#teen age lust

[scoop16]

[birdieapple]

poem

Adomania

I think I grew backwards;

As a child I acted mature,

Perhaps I didn't have enough time

Or perhaps I pine for more.

The more I wish to be older,

The younger and younger i reset.

Did I go too quickly?

Or maybe I want to forget.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

[mangekyuou]

happy birthday to me !! the big 20 !! <333

[ashwhowrites]

Yay! Your requests are open!

So, Eddie and Reader have just gotten together, and they're riding high, honeymoon phase.

Then Steve opens his big mouth and admits he slept with Reader before he got together with Nancy, so it was a long time ago and just a drunken hook up, but he jokes that Reader seemed to have the time of her life and "you have some to live up to Eddie!"

So then Eddie decides (typical guy) that he's going to uppe Steve and asks how many times Steve made Reader cum and she says "three times - two times during foreplay and once during the sex" and Eddie says "Then be ready for at least four times, baby," and I leave up to you what he does but smut ensues

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

⚠️smut, rough sex, more smut

3? Give me 4

Eddie already knew he was a jealous person. He'd been jealous of people and things ever since he was young. He was jealous of the kids with new shoes and clean clothes. He was jealous of their toys and homes. Even as he got older he was jealous of how school seemed to be to people. He was jealous of the popular kids and their ride to college based on scholarships.

Then he got someone that other people would be jealous of. His beauty of a girl, Y/N. She was gorgeous and everyone knew that. For once Eddie didn't have to deal with jealousy, he caused it for others.

He and Y/N went at it teens in a horror film. It didn't matter where they were, they'd find somewhere to get busy. The relationship was fresh, so it was all love and lust. Two things Eddie loved that went together.

"I'm going to run to the bathroom," Y/N said, leaning over to peck Eddie's cheek. He watched in awe as she got up and walked off, his eyes didn't leave her until Steve spoke up.

"You're like a puppy dog for her, dude." Steve laughed, shoving a handful of fries in his mouth. Eddie turned to look at him, cringing as small amounts of fries spilled out of Steve's mouth.

"You'd understand if you were with her." Eddie snickered, taking a messy bite of his burger.

"I have been," Steve shrugged, not understanding the weight of his words. He was oblivious to the death stare Eddie gave him. "We hooked up way before I got with Nancy. We were drunk, and found each other."

"Excuse me?" Eddie glared, he could feel that burning jealousy enter his body again.

"Oh yeah, from what I can remember the girl had the time of her life. Looks like you have some to live up to, Eddie." Steve joked, reaching across the table to give Eddie a small punch in the shoulder.

Steve Harrington fucked his girlfriend, how the hell could he compete with that?

"Everything okay?" Y/N asked as she sat next to Eddie. She could feel how intense the tension was.

"Yes, these fries are delicious," Steve said, no idea of the tension.

"Eddie?" Y/N whispered as she squeezed his thigh

"Good" he choked out, but his mind was already spinning.

~

Y/N could sense something was wrong with Eddie as they silently drove to his trailer.

"Eddie, can you tell me what is wrong?" Y/N asked for another time, sighing as they walked into the empty and dark trailer.

Eddie flicked on the light and shrugged out of his jacket. Y/N tried not to stare as his toned arms came into view and the ink of his tattoos.

"You fucked King Steve?" Eddie snapped, his question barely was a question.

Y/N sighed and rubbed her face. Steve was an idiot.

"Eddie that was ages ago. Way before we even knew each other. Steve and I are just friends." She explained, she walked closer to him. When he didn't move she took it as a green light. She hooked her arms around his neck and placed her forehead on his. "Trust me, you make me feel way better than he ever did."

"How many times did King Steve make you cum?"

Y/N felt her breath get caught in her throat. Eddie's eyes were clouded with lust, making his eyes almost black. His voice was challenging Steve, and it made her thighs clench.

Eddie didn't appreciate her silence, his right hand roughly tugged her hair. She gasped as her head was yanked back, Eddie's hot breath fanning her neck.

"I asked," He started, his teeth lightly nipping at her skin, "you a question, baby." She tried to think of words, but she was so turned on that all she could think about was Eddie's pulsing cock being drilled into her.

"Three times," Y/N moaned, Eddie's mouth sucking harshly on her skin, "two-two times during foreplay," she shivered as Eddie's left hand trailed down her body. "And once during sex."

Eddie dropped his hand from her hair, moving both his hands to land on the back of her thighs. She squealed as he picked her up, she wrapped her legs around his waist. He placed her on the counter, smirking as he stood between her legs. He reached forward and rubbed her bottom lip.

"Then be ready for at least four times, baby," Eddie whispered.

Y/N went to clench her thighs again but squeezed Eddie since he stood between her legs.

"Oh? Is this turning you on?" he teased, his thumb yanked down her bottom lip. Watched as it snapped back into place, moving his hands down to her thighs.

"Touch me, please." She begged

She shivered as Eddie laughed, he leaned in so he was nose to nose. His lips were inches from hers as she stared with her mouth open.

"Don't worry, I'll touch you. I'll touch you everywhere until you are shaking and crying for my cock. Make that pretty pussy so desperate to be filled. Then I'm going to fuck you like a whore." Eddie's voice was dark and deep as he stepped back and tore off his shirt.

Y/N felt like she never had a chance to catch her breath. From his words, his hands, and now his naked chest. She reached forward, impatiently touching his skin as she trailed her nails from his chest to his stomach. She was locked on his belt, working fast as she tugged the leather through the loops and threw it to the floor.

She froze as Eddie's hands gripped her hands, quick to slam them against the wall above her head. She tugged but his grip was too tight.

"Eddie please," she whined

Eddie let her hands go, but his eyes told her not to move. He unbuttoned her jeans, lifting up her hips as he yanked down her pants. He tossed them to the floor, then his fingers teased her underwear band. She shivered as he ran in fingers back and forth, her stomach moving fast as she panted.

She sighed in relief when he got rid of her underwear, her cunt bare and on display. She watched with heavy eyes as he dropped to his knees, his eyes level with her wet cunt.

"Even more gorgeous than last time," he whispered, taking his time to lean in. Inhaling her sweet scent. "Smell so addicting"

She moaned as she realized he was talking to her cunt itself.

"Yes," she moaned and threw her head back against the wall when Eddie's tongue ran through her folds. "Fuck that's it" Her hands moved to his hair.

He loved it when she tugged at his curls so he allowed the movement. He was determined to fuck out her brains. He flattened his tongue and ran it up and down her cunt.

"More baby, please," Y/N begged

Eddie smirked against her cunt, loving how desperate she was for him. He pushed two fingers inside of her, moaning as they got soaked immediately. He slipped his fingers in and out, her cunt clenching around him as his mouth began to suck on her clit.

She purred as she clawed at his hair. The sight alone of her sexy boyfriend in between her thighs made her shake. Eddie had nothing to be jealous of, but she'd play along if he continued to fuck her the way he was.

His mouth was brutal on her clit, sucking and biting. And his fingers moved at a rapid pace, he slipped in a third finger.

"Love feeling those rings inside of me," She moaned out. The sound of her tired voice and comment made Eddie's cock pulse. He used his free hand to add a little pressure on his jeans.

Eddie kept his fingers moving inside of her but pulled away his mouth. "Yeah? I bet pretty boy didn't wear rings and couldn't finger you this deep."

Y/N couldn't respond, all she could give was broken moans as she felt a build-up. She could hear how wet she was as Eddie's fingers moved in and out of her.

"I know that look, you ready to cum huh?" Eddie smirked, moving forward to suck harshly on her clit. He moaned as she gripped his hair even tighter, he found pleasure in the burning of his roots.

She let out a loud pornographic moan as her thighs clenched around his head. He kept sucking, not letting up as he felt her thighs shake around his head. Adding to the orgasm he slipped a fourth finger in, stretching her open.

"GOD" she screamed as she soaked his fingers. She moved her hips against his fingers and tongue as she shook from the aftermath of her orgasm. She rode it out until the feeling settled down.

Eddie softly kissed her clit, slipping out his fingers. He pressed kisses to her thighs before standing back up.

"Open" he demanded, but she was so fucked out she didn't hear a thing. Her head hung forward and her body still shook.

Eddie clenched his jaw and used his clean hand to grip her neck, forcing her head up. Her eyes were wide with lust as she looked at him. She loved when Eddie manhandled her, the way he forced her body to do what he wanted.

She opened her mouth, and Eddie smiled.

"Good girl," he cooed, then roughly shoved his wet fingers in her mouth. She gagged at first, his long fingers hitting her throat. She regained herself and started to suck his fingers clean. Once Eddie was satisfied he pulled his fingers out.

"I want you naked and on my bed, now," Eddie growled

Y/N slipped off the counter, her legs wobbly as she landed on her feet. She walked the best she could, Eddie landed a slap on her bare ass making her jump.

Eddie grabbed their clothes, not wanting Wayne to find them. He threw them in a ball in his bedroom as he walked in. Y/N flat on the bed as she looked at him.

She stared as he kicked off his pants, and then slipped off his boxers. She whimpered as his hard, red, and thick cock came into view. No matter how many times she had seen Eddie naked and in all his glory, he always took her breath away.

Eddie soaked in her attention, slightly blushing at the way she drooled over his cock. He smirked proudly as he walked forward, her eyes watched as he walked past her grabbing the handcuffs from his wall.

She sat silent as he grabbed her wrist, giving it a soft kiss before he cuffed her to the bed, Then he reached over and did her other wrist. He stepped back, hand on his cock as he softly rubbed himself as he looked at her. She was cuffed to his bed, all at his mercy.

Eddie crawled on the bed, enjoying the way her breathing picked up with excitement.

"You want more, huh?" Eddie asked, his hands rubbed the inside of her thighs, and she spread them open. He smiled at how obedient she was.

"You want this?" He asked, smacking his cock against her inner thigh

"Yes, please," she begged, the heat of his cock against her thigh making her brain fuzzy. She was so captivated by him and everything he did.

Eddie smiled at her manners. He placed his cock inside his folds, his cock flat against her clit. She whined in protest as he began to rub his cock against her, but not inside of her.

He rubbed himself against her, sighing at the relief. He loved watching his cock rub between her folds, she fit perfectly around him.

"Eddie, please," she whimpered

Eddie leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Y/N moaned as she kissed him back. His right hand cupped her cheek, kissing her hard and deep as his cock rubbed against her.

He pulled back but kept his lips close to hers.

"One more before you get my cock in you, pretty girl."

Y/N cried against his lips but accepted it. She pressed her lips against his, slipping her tongue into his mouth. He hummed as she explored his mouth, loving the way she took some control.

The lazy make-out and the feeling of his cock rubbing against her clit had her stomach building again. Her hands yanked on the cuffs, craving to touch his skin. Eddie kept his tongue in her mouth as he reached down, he removed his cock and replaced it with his hand.

Ruthlessly rubbing her clit as she spazzed under him. He could hear the clink of the cuffs, and feel her body squirming. He pulled away from the kiss, a look in his eye that told her she better cum.

She arched her back as her second orgasm washed over her, stronger than the first.

Eddie was gentle as he rubbed her through it, waiting until she fell flat against the bed. He kissed up her arms, praising her.

He unhooked the cuffs, and her touch was on him in seconds. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she gripped him. Eddie gave her lips a few soft kisses, giving time for her body to relax.

Once she got her breath, it was ripped out of her lungs. Eddie pushed his cock fully inside of her, her walls tight around him as she choked out a cry.

"God you always feel so good," Eddie moaned, "nothing I love more than being inside you." His husky voice made Y/N claw at his shoulders. Why did everything this boy did turn her on?

She gasped as he fucked her hard, the bedframe smacking the wall as he puffed through his clenched teeth. He eyed her chest, loving the way her breasts moved with his thrusts.

"Who owns this pretty pussy?" Eddie asked, his left hand wrapped around her neck. She gasped as her breath was caught. His right hand gripped the headboard.

"Y-yours" she choked out through his grip. Her body was on fire and she could feel her skin glistened in sweat.

"Louder" he demanded, his cock hit the right spot. She cried out and he knew he hit the spot. He continued to hit that spot, angeling his hips.

"Yours," she said louder, his grip loosened and she took that time to refill her lungs. "All yours" she cried, tears in her eyes when his fingers touched her clit. Her clit burned, felt raw as he rubbed it with no mercy.

Eddie kept seeing that stupid look on Steve's face, pushing him to fuck her harder. He wasn't sure how much more his wall could take as the headboard began to chip away at the paint.

"That's it, baby. Squeeze me just like that" Eddie shivered as her pussy squeezed around him. She did a few times, each time pushing him further to exploding.

"Eddieeeee" she whined, her voice cracking as she choked on her sobs. She slapped his shoulder, trying to signal.

"You want to cum? Hm? Gonna be a whore and cum all over my cock?" He asked, his breath was hot as his words smacked her face. The smell of weed, sweat, and sex filled the room. She couldn't answer, just nodded as she felt her stomach snap.

Eddie hissed as her nails drew blood as she came. She clenched him so tight that he could barely move, he rubbed her clit to work her through it.

Y/N felt her body loosen, leaving Eddie's cock free to move. She thought he would slip out and give her a mini break in between, but she was wrong. The second Eddie's cock was free, he was pounding into her all over again.

"EDDIE I CAN'T" she cried, but no movement to push him away. Her cunt was used and abused. Begging for a break, but continued to welcome Eddie in.

"Yes, you can, just one more." He said through his teeth. Sweat was building under his bangs as he felt his own orgasm approaching. He slipped out of her for a second, flipping her on her stomach.

Her body was jelly as he gripped her hips and shoved her ass in the air. Her face was down against the sheets, screaming when his cock slammed back into her.

Eddie growled at the new sight, slapping down on her ass as he fucked her. He moaned with delight as her ass jiggled and turned red. He reached his arms forward, yanking her body up flat against his.

Her back arched as he pounded inside of her, his hands playing with her breasts. Gripping and tugging.

"Close, baby girl" Eddie warned, puffing as his balls smacked against her skin. He gripped her breasts as he felt his stomach getting ready to snap.

"Cum in me, make me yours. Fill me up, Eddie. Fill my whore pussy," she said, her dirty words affecting Eddie immediately as he emptied himself inside of her.

From the first three orgasms, Y/N's body was done. She had no control over what she felt. She didn't even know she needed to cum again until she felt herself squirting.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK" she screamed, her hips bucking forward, this caught Eddie's attention. He looked over her shoulder, watching as her squirt covered his pillows.

"Oh that's hot" he moaned, his hand instantly rubbing her clit. Making her squirt harder. He didn't mind the mess, he loved how much she covered his pillows. He gave a few sloppy thrusts, pushing his cum further inside of her.

"Done," she said, barely speaking as her voice was dead. She tapped Eddie's arm.

"Such a good girl, you did so good for me." He praised, slowly removing himself. He gently moved her body down away from the stained pillows, laying her on her back as her eyes drifted close.

"Love you," she mumbled. Eddie chuckled and pecked her lips.

"I love you," he said, he kissed every inch of her skin. Her breathing got deeper as she fell asleep.

Eddie slipped on clean boxers and began to clean her up. He couldn't help but stare as he covered her with a blanket. He had no idea how he got that lucky to be with her. And for her to be so in love with him.

Eddie took another look at his stained pillows, removing the cases so he could wash them. He smirked as he held them in his hands, wait until Steve heard about this.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunsonmain @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[baronessvonglitter]

America's Favorite Pastime

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 2.3K

Summary: your dad invites his best friend Joel over to watch the baseball game, with no clue that Joel's been sneaking around with you. Being a feisty little brat, you make a risky move while the three of you watch the game.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (Joel is mid forties, reader is late teens or early twenties), secret relationship, fingering, hand jobs on the sly, basically getting away with smutty stuff while your dad's nearby

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"Your Uncle Joel's comin' by for a bit, gonna watch the ballgame," your dad tells you one warm June evening. Uncle Joel.. you keep your smirk to yourself as you think on the nickname you've known your dad's best friend by all these years. It's especially inappropriate now that you've been hooking up with him since spring break.

And right on time, Joel shows up at your door, jeans snug in all the right places, a heather-gray shirt clinging to his chest, drawing your eyes to the biceps peeking out from beneath his sleeves. There's a few salt and pepper streaks at his temples and in his beard, which when you've pointed out to him, he's laughed off. His eyes dilate at the sight of you, giving you a once-over before he fixes his expression to be one of sociability. "Hey darlin', where's your dad?" he drawls.

"He's on the warpath, can't find batteries to replace the ones in the remote." You let him in, noting the way he brushes against you casually, as if on accident. His hand gently cups your ass, a quick feel before you settle into your roles as family friends. "I'm used to seeing you come through the back door.. or through my window," you murmur, watching his eyes darken with lustful remembrance. "Dad, Uncle Joel's here!" you shout upstairs.

"Damn it, I gotta find some more batteries," Ray calls out from the second floor. "Make yourself at home, buddy!"

Joel chuckles softly at Ray's outburst, his eyes twinkling with playful amusement, and he turns to you with a mischievous smirk. "Looks like we've got a little privacy for a minute, darlin'," he murmurs huskily, his hands sliding down to your hips.

Your panties are already damp at the feel of his large hands on you, fingers playing at the smooth skin between the bottom of your shirt and the top of your shorts. You reach up and run your tongue along the seam of his lips while you put his hand down the front of your jean shorts.

Joel's eyes darken with desire as you guide his hand, his own breath hitching with pleasure at the feel of your warm, wet flesh. "Jesus, Little Miss Eager.. darlin', you're gonna get us caught," he mutters gruffly, his voice husky with need.

"That's part of the thrill," you whisper as he presses you against the back of the sofa. His fingers slide over your slick folds, teasing you, daring you to cry out or whimper.

He grunts softly as his fingers circle your clit, wishing he was nibbling on it the way you love. "What's wrong? Didn't get enough last night? Drivin' me crazy, even with your daddy right upstairs," he whispers back, his voice taut with desire. "Does your daddy know how dirty you are?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," you reply, breathing rapidly at the feel of his invading fingers.

His fingers explore you, teasing you enough without actually giving in to what you want. "You naughty little thing," he whispers against your ear. "You like takin' the risk, don't you? Lettin' me touch you like this even though your daddy could walk in."

"I am naughty.. your naughty little girl.. your naughty little dirty girl.." your voice breaks, gasping.

Joel grunts softly. "Damn right you are," he growls hungrily, his fingers delving further inside you, curling to find the spot that drives you wild.

"Yes! Yes!" You gasp as quiet as you can, one hand supporting you on the sofa and the other digging your nails into his shoulder. Joel's thumb brushes over your clit in a daring response as his eyes gleam with excitement. "Oh you like that, darlin', don't you?"

"Joel you're gonna make me come.." you tell him, your voice dripping with desperation, the pleasure uncoiling in the pit of your stomach, waiting to be released.

His fingers move faster, generating more friction with your touch. "You gonna come for me right now, with your daddy in the next room?" His voice is taunting and seductive, a dare in and of itself.

"Yes.. yes.. yes!" you squeak out as you come hard around his fingers.

Joel whispers praises against your ear as your pussy grips his fingers, drenching them in your sweet juices. "That's it, darlin', give it to me.. just like that.. good girl," he whispers. "You're so damn beautiful when you come for me like that." His voice is low, husky, full of admiration, and his eyes are full of love and desire.

You whisper his name as you come down, enjoying the little aftershocks of pleasure.

Ray's voice booms out from above. "Hey, what's that noise down there?"

Joel curses under his breath, quickly removing his hand from your shorts, his body tensing as he listens out for Ray's next move.

"We're looking for the batteries, Daddy!" You call back upstairs, taking Joel's wet fingers and licking your juice off them.

Your dad grunts a reply upstairs.

"You little vixen," Joel grins, a lustful expression on his face as he watches you lick his fingers.

"But you like me this way."

"Oh I do. I like you like this way too much, but right now I have to put some space between us before you dad comes down or he's definitely gonna see somethin' he doesn't wanna see."

You pout but he's right. "Don't worry," he mutters, "we'll make up for lost time later. I promise." He goes to wash up quickly, wishing he could keep your scent on his hands.

Your legs are still shaking but you get some beers and soda from the fridge and help Joel set up. Your dad soon comes back down with fresh batteries. "I think we missed the first inning, but that's okay," he replaces the batteries and sits down next to you on the sofa, Joel on your other side. Joel's expression is schooled into neutral politeness as he cracks open a cold one and watches the game. You purposely keep your eyes off him, because honestly if he looks your way you're a goner. The TV generates a soft glow in the relative darkness of the living room.

Sipping your diet soda, you lean against your dad to get comfortable while he explains the rules, even though you've seen a thousand baseball games before. You smile and kiss his cheek as you rest your head on his shoulder, forever his little girl, until someone else comes to take you away. Joel uses his peripheral vision to watch you, comparing your affection for your father with the licentiousness Joel himself has brought out in you.

After feeling Joel's eyes burn a hole through you, you at last give him some attention. "Uncle Joel, who do you think's gonna win? The Rangers or the Red Sox?"

"I'm gonna say the Rangers, sugar. They got a lot of momentum this season, and their batting has been pretty impressive." He takes a sip of his beer, watching you with an appreciative gaze.

"I don't know.. their best pitcher is out for the rest of the season, and they can't hit for shit when they're playing away games." You stick your tongue out at him in a playful ,manner and all he can think of is where he wants that tongue later.

Joel grins at your sharp observation, impressed by your knowledge of the team. "Well damn, darlin'. Sounds like you know your baseball better than I do. I guess we'll just have to see who's right in the end, won't we?"

You chuckle, giving him a flirtatious look as you rise from your seat. "We'll see. Let me get y'all some more beer." You pick up his and your dad's empty beers and take them to the trash.

His eyes don't follow you but his mind is filled with you.. "Damn, she's somethin' else," he mutters.

"You say something?" Ray asks, eyes on the game.

Joel snaps to attention, his heart racing as he realizes he spoke out loud. "Oh, uh.. just sayin' how that third baseman has a hole in his fuckin' glove," he corrects himself.

"They shouldn't have traded for that guy from Detroit. Ridiculous move," Ray shakes his head.

Joel's relieved the conversation is smooth. "Yeah, definitely a tough trade. They really need a consistent lineup."

You return to the living room with ice cold beers. "Here you go, fellas."

Joel's fingers brush against yours a brief moment as you give him his drink. "Thanks, darlin'." His eyes lock with yours before he quickly turns his attention back to the game.

You sit between him and your dad again, pretending to be absorbed in the game. Every now and then your arms or thighs graze one another's. The tension is palpable until, in the semi-darkness of your living room, you place your hand on Joel's thigh, moving upwards to cup his crotch as you innocently turn to your dad to ask him about the game.

Joel clenches his jaw, keeping a vigilant watch on the TV, barely cognizant of the conversation you and your dad are having.

"What's that honey?" your dad asks. "Oh, it's an automatic double when the ball gets hit against the far wall," he explains.

"Hmm, I see.." you continue to caress Joel on the sly, just out of sight of your dad.

Joel shifts in his seat a bit, his face a study in nonchalance. "Yeah, hitting is all about precision and strategy," he chimes in.

"And the bat?" Your caress is bolder, palming his semi-erection while he can't do anything about it. "Does the bat have anything to do with it?"

Joel clears his throat gruffly, soothing the roughness you've created in his voice. "Oh, the bat is absolutely essential.. the right bat can make all the difference in the world.. especially when you've got the right swing." His eyes gleam with unspoken hunger as he holds your gaze, the double entendre obvious.

"Daddy, you played ball with Uncle Joel in high school.. what was his swing like?"

Ray glances up, a nostalgic smile on his face as he recalls the memory. "Oh, your Uncle Joel was a hell of a batter," he grins, shaking his head with admiration. "He had a natural talent for it, a natural sense of timing and coordination. He could knock the ball out of the park with one swing. His whole body would snap into it with this powerful, fluid motion, and you just knew it was gonna be a home run."

"Sounds like nothing's changed," you whisper to Joel, smirking as you watch him writhing under your touch. Taking it up a notch you unbutton his jeans dip your hand inside, finding him growing harder, cock poking through the hole in his boxers. His eyes flutter shut.

You brush your thumb over the tip of his cock and he swallows hard, his features taut with struggling to control himself. "You're toyin' with me, darlin', and you damn well know it," he whispers lightly to you. "Don't make me do somethin' I'll regret in front of your daddy."

"I'll call your bluff." With that, you stroke him faster, turning up the volume with the remote to cover your sounds. Joel's body jerks, his low growl turning into a stifled moan of pleasure. "Damn it, darlin', you're gonna make me lose it," he says through gritted teeth.

"You all right there, man?" Ray asks, eyes glued to the game.

Joel tries to maintain his composure, clearing his throat before answering your dad. "Yeah, I'm fine.. just a lot of excitement in the game," he adds with a strained laugh.

"Shit yeah. This guy scores, the Rangers win." Ray shakes his head and swigs his beer.

Joel takes the opportunity to look down at you, his eyes dark with warning. He shakes his head silently for you to stop teasing before he loses control, but you're having too much fun with this. A slight raise of your brow, your tongue wets your lips and you whisper, "Come for me."

His body tenses at your whispered command, and he does his best to restrain the deep, guttural moan that tries to escape his lips. His hips jerk once against your touch as he spills his release inside his jeans. Luckily, Joel's groans are covered by your dad's shouts of victory as his favorite team wins. Ray leaps from the couch, oblivious to the both of you.

Meanwhile Joel's body is still vibrating with the intensity of his orgasm. He closes his eyes, trying to gather his wits and collect himself before anyone can notice the dampness in his jeans. When he opens his eyes again his gaze lands on you and his stare reads sultry. "You're gonna pay for that, darlin'."

You're shocked at yourself, at what you've caused, but the surge of power is delicious. You remove your hand from his pants and, eyes on him, lick up his cum from your palm. Joel's breath catches in his throat at your bold and suggestive move. He growls softly under his breath, his eyes glued to yours as he silently communicates just how much trouble you're in with him.

"I'm gonna go out and get some more beer," your dad announces, collecting his wallet and keys. "Joel, you okay here? I'm just goin' around the corner."

Joel's in no position to get up without it being evident that's he's come in his pants. "I'm good here," he says mildly, forcing a smile.

"I'll take good care of Uncle Joel," you tell your dad, your smile holding the tiniest bit of mischief. You share a glance with Joel, who for a millisecond looks like he would fuck you on the couch the instant your dad leaves.

"It's no problem, Ray," he assures your dad. "Y'know you can trust me."

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

[monstas1ut]

Morning Vixen

ERWIN SMITH x black!reader

Summary

__ 18+ black!reader hasn’t taken relationships seriously until an older man came her way. now she’s here basking in golden sunlight and being drowned in orgasms in the morning just for being pretty… with an engagement ring on her finger

Contains

__ black!reader, female!reader, age gap, he talks you through it, creampie, oral sex(pussy eating), engagement, “I love you”, big daddy cock Erwin, names like ‘daddy’ and ‘love’ and ‘princess’, bulging, crying from pleasure, somnophilia if you squint in the beginning, impreg if you squint

__ brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous

The slight contortion of your face gave insight that you were indeed waking up. The sun looked right into the glass door that was on the side of your room. It was eager to shine and dance onto your brown skin, and it wasn’t the only one eager to touch you. With a lot of respect and love for you, there was a blonde male that looked above from the soft surface of your skin and stared hazily at your face. His eyes were as blue as the ocean, and they revealed a lot about what he thought of you.

Funny enough, he thought of you as piping hot oil on one’s skin. The surprise would be your mouthful of shocking, yet lustful words. The burn itself would be just how alluring you were. He was so needy when it came to you, and as an older man, he’s confused as to why he acts like a teen boy when thinking about you. There are times where he’s cooped up in his office and his blood is rushing towards his cock. It’s all you. This man has an entire gallery dedicated to you, and he named it ‘My Love’ with a heart just to tease you more about it.

“Erwin…”

Watching those videos over and over again, the blonde knew each detail. For example, his favorite video is the one where you are shoving a pale colored cock inside of your pussy. Your nails had black tips, medium length, and you didn’t even have your wig on, only a bonnet. That was his favorite video, and he couldn’t stop thinking about that exact video this morning.

“Erwin…” shaky whispers slipped out of your throat as your toes curled tightly. The sun attacked your eyes, however with strain, you could see your soon to be husband right between your brown thighs. His hair is only slightly a mess as his soft lips caressed your sensitive bud. Those strong hands kept hold of your legs to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.. like close them.. Erwin thought of your pussy juices as nectar, and he wanted every drop of honey there was.

“I’m sorry… There was just something about today that made you more of a princess than you already are… maybe it was the light.” Erwin’s voice was husky and it almost cracked. He hadn’t even taken the time to wake up fully. It was almost as if he’d rolled over with the thought in his mind. And he did. That video crossed his mind more than once when he’d woken up.

“Or maybe it was all my fault for gaining a painful erection… I do have dreams if you would like to know, dreams about you.” He whispered as his gentle kisses began running up your stomach to your neck. Sensitive as it could be, he practically caressed part of your neck with his genuine kisses. The feeling of it made you gasp immediately, either it was that or the way Erwin’s slightly rough fingers slipped into your core.

“S-So you just eat my pussy whenever you please?…” you choked out, obviously not having a problem with it, especially since you were leaking all over his digits. “I’m sorry, my love… I am-..what do they call it? Pussy drunk..?” Erwin asked you with a genuine look of approval as he left your neck. He was so funny sometimes, even proud of his younger slang and it made you giggle mixed with a surprise moan that slipped. “You pussy drunk ova’ me..?” You asked seductively, your knees pulled to your chest as you relaxed completely. Your e/c eyes finally looking up into his lustful blue ones, you then decided to tease him even more by pulling your thin tank top down. Those pretty dark areolas were revealed to him for the hundredth time and he still got oh so weak.

“Truly.” Erwin breathed out deeply before his face went right back down to your pussy. That pretty, wet clit was completely covered by his eager mouth. His fingers still digging softly in your gushy hole.

“Fuck. Fuck Erwin ~ that feels t-too fuckin’ good..” you whispered as your hands gripped at the sheets. This man and his tongue couldn’t be defeated. Erwin was an older man, not afraid of pussy juices or anything dealing with female anatomy. This man was experienced, ready, and always turned on by you. You didn’t need anything to turn him on. All you needed was your dirty talking mouth and your sexy body.

“Hold those beautiful breasts for me… let me drown in that vixen aura..” Erwin whispered in a purr almost. It caused vibrations in your core, almost like this earthly shock. There was nothing better than a lustful Erwin. His limit was nonexistent, and he would continue to pleasure you as long as your want was present. And you holding your pretty tits was enough to arouse him even more. His eyes glossed over your pretty nails and the way your nipples peaked from your fingers, and his cock became harder.

Erwin’s need only showed more and more before you began to feel that wrath of his.

“Erwin~… fffuck.. I love when you eat my pussy, baby. M’gonna cum on your fuckin’ tongue…” you squealed before feeling that sudden sensation in your lower stomach. Your hands squeezed tightly on your own breasts and Erwin groaned at seeing that, making this bumpy vibration on your clit. It sent you soaring for miles, and all you could do was whimper as your legs shaked.

“M’cumming…” You choked out as you reached your everlasting high. The feeling of Erwin’s fingers being squeezed alerted him that you were indeed at your high. He didn’t move, not wanting you to dive straight into overstimulation just yet. You needed to save all of your energy for the rest of the session, and that became obvious when he slowly slipped the fingers out of you and straightened his back. While between your legs anyway, Erwin finally could pull you closer.

This man had bushy eyebrows that fit his face, a sharp jawline, beautiful eyes, and a muscular body that also glowed from the sunlight. His arm was visibly strong, and his hand gripped your ankle before gently lifting you up and immediately sliding a pillow underneath you.

“You’re stunning in this light. It shows just how gorgeous your e/c eyes are.. and how beautiful your skin is..” Erwin commented this on pure instinct, his eyes scanning you dearly before you giggled. Something was just so adorable about you laughing while you were spread out for him. It made blood run to his cheeks. “It’s true..”

“Well… you’re stunnin’ while being above me.. your blonde hair.. your eyes.. your muscles.. the way you talk to me…” you trailed on in a seductive tone as you even moaned a little before reaching and pulling his underwear down enough for his cock to spring out like a surprise. It all made Erwin’s heart beat fast, his urges getting harder to keep back.

“Rub that big dick on my pussy daddy.. m’so fuckin wet… and it’s all your fault..” you grinned slightly before biting your bottom lip. All the blonde could do was leak pre cum on your clit. The underside of his cock started to rub up between your juicy folds and your soft hand touched his cock with encouragement. It made the older man jolt, only because that ring on your finger made it all better. You were going to be fully his soon, and every inch of your body was going to be marked with love.

He was going to absolutely paint your insides white and put a baby inside of you. He won’t be sorry about that though.

“That feels so fuckin’ good daddy…” you whispered to your lover, his eyes entranced with your brown pussy and his own fair skinned cock. He had a straight cock, he didn’t really have a lot of veins showing but it was quite the pretty cock. His blonde pubes weren’t much, it was intact just like his life.

“You’d love my cock inside you, wouldn’t you? Slip it in… put it in your tight pussy, love…”

“Mnh… Fuck me…” you moaned as he demanded this, your hand gently pushed on his cock to slip smoothly inside of you, and only the tip slipped for now. Erwin filled you up soon enough, right to the brim. His Dick was more girthy, and it made you feel as if you were full. The loud gushy noises made his cock going in sound hot, and to be honest? Erwin would love to listen to the melody of his cock entering you and making a lower belly bulge.

“Good girl..”

Erwin seemed oh so scary now, his face completely concentrated and his muscles already glistened with a little bit of sweat. And all while you were admiring his own beauty, his fat cock slid out of you for just one second before sliding right back in. The sounds your pussy made was embarrassing to you before, but now.. being with an older man, you knew he enjoyed every sound. “A-Ah~.. Fuck. Fuck…” suddenly you were breathing hard from just that one thrust. It was quite overwhelming, but Erwin leaned down and kissed your ear with reassurance.

“The neighbors will place another complaint on our door if you’re not quiet… then I’d have to shut them up now wouldn’t I?…” Erwin thought out loud before his eyebrows furrowed, his kisses trailed right to your lips before he kissed them dearly. His big hands pressing in the bed on the sides of your head. “They’d be better off minding their own matters rather than worrying about how much you love daddy’s cock…” Erwin muttered against your lips , a hint of anger behind his voice as he moved his hips slowly, but with desperate blows. Each thrust made you gasp for air, and you couldn’t help but drag out a whine right after each.

Erwin’s cock felt so good inside of you that you’re sure your bonnet fell clean off in this exact moment. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, and the sight of you looking like this made you look like a cute doll he couldn’t wait to drench in his cum. The bulge showing from your lower core made him watch it intently. He liked seeing how much you could take, and obviously that was much.

Seeing you put your arms underneath your knees made him all the more eager to pump you with dick. You were almost folded completely, and your painted toes with that anklet was dangling right in his face. Everything about you turned him on, and even though it was so simple, it made his thrusts faster. “Mnh~… Oh shit-.. Daddy.. Daddy, I love your big dick so fuckin’ much… cant hold it in..” you moaned, almost furrowing your brows with concern of how tense this orgasm was going to be.

The golden light was still shining on you, and now it was shining on your pussy because of this pretty angle. It looked like it was dripping gold, completely expensive folds with wine that made Erwin drunk for days on end.

“That’s okay… That’s alright. Cum. Cum on my cock, love… Your pretty pussy can take it, can’t it?”

“Y-Yesss..”

“Then cum on my cock, princess… feel every inch of me while I guide you to that high you need so much..” Erwin groaned as you got tighter, his hands jolting to underneath your legs before he pushed them forward. His cock now pounding you at an even more sensual position. You felt like this man was poking your womb from how big he was.. and how fast he was going. Your mind was blank, nothing was in it as the high was finally reached.

“Good girl… let it go, let me take care of it..” Erwin was sweet enough to slow down just a little so you wouldn’t be overstimulated. He was so rhythmic, and his cock suddenly had a white Ring around it, following with a white mess all over. This caused Erwin to pull out of your hole before watching it drip and wink at him. Your hard breathing was still obvious, and his erection hurt so bad that he wanted to slip right back in.

Erwin licked his lips before leaning down and attacking your pussy with his lips, tasting you once again. It only made you whimper and cry out from the sudden stimulation, but although you were on the brink of crying, Erwin couldn’t stand here and wait. “You have to take it again princess… once more?” He huskily whispered above you before you started to shake a little. “P-Please… c-can’t..”

“You can…” Erwin whispered back as he grabbed his pulsing cock and put it back into your hole, it fitting like a glove before he watched your tears fall down your beautiful face. The drool. The way your eyes would roll, he was in pure heaven. You looked so pretty in the morning, he didn’t understand how men couldn’t look at their woman in the morning and not melt all over again. Erwin decided to melt inside of your pussy, but it still counted.

“Look at that… you take me so well every time” Erwin groaned out as he was staring down at you and your slightly trembling legs. He did have remorse, but at the same time, your pussy was absolutely amazing. He could feel it only get wetter and he assumed it was because he was staring at your face. The eye contact made you gush and it made your heart beat faster.

The slapping skin sounded quite loud, but they weren’t fast yet. He indeed felt his orgasm brewing though, and with the weak sounds you were producing, he could only moan right along with you.

“That’s right… Grip it, love…” Erwin breathed out before his head leaned back, his grip now on your waist tightening. He was using you like a little doll now, and that pillow was helping a lot. Your skin and your breasts jiggled with each passing thrust, and he let it be the perfect show as he looked back down again. “You feel so good…” he grumbled before reaching between you both and grabbing his cock before taking it out completely but ramming it inside of you.. creating a loud mess of a moan from you..

And he continued that same rhythm. Taking his wet cock in his hands and rushing it back inside you. The gooey and gushy sounds echoed against the walls and it made you even hornier, so much so that you couldn’t figure out what you were saying yourself.

“I can’t-… Daddy-… Right there.. my pussy…”

With those tears, he listened to everything you said, but he didn’t stop. Erwin was so immersed in your pussy that he blocked out anything you said. Anything you said was incoherent now anyway, and to think it was still morning… yet you could barely comprehend what was going on. Your soon to be husband had such a great, older cock that it would send your brain spinning for miles and miles. Even as the sun was finally up, Erwin still didn’t stop pushing his fat cock in you.. He only let up when he felt you tense up again, signaling your second orgasm brimming.

With rolled eyes and your legs twitching, you were holding onto your orgasm for dear life. Erwin adored the way you looked, and he finally started thrusting with his hips again. His large thumb then began rubbing at your sweet clit while he kept thrusting. “I cannot hold my orgasm much longer..” admitting this, the older man shakily breathed in before his cock twitched. The rush from his lower body ran throughout and he couldn’t stop it. His balls contracted and he let out a string of moans that made your body shake.

“So damn beautiful…” he swore before his cum spurted inside of you. Erwin was the type to have cum that wasn’t too sticky nor too much of a liquid. It was right in the middle.. but he would cum so much in that one orgasm… He wouldn’t stop cumming inside of you. Your kitty was filled to the brim with his absurd amount of cum, and it flowed out of you like a waterfall when he pulled out. However he didn’t forget about your precious high, no. He didn’t even stop rubbing your clit. You hit that high the same time he pulled out, and you felt ecstasy once the pleasure was released.

And with battered breaths and a cheeky smirk, Erwin gently moved away from you before looking at the masterpiece. Damn did you look good with cum rushing out of you… his cum.

“Now… What should we eat for breakfast? You’re not exactly fit to stand today so I’ll cook, how’s that sound?”

ⓒ Monstas1ut , do not copy

[loveliestlovelygirl]

tangle of strings

pianoteacher!anakin x student!reader

synopsis: mr. skywalker has been your piano instructor since you were fourteen years old. from the moment you met, you knew he was the one. he never expressed his feelings for you vocally, despite all the time you spent together. but after you turn eighteen and prepare to leave for college, he changes his tune.

w.c: 6.9k

warnings!! {minors dni}, dark content, grooming heavily featured, sexual content occurs after the reader is 18, p in v, fingering, oral, fem!reader, gentle dom!anakin, sub!reader, "loss" of virginity, jealousy, religious themes

the content you consume is your responsibility ♡

The piano is the only thing Mr. Skywalker told you that he loved.

He was never spotted with a girl or anyone for that matter in a romantic sense. He was always single, which never made sense to anyone in your small town because he is handsome. He’s always been handsome. His yearbook pictures from high school proved it.

When you would go over to his house for piano lessons, he would show you many things from his life, like his award cabinet, filled with every trophy and certificate he’s won from piano competitions or his yearbook photos. Those photos were one of the first things he showed you. It was one of your first memories of just you and him.

Mr. Skywalker takes a big stack of books off the shelf in his library all at once. Using his strength to balance the dusty books on his arms, he brings them to the reading table where you sit. He takes off the top one and opens it up before you.

Eventually, you find his picture. You cover your mouth as you giggle. He had thick glasses making him look like a nerd. But he was cute. So, undeniably cute to you. You wish he could be the same age. You would want to be his friend. You would want to kiss him.

If you were the same age, he could be yours.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he muses, his large body looming behind you as he looks over your head to gaze at the picture. “I used to be the kid everyone picked on. When I’d get home, I would write a song about how I was feeling. Some of those songs inspired the ones I play at my shows.”

When he talks, you gush. His warm voice is safe. He’s the kind of person you could tell all your secrets to.

And you did tell him everything you couldn’t tell your parents. You’d tell him your deepest secrets. Like the boys you crushed on. Or your new feelings of lust towards them that caught you off-guard as a teen. He understood you like no one else in the whole world. He was the first to know about your first kiss when you were sixteen. And he seemed… jealous when you told him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” you say. “One moment, we were talking and laughing. And the next thing I know, Drew is pushing me down on the bed to kiss me!” you squeal. “But don’t tell my parents. They’ll think I’m a whore.”

Mr. Skywalker pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I always keep your secrets. Drew is the boy in your history class, correct?”

You nod, amazed that he would remember. The last time you spoke of Drew had been several months ago. But he always pays attention to even the smallest details. That’s how you know he cares.

“I don’t know if he’s good for you,” he mutters, noticeably bitter about something. “Does he really know you? I think… he doesn’t. He’s probably just trying to use you.”

Mr. Skywalker is much older than you. And wiser. So you take his advice to heart. Maybe you shouldn’t see Drew tonight after all.

“How many times have you been kissed?” you ask him, your voice all innocent. Although your motives were anything but pure. While you might have just shared a kiss with Drew, there is one man who is truly the object of your greatest desires. You just haven’t found a way to tell him.

He shakes his head. “You know I’d rather talk about you.” That’s what he says when you pry too deeply into his private life, which only adds to your secret obsession

Anakin has always been the one thing that rivals your obsession with your instrument of choice. And it’s the only secret you kept from him all through high school because you knew he couldn’t possibly feel the same way about you.

Even if the small touches, the secret looks, and long hugs seemed to indicate otherwise. You were too afraid to ask him what it all meant. He never gave that kind of attention to anyone else.

And as an awkward teen, you were furious that you couldn’t express your love to him directly. You kept telling yourself that you would when you’re older. When you turned eighteen, you would confess to him.

Since you couldn’t tell anyone, even him, about this secret, you’d use the piano to share your soul, to put your feelings out into the atmosphere. When you play, no matter where you are, you feel him sitting on the bench beside you, watching over you. 

He taught you everything you know now. He’s the reason you chose to major in Piano Performance in college to the great horror of your parents. But what did they expect? They watched you sacrifice your youth for excellence in your craft. The nights were filled with pools of tears, cries, and screams as you played until you got the part, section, or note just right.

When your fingers rest on the ivory keys, you feel him and nothing else. He’s your muse in every song you write. 

The piece that won you a full scholarship to your dream university, you wrote it while thinking of Anakin. Your beloved piano teacher. Your closest friend. Your secret love.

He’d been in your life for so long, giving you lessons when you first showed an interest in music. How could you not love him?

He went to the same church that your family attended every Sunday. He played piano sometimes during worship service if the music minister was out on vacation or fell ill. Church was how your father met him, and they became good friends. He often came to your Sunday lunches.

Your mom always cooked fried catfish or fried chicken because that’s what your dad wanted. Mr. Skywalker, as you called him back in your high school years, would eat two plates of food. He’d say things like “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in years,” even if he was at your house just last week. You would laugh the loudest at his jokes. As you think about them now, you realize they weren’t funny, but you’re in love with him so it doesn’t matter.

After lunch, your parents would take care of the food and dishes, giving alone time with him. Like a young pup, you’d follow him outside on the back porch where you’d sit side by side on the creaky old swing.

“Do you cook or bake?” he asks you.

You haven’t the slightest idea of why he’d ask such a thing. You still lived with your parents. Your mom does most of the cooking. Your dad grills sometimes. “No. I get scared that I’ll burn myself.”

Suddenly, he reaches over for your left hand, the closest one to him, from your lap and holds it between his great palms. “Cold,” he whispers. He massages your fingers to revive them. “I wouldn’t want you to burn your hands. They’re so perfect… for playing.”

Anakin looks down at what he’s doing to you and his expression sours. At the time, you don’t know why. You wonder if you said or did something he doesn’t like because the mood changes instantly. He drops your hand and pats your thigh.

“You have piano hands, remember?” he reminds you. He smiles at you, and you feel secure again.

That’s exactly the thing that you always tell him. His hands spread out further than a whole octave, while you struggle to hit the two octave notes simultaneously without pulling a muscle. His fingers are long, and his palms are wide. You can’t compete with that.

You wonder what other things he’s good at with hands like those.

For the entirety of your high school existence, you pined and pined after him. He was always on your thoughts every minute of every day. You never grew sick of daydreaming about him. And on occasion that was reflected in your grades though you maintained a high GPA regardless. Every week was just your going through the motions of life mindlessly, only waiting for two short hours out of the week on Friday which was when you took lessons with him.

You lived solely for those two hours in which he gave you piano lessons free of charge. He said it was because you had such potential, but still to this day, you like to think he reciprocated some of your feelings even before he actually made a move on you.

For those two hours, you would sit right up against him on the leather cushion of the piano bench and play for him whatever pieces you were working on or things he assigned you from the previous week. He was never harsh with you even when you weren’t getting something.

You throw your hands on the keys, striking a dissonant chord that makes you both wince. Mr. Skywalker instantly pulls your hands away.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said with concern. “I promise you’ll get this. It just takes time. I know you practice too much as it is.”

“I want to be good! I want to be a star!” With that, you break down instantly and cry. He never minds when you cry in front of him.

“One day, you will be. I believe in you,” he soothes you, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head as if you belong to him. He hugs you. “We can try again when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” you say, leaning against him to hear the echo of his heart. His heartbeat is sensual to you, even at sixteen. You can’t explain it. These stupid hormonal feelings you have for him are so wrong. But when you look up into his passionate eyes, you see the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. You have to marry him. You have to.

From the time you were five, you were afraid of thunder and lightning. Terrified by it actually. The fear is still with you today. But it was so much worse in middle school and high school. You started taking lessons from Anakin when you were fourteen years old. And you were still such a child then. You remembered the time it stormed so hard during your lesson that you had to spend the night at his house because it was too dangerous for your mother to come pick you up. But that also meant you couldn’t hide your abnormal fear of a thunderstorm from Anakin.

He had this giant plush rug under the piano. When you asked him about it, he said that it caught the sound. At the tail end of your lesson, the night you had to stay over, lightning struck close to his house and spooked you so much that you shrieked and slipped under the piano, curling up on that soft rug like a scared puppy.

Anakin was such a sweetheart because he followed you there.

“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing your back, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You cry into your arms, hiding your face. “I know! I know it’s stupid of me. I just—”

“It’s not stupid. We all have different fears.” After he says that, he lies on his back beside you. “But I won’t let the storm hurt you, okay. We can stay here all night.”

And that you did. You cowered under the grand piano in his parlor all night long. That was the first time you ever cuddled with a boy, only he was a man almost twice your age. But that didn’t bother you. And it seemed not to bother him. He let you hold onto him through the night and squeeze him a little harder when you heard thunder. It has been one of your most precious memories of your piano teacher.

You had always known Anakin could be a little jealous. Any time you would mention your school friends the air would get tense, as if he didn’t want you to have anyone else in your life but him. He never said that, but he didn’t have to. There was always rage somewhere beneath the still blueness of his eyes, but his rage was never directed towards you until you told him that Drew wanted you to be his girlfriend.

You were seventeen. And you were so excited to have your first boyfriend even if you weren’t in love with him. At least people might not tease you for still being a virgin because it wouldn’t be so obvious. Anakin never did make fun of you for your innocence. He always said that it’s okay to wait until you’re ready or for the right person.

Immediately after you share the news of your official relationship with Drew, he freezes and closes the lid to the piano keys.

His jaw is tight. His voice is tense. “Maybe... we should be done for today.” He doesn’t even acknowledge what you said, as if he’s afraid to.

But you have no one else to celebrate with. Drew is a secret you keep from them because he’s not involved in church. “Did you hear me?” you press.

He grinds his teeth hard, and you hear bone against bone. Anakin nods. “I did.”

You nudge his arm. “Well?”

“Well what?” he snaps bitterly. He turns slightly to glare at you. “You know how I feel ab—about him.”

You roll your eyes. Anakin is a dramatic guy sometimes. “Drew isn’t that bad. He can be sweet. And he’s going to take me to prom!”

Anakin rises off the piano bench and pats down his black slacks. “So, you don’t care what I think then?” He’s staring down upon you with overwhelming disapproval. The muscles of his arms bulge when he crosses them over his chest.

Palms against the leather cushion, you hold yourself up. You notice yourself trembling when you realize that he’s not teasing you. He’s very upset... with you. Why would he be—does this mean—does he feel something after all?

“Of course, I do, Mr. Skywalker.”

“I told you not to get close with him!” he shouts. You’ve never heard him raise his voice at  you. “He has bad intentions. He’s just a dumb kid. What does he know about loving you?”

You start to sob. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be... happy for me?”

He scoffs. And it sounds like you disgust him right now. “I don’t want to hear about him ever again. I don’t want to know anything about your little boyfriend. Do. You. Understand?”

Having him speak to you that way made you feel like a little girl. And you hated that feeling more than anything else. You knew that you were innocent, and you hated yourself for it because it made you feel inadequate to love the man you really wanted.

But now you’d do anything to have that innocence again. You didn’t realize at the time how free you once were. Growing up was harder than you thought it would be. It almost broke you.

You were lucky to have someone like Anakin to build you back up again, even if he was the one that tore you down that time.

After he yelled at you, you rushed out of his home as quickly as you could. The silence lasted a day. And then he drove to your house and knocked on your door. He held in his hands a bouquet of white roses and on his lips was the apology you were waiting for. 

Nothing changed between you after that. Until your next birthday came around.

Up to your eighteenth birthday, your interactions were mostly harmless. But when you turned eighteen, an official adult, the tension between you had changed. The energies you both entertained shifted and became... dare you say... sexual to a degree. Anakin seemed to treat you a little differently now that you were fair game.

To celebrate your eighteenth birthday, he was there. In fact, he was the only one you insisted that mother invite. Not Drew or any of your school friends. Just Anakin. And he had to be there because he really was your one true friend. You couldn’t imagine celebrating your birthday without him. He was always a guest at your birthday parties, but he gave you a special gift this year, one so unforgettable that sometimes you hear it clear as day.

Anakin wrote you a piano solo. One that was simple, sweet, and addicting. You told him to play it again and again. After cake and presents, you made him teach you how to play it. You were very proficient now, and often could play things just by hearing them once. But the chords he chose for your song were unique and shouldn’t have meshed so well together. But they did. Just like you and him. Unlikely friends. Star-crossed lovers in your head.

The two of you stayed at the piano all evening, messing around with the song. By the end, you both had figured out how to layer the notes and chords in an even more perfect duet. Playing piano with him was almost the best birthday gift in the world to you. But it was not what you wished for.

You wished for a kiss.

But that would mean you’d have to tell him how you felt. And you were terrified. As an adult, now you could. It was more empowering than you thought it could be.

But you never did find a chance to tell me on your birthday. You were too afraid to ruin your night with a love confession. You know he would do the right thing and reject you, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming for the impossible.

When you walked him outside to his car—you insisted—your secret birthday wish came true. Not in the way you expected. But a kiss did happen. Your piano teacher kissed you on the cheek. Your face burned the whole night through. You couldn’t sleep because you wanted to know what it meant. He had never used his lips to touch any part of you before.

Physical contact had always been an important part of your bond with Anakin since the beginning. There were always the hugs that lasted just a little too long. And he seemed to always find an excuse to hold your hand. But he was your piano teacher, and the hand-to-hand contact always felt necessary and never strange.

But following your very special birthday, you found him staring at you a little longer, a little more deeply, and he seemed to always find an excuse to touch you, not in a sexual way but in a way that led you to believe the attraction wasn’t one sided.

He’d tuck your hair behind your ears, brush the side of your arm, and sit impossibly close to you that you swore you could almost hear his heartbeat. Anakin had never been hesitant to touch you before, but if there were any boundaries before, they were forgotten by him. And you enjoyed it. His new attention made you feel special and wanted. And that was all you ever wanted.

You began to touch him too. And seek physical attention from him. You would nuzzle his arm. Slip your fingers between his. Tap your shoes against his. He’d always notice, and he always hugged you or kissed your cheek in response.

You two were getting closer than ever before. Sometimes... you would barely touch the keys, getting lost in conversation. At this point, Drew and any other boy you were interested in before might as well have been dead. There was only room in your heart for Anakin.

And you had discovered a way to tell him without using your fragile words.

You sit on the bench waiting for him to get off the phone with his mother. She called him shortly after he let you in. About ten minutes later, he comes back.

“Sorry. I was worried she was in trouble,” he says, taking his spot beside you. “Now, where were we last week?”

“We... didn’t really go over anything.”

He bites into his full lower lip with a mischievous look in his eyes. “What are you paying me for then?”

You laugh because you’ve never once paid him for his time. You nudge his thigh with yours. “Honestly, I don’t really think there’s much more you could teach me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh really?”

You nod. “Actually, I’ve been writing something for you.”

His jaw lowers, and his mouth hangs open slightly. “How long have you kept this secret?”

“Since my birthday.”

He slips his arm around your back and rests his hand on your hip. “I’m impressed. Show me?”

You gulp heavily. That had been the plan today. It is ready for him. He’d never judge you even if it were bad. But you know that it’s not. You know that he’ll know what this piece means. He knows you too well. He’s too perceptive of everything. You wrote it in his favorite key, C minor.

With your hands a little shaky, your fingers glide softly across the piano and press down powerfully in chords. Through music, you profess your love. Anakin sits beside you and waits for you to finish. When you do, he’s waiting, staring with tears thickening his dark eyelashes. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, but you know... he knows how you feel.

You tug on his shirt, drawing him closer. A war of heart and mind reflects on his face. He’s doubting what he wants. His resistance is half-hearted. It isn’t long before he scoops you up in his arms and kisses you. This time his mouth is on your lips, wetting them, and tugging them apart to fill you with his tongue.

Drew was never this good. His mouth was sloppy and tight. Anakin kisses like he’s done this a thousand times before. And he kisses like he wants you. Like he’s wanted you for such a long time, despite how wrong you both know that is.

He holds you down in his lap, and you hug him tightly, carding your fingers through his dreamy hair. You start to feel lightheaded because you haven’t been able to breathe, but you don’t want to stop him. If you stop him, he might think and realize that he doesn’t want you anymore.

But you’re dying. Turning blue. You tap his shoulder. And he stops devouring you. His lips sparkle when he smiles. “Too much for you, baby?”

You sharply inhale, finally catching your breath. You shake your head. You want more. You need it. More isn’t even enough.

You spend the whole lesson entangled with one another until your mother comes to pick you up.

For the next month, that’s all you did. Kiss and kiss and kiss. Breathe and breathe and breathe. And kiss some more. You wondered why he was waiting to take you to his bed. You wanted that with him, but he never asked you to go that far. He seemed afraid. Even when his affection was overflowing in passion as you always knew it would be, it was clear that he was holding himself back. Did he need you to tell him what to do?

Your make out sessions extended beyond just your lesson time. Whenever he would come over to your house, he would go upstairs with you to your bedroom, and you’d end up tangled in the sheets. Though with every item of clothing on. Your parents never suspected anything was happening to their young, virtuous daughter. They trusted him completely. And so did you. You would have done anything he asked of you no matter the risks.

Even at church, he’d find a way to get you alone. In the girl’s bathroom. During the preacher’s sermon.

Anakin lifts you onto the sink and spreads your legs out so that he can fit between them and get close to you. Thumb under your chin, he tilts your face up to his. He grins before going in for a kiss.

Your lavender baby doll dress rides up your thighs as he inches closer. He presses up against the crotch of your panties. The dampness is cold against your tender flesh. His erection only grows as the friction between you builds, your bodies rubbing against each other in a clothed attempt to satisfy yourselves sexually.

And now you’re glad you waited and didn’t mess around with Drew like he wanted when you were together. Because that means Anakin could be your very first.

He freezes up when you try to unbuckle his big belt. Anakin looks at you strangely, almost disturbed by your actions.

You lean to his ear and whisper, “I. Want. It.” You had thought your seductive voice would be enough to cast him off the edge of all hesitation, that he’d bend to your will and give you what you want.

But all you did was kill the fire.

Head shaking, he backs away. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

And you didn’t see him for nearly a month after that. But you don’t regret what you said. You were tired of just endless make out sessions. It seemed so immature, and you knew you were ready for something real.

All of those memories, those beautiful capsules of your favorite times with Anakin, are the reason you find yourself on his doorstep, a quarter till midnight in the pouring rain.

Complete desperation.

You took your moms car without permission just to drive over despite the threat of a storm. And you’re still deathly afraid of them. But you came anyway. Because tomorrow, you’re leaving for college. You might not get another chance to fix things. Death would be better than living another moment without him.

“You haven’t been answering my texts or my calls, Anakin.”

The door is barely cracked open, just enough that you can see his pale face. Dark circles surround his rainy eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, not even making eye contact.

Thunder echoes behind you. The wind blows your hair around. Leaves rustle, filling the silence between you both. It’s going to storm soon. You had been stupid enough to drive to his house just before a storm. But you couldn’t take not knowing what had happened to him and why he was dodging your calls.

The eyes that used to linger a little too long won’t acknowledge you even as you stand in front of him.

“Why are you being like this? This isn’t you!” you nearly scream. You’re so afraid that he’s not only pushing you away but also ejecting you from his life completely, as if the memories you share can be erased. He’s engrained in almost every memory you have.

“It can’t happen. Go away.”

He tries to close the door on you, but you stick the toe of your right shoe in the crack before it shuts.

“Please… please don’t do this.”

Anakin’s eyes are bloodshot as if he’s been crying. “What I want isn’t right. I can’t do it. I don’t know if I could live with myself after.”

Does he really hate me so much? Is that the truth? Perhaps it’s your naivety, but you won’t let him go so easily. You have suffered in silence for nearly a decade, pining after him, waiting for him to reciprocate the depth of your feelings. Your hands shake as you reach out to him. If he would just… hold your hand like he used to, then maybe everything would be alright.

Your fingertips brush against each other. You feel the spark instantly, and it travels down your spine, leaving you wanting to touch him more.

“What about what I want?”

Anakin blinks several times before he speaks. It’s as if he didn’t consider your feelings in this decision. “You’re… not in a position to see things clearly. You’re—”

“Don’t say it!” you exclaim, squeezing your fists. “I’m not a child. I’m all grown up. And you know it. You see it.”

Anakin sighs a long time, his eyes scanning down your body. “Of course, I see it. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

Though you can never overpower him, you still try to force the door open. “Just let me in. We can talk. Just let me talk to you.”

Anakin’s frown is firm, and his stillness enforces that he’s not backing down. “I don’t know. If I let you in… if you cry… I’ll want to hold you. Then things might happen. I don’t know if I can control myself around you.”

Hugging yourself, you gaze upwards, into eyes that finally meet yours. His eyes reveal his mourning, his grief, his lust. It’s the latter that sends shivers through your body. The knowing that he wants you is more than you can take.

“I don’t want you to.”

There.

You said it.

You have told him exactly what you want. And if you hadn’t made it painfully obvious before, he knows now that you’re no longer thinking like a little girl.

Following a sigh of defeat, he backs away from the door, and you move in.

All the lights are off in his home. He must have been sitting in the dark like a vampire. The piano lid is open. He never left it open unless he was actively playing.

Anakin strides across the room to seat himself on the piano bench. He taps the spot next to him. “You’re right.... We should talk. Talk. Nothing more.”

Sitting beside him here feels like the most natural thing in the world. Here, you’re not afraid to speak from the heart. He’d never judge you even if he disagrees. But you’re not so sure he disagrees this time.

He wants you too.

“I couldn’t let you go back. I can’t believe you drove in the rain.”

You shrug. “It’s just rain. The storm hasn’t—”

The windows flash like they would in a horror flick, and thunder comes after. With a whimper, you grab onto his arm.

“I can drive you back home once we talk,” he says emotionlessly, gently pulling you off him.

But you double down and grab his arm, tugging him back again. “Don’t push me away.”

He doesn’t do it again. He stills. And sighs. “That’s the last thing that I want to do.”

With your chin resting on his sleeve, you look up at him, wide-eyed. “Just kiss me like you always do. And don’t think about it.” You stretch your arm out and fiddle with the top button of his dress shirt. “I’m not thinking.”

His chest rises and falls with his breaths. He doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his shirt.

When you rise on your knees, you’re at eye level. He’s so much bigger than you even now. He makes you feel so small. Holding onto his arm, you lean close and peck his clean-shaven cheek. He winces as if you pricked him with a needle.

“Angel, I shouldn’t.”

You kiss him again, closer to his lips, almost tasting him. “It’s me. Don’t you want me?”

Finally, he turns and looks in your eyes. Then at your mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. You... understand how this might look. What they might say about—”

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you whisper. “What’s one more?”

You finish unbuttoning his shirt for him. Taking care of him feels good. You run your fingertips down his chest and his abdomen. His bare skin. It’s soft and warm. Suddenly, he grabs your wrist.

“Cold hands,” he murmurs. He takes your hands between them. He rubs his hands over your fast to warm them with friction.

“Sorry.”

Still rubbing your hands, he stands and leads you to the back of his grand piano near the flashing window.

Any other time, you would be trembling in fear because of the loud storm, but tonight you’re trembling because of the new feelings bubbling inside you. You’ve never been so aroused before.

“Can I hold you?” he says as pulls you into his embrace.

You can hear his steady heartbeat and feel it pumping right against your sensitive ear. Your piano teacher holds you against him and tangles his talented fingers in your hair. He sniffs your neck before taking a bite. His teeth pinch your flesh, and his tongue soothes you. The pain he leaves in several spots along your neck means that he’s marked you as his.

Your own heart is racing at lightning speed. You can’t think. In his arms, you’re helpless to his whims. You need him to tell you what to do. All you want is to please him.

“I’ll do anything,” you whisper to him so weakly you question if he hears you.

Anakin slowly unzips the back of your dress. “Consider this a teaching moment.” His voice doesn’t sound like it usually does. The undertones are sultry and possessive. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to—” He stops to pull down your dress, and his eyes wander over your pretty body. You wore transparent lace underwear and a matching bralette. He can see everything you hide from the rest of the world.

And he tells you, “You’re perfection.”

That makes you want to kiss him so badly. You try to lift yourself to reach his lips, but he’s too tall.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I want you to lay down first.” He guides you under the piano.

You lie down on your back atop the giant rug. Instantly, relaxation takes over as you remember all the times you used to lie here with him, hiding from the storm. Never did you think this would be the place where you’d give yourself to him. This must be meant to be.

He follows you after fully undressing. His body is every inch a man’s.  His size makes you feel so small. He runs the risk of crushing you with his weight.

Lying on his side, he looks down at you, watching his own fingers running under the elastic of your lacy panties. “Take these off and spread your legs.” He whispers kisses to your cheek. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Nodding, you do as you’re told and wiggle out of your underwear. He snatches them from you and crunches them in his hands before throwing them over his shoulder. You proceed with fanning your legs open. The air is frigid as it touches you.

Anakin is looking where no one else has. “I’m so proud of you for waiting. Saving yourself just for me.”

You gasp as he kisses you between your legs. He kisses you there for a long time. It feels strange and wonderful. The feeling building inside you makes you moan and your toes curl. You feel so good your body aches. You hear your own heartbeat. You breathe but can’t find relief. Nothing soothes the need inside you but his mouth, his lips, his tongue. And before long you hit the breaking point, pleasure storming through your body from your place beneath him. Your cries are dampened by the thunderous sounds outside, but he hears you. He stops to look at your face. Making eye contact with him heightens the vulnerability of the situation. The intense way he looks at you burns. He notices every little change in your expression.

Anakin knows he made you feel good, but he still asks, “Did you like that?” He brushes the wild strands of hair away from your face. You know you’re precious to him. He sweetly kisses your forehead. “I like your taste.”

Your cheeks are seared by that comment. You cover your eyes, not wanting to let him see how he’s affecting you. “I did like it.”

“Do you want to do more?” He kisses your lips this time, and you taste yourself. “I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready.”

“I am ready!” you lift your head up and cup his cheek. “Don’t make me wait longer. I’m leaving tomorrow.” You bite your lip, knowing how dangerous what you’re about to say is because of who you’re saying it to. “Do you really want some college guy to be the one who gets me first?”

As if trying to reject the image you gave his mind, he closes his eyes and tightens his jaw. “No,” is his short answer. From the way his lips are pressed together, you know he wants to say more, but he’s saving you from his own selfish anger.

“Me either.” You rub his cheek with your thumb. “Anakin,” it feels right to call him by his first name instead of Mr. Skywalker, “I’ve waited for you. I always knew this would happen.”

He chuckles lightly. “I never gave you permission to use my name. Don’t forget—” he grunts as he slides two of his fingers between your slick folds and pushes them inside, “your manners, young one.”

These same fingers were the ones that rested atop yours when you were first learning to play piano. They pointed to the right key when you played the wrong note. They pointed to the sheet music to guide you along for all these years. They held your hands when they were cold.

And now he’s using them to teach you something new. But he’s just as skilled at fingering you as he is with music. You’re like his new instrument. He’s plucking all the right strings in just the right way to make you cry out for him. With your body pliant, he controls when you come. He doesn’t make you wait for it. He uses his thumb too and nudges until you come. It’s wetter than the last. And he instructs you to lick his fingers off when he’s done.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks again. “Don’t hate me for asking.” He hangs his head a little.

What he doesn’t understand is how insatiable he’s caused you to be. There were so many times you thought you might explode from how desperately you wanted him. But now it’s okay if that does happen.

“Keep going. Please,” you beg. You’re not ready to stop. You’ve waited for this moment since you were fourteen years old. If it were up to you, you’d live here forever.

“If that’s what you really want,” Anakin moves from lying at your side to settling himself between your legs.

“It is,” you reassure him. Holding onto his neck, you pull yourself up a bit. “Can you kiss me too?”

He grins before pushing you down, his large hand spread out over your soft stomach, and he chases your lips as you fall. You’re partially distracted by his mouth as his cock slides inside you. You had expected it to be more of a challenge, all things considered. Throughout high school, your friends always complained about how much it hurt their first time. Some girls bled too. And that had scared you, which is one of the reasons you never took Drew up on his many offers of a “good time.” Deep down you knew he wouldn’t treat you right. But Anakin clearly is experienced with having sex. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as you thought he had been all those years.

This being your very first time, it does sting when he fills you completely, his bony hips pressed against yours. You feel the tightness and the stretch. But you enjoy how it feels. You’re so close to passing out just because this is as close as you can get to someone.

Anakin rocks in and out slowly. Maybe he can feel that you’re tired. He’s being gentle with you despite how much he wants to rail your cunt to shreds. You can tell when he’s holding himself back. He has that weary, pained look in his rainy eyes. A part of you wants to tell him that it’s okay. Let go. But you both know that you couldn’t handle the full extent of his lust.

“Can I come inside you?” he asks before sinking his teeth into a bruise along your neck.

Short of breath, you answer, “I said... anything.”

“Okay,” his shaky voice whispers. He buries his face into the curve of your neck and moans your name into your skin. He pulls your hair gently as he finishes, his heat spreading through your core. It’s so much that you feel it leaking out.

After, he holds you there all night long. He doesn’t let you leave. And you wouldn’t want to escape.

The three words he says to you as you leave his house the morning after, you realize that he’s lied to you all the years you’ve known him.

The piano isn’t his only love or his only obsession.

It’s an outlet, and yet a mask for his sin nature which you understand more deeply than any other girl ever will.

He’s kept his real obsession hidden from everyone but you.

add yourself to my taglist!! @hanasnx @princessswifie @doblasftcisco @multifandermissesanakin @jadegmfu @coldkiss @mysteriouslydelightfulcloud @karei009 @anda-the-valkyrie @avoxzy @edclynns @ter-luer @anakinniesluv @purelevna @forets-noyees @anisgirl7 @reine-lalune @ssskywalkerrr @anakinsbbgirl @sweetcheesecakesblog @moonlight-kr @anonymous1996s @luvanaise @ziggystarduzzt @gwdnsqal @lonelywitchv2 @tembud @obsessedrebel @c-losur3 @just-here-to-readd @slut4ani @abaker74 @anakinbbg @ellebunnie @sandymorgan12 @ultraviolenceticket @emotionallybruisedx @ririszn @itsoneofusworld @pheonixfucu @kittycai @mushy-mushroom04 @crack240 @emotionallybruisedx

@universallypiratecolor

inbox me if you want to be removed from the taglist. ty

[klovzk4]

DBF Miguel

A/N: Havent seen much dbf miguel fics lately and decided to take matters into my own hands 🤗 You can go to my pinned post and request something you want me to write !

Miguel O’hara x fem reader

Everyone is 18+, rushed, smut 🍋, age gap, pussy eating, unprotected sex, tiny breeding kink. Lmk if i missed anything

You’d known of Miguel since you were a teen, but you’d never actually met him. I mean, he was your dads best friend and he talked about him all the time but considering how distant your dad was you never actually got to meet him, at least until recently.

There had been a family gathering where family and friends would meet up and most of the time get drunk, while you were there mostly cause your dad made you but also because you wanted to see how everyone was doing, and maybe because you heard Miguel would be there.

You had to admit you had a tiny crush on him, yes, you’d never met him, but GOD does he look fine in all the pictures your dad shows you… and he’s only like 30 so he’s not that old! But what you didn’t expect was for your feelings to be reciprocated when you first met him and to be upstairs making out with him! how this even happened, you’re not even sure, but what you are sure of is that Miguel is even better at kissing then you’d ever imagined!

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he help you up against the wall, his tongue exploring every single inch of your mouth as your hands played with his hair, tugging at it once in a while earning a moan from him.

“fuucckkk” you softly whimper as you look up at Miguel, his hair messy and eyes full of lust as he’s looking down at you.

“C’mon” he said as he walked towards your bedroom with your legs still tightly wrapped around his waist.

He opened the door and locked it behind him before laying you down on your bed as he got on top of you, getting right back to kissing you. His hands traced up your thigh slowly dragging your dress further up as he looked at you.

“Is this okay?” he asked, wanting your consent before going further.

“yes, please” you replied, needing him more then ever. He smirked and was quick to pulling your dress up to your lower waist as he started kissing your neck, then your chest and then your stomach, slowly going further down as you quietly moaned at the feeling.

When he got to your lower stomach he looked up at you immediately a way asking for consent to go further, you were quick to nodding your head ‘yes’ and before you knew it he had ripped your panties off and his mouth was already on you.

Thank god for the music downstairs cause if not you’d bet everyone in the house could’ve heard how good you were feeling. Your legs wrapped around Miguels head as his tongue went from sucking and circling on your clit to going down to your hole. He removed his mouth from you, earning a whimper from you as he went back to kissing you, making you taste yourself on his tongue as he slowly removed his pants and boxers. He lined himself up with you and you glanced down, noticing how big he was. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it fit.” he said before kissing you to silence your moans as he slowly entered you.

It hurt a bit at first considering how big he was, but after a while it was oh so much more pleasurable. “M-Mi-Miguel! aah~ Fuckk!” you moaned out as he fucked his dick deep into you, hitting your g-spot with almost every thrust. “thaaatt’s it, be good ‘f me..” he moaned into your ear as his thrusts got more harsh and sloppy. “fuck! Miguel ‘m gonna cum!” you whimpered out as you felt yourself reaching your high, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper into you.

“Cum with me baby, be a good girl and cum for me” he said, placing his hand on your lower stomach and pressing down, making you reach your peak and cum on his cock. His hips stuttered into you before he filled you up with his cum, staying there for a while before pulling out and laying beside you on your bed. “That was really fucking good” you said, laughing a bit, earning a laugh from him too as he agreed. “Let’s get some rest so you can relax for a bit” oh god, you think to yourself. This was gonna be a loooonngg night. 

[hotdogstandz]

My Lust tale. A story following a group of monsters living in a world in which humans and monsters have always coexisted side by side. Sure, everyone is above ground, but that doesn’t mean everything is easy. In this world, monsters face extreme classism, racism, and just general systemic oppression from the government. This story specifically follows the lives of a suffering but strong community of monsters doing their best to survive in a run-down city with a corrupt system not made for them.

We’ve got the aged-out foster skeleton brothers- drag queen Sans and security/accountant Pax (government name Papyrus) who co-run the hit club, Lust Tales After Dark, located on Snowed In Street.

Directly across from their building is a small rundown cafe run by the lovely Miss Toriel, and occasionally her eldest two children, biological son Asriel (15) and adopted Chara (16). She has another adopted kid, Frisk (7) that the eldest watch frequently as well. Pax and Sans (dubbed Sansy by Frisk) spend most of their off time either with the kids, running rehearsals, or working the food bank that Lust Tales After Dark and Toriels cafe run (along with several other monster owned businesses) for the unfortunate monsters and humans living on the streets in their city.

Chief of police, Asgore is what you could expect. A power hungry, corrupt, and selfish man willing to throw his own family away for the sake of success. I will reveal more about everyone’s dynamic soon enough.

Last bit….and I want you all to REALLY look me in the face and listen to every word I’m about to say.

DO. NOT. SEXUALIZE. ANY. OF THE CHARACTERS. WHO ARE. MINORS.

This is a story meant to raise awareness for real life problems. I am planning on using this series to educate younger people in this fandom about safe sex practices, consent, and the wide variety of sexualities, as well as SA, domestic violence, and STD awareness. As someone who read the original comic as a young teen, it was incredibly damaging and confusing. So, this is meant to be used as a tool. A comfort. Lust and sexuality can be really really scary for some. I hope to make it less scary. More educational and lighthearted.

If your intention is to come on my page and twist my content into what the original LustTale was or draw harmful art that you KNOW could damage someone, get the FUCK off my page. Unkindly.

That’s all :] thx for reading bbys

[blueicequeen19]

Charter

Warnings: boss JJ & his employee, 5 year age gap, oral, protected sex.. might make this a series.

I forced a grin as my dickhead of a boss strolled in, his red work shirt cut into a cut off and his hat on backwards. I tried not to stare along with every other female in the shop as he joined me behind the counter, plastering a smile to his face as he faced the customers. It was hard not to stare at his sun kissed muscles or the clench of his jaw or the blonde mop of hair that was curling under his hat.

“How’s it going, boss?” I asked, wanting to fill the silence after watching him flirt with another married woman. Who knew women were so interested in fishing gear?

“It’s going.” He grumbled, before giving that charming smile to a group of teens buying shirt’s. I’m pretty sure they’d purchased every single one we carry but whatever.

The rest of the night went like always. He was talkative to everyone but me, I stocked shelves, his blue eyes caught mine as he glared at me and I tried not to roll my eyes. He was so hot but he was such a moody prick. I often wondered why he even hired me if he was going to be so shitty all the time.

“Your money is in the back.” JJ finally said as I flipped off the lights and locked the doors at close.

“Thanks.” I chirped as I followed him in the back, the money drawer tucked under his arm. I grabbed the envelope of cash with my name on it from next to the safe and tucked in my pocket as I waited for him to ready the bank deposit for Monday. I hauled myself up on to the work bench, my legs swinging as I scrolled through my phone. And waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally the lights were flipped off and I set my phone down just as I felt him near me. My heart started to race when I felt him brush up against my knees, forcing my legs to part. I couldn’t see more than an outline of his body in the dark but I could feel the heat radiating off him. The need.

“Now you want something to do with me?” I taunt, tracing my finger up his forearm. A moment passes and I feel his breath on my face, the mint gum filling my head.

“Shut up and take your shirt off.” JJ said softly, making my insides tighten as I obeyed.

I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head before reaching back to flick the clasp of my bra open then dropped it too. His hands found the tops of my thighs and I panted as his groin made contact with mine. I could hear how hard he was breathing as his hand came up to palm my breast. I arched into his touch, filling his hand with the flesh. His free hand did the same, massaging and kneading the flesh then tweaking my hardened nipples. I was rocking against him for friction, my body screaming for more when he stopped.

“Get on your knees.” I nearly moaned hearing his voice deep with lust just as I heard the clink of his belt.

I lowered myself to the floor, my hands finding the tops of his thighs when I felt the smooth tip of him kiss my lips.

“Suck.” I didn’t have to be told twice. I swiped my tongue of his slit, circling it before sucking it into my mouth. I heard a gasp of air leave him as sucked on the swollen tip, his precum coating my tongue. When his hands yanked my hair free of his tie, I took him deeper as he started to control the pace. I gagged, my knees screaming from the hard floor but I didn’t stop. Just when his grunting comes quicker and I know he’s about to cum, the ring of his phone has me nearly jumping out of my skin like someone had caught us. I’m even more surprised when he digs his phone out and answers it while keeping one hand in my hair.

“Yea?” JJ says calmly into the phone, keeping his voice even and lust free. I move my hand to his balls and he jerks, hand tightening in my hair.

“Okay, I’ll be there soon.” A pause.

“Alright, thanks.” JJ hangs up and I’m hauled to my feet, his hands quickly undoing the buttons on my shorts before bending me over the workbench.

“Have to make this quick.” JJ grunts from behind me.

“Somewhere else you need to be?” I hear the tear of a foil packet, my body trembling with anticipation.

“Actually yes.” Then he’s pushing inside me. I open my mouth on a moan, his cock too big to go in easily without any foreplay, but his hand slaps down over my mouth as he pulls my body upright against his. I could feel him everywhere, he was so deep.

My nails dig into the workbench as he starts to fuck me hard and fast. I moan into his hand, his heavy breathing in my ear as he fills me up over and over again. I wasn’t sure how we got here. I didn’t think he could stand me but I was the only one who didn’t put up with his bullshit and didn’t drool over him all the time. One night we were arguing then he was fucking me and we just never seemed to stop. The only thing he’d said after was this stayed between us or I could go work somewhere else. I didn’t tell him that he paid more and with cash so I kept my mouth shut. Even if it was because more of the fact that he fucked me like no one had ever done before and less about the job. I should be partly ashamed of myself since I don’t know a goddamn thing about him aside from being my boss. I know he’s a live or die Pogue, especially with the word tattooed around his knuckles on one hand. I know he’s five years older than I am. I know he runs a very successful charter and doesn’t know a stranger but that’s it. I know nothing about his personal life or his friends or what he does when hes no longer inside me. He could have a wife and kids at home for all I know but he never wears a ring on his ring finger, just on the others.

“Focus.” JJ growls in my ear, making my breasts bounce with every harsh thrust. I arch my back, pushing back against him as I reach down to stroke my clit. There was something so hot about the fact that I was completely naked and he was fully clothed.

“You wanna cum for me?” JJ covers my hand on my clit with his own, making me apply more pressure while his other hand muffles any noises I make. I nod, my body tensing as fire fills my veins and my insides tighten.

“Let go. Let me feel this tight fucking pussy squeeze the life out of me.” My mind and body shatter at his filthy words, everything going black for a moment as he fucks me through my climax while stroking my clit hard until I’m panting and trembling. I can’t hold myself up any longer and he pushes me down on the table, fucking me so hard the workbench slaps the wall until finally he stills with a breathy moan, making my toes curl as he fills up the condom inside me.

I shudder as he pulls out, leaving me aching and empty, while he discards the condom and buttons his pants. A moment later he’s pulling my shorts and panties back up and handing me my shirt and bra.

“I have to go.” He says urgently so I quickly redress and follow him to sit the alarm. We don’t say anything as we exit the back door after setting the alarm. His steps are quick as he goes towards his truck but he suddenly drops his keys with a curse just as I hear the FaceTime ring on his phone. I don’t mean to ease drop but I’m parked behind him on the street and when he answers, a child’s voice has me stopping in my tracks.

“Hi daddy, are you on your way?” My heart sinks. He does have a kid at home. Or kids. A daughter specifically. One that has him grinning ear to ear as his snatches up his keys and unlocks his truck.

“Yea princess, I’m on my way.” His truck starts and pulls away before I can even unlock my door. I don’t think I know how right now.

JJ Maybank has a daughter.

[animentality]

the funny thing about the Black Butler revival is that Sebaciel is taking a lot of heat right now, here in the year of our lord and savior 2024, in which all ships are problematic and toxic.

because it's a pedo ship.

which is the most perfect low hanging fruit in all of anti existence.

but like, Sebaciel is really a microcosm of pro vs anti ship discourse in general, right?

everyone insists oh you like Sebaciel? you must be a pedophile... while totally ignoring that a lot of fucking teenage girls read Black Butler and imagine themselves AS CIEL. they have a crush on SEBASTIAN.

that's why they ship them. they're not generally lusting for the minor, they're imagining themselves as the minor, being MINORS themselves, and have crushes on the suave sexy demon guy... because that's literally budding adolescence in a nut shell.

Sure there are people who lust for ciel... but it's a fucking shonen. it's for teens.

Teens are allowed to have fucking crushes on Ciel and Naruto and Ichigo. They're also allowed to have crushes on adults, WHO ARE NOT REAL and can't return their affections or hurt them in literally any way other than fictional related trauma.

is it really that shocking that teens are projecting themselves on/lusting for the fucking kid protagonists? you know, like they're generally going to do??? because they're hormonal but also bc it's very normal for humans to have goddamn crushes on human shaped (and less human shaped) things???

and is it really that shocking that teens girls would lust after Sebastian?

are you telling them they can't do that, and then also ship their little self insert goth child with the object of their affection?

and also.

ALSO.

the harder thing for these people to swallow...

fucking adults can ship anything they want too.

literally who gives a fuck

just shipping a problematic age difference ship doesn't make you anything at all.

being an asshole in fandom spaces does, like harassing people for shipping or not shipping Sebaciel, sending death threats, doxing, whatever, but just the act of jerking it to Sebaciel fanfics, or writing them for yourself and friends, is not a goddamn crime.

nor is it anything other than a Catholic sin.

so I'm laughing at the modern discourse, as angry adults and teens try to cancel Sebaciel.

tale as old as time. but also Sebaciel is the fucking OG.

The og of queerbait shotacon nonsense.

you weren't gonna stop people in 2008, you won't stop them now.

just hang out in your own space and leave other people alone.

also just fyi. I don't ship this.

I ship toxic old man yaoi.

but I'm rolling my eyes and slapping you if I see you in the wild insisting a Sebaciel artist is a pedophile guilty of a real crime in real life.

get some fucking perspective.

[shrimpkini]

Who's lex dark and why's that anon so pressed about you hating them? Hate to your heart's content!

CW: discussing CSA, pedophilia, and problematic content

Lex_Dark is a popular nsfw artist on twt. I want to get it out of the way that I at one point followed them for a brief time. This was until I saw some of the art they made. They’ve drawn porn of teen soukoku, endorse ships like Chuuya x Oda, Mori x Dazai, and Ranpo x Fukuzawa. They are a pro shipper who, surprise, surprise, takes things too far by glorifying and sexualizing pedophilia.

One of their pieces has Mori walking in on skk after they had sex. Like Dazai doesn’t have pants on and still has cum dripping down his legs and opens the door to greet Mori. They don’t depict teenagers having a sex life, because I do believe that can be done in a way that is needed for a story or self discovery. But that is not what they are doing. They are drawing a teen Chuuya and Dazai and making them “sexy” for the audience.

They have 60k followers and I’m really disappointed they have a platform. When it comes to sexualizing fictional children in art, it is incredibly harmful. It actively hurts real life children. I should know as a victim of csa myself. Normalizing the sexualization of teenagers is disgusting. I think we should ask ourselves what do they find attractive about the teenage version of those characters? Why are they so keen on shipping children with parental figures or adult characters who met them when they were kids? It is so important to mention that Oda met Dazai when he was 16. Oda is 5 years older than Dazai meaning he was 21. He watched him grow up and viewed him as a child in the light novel. BECAUSE HE WAS. Teenagers are CHILDREN. Same with Fukuzawa and Ranpo. He met Ranpo when he was a kid and essentially adopted him. To put it in real life perspective — could you imagine lusting after a child you adopted and raised? My little sister is around that age. Another example is as a 21 yo, even though it’s legal, I wouldn’t go after an 18 yo who is still in high school. We are at different points in our life and they are still very much a kid despite being “legal”. Morality and what makes a moral relationship doesn’t just lie in age.

That is why I say if you are making content like that you are either a pedo, making content for pedos, or apart of the problem. And that is why I hate the content Lex_Dark makes. Hopefully that made sense. If there’s any confusion or things that you want more clarification on - I’d be happy to oblige.

[pansexualkiba]

i forgot i have this person blocked but to answer a question no one was asking about.

the "1000 year old underage girl" thing is forgetting that for, like, super-long-lived races like that, those characters are aging ridiculously slowly. the point isn't that some girls just look absurdly youthful, the point is to give someone a character who is underage in their own race's timeframe and going "well by human standpoints she's over 18 ;)". its scummy. if 6000 is young adult age why are we talking to a six year old like that. why is she dressed like that.

chilchuck is from a race with an average life span of 60, compared to tallman (human) als of 80. he has an age of majority of 14 (and had a kid at 13, meaning he's a teen dad), and is currently 29 years old. he is, by literal definition, a middle-aged man. he dresses pretty modestly as well, and was going grey before the artist just stopped adding that to make him easier to draw. not only that, long-lived races are often shown to infantalize the short-lived races, which is a major contributor to why the shapeshifter part turned out the way it did. there's also a character who (among other things) only dates short-lived races despite being long-lived, and other characters make fun of her for it because, while 25-30 is mature for short-lived races, those are adolescent ages for long-lived races.

the point here is chilchuck is fine to lust over because. he's an adult. by both human and half-foot standards. unlike the nebulous "1000 year loli", who is only an adult by human standards, NOT the girl's standards. also he's got three adult daughters, a drinking problem, a union job, and a divorce. the girl ain't even wearing shoes.

[oreosmama]

What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It's how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you're not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn't take kindly to you avoiding him, and he's never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he's not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he's seen the proof that you've fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: idk man i accidentally googled who ghost was like a week ago and fell so deep into the hot cod men rabbit hole so here we are. Enjoy!

Word count: 8261

Gaz is pretty sure he’s in love with you. 

It’s a surprising discovery at 11 pm in an American hotel bar drinking the worst scotch he’s ever had. It’s even more surprising because he just discovered you existed all of thirty minutes ago. 

He’s got his glass swirling between two nimble fingers, trying to find that line between hating his drink and actually putting it down. And he’s watching you. 

You’re the same bartender who’d asked him (in a horrible imitation of his accent) if he’d wanted his neat scotch “shaken, not stirred.” You’d flushed after you said it and promised to leave him joke-free for the rest of the night. He’d laughed, a bit hollow from his circumstances, and told you it was all right. That he liked it, and that made you flush a little more. 

Now, you scuttle like an ant past the other worker, a blonde who’s been making eyes at him all night. Your face is split into this unabashed grin, grippable hips bouncing off the counter as you sweep by and reach below for a bottle, giving him a view of the enviable dip between your breasts. 

At first, he thinks it’s just that. Too much American booze, not enough inhibitions; both sending him into that post-mission spiral that makes him touchy and want to touch all at the same time. And he finds it’s nice to watch you rattling glasses and wiping up spills; it’s soothing, the way your eyes are alight with life in this ritzy place, seemingly unbothered by the high level of customers. He especially likes the way you mock the spoiled sods when you can get away with it. 

The hotel must be experiencing the perfect storm of weddings, proms, and business meetings—not to mention one very unfortunate layover for one very unlucky special forces sergeant. 

He watches as teens keep stumbling back to the counter with pink cheeks, flashing their IDs every time they ask for a new drink. Despite their prom getups and obvious ages, they swear they’re just guests from Mr. and Mrs. Weddington’s ceremony. 

The girl you’re with now, stumbling from her heels but selling it as though she’s tipsy, begs and begs for another lemon drop before she “goes back to work on Monday.”

You nod either way, and he watches as you make a display of pouring alcohol into one shaker and juice into another, swapping them out when the teen looks back towards her friends. 

You send her on her merry way with a sugared rim and a lemon rind, saying something like “Go easy” as she wanders back to her table. You smile to yourself, amused at this little game you’re playing with half the customers here. 

You must feel the heat of his gaze, because you glance at him then. He hopes it’s burning you up as much as it looks, that nervous pinkening of your face as you give him a shrug like what else was there to do?

And Gaz, again, thinks it’s just that. Lust. He thinks about wiping that small smile off your face with his lips, stumbling with you into his hotel room, frantic fingers peeling off clothes. He thinks about how it would be—giggly, probably, despite his surprising coordination when he’s plastered. It’d be you and him swapping words back and forth, back and forth the whole time, silence only filling the room when you’re kissing him and when you feel so fucking new it steals your and his words away. 

He doesn’t know why he latches more onto the idea of the moments afterward, the biggest thing being that you decide to stay. Then it’s more back and forth, hobbies and pet peeves and every little thing that’s been on your minds since the 2000s. He gets to know you inside and out, inside again a few more times even as your conversation runs on. 

It’s no longer lust at that point. He knows that. 

He’s ruthlessly torn from the fantasy by the blonde bartender who, judging by the looks you’re swapping with her, has gotten the entirely wrong idea about the direction of his stare. 

He swears to God he was being obvious about it. It was you—it was fucking you that whole time. 

But he’s noticed a couple things about you.

The first is that you’re quiet when your customers aren’t overwhelmingly sloshed; awkwardly so, for a bartender. You’re something of a mirror when they are, far more relaxed, laughing easy and cracking jokes, like you preferred your real self be forgotten the next morning. 

The second is that you’re soft. Around the edges, all pillowy at the hips and thighs, a sloping curve down each side. And you were soft with your words, no yelling, no arguing with customers, just easy little jabs that no drunk mind would ever cotton onto. 

You were only snappy with him the second his head started growing fuzzy. 

He wants more of it, even as the pretty bartender makes friendly conversation. 

She asks about his day, then his job, then his adventures. Three of the last things he wanted to think about tonight, let alone discuss with a stranger who wants in his pants. However, because she “loves a man with a British accent” and he’s too damn polite to give her the boot, he reveals a little. 

Yes, his job is hard. Yes, he’s jumped from an airplane. Yes, he’s killed someone. Of course they were bad.

Until they weren’t. But he won’t tell her that. 

However, above all things, Gaz is a planner. And though he’s caught the wrong fish with his bait, his plan B is working excellently. 

Gaz glances at you, brushing your hair behind your ear in the increasingly crowded room. The wide array of customers spread out among the limited seating are starting to flood the bar. You can’t pass out beers and shake cosmopolitans at the same time, and a wonderful warmth blossoms in his chest the second you glance at him too, growing desperate. 

There’s something like an apology in your eyes. You’re sad you have to ruin your friend’s chances; meanwhile, he thinks it may just be the best part of his night.

The third thing he discovers about you: you’re trying to be the wingwoman for your pretty friend here, and Gaz won’t have it. 

You’re going to have to come over here. Beg for help from your friend.

Ruin this little flirtation she’s got going on—what a shame. 

You’re too damn polite, just like him. The second he talks to you when you make your way over, you’ll think you have to stay. Humor him for a bit. He’ll ask you for a drink, forcing you to come back a second time around, when the bustle has slowed. He’ll rope you in for the rest of the night by then, and the wait’ll be over. 

He feels like a damn schoolboy when you take that first step toward him, and he’s practically vibrating when you get close enough that he can hear your voice for the second time today. It’s far less grating than your friend’s, he’s certain of it—he wouldn’t mind if it was you badgering him, is what he means.

After all, Gaz was on leave, and when Gaz was on leave, he liked things slow. Fresh off a mission, he liked to roll through the motions, order drinks and let the memories turn into static from the corner of the bar. He’d planned on calling Price and damning him for saying it was a blessing to get trapped in the US, set up at a posh hotel on the task force’s budget. 

But you stop before him, contrite eyes softening, and he’s getting better at seeing the upside of it all. 

“Hate to interrupt—I know you two are trying to get all cozy in the dark over here, but I could use your help, Jeanne. ‘Hugh Janus’ is asking for another beer and our non-alcoholic tap just ran dry.” You look off into the distance, frowning slightly. “I fear we may have genuinely drunk teens on our hands soon.”

Jesus, was her name Jeanne? Gaz hadn’t caught that. 

On the bright side, he’s able to confirm one of his sneaking suspicions. Your eyes really are fucking gorgeous up close, and they’re so expressive that he can read you like a book. 

But he hates the way you say “you two.” It’s so nonchalant. 

Was it too much to ask for a little envy? Just a hint of spite, to prove that some part of what he’s feeling, even a little speck of it, isn’t one-sided?

Your friend— Jeanne , apparently—gives him a disappointed sigh, looks at him like he and her are two conspirators planning on eloping any second. “Duty calls. I’ll be right back.”

He nods, trying to find that balance between polite understanding and absolute relief, but his head grows foggier by the minute and all he can manage is a “sounds good.”

You dive into an explanation when the pair of you are far enough away to inspect the taps, gesturing at a couple of them, and then discreetly at a group in the crowd. 

From here, he can see it a little more clearly. You’re younger than the blonde, probably just by a couple years, which means you’re newer here. Younger than him, too, since he pegs Jeanne at around his own age. 

The blonde disappears into a storage door wedged between two shelves loaded with glass bottles and illuminated white-blue. A manager, maybe.

Only thing he knows for certain from observing this quick interaction is that you’re finally alone. 

He flags you down, and his chest floods with that warm, fuzzy feeling all over again when you hustle over, genuine smile on your lips—because you’re so damn easy to read.

“Know you’re busy, ’nd I hate to bother you, darling, but can you get me another scotch? Shaken, this time, if you please.”

The pet name lands perfectly. Even through all the chatter and music, he can hear the quick stutter in your breath. Then you laugh at his joke, like you think he deserves it. 

It’s cheap of him to force that laugh out of you with a shitty joke like that, but he’s feeling a little needy. Wants a preview of what the real thing would sound like. 

Fucking music, surely. 

“I’ll go get it—”

Not yet. I need more time.

“Not right now. I’ll finish this one off while you work through that fresh hell–” he nods toward the anxious crowd “–then you can come back to me. You’ll find I’m pretty patient.”

A little less so, when it comes to you, but you don’t need to know that yet. 

The slight slur to his words must be comforting, because you give him that small smirk you’ve been conservative with all night. “I’ll hold you to that. I’ve heard Brits are perfect gentlemen; be a shame if you proved me wrong.”

“I’m all that and more, darling.” He winks. “You’ll see.”

He could be the bloody worst man on the planet, too, if you wanted. 

And he could come out and say that to you, all the things he could be for you tonight, if he wasn’t so keen on the instant change in you. 

Because here’s what he expected: a few more little flirtations back and forth, everything kept light and easy. He’d keep you smiling and smirking like that, comfortable in your own skin for just a little bit longer before you have to go back to the other customers and slither back into your shell. He’d get to see that breathtaking blush of yours, pink splotches that tell him he’s on the right track. And then he’d get your rapt attention for the remainder of your and his night, quite like he’s given you his. 

But that’s not what happens. 

Instead, you’re instantly sheepish, finding yourself leaning a little closer, so close he could reach out and run a finger along the back of your hand (a small touch, but it would certainly floor him). 

And then guilt. Pure, heart-wrenching guilt, like you’re taking every word of his to heart in the worst possible way.

Gaz panics. 

But you’re not wearing a ring, so no husband, no fiance. He guesses boyfriend or some long-standing crush he can’t—shouldn’t—burrow his way in front of. It’s a disappointing discovery, something he’ll be stewing on for the rest of the night or maybe week, depending on how long he’s stranded here. 

He’s not a fan of infidelity, and he sure as hell isn’t changing his opinion on that anytime soon. So he settles himself for a night at the bar cut short. Maybe he’ll order drinks up to his room from now on, praying the task force won’t try and shift the bill onto him. He can’t imagine coming down to the bar and seeing you will be nearly as satisfying anymore. 

“I shouldn—I mean, Jeanne really likes y—I mean, we kinda have this rule where we, um,” you fumble with the rag on the counter, suddenly invested in a stain he’s been avoiding all night. You swallow. “I’ll just, uh, bring you your drink later. As promised. I should go help her.”

And you dash off as fast as you can between the counter and the precarious wall decor, almost running into the storage door the other bartender whips open while dragging out a new keg for the tap. 

Meanwhile, Gaz… 

He has a question. 

Were you feeling all that guilt over some “dibs” rule at your bar?

He wants to laugh. The whole first-come, first-served thing makes you look as guilty as if you clubbed a baby seal. So what if Jeanne wants to ask him out? If he says no, does that mean he gets you?

Then he actually laughs a little, because it’s so ridiculous that it’s honestly cute. You care about and respect your coworkers, and support them when they’re hitting on guys at bars. So cute. You’re like the ultimate wingwoman, he’s sure, but that’s not going to change the fact that he wants you. 

But the night drags on, and this half hour of patience Gaz promised you becomes paper-slim when you pass off his drink to Jeanne and avoid his end of the bar for far longer than is acceptable. 

But you’re still giving her reassuring smiles and manning the bar as she lays her interest on thick, asking how long he’ll be staying and telling him when she gets off. 

Gaz isn’t laughing anymore. And that little thing you do where you back off and play wingwoman? Definitely not as sweet as he’d thought it was. 

Fuck, it might be the one thing he hates about you. 

Because you avoid him for the rest of the night, and he still can’t take his eyes off you. 

Not to worry, though. Gaz is a patient man. More importantly, he’s a planner. 

He’ll find a way. 

He always does. 

~~~~~~

Gaz barely sleep that night. Too busy thinking about the mission, the lives that were lost, all that blood that had coated his hands just three days ago. 

The way it bothers him comes and goes in phases. Some missions slip off him like rain water over a slick road, rivulets down drives, and he sleeps just fine. 

Others soak into him, further than skin deep, where his body becomes a subcutaneous cache of nightmares and gunpowder, and he wakes up choking, smoke filling his lungs, tearing at the tissue of his throat enough that water can’t soothe the burn. 

Mornings like this is where he fights fire with fire. 

The hotel bar is unsurprisingly destitute but still oddly open at 11 am on a Thursday morning, and he takes a seat more daringly center-staged than he had last night. He glances around, letting thoughts of you, a bartender whose biggest issue was a dibs rule on men, swathe around him. 

Admittedly, a lot of it is foggy. He remembers wanting you—a lot , actually. Too much, he might even say, but after all he drank he’s surprised he even found his way back to his room. But the place, a little more aglow with the open windows (that make his head fucking spin, by the way), looks the same as last night, which means he can still envision you wandering over every inch of it. 

And he thinks no, you probably weren’t that attractive. Maybe your snipes weren’t that funny, and he’d had no reason to get so upset with you over a rejection. And every little wish he’d had that you were the woman who could warm his bed while he was out on missions and greet him when he came home was a bit over the top, even for drunk Gaz. 

Sober Gaz knows better. Sober Gaz knows that no other human being can have that much of an effect on him anymore, because he’s had to rebuild himself after joining the military, after seeing the most honorable and dishonorable things humans can do, and he’s just not fit for something unconditional. 

Drunk Gaz, though….

Hammered and horny. That’s all it was. A terrible mixture, and he’s damn ashamed that an innocent girl like you became the target of it. God, did he even tell you his name? Or was it just instant come-on and creepy watching from the corner of the bar? 

Gaz notices he’s not alone as he lets his eyes wander; there’s a group of three elderly women jabbering in the corner, waving too-friendly when he spots them. He tosses them a dashing smile, the one that makes his grandmother’s friends burst into titters and giggles. 

It has the same effect. 

“Who knew you’d be just as charming sober?” a familiar voice rings out. 

Gaz’s heart thump-thump s forcefully.

“In all fairness, you do have a shot with them too, if you really wanted to take it.” You lean a little bit closer over the counter, one-ended smile pulling at your lips, and when he catches a trace of that same perfume, his chest twinges. 

Fuckin’ hell. 

“She’s newly widowed,” you nod to the gaggle again, demeanor conspiratorial, “and happy to be, apparently. Why am I not surprised you’re popular to all ages?”

He’s got no clue what you’re talking about. Damn, he’s not even listening. Your lips look too soft to him right now, and it’s downright unfair how domestic you look in morning light, placid and playful, like the last thing you were made for was exacerbating nightlife. 

“All ages?” he mumbles, because he can’t quite think straight, and the best thing he can do is repeat the last few words he’d heard you say before his train of thought had caught fire, derailed, and crashed explosively against brick wall. 

He’s struck still, is what he means. He can’t quite think past the idea of you, coming a little closer to him, letting him trap you against his chest. Letting him breathe in the scent of your hair as you tell him about your day—boring, maybe, if it wasn’t you who was telling the story. 

But your voice and tone, that playful edge that sounds like the sweetness of cotton candy and would taste like fucking everything to him, it draws him in. 

Gaz comes to the conclusion that not everything was a drunken haze last night. 

And he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t quite the fisherman he thought he was, trying to catch you. If anything, he was the fish snapping after your line, bait or no, wanting to be yanked out of the water and gutted until everything he ever was was bare for those pretty eyes. 

And he’s that very same fish this morning, gaping and blinking wide-eyed. 

Fuckin’. Hell. 

“My God, those teenagers last night? And then Jeanne, and the bridesmaids? And, okay, I shit you not, even the bride. You’re a menace in this bar, you know that?”

“Are you included in all that?”

If he remembers anything from the night before, it was the way you clammed up after he made his first move. You’re the spitting image of it now, pursed lips and antsy fingers, even after all that big talk. 

It’s an absent thought that flies past him in that moment, but he recalls that you were only loose enough to joke around with people already tipsy. He lets a small consideration tag along, a half-thought, really, that maybe you felt as comfortable around him as he did around you.

That, or he still looked smashed from last night.

You dodge his question completely.

“So what can I get you this morning…?” You let the tail end of the question drag on a bit, and he decides it’s because you can’t remember his name. He tries to stave off the gross pinch in his stomach by recalling there’s an all too real chance he never even told you. 

“Kyle.”

You shake your head quickly, mumbling, “No, I—I remember.”

Gaz, though he can’t help but feel like an asshole for it, grins at your stutter. 

“Surprise me, then.” He sits back, not remembering when he made the decision to lean a bit closer. “YN,” he tags on, smiling a bit more at your nervous laugh. 

You look him over, some short glance that stuffs his head full of cotton, and start working on a concoction with a small grin. 

He’s patient, minds his own business and fiddles with his phone as you shake and pour. 

No messages from Price, and Gaz shoves down any distant panic that he might have sent an aggravated text or two in his state last night. 

But no messages means no updates, which means it’s safe to assume he’ll be marooned at this hotel for another two weeks. 

Not as bad as he thought it would be, so far. 

You step away with a tray of drinks and return empty handed. Then you slip a glass in front of him, frosty and golden, slowly seeping red by a single maraschino cherry. 

He guffaws. “Mai Tai? What, no umbrella?”

You slip a mini umbrella into his drink. “You underestimate me.”

His headache is killing him. The sun’s too bright, and he’s thanking God that the music in here isn’t nearly as pounding as it was yesterday. The memories still haunt him, horizoning his mind. Every drop of blood, every plea, every blank-eyed stare. 

And then there’s you. Just you. You read like a sheet of paper, and you’re soft around the edges, and you couldn’t even comprehend half the things he’s seen. 

You spoon another maraschino cherry out of the cooling jar and pop it into your mouth, laving your tongue over it before biting down, the juices dying your tongue red. 

Fuck. 

Gaz wants to kiss you. 

He wants you to taste the Mai Tai on his tongue and sigh happily, eyes rolling the exact same way. He might die if you don’t.

“It’s on the house, only because you were true to your word.”

He gets peeks of that red tongue of yours and shifts in his seat. “What d’you mean?”

“You were patient, as promised, and I’m afraid I’ll need a little more of that today.”

Any of it. All of it, for you. Fuck, he could be so patient for you. 

Gaz furrows his brow anyway. “Didn’t know you were so greedy. Why d’you ask, love?”

“I guess you couldn’t tell from last night, but I’m a pretty shitty bartender. That’s why they got me working mornings.”

He glances at the Mai Tai. “So you’re sayin’ I’m shit outta luck.”

“I’m saying that if you’re going to let me pick your drink, you’re going to keep getting whatever’s left in the mixer from formerly Mrs. Jones’ group of three. I should warn you, they party hard.”

Gaz sighs. “What’s next on the menu?”

“More mimosas. That was their warm-up. You wanna catch up?” You frame a carton of orange juice in your hands enticingly. 

Fruity drinks from here on out. Gaz doesn’t exactly mind the idea, though he’d come down to the bar for something with more of a kick. But he’s wondering how long your shift runs if you’d worked the night before and the morning after. 

He’s got a chance here; without your friend present, your guilty conscience must feel balmed.

Gaz shakes his head, tearing a finger at the mini umbrella’s ridges. “I’ll stick to their schedule. Have a feeling I should be pacing myself with that crew.”

“Good feeling,” you nod. 

The air of silence that settles is comfortable. There’s the rattle of ice and champagne, the slow slosh of orange pooling in three going on four glasses, and Gaz watches you through it all. But he can see the way his gaze makes you nervous. Your movements are all rickety, and you can’t quite find that rhythm between shaking the mixer and making eye contact. 

Gaz wasn’t lying. Most if not all the women he’s met (sans a few of his targets) agree: he’s a kind man. Chivalrous, soothing, amiable. 

So he’s not sure why seeing your nerves gets a lovely thrill rattling its way down his spine. Sure, he wished you felt a smidge less timid, a lot more loose and sunny in his company. But, he guesses, it’s because with you, he’s willing to settle. Take what he can get; it’s not unlike a stakeout, really. He’s parked here, waiting for you to come out of your shell on your own time. 

Can’t really help that he’s greedy when it counts, though, and when you set the mimosa in front of him, he reaches before you can pull away, getting that warm slide of your fingers against his. 

“So what are you doin’ here, in a place like this, if you’re not a good bartender?”

He has to salvage your courage before you slip into the backroom for space to think. He can’t let that happen, overthinker that you are, and you’re too nice to abandon him mid-conversation. 

He’s okay with manipulating you that much. 

“Gap year. Several actually, but I don’t like to think about that.” You’re fidgeting with a rag, twisting it until the damp cotton creases under your fingers. 

“What are you gappin’ to?”

You huff out a laugh. “Med school, hopefully. Grad school, possibly. Just want to do something more, you know? Since apparently a bachelor’s gets you nowhere nowadays, and I’m just thirty grand in hole for nothing.”

“It’ll work itself out. For you, I’m certain of it.”

And he thinks he’s nailed it. 

Look. Look at all he can say and do to make you feel comfortable. And look! He can make you laugh and smile. And his touch was nice, right? Warm, gentle, everything you’d want. He’s got it right here. Waiting for you.

And then you blink, long and slow, eyes on the counter. Then…

“You know, I’m really jealous of Jeanne. I mean, she has it all figured out.”

Gaz fights the urge to grind his teeth, but he drops his elbows to the counter and cups at the mimosa. Not good enough, doesn’t burn enough. Too easy on the champagne, and he distantly wonders if you pull what you did last night all the time. 

That thing where you go easy on drinks by coming around less, or neutering them completely before you pass them out. 

That thing where you’re trying to do better for everyone , where you think you know better. He can only guess that it’s come so often with a cost to you that it’s all you know how to do anymore—giving, no taking. Helping always; never, ever hurting, no matter what you want. 

“C’mon,” he mutters, but you’re reaching for another red cherry. Chewing on it as it dyes your teeth pink. 

“She’s one of the managers here, did she tell you that? And she’s only a couple years older than me, and she’s just… she knows what she wants. And goes for it, too.”

Is that what it was? You weren’t willing to go for it? 

He’ll build that bridge for you, dammit. He’d hold you hand across the whole fucking way if you’d just let him. 

“She’s the only person in the whole area willing to give me a chance, even though I’d never bartended before.”

He lets you ramble, lets the sound of your voice sink into him, gives encouraging responses when he has to. 

Jeanne likes to go hiking. 

Jeanne likes to swim. 

Jeanne loves nights out. 

Sure, yeah, okay. But do you like any of that?

You don’t. You hate it all, actually. You even have a fear of drowning, heights, the whole works. You’re very much a homebody, curled up on your couch reading, drinking tea—not a huge fan of wine, or alcohol, actually, but don’t laugh! It was the highest paying job you could find, and yes, you do see the irony. Yes, you make a good cup of tea. Why?

Trying to find out even that much about you was like playing a damn tennis match. You won’t stop shoving the topic away, getting all insecure when he asks what you like. What you want. 

He plans to change that. 

But for now? Fine. You won’t talk about you. But he’s not going to let you talk about Jeanne. 

So you’re talking about him. 

“We don’t get much of your type around here.”

“Special forces?”

“British.” You give up on wiping the counter, instead leaning on two hands and watching him sip at the piña colada you’ve just made. He’d offered you the pineapple slice. After you’d said no, he watched you watch him bite in, wiping off the juice off his lips with his thumb. 

He had to remind himself that it was patience you were looking for, even with your lips parted in a daze like that. 

“Special forces, though, huh?” You glance around with faux wariness. “Should I be worried?” 

“Depends. How many people round here are up to no good?”

“I mean, there’s the occasional bad tipper but, between you and me,” you lean in, give a small shrug, “I deal with them in my own way.”

Gaz raises a brow, smile growing. “Maybe I’m the one who should be worried.”

“Depends. Are you going to be rifling around for a five or a twenty-five dollar tip in that wallet of yours?”

Gaz sighs, “The best company always comes with the highest price, don’t it?”

“Not as high as you think,” you laugh. 

If there was ever a groove to find between you and him, he’s finally located it. 

Five minutes too late, it seems. 

You’re glancing at the clock when you hear rustling in the storage room, and the blonde bartender that’s bloody haunting him now pushes through the swinging door. 

 “Jeanne.” You voice is a wonderful mixture of fake enthusiasm and slight disappointment. “Look who’s here.”

Trapped. That’s what he is.

And you leave without a goodbye or a glance in his direction, too. 

He tells himself you’re shy, insecure, delicate little thing that he keeps pushing the boundaries of, trying to find the edge of having you and scaring you off completely. 

Like taming a wild animal. 

Fucking patience. For all his years, all his adventures, he never knew he’d run out of it in the most civilian of circumstances. 

He sticks around a while longer, humors Jeanne’s interest. Amazingly enough, they have so much in common, who would have thought?

And who would have thought that after last night, that was the last thing he’d ever want.

~~~~~~

You’re doing that thing again, where you ignore him. 

He’d think it’s cute, how shy you were, if you only didn’t sic your friend on him each time you did it. He’s fairly certain his interest is clear. 

He’s been going to the bar for the last few days. Sometimes he sees you, sometimes he doesn’t. He prefers the former, and when it’s the latter, he’s reminded of just how shitty the alcohol is in the US, and that he’s trapped here, and how it’s starting to become hell. 

But he won’t tell you that. That your home and this hotel are the last places he wants to be on the whole planet, present company excluded. 

Despite the fact that present company feels like she has to include her friend in every conversation. He loves how selfless you are, no man left behind and whatnot, but he wishes you could see the failing attraction right before your eyes. 

You try to slip off, leave the pair of them alone, but Gaz won’t have it. If you wander too close, he’ll drag you in, call your damn name across the bar if he has to, wrench on that ever-guilty, ever-pleasing heart of yours to go and answer him, talk to him, pay him the attention he needs nightly, apparently. 

As of late, you’ve started playing this game. Gaz’ll bring up a topic, anything from the horrors of war to butterflies. 

And you think there might be some upsides to the horrors of war, maybe. And butterflies are ugly and gross, always. 

Gaz loves how beautiful the mountains are up north; you despise them. They look cold. 

But he thought you loved cold weather?

Well, you don’t like cold weather when it’s… on mountains. You guess. 

 An interesting play, he quite thinks. Such odd tactics you have running in your mind. But you’re trying so hard to be this good, loyal friend. You want so badly to find the middle ground here, please Jeanne and Gaz, let them both be happy. 

But when push comes to shove, Jeanne had dibs. And Gaz has to bear the brunt of it. 

Two weeks have gone by before Price contacts Gaz again. Tells him the 141 had lain low long enough that he can come back home and get some well deserved leave. The news makes him fucking ecstatic when he first hears it. Thank fuck he’ll never have to use the launderettes here again, never have to listen to the damned click-click-click of the aircon or the mini fridge. 

He misses so many things from home. 

Shepherd’s pie. Good cigarettes and tea. A whiskey sour from that bar just three blocks down from his flat. 

And his flat. His bed. His sofa, the kitchen he barely uses, the door that whines because he can’t bring himself to oil it; gone too long, too often for it to really matter most days. The toaster he doesn’t plug in ever because it damn well almost burned down his flat last time he was out for two months. 

All of it empty. Cold and bare. Too unused to really miss. 

Gaz slows while packing his things. He stops, grabs his phone, then lowers to the bed. He stares at the recent calls list, Captain still at the top, call ended twenty minutes ago. 

Home has a different taste in his mouth than it used to. Not horribly bad, but different enough to notice. 

It’ll be quiet. Gaz used to love quiet. 

Being here has changed something in him. 

Nothing big—all small things, in fact. 

A pondering floats down on him, comes to his mind and makes the rest of his body tighten, a coiled spring waiting, wondering. It’s such a small question, too, but things with you always seemed so small and insignificant, until he got a moment of quiet to consider it. 

Do they sell your perfume in the UK?

It’s not a huge thing if they don't. 

Really, it’s not life-changing. He’s just trying to consider never having it again, never having it flood his senses when you get too close, lean a bit closer to slide him his drink. 

Then it’s you not leaning in close ever again. Then no you, ever again. 

Gaz can’t quite make it make sense. 

Home is good. Hell, he misses it. 

But home is no set place anymore. Home could be two poles repelling each other but attracting him, pulling at each half of him, waiting to tear him down the middle while he tries to decide. 

Two fucking weeks? Gaz has to check his phone to make sure. Has that really all it’s been?

Bullshit. 

Tell him why it feels like it’s been years. Tell him why he can’t imagine going home as anything other than a misstep, one bad fucking decision away from sealing his fate. 

A slice of shepherd’s pie and a nice cup of Earl Grey—it can wait. 

A little longer, at least. He needs some time to make certain on some things. A month, maybe. On his own dime now. After all, what’s four thousand dollars compared to a missed opportunity for something better?

…He’ll see if they have deals on extended stays. 

~~~~~~

“YN.”

Nothing.

“YN.”

Still nothing.

“YN!”

You’re avoiding eye contact and maintaining a six-foot radius at all times, like he’s got the damn plague. 

It’s been the same setting for the past four weeks; corner of the bar, closer to the same dark shit that swirls in his glass now, aiming for privacy and good company. 

He used to think he was a good shot, but his accuracy’s been bloody terrible as of late. 

Twelve times. He’s tried asking you out twelve times. 

After the most recent attempt crash-landed with you interrupting to tell him about your sister’s obsession with popping zits, he considered it. Oh boy, did he consider giving up, asking himself why the hell he ever got so desperate in the first place. 

Tonight was supposed to be some last hurrah of sorts. His flight leaves tomorrow morning, and his patience with you has become so thin it could snap with a single breath. 

But he gets here, sees you. 

Sees you bustling around the bar—which, in his mind’s eye, is his flat. And you look right at home, by the way. Wandering in and out of his room, his kitchen, the living room. Curled up on the settee, your soft thighs winking at him from beneath his own sweatshirt. Then you’re dancing in the same way, hips swaying to the obnoxious beat, leaning in closer instead of pulling away when he grabs onto you like he ought to. 

For all that’s good and pure, you never distance yourself like you do now.

There’s no easily spooking the you in his head that wants him just as badly as he does you.

Your name falls from his lips an unavoidable number of times from the corner of the bar, and you finally fold.

See—wasn’t so hard, was it?

Not so painful if you’d just give in and go on a date with him now, too. 

You saunter over, a world-weary sigh falling from your lips. “My God, Kyle, you sound like a damn cockatoo over here. Or my mom, which was a bit unsettling. Need I remind you I regret telling you my middle name.” 

“Then you won’t be surprised to know you’re getting a good scolding, with the way you’ve been avoiding me.”

That same look takes up your features, pouty lips and wrinkled brow, like he’s barking up the wrong tree all over again. Might be his favorite expression of yours, second only to that little grin when you see him each day. 

The same one that keeps him barking. 

“You know it’s for a good reason, Kyle. I’ve told you this.”

“Remind me again, darling. Is it a boyfriend?”

You huff a sigh. “No.”

“Husband?”

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Lesbian?”

“What?” You stare at him wide-eyed, and he shrugs. 

“Just makin’ sure my bases are covered. So what is it, then?”

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“I’m also dead fuckin’ serious,” his voice raises when you try to walk away. He can barely refrain from swatting out at your wrist, spinning you back around to look at him. Over the weeks, he’s discovered your biggest weakness is his eyes, and he puppy-dogs them now. “Out with it. Please.”

His white-knuckled hands ache from where they grip under the bar’s ledge, and he’s trying blessedly hard to keep still as you look him over. Every scar, every bag under his eyes, every premature wrinkle. You can see it all and more, probably even see the nightmare he had three days ago, where it was you tied up, enemy’s gun pointed at the pliable skin of your temple, your cries echoing in the empty warehouse.

Where, a building over, in sniper-position, Gaz’s frozen. His fucking trigger finger won’t twitch, and he can’t breathe, can’t move even as the gunshot lit up your skin, and he rolled out of the same hotel bed, coughing on the floor, wheezing. 

He tops off his eyes with a dashing smile, pleasant like his mind hadn’t painted the picture of you bloody and dying, still haunting him. 

Gaz isn’t as easy to read as you are. You wouldn’t be able to tell. 

“You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like I’m whipped?” As if he could look like anything else.

“No, like…” You bite your tongue, and Gaz would give anything to know what you’d planned on doing with the hand you’d raised toward him just then, only to let it drop down at your side. “Never mind.”

“C’mon.” God , his hands ache. “Just tell me. Thought we were friends?”

“We are friends, Kyle.” You ignore how smug he gets, fixing him with a look. “But that’s all we are.”

Gaz scoffs, “I don’t get it. Just because your friend has, what, a li’l crush on me, and she doesn’t even know me, this can’t happen?”

You know what this is. He knows you know what this is. And he knows you want it, too. 

“It’s…” you bite the inside of your cheek while avoiding his gaze, and he knows it’s because you can’t think when he looks at you like that. Pleading. Desperate. And so damn breathless at the sigh of you that it makes it that much harder for you to say you don’t want him. “It’s a whole big thing we agreed on when I started working here. It’s how the peace is kept, not just between Jeanne and me—but for everyone. That’s just how we do it.”

“YN…”

You ignore him. “And I like this job, Kyle. I do. I don’t care that I’m horrible at mixing drinks, and that I can’t handle drunk people to save my life. It feels good to have something to do when I don’t know what else to do with myself, and I can’t have some little lover’s quarrel ruin that.

“And Jeanne is a great person. And I know you don’t like it when I bring it up, but it’s true. She saw you first and called it. So I’m stepping back, not getting in the middle of it because I owe it to her, and I don’t get why you won’t just do me that solid and give her a chance. You two are a much better fit than you and I would ever be—”

“You hate camping.”

You fall silent, staring at him in confusion. “What?”

“You hate camping. And the woods. The outside, really. You told me that. Then you told me your daily circuit is the bar, then your home, sometimes to the café down the street from here, but that’s rare. And that you like books, but I know s’not the cute, adventure-y ones you pretend to like. I googled a few of yours, ones I caught you sneakin’ on your breaks—dirty little bird, you are, by the way. But I like that about you. All of it. Everything you think you have to keep under wraps.”

“Kyle…”

“I like the way you say my name, too. And how soft your skin looks, and those thighs—fuck me. Is your perfume cherries, by the way?”

“Peaches,” you mumble. He nods.

“That too. I mean, every little thing, darling. I swear, I want it. Don’t care that we’re complete opposites, that you’re scared of what I do, what I’m built for. I need you to know that I want you because of that, not in spite of. I don’t need you all the time, I promise. But I don’t think I could handle it if I didn’t have you at all.”

You want him. He can see it. You’re melting into a goddamn puddle before him, wandering nearer and nearer like you can’t help it. 

What else can he say? What the hell else does he have to do to prove that he wants you so bad it’s driving him up the walls? Gaz is wrenched so tight in his seat that he could snap and hurdle the counter, drag you out of here and show you everything he’s willing to give. 

He needs a promise before he leaves. Something. 

“God, Kyle, I didn’t…” your breath stutters, but you won’t pull your gaze from his. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were so serious about this.”

You didn’t know? You couldn’t fucking tell? After a month of him puttering around here, begging for your attention, doing anything he could to get you to look at him—

“I thought you were just…”

Fuck. 

Gaz shakes his head.

Fuck. 

Messing with you? Teasing you? That’s all you thought it was?

He tips his head back, locking onto the ceiling. 

What could he have said during the past five weeks that would make you think that?

He runs through every conversation, every interaction, every whipped, needy look he couldn’t hold back because he couldn’t stop them around you.

And then he thinks about Jeanne. How you’ve been pushing her on him. And how he’s a perfect fucking gentleman and entertained her interest with polite conversation. 

Then there’s you, his shy little rabbit watching from the other end of the bar, so damn skittish that he can only draw you back in after she’s long left him alone. Not even surveying or passively watching, but crafting wildly inaccurate conclusions in your little overthinking head.

No. 

No, no, no, because, fickle as you are, you’re a giver. 

And Gaz’s been stealing that role from you this whole time. 

He hasn’t let you show your worth. He doesn’t need to see it, no, but you think you have to prove it. You like your trials by fire. You don’t like winning by default. 

You don’t think you could be wanted for wanting’s sake. 

In all fairness, Gaz didn’t think he functioned like that either—unconditional terms and all that. So he thought he’d had to give back. Give back so much that it frightened you, and you couldn’t hold up what you thought was your end. 

A bloody fool. That’s what he is. 

His little American rabbit plays by different rules. In the UK, women in bars are so straightforward, so honest. 

What a fuckin’ sod he is. 

His flight leaves in nine hours, and he hasn’t packed, hasn’t slept. 

Too busy thinking about you. How much of a wrench you’ve been in his plans.

He didn’t think wanting you would be like asking the world to spin the other way. 

And, hell, what’s he supposed to do when he does leave, gone off on the mission Price’s hinted to him, the one that’s halfway across the globe, and you’re back here, trying and probably succeeding at forgetting he exists. 

Fuck.

You not knowing he exists. 

Him having never met you.

The ideas make him sick. 

But Gaz…

Gaz is a planner. Above all else. 

And if you want an opportunity to show what you can give him, he’ll give you just that. While he’s on a mission, mind on worse, far more horrible things, he’ll give you that chance you’ve been itching so hard for. 

“Your phone.”

You’ve been watching him go through phases, even refilled his glass while he was out. Scotch on the rocks, this time. Like you thought he had to start taking it easy from here on out, like you think he deserves it.  

“What?”

“Let me give you my number.”

“Kyle… that’s not a good idea.”

“Don’t care, love.”

To your credit, you have a healthy amount of wariness. In several jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket, open it to a new contact, and pass it to him, eyeing up every little thing he types. 

Kyle (Hot Guy from the Bar) Garrick. 

His phone number. 

Then he texts himself quickly, saves your number too, and holds your phone out. 

When you grab at it, he holds tight, tugging for your attention. 

Like he hasn’t, in a most wonderfully heady way, already got it. 

“No funny business with this, love.” His features turn grim. “No giving it to your friend so she can woo me—”

“Woo you?”

He gives you a stern look. “A phone call. A text. A fuckin’ pocket dial, I don’t care. But I want it from you, or no one, yeah?”

Only after you nod, slow and unsure, does he push himself out of the barstool for the last time, nodding to you. Eyes soft as he whispers, “Have a good night, darling.”

Your eyes don’t leave him as he walks away, phone still gripped tightly in your hand.

~~~~~~

Part 2

[olderthannetfic]

You recently mentioned that you've been out since your teens. As a person who managed to overlook a shitton of signs and only realized she was bi in her early 20s, I am wondering how you realized you were bi and also how you found out bisexuality exists?

Sorry if the phrasing sounds weird, I only noticed I was bi because I stumbled over the term on tumblr in 2016 and was like "oh, that's possible??" and then my earlier identity crises during my teens due to feeling attracted to multiple genders and being like "I'm crushing on [female person]. Am I lesbian? Nah, I've also felt attracted to [male person]. But I can't be straight either because this attraction feels the exact same. Am I broken?" were suddenly resolved with the realization that bi is also an option and that I'm not broken due to zigzagging between heterosexuality and homosexuality, but rather just bisexual. In retrospect, it's absolutely ridiculous that it took me so long, considering that as a kid I had crushes on Anna and Carter and Doctor from Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town, and Vitani from Lion King 2, and back in primary school, I used to go to the kids' section in the library and look at the first pages of a sci-fi comic which had one or two women get out of a lab or space station thingy and go bathe in the nude in the first few pages. I don't remember what it was called or what it was about, but tbh I'd love to find it and actually read it properly this time lol.

--

Horniness. The hornier you are, the easier it is to notice.

But also... well...

The 80s were all about combating the AIDS crisis and trying to get basic recognition of the humanity of gay people (at least in the US circles I was familiar with). The 90s saw the rise of a much more organized bi rights movement.

And then we backslid.

In the 2000s and 2010s, interest in bisexuality as a distinct thing fell off a cliff as far as I can tell. The "hey, it's not just cis gays and lesbians" energy moved first to trans topics and then to asexuality but without bisexuality joining the stodgy old guard.

The 90s were different. I was hitting my teens just as Anything That Moves hit its stride. I bought that shit at the bookstore. Yeah, this was the Bay Area, but they carried it at all the regular bookstores, not just the gay ones.

On Usenet where I spent a lot of my tween years, one of the big groups was soc.bi. I even spotted them having an in-person meetup in a restaurant in Berkeley where I happened to be having dinner with my parents. I didn't go say hi because I was like 14.

My big eureka moment, though, was on alt.tv.x-files when two groups were having a satirical argument about who enjoyed The X-Files more: people who got to lust over David Duchovny or people who got to lust over Gillian Anderson. Someone showed up and was like "Hah! I get to enjoy it twice as much as all of you! I'm bi!"

I was like "That's a thing????" I'd grown up with very liberal parents and lesbian neighbors, but like a lot of boomers, my mom was pro-gay and deeply clueless about all other queerness.

--

So the answer is unsupervised internet access in an age with no algorithms plus things like bisexual magazines actually existing.

RIP Anything That Moves.

[laylasredemption]

john marston x reader words count: 3.5k warnings: cheating, implications of sex but no actual smut summary: The other woman will cry herself to sleep. The other woman will never have his love to keep. And as the years go by, the other woman will spend her life alone.

I dedicate this to @strvberrydoll, the biggest John Marston lover I know <3 ily I hope you'll like it

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The other woman

Since you could remember, you've always loved music. It was a seed your mother planted in your brain from a very young age. She was a simple woman, but she could sing and play the piano. All her skill with the instrument came from self teaching, so she was no Chopin, but it was enough to make you fall in love with the music.

Your father, on the other hand, was a rough man, hardened by years of labor. When he wasn’t working, he was drinking, and when he was drinking, he was angry. The cruel fate decided it would be a good idea if your mother fell ill out of a sudden.

After she passed, your father grew more distant, his anger turning inward, leaving you to care for yourself. You were just a young girl, barely out of your teens, without the slightest idea of what real world was like.

But you decided to go for broke and chose to leave your little town. You had your mother's voice, and you knew how to play the piano. Music was the only thing that made sense to you, the only thing that brought you peace. And so you drifted from town to town, playing and singing anywhere that would give you a few coins.

Eventually, you found yourself end up in Valentine, a lifestock town where the people were hard and the whiskey was cheap. The saloon, of the name Smithfield's, was always lively, full of cowboys looking to drown their troubles in alcohol. Not the most glamorous place in not the most glamorous town, but it was a place where you could make a living.

You made a deal with the saloon owner, Cliff Douglas, who was impressed by your talent. You'd play the piano and sing every night, and in return, you'd get a small room upstairs and a share of the tips. It wouldn't give you a luxorious life, but it was more stability than you had in months since leaving your home.

The night you met John Marston was no different from any previous night in the saloon. Your voice and the piano's music were mixing with the cacophony of the saloon's usual laughter and chatter. You didn't even notice him at first, focused on your job.

He was just another face in the crowd that you didn't even look at, another man looking to escape whatever ghosts haunted him. He was sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he listened to your voice and watched your fingers.

At one point, you started to feel his intense gaze on yourself. You weren't a stranger to men looking at you, you were performing after all. But his gaze felt... different. As if he had been genuinely interested.

Your delicate fingers played the last chords before you'd head for a break, and last few words of the song fell from your lips. When you glanced up, he made eye contact with the man that had been watching you so intently.

There was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was the way he looked at you with interest instead of lust, maybe it were the scars on his face that hid stories you couldn't begin to imagine. There was something in the way he looked at you, like he saw more than just a girl singing in a saloon for a few coins.

The saloon erupted into applause, which ripped you out of the hypnotized state you were in. You turned to the rest of the crowd and smiled, announcing a little break, after which you'd come back to entertain them.

You made your way to the bar for your break, as you usually did and not just because you hoped the stranger would initiate a conversation.

But he did.

"Mind if I buy you a drink?" He asked, his voice betraying years of drinking and smoking, and you found yourself even more attracted to him.

But you had to make one thing clear.

"I ain't a working girl, sir." You informed him, in case he thought there's more to your services.

The stranger chuckled at your comment and nodded in understanding, "I ain't lookin' for that kinda attention either, miss. Just a friendly gesture, s'all. Now, what're you drinkin'?"

You thought about your answer for a moment, not having much experience with alcohol yourself. "Whiskey, I guess?"

The stranger turned to the barman, ordering two glasses of said alcohol - one for you, and another one for himself.

"Besides," he then turned to you again, "you're too pretty to be a workin' girl."

You couldn't help but smile at his comment. He looked like trouble and he talked like trouble. That rugged charm of his just kept drawing you in like a moth to the flame with each passing minute.

"Thank you." You said, taking your glass in your hand. "For the compliment, and for the whiskey."

"It ain't often you come across someone with a voice like yours,” he said, taking a slow sip of his drink, "figured I'd try my luck."

It was unusual for a man to buy a lady a drink and expect nothing but a nice conversation in return. You wondered if there's more than simple friendliness to the man's gesture.

"And what kinda luck is it that you're hoping for?" You asked.

"I suppose you could say I'm just lookin' for some company. And you seem like the kinda comany worth havin'." He paused momentarily, remembering he hasn't introduced himself. "Name's John, by the way. John Marston."

"[Y/n]." You replied with your name. "You know, John, I'd love to hear the story behind the scars gracing your face."

You immersed yourself in the conversation with the newfound friend, and hours passed without noticing. You never came back to the piano that night, too busy getting to know the stranger.

At first, he seemed like a man of few words, but the more he drank, the more he spoke. He told you about his life constantly on the move, the hardships he had been through - along with the wolves that were the reason for the scars on his face. And in exchange, you told him your story. Maybe there wasn't much to say, but he listened as intently as Dutch would've if Evelyn Miller stood before him, reciting a book of his.

John began coming to the saloon more often, always arriving just in time to catch your performance, and then to spend some time with you afterwards.

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself looking forward to his arrival. There was something weirdly comforting in his presence. The more you got to know him, you realized he's not a good man, but you were already too deep to dig yourself out of this.

John never seemed to talk much about where he was staying, or if he had any family. He mentioned something about a brother once or twice, but you couldn't believe there would be just the two of them. Even when he was slightly intoxicated, it still seemed as if he was skipping some parts of his story.

You wanted to know him more. You wanted to understand him better.

But the moment you started asking more personal questions, he changed topic to you. He loved talking about you, hearing about your plans for the future. He would often ask if you ever thought of going somewhere further, he even encouraged you to do so, telling you your voice could take you far, make a career in the big cities like Saint Denis.

Before you knew, you were falling for this man. Every time you fell asleep, you'd think of him and how much you wished he'd be next to you. There was no future with him, he was a drifter and maybe one evening would be the evening you saw him for the last time, but you didn't want to think about it.

You started to think how life would be if he had asked you to join him on his travels. You would agree instantly, after all you could sing anywhere. The idea of leaving with him seemed so perfect, every night you saw him you hoped for such offer to fall from his lips. You found yourself falling for the idea of what could've been.

He knew your dreams, because you opened up to him like never before to anybody. John knew how much you would have loved to be on one of those fancy scenes, performing for rich people in beautiful dresses and tuxedos.

Then why didn't he offer you to leave Valentine with him?

One night, there was something different in the air. After your performance, the conversation followed as usual, but John seemed to be... different. Quieter than usual and even whiskey didn't loosen up his tongue.

"I should probably head back." He said as the saloon became less crowded, but he made no move, as if he waited for you to stop him.

You knew what he was trying to say. You wanted it too, you felt tired of resisting.

"Or you could stay for the night." Words left your mouth before you could think through their possible consequences.

For a long moment, he didn't speak, and it got you wondering if you had made a mistake or crossed a line you shouldn't have. But you thought there was no mistaking in the tension present between the two of you tonight.

Eventually, he replied, his husky voice lower than usual, "I reckon I could." He downed the remaining whiskey from his glass. "Lead the way."

No sooner, you were leading him upstairs to your small room, leaving the world behind as you closed the door. You barely made it to the bed before his lips found yours, and clothes were quickly discarded on the floor.

The tension and desire that had been building up between the two of you had finally reached its apogeum and snapped. The longing pulled you into something you couldn't resist, and you fell into the sheets together.

When it was over, you laid beside him, feeling very content. Your smile slightly faded away when he didn't speak, and you were at a loss of words too, not acquiantanced with situations like this.

You sat up, looking at him for some kind of reassurance. Even if he didn't speak, you hoped to find comfort in his eyes as you always did for the past few weeks.

But you found guilt in his expression.

He wasn't even looking at you. His main focus was the ceiling, as if the answers to whatever bothered him were engraved there.

"I should go." He muttered, sitting up and still avoiding making eye contact with you.

You wanted to tell him to stay, but the regret in his voice hinted it was a bad idea.

"You... don't have to." You managed to utter, your voice quiet, almost as if you didn't want him to hear it.

John ran a hand through his hair, "I do." And with that, he stood up, beginning to gather his clothes.

You remained silent, watching him put his clothes back on. He didn't even bid you a goodbye before disappearing behind the door.

For the first time, you didn't like how tiny the room was. Normally, it brough you comfort, but now it felt as if you were trapped there with your thoughts.

You would have cried yourself to sleep if you could fall asleep. But instead you found yourself staying up all night with the tears streaming down your face.

John rode back to camp under the cover of darkness, the guilt gnawing at him terribly. Abigail had been suspecting something for the past few weeks, she wasn't stupid. But she initally though he was just going out to drink, she didn't accuse him of being with another woman.

Until this one night.

John dismounted from his horse quietly, hoping to slip into his tent without waking anyone, but he found Abigail waiting for him.

"Where've you been, John Marston?" She asked, her arms crossed on her chest.

"I..." He tried to find an explanation, his heart pounding in his chest. "I was out. For a drink."

Abigail's eyes narrowed at him. "You think I'm stupid? You smell like whiskey and perfume."

John recognized the anger on her face, the hurt in her voice, and it only made him guilt grow, drilling a hole in his stomach. He knew there was no talking his way out of this one, not with the smell of another woman still lingering on him.

"I'm sorry, Abigail," he said, wishing his words could erase his actions, "I swear I am."

"It ain't something a sorry can fix."

John's hand reached out to touch Abigail, but she quickly swatted it away.

"Don't touch me." The woman said. "You're nothing but a scoundrel, John Marston. Promising me you have changed, that we'll be a family... sneaking off to another's bed."

Abigail's hands went to her temples, and she closed her eyes for a moment. She was a rough woman, and this must have been the first time John saw her so close to crying.

"I ain't got no excuse." John stated. "But I love you, I love Jack... I don’t wanna lose what we have."

Abigail scoffed, she opened her eyes filled with tears. "Love? You think this is love, John? You think sneakin' around behind my back, lying to me, is love?"

John was unable to argue. He had no explanation, no excuse, and no words that could fix the damage he had done. He didn't know why he did what he did. Maybe it was the excitement that came with meeting someone new. Maybe it were his commitment issues acting up. But that wasn't something a father should have done.

All he could do was stand there, watching the woman he loved hurt because of his own stupidity.

Abigail continued, her voice trembling, "You promised me you'd be different, that we'd be a proper family. I was a fool to believe you!"

"Abigail, please," he begged, his voice cracking, "I'll do whatever it takes to make things right, I swear."

"You think I haven't heard that before? Every time you do somethin' wrong, it's always I'll do better, Abigail. But you never do. You just keep hurtin' me, over and over again."

Before John could reply, Abigail's hand came into contact with his cheek. He didn't flinch, didn't try to stop her, he knew he deserved this and even worse. The sound of the slap seemed to be louder than any gunshot, and it didn't cause just physical pain.

Abigail's tears glistened in her eyes as she turned to walk away, leaving John standing there, feeling like the lowest man on earth. His cheek still burned, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest as he watched the woman he loved slip away after he had let her down once again.

"Well, ain't this somethin'?"

John turned around and saw Bill walking over. He stood nearby, hidden by the darkness of the night, and had witnessed the whole scene.

"What was it this time?" He sneered. "Couldn't keep your hands off some whore in Valentine?"

John replied angrily, "Mind your own business, Williamson." He didn't need anyone making fun of him, not right now.

"Guess you got a thing for 'em, huh, John? Can't teach an old dog new tricks."

Abigail spent the night wrestling with her anger and pain, making sure she'll keep it in check in the morning near Jack. But eventually, she decided to go to the town and find the woman.

Leaving Jack with Tilly, Abigail saddled up the horse and headed out to Valentine. She didn't care how long it would take, she promised herself to find the woman. She had to or she would never find peace.

And which place would be better to start looking than the saloon? A place where everyone knows the town's business. If John spent so much time drinking with the working girls there, people must have known him.

The woman pushed the doors of the saloon open and walked inside, anger audible even in her steps. She walked straight to the bar.

Your performance was starting in the evening, but you couldn't sleep the whole night, and the thoughts of John were weighing on you heavily, like a thousand pound rock.

So you decided to walk downstairs to the saloon and clean up after the night. You observed some early patrons come in as you sweeped the floor with a broom.

Suddenly, a woman walked in. Her steps were rapid, echoing in your eyes, she moved with the speed of fire. It wasn't often that women came drinking, not by themselves usually. There was some kind of determination, or even desperation in her steps.

"May I help you with something, ma'am?" The bartender asked her.

She demanded, putting come cash on the counter. "John Marston. That name tell you somethin'?"

You tensed at the mention of his name.

Could he...?

You wanted to believe he just didn't want to lead you into the life of crime you figured he must have led. You didn't want to think of the possibility of John having a family.

You decided to approach.

"Excuse me," you said, setting the broom aside, "you said John Marston?"

You approached closer, and Abigail knew then that the money she offered the bartender for information won't be necessary. She put the cash back into her little purse, and looked at you.

You didn't look just like a maid or waitress who cleans the saloon, but neither did you appear to be a working girl. Your clothes were a testament to how generously men tipped you for your music, your hair was perfectly curled, your hands delicate with not a sign of dirt under your nails.

And the perfume that lingered wherever you set your foot. The perfume was what gave you away. In that moment, she knew you were the other woman.

She found you. But now you two stood there, air charged with realization, and neither of you knew what to say. John had a woman at home, and she was standing in front of you, staring at you, her gaze scarred with the weight of his betrayal.

"I..." you stuttered, knowing theres no way to justify what had happened, "I didn't know, ma'am. I swear, I didn't know. I wouldn't have..."

"Didn't know?" Abigail scoffed, bitterness laced with pain in her voice, "Didn't think to ask, didn't think maybe he had someone waitin' for him back home? Or did you just not care?"

You had feelings for John, but now you were hit with the realization that he could have never developed feelings for you. He could have never loved you more than he loved her. You were a getaway, a toy for him that he could never genuinely care for.

"I should've asked." You admitted. "I should have known better. But I didn't, and for that I'm sorry. Truly, I am."

"Sorry don't fix a damn thing!"

She was right, but what else were you supposed to say? There was no way to go back in time to fix what was broken. And as much as you were unaware of her existance, you felt equally responsible for hurting her. Even if you didn't know the woman, you felt terrible for her.

"If I could, I would take it back, trust me." You said, your eyes starting to tear up.

There was a moment of silence. Abigail looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time, she saw more than just the woman who had come between her and John. She saw someone who had been deceived too, someone who was just as much a victim of John's lies as she was.

But that didn't make her situation any easier.

"Stay away from him," Abigail ordered angrily, "whatever this was, it ends now. He's got a family and we don't need any more trouble."

You nodded in acknowledgement. If you tried to say anything, there was a chance you would just break down.

A family.

You have never thought it would have happened to you, but it did. You fell victim to the charm of a man for whom family was not enough. It wasn't your fault. He was the one to steer the topic away when you tried talking about his private life.

But you felt guilty. You should have asked if there was a woman in his life.

The woman turned to leave. She walked to the doors, but before pushing it open, she turned to you one last time. "You didn't know. But now you do. Don't be the reason a man walks away from his family."

With that, she left the saloon, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving you standing there, feeling more alone than you ever had before despite the other people in the room.

You had been deceived and so was she. But you were the one left alone, while she was going to go back to John and have him trying to win his way back into her heart.

And all you had left was the pit in your gut, drilled by guilt and regret.