losernumber3

[ichorai]

tourney favor ; aemond targaryen (m).

pairing ; aemond targaryen x wife!reader

synopsis ; it was rare for knights to ask married ladies for their favors, as it was often a way to win a lady's hand in the midst of courtship. but it wasn’t improper by any means. strange, perhaps, but not improper. you glanced back at aemond. he was studying you, single eye narrowed, jaw clenched. was he jealous?

wc ; 2.1k

themes ; smut, mild fluff, established relationship (married)

warnings / includes ; jealous aemond, unprotected sex, breeding kink and brief mentions of pregnancy/children, wall sex, foul language, mentions of violence/murder

a/n ; if this fic sounds familiar, i took some lines from my far-lengthier aemond fic, balance the scales :)

main masterlist.

A grand tourney was held in honor of Jahaerys and Jahaera’s eighth nameday. 

You sat beside Helaena in the high platforms on the elongated arena, hands twisting in your lap. Tourneys usually bored you to no end—watching men hurt themselves over little else than theatrical show and bragging rights was not something you were very keen on. It felt like a waste of time to you, especially because you were already spoken for—you’d much rather be reading, or honing your needlework, or playing with the twins. To your other side was your husband, Aemond, looking equally disinterested in the event. You noticed his long fingers tapping impatiently against his knee, as if he were itching to leave. His older brother Aegon was nowhere to be seen, most likely somewhere in the bowels of the Street of Silk. 

You couldn’t help but feel envious. How come the father of the children the realm was celebrating was off gallivanting through the city, probably sunken into his cups and his whores? He was free to fuck whoever and whenever he wanted. Whilst you had to sit for hours on end beside your beloved husband, with whom you wanted to do nothing more than clamber into his lap and kiss him until the two of you grew dizzy.

Perhaps a large part of your agitation was due to the fact that Aemond had sunken to his knees in your chambers only an hour before, his tongue spelling worship over your drenched core. And you’d been so close, ever so close to falling off the edge—

Until there came a knock on the door, and Criston Cole’s muffled voice echoed through the shut door. He had to urgently speak to Aemond before the tourney, apparently. 

Something akin to a growl caught in his throat as your husband reluctantly drew away from you. You moaned lowly at the loss, sitting up at the edge of the four-poster bed as you watched him wipe your arousal from his chin.

“We’ll resume this tonight,” he had whispered into your flushed ears, before whisking off to speak to Ser Criston.

Seven fucking hells.

It took several moments for you to compose yourself, before you called in one of your handmaidens to help you dress for the tourney. Redo your hairstyle, too, because Aemond had certainly mussed it beyond salvation.

And now, as you fussed with your fingers in the stands, boredly clapping whenever the crowd was, it only came as an utter surprise when you heard your name called out. You sat up straighter, eyes falling from your hands to the riding grounds down below. It didn’t slip past your notice seeing Aemond tense, his fingers curling into a pale fist over his thigh.

A handsome knight donned in black-and-yellow armor stared up at you. You faintly recalled the patterned sigil emblazoned into the shield he was holding—he was of House Darklyn. He had taken off his helmet momentarily, lodged between his waist and his free arm. Gorgeous dark locks spilled over the nape of his neck, only slightly curled. 

The olive green of his eyes gleamed boldly, full lips upturned into a charming smile. “Might I be honored with your favor, my Lady? I can certainly use the luck.” 

Your gaze flickered over to his formidable opponent, a strong and muscular man, shrouded in white. His shield bore a red lion. House Reyne.

It was rare for knights to ask married ladies for their favors, as it was often a way to win a lady's hand in the midst of courtship. But it wasn’t improper by any means. Strange, perhaps, but not improper. You glanced back at Aemond. He was studying you, single eye narrowed, jaw clenched.

Was he jealous?

You could feel the muted arousal roar back to life in your lower abdomen. 

“Of course, Ser,” you called back with a knowing smile in your husband’s direction. You grabbed a ring of woven flowers and tossed it down over the jousting lance. “Be careful.”

Off the Darklyn knight went with your favor swaying by the lance’s handle, the metal grating of his helmet pulled down over his grinning features. You weren’t even sure what his name was.

The joust began just as you sat back down beside Aemond—but you found yourself barely paying attention to what was unfolding, and rather kept your eyes trained on your husband.

“Rather improper of him to ask for your favor,” he commented snidely, voice lowered so only you could hear. “You’re my wife.”

“Perhaps you should be down there, then,” you replied lightly, offering him a cruel smile. You knew well just how little Aemond cared for all the glamor the tourneys offered. “Show them who I belong to.”

Expression hardening to stone, he suddenly gripped your arm with iron-strength, hauling you up out of your seat, despite your half-hearted protests. You wondered if the Darklyn knight would search for you once the tourney was over. You found yourself unsurprised that you couldn’t care less about him.

Especially not with Aemond leading you down the halls of the Keep, twisting several sharp turns before shoving your chamber’s entrance open. Just as quickly as you were yanked inside, the wooden door slammed shut behind you, and you were promptly shoved up against it.

His lips were angry over yours, claiming you, biting you, devouring you completely. You fell slack in his arms, one of your hands resting over his chest, almost as if you were debating between pushing him away or pulling him closer. He swallowed the noises of contentment that slipped from your throat.

“You just couldn’t wait,” he snarled, shoving you against the door harder until he was pressed flush over your body. Jealous Aemond was certainly a sight to behold. “My greedy little wife.”

You preened at his words, arching your back, desperate to reconnect your lips to his. He didn’t put up a fight, allowing you to fight for dominance, claw at his neck and chest in desperation as you kissed him as if he were the very air you needed to breathe. 

Wasting no time, he reached down to yank the bottom of your dress upwards—cursing under his breath at all the damned layers you were wearing—and hurriedly shoved away your shift so he could reach your pulsing cunt. 

You were drenched. Warm and wet and fuck, he couldn’t wait a moment longer—

Sensing this, you made quick work of his trousers, yanking them downwards before moving up to pop off his tunic’s buttons. A startled, pleasured cry—verging on a hysterical sob—tore from your lungs and rattled across the chambers when he suddenly thrusted two long fingers into you, his thumb working quick circles over your sensitive clit. You’d already been denied an orgasm once, and you found a litany of breathless pleas erupting from your lips, as if it were just second nature.

“Please, Aemond, please—” You choked on whatever else you had to say, eyes rolling back as your orgasm slammed into you far too soon for your liking. Heavy and all-consuming. 

But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, more, you’d always want more of your husband.

“Aemond, please, I need you inside,” you croaked, letting out a sigh when he drew a few tender kisses to your forehead. A glimpse of the softer side of your husband, scarcely shown unless it was with you. You loved him like this, but you wanted—no, you needed—him to lose all abandon with you. 

“If you won’t fuck me, I’ll ask the Darklyn knight,” you growled with a serrated tone.

Aemond drew away from you, violet eye ablaze. Was it fury or was it possessiveness written so plainly over his features? Perhaps both. “What did you say?” he whispered, a hand suddenly surging up to grip your jaw.

“I said,” you huffed, staring at him with a challenging quirk of your brows, “I’ll ask another man to fuck me. If my husband won’t do so, that is.”

Silence on Aemond was scarier than anything. You wished he would speak, or scream, or call you filthy names. But no, he… he was observing you. Calculating. Like a cat would a mouse. 

Or a dragon would its kill.

With one fluid motion, he drew his length into his hand—long and hard and angrily weeping with beads of pearly precum. The other hand abruptly flipped you around with surprising strength, crowding you against the wall beside the door so your back faced him. You moaned out his name when he pushed your dress up over your hips and dragged his tip over your drenched core.

“Please,” you begged, bracing yourself against the wall and jutting your hips back. If you could hear yourself over the buzzing in your ears, you’d be absolutely mortified at how delirious you sounded.

In one quick motion, he sheathed himself into you. Your warm, pulsating cunt was gripping him like a vice, eliciting a shuddering groan from his lungs. You mirrored his reaction, squeezing your eyes shut and holding onto him for dear life as he began to pound into you with no restraint. The lewd noises ricocheting in the room made your cheeks heat up until your entire face felt like it had been set aflame. With each snap of his hips into yours, you found yourself crying his name like a mantra, his hands bruising over your waist, pulling you back into him.

You were blubbering incoherently, begging for more. You just about lost it when one of his hands disappeared from your waist—only to roll over your aching clit with quick circles. A sob broke past your lips and you clenched hard around his length, feeling every hot inch of him buried deep inside you. His pace staggered with the sudden shift and he groaned out a curse, followed by your name.

“Who did you want to fuck?” he bit out, slightly breathless, words dripping with venom. “What’s his name?”

“I—” You hiccupped a cry with a particularly loud thrust. “Oh, fuck, Aemond!”

“Right,” he hissed, bending forward to bite down on your strained neck. “I’m the only one who can fuck you like this. Not pretty boys in silly costumes—mmph—not daft knights who lose tourneys. Me.”

The last word was ground out when your cunt spasmed around his girth once more, and you wailed out his name as your orgasm rolled over you. It was a wonder nobody had barged in to see if there was someone being murdered. 

“Perhaps I’d have to get you all round and swollen with my child. Show them who you belong to. Who fucked you this good. Would you like that, sweet wife?” 

“Yes, yes, Aemond, I need—I need you to come inside. Please, I need you to stuff me full.”

You reached behind you to blindly grapple for his arm and he briefly shifted the angle and began pounding into you even harder. His cock hit your sweet spot just right, and you saw stars swimming over your vision. 

A near animalistic noise tore through Aemond’s chest when you tightened around him one last time, your warm cunt fluttering around his cock. His rhythm faltered. What drove him over the edge was when he glanced down and saw the thick ring of your creamy arousal at the base of his cock. Gods, you were… beyond perfect.

With a staggered rasp of your name, he thrust into you thrice more before he spilled his seed deep in you, thick spurts of white coating your slick walls.

Heavy pants filled the room. You barely registered his lips kissing along your bare shoulder, where your dress had slipped in the midst of your heated frenzy. 

Slow, he eased himself out of you. “You did so well for me,” he murmured against your skin, smoothing his hands over your waist. “Are you alright?”

“Mmh,” you hummed, because no words would come to you at the moment.

He laughed, a wonderfully rich sound, before gently urging you towards the bed. 

“Get some rest, wife,” he told you, laying you onto the plush mattress and dipping down to kiss your forehead. He regarded you with raw adoration folded over his expression. Though, it was quick to melt into a thunderous one with his next sentence. “I have a certain knight to exchange words with.”

If you hadn’t been so high off your orgasms and exhausted with the new-found urge to sleep the whole night away, you would’ve realized that Aemond was likely going to commit manslaughter over something as trivial as a tourney favor. But you hadn’t thought about it much, not in your sex-addled haze, and promptly fell asleep with only the dream of silver-haired babes with wonderful purple eyes to accompany you. 

[hansensgirl]

☠️ — 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

summary. | Steve Rogers and his wife have a precarious arrangement in which she can have as many affairs as she likes, as long as she doesn’t ask for a divorce. But a man like him only has so much patience. And there you are, his child’s babysitter, too sweet to resist.

pairings. | Dark!Steve Rogers x baby-sitter!fem!reader, Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter (brief), Peggy Carter x numerous OMCs (implied/mentioned).

warnings. | NON/DUB-CON (leaning more towards dubious consent), smut, age gap, Halloween celebrations, deceit, manipulation, Steve is mean to his wife, obsession, possessiveness, implied murder (not the reader), mentions of masturbation (m), fingering (f), kissing, nipple play, Sir kink, mild Daddy kink, creampie, dirty talk, power dynamics/imbalance, praise, mild degradation, pet names (sweetheart, sweetie, honey, baby, love), missionary, rough sex, mentions of exhibitionism, mentions of riding, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. | ~4.8k

author’s note. | hello! happy belated halloween! i know i’m a bit late—i’m sorry. here’s the dark!steve fic i was talking about. it’s a Deep Water!AU. please enjoy and heed the warnings! thank you @cuttlefjsh for beta-ing and putting up with me! let me know what you think. thank you for reading! taglist: @hansensfics. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY

The leaves fall apart underneath the pace of his feet. The hill slopes downwards, and the branches snap and hit the ground. Steve keeps pushing—keeps running even though he’s long devolved from a jog. The burn in his lungs is beautiful. He’s breathless.

For once, he doesn’t have to think about little Sarah and her mother. He doesn’t have to worry like a housewife, even though he was once the man of the house.

Millions in revenue. Two vacation homes. Endless income. But it’s never enough for her.

When Steve reaches the creek, he stops. The Apple watch on his wrist clocks in an unhealthy amount of steps. Unhealthy for everyone else, at least. He’s always been above average, and now he’s just like the rest.

Another greying head in the sea of a crowd. Another typical client his shrink has with the same old problems—a cheating wife, a midlife crisis.

His phone buzzes, and Steve half-expects a reminder he doesn’t need. But it’s better—so much better than he could ever predict.

It’s you—your name with a heart. His spouse doesn’t even have that—she’s just got her entire government name with “wife” in parentheses.

Hi, Mr. Rogers. Hope you enjoyed your weekend! I wanted to confirm that I’m coming tonight. I texted Mrs. Rogers yesterday, but I haven’t received a reply yet. Sorry to be pushy. I just need to know in time. Thanks, and Happy Halloween! 🎃

He sighs. He’s never understood why you always go to Peggy first, even though you’ve seen her incompetency more than you do your own family. He’ll have a talk with you tonight—while Peggy is out on a date with her latest suitor.

Hey, honey. I hope your weekend is as wonderful as you are. Yes, we’re still on for tonight. Don’t worry about my wife. From now on, just come to me, okay? Be here by 7:00, please. Thanks. Happy Halloween! ��

Steve replies a few minutes later, but you read his message immediately. The timestamp makes him smile. Soon, the ‘typing’ icon pops up and following it is your message.

Great, thank you so much! See you then :)

You even leave a ‘heart’ on his text message; he does the same to yours. A sigh escapes the older man’s chest. His heart has returned to its regular rate, and the sweat on his back has cooled.

The scene before him is gorgeous—but doesn’t even hold a candle to your beauty. The thought of you is more addictive than any illicit substance. It calms him down when he needs to and riles him up at the worst times.

Steve says it’s not fair. Peggy shouldn't have all the fun with her boyfriends—even when her husband gets rid of them quicker than need be. It’s exhausting to deviate from law enforcement for a woman who doesn’t care about her own family.

She gets to devise grand schemes and say mean words to him. She doesn’t bother with her own daughter. She doesn’t lift a finger or pay for a thing with money she earned. Steve has to live in the shadows—and he’s tired of it.

The almost 50-year-old man follows his usual trail back home. Sirens pass behind him, heading toward some emergency that he undoubtedly has nothing to do with. Not this time, at least.

He feels like a dog in the manger. Everyone can have Peggy (to a certain extent), but he can’t have anyone himself.

Fake cobwebs and pumpkins sit outside houses on each side of the road. It’s the spookiest night of the year, yet you have no plans. No parties to attend with some stupid little boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you the way he would.

When Steve unlocks the front door, he finds his wife’s heels strewn on the floor and his daughter watching cartoons in the living room. He kisses Sarah’s head and ensures she’s eaten the entirety of her breakfast. He tried his best with ghost-shaped pancakes, though they turned out more like blobs than anything. She doesn’t mind at all.

Sarah’s a brainiac, her new hobby being those kits that teach you how to hook wires into potatoes and other vegetables. Steve applauds her creations every time she shows them off, noting the little technological genius in her that he must’ve contributed to.

That is, if he’s her biological father.

The television screen plays her choice of cartoons, with a Halloween theme for the special day. He smiles when she laughs before heading upstairs.

Peggy has the largest room with the nicest furniture. She spends little time there unless she’s getting ready to go out or recovering from a hangover.

Steve knocks on her door. Despite there being no answer, he unlocks it and lets himself in. His wife is wide awake, eye makeup smudged a bit, but she’s wearing her signature jeans with a tank top.

She turns around and smiles at the sight of him. “What do you think?” she asks, gesturing to the costume she has laid out.

It’s a vampire—that’s as much as he gathers. The little voice in his head tells him how fitting it is—Peggy has sucked the life out of him for the last seven years.

“Perfect,” Steve tells her, giving her his most forced smile, and they both know she sees right through it.

“Good. And what are you going as?” she questions, turning her back to him. He genuinely contemplates this for a second.

For the last few years, he’s always worn a cheap cape and said he’s a superhero. But he’s tired of the same thing all the time.

“I’m not sure. I’ll come up with something, though. What time are you leaving?” Steve asks. “Oh, probably around six. Don’t wait up for me. You’ll take Sarah trick-or-treating, right?” Peggy smiles, unwilling to take ‘no” for an answer.

Steve says nothing and simply leaves. He takes his phone out of his pocket—sleek screen and a photo of you and Sarah as one of his wallpapers—and pulls up his conversation with you.

Hey, hon. Do you mind coming a bit earlier? 6:30 will do.

He doesn’t even have to wait for your reply.

Sure! Do you want me to stay the night, too? I don’t mind.

Always diligent. Always a sweetheart.

Please do. The door will be unlocked.

You give his message a thumbs-up, and he sighs.

Tonight will be the night. Tonight, he’ll finally get what he wants, and no one can stop him. Not even you.

You give the door a knock three times, even though you’re more than welcome to simply enter. It feels wrong, though. Too familiar, too casual.

Halloween is one of your favourite holidays. It’s a day full of excitement and creativity, and the month leading up to it is terrific. The turning leaves and the cold weather that lets you wear your coziest sweaters. The candy is the cherry on top of the entire delicacy.

You’ve never been on for extravagant costumes due to your procrastination. Tonight, you’re an angel. You don an all-white get-up; a lace dress, sheer tights, and matching shoes. You have a borrowed halo on your head and floppy wings on your back. It’s the best you can do for now.

Steve opens the door a few moments later, and he’s wearing a black suit. His hair is gelled, and he has a toothy grin—a change from his usual scowl. You smile at the sight of him.

“Happy Halloween!” you cheer, and he laughs. “Happy Halloween, sweetheart. What are you supposed to be? The devil?” he jokes. “Hardy-har-har. I’m an angel. But what are you? A CEO?” you ask, raking your eyes up and down his body.

The older man basks in your attention, his ears burning red.

“Actually, I’m a groom. Something different from the superhero thing, you know? It was the only thing I could come up with,” he sheepishly admits, and you wave his shyness away. “I love that! I never see anyone do something simple yet unique. But no decorations?”

You glance back at his front lawn and see nothing but withered flowers and yellow leaves from the neighbour’s over-arching tree. His porch simply has a bowl of candy with a threatening “TAKE ONE (1)” sign, assumingly written by Sarah.

“Nope. But there’s always next year!” he reassures. You giggle and nod your head. Your cheeks burn from smiling so much. Do you find him amusing? Or is it forced? Steve has numerous questions running through his mind, some exciting the butterflies in the attic that is his stomach, and some boiling his blood.

“C’mon in. No jacket? You must be freezing. You’re better than that, honey,” he chides like the father he is. He locks the door behind you—chain and all. “I didn’t think it’d be this cold,” you admit, removing your shoes. Steve takes them from you and places them on the rack where Peggy’s usual ankle boots would be.

You note the absence of her items and the lack of noise from the television. You don’t pay them much mind.

“Ah, rookie mistake. If you want, you can borrow a jacket from me,” he offers, picking up a stray black feather from the floor. You set your small backpack on the bottom step and follow his lead.

“So… What’s Sarah’s costume? She kept talking about being a minion, and then a cow, so I’m not too sure,” you laugh, and Steve does the same. “Peggy wanted her to be one of those Mario characters, but you know Sarah. Tonight, she’s Albert Einstein. Including the wig, of course.”

When you enter the clean living room, you expect to see her adorable face dressed as the notorious physicist. But she’s not there—and neither are the family photos.

“Um, sir, where is she?” you question, and he gestures to one of the sofas. You take a seat and wait for his return. He comes back with two drinks and hands you one of them. “Sarah is at her grandma’s. Peggy is at one of those parties she always goes to,” Steve coolly explains.

“Oh, are we going there? Or do you want me to stay back and give candy out?” You take a sip of your drink—a cherry limeade you once raved about to him. The sparkling water fizzles on your tongue. “No, she’ll be going trick-or-treating with her cousins.”

There’s a beat. A moment. And it lasts for a while.

“Uh, so what am I doing here?” you query. “Sweetheart. I’m a bit disappointed. You probably think that’s all I want you here for, don’t you? C’mon, you’re more than a babysitter to me.”

Steve places emphasis on his last word. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers, but I really don’t understand what you’re implying,” you profess, downing more of your drink out of sheer nervousness. Are you being fired? Are they moving? Did you do something wrong?

“Oh, honey, c’mere,” he says, even though he comes to you. He moves from his position across from you—standing tall in his full, towering height. Steve sits down next to you and places his large, warm hand on your cold left thigh. “Don’t be scared. M’not gonna hurt you. You’re not in trouble,” he says in a low tone.

When he’s this close to you, you can see the details of his face entirely. Whenever you’ve tried to admire him from afar, it’s like he knows when you’re looking.

“You’re so sweet… So pretty. I bet you’re nice and soft, too, hm? And you’ll be a good girl for me?” he asks, and you furrow your brows. You open your mouth to say something to him, but you’re quickly shut up with a searing kiss.

Steve presses his lips against yours, and it’s better than anything he could have ever imagined. The fantasies he’s had during those late nights or showers with his fist wrapped around his cock don’t even compare.

He takes charge, pushing his tongue inside your mouth and exploring within. His strong hands scoop you into his lap, one of them holding the back of your head. You lean back as Steve’s forwardness dominates you. You’re not sure what to do, so you place your palms on his shoulders and use a bit of force to try to push him away.

The married man doesn’t budge. It’s getting hard to breathe, and you feel like he’s sucked the air out of your lungs. You sink your teeth down lightly on what you think is his tongue, and he hisses as he pulls away.

“Sir– We can’t do this. It isn’t right. I– I mean, you’re my boss, and you have a wife—and poor Sarah, she doesn’t deserve this–”

“Fuck Peggy. Do you really think she cares? I don’t love her, never have. I only love you, darling. Now, what you just di–”

“Love me? Mr. Rogers, I think you’re mistaken. Maybe it’s just because we’re alone, or you and Peggy have been distant, but you don’t love me, Sir. I won’t mention this to anyone, I swear. And I’ll find another job if you’d like,” you breathlessly explain, shaking your head.

Steve shushes you with a snarl. “You’re not leaving me.” His voice is stern, and his tone says it all—there’s no arguing. “Please,” you try to get off the older man’s lap, but he holds onto you tightly. “We’re perfect for each other, honey. Don’t you see? Sarah loves you, and you love her. And look! I’m your groom, and you’re my angelic wife,” he exclaims, pulling the halo and ripping the wings off.

You gasp at his strength and audacity. You’d try to fight him, but you know you’d end up more hurt than anything. “Please don’t make this difficult,” he demands, adding your name. The mention makes you flinch, as he rarely says it.

“Look at those eyes… All blown out. I bet you’re soaking, aren't you?” Steve asks, but you don’t reply. His blue irises seem much darker in the dim lighting. His pupils are wide, and it’s like looking at a man who’s been possessed. “You’re probably making a mess of your panties, and we’ve barely even started. Does that always happen when you’re around me? Gosh, I bet you smell so sweet.”

His words make you whimper, and he smiles. “Oh, and look at those perfect tits,” he hums, groping them. Your nipples are stiff as peaks, and the rough touch from Steve has you shuddering. “Pl– Please,” you beg as he pulls at the nubs. The pain teeters on pleasure, and you squeeze your thighs to put an end to the thrumming at your core.

“‘Please,’ what, sweetie? Hm?”

“Please, Sir,” you whisper.

The title makes him groan. “Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting you,” Steve expresses. You don’t want to know. “Ever since we met… D’you remember that floral dress you wore? That you kept pulling up? God, I wanted to take you right there…”

You remember that day all too well. Seeing Mr. Rogers in all his glory was riveting, and the slight crush you developed lives on. Now—you’re not sure. Your brain is a mess, and you can’t think straight.

Your boss lifts you up bridal style, and he doesn’t let this go unnoticed. “See? We were meant for each other, honey. And we don’t even need a wedding.”

He sets you down on the bed in the room on the main floor. You’ve stayed here from time to time when Peggy likes to come out at two in the morning, and Steve is beyond worried for her.

Was it all a farce? You remember those times and how he never called her or insisted on picking her up.

Steve’s hands pull at your cheap dress, and he rips it down the middle. You regret your choice of not wearing a bra, but either way, it would’ve done nothing.

He cups your breasts, and you moan at the touch. He latches his mouth onto one nipple as he plays with the other. His mouth is skilled—his tongue flicking and teeth slightly grazing the sensitive skin.

Mr. Rogers’ fingers are just as talented. They pinch, pull, and twist at your other peak simultaneously. He switches eventually, and you’re a puddle beneath the imposing man.

Your back is arched slightly, and you’re practically pushing your chest into his face, and he chuckles. “So desperate. You need me so badly, don’t you?” he says, nodding his head and smiling when you mimic him for a split second. “Atta girl—so good for me.”

Steve pulls back, and you whine. He soothes you and pulls his jacket off. You can see the ripples of muscle beneath the white collared shirt. He unbuckles his belt with swiftness. You gnaw on your bottom lip despite its swollenness.

Soon, he’s back on you. Your boss hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, and he pulls them down your legs, admiring the strings of slick that break from the distance. He pushes the cloth into his pocket, and you clench when you think of the things he’ll do with it later on.

In your mind is a tiny voice that chides your every wrongdoing—how you haven’t fought back as much as you should. But there’s a louder one that was once lovesick over the married man before you, and it’s far more convincing.

Steve spreads your legs and curses at the sight of your sopping cunt. You involuntarily clench from the exposure. “You’ve got such a pretty pussy, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over you. One arm keeps him up, and the other bends your knees, giving him better access.

His fingers slide against your folds, collecting wetness as he caresses your lips. You let out a pleasured sigh, secretly wishing he would stop tormenting you and just get it over with. “So sensitive, too. I bet you’ll make such a mess on my cock.”

You never knew Steve could have such a filthy mouth—and God, do his words have your head spinning.

He quickly finds your swollen, throbbing clit and lightly touches it. The sensations on your little pearl are mild, but they’re enough to have you writhing beneath Steve. He draws light circles with the tips of his fingers. Your mouths brush against each other, and he teases you until you’re whispering pleas against his lips.

“Shh… It’s okay, love,” he reassures. Once he knows he has you worked up enough, Steve pushes the first digit into your pussy. The intrusion has you gasping, which turns into a whimper when he shoves another in. “Lookatcha, honey. You’re takin’ my fingers like a champ. This cunt is so tight, though. I’m really gonna have to stretch ya to fit my cock in there.”

The idea of his large cock barely fitting inside you makes your muscles involuntarily constrict against Steve’s fingers.

It takes a moment for you to adjust to the intrusion, though your walls welcome him like a familiar friend. His fingers are longer and thicker than yours, and with ease, he reaches that sweet spot most boys your age miss.

Eventually, Steve begins to fuck you on his hand. His digits slide in and out of you with ease as he picks up the pace. The skin glistens from your slick, and it’s a sight to behold. He creates a scissor motion with his two fingers every now and then, stretching you out while having you at his mercy.

It doesn’t take long for your moans to get louder while your face forms a frown of pleasure. The squelching sound of your cunt and that build-up just above your core are tell-tale signs that you’re about to come. “Oh, sir…!” you wail, and Steve picks up the pace.

“I can feel that cunt clenching on me, honey. God, you’re so beautiful this way. C’mon, make a mess on my hand. Come for me,” he rasps, rubbing his cheek against yours.

Your eyes squeeze shut when you come undone on Mr. Rogers’ hand. Your aching hole squeezes his fingers, and he makes you ride your orgasm out. Your back arches, and you let out a loud moan as pleasure shocks every nerve in your body. The lewd sounds of your cunt are noisy.

You find yourself immediately wanting more, even though you shouldn’t.

“Good girl—such a good girl for me,” Steve coos before slowly sliding his fingers out your channel. Your inner walls already miss the presence of his digits. You struggle to catch your breath, but in the midst of it all, you hear your boss pull the zipper to his pants down.

“I can’t wait to get inside of you, sweetie. I need you so badly it hurts,” he says while pressing kisses against the side of your neck. Steve climbs on top of you as he frees his aching cock from the confines of his boxers.

He grips himself by the base, his entire hand wrapped around his hardness. He gives himself a few strokes as pre-cum leaks from his slit, sliding down his bulbous head. His size is marvellous, a raging purplish-red with a thick base. Steve slaps the tip of his cock against your clit, and you flinch from the unexpected jolt of pleasure. “Fuck…” he curses.

“Are you looking, sweetie? This is such a special moment for us—I hope you remember it well,” he hums in your ear, and out of your natural obedient instinct, you lift your head to where you two are about to be connected. The sight of Steve’s cock makes you whimper. “Shit, what a good little slut.”

He drags the head of his dick through your dripping folds, and then he pushes in. The sudden stretch causes your skull to fall back against the bed. You try to close your legs, but Steve’s presence makes that impossible. He refuses to let you hide what’s his.

The older man completely sheathes himself inside your pussy. The squelching sound has you cringing in shame, but that quickly disappears when the feeling of fullness takes over. Steve’s balls touch your ass when he bottoms out, and your breathing is rapid from the sensuality of it all.

A hand wraps around your throat—though gentle, it scares you at first. Your eyes meet with Mr. Rogers’, and he looks at you with what appears to be adoration.

“You feel just like heaven,” he simply tells you. “I’m never letting you go after this—never was plannin’ on it, anyway.”

Before you can even process his words, Steve starts to fuck you. His pace is slow at first, and he hits your sweet spot with ease—a feat most boys your age are incapable of. Your moans are wanton and loud, teetering on the verge of pathetic for someone who was fighting against him at first.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper, and your reaction makes Steve smile. “You love this, don’t you? Yeah, always knew you needed a real man to fuck this cunt.”

His thrusts are a bit quicker now, and he pulls in and out of your wet pussy roughly. The sound of skin on skin is thunderous, nearly covering up the wet noises from your stickiness. His thick cock shines from your juices. Steve ruts into you like a starved man—because he is one.

His pelvic bone hits your clit every now and then, and his swollen, heavy balls are against the curve of your ass. He’s relentless in claiming you as his, sucking, biting, and licking at the skin on your neck.

“Oh my God—Steve–” you mewl, the pleasure blooming inside you almost too much to handle.

“What’s wrong, honey? Are you gonna come again?” Steve questions with faux pity. He punctuates each word with a thrust, fat cock pushing into your tightness. “What a pathetic little slut, making such a big mess on her boss’ cock. And I’m married too. You just can’t help it, can you?” he teases, and his filthy words have you squeezing his length from the filthiness. He lets a groan out from the feeling, and he keeps the fervour going.

That elastic band inside your stomach begins to tighten, and you can feel another orgasm build up quickly. “Go ahead. Make a mess on Daddy’s dick, baby,” he urges, and as if on command, you cream around his thickness.

Your back arches off the bed, but you don’t go anywhere far with Steve’s chest keeping you pressed down. Your hardened nipples rub against the cloth of his shirt, and the added friction makes your climax all the more breathtaking. The older man pounds into your cunt vigorously.

Stars appear in your vision until you come back down. Mr. Rogers doesn’t stop fucking you, forcing you to endure the overstimulation. Even with your legs shaking, he refuses to give up. “Good girl—such a good whore for Daddy,” he praises. The tip of his cock pummels against your G-spot continuously.

Your tits bounce with each push of Steve’s cock. Sometimes, he grazes your cervix, but the mild pain dulls away when he presses chaste kisses to your face and brutalizes your g-spot. “‘S too much,” you mumble, legs involuntarily trying to close. “Nu-uh—It’s enough when I say it’s enough. Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna fill up that pretty pussy real soon,” he says, and as if on cue, there’s a change in the way he pounds into your cunt.

His thrusts become more sloppy, but they keep the same passion and desperation that he started everything with. There’s an intensity you can’t describe because it just feels so fucking good. The hand on your neck moves and begins to caress the rest of your body. Your pulsating walls hug him, practically refusing to let go. Your skin is hot and sticky, just like his—if not more.

Wandering hands grope your body, going pliant underneath Steve. Guttural groans leave Steve’s mouth while you’re gasping endlessly. “Shit—you were made for taking this dick, sweetie. I’m gonna fill you up until you’re leaking down your thighs,” he promises, and the threat of it sounds terrific to your fucked-out mind.

“Be a good girl and soak Daddy’s cock one more time,” he orders. The blur between your previous climax and the one that takes you over now has your head spinning. You grasp the bedsheets from the overwhelming pleasure. A silent scream leaves your mouth, which Steve accompanies with a grunt followed by a string of curse words. “Fuck.”

You squeeze Steve’s length tightly, soaking him in your wetness. Electric shocks run down your spine and unto every nerve in your body. You feel like you’re floating for a split second. You’ve never come that hard—ever. It’s difficult to breathe, and Mr. Rogers is mean enough to make you take the euphoria he’s doling out.

Wetness stains the skin that surrounds where you two are filthily connected. Your ass is sticky, and some of your cream stains the trimmed hair at the base of Steve’s shaft. It’s a mess—one he intends on adding to with his semen.

His cock twitches inside your pussy, and with a final shove, he stills with his pelvis pressed against your clit. Steve’s balls clench, and he shudders as he reaches his own high. Ropes of cum spurt from the fat tip of the older man’s cock, painting your insides. The feeling makes you whimper as you’re filled to the brim with his seed.

For a few moments, Steve stays in that position, catching his breath while he recovers from his orgasm. Your eyes dance along his face, taking in the pinched yet relaxed look he dons.

Eventually, your boss resurfaces from the depths of his climax. You’re more than exhausted and have half a mind to fall asleep right then and there.

But the sound of the front door opening and closing shocks you from your stupor. Worry is written all over your features when Steve looks at you. “Aw, don’t worry, honey,” he hums, and though it may seem impossible, you can feel him get harder inside your pussy,

Whether it’s your evident fright or the thrill of getting caught, you’re not sure. Both make you dizzy.

Peggy’s notable accent slurs a call for Steve. “Think we should put on a show for her?” he jokes, grinding his cock further into your pussy.

You’re sure that no matter what you say, he won’t listen. And what will follow will be a nightmare you can’t escape.

But those thoughts ebb away when you hear your other boss curse a storm and abruptly leave, even though she hasn’t walked in on the pornographic scene that’s taking place in the guest room.

“Well, there’s always next time—if she’ll even make it,” Steve grumbles under his breath, but the words are too vague for you to dwell on them. “Think you’re up for round two, love? I wanna play with those tits while you ride my cock.”

For the nth time, your body betrays you and tells him your true desires. Either way, he still would’ve gotten what he wanted. Steve Rogers always gets what he wants.

[danadaria]

Steddie Olympic AU where Eddie gets on his first Olympics for BMX freestyle, and it's so weird because he has been in competitions for many years but nothing like this, something so big and with so many rules.

His background was being a hyperkinetic kid who didn't really care about his life, and somehow being fearless and doing acrobatics became his career. Still, even then it wasn't so serious.

His thing were the X-games and open exhibitions, with fire, hard rock & metal, tattoos, and having RedBull as a sponsor.

Behind the adrenaline he and his friends are a bunch of clowns who just wanted to fly and have the bones of a child forever.

But now he's here: in the middle of a giant line in an ocean of other athletes, wearing a fucking blazer from Ralph Lauren and with the lamest jeans he had to wear in his entire life.

And everything is kinda awful, because he lost sight of friends (Gareth and Max, both skaters, but they train in the same place), and he just heard there's no McDonald's at the Olympics this year.

He doesn't even like McDonald's so much, but god, he grow up hearing about athletes eating hundreds of burgers and mcnuggets for free, and sue him, but his inner child was super excited about it.

"Are you ok, man?"

Eddie opens his mouth to give a snarky remark when he sees the most beautiful man in existence – GORGEOUS v-shape, honey eyes, pink pouty lips, and kissable moles– looking at him with concern.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything is okey-dokey" He says lamely.

The most beautiful man in existence snorts at him.

"Okey-dokey? What are you? Five?"

"Probably. I was sad because I found out today there's no free McDonald's this year. Now that I know I'm not sure if it is worth being here"

Eddie's future husband looks surprised for a second and laughs at him.

"Are you serious?"

"Of course. I read some people ate so many nuggets they left the Olympics cackling like a chicken: I wanted to be one of them!"

"Oh, yeah. I ate lots of them post-competition"

"See?!"

"Ok, I give you that. But this year there's going to be international cuisine and all that jazz"

"Knowing me, I'm going to get too overwhelmed with the options and I'll end with the saddest oatmeal every day."

"You have lots of food opinions for someone that's on a sports event"

"Well, is either that or thinking that my biggest rivals are a bunch of 15-year-olds from Brazil and Japan."

"Oh? What's your sport?"

"BMX freestyle"

"That's the race in the mountains?"

"That's literally BMX racing."

"Right." He looked ashamed.

Eddie needed to fix that look, now.

"And you? What's your poison?"

"Poison? You mean my sport?" Eddie nods at him encouragingly. "Gymnastics."

"I can see it." Eddie looks at him approvingly, "You have the arms of a gymnast, big boy."

The face of Eddie's future husband turns a beautiful shade of red. And Eddie is just a second away to ask for his name, and his number to change the course of his life, when he feels a hand on the jacket's collar.

"Here you are, loser. We need to go this way!"

And before Eddie can say anything, Max Mayfield (his new arch-nemesis) takes him away from the love of his life.

He says bye with a hand before being cruelly separated, disappearing into a sea of people.

"Do you want to be murdered before or after the opening ceremony, Red?"

"Oh, shut up loser."

____________________________________________________________

Steve is going back with his best friend to their apartment, feeling super frustrated. Somehow, 24 hours ago, he thought it would be a good idea to give his phone to his best friend for the inauguration night to avoid getting too excited and watching videos of the event until 4 am.

And now he was regretting ALL his life choices.

"You don't understand Robin, I met a super cute guy, but I couldn't get his name! I'm only going to search that and nothing else"

"Steve, you made me swear I wouldn't pass your phone on inauguration day, no matter the reason. You need to sleep"

"Easy for you to say. You didn't meet someone when you didn't have your phone!"

"I would understand better than anyone! I met the cutest girl competing at air riffle, aaaand I didn't have my phone either!"

"You gave her your presentation card, didn't you"

"Yes, sorry."

"See? Why didn't you make me buy some for me, too?"

They arrive at their floor. Steve knows they're a little obnoxious, but it was the first night and it's still early.

"Good night, neighbors! Isn't it too early in the event to be fighting?"

Steve looks up so fast, he probably hurt his neck a little bit. At the end of the hallway, sitting on the floor next to a very closed door, was Steve's meet-cute: All smiley, charming, and inviting.

"It's you!"

"Oh! Hi Mr. Gymnastics, and hi unknown lady."

"It's Robin Buckley," She says and goes straight to her apartment, "we probably going to see each other again, so good night".

And she closes the door firmly behind her.

"I didn't have. I mean. I don't have my phone to search for you."

The other boy looks at him, almost evaluating him, before giving Steve a big smile and offering his hand to stretch.

"Eddie Munson."

"Steve Harrington."

"So, would you-"

"There's a McDonald's near where I compete tomorrow. Would you like to go with me?"

Eddie stands up and walks until he's in front of Steve. He smiles.

"Would love it. After all, it was my childhood dream."

Steve smiles too.

[absurdthirst]

Safe Haven {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 17.1k

Warnings: No Outbreak AU, domestic violence, spousal abuse, verbal/emotional abuse, Joel is a protector, oral sex, female receiving, fingering, vaginal sex, brief hair pulling, rough sex, aftercare, death, loss, kidnapping, threats of violence, feral Joel, threats of murder, happy endings. Reader is described as having hair that can be pulled.

Comments: Coming to Jackson had been a last resort, scared of your ex and running for your life. Meeting a cowboy in the bar your aunt owns will change the trajectory of your life, and his.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Joel groans as he steps out of his truck, the moon shining above and he adjusts his belt after he locks his vehicle. Making his way into the bar, he nods his head at the men who greet him. Locals in Jackson that he has known for years ever since he moved to the area to escape Texas. To escape the memories. He strides up to the bar and sits down on the stool, raising his hand to call over the bartender. He expects to see Jerry come over to give him his usual - beer and a shot of whiskey - but instead, a beautiful woman appears and Joel raises his eyebrows. "What can I get ya?" You ask him, wiping down the counter. "Yuengling...and shot of Jameson." He orders and you nod, walking along the bar to pour his drinks. His eyes dip down to your ass and he wonders where the hell you came from. This town is for rough ranchers, not pretty young things like you. "Here you go. Wanna open a tab or close out?" You ask and he snorts, "tab. Name is Miller. I have an ongoing tab." He says and you nod, having discovered that nearly everyone has an open tab. 

You add the drinks to his tab and sigh, leaning against the counter to look at the brooding man who saddled up to your bar. He's gorgeous. A rancher through and through with the hat on his head which he takes off to set down on the counter after taking a sip of his drink. He's the kind of man you'd be flirting with if you had any interest in that. You don't. That's why you moved to Jackson, to get away from men. Well, one man. Your husband. "So, you're new in town?" Joel asks when you refill his beer. "Yeah. Arrived yesterday." You reveal and he hums, "well, welcome to the most boring place in the USA." He snorts and you wince, remembering the fact that your husband called Jackson the exact same thing.

Joel notices the joke falls flat and he taps the bar, looking around the place. It’s pretty quiet for a Friday night, but the night is still young. You wipe down the counters and Joel tosses back the shot, setting the glass down on the counter. “Another?” You ask and he smirks slightly. “Hell, why not?” He shrugs, picking up his beer. “Nowhere else to be tonight.”

You nod, making your way over to the bottles to pour him another whiskey. After you set it down, he says, “you want a drink? I’ll buy you one.” He says and you shake your head, crossing your arms, “no thanks. I don’t drink while I’m working. My aunt owns the place and I don’t think she’d want me drinking on the job.” You reveal and Joel says your aunt’s name, “you’re her niece? She mentioned you’d be coming into town.” He hums and you hate the fact that those dark brown eyes of his are hard to look away from. “Yeah. I, uh, it was last minute. I needed to escape and she helped me.” You confess and Joel tilts his head, “from what? A boring 9-5?” He chuckles and you shake your head, “from my husband.”

Joel’s brow knits, instantly wondering what could have occurred and he stares at you for a moment before he nods. “Understood.” He grunts, taking another sip of his beer and glancing around the room, noticing a few of the other ranch’s hands are here, including his own. “You have a problem, you tell any of the boys from the Triple M to give you a hand.” He tells you, looking back at you. “You have a problem with them, you let me know. I’ll handle them.”

You nod, offering him a slight smile, “thanks.” You get called over to another patron but your eyes drift back over to Joel. He’s handsome. In a slightly depressed way. That’s probably why you can’t stop looking over at him. He’s damaged goods…like you. “Another round?” You ask Joel, someone now sitting next to him. “Yeah. And what do you want, asshole?” He asks the younger man who scoffs, “don’t be mean in front of the pretty lady.” He nudges Joel. You bite your lip at the compliment but you know it would sound better coming from the older man’s lips.

“Where’s your wife?” He looks around, not seeing Maria. His younger brother grins the sappy smile of a man in love, “she’s in the bathroom. Has to pee every time she gets out of the truck.” Joel snorts, although he’s slightly jealous. You walk back over and he jerks his head to the side. “Beer and a shot for this jerk and a ginger ale for his wife, pretty lady.” He smirks slightly, aware of the interest in your eyes and he wouldn’t mind peeling you out of those jeans.

You work fast to get their drinks, setting them down just as the woman you assume is Maria comes to the bar and sits down. “This baby is bouncing on my damn bladder.” She huffs, picking up the ginger ale you set down for her. “Not long now, baby.” Tommy says, leaning in to kiss her cheek and your stomach twists at the obvious love in his eyes for his wife. You set Joel’s beer down, “here you go, handsome.” You flirt back slightly, wanting him to know you find him attractive. You tell yourself it’s to get a bigger tip.

Tommy’s brow wings up, surprised that his brother is flirting with someone but it’s good to see him get back on the horse. “Well, fuck me, tonight’s gonna be a good night!” He slaps the bar top with a grin, making Joel roll his eyes. “Pay attention to your wife.” He grunts, sending you a wink. “Lady’s interested in me.”

Joel’s wink makes your cheeks heat up and you chuckle at the way Tommy rolls his eyes at his brother before he turns to nuzzle his nose against his wife’s cheek. Another customer calls you over and you walk down the bar passing Jerry who is serving someone else. “She’s pretty.” Maria hums, caressing her bump, “you should ask her out.”

“She’s flirtin’ to get a better tip.” Joel dismisses the idea, although he wouldn’t mind taking you out. It’s been a long time since he’s wanted someone. Hell, it was almost surprising that his cock twitches and he’s half hard. “If she wants to go out, she can let me know. I drink here, and I don’t want her aunt poisoning my whiskey.”

You watch Joel from the corner of your eye. It’s wrong to feel attracted to him. You came here to escape, not to get with a local rancher. You need to focus on yourself, not on a handsome man. You find it hard to trust anyone. Your aunt gave you a safe haven from your husband and you need to keep it that way. 

**** 

“You’re a fucking useless slut!” Your husband, Josh, yells at you, throwing the dinner you cooked him across the room. You hadn’t made the meatloaf he didn’t tell you he wanted. Apparently he expected you to be a mind reader and he’s not happy to have fettuccine Alfredo instead. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You didn’t -” You cut yourself off. 

“I didn’t tell you? You should fucking know. You know what I like to eat! Why did I marry you? I could’ve had Shelly from work. At least she sucks cock. Every guy gets a blowjob from her but no, I got stuck with you. You don’t give me shit. I got a useless cunt. All because you got pregnant.” He hisses and you shake your head, tears stinging in your eyes. You lost the baby at five months. It was traumatic for you and your husband seemed to be relieved but didn’t divorce you. You’ve been married for three years. The first year he was perfect. He took you out for dinner, treated you well. After you lost the baby, he changed. You should’ve left him when you lost the baby but you were so distraught and your only family is your aunt. You lost your parents when you were in college to a car accident. You had no one to lean on except Josh. 

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t - I can make you meatloaf.” You choke out and he scoffs, “too fucking late. I’m gonna go to the bar, get some wings. Clean up this goddamn mess.” He points at the dishes he threw on the floor and you nod, your throat closing as your hands shake. He slams the door behind him and you start to sob, sinking down to the floor. You need to get out of here. 

**** 

“Woah, watch you’re doing lady!” One of the ranch hands snaps his fingers in front of your face and you come back to yourself, gasping when you realize the beer you’re pouring hasn’t stopped because you are pulling down on the tap. “Shit.” You hiss, lifting the lever and setting the beer down. “I’m - I’m so sorry.” You choke, reaching for the rags to clean it up. Jerry comes over, his eyes widening at the mess on the floor and he shakes his head, “clean up this goddamn mess.” He hisses, clearly frustrated with you and you gasp, hands shaking as you fumble with the rags. “I- I-” You struggle to breathe, taken back to that night with Josh.

“Jerry, chill the fuck out.” Joel growls, seeing that you are as spooked as an unbroken foal and he immediately senses that you need a moment. He pushes away from the bar and walks over to the mess and takes the rags from you. “Go take a piss or wash your face.” He tells you quietly before looking back at Jerry. “It’s just some fucking beer and it’s not like this place is the goddamn Ritz.” He huffs, folding the rag and wiping up the beer himself as you edge away. Joel’s dark eyes find you watching warily, as if unsure if you should and he nods. “Go on, girl.” He tells you again.

Your hands are shaking as you make your way to the bathroom and you inhale deeply as you push the door open, rushing over to the sink and tears sting in your eyes as you try to control yourself. You are shaking and you���re taken right back to Josh. How he would say you’re a useless whore. You splash water on your face, trying to calm your racing heart. After ten minutes, you gather the strength to go back outside to finish your shift. The beer has been cleaned up and you decide to get Joel a round on you.

Joel watches as you set another beer down in front of him. Tommy and Maria are on the dance floor, holding each other close while the other couples zip around them. “You good?” He asks, watching you close and not liking that you were obviously crying at one point.

“I’m good.” You nod, “this one is on me.” You tell him, wiping your hands on your jeans. “Sorry about that. I- I freaked out and I shouldn’t have.” You confess, “I embarrassed myself.” You shake your head, “all because of pulling a beer.”

“More like a trauma response to some shit from your past.” Joel comments, watching you for a moment before he picks his beer up with a small nod of appreciation. His knuckles are scarred from his own trauma responses, so he knows what you are going through. “Best thing to do is to focus on something good. And talk to someone…..if you’re into that kind of shit.” He doesn’t feel comfortable expressing himself to a lot of people, but he doesn’t look down on those who do.

You stare at him, shocked that he’s read you like a book, and you nod after a few seconds. “I- I’ll try to do that. Thank you. It’s - it’s complicated.” You sigh and lean back against the counter. “I don’t really like talking.”

"Then don't talk." Joel shrugs slightly, knowing that he's the same way. "Better options are to either fuck through your feeling or raise hell." He takes a sip of his beer and eyes you. "Both of them have their merits."

You snort, “sex sounds pretty damn good actually.” You lean against the counter, “I’m not a raise hell kind of girl. More of a book and a coffee kind of girl.” You admit, “what’s your preference?”

Joel’s eyebrow ticks up and he wonders if you are feeling him out. “Fuckin’ wasn’t always an option.” He tosses out casually. “Sometimes you just gotta beat the shit out of someone’s face if you can’t make a woman scream in pleasure.” He shrugs, eyes meeting yours. “But I’d rather fuck, any day of the week.”

You inhale sharply at his words, your stomach twisting with arousal. Josh wouldn’t have sex with you since that night you fucked up his dinner. Deep down, you knew he was fucking someone else and you didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t coming to you for sex. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched with desire and the look in Joel’s eyes tells you he’s capable of making you feel things you’ve never felt before. “Me too. I’m not a fighter.” You confess, snorting at your own joke. You couldn’t fight against your husband when he would scream at you. “I’m guessing the options around here aren’t too plentiful for you. Seems like more ranch hands than anyone else.”

“Nah.” Joel huffs out a smirk. “And they ain’t exactly my type.” His eyes slide up and down your body and he knows you are interested. “Been a long time since I’ve had a pretty little thing like you.” He admits, ignoring the pang of loss from Tess. It’s been a few years and she’s gone.

You bite your lip, stomach twisting with lust at the dark look in his chocolate eyes. His hair is streaked with salt and pepper and his hands are calloused. He looks capable. Like he'd protect you with his entire being or he has the capacity to destroy you. You're not sure if you want to take the risk after escaping from Josh. "Been a long time since a handsome man took any interest in me." You confess, "damaged goods." You shrug, "but you seem to understand that. I'm new here...any tips on places to go, things to do?"

Joel sets his beer down and shrugs, leaning forward. “Ain’t too much to do around here.” He admits, licking his lips before he decides to proposition you. “Best thing is to watch the sun come up off the northern part of my land.” He tells you. “Might have to come stay the night to get there on time.”

“There’s a campfire breakfast option or a regular option with a thermos of coffee to take on horseback.” Joel nods. “Either one. I prefer to sleep under the stars when I get a chance, but you might prefer indoor plumbing.

You chuckle, “I am partial to a toilet but a night under the stars sounds perfect. Exactly what I need after all the shit I’ve gone through.” You confess. “You want another drink? Water?” You ask, “or coffee? Jerry has a pot going in the back.”

“Coffee.” Joel decides, finishing his beer and pushing the glass towards you. “Black. I’m a simple kind of man.”

You nod, taking the glass, and you head into the kitchen to grab him a cup of coffee. You bring it back to him and look over at his brother and his wife. “She’s due soon.” You jerk your chin over to the couple and Joel nods, “yeah. They got all the baby shit ready to go. I had to make up the crib. Good thing I used to be a contractor.” He snorts and you chuckle, “you’re gonna be a good uncle. I can tell. You got kids?” You ask, tilting your head.

Joel frowns, looking down into his coffee. “Got a foster kid.” He tells you, his heart aching when he remembers Sarah and how he had held her in his arms as she took her last breaths. “Pain in my ass.”

You snort, “she’s a teenager?” You assume from the look on his face but his eyes soften when he mentions her. “Well, I don’t work tomorrow night. My aunt wanted me to settle in after a rough first shift so if you’re free…maybe you could show me around town?”

“What time do you get off tonight?” Joel asks, weighing the work that needs to be done with the chance to just blow off some steam.

You look at your watch, “in an hour. Jerry said he’d close out my first night. Let me settle in with the locals first.” You reveal, “so…if you’re free…” You trail off, leaning against the countertop.

“Passenger seat in my truck is empty.” He points out, glancing back at Tommy and Maria, still dancing. “We can split the difference.” He decides. “Indoor sex tonight and outdoor sex tomorrow.” He smirks and winks. “See if you can ride a horse after I ride you all night.”

Your eyes widen and you inhale sharply, liking the cocky look on his face. You’ve been through hell and you want to have fun. You deserve to have fun. “Sure thing, cowboy. You ready? I can settle your tab and tell Jerry that I’m leaving.” You know you should play coy but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to like being messed around with. He nods, shifting to pull his wallet out of his jeans and he hands you enough bills to cover his tab and his family. “Thanks.” You say, heading over to the cash register. “Keep the change.” He orders when you come back over and you sigh, knowing it’s best to not argue. “I’ll go get my jacket if you still want me to come home with you?”

“I’ll wait.” He’s not the type of man to have you come out of the bar and search for him. Groaning slightly as he stands, he motions. “Go get your shit, I’ll say bye to my brother and hands that are here.” He tells you, turning to head towards the group of Triple M hands playing pool in the back corner.

You walk over to Jerry, telling him you're leaving, and his eyes dart over to Joel, a frown on his face. "I hope you know what you're doing." He clicks his tongue and you nod, "I'm having fun." He snorts, "go. I'll lock up." He orders and you rush into the back room to grab your jacket and your purse, coming out the front to find Joel waiting for you, his hands in his pockets. Your heart thumps in your chest at what you're doing. Both with nerves and excitement. It's been a long time since you felt this way.

​​He shouldn’t do this. You’ve got trouble written all over you. But it seems like Joel finds nothing but trouble and he’s always been a sucker for a nice ass. “Ready?” He pulls his hand out of his pocket and touches the small of your back as he guides you out of the bar and over to a large 4x4 dually with the Triple M logo on the side. He walks you to the passenger door and opens it for you. “If you’re gonna fuck the shit out of a woman, you can open the door for her.” He grunts when you look at him in surprise.

You are surprised by his actions and his words. “I just - I’m not used to having the door opened for me.” You confess and he shakes his head, “then you’ve been with mannerless assholes.” He scoffs and you chuckle, “that we can agree on.” You get up into the truck and it smells like him. He rounds the front after shutting your door and you inhale sharply, trying to calm your racing heart. “I just realized…I never got your name.” You frown, looking at him after he settles in the driver's seat.

Sliding the key into the ignition, Joel chuckles as he introduces himself. “Joel Miller.” He tells you quietly. “Rancher.” He wonders if you are second guessing yourself. “Own the Triple M spread. My brother Tommy and his wife own the next ranch over. Called it Fresh Start Ranch.” He snorts. “They rehabilitate horses and people.” He tells you. “Gives minors and first time offenders job skills.”

You nod, saying his name. It suits him. “Enough people know you to know that I’m safe.” You declare and he nods, “I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He promises and you smile, telling him your name, “currently on the run from my crazy husband who tried to kill me. I own nothing. Don’t have a dollar. He took control of our joint account and I can’t use it otherwise he will find me.” You confess, revealing your reason for being here.

“Cash is king.” Joel nods, not liking the bastard from what little you’ve told him. “You can always open an account in our local bank.” He tells you. “They don’t ask too many questions. A lot of the hands open accounts.”

"Probably best to stick with cash. I - I barely made it out of there with my life. I can't - I can't risk him finding me." You confess, hands shaking slightly as you lean back in your seat. You close your eyes, remembering the way he held the knife in his hand. "Hey. Hey. Look at me." Joel murmurs and you inhale deeply before you turn to look at him. "I can escort you home. I ain't - you don't seem ready for anything." He observes and you sigh, "it's - I don't want to be alone. Can we go to yours and talk? I want to tell you why I'm like this." You say, voice a little stronger.

He doesn’t need another headache. He doesn’t need another responsibility. He’s got plenty on his plate without your shit added on, but he can’t turn down the naked plea in your eyes. He sighs and nods. “Sure.” He pulls out of the parking lot, resigned to the fact that the sex he had been anticipating is now off the table. “How did your aunt end up in Jackson?” He asks conversationally.

“She was married to a rancher. He died when he was fifty. Heart attack from the stress. So she sold the ranch and bought the bar and the apartment above. She lived there for ten years then decided to move into a home when she got remarried. So, she’s been around town for a while. Doesn’t manage the bar as much and needs a set of hands. She called me to check on me the week before he - she said I was welcome to escape here. Just call her and the apartment and job is mine.” You tell him and he hums, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Did he physically abuse you?” Joel asks, wanting to know what kind of prick you were married to. “Or more emotional and verbal?” He knows that if it’s physical, if the bastard shows up here, no one will even acknowledge that you are here, if you are sitting right in front of them. Everyone protects their own here in Jackson. Joel would be even more brutal. He would just take him out on the ranch and bury him.

“He was emotional and verbal. Everything I did…it was never enough. He would throw things at him but never hit me. Until - until the day he found out I was leaving. He came home early from work. He wanted me to make him lunch and he found my bags in the hall. I was in the shower, about to get dressed and leave before he got home from work and he - he came into the bathroom with the knife. I only managed to escape because I sprayed him with hot water. Ran to the car naked and I- I drove off after grabbing one bag in the hallway. I sold the car the next day, bought another one so he couldn’t track me and drove here to escape.” You reveal, hands shaking at the memory of him pulling back the shower curtain, the knife in his hand.

“Jesus Christ.” Joel hisses, tightening his fist on the steering wheel as he drives. “What a fucking psycho. You don’t need to worry, people around here don’t like fuckers period, but definitely not ones who would threaten someone they are supposed to protect.” He reaches out and offers your leg a light squeeze before he lets go. Remembering you might be skittish.

You feel safe with him. His touch is reassuring and something you haven’t felt in so long. “I- I escaped but he’s looking for me. I know he is. He was yelling at me, telling me he couldn’t let me go. I couldn’t leave. He screamed that he’d kill me before I left.” You choke, “I barely made it but I did and I refuse - I need to start fresh.”

Joel nods, knowing all about fresh starts. “Jackson is a good place for it.” He tells you. “Lots of folks are here because they got something they want to forget. You’ll blend in in no time.” He chuckles. “Then you’ll have half the patrons ready to whoop his ass if he shows his face in town.”

You smile, “thank you.” You reach for his hand, squeezing gently. He seems so capable and you love it. The strength in his touch but you’re not scared of it. You look out of the window, watching the town pass by, and he pulls into an estate with “Triple M” above the sign. “I really want to see the sunrise.” You reveal and you look back at him as he drives down the rubble road to his place. “I really want to see you.” You decide, feeling safe with him after telling him why you're so skittish.

Joel chuckles and he tries to ignore the harsh reality of that lie. He’s let so many women in his life down. His wife, his daughter, his lover. He’s terrified that he might let Ellie down and now you have just thrown him for a loop like he’s breaking a new colt. “You’re seein’ me, ain’t ya?” He asks, flashing you a grin. It takes five minutes to get from the gate of the property to the main house and he nods towards it when it comes into view. “Whaddya think?”

You inhale sharply at the beautiful lodge. Its setting against the mountains that will be seen when the sun rises has you nodding, “it’s beautiful. I see why you like it so much.” You tell him, “you gonna show me the inside?”

“Don’t plan on making you wait in the truck.” He snorts, pulling up to the front yard and parking it. “Come on. I’ll show you around and you can see what you like best.”

You smile at him as he gets out after killing the engine and rounds the truck to open the door for you. You get out and follow him inside his place, admiring his shoulders and back as he unlocks the door to reveal the comfortable and warm lodge. “Oh it’s gorgeous. I love it.” You exhale in awe, stepping in to admire the manly yet homey decor.

“It’s home.” He grunts, moving over to the bar area of the living room. “Want a drink? Coffee? Whatever you want, we can make it happen.”

“You have any whiskey?” You ask, walking over to the photo frames on the table in the living room. There’s a few different women in the photos. From two young girls to two older women. You can't figure out who is who. You turn to watch Joel pour out two glasses of whiskey, walking over to hand it to you after he’s done. “So who’s who?” You ask, gesturing to the photos.

Joel sighs softly, aware that you would ask about it, although he hadn’t expected it to be tonight. “That’s Ellie and Tess.” He tells you, pointing at one picture with his drink hand before taking a sip. “Foster kid and my late- erm, lover.” He settles on that title for Tess.

Your eyes widen and he continues, “she died a few years ago. It - it was fucking dumb. She was trying to rescue a stray dog on the property and it bit her. She got fucking rabies and - and she died.” He shakes his head, unable to believe it even after all these years. The worst part? She didn’t know that he loved her. “I’m so sorry.” You choke, reaching up to touch his arm.

Joel shakes his head and sighs. "Not a goddamn thing I could do." He admits softly, unsure why he is talking to you about this. He never talks to anyone about losing Tess, not even Tommy dares to bring up her name. Ellie had just been placed with them and it had been a long time before he opened up to the girl at all.

Your heart aches for him, he’s lost so much. “I’m - there’s no words.” You murmur, knowing there’s nothing you can say to remotely make the loss tolerable. He has to heal on his own time. “She has your eyes.” You point to the other teenager and Joel smiles sadly, “my Sarah. She - she was killed when she was thirteen. I used to live in Texas. Austin. She went to go get my watch repaired for my birthday and - and she was shot.” He confesses, “I tried to get there as quick as I could and she - she died in my arms.” He finishes quietly and your eyes widen, glistening with tears from the pain in his voice. 

“Joel…I-” You don’t continue, you just spin around and wrap your arms around him.

Joel grunts, absorbing the impact of the hug. You had pushed into him hard, probably trying to reconcile all that he’s endured and he awkwardly wraps his arms around you. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the hug, he just doesn’t know how to really handle the softness anymore. “It’s - I’m existing. I’m still here.” He doesn’t mention that his sole reason now is for Ellie, but he rubs your back gently. “If I can make it, you can too, pretty girl.”

You look at him, that small patch in his beard that doesn’t seem to grow, and you lean in to kiss it. “You don’t- we don’t have to do anything.” He reminds you but you kiss his jaw again. “I want to. I want to feel. I want to feel wanted. Desired. Can you do that for me? Can you fuck me like there’s no tomorrow?” You ask, “because that’s what I need right now.”

Joel’s eyes flatten, darkening with desire. “I fuck rough.” He warns you, voice dipping down and taking on a raspy quality. “I’ll make you feel good, but I’ll also make you hurt.” He’s not talking about a slap or any kind of violence, he doesn’t get off on beating women while he fucks them. However, you would feel him tomorrow, every step you take and when you are riding a horse.

You whimper at the gruffness in his voice but it’s arousal. You know he won’t actually harm you. You nod, “I want that. Just- just make me feel something other than what I’ve been feeling.” You demand, wanting to take control of your emotions after such a turbulent escape.

“I can do that.” He promises, lifting his drink. “Finish your whiskey and I’ll make you forget your own name by the time I’m done riding you.” He growls, cock starting to harden again at the thought of laying you out on his bed.

You let go of him, stepping back to grab your glass and you down it, wincing at the sting of the alcohol but you like it. He watches you as he sips, doesn’t down it like you do, and your body tingles from his intense stare.

Joel knows Ellie is in town. It was the entire reason he had gone to the bar. She’s spending the night at Dina’s house and the main house is empty except for you and him. “Take your clothes off.” He orders, leaning back against the bar. “Ex-excuse me?” You huff, making him smirk at you as he continues to drink. “You heard me, girl. Strip.” His eyes drag up and down your form possessively. “I want to see every beautiful inch of your body before I touch you.”

You should say no but the look on his face has you obeying. You shrug off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor before you reach for the hem of your shirt. You lift it over your head and expose your bra. You hear his soft groan and it makes your pussy start to throb with need at the desire. You reach behind you to unclasp it and drag it down your arms, exposing your tits to his hungry gaze as he sips the alcohol. He doesn’t say a word, encouraging you to continue with his silence so you kick off your sneakers and unbutton your jeans, pushing them down your legs until you’re left in your panties and socks. “All of it.” He demands and you nod, lifting your feet to remove your socks then you hook your fingers in your panties, pushing them down your legs until you are standing bare before him.

“Fuck.” Joel growls, draining the rest of his whiskey and slapping the glass down onto the bar before he shoves off of it. His blood is hot, cock aching for you and he’s going to show you exactly what that little show has done for him. Stomping up to you, he grabs your ass and hauls you close, his lips demanding and harsh when they descend on yours.

He tastes like whiskey and something sweet that makes you moan into his mouth. His fingers dig into your flesh and you tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper locks, pressing yourself against him. His hard cock is pressing against your hip and you moan when his tongue pushes into your mouth. He takes what he wants without forgiveness and you love it. You love that he’s taking all the need to think away from you.

Joel is strong, he’s manhandled bull calves and horses, throwing hay and everything else that is needed on a ranch. Grabbing your thighs, he hoists you up into his arms, making you gasp into his mouth. Clinging to him as your legs wrap around his waist. Still kissing you, he starts to carry you towards his bedroom, eager to lay you down.

You gasp when he tosses you down on his bed. Simple comforter and two pillows, you shift back onto them to watch him as he works on unbuttoning his shirt. “I want to do it.” You huff, shifting onto your knees and reaching out to continue removing his clothes. When his shirt is unbuttoned, you push it down his shoulders and caress his chest, admiring the salt and pepper hair there.

Joel groans at the feel of your warm hands on his skin. He hadn’t been lying, it’s been a long time since he’s had someone touch him. Your fingers comb through his chest hair and he leans in to bite your bottom lip. “Open my pants, pretty girl.” He growls, cupping your ass again.

Your hands slide lower to play with the buckle of his belt, working fast to undo it, and you whip it out of the loops, making him chuckle. You toss the belt to the floor and work on unbuttoning his pants, reaching in to pull his hard cock out and you moan at the way your fingers barely touch when you squeeze him. “Holy shit.” You gasp, looking down at his girth.

Joel smirks, watching your eyes widen. “Second thoughts, pretty girl?” He rasps out. “Don’t think you could take me?”

You swallow harshly, "I- I am going to take every inch." Your stomach twists in anticipation. Josh had a small dick and you never complained when he first started fucking you but he was selfish. You wonder if Joel is selfish or not. You lean over to spit onto his length, twisting your wrist to start pumping his cock.

“Un uh.” He almost grabs your face, not wanting you to blow him, but he just grunts in approval when you pump his cock in your fist. “You’re going to cream on every inch.” He warns you, rocking his hips forward into your grip. “Now, tell me right now before we get started.” He huffs. “Anything I can’t do to you?”

You shake your head, "he never - thank God. He didn't abuse me like that. He stopped touching me. We didn't - not for eighteen months." You confess, "I think he was cheating on me." You continue pumping his cock, leaning in to kiss his neck.

Joel grunts. “Then your pussy’s been neglected for far too long.” He grabs your wrist to pull you off his cock, stepping back and kicking off his boots and shucking his jeans. Making sure to pull out his wallet for a condom.

You shift back onto the bed, laying down as you watch him throw his wallet onto his nightstand, his jeans and briefs discarded on the floor. "Fuck, you're so hot." You murmur, eyes drinking in the sight of the strong and capable man.

He chuckles, knowing that he is old and wearing down, but he can still put on a good show for you. Grabbing your ankle, he flips you onto your stomach and ignores your shriek of surprise before his hand comes down on your ass.

You gasp in surprise, your finger curling in the sheets and you moan when he smacks your ass again. "Again." You plead, wanting him to consume you, to make you forget all of the shit you've endured recently.

“That’s a good girl.” He slaps your ass again, a bit harder this time, tempering the slap with a quick rub of the skin with the palm of his hand. Grabbing both globes and pulling them apart to look. “Stared at this ass while you got my beer.” He grunts, leaning in and spitting on the puckered hole. “Knew it would be killer.”

Your eyes roll back in bliss at the way he's manhandling you. "Swayed my hips to make sure you were looking." You confess, "I wanted you to - to want me." You admit, "want you to fuck me hard. Make me forget my own name."

His hand slides through your folds to your clit. “Have to make sure you can take me first.” He hums. “Want you to be sore, not bleeding.”

You rest your cheek on his sheets, moaning when he rubs your clit. You’re already wet for him but his cock is too girthy for you to take him without his fingers stretching you out first. “So good. Joel, baby. Shit. Want your fingers inside of me.”

Joel smirks, pulling his hand away so you whine. He slaps your ass once more and flips you onto your back again. “Want to see your face when you cum.” He slides two thick fingers into your cunt while he dives into your folds with his mouth ravenously.

Your shriek echoes off of his walls as his fingers drive into you, making your back arch and your fingers tangle into his hair as he sucks on your clit like a hard candy. “Fuck.” You gasp, loving the way his thick fingers stretch you out.

Joel groans against your clit, curling his fingers up inside you and scissoring them apart. Wanting to stretch you out. His other hand has your hip in a bruising grip to keep you from bucking up. Sucking on your clit harshly.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” You cry out, back arching as you try to not buck up. His hand squeezes your hip and you moan his name as he laps at your clit, your fingers tugging on his hair and your other hand squeezes your tit.

His dark eyes watch you carefully, tongue flicking over your clit before he sucks on it again. Pulling back his hand in order to push another finger inside you. Wanting to make sure you are going to take him with ease.

You pant as he stretches you out on his thick digits. No one has taken this much care with you. Most men would’ve been trying to stick their dick in you by now. You moan his name again, toes curling when he works you higher and higher until you’re crying out. “Oh fuck!” You squeal, clamping down on his fingers as you fall apart around them.

Joel lightens the pressure of his tongue, but he keeps pumping his fingers into you. Curling them and pushing deeper. Rocketing you higher until his name comes out as a squeak and another rush of liquid splashes his wrist. Your cunt squeezes his fingers like a vice and he knows you are going to feel amazing around his cock. Chuckling, he starts to slow down, letting you ride out your pleasure with a nice languid pace until your body goes boneless. “Now you’re ready.” He hums.

You nod, eyes still closed as he withdraws his digits and you manage to open them to watch him kneel on the bed. He grabs the condom, opening it, and he rolls it down his cock with a hiss from how hard his cock is. He was leaking pre-cum into the sheets while he was working you open. “I’m still not sure that’s gonna fit.” You declare and he chuckles, “it’s gonna.” His face turns serious, “but if it hurts, you tell me and I pull out.” You nod and he shuffles closer, gathering your slick from your folds to coat his length. “You ready?” He asks and you inhale deeply, “yeah. Fuck me.”

Joel hovers over you, flashing you a smirk as he braces one hand on the bed. The other is wrapped around his cock as he guides it to your entrance. “Wrap your legs around me when I push inside you, pretty girl.” He grunts. “And hang on. This ride will last longer than you’re used to.” He promises, snapping his hips forward and burying his length inside you.

​​You do as he says, wrapping your legs around his waist as he pushes inside of you. “Oh my fucking God!” You cry out, tilting your head back as you take his girth inside of you. He’s stretching you out but the slight hint of pain is delicious. Your mouth falls open and your legs tighten around him while he works himself completely inside of you. “I really didn’t think you’d fit.” You confess, gasping from the intensity and you love it. You feel alive.

He chuckles, leaning in to brush his lips over yours. “Knew it would.” He grunts, twitching when your walls clench down around him. You seem to like the rough rasp of his voice. “Tight little pussy fits like a glove.” He groans. “Now let’s see how you cum on my cock.” He hisses as he pulls his hips back, prepared to slam back into you again.

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his lips back to yours, and your tongue slides against his as he starts to move inside of you. He eagerly swallows your moans of pleasure and you tilt your hips up, trying to meet his rhythm. “Fuck. You feel so good.” You pant against his lips, “more. Want you to - to wreck me.” You order, wanting him to make you forget your own name.

He chuckles again at how greedy you are, but his hips snap forward just a little harder on the next thrust. “Gonna wreck you.” He promises, ducking down slightly and starting to bite on your jaw.

You tilt your head to give him more access, your thighs tightening around him as he starts to fuck you hard. "Shit baby. Keep - keep going." You plead, knowing your expectations are low because of your husband who would barely last a couple of minutes.

Joel plants his hands on the bed bedside your head and starts to pound into you. Knowing that his back will start to scream, but he’s not going to let up until you are the one screaming. Hammering into you with rough, quick thrusts before pulling back to do it again.

Your eyes widen when he hammers into you. A squeal escaping your lips and you choke out his name. He steals your breath from you and his cock pushes deep enough that it feels like he's in your stomach. "Ho-holy shit." You moan, your heels pushing into his ass as he grunts above you.

He doesn’t have the breath to chuckle. Just continuing to fuck you like there is no tomorrow. Grunting and hissing every time he buries himself deep and pulls back for another thrust. He curls his hands into fists and he changes the angle of his hips until the pubic hair above his cock rubs against your clit.

“Ohhh myyyyy fuck - fucking Godddd!” You squeal endlessly, breathlessly as he rams into you. He’s rubbing your clit with his pelvis and your eyes squeeze shut. Your breath hitches as your body starts to shake. You moan his name and he rocks into you over and over. “I’m gonna- you’re gonna - shit. Joel. Joel. Jo-” Your voice breaks as you fall apart, clamping down on his cock.

Joel growls, something deep and feral from his being as he rocks into you harder. Watching as your eyes squeeze closed and your back arches. Your cry fills his ears as you cum around him. As soon as your body tenses for the last wave of pleasure, Joel is rearing up, breaking the hold your legs have on him to pull out of you and flip you back over. Wanting to fuck you from behind.

You scramble onto your hands and knees. Your back is arching as you still shake from your previous orgasm. “Fuck baby. I need - fuck me.” You plead, wiggling your ass.

It’s almost amusing how desperate you are for his cock, but he doesn’t chuckle or slap your ass. Just notching his cock and pushing back inside you with a groan of your name as he holds onto your hips.

“Shit. Oh fuck!” You cry out, fingers grabbing at the sheets as he fills you again, stretching you out even more in this position. “Joel!” You gasp, falling forward onto your elbows.

“That’s right.” Now he slaps your flank. “Told you I’d ride you hard.” He grunts, setting a harsh pace as your cunt squelches around him. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight, petty girl.”

He practically straddles you, his knees by yours as he bends you over so he can sink even deeper inside of you. “Fuckkkk.” Your voice rattles as he hammers into you. Your eyes close as you struggle to breathe under his weight but you love it.

He presses his weight into you, aware that you love it from the way you moan. He can’t help but hold you tight, pressing closer and his teeth scrape over your shoulder as he surrounds you.

You let him overtake your senses, letting him use your body however he wants. You moan his name loudly as he rams into you over and over. His cock punching your guts and your cries come out soundless as he wrecks your pussy.

Joel loses himself in you. Forgetting everything but the sound your cunt makes and the way it squeezes him. Growling as he feels himself get closer, knowing that you need to cum again before he finishes.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he adjusts his hips and hits a spot inside of you that makes your body shake. “Yessss right thereeee.” You hiss and he focuses on that spot, pushing against it time and time again until finally pushes you over the edge. Your cry is soundless as you cum, soaking him and your thighs shake.

Joel’s hand finds your hair, tangling into it as he yanks your head back. “That’s iiiiiiittttt.” He growls. “So good. Gonna cum, pussy’s too good.” He praises, pulling your head back more so he can kiss along your throat as his thrusts stutter. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” He groans your name and pushes deep, spilling into the condom and burying his face against your neck, relaxing his hold on your hair.

You pant as he presses his cheek against your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin. You let him ride out his high, rocking back against him as he twitches inside of you. “Fuck. That was - " You can’t even finish the words and Joel smiles against your neck. “That’s - that’s what I needed.”

“Me too.” He groans, reaching back to hold the base of the condom as he pulls out of you. When he moves back, you kind of slither forward to lay on the pillows and he chuckles. “Now, pretty girl.” He groans slightly as he climbs off the bed. “Have you had anything to eat? Want some water? Or just a piss and some sleep?”

“Piss. Water. Food - if you have any - sleep. In that order.” You murmur, feeling boneless, “gonna take me a little to be able to move.” You admit, “you fucked my skeleton out of me.” You chuckle softly, enjoying the scent of him on the pillows.

He snorts as he pulls the condom off and ties it closed. Moving to the en-suite door, he shuffles inside and lifts the toilet seat. “Pisser’s in here.” He calls out as he pees. “When you can move. I’ll go make you some food and get you that water.” He flushes and comes back out, smirking as he walks over and presses his lips to yours. “Steak and eggs good?”

“Where have you been all my life?” You tease, groaning as you shift to sit up as he grabs his briefs from the floor. You watch him pull them on and he winks at you. You groan as you shuffle off of the bed, plucking his shirt from the floor before you practically waddle into his bathroom. It’s clean. No decor and only a few towels. Typical man. You pee and wash your hand, splashing your face while Joel heads downstairs.

He’s got the steaks cooking on the grill pan, over the gas flame and he pokes it with his finger before he moves to the fridge to get the eggs out. He practically lives off steak and eggs, the simple, yet delicious meal one that Ellie loves as well. He hears you start to move around upstairs and chuckles to himself as he pours you a glass of water.

You make your way downstairs on shaky legs, finding the kitchen and you swallow when you see Joel's back muscles moving as he cooks. "A girl could get used to this." You tease, walking over to press a kiss to his back, "thank you for taking such good care of me."

Joel snorts, turning around and grabbing your ass as you walk by. “Sit down before you fall down.” He smirks with pride, he nods towards a chair at the bar with a glass of water sitting in front of it. “Steak’s almost done. You like your eggs scrambled or fried?”

"Fried. Over easy." You tell him as you sit down on the chair, wincing slightly, and you pick up the water to take a sip. You should be recoiling from a man but Joel makes you feel safe. After what happened at the bar, you know he understands you and knows how to handle you. You watch him crack the eggs, "you cook a lot?"

“Have to if I want to eat.” Joel snorts, looking over his shoulder at you. “We had a housekeeper, a while back, but she got married to the Rawlings boy a couple of ranches over and is expecting a little one.” He explains as he slides the eggs around the pan. “Ellie burns water, so if we’re gonna eat, I’ve got to cook.”

You chuckle, “sounds like you know what you’re doing.” You down most of the water and watch as he serves up the eggs. You moan when he sets the plate down in front of you before he sits beside you. “Thank you.” You murmur, reaching for his hand to squeeze it before he picks up his fork.

“Think I should be saying that to you.” He hums, nodding to the food. “Now that we’ve pissed and had water, we are on to the food portion of Joel’s after fucking care.” He jokes. “Eat up.”

You giggle, picking up your knife and fork. You dig in and groan at the taste of the steak and perfectly cooked eggs. “Fuck, you are the whole package. Good lay. Good cook. Just need to see if you can kill a spider.” You nudge him playfully and he chuckles, “I even put the seat down.” You smile and he continues eating. You’re quiet but it’s comfortable, something you’re not used to. You used to be on edge when Josh was quiet, wondering when he’d say something bad.

You finish your water and Joel doesn’t say a word. Just getting up with a slight groan and going to refill it. You are happily digging into the food and he wonders if you had a chance to eat at all while you were at work. He brings it back over and nods when you thank him. Finishing up his own food quickly and moving to load the dishwasher with the dirty plates while you eat the last bites of your food.

“I can do that. You don’t have to do that. You cooked. Let me -” You scramble to grab your plate, rushing over to the dishwasher. “Go sit down. I can - let me do it.” You plead, reminded of the way Josh would demand you load the dishwasher before he finished eating. He didn’t want to finish his meal with a dirty kitchen so you’d have to get up to clean it before he finished his food. If you weren’t fast enough, he’d throw his plate at you. He never hit you but you’d be hit with shards of ceramic from it smashing. He would call you a lazy whore and you’d have to clean up the smashed dishes.

Joel frowns at the panicked tone to your voice and he takes the plate from you gently. “Don’t worry about this.” He grumbles. “Just gonna throw it in. The kid can unload it tomorrow.” His brows scrunch when you freeze in confusion. “You’re my guest, pretty girl. Only thing you need to do for me is hop your sweet ass back in my bed to sleep.” He cocks an eyebrow up. “Unless you’ve decided you want to go home?”

You shake your head, hands shaking slightly, “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t - he used to make me - I had to clean up before he finished eating. He liked a clean house and I- shit. I’m so sorry.” You shake your head, knowing how ridiculous it sounds. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Joel closes the dishwasher and turns around to face you, leaning back against the counter. “You’ve got shit in your past that affects you, so do I.” He shrugs like it’s nothing too serious. “Just let it out when you need to, you ain’t gonna bother me.”

You walk over to him, cupping his cheeks. “Thank you.” You murmur, leaning in to softly kiss him. “Thank you.” You caress his cheek and you drop your hands, feeling silly for your reaction. “You ready to sleep? I’m exhausted and you promised me a sunrise.” You tap his chest.

Joel grabs your hand and squeezes it. “Sleep sounds good.” It’s late and you need some sleep. He needs some sleep, although he’s accustomed to only a few hours. You smile shyly and he turns to lead you out of the kitchen. “You need me to carry you upstairs?”

You nod, “yeah. I don’t think I’m gonna make it. My legs are like jello.” You confess, “can you- I can make it.” You promise and he nods, reaching down to wrap his arm around your legs, his other arm around your waist. He grunts and he lifts you into his arms and you wrap your arms around his neck.

He chuckles again at the dazed and slightly romanticized look on your face as he hauls you up the stairs. “Just like out of one of those books, huh?” He jokes, smirking at you. “Gotta be willing to carry them after you fuck the life of ‘em.”

You can't believe he carried you up the stairs. He sets you down on his bed and pulls the covers over you. "Let me grab you another water and then it's sleep time, baby." He declares and you nod, covering the yawn that escapes your lips.

By the time he grabs the water and comes back up, you are already passed out. It’s kind of cute how you are curled up in the pillow and he sets the water on the nightstand beside you. Climbing into the bed beside you, he turns off the light and closes his eyes, aware that he will be awake in a couple of hours.

"Sweetheart. Wake up." You wince at the slight nudge to your shoulder. "Wanna see the sunrise?" A gruff voice asks you and you open your eyes to look at Joel. "Thought you were gonna wake me up with oral?" You tease, voice rough with sleep.

“Is that what the sunrise is to you?” Joel smirks slightly and shrugs. “If we do that, you’ll miss the sun coming up as you cum.” He teases back.

You groan and sit up, excited to see the sunrise with a handsome man. You rub your eyes and yawn, “I gotta pee.” You murmur, shifting out of bed and you shuffle into the bathroom. Your body aches from his harsh fucking last night but you love it.

Joel had already gotten up and dressed. Laying out a spare toothbrush for you to use. He throws out a heavier jacket than you had worn last night on the bed for you to wear, not wanting you to get cold when you are riding. “Going downstairs to make coffee.” He calls out.

You gurgle around the toothbrush and you wash your face. Redressing in your clothes and sneakers, shrugging on the heavier jacket, you make your way downstairs to where Joel sets a cup of coffee on the counter. “Not sure if you want cream or sugar. Or that oat milk shit.” He grunts and you chuckle, “just cream.” He nods and grabs the creamer for you.

While you take your first sip, Joel pulls out a thermos and pours the rest of the pot into it. Adding creamer for you since he will drink coffee any kind of way. “You ever ridden before?” He asks, unsure of your skill or id he should just drive the truck.

You chuckle, waggling your eyebrows, “depends on what I’m riding.” He raises his eyebrows, a serious look on your face, and you nod, “yeah. Back when I was a kid. I used to ride a lot on my friend’s horse when I’d visit her.”

He nods, happy that he can get the horses out. “I’ve got a sweet little mare that is itching for some exercise.” He tells you. “We’ll make breakfast over the fire at the ridge.”

You feel like you’re in a dream as Joel gathers the bags and you make your way to the stables, it’s dark out but Joel flicks on the lights and you gasp at the set up he has. “Oh they are gorgeous.” You coo as you walk over to a horse, holding your hand out so you don’t spook them.

There’s something about girls and horses. He smirks as he moves to the tack room and grabs a couple of saddles. It won’t take him long to get the horses saddled and on the way. He’s too used to this kind of work. Even if the boys in the bunkhouse aren’t up yet. He walks back and hears you giggle as the horse, the mare he had wanted you to ride, sniffs your hair and attempts to taste it. “She’s a nibbler.” He warns with a grin.

"Like her daddy." You giggle, winking at Joel before ducking your head away from the horse. "She's beautiful." You murmur, stroking her nose and she nuzzles into your hand. "You wanna ride, sweetheart?" You ask her and she grunts into your palm. "We are gonna see the sunrise, beautiful girl." You coo, enamored with the horse.

Joel saddles his own horse and then moves over to you and Sweet Pea. He tells you her name and rolls his eyes playfully when you coo even more at the sweet name. He ties the bags onto the saddle and pats her flank gently. “Ready to go?”

You nod and he grabs the reins of his horse, making his way out of the stable and into the night. The stars are still shining and you follow Joel's lead as you begin to make your way across his land to the hills in the distance. "It's so peaceful out here." You declare, enjoying the solitude with Joel by your side.

“It is.” Joel agrees. “I feel like I can start over here. Maybe not fuck up this time.” He steers you towards the mountain that he wants to show you and watches out for holes or snakes. “Do right by the kid. Give her a fucking future.”

You smile softly, "you seem to really care about the people you love. You're protective. I understand...after everything. You're a good man, Joel. Even if you don't think so." You know his type, brooding and self loathing but he's shown you nothing but kindness.

“You’ve never seen me at my worst.” He reminds you, aware that the violent, brutal side of him could quickly change your mind on his goodness. A rabbit darts out from a burrow and he instinctively reaches for your horse's bridle as he tries to calm the slightly spooked horses. “Easy, easy there.” He grunts out, happy when they just side step nervously and then settle back down. “Good girl, good boy.” He soothes, patting them on the necks.

Your heart flutters at the way he handles the horses and you continue on your journey, the sky starting to lighten but no sunrise just yet. "Everyone has a bad side. It's about how we handle our demons. You have been nothing but kind to me." You shrug and the cool morning air hits your face.

He admires your positivity, despite the abuse from your ex. You are good to the very marrow of your bones. Ellie would like you. “Demons.” He grunts, “well, most of the time, I just shoot ‘em.” He guides you further onto his property, up the mountain to the little ridge he loves to watch the sunrise from. “Here we are.”

You gasp at the sight in front of you. The sky is brightening up and you see the mountains in the distance. “Wow.” You murmur, staring at the beauty in front of you. Joel dismounts and guides his horse over to the tree to tie him up, patting his side before he comes over to help you off of your horse. “It’s gorgeous.” You murmur when he helps you down and takes the reins.

“It’s my favorite place.” Joel confesses, motioning to the flat rock where he likes to sit. “I’ll get the coffee, and we can sit.” He tosses you a blanket to spread over the cold rock.

You spread the blanket out on the ground and settle down, watching him grab the bags from the saddle and carry them over. You eagerly take the flask of coffee and the two plastic mugs, pouring the hot liquid into them.

“After the sun comes up, I’ll make a fire and we’ll cook some breakfast.” Joel promises. “Bacon, eggs and toast sound good?” He smirks and holds up a can of beans. “Or are you a beans on toast kind of gal?” He tosses the can up and shrugs when he catches it. “It’s actually pretty good.”

“No beans.” You snort, taking a sip of your coffee. 

The steaming cup of coffee warms his hand and adds to the beauty of the moment. watching as the pink hues break and the bright sun flashes over the horizon and bathes the valley below in sunlight."Beautiful." Joel whispers softly.

You are silent, just taking in the sunrise and it takes your breath away. When the sun is above the horizon, you lift your cheek from his shoulder and turn to look at him. “Thank you for showing me this. When I - before I escaped, I thought I was destined to die at the hands of my husband - physically or mentally. I never imagined I’d be safe and watching the sunrise. Thank you for bringing me out here.”

"This is a place for new beginnings." He murmurs softly. "Never thought I would get one, but I know you damn sure deserve one." He looks into your eyes seriously. "You'll be safe here. No matter what."

You know he isn’t one for gushing gratitudes so you simply nod and lean in to kiss his cheek. You watch the sky for another few moments before he starts to set up the fire for breakfast. “Where did you learn all of this?” You ask, knowing you wouldn’t have a clue how to start a fire. “My Pa. Taught me and Tommy when we were kids. Used to go camping in the middle of nowhere in Texas.” He confesses, “he taught us how to survive. Figured the world was gonna end one day and we’d all have to fight for our lives.” He snorts at the memory of his father. You hum, “like a zombie apocalypse?” You ask and Joel snorts, “yeah.”

"After Tommy got out of the Army....he helped me for a while. We were contractors. Built houses and shopping malls." It seems like Joel is talking about another life. He is talking about another man. Life had been so simple back then. "Then...after Sarah....Tommy moved out west and when I- I couldn't stay anymore, I followed him. Came out here, started over."

You watch him as he prepares the breakfast, “at least you came out here. Started over. Some people…they wouldn’t survive what you went through.” You tell him and he sighs, “some days it doesn’t feel like it.” You understand that. “But you’re still here. And it takes time.” You tell him and he tuts, “wasn’t time. It was Ellie.” Your heart melts at that and you watch him place the bacon on the now hot pan. “And she’s lucky to have you.”

He doubts that, but he won't let her down. He pokes at the bacon and looks around the valley, the sun clearing the horizon. "Well, she's got me." He snorts, smirking slightly. "Sometimes she hates it. Says I'm too parentified. whatever that means."

You giggle, “maybe you need to loosen up a little. She’s a teenager, right? Just need to let her have a drink now and then and let her date someone stupid.” You tell him, “I know. I was a teenage girl.”

"She tries whiskey every time I drink some at home." Joel glances back over at you and grins. "Hates it every time." HIs grin widens when you laugh and he shrugs. "Hasn't seemed interested in anyone yet."

You shrug, "maybe she will, maybe she won't. You'll be a good father to her whatever happens." You can tell he's a strong character, strong in his resolve to be better. "You just gotta let her make some mistakes. Lord knows my parents let me fuck up...but they would've said no to Josh." You murmur, frowning at the realization that he was never the man you thought he was.

“Everyone needs to make mistakes, although I know she’s going to be making all new ones.” He hums, smirking slightly at the headstrong girl and her convictions. He looks back at the bacon and he frowns slightly. “Did your parents….are they gone?” He asks, understanding that they must be. 

You nod, “car accident. I was in college when I got the call. Some asshole drunk driver. I - they never got to see me graduate. I barely did. Got lost in the booze and partying to deal with my grief.” You confess, “nearly fucked everything up but they left me their house in the will. Josh made me sell it. Used half of the money for a down payment on our house and he - he spent the rest of the money. Gambling. He was - I was scared and alone and grieving. I just wanted to belong somewhere and he took advantage.”

Joel frowns, jaw clenched at the idea of you being taken advantage of while you were so vulnerable. While you were trapped in your grief. “Maybe you can find a new home. A new life where you don’t have to worry about being taken advantage of.” He offers quietly. “A life your parents would be proud of. One that you are happy in.” 

“That’s why I left. Why I moved here. I can’t touch the account. He’d be able to find me. I need time to figure out what to do next but one day…I’m hoping I find a home. A place I can relax and be happy in.” You confess, watching Joel serve up the food after he fried the eggs.

“You think he will come looking for you here?” Joel asks, sitting down beside you after handing you one of the tin plates the hands take on the trail. “Since your aunt is here? Would he remember?”

You shake your head, “she met him once, when we got married. He didn’t really know about her. Kinda cut me off from her after we got married. Said I was his new family.” You sigh and shake your head, knowing you made mistakes. “I hope he doesn’t find me. I never told him where she was. I - shit - I have been so careful to not let him know where I am.”

“Well, you can get close to her now, repair that relationship.” He points out. “Abusers like to isolate their victims. Make them feel like they have nowhere to turn, no one to talk to about what they are doing.” He’s seen it before.

“I know that now. In the beginning, he made me feel so special. I felt so stupid for believing him. I didn’t - shit. I got away from him and I want to start again. I want to live and not feel like I am constantly triggered by my asshole ex.” You shake your head and take the mess tin from his hand when he offers it to you.

“Look at you, talking shit out.” Joel teases softly, picking up the thermos to refill your coffees. “After fucking it out. You’re on the road to recovery.” He chuckles when you snort and roll your eyes, taking the cup back from him. “Shut up.” You huff and he nods. “When you eat your breakfast.”

You dig into the food, the sun making everything shimmer and it’s like the ushering in of your new life. “Thank you.” You say to him again and he shakes his head, “stop sayin’ thanks.” You chuckle and he winks at you, taking a bite of his eggs. 

**** 

“Thank-” Joel cuts you off with a stare and you close your mouth. You shift over in the cab of his truck, parked outside of the bar where your apartment is, and you reach up to cup his cheek. “If I can’t say it…” You trail off and lean in to kiss him. He cups your cheek, kissing you back, and you pull back after a moment, a smile on your face. “I had a good time. I’ll see you around hopefully?” You ask, tilting your head.

Nodding, Joel leans back. “Of course.” He smirks. “Coldest beer in town is served right under your apartment.” He teases. “And if I’m not showin’ up quick enough, you come out to the ranch. Even if I’m out, one of the boys can find me.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you in the bar.” You smirk and grab your purse to pull your keys out, realizing that you don’t want to wait too long to see Joel again. “Do you maybe want to come for dinner? I’m not working tomorrow night and I need to repay you for being so great.”

“You don’t need to repay me for anything.” Joel huffs. “But dinner sounds good.” He agrees. “Seven sound good?” He figures everyone will be done with the fence lines then and he’s not moving cattle between pastures. Only thing he was thinking about doing was going to an auction to see about some sheep.

You smile, “see you tomorrow at seven, handsome.” You get out of his truck and shut the door, walking up to the door that leads to the apartment above the bar. You turn to see him watching you and you offer him a small wave before unlocking the apartment and disappearing upstairs.

Joel sits in his truck for another minute, ignoring the few cowboys that are milling around in the parking lot before he puts the truck in reverse and backs out. He needs to go talk to Tommy, because he has a feeling that your ex will show up. You’re too good to let go of that easily.

You shower and change, getting ready for the rest of the day. You decide to head out and get some groceries for dinner tomorrow night. You do some laundry and sleep the day away, exhausted after Joel fucking you hard, until you open the bar for the night. It's an uneventful night but Jerry seems to treat you with kid gloves as you serve the locals. The next morning, you are excited to see Joel again and you head downstairs to the bar to clean up and take the cash to the bank. You're mopping the floor when you hear the door open. You could've sworn you locked it. "Hey. We’re closed!" You call out and turn when you don't hear the door close again. 

"I think you can make an exception for me, honey." You inhale sharply, spinning around to see Josh. "What - how - you're-?" You choke, heart pounding in your chest as your ex husband stands in front of you. He's found you. You shake your head, dropping the mop, and you run towards the bar to get the phone. 

"Ah ah ah. I don't think so. We need to talk." Josh rushes towards you, grabbing your arm, and you cry out. Shouting for help as he tries to physically restrain you. You fight, slapping and scratching him, but he jerks your body. "You stupid bitch. Thought you could run away. You will never be rid of me." He hisses and you scream, spinning around to hit him but he side steps and you fall forward, hitting your head on the bar. You crumble to the floor and your head pounds as Josh stands above you. "You are mine, baby." He reminds you and you wince as your eyes close, wondering what will happen to you now.

It’s not yet seven, but Joel had finished up early and decided that he could stop by and get a bottle of wine to bring, like he had good manners. He had thought that if you were too tired to cook after working, there’s a dinner that has a good meal. Or you order a pizza and call it good. He’s not that picky. Parking around back, he frowns slightly when he notices a van but he doesn’t think twice as he gets out and climbs up the stairs to your apartment to knock.

Your head lolls, pounding from the way you hit the edge of the bar, and you barely register that you have been tied to a chair. A rag wrapped around your head and covering your mouth to stop you from screaming. Your eyes widen when you gain more consciousness when the doorbell rings and you scream against the gag. "Don't be rude, honey. I bet that your auntie coming to say hello. Interfering old cunt will get what's coming to her. She should learn it is wrong to come between a man and his wife. Fucking old hag trying to take you away from me." Josh huffs, walking over to the door to open it and he is shocked when he sees a man, not your dear old aunt.

Joel’s eyes narrow and he tilts his head as he says your aunt’s name. “She’s not here, is she?” He asks, holding up the bottle of wine. “Told her I’d bring her a bottle the next time I was in town.” He’s got a good fucking idea who this bastard is, but he can’t give it away right now. Josh scoffs. “She’s not here.” He rolls his eyes and Joel nods, seeing a leg of a chair and a leg tied to it. He smiles blandly. “Well, I’ll try again next time.” He tells Josh. “Sorry to bother you.” He tips his hat and feigns turning to leave as the bastard closes the door.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you hear Joel leave. Part of you is relieved that he’s not involved in this, the other part feels hopeless as the only person who could save you leaves you. You sob against the gag and Josh comes over to you. “You must think I’m fucking stupid.” Josh hisses, “some guy comes to the apartment with wine and asks for your aunt? Seems too fucking suspicious. He was looking for you, wasn’t he? Goddamn. I turn my back for a minute and you’re already sitting on some other guy's dick. Jesus Christ. I married a whore. A useless fucking whore.” He strides over to you and slaps your cheek, making you gasp against the gag in pain.

Joel stomps down the steps noisily but then he’s creeping back up, trying to look in the window when he hears you cry out and a dark hiss. “I should just fucking kill you, you useless slut. We’re married!” You cry out, the sound muffled, as he hears a sharp slap. Joel clenches his jaw, knowing that he should call the Sheriff, but he would rather deal with this fucker himself. Lowering his shoulder, Joel slams it against the door, breaking through it and launching himself at your estranged husband.

Your eyes widen, full of tears as Joel drags your husband down to the floor. His fists immediately hitting his face and Josh kicks him to try and get him off. “You motherfucker!” Josh growls, “fucked my wife and-” Joel hits his jaw and he cries out in pain.

Joel sees red, looking up and seeing your panicked eyes, the swelling on your face. He climbs on top of Josh and pulls his fist back. Slamming it into the fucker’s nose to break it and from there, it’s just hit after hit. Blow after blow as Joel beat him unconscious.

You can't do anything but watch. Eyes wide as you witness Joel beat your husband to unconsciousness. You cry out against the gag, not wanting Joel to be arrested for killing your husband. He doesn't deserve a prison sentence when he has Ellie.

When you cry out again, you break through the rage fueled haze that Joel is in. Stopping before the last blow is delivered and he pants, dropping Josh back to the floor where he was holding him up by his shirt. The man’s head hits with a thud and he climbs off of him to pull out a knife. “I’m going to cut you out of there.” He promises, not wanting to spook you after you’ve obviously been tormented by your ex. “I’m going to get you out of here, pretty girl.”

You are breathing heavily as he cuts your ties and removes your gag. You swallow, your throat dry, and he helps you stand on shaky legs but you collapse, the fear draining your strength. “I got you.” Joel promises, wrapping his arm around your waist to help you stand up. “I- he - shit.” You finally choke out, “he found me.”

“It’s okay.” Joel promises you. “He’s not gonna hurt you ever again.” You choke out another sound, almost like you don’t believe him but Joel doesn’t say anything. Instead, he helps you towards the door. “Come on, pretty girl, we need to get you out of here.”

You let him guide you down the stairs on your shaky legs and you are struggling to breathe when the cool night air hits your face. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay. It’s me. It’s Joel. Just breathe.” He orders, cupping your cheeks, and you inhale deeply, trying to calm down.

Joel can see that you are trying not to break and he scoops you up, carrying you over to his truck. He opens the door and sets you in the seat. Pulling out his phone, he dials a number. “Tommy.” He grunts when the other end picks up. “Get the boys from my ranch and meet me at the bar.” He tells him. “We’ve got a critter needs disposed of.”

Your hands are shaking as you listen to Joel summon his brother and you aren't sure what to think. Josh threatened to kill you, Joel saved you and nearly beat Josh to death. "Are you - are you going to kill him?" You ask, "he's not worth jail time. I'm not worth jail time."

“Don’t worry about that.” Joel doesn’t want you to worry. He reaches out and cups your cheek. “Listen to me.” He tells you carefully. “He will never bother you again. Ever. You don’t have to look over your shoulder, you don’t have to be scared. You will never see him again.”

You nod, swallowing harshly as he settles you in his truck. "You - shit - you saved me." You murmur, surging forward to wrap your arms around his neck and breathe him in. "You saved me. He - he was gonna kill me."

“It’s okay, pretty girl.” Joel promises, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing gently. “You don’t have to worry any more.”

You breathe him in and relax knowing he's got you. "Your hands." You murmur, bringing his arm from around you so you can inspect the broken skin. "You need to bandage these." You realize that this is what he means by his demons, his method of coping. You want to take care of him like he took care of you.

“It’s okay.” He winces when you press on a knuckle, sure that he’s fractured it. But it’s only a hairline fracture. “I’ll take care of it later.” He’s more worried about you. “Do you need a doctor, pretty girl?”

You shake your head, "no. No. I- he didn't do anything more than bruise me. I'll heal." You promise and Joel nods, "I'll bring you back to my place after my brother arrives." He tells you and you nod, "okay. I- I just want to get away from him."

Joel knows that it won’t take long for Tommy to get there and he pulls out a blanket from the back. It’s an old horse blanket but it’s clean. Draping it over your legs, he pats your knee and sighs. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

You shake your head, "you saved me. If you hadn't - I don't know what he would've done. He wanted to take me home and I think...he would've killed me." You choke, "you arrived just in time."

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” He promises, knowing he would have tracked that motherfucker down. He pulls back when he hears the truck pull up and turns to see Tommy jump out. “Let me go talk to my brother.” He murmurs softly.

You inhale deeply, trying to calm your racing heart. You watch in the wing mirror as Joel speaks to his brother. "What the fuck happened, man?" Tommy asks, seeing the state of his brother's fists.

Joel glances down at his hand and shakes his head. “Her ex found her.” He gestures back towards the truck. “He had her tied up in her apartment. I busted in.” He explains. “He’s unconscious upstairs.”

"You want me to - to get rid of him?" Tommy asks, tilting his head. "Don't - I mean, I nearly fucking killed him but she stopped me. Just get him the fuck out of here. Maybe drop him off at a hospital in Denver?" Joel suggests and Tommy snorts, "away from here. Got it." He nods, whistling to the boys to follow him upstairs. You look up as Joel gets into his truck, starting the engine. "Thank you, baby." You murmur, watching him as he pulls away from the bar.

“They’re going to make sure he knows to never come near you again.” Joel explains. “Next time he comes to Jackson, he will be a dead man walking.” If the man ever showed his face again, Joel would personally put a bullet in his head. “For now, I’m taking you home. You’re staying with me.”

You look out the window as Jackson passes by, the town turning to fields and you try to think about how Joel saved you, not about what he saved you from. When he pulls up outside of his house, you open the door but he's already there to help you out.

“Here we are.” You are shaking slightly and he knows that you are about to freak out. “Get inside and we’ll have a drink. Or three.” He moves you gently and speaks softly. “Get you cleaned up. You want to soak in a bath? Damn tub is good for when you’re sore.”

"A bath sounds amazing." You confess with a soft groan. He escorts you inside and when he shuts the door, you break down. Now that you're safe, you start to sob and wrap your arms around yourself.

Joel panics slightly, shuffling slightly and moving towards you before he stops. “I- I don’t know what you want me to do. Can I touch you?” He asks softly.

You nod, knowing he isn’t Josh. The fact that he asked about touching you makes you calm down a little and his arms immediately engulf you. You nuzzle your face into his chest, breathing him in. He saved you. He’s not Josh. He saved you. This is Joel.

Joel reaches up, caressing your head gently. He doesn’t speak, just holds you close and rocks you gently. Letting you break down like you need to, just keeping you safe while you work through your emotions.

You aren’t sure how long you sob into his chest. His hands caressing your back, and you soak his shirt. “I’m sorry, I - shit. I need - I don’t want to cry about that fucking asshole anymore.” You shake your head, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“You needed to get it out.” Joel grumbles softly. “Now how about that drink and bath?” You nod, sniffling and he nods too. “I’ll get you the drink.”

“As long as you get in the bath with me. You need to soak those fists.” You say and lean in to kiss his cheek, “come sit in the bath with me, baby.” You order, wanting to feel him surrounding you.

“Go start it.” Joel smirks, looking at you softly. “I’ll bring the drinks. We can have a drink in the bath. You relax and then I’ll put you to bed.”

You don’t waste time heading to his bathroom and turning on the water. You are exhausted now after everything that has happened and you pray that Josh will no longer be a problem. You want to file for divorce as soon as possible. Finding the bubble bath shoved deep in the cabinet under the sink, you pour a good amount in and start to strip, ignoring your face in the mirror. You don’t want to see what he did to you.

Joel decides that the night calls for full drinks, getting the juice glasses out of the kitchen and pouring out most of the bottle of whiskey between them. Carrying them upstairs and watching as you sit in the tub. “Here.” He holds one out to you. “Best sleep med I’ve got.”

You take the glass from him, sipping the liquor and you wince at the burn while he sets his drink down and starts to strip. “You wanna get in behind me?” You ask, shifting forward to allow him the room to get in the bath.

Joel grabs two towels and drops them by the tub before he steps in. Hissing slightly at how hot the water is. Apparently you wanted to sit for some time, so he cups his cock and balls before he sits down, needing to protect them from the sudden temperature change. “You like it hot.” He huffs and he settles down and pulls you back against him.

"I do. Sorry." You murmur as you lean back against him, sipping your drink before you set it down on the edge of the tub. You close your eyes as his arm wraps around you. "I can't thank you enough for this. For everything."

“I was going to kill him.” Joel admits quietly. “For hurting you. For fucking touching you.” His arm is draped over your stomach and his thumb brushes your hip gently. “Already alerted the sheriff that I would.” He chuckles quietly. “He told me to just make sure a bear found him before anybody else.”

"Sounds like a good sheriff." You chuckle before you swallow, "you were going to kill him for me? Baby...I- I've never known a man like you. I know we just met but I really like you, Joel. I want to stay in Jackson and I want to get to know you more. Know Ellie. I - I like you a lot." You confess, "I am damaged goods so I'm not sure if you want to deal with all that shit."

“You aren’t any more damaged than me. Than the kid.” Joel snorts. “You stay right here and get to know us. See if we don’t drive you crazy in two days.” He teases. “I’ve got plenty of shit that I’ve dealt with, helping a pretty girl cum and giving her a shoulder to lean on ain’t much of a problem to me.”

You grin, turning your head to kiss his jaw, “thank you. I would love to get to know you both. I want to stick around and make a life here.” You murmur and he turns his head, softly kissing you. “And I wouldn’t mind you making me cum a few more times.”

He hums against your lips, twitching against your back but he doesn’t start touching you. He wants to make sure you are in control of what happens right now. “You just tell me when, pretty girl.”

“Now.” You murmur, wanting to feel him inside of you. You want to make him feel good and you want to know that you’re safe in his arms. His lips meet yours, spurred in by the adrenaline of beating up your husband, and you shift to straddle him after setting your drink down on the ledge.

Joel would never take advantage of you, but he will give you what you need. Squeezing your ass as you grind down against him, “you want to cum, pretty girl?” He asks roughly, kissing down your jaw and pressing his tongue to an abrasion on your neck.

You moan, tilting your head for him, and you reach between you to grip his cock, pumping him between your bellies. “I’m on birth control. IUD. Want you to - want you inside of me. If you want.” You tell him breathlessly, moaning his name as he squeezes your ass.

“Fuuuuck.” Joel groans out, jerking his hips up in your grip. “I don’t mind that.” He murmurs, flicking his tongue against your pulse. “‘m clean. You just take what you want. Sit on my cock if you want it.”

You reach down to position him at your entrance, you slowly sink down onto him and he groans, his hands caressing your waist and back. “Fuck. You feel so good.” You pant, “saved me. Saved my life.” You murmur, starting to rock on top of him.

Joel groans, squeezes and caresses your ass and up your back as you work yourself on his cock. “You’re safe.” He grunts. “Not gonna let anything happen to you.” He doesn’t know why, but he’s attached to you, protective. Perhaps it’s crazy, but he would have killed for you.

His words wash over you, making your heart thump, and you caress his cheeks, leaning in to kiss him. It's crazy but you feel so comfortable and safe with him, like you've known him your entire life. He feels like home. "Baby." You gasp when he thrusts up into you, the water sloshing in the tub.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you.” Joel tightens his hold on you, not hard enough to hurt you but to take over. He takes one arm and slides it down to rub your clit. “You want to cum? You want to cream all over my cock? Feel like you are flying?” He grunts into your skin, face buried against your neck.

You nod, a cry escaping your throat as he rubs your clit, thrusting up into you. “Fuck, Joel. Yes. Yes. Right there.” You choke when he thrusts into the right spot. His hips focus on that angle, making you choke as he pushes you higher and higher until you fall apart with a squeal of his name. The water splashing on the floor as you convulse around him.

Joel groans your name, kissing your neck and along your shoulder as you ride out your high. Slowly rolling his hips as the water settles around you both. “Good, pretty girl?” He asks, smirking slightly when he hears you still panting. “Or you need another one?”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, dragging his face to yours to press your lips against his. Your tongue invades his mouth and he eagerly responds to your invasion, groaning softly. “I want one more. I’m greedy for you.” You confess, rocking down into him.

“Haven’t cum yet.” Joel leans back, cupping your tits in his hands as he squeezes them gently. “Use me, pretty girl.” He commands. “Ride my cock and rub your clit.”

You can’t deny him. You shift back to rock onto his cock, water sloshing as you gasp his name and rub your clit, rocking back onto him a little faster. His dark eyes watch you, flicking between your tits and where his cock disappears inside of you.

“That’s it.” He groans, twitching inside of you. “That’s it, pretty girl. You’re so good to me. Feel so good around my cock.” He praises. “He was a fool,” he grunts, squeezing your tits again. “Shoulda worshiped you. Taken care of you. You’re a prize to appreciate.”

His words wash over you, cleaning off the harsh insults of your husband and replaced by his praises. You clench around him and he groans, leaning in to kiss along your shoulder, and you rub your clit a little faster, wanting to fall apart for him.

Joel groans and hisses your name, feeling his own body start to tense, but he doesn’t want to cum yet. Not before you do again. “So fuckin’ tight.” He moans.

His moan works you up, making you bounce on his cock and the water splashes over the side of the tub. “Fuck. Oh fuck, baby. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me-” You squeal as you fall apart around his cock, soaking him as you shudder through your orgasm.

Joel doesn’t let up this time, taking over and thrusting up into you. Groaning out your name as he starts to cum, hips stuttering as he gives in and buries himself deep. Painting your walls with hot ropes of his cum.

You whimper at the feel of his hot seed coating your walls and you tangle your fingers in his hair, bringing his mouth back to yours. You’re so thankful he saved you. In more ways than you know right now. He saved you from your husband and he saved you from yourself. 

**** 

“Ellie. Keep up!” Joel yells over his shoulder at the teenager who decides to join you for your sunset ride. After Joel beat your husband up, he brought you home and after you were settled, he left to the place your husband was being kept. You don’t know to this day what he said to Josh but the next thing you knew, your divorce papers were filed. You managed to live in peace in Jackson, getting to know Joel more, getting to know his family. You’ve fallen for the rancher and you moved into his home a month ago, your aunt telling you to go for it. You were wary at first to take such a big step but you are happy you did. You love Joel and Ellie. Your family. The divorce came through last week, so you're officially a single woman. 

“She’s fine. She won’t miss it.” You tell Joel as you ride alongside him, trotting down to the river to watch the sunrise and have breakfast.

Joel grunts, shifting in his saddle and glances back at the girl before looking at you again. “She’s a pain in the ass.” He huffs, making you laugh. 

“You always say that.” You point out, making him roll his eyes. He’s been looking forward to this for a while. You have been happier, brighter, since the divorce came through. Happy that you can fully move on with your life and not be tied to him in any kind of way. Joel looks over at you with a small smirk. “Still sore, pretty girl?” He asks, thinking about how hard he had fucked you last night.

You chuckle, “nothing I can’t handle, cowboy.” You wink at him, “gotta be able to take what you give me.” You shift on the saddle, loving the slight ache in your body. He makes you feel loved, desired, even if he doesn’t say it often, you know how he feels.

“Good.” Hopefully you mean that. Since you’ve been here in his life, Joel’s been happier. Smiling more. Looking forward to the time where he’s back at the main house and spending time with you and Ellie. Not that he hasn’t enjoyed time with Ellie before, but the three of you feel like a family. He urges his horse faster. “Come on, or we are going to miss it. It’s a special sunrise.”

You follow him, Ellie behind you, and you arrive at the river just as the sun is about to appear over the horizon. Joel dismounts his horse, helping you down and then he helps Ellie down, tying up the horses. You grab the saddle bags and carry them over to the edge of the river to the rocks you usually sit on. Joel comes to sit next to you, opening the saddle bag to pull out the flask of coffee, handing it to you and he hands Ellie her flask of juice. She hates coffee. “I never get tired of this.” You murmur, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Hope not.” Ellie knows what’s coming, he’s talked to her about it. Enduring her teasing and jokes even more than usual in order to make sure that she’s okay with the potential change. Joel sets his hand down on your free one and threads his thick fingers through yours. “Hopin’ you might want to stay.” He confesses quietly and pulls out a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. He had felt like a fool going into the jewelry store, but Willie’s wife had told him that you would love it. “Forever. Watch the sun rise with me until we are too damn old to get up here.” You pull away and look into his eyes in complete shock. “Love you, pretty girl. Will you marry me?”

Your heart pounds in your chest and you swallow harshly, throat suddenly dry but fuck, you are so in love with him. He's proven to be an incredible partner. Treating you as an equal, both of you damaged but understanding of the other. You feel like you're home when you're with him. No matter where you are. "Ye-yes. Yes. Oh my God. Yes." You choke, surging forward to press your lips to his just as the sun rises. His hand cups your cheek until he pulls back, fumbling with his thick fingers to take the delicate ring from the box.

"I hope you like it. Didn't know your style." He confesses as he slides it onto your finger and you stare at the diamond in awe. "It's perfect. This is perfect." You promise and Ellie comes over to hug you, "just make sure you guys don't put me in some frilly dress for the wedding." Ellie jokes and you giggle, tears in your eyes as you pull her close and Joel wraps his arms around you both. Your new family. You never imagined when you were trapped in a loveless marriage that you'd be happy one day yet here you are, engaged to a wonderful man with a step daughter you adore. Just like the sun rising over the horizon, your life is bright and colorful and full of hope.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

could I get Dazai x Jessica rabbit male reader? Like reader is taller is feminine and intimidatingly sexy and Dazai endearingly is his “roger rabbit” in this situation, male reader is disinterested in me and woman alike to try to woo him and is polite but firm with he’s not there for you he’s there for someone else. The. Dazai comes strutting in and hangs on male reader’s should with love struck eyes and everyone is like “how the fuck did you end up with him-?” And male reader is like “He makes me laugh”

Dazai Osamu - Jessica Rabbit-Like Male Reader 

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

This is ADA Dazai and not PM Dazai since you didn't specify in your ask what time frame you wanted this in. This is my first time writing Dazai so I apologize if I didn't capture his character properly. I also wrote this headcannons in second person for a change, let me know if you like this more than the usual. I hope I did your ask some justice, Anon. The lyrics quoted in this one are from the song “Why Don't You Do Right” written by Joe McCoy and sung by Peggy Lee. —Benny🐰

Warnings -> Suggestive, Mentions of Suicide, Reader will have descriptions that correlate with the character 'Jessica Rabbit'

                                                                                                   

🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒

❝𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖉 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞 𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖞, 1922-- 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖊𝖙 𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖋𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚❞

. . .

🎙   When Dazai and [Name] first met, you can imagine what the first thing the bandaged man said to them was, of course, asking to commit double suicide with him. The tall and seductive stranger giggled and declined, thinking the bandaged man was simply making a morbid joke, but he planted a sweet kiss on Dazai's cheek and made his way down the street and out of the ADA detective's line of sight. The way the taller man's hips swayed as he strutted away had the brunette staring after him with wide eyes, sparkling with interest.

🎙  The two met again and subsequently exchanged contact information as well as planned a date during one of the investigations he was a part of. Something about the murder of a guy that happened in the club that [Name] performed in and the perpetrator being an ability user. After the investigation wrapped up, Osamu made sure to rizz him up and once again coax them into a double suicide, to which they again chuckled at and denied. For the mentioned date, Osamu took them to the movies them out to eat at the Uzumaki Diner before walking them home and being sent off with a kiss.

🎙  Now the two are married; two years going strong. Dazai makes sure to show up to every single performance his husband has at whichever club it happens to be at; oftentimes skipping out on his paperwork in order to do so. Dazai does make sure to tell [Name] that he in no way needs to come and see him at the ADA just in case, for their safety. Occasionally though, the seductive club singer does pay the bandaged man a workplace visit; usually dropping him off lunch or just to spend time together after being apart for a while.

🎙  Most times [Name]'s visits end up with him sitting sideways on his husband's lap while listening to him talk about his day in an animated fashion. Trailing his index finger up and down Osamu's chest slowly and sensually; the natural seductive smile playing on his lips. [Name] smothering the brunette in tons of kisses; leaving prints of his painted lips all over his husband's face and staining the bandages wrapped around his neck. Feeding each other whatever Osamu decided to grab from the vending machine on the other side of the room.

🎙  Speaking of the ADA; those in the agency still can't wrap their heads around how the two got together in the first place. [Name] is a drop-dead gorgeous sex symbol of a man who has a flourishing career as a club singer and Dazai is... well himself. Poor Atsushi nearly had a stroke trying to process the two being in a loving and stable relationship. How the bandaged man and his husband interact also seems to leave a few select people feeling painfully single and Dazai absolutely revels in their suffering. The man definitely plays up his interactions with [Name] just to get a rise out of them. When Kunikida asked the tall man just what he saw in his husband he answered that Dazai made him laugh.

🎙  Overall, the two have a very loving and stable relationship. Despite Osamu's want for death, [Name] makes him feel like life may be worth living just a little while longer than he thought. Every night that he spends in his husband's embrace is another night he feels safe, loved, and protected from the haunting memories of his past actions and those he's lost. Although... most nights the two of them don't get to sleep until late into the night.~ All Osamu's doing I'm sure, the scoundrel.

. . .

❝𝖂𝖍𝖞 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖉𝖔 𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙, 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖒𝖊𝖓 𝖉𝖔? 𝕲𝖊𝖙 𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖌𝖊𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖞 𝖙𝖔𝖔❞

🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒•♡•🍒

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Reblogs are appreciated ~ 𔓘

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Hedy Lamarr (Samson and Delilah, Ziegfeld Girl)—Look. I'm sure someone has already submitted Hedy Lamarr because she was spectacularly beautiful, and a very strong lady too: she fled both an abusive marriage AND nazi persecution at a very young age and rebuilt a life for herself pursuing her love for acting all on her own!! Her career as an actress was stellar; while she began acting outside of Hollywood (her very first movie, Ecstasy, won a prize at the Venice Film Festival), she conquered American hearts very quickly with her first movie in the US, Algiers, and then just kept getting better and better. If all this isn't enough, she was also an inventor: her invention of the frequency-hopping spread spectrum radio transmission technique forms the base of bluetooth and has a lot of applications in all kinds of communication technologies. I think that deserves a prize, don't you?

Grace Kelly (Rear Window, High Society, Dial M for Murder)—The literal princess of Hollywood (she retired at 26 to become princess of Monaco), her name said everything about why she was so hot. She carried herself with a grace and elegance you just don't see anymore. Her voice was sultry without being overbearing, and she had the ability to be sweet but suggest a deep sensuality at all times.

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Hedy Lamarr:

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The only person you can find both on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and in the Inventor's Hall of Fame--her radio-frequency-hopping technology forms the basis for cordless phones, wi-fi, and a dozen other aspects of modern life. She was also passionate in her efforts to aid the Allies in WWII (unsurprising for a Jewish-Austrian Emigree to America), and her name served as the backbone for one of the best running jokes in what is possibly Mel Brooks' best movie. Look, Louis B. Mayer apparently believed he could plausibly promote her as "The world's most beautiful woman". Is an entire website full of people going to be less audacious than one Louis B. Mayer? I didn't think so!

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Described as "Hedy has the most incredible personal sophistication. She knows the peculiarly European art of being womanly; she knows what men want in a beautiful woman, what attracts them, and she forces herself to be these things. She has magnetism with warmth, something that neither Dietrich nor Garbo has managed to achieve" by Howard Sharpe, she managed to escape her controlling husband (and Nazi Germany) by a) Disguising as her maid and fleeing to Paris or b) Convincing the husband to let her wear all of her jewelry to a dinner, only to disappear afterwards. Also she was particularly clever and helped develop Frequency-Hopping Spread Spectrum (I can't really explain it but anyway...)

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Her depiction of Delilah and Samson and Delilah just lives rent free in my head. The woman was gorgeous.

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One of the most beautiful women ever in film, spoken by many critics and fans. Beautiful shapely figure, deeper seductive voice, and often played femme fatale roles. She was also brilliant and an inventor. Mainly self-taught, she invested her spare time, including on set between takes, in designing and drafting inventions, which included an improved traffic stoplight and a tablet that would dissolve in water to create a flavored carbonated drink, and much more.

Gorgeous and brilliant pioneer of modern technology and the middle part.

Grace Kelly:

flawlessly beautiful and a literal princess

Her facial structure? Flawless. Her eyes? Stunning. Her hair? Gorgeous. Her style? Immaculate. Every second she’s on screen, she just exudes this elegance and sophistication. It’s no wonder she ended up marrying a prince. But she’s got this mischief in her eyes that is compelling.

She was so elegant, so beautiful and perfect I could cry for real. A fairy disguised as a woman.

the most beautiful of Hitchcock's "icy blondes". elegant, glamorous, she left hollywood to became an actual princess, I mean, COME ON

she's so pretty and refined and elegant! I'm pretty sure taylor swift's blonde hair red lip look is modeled partly after her

She's just so elegant, look at her all dressed up like a Barbie doll in the latest fashions. There's a quiet dignity about her.

Not only was she princess of Monaco she also is Stéphanie de Monaco's mother and yeah, vote for her she's soooo pretty That red dress in Dial M.... hot damn

To me, she is the first and only blonde. She earned it. Paired with Edith Head's costume design she is unstoppable. I dare anyone to watch her as Lisa Carol Fremont in Rear Window and not be completely blown away by her hotness.

SHE IS SO PRETTY AND FASHIONABLE!! Not only that but she has an alluring aura to her in whatever film I've seen her in! Rear Window is just one of my personal favorite films she was in, especially for her costumes in that. And how many actresses can you say was a princess consort in addition to being a famous leading lady?

[pedge-page]

Sub!Himbo!Jealous!Joel! The people demand it!!!

Statement

Sub!Himbo!Joel x F!Reader

Notes: the people have spoken! This could takes place between Closer and Mine is Mine when reader is in mid pregnancy but not required to read those for this.

Warnings: sub!Joel, Himbo!Joel, Jealous!Joel, possessiveness, breeding kink, hand job, doggy style, pregnant reader, unprotected sex, pregnancy sex, Joel fucks rough but acts subby, Mommy kink, multiple orgasms, creampie, one slap on the face for Joel

18+ ONLY

- - - -

While you mind your business at the coffee shop, engaging with friends and neighbors upon your visually evident bump now, Joel is fuming in the booth in the back. You hadn’t noticed him when you walked in, and he was about to greet you until he saw Brian launch over smiling, gesturing surprised to your belly and then kissing you on the cheek.

That set off a nerve.

A few others joined in to create a little circle. Joel sits back, visibly fuming as everyone else touched your swell or held your waist, swarming over you for your attention.

Out here, he’s a big, scary, reserved kind of guy. Joel Miller. 

The two of you … haven’t exactly come out and made it official, despite reassuring each other you weren’t seeing anyone else. He always avoided you in public, like you weren’t truly connected in more ways than one now. And to keep it emotionally simple, you usually never attempted to engage with him either outside the bedroom to keep it less obvious. If he didn’t want to be linked to you, then fine. It was too difficult trying to understand him when he wasn't humping you like a desperate bunny.

You feel good conversing with other people. You had spent so long being entangled with Joel’s limbs on the bed, ignoring the outside world to instead indulge his inner needs to be dominated and dumbed by you.

 This was probably the first time you’d been around others now entering the heavily rounded phase of your pregnancy that could no longer be kept hidden.

You did not notice Joel was here too, steaming in a mix of rage, anxiety. He feels unsure when he sees you out like this. You’re not the same. He’s not the same either, and he fears he preach his masculine demeanor, knowing just one look from you would have him on his knees in this whole shop in a second.

He grinds down along his jaw, slitted eyes unable to tear away from the silhouette of your gorgeous body and the hands that don’t belong to him getting too friendly with his baby inside you. 

What were you telling them? That you had a boyfriend? A husband? Or some random fuck that turned into an accident?

It wasn’t a fucking accident. 

With one last flirtatious laugh towards Brian, Joel’s had enough.

He aggressively cuts between all of them and closes you off. 

“Joel—“ you begin, surprised by his presence.

Brian goes to put a firm palm of Joel’s chest, ready to step between this raging bull and his pregnant friend. “Hey man, be gentle—“

“FUCK—OFF,” he snarls at Brian. The rest of the group backs away. The shop goes quiet as all fearful eyes are on Joel, his chest puffed out to intimidate. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly. Your hands grasp gently around Joel’s bicep, and he takes a deep breath. Though his eyes are still murderous towards Brian, he feels that wave of relief overcome him when you, only you, make contact with him. “It’s okay, Brian. Joel’s just been helping around my house. Getting the nursery built for the baby. Right, Joel?” 

You stroke along his plaid shirt, begging the muscles under there to relax. He rolls his tongue along the inside of his lip before nodding.

He steps between you and Brian entirely, grasping your arm an yanking you out of the shop. You try to give a final reassurance to your friends that you were late to discussing wall paint with Joel, but your words were cut short as the door closed on you.

-

You’re not even through the house entrance when he starts aggressively undressing you. The tearing screech of your top makes you flinch, “J-Joel,” you stammer, but it doesn’t stop him from ripping you down to your bra, your swollen belly not quite to full mast but so quickly evident. “Joel,” you say more firmly, but he just growls, avoiding your eyes as he makes quick work to rid you of your bottoms, until finally you ball his shirt in your fist and slap him hard across the face.

“What the hell is the matter with you?"

He goes soft, eyes blinded like a deer in headlights. The stinging pain in his cheek reverberates over his body, and if you were any of the people in that shop today, you’d be scared shitless of what aggressive Joel Miller might hold for just slapping him.

But you’re not one of them.

Then, to that of a scolded child, a wounded wolf pup that doesn’t know its own strength, he goes still, shoulders slumped and head tilted down in guilt.

 "I don't like it,” he says just barely above a whisper.

“Don’t Like WHAT?"

"When they—touch you.” He blurts out the last part like it’s a curse. “I thought. I thought I was yours. Why do you let them touch you?”

You sigh heavily. It looked really bad, the way he jumped in and started manhandling you. Even if you were used to it here, in the confines of your apartment where the two of you made extremely passionate love every day. Out there, to others, it was more complicated to explain. Had you known he was there, you wouldn’t have let others touch you—knowing it would go the wrong way in his caveman brain.

You didn’t care about anyone else but Joel. It’s just hard trying to make him understand that when he makes a 180 on you and keep up the lone tough world appearance with other people. So, of course, he misunderstood it all. That no one there was trying to take you from him.

Poor thing.

You cup his scratchy cheeks in your hands. “You are mine.” 

His eyes look downward still, and you can see each etch and fine line of his wrinkles, the grays turning to white in his beard, the tension so strong in his jaw that you need to rub your thumb over it to remind him its ok to relax for you.

His hands drift down to smooth over the sides of your belly between you. At the same time, one of your palms trace flat against his massive chest, down his flanneled top until you reached the bulge in his jeans. Your hand sneaks below the belt line.

You begin stroking his cock. “—And I’m yours.” 

He whimpers at your touch, your words. Like silk settling over his flaming ego and soothing the sting in his heart once again. The agitation deflates, and you can almost feel the physical shedding of his barren skin into the soft, sweet, dumb little boy you know best. 

"They were asking me who the lucky man who made me a Mommy.”

He hisses in your hair, his eyes closing at the sweet smell, the aroma of you filling his senses and taking over. “M-mmm-m me.”

"Mhm.” You nod, making his eyes meet yours. You continued stroking along his hard cock, fishing them out of his pants. His tip weeped into your belly button with each gentle tug against his length. “They were so jealous of you, baby. Not the other way around. You did this to me. You bred me full of your seed. You made my belly grow. My tits swell.”

Joel lets out a rasp, eyes closing and knees bent, like he’s unable to hold himself up now when surrendering to you. You pump his cock faster, refusing to let him shrink away from you. 

“M-Mommy!” He groans, hunching over, but you wrap your fingers in a tight o around the base of his cock, cutting off his flow and preventing him from cumming just yet.

“You need to owe up to it now.”

"I ... I like you…like this. Full. Full of my—Fuck. I want—nnffgggg—“

"Use your words.”

"I want to keep you like this,” he breathes out, eyes hypnotized by your pregnant tummy. “Forever and ever, just mine, just for me.”

You laugh and grant him mercy, slowly stroking his weeping length once again. "You wanna keep breeding me, hun? Wanna knock me up every chance you get, keep me pregnant forever with your babies? Give ya a whole class full of kids? A fucking soccer team? Thank what you want?"

His head rolls along your cheek, collapsing forward in pathetic ruts as you work his brain and his dick over and over. “Yesyeyes so pretty, so full of me, wanna keep you mine for everyone to see all the time. Don't want them touchin’. Just wanna touch you, only one to touch you, have you, breed you, please.”

“If you want to claim me for yourself,” you hum, teeth gliding along his jaw and pinching his bob in his throat, “Then you need to fuck me like it.”

-

 So doggy it is. Not a position he likes to get in until you coax him. but tonight, he needs to feel like he has possession over you... and he's still learning to be gentle.

You need him to let go, to use that physical power and fuck you to his hearts content. You don’t want him holding back, so normally concerned for you a your pleasure. Tonights about him. 

A smile cracks through your parted lips as he forces a particularly deep thrust into you. While he's so fully capable, strong, leader oriented, when he's with you in the safety of the bedroom, all thoughts go out his brain. He can't think for himself, goes so fucking dumb when thinking about getting inside your pussy that you have no choice but to take control and guide him and his little dumb thoughts.

His hips slap against you hard and fast, his meaty hands clamped so tightly around your waist that there will be bruises there. Your baby is safe, for now, at this size, even if your lower back is killing you with each rough crash against your ass. But the coil tightening in your core feels too good to think about anything else.

“Fuck—FUck Joel, feels good, huh? Feel good fucking your pussy?” You pant, arms propping you up on the bed that rocks violently back and force.

“Mommy’s pussy Mommy’s pussy Mommy’s pussy—“ he chants. His gaze is plastered on the sight of his cock disappearing into your squishy heat, practically sucking him in with each stroke. 

“Yeah, good boy, my good fucking boy,” you voice cracks, eyes rolling back as your orgasm plows through you. "Love seeing your baby grow in me? getting all—mm—big—my body's changing because of you, Miller. You did this to me."

You feel his pace stutter, desperate whimpers escaping his throat. His cock can barely handle your walls convulsing around him.

“Love Mommy's body, love everyone seein' what I done to ya, knocked Mommy up," he rasps, swallowing hard as your warmth clenches around him. "Warm,wet,tight,mine,mommys pussy mine, all mine, warmwarmwarm fuck—Put my cum in mommy’s pussy’s n now she’s mine!”

He pulls you up, one arm strapped over your chest and the other with his palm splayed possessively over your swell. You both make eye contact in the mirror, watching him hump you with such speed you’re seeing spots in the reflection. You don’t dare look away, nodding to him despite your oversensitivity, and whispering yesyesyes to make sure he keeps going.

You feel his jaw clenching so hard against your cheek, straining his neck nearly blacking out. His sweaty chest pressed flush against your back, pinning you too him.

The hand on your belly glides gently down so that his thumb can rub along your clit. You flinch for a moment, but his strength and the speed he’s slapping his balls against your ass leave you with no option but to take the second orgasm that screams through your body.

“Fuuucckkkkk Joel!” You cry, closing your eyes and grinning. You pull his hand back onto your belly. “Fucked me so good, Daddy. Everyone’s gonna see the baby you put in me, gonna know you’re gonna be the daddy that bred me.”

“Bred—my—Mommy,” he grunts with each forced breath, and with one final slam, he croaks out a drawn out moan, hips spasming as he drains his seed into you.

“That’s it, that’s it baby. There you go. All for you, my good boy. Mommy loves taking your cum. That’s all you gotta do, baby. Empty your balls into Mommy’s belly. Just like that. Doin so good. My good Joel.”

He buries his face into your neck. He’ll never want to draw away from your sweet scent, like nectar to a gluttonous bear. As his balls twitch with the final spurt of his cum into you, he sighs heavily. “Mommy’s good Joel,” he repeats. The two of you look in the mirror, still propped up on your knees, cupping over your little swell together and marveling at the hard work that’s now finally evident to the world.

- - - -

Sub!Himbo Joel fics:

Safe, Closer, Mine is Mine

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee

[little-lovett]

there is SO much depth and beauty in the stories we hear in sweeney todd. a murderer who was once a doting father, so blind with hatred and anger towards the world that he couldn’t even see his own wife and daughter, staring him right in the face. a woman down on her luck and in love, trying so desperately to make a connection with a deeply broken and disturbed human. an unfortunately innocent and unknowing boy who ended up being the one who could sense the dark truth. a love at first sight that refused to die, even when torn apart by the disgusting perversion of a greedy abuser. sweeney todd is about all of these people, doing absolutely horrible things, all out of some form of love. that’s the beauty of sweeney todd. sweeney killed for a father and husband’s love. lovett baked real people with real lives into pies to maintain a shallow, lustful relationship she impossibly dreamed would bloom into true romance. turpin destroyed an innocent family because he could not contain his ‘love’ for a pretty woman and her daughter. toby slit a throat because his mother figure was all he had, and he loved her, simply and purely, as an innocent child loves a mother. their love is the purest of all in the story.

but my point is — yes, sweeney todd is about a murderer and his accomplice who cannibalizes and sells his victims. but it’s not. sweeney todd is about love. how love is even stronger and more dangerous than the deepest hate. it’s about how love can destroy people. this show is so beautifully, deeply, disgustingly human. and this dark, telling tale is somehow warped into some of the most gorgeous music to ever be written and made hilarious, lovable, and entertaining. musical theatre is truly magic. human nature is love and filth and greed. sweeney todd perfectly embodies both of these ideas.

[nmakii]

The doe darling fic was so sweet! Yan!Alastor is really perfect husband material.. which has me thinking.. How would he propose to his darling and what kind of wedding would it be?? 😳 What are his thoughts leading up to asking and how nervous would he get if he does? Thank you so much! ❤️

LOOK INTO YOUR EYES, AND THE SKY’S THE LIMIT!

— yandere!alastor x fiance to be!reader

— bad day @ school today, this made me feel better HAHAHA

alastor always knew his darling would be the one he’d marry. call it love at first sight, call it an obsession, call it what you want— you were his from the beginning

but now, he’s finally made you fall hard in love with him, as madly in love with him as he has been with you. it’s time for him to pop the question

he’ll create the ring himself out of the shadows of his powers, no ring made by those lowlife jewelers will be perfect enough to have the pleasure to rest itself on his doe’s pretty ring finger; no gem will shine bright enough, no ore will be pure enough, and simply— nothing will ever be good enough.

a precious rose gold ring encrusting a huge diamond, shined to perfection. and, on the inside of the ring; ‘my darling doe’

he’d find it really hard to find the perfect time to propose… after all, this is a once in a lifetime event. everything has to be perfect.

there was no turning back now. tonight would be the night. as he walked with you, arm interlocked with his— his breath heaved. alastor’s eyesight hazed as his muscles stiffened under your gentle touch.

“alastor? dear, are you okay?” you tilted your head at his odder-than-usual behavior. “of course, my doe! why wouldn’t i be?” he said with a bit of fake bravado, the radio static growing with his anxiety.

what if you’d say no? all this courting, just for you to say no. you’ll marry him, that’s the fact. but, it’s up to you whether or not you choose the hard way. he really hopes that you’ll say yes. he wouldn’t want to taint your image of him because of a simple bump in your relationship.

here you are, ducky park— one of your favorite places in hell. the cold iron fence protecting residents from falling into the fiery lava pit as many of lucifer’s ducks follow the flow of the lava.

as you arrived to your favorite lamp post, you took in the gruesome sights of hell, sinners fornicating, murdering, and fighting.

alastor looked down at you, nothing but pure worship in his eyes. you noticed the soft eyes that were gazing down on you, meeting his eyes with your pretty eyes.

“very well then…” alastor sighed, confusing you to no end. he got down on his right knee, pulling a wine-red velvet box from the pocket of his coat.

and then, he revealed the beautiful ring he made for you, drowning in the gorgeous way your big eyes widened in shock, your breath stopping a beat.

he was finally doing it! alastor took a deep breath, calming the nerves that dared to ruin his speech. “my doe, from the very first moment i met you, i have been nothing short of infatuated. i’ve been obsessed with you, from your immeasurable beauty all the way to your sweet innocent heart. i’d like to spend the rest of my afterlife by your side… as your husband. that is… if you allow me that pleasure?” alastor asked breathlessly, taking your left hand in his.

you stood in shock, trying to get the words out of your mouth. “ah… i…” you stuttered. “yes. i will.” you sighed, lifting alastor to his feet.

alastor’s smile grew as he ecstatically placed the ring on your finger, marking you as his darling. you grinned as you pulled him into a kiss, sweetly albeit a bit cliche.

despite wanting to show off his cute doe and now soon-to-be spouse, alastor would only hold a small wedding. close friends of yours, the staff of the hotel, and rosie!

just like your engagement ring, he’d craft the rings himself! two bright gold wedding bands. the initial A carved into the band, boldened by the black ink in the crevice. and for him, a similar band, one imprinted with your initial.

the venue would be just right out of the hotel, within the gates as to make sure you don’t run away or anything! we wouldn’t want that, would we?

he’d let you handle the decor and menu of the wedding, just as long as his darling is happy!

of course, he wouldn’t want you stressing out just before the big day, let your future husband take care of the seating. strange how no men are near your table…

but, don’t fuss over that! you’re finally married to alastor, aren’t you happy, doe?

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @camsdaae @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin—pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.

[monimccoythings]

The Way We Were

Word Count: 791

tags: f!Reader, dark!logan (past), threats, mentions of blood, past abusive behavior, implied alcoholism.

"Stop. it." His voice came out in growls.

His claws are so close to your skin you almost feel a thin line of blood running down your neck.

"One more word. Just one. And I'll show you what these can do."

You couldn't move. You couldn't speak. Too terrified and heartbroken of the man that had once mattered to you the most. The one you'd have willingly sacrificed your entire life for.

"Never look for me again. Don't call me. I don't want to see you." The rage in his eyes, the coldness, was a sharp contrast to the soft hazel orbs you had fallen in love with long ago.

*SNIKT* As fast as his claws had appeared, they were gone. You finally allowed yourself to breathe. It's short lived, because he's soon up in your face again, a disgusted sneer on his features.

"Now. Get out of my life." His breath smelled like tobacco and alcohol, all mixed together. He had been drinking himself to oblivion again. You let the tears fall. You didn't recognise the man in front of you. Your husband.

"GET OUT." He roared in your face, making you wince.

He turned around and left you behind without sparing a single glance, in the empty parking lot of that dive bar in the middle of nowhere.

That was the last time he would see you in many, many years.

Logan woke up sweating and with his heart hammering in his chest. It had been so long since the last time he had dreamed about you. About that fateful night.

He grips the couch so tightly, he's going to tear the cloth. His hands were shaking as he felt the too familiar hole inside his chest reappear. He needed a drink. He had to drink. This never happened when he was drunk.

Stumbling over his own feet, he made his way towards the fridge, opening it with more violence than necessary. With his heart in his throat, his eyes searched manically until they set on a single can of beer.

That would have to do. For now.

He tried to calm his overwhelming thoughts with a single gulp, nearly drinking more than half of the can; focusing on Althea's snores from across the hall. Whatever distracted him long enough to avoid thinking about-

You.

Your soft smile. Your encouraging words. Your endless support through all his mishaps and hardships.

How gorgeous you had looked in that white dress when you walked down the aisle towards him. How great you had made him feel, like he was the luckiest man on the planet.

How he had completely fucked things up.

No matter how hard he tried to keep his memories of you at bay, his treacherous heart kept going back to you.

He wondered how you were doing. If you got that promotion you wanted.

Did you still kept your endless collection of air fresheners that drove him insane? Were you living in a better apartment than the one you had?

Did you remarry? Were you two actually divorced? He didn't remember signing anything at all. His teeth clenched at the thought of anybody else having you.

He shook his head.

What right did he had over you? After everything he had done, all the pain and trauma he pulled you through, what made him think he had any say on who you choose to spend your life with?

He wasn't the man he wished he was for you. The one that you deserved.

Yet...

He was here. He had been given a second chance to pull his head out of his ass and do the right thing. Out of all the better suited Wolverines there were out there, Wade picked him and turned him into a different man.

He was a completely different man from the one he was back then. The one torn with rage and grief. That monster, murderer, he was long gone, locked away, he would make sure of it.

He looked towards Wade's bedroom. He knew the sneaky bastard hid some of those dimension-travelling tablets somewhere in his bedroom. Knowing him, it would be probably the dirtiest and grossest corner where he would be sure Logan would never look.

He titled his head. A dangerous idea forming in his mind.

Could he?

Would he actually dare?

What if he just took a small peek. Just to make sure you were alright. You didn't have to see him. And he could return home with the knowledge that you were alright.

It was a terrible idea. A dangerous idea. But if the Wolverine was known for anything, it was for barreling into danger first and asking questions later.

He just needed to find the right moment.

[multific]

Small Kisses

Vincent De Gramont x Wife!Reader

Warning: mention of toxic obsession and kidnapping (not done by Vincent)

Summary: You loved the tickle of his lips on your skin.

Vincent loved to give you small kisses.

No matter the reason. He just loved doing it wherever you two were.

A formal event? 

A simple dinner?

A small date?

Or just staying in bed all day?

You swore the reason Vincent lived was to give you his sweetest kisses. A man so cunning and proud as him, yet he would be the proudest and calmest whenever he was with you.

You were his beautiful wife whom he loved with all of his dark heart.

But you didn't mind the blood, the murder and the insanity of it all.

Because every time he killed someone in the most brutal way, he would also come home to you, his gorgeous suit covered in blood, and give you such a sweet kiss.

It was honestly confusing rather than anything. 

Vincent was a very classy man. He enjoyed the luxuries in life. High-end products, and he always made sure that you lived in the same luxury.

On your last birthday, he gifted you an original Monét piece.

The painting is currently right above your bed.

If he could, he would buy you the Mona Lisa.

He would literally make sure that you are dripping in diamonds, much like how he did for his birthday when he got you a special gown, made out of diamonds.

Once he said: "I would change the Mona Lisa to a painting of you, you are far more beautiful, Mon Amour."

His sweet talking always worked.

No matter how angry you were because of something, he would always say the sweetest things and then give you a small kiss to your forehead.

“My Beautiful Wife, even stunning when she is mad at me.”

“I would kill any man for you, Mon Amour. You don’t have to ask.”

“I must apologise, I believe I have lacked in my duties as a husband, Mon Amour. I believe you forgot just how much I love you.”

He would always make sure that you are happy and protected.

Even when one time, he failed to do that.

Well, it was more like his men failed, not him. 

When you were taken, he was furious. Too furious to say or do anything other than rage. 

You were taken by a man. A man so insane, you never saw anything like this.

He kept on going on about how he knew you were in love with him, how he knew that you only married Gramont for the money and how now, you two can be together.

He scared you. 

His obsession with you was toxic, you could see just how crazy he was in his eyes. Every time he used the word 'love' it sent a shiver up and down your spine. 

When Vincent finally got to you, you were shaking in fear. The only thing that managed to calm you was Vincent's kisses.

The smallest little kisses he placed all along your body. He also spoke in French some calming words but you could only recall the tickle of his lips when he found a soft spot.

And when the next couple of days you woke up with a shiver, having nightmares about the man who abducted you, it was Vincent who calmed you down. 

It was he who kept waking up with you, never leaving your side, promising he would never leave or let this ever happen to you while placing kisses on your hands, knuckles and palm.

Vincent loved to give you small kisses on any exposed skin that you have.

But you loved the tickle of his lips on your skin even more.

His little kisses were the true proof of his love for you.

Vincent Taglist: @l4venderia

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[withonly-sweetheart]

calm tf down with re4 (og) leon. wow haven't updated this in a while huh... inspired by this post that randomly showed up on my dash (i dont even play lads... anyways)

lowkey lost interest near the end if anyone has got ideas on how to make it better please lmk i hate the end.. unoriginal jj fr!!!

as always nsfw mentions ahead <3

<><><><>

you feel out of place in the environment. a red blot in what is supposed to seem like a vivid setting, yet the frills of your gown barely stretch past your knees, and you're struggling to hide your discomfort. you don't belong here and yet your boyfriend...

leon, charming as ever, is perfectly at ease, chatting with someone on the table adjacent to your shared one, as if he goes on meetings with the president's daughter in his free time. a spool of envy threads up your throat at his steady flow of conversation, how the woman he's speaking to seems to melt at his words.

he turns back to you, grinning madly, yet his expression softens at your own. "what's wrong?"

"nothing." you keep your reply short, bitter like the bile rising in your throat. the fabric around you seems to constrict your air, wrapping around you with a vise-like grip.

he watches you sputter. "are you sure?"

"yes." it'll take more than that to convince at first, your training officer; a man that's known you for more than a year, and your boyfriend, a man who knows you inside and out.

he tried his best to get you out of this, he really did. he told them to give it to officer redfield, but when valentine was a no-show, of course it was handed to the cop at the end of the line and his skitterish rookie.

leon doesn't blame you. hell, he was like this when he first started. he recalls his missions going to shit half the time, officers screaming in his face. he learned to adapt to that, that if you want to be the best, you have to make your voice heard. you struggle with that.

even now, you're struggling to tell him what's wrong. he should know his fucking girlfriend better than that, so he watches your face contort, flipping through emotions like you can't decide exactly how you feel, settling on a look of apprehension and disgust.

"what's the matter, don't like the dress?" he muses.

"it's fine," you mumble in response. "let's just get this over with."

you don't understand why he won't just drop it. you've said that you're okay multiple times, can't he just take the hint? some part of you realizes you're not being too subtle about your thoughts.

taming your expression, you force yourself to look away from the ruffles of your skirt, palming the fabric, the friction somewhat calming you as you stare at what is supposed to be a criminal.

a felon, convicted of murder and assaulting a fellow cop, and yet all you see is a father gazing with the utmost adoration at his daughter as she strolls up the stage, towards the back, to her waiting groom.

they unlink arms, and you force yourself to see the man with aged eyes, much like your own father's, dressed in an orange and black jumpsuit. never a tuxedo.

not like what leon's wearing, the same covered arm that you've watched twist hands behind backs and cuff them, same arm that rattles in preparation to fill out reports, only to shove them to you. leon's not a big fan of paperwork, that much is safe to say.

but you keep feeling eyes on you. you aren't the star of the show, that beautiful, perfect girl up there is, with her shining eyes and glowing skin, with lips that slowly encapsulate her husband, wedding rings exchanged in a ceremony that drags on longer than it should.

you don't scorn her for it. this is her big day, and you're glad she's getting the attention she deserves. everyone should be watching her, all eyes on the gorgeous bride.

so why do leon's eyes keep flitting back to you?

"what are you looking at?" you finally find the courage to spit it out right when the guests disperse to find family members, friends, and of course, congratulate the bride.

"you." you blink.

"no shit, but why?"

"you seem... off." leon tilts his head. "you seeing something i'm not?"

"well..." you trail off and don't finish your sentence, leaving him hanging by a thread you hope breaks soon.

soon enough, the father gathers everyone back to the stage, and you uncross your legs, tapping a frantic beat onto the floor. your heart jolts in your chest as the man tosses you a knowing look.

as if on instinct, you scoot your chair closer to leon's, and without batting an eye, his hand protectively curls around your arm. you wish you could break eye contact with the suspect to give him a questioning look, but his stance is unpredictable, and you'd be lying if the warmth from leon's hand doesn't seep through skin and calm your nerves a bit.

"i'd like to say... thank you," he says, thick accent coating his voice as he continues, "for coming to my little girl's wedding. this was such a special day to me, and i hope she enjoyed it just as much as i did."

he turns to welcome her rushing hug, trailed by her new husband and what you assume to be the rest of her family. you hope that all is as it seems, and that there is no threat.

leon doesn't seem to think the same, judging by his creeping hand towards your waist, lying on your thigh and slowly making its ascent upwards. he's searching for a gun.

and you grit your teeth. yet another mistake. "shit."

"what's wrong?" he asks, voice hushed.

"i forgot to bring one," you admit.

"one what?" he says, humming in response.

"a gun," you hiss quietly, trying to keep your voice low as to not attract any unwanted attention.

he turns his face, a smirk curving his lips.

"i'm not looking for one."

series masterlist

[oizysian]

Now That I’m With You | Wanda Maximoff

Pairing: Serial Killer!Wanda Maximoff x Innocent Fem!Reader Warnings: murder, mind control Word Count: 3.5k Genre: smutty, but not too smutty Summary: Y/N moves to Westview and makes some new friends that her neighbor, Wanda, isn’t too happy about.

• Kinktober Masterlist •

I keep having the same dream about the woman a few houses down from me; she’s calling me, beckoning me with a power I can’t explain. I’m drawn to her and I can’t resist her when she calls to me - calls my name so sweetly, so lovingly. Why did I keep having this dream about a woman I barely knew?

Wanda Maximoff was a sweet lady - one of the first people on the block to introduce themselves when I moved into town. She brought over a homemade chocolate cake and introduced herself the same afternoon I moved in.

She had a beautiful smile and the most gorgeous emerald eyes I had ever seen in my life. I couldn’t help but stare when I first saw her, completely enamored by her. She welcomed me to the neighborhood and I knew instantly that as long as she stayed here, I would never leave.

On that same day another woman came to my house to welcome me, bringing over a homemade pie, which I liked a lot less than the cake Wanda had made. Her name was Dolly and she was about my age, maybe a bit older, with a husband and a son. She was very hands on and clearly didn’t believe in personal space, but she was nice.

Dolly came over to my place a few times, friendly visits, just to see how I was settling in and to get to know me. I understood that as I was new to the neighborhood and everyone else already knew each other, so they didn’t want anyone to stay a stranger.

That was two months ago. Dolly was found dead a few days ago, brutally murdered in her living room. They have no idea who would do such a thing to a lady like her. The whole block is on edge now, everyone making sure their doors are locked and their blinds are pulled down.

Except Wanda.

She came over and offered to make me dinner, despite the police all over the place, questioning everyone.

“You have nothing to worry about, you didn’t do it.” She said confidently. “What would you like? Meatloaf? How about a nice pot roast?”

I couldn’t imagine eating at that moment but when I looked at her something switched up in my mind, and suddenly my stomach was growling.

“Pot roast sounds really nice, Miss Maximoff.”

“Please! It’s Wanda! Come on over at around five, okay?”

She smiled and walked away as if there wasn’t yellow tape all over the street and covering the house across the way.

I watched her as she left, the sway of her hips hypnotizing and I couldn’t help but stare at her departing form. Her reddish brown locks bounced as she walked, her steps were delicate and precise. She was perfect.

The honking of a passing car pulled me from my stupor and I turned my attention to the man across the street, Dolly’s husband, speaking to police again.

“A murder in Westview? It’s unheard of!”

A pair of women gossiping were overheard saying as they scurried down the street to their respective houses. They would lock their doors and sleep with one eye open tonight.

But I wouldn’t. I wasn’t afraid. Something inside me told me I was safe, that I would always be safe in Westview, and that I had nothing to worry about anymore.

I realized I’d been standing in my doorway for far too long and decided it was time to go inside and stop looking like a nosey neighbor. It was bad enough that there was a rumor going around that Dolly wasn’t her real name and that she was murdered because she was a secret agent of some kind. How ridiculous people could be when something happens in a small town.

Thoughts of Wanda flooded my mind as I closed my front door behind me. Why did I think of this woman so often? I sighed and rested my forehead against the door. I had to get myself together. Not everything in my life revolved around Wanda.

I tried to push the thoughts of her out of my head, but the harder I tried to think of something or someone else, the stronger the images of her flooded in.

A knock on the door brought me out of my thoughts. It was still early in the afternoon so it could’ve been anyone, but most people were just hiding in their houses instead of being social.

I took a deep breath and opened the door to see another one of my neighbors standing there, a smile on her face.

“Hi, Y/N,” Erica greeted me. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, me? I’m-I’m fine. I’m great!” I smiled at her and she looked at me expectantly.

“Can I … come in?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure!” I moved aside for her to enter and she smiled, walking into my house.

“I wanted to come over and invite you over for dinner tonight.”

“Oh,” I turned from the door to face her. “I’m sorry, Erica. I’m going to Miss Maximoff’s house tonight.”

“Miss Maximoff? Oh, you mean Wanda?” She laughed, placing her hand on my bicep. “You’re so polite, it’s cute!”

I smiled nervously back at her, unsure of what to do.

“Well, what about tomorrow night?”

“Um, I’m not sure, I -”

“I can make you a better dinner than Wanda could. Come on. Give me a chance.”

I looked at her smiling face and tried to smile back, the thoughts of Wanda swimming in my head again as I stared at her. I pushed the thought of her out of my mind and nodded at Erica.

“Okay. Dinner tomorrow.”

“Great! Tomorrow, say six-ish?”

I nodded and opened the door for her. She smiled brightly, she kissed me on the cheek before leaving. I watched her leave, shocked that she had kissed me, even if it was just a kiss on the cheek.

She walked down the street, a purposeful sway in her hips, and I stared at her, my mind swimming once again with the image of Wanda walking away from me earlier. Erica definitely didn’t have the same sex appeal that Wanda had, and she certainly didn’t have the same sensual sway. Damn it, why couldn’t I stop thinking about Wanda?

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I closed the door and sighed. I didn’t have to be at Wanda’s for a few hours, so I had time to shower and get ready. I wanted to look my best for her, so naturally I’d wear something nice and wear my best perfume.

I headed into my bedroom to pick out my nicest outfit from my closet and get prepared for my shower. I stood and stared at my clothing before a little voice in my head told me she’d definitely like my little black skirt and a cute pink tank top. Whose voice was that? It wasn’t mine …

Deciding that arguing with the voices in my head was a little unhinged, I grabbed my clothing and headed into the bathroom, getting my towels and washcloths in preparation for my shower. A nice, hot shower would do wonders for my nerves.

I undressed and adjusted the water, stepping under the hot spray and getting myself wet. Why was I worried about what Wanda thought of my outfit? It was just dinner. Not a date. She was married to that Vision guy anyway. What kind of name was Vision anyway?

After scrubbing myself clean, I got out and dried off, realizing quickly that I had been in the shower for much longer than I had intended, and now I had to get dressed and go. How did time move so quickly.

I rushed to dress, sniffing all of my different perfumes and colognes before finally choosing one that was a little on the sweet side. She’ll love it.

I made my way through the rooms of my house, grabbing all of the things I would need for the evening; my keys, my shoes - got it all.

I put my shoes on and grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I left the house, locking the door behind me and making my way down the block.

It was a cool evening and it made for a pleasant walk. Wanda lived only a few houses down from me, so I didn’t have far to walk late at night. I rarely wore skirts, so I was slightly uncomfortable as I made my way up her walkway. What made me wear such a skimpy outfit anyway?

Before I could process the regret, I made it to her front door, ringing the bell as I flattened down my skirt. Why did I wear this?!

The door swung open not seconds after I rang the bell, revealing Wanda looking absolutely gorgeous behind it.

Her hair was curled, falling down along her shoulders and she was wearing a red dress, which matched her red lipstick.

I licked my lips nervously and smiled, trying my hardest to look into her beautiful eyes instead of her inviting chest.

“You’re right on time, darling.” She said, her voice silky smooth.

She moved to the side and allowed me to enter. I looked around at her decor, noting the family picture of her, Vision, and her two boys. Where were they?

“Vision and our sons, Billy and Tommy, are out seeing a movie. It’s boys' night.” She sighed, but I saw little to no disappointment in her eyes.

How did she know what I was thinking?

“You look lovely.” She purred as she closed the door behind us, grabbing me gently by the arm and guiding me into the dining room. “And you smell divine.”

Okay, weird, but -

“Thank you,” I couldn’t help but blush ever so slightly. “You look great too. Gorgeous, even.”

“You’re such a charmer, Y/N.” She smiled, leading me to a chair and allowing me to sit. “I’ll be right back with dinner. You just relax.”

I would not be relaxing. I took a deep breath as she left the room, inhaling her vanilla perfume and letting it get to my head, almost making me dizzy. She really smelled nice.

“Here we are,” she returned before I could even process that she was gone. “My world famous pot roast. I know you’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will.” I smiled brightly, watching as she walked back into the kitchen to retrieve whatever she left behind.

It smelled absolutely delicious. My mouth was watering as I shifted in my seat, suddenly very restless.

The table was set beautifully, complete with candles and matching silverware and china. It was breathtaking and I was shocked she did all of this for me.

She returned with mashed potatoes and spinach, placing it down in front of me and brushing her hand along my arm. I looked up at her, noting that she was definitely staring at my chest. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this shirt.

“I love your top.” She said as she sat down. “It’s a lovely shade of pink.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, bringing my attention to the table. “This is very beautiful. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It was no trouble, sweetheart!” She began serving us, giving me a hearty helping of everything and I couldn’t help but almost start drooling at the sight.

“This looks amazing.” I said as I dug in as delicately as I could under the circumstances, as I was starving and it all smelled divine.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

We had a pleasant conversation over dinner. She offered me some wine, which I normally didn’t drink, but gratefully accepted, having one or two glasses before I felt my cheeks flush and I knew it was time to stop.

“Can I help you with the dishes? It’s the least I can do.”

I stood from the table and grabbed my dirty dish, and she shook her head, standing as well.

“You don’t have to.”

“Please, I’ll feel bad if you have to do them after cooking such a delicious meal.”

Her gaze softened and she picked up a few dishes off the table, leading me to the kitchen. I placed the dishes in the sink and started to wash, humming softly to myself as she continued to bring in what we left behind.

“You’re so cute.” She said as she slid up behind me, putting her wine glass in the sink.

I could feel her press herself up against me, her hands at my hips, sliding up and down my thighs. I felt her breasts against my back, my heart pounding fast as her hot breath hit the back of my neck.

“Absolutely adorable.”

She gripped at my hips and I gasped softly, nearly dropping the glass I was washing as she thrust herself up against me. I imagined that, right? She didn’t just -

Her pelvis hit my ass again and I let out a small whimper, grabbing onto the edge of the sink as she continued to hump my ass.

“W-Wanda …” I whispered and she shushed me, gasping softly into my ear as she pressed herself against me again.

“I want to thank you,” she breathed softly. “For being such a good girl.”

My head was foggy with the smell and feel of her. I couldn’t think about anything but her body pressed against my own. Suddenly, the thought of Vision and the boys entered my head and I shook myself out of my lust filled daze.

“I-I should really go.” I said as I turned off the water, her hips still thrusting into mine.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” She kissed my earlobe and I shivered. “I’m not done thanking you.”

I could feel her hands slipping up my skirt, her fingers pressing against my slit as she groped me through my panties.

“It’s late,” I tried to reason with her. “And I’m seeing Erica tomorrow so I really should go.”

“Erica?” She hissed into my ear, her hand cupping my covered sex. “Wouldn’t you rather be with me?”

“Y-yes,” I whimpered. “But, I made a promise.”

“Break it.” She pressed her lips to my neck and I used all my willpower to slide out from under her.

“This was lovely, Wanda, really.” I was aching painfully. “But I really need to go.”

She pouted, her cheeks flushed, her chest heaving - she looked so fuckable.

Before I lost control over myself again, I rushed to her front door, nearly running out as I made my way down the block. What the hell just happened?

•

I laid in bed, thinking about what happened at Wanda’s. She was married, with kids! Why would she do that? Did I imagine it? No, her hands were …

I bit my lip and slid my hand down inside my panties, my eager fingers circling my throbbing clit. The feel, the smell of Wanda still lingered, and I couldn’t help but touch myself at the thought of her.

I closed my eyes and it felt as if a mist washed over me, and all I could see inside my mind was Wanda doing the same, her hips rising slightly off the bed as she pleasured herself at the remembrance of touching me so intimately.

“W-Wanda …” I whimpered softly into the darkness, my hips bucking as I brought myself to the quickest orgasm of my life.

In my mind, she came saying my name, sweat built up on her furrowed brow, her hips still moving as she worked herself up once again.

I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes and stop watching her. Something compelled me to stay inside my mind which was completely filled with Wanda - her smell, her feel … her taste?

My imagination was clearly running wild as I could almost taste her, sweet and musky on my tongue. I moaned softly, my fingers slipping into my wetness as I thought of Wanda sitting on my face, letting me pleasure her the way only I was meant to.

In my mind, she came multiple times already, begging me to both stop and for more. I was addicted to her. I needed more, more, more.

I opened my eyes as I came and everything was dark red. It took a moment for my vision to focus before the darkness of the room came back into sight. I panted softly, slipping my hand out of my panties and standing shakily from the bed so I could go to the bathroom. I really needed to get a hold of myself. This couldn’t be healthy.

•

It was nearly dinner time as I made my way over to Erica’s. She lived farther away than Wanda, but her house was still within walking distance. I was feeling uneasy about going there. I really had wanted to be with Wanda again, but I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to resist her if she made a move on me again. I wasn’t sure how I resisted her the first time. Something was constantly pulling me towards her, physically and mentally.

I knocked on Erica’s door, waiting patiently to be let in. No answer. That was weird considering she was expecting me. I rang the doorbell, thinking maybe she didn’t hear me knock.

A few moments passed and I decided to see if the door was unlocked. Maybe she was in trouble. I turned the knob and the door opened. I stepped in cautiously, looking around as I entered.

“Erica?” I called out, walking further into the house.

I made it to the kitchen where I found her, on the floor in a pool of her own blood. I was stunned. I had no idea what I should do. I looked around, finding a knife nearby on the ground and blood smeared everywhere.

I rushed over to the phone and dialed 911. After telling them everything and them ordering me to stay where I was and not touch anything, I quickly realized I was now a suspect.

I hung up the phone and stared at her body. There was so much blood and she was completely mauled. Her eyes were still open and she was lying face up.

The pot on the stove was bubbling over and the table was set. Before any other observations could be made, I heard the sirens, and soon I was completely surrounded by police.

They questioned me for hours, grilling me about why I had gone to Erica’s house in the first place and where I was when she was killed. I had no answers for them, unable to help and insisting upon my innocence.

Once they said that I could go, I went straight to Wanda’s, having no one else I could turn to. I rang her bell frantically, almost in hysterics once she opened the door.

“Y/N, honey, what’s the matter?” She asked as she ushered me in, leading me into the living room and onto one of her plush couches.

“E-Erica is dead.” I stammered, looking up into her concerned eyes.

“I know, darling, it’s going to be alright.”

I tried to control my breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply, attempting to calm myself down. It was hitting me all at once and I couldn’t believe I had seen a dead body.

“You’re going to be okay, Y/N, alright? I’m here. You’re with me and I’m here.”

She took me into her arms and I melted in her embrace, my face pressed against her breasts. She smelled like home and suddenly nothing really mattered but her. Erica’s death was irrelevant now that I was in Wanda’s arms.

“That’s my good girl.” She cooed, stroking my hair. “I’m here.”

Before I lost all sense of self in her presence, her previous words struck me funny. She knew Erica was dead? How could she know?

“I know,” she said, answering me before I could even ask her. “Because I killed her.”

I pulled away from her, staring up into her deep, emerald eyes. She killed Erica? But why?

“Because she thought she could have you, when you belong to me.”

She was reading my thoughts. I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to regain control over my mind, when I felt her hands on my cheeks, caressing them gently.

“It was all for you, Y/N. I couldn’t let them come between us.”

“Them?”

“Dolly, Erica, and anyone else who stands in my way.”

“Dolly too?” I was stunned.

There was no way Wanda, the woman that I had been completely obsessed with, could be a murderer.

“Shh,” she cooed, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Your mind is racing. Let me take care of you.”

Her eyes turned red and everything felt better. It was good that they were dead. They were trying to take me away from Westview. Away from Wanda.

“They were bad people. You’re safe now.”

I threw myself into her arms, letting her hold me close. But, wait …

“What about Vision?”

“About who?”

I looked at her, confused, then I noticed the photo on the table no longer featured a man, but me. All the photos in the house replaced Vision with me and then suddenly … who?

“I-I don’t know.” What was I even talking about?

“Are you feeling okay, honey? Maybe you need to lay down.”

“No, I-I feel fine now. I’m fine now that I’m with you, Wanda.”

•

@natashaswife4125, @poison-blackheart, @aemilia19, @claxre-bear, @dorabledewdroop

[your-highnessmarvel]

My Wife

Requested by Anonymous: Can you do a one with Loki getting very jealous at someone flirting with his s/o and he walks over and drops not-so-slight hints of murder? And the s/o is just laughing her head off next to him. I really love your fluffs, they're fluffier than my grandmother's buns! Please never stop writing; your writing makes me grin...

AN: I'm so happy to be back writing fluff for loki omg

Warnings: Female!reader

*gif not mine

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MASTERLIST

You threw your head back, laughing.

"I didn't take you for the jester, senator!" you laughed, clinking your glass with the new up-and-coming politician before you.

He was a very young man, one of the youngest to be assisting the king of Vanaheim. Senator York was blonde and tanned, and by what you'd heard around the Asgardian court, he was very good with the ladies.

"Well, beautiful young ladies are prone to make my joking side surface!" he returned, winking.

You smiled politely, but you had a wicked thought of flashing the grotesquely big diamond on your finger. Just so the senator knew that you weren't one of the ladies he could be very good with.

"And what about a Mrs. Senator?" you asked, bringing your champagne glass to your lips and taking a sip.

York chuckled politely. "I have a few years ahead of me before I make president," he answered. "By then, I except the king will have a gorgeous display of choices for me to bride."

Which basically translated to, "I want to fuck until it's socially unacceptable to be unmarried."

You hummed. "Well, I expect presidency soon, senator," you encouraged.

"With such a beautiful sponsor on my arm, I suspect my chances are good," he said, another wink disgracing his features.

You felt a cold, dark wind at your side and something flashed green in your peripheral. "That's the second time in a minute that you've called my wife beautiful."

York's eyes grew wide at the towering figure of Loki, dressed in his royal black, gold, and green attire, short dark strands pulled behind his ears. He gave you a side look, and you could see murder in his green eyes.

"My Lord," York stuttered. "I was only admiring your beautiful - "

"That's three," Loki snarled. He took a dangerous step forward.

You put a hand on his elbow, culling his murderous gaze back down to you. "Easy there, tiger." Then you smiled hesitantly at York. "Excuse me while my husband and I go fetch something to eat?"

York nodded and gulped.

You pulled and dragged Loki by the elbow, away from the senator, towards the darkened corners of the hall.

"Loki, relax," you whispered, pulling him forward, pressing your red-tipped nail against his cheek to drag his gaze from his prey back to you.

He sucked his teeth. "He was definitely flirting with you," he stated dramatically.

"And?"

"And?" he retorted, dark eyebrows rising. "He's a little man who's been fucking his way up in court. He doesn't deserve your attention."

You huffed. "If I had it your way," you said, "no one in the universe would deserve my attention."

He closed his eyes and sighed, like a child trying to calm himself. "I just..." Then he put his hands on each of your shoulders. "He's just so sneaky and weird and watching him eat you up with eyes made me want to peel that receding hairline off his scalp."

You batted your purse against his chest. "Loki!" you gasped. "How rude!"

He chuckled. "But funny, right?"

You rolled your eyes, chewing on the inside of your cheek. "A little," you muttered.

"Ah ha!" he said with a smile, so delightfully cute and Loki that it made you warm on the side. Heat at your core. "Alright, now let's go converse with someone a little less disgusting," he offered, taking a theatrical step back and offering his hand to you, like a dance.

You rolled your eyes but slid your fingers into his own. He brought your knuckles to his lips and pecked them. "After you, my wife."

[sukunastoy]

The “Businessman”

Pairings: Fem!Reader x Sukuna

Cw/Tw: Violence, mentions of murder, torture, none of this is towards reader though.

WC: 1221

Note: I wrote something similar to this a long time ago, but I can’t find it on here, so I’m redoing it with more detail. 🫶 I might make this into a series at some point.

~Your CEO husband doesn’t like it when someone makes you cry. They’ll never be a problem for you or anyone else ever again.~

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!! ✨

You're having a shitty day work, your boss being a complete asshole as usual. It's like he deliberately called you out in front of everyone else for the smallest of errors. Regrettably, you end up leaving early so you can go home and decompress. In other words, take a hot bath and cry. You didn't tell your husband, and you just wanted to sleep and not disturb him while he was at work, managing his own company. You didn't have to work, but you didn't like the idea of being just a stay at home wife with nothing to do. You liked a bit of a challenge, but this job was becoming too much of a stress factor in your life. When your boss wasn't being a complete dick, the work was nice, and you truly enjoyed the company of your coworkers. Talking gossip and having friends to go out on lunch dates with were the main perks of this job. Everyone was starting to get fed up with the boss though, and you often thought about quitting, since you didn't need this job, but you didn't want to give up your individuality.

As you pulled into your driveway, you sighed heavily into the steering wheel. It was barely after 10 am. Much too early to be home, but today was just too much to bear. Sulking inside, you kicked off your shoes and shed most of your clothing on the way to your lavish bathroom. You didn't need to tell Sukuna, your petty problems aren't something you wanted to burden him with.

But of course, your husband has tracking on your phone. And while he's in the middle of a meeting, letting his other associates talk about company improvements, his phone vibrates with your change of location. Glancing to the clock, he realizes, it's too early for you to be home. Not that he cares, you're free to do as you wish, but it was abnormal for his wife to be home so early on a work day. He isn't questioned as he stands and leaves the meeting, others knowing his personal affairs aren't to be pried into. This part of his job can wait. He has his driver make a few stops on the way home before he arrives, and he finds you curled into the large bed beneath the blankets. Feeling the mattress sink in next to you, your eyes flutter open to the gorgeous face looking down to you. Sukuna's warm hand is cupping your cheek gently, his thumb rubbing over the small dried tear streak from your eye. His gaze focused on it momentarily before lifting his eyes to yours.

"Hey, princess." he chuckles and kisses your forehead before placing something soft and velvety against your lips. The familiar scent of a rose filled your senses and you smiled weakly to him.

"Is it already after 5..?" You ask through a small yawn, assuming it was the end of his work day. "Not even close." He chuckles, his large hand rubbing across your hip, caressing you softly.

"Saw you went home. Came to check on my darling."

Ah, that's right. You sometimes forgot your husband knew your every move. Others thought it was severely controlling and an invasion to your privacy, but you honestly didn't care. He had his possessive traits, but you knew he'd never interfere into something innocent unless it was to benefit you. Like now. It was little moments like this you enjoyed. You didn't want to bother him, and he could see your location was heading towards home. So, not like you were straying away to a place he didn't know. But, he chose to come on his own. And the rose and small basket of your favorite treats he had got on the way home made it even more endearing.

"Just having a rough day?" His deep voice spoke against your skin as you now cuddled with him, his warm lips gracing your neck in kisses.

"Yeah, my boss can be such an asshole. I swear, he likes to insult everyone in front of a crowd for no reason. Its so embarrassing and I just wasn't in the mood today for his antics."

"Want me to kill him for you?" His serious sounding response made you laugh while shoving his arm playfully. "Ha, I wish."

Oh sweet innocent thing...your husband would do anything for you. With the money and power he possesses, a simple task as that would be nothing. You may have joked and laughed about a crazy fantasy that many wished upon their shitty bosses, but in your case, it would be taken care of.

This wasn't the first time Sukuna heard you complain about your boss, nor the first time you came home early and had been obviously crying. Sukuna was the endearing CEO husband who you loved and trusted with all your heart. At least, to you he was. To others, he was a terrifying sight, especially if anyone crossed him. Or you.

~~~~~~~~

Sukuna hummed in delight while slipping on a pair of black latex gloves, a slight twitch in his lips, pulling them to a grin across his face.

"If you keep trying to break out of those cuffs, I'm going to bash in your kneecaps." He said nonchalantly to his victim in the chair before him.

"You're fucking crazy! Just let me go man! I didn't do anything to you!"

Sukuna only hummed louder to himself to drown out the pathetic cries of desperation. Again, his victim wrestled with the cuffs, groaning and cussing while trying to slip his hands out of them.

Picking up the sledge hammer that was leaning against his prep table, Sukuna twisted it in his hands briefly, looking at the blunt end of the tool with delight. "Left, or right?" He simply asked, finally looking to the restrained man.

"You're gonna rot in jail for this shit!"

"Left it is."

Taking a step forward, Sukuna swung the sledge hammer swiftly into the mans left knee, and the sickening crunch of bones echoed through the concrete room. It only took one hit to completely destroy the man's knee, and Sukuna laughed in unison with the gargled screams from his victim. The man might eventually pass out from pain, but he'd wake him up again. This wasn't going to be quick and easy. He had too many tools laid out to have his fun for the next several hours. Pulling teeth and prying off fingernails were some of his favorite forms of slow torture.

~~~~~~~~~

Going into work the next day, the news of your boss quitting abruptly with no notice was shocking. You thanked luck, just happy he was finally out of here, and someone more respectable took his place. Perhaps he finally got enough complaints against him. Sukuna would rejoice in the lucky news with you later in the day after he made you an amazing dinner. And when he took you to bed, he made love so passionately to you, his large hands so gentle and tender to your body. You were clueless to his true nature, and he preferred it that way. He took pride in knowing the remains of your old boss were never going to be found. No one was allowed to make his darling cry.