets the opposite wall with a smack, his metal rings clinking together. The smell of his cologne mixed with leather and tobacco intoxicating you like a drug about to send you on a high to outer space.

Fuck, I can’t let her leave, Eddie thinks to himself, his mind racing, his heart about to explode out of his chest with the massive crush he has on you. For the past couple weeks, he’s been trying to build up the courage to ask you out, but then he would look down at his dirty hands and drive back to his messy trailer and push the thought out of his mind. But, seeing you on a date with someone else, someone other than him, flipped a switch that turned him into a bit of possessive, jealous asshole, and he didn’t like that side of him. It also set off an alarm deep in his gut letting him know that he was already in deep with you, and he hadn’t even kissed you yet.

“Why was he touching you?” He glances up at his hand on the wall, but then flicks his gaze back down to you, lingering on your mouth, expecting an answer.

“Are you in charge of who gets to touch me now?” You rest your shoulder on the wall, returning his eye contact with a defiance that makes him the first to look away.

Eddie’s jaw muscles tighten, his back teeth grinding—he felt like he was losing control. The need for you to be his—to belong to him—tightened like thorns around his heart more and more every day.

“Listen, Eddie,” you soften, remembering that this is the guy who makes you mix tapes and leaves his tip money in the shape of origami animals. “I went on a date with him because he asked me. And I’ve been really...lonely,” you were a bit ashamed to say that last part, but it was true.

Eddie softens too, hearing your voice tremble.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you continue, shrugging your shoulders. “Being with him only made me realize how much I’d rather be with you.”

The look you give him moves him in a way he could not have predicted. In the time it takes for him to exhale the breath held tight in his chest, Eddie cups your face in his hands, and backs you against the far wall, his mouth covering yours, moaning as you slip your tongue between his lips, meeting his desire with equal force.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispers against your mouth.

You grab him by the belt loop and yank him closer. “You can have it, all of it,” you say, breathlessly. You can tell his hands are hovering, not sure if you want him to touch you in other places, and so you reach down and cup between his legs, a bit taken aback at the size of the cock growing in his jeans.

“Holy shit,” you say as you glance down.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says in regards to his size.

“Don’t be sorry,” you assure him. “I want it inside of me.”

Eddie pauses to make eye contact with you, swallowing hard, the need for you tightening in his balls. You both glance at the empty bathroom and simultaneously start to move, shutting and locking the door as soon as you can. The romantic in Eddie can’t help but think that this isn’t the ideal place for a first time with you, but you’re both too horny—too ready. He can feel how ready you are soaking through your panties as he reaches under your dress to stroke you.

Eddie has you against the door of the bathroom, his tongue searching your mouth, moaning, while his fingers rub you on top of your underwear before slipping them aside to stick one finger in.

Your breath catches, and Eddie groans at your resistance, at how tight you are.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your mouth. “I want to taste you.”

He drops to his knees, taking your underwear with him as you hold your dress up at your waist. He takes one more look up at you, still not believing this is really happening. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he gushes, just as his mouth buries into your folds, his tongue dipping down to fuck your hole. You put your hand to his hair and cling to it. He brings one finger up inside of you again, finding a little less resistance, as he sucks and flicks his tongue on your nub.

“Oh my god...Eddie...just like that…”

You hear people out in the hallway, but one uses the payphone and another one goes into the men’s restroom. You can feel Eddie’s hand with the chunky rings resting on your thigh, and you reach your hand down to intertwine fingers with his as he ventures to sink a second finger inside of you. You cry out a little, and his eyes snap up to look at you, but then he realizes it was a cry of pleasure as your opening spreads open for him, swelling to meet his needs.

Your leg starts to tremble; you release his hand to pull down the front of your dress and cup your breast, plucking at your nipple.

“Baby..I think I’m about to….oh fuck…”

Eddie takes your core into his mouth and flicks it with his tongue at a rapid speed, filling you with two fingers as your arousal drips down your inner thighs.

“Wait...wait….” you stop him, and reluctantly he tilts his face back to look at you; his mouth and chin glistening with your juices. You grab his chin. “I want to cum with you inside me.”

Eddie’s cock jerks in his jeans at that suggestion, even though he intended to make this all about you.

“Please, baby,” you plead with him, still holding him by the chin, and then he rises to his full height and prepares to wipe his mouth off with the back of his hand before he kisses you, but you stop him.

“I want to taste me on you,” you tell him, as your mouths collide again, murmuring about your mutual need for each other. Eddie feels like the tip of his cock is about to blow off with how turned on he is by you.

Eddie turns you around, reaching around to play with your clit as he does so, your head tilting back to kiss him. You press your cheek against the door and pull your skirt up, your underwear still around your knees, arching your lower back so that your ass lifts up to him.

He spanks you with the flat of his hand, and then rubs it; he opens you up with his thumbs to look at your perfect asshole. He runs a finger from your swollen lips to your backdoor, watching you shiver at the sensation.

He undoes his belt and drops his black jeans and boxers just enough, clutching his throbbing hard cock. You look behind you at the weapon in his hand and start to rock your hips back, begging for it.

Eddie squeezes some precum to the tip and then rubs it along your soft, soaking hole, feeling it grip him and suck him in. Your tight entrance makes him shiver as he clutches your ass with a grunt, his rings slightly pinching your skin. He thrusts it in half way and you toss your head back.

“Oh my god, fuck fuck, oh my goddddd….” you can feel the orgasm mounting again, unfurling like a band of firecrackers at the base of your spine.

Someone knocks on the bathroom door.

“Out of Order!” Eddie growls back at them.

His hips are rocking now, sending his cock deeper and deeper inside of you, “holy fuck, you feel so good,” he groans with a curse, moving faster now, watching your juices soak his cock.

A few more thrusts and you are bracing yourself against the door, muttering about how good it feels, pushing your ass back into him so that he can bottom out inside of you, cursing and groaning as he does so.

“That’s it,” he tells you, your skin meeting with a satisfying slapping sound. “That’s my good girl.”

You reach down and rub your clit as you reach the brink, your body vibrating, the heavy beat of the music thudding in your chest.

“Eddie...Eddie baby...I’m...I’m…” And then you go momentarily limp and he holds your hips as you stupify for a moment, seeing white behind your eyelids, soaking his cock with your cum, mumbling, as a whip inside of you snaps.

Eddie’s orgasm isn’t far behind, he hisses at the way your walls grip him as you cum, hearing your whimpers of pleasure.

His hips start to pump at twice the pace, pouring into you, his wallet chain slapping his jeans. “Fuck, I’m about to...where do you want me to…”

“Inside of me, oh god, inside of me….”

A few more thrusts and he starts to explode, sending his seed deep inside of you, kneading the skin on your ass as his pelvis curves against you. He trembles as he gushes, his hand traveling up to cup the back of your neck.

Heaving deep breaths, he pulls you back against him, kissing your neck, fondling your breast, his cock not ready to leave the tight grip you have on him. “My cum is so deep inside of you, you belong to me now.”

You turn your head to look up into his eyes and he kisses your mouth and then your nose, holding you there.

Someone bangs on the door again, and this time they rattle the handle.

You both share muffled laughs as you quickly pull yourselves together.

“Sorry, toilet was broken,” you yell, checking your face in the mirror.

When you’re both ready, Eddie reaches back to take your hand in his before he unlocks the door.

On the other side of the door is Troy. He’s frowning, and then his face drops, his mouth going agape as he sees the state of you two and his brain scrambles to register what he is looking at.

“What the hell is going on?” He barks at you, incredulous. You find it amusing that Troy was worried about catching germs from merely sitting on the seats, and here you are getting raw-dogged in one of the bathrooms.

Eddie keeps a firm grip on your hand, pulling you closer to him, as he checks Troy in the shoulder on his way out. “She’s with me now,” Eddie tells him. “Don’t ever touch her again.”

You shrug your shoulders at Troy, and give him an ‘oops’ face as you follow Eddie’s lead back to his van, back to more debauchery.

[waywardstation]

HAPPY WIP WEDNESDAY!!

This one is to promote @bananacreamphi ‘s dojoshipping week prompts !! I’m participating in it with a fic and accompanying art, each day’s prompt making up one of its seven chapters.

Even though it’s obviously for dojoshipping, just like all my other works you can probably read it entirely platonic as well if you want.

Here is a WIP from it!! It’s a little shorter today because the chapters themselves are shorter.

The overarching story is essentially Ingo helping Zisu fix up the dojo for a festival, because he’s sort of the one that busted it up in the first place with all his battling — it’s a plot that was taken from one of my fake fic title ideas when I was doing those!!

Enjoy! Wording is (VERY) subject to change.

————

“About that, Ingo,” Zisu laughed a little, but it felt more like she was just trying to keep the mood light. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“Oooh, you’re in trouble~” Akari’s teasing remark was bursting at the seams with amusement as she elbowed him. It seemed she was already fully aware of the subject, and had been waiting for Zisu to bring it up — her perceived delight only encouraged preemptive embarrassment to heat Ingo’s ears.

“Why am I in trouble?” Straightening his back as stiff as his tone, Ingo set his chopsticks down against the table under a flat hand, immediately looking at Zisu.

“He’s not in trouble,” Zisu pointed at Akari with her chopsticks before turning to Ingo. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I feel like I’m in trouble.”

“You’re not…” A pause, as the last syllable stretched out. “…exactly, in trouble.”

Ingo could only feel himself growing warmer in the face, and Akari’s snickering off to the side wasn’t helping. “Please don’t delay this any longer, what did I do that has caused such a concern?”

Zisu’s answer wasn’t immediate; while she was probably trying to be gentle about it, the effort only doubled the dread. “Well, you know the welcoming festival coming up in a few days?”

“…Indeed,” Ingo spoke slowly, giving a reaffirming nod. He couldn’t not know about it, what with the newly-finished homes; now empty but soon to be filled by residents traveling across the ocean, it was all anyone was talking about right now. But what could he possibly have to do with any of that?

“Kamado wants the entire village to be at its best for our new residents when they arrive — and I mean the entire village. Every building, every street, every bucket, every grain of dirt, it has to be perfect. Well he came by the training grounds early this morning, before you had even gotten there, and he was…” A pause to figure out how to put it nicely. “Not particularly overjoyed with the current state of it.”

“Oh,” Ingo could see where this was going now. “Oh dear.”

The dojo was sturdy, but it was not indestructible. Ingo was well aware that the battles he conducted at the training grounds were never delicate or subdued. They were oftentimes quite intense with Akari’s help, and over time, such intensity left wood paneling splintered, paint chipped, and dirt in areas there certainly should not be dirt.

No one could deny that it had considerable wear and tear, noticeable from afar and unsightly up close. That was certainly not a presentable sight in a village that apparently needed everything perfectly in place for this festival, down to the specks of dirt on the ground.

[covetyou]

honey, you're familiar

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Tess Servopoulos x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dub-con, oral (f receiving), fingering, readers first time with another woman, one use of good girl, drug reference. word count: 3.3k summary: The first time your father struggles to afford his pills you figure you'll do what you can to help. All you need to do is find his dealer and talk to him, right? How difficult could a man like that be to find.

A/N: we needed more time with Anna Torv Tess. Like, a whole series more time.

prequel to something wretched about this. can be read as a stand-alone.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

divider by @saradika

Now's your chance. Probably fucking stupid really, pulling a stunt like this on a woman like her, but you don't know how else to reach her, where else to go. This is the best option you have. So you grab her arm.

Your fingers have barely clasped around her jacket when she's twisting, hand raised ready to back-hand whoever dared to grab her. You flinch back, waiting for the sting of pain across your cheek, but instead she hesitates, stopping herself from striking you.

Her face pinches into a confused frown, and she wrenches your hand from her arm, throwing it away from her like you're some dirty, filthy thing, and stalks off before you can say anything.

"Please..." you start, chasing after her, not even trying to be discreet. She rounds an alleyway, and suddenly she's grabbing you, dragging and pulling you down the street, away from prying eyes, up some stairs into what you thought was an abandoned apartment block and pushing you against a wall.

"The fuck do you want."

"I'm sorry for grabbing you, I am, I just need information and your name is the only one I have and I-"

"Who the fuck is giving you my name and what for," her hand raises again, and this time you think she might really do it.

"My dad! My dad, he's sick, he has a dealer who helps him, I just need his name, I need to go see him, dad's got bad again and I-"

She backs away from you to lean on the wall opposite as you speak, shaking her head at your rambling. You're clearly already giving her a fucking headache, and she pinches her nose and raises a palm to stop you. "Slow the fuck down."

"My dad is sick."

"I know who your daddy is, you don't need to tell me he's sick, I know. What I'm wondering is why his daughter is snooping around, grabbing people, asking for names she apparently doesn't know."

"I just need to know who his dealer is. We can't pay for the pills this month and I thought maybe if I spoke to him I could..." You trail off. You both knew just speaking to whoever your dads dealer was wouldn't be the end of it, it never was. The dream was you'd asked nicely and be given what you asked for, but the reality was you probably wouldn't get it without giving something first.

"And you got my name how?"

"My dad mentioned... you?"

"Right," she says, biting back a laugh, before pushing herself away from the wall she'd been leaning on and clapping her hands. "Well, you're in luck. I'm feeling generous, and I think I can point you in the right direction. Come with me."

You follow, like a dog on a bitch in heat, practically running after her as she strides down the hallway, yanking open a door and pushing you inside. She doesn't bother to look around, knowing full well the building is cold and abandoned for a reason.

You walk further into the room as she enters behind you. There's an old desk and chair on one side, and scraps of wood, old broken furniture and stacks of chairs littered around the edges, pushed against the walls. Once upon a time it would have been a make shift office space, but now it was nothing better than a grimy, long forgotten storage room.

You turn just in time to see her propping a chair under the door handle. You stare at it as she walks past you, taking a seat at the desk. Raising a heavy booted foot up on the worn wooden edge and clasping her hands together, she looks at you with a gleam in her eyes, resting her elbows on the arms of the chair.

"So," she begins with a smirk, as a thread of realization starts to crawl up your spine. "How can I help you?"

Shit. Shit. Your dad didn't give her name because she was a friend, she was his fucking dealer. If he'd been honest with you, told you when you asked who was helping him instead of being so cagey about it, this never would have happened. You wouldn't be stuck in this room with Tess, skirting around the fact you definitely were not willing to offer your body in exchange for your fathers medication.

You quickly realize there is no way to recover from this, no way to back track or back out now. She's going to give you shit for this, you just know it, and you're going to be sent out of here humiliated and with nothing to show for it. You might have even ruined it all for your dad. The thought makes your head swim and bile rise in your throat.

You gape at her for a while and she stares back, challenging you to say something, anything, to her.

"Look," you start, trying to laugh it off, lighten the mood. "I think I've got things mixed up, so I'll just -"

"So you'll what?" she laughs cruelly. "You thought you could come find his dealer, drop to your knees, suck a dick, and get your daddies pills for free."

"I didn't - I never -"

"Do it then," she says from her seat. "Get on your knees."

You stop and start a few times, but no words come to mind. There is no way out of this. So, you slowly sink to your knees in the middle of the dusty room. You're going to get those pills.

As your knees bite into the grit on the floor you watch as her head tips to rest on the back of the chair and her shoulders softly shake, her laughter filling the room.

"Cute," she says, looking back at you, leaning forward and beckoning you toward her with two fingers. "Come here, pretty girl," she croons. "And I don't remember saying you could stand up."

You shuffle over to her on your knees, trying to keep your balance so your hands don't touch the gritty floor.

"You're going to do something for me, and then I'm going to do something for you, okay?"

"Okay," you nod in agreement, unable to make eye contact with her. That is what you came out today for after all, though you can't say the change in anatomy was expected.

"And then when you leave here, you keep your mouth shut, are we clear?"

You bite down on your lips and nod at her from the floor, looking every bit as pathetic as you feel. None of this is going how you'd planned, and you're not sure if that's for better or for worse.

"Ever eaten pussy," she asks, pulling her jacket from around her. You look up at her and shake your head, feeling impossibly small as you sink even further down on your knees. You hadn't, but had thought about it, wanted it, just never found a person to do it with, and certainly never expected to be doing it now.

"Well then, sweetie, you better be a quick learner."

She unzips her pants and pulls them under her ass, yanking them to her knees. It's all so quick you don't have time to register what's going on until her hand is on you.

"Come here," she grabs at your arm, pulling you closer as she kicks her pants to her ankles and slides back in the chair. She yanks you forward, lifts her legs over your head and pulls you in toward her with the fabric caught around her ankles. You're caged in now, trapped between her pants and her cunt, and you are totally, utterly, stunned.

"Don't, wouldn't... wouldn't a... man be better?" you stutter, trying to keep your eyes on hers and not between her legs. It's a stupid question, you know it, but you're nervous and stalling for more time doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

"If I wanted a man, I would get a man. More trouble than they're worth most of the time. You gonna try to stick your dick in me, pretty girl?"

She grabs your chin, and when you don't answer she clicks her tongue at you, pulling your face down between her legs.

"Didn't think so."

You finally look down between her soft thighs. You hadn't seen if she was wearing panties, for all you knew she was going commando under her jeans, but now here she was completely bare before you. Seeing another woman like this was strange, but not unwelcome. If you'd had more time, and the circumstances had been a bit different, you would have liked to have spent more time just looking at her. You'd never seen one up close before, only glimpsing your own as you looked down your body. Given the chance you know you would spend hours here between her legs just looking, exploring.

But that wasn't what this was, and as beautiful as Tess was, this was business.

You cast one last tentative look up as you slowly lower your face to her cunt, catching her eyes as she looks down expectantly at you.

You press your lips to her inner thigh as she watches, kissing as close to her center as you can be without touching, and let out a shaky breath. That's the first hurdle dealt with, but nerves still bubble in your belly. You kiss her soft skin once more, nosing at the sensitive flesh and breathing in her heady scent.

"Mm. Well, shit, that feels nice," she sighs, letting her head fall back and closing her eyes. You do it again, spurred on by her approval and the growing wetness between your own legs, feathering kisses all around the outside of her cunt, chaining them together so eventually you're mouthing around her delicate skin. You let your tongue peak out as your lips meander across her flesh, leaving wet trails in your wake as you move.

You psych yourself up, just go for it, taste her, do it, she wants it, what could go wrong, before you finally take the dive and lick a delicate strip through her folds. She tastes similar to you, but not quite. You give her another gentle lick, your wet tongue curiously lapping at her entrance before you move up, up, up, and press a soft kiss to her clit. Her entire body relaxes and shifts down in the chair, her legs spreading further over the arms, giving you more access and her tangled feet pushing into your back to pull you in closer.

You kiss it again, and again, before you let your tongue slip out to lap softly at the sensitive nub, licking upwards in slow strokes and dragging your bottom lip across it. You suckle on her clit for a little before releasing, wishing desperately now that you had something between your own legs too.

Feeling bolder, you lick a broader stripe across her cunt, your breath getting caught in your throat, and coming out as a small moan. Tess's sigh in response is all you need to start devouring her, dipping your tongue into her slick hole. You let your hand come up to pull her apart, making it easier for you to lap at her folds. You know your actions are unrefined, messy, but as she starts to moan above you you don't care. You feel as lost in it as she is, imagining how this would feel. A soft face and delicate fingers between your thighs. Gentle, feminine moans dancing softly across your pussy. You groan into her wet heat at the thought, rocking your hips into the empty air in an effort to chase some kind of relief.

"Keep moaning all pretty like that and anyone would think you like eating pussy."

Your eyes catch hers, dark and fiery, staring down at you. You want to tell her you do like it, you'd dreamed of it, wanted to do it so many times before but never had the chance. The most you'd ever done with a woman involved gentle kisses and light touches - thrilling at the time, but nothing compared to being between another woman's thighs. You don't dare take your mouth off of her to tell her any of it, so you moan again mumble a mhm into her, bringing your other hand to her thigh to grip as you do.

You let your grip anchor you down, slow your movements. The few times a man had bothered doing this to you, their rapid sloppy movements felt good, but not enough. Of all the times you'd gotten yourself off, you needed precision and repetition to get there, and now that you'd had a taste and indulged your own desires, you wanted to give Tess what she wanted, what you'd agreed to. You wanted to make her come.

Your fingers stroke at her pussy, and you bring your mouth back to her clit, licking and sucking once again. Your circle it gently, all around and then gently spiralling in to the center. You stay there, keeping your tongue circling in small, soft, circles feeling as her thigh begins to quiver beneath your hand.

"That's it," she sighs, and you preen at the praise, moaning into her clit to let her know you'll keep going, won't stop until she says otherwise.

It's not long before her hand comes to your face, stroking your cheekbone. She pulls you back, unlatching you from her clit. Swallowing and licking your lips for remnants of her, you look up in confusion.

"Give me your fingers now, pretty girl. Put them in."

Oh. Right. Of course. You let go of her thigh and trace your fingers around her entrance, watching in amazement as you circle them in her wetness. Your body looked like this too, got wet just like she did. You tease at her opening for a moment, knowing how good it felt for yourself when you tickled yourself like this, before you slip one in just a fraction, wiggling it slightly as you tease her. A second finger joins the first, and you're soon pushing two small fingers into her cunt.

She feels different to you inside. You'd never even considered it, that any would feel anything other than like yours, but when you push your fingers into her, the ridges and smooth surfaces you were expecting aren't where you thought they'd be. The familiarity was there, but you didn't know hers like you knew yours.

Her eyes are closed again when you next look up, pumping your fingers slowly into her. You bring your face back down to her clit, keeping your eyes locked on her face as you latch back over the sensitive spot and suck. She gasps, her feet clamping down on your back even firmer pushing your face straight into her cunt. You start to lick at her, going back to soft circles around her clit as your fingers pump shallowly in her wet pussy.

You don't relent this time, and she doesn't drag you back. Instead, her hand finds its way to the back of your head, holding you in place as you suckle on her clit and finger her cunt in tandem, bringing her closer and closer to climax. The muscles inside her soon start to clench, her clit start to twitch in your mouth.

You're eager now, as if you weren't before, letting your circles on her clit become firmer as you moan wantonly into her folds. You're breathing deep through your nose, mouth engulfing her cunt, devouring her with each stroke of your tongue.

Her own moans are softer, less desperate, than your own. But then her hips start to rock into your mouth, and you know she's close. You don't change a thing, keeping the movement of your fingers and your tongue the same as she rocks against your mouth, using you to get herself off.

"Yes, yes, yes," she whispers through soft moans. "That's it, pretty girl. Good girl. Fuck, yes. Yes."

The pumping of your fingers gets impossible as her whole body stiffens, pussy gripping your fingers in tight spasms as she comes, hips gyrating into your face faster until her legs are clamping around your ears. You keep going, suckling at her clit with your fingers buried in her cunt until her hips are trying to move away from you, to get away from the oversensitivity brought on by your mouth.

"Ohh."

You pull back from her pussy, gasping for air, and looking up at her once again as your fingers still inside her. The furrow between her brows has relaxed, and even in the dull light of the room she looks beautiful, peaceful.

"Good job," she murmurs, patting the side of your cheek. She pulls your cream covered fingers out from inside her, pushing them toward your mouth. You slide them between your lips, cleaning off her cum as she watches. Just like the ones before it, you can't help the moan that falls from your lips as you taste her.

A moment later, she's lifting her legs up onto the table and motioning for you to move. You shuffle out from between them, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you try to ignore the throbbing of your own pussy. That was it then. You'd done it. Why were you disappointed it was over?

You stand and brush the dust off your knees with your dry hand as she pulls her pants back up and zips them up. You don't look at her, you don't want to be caught watching, so you trace the path of a dust mote dancing in a sunbeam that has broken through an old board on the window.

"Definitely a quick learner," she says, walking toward you. If she knows how wet eating her pussy had made you, she doesn't let on.

Her cheeks are flushed a deeper shade of pink than when she'd first dragged you in here. You briefly wonder if you walked out of here together, maybe people would know what you'd been up to. But, her soft face and relaxed features don't last long, and she slips the mask back on, brows furrowing at you as she moves the chair from under the door handle.

"Not that I think you'll tell anyone you had your face buried in someone's cunt, but if you do, your daddy will be going cold turkey. I don't do this, we clear? Even for pretty girls like you," she says, depositing a small bag of pills into your hand. "Now, get going."

You grip the bag in your damp fingers as you walk home, hoping it'll all be enough to get your father through another few weeks in the QZ.

It took a few days for your dad to get back on his feet again, but once he started there was no stopping him. He never asked you about the pills, and you never told him. It seemed both of you could be cagey when you wanted to be. You also knew that if he needed it, you'd go do it again in a heartbeat.

Collection day comes and goes, and he's strolling in the door, depositing a small container of pills onto your dining table as you pull together a meager dinner.

"Shame to see her go," he says with a soft smile, patting your shoulder in his usual greeting.

You stop in your tracks. "Who?" You'd lost a lot of people over the years, and it was never good news when it happened.

"Tess. She's stopping dealing with that side of the business," he says, pointing to the pills on the table. "Said she'd pass me over to her 'business associate'. I'm meeting with him next Thursday. Nothing should change, but we'll see how it goes."

"'Business associate'?"

He's already grabbed some food, stuffing it into his mouth in a big bite before he answers. "Joel Miller."

Fuck.

Tag List: given it's not the usual p-boy content I haven't tagged any of you this week.

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[junipes-world]

Unseen Bonds

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Daughter Reader

(this is my first time writing please don’t hate but I’ll take any tips! hope you enjoy, xx)

The afternoon sun dipped behind the hills of Hershel’s farm, casting long shadows across the field. Daryl leaned against the porch railing, his eyes fixed on the treeline, though his mind wasn’t on walkers. It was on the girl he’d barely known how to raise.

Harley sat a few feet away, perched on the edge of the steps, her blonde hair tangled in the wind. She stared down at the ground, tracing patterns in the dirt with the toe of her boot. She was silent, as she often was, except when she was with Carl Grimes. Daryl watched as Carl approached her, carrying a small rock he’d found by the creek.

“Hey, Harley,” Carl said, a grin breaking across his face. “Look what I found. It’s got this weird shape, kinda like a dinosaur tooth, maybe.”

Harley looked up, her blue eyes brightening just a bit. “That’s not a dinosaur tooth, Carl,” she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s a piece of quartz. Probably got chipped off from one of the bigger rocks by the river.”

Carl’s face flushed a little, embarrassed, but he shrugged. “Well, maybe you can teach me about rocks sometime,” he said.

“Maybe,” Harley replied with a shrug, but there was a playful glint in her eyes.

Daryl turned his gaze back to the woods. He wasn’t sure how to reach her, how to fix what Merle had broken in her. He’d tried to shield her from his brother’s rough ways, but she’d seen too much, heard too much, for him to ever pretend things were normal. She was smart, street-smart, like he was, and maybe that was part of the problem. She’d grown up too fast.

He saw Carl whisper something to her, and she laughed — a soft, sweet sound he rarely heard from her. His heart clenched in his chest. He wondered if he’d ever hear her laugh like that with him.

He grunted, turning away, but Harley’s voice stopped him.

“Daddy?” she called, her voice soft but clear.

Daryl turned back, surprised. She rarely addressed him so directly.

“Can I help you with something? Maybe... go hunting later?” she asked, her tone hesitant, like she was testing the waters.

Daryl blinked, taken aback. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to hide the small flicker of hope rising in his chest. “Yeah… yeah, alright. Could use another set of eyes out there. You gotta be quiet, though.”

Harley smiled, just a little. “I can be quiet.”

Carl grinned. “She’s better than anyone,” he added proudly.

Daryl gave a short nod, trying to act casual, but inside, he felt something shift — a small crack in the walls between them. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to bridge the gap that had always been there. He’d never been good with words, but maybe he didn’t need to be. Maybe showing her how much he cared in his own way was enough.

“Come on, then,” Daryl said, turning toward the woods. Harley stood, handing Carl the rock with a grin before trotting down the steps to join her father. She fell into step beside him, quiet but close.

For now, it was enough. They walked side by side into the thickening shadows, knowing that in this broken world, they’d face whatever came together, one step at a time.