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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 month

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You don’t get to tell me about sad

Previous chapter

a/n part three! I’m brain dead so sorry for the wait. I hope you will all enjoy this. 🫧🫶🏻

summary: Azriel gets an assignment he can’t seem to decline. Now he has a princess full of attitude under his protection. The only question is whose cold heart will break first.

warning: past trauma, scars, injuries, blood.

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You were sure that your lip was going to burst from the way you kept biting on it, trying to suppress the laugh as the carriage rolled through the misty autumn forest. Convinced that nothing was ever going to top the sight of Azriel, squished the opposite of you. He was scowling so hard that he was most definitely the reason why the sky had ripped open. Pouring rain drowned the lush forest since the early morning. It looked like you were driving to a funeral at best, gruesome execution at best.

“Don’t start with me today," Azriel grunts, his eyes burning into yours. Yet now that he acknowledged you, the smile only seemed to spread wider. He lets out a grunt, and a quiet giggle slips past your lips. "Princess, life suits you," you mumble, making Azriel roll his eyes. “Come on now; it’s not so bad. Don’t huff”, you nudge his leg with your heel, earning yet another glare.

“Could have winnowed us there”, “You did almost all the way”, you point out. And you would have happily obliged, but the murmurs about something being wrong with the high lord’s family had started. So Lucien and Eris had made their outing. If not for the rain, you would have done just the same. Take a walk through the main streets. But now seeing the family carriage and your face through the glass would have to be enough.

“Why do you hate autumn so much?”, It’s a bold statement to make. You’re not sure if he even hates it. Well, considering the amount of frowning he does, he has to. “I have my reasons," Azriel answers as bluntly as he can. “Care to elaborate?", you turn to him, ready to dig an answer out of him if you had to. He owned you, considering his creeping around your room. But your eyes fall on the way he’s trying to subtly rub his palms together. The scarred skin—humidity must be making the bones ache too. He’s impossible to read, but you’re convinced that the discomfort hunts some of his features. You don’t care. You shouldn’t care, yet you still inch closer. There’s not much space inside the carriage considering that man’s size, but it’s enough for you to brush your legs against him. As expected, Azriel’s hands instantly reached to put distance between you both. But that’s when you yank the side of your cloak up, draping the fur-lined material over his scared palms.

“What are you?", "Shhhh," you say quickly. He tries to pull them out, but you catch his gaze—a daring look there. “Know your”, but you cut him off once more, “Next words out of your mouth better be, thank you, princess," you muse. Azriel clenches his jaw. But he doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t fight the warmth slowly seeping through the stiff skin. “I thought you hated that nickname, princess," he says. One thing this man hadn’t learned in life was dealing with women. Clearly. You shrug, “Not so bad when it’s you who calls me that," you muse, watching as a glimpse of surprise washes over his features, and then the scowling coldness returns.

Azriel doesn’t like it here. The thought alone had unsettled him ever since Lucien had announced the need to go back. “The High Lord needs to make a statement," Lucien had stated. Azriel itched to say that Eris wasn’t his high lord. But he knew that regardless of Eris’s wishes, he would have gone. Because you were going there. So here he was, standing outside the forest house. Not daring to go forward alone. You had waved him off. Told him to go inside while you checked on the horses. But he refused to step inside. So he stood there, trying to memorize every window.

“Who’s snooping now?", your voice fills Azriel’s ear as he slowly turns to you. Arms crossed as you grin at him. He wonders why you hadn’t mentioned that night in your room. Why you brushed it off so easily. “I just needed to stretch my wings." It’s not so much of a lie. It had been a disaster of a trip here. You barely manage to open your lips when an unfamiliar voice comes from behind, “Yn, Yn.“

Azriel pushes you behind him, his hand reaching for his dagger. But you slip out of his grasp, glancing over his shoulder. And then you’re stepping forward. “Makoa?”, it’s a whisper, and Azriel doubts that a disheveled-looking boy would hear it. But he does. And that name alone makes Azriel uneasy. The same boy you had sneaked out with. And just like that Azriel decides that he hates Makoa.

"Wait," you push again Azriel's arm, but his grip doesn’t falter. “Anyone can be a threat," the spymaster points out. “I know him," and it’s the desperation that makes Azriel back up. The same one that he had when he called out to Mor. To Elain. The lost kind. One that had you hanging up on things that weren’t there.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you," Makoa mutters once he is in arms reach of you. Azriel has to bite his tongue because nothing about that statement seems genuine. “You can imagine it’s been busy over here," and your voice is different too. Hazy almost. You bite at Azriel. Spewing venom. And here, this boy makes you behave like a youngling with your first-ever crush. “You could have written to me; I’ve missed you." Makoa raises his hand, and Azriel instantly inches to step forward, but then the boy is leaning in, his lips brushing over yours. Making Azriel lower his head. A strange sort of feeling brews within him. One that’s not welcome here. So he turns back onto his heel, heading deeper into the woods. To clear his consciousness. His logical thinking. His heart.

“Everyone missed you," Makoa points out, your hands clasped in his. The feeling is strange. It’s all so wrong because, yes, he has been vocal about courting you, but this… To be kissed in front of someone he doesn’t even know. You glance back. Eyes scanning the front gardens. He’s not there. Azriel isn’t there, and a dreadful sort of uneasiness pools in your stomach.

“It’s just been a couple of days," you brush his statement off. You were trying to find joy in something you had dreamed of ever since you slipped that book beneath the floorboards. “You’re behaving strangely," Makoa mutters, his hand reaching out for your forehead, but you bat it away. “I’m just tired," but you’re more than tired. You need answers, and quite frankly, you’re willing to do about anything to get them.

You can trust the man in front of you. His mother used to do laundry for your family. Until Beron changed his mind or whatever happened. As if reading your mind, Makoa reaches up, cupping your cheek, “What is it you can tell me?" A part of you is screaming to just drop it. Talk to Azriel first. But then he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t know.

“Do you remember the night on the harvest moon, well after it?”, you say quietly, looking over your shoulder for servants. “I walked you home," Makoa shrugs. Well, he did more than that, but sure, that will do for now. “Someone was waiting for me," you admit. “I didn’t go inside; I went to the barn to feed the horses." It was misty and cold outside. You didn’t catch their face. Just a hooded figure.

“I... someone tried to slice my throat open." Brushing your hair to the side, you let the white line shine in the midday sun. Makoa watches. But he doesn’t frown. There’s almost no reaction. Azriel looked more concerned when you caught him brushing his fingers over it that night. Genuine concern. Or maybe you were just imagining it.

Makoa brings you into his chest. “What a shame," he breathes out, and your hands are instantly pushing against his chest. "Pardon," you huff, brows knit together. “I mean, it’s horrible, yes," he says, lifting his arms in defiance. You shake your head. Too tired. Too tired for this. After all, you didn’t expect him to take you seriously. He was too wild. Too carefree for that.

"Look, just be careful, okay?", you mutter, your eyes searching him, but he only shoots you a wicked smile. “You don’t have to worry about me," he muses. You burn to tell him that you both are no longer kids. There are serious matters, but you don’t have it in you to fight another battle today. “I’ll see you in the party," you say as you step back, letting your fingers slip out of his grasp. But then he’s pulling you back. Hand on the side of your face. An eager kiss smothered against your lips, “I wouldn’t miss the spectacle.”

Azriel’s task this weekend was easy. If he was being honest, he didn’t quite grasp why exactly he was asked to come. But then Eris might have just done it to spite him. All he was responsible for was keeping an eye on you when Eris and Lucien couldn’t. So essentially, babysit a grown woman. Now he was standing with his back against your door. Throwing his knife up and down in his hands. Trying to beat his record of spins before it lands back into his palm.

“Okay, am...", your voice breaks the second-floor silence, making Azriel pause. “Can you get Maria?”, Azriel shakes his head even if you can’t see him, “She just went outside for the flower arrangements." The elderly woman had pinched his cheek way too many times, but as much as he hated it, she reminded Azriel of his own mom.

"Fuck," the sound of things falling inside the room, makes Azriel press his ear to the door.“What’s going on?”, he demands. Silence falls. “I...", you start, but it ends with a frustrated sigh. “Well, let’s hear it," he muses, hoping for yet another privileged little dig he could throw back at you.

“I can’t reach the back of the dress to do the..." It’s a whisper. A frustrated one at that. “We have twenty minutes," Azriel points out. “I know, tree man, I know," you growl in frustration, cursing to yourself as you continue to struggle.

“I'm coming in," Azriel states, instantly frowning at his own words. "No, you are not," you snarl, and he is sure that you are frowning. “On three," the spymaster warns. But he doesn’t even get a chance to start the countdown. “Fucking, Azriel,” you say, yanking the door open. Rosy cheeks. Slightly disheveled hair. And that deep red satin dress. So far different from the one he had seen you in the first time you both met. That was a girl. This… You were meant to be in red. In…

“Eyes up here, moron," you say, reaching up to flick his nose. One arm holding the material upfront. You turn away from him. The smooth back exposed to his scared hands. Azriel shakes those thoughts away. “I’ve seen females before," he states, reaching for the golden buttons. “Really? I would have taken you for a virgin," you snort, shaking your head ever so slightly. Azriel fake gasps, earning a glimmer in your eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”, he says in the most dramatic way possible. You bite your lip, trying to hide that smile. He knows it. Feels it.

“Just do the dress up," you urge him, motioning to your back. Azriel halts, letting his hands drop to his side. “Start with a please," he says proudly. You glance up at him, “Are you being serious?” Surely a man who just completed about the amount of time you had wasn’t going to start playing games. “I decided that etiquette lessons are in order," he shrugs, making you roll your eyes. “I will spit in your drink tonight. How is that for your etiquette lessons?” You flash him one of your fake smiles. “Delightful, just how I like it," and it’s so unexpected that you are left slack-jawed for a split second, and then he grabs your shoulder and turns you around, nudging you forward. “You’re disgusting," you say, pushing your heel against his leg, making a little rumble of laughter fill the space. “Says you," he breathes practically against your skin, sending shivers down your back.

You fidget with your sleeve as you and Azriel make your way towards the main part of the event. Public outings still felt strange. The big crowd overwhelmed you. But you had missed out on so many great things and parties, especially when you were growing up. That now….

“Only a weirdo disappears like that," you halt suddenly, leaving Azriel to walk along until he too stops. Turning to face you. You quickly put a finger against your lips, stepping closer to the second-floor railing. “That’s what I told Makoa”. You know those voices. You don’t even need to look down the staircase to know who they belong to.

“Daddy beat her, I heard," and it’s like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on you. Tingles spread through your body like fire.“ She lived beneath the floorboards; I doubt she knows how to interact with living things." You let the words slash at you. After so many years, they don’t make a difference. It’s the fact that every time you feel as if you found someone willing to look past it, they still end up stabbing you in the back.

That’s when your eyes fall on Azriel, practically charging towards the stairs. "Don't," you hiss, reaching to grab at his wrist, pulling him back. “It’s disrespectful, and I’m being very polite with my words here," he grunts. Venom. Purest of venom painting his features, and yet you cut him off. “I said don't," you step in front of him, pressing your palms against his chest. “It’s just another joke for them. You throwing a fit and acting all gruff won’t change a thing.”

Azriel watches you for a moment before a bitter laugh crawls up his throat. “And those are your friends? People that you think are not a threat to you? ”, he points downstairs in frustration. A wave of guilt. Shame. Fills you in seconds. You feel that familiar sting in your eyes. But you brush it beneath all the other pain. “Daddy got them for me; I didn’t have a chance to choose; my apologies," you purr through gritted teeth.

And it’s as if you threw a comeback punch. The arrow shooting once again. Azriel’s shoulders sag. “Yn...", he breathes out, but you don’t want it. Don’t want pity. The sad eyes. The smothering. To hell with it. “We should go find my brothers." You pick at the skirt of your dress, turning to the stairs. “It was insensitive of me," Azriel’s words slam into the wall you had built, making you close your eyes for a moment. “Don’t get tangled in this; this has nothing to do with you," you mutter, not turning back to face him. Forcing your legs forward. Azriel stands at the top of the staircase for a heartbeat, watching you. Then he glances over his shoulder. One heartbeat. Two. And he unleashes his shadows to the first floor.

The terrace is buzzing with people. If it were up to Azriel, he would be right by the platform, but there are Eris’s guards here. So he’s just standing by. That prick had it in him to suggest wine. Azriel, of course, took it. Before dumping it right next to Eris’s shoes. Rhys told him to behave, yes. And so he was, because the second option was to punch the fireling in his face. Pick and choose.

Azriel catches a glimpse of you. Well, more like all he had been doing was catching glimpses of you. Like a moth to a flame. Even if he tells himself not to, his eyes always seem to find you. That distant look in your eyes. Like you’re not here, even if your body is. He also doesn’t doubt that it’s partly because of the things the people said. Why not fight back? You seem to be fine doing that when it comes to him. But crumple the moment the people who are meant to be closest to you are involved.

As if by coincidence, your eyes glance up, meeting Azriel’s. He should be scowling, yet he finds himself smiling. Just a little. He puts a finger beneath his chin, pushing it higher. Encouragement of sorts. You’re supposed to radiate power, not look like a damsel in distress. You return it with an eye roll, making the corners of Azriel’s lips curve even more. Deny it or not. You do lift your head up. That tingle of fire blazing just a bit brighter. That will do. It would have to be enough to get you through it.

The music dies, and Eris walks close to the platform edge, that fox-line smile on his face. “It’s an honor to have you all here, so I thank you for finding time to join us," the high lord begins. “I know that the court is facing some challenging times, but you should not be afraid." Azriel crosses his arms over his chest as he listens. “I will do everything that is in my power to protect our people and be a true and fair high lord." Then the Autumn High Lord turns back breathy. “And... I’ll have my family to aid me in these matters," motioning for his two siblings to come to stand closer. “Lucien and Y/n Vanserra will be taking their rightful place on the throne." The crowd explodes with chairs and joyful applause. As the three siblings smile in unison.

“And…”, But there’s no and. Nothing comes after it. As if someone had stolen all of the other promises. Azriel feels it too. It hits his senses. Making them restless. There’s something wrong. Something that doesn’t feel right. A banner behind the platform bursts into flames. The hot tongues, lapping at the family insignia. Some people back up. Eris waves for his guards, ordering them into action. People are bringing buckets full of water while Eris and Lucien try to wield the wildfire.

It’s the lightest of the sounds that follow next. It flickers, and... "Y/n," Azriel calls, making you snap your head sideways. “Y/n," he breathes out, and then he’s winnowing. His hands already stretched out. He has to make it. He will make it. There is no other option. So Azriel doesn’t let the what-ifs set in. Shrieks echo. Chaos breaks out. And then he’s up there. On the platform. One arm behind your body, the other on the arrow.

The time stops. Your wide eyes are looking at him. Green so deep that Azriel knows he has never seen anything like it. The freckles seem even darker now that your skin has paled almost to snow white. His fingers are trembling. He can’t see it. Can’t fucking see it; the bunched-up fabric is making it hard to judge. Had the arrow met its target? Your heart seems to beat beneath his palm. But are those the last beats? Then the red fabric turns an even deeper shade of red.

Every muscle tenses in Azriel’s body. "No," he mutters under his breath. He’s not letting you die just like that. Not on his watch. Not in some pointless death just because someone has a bone to pick with your brother. Your eyelashes flutter, and just for a heartbeat, Azriel is too slow to catch you. Your body sags, but the arrow stays there in Azriel’s head. It didn’t meet its target. Not fully, at least. Just nicked the skin. It feels as if someone rolled a mountain off of his chest.

"Azriel," it’s so light he almost misses it. The plea. The fear. Your fingers reach up for his leg. His darkness swirls around you both. And quite frankly, the spymaster is not too sure as to what’s going on outside. The world might as well be going to shit for all he cares. Kneeling, Azriel takes hold of your trembling hands, “I’ve got you, darling; I won’t let anything happen to you." He’s not sure if you even hear him. Eyes fixed on something as if you’re looking right past him.“I'm here; I'm with you," Azrie promises, moving to drape your arms over his shoulders. “Are you with me, love?” You’ve gone into shock, that he can tell. Yet you blink. Fingers gripped onto his flying leathers as you nod. "Good," he says, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, “Hold onto me, fireheart”.

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lottiecrabie · 1 year

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don't fuck the line cooks. part one – matty healy

(also lovingly known as linecook!au)

working at your father’s restaurant for the summer, you meet back-of-house line cook matty healy. there’s something impossibly tempting about him, even if you shouldn’t be thinking of him this way. for multiple reasons.

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dom/sub undertones, temperature play, vague authority kink, health code violations, problematic age gap, sleazy man

part one of two

14281 words

His moves are precise and dexterous, a second nature he’s developed through cuts and burns. He fine chops with confidence, raking the onions and throwing them in the sizzling skillet. The sound explodes through the busy kitchen. A dirty joke must be told from the man mashing potatoes in the station next to him because he laughs, shoulders shaking, wrinkling his nose in some sort of snort. His head shakes; his hair with it.

He grabs a towel, covering his skillet with the lid, throwing it over his shoulder. A stained white shirt with short sleeves practically strangles his biceps, showing off tattoos scattering down his arms. They flex as he reaches for a bubbling pan, pouring some cream in his red concoction. His long, spindly fingers grab the pepper, twisting it with two surely rough hands. The fingernails are cut short but clean. Knowledgeable fingers; fast and sure and nibble. There’s a callus at the base of his index finger, a telltale sign of experience. Tough skin that would—

“Are you looking for something?” Matty calls.

You jump, eyes snapping from his hands to his face. He arches an eyebrow, smiling at you. There’s something almost condescending about the look you don’t quite enjoy, something that has you blushing. You twist your fingers in your apron. “Um, yes. Salt? I’m supposed to fill up the shakers.”

Matty nods. “Dry storage.” You must be giving some sort of lost look because he turns to his friend, asking, “Can you watch that for me?”

After a noise of affirmation, Matty throws his towel on the counter, walking up to you. His chin tips to the right, but you wait until he brushes past to follow behind him. You’re practically running to catch up with his steps— once again, fast and sure and confident. It feels like it’s all you've been doing these days: running; trying to keep up with this bustling environment. Everything spins nauseously around you, dizzy and off-kilter, running a hot plate when you’re still scribbling down the order.

“Daddy didn’t show you around?” Matty asks, although the mean tone clearly doesn’t particularly wish for an answer. That, too, is all you’ve been doing these days: laughing off taunts and teases about your father.

You huff. “He’s been busy.”

“I know.”

Matty stops in his tracks. He turns to you, tilting his head towards the door. Dry Storage is labeled neatly on it. You flush, suddenly feeling quite green for needing to be handheld towards it. You open the door, stepping in.

“He’s never here much,” Matty continues, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed. The end of a seahorse peeks out of his white sleeve.

“He has three restaurants,” you defend. Dozens of quips about your lineage poke at your mind, burned and spiked. It’s because of the uncauterized scabs that you hear yourself retort, “And you should be glad. You guys wouldn’t get into half the things you do if he was here.”

Matty arches an eyebrow, staring you up and down. Suddenly, the carefully chosen outfit feels silly on you: the shirt too modest, the skirt too proper, the ponytail too tight; like a child playing dress-up. Heat burns at the back of your neck, but you stare at him head-on, unwilling to back down.

His eyes snap back to yours, grin digging in his cheek like he’s figured you out in a matter of seconds. Like the results were easy and unthreatening. Matty’s voice is low but teasing when he finally answers, “Oh, you know nothing about the things we do.”

You give him a deadpanned look. “I’m new, not stupid.”

He nods, humoring you. “Okay,” he licks his lips, cheeky. “Then what do we do?”

A sinful thrill pumps up your legs at the sight of him, hot shame contrasting it. He’s condescending you, two steps short of speaking slow and short like you couldn’t figure the words out properly, and you’re clenching your thighs in answer. It’s embarrassing. Still, the low thrum of excitement reverberates up your limbs.

You swallow thickly, redirecting your attention to the overfilled shelves. “What don’t you do?”

Matty tsks. “That’s evading the question.”

“I’m not being quizzed.”

In the corner of your eye, you see him throw his hands in the air. “You’re right.”

You shake your head, looking through the shelves to busy yourself with something other than the tempting need to stare at him. Though your eyes wash over the cans and boxes, your brain registers none of them, too busy playing back the flash of flexed biceps and curly hair falling down his forehead.

Matty doesn’t seem willing to let your thoughts order back to functional sense. Instead, he hums, adding, “Three restaurants, yet you’re still working. You’ve been cut off or something? Been really bad?” You practically hear the smirk in his voice. You shake your head, glancing at him. How wrong he is. You open your mouth to tell him such, but he cuts in, “Let me guess.”

You snort. “Good luck.”

“You got busted at a politician’s son's powder party? It almost made the news, but daddy bought your name out of the press.”

You cock your head, amused against your will. “How rich do you think I am? My dad owns middle-rated restaurants, not the Ritz.”

“Flunk out of college?”

“I’m actually on the dean’s list.” You hate how proud your voice sounds; it’s silly to care about such things in the real world. Matty cooks and sweats and bleeds all day, and a smile sticks to your cheeks for flimsy things that will immaterialize in a few years.

“Bought prostitutes?” You give him a look, which he laughs at. “Alright, fine. I give up. What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

His eyebrows rise. You’re a little glad to unroot him. “Nothing?”

You blush, turning back to inspect your row of dry ingredients. “I just— I haven’t had much to do since I’ve been back from college. My dad thought it might be a good idea to get some real life experience.”

“Nothing to do in New York?” His tone is incredulous. He coos, “You’re really not bad at all.” Again, you feel embarrassingly your age. A little girl amidst the real world, too fast and large for her to make sense of it. You’re ill-fitting.

Annoyed, you scoff, “Cause I’m not doing coke off someone’s tits in the locker room?”

Matty grins, elated. “She finally said it.”

You roll your eyes, electing to focus on the shelves of ingredients instead of the shape of his lips in a lopsided smile. It’s doing too much on your soupy brain, spinning with the inexplicable need to appear older to him, more mature.

His steps ring through the cramped space. Matty brushes against your back. You tense, freezing on the spot, hyper aware of the heat of his body. He smells like cigarettes. You close your eyes, breathing him in, fragile heart racing against your ribs. His arm reaches above you, grazing your shoulder. The ghosting touch is enough to have you shivering.

“There,” Matty whispers in your ear, the letters tickling the skin. He grabs the salt.

He’s off you in the blink of an eye, quicker than you can make sense of. Again, just a few feet behind in a fast paced world, left to catch up in the race. You slowly turn, pressing your back against the shelves, trying to hold yourself up on shaky knees. Matty smirks, still too close to think properly. Between you is the box of salt.

You accept it hesitantly. “Thanks,” you whisper, trying to focus on his eyes and not his lips stretching over spiky teeth.

“You’re welcome, princess.” He goes for the door, leaving you breathless from the sudden lack of him. He lingers in the doorframe, turning to add, “If you need anything, just ask me.”

You grip the salt like a lifebuoy. The world spins beneath your feet. “Okay.”

He’s out the door. You’re out of breath.

—

You slam the backdoor open, stepping out into the alleyway with a scream. You bury your head between your hands, trying to wipe away the boiling frustration, like a soothing hand on your forehead could make it all better. Fuck this job. You scream again, muffled by your palms. Fuck this fucking job.

With a deep breath, you emerge out of the safety of your fingers. You exhale, plastering a fake smile on your face. You can’t see, but you surely look clownesque, all red and puffy from anger, grinning like the butt of the joke.

You turn to get back inside, ready to bite your lip as guests and hosts and waitresses lay into you for being too slow, and too lost, and too stupid. You’re starting to think you might have done something terribly bad after all. This summer job is looking more like some cruel punishment than a special shot at experience.

Something catches in the corner of your eye. You jump, whipping your head, finding Matty smoking on the stairs of the fire escape, grinning to himself. Your heart races. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Evidently.”

You linger in the moment, feet strangely glued to the ground. Matty takes a drag of his cigarette. You follow his lips as the gray smoke pours out of them, drifting around him like some sort of fire signal you’re not decoding.

He holds his hand out, cig burning bright orange in offering. “You look like you need it.”

You stare at the offending rolled up paper. You’ve spent twenty-one years of your life categorically refusing any smoke, wrinkling your nose at the very smell. Yet, it somehow seems attractive hanging limply between his long fingers, one bandaged from some cut.

You nod before you register the action, walking up to him. Matty smiles at that. It’s strange to tower over his sitting body. He always seems larger than life in the restaurant, filling up every nook with his presence.

“Thanks.” You take the cigarette from him, shivering as your fingers graze over his. You inspect it, incertain on how to handle it, before placing it between your lips. You inhale, then cough, bending away and burying in your elbow. You leave it with a grimace, your mouth coated in tar.

Matty laughs. “First time?” You flush, hating to look so inexperienced and young in front of him. That’s enough answer for him. “Cute.”

You scowl. “It’s bad for your lungs.”

“Why’d you take it then?”

You feel strangely cornered, like a finger pinned you in place. You up your nose, “It’s impolite to refuse a gift.” Matty snorts at that.

“You’re real proper.”

“I was raised right.”

Matty smiles to himself, laughing. “I’m sure you were.” Your stomach clenches, unnamed thrill waving through you.

You cock your head, volleying, “Is this where you make a daddy joke?”

He arches an eyebrow, shit-eating grin on his face. “Do you want me to?”

“I think they’re getting redundant,” you sigh dramatically. The cigarette resting primly between your fingers, burning away, seems to give you uncharacteristic confidence. You feel oddly cool, like the tipsy girls smoking on balconies at the parties you never stayed long at. Like you could be anyone.

Matty holds his chest, eyebrows furrowed in hurt. “You wound me.”

“Get some better material, then.”

He tsks, reaching out for the cigarette. You offer it gladly, mostly to get electrified from the grazing touch; alive because he exists to prove it.

Smoking seems so easy when he does it, pouring out of his lips and drenching you in the cloudy air. You can’t look away from him, breath hitched. Your eyes focus on his mouth, following its movements religiously. Matty tips his chin towards the cigarette, grossly misunderstanding your fascination. “Do you want me to show you how to smoke it?”

You resent the idea of inhaling again, smearing your tongue in the awful taste just to embarrass yourself. But you resent the idea of walking away more, finding back the dizzying dance inside. Losing his overwhelming presence, pressing into you even when you’re a respectful foot away.

Your chest feels tight. You shrug, faux-nonchalant. “Sure.”

“You have to suck on it,” Matty says, and you’re almost sure he’s emphasizing the word suck on purpose. Now there’s a dirty vision of your knees pressing meanly on the asphalt, wrapping your lips around— You blush to your roots. Matty continues, smug, “Inhale, let it rest in your mouth to cool, breathe in, let it go down to your lungs, blow it out. Easy.” He offers the cig again.

You grasp it, surer in your fingers this time. “Easy for you.”

“I’m sure a girl on the dean’s list can figure it out.” Your heart skips a beat, but you ignore it dutifully. It’s stupid to care that he remembers. It’s stupid to flush. It’s stupid to feel embarrassed.

You try again, placing the butt of the cigarette between your lips, almost nervous to breathe in after being burned. You inhale, but it goes offly down your throat, and you cough again, blinking away the taste.

You shake your head, giving him back the cigarette. “I don’t think it’s for me.”

Matty accepts it back, taking an easy drag. The smoke blows around you and the warning signs look a lot clearer in the fog this time. Still, you don’t step away and run to the bathroom to wash the smell out of your fingers.

Matty eyes you up and down, raking his burning stare over you. “Do you want to shotgun it?”

The vision of bending down, leaning into him, lips almost close enough to be something — something to prove you’re living, some experience to recount to your college friends — is a tantalizing sight. A thrilling idea, perhaps too much so. You shouldn’t be thinking of him this way. You shouldn’t be pressing your legs together at the very concept.

“Why not?” You smile. You’re weaker than you used to give yourself credit for. A mind of steel, down a straight and narrow path, arrowing to success in a precise line.

It’s one bend, you tell yourself. Barely that. A small curve, like a faltered step.

You close the distance, ready to lean over him, but Matty surprises you. He grabs your wrist, tugging you down on one of his spread knees. You balance yourself from the sudden fall with a grip around his shoulder— strong and big and, shit, now you’re going to be thinking of them all day.

“Hi.”

His eyes dance with amusement. “Hi.”

You sit straight on his lap, prim and proper, almost a caricature of yourself. Matty’s hand travels to your back, spreading across your spine, warm over your flimsy uniform. Maybe to steady you, if you weren’t sitting straight-bolt, fixed. You can’t figure out a reason for it at all, and it leaves you growing hot in his arms.

From up close, Matty looks disheveled. A faint stubble, eyebags, gray-streaked hair drooping down his forehead, small silver hoops looping from his ears; he’s completely unmade. Near like this, you can smell the sweat sticking to his skin under the cigarette smoke. It should repulse you, but there’s something raw and real about him, something tangible and palpable contrary to the white-collared boys your father has paraded in front of you. You’re not against it.

“What do I do?” You whisper, because that’s how loud you need to speak for him to hear you crystal clear.

“Don’t have to do a single thing, princess. Just inhale.”

His lips wrap around the cigarette. A shot of excitement rings up your spine. You wonder if he feels it buzzing under his fingertips. If he hears your heart slamming dizzily fast against your ribs. If he sees the way your stare hangs onto his mouth. It parts and leans into yours, blowing softly.

You inhale just like he asked, but it’s more an inherent gasp at the proximity of him than a fully formed thought. Smoke slips past your lips, swirling down your throat as you breathe in. It doesn’t taste so bad like this.

Matty rubs his thumb on your back as a reward. “Good girl.” You bite your lip to contain the pleased grin, too childish in the lap of a man. “Knew you could do it. How’d you find it?”

“I liked it.”

“And here I thought you were raised right.”

You lick your lips. “There’s been some faults.” He grins at that.

“Do you want another one?”

The thought of his lips nearly pressing into yours again is desperately appealing. You shift on his knee. “Yes.”

Again, Matty blows smoke into your open mouth, practically shoving the warning bells past your lips. They slide on your tongue, but it tastes strangely sweet when you’re in his arms. You exhale a faint cloud of gray. His hand travels down to your hip, squeezing there.

Your thighs press together, hand digging into his shoulder. Arousal drips down your stomach, pooling between your legs. He hasn’t done much to warrant this, other than share a ghost of a kiss. The word spins in your mind, hot and exhilarated. You want to feel the stumble between your palms, want to lick the smoke off of his lips, want to wipe your mind from the mere concept of restaurants and guests and plates.

You think of leaning in. You consider it, clawing at his shoulder, fearing dripping on his thigh. Your fingers tingle. You’re getting a story, an experience, a proof you’re alive— if it’s fucking in a New York alleyway, so be it. At least your heart will beat with something other than nerves.

You’re doing it.

Your chin tips towards him, but Matty retreats, leaning back into the stairs. He takes a drag of his dwindling cigarette, blowing it into the air, far away from your readied mouth. Hurt splashes behind your ribs, but you don’t let it show.

Stealing the cig from his finger, you take the last puff. It falls down to your lungs with more ease and you try to contain your giddy excitement at finally getting it right. Breathing out a plume of smoke in his face, you wash him in gray.

Adrenaline rushes up to your head. You close your eyes, breathing in the dirty air, face buzzing pleasantly. A smile ghosts your lips. Maybe you’ve been wrong all these years. Maybe smoking is for you. Your tongue tastes like fire.

“It’s bad for you,” Matty says. Your eyes snap open, locking with his. His stare is dark.

You arch an eyebrow. “Now you’re concerned for my health?”

He pinches your hip. “Brat.”

You press the butt of the cigarette on the staircase railing, throwing its carcass to the ground amidst the others. Pushing yourself up with his shoulder, you find yourself gleeful that he bends his head back to watch you, literally looking up at you. Your fingers linger on his shirt, itching to climb them up to his neck, his jaw, his cheek. Trace the shape of his lips, then taste them yourself.

“Thanks for the cig.”

Matty nods. “Sure.”

You finally let go of him, taking a step back, then another one, before turning around and walking back to the restaurant. Your whole body is feverish.

You shake your head, making your way back to the table of a prissy elderly couple. Your smile is wide and relaxed. “Is everything good here?”

—

You clutch your handbag as you step through the dining room. The crew crowds around the bar, hunching over the counter in a laugh and downing back shots, spreading through the unmade tables on squeaky clean floors. You’re unsure on your feet. You’ve never been to shift drinks before, instead practically running back home with your sweaty uniform shoved in your bag. This time, as you slipped into your white flowy camisole, you felt a strange resolve climb up your spine.

It’s been happening more and more these days. As you get a feel of the land, zigzagging through bustling tables without a second thought, you find yourself chatting with the other waitresses, pestering the host, bumming castaway cigarettes from line cooks.

Matty spots you from his seat at the bar. A smile splits on his face as he waves you over. “Hey, princess. C’me here.”

There’s a giddiness you can’t control swirling in your stomach. You walk to him, now more certain in your steps. There’s a sense of belonging when you’re near Matty; when he talks to you; when he makes you a plate and slides it your way wordlessly. Like you’ve been tapped. You’re in because he opens the door.

You climb up the stool, slamming your handbag on the counter. “You need to stop calling me princess,” you say.

Matty is already amused, wiping beer foam out of his smirking lips. “Why? It fits you so well.” You narrow your eyes at him. The digs about your father don’t hurt when it’s from him. He makes them bulletless.

“People will get the wrong impression.”

His chin rests on his palm, staring you up and down, tongue digging in his cheek. “And what impression is that?”

You flush, looking away. Your skin burns at the memory of him, feeling his gaze still seeping through your cheek. You inspect the collection of bottles on the shelves behind the working bartenders instead of answering. Painstakingly reading the labels is a better activity for your mind than the whirlwind images of you on your knees, on the floor, gasping, giggling, coming— fantasies you’ve indulged in more times than you can count, although you always close the pandora box almost as quickly as it opens.

Matty follows your eye line. He leans into you, asking, “What do you want?”

For all your meticulous label-reading, the letters suddenly become blurry jargon. The bar is far-stretched, out of your depth. A world of unknowns rippling in amber-colored bottles. You bite your lip, hesitating. “I don’t know.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Have you never had alcohol before?”

It must be written on your face from how quickly he clocks you. Again, you find yourself wishing to grow a few inches taller, be just a little older, more complete.

You purse your lips. “I just turned 21.” Matty laughs, throwing his head back. It’s a nice sound— rare in the overwhelming kitchen where a swear is better currency. Still, you despise the mocking undertone. Defensively, you cry, “What? It’s the law!”

Matty shakes his head, turning to his bartender friend polishing glasses, a constant sour expression on his face. “George, make her a sex on the beach.”

George nods, putting down his glass and reaching for a shaker. He twirls his vodka between expert fingers, pouring it in freely. You watch, a little intrigued by his sure moves, biceps flexing as he shakes the concoction with one hand.

“He’s a show-off,” Matty says. “A sex on the beach does not require all this.”

“Fuck off,” George retorts, though he sounds little bothered. He pours the cocktail in an ice-filled glass, topping it with an orange and a cherry, before sliding it towards you. “There you go, sweets.” Beside you, Matty rolls his eyes.

The drink is an orangey pink, seemingly fruity. You give Matty a look. “Did you give me the girliest drink you could think of?”

“Well, I wasn’t about to start you with straight whiskey, was I?”

Tentatively, you raise the drink to your lips, self-conscious of his heavy stare on you. You throw a glance his way, locking eyes with him as you finally tip the glass. You take a sip, licking the rim clean, smiling as he swallows thickly. “I like it,” you declare.

His hand clenches around his beer glass. “Good,” he says, sounding rough. Thrill beats up your thighs. You clench them, crossing one over the other.

You drink another mouthful. You grin as you lick the pink off your lips, hyperaware of his transfixed watch on them. “Why is it called a sex on the beach?”

“Some bartender named it that.”

“That’s not a very precise answer.”

He scowls, taking a sip of his beer. “Do I look like an encyclopedia to you?”

“Nah, you’re right.” Matty side-eyes your taunting face, pink grin teasing him. He seems to ready for a cheeky comment, which you provide happily, clicking your tongue, “Not smart enough for that.”

He arches an eyebrow, spinning on his stool to face you. His knees trapp your thighs. Your skin is on fire almost immediately. Tingles where his legs graze you climb up and up your body, growing wetter at his unimpressed stare. You’ve lost all of your bravado.

“Miss dean’s list has a lot to say, I see.” You lick your teeth, standing a little straighter. How you want to be good. You shake your head. He peers at you, almost pouting. “No?”

Again, you shake your head, biting down your smile. A sudden paragon of excellence, you affirm, “I don’t have anything to say.”

Matty hums. “Better watch that mouth if you can’t walk it.”

“Why should I when you watch it for me?” Your heart roars under your ribs. Nerves and thrill mixes in your belly, making a heady mix that shoots up your spine.

Matty presses his knees on your thighs. “Careful.” He smirks down at you, leaning in to whisper, “People will get the wrong impression.”

You press your legs back. “They could be right.”

Matty laughs, reaching for his beer and taking a sip. His Adam's apple bobs as he drinks; you clench your thighs together, watching as he licks the condensation off his lips. He narrows his eyes at you. “You know, you got that innocent act, but you’re trouble.”

You chuckle, faux-offended. “You’re the one who gave me my first cigarette,” you argue. Your eyes find your lonely cocktail, grabbing it. “And my first drink.” As though to prove your point, you swallow a long sip.

Matty eyes you. Heavy meaning drips from his lips as he trails, “And…?”

You scoff, swatting his knee. “I’m not a little girl.” Your hand lingers on it. Primly, you add, “I’ve had sex before.”

“Oh yeah?”

You sit straighter. “Yes. I’ve had a boyfriend.”

“And how was he?”

You blush. “He was…” Memories of awkward meetings in his dorm room as he rutted above you flash back to you. The messy rubbing just under your clit, always too hard yet too slow. The falling sweaty over your naked body, laughing to himself, asking if you’ve come. “Fine.”

Matty arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “Fine?”

“Yes!” You cry defensively. “I don’t know. We were 19. It wasn’t gonna— rock my world.”

He smirks, voice low as he says, “Baby, he wasn’t doing it right then. It should always rock your world.”

It’s so fucking obnoxious of him to say. You should be disgusted by the ego-fueled words— should doubt them, coming from a man and all.

Yet all you can think about is the way his hands work in the kitchen, quick and precise and dexterous. How they would feel on your skin, rough and callused. How they would work on your body, expert and certain and steady.

Fuck, you wanna know them. You want them at your clit, fucking into you, pinching a nipple, wiping your lipgloss off your chin.

Dirty images fill your mind. Again, you clench your thighs, soaking your underwear. Your breathing has grown heavy. He watches you with dark eyes, like he can tell. Like he sees the thoughts as they cross your brain. Sinful pressure builds in your stomach.

You take a nervous sip of your drink. You lick the vodka off your lips, but still it’s not enough to stop you from breathing out, “How so?”

Matty warns, “You’re teasing.”

“I’m asking.” Your hand pinches his knee.

Danger pumps in your veins, alongside something dirtier, but still you stare at him straight on. His eyes intensify, his fingers clenching around his pint. You can imagine the feel of them on your trembling thighs, digging into the flesh to bruise it. You think he’s imagining it, too.

“Well, firstly, he needs to make you come. On his knees preferably— just worshiping that cunt. Gotta be fucking starved for it, you know? Dive like it’s his last meal.”

Your breath hitches at the filthy words, toes curling in your sneakers. You swallow thickly, trying to brush away the invading images of Matty devouring you on a table of the dining room. It’s a poor attempt— the idea of his tongue lapping at you, swiping your clit, fucking into you is so vivid you can almost feel it.

Matty gives you a conspiratorial look, whispering, “But I bet he wasn’t doing that, was he?” You shake your head, dazed. He tsks. “Shame.”

You keep a vice-like grip on Matty’s knee, trying to reattach yourself to some kind of reality. He’s tangible under your fingertips— warm.

“See,” Matty continues, smirking down at your clear mesmerism: breathless and dark eyed, following his lips religiously. “After she’s come a few times and she’s all dopey and relaxed and fucked out— when she’s wet enough she’s dripping on your chin— that’s when you can first slide in. Then you gotta find what she likes best, you know? If it’s rough and fast or slow and deep. You can’t just thrust uselessly. That’s what your little boyfriend did, right?”

You nod, too taken in his honey web to care to keep up with your aloof, fine experience act. “Yeah. Yeah, he would just drill.”

Matty shakes his head, rubbing his lower lip. “Fucking nineteen years old. They never do it right.”

“Oh, so you were also kind of shit?”

He smiles. “Well, no. But I’m a prodigy.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, “Oh, my God. Shut up.”

Matty grazes your bare thigh with a cold, rough hand. You shiver, spreading your legs instinctively. He smirks at that, cocky and smug, letting one callused finger draw up your skin.

“Finish your drink,” Matty orders, tipping his head towards the nearly over cocktail.

You don’t even think twice before grabbing the glass, downing the end of it. Two fingers find your thigh in reward, dancing on the flushed skin.

He leans into you, locking his eyes with you as he whispers, “The trick is to never let her get too used to something. Speed up then slow down. Switch positions. Always rub and rub at that little bundle of nerves until she’s come on your cock so many times she’s begging you to leave it be.” His whole hand swallows your thigh. You sit straighter, pleasure coiling in your belly. “And then you make her come one more time. That’s how you rock her world.”

You’re shortwinded, waves of overwhelming excitement razing through your fragile limbs. You open your legs wider, inviting his adventurous fingers, practically begging for them, really.

Matty gives you a purposeful onceover. You must look desperate, staring at him like you could swallow him up.

His hand leaves your thigh, grabbing his beer to finish it in one long sip. He stands up, leaving your burning cocoon. You miss the press of his legs once they free yours.

“I think it’s time to go home,” Matty declares.

Again, hurt at being rejected pinches your heart. He’s raised your temperature to a sinful degree and now he’s backing down, leaving you wet and throbbing around nothing, hair risen at the prospect of dust.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks. You scowl, crying, “Oh, come on. I’m not a child.”

Matty gives you a dark stare that makes you shudder in thrill. His voice is low and gravelly when he says, “Believe me, I know that.” His head tips back to the door. “Let me drive you home.”

You bite back a smirk. “Yeah?” A drive home, to an empty house without onlookers. You can’t contain your excitement.

Matty rolls his eyes, grabbing your hands to get you off the stool and onto your feet. He takes your bag next, swinging it over his shoulder. He starts walking. “Come on, princess. I can’t have her majesty home after midnight or she’ll turn into a pumpkin.”

You skip after him, knocking his shoulder with yours once you finally catch up. “You got the metaphor wrong. Cinderella didn’t transform into a pumpkin, she lost her dress and slippers.” He gives you a side look which you giggle at, suddenly all giddy. “Plus, it’s already 2:25AM. You’re too late.”

“Yet you still have your dress.”

“That can be arranged.”

Finally outside, you breathe in the fresh air before stepping into Matty’s car. It smells like cigarettes and weed in it, some useless pine car scent hanging from the rearview mirror with blue dices to cover it. You buckle your seatbelt.

Matty doesn’t say anything as he drives, focused on the dark roads stretching in front of you. Your heart beats faster as every known house catches your peripheral vision. Every inch brings you closer to the tantalizing end goal. It’s a miracle you sit still.

He parallel parks in front of your house, gripping your headrest to look backwards before dipping his wrist over the steering wheel.

You can’t wait anymore, unbuckling your seatbelt as soon as the car stops and practically running to your house. Matty doesn’t follow. You turn back to his open car window as he sits still, frowning at him.

“Alright,” Matty nods at you. “Goodnight.”

Your lips gape in utter disbelief. “Are you serious?” All that teasing, all that talk, all that promise. He drove you home, for fuck’s sake. And he’s saying goodnight?

Matty arches an eyebrow, taunting as he says, “Do you want to have a bad night?”

You might very well see red. Fuck him. You scoff, flipping around purposefully and trudging to your house, already apprehending the hour you’ll spend with your hand between your thighs thinking of him.

“Sweet dreams,” Matty screams after you, a fucking shit-eating grin resonating in the letters.

“Fuck off!” He laughs, unbothered.

The sound follows you as you slam the door close. It’s only once you’re inside that Matty drives away.

—

“Can nobody do a fucking sauce right anymore?” Matty yells, dipping a spoon in a brown concoction, anger and stress sweating off of him. Gray streaked hair swoops over his forehead, curls taken inch by inch down through the day’s unstoppable dance. His cook’s jacket is wide open, stained near the hem, sleeves rolled up to reveal just a hint of his tattooed arms.

“What did you say about my sauce?” A fellow cook bites back, several inches shorter than Matty yet crowding him threateningly still.

Matty throws the pot back on the stove’s top and it bangs loudly. “That shit’s runny as fuck. It’s not going out.”

“It’s perfect.”

He scoffs, shoving the spoon on his chest, smearing his black shirt in leftover sauce. “It’s uneatable. Do it again.”

Although the cook seems to want to bite something back, Matty turns back to his station before he gets the chance. Fury radiates off of him as he grabs his knife, making quick work of his peppers, forearms flexing as he chops. His jaw clenches while he works, looking like he has more to say, like he’s actively biting his tongue to hold them back.

You follow the cut of his jaw religiously, wondering if it’d leave you bloody. Scarred on your open palms, on your titled neck, on your spread legs—

“Don’t fuck the line cooks.”

You jump, turning to come face to face with Veronica. Her hair is up in an unmade ponytail, arms full of perfectly dished plates, and she looks impatiently towards you. “What?”

“I said don’t,” each word get enunciated through her red lips, “fuck,” she presses, “the line cooks.” There’s a vague ominous air as she adds, “They’ll destroy you.”

You blush, feeling shy at being caught ogling. “I wasn’t going to.”

A derisory snort comes out of Veronica, looking you up and down. “Sure.” Her stare turns soft, almost worrisome. You realize her genuine care as she sighs, “Just— beware of him.”

Your eyes burn with the need to look his way. “Who?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.” There’s a note of pride in her. There’s a note of pride in you. Seen through the stuck-up ponytail and daddy’s name; accepted.

She twists around, walking away in a hurry. As you make your way to your recently seated table, you can’t stop throwing a self-indulgent look Matty’s way. He looks back.

You grin, wiggling your fingers in a wave. He snorts, shaking his head as he laughs.

—

You walk into the kitchen still wearing your uniform, although you’ve swapped the heels for some sneakers, your trusty bag swung over your shoulder. You rake a hand through your hair, scalp sore from the pigtails you’ve kept it into.

Matty is bent over the top of the stove, scrubbing at the iron with a dedicated look. You linger in the spectacle for a second, his arm flexed as he works the scraper, his frustrated little frown, his clenched jaw. He’s a sight to be savored; unfortunately, you’ve got no time.

“Hey,” you call, breaking him out of his transe. Matty straightens, turning to you with a nod of acknowledgement. “Front of house is all clean,” you say, pointing towards the doors leading to the dining room as though he could forget where it was. “Adam just left. Wife and kid and all that,” you continue with the lightness of a joke. “I’m off, too.”

Matty discards his scraper, leaning against the stove as he wipes his dirty hands with a towel. He frowns, asking, “How are you getting home?”

You snort at that, as if it was a silly question. “The bus,” you say with a condescending duh tone you must have picked up from one of the waitresses.

Matty throws the towel over his shoulder, repeating, unimpressed, “The bus?”

“Well, it’s kind of like a car, you see, but it’s longer, and it stops at several—”

He gives you a deadpan look, not even upping the corner of a smile for your wit. “Don’t be cute.”

You cock your head, trying to maintain that cool you’ve managed to exude instead of falling into some giggly, blushing thing. He always seems to bring that daunting side of you, like you revert back to a shy, innocent girl in his presence. It’s ironic, considering that divergence from the fatalistic line you’ve always followed is all his fault.

“It’s not safe,” Matty continues.

“It’s the bus.,” you laugh.

He stares at you, unflinching. “It’s New York. And it’s, what, two AM?” Matty shakes his head, falling further into his convictions. “I can’t let a pretty, young girl like you walk around at night.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not my dad.”

He snorts, though there’s a cruel edge to it. He’s vicious when he retorts, “I think we’re both well aware of that.” The purposeful onceover leaves a dizzying dance through your belly, ravaging down your legs in childish excitement. You can’t stop the blush from spreading on your face this time. Winning, Matty declares definitively, “Just wait for me. I’m almost done. I’ll drive you home.”

“Fine,” you sigh, dropping your bag on the floor and climbing up the counter. You dig your phone from your waistband, scrolling as your feet kick through space.

You take a peek over your screen. Matty turns back to his work, scrubbing at some black grease as his hair falls over his face. There’s a panting, dedicated look on his face that’s not too far fetched from what you imagine— You shake your head.

Biting your lip, you call with faux-innocence, “Be quick, though.” You smirk, gleefully apprehending his reaction as you set the fatal trap, “I’ve got a date after.”

Matty freezes, though he does not look up. Stilted, he asks, “Really? Who?”

You sigh, kicking your feet, acting like you’re not hyperaware of the effect of your words on him. “One of the waiters. He said he’d come over after the crew’s night out. He’s 24,” you start conversationally. Matty's hand clenches around the unmoving scraper. You lick your teeth, trying to kill the devious smile on your lips as you finish, “I listened to your advice.”

Matty whips back to you. He finally sees you, sitting like a queen on your throne made of stainless steel, mischief and tease written all over your grin. His eyes narrow at you. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I don’t know. Am I?”

“You’re fucking with me.”

You cross your arms, shrugging. “Maybe. Maybe I just really want that orgasm you were talking about. Maybe I have to get it somewhere.”

A beat of silence lingers between the two of you as Matty stares, clogs turning in his mind. He takes a warning step towards you. “If you’re fucking with me…”

“Oh, my God,” you roll your eyes. “I can’t be anymore clear—”

Matty stands in front of you before you have time to finish. The words die in your throat as you blink up at him, losing that carelessness you had when he was several safe feet away.

He slithers between your thighs, pressing his hands on your naked knees, cocking his head at you. Your heart races inside your chest, skipping beats every time a fingertip presses into your flesh. He wants you to feel him, feel the merest edges of him like they are digging under your skin.

“You’ve got nothing to say now.” You swallow thickly. His fingers tiptoe up your thighs, smirking down at you as he coos, “Come on. What’s the other advice I gave you?”

“Give her one more—”

“Don’t talk it if you can’t walk it.” His hands near the hem of your skirt. He cocks his head at you. “Well?”

“I was fucking with you,” you breathe out, eyes mesmerizedly locked with his. “I said no to the waiter.”

Matty grins at that, proud. “Good,” he whispers back. “Because 24 years old are just as shit as 19 years old.”

“Except your prodigious self.”

“Except that, yeah.”

You smile. “I’m starting to believe you just think there’s no one who can fuck me like you.”

“Princess,” Matty starts. “I promise there’s no one who can fuck you like me.”

You hook your hands behind his neck, tugging him into you, smirking. “Prove it.”

He catches your lips with no hesitation, drawing you into a hot kiss like a starved man. He tastes like the cigarettes he chainsmoked with two bartenders, like the salt he added to his sauce, dipping a spoon in to taste test it, like the bourbon he let you take an indulgent sip of before downing it, laughing at your grimace.

There’s a giddy laugh threatening to slip out of your mouth, some unbelief that Matty Healy is finally kissing you. You’ve spent hours in that juvenile room of yours thinking back on your exchanges — the glances, the squeezes, the ghost kisses, the unbearable tension — one hand dipped between your thighs, eyes wrinkled close trying to remember the way his lower lip drooped with the weight of his cigarette. Wondering what it would be like to take it out, lick the tar off his tongue, finally know what he tastes like.

Your fingers travel up to his hair, messy and tired from a long day of work in a boiling kitchen. You pass your hands through — finally, finally — kissing him back with equal fervor. You slide your hips closer to him, trying to nestle his body into the crook of yours.

Matty grips your thighs like a lifebuoy, holding onto you like you could disappear from his hands with the trick of the light. There’s hunger in his mouth, hunger in the way he clutches you, hunger in the climbing hand groping one of your breasts, rolling his palm on your pebbled nipple. You moan into his mouth, shocked and terribly turned on.

You realize how much he must have been holding back all the times you’ve teased him, poking and prodding at him in hopes he would snap; the tension you’ve built inside of him, like a string pulled too far. Matty kisses you like he fears it might be the last time, like he needs to make it count. Like there’s a lesson to teach you.

He must not have figured you out as well as he’s been boasting about if he thinks this could ever be the last time.

You grip his hair, drawing him closer to you. He’s all limbs and lips, overwhelming, overheating. You break from his mouth just to catch your breath, forehead falling on his as you pant.

“Fucking hell,” he laughs, lazily thumbing at your tits. You difficultly stifle a moan, your lips parting as pleasure swoops in your belly.

“Don’t stop,” you already find yourself begging.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Matty tuts, sneaking a hand under your shirt to take your naked breast instead. The sensation is double the intensity, and you find yourself incapable of holding back a whiny groan. “When I’m done with you, you’ll have to call in sick tomorrow,” he boasts, watching the spectacle under him with mesmerism.

You laugh at that. “Sure.” Matty dips into your neck, leaving wet kisses down your collarbones. Your breath quickens, though you still find the words to tease, “You know, you’re such a boy still.”

Matty’s head snaps up, daggering you with a stare. You giggle at his offense, petting your hand through his curls. “I’ll show you boy,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

His hand falls out of your shirt, finding back its rising course on your thighs. He flips your skirt up, showing the pink underwear you wore into work. A groan comes from the back of his throat. You smirk, parting your legs further, giving him an eyeful.

You think he’ll kiss you again. Unbuckle his belt. Drag the pink lace off your legs with a wink.

Instead, Matty kneels in front of you.

Your breath hitches at the sight; Matty on his knees, looking up at you with those intense, brown eyes, swollen lips from a torrid kiss parting in anticipation. Thrill descends down your belly, gripping it tellingly. You wait for his next move on the edge of your seat— literally, as he drags you near the end of the counter and kisses up your spread thighs.

Your ex-boyfriend went down on you once, some awkward, wet thing between your thighs he came back up hating. You didn’t mind; you found the whole experience strange too, faking moans as he lapped at the wrong place, overthinking about what you must taste like. You were glad, secretly, that you didn’t have to go through the whole ordeal again, even though you were giving him plenty of head.

When Matty kisses a stripe up your skin, swallowing your thigh with a rough hand, there’s a strange sense of excitement. Through his nonchalance, he’s always been precise and dedicated. A dexterous man, with surely a dexterous tongue.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe 19 year olds are shit. Maybe Matty can blow your mind.

You stroke your hand through his hair, grinning as he shivers. “You’ve talked a big game,” you say, though your voice is choked. “I hope you can back it up.”

Matty hums, sneaking a thumb straight to your clit. He finds it with practiced ease, pressing into it before faintly circling it. Euphoria shoots up your spine. You bite back a scream, gripping his hair, rolling your hips into him for more. Your eyes widen, surprised by your new reaction. Even when it’s your own knowledgeable hand between your thighs, you never find a hit of pleasure this true this quickly, let alone your sloppy ex.

“Don’t you worry your pretty, little head, princess,” Matty whispers, continuing to raise your temperature impossibly high with a focused finger. “I can.”

And then, before you can quip back something else about his clear bravado, his lips latch around your clit, sucking on it. “Fuck,” is your visceral reaction, your head thumping against the wall. His stubble rubs on your inner thighs.

Matty doesn’t stop there, of course, descending his hand to tease at your entrance. His tongue swipes at you diligently, overwhelming you with ecstatic feelings. You can’t make sense of the waves attacking you, following the rhythm he licks on you.

You tug on his curls with a death grip, half-convinced you might unroot them. You grind into his face, your thighs closing in on his cheek in a desperate attempt to keep him close. As though he, too, could disappear any instant. Stand up and leave the room, say he didn’t mean it.

But he doesn't. Instead, he slips one finger inside of you, thrusting and curling expertly. Your free hand grips the counter, attaching you to some semblance of reality.

He leaves your cunt long enough to whisper, all cheeky and smug, “How am I doing?”

“Fuck,” you cry, drawing him back to your soaked entrance. He licks your sensitive bundle of nerves with a smile as you drip on his chin. “You’re fine,” you say, still out of breath, because you can’t stop being difficult.

Matty makes a noise of offense from the back of his throat, breaking away again as he arches an eyebrow at you. “Fine?” He repeats, unamused. He adds a second finger inside of you, letting the pornographic sounds of your sopping cunt ring through the empty kitchen.

You bite your lip to hold back the scream you want to let free, your legs shaking around him. Pleasure so thoroughly builds inside of you, stretching languidly under your heated skin. A moan ends up slipping through your tyrannical guards. Matty latches onto that, fucking into you quicker, drawing eyerolls and whines out of your swollen lips.

You’ve always been implacably in control. A girl of steel, focused and stubborn. How easily he wrecks you, unbuilds you from your very careful bricks.

Matty smirks at your reactions, thumbing your clit next as he watches you washed with bliss. He kisses your knee, quickening his pace. “Is this fine?”

“Yes,” you nod. There’s something boiling under your skin, bubbling in warning. You sense the fire, curling your toes, licking up your weak legs, joining in Matty’s relentless fingers inside of you.

He pouts. “Only fine?” Turning his head, he kisses your other knee. The delicate press of his lips tingles up your thigh.

“It’s—” You cry out a moan, wrinkling your face shut. Fire dances in your belly, pressing against your skin. You want it free.

“What?” Matty asks. He bites your knee, demanding your attention. Your eyes open in electroshocked surprise, peering down at him as you pant. The room spins around you, a world of spice and stainless steel. “Come on, admit it.” Your eyes lock with his, dark and intense and so fucking smug. He’s amused at your pathetic attempts to lie to him. He knows.

You huff. “It’s okay.”

His eyes darken. You halt your breath, waiting for the shoe to drop. You’re afraid he’ll stop, feel his desire to do so in the bated breath, to teach you a lesson. Your legs buzz, ready to trap him between them, beg him to forgive you. Apprehension swoops in your belly, meshing terribly well with the building bliss.

Matty doesn’t even slow. His mouth finds your clit again, furiously licking at you as he thrusts his fingers. You scream once more, your hips moving in instinct, bucking against his sticky face.

“Matty, Matty,” you chant, in complete contradiction to your taunts. Fire climbs up your chest, flushing it, falling down your arms. Your entire body shakes, the hints of an earthquake hitting you. “I’m—“

His fingers curl just so, finding the perfect angle. Your head lits aflame, fire swirling around your putty brain, and you’re burning down. You come with a guttural cry, gripping Matty’s hair, the letters of his name loosening on your tongue.

You come down slowly, difficultly, as your limbs unclench their choking hold on him. You can’t seem to quite catch your breath, panting as you blink and blink, trying to get used to this new world.

Fuck. This is what a real man does.

You grin, a laugh bubbling out of you. “Wow,” you say, smiling down at him.

Matty still looks at you with that dangerous, hungry look. He wipes his chin, sharp teeth flashing at you as he stands up. He kisses your jaw, your neck, relishing in the moans you give back. Your skin is oversensitive, already too hot and only getting worse when he spreads a hand on your waist.

He sneaks under your shirt, raising it, throwing it off your shoulders. His eyes find you, ravenous, taking in the matching pink bra to your long lost underwear. You flush, looking away shyly.

His callused fingertips find your waist again, teasing a ghost touch over your ribs, to your back, up your spine, slowly and faintly enough you’re half sure you might be dreaming this whole thing up.

Matty kisses your collarbone, undoing the claps of your bra with one hand, letting it fall down your shoulders. He dips his head out of your neck, looking down at your bare breasts, nipples peaked in perfect offering. A groan chokes in the back of his throat. His hand finds one of your tits, swallowing it as he grabs it. You sigh, pleasure waving through you already.

Matty finds the crook of your neck again, kissing up its curve to whisper in your ear, “What’s your name?” You frown, cocking your head, telling him.

Matty tsks. “I’m not done, then.” He takes you by the thighs, picking you off the counter and lowering you to the squeaky clean floor. You cry in surprise, clutching his shoulders.

The tiles are cold on your back. He spreads your legs out for him, kissing back down your body. You rest on your elbows, watching him as you pant.

“You’ve already—“ Surely, he must be wanting something more reciprocating now.

Matty shushes you. “Let me do my job.” He unzips your skirt, dragging it off your legs, taking a second to take in the sight of you.

He opens your thighs, readying you for him again. You breathe quicker, incapable of keeping up with his moves, head turning at the idea of another earthshattering orgasm. You want your body to crack and break next.

Matty looks up at you, smirking. He spits on your cunt. His tongue sticks out, licking up your juices next. You roll your eyes, pleasure razing through you, your elbows giving out as you fall to the ground like a wireless doll. A teasing laugh blooms out of him as he dives back in.

It’s sloppier this time, given you’ve practically drenched your inner thighs. He throws two of your legs over his shoulders and eats you like a starved man, licking and fucking and sucking. You can’t keep up with his burning tongue, though you don’t try to, letting yourself be washed in the feelings he coaxes out of you instead.

You moan freely, unashamed of the pathetic sounds you let out for him. You’re glad to be on the floor just so you don’t have to hold up any part of your body. You’re weightless, discombobulated, choosing to exist as only a body overtaken with euphoria.

You say his name most of all, grinding on his tongue. Matty seems to like that, answering with a particularly skillful swipe, gripping your hip bones with two greedy hands.

It’s honestly obnoxious of him to not even use his hands.

His tongue fucks into you, his nose rubbing at your clit. He holds you like you could shatter under him, melt into syrup and seep into the cracks. It might very well be possible with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins.

“I’m right there,” you pant in warning, gripping his hair to keep him still, rolling into his face with sloppy hips. He laughs at that, the sound resonating in your cunt, and ecstasy weeps inside of you. “Just—”

You don’t have time to warn him of anything as he runs his tongue furiously. Your cunt flutters, clenching around his tongue. You scream, your thighs dropping completely open in surrounder. He sucks on your clit and you crack, splintering apart, falling into the ground. You feel yourself shake, buzzing and buzzing, reality slipping from your fingers as he continues to lap at you.

It’s too much too soon; you push him out of your legs with a whine, pouting down at him. Matty indulges in your silent request, dipping into one of your thighs to wipe the slick from his chin. It dries on your skin as he climbs up your body, out of breath.

Matty kisses the tip of your nose, smiling down at you. You’re wrecked, your sweaty hair spilling around your head, your lips bitten raw, your skin flushed. You grin at him still, slack, thoroughly happy and satisfied. You rake a hand through his hair, messier than they were before your ruinous hold on them.

“Fine?” Matty teases.

You hum, looping your arm around his neck. “Maybe a bit better than fine,” you taunt back, raising your head to catch his lips. He scoffs in your mouth, though kisses you back indulgently.

He leaves it to litter kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, finding a nipple and sucking it. Your breaths quicken, something close to pants leaving your dry mouth. As he licks at it with a tongue you’ve grown sinfully familiar with, his hands slip to his jeans, undoing the buttons eagerly. You hear the zip go down, excited shivers climbing up your spine.

Matty tugs himself out of his pants. You look down to watch the spectacle, biting your lip as his hard cock springs into his hand. He strokes it once, twice. Rises from your tits to kneel between your legs, towering over your body.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even walk into work tomorrow.” Thrill burns at your skin. Your legs fall open for him in devotion, obeying to his words like gospel.

“Promise?” You smile up at him, cheeky.

Matty snorts, gripping one of your thighs to raise your hips, lining his cock with your dripping entrance. “Only promise of mine you can trust, darling.” Locking his dark eyes with yours, he slowly enters you.

“Shit,” you cry, spasming around him. You reach out blindly, catching his hand on your hip, wrapping your fist around two of his fingers and tightening. It sends the message clear enough; he chuckles, bottoming out. You moan in relief, bliss blooming around your bones, heart fluttering in great apprehension. You bite back a giggle, playing with the curls at his nape.

Matty bends back down to kiss your cheek, holding himself up with one arm, laying still between your thighs. He’s buried so deep, you feel your nerve endings rearrange for him. Your cunt throbs around him, begging for more, but he just sweetly sprinkles your face with love.

You scrunch your nose, shaking him off. “I want more,” you demand, raising your hips as proof. Faint pleasure ripples through you, but it’s still not enough.

Matty nips at your jaw, torturously frozen between your thighs. “Wait. You haven’t had sex in two years. I don’t want to break you.”

You furrow your eyebrows, a bratty pout storming on your face. Meanly, childishly, you clench your fist around his digits. “You won’t break me,” you argue. “You need to check that ego of yours.”

Matty snorts. “The lady is impatient. As if I didn’t already give her two great orgasms.”

“They were fine, remember?”

“A bit more than fine.”

“Just a bit.”

Even slower than he entered you, Matty thrusts out of you, watching intently as the pleasure reverberates inside of you, all the way to your lips parting in greed.

He lingers in that moment once more. You sigh frustratedly, staring up at him unimpressed. His shit-eating grin catches on his lips. He thrusts back in just as unhurriedly, repeating his vicious cycle until you’re so thoroughly ready you might lose your mind from the lack of something.

Something quick. Something hard. Something great.

“I’m not fucking breakable,” you finally snap.

Matty hums, shaking off your hand easily to palm your tits, kissing down your neck. “This is how you treat princesses.”

“I will make you eat that nickname until you have to spit it out in chunks.”

Matty laughs in the curve of your neck, shaking his head. His hair tickles your jaw. He comes back out to peer at you, amused. He grinds his hips into you, barely any real friction. “She’s got threats.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I’ve got more if you don’t fucking move.”

Matty tsks. “For a smart, college girl, you’re not being very bright. Have I fucked your working brain out of you already?”

You cock your head, frowning at him. Matty smiles, hooking your knee higher. The angle is heavenly— though he still doesn’t fuck, he hits you deep. You bite your lip, shivering, feeling pleasure tingle up your legs. “I thought you were all proper. Raised right. Weren’t you?” Again, you give him a confused look. “Don’t good girls say please?”

Your eyes widen in understanding. You cup both his cheeks, staring into his eyes as you moan, “Please, Matty. Fuck, I need you to fuck me. I need you to—“

Matty snaps his hips into yours, a quick, relieving rhythm. You mewl, head rolling on the tiles. “There she is,” Matty coos. “My good, little girl.” You nod at him, agreeing with anything out of his mouth now that he fucks like this.

Matty searches for the right pace, switching up his flow and scrutinizing your face as he does so. Hard, fast, deep, slow; he tries it all, mixing and matching and making your insides throb around him. Your mouth parts uselessly, slack moans rolling down your chin. He licks your jaw, leaving you wet as he pants.

Your hands on his cheeks flex in place, digging into his jaw, the faint stubble rubbing on your palms. You might very well be hurting him, but you’re too gone to care. He deserves it, anyway. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does.

“Is this what you wanted?”

You smile wide at him. His eyes narrow, expecting the taunt as you say, “Well, I still know my name.”

“Is that so?” Matty says, sitting up on his heels. He holds his weight with a hand near your waist, using the other to raise your ass up the ground. With this new angle, he fucks into you deeper, quicker.

You whine, your hand wrapping around his grounding arm, holding onto it desperately. Your claws dig into his tattoos. Ecstasy waves through you, pushing and pulling with his strokes. Your head suddenly feels very light, faraway from your bared neck.

Finally, he seems to settle on a pattern. How quickly he’s successfully read the mindless sounds, figured you out from the pathetic eyerolls overtaking your face when he quickens his pace. Pleasure weeps inside of you, burning through your skin. You don’t ever want him to stop.

He thrusts in and out of you frantically. Deep, long strokes that perfectly hit this heavenly spot inside of you. He grins down at you like he knows, burying against it again and again until you’re melting in his arms.

You can’t do anything but cry for him as Matty undoes the last remnants of your brick walls. You lose any semblance of shame, bucking your hips in the same rhythm as his, calling his name in your father’s kitchen. You’re too gone to care, too gone to even think of it.

“My pretty girl,” Matty moans above you. His hand caresses your hip, that godforsaken callus on his index finger rubbing the bone. “Even prettier than I imagined.”

You give him a slack smile, thrill and pride spinning in your head. He thought of you. How you want to know all the fantasies he holds in that treasure chest brain of his. Want to know if he touched himself thinking of them.

Your hands dig into his forearm, staring up at him. “Tell me.” Matty shakes his head. “Come on,” you plea, spoiled. Matty is unflappable, smirking down at you as he fucks into you. “Please, sir.”

Matty’s hips falter in their movement, a low groan slipping from his lips. His hand digs into your hips, staring down at you in shock. “Fuck,” is all he chokes out.

You grin, a greedy thing finding its new weapon. You palm your own breast, playing with your nipple as you moan. “Was it like this, sir?” You whine, twisting your fingers, letting the pleasure wash over you. “Is this how you imagined it?”

Matty moans at the sight of you, flicking between your face and your tits, unsure of where to settle. He’s lost that shit-eating smirk of his, that certainty, that unshakeable control. He’s watching you, obsessed.

“No, you were actually well-behaved in my dreams.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Not true.”

Matty sighs, climbing a hand from your hip up your waist, groping the forgotten, lonely breast. “Nah, you’re right,” he admits. He mirrors your moves, rubbing his thumb as you do. “I wanted you like this,” he whispers, mesmerized with you. “Under me. Fucking purring for me.”

His hips find back that relentless pace between your thighs, quick and hard. Ecstasy coils in your belly, breathing, alive, eating through your limbs. You shiver, moaning his name.

“I wanted you on the steps of the emergency staircase, riding my cock for everyone to see. Good, proper girl like you, fucked dumb by a dirty man like me.” You nod, encouraging him, biting your lip raw.

He lays back over you, maintaining his quick strokes. His pelvis rubs on your clit with every thrust, making your body tingle tellingly. Pleasure presses against your skin, fire simmering beneath it. Maybe you really will crash and burn this time, maybe you’ll split.

Matty leans into your neck, sucking your earlobe into his mouth, whispering in the crook of it, “Bending you over the bar. Tugging on that ponytail. Railing pretty princess so hard she starts crying.” Matty’s hand cups your jaw, rubbing on the skin as he peers up at you. “Fuck, I wanted to ruin that makeup.” One finger wipes at your chin, surely spreading your strawberry lipgloss. “I’d spend my days on my knees.”

His words, his hands, his cock, it’s all too much for you. You scream, the sounds falling into his hand. Hot ecstasy bubbles under your skin, threatening the very edges of you. You roll your head, but Matty keeps you grounded, his fingers digging into your jaw.

He stares at you unflinchingly. “Open your mouth, princess.” You do as you say, parting your lips wide open. Matty eyes you with a smirk.

He leans in, spitting in your open mouth. A thrilled shiver pianos down your spine. You should find this repulsive, but your cunt clenches around him in complete contradiction. He grins condescendingly at you, undeniably aware of his effect on you. “Here’s that nickname.”

You roll your eyes. You throb around him, bliss razing through your limbs. Your toes curl, your fingers flex, and you feel everything in you pull tight in preparation—

“Matty—”

“Tut-tut,” Matty says, patting your lips. “Not my name.”

“Sir,” you whine, throwing your head back. “I’m gonna come.”

He flashes his teeth at you, wolfish. “Magic word?”

“Please.” Matty rewards you with deep strokes, hitting again and again at the exact right spot, and soon you’re trashing under him, completely boundless.

“Oh, God,” you scream, “Oh, God.”

You tremble under him, your face completely shutting, your lips parting. You burst, crying out for him, trapping his hips with two strong thighs. You crash against the floor, spilling on the tiles like dropped salt. Flecks of you roll on the linoleum as you finally come. His name rips from your throat, a delicious chant you can’t control. It’s all you know.

The world slips from your fingers; everything relaxes in great waves. Relieving fingers dancing on your skin, making you not a stone, but a girl. A woman.

You sigh happily, letting go of Matty’s arm, opening your eyes to examine the crescent moons you left on his skin. Some branding iron of yours.

Your head falls back on the ground, rolling lazily. You feel lax, drooping on your bones. Maybe you’re truly one with the ground.

Matty kisses your cheek. “You did so well, baby,” he whispers proudly. You smile, too tired to open your eyes again.

His hips rock into yours slowly, grinding. Everything in you is hypersensitive to him. Your skin buzzes just from the faint movement, burning ecstasy waking up in your belly from nothing.

“Do you want to ride me?” Matty asks, voice rough in the crook of your ear. Just the idea sounds sore and exhausting.

You pout, shaking your head, whining, “‘M too tired.”

“Alright,” Matty kisses your temple. “Just lay there and be pretty.” You nod in agreement.

Indulgently, Matty doesn’t follow that brutal, heart racing tempo. He fucks you slow and deep, grinding his hips into yours, reaching between your bodies to rub at your clit. You whimper under him, clutching his shoulders, wrinkling your eyes as pleasure drips on your ribs.

It’s barely anything, but it’s still too much. You’re fucked out, sensitive and exhausted, and every stroke just resonates deep inside of you. His name dances on your tongue, languid pleasure coursing through your sloppy veins. Matty accidentally slips out of you, his cock hitting your thigh. He groans frustratedly, slipping back into your wet cunt, though you’re barely aware of it.

Your hands paw at his shoulders. A frown dents your forehead. You blink your eyes open, staring at him unhappily. “Take off your shirt,” you demand. Really, it’s not fair you’re naked and he’s perfectly dressed.

Matty huffs a laugh, stilling to reach behind his head, pulling his white shirt off his shoulders. Though he makes an attempt to drape back over you, you keep him away. Your eyes greedily takes him in: his tattoos, his stomach, his biceps. He’s stronger than you had imagined, his muscles sharper, rippling and flexing with strenuous effort. You bite your lip, feeling arousal pool in your belly.

“Happy?” Matty says, although there’s a faint blush on his face.

“Extremely,” you nod curtly, flashing your teeth at him. Matty shakes his head, thrusting back into you.

Your mind drips from your ears, faraway and drowsy. He’s faintly there between your thighs. Your lips part in pleasure, but you’re mostly distracted by the sight of him. Your eyes wash over all his tattoos, tracing a finger over his deer tattoo, trying to memorize it.

Matty slips from your legs again, this time hitting your swollen clit. You jump, biting your lip. Frustrated, he lines himself up, sliding in slowly, watching your face. He makes another low growl of dissatisfaction, leaving you entirely.

“Fuck, you’re too wet,” Matty sighs. You laugh, watching him in disbelief. Too wet. You shake your head. Here’s a fucking problem. “I’m serious,” he says, though there’s definitely an amused smile on his lips.

He grabs his discarded apron, wiping your wetness off his dick. Then he cleans the mess between your thighs meticulously, shaking his head. “You know, it’s not better if you’re too wet. You lose friction. When I’m fucking you, I want you to feel it.”

Matty dips two fingers down your entrance, taking a pool of your soaking arousal, bringing them back to your lips. You open up before he has to say, sucking them into your mouth. He grins proudly, fucking elated to have you finally obeying for him. “Good girl,” he praises, lining his cock again.

He thrusts into you and this time, shit, you feel it.

You feel awoken from your daze, zapped into reality. You grip his shoulders uselessly, moaning around his fingers. He’s wild and rapid, showing you how it’s really supposed to feel. You can’t wrap your head around the feeling, overrun by his hips.

Matty slips his wet fingers out of your mouth. Pathetic whines and moans leave your lips unsmothered, caught in a hot tongue kissing you. His stubble rubs at your chin, but it quickly leaves your mind as his freed digits find your clit again. You hiss at the first contact, sensitive. He circles it gently, kissing you better.

Your lungs are on fire. Your head spins. You’re so deeply aware of his cock inside of you, driving you wild. You can’t make sense of the ground under your back. You scream for him, scream for the sky, scream because you can’t do anything else.

“I can’t—” You shake your head. “Fuck, it’s too—” Another moan leaves your mouth. Pressure grows in your stomach, spreading through each limb. Already, you almost want to snort.

Matty’s mouth grazes over your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. He kisses each spot, leaving a few sweet pecks. The complete opposition of his ruthless cock makes your head dizzy. Licking your shoulder, Matty opens his mouth and bites you. Pain and pleasure strikes through you; you cry, falling apart.

“Matty—”

It almost surprises you that you can still, feeling the edges around you blur into non-existence. You live only in the euphoria, in momentary feelings, in the now. Your body trashes under him, ecstatic, boneless. Your climax hits you hard and true, a mighty hunter hungry for blood.

You come back down slowly, difficultly, trying to make sense of his arms as you breathe. “Fuck,” is all you can say, shortwinded and gooey. “Oh, my— Fuck.”

Matty flutters kisses on your shoulder, surely loving away the marks of his teeth. He rises slightly to whisper in your ear, “Remember what I said?” You shake your head, not in any place to think, let alone remember anything. A smirk grows on his face, tickling your skin. “Give her one more.”

You blink your eyes open, staring at him incredulously. You can barely feel your legs and he wants to— He’s dead fucking serious. “I’m too hot,” you whine. “It’s fucking burning in here.”

“Alright, princess.” Matty slides out of you. A moan of dissatisfaction leaves at the feeling of emptiness. You clench around nothing, suddenly unused to the lack of him. Matty stands up, tugging you with him, picking you up in his arms as he walks the kitchen.

He opens the walk-in fridge. Cool immediately surrounds you, making you sigh pleasantly. He caresses your hair, whispering, “Can I?” Though you know you’ll regret it tomorrow, you nod at him. “My brave girl,” Matty coos, delicately putting you down.

Like his favorite doll, you let him puppeteer you to your knees, pushing you until your tits hit the freezing ground. You hiss, jolted awake by the sudden cold. Your head turns back to stare at him, kneeling behind you. “Does that feel good, baby?” You nod, which he tuts at. “Use your words.”

“Yeah, it’s—” In complete contradiction, heat pools in your stomach. Your hard nipples on the icy floor sends a rush of ecstasy up your exhausted body. You’re suddenly quite aware of the world, though it restricts to this walk-in and Matty Healy’s cock as it teases your entrance.

“That’s not really using your words, is it?” He slides over your wet cunt, hitting your overeager bundle of nerves, but never giving in. You huff, understanding his silent demand.

“It’s really good,” you nod, moving further up to rest your tits on a fresh bout of frozen ground. Again, a thrilled rush makes your head spin. You cry, laying your cheek down, surrendering yourself. “You’re— You were right. No one can fuck me like you.”

“I know I’m right.” Finally, Matty enters you. His hips buck into your dripping core, sloppy and messy from extenuation. There’s a lack of technique, just raw need and want as he fucks into you with abandon. He grips your thighs, bending into your body to kiss at your shoulders, whispering dirty promises again. “Just me,” he pants. “From now on it’s just me.”

You nod at him. He’s ruined you for other men anyway; you don’t think you’ll even be able to walk without remembering the shape of his cock inside of you.

One of Matty’s hands leaves you, resting on the ground beside your sweaty bodies. He lingers there for some time, then sneaks it under you, finding your clit expertly. You gasp as his cold fingers make contact with the hot bud. He swipes them rapidly, making you drip on his cock.

“I’m close,” you moan already, feeling that telltale euphoria wave through your trembling limbs.

“Me, too,” Matty moans above you. He grips your hair and tugs, raising you from the ice, kissing your jaw. His low sounds bury in your skin. His hips snap harder into you, chasing both of your cosmic ends.

Your face wrinkles as pleasure overwhelms you. You shake it frantically, whining, “I wanna see you.”

Matty laughs, slipping out of you just to flip you around. Again, he pushes you on your back, raising your legs until your knees near your shoulders, wasting no time to bury inside of you. He hits you even deeper this time, shockingly possible. You whine. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it with precision. You travel the planes of his back, digging your nails in desperately.

He looks as fucked out as you. His gray-streaked, sweaty hair falls over his forehead. His swollen lips part in euphoria, chin still sticky with you. His skin is flushed. His arms shake, exhausted and overworked.

“I’m there,” Matty pants above you. You nod in agreement, feeling the same building bliss spin around your head. “Are you gonna come for me, princess?” Again, you nod eagerly.

“Yeah— Yes, sir!”

Matty hits the spot with one artful stroke and you’re done, mewling loudly as you come on his cock. You soar out of your bones, pleasure ravaging through you with deadly fingers. You shake under his body, screaming and crying, breaking apart. Vengefully, your nails rake down his back, clawing at him.

With a hot groan in your ear, Matty slips out of you, coming on your stomach. He shivers above you, wrinkling his face in euphoria, white cum hitting the planes of your belly. He breathes in heavily, opening his eyes to smile down at you.

The world sways around you. You’re bone-deep tired, struggling to keep your eyes open, to even think of moving a finger. Everything is hazy, some ghostly daze draping over the walk-in. You sigh, fluttering your eyes closed.

Teasingly, Matty goes down your body, spreading your thighs to lap at your juices. You cry, head raising up the ground miraculously, pushing his head away. “Goddamn, enough. I get it. You’re the best sex of my life.” Matty chuckles, pinching your thigh, before falling beside you. He pants, exhausted. “That was even better than I imagined,” you say languidly, smiling slackly at no one.

“Same.”

“I don’t think I can take the bus now,” you frown. “Or tomorrow.”

“Call in sick,” Matty says, smirking at you cheekily. You roll your eyes at his antics. “What? If one person can do it, it’s daddy’s girl.”

You slap his shoulder. “Don’t talk about my dad when you were just inside of me.”

“No?”

You up your nose. “It’s uncouth.”

Matty laughs, shaking his head, sitting up. He groans as he stands, as though his entire body was sore. His back is littered with furiously red scratches; you flush, recognizing the shape of your nails. He leaves the walk-in just to come back with your clothes, pulling his shirt down his chest.

He wipes at your soaked thighs with his apron, then at the cum on your stomach, cleaning you thoroughly. With delicate care, he puts your shirt over your head, pulling your skirt up. He stashes your bra in your bag, giving you a teasing look as he shoves your underwear in his pants. Again, you roll your eyes at his obvious antics.

“Do you need to eat anything?” Matty asks. “We’re in the walk-in, afterall.”

Your face scrunches. “Oh God, I fucked in the walk-in. I won’t ever be able to come in here, now.”

He snorts. “Believe me, we weren’t the first and won’t be the last.” You wrinkle your nose in disdain. “Wow. Miss can get railed in the fridge but it’s a problem when others do it?”

“It’s unsanitary.”

“I think there's still some of your juices on the floor,” Matty says, pointing randomly at the ground. You flush, trying to spot the rumored stain, embarrassment seeping through your cheeks. Matty doesn’t let you linger on it, grabbing two of your hands and pulling you up on your feet. “Food?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Well,” Matty smiles smugly, and you already groan in regret, “I already ate.”

“Nevermind.” You try taking a step, but your feet wobble under you, pain prickling up your thighs and the inside of it most of all. You fall into Matty, clutching his arm. “Shit.”

“Call in sick tomorrow.” You shake your head stubbornly. Matty cups your cheek, making you look at him. “Call in sick tomorrow,” he stresses again.

You narrow your eyes. “You just want to say you fucked a girl so hard she had to take a day off.”

Matty gives you a shit-eating grin. “Nah. This is a regular Tuesday for me.” You slap his shoulder again, harder this time. “There she is,�� he coos. “Come on. Let me drive you home. I’ll make you something.”

You let him guide you out of the walk-in fridge, resting on his body. “I don’t think I have any food,” you warn.

“I can whip something up. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a chef.”

“Really?” You say in faux-shock. “I just thought you were the eye candy.”

“Not everyone stares at me as much as you, princess.” You roll your eyes, though don’t try to claim otherwise. Matty slaps the lights shut. You leave the kitchen behind, strangely untouched, like it hadn’t seen some very vile things a few minutes ago.

“Oh,” you cry excitedly, “Can you make me some mac and cheese?” Matty sighs.

—

You’re hanging around the host stand, picking your nails and giggling as Veronica describes her recent affair with a pharmacist in explicit details. She mimes the moves, stalling when a guest approaches. You both plaster a smile on your face and point to the bathroom with a sickly sweet voice.

You bite your lip to stop yourself from describing your recent affair. The memory of Matty between your thighs is still omniscient on your skin— mostly because you’re still sore, walking the restaurant a little funny. Although you burst with the need to tell someone, you’re half-convinced Veronica would bite your head off if she knew.

Adam walks back to his stand, sighing as he sees the both of you. “Must you guys hang here?”

You cock your head, teasing, “How else would we annoy you?” Veronica laughs.

He shakes his head, grabbing a pen and pointing towards you. “The boss wants to see you,” is all Adam says.

“Ooh,” Veronica sings, poking at your ribcage. “Someone’s in trouble.” You give her a deadpan look. “You’re right, you’re right.” She nods. “He probably just wants to know which color you want your new pony to be!”

You shake your head, chuckling at her. “You guys are seriously deluded on how much money we have.”

Veronica sticks her tongue out as you walk away. You zigzag through the tables, nodding at a waiter in greeting, grabbing empty plates and piling them on your arms. You push the kitchen doors with your back, dropping the dirty dishes in the sink. You smile at Larry, fluttering your lashes at him. He always cleans your utensils first if you flirt a little with him.

You can’t stay to chat, crossing the kitchen for the office door. You dodge a bus boy, giving him an annoyed look, reminding him to call corners. A small snort comes from beside you. You turn, finding Matty sizzling onions in a pan. He gives you a grin, knowing and smug, like he’s thinking of you naked in the spot where you stand. He winks at you. Your cheeks heat, biting back a smile as you continue your walk.

You knock at the door. Behind, a somber voice tells you to come in. You crack it, peering your head inside. Your father sits at his desk, flipping through papers, frowning.

“You wanted to see me?”

He jumps as he looks at you, seemingly surprised as though he’s not the one who asked you here. He nods eagerly, waving you in. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Dad,” you answer back, walking into the office. Instinctively, you start organizing the messy, scattered papers on his desk in neat lines. “Why did you call me here?”

“I wanted to ask you how you were,” he explains. “I didn’t have time to welcome you. I’m sorry— God, I’ve just been so busy.” He frowns at you, a concerned look on his face. “You like it here, right? I know you missed your shift yesterday.”

Memories of Matty’s tongue licking into you, his fingers curling, his cock pressing— Dirty words sticky with want— Vile things on the tiles— The world slipping from your fingers— Pleasure pumping, coiling, bursting—

You flash your teeth. “Oh, I love it.”

#she is here and she is Foul #linecook!au #matty healy smut #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 smut #writing #smut #imagine

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reidintoit · 1 year

Text

all you had to do was stay - j.m.

pairing: jj maybank x reader

summary: in which the pogues have been stuck on poguelandia for a couple weeks, and not everyone wants to leave when help arrives.

warnings: angst, unplanned pregnancy

word count: 1.2k

It had been almost two weeks since getting stranded on the island, or Poguelandia, as JJ ever so generously decided to name it.

In that time you were impressed at how far along Poguelandia had come. John B and Pope had become experts at hand fishing. All while JJ had done an impressive job of building a shelter. It really wasn’t anything too fancy, given the resources, but having a place to shield yourself from the weather was a win in your book.

The only prominent downside was having no soap to properly bathe with. And that we all only had one outfit, which was also in dire need of some soap.

Another inconvenience we were reminded of was when Sarah got her period, then Kiara almost hours later. Cleo wasted no time in bragging about not having a period to worry about thanks to her IUD.

“Here-” you broke the conversation, “I have a couple of tampons that have dried out since the swim. Not the most hygienic thing, but it’s this or nothing.”

Kie took one from you without hesitation, while Sarah visibly looked revolted at the thought before giving in. “Absolutely disgusting, but thanks Y/N.” Sarah thanked you, walking in the opposite direction of Kie.

“Shouldn’t you keep one for yourself?” Cleo implored, causing you to tense up. There’s no way she knows I’m late. Does she? No.

“Oh, uh-no. On the shot, probably won’t get mine for another month or so.”

The truth is, you were late. As in almost two weeks late. Before this, the longest had been maybe three days. But this was different. You were away from home, obviously stressed to the max. Your period was most likely just off due to your stress. And not the unprotected sex you had.

You could tell that being away from home was starting to weigh on everyone’s minds. Kiara feared her parents already reported her missing. Sarah didn’t know where Ward might be, but it was obvious she missed having a house to go home to. Pope knew his dad must be worried sick. John B wondered if somehow Big John returned while he was gone.

You, JJ, and Cleo seemed to be the only ones who didn’t care to go back.

JJ hadn’t seen his dad in months. Not since him and Kie helped get him off the island. He didn’t seem too distraught about being alone, considering you had stayed over almost every night at the chateau since you two started dating.

While your parents were still around, you knew they weren’t missing you. Or noticing your absence, really. Your parents had never been abusive, they just didn’t care about you.

So, at the moment, being hundreds of miles away with your best friends felt like paradise. That is until Pope and John B noticed a plane flying above on their daily fishing trip.

“Guys! Hey- Come look!” John B’s voice suddenly pierced through your ears, causing you to look up from the fire pit that you were currently digging in, attempting to build the flames higher.

“What man?” JJ asked, pushing up off the ground from his spot next to you. You raised an eyebrow at whatever John B was going on about, watching him struggle to catch his breath while running up the beach.

“There’s a plane overhead! Look!”

As the three of you collectively looked up, you saw it almost immediately, slightly surprised that it wasn’t just John B hallucinating. “Holy shit!” JJ shouted back, sharing JB’s excitement.

“Come on, everyone’s waving it down by the landing strip!” John B continued and started running back towards where he came from. JJ looked down at you, who had gone back to digging in the fire pit.

“Hey, babe. Come on- we have to get their attention!”

“You go, I’ll stay here and start gathering some things.” JJ nodded and leaned down to quickly place a kiss on your forehead before running down the beach after John B.

Fuck. fuck. There was no way you were going back to OBX. Life had been so much better since getting here. Going back to a family that hated you sent a chill down your spine at the thought. Especially if you really were pregnant.

You noticed the plane turning around as you stood up from the pit, then JJ running back towards you, to tell you the good news you presumed.

“Y/N! They’re getting ready to land. Let’s go!”

You shook your head with your back towards him, not realizing that you were frozen in thought staring at the fire you finally had started.

“I’m not going J..” you whispered, unsure if he heard you. He must have, because you felt a gentle grip on your wrist, urging you to turn around.

“What? Babe, look at me.. please?” JJ pleaded, sounding defeated and confused at your sudden decision to stay on the island. You dropped your head in defeat, “I can't. I-I can’t go back, okay? I don’t want to.”

You felt the hand on your wrist release as your boyfriend maneuvered around to stand in front of you. You opened your eyes to see JJ’s face full of concern as you bit your lip, salty tears rushing down your face.

“Baby.. I understand.” JJ reached out to wipe away your tears, feeling the pads of his fingers across your cheek. “I don’t want to leave either. This has been awesome.”

You harshly pushed his hand off of your face in response. “No, you don’t understand! I’m late..” pausing to take a breath, “I don’t know if I’m pregnant, obviously there aren’t any tests here, but I know I can’t go back. My parents.. they-they already are so disappointed in me. I’m free here.”

JJ was quiet after listening to you explain. He was disappointed in you for sure. You wondered why he wouldn’t just say it. Blame you for being irresponsible and potentially getting knocked up. You deserved it.

Tears started pooling up again as you turned away from JJ, who still hadn’t moved a muscle. “Wait, Y/N.”

“Just leave.” you begged, voice cracking.

“I’m not... Y/N, fuck!” he shouted, wrapping his arms around you and turning you back to him. “I’m not leaving you here. If you do happen to be pregnant, I’m going to be by your side every step.. Okay?”

You rolled your eyes, looking down at the sand between the two of you. “You don’t want that.. you’re just saying it.”

JJ cupped your cheek, tilting your head back up towards him. He studied your face as you took a deep breath, opening your eyes to see him smiling at you. “No fucking way Y/N. Just the thought of having a mini you running around makes me so happy.”

“Really?”

“Really baby.” JJ pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Now, please, come home with me?”

You nodded in agreeance, smiling before you felt his lips on yours. There was nothing you wanted more.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #obx imagine #obx fic #obx #outerbanks #outerbanks fanfiction #sarah cameron #kiara carerra

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lovelybrooke · 1 year

Note

Hello there 💟

I love your TLOU platonic!yandere series, I love your writing and Joel and Ellie as yandere. May I ask a request where Joel invades the reader's privacy and goes through his things looking for something (u choose) because of his paranoia and all. And when reader finds out, is so upset but disgusted that them decides to do the same with Joel, as revenge, and ends up discovering a hidden photo of Sarah and ends up showing jealousy for her when he interrogates they, but Joel is so furious that he acts without thinking that he grabs the reader's arm very hard, scaring they (if you found it too aggressive, you can change it). My idea is to show Joel talking about Sarah for the first time with reader, it can be an angsty headcanon or oneshot with a fluff ending.

Sorry my english, isn't my first language. Thanks💟

Regret (platonic yandere Joel and Ellie x reader)

This is such a great idea you’re so smart (also your English is great). Also the reader is gender neutral just to let you know.

“What the fuck is this?” Joel yells, dumping your bag onto the table, a gun rolling out. Your brows furrowed, eyeing him from across the kitchen table.

“Why do you have my bag?” You question, ignoring his fiery gaze.

“Don’t ignore the question.” He demands, pushing the gun closer to you.

“It’s a gun.” You done.

Joel sneers at your sarcasm, “I know that. Why do you have it?”

“Why did you go through my bag?” You sneer back, watching as Joel’s posture stiffens.

“Because I’m your father.” He replies. You scoff at him.

“So, you’re just allowed to invade my privacy?” You probe him.

“If it means protecting you, then yeah.” He takes the gun from the table, removing it of all its ammo, and tucks it into the back of his pants. Once finished, he points at you sternly.

“I don’t wanna see you with this again.” He doesn’t wait for a response, walking upstairs before you could protest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s so not fair! He lets you have a gun!” You complain to Ellie, who is reclining on your bed as you pace throughout the room.

“I’m older.” She reasons, receiving a harsh look from you.

“By like, a year.” You speak. “Are you on his side?” You accuse. She puts her hands up in defense.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

She rolls her eyes, her words coming out calmly, “I just think you should be more careful.”

“Having a gun keeps me safe.” You argue.

“We keep you safe.” She corrects. “That’s why you don’t have a gun.”

You sigh in defeat, laying down on your bed, gazing up at your ceiling. “He shouldn’t be going through my stuff though.”

“He’s just trying to protect you.” She whispers. You groan, she’s definitely on his side.

“He’s paranoid, that’s what he is.” You complain. Ellie giggles, laying down next to you. She turns her head, looking directly at you.

“You’re right, but he just worries about you.” She breaths deeply, staring at the ceiling with you. “He has a lot to worry about.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The house was quiet, Ellie and Joel away. Petty as you are, you were still hung up on the morning’s indiscretion. It’s not fair that Ellie gets to do whatever she wants, but you can’t. It’s not fair that Joel can just go through your belongings without asking. He could’ve just asked; you would’ve told him. Instead, he disregards your trust and guises it as “protecting you.”

You admit that your current actions are done out of spite, and you weren’t really thinking. However, as you dig through Joel’s room with total disregard for anything. You honestly didn’t expect to find anything noteworthy; Joel wasn’t really that interesting.

There were the expected things, guns, a few CDs, and even random snacks littering the ground. You kept snooping, even after several minutes of not finding anything. You search moves towards the bedside drawer. Slowly opening it up, a small, folded picture is revealed. You take it gingerly, unfolding it with caution. The picture is old, frayed on the edges and covered in a film of dust, like it hasn’t been touched in a while. Wiping is carefully with the hem of your shirt; the picture of Joel and a young girl is revealed. Joel is young with a big smile, hugging the girl tightly, which she reciprocates. The girl has beautiful curly hair, smiling wide. You don’t recognize her, and you wonder why she’s with Joel.

“What are you doing?” You shove the picture back into the drawer, slamming it shut. You turn around to an angry Joel, dirty from patrol. You studder out an answer.

“I—I don’t… I’m s—sorry. I’ll leave.” You try to rush part Joel, out of the room, being stopped when he roughly grabs your forearm. His fingers dig into your skin, enough to bruise and leave a mark. He looks down at you, his eyes dark.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” He snarls, his grip tightening as he looks toward the drawer.

You try to break out of his hold, “You’re hurting me, Joel.” He doesn’t listen.

“Why we’re you in my stuff.” You heart is pumping so fast, too fast to think.

“You’re in my stuff all the time!” You yell, the pain in your arm long forgotten. At your remark, Joel begins to drag you out of his room and down the hallway. Your arm is screaming as your tugged every which way. Once in your room, Joel pushes you away, you falling to the floor. Anger is still coursing through your body. Looking at him from your stop on the ground, you snarl at him.

“Who is she?”

Joel huffs “none of your business.” You scoff, rubbing your arm.

“So it’s okay when you invade my privacy, but when I do it it’s ‘none of my business?’” You jeer annoyed.

“She’s none of your business.” Joel clarifies. His hand is gripping the handle of the door, preparing to slam it shut.

“Why?” You probe, “why can’t I know about her? Do you not trust me?!”

“No.” He responds bluntly. “I don’t trust you.” Your shocked, your mouth slightly agape. Joel continues to talk before leaving.

“You dig through my stuff, you steal a gun from me, you leave without my permission.” His stare is unrelenting, making you feel weak.

“Sometimes I wonder why I brought you along.” He breaths, before closing the door, the slam causing you to shake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t sleep that night, your arm hurting too much. You refused to eat breakfast, even when Joel left it outside your door. It would remain untouched late into the night.

Joel was worried about you; you haven’t said a word in days, nor have you eaten anything he gave you. After the third day, he finally confronted you. He went upstairs, holding a plate of food in one hand, knocking on door to your room.

“(Y/N). I’m coming in.” He says after a moment. He twists the door handle, only for it to not open. He twists it harder a few times before excepting it was locked.

“(Y/N)! You know I don’t like locked doors.” He continues to shake the handle. He knows he’s being a hypocrite, but he doesn’t like it when you lock your door. "I'm serious." He warns. He feels heartrate pick up, fearing the worst.

He only calms down when he hears the shuffles on the other side of the door, breathing a sigh of relief when he hears the door unlock. Balancing the plate of food, he enters, seeing you wrapped up in a blanket, your hair slightly matted, and heavy bags under your eyes.

You don't look at him as you go back to lay on your bed, swaddling yourself up in your bedsheets, your back to him. Joel heart pangs at the sight, placing the plate down on the desk in your room before moving to sit on your bed. He slowly places his hand on you head to move a piece of hair out of the way, not missing when you flinch away from him.

"You have to eat, kid." He whispers, gazing over his shoulder too look at you. You don't respond. Joel turns his body so that he is facing you better.

"Look kid.... I didn't mean it." His head is hung low in shame as he tries to explain himself. "About bringing you along, I mean."

"Okay." You respond quietly. It was the first time he's heard your voice in days.

Joel's eyes dart around, expecting something more. Expecting you to run into his arm, and for him to be able to hold you again. He clasps his hands together, feeling his hands shake.

"She was my daughter." His voice wavers with every word, slightly cracking at the end. "Before all this." He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, "Her name was Sarah." He feels you move slightly, your bed shifting.

When your completely turned over, you can see the tears in his eyes. You sit up slowly, Joel eyes fallowing you. He can see the bruise underneath your cut sleave. "Does it hurt?" Quilt completely consumes him, seeing the heavy mark on your sink fills him with dread.

You shake your head, "No, not that much." He can tell that your lying, but he doesn't call you out on it. He leans over to your nightstand, in the drawer a first aid kit. He takes out the gauze and asks for your arm. When you give it to him, he carefully wraps it up, eying the bruise. He doesn't want to think about it, about what he could've done to you if he was too overwhelmed by his anger.

"I'm sorry." He hears you say. He doesn't know if you're apologizing for Sarah, or for snooping in his room, but he doesn't really care. He nods his head, moving over to hug you. It feels nice, being able to feel your warmth again, to know you're okay.

"Do you miss her?" You ask. Joel releases you from the hug.

"All the time." He answers, looking at you fondly. "But it's gotten better." You hum, leaning on his shoulder.

"Are you sure I'm not a burden?" You ask. He shakes his head no, giving you a kiss on the crown of you head.

"You've never been a burden."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/n: I don't know if this is what you wanted, but I hope you enjoy.

#yandere x reader #platonic yandere #soft yandere #joel miller #yandere joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #platonic joel miller #ellie williams #yandere ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #yandere the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #ask #answered

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throneofsapphics · 8 months

Text

between the heavens and the embers

Fenyrs x f!Reader

Summary: Day 4, “She will die, thinking you never loved her.” With Fenrys

Warnings: terminal illness, discussions of death/death, angst

kinktober masterlist

Of course Aelin had kept in contact with her, he thought bitterly. Or at least caught wind of what was happening through the city's gossip. After their split, he went through extensive efforts to avoid anywhere she frequented. Nowhere felt safe, and he’d begged Aelin to send him abroad again.

Y/n, dying, the one he could never quite ‘get over’ as they’d all say. The rest of their court had passed years ago, and he found solace in her shortly after. Still, he left. Maybe it was fear, at the time he thought his own immortality would be a blessing - giving him plenty of time to move on or to find someone new.

“It’s .. it’s nothing about you.”

“You told me forever,” tears streamed down her face and he hated himself for a moment, hated himself for giving her that kind of hope.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He replied tightly, forcing any emotion out of his voice - a neutral mask, perfected over the centuries, slid over his features.

“Gods” She scoffed, fingers tugging at her hair. He gripped the fabric of his pants, fighting the urge to reach out and pull her hands away, to take them into his own. “Was all of this a lie? All of the times you told me you loved me?”

He winced at the pure resentment in his voice, a crack appearing in his mask. Still, he was protecting her from the reality of growing old while he would stay young. “I spoke without thinking.” He was digging himself a greater hole, going past the point of return.

“Leave.” Her voice was cold. “I don’t want to see you again.” He gave her a short nod and turned. He allowed himself to glance back once, but she’d already disappeared inside.

Fenrys debated turning around at least twenty times during the walk to her house, on the outskirts of Orynth. Enough that he shifted and trotted through the trees lining the road - it would do no good to scare the living daylights out of anyone walking by. Things were simpler in his animal form, although the desire to flee was still there, it wasn’t quite as strong. She still lived in the same place as a decade ago. He steeled himself, trying to summon all of his courage as he made it. For Gods sake, he’s charged onto battlefields, fought enemies he was certain he’d lose against, faced the drudgery of foreign courts; this shouldn’t be this difficult. Finally, he arrived at her house. The yard was littered with people he recognized - her family, and he stopped outside the fence. Based on the wicked glares he was receiving, they recognized exactly who he was.

He didn’t call out or ask, only waited to see what they would do. Even if he wanted to say something, he couldn’t be certain his voice wouldn’t break. A woman disappeared inside and he heard muttered voices, angry rebukes, and then the calm melody of hers - sounding the exact same as she did a decade ago, down to each inflection and pause.

The door swung open and he held his breath. She exited and ushered everyone else back inside, ignoring and shutting down their protests. Curious faces, young and old, peered through the curtains.

She walked with ease for someone dying of a terminal illness, and paused a foot away from him, on the other side of the fence.

He stood outside of the fence waiting for her, on time for once. He’d promised to take her on a date and held a small bunch of her favorite wildflowers flowers in his hand, ones he’d picked on his way here. She bounded outside with a smile on her face, closing the door behind her.

“You showed up,” she grinned and almost ran the rest of the way.

“Did you doubt me?” He teased

“Is there something you need?” The words were polite, but indifferent and a strained smile was pasted on her face. Mentally he ran through all of the different ways he’d tried to justify his actions fifty years ago.

“I’m sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes. “And?”

She didn’t believe it until she saw the male standing there, on the other side of her fence, just like he had ten years ago. Y/n tried to tamper down the bitterness and resentment, to ‘let it go,’ as everyone told her she should’ve years ago. Still, he’d left with no idea she was pregnant, and any letters she tried to send him were never answered and likely never opened or delivered. There wasn’t a chance or a way to actually tell him, and she debated whether or not to tell him now. Somehow, he’d never caught wind of it and her kids stayed back far enough he couldn’t catch wind of their scents.

“I regret … my actions.”

She blinked once, trying to clear her vision and make sure this was real and not some figment of her imagination.

“Thank you?” Her voice trailed up at the end, uncertain if that’s actually a proper reply or not. Gods, she’d been in several awkward situations over the years but this might top the rest of them.

She chewed on her bottom lip, debating whether or not to make her confession. She’d raised two beautiful children, at least for the first decade of their lives. As a single mother … she was reluctant to let go of them.

“There’s … people you should meet.”

His heart dropped and he felt the urge to sprint - to run far away from here. He knew exactly what she meant. She took one glance at him, and turned. Probably testing to see if he would run again but … Fenrys forced himself to stay still, to keep in place while she made her way back to the house.

She came out a minute later with two children, males and twins. One hand braced each of their shoulders. They couldn’t be older than ten, and he had no doubts they were his. For fucks sake he was a father. Even without scenting their heritage, their features gave it away. They looked just like him and … he swallowed the thought, even centuries later it was still fresh, the memories still too difficult to bring to the forefront of his mind.

“I never spoke ill of you to them, and never let anyone else. If you were wondering. I never let anyone else, either.” He sat next to her on a bench, watching as the two sprinted around the large backyard, chasing each other with wooden swords. It faced the mountains, expanding into a beautiful view of the Staghorns. He could feel the breeze of the wind, and if he closed his eyes, he could smell the pine and snow.

“You had every right to.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the two children, wincing as one hit the other on the back of the knees. He’d had no idea of what to say to them, how to even interact, but he supposed he’d have people to introduce them to. Gods if he had to ask Rowan for parenting advice, he’d never hear the end of it.

They sat in silence, and he’d forgotten how nice it is to sit in her presence, how she'd always … steady, for lack of a better word.

“The healer says they will settle,” y/n’s voice was hoarse now and in his peripheral he spotted her brushing a tear away. “I understand if it’s too much, but would you …”

“I’ll look after them.” He promised, and without thinking he grasped one of her hands in his own. She didn’t pull away and he squeezed gently before letting go. Her hand fell flat against the wood of the bench, and her fingers flexed, digging in slightly before she returned it to her lap. She didn’t look at him, but a ghost of a smile crossed her face, gone before he could memorize it. The memories of her had grown hazy over the years, but now he wanted to take in every inch of her, commit it all to memory so years from now he could still remember her. Not necessarily out of love, but as a reminder. A reminder of how badly he’d messed up. He owed her that, owed himself that.

“AELIN.” Fenrys roared, pounding on the Queen’s door. He’d returned several hours past sundown, the sky dark and lit only by the moon and several of the city’s inhabitants asleep in their beds.

“What the fuck?” She cursed, and he heard both her and Rowan moving. He raised his hand to knock again, but the door swung open and a pissed off looking Queen and King consort stood in front of him. Still, if they knew about his kids … that anger would be nothing compared to his.

“Did you know?” He said through gritted teeth.

She crossed her arms, propping her wait on one hip. “I did, and I told you.” She said slowly, as if she was talking to a child - taunting him.

“You never told me.”

“I told you this morning!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The other thing.”

“Just tell us what it is, Fenrys.” Rowan said, his voice low and eyes half-lidded with sleep. That’s a change from the Rowan from centuries ago. If he’d pounded on their door like that, he’d be greeted by a knife to his throat or poised to slip between his ribs.

“I’m. A. Father.”

Aelin’s mouth parted, Rowan blinked once, and relief flooded through him that he hadn’t known.

“Come in,” Rowan stood aside, letting him slip inside the room.

Fenrys stood a foot behind his two children, Rowan on his right, Aelin on his left, and brushed a stray tear away as they lowered the casket.

His mind drifted to what he found the other day. First, he was shocked when her family asked him to help clean things out, but he supposed he was a step or two further away from her, and maybe they assumed it would hurt him less. Regardless, he felt … honored they trusted him with a task like that.

He fought back tears as he opened the drawers, lifting out the variety of letters crumpled into there and spotted a fresh piece of folded paper, a barely legible scrawl on the top, one word … his name. Apparently her handwriting had never improved over the years. With shaky hands, he unfolded it.

Fenrys,

You’re a good male and a good father.

Take care of our boys. I trust you.

He blinked back the tears, he’d spent the days since she passed swallowed in a cloud of grief and worry. First hand, he knew how incredible of a mother she was and how the twins loved her. Six months, he’d had six months to watch her and learn but it hadn’t felt like enough and he doubted it ever will. But, y/n having faith in him, even trusting him, made some of the doubts fade.

#throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader #fenrys moonbeam x y/n #fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys x y/n #fenrys x reader #angst-tober 2023

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jeridandridge · 11 months

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Hello!

If your requests are still open I would like to request a Mel x reader when they went to college together but after Mel came back to Philly and the reader to California. They never lost touch but now the reader is coming to work in Philly and Mel revisits old feelings. Can you make it with a happy ending? Thank you!

This is long, I hope you dig it as much as I had fun writing it. 🩷

All I Wanted

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It started decades ago in a dorm room. You and Melissa were inseparable and were part of a friend group dubbed the ‘brat pack.’ All these years later you still had those same feelings for the red head.

“I dunno, Red. He was kinda boring.” You hum from your spot on the floor. You went on a date earlier in the night, and of course it didn’t go well. A date can’t go well when you’re in love with someone else.

“Maybe the next one will be it.” She gives you a half hearted smile. She felt relief hearing it hadn’t gone well, a burning feeling in her stomach arose whenever you had a date. She knows she’s selfish. She’s with Joe after all. She shouldn’t have these feelings.

“What about you?” You question looking up from the magazine you were thoughtlessly flipping through. “Is Joe the one?”

Melissa bites her lip not meeting your eyes right away. She wanted to wait until after graduation. She wanted just a little bit more time with you.

“He asked me to marry him.”

You’re certain the pain in your chest is your heart breaking. Never the less, you school your features and plaster the best fake smile on your face.

“I’m happy for you, Mel.”

Today you walk around your studio in California instructing movers where to put things as you hold your phone to your ear.

“Hey, Red. Miss me?” You grin into the phone when Melissa answers.

“Where the hell you been? I’ve called and texted you a thousand times. You’re lucky I didn’t get on a plane and come out there.” Melissa smiles into the phone.

She loved the almost daily phone calls you two shared, never missing a day no matter what time zone you were in or what was going on in your lives.

“That’s why I’m calling you.” You laugh. “I’m moving back to Philly.”

Melissa lights up nearly dropping the bottle of wine she’s holding. “You better not be playing with me, y/n.” She scolds and she leans against the kitchen counter.

“I’m serious. I’m the new director of the Philadelphia museum of art. You’re gonna be stuck with me for a while, Red.”

Melissa’s eyes are watering at the knowledge of you coming back. She’d missed you the last four years that you were in California and now, she feels like she’s getting a second chance with you.

A week later you’re grinning like an idiot when you see Melissa pull up to the curb to pick you up. She immediately gets out of the truck running over and barreling into you.

Your entire body relaxes when your arms wrap around her and the scent of her perfume hits your nose.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” She squeezes you.

“You can’t get rid of me for too long, Mel.” You beam rubbing her back before you pull away.

With your bags loaded up you can’t take your eyes off of her as you two talk, catching up about the last few days.

“You got a place already or what? You’re coming back to my house anyway.” She smiles not leaving you room to argue.

“I have an apartment downtown. Right down the street from the Eagles Stadium.” You grin.

When you get to Melissa’s you look at the house realizing joe lived here before their divorce. You never came back to Philly after they were married. Your friendship with Melissa had been full of phone calls and post cards sent from wherever you were working at the time, and her coming to visit you.

“Dang, Schmmenti. This is nice.” You smile as you wheel your bags in.

“Not bad for a teachers salary, eh?” She teases.

“Hey, you know I was about two seconds away from being a teacher too.” You remind her.

Melissa can’t help but shake her head with a smile. After all this time you were standing in her house, your bags by the door.

“Cmon, make yourself at home, I have a fresh bottle of wine for us.”

Kicking off your shoes and hanging your jacket up you follow her into the kitchen, smiling sadly when you see a photo of you two from graduation day on her wall. The smile hadn’t really reached your eyes even though Melissa was clinging to you. You knew by then that she was marrying joe and you would be going to Portland for a job.

“Hey, we have to drink before we go down memory lane.” She smiles handing you a glass.

You laugh happily taking it.

“I was admiring the layout. This place is very you.”

“Yeah, I’ve had a while to make it my own.” She nods before she takes your hand to drag you to the couch. When you two plop down you two are so close you rest your hand on her thigh as you sip your wine.

“I’m so glad you’re back. I couldn’t take another trip around all those hippies.”

You laugh gently squeezing her thigh. “Everyone in Californias a hippie?”

“The ones you worked around? Duh.”

You’ve missed this so much. Over the phone it’s just not the same. You were ready to settle into life in Philly again.

Almost a week later you’ve gotten into the swing of things again, happy to be in familiar territory. You fall into work easily making friends with your new colleagues and finding the work fascinating. On top of all of this, you go to Melissa’s almost every night for dinner and tonight would be no different except you’re meeting Melissa’s friend Barb.

When you get to Melissa’s you walk upto the door stopping in your tracks when you hear the two women through the screen door.

“Melissa it’s been long enough, don’t you think you deserve a chance at being happy? I haven’t even met the woman and I know she loves you more than joe ever did.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. You take a deep breath to calm yourself before you knock on the screen door and go in. When you do Melissa shoots up from the couch with a smile. “Hi, hon.”

“Hey, Red.” You beam holding up a bottle of wine. “I brought the good stuff.” You joke, “You must be Barbara, it’s so great to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, y/n. I feel like I know you already from what Melissa’s told me about you.”

“Oh no,” you laugh. “I hope she hasn’t talked your ear off. I’m pretty boring.”

Melissa scoffs as she takes the wine from you. “You’re not boring. Come sit down, I’ll get the food out.”

“Let me help you,” you follow her resting your hand on the small of her back.

Dinner goes just as amazing as you thought it would, although thanks to some of Barbara’s comments you have questions.

“I swear I’ve gained five pounds this week just from all the home cooked meals.” You laugh before taking another bite of Melissa’s freshly made garlic bread.

“You need it, all that kale and green juice crap out there.” She rolls her eyes. You can’t help but laugh and smile at her adoringly.

When the night wraps up, you start on the dishes and miss the look Barb gives her friend before she leaves.

“You’re Barb approved.” Melissa grins coming up beside you.

“I’m glad. I’ve been wanting to meet her for years.” You beam. “I was happy knowing you had someone here for you while I couldn’t be.” You try to make it sound as casual as possible, but the guilt you’ve felt all these years is bubbling to the surface. You want her to admit to what you heard.

“But you were there for me, hon. I had the phone bills to prove it.” She smiles reaching over to take the plate from your hands.

“I was cleaning that.” You chuckle.

“Leave it, c’mere. I wanna talk to you.”

She’s turned around and over by the couch before you can say anything. As you dry your hands you take a deep breath. Everything would be fine you told yourself.

Sitting down you curl your legs under you and eye your friend. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, ya know?” She hums playing with one of the gold rings on her finger.

“Uh oh.” You tease wanting her to relax a bit.

“Shut up.” She laughs. You reach over entangling your fingers together when she meets your eyes. God she was beautiful.

“Do you remember when I was angry at you for not coming to my wedding?”

The question hits you like a brick. Your mind snaps back to that time over twenty years ago. Instead of going back to the Philadelphia area you hopped on a plane to London, drinking and fucking your feelings for the red head away.

“I do.” It comes out hoarse and almost scared.

You’d never seen Melissa so nervous before in your entire friendship.

“I wanted you there to talk me outta doing it.” She admits with a soft look.

“Does this admission have to do with what Barbara said before I came in?”

“You heard that?” She nods like she knew. You smile squeezing her hand.

“I’d like to make you happy, Mel. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since we were in that shoe box of a room. I couldn’t watch you marry Joe. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t have been able to interrupt it either. If I walked in there I would’ve been brought out in handcuffs.”

Melissa’s eyes are glossed over, a tear slides down her cheek.

“All I wanted was you.”

You can’t take the sight of her crying. Scooting closer you practically pull her onto your lap and brush the tear away with your thumb.

“You’ve always had me, Red. I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

Melissa doesn’t waste any more time. Cupping your cheeks she leans in meeting your lips in a kiss she’s wanted to share for a long time.

#abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #Lisa Ann Walter #lgbt fiction #wlw #college years

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visceravalentines · 2 years

Text

Michael Myers is the human equivalent of a cat and you can't change my mind. Here is a collection of tiny fluffy blurbs proving my point. I hope you enjoy!

Michael Myers x GN!Reader, no content warnings besides the man himself

He’s ignored you all day. You’ve tried to engage him in a movie, a walk around the block, even tried to entice him into the bedroom. He dismissed you every time with a blank stare. You finally gave up and started working on a project you’ve been putting off.

Not twenty minutes later, he appears in the doorway and stands there watching. You acknowledge him briefly, focused on your task. You don’t hear him move but you sense him behind you, smile up at him when he bumps against your back.

He brushes his fingers through the hair at the back of your neck. “Oof, you gave me goosebumps,” you tell him. You keep working.

He puts his hands on your shoulders. You kiss his wrist. “How are you?” you ask. You get no response. You never do.

After a minute he sighs, bends over you to rest his chin on your head, puts his big hand right in the middle of what you’re working on.

You stop, fight a smile. “Oh, now you want attention?” He grunts noncommittally. “Well I’m doing this now.”

His pushes his face into the side of your neck and you feel a warm, wet pinch. “Michael! Did you just bite me?”

He steps back, pulls your chair with him. “Ohh my god. That is so rude.” You look up at him. He is unmoved by your criticism. “Can I help you?”

He comes around in front of you, drops to his knees between your legs, leans his head against your chest. You put your arms around him and tease his curls.

“I have been trying to hang out with you all day, you know.” He grunts again. “Why am I tied into your schedule?” He squeezes you. “Fine, let’s hang out.”

🔪

You look up from your book at the sound of the back door. A moment later he steps into view, knife in hand, mask sprayed with blood.

“Welcome home, handsome,” you say.

He sets the knife on the table and moves closer. You lay the book aside and get up to inspect him for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head once and digs his hand into his pocket.

“Oh boy. Did you bring me something?”

He fishes out a tiny porcelain mouse abducted from someone’s mantle and places it in your open palm. It is adorable and not covered in blood.

“Wow, I love this,” you say honestly. “Thank you!”

He is reaching into his other pocket. “Oh, two things?” You hold out your other hand. There is a clicking sound like nails on a tabletop. Teeth. They are teeth. He has brought you six human teeth.

You gather yourself for a second and then look up at him with a careworn smile. “Thank you so much. You really, really shouldn’t have.”

His eyes glitter behind the mask. You know he knows that you hate it and love it in equal measure. That’s why he does it. You should consider yourself lucky tonight; one time he brought you a finger. A finger.

🔪

The afternoon sun is golden as you get home from work. You look up at the second-story window right in the front of the house and sure enough, you see his silhouette looming like a Halloween decoration. It’s his favorite spot. He spends hours looking out at the world, just observing, thinking.

He stares at you blankly and you smile and wave. Even from a distance, you can see his gaze shift from you to something across the street: two women shooting the breeze while their kids draw with chalk on the sidewalk. Maybe it’s because you know him so well, but the look on his face is utterly predatory.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. You’d better get in there and distract him with something, or your neighbors are going to end up on the news.

🔪

“Okay, hear me out.”

You regard him uneasily, hands on your hips. He already looks unimpressed.

“We’re having grilled cheese and tomato soup. You love that.”

He does. He is waiting for the bad news.

“But we’re out of milk. So I have to make the soup with water.”

His ability to communicate such abject disgust with zero change to his expression is incredible.

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise it will still be good.”

He is the pickiest eater you have ever met. Not only is his list of acceptable foods limited, but he eats on a strict schedule with almost no wiggle room. There is only one right way to make the things he likes, and a thousand wrong ways. He would rather starve than eat something he thinks is gross.

When you present him with the offending soup he looks at you like you have spit in it in front of him.

“Look, Michael, I promise it’s fine.” You sip a spoonful. It is not fine. He knows it.

He eats the grilled cheese with enthusiasm. He finishes yours too. He pushes the soup away and does not touch it. No amount of cajoling will convince him otherwise.

🔪

You are on the couch, Michael’s head in your lap. You have been stroking his curls, scratching his neck and shoulders, caressing his handsome face for almost an hour. Every time you try to get up or change position he grips your knee tightly, will not let you move. Periodically he lets out a contented sigh, adjusts his position, guides your hand to a new spot.

Your legs are falling asleep. You continue running your thumb over his jaw as you shift your weight just a little, just enough to free up the circulation.

He sits up abruptly. “Sorry, Mikey, come back.”

He stands up and stalks away without looking at you. You watch with absolute bewilderment as he sits on the other couch, makes himself comfortable, and then looks at you like nothing happened.

“You are so fucking weird,” you whisper, almost to yourself.

🔪

You are out for a midnight stroll on the arm of a murderer who, for now, is content to leave everyone alive. The moon is full and the street is bright beneath it. Michael’s expression is serene. You know he enjoys the breeze on his face when he can get it. Walks like this are so normal, so refreshing, you can almost pretend it’s not three in the morning.

A branch hangs over the sidewalk. You move to duck around it, but Michael takes hold of it with his free hand and snaps it in half.

“Well that was…effective,” you remark. He looks at you impassively.

A block later, someone has left a tricycle in their front yard. He pulls away from you, picks it up with one hand. You furrow your brow in confusion. He throws it lazily into the neighbor’s yard.

“Michael,” you say, “you can’t do that.” But he can, and he does, and he pulls you along before you can drag it back where it belongs.

He behaves himself for the next few minutes, and you are nearly lulled back into contentment. You don’t question it when he stops and picks up a rock; he’s always bringing home odds and ends. He does not look at you as he lobs the projectile across the street directly into the front window of a house and you hear the glass splinter. The sound is deafening in the silence.

“Michael Myers!” you hiss, grabbing his arm. He is smirking. For him it is the equivalent of a shit-eating grin. “I cannot believe you just did that!” Lights turn on in the house and you haul him quickly down the street. “I swear to god I can’t take you anywhere.”

#michael myers #michael myers x reader #my writing

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sirianasims · 4 months

Text

It was nice being outside in the cool night air after sitting in the stuffy room. My clothes smelled like whatever he and Kari had been smoking.

I felt a little lightheaded as well.

As we walked back to the house, Charlie told me about touring, about trying to make it big. He told me about getting into trouble and running from the police. It was still baffling to me that he could laugh about things like being arrested, like it was all a big joke to him.

He also talked a little about Samuel. It felt like he was trying not to, but couldn’t stop himself. It sounded like his feelings about Samuel were just as complicated as Samuel’s feelings about him. There was definitely the same mix of resentment and envy.

After we got back to the house and I thanked Amelia for watching the girls, Charlie followed me upstairs to get a glimpse of his nieces. They were both sleeping peacefully.

In the hallway outside their room, he turned and looked at me with those mismatched eyes, one brown, one green.

“Cute kids. I know I haven’t been much of an uncle, but I’ll meet them properly tomorrow. My brother has always been the lucky one.”

I felt the lump in my throat. Tell that to him, maybe he would be here now. Maybe he would still care.

“Is something wrong? Freya? Hey, what’s up?”

There was actual concern in his voice. A voice that sounded so much like Samuel’s, except Samuel’s voice was causing me nothing but pain lately. I felt the tears coming.

“I’m sorry, Charlie, I’m a mess these days. It’s just – I don’t know if Samuel and I are going to last, and…”

He put his arms around me, and I leaned into him as I tried not to cry.

It felt good.

Samuel rarely held me when I was upset, he just explained why I shouldn’t be.

Charlie lifted my chin.

“My brother has also always been a fucking idiot.”

Then he kissed me.

Hard.

Insistent.

This was nothing like Samuel’s gentle kisses, bore no resemblance to his constant restraint. Or to his complete absence lately.

My knees buckled as Charlie continued kissing my neck, his other hand slowly, deliberately, untucking my shirt.

I should have pushed him away, told him to stop.

But I didn’t.

Somehow we reached the bed.

I had never felt this wanted, this desirable. All my frustration, doubt and hesitation obliterated.

As I wrapped my legs around Charlie, I knew this was wrong, this was a disaster. But all it did was turn me on more.

Charlie demanded instead of asking, ordered instead of suggesting.

Praised instead of criticising.

I let go of everything, lost myself completely in his arms, my mind blank, my body frenzied.

He looked up at me, eyes shining in the dark, as I moved my hips furiously, my nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck. If only my perfect little brother could see what his perfect little wife is doing right now.”

His harsh words cut through me without mercy, slicing through all the ties that had ever bound me.

They say the truth will set you free.

I had spent my life running from the truth, telling myself that everything would be fine if only I could find a way to be perfect.

I guess there’s nothing as freeing as accepting that you’re just a horrible human being.

Or maybe I was just human.

Flawed.

Broken.

Never meant to be perfect.

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen4 #freya duchelli #samuel ward #charlie ward #sims spice

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theladyofbloodshed · 5 months

Text

You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be - Chapter 19

They had spent hours with his mother where they talked softly in the northern sunshine. They had even taken a walk into the nearby village where Nesta was introduced to Illyrians who were unlike the rough, unbending ones of Windhaven or Ironcrest. Nesta hadn��t reached for him, but had walked close, their arms brushing as they walked.

The free-spirited nature of his mother had emerged on the looping walk home and she’d taken off her sandals to walk through a stream and her toes dipped into the silky soft silt. It took a little persuasion for Nesta to join her – as if the very idea of being barefoot in nature was odd. Eventually she did, so the two females moved in step in the stream, both hitching up their dresses to avoid the fast-flowing water while Azriel remained on the land carrying their shoes. He was glad to see his mother’s arm around Nesta’s shoulders, the pair of them leaning in to each other as they exchanged gentle conversation. Although Azriel fell back to give them privacy, he caught snippets off it whenever the wind stilled. Nesta spoke of her sisters, of her home, a life before all of this. Like a sun shining upon her, his mother had managed to convince Nesta to shed her layers of defence effortlessly. Perhaps what she had needed from the start was a mother’s love, a mother’s total lack of judgement.

‘I wish I could stay here forever,’ she said when they arrived back to the cabin, her face tilted upwards to feel the caress of the wind upon her pale skin.

Azriel would move the earth for Nesta if that was what she wished.

‘My mother would be happy to keep you.’

Hope flickered briefly on her face then her shields slid into place. ‘No, she would not want such a viper in her home.’

His fingers grazed hers.

‘That’s untrue.’

Nesta folded her arms around her body. ‘We should return to Elain.’

The need to put her sister’s recovery ahead of her own was a selfless thing, but she saw it as a duty that was owed.

The goodbye was a lingering one. His mother had not wanted either of them to leave and her embraces had reflected that fact.

She cupped Nesta’s face. ‘As new and different as this world is, soon you will be glad. My son will,’ she swallowed. ‘My son will look after you, Nesta. Whenever you want to visit – need to visit – this door is always open.’

Nesta shuddered and pressed her face in Rovena’s neck, overwhelmed by her words. Azriel had to dig his heels into the ground not to pull her into his own arms to soften her pain.

When Nesta pulled away, her face was blotchy and she blinked rapidly though nobody passed a comment on it.

Together, they walked through the long grass until the edge of the wards.

‘I’ll take you to the House of Wind then collect Elain.’

When they dropped towards the roof, Nesta held him a little tighter. As they landed, Azriel kept his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her too-thin frame. He rested his cheek atop her head, safe with the knowledge that the House of Wind was empty; his shadows had seen fit to inspect it for them.

‘I feel so guilty,’ she whispered. ‘When I’m with you, I feel like I can forget what happened. That I can move on. I’ve even felt happy – then I feel so tremendously guilty that Elain is unwell, that Feyre is somewhere else. And my father does not know where we are. I shouldn’t be happy when-’

‘You deserve happiness,’ he said, interrupting her words because he couldn’t bear to hear her negotiate her joy and hold it to ransom.

When she looked at him, Azriel swore he could see silver flames swirling in her irises that reminded him of a churning storm coming closer.

He needed to tell her.

You are my mate and I’ve waited five hundred years to hold you.

Nesta’s fingers grazed the back of his neck to pull him down to her. She was kissing him before the words could even form on his tongue.

If he had a spine, he’d stop this now and be honest with her.

His fingers dug into her hip, drawing her body closer.

Their kisses were like a spark lighting a fuse, one that Azriel could not pull away from. Azriel pressed his tongue to the seam of her lips, parting them. Dizzy with need, he couldn’t stop himself from guiding Nesta’s body against the wall so he could close the distance between them. He could feel every trembling heartbeat of hers against his ribs.

They kissed and kissed, there upon the roof.

He would take anything that Nesta gave him, never asking for more.

The soft murmurs of her pleasure as their bodies rubbed together had the bond singing between them.

There could be no other for him now. There was only her. What was he made for if not to be hers?

Nesta broke their kiss. She gazed up at him with plumped lips and wide eyes.

‘I forget everything when I’m with you,’ she whispered.

Azriel touched his lips to her forehead.

‘Nesta,’ he began, chest heaving from her name alone.

Like a dart stinging him in the neck, one of his shadows hit him. He ignored it, deciding that – for once- he ought to take the noble path, no matter how painful it was.

‘Nesta.’

‘Azriel, I think they’re trying to talk to you.’

Her gaze landed above his shoulder, over his wing, where a cluster of shadows buzzed impatiently. Azriel loosed a sigh and turned to face them, a hand still bracing on the wall beside Nesta. Coming closer were two large, black shapes. An Illyrian and a half-breed high-lord.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered.

He sensed Nesta’s pulse spike. ‘What is it?’

‘Rhys and Cassian.’

That was enough for Nesta to slip beneath his arm and make for the narrow passageway leading to the stairs, out of their sight – and out of his reach. Not that he could tell her now with those two in the building.

Azriel punched the wall, cursing himself that this one perfect chance to speak to her had been stolen.

When his brothers arrived, Azriel composed himself. It was easy to slip back into the role of being cool and aloof; it was only Nesta who expected something else from him. Their dark hair was tousled by the wind, colour high in their cheeks from racing back from Illyria.

Cassian bent down, bracing himself on his knees. ‘You cheated.’

‘Being faster isn’t cheating,’ replied Rhys, a rare smile fliting onto his face.

‘I was always the quickest.’

Rhysand gave a laugh. ‘If you exclude Azriel. And short distances.’

‘Long distance flier. Not all of us have the luxury of winnowing.’

With Cassian wanting to capitalise on Rhys’ good mood, they agreed to take a dinner together down at the Town House with Mor and Amren. It suited him because he had an Archeron to deliver to her sister besides.

Elain was no longer in the garden. She sat on a low couch staring at her hands with Mor and Amren either side of her babbling that she could no longer feel the sun.

A tendril of Rhys’ magic swirled around her, searching for an injury of some sort.

‘Where have you been, boy?’

Amren’s question was directed at Azriel who slunk into the safety that his shadows provided.

‘In the city.’

Rhys crouched down in front of Elain, lips pursed. Again, his magic flared in front of her. Although Elain did not shield her eyes or turn away from the glare, her pupils narrowed which suggested she registered the light.

‘It’s out of my reach. I can’t feel the sun.’

‘She’s been saying this for hours,’ whispered Mor.

Even after Madja was sent for, Elain continued lamenting the absence of the sun. The healer insisted that Elain was well. That each time she had seen the female, she had been well. There was nothing physically wrong with her. They even took Elain to the garden, hoping the kiss of light upon her skin might wake something in her, to no avail.

‘Do we draw straws?’

‘For what?’

Mor puffed up her cheeks as she blew out a breath. ‘Who is taking Elain – like this – back to her sister?’

It was Cassian who strolled forwards, a beaming smile on his face. ‘Let’s go for a flight, Elain.’

‘No,’ warned Azriel.

There was no excuse he could offer which wouldn’t condemn him. His hands trembled at the thought of Nesta worrying over the delay then Cassian arriving with her sister. He needed to take her, to explain that Madja had visited.

Rhys lifted Elain to her feet then gathered her into his arms where she was as pliable as a doll. ‘I’ll winnow her – and face the viper.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Azriel gritted out, shadows poised to strike. ‘She has every right to fear for his sister – after we put them through this.’

The tension could have been cut with a knife.

A clap sounded as Mor brought her hands together when she stood. ‘Well, I’m breaking open the good wine while you three do whatever it is you’re doing. Amren, care to join me?’

Azriel let Rhys take Elain although Cassian’s gaze followed him when he went to join the females in the dining room. The evening’s sun streamed in through the open windows, so he took a seat in the shade to avoid it. His shadows stuck close to him, murmuring in agreement with his mood. His nails carved crescents into the flesh of his hands as he sat waiting for Rhysand to return. The bond running between them did not flood with fear, to which he was thankful. On the surface, Rhys was the better option although he held a grudge about Feyre’s childhood. He wasn’t likely to extend the hand of friendship, but Rhys wouldn’t go out of his way to antagonise her like Cassian would.

The table was laden with a fine feast by Nuala and Cerridwen who had sensed that they needed this chance to decompress and smooth the land between them.

When Rhys returned, Mor was three glasses deep into her wine. ‘Still have all of your limbs, I see, cousin.’

‘She was alright – and by that, I mean, she snatched Elain from me and rushed her into their rooms.’ Rhys used his magic to float the bottle towards his glass and top it up.

‘It will be a lucky male who is mated to that one,’ said Cassian, chest inflating from the words.

‘You can have the honours of checking on them next then,’ said Rhys as he dug into a shank of lamb. ‘With how Elain is – and how territorial Nesta is – I want us to do more frequent calls to the House of Wind, especially tonight.’

Despite the illusion that the wine crafted, there was still an undercurrent of tension in the room. Azriel could not help but glower at Cassian in quiet moments. Mor had grown louder with every glass of wine, declaring that Rhys should kick down the door of Tamlin’s manor and steal Feyre back while he seemed more inclined to agree as his own wine slid down his throat. Amren had already departed, saying their company was dire.

‘Well, best be off to check on the sisters,’ said Cassian.

He made a show of groaning and stretching his arms in the air whilst being ignored by Mor and Rhys who’d pulled out maps to think of a way to reach Feyre.

‘I’ll see if they need tucking in for the night.’

He vowed not to follow. Vowed to count to thirty and let Cassian’s goading go. Likely Nesta would already be asleep or reading beside Elain and wouldn’t open the door to him.

Cassian strolled down the front path, the moonlight painting his wings silver.

An oily anger slid through Azriel.

It was his right as a mate to defend who was his. His right to protect Nesta. And Cassian was a threat to her.

Azriel counted to six then he was tearing off behind him, winnowing the distance to the roof to beat him there.

He stood on the roof, pulse pounding in his ears from the effort, as he awaited Cassian.

They were brothers.

Five hundred years they had stood at each other’s sides with nothing able to tear them apart.

But this was greater.

This was his mate’s wellbeing at stake.

A slight flash of surprise showed on Cassian’s expression when he landed on the roof.

‘Oh. I didn’t know it took two of us to check on them.’ He cocked his head to one side, grinning. ‘One’s mated, but maybe we could share Nesta until my bond-’

Before Cassian could even spit the last foul word out, Azriel hurled him at the wall. The force made the whole house tremble.

‘Never ever say such a thing again.’ Azriel pressed Truth-Teller to the bob of Cassian’s throat so the whetted edge kissed his skin. ‘I will kill you if you touch her.’

‘What’s got you all riled up, Az? Go on. Say it.’

‘Nesta is my mate.’

Instead of shock, another careless grin crossed Cassian’s face. He tipped his head back against the wall, oblivious of the blade.

‘Fucking finally. I was wondering how far I’d have to go until you told me.’

Cassian gave a laugh.

‘Put the knife down. I’m too pretty to mar with a scar.’

In disbelief, Azriel sheathed the blade and stepped away. The confession so close to where Nesta resided had made him dizzy and sick.

Cassian thumped him on the shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘How long have you known?’

Another thump to his arm. ‘Getting slow, spymaster. I had my suspicions then when you nearly threw me off the roof when Nesta freaked out about the height, I started wondering how you’d have known to come back up to the roof.’ Instead of a thump, this time, Cassian hauled an arm around him. ‘She’s your mate? Truly?’

Azriel scrubbed his face with his hands.

‘I thought you’d never crack. Trust you to be stubborn even when I’m making comments about your mate. You should be crowing it from the roof tops. I would be. I’m so happy for you, brother.’

The heat in his cheeks burnt fiercely, making him nauseous. Breaking out of Cassian’s hold, he stood at the edge of the roof, sucking in cold breaths.

‘She doesn’t know.’

The amusement dried up on Cassian’s expression. ‘She doesn’t know? You haven’t fucking told her?’

Azriel threw up his hands. ‘When is the right time? When her sister is speaking in riddles or when she was thrown in the Cauldron and I was bleeding out on the floor?’

‘When did it snap?’

‘I didn’t realise what it was for a long time.’ Azriel swept his hair from his face. ‘The first time we met.’

‘You’ve got to tell her.’

That was the line that clattered through his mind on a loop, only now it was his mother’s and Cassian’s voice adding to the choir.

‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ Asked Cassian. ‘Apart from that.’

He slumped down on the wall, legs hanging down over the steep drop. ‘Shit.’

His brother came to join him and let out a low whistle.

‘You’ve fucked up big time. Could be worse though. At least she’s not engaged to a high lord.’

#nezriel

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shot-of-truth · 13 days

Text

Sex Drive*

summary: basically just a threesome with luke and mgk that has been sitting in my drafts for about two years.. yes I'm horrible.

warnings: everything filthy; breeding, degradation, slapping, choking, double penetration, squirting.. the lot, you know?

word count: 8k of pure filth

Luke knew Colson long before they signed with Interscope records but he can not recall ever talking to him. What he knew though was that this man never failed to put on an amazing show and even better parties, according to their mutual friend Ashley. He heard about many of his positive traits and he tried to remember them while the lanky dude with about a hundred tattoos downed his fourth shot of tequila for that night. His best friend was a big fan of his music, that much he recalled, always blasting his newest album Hotel Diablo in the car and singing along loudly. Luke even overheard her talking about Colson releasing a vibrator as part of his Valentines Day merch, he wasn’t sure if she ever bought it… which wouldn’t surprise him though. The lead singer eyes the tall rapper talking to a few girls on the other side of the room and questions himself whether or not he should start a conversation with him, for the sake of Fleur. Luke’s christmas party is in less than a week and he just knows that Fleur would be the happiest girl on earth if he invited him. So that’s what he does, after his drink is finished he makes his way over to the man that is about as tall as he is and introduces himself.

He mentally thanks himself for deciding to come to Interscope’s Christmas party as both of them lose themselves in a chat about music and their shared love for pop punk, especially Blink-182.

That was the story of how Luke’s friendship with Colson, in the industry known as Machine Gun Kelly, started. You could leave it at that if it wasn’t for Luke’s infamous christmas party that he threw at his house every year, which Colson was invited to… of course. And that was where he met Fleur.

With her brown skin and braided hair she made her way through the hallway, carrying a few bottles of liquor that she seemed to have brought from her car. “Let me help you!” Luke spoke quickly, taking two bottles of rosé from her before kissing her cheek and telling her to make herself comfortable, which shouldn’t be too hard since she basically already lives at his place.

Colson watches the scene unfold in front of his eyes, leaning against the wall and picking his beer up for a sip. The girl that just walked in is drop dead gorgeous, in his eyes at least. He loves the way her dress hugs her curves and he absolutely fucking adores when she throws her head back to laugh at something Luke said. He picks up that she’s not wearing a bra, her nipples visible through the fabric… he swears he didn’t mean to stare, he just randomly notices. He’s a lot taller than her and it makes his cock swell just a little bit as he imagines all the dirty things he could do to her. Keeping his composure though, he walks over to his girl of the night, setting the beer down on the table and greeting her with a simple “hi!” If he didn’t look close enough he wouldn’t even have seen the excitement on her face as she looks up into his eyes. “Oh look who Luke invited..” She smirks, bringing the sparkling wine to her lips, her red lipstick leaving a stain on the glass.

“Actually… now I’m really glad I came.” He shoots back, taking her hand and shaking it. “Colson.” He speaks, not letting her hand go until she tells him “Fleur”. After hearing her name he can’t help but think that she really does smell like a flower, like daisies actually… a soft smell, like a warm Spring day.

It does get better though, half an hour later when both of them are lost in the crowd together, her body pressed against his, he can make out her coconut body wash under the thin layer of sweat on her neck. His hands are on her waist and he guides her to the beat, fingers digging into the flesh beneath her shirt. He feels her ass press against his crotch and he just knows that she is doing it on purpose. He leans his head down to plant a quick kiss to her neck, a satisfying sigh leaving her mouth. “We got two options, Colson. You either follow me now or I’ll find a room and a way to get myself off like I do with my vibrator.” Straight forward, no bullshit. Her hands brush against his crotch and she throws him a kiss before disappearing, leaving Colson a horny and drunken mess in the middle of the living room. Without thinking twice he finishes his drink and follows her until she opens a door at the end of the hallway and waits for him to step inside. When he does, she’s lying down on the bed, a seductive smile on her lips, just waiting for him to come over and fuck her brains out. Colson has other plans as he quietly closes the door and exhales, leaning against it and licking his lips. He watches her every move with hungry eyes, images of him filling her mouth with his cock prominent on his mind. But he’s got time tonight… more than enough. He is going to make her beg. Still leaning against the door, he moves his fingers, motioning for her to come over. His arms crossed on his chest, his gaze is fixated on her walking over to him.

The size difference makes her heart race and she looks up into Colson’s magnificent eyes, a wave of heat taking over her body when he presses his lips to hers, testing the limits. He tastes like beer and her taste reminds him of the disgustingly sweet watermelon vodka. Fleur is standing on her tippy toes and she’s grabbing onto his shirt, Colson’s teeth lightly biting down onto her bottom lip, waiting for her to open up. Tongue licking into her mouth, he huffs quietly, squeezing her butt while he’s at it. While the two of them are making out against the wall, hands all over each other, Colson pushes his left leg forward. The fabric of his jeans meets her panties and if it wasn’t so dark he would have been able to see her mouth opening and forming an o-shape. Fleur hopes he can’t feel the damp spot on her panties against his leg, hopes she doesn’t make a mess on his ripped jeans. But when her lover for the night stares at her, breathing heavily for a few seconds before mumbling a low “fuck” and connecting their lips for a needy kiss again, all her worries are gone. Large hands still on her ass, he pulls her forward with such force she collides with his hard chest, her barely covered pussy sliding against his leg.

He then gets a loud moan out of her, dick straining against his briefs. “Wanna be a good girl for me and get yourself off on my thigh? Wanna beg for it, slut?” Colson’s voice is needy, sexy and raw but his eyes show curiosity, as if he wants to ask her: is this okay? Do you really want to do this? Her knees almost give in when Colson calls her a slut, the humiliation having a strangely unexpected effect on her, panties now drenched in arousal. And Colson feels it, god does he love it. “Please… wanna use your thigh..” This is so fucking filthy and taboo, begging for her favorite singer to let her grind against his tattooed leg. Just when Fleur thought it could not get any better, he bites her earlobe and whispers: “want you to call me daddy if we’re gonna do it properly… know it gets you off, so… try again.” From what she can make his look out it looks challenging, he wants to see her crack, wants nothing more than for her to fall right into euphoria because of him. All of this already feels too good to be true but when she moans “daddy please… need your thigh” he breaks and pushes his leg up, right against her clit while holding her in place with his strong arms. Her moans are music to his ears while both of them start grinding against each other, rolling away from the door and onto the wall, him slowly feeling a wet patch forming on his blue jeans.

Both of them are so caught up in one another, bodies tangled together, sounds of pleasure falling from their lips, they don’t even notice the door opening and a perplexed Luke standing in the hallway. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks helpless, red stained shirt that used to be white clinging to his body. “Fuck I’m… shit..” he stammers, catching Colson’s attention. Luke’s heart feels like it’s going a million miles an hour when he locks eyes with his best friend being held up by one of his co-workers… if you can call him that. He hates that he gets hard just from looking at her messy hair and smudged make-up. But what he hates the most is that the size difference between the two of them makes him break into a sweat, imagining if she’d also look this small on his lap. Right now Luke is really fucking thankful for the lack of lighting in his room because he’s certain they would have both seen his bulge.

He swallows the lump in his throat, trying not to look at her exposed lace thong that is now visible since her dress has ridden up. “I just… new shirt..” His voice comes out dry and he mentally facepalms himself for not being able to bring out a normal sentence as he points at the wine-stain on his shirt. “Come in… close the door.” Colson orders, surprising both him and Fleur. A new thought formed in his head just a few seconds ago, something even more filthy than making her beg for his cock. He wants to see her beg for two cocks, he wants her to be absolutely fucking wrecked by the end of the night. Kells has never been one to share his girls but right now he just could not give a single fuck, unable to form a coherent thought. The younger one hurries to close the door and make his way over to his closet, pulling out a random shirt. He’s unaware of the four eyes watching him as he takes off his dirty shirt, Fleur having climbed down from Colson’s lap and sneaking over to her best friend. His skin is kind of sweaty and hot but she doesn’t mind when reaching her hand out to trace her nails down his back, examining his broad shoulders. The girl immediately picked up where this was going when Colson pressed his hard on against her tummy the moment Luke had closed the door. He wanted this and she wanted Luke, young, innocent Luke, as well as the rapper with his dominant attitude.

The two of them could not be more different if they tried, Colson’s skin splattered with ink while Luke’s remained pure and creamy white. Their personalities are completely different but the thought of Luke having a kinky side to him that she doesn’t know about makes her stomach twirl and do backflips. Colson does not have Luke’s broad shoulders but he’s just as tall as the 22 year old, the two of them easily towering over Fleur.

All of them notice the dim light in the corner of the room that Luke turned on when looking for his shirt. It illustrates his skin when Fleur touches him, goosebumps rising on his arms. “Stay.” She whispers, fingertips on his bare back, caressing him. His eyes are closed while he rubs them, certain he’s had one too many this night because this can’t be happening. It’s simply not possible that Fleur is hugging him from behind now, arms wrapped around his torso. Before he can process what’s happening, she has him turned around, curls dangling in his face. He nervously looks over to Colson and sees him taking his shirt off, the tattoos looking like a second skin. What he also notices is that the other guy in the room does not have an ounce of body fat, he’s like a fucking spaghetti noodle. And it makes Luke feel a little bit insecure, being exposed to both of them. It’s all gone from his mind when she kisses his collarbone while standing on her tippy toes, she can’t get higher than this. Her lips are so soft and it makes Luke’s knees buckle just the slightest bit, especially when she kisses down towards his nipples, flicking her tongue over the right one. Her wet muscle dances over his skin, down to his belly button and she can taste the red wine on his skin, which someone had splashed over his shirt just a few minutes ago.

At this point she is kneeling on the floor in front of him, knees digging into the soft carpet, marvelous eyes digging into his as she gazes up at him through her eyelids. Luke could swear he forgets how to breathe that very moment because now he can definitely sense where this is going and he clearly fucking likes it. “You little whore… got Luke all hard and now you’re being a fucking tease? I don’t think that’s nice at all.” Colson’s voice catches both of them off guard, he is a lot closer than he was just a minute ago, standing behind Fleur. She just licks her lips and tries not to let Luke see how turned on she is from being treated with little to no respect from the older man… so pathetic. Suddenly he grabs her hair with just a bit of force and pulls it, making him look up to her. “Fucking answer me when I talk to you, toy.” His voice is dripping with lust and he sounds dangerous, his gaze though is examining her body language to make sure she’s alright. “Yes daddy.. I- I’ll make it up… to him.” Luke is fucking shocked when he sees her smiling after mouthing the word ‘daddy’ with a bittersweet voice, his jaw falling open, cock thickening even more. He needs attention and he needs it there. Even though he is not so sure if he’d be able to contain himself now that he has his gorgeous best friend on her knees for him and his friend calling her a slut. He keeps quiet. Before Fleur can process it, Colson is bending down and grabbing her jaw, making her whine. “You better.” Colson says calmly and then he slaps her cheek, not too hard but enough to make the slap echo through Luke’s bedroom. “Mouth open” he then instructs, Fleur obeying him. Before any of them can comprehend what he‘s trying to do, he has collected some saliva and he‘s spitting it right into Fleur‘s awaiting mouth.

It‘s only when Luke whines quietly, being so fucking turned on it hurts, that both of his friends are reminded of his presence. Colson wants to speak for him, wants to tell the gorgeous woman with the braids in her hair to take Luke‘s cock into her mouth already when Luke speaks, his voice laced with neediness. “Will you take my cock into your mouth, babygirl? Be a good girl for us?” He swears he doesn’t think straight when his thumb reaches out and caresses the sore skin on her cheek that Colson slapped a minute prior. Fleur presses her thighs together to get some sort of friction because now she’s basically dripping down her legs. There’s something about Colson being rough with her, demanding and dominant, but Luke praising her and calling her babygirl and good girl. Maybe that’s just what she needs, someone pushing her limits and someone else reassuring her. Her best friend opens his fly, pushing his jeans down just a bit, she waits impatiently. He’s wearing briefs and Fleur can see the outline of his dick, painfully hard. “Give it a kiss, lovie.” Luke mumbles, playing with her hair. So that’s what she does, she kisses him through his boxers, her tongue wetting the fabric, licking over his head where she swears she can taste just a little bit of pre-cum. Fleur’s hands slowly pull Luke’s briefs down, cock springing free. He’s hard and heavy and he hisses when it hits the rather cold air.

“Get naked.” Colson orders from the bed, palming himself through his pants, watching the scene unfold in front of his eyes. The woman wants to reach for the hem of her dress when Luke already pulls it off of her, careful as to not rip it. She pulls her drenched thong off of her legs and before she can stop herself, she throws it over on the bed, next to Colson’s head, a cheeky smile on her face. He grabs it immediately, an animalistic growl leaving his lips. “God you fucking whore… dripping for both our cocks?” He doesn’t expect an answer when he lies down on the bed, sniffing her panties. Fleur instead looks up to Luke, his skin red. His dick is about an inch away from her face, average in size but rather thick. The veins running up his shaft are downright sinful, not to mention his pretty pink head. She wraps her hand around it, her tongue licking over his balls, a quiet moan coming from Luke. She never thought she’d be in this position, on her knees for her best friend. Luke on the other hand fantasized about this many times before, preferably in the middle of the night, with his slicked up cock fucking in and out of his fist.

She collects his pre-cum and lubes up his dick with it, slowly jerking him off while putting his balls in her mouth, swirling her tongue around them. Luke thinks she looks content, batting her eyelashes at him. So he moans, a devilish combination with her slurping sounds and her fingers moving around his wet cock. It’s so fucking hot, not just metaphorically. To Fleur it feels like the temperature has risen to around 100° Fahrenheit since Luke has entered the room, her hair slightly sweaty as the curly haired man carefully gathers it in his hands so it wouldn’t fall in her face and get in her way. She listens closely and hears Colson moaning quietly while she kisses the head of Luke’s cock. Trying not to think about her glistening pussy being on full display to Colson, she licks Luke’s pretty dick up and down, his body reacting immediately. He fists her hair tighter when she finally takes him in, her warm, wet mouth engulfing him… and Luke has a hard time not cumming on the spot, thinking about what her pussy would feel like if her mouth is already heaven on earth. A pornographic moan leaves his mouth and Kells can’t help but smile, excited for what this night has in store for him and the others. The gagging sounds coming from the beautiful girl kneeling on the floor, combined with her spitting on Luke’s cock every now and then make the rapper throb. She has him so fucking deep in her throat, Luke just has to pull her away after a few minutes and kiss her forehead, out of breath. Tears are streaming down her face while she sniffles and gives him the cutest smile someone could give after taking a dick down their throat. His stomach almost does back-flips from her simple gesture, his thumb wiping her tears away and a whisper leaving his mouth: “So good to me, baby… took me so well, I loved it.” He holds on for a second, thumb swiping over her bottom lip, her warm mouth allowing him in. “Think she deserves a reward, am I right Kells?”

His shy smile turns into a confident smirk as he watches Colson get up from his previous position and walk over to the two of them. Before Fleur can even register what is happening, he is kneeling down behind them, licking a stripe up her soaking pussy, all the way from her clit to her entrance, her legs almost giving up and making her drop to the ground but Luke catches her, holds her hair and presses his lips to hers. Fleur’s eyes are shut in pleasure, little mewls escaping her slightly opened mouth, going over right into Luke. Colson is gripping her hips so tight that she’s sure she will find his handprints on them later in the night when she’s all by herself again, eyeing herself in the massive bathroom mirror. His tongue softly presses against her clit, face buried between her legs as he gets a taste of her. Luke can see that his friend is hard behind her, boxers pulled down to his ankles.

Colson’s fingers find her entrance after eating her out for a good five minutes and he slowly inserts one finger, examining her reaction as she throws her head back, mouth opening. He’s sitting down behind her, one hand slowly pleasuring her, other one pulling her back by her hair so she’s settling down on his lap. The younger man has a smirk on his lips as he sits down in front of his best friend and loosely wraps his hand around her throat, making her teary eyes look up at him. He kisses her softly before licking his thumb and slowly bringing it to her clit, earning a soft sigh from her. The combination from both Colson and Luke pleasuring her is too much for Fleur, nails digging into Luke’s shoulder, trying to hold on to something as her body shakes. “What a dirty fucking whore.” Colson mumbles in her ear, right as he lets go of her hair and slaps her rosy cheek. Once, twice.

In her hazy mind, she notices Colson’s fingers disappearing and Luke’s slowly rubbing over her clit, slowly sending her over the edge and making her let out a pornographic moan, legs shaking. It feels like heaven to her. “Yeah, let go baby… sound so pretty when you cum for us… such a good girl.” In her overstimulated mind she notices lips on her neck, kissing and nibbling on that sweet spot that leaves her legs shaking as she’s coming down from her high. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees Kells still stroking himself behind her, hand on her hip. “Mind if I have a taste?” He asks the older one, as if Fleur isn’t even present, as if she has no say in this… and it turns her on so much. “All yours, man,” Kells smirks and steps back a little, leaving enough room for the singer to get behind his best friend and trace his finger over her soft thighs. A shiver runs down her spine and she jerks away from him at first, the sensitivity of her first orgasm still washing over her. “Aw baby, know you’re so sensitive… but I’m dying to taste you, need to have you right now.” With that, Luke picks her up and gently throws her on the bed that Colson is already sitting on. He’s fully naked now and for a quick moment Luke checks out all his tattoos that seem like a second layer of skin. “Lu, please…” His best friend is slowly grinding against nothing, her pussy so fucking wet in front of him, she’s almost dripping onto his bedsheets.

The sound of her breathy moans and pleas has his dick impossibly harder between his legs, throbbing for her… but she has to wait, cause Luke reaaally loves hearing her beg, he decides. “Please what?” He mocks her, slowly settling between her thighs, rubbing the inside of it. “N-need you.” A slap echoes through the room, before Colson speaks. “Speak up bitch, how is Luke supposed to know what you n-n-need when you can’t even form a proper sentence, huh?” His big hand rubs the slightly sore skin on her cheek and she swears she has never been more turned on in her entire life, Luke still kissing right next to where she needs him the most, teasing the shit out of her. “So fucking pathetic, you didn’t even get our cocks yet and you’re still fucking dripping for us…so cock drunk you can’t even speak properly.” Luke settles down on the bed finally, placing her legs over his shoulders before kissing the inside of her thigh again. His blue eyes look up at Fleur, tears of frustration in her eyes and it has him concerned for a teeny tiny bit until she reaches her breaking point and blurts out: “Lick me Lu, pleaaaase.” He dives in immediately, like a starved man eating his first meal in a long time, devours her pussy. His hands hold her legs open and his tongue laps up all her juices, while she’s fisting the duvet behind her, arching her back in the most sinful way. Everything feels so fucking good right now and when she looks for just a second she sees Luke grinding against his sheets while he sucks on her little bundle of nerves. On top of that, he fucking moans against her, the vibrations making her let out a loud scream.

She’s close already, can feel her second orgasm of the night creeping up somewhere deep inside of her. Absentmindedly, her hands tangle in Luke’s hair and give it a hard thug and she expected everything but the fucking whimper that came out of his mouth, telling her, without any words, to do it again and again and again… so she does, fisting his hair and rocking her hips against him while he sucks on her clit, so hard it has stars dancing in front of her eyes. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He licks her through her orgasm, moaning loudly as well. He doesn’t stop until she’s whining, crying and shaking for him to stop. Kells is still sitting behind them, hand in Fleurs hair while he strokes himself lazily.

She’s coming down slowly, breathing heavily and looking for the two men in the room with her. “How do you want us?” Kells asks, suddenly next to her. Fleur is dizzy, needy and aching to finally be filled. Trying to articulate a sentence, to let both of them know that they could do whatever the fuck they want to her as long as their hands don’t leave her sweaty hot skin, she fails miserably. The only thought prominent on her mind right now being her idol and her best friends using her body in downright filthy ways, at the same time, in whichever way they choose. Soft lips close in on her nipple, the sudden cold wetness a contrast to her hot skin. With her eyes slowly opening, Fleur notices Luke to her right, his fingers stroking his rock hard cock while Kells on her left side is desperately trying to draw her attention back to him by digging his hands into her side, grabbing her hard as he sucks on her most sensitive spot.

“Poor baby, look fucked she is Luke.. maybe we should just leave. Think we’ve been super generous today, haven’t we? Two orgasms should be plenty.” His tone suggests that Colson does not plan on being anywhere near done with his new prized possession, Fleur however, in her fucked out state, does not seem too okay with the possibility of not getting what she was singing up for all along. “Nooo, please sir.” Her voice comes out raspy, an aftermath of swallowing down Luke’s dick not too long ago. A quiet “need more” follows right after, hands reaching out to Kells and Luke on either side of her. The two singers immediately make eye contact as a soft chuckle forms on the younger one's lips. “Aren’t you a little selfish, baby?” His usually honeysweet voice seems to be dripping with evil intentions. “You only take, take, take… look at Kells. Have you touched him at all tonight, huh? Bet he’s been dying to stuff you with his cock all night and you have just given him zero attention.” Knowing looks are being exchanged between the two males, as if they have done this sort of thing a million times before. “Honestly Luke, why am I even asking? Pretty sure Fleur is gonna be a good little slut for us and take us however we want her.”

It’s dark in the room, however the rapper does not miss the shiver that runs through Fleur’s body at his words. He waits for a signal, anything to let him know he was wrong about his assumption and nothing follows except the quietest moan… he’s done for. Crashing his lips onto hers like it’s the last thing he would ever fucking do in his life, Colson takes control again, pressing Fleurs tiny body deeper into the mattress. The little whispers between the two men go unnoticed by her, so does Luke grabbing certain objects from his nightstand. “Look at me.” She watches Kells rip open a condom with his teeth before taking a first closer look at his massive dick resting between her thighs, the last bit of dominance that was still within her slowly withering away. What the fuck did she get herself into here? “I can’t wait to fuck that tight little pussy, ruin it for everyone but us.” “Next time you even think about going over to Matt’s house, I bet you’ll only be thinking about this. Will just get disappointed by everyone but us, will forever think about this-” Luke drags the last word out with his hands around her throat. Him bringing up the hookup with one of their mutual friends stings and she is about to say something before catching herself again. She is at their mercy and scolding her best friend right now when he has been nothing but an angel to her all night does not seem fair to her, not even in the headspace she is in right now.

Not with the stickiness of her two previous orgasms and her momenteral arousal slicking up her thighs and sore entrance. Contracting her pussy around the cool air in Luke’s room, she would not dare disobey any of them right now, just needing to be filled. Having waited so long for the past hour, she closes her eyes in anticipation, goosebumps decorating her brown skin. “Babydoll, look at daddy when he stuffs you with his cock,” Luke whispers, hand slowly stroking his dick and watching the scenario in front of him play out. His other hand holds Fleurs head up, wrapped around her throat so the woman can easily watch as the second man in the room pushes forward, engulfing himself in her wet heat.

The moan that leaves her lips is straight-up pornographic- loud, needy and echoing around the room. So erotic that Kells loses himself in it, the sound going straight to his aching dick that is being gripped by Fleurs tight cunt like a viper grabs her victim. Ready to devour him and so deliciously full of him, none of them notice they are holding their breath until he breathes out “Holy shit, god. You feel so fucking tight.” Gushing around him it’s like he can feel her heartbeat even through the condom as he gives his first thrust deep into her. “That’s it, baby. Taking him so well,” Luke whispers into her ear, simultaneously wiping the tears that run down her cheek away. Fleur feels so positively full with Kells’ head bumping directly into her cervix and giving her that sweet sting she knew she’d feel as soon as she laid eyes on him. She can’t control the tears of pleasure that stream from her eyes as he sets a brutal pace while Luke holds her fragile body in place. It feels as if there are hands all over her body, touching her, feeling her, pleasuring her.

She’s floating somewhere up there, she’s sure of it as Colson suddenly stills all the way inside of her to catch his breath, dick throbbing. Her legs wrapped around his waist shake, pulling him in closer. She doesn’t mean to, never ever, but with everything going on right in front of her she doesn’t realize Luke leaves his spot. Doesn’t realize he hands Colson the bottle of lube, who slowly pulls out of her. “Ride me, angel.” Luke demands from next to her, laying down on his mattress. “Yes sir.” Fleur replies, just needing that feeling of being full again. Her entire body aches from the previous orgasms, her thighs burning as she swings her leg over Luke’s muscular thighs, straddling him quickly. “Keep calling me sir and we might just fill up that pretty little pussy, darling.” An involuntary moan slips past her lips at the thought, her wet lips slowly sliding over Luke’s erection that pressed up against his stomach. He hisses and throws his head back the same moment Kells gathers Fleurs hair in a makeshift ponytail and pulls on it- enough to make it sting and inevitably enough to get her attention. “You better stop teasing right fucking now and sit on his dick, do you understand me?”

Luke’s hands dig into her hips, making sure to leave marks that will be visible to anyone that tries to touch their little brat for the next few days. The thought makes his heart race, both in anticipation and anxiety… remains of him, her best fucking friend, and Colson being on her body as another guy enjoys her the way they are doing right now. All his senses are on high alert, skin feeling on fire as Fleur positions him against her entrance and slowly sinks down on his cock, juices coating him and pooling around his base. In his fucked out state he just now realizes he never thought of grabbing a condom and he wants to say something, it’s a thought slowly making its way from the back of his mind to the front, threatening to spill past his lips until-

“Fuck Luke…” It’s not the pet name she’s been using all night, it’s not for Kells’ enjoyment, it’s only meant for him as his dick pulses inside of her wet, warm cunt. His best friend gasps, hands tangling in the singers damp curls and it feels like heaven to him, so snug around him he can feel her fucking heartbeat against his dick. “M-Move, flower.” Colsons lips capture hers as she slowly starts moving, making sure to go all the way up until he almost slips out, teasing him, before sliding back down on his thick erection. All those years of them being friends and she just now asks herself why the hell they haven’t done this sooner? When he looks so ethereal below her. The curls, the full, plump lips of his, everything about him screaming angelic. Whereas the man next to her with his fully tattooed body and mean demeanor gets her off just the same, his hand now grabbing her neck as he settles in behind her. The pace she settles for is slow, almost torture for the blonde on the bottom who just feels like he needs more. More of her wetness coating his dick, more of the moans she tries to stifle everytime he’s deep inside her. The good friend act, the fucking soft act he’s kept up all evening is wearing thin but what finally pushes him over the edge is when she chuckles, almost fucking laughs at him shuddering when she lets his dick almost slip out and the cool air hits his sensitive tip.

Her face is buried in his neck, not being able to read his facial expression. Colson however grins to himself, visibly noticing Luke’s whole demeanor change. In one swift motion, Luke pulls Fleur down until she’s flush against him, his dick pressing hard against her cervix. A loud moan echoes through the room, thighs trembling against him. She tries to move away from him, her best friend being too fucking deep inside of her but both Luke and Colson are keeping her in place. “I’ve fucking had it with you. If you wanna act like a brat I will fuck you like one.” “You’re too nice for that.” And she almost instantly regrets it the moment the six words leave her mouth. Based on the expression on Luke’s face she knew he wasn’t playing from the beginning but now she’s really in for it and she’s almost positive Colson and Luke will both ensure she afeels pleasure like she’s never felt it before.

“See, babygirl. We were gonna be nice, you know…” Luke’s voice is dangerously calm and it has her on edge. She opens her mouth to say something but just the shake of his head makes her decide against it. And suddenly she hates how obedient she is in his lap, dick still filling her to the brim. He sits up, face now inches away from hers and she can make out his darkened eyes. You could hear a pin drop in the room right now, the atmosphere tense. One sound, a cap being popped open behind her makes her aware of the other person in the room being much closer than she thought he was, wanting to turn around but Luke captures her face with his right hand. “Eyes on me.” A whine builds up in her throat, her hips slowly grinding against him because it’s painful how wet and desperate she is at this point. She wishes Luke would just fuck her, do something, anything and she wishes Colson would let her suck his dick while Luke pounds into her. “We were gonna be nice and take you one at a time. Didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed… but baby, tell me. What’s the point of having two dicks in the same room as you if you don’t have both of them inside of you at the same time?”

It’s like her heart skips a beat as her mind drifts to places she’s never explored before. She wants to tell him no, that’s too much. She could barely handle Colson abusing her little pussy, how was she supposed to take both of them at the same time? But Fleur looks at Luke and behind his hard expression his eyes soften a little. He’s her best friend who has known her for years. Why would he do anything to her he knew she couldn’t handle? Luke’s got some dark thoughts that he plans on executing within the next hour but he’s not a monster, far from it actually. Meanwhile Colson settles in behind her, softly kissing her neck all the way from her ear down to her shoulders as his hot breath fans over her skin. His tattooed arm wraps around her and grabs her left boob, teeth slightly sinking into her collarbone. If it wasn’t for this short distraction she surely would have noticed his head nudging her hole, about to press in, right next to Luke’s dick already inside of her. He hisses next to her ear, a guttural groan following immediately after once he pushes in, her pussy impossibly tighter this time. “O-oh my ffuuu-“ It dies in her throat, not that she could have said more anyways as Luke pulls his best friend down, kissing her passionately and pulling her flush against his chest so it’s easier for Colson to reach deeper.

He’s nestled right in there, stilling for a second before Luke pushes up, hands holding Fleur in place by her ass so he can move alongside his new, tall friend. “Holy fucking shit, that feels good,” Kells breathes out quietly. “Isn’t that little pussy squeezing us so tight, Luke?” He sounds completely fucked, his head pressing right against that spot that has their girl of the night seeing stars. She can’t think straight, pain and pleasure overtaking every other sensation she could be feeling that very moment. But Luke is holding her so tight and whispering sweet nothings in her ear, kissing her head and pushing her hair to the side so it would not interfere with her breathing. “Best one I ever had, Kells. Such a good little whore for us, aren’t you baby?” It’s more like a rhetorical question since he knows his best friend is too far gone to answer with anything but a lewd moan anyways. One hand presses down on her stomach, almost making her cum right then and there. They establish a diabolic rhythm, one of them pulling back while the other drives themselves deeper and deeper into her dripping cunt over and over again. It’s excruciating and Fleur feels like she’s on fire, her orgasm building and building as she’s being fucked at a slow pace but with determination from both of them. It’s like their hands are all over her and she probably couldn’t tell which ones belong to who, just that someone feels her shake and sob against the younger ones chest and decides to rub the swollen bud between her legs, dripping wet. Right where she wanted it the most this entire time. “Gonna cum on our cocks, huh? Doesn’t it feel so fucking good to actually be properly fucked?” It’s like Luke can’t control what he says, his best friends pussy and Colson rubbing against him making it way harder not to cum on the spot. But he needs to hold on, desperately needs to see the look on her face when she cums first. “Y-yes sir.. yes daddy.. please please l-let me.” Fleur whimpers, so fucking close and just waiting for their permission to tip right over the edge. A harsh smack being delivered to her left asscheek by Colson is exactly what does it in combination with their dicks hitting her cervix once again, his thumb still rubbing circles over her and Luke stilling inside of her, digging her nails into her waist.

Her pussy pulsing and squeezing him is almost enough for him to shoot his load into her, and a lot of it. Calming himself down, he breathes in and out heavily, trying so hard not to think about the way her eyes squeeze shut and- wetness coating his thighs? A dark chuckle follows from behind, followed by Colson pulling out of her slowly, his dick still rock hard. “Did you just fucking squirt on us baby? Made a proper mess on Luke’s damn bed, didn’t you?” Luke lifts her up gently, sliding out of her- much to her dismay which she lets him know with a quiet whine, suddenly feeling so empty. “I’m sorry bro, but I need to taste her.. am dying to stuff my face in that cunt and taste how fucking sweet she is.” Colson lets them know, more directed at Luke than Fleur. “No, I c-can’t… sens-sensitive.” She tries to argue but to no avail, Colson’s mind is made up. “Shhh princess, Kells just wants a little taste.” He turns her around on him, her backside now against his chest while the rapper kneels down between both their legs. The moment his tongue comes in contact with her clit she’s thrashing around on top of him, trying to get away from the tall man who has his face buried in her pussy, lapping up her juices. Luke holds her in place, kisses her head and inhales the scent of her freshly washed hair while watching the scenario in front of him unfold. While he is glad for this little distraction to recover for a minute or two, his dick is still painfully hard and throbbing, Fleurs ass moving against it not making it much better.

Stars dance in front of her eyes as the woman tries to control her breathing, too overwhelmed with Colson sucking and moaning against her. “If you don’t stop fucking moving, Luke and I will coax another five orgasms out of you, I don’t give a damn if that means we’ll be here all fucking night.” His tone is mean, demanding and almost threatening. “If I wanna taste our pussy, you will let me.” With that he is back to devouring her, nails digging into her soft thighs and leaving marks behind. What scares her the most is not another orgasm, it’s the fact that the orgasm is being delivered by no one other than her favorite singer who already made her explode on his dick before. And if she does that again in his face, she might as well just dig her own grave. Little does Fleur know that is just what he has been trying to achieve all along, fingers slipping inside of her and expertly finding her sweet spot. Her soft cries of overstimulation mix with the wet slurping sounds of his mouth, sucking and licking all over her. “Can feel you squeezing my finger, you wanna make a mess all over daddy again?” He speaks, breath fanning over her oh so sensitive clit. “N-no Ke-Kells, I-” Instantly a quick slap is being delivered to her thigh, the sting traveling up to her already sensitive pussy. “That’s not my name. Try again.” And she is so close, the muscles in her lower abdomen contracting as she grinds against Kells’ face, just wanting that one final push that he delivers with his mouth closing around her most sensitive area and his ring- and middle finger curling inside her. “Daddy!” It hits Fleur like a train, ears ringing, muscles spasming and liquid gushing out of her once again. Over the bed, over his fingers, over Luke, over Kells’ face. Helping her ride out her orgasm, the older man of the two kisses her thighs softly, rubbing the rest of her arousal all over pussy

“I know you’re so sensitive right now baby, I get it. But I think Kells and I really really wanna fill you up. Gonna let us use that pretty cunt one last time? Been dying to cum in you.” Hazy eyes stare up at him and even though it feels hard for her to move, four orgasms really taking a toll on the poor girl, she nods. That’s what she has been fantasizing about all night, since Luke walked into the room to discard his wine stained shirt, leaving all his girls and the few girls lusting over him out in his living room. “Need to hear you say it, lovie.” He’s gentle this time. His tip, covered in precum, nudging against her opening and just waiting for her verbal confirmation. “Need you Lu… need you Kells.” It’s barely a whisper but Luke lets it slide, coating himself in her arousal once more before pushing in from below her, Fleurs back still against his chest.

Kells wraps his hand around her neck, gently now, making her watch his long, hard dick sliding into her for the last time that night. He comes to think that she looks so tiny like this, sandwiched between the two skinny 6’3 tall men, the thought alone bringing him close to filling her up like he’s been wanting to for hours. It does not help that he can see their outlines, a slight bulge in her lower belly from the two cocks stretching her out. He thinks he’s done for, losing the rhythm he settled in with Luke, breathing quickening. “Gonna fuck that cum so deep into you.” He growls, tightening his hold on her neck. Fleur tries to reply, tries to focus on the pleasure of him still being inside of her but nothing is working anymore. Everything hurts in a good way and she knows that there is no way she’s going back out to that party later. She knows that this time they really can’t force another orgasm out of her fragile body, not that she needs it. Fleur just needs to feel their cum inside of her, dripping out of her, the soreness for the next few days, all of it. Even Luke is barely holding on by a thread, stilling inside of her and just letting his coworker push in past him, rubbing so deliciously against both of them. “Holy shit. Gonna put our babies inside of you, baby, yeah? You want that?” Luke has no idea what came over him but it seems to be affecting her when she clenches around them and lets out a pornographic moan.

Luke cums first, having edged himself all night, and coats her walls with spurts of cum, seemingly never ending. The whine that leaves his mouth is downright sinful and so so hot to her ears as it mixes with Colsons sounds of pleasure. “Fuck fuck fuck” He breathes out loudly, releasing right after and burying himself in her to the hilt. Thick ribbons of cum fill up her vagina, an evidence of both of them actually being there… an evidence that she actually just fucked her idol and best friend at the same time. For a short period of time she registers nothing until a warm, wet cloth brings her back to reality, both of them kneeling down between her thighs and staring at her with a worried expression. “There you are love… did so well for us. Took us like a champ, we’re so proud of you.” Luke presses a soft kiss to her nose as the other man wipes off the residue of them from her thighs. “Gonna kick everyone out,” he mumbles, more to Kells than to her. “You staying with her?” It’s supposed to be a question but the way he words it leaves no option for no.

The second Luke puts on his pants and a fresh shirt, Colson pulls the blanket over her naked frame, letting her cuddle into his side.

“Sleep. We’ll be there when you wake up.”

#5sos #5sos smut #mgk #mgk smut #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings

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