#until then i hope you’re resting up and drinking lots of water! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macfrog · 4 months

Text

champagne problems sex on fire chapter ten

i'm not sorry!!!!! you'll never catch me!!!! (im, like, super sorry)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: the secrecy between you and joel comes to a head. one huge, explosive, painful head.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, whew boy the angst is big in this one sorry, reader has a lot of internal struggle, daddy issues and commitment issues to the max (ha), memories of parental abandonment and adultery, sort of vague mention/description of reader having panic attacks, attempts to initiate sex (but alas, only one small mention of previous sex), Big Argument, alcohol consumption, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 11.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

The lavender is the first to wilt.

It stares glumly at the kitchen counter. Posture hunched and drooping. You stand before it, clutching a jug of water like you’re starving the purple sprigs for information. Why did he lie to me why did he lie why would he lie to me tell me why.

The daisies look on, awkward and curious. Their petals streaked with green – still fresh and still at least trying to bloom. The news hasn’t reached their delicate stamens yet – they still have blind hope. But they’re drinking from the same rotten water their lilac neighbors are. They must know it’s futile.

You fill the vase up and fix the lace bow – the one you’d transferred from the brown paper wrap to the vase last night, after seeing Joel out. He stayed until nightfall, until the rest of your apartment faded into a pale gloom, forgotten about while the two of you watched TV and kept secrets from one another in your warm-lit bedroom.

When he leaned down and held his lips over yours, you pushed yourself onto your toes and kissed him goodbye. He ruffled your hair, clipped your bottom lip lovingly. Said, I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, pretty girl.

You lay staring at the ceiling the whole night.

He was out all day Saturday at a charity event. He called you as he arrived home – you heard the elevator’s ding through the receiver, announcing its arrival at his top-floor apartment. And you stayed on the phone, the thing discarded on your mattress, as sleep blurred the edges of the world in and out of focus all evening.

Three times you thought about just telling him to come back over, hold you until you forgot what he’d even done. Pretend that the man who, possessed by lies and jealousy or something much worse, had taken your wrist and swept you off out of Jean-Marc’s penthouse isn’t the same one who brought you tea and Chinese food yesterday. The one who held you, blood and broken wings safe in his arms, while you wept into his body.

Three times you stamped the flame out, remembering. As if you needed reminding. Your stomach still sinks anytime the reel jerks back to its beginning behind your eyes. The words unfortunately and unavailable. The rustling of the bag in the kitchen. The padding of his footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.

Your phone buzzes somewhere across the room. You set the jug down and shuffle over, tilting the screen in the morning light.

We’re outside baby. Take your time.

You haven’t mentioned it to him, yet. Haven’t breached the conversation. You’ve no fucking clue where to start. It hurts too much to look at it just yet – like scalding yourself with boiling water and clamping a wet towel to the burn until you can stomach the sight of your skin, all blistered and bubbling.

The towel is still covering the wound. You’re still frantically pacing around the kitchen clutching it, heavy and sopping. You’re not sure what it looks like, but from beneath the cold cloth, it doesn’t feel good.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

Joel’s leaning against the Rolls when you totter down your front steps. Fall plucks the leaves from the trees one by one; they swirl down to the smooth pavement, brown and amber and golden. You’re in a floral tea dress, which took you an obscene amount of time to decide on, given the cocktail of nerves and confusion and outright panic rolling around your stomach.

Your heel scuffs to a halt in front of him. He pushes off of the car and swings your door open, squints at you in the sunlight. You watch his eyes move down your frame, a misplaced desire to impress him dripping through your veins, and then he looks back up.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, and your veins sizzle. “You look…” he shakes his head simply, “…you’re beautiful.”

Your lips betray you. Your mind – that poor, dead lavender; your body – the poor, naïve daisies. Still has blind hope.

You can’t help but reflect his expression, attempting to mask it with a soft shrug. “Are the heels too much?” you ask, glancing down and lifting your foot.

Joel shakes his head instantly. “I like ‘em. And even if they were, we’re late. You ain’t got time to change.”

“You said you’d be here at twelve. It’s ten after.”

“I run a construction company, not a watchmakers. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. Unconvincingly.

“I mean,” he circles a hand over his stomach, lifts his eyebrows, “you feelin’ okay? We don’t have to go – Martha wouldn’t mind, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you chirp, and your painted lips flatten against one another as you dip into the car. “Hi, Rand.”

The driver lowers his sunglasses and tips his head in the rear-view. “Hi, baby.”

Joel shimmies along the leather, shifting his jacket from between you to scoop your body against his. You glance down, eyeing his soft sweater, the light shade of it paired against that of your dress. The glint of his watch as his wrist slips happily between your legs, hooking under your thigh. The bloody crimson of the birthday card envelope, trembling in the door pocket.

The car pulls off, dragging you from your daydream. Stealing you back from the dystopia where you and Joel match, where you go together. A couple. Removing the notion of it from your makeup, each cell in your body slowly reverting back to yours again. Just yours. No CEO boss to stake his claim to any of them.

Martha’s place sits at the end of a cul-de-sac; neighbored on one side by a retired couple who spent their entire summer arguing in the backyard, according to Martha, and on the other by a row of quaint cypress.

The front door, bordered by polished mosaic squares of glass, sits inside one of four gable roofs. Dark green shutters either side of each stark-white window frame. A smooth path snaking between neatly-fringed grass, a hierarchy of tiny bushes growing greener and greener the closer they draw to the front steps.

Come in through the back, she’d said. Gate will be open. We’ll be in the yard.

Joel makes some quiet remark just to you about how perfect the house looks. The red brick and marengo tile. How much effort gone into polishing the front, only to tell you to use the back entry. ‘s only for looking, he decides, and then offers his hand to pull you from the Rolls.

He bends over the car, hand flat on the roof, and calls back to Rand. “Do me a favor – don’t go far. Just –” he jerks his head in your direction, “– just in case.”

When he straightens up and the car purrs off, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you whisper, and he hooks two fingers around the string of the giftbag, taking it from your grasp.

He replaces it with his hand, his huge palm against yours. “I know,” he mutters, glancing down the drive, “but it’s an excuse for when I get sick of Alan ‘n all his damn friends.”

“Henry,” you remind him.

He tosses you a half-second look, smirk scrawled on his lips. He knows.

She’s waiting for you by the French doors when you arrive – Martha. Glass of sparkling champagne in each hand. Your fingers slip free from Joel’s before you’ve even rounded the corner.

“Saw the car pull up,” she tells you, leaning to let Joel kiss her cheek. “Here,” she hands you a glass, then one to Joel, “and here.”

You sip at the bubbling drink, letting the sharp fizz assault your tongue. Letting the feeling wash down your throat, stinging and bitter. Joel seems to swallow his just fine.

He swings the bag in her direction, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Just a little somethin’ from the two of us.”

You frown, holding a hand up to shield your eyes from sunlight too faint to cause the stiffness of your face and the drawn string of your brows. Where is Deb? And her two sons? And their shared gift? Isn’t it totally platonic and professional after all, to sign something from you and Joel?

Martha’s hands clasp. She reaches gleefully for the bag, smiling at the striped pattern. “I got no idea where he is. Last I saw, they were all headin’ up to his room. Some zombie game on his PlayStation. He promises me they ain’t playin’ the R-rated version.”

“That’s alright,” Joel says, “I believe ‘im.” He leans closer, a weight apparent at the small of your back. It shocks like a surge of electricity up your spine, hurts like a sudden muscle spasm. And then it soothes the pain, his thumb rubbing delicately. “’s a nice place,” he tells Martha.

She feigns disbelief. “Well, thank you, Mr. Miller, C-E-O,” she sings, and then, cocking an eyebrow, “y’all want a tour?”

You both nod politely, following her towards the kitchen doors. Joel nods towards a table by the barbecue – an island amongst a sea of candy and pastries, chopped fruit and bowls of nuts: a two-tiered, sky-blue cake. The name Henry piped in red icing – the letters swirling much like a birthday card you once read in a house on Maple Street.

“Nice little cake for Alan,” Joel mutters, squeezing your waist.

A stolen laugh shudders from your lips; the two of you snicker together, and despite your best attempts to cover your grin with your champagne flute, Martha spots you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, sidling back over.

“Martha,” you clear your throat, “would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Would you please tell Joel your son’s name?”

She looks at you blankly. Blinks between you and the man at your side, both staring back expectantly. But her stone-set expression begins to crack, the lines deepening around her mouth.

“As in,” you clarify, “his real name. Not Alan.”

She makes to reply when the swish-thud of a window opening interrupts, the prepubescent bellow of an almost-teen from overhead.

“Mom!” Henry calls, his dark head of curls and long, boyish arms dangling over the sill.

Martha glares up at him. “What have I told you about hangin’ from there” she yells, fists propped on her hips. “What is it?”

“Mike brought Blood Cry III; can we play it?”

She shakes her head indignantly. “I have told you – how many times? No!” She holds her hands out in apology to you and Joel, and then scuttles off into the kitchen. “Go explore,” she waves, “I trust ya!”

Joel wordlessly takes your hand, leading you in Martha’s wake through the kitchen to the living room: its navy walls and white paneling, bookshelves spanning the entire length of one wall, and a pale-brick fireplace centering two leather couches. Very pristine, very perfect. Very Martha.

You amble around, slowing in front of the mantelpiece above which a gallery of framed photos hangs. Henry as a toddler on a green trike; Martha’s stepdaughter and her kid; Alan on a golfing trip. Your eyes jump from plump cheeks to missing teeth, sunhats and Thanksgiving meals, until they land on a photo of Martha and Alan on their wedding day – her veil pinned neatly into a permed updo, her puffy-sleeved dress and the lemon bouquet spilling from her hands.

Joel’s shoulder brushes against your own, his eye journeying across the photos, too. “Ha,” he tosses a finger towards the wedding photo, “nineties Martha. Nice hair, huh?”

You smile, lazily swatting his arm. “She looks beautiful. They seem happy.”

Joel agrees. “Wonder what their first dance song was.”

“I bet it was something classy. Sinatra or something. Martha wouldn’t be breaking the marriage in to anything cheesy, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, spinning off towards the dining room. “You ever thought about what you’d pick?”

You hesitate, rounding the table on the opposite side. “Uh…no. Not really.”

“Not your thing? Marriage.”

You chance a glance at him over a vase of lilies in the center of the mahogany table. The smell twists towards you, leering as it coats your skin and your clothes and the back of your throat in a sickly film that makes your head spin. “I guess not. I’ve never – Not since…”

He nods. He knows. “That’s fair,” he says, hands finding his pockets. The idea of Blake – his name, his shaking hands, the tiny box in his suit pocket – the thought of those images flitting through Joel’s brain pinches the air from your lungs.

You watch the silhouette of him as it crosses over the bay window, looking out onto the trimmed grass and smooth asphalt street. Something cracks deep in your chest. Something begins to unbind.

“What would yours be?” you ask him, and he turns.

“Depends,” he shrugs, “on when I’m gettin’ married or not. Makes no difference to me.”

You bypass the point he’s making. Turn away from it like you would a shadow in the night. “If you were,” you insist, “what would you pick?”

He nears you, never breaking your stare. His confident matches your nervous, his steady gaze on your shy. “Somethin’ special to me ‘n her. An our song kinda thing.” And then, as he brushes deliberately by your shoulder to head for the stairs, “AC/DC or som’.”

Your heels stick like they did that night in the dive bar. Ears hurt with a ringing loud enough to blur the edges of your vision. Your skin feels the same hot – only, not from the crowded room you’re in, or the mix of alcohol and sweat and something akin to lust seeping through your pores.

You stare fixedly at the view from the bay window, the perfect little cul-de-sac with its perfectly smooth roads; perfect for kids learning to ride their first bikes, perfect for couples wandering arm in arm, perfect for angry fathers taking off in cars packed with belongings.

When you were a kid, buckled into the back of your dad’s car, you used to fight sleep to watch the moon race you home. Her white glow surviving being split over and over again by the trees you’d whip past. Your eyes would flit from hers to the windscreen, watching the road up ahead as it threatened to twist and turn. No matter how fast you thought your dad must be driving, no matter which direction he turned – every time you looked for her, there she’d be.

It makes sense now. The notion of staying. Occupying somewhere in space or in time, and forgetting how to leave. Forgetting how to try. Forever fixed there, glowing in a brilliant melancholy, singing to nobody in the dark expanse of the sky. Waiting for the sun to make her return. Just waiting waiting waiting.

You – the moon, and your sky – that fucking driveway. The Toyota, the rust on its underside so bitter you could taste it like blood on your tongue. Searching all over for the scraps of yourself, the pieces he tore away as he fled: veins tangled around spokes, severed fingers tinged crimson and hooked around the steering wheel. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

And then, the sun – some sharp-suited, quick-witted Texan; enough charm and ease to lift himself over the horizon, to give you something other than the glimmer in your own tears to reflect.

The moon stares down at you now as you sit, perched on your balcony. Your knees tucked under your chin, watching two cats wrestle down on the street below. It’s just gone two; Joel’s in bed fast asleep. You slipped from his grasp and crept out of your room, a blanket over your shoulders, and disappeared between the sheer curtains. Your chest tight, your breathing short.

It keeps happening, that thing from Paris. Your head begins to spin, your voice withers to nothing. Your legs push you to your feet and force you to flee, though you’ve still to figure out where to or what from. All you know is that blue-eyed stare of your ex-fiancé has been wiped, replaced by the dusted beard of your boss instead. The plastic ring between his fingers. The creaking leather of his office chair.

Those same four words keep circling your head, replaying on a loop between your ears: why did he lie why did he lie why did he lie. Like white noise droning around your skull, bubbling nausea in the pit of your stomach. No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?

Why did you lie to me?

Why did he do any of it? Take you to Paris, let you meet his client. Why has he been sleeping with you, treating you like some kind of girlfriend? The word plucks goosepimples all over your body. His body around yours at Aspen Heights – what you wanted so badly to believe was endearment, was comfortability and generosity, now feels like territory-marking. Feels like the white-knuckled tightening of a leash in his wide fist.

The leaves of the trees across the street tremble, lit luminous green by the 7-Eleven sign they fringe. You watch as two men swagger out of the store; their chatter drowned by the buzzing of the fluorescent sign. They split off with a quick handshake at the curb, disappearing into two different cars, driving off in two different directions.

You sniff. Some skunky smell hangs low in the air. So thick that you can feel it coating your lungs from the inside out. You sink back into your chair, push your fingers into your eyes until you’re watching a mirage of stars pull across your vision. Blow a cracked, nervous breath into the sky. Slip your nose beneath the collar of your tee.

Joel’s tee, which pools in the dip between your stomach and thighs. You suck his scent in like one hit of some intoxicating drug, for every three hits of clean air. Just seeing you through. Pretending there’s no addiction there.

But fuck, if you’re not screwed. One half of you holding back on mentioning the email because – what the fuck do you even say? How do you begin to ask him about it? How do you approach the topic, without prefacing it with feelings you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself?

And the other half – for fear of what you might cause. What you might make him do. For the pure, cut-throat fear that he’ll become the third in a list of men to just – leave. To let you down, to let you go. Change between couch cushions. Wild flowers torn from the earth’s scalp.

Then, the fracturing realization that you don’t want him to go. That you’re used to him, now, in a way you never were with your dad or with Blake. Your dad – who would choose poker night over parents’ night. Who would choose a drink with his buddies over a movie with you and your mom.

Or Blake – who would schedule sex on the nights he figured he’d have enough energy to fuck you until at least he came, and would buy you chrysanthemums on your birthday even long after you’d told him you were pretty sure you were allergic.

And then there’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Who turned up at your door less than thirty minutes after Martha told him you were sick. Who said in the car ride to her house earlier, Tell me your favorite flower.

Why? you asked.

Just so I know.

Joel – who has never asked anything more than you’ve chosen to tell him about your father, but whose face still screws into an angry grimace anytime he’s forced to think of him. Who reaches out to adjust the broken heart around your neck, slip the clip back to your nape without you asking Who offers you the last slice of pizza, and when you refuse, compromises by splitting it. Giving you the bigger half.

Joel – with whom sex feels like a form of communication: Here are all the things I don’t know how to say, yet. Yet yet yet. A conversation, each movement deliberate; each nip and lick and bite weighted with purpose and meaning. It lives under your nails, behind your teeth. Here – I don’t know what else to do with all this longing.

Joel – who has not only set every foot right, but has carved his own path through your heart. Explored the caves himself, a lonely lamp hanging from his fist as he carefully, gently, politely weaved his way through a jungle of valves and tissue, monsters and darkness, slowly winding his way to the center.

Joel. Who has never let you down. Until that fucking email.

A 7-Eleven employee, some scrawny kid with a mop of black hair and a polo hanging from his skeleton, drags a cloth in wide circles on the inside of the windows. He swipes his forehead along his wrist, thick tresses disturbed, and stares out at the empty street.

You blink twice, and a figure materializes at your balcony door.

“Baby?”

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah. Easy – ‘s just me.” The pale drapes surrender to his wide frame, letting him pass. “Sorry, pretty girl. You okay?”

“You scared the crap outta me.”

Joel bends before you, a sweet little chuckle in his throat, and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. You lift your chin, letting your eyes close over and your thoughts melt away on his lips. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“What are you doin’ out here at this time of night?”

You shrug as he settles into the wireframe chair opposite. Groans as he leans back. His wide chest constricted by a tight, gray hoodie splattered with paint.

“Just can’t sleep. Nice hoodie.”

His eyes dip to the mounds of your chest under plain cotton, the blanket slack around your breasts. “Someone stole my T-shirt. Stole somethin’ of hers back. Why can’t you sleep? You hurting?”

Yeah. “No. Just – not tired enough, I guess.”

“You want company?”

Not really. “Sure.”

He laces his fingers over his stomach as he settles back, studies you as your gaze skims the street below. He knows you’re lying. But it’s two a.m., and you’re weeks into an affair that you’re both pretty sure has gone past the point of no return, and so, voice plain, he asks, “What’s on your mind, angel?”

“How d’you know there’s something on my mind?”

“There’s always something on your mind. It’s you.” And then, readjusting in his seat, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You scrunch your nose with a sniff. Pull your arms inside the sleeves of his shirt and cross them under your breasts. “Your dad,” you say, locking eyes with him.

Joel lets it hang for all of three seconds. “My dad?” His face curls into a perplexed smirk, jaw tilting. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable, or maybe you think he is, and you’re not sure which one scares you more.

You laugh, chest lightening disobediently. It felt more comfortable when you couldn’t breathe. “What he did,” you explain.

“What he did,” Joel repeats, lifting his chin. Like a dog, sniffing out the truth. Something concealed in your fist.

So you unfold your fingers, holding it out in the palm of your hand: “Do you think he would’ve done it, still, if he knew what would happen?”

And then he really shakes off the humor. Sits forward, elbows leaning on his bare thighs. “What’re you talkin’ about, pretty girl?”

“Like,” you sigh, “if he knew he would split his entire family in two. You and your mom cut him off; Tommy moved halfway across the country. Was it worth it?”

“To me, or to him?”

You shrug again. He’ll choose the one he wants to answer. You’ll figure him out either way.

“Look,” Joel says, and hooks his fingers under the seat of your chair to pull you closer. He takes your ankles and you stretch your legs out, heels propped in the boxer-clad valley between his legs. A deep breath, hazel eyes pointed upwards like searching the skies for the words, and then: “People want what they want, right? They’ll do whatever they think is necessary to get it. He wanted to cheat, so he did. And he paid the price.”

“He wanted to cheat?”

It seems obvious to him. As though people seek out ways to hurt the ones they’re supposed to love all the damn time. The silver glint of a Labrador’s teeth as he sinks them into his owner’s skin.

Joel nods. “Wanted it badly enough that he did anything.”

“Lied?” you offer.

“Lied, cheated, left. Yeah.”

“And he risked everything.”

His head tips in agreement. “I guess he did. He was a damn idiot, you know? Had a wife who loved him, had two kids. He had the whole world in that house, and he threw it all away.”

“And,” the soles of your feet rest gently on the curve of his stomach, “would that – would it stop you? If you at least knew you were riskin’ something?”

“From cheating?”

“Anything. If you knew what you were risking was everything to you – would it stop you doing what you really wanted?”

His face tightens, brows knit with confusion and something else more difficult to place. “It depends. I wouldn’t risk something like you. I would n–”

“Somethin’ like me?” you interject.

Joel clears his throat. Looks up to the pitch-black sky again. “You…” He sighs. His answer is simple, black-and-white. There’s no way to hide it anymore. “I wouldn’t risk you, no. Not for the world.”

You fall silent. The moon stares down, seeming to melt around you. Her light like two steady arms holding you together, nudging you to ask the last question – the one spiraling around your mind like circling a drain.

Joel squeezes your ankle. “Where are you goin’ with this, baby? Are you asking me if I would cheat on you?”

Your heart jumps. The moon scatters.

Does he fall into the category of people who could cheat on you? Two months ago, he was just your boss. Two months ago, you hadn’t touched him more than a slap after a witty comment, the brushing of fingers as you handed him his morning coffee. But now…now, you’ve kissed his lips to shut him up. You’ve felt him come inside you. You’ve set foot inside his childhood fucking home, for Christ’s sake.

He makes you feel as though your heart is made of glass, delicate and laid bare but safe in his hands. He makes you feel as though a part of you exists outside of your own body – like there’s a piece of your soul wandering the earth by itself, touching base every time his hands are on your hips, his teeth in your neck.

Yeah. Fuck – yeah. He’s someone who could cheat on you. The way that email made you feel – he’s someone who could break your heart.

“I know you wouldn’t cheat on anyone,” you say, voice breaking. “No, I just – I don’t know what counts as a good enough reason to hurt someone you’re supposed to…supposed to love.”

Joel sits back in his chair again, the frame creaking under the weight of him. He reckons he gets it, now. You reckon he’s still wrong. “Come here,” he says, fingers flicking.

“What?”

He leans forward, takes your waist in his hands and pulls you from your chair into his lap, curling you up between his thighs. Safe. Protected by the shell of his body, protected by everything except from the thing scaring you most: the quickening of his heartbeat when you settle against it.

Your head slots under the curve of his chin, his voice a deep rumble over your skull.

“Your dad,” his chest swells, “he did what he did because he wanted to do it. Wanted it badly enough that he gave up you and your mom. And there wasn’t nothin’ you or her could’ve done to stop him, or convince him otherwise. You hear me?”

You turn into his neck, letting your tears fall hidden from view of streetlight or moonlight. You feel fucking tiny – a kid again, sat in a grownup’s lap, asking a never-ending series of why questions. Then, why did he do it? Why did he leave? Why are you staying? Why did you lie to me?

Joel presses his lips to your head, shushing you quietly, his body rocking back and forth like a boat on light waves. When he hears you sniffling, he holds you closer. Tighter. Your heart melds to your chest wall, desperate to seek his out. The hoodie he’s wearing smells like you, smells like him, smells like the chemicals of paint and the poison of love.

“It wasn’t your fault, darlin’, none of it.”

His arm hooked over your bare knees, the cotton keeping you warm. The other around your back, keeping you whole. You unstick yourself from his embrace, pulling your body straight until you’re straddling his lap, face to face with him in the light.

He looks up at you, almost afraid to blink. Afraid to lose sight of you at all. Your thighs lean heavily against his, your bodies locked together. You link your arms over his shoulders, anchor yourself to him as though the storm in your mind might sweep you away. And in the glimmer of light in his eye, the dazzling bulb of a lighthouse – you see the reflection of yourself.

Joel notices the shift in your expression. Holds you by the hips, follows the turn of your head. “You okay?” he asks, and you look down, avoiding his eye.

Glowing brilliant and lonely, blinking slowly. Your towering silhouette and caged-glass top. Drawing ships nearer just to ward them off when they pull too close. When they begin to notice the jagged shape of your shoreline, the ugly mess of your soul. Casting a blinding light on them, warning them to flee. And he didn’t fucking listen.

He docked anyways. Drew up on the beach, pulled himself into your body time and time again. You kept moving, kept warning him with each flicker of light, kept daring him to leave. And he never did. And there are pieces of you now living in him because of it, pieces you don’t understand how to take back. All you know, all you’ve ever known about Joel, is –

Your body sinks, hips lowering until you’re sure you’ve proven yourself right.

A stubborn weight between his legs. Not quite as hard as you’ve felt him before, not quite as heavy, but – a shape which sends a hot hiss between his teeth when you move over it, when the thin strip of your underwear courses over the thin cloth of his.

“P-retty girl,” Joel says, a groan seeping from the corners of his lips. A groan he holds onto with his molars, letting it snap like elastic when your hips circle again.

A weight as stubborn as the need slowly swirling in your chest. And pulled up into the cyclone are those same words: It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t nothin’ you could’ve done to stop him. Why did you lie to me? It wasn’t your fault.

It hits you at once, the sudden realization that you’re lighter than you were before you first touched one another – really touched one another. Parts of you missing, passed over gladly the second his hand reached for them. The taste of you behind his lip, gums absorbing you like nicotine.

And you’re kissing him, your lips harsh against his, his stubble hurting your skin. Your tongue seeking out those parts of yourself. No. You don’t have me anymore. I’m taking me back.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into your mouth, steadying your hips. He pulls back and holds you still. “Why don’t we slow down? It’s late, you ain’t feeling too good –”

“I feel fine. I want to do it.” You lick again between his lips though he doesn’t budge; your attempts to move again, ineffective. “Joel.”

“It’s been a long day, you’re tired. Work in the mornin’, baby, I just don’t think we oughta –”

“You don’t wanna fuck me?”

He pauses, his tongue between his teeth. His brows pinch, almost painfully. “That is not what this is, ‘n you know it. I can see how tired you are – you ain’t even slept yet.”

“I don’t care. I want you to –”

His voice lifts to something you’ve only heard within the four walls of his office. Like chiding one of his guys, like snapping back at their red ties and crumpled collars. “I know what you want me to do. I just think we should go back to bed.”

“’n what if I don’t want to go back to bed?”

Joel sighs, looking out across the street. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t get what the problem is,” you complain, still holding onto his shoulders. “You’ve fucked me in public before.”

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Why don’t you go grab a sketchbook or something? Show me some of this artwork you been promisin’ since Paris?”

You blink back at him, watching the lighthouse swirl. The black waves begin to carry him off, sweep him from your view. “Maybe some other time,” you mumble, pushing yourself off of his lap.

Joel watches you, defeated. Keeps ahold of your hand when you stand between his knees. He swings your interlocked fingers gently. “Can you…can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you know?”

Your lungs pull in a deep breath, your shoulders rolling. “Same thing as always, I guess. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“Wait, pretty girl,” he tugs on your hand, reeling you back in, “waitwaitwait.” And then he’s standing, enclosing you in his arms again, asking, “What can I do to fix it?”

That same shrug. Tired. Deflated. Terrified. “If I only knew.”

You wait for Joel to move first, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulls the sheer curtains back, taking you by the hand and ushering you between. He follows your lead back into your apartment, sliding the door closed behind.

The living room is flattened by a gray silence, the liminal night swallowing up the air. Joel’s hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, and when you turn to him, he says, “You wanna know if he thought it was worth it?”

You pause, fingers playing with the hem of his tee at your thighs.

He’s close enough that you can feel the heat near enough sizzling from his body. The right side of his face is shrouded in darkness; the chalky wash of streetlight painting the left. “My dad.”

You swallow hard, blinking in the shadow cast by his tall figure. The light clings wearily to his beard.

“She left him after two weeks. Went back to her husband. My dad died alone in an empty four-bed in Rosedale. You tell me.”

And then he pats the small of your back, takes you back through to bed – where you let him fall asleep on your chest, listening to make sure your fractured heart is still beating.

Joel Miller is in your shower. For the second time this weekend.

He’s not fucking you, not holding you against the rough tile wall as his cock draws come and blood and tears from your body. He’s not wrapping a towel around you, handing you a fresh tampon, kissing the parts of your skin still alight from your orgasm.

He’s just showering, before work. Using your peach-scented soap, pushing suds under his arms, over his stomach, between his legs. Lathering your shampoo like treacle between his palms, hair slick and foamy white between his fingers. Fixing the head so that his height fits under the stream of water, turning the knobs until it’s as hot as he likes it.

You’re lying across your bed, suffocating in the smell of his side and pretending none of it’s really happening. Face buried in his pillow, waiting for the intoxication to throw you under or wipe your mind clean or maybe just cut the air supply from your lungs completely. Whichever’s quickest.

The bathroom door opens; the sound of footsteps padding over to you. His weight sinks into the bed by your hip, then hovers over your back. His nose, still steamy and damp from the shower, nuzzles into the spot behind your ear. His lips leave a wet trail down your neck.

“You need another day?” Joel asks, kissing.

“I’m good,” the cotton absorbs the nervous edge of your voice, “just coming.”

“Stay home if you want, angel,” he says, hands roaming south to hold your waist. Like warning the pain, tempting it to show back up. See what he does about it. “I gotta go take this shareholders meeting, but I can come back as soon as it’s done.”

“Nah,” you groan, pushing your heavy frame up. Joel’s grip slackens. “I need the distraction, I think.”

He sits back, smiling dumbly when you straighten. His tongue runs along his teeth.

“You can use my toothbrush,” you mutter, heel of your palm wiping sleep from your eye.

“Hm?” He’s fixing the mess of your hair. Brushing one side flat, then the other; leaning back and forth with this dumb, half-there smile on his face. And your chest heaves, and you almost surrender to the impulse to throw yourself into his arms, almost lean into his cupped hands and burning caresses.

“I owe you. From Paris. You can use it, just this once.”

He scoffs. “I won’t use your toothbrush, darlin’. It’s alright.”

But you’re indignant. You already have every other part of me, don’t you? What’s one more? Just fucking –

“– use it. I swear I don’t mind.”

Joel’s head tilts, conceding. “Alright. Come get ready, then.”

Martha’s at her desk when the two of you wander back into the office. “Wait!” she calls, clicking around her desk as you pass by. She twirls a blue envelope between two glittery nails, holds it out to you.

Joel takes it, examining the childish scrawling of your names. “Nice, but – your calligraphy needs a little practice, Martha.”

“Hilarious,” she drones, sitting back against the desk.

You drift over to your own, dropping your back over the back of your chair, and shrug the coat from your shoulders.

Joel’s voice draws nearer as he speaks. “He have a good time?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Martha replies, and Joel sits the card from Henry by your monitor, “barely saw ‘im the entire day. Thanks for comin’. For his gift, too – y’all really…You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Was all my idea, wasn’t it?” Joel asks, smirking to you.

An airy laugh pushes from your chest, loose with nerves. “Som’ like that. Glad he had a nice birthday.”

Joel saunters back toward his office, hands in his pockets. Fucking casual, like the world isn’t crumbling beneath your feet. Like the walls aren’t closing in, the sky lowering by the hour, the sun being steadily eclipsed minute by minute. He nudges the door closed with his foot, leaving you, Martha, and an awkward mist of realization between you.

“Your idea,” she muses, once you’ve plucked up enough courage to face her again.

You pick up Henry’s card, staring at the smudged handwriting to mask the horror peeling its way across your face. “Thought it was easier that way, y’know?” You gulp. “Don’t make it into anythin’.”

She grunts, something shaped like Ha. Her arms cross over her body, her eyes flitting between Joel’s office and you. “I sure as hell don’t remember me ‘n Alan ever doing something like that before it meant anythin’.”

“What are you saying it means?” you ask, rhetorically, dryly – a little meaner than you want it to sound. “What’s…?”

Her plucked eyebrows lift, forehead creasing. “Nothing, sweet. I’m just saying – you two are close, now. It’s nice.”

“We were always close.”

She holds her finger up. “Uh, no. Not turn up at my son’s birthday party together, leave together, then turn up at work the next day also together close.” Her eyes narrow, and you almost believe she might’ve been hidden between the trees last night – hell, for a second, you believe she might’ve been that scrawny kid wiping down the windows of 7-Eleven.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, when your throat closes around your nothing answer, “if something’s happening, I’m rooting for it.”

It shoots from your jaw like a bullet. “Nothing’s happening.”

Martha’s just as quick. “Okay,” she says, sweet and light. Breezy.

And then she shuffles back to her chair, resumes focus on some email. Twists the dial on her radio and fill the tense silence in the office with some smooth seventies song which lifts the hairs on the back of your neck the same way it did in that Parisian hotel. The dark suite, his eyes black and seeking. His hands on your body like he knew every curve and dip already.

Didn’t you believe that he might? That his hands were sculpted to fit the space below your ribcage? The plush cushion of flesh above your hips. The hinge of your jaw between his fingers.

Didn’t you think, for one fleeting moment, that maybe he was made just for you? As if you were so fucking lucky. As if anyone might stick around long enough to earn that label. Yours.

You settle back into your chair. The bubble writing on the front of the card stares menacingly back at you, the shapes seeming to swell and shrink in size the longer you stare at them. A bad trip, you think, this whole thing is just a bad trip. I’m gonna sober up any second, and I’m gonna be in bed, still dizzy after that night at the bar.

And none of it’s gonna be real. It’s not fucking real.

But then – lying on the opposite side of your computer, delicate and tiny, sparkling in the sunlight from over your shoulder: your ring. Your ruby ring, two euros in a gumball machine by the Seine. Like it’s winking at you, the accent rhinestones a taunting smirk. And the sight of it slings a thin wire around your heart, tight tight tightens until you’re sure you feel the tissue slice in half.

You take the ring in two shaking fingers, eyes bleary with sleep and salt. Blinking the dispersed light away, red rays bleeding all over your vision as you tilt the plastic. Joel’s voice muffles against his office door, like fists echoing against the flimsy walls of your little daydream. Time’s up. Hand him back over. It’s not fucking real anymore.

You roll the prize back onto your desk, letting it scatter shards of ruby until it hits the keyboard, the rattle echoing around your ears as you pace over to his office door. Your knuckles drum once, twice, three times against the wood before he opens it, and then he’s –

Staring down at you, breath shallow between slack lips. And he reads it all over your face, the panic and the words swimming around the tears in your eyes, and he steps back, and you step forward, and then the door’s closing again, and you’re settling against the arm of his couch.

“Ken? Hey, Ken?” Joel strides back over to his desk, hastily reaching for the phone. The voice from the receiver doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. “Ken. Can I –? Jesus Christ.” He lifts the handset and drops it less than a second later, cutting Ken’s fucking droning, cutting the only sound in the room, cutting your blood short in your veins.

And then – “Alright. Talk to me.”

You don’t reply. He seems to tense up. Moves almost robotically over to you, lifts his hands to hold your shoulders. And when you lift yours to push him away, he almost flinches.

“Baby.”

Your jaw shakes once. You wrap your arms around yourself, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been actin’ off since yesterday,” he mutters, giving you some space. He’s moving slow, like he’s afraid you might lunge for him. “You gotta tell me. You’re scaring me, now.”

You haul your gaze from his open arms, his broad chest, the idea of letting him pull you in and calm you down. Your eyes land on his monitor. The text of that email flashes before you again. And your shell hardens.

“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” you ask, staring at the Apple logo. Your voice sounds timid, sounds so little that you swear you see Joel catch the words as though they’re made of glass.

His head tilts. His eyes narrow. It’s genuine confusion, you think. The penny hasn’t dropped yet. “…What?”

It pisses you off. Seems to shatter that glass into fifty angry shapes, brittle and sharp. The shards cut like a knife through the air between you. “Nothing you think I oughta know?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, baby, I don’t…”

Your glare finally lands directly on him. Piercing straight into his eyes. But your jaw locks shut around the words.

“What the hell are you about to accuse me of?” Joel asks, mirroring your stance. Pulling his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “Cheating on you?”

Your chest jumps with a tiny laugh. “Why would I accuse you of cheating on me?”

“Sure sounded like that’s what you were thinkin’ last night.”

“No. I don’t think you’re cheating on me.”

“Then what is it?”

The gun fires. Gates open. Thunder rumbles. A fire lights in your stomach, blazing through your entire body.

“When were you planning on telling me about Jean-Marc?”

He goes quiet. Still. Realizes exactly what you mean in almost an instant. “How did you…? Where did you –?”

“I saw the email. On Friday. Gave me your phone to look for Alan’s Twelfth fucking Birthday, didn’t you?”

His face drops; a broken sigh falls from his lips. He looks up to the ceiling, something of a disbelieving, disappointed, fucking dismayed laugh loose between his jaw. “I wasn’t,” he eventually concedes.

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

You can’t believe him. You actually can’t believe him. Fists balling to hold your nerve, to hold the tremble in your voice steady, you ask, “Why?”

Joel’s body twists, rolls like some awkward wave as he readjusts, searches the surrounding room for an explanation. “There’s – there are a number of reasons why.”

“Start with the first one.”

“Alright.” He grips the wooden desk either side of his hips. Meets your stare, and it’s almost fucking admirable, the bravery with which he’s walking into this. You don’t scare him at all, not yet, anyway. Not even in the midst of a standoff in his office – guns loaded, eyes never blinking.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then lifts his arm, waving his palm like he’s swatting the image of the Frenchman away. “He’s…He freaks me the hell out.”

“He freaks you out,” you repeat, voice flat. “Really, Joel? Big guy like you?”

You can’t help yourself. This is so fucking insane, it’s laughable. You’re like a snake shooting sharp shots at the ankles of a bear – and it’s too easy to take jabs when you’re still in disbelief at what’s fast turning out to be the truth.

“He’s sleazy, and inappropriate, and he doesn’t respect boundaries.” He counts them with three steady fingers. “Not mine, certainly not yours. I don’t like him, darlin’.”

“You like him enough to go have two meals with him in one weekend. Fly all the way to fuckin’ France for ‘im.”

“That was business. At least, the lunch was. The breakfast was a mistake.”

“What’s the second reason, Joel?”

He licks his lips. You can’t tell if it’s anxiety or anger. “You’re too good at your job. I didn’t wanna lose you.”

It’s simple enough. It’s more believable than six-foot-two Joel being afraid of five-foot-two Jean-Marc. You accept it a lot quicker.

“Any more?”

His expression drops. Yeah. There’s one more. And he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Joel.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Got that one.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Expression unmoving. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You suck in a deep breath, chest wobbling as your lungs fill. The snake retreats from the bear, jaw slackening. Your eyes sting, Joel’s figure blurs a little, and then you rein it back in.

“I didn’t want you to go. That’s all,” he offers, plainly. “Just…wanted you to stay here. With me.”

“’n what if I wanted to leave?”

“Then…” Joel’s arms lift again, gesturing to nothing, “…then we’ll work something out.”

You lift your chin, some sick expression pushing your eyebrows up. “We’ll work something out?”

He nods.

“Who’s we?”

And it’s the first time you see him falter. The first time he has to catch himself. “You said it yourself,” he says, “you ‘n me. This.”

You shake your head. No no no no. Not this. Not now. The snake coils up, preparing to strike again. “What, us sleeping together?”

“That’s…What?”

“You don’t think there are plenty other women you could be sleeping with here, ‘n plenty other men I could be sleeping with over there? You really want me to stay here just so you got someone to fuck?”

Joel’s lips fall apart. His grip loosens on the desk. “That’s all this is to you?”

“Uh, yeah. Last time I checked.”

You don’t believe yourself. You know you don’t. You don’t believe a fucking word being tossed out of your mouth. You’re being an asshole, deliberately being a dick to him, and you can’t stop. There’s a wall being built at rapid pace, shutting him out. Shutting you in. Bricks made of angry words, each one separating you a little more, hiding you from his view.

And then his mouth closes. Lips form a thin line. Brows lower, blocking any of the light you’re so used to seeing from his eyes. Dark, cloudy, angry. “Got it,” he snaps. “Anything else?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need anything else? Or are you just in here to piss me off?”

You lift from the couch, arms loose, hitting your hips with a slap. “Fuck off, Joel.”

“Oh,” he nods, “right. Fuck off, yeah. Keep goin’, baby. Tire yourself out. ‘s all you’ve been doin’, ain’t it? All this time? All you’ve been using me for?”

Good. It’s good. You want him to argue back. You want him to hate you as much as you hate yourself right now. You want to see the bear’s claws; make all the hurt you’re dragging up through yourself, just to dish at him, worthwhile.

“You know what?”

“What?” he spits.

“I knew you were gonna do something like this, eventually. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Joel follows suit, pushing himself off the desk in one motion, and then the pair of you are chest to chest, squaring up to one another atop his five-thousand-dollar rug. “You knew what?”

“Knew there was something about him. Knew you couldn’t stand him. And this is why, right? All ‘cause he wanted to hire me?”

He turns away and laughs, almost recognizable as the same laugh you could draw from him with a silly look on your face – except sharper, colder. “Not even close,” he says, reeling back in. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you? The way he talked to you? About you?”

“Of course I saw it, Joel, I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Then use your good sense ‘n catch up, baby. You’re right: you’re not fuckin’ stupid. You were like fresh meat to him, and what? You reckon I should’ve let him just – sink his teeth deeper? Really?”

It lights something in the back of your mind; a memory flickers to life. Loops like a static radio message through your ears. “Right,” you nod, “right. Because you don’t like other people’s hands on things that belong to you, do you?”

His head jerks back, face warped with confusion and…disgust. “The hell are you talkin’ about?” he demands, voice muscled with anger.

“Martha said it once. You don’t like people playing with your toys, or whatever.”

And that seems to hit him low in the stomach. Seems to knock the wind from him.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and you swear his breath cuts in his throat. “That’s what you think?”

No, you think, it’s not. You know him better than that. But admitting that you know him better than to use you as some little plaything – something he had any control over, some accessory to wear on his arm – would mean admitting that the problem lies elsewhere. Lies with you.

And that’s not something you’re prepared to do right now, either.

Maybe before you found that email. Before you found out he’d been keeping you on some invisible leash. Maybe when he had you in his arms, kissing you so soft you thought you might die right then and not even notice.

Maybe when he looked at you, twirling chopsticks clumsily in his fingers, face lighting in a grin when you giggled at him – and three words floated through your head. Dared to dance over the tip of your tongue before you caught them and hissed, What the fuck are you doing here?

But – no. It’s all fucked up now. And you can’t break the tightness in your jaw to admit any different.

“You don’t think there’s a chance I actually care about you? That I – Jesus, that I respect you? Are you this goddamn hellbent on convincing yourself that everyone’s out to hurt you?”

“Joel,” your voice says, and it’s not you controlling it. Some gravely, pained thing. A shriveled part of yourself, cowering from the light. You’re recoiling, physically backing up from him.

“Darlin’, I can’t –” He reaches for your wrist.

You whip it away. “Stop.”

“I am trying to understand you,” he pleads. “I’m tryin’ to figure you out. Why won’t you let me –?”

“I don’t want you to.”

A laugh ejects from his throat and plummets straight to the floor. “Yes, you do,” he says. “You don’t do everything we’ve done unless you’re in it.”

“In it?” you seethe. “In what? What are we in?” You pinch your fingers: air quotations around the words, or possible claws digging four more wounds into the same chest you wept into last night.

Your head shakes rapidly as you speak. “We were just sleeping together. We were just having sex. That’s all. We were just having sex,” you repeat under your breath.

“I wasn’t,” Joel says. Matter-of-fact. Like reading from a contract. He takes a deep breath, and then repeats, “I wasn’t.”

The words splinter painfully from your tongue. “Well, I was.”

And though your eyes are pinned to the buttons of his shirt, though his expression sits just too north for you to see the way his face pulls – you notice his head lift. Know that there are creases digging between his brows at the same rate cracks appear across his heart. You feel the warmth of his gaze slowly cooling. Freezing over.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding a shaky palm out. The fear begins to sink in, plunging through ice water. He’s beginning to bargain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve, I should’ve told you ev–”

Your body moves as the words ricochet, refusing to let him finish his plea. “Glad we got that cleared up, Joel,” you say, near-leaping for the door.

But he’s faster. He steps in front of you, blocking your exit path. “Please hear me out. Please listen to me.”

Your body writhes under his gaze, twists like some little creature under a microscope. He waits for your go ahead before he continues. You toss your head, acquiescing.

“I just – I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t sleep at night thinkin’, what if you went for it? What if he managed to swindle you into taking him on? I wanted to get you the hell outta that penthouse the second he laid eyes on you.”

“So why take me in the first place?”

Joel scoffs. “I ain’t in control of you, baby! You had to figure him out on your own – and I thought you had. Christ, one minute you want me to step back ‘n let you make up your own mind, next you’re askin’ me why I took you somewhere? The hell am I supposed to do here?”

Read my mind. Don’t let him near me. Don’t let me go.

And at the same time –

Mind your fucking business. Let me make my own decisions. Keep your hands off me.

The truth is: you want him to go back in time. Take you back with him. Never touch you, never look at you any more than to ask for a coffee, or thank you for fixing up his office. Never make your heart skip that first beat, never set your skin on fire with that look in his eyes.

You want him to go back in time, and undo every knot he ever tied in your body. Let go of every string of your heart he has his fist around, every nerve which undoubtedly belongs to him, now.

Undo it all, so you might have a half-decent reason to hate him.

In the deepest, darkest parts of yourself, echoing around the caves you were always too frightened to explore yourself – you want him to tell you why he kept it from you. The real reason. And you want him to grab your wrist and pull you back into the room, back into his arms, when you inevitably flee at the sound of his reasoning.

Because you fucking know why he didn’t tell you. It’s scrawled on his face right now. And even though Jean-Marc is all of those things – sleazy, inappropriate, a scumbag in thousand-euro moccasins – that only makes up for part of the reason.

There’s a bigger piece to the puzzle, and you both know what it is, only neither of you will turn to face it. You’re simply cast in its shadow, playing blind chess under the silhouette of something you both refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re supposed to be my boss, and nothing else.”

He just stares at you. As if he’s waiting for you to say, Kidding! and laugh. As if he’s waiting for what you really mean to shove what you just said out of the way and tell the truth. It hurts all the more.

After a few seconds of awful silence, his breath falls from his lips in the form of a sigh, staggered with a laugh of disbelief. “I don’t…I don’t get it.”

But you’re tired now. You feel drained. You’ve less fight, energy gone to waste before you could make it to the real contest. Kicking his door down and yelling at him over Jean-Marc was the pregame show.

“What don’t you get?” you whisper, slumping back against the arm of the couch.

His answer terrifies you more than anything.

“You.”

You sigh, eyes falling closed in time with the drop of your head. Your breathing labored, your heart pounding. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Fear. Fear. Fear.

“You never let me in, did you? All that stuff you told me – your dad, your ex – like you want me to know. Like you’re lookin’ for me to do somethin’ about it. And then when I try, you slam the door closed again.”

“I don’t…I don’t want you to do anything about any of it,” you cry, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Lie number one.

“Then what do you want? Tell me, pretty girl, ‘cause I’m – I’m at a loss here.”

“I want you to – fuck, Joel, why can’t you just –? I want you to back off.”

Two.

“I can’t,” he whispers, leaning closer. “’s the thing. I care ab– I lo– I…”

He rubs his eyes with his palms. Maybe his head hurts as bad as yours does. Maybe the office is becoming too bright for him to look, too.

“You think you’re broken,” he mumbles, “you think all that stuff makes you – I don’t know, what is it? Unlovable?”

There’s a spotlight creeping over you – bright white and burning. Lighting every inch of you up, every dark shadow uncovered. The monsters and the phantoms and the six, eight, twelve-legged beasts scuttling off in search of refuge.

Jeers and cackles from an audience behind him as he cranes the neck of the lamp and positions it right on you.

“Don’t –”

“…Worth nothin’? I don’t know, angel, but I can’t do anything about it if you won’t let me, and –”

“Joel –”

He’s not listening. He never fucking listens. He’s still going on, but your ears are ringing, and your vision is whitening, and your chest is constricting, and your throat is dry and your lungs are closing and your skin is hurting and your –

“What the fuck did you even expect?” you hiss, before your brain catches the words.

Joel halts. He finally stops talking. The room finally dims again. You can hear cars on the street. Your phone is ringing at your desk.

You repeat your question, quieter. Heavier. “What did you want from me?”

He’s frozen. Looks concerned. Looks…afraid of you. “I never wanted anything from you,” he says.

“No? Sure sounds like you wanted something.”

He doesn’t say a word. It gives you time, you think – time you know you should put into backing up, thinking it through, not saying it. But you don’t do any of those things. You fucking say it anyway, don’t you? You are your father’s daughter. The anger is woven into your skin, ivy around your bones. The fire behind your eyes isn’t love, or passion, or determination.

It’s rage.

“Is this what you did to Avery? This why you didn’t wanna marry her?” And then, steeling yourself, gritting your teeth: “What secrets were you keeping from her, Joel?”

He still doesn’t bite. Avery’s not the sore spot, and you know it. There’s a different weakness to him, now. Newer. She’s stood right in front of him.

“I mean,” you scoff, incredulous, “what did you think – that we were gonna end up married or something? AC/DC first dance? Big wedding in Italy, three kids and a fucking prenup to save your ass ‘n your millions?”

You swear you hear the crash from here. The bear hitting the ground, or the door of the Toyota slamming shut, or Joel’s heart falling apart, maybe. He gathers it up, sweeping it into his hands with what little dignity you’ve left him with, straightens, and –

He’s angry. Looks it, sounds it. Feels it. A way you’ve never seen him before – not directed at you, anyway. Accounting, when they fuck up the budget for the year. Jean-Marc, when he flirts with you too much. Never you. He’s never this mad at you.

Like kids in a playground, coming up with the worst, most poisonous insults to throw at one another – your words swing fast, and he only just manages to swerve them, hitting straight back with a punch made up of his own.

“Naw, you’d probably say yes to my face ‘n then break it off two days later, wouldn’t you?”

It’s low. It stings. Shocks the life back into you, once it’s looped twice around your ears.

Joel knows it. Sees the glint in your eye before you have the chance to clear away the tears. Hears the tiny gasp that escapes your lips. The bear just stepped right on top of the snake.

“Fuck,” he says instantly. As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he’s undoing it. “That wasn’t – I didn’t mean…” He’s stepping forward, trying to wrap his hand around your arm. “Baby, I’m so sorry –”

Your wrist slips from his grasp. “Don’t – don’t touch me. Don’t.”

“Hey,” he says, almost cooing, almost trying to fan the burn with light breaths, “look at me. Please look at me. I did not mean that, alright? I was just –”

You shake your head, staring off past him. “It’s fine, Joel. No, I knew exactly what you meant.”

He staggers backwards, running his hands through his hair; almost growling into his palms when he drags them down his cheeks. “Darlin’,” he says, and leans in again. He speaks slow and seriously. “I would give you anything. There is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. I would do anything. In the whole damn world. This is – It’s not –”

“Anything?” you ask, your stone-set gaze refusing to meet his.

He mirrors your curious expression, his own brows lifting. He can’t believe you’re even asking him. “Yes. Anything. I care about you more than anyone in the fucking world.”

He probably says more to convince you. Probably promises a load of stuff, apologizes a couple more times. Probably says sentences that would lodge themselves between your vertebrae and paralyze you with fear, if your hearing weren’t muffled and your mind elsewhere.

Your shoulders tighten. Jaw ticks. When you pull your eyes to finally meet his, you nod. “Alright,” you interrupt, pursing your lips, “okay.”

“Okay?”

Another nod. Yeah. You’re about to do this. Father’s daughter aren’t you just your father’s daughter always running out always running off –

“This is over. It’s done. You don’t look at me, you don’t touch me, you don’t talk to me unless it’s somethin’ in your job description or mine. Hell, even then – see if Martha can do it before you ask me. We’re done.”

It wipes him clean. Every thought, every desire, every motivation – gone. Dissolved, by the venom seeping from your fangs. No more bear. He stares back at you, eyes glossy, lips trembling. He flattens them against one another, steadies himself. Angry, upset, fucking – heartbroken.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice breaks. It sends a blade through your chest.

You hesitate. Your eyes are searing. Between your tears and the nauseating tilt of the room, you can barely see him.

The third lie rolls from your tongue like a marble.

“Yeah. It’s what I want.”

And you know it, better than anyone: you’re lying through your fucking teeth. The way you have been this entire conversation. Pasting over wounds and scars, bricks laid over sodden sand foundations. But you’re petrified – stood on your own, fighting your own corner. The only person who ever managed to make you feel safe, calm you down, lower your gloves for you – now stood opposite with his fists up, too.

Joel nods. Anything in the whole damn world.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “Fine. We’re done.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #sex on fire

720 notes · View notes

lowkeycasanova · 2 months

Text

have a baby by me

trafalgar law x f!reader

Plot: Law wants to have another baby

warnings: smut, breeding kink (18+)

*pic isn't mine. all creds to the original owner, whoever you are*

You blink open your eyes, realizing you’re in Law’s arms and his lips softly pressed to the skin on your shoulder. His leg is in between yours and you can feel his morning wood against your backside but that’ll be dealt with later.

Gently escaping his grasp, you slide off the bed and into the bathroom. Law should be waking up soon now. He usually wakes up minutes after you leave his arms.

You close the bathroom door, enveloping the quiet solitude of the morning. The soft glow of dawn peeks its way through the window casting a warm hue on the tiles as you make your way to the sink.

Before turning on the water, you pause. You senses heightened. You listen out for Damien in the fact that he might be awake. Usually you hear the pattering of his feet against the floor, or maybe he's playing with his toys and talking to himself. At least he sleeps through the night.

It's around his second birthday now and your mind drifts back to when you found out you were pregnant with him.

When your breasts started becoming tender, Law spectulated that you might be pregnant. You brushed him off because he came off as unserious. Also because you two weren't trying. Sure, you talked about it and you were both for having children, but it wasn't planned.

With him being a doctor, he started getting nervous when you started getting heartburn and when you finally began vomiting all the time, he went out and bought too many pregnacy tests and made you drink water until your stomach hurt.

Fast forward nine months after that, nothing woke him up faster when you went into labor that night. You were irritable and in pain for twelve hours. Thirty minutes into the second stage of labor, your son was born. He was born with a full head of dark hair and bright yellow eyes, just like father.

You named him Damien, he was the kind of baby that was constantly on the move. If he wasn't sleeping, he was exploring his surroundings.

He's a good kid. Sure, there are times where he throws his tantrums. He is a toddler after all and it's just his way of asserting his independence. However, there are times when he will patiently wait for his food and play quietly whenever Law took him to his office and worked.

And the rest of the crew were always down to help. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi loved him. They were the only ones that could make Damien laugh as hard as he did. His face becomes red and he lets out this loud, yet infectiousbelly laugh.

Damien plays with them a lot.

As you finish up your morning routine, you hear that telltale morning groan. A smile comes across your face as you peek back into the bedroom, watching as Law slowly sits up, rubbing his eyes.

"Mhmm, good morning." he says in that deep, raspy voice that makes you want to jump on him. "Is Damien up yet?"

"Don't think so. But thank God he's not wailing in the middle of the night anymore."

"I kinda miss that."

You raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

Law shrugs. "It's just a reminder that he's getting older."

He reaches out his hand to you and you immediately walk over and grab it, letting him pull you back in bed. You sit against the pillows and he lays down on his side, his arms wrapping around your waist.

He lets out a sigh, trailing a fingertip along your arm as if he wanted your attention but didn't wanna ask for it.

"Do you need something?" you joke.

He rests his chin on your shoulder and looks up at you with a mischevous gaze in his eye.

"Do you want another baby?"

You tensed up and his inquiry hung in the air. Finally meeting his gaze, he continues to trace your arm and maintains eye contact. He's cautious though, hoping he didn't overstep a line by asking.

The weight of the question settling in you. Of course you wanted another kid. The joys that came with parenthood were undeniable, but it was also a lot of responsibility.

"It's something to think about, isn't it." you say with a soft smile, breaking the silence.

He grins and moves his hand from your arm to under your shirt, kneading the soft skin. "Let's have sex."

You chuckle in amusement. "Kids are a lot of work." you tell him and hug your arms around your waist, inadvertently pushing his out the way.

Law knows you too well. Your subtle action manifested because you still weren't in love with your body yet. He uses his palm to lift himself up and give you a kiss on the cheek. A sign to remind you that he still found you beautiful.

"Law," you begin in a soft voice. "I don't know." You don't tell him why- because he has the responsibility of being a captain to his crew and you would need all the help you can get raising the kids- but he knows.

"No, no, listen," he says and turns all of his attention to you. "I want to take a break from being out on the water. I've already talked it over with the crew. Traveling around like this, it's not safe for him." He pauses, squinting slightly. "I want our son to have a stable environment, go to school, make friends. I want him to have siblings to grow up with. We'll go back out to sea eventually, but for now, I want to live a different kind of life."

You studied his face, seeing the sincerity in his eyes and the love he held for his family. Also, deep down, you think it's because he envisions his kids to have the life that he experienced, before it was taken from him.

You gently caress his lip with your fingertips and he puckers them, giving them a quick kiss.

"You really mean that, don't you?"

He nods.

You look up at the ceiling and slowly exhale. You have been wanting to discuss another baby but that would be coupled with the asking him to take a break from his work. But he's willing to do ut for you already. A smirk flashes across your face and you lean in to give him a kiss. "Let's have a baby then."

You don't need to tell him twice.

He maneuvers his body to face you, the lower half of your bodies still concealed by the sheets, and pulling you in for a searing kiss, tongues moving slowly with each other. You reach up and grab his hair to tug on it, just enough how he likes it. Feeling his hands on your waist, it's easy to lose track of time. But Damien's room is down the hall and he will be up any minute now.

While he's kissing you, he reaches down and pushes the fabric covering up your pussy to the side so he can use his hand to rub on the slick that's gathering in between your folds. His hand then sldies to the top of your underwear, fumbling with the fabric.

"Law don't-"

Too late. He's ripped them off before you can finish your thought, balled it in his fist and tossed them to the side.

"Sorry." he mumbles so casually before leaning back down to kiss you again. But you know he's not. He does this often.

His two middle fingers push themselves inside you, hitting that spot that you need. You lean in to press yourself into his neck to kiss him there. Mainly to keep your voice down.

"I'll buy you some more." he hums.

"You know," you say in a voice that's barely above a breath. "They're pretty good quality, and the fact that you can rip them off like that is pretty impressive."

His eyes darken with lust as your comment pratically fuels his ego.

"God." he mutters.

He moves to lay on his back, impatiently shuffling off the sheets as an invitation for you to straddle him. You accept it as you move one leg over his, reaching down to grab his cock to align it with your dripping pussy. You're wet enough so it doesn't take much effort to sink down on him. You love how he fills you up whole. You lean in to kiss him and he meets you halfway in an attempt to silence your moans, pulling away once your fully down on him.

He laughs halfheartedly when you give him a smile and you move your hips to try to adjust to him. His hands knead your ass and eyes squeeze shut as you pull up off him then slide back down. Since having a kid, you two haven't been having sex as often, but that doesn't matter. You'll always have to adjust to him.

"Mmph fuck me."

You bury your face into his neck again as you ride him, his hands helpng you out at a steady pace. The sounds of skin slapping fills the room along with your occasional whines and his occasional grunts as he thrusts into you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, surely to leave crescent marks behind. But you don't care and neither does he.

"You know what?" he says in a low voice. Your ear is right next to his mouth, so you have no choice but to listen. "I'm gonna fucking fill you up. Fill you up to the brim with my cum and force you to take all of it."

His words cause you to clench around him.

"Fuck, and then- mmph fuck- then I'm gonna do it again. I'm gonna fuck you again. I'm gonna fucking get you pregnant and watch you swell with my baby."

He palms your clit with just enough pressure to make you squirm, a hand still on your leg to encourage you to keep rocking your hips against him. You're overstimulated now. You clench and unclench and you finally reach your high.

"That's a good girl." he coaxes. "Now tell me how much you want my baby."

Your legs are exhausted from riding him for so long. At this point, all you want it for his to release inside you. "Please," your voice is desperate. "Want you to cum inside me. F-fill me up and get me pregnant."

In that second, he flips you over so you're on your back. Interlocking his fingers with yours and holding them above your head. He's thrusting into you so hard that the headboard is striking the wall. He grabs it to try to keep it stable. But all other ways to try to be quiet? Forget about it. Your hands aimlessly roam his back and he's groaning and his movements quivering.

"Oh my-fuck." He groans, slamming his hips into yours and you can feel him erupt. His head dips down into your neck as he releases, keeping his whole shaft inside, as deep as he can, and his tip as close to your cervix as possible. "Take it all, babygirl."

He pulls out and flops right down in front of you to where he's putting his weight on his bent knees. You're so tired, you can't even muster the energy to get up. So you lay there, still on your back with your legs open right where he can see.

You're a little embarrased that he's looking at you with that amazed expression. However, you begin to feel his cum seep out, so you take a hold of his cock and use the tip to sweep it back and deposit the white fluid back in.

Looking back up at him, he's left with his mouth agape.

"That...you...I..."

He's so astonished at your action, he can't even speak.

"You're so sexy."

He leans in with the intent of kissing you, but is interrupted by pattering against the floor on the other side of the door.

"Mama!"

You cover your face with the palm of your hand. Law quickly gets off of you and scrambles to put his pants on. "I got him. You stay right there."

#one piece fanfiction #one piece law #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece trafalgar law #one piece smut #trafalgar law smut #law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law

594 notes · View notes

darnell-la · 3 months

Note

smut suggestion for rafe,

maybe like:

readers first time

being jjs sister and you guys have to be quiet bc he’s next door

something dark like with jealousy

“I deserve you” - Rafe Cameron

word count: 2.3k

pairing: jealous!Rafe Cameron x reader

warning: jealousy, sneaky around y/n’s house at night, hair pulling, choking, rough sex, risky sex, orgasms, begging, etc.

note: we added all of the requesters suggestions in this one story. we hope it’s enough!

WE DO NOT GIVE CONSENT TO COPY OUR STORIES!

————————————————————————

3rd person pov

Everyone in Figure eight knows about y/n. Not just because she’s JJ’s sister, but because she’s pretty hot for a Pogue. Everyone knows that, and now she’s called “one of them,” when she doesn’t ask to be.

She knows how they treat her brother and is not down with it. The Kooks constantly tell her how she’d be welcomed with open arms while the men tell her as long as she greets them with open legs.

“Look, we’re just throwing a small party after the biggest win a Pogue could have ever made,” JJ said as y/n got food from their refrigerator. “They never cared about you before, so why would they now?” Y/n made a good point.

“It’s not about making them like us, y/n. It’s way more. I just bought this big house with Kie and the rest, you love here, we’re rich and a lot more. It’s about time we rub it in their face,” JJ said as he sent out tweets about the party he’s hosting tonight.

“Ugh, whatever,” y/n sighed as she stormed out of the kitchen. “I’ll make it up to you!” He said, making her laugh, because she knew he will. “You better,” she replied before making her way upstairs.

It’s now late at night and everyone is here. No adults but their kids. Everyone’s drinking, smoking, or doing some drugs while y/n’s sneaking past people to get snacks before she stays upstairs for the rest of the night.

“Look who decided to show up! Little miss perfect,” some drunk girl spat as y/n passed her to get to her cabinet. “What’s wrong? You don’t want to party? Are we too good for you?” She said as he friends laughed.

“You’re definitely not,” y/n said before grabbing her chips and a couple water bottles. “Aye, ladies. I think it’s time to leave it,” a familiar voice said. As y/n looked back, she could see how everyone around her was just as shocked as she was.

“And you’re here because?” Y/n asked, seeing, Rafe with that dumb look on his face. We all know he wouldn’t want to be here, so why did he bring himself?

“Just here to congratulate y’all,” Rafe said, knowing he’s not. He would never. “You could have done that when they noticed us a couple months ago. You know, when you were pissed and whiny next to your stepmom,” Y/n clapped at him.

“Wasn’t the right time,” Rafe said, standing up for himself. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing time? You know, for murder?” Y/n asked, making people gasp.

Rafe knew what he was getting himself into when he stepped through these doors to provoke everyone.

“Look, that’s in my past, and I bet if you gave me a chance, you’d see how much I’ve changed,” he genuinely meant, but everyone knows that his temper is still there.

“Whatever you said, Cameron. Your sisters with John B if that’s who you’re here for,” y/n said as she walked passed him, bumping into his arm on purpose because she can’t find the respect for him.

When y/n first met Rafe, she had thought he was sweet and too attractive to be real, but now that years passed, she can’t see this sweetness in him anymore. Maybe the attractiveness, but anyone can say that.

After y/n made it to her room, she got set up. She placed her door on her bed and then got undressed until she was in her underwear and bra. She turned on some movie before she hopped in her bed and snacked on her chips.

The whole night was semi-quiet for y/n. She wanted a few movies before putting everything to the side and lying down. It had gotten very late for her, and she plans on going to the mall with the girls tomorrow.

The whole night for Rafe was boring. Usually, he likes it when girls approach him, but he doesn’t come here for them. He came here to talk to y/n and apologize for his passed.

He knows it’s crazy, knowing he and her never had anything since he was after JJ and the others. Y/n was barely home since her school provided a place to stay since she and JJ’s father were always gone.

Rafe talked to a few guys the whole night as he avoided JJ and the others. As the party got smaller, JJ took this chance to go upstairs and hide in one of the bathrooms in the house.

Since almost every room here had a bathroom, he figured no one would think about using the bathroom in the hallway, so he stayed in their quiet and bored for a good two hours.

After time passed, he heard no one in the hallways but JJ’s music coming from his room. Rafe slowly opened the bathroom door and closed it before searching for y/n’s room.

Finding where y/n slept wasn't hard since the girl had a certain style and her room door was covered. Rafe chuckled at how cute this girl was before slowly opening her door.

The room was slightly dark, so he couldn’t see y/n at first, but the second he closed her room door and locked it, he turned her dim lamp on, next to her room door on her work desk.

There she was, laid on her bed and sound asleep like he wanted her. He can’t freak her out just yet.

Rafe took his time walking to her bed, thinking he had this all under control until her phone notification went off.

Y/n groaned as she turned in her bed. She annoyingly grabbed her phone and put it on silent. Rafe thought he was safe, and took a slow step towards her after she laid back down, but she heard him.

Y/n’a head shot up and turned towards Rafe, seeing his figure only a few feet in front of her. “Hey,” he looked at her awkwardly, knowing he shouldn’t be in here.

“Rafe, what the fuck are-“ She got too loud so he jumped at her, pushing her down on her mattress as he covered her mouth at the same time. “Ssh ssh ssh!” He spat, hoping she didn’t wake anyone.

“Hey, hey! If you stay quiet, I’ll let you go, okay? I just want to talk,” he said as she tried speaking through his big ringed hand. “Y/n, just please. Please let me talk,” he said, sounding desperate, and she could hear it in his voice.

She sighed and shut up with an eye roll. She has no choice. “Thank you,” he said. He hesitantly pulled his hand away from her mouth, letting her speak.

“Be fast,” she said. “It’s nothing too much, but I just wanted to apologize. You know, for everything. I don’t want to get into it because it’s late and I had to sneak around and- I just need a break, you know? I just wanna break,” he said as he got comfortable on her bed.

“A break from what?” She asked, slowly leaning up. “From everyone hating me. I’m not saying I don’t deserve it, but I want to change. I did change but then things happened and I just- I just can’t go and it fucked me,” he explained himself.

“Yeah, you did,” y/n responded to his confession, not really hearing him out at first, but she noticed her response what a bit shitty after she noticed his body language change.

“Hey, Rafe, look. Your dad fucked you and you followed him. That’s what sons do, you know? But you have to admit, you hate Pogues all around. With or without your father. And you’re cocky and get what you want,” she spoke.

“I know you’re different than you act, but you also don’t try hard enough,” Y/n said. “But I do! Like for example, me and you. I tried making you happy but you left. You ignored me and went to these other rich pricks,” Rafe grew angry already.

“I didn’t leave you like you didn’t deserve it. You like, you hate Pogues, and I’m a Pogue. You also flirt with any given bitch, and I’m not down for that,” y/n defended herself.

“You’re different,” was his only argument. “No, I’m not. I was just nice to you, and that’s why you liked me. Clearly looks weren’t enough because you kept going back to Vanessa,” y/n reminded herself.

“I didn’t want her, and you know that. You even flirted with my best friend,” Rafe argued back. “Correction. He flirted with me. I was just being nice,” Y/n told the truth as Rafe scoffed.

“Yeah, fuckin right. You drank with him and fucking giggled like the whore of the night. You never do that shit with me! You do it with every other dude, but me!” Rafe got up from her bed and he grabbed his face.

“Well, maybe it’s because they don’t call me a whore and get pissed off at the smallest shit without asking me about the situation!” Y/n yelled and whispered at him.

“I get pissed off because you’re easy for them, but never me. Why not me! What have I done for you to act like such a fuckin- A fuckin-“ Rafe stuttered, trying to keep himself in.

“Like what Rafe, huh? Like fucking what!? Like a whore? Like a bitch? Like a slut? Say it!” Y/n got up from her bed and got in his face. “I did that shit because of you! They at least deserve me,” second after her last words, Rafe grabbed her by her neck and pulled her into him.

“So I don’t? I don’t fuckin’ deserve you because what? I care for you? I’m obsessed and would do anything for you?” Rafe spat at her as she fought against his grip.

“No, no, tell me, y/n. Tell me I don’t deserve you, and see what fuckin’ happens,” Rafe threatened. “You don’t-“Before she could even say the word, he turned around and forced her to her knees on her bed.

Y/n went to get off, but he grabbed her hair and kept her in a certain position, forcing her to stay right in front of him, back facing his stomach.

“You’re very ungrateful. I push dudes away from you at parties, I threaten people for you, I yell at other bitches and all you have for me is that I don’t deserve you!? You’re a fuckin’ stuck bitch,” Rafe couldn’t hold himself anymore.

The muscular man undid his belt before pushing his shorts and boxers down enough to expose his length. “Rafe, get out of my house!” Y/n yelled whispered, not wanting to wake everyone up.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe said under his breath as he rapped y/n’s panties clean off. “Hey, what the- Rafe, stop it!” Y/n began to move around to wiggle away from him but Rafe had other plans.

The strong man forced his cock into her slightly wet cunt, making her take every inch at the first thrust.

“Yeah, I know,” Rafe pulled y/n back by her hair, whispering in her ear. “It feels good, doesn’t it? This is the Kook dick you’ve been lookin’ for, huh?” He licked her ear as she struggled taking his immediate thrusts.

“F-Fuck,” y/n whined. Rafe grabbed y/n’s waist with his free hand to pull her weak body back into him, making her take him rather she liked it or not. He can tell she liked it. Everything about her moans says she does.

“Gonna keep fuckin’ other Kook’s now? Or is my cock enough? Tell me my fuckin’ cock’s enough for your slut cunt,” Rafe growled in her ear, slightly scaring her, but the way he fucks her is only putting her in the mood.

“Say it, now,” Rafe said in a warning voice. “Y-You’re enough!” Y/n moaned loudly. Rafe quickly took his hand that was placed on her hip and used it to cover her mouth.

“Hey, hey, hey, princess! Keep it down,” Rafe said with a chuckle as he thrust harder into her to test how far he could keep this going. “Don’t want your brother waking up and seeing this scene, right?” He asked, now completely scaring her.

“Look at that. The whore’s quiet now,” he taunted, before he pushed her face down into her bed, forcing her ass to angle upwards as her back arched.

“Let’s see how long that shit will last,” Rafe said before he began slamming into her soaked pussy. The sound of their skin clapping filled the room, as well as she cried for him to stop or at least slow down.

“I bet you didn’t tell the others to stop fuckin’ you. Am I right? You just let them fuck you, but did they cum in you?” Rafe asked. “Did they cum in you!?” He asked more seriously.

“No! I swear!” Y/n cried as the knot in her stomach burst. “I know, baby. I asked then myself,” Rafe used one hand to snake under her body and rub her sensitive clit as he pulled her hair, still keeping her arched.

“P-Please, Rafe. I-I can’t take it,” y/n begged as Rafe’s cock twitched. “You’re gonna take it,” Rafe groans began to fill the room as his orgasm hit him like a headache.

“Fuuuuck!” Rafe groaned like a wild animal as he fucked his cum deep into y/n’s cunt until she was filled to his liking. “That’s it, baby. Take it all,” Rafe whispered in her ear as she moved her hips so her clit rubbed on his fingers faster.

“God,” she squealed as her second orgasm washed over her. “Yeah! Yeah!” Rafe praised as he helped her as she shook and couldn’t fuck against him anymore. “That’s my girl,” Rafe kissed all over her neck as his cum began to leave out of her hole with his cock still deep in her.

424 notes · View notes

honey-milk-depresso · 3 months

Note

Hello! May I request Diasomnia boys dealing a very sick S/O? Like they will get sick every month. High fever, vomiting, headaches, blocked nose, sore throat, you name it and they have had that illness before. And they're also very behind on their studies because of this.

I had a friend like that too, and she’s currently in another school but we still talk to each other once in a while. This might be a little bit of my own experience mix in this so hopefully it doesn’t sound weird :”))

Diasomnia looking after a really sick s/o

Malleus Draconia

The smallest of a little sneeze from his precious child of man already makes him panic. Seeing you bed-bound with a runny nose, sore throat and headache, he’s getting an actual heart attack.

How can one be so frail??? Malleus might offered casting long lasting healing spell, or try making an elixir to make you permanently well again that no sickness can touch you no longer. But even you think it’s a bit too much when he elaborates how hard it is to find all the damn ingredients.

But Malleus is insistent. “It’s alright, my dear. I will scour the whole continents to find each ingredient.”

After much convincing from you, he reluctantly agreed to just help make simple, healing potions that can last you for a few days before you need to consume them again from him.

He might also consult Lilia on what he should do to entertain you while your bed-bound, and I swear to the SEVENS that he will bring his whole violin as entertainment while having many other brass instruments playing a whole orchestra of soothing music for you like you’re royalty or something like-

He might’ve also consulted with Silver for help and he told Malleus that you probably only wanted his company. To talk to him while you’re stuck in bed for a while until the potion boils finish so that’s what Malleus do. It’s rather peaceful just sitting there and talking to you quietly. It makes his heart feel at ease and he hopes he makes you feel at peace too. <3

Lilia Vanrouge

He’s experienced in taking care of sick people because he had young Malleus and Silver, so he’s pretty much equip to look after you.

Although Lilia has never quite experienced someone who can REALLY get sick and stay sick for a long time, he’s up for the challenge if it means to care for you. You’re his S/o after all!

Lilia is actually really good! He knows how to make the bed super comfy for you to sleep in, his voice always soothes and calms you down, he always remind you to take your meds and drink lots of water while you’re at it. Maybe he’ll ask Malleus to make you a potion to cure your sickness for a while or do it himself!

Just errr…. Don’t eat his cooking because, well, we all know how ominous it looks. And tastes.

Lilia has the habit of reading bedtime stories to you, mostly because he did that for Silver and Malleus when they were younger and he projects that action into you to comfort and soothe you while you’re sick. After all, you won’t feel better if you’re heart isn’t at ease, either.

When you finally fall asleep, Lilia smiles softly before kissing your forehead, sitting on the chair beside you bed and watch over you. <3

Silver

He panics a little, but the first thing he’ll tell you is to get lots of good rest and sleep.

He also tries to mimic what Lilia would do when he was sick during his younger days: singing you a lullaby, try reading bedtime stories (although he might fall asleep halfway), reminding you to take your meds and drink plenty of water.

Silver may also seek Malleus help in making a potion that could help you recover for a while or even lend one of Lilia’s storybooks to help you.

Would stay around you to be company while you’re bedridden, even if he gets sleepy and tired he’ll never leave your side or stop taking care of you.

Might’ve also tried to cook for you, but he only cooks soup because he doesn’t really know what else he can do. He just hopes it can make you feel better at least.

While you rest in bed, Silver, although succumbing to falling asleep, still holds your hand while you rest as both of you fall into a deep slumber together. <3

Sebek Zigvolt

Panicking beyond belief. How can one be so fragile and sickly?! He can hardly believe it and he doesn’t know what to do when you are bed-bound. The smallest sneeze of you already has him all over you with concern, so with your really sick nature, he’s practically made it a point to just be in your life now. Like he shares with you.

Initially, Sebek might’ve come off a little bit insensitive, saying how you should exercise more or something to build up a better immunity system. However, Lilia taught him otherwise to put you first. He knows the boy cares about you so he’s helping him show care in better ways.

He learns to cook soup, pray to Malleus for help in making a potion for your sickness (which the latter helped obviously), might’ve also pulled off the “I WILL TRAVEL THE WORLD FOR THE RARE POTION INGREDIENTS TO CURE YOU FOR GOOD” thing like Malleus which you have to keep on insisting for him to, I don’t know, not be stupid to get himself killed and he RELUCTANTLY listens to you.

He watches over you despite being tired and despite him not being the most lovey dovey or romantic boyfriend out there, you know he cares about you, maybe much more than you know. <3

Reblogs help! ^^

602 notes · View notes

band--psycho · 11 months

Text

Harvey Specter x Reader- Stop Being So Stubborn

This story was requested by a lovely anon!!

Thank you so much for the request! (I'm also going to put this as a story for my A-Z Writing Challenge)

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Third Person POV

“Looks like Y/ns finally gone home,” Mike stated, sipping his coffee before looking over at the office across from Harvey’s.

Pretty much everyone at the office has been telling her to go home and rest; Harvey knew that even though he was one of the very few people who hadn’t said those words to her, partially because he didn’t want to get his head bitten off.

“I wouldn’t be so sure on that,” Harvey replied, not lifting his eyes from his paperwork once.

Y/n was as stubborn as he was, he knew her and he knew that just because she wasn’t in her office didn’t mean that she’d gone home.

On late shifts such as these, the most common place to find Y/n was down in the library.

So once Mike left, a few moments after their conversation, that’s where Harvey headed, but not before stopping off in the kitchen to make Y/n a much needed hot drink.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he said as he entered the room.

A small sigh left Y/ns lips, “Congratulations on using your excellent detective skills,Mr Specter.”

The sarcasm in her voice was clear, as was the frustration at the interruption.

“It wasn’t that hard, I could hear you sneezing from the hallway,” Harvey pointed out as he made his way closer to her:

“If you’re here to tell me to go home you’re wasting your breath,” she mumbled; her slightly bloodshot eyes fixed on the book infront of her.

Harvey was silent for a few moments as he sat down on the chair next to her and placed the drink he’d made her next to her, before saying, “You need to rest,”

He could tell she hadn’t been sleeping, not because of her snappy mood but because of the dark circles under her eyes.

For a brief second her eyes left the page and glanced over at the hot drink now next to her.

“I’ll rest when this case is over,” she mumbled, turning her attention back to the book she was reading.

“If you don’t rest, you’ll make yourself worse and potentially lose the case,” Harvey was trying to be reasonable; make Y/n see that there was no way she could go into court and present the case, when she was like this, and win.

He knew how hard she’d been working on this case and how much she wanted to impress everyone by winning it; the case meant a lot to her, he didn’t want her own stubbornness to be the reason she lost it. He didn’t want all her hard work to have been for nothing.

“I’m fi-”

Before Y/n even got the chance to finish that sentence she went into a coughing fit; which then made her eyes water.

“You were saying?” Harvey said with raised eyebrows as he looked at Y/n and nudged the hot drink closer to her.

“Shut up,” Y/n mumbled, sipping on the hot drink he’d made her, hating that she’d inadvertently proved Harvey right, but also savouring the brief relief the hot drink provided her throat.

“Sweetheart-” Harvey began; his eyes soft as he looked at her, silently urging her to just stop being so damn stubborn.

“I need to finish this case,” the bluntness in her reply was an evident sign of her frustration; and the fact that Harvey only ever called her sweetheart when he was worried about her.

“And you can,” he assured her as he placed his hand on top of hers lightly, it made a small wave of relief wash over Y/n, knowing that she didn’t have to fight him about this anymore; because she didn’t have the energy to do so.

That was until a singular word made all of that relief vanish, “Tomorrow”

“Harvey-”

“If you don’t, I’ll tell Jessica to give the case to someone else,” Harvey interrupted, trying to ignore the guilt that gnawed at his heart when he saw the anger building in her y/e/c eyes.

It was a low blow; he knew that, but he was running out of options .

“You wouldn’t,”

“Do you really want to test that theory?”

“Blackmailing is illegal, you know,”

Of course he knew.

But he also just didn’t really care about that.

He cared about her.

And making sure that she got the rest she so clearly needed.

“I’m aware, but if it means you can get some rest then I’m willing to do it,”

Y/n stared at him; as if trying to work out if he was serious about the threat he just made.

“Fine,” she sighed in defeat as she closed the book she was reading.

“Good,” Harvey concurred, “now drink your drink so we can get out of here,”

The shock was evident in Y/ns eyes at his words.

“I can get home by myself,” she stated bluntly, putting her bay over her shoulder.

“It’s 10pm, in the middle of winter and you have a cold, like hell are you walking home, I’ll drop you there,” Harvey wasn’t asking; he was telling her that this was happening.

He didn’t want her walking home, alone, not this late.

“I need to go to the store-”

“What’s this?” She asked cutting off her own sentence as Harvey handed her a small bag.

“I asked Donna if she could get some medicine from the store,” Harvey explained.

It wasn’t much, just some cold and flu relief, throat sweets, painkillers for the headaches he knew she got.

He watched as the anger that had been burning in her eyes began to dwindle, “If I didn’t have a cold right now I would kiss you.”

The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them; but she didn’t regret them, not really.

Her and Harvey had always been close and especially recently, their connection only seemed to grow.

Harvey tried to stop a beaming smile from touching his lips but he couldn’t.

“How about we take a rain check for when you’re better, I’ll even take you out for dinner,if you want?” Harvet asked, and although he looked calm, his heart was racing so fast he was almost sure Y/n could hear it.

“Mr Specter, are you asking me out on a date?”

“Miss Y/l/n I believe you were the one who said you wanted to kiss me,” Harvey countered, “and yes, yes I am,”

He didn’t give her time to answer; they could discuss all of this tomorrow right now, it was getting later and Harvey was aware of that.

“Now let’s get you home.”

Tagging:

@little-diable @rebelwrites @xacatalepsyx @wild-rose-35 @withmyteeth @yn-ymn-yln @munsinner @maximoff-xmen @vintagecarsandrecordplayers @book-dragon03 @bookworm1767 @fangirlfandomss @wretchedmo @mayans-mc @dana-is-snax @happilysparklyunknown @samanthaofanarchy @mrsamerica @navs-bhat @tinystudentmiracle @that-one-enthusiast @malfoys-demigod

#harvey specter #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter imagine #harvey specter imagines #suits x reader #suits harvey specter #harvey specter suits

1K notes · View notes

dontyouworrydaddy · 1 year

Text

ყoᥙ bᥱᥣoᥒg to mᥱ

𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝐿𝑒𝑜𝑛 𝐾𝑒𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑑𝑦 𝑥 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

warning: Minors DNI (18+) NSFW, Reader is 24!

summary: He definitely praises you. Oh and definitely talks through it

A/N: Also tried a new style as you can see. Please let me know what you think of it. Should I keep doing this one or should I go back to the old one? Kinda like this one but I‘m not sure😭

Anyways hope you enjoy! Love you <3

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

The sound of the door shutting snaps you out of your own little world. You came back home early today. You were supposed to be back at 6pm bit got home at 4:30 pm since everything was done. You were excited to get home early so you could catch up on the book you didn’t had the time to finish for a month now. But now that you had a lot of time to read. you where already half way through it. And it was getting very interesting. But nothing was more exciting when you heard the door shut knowing your boyfriend just came back from his exhausting work. Oh how you were excited.

“I‘m home” he yells through the apartment. You could hear the exhaustion in his voice. You put the book on your nightstand and make your way out of the room. And there he stands. In the kitchen. With a glass of water in his hands.

He tried to avoid drinking around you. He didn’t want you to see that part of him. No matter how often you told him it’s okay as long as he doesn’t drink way too much.

You make your way to him and hug him. He lets out a deep chuckle with causes your heart to melt. “Welcome home, baby” you welcome him and kiss his cheek. He puts the glass down on the counter and grabs you face. “I missed you so much” he whispers and you can smell the alcohol in his breath. The whisky.

He kisses you. He kisses you for a very long time and the kiss is so deep and passionate. But after what felt like hours of kissing you let go because you need oxygen. He looks you deep in the eyes while you’re breathing heavily. And he kisses you again. This time is different. This kiss is trying to prove you how much he missed you. How much he needs you.

And you would be lying if you didn’t need him as much as he needed you now. You didn’t had him for weeks and you began to feel lonely and your fingers were never helping you.

“If you don’t stop now” he says breaking the kiss for a short time. “You won’t be able to escape me” he kisses you again. You decide to tease him and let your hand wander down on him.

Your hand is now right on top of his covered dick. He breath hitches which causes you smirk while you continued to kiss him. But you didn’t stop there. You began to get closer to him until there was no space in between you. His hands on your ass are now squeezing you. And you could feel how you were getting wet.

He suddenly picks you up and you lock your legs around his torso. He carried you to the bedroom. This happened so often because now he was now able to carry you to the bedroom blindly.

As you both make it to the bedroom, he lets you fall on the bed with him between your legs. And now you wish you were wearing less today. Because you were feeling so hot right now. You don’t know if it’s because you need him so bad right now or because the weather is getting hotter.

He removes your clothes while you help him remove his. And now you were there, only in your underwear.

He starts to kiss your neck and as soon as he found your soft spot he decided to abuse that spot leaving you moaning mess.

“Leon” you moan his name and gets hard by it. Hearing you moan his name will be the death of him.

“Yes, Sweetheart?” he plays dumb and kisses your sweet vanilla skin. “Please” you moan clearly not being able to take it anymore.

His kisses trial down your body until he lifts your both legs and let them rest on both sides of his shoulder. He kisses your inner thighs and you feel yourself getting even more hot even through you have nothing but your underwear on.

“So wet for me.” he says in between the kisses. “Do I deserve you?”

“Yes. Please just take me already” you whine.

“It’s okay baby. We have time” he teases you and you whine louder. He moves your panties to the side and he starts eating you with no warning. You gasp at the feeling and you feel too good. Your fingers could never give you the feeling Leon does. His tongue does magic with you and you can feel yourself getting closer.

“Leon.” you moan again.

“Yes baby. I understand. But not now” he lets go of your legs and he towers over you. His hands part your legs and you look at him. Oh please.

He removes his boxers and lets his tip touch your clit. He teases you for a few seconds before he slides in you a bit. You gasp at the feeling. It’s crazy how you never were able to adjust to his size. It takes a few minutes for the pain to disappear and involve into pleasure. As soon as he noticed your face change he slowly slides in your fully and out again. He repeats his moves until he starts to fasten his moves.

“So beautiful baby” he whispers in your ear while fucking you.

“I see you’re reading the book we got together. How is it hm? Do you like it?” he asks you while he thrusts into you. You open your mouth to answer him but quickly shut it again since you couldn’t get any words out. Instead you let you hands wander on his back and your fingernails scratches his back.

“Always so tight around me. I‘ve been thinking about you this whole week and how much I missed you. Chris was getting annoyed of me because I wouldn’t shut up about you. He told me to say hi.” he whimpers at the end and he is getting faster now.

“Leon fuck” you scream his name at this point. It feels so good. Too good to be true.

“You’re voice is to die for baby. I‘m almost there baby. I‘m glad you’re in my life” he whispers into your ear. You feel yourself shift up and down the bed and your tits start to hurt because of the fast movements.

And you feel yourself getting close. “Leon. I‘m so-” your moan interrupts you and you can’t finish your sentence.

“Yes baby. I can feel it. I‘m close too.” he kisses you. The kiss is sloppy and messy. There are so many emotions mixed in the kiss. You didn’t know this was possible but again everything is possible with Leon. “You belong to me sweetheart. You‘re mine. Only mine. This pussy belongs to me.” he says.

“Cum with me sweetheart” he says and you both come at the same time.

Leon slowly removes his cock from inside you and kisses you again.

“Your body is like a drug baby. I‘m addicted to you” with that said he shoved his cum back inside you causing you bite your lip.

“Let me take care of you now” he whispers as he lifts you up bridal style and take you to the shower.

You’re happy. Your boyfriend is back.

“Welcome home, Leon”

#resident evil #resident evil x reader #fanfic #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re vendetta #resident evil vendetta #leon kennedy is my boyfriend #leon kennedy is so cute #leon kennedy smut #vendetta leon

1K notes · View notes

pray4byron · 3 months

Note

HIYA HIYA!!! this is the super energetic bro that u matched with velvette, qnd I was curioussss to requesttttt smthhh (also maybe if u want to easier identify me I could be ✨️anon??)

Ok! SO! ~Imagine~ maybeee that angel has a person he is romantically interested in (reader)

And so reader is ~severely introverted~ and thus, not much is know about them. But! Charlie is leading a art group one day, for like, rehab bc art therapy is super big, and reader is really good at it, and basically drops lore that they where in college to be an art therapist‼️

And so‼️

Maybe angel, seeing this opportunity to get closer, and was like- "ayo want me to model 4 u??👀👀" and reader is like " pls wear clothes this isn't gunna be nude modeling bc I will get super embarrassed" and so basically soft fluff of reader painting angel and getting to know each other and confession

Mayybbee a oneshot?? If ur willing! Nor pressure

Also make sure to take time to urself and rest and eat water and drink food!!!

Lots of love from a silly Lil fan!! :))

hello dear!! ofc you can be ✨ anon, you’re already on my list haha, as i’ve stated in the past, im not amazing at oneshots, but here’s my take on this !

Warnings: Mentions of Nudity, Lazily written (sorryyyy), Pretty short

“Smooth Talker”

Angel Dust x Artist!Reader

After one of Charlie’s…interesting exercises, Vaggie suggests that the group should do therapy art, since y’know, it calms the soul. And Charlie couldn’t be more eager to do so!

The lobby was set up with canvases, paints, brushes, everything you could need!

Unlike most of Charlie’s previous activities, almost everyone was willing to participate, although Husk and Alastor kinda stood off to the side and watched.

Charlie was painting a cartoon version of Razzle and Dazzle, Vaggie was painting a sunset based off of the lesbian flag, Pentious was painting him in his war machine taking over Hell, and Niffty? Eh.. You don’t wanna know..

You on the other hand? Stood in front of your canvas, clueless, “Y’know, I could model for you..” Angel says into your ear.

Your head turned to face him “Sure.” You say nonchalantly before turning back to your canvas.

“Wait really?-”

“Just please keep your clothes on.”

Eventually you had moved your stuff over to the other side of the lobby so Angel could pose on the couch.

He had a soft smirk, as he layed on the couch, his arm propping up his face. Although, he began to get fidgety, messing with his fluff.

“Stop moving.” You said with a soft smile.

Angel kept messing his fluff. “Ange!”

“Gee, sorry!” He said, chuckling, moving his arm back to its original position.

“So uh, how’d you get into all this?” Angel asked as the sketching of your pencil went to a stop and you began actually painting it. “College, back when I was alive I wanted to be an art therapist.” You explained.

“Fitting.” He murmured. For the most part, it was silent, a comforting silence though, the presence of each other was oddly soothing.

“Okay.” You muttered, squiggling your signature down at the bottom of the canvas quickly, “I’m done.” You announce to him, turning the canvas around to show him.

Angel perks up immediately, amazed by your skill, he slowly gets up off the couch to get a closer look. “Damn…” He said, his voice above a whisper, “Can I… Can I keep it?” He asked, hopeful that you might say yes, “Duh.” You giggled.

“For once the smooth talker is shocked, that’s new.” You say with a smirk. “And for once the introvert is talking back, that’s new.” Angel replies, but the usual attitude in his voice isn’t there, his voice is barely above a whisper as his eyes are still entranced with the painting.

You take the painting off the stand and hand it to Angel. You look over to a nearby window notice the sun is setting, despite the red sky still being as clear as day, “It’s getting late, I’m gonna head up to my room.” You say. “Yeah… Me too.”

As you and Angel are both walking to your rooms, you don’t say much, until a voice pipes up, “Y’know, I really owe ya for the painting.” Angel says, still looking at it, “Owe me what?” You ask, as you both arrive at your door.

“A date, maybe.” Angel says, pecking your forehead, “Stop by my room at eight tomorrow, if your interested~”

274 notes · View notes

miraclewoozi · 8 months

Text

BURNIN' UP. - h.js

you really were just trying to enjoy a cool treat by the pool on a hot summer’s day. honest.

pairing : joshua x fem reader. content : plotless smut. MINORS DNI. (smut tags utc) wc : 3.1k notes : not proofread. intentional lowercase. hoping this gets rid of the insane josh!rot i've had the past few weeks. i'm very sorry. (i'm not that sorry)

nsfw tags : swearing. making out, manhandling, choking, oral sex (m rec), face-fucking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, big cock!josh. he has a bit of a gagging kink. cum swallowing. meanie dom joshua. degradation (use of the word slut), exhibitionism/semi-public sexual acts in that they could have been walked in on at any time (but they weren’t). PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. notes 2.0 : this is for my sensitive gag reflex gang. i see you. i hear you. i am one of you. i would still let joshua hong violate my throat, anyway. 🫶

he’s such a gentleman.

each time you’ve introduced joshua to one of your friends, they’ve all said the same thing. he’s so nice. he’s so sweet. he’s so caring. so dreamy… a real gentleman — you don’t find many people like him, anymore. and each time, you’ve rolled your eyes. each time, you’ve dry-heaved for dramatic effect, pulled a face, waved them off, told them to shut up. because yeah, whatever, you know he’s a nice guy. you know he always pulls your chair out for you and walks you home when it’s getting dark. you know he’s the first to offer his coat, the first to ask if he can get you a drink.

seeing them all get hearts in their eyes over him makes you feel kind of squicky, though. because you’ve never, not a day in your life, looked at him the way your friends all seem to.

at least… not until today.

not until he tugged his hawaiian shirt off his shoulders and dove gracefully into seungkwan’s swimming pool. not until he surfaced, grinning brightly, pushing his hair back off his forehead. not until the swell of his shoulders glistened in the summer sunlight, broad and tanned and decorated with droplets of water from tip to tip. not until he locked eyes with you as he waded through the pool with hansol on his back, engaging in something of a jousting contest against mingyu and chan. (not until they won said joust and joshua threw hansol off him to celebrate their victory, and it looked like he was shrugging off little more than a bag of sugar.)

not until now, as he rests his forearms on the side of the pool and calls your name. as if he needs to do anything to get your attention from where you’re laid out on the sun lounger. as if he hasn’t had it for hours.

“are you getting in?” he asks, raking those thick fingers through his dripping hair again, slicking a few stray strands back.

now, submerging yourself in the water sounds unbelievably tempting — it’s such a hot day and your skin is slick with sweat even as you relax in the shade. but there’s a lot of splashing going on in there right now and you could really do without a six foot two man-puppy trying to use you as a human shield, so…

“nah, not right now,” you say, shaking your head.

that brilliant grin is replaced by a playful looking pout. still, he’s all honey-voiced when he asks, “later, then?”

“sure, yeah. maybe later.”

“i’ll hold you to that,” he says, cupping water in his hands and squeezing them so that it shoots straight at you. a squeak escapes your lips at the chill when it hits your bare legs; joshua kicks away from the wall of the pool chuckling to himself and swims back over to where his friends are still playing around without him, leaving you to stare slack-jawed at his toned back as he retreats.

half an hour later, you’ve moved to sit at the edge of the pool and you’re kicking your feet slowly through the water. an intense game of marco polo is well and truly underway when seungkwan appears at one shoulder, offering you a popsicle; you take it gratefully, unwrapping the treat and having a taste, sighing blissfully at the frozen cola flavour that melts onto your tongue.

the host sits down beside you for a little while and you talk comfortably while the fun and games continue. he stays for a while, laughing and joking and catching up with you, before he disappears back into the shade and leaves you to your own devices.

and at some point during all this, joshua takes notice of you. he sees the way your lips close around the ice pop. he sees the way your eyes flutter closed at how sweet and refreshing it tastes. he sees how your cheeks hollow out around it, how your tongue sweeps over the tip, how you hold it so gently between your teeth and giggle at what seungkwan’s saying to you, how you wipe your lips with the back of your hand to clear the stickiness…

so when you glance over to him, after saying goodbye to the host, joshua’s eyes are already on you; his jaw is tense and his eyes are dark as he stares from the opposite side of the pool. chan is slowly edging towards him but he doesn’t seem to care all that much. all it appears he can do is look at you and watch as your throat bobs with each swallow you take.

so, in the spirit of giving him a good show, you suckle a little more of the popsicle into your mouth with your gazes locked firmly together. and a little more, and a little more. just a few moments later with his lips locked into a tight line and a bead of sweat on his forehead, joshua silently lifts himself out of the water, beckoning you with one tweak of his fingers to tell you to follow.

you lift your feet up out of the water and pat your legs dry with the towel you’ve been sat on, heading inside while trying very hard not to think about the fact that the man you’re about to run into is the sole cause of the ache between your thighs.

you toss the stick to your popsicle in the trash on your way through and no sooner have you crossed the threshold into the hallway, one of joshua’s devastatingly large hands finds place on the small of your back. with hardly any pressure at all, the contact stops you in your tracks and you find yourself turning to face him.

“that was quite the… performance,” he says quietly. if you strain, you can still hear the fun being had outside, but the quiet surrounding the two of you in the house makes it so that every syllable that comes from his perfectly shaped lips shoots straight through you.

“i don’t know what you mean.” you shrug, acting as unfazed by his fingertips grazing over your bare skin as you wish you could be.

joshua gives a soft chuckle by way of a response, his other hand lifting up to your cheek, thumb and forefinger toying with a couple of the baby hairs right in front of your ear. “you don’t?” he asks, and you shake your head at him, playing down the slight stutter in your breathing. he isn’t fooled. “i had no idea our little y/n was so brazen.”

“brazen,” you scoff, pressing one hand against his chest. he’s scorching hot (no doubt a symptom of having been in the sun all afternoon), but you double down anyway, curling your fingertips against his skin. “josh, i wasn’t even doing anything.”

“sure.” he pauses, moving to press his thumb to your bottom lip, feeling the slight chill on your skin from your treat before. “if sitting in full view of everyone and eye-fucking me with that popsicle halfway to your throat counts as ‘not doing anything’, i guess you’re totally innocent.”

this choice of phrasing from your supposed most gentlemanly friend reduces all of the thoughts between your ears to mere static. you can probably count on your fingers the number of times you’ve actually heard him curse, but you’d run out of cogitable numbers before adding up the number of occasions he’s told others to mind their language. shit, it’s so alien on him, but… it’s so hot. in his slightly lower register, quiet and hushed and only for you…

you’ll drench through your bikini bottoms any minute if you aren’t careful.

“totally,” you mumble, the word only half-audible beneath the pad of his thumb. with your eyes as wide and sweet as you can make them, you do what is about the only reasonable thing you can think to do (even though it’s not actually very reasonable, at all). you purse your lips slightly before parting them and sucking the tip of his thumb into your mouth. his jaw tightens, throat tensing as you swipe your tongue across his skin, but his own lips lift up into a twisted sort of smile after a moment anyway .

“all talk,” he breathes, sliding his thumb out of your mouth and gripping your jaw a little harshly. “all talk, no action.”

“is that right?”

“feel free to prove me wrong.”

joshua turns you both around so that he has you pressed against the wall behind you. with one forward push of his hips, you can feel his cock hard and prodding at your abdomen. a gasp escapes before you can do anything about it, and the metaphorical envelope bursts open. the line is crossed. there’s no turning back – and god, are you pleased about that.

the first move is completely on you. when you push up onto your toes and press your lips to his, it feels as though your whole body catches alight. you don’t waste time with pretty kisses, either – you go straight in, parting your lips, licking against his own. his tongue meets yours, his hands tighten around your waist – it’s messy, sloppy, feverish; you grow lightheaded and dizzy, but whether it’s because you don’t come up for a proper gulp of air for several minutes, or because the man whose arms you’re currently occupying is kissing the life, death, rebirth and repeat out of you… you’re not sure. regardless, you feel like you’re making out with him on the surface of the fucking sun.

his hand drops from your jaw to your throat and his fingers squeeze in just the right place to trigger another rush of heat between your legs. your pussy tightens around nothing and you get out a quiet whine, lips stilling completely; joshua pulls away from the messy kiss smirking at you, tightening his fist a little more.

“so you can take my tongue down your throat,” he says directly into your ear, his usually delicate voice hardly more than a low rumble. it sends shiver after shiver down your spine. “but is that all, pretty girl?”

you shake your head as much as his hand will allow and the pressure from his fist starts to push down against your collarbones, weighing you towards the floor. you obediently drop down to your knees, straightening your back until you’re eye level with his cock. all the while, your gaze stays upwards at his face, lashes fluttering when he eventually has to relinquish his hold on your throat.

“i’ve always thought you had the most beautiful eyes,” he sighs, cupping your chin before sliding his hand around to the back of your neck. his cock twitches against his swimming shorts as you shuffle on your knees to get a little closer to him. “never thought i’d see them like this, though.”

“never knew you wanted to,” you say, lifting your hands up to his sides. they find the waistband of his trunks and start to tug at them playfully but joshua swats them away.

“behind your back,” he tells you. he fucking tells you, and it flashes through your mind briefly to take the bait and snip back at him. you don’t take instructions. you don’t take commands. but there’s a very real fire in the way he’s staring down at you and lord, it’s so hot that you think it’s actually scalding you.

maybe you can bend your rules, just this once. just for him.

so you clasp your hands behind you and watch as he tugs his cock free from his shorts. when he holds it in his palm, strokes up and down the length a few times right in front of your eyes, you’re stuck trying to figure out if maybe his hands aren’t as big as you thought or if his dick is actually just huge. either way, you can’t stop staring at it; your lips fall apart and he chuckles down at you, swiping his thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of precum collecting there. he just about manages to suppress a shudder.

“open,” he says.

you don’t hesitate.

your lips part and almost straight away, he presses his tip into your mouth. the weight of him on your tongue makes your pussy flutter and you close your watering mouth around his shaft, massaging your tongue over every inch it can reach. one of joshua’s hands comes to rest on the wall above your head to keep him steady; the other returns to the back of your head, fingers pressing into your hair, tugging at the strands already.

the first thrust of his hips takes you entirely by surprise; he slides through your spit-slickened lips all too easily and he hits the back of your mouth much quicker than you’d expected him to. you feel your throat constricting in a gag, muscles squeezing around his tip, and joshua lets out a deep, animalistic grunt at the feeling that shoots all the way into his gut.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes falling closed as he pulls at your hair hard enough to sting. “that felt so good.”

you take a couple of breaths and regrasp your hands behind you, preparing yourself for it to happen again. you know you can take him – you’re sure you can. he just caught you off guard.

but he presses forward for a second time, bumping that super sensitive spot in your mouth, and you gag around him again. and again, and again, and again. your throat takes a beating, but joshua is relentless and he doesn’t stop fucking into your mouth, swearing and moaning with each strangled sound that his cock successfully muffles from you.

“poor little slut,” he groans, teeth gritted in an attempt to keep as quiet as he can manage. he continues to use your mouth like a damn fleshlight and all the while, he keeps talking, curling his fingers into the wall for stabilisation. “can’t handle me, can you? bet you thought you’d be able to take it so easily. fuck, you keep gagging like that and i’ll come right down your throat.”

your eyes are wet and streaming from the corners when you pull off him to catch your breath, chest heaving deeply, forehead slick with sweat.

“so fucking big, josh,” you gasp, swallowing around nothing. your jaw aches already from the exertion but you miss having him in your mouth, even if he’s right. even if maybe it is too much. even if you can’t handle him without choking a little, without your eyes dribbling with tears. you don’t care. you want – no, you need to taste him again, you need to feel the sheer heft of his cock on your tongue.

“look so pretty when you cry over it,” he tells you, bending a little and grabbing your face with one hand, pinching your cheeks so your lips purse. “think you can take a little more?”

you nod even though you really aren’t sure, technically speaking, if you can. but your cheeks sting deliciously from the harsh press of his blunt nails and you’ve managed to suck a little bit of air back into your lungs, so you open your mouth again and joshua lets go of your face, letting you lave your tongue over his cock for a moment first before he rams straight back into your mouth.

you groan and whine and whimper as he continues his assault on your throat, trying to relax the muscles to make the slide a little easier but it never seems to let up. your clit is throbbing, neglected, sore, but pressing your thighs together only makes it worse, and though you’re sort of morbidly curious as to what joshua would do if you were to start touching yourself right now, you also think that he’s far more likely to help you out if you behave.

“gonna let me come in that beautiful mouth?” he asks, straining for every word, and just the thought of him shooting ropes of his climax straight into your throat has you about ready to collapse. you try to nod, but his eyes are clamped so tightly shut that he quite obviously doesn’t see you. as clearly as you can, you manage a quiet ‘mhm’, and the vibrations of your hum makes him swear. loudly.

“good little slut, – shit.” his hips start to stutter and you hollow out your cheeks, sucking at his cock for all you’re worth. “fuck, keep doing that. m’so close–”

the vein that runs down the underside of his length throbs against your tongue and you feel him release as he stills completely, grabbing the back of your head forcefully, holding you in place. all you can do is swallow around his shaft, let your throat massage all the cum out of him, whine and moan and let him empty himself until he can barely stand.

he taps the back of your head once he’s completely spent and you swallow one last time before gently pulling away from him, not standing to your feet yet but lifting one hand to rest it over his own. he squeezes your fingers, laughing drily and shaking his head before he gets a little bit of his strength back and tugs you up to your feet.

“i really didn’t know you had it in you, y/n,” he says, both his hands resting on your shoulders and gently massaging them. “are you okay? didn’t hurt too much?”

your throat is burning and all your muscles in your jaw feel like they’re going to seize up any minute, but you shake your head anyway. some pains are worth the gain.

“m’okay,” you assure him, pressing your back against the wall and sighing out at how cold the tile feels on your skin. “just… fuck.”

“yeah?” he asks, thumbs working magic on your skin.

you nod. “never been this turned on in my life,” you groan. “you’re hot when you’re an asshole.”

“feel free to get used to it,” he grins, slipping one hand down and pressing his fingers into your tit instead, the thin material of your swimsuit offering little barrier from the pleasure he’s already sending through you in shockwaves.

“yeah?”

“yeah. especially if you’re gonna act like that in front of everyone.”

you roll your eyes at him, sucking your front teeth but you can't quite stop the devilish grin that settles onto your face as he slips beneath the fabric of your top. “i don’t know what you mean,” you tease, echoing your own words from before. “i wasn’t even doing anything, josh.”

thank u sm for reading!! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all always so greatly appreciated.<3

#joshua hong smut #joshua smut #hong jisoo smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #joshua x reader #joshua hong x reader #hong jisoo x reader #kpop smut #j writes.#*

919 notes · View notes

shadowdaddies · 3 months

Note

So being sick with covid and being on my period at the same time is not fun so I was wondering if you haven't already done it a sick reader head cannon? With whatever Sarah J. Mass male you want or all of them whatever you want.

ah I'm so sorry you're sick love! covid definitely seems to be making the rounds right now, stay safe and I hope you feel better soon💜

SJM Males When You're Sick Headcanons

ACOTAR

Azriel

⁃ Azriel knows you’re sick before you do

⁃ His shadows wake him up in the night when they hear your sniffled breathing, notice your fever

⁃ He’s up and getting you water and a cool rag, making some tea with medicine from Madja as soon as you are up

⁃ If he has to go anywhere, he leaves his shadows with you to keep him updated on how you’re doing or if you need anything

⁃ He gets you your favorite flowers and a book, which he reads to you as you take a warm bath, the water helping with any congestion

⁃ Picks out your favorite clothes for you to sleep in, keeping an eye on you while being careful not to pester you too much

Rhys

⁃ Rhys secretly loves the excuse to take care of you

⁃ You usually tease him for using magic to do the smallest things, so he takes every opportunity to make anything you could need appear in an instant. You want warm soup? Right there. Another blanket? Five blankets of various fabrics appear without hardly a thought.

⁃ You are not leaving the bed. Rhys pushes any meetings or responsibilities he has to stay with you, taking the opportunity as the perfect excuse to spend quality time with you, absolutely spoiling you in every way

Cassian

⁃ Cassian gets anxious, immediately going to Madja for any possible medicine you could need

⁃ He would ask for step by step instructions on how to best care for you while you’re sick, and stick to that routine

⁃ He makes sure to make you food with lots of nutrients to boost your immune system

⁃ Azriel and Feyre both tell him to calm down and that you just need to rest, so Cassian carries you everywhere. He is undressing you, lifting you into the bathtub, washing your hair…

⁃ And then he discovers how much he likes carrying you everywhere, cradling you to his chest bridal style. It becomes a tough habit for him to break once you’re feeling better

Lucien

⁃ listens to you and what you need

⁃ He’ll do lots of small things, like bringing you a sweet treat or small gift to cheer you up

⁃ Knowing you feel terrible, he consistently tells you how beautiful you look and how lucky he is to be your mate, despite your laughter and protests

⁃ Plans a special night for the two of you once you’re better doing something he knows you love

Eris

⁃ this sweet baby is on high alert the moment he notices something is wrong

⁃ Once you’ve assured him that no one hurt you, you just aren’t feeling well, he checks you over thoroughly

⁃ He will make sure that you are tended to for everything you could need, assigning various people to give you medicine, cook you whatever meals you like, etc

⁃ But he’ll complain that they’re not doing a sufficient job and take over, halting his duties to take care of you

Throne of Glass

Rowan

⁃ Teases you for getting sick, saying you’re being irresponsible and not taking care of yourself

⁃ But he’ll insist on caring for you, making no sure you get plenty of rest and that no one bothers you with responsibilities

⁃ He’s the perfect one to hold you when you’re sick, his warm body soothing against yours as he wills a gentle, cool wind against your face

Crescent City

Hunt

⁃ he’d hear your small cough when he came in the house and immediately crumble

⁃ He’d rush over to you, asking what hurts and if he can get you anything to drink or eat, ordering your favorite food to be delivered

⁃ He’d pick you up in his lap, bundling you in blankets as he held you close until you fall asleep

⁃ He’d let you watch whatever show you wanted, even if the sunball game was on (but once you’re asleep, sunball is back on the TV)

⁃ Forehead kisses. Constantly. Carrying you into the shower, softly washing your body while he kisses all over your head and shoulders, wherever he can show physical affection

Ruhn

⁃ This cute dumbass would tease you at first, probably ask if you’re hungover

⁃ Once he realizes you’re sick, he’d go all out. Messaging Flynn and Dec to gather food and medicine for you while he sets you up in your shared room with blankets, pillows, TV, etc

⁃ He lays in bed with you, absentmindedly playing with your hair, watching tv, just to be there if you need anything and so you don’t feel alone

⁃ He’s definitely searching on his phone “will I catch my girlfriend’s sickness if I go down on her?”

324 notes · View notes

my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 3 months

Note

Hi Fen! Hope you're doing well <3

I've been having such a hard time going to sleep lately and I was wondering if the moon boys ever have that problem - when they're not trying to stay up that is. So what do you think? Do any of them have trouble falling asleep? What do they do when that happens? And how do you think they'd help a Reader who couldn't fall asleep?

I’m so sorry you’re having trouble sleeping! (And that it’s taken me so long to reply) I hope you're doing better now <3

Rating: PG Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: brief mention to sex

Steven

Doesn’t have trouble sleeping, and can go to sleep quite easily when he’s not fighting it AND when Marc isn’t co-fronting (Marc’s sleeping issues bleed over into Steven).

When you can’t sleep though Steven is more than happy to stay up with you.

“Spend most of my adult life on 2 hours of sleep a day, didn't I? Yes. So this isn’t even water off a duck’s back, this is air off a duck’s back, this is not even noticeable love.”

Will suggest lots of different things to do: reading (he will read to you if you want to try to sleep), watch something, listen to music, go on a weird London at 3:30am walk, “the night tube is running and we could go to 24 hour karaoke in Soho?”, “did you know these libraries are open at 4am?”, “I know a 24 gym that has a pool, we could go swimming!”, “Beckenham Place Park actually has open water swimming, I bet we’d be the only ones there! But I’m gonna wear a nose clip because I don’t want possible brain-eating amoeba up my nose, do I? No.” Proceeds to tell you a documentary's worth of information about Naegleria fowleri and how it was found in 1978 in Bath, so “yes it is in the UK Marc.”

Basically he’s full of ideas about where to go in the middle of the night that’s open because that’s what he used to do when he was trying not to sleep. (Also it’s nice to do things when there’s not so many people about.)

Will suggest driving to a spot he knows outside of London where there’s less light pollution to look at the stars. Will wake up Jake to do the driving. Will bully the hell out of Khonshu if the sky isn’t clear. (And will make him get rid of the cloud.)

100% would ask if you would like him to fuck you to sleep.

Marc

He’s not asleep either.

Usually gets Steven or Jake to fall asleep for him.

However, if they’re already asleep, or not available, he goes with the ‘I am laying down with my eyes closed, because it’s still resting’ philosophy.

He tries not to toss and turn a lot, but he does bless him.

Has tried to drink himself to sleep on several occasions.

Doesn’t like to see you having trouble sleeping at all and spends ages fussing over you.

Fluffs the pillows, gets extra blankets, gets less blankets, turns the heating on, gets the fan out, will run you a bath and put all the lavender stuff in and make you 500 herbal teas, then change the bed covers.

Will offer to sleep on the sofa or the floor so he doesn’t disturb you while you’re trying to sleep. (Then apologies when you obviously hate the idea of him being away from you.)

Is giving ALL the cuddles, however you want them. Will lay in the most uncomfortable position for himself for you to be comfy (will not tell you the position is uncomfortable for him.)

Tells you the most outrageously made up stories in quiet hushed tones to help lull you to sleep and then acts mock offended if you doubt that anything he says didn’t really happen.

Makes you cum on his mouth repeatedly until you’re so exhausted you have no choice but to fall asleep.

Jake

Can actually fall asleep anywhere at any time.

I still firmly believe that before Steven and Marc know about him he would front just to go to sleep because they are so bad at getting some shut eye and constantly run the body into the ground.

Has melatonin tablets and a whole pharmacy's worth of sleeping aids to share.

Will 100% take you for a drive to try to get you to fall asleep (or just to take you somewhere if you want, or if Steven has woken him up to drive.)

“Jake, I need you to drive to-”

“Steven… It's bedtime, time for sleep. No driving.”

“Oh, but S/O is having trouble sleeping and-”

Jake is already out of bed with his car keys in hand.

Will offer to be your weighted blanket and lay all over you.

Says he will threaten Khonshu to keep the sun down so you can rest if it takes you a while to get to sleep.

Tries to (lovingly) bore you to sleep by counting sheep out loud and in detail. “This one is a Merino sheep, the ones that are very fluffy. Her name is Harold. She likes grass, but not clover. Which is unusual for a sheep. So that’s one so far, one sheep. Now this next one is…”

Doesn’t offer sexy times because he doesn’t want to be pushy, however if you suggest it he’s happily all over you.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

187 notes · View notes

iwaasfairy · 2 years

Text

┌─ “ ! „ MARINE BLUE

tw. noncon!, dubcon, size kink, dacryphilia, biting, blood, interspecies sex, non-human anatomy, double penetration, blood, breeding, thalassophobia, captivity, creampie, sub reader, biting wordcount. 9.5k

a/n. here she is the mermay fic that is finally done. yes it's a monster of a fic but i promise it's worth it,, i sWear i swear ♡ enjoy merman/shark iwa rearrange your guts

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

The glimmer of the sunlight casting down on the wide open ocean is enough to make you a bit dizzy, holding up a hand over your eyes in hopes of shutting out some of the brightness. It’s undeniably beautiful, and the soft rolling of the waves brings a chilly breeze over the otherwise sweltering deck of the boat. Droplets of sweat roll down your neck, making your sunscreen covered back a little more sticky than it needs to be— but that’s a minor inconvenience to pay for a day out on the water.

Is what you tell yourself, and others when they ask. Beside you, Tobio is gearing up, yanking up his wetsuit with a little bit too much intensity and focus when it sticks on his calf or wrinkles around his thigh.

The sight makes you snort despite yourself. It’s the kind of expression on his face he has when he’s overly excited, though the narrowed frown your way would probably scare some people away. “Here, let me help,” you jump in before he rips the seal-like, dense fabric. Again.

“Yeah,” the noiret grunts. You wrap your arm around his lower stomach for stability and reach your free hand down the leg of it, feeling Tobio tense up beneath your touch. An otherwise innocent touch— but still your own face goes a few degrees hotter. He’s staring down at you as you force your hand along the length of his thigh until you get to the problem area, wiggling the sticky fabric away from his skin with a bit of work. Your hair sticks to the sides of your face when the wind picks up, but you pray you don’t look too horrible when you meet his eyes.

“I’m gonna pull it,” you say, and Tobio’s eyes flick away from your face back to his own body, then nods. “‘Kay, here— goes.” With one hard pull at the fabric it slots up the few inches and pulls nice and snug to those phenomenal thighs of his. You slide your hand back out along the side and let out a little puff of air, then take a step back to wipe your hand over your forehead. You’re most definitely flushed, nose and ears an obvious shade of embarrassment. But you are… painfully obvious, after all. “Good?”

“Yeah, thank you,” Kageyama doesn’t quite turn to face you when he says it, instead choosing to jam his arms into the sleeves with just as much enthusiasm as before, but it sounds genuine.

“Ahem,” the lithe, annoyingly familiar voice to your side chants, “if ya don’t mind, lover boy. The rest of’us are ready when you are.” Atsumu’s got his arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow obnoxiously raised your way as you meet his look head on. There’s a short twitch of an amused smile that comes to his lips, before he sighs. “Yer’ gonna be okay up here, ain’t ya? ‘S not exactly the most fun of jobs, even if ‘a trust ya with ma life.” You nod, taking the softer look in his eyes of one of concern. Hidden under a lot of posturing and a lot of talk, but concern nevertheless. “Don’t get a heatstroke out ‘ere. We’ll be in for a little while, so drink some damn water.”

“I will, I will,” you roll your eyes, but the smile that comes to your lips is a genuine one, “thank you, ‘ma.”

He pointedly ignores your quip to help Osamu put on his oxygen, checking every tube and valve meticulously before they go. Bokkun, as always, is the first in the water, and you take a quick second to wave him out before undoing the rope around the railing and tossing the floaty down into the water for the big swimmer to grab. He says something that you miss when Osamu jumps the last bit of the ladder down, but the smile beaming on his cheeks is enough to settle you. “Have fun, guys!” you yell behind them, watching both Atsumu and Tsukki descend the ladder and get into the water.

Last up is Tobio, whose goggles and mouthpiece still dangle around his neck as he fixes the escaping bit of hair into his suit. “You sure you don’t wanna come with?” he asks, winding his arms around your lower back to pull you a little closer. “I mean, we can wait a little longer if you do. There’s plenty of gear down below, and we’re anchored. You don’t need to stay up here for our sake.” His little frown is pouty, and you’re quick to lean up and cup his cheeks. He has to dip down a little to allow you the comfort of reaching, as you lay a long kiss on his lips.

“I’m sure. You guys go have fun.” Your eyes go to his chest, then aside at the ropes of the ladder. He lingers a little longer, letting out a sigh and laying a kiss to the top of your head. “Bring me back something pretty.” You usher him along after the others, who in the meantime have connected the floaty to the weight a couple dozen feet away. A little far for your liking, but then again— keeping up with Bokuto when he’s on a roll is nigh impossible. The noiret sends you a thumbs up when in the water, and you wave him off with a small smile. It doesn’t take long before he’s reached the floater and resumes the last of the gearing up, then dives.

And then it’s just you. And the impossibly far stretch of the ocean as the bright midday sun gleams on its surface and glistens like a night sky full of stars. The warm waves and the salt bobbing peacefully against the ship belly, with the occasional hiccup or gurgle. You really do love it out here. The little alcove formed by the stacks of rocks is hidden in its shadow, running wind between the giant rocks where they stick out of the ocean strong and sturdy. In a hundred more years, these giants might have eroded away by wind and rain and the biting of its ocean footing.

But for now it is still your favorite diving spot, with the summer weather and the usually gentle pull of the ocean. Down below the surface, there’s a few underwater grottos, and a gorgeous stretch of land that used to be covered head to toe in coral reefs. Not so much anymore, sadly. Your last few years diving you’ve been more focused on the fauna— by necessity. The gentle bob of the waves against the hull of the ship calls to you, spattering into a million warm droplets.

It’s unfortunate. Your stomach still twists and turns at the idea of following them down, and you know that if you think about it too long, you’ll start to panic. And when you panic, your breathing goes short and hiccup-y and you get this awful urge to fight against your years-long collected knowledge; and that leaves you a useless addition to the team. Even just a few meters under had set you off last time. Left you sputtering and crying as you surfaced too quickly and your ears popped so hard you had to sit down for a while afterwards. It’s not fair, you think as you lay yourself down on the deck, legs still dangling off the side of the boat for the drops of cooler water.

How a single dive can ruin years of experience. But unfortunate and frustrating as it might be— you remember the darkness of the ocean. Night diving is always a bit of a gamble, that time hadn’t been a special occasion.

You remember being swept by an undercurrent, away from the guys, away from the lights. Remember your throat closing up when the water went a few degrees colder, the weight of the oxygen flasks on your back pulling you down despite your flippers working harder than normal. All scary, deafening— but then the yank. You’d never felt anything like that. Yanked a few meters deeper by a mean natured thing, the cold of it on your calf until you screamed around your mouthpiece and kicked toward your own leg.

The memory still gives you that tight feeling deep in your chest, that the ocean was victimizing you personally. You’d barely been able to force yourself to ascend slowly from the depths when you’d finally made it back towards the lights, shaking so badly Atsumu had to help you out of your gear after. Realistically, people die every day. Divers die being stupid, or reckless, or overconfident. The ocean doesn’t have a moral compass, after all. You don’t really want to become a number in a statistic.

But still, you long to join your friends again, to enjoy the perfect diving conditions to scuba around the familiar scenery yet again. You could spend hours for every day of the rest of your life and still never have enough.

You stretch out your arms above your head and let the sun warm up every fiber of you, glowing in the heat and the smell of salt winds that sticks in your nose and makes your hair a rough, coarse mess. It can only have been an octopus, you decided this only a few days after the incident, and you still believe it now. There’s a lot of them around the sandy ocean floor, hiding under rocks and nesting in the grottos from time to time, and while they are very strong, they’re not ill natured. It was an accident, you know this. So really, there’s nothing holding you from going back in. At least to splash around a little until the others return.

The time ticks by fast when you’re focused on the wind and the heat of the sun, lulled by the gentle tilt of the boat back and forth. Your feet a bit colder, toes stretching out towards nothing.

You sit up, pop the top off of your flask and down a few good gulps of water, then peer down into the water a couple feet away from you. The water closest to the stacked stone is only a good 10 meters deep, slowly dropping off the further you get away. Not even enough to truly hurt yourself if you do panic, though you’d rather avoid another incident. It rolls and bubbles under your feet, a clear, iridescent color that foams white. And you let out another wistful sigh, until your breathing hitches.

There’s a dark form that flicks through the water and under your boat, too fast to identify— all you see is that it’s big. Longer than the types of dolphins that come here. The ocean floor remains mostly undisturbed, but you suddenly jerk forward as the boat gets bumped from the other side. Your hand wraps around the railing while you stare, watching that same animal dart through under the water edge, tail whipping up a serious splash as the boat jerks again. You almost slip off the deck with the force of it. You’ve never seen any dolphin bump a boat this way either, you think in a fit of anxiety, sweaty palm wrapping tighter around the cool metal.

Your mind races with thoughts as you try to make note of what you saw, looking over at the floaty. It’s not nearly far enough not to come in contact with it if it’s aggressive, though the rapidness of the movements stay around the belly of your boat. The tail is the only thing you can really see because of the reflections on the water, but the pointy angles and fins don’t remind you of anything other than— You take a sharp breath. You do get sharks here from time to time, but Grey Reefs are small and gentle. In all your years diving you’ve never seen one this big— or aggressive.

And none of the guys are wearing chain protection suits in the first place, because there were no sharks reported in the area. You try to focus your eyes on catching where the shape should be moving down below, but the ocean floor is suddenly awfully vacant. And the wind picks up too, turning the boat further from the anchor point. Before you get the chance to climb down the ladder and switch on the red LEDs of the floaty, another bump jerks you off balance and you clamp your hand down around the rope ladder so hard it burns your fingers. You keep going down though, barefoot and in only your bathing suit as you get closer to the end of the ladder.

But the rope of the floaty isn’t there. Now, Bokuto is a carefree diver at the best of times, but you’ve never seen him forget to tie the rope in such a way that it stays connected to your boat. You panic. Despite all your experience, you get an awful case of cold sweat as your feet stand on the last step on the ladder and get kissed by the water, as you try to spot the floaty from your position. And sure enough, only a few feet out from the boat, the end of the rope bobs on the water surface as if taunting you. The ‘surfacing’ button is only a little further down the rope.

Your chest tightens as you look down below, at the aquamarine color and the soft weave of the waves around your toes. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. You’ve swam with sharks before. This isn’t just about your fear anymore now. Someone could get hurt if you don’t make sure they keep their eyes peeled. You take a deep breath and disconnect one hand from the ladder so you can aim your body towards the end of the rope, before sucking up all your courage to make a nice dive into the water.

Your body enters elegantly, barely splashing. The ocean feels a lot colder than you know it to be after sunbathing, gurgling around your ears as you force a few long paddles forward, then peek your head up. Your aim was a little off, but with a bit more reaching you can will yourself to focus only on the rope. It bobs temptingly just out of reach on each new wave. The water sucks a few degrees of your heat straight off of you, and your muscles are a bit sore, but your smooth technique is well worth it.

You manage to grab on, holding tight around the gritty texture as you paddle back towards the boat with your free arm. A tug stops you. Soft at first, you only notice your leeway is gone when the rope pulls down hard and fast towards the ocean floor and the burn of the rope leaving your palm is enough to have you flinching back. Instead of managing it back with the rope, you’re scared into swimming the other way when the dark shape appears back around the belly of your boat— you drag yourself instead to one of the low outcrops that surface just above the water edge. You’re shaking, your breath heaving wildly as you push yourself out of the water and onto the painfully sharp rocks on your knees.

You hack up some water you must’ve downed from the scare, before sitting down in the little sliver of sun to cast a cursory glance at your palm. There’s a few definite scratches deep enough to pull blood from the plasticized end of the rope, that now sting viciously from the salty water. More pressing is the subject of your panic though, as it lingers half hidden under your boat, only the bottom fin visible from your position. Though it certainly isn’t an ideal situation, you’re at least glad it’s staying by the boat. Visible to you means out of the way for the guys, and your heart rate— though still elevated, calms a little.

That panicked urge came up again, a thought that annoys you a bit too much as you spit onto the wound to at least wash some of the salt out of it. Your water bottle is still on deck, so you’ll have to wait until your new ‘friend’ loses interest. But the animal doesn’t budge even a little, staying right in place and course correcting with an easy whip of the strong tail. You have to admit— begrudging as you are— that there’s something slightly amusing about watching an animal twice your size just … sit under your boat like it’s taking a break in its shade.

“Thanks, jerkface,” you mumble towards the unmoving animal, though your mouth pulls up with a soft smile. The boat makes another noise when the creature bumps against it like the wave that splashes into tiny droplets again.

You can’t help but chuckle when you see some bubbles roll up along the hull and surface with a soft ‘pop’, pushing yourself up from your seated position. You should take a walk while you wait, let the movement keep you warm. The bit of stone you dragged yourself onto isn’t exactly big, but it curves into one of the bigger stacks where the gritty terrain creates a little cave. A soft splashing calls your attention back on the boat. And the absence of the previously tired shadow below it.

Salt water washes up over your feet as you sweep the area around your plateau for its shape, finding the ocean floor equally undisturbed. However normal all if this should feel on any other day, your skin stands on end, like an uncomfortable itch to run. As the wind drops, so does the twisting of your boat with the current. You drop your eyes to the far edge of your outcrop to study each rock as you think, only to go rigid. Your entire spine locks, toes digging into the stone. The top half of a face is surfaced above the water edge, as the man hides himself right up against your rock.

You stare, wide eyed and waiting— for recognition, maybe; or any explanation whatsoever. The guy doesn’t look familiar though. He doesn’t speak, but lingers just enough out of the water to keep his eyes on you, unblinking. It’s such a weird behavior that you’re not even sure what the hell to say, settling on a pitched “Wh— Sorry? I -what are you doing?!”

The man doesn’t respond, or move, and you can feel your anger rising above your concern. “This isn’t funny. You scared the shit out of me.” And then after a few seconds of pause, you point your thumb vaguely towards your friends. “We have a permit.” His eyes are sharp and angular and stunningly shiny, a pretty sort of watery green. You think you’d be able to appreciate it more if he wasn’t so damn creepy.

“... Dude, we’re allowed to dive here. Please just—” you swallow, thinking better of picking a fight. The guy is still between you and your getaway after all. “I can move the boat if you’re bothered.” Still no response. He barely seems to understand you’re even talking to him at all, and you take a few steps closer to get a good look.

It doesn’t… help. Your eyes go wide as you stare at the man— well… What seemed to be a man at first glance, doesn’t look anywhere near as normal as you really take it in. More accurate would be to call it a something. The creature bops unmoving in the water, not taking a breath, not blinking either. His hair colors a dark grey at the spiky ends, coarse with the salt water, and the skin around his jaw and cheeks is distinctly more grey too. It doesn’t move when you shuffle back a few steps, though it does seem to follow you with its eyes. Then sinks a few inches into the water to wet himself again, and back above the water.

You’re… floored. You didn’t notice any signs of dehydration, or of hitting your head— but then what the fuck are you looking at. It doesn’t make any sense at all, and you cast your eyes back at the spot where your friends dove a while ago, before turning back. The creature only takes his eyes off you a split second to follow your gaze, then goes back to staring. A deep sense of childlike curiosity washes over you the longer you stare. You’re unable to help it. You crouch down like you’d approach a stray cat, and shuffle a bit closer. Far enough to feel safe, but just close enough to take in every miniscule change on its face. “Hi.” There’s a dumb, long pause; before you point at yourself and say your name.

A few times for good measure. “I’m… I’m a friend.” As soon as you say that, though the creature doesn’t show so much as an ounce of understanding, he darts forward a few feet along the rock’s edge and closes half the distance between you in a blink. It scares you enough to fall back onto your ass with a yelp, hissing at the sting of the sharp rocks digging into your skin. The creature’s eyes are wide as he dips under the water edge basically instantly, his hiss ringing through your ears as you remain frozen for a few breaths. He moves so fucking fast. It’s a little terrifying really. The sound of bubbles is all that remains, before you allow yourself to peak a little closer to the edge again. His head is sunk about a foot under the water, but slowly comes up again when you stay in place to watch him surface.

Awfully close, only a good two feet away from your face. Too close for your liking. You give a little smile, then slowly sit back onto your heels. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” Even if he would, you somehow doubt he’d tell you this honestly, watching how a large wave washes over him and he carries on without blinking. The chill of the stone below you makes you shiver, teeth clacking. Only when you blow out a tense breath, unsure of how to proceed, the creature forces himself up a little higher out of the water with a leverage you don’t really understand.

It’s only now you really see the stark differences. Though anyone would be forgiven mistaking him from a distance, as close as you are, you can see the dark grey and lighter bellied pattern start to appear along his shoulders. Under the full head of hair, you can now see that where your ears sit, his are obviously absent, and the sides of his throat have gashes that open and close a few times, twitching against the cold wind. “Wow,” you can’t help letting your mouth drop open at this alien-like sight, looking both very human and distinctly separate.

Whatever curiosity that had sparked the creature to come up to watch you in the first place seems to get the better of him, leaning into the rock edge and pulling one clawed hand out of the water to rest it on the gritty surface. His fingers are a greyish blue, and have black, predatory nails only on the three first fingers; silvery membrane stuck between each digit. A hand that’s ever so slowly slid your way until his index finger bumps up against your knee and you’re too anxious to move a muscle. He taps the fatty pad of his finger along your knee with the tiniest movements known to man, as if testing you out, then slowly rests his hand over your knee.

You’re not sure why, but the touch is surprisingly comforting— maybe as a stark difference between the rush of adrenaline you had just minutes earlier. He, in turn, seems absolutely fascinated by your skin, poking and feeling and letting his cold fingers roam around the area. It gives you goosebumps. He looks up at you every few seconds as if to check for your reaction, before pulling back entirely and dipping back under the water surface. “Hey, wait!” you crawl forward to watch as he lingers at the rock edge, before floating back up. This time letting his entire body float up, and splashing his giant tail for good measure.

“What’s up?” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth. He floats easily, clearly very muscular torso flowing down into an equally ripped tail. It’s huge, with the same shark-like coloring going down all the way to the white tip of his fin. When you don’t move, he seems to raise an eyebrow your way, a reaction so strangely human you can’t help but huff out a laugh. He moves his tail again, throwing some water over your thighs in the process— as if encouraging you to touch in return.

“O-oh,” you struggle to come up with anything to say, “I’ll be gentle. Don’t… freak out.” However strange, the exploration seems entirely led by the creature instead of you. Your fingers brush over the colder, wet surface of his tail with just as much consideration as he had for you. It’s nowhere near as squishy as it looks, consisting of stacked muscle upon cartilage — you can feel as he flexes below your hand. He also has claspers, that you pointedly ignore to study the rest of him, but you’re glad your assessment was correct. Male it is.

You cast a glance back to his face, but he retains the same unbothered look as you slide down to feel his fins at the very end of his tail. “Your tail is very pretty,” you coo, and his fin moves to splash up a few droplets of water onto your skin.

At the very least, the sound of your voice seems to please him. He shakes you off to push his tail back under himself, flicking it a few times, before coming to hang back over the rock. Maybe with the confidence of your previous successful touch, you dare reach out your hand to his arm too, along the slightly coarser skin there. It feels a little like very fine sand, and seems to tickle him as he lets out a purring sound that can only remind you of a cat. “Can I see your gills?”

He tilts his head aside when you motion to his neck, understanding; you slide your fingers along his shoulder to the base of his neck. The narrow slits open and close automatically, and he jerks when you brush a finger over them. They’re much softer than the rest of the body, a wet, spongy sort of feeling that has you pulling back quickly. “Sorry! Sorry.” He blows some air through his nose in response, before wetting himself again under the water edge and coming back up. “You can’t stay out for too long, can you?”

No answer, of course. But you’re satisfied with the way he hasn’t left yet, and shift your legs to sit down more comfortably. Now exposing your feet, the creature only takes a second to snatch out and yank your ankle towards his face with one hand, going a little more light-handed when you yelp. He makes a clicking sound and pauses, which you take as an apology before he continues. His other hand pinches at your toes, moving them around with thinly veiled interest. His gills open and close rapidly for a few times, before he pulls your ankle again.

And again, and again, until you follow along and let the —merman— glide you down into the water, hooking your elbows onto the rock to stay afloat. He dips under your body to really inspect you, pushing and pulling your legs separately. Infinitely intrigued with your legs, he squeezes your shin where the bone sits closest to the skin and knocks it for good measure. Then he surfaces with what you can only describe as the start of a grin, exposing a row of sharp, shimmering teeth. You smile back, though it puts a definite pool of fear back into your stomach when he swims up close and starts picking at the straps of your bathing suit.

“Yes, my legs are pretty nice, huh? I,” you swat his hand away from the loop to shiver at the way he bumps his tail against your legs, “need my bathing suit though. No touching.” His clicking noises ring over the soft roll of the waves. You wish you could understand what he was saying. “You’re talkative all of a sudden.” Your laugh isn’t returned, but he seems to perk up at it anyway. The foreign sounds continue as you study the rest of his face, where little freckles sit on his nose bridge, and how large his pupils really are. He seems to notice your staring, because he grows quiet, and his brows go up like a begging puppy. The tip of his fin brushes along your shin, causing you another little shiver. And then, just as fast as you can blink, he sinks back under and disappears off into the water’s depths like it’s the easiest thing.

When you make a move to get out of the water, a harsh grasp around your ankle has you freezing up, ignoring the way sharp nails trail up the side of your body. The merman surfaces with a huff, blowing salt water towards you and you frown. But then he curls up a little closer, and you appreciate the way the rubbing of his skin feels like a warm spark on yours. He leans in to sniff at the side of your face and neck, then sinking down to your collarbones, and rubs his face against you in a stubborn sort of bumping motion.

His rough exploration with his hands soon grows a little too close for comfort to the lower half. “You got something you’re looking for?” you breathe out, turning aside a little to avoid the way his lips brush along your jaw and under your ear, hanging on with a tremor growing from the cold. He doesn’t seem to notice— or at the very least, care, and picks a nail under the leg of your bathing suit with curiosity. “Stop that, that’s mine. Mine,” you try to laugh off the heat starting to make itself obvious on your face, and ignore his narrowing eyes to softly push his hand away from you.

Something the merman doesn’t seem to appreciate much, because his tail wraps around you in a second and he turns you to face the rock side instead, swimming up behind you to trail fingers along the base of your neck. It’s awfully intimate, even when under the veil of innocent exploration. His claws drag along the veins in your neck where your cold body is pressed up against yours. He maneuvers you around to urge your hips back and up, letting out a frustrated rumble when you sink back under. “I don’t know what you want me to do,” you bite back. You watch as he dips back down and twirls around a few times underneath you, lifting your legs up and open to inspect. Before you can even think about your current position, he swims between your legs and pushes his face in between your thighs.

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you splutter and swallow. “F— Hey, h-” You shove your hand onto the top of his head to push him back down, but he doesn’t even budge, your fingers tangling into his coarse mess of hair as he grabs your thigh tight. “Hey!” You’re too embarrassed to look down as he pushes his nose against your pelvic area through your bathing suit— you want to chalk it up to just curiosity, but the sheer proximity is enough to make your stomach flip. For a second you swear you can feel what must be a tongue rub along the fabric, before you’re struggling off of his shoulders with a glow so hot it’s probably coloring your entire face. “O-okay, that’s mine too. So enough. That’s enough.”

The merman surfaces with a funny look on his face, somewhere between confusion and anger at being denied, when you push yourself out of the water and back onto your safe, little rock. He swims in a circle a few times, splashing your legs with a giant scoop of water, before placing his chin on the rock. And you force the frown off your face. “Guess you wouldn’t exactly understand me already being taken.” You reach out to scratch under his jaw until the purring noise comes back. You suppose it only makes sense he can’t speak English, but getting some questions answered would be really nice right about now.

“Hey, can you dive deep?” you mumble as he cracks open one eye to look at you, just to fill some of the silence. “This place has a ton of octopi this time of year, but I haven’t been able to go down to see any. Octopus.” You draw a little shape of an octopus in the air, then mimic it swimming with your hand and point at the water. “Did you see an octopus?” Though you’re sure it’s too hard to express what you’re trying to express in hand gestures, the merman does seem to take an attempt at figuring out what you’re saying.

Then he clicks his tongue, dives under with another hard flick of his tail and disappears from your view along the ocean floor just as quickly. A little bit of hopeful curiosity snuffs out at the sight, wringing your hands together. You suppose it lasted much longer than you could ever have asked for anyway, poking your feet into the water again to swing them back and forth. The sun on your skin is still nice as you take a few seconds to collect yourself, brush some hair out of your face and ignore the heat in your stomach. Right when you slide yourself back into the water to get back onto the boat, the dark shape whizzes along the ocean floor.

He blows out a soft huff when breaking through the surface, and swims up so close you’re chest to chest. Again. His thick tail curls around you to keep you both above the water, before he pulls up a clawed hand to show off the thing in his hand. Which you quickly recognize to be an octopus, poor little arms clinging hard onto his hand and spewing ink. “Oh my god.” He shoves it towards you as you squeak. “No, don’t give it to me! What am I supposed to do with it?” You barely catch the octopus when he tosses it, quickly setting it free. The thing darts off towards the open sea within an instant, and the merman hisses, before looking back at you with a frown.

Then he’s back under, chasing down the poor thing. When he surfaces again, he shoves you straight out the water onto your rocky platform, then launches the octopus onto it too. You feel awful watching it writhe, but are a bit more surprised by how easily you’d just been tossed out the water. You let him get onto the rock with you, and grab the octopus to hand it back to you. You’re almost in tears when you smile at him, shaking your head. “I don’t— I don’t want this. I really don’t.” A few more clicks come from him when you yet again try to release the octopus, hissing in protest. But you still carefully put the poor animal back, and wash off the ink sticking to your hands as it swims away.

Your merman is staring at you with disbelief, mouth corners pulled up in a half-snarl. “It’s okay!” you coo though, “thank you. That’s very sweet.” You sit a bit closer in case he attempts to chase it down again, and pet a hand down his chest. Which seems to douse the fire in his eyes enough to relax, looking between your face and your body a few times. His gentle purring continues when you don’t move your touch away. “I don’t eat live animals. But… I a-appreciate— the gesture. And,” you struggle to continue watching the glint of razor sharp teeth when he cracks his lips open, “you’re… you’re clearly a great hunter.”

When you try to place some distance between your bodies, he lifts his tail and pats it on the wet ground, before moving the length of it over your legs. “Hey,” you quickly say, swallowing the rest of your words when he moves over you more, face to face. His long lashes are awfully distracting so close, mouth hanging open a sliver to show you a peek of a pale, pink tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he was about to kiss you.

“I’m taken,” you mumble, averting your eyes and pulling your hands to your chest for good measure.

Whatever he understands that to mean makes him growl, low and possessive. He says something you don’t understand, then growls again. His hand comes to pet your shoulder, running his nails through the baby hair at the base of your head a few times. It snags every few seconds, makes you hiss and moan too. And it makes him grin. Even worse, it sends an embarrassing amount of heat to your cunt, grimacing when you feel your pussy get slick. The earlier touching and now the press of his muscular body over yours is leaving you a mess.

His hand pushes against your thigh, twitching hard, which has your eyebrows pulling tight. You go pale when you look down. What you assumed to be his hand was something else completely, moving around against your thigh with a sticky sheen being rubbed on your skin. The claspers you’d earlier seen to identify him as male, are swollen and extended, and he’s basically rubbing them against your hip like he’s grinding his cocks into you. His tail is heavy enough to keep you in place under him, and his crawled hand is slid along your side when the purring continues. “Oh, fuck,” you mouth, “oh fuck.” Trying to slip out from under him makes him let out a mean growl, mouth corners lifting to show his canines.

“I’m already taken,” you quickly whisper under him again, placing a hand on his shoulder as your eyes dart all around his face, “please get off. You— I- I’m flattered, really. But you should find yourself,” the growl turns into a hiss when you push at him, “a nice mer lady!” When you get one leg from under the heavy press of his tail he snaps his jaw and clamps his hand tight around your arm, laying down on top of you. His head is nuzzled— or forced— into the crook of your throat and his hips buck against you. “I can’t,” you squeak, shivering under his huge body.

He doesn’t care. The two cocks squirm against your belly, making you feel gross in every single way. Once again you try to push him away with a sad ‘no’, but this time the merman hisses and shows his teeth in a display that even you know to be aggressive. The blunt heads twitch and curl against you in a way that feels so foreign and uncomfortable that your lungs are folding in onto themselves, with only the fabric of your bathing suit that sits in the way. The man’s eyes, despite the brilliant color of them, are narrowed and uncaring. And you understand then, that he —it— has absolutely no intention of letting your begging sway him.

The impatient clawing at your thighs is painful, course skin rubbing against yours. You’ve never thought of yourself as delicate before, but pressed under the huge —absurdly so— creature, you find yourself crying. For yourself, and what you know will happen. It makes your skin break out into a cold sweat, adrenaline pumping under you as his heavy tail twitches over you, and he tries to pull you closer in a way that sends a splitting pain down your spine.

It’s only instinct to get away. Your eyes shut and you slam your elbow forward into his throat, kicking and wiggling until his grip loosens with a surprised noise, and you scramble up shaking. If you had more time to stop and think, maybe you’d think twice about rushing over to the edge of your little platform. But you only hear your mind scream to run! get away, and so you jump. Off the rocks into the coldness of the water, feeling the clack of the pressure on your ears and head, you wildly paddle yourself back to the surface and towards the blurry shape of the boat.

Your muscles are achy from the change in temperature, head fuzzy. And there’s this awful, rapid pumping of a heartbeat that should feel familiar, but doesn’t at all. You pull your arm out of the water and drag it through as hard and best you can, making a decent dent in the distance separating you from safety. But it’s not enough. If you’d been able to think twice, you would’ve known it not to be enough. The hand is back before you can so much as brace yourself, deathly tight as it wraps around your ankle and you’re yanked down. You take a stuttered gulp of air before being pulled under into the chilly cold again, and though you thrash wildly, you can’t see anything with the push of the wave on your skull.

When the tail wraps back around you, you open your eyes despite the salty water, trying and failing to shove at his shoulder before your arm is caught too. Your heart bangs so violently against your ribs you’re scared it might pop out through the skin. But you can’t really think, because your eyes shut against the pain of the salt, filling into your nose, clacking your ears. Your head flops forward as the merman drags you through the water; and it hurts. Your lungs hurt. Your eyes hurt. The panicked feeling screaming between your ears hurts, and without anything else to do, you open your mouth and scream.

What little sound reaches your own ears gives way for the water to fill your mouth up, the gross, unbearable taste of the ocean water now drowning you. You’re drowning. You’re drowning.

And then you’re shoved so violently back onto the ledge that you don’t feel yourself land until the water is pushed from your lungs with the force of it, and you’re gasping and thrashing around on the stone now. You gag against the salt as spit drips out your mouth and the rushing sound of water leaves your skull for a calmer blurbing, leaving you catching your pitiful breath where you try to push yourself back until your back hits a wall. Tears are pooling in and streaming down over your cheeks in full hiccupy weeps— can’t help it. But as you rub and rub until the stinging goes away, you come back to yourself just enough to realize something.

It’s significantly darker and quieter than it was. You look around through your teary eyes, finding yourself stuck in a cave. The water at your toes is the only source of light you’re allowed, every other escape showing you only stone and moss. Wherever the creature took you… it isn’t a place you’ve ever been diving. And— you glance up to the middle of the pool that laps ever so calmly at your feet now. The merman’s eyes are glowing a glittering blue, vigilantly staring at you from just above the water edge where you can see his tail flick around elegantly under the water.

“D-don’t,” you try, only to grab at your throat when only a pitiful squeak comes out, swallowing a few times. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- d-don’t come.” Your shaking hand isn’t much of a shield. The merman’s clicking noise comes back in an equally forceful manner, as he swims all the way to the end of the pool and then back. Still glowering at you. When you don’t move, he swims a little closer, letting the soft brabble of the water carry him towards you. But this time you push yourself up onto your feet and kick at the water, and hiss back. “Go away! Leave me alone!”

“Leave me alone,” you squeak pitifully, and rub your hands along your arms, and glare back. He doesn’t, though you don’t expect him to. But now you’re fucked. You can’t go into the water without the merman grabbing you, not that you’re in much of a hurry to try again anyway, and you can’t get out any other way. The realization gives way to a wobbly lip and a whiny sob from somewhere in your body, as you sit back down with your face twisted into tears, wrapping your arms around your knees.

The merman doesn’t flinch when you glare at him, only peers those creepy eyes back at you. “Go! Go away! What the hell is wrong with you, I-I mean—” Your voice rises automatically, stress bleeding out into your waterfall of words like there's no stopping it. “I’m not even of your kind! Why the hell did you take me here, w-why did —You don’t even— I… You!” Your train of words leaves you when the sound of moving water sounds again, and ever so slowly, the merman starts dragging himself up the ledge.

It’s not big, barely enough for two people to lie together, and with the chance of sliding down into the water. And he’s big. You swallow and look away when he’s still hard —harder even, maybe— and try your very best to ignore the scooching and shuffling sound as he slowly drags his long tail out of the water and gets closer and closer. The merman purrs when he’s pressed against you again, wide chest pressing against your shoulder, and his head slowly nudges against your ear. It’s gross, and you hate him, hate how his hand trails up the inside of your thigh. How he sticks his tongue out and licks along the shell of your ear.

But you can’t help but shiver, a sad squeak breaking free from your throat when he purrs louder and louder each second he’s touching you. His tail slaps the wet ground with a satisfied sigh when he moves over you more and you resign yourself to laying down on the cold, damp floor. But you can’t help it. You have no other place to go, nowhere left to flee. The mere thought of trying to run away again is enough to have your stomach flip like you’ll throw up. You cry when the merman starts nosing hungrily down your neck, licking, dragging razor sharp teeth along the heartbeat.

He lays himself half on top of you, until you can feel the squirming dicks start to reach for your center again. They flop around and move as if with a mind of their own, a nasty sort of display that makes you want to gag again— so you cling to his shoulders instead. Whatever thoughts the creature has running through his mind, it doesn’t show clearly on his face. But you want to look away from his gaze nevertheless, ignoring the revenant way he watches your face twist with every crass touch. When his hands tire of exploring, the merman moves aside a little to shove you further up the rock, almost bumping your head against the wall in the process.

Your thighs are shoved apart, one leg hauled over his arm to get it out of the way. But your thoughts are so still, so awfully quiet. He stares for an uncomfortable amount of time as he leans down to sniffle around the area— and really, that’s probably the worst part. Because despite everything, how much you hate this, hate him, want to kick and scream and pull at his hair until he leaves you the hell alone, you’re still getting wetter. You can feel the heat between your legs, soaking into your bikini bottoms and coating your puffy pussy in glistening slick. It doesn’t take too long for the man to figure out that your bottoms can be pushes aside, to reveal your cunt.

And you suppose he says something, because he stares up at your face with a weirdly calculating expression. “Shut the hell up,” you grunt under your breath despite his silence, hating the —it feels like amusement that’s radiating off of him when he dips a finger into your wetness with a slow growl, and you turn your head to the top of the cave. There’s some shuffling, before he is back over you, and this time you hold the way your throat bobs as he wraps a free hand around it. Doesn’t squeeze, but the weight of his arm alone is enough to have you gasping, tears beading back past your lashes.

Then he shuffles some more, and his fingers are pulled away from your pussy to slot them curiously into his mouth. Aquamarine eyes roll back into his skull when he closes his lips around them, and both of your breathing seems to speed up. You, for his reaction, him; to rip your other leg to slot around his waist as he nudges his cocks against your clenching pussy. His dick is colder than your body, making your tummy flutter as he presses all his weight into you and the glossy head of his cock pops inside. Stretching you wide. Your eyes shoot open as you dig your nails into him. He looks absolutely feral.

The thin ring of blue is all that is left from blown eyes pupils, big and black and terrifying. But it’s the low growling noise followed by the way he leans down to suck the crook of your neck, right below his hand that really scares you. Because his breathing is so erratic, and his hips still haven’t moved. Your own voice comes out like a small child being chastised, when you tremble under him. You don’t want him to move. But you want even less to be speared onto his dick all at once. “Go slowly. Slowly,” you beg, moving to thread your fingers through his hair trying to coach something back.

But whatever it is you try to communicate is completely lost when he seems to break his trace and the dick starts squirming inside its very tight clutch, and he suddenly pushes your head out the way. His teeth clamp down hard and fast on your neck, ripping a sharp whine from you that dies within seconds. The coat of blood you feel running down your shoulder is sticky and burning, and you trash against him. But the moving of his cock continues, like a snake curling inside your dripping pussy. And before the head even starts pushing against your cervix, your other hole is starting to receive its own needy press.

“Ohh- g-god, oh please,” you breathe out, hiccuping and whining and moaning all at once. “Please, fuck—” It’s so tight. Your entire lower half feels like it’s being stretched so wide you should fight, but you’re trembling in pleasure anyway. Your ass is filled with the same impatient motion of his second cock, both twirling and prodding against your walls, and your head snaps back. Your body wound like a spring. You don’t get to think about your orgasm before it’s hitting you full force and knocking the breath out of you, your pussy clenching and gushing around the intrusion.

Your legs shake even when he lets go of your throat to heave his upper body over you again, and starts bucking into you. Relentlessly, with his sharp nails gidding into your thigh and his heavy body sliding you up and down on the floor with each thrust, as his tongue rubs along the skin of your wound. You think you’re crying, but you’re also half aware of the desperate, whining noise you’re making as he fucks your holes so deeply your eyes cross automatically. Your toes curling where your legs are wrapped around his waist, totally unaware of the wrecked way you’re drooling and curling against him.

The loud sound of skin meeting skin each time he bottoms out and fucks you, you feel full— so full it’s a different kind of whole-ness. You’re clawing at his back, ignoring the way he hisses when you accidentally touch the small fin along his spine or how he’s gone hovering himself over your body to stare at your face, and run a thumb over your lips. Every impulse is too much. The way his chest rubs against your oversensitive tits, how his cocks seem to find the exact spot inside you to have the air forced out of your lungs. The black swimming in the center of your vision.

“I can’t, I’m-” You feel him so deep you feel like you’re choking on it, and so you absolutely miss the way your teary babbling makes a grin pull at the corners of his mouth. That wicked mouth chooses the worst time to descend and swallow your noises with a greedy lapping into your trembling lips, when he pushes his tail under himself more to raise the both of you off of the ground. The angle of his cocks sliding in and out of your sloppy, messy pussy changes even deeper if at all possible, mixing with your panting and moaning for the most slurred swearing.

As you feel the weight of him bump your clit and his rough skin stimulates it just right, you bite your own bottom lip so hard you start to taste copper— and you cum again. But the second shudders your entire body even more, hanging onto his neck as he huffs and sighs into your neck and the rhythm becomes unbearable to you. You want to stop, yet your limbs are welded shut against him— cumming so hard your mind seems to reset for a moment. The merman doesn’t stop, and continues to wildly chase his own orgasm as he pounds into you.

Heavy weight of his body meeting yours, he seems to clench every single muscle in his overly strong body. His nails dig into the stone next to your head hard enough to make tracks, before he shudders and shoots ropes of hot cum inside your holes. You can feel as it fills your stomach, filling you up with so much heat it feels a bit sickening. You’re entirely worn when you let yourself drop back onto the cold floor that’s now become a few degrees warmer, and cry out a long wail of exhaustion. Every part of your private area is completely covered in the mess of your mixed wetness, leaving you in an uncomfortable, sticky puddle when he pulls out.

And speaks to you with that low voice you have no chance of understanding, rubbing his knuckle along your cheeks in a gesture that should feel comforting. But you’re in pain, every inch of your body feels like it’s been bruised— and you squeeze your eyes shut and ignore everything. You ignore the way he pulls himself off of you, how he manhandles you around to lick at your cunt for a few moments, and how the water gurgles at the edge of the ledge when he slips back inside. You wrap your arms around yourself as you wait, and hope for your heartbeat to come back to you.

But you can’t possibly ignore when he swims around the pool a few times, before trailing a finger along your thigh down. Or how he stops, clears his throat with an awfully sore sounding huff, and speaks. Speaks, making your eyes shoot open to look right at him. It’s totally unpracticed and gruff as it fills the small cave-in, but he lifts a brow and grins wide and animal-like. It sends icy shivers down your spine.

“Mine.”

That’s how the beast disappears under the water edge, leaving you used on the floor of a dim cave, with no other way out.

#iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi smut #iwa smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #tw.noncon #tw.blood #tw.dubcon #tw.size kink #tw.dark content #tw.breeding #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.iwaizumi

3K notes · View notes